JANAE 𝜗𝜚

writing is my therapy / requests open

[serenebows]

introduction.

janae or serene. she/her. black girl. michael jackson’s younger gf. kdrama fan. cha hyun-su’s gf.

my main masterlist.

inbox 𝜗𝜚 open. | requests 𝜗𝜚 open.

what fandoms do i write for? 𝜗𝜚 michael jackson, jaafar jackson, jermajesty jackson sweet home, squid game, all of us are dead, the atypical family, alice in borderland, marvel, dc.

what don’t i write? 𝜗𝜚 non/dubcon, incest/stepcest, basically anything that’s too taboo.

[serenebows]

miscellaneous masterlist

plaqueboymax

oneshots

it makes me want it more

robin buckley

oneshots

do you think about me? (the grants)

[serenebows]

it makes me want it more

summary streamer university was the perfect opportunity to connect with all kinds of people. but the only person you had in your mind was plaqueboymax.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ pairing plaqueboymax x black!fem!reader, cw smut, cowgirl position, soft dom!max, reader cries during coitus, word count 1.6k

𝓅laqueboymax wasn't the main reason you applied to streamer university, but he was definitely a contributing factor. 

the idea of collaborating with your favorite streamers while simultaneously building your fanbase was an enthralling concept for you. this isn’t an opportunity you could ever pass up. 

seeing max would be a benefit, too. 

you’d collaborated with him a multitude of times in the past, having a relationship that didn’t have a label in it. you were more than friends yet less than anything intimate—almost sounding like a situationship, as much as you hated to admit it. 

the two of you tended to flirt on and off camera. however, it never went further than exchanging pet names and lingering touches. 

“y’all seen that clip of wardrobe saying plaqueboymax ‘walk like it’s heavy’?” you ask your chat, waiting for the responses to roll in before continuing your sentence. it’s a chorus of agreements, given that everybody who watches wardrobe or max had seen the clip at this point. 

“i’m not gon’ lie, he definitely does. and i’m tryna find out.”

you semi-regretted the words the moment they left your mouth. you meant what you said, but you didn’t mean to say it to the tens of thousands of people watching you. your chat exploded, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to escape this clip for the next few months. at the very least.

OH I’M STARTING A RUMOR

tryna find out?? like tryna find out if it’s heavy???

is this real

oh he finna have a field day with this clip 😭

“wait, y’all are taking my words out of context,” you make a poor attempt at explaining what you just said. 

you continue to feebly explain yourself away as you walk around the outside of the campus. you don’t have a specific destination in mind, simply wanting to be away from your room or the dense cafeteria. 

you’re not paying much attention to the people around you until you hear “hey, boo,” from wardrobe. you see max walking next to him, and you’re just ‘bout ready to drop dead. you’re being overdramatic, but you could barely face him after what you’ve said just moments ago.  

“hey, wardrobe. hey, max.”

“hey, girl. tell me why i just saw your clip tho?”

“what clip?” it’s no way he could’ve seen the clip of you talking about max that quickly. it barely happened ten minutes ago, and he’s already questioning you about it. 

“you said you tryna find out if it’s heavy, right?”

“if what’s heavy?” max asks. 

you already know somebody from your chat snitched on you, and there’s nothing you could do about it at this point. you could deny it despite the undeniable evidence presented, or you could own up to it and face the embarrassment. 

you decided to go with the latter. 

“you know when i read that comment that said you ‘walk like it’s heavy’? yeah, that,” wardrobe said, his attention directed to max. 

“what?”

“okay, so in my defense,” you started, attention aimed to max, “you do walk like it’s heavy! and somebody in my chat brought it up, so i had to speak my mind.”

“nobody in your chat said that,” wardrobe refuted, but you and max ignored him. 

“you tryna find out?” max asks. 

“in theory.”

“in theory?”

“in theory, i’m tryna find out if it’s heavy. ‘cause the streets saying that it is.”

wardrobe looks between you and max, and then to his camera. he’s in utter disbelief in the scene unfolding in front of him. he’s aware that you and max have sensuous relationships, but he’s never seen it firsthand until now. 

“shit, come find out then.”

“well, imma see y’all later,” you’re desperate to escape this situation because not only are you embarrassed, but you also feel like you’ll be fucking him on stream if you stayed around for any longer. “i got somewhere to be.”

“no she don’t—“

“yeah, imma see you later, ma,” max calls out to you while you’re walking away. 

“oh, what y’all got going on?” wardrobe questions, yet max walks away without responding. that was the most tension-filled thing he ever had the displeasure of being a witness to. 

