jaafar jackson’s muse

He thought it was funny to tease you, little touches here and there, whispering nasty things all harmless

now he’s laying on the bed straight on his back with you over him whining about how he needs to hurry and get hard again.

“baby you drained me, ain’t nothing left…” he closed his eyes and groaned when you started rubbing him, cum coated your fingers from the last 3 sessions

“can’t you just try one more time?”

You didn’t sound stern because it wasn’t a domination thing, it was the repercussion of waking up the neediness within you.

“you don’t know how much i missed you marlonn” you put your face in his neck.

“I have an idea how much mama” he cursed himself for getting hard again.

You flipped through the Right on! Magazine issue for what was probably your third time today.

Jackie and his brothers were constantly featured in it, and usually you really enjoyed reading into their silly antics. But this issue felt different. What you read stung and stuck with you all day.

“Olympia is a very attractive young lady.” You mocked Jackie’s soft voice before shoving the magazine in his face playfully. But the both of you knew you weren’t really playing.

The magazine story truly annoyed you, it made you feel slightly insecure and extremely jealous. Don’t get it wrong, you knew you were very attractive too, but you weren’t Olympia Sylvers. Meaning, you didn’t have the fame she had—you were just a normal girl.

You were a college girl, still working towards what you wanted in life and only twenty years old. Jackie was 22, and beginning to be even more in the world than he was when he met you, which worried you. You worried you might become too normal for him as he steadily climbed the ladder.

“Y/n please! I don’t even know the girl.” He said softly, but clearly annoyed by your persistent assertions. You’d been making slick comments all day since you read the issue.

“But clearly you’d like to know her.”

“What?” Jackie squinted, watching you pace his room as he sat on the bed.

“They asked me about her and I wanted to be kind. What, did you want me to say I hate the girl and mention you instead?” He added.

“Is attractive really the word you had to use? Sometimes you are such a dingbat!” You hit him upside the head with the magazine, causing him to snatch it from you.

“Y/n.” He said your name again, but sternly. “I’m in a relationship with you. I’m in love with you. You’re the girl of my dreams.“

You turned, giving him a mean side eye, which he shot right back at you.

“I mean, gosh, are we really doing this over Olympia fucking Sylvers?” His face was all twisted in annoyance.

You placed your hand on your hip, a little shocked at his profane language.

“I haven’t even met the girl. And clearly the interviewer was tryin’ to stir the pot a little.” He continued.

“And you let them.” You said harshly.

“Okay next time I’ll just tell them all about you. Put your picture right on the front page. She’s the prettiest little thing I ever saw. And she’s the sweetest too. She goes to school right in this state if you ever wanna find her! Then the fans will be at your door.” He read his imaginary headline sarcastically as he held the magazine open in front of him.

You were silent.

“I try to protect you but if you care more about appearances then I’ll just do what it takes to make you happy.” He continued.

You crossed your arms hearing the silliness of it. “But Jackie…” You pouted.

“But Jackie nothing. You really don’t understand how much I love you do you?” He grabbed you by the hips, pulling you until you were standing between his legs.

“I don’t know the girl, I don’t want to know her. I don’t care about knowing any other girl in this world.” He said declaratively.

“You’re the only girl for me. Olympia can’t hold a candle to you…or any of them damn Sylvers for all I care.” He laughed a little.

“It’s just me and you baby.” He said sweetly as he puckered his lips for a kiss.

You rubbed his arms instead, feeling flattered, but you still couldn’t shake that pinch of jealousy. You were possessive about your man, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Can you at least say you’re spoken for?” You rubbed his head as he looked up at you.

“Yes baby.” He said, still looking up at you with those expressive, wanting eyes.

“You promise?” You rubbed the side of his face, holding his gaze.

“I promise. I just want you to know I was only trying to protect you. I never intended to hurt you with it. I love you baby.” His face seemed to form into a melancholic expression. He was fierce about keeping you safe and protecting your privacy, but he hated the possibility that he’d hurt you and broke your trust in the process.

“I know. I love you too.” You continuously grazed his face but instead of holding his gaze, you were now looking out of the window pensively. You felt guilty for making him feel bad but you wanted to feel better about things too…

“I don’t think you know. ‘Cause if you did, you’d never worry about any woman.” He reached up bringing your gaze back to him.

“But since you are, that means I haven’t been clear. Love can be a difficult thing to fully understand…So I’m gonna explicitly show you today.” He kissed you just below your chest as he moved his hands down to the back of your thighs, bringing you even closer. The way he caressed them made you tremble as your legs were exposed to his bare touch.

“Let’s get this out of the way.” He said as he unbuttoned your skirt, pulling it off.

His kisses trailed down to your navel. “I love every single part of you.” He made sure to look you in your eyes as he said this, before refocusing on your body.

His kisses trailed down to the hem of your panties before he planted the final kiss. Much warmer and longer than the rest, right at your center.

“Every word I say to you, I mean it.” He held eye contact with you as he lowered your panties down your legs slowly. You felt your heartbeat quicken as the cotton of your panties grazed your skin. You nodded timidly, starting to feel shy under his dark stare as he undressed you.

He paused, taking in what was in front of him. Jackie then spread your lips with his fingers, planting a kiss right on your bud before latching his mouth around it. His mouth made a wet, hungry-sounding noise as his lips pulled away.

Now his tongue was flat against your entrance, running it back and forth, his eyes watching your every expression. As your pussy grew slicker, he gripped your thighs tighter, making you move back and forth on his tongue.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as you began to grip his hair. Along with the motions of his tongue, he began to use the rest of his mouth for suction.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, fighting the sounds that so badly wanted to escape you. As your gaze fell back upon him, his eyes met yours in a blissful daze as a combination of your juices and his spit became pooled between your folds and his mouth.

The wet sputtering and suctioning noises drove you crazy, pushing you to your peak faster and faster, as if the work he was doing with his tongue and mouth weren’t enough already.

Your legs began to feel weak as he devoured you, leaving no crevice unturned. “Jackie…” You moaned, placing a trembling hand on the back of his neck.

Just as your thighs began to grow closer, Jackie nudged them back apart, “Don’t run from my love baby.” He said, before sliding his hand up to stimulate your pussy from the back.

You gasped as he circled around your entrance and began to suck your bud fiercely and hungrily. A long, sensual moan escaped you as his middle finger slipped inside you.

You felt the pressure building up inside your stomach, your walls fluttering around his finger.

He supported your shaky legs as he inserted his ring finger in, now pumping you with both fingers as he continued to envelop your clit.

Your orgasm fell over your body like a cloud on an overcasted day. You felt yourself melting into his arms almost as he relentlessly pleasured you.

You cried out as your juices covered his fingers.

He saw the way your eyes welled up, and his fingers began to slow down, generating a slow, wet, squelching noise as he planted kisses all around your lips.

You moaned as you watched him, convulsing at every pump and seizing ever so slightly at each kiss.

Finally, he lied you down mercifully, but not without sucking and licking you clean.

“Baby I understand…” You gripped the sheets on the verge of tears, feeling that you couldn’t take anymore.

“You sure?” He looked up at you as he lapped up your juices.

“Mmmhmm…” You moaned feverishly. He licked the glistening layer of moisture from your thighs and lips, coming up from between your legs at last.

You finally granted him the kiss you denied him earlier as he passionately locked lips with you.

“It’s just me and you baby.” You said amidst the kiss, feeling his mouth form a smile.

“Right on.” He agreed, beginning to plant kisses all over you again. To your surprise, he started to sink back between your legs.

“Jackie it’s getting late…” You whined in weak protest, rubbing his face. As much as you wanted to fight it, you really enjoyed the way his mouth consumed you.

“I know, but…when I really love a person…I don’t ever wanna stop loving them.” He pressed his lips against your folds, kissing you softly before encasing you between his lips once again.

No more cameras, no more excruciating management, no frantic rushing.

Just the two of you in your apartment with the lights low and the sound of soft jazz bouncing off the walls.

Michael had walked in with that shy smile he always tried to hide, his curls beautifully defined as his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. It was like he'd been moving around so much for so long, he forgot how to fully relax yet. You greeted him with a smile as you wrapped your arms around his neck, enveloping him in a tight embrace. You missed him.

"You're being so tense. Relax, baby." You teased him gently, and he just laughed under his breath, leaning into you as you played with the curls on the nape of his neck.

You took the time to bake something earlier — something simple, if you want to call lemon meringue cheesecake something simple — it took you days to learn, hours to perfect, the sweet lemony smell lingering in the kitchen, clear evidence of your hard work. He couldn't help but drift toward it, humming little melodies as he wandered around your counters, half-heartedly listening as you talked about what you've been up to while he's been gone. He kept touching things he didn't need to touch, pretending he wasn't curious about the overwhelming scent in the kitchen.

"Alright, Michael. You're acting suspicious," you cut yourself off, leaning against the island of your kitchen. He turns to look at you with wide eyes, the decorative salt shaker still in his hand like he hasn't seen it a million times already.

"Suspicious? Me? Nah."

"Yes, you," you said, pointing at him. "You've been lurking around the cake like a child."

"I'm just happy to be home," he smiles, but his voice had that soft, guilty lilt he'd do. He felt bad for not attentively listening to you, because he did miss you, and he did want to know what you were doing outside from your letters and phone calls.

You watched him lean closer, hands behind in an effort to prove that he could behave. He lasted maybe five seconds before one hand drifted forward to the beautiful cake on the stand, still chilled from being in the fridge all afternoon. His hand hovered over the icing.

"Michael," you warned.

"What? It's beautiful, I wasn't gonna touch it."

"You were. I literally saw you."

He bit back a smile, a tiny boyish one. "Maybe just a taste. 'Looks so good."

"Use a knife to cut you a piece." He nodded like he agreed, then completely ignored you. And before you could stop him, he dipped his finger right into the meringue topping.

"Michael! The hell is wrong with you?!" you gasped, half laughing, half offended. He laughed as he jerked his pointer finger back and stuck it in his mouth, a playful glint in his eye. He backed away from the cake slightly.

"I just wanted a taste!" He repeated, his finger now clean, and his face now beaming at the sweet taste of the topping alone. If this was good, he couldn't imagine what the rest of the cake tasted like.

"You could've asked for me to cut you a piece! You didn't have to stick your damn finger in my cake!"

"Stay cool, girl." He pretends to walk away from the scene, and for a moment, your shoulders relax, but Michael couldn't resist. He rushed to the cake for another taste, sticking his finger in the topping. Again.

You stared at him — visibly trying to keep your cool. "You just got back, and you already begging to get your ass beat." His hand stills above the cake, the topping on his finger, and before he could bring it to his lips, you grabbed his wrist. "Come here," you said dangerously softly. But nonetheless, he stepped forward without question, eyes flickering between you and his own hand like he was unsure.

You guided his hand toward you, pulling him closer, and his breath caught. It was a tiny sound he probably didn't mean to make.

You leaned in and brushed the topping from his fingertip with your lips — slow and light. You looked up at him with a playful glint in your eye, but there was nothing funny on his end. Michael went completely still, and his eyes widened. A flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. The feeling of your warm tongue on the pad of his pointer finger, sucking and applying just the right pressure, sent him into a frenzy.

He hated the lingering wonder of your tongue applying the same amount of pressure in places he usually wouldn't dare think of, especially about a woman of such grace as you are.

"You— you didn't have to do that," he whispered, a soft breathy laugh leaving his lips.

"I know," you said, letting his hand go. "But you don't know how to listen."

He laughed again — still warm and breathy, and his shoulders finally relaxed. "You're somethin else."

"And you're a mess. Next time, just cut you a piece." You nudged him gently.

