sagecat

[Spring: May 2nd, 2004. Codename: The Beginning.]

Two little ones sit face to face post wrestling match, on an ornate rug in Havenhurst's living room. One breathes heavily, face red, marked with a scowl and a wobbly lip, the other grips a wooden block marked with the letter ‘B’ triumphantly. 

The girl takes in a deep breath, tears well in her eyes, and she exhales with a cry that could wake even the sandman. At the sound of her cries, The young boy's face contorts to match her own. While testing her lung capacity, she attempts to retrieve the block one more time, only to be met with a sharp pain in her temple. The boy made quick work to remove himself from the line of fire as she,impossibly, screamed louder. She picks up her own block, ironically marked with a ‘J’, and launches it back with the same level of vitriol. 

It doesn’t connect with the tyrant in the room, no, that would be too easy. Instead, it collides with her mother’s shin, who had rushed in to see what all the fuss was about. When asked why she had turned their toys into projectiles, the poor girl, consumed by hysteria, couldn't get a response out. 

A small voice, that was not her own, cut through the air,

“She hit me!”

Before she knew it, three words without an ounce of truth to them, had landed her a sentence of fifteen minutes facing the wall.

This interaction, which may seem like ordinary toddler melodrama, marked the beginning of a y/n’s longstanding beef with Jermajesty.

[Summer: July 4th, 2010. Codename: The Pop-its Incident]

The fourth of July is normally a wholesome, family oriented, event. Trademarked by barbecues, games, a dip in the pool, popsicles that will inevitably melt under the California sun, and at the end of the night, beautiful displays of pyrotechnics, some even handheld, that should not be in the vicinity of a deranged nine-year old. 

Y/n found herself exhausted. Between the outdoor activity that, no doubt brought about an early onset fatigue, and the fact that the young girl had practically stuffed herself to the gills with overdone hotdogs, a burger, and perhaps one-too-many cupcakes, by the time the sun began to set, she was nearly immobile. 

With a towel wrapped around her shoulders, and a slouch in her spine, she, tiredly, tries to settle down on a lawn chair nestled in a corner of the backyard, wanting nothing more from the day than to just watch the fireworks. Unfortunately for y/n, the boy who’s been plaguing all eight years of her life had other plans. 

She sees him approach from a distance with a smile on his face and hands hidden from view. Looking back, that itself should have been enough of a warning. Still, she brushes it off with a roll of her eyes, sitting on the edge of the chair, with her hands on her knees and feet planted firmly on the warm pavement. By the time she looks up, he looms over her something behind his back.

“ Y/n,” he addresses. She raises a very skeptical brow, waiting to see what treachery would leave his mouth next. “Are you having fun?” Jermajesty asks, shifting on his feet. She could tell something was amiss, very rarely did he willingly speak to her, and whatever he had behind him did nothing to soothe her nerves. Tired and bordering on overwhelmed, with a squint, y/n huffs, “What do you want?” 

Jermajesty feigns offense, brows furrowing as he takes a somber tone, “I can’t talk to you now?” 

She scoffs, “When do you ever just talk? What, don’t feel like terrorizing me today?” It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Terrorize is a weird way to describe a few jokes,” he says with a wave of his, now visible hand. 

Before she can start rattling off the instances where Jermajesty absolutely did terrorize her, he cuts in again, this time with a quiet mumble, “I seriously did want to check on you. Didn’t realize it was a crime.” Y/n  knows better than to trust him, she swears she does. Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the hurt expression painted on his face, but she felt her guard lower. Her eyebrows relax, and she almost feels bad for assuming the worst. Almost.

“My bad, Jermajesty. Yes I ha–” The words all but die on her tongue when she hears a decently loud ‘POP!’ and feels a warmth near her feet. There’s only about two seconds allowed for recognition. This asshole was sending pop-its careening toward her feet. Y/n tries to scale the lawn chair, but the slits in it send her feet right back into the cross-hairs.

“Jermajesty! Stop!” She screeches, practically dancing in the small area. He in fact, did not stop. It was almost like her terror was a motivator. The pop-its came faster, and she was terrified. If she wasn’t before, y/n was definitely overwhelmed now, and tears formed before she could stop them. Of course, her torturer noticed, “Aww, is the baby gonna cry?” He mocked, showing no sign of stopping his onslaught. 

She wasn’t ‘gonna’ do anything, the tears were hot and very present. That wasn’t really y/n’s main concern though. Remember her overindulgence? It was coming back to bite her in the ass. In her defence, she didn’t foresee herself dodging mini explosives when she ate as much as she did. 

The ambush only lasted around two minutes before Jermajesty’s father snapped his head in the direction of y/n’s cry for help, “Boy! Cut that out and go sit the hell down! What’s wrong with you?” The boy’s actions came to an immediate halt, knowing Jermaine's command outweighed his current amusement.

Y/n had never been more grateful for another human being in her, relatively short, life. Jermajesty let out an annoyed sigh, but ultimately retreated. As relieved as she was, the damage was already done, nausea had already begun sweeping over the girl. Her stomach churned, and with the swiftness of a fawn, y/n stumbled toward a trashcan. Unfortunately, luck was not on her side today, she made it about three steps forward before emptying the contents of her stomach onto the pavement.

Sounds of shock, displeasure, and pity ring throughout the backyard. Embarrassment and shame wrap her up into the world's most uncomfortable blanket as she continues to heave. She was sure now. She hates this fucker. 

Janet, who y/n has considered her godsend ever since the time with the gum, jumps on the situation like a commander, “Jermaine! Go get the baking soda from the kitchen. Randy, get the poor girl a new towel please.” 

They don't move, still baffled at what just took place. The woman lets out a tired sigh, and her voice raises a few decibels, “Now! Please!” Janet then turns her attention to poor y/n, who is now reduced to dry heaving over the concrete. “Honey, I’m so sorry. You’ll be alright, okay?” 

Humiliation morphs into anger, and the disgruntled eight year old, nods absentmindedly. She isn’t really paying much attention to the reassurance though, too busy trying to get her body to understand that she can’t possibly throw her skeleton up too. All she can do in this moment is think of all the ways she could permanently remove that pest. 

