𝐬𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐡 ★

Bill was doing a good job guarding you two while you walked into the building in front of him. “Y'all need to move!” You yelled out of anger, since you were already not in the mood.

They kept calling your name and his, back to back.

“Mrs. Jackson!”

“Mrs Jackson! How’s the kids?”

The paparazzi yelled while they clearly watched you walk into the building, and the door closed behind you and Bill.

“I can’t wait to leave,” you said to your husband as you dusted off his suit. Even though you hated going to these interviews because someone always had to say some out-of-pocket shit, you always put that shit on—along with Michael.

But of course, he would always help you plan his outfits before y’all left house, for example, his suit for this interview —since you knew how to dress, no matter the occasion.

The room they had you both in for the interview was on the sixth floor of the building. You were thankful they had an elevator because you were not walking up any stairs.

Michael pressed on the elevator button, and you both waited. Your face was stone-like, no expression, no smile, no nothing. You pushed up your glasses and adjusted your high ponytail as you watched the elevator numbers decrease to the floor you were on.

Ding! The elevator came; Michael let you step first, then him, then Bill. Michael checked his watch for the time before he looked up at you, who was standing straight, one leg crossed over the other, and you looked so effortlessly beautiful.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked you, staring at the way your dress hugged your torso.

“Mhmm…” you said, now fidgeting with your jewelry on your wrist. You wer mentally preparing yourself for this interview; that's why you were so quiet and in a mellow state.

Michael side-eyed Bill before he took a glance at how many floors y'all were away from the sixth.

The elevator stopped on the sixth floor, and you took a noticeably deep breath and walked out of the elevator first.

Bill and Michael were confused because they didn't know if you were going in the right direction—but you were.

You knew where to go because they told you which room a couple of days before today. “Do you know where you're going?” Michael asked you—no answer. You kept walking while looking at the pictures that were hung up around the place and stopped at a door.

You knocked and waited patiently as you looked over to Michael and Bill, who were catching up.

To their surprise, it was the right room, but you were sure they knew beforehand—especially Bill should've known since he's always in the meetings about certain data for events and interviews.

Michael was right behind you—perfect timing. The door opened as a white lady that had her blonde hair nicely curled, flowing over her shoulders.

“Oh, hi, Mrs Jackson!” she greeted you with a handshake, Michael and Bill as well.

As she was still greeting them, you found a way to snoop past her and scan the room. It smelled fluorescent-like, with a hint of cinnamon in the air. Coffee was being made on a counter on the opposite side of the room—and of course, men were over there already chatting it up while sipping on some.

But they were blocking the machine; you rolled your eyes—thankfully you had your shades, once again. And you made your way over with an elegant walk.

“Excuse me, boys,” you said as you stood in front of them, waiting for them to move. They instantly moved because they had heard some stories about Michael Jackson’s wife being very strict, mean, and straightforward in Tabloids.

“Thank you,” you said under your breath as you put your purse on your shoulder and began grabbing the stuff you needed to make your coffee.

Creamer, sugar, caramel, coffee grounds, a cup and—ice. Yes, ice. You weren't feeling hot coffee this morning because you weren't patient with coffee taking too long to cool off. Plus, iced coffee is good anyway—and it's hot outside.

You made your coffee pretty quickly so you could meet back with your husband before the interview started. You started back up while sipping on your coffee, sucking on your tongue to make sure it’s to your liking.

“Mm!” you said to yourself. This is the only thing that could honestly brighten up your mood this morning.

All eyes were on you in the room; you didn't know if it was scary—or admiration? A girl was walking past you who was going to Michael complimented your dress: “Wow, I love this dress!” She pointed up and down.

“Oh, thank you!” You flashed her a smile before you brought your cup back up to your lips. Michael caught your eye as you were walking towards the cameras that were waiting to get rolling.

You took one last small sip and set it on a small table next to yours and Michael’s seat. Michael sat down and adjusted his pants and his curls as he waited for the camera crew.

The lady came back and sat in front of both of you, but was turned more in Michael’s direction. You pressed down on your edges to make sure they were still laid—you were now just doing stuff to keep yourself grounded.

A man came around the camera to make sure the mics above were working, but he was closer and closer to you. Even though you're usually the one who’s protective, he can be protective at times as well.

He gripped your thigh and squeezed it twice as the man began to get closer to you just to adjust a mic.

You looked over at him, confused through your shades. “What?” you whispered under your breath.

Michael thought for a bit and stared at you through your shades—even though they were so dark from the outside. “Are you gonna take your shades off?” he asked with a grin.

You sighed before you took your shades off and folded them in your lap. “You look beautiful,” he complimented you, then gave you a kiss on the cheek. A smile spreaded across your face once you felt his lips on your cheek. “Aw, thanks.”

Once the man was done, the woman began to speak. “Okay, I’m going to be asking you both eight questions, and you can answer however you would like.” She smiled.

Michael nodded and looked at you.

“Well…Michael, you’ve said you have always wanted to be a father! And you got your gift—how do you feel about dealing with parenthood, now that you’re a father?”

Your face immediately lit up once you heard the topic was about your kids. Even though they get on your last nerves, you love them with everything in your heart. Michael noticed that you were sitting straighter in your seat—it’s like you perked up like a dog when they hear the word “walk”.

“*chuckle* I love being a father; it’s like I wake up to my little balls of sunlight every morning. We laugh, play hide-and-seek. All kinds of stuff.” He said excitedly as he rubbed his knees.

“And you, Mrs Jackson?” She asked you, putting her hand out.

You were now showing all 32, excited to talk about your two twin boys—just itching to start talking. “They’re very lovely and playful. It’s very much louder in the house than before *giggle*, but they’re my world.” You finished off.

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” She responded in awe.

You smiled at Michael and held onto his arm. "Now, I have seen you both on TV, these outfits?! They're amazing. Who styles you both?" She was very intrigued.

“Well...” Michael turned his head to the right to signal that you could answer that question.

“I style both of us, so that’s why you always see us, you know… all nice and dressed most of the time.” You laughed while pointing at your and his outfits.

“Yeah, wow—I can see that!” Her eyes got wider as she took in the details of both of your outfits.

“Where do you buy the clothes from?” She asked.

“My dress is from Christian Dior and so is his suit—I picked that out too.” You pinched his suit with a cheeky smile.

You noticed her smile was slowly dropping once she was shuffling papers in her lap, the laughing slowly fading in the room.

“Now, down to the real—serious questions,” you said with a slightly sarcastic tone.

You squinted while you waited for her to continue with her questions. ‘Here it comes,’ you thought.

Michael sat up in his and you did as well, letting go of his arm and now folding your hands in your lap. “Okay...” you sighed.

The room went silent for a beat—you felt things about to get shady, so you put your signature shades on. You put them pretty quietly so she couldn’t notice, since her head was done shuffling through notes.

“People have been saying that your Wife here can be a bit rude, straightforward, or just…blunt. Do you argue with that?”She looked at Michael through her mascaraed lashes.

“Uhp—let me answer that.” You jumped—you were already not in the mood and then got back in the mood, and now you’re back to getting yourself prepared for a fight-or-flight response.

“Oh-” The lady said as her eyebrows furrowed. She noticed that Michael didn't say much when you would confront people like her or the Tabloids. He loved when you would boss others around—including him.

“I'm not rude to someone for no reason; if you piss me off, you just piss me off. Simple as that. And even if I do get out of character, I truly try to keep my composure unless you push me there.” You confessed in one breath.

She was silent, taking all of what you said in. You could tell she didn’t really care and just wanted to ask her questions, not expecting you to respond the way you did.

“Do you agree with your wife being a bit strict with the media—Michael?” She asked him. Here she is running to your husband instead of talking to you directly.

“She’s always like this, at home, to the kids if they’re being bad, even to me—And I love it. The media sometimes deserves to be put in their place once they overstep boundaries.” Michael shrugged his shoulders because he knew he was right; the media in the 80s were ruthless.

“Mhm.” You agreed. Seeing her be silenced was all you needed. "Would you stay silent if people kept disrespecting your husband when you have a mouth you can use?" you questioned her.

"I absolutely wouldn't—you have a point." She gave you long eye contact. "Yeah, I know I have a point." You clapped back, now crossing your legs as they glowed from the sun coming through the windows.

"Any more questions?" You gave her a sarcastic smile. "Yes, there are more questions. You both just got here." She also said in a sarcastic tone.

"Yeah, and we can up and leave too. So, I recommend you keep it to a minimum with these Questions." You looked over to Michael and held onto his arm again.

“I’m not trying to be disrespectful, I’m just doing my job.” She protested. You gave her the “now, you know damn well” look because you knew she was full of shit—and before that, she was doing well asking cute questions about you both; now it’s getting down to business about YOUR business.

Michael wasn’t that big on confrontation but once it came down to serious topics, including him, his kids, and his wife he always stepped in. “I understand this is your Job, but she feels— triggered.” He stepped in.

She ignored Michael stepping in for you and went to ask another question. You and Michael exchanged glances at each other, then back at her.

You noticed yourself getting thirsty from all this and picked up your coffee that was next to you, taking a long sip.

“Are you two Virgins?” She said blatantly. You almost spilled your drink on your dress and leaned over so the coffee wouldn’t drip down on your dress. “cough* next question.”

You choked out, smiling from the awkwardness. “Why can’t you answer?” She asked, being tooken back from you dodging the question.

“She doesn’t have to ans-.” Michael asked as he gripped your knee.

“It’s a personal question between me and my husband—like I said, next question.” You cut him off, cleaning the cold coffee off your chin.

The lady went silent once again before this came out of her mouth.

“You must not be the lady for him if he’s still a Virgin..” she said with such arrogance. Michael’s eyes got wide before his head instantly turned to catch your reaction—but you were calm and still had your coffee in your hand.

“..pardon?” Michael questioned as his eyebrows furrowed.

You removed your shades and put them in your purse—then you slowly put your purse on your shoulder, Michael and the lady were confused about what you were going to do next.

“You see this rock on my finger?-” You asked her while showing your big ring that Michael proposed to you with, then tucked your lips afterwards.

As soon as you said that you stared at her for a couple of seconds, then dashed your cold coffee on her—knocking her out of her seat from shock.

As she was going down out of her seat, you quickly pulled your purse off your shoulder and smacked her with it.

She was still recovering from being smacked with a purse and most importantly being drenched in sticky iced coffee. “You bi-” the lady tried to say as she was getting up but you charged at her before she even finished.

Michael was speechless as Bill stepped in trying to part you two up.

Both of them were yelling your name back to back telling you to get off of her but you wouldn’t listen. Michael was a bit buff at the time and used most of his strength along with Bill, to pull you off of her.

“Don’t touch me!” You yelled as she continued to fight back, and you were continuously beating on her as she tried to grab your ponytail over and over again.

They finally got you off her but your legs were free, and you kicked her with your heels in her calf.

“You lucky I ain’t pull them tracks out your fucking head!” You yelled across the room as Michael carried you to the door, feet kicking just to get loose of his grip. You were gripping walls, door frames, anything just to get back in that room and tear her ass up for saying such a thing.

Bill and Michael didn’t have time to take the elevator down to the first floor—they needed to get you out of there, and out of there fast.

“Nah, tell her ass to come down here!” You were still yelling while on the way down to the exit.

“Baby, please!” Michael asked you while he was carrying you, his grip was firm on your waist. He was trying to keep you there, literally fighting for his life.

Bill swung the door open and Paparazzi was still there. You noticed some of them were putting their cameras down for once and were taking in the massacre in front of them. Coffee was dripping from your bag as they carried you away, your ponytail was now frizzy, and your edges were lifting.

Outfit still looked tea though.

You were still kicking trying to get out of his arms when Michael opened the car door with one hand. “Michael—No!” You grunted as you tried to keep the door shut. “Get in now.” He said trying not to scream, but said it loud enough in your ear for you to hear to know he wasn’t playing.

Michael was done trying to convince you to stop fighting so he put up a fight himself. He forced you into the car, saying “Lock the door.” To the driver and shut the door behind him. He walked to the other side and hurried into the car.

The car immediately pulled off as screams from the paparazzi faded away behind the car.

It was silent before Michael heard you crying—Sad or Angry tears? Michael didn’t want to go in on you since you were already breaking down in your hands.

“Don’t say nothing to the kids.” He sighed, putting on his shades.

────NEXT MORNING────

The sun came pouring through the bedroom curtains, your face was puffy from crying, and Michael was turned the complete other way in bed. The TV was on from the night before and it suddenly switched to a different channel. Were you lying on the remote? Was Michael lying on the remote?