He nudged you back, just as gentle. "You make a bomb icing, and you know I don't eat sweets like that." You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. He stepped closer, pulling you into another hug, his voice softer.

from when you both arrived at the award show, he spent his time mingling with others, and completely forgetting that you were on his arm.

he didn’t even kiss you once tonight. didn’t even curl his hand around your waist like he normally does, he just made you look pathetic, holding on to his arm while he drags you around like some sort of accessory.

he says your name, running his tongue over his bottom lip. you can tell he’s getting frustrated by you ignoring him.

ha, now he understands how you felt for the past three hours.

you hear the sound of his footsteps against the carpeted floor as you rub the soles of you feet, feeling the ache from walking around all night in heels.

michael squats in front of you, placing his hand on your thigh, exactly where the slit of your dress is, leaving that side of your thigh bare. “what’s your problem? you’ve had an attitude all night.”

“tch.” you stand up, pushing his hand off of you, and making your way into the bathroom.

before you can even take two steps, michael grabs you by the arm, turning you around so you’re chest to chest. “michael leave me alone. i just want to shower and go to bed.” you snap, avoiding his eyes.

“no.” michael says, using his free hand to grip your chin so you’re forced to look at him. “tell me what your issue is.”

you let out a frustrated sigh. “you. you’re my issue. you were the one that wanted me to be in new york with you for this award thing and then you just decide to ignore me the whole night.”

you see him raise a single eyebrow at your words. “i never ignored you.”

“yes the fuck you did.” you snap back.

“don’t swear at me, i’m trying to understand what your issue is and you’re here acting like a brat.”

you scoff at his words, shrugging his hands off of you.

“you’re so insufferable.” you mutter under your breath, going into the bathroom and shutting the door.

“michael!” you exclaim, when the bathroom door opens and he steps inside.

“michael i’m done speaking to you tonight.” you state, when he keeps on walking towards you until your whole body is pressed against the sink.

“michael.” he ignores you yet again, his hands sliding up your waist, and pulling you towards him.

you are now squished between him and the sink, and you can’t even move even if you wanted to.

he drops his head, his lips so close to yours that you can smell the minty gum that he was previously chewing.

“mikey.” you whisper against his lips, putting your hands against his chest to try and get some distance.

he knows exactly what he’s doing. and unfortunately it’s working.

“i never ignored you.” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “you were by my side the whole night.” he continues peppering kisses along your jaw. dropping to your neck, gently biting it.

“micha— baby.” you gasp at the feeling, your hand going to the back of his neck.

“i never let you out of my sight. but because my girl is so clingy, she hates it when i talk to other people.”

“m’ not clingy.” you whine.

“mhmm.” michael hums, raising his head and seeing how lust crazed your eyes are.

he smirks, knowing that he has you exactly where he wants you.

"please." you beg, trying to run away from michael's mouth.

you hear him hum, the vibration against your clit making you jerk.

he's just pulled three orgasms out of you and with the way he's still going, it's like he's trying to make you pass out.

"stay." he growls, spreading your quivering thighs wider. he drops his mouth back onto your pussy, causing your head to drop back in pleasure.

“fuckkk… i can’t—” you whine, when you feel his tongue circling your clit, before he sucks it into his mouth with a wet pop. “oh godddd!” you gasp, your legs starting to twitch in his hands.

“this is what you wanted right? you wanted daddy’s attention?”

“ahhh— ngh” you babble, not able to get out your words properly. you clutch the headboard above you, trying to pull yourself up from his lethal tongue.

“fuckin’ stay put.” michael drags you back down to his mouth, his tongue working you harder, sucking up all of your slickness.

you cry out, your voice raw and broken from all the orgasms michael has drawn out of you.

your breathes are shaky when you feel the familiar, heat and pressure building up in your stomach. your toes curl, and you throw your head back, clutching the dark tresses of michael’s hair.

“i’m… i’m…” you hiccup, “fuckkk… i’m gonna—” your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling a warm liquid gush out of you. your legs shake uncontrollably in michael’s strong grip, but he just keeps going, slurping every last bit of your juices, not caring about the mess you’ve made.

once you’ve calmed down from your fourth orgasm, michael raises his head, his face soaked with your liquids, his lips swollen and glossy, his hair a tangled mess, but what stands out the most is the smirk on his face.

“i hate you.” you pant, dropping your head back onto the mattress.

michael laughs, crawling up your body and crashing his lips against yours. you groan, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“you made a mess.” michael pants, after he pulls away from your mouth.

“oh shut up.” you laugh, hitting him in his chest. “you’re so annoying, i was trying to be mad at you.” you pout.

“and are you still mad now, or do i need to tie you up with my belt this time?” you bite your lip at his words, knowing that he actually will tie you up, especially with the way you kept running from him.

you look down between your bodies, at your swollen cunt, and decide against it.

your pussy needs a break.

you cup his cheek, running your finger across his bottom lip. “how about you pay more attention to me next time and then ill forgive you just this once.” you giggle.

“you just want me all to yourself huh.” michael grins.

“exactly.” you laugh, kissing him and pulling him on top of you.

simple, straight forward, able to mask what he sincerely wants to say. you are determined to break that restraint.

your hasty as you unfasten his fly, sinking the silk 'till it rests just below his length. he's long, irritated, eager beneath his briefs.

you raise your hand and are left dumbfounded at the way your fingers shrink when they meet with his clothed dick.

a smirk teases his lips at your goggling before an expansive hand rests against the crown of your head. it’s like like he's trying to cradle you back into reality—reminding you of the job ahead.

"you gon' be okay to take it?"

each inch of his body is something that seems etched around his soul—his fingers are long, his thighs soft on the surface, yet tense under your fingers as you strip him of his boxers. you respond by taking him into your mouth. 

you want to slow your time with him. no, you need time to appreciate the man that stands above you.

in this light, though the scene appears gritty, jaafar jackson cleanses the space with his mere presence. 

his sigh as you lap at his beating length is symphonic. his head tips back like even the balminess of your tongue is too much. so, you lick again, and again, and cherish the salty beads of pre-cum that leak out of the pink slit.

"c'mon, yeah..." he urges, face finally looking to your figure below. his brows are pinched like he's fixed on your form, his lip bitten raw by pearly teeth. heat spreads through you as you watch his adams-apple dance with each lick. 

"need your mouth around me... been needing it." he's all whiney and sulky like he couldn't just push himself into your mouth with one thrust and you'd be crying in gratitude.

but you want to torment him, desperate beyond belief to watch his otherwise monotonous expression become drunk with desire. 

you give jaafar what he wants. your mouth envelopes his tip and you suck, tongue working around the tender head.

he weeps as a hand meets the wall behind your head, seeking balance as his unmoved facade wanes with your touch. 

"fuck! thas' it, jus' like that..." 

you inhale one last time before your lips move past the tip and aim for the crest that meets with his subtle snail-trail. 

jaafar's jaw hangs lose and he’s ready to howl—but as you take him, his voice exposed to the tightness of your throat, nothing escapes. he can only ogle at the way his dick disappears down what seems to be your inexhaustible throat. 

jaafar collects himself as you rise from base to tip, his trembling fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

he’s not new to this—not by a mile. but with the way you meld to him as though he’s made to bury himself inside, or the way a squeak trickles up your throat and judders against his dick, he's sure he's never felt anything like it—like you. 

it's engulfing in a way that has him fighting the urge to fuck into you and finish in your mouth just to watch you swallow his seed. then, he'd get hard again at the thought of it buried inside your tummy and fuck you against the sink just to make sure any sign of him on you stays. 

" jus' do that again for me, huh? take me aaaall the way down your throat." 

and you do exactly that. you swallow him inch by irresistible inch and dig your heel into your core when he lets out a muffled groan.

his hand finds camp on your crown as he smooths your hair down, dragging any vagrant pieces from your face. 

"look up here." he speaks through laboured breath. 

when you look up, eyes wide and glossy, makeup escaping from your lower lids, he throws his head back. jaafar has every urge to devour you—and somehow, there'd not be enough time.

how cruel of the earth to put you in a public bathroom during a timed ceremony if he could not care for your body the way it warrants. 

but you have no care for time. you want him to burst in your mouth and come with a cry—and you are more than okay to rock yourself back-and-fourth on your heel as long as you come with him. 

jaafar pauses his patting, looks down to you again, and watches in awe as your body shifts to-and-fro, begging for any type of friction. 

"i’m bein' so selfish, i know...i’m sorry, i can't help it... feels too good." he began, thumb finding an orphaned tear that’d dribbled down your cheek as you take him to the back of your throat.

"wan’ help you so bad... you can touch yourself, how about tha', huh?" his abs tense as you whine against him.

"make me feel better if you did. let yourself go as i stuff your mouth full, yeah?" he doesn't have to repeat himself as your hand jostles your dress up your thighs and your fingers find that syrupy spot between your legs. 

"feel better?" you nod against his length, breathing potholed as your nose fights for air. soon, that soft and somewhat tender hand on your head is tousled in your hair, guiding you with his rocking hips.

"so grateful your lettin’ me use your mouth—shit!—can't thank you enough." his words make it to your ears and shoot straight to your core, thighs clenching around your own fingers. 

but there was something missing. his hips stutter. 

jaafar, ever the gentlemen, wants to ask you questions, needs to know how your feeling—even now, on the floor of a public bathroom.

so, he paces his thrusts, watches your lipstick smear his dick in all kinds of pretty blushed shades, before you feel him twitching in your mouth. he pulls out with an aggrieved expression and takes his own dick in his palm, using your saliva to sluggishly pump himself.

"'wan’ hear you finish as i come in your mouth."

you groan through wavering breath, throat uncomfortably empty of him."you feelin' good down there? fuckin' your own fingers gon’ make you come?"

it’s impossible to respond as what feels to be a frenzied tide works its way into your crux. jaafar moves his free hand to your chin, forcing your focus from his dick to his eyes as he continues working himself. "words. need to hear 'em."

"y-yes! feel s' good..." 

"mhm, me too." 

he drinks in the sight of you kneeling before him—how your digits disappear beneath the pool of your dress, the muddied lipstick staining your chin toning perfectly with the colour on his length, the laboured breath escaping in all kinds of beautiful pulses. 

his dick throbs in his palm as the hand just on your chin tumbles to the wall.

jaafars unable to hold himself up. 

his entire gut threatens to stretch and pull 'till white spurts of come land on your mascara-clad eyelashes. 

but he waits. his hand halts completely as he edges his orgasm, followed by a string of slurred curses. even in lust, jaafar waits for you to finish before him, like he's opening a door for you or pulling out your chair in a restaurant. 

"wan' taste you again, j!" the view from above you has you keening. jaafar's eyes are wet, expansive, looking at you like if he watches the hand working at your slick with enough verve it'll turn into his. 

"no, no... wan’-" jaafar's cut short by his own whine, “wan’ keep listenin' to how wet you are for me."

you grant his wish. two fingers play at your entrance before sinking in. your quick to discover your rapid beat, working yourself open as the 'schlick schlick' of your pussy earns him another throaty cry. 

"fuck, wan’ give her all my attention."  you swear jaafar starts salivating as each words torn to shreds by his panting.

"close! i-i'm close!" your voice is the green light that has him swerving into desire. 

you eye the once stagnant wrist now shifting between his thighs. he's leaking, drool and pre-cum a delicious mix of lube for his fingers as they work at his base, thumb sliding across the irritated tip. 

"i know, pretty girl, me too." 

your mewling as your orgasm darkens your paper view, leaving only the sight of jaafars fucked-out expression ahead.

working for that very look—the bottom lip raw between his teeth, sweat a thin layer against his dark skin, suit in shambles around his collar and crotch—was worth every gag and groan. 

"you gon’ come with me? yeah?" 

you can only counter with a doleful nod before your orgasm is splitting you in two. your neck cranes backward, chest heaving, body shuddering with each final stroke inside your own devastatingly wet entrance. 

yet the thing that buries you in your end isn’t your own fingers—it’s the filth falling from jaafar's mouth as his climax creeps through the creases of his abs. 

