lia

By the time he quietly lets himself through the front door, he exhales , exhausted from the trip. The house is dark, peaceful and he leaves his bags downstairs, straightens a few things absentmindedly as he moves through the house, smiling when he notices little reminders of you everywhere.

Your favourite blanket folded over the couch, a half finished book sitting on the coffee table, a cardigan draped over the back of a chair that he knows you’ll eventually come looking for tomorrow morning. The sight of those ordinary things gave a wave of comfort and warmth in him , they always do remind him that despite any harsh attention words him in life, he’s got a little flower waiting to take him in her arms at home.

After making his way upstairs, he showered and changing into something comfortable, he pushes open the bedroom door carefully, not wanting to wake you, and spots your sleeping form beneath the blankets. Micheal just stands there, watching you sleeping peacefully, chest moving up and down slowly , seeing you asleep in your shared bed after weeks apart pulls a tired smile onto his face almost instantly. GOD you look so beautiful…

He crosses the room, leans down & presses a kiss against your cheek and another against your forehead before moving around to his side of the bed. He slips beneath the blankets and carefully settles behind you, automatically seeking out your warmth the same way he always does after being away. His arm slides around your waist, his face disappearing briefly into your hair as he breathes in the scent he’s missed more than he’ll ever admit out loud. After weeks of concerts, rehearsals & interviews , he feels himself properly relax.

It’s only when his hand settles against your stomach that something catches his attention.

At first he doesn’t think much of it, the thought barely registers because he’s tired, half asleep already, and his mind is still somewhere between airports and time zones, But a few seconds later his eyes slowly open again. His hand remains where it is while his brain quietly tries to make sense of the feeling, after a moment he shifts slightly, brushing his hand across the same spot again, more consciously this time, he makes sure to keep the movement subtle & careful not to wake you.

His brow furrows immediately.

No way……..

For several seconds he simply lies there staring into the darkness, trying to understand why a strange feeling of familiarity has suddenly settled over him. Then, memories from the past several weeks begin resurfacing. Little things and details that seemed small. You becoming tired more easily, the sickness you’d brushed off repeatedly, the way you’d seemed distracted during some of your phone calls and that doctor’s appointment you’d mentioned briefly before changing the subject. He remembered the oversized clothes that had slowly become your preferred choice lately. Separately, none of those things had meant much but together, however, they begin forming a picture so obvious that Michael actually feels his breath catch in his throat.

He slowly pushes himself up onto one elbow and looks down at you.

You remain completely asleep still peaceful, his gaze lingers there for a moment before drifting downward again Micheal gently removes the covers untill your stomach was visible.

ROUND…….a small bump…..

He looked back to your face, then downward once more.

Your pregnant

Your PREGNANT

A few minutes pass and he doesn’t move, he just keeps staring , his mind racing while the rest of him remains perfectly still. Because the very wish he has ever wanted with you when you promised him you’d love to bare his children, to be the mother of his children and to give him as many as he wants is right infront of him.

A baby

His hand remains resting lightly against your stomach while he sits there staring in complete disbelief. Michael has spent his entire life standing in front of thousands of people. He’s accepted awards, performed for stadiums and lived through moments most people could never imagine, yet somehow none of those experiences prepared him for this. None of them prepared him for sitting in a dark bedroom in the middle of the night while you the women he loves deeply sleeps peacefully beside him while carrying his child and realizing that the future he’s been imagining for years may has quietly arrived while he was away.

A smile appears before he even realizes it, small at first, then larger. Until he finds himself covering part of his face with one hand because the emotion building inside him feels ridiculous and so intense. He thinks about all those phone calls, all those times he’d asked whether you were alright, all those moments where he’d felt like something was different but couldn’t understand why and it all makes sense. The more he thinks about it, the more emotional he becomes. Then frustration slides in because you’ve been carrying this secret alone for weeks.

Attending appointments, hearing news, experiencing all of these changes and he wasn’t there. The realization softens some of his excitement with guilt. Guilt from leaving you all by your self, and not standing beside you, his wife that’s carrying a life he’s always dreamed of. He wished he’d been sitting beside you in those waiting rooms. Whishes he’d been there to experience every part of it with you instead of finding out accidentally in the middle of the night. If only he’d come sooner, though he understood why you haven’t told him over the phone. He had a feeling that you didn’t inform him because of his work, you didn’t want him overwhelmed and panicking and you were right he would have been so overwhelmed with joy and panic over this news.

Still, none of that changes the overwhelming happiness slowly taking hold of him. His gaze keeps drifting back toward your sleeping face then towards your stomach on that beautiful bump that has that bundle of life growing inside you. With all the harsh and negative part of attention he gets , he can already feel himself becoming protective and possessive . Already imagining things and planning for you and his baby.

Wondering what the baby might look like, whether they’ll have your smile or inherit his curls. Whether they’ll be loud or quiet or maybe they’ll love music and laugh like you. His thoughts run so far ahead of him that he eventually has to stop himself. Yet every time he does, another smile threatens to appear and silent tears start to run down his face while he gazes longingly at you and your stomach his large warm hand still covering the bump with his thump caressing it gently. A small laugh escaping his mouth, still in disbelief.

Eventually the excitement settles into something quieter and the questions stop coming, the nervous laughter eases, even the tears begin drying, though every now and then a few tears shill shed. Carefully, he leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead & another against your cheek & another against your cheek. His hand comes up to brush a few loose strands of hair away from your face.

“Oh, baby…” he whispers softly. A quiet laugh escapes him before he can stop it.

Shaking his head to himself, Michael slips back beneath the blankets and gently gathers you closer without disturbing you. One arm slides beneath your pillow and settles comfortably beneath your head while the other wraps around your waist, his hand instinctively finding its way back to your stomach. His thumb brushes slowly across the fabric of your nightgown. Tender and Protective.

He buries his face into your hair, breathing in the familiar scent that had felt so far away only hours ago. A few soft kisses find your shoulder. Another against the back of your neck. Michael closes his eyes, his hand remains over your stomach breathing in and out slowly. After a long moment, he leans forward slightly and murmurs against your ear.

“God…”

A small breath of a laugh follows.

“Thank you, baby doll.”, His voice wavers slightly,

“Thank you so much.”

His arm tightens around you just a little.

the grecian sun hammered down on the private deck, turning the turquoise water into liquid diamonds. michael watched you from beneath his designer shades as you laughed at something the young resort attendant said. he was just a kid, barely twenty-five with sun-bleached hair and an easy smile that was glued to long on your tanned thighs.

stupid fucking kid.

you wore a white sarong tied low on your hips, one that showed off the curve of your waist, the bikini top barely containing your tits. you were glowing, finally relaxed after the chaos of your own world tour, and michael had brought you here for one reason and one reason only: to get you pregnant. to fill you with his seed and watch your stomach swell with his child.

but watching this beach-boy prick lean in, touch your elbow, make you giggle…it sends a hot spike of possession through his chest.

"honey." michael's voice cut across the deck, sharp enough to make both of them turn. he strides over, slides his arm around your waist, and pulls you flush against his side.

"we're going up to the suite. now."

you blinked up at him, your bright eyes catching the jealousy in his jaw. "mikey, we were just—"

"now."

the attendant's smile faltered. good. michael shot him a look that said ‘she's mine, you fucking idiot ’, then guided you inside without another word.

the elevator ride was silent, tense. your fingers played with the hem of his linen shirt.

"you're jealous again," you murmur, and it’s not a question.

he didn't answer. just pushed you through the door of your shared penthouse suite and let it slam behind you.

the moment the lock clicked, michael turned you,pressed your back against the wall. his mouth found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. "you think i didn't see him looking at you? the same way they always fucking look at you. licking his lips at you like you were something he could devour?"

"mikey—"

"he can't have you." michael's hand slid down and gripped your ass through the thin sarong, hard.

"nobody can have you. you're my wife now. and i'm gonna make sure everyone knows it."

he spun you around and bent you over the edge of the king-sized bed. the sarong came undone, pooling at your feet. your bikini bottoms—tiny, white, and made for sin—were yanked down your thighs in one rough motion.

"you wanna know what i'm gonna do, mama?" he unbuckled his belt and let his linen pants drop. his cock was already hard, thick, leaking against his stomach. you have to strain your neck just to be able to catch a glimpse of him, and he cranes his head down to be able to whisper in your ear.

"i'm gonna fuck you so good, so full, that my cum stays inside you. gonna fuck you so deep that there's no room for anything but my baby."

you whimpered, pushing your ass back against him. "michael, please—"

"please, what?" he drags the head of his cock through your honey-slick folds, teasing your clit, making you gasp.

"please fuck me? please get me pregnant?"

"yes, both, fuck—"

he slams into you in one stroke. no warning, no mercy. your cry was half pain, half pleasure as he buried himself to the hilt, your gummy walls gripping him like a vice.

"y’feel that?" he pulls out slowly, then thrusts back in, harder.

"feel how deep i am? m’gonna fill every inch of this pussy with my seed. every last drop."

his hands grip your hips, fingers digging into flesh as he sets a punishing rhythm. the slap of skin echoes through the suite, mixing with your own moans and his stuttered breaths.

"everyone's gonna see you, baby. they're gonna see your belly swelling with my kid. and that loser hotel boy? he's gonna watch you walk by with my baby growing inside you, and he's gonna know—fuck—he's gonna know that you're mine." michael leaned over, pressing his chest to your back, mouth against your ear.

"you're gonna look so fucking beautiful, carrying my child. and every time another man looks at you, they'll see that rock on your finger and the bump under your shirt and remember who you belong to."

your hand reaches back, gripping his wrist. "michael, i'm close—"

"not yet," he slowed, grinding deep, letting you feel every inch of him. "i want you to cum when i cum. i want you to feel me filling you up. open that womb for me, mama. take every drop."

he reaches around, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles. you gasp, body trembling.

"please—"

"that's it." he started pounding again, faster, harder, chasing his own release. "take it. take all of it. give me a baby, sweet girl. please."

his words broke you. you came with a scream, your walls clenching around him, and that was all it took. michael tensed up, whimpered, buried himself as deep as he could, and let go. thick ropes of cum painted your insides, hot and relentless. he kept thrusting, making sure every drop stayed where it belonged.

when he finally pulled out, a trickle of white ran down your thigh. he caught it on his finger and pushed it back inside of you.

"be gentle," he murmured, kissing your shoulder softly. "don't move around too much, i want it to take."

you turned your head, a lazy smile on your lips. "you really are so jealous."

"damn right i am." he flips you over gently and kisses you deep, tasting the strawberry daiquiris you drank earlier on your tongue. "and i'll be jealous every day for the rest of our lives because you're the only thing that matters to me. you and that baby we're gonna make."

your hand slid down, pressed against your stomach. "i want it too, mikey. i want to have your baby."

It starts the way it always does with him on his knees.

He's already hard before he even touches you, his cock straining against his jeans as he presses his face into the inside of your thigh. He breathes you in, deep and slow, like a man taking his first lungful of air. His doe eyes are half lidded, dark and glassy, his lips parted. He's not begging yet. Not out loud. But the way his fingers tremble against your skin says everything.

"Please," he finally breathes, voice hoarse. "Please, baby. Let me taste you. Just a little. Just—" He kisses the crease where your thigh meets your hip, tongue darting out to taste salt and warmth. "I need it. I need it."

You barely nod before he's burying his face between your legs.

Michael doesn't start slow. There's no teasing, no gentle buildup. He goes straight for your clit with the flat of his tongue, laving it in long, broad strokes that make your hips jerk. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open for him like you're a meal he's been starved for. And he has been. Every hour away from you is an hour of withdrawal, of craving, of counting down until he can have this again.

He moans against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your core. His tongue flicks faster, circles, presses flat, then flicks again. He's sloppy. Desperate. There's no technique to it just pure, unadulterated hunger. Saliva and your wetness mix together, dripping down his chin, and he doesn't wipe it away. He wears it like a badge of honor.

"Fuck," he mutters against your cunt, the word muffled by your flesh. "Fuck, you taste so fucking good. Sweet. So sweet. I could—" He stops talking because his mouth is too busy, too full of you.

He loses track of time down there. Minutes blur into hours. His jaw aches, his tongue cramps, but he doesn't stop. Can't stop. Every time you try to shift away, oversensitive and trembling, he tightens his grip on your hips and pulls you back. His nose presses into your pubic bone, his lips sealed around your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, then letting go only to dive back in.

When you're in bed, he crawls under the covers without a word. You feel his hot breath against your inner thigh before his mouth finds you, half-asleep and warm. He nuzzles into your cunt like a man seeking comfort, lapping lazily at your folds until you're wet and sighing in your sleep. He falls asleep that way sometimes his cheek pressed against your thigh, lips brushing your clit, breathing you in. He wakes up hard, aching, and immediately starts all over again, licking you awake.

During the day, it's worse.

He'll pull you into the studio under the pretense of needing your opinion on a new track. The door clicks shut, the blinds close, and suddenly he's on his knees again. He shoves a pillow under him not for his comfort, but to get the angle right. His chin tilts up, his tongue out, waiting. Begging with his eyes.

"Just a taste," he whispers. "I'm stuck. I can't write. I can't think. I need—" He presses his forehead to your thigh, breathing hard. "I need your pussy, baby. She's my muse. She's the only thing that makes the words come."

And you let him. Because it's true. The moment his mouth finds you, the tension in his shoulders melts. His hands roam your ass, squeeze, spread, pull you closer. His tongue works you until you're gasping, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips grinding against his face. He moans with every flick, every suck, every time your cunt clenches around nothing because his tongue is right there, pressing into your entrance, tasting your cream.

He comes in his pants without realizing it.

The first time it happens, he's so focused on your pleasure that he doesn't notice his own cock throbbing, pulsing, spilling into his jeans. The wet patch spreads warm against his thigh, and he only becomes aware of it when you're done, panting and limp, and he pulls back with a glistening chin. He looks down at himself, blinks, and then grins, sheepish, embarrassed, but also proud.

"Sorry," he mutters, but he's not sorry at all.

It becomes a pattern. Two pairs of jeans a week. Sometimes three. He starts buying cheap brands because he knows they'll be ruined. The laundry basket fills with stiff, stained denim, and he never complains. He just shuffles to the drawer, pulls out another pair, and gets back on his knees.

You have to push him away.

It's the only way it stops. When your clit is raw and swollen and every flick of his tongue makes you flinch, you press your palm against his forehead and shove. He resists at first, whining against your skin, trying to chase your taste as you pull back. "No," you say, breathless. "Michael. Stop."

And he does. But only because you said so. Only because your voice has that edge of finality that he can't ignore.

He sits back on his heels, chin wet, lips red and puffy, eyes glazed. His breathing is ragged, and there's a smear of your arousal across his cheek. He licks his lips slowly, savoring the last traces.

"Sorry," he says again, but his voice is thick. He's not sorry. He's already thinking about the next time, counting the hours until he can taste you again.

He crawls up the bed and curls against you, pressing his face into your neck. His hand is still wet, still slick with your juices, and he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean one by one. His eyes close. He's content. Sated. But only for now.

Because tomorrow morning, before the sun rises, he'll be between your thighs again. His tongue will find your clit before you're fully awake. His mouth will seal over you, and he'll hum in satisfaction, drinking you down like a man dying of thirst.

And he'll whisper, half to himself, half to you: "Not my fault you taste so sweet."

He says it like a prayer. Like a confession. Like the truest thing he's ever known.

Michael was high on the success of his first solo album and the breakthrough he was making on his own. He had plans for his visuals and short films, eager to share with the world his creative vision.

