hi hi ! i’m M. i’m 21, a college student, and i love to write.
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i write for anyone & everyone! please please please be specific with the requests! just giving me a name will put your request last, as it requires me to create my own scenario and can lead to writer’s block.
things to take into consideration ~
smut is written here! every fic that has smut is marked w/ (s). please take that into consideration, as what you do from here is up to you.
things i WILL NOT write ~
NONE of the -cests. no incest, stepcest, etc.
no sexual assault, or anything within that range.
the most i will do is implicit consent, where consent isn’t given within the story but it’s obvious.
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summary: michael is exhausted and tired of everyone making decisions for him, so he decides to make a decision on his own. marrying you!
themes: fluff, hopelessly in love michael, secret wedding, smut
author's note: reposted from my wattpad & ao3.
1978
hayvenhurst / vegas
You're sitting on Michael's bed with your legs tucked beneath you, your sketchbook balanced in your lap, pencil moving in soft, absent strokes as the quiet of his room wraps around you. It's one of the few places that ever feels still for him, and by extension, for you too.
The door opens, and the shift in the air is immediate.
You look up before he even says anything, your chest tightening the second you see him.
Michael looks exhausted. Not just tired, not just worn down, but drained in a way that settles deep into his bones. His shoulders are tight, pulled upward like he's been bracing himself all day, but they still slump under the weight of it. His eyes don't carry that usual softness, that light that always seems to find you, no matter how chaotic everything else is. Instead, they're heavy, crestfallen, like something in him is just... worn thin.
Your pencil stills in your hand. He doesn't say anything as he walks further into the room, and you don't ask. You can read it all over him.
When he reaches the bed, he doesn't ease himself down: he just drops, the mattress dipping under the sudden weight of him as he flops onto his back beside you. The movement is careless, unguarded, like he doesn't have the energy to be anything else.
You don't hesitate. You set your sketchbook aside without a second thought, forgotten on the bed as your attention shifts completely to him. And almost immediately, like it's instinct, like it's the only place he knows how to go when he's like this, Michael turns into you.
He lowers his head into your lap, letting it rest there as he lets out a deep breath that feels like it's been sitting in his chest all day.
Your fingers slip gently into his curls, slow and careful, moving in that familiar rhythm you've learned over time, the one that always seems to quiet something inside him. You don't speak. You just let your touch say what words don't need to.
For a moment, the room settles into silence.
You can feel how tense he still is at first, the tightness in his shoulders beneath your hands, the way his body holds onto everything he's been carrying. But you stay steady, your fingers moving through his hair, your touch grounding, patient.
And slowly, piece by piece, he starts to let it go.
The tension in his shoulders begins to ease, the stiffness softening under your presence. His breathing, once uneven and shallow, starts to deepen, to slow, to find a steady rhythm again. His eyes slip closed, his lashes resting against his cheeks, and his arms wrap loosely around your legs like he needs to anchor himself there, like this is the one place he knows he can finally stop holding everything together.
You don't move, you just stay there with him, letting him take what he needs.
It's only been a week since he and his brothers got back from the Goin' Places tour, and already, they've been thrown straight back into the studio, working on their new album, Destiny. And on top of that, he's been writing for his own solo album too, something you know means everything to him, something he's been quietly pouring himself into whenever he can find a second to breathe.
But there hasn't been much time to breathe at all.
You've seen it in the way his days blur together, in the way he comes back to Hayvenhurst looking like he's been pulled apart and stitched back together just enough to keep going.
There are nights when he walks through this same door and barely even looks up before heading straight to the shower, and by the time he comes back out, he's already half-asleep. He'll collapse into bed before you can even ask him how his day was, before you can even get more than a quiet "hi" out of him.
Other nights, when you stay over, you don't even see him come in. You're already asleep by the time he finally gets back from the studio, and the only sign he was there at all is the warmth beside you when you wake up.
And when you're not here, when you're at your home, he still tries. He always calls before you go to bed. Even on the nights when you can hear it in his voice, how heavy it is, how he's forcing himself to stay awake just a little longer, just enough to talk to you because he doesn't want to let you down. You can hear the exhaustion in every word, the way his sentences start to slow, to trail off.
Those calls usually end the same way.
His voice faded mid-sentence, his breathing evened out on the other end of the line as he fell asleep without even realizing it, and you never hang up.
You stay there, listening to him breathe, letting that quiet, steady sound settle something in you, too. Knowing he's finally resting, that he's finally getting even a little bit of sleep, helps ease the worry that's been sitting in your chest all day. Eventually, it lulls you to sleep too, the phone still pressed close, like it's the closest thing to being beside him.
There are nights he's so exhausted he forgets to call at all, but even then, he never lets it go.
The next morning, without fail, your phone rings first thing, his voice soft and apologetic as soon as you answer. He always says he's sorry, even when you've told him over and over again that he doesn't need to be, that you understand, that it isn't his fault.
You know exactly where the pressure is coming from. You know how Joseph pulls him and his brothers in every direction he wants, without stopping to consider how much it's costing them, how much it's costing him.
And sitting here now, with his head resting in your lap, his body finally starting to relax under your touch, you feel that ache settle deeper in your chest. You hate what it's doing to him. You hate how much of himself he's having to give away, piece by piece, just to keep everything running.
So you don't say anything, you just keep your fingers in his hair, gentle, steady, letting him have this moment, letting him have you, because right now, it's the only place he gets just to be Michael.
"You okay, baby?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers continue their slow, steady movement through his curls.
Michael opens his eyes, already facing you from where his head rests in your lap, and a soft smile comes onto his face when he looks at you, the kind that isn't forced or performed, just quiet and real, like seeing you is enough to ease something in him, even if it doesn't fix everything.
"You always make things better," he says, and you smile at him, your hand never leaving his hair, but when he sighs, the sound is heavier than before, lingering in the space between you. You slightly frown because you can tell something is on his mind.
"What's going on?" you ask.
"It's just Joseph," he says with a heavy sigh, and you frown immediately, the name settling in your chest with a familiar weight. You're no stranger to Joseph Jackson and his treatment of his kids. You've been friends with LaToya since primary school; you've grown up with and around them, so you're no stranger to Joseph's cruelty, to the way his presence alone can shift the atmosphere of a room, to the way Michael carries it even when he's not there.
"What's he doing now, besides working you and your brothers to the ground?" you ask, your tone still gentle but edged now with something protective, and Michael sighs again, your fingers still moving through his hair as he holds onto your legs a little tighter, like he needs something to steady himself.
"He gave 'permission' for me to work on my solo album, but I still have to do things with the Jacksons, and I love my brothers, you know I do. But I have so many ideas in my head for songs that I want to be my own songs, not songs of the Jacksons," he says, and you frown, not because you think he's wrong but because you hate the pressure he's under.
The way that one word, permission, sits so wrong, because something that belongs to him so deeply shouldn't have to be approved by anyone else, and you hate that he feels like he can't express himself creatively and separately from the group without it.
Music lived in Michael; you've seen that since the day you met him, seen it in the way he disappears into it completely, like it's the only place he's fully himself. And you love the way he gets when he's writing songs. The way he's completely focused, humming melodies under his breath without realizing it, writing like a man running out of time, like the ideas won't wait for him, and you've always been in awe of his process, of how natural it is for him, how alive he looks in those moments.
"That makes sense. You've been performing with your brothers for the last... 15 years, so of course you want to do your own thing," you say, your voice soft but certain, and Michael sighs again, the sound quieter this time but still heavy.
"I'm not a little kid in a band anymore. I've grown up, and I want to be able to express myself creatively," he says, and you nod without hesitation, because he's right, and you lean down to press a kiss against his temple, letting your lips linger there for a second, your hand still in his hair, grounding him in something steady, something that isn't asking anything from him.
"The first step to that is firing Joseph as your manager, baby... which I know is easier said than done, but that's the only way you're going to be able to manage your own career and not be dictated to do things a certain way," you say, your voice gentle but honest, because you won't lie to him just to make it easier.
Michael sighs, snuggling more against you, and you feel it in the way he shifts closer, pressing into your lap like he's trying to stay right here, in this moment, where things are simple, where he doesn't have to make decisions that feel impossible.
He knows you're right, but as you said, it's much easier said than done, and although Michael tries not to show it around you, he's terrified of Joseph. You've seen glimpses of it before: in the way his voice lowers, in the way he chooses his words more carefully, in the way his shoulders tense in a completely different way than they do now.
"I can't do that," he whispers, his voice softer than before, almost fragile, and you nod, not wanting to push because you understand why Michael wouldn't be able to do that on his own. Firing Joseph isn't just firing a manager; he's still Michael's father, and that adds a complicated layer to things that doesn't just go away because it should.
"Whatever you decide to do, Michael... I love you, and I support you no matter what," you say, your voice steady, unwavering, because that part is simple, even if everything else isn't.
Michael lifts his head at your words, sitting up to look fully at you, and he grabs your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours like he needs to hold onto you for what comes next. You can see it in his eyes; he has something to say. His eyes are still soft, they always are when he looks at you, but there's something else there now too, something more serious sitting just beneath it.
"Marry me," he says, and your eyes widen when his words register in your head, the moment stretching in a way that feels almost unreal, like your mind is trying to catch up to something your heart hasn't even had time to process yet.
"W—What?" you ask in shock, and Michael nods, his hands still holding yours, steady, grounding, like he's completely certain even as you're trying to find your footing.
"You're the one thing that's constant in my life. The one person I'm sure about. I love you," Michael says as he gently rubs your knuckles with his thumbs, the motion slow, absent, but intentional, like he needs to keep that contact with you while he says it.
You can see it in his eyes; he does mean it, there's no hesitation there, no doubt, and that's what shocks you even more, the certainty of it, the way he's looking at you like this isn't a question for him, it's already decided.
"I love you too, Michael, but—" he softly cuts you off.
"We've talked about marriage before," he says, and you laugh a little, in disbelief, the sound coming out lighter than how it actually feels in your chest, because you had talked about marriage before, but it was before you two were officially together, when Michael had still just seen you as 'LaToya's best friend,' before feelings got involved, before any of this became real.
"Yes, before we got together and you asked me what type of man I saw myself married to... which in hindsight, I pretty much described you without realizing it," you say with a laugh, and Michael squeezes your hand as he smiles, his fingers tightening around yours just slightly, like he's holding onto that moment, onto you.
"I want to make a decision that is completely my own, my choice... and it's you I'm choosing," he says, and the words settle heavy in your chest, not overwhelming, but significant, like you can feel how much this means to him beyond just the question itself. You take a deep breath as you gently squeeze his hands back, trying to steady yourself, trying to slow everything down just enough to think.
"Michael... marriage is a big deal, we can't just rush into something like this," you say, and Michael shakes his head immediately, the movement small but firm.
"I'm not rushing. I've been thinking about this for years, and even more so when you said you'd be my girl two years ago," he says, and you feel your face getting hot as your cheeks flush, the memory hitting you all at once, how long this has been building for him without you fully realizing it.
"What about your family?" you ask, because that thought comes just as quickly, just as heavy, and he shrugs like it doesn't carry the same weight for him in this moment.
"What about them?" he asks.
"We can't just run off and get married and then what? Keep it a secret?" you ask, your voice soft but grounded, trying to make sense of something that suddenly feels like it's moving too fast and not fast enough all at once, and Michael shakes his head again.
"Not a secret, just ours. We don't have to tell anybody anything," he says, and you look at him, really look at him this time, searching his face for any sign that this is impulsive, that he hasn't thought this through, but you don't find it. His eyes are determined, steady in a way that doesn't waver, but still with that same softness behind them, the same warmth that's always there when he looks at you. He gently squeezes your hand again, and you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you.
"Where are we going to live, Michael? Married couples normally live together," you say, your thoughts trying to catch up, trying to make this practical, real, something you can hold onto, and Michael chuckles softly.
"Baby, we can live here," he says, and you give him a look, because it's not that simple, not really.
"And what would you tell your parents? You're a Jehovah's Witness, I'm sure Momma Katie wouldn't appreciate me randomly moving in here... and what would I tell my parents?" you ask, and Michael sighs as he moves one of his hands from yours and cups your jaw, his touch gentle but steady, guiding your attention back to him, back to this moment instead of everything that comes after it.
"Baby... we can figure all that stuff out later... what I know for certain right now is that I love you, and I want you to be my wife," Michael says. The way he says it, so simple, so sure, makes your chest tighten, because there's no confusion in him, no hesitation, just clarity.
You let out another breath, your thoughts still spinning, your heart caught somewhere between the weight of what this means and the certainty of how you feel about him. It's not that you don't want to marry Michael; you do, you've felt that in quiet moments, in the way you already choose him every day, but you don't want him to decide this impulsively, don't want this to be something he regrets when everything else comes crashing back in.
"I love you, Michael..." you say, and he nods, like that alone is enough to keep him steady. He squeezes your hand, grounding you, and his other hand is still resting on your cheek, warm and familiar, anchoring you in place.
"Marry me, baby... just you and me. I love you so much, and I never want to be without you... marry me," Michael says again, gently kissing your knuckles, and something in you gives at that, the sincerity of it, the way he's asking you not out of pressure but out of love, out of certainty. You feel your eyes watering, the emotion rising faster than you can contain it, and you nod.
"Yes, Michael," you whisper, and the second the words leave your lips, his face lights up, his smile wide and immediate, relief and happiness mixing together as he leans in and kisses you, cupping your jaw as he pulls you close. His arms wrap around your waist, firm and certain, and he pulls you onto his lap without breaking the kiss, holding you there like he never wants to let you go.
Your arms go around his neck as a warmth spreads throughout you, his hands still firm at your waist, holding you close like he's afraid to put any space between you now that you've said yes. The kiss lingers, soft but certain, and you can feel the way everything is shifting all at once, settling and unraveling at the same time.
Were you really going to do this? Getting married spontaneously?
The thought moves through you quickly, not sharp enough to stop you, but present enough to make your chest tighten just a little. It's not that you didn't want to marry Michael; you do. He's the love of your life, and you know that for a fact. There's no hesitation in that, no doubt when it comes to him. But you're both still young; he's 20, you're 22, and his career is still growing, still becoming something bigger every day, something that already pulls at him from every direction.
But even with all of that sitting there, pressing at the edges of your thoughts, one thing stays steady: you know you want this. You want him, now and forever.
When you pull away, it's slow, like neither of you really wants to be the one to break the moment, and Michael follows you just slightly before letting his forehead rest against yours. The contact is grounding, intimate, your breaths still a little uneven as they begin to settle into something calmer, something shared.
"I'll have Bill quietly arrange everything. We can leave tomorrow night," Michael says.
The words are so simple, said like it's already decided, like there's no space for doubt in him at all. Your throat tightens as you swallow, the reality of it landing fully now, how fast this is moving, how real it already is, but you nod anyway, because even with the nerves, even with everything you're thinking, you're not pulling away.
"I love you so much," he says. The softness in his voice wraps around you, and you can feel it, the sincerity of it, the way he means every word without hesitation, and it steadies you more than anything else.
"I love you more, Michael," you whisper. He presses another quick kiss to your lips, light but affectionate, like he can't help himself, before his attention shifts, his eyes flicking toward your sketchbook where it still rests on the bed beside you.
"What were you working on?" he asks.
You smile, a little shy now as you bite your lip, your gaze dropping briefly before you look back at him.
"Just sketching you from memory," you say.
Michael bites down on his lip, that familiar shyness surfacing immediately, the way it always does when the attention turns to him, when you say something like that so easily, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Baby," he says. There's a softness to it, a quiet disbelief that makes your smile widen just a little as you reach for your sketchbook and place it in his hands. You watch him as he looks down at the page, and the reaction is immediate.
His eyes widen slightly, taking in the lines, the details. The way you've defined his face, his brown eyes, soft and warm, his curly afro: it's all there, captured in a way that feels too real, too honest. You can see it hit him, the way his cheeks start to warm, color rising under his skin as a wide smile spreads across his face, unguarded and bright.
He looks up at you, and his eyes soften even more. "This is amazing," he says.
"Well, my muse is always very beautiful," you say.
The words come out light, teasing, but there's truth in them, and it lands on him immediately. Michael flushes again, his gaze dropping as he bites his lip, that same bashful reaction you've seen so many times, and it pulls a quiet giggle out of you. You reach up, gently lifting his head so he has to look at you again, your fingers light against his chin.
"We're really gonna do this?" you ask. There's a softness to the question, but it's real. A final moment of checking, of making sure you're both standing in the same place before everything changes.
Michael nods without hesitation.
"I can't wait to be your husband," Michael says as he kisses you again. The words settle into you differently this time, deeper, more permanent, and you smile as you kiss him back, your hands still resting at his neck, holding onto him as the reality of it sinks in fully.
By this time tomorrow, you're going to be Michael's wife.
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By the next night, you and Michael were in Vegas.
Everything about it feels unreal in a way that hasn't quite settled yet. One day, you were sitting in his room at Hayvenhurst, and now you're here, a hotel room miles away from everything familiar, with a few hours standing between you and becoming his wife.
Joseph never really questioned much when Michael left with Bill. Michael never said where the two of you were going, just that you would be gone for the weekend. That part almost makes it feel easier and harder at the same time. Easier because there were no questions, no obstacles at the moment. Harder because you know what's waiting when you go back.
You were nervous, really nervous.
The kind of nervous that doesn't sit in one place. It settles in your chest, then your stomach, then back again. You didn't know how you were going to tell people... his family and yours. You were worried that his family would think you manipulated him into it since you're older than he is. The thought alone makes your chest tighten, because you know how much he's fought for his own voice, how much this decision means to him. You were worried your mom might have a heart attack, since you got married and she wasn't there to see it, the image of her reaction flashing through your mind in quick, uneasy waves.
"What are you thinking about, pretty girl?"
Michael's soft voice breaks through everything, close enough that you feel it more than just hear it, and you look up from where you're sitting on the bed in your hotel. You and Michael had already obtained your marriage license, and the ceremony was in a few hours, and the reality of that sits between you as you meet his eyes.
"You changing your mind?" he asks.
There's something in his voice he tries to hide, but you hear it anyway. Fear. Worry. The quiet possibility that maybe this is too much, too fast, that maybe you don't want this anymore.
"No, baby, of course not," you say, reaching your hand out for him without hesitation.
Michael moves toward you immediately, like he doesn't want to waste even a second of that reassurance, taking your hand as soon as he's close enough. You pull him down next to you, needing him close, needing that contact just as much as he does.
"I love you," you say. Michael leans over and kisses your temple, the gesture soft and familiar, grounding in a way that makes everything else fade just a little.
"I love you more," he says, and then he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just slightly as his eyes stay on your face. "But I can tell you're thinking about something," he continues.
You turn to him and smile, your gaze softening as you really look at him, letting yourself take him in fully for a moment.
His afro is perfectly curly and fluffed, shaped in that effortless way that somehow still feels intentional, like every detail about him carries its own kind of care. He's wearing a white suit, clean and sharp, with a light pink button-up shirt underneath, the color soft against his skin, warm and gentle in a way that suits him completely. There's something about seeing him like this, knowing what this moment means, that makes your chest tighten all over again, but this time it's not nerves, it's something deeper.
Your hand comes up to rest against his jaw, your thumb brushing lightly against his skin as you hold his gaze.
