MIMIWRLD

2025 los angeles

when you wake up the next morning, it’s with a smile already on your face as you think about what lies ahead on the second day of dates. yesterday had done enough to ease some of the nerves you’d walked into the experiment with, and now that you knew there was at least one person you genuinely wanted to keep getting to know, you felt more excited than apprehensive about going back into the pods. you go through your morning routine, getting dressed and ready before you make your way into the common room, where a few of the girls are already gathered and making breakfast.

“morning, babe,” one of the girls you made friends with yesterday, sanaa greets you and you smile at her as you walk further into the kitchen.

“morning, ready for today’s round of speed dating on crack?” you ask as you move toward the fridge, and she laughs because after yesterday, that really was the best way to describe it. the two of you had initially bonded over your careers, sanaa being a dietician and you being a clinical psychologist for residential inpatient.

you’d worked with your fair share of clients with eating disorders, so talking to someone who understood that side of treatment had given the two of you plenty to connect over. you knew having her as a referral source could even be helpful in the future once patients felt ready to try and have a healthy relationship with food again, which made it funny to think that even if neither of you left this place with a husband, you might at least leave with a new professional connection and a friend.

“for sure… anybody at the top of your list yet?” she asks.

you can’t help the smile that immediately starts forming as jermajesty comes to mind. you’d only had one conversation with him, and you knew better than to get too far ahead of yourself after a single date, especially in an experiment where you were supposed to continue exploring every connection, but there had been something undeniably different about talking to him. even hours later, you could still remember the sound of his laugh and how easily the two of you had gone from teasing each other to talking about something as vulnerable as his imposter syndrome.

“yes… so hopefully we can have a longer date today… what about you?” you ask her.

sanaa shrugs, but you can tell from the smile she’s fighting back that she already has someone in mind too.

“still testing things out, but amechi has the potential to be my number one pick,” she says and you wink at her.

“oh, he was cool, i could see that, the two of you,” you say and sanaa nods, and then you bite your lip as your thoughts drift back toward your own number one. “i feel the strongest pull toward jermajesty so far, but we’ll see how day two goes,” you say, trying to keep your expectations reasonable even as saying his name brings that smile back to your face.

“i remember him because i thought his name was cool,” she says and the two of you laugh.

“yeah, it’s really unique,” you say, and the two of you go find a place to sit to eat your breakfast and swap stories from the first day in the pods. between bites, you compare some of the good dates and some of the ones you already knew weren’t going anywhere, laughing together over the strange reality that this had somehow become your dating lives for the next several days.

when it’s time for the second day of dates, you enter the pod with a blanket wrapped around you and your journal tucked under your arm, already feeling more comfortable in the space than you had yesterday. you settle onto the couch and pull the blanket around yourself before turning your attention toward the wall.

“helloooo?” you call out in a sing-song voice.

a laugh comes from the other side, but you immediately know it isn’t jermajesty. you’d only heard his laugh for the first time yesterday, yet somehow you already recognize that this one doesn’t belong to him, and you feel the smallest pang of disappointment before the man on the other side speaks.

“hey,” you hear the familiar voice of ben, one of the guys you talked to yesterday.

you liked him well enough, and yesterday’s conversation had been pleasant, so you didn’t want the fact that you had been hoping for someone else to keep you from giving this connection a genuine chance. you knew you’d see jermajesty again today, and part of this experiment meant staying open until you had a reason not to.

“hey, ben,” you greet him warmly.

the two of you spend the date talking more about your careers and what you each want out of life, moving beyond some of the introductory questions you’d covered yesterday. as the conversation continues, though, you start noticing the practical differences between you.

once you talk more specifically about what your lives actually look like outside of the pods, it becomes increasingly clear that your schedules probably won’t be as compatible as either of you would hope for in a serious relationship. there isn’t some dramatic moment where the connection disappears, and you still enjoy talking to him, but you can feel yourself understanding more clearly what the relationship would realistically look like once the experiment ended.

when the date is over, you leave the pod still glad that you gave the conversation a chance and make your way back to the women’s quarters real quick to grab a snack before heading back to the pods for your next date.

on the other side of the wall, jermajesty perks up the second he hears the door open and the faint sounds of you coming inside. he’s hoping that it’s you, even though production already told him it would be since they knew both of you wanted to go on another date today. still, after spending his first date waiting for the chance to talk to you again, he needs to hear your voice before he can completely believe it.

he calls your name through the wall, asking if it’s you, and your eyes immediately light up when you realize who’s waiting on the other side.

“hey, maj,” you say.

jermajesty bites down on his lip as a smile spreads across his face. hearing the nickname from you feels different than hearing his full name, more familiar somehow, especially because he’d only offered it to you yesterday. he’d wondered briefly whether you would actually use it the next time you spoke, and the fact that you remembered makes him smile even more.

“thank god… my first date was so boring, i begged production for our next date,” he says and you laugh, immediately settling back into the easy playfulness you’d found with each other yesterday.

“no way, you did not beg,” you say and he’s laughing too.

“on my knees and everything,” he says and the two of you laugh more while you shake your head, already able to tell he’s going to make it incredibly easy for you to tease him.