Around this time you had begun to find your own footing in the industry as a soloist, your path following similar to Michael's. You grew up as a Motown artist alongside your two older sisters, your trio becoming a household name by the time you were seven. You were two years younger than Michael but the comparisons were strong. Both very young leads of your respective groups with voices of gold.

Once you were in your mid teens, you couldn't escape the comparisons and you and your sisters were forced to do appearances alongside Michael and his brothers. You were fifteen and growing irritable with the need to group you with the fellow child star. You personally liked Michael and his gentle personality, but hated when others compared your talents.

Off The Wall came out months after your solo album had broken endless records, with Michael catching up closely to you.

"Ah! I congratulated her on the success of her album!" He quipped to an interviewer for one of the very few press releases he agreed to. "She's been a dear friend of mine ever since childhood. Our musical paths tend to align so I'm always looking forward to what's next for her."

Your careers were an endless cycle of comparison, lasting all the way until the moment Michael broke through with Thriller. A part of you felt slight resentment towards him for being the first black artist to truly crossover internationally. You followed shortly after, however you didn't sell as much as Thriller had. You were always in Michael's shadow to some extent, the second most selling album of time title haunting you as every interviewer asked the million dollar question—how did it feel being second best to Michael?

It felt like a punch in the gut to your artistry, though you never despised Michael himself for it. Not when a part of your heart was reserved for him, something he could never know.

AMA '89 night

A decade after your solo breakthrough, you appear on the American Music Awards red carpet, smiling brightly as you wave and pose for the blinding flare of cameras.

"This way darling!" The paparazzi call out, wanting the best shots of your frame fitting champagne colored dress. It shimmered under the lighting, pairing well against your skin tone.

You finish up your shots, blowing a kiss towards the press, and are led off the carpet by your personal assistant Lia, who rambles about all the stars you have to be seen with that night.

"As always, the press wants to see the King and Queen of pop together. Make sure to spend some time with Michael at any point tonight." You knew this was coming. You couldn't ever escape Michael if you were at the same event. Your stomach twists at the thought of him, as you zone out on Lia's words the moment she brought him up.

"Hey, did you hear a word I just said?" She says your name with a ounce of irritation and you glance at her with a sheepish smile.

"Nope. Something about formalities with other stars, especially Michael." She nods at you while guiding you towards your table for the ceremony.

"Alright well, at least you caught the most important part. I believe he should be seated somewhere near you so it'll be easy to just give him a quick hug, smile, kiss on the cheek like you always do and keep pushing." Her afro bounces as she whips her head around, searching for your table as you stop occasionally, greeting your fellow peers.

"Yes, that'll be easy." You speak through gritted teeth, finally continuing your conversation after cutting through the crowd.

"I know how much you despise him-"

"But I don't." You toss a glance her way as you sit down at your spot, a large ‘32’ on the table signifying the assigned table.

She sighs and nods unconvincingly. "Sure. Anyways, he's at table 35 I heard. Make yourself known at some point with him. I want it to be front page news tomorrow." She points a warning finger at you as your raise your hands in defense, laughing at her.

"You're the boss!" She smiles at you before disappearing off to another table. You're joined by a few familiar faces, grinning as you hug your close friend, Whitney.

"So glad you're here with me, dear. If I have to sit near another one of these rock bands I'm gonna lose it." She whispers as you hug, making your body shake with laughter.

You sit through the award show casually sipping on your cocktail, smiling when the camera panned to you, and getting up to hug Whitney each time she had won.

You held your breath as the winner for Favorite Pop/Rock Male Artist was about to be announced, a category Michael was nominated for.

When George Michael's name was called, you couldn't help and look towards Michael, his face adorning a smile as he clapped. Your heart nearly fell to your stomach when his eyes shift over towards you, two tables over. You look away, attempting to avoid his burning gaze.

You were called onto the AMA stage five times that night, sweeping every category you were nominated in. As you give your fifth speech of the night, your eyes land on Michael who stared in adoration, his eyes nearly sparkling like your dress.

You hate how a simple glance makes your stomach do flips, nearly throwing off your speech midway. You step off stage with a grin, and are met with a choir of congratulations as you return to your seat. A brief commercial break ensues, giving you a moment to recompose yourself before the cameras flared back up.

That moment is quickly ruined when you feel a hand brush against your shoulder. Turning, you see Michael looking down at you, his infectious smile crossing his face. He leans down, bringing his lips close to your ear to speak.

"Thought I'd come by and congratulate you." He pulls back enough to see your face as your eyebrow quirks up. You recognize the flashing appearing around you as the press snapped photos of their two biggest stars interacting. You ignore it, reaching for Michael so his ear is near your mouth, mimicking his actions moments ago.

"You can never let me approach you first can you? Always gotta one up me." You tease with a playful smirk forming on your lips. He chuckles and lowers once more, his breath fanning against your ear and neck.

"Seems only right considering you're the big winner tonight. Good sportsmanship is important to me." He stays close this time, watching you carefully. The venue was booming, the chatter of the crowd ringing in your ears— yet the pound of your heart seemed to overpower it all.

Your musical rivalry was more on the playful, almost flirtatious, side of things. You know Michael is a Virgo perfectionist and your ego and passion for greatness are two forces that clashed, and yet the two of you remained friends regardless.

"Thank you for the congratulations, Michael. I hope to see you on that stage tonight too." You spoke directly to him this time, his eyes filtering across your face. His large palm squeezes your knee as a thanks, goosebumps forming from his touch. He gets up just as the cue that commercial break was over began. You watch him with precision, catching the way he looks your way once more after sitting down, not expecting to see you already looking. A faint smirk crosses his faces before he looks down and you turn back towards the stage with a slow sip of your drink.

When he accepts his Lifetime Achievement award later that evening, you stand as you clap to show your support. His eyes cut across the crowd while he speaks, addressing the whole room with his gratitude, yet you make eye contact multiple times throughout his speech. He has to be messing with you…

The awards wrap shortly after Michael's award and you catch Lia approaching you mid conversation with Lionel Richie. She waits patiently beside you to finish your conversation, instantly grabbing your hand after you hug him.

"Alright now Mrs. social butterfly," You scoff at her remark. "We have an after party to attend! We're heading back to the hotel to change and arrive fashionably late. You'll be the talk of the night!" Lia smiles brightly at you, guiding you through the crowd towards your valet.

"I'm not showing up in this dress?" You questioned, waving at the cameras trying to capture a good shot of you.

"Girl, no. That's the point of afterparties, to come in a second show stopping outfit! For the Queen of Pop, you have to give them your absolute best." Your security secures you and opens the door of your car for you as you and Lia slide in.

"Is Michael already there?" You tilt your head. She looks away momentarily before holding your gaze once more, a hint of timidity behind it.

"No."

You groan knowing he's going to show up around the same time as you. Your spotlight will be stolen and grouped with your counterpart—once again.

"Great."

"Look right here, gorgeous!"

The paparazzi was starving— famished even, when you step out of your car, thanking your security as he holds out a hand for you to take.

You left behind the tight, floor length, sparkling champagne dress and opted for a shorter cut backless dress. There were gold chains connecting along the open back of the bright red number, making you feel oh so sexy.

Smiling, you walk into the afterparty feeling victorious. You managed to evade a clash with Michael, earning your own entrance.

You take in the glamor of the nightclub that's decorated beautifully for the musicians, before you hear Whitney's voice behind you. Your stomach does a flip when you see her with her arm looped over Michael's shoulder, grinning widely at you. Michael's gaze feels heavy, giving you a once over while bitting his bottom lip. You feel ill every time you see him do it, not realizing how attractive he looks.

"Hey girl! Glad you could finally join us, we gotta get you caught up!" Whitney removes her hold on Michael and decides to latch onto you now, steering you towards a more private section. "C'mon now, Michael!"

You feel warm knowing he's getting a full view of your back and you risk a glance behind you. His eyes are locked onto the small of your back so intensely he doesn't notice you've caught him until the last second, his eyes traveling up to yours before quickly looking away in embarrassment.

The smug look on your face remains throughout the night, knowing each time you glanced Michael's direction, he was already staring or acting as if he wasn't a second ago. Your prestigious group took shots and passed a bottle of champagne back and forth throughout the night, while also getting up to dance and socialize with other celebrities.

You can feel the alcohol in your system, not quite drunk but definitely tipsy, when you came back to your private section, sashaying your hips past Michael. His hand reaches for your wrist, grabbing your attention. You turn to him, the low crease of his eyelids showing he was intoxicated. He says something you can't catch under the pound of the music and lean down to his earlobe.

"What was that?" He pulls you closer to him, his hand moving to your waist, making you fight off a shiver.

"Come dance with me!" He looks at you excitedly, chewing his gum with a delectable grin.

"C'mon, ain't no press in here girl."

His words are enough to get you onto the lower floor, moving your body along to 'It Takes Two', Michael moving alongside you rhythmically. You enjoy seeing Michael dance so casually, different from the calculated, perfected routines he did on stage.

His hands find a hold on your waist, gripping you tightly while your arms link around his neck. The heat between the two of you begins to feel noticeable, as if it was tangible. Something a tension that only two decades of yearning can create.

You rock your hips, the feeling of Michael's proximity and the buzz tingling through your body from the music and alcohol, gives you the courage to gaze up into his already dark state. The quiet, reserved Michael you tend to know wasn't the same man standing before you with a fire lit behind his irises. Your lips part in a genuine display of shock, admiring the way he's making you feel seen by him, finally.

You detach from his hold slightly to turn your back to him, stepping close to him as you sway your hips seductively. You don't get the chance to see the way his bottom lip gets sucked between his teeth, nor the faint sound that leaves his lips upon feeling you press against him.

His hands find a place low on your hips as you practically throw your ass back on him, your back flush against his chest.

"I got an image to uphold, dear. You keep that up and we're gonna be front page news." He spoke lowly in your ear, his soft tone earning a sly grin from you as you turn back to face him. You grip the side of his face, bringing him towards his ear to speak freely.

"We're front page news either way. Let's give them something good."

Your playful comment has him dragging you towards the door, making a pit stop at the phone to call your security detail.

"Hey, Sam it's me. Send my car back to the hotel."

You expect the shutter of the cameras when the two of you rush out of the dark nightclub, shouts and hollers from the media trying to gather either of yours attention.

"Michael! Our king and queen! Over here!"

He holds the door open to his car, ushering you inside before following right behind, slamming the door. You're both in a fit of giggles as the driver asks Michael where to. He composes himself enough to direct him back to his hotel before the divider slides shut with a mechanical whir.

"For someone so particular about his image, you seemed to let go just for a second there." You tilt your head at him, catching the shy Michael start to creep back in when his eyes drop to his lap briefly.

"Yeah… That's what a bit of a buzz and twenty years of-" He cuts himself off, eyes going wide. You glance at him confused, catching a battle wage across his features.

"Mikey, what's wrong? Twenty years of…?" You question using his nickname reserved just for you, one you called him when you were younger.

His big brown eyes meet yours anxiously, a shy grin spreading. "It's what twenty years of being in love with you will do." He finishes faintly, his eyes struggling to keep contact with your own shocked, bright ones. If you were anyone else, his aviators would have been on, unable to fully get a glimpse of his vulnerability.

"We're so incredibly stupid," You huff a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. You thought about how the feelings you harbored for years that were disguised as mutual respect, or sometimes resentment, were a way to keep yourself guarded. "I've been ignoring how I feel for you since I was fourteen, Mikey."

His eyes nearly pop out of his head at your revelation, his hands flying to your knees that are turned towards him.

"You're not fooling with me are you?" He speaks your name with such delicacy it makes you feel lightheaded. You shake your head, planting your hands on top of his.

"I could never. I don't think…anyone else could understand me in the way you always have." You nearly knock the wind out of Michael's lungs, as his grin grows wider.

"I've…I've always felt the same way," He flips his hands to squeeze your own. "You have no idea how many songs of mine you've helped produce." His voice drops in the slightest, illuminating the underlying meaning in his words. You feel a fire ignite in your belly, taking a hand and dragging it up to his chest to spur a reaction.

"Oh yeah? Which ones?"

"That's a secret." His voice came out soft as he spoke, his bright, toothy smile making you reflect back at him in the same way with an airy laugh. "May I… kiss you?" He asked gently, cupping your face with his large palm. His gaze is pure adoration, fixating on your plump lips before connecting back at eyes.

You answer him simply by closing the distance, your lips connecting like the final pieces of a puzzle. You sigh against his lips, pure bliss filling your senses as he grips your waist, moving his lips gently with yours. When he pulls away to watch your face, he hovers close enough to feel your breaths puff across his face.

"The Lady in my Life." He says, looking into your eyes with a careful glint.

"What… What about it?" You nearly whisper, toying a finger into his jheri curl.

"I wrote that for you. The Lady in my Life will always be you."

You don't give him a second to think before you're crashing your lips into his, full of passion and desire this time. He lets out a muffled noise, finally moving along with you. Staying connected, you climb into his lap, settling perfectly there. He already is half-hard, stirring a whine from you as you grind your hips down into him, his own grip gliding you against him.

You seperate for a moment to take a gulp of air before diving back into each other, your center meeting his own with a suppressed moan. He began to tug on your bottom lip just as the car slowed to a complete stop, halting your actions. Michael pulls away with a groan, resting his forehead against your own as you try to catch your breaths.

"We got maybe 30 seconds before they open that door. We should make ourselves presentable." He sighs against you, closing his eyes briefly as if he was relishing in the moment. You slide off his lap, readjusting your dress and wiping the lipstick from off your face as Michael straightened out his rumpled shirt, playing with his hair to look put together again.

By the time you make it through the threshold of his room, you're practically throwing yourself on him again, his noise of surprise becoming muffled between your lips as he locks the door behind him with one hand, the other slotted at your hip. He breaks away and directs you towards the bed, swatting at your ass once as he admires the design of your backless dress.

You sat on the plush king sized bed, looking up at Michael seductively as he slowly approaches you. "Gonna be shy with me, Mikey?" You tease, an eyebrow raised.

A knowing, sly grin spreads on his face as he stands before you, bringing a hand under your chin to tilt up towards him.

"Not when I've been.. burning… with desire for you for this long." Goosebumps form on your skin from his words just as he leans down, pressing his soft lips to yours.

You pull him on top of you, immediately comforted by the feel of his weight against you. The kiss held the same intensity displayed in the car, with Michael gently spreading your legs wider to nestle against your core. You moan into his mouth as he grinds his hips into yours painstakingly slow, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip as he pulls away, leaving a trail of kisses long your neck.

You try to shift your hips up, connecting with his clothed hardness and both groaning in sync. Your panties were sticking to you now, creating a wet patch on Michael's designer pants from where you met.

"Mikey, baby." He hums into your neck in response, working his way down to kiss down the valley of your breasts. "I need you to touch me. So bad."

You feel his smile against your skin as he traveled lower, your cocktail dress fully bunched up around your waist now. He kisses your inner thighs, shifting from one leg to the other, before you feel him right at your center, dragging a long finger along your soaked pussy. You whine and frantically grab at the sheets next to you, peering down at him as he presses a kiss against your covered folds. He loops his fingers around the thin material and with a slight raise of your hips, is able to drag them down fully. He groans at the sight of you spread out so bare for him and you can't help but spread wider.

"You have such a pretty pussy, prettier than I imagined." The word sounds vulgar coming from his sweet mouth, which turns you on even more, sending a fresh wave of arousal down to your pussy in response.