“my life isn’t real,” you mutter to your stream as you walk away—still without a destination in mind. you didn’t care as long as you were far away from the chagrin that was the interaction you just had. 

your stream had been turned off hours ago. practically everybody’s had been except for the few people doing twenty-four-hour streams. 

max’s dorm room was lacking wardrobe. despite the love and respect you held for him, you couldn’t care less about his whereabouts. you were preoccupied with the feeling of max’s hands on you, the warmth of the cramped room.

your hands were planted on his chest to steady yourself whilst you struggled to get used to his length. his hands were planted on your waist—not guiding you, simply resting there instead.

you lift yourself by a few inches, knees planted on the mattress next to his hips, only to sink right back down onto his dick. it’s the first time you’ve moved since taking him in full.

“fuck—you gotta move, ma.”

“‘s too big, max,” you whine. 

his grip on your hips tightens and he thrusts into you once. you push your palms further into his chest, another frail attempt to regain your composure. it’s arduous for you to pull yourself together with the man you have under you—looking up at you with both amore and salaciousness.

he thrusts up into you once more. “fuck, max. do that again.”

you don’t have to tell him twice for him to follow your command. hands still grasping your hips, he begins to steadily plunge upwards, into you. all the meanwhile, your hands stay planted on his chest, head hanging low and chest heaving. 

he’s nearly as disheveled as you are, if not more. beads of sweat find solace on his forehead, and he’s breathing heavily. the grip he has on your hips would be agonizing if you weren’t lost in the feeling of his dick inside of you. he’s so deep, it almost feels like he’s in your stomach. 

the quickness in which he’s fucking you has rapidly increased. you would’ve practically been falling over if you weren’t holding yourself upright. 

“nghh—right there!”

“you like that, ma?”

you’re only able to let out an ensemble of moans instead of a verbal response. you nod your head in response, though you’re unsure if it’s perceptible. 

“i need you to tell me.”

you’re still unable to give him a verbal response, causing his movements to halt. you whine at the loss of mobility. you attempt to raise yourself in hopes of plunging back down onto him, but him holding you down prevents you from doing so. 

“tell me you like it before i stop.”

“like it s’ much, max. don’t stop,” tears gather at your lacrimal glands, giving your eyes that glassed-over look mere moments before your tears are released.

“jus’ like that, ma.”

he continues thrusting into you at the pace he established before he stopped. the only sounds that are audible in the room are skin slapping, your breathy moans, and max’s continuous grunts underneath you. 

you feel your orgasm briskly approaching, and all you can do is try to take hold of yourself. it’s an inefficient attempt, ultimately failing you. the tears that were gathering earlier hastily fall down your face, completely out of your control.

“‘m so close,” you whimper out.

“let that shit go for me,” max tells you. the speed of his thrusts starts to falter, signaling that he’s on the cusp of ecstasy that you were. 

he doesn’t have to say anything else because you fall apart upon hearing his words. your orgasm shakes your entire body, and your body falls completely forward. you don’t attempt to hold yourself upright, instead allowing yourself to fall into his chest. 

a few moments later, max swiftly pulls out, and you feel his cum splatter on your lower back. his head falls back against his pillow, and he rubs a hand down his face while he struggles to catch his breath.

you stay lying on his chest while you also struggle to regain your composure. for a few drawn-out moments, you’re listening to the sound of his heartbeat while both of you mellow out. 

“you wanna stay the night?” he asks, a hand coming up to rub from top to bottom of your back.

“yeah. wardrobe not comin’ back?”

“nah. not til’ the morning.”

you wondered what he was doing that caused him to be out all night, but you didn’t care if that meant you got the night alone with max. “okay, i’ll stay.”

“yeah, ‘cause that’s the right answer,” he jests, but you both know you would be stayed regardless.

around six a.m the next morning, you’re attempting to sneak out of max’s dorm room and back into yours. you could only pray that you wouldn't run into someone who was streaming. you had no explanation prepared if you were caught fleeing his dorm room.

“hey. girl, wait. who you spend the night with? ‘cause you not in this dorm.” wardrobe asks you while you’re walking past him—going to your dorm after spending the night in max’s. you’re exiting the elevator while wardrobe’s entering it. 

you’re in a hoodie that’s too big, evidently not yours, and a pair of lounging shorts you’d never wear on stream. the hood is over your head and your hair is a little more than messy, but you’re only focused on making it back to your dorm room before too many people catch you in the hallway. 

“bye, wardrobe. imma talk to you later.”

