jaafar jackson’s muse

it always started with the same quiet knock on his front door past midnight, the kind of sound only someone who knew the exact rhythm of his house would make. michael never had to ask who it was. he’d just lay there on his back for a fraction of a second, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to the heavy silence of havenhurst before sliding out of bed. when he opened the door, she was always standing there. sometimes she was crying, sometimes she just looked completely drained, her makeup a little smudged under her eyes, holding her jacket tight around her shoulders like a shield against the world outside. and every single time, without a word, michael would just step aside, opening the door wider to let her melt into his warmth.

they had been a fixture in each other's lives for as long as anyone could remember. it was the kind of closeness that defied simple labels. to the rest of the world, they were just best friends—the girl who could make the notoriously shy pop star laugh until his chest ached, the one person who saw past the stage lights and the intense pressure of his career. she knew how he took his tea, she knew the exact look in his eyes when he was overwhelmed by a crowd, and she knew how to ground him when his own thoughts became too loud. they spent hours sitting on the floor of his home studio, her listening to him hum unfinished melodies, their legs tangled together under a blanket without either of them thinking twice about it.

but there was a hidden, unspoken side to this friendship, a blurry line they both crossed whenever the world became too heavy. it wasn't a relationship, at least not officially. it was a mutual understanding, an unspoken pact born out of absolute trust and a deep, simmering physical attraction that neither of them could quite suppress. it would happen naturally—a lingering gaze over the rim of a glass, his hand resting on her waist just a second too long while they walked through the gardens, or the way his voice would drop an octave, becoming soft and velvety when they were alone in the dark. and then, it would lead to quiet, breathless nights in his oversized bed, nights filled with gentle touches, whispered secrets, and a fierce intensity that felt a lot more like love than either of them dared to admit.

the problem was the ghost that always hovered between them: her ex. a guy who knew exactly how to pull her back in just when she was finally starting to breathe. their relationship was a vicious, exhausting cycle of screaming matches, tearful breakups, and toxic reconciliations. every time he pushed her away or made her feel small, she ran straight to michael. michael was her safe harbor, the one who rebuilt her piece by piece, holding her through the night while she cried over another man’s cruelty. michael hated him. he absolutely despised the way that guy treated her, the way he dimmed her light. but as long as she kept going back, michael kept his mouth shut, playing the role of the devoted best friend who was just happy to have her in his arms for a little while, hiding the dark, possessive spark that was slowly beginning to ignite deep within his chest every time he had to let her go again.

very long time, the toxic shadow of her ex seemed to completely vanish from the picture. the final breakup had been messy, filled with the usual slammed doors and late-night tears, but weeks turned into months, and she hadn't gone back. michael watched her slowly heal, watching the heavy tension leave her shoulders and the bright, genuine laughter return to her voice. they were spending more time together than ever, their days blurring into a comfortable, domestic routine that felt dangerously like a real relationship. they cooked late-night meals together in his kitchen, watched old movies until the sun started to rise, and shared quiet, comfortable silences that didn't need to be filled with words.

but while she was finding her footing and celebrating her newfound freedom, something inside michael was shifting, growing into something far more intense and consuming. before, when she was constantly running back and forth, he had managed to keep his feelings locked away in a dark corner of his mind, convincing himself that being her safe harbor was enough. but now, having her all to himself for months without the constant threat of that other guy changed everything. the casual, no-strings-attached nature of their physical moments started to feel like a beautiful torture to him. every time he held her in his arms after they crossed that line, listening to her soft breathing against his chest, a fierce, protective warmth would wash over him, quickly followed by a desperate, aching hunger.

he found himself memorizing the exact way her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him, the scent of her perfume lingering on his pillows long after she left, and the soft, breathless sound of his name slipping from her lips in the dark. it wasn't just attraction anymore; it was an all-consuming need. michael was falling for her, hard and fast, and the realization terrified him just as much as it intoxicated him. he didn't want to just be the best friend she turned to when she was lonely or healing. he wanted to be the only one who got to touch her, the only one who got to love her. every time she brushed her fingers against his arm or leaned her head on his shoulder, his heart would hammer violently against his ribs, his thoughts spiraling into a deep, possessive territory he had never experienced before. she was finally free, and in michael's mind, she was finally, truly becoming his.

it was a quiet, rainy tuesday afternoon when they found themselves tangled up on her living room couch, the soft hum of the rain hitting the windowpanes providing a steady backdrop to their comfortable silence. a half-empty mug of tea was cooling on the coffee table, and she was leaning back against his chest, her hair brushing against his chin while michael lazily traced gentle, random patterns on her bare forearm with his fingertips. everything felt completely peaceful, the kind of safe, insulated bubble they always managed to create whenever they were alone together.

but the peacefulness shattered the moment she took a deep breath, her body turning slightly in his embrace so she could look up at him. she started talking, her voice low and hesitant at first, but then the words just began to pour out of her like a dam breaking. she needed to vent, to finally empty her mind of the lingering weight she had been carrying around. she started talking about her ex, looking back on the relationship with a mix of confusion and exhaustion. she confessed to michael how hard it had been to completely untangle herself from him, how she still sometimes felt the ghost of his toxic words in the back of her head, and how weird it felt to finally be completely done with that chaotic chapter of her life.

"i just... i don't know, mike," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she stared down at her own hands, nervously tangling her fingers together. "some days i feel completely fine, like he's just a bad dream. but then other days, i catch myself wondering why i let him treat me like that for so long. it’s like he still has this tiny, stupid hold on my mind, and i hate it. i just wanted to completely erase him."

michael swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he forced himself to stay still. he reached out, his long, slender fingers gently catching her chin to tilt her face up so she had to look at him. his dark eyes were intense, burning with an emotion she couldn't quite read in the dim light of the room.

"then let him go," michael murmured, his voice incredibly soft, almost a hypnotic purr, though his thumb pressed just a fraction too firmly against her jawline. "he doesn't deserve a single second of your thoughts. not anymore."

she let out a heavy, weary sigh, leaning into his touch, completely blind to the dangerous spark igniting inside him. "i know. you're right. it’s just hard to forget someone who was such a huge part of my life, you know? sometimes i wonder if he ever thinks about me, too. or if he'll ever try to come back."

at those words, michael’s hand dropped from her chin to her neck, his palm resting against the warm skin of her throat, his thumb feeling the sudden, rapid skip of her pulse. his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. the gentle, patient best friend was fading fast, replaced by something much darker.

"it shouldn't matter if he does," michael said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously low and thick with a possessive weight. he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her lips, his eyes locking onto hers with an unyielding grip. "because you're done with him. you're here. with me. he doesn't get to touch you anymore, and he sure as hell doesn't get to have you back."

the heavy, possessive edge in his voice passed completely over her head, misinterpreted as nothing more than the fierce, protective loyalty of a best friend. a soft, incredibly grateful smile touched her lips, melting away the lingering sadness in her eyes. without a word, she shifted her weight and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. she pulled him close, holding onto him like he was the only anchor she had left in the world.

"thank you, michael," she whispered into his skin, her warm breath sending a sharp shiver straight down his spine. she squeezed him a little tighter, sighing with absolute relief. "i don't know what i'd do without you. i'm just so incredibly lucky to have a friend like you in my life. you're the only constant i have."

at the sound of that word—friend—michael froze completely, his entire body going rigid beneath her embrace. it felt like a bucket of ice water pouring over the dark, roaring fire in his chest, only to turn it into a suffocating, toxic smoke. his eyes widened slightly in the dark, staring blankly at the wall over her shoulder. a friend. after everything they had shared in the quiet hours of the night, after the way he had held her, after the way his heart practically bled for her every single day, she still neatly categorized him into that safe, harmless little box.

slowly, almost mechanically, his arms came up to wrap around her waist, but his grip wasn't gentle anymore. he pulled her body flush against his, tight enough to bruise, his large hands anchoring her against him with a sudden, desperate force that made her let out a tiny, surprised gasp. he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply, his mind spiraling into a dangerous, dark place. he didn't want to be just her friend. he hated the word. he wanted to scream at her that friends didn't do the things they did, that friends didn't look at each other the way he looked at her. as he held her captive in his arms, his jaw clenched, a quiet, terrifying vow settling deep into his soul: she could call him a friend all she wanted right now, but he was going to make sure she belonged to him completely, and no one else would ever touch her again.

as the days bled into weeks, michael found himself sinking deeper and deeper into the sea of his own feelings, completely unable and unwilling to swim back to the surface. every single morning started with her on his mind, and every night ended with the memory of her laughter echoing in his head. it was a beautiful, overwhelming shift that colored his entire world. he noticed a change in the way he wrote music, the melodies coming to him more easily, softer and sweeter, completely inspired by the way her presence seemed to anchor his chaotic life.

what made him truly happy—a deep, glowing kind of joy that he hadn't felt in years—was watching her bloom again. the heavy, suffocating cloud that her ex had left over her was finally, completely gone. michael watched her with a quiet, reverent awe as her natural luminosity returned. she smiled more, her eyes danced with that old, vibrant spark he had missed so much, and her laughter filled his quiet home with a warmth that no amount of fame or success ever could. she was glowing, radiant, and completely free, and michael took immense pride in knowing he was the one who had helped her find that light again.

with her healing, the dynamic between them began to clarify, clearing up the messy, confusing boundaries of the past. they weren't just running to each other in the dark to escape pain anymore; they were actively choosing each other in the bright light of day. their shared moments became lighter, filled with a beautiful clarity that made michael’s heart swell with hope. when she reached out to hold his hand while they walked, or when she gave him those long, lingering looks across a crowded room, it didn't feel like a temporary comfort. it felt like a promise. the unspoken bond between them was growing stronger, purer, and more defined, making michael believe that very soon, the painful word 'friend' would naturally fade away, leaving only the beautiful reality of what they were meant to be.

michael’s growing affection began to manifest in the quietest, most beautiful ways, turning their daily routine into a series of soft, romantic gestures that she never saw coming. he had always been a generous soul, but now, every little thing he did for her carried a deeper, hidden weight. he became hyper-attentive to her smallest desires, making it his personal mission to bring a smile to her face before she even realized she needed one.

sometimes, he would show up at her apartment door completely unannounced after a long day in the studio, hiding his hands behind his back with a shy, boyish grin playing on his lips. when he stepped inside, he’d present her with a single, perfectly bloomed pink rose, its petals still damp with morning dew. he didn't make a grand spectacle out of it; he would just hand it to her gently, his fingertips lingering against hers for a second too long, whispering that he saw it and immediately thought of her. soon, her kitchen counter was constantly adorned with small glass vases, each holding a token of his quiet devotion.

it wasn't just the flowers, though; it was the overwhelming thoughtfulness behind every single attention. if she casually mentioned in passing that she was craving a specific sweet from a bakery on the other side of town, she would open her door the next morning to find a fresh box of them sitting on her welcome mat with a small, handwritten note from him. when she was stressed, he would show up with her favorite comfort foods, dim the lights, and rub her shoulders with a quiet, intense focus, listening to her talk for hours without ever asking for anything in return. he was slowly wrapping her entire world in his care, spoiling her with a tenderness she had never experienced in her life, desperately hoping she would see that the man who loved her like this could never be just a friend.

but beneath the surface of her bright new life, a quiet, unsettling secret was beginning to take root. while she truly appreciated every single rose and every tender gesture michael showered her with, she couldn't completely shut off the back of her mind. the truth was, her ex hadn't entirely vanished. a few weeks ago, a random, late-night call had rang on her phone from his number—a simple, manipulative 'i miss you, can we talk?'—and it had completely sent her head spinning. she hadn't replied, but she hadn't blocked him either.

since then, he had tried to reach out a few more times, leaving vague voicemails and checking up on her through mutual acquaintances. every time the phone rang, a familiar, toxic knot of anxiety and old habit would tighten in her stomach. she felt incredibly guilty about it, especially when she looked into michael's sweet, devoted eyes, which is exactly why she made the conscious choice to never mention it to him. she knew how much michael hated her ex, and she didn't want to ruin the beautiful, peaceful dynamic they had built over the last few months. she convinced herself that she could handle it on her own, that it wasn't a big deal because she wasn't giving in.

the air was crisp and quiet around two in the morning when michael pulled up to her apartment complex. he had spent the last five hours in the studio, but his mind had been entirely focused on her, prompting him to leave early just to surprise her with her favorite late-night snacks and a fresh bouquet of white roses. he walked up the stairwell with a soft, eager hum vibrating in his chest, anticipating the sweet, sleepy smile she always wore whenever he knocked on her door at odd hours.

but the moment he stepped onto her floor, the gentle warmth in his veins turned to pure, freezing ice.

there, sitting right outside her doorway, was a pair of dirty sneakers. michael stopped dead in his tracks, his breath hitching in his throat as his eyes locked onto the shoes. he recognized them instantly. he had seen them a hundred times before, abandoned on her floor during those horrible months when that man was systematically breaking her heart. it was her ex. he was inside.

for a long, agonizing second, michael couldn't move. his knuckles turned white around the stems of the roses, crushing the delicate leaves until the scent of crushed greenery filled the narrow hallway. a sudden, violent wave of raw jealousy and absolute fury surged from the pit of his stomach, hot and suffocating, making his heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped animal. his teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached, a dangerous, dizzying rush of adrenaline clouding his vision. she had lied to him. she had kept this from him. after everything he had done to rebuild her, she had let that toxic bastard back into her apartment, back into the space that was supposed to be safe.

then, through the thin wood of the front door, a sound bled into the hallway. it was the deep, smug laugh of her ex, followed by the faint muffled sound of her voice answering him.

the sound of that man's laughter snapped something profound inside michael’s mind. he froze completely, his entire body turning to rigid stone as he stood right in front of the door, staring at the peephole with wide, unblinking eyes. the sweet, gentle boy who brought her flowers vanished entirely, replaced by a dark, terrifyingly possessive monster. his chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths as the laughter mocked him from the other side. according to michael, she didn't belong to that ghost anymore; she belonged to him. she was his girl, his sanity, his creation. hearing another man in her space made him want to rip the door off its hinges, his hands trembling with a sudden, vicious urge to tear everything apart.

the silence that followed that night was deafening. days bled into one another, and for the first time in years, michael completely vanished from her life.

at first, she didn't think much of it, assuming he was just trapped in an intense, overnight recording session where he lost all track of time. but by the third day, a cold, nagging knot of anxiety began to tighten in her chest. she called his personal line—the private number only a handful of people possessed—but it went straight to voicemail every single time, his soft, recorded voice offering her a mocking contrast to the heavy silence on the other end. she sent texts, starting with casual check-ins and gradually spiraling into frantic paragraphs, asking if he was okay, if he was hurt, or if something had happened at havenhurst.

the phone never rang back.

nearly a week passed in this agonizing vacuum. she found herself pacing around her apartment, her eyes constantly darting to her quiet phone, her mind spinning in desperate circles. she felt entirely lost without him; the daily roses had stopped coming, the comforting late-night texts were gone, and the sudden absence of his warmth left her apartment feeling freezing and empty. she started questioning everything, her thoughts taking a darker, more paranoid turn. had his management taken his phone away? was he sick? or worse... was he mad at her?

she racked her brain, trying to remember their last conversation on the couch, wondering if she had accidentally said something to hurt him or push him away. she never once connected his sudden disappearance to the brief, unwanted visit from her ex that rainy night—a visit she had quickly shut down after realizing the guy hadn't changed at all. she had no idea that michael had been standing right outside her door, listening to that laughter. she had no clue that his silence wasn't a sign of absence, but rather the quiet, suffocating calm before a massive storm, and that michael was currently sitting in the dark of his own home, deliberately ignoring her calls while his jealousy twisted into something completely uncontrollable.

unable to handle the suffocating silence for another second, she finally cracked. she grabbed her keys, drove over to havenhurst, and prayed he would be alone. her heart was beating like a drum in her throat as she walked up to his front door, her hands trembling slightly as she knocked, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet afternoon air.

for a long minute, nothing happened. she was just about to knock again, tears of frustration pricking her eyes, when she heard the heavy lock click.

the door swung open slowly, and the breath completely caught in her throat. it was michael, but it wasn't the michael she knew. he looked completely unraveled, his curls slightly messy and his eyes shadowed with dark, exhausted circles. there was no welcoming smile, no gentle warmth in his gaze. instead, his eyes were bloodshot, burning with a cold, terrifying intensity that made her instinctively step back. he looked entirely drained, yet under the surface, a dangerous, volatile anger was practically vibrating through his skin.

"michael..." she breathed, her voice shaking as she reached a hand out toward him. "oh my god, you're okay. why haven't you been answering me? i've been so worried—"

"why did you lie to me?"

his voice cut through her words like a razor blade. it wasn't a shout; it was a low, guttural whisper, thick with an agonizing mix of betrayal and raw, unadulterated fury. he didn't open the door any wider, standing there like a dark barrier, his long fingers gripping the edge of the wood so tightly his knuckles were stark white. the sheer possessive rage in his stare pinned her to the spot, making her realize in one terrifying second that he knew exactly what she had been hiding.

she stared at him, her mind completely blank as a wave of genuine confusion washed over her. the intense rage vibrating off his body was terrifying, but she honestly couldn't connect the dots in her frantic, panicked state.

"michael, what are you talking about?" she asked, her voice trembling as she took a small step closer to the threshold. "what do you mean lie to you? i haven't lied about anything, i swear! please just tell me what's wrong."

michael didn't answer. instead, a dark, bitter scoff slipped from his lips, his shoulders shaking with a terrifying kind of laugh that had absolutely no joy in it. he didn't want to look at her face, because seeing her look so innocent, so clueless, only fueled the blinding fire screaming in his chest. filled with an uncontainable rage, he suddenly spun around on his heel, abandoning the front door entirely, and began walking down the long, dimly lit hallway toward his bedroom. his steps were heavy, deliberate, and practically radiating a dangerous aura that made the entire house feel small.