“wow, so if you do propose to me, i won’t even be the first person you got on your knees for,” you say shaking your head and jermajesty laughs louder, caught somewhere between being amused by your comeback and the fact that you so casually mentioned the possibility of him proposing to you.

“technically it was for you, we’re on a date now, aren’t we?” he fires back without missing a beat.

you laugh a little while shaking your head again, leaning back into the couch and pulling the blanket more comfortably around yourself. there’s something about talking to him that already feels noticeably different from the date you’d just finished. with jermajesty, you don’t have to search for something to say or wonder where the conversation is supposed to go next. the two of you simply fall back into the rhythm you’d established yesterday.

“alright, you got me there… how was the rest of your night?” you ask.

jermajesty settles onto the couch in his pod as well, getting comfortable now that he knows he has the person he’d been waiting to talk to on the other side of the wall.

“it was alright… going over my notes, thinking about today, what about you?” he asks.

“the same, talking with some of the girls… nobody is really revealing their favorites right now,” you say.

jermajesty raises an eyebrow at your words, his curiosity immediately piqued. he’d spent part of his own night wondering where he fell on your list, especially after putting that number one beside your name without hesitation.

“oh? do you have a favorite yet?” he asks.

you bite down on your lip, enjoying the opportunity to make him wonder for just a little longer even though the answer is sitting clearly in your notebook.

“maybe,” you say.

“are you gonna make me beg?” he asks and you laugh.

“seems like you’re really into that,” you tease.

jermajesty howls with laughter, the sound filling both pods, and you start laughing harder yourself even though you know what you said wasn’t really that funny. something about the way he reacts to you makes your jokes feel funnier than they are, and you’re quickly realizing that you really like being able to make him laugh like that.

“depends on the cicumstances,” he says.

you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips, and jermajesty smiles on the other side of the wall, loving the sound of your laughter. he’s already beginning to recognize the differences between your laughs, the softer one you give when something amuses you and the little giggle that slips out when he catches you off guard, and it’s strange how quickly those tiny details are becoming some of his favorite parts of these conversations.

“so… how deep are we going today?” he asks.

you smile, glancing down at the journal in your lap. yesterday had given you enough of a connection to know that you wanted to move beyond favorite colors and weekend plans with him. if there was genuinely something here, you wanted to understand what the life he envisioned actually looked like and whether there was room in it for the kind of marriage you wanted too.

“well, we’ve covered one thing nobody knows about us, careers… when you think about marriage, what are you looking for in a wife?” you ask.

jermajesty sits with the question for a moment, really thinking about it instead of reaching for the first answer that comes to mind. he doesn’t want to give you something that just ‘sounds good,’ especially when the entire reason the two of you are here is to decide whether you could build a marriage together. if he’s going to ask you to take him seriously as a potential husband, he wants his answer to be honest.

“i want a partner, you know? someone that i can share the life i’m building with and have her share her life with me too. i want someone who’s there for the good and the bad, on the days things are easy and when things are hard, someone to come home to… someone who Is home,” jermajesty says.

you find yourself smiling at his words, but there’s an ache beneath the smile because you understand exactly what he means.

you’ve thought about that same thing so many times, especially after the difficult shifts that follow you home no matter how hard you try to leave work at work. there have been nights where you’ve come through your apartment door completely drained after spending hours holding space for other people’s pain, only to curl into bed and into yourself while trying to release some of the heaviness you’d carried all day.

on those nights, you’ve found yourself thinking about how nice it would be to have someone waiting for you, someone whose presence alone could remind you that you didn’t have to hold everything together anymore because you were home and safe with them. you wanted someone to comfort you after the difficult days, but you wanted the other side of it too, someone to celebrate wins with, someone whose happiness you could share and whose bad days you could make a little lighter. you wanted a person you could be completely safe with, and hearing jermajesty describe marriage in almost the same way makes the connection you’d already felt toward him deepen.

“yeah… i understand that, and i want the same… someone who is home, who makes me feel safe,” you say.

jermajesty smiles quietly on the other side of the wall, feeling something settle deeper between the two of you. yesterday had made him excited to talk to you again, but this feels different. underneath all the teasing and laughter, he’s beginning to realize that when the conversations turn serious, the two of you seem to be looking for the same kind of love.

“what got you into therapy? like what made you choose that career path?” jermajesty asks, and you take a deep breath, your fingers absently tightening around the edge of the blanket as you pause for a moment and think about how you want to answer him. you knew this question would eventually come up because your career wasn’t something you had chosen randomly, and there was no way to explain why the work meant so much to you without explaining the family history behind it.

the whole point of the experiment was being vulnerable, right? your mom had even given you permission before you came here to discuss what happened because she understood that it was such a large part of why you chose your career path, but knowing you had her permission didn’t necessarily make revisiting those memories any easier.

“i was 15 when my younger siblings were born… and my mom had really bad postpartum depression, and you know, at 15 i didn’t understand what that meant… i was still very irritated that after 15 years i was no longer the only child, irritated that there were two new children instead of just one, and then all of sudden, my mom wasn’t my mom anymore, she was completely shut down, yelling and snapping at us for no reason, irritated when my siblings were crying, she was a shell of herself and at 15, i didn’t understand what was going on,” you say.

jermajesty’s expression slowly falls as he listens, the playful energy from only moments ago replaced by concern as your voice grows softer with every sentence. more than anything, he wishes he could see you. the wall had made it easier for both of you to be vulnerable without worrying about how the other person might physically react, but right now, he hated it. he could hear the emotion slipping into your voice without being able to see your face, and every instinct in him was telling him to move closer to you even though there was nowhere for him to go. he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and let you tell the rest of the story from somewhere safe against his chest.