While brooding, a grating sound falls on her ears. That demon is laughing. Not just a chuckle, no no, he is doubled over, in almost the same position as her, wheezing. Jermajesty smacks his older brother’s arm, who also seems to find the girl’s misfortune entertaining.

Y/n rises slowly, eyes shooting daggers in their direction. As intimidating as she wants to look, the evidence of her misfortune laying at her feet, and a little remaining on her lips just made the girl appear pitiful. That only garnered harder laughs from the two bozos across the yard.

 She opens her mouth, but it quickly closes as the reality sets in, she had effectively been made a fool of. Sure she could’ve expected this from Jermajesty, but seeing jaafar cackle alongside that fool really twisted the knife. Janet tells her to pay them no mind and ushers her off into the house to get cleaned up. Defeated yet again, y/n retreated with her head hung low, and tail tucked. 

This terribly embarrassing day, marked a pivotal moment between, one where y/n decides she was done playing nice with Jermajesty.

[Winter: December 20th, 2015. Codename: Cancel Christmas]

Ah yes, the holly-jolly season. Hot-coca, stockings over the fireplace, and of course, incessantly violent bickering with Jermajesty. It always starts small with him. A disagreement about where candy canes should go, or who would be responsible for cleaning up the discarded tinsel. But alas, the hormones that accompany adolescence make these seemingly small problems, very big problems.

Y/n was irritable. Very, very irritable. As she developed through the years, so did her issues with her incredibly annoying counterpart. It didn’t help that her body (and brain) began to change at a speed she did not agree with. 

Curves filling out, making everything in her closet look like a poor choice, a newfound hatred for her reproductive system, acne that showed her what true stubbornness looked like, having to navigate the terrors of high school, and feelings she did not enjoy having. Since when is that vermin attractive? Y/n didn’t have an answer, and that pissed her off more.

Her irritation reaches new heights as her family heads toward the Jackson’s home. She felt in her bones that today was not going to be a good day. Y/n still hadn’t forgiven him for the shit he pulled on the fourth way back when. The only upside to her, was that she had forgiven his older brother, and was looking forward to stealing glances at him through the night.

Things were calm when she arrived. Stepping out of the car and making her way to the door, y/n thought about civility, and just how long it would last. The answer? Not very.

Jermajesty started it, he always starts it. A pointed comment about how y/n was drooling over Jaafar, while she worked on hanging the ornament she made in art class, a yearly tradition for her. His jab earns a few chuckles…and a sound that could only be described as disgust from the older of the two boys. Y/n was sure she would implode. She snapped her head in his direction with a grimace, “Shut up, no I’m not!” (She absolutely was)

Jermajesty scoffs, “Suree, what else are you gonna lie about?” He asked with a smug look gracing his features. The girl leans into her teenage rage, “I lie about liking you all the time, can’t you tell?” The boy’s face falls flat, “You think I like you? I tolerate you because my family insists on bringing you around.” 

Y/n lets out a dry laugh, “I wish they didn’t, I can’t stand you. You have got to be one of the most infuriating people on the planet, not to mention, you’re a certified idiot. I hate that we even breathe the same air, so don’t worry about having to like me, Jermajesty.”

A beat of silence passes before the insults begin flying. He calls her stupid, she calls him ugly, he hits her with a ‘pizza face’ comment, and she delivers a devastating blow about how his ‘girlfriend’ has three other boyfriends. 

In that moment, Jermajesty all but lost what little sense he did have, “You can’t talk! Didn’t the entire football team bend you over two weeks ago?” 

Poor, poor y/n, she’s yet to figure out that in a battle of who can go lower, Jermajesty will always have her beat. It was an outright lie, one that caught the attention of everyone in the room. 

“You two, ENOUGH!” Y/n’s father booms, he then shifts his gaze toward his daughter. Y/n immediately tries to save her ass, “Dad, he’s lying! I swear, I’ve never even–” she stops speaking when the older man raises his hand. “We will talk about this at home, grab your things, now.”

Begrudgingly, she follows directions, making sure to grab her charger, phone, and the ornament, All while Jermaine profusely apologizes to her father for his son’s behavior.

She throws one more glance in Jermajesty’s direction, fully expecting to see the same smirk that always rests on his face when he lands her in hot water. Instead, y/n finds something akin to remorse. Jermajesty opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it when she sticks one finger in the air. He rolls his eyes and returns the gesture with a mock smile.and leaves the home with her head held high

Attraction be damned, the long conversation she is going to be forced to endure in her family's living room snuffed out whatever she was feeling for that insolent brat. 

For the first time in fourteen years, y/n hadn’t left the Jackson estate in tears. She did, however, leave with a bit of clarity. 

Here marks the day y/n realized battling Jermajesty was always going to be a losing game.

[Fall: November 25th, 2021. Codename: Older Brothers]

It had been approximately a year and a half since y/n last saw the jacksons in person. With covid, and the lockdown put in place because of it, she hasn’t really seen much of anybody. During this time,y/n had grown into what some would describe as a walking wet dream, intentionally, of course. Body to die for, skin as clear as glass, and a charm that was hard to resist. She wasn’t naive to this either, nuh-uh, y/n knows she’s a bad bitch, and she plans to use that to her advantage.

 Jaafar has become a new point of interest. At twenty, y/n knows exactly what her type is, and he checks every last box. She had already formulated a gameplan for this year's thanksgiving dinner. Hair styled to perfection, a manicure that cost a fortune, some little black dress that showed off every asset she’d gained, three spritzes of  a very expensive perfume, and the sexiest pair of heels she could find.

When she crosses under the threshold into the home she had grown to miss, she hears a few gasps, and a devious smile forms on her face. This is good, very good. She greets the family one-by-one with a hug, making small conversation with some. Most of the attendees comment on how good she looks, shocked to see the new version of the young woman before them. She giggles, and thanks them, moving through the room with an effortless grace.

When her eyes land on her target, who is already gawking at her, her smile grows large enough to show a perfect set of pearly white teeth. Y/n has every intention of fucking Jaafar. However, in her lust driven pursuit, she forgot to account for her biggest obstacle. Jer-fucking-majesty, who seems to be making it his personal mission to deter her from her goal. Before she can get her arms wrapped around Jaafar, the nuisance before her slides in between them, disrupting the exchange of greetings. Her arms drop and frustration cascades across her face.

