The Inner Workings of the Mind

When Michael first brought you, it took you some time to loosen up, being in a new environment, but after a few shots, you were both dancing and giggling to the music together, sure it would look like you were dancing to different beats, but you were dancing together nonetheless.

When a couple drag queens come up to you both, asking to dance with Michael, you figure it’s the perfect opportunity to step away and grab a bottle of water.

"We not good enough for you, honey?" Cupcake, a drag queen, famous at the club, questions sassily.

"Cupcake, stop playin with me. You know Mike can dance all night, I need a break," You tease one another, before kissing each other's cheeks and stepping away.

You pass by Bill, Michael’s chauffeur, and pick up your purse, before reaching the bar.

"Can I just get a water?" You ask, when the bartender makes her way to you.

Quickly she reaches underneath the counter and pulls out a cold water bottle.

"Thank you, add it to Mike's tab." You add before taking a seat and grabbing a napkin from the counter.

Taking a breath, you reach into your bag and pull out a compact mirror to look at yourself while dabbing your face with the napkin.

"Hey beautiful," You hear as you feel an arm wrap around your shoulders from the side, in a friendly manner, looking up from your seat you see Denzel Washington. A new friend of yours who you met one late night while looking for Michael at the club.

"Denzel! How are you?" You smile, a bit enthusiastic due to the alcohol in your system.

"Good, I was wondering if I'd see you here tonight. I saw you and Mike dancing." He says, chuckling kindly.

You start laughing, as he pulls a chair close to you. "He's been wanting to come! I love coming too but lord, I can't keep up with him. When Cupcake came up to us I figured it was my chance to take a break." You smile, as he leans in slightly to hear you over the music.

"O'cmon, I've seen you, you seem like you could go all night. I saw ya’ll both doing the robot in a dance circle last time I was here."

"Nooo, you didn't see that," You smile covering your face, embarrassed, before continuing, "I definitely had too many drinks that night, and it wasn’t as good as you make it seem." You laugh, the drinks in your system making you friendlier than normal.

From the distance, Michael sees you and Denzel leaning into one another's frames, talking and laughing. Michael isn't an idiot, he can tell Denzel has a crush on you, and seeing you so closely together, his mood immediately changes. Slowly he steps away from his friends and Latoya quickly glances at him before noticing where he’s looking.

She quickly walks up to him, "They're just talkin Mike."

"Yeah, whatever." He quickly begins making his way through the crowd to you.

While Michael and Latoya make their way towards you both, Denzel attempts to make a move on you.

"Hey, I mean you made it look good." He smiles, "You look beautiful tonight by the way."

You try to remain polite, forcing a smile as you begin glancing around for Michael. Not able to see him, you glance back at Denzel, "Thank you." You respond simply.

Conflicted by your reaction, Denzel decides to be forward, allowing you to accept or reject his advances.

"Look, award season is around the corner, and I'm nominated for a few different categories. My label is trying to get me to bring a date, and you were the first person I could think of asking.— Would you like to go with me to the the Oscars?"

With perfect timing, Michael shows up in your line of sight and quickly places his hand on your shoulder, in a friendly but possessive manner. He glances up at Denzel as if taken off guard by hiss presence, despite intentionally approaching you both.

"Hey Denzel, what's up, man?" Michael greets him, as Denzel stands and they dap each other up.

"Hey Mike, man. How are you?" Denzel responds, attempting to hide his frustration.

"'m good. Hope you don't mind, I need to steal my homegirl." He responds, as your teeth clench in restraint as you bite back a quick retort.

The unfortunate part about being with Michael was that despite so many people seeing you together, you had to deny any romantic relationship with one another. Of course, some people figured there was something romantic between the two of you, since you were stuck to each other's hips.

But the lack of physical affection, was also able to convince many that you were indeed ‘best friends’ like the two of you claimed. Michael made it clear that his label didn't want him to be in a public relationship, therefore when you went out together there were boundaries, including no pda.

While initially this frustrated you, you understood that you and Michael had gotten together just as his solo career was beginning to take off. So, you agreed to their terms out of fear of being perceived as using him. Sure, you were a top runway model, but Michael's career was at another level. You didn't want people to think you were trying to benefit from his image.

Despite your attempt at being understanding, you couldn't help the silence you met Michael with on your way to the car. Realizing the tension between you and Michael, Latoya quickly decides to stay at the club with one of their brothers.

As Michael holds the door open for you both and shuts it behind himself you can't help pressing him, "I didn't know I was just your homegirl now."

Michael, huffs in frustration, "You know I didn't mean it like that."

You roll your eyes, attempting to move slightly away from him, before he moves closer to you and attempts to hold your hand before you pull it away. "How'd you mean it then?"

"Baby, you know I can't just go callin you my lady in public. I didn't think about it before saying it.”

You huff a sigh as he grabs your chin and turns you to face him before pulling you in for a chaste kiss. "Forgive me." He says gazing into your eyes, inches away from your face.

You gently remove his hand from your face before leaning back in your seat and glancing out the window. "Whatever,” you reply, as he pulls your hand back in his. 

A few moments pass before Michael bites his lip and begins playing with your fingers nervously, "So, what were ya'll talkin about?"

You can't help smiling softly, you knew Michael would adamantly deny being the jealous type, but when it came to men flirting with you, you could tell when he was bothered.

"He asked me out." You admit immediately, not looking at him.

Michael's fidgeting with your hand stops, as you continue looking out the window.

"You were smiling a lot for him to be asking you out, wha'd you say?" He says, resuming his fiddling with your hands, thoughtlessly.

"I didn't say anything, you got there just in time." You reply simply, finally glancing back at him, gauging his reaction.

"Good, I know he was mad." He smiles, biting his lip and you can't help giggling softly.

"You're so dumb."

The thing about your relationship with Michael is that you both hated confrontation, the good thing is that he knew exactly how to lower your guards. He knew you were quick to reciprocate his energy and if he remained calm then you would too. You both loved how easy and peaceful your love felt.

You quickly began leaning onto one another, giggling. As you both look outside the windows together, Michael sees his favorite convenience store, that has his favorite niche brand of orange juice and leans forwards. He quickly slides back the window divider and asks Bill to pull over at the store.

"Do you want something, mama?" He asks, leaning back, glancing at you.

"I can't" You sigh, "I have that show coming up, I need to be careful with what I eat." You lean your head onto his shoulder, pouting.

He kisses the top of your head sympathetically. "You've been doing really good, a small snack won't hurt." He says, as the car stops in the back of the store's parking lot.

"C'mon, let's go look. You don't have to get anything if you don't want, but a bite won't hurt none either."

Before you head inside, you throw on a cap and Michael throws on a hoodie from the back seat of the vehicle, which he always keeps on hand for last minute outings.

The store run was quick, and isn't an odd occurrence for you two. Afterwards, you both head to Hayvenhurst where you stay the night.

The morning after, you and Michael wake up to his landline ringing. He slowly unwraps himself from your hold onto one another and mumbles a raspy greeting.

You glance at the clock, it's 8am. Before glancing back at Michael. He begins sitting up on the edge of the bed, humming.

"Okay." He sighs. The room is silent, besides his shuffling movements.

"I understand." He mumbles, seemingly frustrated, before slightly raising his voice, "Alright man— it won't happen again."

He immediately hangs the phone back on its receiver.

"What happened?" You ask, sitting up against the headboard, while Michael remains on the edge of the bed, facing away from you.

He's quiet for a moment, "There are newspapers going around with photos of us from last night, at the convenience store."

You hum, adjusting yourself on your knees behind Michael, wrapping your arms around his shoulders before placing a peck on his shoulder. "We knew it was gonna get out sooner or later right?"

You rest your head on his back, arms moving to wrap around his stomach from behind. Grogginess, keeping you from considering his responses during the phone call.

He awkwardly coughs, clearing his throat, before remaining quiet, considering his words carefully.

"John said we need to be more careful, he doesn't want us going out together in public for a while." He suggests, mentioning his manager.

You slowly pull away, eyebrows furrowing in shock. You had been in a relationship for over a year, you thought you had earned some semblance of respect and authority in your relationship. Michael's position on the matter seems clear, he must agree with their opinion

"Is that what you want?" You ask softly, staring at his slumped figure, as he continues facing away from you, avoiding eye contact.

The silence is lingering, as he simply doesn't respond, his eyes shutting as he lowers his head to rest on his hands.

You nod to yourself slowly, and begin gathering yourself together before leaving quietly.

Michael didn't want to hurt you, but when the conversation of your relationship arose in meetings, he understood where his team was coming from. As horrible as it may seem, Michael knew you didn't match him in status. Sure, you were a supermodel, and did amazing in that facet of your career, but your acting skills weren't up to par. You were criticized often in the public eye for only being a pretty face.

When his team discussed your image, they said that any negative discussion directed towards you would naturally be placed onto Michael. They figured since the 'Thriller' album was doing so well, they shouldn't entertain any discussion of Michael being in a relationship with a c list actress.

Unfortunately, Michael prioritizes his career over almost everything in his life, in his mind, not telling you that your negative image is what is keeping him from going public with you, is him protecting you. He figures what he doesn’t tell you can’t hurt you.

What Michael doesn’t know is that you’re fully aware of what critics are saying about your acting skills and that you were actively taking acting classes now, to help you improve yourself.

It was initially supposed to be a surprise, you wanted to prove yourself to your boyfriend. You know how hard working and successful Michael is and figured, he would be excited for you when you got accepted in a blockbuster horror film, after taking acting classes. Yet, when you got the call confirming you got the role, you decided to not mention it to him.

Things hadn't been the same after his phone call with John Branca. He seemed distant, and while it wasn't unusual for you to go some time without a proper conversation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this time was different.

You never had a proper conversation about their call or how you both felt, so the tension felt lingering when you did speak to one another. While you typically appreciated how you both avoided confrontation, in moments like this when it built distance between you two, you can't help feeling resentful about how passive you both are.

A few days turned into a week and a half.

You knew that Michael was nominated for multiple grammy's and despite the distance between you two, you tried to contact him beforehand, wanting to bask in the moment with him in any way you could.

When he didn't pick up your phone call, you were hurt, but convinced yourself that he must've been incredibly busy preparing for the award show. Since you couldn't be with him, you decided to surprise him and wait for him at Hayvenhurst.

You were seated on his bed, in his pajamas, when you noticed Brooke Shields was seated beside him. He brought her as his date.

You never heard Michael even mention her. Sure, Michael had plenty of friends in the industry and he didn't need to explain any of them to you, but you both knew what him showing up with her meant. Michael was a very meticulous person, if he brought her as his date it could only mean one thing.

He wanted people to think they were together.

Watching Michael break the record for the most nominations and awards received in a single night feels bittersweet. The man you love is being celebrated for something he worked tirelessly for, but at his side is another woman.