“oh, i know that’s right.” he doesn’t say anything else, but he and his stream watch you languidly walk away. your movements are sluggish and filled with exhaustion, like you’ve had a long night. 

oh where she been?

she definitely got some 😭

whole time she was js with plaqueboymax

the hoodie and the messy hair? that’s the morning after look fs

[douceurrrr]

bro my biggest fear is my favorite blk author secretly being yt

[serenebows]

and then it happened

[plumppies]

I’m going to say this once and never again. If you don’t agree with me, you’re more than welcome to unfollow and block me. I’m also not a chicken and will be tagging exactly who I’m talking about because this is honestly ridiculous.

I’m going to preface this by saying this isn’t to cause drama or get likes. My account is garnering plenty of engagement from my writing and my personal posts already. This is merely for educational purposes and to shed light on an issue that’s infested the internet for years. This is also NOT just about the MJ fandom but I’m using it as an example because it’s happened here. Again, if you don’t agree with me, unfollow or block me!

I recently followed an account under the impression that they were a black owned blog. Their layout, use of AAVE and black oriented reaction pictures made me believe that I found another black writer to support. But I learned that the owner is a white women.

I want to follow more black writers here to uplift them in a space that is heavily biased against black fans. Situations surrounding belittling black writers in the MJ community have been rampant for a while now so I take it upon myself to support and follow fellow black writers who represent me and many black MJ fans who have felt underrepresented in the fandom.

Back to the issue. Finding out that this account is a white woman behind the scenes upset me quite a bit. I genuinely believed she was one of us and was combating the racial problem within the fandom. That being said, I’d like to point out why this is more than just a ‘I feel scammed’ situation and more about digital dishonesty.

Digital blackface is a massive issues in online communities across the internet. It’s a conversation that has been ongoing for years now, even before I was on the internet. Many people outside of the black diaspora have downplayed it as a problem, stating that free speech shouldn’t be considered black fishing or harmful towards black communities. However, I would like to point out that Digital Blackface is more than just using ‘black media’ to express yourself, it directly impacts how the world views black peoples as a whole.

Accounts on Tumblr and other platforms have popped up pretending to be black people since conception of social media. They use Ebonics and black reaction pictures/gifs as a means of communication which often time leads to real black-owned accounts believing that they are interacting with black people. In hindsight, one would merely say “well it’s not their fault you thought they were black,” and that is exactly the problem.

As I said before, I follow black blogs to uplift my people. The internet is riddled with racism directly impacting black communities. We get called the hard r, monkeys, ghetto, nasty, undesirable etc and platforms don’t bat an eye. Racism towards us is so normalised that it’s bled into every internet fandom. So you see why black people online gravitate towards each other? Because we want a safe space for ourselves. We want to appreciate each other, dote on each other, love, respect and support each other’s art.

How do black folk know that an account is black owned? We use Ebonics, black media and black phrases that only we would know. So you can imagine how disheartening it is to find out that an account using such media would be a white woman behind it.

Nonblack POC or white person reading this might not understand the gravity of this situation but I implore you to read up on it and take time to fully understand why it’s upsetting.

Terms like ‘the saxophones are getting louder” “goofy ahh” “I’m crine” “unc” “Deadass” are AAVE/Ebonics. Finding them on TikTok and incorporating them into your online vocabulary when you’re not apart of that community is a form of digital blackface and cultural appropriation. It’s not Gen Z slang or TikTok slang and it’s not a funny audio just for vibes. It’s BLSCK AMERICAN language.

I’m not BA and I do use Ebonics here and there but I avoid incorporating it into my speech when I don’t understand how to use it properly. And I don’t use much of it because, again, I’m NOT black American. Black Americans have been kind enough to even let black people outside of the United States use their language and I don’t even want them to think that I’m being irresponsible with that privilege.

Now in regards to this situation. I don’t want to hear things like “Michael was for everyone.” Although that was true, you would be really stupid to believe that Michael didn’t understand that black people were/are the most marginalised and racially abused people on the planet. This man grew up in undoubtedly the most racially divided time in USA history. He even spoke out about the industry steals from “especially black artists”. He was aware that black art is abused for white financial and political gain. Black media (whether it be music or simply reaction photos) is art.

So why position yourself in a way that make you appear to us as a black woman @michaelmuse ? Your entire aesthetic is based in a way that draws in a black audience. You use black faces as reaction pics and Ebonics but you draw the line at reblogging black fanfics when you know that this site favours reblogs over comments and likes.

Your previous username (ebonymuse) in itself is indicative of the issue I’m discussing here. ‘Ebony’ is a term primarily used to describe black people. Urban dictionary defines it as “the essence of dark skin that is enriched and plentiful with melanin. greatness. beauty”. It’s even a common term used to define a porn category for to black people. Now the term itself is constantly being critiqued for bordering on being a fetish term, however, you see how it’s for black people? Dark skin people to be exact?