“Y/n, it’s been a while.” He states, looking down at her. She can’t help the way her eyes find the back of her head. “Yes, it has Jermajesty. As is to be expected when a pandemic occurs.” He chuckles, “Well, you look good. Real good.” That comment nearly short-circuts her brain. Did her arch-nemesis just compliment her? She waits for the punchline, the cruel follow-up that always comes with a statement like that from him.

When it doesn’t, and she realizes he’s serious, she steps back a bit. “I–, thank…you.” She says slow, still skeptical. He nods once, but refuses to move. Y/n grows impatient, “Excuse me, I was in the middle of greeting Jaafar.” She mumbles. Jermajesty’s brows furrow, “Everybody else got a hug, I can’t?” She folds her lips together, unsure of how to navigate this new territory. She settles on a quick side-hug. “There, now can you move?” 

He kisses his teeth, and steps to the side. He watches how the girl he spent so much time driving up a wall practically melts into his brother’s arms. He notices how far you went to get Jaafar to notice. He notices how his brother inhales deeply, how his hands slide dangerously low on y/n’s waistline, how you didn’t correct his brother’s grip, and most importantly, he can’t help but notice that all he got was a fucking side-hug. 

Why does he even care? It’s not like you mean anything to him, right. Wrong, very wrong. Jermajesty is pissed. He’s spent so much time making you look unappealing, publicly commenting on every imperfection, spreading rumors to keep everyone away, intentionally ruining dates and relationships, oh and most notably, since December of ‘15, convincing his brother that he should want nothing to do with you. All in the name of love of course, you didn’t know that. You didn’t need to know that. He made sure that the girl he’s been infatuated with since the age of four, didn’t have a clue about the strings he pulled in the background. 

Jermajesty knew what he was about to do was wrong, but in his beautifully twisted mind, it would be justified. While the girl, his girl, revels in the affection she’s receiving from his older brother, he grabs a cup resting on the dinner table. She was so blissfully unaware, cute.

The chilled champagne runs down y/n’s back, and serves as a stark reminder to never trust the man standing right behind her. She whips around so fast she nearly falls. With vitriol running through her veins, yet again, she slaps Jermajesty so hard her hand stings. His head is turned, and his hand comes up to his cheek,  “What. The. Fuck, is your problem? Huh? Do you ever stop? I mean seriously, I can’t fucking st–” He wears a smile and nods as she rants on and on about how she hates him and can’t stand him, and wishes they never met.

Jermajesty lets her go on for another minute or two before he grabs her wrist and drags her through the house and out the door. Despite her best effort, his grip is firm,she can’t do much but stumble behind him, and let the expletives fall from her lips in protest.

Once the cool air wraps around them, Jermajesty spins to face her, still holding on. He leans in close, whatever y/n had planned to say next evaporated from her mind. His eyes are dark, and his face is devoid of any amusement. It quickly registers in the young lady’s mind that Jermajesty means business. She remains silent, real intimidation settles over her as she waits for him to say something.

Jermajesty then moves his lips to her ear, “If you ever pull that shit again, I’ll show you how cruel I can really be. Stay away from Jaafar, last warning.” Y/n stood there frozen, jermajesty releases his grip on the girl, walking past her, and heading back toward the house. She was utterly baffled, and admittedly pissed because, who was he to tell her who she could and couldn’t interact with. Still,even with the cold champagne that has now ruined her dress, y/n couldn’t ignore the warmth that settled deep in her belly. As she stood there processing, she came to a conclusion.

This year's Thanksgiving marks the day that the girl, who entered a feud with humanity's biggest terror all those years ago, realizes the attraction she thought she snuffed out wasn’t dead. Just buried.

[Summer: July 25th 2026. Codename: Quit Playin’ With Me]

Admittedly, you knew what you were doing. Jermajesty hadn’t made much of a move since Thanksgiving, five fucking years ago. Yeah the fights had morphed into an aggressive sort of flirting, that began to serve more as foreplay. And sure, everytime you showed interest in another man Jermajesty had more than enough to say about it, but aside from that, you hadn’t made much progress. So, you figured he needed a little push. What better place to make that happen than at Jaafar’s birthday party?

In all honesty, you wanted to know if Jermajesty would make good on his promise. It was a fifty-fifty gamble with him though, you were either going to leave very satisfied, or teary-eyed, or both. Still, it was a risk you were more than willing to take at this point.

You waltz into the familiar backyard, body clad in a swimsuit that was essentially string, smelling good, and looking better. This time though, it wasn’t for anyone’s attention but his. You made a bee-line for Jaafar, greeting as many as you could in the process. When you reached him, a smile spread across his face. He sat there, on a pool chair, in all his glory, in nothing but a pair of swim trunks, and sunglasses. “Look at you, when’d you get so fine mama?” Though you weren’t here for him, it didn’t hurt to receive a compliment or two from Jaafar.

You cracked a grin, “Been that, baby.” He chuckled, and opened his arms up for you. The scenario felt familiar, except this time, when you leaned in, there was no Jermajesty. Jaafar wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you down into his lap with a quickness that startled you. He nuzzled his face into your neck and spoke, soft and gentle, “So, how you been? Haven’t had time to catch up since we first started filming.” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your body, “Been fine, same-old, same-old. Heard the movies doing well, hot-shot. As it should, by the way, you did amazing. Your uncle would be proud.” Jaafar gives your waist a small squeeze, “Thank you, that means a lot coming from you, y/n.” You opened your mouth to assure that it’s the truth, but before you can, a shadow is cast over you. A shiver runs down your spine, and you sit up a little straighter.

His appearance matches his brother’s, except for the sunglasses, he wants to make sure you look him in the eye. His voice is chillingly calm, as he glares down at you, “Get up.” You shift a little on Jaafar’s lap. The older brother speaks first, “She doesn’t have to move, if you don’t like it go inside, or away.” Jermajesty doesn’t spare so much as a sideways glance toward Jaafar, eyes still trained on yours with a hard stare, “You have two fucking seconds to get the fuck off his lap.”