'lookin' so fuckin' good.' 'makin' a goddamn mess on your hand.' 'so beautiful, even in this filthy place.' 

his voice is nowhere near you, yet the intimacy of his words makes them feel like they’re spoken against the crest of your neck, heating your already slick skin. 

"open up." jaafar rumbles, noting the visible haze that coats your eyes when you don’t answer. instead, he takes your jaw in his thumb and pointer finger and squeezes 'till it pops open for him.

"your gon' take this like I know you can." not even seconds pass before your mouth is coated in warm, salty bursts of come. you lap up every last drop.

jaafar hasn't even had the chance to caress or appreciate your soft skin, yet his seed is already varnishing the throat that's now molded to the earth-shattering size of him. 

it's all so filthy and foul, yet somehow, the boy you kneel below is too pure to possibly be a sin. 

you hope the next speech is just as boring as the first.

and your best friend? you feel the steady beat of his heart behind you as you subconsciously pull down the hem of your skirt. his breath hits the back of your neck in soft puffs. “wha’s the matter, pretty?” he asks when his large hands come in contact with your waist. “never seen that before?” 

you shake your head, the word “no” not completely leaving your soft mouth. you watch how the actress throws her head back in the pillows, and how she seems to enjoy it, even. especially when the man teases her entrance. 

come on, you know what sex is. you’ve read about it in your romance books, and it has always sounded like something sacred, romantic, precious. something profound and vulnerable. but seeing it like this— the hard thrusts the actor is giving the actress, the mess on the sheets, the loud moans and heavy grunts. the skin slapping. it seems so vulgar. 

your thighs tense together in a desperate attempt to lighten the arousal between your legs. your clit keeps pulsing under the cotton of your panties, and michael notices it too because all of a sudden his warm hand rests on the zipper of your denim skirt. 

“just, sit back for me, yeah?” your best friend suggests, slowly pushing up your top so that it rests over your stomach. he speaks into the soft skin of your neck, and just the feeling of michael’s mouth moving to close to you alone renders you crazy. “feels a little… awkward, that ache between your legs?”

you nod, “yeah, mike, how did y’know?” eyes fixated on the actress moaning out on screen. she gets louder and louder, her back arching in an impossibly round curve. damn, she must be made out of jelly for her to move like that. 

and michael completely ignores your question. “want me to make it better?”

“plea— please.”

the sound of your zipper being pulled down is obscene. michael moves his head over your shoulder, peering down to your bare stomach, the cute print on your panties peeking out. “cherries? cute.”

his fingers slide over your mound, over the cotton. over your pussy lips, pulling the material taut over you as he rubs your slit. your entrance shyly drips out arousal. “feel so dirty,” you admit, voice dropping quieter. “like ‘m doing something wrong, mike.”

“nothin’s wrong with you,” the slide of michael’s fingers over your clit, your hole begging for his fingers has your eyes rolling back into your skull. your head lolls back onto michael’s shoulder as you mewl like a cat every time his fingers push slightly into your fluttering hole through your panties. 

“just watch the screen—“ your eyes follow the television where the sex scene is playing out in bawldiness, you almost find it funny. “—and hump my hand, baby.”

his hand cups your cunt, the meaty palm of his hand almost scratching over your mound in the most delicious way as you keep spilling out transparent goo, the inside of your panties getting all gloopy and sticky. you feel wetness smear on the insides of your thighs as michael digs his fingers into the sensitive walls of your pussy. 

you roll your hips into michael’s open hand like a puppy in heat, tits bouncing with every wave. you’re lazing on michael’s body, both of you practically slumped on the sofa. michael’s hand in your skirt seems so vulgar. 

“that’s a good girl,” michael praises, his free hand sneaking its way under your shirt, palming your tits, one hand completely engulfing one boob. “usin’ your best friend for relief, huh?”

𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝑱𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒐𝒏 met the love of his life at eleven years old, outside The Sound Factory recording studio, West Hollywood, in 1970. The soon-to-be-declared King and Queen of Pop were child superstars, young prodigies in their craft, but with talent that forcibly thrust them into the spotlight at an age much too young. In such a threatening and anxiety-inducing environment, they found peace and solace within one another, quickly becoming the best of friends despite performing for an industry that denied them any sense of childhood freedom. They had no experience of such joy, aside from the glimpse they felt in each other’s presence.

Michael’s siblings would laugh and tease about the close relationship he had with the girl he regarded so dearly—a bond the brothers deemed too close to be anything but romantic. And despite how strongly you and Michael protested against such a supposedly nonsensical theory, time proved that they weren’t wrong. Those butterflies you’d had for your best friend throughout the seventies—the ones you’d always attributed to mere happiness and laughter—were not normal in the context of something intended to be platonic. You had spent years believing and insisting to others that Michael was just your best friend, and it hadn’t been too difficult to convince your confused nervous system of that assumption, even as much as your heart sometimes leapt up and down when you cuddled with him, how your voice would turn a few pitches softer when he’d enter the room. Those elements you hadn’t noticed prior to Michael’s love confession in ’78, and it was only in retrospect that you understood it all.

You’d spent your adolescence falling for other boys, distracted by the attention they gave you—meaningless, you later understood, only for the mere purpose of getting into your bed, or of owning the privilege to say that they had kissed or fucked the most beautiful girl of the moment. Although, as naive and young as you were, you couldn’t have been expected to recognise the red flags. Michael had tried to warn you, but he was always shy to over-do it, because he never wanted you to falsely assume that he was jealous. He was indeed jealous, but when it came to the men you engaged with, his key emotion and intention—even as a young teen—was the need to protect.

Of course, Michael had girls constantly running after him, always desperate for his attention. He was gorgeous, steady blossoming into a handsome young man, but he had severe issues with physical insecurity due to trauma inflicted by his father, so while he loved to charm and flirt with women, he often pushed them away whenever they tried to get closer. It also didn’t help that he couldn’t trust anybody; nobody except the beautiful girl that had been right in front of him the entire time. He had been in love with her since the day he first laid eyes on her, but he’d been too shy to admit so—and after all, she had always been too busy with the other boys, so why would she want him?

Yet, that was precisely the young man’s mistake. His best friend had spent the years of her adolescence misunderstanding what it was that her body truly yearned for, where she existed in a dysregulated, misaligned realm out of tune with her soul and her needs. She had been searching for quick hits of dopamine from men that couldn’t satisfy her, nor could they even mildly understand her, or care to. All along, her prince had been right by her side, silently hoping that one day she would feel the same as he did, without the knowledge that she had actually been in possession of such feelings for longer than he could’ve imagined. Unconscious repression had kept them hidden.

The pair closed the decade with an entrance into their new relationship together, navigating the beautifully strange and shy sensations that assisted one beginning to live romantically with their best friend—a shift that was made even more difficult by the domineering eyes of the worldwide media. America’s two most famous young popstars falling in love was a money-making headline for the journalists that already followed the pair around everywhere. Throughout their careers, they would go on to face several hurdles with chaotic ups and downs, breakups and makeups as their love progressed through the eighties, but nothing ever destroyed the partnership they cherished. It wasn’t possible that anything could have the power to, for there had never been a couple so deeply in love, even while in the face of so much dreadful intrusion and pain. Eternal was their sweet adoration, their bond forever tight as a heart clenched in devotion; destined to persist until death did they part.

𝄞 eras: jacksons ⋆ otw ⋆ thriller ⋆ bad ♥︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ༄˖°. 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛 𝓁𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 ‘𝟕𝟖, 𝓂𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 ‘𝟖𝟏 (𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑑𝑠 — 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑛 ‘𝟖𝟐٫ 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑎𝑢𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑛 ‘𝟖𝟔)

requests accepted for this au. ♡ the concept is one i yearn write an entire novel about, but i unfortunately don’t have the time! so, my lil daydreams will be expressed through one shots and drabbles!!

xoxo, 𝓳

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒:

The flashing lights were blinding, seeming to hit you much harder now that you had been apart from the chaos for a week. The click of the cameras snapped into your eardrums, the scent of cigarette smoke filling your nostrils as you made your way through the swamped street. Michael was tugging you as close as he could, gripping your jewel-clad hand, before deciding to instead rest his arm around your waist securely.

Shouts of your name and your husband's were hurled at you from men you couldn't even see the faces of, but you were used to this. Sure, a week of pure tranquil bliss had meant that a return to such invasive chaos had shocked your system, but it was a system well-attuned to that chaos all the same.

The part you disliked was having to somehow angle yourself toward every camera in order for each one of the paparazzi to get what they wanted. Whenever you and Michael were anywhere other than a dedicated public appearance, you refused to glance at even one camera—because you'd die on the hill that they had not a single right to follow you around outside of events, given that there were more than enough public appearances for them to catch you at. But on nights like these, you understood it was best to be graceful, to give them a show-stopping smile, to display your sexy elegance with confidence, no matter how tired you felt inside.

Tonight you were consumed by exhaustion due to jet lag, but primarily, your body was engaged with a bone-deep enervation; an urgency to be away from the excessive, overwhelming buzz of media attention, and instead to be where you belonged—at home with your husband, in the master bedroom of your LA mansion.

Los Angeles could be real hell out amongst the ruthless men behind the cameras, but in your home with Michael, the outside world never mattered. Last week, staying in an exclusive 1,400-acre private island in Saint Vincent, you caught a glimpse of what life could be if that indoor bliss could meet an outdoor normality, a silence that would give the two of you complete serenity. Since you were teens, it seemed there was nowhere on earth that you wouldn't be recognised—although you knew that assumption was hyperbolic. You and Michael never had an inflated ego that assumed you were the greatest stars on earth; rather, it was just difficult to believe that there was a location in which you wouldn't be spotted, because everywhere you went you risked getting mobbed.

So, that was why you'd both chosen the island of Mustique as your destination to take a well-deserved break, while Michael’s mother Katherine took care of your three children at Hayvenhurst for the duration. You always scheduled your careers around each other’s so that you could take turns looking after the kids if you couldn’t both be with them at once, refusing to rely primarily on a nanny, but sometimes you’d leave them to Katherine or other family members when you really craved a vacation.

You'd stayed in a private oceanfront cottage, tucked away among lush tropical gardens draped in bougainvillea, right beside the edge of a small crescent beach. Unbelievably, your exact location was cut off from absolutely everybody. It had been just the two of you, and for once it felt like you were semi-reliving your honeymoon in '81. You spent your stay swimming, messing around, singing, skinny-dipping, making sweet love at all hours of the day... Never had you both felt such freedom before. Unfortunately Michael couldn’t be out too long in direct sunlight, due to his lupus and vitiligo, so the hottest hours of the day were spent with him ploughing you into the mattress—or sometimes in the shade of a tree—before you’d enjoy evening walks and night swims later on. It was all so serene.

But tonight you were back to reality, and the extent of it swarmed around you the moment you'd stepped off your private jet, before the gala had even started.

Now, while you dealt with the exhausted ache running through your limbs and your bloodstream—the ache that told you how desperately you needed to catch up on sleep—another kind of ache ran deeper, pressing at you more insistently. Earlier, sitting by each other's sides at the ceremony, Michael's hand had traced circles up and down your inner thigh beneath the table, and with a few whispered lines back and forth you'd clarified together that tonight you wished to make love until the break of dawn. The kids would still be at Hayvenhurst until tomorrow morning, so you had all the privileges of an empty house. And you’d probably doze off after the first two rounds, because even one earth-shattering orgasm from Michael could send you to sleep as quickly as a lullaby could to a newborn, but the arousal coursing through your veins proved that at least the intention to go at it all night was accurate.

That was all you could think about as you stepped through the crowd, pressed against your lover's side, stiletto heels hitting the sidewalk. You were wearing a metallic olive-gold mini dress, and Michael had intentionally coordinated, where he sported a black suit embroidered with a thin pattern the same shade as your olive. His classic aviators sat on the bridge of his nose, shielding his pretty eyes from the crowd, saving the seraphic sight for only one lady later that night.