"I'm just worried about how your family is going to react... and I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you... I just don't want Joseph to..." You trail off, shaking your head because you don't want to think of it, don't want to put words to something that already feels heavy enough.
"Rebbie and Marlon got married when they were 18, Jermaine got married at 19, and my parents were fine. I'm 20," Michael says.
You nod, because you knew that. You've always known the stories, the patterns, the way things have unfolded in his family before. But you also know something else.
Michael isn't treated the same as his siblings. He never has been, and he's sometimes had rebellious streaks against Joe, ever since he was little.
You remember Katherine telling you the story of how Michael threw one of his bottles with perfect precision at Joseph when he was a baby, a story told with a softness that didn't quite hide the tension beneath it. His brothers told you how he used to run from Joseph, how quick he was, how sometimes Joseph didn't catch him. You remember the way they laughed when they said it, but you also remember the look in Michael's eyes when he listened.
"I know, baby... but you know Joseph sees you differently than your brothers... he sees you as—"
"The money maker," Michael says, cutting you off. The words land harder coming from him than they ever could from you, flat and certain, like something he's accepted even if it hurts.
You frown immediately, your hand still resting against his jaw, your thumb stilling for just a second before moving again. Michael has expressed to you multiple times that he knows Joseph only sees him as a paycheck, and he said before, when he was younger, back when he and his brothers first became The Jackson 5, he would perform so hard and try to make sure everything was perfect, because he felt that if he were perfect, maybe Joseph would show him even the tiniest slither of love and fatherly affection, but he never did.
"You're so much more than that, Michael... you know that, right?" you ask. Michael shrugs, his gaze dropping slightly, going quiet like he normally does when the conversation gets hard, like he's retreating into himself just a little.
You don't let him stay there. You gently turn his face, guiding him back to you, making sure he looks at you, really looks.
"Michael... you're more than what Joseph says you are. You're kind, genuine, funny, beautiful... and I love you so much," you say. Michael bites down on his lip as he shyly smiles, the reaction immediate, almost automatic, like he doesn't quite know what to do with being seen like that, with being told something so certain and so different from what he's been given before.
"You really think so?" Michael asks.
The question is soft, almost careful, like part of him still expects the answer to change. You smile at him, your expression steady, unwavering.
"If I told you everything now, I wouldn't have anything left to say in my vows," you say.
Michael laughs at that, the sound lighter, freer, and he pulls you closer to his side, his arm wrapping around you as he presses another kiss to your temple, lingering just slightly like he needs that closeness.
"You ready?" Michael asks.
You nod, even though your heart is still racing, even though everything about this moment feels big and overwhelming and right all at once.
He looks you over again, and this time you feel it, the weight of his gaze as he takes you in fully.
Since you're getting married in Vegas and not having a big wedding ceremony, you chose an ivory colored dress, knee-length. The fabric is soft and light, the skirt falling gently, the sleeves sheer and delicate, catching the light every time you move. It's simple compared to what a wedding is "supposed" to be, but standing here now, it feels exactly right.
Michael smiles again, his heart feeling full; he couldn't believe this was happening. You can see it in the way his expression softens, in the way his eyes linger on you like he's trying to memorize every detail.
"You look so beautiful," he says.
And the way he says it: quiet, certain, and completely in awe, makes everything else fall away for just a moment, until it's just you and him, standing on the edge of something that's about to change everything.
"So do you," you say, and Michael bites down on his lip, that familiar, shy reaction surfacing again as the compliment settles into him, his smile soft but full as you both stand up from the bed. His hand finds yours immediately, your fingers locking together as if grounding each other before everything shifts.
You walk toward the door together, side by side, and when it opens, Bill is already waiting just on the outside, calm and steady as always, ready to take you to the chapel. You take a deep breath as you both step out, the air outside the room feeling different, heavier somehow now that this is really happening, and Michael nods at Bill, quiet but certain.
Bill escorts you both to the elevator, his presence reassuring without being overwhelming, giving you space while still being right there. The ride down feels quicker than it should, like time is moving faster now, and before you can fully sit with it, he's guiding you both out through the back private entrance where the car is waiting.
Once you two are in and settled, Bill starts the drive.
The movement of the car is smooth and steady, but your thoughts aren't. They drift, pulling you back to the first time you met him. When LaToya had invited you over after school once to hang out, and Bill had been there, watching quietly, observing in that way he does. He had assessed you without making it obvious, making sure you weren't a crazy fan girl using her to get to her brothers. You hadn't even realized it at the time, not fully, but looking back now, it makes sense.
He's always been like this: quiet, steady, observant, and safe.
You love how much he supports and cares for Michael, how he's always been there in a way that's calm and consistent, never demanding, never overwhelming. He's the real father that Michael deserves, and you're glad that Bill is here, especially tonight, to keep Michael balanced by being the opposite of how Joseph is.
"You two ready for this?" Bill asks.
His voice is even, grounded, and there's no judgment in it, not even a hint. He's not questioning your decision; he's checking in. Making sure this is what you both want, because he understands what this means. Marriage isn't small; it isn't something to take lightly, and he cares about both of you too much not to ask.
"I am... this is what I want," Michael says as he looks at you.
His words are steady, but it's the way he looks at you that makes your chest tighten, like everything else fades just for a second, and it's only the two of you in this moment. You smile back at him, the nerves still there but softened by the certainty in his gaze.
"Me too," you say.
Michael leans over and kisses the top of your head, the gesture gentle and grounding, like he's sealing something between you without needing anything more than that. Bill nods from the front, saying nothing else, but you feel his support.
It settles quietly around you both, something unspoken but clear, and you're grateful for it, especially knowing what's coming. Because this isn't something that can stay hidden forever. Eventually, Michael's family will find out, and when they do... You don't know how it will go. But knowing Bill is on your side, on both of your sides, makes it feel just a little less overwhelming.
The car pulls up to the chapel, and everything sharpens again.
Bill escorts you both in through the back, moving carefully, intentionally. The last thing you need is for paparazzi and cameras to spot Michael Jackson walking into a wedding chapel. This moment is yours, and he's making sure it stays that way.
Inside, it's quieter than you expected.
Bill was going to be serving as your witness, and the weight of that sits gently but firmly in the back of your mind as you and Michael sit down to wait for your turn. Your hands are still intertwined, fingers laced together like neither of you wants to let go, and Michael's thumb moves slowly against your palm, a soft, repetitive motion that tells you everything he's not saying out loud.
He can feel your nerves, and he's trying to soothe them the only way he knows how.
He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before squeezing your hand, the contact warm and reassuring. When you turn to look at him, something in you settles, the nervous energy easing just a little as you take him in again.
You're about to marry the love of your life.
The thought lands differently this time, less overwhelming, more grounding, and you smile at him, the emotion soft but steady in your chest. Michael smiles back, his eyes warm, certain, as your names are called.
The sound pulls you both to your feet, and together, you, Michael, and Bill make your way into the chapel, where the minister is already waiting at the altar. The space feels small, intimate, like it was made for moments like this, quiet and personal.
Michael gently squeezes your hand again as you walk down the aisle, each step bringing the reality closer, making it more real with every second. You can feel it in the way his grip tightens just slightly, not out of doubt, but out of presence, like he's fully here with you in this moment.
He squeezes your hand again as you get in front of the minister, and you present your marriage license, the paper suddenly feeling more significant than it did before, like it holds everything you're about to become.
The minister asks about a witness, and Bill stands without hesitation, his presence steadying both you and Michael in a quiet, reassuring way. He's here; you're not alone in this.
The minister does his introduction, his voice calm and practiced, before turning it over to you and Michael for your vows. Michael smiles, soft and encouraging, gesturing for you to go first.
You take a deep breath, your fingers tightening around his just slightly as you feel everything settle into this one moment.
"Michael... I remember the first time I met you, when LaToya had gotten permission for me to spend the night after a weekend at school, and you were this adorable, shy little boy. We've grown up together, and you're still adorable and shy, but I've also seen you come into your own person, and I'm so proud of you, I'm so proud to be with you. You're such a light in this world and in my life, and there's so much magic in you. I can't wait to see where you go next, and I'm honored that you've chosen me to be by your side during it. I'll always be by your side. I love you, Michael," you say.
Your voice holds steady longer than you expect it to, but the emotion is there, threaded through every word, sitting just beneath the surface. As you speak, the memories move through you just as vividly as the moment itself, him younger, quieter, watching from a distance, and now standing in front of you, holding your hands like he never wants to let go. By the time you finish, your chest feels tight with it, your grip on his hands just a little firmer.
Michael has tears running down his face.
They slip down slowly, quietly, like he's not even fully aware of them at first. His eyes don't leave yours, wide and soft and completely open, and it pulls something deeper out of you, your own vision blurring as tears gather and fall down your cheeks too.
And you know you're going to cry harder when Michael gets to his vows.
"I also remember that first time we met, and I remember thinking, ' Wow, she has to be an angel in disguise, but she probably only sees me as LaToya's little brother,' and for a while, you did," he says, and there's a small, breathy laugh between you, the sound breaking through the emotion just enough to let you breathe as you both laugh while you squeeze his hands.
"But somewhere along the way, in all the time we've spent together, getting to know you outside of being my older sister's friend, I gave my heart over to you. I couldn't help but fall in love with you, and every day I fall more in love with you. I know we're young, but I also know this is meant to be, and together we can do anything. I love you," he says.
His voice isn't perfectly steady, but it doesn't waver in meaning, in certainty. It's all there in the way he looks at you, like there's no version of his life where you aren't standing right here with him.
He reaches up, his hand gentle as he wipes the tears from your cheeks, his thumb brushing under your eyes with so much care, even as tears are still falling from his own. He doesn't try to hide them. He doesn't pull away from them. He just stays right there with you, open and vulnerable in a way that feels rare and real.
The minister takes you through the rest of the ceremony, his voice guiding you both forward, grounding the moment in something official, something binding. The exchanging of rings feels heavier than the metal itself, the promises spoken carrying more weight now that they're being sealed, made real in front of someone else, in front of the life you're stepping into.
And then it happens: he pronounces you both husband and wife. The words settle into the air, into your chest, into everything, and for a second it feels like time pauses just long enough for you to feel it fully.
He tells Michael he can kiss his bride.
Michael smiles immediately, wide and bright despite the tears still clinging to his lashes, and he pulls you to him without hesitation, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is warm and sure, filled with everything that's just been said and everything that hasn't needed to be.
You smile into it as you kiss him back, your hands finding him just as quickly, holding onto him as the feeling settles deep inside of you, wrapping around your chest, your ribs, your entire being with a warmth that feels steady and real.
You're officially his wife.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
When you and Michael get back to Hayvenhurst, you feel giddy and a little nervous all at once, the emotions sitting side by side in your chest in a way that makes it hard to separate one from the other. The drive back feels like it passed too quickly and too slowly at the same time, and now that you're here, standing just outside the front door, the reality of it settles in again.
You get back early in the morning and hope that nobody is awake.
When you walk into the house, you're met by quiet, the kind that feels almost protective, like the walls themselves are giving you this moment, and you let out a breath of relief you didn't even realize you were holding. Michael's hand is still in yours, his grip firm but warm, like he's feeling the same mix of anticipation and nerves.
You and Michael go up to his bedroom, your steps instinctively quieter now, careful against the stillness of the house. He reaches for the door and quietly opens it, and when he steps inside, he pauses for just a second before turning back to you, a soft smile spreading across his face.
"What?" you ask, tilting your head slightly, curiosity flickering through you at the look on his face.
"Isn't it a tradition that I have to carry my wife over the threshold?" he says.
The word hits you again, wife, and your cheeks warm instantly as you start blushing, a quiet laugh slipping out of you, light and a little breathless.
"You goof," you say.
Michael just smiles wider at that, his eyes bright with something playful and affectionate as he steps closer, reaching down without hesitation and lifting you into his arms. The movement is gentle but sure, like he's been waiting to do it, like he's been holding onto that thought the whole way back.
Your arms wrap around his neck automatically, holding onto him as you let out another soft laugh, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. He carries you into the bedroom, steady and careful, his presence grounding even in something as simple as this.
He softly closes the door with his foot behind him, the quiet click sealing you both inside, away from everything else, and carries you over to the bed. He lowers you down gently, like he's placing something precious, taking his time before straightening up and walking over to the record player.
You watch him as he flips through the records with familiar ease before settling on your favorite album, Songs in the Key of Life by Stevie Wonder. Something is comforting about that, about how naturally he reaches for something that belongs to you, too. The music starts low and quiet, filling the room just enough without disturbing the stillness of the house.
Michael walks back over to you, and you steady your breath as you sit on the bed and wait for him, your fingers smoothing absentmindedly over the fabric of your dress, your heartbeat just a little faster now.
Instead of sitting beside you, he hovers over you, his movements slow and unhurried, like time has stretched just for the two of you, like there's nowhere else he needs to be, nowhere else he wants to be. The look in his eyes softens into something warm and deeply affectionate, something that makes your chest tighten in the best way as he leans down and kisses you.
At that exact moment, the record in the room shifts.
The gentle opening notes of Knocks Me Off My Feet begin to drift through the room, soft and soulful and almost eerily perfectly timed, like the music itself understands the way the air between you has changed.
The kiss isn't rushed or urgent; it's warm and searching and full of quiet feeling, like he's trying to memorize you, like he's holding onto this moment as something that belongs entirely to the two of you.
You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, kissing him back just as slowly, just as deeply, drawing him closer until the steady warmth of his body settles fully against yours. His presence is familiar, comforting, but there's something new layered into it now, too, something deeper that comes with the weight of what you've just become to each other.
Stevie's voice begins to float through the space, and the entire room seems to narrow down to this bed, this moment, this man... your husband in your arms.
Michael's hands slide gently to the hem of your dress, his touch careful, unhurried, his fingers slipping underneath the fabric and brushing softly against your bare skin in slow, reverent passes. There's no rush in him, no urgency, just a quiet, steady closeness, like even this moment is something he wants to take his time with, something he wants to feel fully.
And the way he touches you, the way he holds you, says everything he hasn't needed to put into words.
Michael gently cups your breasts in his hands, gently squeezing them and teasing your nipples with his fingers, which makes you moan in his mouth as your back arches slightly, pushing your breasts further into his hands. You've always loved how big his hands are, for moments like this, how they can cup you fully.
Michael momentarily breaks the kiss, his voice gently telling you to turn around. You feel his hand on your shoulder as he slowly unzips your dress, sliding the fabric from your shoulders and letting it pool at your waist before sliding it down and carefully discarding it to the ground.
Then he turns you around and leans back down to kiss you again. Your hands run down his chest. You slide his jacket off his shoulders and slowly undo the rest of his buttons on his shirt. Your hands roam again, slowing at his torso as you mess with the waistband of his pants. You can already feel the growing length beneath your palm, and he's pulsing, just like you're throbbing.
Michael slides his shirt from his body as your unbuckling his belt to help him out of his pants. The kiss never breaks as you two slowly undress each other. Michael unclasps your bra and lets it fall, his hands roaming down your body as your hands stop at the waistband of his boxers once his pants are off.
He kisses you deeper when he feels you pulling his boxers down, his length coming free from their constraints, and you immediately grab him. You feel his breath hitch against you, but his kisses don't slow; instead, they get heavier, a bit quicker as you stroke him with your hand. You feel his breathing get heavier through your kiss as your hand moves slowly against him, drawing out the feeling.
One of Michael's hands trails down your body until he's cupping you outside of your panties. Your breath slightly hitches, but neither of you stops kissing the other. Michael moves the bottom of your panties aside, giving himself enough room to rub his thumb over your clit. At his movements, your hand starts moving faster against him, making him groan.
"Baby," he mumbles roughly against your lips, but neither of you stops. Michael pushes a finger inside of you while your hand still pumps him, alternating between moving quicker and slower. You moan into his mouth, and he slightly speeds up his thumb against your clit and his finger moving inside of you.
"Michael," your moan comes out as a slight whimper, and his breathing is rough against your neck. He peppers kisses across your neck as your thumb slides over his tip, and you feel him slightly shudder. You spread the precum you feel, using it to slide your hand back down his length again to the base, and you feel his fingers moving quicker. Your hips buck and grind, matching the pace of his thrusts, and you lean your head back into the pillow as you moan louder.
"I love seeing you like this," Michael murmurs as he presses a kiss to your throat, right where he can feel your pulse quickening, but he does love seeing you come apart under him. He loves seeing you pleased and making sure you reach pleasure before he does. You feel yourself getting closer, and Michael groans again when your grip tightens against him as his fingers speed up in you.
Your thighs start shaking as your orgasm comes, you cry out Michael's name, and he kisses you, deeply, his tongue immediately slipping its way inside as you ride out the wave of your orgasm. When Michael pulls his fingers out of you, they're slick with your release, and you feel your face flushing.
Michael brings his fingers to his lips and licks them clean before kissing you again. You can taste yourself on him, but still taste him in his kiss. You're the one to pull away, still gripping him in your hand. You let go and use your hands to push Michael to sit, and then you get on your knees in front of him, between his legs.
You grip him at the base again before leaning in. Your lips slide down the outside of his length, your tongue slowly licking at him, and Michael's breath hitches. He had already been close, just when you were using your hand, now he felt he was going to explode. When your tongue slowly trails back up, you stop at the head, seeing the pre cum sitting at the tip, and you rub it with your thumb to spread it before taking him into your mouth.
Michael's body shudders on contact, and he moans when he feels your tongue glide over the tip, lapping up the precum. His fingers immediately go to your hair; he doesn't pull it, he just grips it, tighter as you move. You take more of him slowly into your mouth, inch by inch, leaving your hand at the base, stroking what won't fit inside.
"You always feel so good," Michael chokes out between his moans as your pace quickens. His hands grip your hair tighter, but not enough to hurt, as you take him deeper, until you feel him closer to the back of your throat. You pause for a minute to breathe before slowly sliding back up his length, slower this time to draw it out, and Michael shudders. You feel him twitching inside of your mouth as you move again, knowing he's close.
"I need to be inside of you, baby, please," Michael says as he pulls you up from him. You're slightly gasping for breath, your chest heavy as it rises and falls. Michael lays you down, sliding your panties down your legs until they're off, and then he spreads your legs apart as he comes between you. His body flushes against yours as he lines himself up to you.
He pushes inside of your slickness with one long thrust, making you both moan at the contact. Your legs wrap around his waist, squeezing him closer. He leans down and kisses you as he moves, pushing himself into you inch by inch until your bodies press together. Your body stretches for him, like it knows that he's exactly where he belongs. Then his hips begin to roll, his strokes pushing slowly and deep.
He didn't want to just fuck you; he wanted to make love to you.
He wanted to show you how much he loved you, show you how much you mean to him, how happy he is that you're his wife. He wanted you to feel his love in ways he was still discovering how deeply it ran, and ever since the two of you said 'I do,' he'd been wanting to be buried deep inside of you for hours.
Michael's lips attach to your neck and collarbone as he presses warm, open-mouthed kisses against your flushed skin. Knocks Me off My Feet by Stevie is still playing in the background, and Michael leans towards your ear. "Oh, but I love you, I love you, I love you," he sings that specific part just for you, as you let out another moan.
"I–I love you... more," you choke out between your moans. You feel it coming, the pressure building until it explodes. The orgasm rips through you, making you shake and slightly convulse under him. Michael gently grips your hips to keep you still, as his thrusts get slower, but remain as deep.