“Michael—get up..” you whispered, still tired as you rubbed your eyes. You rocked him softly, not trying to disturb him as much.

“Mmm?” He said while turning over to you, hair also messed up.

“Get up, where's the remo-” You were cut off as you were trying to look for the remote.

“Reporting live! Michael Jackson and Mrs Jackson were here yesterday—and things pre-tty hectic here.” the man laughed. Your jaw dropped and Michael immediately sat up in bed from hearing his name. He sat up against the headboard and slowly looked at you. You could obviously see him staring, and he was staring hard too. But you chose not to.

You weren't embarrassed by what you did, but having it on TV mowing someday your kids will see, didn't cross your mind.

“What the fuck..” You hurried to find the remote. “Get up! Damn!” You pushed Michael out of the way so he could help you look for it. You heard footsteps coming up the stairs in your hallway, and you knew it was your kids because they do this every other morning.

But this morning? Oh my goodness. “And she allegedly beat a woman up for saying such a thing about her mar-”

“The kids-” Michael whispered. You saw the remote at the bottom of the bed and jumped for it before Dolan and Sean came busting in.

“Mommy!” they both said as you were turning off the TV.

“Good morning!” you said relieved, resting your palm on your forehead. “Can you go brush their teeth for me?” You were telling Michael—not asking him, and he knew it.

You needed a break for a couple of minutes. “Take them back downstairs for breakfast, i’ll be down there soon.” you quickly added.

Michael took them by the hand out of the room to the bathroom down the hall. “Come on let's brush our teeth.” he yawned.

“Shit.” you sighed as you plopped down on your bed on your back.

taglist ྀི : @judesboots @smoothcriminalgf @reverieglow @cinnamoncunt @swavydadon @plan3tch1ld @brnettedoll4mj @redemptioninthe4ethers @kissmyglxck @niyahctrl @redemptioninthe4ethers

If you wanna be added/removed, dm me!

jermajesty arrived at your apartment letting himself in with his key, “love, have you seen this?” he asked, pointing to his phone.

“yes, baby. i just seen.”

“we’ve never exactly talked about what we wanted to do in this situation.”

“honestly, i don’t really care maj. i’m with you, and im happy. i don’t care about the publicity and your crazy fans.”

and with that, he kissed you on your forehead and the relationship carried on the same way it’d always had—pure bliss.

weeks went by and neither of addressed the dating rumors, because well , the rumors were true. one night you were on tiktok live while jermajesty was out getting food for the both of you. the comments were flooded with “where’s jermajesty?”

“first of all, this is my page.” you laughed, rolling your eyes playfully.

the comments persisted. “can we get a day in the life?” “can we get a vlog?”

“yall keep saying vlog because you bitches are nosy! y’all don’t wanna see me, you just want wanna see my man. he has his own page!”

the comments were moving so fast you could barely read half of them, but it was always the same: people digging for crumbs.

the front door unlocked and the sweet, savory scent of takeout filled the apartment. jermajesty walked in, holding two heavy brown paper bags and balancing a tray of drinks. you joke with them one last time before finally getting off live for the night.

“i could hear you laughing all the way down the hall,” he said, setting the bags on the kitchen island and pulling you into a quick, warm hug. he kissed the side of your neck, his lips soft against your skin. “who were you fussing at?”

“my live,” you said, leaning back against the counter as he started unboxing the food. “they’re so nosy, maj. they were literally begging for vlogs and more dumps as if i don’t post enough already.”

jermajesty laughed, shaking his head as he handed you your container. “i mean, you do make good content, baby.”

“oh, absolutely but they don’t want to see my study routines, they want to see if your shoes are by the front door,” you said, opening your food and taking a bite.

the rest of the night was quiet and comfortable. the two of you sat on the couch with a movie playing low in the background, talking about everything and nothing. his arm was wrapped around your shoulders, your feet resting in his lap while he absently traced patterns on your ankle—right where the gold "j" pendant rested.

a few days later, you decided to record a video. not a response to the drama, not an address to the rumors, just a regular video for your og audience.

you set your phone up on your desk, sat down in your oversized hoodie, and hit record.

“hey guys. so today was absolute hell in class, but we made it,” you started, adjusting the frame.

as you talked through your makeup routine, jermajesty walked into the background, completely oblivious to the camera. he was wearing a simple grey hoodie, hair a bit messy, holding a bottle of water. he walked up behind your chair, leaned down, and kissed the top of your head before walking straight out of the frame toward the kitchen.

it was so casual, so quick, that you almost edited it out. but then you stopped yourself. you were in your own apartment, living your real life. you weren't hiding, but you weren't putting on a show for anyone either.

you uploaded the clip with a simple caption: monday errands.

within an hour, your notifications were completely frozen. but this time, when you opened the comment section, you just smiled, locked your phone, and walked into the living room to sit next to your man.

"are you still mad at me?" you pouted, kicking your legs from where you sat on michael's bed.

absolute silence.

you let out a sigh, dramatically falling backwards and letting your back hit his comfy mattress. this was amusing two days ago, but now you're just irritated by this entire situation.

for the past three days now, michael has been giving you the silent treatment. it's not even like you did anything wrong. well…techinally you didn’t mean to do anything wrong, but you still managed to upset your boyfriend all the same.

“y’know you’re being really immature right now,” you teased, “the silent treatment is so childish.”

when you were once again met with silence, you pouted slightly. you never had michael this mad at you before. it’s not like he’s never been upset before—it’s quite the opposite actually. you’ve seen his (albeit quiet) anger directed at others a couple of times. pushy paparazzi, snobby music executives, sometimes even his brothers when they annoyed him enough, but never at you. 

you were the center of michael’s world, and him yours. the two of you never fought past petty arguments and your friends always joked that michael was too wrapped around your finger to ever be mad at you. before, you’d always scoff and brush them off, but now, you’d wish that were still true.

getting the cold shoulder from anyone sucked, but getting it from michael? it felt like you died and went to hell. you rolled over to lay on your side. across the room was michael, sitting on the couch next to his bed reading a book. you squinted your eyes at him and caught him sulking a bit. you highly doubted that he was actually reading whatever book was in his hand. instead, you bet that he was just grazing over the words and periodically turning the page just to piss you off. 

“i told you already i was drunk!” you spoke again in an attempt to defend yourself again but of course you were just met with silence.

you cursed yourself for drinking so much that night. four days ago, you dragged michael to some industry party. despite his protest and desire to just stay home and watch the three stooges with you (again), just by batting your eyelashes and tugging at his shirt, you were able to get him to come with you. it was usually so easy for you to convince him to do something for you, and he often told you about the power you had over him.

but, maybe you shouldn’t have used your powers for evil because at the party, you managed to push your luck. you got very a little drunk, which already had michael displeased, but what actually managed to set him off was aaron.

aaron was an old high school acquaintance of yours. how he managed to get into a high profile event like that? who knows. but, what you did know was that he was also obnoxiously drunk and obnoxiously talkative as well, much to michael’s dismay. if you were in your right state of mind, you would’ve just told him to buzz off, but you weren’t, so you just allowed him to talk your head off, eagerly nodding along to whatever nonsense he was sprouting, leaving michael to sulk in the corner, bitter and stone cold sober.  

it wasn’t even the fact that you were talking to another guy that michael vexed—no, he was way more mature than that. it was the fact you were ignoring him that had him crossing his arms and grumbling under his breath. you had never ignored him before, and especially not for some guy, and it wasn’t a good feeling at all.

embarrassingly enough, you didn’t know you were receiving the cold shoulder at first. you were too hungover to realize michael was ignoring you, too focused on the massive headache you had acquired from the night before. but, by midday, you realized that he hadn’t once said anything to you, which finally raised some red flags for you. you tried apologizing, but it was already too late because michael had already decided to give you a taste of your own medicine.

you got up from your position on his bed and made your way over to him on the couch. you were over this completely. at first, you could understand his annoyance with you (you could admit that you were an annoying drunk), but this was too much for you. you thought you could handle the silence. you’ve been busying yourself with work and catching up on some chores, and catching up with some friends, but nothing could fill the void michael left behind, even if he was still physically here. you just wanted your baby back already.

michael couldn’t help but watch you from the corner of his eye. he tried his hardest to come off as unbothered, but watching you strut across his room towards him made him feel less like a man and more like your prey. he swallowed a lump in his throat and quickly pulled his attention back to his book, and tried to read something when he realized you were staring directly at him.

“baby, come on,” you hummed, pulling the book straight from out of his hand and onto the floor.

you smiled down at him. now he was forced to acknowledge you. michael forced himself to look up at you, but he immediately regretted it, realizing the visual of you looking down on him didn't do him any favors. before he could even realize it, he was holding in his breath. he was supposed to be mad at you, giving you a taste of your own medicine.

he wanted you to feel exactly how he felt that night: ignored, but that was easier said than done. it took more effort than michael originally realized to just ignore you. how could he? especially, with you looking down at him like that, laughing at him as if you already won—as if you already broke through his walls. he wanted to at least make you work a little harder for his attention, but he missed you and your company too much to even try anymore.

“i already said i was sorry,” you hummed in a sultry tone, moving even closer to him so that your knees were touching his, “and i meant it too.” 

you tilted your head, pouting at him, causing him to follow your movement. michael subconsciously gripped the seat cushions, twiddling a loose thread between his fingers.you noticed the action, and suddenly an idea popped into your head. a great idea actually. 

your frown suddenly turned into a wide and sinister smile as your gaze went from michael’s fingers to his face again. michael knew that look. he knew it too well, actually, and it meant you were up to no good. when you realized that he realized, your smile grew even wider and you let out a chuckle. 

suddenly, and with warning, you sunk down onto your knees in front of him, placing your hands on his thighs. michael let out something between a yelp and a groan, causing you to laugh again, but this time more genuinely. you had some special talent when it came to making michael flustered and he both loved and hated it at times. you loved it when he got like this—all skittish and nervous—it was cute and so uniquely michael.

“but i can understand if you're still upset,” you continued, whispering, “so i want to make it up to you, is that alright with you?” you asked, innocently batting your eyelashes at him.

michael’s eyes lit up and he began shaking his head ‘yes’ repeatedly, with zero hesitation. you wanted to laugh again at this but you stopped yourself, not wanting to fluster him anymore than you had already done.

“you’ll have to use your words, baby,” you teased, resting your head in his lap, mindless tracing patterns into his jeans.

it took michael a while to respond because he was completely fixed on the way your head felt in his lap and the way you fingers felt against his leg and—shit, now he was hard. he closed his eyes, trying to focus his attention on anything other than the growing problem in his jeans. he looked up at the ceiling, because if he looked at you, he’d be a goner. 

“y—yes, please…i would like that a lot,” he stammered out, giving in, finally opening his eyes to look down at you.

your eyes lit up, and you grinned. slowly (and painfully for michael), you let your fingers find the way to the button of his pants and unzipping them. you began working on pulling his pants down, which michael eagerly helped you with, wanting to speed the process up.

“slow down!” you giggled, “we have all night.”

michael let out a struggled laugh, “sorry—it's just that i can't wait any longer,” michael’s confession came out rugged.

it wasn't just spending time with you that michael missed. in four days, he felt pent up. you pulled his legs apart and stood up on your knees so that you could position yourself between his legs. not wanting to see your boyfriend suffer any longer, you moved to pull his unsurprisingly hard member out from his boxers. 

his winced at the touch, feeling uncomfortably sore and restrained by his jeans. quickly, you realized he had already begun leaking precum from his tip, causing you to smile.

“wow, i haven't even done anything yet! i had no idea i had this effect on you,” you beamed, causing michael’s cheeks to heat up even more than before.

he moaned your name softly and pleading with you, “please don't do this to me right now. this is embarrassing enough as it is…”

michael wanted to say something else. something more assertive, something to let you know that he had some ounce of control left, but before he could get the words out, you kissed along his vein softly, causing him to let out a surprised groan.

for a while, you continued with your gentle kisses against him, from top to bottom, but the longer you gave him shy kisses, the more impatient michael became. he didn't know exactly how to say the words and how to tell you how painfully restless he was starting to feel, but thankfully for him, you could read his mind. after all, this was supposed to be your apology to him, so you decide to put him out of his misery.

you tested the waters first, giving him a couple quick kitten licks against his tip, but with a whine, michael immediately let you know that wasn't enough.

“don't worry, i’ll make sure you feel real good…” you reassured him, giving him a couple pumps with your hand.

your soft lips wrap around him, allowing you to finally taste him after what felt like an eternity. he let out a soft moan at the feeling of your wet mouth on his tip, now coated with a mixture of his precum and your saliva. you let out a satisfied hum before allowing yourself to sink further down onto him.

the vibration coupled with the feeling of your mouth caused michael to gasp, reaching for your head and grabbing a handful of your hair. he was trying to anchor himself back to reality and failing miserably at it.

slowly, you began bobbling your head up and down against him, finding a sickeningly sweet pace to repeat the motion again and again.