So why is a white woman with white ass skin using that term in their username? I’m a black woman with albinism and even I wouldn’t use that term. Why? Because it isn’t not for my pasty self.

I’ve read some of your fics and this has nothing to do with me wanting diversity or inclusion from you, nor is it to hate on your work. You do use Ebonics in your work so I’m sure you knew that your fics would attract black readers to your blog. Your behaviour (whether you did it intentionally or not) was deceptive and potentially harmful to my community. You need to educate yourself on the contents of this conversation to fully understand how bad this situation actually is. There’s no way you’ve been on the internet and didn’t know that black Americans have been begging nonblack (especially white) folk to stop using their media as your own or as ‘a silly tend’ or to be relatable.

I’ve seen a few black British blogs come to your defence and I’m bewildered to see them pandering for a white woman about something that affects black people as a whole. I myself am not Black American but I will stand by them when their culture and language is diluted and turned into a ‘trend’ for everyone else to steal and appropriate. It’s wrong and it impacts us all. White people (even other POC) don’t separate us. They see one fake black account say stupid things and assume that’s how all of us feel/act. I understand that the UK is differently set up but your low racial self esteem is affecting us all. You let white Brits walk all over you and your culture and you just laugh along like it’s funny. This is why racism there will never end. You let white footballer wear braids, let white folk use AAVE and flat out call your Afros messy and you think it’s not that serious. Stand up. Immediately.

You guys really need to do better. Stop misconstruing Michael’s words to get away with disrespecting black people. You’re becoming just as bad as those who racially attacked him.

With love.

[serenebows]

wdym ebonymuse/michaelmuse is a white woman that had ebony in her username because she was “referring to her hair color”. ion know about y’all, but ive never heard ebony be used to describe anything except skin. whole time she had me fooled ‘cause i was thinking she was a sista

this is weaponized incompetence at its finest because any person with half a brain knows that ebony is a word used to describe dark skin! this woman will not get on my cellular and claim that she didn’t know the true meaning of the word.

‘n the people defending her are even weirder. somebody in her comments said “i honestly feel like this drama has been a huge nothing burger like.. i've never felt excluded or off-put by your works.” just because you don’t feel put off by this odd white woman doing digital blackface doesn’t mean that others aren’t!

i’m so irked like i really thought this was a black woman writing for black women! i fear i fell for the hessi…

but if any black writers wanna be mutuals, let me know!

[serenebows]

state fair with michael

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ otw!michael, black!fem!reader, michael calls reader tink, inaccurate description of ring toss ‘cause i don’t go to fairs, michael loves the reader ‘n he ain’t shy about it, i didn’t know how to properly end this

the neon lights surrounding you would’ve been blinding at surface level. at the peak of the ferris wheel, it was a mesmeric sight.

luminous signs read “carnival games" throughout the entire fair. the carousel was just as vivid, along with varying food stands.

you could hear screams and squeals every second. not a moment of silence. looking down, everyone looked so minuscule and miniature.

“what’s on your mind, tink?”

tink. michael started calling you that a few years back because he said you reminded him of tinker bell. you didn’t see it, yet he insisted you had a fairy-like demeanor that justified the nickname.

“everything looks so small from up here. ‘s pretty.”

you’re looking at the ground beneath you, but michael is looking at you. he thinks you’re the prettiest thing here—no neon lights or luminous fair rides could hold a candle to your glamor.

“you’re pretty.”

“you’re such a sap, mike.”

you avert your gaze from the ground to michael, to see he’s already looking at you. his stare doesn’t waver, regardless of how many times your eyes drift away from his.

“but i mean it. you look so pretty.”

he seems content just being in your presence—like he always is. he’s euphoric to just be around you, no matter what the two of you are doing.

you look away from him, but only to rest your head on his shoulder. he stills, like moving would completely disrupt your moment of serenity.

“thanks,” you whisper.

“y’don’t gotta thank me for anything.”

you stay in the same position, stock-still for a few long moments before the ferris wheel momentarily stops and it’s your turn to depart. you groan out loud because your calm was ruined, but michael doesn’t seem to mind much.

“c’mon, tink,” he grasps your hand and starts tugging you behind him.

“slow down, mike!” you struggle to keep up with his pace, given how lanky his legs are compared to yours. but, you manage to follow behind him while speed-walking.

he continues to lead you through the hefty crowds of bodies until you’re in front of the ring toss stand. luckily, there weren't any people in front of you, so the game was all yours.

“gonna win big?”