"Can I taste you, sweet girl?" He asks, his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin closest to your aching core. You frantically nod your head, forcing out a yes just as frantic, eager to feel him on you. He smiles at your desperation before he dips down, licking a long stripe straight up to your clit. You jolt and cry out, feeling his warm tongue flick along your clit, wasting no time in leaving you a withering mess. He gazes up to watch your every reaction, enjoying the way your lips are between your teeth before you fall back against the bed, pushing your hips up into his mouth.

He alternates between burying his tongue deep in your hole and pleasuring your clit, his nose bumping against you and stimulating you even more. Your hands are in his curls, keeping him in place as he slurps up every drop of your essence, wanting nothing more than to feel you gush around his face.

He works a finger in while sucking on your sensitive bud, earning a moan from you. The stretch was making you delirious, whining about how much you needed his cock.

"Not till you finish for me." He speaks against you, sending vibrations to your stomach. You feel the familiar twist in your gut signaling you're close to your climax, mumbling how close you are when a second finger goes in, scissoring you open for him.

"Mikey… I… Please…" You plead, just desperately searching for your release. His tongue and finger moves in tandem, moving quickly to bring you to your peak. Michael grinds his hips into the bed, searching for friction while your legs begin to shake above him, the tightrope inside of you snapping. You cry out his name, grinding your hips into his face as you ride out the waves of release, Michael groaning into your pussy as your slick leaks all over his tongue.

His movements still as you catch your breath, still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. The loss of his fingers from your hole nearly makes you whine before the sight of him takes your breath away.

His eyes sparkle at you while he wipes your juices from his face, cheeks lightly flushed and his curls a mess from your grip. He slides his fingers into your mouth and you suck on the digits, holding eye contact while swirling your tongue along the finger pads, eliciting a soft moan from him. He pulls them out and makes quick work of pulling your dainty dress over your head, your full body on display for him as he watches in awe.

"Are you gonna join me or do I have to rip all of this off you myself?" You question with a tug on his trousers. His suit jacket was already lost earlier, making it easier to pop open his buttons while you pry off the heavy belt around his waist. Your hands are on his zipper before he lays a hand on top of yours, opting to do it himself.

"You just lay your pretty self right there." He speaks sweetly, his eyes carrying a shadow of nervousness that's mostly masked behind the profound lust. You've known Michael all your life— you know he's feeling shyer now.

You're about to speak before the sight of him in all of his glory has your mouth opening. You hone in at the sheer size and girth of him before glancing up at him, his lip between his teeth as he feels uneasy under your heavy gaze.

"Mikey, what happened to you not getting shy on me?" You offer a faux pout as he huffs a laugh.

"I'm not… I mean not really it's just… you know, I've liked you for so long and- and I can't believe-" You shut him up sitting up on your knees and dragging him towards the bed, gently pushing him back onto the soft mattress next to you. His eyes flash with shock, opening his mouth to speak before you plant a finger over his lips, looking down at him with an eyebrow quirked.

"I've thought about this probably as much as you have," You state simply, watching his wide eyes light up. "For the love of everything good, if I don't ride you right now, I'll go insane."

He nods as if his mouth had gone dry and scoots towards the middle of the bed. You swing a leg around him, straddling his lap as his hard dick pokes against your lower stomach. You grab him and begin to line the tip up with your leaking hole, his breaths growing heavy under you.

"Relax, pretty boy. Gonna make you feel real good." You purr right as you start to sink down, his mouth hanging open from the feel of your walls going down on him.

You ease down his thick length, pausing to accommodate to the stretch. Micheal's hands come to your waist, gently caressing you in encouragement. You sink all the way down with a moan, Michael whimpering as you pulsate around him. You give an experimental drag of your hips, lifting up and sinking back down once, making him moan loudly.

You start to bounce, steadying yourself with a grip on his shoulders as you slide down his length, both of your moans filling the room. His hands are gripped iron tight on your waist, watching with glazed over eyes as you ride his dick, the slick sounds your bodies produce becoming music to your ears.

You clench around him when he squeezes your ass, making him choke out a strangled noise of pleasure. You’re grinning in pure bliss, the stretch of his cock better than you ever imagined, your pussy leaking around him in response. When his cock hits you at a certain angle, you double over into his chest with a cry.

"Right there was good?" He questions, brows furrowing. You nod and don't notice his shift in demeanor until he starts pounding into you from below, eager to help you reach that spot again. The smack of skin on skin fills the room as he ravishes you from below, his large palms guiding you down to meet his thrusts by gripping your ass tightly.

You moan his name and squeeze him tightly as he fucks up into you, roughly smacking your ass. You leave a white creamy ring around his dick as you ride him, his hand connecting with your ass once more after seeing your reaction, crying out for more. Your clit rubs against his pelvic bone with each thrust, sending sensations to your aching clit. You rub the sensitive bud while Michael reaches for your breast bouncing in his face, squeezing the flesh there.

"Riding me so good… oh god… you're sinful." He nibbles at your earlobe as he talks into your ear, building up your second orgasm of the night. Your cunt squelches embarrassing loud but you're too fucked out to even care, moaning as you feel your peak approaching with each drag of Michael's cock.

"Mikey, I'm so close!" You cry out, feeling his dick hit deeply inside of you. His own soft moans and whimpers bring you to your release as you tighten around him, throwing your head back with a loud moan. He doesn't let up his pace as you ride out your orgasm, shaking as he pounds into your dripping walls desperately, chasing his own release.

He's about to pull you off him as his climax approaches, but you keep your legs firm around him, squeezing your walls tightly around him and sinking down on his cock to meet his thrusts. "Inside of me, let me milk you baby." You say with a drag of your hand along his chest.

He looses it at the thought of filling you with his seed, his thrusts becoming sloppy as his dick twitches, hot ropes of cum spilling out of him with a cry of your name.

You stay on top of him for a while, catching your breaths. His hand is firm on your back, gently sliding soothing patterns up and down your skin. You pull off of him shortly after, leaning back to let him watch his cum slowly drip out of your hole and onto the sheets. You take your finger and stuff the rest back into you, making Michael groan at the filthy sight.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman." He sighs, giving a completely fucked out smile at you.

"The headlines tomorrow may take you out before I ever do." You tease, knowing the press were having a field day seeing the two of you get into the same car earlier.

"The King and Queen of pop finally together? Could be worse things to write about." He looks at you playfully, turning your hand over to plant a kiss at the back of it.

"They're already planning our wedding details!" You giggle, not catching the way his eyes falter for a second.

"Did you miss the lyrics in The Lady in my Life? I've been envisioning it."

You tackle him, littering his face with kisses as he cackles like a young kid, giddy that he finally had you in his arms.

And for the rest of his life, he silently prays.

It’s not like you expected a paying gig right out the gate when you moved to the big city to chase your dream of becoming a musician, but you at least figured you would be able to get something that pays in the meantime.

At this point, every rejection is a shot straight to the heart.

You applied to every store you could find with a hiring ad. Both online and in-person, skipping over the occasional store that you felt you weren’t cut out for. Now, it’s come to the point where you don’t have the luxury to be picky.

Still, the shoe store that wouldn’t hire you? At least you have shoes, even if they’re worn-in Vans and Converse for the most part.

The reception job at the law firm? It’s not like you have a degree or can cite any, but you know general laws.

This? You sigh as your gaze traces the letters across the failing light box, deep red letters spelling out Adult Boutique.

It’s not that you have anything against it.

It’s that you’ve never used a sex toy.

Hell, you don’t know the first thing about them.

You’ve never even had sex before.

Sighing, you throw your head back against the headrest of your old rusting sedan and take a moment to breathe in the harsh disappointment of chasing your dreams. Your hands settle in your lap as you set aside any reservations you have, snatching your resumé from the passenger’s seat and shutting the door behind you. You walk with as much confidence as you can muster into the shop, but it’s almost humiliating how far out of your wheelhouse you are when you’re met with the interior. For as confident as you are, it drains from you in an instant.

Humiliation is a kink though, right?

“ID?” You pause in the doorway before you can get much of a look at the store, staring at a man with piercing blue eyes and white hair. He’s handsome, maybe a year younger than you, and his friendly smile is horribly infectious.

You stand like a deer in the headlights, your lips caught in an embarrassing ‘o’ before your mind catches up. ID. You’re in an age-restricted store. Right.

“Shoot–” Your hands fly down to your pockets, reaching for the wallet…

… That you left in the car.

Your jaw hangs ajar at the realization, warmth climbing from the back of your neck to the tips of your ears as the handsome clerk’s startlingly blue eyes pin you in place.

You shut your eyes, biting down on your lower lip. “I’ll be right back.”

In the midst of your walk of shame back to your car across the street, every thought reminds you that you could just leave. You could forget this ever happened and simply accept you aren’t getting the job. The fact that your wallet is so empty that you left it in your unlocked car in a shady part of town serves as a reminder that, again, you don’t exactly have the luxury of being picky.

With a forlorn sigh and a drag of your hands down your face, you put on your best confident smile and make your way back inside. The clerk grins as you hand over your ID, leaning over the counter on forearms that you swear you’re not staring at.

They’re just veiny.

And incredibly hot.

“Sorry,” you sigh as you pocket your ID again.

“Don’t worry about it,” there’s a small wave of his hand to brush you off, and when you look up to meet his eyes, there’s a particularly sultry look to his gaze. It’s enough to warm your cheeks again, and you can only pray he doesn’t notice how much you’ve been staring. “Looking for anything in particular?” He bears a lopsided tilt to his grin that sets your nerves further alight as your stomach ties in knots under the handsome stranger’s gaze.

It’s gotta be a bad combination to be clueless on everything around you and thinking about the hot man in front of you rather than the job you’re applying for.

Shaking your head to center yourself, you put on your best smile. “Yeah, actually.” The man’s expression changes to intrigue as you hand over your resumé. His eyes skim it, brows raising.

He gives you a once-over, setting the paper down with a more genuine grin. “We could use the help,” he admits. “The owner’ll be in tomorrow morning, I’ll have her give you a call.”

That’s the most positive response you’ve received to an application thus far. Although you find yourself nervously eyeing a bottle of G-Spot Stimulating Gel on the counter that you don’t know the first thing about, you’re honestly relieved that things could be looking up. You can handle this job with a bit of research, surely.

“That would be great,” you offer a smile. “Thank you.”

–

So, the good news is that you have a job. The bad news is that you still don’t know the first thing about what you’re selling. Admittedly, you probably should have done some research or looked over the product offerings on the store’s site, but somewhere between preparation for a new job and trying to sleep through the train shaking your apartment every few minutes, you forgot.

The kind woman who interviewed you over the phone and the store’s owner– Jillian– greets you at the door as you push into the store. Her graying hair is curled tightly at her roots, her eyes wrinkled at the corner and kind. She wears a pale pink wool sweater that compliments her lip gloss, standing at about the same height as you. She’s old enough to retire and still gorgeous all-the-same.

“Welcome, dear,” she smiles brilliantly at the sight of you, ushering you towards the front counter with a hand on your shoulder. “I appreciate the help, it’ll be nice to step back from the counter and keep my job behind-the-scenes.”

“I’m happy to help,” you reply with a kind grin, keeping up your best customer service attitude. As she leads you behind the counter, your eyes flick to the two tall men standing behind the counter. You recognize the first as the hot white-haired man who accepted your resumé. Cheery, charming, and strikingly handsome with toned muscles visible from under his white t-shirt.

The man beside doesn’t bear the same welcoming nature. In fact, they’re the definition of polar opposites.

Standing a couple of inches taller than the one you recognize, he has black hair that must be dyed, pink roots standing out like a rose among thorns. His ears are pierced in a multitude of ways with matching brow and lip piercings and tattoos that travel up the back of his neck, reaching his jaw. He’s in far darker and more casual clothes, arms crossed over his broad and built chest with his hip leaned on the counter, and a look of mild disinterest that does no favors for your nerves.

Where the white-haired man bears a friendly smile and a button-up that makes him look ready for a job in a cubicle, his black-haired colleague is very clearly assessing your every move, and looks like he could be on-stage at a dingy bar.

She introduces you to the men, earning a grin from the one you recognize and… nothing from the man with black-dyed hair.

“I’ll be in every couple of days to do the cash deposit,” she explains. “I’ll also drop by to check on the office and put together paperwork, but Satoru–” she points to the white-haired man who casually salutes in greeting, “and Ryomen–” her hand waves towards the frowning man who doesn’t react save for a glance at the older woman, “will train you. Satoru usually does the opening shift and Ryomen does the closing shift. We’re closed Mondays and Tuesdays, but you’ll work the rest of the week.” You’re grateful for the consistency, if nothing else. “You’ll take the midday Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, you’ll be alone for a bit while the boys are in classes, and you’ll take the closing shifts on weekends to help Ryomen during busy hours.”

His gaze, a crimson so striking you have half a mind to wonder if they’re contacts, flicks to you, indiscernible, then back to Jillian.

“You won’t be alone while you train of course though, the boys and I will cover until you’re comfortable being alone.” She pats you once on the shoulder. “Does that work for you, dear?”

“Not a problem at all,” you nod. You clasp your hands together politely.

“Perfect!” She claps once in glee, clearly happy to step away from serving customers. You can understand that sentiment. “I’ll grab your paperwork.”

Satoru’s gaze follows her as she heads for the back room, then turns cheerily to you. “Hey, newbie!” He steps forward from the counter, outstretching his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Shaking his hand, you match his grin. “Well, by name anyway.”

You turn your expectations to Ryomen, who doesn’t move from the spot he’s standing in. His weight shifts to the other hip, still leaning against the counter when he juts his chin out in less of a greeting and more of an acknowledgement. “Hey.”

“Nice to meet you, Ryomen.” You give him a little wave.

“Sukuna,” he corrects you. His words aren’t sharp per se, but they carry a blunt edge. “Only the old lady can call me Ryomen.” His voice is as gruff as his style and stature, fitting of the brutish impression he gives off. His slightly narrowed eyes give off the notion that he’s evaluating you. Reading you.

With a tight-lipped smile, Satoru scratches at the back of his head. He shoots you an apologetic glance as you uncomfortably gather that this isn’t unusual for Sukuna.

“Got it, sorry.” You offer an apologetic smile, which he accepts with a nod.

Satoru steps forward to save you from the interaction, motioning with his head out to the store’s floor. “Why don’t I show you around?”

You nod gratefully, letting him lead you away from the counter. Sukuna’s gaze is quick to drop to the counter as he leans over a book of some sort, his chin resting atop his hand. You turn your attention back to Satoru as he leads you through the long back area of the store

A colorful assortment of dildos and vibrators line the walls of the first aisle, anything from glass to silicone in different shapes and size varieties. The light in the far corner flickers when you step into the aisle, faux wood creaking under-foot. The store has that sort of old strip mall feel where, although well-maintained, its age is evident in the old fixtures and failing lights.

“Sorry about him,” Satoru’s voice is a near-whisper as he shakes his head. His hair falls in front of those striking blue eyes as he leads the way down each aisle. You’re not sure you’d really call it showing you around, but you’re certainly walking the floor. “He’s uhhh–” he waves his hand through the air as he searches for the right term. “Moody, or something.” He chuckles. “I don’t know, you get used to it. Don’t take it personally.”

“He doesn’t seem like a customer service person,” you admit sheepishly, keeping your voice down.

Satoru does no favors keeping his own down as he barks a laugh. “No, not really, hey? He’s Jillian’s friend’s son, so–” he shrugs as you mentally connect the dots that landed him this job. “It’s an easy enough gig and honestly business is slow.”