“ahh—that feels so—!” he moaned, shutting his eyes as tight as possible.

he was breathless and struggling with the overwhelming amount of pleasure he was being subjected to, which was only encouragement for you to continue.

you ran your tongue against the prominent veins of his member, making sure to show each special attention. you made sure to savor the feeling of him throbbing in your mouth and his taste. 

the sight was filthy, but michael couldn't even imagine looking away. his hips began to jerk involuntarily, despite his wishes and he let out another moan. embarrassed of the sounds he was making, he slapped his hand over his mouth, but that only caused you pause.

“knock it off. i want to hear you,” you whined, pulling yourself off him completely, “you do that again and i’ll stop completely. understand?” 

michael hesitated but eventually nodded and only then did you continue with your blowjob, bringing him back back into the wet warmth of your mouth. the way you managed to take him fully and repeatedly while also swirling your tongue around him? he was convinced he had died and gone to heaven. 

quickly, that familiar feeling started bubbling up in his stomach and he let out a panicked whine. he tried to warn you. he called your name but the only thing that came out was yet another groan. 

he gripped the locks of your tighter, and bit down on his lip. he swore he was seeing stars. feeling the inevitable coming, you quickened your pace, letting out a satisfied moan at the mess you were able to make of yourself boyfriend.

michael became restless, squirming in his seat every two seconds. you wanted to praise him and tell him how well he was doing for you, but instead you hollowed out your cheeks shifting your movements so that you could also use your hands as a replacement for your mouth.

“baby, please—” michael attempted to plead with you, although it was in vain.

with one last whine, michael finished in your mouth, painting it with the taste of his cum as. he continued to jerk his hips into your mouth, trying to ride out his pleasure for as long as he could and you happily obliged him, continuing your movements against him, he tasted divine and it wasn't until this moment that you realized how much you really missed that taste.

with one last suck, you pulled from him completely. you swallowed him in a second, letting out a satisfied hum.

“now do you see how sorry i am?” you joked standing up so that you could give him a quick kiss.

michael almost didn't process what you said because he was still breathless and attempting to come back down to reality, but the moment his brain started functioning again, he giggled.

“definitely. i could never stay mad at you for long anyways.”

Michael had always been a prankster, and you were no different. As a result, your household was in a constant state of prank warfare, even now that the two of you were older. Age hadn't slowed either of you down. If anything, it had only made the pranks more creative. Nothing was going to stop either of you from trying to outdo the other.

This time, though, you wanted to do something different, so you asked Paris for help. She suggested using your YouTube channel, where you regularly shared recipes and home décor content. As always, Michael would be part of the video—but this time, there would be a twist.

"Hello, everyone! I'm back with another cookie recipe," you said with a smile, looking into the camera. "Today, I'm joined once again by my current boyfriend."

Michael smiled brightly at first, but his expression quickly shifted into a frown as he looked at you in confusion.

"Current boyfriend?"

"Michael, you just ruined the shot," you groaned, reaching for the camera to start the recording over.

Before you could, he gently stopped you.

"Leave it." He let go of your hand.

"Now, I know this is some weird prank of hers, probably encouraged by one of you," he said, pointing straight at the camera. "But I am not her current boyfriend. I ain't even her boyfriend—I'm her husband. Been her husband for over thirty years."

You tried not to laugh.

"And she still calls me daddy when we get nasty," he added with a completely straight face. "And yes, that still happens. Not that it's any of your business, but it does."

"Michael!"

taglist: @judesboots @youluvyanni @winterosco @escapefromrealitylol @ruesredjacket @4ppl3h34d @tinydreamerpillar @delictezz @heartsforamari19 @sugarrushbell @bangchanunofficial @swavydadon @nayykura @plan3tch1ld @unseenleylinesecret @niyahctrl @animegamerfox @raefoxiegirl @applehead-luvr @a-motherfcking-fish @michaelsgirlie @sebbysbaby @helalokithor @poetsprey @60fspp @kryka83 @ilov3tosle3p @bladeeisjesus @umibug @erynnnn @lauren7050 @onegoodperson @trvpstarxvl @alexablanc @superlegend216 @gravenoirr @heyitsm4di @heartstofiiveunknownn @soimightlikeoldmen69 @cherrishkissed @kisscoqueen @ghazalbambi @aristoleyaferrarii @michaeljacksonlover25 @solelypyt @no1sdolli3 @blameditontheboogie @spiderhook @ghazalbambi @jaafarl

Los Angeles had a steady rain since three in the afternoon, turning the usually sun-drenched boulevards of Westwood into grey, glossy ribbons. Inside Hennessey & Ingalls, the air smelled richly of heavy paper, printer’s ink, polished oak, and damp wool. It was a spacious, quiet sanctuary—the kind of bookstore where the carpets muffled every step and people respected the unspoken rule of hushed voices.

You adjusted the strap of your shoulder bag, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you stood in the dedicated children’s wing near the back. 

“Baby, pick two,” you said softly, keeping your voice low as you bent down slightly. “We talked about this before we left the house. Two books, and then we’ve got to go home and start dinner.”

Your four year old was entirely unbothered by the boundary, squatting on the carpet with a stack of five hardcover Disney picture books spread out like a fan. Small fingers, slightly sticky from the fruit leather you’d handed over in the car, flipped enthusiastically through a large edition of The Lion King.

“But Mommy, this one has the giant picture of Simba,” they pleaded, big eyes looking up at you with that pure, negotiator’s focus that every parent knows too well. “And this one has the sea witch!”

“Simba will still be here next week,” you said, offering a soft, tired smile. You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling the knots that had been building there all week. Single motherhood was a masterclass in balance—balancing the budget, balancing the schedule, and balancing the quiet ache of wanting to give your child the whole world while knowing you had to draw the line at two twenty-dollar picture books on a Sunday rainstorm.

You reached down to help stack the extras, turning your body slightly toward the aisle—just as a tall figure stepped out from behind the towering photography section.

It happened in slow motion. Your elbow grazed a heavy elbow wrapped in dark, soft wool. The tall stranger was carrying a delicate, high-stacked armful of heavy art folios—thick coffee-table books on French architecture and classical sculpture. The collision was gentle, but the sheer weight of his stack made gravity win out.

Thump. Slide. Clatter.

The books hit the carpet with a heavy, muffled thud, sprawling across the walkway, right near your child’s lap.

“Oh, my goodness!” the apology left your mouth instantly, mortification hot in your chest. “I am so sorry—I didn’t see you turning the corner—”

“No, no, please… it’s completely fine,” a voice cut through your panic.

It was a voice that was almost startlingly soft. Low, warm, and musician, carrying a gentle, breathless quality that felt instantly familiar, yet somehow completely out of place in a rainy bookstore in Westwood.

You dropped to your knees immediately to gather the scattered volumes, your child frozen mid-page, staring wide-eyed at the tall man.

He was already kneeling down beside you. Up close, his presence was understated yet striking. His broad-brimmed black felt hat pulled low, dark aviator sunglasses resting high on his nose despite the indoor lighting, and a loose beautifully tailored black tench coat over a red silk button-down. Dark, glossy tendrils tumbled past his jawline, framing a clean, sculpted chin with a delicate cleft.

As his long, slender fingers—adorned with a simple silver band on his right hand—reached for the same book on French cathedrals that you were grabbing, your hands brushed. His skin was warm, his touch light as featherweight silk.

“I’ve got it, don’t worry at all,” he murmured softly. He looked up, and even behind the tinted lenses, you felt the intense, gentle focus of his gaze on you. “Really. It was my fault for carrying a mountain.”

A small high-pitched chuckle escaped him—a sweet, bubbling sound that made the tension in your shoulders instantly dissolve.

Your child, never one to be shy for long, piped up from the floor. “You dropped the big books.”

The man turned his head toward your little one. Instead of looking annoyed or rushed, his entire posture softened into something incredibly tender. He shifted on the carpet, sitting cross-legged right there on the floor, unbothered by his fine clothes touching the rug.

“I sure did,” he said, pushing his sunglasses up to the brim of his hat, revealing dark, luminous eyes bounded by long lashes. He gave your child a conspiratorial, wide smile—white, brilliant, and full of genuine delight. “I was being a little greedy, wasn’t I? Carrying too many at once.”

Your child giggled, holding up the heavy edition of The Lion King. “Look, Simba.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. He leaned in, placing his elbows on his knees, giving your child his absolute, undivided attention. “Oh, The Lion King,” he breathed, his voice thick with authentic wonder. “You know… that’s one of my absolute favorites. Have you seen the scene where Simba and Nala run away to the elephant graveyard?”

“Yeah! But it’s scary,” your child admitted, scooting an inch closer to him. “The hyenas go hahaha!” 

Michael threw his head back and laughed—a rich, joyous sound that ripped through the quiet aisle. “They do! They laugh just like that. You do a great hyena impression.” he looked over at you then, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he met your gaze. “You have a wonderful child. What’s their name?”

You gave the name, slightly stunned at how effortlessly this stranger had transformed an awkward accident into a moment of pure magic.

“I’m Michael,” he said simply, offering a long-fingered, slender hand to you. His grip was surprisingly firm, yet remarkably gentle.

You replied with your name, holding his gaze. 

Up close, without the dark lenses blocking his eyes, there was no mistaking who he was. The iconic jawline, the delicate structure, the deep, soulful warmth in his eyes that no camera had ever truly captured. It was him. Mature, settled, carrying a quiet regal grace that didn’t demand attention, but naturally held it.

If he noticed the split-second register of recognition outside completely ceased to exist.

What should have been a brief apology turned into the three of you sitting in the carpeted corner of the children’s section. Michael didn’t act like a superstar hiding from the world; he acted like a man who was deeply, truly happy to be sitting on a floor talking about animation. 

He turned the pages of the Disney books for your child, doing subtle, hilarious character voices—a raspy, dramatic whisper for Scar, a booming, warm tone for Mufasa—that had your child doubling over with laughter.

You sat back against the low shelf, watching him. You saw the way he carefully minded your child’s space, never overwhelming them, always meeting them right at their eye level. You saw the subtle lines around his eyes—the gentle signs of a man who had lived a hundred lives in his forty-something years, who carried heavy burdens, but whose heart remained remarkably untouched by bitterness.

When your child finally picked their two books—The Lion King and Peter Pan—Michael helped stand them up, dusting off his dark trousers with a graceful sweep of his hands.

“You picked the best ones,” he told your child, tapping them gently on the nose with his finger. “Peter Pan is the master key, you know. Never grow up too fast.”

As your child wandered toward the display table a few feet away, Michael stood beside you, adjusting his trench coat. The air between you felt warm, thick with an easy, unexpected comfort.

“I really do apologize again for the collision,” you said, slipping your purse strap back over your shoulder. “And… thank you. You made their whole week.”

Michael looked down at you, his expression thoughtful, his hands resting casually in his pockets. “No, thank you,” he said quietly. His voice dropped an octave, leaning into a private, intimate frequency just for you. “I don’t… I don’t get many afternoons like this. Just plain, sweet moments. Sitting on the floor, talking about stories.”

He paused, his eyes scanning your face, taking in the faint dark circles under your eyes, the quiet strength in your posture, the warmth of your dark skin against the soft knit of your sweater.

“You’re a wonderful mother,” he added, the words falling from his lips with an earnest, unvarnished sincerity that hit you right in the chest. "I can see how much love you put into them. It’s... it’s a beautiful thing to witness."

A soft flush warmed your cheeks. In the daily grind of single parenting—the endless dishes, the bills, the quiet evenings where you wondered if you were doing enough—nobody ever really stopped to tell you that. 

“Thank you, Michael,” you said, your voice dropping soft and true. “That means more than you know.”

He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out a small, heavy piece of cream-colored cardstock and a sleep silver pen. He scribbled something down quickly, his handwriting long and fluid, before handing it to you.

“If you ever… if you ever want to bring them over to watch a movie in a real theater, or if you just…want to talk,” he said, looking at you with a rare, vulnerable hopefulness. “Please call me. I’d really love to see you both again.”

You looked down at the card. Written in neat script was a private landline number, signed simply: Michael.

Two weeks had passed, and the quiet shift in your life felt almost surreal.

It started with a nervous phone call on a Tuesday evening after your child was fast asleep. You had sat on your living room sofa for twenty minutes staring at the cream-colored card before finally dialing. When his voice answered on the third ring—low, raspy, and distinctly relaxed—the conversation had flowered for two hours without a single awkward pause. 