Michael's voice stays soft against your ear as he guides you through the fading waves, his hands steady on your hips while your body trembles beneath him.
"Stay with me... Baby, stay with me," he whispers as he brings you through it.
Your legs are still shaking, muscles fluttering helplessly, your body giving those small, involuntary jolts that come after something overwhelming and all-consuming. Michael's name keeps spilling from your lips in breathless repetition, like you can't quite hold it in, like the sound of him is the only thing anchoring you back down.
You feel the subtle twitch inside you before the warmth follows, and soon he releases too, your name coming out quietly like both a cry and a prayer from his lips as he fills you.
You lift your head just enough to catch his mouth, kissing him while he slowly rolls his hips, the movement gentle now, grounding rather than urgent, easing both of you down from the edge together. Your breaths are heavy and tangled, mingling in the small space between you as your foreheads come to rest together, skin damp and warm and completely spent.
Michael leans down to kiss you again, slower this time, more tender than before, as his arms pull your body fully against his. When he finally pulls back, his fingers move with familiar care, smoothing your hair back behind your ear before he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
He gently lets you go, settling you back against the pillows before slipping off the bed and heading into the bathroom. The quiet domestic rhythm that has always been second nature between you unfolds easily, the sound of running water, the soft rustle of fabric, and when he returns, the warm cloth in his hand is just the right temperature as he carefully cleans you up the way he always does, unhurried and attentive, and so gentle it makes your chest ache a little.
He takes care of himself next, efficiently but quietly, before discarding the used towels and reaching for a fresh pair of boxers. When he pulls them on, he leaves his chest bare, familiar and comforting, and then he grabs one of his t-shirts and brings it back to you.
You slip it over your head, the soft cotton falling around you, and you inhale instinctively, eyes closing as his scent surrounds you, warm and comforting and so unmistakably him.
Michael walks back to the bed and gathers you into his arms without hesitation, pulling you into the steady heat of his body. You melt into him easily, your arms circling his torso as you settle your head against his chest, right over his heart. You can feel and hear the steadiness of his heartbeat.
"I'm glad we did this," you whisper to him.
"Made love?" he asks, a small tease in his voice, and it pulls a quiet laugh out of you, soft and warm against his skin.
"Well, yes... but, I mean, I'm glad we got married, Michael... whatever your family thinks or reacts... We'll face it together," you say. The words come out softer than you expect, but steadier too, because even with everything waiting on the other side of this moment, you know one thing for certain: you won't be facing it alone.
Michael's expression softens in that quiet way you've come to recognize, the kind that doesn't need to be big to mean everything, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for just a second.
"I'm so glad you're my wife," he whispers.
The word settles differently now... wife.
You press a soft kiss to his bare chest, your eyes still closed, completely at ease as you stay wrapped around each other, your body fitting against his like it always has, like it always will. The steady rhythm of the rain outside blends with the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, both of them quiet and constant, wrapping around you in a way that feels safe and full and quietly perfect.
"I love you," you whisper.
"I love you more," Michael responds, his arms tightening around you just slightly, pulling you closer, like even in sleep he won't let you drift too far.
And wrapped in each other's warmth, the world outside held at a distance for just a little while longer, you fall asleep on your wedding night, feeling completely loved and fully safe in each other.
pairings; jermajesty jackson x black!fem!reader, but there’s only a brief description. So everyone can read this.
summary; jermajesty is on a boys trip with his brothers and a few friends, and he misses his girl.
warnings; pet names(baby), phone sex, mutual masturbation
a/n: yall, this is very short, and i’m dipping my toes into this. So, BEAR WITH ME😫
“can you make me cum on facetime?”
you had just exited the shower, moisturized and smelling good. you quickly slipped on a tank top and some shorts before climbing onto your bed, grabbing your laptop to facetime your boyfriend, jermajesty.
for the past few days, jermajesty has been on vacation with his brothers and a few close friends in hawaii. the both of you facetime each other almost every night.
you missed him a little extra today.
the call connected, and jermajesty’s face appeared on the large screen of your laptop. a smile was already painting his lips. the same smile that made your knees weak. his shirt was missing, and he was presumably walking around somewhere in his airbnb.
“hi, baby,” you murmured, a happy look falling over your face.
“hello, my beautiful girl,” he replied with a grin, clearly happy to see you, too.
the conversation flowed as any other; you told each other about your day, your plans, and even talked about dumb things as usual.
but jermajesty’s mind began to wander and so did yours. every few seconds, he’d catch himself staring at your cleavage in your tiny tank top. tan lines peeking through.
not that you were oblivious. because you most definitely weren’t. it was like he wasn’t even trying to hide the way his chocolate brown eyes kept drifting down your body. but you were also pretty sure he noticed your stares too.
he’d been at the beach today, and the way his tan settled onto his skin made you wanna take a bite out of him.
he was now sitting in a desk chair in his room, his phone propped up against an unknown object. he’s visible from the hips and up.
damn, he looks so fucking good.
“baby,” he muttered, making your eyes return back up to his face.
you hummed in response.
“show me something.”
“what?” you play oblivious.
but you now exactly what he means. you can tell by the way he keeps eyeing you.
he chuckles lowly, deep and sexy. one that stirs the heat between your thighs.
“let me see that pussy.”
your stomach flipped. you hadn’t expected him to be so bold about it.
“boy,” you laugh at his bluntness, but you sat up.
“please,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
he looked to good not to. his eyes still dragging over you.
you shifted, scooting your laptop as you sat up on your knees. you positioned the camera so that it was showing all of your body.
“you miss me that much?” you asked with a teasing smile.
your fingers toyed with the hem of your tank top. half from anticipation and half from excitement.
“i miss you so much,” he says, now focused on you tugging your shorts down your hips.
your movement is agonizingly slow, the soft brown thickness of your thighs being revealed completely. you proceed to pull your shorts all the way off, now left in your panties and tank top.
jermajesty watches you like a hawk, already slightly squirming in his seat. he looks at you and you can tell he wants more. but you wanna see more of him.
“‘s your turn.”
he grins at the tone of your voice and moves without hesitation. he lifts his hips slightly, pulling his shorts and underwear down in one.
someone’s eager.
his dick springs out, thick and hardening. his eyes don’t leave you though.
unashamed, you stare hard, mouth practically watering.
by the next second, your pulling your legs out from under you and slipping your panties off. they land on the bedroom floor, right beside of your shorts.
“spread those pretty legs for me,” jermajesty demands, his cock a now in his right hand.
you obey, parting your knees to reveal that pink heat between your thighs.
jermajesty audibly groaned when he laid his sight on your cunt. he stroked his cock slowly, one large hand tightly wrapped around it.
one of your hands slid down, the pads of your middle and ring finger running through your glistening folds. you’d been wet since the moment you saw his shirt off.
you watched him closely as he stroked himself, his concentration solely on the way your fingers massage your clit.
“so fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” he rasped, his hand speeding up slightly as he found a rhythm.
your fingers slid down to your entrance, eyes still locked on the way his hands move. two finger slide into the wet warmth of your pussy, earning a pleasured sigh from you.
after finding a steady pace, you couldn’t help but crave more. jermajesty eyebrows were knitted together, his hand moving faster. your fingers plunged deeper, the pace quickening.
both your thighs trembled moderately, and your hips bucked up briefly into your own touch. the sound of your cunt were disgustingly gorgeous, soaking the sheets beneath you as you neared the edge.
jermajesty’s hand moved erratically, his abdomen tightening up. the quiet groans that left him turned you on even more. they always do.
“fuck,” you whined, “‘m coming.”
your lower belly felt like a rubber band finally being release after immense stress. you came with loud moan, and your fingers didn’t stop as you dragged out your orgasm.
the sounds that left you pushed jermajesty right to his climax. he groaned, abs tightening as he came.
spurts of nut landed on his hand and lower abdomen. the sight alone made you wanna cum again.
he let out a breath, coming down from the intensity of this. you let out an airy chuckle, your chest heaving.
A/N: Inspired by this twt vid. I’m making a book for Wattpad and thought of a scene that would probably suit it…which is this. Still a beginner by the way, not too much. No specified name of fem reader. porn with no plot btw.
Tw: smut, spit, oral (both parties)
18+
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Lemme try somethin.” She stood up and turned her body parallel from him. He couldn’t fight the sharp inhale, seeing her glistening pussy in front of his face.
Michael felt his mouth salivate, swallowing before he seemed like an inexperienced grown man — which he was. She adjusted backwards a bit until her face was directly above his pulsing dick.
“You ready baby?” She asked him in a sultry tone, grasping him in her hand causing his stomach to contract from the new feeling. A small ‘mhm’ left his mouth, too focused on the need to shove his tongue between her wet folds.
As soon as her warm mouth captured his length, his tongue darted out to connect with her pussy. She knew he was an eater but she may have underestimated him a bit as he continued to suck and lick all over her clit.
She took a deep breath trying to calm herself down enough to return the favor. She took him deeper in her mouth, swirling her tongue around. He moaned into her pussy, tongue flicking rapidly, sending pleasurable vibrations through her body.
She couldn’t help the soft moans spilling out of her mouth, muffled from his dick practically in her throat. She felt spit foaming in her mouth as it dripped down his length, her head constantly in a bobbing motion.
He gripped her hips tightly, eyes rolling back at her tongue providing him the pleasure he wasn’t used to. He was always to himself, too scared to interact with girls for too long — believing they’ll get tired of him.
But this — her mouth, her pussy and her moans — he’s glad she’s the one to take him this far. His eyes closed relishing in the taste of her, he never knew he could enjoy this so much. He always thought his brothers were over exaggerating when they spoke about their sexual festivities with women but he may just truly be in heaven.
Her hand came down to gently grab his balls, massaging them between her fingers. They sat heavy and warm in her palm, just begging for a nut.
His grip tightened against her ass, holding on to anything to ground himself into the new sensations. His whimpers were muffled by her pussy in his mouth but they didn’t go unnoticed. He bucked his hips automatically, pushing him farther down her throat.
Her throat accommodated the farther intrusion, feeling him hit the back of it. He was pushing her mouth to the limit, Michael is just truly that big. As she continued working her magic on him enjoying the equal amount of pleasure, she felt movement behind her.
She glanced back noticing Michael scooting up a bit, leaving his original position where he was flat on his back. He began to prop himself up on to the cotton white pillows on her bed. “M-Michael?” She questioned.
His eyes were closed, hands kneading her ass like dough. Her breathing became uneven and rattled at his desperation to please her. She tried to focus back on her original task, taking his still hard dick in her mouth but that only encouraged him.
She felt him lean back a bit giving the smallest amount of air between his mouth and her pussy before spitting directly on it. She gasped in shock, not expecting that from him. Before she could protest, he went back in spreading the liquid around. She couldn’t deny the fact that it turned her on even more.
“Oh f-fuck, M-Mike wait.” She told him as her legs shook. Her eyes rolled back, as her hands gripped the sheets. Her hips grinded into his mouth, giving him more leeway to stick his tongue inside of her pussy.
“Oooo shit.” She cried out, her head fell onto the bed, while his dick stood stiffly beside her head. His tongue made constant circles on her pussy as he mindlessly ate her out. He couldn’t think about anything else but her taste on his tongue.
She came to the conclusion, he was absolutely pussy-drunk. The pleasure coursed through her veins, almost becoming too much as she inched forward. She felt his head slightly chase after her wetness, not wanting to disconnect his lips from her.
Before she could even get a few centimeters farther, his hands gripped her hips pulling her back to fully cover his mouth. “Mmm come back mama.” He mumbled holding her against his mouth.
She could’ve cried as his lips wrapped around her clit, giving it a firm suck causing her legs to shake. Her breathing sped up as he moved her hips up and down his face, tongue dragging all through her folds.
“You gon’ make me cum baby.” She whimpered out. Him hearing those words gave him a second wind, tongue flicking against her clit with the speed of lightning.
The room filled with her moans, and the wet sounds of his tongue swirling against her pussy which made her cry out. By the hard grasp she had onto his knee he can tell she was close. “Cum mama.” He mumbled.
Those two words made her body tense up before feeling that surge of pleasure release through her. Michael’s mouth stayed opened and ready, licking up her nectar coming out of her clenching hole.
He licked her through her orgasm, finally loosening his grip on her. She panted, turning to fall flat on her back on the bed. “Michael what the fuck?” She said still in utter disbelief.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, doe eyes staring innocently at her.
“I liked that, can we do it again?”
A/n: I’m working on my writing but I did want to try this idea. Hope it was a bit alright!
what is this whole baenation thing, guys, what the heck. i agree that maddies views, IF SHE STILL HAS THEM, about zionism is completely wrong and inhumane, but once again we don't know if she has changed opinions. asking her for nudes (can i say that without censoring?), whimper audios and even DOXXING her is genuinely out of line. what did yall do to chris brown when we found out he was beating rihanna? nothing, yall went to buy even more albums. why are we now abusing two INNOCENT brothers and a brothers' fiancée? anyone who was in th baenation gc and JOINED in these horrible acts can genuinely block me bc i want nothing to do with people who glorify such acts. learn how to remember that a celeb is a CELEBRITY that you will probably never meet, let alone date. maddie is dating jaafar, and the only way that ends is if THEY decide to end it, not because you spam maddies insta posts with death threats. I hope my message is clear.
heyy queen how are you? Any makai lemon fics coming up???
yes yes! really soon, but bare w me! I have 60 other requests , yall are so creative with these tho!! imma just have a day where i drop a BUNCH of fics.
Genre: SMUT!!(MDNI), Established Relationship. University!AU
Warnings: AGAIN SMUT!! (MDNI), I mean pure filth. Que-Dawg!Jermajesty (Valid warning). Jermajesty pretends to be non-chalant(ends up very chalant.) Cussing. Use of the ‘n’ word. Jealous!Jerpapi. Arguing. Reader is manhandled more than once. Violence. Reader is referred to as Jermajesty’s “Bitch”, Car sex. Toe sucking. Coochie slapping (once). Oral!(Fem. Receiving). Squirting! P in V, Unprotected! Possessive sex. Slight breeding kink (?), Slight dacryphilia (?). Twin I can’t lie, this is overly freaked out..
Summary: Everyone knows that you and Jermajesty are the ‘it’ couple on campus. Everyone also knows your boyfriend is president of the most notorious frat there, Omega Psi Phi. At the biggest party of the year, during their routine stroll, Jermajesty gets a little too beside himself. Since you aren’t one to be taken for a fool, you decide to get beside someone else.
W.C: 5.4k
Author’s Note: Credit for this log idea and moodboard goes straight to @siiighrns. Y’all, I fear I went a lil ham on this one. BUT it’s really good! (I’m biased). As always, thank you for reading! Share what you think, reblog if you love it!
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The music is already shaking the walls by the time you step inside. Heat hits first, then the smell of smoke, sweat, and liquor. Bodies press shoulder to shoulder, and people dance wherever they can find space; others cling to the walls like a lifeline. Someone’s yelling over the music about body shots, a sorority girl is laughing too loudly, and in the darker corners of the house, couples are already latching onto each other, swapping a little more than spit. Homecoming always does this: turns the whole campus into one restless cesspool of drunk, loud, horny twenty-somethings. This party is the one everybody’s been waiting for; the football game against the opposing university had been won with a staggering victory, and now it was time to let loose. Omega Psi Phi always does it big, and this year is no exception.
You stick close to your girls as you move through the crowd, eyes adjusting, taking it all in. The energy bothers you. Everything feels too loud, maybe even reckless. The mess around you isn’t your problem; Jermajesty is. The way he’d been acting all day had pissed you off. Short answers, stuck off in his phone, hellbent on like you were his biggest inconvenience.
You tried to talk to him more than once, wanting to know what crawled so far up his ass and died that he’d call you ‘bruh’ for most of the day. Still, he gave you nothing but annoyed sighs and kissed teeth. Fed up, you decided to go to the party on your own. Since your boyfriend wanted to act like you were such a bother, he didn’t have to worry about you.
Now you’re here, scoping out the scene, almost sure he’s cooled off by now. It doesn’t take long to find him, and when you do, your stomach drops. ‘Off the Leash’ by Gucci Mane blares in the background. He’s locked in on some bitch like you don’t even exist. She’s all up on him, titties nearly spilling out of her cheap dress, laughing and feeling on his arms. He’s eating it up, rolling his head from side to side, tongue flicking out with a smile, moving like he’s a free agent. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere in the crowd. The chain you got him for his birthday glints in the light against the wife-beater he had on underneath. His large frame hovers over hers. The muscles in his back flex as he moves. You stare for a second too long, and his eyes catch yours, winking before pushing himself back onto the girl.
“This nigga trippin.” You mutter, more to yourself than anybody else. Anger settles in your chest while you watch him, eyes stinging as you take in the scene before you. The longer you stare, the clearer it gets. He’s comfortable embarrassing you. He’s acting like you don’t even exist, like he doesn’t know the only reason you came was him.
Your jaw clenches so hard your teeth hurt, but you force your expression to stay neutral. You’re not about to be that girl, pressed, kicking and screaming in the middle of a party just because your man ain’t shit. The two girls you came with scoff, rubbing your back apologetically. Imani, your closest friend since freshman year, speaks first. “Leave that nigga where he is, baby. He’s clearly busy.” Your other friend, Niyah, pipes up next. “Yeah, girl, forget his ass! It’s plenty of niggas here that would kiss yours. Let’s go find em’ and get fucked up like we came to!”
Niyah was right about that, you looked the fuck good. Eyes had been on you since you walked into the cramped space. Your braids are freshly done, the face card never declines, and the outfit draping your frame didn’t help either, leaving very little to the imagination. Nothing extravagant, just a plum colored mini-dress that hugged you tight, coupled with a strappy pair of open-toed heels. Still, nobody does it like you. As you think about all the ways you can get even, the girl fawning over your boyfriend takes his hand and leads him deeper into the sea of people.
You make up your mind fast, and with a single nod to your friends, you let them guide you in the opposite direction, toward something that feels more in your control. As you move through the horde of undergrads, your mind focuses on the way your boyfriend practically disowned you in front of everybody, and it becomes crystal clear that liquor is going to be your best friend tonight.
Shot after shot passes through your glossed lips, slowly but surely numbing the irritation that has settled over your spirit. The hurt is still there, but it’s starting to blur at the edges. As the liquid courage flows through your veins, you get the bright idea to scale the kitchen counter and dance a little bit, hoping to distract yourself from him. Yells of encouragement from onlookers spur you on, and just as you get ready to bend over, your eyes find him again. He’s behind a different girl now, his hands roaming her body, softer than when it’s yours, whispering something in her ear with a smirk. The enthusiasm drains out of you as quickly as it came. Suddenly, the counter is too high to stand. on. You swallow the lump in your throat.
Before the pain can linger, rival frat Kappa Alpha Psi arrives. The sound of glass breaking rattles from the speakers as Soulja Boy’s ‘Prettyboy Swag,’ begins, changing from Omega's theme to Kappas. The crowd parts just enough, and eyes start drifting toward them. They stroll through, slow and steady. Instead of stepping back and ignoring it as is expected of you, you move fast. You place yourself right where you’ll be seen, with less than pure intentions. It doesn’t take their president long to lock onto you. Ah, Rakheem Jones. Tall, dark, and impossibly charming. An academic beast with a smile that could stop any girl’s heart, someone you’d explicitly been told to stay away from. Oh yeah, you’d hit the fucking jackpot.