You sit for the entirety of the award show in tears, considering how you want to react when he arrives, but your rational side is thrown out the window when he enters the room. You’re pacing his room, face puffy, when he enters. People are a few steps behind him talking, when he sees you and his smile fades.

The people helping him carry his awards are disregarded as he shakes his head at them and quickly shuts his bedroom door, before setting down the two awards he was holding onto his nightstand. He sits on the edge of his bed and watches you, as you pace, biting your lip, in an attempt to focus on anything besides your blurrying vision.

Finally you stop pacing and grab his award softly, looking at it. "Congratulations," Your voice cracks.

Michael's eyebrows furrow, as he sees you struggling to hold yourself together, but restrains himself from reaching for you, attempting to give you space.

You sigh, as tears stain your cheeks, and you gently place the award back on the nightstand before walking to his dresser. You finally look at him, as you lean back onto it.

"Why’d you take her as your date?" Your voice remains steady, as tears continue falling and you wipe them away.

"John thought it would be a good idea to bring a date. We ended up deciding I would ask Brooke."

You can't help scoffing, "Instead of your girlfriend?"

"They thought it'd be best"

You can't help rolling your eyes and raising your voice, "Michael, can you take some responsibility? You're a grown man! You have a say, stop using your team as a way out."

His eyebrows furrow in confusion at your raised voice, you had never yelled at him before.

He looks at the floor, nodding slowly, "I thought it'd be best."

"Why?" You plead, wanting a genuine answer for once.

"John doesn't think you have the best image." His eyebrows scrunch together, embarrassed.

"What are you talking about? I've never been on the front page of a magazine for my private life until you." You can't help scoffing.

Michael covers his face, slowly sliding them down in exasperation before leaning on his elbows, which rest on his knees. He is slouched over on the edge of the bed.

"It's the acting roles you've been doing, people say they just haven't really been— the best." He says, avoiding eye contact.

"Are you kidding me right now? That's what this is about." You begin connecting the dots. Michael was okay being seen out with women in public, taking photos. Just not you. You didn't fit into his picture perfect life.

"You just don't think I'm good enough for you," You mumble to yourself.

"That's not what I said," He stands, approaching you, attempting to touch your waist, before you pull away.

You take a step away from him before folding your arms underneath your chest, and dropping them quickly. You don't want to look as small as you feel right now. "You know, even though things haven't been the best between us the past few days, I called you." Your voice trembles.

"I figured it's Michael's big day, I need to put our problems aside. I was so sad I couldn't be there with you. Not because I needed to be seen with Michael Jackson, but because I knew you would break records tonight." You can't help glancing at the ground and shaking your head in disbelief.

You slowly continue, despite your voice cracking, "I never doubted you for a second. I just wish you believed in me too."

Michael is facing you directly, wanting more than anything to hold you, as his vision becomes blurry. "I'm sorry, I was wrong, I see that now. You didn't deserve that. It's just hard." He struggles to find the right words.

"It's hard?" You can't help raising your voice, "What part was hard, Michael?" You ask, as he flinches in embarrassment. You point at the television, voice never faltering, "Cause from here, it looked pretty easy.— Was it hard asking her out? Was it hard sitting beside a pretty girl all night? Was it hard accepting every award, while I was at home, in tears?"

You scoff, "Oh I know, maybe it was hard thinking about the possibility of ever needing to be seen with me. You know what, you're right. It must've been so hard lying to me in the meantime."

In tears, Michael shakes his head, "I never lied,— I never lied to you. Everything with you was real, especially my feelings."

"Intentionally withholding the truth, is lying to me. You went with her and didn’t tell me. And your feelings for me mean nothing if they don't come hand and hand with respect."

Michael's eyebrows furrow in frustration, "I never said I don't respect you, you keep puttin words in my mouth.— I did wrong, I know I did. I shouldn't have taken her. I should’ve gone public with you, but don't make it seem like I'm this evil person."

He pleads, continuing, "I never meant to hurt you, that's why I didn't wanna tell you I was goin with her or what they were saying about your acting ."

You roll your eyes, "You aren't getting it. If you can be in a room where people are talking about me and you don’t feel the need to defend me, then you don't respect me."

You shake your head, pointing outside the bedroom door, as your voice trembles." I don't care what anyone else has'ta say about me. I know what the media is sayin about me, trust me. I just thought if anyone would be on my side it was you."

Michael takes a step closer to you, and you allow him too, as he takes hold of your hand, fidgeting with it. "I am on your side. But I understand, baby, I did wrong. I'm sorry, really."

You give yourself a moment of comfort and allow Michael to play with your hands before you gently pull away altogether.

"I don’t forgive you." You simply whisper in return, biting your lip.

You begin turning around and gathering your items that you had slowly left over at Michael’s over the year and a half that you have been together.

He remains hot on your heels, "C'mon, work with me here.” He pleads, “ I said I'm sorry, really I mean it.— I'll tell them that we're gonna go public, I don't care. Just don't do this. Don't walk away from something good."

You stop digging through your designated drawer in his room and look at him. "This isn't something a sorry can fix, Michael. If you want me the way you say you do, prove it."

You quickly throw as many things as you can into a duffle bag and leave his house.

Operation Getting Your Lick Back .ᐟ

The movie crew wanted to do a quick table read weeks before shooting the horror movie to make sure everyone's on screen chemistry was good. It was here you became close with Jane Fonda and Rita Moreno, your costars. Although you weren't supposed to discuss your relationship with Michael to others, you never signed an nda, so when they found you sulking, you opened up.

After an hour, they knew about your acting career, your year and a half long whirlwind romance, his obsession with control over his public image, and Brooke Shields.

"Oh, honey. This reminds me of my past relationship with Marlon Brando." Rita shook her head in remembrance.

"You dated Marlon Brando?" You ask in disbelief, never having heard of their relationship.

She hums, "Those years were some of the best nights of my life," she winks, laughing softly.

"He had the women chasing after him, that's for sure" Jane chimes in.

"He did plenty of the chasing too" Rita adds.

"He cheated?" You say, face scrunched in disgust.

"Of course, he was a dog." She states indifferently, as your eyes widen.

Without a second thought, she continues, "There was a point, I was so tired of his cheating I decided to get even." She states, as you and Jane lean forward in anticipation.

"I had just found a pair of lingerie in his house, and I was so heartbroken. I remember going home in tears,— And anyway the next day I got a call from Colonel Parker, Elvis' assistant and he said Elvis saw me at the commissary at Fox Studios and he wanted to meet me. He asked if I would also like to meet him."

She smirks, continuing, "I remember thinking about the lingerie I had just found and I said why yes I would."

You all began laughing together.

You quickly chime in, excitedly, "Well, what happened next?"

"Well, we went out that night, and it quickly spread into the gossip columns the next morning! Marlon heard about it and he was furiouss, he was throwing chairs and yelling, oh he was so mad." She smiles widely.

She quickly grabs Jane's and your knees, leaning in and whispering slowly, "And it was wonderful." You begin squealing in excitement while they laugh along together.

"Did you get back together then?" You enthusiastically ask.

As you all three lean into one another, your hands interlocked with Rita, who appreciated your enthusiasm.

She smiles sadly, patting your interlocked hands with one of her own. "Of course, at that point I didn't want to end things with Marlon. I just wanted to make him feel the way he had made me feel.— We were obsessed with one another. We wouldn't end things for good until two years later."

You hum in response, as you all begin thinking quietly amongst yourselves.

Jane pipes in, "I guess the question now is whether you just wanna make Michael work for it, or whether you wanna see him sweat? The way Rita did."

"And boy did I make him sweat," Rita giggles softly as they both lean in and you pull your hands from Rita's, twiddling your fingers, considering your next words carefully.

It's silent for a moment, and then you smile nervously before making eye contact with the both of them. "I wanna make him sweat."

They began squealing together, before Rita chimes "I knew, I liked you!"

You smile softly, as she pulls you in for a quick hug. You continue, "I just want him to feel how I did, seeing them at the Grammy's together."

"Well you’ll need a man," Jane chimes.

"But not just any man!" Rita elaborates, "You need a man who is able to make him sweat, part of what made me meeting Elvis so hurtful was that it made Marlon realize I could be with someone more successful than him."

"I don't know anyone more successful than Michael." You think aloud.

"He doesn't need to be more successful, He just needs to be someone who everyone knows and holds in high regards. Someone important,— someone who can make him sweat." Jane corrects.

You think for a moment before you quickly lean forward on the sofa, "I know exactly who! Denzel Washington, he's a good friend of mine, and Michael knows he's asked me out."

The women gasped and began gushing over him, Denzel's career was just beginning to reach new heights. Everyone was talking about him, and that partly was because he was easy on the eyes. Which only helped your situation. He's the perfect man to make Michael sweat.

The plan is quickly under way, and when you call Denzel, asking if the invitation to the Academy Awards is still open, he happily agrees.

-

A few days later the awards show was held, you had been receiving calls from Michael, but made it clear that simple 'sorry's' weren't going to cut it. In the meantime, you were walking the red carpet with Denzel.

The dress you wore hugged your figure perfectly. Your back was completely showing, with only two thin straps holding the front piece in place from behind. The back cut was almost uncomfortably low as it rested directly above your ass.

Photographers are immediately yelling out for you both to look in their direction. The dress would go down in history and your delicate makeup and voluminous hair only added an elegance to the look.

Throughout the entirety of your photos together, Denzel's hand rested directly against your lower back, right where the dress ended, adding another layer of conversation to your look for the night. Your comfortability with one another, along with your appearance, and Denzel's first ever award show wins demanded attention.

'Denzel 'Wins Multiple Awards for First Time, Alongside Supermodel Date!'

Gossip columns went on tangents the next day over your look and comfortability with one another. Photos circulating of you both in the car after the award show, laughing closely with one another. Which led them to believe you were both in a relationship, much to both of your satisfaction.

The gossip just assured you that Michael would hear about your public appearance together.

Operation Getting His Girl Back .ᐟ

"Yo, Mike!" Michael hears Randy yelling from the outside of his bedroom door, as Randy and Marlon continue banging on his bedroom door.

"Mike! Hurry up, open the door." Janet yells, with Latoya by her side, reads another newspaper.

Michael, groggily shuffles out of bed. "I'm comin, damn."

As soon as the door opens, Marlon shoves a newspaper in his face, a small section showing a blurry image of a man and woman in a car, close together.

"Who is it?" Michael questions in a raspy voice.

"It's your girl and Denzel Washington, man." Marlon shakes his head, while everyone looks over his shoulder at the newspaper.

"He's so fine," Latoya mumbles to herself, before her siblings stare at her, dumbfounded.

"My bad," She forces an awkward smile.

"What're you gonna do?" Randy chimes in curiously.

Michael stares at the image, before mumbling "I'm gonna get my girl back."

