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You ended up in these blinding lights as people touched up your hair and makeup. For what reason? Cause Michael accidentally slipped up and mentioned a fiancée in a speech at an awards show.

"My fiancée and I-" Michael's eyes widened. He tried to go on as if he hadn't said it.

The media went on a hunt to identify the mystery woman. It didn't take long; all you had to do was go back to '91. When you and Michael met after the AMAs, he became immediately infatuated with you. This man made it his mission to make you his.

Michael was so different from the men you dated before. It was either men from the same scene as you: drummers, guitarists, the frontman of bands—even a few rappers. So, going from that to being with the biggest pop star was a change.

So when people figured out Michael Jackson was engaged to the frontwoman of the biggest breakout bands of the 90s. A band that broke barriers for black people in the rock scene. It caused a frenzy; you and Michael tried to ignore it. But your publicist called you and said he had talked to Michael's publicist. They wanted you to capitalize on this, showing you and Michael as a couple for the first time. You didn't want that at all.

You and Michael wanted your relationship to be as private as possible. This slip-up has blown up in both of your faces. So with that territory, there has been an increase in what magazines say about it. You were used to it being in the rock subgenre. The Satanic Panic of the 80s, people boycotting music. Your band, consisting of black people, added another layer.

You remember the day of sitting at your dining room table, staring at one magazine as it literally accused you of witchcraft. That Michael had you controlling people under spells. It was crazy shit like that headline for weeks after people found you two were together.

Maybe this interview will, and maybe it won't; he knows, but you don't think things well. You don't have the years of media training as Michael does. And your past interviews can contribute to that.

You sat there in the chair as Michael held your hand as the interviewer introduced themselves. You made a slight smile with a nod as the interviewer acknowledged you both.

"You two are one of the most talked-about couples right now in Hollywood."

"Not in the way we would want to make our announcement." Michael smiled.

"Michael just had a slip-up, that's all." You listed while looking at him.

"Is there a reason your relationship was hidden from the public for so long?"

You decided to answer first. "We wanted to focus on our careers and not let our relationship get in the way of that."

"Were you afraid that Michael's career might overshadow your own?"

You tilted your head because you didn't know what that meant, like your career is not something to scoff at. "Michael's accomplishments cannot overshadow my career."

The interviewer raised an eyebrow. And you gripped Michael's hand a little tighter.

"Our careers are different; we cannot be compared." Michael took over before you could say anything.

The interviewer nodded their head. "My next question is: people say that you two are widely different, and that your relationship will not last."

"Well, to that question, I would tell them to mind their business." You gave a tight smile.

"My fiancée and I aren't that different at all; she is a sweet woman, and she cares for me," Michael said.

"Even when people say that she's mean, opinionated?"

You don't like where this interview is going. How could they say you're not here? "Or I just know my boundaries and people continue to push it?"

"I'm just saying that people are concerned since you make music in the rock scene."

"What? What am I going to do? Corrupt people? Do they think I'm going to corrupt Michael?"

"Let's drop it, okay?" Michael smiled. "Move on to the next question?" Michael stared down at the interviewer.

The interviewer looked down. "There have been some people who have come out with commentary from the reveal of your engagement."

You crossed your legs as you wanted to hear the bullshit that was about to come next.

The interviewer pointed a pen towards you. "Your ex had a lot to say, in particular."

You rolled your eyes. Of course he had something to say. He was still bitter about that breakup back in nineteen-ninety. But when you cheat. Especially when you find out through his face being plastered on magazines, like, of course you're going to dump his ass.

"He said, and I quote. 'Of course she sells out and gets with a millionaire. What happened to fighting against the system? Does all that disappear when a man gets into your pants. I swear the more fame she gets, the less her image disappears.'

"How do you think of that?" The interviewer said, looking up at you.

"I don't think we should take word from a man who cheats." You tilted your head.

"That man has been jealous of me ever since we broke up. He has been on a personal smear campaign against me."

"And besides, Michael gives back to people; he has done more than whatever that man thinks he has done."

The interviewer looked quickly at Michael as if they wanted him to say something as well.

"I have never met the man; he doesn't seem nice anyway." Michael shook his head.

"I don't like to brag about myself cause what is the point in that when giving back?" Michael looked at you.

"But I have done a lot of work across multiple communities." Michael gripped your hand. "I even have my own charity."

The interviewer nodded their head. "He said more? Want me to go on?"

"Sure." You rolled your shoulders. "What could he have said?"

"He went on to say, 'I don't know what she sees in that man; it's either his mediocre music, his bland looks- look at him really'"

You tilted your head. "Bland? What about Michael is bland?"

"He couldn't even reach Michael's music." You shook your head in anger. "What do I see in Michael? More like what did I see in him? His ugly ass."

You were on a roll now. "That's why your latest album only sold 1,000 units, bitch."

"Are we going to get charged for the cussing?" The interviewer asked the crew.

"I'm sorry for that." You said that. "But not what I said.”

The interviewer waved their hands. "It's completely fine."

Michael giggled behind his hand. "What does he look like?" He asked in intrigue.

"I thought you wouldn't ask."

This interviewer is messy. You could tell they were prepared in case they were asked that question. They pulled out a piece of paper with your ex's face on it.

Michael squinted his eyes. "Oh."

Michael knows how to be messy without trying.

The interviewer smiled. "What do you think?"

Michael looked before smiling. "Everybody is unique in their own way."

You busted out laughing, making Michael look at you before he laughed himself.

"That's Michael's way of being nice." You looked directly at the camera.

"You two are very funny." The interviewer laughed lightly. "I don't even want to ask these other questions that they gave me."

You and Michael looked at each other. "I want to know what they are?" You said.

"What is your sex life like?" The interviewer asked. "I'm sorry for these questions, by the way."

"It's okay." You waved them off. "What is it with these people's obsession with your sex life?"

Michael shrugged. "They think I'm a virgin."

"All I'm going to say is this: if you knew the things we do, you wouldn't think he was a virgin."

"Baby, stop it." Michael laughed.

"No cause you were able to look at this man every day; you would want to fuck all night long too."

You saw Michael's face become slightly red. But you didn't expect what you said next. "Actually, yeah cause nothing is bland about me." He looked at the camera.

"That's what I'm talking about." You high-fived him when he turned towards you.

The interview went successfully cause as soon as it aired, people were talking about it. People both hated and loved your chemistry. You two turned an almost disastrous interview into a funny one. They showed your personality and a side of Michael people hadn't seen before.

You leaned back on your couch while MTV interviewed your ex's band as part of a segment. The interviewer was talking about your latest interview. And as usual, he was mouthing off about you and Michael. You threw popcorn at the TV while booing the screen.

"What a fucking moron," Michael said, looking at the TV. "What did you see in him?"

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.”

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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.

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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

Michael stood in the middle of the living room staring at the shoes like they had personally disrespected him. One foot was tilted at an awkward angle as Michael tried to see if they looked better from a distance.

The matte black Crocs you’d bought him sat on his feet like two oversized rubber ducks. They looked awkward on his feet to him and made his billion dollar ankles look completely unprotected.

“Back in my day these would’ve just been called clogs,” he said, staring down at them with the same expression he used when he didn’t like a song in the studio. “House shoes. You don’t wear house shoes outside. My mama would have killed me. My ankles don’t feel secure in these things.”

You were already biting your lip so hard it hurt. Sometimes he showed his age so much that it reminded you he was getting older.

“You’re showing your age, Mike.”

He glanced up at you, eyes soft but completely serious. “I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, baby… but I think they’re ugly.”

You couldn’t hold it. A laugh slipped out before you could catch it. You palmed your forehead through the giggles. “You don’t wear them for cuteness. They’re just comfortable to run errands in.”

Michael tilted his foot again, turning it side to side like he was inspecting a crime scene. His whole life he’d been taught by his elders that when you stepped outside, your shoes needed to protect you — real support, real coverage. These looked like something you’d slide on to check the mail... and prayed nobody saw you.

“Like… meant to be worn outside?” he asked, voice full of genuine curiosity. “Or house shoes?” He was truly puzzled. Fashion these days was so odd to him. The sagging pants. The big gaudy clothes. The way everything looked like it was trying to swallow the person wearing it. He just didn’t get it.

“They’re meant to be worn outside,” you told him, stepping closer. “And look, you can put stuff in the holes.” You held out the little pack of custom jibbitz you’d picked out for him. Tiny rhinestone gloves. A glittery “M.” A little crown.

Michael’s eyes lit up despite himself as he took the pack. “Oh wow… these are so neat.” He started sorting through them right there, completely focused on figuring out how to push the little charms into the holes, tongue poking out as he focused.

That’s when it slipped out of you, low and teasing.

“Coochie so good it made you put some jibbitz in your crocs.”

Michael’s head snapped up. Heat crept up his neck and across his cheeks. For a second he just stared at you, then his face lit up with pure amusement, a boyish grin spreading across his face.

“What?” he said, voice cracking into the start of a laugh.

You didn’t stop. You started jokingly rapping the line, shoulders moving with the beat.

Michael lost it. A fit of giggles hit him so fast it turned into full, uncontrollable laughter. He covered his face with both hands, shoulders shaking hard.

He tried to compose himself, turning slightly away like that might help, but the chuckles kept coming. Every time he tried to straighten up and catch his breath, another wave hit him. He peeked at you through his fingers once, still grinning, clearly trying to keep a straight face and failing completely.

“Stop— stop it,” he managed between laughs, still struggling. “You’re embarrassing me.”

You stepped behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, laughing with him now. “I’m just saying… you out here customizing shoes now.”

Michael turned in your arms, still chuckling softly and eyes sparkling with adoration. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your lips. Gentle, lingering, and a little breathless from all the laughter.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, girl” he murmured against your mouth, voice warm and fond. “I can’t believe you got me in these things.”

You smiled against him. “They’re comfortable though, right?”

He glanced down at his feet, wiggling his toes inside the Crocs, that same boyish smile still tugging at his lips.

“…They’re actually kind of nice,” he admitted quietly, like he was confessing something scandalous. “Don’t tell nobody.”

You laughed and pulled him closer. Outside, the world still expected Michael Jackson in his signature loafers and militaristic sharp suits.

Despite everything, I am not surprised.

I watch the news reels continue to speculate over how far along I am in my pregnancy for the next two days. It's world wide news. Michael Jackson's first child. Will it be a girl or a boy? Will they have any talent? Will they be of use somehow to the entertainment industry? Or will they be useless, just like their mother?

The TV clicks off, and I blink out of the daze. "You should stop watching those," Michael says softly, sitting beside me as I watch him. "It's messing with your head, baby."

"I know," I whisper, yet I can't stop. I want to know what they're all saying about my future child. My baby... our baby. I want to know what I need to protect them from.

As if Michael can see it in my eyes he smiles a little. "Are you okay?" he murmurs, placing his hand on my thigh, thumb caressing the skin. I'm sitting on the couch in pyjama shorts and an oversized shirt of Michael's, hair flat, but at least it's freshly washed.

"I'm fine," I say softly, tucking my hair behind my ears. My hand slides across my baby bump, even though it's small, it already means the whole world to me. To both of us. Michael looks me over. I can tell there's something else he wants to say, and anxiety flares as my jaw clenches. "What is it?"

"The doctor called," he begins softly, "to... apologise."

I stare at him and go very still. "...She told?" I bite out.

"Accidentally. Whether that's true or not is another thing, but she was very apologetic."

I exhale slowly. "They just can't resist, can they?" I whisper. "Like fucking vultures, all of them. I hope the pay out was worth it." I snap." I want her fucking fired."

"S'all right baby," Michael murmurs, soothing me with a lower tone, "I've already let her go." He rubs my back slowly, and I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Bring it down for me," he murmurs very quietly, and I take another deep breath and envision a cold, misted forest where no one is around, and it's just me and Michael, taking a long, undisturbed walk.

"Okay," I say when my temper cools enough. "I need to get out of here," I whisper, rolling my neck as I frown hard. "I can't be here. Feels like they're all waiting right outside, watching us."

I open my eyes and glance towards my Fiancé who is dressed down, just like me, in loose trousers and a shirt, untucked, partially unbuttoned to show off his chest. "Cold or hot?" he asks.

"What?"

"climate."

I give it a genuine hard moment of thought. "Cold."

By the next morning, we're on a flight.

A week into our trip to Canada, we decided to cancel the wedding. The letters go out a week later, explaining that due to my pregnancy, we won't be holding the ceremony until sometime next year, when I've recovered from giving birth.

The truth is, though, that Michael and I decided to get married privately, with only our immediate family present, all the way up in the mountains where it's snowy and cold, and I can actually breathe.

So far, not a single soul knows that we are here. We rented a massive chalet. Twelve big bedrooms, a chefs kitchen, large dining room, several living rooms, games rooms, and an outdoor area to die for because the view is insane. Just mountains and forest, and complete peace and quiet. According to the media, we've disappeared, and they speculate and speculate until they run out of air time, only to restart the next day.

Or so, that's what I hear from my parents when I call and ask, since we've put all the TV's in a cupboard.

We have no staff, so it's mostly Michael that does the cooking, but we share all other tasks, and have actually had a lot of fun being so domestic and normal with each other.

Michael reads whenever he's not writing songs or working on his album. He managed to craft a make shift studio in one to the spare bedrooms after having some equipment installed under a fake name, so he can keep busy, since he needs to. Whilst I, on the other hand, have had a wonderful time lounging. All day, every day. I read book after book, nap, eat, do some yoga, take walks out in the snow, come home, snack, nap. I practically live in yoga pants and sweaters now since none of my jeans fit after two weeks in this place.

Which brings us to my twenty two week mark. My belly has popped like crazy, and I'm exhausted. All the time. But today, I'm excited. I stand on the scale and hum, wiggling my toes as I peer over my bump to see where I'm at. I hop into the shower, washing my hair, scrubbing everything, then step out and wrap a towel around myself as I wander back into the master bedroom that has a gorgeous view over the snowy mountains.

A dress waits for me on the bed, and I just stand there and grin at it, biting my lip happily, because today... I'm getting married.

A knock comes and I glance up. Mom comes in, "Ah, you're out, wonderful. I was wondering if I'd have to come in and help you."

"I'm not that big yet," I chuckle as I exhale in a huff, placing my hand instinctually on my lower back as I wander around the bed. "Where's Mike?"

"With your father, he's got him talking about music again." Mom replies with a smirk and chuckle. "I think he might love Michael more than you, sweetheart,"

"Oh god," I drawl out as I go and sit in front of the vanity. Mom comes behind me, runs her fingers through my hair, which has grown an insane amount since I've been aware that I've been pregnant. My roots have begun to grow out too, revealing the dark brown shade that I get from my father. It doesn't look awful, but considering I've been golden blond for the last ten years, it's a little jarring to me.

Still, my mother was able to touch it up a little last night on the top without touching my scalp, so it looks more blended.

She works on blow drying my hair, then styling it in big waves, pinning it in place so it can cool whilst she gets to work on my make up.

It takes me an hour or so to get ready, then I change into my dress. It's pearl white, ties around neck in a big bow, and hugs my body all the way down to my feet where it pools in a heap of satin, glossy fabric. The back is low, showing off my back, and I pair the dress with pearl earrings and a bracelet, that compliment my very large diamond engagement ring.

Mom twists my hair up, letting some of it hang loose to frame my face. She fixes the long vail into my bun, hands me my bouquet of creamy roses, then I'm ready.