"michael! stop!" she cried out, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs as she quickly stepped into the house, slamming the front door behind her so she could chase after him.

she followed him down the corridor, her smaller steps running to keep up with his angry, long strides. "michael, talk to me! you can't just ignore me for a week and then accuse me of lying! look at me!" she pleaded, reaching out to grab the sleeve of his shirt, but he ripped his arm away without breaking his pace. she followed him right into his bedroom, the large doors swinging open as he stormed inside, completely desperate to get to the bottom of the terrifying storm that had just taken over her best friend.

he stormed into the deep shadows of his bedroom, finally spinning around to face her the second her feet crossed the threshold. the large doors clicked shut behind her, locking them both inside an incredibly tense, suffocating space. his chest was heaving, his breathing ragged and uneven as he glared down at her, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

"why did you go back to him?" michael demanded, his voice cracking under the sheer weight of his fury. he stepped closer, towering over her, his dark eyes absolutely wild with an intense, possessive rage. "after everything he did to you... after every single night i held you while you cried over his name... why was he in your apartment, laughing? tell me!"

the words hit her like a physical blow. she froze completely, her entire body locking up as the blood completely drained from her face. her eyes widened in pure shock, her breath hitching painfully in her throat as the realization slammed into her mind with terrifying clarity.

he knew. he had seen him.

the puzzle pieces fell into place instantly—the sudden silence, the ignored phone calls, the terrifying anger radiating from him now. she stood there completely paralyzed under his suffocating gaze, realizing that the quiet secret she had been keeping to protect him had just unleashed the darkest, most dangerous side of michael she had ever seen.

her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. she looked up at him, completely trapped beneath the crushing weight of his stare, her mind scrambling for words that simply wouldn't come.

"m-michael, no... i-it's not what you think," she stammered, her voice shaking violently as a thick, painful knot tightened in her throat. she took a small, hesitant step forward, reaching her hands out in a desperate plea. "he—he just showed up... i didn't invite him, i swear, i—"

she couldn't even finish the sentence. the sheer intensity of his fury, combined with the crushing guilt of having kept it a secret, completely broke her. a hot, heavy wave of tears rushed to her eyes, blurring her vision until michael’s angry silhouette became a dark smear in the dim light of the bedroom. she blinked, and the first tear spilled over, tracking a burning line down her pale cheek, quickly followed by another. her shoulders trembled as she swallowed down a sob, staring at him through her tears, utterly terrified by how twisted and ugly a simple misunderstanding had become between them.

michael took a sharp step closer, closing the distance between them until he was looming directly over her, his shadow completely swallowing her small frame. the sight of her tears didn't soften him; if anything, the raw vulnerability in her face only fueled the desperate, ugly knot of jealousy tightening around his throat.

"why do you love him so much?" he asked, his voice dropping into a ragged, breathless whisper that vibrated with absolute pain and fury. he grabbed her by the upper arms, his grip firm and unyielding, forcing her to look up into his dark, chaotic eyes. "what does he give you that i don't? tell me! why is it that every single time he throws a crumb of attention your way, you run right back into his arms like nothing else matters?"

he shook his head, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he stared down at her tear-stained face. his chest was heaving against hers, the proximity suffocating and charged with an intense, dangerous energy.

"after every single night we spent in this bed... after the way i look at you, the way i take care of you... you still choose him?" his voice cracked, thick with a possessive despair that made his eyes burn. "he breaks you, and i have to patch you back up, just for you to hand yourself right back to him on a silver platter. why, because you think he owns you? because you think nobody else can love you like that? look at me! why do you keep letting him ruin us?"

the accusation cut deep, and the sheer possessive weight of his words snapped something inside her, replacing her paralyzing fear with a sudden, desperate surge of defensiveness. she yanked her arms back, trying to break his firm grip, her chest heaving as a fresh wave of hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

"how do you mean us, michael?!" she cried out, her voice breaking completely, a breathless, sobbing gasp escaping her throat. she looked at him through her blurred vision, her face pale and distorted by misery. "i don't—i don't owe you anything to begin with! we are friends, michael! you are my best friend!"

she swallowed hard, her voice trembling violently as she tried to force the words past the thick lump in her throat, desperately needing him to understand the nightmare she had actually been dealing with.

"you don't understand," she stammered, her hands shaking as she pressed them against his chest, not to hold him, but to desperately keep some distance between them. "he... he just showed up. it’s his manipulation, michael! you know how he is. he knows exactly when i'm weak, he knows exactly when i'm starting to feel better, and he uses it. he profits off my vulnerability just to force his way back into my life! i didn't ask for him to be there, i didn't want him there! he manipulated his way into my apartment and i was just trying to get him to leave without making a scene!"

at her words, something shifted completely in michael’s eyes. the dark, simmering fury broke into a cold, terrifyingly sharp clarity. he didn't flinch when she screamed that they were just friends; instead, a slow, dark smile touched his lips, completely devoid of any warmth. it was a terrifying look on a face usually so gentle.

"friends?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous purr that vibrated right against her skin.

before she could even register the shift in his tone, his hands moved from her arms to her waist, his long fingers digging into her hips with a sudden, bruising force. he jerked her forward, slamming her body flush against his chest so violently she lost her breath. he loomed over her, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a fierce, suffocating intensity that made the entire bedroom feel like it was closing in on them.

"don't you dare lie to yourself like that," michael growled, his breathing ragged, his face just inches from hers. "best friends don't cross the lines we've crossed in the dark. best friends don't touch each other the way i touch you. i am not your friend, and i am done playing that stupid little game."

he leaned down closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke, his voice thick with a raw, terrifyingly possessive weight that made her whole body tremble.

"you think you don't owe me anything? you belong to me. you’ve belonged to me since the first night you came crying to my doorstep and let me put you back together. i rebuilt you piece by piece while that bastard broke you. he doesn't get to touch you anymore. he doesn't get to profit off your vulnerability. you are mine, do you hear me? mine. and i am never letting you go back to him."

the breath completely trapped itself in her throat, her chest locked tight against his as his words echoed through the silence of the dark bedroom. she stared up at him, her eyes wide, completely paralyzed by the sheer shock of what was happening. this wasn't the sweet, gentle michael who brought her roses and rubbed her shoulders after a long day. the boy standing before her was completely unrecognizable, his voice dripping with a raw, dominant authority that she had never heard from him before.

he slowly leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest against hers, though there was no real warmth in the gesture—only a heavy, suffocating pressure. his breathing was deliberate, casting a hot, uneven rhythm over her lips. when he spoke again, the hard, dominant edge in his voice suddenly fractured, shifting into something terrifyingly fragile and wounded.

"look at what you're doing to me," michael whispered, his voice cracking with a fragile, trembling emotion that made her heart instantly twist with guilt. "you're sitting there looking at me like i'm a monster. like i'm the one trying to hurt you. after everything i've sacrificed for you... after how much i've bled just to keep us together."

he let out a ragged, trembling sigh, his long fingers trailing up her arms with a delicate, shaking touch, acting as if he were the one who was completely broken and defenseless in the dark.

"i'm the victim here, sweetheart. not you. i'm the one who has to stay up all night, tearing myself apart, wondering why the only person i love would rather let another man touch her than protect my heart. you threw my love right back in my face, and now you're punishing me just because i'm desperate enough to fight for you? because i'm bleeding out right in front of you?"

he squeezed his eyes shut, a single, perfectly timed tear escaping down his cheek as his chest heaved against hers, making himself look entirely helpless and undone by her apparent cruelty.

"you did this to me," he choked out, his voice dripping with a tragic, agonizing despair that was entirely calculated to destroy her defenses. "you broke me first. i'm only like this because you drove me to it. please... tell me you see what you've done to me. tell me you're going to fix the man you broke."

the words left her lips in a panicked, trembling rush, her hands pressing weakly against his chest as she tried to find some ground to stand on. "m-michael... stop, please. you're talking crazy. you're saying completely ridiculous things."

the moment the protest left her mouth, michael's entire demeanor shifted. the fragile, weeping victim vanished in an instant, his jaw locking tight as a chilling, icy stillness washed over his features. he didn't pull away; instead, he leaned down even heavier, trapping her beneath his frame so completely that she could barely expand her lungs to breathe.

"crazy?" he echoed, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly calm whisper that vibrated right against her lips. "you think i'm saying ridiculous things?"

he let out a sharp, humorless chuckle that sent a cold shiver straight down her spine. his dark eyes bored into hers, completely devoid of the warmth she usually found there.

"i'm the one who's crazy? after i watched you welcome him into your space? after i had to sit in the dark and feel my entire world collapse because you couldn't be bothered to protect us?" his grip on her jaw tightened, just enough to keep her completely still, forcing her to look at the cold fury masking his face. "don't you dare try to rewrite what you did to me. don't you dare sit here and gaslight me into thinking my pain isn't real just because you don't want to face the guilt of what you've done."

he leaned in closer, his hot breath brushing against her ear as his voice turned dangerously sharp.

"you don't get to dismiss me. you broke me, and now you're going to stay right here and look at exactly what you created."

he leaned back just enough to force her to look into his dark, unyielding eyes, his fingers tightening firmly around her jaw. the cold fury in his expression suddenly shifted into a terrifyingly intense, dark conviction.

"you still don't get it, do you?" michael murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated deep in his chest. "you really don't understand. you think this is a game? you think you can just choose when you want to be with me and when you want to play around with someone else?"

he let out a sharp, breathless exhale, his chest pressing down flush against hers, crushing any space between them until she was entirely pinned beneath his heavy warmth.

"you belong to me. every single piece of you. your body, your breath, your thoughts—they all belong to me," he whispered fiercely, his eyes scanning her panicked, flushed face with an absolute, frightening certainty. "i didn't spend all this time loving you, protecting you, and tearing myself apart just to let you slip away. you are mine. you don't get to decide anymore."

he slid his hand down from her jaw, his long, warm fingers wrapping possessively around her throat—not to squeeze, but to claim, feeling the frantic, rapid flutter of her pulse beneath his palm.

"there is no one else, and there never will be," he purred darkly against her lips, his gaze completely devouring her. "you're locked in this room with me, and you're going to stay right here until you finally understand that you are completely, entirely mine."

the air in the bedroom grew thick, heavy, and suffocatingly hot. with his lips brushing her skin and his hands pinning her hips, the space between them vanished entirely, and a completely different kind of tension began to coil in the pit of her stomach. it wasn't just fear anymore. it was a sharp, dizzying rush of adrenaline that made her whole body tingle, a sudden, dangerous spark igniting right in the middle of all this chaos.

as she stared up at his mouth, her heart hammered so hard against her ribs she was sure he could feel it. the sheer weight of the situation finally crashed down on her with full force. michael—her sweet, gentle, protected michael—was completely out of control, consumed by a fierce, dominant hunger for her. and the most terrifying part? a small, dark corner of her mind was secretly thrilled by the absolute certainty in his voice.

she swallowed hard, her throat dry, her eyes locked onto his dark, burning gaze. she could feel the erratic rise and fall of his chest against hers, the raw male power he was using to hold her still, and the dangerous promises dripping from his tongue. the realization that she was entirely at his mercy, trapped in his bedroom with a man who was ruthlessly claiming her as his exclusive possession, sent a violent shiver right through her core. she was caught in a trap of her own making, and looking into his wild eyes, she realized she didn't even want to run away anymore.

the raw, suffocating intensity of michael's grip finally broke through her defenses, dissolving the last of her confusion into a desperate need to make him understand the truth. she didn't want her ex. she was terrified of him.

"michael, please... listen to me," she choked out, her voice cracking as a fresh wave of tears spilled over her lashes. she stopped trying to pull away and instead let her hands clutch the fabric of his shirt, leaning into his solid chest as her knees threatened to buckle. "i don't want him. i swear to you, i don't. i am so tired, michael... i can't take it anymore."

she swallowed hard, a ragged sob escaping her throat as she confessed the secret she had been carrying alone for weeks. "he... he scares me. he won't stop, michael. he always finds a way to show up, he forces his way into my space, and he doesn't care when i tell him to leave. that night... i was just so paralyzed and terrified of making a scene that i didn't know what to do. i never wanted him there. i never wanted anyone but you."

hearing her voice tremble with genuine fear shifted something volatile in the room. she looked up at him through her blurred vision, her heart hammering wildly as she laid her vulnerability entirely at his feet. she was completely exhausted from running from her past, and in that moment, looking into michael's dark, fiercely protective eyes, she realized she was begging for him to save her—even if it meant completely surrendering herself to his dangerous, absolute control.

the tears she had been trying so hard to hold back finally spilled over, rushing down her cheeks in hot, heavy streams. her shoulders shook violently as she completely broke down under the crushing weight of her exhaustion, her fear of her ex, and the sheer, dizzying intensity of everything happening in this room.

seeing her completely unravel like this caused a subtle shift in michael’s expression. the blinding, volatile fury melted into a dark, suffocating tenderness—something far more dangerous and possessive than his anger had been. his tight grip on her hips loosened just enough for him to bring one hand up to her face. his long, slender fingers, incredibly gentle yet unyielding, brushed against her wet cheek. with his thumb, he slowly, almost religiously, wiped away the tears pooling at her lashes.

"shh... don't cry anymore. don't you ever cry for him again," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, caressing cadence that carried an absolute, undeniable authority.

he leaned in even closer, pressing his forehead directly against hers, forcing her to drown in the depths of his dark gaze as his presence entirely swallowed her up.

"you never have to be afraid of him again. i’m here now. he’s never going to get near you again, do you hear me?" his hand slid around to the back of her neck, his fingers anchoring themselves into her hair to keep her pinned right against him. "you belong to me. you are mine, and no one else’s. i’m going to protect you from him, i’m going to protect you from everything. but you have to understand that you are my girl now. never again do you let him in. never again do you hide anything from me. you are mine, okay?"

every word he whispered as he wiped her eyes felt like a sacred, unbreakable pact being sealed in the shadows of the bedroom. he wasn't leaving her an exit, erasing the entire outside world until there was absolutely nothing left but the two of them in the dark.

she could barely breathe, her throat so tight with sobs that the words caught and tangled on her tongue. she shook her head weakly against his forehead, her small hands clutching desperately at the front of his shirt as she tried one last time to make him understand the absolute terror her ex had put her through.

"m-michael... p-please," she stammered, a broken, breathless gasp escaping her trembling lips as fresh tears instantly replaced the ones he had just wiped away. "i—i didn't want... i tried to tell him to leave, i swear... i was just so scared... you have to believe me, mike..."

but her frantic explanations seemed to fade into nothingness against the heavy, dominant rhythm of his breathing. michael didn't look at her like a friend listening to a story; he looked at her like a man claiming what was rightfully his. his thumb continued its slow, deliberate path across her damp skin, smoothing away the moisture with a touch that felt entirely too heavy, entirely too possessive to resist.

"shh... it doesn't matter anymore," he murmured, his voice dropping into an even deeper, darker whisper that vibrated straight through her chest.

with every word, he moved closer, pressing his body so firmly against hers that she could feel the hard line of his thighs and the terrifying, steady beat of his heart. he nudged her chin upward, backing her up just an inch until the back of her knees hit the edge of his mattress, trapping her completely between him and the bed.

"forget about him," michael whispered, his lips brushing against her cheek now, traveling down to the corner of her mouth as his hot breath fanned over her skin. "he’s gone. you don't answer to him, you don't look at him. you only look at me. you are mine now. every single part of you belongs to me."

"n-no... michael, we can't... we can't do this," she stammered, her voice cracking as a sudden wave of panic cut through the heavy tension.

with a desperate surge of strength, she pushed her hands against his chest and managed to tear herself away from his suffocating grip. the sudden loss of his heat made the bedroom air feel freezing cold. her heart was hammering wildly against her ribs as she began to pace back and forth across the dark hardwood floor, her hands gripping her own hair, her mind spinning out of control. "this is wrong... you're my friend, michael, we are crossing lines we shouldn't be crossing... i'm so confused, i can't think straight..."

michael stood completely still by the edge of the bed, watching her frantic movements with a calm, unbothered intensity. he didn't chase after her; instead, he just leaned back slightly, a soft, almost disappointed sigh escaping his lips as he shook his head.

"what do you mean we can't do this?" he asked, his voice dripping with a smooth, gaslighting gentleness that made her stop in her tracks. he took a slow, deliberate step toward her, his expression a picture of pure innocence and concern. "sweetheart, look at how worked up you're getting over nothing. you're the one who came into my room crying. you're the one who always comes to me when he breaks you. i'm just giving you the security you've been begging for this whole time."

he walked closer, his dark eyes locked onto hers, completely twisting reality until she felt like she was the one losing her mind.

"don't act like i'm forcing this on you," michael murmured, a faint, condescending smile touching his lips. "you know you want this just as much as i do. you're just scared because for the first time, someone actually wants to take care of you completely. why are you pretending this is a mistake when you've been leading us right to this moment every single night?"

"b-but we're friends, michael! we've always just been friends," she cried out, her voice cracking as she stopped her pacing, her eyes wide and desperate as she stared at him fromacross the room. she was practically begging him to validate the reality she had been clinging to for months, her hands trembling against her sides. "you're the person i trust most in the world, but as a friend... we can't just change that."

michael let out a low, bitter laugh, a sound that sent a cold chill straight down her spine. he closed the distance between them in a few slow, predatory strides, not stopping until he was looming right over her again, his presence completely trapping her against the wall.

"friends? really?" he whispered, tilting his head down so his dark, intense gaze could pierce straight into hers. his voice dropped into that low, dangerous purr, utterly dismissive of her panic. "after everything we’ve done behind closed doors? you're really going to stand there and tell me that?"

he reached out, his long fingers firmly wrapping around her waist once more, pulling her flush against his chest so suddenly that a soft gasp escaped her lips.