He moves through the room like he owns the air around him, stopping the stroll in front of you with an exaggerated swagger. His eyes drag slowly from your face, down your body, and back up again, taking his time on purpose. All you see in front of you is quiet certainty, the kind that tells you exactly what he wants. He isn’t Jermajesty, not by a long shot, but you can’t deny that he’s pretty damn close. Close enough for you right now.
A smile breaks on his face as his frat brothers bounce in step. He spreads his arms out, palms facing up in an open invitation, and you let your body answer for you. Though you are no doubt very drunk, every movement is intentional. Jermajesty’s reaction is now an afterthought. If he could have his fun, why couldn’t you? Your lips curl into something slow and dangerous, the bottom one caught between your teeth as you step forward and spin around. You bend at the waist, hands sliding down your legs and stopping at your ankles, nasty and slow; a move typically reserved for the man making a mockery of you across the room.
As your hips rock from side to side, the dress hugging your frame rides up, showing off your lace panties; it’s retaliation disguised as a proposition, but Rakheem doesn’t need to know that. It’s effortless, the way your ass moves in this dress. It should be a crime. Shouts of approval ring throughout the room. Rakheem steps in, palming your rear like he’s been given permission. He presses into you, testing the waters, and when you don’t pull away, he makes another move. Next thing you know, his hands wrap around the back of your thighs, and you’re in the air.
High above the crowd, sitting on his shoulders, you feel the room erupt because everybody knows what that means. He’s claimed you for the night. Cheers break out all over.
“Ain’t that Maj’s girl?”
“Oh shit–it is!”
One of the other Nupes yells out, “Aye! She with the Nupes now!”
The words spread fast, cutting through the music and the noise. All eyes are trained on the two of you, and you can’t help but bask in it. Someone passes you a cup, and you raise it toward the sky. You toss the drink back, and with a shout, you unknowingly seal your fate for the night. “She with the Nupes now!” Across the room, Jermajesty hears it before he understands it. Ain’t no way he just heard…what he thinks he heard. He tries to ignore the commotion.
Tries to. He’s caught up in his own game of pretending he doesn’t care, but that nonchalant shit flies out the window when he takes a quick glance around the room. Everything stops. There you are. Elevated above everybody else, laughing, moving like you don’t have a care in the world…on another man’s shoulders, practically humping his head. The sight is like a slap in the face, and the shock turns to fury.
And it’s not just any man, you’re too petty for that. It was Kappa Alpha Psi’s fucking president. Jermajesty’s teeth grind together, and his hands ball into fists. The girl in front of him grabs his face gently, trying to bring his attention back to her. “Focus on me, baby. She don’t mean nothing.” When he registers her acrylics grazing his jaw, he nearly growls in disgust, no longer interested in her advances. With an open palm and five fingers, he mushes her back, “Fuck off me.” She stumbles and looks at him like he just lost his mind. She just might be right about that. Jermajesty doesn’t waste any more time and pushes through the crowd, fuming.
By the time he gets close, you’re fully gone, rolling your body, completely unbothered. Then your eyes meet his, and you laugh. Not small or nervous, no, one big boisterous cackle that displays just how little you care. Again, while looking him dead in the eye, you chant, “She with the motherfuckin’ Nupes now!” Your smile stretches ear to fucking ear. Rakheem follows your lead, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Real slow like, the rival Greek plants his hands firmly on your waist and lifts you over his head, guiding your body down until your feet hit the floor. Rakheem then presses a deep arch into your spine, positioning you exactly how he wants you, eyes locked on Jermajesty the entire time. He only has time to roll his hips once. That’s it, the disrespect is too loud for him to ignore.
Jermajesty snaps, shoving you aside roughly, fist already in motion. It connects clean with Rakheem’s jaw, the crack sharp enough to cut through the music. Just like that, everything explodes. Omegas step in immediately, forming up behind their president without hesitation. Kappas surge forward just as fast, not about to let theirs get dropped without response.
The party morphs into shouting, pushing, and different hues of purple and red colliding with each other. Phones come out, and flashlights illuminate the brawl; the partygoers are having a ball with this, no doubt staring lives and reporting in on Snapchat. The frat's reputation could very well be on the line, but Jermajesty could give a fuck less. All he cares about is bodying the nigga dumb enough to touch his bitch. He’s got Rakheem by the back of his shirt. “Fucked up!” he yells, fist connecting again. “You. Got. Me. Fucked. Up.” Each word lands with another hit. Rakheem tries to defend himself, but he’s outmatched. Jermajesty is bigger, stronger, and fueled by nothing but alcohol and jealousy. The poor Kappa’s licks are as soft as cotton balls.
Your boyfriend doesn’t stop until Rakheem’s limp, no longer able to fight back, and far too weak to hold himself up. He leans in, making sure the Kappa’s president looks him in the eye. Voice low and dangerous, he speaks, “Try that shit again. Watch what I do.” He drops Rakheem and stands to his full height, chest rising fast, and finally looks around. His brothers are still fighting, having dealt out the same kind of damage to the rest of Kheem’s posse. Jermajesty can’t let this get any worse, or he’ll have a meeting with the dean come Monday. He inhales once, then lets out a loud bark. His fraternity falls back, bellowing out their own barks in response to his call. Across from them, the Kappas hesitate, but ultimately decide they’ve taken a big enough loss tonight. They pull away, dragging Rakheem with them, and just like that, it's over. The music creeps back up, loud chatter resumes, and bodies start to move again, like nothing even happened.
When the dust settles completely, and Jermajesty is sure no one else is going to try him, he turns to face you, “Say your little goodbyes, and take your ass to the car.” His voice holds a finality that you really can’t argue with. You stand there for a moment, testing whether or not defiance would fare well for you. When he blows through his nose, you understand the answer is no. Doing as he says, you find Mani and Niyah and offer them quick hugs. “Ooh! Somebody in trouble!” Niyah starts, “Mhmm, little Ms. ‘She with the nupes now!’ Nah, more like she done did it now!” Mani finishes. You roll your eyes. They’re right, you’re in deep shit, but you won’t admit it.
“Shut up. That nigga had it comin’.” They giggle and kiss your cheek goodbye, wishing you luck. As you make your way toward the door, you feel eyes on you again. Some of Jermajesty’s frat brothers cast betrayed glances in your direction. “Fuck are y’all looking at?” They shake their heads and wave you off, “Nothing, Nupe.” You sigh, completely over tonight. The walk to the car is long and uncomfortable as you reflect on how everything unfolded. The thought that you might’ve done too much crosses your mind. Did Jermajesty really deserve that kind of betrayal? Flashes of him caressing someone else with so much care and tenderness replay. Yes the fuck he did.
The sleek, black BMW, which had been given to Jermajesty as a graduation gift, comes into view. It was fully loaded: all-black interior, leather seats, moonroof, and custom headrests with his and your initials. Arms folded, you lean against the door, anxiety washing over your bones. What if he breaks up with you over this? The move you made was bold and not something to be taken lightly in the Greek world. You still love him, but god does he piss you off. While you ponder, his voice cuts through the air as he says his goodbyes. You shift on your feet as an unsettling feeling nestles deep in your gut. He stalks toward you now, aura anything but safe, letterman jacket clutched tightly in his right hand. Jermajesty’s head tilts to the side as he lifts his free hand to his face, brows furrowed, rubbing his jaw as his gaze locks on you. His gait is strong; each step he takes feels like it has the magnitude of a devastating earthquake. He’s pissed.
“The fuck was that? Huh?” Jermajesty asks, eyes hard, voice eerily calm. Your arms unfold, and you stare at him in disbelief. Did he seriously have the nerve to be calling you out right now? “I could ask you the same damn thing, Jermajesty!” He cuts his gaze to the side, trying to keep his composure. “You’ve been pissy all fuckin’ day. I tried over and over again to check up on you, make sure you were straight, and what do you do? Treat me like I’m some regular bitch, that’s what!” Your arms fly around frantically as you speak. His eyes return to yours, daring you to keep going. You accept, and double down continuing the tirade, “And THEN, when I pull up to this fuck ass party, that I didn’t even want to be at by the way, what do I find? You. Snug as a bug in a fuckin’ rug with some random. Get the fuck outta my face with that ‘Fuck was that?’ bullshit, Majesty. Seriously.”
He glances away, nodding a few times before speaking, “You done?” That’s it? That’s all he has to offer you? Having reached a boiling point, a response dripping with venom leaves your lips. “Nah, nigga. We done.” Jermajesty chuckles, unlocking the car and tossing his jacket in the backseat. “Yeah, okay.” He didn’t think you were serious. Sure, you’ve both been through this song and dance plenty of times before, but you always stay. With a huff, you throw your arms up and spin on your heels, starting in the other direction, hoping it’s not too late to catch a right with Mani. “How the fuck you gon get home, y/n?” He asks, amusement lacing his tone. You growl and turn back around, “I don’t know Jermajesty! Maybe the Kappas will take me in.”
His eyes darken, and in two quick steps, he’s in front of you. “Get your ass…in the fuckin’ car.” You roll your eyes and push his chest, creating some distance. “Fuck. No.” You snarl, “This ain't even the first time you’ve pulled some shit like this. I’m fucking done, Jermaj—” Your words catch in your throat when his right hand wraps around your wrist, and he drags you into him. His other hand comes up to grip your chin as he pulls you into a searing kiss. You curse internally, feeling yourself melt as his soft, plush lips move against yours. The hand holding your wrist moves to your back, pressing you closer as he deepens the kiss. It trails down further, cupping your ass and squeezing. The action makes you gasp, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth.
You both wrestle for dominance, but another firm squeeze to your behind leaves Jermajesty as the victor. When you part, his lips are covered in a thin film of gloss, matching yours. “Ma,” He whispers soft and low, “If you think you leavin’ me…you out yo fuckin’ mind. I’m not gon’ tell your little ass again, get in the car.” This time, dazed, you listen. Slipping into the passenger side and clicking your seatbelt in place. Jermajesty follows suit, starting the engine and peeling out with a quickness. As he drives, you notice the way his large hands grip the wheel, knuckles white as he seethes.
After some time, he pulls into an empty parking lot, throws the beemer in park, and gets out. The back door on the driver’s side swings open, and he slips in. Your boyfriend leans back and spreads his legs wide. You look over your shoulder to find his eyes locked on you. “Strip.” He says, low and dark. Unsure of whether or not he’s serious, you freeze. He lifts a brow, wondering what’s taking you so long. Message received. You shimmy out of your dress in the seat and work on your heels next. Once finished, you move to climb over the center console. “Uh-uh, all of it.” You pause, glancing down at your body, still clad in your bra, and the same panties you were so keen on showing off earlier. Peeking back up at your boyfriend, you see his arms are now resting behind his head as he waits with practiced restraint.
Sitting back, gradually, you peel the last layer of clothing and dignity off your body. Jermajesty revels in your beauty, eyes raking up and down your form twice, before patting his thigh. Now, given permission, you slip into the back of the car and onto his lap. Jermajesty's head is tipped up, and his hands, rough and calloused, hold your waist softly, as if he’ll break you if he isn’t careful. He lets a deep breath out through his nose and looks into your eyes, “You know I love you, right, mama?” Though it didn’t feel like just moments ago, you still nod, big doe eyes peering back at him. “Good, because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”
He then reaches for something near him. You hear it rustle before it comes into view. The letterman. He holds it up and only says three words: “Put it on.” Hesitantly, you slide your arms into the sleeves and shrug it the rest of the way on. “Gorgeous.” Jermajesty slides you off his lap gently and pushes you toward the other end of the car, “Lie back.” You ease down, and your legs part in the process. He takes in the sight of your dripping heat and lets out an appreciative groan. Your legs stretch past his face, and your toes touch the glass next to him. In the soft moonlight illuminating the car, your boyfriend notices something dancing on your ankle. Delicate gold lace, adorned with a pendant shaped like a 'J', rests there.
The visual nearly undoes Jermajesty. He takes your leg in his right hand and bends your knee. His fingers curl around your toes as he places soft kisses along your foot. His left hand trails up to caress the rest of your leg. Eventually, the hand holding your toes slides down to your heel. Jermajesty's kisses grow more urgent, less controlled. He moves feverishly, and before you can process what is happening, your big toe is in his mouth. He swirls his tongue, and a deep moan reverberates in your ears. You didn’t expect it to feel as good as it did, and the action earned a soft moan. Maybe it was the sensuality, but your body shakes with need. The slick between your thighs becomes unbearable. While your boyfriend continues his ministrations, you reach down. Your clit is aching, and the soft circles you begin to rub are barely enough to satisfy you.
When a whimper escapes your chest, and before you can pick up the pace, a sharp slap to your hand stops you. Jermajesty pulls off of your toe with a pop. “I didn’t say you could touch my shit, ma.” He then leans over and spreads you wider, wrapping his hands around your thighs and lifting your back off the seat. You look at him in surprise, and Jermajesty holds your gaze, blowing cool air over your clit. Frustrated, you whine out, “Maj, please—” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I can’t admire what's mine, mama?”
You let out a huff and try to sink back down. Big, veiny arms keep you steady, though. Jermajesty tuts at your bratty behavior, “Fuckin’ spoiled.” As you go to make another complaint, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking hard. “Oh, fuck— Maj!” He eats like a man starved, slurping like you’ll run dry if he stops. The sounds of your sins echo in the confined space. His tongue trails down to your ass and back up. He pushes the wet muscle deep into your pussy, earning a high wail from you. He stays there for a moment, savoring your taste, before moving back up toward the bundle of nerves hidden in your folds. Stars form behind your eyelids when two fingers dip in, making up for the empty feeling.
It’s all too much, too fast. You feel yourself careening toward the edge as he pumps them into you. He quickens his pace, knowing your body like the back of his hand. The digits buried inside of you press into that spongy spot over and over again. “Give it to me.” He murmurs into your heat. As if your body were waiting for his command, euphoria crashes into you. You tense as your eyes roll back, and his name slips off your tongue as you ride out your high. Jermajesty doesn’t stop, drinking your juices like he’s found the fountain of youth.
Overstimulation racks through your body, and you push him off your center. He leans back, breaths labored, chin glistening with your essence. You’re breathing just as hard, unsure if you’ll be able to withstand what else he has in store for you. “Baby—” He shushes you while pulling the wife-beater over his head. His jeans come off next, then his shoes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The outline of his arousal leaves your mouth watering. No matter how many times you fuck him, you never get used to it. “Turn around f’me. Arch my shit the way I like it.” Itching for more, you do as he says, sinking into a sinful arch. Your pussy is on full display, and that beautiful, round ass has him thanking whichever god sent you down to him.
Your ears pick up on his movement, sure that he’s slipped out of the last layer between the two of you. You feel his heavy cock against your inner thigh, pre-cum smearing against it. The feeling leaves you clenching around nothing. Jermajesty leans down, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, “When I’m done with you…you gon remember you ain’t fuckin’ with no little ass puppy.” With that, he lines himself up with your heat. The tip nudges against your entrance, teasing you to the point of tears. In one long, slow thrust, Jermajesty bottoms out and has you split wide around his length.
Your mouth opens, and a loud moan tears from your chest. It burns so fucking good, he’s filled you to the brim. Your boyfriend waits for you to adjust, and when you nod, his strokes begin slowly, dragging along your sopping walls with deliberate patience. His cock is covered in your slick, and it takes everything in him to hold steady. He wants you to beg. “You forgot who I am, ma?” He asks, while still digging you out. Already too cockdrunk to speak, you shake your head with a muffled “Mm-mm.” Not satisfied with your answer, Jermajesty switches gears, picking up the pace. He feeds you harder, faster strokes, hips slamming into your ass roughly, “Nah. Tell me, baby.” He breathes out, “You forgot?”
Your breath hitches, and you throw your head back, drool sliding down the corners of your mouth. “Noo— Neverrr,” you drag out, surprised by the sudden change in tempo. Jermajesty catches the underside of your chin in his right hand, pulling you up as he props up his left leg near your side for better leverage. Again, he speeds up, driving mean strokes into your already abused pussy. A series of grunts leaves his lips before he lets you drop back down against the seat. The same foot he has propped up comes to rest on the side of your face as he reaches new depths in your core.
“Which frat you with— Shit!” The new angle leaves both of you weak. You search for the right words, but his fat mushroom tip bullying into your g-spot has you stupid. “I don’t know, Maj!— Fuck, I can’t—” He presses more of his weight into you, a ‘Thwack!’ rings through the air, and you struggle to catch your breath. “You don’t know? Sure you do, baby girl.” The strokes are heavy and slow now, grazing over your pleasure center again, and again. “I don’t, I swear.” Jermajesty laughs then, rich and smooth. “You really don’t? Guess I gotta stop then huh?” He says, still stroking deliciously slow. Panic washes over your blissed out face, “NO!— I just… Maj, give me a hint!”
His shoulders bounce as he realizes he has you right where he wants you. Too fucked out and stupid to think about anything but his dick, “What jacket you got on, baby?” Hell, if you know, all you're worried about is the heat pooling in your belly. “Majesty. Please, baby— I don’t know!” He grips you by the waist and pulls you off of him. A cry rips from your body, and tears form in your eyes. Jermajesty flips you onto your back, “It’s okay, pretty girl, don’t cry.” He utters mockingly, "I'm gon’ give you what you want.” he finishes, leaning down to lick away your tears.
In one swift move, Jermajesty pulls back and enters you again. A chortled gasp reaches his ears, and he smirks. He holds himself there for a moment and then decides that he wants to wreck you completely. He folds you in half, your knees almost touch your ears, and the tips of your toes touch the window behind you. The filthy mating press leaves your faces just inches apart. Jermajesty breathes out slowly to ground himself, “Omega. Psi. Phi.” He whispers, voice sweet like honey. Your face contorts in ecstasy as he punctuates each Greek letter with heavy, relentless blows to your pussy.
“Those are the only words I wanna hear.” He leaves no room for you to process and begins pounding into you like he’s got a personal vendetta against your cervix. “Ughh! Maj!— Fuck- Slow down!” Your boyfriend ignores your plea, driving into you harder. “Who. You. With? Hm?” Your brain is sent into overdrive, and instead of answering, your hand comes up to push against his stomach, hoping to slow down the brutal assault on your pussy. “Move it,” He grunts out, head dropping to watch where the two of you are joined together. His hand shifts up to squeeze your right tit, moving yours out of the way in the process.
The sensation makes your body twitch. Everything feels like jelly, and it’s hard to keep your eyes open; with them half-lidded, the only thing you’re able to see properly is the gold chain that dangles over you, thumping against his chest with every stroke. He presses delicate kisses across your chest before moving up to that sensitive spot on your neck. He sucks harshly, and a deep purple mark forms there. “I’m not askin’ again, you better tell me before I stop.” He says, nipping at your neck as his girth bullies into your g-spot, “Omega— Fuck! Psi Phi!” You yelp. Not yet satisfied, your boyfriend leans up, steadying most of his weight with one hand on the back of your thigh. “Louder.” He growls out, cracking his other hand down on your dripping snatch. Repeating the name is a feat you’re only able to accomplish by the grace of god. It still isn’t enough for Jermajesty.