The ceremony is being held in the living room, where we've decorated most surfaces with white roses and peonies. Dad's designated himself as photographer, and everyone else has found somewhere to sit amongst the furniture we've moved out of the centre of the large room, where one whole wall is glass that looks out over the snowy mountain scape behind.

Piano music plays softly as Mom walks me down the stairs, I'm bare foot, since I can't see a point in wearing heels indoors, and into the hallway leading to the living room. I can hear everyone talking, and nervous but mostly excited butterflies take off inside my stomach and race round my veins. I inhale deeply, and glance at my mom whose eyes are glossy with tears. "You know, I knew it," she whispers to me, "the moment you introduced him to us, I saw this moment."

"yeah?" I ask. A wave of emotion hits me and I blink rapidly through the dewing of tears.

"It was how he looked at you when he got out of that car."

"He told me you recommended a jewellery store to him," I whisper back, giggling softly as we wait in the hallway, hidden from view behind the two big double doors where we can hear Michael's family chatting. We're not really on a time crunch or particularly bothered by waiting, but I can hear Michael trying to get his siblings to sit down and shut up.

"I have something to confess to you," she adds as I link my arm with hers, things are quietening down. "He called a month after that, asked for the name of the store again."

"Really?" I ask, glancing at her, wide eyed. I'd always wondered when he got the ring.

"He asked me not to tell you or your father, that it was top secret," mom smiles, blushing and beaming. A tear escapes as I grin. I finally hear my cue. A song Michael picked. A light piano melody, soft and sweet. Apparently... like me. He must really love me to see me like that.

The thought makes a smirk drift across my mouth as my mother and I step towards the double doors, ready to get me married.

I enter the room holding mom's arm. Michael's parents glance towards me first, and his mother beams brightly as his father looks on, face impassive. It might've mattered to me on another day, but my eyes are already moving to Michael, standing in the centre of the room by the officiant, dressed in a white suit, with the embroidered vest and pocket chains and all. I grin, giggling softly as tears slip down my cheeks. Of course he'd wear the whole get up, looking so handsome that I feel all giddy and flustered.

I can't believe he's mine.

I release my mother's arm and step towards him, taking his outstretched hands and joining ours together. "you look beautiful," he murmurs as I beam up at him, unable to take my eyes away from his as the officiant begins our ceremony.

I'm doing as I'm told, repeating what words I need to repeat, all the while smiling at Michael, heart feeling so full every now and then tears slip down my cheeks. And he's just smiling at me, grazing his thumbs over my knuckles again and again.

"You may now kiss the bride."

I hear the magic words and lift myself up on my toes, arms going around Michael's neck as he leans in to kiss me. He tips me backwards, holding me to him, and I giggle against his lips as one leg of mine lifts. Our families applaud, and Michael sets me right again, teeth latching onto his bottom lip, eyes alive and glittering.

"And for the first time, may I have the honor of presenting: Mr and Mrs Jackson."

Our families stand and cheer, throwing white rose petals from their seats over us. There may only be a small group of us, but as I stand there beside my, now, husband, hand in hand, it feels like a stadium of applause.

Michael and I make our way outside to take some photos amongst the snow and trees, whilst everyone else sets up the feast for the rest of the day's celebrations.

We eat, everyone else drinks aside from Michael and I, and we head into the early evening with some music. By this point, everyone wants to dance and party. The hot tub is turned on, the music is turned up, but Michael and I step away to one side, slow dancing to an R&B song whilst everyone talks and laughs with each other.

I gaze up at him, feeling so in love I could float. Michael looks down at me, stars in his eyes. "Happy?" I ask softly as he holds me to him, gently swaying us to the steady music, rubbing my back.

"Beyond," he replies. "I'm beyond happy," he kisses my brow, grazes his hand across my body, then touches my baby bump, grazing his fingertips over the curve. "My girls."

"Girls?" I ask, chuckling softly.

"I have a feeling," he murmurs, "My mom has a hunch, too. And she should know, she's had multiples of both."

I hum lightly, allowing myself to envision our baby as a girl, which I hadn't been letting myself do in fear of getting my hopes up or anything. But then I see it so clearly, a little baby girl, wild curly hair, big brown eyes. I sigh heavily, wanting to cry for like the eighth time today and lean my cheek on Michael's chest.

We dance for a little while longer, but then I'm yawning, and really playing it up for everyone else to see, just as we decide to slip away and enjoy our first night as husband and wife together. We hurry away together, and upstairs to the master bedroom, closing the big door behind us and locking it. The music is muffled up here, and we can hear our families laughing through the glass as they hang out in the tubs or in the games room.

Michael closes the curtains across the wall of glass and I step into the walk in wardrobe and seek out the large box of special lingerie I had bought for this exact moment. I freshen myself up, then change into the frilled very mini skirt, little lace thong and an almost see through lace bra, all in white. I take my hair down, fluff out the strands, then spritz a little fragrance onto my body, as well as some vanilla scented oil.

I emerge out into the wardrobe, and pause, seeing the candles and the low lighting, the bed covered in rose petals.

Michael turns from lighting another wide white candle on the nightstand and looks me over, just as I am looking him over. Embroidered vest gone, shirt slightly open, revealing a slither of his skin beneath. I swallow thickly.

"How romantic," I whisper as he blows out a match and faces me fully.

"We're doing it my way tonight," he says softly, putting the match box down and licking his lips. My body warms, desire curling deep as my husband looks me over slowly, hunger in his gaze. He beckons me closer with those long fingers, and I wander towards him, blushing and give him a little twirl.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," he murmurs, unable to take his eyes off me as he slides his gaze up and down my body. "You look incredible." His voice husks, and my desire for him intensifies. He takes me into his arms, pulling me close before he leans down to kiss me. Our mouths mould together, slowly, smoothly. I moan quietly into Michael's mouth as he turns us towards the bed.

When I feel the edge of the mattress, I break the kiss, and sit down, and shuffle backwards. Michael follows, gaze roaming over my body; my breasts, my stomach, swollen with his child. Our child. then his gaze shifts to my left hand, where my engagement and wedding band glint in the low candle light.

He smiles as his gaze slides back to me, then he's leaning down, pressing a kiss against my stomach, then slowly moves up, kissing my breasts. "My wife," he murmurs against my skin, then kisses up to my neck. "My beautiful wife." he repeats so softly I'm not sure he's saying it for my ears.

Still, I bask in it, smiling, dazed and happy as he kisses my throat, and finds that sweet spot that sends a zip of pleasure right down to my core. I hum, delighted and so turned on, I'm already wet by the time his hand slips between my thighs, touching my lacy thong.

He rubs me over my panties just as his lips find mine again. We're kissing, languid and passionate, tongues entwined as he pleasures me with his fingers. Within minutes my expensive lingerie is forgotten, discarded off the bed, and Michael is on top of me, between my thighs, thrusting slow, deep thrusts.

My eyes roll back into my head with each movement, the pleasure so strong and exciting I can hardly control myself, or even think. With a pillow tucked under my head, and under the small of my back, Michael braces himself over me, frowning as his own pleasure courses through him. He groans, sliding himself deeper, so so carefully.

I bite my lip, arching my back slightly, loving the sensations he's giving me so much. "I love you," I whine breathlessly, holding the eye contact and caressing his waist as he keeps thrusting into me, strong and steady, taking his time to make love to me like he wanted. I can see the appeal now. Hard and fast and a little wild is intoxicating, but this is something different. A slow, gradual incline right to the peak of pleasure, instead of that heady, rapid ascent.

"I love you," he replies, voice rasped, "I love you so much, Daph," he leans in, kisses me warmly, pushes himself deeper, earning him a long moan out of my mouth.

We take a brief break to make out, my arms around Michael's neck, his body gently leaning into me, though he's not letting any of his weight rest on my stomach.

He breaks the kiss a few moments later and turns me onto my front, lifting my hips before I can, positioning me ass up, face down. I smile into the sheets, flushed and a little sweaty, and mewl in delight as he slides back inside me from behind, hitting that sweet spot immediately. "God," I whisper, "this is so good,"

Michael hums, holding my hips firmly, thrusting into me a little faster and harder than before. He groans along with his rhythm, the sound bringing me ever closer to my climax. I love hearing him caught up in the pleasure, I love all those noises he makes, the way his hands flex, digging into my flesh, gripping me to his body as he gives in and begins thrusting hard and fast.

All my internal praise for that slow, gorgeous pace vanishes, and I'm gasping, vision sparkling as my hands grip the sheets. I'm in heaven, and suddenly my orgasm crashes into me so hard I cry out, losing control of myself. Michael follows, and only seconds later his own moan cracks and he stills, pumping his release into me and holding me steady, flush against his hips.

We remain there, just breathing for a few moments, before Michael eases out of me and gives my butt a little slap. I grin, shuffle off the bed, then hurry to the bathroom so that I don't make a mess. We ease back into this soft domestication again. I shower whilst Michael brushes his teeth, then we switch, chatting gently about the future, all the things we're excited for.

We head to bed a long time before the party downstairs even thinks of finishing. I can hear my father roaring with laughter as I snuggle into Michael's side, ready to go to sleep for the first time, as his wife.

[ four and a half months later]

I waddle back and forth in the kitchen, one hand on my lower back, the other on the counter top, acting as a walking stick to hold me up. I wince hard as another contraction rakes through me.

"Mike!" I shout, bending over, as a whine leaves me through gritted teeth.

"Right here," he says softly, though there's something else in his tone. Barely contained excitement. "I've got you baby," he soothes, rubbing my back as I breathe through the searing pain. "What do you need, ice?"

"A gun."

He chuckles, as do the midwives we've hired to help with the home birth. They've set up the living room with a warm pool, pillows everywhere, low lighting and candles. Soft music plays as the contraction fades and I can stand up straight again.

"Just keep walking Mrs Jackson, you'll be ready soon," one of the midwives advises gently. They all have tea, and speak in soothing voices. I don't spit out the series of curses I want to, and instead keep waddling around, holding onto Michael's arm, trying to get my water to break.

It takes another two hours until it does, then everything else happens in a blur of pain, excitement, terror, nerves and anticipation. One hour becomes four in a matter of seconds. It's all a blur, because all I'm focussing on is breathing and getting this baby out the best way I can.

When the time comes to push, Michael is pacing anxiously by the birth pool. I'm in the heated water with one of my midwives, who talks me through every single second. I'm breathing exactly how she instructs, pausing when she tells me to, then I'm pushing, clenching my jaw, hair stuck to my temples as my whole body glows with sweat.

Then the final moment comes. One last push, I cry out, and then there's this strange, surge of emptiness, of weird, painful relief. I'm slouching back into the warm water, and Michael is right there next to me, smoothing my hair out of my face. Then I hear cries, sweet little cries, and I blink my eyes open as a small baby is put into my arms.

"A girl," the midwife whispers to me, "a very healthy girl, well done," she rubs my shoulder as I stare down at this little thing in my arms, flushed pink with life, and so beautiful, with a full head of dark curls, too.

I glance up at Michael, and he's staring at our baby, tears sliding down his face in a steady stream. "Well done baby," he breathes, leaning in to kiss my temple. "You did so good," he kisses me again, "I'm so proud of you."

I chuckle, but then I'm crying too, leaning my head against Michael's as our baby gurgles in my arms...

[ a year and a half later ]

I settle in the chair beside Michael, June, our baby girl, now a year old, is cradled in my arms, snoozing. A make up artist appears by my side, and touches up my powder.

The interviewer sits opposite us, calmly talking with my husband and the head of his team about the questions lined up. I hear the quiet warning come from Michael's manager, that if the interview starts to get disrespectful we will be leaving, and hold back the smile.

I shift, a little nervous and Michael hands me a bottle of water that I can sip from. "How's she doing?" he asks gently.

"Sleepy," I whisper, glancing down at our baby, head full of the most glorious brown curls. Her long lashes brush against her chubby cheeks as she sleeps soundly, not a care in the world.

Michael leans over to kiss me, and I peck his lips back, appreciating the comfort as he puts his arm behind me and gently rubs my back.

They finish setting the lights and cameras up, run all their tests and checks, and we are finally ready to begin.

The interviewer clears her throat, "first of all, I have to say both of you look lovely, thank you so much for being here."

I glance at Michael, taking in his tucked in shirt, beige slacks. He's dressed down for this, not wanting to appear too flashy for his first televised interview in just under a half a decade. I'm dressed to match, in a soft cream long dress that cinches at my waist. The sleeves are long and almost drape over my hands prettily, but they're short enough that my engagement and wedding ring can be seen. My hair is twisted up, and my make up is light.

"Thank you for having us," Michael replies politely. He's on guard, and sitting very still. I smile back at the interviewer as she smiles at me.

"So we'll jump right in," she begins, speaking gently since June is still sleeping. "since the start of your relationship, there has been a lot of speculation. The biggest being... your age gap."

Michael tenses despite knowing the question was coming. I smile, "Right," I say, nodding.

"Many people all over the world obviously would like to know, did it ever bother either of you? How much younger Daphne is than you, Michael?"

He's not breathing, but he manages to respond. "Yes, at first it did."

"It didn't bother me," I say, "at the ned of the day if two consenting adults want to be in a relationship then I think that's fine. I am and was a full adult who can make her own decisions." I giggle, I glance at my husband who is watching me, faint smile on his face. "I did tease him about it relentlessly though."

Michael sighs, hiding the shy smile and ducks his head before adjusting the way he's sitting. "relentlessly," he agrees.

"Of course," the interviewer smiles, "and did it bother you, being scrutinised so much because of this?"

"not really no, we just kind of got on with it, didn't we?" I say, glancing at Michael, who nods.

"Now, there was a lot of talk about the overlap between your old relationship and this current one, Michael. What your ex wife said was a pretty big accusation. What do you want to say about that?"

"There was no overlap, let's start there," he says and I fight the urge to huff with amusement at his tone, "I was divorced in all ways that matter by the time I met and pursued Daphne. In all respects, I was a single man."

I hum in agreement, and June gurgles in my arms, stirring in her sleep. I glance down at her, smiling warmly before I look back to the interviewer. The questions continue, most of them based around nosy speculation by the general public and media, but Michael answers them honestly and openly. Considering we've been out of the public eye for almost a year and a half, we understood that unless things are addressed, the rumours will continue to follow us, especially with the recent release of Lisa's book.

Half an hour in, June wakes up. Though she's quiet, and just wants to watch me. She plays with my hands, squeezing my fingers as Michael answers questions about his music and inspiration, revealing that I've been his muse since we met. I blush at that, admiring him as he talks enthusiastically about his work.

Soon though, the questions swing back to probing about our relationship. "So one thing that had a lot of people confused is... just how you two work. Obviously we've all heard Break of Dawn and the very suggestive nature of it, has your relationship been mostly sexual then?"

Michael freezes and I balk a little bit before I burst out laughing. Michael had warned me about this, the public's obsession with seeing him as this a-sexual creature who couldn't possibly experience sexual desire, but actually hearing the question is something else.

"Well, I mean, aren't all relationships meant to have an aspect of sexual sensualness to them? I mean if you didn't want to sleep with your partner, surely they shouldn't be your partner?" I smile, giggling again and glancing at Michael. "I think we have a pretty healthy sex life," I add, smiling happily.

Michael clears his throat, cheeks pinking as he reaches up to itch the bridge of his nose. He's smiling, but I can tell he's internally cringing. For him sex is very, very private. Just talking about it could make him fold inwards on himself and pass away.

"But no, I wouldn't say that's all our relationship is." I look from my husband to the interviewer, "we can talk for hours, about anything. Michael is very well read, very intelligent, I love that about him. He teaches me something new every day. Like how to cook," I grin and he laughs softly.