The past week after your argument, Michael had been calling you daily, unsure of how to approach getting you back. These calls were cut short by you, but the fact you were still answering at all feels like a positive sign. You were open to the possibility of something, he just couldn’t understand how to prove it to you.

The siblings huddled around in Michael's room, as he began pacing slowly, While Janet sat crisscrossed in the middle of the bed, with Latoya laying down next to her, looking up at the ceiling.

Randy was digging through Michael's trinkets, while Marlon sat crisscross on the floor, leaning back on his hands.

"So a phone call is a no?" Marlon asks.

"I've been doin that, she answers but never wants to talk long." Michael says before sitting on the edge of the bed, frustrated.

"Have you tried sending her flowers?" Latoya asks, looking in Michael's direction.

"No." Michael responds.

"Well what have you tried?" Janet asks.

"Calling and showing up at her house." Michael sighs.

"Did she open the door," Marlon asks. As Randy opens a wooden treasure chest full of toys, digging inside.

"No." Michael replies, flopping back on the bed, and rubbing his face.

"What if you try sending a big arrangement of flowers and a letter?" Latoya adds, sitting up.

"Do you think that'll work?" Michael asks.

"I don't think you have much of a choice, you needa try something else fast." Janet criticizes.

"Alright," Michael replies, nodding.

-

In the meantime, you were doing your daily routine of working out, going to your acting class, and meeting up with Rita Moreno for lunch. Who was overjoyed to see you on the front page of her newspaper that morning with Denzel, and demanded you grab lunch to gossip.

By the time you had gotten to your small Hollywood home you immediately noticed multiple giant flower bouquets on your doorstep.

You struggle to enter your doorway and notice that your door is struggling to open because of the amount of flowers surrounding your foyer. You smile softly before following the flower petals leading up to your room. You see bags of your favorite couture brands on your bed surrounding an envelope signed 'Mister winning my lady back, Yours Truly, Michael ᥫ᭡".

Immediately you tear open the envelope.

'Dear Pretty Girl,

The past week has been really weird. The best way I can explain it is that it feels like I'm missing a limb from my body, and no one else except I seem to notice it. I'm trying to go about my daily life like everything's normal, but I feel this part of me missing, and I can't stop thinking about it. I miss you. I really really do. I didn't realize how deeply my actions were hurting you until you left. I know, I'm an idiot.

I'm not quite sure what else to say. I know that my actions haven't been the best, and even now I feel like I've waited too long to do something drastic but I'm trying to be intentional. I'll do whatever it takes. I love you, Pretty Girl.

Yours Truly,

You're Pinhead Boyfriend.'

Quickly glancing through the bags you notice items you have previously circled in magazines, while at Hayvenhurst with Michael. Biting your lip, you decide to give Michael a small break and call him. He answers on the third ring.

"Hello?" He questions.

"Hey," You smile softly, "I appreciate the gifts and the letter."

"Good!" He says enthusiastically, before coughing awkwardly "I mean good, I'm glad."

You giggle softly, before thinking out loud, "How did you get everything inside my house?"

"OH, um I have that key you gave me. I didn't want the men who were moving everything inside to do it while your house was empty and I didn't think you'd want me in there so Latoya and Janet were there to let the guys in." He says, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

You hum in response, appreciating his thoughtfulness. "Anyways, I just wanted to say thank you, really. But that doesn't mean everything is okay. I'll talk to you later." You mumble quietly.

"Wait," He raises his voice anxiously. "I'm dying here, baby. I don't know what you want me to do. Whatever it is, I'll do it! I just need a hint. Give me something, mama." He pleads.

Considering his perspective, you sigh. "I'll think about it." You're quiet for a moment before continuing. "Anyways, I really need to go. I'll talk to you later Michael, bye."

"Bye, I love you," He replies, as you hang up.

-

When Michael wakes up the next day to a hand written letter signed by you, his excitement is overwhelming. You decided to cut him some slack. He quickly tears open the envelope.

'Hey, Pinhead Boyfriend #1'

He reads, before rolling his eyes smiling, he knew you wanted to make him jealous and he definitely was, but he knew he had to be careful about how he handled your situation with Denzel. If he acted irrationally, he may push you away for good. For now he intended to focus on fulfilling your demands.

'I decided to be nice and write some demands out for you, the sooner you complete them, the sooner I'll hear you out. First, I need you to announce your relationship status. However, I want this done on my terms. I want you to announce it publicly in a television interview. I also want to see you announce it to our closest friends, at Studio 54 through a thoughtful and practiced performance. Secondly, I want to see you be creative and come up with a thoughtful heartfelt gift on your own. Get to it dummy, I’ll be waiting! ❤︎⁠

Sincerely,

The Only Woman Who Better Be Sending You Love Letters!’

-

The interview was recorded and televised the next day, despite Michael’s busy schedule he demanded John fit it into his agenda. The interview was brief as a result but Michael figured that would be okay. The less said in the interview, the more that the public's focus would be on his newly announced relationship status. Which it was.

Despite the completion of his task, his phone call with you was still short. You meant business.

Wanting desperately to be back in your good graces as soon as possible, Michael began cancelling his obligations throughout the week to begin practicing for his serenade performance at Studio 54. He had exactly four days to perfect it.

He even paid his brothers as well as ya’ll’s favorite drag queens, to practice and be a part of the performance. After the drag queens berated him for his decision to keep your relationship a secret, they agreed to help.

He also made sure to set aside time at night to paint his gift, a portrait of you.

The days felt too quick for his liking, and he began to worry about the performance, but he already told you to be at Studio 54 on Saturday night and he couldn't go back on that now.

He can't help his nervousness as he begins setting up the stage with his brothers for their performance. You sit in a private, elevated section with your friends. In the meantime, Cupcake is continuing her crowd work.

Michael quickly takes a seat on the edge of the stage, gazing down at the floor, unmistakably sad. Before Cupcake approaches him, calling his name. A part of the performance.

Michael and Cupcake follow their prewritten script, building up the anticipation for their performance, before Michael and his brothers get on stage and the melody to 'I Want You Back' begins playing and the boys begin dancing the choreography in sync. The crowd cheers as Michael focuses on you entirely.

'When I had you to myself, I didn't want you around. Those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd'

You can't help smiling, watching the obviously rehearsed performance begin. Your friends in your section immediately squeal and begin chattering about the performance, which you don't pay attention to as your focus remains on Michael. Who is also completely focused on you.

'Oh, baby, give me one more chance, to show you that I love you.'

Michael emphasizes the lyrics, while simultaneously staying in line with his brothers who are all dancing alongside one another.

As the music progresses, couples around the room are dancing together, friends are singing passionately to one another, and other audience members are dancing with the drag queens in the crowd. The song begins passing midway through, when you see a few drag queens take each of the Jackson sibling's place on stage as the brothers slowly stop performing and move off stage. Michael remains singing, as the drag queens take their places on stage, serving as backup singers and dancers for the crowd.

The brothers quietly walk off stage, Michael, walking up the steps to your section with his brothers following suit, grabbing items from the side of the stage before rushing after him. Marlon brings a bouquet of roses, Jackie brings a bottle of wine and glass cups, Tito holds a large but thin wrapped gift, and Jermaine holds small tubes in his hand that you can't yet identify.

'Oh, baby, I need one more chance. I tell ya that I love you'

Michael smiles as he reaches you, and you begin dancing with one another. You both gaze into one another's eyes lovingly, smiling widely as the song comes to an end.

As the music finishes, Michael hands his mic to Jermaine, and holds both of your hands while playing with them. He's nervous and unintentionally avoids eye contact for a moment, to gather himself together.

You see his adam's apple bob up and down, while he nervously clears his throat, before finally meeting your gaze.

"What do you say, can I have one more chance?" He nervously gauges your response.

You smile softly and nod your head.

Immediately, confetti is flying around you as everyone in the room is now cheering. Michael looks around and, as he meets your gaze once again he's smiling genuinely now. He lets go of his grip on your hands and they instead move to your jaw, before leaning in. Your lips meet for a slow but chaste kiss.

You spend your night celebrating together with your friends, dancing and laughing. And when you both finally get home, you have a serious and much needed heartfelt conversation. Specifically, about his negative reaction to the criticism you were receiving regarding your past acting roles, as well as his decision to bring Brooke to the Grammy’s

He listened intently to everything you had to say and apologized profusely for his obsession with his and your public image, promising to spend as long as he needed make it up to you. He also promised he wouldn't have contact with Brooke Shield's going forward.

Until the conversation of Denzel finally arose.

"I just kinda feel bad about leading him on." You mumble.

"Oh, he'll be fine, don't worry about that." He states indifferently, playing with the hem of his oversized shirt, which you are wearing, as you both cuddled on the bed.

"You sound so sure of yourself. He really liked me, you know," You acknowledge.

He scoffs, irritated at the mention of Denzel, "Trust me I know."

You sit up from your position. Curiosity getting the best of you, as you look at him, "Then what makes you so sure he won't care."

Michael's eyebrows furrow as he cringes momentarily, frustrated with himself for saying anything. He rubs his hands against his face before sighing.

"I may or may not have spent the last few days setting him back up with his last longterm girlfriend." He coughs, before adding, "They're actually on a date now,— in Hawaii."

"Did you pay for them to travel to Hawaii, just to get him out of the picture?" You scoff in astonishment.

He bites his lip, "When you say it like that, it sounds crazy." He mumbles.

"Yeah, I'm the one making it sound crazy" You reply sarcastically.

You can't help furrowing your eyebrows, while looking at him. "I don't know whether I should be concerned or flattered." You think aloud.

He quickly pulls you back down against him, as his hands find themselves on your jaw as he begins smothering you in kisses. "Flattered, definitely flattered." He replies,

You smile softly. "You know, that seems an awful lot like jealousy." You tease.

He pulls away, humming in response, "I don't think so. I was just tying up a few loose ends, helping a friend out, you know?"

You scoff in astonishment, "You might actually be insane."

"I wasn't gonna let him ruin my one chance at getting you back. I just did something nice to get him out of the way in the meantime." He states gauging your reaction, his thumb softly tracing your jawline.

"Are you upset?" He asks softly.

You remain quiet for a moment, considering your answer, "No, if I had seen you in person with Brooke at the Grammy's, I may have done worse."

He huffs a breathy laugh, "Yeah?" He asks, biting his lip before leaning down and leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck. He loved when you got possessive.

'mhmm' You smile, placing your hand on his jawline, softly leaning back on the bed, as you gently pull his face above yours.

"And if you ever do some dumb shit like that again, we're done." You murmur softly, eyebrows furrowed as he notices the hurt in your tone.

He nods softly, " I did wrong by you and I know that, but I swear it won’t happen again."

He leans down and your lips meet in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue softly teasing your bottom lip in the process. While his hands softly trace your jawline and yours slowly begin tugging on the hair on the nape of his neck, as you follow his lead.