"best friends don't hold each other the way we do in the dark. they don't look at each other the way you look at me when you're lonely," michael murmured, his lips brushing against her temple as he tightened his grip, completely shattering any illusion of innocence left between them. "we passed 'just friends' a long time ago, sweetheart. we are so much more than that now, and you know it. stop lying to yourself."

he slowly leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest against hers, though there was no real warmth in the gesture—only a heavy, suffocating pressure. his breathing was deliberate, casting a hot, uneven rhythm over her lips. when he spoke again, the hard, dominant edge in his voice suddenly fractured, shifting into something terrifyingly fragile and wounded.

he leaned down even closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her earlobe, his hot breath sending a violent shiver straight down her spine. even with his hand resting possessively over her throat, his touch suddenly became agonizingly slow, almost tender, contrasting terrifyingly with the raw dominance in his voice.

"tell me the truth, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic purr. "did he ever make you smile the way I do? when he looked at you, did your heart race like it's doing right now?"

he trailed his lips down her jawline, planting a slow, burning kiss just beneath her ear before looking back down into her wide, glassy eyes. a dark, deeply confident smile pulled at his lips.

"and what about when we're together? during our little secret adventures... did he ever even come close to making you feel that kind of pleasure? did he ever make your body shake and shatter the way i just did?"

he slid his hand down from her neck, his fingers trailing a burning path over her collarbone before digging firmly into her hip, pinning her completely against the wall.

"he couldn't touch you, and you know it," michael whispered fiercely, his dark eyes burning with an absolute, undeniable triumph. "nobody can love you like i do. nobody can make you feel alive the way i do. you're ruined for anyone else, sweetheart, because no one will ever compare to me."

his fingers slowly dragged down from her hip, tracing a burning line across the sensitive skin of her stomach. the movement was agonizingly deliberate, making her stomach muscles tense instantly under his touch.

"did he even know how to touch you?" michael whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly murmur that vibrated right against her skin. "did he know the exact spots that make you lose your mind?"

his hand slid lower, moving past her waist and slipping between her thighs, his long, warm fingers making direct, heavy contact with her slick warmth. he didn't push inside right away; instead, his palm pressed firmly against her core, applying a torturous, rhythmic pressure that forced a soft, helpless gasp from her lips.

"did he make you burn like this, sweetheart?" he purred fiercely, watching her face closely as a fresh wave of heat made her hips twitch weakly against his hand. "did he ever make you open up for him this easily? look at how your body answers me. you were made for my hands, and only mine."

"m-michael... what are you doing? please..." she breathed out, the words trembling past her lips in a weak, desperate gasp.

but even as the protest left her mouth, her body completely betrayed her. she didn't pull away. she didn't try to close her legs or push his hand away. instead, her fingers clutched tighter into the wall, her hips melting helplessly into the firm, heavy pressure of his palm. she was completely paralyzed by the sheer intensity of him, trapped in a daze where her mind wanted him to stop, but her body was already entirely surrendered to his touch.

michael let out a low, deeply satisfied hum against her skin, noticing instantly how she wasn't fighting him. he loved the contradiction—the way she questioned him with her voice, while her entire body opened up for him, pleading for more.

"i'm taking what's mine, sweetheart," michael whispered fiercely, his dark eyes locking onto hers as his long fingers began to move against her, sliding through her slick warmth with a slow, deliberate friction.

he leaned down, his lips brushing against her burning cheek as he witnessed her complete, silent submission.

"look at you... you're asking me to stop, but you're shaking for me. you're soaking wet for my fingers," he purred darkly into her ear, his rhythm turning heavier, driving her right back into a state of absolute delirium. "you're letting me do exactly what i want with you, because you know this is exactly where you belong."

"m-michael, please... if you don't stop, i won't be able to..." she trailed off, the words dying in her throat as a sharp, sudden knot of emotion cut off her breath. she couldn't finish the thought, couldn't voice the terrifying truth that she was losing every ounce of her resolve under the heavy weight of his hands and his words.

michael stopped the movement of his fingers just for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes narrowing in the dim light as he leaned down closer, his face mere inches from hers.

"you won't be able to what, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice a low, challenging rasp that vibrated with dangerous curiosity. "finish the sentence. tell me exactly what you can't do."

but instead of answering, instead of letting him drag another piece of her confession out into the open, she completely snapped. a wave of raw, overwhelming emotion crashed over her—a suffocating mix of devastating sadness from his cruel manipulation and a sudden, burning anger at how easily he could make her crumble.

before he could utter another word, she reached up, her hands tangling desperately into his hair, and pulled his face down to hers, slamming her lips against his.

the kiss was completely chaotic, filled with a bruising intensity that caught him completely off guard. there was nothing sweet or gentle about it; it was a desperate, messy collision of all the pain and frustration she was holding inside. she poured every ounce of her heartbreak into the friction of their lips, crying out silently against his mouth in a furious, grieving surrender that told him everything her words couldn't.

the kiss deepened, turning into a frantic, breathless struggle as michael instantly met her intensity. he didn't back down for a single second; instead, his arms locked around her waist and shoulders, crushing her chest against his with a sudden, bruising force that threatened to squeeze the remaining air right out of her lungs.

it was a chaotic collision of passion and underlying fury. every movement of his lips against hers felt like a battle for absolute control, a heavy, desperate possessiveness that was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. he was holding her so tightly it almost hurt, his large hands digging deep into her skin as if he wanted to physically meld her body into his own, ensuring she could never pull away from him again.

she could taste the raw anger in the way his teeth grazed her bottom lip, but beneath the violence of it, there was a desperate, suffocating need that made her head spin. she clung to him just as fiercely, her fingers ripping through his curls, matching his heavy, demanding rhythm as the dark room seemed to completely vanish around them. they were drowning in each other, completely consumed by a storm of hurt, desire, and mutual ruin.

without breaking the kiss, michael suddenly locked his arms beneath her thighs and hoisted her up in one powerful, effortless motion. her instinct kicked in instantly, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he slammed her back hard against the bedroom wall. the sudden impact jolted through her, but before she could even gasp, his mouth crushed back down onto hers with an even more aggressive, unyielding fury.

the kiss completely devolved into something primal and frantic. he was dominating her mouth, his tongue forcing its way inside with a heavy, demanding friction that completely stole her breath away. there was no gentleness left, no hesitation—just a raw, bruising hunger that made her head spin as he pinned her body flat against the wall with his heavy chest.

she clung to his shoulders for dear life, her fingers digging desperately into his skin as the sheer intensity of the collision threatened to pull her under. every ragged breath they shared felt like fire, the toxic mixture of anger, desire, and mutual destruction burning hot between them as he held her aloft, completely at his mercy.

her hands tore away from his shoulders, dropping down to the collar of his shirt with that same frantic, aggressive energy. she didn't care about being careful; her fingers gripped the fabric tightly, pulling and tugging at the buttons with a desperate impatience that nearly ripped the material apart. she needed the barrier gone, needed to feel his bare skin against hers to match the suffocating intensity burning in her chest.

michael let out a low, rough growl against her mouth, his grip on her thighs tightening even more ruthlessly as he felt her nails graze against his chest. he helped her, shifting his weight just enough to let her slide the shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop carelessly to the floor.

the moment her bare palms made contact with his hot, tense muscles, the kiss grew even wilder. she dragged her hands up his chest, her touch a chaotic mix of anger and absolute need, while his mouth continued to dominate hers, pinning her to the wall as they completely lost themselves in the friction of the dark bedroom.

her hands tore away from his shoulders, dropping down to the collar of his shirt with that same frantic, aggressive energy. she didn't care about being careful; her fingers gripped the fabric tightly, pulling and tugging at the buttons with a desperate impatience that nearly ripped the material apart. she needed the barrier gone, needed to feel his bare skin against hers to match the suffocating intensity burning in her chest.

michael let out a low, rough growl against her mouth, his grip on her thighs tightening even more ruthlessly as he felt her nails graze against his chest. he helped her, shifting his weight just enough to let her slide the shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop carelessly to the floor.

the moment her bare palms made contact with his hot, tense muscles, the kiss grew even wilder. she dragged her hands up his chest, her touch a chaotic mix of anger and absolute need, while his mouth continued to dominate hers, pinning her to the wall as they completely lost themselves in the friction of the dark bedroom.

breaking the kiss for a split second, michael leaned back just enough to look at her, his chest heaving violently against hers, his dark eyes wild and completely consumed by the chaos between them. a rough, breathless laugh escaped his lips, his voice dropping into a ragged, fierce whisper against her mouth.

"you're completely insane," he growled, his grip on her thighs tightening until it almost bruised.

"so are you," she shot back instantly, her voice trembling with that same volatile mix of anger and devotion, her eyes staring right back into his with a defiant, burning intensity.

before the words could even fully leave her lips, michael crashed his mouth back down onto hers, and they completely lost their minds. the kiss became a frantic, desperate collision, a beautiful ruin of lips and teeth as they devoured each other in the dark room.

while keeping her pinned firmly against the wall with the weight of his upper body, michael slid one of his large, warm hands down from her thigh. with rough, impatient movements, his fingers hooked into the waistband of her bottoms, dragging the fabric down her legs with a desperate urgency. she kicked her legs out of them blindly, never once breaking the suffocating depth of the kiss, her hands gripping his bare shoulders as her body completely opened up to his touch, entirely surrendered to the madness.

he pulled his lips away from hers just an inch, his hot, ragged breath brushing violently against her mouth as he kept her pinned hard against the solid wood of the wall. his eyes were pitch black, completely consumed by that toxic, relentless jealousy that he just couldn't shake.

"did he ever do this to you?" michael demanded, his voice a rough, breathless rasp that shook with possessive anger. "did he ever have the balls to slide his hands up your thighs, lift you up, and slam you against a wall like this? did he ever look at you and make you feel like you were going to break in half?"

she let out a desperate, shaky gasp, her fingers clutching his bare shoulders as he pressed his heavy frame even closer, giving her absolutely no room to escape his questions.

"tell me, sweetheart. did he touch you right here? did he make you shake the way i do?" he purred darkly, his words dripping with a bitter, obsessive curiosity that was entirely meant to torture them both.

she couldn't take it anymore. the words, the accusations, the suffocating guilt—she just wanted all of it to vanish into the dark. she didn't want to think about the past, and she didn't want to fight the monster he was being.

"shut up," she breathed out, her voice a fierce, broken whisper as she stared straight into his wild eyes. "just shut up and make love to me."

the words left her lips like a direct challenge, and it instantly woke something fierce and predatory deep inside him. a dark, dangerous wave of pride surged through his chest, smoothing out the rough edges of his anger into an absolute, intoxicating sense of victory. he let out a low, gravelly chuckle against her skin, the sound vibrating with a supreme, masculine satisfaction. she was begging him now, entirely consumed by him, completely blind to anyone else.

with his ego fully fed and his possessiveness validated, he slowly lowered her just enough for her feet to touch the hardwood floor, though he kept her pinned firmly against the wall with the heavy, unyielding weight of his bare torso. he intentionally loosened his iron grip on her, giving her arms just enough freedom to move.

"do it then," michael whispered right against her ear, his breath hot and commanding. "take it off me."

her hands dropped to the waistband of his trousers instantly, her fingers trembling but filled with that same frantic, aggressive urgency. she unbuckled his belt with a sharp, metallic click that echoed loudly in the quiet bedroom, her nails scratching lightly against his skin as she undid the button and slowly dragged the heavy zipper down. michael stood perfectly still, his head tilted back slightly against the wall, a dark, triumphant smirk playing on his lips as he watched her through hooded, burning eyes, completely enjoying her desperation.

she hooked her fingers into the fabric, pushing his trousers and briefs down past his hips in one smooth, impatient motion, completely baring his lower body to the cool air of the dark room. his manhood was already fully exposed—thick, heavy, and pulsing with a fierce, hot readiness that completely dominated the small space between them. a thin sheen of pre-cum glistened at the dark tip, catching the faint glint of light in the shadows as his erection strained upward, a raw testament to how much her submission and her words had driven him crazy.

she stared down at him for a fraction of a second, her breath hitching at the sheer size and heat radiating from his lap, but before she could even process it, michael’s hand locked firmly around the back of her neck, tilting her head up to force her to look at him.

"look at what you do to me," he purred darkly, his long fingers sliding down to grip her thigh, lifting her leg up high to completely open her up to him. "now tell me exactly who you belong to."

"you," she gasped out, her voice a broken, breathless whisper as she clung to his bare shoulders for support. "i belong to you, michael. only you."

the answer was exactly what he needed to hear. that dark, possessive pride flared up in his chest again, and without another word, he lifted her leg higher, hooking it securely around his hip to completely expose her center to his heat.

he positioned himself directly against her entrance, the broad, smooth tip of his length brushing firmly through her slick warmth, teasing the very edge of her core. she let out a sharp, involuntary whine at the sensation, her hips instinctively tilting forward, begging for the friction, but michael paused for one agonizing second, staring deep into her eyes to make sure she was looking right at him when it happened.

"stay right there. look at me," he murmured, his voice a dark, commanding growl.

then, with one heavy, unyielding thrust, he drove himself straight inside.

the sudden, massive fullness of him filled her completely, stretching her tight walls so perfectly that a loud, choked gasp tore from her throat. her fingers dug deep into the muscles of his back, her nails scratching against his skin as her body adjusted to the intense, burning heat of him burying himself all the way to the hilt. michael let out a low, ragged groan against her neck, his entire body shuddering as her slick, tight core clamped down fiercely around his length, trapping him inside her suffocating warmth.

he didn't give her time to recover. holding her firmly against the wall with his hands locked under her thighs, he pulled back slightly and drove in again, establishing a heavy, aggressive rhythm that made the headboard rattle against the drywall. each deep, possessive stroke was a reminder of exactly who she belonged to, plunging them both headfirst into absolute madness.

the rhythm became completely frantic, a heavy, seamless friction that echoed loudly in the dark bedroom. each time he drove himself deep inside her, the impact jolted straight through her core, sending a violent, paralyzing wave of pleasure through her entire body. she was completely undone, her head rolling back against the solid wall as ragged, breathless moans tore from her throat with every single thrust.

she absolutely loved it. she loved the terrifying intensity of his weight against her, the bruising grip of his hands on her skin, and the undeniable truth that, despite all the anger and the tears, her body was completely wired for his touch. she clung to his bare shoulders, her fingers digging deep into his muscles, pulling him closer and tilting her hips forward to meet every heavy stroke, matching his aggressive energy with a desperate hunger of her own.

michael let out a low, gravelly groan against the column of her neck, his chest heaving violently against hers. the feeling of her tight, slick walls clamping down ruthlessly around him with every movement was driving him completely insane. he could feel how perfectly she welcomed him, how her body shaped itself entirely around his length, and it fed that dark, possessive pride inside him until it was completely intoxicating.

he loved the absolute certainty of having her pinned here, hearing her voice break as she cried out his name, knowing that no matter what happened outside this room, she was entirely surrendered to him in the dark.

"look at you... you love this," michael panting, his voice a rough, breathless rasp as he pulled back and drove right back in, burying himself to the hilt. "you love how hard i'm taking you, don't you, sweetheart?"

she couldn't even answer with words; she just let out a sharp, shattered cry, her legs wrapping even tighter around his waist as she buried her face into his neck, biting down gently on his shoulder to anchor herself through the overwhelming storm of pleasure. they were both completely drowning in the madness, losing themselves in a chaotic, beautiful ruin where anger, passion, and mutual devotion were completely indistinguishable.

he slowed his pace just a fraction, but the depth of his thrusts remained heavy and unyielding, keeping her completely pinned against the wall as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. his hot, ragged breaths were sharp against her skin, vibrating with the sudden, raw return of that suffocating memory.

"you have no idea..." michael growled, his voice dropping into a rough, fractured whisper that shook with a toxic mixture of pleasure and lingering fury. "you have absolutely no idea how much rage i had burning inside me when i saw him standing there. in your apartment. in your space."

he drove into her again, a hard, possessive stroke that forced a broken gasp from her lips, his hands tightening on her thighs until his knuckles turned white.

"i tried so hard to be a gentleman," he panted, his teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of her jawline as he fought the memory of that suffocating anger. "i stood there, i played the part, i didn't lay a hand on him... but i had nothing but pure hatred in my chest. i wanted to tear the place apart. i wanted to destroy him for even looking at what belongs to me."

he pulled back slightly, his dark eyes forcing her to look straight at him through the shadows, his expression a chaotic mix of intense pleasure and raw, vulnerable bitterness.

"seeing another man in your life... it was killing me, sweetheart," he whispered fiercely, his rhythm picking right back up, driving into her with a renewed, desperate intensity that made her head spin. "and right now, i'm wiping every single trace of him out of your mind."

"m-michael... ah! michael..." she moaned out his name, the sound breaking from her throat in a shattered, breathless sob as his words and his body crashed into her all at once.

she tightened her legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper, wanting to swallow up all that lingering bitterness he was pouring into her. she could feel the raw pain behind his jealousy, and it broke something inside her, melting away the last of her own anger.

"there’s no one else..." she panted, her voice trembling as she clutched his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her through the dark. "it was only ever you... it's always been you. i don't care about him, michael. i don't care about anyone else."

she kissed him again, a deep, desperate reassurance that tasted like salt and heat, trying to heal the wound she had caused.

michael let out a low, shuddering growl against her lips, her words hitting him right in his chest. that final validation completely broke his remaining restraint. his rhythm turned wilder, faster, driving into her with a fierce, possessive desperation that completely consumed them both, erasing everything else from existence until there was nothing left but his name on her lips.

the tension in the room coiled so tight it felt ready to snap. the heavy, desperate rhythm of his hips against hers grew faster, shallower, driven by a sudden, electric urgency that gripped them both at the exact same moment. a familiar, blinding heat began to bloom deep in her lower stomach, spreading rapidly through her veins like wildfire.

"michael..." she gaspsed out, her fingers tightening into his damp hair, her entire body arching off the wall as her internal muscles began to contract around him in tiny, frantic waves.

michael felt the sudden, tight squeeze of her core, and it pushed him right over the edge. his breathing turned completely ragged, his chest heaving violently against hers as a dark, guttural groan tore from his chest. he recognized that look in her eyes—the way her focus shattered, her gaze rolling back as she clung to him for dear life.