With that, your brain finally catches up, and you stand embarrassingly fast. Jermajesty doesn’t miss a beat, and begins walking toward the entrance of the home “Bring your ass in the house, now.” You throw Jaafar an apologetic glance, and quickly trail his brother. Jermajesty moves through the house with an aura of danger surrounding him. If you weren’t so giddy, you might’ve been a little scared for what was to come.

When you reach his bedroom door, he holds it open for you, looking at you expectantly. Slowly, you walk in, stopping just inside the door, unsure of what to do next. He slips in behind you, the door shuts. You turn your head to see his hand resting on the handle. He takes a deep breath,

 “Before I do, what I’m about to do, you need to let me know if you want this as bad as I do.” He says, tone measured, controlled, just as chilling as it was before. You nod twice, and he shakes his head, “Words. Y/n. Use them.” You let out a shaky breath, “Yes, I want–”

The rest of the sentence dies on your tongue as a hand wraps around your throat, squeezing enough to make a point, but not enough to cause any harm. Your back meets the door behind you, and a gasp attempts to leave your body. Jermajesty catches your lips in a searing, possessive kiss, all teeth, and tongue with little room left to breathe. You all but melt right there, he breaks the kiss, leaving a string of spit connecting the two of you, and a pout forms on your lips.

“You just don’t listen, do you baby? Hm?” You looked up at Jermajesty, pupils blown. His hand, serving as the prettiest necklace you’ve ever owned, shifts into a firm grip under your jaw, he leans in, lips brushing your ear. The already damp spot formed on the fabric nestled between your legs starts to grow, “You just had to keep pushing. I told you what would happen, and look, you did it anyway, didn’t you?”

You try to nod, but he holds you steady, “Come on, baby. Answer me,” When you open your mouth, he shifts his hand down, squeezing once more. A garbled sound is all you manage to get out, “Mm, there you go again. Not listening,” Jermajesty shakes his head as he tuts with a wicked smile. He loosens his grip just a bit. Soft kisses begin at the back of your ear, and make their way down to a spot on your neck that pulls a soft whine from your lips. A deep chuckle leaves the man towering over you, “That’s right, pretty girl. Keep making those sweet sounds for me, yeah?”

The hand around your throat slips further down, fingers ghosting over the hardened buds beneath your swim-top. Gently, he toys with the thin fabric before his fingers move swiftly to undo the ties on your neck and back. The top falls and you stand there now, bare chested, dripping with excitement. With a deep inhale, Jermajesty begins to kiss down your sternum, cupping both breasts with his large hands. Slowly, he takes the left bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, just enough to tease, while he rolls the right between his index and thumb. 

A sultry sound leaves your mouth, one that sounds like music to his ears. Jermajesty groans, and with a ‘pop’, removes himself from your chest. With his voice barely above a whisper, he makes you one more promise. “I’m gon’ show you who the fuck you belong to tonight.” The ruined bottoms do very little to hide just how badly you want that. His right hand glides down the length of your body, stopping just shy of the waistband.

Jermajesty searches your eyes for hesitancy one last time, when he doesn't find it, his fingers dip below the last barrier between the two of you. He swipes a finger up your slit, making you shudder, “So fucking wet,” he whispers, undoubtedly to himself. The pads of his fingers are rough, calloused, and add a delicious friction as his thumb finds your little bundle of nerves.

As he works it in painfully slow, steady circles, two fingers enter you, and a pornographic moan leaves your mouth, “Baby please,” you beg, as he continues to tease, pumping them slowly. He chuckles, “Oh? m’baby now? I thought I was a piece of shit you couldn’t stand.” The huff you let out tells him he has you right where he wants you. He curls his fingers and just brushes past that spongy spot, your frustrated whine rings out in the air. Jermajesty laughs softly,  “This not enough for you baby?Didn't know you were so greedy.” 

Annoyance began to seep into your bones. If he wanted to play so bad, then fine, “You’re taking too long, I can always ask Jaafar to handle this, you know?”

Jermajesty freezes, not long before he rips his hand away from your pussy, rises to his full height and grabs you by your waist. You let out a surprised squeak, wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his torso as he hoists you up, and walks you toward the bed. He isn’t gentle as he tosses you onto it. Your body comes off of the mattress in a small bounce. Your eyes rake over the man standing above the bed, the tent in his trunks makes your eyes widen. Good, he wants you to watch. Jermajesty makes quick work of the shorts, tossing them off in some corner of his room. 

Good god, you knew it was big, but you were severely under prepared. Your best guess is roughly eight and a half inches. He’s neatly trimmed, there’s a small batch of hair at the base. The tip is a deep mauve, the shaft is a shade darker than the rest of him with a pronounced vein running all the way down, and just below rest two heavy round balls.

He wastes no time in getting your bottoms off next, practically ripping the dainty little thing off of you. He tosses them, and looks back at your dripping core. Again, two of his fingers find a home deep in your pussy, only this time, Jermajesty isn’t so nice about it. He sets a brutal, unforgiving pace that has you arching your back. He leans over, “Open your mouth,” you obey, already dizzy from the pleasure. His spit hits the back of your throat, and you swallow, “That’s it,” he picks up the pace, your hand shoots out to clutch his forearm in an attempt to slow him down and quell the fire quickly spreading through your body. “Move your hand,” he murmurs, while bullying your g-spot with precision. The sounds of your sopping pussy bounce off the walls, as he pushes you closer to release. “Please, Please, Jer…Please!”

You aren’t even sure what it is that you’re begging for, he has you dazed and drunk off the feeling of him, and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. A cry leaves your lips, and you grip his arm tighter, “He can’t make you beg like this, pretty girl.” Tears form in your eyes as you just about tip over the edge, “Jer— oh fuck, Maj… gonna– cum!” Again, his fingers leave your core. The sudden denial leaves you frustrated beyond belief, a wail rips from your chest.

“What the fuck–”, Jermajesty cuts you off, flipping you over onto your stomach. “Shut the fuck up.” He teases you again, running his tip along your slit, “You wanna cum? Tell me who this shit belongs to.”you arch a little deeper, “Mm, if I say Jaafar, how hard will you fuck me?” 