"She could burn water."

"I have literally done that," I smile, and we both laugh warmly. June reacts, gurgling loudly and reaching up at me.

"So are you mostly the domestic one then, Michael?"

"No," he says softly, "we share a lot of tasks," he adds, watching me with those doe eyes so full of love I could melt in my seat, "we want June to have a normal life, a nice childhood. Both parents at home, cohabitating, sharing, loving each other openly. Home cooked meals, movie nights. Doing the dishes. All of it." He places his hand on my thigh, holding me softly.

"Is this because it is something you didn't have much of?"

"I think so," he says thoughtfully. "But it's mainly because of the legacy my wife and I have made of ourselves individually, with Daphne stepping into acting, and me taking a step back, June will always be in some kind of spotlight, just because of who we are. When we can control it, we'd prefer to have her live as normally as possible."

"No nannies, no maids, no staff..." the interviewer says, as if she doesn't quite believe us.

"So far we only have security," I chime in, "but like my husband said, we are and will be trying our best."

We talk more, and although some of the questions are pretty invasive, each of us take it on the chin. Silently thanking our lucky stars that there are no more sex questions. As the interview wraps up, she asks one final question. June is more awake now, wanting to move around and explore. I shifted onto Michael's lap, and he holds her up so she can stretch her legs.

"So, with all that being said, do you think you will have more children?"

Michael grins immediately, hiding slightly behind June as she stares wide eyed at everything, big brown doe eyes taking everything in as her little chubby arms flap.

"Well actually," I smile, placing my hand on my swelling abdomen. "I'm already pregnant."

Fin.

end notes:

good evening everyone! thank you so much for being here on this journey with me for Daphne and Michael lmao, what started out as a meant to be one shot with MAX three parts, has turned into a sixteen part saga lmfaoo

I hope you guys have enjoyed it, it was really fun for me to write, but yeah I thought I should wrap it up before I really ran out of things to write about. I have so many more ideas of Fics to start and concepts to explore, so I hope you guys will stick around for that!

Next I will be focussing on my pop star x bad era MJ fic "RIVALS" so if you're into that vibe, please feel free to hop on over and check that out!

Saturday morning started off fairly slowly, a smooth start to a busy day. Michael pressed soft kisses to your entire face, waking you up in the process. He had already showered, dressed up and styled his hair for the day, teasing you for sleeping in, knowing damn well you two had much to plan.

“Get up, honey. We got a shit ton to sort out before noon.” He fiddled with the ties of your silk bonnet as you groaned in annoyance, wanting a few more minutes of shuteye.

“Five minutes.” You whined, but he shook his head, pulling the covers away from you.

“Woman…” he sighs and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Coordinators and the setup crew will be here soon, maids are waiting for you downstairs, and I've already had to deal with phone calls from ma asking me what colour brooch she should wear over her pink dress.”

You huff out a laugh at his last comment. “Mama K don’t need a brooch today…”

“You tell her that then when you’re cleaned up and dressed.” Michael scoffs, defeated, still smiling kindly.

“Fine, fine,” you sit up and rub your eyes, conceding, “I’ll get ready, bruh.”

“Who you calling ‘bruh’?” Mike asks in mock offence, checking the home camera for later. You ignore him and make your way to the en suite bathroom to wash up.

You finally stepped downstairs and into the kitchen where—as Mike had said—maids waited for you. About 7 of them lean on the thick marble stone of the kitchen island, chatting among themselves before they notice you.

“Morning, y’all. We’ve got a lot to do. The family will be here by 12 p.m., and I don’t want them waiting too long for refreshments and such. Let’s get to business.” You smiled and turned to each one of them as you spoke. “I’ll be recording y’all work if you don’t mind—family memories.”

The maids don’t mind at all, possibly having been told about it by your husband. You gave each maid instructions; three had to chop veggies for salsas, salads and coleslaw. They got to work immediately, picking up sacks and packets of onions, bell peppers—every colour—chillis and cabbages. Cutting boards occupy almost every inch of the first island as they chop away. Thud-thud-thuds each at a different tempo fill the room as they work, knives tapping on wooden boards creating a lively rhythm in the kitchen. The other four maids follow you to the second island. Two meat grinders rest on either side of the countertop beside unprocessed bags of beef in cooler boxes. More cuts of meat- steaks, ribs, lamb chops and shanks- sit on chunks of ice in the middle of the island, waiting to be portioned and marinated for lunch and dinner. Two of the four start grinding the beef for burgers—Michael insisted on having everything fresh—while the other two get to work on the rest of the meat.

You record it all, short clips of each maid working on their designated jobs with a friendly grin on their faces. They work while talking and laughing with each other, lighthearted and natural while you narrate through the camera.

“It’s 9am. We’re prepping our first cookout,” you squeal at the end, “I’m sort’a nervous but so excited. The whole Jackson family will be here. Mrs Jackson’s gotta show out ta-day!” You snort, and the maids giggle with you.

“You’ll be aight.” Michael chimes in as he carries a crate of wine in front of two men carrying their own booze crates. You turn and point the camera at him, zooming into the crate. “Old heads’ candy.” He chuckles before pulling a silly face that the camera captures.

“Damn, you got Hennessy too?” You laugh and record the crate held by one other man. Michael hums a prideful ‘uh huh’ before he leaves through the sliding door with the men. You record them leaving. The camera catches a glimpse of event coordinators setting up gazebos and long tables across the huge backyard.

You step outside at around 11am. Coordinators still work in the yard, inflating decorative balloons of varying colours over pillars and tree branches. Others blow up floats, big flamingos, loungers and doughnuts for the pool in preparation for children who will definitely throw themselves in the water as soon as they get here. When the gazebos and chairs are set up, men bring out cooler boxes filled with juice boxes, sodas and ice lollies and set them around the backyard. Cooler boxes with alcohol are placed on separate tables out of children’s reach.

“We’re almost done with everything outside,” you comment over the camera, “not sure where my bae is but I saw his big ass hat floatin’ around here somewhere.” You giggle and look around, the camera whipping from one scene to the next.

12pm passes, and 1pm comes around. Not many people have arrived; a few of Mike’s uncles and aunties sit under gazebos, talking about how much effort you put into the entire day.

“Man, I knew these people would be late.” Michael sighs and squints his eyes as he slumps on a porch swing with you. You record him and scoff.

“That’s why we told em to be here at 12pm. Black people and time, babes.” You comment, and he laughs hard while nodding in agreement.

“We ain’t beating those allegations, huh? I’m not mad though. Shit’s gonna be wild once everyone pulls up.” He laughs and slips on his aviators, leaning in to kiss you over the camera. “You look beautiful today—always.”

At almost 2pm, the ranch is packed with the family. Children run around screaming and giggling their little heads off as they jump into the pool and slide down waterslides. Preschoolers swing on jungle gyms while older kids lounge in and around the pool, sodas in their hands. Toddlers, accompanied by their parents, splash in shallow inflatable pools designed specifically for them. The squeal and babble in excitement as they play with rubber ducks in the warm water.

Michael’s recording now from a distance, a giddy mess as children run around him, hugging him with sticky fingers and damp bodies. He records it all, focusing the camera on you as you sit near the kiddie pool with one of his nieces, toying with a rubber duck in the water for the baby’s entertainment. She babbles and screams with joy, grabbing at your hand for the toy.

“Damn, she’s beautiful.” He speaks above a whisper, loud enough for the camera to catch, “Gonna put her through the mattress tonight—” He cuts the camera off as you wave at him, water dripping down your arms from babies splashing.

You hold the camera at eye level, recording the scene before you. Michael and Jackie are by the grill, flipping burgers for the hungry now-hungry children. His curls flow in the breeze under his hat, some bouncing by his doe eyes.

“Ain’t you burning in those, Mike?” You comment on his attire. He’s in a long-sleeve polo shirt and black slacks. Michael shakes his head and plates a couple cooked patties while two maids arrange sliders.

“Don’t want sunburn.” Mike shrugs and blows you a kiss. Jack pretends to gag at the affection, which you scoff at.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t passed out yet. It’s hot as hell today.” Jackie flashes a smile at the camera, wiggling his brows before turning his attention back to the grill.

Children line up by the table for food, pushing each other excitedly for their sliders. You pan the camera to them, recording each child light up as a maid hands them a plate before they grab their umpteenth soda for the day.

At the gazebos, Mike’s aunties and uncles sit sipping on booze. They wave and lift their glasses when you pan the camera to them.

“Lil missy, when’s the food coming out?” One old man sipping on rum asks, already sounding sloshed.

“We’re just waiting for the ribs, Uncle Jay-”

“Well, I’m starving, girl. Speed the grill up fa me.” He interrupts, but you don’t take offence, laughing awkwardly as you nod and walk away.

“Who's that girl away, eh? One of Katherine’s kids? She keeps having more of em, eh.” Uncle Jay asks behind you, pouring himself another cup of rum.

“Michael’s wife, Uncle Jay.” Randy responds, “You were at the wedding…”

“Ohhhhh. Shit, I forgot.”

“Good lord.” Randy mumbles.

When the food’s finally ready, the adults line up around tables and make plates for themselves. Michael controls the camera again, taking clips of you making a plate for his mother and—reluctantly—his father. He also records you sitting with his sisters near the pool, eating on a picnic blanket. He’s rambling again.

“What’d I do to deserve her? She's perfect. Perfect, God.” Michael goes on. “Never take her away from me.”

As the day dies down, children make their way to the game room and cinema where maids and nannies tend to their petulant, sugar-hungry needs. You wonder how none of them has puked yet—or maybe you simply weren’t there to witness any of it. All that sugar surely would have made one of them vomit. Uncle Jay has, though, chewed up ribs along with rum and Hennessy coming out of him, which makes everyone scatter away from the gazebo they occupied.

“Oh that’s nasty, man!” Mama Kathrine snickers as Marlon helps her set up by a nearby table.

“And I told him to go easy on the liquor, ma.” Tito scrunches his nose as he tries to wipe puke off his slides on the grass.

Michael hollers in the distance, having captured the moment his uncle vomited on camera. His laugh is loud, almost louder than the music blasting through speakers, making everyone laugh too. Uncle Jay scowls, embarrassed at him as he wipes his mouth. As if not having learnt his lesson, Uncle Jay pours himself another glass of Henny, downing it to cover the taste of bile on his tongue.

The sun sets, and adults take on the pools, diving and hooting as they slide down waterslides. You’re in there too, drifting in the water by the deep end. Your pink swimsuit looks purple and orange under the mix of pool and fairy lights. Michael surprises you and jumps in a few inches to your left, laughing his ass off when you whine about hair shrinkage. You’re not sure who’s got the camera, but you’d later see footage of you two making out by the pool steps, with a gagging sound over it—probably Jermaine.

LaToya and Janet chase each other with water guns, both in their swimsuits as water sprays between them. You slip on a pair of shorts and sit with Mama K near a bonfire. She speaks to you softly, possibly gossiping about one of her friends who couldn’t make it. Tito points the camera in your direction, recording the sweet moment.

As the night goes on, people make their way home. Fathers carry their sleeping children into their cars as they say their goodbyes. They hug you and Michael, thanking you for the lovely day before they drive off.

Only immediate family remains, filling the living room with soft chatter and laughter. Jazz echoes through the house; nieces and nephews are passed out on the floor of the TV room a few rooms away. Michael’s on a tangent about your honeymoon. He’s drinking too, a glass of white wine swaying between his fingers as he talks.

“We had so much booked; water gliding, quad biking and even diving—” He burps, “But all we did was lie on the beach or in bed.”

Michael’s mom darts her eyes away at that. You swat his thigh and clear your throat, shifting your gaze towards the camera lens as it zooms into you both.

“So when are you making me an auntie?” Janet mutters behind the camera.

“You’re already an auntie!” You quip.

“Not from Mikey!” Janet quips too, tilting her head back as she laughs. The entire room is focused on you now, Mike’s drunk smile growing bigger as he eyes your middle.

“The baby will come when they’re ready. Don’t rush em.” Mama K reprimands Janet through a yawn.

“Thank you, ma.” You raise both your brows with a sassy smile. Michael blinks slowly as he runs a hand over your leg, sensual but respectful around elders.

“Are you sure I was at y’all weddin’?” Uncle Jay pipes up from the corner, a pensive expression plastered over his drunk face when he squints at you. The room erupts into quiet laughter, Rebbie wiping away a tear from laughing a bit too hard.

The night carries on in gentle conversation, board games, dancing, and light drinking. Your home camera glides through many hands with each family member focusing it on whatever they find interesting in the moment; Michael and Janet showing off their dance skills, Jackie and Tito chugging down beers, Joe passed out on the recliner with his mouth open, and Jermaine playing Uno with LaToya, Randy and Marlon.

You only see this while rewatching the tape, but whenever Janet had the camera, her focus was always on you and Michael. She shot clips of Mike hugging you from behind by the bonfire outside, you handing Mike a plate of food for lunch and even got an adorable clip of you rubbing sunscreen on his face during the day. The last clip in particular melts your heart. She recorded Michael rubbing your belly while whispering something to you.

They’re all going to lose it when they find out.

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@pyt03 @lov3lylxvender @nobleumbrashrine @zerosugarcherrydrpepper @angeleface @fanficreader33 @beberock375 @michaeljacksonsleftnipple @xxhoneymo0n @kordulka @iiovey0u @michaeljacksonsbae @mikesbian @tellybearyyy @kneelarmhstrung @mikejacksbabymommaaaaa @nunusmoll @istayuptoolateonthisapp15 @funkaoverwar @khxna @uconnwbbloversworld1 @plan3tch1ld @theyluvchanel @18lkpeters @0-n-1-x @tojiswifeforlife @butt3rfleye @lover-of-games-horror-music17 @cloverjeanmj @star-gurl4life @michaelkisskissgirl @zero820 @justglennreading @peachypeanut @1andonlytashae @thebabykashmere @ghostlycrestcurse @delictezz @heyitsconysstuff @calicina @itsawolfthingbella @fruitysoulorg @ilikyo @likewf @sebbysbaby @blacclotusss @whimsicalangel07 @cunty000 @froggyreadsss @mjsbiggestlover @iimsopretty

I hum into Michael's mouth, sitting sideways over his lap. He has one hand resting on my baby bump, another behind my back, holding me to him. We kiss as the movie murmurs in the background, mouths locked together, my arms around his shoulders. We perhaps lasted about half an hour before we were all over each other.

Although he complains I'm insatiable, he never once turns me down, or isn't ready the moment I need him to be. If anything, he has to take one look at me in my pretty lingerie in the evenings and I know what he wants.

We've gone into a kind of lock down over these part few weeks. Out of nowhere, at sixteen weeks, my bump popped, and I knew that if I stepped out anywhere in somewhat tight clothing, it would be all over the world in a matter of hours that I was pregnant.

Michael's been heaven sent, taking such good care of me. So gentle and sweet, waiting on me hand and foot as if we literally don't have staff in the house to do that.

I moan softly into the kiss, pulling back slightly to nibble on his bottom lip. Michael groans quietly, leaning forwards to capture my mouth again. He slides his right hand down between my thighs to my covered sex and teases the sensitive flesh there. I mewl softly, sliding my tongue against his as our kiss deepens, pleasure tingling up my spine as he rubs me gently over my panties.

My cell phone ringing splits the bubble of desire and I squeak, pulling away from my man and reaching for it on the coffee table just behind me. "Just let it ring, baby," Michael murmurs, tone husky from lust. "We're in the middle of something."