"i know, sweetheart... i feel you," he panted fiercely against her lips, his hands locking around her thighs with an iron grip, holding her up as he delivered a few final, devastatingly deep thrusts. "come on... right now. give it all to me."

the pleasure crashed over them like a tidal wave. she let out a long, broken cry against his shoulder as her climax ripped through her, her body shuddering violently in a beautiful, prolonged release. the sensation of her undoing was too much for michael to handle; with one last, powerful surge, he buried himself to the hilt and let go, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as his own release flooded her core, locking them together in a shared, breathless oblivion.

the intense waves of pleasure slowly receded, leaving her body completely heavy and exhausted. her legs gradually slipped down from his waist, her feet finding the cool floor as she leaned weakly against the wall, her forehead resting against michael's bare shoulder. her breath was still coming in short, uneven gasps, but then, the heavy silence of the room was broken by a soft, hitched sob.

a single hot tear slipped down her cheek, quickly followed by another, until she was silently crying, her shoulders trembling against him.

michael noticed instantly. the post-climax daze vanished from his eyes, and his entire demeanor shifted in a fraction of a second. all the rough aggression, the jealousy, and the dark pride completely melted away, replaced by an immediate, protective panic.

"sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice instantly dropping into a soft, worried caress.

he wrapped his large arms securely around her, pulling her close to his bare chest as he felt her shaking. one of his long hands came up to cradle the back of her head, while the other gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at him through the dark. his dark eyes were wide with genuine anxiety, searching her tear-stained face for answers.

"hey, hey... look at me. what's wrong?" michael whispered tenderly, his thumb gently wiping away the damp streaks on her cheeks. his heart was suddenly hammering against his ribs, but this time out of fear. "why are you crying? did i hurt you? tell me, please... you're scaring me."

the moment he asked, the dam completely broke. all the anxiety, the guilt, and the suffocating weight she had been carrying inside for months finally spilled over, and she just couldn't hold it back anymore. she buried her face in his bare chest, her hands clutching at his shoulders as the tears came faster, her voice coming out in a broken, trembling rush.

"i'm just... i'm so scared, michael," she sobbed out, the confession tearing from her throat before she could stop it. "i've been so terrified to start anything with you. every single time i look at you, every time i let myself feel how much i love you, i panic."

michael didn't say a word; he just held her tighter, his chest rising and falling heavily as he listened, his heart aching at the raw pain in her voice. He kissed the top of her head, soothing her silently, letting her get everything out.

"i'm so scared that everything is going to repeat itself," she choked out, looking up at him through her blurred vision, her eyes filled with a deep, devastating vulnerability. "my past relation... the way it ended, the way it ruined me. i'm terrified that if i let myself fully belong to you, it's all going to happen again. i can't survive that a second time, michael. i'm so scared that i'm going to lose you."

the raw honesty of her words hit him like a physical blow. the protective instinct in him flared up instantly, fierce and unyielding. michael didn't hesitate for a single second; he cupped her face gently in both of his large hands, using his thumbs to brush away the fresh tears, forcing her to look directly into his eyes so she could see the absolute sincerity burning inside them.

"hey, look at me," he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, yet completely solid and grounded. "look right at me, sweetheart. i am not him. and i am not going anywhere."

she squeezed her eyes shut as another fresh wave of tears spilled over, her voice dropping into a small, fragile whisper that completely broke his heart.

"that's why i kept pushing you away," she confessed, her fingers tightening into the fabric of his shirt as if she were trying to anchor herself. "that's why i wanted to just limit us to this... to these little adventures, these casual moments that didn't have a label. i kept telling myself that if it wasn't founded on anything real, if we didn't call it a relationship, then i'd be safe. i thought it would protect me if things went wrong."

she let out a shaky, exhausted breath, finally opening her eyes to look at him, her gaze completely raw and stripped of any armor.

"but it didn't protect me, michael. it just made me miserable. I'm so tired... I'm so incredibly tired of suffering, of being trapped by my own fear. i don't want to hide behind these walls anymore. i don't want to pretend. i just want to love you."

michael’s expression softened so deeply it looked like a physical ache. a low, tender breath escaped his lips as he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against hers. he felt a profound wave of humility and fierce devotion wash over him; hearing her final surrender, her desire to just let go and love him, completely healed whatever lingering trace of jealousy he had left.

"oh, sweetheart..." he murmured, his hands moving from her face to wrap securely around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest so she could feel the steady, rapid beating of his heart. "you don't have to protect yourself from me. you're safe now. i've got you, and i'm never letting go."

michael held her even closer, pulling her completely into his warmth until there was no space left between them. he wrapped his long arms around her shoulders and lower back, rocking her gently in the quiet darkness of the room, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe her frantic breathing.

"listen to me very carefully, okay?" he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, like a warm blanket wrapping around her. he leaned down and pressed a long, tender kiss against her wet temple, keeping his lips brushed against her skin as he spoke. "you don't ever have to be scared with me. i know you've been hurt, and i know how terrifying it is to give your heart to someone again. but i promise you, with everything that i am, everything is going to be alright."

he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his hands moving up to cup her face with absolute gentleness. gone was the aggressive, jealous man from before; his eyes were filled with nothing but pure, unadulterated devotion.

"i am not going to repeat the past, and i am never, ever going to ruin what we have," he whispered, his thumb wiping away the very last of her tears. "with me, you don't have to build any walls. you can just let go. I'm going to protect you, sweetheart. I'm going to take care of you every single day, and we're going to build something so beautiful, so solid, that nothing can ever break it."

he smiled gently, a small, reassuring curve of his lips that instantly made the dark room feel safe again.

"you just want to love? then let me love you back. just trust me. we're going to take it one step at a time, together. you're safe now, i promise."

without another word, michael slipped one arm securely beneath her knees and the other around her upper back, effortlessly lifting her up into his arms in a gentle bridal carry. she instinctively buried her face into the crook of his neck, her hands clinging to his bare shoulders as he carried her away from the cold wall and across the dark bedroom.

he walked over to the bed and carefully laid her down against the soft, mattress, pulling the plush duvet over her body to keep her warm. instead of pulling away, michael immediately climbed into the bed right beside her, shifting his weight to lie down and pull her flush against his side.

he gathered her back into his arms, resting her head comfortably on his chest while his long fingers gently stroked her hair.

"just let it all out, sweetheart," he murmured softly into the darkness, his voice a soothing, rhythmic whisper as his chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. "i'm right here. if you need to cry, just cry. i've got you."

he held her tightly, completely surrounding her with his warmth and creating a safe, quiet haven where she didn't have to be strong anymore, giving her all the space she needed to finally heal.

rested in the deep quiet of the bedroom, the heavy rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek was the only sound for a long moment. michael kept his fingers moving through her hair, his touch incredibly light, but his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, dark with the weight of a truth he had been holding back for a very long time.

he let out a long, heavy breath, his chest shuddering slightly under her head.

"can i tell you something?" he whispered into the shadows, his voice dropping into a low, vulnerable rasp. "something i've never had the courage to say out loud?"

he didn't wait for her to answer, his hand coming down to gently squeeze her shoulder, drawing her just a fraction closer to him.

"i hated it," he confessed bluntly, the raw honesty in his voice cutting through the quiet room. "from the very first day, i absolutely hated that relationship you were in. every time i saw you with him, every time you spoke about him, it felt like a knife twisting right in my gut."

he paused, his fingers tightening slightly in her hair as the memory brought back a faint echo of that old, suffocating frustration.

"it wasn't just because i wanted you for myself—even though god knows i did," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips gently against the top of her head. "it was because i had to sit back and watch what it was doing to you. i saw the way it was draining your light, the way you were constantly carrying this heavy, quiet sadness around. i was so sick of it. i was so damn tired of seeing you suffer for someone who didn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you."

a soft, self-deprecating chuckle escaped his lips, a confession of his own desperation.

"i've never been a manipulative man, sweetheart... but with him, i swear i lost my mind sometimes. there were moments where i did everything i could think of, entirely on purpose, just to push the two of you apart. i'd drop hints, i'd create excuses to keep you away from him, i'd do whatever little things i could just to make that relationship crumble. i didn't care if it made me look bad in the dark. i just wanted it to end. i wanted you out of that prison so i could finally give you the happiness you deserved."

the silence stretched out between them, thick with the weight of everything they had finally laid bare. as michael’s confession hung in the shadows, a strange, heavy realization settled over both of them.

they had been trapped in a beautiful, chaotic cycle, spinning around each other for months. in their own way, they had been almost mutually toxic.

she had kept him at arm's length, intentionally reducing their deep, undeniable connection to fleeting, casual encounters—unintentionally torturing him with a calculated emotional distance just to build a fortress around her fractured heart. and he, driven by a desperate, suffocating need to save her, had crossed lines he never thought he’d cross, manipulating circumstances behind the scenes and letting his fierce jealousy bleed into pure possessiveness tonight against the wall.

but as she lay there listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, they both understood the dark truth of it: every toxic move, every sharp edge, and every mind game had been born from a place of desperate survival. it was a twisted, backwards way of protecting one another. she had been trying to shield them both from a repeat of her tragic past, and he had been trying to tear down her prison walls before the misery could completely destroy her light.

"we really put each other through hell, didn't we?" she whispered into the dark, her voice trembling slightly as she tightened her grip on his torso, finally acknowledging the beautiful madness of how they had fought to survive.

michael let out a soft, rough sigh, his long fingers tracing gentle patterns along her spine as he pulled her even closer into his chest.

"maybe we did, sweetheart," he murmured against her hair, his voice dropping into a tender, unconditional promise. "but it was only because i couldn't let you drown. we don't have to fight like that anymore. we're on the same side now."

she lifted her head from his chest slightly, her eyes searching his face in the dim light of the bedroom. the tears had finally stopped, but her gaze was still fragile, carrying the heavy remnant of all those months of fear.

"can i really do it, michael?" she whispered, her voice small and tentative, breaking the quiet safety of the blankets. "can i really just start a completely new page... without constantly looking over my shoulder, without always worrying about my past ruining everything?"

michael didn't answer with words right away. instead, he shifted closer, his long fingers gently cupping the side of her face to tilt her head up. he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a deep, slow kiss. it wasn't like the desperate, frantic kisses from earlier against the wall; this one was tender, incredibly soft, and filled with a quiet, solid reassurance that seemed to pour directly into her soul.

when he finally pulled back just a fraction, his lips were still brushing against hers as he spoke, his breath warm and certain.

"yes," he murmured, his voice a steady, unbreakable promise in the dark. "yes, you can, sweetheart. the past doesn't get a say in this room anymore. we're writing the rest of the story together."

michael’s long finger ran over the cover of the magazine..playboy. he knew he shouldn’t be snooping around jermaine’s room and definitely shouldn’t be looking at the risqué book, but his curiosity got the best of him.

he recalls overhearing conversations between his older brothers, jackie once telling tito that he was just ‘pussywhipped’, jermaine describing a girl as a ‘brick house’, he never understood the vulgar words they used to describe women until this very moment.

he flipped through the magazine frantically, brown doe eyes blown like he had did a crisp line. he felt high, a pleasing variety of naked women at his fingertip. he took note of the different bodies, how two areoles were never the same, some big and pink, others brown and smaller. when his eyes eventually trailed down to the precocious space between the models legs, his eyes damn near rolled out of his head. the different shades, differences in clits and lips, various hair lengths. his tongue toyed with the skin in his cheek, remembering one of his brother’s comparing the inside of a vagina to the wet skin. he now knows why people say the pussy is a magical thing, every girl’s precious pearl was specially designed for her.

he found himself wondering what your precious pearl looked like.

a couple of days later you found yourself lying comfortably at the end of his bed, watching some old movie you and him had probably seen a thousand times before. this was the routine, you and michael in his childhood room, plenty of snacks and games, old movies and lots of laughs. you were his only sense of normalcy.

his bedside lamp casted a warm glow on his bedroom and an especially warm glow on your backside that was facing him. you mindlessly watched the movie, chewing on your red licorice, painfully unaware of how your plump bottom slightly jiggled everytime you found something funny.

michael watched you from the head of his bed, silently wishing he could see you bare under your blue pajamas shorts and white tank top. he wondered what color panties you had on, wondered what shade of brown your nipples where, if your clit got puffy when stimulated, his dicking twitching in his tight underwear at the last thought.

“michael” you called out to him. you hadn’t noticed how quiet he was until his favorite part of the movie came on and the boy didn’t sing.

“hmm”

“what’s going on with you?”

“n-nothing, just..thinking” he said nervously rubbing the skin at the back of his neck.

“hey, what’s wrong applehead” concern laced your voice as you sat up and brought one knee to your chest, giving your best friend all of your attention.

he was silent for a few beats, not wanting to tell you exactly what was on his mind but also not wanting to lie to you. he had never lied to you and he didn’t want to start now.

you pulled your body up to meet him at the head of the bed, rubbing slow circles on his shoulder attempting to comfort him, unbeknownst to you causing more harm than good. he flinched away from your touch and slightly adjusted his pants, trying to conceal the growing pain in them.

“mike..what’s the matter?” you asked grabbing his chin and meeting his vision. you searched his eyes, trying to find any hint as to why your friends mood was suddenly down.

“it’s just-i found one of jermaine’s playboy’s magazines the other day and..” he let out a loud sigh, shoulders slightly slumping “ i guess im just curious” now nervously playing with your hands in your lap, trying to ease his nerves.

you let out a content laugh, squeezing his hands lightly “boy i almost had a heart attack” he looked up at you through his lashes, slightly smirking. “it’s ok to be curious michael, it’s normal” you shrugged at him, not quite understanding why he was so worked up by same lozy magazine.

“yeah i guess”

“it’s not that bad michael, i promise you didn’t do anything wrong”

“everything was just so…different, nobody was the same”

you rolled your eyes playfully at your friends innocence “yeah that’s how it works mike, everyone’s body is different”

“what about you?” you bursted out laughing at his question, assuming that he was joking. “what do you mean silly..what you want me to show you?” you said playfully waiting on him to laugh with you….but he didn’t, just looked up at you with that same smirk that told you he was plotting.

“oh” was all you could get out, all of a sudden growing nervous under his gaze. you pulled both of you knees up to your chest.

he placed two heavy hands on your knees, ready to plead his case “it’s just…i’m always hearing my brothers talk about stuff like that and i don’t know when i’ll get to experience it..if i ever will” he looked so saddened by his revelation.

“i just want to look..please”

you looked off to the side contemplating. he was your best friend and he had helped you with numerous of different things and he was right…with his lack of experience and his shy demeanor, you too wondered if he would ever have the opportunity again..one peek couldn’t hurt anything.

“ok michael” you said giving him a grin.

“really..you don’t have to if you don’t want”

“no it’s ok, i want to help you” he placed a soft kiss to your knee before backing away to give you some space to undress, his head toying to the side and bottom lip pulled in between his teeth.

you grew nervous under his gaze “just close your eyes for a second” you said, running your hand over his eyes to shut them. he chuckled lightly before replacing your hands with his own.

with trembling fingers and a deep breath, you pulled your shorts and panties down, folding them neatly and setting them to the side. you leaned back on your elbows slightly parting your legs, allowing the cool air of his room to hit your core that was wet with anticipation.

“ok you can look now” you said, your eyes focusing on the ceiling, too nervous to meet his eyes. michael pulled his hands away from his face slowly, lower stomach turning in knots.

his eyes scanned your body slowly, taking in your smooth brown skin and the light stretch marks around your hips, running a hand up your leg softly, signaling for you to open up your more for him.

you propped your knees up and out so you would be properly spread for his curious eyes “sorry i wasn’t prepared” you giggled nervously referencing the light hair that decorated your public bone.

“it’s ok..i promise” his eyes googled at your center. he brought himself down so he could be face to face with your core that was now clenching around nothing.

his head toyed to the side, mesmerized by the way you clenched and unclenched.

the closeness of his face to your center made you breath hitch, feeling his warm breath right over your clit that was visibly throbbing. his big hands ran up and down your skin under your tank top, feeling your shallow breaths.

“she’s so beautiful…everything i imagined” he said drunkenly, his eyes blown impossibly wide.

“mmm thanks mikey” your own head falling to the side, lips slightly pouty. you wanted so badly to raise your hips and kiss his lips with your own wet ones, but you had both promised to just look.

he looked up at you through his lashes, big eyes looking impossibly sweet “your so wet mama..it’s dripping on the bed” he said mouth slightly parted, tongue sweeping around his mouth.

“it’s not everyday i have a pretty boy in between my legs like this” raising from your position to meet his vision. he was right, this was probably the wettest you had ever been and he wasn’t even touching you.

he pulled in closer, inhaling the scent of your arousal. your hips bucked instinctively when his nose lightly nudged your clit, your hole spasming at the contact.

“mikey” you slurred dragging at your words as he continued to inhale your scent, softly groaning.

“can i taste you baby, please?” he asked looking up at you with pleading eyes, already placing soft kiss to your clit. you were already reveling in the feeling of his soft kisses, why not give him a proper taste?

you nodded your head, giving him permission. he wasted no time, licking your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue. your head fell back against the bed, back slightly arching into his touch.

he watched how you reacted to his mouth, continuing to lick at your slit before sticking his tongue into your warm center, groaning at the taste of your around his tongue.

“so sweet and warm baby” sucking gently at your clit “does this feel good?” he murmured into you.

your hand toyed with your breast over your tank top, the other gently stroking at his hair. you were a moaning mess..too fucked out to properly answer his question. your head shot up when you felt his long finger curl inside of you, massaging your walls.

“fuck michael-don’t stop” you couldn’t tell that he was inexperienced, he was sucking on you clit with expertise.