By the end of the month, a quiet, domestic rhythm had established itself between you.

It was a Thursday night in late autumn. The weather had turned crisp, a dry California chill sweeping through the valley. Inside your cozy, modest two-bedroom home, the atmosphere was thick with peaceful, golden warmth.

Your child was tucked tightly into bed, fast asleep under a heavy quilt after a long day of preschool and park trips. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint, rhythmic ticking of the kitchen clock.

You sat in the center of your plush velvet sofa, wrapped in a thick chenille cardigan, a hot mug of chamomile tea resting on the wooden coffee table in front of you. Your hair was pulled back into a loose, soft puff, your face bare and freshly washed.

On the couch cushion beside you sat your phone on speakerphone.

"Did they fall asleep okay?" Michael’s voice filled the quiet living room, warm and rich, carrying the slight gravel of a man who was lying down in bed miles away in his quiet estate.

“Out like a light,” you murmured, leaning your head back against the sofa cushions, letting your eyes close. “The second the forehead hit the pillow. We spent two hours at the park after school trying to burn off that endless toddler energy.”

Michael let out a soft, melodious laugh over the receiver. You could hear the rustle of high-thread-count sheets on his end, the faint clinking of a teacup resting on a nightstand.

“That’s the secret, he said softly. “You have to run them around. Keep their imaginations moving. What were they playing today?”

“Pirates,” you smiled, a soft exhale slipping past your lips. “They decided the big oak tree by the swings was the Jolly Roger. I was forced to be Captain Hook for an hour and a half. My back is paying for it tonight.”

"Oh, no," Michael chuckled, his voice dropping into that sweet, velvety register that always made your heart flutter. "Captain Hook? That’s a tough role. You have to do the voice and everything."

"I attempted it," you said. "Though I don't think my Hook holds a candle to the voices you did at the bookstore."

“Don’t tease me,” he murmured playfully, a soft smile evident in his tone. “I take my Disney lore very seriously.”

Silence stretched between you then—not the heavy, awkward kind, but a deep, comfortable quiet that only exists between two people who feel entirely safe with one another. It was a luxury you hadn’t realized you were starving for. For years, your evenings had been spent in solitary exhaustion, carrying the mental loans of running a household alone, worrying about the future, keeping your defenses up.

With Michael, the armor just fell away.

"How are you feeling tonight?" Michael asked softly, his tone shifting from lighthearted to deeply attentive. "You sounded a little tired when you first answered."

You let out a long breath, opening your eyes to stare at the warm yellow light of the floor lamp in the corner. "Honestly? I'm exhausted, Mike. Just... heavy tired."

“Talk to me,” he whispered gently. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

The term of endearment slipped from his lips so naturally, like a soft touch to your shoulder.

"It’s just... one of those days where the weight of doing it all alone catches up," you admitted, the honesty spilling out before you could filter it. "I was looking at the bills tonight, and then the teacher mentioned at drop-off that they need new winter shoes because their toes are touching the front of their sneakers, and I... I just sat in my car in the parking lot for ten minutes before going to work and cried."

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I'm sorry. You don't need to hear me complain about shoe sizes and grocery budgets."

"Hey... hey," Michael’s voice cut in, sharp with gentle protest, though his tone remained immensely soft. "Don't you ever apologize to me for that. Don't do that, beautiful.”

You heard him shift on his end, the sound of him sitting up against his pillows.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice coming through the speaker with a steady, grounding strength. "What you are doing every single day... it’s the hardest job on earth. It really is. You are building a whole human life with your own two hands, your own heart, your own strength. That is heroic. Do you hear me?"

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, warm and sudden. You rubbed at your brow, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Sometimes I just worry I'm missing something. Or that I'm not doing enough. That I'm falling short."

"You are not falling short," Michael insisted softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I see the way that child looks at you. I see it in their eyes. They feel safe. They feel loved. They know their mama is their whole world, and that kind of security... you can't buy that with all the money in the world. You give them that every single day just by being who you are."

He paused, a gentle breath passing over the line.

"I know what it’s like to feel like the world is resting entirely on your shoulders," he added quietly, a subtle layer of personal history woven into the words. "To feel like if you slip, everything crumbles. But you don't have to carry it all in the dark. You have me now. I'm right here."

The warmth of his words bloomed in your chest, washing over the cold spaces of your weariness.

"Thank you, Mike," you whispered, your voice thick. "Really. Thank you."

"I mean it," he murmured. "Now... I want you to take a big, deep breath for me. Right now."

You chuckled softly through the emotional haze, but you complied, pulling in a deep chestful of air and letting it out slowly.

"Good," he said, satisfied. "Now, take a sip of your tea."

"How do you know I'm drinking tea?"

"Because you always make chamomile when you're stressed," he said, a quiet sense of pride in his voice at having learned your habits. "I know you, girl."

You picked up the mug, taking a warm sip, feeling the heat travel down your chest. "You're too observant for your own good, Michael Jackson."

"Only with the things that matter," he replied smoothly.

Two days later, on a quiet Saturday afternoon, Michael came over.

He had arrived in an unassuming black sedan with tinted windows, driven by his trusted security guard, Javon, who parked down the street to give him privacy. Michael had walked up your porch steps wearing a simple dark blue cashmere sweater, comfortable black slacks, and his hair tied back into a loose, low ponytail at the nape of his neck. No sunglasses, no heavy hat—just Michael, relaxed and comfortable in his own skin.

Now, the late afternoon sun was casting long, golden geometric shapes across your living room floor.

The atmosphere in the house was pure, unadulterated domestic bliss. The air smelled of sweet vanilla, warm cinnamon, and the savory aroma of a roast chicken simmering slowly in the oven.

In the center of the living room rug, Michael was sitting cross-legged, surrounded by plastic construction bricks and wooden train tracks. He was entirely engrossed in building a sprawling, somewhat unstable castle with your child, who was sitting right beside him, handing him red and yellow bricks like a dedicated apprentice.

"No, no, see," Michael was saying, holding up a long blue piece with high dramatic flair. "If we put the dragon tower right here, then the king can see the whole valley! But we need a moat. Do we have any blue pieces for the water?"

"Here, Mike! Here!" your child chimed in eagerly, dumping a handful of translucent blue bricks onto his lap.

Michael gasped in theatrical delight, placing his hands over his heart. "Perfect! Absolutely brilliant. You're the master architect."

From the kitchen doorway, you leaned against the frame, holding a dish towel in your hands, watching them. The sight felt so natural, so right, that it brought a quiet, steady ache of joy to your heart. Here was one of the most famous men in human history, a global icon, sitting on a slightly faded rug in a modest family home, genuinely thrilled to be building a toy castle for a four-year-old.

As if sensing your gaze, Michael turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and a slow, beautiful smile spread across his face—warm, dimpled, and radiating deep contentment.

"How’s the master chef doing over there?" he asked softly, his voice low enough not to interrupt your child's intense focus on snapping two bricks together.

"It’s coming along," you smiled, walking out of the kitchen and stepping over a section of wooden train track to sit on the floor near him. "About twenty minutes left on the chicken. The kitchen smells amazing."

"It really does," Michael murmured, leaning his shoulder gently against yours as you sat beside him. The physical contact was light, casual, yet full of unspoken intimacy. "It smells like home."

Your child suddenly scrambled up, grabbing a plastic toy horse from the toy box in the corner. "I gotta get the knight!" they announced, racing off toward the bedroom.

Left alone on the rug for a brief moment, Michael turned his full attention to you. He reached out, his slender fingers gently catching a loose tendril that had fallen near your cheek, tucking it softly behind your ear. His thumb lingered for a fraction of a second against your jawline, his touch warm and remarkably tender.

"You look beautiful today," he whispered, his eyes searching your face with a quiet reverence. "So peaceful."

"I feel peaceful," you admitted, resting your hand over his knee. "Thanks to you. Having you here... it makes the house feel so full."

Michael’s eyes softened, a faint, humbled flush coloring his cheekbones. He covered your hand on his knee with his own, his long fingers intertwining with yours, giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"I love being here," he said softly, his voice dropping into that deep, authentic register that always made time stand still. "With you. With both of you. It’s... it’s the quietest my mind ever gets. I don't think you realize what a gift you give me just by letting me in."

"Mike..."

"I mean it," he insisted gently, looking directly into your eyes with an intensity that took your breath away. "Out there... the world is so loud. It’s always demanding something from me. Always wanting a piece of Michael Jackson. But in this house... with you... I'm just Michael. I'm just a man who gets to sit on the floor, eat a good meal, and care about the people I love."

He leaned in closer, his soft breath brushing against your cheek as he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the side of your temple. It wasn't a rushed or demanding gesture; it was a promise—a quiet statement of presence, affection, and protection.

"I've got you," he murmured against your skin, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "Whatever you need, whatever feels too heavy... we share it now. Okay?"

Before you could answer, the pitter-patter of small feet came charging back down the hallway.

"I found the knight! I found him!" your child shouted, sliding onto the rug and holding up a tiny plastic figure.

Michael pulled back smoothly, though he didn't let go of your hand right away, giving your fingers one last firm squeeze before turning back to the child with that bright, infectious grin.

"Oh, magnificent!" Michael declared, taking the tiny knight with grand ceremony. "The kingdom is officially saved!"

You sat back against the side of the sofa, watching the two of them play as the golden hour light filled the room. The timer on the oven went off with a soft, cheerful chime, signaling that dinner was ready.

You looked at Michael—his hair messy, his smile wide and free, his eyes lit up with genuine happiness—and for the first time in a very long time, the heavy weight of single motherhood didn't feel heavy at all. It felt shared. It felt cherished. It felt like home.

© 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐲𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛𝐱

Westminster, California, 1975

The engine to Jackie’s 1973 AMC Hornet revved as he pulled into the Hi-Way 39 drive-in theater. This was one of your favorite date night spots. The hour drive it took to get there didn’t put a damper on your excitement for it. The place was packed out with people and cars due to the most anticipated movie of the year: Jaws.

When Jackie had brought you here on the third date, you fell in love with the spot. You knew it was something you would have to do at least once a week. When he wasn’t on the road with his brothers, he was so eager to do whatever you wanted to do.

He paid the entrance fee and was able to secure a spot near the middle of the field. They hadn’t even turned on the pre-movie content yet so you felt it was a good enough to time to run to the concessions stand. Hopefully there wasn’t too long of a line.

The watermelon flavor of your BlowPop still vibrant in the gum you smacked on. Turning to Jackie as you dug in your purse for your wallet, you caught him staring at you heatedly.

“Why you staring so hard, Jackson?” You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

“I can’t look at my lady now?”

“Not the way you doing, nasty ass.” You blew a bubble with your gum. His eyes zeroed in the activity.

“That mouth of yours, I swear, little mama.” He did that thing with his voice that had you squeezing your thighs together.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” You tossed your beaded braids over your shoulder and smirked. “You want that chocolate you like from the snack stand?”

“I got the chocolate I like sittin’ right here next to me.” He licked his bottom lip, looking you up and down.

“Ooh, you are a dangerous flirt, Sigmund Esco. I reckon it’s gonna get you in trouble one day.” Another bubble blown.

“How bout it get me into some right now? Gimme that gum you smackin on.”

One of your eyebrows arched and your mouth twitched. There was no point in acting like you were disgusted because you’d never came harder than you did when Jackie ate your ass while fingering you on the second date. He was a super freak and you were obsessed with him, almost like he put a spell on you.

“Well come and get it then, papa.”

His big hand landed on your thigh, pulling you across the leather seats over to the driver’s side. He grabbed one of your legs to sit on top of his knees, opening you up. Jackie wrapped his fingers around your throat, leading your faces to meet.

Your lips clashed with his hastily. His tongue lapping at your lips until you opened your mouth, allowing him entry to explore. You let out a high moan pushing your gum into his mouth with his tongue instantly curling around it. With shiny lips and a string of spit following you both when you released each other, you were almost tempted to say fuck the movie.

Leaning against the door, Jackie grinned like the cat that got the canary. His strong jaw chewed on your gum like it was his to begin with and you had simply prepped it for him. You sat back, hand pressed to your chest trying to calm your heart.

“Fuckin’ delicious. Watermelon?”

“Boy, you ain’t no good,” you snorted, licking your lips, elated at the taste of him.

“Only for you, sweet thing.” He winked, pulling out his wallet. “Here, take this money so you can get whatever you want.”

“Jackie, I have my own money.”

“I didn’t ask you that, now did I?”

You could be stubborn with the best of them but Jackie being the oldest brother of so many kids you knew it was impossible to win any battle against him. You shook your head, taking his fifty dollar bill.