"It could be that thing," I say as I grab the bedazzled phone and glance at the caller ID. Sure enough, it's her. "it is, it is." I say just before I answer. I sit up, swinging myself around and putting my legs over Michael's lap instead. I smirk as I feel his hardness under his lounge pants. All he does is sigh, then fight off his own smirk.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hi, Miss Jones?" My P.I's voice says out of the line, I switch my cell phone to my other ear and motion Michael closer. He leans in, and now we're both listening. "I managed to find where Mrs Presley is staying."

Only taken three weeks, I feel like saying, but I don't. We're nearing mid autumn now, having already celebrated Michael's forty-first birthday, and as we near the end of the year, even if it's slowly, I'm getting more and more anxious on getting Michael's divorce papers signed so we can legally get married.

"Okay, where?" I ask, swallowing that bubble of nerves and rage that threatens to rise every single time I think of this woman.

"She's staying at the four seasons in Beverly Hills for the next week. As for her routine, she has a drink at the bar then takes dinner to her room at seven in the evening."

"Are her kids with her?" I wonder.

"No, not currently, but if they plan to meet her later in the week, I don't know."

I might only have a small window, is what she's saying. I exhale and glance at Michael who has already leaned away from the call and is watching me closely.

"Alright, well, thank you," I say before we exchange goodbyes and I end the call. I slip into two minds almost immediately. Go and confront Lisa myself, or wait to have Michael's lawyers handle it. He'd cut her off financially, but she'll only know next month when the next payment isn't made into her account. Though, considering his lawyers had reached out to her several times to discuss furthering the state of their divorce and she's ignored them, I have a feeling leaning towards being down to me.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I can push it harder." Michael murmurs as he watches me stare into space, thinking.

"How much harder can you guys push? You've already asked her a hundred times," I murmur, "she knows you're not mean enough to actually fight with her on this," I add, "I, however, do not mind getting my hands dirty to get what I want."

Michael huffs with gentle amusement, then reaches over to touch my baby bump again. "I can't wait to marry you."

I smile, gazing at him, and place my hand over his. Our little family is coming together regardless of if we get married or not, of course I know that, but I still can't wait to marry him too.

The next evening, I'm ready. I wear a loose cream cable knit mini dress and little white heels, pin my hair up and wear light make up. I keep my ring on, since most of the world knows that Michael and I are engaged so I don't need to hide it. If anything, it might encourage Lisa to give up the fight if it glints in her face as I talk to her.

I tell Michael to wait at home, and his drive takes me to the four seasons. It's a little bit before six thirty, and if everything is going according to plan, then by the time I get to the hotel, most things should be in place.

It doesn't take long to get from Bel Air to Beverly Hills despite some light traffic. My heart's pounding, but I breathe through it and think of the result I want. Of my future. Of one of the most important things happening to me right now, our baby.

I place my hand over my stomach and settle in for the journey. It's not long before the driver is pulling up to the front of the hotel, murmuring to me that we've arrived. A concierge steps up, and opens the door for me. As I thank him, I hear the shutter clicks and see the flashes in the corner of my eye.

So they're already here. Good.

I enter the hotel and slip a cool mask over my face. I have a gentle smile as I ask the receptionist where the bar is. She recognises me immediately, and shows me the way, face flushed as she speaks quickly. "Would you like a table?"

"No, that's okay, I can see who I'm meeting," I say lightly, I brush past her, and head over to where I can see Lisa Marie sitting by the bar, looking at something on her cell phone as she sips wine. I don't dare look towards the window that overlook the main drive, for I know there are about five photographers there right now, taking pictures.

I smile as I approach Lisa, and slide into the bar stool beside her. She glances at me, then does a double take once she sees my face. "Careful," I say quietly before she can open her mouth, "I'd be polite, there are a lot of eyes around."

She stays quiet as the bartender approaches me, asking if I'd like anything to drink. "I'll just take a lemonade, but in a wine glass please."

"Not drinking?" Lisa asks, she's so tense she's barely breathing, and the bitch in me wants to grin at it, but I remain calm and polite.

"Not for a while," I say, but leave it at that. If she understands what I mean, she doesn't comment. "So," I begin after the bartender hands me my lemonade in a chilled wine glass, so it almost looks like champagne.

"What are you doing here? how did you know I was here?" Lisa hisses at me.

"I have my ways," I say softly, "there was something I wanted to discuss with you."

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to you," she goes to stand up but I glance at her, smiling.

"Lisa, sit down or I will release everything I've found out about you to the press."

She hesitates, glancing around carefully before she sits down again. "What do you want?"

"I want you to sign the papers. Tonight."

"Or what?"

"I know he's been giving you money, Lisa. I know you and your mother are broke."

She stares into her wine glass, then takes a big gulp. In the mirror reflection behind the bar, I know she's spotted the flashing coming from outside from the cameras taking pictures of us. "You can't be serious right now, did he tell you that?"

"We're engaged, of course he told me. He's told me everything." I take a long sip of my drink and turn the profile of my face towards her and smile calmly. The flashes increase, capturing the moment.

"I can't believe this," she hisses, "I can't believe he sent you to do this for him."

"Michael hasn't sent me to do anything, and I'm not here to force your hand, Lisa. We just want you to sign the papers..."

"You just don't get it," she whispers, shaking her head. She looks like she's about to cry, and so my head tilts. "But maybe you will once you guys get married."

"What don't I get?"

"This is just how he works. How he manipulates people, the media. Making himself look like some wounded puppy in need of saving." She laughs, unamused. "Like look at you. He's got you doing his dirty work."

I take a sip of my drink and smooth a strand of hair back from my face. "Would it not be easier just to leave us to it, then? Instead of having to relive this over and over. If you're so convinced I'm going to have my heart broken, why not just let it happen? Instead of trying to hold on to something that's already gone."

"I'll take him to court."

"Over what?"

"I want settlement money. He promised me when we got married he'd take care of me."

I sigh, hard. "That's really all this is about, isn't it? The money."

"Oh, please," Lisa groans, "As if that's not why you're with him."

"I'm with him because I love him, actually."

She laughs at that, bitterly. "You're twenty five. You hardly know what true love is."

This is going nowhere. Even as my mouth parts to make some sneering, foul comment, I pause. Take a breath.

"Lisa you have an opportunity here. Amend things with me, publicly, and sign the papers so you don't look like the bitter ex wife holding your dead marriage for ransom. Let us get married. For fucks sake, even attend the wedding. You'll look like a saint. Sell your book, do whatever. Just sign the documents."

Lisa looks to me, "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

I say nothing, just smile at her as I see flashes in the corner of my eye. The photographers are still there. Lisa glances over her shoulder, looks at them too, and then simply looks away, giving them no expression. I see the pressure forming, building on her shoulders, labouring her breathing. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why the rush?"

I don't respond. But she looks at me, to the non-alcoholic drink, the to my baggy cable knit dress. The puzzle pieces click together and she sighs, long and hard. "Congratulations." she murmurs, "how far along?"

"Do you really want to know?" I ask.

"No."

She looks as if she wants to cry, and as I stare at her for a long moment, I find myself stepping into her shoes. I pause for a long moment, tears threatening to dew in my eyes, but then I push the feeling away. This moment isn't really about me. I get up as if ready to leave, but then pause.

"I'm sorry," I find myself saying. "For how this turned out. For what it's worth, I've never done any of this to spite you. I really do love him."

Lisa looks at me, and swallows.

"We never hooked up whilst you two were married. We'd never spoken before that party, when those photos came out. Honestly."

"I know that, Daphne," she mutters, and my brows furrow. "I never thought he literally cheated on me with you, he's too much of a gentleman. But I always suspected he wanted to, deep down. The way I saw him looking at you whenever you'd pop up on the TV, or he'd see something about you in a magazine. He'd buy them, or get his security to. I'd find them hidden in the trash like he'd felt guilty for just looking. Sometimes we'd be mid conversation and he'd stop responding. I'd look up, and you'd be on the screen, smiling and laughing away, so oblivious to my dying marriage that had everything to do with you."

I'm frozen.

"Michael was already out the door before I was even aware it was open. He was obsessed with you," she chuckles sadly, and doesn't look at me. "All you had to do was smile and touch him that one time at the awards show, and he was obsessed with you. It was probably always meant to be you. I was just the place holder until he worked up the courage to end it."

I don't know what to say. I find myself glancing at my ring finger, at the massive diamond glinting back at me. It was wrong, to feel flattered. I understood that enough to have the decency not to show it. I was so in love with Michael I'd started to consider us soulmates. Somehow, this only emphasised that.

I clear my throat softly. "I'm sorry."

Lisa hums. "I'll sign. Just go." she mutters, "please."

I had this vision of us playing up 'making up' for the cameras, smiles and hugs, but I think it was naive of me. Also, I think she'd bite me if I tried to touch her.

I say goodbye and turn away, finding it hard to control my face as I leave the hotel and the cameras keep their distance, but still take their shots. My expression is frozen in a state of kind of delirious confusion. Finding that out about Michael was... something.

By the time I get home, Lisa had her lawyers send over the signed papers.

By that evening, they were officially divorced.

One month later, we're at home for our twenty week check up. We'd turned one of the spare rooms in the house into a sort of medical room, ready for birth and baby in four months. Very soon, and it was still in progress since I couldn't decide on any colours for the nursery, but at least there was a place where we could have check ups with the right equipment without leaving home.

"Everything is developing very nicely," our doctor says softly as she works the ultrasound. Both Michael and I have our eyes glued to the screen, watching the black and white image of our child. "Well done mama," she adds, smiling at me warmly. I giggle, murmuring a thank you as Michael grips my hand. My eyes are all teary, and my heart races with excitement as the doctor shows us all the growing organs and limbs. "So, now onto the big question... would you like to know the gender?"

I glance at Michael, we'd already talked about it. "We'd like to wait," he says gently, he glances at me to check, to see if I'm still on board. I nod, smiling from him to our doctor.

"Wonderful, it'll be a surprise then," she smiles, turning off the screen. We already had some print outs of the ultrasounds, but with each check up, she prints more for us. She talks us through what to expect at this stage of the pregnancy. "Any questions?" she asks, looking between us.

"I have one," Michael murmurs, cheeks flushing, "is it safe for the baby if we, um... if we to continue... to..."

"He's wondering if we're okay to keep having sex," I interrupt.

The doctor doesn't even flinch. "Of course," she nods, "just nothing too outrageous or rough around the stomach area, and obviously be gentle."

Michael cringes, glancing away, but all I can do is grin. I think back to just last night, how he had my hair in his fist, thrusting into me from behind as I knelt on all fours. I'd loved it, personally. But he'd started fretting about being too rough. Of course, only after he came.

I'd teased him about it all morning.

"Anything else?"

"That's it," I smile, and we wrap up the appointment, making small talk. Michael exits the room to make sure the doctor's car is being brought around and I take the opportunity to quickly ask my own question. "I do have one thing," I say as she packs her examination bag. She looks up. "My libido has been crazy, actually... like.. sorry if this is too much info, but it's like multiple times within twenty four hours."

"Has your libido always been high?"

"Not until I met my fiancé."

"Ah," she nods, "are the urges obsessive? like you can't function until you have sex? Like it's all you can think about?"

"No..." I say slowly, "I'm just really attracted to him. But I can function without it."

"Then you're fine," she chuckles, "you're in love, it's normal. Hormones are raging, you have a lot more energy in the second trimester, too. You're fine."

"Okay, great, thank you," I giggle, blushing. I show her out, and find Michael downstairs, just about to return to his studio. "You okay baby?" I ask, seeing that look on his face, the one that means he's been stewing and overthinking something.

"I don't know if we should have sex as rough as we do."

I blink at him, "we are jumping right in, okay," I giggle, moving around the counter in the kitchen to where he hovers by the fridge, freshly squeezed orange juice in hand. "how come?"

"I was already worried that I was being too rough with you, but with the baby, I don't want to hurt either of you."

"If you don't want to, then we won't."

He squints at me, pausing mid-sip. "... what's wrong?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You just accepted that, no push back."

"If you don't want to have rough sex, then we won't have rough sex," I say simply back, stepping towards him slowly, rubbing my palm over my swollen stomach. I was very obviously pregnant now, and even though my bump wasn't massive, it was clear that I was expecting to anyone's eyes.

Michael eyes me, gaze flicking between my face, cleavage then baby bump. I nudge him out of the way and get myself a drink, then pad through the living room area to watch something on TV. I feel him tracking me from the kitchen.

It takes him ten minutes to come and sit next to me, tentatively sitting down, eyeing me again. I ignore him purposefully because I know it irritates him, and also I want him. And perhaps I shouldn't give in to that every single second that urge arises. Maybe we do have sex too often.

Maybe I should start weening myself off having my hair pulled and my ass spanked, too. "Hmph," I say to myself, folding my arms over my breasts that have gone up a cup size and a half. I needed to buy new bras, almost new everything to accommodate to my quickly changing body.

Michael glances at me. I look at him.

"You know when the baby comes it will be harder for us to have sex as often as we do now, anyway." I find myself saying. So petty, so childish.

"We'll get a nanny."

"maybe," I sigh, "we'll see." I add, fixing my pink tank top that sits nicely over my boobs. My cleavage is crazy in this top, practically popping out. I glance down at it, then to the TV, playing dumb.

Michael shifts. I feel his gaze jump there, then back to my face. He doesn't say anything for a long moment. I look at him again, and his gaze flicks up my eyes. "Stop staring at my tits."

"You--"

"Careful," I warn him playfully.

"This isn't fair, Daph," he murmurs, does eyes pleading with me.

"I haven't told you we can't have sex, you're the one being silly."

"I'm not being silly," he sighs, "I'm trying to be a gentleman about it."

"You enjoy the way we have sex and hate to admit it," I say, pointing at him, "gentleman my ass, you were salivating over my boobs yesterday, that's why you got all rough."

"Was I really that rough with you?"

"No," I scoff, "even when you're being rough you're gentle, it's wonderful," I giggle, "you're really worrying about nothing."

Michael sighs, and shifts closer to me. I lean into his side as he puts his arm around my shoulder. It's only mid afternoon, but I could probably stay like this for the rest of the night. "you know why I worry."

"First time dad jitters," I say, nudging him gently, "totally normal remember?"

"Hm," he hums, leaning into press his nose into my hair. "you smell good," he murmurs.

"You're just as bad as me," I tease, trailing my fingers over his chest, toying with the buttons on his tucked in shirt. He chuckles deeply, still breathing in the scent of my hair. He tips his head and begins nuzzling my throat, kissing the skin softly. My eyelids flutter, and my hand is already sliding down towards his crotch where a bulge is forming.

I rub him over his dark pants, mouth salivating as he kisses my neck. So much for slowing down, since the moment we're alone, we're pouncing on each other.

Desire courses through my veins at a heady speed, warming my skin, and dizzying me. I twist into Michael and capture his lips, moaning softly as our mouths mould together and we kiss passionately. I'm palming his crotch, rubbing his hardness for a few minutes until I start to undo his pants.

Michael shifts his hips, leaning further back into the couch as I lean over him, pulling his cock free of his trousers and boxers. He relaxes into my touch, kissing me deeply, holding my face affectionately as I pump my hand up and down his hard length.

An idea jumps into my head and once it's there, it sticks. Excitement tingles everywhere as I break the kiss and lean back, licking my lips, savouring the taste of his mouth on mine. He watches me with lustful heavy lidded eyes as I ease off the couch and push his knees apart. "wait," he says, sitting up, "you don't need to--"

"I want to," I whisper, taking hold of his cock again and pumping. He groans, licking his lips, watching intently as I angle his tip towards my lips, then lick him slowly.