“i don’t ever want to stop-so good” he said sneaking another finger in you. the grip you had on his hair tightened as you fucked your self against his mouth and fingers, his eyes rolling to the back of his head like he was the one being eaten out.

your lower stomach started to cave in as that familiar feeling formed in your lower stomach, belly tying in knots. michael could feel you squeezing around his fingers, his pace picking up.

“michael i’m go-“ you cut yourself off with a loud squeal, cuming in his mouth and all over his fingers before you could warn your best friend. his motions didn’t stop when you finished, his tongue fucking in and out of you, attempting to gather all of your juices. the sensation was becoming to much for your sensitive pussy to handle, your legs lightly trembling around his lean body.

you grabbed his shoulders and pulled him off of you before slumping back down on his bed, chest heaving. he leaned back, trying to save the vision of your messy, throbbing pussy and shaky legs to his memories.

he lifted his body up to yours, his glistening face and swollen lips coming up to meet your hazy vision. you smiled at him lazy.

“are you sure you haven’t done that before?” you asked, wiping some of your cream from his bottom lip.

“i promise” he smiled proudly to himself, happy that he made you feel good, before returning the favor and moving a couple of stray curls from your face.

“thank you for helping me” he leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth before making himself comfortable on your chest.

“anytime mikey” you said smiling to yourself.

hopefully he needs your help more often.

the amber like glow of the city sky line slowly faded into a pale gray as dawn broke over the city.

yeah, sleep wasn't happening.

 every single time your eyes got heavy, your brain decided to replay a vivid explicit memory of jaafar’s hands gripping onto your waist, paired with high definition audio of that low growl he makes everytime. 

your body was completely tuned into the deep ache radiating through your thighs, not to mention his expensive, heavy cologne still clinging to your skin like a second layer of clothing.

you finally rolled out of bed at seven, feeling less like a human and more like an extra in a true crime documentary.

your living area was practically a crime scene anyway. that kitchen island just stood there in the morning light, a victim of the storm that happened directly on it earlier. 

you finally remembered that coffee table.

your phone sat perfectly centered. you picked it up, watching the display illuminate the text thread that was about to give you a headache.

you stare at the last text you sent him.

goodnight🙂, love you too

that tiny smiling face just looked downright depressing in the harsh daylight. 

before the incoming wave of nausea could fully choke you out, the message flickered down from the top of your screen.

jaafar: wake up, pretty. i miss you.

jaafar: call me.

your throat completely closed up.

your thumb hovered over his contact, and suddenly you were right back where you’d been the night before.

your heart racing, stomach flipping, already questioning your own judgment.

every sensible part of you was begging you to stop. the version of you that had spent your entire life learning how to be composed, was practically screaming to put the phone down.

you should’ve listened. 

but. no. why would you?

like it was second nature you pressed the call button.

the phone barely got through half a ring.

he was waiting for you.

"you called," jaafar’s voice slid through the speaker.

 the raw edge from when he had you bent over the kitchen counter was gone. 

it was replaced by that smooth, untouchable ‘press conference’ tone.

"yes, i did," you whispered, tying the silk robe tighter as you stared out your windows. 

below, the city was waking up, cars starting to peak through the lanes. "jaafar, about what happened ear—"

"save it," he cut in softly, a low, knowing chuckle vibrating against your ear. "don't try to change the what we did  just because the sun's out. you explicitly stated you don't want anyone else." he emphasized.

"well, he comes home tomorrow," you said, clearing your throat. "flight lands at noon. i have to play the perfect girlfriend."

a heavy pause stretched over the line. the quiet grew thick until you caught the faint rustle of his movement.

"hm, then do your job baby," jaafar murmured, his pitch dropping into something dangerously intimate. "let him buy you dinner. let him hold your hand. but when you're looking at his face across the table,” jaafar paused for a split second.

“i want you remembering exactly how you looked up at me from the floor, taking all of me with that pretty mouth. remember the marks i left on your hips under whatever fancy dress you picked out for him."

a warm chill rushed up your neck. you shut your eyes, as a smirk grew on your lips. "you are fucking evil."

"i'm greedy," he corrected. "anyways, there’s a foundation benefit this friday. i know that your parents are attending. obviously, he's attending. and i'll be arriving with my girl."

my girl. hearing that made a feeling of rage creep up inside of you.

“hm,”  the hum escaped before you could stop it. 

your eyebrows shot up, your whole body giving a tiny shake as if rejecting the information on instinct.

"wear something that shows off your neck. i like admiring my artwork." 

your eyes flew open. "jaafar, absolutely not. we cannot risk that environment."

"see you friday, princess," he concluded, brushing right past your panic. 

the line went dead.

“oh im so fucking done with him.” you mumble under your breath.

two days later, the airport terminal was absolute chaos. 

you stood by the security gate looking like the walking definition of early 2000s high fashion. but nobody needed to know you spent forty minutes in the bathroom caking heavy concealer over the deep purple bites on your neck and chest.

you adjusted the strap of your cream shoulder bag as you moved through the terminal, the soft click of your gold kitten heels tapping out a steady rhythm against the floor. 

your white and brown striped top sat just right. a structured collar and long sleeves, but the kind of neckline that showed off your perked boobs perfectly. 

the pleated khaki skirt was tucked in clean, sitting snug at your waist, the chunky matching belt pulling everything together without trying too hard.

every few steps, your gold anklet chimed softly, barely noticeable over the noise of the airport around you. you slowed for a second when you caught your reflection in the glass, tilting your head like you were checking something only you could see, then kept it moving.

"babe!"

a familiar shout broke through the crowd noise. your boyfriend walked through the sliding glass doors, a genuine, happy expression lighting up his face the second he spotted you. 

your curls bounced as you walked towards him–full, the dark tones catching the light when you passed under it.

your hands kept fidgeting with your layered gold chains without you even thinking about it, nails tapping lightly against the metal before dropping back to your side.

dropping his luggage, he covered the distance between you and locked his arms around your midsection, pulling you up into a tight embrace.

the second his hands pressed into your ribs, a sharp jolt of physical memory shot straight down your spine. 

you went still for a fraction of a second before forcing your muscles to soften, burying your face against his chest.

"man, i missed you," he breathed against your hair, pulling back to press a soft, comforting kiss to your lips. it was a safe gesture. gentle.

but he wasn’t jaafar.

"you good? look a bit down." 

"just... didn't sleep great while you were away," you lied through your teeth, flashing a fake, rehearsed grin before grabbing his fingers.

his palm felt warm, completely trusting, and totally clueless. as you walked toward the parking area, his hand resting casually against your lower back, the guilt started actively burning in your chest.

he was perfect. he loved you. he was the intelligent choice that kept your future together. that white picket fence fairytale, he would provide that for you.

it just wasn’t enough for you though.

but as you unlocked the suv, your pocket buzzed. you didn't even need to look at the screen. jaafar was already haunting the weekend, and friday night was less than forty eight hours away.

the vehicle smelled strictly of vanilla air freshener and clean leather.

"so, let's skip the kitchen tonight," your boyfriend suggested, his hand resting casually on your knee as he maneuvered through afternoon traffic.

your eyes widened at the word kitchen.

"we can hit that little pasta spot you like, then catch up on sleep. you seriously look wiped out, hon."

"sounds perfect," you muttered, keeping your eyes glued to the windshield.

 his palm on your leg felt incredibly heavy. not heavy with lust, but with the crushing weight of hisinnocence.

he was planning a wholesome night, nothing big, just on the couch, completely oblivious to the fact that every single muscle in your body was still recovering from the ways another man had entirely handled you.

and boy did he handle you.

the last 2 days came and went, and eventually it was friday.

the grand ballroom was chaos in the prettiest way.

crystal glasses catching light everywhere, diamonds flashing on wrists and necks, voices layered over each other in that loud, effortless high society hum. 

camera flashes went off at the entrance nonstop, like the room didn’t even know how to exist without being watched.

you stood beside your partner, taking it all in, dressed in a gold sequined gown that looked less like fabric and more like liquid light poured over you. 

every flash hit it and bounced right back, soft on your deep toned skin like you were glowing on purpose.

the dress was doing exactly what it needed to do.

halter straps pulling into a deep v, clean cutouts at the waist, and a gold ring detail anchoring it all at the center. 

from there, it dropped into a long, sweeping skirt that followed your movements like it was attached to you.

it was elegant, yeah. but still a little dangerous in that quiet way.

your man leaned closer through the noise, eyes dragging over you like he was seeing you all over again. 

“you look insane tonight,” he said low, sliding his hand down to rest right on your hip. your breath instantly caught. 

his palm was resting directly over the darkest bruise jaafar had pressed into your skin. forcing a smile, you leaned your weight into his side to disguise the sudden shaking in your hands. 

"thank you. let's find my parents."

moving through the crowd, the hair on your arms suddenly stood up. that suffocating, magnetic pull returned instantly. 

you didn't even have to scan the room to know he stepped inside. 

a sudden quiet rippled through the entrance crowd. you turned your head slowly, tracing the room until your vision locked onto him.

jaafar. 

he was wearing a custom black tuxedo, looking effortlessly royal. on his arm, his girlfriend looked stunning in a column of white sequins, laughing at something a reporter said. 

but jaafar wasn't looking at the media. he wasn't looking at the sponsors.

his dark, hungry eyes were focused entirely on you.

your boyfriend turned, catching your line of sight. "oh, the jacksons made it. we should go offer congratulations on the new foundation launch."

you laugh towards your boyfriend awkwardly, “uh right now?”

"it'll take two seconds, babe," he smiled, already steering you by the waist toward the one person who could ruin your life with a single sentence.

"no—" the syllable left your lips too fast, sounding entirely too breathless. "let's hit the bar first." 

you try to turn back but it was already too late.

you just gave up.

as you both closed the distance, jaafar’s girlfriend noticed the approach and offered a warm smile. "oh, hi! so wonderful to see you both."

you traded the empty, polite formalities you'd been practicing since childhood. 

you congratulated her, keeping your tone flawless. but the whole time you spoke, you could feel jaafar’s focus burning into your bare chest. he knew exactly what this dress meant. 

he knew you got ready for him.

"you look incredible," his girlfriend added, admiring the custom dress. "this shade is perfect on you."

"thank you," you managed, your lungs struggling for oxygen.

"yes, a very pretty choice," jaafar’s voice finally intervened, smooth with a quiet weight that made your knees turn to absolute liquid. 

he moved an inch closer, his tall frame completely dominating the small circle. his eyes dipped to your neckline, a slow, almost predatory grin catching the corner of his lips. 

"the tailoring suits her perfectly. don't you agree?" he asked, looking right at your boyfriend.

"absolutely," your partner nodded, totally blind to the monster standing right in front of him. 

he tightened his arm around your waist. "i'm a very lucky guy."

at the movement of your boyfriend's hand, a flash of pure possessive filled irritation crossed jaafar’s expression. 

his jaw tightened, the public charm instantly vanishing from his eyes, replaced by that exact same feral hunger he had at your place.

"excuse me," jaafar murmured, his pitch dropping. "i'm going to grab a refill. honey, do you need anything?" he asked his girlfriend.

"another glass of champagne would be amazing, thanks," she beamed.

jaafar shifted his gaze back to you, his eyes locking onto yours with a silent instruction. 

follow me. 

he didn't utter the words, but you heard them clear as day. he turned on his heel, walking toward the dimly lit hallway that led to the private balconies and restrooms.

your heart was hitting your ribs like a hammer. the adrenaline was making your head spin. 

"hey," you whispered, turning to your boyfriend and placing a hand on his chest. "i'm going to run to the ladies room real quick. meet you by the lounge?"

"sure, take your time," he smiled, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

every step away from him felt like walking off a cliff. you slipped past the main lounge area, moving into the quiet, shadowed hallway of the hotel’s older wing. 

the noise from the party faded into a low hum.

before you could even check behind you, a large hand clamped onto your wrist.

in one swift, breathless motion, you were hauled into the darkness of a locked private dining space. the door clicked shut behind you.

you were slammed firmly against the wall, the cool wood meeting your spine.

"jaafar—"

his mouth hit yours before you could even finish. 

it was rough, desperate, and completely reckless. he didn't care that his girlfriend was about fifty feet away. he didn't care about your man, your family, or the photographers that could be outside the door. 

his fist gathered the fabric of your dress, yanking you flush against his tuxedo.

a defeated whimper caught in your throat, and he drank it down, his tongue tangling with yours in a deep claim.

"i warned you," jaafar growled against your lips, his breathing already heavy and wrecked. 

his long fingers slid up your neck, his thumb tilting your chin upward so you had to look at him in the shadows. "i told you not to–why the fuck would you let him touch you like you belong to him?"

you wanted to rile him up a bit, show him exactly how you felt.

“well, maybe because i’m not just a ‘quick fuck’ for him. he’s my boyfriend, he actually loves me jaafar.”

the second those words leave your lips, the entire energy in the dark room shifts from reckless to just dangerous.

you can feel the exact moment jaafar’s brain stops processing logic and lets the animal take over. his chest expands against yours, a strong, heavy breath rattling through his lungs as his grip on your neck turns almost concrete.

 his thumb digs into your jawline, forcing your head back against the wood so hard it makes your vision swim for a second.

the low, terrifying chuckle that leaves his throat is completely empty of humor. 

"he loves you?" jaafar echoes, his voice dropping into a register so deep it literally vibrates right through your spine.

he steps closer, crowding you until the fabric of his tuxedo is crushing the shimmering gold sequins of your gown, your dark skin burning everywhere as his body frames yours. "you think i give a single shit about his feelings, huh?"

he doesn't wait for you to answer. his jaw clenches so tightly you can see the muscle in his cheek even in the dim sliver of light under the door.

"you want to talk about love while you're standing here, in the dark with my prints still on your skin?" he growls, his face dipping down until his lips are brushing against the sensitive skin of your ear.

"he doesn't know you like i do. he loves the version of you that sits pretty at dinner. he doesn't know how you taste. he doesn't know the sounds you make when you're begging for it on the floor."

you gulp, your chest heaving.

“does he? hm?”

his free hand travels down your front, his long fingers tracing the curve of your waist before moving past the gold ring detail at your center to bunch the gold fabric of your skirt up to your hips. 

his palm is blazing hot against your bare thigh, his long fingers instantly digging into your skin right next to the dark purple marks he left two nights ago.

"j—" you gasp out, your fingers automatically gripping onto the fabric of his jacket for balance, your heart hammering a frantic, terrified rhythm against your ribs.

"shut up," he commands smoothly, the authority in his tone making your knees turn to water.

in one breathless movement, jaafar hooks his hands under your ass and hoists your entire weight off the ground. 

your back hits the wooden wall with a solid thud, your legs instinctively wrapping tight around his waist to keep from falling. the silk lining of your dress is bunched up in a heavy mess between your stomachs, leaving your core completely exposed.

the footsteps out in the hallway freeze the air between you.

"babe? you in here?" your boyfriend's voice cuts through the thick quiet of the room, sounding dangerously close.

panic hits you like a tidal wave. your hands lock onto jaafar’s shoulders, pushing against his chest while your eyes widen in the dark.

he doesn't budge. he stays pinned right against you, heavy chest rising and falling, his jaw tightly clenched. 

a fierce look settles into his eyes as his grip on your waist. he holds his breath, head tilted toward the door, listening to the quiet space.

"hey, the bathroom is back this way," his girlfriend's voice suddenly echoes from further down the hall, her heels clicking softly. "oh, okay, sorry, thought she might’ve went down here."

the sound of their steps slowly fades, turning the corner back toward the booming bass of the ballroom.

the second the silence returns, the tension in your body snaps.

a shaky sob escapes your lips, your forehead dropping against his chest. "jaafar, stop... we have to go back out there. they're looking for us."

"fuck that," he growls, his voice a feral rasp that vibrates straight into your soul. 

he doesn't even pause to take off his jacket. with his left arm keeping your lower back pinned flat against the wall, his right hand flies down to work open his trousers. 

the moment he frees himself, the thick head of his length brushes directly against your aching entrance. 

you're already completely slick, dripping and soaking wet for him from the adrenaline of the ‘argument’, your body completely betraying the speech you just gave him.

jaafar lets out a ragged groan against your neck when he feels how ready you are. he adjusts his grip on your hip, fingers digging into your skin, and with one relentless thrust of his hips, he buries his entire shaft inside you.

a loud, shattered cry breaks from your lips, but jaafar’s mouth instantly crashes onto yours, swallowing the sound whole. 

he catches your tongue with his own, claiming your mouth while stretching your core so completely that your hips shudder against him involuntarily.

he starts pacing himself immediately, losing all restraint. because he’s holding your entire weight, every single thrust bottoms out, buried to the absolute hilt.

every time he drives into you, your body shifts up against the wall, the friction of the sequins and his rough hands making your skin feel like it's on fire.

"fuck, you're so tight," he rasps against your mouth, pulling back just an inch, his eyes dark pools of lust as he watches your face unravel in the dim light. “you know this dick all yours, right?"

his pace turns frantic, punishing. “answer me.”

 his growls turn feral against your neck, his teeth grazing over your collarbone, intentionally marking you all over again where everyone out in that ballroom will see. 

"jaafar… yes, oh my fuck.”

“j pleaseplease," you wail into his ear, your body tightening into a coil, the pressure building so fast.

you can feel the sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest, the contrast of his expensive cologne and the raw smell of sex filling the small space.

"yeah, baby, take it," he chokes out, his thrusts turning shorter, harder, and completely relentless as he pins your thighs even wider around his waist. "cum all on your dick."

the command is the final trigger. your body completely breaks, your climax hits you in that familiar violent ripple. 

you cry into his shoulder, your inner muscles clenching so hard around his dick that it completely breaks whatever ‘restraint’ he had left.

with a loud, deep roar against your neck, jaafar delivers his final thrusts, burying himself as deep as you can take him before his large frame shudders violently. 

he holds you crushed against the wall, pinning you there as he releases a thick wave of his hot cum deep inside you.

his chest heaving heavily against yours as the room falls back into quiet gasps for air.

the reality of what just happened crashes down the exact second jaafar pulls out of you.

a soft, involuntary whimper leaves your throat at the sudden coldness, your legs slipping down his waist.

your feet hit the floor, but your knees give out instantly. jaafar catches you by your waist before you can hit the ground, his chest still heaving beneath his rumpled dress shirt, his forehead resting against yours for a couple of  heavy breaths.