Michael sucks on the bottom of your lip slowly before he begins gradually leaning back, as his grip on your throat tightens slightly, guiding your frame on top of his, before he slowly pulls back from the kiss, while you begin kissing along his jaw towards his neck. He settles himself against the headboard, while you straddle him.

His hands make their way up your thighs before groping your ass and eventually tugging at the shirt you have on. Both of your clothes are quickly disregarded as you successfully attempt to find comfort in one another’s embrace for the night. You both seem to wordlessly agree in simply wanting to become intimately reacquainted with one another after your time apart.

He's Never Living It Down .ᐟ

It had been over forty years since your brief separation from Michael, which was the only time where you genuinely almost walked away from him for good. Life has been great. You have five beautiful children together and 12 grandchildren. Things are good.

It was the last Friday night of the month, and therefore your mandatory family night. Your house was filled with children, teenagers, and adults all roaming around, talking amongst themselves in the living room or kitchen.

You were sat on Michael's lap, cuddling on the sofa, with a blanket draped over you, talking quietly amongst yourselves. While completely unaware of three of your grandchildren who were planning on messing with you, laughing quietly amongst themselves.

They quietly sit on the opposite end of the couch, attempting to look casual when your granddaughter, Kayla, raises her voice, immediately catching ya'll's attention, as her brother, Jackson records, attempting to stifle his laughs.

"I'm soo hungry," She wails. "I could eat Denzel Washington."

You scoff a laugh in complete disbelief, as Michael immediately sits up loosening his grip on your waist.

"Denzel Washington?" Michael's eyebrows immediately furrow in annoyance, while he lets go of you.

"Has she been mentioning him," He asks looking at you in disbelief, while the kids start laughing hysterically and you sit completely baffled.

"I haven't thought of that man in years, don't start." You say getting annoyed with him.

"Why are they talkin bout him?" He quickly directs his questions towards the children who are wheezing with laughter, while the rest of the room has gotten quiet and everyone is now watching y'all's reactions, smiling or laughing. "Where'd y'all get that name?" He asks them seriously.

"Papa, we found the photos of Granny with him when they were young and just wanted to mess with ya'll, it's a tiktok trend." Jayla speaks up from her spot, next to her sister, smiling widely.

You can't help chiming in "You chose the wrong name, the one you should've said was Brooke Shields." You say raising your eyebrows at Michael. To which he closes his eyes and his head falls back on the couch in disbelief. How he ended up in trouble, he didn’t know.

Your eldest son chimes in, "Ya'll done got Papa in some trouble." He says as you stand up and walk away, annoyed that he would get angry over hearing Denzel's name when he knows he was the one who rubbed Brooke Shields in your face. He didn't have any right to be annoyed.

Michael quickly follows after you, hoping you weren't genuinely upset with him.

One of your daughters chimes in "He's gonna be sleeping on the couch if he doesn't start kissing up." They laugh amongst themselves before one of their significant others asks about the story behind the celebrities being mentioned.

They slowly settle around the couch while Michael follows you silently in the kitchen.

"Papa cheated on Granny with Brooke Shields." One of your grandchildren chimes in.

"I thought Granny cheated with Denzel," Another asks.

Slowly your children reveal the story to their children and significant others, each one chiming in at different points, having heard the story multiple times before.

By the end of the story, everyone is murmuring amongst themselves. Before your youngest daughter explains to those unaware, that their names were basically forbidden words in your house growing up. They always led to an argument, with Michael ultimately being the one in trouble and having to apologize.

One of your children's significant others finally speaks up, "I hope they figure things out, she seemed really upset."

Your youngest daughter rolls her eyes before revealing "Oh, they'll be fine. They get like this every once in a while. I bet they're already good."

Your next youngest son butts in, "No way! The last time, mama was so mad she made him sleep on the couch."

They begin bickering amongst themselves, as a few of your children and grandchildren decide to peek into the kitchen, to see if you were arguing with Michael. Instead, they see you leaned up against the kitchen island, hands on Michael's face while his hands rest on your waist, and he is smothering you in kisses "'m sorry— love you— 'm a dummy." he mumbles between kisses, while you giggle softly.

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞.

your name was everywhere. it started with a breakout single that took over the charts, but within two years, it had evolved into a cultural shift.

you weren't just topping the charts; you were redefining them. every music video you released became a trend, every live performance was praised, and sold out stadiums had practically become your second home.

the media couldn't get enough. the critics, who were usually impossible to please, finally agreed on a title that stuck to you:

ᴛʜᴇ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴘ.

it was a heavy title to wear at your age, but you wore it effortlessly, dominating the industry with every move.

but with every queen, there's a king, and the world only recognised one.

michael jackson. you hadn't thought of the name in years. but with his overwhelming fame, it was inevitable you were going to be reminded of him. so imagine your surprise when your producer, quincy jones, called you to ask you to duet with him.

“look, daughter. i need you down at westlake studios right now.” quincy's voice spoke through the receiver, booming with late night energy that always signaled a burst of creativity. “i've got a track that is basically screaming for you. smelly is already in the booth tracking his parts-“

“no.” you cut in instantly, the word slipping past your lips before you could even think to stop it as your fingers tightened around the phone. “no, q. find someone else. i'm not doing it.”

quincy paused on the line, completely caught off guard by your sudden pushback, oblivious to the panic he had just caused. “excuse me? since when is it like you to turn down a masterpiece? you two are the biggest pop stars on my roster. i'm not taking no for an answer. baby, come here now.”

as the line went dead, you let out a heavy sigh, slowly lowering the phone against the kitchen counter. you groaned as an overwhelming rush of memories infiltrated your mind.

you and michael had been each other's entire world during his thriller era. you were more of an underrated icon in the background, still trying to find your footing in the industry, while he was transitioning into a global superstar.

it had been a quiet secret. you two had shared everything together; he was your first kiss, your first love, and the first person you had ever given your body to. you had been his first real taste of it, too.

but it quickly became so much more than just innocent romance. it was intensely physical, a raw pull that you both became completely consumed by. since you were each other's very first time, the realisation of that connection turned into a sexual addiction.

behind those locked doors, the world outside vanished, replaced by an insatiable need for each other's body. you couldn't keep your hands off one another. every stolen hour was spent tangled together, learning the curves of each other's bodies, driving each other crazy in a cycle of desire that neither of you knew how to break.

but then, the world became too loud. the suffocating security, the paparazzi, and the weight of both of your careers had slowly choked the life out of the relationship. with broken hearts, you had mutually agreed to let each other go, prioritising your own careers over love.

you hadn't looked him in the eyes since the day you walked out of his life. and now, he was fully in his bad era, and the thought of facing him made you weak in your knees. but you couldn't say no to quincy, not when your career was tied to his commands.

reluctantly, you grabbed your things and stepped out into the night air. affirming yourself that “it would be just fine” as you slipped into the back of your private car. your personal driver quietly put the vehicle in drive, the city lights blurring outside the window as the car smoothly glided through the streets, heading straight toward the man you never thought you'd talk to again.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖༘⋆𐦍⊹₊ ⋆｡˚

the heavy scent of quincy's cologne, and studio air hit you instantly. the room was bathed in the familiar lighting of westlake, but the energy inside was powerful, vibrating with the presence of the two men sitting inside.

quincy was spun around in his producer's chair, a thick pair of headphones resting around his neck as he boomed with laughter. but your eyes skipped right past him, immediately locking onto the figure sitting on the sofa behind the mixing console.

michael.

he looked entirely different from the boy you had loved. his hair was longer, styled in beautiful curls that framed his face perfectly, and his jawline looked sharper under the lights. he seemed more confident. he was dressed in a black button down shirt, a pair of sunglasses plastered on his face.

as the door clicked shut behind you, michael's laughter faded. he lowered his glasses, his dark eyes snapping over to you, and for a second, the calm composure he was wearing broke.

“there she is!” quincy clapped his hands together, his voice shattering the tense silence that had stretched across the room. “the queen herself. come on in, daughter.”

you forced your fake smile to stay perfectly in place, praying your voice wouldn't betray how nervous you were. “hey, q.” you said smoothly, stepping further into the room and keeping your posture relaxed. you turned your gaze to the couch, your heart racing as you looked right at him. “hey, michael.”

michael cleared his throat, slowly standing up from the sofa. he offered a soft smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, his voice low when he spoke.

“hey.” he smiled, his eyes searching your face, scanning the perfect mask you had put on. “it's... it's really good to see you.”

“likewise.” you lied smoothly, the fake smile never wavering as you crossed your arms, trying to keep yourself from fidgeting under his intense stare.

“alright, alright, enough with the introductions.” quincy cut in, oblivious to the suffocating tension that had settled over the room. he rolled his chair back toward the mixing board, flipping a few switches and clicking a button on the intercom. “we're burning daylight, and i've got a hit to finish. michael just wrapped some parts. i need your voice on it.”

quincy handed you a sheet of lined paper covered in michael's messy handwriting. just looking at the font of his writing made a sharp pang of nostalgia hit you.

“the song is called morning dew.” quincy explained, turning up the monitors.

your heart stopped. you glanced up from the paper, your eyes automatically darting back to michael. he was already watching you, his hands stuffed into his pockets, an unreadable expression on his face. of all the names in the world, you thought, a wave of irony washing over you.

“go ahead and step into the booth with him.” quincy ordered, waving his hand toward the double paned glass. “let's do a quick run through y/n, so you can read the mood..”

michael didn't say a word. he just gave a polite nod and turned to walk toward the isolation booth. you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly feeling dry as you looked down at the lyric sheet in your hands, the words staring back at you in his distinct handwriting.

forcing your legs to move, you followed him inside the booth, the soundproof door confining the two of you alone together.

michael walked up to the dual microphone setup, adjusting his headphones slightly before turning his dark eyes back to you.

“you look beautiful.” he complimented, his voice slightly shy, the bad persona seemed to soften for just a split second, a hint of the boy you used to love peeking through. “i want to say.. congratulations on... everything”

“thanks.” you managed to say, your voice tight as you adjusted your own headphones, intentionally avoiding his eyes. you couldn't look at him, not when he was looking at you like that. “congrats to you, too. the new album is.. good.”

before he could reply, quincy's voice cut through the monitors. “alllright kids, let's roll it from the top of the verse. daughter, give me that first line.”

the track began to play, a burning beat filling your ears as you looked down at the sheet music, tracking the lyrics. you stepped up to the microphone, cleared your throat, and delivered the opening line.

“as we sip champagne watching purple rain...”

the words came out perfectly on pitch, your tone professional, but flat and hollow. you sang it like you were reading a book, the fact that you were in your ex's presence was making you detached from the music.

the track abruptly cut out, the silence in your headphones deafening. quincy leaned forward over the console, pressing the talkback button. his brows were furrowed as he stared at you through the glass. “whoa, whoa, stop. what was that?” he shook his head, looking completely baffled.