“i’m so sorry,” jermajesty says softly.

you shake your head, swallowing around the emotion gathering in your throat before continuing.

“my dad and i felt like we were walking on eggshells around the house all the time, and i was pretty much the main one helping him with the twins since my mom was so checked out… and then one day i came home from school and the house was weirdly quiet… you know the kind of quiet where you can automatically feel that something is wrong?” you ask.

the question makes jermajesty’s chest tighten because he knows exactly what you mean. there are some kinds of silence that don’t feel peaceful at all, the kind where something in your body seems to recognize that something isn’t right before your mind has even figured out why.

“yeah, i do…” jermajesty says softly.

“that’s how it felt when i got home that day. i found a note from my dad on the fridge. he stepped out with the twins to take them for a walk because they were fussy and that my mom was upstairs sleeping, so i went upstairs to check on her, and um…”

your voice catches before you can finish, and you sniffle as the memory suddenly feels much closer than twelve years ago. jermajesty immediately frowns when he hears it, his heart aching at the realization that you’re crying somewhere only a few feet away from him and there is a wall making it impossible for him to do the one thing he wants to do most right now. he wishes he could hold you through this, but since he can’t, he makes sure there isn’t even a trace of pressure in his voice when he speaks again.

“take your time, it’s okay,” he says softly.

you gently wipe your eyes, allowing yourself another moment before taking a breath and continuing.

“she was unresponsive… so i called 911 and then i called my dad. she was admitted to a residential facility to get help and i did a lot of research to understand what was going on and it turned out i found mental health fascinating, and i found myself wanting to help others, women like my mom, but then just others in general that suffer from things that oftentimes feel beyond their control,” you say.

by the end of your explanation, jermajesty is smiling softly, not because there is anything good about what happened to you or because he thinks something so painful needed to happen for you to find your purpose, but because he admires what you were able to take from it.

at fifteen years old, you had been thrown into something you didn’t understand, frightened for your mother while helping your father care for two babies, and instead of allowing that experience to make you afraid of mental illness, you had wanted to understand it. eventually, that desire to understand had grown into wanting to help other people through some of the most frightening and vulnerable periods of their lives, and suddenly everything he had sensed about how caring you were yesterday made even more sense.

“that’s a lot to deal with at 15… and i’m so sorry you had to find your mom like that, that must’ve been terrifying,” he says.

you find yourself nodding even though he can’t see you, your eyes lowering toward your hands as you remember just how frightening it had been to be fifteen years old and realize that something was seriously wrong with your mom.

“it was… and my dad, he blamed himself for so long, saying he shouldn’t have left her alone, but he legit thought she was sleeping and since the twins were fussy, he wanted to calm them down so they didn’t wake her up,” you say.

jermajesty frowns again as he listens, his heart hurting for your dad now too. from everything you’ve told him, he can hear how much that period affected your entire family, not just your mom, and how much of it you were old enough to remember with painful clarity. more than anything, though, he finds himself wishing that wall wasn’t there, because words suddenly don’t feel like enough when all he wants to do is reach for you.

“he couldn’t have known,” he said, his voice gentle but certain. jermajesty could understand why your dad had blamed himself afterward, but from everything you had told him, there had been no reason for him to believe that stepping outside with the twins for a little while would lead to what happened.

“we knew she wasn’t okay… we just didn’t know anything about ppd back then,” you say, and there was a difference between knowing something was wrong and understanding exactly what you were dealing with, especially when you had only been fifteen yourself.

“how is she now?” jermajesty asks, and you smile almost immediately, grateful that this part of the story is much easier to tell.

“a lot better. the residential facility really helped… when she came home, it was like i had my mom back again. she was able to build her bond with the twins, and mend things with my dad and me,” you say with a soft smile. even after all these years, there was still something comforting about remembering that period when your family slowly began feeling like your family again, especially after months of not knowing if things would ever return to normal. “and she did give me permission to tell this story, so when all of this airs on netflix she won’t be blindsided,” you say with a small laugh.

jermajesty laughs too, and just like that, some of the heaviness that had settled over both pods begins to lift. he’s relieved to hear that your mom got the help she needed and that your family was able to heal, but he’s also grateful for the little joke because he can hear some of the lightness returning to your voice.

“thank you for sharing that with me… i know that wasn’t easy,” he says. you smile, looking down at the blanket gathered around you as you think about just how much you had actually shared with someone you had only met yesterday.

“i’ve never really told that story to anybody except for my really close friends,” you say. jermajesty’s eyes widen slightly on the other side of the wall, the significance of what you’ve just told him immediately sinking in.