"i got you," he breathes, his voice a low and raspy. 

he doesn't say another word as he steps back slightly, his long fingers moving with a practiced speed. he tucks himself away, the metallic click of his zipper sounding like an end to the madness. 

then, he reaches down, smoothing the sequins of your gown back down your thighs, pulling the fabric over your trembling frame until the dress looks exactly as it did before.

you're leaning against the wall, trying to stop your chest from jumping, hands smoothing over your curls.

 "jaafar...we’ve been gone too long." you say, a hint of fear creeping into your voice.

"fix your hair," he murmurs simply. he doesn't look guilty. he looks completely satisfied, a slow, knowing smirk settling onto his sharp jawline as his eyes trace the fresh, dark bite mark he just stamped right next to your collarbone. "here let me help you."

he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a sleek black handkerchief, and gently wipes a stray smear of lip gloss from your chin. his touch is suddenly tender. he places one slow, warm kiss right on the center of your forehead, like he does everytime this happens.

his hands reach out to smooth your now messy curls, trying to get them to look as perfectly as possible again.

"i'll go out first," jaafar whispers, his dark eyes locking onto yours.. "give it a couple minutes. then walk back to the lounge.” 

“see you at dinner, princess."

he turns, clicks the lock, and slips out the door, the sliver of hall light vanishing as the place goes pitch black again.

you're left standing alone in the quiet room, the smell of his heavy cologne and sex thick in the air, while the distant, muffled bass of the ballroom reminds you that the real world is waiting right outside.

you stand there in the dark for a long time, the silence of the private dining room pressing heavy against your ears. 

your knees are still vibrating from the weight of him, and the liquid fire he left inside you is a literal physical reminder of the boundary you just absolutely destroyed.

you pull out the small compact mirror you carry in your purse, the faint light from your phone screen reflecting off the gold sequins of your dress.

your completely flushed, your lips swollen, and that dark purple mark on your neck practically mocking the family name you’re supposed to be representing tonight.

fixing your hair with shaking fingers, a sudden, cold wave of clarity hits you right in the chest.

i can’t keep doing this. the thought forms clearly in your mind for the very first time. it’s too much. 

the lying, the concealer, the constant panic attacks every time your phone screen lights up with his name. you look at your reflection and realize you don't even recognize the girl staring back. 

your boyfriend is out there right now, probably holding a warm glass of champagne, completely trusting you. 

he offers stability. he offers a life where you don't have to hide in dark corners and wash another man's scent off your skin in the middle of the night. 

you want to be done with jaafar. you need to be done with him. but as you reach for the doorknob to step back into reality, your hand completely freezes.

your chest tightens, a sudden, suffocating ache stopping you dead in your tracks.

 it’s the same pulling sensation that always drags you back to him, but looking at the empty dark space where he just stood, the truth finally hits you like a slap to the face.

it isn't just adrenaline. it isn't just a toxic craving you're addicted to.

you actually love him.

the realization makes your breath hitch, a shaky, terrified gasp leaving your throat. you love the terrifying way he takes up space in a room. 

you love the low, possessive growl of his voice when it’s just the two of you, and God help you, you even love the chaotic, greedy way he refuses to let anyone else claim you. 

your boyfriend offers a fairytale, but jaafar holds your actual soul in his hands, and he knows it. blocking his number wouldn't fix a thing because he’s already built a home beneath your skin. he owned you.

swallowing the lump in your throat, you force your expression back. you open the door, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway.

the bass of the ballroom grows louder with every step you take, the transition back to reality making your head spin. 

you smooth down the long, sweeping skirt of your gold gown, taking one deep breath before turning the corner back into the crowd.

your boyfriend is standing right by the edge of the lounge, looking around with a faint, concerned crease between his brows. 

the second his eyes find you, the worry melts away, replaced by that familiar, sweet smile. "there you are," he says, stepping forward and immediately wrapping a warm arm around your waist. 

"you okay? you were gone a while."

"i'm fine, babe," you lie smoothly, the words tasting like blood in your mouth as your eyes automatically drift past his shoulder, searching the crowded ballroom for a tailored black tuxedo and a pair of dark, hungry eyes. "just needed a minute."

Your legs were locked tight around your man’s waist, heels digging into his lower back while his cock pressed almost cervix-deep inside you with each ruining thrust. His torso was flush to yours, bodies entirely entwined as you moved in a messily erotic rhythm. Michael’s bicep was just beside your face, where he had one arm resting around the silhouette of your upper body on the pillows, so that a hand cradled your dazed out head. Every time you made love, he held you this way.

“Oh Mikey, baby, s’good—” you gasped and whined, tugging at his dark hair as he hit your sweet spot upon thoughtful direction of every single stroke. He’d started off achingly slow, but now you were both reaching your climax, therefore unconsciously Michael had picked up the pace.

“Mama, y’so tight, oh—” he moaned right beside your ear, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the sound and at the sensations in your nether region at once.

“Michael, they’re gonna hear,” you stressed, although you didn’t do so very quietly, as with the prior moans.

“Don’t care no more—not thinkin’ ‘bout nothin’ but you, baby,” he said through grunts, pounding you with precision as the headboard knocked against the wall in rhythmic force. It had been making that repetitive noise for the last ten minutes, together with the sound of Michael’s childhood bed squeaking and the sound of skin slapping.

Each sound protruding from those four walls, including the pornographic noises elicited from your throat, were contributing together to make a lewd sort of song. For anybody in the house, it was incredibly obvious what Michael was getting up to in his locked bedroom. It was a warm summer evening, and Michael’s brothers had been out playing basketball all afternoon—on one of those days where they all reunited back home—but now they were inside messing around, and there was no way they couldn’t hear the two of you.

Yet despite that knowledge, neither of you could even attempt to slow down or lower the noise. The present moment was much too heavenly to be reduced. And you’d been doing this a lot lately—fucking in his bedroom even though you both knew his mother despised sex out of wedlock. She hadn’t caught you both yet, but the risk was of course always there.

Writhing against the sheets, you mentally praised the otherworldly evidence of how well Michael could use his thick, well-endowed cock, but on top of that, his moans alone were ethereal. When he wasn’t whispering praise in your ear, you relished in the beauty of the desperate mewls he shamelessly spilled out above you, and especially this evening, where the snap of his hips was making him breathless.

“Baby girl, y’ body’s everythin’… so magical,” he murmured, kissing and biting at your neck while fiercely maintaining pace. “So soft ‘n sweet. All mine…”

With each nip to your skin, he let his tongue dart out to taste your scent, in heaven at the indulgence but altogether wishing he could somehow eat your pussy and make love to you at once.

Without meaning to, your moans only grew louder. “Baby, I love you—mm, harder, oh, you’re so deep—”

“Yeah, I got you, mama,” Michael whispered, pressing one hand down on the mattress to get better control of his movements, those skilful thrusts picking up even more pace. Meanwhile, the activator in his Jheri curls was mixing with the constant production of sweat that dripped down his forehead, and together the liquids amalgamated and trickled onto your shoulder and chest. You truly could feel every inch of him everywhere, and you kept attempting to tighten the weight of your legs around him, to tighten the security of your arms around his neck, except there was no getting any closer than your current position.

“How y’feelin, honeybaby? Want me to pull back a little and rub y’ sweet clit?”

Obviously you did want him to use his fingers on you, but at the same time you didn’t like the prospect of his thermal body being detached from yours, even if there was to be a replacement of sensation. Because really, you didn’t necessarily need his slender fingers over your bundle of nerves in order to bring you to orgasm. The cosy weight of his body, the intimacy of your locked-in positional dynamic, too with the feel of his bicep on your shoulder and his tender hand at your head—all those elements accompanied by his girthy cock pistoning in and out of you was more than enough already. You could feel every vein, every ridge, brush against your walls with each stroke, each squelch of your juices coating his shaft.

“No, Mikey, want you just like this, don’t move—oh, don’t stop, honey, you fuck me so good, ’m gonna—oh fuck, baby, yes!”

“Aw, my baby—nnghh—sweet girl… Lemme get you there…” Never slowing the relentless force of his cock, he took one of your hands and gently placed a kiss over the knuckles, and you really could’ve died right there. How perfect was Michael Jackson in bed, that he could fuck you into oblivion while equally being so tender and soft? That oxymoron was your boyfriend summed up in a nutshell.

The two of you were being way too loud now—truthfully you in particular. It was a good thing Katherine and Joseph weren’t home, but as clarified previously, every single brother was. How on earth had they all managed to end up back at Hayvenhurst for a stupid reunion on the night you and Michael desperately needed the most alone time?

Well, that was honestly a silly question, because Michael made love to you like this almost every night, if he wasn’t at your place to do it instead. The brothers weren’t exactly to be blamed. Perhaps you and your man just needed to calm down where sex drive was concerned, but one couldn’t help the nature of their biology. Here were two individuals deeply addicted to each other, and an addiction to that degree was impossible to override.

“Now what in the hell is goin’ on in here?” you suddenly heard Jackie say from outside the door.

You froze, but Michael was unfazed. It was an unexplained phenomenon, but whenever Michael had sex with you, his usual shy, cautious inhibitions would lose their place in his line of focus. All he cared about was you, and making sure you reached your orgasm quickly, while his was very much nearing too.

“Man, you know exactly what they up to,” Marlon chuckled, in response to Jackie. “Can hear that shit from downstairs. Oh, Michael, harder!”

“Mikey, stop,” you said quickly, tapping his shoulder.

Immediately he did as instructed, pulling his head up from your shoulder a little to check you were okay.

“Too much, baby?” he asked, a little out of breath, as he brushed his thumb over your cheek to soothe you.

Outside the door, the boys were still laughing. Randy and Tito had joined them now from downstairs.

“No,” you giggled bashfully, holding the back of his neck and wiping some of the ever-dripping Jheri curl-sweat mixture from his jaw. “Your brothers are literally outside.”

“Huh?” Michael’s face scrunched up in confusion, and in part frustration at the way he’d been made to pause inside your throbbing, weeping cunt all because he’d been cursed with a million bothersome brothers.

“Michael, how the hell did you not hear them?” you chuckled, playing with his damp hair now.

He rolled his eyes. “Go back downstairs!”

“We’re not doin’ nothin’, Mike!” Tito shouted.

“But y’know what I’m doin’, right? And y’ still up here!”

“No? What are you doin’ in there, Michael?” Marlon teased sarcastically.

You were literally squirming at this point, mentally praying that they’d just go away, because you needed Michael to continue.

“You makin’ love?” Jackie sung playfully. “Don’t get her pregnant, lil bro.”

“’m not gonna get her pregnant,” he protested in annoyance. “Will y’ just leave us be?”

“Alright, alright,” a few of them laughed in unison. “Just keep it down—Joseph’s comin’ back in a few minutes.”

“Oh no,” Michael squinted anxiously. Footsteps began, then faded as the boys skipped off downstairs again.

“Baby, it’s fine,” you reassured, stroking his upper back. “We’ll be quick—I’m almost there.”

“Um,” he stammered, rubbing at his eyes. “No, I uh… don’t feel well.”

Slowly and carefully he sat back on his knees and slipped his cock out of you, it now standing flushed up against his stomach, messy white streaks painting up and down the shaft from base to tip, but the flesh was beginning to soften.

“Hey, what do you mean?” You sat up too, expression one of sheer confusion. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I’m really sorry, I just…” Michael turned, picking up his boxers from the floor and slipping into them, seated on the edge of the bed, facing away from you. “It’s Joseph. I really made him mad this mornin’ and I’ve not seen him since. Until, um—well, he’s comin’ back now.”

Feeling incredibly awkward, Michael then jumped up off the bed, searching for some comfortable clothes to quickly dress into. Meanwhile, you sat anxiously in the messy sheets, your sex still glistening with arousal, but the inner sensations were fading with Michael’s. You didn’t mind that he’d had to stop so abruptly, because you understood completely. Sometimes he would even projectile vomit at the thought of his father returning unexpectedly. His body went into fight-or-flight mode at the mere mention of the man’s name, and so there was no way he could sustain an erection and enjoy the rest of your lovemaking in that state.

“C’mere, baby,” you sighed sadly, outstretching your arms.

When he turned around, he didn’t smile. There were hints of anxiety splayed all over his face, and it broke your heart.

“Michael. Come back to bed—you can just get up again when he knocks.”

Michael took a deep breath, clamping his eyes shut as a signal of the constricting pain he felt in his chest. “Okay,” he said quietly, a real switch in temperament as opposed to just minutes ago. Now he took the appearance of a sad little boy, the one you knew had never left him.

He climbed into bed beside you, and immediately you pulled him into your chest, letting him nuzzle against your bare breasts.

“There ya go, honey…” you whispered to him, cradling his head. Without the need for instruction, he latched his mouth onto one of your nipples, beginning to suck over the sensitive nerves.

“’m sorry for cuttin’ things short,” he muttered against your skin. “I was close but… I can’t really, y’know, sustain it when I get anxious.”

“No, baby, I understand,” you said back, running your hands through his hair, uncaring how damp the strands were. “Listen to me, angelface,” you kissed his forehead, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Ever. Just wanna take care of you, make you feel safe… That’s everythin’ you deserve.”

Michael nodded, though he didn’t respond, because he never knew what to say to such intimate talk. He couldn’t stop worrying about Joseph, who would come through the door any minute now, and so you spent the remaining minutes with him cuddled up close, whispering sweet nothings and praise in his ear, telling him how he only ever needed to listen to your words, and never Joseph’s jealousy-fuelled ones.

He ended up approaching his father with much less anxiety than he’d initially been feeling, but indeed he was berated, defined as worthless, and hit with an iron cord—all because he had expressed a different opinion that morning.

When Michael slipped back into bed beside you after night had fallen, you kissed over the growing bruises, and again held him to your chest until he fell sound asleep. Oh, how you wished life would be kinder to your sweet angel boy. He hadn’t done a thing wrong in his entire life.

omg i just started writing a lil drabble and ended up with this >:) also i literally have to end every smut fic with michael being soft because of course?!♥︎

"You haven't fed me all day, mama," Jackie's deep airy voice travels through the soft skin of your inner thigh. He kisses each side slowly, driving you hotter. His tongue licking softly the higher he goes.

Fed. Meaning he hasn't gotten enough of your attention today as you tried to keep a respectable distance from him around the pool.

"Well, for starters. Randy kept making weird bird noises every time you stepped near me. Makin' everybody look," you state tilting his head up by his chin, basking in the beautiful view of this man kneeling between your legs.

"Second, Marlon kept making gagging noises whenever you touched me! He was on my last nerve."

Jackie chuckles, also noticing how his teenage brothers had been acting today. The whole afternoon you spent with all of the Jackson siblings in their pool on their day off gave you no chance to relax.

"Don't mind them, baby. You know I don't," he murmurs against your skin again, tracing more patterns with his tongue. He reaches your covered core and licks over the already wet fabric. The sweet sensation makes you brace yourself against the pantry shelf Jackie had cornered you in after you stormed off earlier hearing Marlon gag again.

"Jackie..." you sigh his name keeping your voice low, placing your leg over his shoulder to grind on his tongue better. His large hands roam all over your thighs as he pushes his tongue further in leaving you breathless. Impatient, he hooks his finger around your panties to finally expose you. His mouth immediately sucks at your sensitive and swollen bud while his other hand massages your folds, spreading your wetness on his fingers.

He tests one digit to push inside you and you had to place your hand over your mouth to stop a loud moan when he twists as he pulls out to shortly push a second finger in. The sound of your cunt and his mouth making wet noise was driving you close already.

Jolting at a third digit stretching you out, you cry out his name in a gasp, hands gripping behind you making a few items on the shelf shake along with your body.

"Baby! I'm-I'm-"

"Found them, Mother!" Michael's voice booms through the walls as he slams the swinging door open, catching you two in the act. Jackie instantly flies to his feet trying to cover you as he sends a glare to his brother.

"Michael, I'mma kill you!"

Other than the whole ‘Michael Jackson is hiring’ thing. Obviously.

It’s now a little over a year later. Since then, you’ve left MJJ Productions for MJJ Music, and have successfully scouted one solo artist, a trio, and a band. Each one more talented than the other, having all of the potential to fill out unique niches in the industry if given the chance to flourish.

And, for some reason still unbeknownst to you, Michael trusted you. Enough to bring you over to MJJ Music once he established it under Epic Records, promote you to A&R, agree to all of your recruits with close to no objections at all.

Maybe it was your work experience, or ethic. Maybe it was the fact that each time he’d chosen to spend a day with all of you at Lankershim Boulevard, you’d treated him just like any other boss rather than living legend. You’d teased and rolled your eyes, and you think it’d endeared you to him much more than any ass-kissing ever would’ve.

Or, maybe, it was that one day in late March of 1992.

(Larrabee Studios was buzzing with the overworked haze of a prestigious set, the space filled with too many egos at once. It was just you, your electronic typewriter, and a stack of fresh NDAs for In The Closet against the world.

Michael was inside the rehearsal room with Herb Ritts—reviewing the initial choreography—when Naomi Campbell’s high-nosed fashion stylist barged in, flanked by a small entourage of assistants carrying garment bags. They looked exhausted and stressed way above their paygrade would warrant, but most importantly?

Running late.

The stylist slammed a hand on your desk like you were a dog, spitting with each shrill word coming out of his mouth. “Buzz us through to Studio A right now, Herb and Michael are waiting on these wardrobe options.”

It was when one of the aforementioned assistants tried to reach over and press the security release button himself that you sprang into action. You were more than content to level them with the same amount of liveliness you’d exhibit reciting a drilling manual, but if they wanted to test your patience, you’d gladly indulge in the fuck-around-find-outness of it all.