“Again.” He orders, thumbing at your abused clit. Tight, fast circles send pleasure shooting up through your spine. “Omega!” He nods along in encouragement, “Mhm,” he groans, “Give it to me, baby”, eyes still focused on the way your warm, wet hole swallows his length. His hips hammer into yours at an impossible speed, sweat beading on his forehead. “Psi— Ooh Shit!” He moves to nuzzle his face in your neck, now struggling to hold himself together. His hand leaves your clit, and presses down just above your mound, adding to the whirlwind of stimulation. “Come on y/n— Fuck! Almost there. Give it to me!” With a piercing scream, the final letter tumbles from your throat. You feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin. “There it is. Shit, that’s so fucking good.” His praise adds to the familiar warmth settling into your core. You feel it coming hard and fast, “Maj, wait! The seats—” His heavy body drags against yours, “Fuck the seats. Gimme my shit.”
It only takes a few more seconds of him pistoning into you before you fall apart. Your vision goes white, and your toes curl, and your jaw drops with a silent cry. Violent streams of pleasure spurt around your boyfriend’s dick and across his abdomen. Jermajesty is right behind you, grip so tight you’re sure it’ll bruise. “Fuck! Gonna cum.” His stills as his balls tighten, and a loud groan rips from his chest. Thick globs of his spunk coat your insides. He stays put until he’s sure you’ve taken all of it.
You both breathe heavily as you come down from your highs. Your boyfriend slides out of you gently and moves to look at the mess he’s made of you. As your body twitches, completely and utterly spent, his eyes flicker to your half-lidded ones, and a smirk creeps onto his face. “A Nupe, can’t fuck you like this. Remember that.”
Genre: SMUT!!(MDNI), Established Relationship. University!AU
Warnings: AGAIN SMUT!! (MDNI), I mean pure filth. Que-Dawg!Jermajesty (Valid warning). Jermajesty pretends to be non-chalant(ends up very chalant.) Cussing. Use of the ‘n’ word. Jealous!Jerpapi. Arguing. Reader is manhandled more than once. Violence. Reader is referred to as Jermajesty’s “Bitch”, Car sex. Toe sucking. Coochie slapping (once). Oral!(Fem. Receiving). Squirting! P in V, Unprotected! Possessive sex. Slight breeding kink (?), Slight dacryphilia (?). Twin I can’t lie, this is overly freaked out..
Summary: Everyone knows that you and Jermajesty are the ‘it’ couple on campus. Everyone also knows your boyfriend is president of the most notorious frat there, Omega Psi Phi. At the biggest party of the year, during their routine stroll, Jermajesty gets a little too beside himself. Since you aren’t one to be taken for a fool, you decide to get beside someone else.
W.C: 5.4k
Author’s Note: Credit for this log idea and moodboard goes straight to @siiighrns. Y’all, I fear I went a lil ham on this one. BUT it’s really good! (I’m biased). As always, thank you for reading! Share what you think, reblog if you love it!
-Love, B. 🤍 ↪ The Archive.
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The music is already shaking the walls by the time you step inside. Heat hits first, then the smell of smoke, sweat, and liquor. Bodies press shoulder to shoulder, and people dance wherever they can find space; others cling to the walls like a lifeline. Someone’s yelling over the music about body shots, a sorority girl is laughing too loudly, and in the darker corners of the house, couples are already latching onto each other, swapping a little more than spit. Homecoming always does this: turns the whole campus into one restless cesspool of drunk, loud, horny twenty-somethings. This party is the one everybody’s been waiting for; the football game against the opposing university had been won with a staggering victory, and now it was time to let loose. Omega Psi Phi always does it big, and this year is no exception.
You stick close to your girls as you move through the crowd, eyes adjusting, taking it all in. The energy bothers you. Everything feels too loud, maybe even reckless. The mess around you isn’t your problem; Jermajesty is. The way he’d been acting all day had pissed you off. Short answers, stuck off in his phone, hellbent on like you were his biggest inconvenience.
You tried to talk to him more than once, wanting to know what crawled so far up his ass and died that he’d call you ‘bruh’ for most of the day. Still, he gave you nothing but annoyed sighs and kissed teeth. Fed up, you decided to go to the party on your own. Since your boyfriend wanted to act like you were such a bother, he didn’t have to worry about you.
Now you’re here, scoping out the scene, almost sure he’s cooled off by now. It doesn’t take long to find him, and when you do, your stomach drops. ‘Off the Leash’ by Gucci Mane blares in the background. He’s locked in on some bitch like you don’t even exist. She’s all up on him, titties nearly spilling out of her cheap dress, laughing and feeling on his arms. He’s eating it up, rolling his head from side to side, tongue flicking out with a smile, moving like he’s a free agent. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere in the crowd. The chain you got him for his birthday glints in the light against the wife-beater he had on underneath. His large frame hovers over hers. The muscles in his back flex as he moves. You stare for a second too long, and his eyes catch yours, winking before pushing himself back onto the girl.
“This nigga trippin.” You mutter, more to yourself than anybody else. Anger settles in your chest while you watch him, eyes stinging as you take in the scene before you. The longer you stare, the clearer it gets. He’s comfortable embarrassing you. He’s acting like you don’t even exist, like he doesn’t know the only reason you came was him.
Your jaw clenches so hard your teeth hurt, but you force your expression to stay neutral. You’re not about to be that girl, pressed, kicking and screaming in the middle of a party just because your man ain’t shit. The two girls you came with scoff, rubbing your back apologetically. Imani, your closest friend since freshman year, speaks first. “Leave that nigga where he is, baby. He’s clearly busy.” Your other friend, Niyah, pipes up next. “Yeah, girl, forget his ass! It’s plenty of niggas here that would kiss yours. Let’s go find em’ and get fucked up like we came to!”
Niyah was right about that, you looked the fuck good. Eyes had been on you since you walked into the cramped space. Your braids are freshly done, the face card never declines, and the outfit draping your frame didn’t help either, leaving very little to the imagination. Nothing extravagant, just a plum colored mini-dress that hugged you tight, coupled with a strappy pair of open-toed heels. Still, nobody does it like you. As you think about all the ways you can get even, the girl fawning over your boyfriend takes his hand and leads him deeper into the sea of people.
You make up your mind fast, and with a single nod to your friends, you let them guide you in the opposite direction, toward something that feels more in your control. As you move through the horde of undergrads, your mind focuses on the way your boyfriend practically disowned you in front of everybody, and it becomes crystal clear that liquor is going to be your best friend tonight.
Shot after shot passes through your glossed lips, slowly but surely numbing the irritation that has settled over your spirit. The hurt is still there, but it’s starting to blur at the edges. As the liquid courage flows through your veins, you get the bright idea to scale the kitchen counter and dance a little bit, hoping to distract yourself from him. Yells of encouragement from onlookers spur you on, and just as you get ready to bend over, your eyes find him again. He’s behind a different girl now, his hands roaming her body, softer than when it’s yours, whispering something in her ear with a smirk. The enthusiasm drains out of you as quickly as it came. Suddenly, the counter is too high to stand. on. You swallow the lump in your throat.
Before the pain can linger, rival frat Kappa Alpha Psi arrives. The sound of glass breaking rattles from the speakers as Soulja Boy’s ‘Prettyboy Swag,’ begins, changing from Omega's theme to Kappas. The crowd parts just enough, and eyes start drifting toward them. They stroll through, slow and steady. Instead of stepping back and ignoring it as is expected of you, you move fast. You place yourself right where you’ll be seen, with less than pure intentions. It doesn’t take their president long to lock onto you. Ah, Rakheem Jones. Tall, dark, and impossibly charming. An academic beast with a smile that could stop any girl’s heart, someone you’d explicitly been told to stay away from. Oh yeah, you’d hit the fucking jackpot.
He moves through the room like he owns the air around him, stopping the stroll in front of you with an exaggerated swagger. His eyes drag slowly from your face, down your body, and back up again, taking his time on purpose. All you see in front of you is quiet certainty, the kind that tells you exactly what he wants. He isn’t Jermajesty, not by a long shot, but you can’t deny that he’s pretty damn close. Close enough for you right now.
A smile breaks on his face as his frat brothers bounce in step. He spreads his arms out, palms facing up in an open invitation, and you let your body answer for you. Though you are no doubt very drunk, every movement is intentional. Jermajesty’s reaction is now an afterthought. If he could have his fun, why couldn’t you? Your lips curl into something slow and dangerous, the bottom one caught between your teeth as you step forward and spin around. You bend at the waist, hands sliding down your legs and stopping at your ankles, nasty and slow; a move typically reserved for the man making a mockery of you across the room.
As your hips rock from side to side, the dress hugging your frame rides up, showing off your lace panties; it’s retaliation disguised as a proposition, but Rakheem doesn’t need to know that. It’s effortless, the way your ass moves in this dress. It should be a crime. Shouts of approval ring throughout the room. Rakheem steps in, palming your rear like he’s been given permission. He presses into you, testing the waters, and when you don’t pull away, he makes another move. Next thing you know, his hands wrap around the back of your thighs, and you’re in the air.
High above the crowd, sitting on his shoulders, you feel the room erupt because everybody knows what that means. He’s claimed you for the night. Cheers break out all over.
“Ain’t that Maj’s girl?”
“Oh shit–it is!”
One of the other Nupes yells out, “Aye! She with the Nupes now!”
The words spread fast, cutting through the music and the noise. All eyes are trained on the two of you, and you can’t help but bask in it. Someone passes you a cup, and you raise it toward the sky. You toss the drink back, and with a shout, you unknowingly seal your fate for the night. “She with the Nupes now!” Across the room, Jermajesty hears it before he understands it. Ain’t no way he just heard…what he thinks he heard. He tries to ignore the commotion.
Tries to. He’s caught up in his own game of pretending he doesn’t care, but that nonchalant shit flies out the window when he takes a quick glance around the room. Everything stops. There you are. Elevated above everybody else, laughing, moving like you don’t have a care in the world…on another man’s shoulders, practically humping his head. The sight is like a slap in the face, and the shock turns to fury.
And it’s not just any man, you’re too petty for that. It was Kappa Alpha Psi’s fucking president. Jermajesty’s teeth grind together, and his hands ball into fists. The girl in front of him grabs his face gently, trying to bring his attention back to her. “Focus on me, baby. She don’t mean nothing.” When he registers her acrylics grazing his jaw, he nearly growls in disgust, no longer interested in her advances. With an open palm and five fingers, he mushes her back, “Fuck off me.” She stumbles and looks at him like he just lost his mind. She just might be right about that. Jermajesty doesn’t waste any more time and pushes through the crowd, fuming.
By the time he gets close, you’re fully gone, rolling your body, completely unbothered. Then your eyes meet his, and you laugh. Not small or nervous, no, one big boisterous cackle that displays just how little you care. Again, while looking him dead in the eye, you chant, “She with the motherfuckin’ Nupes now!” Your smile stretches ear to fucking ear. Rakheem follows your lead, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Real slow like, the rival Greek plants his hands firmly on your waist and lifts you over his head, guiding your body down until your feet hit the floor. Rakheem then presses a deep arch into your spine, positioning you exactly how he wants you, eyes locked on Jermajesty the entire time. He only has time to roll his hips once. That’s it, the disrespect is too loud for him to ignore.
Jermajesty snaps, shoving you aside roughly, fist already in motion. It connects clean with Rakheem’s jaw, the crack sharp enough to cut through the music. Just like that, everything explodes. Omegas step in immediately, forming up behind their president without hesitation. Kappas surge forward just as fast, not about to let theirs get dropped without response.
The party morphs into shouting, pushing, and different hues of purple and red colliding with each other. Phones come out, and flashlights illuminate the brawl; the partygoers are having a ball with this, no doubt staring lives and reporting in on Snapchat. The frat's reputation could very well be on the line, but Jermajesty could give a fuck less. All he cares about is bodying the nigga dumb enough to touch his bitch. He’s got Rakheem by the back of his shirt. “Fucked up!” he yells, fist connecting again. “You. Got. Me. Fucked. Up.” Each word lands with another hit. Rakheem tries to defend himself, but he’s outmatched. Jermajesty is bigger, stronger, and fueled by nothing but alcohol and jealousy. The poor Kappa’s licks are as soft as cotton balls.
Your boyfriend doesn’t stop until Rakheem’s limp, no longer able to fight back, and far too weak to hold himself up. He leans in, making sure the Kappa’s president looks him in the eye. Voice low and dangerous, he speaks, “Try that shit again. Watch what I do.” He drops Rakheem and stands to his full height, chest rising fast, and finally looks around. His brothers are still fighting, having dealt out the same kind of damage to the rest of Kheem’s posse. Jermajesty can’t let this get any worse, or he’ll have a meeting with the dean come Monday. He inhales once, then lets out a loud bark. His fraternity falls back, bellowing out their own barks in response to his call. Across from them, the Kappas hesitate, but ultimately decide they’ve taken a big enough loss tonight. They pull away, dragging Rakheem with them, and just like that, it's over. The music creeps back up, loud chatter resumes, and bodies start to move again, like nothing even happened.
When the dust settles completely, and Jermajesty is sure no one else is going to try him, he turns to face you, “Say your little goodbyes, and take your ass to the car.” His voice holds a finality that you really can’t argue with. You stand there for a moment, testing whether or not defiance would fare well for you. When he blows through his nose, you understand the answer is no. Doing as he says, you find Mani and Niyah and offer them quick hugs. “Ooh! Somebody in trouble!” Niyah starts, “Mhmm, little Ms. ‘She with the nupes now!’ Nah, more like she done did it now!” Mani finishes. You roll your eyes. They’re right, you’re in deep shit, but you won’t admit it.
“Shut up. That nigga had it comin’.” They giggle and kiss your cheek goodbye, wishing you luck. As you make your way toward the door, you feel eyes on you again. Some of Jermajesty’s frat brothers cast betrayed glances in your direction. “Fuck are y’all looking at?” They shake their heads and wave you off, “Nothing, Nupe.” You sigh, completely over tonight. The walk to the car is long and uncomfortable as you reflect on how everything unfolded. The thought that you might’ve done too much crosses your mind. Did Jermajesty really deserve that kind of betrayal? Flashes of him caressing someone else with so much care and tenderness replay. Yes the fuck he did.
The sleek, black BMW, which had been given to Jermajesty as a graduation gift, comes into view. It was fully loaded: all-black interior, leather seats, moonroof, and custom headrests with his and your initials. Arms folded, you lean against the door, anxiety washing over your bones. What if he breaks up with you over this? The move you made was bold and not something to be taken lightly in the Greek world. You still love him, but god does he piss you off. While you ponder, his voice cuts through the air as he says his goodbyes. You shift on your feet as an unsettling feeling nestles deep in your gut. He stalks toward you now, aura anything but safe, letterman jacket clutched tightly in his right hand. Jermajesty’s head tilts to the side as he lifts his free hand to his face, brows furrowed, rubbing his jaw as his gaze locks on you. His gait is strong; each step he takes feels like it has the magnitude of a devastating earthquake. He’s pissed.
“The fuck was that? Huh?” Jermajesty asks, eyes hard, voice eerily calm. Your arms unfold, and you stare at him in disbelief. Did he seriously have the nerve to be calling you out right now? “I could ask you the same damn thing, Jermajesty!” He cuts his gaze to the side, trying to keep his composure. “You’ve been pissy all fuckin’ day. I tried over and over again to check up on you, make sure you were straight, and what do you do? Treat me like I’m some regular bitch, that’s what!” Your arms fly around frantically as you speak. His eyes return to yours, daring you to keep going. You accept, and double down continuing the tirade, “And THEN, when I pull up to this fuck ass party, that I didn’t even want to be at by the way, what do I find? You. Snug as a bug in a fuckin’ rug with some random. Get the fuck outta my face with that ‘Fuck was that?’ bullshit, Majesty. Seriously.”
He glances away, nodding a few times before speaking, “You done?” That’s it? That’s all he has to offer you? Having reached a boiling point, a response dripping with venom leaves your lips. “Nah, nigga. We done.” Jermajesty chuckles, unlocking the car and tossing his jacket in the backseat. “Yeah, okay.” He didn’t think you were serious. Sure, you’ve both been through this song and dance plenty of times before, but you always stay. With a huff, you throw your arms up and spin on your heels, starting in the other direction, hoping it’s not too late to catch a right with Mani. “How the fuck you gon get home, y/n?” He asks, amusement lacing his tone. You growl and turn back around, “I don’t know Jermajesty! Maybe the Kappas will take me in.”
His eyes darken, and in two quick steps, he’s in front of you. “Get your ass…in the fuckin’ car.” You roll your eyes and push his chest, creating some distance. “Fuck. No.” You snarl, “This ain't even the first time you’ve pulled some shit like this. I’m fucking done, Jermaj—” Your words catch in your throat when his right hand wraps around your wrist, and he drags you into him. His other hand comes up to grip your chin as he pulls you into a searing kiss. You curse internally, feeling yourself melt as his soft, plush lips move against yours. The hand holding your wrist moves to your back, pressing you closer as he deepens the kiss. It trails down further, cupping your ass and squeezing. The action makes you gasp, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth.
You both wrestle for dominance, but another firm squeeze to your behind leaves Jermajesty as the victor. When you part, his lips are covered in a thin film of gloss, matching yours. “Ma,” He whispers soft and low, “If you think you leavin’ me…you out yo fuckin’ mind. I’m not gon’ tell your little ass again, get in the car.” This time, dazed, you listen. Slipping into the passenger side and clicking your seatbelt in place. Jermajesty follows suit, starting the engine and peeling out with a quickness. As he drives, you notice the way his large hands grip the wheel, knuckles white as he seethes.
After some time, he pulls into an empty parking lot, throws the beemer in park, and gets out. The back door on the driver’s side swings open, and he slips in. Your boyfriend leans back and spreads his legs wide. You look over your shoulder to find his eyes locked on you. “Strip.” He says, low and dark. Unsure of whether or not he’s serious, you freeze. He lifts a brow, wondering what’s taking you so long. Message received. You shimmy out of your dress in the seat and work on your heels next. Once finished, you move to climb over the center console. “Uh-uh, all of it.” You pause, glancing down at your body, still clad in your bra, and the same panties you were so keen on showing off earlier. Peeking back up at your boyfriend, you see his arms are now resting behind his head as he waits with practiced restraint.
Sitting back, gradually, you peel the last layer of clothing and dignity off your body. Jermajesty revels in your beauty, eyes raking up and down your form twice, before patting his thigh. Now, given permission, you slip into the back of the car and onto his lap. Jermajesty's head is tipped up, and his hands, rough and calloused, hold your waist softly, as if he’ll break you if he isn’t careful. He lets a deep breath out through his nose and looks into your eyes, “You know I love you, right, mama?” Though it didn’t feel like just moments ago, you still nod, big doe eyes peering back at him. “Good, because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”
He then reaches for something near him. You hear it rustle before it comes into view. The letterman. He holds it up and only says three words: “Put it on.” Hesitantly, you slide your arms into the sleeves and shrug it the rest of the way on. “Gorgeous.” Jermajesty slides you off his lap gently and pushes you toward the other end of the car, “Lie back.” You ease down, and your legs part in the process. He takes in the sight of your dripping heat and lets out an appreciative groan. Your legs stretch past his face, and your toes touch the glass next to him. In the soft moonlight illuminating the car, your boyfriend notices something dancing on your ankle. Delicate gold lace, adorned with a pendant shaped like a 'J', rests there.