“a few of the guys yesterday asked me how i got into therapy and picking my job, and i… well i didn’t give them the full story i just gave you… just that i had family history of mental health and wanted to understand it better,” you say.

something in jermajesty melts a little bit at that. he knows you’re here to build connections with other men too, just as he’s still talking to other women, and neither of you owes the other exclusivity this early in the experiment. still, knowing that you had chosen to trust him with something you hadn’t shared with anyone else here means more to him than he knows how to properly explain. he doesn’t take it as proof that you’ve chosen him or try to make your vulnerability about himself, but he does understand what a privilege it is to be trusted with a part of your life that you normally keep within such a small circle.

“thank you for trusting me with the full story,” jermajesty says sincerely.

you smile at the warmth in his voice, realizing that somehow it had been really easy to share it with him. you had expected yourself to stumble over the story or pull back once you got to the harder parts, but you never once felt judged or rushed. even without being able to see him, you had felt listened to, and there was something strangely intimate about knowing that when you’d needed a moment, he had simply given it to you.

the rest of the conversation flows easily after that, the vulnerability no longer feeling quite as intimidating now that you’ve crossed that bridge together. jermajesty shares with you about some vulnerable times from when he was a teenager, opening up in return instead of allowing you to be the only one exposing the more difficult parts of yourself.

you listen with an open mind, making a conscious effort not to slip into your therapist mind. sometimes it’s difficult for you to switch that part of yourself off when someone starts telling you about something painful, but jermajesty isn’t your client, and you don’t want to analyze him or search for the perfect therapeutic response. you want to know him, to hear what he’s telling you as someone who cares about the person on the other side of the wall, and you make sure you’re giving him your full attention.

by the time the date begins winding down, neither of you seems particularly eager for the conversation to end. “let’s meet for another date later tonight… i’ll have production set up something for us,” jermajesty says.

your smile grows instantly. you’d already been happy knowing you got to talk to him again today, so the thought of getting another date with him before the night was over sends another little rush of excitement through you.

“i’d like that… what are we gonna do?” you ask.

“we could have dinner, just to start… how does that sound?” he asks.

you feel your heart clenching at the suggestion. two dates with him in one day sounded like heaven, especially after this conversation had taken the connection between you somewhere much deeper than yesterday.

“i would love that,” you say.

jermajesty smiles, biting down on his lip, ecstatic that he gets to spend more time with you later today. he’d gone into this morning hoping he would get another date with you at all, and now he’s already planning the next one before this one has even ended.

“and i took note of your favorite foods and flowers, so i’ll surprise you, okay?” he says.

you find yourself blushing, the heat rushing into your cheeks before you can stop it. those favorite-food and favorite-flower questions had felt like such small pieces of conversation yesterday that you hadn’t thought much about them afterward, but he had remembered enough to write them down and was already planning to use them to make your next date special.

“i can’t wait,” you say, and he chuckles at the excitement he can hear in your voice.

“eager for me already?” he teases. you both laugh, the playful ease between you returning just as naturally as it had disappeared when the conversation became serious.

“shut up,” you say. jermajesty laughs harder, clearly pleased with himself for getting that reaction out of you.

“i’ll see you later, okay?” he says. you smile as you stand with your hand resting on the doorknob, reluctant to leave the pod even though you know this time goodbye only means waiting a few hours until you can talk to him again.

“see you tonight, maj.”

when you get back to the women’s quarters, the girls who aren’t on dates look up when you walk in, and apparently the huge grin on your face gives you away before you even have the chance to say anything. you hadn’t realized just how much you were smiling until you felt their attention immediately shift toward you, but after the conversation you’d just had with jermajesty and knowing you were going to get to see him again tonight, you couldn’t exactly help it.

“oh, which boy has you smiling like that?” another one of the girls, jeneé asks you.

“i just finished a date with jermajesty and he asked to see me again tonight,” you say, unable to keep some of the excitement out of your voice, and her face lights up almost immediately.

“oh my god, seriously?” she asks with excitement in her voice, and you nod as you sit down and join her on the couch. once you settle in, you realize sanaa and michelle, another girl you had been getting to know, are there too, and it doesn’t take long before all three women are looking at you with matching expressions that tell you they’re already prepared to make a much bigger deal out of this than you are.

“two dates in one day? you two are definitely walking out of here engaged,” michelle says.

you bite down on your lip as you feel yourself blushing, because even though the thought has crossed your mind, hearing someone else say it aloud on day two makes everything suddenly feel much more real. you liked jermajesty, there was no denying that anymore, but you were also trying to remind yourself that you had only known him for two days and there was still so much about each other you didn’t know.

“it’s only day two, it’s still very early… but he’s definitely at the top of my list,” you say, and they all start smiling at the admission. wanting some of the attention off yourself before they can tease you any further, you turn the conversation back toward them. “what about you guys? do you have a number one yet?” you ask them.

“shawn… he also works in the healthcare field and we bonded about that, and he’s just really sweet and down to earth,” jeneé says as she blushes, the expression on her face making it obvious that there was already more behind her answer than she was letting on.

“assad… i was a little weary when he said he was an actor, but we do live in los angeles and everyone is trying to make it in the industry in one way or another… but he’s hilarious and also adorable at the same time. definitely my favorite,” michelle says with a soft smile on her face as she thinks about their most recent date. “and his accent is so cute,” she adds and you all laugh.

you understood her initial hesitation completely, considering one of the reasons you had ended up applying for the experiment in the first place was because you were exhausted with dating men who were chasing careers in the entertainment industry, but you also knew that didn’t automatically mean assad was anything like the men you’d dated before. if michelle was smiling this much after talking to him, there was clearly something worth exploring there.