You slammed a clipboard right on top of the assistant’s wandering hand, and stifled a snort when he flinched. Tone flat, you said: “No one enters without a timestamped signature on the NDA. State your names for the typewritten manifest…?”

The stylist scoffed, yelled something about making 10K a day and not having time for secretarial paperwork. Wasn’t your fault he had poor time management, you told him as much. He didn’t like that. Tried to push past the side of your desk, but you stopped him with the same look your mother used to have when you were being a little shit.

“One step past this desk without a signed contract, I’ll lock down the entire corridor and have security escort you off the property. Sign or go back to your car. I don’t have all day, and neither do you.”

The double-paned glass window next to your desk was a one-way mirror, and you didn’t know it at the time, but Michael was watching. Gulping down a glass of water with sweat on his brow, the King of Pop watched fascinated as you treated an entitled high-end stylist with the same uncompromising deadpan expression you’d treat the delivery guy.

You had just the right amount of bite to manage the raw and unpolished young artists he wanted to sign to MJJ Music. You fascinated him then, and it began bleeding into everything else from there on out.)

Maybe it was something else entirely.

But every time you slapped another scout report that needed signing off on his desk—personally, per his request—all you’d get would be a few minutes of thoughtful consideration, a look beneath stray curls, and a soft-spoken: “You think they got it?”

You said yes every time.

And then, came the stress. The tabloid pressure. Super Bowl XXVII’s halftime performance and all the sweat he poured into it. The Oprah interview. His health, the world tour, the exhaustion.

Everybody’s got a breaking point.

It just so happened that Michael’s was a typo on the latest deal memo.

You didn’t mean to. You were tired, barely got half a night’s worth of sleep, eyes and ears swimming with each clack of the keys on your typewriter. Work was running late, almost 1AM, and Neverland seemed to take the almost-fairytale form its namesake promised. Everyone on the property was fast asleep or halfway there; not you or Michael, though.

(You being there was a recent development. Michael said it’d be lighter on your workload: easier to coordinate with Norma over the deal memos and reports, handling some of his fanmail on the property and searching for talent in the endless self-recorder cassettes he received. You started coming every other week, and even had your own unofficial guestroom. It was nice. Being closer to him was nicer.)

His private library was dead quiet, slow and comfortable. Michael was sitting at the heavy mahogany desk, still wearing his white rehearsal shirt, looking completely drained. The lines of exhaustion around his eyes were deep, and growing deeper the longer the midnight oil burned.

You’d put together the memo with the instructions he told you. $100K advance, two-album commitment, 50% royalty rate—

—Loud incorrect buzzer!

Fifteen. Not fifty percent.

He’d told you fifteen.

The dog-tired look in his eyes almost made you curl up and scream. The last thing he needed was you messing shit up when you’re the only one he trusts to just… not to. He hardly even looked over the documents by that point; just a quick skim before signing and having you hand them either to Norma or the lawyers.

And you fucked it up anyway.

He sighed, curls in disarray. He was looking at you beneath his lashes with such a defeated look you almost fell to your knees right there. Slowly, his long and slender fingers slid the paper across the desk toward you. His doe-wide eyes stared you down right to your marrow, dark and filled with a piercingly fragile exhaustion.

His voice was an airy murmur, so quiet you had to lean in slightly to hear. “Look at this… Please.”

You did. Leaning over the front of the desk far enough to hover and read the ink comfortably, you skimmed it once and twice, tired eyes jumping word after word. But, you couldn’t find it. You gave up halfway through the third try.

You were too worn out to do anything other than look in his eyes questioningly, trying to wordlessly apologize without even knowing what’s wrong yet. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned a bit forward, reached a finger to the mistake, lingered long enough for your eyes to follow. Your heart dropped straight down your ass.

He’d said fifty, hadn’t he? You were sure he had, but why the fuck would he have said fifty? Fucking idiot. “Shit… shit. Michael, I’m so sorry, I could’ve sworn—”

He let out a faint, dry breath that sounded almost like a laugh entirely devoid of humor. That sort of laugh when someone’s past the point of fatigue, teetering right on the edge of mania after a gruelingly draining day. The cherry on top. He shook his head, looking at his own hands.

“Fifty percent,” he breathed. “If Sony saw this, they’d think I’m losing my mind. More than they already do…”

“Michael, I’m genuinely so sorry, I don’t know what happened,” you shakily exhaled. “My sleep’s been kinda shit lately, but that’s no excuse. I’ll fix it right now.”

You reached down to grab the memo. Your hand froze when his own wrapped around it like a vice, soft skin burning you with something one’s boss should never incite. But that was another conversation entirely.

He looked at you. You looked at him. His palm was still wrapped around your wrist, but he softened his grip. His hold softly drifted down to your palm, your knuckles bent in his grip as he lowered his head with a sigh. You were acutely aware of every inch of skin he touched. It seared you from the inside out.

He stood up—gait languid, still holding you—rounding his desk and touching your shoulder. You saw him hesitate, just a second before he made contact with it. He was so close. Too close.

You wanted him closer.

He whispered: “I’m just… so tired. The press is writing things every other day now… It jus’ feels like everyone wants to rip pieces offa me ‘til there’s nothing left.”

He’d gotten closer, you think. Inhaling you with every breath. Looming over you, his presence like a blanket. You think you might’ve stuttered a breath the closer he got, at the way his eyelids fluttered, at his large arms and the way they flexed.

(He’d gotten… meatier. That’s the only word that comes to mind. He’s always been a gorgeous man—the posters decorating your childhood bedroom are testament enough—but ever since the turn of the decade… Well, let’s just say his training with Lou Ferrigno was visible.)

You turned sharply, pelvis almost flush against the desk and hand still held into his, grabbing the memo with all the intentions of breaking away and fixing it.

You gasped deeply when you felt him behind you. In the silence, you might as well have screamed.

He crowded you against the desk with nothing but his body heat as a barrier. His palms slowly inched onto the edge of the wood next to yours, his body everywhere, his breath scorching your nape as your heart galloped. This wasn’t happening, was it?

He was so tired. At his limit. Everything he’d worked so hard for crashing down on him all at once. Without an outlet, it was a matter of when—and no longer if—he’d blow up.

His hips were flush against yours. He wasn’t being lewd; he was just there, grounding himself against your warm body, letting some of his weight rest on you. It sent a violent tremor down your back, dizzying and addictive. His hands looked so much bigger than yours against the mahogany backdrop. You loved looking at his hands.

Your eyes travelled across the scattered blotches of melanin left by his vitiligo that he never covered inside his home. To his veins, like a map; the ridges you desperately wanted to feel on your skin. You’d wanted it for a long time.

“I just wanna hold you,” he murmured. “I need to… feel you. Y’know?” You shivered as his breath ghosted over your nape, trailing towards your cheek.

His arms wrapped around your middle, big as they slithered over your blouse, making you heave a sigh that was closer to a moan.

“Uh-huh,” you nodded dumbly. You think you might’ve astral projected a bit, because nothing was making sense in the way he squeezed you closer, in the way you let him. Like this was commonplace, and not a position you’d only ever dreamed of finding yourself in. Like a dance; something choreographed in that brilliant mind of his that you weren’t privy to.

He needed this, but deep down, you wanted it more. Selfishly. Achingly. Like nothing you’d ever wanted before. Most of all, you needed to help him: reach out a hand and offer some reprieve, away from the cameras and endless scrutiny that’d become as familiar as an old friend.

You saw how hard he worked himself to the bone every day. He was good, and determined. He deserved the world. You don’t know if you were capable of giving it to him, but you sure as hell were willing to try.

His thigh inched closer, muscle working its way between your shaking legs, lifting your skirt and making you open them as it found home on the crux of your thighs. Right where you burned and pulsed worse, the staccato in your lungs matching the tempo right where his leg rested. 

What the fuck? What the fuck?!

“M–Michael,” you gasped. “What’re y’doing?”

“Baby,” he punched out. His voice was right beside your ear, lips grazing it. It felt so intoxicating you almost got dizzy. He called you ‘baby.’ “Am I wrong? Tell me, please…”

He didn’t have to specify. Am I wrong for touching you? For wanting this? For taking something for myself? For being human, for reaching my limit?

Am I wrong for wanting you?

“No,” you whispered, reverent. “Ah… Michael, you’re… You—”

Slowly, like handling something life-or-death, you let your weight fall. Grounding yourself on his wired muscle, exhaling a gasp when he flexed his thigh and moaned into your ear. High-pitched but settling deep down your chest, a sound so utterly his it sent your brain into overdrive.

Shifting his weight, his thigh began a slow and tantalizing upwards grind against the dampness of your panties. Your slick had gathered quick and hot, spreading like scorched tendrils up your pulsing clit.

It was fucking nasty, the way you started to get lost in it. No second thoughts or, like, any thoughts. Whatsoever. He let out a ragged exhale against your neck, and with a sudden effortless surge of strength, he lifted you just a couple inches off the floor. Your weight was completely dependent on his strength. It left you reeling.

“Michael—”

“Have you been thinking ‘bout it, too?” he murmured, voice soft.

A beat. A gulp, blasting its way down your throat. A second beat. Third.

“Constantly,” you punched out.

As previously stated: no thoughts, whatsoever.

And, it should’ve been downright embarrassing to say so out loud. But not when he brought you down on his thigh languidly, the sensation nothing short of a violent electric jolt that went straight to your spine. Your knees buckled completely, head falling back onto his shoulder as a desperate gasp tore from your throat.

He was right there, cheek to cheek, almost mouth to mouth; dangerously so. His curls tickled your skin, and it hit you suddenly how much you wanted to get used to the feeling.

“What have you,” he swallowed, voice dropping, “been thinkin’ about?”

One of his hands broke free from your waist, splaying across and gripping your thigh instead. His touch was amplified over the thin pantyhose, your hairs standing on attention beneath the fabric as you fought back a shiver. The feeling made you burn even hotter, like a star about to explode into a supernova. A Big Bang threatening to turn you all inside-out, and Michael hadn’t even taken your clothes off.

“Um, I–uh,” you sputtered, a nervous chuckle slipping past. You were still moving against him, he wouldn’t let you stop. Every time you faltered, his thigh would do the work until it kicked you into gear again. It was dizzying. “I’d, y’know, think… about…”

Huh. What were you even saying? 

“I’m listenin’,” he softly urged. You could just feel the smirk. Could almost see it too, if you thought hard enough.

“I’d think about… you. W–when you rehearse–ah…”

He turned you around in his hold sharply, without warning. One second you were staring into lifeless mahogany, and the next into the most beautiful shade of brown. Eyebrows scrunched, he whispered: “You like seein’ me dance?”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. The meat of your ass was digging into the desk, and the closer he leaned into you, the harder you had to fight to stay upright. Hands gripping the wood, you managed to find your voice.

“Y–yeah…? But you knew that. Everybody in the world likes seeing you dance. You’re dirty.”

He chuckled, thigh flexing against you. Shit. “I’m not dirty—”

“N–no?” you exhaled a laugh. “Should really rethink those gold pants…”

A laugh, deep down his chest. Shaking his head, he muttered in disbelief: “The gold pants…”

You laughed, too. Unsure and still suspended in his hold, thighs tightening around his own. That same laugh suddenly turned to a cry when he made you resume your grinding.

He looked mesmerized. You weren’t even touching him and he was almost equally undone, if not worse. The realization hit you suddenly: that, maybe, this was what he needed. Control. Not for his own release outright, but for someone he trusted. Someone who trusted him back.

“Michael…?” you asked. The friction was delicious; dragging against your clothed core, slow and unhurried, building steadily until sweat was dripping down your back and the motion of your hips grew sloppy. Your skirt had bunched up completely, and suddenly an image of what you probably looked like flashed behind your lids. You choked around a gasp.

“Hm?” he mumbled, curls falling over his forehead and onto you too, your faces close but not kissing; just breathing together, inhaling his exhales and feeding him your gasps.

Shit… He hit a spot, biting his bottom lip in triumph as you lost your train of thought. Your panties had snugged up your hips, suddenly jolting against your sensitive clit, making you jump.

Hips still shifting, you managed to speak: “I wanna, I wanna–ah… Mmh, make you feel good too, just…” 

God, fuck, his hands were so big. One was splayed over your back, fingers softly rubbing patterns over your sweat-slicked blouse. The other was deeply buried in the meat of your hip, guiding your back-and-forth. He made it so hard to articulate a sentence.

“You are,” he reassured. He sounded out of breath; Michael Jackson—performer since the cradle, hours-long/no-breaks/year-round world tours, King of Pop—breathless. Because of you.

Bringing one of your legs higher towards his hip, you squeezed him close, urging him to chase his pleasure too. “No, nono, c’mon… Ah, fuck—”

You were a whining and desperate mess. And his thigh just felt so good, all toned muscle. Michael’s. Oh, God, fuck. What the hell? You were getting off on him, off your sweet boss who just so happened to be the most famous man in the world. The most talented. The most lonely.

“Shhh, baby. I’ve got you. Got you right here,” he hushed, voice dropping into that deep breathy register he only used when the cameras were entirely gone. When he was entirely gone.

Back and forth, slow, rhythmic, intoxicating. You could’ve been grinding against him for hours, or just seconds. It doesn’t matter. Your climax hit you like a cresting wave anyway, building and building and building until you were suddenly head-over-heels without even realizing. Back arching, legs cramping from your fervor to get there, your hands almost reaching up to get tangled in his curls.

Almost.

“Oh, my God,” you panted, twitching. Chest heaving, your fingers trembling.

He looked so… relaxed. Relieved. Like it wasn’t just you who got off on it, but him too. The lamps outside the window were bathing everything in soft yellow, mixing with the deep blue of the night sky and reflecting off of the side of Michael’s face.

The library grew quiet again; just your joint breaths, the wild gallop of your heart, a soft breeze whistling by the open window and ruffling the curtains. It took you less than a minute to soak up every last bit of dopamine in your system like a sponge. Less than a minute for the ground to metaphorically get swept right under those feet of yours.

You gasped, mortified, palm shooting to your mouth as you jumped away from the desk. Away from Michael. It would’ve looked better had your legs not been shaking, or your panties not been a mess. Shit.

He panicked too, you saw it in his eyes. In the way his entire body coiled up, hands held out in surrender as he leveled you with the most will-breaking doe-eyes ever. Worst thing is, he wasn’t even forcing it. It’s just how his eyes are.

“What happened?” he breathed. God, you loved his voice so much. Just a few minutes ago he had you writhing over his thigh, and now he looked catastrophically nervous. “Baby, you okay?”

There it was again. ‘Baby.’ Falling so naturally from his lips, like he’d been holding back from calling you that all along. Had he? Had you really been so blind?

(There’s a strange comfort in seeing him the way you did that night in the library. Not as the untouchable icon you grew up pining after like every other girl your age, giggling over his interviews and grooving to his music before you were old enough to drink.

He wasn’t that boy anymore, either. He was almost thirty-five now, and had all the triggers of a grown man. But he was also Michael; soft-spoken and kind, wearing his bleeding heart on his sleeve, way less shyer than in his youth yet still just as lonely.

Michael Jackson, your boss. Your friend. The only man you would’ve let touch you this way without socking him in the jaw. Knowing you made him just as nervous… Yes, it was comforting. In its own confusing way.)

“I just,” you took a breath, shaking your head. You’re honestly surprised you didn’t hear rocks. “I’m gonna… go, I think? Yeah, um, g’night—!”

Smooth. No pun intended.

Sure enough, though, you hauled ass out of that library faster than an Olympic medalist. You remember hearing his voice behind you—his soft lilt that always made you warm—and feeling nothing but panic. Pure, unadulterated panic. What you should’ve actually felt was bad, but good luck telling that to yourself that night. She was in flight mode, and no amount of pretty doe-eyes would’ve whipped her into shape.

You reached your designated guestroom in a flurry of movement; doors slamming shut behind you, soles echoing on the polished floors, blood rushing in your ears. Your back met the wall as you winced at the state of your underwear, face buried in your palms for what would become the most insane night of your life. 

Confusion and buried feelings—and that certain hue of anxiety only present in matters of the heart (or, flesh?)—swirled inside you like a tornado as you twisted and turned. You hardly slept a wink. 

Face hot, you spent the night near the open window, leaning against the marble sill and staring out into the quiet darkness of the ranch. You shifted through every single interaction between you, starting from May of 1992 until that very same night, trying to make sense of what had happened. Like a fucked-up movie screening, or a car wreck you couldn’t take your eyes off of.

Sure, he was always warm towards you; more than he was to your coworkers Kelly and Rita, who used to glance at you sideways when you teased him about the company-mandated breaks. It made him laugh; what were you supposed to do instead? Tiptoe around him on eggshells, act like he’s not just another boss like all the others?

(He wasn’t, in a multitude of ways, but your point still stands!)

And, alright, you had noticed him staring. Smiling at you wide, greeting you with a cheek kiss that would land a little too close to your mouth whenever he got the chance; it left you floundering every time. The way he’d hover over you as you wrote on the typewriter, one hand on the chair but so close to your skin, the other holding a glass of OJ. He’d ask how you were doing, if you were hungry, how much fanmail you’d gone through… And his hand on the chair would wander.

Featherlight on your upper back, giving you a soft rub before he’d leave to do all that Michael Jackson does in his day-to-day. Leaving you behind to sigh away the flush he caused each time. He also made it a point for you to eat together at least once when you were there, alongside Bill who always made you laugh.

But, you stayed at his estate half the time. You’d proven yourself a trusted employee and even though every single past work experience told you otherwise, you began treating him like a friend too. Familiarity was a normal inevitability, right?

Shit. Clearly the fuck not.

It must’ve been at least 4AM when you realized you couldn’t face him the next day. What, you’d just waltz in the living room and say, “Hey, Mike. Thanks for the orgasm, let’s do it again sometime. Up top!”

What. The. Fuck.