“y/n, you're singing like a robot. where is the passion? this song is about love. i need you to feel it, baby. stop overthinking and let it out.”

you swallowed hard, your cheeks burning slightly. you didn't dare look to your left, where michael was standing inches away, silently watching your every move. you tightly gripped the edge of the music stand, nodding at quincy through the glass. “sorry. run it again.”

you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to forget michael was there just enough to let the music in. when the track restarted, you leaned into the mic, letting your natural warm voice take over. you sailed through the first two verses smoothly, your voice blending flawlessly with the sultry beat, making quincy nod in approval behind the mixing board.

but then the chorus hit, and it was time for the overlay. suddenly, michael stepped closer to his microphone, his presence completely engulfing the small booth. the distance between you vanished as the music swelled, and his voice cut into your headphones.

“girl, you’re sexy in the mornin'..” you both sang, his dark eyes locking directly onto yours, burning right through the calm facade you were trying so hard to keep up. “you know you turn me on, babe.”

your heart leapt into your throat, avoiding his eyes as your voices intertwined perfectly, tracking the melody in flawless harmony.

“you know the sun rise for you..” he sang, his tone dipping into something soft and intimate, a genuine ache bleeding into the words.

“for you..” you ad-libbed right after him.

“give me that mornin' dew..” you both sang together, the blend of your vocals completely undeniable. it was a perfect match, a reminder of exactly why quincy had put you two together, and why you had been so attracted to each other years ago.

“you know that i want it.” you both continued, the low register of his voice vibrating in your ears, his eyes darkening as the lyrics grew heavier.

“i want you moanin' every mornin'...” you both sang, his voice dropping into a honest tone that turned you on.

hearing those words leave his lips ignited something inside of you, instantly melting your heart. it hit your composure, a reminder of how easily he could still pull your strings, and your mind completely drifted off to when he in fact, made you moan every morning..

“again?” you teased, a sleepy laugh escaping your lips as the morning sun filtered through the cracks of the curtains. you were tangled in the messy white sheets, your skin still warm from the night before as michael suddenly rolled over and pulled your hips against his. you giggled softly as his hands found your waist, tugging you closer until there was no space left between you.

“c’mere then, ma.” michael whispered against your ear, his voice thick with sleep and desire. he trailed lazy kisses down your neck, his fingers tightening on your skin as he pulled you under him once more, turning your quiet giggles into loud moans before the day had even begun.

the track abruptly looped into a quiet transition, but you were still frozen, your heart racing as your mind raced to catch up with the present.

“y/n? whatcha thinking about over there, daughter?” quincy's amused voice cut through the monitors, snatching you right out of your thoughts.

your cheeks instantly flared a deep red as you cleared your dry throat. “mm.. q, sorry. i was just... just feeling the music.”

next to you, michael let out a soft chuckle that only made you more flustered. when you risked a tiny glance at him, you saw him lost in his own mind as well, his fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

quincy shrugged, continuing to play the track as you both prepared for the next line.

“you know the sun rise for you..” you sang back, your voice a bit unstable under the weight of his stare, the raw tension in the booth becoming almost too hot to handle.

“give me that mornin' dew.” you both finished in a breathless harmony, the final note lingering in the air.

the track faded into the pre-recorded chorus, your blended voices pouring through the headphones in a seamless wave of sound. through the double paned glass, you could see quincy losing his mind, he was throwing his head back in approval, and grooving in his chair.

before the chorus could even finish winding down, quincy slapped the talkback button. “yes! that is what i'm talking about! the chemistry is perfect, y'all!” he barked out a laugh, completely oblivious to how hard your heart racing.

“we ain’t done yet though. y/n, stay right there. the beat is looping back. i need you to take this next part just on your own. michael, back off the mic and let her ride it.”

michael gave a slow nod, stepping back just half a pace, but he didn't take his eyes off you. his chest rose and fell in time with yours, waiting to see what you would do.

the beat dropped into a deeper groove, stripping away the heavy layers to leave the track completely open for you. you looked down at the lyric sheet, your eyes widening slightly as you read the next lines. they were extremely explicit, dripping with a raw sensuality that felt too dangerous to sing with michael standing in the same room as you.

you hesitantly leaned into the microphone, praying your voice wouldn't get weak on you. “ah, i get so excited when i feel you touch my thighs..” you sang, squeezing your eyes shut.

“my hands are cold, ma. can you warm them up for me?” michael asked, his voice a low octave as he held onto the steering wheel of his car. you nodded weakly, your breath catching in your throat as his large palm made contact with your skin, sliding slowly up from your knee. his hand was extremely cold, creating a slow path up your inner thigh. you whimpered, parting your legs slightly as his fingers moved higher, sliding underneath the hem of your skirt until he felt the soft fabric of your panties. “you're so wet for me, baby..” he groaned softly, his long fingers hooking into the lace, pressing against your the direct wetness as you let out a small moan.

from the corner of your eye, you saw michael's jaw tighten, his eyes locking onto yours as if he could see the exact memory playing in your head.

“baby, slow down 'cause i'ma be late for my ride.” you continued, holding the notes effortlessly, even though your mind was elsewhere.

you were on top of michael after begging him to let you be in control, the sudden shift of roles making your heart race as you sank down onto him. you were riding him passionately, the heat between you consuming the room. his large hands locked firmly onto your waist, his thumbs digging deep into your hips to guide your movements. he threw his head back against the pillows, a low groan ripping from his throat as you rode him harder, second guessing your decision to be on top from how deep it felt inside of you. “michael.. i..” you panted, biting your lip as you tried your best to handle the overwhelming sensation between your legs. “keep going, mama. you can take it.” he reassured, his voice thick with hunger as you slid up and down him in a rhythm that left the both of you completely breathless.

“i'm feelin' faded out my mind... a little morning dew..” you closed your eyes, the lyrics completely mirroring the sensations rushing through your body.

“there's a river inside that flows from our love... you can tap in but don't, don't tap out, oh.”

“don't stop, michael. please, don't stop.” you had whispered against his lips, unraveled as you chased your climax. he growled softly, flipping you onto your back without breaking the connection. his curls were sweaty as he pinned your wrists above your head, his body burying into yours with desperate thrusts. “you're taking me.. so well, baby.” he breathed heavily, a needy sound escaping him with every push. he kept pounding into you, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm, his muscles tensing as he held himself deep inside you.

“it's a slip in the slide, that front to back love. right there baby, don't tap out, tap out.”

“right there, michael, please.” you begged, your back arching off the mattress, your voice breaking as he hit that sweet spot perfectly. “there? hm? you like that?” he asked, a dark smirk tracing his lips as he held your legs up high. he let out a loud moan as he thrust heavier and deeper into you, hitting the spot over and over again. “god, always so tight for me, mama.” he choked out until your body collapsed around him, his lips instantly kissing your forehead to tell you how good you did.

Your hands move over Michael’s body, greedy and desperate. He signed at your touch and held the back of your neck as you kissed him. Your tongues dance with each other, tasting and exploring each other’s mouths while you loosen the tie around his neck.

Michael shifted you onto his lap, hands resting on your clothed thighs, before they rubbed gently over them. You managed to get his tie off, slinging it to the ground before your fingers work feverishly to unbutton his shirt.

“Need you so badly, Mike.” You whisper, resting your forehead against his. He chuckles and pecks your lips. He dipped his hands beneath your t-shirt, pressing them flat on your bare back while you continued unbuttoning his shirt. When you fully unbutton it, you run your fingers over his chest, pulling a contented groan from him. Michael tilts your chin down and presses his lips to yours in another sweet kiss.

“Stand up for me,” Michael commands softly, patting your thighs. You comply, standing right between his legs, close enough that he can hook his long fingers on the strap of your leggings, pulling them down along with your cotton panties. You lift your feet to let the fabric pool at your sides while Michael tosses his t-shirt with them.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, guiding you back onto his lap. His fingers find their way between your legs, squeezing the warm skin of your inner thigh before he presses his thumb against your clit. You gasp and giggle excitedly when he pushes his index and middle fingers between your wet pussy lips. Without warning, he slips his index finger into you, then his middle finger, thrusting them into you, lazy and unhurried. Your hips grind on his fingers involuntarily, walls gently pulsating around them while he keeps that slow pace.

“Mike, I’m…” Your heartbeat quickens, and he hums, biting his lower lip with a wicked grin plastered across his face. With a shaky hand, you run your fingers through his hair, semi-focused on his expression as you ride his fingers.

Your inner thighs tingle as a soft orgasm threatens to come over you. Michael doesn’t let up. He curls his fingers just right with every thrust, hitting that perfect spot within you as he tilts his head to watch you fall apart. Soon enough, you cumming on his fingers. Your hand in his hair grips the back of his neck, lower lip between your teeth as you sigh loudly—a pathetic attempt to muffle your moans.

Michael scoffs at your reaction, shaking his head in disapproval. “Tsk, I don’t like that.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You lie completely naked on the king-sized bed in the main bedroom, your back against the cool duvet as Michael rids himself of his pants and boxers.

“Gonna make you cum all night, baby,” he teases, gripping the underside of your knees before pulling you to the lowermost end of the bed, “Gonna make love to you, then fuck you, then make love to you over and over again.”

“Fuck—” His words shoot straight to your middle, a hot, fuzzy feeling erupting right below your belly button. The slight friction burn from him yanking you forward goes unnoticed as he kneels between your legs and presses teasing kisses to your inner thigh. Your hips buck, needing more attention right where he’s purposefully ignoring you.

“So needy,” Michael blows on your clit, then kisses your thighs again. “What do you want, ma, hmm?”

“Please?” You whine, attempting to push his head forward.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Mike resists your push, blowing on your clit again. His cool breath makes your body tingle, nipples hardening in response.

This is torture. He’s so close yet so far. You could easily push yourself forward and connect his lips to your needy centre, but he’d just pull back and leave you begging.

“Tell me,” Mike repeats, squeezing the flesh of your butt with two fingers.

“Eat my pussy, Mikey. Please.” You give in, pressing your head hard against the mattress.

“Good girl.” Michael praises you before diving right in. His tongue flattens over your vulva, then slides upwards before he presses open-mouthed kisses over your clit. He moans like a starved man, sucking and licking your wet skin with lustful eyes focused on your reaction.

Your back arches as he devours you, hands gripping the duvet while you moan uncontrollably. Michael lifts your legs up and places one on each shoulder, giving him more access to your dripping pussy. He circles his tongue over your clit, then slides two fingers into you. Your breath goes frantic when he sucks on your clit and curls his fingers inside of you, causing yet another orgasm.

“Oh my god—Mike!” You finally speak, voice strained and shaky. Your hips rock in tandem with his fingers, a tight knot in your belly so close to unravelling.

“That’s it, sweet thing,” Michael mumbles with his mouth still wrapped around your clit.