“i told you earlier, amechi, and it’s still him. there’s just something about a man not being afraid to cry when he’s being vulnerable that really gets me going,” sanaa says.

the three of you all look at her with wide eyes for a moment before the entire couch erupts into laughter, and sanaa’s expression only makes you laugh harder because she clearly doesn’t see anything strange about what she just admitted.

“no way you got turned on while that man was crying and pouring his heart out to you,” you say, still laughing, and sanaa shrugs her shoulders as she smiles.

“what can i say? it was very sexy,” she says and you all laugh again while collectively shaking your heads at her.

the conversation continues for a little while longer, everyone swapping stories and comparing how different their connections already feel after only two days, but eventually the exhaustion from the long hours of dating begins catching up with you.

“well, i’m going to take a short nap before resuming the rest of my dates,” you say and the girls smile at you as you stand up from the couch.

“but of course we know you’ll be waiting until you can get back in the pods with jermajesty again,” jeneé teases.

you shake your head, although the smile threatening to return to your face doesn’t exactly help your argument.

“no, i swear, i’m giving everyone a fair shot. i said i was going to go all in with this experiment. underneath jermajesty, i’m also building a nice connection with ben… so we’ll see what happens,” you say.

the girls give you a knowing look, clearly unconvinced that ben or anyone else is currently occupying quite as much space in your thoughts as jermajesty is, but they let you go without teasing you any further. you head back toward where the beds are so you can lay down for a while, still intending to keep the promise you’d made to yourself when you entered the experiment and genuinely explore your other connections instead of deciding your future after only two days.

what you hadn’t realized while talking with the girls was that someone else had been listening to the entire conversation.

amber, one of the other pod squad girls, had also set her sights on jermajesty, and hearing you casually announce that he had asked to see you for a second date in the same day had her internally seething. she had already felt her own connection with him developing and wanted more time to explore it, but now there was no ignoring the fact that another woman was quickly becoming serious competition for his attention.

if jermajesty was already asking you for additional dates, amber knew she needed to make an impression of her own.

she was determined to try and win him over.

prom night was circled in your room’s wall calendar for months, with pink hearts and doodles all around it. michael had drawn mickey and minnie kissing, joking that it was the two of you.

but now that he’s on your porch, picking you up for the night, nothing’s funny to him because you look too good.

“hey, mikey!” his staring makes you a bit bashful as a gloved hand comes up to give your boyfriend a tiny wave.

michael's in awe at how breathtaking you are in your gown, his round eyes going even wider than usual as they trace your figure.

"you look like a princess, tink."

he's serious, you look stunning in your pink dress, skin glistening in the sunset from the shimmer you dusted on. your hair is the prettiest he's ever seen it, and your makeup only adds to the glam.

he hasn't even noticed you'd started talking, your sweet voice carrying on about how excited you were for the night. how you’d hoped your favorite chic song would play on the dance floor.

"helloooo-? earth to mikey. you haven't been listening this whole time?"

"pardon?"

you wave him off with a giggle.

"nevermind. 'that for me?"

he looks down at the corsage in his grasp and reaches for your hand.

"yeah- here you go, sorry. almost forgot to give it to you, you look so pretty." he laughs breathily as he slides it up your wrist, his hand lingering on yours for a second too long.

"thank you love, but you look the prettiest." he makes a face, like he doesn’t believe you.

he has no idea just how good he looks in his pastel suit. his afro frames his handsome face more like a halo than hair. he’s gorgeous, and he’s all yours.

"y'think so? i mean, i’m alright."

“i mean it. i'm gonna have a time keeping all the girls off you tonight."

after your mom gets out her big camera and takes way too many polaroids, you finally head off before you're late.

"shall we?" he holds his arm out, raising his eyebrows up and down just to hear you laugh. linking your arm in his, he leads you to the car where bill is waiting.

"i know it’s a big night for y’all, but don't be back there doin’ any funny business now." you and michael share a look before giggling and thanking him for driving you.

the rest of the car ride is spent jamming to disco songs, and of course stealing kisses, but not without michael triple checking bill wasn’t looking.

bill knew anyway. but michael only ever looked this content with you, and some moments were better left untouched.

The dining room at Hayvenhurst is a battlefield of starched linen and clinking silverware, but the real war is being waged under the table, silent and secret. You sit across Michael, playing the part of the perfect, demure new wife, smiling politely at Joseph’s booming anecdotes about Motown’s glory days and Katherine’s gentle questions about your family. But under the cover of the long tablecloth, your stockinged foot is a soldier on a mission.

You start slow, a gentle brush of your toes against the cuff of his trousers. He flinches, just barely, a quick intake of breath that he covers with a sip of water. You wait a few minutes, letting the tension build, before you press the flat of your foot against his ankle. This time, he doesn't flinch. He stills, going rigid for a fraction of a second before forcing himself to relax. You feel a thrill course through you, a dangerous, intoxicating power.