The visual nearly undoes Jermajesty. He takes your leg in his right hand and bends your knee. His fingers curl around your toes as he places soft kisses along your foot. His left hand trails up to caress the rest of your leg. Eventually, the hand holding your toes slides down to your heel. Jermajesty's kisses grow more urgent, less controlled. He moves feverishly, and before you can process what is happening, your big toe is in his mouth. He swirls his tongue, and a deep moan reverberates in your ears. You didn’t expect it to feel as good as it did, and the action earned a soft moan. Maybe it was the sensuality, but your body shakes with need. The slick between your thighs becomes unbearable. While your boyfriend continues his ministrations, you reach down. Your clit is aching, and the soft circles you begin to rub are barely enough to satisfy you.
When a whimper escapes your chest, and before you can pick up the pace, a sharp slap to your hand stops you. Jermajesty pulls off of your toe with a pop. “I didn’t say you could touch my shit, ma.” He then leans over and spreads you wider, wrapping his hands around your thighs and lifting your back off the seat. You look at him in surprise, and Jermajesty holds your gaze, blowing cool air over your clit. Frustrated, you whine out, “Maj, please—” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I can’t admire what's mine, mama?”
You let out a huff and try to sink back down. Big, veiny arms keep you steady, though. Jermajesty tuts at your bratty behavior, “Fuckin’ spoiled.” As you go to make another complaint, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking hard. “Oh, fuck— Maj!” He eats like a man starved, slurping like you’ll run dry if he stops. The sounds of your sins echo in the confined space. His tongue trails down to your ass and back up. He pushes the wet muscle deep into your pussy, earning a high wail from you. He stays there for a moment, savoring your taste, before moving back up toward the bundle of nerves hidden in your folds. Stars form behind your eyelids when two fingers dip in, making up for the empty feeling.
It’s all too much, too fast. You feel yourself careening toward the edge as he pumps them into you. He quickens his pace, knowing your body like the back of his hand. The digits buried inside of you press into that spongy spot over and over again. “Give it to me.” He murmurs into your heat. As if your body were waiting for his command, euphoria crashes into you. You tense as your eyes roll back, and his name slips off your tongue as you ride out your high. Jermajesty doesn’t stop, drinking your juices like he’s found the fountain of youth.
Overstimulation racks through your body, and you push him off your center. He leans back, breaths labored, chin glistening with your essence. You’re breathing just as hard, unsure if you’ll be able to withstand what else he has in store for you. “Baby—” He shushes you while pulling the wife-beater over his head. His jeans come off next, then his shoes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The outline of his arousal leaves your mouth watering. No matter how many times you fuck him, you never get used to it. “Turn around f’me. Arch my shit the way I like it.” Itching for more, you do as he says, sinking into a sinful arch. Your pussy is on full display, and that beautiful, round ass has him thanking whichever god sent you down to him.
Your ears pick up on his movement, sure that he’s slipped out of the last layer between the two of you. You feel his heavy cock against your inner thigh, pre-cum smearing against it. The feeling leaves you clenching around nothing. Jermajesty leans down, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, “When I’m done with you…you gon remember you ain’t fuckin’ with no little ass puppy.” With that, he lines himself up with your heat. The tip nudges against your entrance, teasing you to the point of tears. In one long, slow thrust, Jermajesty bottoms out and has you split wide around his length.
Your mouth opens, and a loud moan tears from your chest. It burns so fucking good, he’s filled you to the brim. Your boyfriend waits for you to adjust, and when you nod, his strokes begin slowly, dragging along your sopping walls with deliberate patience. His cock is covered in your slick, and it takes everything in him to hold steady. He wants you to beg. “You forgot who I am, ma?” He asks, while still digging you out. Already too cockdrunk to speak, you shake your head with a muffled “Mm-mm.” Not satisfied with your answer, Jermajesty switches gears, picking up the pace. He feeds you harder, faster strokes, hips slamming into your ass roughly, “Nah. Tell me, baby.” He breathes out, “You forgot?”
Your breath hitches, and you throw your head back, drool sliding down the corners of your mouth. “Noo— Neverrr,” you drag out, surprised by the sudden change in tempo. Jermajesty catches the underside of your chin in his right hand, pulling you up as he props up his left leg near your side for better leverage. Again, he speeds up, driving mean strokes into your already abused pussy. A series of grunts leaves his lips before he lets you drop back down against the seat. The same foot he has propped up comes to rest on the side of your face as he reaches new depths in your core.
“Which frat you with— Shit!” The new angle leaves both of you weak. You search for the right words, but his fat mushroom tip bullying into your g-spot has you stupid. “I don’t know, Maj!— Fuck, I can’t—” He presses more of his weight into you, a ‘Thwack!’ rings through the air, and you struggle to catch your breath. “You don’t know? Sure you do, baby girl.” The strokes are heavy and slow now, grazing over your pleasure center again, and again. “I don’t, I swear.” Jermajesty laughs then, rich and smooth. “You really don’t? Guess I gotta stop then huh?” He says, still stroking deliciously slow. Panic washes over your blissed out face, “NO!— I just… Maj, give me a hint!”
His shoulders bounce as he realizes he has you right where he wants you. Too fucked out and stupid to think about anything but his dick, “What jacket you got on, baby?” Hell, if you know, all you're worried about is the heat pooling in your belly. “Majesty. Please, baby— I don’t know!” He grips you by the waist and pulls you off of him. A cry rips from your body, and tears form in your eyes. Jermajesty flips you onto your back, “It’s okay, pretty girl, don’t cry.” He utters mockingly, "I'm gon’ give you what you want.” he finishes, leaning down to lick away your tears.
In one swift move, Jermajesty pulls back and enters you again. A chortled gasp reaches his ears, and he smirks. He holds himself there for a moment and then decides that he wants to wreck you completely. He folds you in half, your knees almost touch your ears, and the tips of your toes touch the window behind you. The filthy mating press leaves your faces just inches apart. Jermajesty breathes out slowly to ground himself, “Omega. Psi. Phi.” He whispers, voice sweet like honey. Your face contorts in ecstasy as he punctuates each Greek letter with heavy, relentless blows to your pussy.
“Those are the only words I wanna hear.” He leaves no room for you to process and begins pounding into you like he’s got a personal vendetta against your cervix. “Ughh! Maj!— Fuck- Slow down!” Your boyfriend ignores your plea, driving into you harder. “Who. You. With? Hm?” Your brain is sent into overdrive, and instead of answering, your hand comes up to push against his stomach, hoping to slow down the brutal assault on your pussy. “Move it,” He grunts out, head dropping to watch where the two of you are joined together. His hand shifts up to squeeze your right tit, moving yours out of the way in the process.
The sensation makes your body twitch. Everything feels like jelly, and it’s hard to keep your eyes open; with them half-lidded, the only thing you’re able to see properly is the gold chain that dangles over you, thumping against his chest with every stroke. He presses delicate kisses across your chest before moving up to that sensitive spot on your neck. He sucks harshly, and a deep purple mark forms there. “I’m not askin’ again, you better tell me before I stop.” He says, nipping at your neck as his girth bullies into your g-spot, “Omega— Fuck! Psi Phi!” You yelp. Not yet satisfied, your boyfriend leans up, steadying most of his weight with one hand on the back of your thigh. “Louder.” He growls out, cracking his other hand down on your dripping snatch. Repeating the name is a feat you’re only able to accomplish by the grace of god. It still isn’t enough for Jermajesty.
“Again.” He orders, thumbing at your abused clit. Tight, fast circles send pleasure shooting up through your spine. “Omega!” He nods along in encouragement, “Mhm,” he groans, “Give it to me, baby”, eyes still focused on the way your warm, wet hole swallows his length. His hips hammer into yours at an impossible speed, sweat beading on his forehead. “Psi— Ooh Shit!” He moves to nuzzle his face in your neck, now struggling to hold himself together. His hand leaves your clit, and presses down just above your mound, adding to the whirlwind of stimulation. “Come on y/n— Fuck! Almost there. Give it to me!” With a piercing scream, the final letter tumbles from your throat. You feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin. “There it is. Shit, that’s so fucking good.” His praise adds to the familiar warmth settling into your core. You feel it coming hard and fast, “Maj, wait! The seats—” His heavy body drags against yours, “Fuck the seats. Gimme my shit.”
It only takes a few more seconds of him pistoning into you before you fall apart. Your vision goes white, and your toes curl, and your jaw drops with a silent cry. Violent streams of pleasure spurt around your boyfriend’s dick and across his abdomen. Jermajesty is right behind you, grip so tight you’re sure it’ll bruise. “Fuck! Gonna cum.” His stills as his balls tighten, and a loud groan rips from his chest. Thick globs of his spunk coat your insides. He stays put until he’s sure you’ve taken all of it.
You both breathe heavily as you come down from your highs. Your boyfriend slides out of you gently and moves to look at the mess he’s made of you. As your body twitches, completely and utterly spent, his eyes flicker to your half-lidded ones, and a smirk creeps onto his face. “A Nupe, can’t fuck you like this. Remember that.”
Summary: A continuation of part one, navigating your way through being a professional while acknowledging your fleshy desires and temptations
Warnings: 18+, smut, passionate conversations, raw emotions, strong language, sexual behaviors, begging, penetration, love making, denial of pleasure, masturbating, submichael,creampie , etc.
Being the personal assistant for the biggest celebrity in the world definitely has its advantages and disadvantages. You often found yourself in this strange void of merging into an assistant and a close friend all in the same breath, it’s very important that you knew when to be a professional and when it was time to show up as just yourself, but often times those lines are crossed and blurry once you look around
This week had been one of those weeks. Michael was having his first public appearance since he was acquitted of all charges. Because of this it always brought out both good and bad publicity. This meant more people outside his property and more media coverage, even though Michael trusted you and your word he struggled with not listening to the harsh criticism of the media. You’ve seen it all over the years..the ups and downs of being a support system for Michael. At this point you were more than equipped to deal with it. So the moment you seen his spirits shifting you stepped in and helped
You began to notice Michael wasn’t eating much and he was starting to sleep less. While you’d be up late working he would come out of his room just to sit and talk with you till wee hours, showing no signs of being lethargic. He wasn’t able to relax because of the constant stress standing right outside his gate. So you decided to book a rental property for the weekend, just a few hours away from his main residence. Only telling his security and no one else
Tonight was the first night staying in the vacation home with Michael. He slept majority of the day but this gave you the opportunity to catch up on emails and plan future trips of travel for him. Once he finally came out the room he placed a kiss on your cheek before sitting next to you on the sofa
“I thought you wanted me to relax this weekend?”
“I do Michael, that’s why we’re here”
“Well I can’t relax if you’re not relaxed”
“And if I get fired because I didn’t do my job I won’t be able to relax…ever again”
“You can take off the weekend—if not, then I’ll fire you” he chuckled
“You know you’re the most unusual boss I’ve ever had Michael? Most of the times they want you to work all the time and here you are telling me that if I don’t relax I’ll lose my job” You smirked closing your laptop
“And that’s why Michael is the best” he boasted
“Besides, if I’m overworked and can’t show up nobody gets paid” shrugging his shoulders and laughing
Michael held out his hand and guided you through the living room and into his master bedroom bathroom where the shower was already running
“Shower with me please?”
“Michael..” you began trailing off as he grabbed you by your waist & kissing in the crook of your neck
“Please? It would help me relax” He turned you away from the mirror so you couldn’t see the smirk on his face
“You know I can’t say no to you”
Michael instructed you to undress yourself slowly as he watched from inside the shower. Trying to resist the urge to touch himself before you could watch. Once the two of you were in the shower, Michael submerged the both of you under the hot water. You wrapped your arms around Michael as his hands roamed from your back and down to your butt before he firmly smacked it causing you to moan in his mouth
“You’re so beautiful to me mama, just watching you strutting around my house makes my dick hard”
He began kissing up and down your neck before returning back to your face “I never stopped thinking about you Pinky”
Closing your eyes and licking your lips before kissing Michael’s chest “Everytime we say “last time” a new scenario gets played”
The both of you moved your lips together in sync as Michael held your face in place. Only breaking away because he was running out of breath then carefully pressing his mouth to your ear and using four of his fingers to begin rubbing your clitoris
“Because I need more..Pinky that one time wasn’t enough for me I wanna taste you in my mouth again”
Hearing this was as sweet as symphony to you. Michael being so vulnerable with you & you only was such a turn on for you. It felt like special privilege
You glanced over at the shower bench and gently pushed Michael into submission while you got yourself comfortable on your knees. You kissed from Michael’s knees all the way through to his shaft and kept sharp eye contact with Michael.
It was clear as day that Michael was starting to lose his composure as you got closer to his dick. Every breath you let out and every brush of your lips going past his sensitive skin made him wince
“You said you need me baby? Tell me how you need me”
You spit on his tip before taking your dominant hand to create a pleasurable sensation. Michael rested his head into the corner of the wall with his eyes sealed tightly and cursing only loud enough for him to hear
“I can’t hear you baby—I’ll just have to stop” You used your other hand to gently pull back his foreskin causing him to start gasping for air
“Pinky please don’t stop” shaking his head side to side before looking down at you
This brought a smile to your face “My sweet boy” using the palm of your hand to rub against his tip causing friction
“You remember that night in Paris baby? Cause I do” looking up at Michael with a heavy gaze lingering over her eyes
“I remember you losing it the minute you slid in my pussy” you chuckled “isn’t it true?”
He nodded his head while gripping onto the edges of the shower bed “The look on your face when you told me to keep going and how you liked to be fucked” grunting through his words
“I couldn’t believe how tight you felt around me & the way your walls clenched on me when you were cumming” his eyes rolled back and groaned louder “My goodness the sweet voice you used on me that night. Your voice went out on me because of how loud I made you scream”
Michael could tell with his specific words of choice he had you under his command. Each memory pulling you into his grace
“You’re the best I ever had Pinky” Michael innocently admitted, not fully meaning to say such sensitive words
“Tell me where you want to cum on me baby”
“Your tits” releasing a shaky breath
Michael stood from his seat and jerked himself off before releasing his nut over both of your breasts. The minute he felt his release a wave of relief and ecstasy overtook him, so much so that he had to rest one hand on the shower wall to keep him standing up
He allowed breathless moans over and over still stroking his dick until nothing was left. Looking down at you, you seemed more than pleased with his performance. Michael placed his fingers under your chin and helped you stand to your feet where the two of you began to devour each others lips. “I’m so proud of you baby”
Constant tongue sucking sounds followed by muffled moans and agonizing sighs
“Michael I need you to touch me” speaking as if you were on the verge of crying
“I need you to touch me so badly it hurts. I haven’t been satisfied since the night we had together”
That’s all he needed to hear. Michael picked you up and held you by your ass as he carried you out the shower and into his bedroom. You attacked his face, smothering him in kisses
Tossing your naked body on the bed he pushed your legs above your head and instructed you to hold them in place as he went down on you
“Tell me how bad it’s been Pinky”
Using his middle and index fingers to penetrate you constantly as he began focusing his tongue over your clitoris. Your pulse was so strong he could feel it beating against his tongue
“Michael I’ve been frustrated for months” you cried out
“No matter how much I touch myself it’s not enough” you exhaled deeply “and then you tease me everyday. Brushing your dick against me like I can’t feel you. Michael you’re such a slut!”
Michael had his entire mouth engulfed in your pussy. Shaking his head slowly from side to side and moaning into you then erratically speeding up causing you to scream out like you were in need of help
“You cumming for me? Already?” Michael seemingly shocked at the thick creamy clouds flooding around his face and fingers before sucking them off
Hovering over you and sliding his tip in and out of you repeatedly driving you crazy. Watching you lose your mind brought a sinister feeling to Michael
“Tell me what you want from me”
“I want you to make me cum over and over again until I can’t take it anymore. I want all of you”
Michael compressed his body into yours and bit on your bottom lip as he finally allowed himself to slide inside you fully. His eyes immediately rolled back feeling the unforgettable sensation of your insides. Your legs dangled over his shoulders, each thrust they began to shake harder than before
Hot tears spilled from your face as you felt another buildup manifesting inside you
“Pinky talk to me” kissing away your tears
“M-Michael why do you fuck me like this? You drive me crazy and then I can’t stop thinking about you because it’s not enough”
“You want me all the time don’t you?”
You nodded your head with speed and dug your fingernails in his back. Michael kissed your lips gently before pressing his forehead into yours
“I fuck you like this because I know this pretty little body of yours better than you do baby. I fuck you like this because I got tired of you coming in here whining about that piece of shit boyfriend you used to have” Michael smirked in disgust
“From the day I met you Pinky I knew that he didn’t know what to do with you and he wasn’t fucking you right. You were so sexually frustrated. I waited until I had you all for myself before making a move on you. I always had my eye on you because you were always mine”
“You mean that?”
“All of it” pecking your lips “You probably didn’t think I could fuck you like this because I’m older than you—didn’t you?”
Your cheeks turned red and you tried burying your face in his chest to hide your frustrations “I-I always knew it was big”
“You know why I nicknamed you Pinky? Because I’ve never seen the inside of a pussy so rosy and flushed like yours” he groaned “I could get off that by staring at it all day”
Soft wet sounds filled the room followed by their uneven breathing and cries of desperation. Michael breathing in a husky voice and talking you through your orgasm
“Michael I want you to cum inside me and don’t stop until you’re done”
Catching him completely by surprise, even the last romantic encounter that was shared you never allowed yourself to be so vulnerable
“I need you to cum for me first pretty girl”
Michael pressed down on your abdomen forcing your body into shock, causing him to squirt over the bed and filling a puddle. Your walls continuously clenching and contracting around his dick creating a sensation too powerful for him to handle, burying his seed deep within you as he penetrated you deeper. Feeling his body recoil with each pump
“We made such a mess tonight, I’m embarrassed” looking at the puddle underneath the both of you
Now lying beside you and running his fingers through your sweaty hair and cheek. Brushing his thumb over your lips “You’re the only person in this world I trust, Pinky”
You grabbed Michael’s hand and gently kissed his fingers “I love you too Mikey”
A/N: Because I’m horny all the damn time I decided to write a follow up scene for this because it’s 👩🏽🍳💋
𝓘𝓽 𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓽 𝓪𝓼 𝓲𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓽𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 followed you everywhere you go. Being a very successful singer even from your newly released album. This also meant the interviews, rumors, and endless attention that slowly started to feel so suffocating. But, dating Michael Jackson only multiples to that attention tenfold.
The both of you almost instantly became to the most talked about couples in all of entertainment. Every magazine headline wanted duo pictures for their covers. Every reporter pushed you on the question of how your relationship is going. Fortunately, none of that mattered so much when it was just you and Michael.
In his eyes you weren’t a headline, you were simply you. That was why all the comments hurt so much. Not because strangers were saying them, because they were coming from someone that Michael had admired for the majority of his life. That someone being known other than Diana Ross.
𓂃
You were currently attending a private industry party in Los Angeles. The room glowed as the golden lights reflected across the room and as the soft low tones music played through the hidden speakers.
Michaels hand rested comfortably around your waist as he spoke to a group of other guests. Every now and then as someone else spoke he would glance at you and smile ever so softly. That shy smile still made your heart flutter after all these years.
“You okay baby?” He asked quietly. You nodded your head slightly forming a small smile on your lips. He then proceeded to lean down and press a gentle kiss against your forehead. “Good.” He spoke softly.