“That’s a shame,” you offer, mostly for Jillian’s sake, although you don’t mind it being slow.

“I said it was slow, not bad,” he grins, eyes narrowing to that sultry gaze he shot you when you dropped off your resumé last week. “We have a lot of regulars. People who spend a lot. You’ll recognize them in time.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’ll be nice to have some company for the end of my shifts,” he adds, tilting his head to eye you. He crosses his arms over his chest, catching your attention as you glance at his muscles just long enough to consider yourself caught. He takes the opportunity and swings with it. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” His voice drops a tone, the flirty lilt warming the tips of your ears.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to get to know you too.”

Jillian returns with paperwork before Satoru can take the opportunity to flirt any further– but you get the feeling he will. It seems to go hand-in-hand with his personality. Once everything is signed and Satoru has headed off for class, Jillian leaves training in Sukuna’s hands as she retreats to the back to file your paperwork.

Sukuna’s gaze is a slow drag down your form as he evaluates the dark blouse and nice jeans you chose to wear. Admittedly, you now feel a little overdressed given his relative comfort and ripped jeans, but in spite of the judgement clear as day in his eyes, he keeps it to himself. At least, as long as you don’t count the frown he bears. You can’t really tell if that’s meant for you or if that’s his neutral expression.

With a sigh, he shuts whatever book is on the counter behind him and gives you a rundown in short, clipped sentences. “Floor work first, cash after. You worked cash before?”

You nod, though the register looks fairly old here.

He gives a hum of approval. “Good. The floor's pretty self-explanatory. Everything is ordered by brand, then color. Shipments Mondays and Thursdays. Back room for any overstock.” He points over his shoulder to where Jillian disappeared as he lays out instructions like facts. “No clock system. Just work when you work. Pay is every second Friday. You’ll get a check.”

Again, you nod.

His gaze travels the length of your figure, but it doesn’t feel as though he’s checking you out. It’s an evaluation. And you’re pretty sure you’re failing before you’ve had the chance to start. “I don’t care what you do when customers aren’t around. Study, read, go on your phone. I don’t give a shit.”

“Oh, okay. That’s kinda nice.”

His tone is apathetic as he hums in agreement. “I didn’t have time last night and I know Satoru’s lazy ass didn’t clean this morning, so I’ll get you to organize the shibari while I put some shit away.”

You nod, slipping away from the counter onto the floor. His gaze tracks you as you very unconfidently thread through the rows in search of shibari. To your horror, nothing is well-labeled, which means there isn’t a distinct section with some big flashy sign to point you in the direction of a kink you don’t know the name of.

“It’s at the back,” Sukuna’s low voice calls out. Biting down on your lip, you move towards the back of the store, your gaze trailing along the wall. There are a number of bondage devices you can’t name, ropes that you assume go with bondage, and chains and whips that all feel bondage-adjacent.

So, more or less, you’re still at a loss.

Really failing that evaluation now.

Behind you, Sukuna is replacing products that were atop the counter at the front, but his movements stop when he fixes you with his narrowed gaze. “The ropes,” he points them out on the wall with displeasure prickling around the edge of his sandpaper-scraped voice. Now that you look at them, it feels obvious given how out of order they are.

“I know!” Heat flares beneath your skin in all the wrong places. Still, you won’t let him get to you. “I was just looking.”

He doesn’t reply, his crimson gaze boring into your expression so hard that you’re pretty sure he can see right through you.

At least you can’t fuck up the organization of the ropes.

Quietly sucking in a breath, you turn to the wall, pulling down the plastic-covered rope bundles that are out of place.

“So,” you turn your gaze over your shoulder. “You’re in school?”

“Mhm.”

“What are you taking?”

“Business.”

He’s difficult, too. Great.

Once the ropes are in a more sound order, you spin on your heel to face him. He’s already turning away, moving to a different area to put away a vibrator.

“Can I–”

“Here.” He tosses a bottle of lube at you, caught clumsily in unexpecting fingers. “Put that away, too.”

Pressing your lips into a tight line, you nod, more to yourself than him. At least you know what lube is.

You search the store for the spot where it belongs, twisting it on the shelf so the label faces out, then make your way to the counter where Sukuna’s already standing over his book again. Before you have the opportunity to speak, the bell over the door rings as a customer walks through the door. She’s around your age, and quickly flashes ID towards Sukuna, who nods.

A regular, you suppose.

The tattooed clerk’s eyes trail to you, jutting his chin out expectantly towards the customer.

Making your way up to the woman with cute blonde hair cut short, you fall into your customer service voice. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Hi!” She beams at you, her smile putting your first day nerves at ease. “Thank you, but I know where most things are,” she waves you off politely. “I appreciate it, though!” She moves past you towards the back of the store, whirling around suddenly as her gaze shifts between you and Sukuna. “Oh, actually, did you get any more of the cherry stimulants in?”

You turn your attention to Sukuna, who fixes you with a lazy unsure expression. “She can check for you.” He leans his hip on the counter again, arms crossed over his chest as he faces you. “It’ll be in the back. They come in a box with a cherry logo on them.”

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you nod as you make your way to the back.

Truthfully, the cramped room is a bit of a relief from the uncomfortable tension Sukuna just seems to naturally exude. Him and Satoru are big personalities in the most opposite way you can possibly imagine, but at least Satoru is willing to chat.

Jillian glances over her shoulder from an old computer at the back of the room. “Everything going well, dear?”

“Yeah,” you grin, though truthfully this already feels like a disaster where you’re being scornfully judged by your colleague and accidentally making enemies on day one. With one of the only people you work with. So that’s great. “There’s just someone looking for stimulants.”

She shifts in her chair, doing a once-over of the boxes. “Not back here. There’s an inventory list on this computer that you can usually use, but I don’t want to lose progress on your files. Can you ask Ryomen to check the holds drawer? Satoru might have put some on hold if he knew they were looking.”

“Sure, thank you!”

With a grateful smile, you head back to the front and relay the information to Sukuna.

“Holds drawer’s there.” He points to a handle on the lower inside of the counter. Within are a number of boxes and small sachet packs. “Mm, there they are.”

Clearly one of the sachet packs is what she’s looking for. Unfortunately, they all fail to say exactly what they are on the front with bright and bold brands rather than descriptors or even a damn cherry logo, which means you haven’t the faintest clue what you’re looking at.

“The orange one,” Sukuna adds when you’re still paused staring at the drawer. There’s an unimpressed lilt to his tone that has you wincing before you pull the sachet pack from the drawer. You do what you can to keep your expression neutral and feign confidence when you stand upright again.

The whole situation is tense and embarrassing. It might at least be tolerable with Satoru, but Sukuna either enjoys your suffering or he’s an asshole.

The unfortunate third possible option is both.

His grimace as you set the pack in his hand isn’t lost on you, although you choose to head towards the register in hopes that he can at least teach you how it works and you can get on with this day. He chooses not to say a word to you as the customer finishes looking around, returning to the front with a rose-shaped vibrator.

“Ooh, thank you!” She grins as she spots the packet at the register.

Sukuna nods, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re paying attention. “Just type the amounts into the register,” he explains, putting both prices from the stickers into the old machine. Once he hits the equals button, the cash drawer pops open as he gets the total and it calculates tax for him. The customer flashes a card, so Sukuna shuts the drawer and types the amount into the machine to his right. “While she pays, get the serials on each tag and write them here,” he explains, pulling the number from each barcode and writing them on a pad of paper left of the register. Once her payment is processed, a receipt prints, which he hands to her, keeping the second copy under the till. Finally, he bags the items.

She thanks him, giving you a polite little wave and retreating out the door.

You let out a breath, nodding. “The register seems easy enough,” you try more friendly commentary in spite of his half-assed teaching, but you suppose by now you shouldn’t expect Sukuna to be receptive. He hums, a judgemental flash in his eyes as he pins you in place with a narrowed gaze like he can see something you can’t.

He works his jaw in a slow grind of teeth like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, dropping your gaze. “I’ve got to study. There’s not much else to the job besides that, so keep yourself busy.”

Thankfully the rest of the day passes without much of a hitch and you’re able to leave as evening hits, with Sukuna staying to close the store.

He doesn’t give you another word for the remainder of the day. He doesn’t expect you to handle customers. He handles the till. He doesn’t even look at you as you let him know your shift is over. You aren’t sure whether to be grateful or dread the rest of your shifts with him, but thankfully you’re able to spend more time with Satoru tomorrow.

Given that you’re off a couple of hours before close, you use the opportunity to stake out local bars with stages and take note of a small pub tucked away in a little corner. The outside has a sign that doesn’t light up in the night’s cover, but within it’s rather warm, with string lights hung over a stage in the back. While you work on your online presence, it’s the perfect spot to get your stage skills up.

The thick metal of the door is cool on your hand, creaking on its hinge as you press through to the interior warmth. There’s a small two-man group on-stage performing low-energy grunge that seem to be garnering decent attention from onlookers and groups you would be willing to bet are regulars based on the way they move around the small scene.

Adjusting your jacket over your shoulder, you make your way to the bar. The bartender looks to be a couple of years senior to you, with short brown hair kept neat aside from a couple of stray strands that fall over his forehead. He has a prominent nose and sunken eyes that give him an overall air of tiredness.

The apron he wears over a clean-cut button-up pulls taut across his chest as he reaches overhead to set a bottle of whiskey along the back wall before turning his attention to you with a polite smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, um, actually,” you begin with a polite smile, “I was wondering who I need to impress to be up there.” You point to the grunge band at the back as his gaze follows you.

He hums, his calm demeanor shifting from the routine of bartending to something more friendly. “I can give you the owner’s email. If you fit in with the crowd, he’ll work with your schedule.”

Casting another glance at the two men on-stage, you nod, chewing on your lip in an effort to hide your giddy smile. “That’d be great. So… what– a little moody, kind of chill? Maybe some minor chords in there?”

The bartender chuckles, picking up a glass like routine simply fills his subconscious. “Sounds to me like you’ve already got the gig.”

Leaving behind the smell of drowned sorrows and shared laughter, you can hold onto the fact that while your day took a turn for the worst, it’s just a job. Once you leave the building, you don’t have to think about it and can focus on music. Sukuna isn’t the end of the world and if you can manage to stay out of his hair, surely you can find some sort of common ground with him.

–

Wind whips too fast across the street when you lock your car behind you. Your unzipped coat flails in the wind, leaving you with a flustered expression as the shop door slams shut behind you.

“Hey newbie,” Satoru greets you with an amused grin. You flash him a smile as you smooth down your outfit, far more casual than the previous one with jeans and a band shirt. “How was yesterday?” He asks, wiping down the counter and tossing the wipe in a garbage as he claps his hands together to brush them off.

The chuckle that parts your lips is half-hearted as you drop your laptop bag atop the front counter. “Kind of a disaster?” You wince, shaking your head. “Is he seriously always like that?”

Satoru stands upright, running a hand through white locks. “He gets better when you get to know him, but yeah he’s kind of an asshole,” he laughs brightly, unbothered. “I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips.”

“Sure, if the chips are sour,” you mutter.

Satoru snickers, nodding. “What happened anyway?”

“I didn’t immediately know where everything is without being shown,” you wave a hand through the air, letting it hang there for a moment in disbelief.

Satoru, unphased, grins. “Oh, yeah. Sounds like a classic case of not running on Sukuna’s schedule. You should really get on that.”

You throw your head back with a sigh, giving a dismissive wave of your hands. “Whatever, it’s a new day, right? Maybe it won’t be so bad today.”

Satoru teasingly sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry newbie, but my sources are telling me today’s weather is looking cloudy in Sukuna-land.”

Satoru’s unseriousness helps settle a modicum of your nerves as you find yourself laughing at his charm.

“But hey, you’ve got me for a couple of hours first.” He grins, settling the balls of his palms atop the counter as he leans his weight back. One of his sleeves, rolled to the elbow, slides down his forearm to his wrist. “What did he go over with you, anyway?”

You laugh loosely. “Like, nothing. He gave me a thirty second run-down of the till and told me I don’t need to clock in or out.”

“That’s gold,” Satoru shakes his head in an effort to get hair from falling into his line of sight. “I thought he’d be nicer to a pretty girl like you.” His face lights up as you avert your eyes, smiling at the scuffed floor underfoot. He keeps the conversation flowing like it’s second nature. “Tell you what, I’ll actually try to show you around before he gets here, and you can tell me what brought you to the city.”

Recovering quickly, you fix him with a humbled expression at the callout. “Is it that obvious that I’m not from here?”

Satoru barks a laugh. “Yeah. You’ve got small town energy.”

“Small town energy? What does that even mean?” You follow him out from behind the counter as he leads the way to the back room first.

“Just vibes,” he shrugs. “It’s good. Cute,” he grins. You get the feeling he’s a bit of a flirt through and through, but truthfully you enjoy the attention.

Plus, he’s hot.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a bashful smile, chewing on your lip. “I uh– I wanted to give my dream a shot before tying myself down in a career I hate.”

His eyes light up as he turns to you with a palm on the door handle for the back room. “Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”

“Singing. Music,” you admit, feeling just shy enough that you avert your gaze in spite of your giddiness.

“No way.” He’s grinning widely now, his hand leaving the door handle as he chooses to lean against it instead, arms crossed tantalizingly over his chest. “I feel like I’m obligated to be the annoying guy who asks you to sing for me now.”

You laugh heartily. “At least you know it would make you that guy.”

With a chuckle, he finally turns around to lead the way into the back room. He peppers actual explanations of the job’s inner workings between personal questions.

After explaining the inventory system on the back computer and how boxes are organized, he leads the way back through the aisles, pointing out different sections as you walk. “So, do you take gigs between shifts?”

“When I can,” you nod. “I’m trying to put together the money to get some studio time soon. I have some self-recorded stuff, but I don’t think I’m much of a producer.”

“Will you at least tell me what genre?”

“Um,” you shrug thoughtfully, “I guess like punk or indie rock?”

“Oooh, so you’re a moody guitar girl. I like it, I like it.” He nods his approval with a wide grin. The faintest of dimples forms at the corners of his lips, giving him a charmingly boyish smile.

Your genuine shared laughter sends flutters to the pit of your stomach, warm and welcome, as you finish threading through aisles and head back to the front counter. Satoru pushes up on forearms that flex under his weight as he settles atop the counter. You follow suit on the opposite counter, head tilting as you inquire about him.

“Jillian mentioned you’re in school, what are you taking?”

“Business,” he replies with a lopsided smile.

“Oh, like Sukuna?”

“Damn, you got an answer out of him?” Satoru chuckles. “Yeah, he’s a year ahead of me but we’re in the same program. I think he wants to do the whole company startup thing though, I’m looking to kinda take over for Jillian and eventually buy this place if things work out. She’s holding out until I finish.”

Your brow raises as you fix him with an inquisitive look. “You wanna take over here?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he chides, gaze lidded with an almost-cocky attitude. “Don’t get me wrong, I know it doesn’t seem busy even with online orders, but I actually think there’s a huge untapped market here.” He straightens and you can see the passion and drive gleaming in his eager gaze. “I think the way sex toys are sold both online and in-stores is outdated and makes a lot of people feel uncomfortable and I want to try to do something new to help people feel more comfortable and open in terms of sex.”

You blink, nodding at the insightful way that he goes on to explain the ins and outs of his opinion on the industry and how, although he loves Jillian, he can see a lot of ways to use his knowledge to improve the business and hopes to change the way kinks are viewed.