You fall apart again, eyes squeezing shut as you moan his name with a cracked voice. Your legs shake and press against Michael’s face, pussy oozing with arousal over his chin. Michael hums against you, lapping his tongue over your juices with a satisfied grin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You’re on all fours, face pressed into a soft pillow with your mouth slightly hanging open. Michael’s on his knees behind you. His hands are gripping your hips while he ploughs into you with unimaginable speed, leaving you mumbling sweet nothings, senseless and dumb. His dick, long and thick, stretches you out unapologetically with every sharp snap of his hips.

Michael—ever the tease—strokes the back of your head with a gentle touch, cooing to you in a voice so soothing it leaves your mind numb.

“Such a good girl, hmm? Taking me so fucking well, sweet thing.” He speaks between thrusts, dipping his other hand between your legs to play with your clit. He rubs slow circles on it, a juxtaposition to his feverish thrust. Your mumbles turn into cries of pleasure, eyes watering and dampening the pillow below, while your pussy clenches around Michael.

“Mike—Mike, slow down—shit!” You beg through whimpers, your hands gripping the top of the duvet.

“Are you sure? Ah—” Michael asks mockingly before he moans too.

You shake your head, whining a loud ‘no!’ as another orgasm takes over your body. Your moans are loud, really loud. Michael pulls your head up by the hair when you try to muffle your pleasurable whines in the pillow. You scream his name, pussy gripping his dick so hard he comes undone too. Michael’s seed pours into you, coating your walls with warm arousal as he groans over your back, falling flat on top of you.

You both lie there unmoving, breathing erratically while Michael strokes your head again. He chuckles, and you do the same, knowing damn well what he’s thinking.

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Michael pushes into you again, making you both whine at the contact. You’re on your back again, legs circled around his hips with your hands gripping his biceps as he uses your hips to guide himself in and out of your sensitive pussy. His thrusts are unhurried, rolling his hips with a lazy rhythm. He’s making love to you now, teasing your clit with his thumb while one hand cups your boob. Each push of his hips makes you sigh breathlessly. Your eyes stay closed most of the time, opening them when he almost pulls out completely just to push back in with that leisurely pace.

“So sweet for me,” Michael moans, pinching your nipple, “Wish I could lie in you forever.”

“Michael…” You whimper, raking your finger over his toned back when he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. Michael groans into the kiss, mouth parting to let your tongue slide over his lower lip. You suck on his lip, then bite it before licking to soothe it. To say you’re lost in a sensual  haze is an understatement. You’re completely gone. Your eyes are glossy with shiftless tears, hands gripping every reachable inch of Michael’s warm body while you moan and whimper mindlessly as he makes you come yet again.

This time, your orgasm is lethargic, drawing long and dazed moans of Michael’s name out of you. Michael buries his face in the crook of your sweat-slick neck, breathing in your scent while your pussy squeezes him with fluttering pulses.

“Fuck, you’re so tight—mmmm.” He whimpers near your ear, trying his best to hold it together. You wrap your arms around his neck and curl your fingers in his hair, moaning directly in his ear.

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Michael leads you downstairs, hand holding yours as your feet patter barefoot on the cool tiles. You’re both parched, throat dry from all the panting and moaning. He opens the fridge and grabs two bottles of water, popping one open and handing it to you. Your throat thanks you when you take a sip, letting the cold liquid slide down your pharynx.

“I ain’t done with you, you know that?” Michael sips from his own bottle, holding soft eye contact with you.

“Are you serious?” You almost choke on water, skin cooling down as you both stand in the kitchen naked.

“What did I say before you came on my mouth?”

Fuck

“Come on,” Michael tosses his empty bottle in the bin, placing yours on the kitchen island as he holds a hand out for you, “I wanna try something new with you.”

You raise your brows, curiosity evident in your smile as you take his hand in yours and follow him upstairs. On your way up, you poke his butt with your acrylic nail, making him scowl playfully.

“Watch it.” Michael turns around, dick hardening already for what’s to come.

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Michael lies on his back, calm and drunk with desire. He motions for you with a finger, eyes hooded and dark as you crawl on top of him. You drop your hips and straddle his fully-hardened dick, rocking over him. Your slick coats his length in your arousal as he ponders for a moment.

“Come ride my face, sweet thing.” He taps his cheeks with long fingers. “Lemme taste that pretty pussy again.”

You wasted no time, crawling further up his body until your glossy centre’s inches away from his lips. Michael inhales your scent, humming in admiration before he tapes your round butt.

“Turn around for me. Want that ass right here.” Michael’s voice rumbles between your legs.

You raise a nervous brow, tilting your head to the side with an awkward smile. “Are you sure?”

“Do I look unsure?” He quips and licks his lips.

You look down at him and bite your lip, shaking your head in disagreement.

He looks very sure.

You turn around, legs on either side of his upper body. The new angel gives him complete access to your ass and pussy. He wastes no time, pulls you down to his lips, pushing his tongue into your needy hole. His tongue explores you as much as possible, lapping at your fresh arousal like a man dying of thirst.

You groan in surprise, fondling your tits as your hips rock against his mouth. When you look down, you notice his unattended dick lying hard on his thigh. As if driven by sheer hunger, you lean forward and wrap your hands around him, still moaning as Michael works behind you. You spit on his tip, thick silva trailing down his large length before you stroke him lazily. Michael’s tongue inside you halts for a second when he whimpers at your touch. Your hands squeeze him in between strokes, making him moan more and more against your dripping pussy.

When you wrap your lips around his tip, all hell breaks loose. Michael thrusts involuntarily into your mouth, whimpering around your clit, which makes you moan too. A sultry song between lovers breaks in your shared bedroom. Your moans vibrating through his body only make him moan, doing the same to you. Not only do your moans add extra friction between you two, but they also fuel you both on. You bob your head over Mike’s thick dick, slurping on your own slip, which trails down his length. Michael bucks his hips in unison with your head bobs, hitting the back of your throat with a twitching tip. He doesn’t stop eating you out either. His tongue buries itself in your pussy again, moaning over your clit while he messily sucks on it. His chin and cheeks are drenched in a mix of yours and his arousal, a mix of wetness and semen coating his chiselled jaw while he presses open-mouth kisses to your vulva.

You cum concurrently. Michael’s hands grip your soft ass while he spills into your mouth. His warm cum coats your throat, some dripping out of your mouth as you cough from choking slightly. You don’t stop stroking him. Your hands move up and down his dick while you suck on his oozing tip, milking him dry for all he has. When you cum, you cover Michael’s lips in slick arousal. He drinks it all, whimpering and lapping his tongue to capture every drop of your orgasm into his mouth.

“Tastes so good—fuck!” Michael groans, drinking your last drop of arousal. He smacks your ass then rubs the plush flesh, definitely leaving a bruise. Your legs finally give in, and you almost suffocate him with your ass when you fall against him. Michael laughs a hearty but exhausted laugh when he pushes you off his face.

“Sorry.” You giggle and rest your head atop his sweaty chest, wiping a drop of your cum off his lip. Michael grasps your hand and licks your finger clean, greedy for every drop of you. “Jeez, Mike.”

“What?” He shrugs and kisses your finger. “You taste good, ma.”

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Birds chirp outside, indicating the dawn of a new day. Michael flips you both on your side, spooning you under the thick covers. His hand cups your boob, then slides down to push your leg slightly forward. His dick lies hard on your thigh, ready for another round.

“Nigga, you’re crazy.” You whine, fighting sleep, but suddenly feel turned on again.

“I made you a promise.” Mike presses his tip to your entrance, asking for permission. “Sun’s not up yet.”

You nod and he slowly—lazier than before—eases himself into you. You both sigh. Michael drapes his arm over your belly, pressing his face to the back of your neck with closed eyes. Your eyes are shut too, cheek pressed against your pillow as you intertwine your hand in his.

He makes love to you again, hips thrusting sluggishly from all the sensitivity from your previous activity. He whimpers into your skin, praising how you feel and how much he loves you and your body. You’re utterly gone too, mouth ajar and drooling on your pillow. You whine his name over and over again, letters morphing into each other as you twitch from super-sensitivity.

“Sweet thing. You drive me wild.” Michael grazes his teeth on the back of your neck, dick twitching inside you. His pace lets you feel every vein and ridge of his length, turning you on more than you thought possible.

“I love you, Mikey.” Your voice cracks, and you orgasm one more time. “I—I love you so much.”

“Love you more, ma.” Michael fills you with seed once more, groaning pathetically on your skin as his hips falter. “I love you more.”

@pyt03 @lov3lylxvender @nobleumbrashrine @zerosugarcherrydrpepper @angeleface @beberock375 @michaeljacksonsleftnipple @xxhoneymo0n @kordulka @iiovey0u @michaeljacksonsbae @mikesbian @kneelarmhstrung @mikejacksbabymommaaaaa @nunusmoll @istayuptoolateonthisapp15 @funkaoverwar @khxna @uconnwbbloversworld1 @plan3tch1ld @theyluvchanel @18lkpeters @0-n-1-x @myhobari @lilitheebaddest @tojiswifeforlife @butt3rfleye @lover-of-games-horror-music17 @cloverjeanmj @star-gurl4life @michaelkisskissgirl @zero820 @justglennreading @peachypeanut @1andonlytashae @thebabykashmere @ghostlycrestcurse @delictezz @heyitsconysstuff @calicina @fruitysoulorg @ilikyo @likewf @sebbysbaby @blacclotusss @whimsicalangel07 @cunty000 @froggyreadsss @mjsbiggestlover @iimsopretty

The book called him "The Lord of Blackwood", a vampire of immense age and power, who had withdrawn from the world centuries ago. The description was vague, but it mentioned something about eyes that held the weight of eternity.

So, you decided to test the waters the next morning. Approaching an old woman who ran an antique shop, her knowledge of the town's history was as vast as you could dream of. You walked into the shop under the guise of 'shopping'.

She looks up from polishing a silver locket. "Can I help you, dear?"

"I was wondering if you knew anything about Blackwood Manor just outside of town? The history seems so fascinating."

Her friendly demeanor vanishes instantly, putting down the locket so sharply you were afraid she might've broken it.

"We don't ask questions like that here."

Over the next week, you ask others — the postman, the baker, the farmer on the edge of town — and their answers were always the same. A nervous glance, a hurried change of subject with intelligible mumbling, or a warning not to speak his name here.

But of course, you didn't listen. They knew you wouldn't. They even started planning a funeral in your name without your knowledge.

You decided to pack a small bag that weekend, full of a change of clothes, a lantern, a notebook, and some fruit. You take the old path leading out of town, the dirt road almost completely covered by long-term abandonment. The woods are dense and quiet, the canopy thick enough to block out most of the moonlight, and the air grows colder.

After an hour of aching steps, you push aside a final, low-hanging branch. And there it stood before you. A monolith of dark stone against the dark blue sky, all sharp angles and towering spires. It wasn't as ominous and scary-looking as you thought.