Nope. You had to leave, and you had to leave ASAP. So, that’s exactly what you did. Grabbed your overnight bag with half your shit thrown carelessly on the inside, still wearing the skirt and pantyhose but with your sleep-shirt instead, slipping out of the guestroom at the crack of dawn and praying nobody would ask where the hell you’re going.

You did leave a note, though. Right on top of the pillow that was stained with your mascara, off-white paper sporting the jittery pen strokes of a lady in distress.

I’m not mad at you, M. Please don’t be mad at me? Xx

Okay, fucking sue you, alright? That was a week ago. One endless, painstakingly long week. A week of numerous phone calls from the estate to your apartment in Echo Park, telling you that ‘Mr. Jackson got very worried’ and how much ‘he’d appreciate it if you could just give him a call, sweetheart, alright?’

Truth is, you wanted to. You didn’t even regret it, that’s the thing! The shock was simply a knee-jerk reaction to having gotten off on your boss’ thigh on a random Thursday. Anyone would’ve gotten rattled in your place, it’s human nature. (Ha!)

(Not the time.)

You want him, so devastatingly bad. It’s actually kind of ridiculous. Past-you would be doing somersaults had she known you’d end up in this predicament. She wouldn’t even call it a predicament; more of a literal dream come true. Teen-you might’ve actually passed out. Well. You never said you’re proud of it.

The point is, you want this. Whatever ‘this’ is. A fling? A relationship? Something to help Michael take the edge off, blow off steam, decompress? Sure. That. You want to be that for him. You want it so much you’re willing to get on your knees and beg. Maybe do a little more than begging while you’re at it, too.

So, when you finally mustered up the courage and called his personal number, you agreed to dinner on Sunday so fast Michael coughed a chuckle. He wasn’t being mean, you knew it, but it made your neck flush anyway.

Sunday came quickly. You wore your prettiest dress and shiniest burgundy pantyhose, hair and makeup all done over your tiny cluttered sink, skin slick with nervous sweat and smelling of that sweet perfume you saw on last month’s Cosmopolitan. The lady in the article swore up and down on it, and you can’t say she was lying. When Michael greets you at the car, he pauses; closes his eyes for just a second and inhales as you hug, his hold on the small of your back tightening just-so.

Thank you, Cosmo.

And, fuck. He looks good. He always somehow does, but knowing he looks good for you makes a world of difference. He wore a simple polished dress-shirt over black slacks, but his sleeves have this beautiful hand-stitched flower embroidery that makes your mission of not looking at his hands so much harder.

And as if everything else wasn’t enough, he bought out the entire restaurant. On a Sunday! The Ivy, no less. With its seen-and-be-seen white picket fenced patio and the fragrant flowers hanging from all sides, just so the A-listers can pretend the paparazzi’s cameras are just another trick of the lights. You don’t have that problem tonight, though.

Bill drove you personally, and he didn’t park on Robertson Boulevard. He took you around the restaurant instead, near the rear staff door where a small entourage of Michael’s security was huddled. Where he was waiting for you, too. Opened your car door like a gentleman, shared a look with Bill you pretended not to notice, nodded at the staff member that led you inside.

And here you are, in all your nerve-wrecked glory.

Sitting right across from him, cross-legged, bathed under the soft romantic candlelight of a place you can’t afford. The maître d’ nestled you deep inside the restaurant, at a booth where you have to crane your neck outwards to even get a glimpse at the windows. On the table rests Michael’s black fedora, and two wine glasses: sweet vintage Port for you, freshly squeezed orange juice for him.

The waiter must’ve been new because he was sweating bullets, and when he brought the drinks over, he’d placed the OJ in front of you. Both of you waited until he left to switch. Your fingers brushed, and Michael smiled at you beneath his lashes when he felt you shiver.

“This is, um… It’s nice,” you try, swallowing around the lump in your throat.

Is it the wine that’s making you lightheaded, or maybe literally everything else? Beats you. All you know is that you sounded way more seductive when the person in front of you was your own reflection.

“I’m sorry,” Michael breathes. “It’s too much, isn’t it—?”

“No!” you cut him off. “No, it’s… It’s kinda perfect, actually.” Laughing around a sip, the wine is cold against the flush that’s spread throughout your body.

“Well,” he laughs too, flashing you his pearly whites, “I’m sorry anyway.”

“For what?” you ask, even though you know. Some sick part of your brain just wants to hear him say it. See if he’s as shy as all the gossip tabloids say he is when you already know he isn’t.

“You know exactly what…” Words breaking off in a chuckle, he doesn’t meet your eyes fully, smile growing tight. And cute. He speaks your name so sweetly, saying, “I need you to know I’m sorry. Don’t know what came over me, I was jus’…” He shakes his head.

“Hey, I get it,” you breathe. And, you ready do get it. You’ve been mulling it over all week, weighing your options and what to do to tip the scale in your favor. “You… blew up. Happens to everyone, y’know. Even superstars, superstar.”

His eyebrows raise. “That don’t make what I did right.”

Your face twists into a sly smile. “If you wanna get technical, I took way more advantage, so…” Shrugging your shoulders when he scoffs, you say, “Just saying.”

“You’ve always been a smart-mouth—”

“Never heard you complaining.”

“Why’d you leave then, huh?”

Hm. Touché.

A nervous laugh punches its way out of you, more of a breath than anything else. “Uh, I,” you cut yourself off, taking a rather strong sip of the wine that’s slowly growing stale. “Well, I panicked. Nothing more to it. What do you want me to say, that I regret it? ‘Cause I don’t. And…” You tilt your head, heart ready to burst out of your ribcage. “I don’t think you do, either.”

He’s looking at you in such a way that makes you want to straddle him right here, under the private candlelight he bought out just for you. Just to apologize. Makes you want to bury your hands in that pretty head of curls he’s wearing in a low half-bun, thread your fingers through it until he’s shaking in your hold.

Sucking a breath through his teeth, he says: “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t call you here to debate or make excuses, I respect you too much. You’re invaluable to me, y’know that? I got no idea what I’d do without you, and I don’t wanna fuck this up anymore than I already did. You—”

He was spiraling: fingers anxiously drumming on the table right beside his untouched OJ, a rhythmic tap-tap-tapping that you stop with your hand on top of his. He looks at you like waking from a daze, fingers almost unconsciously shifting to wrap around yours. His hand is so much bigger, fuck. Veiny, and… and pretty. You want his hands everywhere, but for now, you can settle for your palm.

“I don’t need you to apologize, or take anything back…” you speak slowly, steeling yourself. You let go of his hand, and for a second his grip seems to follow the ghost of your shape. Crossing your hands at the elbows and placing them on the silky tablecloth, you lean forward, and it causes your heeled ankle to brush against his shin. You let it linger. “I need you to do it again.”

Fuck. The way he smiles? The way he lets his bottom lip curl under his teeth, like he’s physically holding himself back? It’s more potent than any alcohol you could gulp down right now.

“I do too, baby,” he sighs. Fuck. Jesus fuck. “But we can’t.”

You’re unable to reel back the whiny hue of your voice, shoulders falling like a child that’s been denied a lollipop. “Why not? Give me one good reason.”

“Okay,” he sings, condescension dripping in his tone that should’ve pissed you off but instead makes you shift in place, crossed legs tightening. “I’m your boss, how ‘bout that?”

You wave him off. “Oh, please. We’re way past that, even before the library. Next.”

“You’re young,” he shrugs, eyebrows rising in a challenge. But your heel is still ghosting near his calf, and you see the way he’s breathing heavier each time they brush against each other.

Suddenly, an idea sprouts in your head. Either a very terrible one, or a stupidly brilliant one. Well, there’s only one way to find out, right? Only way out is through, and all that?

“Michael,” you sigh, giggling. “You cannot be serious right now. D’you think you’re greying, or what? There’s, like, five years between us.”

And as you speak, oh-so slowly, you begin uncrossing your legs. As if nothing’s happening, the tip of your heeled toe drifts towards the back of your other shoe, right where it hugs your Achilles tendon. Pushing the heel off, it rings a soft thud against the carpet that gets lost under the sound of your voice.

“Five, is that right? Why don’t you try ten?”

“Now who’s highballing? I’m not young, I’m just younger.”

“Right—”

His voice cuts off like he’s short-circuiting, and if the Academy were to ever award an Oscar for a poker face, you’d be the first to get it.

Because… there it is. The look. The slow realization that something smooth is travelling up his leg, burgundy-colored and sly. His thighs are spread, and that’s all the better for you. Makes for a nice little path to follow, pantyhosed-toes curling into a pointe, trailing up his calf and the side of his knee and thigh. His jaw clenches so hard you fear he’s going to chip a tooth, but he doesn’t say anything. 

He lets you play around, because he wants it as bad as you do.

“Michael,” you exhale. “Stop, okay? What you’re doing to yourself, stuffing down all that pressure ‘til you pop? It’s not healthy. I care about you…” You pout, foot continuing its path even slower. You linger on his thighs, at the toned muscle he flexes for you, rubbing the inside with soft strokes. “Let me… Let me help you unwind.”

He hisses something sharp when you make contact with his crotch, and, oh! The waiter’s back with two steaming plates, and even though the lobster ravioli should be mouthwatering, you can’t find it in you to give half a shit.

“Thank you,” you sing-song, watching as the waiter retreats with quick steps. Your foot feels warm, heart in your throat as you continue rubbing him over his pants, anticipation almost leaving you shaking as he hardens. He’s breathing so loud. Fuck. You just smile at him, innocent and coy.

And he gets stupidly hard, stupidly fast. You bite your lip as it happens, beaming like the cat that got the cream, gasping when his hand closes around your ankle like a cuff. But he doesn’t push you off. No, more like he squeezes the soft pad of your foot against him harder, sighing as he adjusts. It leaves you pulsing.

Eyes clenched, his voice is half-ruined when he punches out a: “Fuck, girl, what’cha trynna do?”

“I told you,” you whisper, nearly whining. His slender fingers have loosened around you now, softly massaging you over the pantyhose, the sensation tingling and sensual and, fuck. Fuck. You’re so wet it’s embarrassing. “I want this and you do, too. Stop thinkin’ so much—”

“I can’t,” he shakes his head, doe-eyes piercing. “‘Cause when I stop thinking, the tabloids get ahold of you and rip you to shreds. You’re a smart girl, you know that. I’m thinkin’ of your reputa—”

“Of course, Michael,” you nod. And you shift your foot, hugging his bulge, rubbing slowly up and down as he falters. He doesn’t stop you. “We’ll be careful.”

“We…” He visibly loses his train of thought, breath slipping out of him in one fell swoop, his eyebrows furrowed. Jesus Christ, he looks beautiful like this. Swallowing, he says, “W–we’ll have t’… Keep a lid on it…”

“Yes, Michael,” you nod again, more feverishly, hands tightening on top of the silk tablecloth until your knuckles shake. With the way you’re extending your leg, it leaves little wiggle room for relief; hips softly moving against your seat, your neck flushed and stomach swirling.

“I can’t… let t–them get to you. I won’t…”

“I know, Michael…” you whine, and there’s nothing in the world you need more than his lips on yours. His weight against you, his hands around you, his scent to take root inside you. You can almost pinpoint the exact second he lets go of his reservations, just like he had in the library.

He stands up, puts on his fedora, kneels under the table to grab your stray heel. His slim fingers close around your calf as you shift your body outwards, guiding your foot into the shoe like Prince Charming. But there’s nothing princely in his eyes when his hold tightens around you, laying a hot kiss on the inside of your thigh and giving you no time to process it before whisking you to your feet.

When the waiter comes back, he finds two untouched plates of food, and a $100 bill tucked under the wine glass full of OJ.

“Fu–uuuck, Michael…”

(Your apartment was a little less than thirty minutes away, and with the way Michael grabbed the keys from Bill and sped down Beverly Boulevard, you made that trip in fifteen. You were onto each other the second you opened your door, keys clattering on your counter, heels stumbling off clumsily, shirt buttons popping open as your hands travelled on his skin.

You wanted to make him feel good. He needed this. And so you pushed him back into your couch, taking a couple steps back and falling to your knees. His eyebrows raised questioningly at the distance, thighs spread wide on your small couch, one arm thrown back as his head tilted. But you could see the red flush he tried to hide, and it was all the encouragement you needed.

Slowly, you leaned forward, palms against the carpet as your hips swayed. Eyes falling to your cleavage, his breath grew tight, anticipation curling around you both like a snake. You crawled to him, knees burning deliciously, wetness deepening with each passing second until your skin was boiling from the inside out.

He smelled so good; warm bergamot and rosewood and musk. It swirled around you as you reached his open legs, palms ghosting on each of his knees, your cheek rubbing against his inner thigh as he quivered. And then you rubbed your cheek against where he burned the hottest, like a cat, tiny moans and bit-back whines falling from him so sweetly.

“You’re dirty, girl,” he moaned as you took him out, your mouth watering. He looked so needy, and flushed, and neglected. When you gave his tip a kiss, his whine shot straight between your legs.

And you worked him just like that; softly, like the kisses you were giving him were on his lips and not his dick, taking him in your mouth and whining at his weight on your tongue. But then you suddenly broke away with a deep breath, looking up at him and the way he’d covered his face with one hand, mouth open and panting, oh-so inviting.

“Michael,” you spoke around the spit clogging your throat. When he looked down, he nearly broke. You batted your lashes, pushing up on your thighs and asking: “Kiss me?”

“C’mere—”

You did. Fuck, you did. His kiss was everything you’d ever dreamed of; lips soft and all-encompassing, those hands you loved so much curling around your cheek and nape, breathing you in as he tasted himself and gave you a moan to swallow.

You broke apart and smiled as he chased after it. Giving him a peck, your lips trailing up his ear, teeth scraping against it as you sighed: “I need your help…”

“Yeah, mama? What ‘s it?”

You leaned back a bit, blinking at him. “Need some help getting you wet…” Your hand wrapped around him again, featherlight and barely there. A tease.

His chest stuttered, lids fluttering. “What?”

You whispered: “Spit in my mouth, please?”

It took everything in him not to break, you could see it. His curls were sticky with sweat, framing his pretty face like a halo, eyes dark. You inched closer, neck craning back, mouthing falling and giving him a peek of your tongue as you waited.

And it took everything in you not to break when his spit finally hit you. Fuck. Fuck. Hot and thick, slowly trickling into your mouth as he hovered over you. You couldn’t believe this was your fucking life. You almost swallowed it just to have an excuse to ask again, but you didn’t. He was so neglected already, tip flushed prettily, hips jutting against nothing as you took him in your palm.

Lips right above him, you let his own saliva trickle down his tip, grinding against the back of your calf as he let out a guttural groan, hands shaky as he sighed.

It didn’t take long for him to cum. And when he did, he hiccuped around nothing, thighs shaking as you fought to keep him in place. You didn’t manage it; you gagged, making him moan louder as your throat gave him one last delicious squeeze before retreating, painting his pretty black dress-shirt in white.)

“Say it again, angel, needa hear you say it—”

“I’m your girl,” you punch out, back curling, toes cramping, “I’m your girl, I’m your girl, I’myourgirl—”

(He’d laid you down, still sensitive from his orgasm yet still wild, curls sticking everywhere, sweat mingling with his perfume as you buried your nose into his neck and inhaled. Moaned as his smell filled your nostrils, intoxicating and sweet.

He lifted your dress just past your mound, buried his face into you, making you jump as he kissed you through the pantyhose. When he realized you hadn’t worn any panties to the dinner—your earthy scent inviting him and the wet spot in the sheer tights taunting him—he looked up. Beautiful brown eyes, like little dark pearls. His breath on your exposed core made you shiver, and you smiled.

The smile quickly disappeared when he moved up your body, strong thighs weighing against your own, big and veined hand coming to rest just by your mouth. 

You remembered all those wild performances of his, walking and dancing sex on stage, white tape wrapped around those same fingers.

“Need your help, too,” he whispered.

You gulped, clit pulsing, hips trying to grind against nothingness as you whined. Spit gathering quickly, you let it dribble down to his open palm, most of it getting caught on your chin from your position. It made you feel nasty.

It was so hot.

“Thank you, baby,” Michael smiled and gave you a peck, stray curls tickling your nose before he moved down again. His strong hand cupped you whole, your spit wetting you fully over your tights, and you choked around a gasp. Chin still wet and messy, your arms were thrown over your head and hanging off the armrest. You were helpless, and you wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

He ate you through the pantyhose, messily, sloppily, wet gulps and moans and cries all mixing together as his lips closed around your clit, the texture of his tongue combined with the nylon making you buck and shake.)

“Yeah, you’re mine? All mine?” he spoke, voice muffled into you, each syllable slithering over your nerves and sending them into overdrive.

“Y–ye–yes–ahhh—!”

Your voice broke into fragmented cries.

He just ripped your pantyhose. 

The cold air hits you almost immediately, and Michael gives you no time to think just how fucking hot that was. His mouth is on you in seconds, and it feels even more cataclysmic than it already was. And it was, a lot.

Your climax has hit you like a violent wave in under a minute, hips cramping from the force, clit pulsing and aching as Michael keeps on giving it sweet kisses, exactly like he used to kiss your cheeks as greeting all those times before the line was crossed. Soft wet pecks that make you mewl and claw at his scalp, pushing him away but bringing him closer.

What the fuck. Oh, God…

“You’re real pretty like this,” he says as he comes up. His chin is glistening, and he gathers you up in his arms as you both sit up. Instead of forcing both your bodies horizontally on the small couch, you sink back into the cushions, cloud-like as you pant. One of his arms wraps over your shoulder, resting against the junction of your hip, your leg curling.

You fight back a giggle at his words. Voice thinning, you sing out: “‘Pretty young thangs, repeat after meee, sing na-na-naaa’—”

That same hand comes down on your ass in a playful smack, and you jolt up from his hold, smiling so wide your cheeks ache. You laugh against his mouth, and he closes the distance with a chuckle.

And, well, you still can’t pinpoint the exact moment things shifted; all you know is that you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

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