“And don’t forget my Pibb!” He yelled out the window as you walked away. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was watching your booty bounce in your polkadot sundress.

You were making your way back with the snacks when a familiar face stepped in front of you.

“Sunshine?” Only one man called you that nickname.

“Jerome? Hey honey, how you been?” Your ex whom you hadn’t seen in years. Occasionally one of your girlfriends would run into him and bring you the gossip but you hadn’t laid eyes on him since you both decided to part ways. He was trying to go to college in San Diego and you had stayed in Encino; you both felt the relationship wasn’t worth the long distance.

Jerome was a tall light skin with light eyes, straight white teeth and his signature small afro. The side burns were new though. He was a sweet talker, incredibly kind and smart. It was no wonder you dated him initially but alas you were bored.

He didn’t alight every nerve in your body like Jackie did. Jackie liked to go back and forth with you to an extent. Once he was over that he’d just thrown you down and draw orgasm after orgasm from you like he was born to do it. He could be rough despite that soft spoken, demure façade he put on. He also had a jealousy streak a mile long.

Jerome roped you into a side hug and began asking you questions, wanting to catch up. Every time you attempted to walk away and end the conversation he would reel you back in with some new detail about his life. You were polite but deep down you knew Jackie was probably wondering where you were.

“You lookin’ real good, girl. You must be eating right.” He leered at you.

You opened your mouth to shut him down when: “Yeah, I’m feedin her real good,” replied from behind you.

Exhaling in gratitude, you turned around seeing Jackie right behind you with his arms crossed. You knew that look in his eyes well. It told you that shit was about to go left very quickly.

“Jackie! I was just on my way back when I ran into an old friend. We were just catching up.” You smiled nervously, stepping beside your boyfriend.

“Old friend? From where?”

“I’m her ex,” Jerome supplied, clarifying simply.

You wanted to evaporate completely. Sighing in defeat, your eyes fell shut.

“Oh really?” Jackie’s voice hardened. You didn’t want to look at him.

“Jerome.” The other man stuck out his hand and Jackie just looked at it. Jerome put his hand back to his side.

“You like them J names don’tcha?” Jackie slightly turned his head towards you, arching one of his eyebrows. “Baby, I don’t need to be worried about you leaving me for a James, do I?”

“Technically, your name doesn’t start with a J so…” You joked awkwardly. You met his eyes, then shot yours to the ground seeing the unamused expression on his face.

That was going to be your ass. You knew that the second it came out of your mouth. He was not going to let that slide. Your pulse steadily climbed at the prospect.

“Well, it was nice catching up with you, sunshine. Maybe we can get a cup of coffee next time I’m in Encino.”

“Um, I don’t—“

“She won’t be available.”

The projector flickered on signaling that they were about to play the movie and you couldn’t had been more grateful for the interruption. Jackie grabbed the snacks out of your hands and turned on his heel without another word.

“Damn,” you mumbled under the breath and followed Jackie with your tail between your legs.

It took everything in you to hold in your scream while Jackie brought you to the brink repeatedly and then denied you. You were stretched on his dick with your back to his chest sitting in the drivers seat. He felt you shake while he lazily strummed your clit like a guitar.

Your legs were on either side of his, keeping you wide open for him. Knowing that anybody could look in and see what you two were doing thrilled you.

“Jackie,” you whined, hands clutching the steering wheel.

“Watch the movie, little mama,” the tone in his soft voice meant to brook no argument.

You had no idea what was happening at this point in the movie. Not long after it had started Jackie told you to take your panties off and to come sit in his lap. You were concerned that since you were out in the public that anybody to could see but he was adamant and not in the mood for games. He had taken himself out of his pants, stroked himself a couple of times until his rigid length was ready for you. You had nervously looked around and realized no one was paying your car an inch of attention.

“D’you know why we’re doing this?”

You shook your head, unable to answer because all your thoughts were focused on chasing your climax.

He took his hand away from your engorged bud and you wanted to cry. He rubbed his hands all over your thighs, feeling your sopping pussy clench around his dick.

“Yes, you do. You’re a smart girl. Tell me why.”

The air in the car was intoxicating. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to not move your hips.

“Because I was talking to—“

“Yes, because you were talking to another man. You know that’s not how we move ‘round here, baby.”

“But Jackie, I didn’t want to talk to him!” You groaned. “I’m sorry!”

“Oh, I know you’re sorry. This tight pussy trembling around me tells me that. But I need you to learn your lesson,” Jackie lightly scolded.

You hissed as his fingers went back to circling your clit, unable to control the squirm of your hips. He huffed out a strangled breath behind you. His thick veiny dick throbbed inside your heat. Your arousal was definitely soaking his front of his pants and you weren’t apologetic about that one bit.

“Sig, please. I need to come,” you mewled, biting your lip. The movie was all a blur to you.

“I’m sure you do.” His fingers sped up and your toes curled. Your breathing came in short pants. “Do you deserve it is what I need to know.”

“Yes! I’m sorry. I won’t do it again I promise. Just let me—“ You rattled off incoherently then keened with a closed mouth when he bit your shoulder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you, girl. I gotta lock you up to keep men away from you? Maybe I need to put a baby in ya.” He shifted underneath you, somehow digging deeper into you. His other hand caressed your stomach.

“Please, baby. Do it.” You were out of your mind at this point. You were so close it drove you insane.

Jackie inhaled sharply and slowly thrusted into you. His shallow jerks had your eyes rolling back. Your grip on the steering wheel increasing.

“You want my baby?”

“Yes, papa, whatever you want,” you moaned, gyrating your hips. The wetness of your cunt helping you slide easily.

“Take it then,“ he growled.

You moved like butter with him deep in you. You felt every vein scraping along your walls. With his tip kissing your cervix and the rough pad of his fingers swiping your button, it wasn’t long before you were shaking, coming undone especially hard on his big dick. You smashed your lips together to conceal the shriek that lodged in your throat.

Jackie followed you soon after shooting his seed into your womb. He groaned behind you feeling your pussy milk him dry. He moved your braids to the side and kissed the back of your sweaty neck, licking the skin with every kiss. You melted into his chest and finally released your grip on the steering wheel.

The sun had gone down at some point. Fireflies danced outside the rows of cars.

You casually glanced around and of course no one payed your car any mind, not with the big shark on the screen.

“I love you, Jackie. We so solid, I don’t want anyone else,” you whispered sleepily, turning your head into the crook of his neck. The smell of his Afro soothing you.

“Let’s keep it that way. I love you too, little mama.” He kissed your forehead and hummed with his length still resting in place. You loved that full feeling. “We gon have to come see this movie again. Don’t you think?”

despite kissing your head last night, cairo starts the morning saying nothing and not looking your way once as he leaves the bed– and then the room. you follow his movements until the very second he disappears from your sight before throwing yourself back onto the bed, your pillows cushioning your fall.

when deanna flops on top of you, you pull her into your arms and lift your head slightly– looking around the room and noticing the only other bodies missing. "where's maj? and isaac?"

deanna shrugs sleepily against your body. "i don't even know. isaac said he was gonna be around jermajesty this morning. boy time or whatever the hell he called it."

"aww, that's cute. we should do girl time today then." you close your eyes, letting your chest rise and fall twice, thinking, before snorting. "you think cairo just went with them?"

"out your mind," deanna laughs, "girl, jermajesty probably wants to steal on his ass."

and as you silently process her reply, you catch a smile growing on your face at the thought of him being even slightly jealous. it takes everything to wipe it away– only being successful when one thing crosses your mind, and one thing only: "i think i need to talk to cairo about everything today."

deanna shoots you a sympathetic look before nodding her head in agreement. "i think you do too, babe." she stands, throwing the covers off of your body and pulling you up– leading you to the bathroom. "wanna pull him before our girl time?"

you blink a few times to adjust to the harsh lighting. did you want to pull him before your girl time? maybe it was on you as the person with two connections to initiate the chat, but thinking about his on and off silent treatment on top of the strange warning from isaac… fuck that. "no, he can find me when he wants to talk."

after flying through your hygiene routine in the bathroom, you and deanna join the other girls in the glam room. you decide to let your skin breathe that morning; nearly done with your hair routine when jermajesty walks in. as always, he walks straight to you, keeping his eyes on you even as he mumbles a good morning to everyone else. and as always, your heart flutters when you look at him.

when he reaches you, he gives you your own private "good morning," followed by "you look so beautiful." as he looks over every inch of your bare face.

your hands are pre-occupied holding sections of your hair as he sets a plate of breakfast down in front of you, but you lean your body closer to him– resting your head against his side in a sorry excuse of a hug and murmuring a thank you. his hand settles against your lower back before it trails up, finding purchase on the back of your neck.

nothing could have prepared you for what you see when you look down at the breakfast he'd made. on the left side of the plate is the fluffiest french toast you've ever seen, sprinkled with powdered sugar and drowned in syrup– the way you love it. on the bottom right side of the plate is an arrangement of fruit already peeled and cut into bite sized pieces. the fruit is set up in two perfect lines, making space for what sits at the top right.

you would pay good money to see the expressions that cross your face when you notice the –chocolate sauce?– art that decorates the plate.

stick figures. two of them. one is taller, chocolate spirals covering the top of it's head. the other has chocolate hair in the exact same style as yours. they stand side by side, their little stick hands connected together with eerily long stick fingers. and though they don't have any other distinguishing traits, you can tell immediately who they're meant to be.

and if you couldn't, well, jermajesty used even more chocolate syrup to label it clearly for you– in wobbly lettering above the pair of stick figures: 'me n u ♡'

a laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it– genuine surprise and elation rolling off of you in waves. it's ridiculous. it might be the most ridiculous thing you've ever seen. but it's so ridiculously cute that your cheeks start to hurt from the sheer force of your smile.

the moment you look up at jermajesty again, your eyes locking with his, he can't stop the reaction his body has to seeing you so openly happy. his entire face breaks, mimicking yours in the way his grin spreads and eyes crinkle at the corners. and when you let more giggles through, he finds himself laughing softly with you, staring down at you like you'd just hung the moon and the stars.

"maaaj, what is this–!" you cover your mouth.

you don't even notice the fork and butter-knife still in his hand until he uses the tip of the knife to tap against the plate– right next to 'me n u ♡'. he's still smiling, though much softer now. "it's us. what? you can't tell?" he teases in the slightly deeper, raspier voice the morning gives him.

you push him at that, forgetting that you're in a room full of people– though they all pretend to be deep in conversations– as you finally let go of the pieces of your hair to free your hands. "you're so stupid," standing from your chair, you pull him into a quick hug. "wait– can you take a picture of it? my phone's in the bedroom but this is so fucking cute…" and he has to strain his ears to catch what you whisper as you pull away, "wanna keep it forever."

he can't help the pride he feels at that, though he pretends like he didn't hear it. "yeah, baby." he mentally slaps himself and corrects it immediately, "(name)." though it doesn't seem like you even heard his slip up at all.

you grab the plate gently and slowly, not willing to risk anything messing up the drawing, and hold it a little away from your body as you sit back down. and he'll admit it; he feels so damn giddy when he pulls his phone out and swipes to the camera. he was back to his roots, basically. after going so long without a single new picture of you in his gallery, he felt like a kid in a candy store seeing you pop up in the rectangular screen.

there's a soft, content smile on your face as you look down at the plate– shifting it until the angle is just right for the camera. you don't even realize jermajesty's phone is already up and capturing these canon moments of you; as well as the moment you glance up and see that he was taking pictures of the plate and you, instead of just the plate.

you blink in surprise, before looking past the phone and straight at him, trying so hard to be annoyed but finding yourself distracted by the look of pure adoration on his face. there was no way that damned camera wasn't capturing that same look on you.

when you finally gather yourself, you balance the plate on one hand and stretch the other out to block yourself from lens. "not of me! get the plate, goofy."

but the damage was already done, and he knew without a doubt that these had taken the place as his favorite pictures of you yet.

he takes the close ups of the plate and accepts your threats to 'make sure you don't accidentally delete those' or else 'i'll fuck you up, seriously'– also accepting the additional hug and thanks you give him. he ends up walking out with isaac, who you hadn't even noticed walked in, leaving you to finish your hair.

what you do notice, though, is the one boy who doesn't come into the glam room at all.

in fact, you don't see him at all that morning. cairo doesn't make himself known until early afternoon, when you're an hour deep into 'girl time' with deanna. you're still sitting in the glam room, just the two of you, when he opens the door and pokes his head inside.