"God damn baby," he groans quietly, leaning back against the couch again, chest heaving as I slide him into my mouth and suck. Despite his protests, I know my blow jobs relax him. He's been so stressed recently with everything to do with the actual finalisation of the divorce and keeping everybody happy, as well as figuring things out with his album, and then our wedding and the incoming baby.

I suck him harder, rubbing his thighs, pleasuring him intently. He hisses, right hand resting on top of my head, gently stroking, encouraging me. I ease him out, using my hand to pump his cock as I kiss his thighs. "I love you," he murmurs, twirling some of my hair around his fingers, "so perfect, your mouth, your lips..." he's just murmuring now, almost incoherently, and it's turning me on like crazy.

I slip him back inside my mouth and pleasure him again, not even needing to toss my hair out the way because he's holding it away from my face, securely in his fist.

I feel when he gets close, throbbing between my lips, thighs quivering. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he hisses as I pick up my pace, sucking him harder, massaging him with my hand to bring him closer. I moan as he grips my hair, hips twitching upwards as if he wants to buck and fuck my mouth.

Seconds later, he's cumming. I press him deep into my throat, fighting off the urge to gag as he moans, long and low, thighs trembling. I swallow every drop, then lick him clean.

"God baby, I don't know how you do it," he chuckles, cheeks flushed. He's breathing slowly, gaze dazed. I crawl up his body, give him a soft kiss and then tuck him away, doing up his pants again. He watches my every move, "I love you," he murmurs.

"I know," I giggle, kissing him softly again.

Within minutes he's passed out, and I remain curled into his side, watching the TV.

I'm just dozing when I half register that the program we'd been watching has finished. I hear my name, and half groan as I sit up ready to turn the tv off, blinking my eyes open. The room is dark, with only the illumination of the tv, which means my dozing had actually been me fully falling asleep for a few hours. I quickly glance at Michael, who's knocked out cold still, slowly breathing with his arm over his eyes beside me.

"—and the rumour is that she's roughly about half way through her pregnancy which means the controversial couple had already conceived at the start of their relationship--"

I gasp loudly, and Michael sits up abruptly. "What?!”

"They know!”

______________________________________________

End notes:

what did we think?! Who spilled?! WHO TOLD!

Also what did we think of Lisa’s confession about why she high key hates Daphne? Michael was OBSESSEDDDD with her omg. He still is lmao.

Anyway, sorry for posting a day late, I was absolutely knackered yesterday and didn’t have enough mental energy to write and post😭 I’m sorry! I tried to make it up to y’all by posting a new fic today as well as another chapter haha

Anyway part twooooo: please let me know what you thought! And if you haven’t already check out my new pop star x bad era MJ fic “rivals” 🤭🥰

See y’all in the next part!

"Tabi, ready to go in five."

I exhale, mid pre-performance ritual and vocal warm up, excitement and nerves coursing through my veins. I shake out my hands, mumbling the lyrics to my new song under my breath, eyes closed. After a few seconds, I open them and touch up my make up quickly, fluffing my big sixties style hair.

there's a knock on my dressing room door, and my gaze flicks to it as it opens. "Hey," one of my dancers and friends, Heidi, greets. My brows shoot up with confusion at her expression. "just heard, apparently they sat Michael front and centre."

"What?" My whole body tenses. From her grimace, I already know she's not lying. "They just love feeding this shit, don't they?" I hiss, face flushing as anger rises inside me. I inhale deeply, attempting to calm down.

"What do you need?" Heidi asks, gaze earnest. She's been my dancer for the last four years, a friend for just as long. "I can see if someone can get him to move, or something? Say otherwise you won't perform?"

"No, no," I mumble, as much as I would love to throw a diva tantrum, I can't. Not with only minutes to go until I'm meant to be out there.

"Two minutes!" someone calls from behind Heidi. I huff again and jump a little bit, shaking out the nerves.

"Let's just go," I mutter, glancing at myself one more time before I stride from my dressing room and out into the chaos of back stage at an awards show. I hear them announcing me, crowd already applauding, I'm walking fast, pulling off my robe, chucking it to a stage hand whose hands are already outstretched for it.

My music starts just as I near stage left. "I love to love you baby," I sing just before stepping out on stage, lights flaring as I pause in the centre, leg out, hand on hip, mic angled up in front of me; glittering tights with a matching mini dress glinting in the spotlight. I'm half turned towards the crowd, frozen in my signature pose. I hear them screaming for me as the music pauses. I hold the pose, basking in the applause.

Five seconds go by, and the lights flash again, sparks flying, and the song restarts. My dancers stride out from either stage. I strut down centre stage before my all female band, meeting my dancers as I sing; "I'm feelin' sexy... I wanna hear you say my name, boy..."

From the intensity of the spotlights, I can't see Michael. I thank my lucky stars, continuing to perform to the best of my ability, and beyond. "tonight I'll be your naughty girl, I'm calling all my girls--" Dancing whilst I sing, I keep up with my dancers easily, putting my all into this, like I was born to do.

The lights temporarily dim in time with a more sensual part of the song. I catch sight of him then, straight faced, shades on, frozen in his seat like a statue, right in front of me. I'm vocalising, rolling my hips to the sensual beat, feeling the music flow through me, except that rage hits me again, just as my band begins to seamlessly blend my newest song in with my most famous one, with the heavy fast drums and chants.

I hear the cheers from the audience increase, people getting to their feet, clapping along as I switch up my performance.

A quick flash of Michael's words flicker through my head, calling me vulgar, and full of myself, through a leaked phone call.

I shake my head out of it, switching from singing on autopilot and throw myself back into the driver's seat. I dance right in front of him, hitting every beat, every note. Heidi glances at me, bright grin on her face as she matches my increase in energy quickly, as do the other girls.

As the lights flash, almost everyone is out of their seat, clapping or singing along, but Michael. He sits there, and I know he's doing it on purpose. I force myself to ignore it, pushing myself back into my body, reminding myself I had my title as the queen of pop because of my own damn hard work.

I finish the song with a bang, lights blaring, sparks flying. I stand there, basking in the applause again, panting. I grin, taking a bow, hair flopping over me before I flick it back. I fight hard not to look at Michael again, but in my peripheral vision, I catch him still just sitting there. He claps a few times before stopping.

I take another bow, thanking the crowd then quickly exit stage right. My team applauds me as I enter backstage, and I'm beaming, drinking it all in, thanking them. I feel it before they say it, this was the best performance of my career.

I do a quick interview before heading back to my dressing room, grinning from ear to ear. Inside, the little TV in the corner of the room is on. I watch the rest of the awards show as my stylist comes in to get me changed for the after party. I was the last performance, so there isn't much left. I'm having my make up redone to match my little red dress, when the TV switches from the awards show, to post show interviews. Most celebs are leaving now, heading to the after party or back home.

The moment he pops up on my screen, I'm rigid.

"Michael! Michael!" A photographer calls, the camera is in his face, and he's simply ignoring it, striding out of the venue into the night, shades still on, dressed all in black in that military style clothing. "Michael! what did you think of Tabi's performance?"

The paparazzi stoke the flames of this thing between us again and I stop breathing, staring at the little box TV with such intensity it might just drop off the wall.

Michael's walk slows slightly at the sound of my name. He glances to the camera guy, and leans close to his microphone, "I loved it, thank you," he says in this smooth low voice, smiling slightly before he keeps walking.

The photographers go crazy, lights flashing frantically, all clamouring to get more out of him, but he stays mute as his security guys push them all out the way and he climbs into a van and disappears from sight.

Even my make up artists has paused, brush hovering over my cheek. My whole dressing room is silent. My stylist is stunned. My manager's mouth has dropped open. Even my boyfriend is stuck staring at the TV, face frozen.

"What the fuck!" I shout, pointing at the TV, "No!"

"Damn it," My manager sighs, rubbing her forehead. She knows what Michael using this voice will do. Make the whole damn night about him, once again taking a swipe at me.

"Whose god damn voice was that? Who was that?" My boyfriend, Johnny, asks, pointing to the TV. He's also a popular singer, but for the rock genre, and stayed back stage as I did my thing to wait for me and support me.

I lean forward and drop my head in my hands, probably ruining my fresh make up.

"Okay, nobody say anything. Do not comment on anything Michael just said when we leave okay, keep the focus on Tabi's performance and new upcoming album. All smiles!" My manager instructs. "Johnny, I mean it, say nothing!"

When we're leaving, I'm so tense I'm squeezing Johnny's hand harder than I mean to, knuckles turning white. "Breathe, Tabi."

"I am," I mutter through gritted teeth. We're walking down a long hallway towards the exit. I can hear the paparazzi outside, anticipating me. I release Johnny's hand just as the doors open and step out, bright grin on my face as I wave at the flashing lights. Amongst the clamouring and shouts, I hear Michael's name a few times. I keep the smile on my face, answering what questions I can, then I tactfully move on to sign autographs for my fans waiting outside, ignoring the photographers all together.

Which is what I hope Johnny is doing too, until I hear him say: "Well, if he wasn't so much of a punk bitch, I might have some respect for the guy finally speaking the truth about my girl--"

I freeze, blood draining from my face, but then I remember that I'm mid-signature and return to smiling, thanking everyone for being here. I then, perhaps not so tactfully, speed walk down the carpet to where a big van is waiting to take us to the after party, which is being held in some glamorous mansion in the hills.

I'm cringing hard when Johnny finally climbs into the van, staring hard out the window even as he tries to take my hand. I snatch it back and away from him, so angry I could scream. I wait for the door to shut, for us to drive away a bit before I say something. "What the hell were you thinking?" I cry, whirling on him. "Why would you say that!"

"Say what?" he replies.

"Johnny!"

"I was defending you, the guy has been after you for a year and a half, am I just supposed to just sit here any take it?"

"It's not happening to you, is it?"

"Yes, it is. The moment you agreed to be my girl you became my responsibility," he mutters, "It's not just your reputation on the line, but mine too, and I won't let Michael damn Jackson make me like a fucking pussy." He smoothes his blond hair back despite it already frozen in a sweep with hairspray.

The van glides through LA, passing through traffic easily. The sounds of cars honking and a distant ambulance are muffled.

I stare at him, heart pounding. "You know I hate that phrase, Johnny."

"For God's sake, you know what I mean."

I lock down, turning away and stare out the window, refusing to answer him again when he probes me to open up and talk to him. “Fine, be like that,” he mutters, pissed off now, too. "You act like such a bitch sometimes, Tabi. I was just trying to help you."

We arrive to the after party tense and not talking to each other. I slip out, smile plastered on my face as the photographers snap pictures. I’m in a little strapless thing, deep red, and very short. My lip shade matches, as do my heels, and I’m stacked with gold jewellery around my neck and wrists.

I don’t stop to talk as I head inside the mansion, finally exhaling once I read the sign in the foyer that says 'no photography beyond this point'.

The sound of Mark Morrison's, Return of the Mack blasts out of the speakers as I find my way through the gatherings of celebrities and all their plus ones, or groupies. There are people all over this mansion, dancing or drinking, smoke curling around the lights. I end up by the bar, knowing my friends are here somewhere, but first I need several drinks to soothe my simmering temper.

I enjoy the music, bopping my head, and glance towards the DJ booth across the sea of glamorous bodies dancing in the living room area. That's when I see him.

He's stood next to the DJ, saying something into his ear, those stupid shades still on, drink in hand, big fuck off grin on his face.

What the fuck is he doing here? He never comes to these things!

The DJ laughs, clapping his hands with Michael's free hand, bringing him in for one of those half hugs before he steps away. Michael then disappears into the crowd just as my drinks are placed in front of me. I have two, a glass of champagne and a vodka shot. I throw the shot back, barely even cringing as it burns my throat, then sip my champagne, attempting to see where Michael went.

I'm fuming, egged on by Johnny's stupid comments and Michael stealing my spotlight from right under my feet. All the questions that had been shouted at me upon leaving the venue tonight had been about him, about what he'd said about me. He knew exactly what he was doing speaking with that new voice.

I slide through the crowd, thanking people as they stop to congratulate me on my performance and new song. I find Michael outside on the balcony overlooking the lower garden, stood amongst a group of his friends or whoever they are, a few of them smoking. I'm striding over before I can stop myself, red glittery platform heels clicking against the stone floor.

His friends glance at me before near, catching Michael's attention. He turns, facing me, small smile flattening. "What the fuck is your problem?" I snap at him.

"What?" he replies in a soft tone.

"Why would you do that?" I demand, even in my heels I'm looking up at him slightly, "You can't let me have just one fucking night? You weren't even performing!" I say loudly.

"What did I do?" a curl hanging over his brow twitches in the wind.

"I loved it," I mimic in that voice. He just looks down at me, expression giving nothing away. "You knew exactly what you were doing. Real dick move."

He huffs, flashing pretty white teeth as he gives me an unamused smile, "I gave you a compliment, I think what you mean to say is thank you."

The men around him chuckle softly, sipping their drinks, acting like they're not watching or paying attention.

My temper flares. But I'm aware that a few people around us are actually watching. "You're an arrogant, narcissistic asshole," I spit just loud enough for him to hear, poking him in the chest with each word, staring into his shades. "Thank you!" I then add in a high voice with a sneering smile. I flounce back into the house in search of someone I know who I can hang out with.

It had been a whole year and a bit since Michael and I had last spoken face to face. I'd just broken our streak of ignoring each other in public. I still remember our last interaction vividly.

He'd been just about to go on tour. I'd been single then, just turned twenty three, when I'd gotten a call from my manager that his had called her and asked if I'd be interested on going out with him. Of course I'd accepted. I'd been so excited. We met at the restaurant after dark, arriving separately. It had been a luxurious place you could only get into if you knew somebody or where somebody. We'd had a private booth, surrounded by big plants, totally hidden from the rest of the room.

I'd talked my mouth off. I was nervous, but excited too. It was flattering, being asked out on a date by a man like him. Except, I kept having to talk and fill the quiet, and he had barely said anything. Just sat there, shades on, listening or not listening, I wasn't sure. I tried to ask him questions, he'd just bluntly replied and then let us sit in silence.

I lasted forty minutes before I said I had to go. Our food hadn't even arrived. He'd been confused that I wanted to leave, frowning hard and sitting up like I'd cussed him out, when all I'd just said was: "Let's just pretend this never happened."

And we tried to.

Not even the press had known about it.

That is, until that phone call leaked and he was exposed, running his mouth about me. It was humiliating, and the media loved it. I'd been so pissed off the first opportunity I had to respond to it, I'd taken it, saying: "Why would I care what Michael Jackson thinks of me?"

Year and a half later, we just can't stop taking swipes at each other. And I'd just taken another at him, despite promising myself a few weeks ago I'd stop. The media were getting the wrong idea. They thought it was some kind of foreplay, when all I really wanted to do was ring his neck and beg him to let me have my damn moment.

When I actually find some of my friends, I tell them what happened. "Tabi, you gotta stop letting him get to you," Heidi says, lighting a cigarette. We're all gathered by the pool, sitting on lounge chairs. "he obviously gets a kick out of it."

"He just wants your attention,” another one of my friends says.

"It's not that," I mutter, "he's just pissed off someone keeps stepping into his spotlight. In his eyes, he's the only one allowed to have some sort of royal title when it comes to music."

"Such a man. They really hate sharing, don't they?"