It’s not like it hasn’t occurred to you just how inexperienced you are, but as you nod along to his passionate explanation, it occurs to you just how experienced he is. He doesn’t say it outright, but he talks about the way condoms are made and how bad they can be for some people, how he hopes to bring in products for people who struggle with medication killing their sex drive, and even the intricacies of what products work well and which don’t and how he would love to stop stocking them altogether.

It shouldn’t come as a shock– it doesn’t– after all, he’s hot and flirty, but it certainly gives the butterflies in your stomach an edge that you aren’t sure what to make of. It’s not uncomfortable– Satoru’s still kind and has a welcoming personality– it’s closer to inadequacy. Like you should know more, and not just for job purposes. It doesn’t sit well.

But you shouldn’t be thinking about your coworker like that anyway, right?

Thankfully, before you can think too hard about the subject, Sukuna walks through the door with a heavy step to his boots.

Maybe ‘thankfully’ doesn’t suit his arrival, though. His gaze flits briefly between each of you before he heads straight to the back, giving you both a noncommittal wave as you greet him.

When the door shuts behind the brute, Satoru turns to you. He grimaces, faux empathy shining in cerulean seas. “The weather report was right.”

The day passes so quickly with Satoru even without a single customer entering the store that the rest of the day feels like a slog without him. Or maybe it just feels like a slog because Sukuna makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you. He even stayed in the back until Satoru had to leave in spite of the changes in their regular schedules just to train you.

He’s not even that unfriendly with Satoru either from what the kinder of the two told you. He tried to reason that your tattooed co-worker simply isn’t fond of new people, but you’re pretty sure your inexperience grates on his nerves.

And unfortunately, every little slip up seems to tack on. Your shifts with Satoru are a breeze that leaves you grinning bashfully over your new crush while your shifts with Sukuna have you questioning every life choice you’ve ever made.

Your first weekend closing shift with Sukuna, you’re pretty sure you confirm your suspicions that he simply doesn’t like you.

The bell rings overhead as a tall man with dark hair walks through the door. You greet him and offer a hand, but his gait is purposeful as he heads into the back after flashing ID. Passing the time by fiddling with a pen as Sukuna stares blankly at the door with a hand lazily strewn over his textbook page, your gaze lifts when the man returns.

“Excuse me. Do you know the difference between this–” he shows you a bullet vibrator, “and this?” He holds up a hitachi wand next, “aside from size?”

Your jaw hangs open stupidly as you try to formulate a response but find yourself at a loss when size seems like the reasonable answer. Feeling your face flush, you glance sidelong at the business major.

If looks could kill.

The worst part? It’s not even glare.

It’s the most unfiltered and raw disappointment you’ve ever seen.

He huffs, pushing up from the counter. “The bullet is discreet but weak. It takes batteries and they usually only last for five hours overall. It’s still a good amount of use, but they might be watch batteries, which can be a pain.” He shoots you a pointed stare that makes you wonder if you would rather have just embarrassed yourself in front of Satoru in spite of your crush. “The wand is rechargeable, way stronger, lasts about fifteen hours, and has a lot more vibration modes,” he explains confidently.

The man nods, setting the bullet aside as he brings the wand to the counter. Over the course of the past few days, Sukuna’s taken most of the floor-related duties away from you in spite of the fact that you have tried to do some research and are getting to know the sections and general genres of toys. That question simply didn’t come up. Yet for all of the times he’s made a motion for you to take over cash, he doesn’t even offer it this time.

You get the feeling this goes beyond his usual irritation.

You can practically feel it radiating off of him in waves of negative energy.

The moment the customer walks out the door, Sukuna’s palm splays across the counter as he turns with frustrating evenness to face you. Somehow his ability to keep his actions level while being visibly affronted is worse than if he would have just yelled.

“Do you think you’re cute for making my job harder or did you just apply for the wrong fucking job?”

Okay. Fuck this guy.

“You can’t be serious right now.”

He lifts his hands in a loose shrug. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” He replies, dry and even with venomous fangs.

You scoff, but relent nonetheless given that he is close to the store’s owner and you can not afford to lose this job.

Literally.

You can’t call a scoop of peanut butter dinner again.

“Look, I’m sorry, this is just–” you hesitate, your mind muddled as you search for an explanation. Sighing in exasperation, you throw your hands up, letting them fall to your sides with a plop against your jeans. You settle on the truth before you take too long to reply. “Sex toys are new to me.”

His jaw ticks as he leans his hip back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. Somehow, he makes Satoru look small– not thin or short, but small– given how much bulkier he is. He’s hot too, but his personality stands as a bit of a wall between you. His jaw works, eyes narrowed as he takes in your words.

At last, he chuckles. Dry and devoid of any amusement. “Why the fuck did you apply here if you don’t know anything about the shit we sell?”

“Because I need a job?” You reply incredulously.

He huffs a sigh. “Just my fucking luck.” He turns back to the register, haphazardly tossing the receipt into a small bin under the counter before he grabs the bullet vibrator and heads out onto the floor. “Figure that shit out,” he calls sourly without looking back at you. “Watch porn or buy something, I don’t give a shit. Just don’t make my job harder.”

Leaning back against the counter where it meets the wall, you let your head fall back in disbelief.

Asshole.

–

You wish you could say your first month passes seamlessly, but Sukuna makes the seams painfully obvious.

With Satoru, they’re subtle but you still feel them.

They both present separate problems.

Sukuna is an outright asshole and you want to get things right if only to not hear his virulent voice. The silence is somehow better.

Satoru is kind, open, and caring, but leagues ahead of you in experience and you have a massive crush. There aren’t enough customers in the morning to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you do find yourself wanting to impress him and against your better judgement, you’re pretty sure you’ve given him the impression you know what you’re doing from what little research you’ve done and what you’ve picked up over the month.

At least you’re trained enough that you get a couple of hours to yourself between Satoru’s departure and Sukuna’s arrival now that their hours aren’t extended in order to train you.

“You gonna be okay on your own?” Satoru asks, shrugging his jacket over his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” you brush him off with a smile.

He nudges your arm, unknowingly sending goosebumps in a trail up your skin. “Good. Text me if you need something. Or, I dunno. If you’re bored.”

Your heart does a little flip. “Yeah. Okay, thanks.”

You watch bashfully as he leaves, offering a little wave. Once he’s out of sight, you lean on your forearms over the counter. With a forlorn sigh, you drop your chin to the vinyl below, staring blankly out the window. Truthfully, it’s nice to have a breather between each man. You need the time to prepare yourself to handle Sukuna.

Your mind’s distraction comes in the form of your phone buzzing a few minutes later.

1:36 PM Satoru || not bored yet? ;)

A distraction to be sure. Whether it’s fortunate or not– yet to be determined.

The door seems to be opening more and more with him these days and as giddy as that makes you, nerves are beginning to show more and more at the seams. It’s foolish really, and you know that, but you find yourself constantly coming back to your lack of experience.

1:37 PM You || Give me like 5 more minutes and then I will be

You can practically hear the laugh he barks, having grown fond of his company.

You’re still casually texting back and forth when Sukuna’s shoulder presses on the door. He moves confidently through the shop, casting a single glance at you before dropping his bag off in the back room.

He’s still a pain in the ass, but Satoru was right that you do get used to it. You’re not sure that you’d call that a win, but at least you’ve come to some sort of silent agreement with him out of sheer necessity.

He didn’t leave you with many options after realizing just how little you know about the industry. When he got in the following day and returned your greeting with a painfully mild ‘don’t bother’, you had to figure out some sort of system that would prevent him from interacting with you altogether if it means his attitude is milder.

That’s how you landed here. He handles the floor and questions, you handle cash. You can tell he hates the arrangement given that he’s not a chatty guy, but at least you aren’t pinned in place by his vile appraisal every time you interact.

He’s civil.

Civil enough.

Most of the time.

For him, anyway.

He’s less judgemental, at least, and when you are able to help on the floor, he tends to leave you be more often than not. It’s like the loosest form of appreciation you can think of.

You’re pretty sure ‘tolerates’ is a fitting word for how he sees you. Like some sort of intrusive insect that sits just out of reach.

When he re-emerges from the back with his coat shrugged off, you’re surprised to see him in a black button-up and slacks, carrying his usual aloof expression as he makes his way to the counter. Admittedly, it’s a good look for him.

It’s unfair that he gets to be hot and an asshole.

“Is there a reason you’re staring?”

Thank god you don’t find him intimidating anymore. He’s a dick. Even to customers from time to time, but you don’t find yourself feeling small under his judgement. Maybe you should, but your ability to quickly bounce back could easily be placed at fault.

Blinking, you avert your gaze. “Sorry. I’m just not used to seeing you so dressed up.”

He examines your expression as though he suspects a lie in your words. “I had a presentation,” he explains, surprisingly open as he offers the explanation willingly.

Holy shit. It’s the first sunny day in the Sukuna forecast.

“What sort of presentation?”

“A marketing pitch.”

“Oh, nice.” You nod, trying to keep the peace. “How’d it go?”

He nods, turning to the counter to open his laptop. “Good. We’re gonna workshop it a bit, but I’m hoping to pitch to investors soon.” There’s pride within the evenness of his voice that has you tilting your head, intrigued to get something genuine from him.

Leaning in, you push to see how much you can get from him. “Like, a startup idea?” You recall Satoru mentioning something of the sort.

His gaze fixes you from over his shoulder. You get the feeling with him that he’s always trying to read you. “Yeah. A platform where people can pitch their businesses to customers within a certain distance without needing social media.”

“Oh,” you blink, mildly surprised. “That’s a really good idea.”

He hums, turning back to his laptop.

“You don’t really strike me as the CEO type, if I’m being honest.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, surprisingly unbothered by the observation. You consider yourself lucky he doesn’t take it as an insult. “I’d be looking for a co-founder to handle the personal, financial, and sales bullshit. I’d run strategy and go-to-market.”

Admittedly, yeah. That suits him. He’s sharp and straightforward, he seems like the type to be more inclined to work on strategy and run everything without the constant need for approval and help from others.

“That sounds more your style. What made you think of the platform idea?”

He doesn’t look back as he replies. “Just seemed like something that would make money.”

You recognize that as Sukuna being polite. He’s shutting you down without a look that makes your skin crawl for once. You suppose it’s as good of a time as any to return to your texts. Your friend from back home has been religiously sending memes during your shifts to get you through the Sukuna days and today is no exception. You laugh at a few of them under your breath.

The day is as uneventful as usual. Sukuna even casts an approving glance in your direction when you correctly answer a customer’s question. He’s not so bad when he isn’t glaring every couple of minutes.

You pray the weather stays sunny in Sukunaland.

Shutting the register as a customer leaves, you turn back inside the store to find Sukuna back to work, hunched over his textbook and regurgitating the information into notes. You opt not to bother him, turning your attention instead to a flickering bulb in the back of the floor. Much like both men have chosen not to mention or fix it, you have too.

Turning your attention back to your phone, you cast a smile at your latest text from Satoru.

5:49 PM Satoru || how’s the pretty newbie handling our favorite co-worker??

5:53 PM You || The weather's looking surprisingly sunny today!!

5:54 PM Satoru || be on the lookout for rain. the weather can change on a dime

5:54 PM You || I can handle a bit of rain

5:55 PM Satoru || i’ll bet you can ;)

There your stomach goes doing flips again. Your thumbs fiddle with the edges of your phone case, pulling at the plastic as you stare at the message with that horrible mix of nerves and your stomach tying in knots. You get so caught up in your own self-doubt, you don’t realize you’re staring at Sukuna, busy with his own phone.

“What?” He gruffs, retaining that hint of annoyance.

“Hm?” You blink, brought back to the present. Before you, Sukuna is leaning against the counter, phone in-hand as his jaw shifts left and right. His lip ring noticeably catches like he’s fiddling with it. “Oh. Sorry.” With a shake of your head, you stare back down at your screen. Your gaze catches on the winky face. The underlying meaning behind it and his text. The impression you’ve probably given off working at a sex toy boutique.

The goddamn butterflies, though. The same ones causing the wave of self-consciousness that you know is foolish. But fuck is it hard not to feel that way when Satoru is undeniably the kind of guy that has people hanging off his shoulder with little to no effort. Your experience shouldn’t matter, but society has taught you to think otherwise.

“Hey,” you speak up on impulse before your mind can catch up to the move your mouth is already making. You can’t be certain whether it’s bravery or stupidity. “You know a lot about what we sell, right?”

His eyes narrow, minute. Just enough to catch your attention. “Yeah. I’m good at my job.”

The dig at your knowledge has you pressing your lips together. God, he’s frustrating. “Asshole.” His brow raises slightly, like something he once deemed uninteresting or unuseful has caught his attention and he’s appraising the situation to find if you’re deserving of it. “Is there, like… a way to improve without watching porn?” You query, worrying your lip between your teeth.

No longer engrossed in his laptop upon noticing your stare, Sukuna’s gaze bores into you. He doesn’t particularly make you uneasy now like he did when you first started, but it is sharp in spite of the evenness behind it. “I told you. Buy toys.”

You suppose you could have been a bit more specific. “No, I know that. A lot of them need a partner, though.”

He waves his hand in disinterest through the air like you’ve already answered your own question and he’s done entertaining any more. “Find one, then.” He’s already looking away as he replies.

You suck in a breath. “I’m from a small town. I just moved here, I don’t really know anyone.”

Sukuna just stares at you again like he expects you to figure it out yourself. His arms cross over his chest, his hip leaned against the counter. It’s not until the air turns stifling, your words hanging a hair too long as you meet his gaze that he cuts the tension with a disbelieving laugh.

“You’re asking me?” You can’t make heads or tails of his expression when it sits somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. It’s akin to the look you got upon calling him an asshole.

“No! Or– maybe? I don’t know.” The wince you shoot him is humiliating as you try to navigate the stormy seas you’ve set yourself sailing through.

“Why don’t you go ask Satoru?” He queries, pushing a hand back through his black-dyed locks like this question was never meant for him. Still, his tone doesn’t give off the impression that he’s irritated by you, so much as something more curious in nature.

Your gaze averts as your jaw hangs open in a frustrating moment of hesitation. Briefly glancing at the texts sitting in your hand is the only tell Sukuna needs, unfortunately able to read you like a book for some god forsaken reason.

“You’ve got to be fucking with me,” he chuckles, airy and amused. He pushes up off the counter, taking a step towards you like he’s laying out a challenge. “You don’t give a shit about the job. You’re trying to impress that fucker.” He rakes his tongue over his teeth, standing over you like he owns this damn conversation.

You cross your arms over your chest, fixing him with your own judgement. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

He pushes a condescending breath through his nose, smiling with nothing but mockery. “I don’t, but I’m gonna. You two would hit it off.”

Frowning, you opt to not give him the reaction he wants. Your nails dig into the skin of your arm. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t talk as much.”

“Most people do,” he smirks. He steps forward, hands in his pockets as he leans over you. “You still want me to teach you a thing or two, sweetheart?” His tone drips with condescension now that the person he once saw as little more than a pain in his ass has become something he can toy with.

You roll your eyes. You hadn’t expected your quiet co-worker to be this kind of an asshole. Why couldn’t he just say no and move on? Where did all the theatrics come from? “Why are you such a dick?”

“Answer the question,” he deflects, unbothered and painfully egotistical.

You huff, staring at the lemon-shaped vibrator sitting atop the counter that you’ve been contemplating buying for the last hour. “Fine. Yeah, I do.”