“the biggest,” his voice is unfaltering, like he’s already convinced that he’ll win.

“be my guest,” you challenge him.

you take a step back and let him assume control of the rings. initially, you assume that his attempts would be abysmal. however, you’re gravely mistaken.

nearly every ring he throws makes it onto a glass bottle. toss after toss ends in triumph, quickly securing victory.

by the end of the game, michael’s delighted with himself and you’re shocked by his achievement. “told you i was gonna win big,” he turns around to face you.

“now which plushie you want?”

you tap your chin with your pointer finger in consideration. “the elephant,” you point to an oversized blue elephant plushie.

michael turns around once more to tell the worker which stuffed animal you wanted. once it’s in his hold, he faces you, holding it out glory.

“‘s all for you, tink.”

“mike, it’s so cute!”

you take the plush elephant in one of your hands before throwing your arms around his neck, embracing him in a hug. you struggle to keep the plushie in your hand and not drop it, but you manage to maintain your grip on it. his arms wrap around your lower back, pressing your body into his.

when you pull away from him, he’s just as cheery as you. he has a dopey smile on your face, and you know you’re adorning a similar one.

still keeping the elephant in your hand, you stand on your tippy toes to press three chaste kisses to michael’s lips. you feel his smile widen against your lips midway through the second kiss.

before you’re able to completely pull back from him, his hand is on the back of your neck, and he’s pulling you towards him once again. the kiss isn’t fleeting. his tongue is swirling against yours as he pulls you impossibly closer.

one of your hands comes up to rest on his nape while the other lies flat on his chest. you pull away first, and when you do, he’s already chasing your lips once again.

he’s seeking to devour you amidst the pandemonium of the fair, and you don’t put up much of a fight. his arms tighten around your waist as if he’s trying to pull you even closer, despite the proximity already present between you two.

after the second time you pull away, michael doesn’t aim to capture your lips with his once more. he’s smiling down at you, elated and pleased.

“y’so pretty, tink.”

“mike, i think you already told me that.”

“‘n i mean it every time.”

“okay, let’s go,” michael takes hold of your hand once again, leading you to yet another portion of the carnival.

“where are we going now?”

“to the carousel. duh.”

[applesbby]

[serenebows]

old man!jackie going on tour

you open your front door to see jackie’s hands are indeed full. he’s juggling a bouquet of camellia’s, a gift basket, and a tory burch quilt purse.

“aww, bae!” you lurch forward to wrap your arms around his neck in a hug.

he nearly drops the bouquet, but he manages to balance everything and still wrap an arm around your lower back. “hey, ma.”

you pull away to look him in his eyes, and it’s nearly enough to make you forget about the tour he’s going on in a few days. keyword: nearly.

“ugh, you’re still leaving,” you complain, turning away from him and walking further into your house.

he follows behind you, setting everything onto your coffee table in your living room. the gift basket is beautiful, and you can tell so much thought was put into it. it’s filled with a lululemon and alo matching set, a swarovski necklace, a new pair of uggs, and a multitude of your favorite snacks.

“i come and see you ‘n you still worried about me leaving?”

“i can’t help it,” you whine, pulling him down to sit beside you on the couch. he goes down with little to no resistance at all. once he’s sat, you rest your legs over his.

“y’know you could always come with me.”

“i would not like six months on tour, away from home.”

jackie laughs, not because he found humor in what you said, but because he knows how much you loathe the tour life. traveling from city to city without much time to settle down was exhausting—as you put it.

“i’ll be thinking about you the whole time, ma.”

“i’ll be thinking about you too, jackie. i don’t want you to leave,” you pout.

his hand grips your lower leg and he uses it to pull you impossibly closer to him. you’re practically pressed into his side with your legs strewn over his.

“i don’t wanna leave either. but i’ll buy you whatever you want when i come back, okay?”

you perk up at that. suddenly having your boyfriend be away for half a year didn’t seem so bad after all.

“it don’t sound so bad when you put it like that…”

[serenebows]

the pic you used in your recent fic is ai my love♥️

tysm for telling me! i’m so embarrassed i didn’t realize beforehand 😓

[serenebows]

bambi masterlist

bambi is michael’s girl, and it’s been that way since ‘79. she has a name, of course! but everyone knows that michael only refers to her as bambi, and occasionally ma. her brown doe eyes, soft nature, and the way she’s the sweetest little thing in the whole wide world is more than enough to warrant the nickname!

in chronological order

you’re my only bambi, bambi

the word’s on the streets and it’s on the news!