"hey, you ready to talk?" he asks.

deanna makes a low sound of disgust, more upset than you are by the fact that cairo didn't bring you any breakfast or attention that morning.

you clear your throat to cover the sound she makes, protecting his feelings– though you're not sure why, because he shows you fairly quickly that he has no regard for yours.

the three of you move to the bedroom, but only you and cairo stop there. deanna continues walking to the door leading to the stairs, telling you that she planned to go lay near the ocean and to find her when you were done.

cairo's tone is clipped already. "i wanna talk to you about us." he starts, "i was… distraught this morning, honestly. i couldn't even make you breakfast because my heads been all over the place."

"that's– okay…" you shake your head, as if physically bouncing that comment off of you. "i'm sorry you've been distraught. what exactly are you distraught about?"

"jermajesty, and where your head's at with him. i just need to know… is it actually us or am i just filling space until you figure shit out?"

your eyebrows lift, but he continues before you can say anything. "nah, i shouldn't have cursed at you but i'm serious, though. are you still hung up on him? 'cause i can't keep doing this if you're not all the way with me and only me."

"cairo, what are you talking about? like, actually?" you make a face against your own will. "i chose to recouple with you, yes, and i am liking getting to know you better, yes. but we also just met and it sounds like you're trying to close things off– correct me if i'm wrong? but you know being 100% in after barely a week just isn't how i'm able to move. and the situation with jermajesty is messy. i take full accountability in that, and i know i told you that it–"

"i don't wanna hear that, i want you to be present with me." he snaps.

you sigh. "okay, i'm hearing you. can you not cut me off, though?" when he throws his hands out dramatically, pressing his lips together, you look around the room in shock. you're searching for the hidden camera, and unfortunately you find plenty– reminding you that this real moment for you was being recorded for others' entertainment. it's an annoying thought for a second, but it also helps you tamp the pettiness down. at least for a second. "i told you that the situation with maj was done–"

he rolls his eyes. "don't call him that to me, (name)."

you ignore that, continuing to talk. "–but it was coming from a place of anger. at the time, i really did want it to be done because i was so hurt. i didn't want anything to do with him. but it's hard to throw away weeks of time spent together nonstop–"

"what, you're just gonna keep one foot in and one foot out so–"

"stop cutting me off." the irritation is clear as day in your voice and on your face. "i'm trying to explain it to you, but you keep interrupting me every two seconds."

"because you're just talkin' in circles about you and him! but what about us? what about what we're building? i just don't know how long you expect me to wait while you figure it out. how are we supposed to make it to the end if he's still in the way?"

"make it to the end of what?"

"this!" he spreads his arms out around him. "how are we supposed to make it to the final four if you're still fucking with him?"

"the final–?" your eyebrows furrow. "cairo, are you here for me or something else?"

cairo hesitates, and that split second tells you everything you need to know. you snort, disbelief burning a white hot rage through your body. finally, he asks, "what kind of question is that?"

"are you here for me or something else?" you repeat.

"i'm here so we can make it to the end!" his voice rises in volume. "that's the whole point of this, (name). we're supposed to be building something that can win."

"so that's what this is? strategy?"

"it's not just strategy. you think everybody else isn't thinking about the money and making it to the finale? wake the fuck up! this is love island, everyone's playing the fucking game!"

you don't let the silence settle for longer than a heartbeat. "don't talk to me like that, cairo. i promise you i'm not the one."

"fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"it means you need to watch how you fucking speak to me. what's confusing about that? i don't care how mad you are, i'm not one of your niggas."

"i'm being real with you–"

"no, you're being disrespectful as fuck!" you cut him off, your voice growing louder. "and i'm not bouta do this with you–"

"so you're gonna run back to him?" cairo's voice rises even more, as if he's trying to out-scream you. he steps closer, "you using this shit as an excuse to go back to him?"

"get the fuck over yourself, cairo! you using me has nothing to fucking do with him–"

downstairs, jermajesty and isaac are sitting on one of the outdoor couches near the gym area, deep in conversation– though not about what isaac truly wanted to talk about. instead, they talk about their brothers and how they would probably be reacting to the show at home. jermajesty and isaac both relax against the cushions of the couch, unaware of what was happening around them.

"–they probably in the groupchat talking mad shit about you." isaac laughs.

"i'm not gon' lie, yeah. i deserve that shit though." jermajesty shrugs, chuckling himself. his eyes catch movement directly across the villa and he turns his head slightly, seeing a few of the other islanders in the kitchen area. they all glance up toward the stairs around the same time, their expressions uneasy. jermajesty turns back to isaac, "what you think your broth–"

"wait, what's going on over there?" isaac asks, having followed jermajesty's gaze.

jermajesty turns again, just in time to catch elisa and asia suddenly break into a run, straight up the stairs. the urgency in their movements makes jermajesty sit up straighter, his body tensing.

"ay!" isaac shouts across the villa, hands cupped around his mouth to carry his voice further. "what's happening?"

shaun looks over, a grimace on his face. "i think (name) and cairo might be up there arguing!"

jermajesty is on his feet before shaun even finishes his sentence; isaac following close behind him. they take the stairs two at a time and reach the bedroom within seconds. his eyes are on you in an instant, standing–now– with asia and elisa on either side of you.

you're standing in front of cairo, every muscle in your body taut with the anger you feel. elisa has a hand on your arm, trying to pull you back and toward the door, while asia stands between you and cairo– her voice getting lost beneath the volume of yours.

"–and you got me bent if you think imma sit here and let you play me!" you use your hands to emphasize your point, stumbling backwards slightly when elisa pulls you again.

"you're delusional–" cairo starts, but you cut him off instantly.

"fuck you!"

and cairo makes a mistake when he gives that same energy back to you, rolling his eyes with a: "fuck you, too–!", because jermajesty sees red when he steps fully into the room, taking the place asia once stood. cairo attempts to wave him off. "this ain't got nothing to do with you, bro."

"the fuck it don't. you up here yelling at her like you tough? you not tough talking to a girl like that, nigga."

"nobody talking to you, maj." cairo sneers. "stay the fuck out of it."

"nah, you wanna talk to somebody like that then talk to me."

in the chaos of it all, elisa finally manages to slip you out of the room. asia and isaac stay behind, just in case things go too far.

"what, you her bodyguard now? she can't speak for herself?"

jermajesty notices when cairo steps closer to him and laughs. "relax, you don't wanna do that."

but cairo moves closer again, chest puffing out like he's trying to use his body to intimidate. "or what? what you tryna do about it?"

and despite knowing better, jermajesty steps closer himself– letting every negative emotion lead him. letting his anger entertain this. "we can do whatever you wanna do."

cairo's fist clench at his sides, and for a moment it looks like he actually might swing. jermajesty is waiting for it, hoping for it, because if cairo swings first then who could fault him for defending himself?

but isaac is on them quick– let's them have their moment before stepping in. "yo, yo, yo," he pats jermajesty's chest, pushing him back at the same time. "wrap this shit up before production gets involved."

and as isaac leads jermajesty out of the room, he's grateful he hadn't mentioned cairo's ulterior motive to him yet. if jermajesty knew that cairo had gotten to be close to you, to kiss you and touch you, without ever truly wanting you– well, he doesn't think anyone would have been able to get him off of cairo in that moment.

when they reach the bottom of the stairs, jermajesty nods when isaac asks if he's alright. "i'm straight," he says, his voice clipped. "i'm bouta go find her."

he walks off before isaac can even reply– his strides long and deliberate even as he's forcing himself to slow down, to breathe, to push the animosity back down. his chest rises and falls, shoulders rolling back as he exhales through his nose. he doesn't want any of his anger to spill out and add onto yours, no. he wanted to spill peace into you. calm.

so he pushes it down with each step he takes, buries it somewhere deep where it can't touch you. by the time he reaches a spot near the edge of the villa, his breathing has evened out. his hands are unclenched and his expression, he hopes, has shifted into something gentler.

he sees you leaning against a low wall decorated with vines, alone, your back to him. and if any anger remained on the surface, it all drains away at sight of you and the sun reflecting on your skin.

you turn at the sound of footsteps and your eyes meet his. your face is a mirror into your emotions; your chest rising and falling in short bursts, hands shaking at your sides. jermajesty stops just a few feet away. before he can even let the uncertainty of how he far he could go to comfort you settle, you hold your arms out silently.

jermajesty is in front of you in an instant, pulling you to his chest. the second your body meets his, he feels it– the way you're shaking. he tightens his grip, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair. his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, like he's trying to absorb the tremors running through you.

your face face presses into his chest and your eyes fall closed. the tension doesn't ease immediately– your breaths are still uneven, and your body still vibrates with the frustration you feel as your fingers clench the fabric of his shirt. but jermajesty has some kind of hold over you, because–gradually– you start to melt. with every beat of his heart against yours, every exaggerated deep breath he takes in an attempt to get you to copy him, your grip on his shirt loosens. the trembling starts to fade. your breathing starts to match his, deep and steady, in and out.

jermajesty doesn't say anything, and neither do you.

in a situation that would typically take you hours to cool down from, jermajesty changes the narrative. his hands moves in soothing circles along your back, his palm warm and firm against your skin. his other hand stays cradled at the base of your skull, his thumb brushing gently against the nape of your neck. you slowly start to sag against him, all of the fight draining out of your body at once. a shiver rolls down your spine when jermajesty presses a kiss to your head and rests his against yours. "nobody should ever talk to you like that, okay?"

you don't respond verbally, but you tighten your arms around him, your forehead pressing harder into his chest.

the two of you stand there for what feels like an eternity, before eventually, jermajesty shifts. his hands slide from the back of your head and your waist to your shoulders, pulling back just enough to look down at you. his eyes search your face while you keep yours closed– honestly scared of how much more you'll be tethered to him if you looked into his eyes right now.

he doesn't push you to look at him, just waits for the moment you finally take a deep breath and flutter your eyes open. his expression softens before he plants another kiss against your forehead. he gently guides you toward a daybed and you follow without protest, trusting him so deeply in this moment.

when you reach the daybed, he sits first– his back propped up and his legs spread and stretched to make room for you. you don't hesitate, sitting on his lap side-ways and melting into him once again; your head resting on his shoulder. jermajesty wraps both arms around you as you curl into him, one hand coming to lie against the left side of his chest.

you lose track of how much time passes as the sun shifts across the villa. the other islanders leave the two of you wrapped in this cocoon for so long that you jump when you hear footsteps approach. deanna, elisa, and asia appear on the path and elisa gives you a small smile. "hi baby. sorry to interrupt, but did you wanna come talk?"

you nod your head before you start to move, lifting yourself from his lap and standing. your heart clenches when you look down at jermajesty to see him already looking up at you. you lean over, placing yourself back in his space and pressing a lingering kiss to the very corner of his mouth. "thank you, maj." you mumble, very aware of the difference of your emotions before and after he found you.

"don't need to thank me, ma." jermajesty catches your hand before you can fully pull away and places two kisses to your knuckles. you're off after, pulled into the middle of the girls as they wrap their arms around you. you're placed from one cocoon to another.

the absence of your body is obvious to jermajesty, but the silence remains. the entire time the two of you sat, there was no conversation. and there didn't need to be, because what was known never had to be said.

the text alerting all of you of movie night finds you in varying states of mind.

majority of you girls are already together when milene's phone chimes. but jermajesty, isaac, and ruben are wrapping up a conversation about cairo when she stands to announce the text to the villa.

"'islanders its time to grab your popcorn as tonight the villa is hosting movie night.'"

most of the happy reactions are from the girls, while most of the boys are the exact opposite. jermajesty is fuming for a whole different reason. and the feeling doesn't fade as they're all getting ready; doesn't fade as he walks the fake red carpet leading to the couch where all of the boys sit– popcorn placed on a table in front of them. jermajesty sits at the end closest to the other couch, while cairo sits the furthest away from him– per the instructions of production.

when the girls finally walk the red carpet to their seats, you coming to sit at the end of the girls' couch– closest to jermajesty, it's not long before movie night begins. boys get the first pick, and choose door number six.

there's an arrangement of clips centered around asia and simon, as well as shaun and milene– though it mostly shows the way asia has been in multiple couples and hasn't exactly had the best communication about it. the only reason she doesn't get a lot of heat is because shaun did the exact same as her during his casa experience.

the second pick is from the girls, and they choose door number two. it proceeds to show deon during casa– each clip being worse than the last. it shows the way elisa reacted to his casa amor postcard before ending. only brandon, aaron, and alexis back him up when everyone else chews him out. only for brandon and alexis to get chewed out in their respective movies– behind both door one and door ten.

jermajesty can't help but laugh when alexis' 'movie' ends with a clip pre-casa showing her and autumn– the first girl jermajesty ever coupled up with.

the clip starts with them sitting on a daybed, laughs fading. alexis leans closer to autumn conspiratorially. she covers her mic with her hand and motions for autumn to do the same. "did you know?" alexis whispers, fully believing the way she covers her mic blocks her voice from being picked up– when really, it only made the audio slightly fuzzy. "know what?" "girl his whole family is loaded. he's a jackson," alexis smirks, "he probably never has to work a day in his life." autumn's eyes go wide. "you're not serious! wait so like, does he have trust funds set up?" alexis bites her nail, "i don't know babe but that's what i'm trying to find out." the clip fades after showing alexis release the hold on her mic and motions for autumn to do the same.

honestly, jermajesty can't even bring himself to act surprised. alexis, on the other hand looks at the ground, embarrassed.