In one slow deep thrust, Jermajesty starts to fill you. The stretch stings so good, you both moan at the sensation. He gives a few shallow thrusts before his resolve snaps, and he bottoms out in one deep thrust. The tip of his fat dick kisses your cervix just right, it takes everything in you not to collapse. When he pulls back out, you hiss, the sensation feels addictive. He drives back into you, and begins to fuck you like a man starved. The pace he sets is punishing, you can’t do much but cry out, gripping the sheets as the same heat from before begins to pool in your belly. Jermajesty drills into that spongy spot over and over, the pleasure overwhelms you, your jolts forward involuntary. At the sight, his sweat covered brow furrows, he grips your waist with both hands, pulling you back onto him. A heavy hand cracks down on your ass twice,

“Don’t you dare fucking run. Take this shit, baby– fuck! Take. It.” Your eyes hit the back of your head, fisting the sheets so hard you were sure they’d rip, as he slams into you fervently. 

The sound of skin clapping echoes in the room, his headboard hits the wall, matching his tempo. Jermasty lets out a deep groan that goes straight to your core.

“Shit—, best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.” As his hips continue to slam into yours, your drool covers his pillow, “It’s yours, Jermajesty— Fuck it’s yours!” You scream out. Though you can't see it, a toothy smile forms on your lover's face. While still inside you, he rolls over onto your side, “Say it again, baby, louder,” you do as he says, nearly screaming as he delivers steady, mean, strokes into your wet hole. “That’s right, this my pussy,” he says, bringing one of your legs over his torso. His hand found your clit once more, rubbing fast tight circles into the swollen nub.

As you approach ecstasy, the door slams open. Jaafar, stands there with a baffled expression. “What the hell–” You startle, brought out of your pleasure induced state by the sudden intrusion. Jermajesty doesn't stop his ministrations for a single second. Instead, his hand leaves your bundle of nerves and grips your jaw, making you face him. 

“Cum on this dick and show him who you belong to, baby.” He brings his hand back down to your clit, doubling down. He fucks you harder, thrusts faster than before leave your head reeling even more than it already has been. Jermasesty draws new patterns on your clit, it takes you ten seconds to realize he’s spelling out his name. A foreign pleasure shoots through your body, “Jer, wait– I think I’m gonna pee! Slow– Fuck…Slow down!” He spells faster, bullies that spot just a few more times, licks the shell of your ear, and whispers, “Let me have it baby, prove to me that you’re mine.” Your eyes roll back, mouth forming into a perfect ‘O’ shape, before your release cascades down your thighs, and his, onto the bed.

Jermajesty pumps into you a few more times, now chasing his own release. “Did so good. You Did. So. Fucking. Good. Pretty. Girl.” His words are accentuated by a few more deep thrusts. Your brain has turned to mush, one last thrust has him cumming with a shout of your name. His hold on you tightening, as you milk him for everything he’s got. He holds his seed deep as his body rides out the after-shocks. 

When you two finally come down, he sits you up gently. Breathing labored, and very clearly blissed out, you look at him in your daze, “That was amazing, Jer,” He nods in agreement, wondering how you were still functioning. “ –I can’t help but wonder though, what made you so…possessive?” Jermajesty flashed a smile and chuckled while still trying to catch his breath, “Y/n, baby. I’ve been in love with you since I clocked you in the head with that block. Pardon me if I’m a little 'possessive.’” 

You weren’t sure what answer you expected, but you knew it wasn't that. Though, when you think back, you can’t help but feel that you let him slide with the shit he’s pulled through the years for that very same reason.

“Hm, well I think I love you too Jer. I would love to dwell on it, but I’m tired, sweaty, and I think we just permanently scarred your brother.” You rambled on.

The man rolled his eyes, “We can talk in the morning, Jaafar’ll be fine, we can shower together, and sleep after.” You couldn’t help yourself. You tried though, “How well does ‘apology pussy’ go over with your brother?” Jermajesty’s face fell flat, and you cackled like a hyena.

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“Marlon!— no!— stop it!—” you squealed as you and Michael pushed against the closet door with all the strength both of you hand, trying to stop Marlon, Jermaine, and Tito from successfully closing the door on the two of you.

“uh-uh, y’all got business to handle! gon’ and get all that mushy out of y’all’s systems so everything can go back to normal!” Marlon remarked through boyish laughter as the three brothers suddenly shoved their body weight against the door in unison and the force sent you and Michael back from the door and tumbling to the ground, a yelp coming from you and a grunt coming from him while the two of you fell wrapped in each other’s limbs.

Michael’s brothers were known to toy with you and him, especially since it was obvious — to them, at least — that you and Michael had not-so secret feelings for each other, but three of them going as far as to shove you and him in a closet together was extremely embarrassing for both of you.

to be more specific, it was Marlon who dragged you to the closet and Jermaine who followed him with Michael in his arms, but it was Tito who held the closet door open for them to put both of you in there.

you and Michael had been friends since you were teenagers and spent much of your adolescence together, even going as far as sneaking out to see each other and hang out at odd times of the night. as time progressed, your bond grew stronger and the two of you were practically two peas in a pod, but somewhere along the way, things started to shift between the two of you.

it wasn’t very obvious, but it could be subtly felt. touches started lingering a bit more and eye contact felt different, almost as if layered with something deeper than platonic affection. the thin line between close friends and lovers was becoming blurred and neither of you realized it.

Jackie noticed it first, then Jermaine, and that’s when the rest of the Jackson brothers started piecing things together as well.

everyone knew Michael was shy at times, but you were no better than him. both of you were equally shy in your own ways, but especially when it came down to romantic feelings, relationships, or connections — truthfully, anything under the ‘romance’ umbrella made both of you very timid and quieter than usual.

so obviously, the Jackson brothers knew that you and Michael would never confess how you really felt about each other, so they decided to do what they do best: meddle.

“you okay?” the sound of Michael’s soft voice pulled you from your thoughts and you blinked as you looked up at him, realizing the fall had planted him right on top of you.

“yeah… y-yeah, i’m fine,” you answered softly as you searched his face for a moment and swallowed thickly, the confined space suddenly feeling smaller than before, “you?”