He blows a breath through his nose, standing upright again once he’s gotten your admission in his hands. “What’s in it for me?” The way he stands over you, chin tilted, and eyes narrowed, makes you huff.

You hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. Hell, you didn’t expect to even voice your thoughts out loud. You barely even know enough about him to offer him anything. “I took business as a minor,” you suggest. “I could tutor you.”

“Nah, I’m set.”

You shrug, exasperated. Your hands wave uselessly through the air before plopping back down at your sides. “What do you want, then?”

He regards you with a thoughtful expression. “I’ll train you to close. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, if I ask you to take my shift, you drop whatever you’re doing and take it.”

You shift your jaw to the left, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You expected worse.

“And you don’t tell Jillian or Satoru you took my shift. I keep the money.”

Ah. There’s the ‘worse’ you expected.

Frowning, you give the nerves in the pit of your stomach a moment to settle over making a deal with the devil. You want to say figuratively but you aren’t so sure. “Fine.” You extend your hand, but the man shakes his head, frowning.

“Rules first, then we shake.” He holds up his pointer. “Don’t tell a soul. Not even your friends back home.” Another finger. “No kissing. No making out. No sex.” He holds up a third finger. “This isn’t a little romantic fantasy thing. This isn’t a relationship. Don’t call this shit friends with benefits or fuck buddies, either. We’re not friends. Don’t expect anything cute from me. Got that?”

You don’t bother holding back a scoff. “I wasn’t going to, trust me.”

He smirks, unbothered. “Good.” His hand extends first this time.

For a long moment, you stare. You contemplate your life choices. You debate just ignoring your fears with Satoru and praying you can play the role of having experience. You equally contemplate just telling him you have no experience and that you’re nervous.

But somehow, the way nerves churn your stomach makes the butterflies worse. You want to squash them. You want to impress Satoru.

And you know. You know it’s stupid. You know you shouldn’t have to impress him, but the heart and mind don’t always connect, do they?

Against your better judgement, you clasp hands with him. You go to do the actual motion of a handshake but he keeps your hand in place. When your gaze raises to meet his in a silent question, he’s scrutinizing every little movement in your features.

His expression doesn’t hold the condescension you expect. His gaze is devoid of amusement, fixated on the frown you bear. “You really sure about this?”

You don’t hesitate to nod.

His eyes narrow a sliver. “Well, aren't you full of surprises?” There’s that hint of assholery. “One more rule.” His hand remains unmoving, still clasped with yours as he holds your gaze. “Either of us can shut this down at any time. It still never gets mentioned.”

You nod. “Agreed.”

Finally, he goes through with shaking your hand. “When are you looking to start?”

Your nose wrinkles at the way he makes it sound. “Do you have to say it like it’s a– I don’t know, job or something?”

“Oh, my bad,” he sneers, his grin too proud. “When do you wanna get fucked?”

You shouldn’t have asked.

Pulling your hand away from him, you rub your temples. You’re definitely not about to prod any further, lest he get more vulgar. “I’m free ton–”

“Not tonight,” he interrupts. “I got someone coming over to study.”

Scheduling ahead doesn’t sit right with you either. “Can we just decide during shifts? See how we’re feeling?”

“Whatever suits you,” he shrugs. The mild arrogance to his tone is… another can of worms to unpack, but as your colleague turns back to his studies, you only have one question for yourself.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

main masterlist || series masterlist || next ⪢

౨ৎ a/n ; i hope you enjoyed the first chapter of what will be a VERY kinky series LOLOL. i'm having a lot of fun with these two so far and i hope you are too <3

as a note, i'm trying moving tags to another blog which some of you may have seen due to changes in how tumblr's bot detection system is working, so please bear with me while i figure out how to not get my account flagged while doing taglists 🙃 edit; it's not working. if you weren't tagged, bear with me while i try to figure it out :')

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michael leaned back nearby with his arms resting along the edge of the hot tub, curls damp around his face, while he watched you with obvious amusement.

“you know,” he said casually, brushing wet curls back from his forehead, “for somebody always talkin’ big, you scare real easy.”

you looked over immediately. “i do not.”

michael laughed softly under his breath.

you’d known michael long enough to recognize that exact look in his eyes before he even said anything else. the one that usually meant he was about to annoy you on purpose.

the two of you had been attached at the hip since childhood. your families blurred together so often growing up that half your memories included michael somewhere in the background of them — sitting beside you at family parties, showing up to your house unannounced (and vice versa), dragging you outside in the middle of summer evenings because he was bored and wanted company. somewhere along the way, physical closeness had stopped meaning much between you years ago.

hugs.

leaning against each other.

holding hands.

cuddling while watching movies.

being close to michael had never required thought.

leaves rustled softly in the night breeze.

michael’s eyes suddenly shifted past your shoulder.

the teasing look on his face faltered, his mouth flattening slightly as his attention fixed on something behind you.

“…wait.”

you narrowed your eyes at that. “michael.”

“no, seriously.” his brows furrowed now while he stared harder behind you. “what is that?”

you rolled your eyes.

“i hate you.”

“i’m serious,” he insisted, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “right there.”

you turned your head despite yourself.

your eyes scanned once. twice. nothing.

you started turning back toward him with an unimpressed look already forming–

michael lunged forward suddenly with both his hands toward the water behind you.

a startled squeal escaped you as you grabbed onto him on pure reflex, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders while you nearly climbed halfway up him in a panic.

michael burst into loud laughter. bright and boyish.

“oh my god!” you gasped out, still clutching him while he laughed harder against your shoulder. “you are actually evil.”

“it was funny!” he argued through laughter.

“it was not funny!”

you smacked his shoulder lightly, trying not to laugh and failing miserably once his laughter got worse.

michael’s laughter had always been contagious. it was impossible to stay mad at him for long when he was laughing like that.

“yes it was,” he grinned. “you should’ve seen your face.”

“you practically climbed into my lap,” he added.

“i trusted you!”

“that’s your own fault.”

“oh my god, shut up.”

another laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

michael pointed at you instantly.

“see? you’re laughin’ now.”

you groaned dramatically, letting your forehead fall briefly against his shoulder while his laughter softened into quieter little giggles beneath his breath.

eventually, both your breaths started to settle.

except neither of you moved apart.

your arms still rested loosely around his shoulders. michael’s hands still held your waist below the surface.

comfortable. normal.

well, it should’ve felt normal.

instead, the silence that settled between you suddenly felt…heavy somehow.

different.

your forehead still rested lightly against michael’s shoulder while the water moved softly around you both, rippling between your bodies.

neither of you spoke.

you could feel michael breathing now. 

not just the movement of his chest beneath your hands, but the actual rhythm of it. slow at first, then slightly uneven when you shifted subconsciously closer.

his hands tightened around your waist. small. almost unnoticeable.

except you noticed it immediately.

your brows pulled together faintly.

slowly, you lifted your head from his shoulder.

michael was already looking at you.

the patio lights reflected faintly in his eyes while water dripped from the curls hanging around his forehead. his expression had gone strangely still now, his hands warm where they rested against your waist.

neither of you moved apart.

you’re not sure why.

usually moments like this broke naturally on their own. one of you would laugh. tease the other. splash water. say something stupid.

instead, michael just kept looking at you.

your eyes flicked down toward his mouth before you could stop yourself.

bad idea.

because the second your gaze dropped, michael noticed. his brows pinched for a fraction of a second.

then, before you could really process it, michael looked away first.

his jaw flexed.

you felt his throat move against your arm when he swallowed.

“…christ,” he muttered quietly under his breath.

heat crawled slowly up your neck. you swallowed once before forcing out, “what?”

michael shook his head once, almost like he was trying to clear it.

“nothin’.”

his voice sounded lower now. rougher.

the water shifted softly around you both when you adjusted yourself, your legs brushing against his–

michael inhaled sharply.

the sound froze you.

oh.

your heartbeat stumbled hard in your chest.

because suddenly you could feel it too.

the reaction pressed unmistakably against your thigh.

heat rushed instantly to your face.

michael went still beneath your hands.

for a second, neither of you said anything.

michael laughed quietly under his breath, though it sounded more embarrassed than amused now. one hand came up to cover his face as he looked away.

“….m’sorry,” he murmured.

your brows pulled together slightly.

of course he was apologizing. that was so michael.

when he’s struggling to keep himself composed, he still sounded more concerned about crossing a line than anything else.

you'd be lying if you said his reaction to you wasn't turning you on.

 “….don’t apologize,” you breathed.

michael looked at you. his curls hung damp against his forehead now, water dripping slowly down the side of his neck while his hands stayed fixed carefully at your waist like he didn’t trust himself to move them anywhere else.

he looked away again, exhaling sharply through his nose, almost like a disbelieving laugh at himself.

“just... give me a second,” he murmured. "it'll go away."

michael took slow, controlled breaths like he was genuinely trying to calm himself down.

then before you could overthink it, the words slipped out softly.

“….do you want me to help you?”

michael’s eyes shut briefly while a quiet breath escaped him, almost strained. unfortunately for him, the boner he'd been trying so hard to kill came back tenfold.

one of his hands slid higher instinctively along your waist before stopping there hard enough to make your pulse jump.

“i—”

he cut himself off.

his head tipped back slightly instead, exposing the long line of his throat while he stared up toward the sky for a second like he was physically trying to pull himself together.

it only made him look worse.

or better.

no definitely better.

water glided slowly down the column of his neck while his chest rose unevenly beneath your hands.

finally, michael looked back at you again. wrecked.

he swallowed once before replying quietly, “you don’t have to do anything.”

your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.

“i know,” you whispered.

“i’m asking if you want me to.”

for a second, michael just stared at you.

then slowly, his forehead dropped forward until it rested gently against your temple. 

his eyes closed.

his lashes brushed softly against your skin.

the flush along his neck had darkened now, spreading toward his jaw while his breathing stayed uneven against you.

when he finally spoke, his voice came out rough and quiet. 

“…i’m a gentleman.”

your chest tightened at the sound of it.

the words seemed to hang between you for a moment.

slowly, you lifted one hand from his shoulder, cradling his face gently until he looked at you again.

his eyes were dark now.

unfocused almost.

still trying so hard to hold himself together for you.

your thumb brushed lightly against his cheek before you leaned in just enough to press a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth.

michael inhaled sharply, head tilting instinctively to chase your lips.

then he was kissing you properly.

one hand slid up the side of your neck as he pulled you closer, the kiss hard and messy, like he’d been trying not to do this for far too long.

your noses bumped awkwardly together between breaths, both of you laughing softly into the kiss before it melted right back into something hotter.

michael bit gently at your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth.

a soft sound escaped you before you kissed him again.

his hand dragged back down your body until it settled low on your waist, fingers spreading carefully just above your ass.

careful and still hesitant. you could feel it.

your hands slid down his arms slowly until they covered his, guiding them lower.

michael broke the kiss at that.

the sound you let slip when his hands finally squeezed your ass made his head drop against yours.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered breathlessly.

you pushed your hips closer against his.

michael let out a shaky breath as your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers catching slightly at the damp curls near his nape.

when he kissed you again, it felt almost desperate now.

like he physically couldn’t stop himself for more than a few seconds at a time. his nose bumped softly against yours between kisses while his hands tightened around your body, guiding you higher on his lap beneath the bubbling water.

the pressure of his hips against yours pulled a gasp from your throat.

your fingers tightened instinctively at the base of his curls as you broke away from the kiss for air.

“michael—”

he kissed the corner of your mouth before you could finish saying his name, breathing hard enough now that you could feel it against your skin.

“i know, baby, i know” he murmured softly.

you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck. he smelled like chlorine and the faint traces of his cologne, warm amber and soft florals mixing with the heat of his damp skin.

michael’s hands guided your hips against his beneath the water, the movement slow at first before his restraint started slipping little by little.

soft sounds escaped you against his neck while michael’s breathing turned rough near your ear, his grip tightening every time you pressed closer to him.

“baby…” he breathed, almost strained now.

the name sent warmth blooming low in your stomach.

this was the first time he’d ever called you that, and you loved the way it sounded coming from him.

his groans started mixing with the breathier moans spilling from your lips as his hands squeezed more firmly at your backside, the bubbling water sloshing harder around you both as he buried his face against your shoulder.

every slow drag of your hips only made the ache low in your stomach worse.

but it still wasn’t enough.

you needed more of him.

“want more,” you whined softly against his neck.

michael’s hips stuttered against yours at the sound of your voice, a quiet groan escaping him.

“yeah?” he murmured breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. 

strands of damp hair clung messily near your cheeks while your lips looked swollen from kissing, slightly parted every time another shaky breath slipped out of you. your eyes were glossed over.

you looked completely ruined.

just for him.

“i’ll give my sweet girl whatever she wants,” he said lowly, with a rasp slipping into his voice.

something about hearing him say it made your thighs press tighter around him. if michael noticed, he didn't mention it.

“anything she asks for.” he added.

“anything?” you responded in a whisper.

michael’s eyes stayed fixated on yours for a second before he repeated it quieter this time.

“anything.”

your stomach tightened hard at the sound of that.

“want you inside me,” you whispered sweetly, your hips pressing against his again at the thought of him giving it to you.

michael bit down on his lip, a crooked smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

you sounded so desperate for him.

and god was he just as desperate for you.

maybe worse.

even now, with your body pressed against his and his restraint hanging by a thread, he still tried to collect himself before he spoke again.

because he was a gentleman.

or at least he was trying very hard to be one.

“go on, take what you want,” he murmured roughly.

your hands immediately reached for the waistband of his swim shorts, tugging them down enough to free his dick.

though you couldn't see much through the bubbling water, you felt him. his warmth, his thickness, his length. 

the weight of him against your hand alone made your breath catch.

michael groaned softly under his breath, his head falling briefly against your shoulder while his hands tightened instinctively along your thighs.

you shifted carefully onto your knees to give him room while he pulled your swim bottoms aside.

the feeling of him brushing against your bare pussy made you arch into him.

“fuck…” michael hissed quietly, breathing turned heavier near your ear as his hands slid lower along your thighs to steady you.

your face buried closer into the crook of his neck while another broken sound escaped you.

“michael…” your voice cracked softly.

the slow push of his tip alone already had your head spinning. he barely gave you room to breathe.

“fuuck, baby,” he groaned into your shoulder, dragging the words out low and strained. “you’re so fucking tight.”

you nuzzled closer into his neck with a shaky whimper.

“s’too big, michael…” you hiccuped softly.

you were ruining him.

the way your voice broke at just the tip being inside you was doing something dangerous to his self-control.

“shh, it’s okay, baby,” he murmured gently, one hand stroking your damp hair.

his other hand slid lower against your thigh before tightening carefully at your hip.

"tell me if it hurts," he murmured, lips brushing softly against your temple.

then he started easing you down onto him properly.

slow.

your mouth dropped open at the stretch as he lowered you inch by inch, his grip firm enough to guide you while still giving you time to adjust. every small movement made another uneven breath leave your lips.

the heat of the water around you only made everything feel more overwhelming. his cock felt impossibly warm inside you, thick enough that each inch made your body tense before slowly relaxing around him.

michael’s forehead pressed against yours as he watched every reaction on your face.

“that’s it,” he whispered hoarsely. “doin’ so good for me.”

another inch.

your fingers tightened against his shoulders, a soft moan escaping before you could stop it.

his own breathing was wrecked, rough against your skin while his hands trembled slightly where they held you.

like he was using every bit of control he had not to lose patience and pull you down all at once.

instead, he kept guiding you carefully.

letting you feel every inch.

the stretch burned for a second before melting into warmth, your body slowly yielding around him while soft broken whimpers left your throat.