No light shone against the windows, and the path to the front door was overgrown with thorny vines that snagged your clothes as you pushed forward. The massive, iron-branded door looked like it hadn't been opened in forever.

You take a deep breath and raise your hand, your knuckles hesitating for just a second before connecting to the metal. The knock echoed into the silence behind the door, and for a long moment, there was nothing. You hoped you didn't walk all this way for nothing.

But then the door groaned inward on its own, the sound a deep, weary sigh. It hadn't been locked. You then pushed with all your might, the heavy door moving inch by agonizing inch until there was just enough space for you to slip through.

The air inside was still and cold, carrying the scent of old dust, dried herbs, and something metallic, maybe blood or iron.

The grand foyer was vast, and the moonlight from the open door sliced through the darkness. It fell across portraits in gilded frames — faces from centuries past; their eyes seemed to follow you as you descended into the castle. Your lantern aids your vision, glinting off a suit of armor as you pass by, a marble statue, then a collection of ancient-looking urns.

"Hello? I'm looking for the one they call... Michael?"

Your voice doesn't echo, but is swallowed by the immense silence. You take another few cautious steps forward, your heart beating loudly in your eardrums.

A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness near the grand staircase. It was tall, impossibly so, and moved with a silence that was more unnerving than any kind of footstep. His voice is smooth as velvet, yet cold as it suddenly spoke from behind you. "You have a great deal of nerve coming here. Or a death wish. Which is it?"

You spin around quickly, the fire in your lantern highlighting his features, sharp and pale. You nearly drop the damn thing. "I was looking for you—"

"Why?" His voice sounded more like an order than a question as he took a step closer. You felt your blood run cold, and your voice trembled slightly.

"Because... the books. The stories. They couldn't all be wrong. I had to see for myself."

A faint, cold smile touches his lips. "See what? If the monster under the bed is real? You risk your life for a child's curiosity."

"Not exactly from a child's curiosity, but a scholar's. I've studied your kind, and I believe there's more to you than the stories of monsters."

He lets out a soft, humorless laugh that doesn't reach his eyes; his voice is full of mockery. "A scholar. How quaint. And what do your 'studies' tell you I am?" He circles you slowly, and the air grows colder with his proximity. He smelled faintly of wine and old wood, acquainted by faint ash.

You swallow hard as you try to keep your head upright, keeping eye contact as he passes by. "They tell me you value truth, given your own collections and studies. I thought maybe you'd appreciate someone who actually wants to learn, rather than just scream and run at the sight of you."

He stops his circling, now standing directly in front of you. "Appreciate? You think I crave the company of morals?"

"No, but I'd assume a life without interaction would be rather lonely." You try to shrug and laugh, but he continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression. Only continuing the conversation when you fixed your face. He reaches out to touch you, but gently taps at the cover of the notebook sticking out of your bag.

"Your book is full of little fairytales."

You lift your chin, "It's not a book of fairytales. It's full of records with history you left behind. I know you're not the mindless beasts people make you out to be."

"You think you can trace all my steps through history?"

"No, but I could with your firsthand account."

He turns and walks toward the grand staircase, his back to you. "Firsthand account?" He glances over his shoulder. "You want an interview with a vampire?" (haha get it?)

You stay in the same spot, but your voice elevates slightly. "I told you. I'm a scholar. I want to understand."

He turns around and moves back towards you. A slight, genuine smile — the first one you've seen — curves his lips. He stops an arm's length away, his head tilted. "Understanding is a dangerous thing to seek from you. Knowledge has a price."

"I'm willing to pay it."

The weeks turned into months, and your visits to Blackwood Manor became a nightly ritual. The intimidating foyer soon felt familiar, the shadows less threatening, and they were now clean from age and dust, thanks to you.

Michael's library became your home. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held books you were sure existed in places you couldn't bear to think of, and he would watch you — sometimes for hours — as you pored over ancient texts you could barely read yet.

He leaned against the bookshelf, using his nail to pick the human flesh from his teeth, clothes still slightly blood-stained from his hunting. But he did clean up the best that he could, out of respect for you. He didn't want to scare you away just yet.

"Your fascination with the Venetian plague is... odd."

"It's all the eyewitness accounts." You mutter, not looking up from the fragile pages. "I mean, you lived through it. What was it really like?"

"Messy. You humans are so terribly fragile."

"You were a human once. Weren't you?" The silence that followed your question was deafening, aside from the soft crackle of the grand fireplace.

He pushed off the bookshelf, his movements slower than usual.

He walked to the fireplace, staring into the flames before resting his back against the stone. "Yes. I was. A very, very long time ago." He paused for a moment, as if it was difficult to remember how life was before his transformation.

You closed the book fully in your lap, giving him your full attention. "Do you miss it?"

He lets out a short, sharp breath, almost a laugh. "The sickness, the fragility, the inevitable decay? No."

He pauses, his gaze how at the expensive rug beneath him. "But.. I do miss the sun. Cherishing the days well-lived. I used to get the best sleep.

And I do miss the family I had."

He pushed away from the mantle, turning to face you fully, but the vulnerability in his voice was now gone. "But don't romanticize it. What I am now," he gestures vaguely around the vast library. "This is freedom. Of a sort."

You stand up, taking a tentative step toward him. "Sounds lonely."

His eyes narrow, but there's no real anger to them. "Lonely is a human concept. I would say that we're patient."

"You've been patient for centuries. That's a long time to be alone."

"Who said I was alone?"

You give him a knowing look, your arms crossing over your chest, and he chuckles. "You ask a lot of questions under the ruse of a 'scholar'."

"You keep inviting me back. So you must not mind them too much."

A slow smile finally touches his lips. "I don't." He glances toward the tall library windows. "It's nearly dawn. You should stay. The spare room is yours, as always."

He turns and walks toward the door, his cape whispering against the cold stone floor. He pauses at the threshold for a moment, bidding you goodnight before the heavy door clicks shut.

The next few nights progressed this way. Your conversations linger later, the topics drifting from history to philosophy, and then to the small absurd details of your moral life that seem to fascinate him somehow.

Tonight, you find him not in the library, but in a solarium you'd never noticed before, full of meticulously preserved plants that should've died a long time ago. You never thought of him as having a green thumb. "A habit from another life," he says. Some routines were harder to shed than others, but it didn't make him any less admirable. You reach out to touch one of the leaves he was catering to, your fingers brushing against his as your thumb traces over the petal.

He doesn't pull his hand away; instead, he turns his hand, his cool fingers lightly tracing the line of your wrist. "Your pulse is fast. Even after all these months, are you still afraid of me?"

"No. Not afraid."

"Then what is it?"

His dark eyes hold yours, and you could feel your breath catch. You couldn't find the words to describe how you felt. Let alone a vampire. But you knew that wasn't how you saw him anymore. He wasn't dangerous, nor a monster. He's gentle, kind, more than any human could be.

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I can hear it, you know. The shift in your heartbeat."

"Does it bother you, Michael?"

The space between you vanishes, and he closes the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that's so soft, it almost feels airy. His lips were curious against yours, a taste so sweet, you could easily fall addicted to the drug of him.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek with a tenderness that contradicts his cold skin. His breath ghosts against your lips before deepening the kiss. His other hand slides to the small of your back, pressing you flush against the unyielding coolness of his body, which never seemed to warm against yours. He didn't mind your warmth, though. You felt like sunshine against his skin, inviting him with want and endless curiosity.

In a fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms, and the castle blurs for a moment as he carries you from the solarium through the corridors.

He lays you down upon the vast expanse of his bed, the black silk sheets slippery beneath you as they ground you from your slight dizziness. The room is lit only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the left side of his bedroom.

He kneels over, caging you in, his dark eyes burning with undeniable hunger and desire. A look both thrilling and terrifying.

"Are you sure you want this with me? Truly."

You reach up, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ear. "I've never wanted anything more."

A low groan rumbles in his chest as he lowers himself to kiss you again, peppering soft kisses downward as his lips find the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath catches as he sucks on the dip of your collarbone. A soft moan escapes you as his mouth finds a sensitive spot against your sternum, your back arching off the silk sheets.

He pulls back slightly, his breathing unsteady — something you thought was impossible with him. And you could feel the tension coiled in his body. His fangs, which you've only seen in glimpses, are a subtle pressure against the skin of your stomach as he kisses his way lower.

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing the simple fabric of your dress higher, exposing you to the room's chilling air. He moves down your body with a reverence that steals your breath more than you thought. His lips brush against the inside of your thigh as your fingers tangle in the smooth sheets.

It seems like forever before his tongue dances on the fabric over your clit, clear with intention as you feel his fingers hesitantly pulling against the waistband over your panties.

You become breathless, your hips lifting in silent invitation. "Michael, you're teasing. Please."

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly, deliberately, slides them down your legs. The air feels sharp against your core, now soaked with arousal. He lowers his head again, his tongue tracing wet circles against your slit. The sensation was almost too much. You could feel his teeth as he suckled and kissed on your bundle of nerves, and his cold breath ghosts over you, making you shudder slightly.

You cry out as his slender tongue slowly fucks your entrance, tasting you with the focus of a connoisseur, each thrust and flick and kiss a slow, aching torture. A string of pleas falls from your lips as he groans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

His fingers join his mouth, a finger sliding inside you in a way that brings spots to your vision, the dual sensation overwhelming the heat building in your stomach. He looks up to watch your sweet reactions, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Is this what you thought would happen when you knocked on my door, scholar? To come apart on my tongue? Is this what you wanted?"

You can only manage a frantic nod, your hands fisting in his dark hair. "D-Don't stop."

His pace quickens, his tongue circling your clit relentlessly while his fingers curl inside you. Your orgasm washes over you unbearably fast, and you feel his fangs brush against your inner thigh, a sharp threat amidst the bliss. Your vision grows white, and your body trembles uncontrollably against the silk.

He gentles his movements, drawing out the last shudders of your release with a soft, lingering kiss over the same spot as your inner thigh.

He moves back up your body and hovers above you, his gaze dark as he brushes a damp curl from your forehead. His touch is tender as he kisses you, the taste of your orgasm still fresh on his tongue. His bulge presses against your thigh, so undeniably hard and prominent, even through his trousers.

You reach between you, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his pants.

He guides himself to your entrance once you free him, the tip of his dick a slick, hot pressure against you. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper as his slow thrust steals the air from your lungs. He stills, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours. You couldn't contain the small pants falling from your lips; it felt like he was splitting you open, and he hadn't even moved yet.

He begins to move, each thrust a rolling movement that pulls your mouth agape, a silent scream as he kisses your cervix. His lips find your neck again, his tongue tracing the frantic pulse there. "You smell so sweet. Practically screaming for me, sweetheart."

You tilt your head back, baring your throat to him in absolute surrender, and it seemed like all of his control frayed at the edges, deteriorating with every moan against his ear.