Michael was smiling at everybody—a smile much more genuine than yours, although you knew he hated this as much as you did. His approach when it came to addressing paparazzi was that as long as they weren't pushing and shoving, hurling abuse, or getting too close, he had no particular issue. He understood that it was their job, and while he'd rather his public life not have to be this way, reality ensured that unfortunately, there was no other option. Since childhood, you had both lived this anarchic, tumultuous lifestyle together, but it never felt any less oppressive. Michael was just better at staying calm. Moreover, he believed that one had to go through distress and bother to truly experience gratitude for the good; and upon knowing exactly what he would be getting up to with his girl after arriving home, he identified tonight as a great example of that philosophy.

Except, all of that optimism dissipated very suddenly, when a moment occurred that woke up the primal instincts belonging to the man with the soft demeanour and the sweet smile. Because just as you had almost been sure to declare yourself done with the seemingly-never-ending street of paparazzi, you felt a sudden, aggressive squeeze on your behind, followed by a sharp smack.

Immediately, you felt dizzy, the assault shocking your sensory apparatus and inducing a feeling of nausea. It had been a long time since something like this had happened to you—whereby it used to happen a lot in the early days of your career, a young woman constantly the object of disgusting men loving to take advantage—and sustaining that safety streak since had been largely thanks to Michael, who never let go of you wherever you went. When you went out alone, he always made sure you had not only your bodyguard close by, but his too.

A man shouted from somewhere behind you, his tone playful, but in the deliberately dominant, hostile manner that demanded the subjected woman to turn and give him what he wanted. "Hey, honey, why aren't you lookin' at us? We all know you ain’t shy!"

You half-wanted to turn, but you truly thought you were about to throw up, and that the sight of his sneering face might actually trigger regurgitation. At the assault and at the sound of his voice, you grabbed Michael's hand tighter. He felt the squeeze just as he'd registered what the man behind you had said, and immediately he bit the inside of his cheek, jaw flaring. Men often did call out at you that way, and he hated that he had to let it slide for the sake of his positive image. His hold on your waist tightened, and he considered retorting, but the reason he didn't lash out instantly was that he had no idea what the man had done to you physically.

"Almost there now, baby," he leaned over to whisper in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek. The press were still shouting the same repetitive intrusive questions that they'd started with upon your exit from the event, therefore it was no wonder that amidst the noise Michael hadn't noticed the vile action that had taken place just moments prior.

Beneath the chaos, you heard a sweet lady's voice—unfamiliar, but it was a nice break from the masculine aggression surrounding you. "Hey, are you okay?! I saw that man touch your—"

And then you heard a teenage girl beside her ask the same thing—although you hadn't a clue how they'd managed to get past all those domineering men.

You faked a smile to respond to their concern, unable to do anything other than conceal your anxiety, because Michael always kept you so protected that in a moment like this you felt incredibly submissive and unable to fight back with anything—not even words. You couldn't fault your husband for being so protective, but it just meant that naturally your nervous system couldn't deal very well with the shock whenever something did happen.

And now, Michael heard exactly what the lady said, as well as what the young girl had reiterated beside her. His heart skipped a beat.

"What are they talkin' about, angel?"

His words were muffled beside you—not in reality, but through your perception, because all you could focus on was how you were still somehow not in sight of Bill's limo yet, and the man who'd groped you was coming closer again.

"Honey," Michael said, his tone raised louder, arm still settled as an anchor around your waist, slender fingers continuing to ground you as much as they could in such an awful moment as this.

You looked at him, and a tear threatened to spill. But even without the liquid's exit from your orbs, Michael knew something was seriously wrong. The emotion hidden behind his aviators was threatening to be veiled no more.

"Did he touch you?" he asked into your ear, anger already lacing through his words because he could already surmise that his assumption was correct.

You bit your lip and nodded, taking a deep breath before looking ahead again, and smiling for a few more photos. God, you hated these people.

Michael kissed your cheek, then cupped your jaw to bring your attention back to him, and again he murmured in your ear. "Which one, baby?"

"I don't know, Mikey, I didn't turn back."

More shouts filled the limited space around you; from ahead, from the sides, and behind. "Sweetheart, we need one more! Give us your best!"

You were no longer in the mood for even the slightest fake smile. You were an object for their own economic and authoritative benefit, where they lived on the assumption that you'd always give them whatever they asked. It bothered you extremely that you had to play into it, and there had been enough obligation on your part for one night. So, now you looked only at Michael, and in your peripheral you finally caught sight of the limo you'd soon take refuge in.

As you focused on your husband, you noticed he was looking around, his expression largely unclear with the obscurity of his eyes, but he looked like he meant business. You realised that he must have been looking for the man who'd assaulted you, while Bill was tapping him on the shoulder incessantly, trying to get his attention about something. In all the disarray, you'd forgotten Michael's bodyguard was even there. All you’d been thinking about was his vehicle you yearned to be whisked away in.

But Michael waved him off. Surely he wouldn’t be able to find the exact man given the fact that neither of you had seen who it was, but what he did encounter was a sleazy guy in a suit, sneering at the two of you as he snapped more pictures. Indeed, it had been him—so very amused by how he'd managed to irk Michael to the point that he'd turned to face his camera head-on, achieving the most valuable shot of them all.

Yet, the man couldn't have predicted what came next of the calm-mannered celebrity before him.

"Hey, what the fuck do you think you're doin'?" Michael shouted, jaw held even tighter than the hold he had on you. "It was you, huh?"

You took another deep, shaky breath. Michael hardly ever got like this, and when you were the focus point of such anger, it was hard to provoke him to snap out of it. For a man that dealt with so much suffering constantly, in all areas of life, it was a surprise that his only weakness was you. The world had never even seen Michael Jackson so much as curse.

"Aw, what was me, Jacko?"

That really got him. Immediately Michael lunged, taking the bait even though he always knew that was exactly what they wanted.

"Michael," Bill warned gravely, taking sharp hold of his wrist to bring him back to earth. Luckily, he'd intervened before the man had been on the receiving end of Michael's fist, or before the camera had been smashed into pieces.

"Don't touch my wife ever again, I swear." Michael's voice had dropped several tones, now partially removed from his soft-spoken nature as he snapped at the man before him, ditching the sweet cadence for one of more assertion and depth. "She's not a piece of meat."

"Sure looks like it, though, right?" The guy continued to snarl, trying to provoke him even more, but while Michael opened his mouth to give in yet again, Bill thrusted him forward with a necessary force.

"You really can't be doing that, you know, Mike," he murmured into his ear.

"Michael," you gasped, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles to try to ground yourself. "I was fine, baby, you didn't need to say anything."

He shook his head. "No, I did need to. Can't let 'em think they can walk all over us, angel. C'mon, we're here now."

Finally, you'd reached the shiny black stretch limousine. Bill opened the door for the two of you, and you both slid into the backseat, Michael ushering for you to go first. Bill then checked on you to make sure you were alright, and ensured to investigate the situation tomorrow.

"Baby, why aren't the windows dimmed?" you asked as you settled into your seat. The cameras were now closing in on the car, housing every inch of the reflective space, and you felt suffocated, still reeling from the effects of what had happened. Not only had you been sexually assaulted, but Michael would be getting even more abuse than usual now, due to his 'inappropriate' response. You tried not to think about it, to calm down instead.

"I don't know, honey," Michael replied softly, his gentle tone having returned so seamlessly. "But we'll pass 'em all soon. C'mere—on my lap, angel."

Without needing to be told twice, you scooted over to your husband, sitting sideways on him, and eagerly snuggling into his warm chest. The beautiful, intimately familiar scent of Bal à Versailles wreathed through your senses, the notes of patchouli, incense and sandalwood intwining with vanilla-musk acting as a literal sedative for your overwhelm and anxiety.

"Hey, mama," Michael whispered, wrapping his arms tight around your waist and rocking you gently in his hold as you clung to him. "You're okay now, beautiful. Safe w'me..."

"Thank you, my love." You kissed a sliver of skin where the suit jacket slightly revealed his chest. "I hate how they treat me like a fucking object."

"I know," he murmured, smothering little kisses all over your face. "There was no way I was gonna let 'm get away with that. You tell me if anything ever happens again, alright? If anyone touches you in any way, talk to me about it, baby."

"Mhm," you hummed into his chest, not wanting to think about the possibility of that sort of thing happening again, even though you knew you were the prime prey for those disgusting men adjacent to the industry, or within it.

"Pretty dove," Michael muttered against the crown of your head, now holding up your chin with two fingers. Then he returned to kissing your warm forehead, warm from the heat of the gala and the stress of the attack. He remembered that you'd both intended to have a night of lovemaking, but now he expected that you were no longer interested, given that you'd just been through sexual violation.

"Y'not in the mood no more, princess? When we get back, we can just go to sleep. Whatever y' want..." He smiled reassuringly, making certain that you understood he didn't at all expect sex from you tonight.

But you were still interested in the plans you'd made. The only way to take your mind off the revolting invasiveness was to replace the memory of that man's touch with the contemporary presence of your own man's sweet, adoring touch instead.

"No, I need a distraction, honey. Need you..." you whispered quietly, and enveloped your fingers in his. As if on instinct, Michael brought your hand up to his lips and warmed the knuckles with his kiss.

"Alright mama, y'just tell me how y'want it. Always want my girl comfortable."

"I'm never uncomfortable with you, Mikey," you smiled, curling up into him even closer. "I love you," you spoke against the fabric of his suit, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"We couldn't ever live without each other," Michael said sincerely, with a small smile as he kissed your nose now. His lips couldn't seem to leave you alone, and you hadn't even made it into the house yet, let alone the bedroom.

The car suddenly dragged over a speed bump, and it triggered your body to knock against him a little. Michael's hand instantly moved to cradle your head, with his arm tightening its grip on you, smoothing his free hand over your bare thigh beneath your mini dress.

"I need to forget about that disgusting freak's hand," you sighed.

Michael rubbed with a little more pressure over your ass and your thigh, up and down to soothe. The environment in the limo was placid, gentle-natured, a sharp distinction from what had just passed.

"This okay?" Michael whispered, referring to the reassuring movement of his fingers on your leg as he rested his head against yours. "No one touches my wife and gets away with it. Such a goddess, baby... Those shitheads can't keep their hands to themselves..."

"Mm, can't wait to be home, Mikey..." You shuffled a little on his lap, heart fluttering at how protective he was over you. He'd been this way since you were both blossoming into adolescence and a guy at school had taken you out for your first date. Michael did not play when it came to you. That was evident even in the way he elicited curse words solely when in defence of you.

Bored of being unable to see his face in the position you were in, you now moved to straddle his hips. Without asking, you pushed his dark sunglasses up onto his head, because even though he did look so sexy in the aviators, you disliked how they covered his beautiful eyes. "Angel face, lemme see you..."

Michael chuckled, his cheeks flushing a little as you pecked his nose, leaning forward to give him a butterfly kiss between your lashes and his. He made a soft noise of appreciation, an adorable sound that made you giggle, and within seconds you'd entered a makeout session, rocking your hips against his in the backseat.

While your tongues wrestled, you felt his bulge harden beneath his slacks, which only provoked you to writhe over him further. The sweet sound of your moans harmonised together against the wet smack of your mouths, and Michael's minty breath was seriously addictive.

But in your arousal-induced desperation, you'd forgotten all about Bill in the driver's seat.

"Hey, you two be careful back there," he said, startling both of you into finally dragging your faces from each other. "And don't go any further than that, please. For my sake."

You laughed against each other's lips. It was safe to say that unfortunately for Bill, he had seen way too much intimacy from you and Michael. The problem was that you were so obsessed with each other that you often forgot there were other people nearby. That was what always happened every time you performed onstage together too, although sexual chemistry in that context was often encouraged.

You turned your head back to respond with a grin. "We'll be good."