“fuck,” michael groaned quietly, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “you feel so fucking good.”

you buried your face deeper into his neck as another wave of fullness hit you.

then finally your hips settled flush against his.

both of you gasped at the same time.

michael’s head fell back against the edge of the tub with a low groan while his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks.

“holy shit…” he breathed.

you could barely think.

he felt everywhere. warm and deep and overwhelming, filling you so completely that all you could do was sit there for a second trying to breathe through it.

his hands softened again, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your hips.

“you okay?” he asked quietly, though his voice still sounded wrecked.

you nodded weakly against him.

“mhm…”

a small smile pulled at michael’s lips before he kissed the side of your head gently.

“good girl.”

you almost sobbed at the praise. his voice alone could make you cum.

michael stayed there for a second, just holding you against him while both of you tried to recover from the feeling.

his chest rose against yours, shaky breaths fanning across your skin while his hands stayed fixed carefully at your hips like he still couldn’t believe this was real.

then slowly, he rolled his hips upward once.

the movement was shallow.

experimental.

but the drag of him inside you still pulled a broken moan straight from your throat.

michael actually whimpered at that, the sound muffled against your skin, before a strained groan followed right after.

“fuck…”

his grip tightened.

“that okay?” he asked quietly, his own voice already sounding completely gone.

you nodded quickly before he’d even fully finished asking.

“please,” you whispered.

his mouth crashed against yours again while his hips rolled into you harder this time, deeper, the movement making the water slosh violently around both of you until it spilled over the edge of the hot tub, soaking the concrete.

your fingers tangled tighter into the damp curls at the back of his neck as he kept rocking you against him slowly, every thrust deep enough to make your stomach tighten.

he couldn’t seem to stop kissing you between breaths.

messy kisses.

desperate ones.

little broken sounds slipping from his mouth every single time you clenched around him.

“you feel so fucking good,” he breathed shakily. “christ, baby…”

his restraint kept slipping in pieces.

each movement growing rougher than the last, your body meeting his like you both couldn't stop chasing the feeling.

you moaned again. soft and breathless right against his mouth.

“yeah?” he rasped. “that feel good?”

you could barely answer — or could barely hear him, to be honest.

the way he was making you feel left your head completely fuzzy. every deep drag of him inside you made your thoughts melt together until all you could focus on was him.

when you didn’t respond, he tugged you down harder onto him.

a high moan tore from your throat instantly. a sound you would’ve never thought you’d be capable of making. 

and if michael wasn’t fucking you so good, you probably would’ve been embarrassed by it. 

he pulled back just enough to look at your face, watching your expression.

“tell me.”

it didn't sound demanding.

if anything, it sounded like something he needed to hear.

“y-yes–” you gasped helplessly. “yes, yes, feels so good–”

he leaned closer to your neck and started kissing, sucking, biting, leaving marks all over your neck. 

michael cursed softly under his breath at the feeling of you clenching around him.

“shit, baby… you’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

all you could do was moan as he dragged your hips down onto him through another deep thrust that made your entire body jolt.

the praise only made the heat low in your stomach tighten harder.

another soft whine slipped from your throat before you could stop it, your face burying deeper into his neck out of instinct.

michael groaned at the sound.

“those sexy fucking sounds…”

his hips rolled up into yours again, harder this time, and your grip on him tightened hard enough to sting.

one of his hands slid up your body, long slender fingers brushing teasingly against your chest before nudging your swimsuit top up just enough for your breasts to spill out. the cooler night air nipping at your damp skin.

"so perfect." he breathed.

he leaned in, his mouth closing around your left nipple with a slow, warm suck that pulled a breath from your lungs. at the same time, the knuckles of his other hand dragged against your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breasts, teasing every inch of sensitive skin on the way up. he cupped your breast, squeezing gently before rolling your nipple between his fingers in time with the slow pull of his mouth.

every suck, every soft bite, every flick of his tongue had your body arching into him.

you couldn’t hold the sounds back anymore.

every thrust of his hips pulled another sound out of you.

little whimpers.

broken moans.

breathy gasps right against his ear.

“fuck,” he groaned softly into your skin, almost dazed. “keep makin’ those sounds for me, baby.”

you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. 

his mouth shifted to your other breast with a worn groan while his hand slipped lower between your bodies.

the second his thumb brushed against your clit, your entire body jerked in his arms.

“oh my god—”

the cry that left you was loud enough to echo slightly off the stone around the hot tub.

“mm, that it?” he rasped, thumb circling you again with shaky desperation. “that what you needed, baby?”

you nodded helplessly against him, barely able to breathe properly now.

the feeling of him thrusting up into you while his thumb rubbed slow, messy circles against your clit was too much all at once.

your thighs started trembling around his waist.

“michael, please.”

“i know,” he breathed quickly. “i got you. i got you.”

he kept thrusting into you deep and slow, but the rhythm was getting sloppier every second. like he physically couldn’t focus anymore with the way you kept whining against him.

“fuck…” he groaned softly. “you’re so sensitive.”

another moan tore out of you when his thumb pressed a little harder.

every little movement pulled another noise from your throat.

your eyes kept fluttering closed from the overwhelming sensation while michael watched your face completely unravel for him, his own expression looking just as gone.

“look at me, baby. c’mon,” he breathed softly.

your eyes fluttered back toward him.

the second michael saw the tears gathering along your lashes from how overwhelming everything felt, something in him completely snapped.

“fuck—”

his forehead dropped against yours with a groan so deep it almost sounded painful.

his thrusts lost what little rhythm they had left after that.

harder now.

messier.

his hands gripping your hips almost desperately while he kept kissing you between breaths like he couldn’t get enough.

“close?” he rasped against your mouth.

all you could do was nod frantically.

your fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders as another wave hit you.

it was too much.

his mouth on your neck.

his thumb rubbing against you perfectly.

the way he kept filling you so deep every time his hips snapped upward.

your thighs started shaking hard around his waist.

“i-i’m gonna–”

“lemme feel it, baby,” michael interrupted, voice breaking. he sounded completely gone. "please..."

a soft curse slipped from him the second your body tightened around him.

“that’s it,” he groaned. “good girl… fuck, that’s it.”

his thumb moved faster.

messier now.

like he was getting desperate too.

the pressure finally snapped.

your whole body jolted against him with a broken cry, your face burying into his shoulder while your body tightened hard around him, nails scratching at his back.

michael groaned loudly at the feeling, his hips stuttering completely for a second.

“shit–”

your vision blurred from how overwhelming it felt, soft little sobs and moans getting caught in your throat while wave after wave kept hitting you.

michael fucked you through all of it, one arm wrapped tightly around your back while his forehead pressed against your shoulder.

“fuck…” he groaned shakily. “atta girl.”

then quieter, almost like the words slipped out accidentally.

“been wantin’ this so bad.”

you clenched around him hard at the confession.

michael groaned hard, head tipping back against the edge of the hot tub.

his lips brushed against your jaw when he looked back at you again, expression completely wrecked.

“you don’t even realize what you do to me sometimes,” he breathed shakily.

“been tryin’ so hard to be good.”

another deep thrust made your breath catch.

“every time you bend over during those stupid twister games…” he groaned softly. “or prance around in those tiny little swimsuits…”

“honestly so mean of you.”

another broken groan slipped from him right after, his face burying deeper into your neck like he was trying to hide there.

little strained sounds kept leaving him every few seconds while his hips lost what little rhythm they had left.

“can’t—” he choked out softly. “fuck, baby…”

his grip tightened almost painfully at your hips before he finally buried himself deep inside you with a whine, warm spurts of cum filling you as his whole body went tense against yours.

you could feel him shaking slightly while he held you close, breathing unevenly against your skin as the water settled softly around both of you again.

the aftershocks rolled softly through both of you, fading little by little into soft tremors.

the world around you felt silent except for the sounds of bubbling water and uneven breathing. 

slowly, you pulled back just enough to look at him properly again, your arms still resting loosely around his shoulders.

his curls were a mess.

lips swollen.

flushed all the way down his neck.

and the completely blissed-out look on his face made something warm burst in your chest.

the second michael noticed you staring, a breathless laugh slipped from him, his teeth catching briefly against his bottom lip when his grin widened.

you laughed too.

because somehow, even after all of that, the two of you still ended up the same way you always did.

still just you and michael.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

ummm i didnt know how to end it butttt SECOND FICCCCC r we getting somewhere guys

also pls dont acc have sex in hot tubs or pools😭😭 (as hot as it is</3)

he was just openly admiring you from across the candlelit table, his chin resting loosely against his knuckles while applause crashed somewhere else in the hall. his thumb moved in slow circles over the sensitive surface on the inside of your wrist below the table — distracted, affectionate, and almost lazy with the familiarity of it — like touching you had become second nature years ago.

‘though it is partly your fault,’ he would’ve told you if you’d confronted him about his lack of focus. the dress had made it nearly impossible for him to think about anything else.

versace had made it specifically for tonight.

black silk poured over your body like ink. fitted close through the waist, dropping lower across the hips, then falling clean against your legs. the fabric moved like liquid when you walked, dark enough to swallow the light before throwing it back in delicate flashes. the back dipped dangerously low, exposing the length of your spine beneath delicate strands of gold embellishment stitched into the silk like molten metal. the detailing arched across your shoulders and lower back in fine, constellated patterns, tiny crystals threaded between the goldwork so every flashbulb caught somewhere different.

michael had gone visibly quiet the first time he saw you wearing it in the hotel.

you still remembered the exact way he’d looked up from tying his cufflinks — a task he usually performed with effortless ease — only to forget how his hands worked.

“baby?” you’d laughed as he fumbled with the cuff.

nothing. just michael staring at you in silence, eyes roaming over the expanse of your body like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“…michael.”

his eyes had finally blinked back into focus.

“you can’t wear that,” he finally managed, his voice strained.

you’d choked on a laugh. “well, i thought showing up naked would be inappropriate.”

“no, i mean — ” he gestured vaguely toward your entire figure, visibly struggling to construct a coherent thought. “people are gonna see you.”

“well yes,” you’d said, stepping into your heels. “that is usually the purpose of attending public events.”

he had looked genuinely distressed about this for the rest of the evening, like he was mentally inventorying every available coat available in the tri-state area to drape over your shoulders the moment somebody looked at you for too long. it was a look of profound, adorable panic — the expression of a man who had realized too late that he was expected to share something he very much wanted to keep to himself.

which was precisely why you were currently fighting the urge to ruin his life a little bit, savoring the friction between his growing possessiveness and your own rising wickedness. the dress felt almost like a weapon in the way that you were more than happy to wield if it meant watching the poise of the world’s greatest performer continue to unravel below your presence.

onstage, the presenters for best music video exchanged rehearsed smiles beneath while the orchestra swelled softly through the ballroom. around you, entire tables straightened in anticipation, champagne glasses lifted, conversations cutting off mid-sentence as the cameras swept across the audience searching for reactions.

then the nominees began flashing across the displays overhead one by one: a montage of grainy cityscapes. screaming crowds. music video clips cut together in sharp bursts beneath the roar of the audience.

the opening shot from your newest single, sweet nothings, filled the LED screens surrounding the venue, your face appearing twenty feet tall in a way that made you reflexively cringe as the crowd erupted into cheers. a rain-soaked city flashed across the montage behind you, silver accents catching briefly against your stage costume beneath the neon haze while a few seconds of the chorus thundered through the speakers before the montage cut sharply to the next nominee.

beside you, michael inhaled sharply.

his arm slid instinctively around you, bringing you closer against his side as the final nominees were announced. the movement looked casual to everybody else, but you could feel the tension underneath it — the way his fingers flexed once against the silk of your dress before settling there.

because if you won this tonight, that was it. a full sweep.

artist of the year.

best choreography.

best direction.

and now this.

michael leaned down slightly, close enough for only you to hear him over the music. “you okay?”

you laughed once through your nose, though it came out tighter than intended. “ask me in thirty seconds.”

he let out a chuckle at that, but his eyes stayed fixed on the stage. the envelope hadn’t even been opened yet, and somehow both of you already looked like you were bracing for impact.

"and the award goes to — "

the presenter paused for a grueling few seconds, the silver cue card catching the harsh glare of the broadcast cameras while the entire room collectively held its breath. cameras swept across the nominees one by one, flashing nervous smiles to the people at home.

beside you, michael’s hand found your knee so quickly it surprised you. then —

your name echoed into the audience.

your entire table celebrated instantly, a symphony of crashing silverware and jubilant shouts of glee.

before you could even properly process the win, michael was already on his feet beside you. he was clapping harder than anybody else in the auditorium, he looked at you with such open pride that it made your eyes sting. 

“oh my god,” you mumbled, stunned and lightheaded as your composure cracked.

“you won,” he breathed, already halfway out of his chair. he gripped your shoulders, squeezing them tight with excitement. then he pulled you toward him, pressing a quick kiss against your cheekbone. “baby, you won!” 

“i didn’t doubt you for a second.”

you giggled, still trying to comprehend the praise surrounding you. “well, it’s nice one of us didn’t, because i definitely did.”

michael just shook his head, smiling like the idea itself was ridiculous.

the pins and needles in your foot vanished the second you stood. you tilted your head up to kiss him quickly — lipstick, laughter, adrenaline, all of it catching between you until the intensity of the ballroom rushed back into view. then you turned toward the stage.

though you didn’t miss the way his eyes dipped shamelessly as you walked away, his focus dropping to the curves of your dress before he dragged himself back up to public decorum.

unbelievable behavior.

the applause swelled around you as you climbed the stairs, the award finally settling into your grasp — heavier than you’d expected, cool against your palms. your reflection flashed briefly across the giant monitors surrounding the stage, chandeliers scattering fractured gold across the darkened auditorium as the crowd continued howling somewhere beneath you.

michael smiled up at you from his seat the entire time, he watched with the same intent attention he always wore whenever you talked about something you loved. his eyes felt like an anchor in the blur of bright flashes and indistinct faces, steadying your nerves every time they threatened to slip. even from across the hall, his admiration felt almost tangible.

adjusting the microphone, you gave the standard opening first: thanking the academy. your team. the collaborators who pushed your vision. supportive friends. your family.

everything was going perfectly normal.

then near the end of the speech, your eyes drifted back toward michael again. and there he was, still staring.

there was something so endearing about him —  chin tucked into his fist, eyes fixed on you with complete and utter adulation  — that you felt the first spark of trouble curl through your chest before you could stop it. 

“and of course,” you started warmly, “shoutout to donatella versace for custom-making this dress for me tonight.”

polite applause scattered through the room. michael nodded approvingly from his table.

then you looked directly at him. a tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

and instantly his expression shifted into pure suspicion. the man who had spent the night in a daze of adoration suddenly sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the specific brand of mischief that always accompanied that particular curve of your lips. it was a look he knew far too well.

“…and shoutout to my husband michael jackson—”

the audience burst into cheers the second his name left your mouth, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. michael ducked his head, laughing coyly while the cameras swarmed toward him.

you finished your sentence, the words pouring into the microphone with devastating precision:

“—because he’ll definitely be taking it off me later.”

silence.

for one glorious, suspended moment, the entire ballroom simply forgot how to function. the oxygen in the auditorium seemed to vanish, sucked out by the collective gasp of a thousand industry elites. the monitors cut to him immediately.

michael froze mid-applause, his hands hovering inches apart as if the signal to clap had been abruptly severed from his brain. his eyes went wide behind impossibly long lashes as the reality of what you’d just said hit him in real time.

the room lost its mind.

laughter surged through the auditorium in waves. people doubled over at their tables. the front row was a scene of total disarray; one prominent actress nearly fell out of her chair, needing to catch herself against the edge of the table while she desperately gasped for air.

meanwhile, you remained the picture of composure at the podium. with the award still resting beside you, you simply took a small sip of water and peered over the rim of the glass with wide, innocent eyes as though you hadn’t just publicly assassinated your husband’s dignity on live television.