The conversation flows around you—Jermaine is holding court about a new bassline, Janet is begging for more dessert—but your entire world has shrunk to the space between your foot and the growing hardness in Michael’s trousers. You become bolder. Your foot slides up, up, tracing the inseam of his pants until you’re pressing, firm and deliberate, against the straining fabric of his crotch.

He chokes. It’s a small, almost silent sound, but you hear it. He drops his fork, and it clatters against his plate with a noise that seems to shatter the evening’s calm.

“Michael, honey, are y’alright?” Katherine asks, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Fine, Mother,” he manages to say, his voice a strained, breathless thing. He clears his throat, a low, rumbling sound that does nothing to hide the slight tremor in his hands. He pointedly avoids your gaze, staring down at his plate as if the secrets of the universe are etched into the design of the floral pattern. You smirk into your napkin, taking a delicate sip of wine. You’ve got him.

Later, the family is sprawled out in the vast living room, the glow of the television casting a blueish hue over sleepy faces. A cheesy sci-fi movie is playing, one with rubber aliens and questionable special effects. You’re curled into Michael’s side on the loveseat, a perfect picture of newlywed bliss. The blanket over your laps is your accomplice.

Your hand, warm and sneaky, slides from its resting place on his stomach down to the waistband of his jeans. He tenses again, that familiar, delicious rigidity that tells you you’re getting to him. You trace the button with your fingertip, a slow, maddening circle.

“You’re killin’ me,” he breathes, the words a low whisper meant only for you, lost in the laser blasts from the television.

“Am I?” you whisper back, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. You nip at the soft lobe, a sharp, little bite that makes him jump. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

You lean in closer, your breath a warm puff against his skin. “Remember last night?” you murmur, your voice a husky secret. “When you had me bent over the end of the bed? You were so deep, Michael. I could feel you in my throat.”

A violent shudder racks his body. He grabs your wrist, stilling your hand, but he doesn’t push you away. His grip is tight, a silent plea and a desperate warning all at once. “Stop,” he grits out, but the word lacks conviction. It sounds more like please.

“I was thinkin’ about it all through dinner,” you continue, relentless. “Thinkin’ about your hands on my hips, pullin’ me back onto you. Thinkin’ about how y’sounded when you came.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice strangled. He sits up abruptly, dislodging your hand. “Okay, I think it’s, uh, it’s bedtime. For us.”

The words are a little too loud, a little too sudden. Janet, who was half-asleep on the floor, blinks up at him. “But the movie’s not over.”

“Yeah, Mike, don’t be a spoilsport,” Jermaine calls out from the armchair, not even bothering to look away from the screen.

“It’s late,” Michael says, standing up and pulling you with him. He keeps the blanket strategically draped over his front, a flimsy shield for a very obvious problem. “We have… an early start tomorrow. Lots t’do.”

Katherine gives you both a soft, knowing smile. “Alright, you two. Don’t stay up too late… talking.”

You just smile sweetly, allowing him to tow you toward the stairs, your fingers laced with his. You can feel the thrum of energy vibrating off him, a tightly coiled spring of desperate, frustrated need. The walk to his room is silent and charged with anticipation. The second the door clicks shut behind you, the spring snaps.

He’s on you. Before you can even register the movement, you’re pressed back against the door, the solid wood a shock against your spine. His mouth crashes down on yours, not a kiss but a conquest. It’s hungry, demanding, punishing. His hands are everywhere, tangling in your hair, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him so you can feel the full, hard length of his erection straining against his jeans.

“You,” he growls against your lips, between bruising kisses. “You are a menace. A goddamn tease.”

“You liked it,” you gasp, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

“I hated it,” he says, but he’s grinding against you, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips that steals the breath from your lungs. “I hated it, and I loved it, and I wanted to flip this whole damn table over and take you right there in front of my mother.”

The crude, desperate confession sends a bolt of pure lust straight through you. He tears at your clothes, not bothering with buttons or zippers. The sound of fabric ripping is loud in the quiet room. Your blouse is a casualty, then your skirt. He doesn’t care. He just needs you naked. Now. He backs you up, walking you toward the bed, shedding his own clothes in a frantic, clumsy dance. His shirt flies over his head. His jeans are kicked away.

When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you fall back, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. He looms over you, all lean muscle and raw, coiled power. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, the gold chain he’s wearing glints, a thin, perfect line against the warm brown of his skin. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, his eyes so dark they look black. He looks feral, untamed.

“Spread ‘em,” he commands, his voice a low, rough command that makes your stomach clench.

You obey without hesitation, parting your legs, baring yourself to him. He falls to his knees on the bed between them, his gaze raking over you, hot and possessive. He runs a single finger up your slit, and you’re so wet it glides through with no resistance. He brings the finger to his lips, tasting you, and a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face.

“Soaked,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “All that teasin’ got you this wet, didn’t it? You love making me hard in front of my family.”

You can only whimper in response, arching your hips up, a silent, begging plea for more.

“Not yet,” he says, denying you. He climbs over you, settling his hips between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. He supports himself on one arm, caging you in. The gold chain dangles from his neck, the cold metal a whisper against your sternum.

Then he enters you. Not slowly, not gently. He slams into you in one hard, deep stroke that punches the air from your lungs. It’s so good, so intensely, overwhelmingly good, that you cry out, a loud, unrestrained sound of pure pleasure.