I hum, fighting off a half hearted smirk as the other girls roll their eyes, sipping their drinks before they giggle. I want to brush this off, but it has affected me more than I want to tell the others. I put my all into that performance tonight, and now it's just been overshadowed by Michael and his sexy low voice.

I enjoy the party as much as I can, drinking, getting up to dance at one point. The music’s good, and at one point they even play my stuff. By the late evening I’m drunk, head spinning. I break away from my friends and weave through people to try and find a bathroom.

I have no idea if my boyfriend is still here or not, and he’s irritated me so bad that I’m wondering if I actually care. I head upstairs, clinging to the banisters. I pass by a bunch of famous faces, saying hello, hugging people. I’m chatting away, all thoughts of using the bathroom gone when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

It’s Johnny.

“Oh, there you are,” I say lightly as he pulls me away from who I’m taking to.

“Where have you been all night?” He wonders, voice tense. It breaks through my drunken haze. I blink up at him.

“Dancing. With my friends.”

He pulls me with him all the way down a long hallway lined with people, some just talking, whilst others furiously make out. “You know that he’s here?”

“What?”

“Michael Jackson. Did you know he’s here?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m gonna say something,” Johnny tells me, amped up. I stare at him properly, noticing how wide his pupils are, how energetic he seems.

“Johnny, are you on something?” I ask.

“Whys that matter?” He hisses at me, then suddenly turns away. It takes me a second to realise he’s not in front of me anymore, and is heading back downstairs. Heading to find Michael. My heart lurches, Johnny is that kind of reckless idiot to try to start something where so many eyes can see him, high off drugs that impair his ability to think clearly.

I chase after him, still wearing my heels, pushing through the tightly knit groups of people. He moves quickly, and I get stuck behind some people as Johnny heads outside.

Luckily, he can’t find Michael, and there’s a part of me that hopes he’s left. It’s not that I think they’d fight, but just the sheer embarrassment is enough to knock me stone cold sober. “Johnny! Stop it!” I gasp, hating the dramatics of this all as he pushes people around, searching through the patio. He leans over the balcony, staring out at the groups of people. “Johnny!”

I grab him, pulling him back from the balcony’s ledge, talking him down. I’m being pushed further and further into this place in my head where I’m so done with this behaviour and it’s just making me angry. This was meant to be one of the best nights of my career, my life, and it’s being dominated by egotistical men.

I’m pulling Johnny back through the house to find a bathroom, hoping I can either sober him up or wait this out, when we find Michael.

The hallway is small, there’s a few people around, but it’s at a far side of this mansion, where the party thins out. I’m pushing Johnny through the sparse group of people talking, catching up or networking, and I feel him tense up.

Then I hear his voice.

He’s speaking lightly, greeting someone as he passes with that group again, leaning in for a cheek kiss the moment they go for one. I can’t quite tell if the guys around him are friends or if they’re his body guards, but the moment one of them notices Johnny and me, the energy changes.

One guy grasps Michael’s shoulder, and he half turns, listening to him murmur something into his ear. He still has those shades on, blocking his eyes, but I feel it the moment he looks at me. At us.

“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath, grabbing Johnny’s arm in an attempt to pull him the opposite way, but then Michael’s moving towards us, expression blank. I think he’s about to say something, but he goes to simply move by.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Johnny jeers loudly, just as he passes us. People turn to look, and my face flames as I press myself into the wall, hands snapping up to clasp my cheeks. “Yeah, you move along, coward. Not so tough now that you have to confront a man, huh?”

Michael pauses. His guys stop behind him, then each are looking at me, then at Johnny.

“What was that?” Michael asks, expression relaxed as he faces our way. But there’s tension in that half grin as he looks straight at Johnny, even with his shades on. The air in the hallway thins. “What did you say?”

"I said you're a coward." Johnny spits loudly. Michael's freezes, that half grin fading, but then one of his guys steps in his eye line.

“Let’s just keep movin’ man,” he murmurs, putting his hands on his shoulders and nudging him forward, turning him around, diffusing the situation. The hallway has gone quiet, everyone watching.

Michael mutters something under his breath, and that smile returns. As if this didn't affect him at all. His group move away, chuckling at what he said. Which only pours a fresh amount of gasoline on my boyfriend's temper.

Johnny lurches after him, but someone else, a bystander, grabs him and holds him back, telling him to calm down. Michael is already walking off, laughing under his breath, heading back towards the main area of the after party.

I’m still pressed into the wall, breathing shallow and fast, humiliated. Completely, and utterly humiliated.

I’m striding away from Johnny as that stranger tries to calm him down. I can’t do this anymore tonight. Michael and I may have a rivalry or whatever the media wants to call it, but it is mine to have, and not Johnny’s. Ever since we started dating I can’t help but feel like he’s taken this thing between us as a personal dig towards him.

I’m heading out of the party set on leaving when I hear my name. I pause, and I see them all there, waiting for a car to be brought around. Michael’s looking at me, whilst his buddies turn around and distract themselves.

I hesitate. Anymore drama and I’ll explode. But as I stand here on the steps leading down to the road, where, photographers gather, eager to get pictures of whoever they can leaving the party drunk or high, Michael takes the opportunity to break away from his group and approach me.

“Leaving?” He asks.

I nod. “Yeah, I’m done for the night.” I say, tense. I glance towards the paparazzi outside, but from our angle, none of them can see us. There’s a wall and a hedge in the way.

“What was that?” Michael then asks. “With your guy.”

“Oh,” I hum. I can’t even look at him. “Just Johnny being stupid.” I could apologise, but I won’t. Both men ruined my night, neither of them deserve acknowledgement from me.

“Leaving without him, then.”

I don’t respond. Instead I shift on my heels, toss my hair back from my face and just look at him.

What’s his point?

Michael nods slowly. “Step over here for a minute,” he murmurs, tipping his head back to where the mansion’s gardens curve towards the back. There’s a path, but it disappears slightly into the shadows and landscaped shrubs.

He moves away from me, steps that way, then pauses. “I just wanna talk to you, ma. That’s all.” He speaks softly, giving me that half grin before he takes a step down the path. “Come on,” He coaxes.

The air hums, and my skin prickles.

Sober me wouldn’t have followed him. Wouldn't have even considered it. My man is back inside, and sober me would've been in there dragging him out by his ear to go home so we could have it out in private like we usually do.

Except, he humiliated me tonight. And this was a big night for me.

And Michael... fucking Michael. Stood there waiting for me to follow him, like he knows I will. I can't even lie and say I'm not attracted to him, because I am. I always have been. It's why I agreed to go on that date in the first place. It's why all this pisses me off so damn much.

I take a step towards him.

I’m more drunk than tipsy, irritated that this night hasn't even been a teensy bit about me. I feel out of myself. Confused, angry, and embarrassed.

"I'm not gonna bite you," he chuckles softly. I take more steps. "That's it," he chuckles and I start frowning, yet my feet don't stop until he's a few steps ahead of me, and I'm following him down the path. I stop when we've gone far enough. It feels like we've moved into a pocket, music and talk and laughter all muffling where we are in the shadow of this mansion, away from most of the light.

"You wanted to talk, so talk," I say bluntly, folding my arms. My vision is a little hazy, but I sound sober enough. Michael takes off his shades, finally revealing his eyes. I swallow.

"I wanted to apologise to you, actually," he begins, he glances over his shoulder as two people run into the gardens behind us, laughing wildly before they disappear into the bushes. "I meant what I said as a compliment, not to take the light off you."

"And yet," I mutter, "that's exactly what it did."

"If I'd ignored the question, it would've had the same reaction. The media love to feed off this thing between us."

"This is all your fault," I snap quietly, aware that even though I feel like we're in this little bubble, if I start shouting, it will burst. "I did nothing to you."

He inhales deeply, ducks his head, nodding slowly. "I know that."

I almost don't notice the half step he takes towards me, holding his shades with both hands, gently turning them.

I almost start rambling, word vomit so close to tumbling out of my lips, confessing everything I'd wanted to say when I'd heard that leaked phone call. Instead, I shut my mouth.

"Your performance was great, I did love it," he nears me again, softening and lowering his voice even more so he's almost whispering. It all clicks into place in one sudden sweep. The back and forth. The comments. My anger, my irritation, the way Johnny reacts whenever Michael is brought up. It all makes sense, and it's always made sense to me in the back of my head. Why I can't let this thing go, and just ignore him.

"Stop it," I mumble. Michael stops moving, tilts his head, looks down at me.

"Let me apologise, Tabi."

"I should go," I murmur, glancing away from him. My body is burning, like a match was just struck up my spine and my skin has caught on fire. I flick a look at Michael and he's watching me closely, eyelids a touch heavy.

Perhaps the media was right.

Maybe this has all been one prolonged game of foreplay.

I exhale shakily. I should walk my ass back to the house, find my boyfriend and leave. Yet I stay.

"I shouldn't have made all those comments, said all those things," Michael murmurs, "I was being mean to you, I'm sorry," he nears me, just inching closer like some kind of predator. I'm barely breathing, staring up at him. That curl hanging across his brow shifts in the breeze. "You just make me crazy," he whispers.

I stop breathing. I'm damn near pressed up against the wall, and as I lean back as Michael gets closer, the coolness of the stone makes me jump. I jolt, then swallow heavily, unable to look away from his eyes. He glances me over.

I feel his finger brush the hem of my red mini dress. I don't stop him, not even as he pulls on it, tugging my lower half away from the wall, towards him. He does it slowly, giving me time to break away or something, I don't know, but when I don't, he smiles and presses in close, leans down to my throat.

His cologne blooms inside my nose and my eyes nearly roll back as I breathe him in.

"What are you doing?" I ask breathlessly. What am I doing?

"Apologising," he murmurs against my skin, sliding his palms across my hips, pulling me flush against his body. I blink rapidly as he kisses my neck softly, slowly.

"My boyfriend is... is inside," I say, but my eyes are closing. My chin tilts up as I gasp. He's found a spot just under my jaw that sends tingles right down to my core. He sucks on it gently, humming in response. He doesn't care, I can already tell that much.

A soft moan escapes me. Michael pulls back, breathes me in. Then his lips find mine. I kiss him back, arms snaking around his neck as our mouths move together. I caught up in it way too fast, body hot under his touch as he caresses his palms over my waist then down to my ass, giving the flesh a firm squeeze. His kiss is minty with a touch of alcohol, and he tastes so good that I'm finding it harder and harder to listen to that little voice in the back of my mind telling me to stop. To think of Johnny.

Another breathy moan leaves me as we kiss, pressed together as he presses me into the wall.

He kisses me harder, groaning quietly, and sheer need slams into me so hard, oddly, it snaps me out of it.

Oh my god, I want to fuck him.

I push him back, and our lips separate with a wet smack. I stare up at him, panting slightly, torn between begging him not to tell anyone, and begging him to keep going.

What the fuck am I doing?!

A slow grin takes over his mouth. "I knew it," he mutters in that low voice, "I knew you wanted me."

My expression flattens. I push him away harder. He half stumbles back as the urge to scream almost floors me. I storm away from him as he chuckles quietly, unable to even speak with how rampant my emotions are now inside me. I can almost feel his grin following me, infuriating me so much I'm close to tears by the time I make it to the foyer.

I'd just cheated on my man with the guy I'm supposed to hate, and I can't figure out if I regret it or not.

end notes:

What did we think?!

so the song that was the inspo for Tabi's performance medley was Naughty Girl and Get me bodied by Beyonce. Just a quick character overview: I’m leaving her descriptions somewhat vague, so please imagine Tabi (pronounced tabby) however you want! The only thing I will say is she's short, because I love a size difference and I don't enjoy making Michael taller than he is, feels low key disrespectful. anyway, I like to envision Tabi's back story as similar to Beyoncé’s. Started off in a group, eventually went solo. Very talented. Great dancer & vocalist. We’re going full throttle because she’s meant to “compete” with Michael talent wise. Except they aren’t really competing, the media just makes it feel like they are.

anyway, before I overthink this, I hope you enjoyed it!! ALSO this story will be smutty, I just didn’t want to put it in the first chapter because they have beef rn😭

if you'd like a part 2 please let me know before I lock in lmfaooo

The car ride to the hotel is quiet but comfortable. Michael keeps his eyes on you while you rub your now-bruised hands, wondering how purple they’ll go tomorrow morning. You regret nothing—obviously not. Why would you? That witch kissed your man in front of you! Of course you would have dragged her ass to the floor. Thank god David stopped you from killing her.

“I meant what I said a while ago.” Michael broke you out of your train of thought. He blinked a few times, a subtle shyness washing over him.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” You blink too, slightly confused.

Michael clears his throat, shifting in his seat with his legs spread a lot more than usual.

“Ohhh,” you such your teeth and laugh teasingly, “You’re sick.”

“S’not my fault you turn me on.” Michael jokes in mock-offence, crossing his arms.

“Me beating up that botch turned you on?” You cross your arms too, copying his posture as the car turns a corner nearing the hotel.

“Yes. Very much.” He quips.

The hotel comes into view, the large building bustling with high-profile clients. Some are on their way to their hotels while others get into blacked-out cars on their way to a late dinner. Your driver cuts the engine before knocking the visor blocking the back seats from the front, signalling to you both that you can exit the vehicle. In one smooth motion, Michael hops out first, galloping to your side and opening the door for you. You step out with a soft smile, and he takes your hand, practically dragging you through the hotel lobby into an elevator. The ride up is painfully slow for his liking. He traps one foot on the plush carpet in the elevator, pushing his hands into his slacks to hide the growing bulge beneath them.

The doors finally open with a ‘ding’ indicating that you’ve reached your floor. The top floor is quiet. Empty. All the rooms on this floor are vacant. Michael arranged for the entire floor to be left empty for privacy reasons, fearing that paparazzi would eavesdrop on him and you during private moments like the one about to happen.

Michael quickly unlocks your penthouse suite, the large room stretching out on either side. It exudes luxury, fluffy brown carpet taking up most of the living room area while a large bed is draped in black velvet linen. Floor-to-ceiling windows allow LA skyline lights to bleed into the room, painting everything in blue and yellow hues. Calm and inviting.

You sit on the bed and huff out a tired sigh, taking off your heels while Michael rids of his loafers and bedazzled blazer. He hangs his jewelled blazer meticulously in the closet, making sure it sits right in between his other military-styled tops.

“You’re such a neat freak.” You stand up and wrap your arms around his middle, pressing your face to his back. Michael just chuckles and melts in your hold, closing the closet with a soft thud. You can see your silhouettes in the mirror, the dim light doing enough for you to notice the teasing smile on his face.

Silence fills the room as you unbutton his white shirt, pulling it out from under his black pants. You start with the lowest button, then move up, hands swift and practised. A soft hum escapes Michael in response, his body already anticipating your next move. When his shirt’s fully unbuttoned, you run your hands over his chest and torso, circling his hardened nipples. You pinch them teasingly, listen to his breath hitch and quicken. Michael sighs and leans back into your touch, his back pressing onto your face subconsciously. A few sirens ring outside on the busy roads, but you both pay them no mind. Instead, you slide your hands down his stomach and into his pants, letting them hover over where he needs you the most.

“You know…I really loved watching you go up that stage tonight.” You whisper, resting your hands on his thighs. “You’re an icon, Michael Jackson.”

Michael closes his eyes, body stiffening in desire. His breath is shallow, needy, and your praises do little to suppress the feelings bubbling inside him.

You slip one hand into his boxers, running a finger over his length before holding it properly in your warm palm. You sway your hips side to side behind him as you stroke in underneath his underwear. An involuntary groan slips out of his rumbles in his throat. The sound is sweet, almost a whine, as your hand moves softly over him.