Then a sharp, sudden pain of his fangs piercing your skin is eclipsed instantly by a wave of euphoria. It became a pleasure so intense it borders on pain, a dizzying rush that syncs perfectly with the fast rhythm of his hips. His mouth is sealed against your throat, a low, continuous moan vibrating through you as he drinks you in.

Your body instinctively jerks against him, your hands flying to his abdomen, but he captures your wrists, pinning them to your chest as he fucks you senseless.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Just relax and take what I give you."

The dual sensations of the intimate fullness of his dick moving within yours and the deep, pulling ecstasy of the bite bring you to your orgasm simultaneously. It is a silent, yet hot convulsion of pleasure, lasting longer than usual as he follows closely behind you.

He holds you there for a moment, his body draped over yours before letting your wrists go, lapping gently at the small wounds on your neck. You drift into an exhausted sleep as you wrap your arms around him, the taste of metal and dizziness on your tongue.

You wake to the soft kisses on your cheek, the curtains now closed as they concealed the grey light of pre-dawn light filtering slightly at the edges. His voice is a low murmur next to your ear, his arm a heavy weight across your waist. "Good morning. Or what passes for morning here."

"Did I pass out?"

A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. "You did. I may have done too much."

You shift slightly, feeling a pleasant ache in your muscles and the faint mark on your neck. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's the price I'm willing to pay."

Michael knew he fucked up badly. He remembered as soon as he walked through the door. When he walked to the shared bedroom, he could still feel your anger. Your stuff was scattered as you packed quickly to leave. He didn't even have the energy to pick up your things, even though it had been two days since you left.

He sighed as he sat on the bed. His mind had been so occupied with this upcoming tour. He had seemed to neglect his fiancé in the process. He remembered her calling the night before when he stayed late. She reminded him of the art gallery showcase.

"I'm not playing, Michael." She breathed out. "I'd better see you there."

"I promise, baby."

He felt the disappointment rising within him. You have told him multiple times over months about this gallery. You made constant reminders cause you know how he can get about his work. But for the man of the hour not to show up at the art gallery inspired by him? He knows you were embarrassed, especially since it was going to be on TV.

And to make matters worse, he knows where you're at. But his family is making it hard to contact you at the moment. His family has absolutely adored you ever since he introduced you back in eighty-seven. His sisters took to you immediately, already claiming you as one of their own.

He knows you're with one of his sisters. But would they ever snitch about who you're with? No. He called his brothers; they are covering, keeping their answers short when he asks where you are. Even his dear mother wouldn't tell where his fiancé was.

Michael's mind was swirling. You were the best thing that had walked into his life. You were a healthy couple, tending to work problems out with ease. But one thing he learned immediately was that you hated your time being wasted.

He needed to make it quickly. He needed you to know that he appreciates you. He loves you more than you will ever know. He would literally fuck over his pride, begging on his knees for your forgiveness.

You sighed as you sat in Rebbie's house. The three Jackson sisters were looking at you with empathy.

"I love that man's work ethic." You shook your head. "But this was the one thing I wanted him to be at."

"It was special to me; I know it was special to him cause he was showing a vulnerable part of himself."

Art was something that connected you and Michael. It's how you two met: you were an up-and-coming artist getting buzz in the art scene. Michael wanted some art pieces in Neverland. Your publicist called you and said you had a special order. Little did you know it was Michael, and the rest was history.

This latest art collection was your greatest yet. It was very personal and close to your heart. You called it 'Perfection of Black Beauty.' It was a collection showcasing different forms of black beauty. And Michael was the focal point and inspiration. You know of his struggles with his self-image. You helped by always reminding him of how beautiful he is, pouring in as much love as you can.

So did you almost cry when he let you take photos of him? Yes. But it was such a vulnerable moment. His face was bare, with his vitiligo on full display. When you showed him the finished paintings. Michael stared at them for a moment.

"You made me so beautiful." Michael wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your forehead.

"That's all you, baby." You said to him. "You are beautiful."

"Stop. I was trying not to cry." Michael blinked his eyes.

Maybe that's why you feel so gutted by this. You wanted Michael there to see his reaction. You wanted to show the world Michael's true beauty. That way you see him as the man you truly loved.

"Have you talked to him at all since leaving?" Latoya asked.

You shook your head. "No."

"Knowing him, he's probably spiraling at the moment," Rebbie said.

"I love my brother and all," Janet said. "But he is idiotic sometimes."

"Call it the Jackson brother gene." Latoya joked as the two sisters laughed.

You smiled at her comment before sighing again. "Should I call Michael?"

"No!" Rebbie said suddenly. "Sorry." She said once eyes were on her.

"Basically the whole family is giving that man the ring around," Janet said. "He doesn't know where you're at."

"It took some bribing for Marlon not to open his big ass mouth." Latoya rolled her eyes.

"Really?" You were surprised. "Why?"

"Knowing how my brother is." Rebbie looked at you. "He would've found you last night quickly to fix things."

"He doesn't like to wait, it seems." Janet sighed.

"It was just to give you two time to let things marinate before you talk," Latoya told you.

The phone rang at the same time a knock sounded at the door. Rebbie told Latoya to get the door while she walked to the kitchen.

"So," Marlon said on the other line to Rebbie.

"It's Michael!" Latoya turned around with wide eyes.

"Marlon, Jermaine, how could you snitch?" Rebbie exclaim.

"Look, he was convincing." Jermaine tried to argue.

"Latoya, just open the door." Janet shook her head. "He's not going to leave without her."

You watched Latoya open the door. And Michael looked like a kicked puppy. It didn't make it any better that his sisters were looking at him.

His eyes drifted from each face until he landed on you. "Baby."

"Latoya," Janet whispered.

Latoya rolled her eyes but opened the door wider for Michael to walk in.

You could still hear Rebbie argue with her brothers as Michael wrung his hands from nerves.

You sighed. "Can we get a moment alone?"

The sisters looked at you before turning to Michael, then followed each other to the kitchen where Rebbie was.

Michael walked closer to you on the couch. You patted the space beside you. "Come."

Michael sat down. "Baby, I'm so sorry."

You looked at him. "Michael, you knew how important this was for me."

Michael looked down. "I know."

"I had to put on a facade, pretending everything was okay, wondering where you were?" You shook your head.

"It just felt very empty without you there to celebrate with me."

Michael grabbed your hand. "I never want you to feel that way."

"Michael, it's just not this situation." You told him. "It's a buildup of you calling late and not being on time."

"This situation was the cherry on top."

"I try my best; it's just I have a lot on my plate." Michael rubbed circles with his hand on yours.

"I'm just being pulled in different directions, and it's hard for me to make time."

"But can you make time for me?" You questioned.

"Of course."

"Michael." You deadpanned. "Let's tell the truth."

"You haven't made time for me in weeks." You raised your eyebrow.

You saw a flash of irritation cross his face before it went neutral. "Baby, I'm trying to."

"Well, your definition of trying is not enough."

"You knew who I was and what I can do with you when you got with me." Michael suddenly said.

"Okay? So that means you neglect me because I should get it?" You took your hand away, placing it in your lap.

"No? But you should have a little understanding for me."

"Michael, I don't ask for much." You crossed your arms. "This was the one thing I constantly reminded you of for weeks."

"You should make a little time for me just for this one thing." You sighed. "But I guess not." You trailed off.

"That's not fair."

"Michael, by the grace of everything." You puffed out. "You are not getting it."

"I should not have to do all this just to get you to come to things." You puffed out.

"I called your manager, I called your publicist, hell I even called Bill." You pointed out on your fingers. "Cause you didn't pick up the number you gave me to call you when practicing."

"I do all these things; I shouldn't have to." You shook your head. "I shouldn't be a personal walking calendar."

"I feel like a fucking random begging for your attention these weeks."

Michael sat in silence as he listened to your words.

"What a fucking dummy," Latoya whispered.

You both turned your heads to his sisters, who were peeking out of the kitchen.

Michael tilted his head at them. "Why are y'all listening?"

"Sorry." Rebbie winced as she pulled her sisters back into the kitchen.

"I don't want our marriage to be filled with this." You gestured with your hands. "It was making me rethink our engagement."

Michael felt fear strike him at that mention. You were tying the knot in three weeks; you rethinking whether to marry him had his mind going in different directions.

"What?" Michael said, devastated.

"Michael-"

You paused when Michael dropped to his knees. He gripped your hands like it was a lifeline. You saw his mouth waver lightly.

"You cannot leave me." Michael looked at you with tears forming in his eyes. "I would let hell freeze over before you leave me."

You were stunned at this moment. You could only stare on as you tried to form what to say next.

"Baby, let me prove myself." Tears slipped down his cheeks. "I can't believe I've been neglecting you this long."

"I don't ever want to feel like you have to rethink our future cause of what I've caused."

"Please don't leave me."

"Michael."

"Baby, I can't go without you-"

"Michael." You put one of your hands under his chin. "Get up, please."

You moved your hand higher on his face to swipe tears off his cheek. "I wasn't going to leave you."

"Did I think about it? Yes." You told him.

You nodded your head for him to get back on the couch. "This annoyed me. But you're a good man who treats me well."

"You just have to communicate better with me; that's all I ask."

"I'll do that better. I'm sorry again."

"Enough of that."

You rubbed his cheek. "Instead, think of what you're going to do to make this up to me."

Michael grabbed your hand and kissed it lightly. "I already have something planned."

You could see that Michael hesitated to say the next words. "I want to be fully truthful."

You raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead."

He sighed. "I just got nervous; people seeing me like that made me nervous."

"I dreaded it so much that I just pushed it to the back of my mind."

You tilted your head. "You could talk to me about this."

"I just felt bad if I did; I already agreed to it."

"But that doesn't mean you just have to be uncomfortable, and you don't have to be." You told him.

"We could have talked it out, and you could say no to me; I wouldn't have minded."

"No!" Michael raised one hand to shake it. "I wanted to; I was just scared of the reaction."

You looked at him for a minute, squinting your eyes. "You know I'm by your side, right?"

Michael nodded his head.

"I won't let nobody, I mean nobody disrespect my future husband."

Michael's eyes widened, then he smiled.

"If it makes you feel any better, people loved it." You smiled at him. "I got nothing but great reviews all night."

Surprise crossed his face before a genuine smile crossed his face. "I'm happy to hear that."

"Hope that gives you some clarity."

"It does." Michael looked at you. "Can I get a kiss?"

"Yes." You chuckled.

You both leaned in to give a kiss; you giggled, and Michael placed a kiss on your face in turn.

"I always get reminded of why y'all are my favorite couple in this family." Janet sighed.

Michael rolled his eyes before turning around to his sisters. "I would rather y'all not hear all that."

"Well, we did, whether you liked it or not."

"You better treat my sister-in-law better." Rebbie pointed at him.