He immediately claps a hand over your mouth. “Shhh,” he hisses, his hips pulling back and then driving into you again, even harder this time. “You wanna wake up the whole house? You want my brothers t’hear what a dirty girl you are?”

You shake your head, your eyes wide, mewling against his palm.

“Then you gotta be quiet,” he says, his hips setting a punishing, relentless rhythm. The bed is creaking, a rhythmic protest that seems deafening in the silence of the house. “Can you do that f’me? Can you b’quiet while I fuck you?”

You nod again, tears of pleasure pricking the corners of your eyes. He removes his hand, replacing it with his lips, swallowing your whimpers and moans. He’s fucking you with a brutal, desperate intensity, each stroke claiming you, branding you as his. The gold chain is swinging with the force of his thrusts, a hypnotic pendulum dangling just above your face.

You watch it, mesmerized. The way it catches the light, the way it sways with the motion of his body. You reach up, your fingers trembling, and close them around the cool metal. You tug, gently.

He groans, breaking the kiss to look down at you. “What’re y’doing?” he pants.

Without answering, you open your mouth and lift your head, capturing the chain between your teeth. The taste of metal is sharp on your tongue. You suck on it, gently at first, then harder, your tongue swirling around the links.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his rhythm faltering for a second. He looks utterly stunned, like he can’t believe what you’re doing. “Oh, you nasty girl. That’s so… nasty.” He sounds awed, completely undone by your filth.

You look him right in the eye as you continue to suck on the chain, moaning around the cold metal as he starts to move again, his thrusts becoming even more erratic, more powerful. The combination of the chain in your mouth and the feel of him pounding into you is almost too much to bear. Your body is a live wire, every nerve ending screaming for release.

“Let go of it,” he commands, his voice rough. You obey, letting the chain fall from your lips with a soft clink against your teeth. “You don’t get t’taste that yet. You have t’earn it.”

He pulls out of you suddenly, leaving you feeling empty and aching. Before you can protest, he flips you over, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. He grabs your hips, yanking them back toward him, and slams into you from behind.

The new angle is devastating. He’s hitting a spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. You bury your face in the pillows to muffle your cries, your fingers digging into the sheets.

“Uh-uh,” he says, one of his hands tangling in your hair and pulling your head back. “I wanna hear you. But not too loud. Jus’ f’me. What’s my name?”

You’re too lost in pleasure to form words, only managing a desperate, high-pitched whine.

He yanks your hair again, a sharp, stinging pull that sends a jolt straight to your clit. “I said, what’s my name?”

“Mikey,” you gasp, the name torn from your throat.

“Louder,” he demands, his other hand coming down hard on your ass with a sharp smack.

“Michael!” you cry out, the sound half-muffled by the pillow.

“That’s right,” he growls, his rhythm turning absolutely merciless. The sound of skin slapping against skin is obscene, a filthy, wet rhythm that echoes in the room. “Say it again. Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You, Michael! It belongs t’you!” you sob, completely overwhelmed.

“Goddamn right,” he grunts, his movements becoming jerky, less controlled. You can feel him getting close, the way his cock swells inside you, the way his grip on your hip tightens almost to the point of pain. “You gonna come f’me, baby? You gonna soak my dick?”

“Please,” you whimper, the only word you can manage. “Please, Michael…”

“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice a low, husky rumble. He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. “Come f’me, now. Let me feel it.”

That’s all it takes. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, a blinding, paralyzing force that rips a scream from your lungs. Your whole body convulses, your muscles clamping down around him so hard you think you might break him. He lets out a guttural groan, a sound of pure, unadulterated bliss, and follows you over the edge, spilling into you in a hot, flooding rush.

He collapses on top of you, his full weight pinning you to the bed, both of you panting, sweaty, and utterly spent. The room is silent except for the sound of your ragged breaths and the frantic pounding of your own heart in your ears.

After a long moment, he pushes himself up, rolling off you and onto his back. He pulls you into his arms, tucking you against his side, your head resting on his chest. His heart is beating just as hard as yours, a steady, reassuring drum against your ear.

“Are y’okay?” he whispers, his voice hoarse, his fingers gently stroking your sweat-damp hair.

You manage a weak nod, a contented hum vibrating in your throat. “Okay” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

For a while, you just lie there, boneless and blissful, listening to the steady thump of his heart against your ear. The air in the room is thick, smelling of sex and sweat and him. You can feel the mess between your thighs, a sticky, warm reminder of what he just did to you. It’s filthy and wonderful.

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “B’right back,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in his chest. He gently disentangles himself, slipping out of the bed. You watch him go, admiring the lean lines of his back, the tight muscles of his ass as he walks toward the adjoining bathroom. He moves with a languid grace that’s at odds with the feral energy he’d possessed just moments ago.

You hear the water run, a quiet, gentle sound. He returns a moment later, a warm, wet washcloth in his hands. He kneels on the bed beside you, his expression soft, reverent.

“Let me,” he says softly.

You part your legs for him without a word, a gesture of absolute trust. He’s gentle, impossibly so. The warm cloth is a soothing balm against your sensitive, swollen flesh. He cleans you meticulously, his touch light and careful, wiping away the evidence of your frenzy. It’s an intimate, almost holy act, a stark contrast to the raw, primal fucking from before. His gaze is focused, intense, as if this is a ritual, a sacred duty.