Then you were cupping Michael's cheek and kissing him again, but softly and more PG-friendly this time, after Bill's humorous reminder. Michael's grip around your waist was so tight, ensuring you didn't fall off his lap at any other speed bumps.

You leaned forward to rest your chin on his shoulder, no longer facing him but loving the feel of how his head now rested in the crook of your neck.

"My pretty baby... honeypie..." He whispered syrupy words over your chest, into your cocoa-scented skin. Your hands tangled in his shoulder-length curls, scratching lightly at his scalp, careful with his scarring in mind.

"Sweet angel..." you sighed into the air. "Can't wait to be home..."

Michael only continued to kiss at your neck and collarbone, toying with the hem of your dress where your cleavage was appealingly displayed.

Bill rolled his eyes with a knowing sigh.

"Mikey, he can see us, y'know," you giggled.

"I know, and I'll wait," Michael groaned. "But I just wanna have y' all to myself, mama—right now... Y' curves are killin' me..."

You kissed the top of his head and beamed at his words, stomach fluttering at how he loved on you, but you refused to tease any further until you were home.

"Y'sure you're okay for sex, darlin'?" Michael asked quietly. "I don't wanna press y' or anythin'."

"No, Mikey, don't worry, I told you—I just need to forget about what happened."

"Yeah, well, I'm not gonna forget about it. Tomorrow mornin' 'm gettin' my entourage to go over those tapes and the pictures, and we're findin' out the name of the man who did that to you. It won't be hard, considerin' they took about a million photos out there.”

"Thank you, baby," you sighed into his curls, but shuffling on his lap accidentally, and therefore eliciting a groan from his throat.

"You alright there?" you laughed, subtly rocking again—even though you knew you shouldn't.

"I'm great, honey." Michael smirked against your chest, biting his lip, before starting to kiss and suck up and down your neck again. "Gonna take such good care of my lady... soon as we get into our bedroom…”

You hummed airily.

"How'd y'want it, mama? 's your night, tell me..."

In truth, it was always your night where Michael was concerned. Everything he did was with you in mind.

You laughed in his ear. "Can't decide if I want it hard 'n fast or slow 'n deep."

"Well, how about we mix the two together, huh?" He gripped your asscheek with one hand, the other still tight on your waist.

You gasped, reaching your arm down immediately to smack his hand away. "Michael!" Bill's comment really hadn't deterred him at all.

He gently pushed your head backward so that you were now facing him as he looked up at you. "Dollface!" he teased.

You rolled your eyes, unable to do anything but smile. And then swiftly, Michael repositioned you back to resting sideways across his lap, curled into him. You yelped happily, purring against his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck like a koala. "Mikey..."

His hands continued to caress all over you, doting on every inch of your body that he could reach. One hand tugged softly at where your dress kept riding up your thighs. You felt so safe in his arms, he your anchor.

Finally, Bill pulled up at your mansion. "Alright, we're here now, lovebirds."

"Yay," you giggled against Michael, trying to prevent a yawn from slipping out, because then he'd instruct you to sleep instead. You only half-managed to prevent it, but he didn't notice, too busy angling your figure, preparing to bring you inside in a bridal carry.

It always felt heavenly when he carried you, for it was so easy to get lost in his touch, that touch which inherently possessed the safety he provided just for you.

"Thanks, Bill! G’night!" Michael called back as he headed to the front door, swaying your pretty body in his arms while you smiled.

"Yeah, bye, Bill!" you sung too, trying to crane your neck to see him, but you were nestled perfectly into Michael's chest.

You had almost forgotten entirely about what happened earlier, but of course the weight of the assault still lingered in your mind, and you knew that tonight Michael would do his utmost to truly distract you. He also wouldn't stop at mere distraction—he had to ensure you felt entirely comfortable, that you wouldn't be going to sleep that night with any anxiety.

Entering the door and into the lounge, Michael set you down on the floor, watching as you bent over for him, pretending to look for a piece of jewellery. You laughed, syrupy sweet, arching your back as you hiked your dress up to your hips, revealing a lace black thong.

Michael stood there stunned, lip between his teeth, wondering if he should just take you then and there. He loved to have sex while standing, and you looked so fucking pretty in your tight mini that had you half-naked now.

"Come get me, baby," you grinned, slowly pulling down the straps from your shoulders so that they hung loosely. "Don't just stop and stare."

Michael didn't wait a moment more to step forward. He stood behind you, his aching cock pressed up against your ass through his slacks, hands squeezing the supple skin of your lower curves.

"Want me to come get ya, huh?"

"Mmhmm," you whined, even more in the mood now. You reached one hand back to stroke his clothed shaft, gripping sensually. "Mikey, you're so hard for me..."

"Yeah, can you blame me, sweetheart?"

"Nope," you laughed, knowing exactly how sexy you were—especially in that dress. The colour complimented you so much, and the tightness of the fabric accentuated every perfect feature of your body.

You spun around, and Michael hooked his arms beneath your thighs, picking you up again so that your arms and legs wrapped around his strong physique. You didn't even get a chance to look at each other properly before your lips collided, amalgamating into a messy smash of saliva, tongues dancing. You whined in his mouth as he groaned into yours, now rushing up the staircase with you held tightly against the warmth of him.

You kicked your heels off while in his arms, the sound a loud clatter against the marble, and it was a good thing none of his entourage were here tonight, like they were whenever you stayed in hotels. It was always a loud night between the two of you, and during your vacation you hadn't had anyone to disturb. Now life was back to normal, and when your husband would begin the Bad world tour next week, unfortunately working for Michael Jackson meant hearing every devoted noise of passion as he made love to his wife each night they had the privilege of being together. Your careers and lives as parents meant that sometimes weeks or months would go by where you couldn't achieve a perfect night, so when you did get an opportunity, you used the hell out of it.

The master bedroom sprawled across nearly half a floor, more private penthouse than sleeping quarters. Cream-coloured marble gleamed beneath pools of warm lamplight, combining with the gold accents scattered through the room. A massive platform bed dominated the centre, draped in ivory silk sheets and crowned by a towering padded headboard upholstered in champagne suede. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around one side of the suite, exposing a glittering ocean of stars beyond.

Michael dropped you onto the bed with desperate force, though still with a gentleness somehow. You turned on all fours and arched your back for him, displaying the divine curves of your ass, olive-gold material decorating your torso and ending at your hips. You moaned softly as you arched, intending to tease.

"Aw, honey... You wan' it like this, yeah?" Michael asked, assuming you were initiating backshots.

You shook your head. "No, I'm just teasing ya, Mikey... Want you on top of me."

So you crawled up to the top of the huge bed, tugging down your panties, the soaked fabric almost fully clinging to your puffy folds. With a smirk, you threw the panties in his direction, where he now kneeled in front of you, and immediately they went in the pocket of his slacks.

"Such a perv, baby," you teased, spreading your legs wide and reaching down to rub your aching clit. Your breasts were literally spilling out of your tiny dress, the material virtually useless now, but you knew Michael enjoyed it when you looked as slutty as possible. He had countless polaroids and tapes of you half-naked, cleavage accentuated, head thrown back in pleasure—in some ways it aroused him more than seeing you fully nude.

Michael shook his head with a chuckle, in disbelief at how lucky he was to have you. And then before you knew it, he was settled between your legs, arms hooked around your thighs as he gazed at his pretty prize.

"Aw, mama..." he moaned, prodding at your entrance with his thumb, before beginning to rub it up and down your dripping slit. "Perfect pussy, baby. All for me, no one else..."

"Need your mouth, handsome," you sighed, one hand moving to wreathe your fingers through his thick hair as you shut your eyes, ready to embrace the pleasure.

"Be patient, angel," Michael whispered against your skin, before pressing his tongue flat against your cunt, dragging it upward in one clean swipe.

"Oh—"

"Yeah, I know, baby love, I know…” He continued to lap at your centre, smothering your pussy in his licks and kisses as he moaned and grunted.

“Michael—fingers, please—fuck, oh—” you gasped and moaned as you writhed over the sheets, the wetness of his tongue providing you the most perfect sensation.

The wet squelching sounds that filled the large room were filthy, while he ate you like a man starved. And then he slipped in two fingers, slowly, and your eyes clamped shut, toes curling as he hit your spot with ease. Onstage you’d watch from the sidelines as he would make thrusting motions with his fingers, and you knew it was how he felt the music, but it never failed to make you insanely horny. And what made things even better was that you knew how much those sort of movements had girls all over the world going crazy, while really their idol only had eyes for you. It was only you who would experience the talent of those beautiful hands.

“Yeah, like this, mama?” Michael murmured against your clit as he sucked the sensitive nerves into his passionate mouth, doing so while continuing to hit your spot with every thrust of his two digits.

“Mhm, just like that, baby…” you sighed, gripping the strands of his curls but again being careful not to do so over where he’d been scarred. “Oh, I love you, honey…”

“I love y’ too, baby girl… my beautiful wife,” he said into your folds, licking side to side against the soft flesh, fingers plunging into your walls. Michael was so incredibly talented in the bedroom—no man could possibly compare. Every little action of his was perfection. Oh, how grateful you were to have the privilege of calling him your husband.

It wasn’t long before you reached your first orgasm, followed by Michael kissing all over your thighs, continuing to press suctioned licks to your cunt as you came down from your high. Michael adored foreplay—he’d happily live in it forever, but at the same time he yearned to be inside you, to feel your tight walls squeeze and overwhelm his thick cock that was pulsing with need. He had incredible stamina, so you could go all night whenever you wished.

After viewing the beautiful sight of your man shedding his clothes, he pushed into you so slowly, caging your body with his to make you feel his utmost protection. One hand cradled your face, the warmth adding to the stimulation of down below, and the other hand kneaded your breast that he pulled out of your dress as he began to thrust.

“Baby, you’re so big—” you whined, always finding it difficult to initially adjust to the stretch of his girth, and the fat head of his cock pressing insistently within you.

“I know, pretty angel, but you’re takin’ me so well, like y’always do,” Michael whispered, rubbing one thumb over your cheek and his other over your extremely sensitive nipple, making you cry out. “Yeah, that feels good, sweet girl?”

“So good, baby…”

Michael’s pretty curls were splayed everywhere now, sexy strands dipping into his eyes and adorning the side of his face. You cupped his cheek too, staring into his eyes as he delivered the most passionate, achingly slow thrusts.

“Wanna give it to y’ slow 'n deep tonight, mama, is that okay? Need t’ make love to my baby all night… Don’t wanna stop ‘til the sun comes up…”

“Mhm, yes Mikey, don’t stop—this is perfect, baby…” You locked your legs around his torso, attempting to provoke his cock to nudge deeper into your womb.

“Don’t stop ‘til you get enough,” he laughed, and you smacked his arm playfully, a giggle protruding from your throat with another moan.

“Oh, you’d never get enough.”

“No way,” he shook his head with a grin, before leaning his head onto yours, gazing deeply into your eyes. “Y’so beautiful, my angel girl… Love feelin’ y’ squeeze me.”

Each line was punctuated with a deep thrust, the perfect slow strokes sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head each time he delivered another.

“Mm, thank you for tonight, baby,” you murmured, kissing his nose. His hips continued to snap into you, pounding your sweet spot with every slow drag. “Y’take such good care of me.”

“Always, princess,” he hummed under his breath, before speaking with clear sincerity, never letting up the sensual thrust of his hips. “You’re my lady. My precious goddess—you’re the most special thing that exists in my life.”

“Oh, angel…” you cried out, feeling your second orgasm approaching already. “Faster, please, baby…”

So Michael sped up, hitting your core with slightly more aggression now, born of the overwhelming emotions of passion felt within. Accompanying these faster strokes, he continued to talk to you.

“You’re always safe w’me, babydoll. Always in my arms, in our bed at the end of the night…”

You gripped at his shoulders, switching between that and raking your nails along the plane of his upper back.