This small interaction between the two of you drew serval camera flashes in your direction. Michael groaned dramatically this caused you to giggle slightly. “They never leave us alone.” He spoke slightly annoyed.
Before you could reply, a familiar voice interrupted the two of you. “Michael!” This caused the both of you to turn.
Diana Ross stood nearby. This caused Michael to immediately smile. “Diana!”
Ever since Michael’s early on years she has been one of the most important people in his life. He would always speak about her with admiration. At first the conversation seemed normal, but then Diana’s eyes landed on you. Her smile slowly weakening.
“Oh…”she said flatly. “I didn’t realize that she’d be here as well…” That comment felt very strange. This causing Michael’s arm around your waist to tighten.
“Of course she is,” he spoke. “We’re together.” Diana gave a slight shrug at his comment. “I’m aware.” She said bluntly.
You forced a soft smile. And for a few minutes the conversation had turned and things slowly started to become more uncomfortable. “Y’know, Michael,” Diana started. “People talk…”
Michael frowned at her words. “About what exactly?”
She glanced over towards you. “About…her.” The room suddenly felt like he had became smaller. Michael gave a confused look. “What about her…?” It was obvious he was getting annoyed by the second.
Diana crossed her arms. “They say that she is using you.” You blinked confusingly as Michael’s expression hardens almost instantly after she spoke.
“What?”
“They say that she is enjoying the publicity.”
“Well that’s ridiculous.” Even after this Diana process to continue.
“They say that she wouldn’t be as nearly as successful as she is if she wasn’t dating you.” Michael stared at her. The soft smile he had always gave her was gone. You sighed and gently touched his arm.
“It’s okay Michael…” You try to reassure him.
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.” This seemingly caused Diana to laugh lightly. “I’m simply just telling you want other people said.”
“Well maybe that should just mind their fucking business.” It wasn’t even the sharpness in his voice that shocked you it was the fact that he had cursed. You knew michael for some time now and he had only cursed a handful of times when he was very upset. Usually michael would avoid confrontation whenever possible.
Usually he would let comments slide.
But not this time.
𓂃
An hour had passed and you found yourself standing near the balcony with your arms rested on the metal railing. Inside the building Michael was busy taking to serval executives.
And unfortunately for him Diana had appeared once again. Though this time she didn’t seem interested in speaking with you.
Only Michael so she walked directly towards him. You hand began making your way back inside when you noticed her approaching him and as she began to place a hand on his arm. Michael immediately stepped back. Not dramatically but just enough to remove her hand.
“Diana.” He said in a more serious tone. Though she still didn’t comply to his warning. Michael sighed.
“Y’know…you’re not helping.” Michael said in a low tone.
“I’ve known you ever since you were a child.”
“I know.”
“And I care about you.” Diana spoke trying to sound convincing. Though Michael was truly getting annoyed by the second. “I know that too.”
“Then listen to me.” His jaw tightened. “No.”
Diana looked at him in utter shock. “What?” She couldn’t. believe what was happening.
“I said no.”
Those words came out firm and final. You had never heard him sound like this before.
You weren’t trying to eases drop, but the room had grown had grown quiet enough that people nearby were beginning to notice the tension. Diana pout in your direction.
“She isn’t right for you.”
That was the true breaking point. Michael had finally snapped. “STOP.”
That single word echoed through the conversation. Serval heads turned and Diana just stared blankly.
“Michael—”
“No.”
His voice rose louder. For once he wasn’t trying to hide his frustration. For once he wasn’t trying to make everyone around him fell comfortable. “You keep talkin about her like you know her.”
The room went completely silent. Michael continued. “Well you don’t.”
Diana looked utterly offended at his comment. “I’m just trying to protect you.”
“Why would I want your protection when i’m well over old enough to speak and do for myself.” He shook his head. “Maybe you should start being like this more towards your own kids and your own life without tryin to mess up mine!” Michael was backing down now.
“You think just because i’ve known you for longer that I’d actually have a better bond with you?!” Michael laughed slightly as for Diana was too shocked to say anything.
“I’ve spent almost my whole life picturing you as the hero of all my problems, but now I understand that you were the issue all along.” He lashed out.
(Damn let her get up)
“I know that the public viewed you as someone that was all caring and sweet towards me, but behind closed doors you were NOTHING like that.” Diana looked around nervously.
“You are a manipulative and horrible person and I don’t want to see your fucking face EVERY AGAIN!” Michael was furious and he continued.
“And to think that you tried to take me away from the person that I love the most and the one that supported me through everything? You can talk about me all you want, but keep my girls name out of your filthy mouth.” He said finally before storming off not even bothering to hear what Diana would even say.
And after a few moments she turned on her heel and left.
𓂃
A few minutes later to found Michael on the balcony you were at earlier alone. The city lights of New York stretched endlessly below. Michael looked exhausted.
You approached him quietly. “Hey…”
He turned. Immediately his expression began to soften just from the sight of you. “Hey baby.”
You took the chance to slip your arms around his neck. “Y’know you didn’t have to do all that.”
“Yes I did.” He spoke as his hand settled on your waist. “I meant every word I said.”
The sincerity in his eyes made you feel emotional. “I don’t like people talking about you that way.” You smiled softly.
This earned him a slight laugh from you. He began to grin from your expression. The tension between you two slowly disappearing.
The he glanced down at your lips before leaning in. His lips meet yours. The kiss started off soft and gentle but Michael slowly found himself starting to become more needy.
He pulled you closer to him as if your bodies weren’t around pressed up against each others. His arms held to tightly like he was afraid that you might disappear. His tongue grazed your lips wanting access in and you eventually opened your mouth starting to feel the sensation of his tongue swirling against yours as the both fought for dominance.
After a few more seconds you eventually had to pull away to catch some air earning a slight whine from Michael as not even a few seconds past before his lips were on yours once again. He felt like he was in heaven from the way that you kissed him and by the way that your body felt against his hands. His hands roamed around your whole body like they were in desperate need of your touch.
Eventually the two of you began to walk towards the car so you’ll go back to the hotel for the night. Once you got in you Michael told Bill to take them to the hotel.
Michael rested his head on your shoulder as he gently caressed his soft curls. His eyes tried to remain open for as long as possible but he eventually started to drift off into slumber. You kissed his forehead gently before closing yours eyes as well.
Ceedee fic, where teammates and the internet want him to be in a relationship, not knowing that he already has someone in his life, but the most shocking thing is that they even have a newborn. Tired of rumors, he decides to pop out with his family, shocking everyone.
pop out
a ceedee lamb fic
summary ~ requested.
includes ~ fluff // wife!reader // husband!ceedee // criticism from the media (per usual)
word count ~ 2.3K
a/n ~ such a cute request! sorry it took me so long!
————————————————————————
For months, the internet had been trying to find Ceedee a girlfriend.
It started as jokes at first. Harmless posts after games, clips of him walking through tunnels in sunglasses and designer jackets, edits of him smiling on the sideline, comments under videos from fans who had entirely too much time on their hands.
Somebody get this man a wife.
CeeDee looks like he needs a soft girl at home.
Why is he always outside looking single?
At first, you thought it was funny.
Mostly because you were usually watching those comments while sitting on the couch in his hoodie, your swollen feet tucked under a blanket, your baby kicking against your ribs while Ceedee moved around the kitchen trying to cook something that was supposed to be dinner.
He would glance over when you laughed at your phone, already suspicious.
“What they saying now?”
You’d read one out loud, barely holding back your smile. “They said you need a wife.”
Ceedee would look over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised, cutting board in front of him and a dish towel thrown over one shoulder like somebody’s fine uncle at a cookout.
“They late.”
You would hold up your left hand, the small diamond on your finger catching the kitchen light. “Very late.”
That was the part nobody knew.
Not the fans. Not the blogs. Not most of the internet. Not even some of the people around the league.
Ceedee Lamb was not single.
He had not been single for a long time.
He had you.
And more recently, he had a son.
A tiny, warm, sleepy little boy with his father’s eyes, your nose, and the incredible ability to turn one of the most confident players in the NFL into a whispering, emotional mess at three in the morning.
You had agreed to keep everything private for as long as you could. Not hidden, exactly. Ceedee hated that word. He had never made you feel like a secret. He took care of you loudly in the ways that mattered. Your family knew. His family knew. The people closest to you knew. You were in his house, his heart, his plans, his prayers.
But the public?
That was different.
The public wanted ownership. It wanted details before it offered respect. It wanted faces, timelines, names, captions, speculation. Ceedee had seen enough of what happened when athletes gave too much of their private life away. One picture turned into a headline. One headline turned into opinions. One opinion turned into strangers speaking on a woman they did not know.
And once you got pregnant, he became even more protective.
“Baby don’t need all that noise,” he said one night, his palm resting carefully against your stomach while you lay beside him in bed.
You looked over at him. “The baby or me?”
“Both.”
His voice was soft, but there was no room for argument in it.
So you stayed quiet. You enjoyed your pregnancy in peace. You went to appointments with him sneaking in through side doors when he could, his big hand wrapped around yours, his eyes going wide every time he heard the heartbeat like it was the first miracle the world had ever produced. You watched him build the crib himself even though it took twice as long because he refused to admit the instructions were confusing. You watched him fold tiny onesies with a concentration he normally reserved for game film.
Then your son was born.
And for a while, the world outside your little house simply stopped mattering.
Ceedee cried when he held him.
He tried to hide it at first, turning slightly away like you hadn’t already seen the tears in his eyes. But when the nurse placed that tiny bundle against his chest, something in him gave way. His shoulders lowered, his face softened, and he stared down at his son like every loud thing in his life had finally gone quiet.
“Hey, little man,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m your daddy.”
You were exhausted, sweaty, emotional, and so in love with both of them that your chest hurt.
From that day forward, Ceedee became even harder to recognize to people who only knew him as number 88.
At home, he was gentle. Careful. Ridiculously clingy with the baby. He learned how to swaddle, how to warm bottles, how to support his head, how to walk slow circles around the living room at night when your son refused to sleep anywhere except against his chest.
Sometimes you would wake up in the early morning and find him sitting in the nursery chair, shirtless, baby asleep against him, one large hand covering nearly the entire little back.
“You were supposed to wake me,” you’d whisper from the doorway.
He would look up, tired but peaceful. “I had him.”
“You have practice.”
“I know.”
“You need sleep.”
“So do you.”
And that would be the end of it because Cee, despite what fans thought, had already decided fatherhood was not something he was going to half-do.
Still, as the season went on, the rumors got louder.
It seemed like every week there was a new post. Some model liked one of his pictures. Some influencer posted from Dallas and suddenly fans had them married. A woman sat near the cowboys family section and the internet zoomed in like the FBI. Teammates started joking too, mostly because they thought his private life was empty.
“You need somebody, man,” one of them said in the locker room after a game, tossing a towel toward his stall. “You too quiet after wins. Go celebrate.”
Ceedee looked down at his phone where you had just sent him a picture of your son sleeping in a little Cowboys onesie.
He smiled to himself.
“Nah,” he said. “I’m good.”
Another teammate laughed. “That’s the problem. You always good. Somebody gotta humble you.”
He locked his phone and slid it into his bag. “I’m plenty humbled.”
They didn’t understand.
How could they?
They didn’t see him at home trying to change a diaper without waking the baby. They didn’t see you half-asleep in bed, curls wrapped up, wearing one of his old shirts, whispering for him to come lie down because he had been standing over the bassinet for ten minutes just watching the baby breathe.
They didn’t see how fast he came home.
That was the part that started bothering him.
Not the jokes. Not really.
It was the way people kept painting him as available when he knew exactly who he belonged to. It was watching strangers flirt openly online, watching fans talk about him needing a woman, watching blogs attach his name to people he had never even met while you sat quietly in the background recovering from childbirth, loving him, raising his son, protecting his peace.
The breaking point came from a podcast clip.
One of his teammates was guesting, laughing about how Ceedee was “too single for his own good.” The room laughed. The host made a comment about women lining up for him. Somebody said he needed to settle down before he got caught up.
He watched the clip once.
Then he watched your face as you pretended it didn’t bother you.
You were sitting on the couch with the baby curled against your chest, one hand rubbing slow circles over his back. Your expression barely changed, but he knew you. He knew when something landed. You didn’t have to cry for him to understand that it stung.
He took the phone from your hand and set it facedown on the coffee table.
“Dee,” you said softly, “it’s not that serious.”
He sat beside you, eyes on the baby first, then on you. “It is to me.”
You sighed, shifting carefully so your son stayed asleep. “They don’t know.”
“They about to.”
Your eyes lifted to his. “What?”
He leaned back against the couch, jaw tight, gaze serious in a way that made your stomach flutter.
“I’m tired of everybody speaking on my life like you not in it.”
Your heart softened immediately. “I’m in it where it matters.”
“I know that.” He reached over, brushing his thumb gently along your cheek. “But I don’t like you having to sit there quiet while people act like I’m out here looking for something I already got.”
You looked down at the baby, his tiny fist curled into the fabric of your shirt.
“We said we wanted privacy.”
“We can still have privacy,” Ceedee said. “But privacy don’t mean I let people play in your face.”
His voice stayed calm, but you could hear the emotion beneath it. Protective. Frustrated. Certain.
You studied him for a long moment. “What are you thinking?”
He glanced toward the baby again, and the tension in his expression softened. “Family tunnel walk.”
Your eyebrows rose.
“Dee.”
“What?”
“With the baby?”
“With my son,” he corrected gently. “And his mama.”
The words slipped into the room and settled there.
His son.
His mama.
Your throat tightened. “That’s a lot.”
“I know.”
“Once people see him, they’re going to talk.”
“They already talk.” He leaned closer. “At least this time they’ll be talking about the truth.”
You wanted to argue, but there was something in his face that stopped you. Ceedee wasn’t asking to show off. He wasn’t trying to make a headline. He was tired of letting the world create versions of his life while the most important part of it stayed invisible.
Still, he softened when he saw the worry in your eyes.
“If you say no, we don’t do it,” he said. “I mean that. I’m not putting you or him out there unless you’re okay.”
That was why you loved him.
Because even when he was protective, he never confused protection with control.
You looked down at your son, sleepy and warm against you, then back at the man who had loved you quietly for years and was finally ready to love you publicly too.
“Okay,” you whispered.
Ceedee’s face changed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You smiled gently. “Let’s pop out.”
The slow grin that spread across his face was dangerous.
“Pop out?”
“Don’t make me take it back.”
He laughed, leaning in to kiss your forehead first, then the baby’s.
“Too late.”
Game day arrived colder than expected.
You stood in the bedroom wearing a fitted cream sweater dress, long coat, and boots, turning slightly in the mirror while trying not to overthink everything. Your hair was styled soft around your face, makeup warm and pretty, jewelry simple except for the bracelet Dee had given you after the baby was born. Your son was dressed in a tiny custom denim jacket with LAMB stitched on the back.
When Ceedee walked in and saw both of you, he stopped.
He actually stopped.
You looked over. “What?”
He shook his head slowly, eyes moving from you to the baby and back again. “Y’all look too good.”
“You say that like it’s a problem.”
“It is.” He walked closer, already dressed for the tunnel in dark jeans, a designer jacket, chain sitting against his shirt, looking entirely too fine for someone about to stress you out. “Now I gotta share y’all with the world.”
“You started this.”
“I know. I’m starting to regret it.”
You laughed softly while he reached for the baby, cradling him against his chest with the kind of practiced gentleness that still made your heart ache.
“You ready, little man?” he murmured.
Your son made a tiny sound and settled against him.
Ceedee looked up at you. “He ready.”
“I’m glad one of us is.”
He stepped close enough to wrap his free arm around your waist. “You nervous?”
“Yes.”
“You look beautiful.”
“That doesn’t answer the nerves.”
“No.” He kissed your temple. “But it’s true.”
The stadium tunnel was chaos when you arrived.
Cameras, staff, players, security, people moving in every direction. You had been around the team before, but never like this. Never visible. Never walking beside him with your baby in his arms and his hand at your back like he was introducing his whole heart to the world.
The first person to react was one of his teammates.
He was mid-conversation when his eyes landed on Ceedee, then on you, then on the baby.
His mouth fell open.
“Hold on.”
Ceedee’s face stayed calm, but you could see the amusement in his eyes.
The teammate walked closer, pointing at the baby. “Bro. Is that—”
“My son,” Ceedee said.
The tunnel seemed to pause around you.
“Your son?” another teammate repeated from nearby.
He adjusted the baby carefully against his chest, pride written across his whole face. “Yeah.”
Someone shouted from behind them, “Dee got a baby?”
Then it was over.
The whole group erupted.
Players crowded around in disbelief, some laughing, some yelling, some genuinely offended that he had managed to hide an entire family. One of them looked at you with wide eyes and said, “You real?”
You laughed despite your nerves. “Very.”
Another pointed at Ceedee. “This man had a whole wife and baby at home while we were calling him single?”
Ceedee shrugged. “Y’all loud.”
“You secretive!”
“Private,” Ceedee corrected.
Then he looked at you, and the teasing around him faded from his face. He reached for your hand and brought it to his lips briefly, right there in front of everybody.
“My family,” he said simply.
The cameras caught that.
Of course they did.
The internet had the clip before kickoff.
By the second quarter, your phone was unusable.
You didn’t check it until you were settled in the family suite, baby asleep in your arms now while Ceedee’s family laughed over the chaos unfolding online. The first post you saw was a slow-motion tunnel clip: Ceedee walking in with your son in one arm, your hand in his other, looking calm as ever while half his teammates lost their minds behind him.
The caption read:
CEEDEE LAMB JUST WALKED IN WITH A WHOLE FAMILY????
The comments were worse.
The internet been trying to find him a girlfriend and this man had a BABY.
That baby jacket with LAMB on the back. I’m sick.
He been going home to peace and a newborn this whole time.
She’s gorgeous. He hid her for a reason.
You scrolled for a few minutes, overwhelmed but not unhappy. Most of it was shock. Some of it was sweet. Some of it made you roll your eyes. But beneath the noise, something in you felt relieved.
No more rumors.
No more pretending.
No more watching strangers invent women for a man who came home to you.
After the game, Ceedee found you before doing anything else.
Still in uniform, eye black smudged slightly, adrenaline bright in his eyes. The second he stepped into the family area and saw you holding the baby, his whole expression changed.
Softened.
Came home.
“How my boy?” he asked, walking straight to you.
“Sleepy,” you said. “A little overwhelmed. Same as his mama.”
He bent to kiss the baby’s forehead, then yours. “You okay?”
You looked up at him, the noise of celebration moving around you, cameras still somewhere outside, the internet still exploding.
“I’m okay.”
His eyes searched yours. “For real?”
“For real.”
Only then did his shoulders relax.
A teammate passed by and shouted, “Family man!”
Ceedee didn’t even look away from you. “Been that.”
Your chest warmed.
Later that night, after the game, after the posts, after the family calls, after the baby finally went down, you found yourself in bed beside Ceedee while he scrolled through his phone with one hand and held yours with the other.
“They’re still going,” he said.
“You surprised?”
“Nah.”
You leaned against his shoulder. “You regret it?”
He locked his phone and set it aside.
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
He turned toward you, face softer in the bedroom light. “I don’t regret showing the world I’m loved.”
Your throat tightened.
“And I definitely don’t regret showing them who I come home to.”
You looked down, emotion rising faster than you expected. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“You been emotional since the baby.”