[serenebows]

jackson’s masterlist

michael jackson

series

bambi series

oneshots

let that rhythm get into you (rock with you) (smut)

cause if it’s aching, you have to rub it (smut)

baby, you got to be mine

if you’ve been looking for love, then i’ve been looking for you

it ain’t right if i can’t give sweet love to you (smut)

something ‘bout

drabbles

jean skirt (smut)

cybergirl

state fair with michael

blurbs

mature!michael who gives you access to all of his cards.

jafaar jackson

oneshots

it’s a blacked out blur but i’m pretty sure it ruled, damn

jermajesty jackson

oneshots

everything i needed

[serenebows]

hi!! are you working on anything new? i miss your writing!!!

(this isn’t me rushing u by the way, i just know sometimes it can be motivating to know there are ppl who miss you and looking forward to what you have next 💖)

i just posted two works and i have a lot more in my drafts! love knowing people are looking forward to whatever it is i post next

[serenebows]

Hey! You said you weren't sure what other occupations to give reader so I wanted to offer a few. Please disregard if this is unhelpful lol.

~Dancer

~Author

~Teacher

~Barista

~Baker

~Chef

~Vet/Zookeeper

~Nurse

Let me stop here lol

i love you sm for this. never stop, actually!

[serenebows]

the word’s on the streets and it’s on the news!

pairing 𝜗𝜚 thriller!michael x black!fem!reader

synopsis 𝜗𝜚 the serenity of you and michael’s date had been ruined by the media. he doesn’t seem to care too much, though.

warnings 𝜗𝜚 potentially incorrect depiction of interviews with a crowd present? not too sure

authors note 𝜗𝜚 more of bambi!reader !

word count 𝜗𝜚 1k

MICHAEL JACKSON HAS A SECRET GIRLFRIEND? READ BELOW TO FIND OUT!

the newspaper headline was practically protruding out the page. you weren’t focused on any other aspect of the paper except the section about you and michael.

you had been hiding your relationship for twelve successful months before this. it was inconceivable how your courtship had been realized—especially being declared in such a public manner.

the photo of you and michael was taken during your most recent date. you were sitting deep in a public park, having a picnic. you didn’t even realize photos were being taken of you until they were published.

you’ve been pacing michael’s room since you laid your eyes on the newspaper. you were unbelievably stressed! even thought your name wasn’t mentioned, it still felt like your life was ruined.

the paparazzi—and the rest of the world, apparently—spotted you, and now you weren’t sure they’d ever leave you alone.

you might’ve been moderately overreacting. but you were an average person who wasn’t familiar with the ramifications that came with being well-known.

“michael, what am i gonna do?”

the use of his first name indicates that you were entirely solemn. you always referred to him as mikey, mike, or baby.

your boyfriend is sitting on his bed, leaning back against his palms. he’s been watching you roam around his room since you’ve gotten here, offering you meaningful consolation here and there.

as soon as the newspaper landed on the mat outside your front door, you were on the way to michael’s house before you could fully comprehend the headline. you wouldn’t be able to exist unattended with something so arduous.

“it’ll be fine, bambi. they barely got your face ‘n they don’t know your name,” he attempts to reassure you.

his words don’t do much to quell your worries about the invasion of privacy. they don’t know much about you, but you still feel like your life is over.

“it’s not fine! we were on a date, and they took photos of us, and now they’re in the paper!”

your pacing has yet to cease, only continuing as you talk about the situation. to say you were distressed would’ve been an understatement.

“they don’t got nothin’ ‘bout you in the paper. just that you’re my lady and that’s it.”

“the problem is that i’m in the paper at all!” you exclaim.

michael truly didn’t see why you were so stressed. he was a person used to being in the spotlight—something that came with his amount of fame. but you weren’t. and even the smallest bit of recognition scared you.

“bambi, come here,” he beckons you closer to him.

almost instantly, you stop pacing. you walk over to where he’s sitting and situate yourself between his open legs. his hands find purchase on your waist the moment you’re standing in front of him.

his hands are warm, and they’re so big in comparison to your waist. his touch grounds you, yet it’s not nearly enough to draw your attention away from your situation at hand.

“you’re fine.”

“but i’m not—“

“you’re fine,” he interrupts you. “they don’t know anything ‘bout you. not your face, not your name, nothing. and i’m not gone let them if you don’t want me to.”

“you promise they won’t find out everything about me?”

“pinky,” michael holds his pinky up to you. it’s a juvenile thing, but you still indulged in pinky promises no matter how old you got.

you interlink your pinky with his and then press both of your thumbs together. you knew it was almost impossible for michael to completely shield you from the public’s eye, but the fact that he’d go so as far to pinky promise your protection meant everything to you.

a few days later, michael’s being interviewed about the release of thriller.