“Grabbing at me like an animal, honey… Feels that good, huh?”

You nodded, but he didn’t see because his head was pressed against yours.

“Hm? Tell me, pretty baby.”

“Can’t—Mikey, 'm gonna—nnghh—cum—” you whined loudly, literally unable to form a coherent sentence because the pleasure was just too much.

Michael chuckled in your ear, a deep, warm sound, and it almost sent you over the edge. “Love makin’ you cum, mama, wanna do it over and over again… Put all my babies in you…”

“Angelface,” you smiled amidst another throaty moan.

“Don’t call me that,” he giggled shyly, trying to stay in control as his hips thrusted even harder. “You’re the one who came from heaven, honey.”

“Shh, Mikey, maybe we came down together,” you whispered, caressing the soft skin of his cheek. “Whatever helps you to listen to me. Mm—thank you for always taking care of me… Oh, baby, I’m gonna—”

“That’s alright, princess,” Michael cooed in your ear, speeding up his pace to meet what you craved. “I’ll get ya there. Oh, mama, y’so tight, 'm not gonna last much longer…”

And then your climax hit you, overwhelmingly so.

“Michael, oh!”

It was too much all at once—his honeyed voice, each deep thrust of his cock, his hand cradling your face and your breasts… The coil in your abdomen came undone, pleasure coursing through your veins as you shuddered through your orgasm.

“Shhh, that’s it…” Michael talked you through it, pounding you as hard as ever now. He’d ended up giving it to you both slow and fast as he’d intended to earlier, and it was the most perfect feeling. No matter the pace, Michael gave you his all.

“Oh, sweetheart, fuck, 'm gonna cu—oh—”

Another thing about your man was that he was incredibly vocal, exactly as he was onstage. In fact, the performance of his hips mirrored his onstage skill too, so in all respects he was a true performer in the bedroom.

As he writhed through his orgasm, torso pressed to yours, your bloodstream seemed to be infused with ecstasy. Those pretty sounds that spilled from his lips, the sweat from his forehead dripping into your hair, the erratic thrusts as he came down, the feel of his hot seed shooting in messy spurts directly into your womb… Sex with your husband had to be the single most beautiful thing on earth.

You weren’t even on the pill currently, but that didn’t matter, because since the seventies Michael had wanted eighteen children, and while that number was certifiably insane, you would give him as many as your body could handle, once your careers mellowed. He was never forceful about breeding you—he just adored you so much and loved to watch you carry and bear his kids. And of course, he was also insanely enamoured by the feeling and the sight of filling you up with his fertility. He loved to see your pretty cunt dripping with his pearly-white cum.

That same desire was how you’d ended up with three, despite being in the busiest decade of your lives. And if the two of you hadn’t been world-famous popstars, you truly would’ve had an entire football team of kids by now. Three was a tiny number compared to what Michael dreamed of, but it was all you could manage given that you were both in the prime of your careers.

Despite how confident Michael was sexually, he always grew so shy afterward, burying his head into your neck and interlacing his fingers with yours if they weren’t already; all the while refusing to look at you. Although, he couldn’t have been that modest, because his softening cock still filled you to the brim.

You stroked his hair soothingly, breathing in his gorgeous scent as he pressed kisses all over your neck and the side of your face.

When he lifted his head to kiss your earlobe, you squeezed his cheeks in one hand and dragged his face to yours. “Look at me, handsome. Stop hiding away like you’re shy or somethin’. You always do this.”

Michael flushed, grinning bashfully. “Wha’s that perfume you got on, baby?”

“It’s Poison,” you giggled. “By Dior.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath and settling a little downward to lay into your neck and chest, inhaling the rich scent of plum, tuberose and spice clinging to the dress that you were still scarcely clad in, below where your breasts had been dragged out of the fabric by him earlier.

“Suits y’, honey. Just magical…” His voice trailed off as he hummed the words into your skin, his usual post-sex whimsicality breaking through the persona he reserved for the stage and the bedroom. “Y’wanna watch some cartoons?”

“Of course, baby,” you chuckled, kissing his pretty head. His stamina was amazing, but there were often times like tonight where he grew so sleepy and soft after lovemaking, especially when he was worn out to begin with. And you really needed to catch up on sleep—you both did—but if your sweetheart wanted to stay up watching cartoons after giving you two orgasms in a row, you would accompany him happily.

Now he smiled with glee, nipping at your neck and your breasts. “Not done yet though, my love… Still need t’ make love t’ you some more… 'til dawn breaks through these windows…”

Speaking of those floor-to-ceiling windows, if anyone had been looking, they’d have seen pretty much everything. It was lucky you lived in a secluded area in Beverly Hills, but that still didn’t stop you from risking becoming accidental exhibitionists.

“Mikey, I love you, pretty boy…”

You knew how much he cherished being spoken to in that way when he was at his softest, essentially asking to be babied in your arms. Earlier he had been the dominant one, but moments of beautiful vulnerability like these were a huge part of your relationship too. Not only did Michael crave the feeling of being cared for so gently, but you thoroughly believed it was what he deserved.

He suffered through so much, never experiencing any real peace when not with you—and even with you sometimes the outside world made it difficult—so in your quietest alone time you made sure that boy felt so loved. Of course you would stay up until dawn with him to watch cartoons and make love, because you knew that even while he wouldn’t burden you by admitting so, he struggled terribly with sleep and suffered with chronic stress—especially as tour was about to begin again.

“You want me to put on Mickey or somethin’?” you asked him, combing your manicured nails through his mass of curls.

“Yeah,” he hummed. “Uh, the Disney LaserDisc. Mickey and the Beanstalk.”

You laughed quietly, cradling his soft, defined jaw. “You’re asking me to go over there and turn on a Disney cartoon while I’m dressed like a slut? Honey, y’haven’t even pulled out of me yet.”

“You’re not a slut—don’t call yourself that,” Michael murmured against one of your breasts.

“I didn’t say I was one. I said I’m dressed like one,” you corrected playfully, scratching lightly up and down his bare back.

A few moments of silence passed, and you thought Michael might’ve dozed off, but no—he was still wide awake, enjoying the innate peace exuding from your body.

“Michael.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna pull out, or…?”

“I thought y’liked me to stay like this,” he muttered drowsily, so adorable pressed into your chest.

“I do, baby. But you’re asking me to turn on a cartoon and I can’t exactly do that from here.”

“Okay, whatever. Forget Mickey, 'm stayin’ just like this…”

You chuckled, sighing in content. He was all over you, body caging yours; genitalia intwined, cum drilled deep and seeping out onto the sheets in slow drops. You’d love another round, but if your beautiful boy could fall asleep on you right here, completely merged with you, you’d feel more glad than ever. All you could do now was attempt to send him off to sleep, cuddling him so close and whispering sweet words the way he always did to you. That’s what made your marriage work so well, even in the face of the inevitable setbacks—because you each knew when the other needed to be loved on, and you also knew exactly what was necessary to fulfil such a need. The last two hours had been the most admirable example of that dynamic.

hiii! this is my first michael fic within my series. feedback is appreciated, mwah ♥︎

Living in “Normal People Valley” has always been very boring and ordinary. Life here has always made you feel like an extra in an old black and white film. 

It’s just been you and your father ever since mom left him 7 years ago. They had a little age gap and your mother just couldn't handle his judgemental and rude outlook on the world. So she waited until you were an adult to leave the house. She said “go to school, become something better than us and the people of this town, and then you can come move to the city with me if you’d like.” 

You were always the closest to her, especially being the only child in the house and your father being at work from 9-5. Then mom would work nights at the hospital an hour away to save up money to eventually leave the toxic household. 

At first it hurt but then you put yourself in her shoes and understood everything. You definitely felt her when she left because your father started having these angry outbursts and took it out on you. He wouldn’t hit you or anything ever but he would drink and lash out and say mean things. You don’t blame her for leaving at all.

Going to college three days a week was your solace and going to the library to study, reading books involving your major and even reading simple little fairytales. That was the real escape you had. With your parents never really being on the same page throughout your adolescence you yearned for a proper fairytale ending for yourself. 

Yes, those stories evolved as you grew older and older but the ending remained the same. All you wanted was for someone to sweep you off your feet, love and cherish you, and take you away from this stupid little town. 

You have fooled around with some boys in the past but they never gave you that feeling the princesses talked about in books or how your besties would talk to you about the guys they just met while talking to you on the phone. 

Today was a self-care day. You studied at a cafe, thrifted some new henleys and jeans for the fall season and some new books and old films. You got off the bus fifteen minutes ago and were a couple houses down from your own, it's 4:45 so your dad should be on his way home soon but as you walk more you notice his car is in the driveway already. “Weird…” You think to yourself. 

You take your keys out and unlock the door, drop your bags down and take your shoes off while locking the door. “Dad? I'm home, you got off early?” There’s shuffling coming from the kitchen so you walk over.

He was standing over the island and vigorously carving a big wooden stake. 

“Dad what the fuck?!” You run towards him while waving your arms around trying to get him out of the little trance he was in. “HELLLLOOOOOOO!”

He cursed under his breath and looked up at you, his beady eyes widening. “I was in the middle of somethin’ sweetheart,” his words slurring slightly.

You’re standing in front of him in absolute disbelief. “Are ya starring in a play or something? Why is there a huge wooden stake in the kitchen?! D-Did you even leave the house today?!” 

As you’re rambling on with more questions your father is washing wood dust off his hands by the sink. “Sit down, we need to have a talk,” completely ignoring any questions you’ve asked him. You sit down in one of the dining room chairs with a huff. 

“What is it this time dad?,” you say with a sigh. You kept thinking to yourself, “Oh he’s gonna blame you for something that happened during his campaign” or something along the lines of “I told ya, ya can’t call ya mom anymore.” Blah blah blah. That’s all it is these days. He sounded like a broken record.

Your dad sat down across from you with a tired sigh. “I needa ask ya somethin’ and ya need to tell the truth, ya hear?” You nodded slowly while giving a side eye.

“What do ya know about the guy who lives in the big spooky house at the edge of town?” He said with the most serious expression. You leaned back and gave it some thought. While buying groceries you’ve heard some of the moms saying their children have been playing near the huge home but nothing about the man who owns it… 

Since you graduated you started baking again, before college it was one of your favorite hobbies. Now since you’re home more, you bake a new recipe at least once a week you’ve been going door-door delivering sweets. Some of the kids tell you about the scary stories they tell when they play near the house at the edge of town but again never about the mystery man… Now you’re cursing yourself for being too lazy and not hand delivering cookies to the estate yourself. You could get some real answers to your own questions.

All in all though, you never really minded the creepy house. It was a wreck ever since you’ve lived here but it got fixed up by the time you were in your junior year of college. You admired the gothic architecture from afar, always too busy and very shy to go up close and examine it. It also felt very intrusive, like that’s someone’s home ya know?

“I haven’t heard anything about the man… why?” You lean forward. He looks around as if someone else could be listening but it’s just the two of you…

“He’s makin a bad impression on the youngins so… me and some othas are gonna march up there and make him leave.” He said again, with a straight face. You couldn’t help but scoff. God, he was so hyperfixated on mom leaving, so he took it out on you, started drinking, did some overtime at work, and now he’s obsessed with some guy that lives secluded from everybody else. Mind you, no one’s seen him except for the kids (maybe). 

“Dad thats fuckin ridiculous are you serious?” you said while standing up.  “Do you hear how crazy you sound? And who else is going to ‘march’ on over to someone’s house UNINVITED?” You continued to angrily ramble on while he pretended to listen. 

He stood up as well now and looked at me. “Kelly, Susie, Norman, Randall, Billy, Veronica and all their kids are comin and some others. We’re gonna meet up in townsquare in two days at 8 p.m. ya can come with us if ya care about the well bein of your home.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“Why are you gettin the children involved dad? This man hasn't done anythin wrong…” You started pacing back and forth. 