In a gentle movement, you turn him around and cup his cheek with your free hand, the other finding its way back into his pants and around his warm length. Michael leans down and presses his lips to yours in a slow and breathless kiss, lips moving in sync with each other like a dance long rehearsed. His hands cup your cheeks too, hands big enough to cover your entire face in a warm embrace. You feel his slightly callused thumbs brush over the soft skin as he slips his tongue into your parted lips. Instead of fighting for dominance, you let his tongue explore your mouth, flicking at yours with unspoken reverence. God, he loves you.

You break the kiss, kneeling in front of him with half-hooded eyes as you pull down his slacks and boxers. His cock springs out, hard and glistening at the tips; as he kicks his feet out of his bottoms, leaving him in only the unbuttoned shirt. Michael’s expression scrunches up in a nervous glance, his hands clenching and unclenching around nothing. He’s not particularly used to seeing you like this—on your knees, ready to take him into your mouth—but he won’t stop you now. Curiosity always wins in the end.

“I’m not gonna kill you, jeez.” You giggle and spit into your palms, wrapping both hands around him. He's so big, intimidatingly so. A juxtaposition to how shy he is right now. You were shocked to find out he’d never really had much sex in his life. He’s 25 years old but somehow still gets flustered when he has you like this. When he first told you about being inexperienced, you laughed so hard, his face practically went red with embarrassment—if that even possible over his brown skin. You thought he was joking, but he was dead serious.

Your hands move at a tantalising pace over his cock, stroking him with loving eyes fixed on his. A few whimpers leave his mouth, eyes shutting when you finally wrap your lips around his dripping tip with a hungry hum. Michael’s hands rest lazily atop your head when you push him deeper into your hot mouth. He’s fighting the urge to pull at your curls, wanting soberly to be as respectful as possible. Your tongue slips out beneath his length, allowing you to push all of him in. You gag a few times before finally getting your breathing right. Michael’s hold on his urges is starting to break. His eyes meet your watering ones in awe. His entire dick is in your mouth, your nose pressed against his punic bone as you moan around him. Barely restrained moans come out of his parted lips, his hips finally giving in and rocking into your mouth in a staccato manner.

“Shit, baby—” He inhales sharply and grabs your hair to guide your mouth over him while he bucks his hips. You moan and laugh softly at his reaction, letting him have this moment of control—even if you know he won’t last very long if he keeps this up.

Tears streak down your face. You grip his bare thighs for support, squeezing your thighs together for some friction. Your eyes meet his again, crinkling at the corners when you see him lose control. He’s nearing the edge of release. You can practically feel his cock twitch in your mouth. You wonder if he’ll stop or simply let himself cum in your throat. The rhythm of his hips begins to falter, his eyes shut, and a moan choked out of him as he nears closer and closer to release. To your surprise, his movements halt, hands relaxing in your hair before he pulls himself out of your mouth. You stand, wiping the spit off of your chin with a grin.

“Sorry.” Michael chuckles bashfully, trying his best to fix your hair. His undying consideration shines even in sultry moments like this.

“Don’t be. I’m fine.” You turn around, and Michael unzips your dress, watching it fall into a small pile beside his clothes. “You got greedy there for a second.”

Michael hovers over you, unclasping your strapless bra with ease, exposing your round boobs. You hold his hand and lead him to the bed. He follows without question, letting you lead.

“I’m not an icon.” He comments when you push him onto the black duvet. He scooted back enough to rest his head on a pillow.

The sight practically makes you drool. He lies there bare and hard for you. You lick your lips, shake your head in blissful disbelief. He’s beautiful, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. It’s sickening in a way, difficult to comprehend sometimes.

“First man to win 8 Grammys in one night is pretty iconic. Let alone being a black man who did it.” Your words are thick with desire but also sweet with adoration. You slip out of your panties and crawl to him like a cat eyeing its prey.

“Don't gas me up. I still have a lot to do before claiming ‘icon’ status.” He rambles on about what else he wants to do in his career, resting his hands over his head.

You roll your eyes and listen, knowing damn well he hates being interrupted. Of all times to talk about his aspirations, he chooses this one? Really? You finally reach him, straddling him while he continues talking. You rock your hips over his, your wet folds slicking his dark cock. That makes him stutter, suddenly snapping him out of his ambitious chatter.

“You have terrible timing.” You huff out a moan and press your hands over his lower torso, still grinding against him.

“Uh…mmm,” Michael groans at the feeling. His hands rest flat over your thighs, squeezing the soft skin. “Please…”

“Please what?” You smirk and press your hips harder against him.

“Fuck, you know what.” He whines, his hands grabbing your waist.

“I really don't.” You tease. Michael breathes heavily and bucks his hips, needy and desperate. You laugh wickedly at his reaction, cute and endearing. You need to give in overcomes you and you lift your hips, aligning his dick with your wet pussy before you sink onto him.

“Oh fuck—” Michael whines at the sensation, his eyes close, and his hands slide down your body.

You moan too, feeling him stretch your velvet walls to oblivion. Your mouth falls open, a long groan slipping out as you fully sink down on him. You take a moment to adjust to him, pussy pulsing around his dick greedily while your eyes instinctively water. You rock your hips in circles first, huffing pleasurably at the sensation. Michael’s eyes glisten in the dim light, brown irises darkened with pleasure.

“You’re killing me, babe—ah!” He moans, the sound echoing in your mind. Michael’s hands rest on your hips again, trying to move you more.

“Say please.” You command through hooded eyes.

“Please. Please. Please. Oh, god, please.” He whimpers pathetically, biting his lower lip harder than he probably should.

You don’t tease anymore, holding onto his arms as you bounce on his dick. Your bounces are soft at first, still adjusting to his girth. Then you pick up the pace, sliding up and down his cock with your eyes closed. Both yours and Michael’s moans fill the room, melting into each other in lustful harmony. His head presses into the pillow, some pain rushing over it in response, but it’s overwhelmed by the pleasure he’s experiencing with you on top of him.

“Michael—Michael, you’re so big.” You whine, still bouncing for dear life. Michael’s hips push into you at the compliment. He bites his lips and nods. That thrust sends a sharp jolt of arousal over your spine, pushing a loud cry from you. “Ah! Oh my god!”

Michael hesitates for a second, confused about whether he did something wrong or not. He watches you continue bouncing blissfully, the sight making him lose his mind. He didn’t hurt you. Thank the heavens. The way your hips move over him is too much to bear, too much to just watch. He wants to be good for you, let you ride him, please him, but he gives in to his own desires.

Michael flips you over without warning, squeezing your thighs as he positions your legs around his hips. He pushes his dick into you, thrusting into your wetness with unfiltered need.

“I’m sorry—” He whispers into your ear when he balances himself with his elbows. “I tried. Shit, I really did.”

Your mons are loud, piercingly so, but he doesn’t care. You’re enjoying this, fingers raking over his arms and back—surely leaving red streaks behind. The sound of his apologies seems to be egging you on, making your cunt flutter around him.

“S’fine—mmm. S’okay, Mike.” You mumble, words blending into each other as your eyes roll back. You’re so close, Michael can feel it. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear; some things make no sense, while others compliment how tight you are.

“C’mon, baby…let go for me,” Michael whines, his thrusting never sputtering as you finally fall over the edge. The tight knot which once built up in your core came undone, and you cried out his name.

“Michael! M-Mike!” You scream, grateful for the empty hotel floor right now. Waves of indescribable ecstasy were over your sweat-slick body. Your core pulses uncontrollably around Michael's cock—unapologetic and desperate.

Michael doesn’t let up, hips loose as he snaps them into you with greed for his own orgasm. A part of him wants to slow down and let you ride out your high, but the other part is oh so hungry to fill you up with his seed.

“You’re beautiful. So beautiful.” He straightens up, lifting your legs over his shoulders. He kisses your calves, nibbling at them in between thrusts.

“Y-you too, Mike.” You whine, breathing hard as another orgasm approaches. This one more intense.

“Fuck—” Your words break him. His pushes into you stutter, less sharp and controlled.

Thick and warm cum coats your walls while you orgasm once again. Michael presses his lips to your in a sloppy kiss. You both moan and whimper as you ride your high. Almost his entire weight is on you, but he still moves inside you lazily.

When he eventually stops moving, you circle your arms around his neck, legs shaking around his hips. He falls onto you tiredly, breathing in your scent with his nose pressed in the crook of your neck.

Breathless silence falls between you both, too exhausted from the sex to speak. Your fingers twirl around the curls at the nape of his neck. He stokes your cheek, trying to catch his breath. A long moment passes before you both fall asleep like that, intertwined and mangled over each other like true lovers.

Taglist

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@mjsbiggestlover @sadieisagoodgirl

“He clearly doesn’t like me, Michael.” You huffed, adjusting the stethoscope around your neck.

Michael Robinavitch was your mentor and also a best friend. You worked together for almost five years after you moved to Pittsburgh. And you were one of the few people who actually called him by his first name.

Robby looked through some papers on the chart, humming underneath his breath, his reading glasses hanging low. 

“You are not listening.” You rolled your eyes, walking over to the nurse station, looking through a chart. 

Dana glared up at you, shaking her head with a little smile. 

“Arguing with Robby again?”

You straightened your back a little and huffed. “I would call it an exchange of opinions.” 

Day and night shifts met for a quick briefing, Robby standing tall and serious. You were beside Mel, who looked anxious as always, stealing occasional looks at Langdon who were unusually smiley. 

Then your eyes flicked to the opposite, to who dared to stand beside your partner in crime. Jack Abbot with his arrogant and cocky energy. 

You scrunched your nose and he caught your stare, giving you a lopsided smile. He always enjoyed teasing you and you never held back. 

“So, the thing is there’s this medical conference next week and I have to pick two of us who will represent the PTMC there.” Robby started, he wasn’t a fan of those events so you knew exactly he won’t be attending. You crossed your arms over your chest, curiosity took over your brain and you thought about who he should pick.

Frank raised his hand. “I’ll go. I think I’m pretty capable of doing so.” 

Robby shook his head no. “No. I already made my choice.” And his gaze ended up on you. Oh no. Oh no. You knew where this was going.

Inhaling sharply, you were about to speak when he pointed at your figure adding: “You and Abbot.” 

Jack raised his brows in surprise, but then his expression changed into an amused one, flashing a smirk at you. “Oh, funny.”

“You can’t be serious, Michael.” You growled, anger fuelling your body.

“That’s my final decision. I expect you two to behave like the professionals you are.” Robby dismissed the meeting, others already whispering and giggling. 

You stomped on your feet, walking towards him all the while Jack still stood beside him. 

“I won’t go.” 

Robby scribbled something onto a paper, clipping it onto a chart not caring about your words.

“Come on. Don’t be silly.” Jack chuckled.

“I’m not talking to you.” You shot him a death glare and he just shook his head. 

Michael lifted his gaze to look at you, being all so serious. You know it's just a bullshit facade.

“I’m giving you a chance to solve this— this something, which I don’t understand what is, between you two. Talk it out, spend some time together, I don’t know, but don’t come back from that conference with unresolved issues you have with yourselves.” And he was gone for a patient that just came through. 

The way you were pissed off was unbelievably bad. Jack crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well, I won’t be easy on you, so you better get ready.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” You scoffed, trying to find yourself a useful thing to do, you decided to go triage.

Arriving into the hotel you were staying in Washington was another kind of shock.

After neverending bickering through the flight, you were excited to get some peace in your hotel room.

Only to find out there was a mistake with your booking and you ended up in the same room as your rival. 

One bed

Your worst nightmare, sharing the most intimate space with this unbelievable man. 

Jack shook his head when he put his suitcase against the wall, taking another glance at the bed as if he was able to divide it into two.

“Robby, you piece of shit…” he muttered, but you heard it, shooting him an annoyed look.

“I will kill that man, with my bare HANDS.” You were livid, pacing at the window.

“Calm down, it’s okay. This bed is fucking huge, so there’s plenty space for us both.” He was amused. 

“I don’t care what you think, Abbot. I’m getting my own room.” You were determined.

Casually, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. “You heard the receptionist. There’s no other room, because they’re overbooked. Everybody is here for the medical conference. So be a professional and suck it up.” 

You hated how he was right. 

Jack was unbelievably gentle, standing tall beside you, chest puffed with pride when you spoke with other people representing the medical field. He took in how you were glowing while talking about things you loved.

When sitting at the table, you circled the leg of the champagne flute, watching it with an empty look.

“You don’t fancy alcohol?” His voice got you out of your mind.

“Not much.” You murmured, taking a glance at the speaker on the podium.

Jack was listening to everything that was said, massaging his thigh above the prosthesis, it was one of those days he felt utterly exhausted by that damn thing. 

You didn’t care, trying to mind your own business, making some notes.

But Jack couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at your figure, the dress you were wearing was really enhancing you, as if you were born to wear that fabric. Clearing his throat, he shook his head to get back to his line of thinking.

You noticed he was staring, but said nothing, because you were already exhausted from dealing with him before, so there wasn’t a point in losing any more time with him. But you had to admit that he looked damn good in that suit, that white shirt under his blazer was really something, with those two buttons undone from the top revealing a little of his greyish chest hair. Swallowing hard, you felt your throat becoming dry, so this was the time you gulped the champagne.

Staying for the dinner and some evening chat with other doctors, one of them flirting with you, Jack decided he had enough and he excused himself to go back to the hotel room. His leg was bothering him to the limits the same as that damn young doctor trying to impress you with his successes through internships. 

“Jesus Christ, what the hell?” You huffed when you arrived at the hotel room, a little tipsy, spotting a prosthetic leg casually resting against the wall near the bedside table.

Jack lifted his gaze lazily from the tv show he was watching, already tucked in the spacious bed. 

“Scared by an innocent part of a leg? Get a grip.” He scoffed, but there was that sarcastic undertone you couldn’t unhear. 

“Pff… I don’t have limbs scattered across my flat, so…” you rolled your eyes, trying to take off your heels, but it was already a struggle given to your tired state.

He noticed your fight with the tiny straps and he sat up on the bed. “Come here, you clumsy thing.” 

And you did, landing on your ass on the edge of the bed and he gestured for you to lift your leg up so he could reach for it. Once his large hands wrapped around your ankle, your guts did a flip, the one you didn’t expect. 

Jack was focused on the small fastening that was stuck. With the surgical precision he undid it and relieved your foot from the tight grip of the heel. 

Then you lifted your other leg and he did the same. Now you had your legs on his lap and he ran his fingers over the curves of your insteps, pressing a little into the marks from the straps.

“You should consider stopping wearing those damn heels. Not good for your feet and back.” His voice soothed something in the depths of your soul, you started to melt under his skilled touch. 

“Keep it to yourself, doctor Abbot.” You muttered and moved down to rest on your elbows, the dress hanging on your figure, your skin growing annoyed of the fabric.

Jack let out a soft chuckle, pressing his thumb to your sole causing you to groan in utter satisfaction. 

“Fucking hell…” a soft mutter escaped your lips, your head falling back with a deep sigh.

“I know what I’m doing.” 

The way he massaged your feet was astounding and embarrassingly great. You thought that you could never admit this to Robby. Ever.

“Sure you do…” 

Jack hummed, tracing your ankle with his thumb. “I have an idea. Go take a shower and I’ll massage your feet even more, you can fall asleep comfortably. Hm?” 

You turned your head back to stare at him in disbelief, awaiting something mischievous behind it but his face was soft and full of honesty.