“i’m okay.” Michael reassured, a small shy smile creeping onto his face, as you instinctively smiled back and the two of you stood from the ground with each other’s help, both of you adjusting your clothing before you moved towards the door.

wrapping your fingers around the doorknob, you twisted it once, then twice, and your face dropped once you realized it was locked.

“hey!” you shouted with a huff as you let go of the doorknob and slapped the door with the palm of your hand instead, “y’all better open this doggone door!”

“not until y’all admit that y’all like each other!” Jermaine shouted back.

“and don’t lie ‘cause we all see how you look at him!” Marlon immediately added in, one of his infamous giggles slipping out mid-sentence.

“and Mike ain’t innocent either! boy be lookin’ like a lost puppy when you around!” Tito chimed in, causing the three brothers to erupt in laughter together.

huffing quietly, you took a step back from the door and leaned against the nearest wall as your gaze shifted to Michael, who was sheepishly covering his face with his hands — presumably due to the embarrassing statements from his brothers.

“…Mikey?” you called softly, your voice barely audible, as Michael peeked through his fingers and looked over at you before slowly — almost reluctantly — lowering his hands from his face, knowing that neither of you could avoid the conversation that was about to happen — at least, not anymore because of his meddling brothers.

“…yeah?” Michael answered back, his voice quieter than normal, as he slightly pursed his lips together before tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, a gesture he always managed to do when he was nervous.

you slightly parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out but quiet stammers that only fueled your embarrassment, causing a small comforting smile to form on Michael’s face.

“hey, hey, it’s okay… d-do you want me to go first instead?” Michael offered, finding your bashful stutters adorable, as your mouth closed and you slightly nodded, a shy smile spreading across your features.

“yeah, if, um… if that’s okay with you.” you finally managed to put a sentence together and crossed your arms across your chest to ease your nerves as Michael slowly nodded his head and swallowed hard, trying his hardest to maintain eye contact with you while he nervously toyed with the hem of his shirt.

“okay… okay, um… you know, we’ve been friends for a really long time now and, um, i really like spending time with you,” Michael spoke softer and more carefully, trying his best to stay calm in what he viewed as an embarrassing situation, “you… you make me feel so good inside. better than any other girl really has, honestly. so, um… i gotta’ tell you somethin’.”

you slightly stiffened and let out a quiet exhale as you slowly nodded your head, gesturing for him to continue while your arms slightly tightened around your chest, “…go ahead, Michael.”

“i…” Michael hesitated a bit, going quiet for a moment before exhaling shakily, “i like you… i really like you. and, um… my brothers been tellin’ me that you like me too, but i… i wanna hear it from you personally… please.”

Michael’s plea nearly made your knees buckle and you let out a soft breathless laugh filled with relief and lingering anxiety, a smile spreading across your face at his confession.

“oh, Mikey… i really like you, too. i wanted to tell you sooner, but i didn’t really know how to bring it up because the thought of it made me… nervous,” you admitted timidly as Michael smiled back at you and your arms slowly uncrossed, feeling the weight of your confession leave as quickly as it came, “i do hate that we had to confess like this, though… think i might have to fight your brothers after this.”

Michael giggled at your comment and you giggled with him, your combined laughter in the small room easing the lingering embarrassment in the air and causing both of your shoulders to slowly drop in unison.

“so… could i ask you somethin’?” Michael asked, his smile softening, as he took a small hesitant step towards you and you grinned a little before nodding your head.

“yeah. anything.”

“would, um… would you like to be my… girlfriend?” Michael asked bashfully, gently toying with the hem of his shirt again, as your eyes lit up and a wide smile quickly spread across your face, excitement overtaking you and completely diminishing any trace of shyness.

“yes! oh, yes, Michael!” you squealed as you suddenly threw your arms around Michael’s neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, catching him off guard and making him stiffen before he slowly melted in your embrace and reverently wrapped his arms around your waist.

Michael lowered his head into the crook of your neck and inhaled the scent of your perfume as his large hands splayed across your back, holding you against him while the two of you stood there silently holding each other and basking in the new beginning of your relationship — the shift from platonic to romantic sending gentle chills down your spine.

the two of you stood like that for a moment, your surroundings seemingly fading away the longer you were in each other’s arms, before Michael raised his head from the crook of your neck to properly look down at you, prompting you to raise your head from his shoulder.

meeting his gaze this time felt different, but in the best way — his gaze was softer yet more intensely, seeming overcome by joy and love that he couldn’t help but to look at you as if you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

“could i ask you somethin’ else?” Michael asked softly, searching your eyes, as you smiled a little and slightly nodded your head while you maintained eye contact with him, “can i— may i… kiss you?”

you blinked once, then twice, and that was when realization dawned on you and you realized that none of this was a dream. your best-friend-turned-boyfriend Michael Jackson just asked you for a kiss… and by this point, who were you to deny what both of you had been secretly wanting?

“yeah… yeah, of course.” you answered quietly, slightly nodding your head again, as Michael smiled a little at you and the two of you looked at each other for a moment before you began leaning towards each other in unison, your nose slightly brushing against his before his lips locked with yours.

the kiss was soft and tentative, both of you testing the waters and not trying to scare each other off, but once the two of you got used to the feeling of your colliding mouths, the kiss deepened. his mouth moved slowly against yours and you maintained that rhythm, neither of you wanting to rush this sweet moment of intimacy you had been denying yourselves.

however, the universe seemingly had other plans because the closet door suddenly flung open and every single one of Michael’s brothers now stood there watching the two of you, you and Michael breaking the kiss at the sound of the door opening as your heads snapped towards the doorway.

“ahh-ha, i knew it! i knew it, i told y’all! i told y’all they was in here kissin’!” Marlon squealed, giggling through his banter, as the other brothers erupted into laughter with him and Jackie shook his head instead, though a content smile rested on his face at the sight of you and his younger brother wrapped in each other’s embrace.

identically sheepish grins spread across you and Michael’s faces and Michael immediately turned away from his brothers to shield his face as you buried your face into his chest with a muffled groan of embarrassment, which somehow only fueled Marlon’s amusement because he started laughing even harder than before.