He leaned against the counter and sighed. “Ya just know when someone is gonna messup and the mothers are sayin their children won’t stop talkin’ about this guy, he calls himself the maestro. That just sounds like a freak that needs to be stopped. So be there or don’t I don’t care. Imma order takeout for dinner.” Then he just walked away without another word.

You put your head in your hands and just sighed. What is happening? It feels like today was the most you heard of this man and now everyone wants to interrupt his peace for… no reason whatsoever. 

It’s been hours since that conversation, you ate dinner, took a nice long shower, read some of your book and now you’re laid back in bed staring up at the ceiling. You couldn’t shake this odd feeling since that discussion with your father. The maestro… I wonder if the man really calls himself that or maybe if it's just to entertain the kids? You hope so. It was at that moment you realized you’re becoming just as obsessed as these other losers. But it isn't in the weird and borderline prejudiced way they are. It’s more of a fascination, you don’t even know what he looks like but you didn’t care you felt this invisible pull towards the direction of the house. 

Sighing you turned over on your left side and finally closed your eyes and decided you would be joining those dimwitted fools on their soul quest in two days time. 

𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇

The day is winding down. You just had dinner with a friend who’s been out of town and now you’re sitting at your vanity in your candlelit room. You don’t know why you’re stressing so much over what you want to wear to… potentially break into someone’s house. To be honest this all seems like bluff from your father you do not think he actually has it in him but also you don't really know now. 

Anyways you stand up now to look at the options you’ve laid out on your bed to wear out. You laugh to yourself because this feels like you’re planning an outfit for a date. 

Your eyes keep drifting to a top you recently purchased two days ago at a salvation army almost an hour away from town. That’s where all the good clothes are around here. “Fuck it…” you curse to yourself, if you’re going to potentially get arrested tonight with all the beige moms in your town you might as well look good.

This top you’re choosing is a black satin material with a deep purple lace trim with other little lace details and two thin straps to tie around the back. You decided to wear jeans and boots because the fall chill is stronger at night. You’re so nervous but you can’t let anyone, especially your father know that.

The clock in your room reads 7:50 p.m. so you try to shake off as many nerves as you can and finally go downstairs. 

You and your father walk silently side by side together to town square. You can already hear the chatter of the concerned community of everyone before you approach them. Rolling your eyes you decide not to interact or talk with any of them. Again you’re intrigued by the mystery man and his manor out of genuine interest not because you think he’s disgusting and weird.

The walk to the mansion was about ten minutes from town square. Your father led the group while you stayed in the middle, hanging and talking to the children because it seems only they have a true common sense of things. Some of the adults carried the homemade stakes, torches, and flashlights. You roll your eyes when one of the younger men asks if you want a torch, like what is this? It's 1996. Why are we traveling to a house with torches and stakes? 

The old dark mansion finally comes into view. You’ve never been so up close to it, only seeing glimpses from afar where it just looks like a really tall cardboard cutout. From here you can actually smell the wood the home was built from and maybe the scent of candles. 

As the group approaches the gate two of the kids speak up, “Why don’t we just leave him alone?” and “He hasn’t hurt anybody, can we just go?” You look at the two boys with sympathy as the sibling of one of the kids starts to bicker. 

 “He’s a weirdo, there’s no place in this town for weirdos.” Your dad whispers gruffly under his breath as if he had years of trauma caused by this one man he’s never even met face to face. You scoff for what feels like the one thousandth time tonight. Surely there’s a record for that.

Right when you were about to knock some sense into him to turn around, the gate creaks open by itself. It must’ve been the wind… right?

Everybody gasps quietly and Noman says “t-that’s aint a good sound…” Dad ignores him and starts walking onto the estate. As we walked to the front door those doors opened on their own as well which was odd but nobody was commenting on it. 

The double doors had stained glass windows with a beautiful cobweb design, you imagined what it would look like during the daytime with the sun out and rays of light pouring onto the dark brown wooden floor. 

The doors closing behind us took you out of your trance as we all looked around to see if someone closed them but… no one was there. One of the neighbors tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge. Suddenly there were multiple cracks of thunder and gushes of wind coming at us from every direction though all the doors and windows were shut.

After that died down your father walked forward slowly with a straight face, he didn't seem moved or scared at all with what just happened. We all hesitantly and slowly followed him down the hallway, boxes were stacked on one another with dust and spiderwebs decorating them. 

The open doors we were walking towards to continue our trespassing journey closed on their own so we opted to go to the other open doors to our left. 

These doors opened for us and were guarded by two statues of knights with armor. The doors revealed a beautiful ballroom with black and white checkered floors, the white detailing was being illuminated by the moonlight shining through the tall windows, along with at least four chandeliers and there was a big fireplace warming the area as we stepped inside. 

The ballroom was pretty much the size of one football field. It was one of the most majestic sights your eyes have ever seen.

Before we could even reach the middle of the vast room some double doors to our right had opened and a crow flew down from our left and into the very dark entrance that was just revealed to us. 

Whispers from everyone and more cracks of thunder were all that could be heard. Your father started walking towards the doors slowly. The tail end of a black cloak could be seen blending in with the shadows of the dark space. We all watched in shock, mothers were holding their children, and grown men cowered in fear. Your father remained emotionless and you couldn’t move your palm from your mouth. 

With a crack of thunder and lightning the shadowed space was lit up for a split second and a tall figure, in a black cloak and what seemed to be a skull face, was revealed. Your dad led the group to inch closer and closer. Once we were almost to the entrance he halted everyone and ventured two inches in alone, then BAM a streak of lightning lit up the room and revealed the same figure again. Everyone moved back while gasping and screaming, including your father, as the cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows.

The mysterious figure revealed half of his face and you could see his smooth skin and the doe-like brown eyes you have ever seen. The black eyeliner adorning his waterline and eyelids fit so well it could’ve been natural. 

The children sighed in relief which took you out of your trance because some of your questions have been answered: the kids have seen the man who owns the manor.

He removed the skull mask completely, “did I scare ya?” you could finally move your hand away from your face and your jaw dropped just a tiny bit. This was the most beautiful man you have ever seen. 

Now, you are definitely deprived of any affection and touch from anyone of romantic or sexual interest. However no sense of depravity on your end can change the fact you needed him. Not even in a sexual way he just had the aura of an angel sky above.

Maybe it’s because the thunder suddenly stopped and the moonlight was casting an ethereal glow on the him. You snapped out of your trance again when the children started saying hello to him and you swear he tilted his head in your direction. Your posture suddenly becoming the straightest it’s ever been.

Then your father just had to speak, “well ya didn’t scare me, maybe ya scared them but ya didn’t scare me,” like oh my god!! nobody cares.

The gorgeous maestro nodded his head toward him and said, “well that’s too bad isn't it?” God, how can he get any more handsome? His perfect face scrunched up in this almost smug expression. You must be ovulating. 

“I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.” GULP. He walked to the side and your dad said, “there won’t be a next time.” While mr. good lookin placed the mask down, he smirked and replied with, “Oh Really, no next time huh?” He removed his cloak to reveal a white ruffled poet top that looked like it came from the victorian era. 

“We want ya outta town,” your dad hissed out. Well maybe he does but you certainly need him in town. He went on… “We have a nice normal town, normal people, normal kids, and we don' t need freaks like you tellin’ em ghost stories.” While your father said all those nasty things the maestro walked about the ballroom adjusting his sleeves. 

You tried to move to the back of the group to avoid being associated with your troll of a father. “So ya don’t believe in ghosts?” The maestro replied with. Some of the kids and adults said “I do!” and you nodded nonchalantly reeaaallll cool.

You coulda sworn he smirked and looked directly at you. Your mind is playing games on you. Susan, one of the mothers, points a finger at him. “You see what you’ve done? Aren’t you ashamed? Young people are impressionable.” You rolled your eyes. AGAIN.

“Show em the neat stuff ya showed us!” One of the kids said, then his little brother slapped him upside the head while his mother did it right back to him. Then there was a strong gust of wind that knocked her upside the head. You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. She’s always had it comin. 

Everyone looked around with different expressions on their faces. Scared, confused, shocked and intrigued. You were very intrigued. 

“You’re weird, you’re strange, and I don't like you, and you’re scarin’ these kids. Livin up here all alone” Your dad speaks up again unfortunately.  

“I’m not alone,” the maestro says while nodding. “And you’re right I do like scarin’ people, yes. But it’s just for fun.” He smiles and for a second it warms your heart. 

“Don’t you kids enjoy when I do my little— ya know,” He twirls his hands around in the air. You look to see the children’s reactions and they’re all nodding and whispering “yes.” 

Your dad then whispers something you didn’t catch but the maestro did. “Back to the circus you freak,” He opened his mouth just a little and you could see the sadness in his eyes and it broke something within you. You had barely just met the man yet you were filled with so much sympathy for him already.

You pushed through the group to stand directly behind your father, you put a firm hand on his shoulder and told him to back off but he didn't listen and just continued on talking.

“And do yourself a favor… ok? Don’t force us to get rough with you, because we will if we have to.” This made you roll your eyes severely. Why would he even try that? 1. Your father is old as hell 2. He’s been drinking so often that he probably can’t throw a proper punch and 3. Take a look at this group. NO ONE is hurting a fly. 

Maybe except you but you’ll be throwin punches at your own flesh and blood. 

After your father boldly said that the others in the group collectively started backing away amd saying “pfft nooo we won’t” told ya so. 

The maestro finally spoke up again in that soft spoken voice of his. “You’re tryin to scare me aren’t you?” He says while giving your father a sideways glance. Then suddenly he un-scrunches his face and looks at him directly. You straighten your posture.

“I’ll tell ya what, we’ll play a game.” He raises his eyebrows and you raise yours. “Anybody here likes games?” He looks to the group currently cowering away. “HELLLOOOO,” he claps his hands together twice. “Game time!” The kids' expressions all widened at the words “game time.” 

You laughed to yourself, this whole situation seems so ridiculous but you haven't had any thoughts on leaving. It’s like something is compelling you to stay. 

“The first person that gets scared has to leave,” he points to the double doors behind us. “How about that?” he smiles. One of the mothers jumps and says that she’ll leave no problem. 

Your dad says he doesn’t play games with freaks, at this point you block him out. The maestro starts the game off with making silly faces making you and the children laugh gleefully. Your father and some of the other parents thought this was incredibly stupid and that the host was not taking this seriously.

A game that mind you, none of them wanted to play. It’s not supposed to be serious but theyre too dumb to see the point.

After enough rude bickering from both parties the maestro’s tone suddenly gets deeper and more serious, “Is this scary?” He then does something so unexpected and unhuman. He pulls his mouth apart and a huge tongue lols out and then he separates his jaw. It reminded you of one of the scenes from your favorite movie, “Beetlejuice.”

As soon as he did that the entire group gasped and screamed in terror. He then backed up and started snapping his fingers and yelling which caused large gusts of wind to swarm the ballroom and the fire in the hearth roared and grew taller. 

“By the way… did I say I was alone?”

Then suddenly something insane happened… many gray figures with ragged clothing appeared out of thin air… 

“Ghosts,” you whispered. So much was happening at once, the world around you was spinning, all you could hear were screams, and you had a chill down your spine.

“Meet the family.” The maestro said with a smirk and his arms were wide open. 

 Sometime after all the ghosts appeared and the wind settled down the maestro and his family started doing this interesting dance and everyone couldn’t stop watching. Whether it be in disgust, shock, or intrigue no one could look away. Including you.

While your gaze was stuck on the maestro dancing so gracefully in front of your eyes you didn’t realize you drifted away from your father, now standing aside the group but not too far.  

You felt a light tap on your shoulder. Your breath hitched and you turned oh so slowly, and what you saw surprised you. It was the maestro… but if he was dancing in front of you how was he—

“Shh come with me dear…” and with a quiet snap of his fingers you were both transported to another area of the mansion. You gasped and shook your head.