"whole cast full of clout chasers, like, damn!" deanna sighs, grabbing her popcorn and leaning back against her seat. and as much as that situation hurt you, deep down you feel bad thinking about how often something like this happens for him. how many times he thought he found someone just for them to think they found easy money and star status. as alexis gives an apology speech that no one wants to hear at all, you reach your hand across the side table to wrap your finger around jermajesty's.

when it's the girls' turn to choose the door number, you all agree on door number three– which opens to reveal clip upon clip of isaac and deanna trying to be open during their times in casa, but ultimately missing the other too much. their 'movie' ends with each of their last casa amor confessionals expressing how excited they were to see the other again.

to continue the trend of yearning, the next pick comes from the boys. they choose door number seven, and it opens to jermajesty's face. there's groans from every boy with each clip it shows.

jermajesty's movie opens with the very beginning of his casa experience, when being introduced to the casa girls for the first time. it's a mini compilation of him zoning out, head turned in every direction except for where the casa girls are lined up in front of them. it also shows him introducing himself to them when ariana calls for it, fading after his unenthusiastic "i'm jermajesty." the next clip opens to him sitting in what the islander's there had nicknamed 'jermajesty's junction'. before proceeding to show another mini-compilation of him sitting there in the same dark sunglasses. in some clips, various casa girls come up to him and each conversation leads back to you. “(name) and i been talking about going to this studio back in the city when we get out." "–she got good taste in music too. we got three of the same artists in our top five.” "(name) has one on her spine and was tellin’ me how much it hurt." "–oh, that's crazy– (name) lives around that area, too." "(name) has that, but in pink." the next clip shows jermajesty standing in the kitchen with a casa girl named sarai on the first night. "–yeah, do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?" jermajesty asks. the girl practically lights up at that. "really?" "yeah," jermajesty nods, already starting his walk up the stairs. he looks over his shoulder to speak again, "take it." sarai is shown in the casa amor glam room with the five other girls, squealing in excitement over being the one jermajesty wants to sleep with him. she's cheesing through the small clips it shows of her night routine. the clip cuts to show jermajesty in the bedroom, grabbing his pillows and an extra blanket. it continues to jump between the two– showing her cheesing wrapping her braids, then him walking into soul ties, then her jumping into his bed, and him finally laying his head down to sleep outside. after some time, she looks at the other islanders. "where's jermajesty?" the clip fades after a zoom in of his sleeping face, lashes fanning his cheeks and his lips slightly parted.

the next clip shows jermajesty laying on a beanbag near the pool, both hands holding the love island phone above his face. the camera stays at this angle for a few seconds, catching the upward twitches of his lips every few seconds. showing his thumb swiping, and tapping, and waiting before he repeats the process. when the camera angle finally switches, it shows the screen is on his gallery of photos of you. the clip fades and opens to what looks like a continuation of an earlier clip. milene and sarai sit awkwardly beside jermajesty, who's lost in his thoughts. milene waves her hand in front of his face and says "maj?" and jermajesty answers with a look of –polite?– disgust. he reels it in quickly, replying with “my bad, i don’t really mess with that nickname. you can just call me jermajesty.” the clip then cuts to a mini-compilation of you and some of the times you've called him 'maj'– as you throw your arms around his neck, playfully arguing with him around other islanders, during late-night pillow talks as well as early morning, when you need his help from a different room, the few times you've come up to ask him to chat. each time, he gives you the brightest, dorkiest smile in response. but the next clip shows his full name spoken… from deanna. "–jermajesty?" the camera flips from deanna to you, on the screen, replying with "fuck him," followed by "m'not thinking about him at all…" and proceeds to zoom in on your face as you cry and go on your sad rant, sobbing about how you've been comparing everything to him and how with him everything was natural. how it was always him for you. the clip fades with another zoom in on you crying into elisa's shoulder. the next clip opens to jermajesty running up to where the boys and casa girls are huddled looking at the postcard from the villa. it shows the full reaction he has to seeing you and cairo– from the first look, to the way he can't look away from it as he ignores the noise around him, to the way he wipes at his face as he walks away from the group, to the way he brings his hands to cover his face once he's sitting. it cuts to him talking in his confessional. “i mean, i thought… i thought we were both in the same place. i fucked up and i know that, and things got messy. and no excuse i have can take away from that fact. but i want to fix it. no one will ever amount to her for me. i think about her every second of every day, and i’m not just sayin’ that to say it. but seeing that picture… seeing her with him like that, it just–” "i mean… yeah, what else am i supposed to think? she’s holding someone else close… i just hope i’m overthinkin’ this shit, that this isn’t really it for her, or for us– fuck!” jermajesty's movie ends after nearly ten seconds of him alone in the confessional, tears falling from his face.

there had been scattered chatter throughout the entire 'movie', but now there's only silence– everyone stunned by jermajesty crying over you.

and you didn't know if it came from a place of empathy, or if it came from seeing jermajesty's feelings for you when you weren't around, but you have to wipe the few tears from your own cheeks before everyone turns to face the two of you.

but as you look at each other, saying so much with just your eyes, it's obvious neither of you want to say anything below surface in front of everyone else. so jermajesty looks around with a sheepish grin, scratching at his head with his left hand– his right hand still connected to yours. "damn," he laughs and deflects, "that nigga was miserable."

it does what he intends it to do– gets everyone laughing and talking over him.

"nah, that nigga is a yearner." deanna corrects.

"a yearning man is an earning man," milene jokes.

the spotlight is right back on you when the boys pick door number four, and it opens to reveal your face. jermajesty feels a little sick when he puts together what he's watching.

the movie starts with the camera at a high angle, showing all of the girls seated at the fireplace watching a screen that the camera can't see. you start to lean back, expression unreadable before you suddenly sit up– along with every other girl apart from alexis. when the angle flips, the clip shows the screen in front of you playing alexis and jermajesty on their date. it continues at this angle, only flipping back to you when jermajesty and alexis kiss. the clip continues to show you reassuring alexis before the screen in front of you shows you deon and jermajesty's conversation– followed by jermajesty and alexis' time in speakeasy. you and alexis exchange words in the clip, and it fades when you stand and make it halfway to alexis. the next clips show you and cairo over the span of your time in casa– from the moment he first comes up to you, to the night conversation before the recoupling. the next clip shows you and cairo, post temperature's rising challenge, slipping into the photo booth and posing for each picture. the flash of the last picture acts as a transition– switching to a clip of jermajesty, pulling clothes from his casa amor suitcase out and opening his drawer back in the villa. he pauses –already haven forgotten your directive from two hours prior– when seeing the strip of photo booth pictures resting inside. the camera captures every expression on his face, and the mumbled 'hell nah…' as he brings the photos closer to his eyes. the angle switches when jermajesty suddenly stands, walking over to a trash can. he hesitates with his hand hovering over the trash before bringing it back to himself. jermajesty tears four pieces off of the strip and proceeds to throw those four pieces into the trash. he whispers, "right where yo ass belong" before looking at the photo in his hand again. the camera angle switches to show a close up of the photobooth pictures– which now only shows four frames of you with holes where cairo used to be. the clip fades for longer than usual, before opening back to the temperature's rising challenge. the camera is zoomed in on you and cairo– you cheering for alexis and aaron, and cairo staring at you. he leans down and whispers, “our round was the best by far. we got so much chemistry– i can see you and i winning this whole thing for real.” “wait, what do you mean?" you, on camera, asks. "what? oh, i mean this challenge. i could see the villa winning." the clip fades and your movie ends.

as some comments are thrown out around you, you're silent– choosing to ignore the note that the movie ends on, and how stupid you feel knowing he'd dangled his real intentions in your face without you realizing. instead, you think about how watching yourself from an outsider's view is telling. your heart was never in it.

every conversation looked like pulling teeth for you– the pauses before you replied to cairo because your mind just wasn't present, the number of times you unconsciously looked in the direction of the casa amor villa. hell, sometimes the camera even caught you giving cairo looks as he was mid-story, as if you'd rather be anywhere else. it just solidified everything for you.

jermajesty, on the other hand, had his irritation return ten-fold when seeing cairo say that. and it sticks as door number nine is picked and opens to reveal cairo's face.

cairo's movie is shorter– showing a lot of the same clips as yours did, albeit shorter and more focused on the expressions that he makes. there are clips of him talking about you to the other casa boys. everything he's saying sounds so good, but so rehearsed. though maybe it's only obvious now that he's shown exactly how he feels about you. when his movie ends, following the clip of him talking to isaac, simon, and brandon after the 'hate to burst your bubble' challenge, the villa erupts. every islander who didn't already know is shouting over each other to take a dig at cairo.

you have to hand it to cairo– he doesn't back down, even when he should. he continues to justify his thought process and actions to every person that has something to say. you're grateful to watch it unfold, because you can feel him repulsing you with each passing second.

the rest of movie night drags on. a few more doors are opened, lots more clips are shown, but none of them hit as hard as the ones that came before. the energy has long shifted; everyone's exhausted, emotionally drained, and ready to be done. when you're finally dismissed by production, you move toward the stairs with the other girls, your body heavy with fatigue.

you pause hearing jermajesty behind you and reach out to grab his hand when he reaches where you stand. he steps away from his conversation without another word, following after you with no hesitation. you only step off to the side, letting the other islanders pass you as you look up at jermajesty.

"i really wanna talk to you, but i know it's late," you acknowledge. filming movie night had taken forever, and you didn't know the exact time, but it was definitely the early morning already. "do you think you could squeeze me into your schedule in the morning?"

it's a joke to hide how vulnerable you feel, but jermajesty is straight-faced when he replies. "this island revolves around you in my eyes– so yeah, you can have my morning. if you wanted the whole day, you could have it."

your chest squeezes at the sincerity (chill) in his voice and you playfully roll your eyes. "just the morning is fine," you laugh, squeezing his hand once before letting go. "i'm so exhausted, i can barely keep my eyes open."

"go get some rest, mama. we'll figure it all out when the sun comes up, okay?" he pulls you into a quick hug, kissing you on your forehead and brushing your cheek with his thumb.

you nod, stepping back slowly– reluctant to actually leave. "goodnight, jermajesty."

his eyebrows furrow at that, calling out to your back: "what happened to 'maj'?"

you only laugh in response, heading upstairs to get ready for bed.

jermajesty heads up a little after you, wanting to get ready quickly– in order to avoid seeing cairo in the shared boy's bathroom.

by the time he's standing in front of his bed, a half hour later, he's confused when he doesn't see you laying where you're supposed to be. he assumes you're just taking a longer shower or still wrapping your hair for the night. but he can never stay clueless for too long when it concerned you.

"where's (name)?" he asks elisa, who lays in the bed next to his with keem.

elisa rubs her eyes, frowning up at jermajesty. "she's sleeping in soul ties. she didn't want to sleep beside cairo."

and that can't be right, because why would a man ever let a woman sleep outside when he could be the one to instead? he actually thinks elisa must be joking and only laughs softly in response– continuing to clean up the space around his bed.

but he starts to believe her when cairo himself walks in, heading straight for his bed and climbing under the covers. jermajesty watches in disbelief as cairo sighs in content, snuggling deeper into the sheets and closing his eyes.

"ay," jermajesty calls, and the room falls silent as cairo opens his eyes to look over. "(name) is in soul ties...?"

it's a statement and a question. jermajesty's still unsure if elisa is right or not; wonders if cairo knows something he doesn't, like maybe you'd been about to sleep outside but changed your mind, and you really were just taking that long to get ready.

sweet jermajesty, giving cairo the benefit of doubt.

cairo, in reply to jermajesty, says "…and?"

and that's all it takes for jermajesty's face to scrunch up, turning his body to face cairo's bed– four away from his.

"and get the fuck up and sleep out there yourself?" jermajesty states, mocking cairo.

"she's a grown adult. if she wants a bed to sleep in, she can–"

jermajesty walks over to stand beside cairo's bed. "i don't give a fuck about that, bruh. get up."