“your most recent album thriller has various songs about romance, from baby be mine to the lady in my life. so the question is, do you have a muse inspiring all of these songs?”

“i think you already know the answer to that,” michael laughs. the photos of you and him together had been released less than a week prior. that was an answer to the question by itself.

“but the fans want to hear it from you.”

by the fans, the interview likely meant himself. however, michael would answer regardless of who the response was meant to appease.

“i do have a muse.”

before michael can continue, the crowd erupts into ear-splitting cheers. it’s so deafening that he can hardly hear himself think. this is the exact confirmation the interviewer was looking for when he initially posed the question.

“tell us more about this muse of yours. how long have you known her? what is she like?”

“me and my lady met a while ago. she’s the sweetest person i’ve ever met, truly an angel,” michael boasts.

he tries to keep it short because he knows you’re at home watching and you’d be utterly embarrassed about him even speaking about you in front of a crowd. he wanted to proclaim his love for you on every news channel, but he’d settle for saying a few sentences about you during an interview for now.

“now that is real love, isn’t it?” the interviewer asks the crowd.

once again, there’s a chorus of blaring shouts and cheers. all the negative aftermath you were worried about was yet to be seen. even without your face being shown, people were already loving you.

back in michael’s bedroom, you’re squealing and hiding your face in a pillow. he’s speaking so highly of you on national television, flustering you to no end. he didn’t care what anybody had to say about either of you, as long as you were unbothered.

you’d have to berate him and show him affection all in the same moment when he got home. you loved how he bragged about you in such a public manner, but you hated how meek it made you.

he was the worst and the best for boasting about you in front of the entire world.

[serenebows]

something ‘bout

pairing 𝜗𝜚 thriller!michael x black!fem!reader

synopsis 𝜗𝜚 michael loves how you’re the realest, and you love having him wrapped around your finger.

warnings 𝜗𝜚 mean-ish!reader but michael likes it, take a shot every time i said after party, reader is mean n bossy but michael still controlling the traffic!

word count 𝜗𝜚 1.4k

“𝓭on’t go to that after-party tonight.”

michael was attending an award show tonight—nothing out of the ordinary. the only problem was that you wouldn’t be accompanying him tonight. you’d usually be by his side the entire night, being attention-grabbing eye candy and indulging in interviews all night.

you were far too exhausted from your modeling shoots and casting calls to put on faux smiles and greet people who wouldn’t remember your name after tonight. you wanted to support michael, badly, but you had to prioritize yourself for a night.

“why not?”

you turn around from your spot in front of your dresser to face michael, who is sitting on his bed. you debated whether you should even take his question seriously. it was an unspoken rule that he didn’t go to after-parties unless you were there with him.

it was an unruly, chaotic scene—people were often far too inebriated, or were completely sober and aware of their actions. either way, poor decisions were made.

“mike, don’t nothin’ good happen at those parties. it’s gon’ be drunk people fuckin’ all around you.”

“stop cussin’,” he mutters because, of course, he cares about your use of profanity in a situation such as this.

“okay, baby, i won’t go. or you could always go with me…”

“you tried it. but i will be in bed, sleeping peacefully tonight.”

michael pouts, and it nearly cracks your resolve. but you stand firm on your decision. you weren’t exactly preventing him from attending—merely suggesting that he skip it. but if he happened to disregard your suggestion and go to the after-party regardless, he’d have to deal with the fallout for days on end.

the last time he did something rash and went against your word, he had to endure the silent treatment from you for three whole days. while it doesn’t seem like a long amount of time in retrospect, complete silence from his girlfriend for more than a few hours was unbearable.

if he knew what was good for him—and trust he did—he’d return home to you directly after the award show ended. you knew you could always go with him so you’d both attend the after-party, a compromise, if you will. however, you were far too worn out from the week you had to even step foot out of your shared bedroom.

“you’ll be waiting for me when i get home?” he asks, promisingly.

“of course, mike. where else am i gonna go?”

“to the after-party without me.”

you sigh aloud, rolling your eyes. “mention that damn after party-one more time…”

“‘m just joking. i won’t go if my princess doesn’t want me to.”

you huff, but you can’t help the smile that finds purchase on your face. michael referred to you as his princess whenever you were particularly bossy or annoyed with you. it was never something you found yourself complaining about.

“and i’m serious. stop mentionin’ it.”

michael stands from where he’s sat on the edge of his bed, taking longish steps until he’s right in front of you. you feel like he’s caging you against the dresser even though his hands are kept to himself. he doesn’t have to physically press you against the oak wood for his presence to be overwhelming to you—in a good way, of course.