“Mikey, i swear i’m gonna kill Marlon.”

The argument afterward had not gone.. well. Mostly because it stopped being about jealousy almost immediately—that would’ve been easier. Instead it became about disrespect. About spending an entire evening standing in a room full of people while another woman monopolized her boyfriend’s attention. About feeling invisible and like a second choice. About Diana acting like she possessed a claim on Michael that nobody else was supposed to fucking question. Then, Diana made the catastrophic mistake of questioning her right back. Michael doesn’t remember every detail because the second the tension started rising, his survival instincts kicked in and his brain effectively left the building. But he remembers (Name) asking if she could maybe have five uninterrupted minutes with her own boyfriend. He remembers Diana not appreciating the tone. He remembers trying to smooth things over then—the drink in (Name)’s hand found itself splashing in Diana’s face before Michael had to physically pick up and pull her away while another nearby did the same with Diana.

Now Diana is on one side of the club pretending none of it happened. His girlfriend is on the other side pretending he doesn’t exist.

And somehow Michael is the common denominator in both disasters.

After spending nearly fifteen minutes pacing around the bar (like a condemned man awaiting execution), Michael finally orders her favorite drink. Then orders another because his hands are shaking badly enough that he drops the first one. By the time he starts walking toward her booth, he’s rehearsed approximately seventeen? different apologies and forgotten every single one of them. His girlfriend notices him immediately but she simply chooses not to acknowledge it. Michael stops beside the table and waits. Nothing.

“Hi.” Silence. “Hi,” he tries again, somehow sounding even more nervous the second time. Still nothing then carefully, he sets the drink down in front of her.

“..I got this for you, baby..” That finally earns him a reaction: she looks at the glass. Then at him and back at the glass. A smile appears and Michael’s stomach immediately drops to the floor. Because it’s not her happy smile. It’s the smile. The one that means she’s about to make him suffer.

“Oh.” One word as she picks up the drink and studies it thoughtfully before slowly lifting her eyes back to his. The smile widens.

“Oh,” She says again. “Finally remembered who your girlfriend is?” And just like that, every apology Michael spent the last fifteen minutes rehearsing evaporates completely.

Michael just stares at her. Which, unfortunately, is probably the worst possible thing he could be doing right now. He just.. stares. Partially because he's terrified and genuinely, sincerely terrified in a way that feels ridiculous considering he’s a rising star, one would think very little scares him. But he’s staring mostly because she’s angry, and he's never actually seen her like this before. Not really—not directed at him. Usually when she’s upset, there’s still something soft underneath it. Its huffy, pouty, there’s some visible crack where he can see his way back in. Tonight there isn’t. Tonight she’s sitting across from him looking completely unimpressed, completely unaffected by his presence, and somehow so damn beautiful. She’s beautiful everyday, yeah. But right now? Whew. Her eyes seem darker, her posture straighter and there’s a confidence that feels like she owns the entire nightclub and everyone inside it. Michael knows he should be apologizing. Knows he should be speaking. Knows he should be doing literally anything other than staring at her. Instead, his brain completely betrays him by noticing how pretty she looks when she’s mad.

The silence stretches longer than it should and her eyebrow slowly lifts. Michael continues staring.

“Hello?” Nothing. “Michael?”

His brain finally restarts with all the grace of a car refusing to turn over. “Pardon?” The second the word leaves his mouth, she lets out a short laugh and leans back against the booth cushions.

“Oh my God,” she mutters. “You're not even listening to me.”

Michael immediately opens his mouth to argue before deciding against it. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Then she gestures casually across the club toward Diana and smiles in a way that makes every survival instinct in his body activate at once.

“Please go back over there before I drag that old bitch.” Michael’s eyes widen and his gaze instinctively flickers toward Diana before snapping right back to his girlfriend. Huge mistake. She catches it immediately.

“Oh, don't worry,” she says sweetly. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.” And suddenly Michael understands that this isn’t really about Diana at all—or at least entirely. It’s about spending an entire evening making his girlfriend feel unwanted while he floated around Studio 54 like he didn’t even have one. The realization settles heavily in his stomach, and for the first time all night, he's no longer scared of her being angry. He’s scared because she has every right to be.

(Name) stares at him for another few seconds before letting out a long sigh and sliding out of the booth. Michael immediately straightens because the fact she's standing up usually means a decision has been made, and Michael has a horrible feeling he isn’t going to like it. She smooths down her outfit, picks up her purse, and points directly at him.

“I’m leaving.” She says and Michael blinks.

“Okay..” He nods.

“You can stay if you want.” His face falls instantly. “But,” She continues holding up a finger, “I’m changing the locks if you do.” The statement confirms he is, in fact, still very much in trouble and (Name) watches the realization happen in real time. His shoulders sink. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Then without a single argument, he simply stands up and follows after her immediately with no hesitation. He’s trailing along a few steps behind like a giant, miserable puppy that knows exactly why it’s being punished.

(Name) makes it approximately ten feet before glancing over her shoulder and finding him still there looking guilty and pathetic. Looking like if she left him alone in Studio 54 for more than twenty minutes he’d probably just stand in the corner thinking about life. The sight nearly breaks her resolve. Nearly.

“That's what I thought,” She says, reaching back and hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt and Michael doesn’t even protest. If anything, he seems relieved to be collected. (Name) rolls her eyes and starts steering him toward the exit while he obediently follows along behind her. They’re halfway across the club when a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

“Well, look at this.” Quincy appears out of nowhere, drink in hand and a grin already spreading across his face as he takes in the scene before him. (Name) with one hand on Michael’s collar. Michael following behind her with all the dignity of a man being escorted out of kindergarten. Quincy immediately starts laughing.

She brightens instantly. “Hi, Q!” she calls cheerfully, as if she isn’t actively dragging her boyfriend through the middle of Studio 54. “We're leaving!”

Quincy glances at Michael and at the hand attached to his collar. “I can see that, sweetheart.”

She nods enthusiastically. ”Early too!” And behind her, Michael closes his eyes for a brief moment as Quincy nearly doubles over laughing.

“What’d you do, Mike?” Quincy asks.