“You have also been emotional since the baby.”
He laughed quietly. “Fair.”
For a moment, you both listened to the monitor beside the bed, your son’s tiny breathing filling the silence.
Ceedee reached over and touched your ring finger gently.
“They can know now,” he said. “But they don’t get everything.”
You nodded.
That was the balance.
The world got a glimpse. A tunnel walk. A headline. A photo of a baby jacket. A man proud enough to walk into a stadium with his family and silence every rumor without saying a word.
But it did not get the late-night feedings.
It did not get the way Ceedee sang off-key lullabies because he claimed the baby liked them.
It did not get the quiet kisses in the kitchen, the tired laughter, the soft arguments over who needed sleep more.
It did not get the full story.
That belonged to you.
He pulled you closer, his hand settling warm against your waist.
“You know they’re probably calling you my mystery woman.”
You smiled against his chest. “I’m not mysterious.”
“Nah.” His voice lowered, affectionate and certain. “You’re mine.”
The baby made a tiny sound through the monitor, and both of you went still.
When he settled again, you and Ceedee looked at each other and laughed softly.
There it was.
Your real life.
Not the rumors.
Not the internet.
Not the league.
Just the two of you in the quiet, listening to the little boy who had changed everything.
Ceedee kissed your forehead and held you close.
“Already had everything they thought I needed,” he murmured.
You closed your eyes, smiling into the warmth of him.
And he was right.
The world had spent months trying to find him love.
𑣲⋆ summary : all you wanted was a break from the madness of studio 54. you didn’t expect to find michael jackson hiding from it too, and most importantly expect one conversation to turn into the best night of your life.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ otw michael jackson x reader
a/n : sorry this got posted later than i said, i didn’t expect it to take me so long to write… also if anyone asks for part 2 i’ll throw a fit bc some people need to realise the beauty of one-shots is that there’s no part 2 and you make it up with your imagination and make up and interpret your own ending boiiii
stepping into studio 54 felt like another word—music thundering through the walls and floorboards, the steady pulse of disco vibrating through your chest like a second heartbeat. above the crowded dance floor, neon coloured lights swept across the room in waves, painting everyone beneath them in constantly shifting shades. the mirrored surfaces scattered reflections in every direction, making the club seem endless.
it was only around eleven, early by studio 54 standards, but the night was already alive—groups of people crowded around tables and the bar, laughing loudly over the music. others wildly filled the dance floor shoulder to shoulder, moving beneath the spinning lights without a care in the world of who was watching. sequins flashed every time someone turned, metallic jewellery catching in the light. clouds of expensive perfume and cologne mixed with cigarette smoke lingered in the warm, heated air.
the music carried you effortlessly through the crowd, your body moving instinctively to the infectious rhythm pouring from the speakers. one moment you were dancing with a woman in a glittering silver dress, both of you laughing as you spun beneath the lights. the next, a stranger was pointing excitedly toward the dj booth before pulling you into another song. faces gradually blurred together throughout the night following many brief conversations, shared smiles and familiar lyrics shouted in unison over the music.
it didn’t matter to you that you knew almost none of them, as right now everyone belonged to the same rhythm of the music. every bassline sent a wave of energy through the room. every song seeming longer and louder than the last. people clapped, danced, and sang along as if the night would never end—no one wanting it to.
it was practically humanly impossible not to get swept up in the contagious energy, not a soul standing still. you danced energetically beneath the kaleidoscope of lights, surrounded by strangers who felt like friends for three minute songs at a time, letting the music drown out every thought in your head as the club sparkled and pulsated around you like the centre of the universe itself.
before long as the night progressed, more and more people arrived in waves. as the hours slipped by, studio 54 only grew louder. people continued pouring through the doors in a steady stream, each new arrival bringing another burst of energy into the club. the spaces between bodies began to disappear, the lines at the bar stretched longer, laughter progressively becoming louder and less restrained.
drink after drink circulated through the room, the effects impossible to miss—conversations became slurred. movements became bolder, strangers who had barely acknowledged one another earlier in the evening now danced together like lifelong friends. some stumbled through the crowd with flushed cheeks and crooked smiles whilst others threw their heads back in laughter at jokes that likely weren’t as funny as they were making it out to be.
the atmosphere was intoxicating. though somehow, it was beginning to exhaust you.
you’d had a few drinks yourself throughout the evening, enough to feel pleasantly warm, relaxed and able to let go, but nowhere near enough to match the energy surrounding you now. everywhere you turned, someone seemed determined to pull you back into the chaos—a hand grabbing your wrist, another settling briefly on your shoulder. at some point a random guy wrapped an arm around you and spun you into the middle of a dancing circle before disappearing into the crowd again, leaving you dazed and confused.
earlier, you would’ve laughed and joined in with everyone. now it only made your stomach tighten. the dance floor felt increasingly different than it had an hour ago. everything feeling hotter, stuffier and almost claustrophobic.
people bumped into one another constantly. drinks sloshed onto expensive clothes. voices competed against the music until everything blended into one overwhelming wall of noise.
you quickly found yourself glancing toward the exits more than once, desperate for room to breathe. when another heavily intoxicated stranger stumbled into your space and attempted to pull you into a dance, you finally decided enough was enough. with a polite smile and a quick excuse that was immediately swallowed by the music, you slipped away from the crowd.
the further you moved from the centre of the dance floor, the easier it became to breathe. you navigated the familiar hallways and dimly lit corners before reaching a narrow staircase tucked away near the back of the club.
you knew this route well. after countless nights spent at studio 54 you’d discovered more than a few places to disappear to when the club became too much.
the metal staircase clanked softly beneath your heels as you climbed, the music growing slightly more distant with each step, though the bass still vibrated through the walls. directly at the top waited a heavy red velvet curtain, swiftly slipping behind it.
nearly instantaneously the noise softened to manageable degree. the secluded balcony stretched quietly above the club, hidden from most guests below. a simple iron railing separated you from the open view overlooking the dance floor.
you crossed the small space and lowered yourself onto the floor, resting your back against the wall behind you with a long exhale—the first one all night.
beneath you, the nightclub appeared almost unreal. from above, the crowd merged into a constantly shifting sea of colour and movement. hundreds of people swayed beneath the lights as if they were part of one living thing, rising and falling with every beat of the music. the mirrored disco ball suspended overhead scattered fragments of light across the room like falling stars, chromatic alternations of the lights sweeping across the dance floor, each colour transforming the crowd for only a moment before the next replaced it.
the music continued to echo upward, but now softened by distance, turning the thunderous bass into something almost comforting.
from the distance, the chaos looked beautiful—shared drunken laughter, joyous erratic dancing and its endless motion. all of it blended together into something strangely euphoric as though watching a dream unfold from afar.
you folded your arms on your knees and simply watched—silently people watching from the distance. it kept you relaxed knowing you didn’t need to be a part of it, just watching it was enough.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —
gradually as time passed you began to lose track of how long you’d been sat up there, just peacefully watching the drunkenly dancing figures converse and squeal.
deep down you did love it there at studio 54. sure, it did get overwhelming at time to have a parade of mindlessly under the influence people swarm you, giving you uncalled for touches and grinds, but it still felt nearly like home. you just needed a break at times when all grew a little too much.
you’re soon enough snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the rip echoing of the curtains beside you as they opened, a figure stepping out to the small balcony, almost tripping over you before letting out a startled gasp.
“oh gosh, i’m— i’m so sorry, i didn’t see you there,” a slightly alarmed voice speaks.
you snap you head in the direction of the open doorway, momentarily startled by the sudden interruption.
the figure standing before you froze beneath the coloured glow spilling up from the dance floor below, one hand still clutching the edge of the curtain. a second passed where neither of you said anything.
then the recognition hit, your eyes widening in almost disbelief as you took in his appearance—his slightly messy afro, his warm dark skin, the dazzling purple blazer he had, his deep brown eyes that gazed down at you on the floor with slight worry and concern.
michael jackson.
not just somebody who happened to visit studio 54 and nearly kicked you in the leg.
michael. jackson.
you’d heard his songs countless times—i mean, who hadn’t in this day and age? they played on radios, blasted from car speakers, echoed from record stores. his name seemed to follow wherever music was discussed. even inside studio 54 itself people talked about him constantly whenever he made an appearance.
and somehow, despite seeing him around from a distance on multiple occasions, your paths had never actually crossed.
until now.
you hoped desperately that your shock wasn’t visible on your face. “oh, no, it’s okay,” you said quickly, letting out a nervous laugh. “i don’t blame you not seeing me down here—“
michael looked visibly relieved at your forgiveness, his shoulders slightly dropping. “still,” he replied, pressing a hand on top of his hair. “you scared me.”
the comment caught you off guard enough to laugh again, a grin immediately appearing on his face, seemingly pleased he’d managed to get one out of you.
“sorry,” he added, again. his voice was soften than you’d ever imagined. everyone knew of that softly charming voice he obtained, but it know sounded different hearing it in real life in the contrast of the chaos below you two.
you shook your head with a faint smile, waving off his apology. “no need.”
the conversation fell quiet for a moment, michael glancing awkwardly toward the curtain again, back to the empty hallway behind him, then back to you with a scratch of the back of his neck.
“well… i’ll leave you alone,” he faltered slightly, taking a small step backwards off the balcony.
something about the idea of him now leaving felt disappointing.
“it seems it’s big enough for both of us,” you offer, the words leaving your mouth before you could reconsider them.
michael paused slightly, looking at you with slightly skepticism of you wanting to share your private space you seemingly had now claimed. “you sure?”
you offer him a small nod in return. “i mean, unless you know another secret balcony.”
a light chuckle escaped him, his eyes squinting slightly with a crinkle. “no, this was my backup plan.”
“then you’re welcome to stay.”
michael appeared almost surprised by the invitation. most people either wanted something from him or became too nervous to speak normally around him. the fact that you were simply offering a place to sit seemed to catch him off guard before eventually he smiled. “okay then.”
carefully, he lowered himself onto the floor beside you. the balcony wasn’t particularly large—there was enough room for both of you to sit comfortably, though your knees occasionally brushed whenever one of you shifted position though neither of you seemed particularly bothered by it.
for a while, the two of you simply watched the club below, the crowd somehow having grown even larger. from above, the dance floor resembled a constantly moving mosaic of glittering clothes, colourful lights, and raised hands. waves of laughter drifted upward whenever the music briefly softened between songs. the enormous disco ball scattered fragments of silver light across the room, transforming hundreds of strangers into flickering silhouettes.
michael rested his arms across his knees, soon diverting his attention onto you. “so what brought you up here?”
you glanced toward the crowd, eyes flicking from person to person—all each in their own little world. “just… needed a break.”
his face immediately brightened, almost unnoticeably to most people, but it was
there. “really?”
you giggle slightly in confusion at his question. “yeah?”
“thats— that’s exactly why i’m here,” michael somewhat stumbling in his words at the surprise of someone maybe understanding him.
you look over to him, your head lightly cocked to the side with a furrow of your eyebrows. “it is?..”
he nods momentarily, motioning with his head toward the dance floor below. “people think i can stay down there all night.”
“and can you?”
michael immediately shook his head, pursing his lips together. “no.”
the speed of his response raises a quiet chortle from you. “no?”
“no,” he repeats, staring, almost zoned-out, towards the dance floor now packed with dozens and dozens of people, tightly together.
he grinned as he watched the shared sharp energetic twists sways of the mass. “i like people. i really do. most especially the ones here,” he begins, admiring the flowing patterns beneath him. “but sometimes…” he slowly continued, gesturing vaguely toward the crowd. “it’s a lot.”
you nodded in agreement, listening intently as he explained. “yeah, definitely a lot.”
“exactly.”
the shared understanding settled naturally between you, something oddly comforting about it.
for the hour that followed, conversation flowed with surprising ease. what started as observations about the club gradually drifted into completely unrelated topics—favourite songs, terrible fashion trends, movies, specifically horror, stories about strange encounters with people at the club who definitely got involved with a specific powder, and embarrassing moments which left you both holding your stomach in silent laughter, holding onto each other to try catch a breath.
the more you talked, the easier it became to forget who exactly was sitting beside you. michael wasn’t acting like a celebrity, he wasn’t performing or to impress anybody.
he also wasn’t what you’d typically expect from such a well-known star—he was funny, far funnier than you’d expected. more than once you found yourself laughing hard enough that your stomach hurt. and he didn’t seem to be one to brag either, not trying to rub in your face all of his achievements—and that you admired.
likewise, michael seemed increasingly entertained by you. every time you made an offhand joke or observation, his laughter echoed across the small balcony.
by the time another half-hour had passed, the noise from the club below almost felt distant, the conversation becoming far more interesting.
eventually michael glanced toward his watch on his wrist, then back towards you before turning back into the empty hallway behind the heavy curtain—an idea seemed to form.
“you wanna dip?”
you blink at the sudden proposal, eyebrows wrinkled together. “…leave?”
he nodded. “jus’ for a while.”
you raised an eyebrow, tilting your head quizzically. “and go where exactly?”
a mischievous smirk appeared on michael’s face, a glint appearing in the deep, grounding presence of his dark eyes. “well, there’s this diner.”
“a diner.”
“yeah.”
“you want to leave studio 54 for a diner?” you replicate his point, eyes widened in disbelief of his idea.
michael stared back, looking completely serious. “it’s a really good diner.”
“still doesn’t explain why,” you softly chuckle with a shake of your head.
“uh, well— ‘cause i’m hungry.” he clarified, his answer coming so quickly that you nearly laughed again.
“an’ ‘cause i don’t think either of us wants to go back down there,” he pointed toward the crowd below.
momentarily you considered it, the idea sounded surprisingly appealing—to get away from the tipsy commotion surrounding you.
michael’s smile gradually widened the moment he saw your expression of thought. “i’ll take that as a yes.”
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —
sneaking out proved to be easier than expected. apparently michael had perfected the art of avoiding attention.
through back hallways, service entrances, and doors you hadn’t even known existed, the two of you managed to slip away from studio 54 almost completely unnoticed.
the cool night air felt refreshing after hours spent inside the crowded club. the lively city glowed around you—neon signs reflecting across rain-dark pavement, taxi headlights drifted through the streets with the distant sounds of music and conversation followed from nearby buildings. for the first time all evening, everything felt calm.
the diner itself was sat tucked between several larger buildings, easy to miss unless you already knew where it was.
the moment you stepped inside, the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different from nightclub—warm, dim lighting, a soft hum of conversation compared to the racket of 54, the smell of coffee and freshly cooked food and a jukebox quietly playing marvin gaye in the corner.
the man sat behind the counter immediately recognised michael as he stepped in. following a brief exchange, the two of you were guided toward a secluded booth near the back where you could sit undisturbed where the conversation resumed almost immediately.
hours seemed to disappear, every topic leading to another yet again—music became movies, movies became childhood stories before the nostalgic stories became dreams for the future.
there was never an awkward silence. never a moment where either of you struggled to find something to say.
michael found himself increasingly fascinated by how easy everything felt. you weren’t treating him differently or asking for anything which he was unused to. you were simply being yourself, not making an attempt of putting on a dramatic show for him which he found others girls do—he enjoyed it.
long after the food had arrived and disappeared just as fast, the two of you remained seated in the booth talking as if you’d known each other far longer than a single evening.
by the time you finally glanced at the clock, the night had slipped away entirely, neither of you having even noticed how late it had become until the diner had nearly emptied.
the remanence of customers had long since disappeared. conversations that had once drifted throughout the restaurant had gradually faded away, leaving behind only the occasional clink of cutlery and the soft hum of the neon sign glowing outside the window. even the jukebox seemed quieter now, its music blending into the comfortable atmosphere that had settled around your booth.
at some point, the city beyond the glass had changed too—the streets were calmer than before, the streams of people that had filled the sidewalks earlier in the night had thinned considerably, replaced by only a handful of wandering figures and the occasional taxi rolling past beneath pools of streetlight.
and somehow, despite the hours that had passed, neither of you seemed eager to leave.
michael sat across from you with a half-finished strawberry milkshake he’d completely forgotten about nearly an hour ago. every so often he’d absentmindedly stir it with his straw while listening to whatever story you happened to be telling, and every time he laughed, you found yourself smiling too.
just some hours ago, michael jackson had just been a little more than a name attached to songs on the radio and conversations overheard around studio 54 whilst now he felt like a friend.
“y’know,” michael suddenly announced, breaking a comfortable silence, “i’m real glad i almost tripped over you.”
you laughed in disbelief at the humorous confession. “that’s probably the weirdest compliment i’ve ever received.”
“maybe… but i’m serious,” he admitted, his smile softening. “if i hadn’t gone up there, i would’ve spent the whole night downstairs pretendin’ i wasn’t overwhelmed ‘n waiting to go home.”
“yeah, you nearly kicked me over the edge so you must’ve been real overwhelmed.”
“i did say i was sorry.”
“uh-huh, i forgave you,” you retaliate, a soft laugh escaping your lips.
“good,” he teased, his grin widening as he reached a sip of his, now melted, milkshake. “then we’re even.”
outside, a taxi passed beneath the window, its headlights briefly illuminating the booth before disappearing down the street. michael glanced toward it before looking back at you.
“i think this was better than 54. i’d take this over it any second.
your eyebrows lifted in amusement. “that’s a bold statement.”
“i mean it though. don’t get me wrong, i love the music. i love dancing, i love all of it.” he briefly paused. “but nights like this don’t happen very often.”
something about the honesty and vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten slightly—because he was right. studio 54 was unforgettable, the lights, music, the crowds and its energy… yet the part of the evening you knew you’d remember years from now wasn’t the dancing, the disco ball or the celebrities or the endless stream of music.
it was this—a hidden balcony, your quiet conversations, the shared diner booth and the unexpected friendship that came with it.
the owner eventually approached your table with an apologetic smile and informed you that they were about to close having already kept the place open an hour longer than they should’ve just because it was michael and he knew he usually came alone, so the new companion encouraged him to give them more time.
neither of you could really argue with that, the two of you gathering your things and stepped back outside into the cool early-morning air.
the city felt completely different now, peaceful in the early morning. the sky had begun to lighten ever so slightly along the horizon, hinting at the sunrise still waiting somewhere beyond the buildings.
briefly, you stood together on the sidewalk, neither entirely sure what to say—if you’d should leave it here or continue.
eventually, michael shoved his hands into his pockets. “well...”
“well.”
michael breathed out a quiet laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “guess this is where we end it probably.”
you frown slightly at the thought of having to make your departure before giving a nod of agreement. “guess so.”
michael paused. “can we do this again… please?” he almost pleaded, gazing at you with those iconic puppy eyes he adorned.
“of course, i’d do this again every day of the week i could,” you admit with a shy smile.
michael immediately beamed a bright toothy smile back, quick to exchange contact details with you and with one final hug where his cologne melted all of your senses and his light touch provide a distant tickling sensation over your spine, he disappeared down the sidewalk, his figure gradually blending into the quiet city beginning its awakening around him.
you remained there for another moment, watching the streetlights glow against the fading darkness, looking toward the horizon where morning was beginning to creep into the sky.
the night hadn’t gone remotely how you’d expected—you arrived at studio 54 hoping for a few hours of music and dancing. instead, you’d left with something far more memorable.
finally, turning to head home, a smile lingering on your face when you couldn’t help but think that sometimes the best parts of a night happen when you step away from the party and simply let things unfold on their own.