“What in the— how did you— huh?!” You were an embarrassing mess of confusion. He just stood back and smirked. 

“I’m a ghost darling. What you saw down there is another version of me, if you were to touch it, it would disappear into thin air. The one standing before you is the real solid version. My name is Michael by the way.” 

He extended his arm to shake your hand. His hands were silky smooth. You told him your name. 

“So you’re… dead?” You hesitantly asked Michael. He sighs but his smirk never wavers as he looks you up and down. 

“Yes I am technically not alive anymore. I died more than one hundred years ago however I have unfinished business here in the mortal world. I still have yet to know what that business is. Which is why I try to befriend as many children as I can to make them laugh and really lust for life.” He said all of this with a  smile on his face and you couldn’t help but smile softly too. 

“Would you like a house tour m’lady?’ You didn’t think your smile could get any bigger, you bit your lip and nodded. “I’d love nothing more Michael.”

As Michael gently took your hand in his he dragged you down the candle lit hallway showing you each room. He had a room for almost everything. He had a room for trinkets, instruments, two separate dining rooms, a drawing room, a room with all of his cute exotic pets, and a library the size of two football fields.

He even told you how he died. Michael used to be in the theatre when he was younger, then as he got older he started writing and directing plays and musicals.

So one night while rehearsing a number for his upcoming musical there was a chandelier that had been put in the studio just a week prior, some of the light bulbs must’ve been screwed on incorrectly and while he was walking under it, multiple had popped off and his hair and majority of his scalp got burned off.

Unfortunately during the era this happened they couldn’t treat Michael properly for his injury so he survived for as long as could he before he unfortunately died in his sleep.

You guys paused the tour in the library. He told you to pick all the books that caught your eye. “Really?” he nodded and waved his hand. The library had the warmest lighting due to the generous amount of candles lit. 

While you picked through the endless bookshelves your mind was occupied with so many thoughts. Not about how the man in the room is technically dead but… how the entire time he walked you through his gorgeous home you guys had this remarkable spark. You clung onto every word he said to you, he would never break eye contact with you, and he looked at you as if you hung the moon and the stars.

You shake your head and decide you should actually read the backs of the books you're choosing because this can be the only chance in a lifetime. However as you bend down to look at the books on the lower shelves you feel a presence behind you. 

It’s him of course. The man who’s been plaguing your mind for days. “Find anything to your liking?” You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod. “Good, let's head to my study.”

He reaches for your free hand and helps you up from your crouched position. You blindly follow him out of the room with a dopey smile on your face. As he walked in front you could smell his cologne wafting at you or does he just naturally smell that good? Do ghosts have pheromones?

As you got lost in your thoughts you both halted in front of another pair of double doors. You thanked him as he held one of the doors open for you. This room was just as magnificent as the others. There was a small fireplace which made the space very warm and welcoming, an old-school record player was spinning some beautiful instrumental tunes, and when you turn around you see Michael leaning against the huge desk that adorns the middle of the study. 

 “So how are you liking my humble abode so far?” He asked you with a warm smile on his face. You sat down in the nearest chair facing Michael. “I love it! Gosh it’s so so beautiful I’ve always admired it from afar and that was just from the outside… I wanted to apologize again for the uh intrusion. My father and his crazy mind, I already told you about my mother and what that did to him but even I, as his daughter, can’t seem to forgive him for his actions…” 

You bowed your head in shame. You had ranted to Michael as soon as the tour started, wanting to reassure him you had no part in this idiocy of trying to kick out an innocent man from town you, had only come out of pure curiosity. He had hushed you quickly and reassured you that he understood completely. 

He moved one step forward to stand directly in front of you now. “You don’t need to say sorry to me again, do you understand me, love?” Michael used two of his fingers and brought them under your chin to gently guide your head upright again. “Ah, there’s those eyes,” he smirked at you and pinched your skin softly. “I like lookin in em’” 

Is he actually flirting with you? How late is it right now? You must be hallucinating, that's gotta be it. You’re the daughter of the asshole mayor, your father, of this stupid little town that hates Michael and Michael is flirting with you. 

You blush and almost turn away but you feel his fingers tighten slightly on your chin. “Michael…” He tilted his head with that teasing smirk and a twinkle in his eyes. “Yes?,” as if he didn’t know. 

“I— I dunno this just doesn’t seem real to me there’s no way you… you,” before you can even finish your thought he moves away from you. Sitting in the chair next to yours. 

“Dove, I have a confession.” This raises your eyebrows. Since you’ve met him tonight he's confessed plenty of things so what's so different this time? “... Okay what is it Michael?” You try to say without stuttering. 

“Well the thing is… I’ve been watching you for a long time now. I know that sounds weird I know but the children were talkin’ bout how the sweet girl who bakes them desserts lived with the mean old mayor so I turned invisible and… observed you.” He went quiet while just staring at you with his big brown almost black eyes. He blushed but kept talking. 

“It started with a pure and innocent fascination. I just wanted to know what you looked like, sounded like, what your room looked liked and how you baked, and what all your favorite things are. I thought we’d have a lot in common with ya know lovin the kids and wanting to make them happy,” he smiled and you did too but then his smile kinda dropped. “Then… the fascination wasn’t so pure… I— started just hanging out with you in your room… without you knowing obviously again just curious. I’d listen to you gossip to your friends and I’ve watched you try on new clothes a-and I've watched… you.” 

You gasped. He doesn’t mean— 

“Yes I do mean that. I- I am ashamed I’m a disgusting man, a pervert, but I couldn’t stop you- you just looked so beautiful— heavenly and I’m sorry… you can leave if you want. I won’t be mad, I just couldn’t keep talking with you and not tell you.”

Michael, the maestro the fucking ghost. Has seen you masturbate. Great, that's wonderful even. You felt a little violated but only for a split second, because the other part of you… some sick sick part of you really liked the fact that he watched you. 

Before coming to the manor and even meeting Michael for some reason you always had this feeling you’d be attached to him in some way. Maybe you felt his presence all this time. So you rose up from the chair.

“Hey…” You softly graze his shoulder making him turn towards you. One of his large hands his covering half of his face. “It’s okay, I-I’ll forgive you under one condition…” He removed his hand and looked into your eyes with hope. You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders and sat him back down onto the chair. 

Then you sat up on the huge desk behind you and spread your legs. 

“You watch me again… while I can see you.” You’re both blushing profusely. 

“I- you can’t be serious,” he stutters and you smirk. “Oh but I am. You weren’t afraid to watch me while I was touching myself all alone in bed, but now I want you to watch me again, now. Take it or leave it Michael.”

It was so amusing to watch how shy he got. He was so charismatic while entertaining the others downstairs and talking to you so confidently while giving you the house tour. But now he’s reduced to a little mess and you hope to see more of that real soon… if he agrees to this proposition of course. 

You were about to apologize and jump out of the window before you heard it. A tiny sound that came from under Michael’s palm, a whimper. At first you thought you brought him to tears but you examined him further—  

His face was a cute shade of pink and some sweat dribbled down his temple and dripped down his wickedly sharp jaw. 

“Aw what was that Michael? Hm? You want it that bad huh?” Truly you don’t know where this boldness came from. You aren’t a virgin but you definitely don't have enough under you belt to be acting this way. You guess Michael brings it out of you.

He nodded and removed his hand, his lip looked swollen from him biting it. “Mhm please I— 

I need it. I wanna see ya so bad in the light.” He rambled on. While he was preoccupied you slowly started undressing yourself.

By the time Michael was finished he looked back to you and sucked in a breath. You were only in your bra and panties now. The warm candle light accentuating all your features and making your skin look like it was glowing. Michael never became harder so fast in his mortal or ghost life. 

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted out and you giggled. He eagerly stood in between your legs and right when he was about to touch your thighs you stopped him. Your sock clad foot on the center of his chest. 

“Hmm I said watch remember? Or did you forget already?” You said in a teasing tone with no real bite to it.

He whimpered oh so deliciously again and sat his ass down. You smiled and stifled a giggle. Suddenly you grow a little nervous. You didn’t think any of this though you just thought with your pussy. Which is embarrassingly wet. 

So instead of risking this becoming awkward you didn’t speak and just started sensually stroking your sides and right above the waistband of your panties. Thank god they’re not an ugly pair, just a simple black pair with a lace trim. 

You used one of your hands to slowly rub yourself through the damp material, biting your lip. Michael mirroring your expression. 

Whimpering you finally moved your panties to the side and you're met with crazy amounts of slick practically pouring out of your hole. You can hear Michael groaning in his palm and the sound of him wrestling his belt with the other hand. 

You’ve never been this far gone while masturbating alone, only doing it when you can’t sleep or you’re ovulating. Your middle and pointer finger curling into your pussy making you almost howl as you arch off the desk. 

Michael has always been a very very patient man but right now he was about to lose it. 

“D-Darling please please let me touch you— let me make you feel good baby I-I need it I need to please—” He rambled but he didn’t miss your little nod as you pulled your fingers out. Michael moved at the speed of light, pushing you up further on the desk so he can sit on top of it with you. He knelt beside you he took your two slicked fingers with his left hand and brought them up to his plump lips and sucked. He moaned borderline pornographically while sucking your cream off your fingers he took his right hand and immediately picked up where you left off and shoved two long fingers into you without warning.  

“Oh Michael— fuck! D-Don’t stop please,” you moaned and begged for him. “Mmm you taste better than I imagined honey,” Michael cooed in your ear as he took his other hand and massaged one of your tits. 

His fingers reached spots you could never hit no matter how much you tried. You arched up so much you thought you were gonna fly off the fucking desk. 

“Mmm baby m’so close—” Apparently that admission made Michael stop immediately. You would kill him right now if he weren’t already dead. Before you were about to curse him out for eternity he kissed you. You melted into the kiss and moaned as he sucked on your tongue softly. 

“Honey I really need ya to come in my mouth, is that alright?” You never nodded so fast.  Michael then ripped your panties off your body but you couldn’t care less at the damage that’s been done, just needing his mouth on you.

Michael melted between your legs, wasting absolutely zero time before burying his face into your cunt. He ate you out with sudden, sloppy confidence sucking your clit, dragging his tongue through your folds, and fucking you with his tongue until your legs were shaking violently. He worshiped you completely, swallowing every noise and whine you made like he was starving.

Your thighs locked around his head, pressing his face deeper into your folds as you practically rode his face. You were already so close to an orgasm before. He sucked your clit hard, tongue working frantically while you came undone, your head knocking gently against the desk. Michael groaned against you, the vibration pushing you through your orgasm as you clutched at his hair, chanting his name over and over again.

He continued and overstimulated him until you tugged on his hair hard, he finally pulled away. After Michael kissed all on your thighs and left some hickies there and on your stomach he finally laid back on the desk next to you panting.

“Wow, I think I’d be the first woman to ever say she came from a ghost.” You said still slightly out of breath. You can’t believe this just happened and to think that was only from his hands and mouth alone. Your pussy got wetter just thinking about what his dick would feel like— 

You look Michael up and down and when you expect to see a bulge in his pants you see a big dark stain on the front of his trousers. Before you can utter a teasing comment his way he grips your thigh and says— “Not a word. I’ve been deprived of this for quite some time so give me a minute and I’ll be hard for you in no time. I suggest you rest while you can because I won’t get tired out very easily.” 

Gulp.

a/n: YAYYA YOU READ MY FIRST COMPLETED FIC SINCE LAST YEAR ILY... speaking of I'd like to apologize if you've been following me for a long time or you've asked to be tagged in an upcoming project/fic and I edged you every single time bc im a lazy pos IM SO SORRY DONT HATE MEEEE IM JUST A GIRL IN COLLEGE. but i truly love each and every single one of you and i hope to write more this summer and just more in general i just need to stop putting higher expectations on myself.

—sweetgirl out