“I don't wanna talk about it,” Michael mutters.

“He knows what he did,” She answers at the exact same time, giving his collar another tug toward the door and Quincy laughs even harder. Michael wishes the floor would open and swallow him whole.

The walk to the car is painfully embarrassing for Michael but she saves him from the embarrassment of the paparazzi because releases his collar the second they step outside, but somehow that’s worse. At least when she was dragging him around, she was touching him. Now she’s just walking beside him with her purse tucked under her arm and her expression fixed firmly ahead. The night air is cooler than inside the club, carrying away some of the heat and noise of Studio 54, but none of it helps the growing sense of dread sitting in Michael’s stomach. When the car finally pulls up, he nearly lunges for the door handle, rushing ahead to open it for her before she can do it herself. She doesn’t acknowledge the gesture beyond sliding into the seat without a word and Michael follows a moment later, settling beside her as the door shuts and the city begins moving past the windows.

The silence inside the car feels louder than the music had.

(Name) sits with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and one leg thrown over the other, looking out the window because she’s suddenly become fascinated by New York traffic. Michael glances at her once.. then again. Then a third time. Every few seconds his eyes drift back toward her before darting away when she doesn’t react. He lasts maybe five minutes before finally giving up. Slowly and cautiously, he reaches across the seat and rests his hand lightly on her knee.

She just refuses to look at him.

“Lovey..” Michael says quietly. No response.

“I’m sorry.” His thumb moves against her knee. “Will you look at me?” Nothing.

“Please? What can I do?” The worst part is how sincere he sounds. He’s not making excuses or defending himself. He’s just being her Michael. Soft and sweet and looking so genuinely miserable that she can physically feel her resolve beginning to crack down the middle. She hates it. Hates how easy it is when he uses that voice. Hates how his eyes get all sad. Hates that she still wants to forgive him..

So instead she turns her head slowly and narrows her eyes at him. Michael immediately brightens.

Big mistake.

“Don't,” she warns and his smile falters. “You are going to massage my feet until your hands hurt.”

For a moment he stares at her then relief washes across his face so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. “That's it?”

Her eyes narrow further and Michael wisely corrects himself. “I mean.. yes. Absolutely. As long as you want.”

“Good.”

“Okay."

“And I'm still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“Very mad.”

“I know, lovey.”

She turns back toward the window, fighting the smile threatening to appear on her face and a few seconds later, Michael’s hand quietly slips from her knee into her hand.

This time she lets it stay there.

The second she lets his hand stay in hers, Michael immediately gets hopeful in that cutie way he gets when he thinks he might still be forgiven. She doesn’t even have to look at him to feel it. Its the little glances he keeps sneaking at her and the way his thumb moves against her knuckles. She keeps her gaze fixed out the window acting like she hasn’t noticed any of it even though she absolutely has.

The quiet doesn't last long.

“..Can I have a kiss?” Michael asks, voice softer than it already is because he’s testing whether the ground is stable again. (Name) closes her eyes for a second like she’s physically bracing herself, then finally turns her head toward him. The look she gives him is unreadable, but it doesn’t stop her from leaning across the space and pressing a quick kiss to his lips anyway. It’s brief, barely even a second, and the moment it’s over she’s already pulling away and turning back toward the window like nothing happened. Michael goes completely still beside her for a second then lets out a small, disbelieving laugh under his breath.

“I got a kiss,” he says softly, and she immediately groans and hides her face in her hand.

“Don’t start,” she warns, but her voice isn’t nearly as firm as she wants it to be. And Michael, still holding her just leans back in his seat with a smile that makes it very clear he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

By the time they get back to her apartment (he pays for), the argument has started to lose its intensity. She kicks off her shoes the second she walks in and Michael follows her in without a word, already looking for ways to make things right without overcomplicating it.

A few minutes later she’s settled on the couch with one leg tucked under her, a cigarette resting between her fingers as she leans back into the cushions, watching him move around the room. Michael eventually ends up sitting on the floor in front of her, carefully taking her feet into his hands and he starts massaging slowly, thumbs pressing into her arch. She doesn’t look at him at first, just exhales smoke toward the ceiling, acting like she’s still mad, but her foot relaxes in his grip anyway, betraying her before she can stop it.

Michael glances up at her once, then keeps going when she doesn’t tell him to stop. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, like he already knows the answer but needs to hear it from her anyway.

(Name) doesn’t look down at him right away. She just takes another slow drag from her cigarette, considering it for a second longer than necessary, then finally tilts her head slightly in his direction with the faintest trace of a smile pulling at her mouth. And Michael, still on the floor with her feet in his hands, keeps massaging like he’s already accepted whatever verdict she decides to give him.

Michael keeps working his thumbs into her feet and she lounges back into the couch like she’s testing how long she can stay annoyed before it dissolves on its own. She finally speaks without looking at him, voice light but still edged with something he knows better than to fully relax around.

“I dunno,” she says, exhaling another thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Do you think I should still be mad?”

Michael pauses for half a second, hands still resting around her ankle. Then he looks up at her properly, curls a little messy, expression soft and painfully earnest.. that look always makes her anger feel less solid than it should. “Yes,” he says immediately, then corrects himself just as fast, “I mean—no. I mean.. I think you were right to be mad.”

That earns him a look.

So he keeps going, “I was stupid,” he admits, thumbs resuming their slow pressure like he needs the movement to stay grounded. “I should’ve been with you more. I didn’t mean to.. make you feel like that.” His eyes flick up again, searching her face carefully, like he’s trying to read whether he’s losing her in real time. “But I.. also really don’t want you to stay mad at me.”

(Name) watches him for a moment, cigarette still between her fingers, expression unreadable in a way that makes his stomach tighten slightly. Then she tilts her head, studying him like she’s deciding something she hasn’t fully committed to yet. Michael doesn’t move, he just waits there on the floor with her foot in his hands.

Finally, she lets out a small breath through her nose, something almost like a laugh buried in it, and leans her head back against the couch.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she says, not quite forgiving him but not holding on to the anger either. Michael lets out a relieved breath he clearly didn’t realize he was holding and immediately goes back to massaging.

“But you’re definitely putting that mouth to work tonight.”