“you’re so bossy, ma,” he brings one of his hands up to cup the side of your face. you instinctively lean into his touch. warm and comforting.

“you think i’m jokin’, but i’m serious, mike. leave me alone about that damn after-party.”

“i knew i wasn’t going the moment you were gonna be there with me. i jus’ like seeing you all mean.”

you feebly push his arm away, but he doesn’t budge. instead, he rubs his thumb back and forth against your cheek. he knew exactly what to do to make any irritation you felt towards him dissipate.

“finish getting ready before you’re late.”

“you’re the boss, ma.”

the award show flies by. without you by his side, the event is quite lackluster and boring.

before michael knows it, the show is over, and he’s weaving through crowds to make it to the exit. it’s a mix of rushed goodbyes and promises to meet one another soon—though michael doubts he’ll have enough time. before he’s actually able to leave, he’s being stopped once again.

biting back a sigh of indignation, he turns around and is slightly astounded to be met with the sight of his siblings. he knew they were here; they attended almost every award show or event adjacent to it. he just wasn’t sure why they were stopping him before he could fully make it to the exit.

“where you goin’?” jackie asks him.

“home?” michael responds like it’s a question because it should be abundantly clear where he’s headed.

“what about the after-party?”

“what about the after-party?”

“you know what i’m talkin’ about. you always at the after-parties and you ain’t goin’ to this one?”

all michael can imagine is the image of you on his bed, patiently waiting for him. you were dressed in a baby pink silk robe before he left. maybe you still had that on—maybe it was opened, and you had nothing underneath. or maybe you had on a matching set that he’d rip in seconds. whatever it was, he wanted nothing more than to get home to you right now.

“‘m not going. my lady waitin’ for me back home.”

the laughter between his siblings is plentiful and copious, hard to mistake it for anything other than amusement.

“damn, she got you like that?” tito asks in disbelief.

“man, she don’t got me like nothin’,” michael defends, but he knows it’s a lie. you effortlessly have michael wrapped around your finger, and you know it. all you have to do is utter one word, and he’d promptly drop everything.

“so she not the one who told you not to go to the after-party tonight?” jackie inquires.

“stay out of my business. it don’t matter why i’m not going.”

“man, she got you whipped.”

michael doesn’t hear the rest of the comments from his brothers because he’s headed towards the exit. the only thing on his mind was you, all dolled up and awaiting his arrival without complaints.

the ride back to your shared home is quiet, but there isn’t much to be said. especially when you’re not in the backseat next to him. bill doesn’t offer much commentary, but it’s only because he’s known michael long enough to know when his mind is preoccupied with one thing—you.

the house is silent when he walks in. you might be asleep. or you might be silently biding time, awaiting his arrival.

he walks up the stairs with tentative steps, trying to stay silent in an attempt not to wake your potential slumber. when he reaches your shared bedroom, he sees his effort was in vain.

you’re not asleep, far from it actually. you’re lying on your stomach, feet hanging off the comforter as you’re flipping through a vogue magazine.

“hey, mama.”

“hey, mikey. how was the show?”

“it was nice. it would’ve been better with you there with me, though.”

you scoff at his suaveness, turning your head to focus on your magazine once more. at the lack of your attention to him, michael walks to the edge of the bed where part of your foreleg isn’t resting on it.

his hand latches onto your ankle with a vice grip. he pulls you until almost your entire leg is hanging off the bed.

“mike!”

you turn around so you’re lying on your back and facing him. he’s vainglorious, like he’s proud to have interrupted your recreation time so he could have your attention back to him.

“you stopped focusin’ on me,” he grumbles.

“‘cause i’m tryna read. i already said hi to you.”

“but you’re not actin’ like you miss me. i missed the after- party to be treated like this?”

“didn’t i tell you to stop talkin’ ‘bout that damn after-party?” you try to kick him, but he catches your knee pit before your leg can get far.

“‘m here now, aren’t i?”

“that won’t matter if you don’t let me go,” you make a feeble attempt to free yourself from his grasp.

“so mean. i come home to you and you still not happy to see me?”

“i’m so happy you’re home, mike,” you say condescendingly, “i’ve never been happier. now can you let me go?”

michael’s silent for a moment, pretending to be considering your question. instead of responding, he drops your ankle, and you have a brief second of relief before you feel the weight of his body nearly crushing you.

his body is pressed against yours, his hands gripping your waist. his face is resting right above your collarbone, warm breath fanning on your skin.

“ugh, get off me!” you whine.

“not until you show me how happy you are that i’m home.”

[serenebows]

missing him more than ever