“Okay.” You whispered softly, getting off the bed, already missing his warm touch. Collecting your toiletry bag and pajamas, you disappeared into the bathroom.

After a while you were out, fresh as a daisy, a tired expression written all over your face. A scent of your shampoo hit his nose and he cleared his throat. 

Climbing into the bed under the sheets, you lay your head on the pillow, looking up at how he was seated against the headboard. 

“Were you serious or you were making fun of me?” 

Jack patted his lap again, your legs moving instinctively towards him and he moved a little closer to you for you to be more comfortable. You could smell him, feel the heat radiating from his body, but you didn’t feel nervous or scared. It brought you peace and comfort. 

“Is this okay?” He asked for your permission in a low tone, giving you a concerned look.

You nodded, eyes closing as he massaged your feet gently. 

For you it was a very intimate act. And with your sworn enemy? 

“Thank you.” Your murmur was barely heard, but he caught it, smiling to himself, working on your toes.

“I would take care of you every day if you were mine.” Jack sighed into the silence of the room, while you were already out, deeply asleep.

The first sunrays peeked through the curtains of the hotel room, having you stirring in the bed. Something heavy was draped over your upper body, heat radiating at your back. A soft hum of approval escaped your mouth, but then you opened your eyes slowly, confused a little. 

Jack had his arm draped over you, holding you close to his chest while his breath trickled your hair on your neck as he was still asleep. 

Your mind yelled at you to jump out of the bed immediately, but you decided to shift a little, your stare taking in his skin. 

Counting the freckles on his forearm, you actually felt good, safe even. 

Until you felt another thing poking into your back, blush was creeping up your cheeks. 

“Jack. Hey. We have to get up.” You tried to gently nudge him but all he did was wrap his arms around you tight, his face buried in the crook of your neck, exhaling heavily. 

“A few more minutes, baby…” he hummed, grinding his hips into you. 

Eyes wide you jumped out of the bed, heart thumping in your chest. “Abbot. Wake up, you dang idiot!” Your voice surely caused him to open his eyes lazily, looking at you and then he shifted to lay on his back. 

“What’s the rush, huh?” His voice was hoarse and now you could see clearly the tent formed between his legs. 

“Jesus Christ, you have no decency.” You huffed, grabbing your clothes to disappear into the bathroom. 

Jack peeked under the cover to seek his morning wood only to grin. “That’s a sign my body is working well.” 

Doing your skincare, you still felt the ache in your lower belly, the one that you desperately tried to keep at bay with your own skilled hands. There’s no way you would want to have sex with your enemy. No. 

Maybe… a little. Yeah. No. 

You shook your head and once being ready, you fled out of the bathroom, taking a glance at him with the corner of your eye. 

Jack struggled to put on his leg, grunting and cursing under his breath. 

“Need a hand?” You were all sarcastic but in your mind you pitied this man. 

“Actually, yeah.” He ran a hand through his messy grey curls and you put down your phone, walking to him. Jack noticed you’re wearing a dress, again, but this time it was a nice summer one with flowers on it.

“You look good.” He hummed out and you just got onto your knees completely ignoring him as you focused on the task and that was clasping his leg on where it has to be. 

“Tell me what to do?” You lifted your gaze and you caught his expression. Sucking in a breath he got out of the trance, showing you exactly what he needed help with.

You nodded, trying your best, your dainty fingers helping but that prosthetic bitch had its own mind. 

“Shit…” you cursed and Jack propped himself back on his hands. 

“Fuck. I hate this.” 

You sat back on your heels, taking in his frustrated expression and your eyes wandered down south. 

“Abbot, are you fucking kidding me?” You breathed out at the sight of his erection again.

His gaze fell down and he smirked a little. 

“Well, you're on your knees…” 

Your eyes went wide, mouth open agape when you wanted to insult him but your brain was numb. You could use some relief, a man hasn’t touched you in ages. 

“You're an unbelievable asshole.” 

“Really? Then why are you blushing? Why are you so flushed, princess?” He mocked you and you noticed his dick twitching in his shorts. 

Acting more on instinct, you managed to rip your panties off you and throwing them at him with annoyed grunt. Catching them swiftly, he brought them to his nose, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Guess we’re gonna need to prolong our stay.” His voice was suddenly so deep.

Your hands grabbed his thighs, a longing sigh escaping your mouth. “How do we play this out?” 

Jack was still mesmerised by the piece of fabric that used to hug your pussy, but he gave you a look full of lust. 

“Robby wants us to get our frustrations out. So, use me. Ride me. Whatever you like. Because I know you’re secretly thinking about all the things you’d do to me.” His body leaned closer to where you kneeled, whispering against your lips as his fingers tipped your chin. You were like a moth caught by the flame, your lips parted slightly, trembling, you were needy as hell.

Not giving you time to speak, he captured your lips in some kinda soft kiss, like testing the waters if you’re gonna kiss him back. And you waited no more. Literally jumping onto him, you wrapped your legs around his hips, his one hand keeping you steady in place while the other was a little behind him to not fall on his back.

“Eager girl.” He muttered in between kisses, gasping when he felt you grinding against his groin. 

“Can you shut up for a moment?” You breathed out heavily, arms around his neck, staring into his eyes.

“Never.” 

That goddamn smirk that was driving you crazy. 

“I hate you.” You gritted through your teeth, your hand traveling down between your bodies, into his shorts to finally take a hold of his girth. And holy shit, girl, your hand suddenly felt very small.

Jack could see it in your eyes, the surprise and warmth of your arousal when you found out how blessed he actually was.

“So, what are we saying?” His hand casually fell down to the curve of your ass, underneath the soft fabric of your dress. 

“I’m not gonna praise your cock.” You huffed, palming him, trying not to salivate at how much you wanted to have your mouth stuffed with him. But you won’t give him that satisfaction. Not yet.

Being so focused on that, you almost didn’t notice his hand on your ass moving towards your pussy, his fingers smearing in your wetness. 

“Oh, ohhh…” you jolted forward into his chest, whining in process. 

“Jesus, love, I think we both need me to be inside you soon as possible, hm?” Jack was starting to get frustrated, expecting you to be more denying as usual but you nodded fast and shifted your hips to navigate his tip to your aching folds. All that while you were holding his gaze, you were shaking at the anticipation and he helped you with both his hands to guide you down.

Once his cock started to stretch through your velvet walls, your eyes rolled back into your skull, mouth letting out a loud gasp, your consciousness faltering slowly.

“Easy, baby, easy… fuck, you’re so tight.” He got you, slowly getting you lower and lower on his length, biting his lip to hold back the pathetic moan at how you clenched around him heavenly.

After a while, you were sitting fully on him, his shaft being swallowed whole by your hungry pussy and you held onto him tight, like you didn’t want to fall off. You didn’t even have a single thought to talk.

“So this is what it gets for you to finally be quiet, huh?” His arm holding you close on his lap, while his other hand reached out to brush a strand of your hair from your face to look at you, to note how you were out of your mind, so pliant and soft. 

Then it struck him that you were still wearing that dress and he pushed the straps down your shoulders to reveal your breasts. Licking his lips, he then took your right nipple into his mouth, giving it a proper care, sucking it as if there was no tomorrow. 

“J-Jack…” you whimpered, losing your mind through being full by him. 

Trailing his way up your neck to your ear, he chuckled smugly. “Come on, baby girl, ride me.” 

Lifting your hips, you slammed back, over and over, his hands gripping your hips to help you with your moves. 

Face flushed, eyes rolled back, you couldn’t breathe from how much you loved the moment. He was absolutely perfect for you, matching your desire, holding you exactly how you expected from a man. 

Sweat formed on your forehead, hair sticking to it, you were riding this man with all your might. And he was there, for you, watching you, without any biting remark, he was enjoying himself too. 

Suddenly he stopped you, halting you fully onto his cock. You inhaled sharply, mind dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but you noticed his trembling lower lip, his features tight. 

“Huh?” 

“I’m gonna come, sweetheart, and–” you interrupted him.

“Don’t care. Gonna take a plan b. Just fucking fill me, Abbot.” ah, there it was, the fire in your eyes was back. 

Something dark flashed across his gaze and he nodded. Quickly, he moved you on the bed, flat on stomach, and he did his best to climb on you, slapping your ass gently. 

Settling between your ass cheeks, he rubbed his dick through your folds, only to fill you again. It was really hard for him to keep his balance, so he leaned forwards onto his hands.

Your hands gripped the sheets, drooling into the fabric, muffling your moans as he pounded into your relentlessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh baby, oh…” he whimpered, it was like music to your ears and finally you felt his dick twitching with release, his thick cum coating your inner walls.

Breathing heavily, you buried your face into the mattress when Jack collapsed onto your back, peppering your bare shoulder in kisses.

“So good for me…” whispering, it gave you shivers.

“Fuck you…” you mumbled and he chuckled.

Jack carefully slid out of you, body still thrumming with post orgasmic flow, and his strong hand flipped you onto your back.

Gasping in surprise, you stared at him when he moved between your legs, laying on his stomach, one of his hands settled on your hip and the other cupped your ruined pussy. He was mesmerised by the way his precious frosting dripped out of you. Carefully, he scooped a little by his fingers, only to push it back into you, causing you to whine in overstimulation. 

“Shhh… I almost forgot about you, how wrong of me…” he darted out his tongue and licked a long stripe to your clit, all the while his fingers were curling in your clenching cunt.

“Jack… please—“ you moaned, face frowned and eyes full of tears. 

“What is it, baby?” He held you in place, noticing how your hips tried to escape from him even though you ached to come.

“T-too much—“ you gasped when he latched onto your clit with his lips, suckling sounds filling the room and your eyes went wide.

“Fuck— gonna kill you—“ it was all you had to say when your hands flew to his hair, to tug it rough, making him grunt into your core.

“Of course.” His voice vibrated your folds to the point you were going crazy, your pussy making all those lewd sounds of arousal. 

Then he let go of you, blowing a little air onto your petal, chuckling at your squirming figure. Pulling out his fingers, having them coated with a mix of your juices and his cum, he propped himself onto his hand to bring them to your lips. 

You shook your head no, brows furrowing in annoyance.

“Open your mouth. I want you to taste us.” His voice was commanding and you let out a shuddered breath. You were a mess, you wanted to come already, to be over with it, but you had to play his game.

Holding his gaze, you obeyed, parting your lips and he waited no more, pushing his fingers onto your tongue. Inhaling sharply, your tongue swirled eagerly, moaning quietly at how intoxicating taste it was. 

Jack grinned victoriously, getting back to your painfully edged cunt, delving his fingers back into your depths.

“Look at you, taking me so well, who would have thought that you’re such a good girl. So fucking good. Mhm… come on… give it to me, all you have is mine, princess…” 

The way he talked, you couldn’t take it, your body screaming in utmost pleasure and pain from the overwhelming sensations.

“You’d be so hot being round and soft with my baby. You were made to be filled by me…” he continued and you were bewildered by this and you shot him a shocked glare.

“Stop— don’t say— holy— Jack!” 

But it was all you needed to actually reach your highest of the high, coming around his fingers, sucking him tight with your velvet walls.

Jack laughed softly, feeling so proud that his little talk made you come hard. 

Giving your pussy a soft tap, he moved to lay beside you, enjoying your panting breaths, grinning how ruined you looked, sweaty and done.

Fingers grazed their way between your breasts to your neck, ending up on your jaw. 

“You’re beautiful like this.” 

Turning your head to look at him, you let out a sigh. 

“Don’t start with this…” 

“I’m just saying what’s true.” His features softened while caressing your cheek.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. You wanted to savour every possible second of it.

“Robby can’t know about this.” You shot your eyes open with an amused expression.

Jack was smug, running his hand through the strands of your damp hair. 

“He’s gonna be so nosy. Prepare for it.” 

A soft laugh slipped past your lips, you were staring into the ceiling. 

“Thank you.”

He cocked his brow. “For what?” 

“Good fuck?” You looked at him again.

“Anytime.” He shrugged and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for his leg. This time he put it on the right way. 

“Motherfucker.” He cursed under his breath and then he turned to see you over his shoulder. 

“You have to get yourself cleaned up. I can help.” He offered you his hand and you took it without any hesitation. Still having your dress scrunched up around your waist you took it off and walked to the bathroom with him. 

Jack grabbed a towel to clean himself quickly, not bothering about anything else and then he gestured for you to step under the spray of hot water. 

While you were cleaning your skin he watched you intently, leaning against the vanity counter until he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. 

After you stepped out, wrapped into a fluffy towel, you let out a sigh of relief. His hand suddenly reached out for yours, bringing you to stand between his open legs. 

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I’m not a man like this.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

That took you aback. “I… Jack…” 

“Sorry, I… I just want you to know that I didn’t hate you. I don’t hate you. You captivated me from the moment you entered that damn hospital in Pittsburgh. You and your attitude just didn’t give me much choice.” He chuckled and his words tugged on your chest.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes.

“I was so irritated by your cocky behaviour, I knew men like you. But… it appears that I didn’t know you at all.” Your hand moved to his cheek, cupping it.

A shaky breath went through his mouth. “You’re so insufferable, you can’t imagine.” 

Rolling your eyes, you squeezed his hand instinctively. “Oh believe me. I can.”

“So, I suggest we come back and take it easy. No rush. We have to be careful around others on our shifts. What do you think?” Jack stood up, flinching a little, shifting his leg, but still holding your hand.

“Sounds good to me.” You nodded with a smile, while he leaned forward to press a kiss against your forehead.

“Let’s get you that morning after pill.” 

A day shift was in full swing when about three in the afternoon Jack clocked in and his eyes were searching for you through the space.

You were on a case with Robby, finished with the patient to be sent to the OR.

Taking off your bloodied gloves, you huffed at something Robby was talking about behind you. 

“Yeah, clearly I’m not in the best shape, okay?” 

Robby noticed Jack standing at the computer at the nurse station, already watching you both. “Well, maybe you should think about switching for the night since you warmed up with our daddy one leg.” The last three words he whispered near you to tease you and you smacked his arm.

“Fuck you, Michael.” 

“Ah, so, I’m not wrong with my assumption, huh?” He followed after you, when you hurried towards the charts.

“What’s the hush?” Jack smirked, taking a slow step forward Robby, who was eyeing him with amusement.

“Michael here just called you the daddy one leg.” You wiggled your brows in amusement, sipping coffee from your cup.

Jack feigned a little gasp, placing a hand on his chest. “You just hurt me, a war veteran, an amputee, Robby.” 

Robby just scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a wide grin spread across his face. “I’m just trying to find what’s behind this little alliance you two made all of sudden. What the fuck happened at that conference, hm?” 

Both you and Jack met with your gazes, but he decided to speak. “Well, you said we have to discuss the shit between us, and we sorted it out, case closed. What’s the matter with that?” 

“That you both almost bit your head off and all of sudden you’re cooperating without a fuss. It’s weirdly hard to believe that you just discussed it out.” Robby bounced on his feet, irritation evident from his voice as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.

“Get out of your head, Michael. You’re spending too much time there.” You chuckled at your own joke, Jack trying so hard to not laugh. 

Later that day, when you were about to clock out of your shift, you stood beside Dana, who was scribbling something down, staring through her readers. Robby was discussing a case with Ellis and Shen who arrived just in time to relieve the day’s, while Jack stood close to them, somehow watching you again. 

“So, what’s he like in bed, huh?” Dana nudged your arm, looking in the direction where Jack stood. 

You bit the inside of your cheek with a little sigh. “Unbelievable, Dana. Fucking unbelievable…” 

And with that you both laughed your asses off.