"i didn't make her sleep out there, she chose to–"

"get up, cairo."

cairo leans up, annoyed. "let me talk, bro, i let you talk! let me talk–"

but jermajesty is already close to hitting his limit for the day. "nigga, it's not shit to talk about! shut the fuck up and take your ass out there if you a man for real. fuck is wrong with you?"

he ends up hitting that limit when cairo, in response, lays back down and turns his back to face jermajesty– an attempt to end the conversation.

production, along with isaac and ruben, are on jermajesty the instant he throws the covers off of cairo and wraps a hand around his arm– dragging him out of the bed.

you sleep somewhat peacefully in soul ties, unaware of anything that's happening around you.

after being held in the nightmare hold of production for over an hour, a tired jermajesty walks over to soul ties. he carefully climbs over the jumble of your limbs and squats next to you, resting a hand against your cheek. it's freezing outside, and he can't imagine how cold you must feel under the one blanket you have.

he wakes you slowly, smiling when you blink up at him sleepily. "hi baby."

and it's probably the lowest and roughest you've ever heard his voice. "maj? have you slept?"

"a little bit," he lies. "hey, i talked to production and they said you can take my bed. i can help you come in."

you're still half-asleep, confused by what he's telling you. "i can sleep with you?"

"no, they won't let me do that. we're just gonna switch."

"huh?" you question, your eyes fluttering– begging you to go back to your dream-state. you squeal when you feel yourself being lifted suddenly, the covers falling from your body. "what–?"

"shhhh," jermajesty whispers, turning a few times before he enters the dark bedroom, the sounds of soft snores filling your ears.

jermajesty places you in his bed as silently as possible, pulling the covers up and over you as you automatically get comfortable. he leans down to kiss your cheek before he leaves the room to let you sleep, and to get sleep himself.

but remembering how cold it was outside has you still awake ten minutes later.

you creep out of the bed, tiptoeing to the cabinets to grab two extra blankets before fast-walking outside. the air feels colder now that you'd gotten a taste of the warm bedroom, and it makes you feel sad when you get back to soul ties– seeing jermajesty curled into a ball beneath the cover, fast asleep already.

silently, you unravel the extra blankets in your hand and spread them over him, lingering for only a second before fast-walking back to his bed. you fall back to sleep with the phantom-feeling of being wrapped in his arms.

-

poll for the hideaway part:

The brothers, minus Marlon and Randy, stood in a line before you. They had varying expressions of boredom on their faces, except your sweet angel baby Michael. He looked at you like you hung the moon and stars — nothing out of the ordinary.

It was Tito’s thirty-second birthday so the guys wanted to all go out to a club to celebrate. Totally fine by you, however, you weren’t about let them go crazy with your man in tow. You were reasonable enough not to tag along because you understood it was a boys night but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to have something to say.

“Now, before you heathens cart my hubby off, I have a few ground rules.” You ticked things off your fingers.

Predictably, Jermaine was the loudest to disagree and you proceeded to ignore him.

“Do not let women dance all over Michael. And if you think I won’t find out, trust me, I will.”

“Do not allow him to be swarmed by fans. You know he gets overwhelmed. Better turn into bodyguards or I will have something to say!”

“She was gone have something to say regardless,” Tito muttered out the side of his mouth. You ignored him too.

“Lastly, and this is the most important one so listen closely. Do not bring this man back to me drunk as a skunk. We have an important event to attend mid morning tomorrow and if he can’t go because he’s hungover, the Jacksons will feel my wrath for generations,” you finished with a smile. Hands clasped in front of you, you met each of their eyes.

“We clear?” They stared at you blankly.

Jackie cleared his throat and spoke softly, “Baby girl, he’s grown man. I’m pretty sure he can take care of himself.”

You slid up to him, looking up to meet his eyes. Cocking your head to the side, you gave him a closed-mouth smile.

“Sigmund, how eager are you to see the underside of my 1984 Pontiac? Be honest.”

He swallowed, clenching his jaw. You patted his cheek condescendingly. Jermaine’s spray bottle laugh cut through the air. Michael covered his mouth, giggling.

“I’ll take that to mean yes, we’re clear. And you, my baby love, better act right too. You know you can’t hold your liquor.” You kissed Michael and shooed them out the door.

By 2:46am, you sat on the staircase in the entrance hall of Hayvenhurst with narrowed eyes. Michael didn’t need to be out this late. You inhaled sharply through your nose seeing headlights pull into the drive way. Your babydoll night dress pooled around your thighs.

You only caught a snippet of the muffled chatter as you climbed the stairs to you and Michael’s room.

“Dammit, Tito, grab his arm.”

“That girl is gonna kill us.”

“Us? More like she gone hit me with her car. My legs just stopped hurting during thunderstorms.”

“Psssh, she ain’t gone do shit. She all talk, trust.”

“Mike! Lower your voice, man. I know she got ears everywhere.”

You nodded your head before you entered the bedroom. Their voices faded but that particular distinctive one replayed like a broken record.

“She ain’t gone do shit. She all talk.”

“All talk huh? Guess we’ll see about that,” you chuckled darkly as you snuggled on your side of the bed.

With your back to him, you pretended to be asleep when Michael finally managed to drag himself to bed. His drunk ass tried to cuddle with you but you scooted until you were nearly on the edge of the bed. He eventually went back to his side and was asleep in mere seconds.

A plan was formulated with the last tendrils of thought in your mind before you drifted off.

After two days of ignoring him and being pestered by his groveling, you eventually snapped. You sent him upstairs to strip nude, sit on the bed and to not touch himself. You finished the chapter of the book you were reading and took a long shower.

He waited…

And waited…

You knew he was in agony.

When you stepped out the steamy bathroom, a deep groan rumbled in his chest. You paid him no mind. The maddeningly slow pace at which you moved to lotion yourself had him in tears.

“Mama please…”

About five minutes in, you stuffed a dirty pair of panties in his mouth. He shuddered as his animated eyes rolled back. You heard him moaning as he sucked on two day old underwear and smirked.

There he sat, naked, back against the headboard with his wrists tied together with pantyhose and his legs spread. His body was taut with tension. His dick was so hard it stood straight up and it weeped, heavily.

The muffled cries thrilled you as you paced in front of the bed. Your blow out was pulled back into two low buns opening your face up with two thick strands curling around your cheeks. The black lingerie clung to your tits and ass like a second skin. Michael’s watery eyes followed the switch in your hips as though he was hypnotized.

You stopped at the foot of the bed and crossed your arms, pushing up your breasts.

“She ain’t gone do shit… that’s what you said, Mikey,” you pouted.

He shook his head with wide eyes. His pleads blocked by the fabric.

“Yes, you did. I heard you. You calling me a liar?”

He shook his head again. You clicked your tongue in disappointment.

“She all talk… You said that too. You don’t remember?”

He uttered something that sounded like, “No.” His hips bucked and his hard-on twitched.

“Hmm. That’s convenient. S’alright because mama is gonna get you right, baby. You want me to touch you?”

Michael nearly broke his neck shaking this head this time. You arched a sculpted brow.

“No?” Your knees dipped into the comforter as you crawled to his trembling body. He spit the panties in your hand and they were soaked.

You tutted at him. “The world would never believe me if I told them Michael Jackson was a nasty ass dirty panty sucking freak.” You laughed a little. “But that’s alright. It’ll be our little secret, pretty boy.” You kissed his cheek, leaving a red lip stain.

“I want—“ He whimpered, biting his lip. “I want you to sit on my face.”

“Oh?” You scoffed, “And you think you deserve that after going out and getting drunk after I told you not to? I was embarrassed at my event, standing there all by myself while everybody and they momma kept asking me where my husband was. You promised me, Mikey!”

“I know, mama. M’sorry. Please let me make it up to you. I love you. I love you. I’ll be good— I’ll be a good boy.” Tears streaked down his striking cheekbones.

You grabbed his chin, and swiped his quivering bottom lip with your manicured thumb.

“You wanna be my good boy?”

“I do… So bad,” Michael whined pitifully.

You loved him like this. It made your heart soar. Your thumb slipped into his mouth, “Suck. Show me how good you gone eat on this pussy, baby.”

He went to work. Licking and sucking like it was his chosen profession. You imagined that’s what he planned to do to your clit and arousal flooded your lace panties. He’d probably want to suck on those too.

You popped your thumb free and traced his lips with it, coating them in his saliva. You pat his cheek lovingly and he leaned into it adorably.

Once you commanded him to lie down, you straddled his face with ease and he gasped seeing your lace clad cunt. The area surrounding it was wet with your slick and he licked his lips.

“No hands.”

“Yes, mama,” he choked out. The horny taking over his brain. His pupils were blown wide and the Michael Jackson the world knew was no longer present.

“You smell so good,” he murmured as if intoxicated.

“And taste even better. But you knew that, ain’t that right sweet boy?” You exhaled shakily, tightening your core muscles.

You reached down and pulled your panties to the side and delicately lowered yourself onto his awaiting mouth. You gasped when he began lapping at you, tongue flat along your folds. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, making you roll your hips against his face.

He scraped his teeth over your sensitive bud. Groaning, you tossed your head back as he dragged his tongue to your entrance, dipping inside it. Your slick coated every inch of his mouth and he drank his fill.

“Ooh, Mikey, you’re doing so good, my love. Such a good boy.”

The praise sent him into a frenzy. His tongue was insistent as it drilled inside you. He shook his face into your pussy, nose flicking your clit and attempting to drown himself in your wet heat. He curved his tongue to collect your nectar like a dehydrated man.

“That’s it. I’m almost there. Keep going. I love this. I love you so much,” you moaned deliriously. This was truly the fruit of your labor after having taught him how to pleasure you when you two started dating.

With the renewed enthusiasm, he attacked your pussy like it owed him money. Your thighs shook and you knew your orgasm was near. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was thrusting into the air. The pitch of his moans told you that his was budding too, and completely untouched at that.

You bucked into his mouth one last time and came with a filthy squeal. He sucked and drank up what he could. He was a fiend for it. Your release rolled down his cheeks and chin.

“F-fuck!” He growled into your pussy as your climax triggered his own.

Your stomach trembled as you fought to not smother him completely. You turned your head just in time to catch his stiff dick erupting violently. The sight making your mouth fall open because it might’ve been the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You bit your lip watching the thick pearly liquid slide down his slowly softening shaft.

In a flash, you were eye to eye with his dick.

“Baby, you did so good. My good boy. Let mama clean you up, mmkay?”

His head lolled to the side and his eyes had glazed over.

You breathed in deeply. The raw smell of him sent your eyes fluttering shut and you cleaned him up with your tongue, savoring the taste of his cum. You licked from his balls to the pretty sensitive mushroom tip.

“No more, pretty girl. It’s too much,” he whimpered at the contact.

You grinned then gave the head one last kiss and licked your lips. You untied his wrists and wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your head on his chest.

One of his large hands gripped your ass and the other tapped your chin. You lifted your face and he attached his shiny lips to your own. You instantly deepened the kiss and moaned tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I really am sorry, baby. I swear I wasn’t trying to go overboard but my brother… he kept handing me drinks and I didn’t want to say no. I thought it would be rude.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

“It’s alright, Mikey. I forgive you,” you sighed.

He popped your meaty thigh. “You know I hate it when you ignore me like that, sassy girl. You gotta cut that out and just talk to me.”

“Maybe someday — not this day or tomorrow or the next day or any of those days after that but… someday! So that gives us something to look forward to, baby!” You tapped his chest with smile. He barked out a sharp laugh.

There was silence in the post-coital bliss. You focused on the rhythm of his heartbeat and noted that his breathing was evening out.

One thing kept replaying in your mind though and it wouldn’t allow you to fully relax. It was going to eat you up if you didn’t know.

“And which brother was it that kept handing you drinks?” Your voice sliced through the silence.

“Don’t start,” Michael groaned.

“Hey, I’m not the one who started it. One of you no good brothers started it.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“Please don’t lose your mind when I tell you. And I’m only telling you because I know you won’t drop it. Stubborn little thing you are.”

“Are you saying you married me for anything else?”

“Girl, you see all this ass you got?”

“Michael! Quit stalling!”

He groaned, rubbing his face in exasperation.

“He’s gonna get me, oh my gosh. It was… Jackie.”

“Oh, I’m putting belt to ass next time I see him!” You sat up so quickly, it made him flinch back. “He better lay low for a while, I swear.”

Michael snatched you back to his body and held you tight to him. He snickered into your skin and whispered nothing but love and affection into your ear until he fell asleep with you in his arms. Sleeping well for the first time in two days.