When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside. But he doesn’t move away. He stays kneeling there, between your thighs, his eyes fixed on your now-clean center. He looks up at you, a question in his dark eyes. You hold your breath.

Slowly, deliberately, he brings his right hand toward you. He extends one long, elegant finger. You watch, mesmerized, as he slides it inside you, a slow, shallow thrust. Your breath hitches. He’s not trying to arouse you again; he’s collecting.

He withdraws his finger, glistening in the dim light. He brings it to his lips, closes his eyes, and tastes. A low, satisfied groan rumbles in his chest. He opens his eyes and looks at you, and the look in them is so dark, so possessive, it makes your stomach clench all over again.

“Us,” he whispers, the word a vow.

He leans over you, and you meet him halfway. The kiss is slow, deep, and impossibly dirty. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the sharp, musky flavor of your own desire mingled with the salty taste of him. It’s a shared secret, a filthy communion. It’s everything.

He settles back beside you, pulling you into his arms again, your back against his chest. He arranges the blankets around you both, tucking you in as if you’re something precious. The gold chain, the source of so much delicious sin, rests against your shoulder, a cool, heavy reminder.

He’s quiet for a long time, just stroking your arm, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Y’know,” he says, his voice a sleepy murmur against your ear, “if y’keep teasin’ me like that at dinner, I’m goin’ to have to start tyin’ you t’your chair.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “Is that a promise or a threat, Mr. Jackson?”

“Both,” he says, tightening his arm around you. “Definitely both.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. The frantic energy is gone, replaced by a warm, sated contentment that wraps around you both like a blanket. Outside, the house is silent. The family is asleep. The world is quiet.

Here, in this room, in the circle of his arms, you are home.

“Go t’sleep, Mrs. Jackson,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

nyle’s roster - - @angelofmikes @mjssolocup @king-mila @pheebsglow @camillemonroe @neverstreett @imeatingheehee @cottonkhandyy @loveposiie @khxna @luvs4harrington @snoopyreincarnated3 @jusforbey

You and Michaels relationship was one’s dream. Michael was the perfect boyfriend—spoiling you, taking care of you whenever, even making enough time for you with his busy schedule. You loved him and, of course, he loved you just as much.

While Michael was at the studio, he had called you and said he had a surprise for you when he got home. You begged him to tell you what it was, or at least give you a hint, but he turned you down every time, telling you to just wait to he got home.

That was 3 hours ago.

You didn’t know when Michael would be home, but you hope it was soon. The surprise was all you could think about for the past few hours. You tried to distract yourself—do some cleaning, fold clothes, read a book—anything that helped you not think of the surprise. But, nothing helped.

You couldn’t shake the thought from your head, praying that Michael would walk through your home doors anytime soon. Suddenly, you heard the doorknob rattle. It was like your prayers had been answered when your lovely boyfriend walked through the door.

You rushed over to greet him, immediately wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands wrapped around your waist.

“Hi baby, I missed you.” You removed your arms from his neck, placing them flat on his chest instead.

“I missed you more, tink.”

“So..what’s my surprise?”

Michael let out a small laugh, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the living room.

“Sit.”

You did, watching as Michael messed with the record player, trying to cover what he was putting in it.

“Mikey..,” you groaned, getting impatient, “what are you doing?”

“Patience, mama.”

Michael spent a few more minutes with the record player then a couple more minutes trying to gather himself, getting courage for what he was about to do.

“Any day now Mikey…”

“Okay okay..”

He finally faced you, standing behind the coffee table as you sat and waited.

“So..I’ve been workin’ on a song..,” he paused for a short moment before continuing, “and uh, I thought about you while singin’ it baby and I..I wanted to sing it f’ya.”

Your smile grew bigger as Michael continued talking, you couldn’t wait to hear the song. You loved anything music Michael made, especially if he made it while thinking about you.

Michael reached over to the record player, the smooth melody coming out of it. You fell in love instantly, and you hadn’t even heard the lyrics, but you didn’t need to.

There'll be no darkness tonight

Lady, our love will shine (lighting the night)

Michaels angelic voice sang over the ones coming out of the record.

Gonna love you more each day

So I promise you tonight

That you will always be the lady in my life

You couldn’t help the tears that were starting to swell in your eyes. Hearing your lovely boyfriend sing his heart about you, it made you want to cry. You felt so loved and you could tell he knew how much you loved him as well.

And, baby, through the years

Even when we're old and gray

I will love you more each day

Michael let the song keep playing as he made his way over to you, sitting down next you and bringing his hand up to your face to wipe your tears.

“My sweet girl, I love you so much. I made this song just to show you how much I do. You truly are the lady in my life.”

As Michael confessed his love for you, he couldn’t help but start to tear up as well, he loved you so much.

“Gosh..I love you more Mikey, the song is amazing, I love it.”

Michael brought his arm around your shoulder as you laid your head on his chest, the rest of the song playing as you both cuddled close, basking in each other’s warmth. He used his other hand to grab yours, intertwining your fingers as he placed soft kisses to the back of your hand.

a/n: sorry if this is bad, i’ve had low motivation and haven’t wrote in 9 days🥹