“oh my god,” somebody screamed from somewhere near the back of the room, the exclamation cutting through the general din and triggering a fresh wave of delight from the audience.

at the center of the storm, michael looked like his soul had left his body. several celebrities at the surrounding tables were leaning over to congratulate him like he’d won an award himself, grabbing his shoulders, patting his back, laughing so hard some of them could barely get words out. all while michael sat there flushed deep enough to show through his stage makeup, seeming seconds away from disappearing directly into the upholstery of his chair.

by the time you returned to the table, he was hiding his face behind the nearest object he could find. which was currently a decorative vase.

“you are unbelievable,” he whispered hoarsely the second you slid back into the chair beside him, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the frenzied energy of the moment.

you smoothed your dress innocently. “what?”

“why would you say that?” he asked, lowering the vase just enough to reveal dazed, dark eyes. “in front of everyone?”

“because it's true.”

michael made a small, wounded noise deep in his throat, a huff of air that was part wheeze and mostly protest. around you, the nearby tables continued to ignore the actual ceremony, their occupants openly staring at the two of you and whispering behind their programs.

“oh, look at him. how precious! he's red!” somebody pointed out nearby.

they were right. the flush climbing up michael’s neck had become impossible to hide.

“baby,” he hissed under his breath, actively trying to crawl beneath the tablecloth.

a tiny stab of sympathy hit you then. you leaned closer, catching his face in between your hands and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek in apology.

unfortunately, that only made the nearby tables react even louder.

michael squirmed slightly as you kissed the corner of his mouth next, trying your very best to comfort him while simultaneously making the situation worse. his entire face had gone hot beneath your touch, eyes darting everywhere except directly at you while the cameras continued circling like vultures.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper-giggled, you're kisses beginning to falter as you collapsed against him. your composure giving out entirely.

“no you’re not,” he muttered, voice muffled into your shoulder as he tried to hide his face.

and honestly?

he was right.

the rest of the ceremony passed in a haze of cameras and secondhand mortification. every time somebody referenced your speech in the following categories, the broadcast cut back to your table, catching michael in his bewildered state all over again.

at one point, an interviewer approached your table with a grin already threatening disaster.

“so! about the dress—”

michael vanished before the question even finished.

one second he was beside you, the next he was halfway across the venue at concerning speed, pointing back toward you in silent delegation as he abandoned you to deal with the consequences alone.

fair enough.

eventually, sometime past midnight, the two of you finally escaped the barrage of flashbulbs and microphones and retreated back to your hotel suite.

the second the door shut behind you, michael turned and pointed at you accusingly.

“you embarrassed me,” he declared, though his voice lacked any real bite.

you folded in on yourself immediately, kicking off your heels to be abandoned near the doorway as you finally gave up trying to behave. you flicked a hand at him in a dismissive motion. “you survived.”

he stood by the massive window, his eyes fixed on the view overlooking los angeles, the city glittering below him like scattered diamonds. a faint pout was still playing on his lips. “barely.”

michael shook his head, his attention drifting back to you again — it followed the delicate detailing along the sides of the dress, the dangerously cut back, the way the fabric clung to every dip and swell of your body. the remnants of your stage makeup still surviving, smudged.

“i was traumatized,” he muttered weakly.

“oh please, you were smiling the whole time.”

“i was under a lot of peer pressure.”

“sureee.” you started walking toward him, letting your palms glide over the satin lapel of his suit jacket. you danced your fingers across the intricate military-style embroidery, feeling the raised threads beneath your touch. michael’s eyes tracked every motion, sharpening with desire the closer you got.

“so,” you murmured, letting go of him and turning around, showing off the gold zipper that ran down your lower back. you glanced over your shoulder at him with a playful little smile. “you gonna take this off me or what?”

something in his expression shifted.

the shy embarrassment that had followed him around all evening finally broke just enough for something steadier to ease itself underneath. his grip closed around your waist, pulling you flush against him hard enough to make you lose the rest of your sentence.

“careful,” he murmured, finally looking at you directly. “you’ve been causing problems all night.”

his voice had dropped an octave. it sent a pulse straight between your legs. 

“oh, now you wanna act brave?” you teased, even as your heart raced.

michael let out a muted laugh before clasping your zipper and bringing it down agonisingly slow, tooth by tooth, letting the cool air skim across the newly exposed skin as the material gradually loosened around your body.

“you done putting on a show for everybody else?”

you opened your mouth, but he spun you around before you could answer. one strong hand slid under your thigh, lifting your leg high against his hip, forcing you to balance as he pressed you flush against him. the other hand settled possessively at the base of your spine, fingers splayed across the heat of your body.

“because,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “i’ve been wanting to get you alone since the second you stepped out in that dress.”

the zipper traveled lower under his fingers. the dress loosened, slithering further down your shoulders and arms, barely clinging to your chest. michael’s touch slipped inside, gliding over your ass before hooking into the thin strap of your underwear. he yanked at it until it was taut, letting it snap sharply against your flesh with a soft sting that made you gasp.

he smiled at that. his mouth was on you — brushing your jaw, grazing your neck with his teeth, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

“hm,” he hummed, satisfied, feeling the way you trembled against him. “guess you’re done.”

he traced slowly up your spine, tugging the zipper the rest of the way down. the silk dress unraveled completely, descending further until it pooled softly around your waist and exposed the full swell of your chest. michael pulled back just enough to look at you properly.

there was still a voracity there, obvious and impossible to miss, but tangled up with something quieter too — something almost reverent in the way his eyes moved over you like he still couldn’t fully believe you were real, let alone standing here in front of him like this.

only then did he cup your face with both hands and kiss you.

the kiss started deep and warm. but the hunger he’d been holding back all night quickly took over. it grew heavier, more consuming. his tongue brushed yours, teasing as your fingers traveled to his hair. you melted into him, a soft sound leaving your throat while he tilted his head and kissed you even deeper.

one hand stayed at the nape of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted, while the other skimmed down your bare back. every time you tried to gasp for air, he chased your lips again, refusing to let you go. his kisses turned slower, more sensual — lingering presses mixed with gentle bites to your bottom lip.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered against your mouth, voice rough and low, before diving back in. the moment stretched until your lungs finally started protesting.

you pulled back first, forehead brushing his as you tried unsuccessfully to steady yourself.

your fingertips smoothed lazily along the buttons of his jacket, “does that mean you liked the speech?”

michael let out a light chuckle, thumb brushing slowly across your bottom lip while his eyes stayed fixed on yours. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered.

he leaned in again, mouth trailing from yours to your jaw, then lower. kisses pressed along your décolletage one by one, lingering beneath your ear before drifting down the column of your neck.

the longer he kissed you, the less restrained he became.

what started gentle turned heavier, more deliberate — the scrape of teeth, the pull of his mouth against your skin, the sting that followed whenever he sucked hard enough to leave colour behind. he took his time with it, savoring every inch, leaving a trail of bruises. by the time he finally lifted his head, faint marks had already begun blooming across your throat and collarbones beneath the dim hotel lighting.

“i loved every second of it,” he admitted quietly, lips grazing your skin between words. “even when i wanted to disappear into the floor.”

another kiss.

“all i could think about was getting you back here and ripping this damn thing off you.”

the dress hung low on your hips now, threatening to slip further. michael’s attention fell down. eyes outlining the way the fabric clung to your silhouette, gold detailing twisted beneath his fingers from how tightly he’d held you — it completely ruined for anyone else.

“actually keep it on a little longer,” he murmured. he tugged the material up slightly, only to let it fall again. “i’m not finished admiring it yet.”

his palm slid along the curve of your waist.

“…or you.”

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You felt his hand slide over the small of your back, thumb brushing absentminded circles as he moved you through the crowd of people. Paparazzi called out your name, begging to take photos of you and Michael. You wore a beautiful white gown, faux fur draped over your arms. Your jewelry alone was as expensive as today's rent.

Michael wore a flawless white suit, complementing yours, while also humble enough to prevent stealing your spotlight. You were his star after all. He couldn't dare to take his eyes off you, and he wanted the same applied to everyone else.

You two sat in the front row near the center of the stage, exchanging small smiles with the A-List celebrities who sat next to you. Small talk was never your thing; you were as reserved as Michael, but being in these events long enough helped you practice the meaningless conversation. God, you already wanted to go home, and you were only here for half an hour.

"You know..." he murmured, interrupting your dreadful monologue, leaning in so close his curls brushed your cheek. "I think we've been here long enough."

You snorted softly, as if he read your mind.

"Michael, we've been here for thirty minutes."

He grinned, that wicked grin that still could make your stomach flip. Even after all this time.

"Thirty minutes too long."

You gave him a look. "Baby, we can't leave early every single year. We're staying all the way through."

He raised a brow, chuckling at your statement. "Why not? We've been doin' it for fifteen."

You tried not to smile. "Not this year. They'll start calling you insatiable in the papers."

He gently squeezed your knee, whispering as the engineers prepared for the show. "You're actin' like you don't love it."

You didn't have a response to that, because you did. You loved the thrill of sneaking out just to have alone time with him, as if you two didn't have enough of that already. He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out like he owned the entire front row, his hand still warm on your thigh. He didn't even pretend to watch the stage — his eyes were entirely on you, tracing your profile. The way your dress fits you... God, the way the lights caught your skin. You almost didn't make it out of the house.

"You look... stupid beautiful tonight," he said softly.

You laughed, nudging him. "You are something else. You're not tired of me yet? You've been looking at the same face for... forever."

He tilted his head, giving you that slow, deliberate once-over that makes your breath catch. It took everything in you to compose yourself, especially with you two being in the front row. The way he looked at you was enough to get you hot inside, and he knew it. He adored the way you would squirm in your seat just by giving you a glance. "Not even close. Could never get tired of you, sweet thing."

He leaned in again, voice dropping to that low, teasing whisper he loved to use with you. It made you antsy; part of you wanted to push him away to ease your fluster.

"Tell me somethin'," he muttered. "If we left right now... would you miss the show?"

"God, Mike, we just got here." You giggle, finally pushing him away gently by his chest. "You couldn't wait until we got home?"

"That didn't answer my question." He smirked.

You raised a brow. "Would you?"

"Not even a little."

You shook your head, laughing under your breath. "I'm ignoring you."

That didn't stop him anyway. He brushed his nose against your temple, subtly, but softly and intimately in a way the cameras could catch your romance. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his hand sliding up slightly to lace his fingers with yours.

He managed to restrain himself for an hour and a half before taking your hand.

That was two hours of constant teasing, subtle touches, and he even went as far as to ghost his hand over the swell of your ass. You could still feel it anyway.

This was one of the first times in fifteen years that he stayed through the entire duration of an award ceremony. The other exception was the infamous 1984 Grammys. But even then, he had no choice after setting the record of winning 8 Grammys in a single night.

The final award of the night was presented, and the closing music began to swell through the auditorium. He stood, pulling you up with him; his hand was firm around yours. He didn't even wait for the crowd to fully disperse, leading you swiftly through the backstage corridors. His pace was urgent.

"Michael — slow down! Jesus—"

He pushed open the door to his private limousine, guiding you inside.

Still a gentleman, I guess.

The door shut, sealing you in the quiet, plush interior. He turns to you, his smile teasing in the dim light. It makes you chuckle.

"Well... did you at least enjoy the show?" You ask, knowingly. Playfully.

"You know damn well I didn't care about the show." He moved closer to you, caging you against the seat, his hands framing your face. "All night. All I could think about was gettin' you out that dress."

His lips crashed into yours with a raw, pent-up need that he's been building up for hours. He broke the kiss, his breath heavy. "You looked so good. Smilin' at the cameras, you knew what you were doin'."

"Smiling??" You question, laughing at his confession. It really didn't take much for him.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. "Smilin', laughin'. Every time you shifted in your seat when I talked so sweet in your ear," he groaned softly as he exposed the soft plush of your warm thighs. "You know exactly what you do to me, baby."

He leaned in, his lips tracing a hot path along your jawline, his hands beginning to gather the fabric of your dress. "Wait--" you moan softly, holding his shoulders to ease the never-ending attack on your skin. "Driver," you clear your throat. "C-Could you roll up the partition, please?"

The partition glides up silently, sealing you both in complete privacy. Michael lets out a low chuckle as his hands slide the straps of your dress down your shoulders. Your gown is now pooled around your waist as he leans back to look at you. Your panties are now on full display to him, soaked in sweet patterns, evidently from the events teasing.

"So pretty. You like when I talk dirty to you like that? In a room full of people?"

"Shut up," you pant. His hands slide the rest of the dress down, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the limousine. "You know this already."

His fingers trace the line of your white, lace bra, unclasping it with practiced ease, tossing it aside.

He lowers his head, his mouth finding your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he takes it into his mouth with a soft, sucking pull. He groans against your skin as you shudder beneath him, desperately trying to conceal your loud whimpers.

"S-So sensitive, Michael — calm down—"

Your pleas fell on deaf ears as his other hand slid down, slipping past the waistband of your panties. His fingers are warm as they find your clit. He lifts his head from your nipple, his eyes meeting yours. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you've been thinkin' about it too."

You can't help but let out a close-mouthed whine, the sight of Michael below you becoming all too much to bear. It was just so nasty.

He takes his fingers out of your panties, tasting your sweet arousal before kissing you. So deep and passionate, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

His hands are everywhere at once, sliding your panties down your legs and pushing his own slacks past his hips. The tiny space and the dim lighting became familiar between the two of you. There hasn't been one surface in this limousine where you both haven't made love with each other. The honeymoon phase never existed for you.

He positions himself at your entrance, pumping his dick once, twice, three times with a low groan. He could cum from this sight alone.

He chuckles at your small whimpers, slapping the tip on your puffy clit.

"Michael— enough with the teasing already. Please—" Your arousal grew painful, the one person with the ability to give you pleasurable satisfaction so close, yet so agonizingly far.

"You sound so pretty when you beg, baby. Could you do it some more? Just a little.." He leans down, his chest flushed against yours. The fabric of his white shirt rubbed against your hardened nipples as he kissed you ever so gently.

"I want you so bad, Michael, please. M-Miss you so much. I couldn't stop thinking about you, all— fuck— all night—"

He cuts you off by pushing inside of you with one deep stroke, filling you completely. A sharp, shared gasp fills the quiet space. The limousine moves through the city, the world outside a blur of lights, entirely separate from the private universe of skin slapping skin inside.

The limo started to smell entirely of perfume and sex. The shared sensation of each hard thrust made your breath ragged, driving you back against the soft leather seats.

God, he was digging in you the way his rhythm was relentless. Each movement is punctuated by a soft moan falling from his lips.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good..." He buries his face in your neck, his voice a strained whisper against your cool skin. His hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements to match his own frantic pace. The limousine hits a bump, jostling you both and deepening his thrusts, you both let out a sharp, guttural groan.

You can feel the tension coiling in his body, his control fraying as he snakes between you, rubbing your clit as he urges you to chase your own release.

"You look so beautiful like this— Might have to fuck a baby into you. W-Would you like that, sweet thing? S-Shit..!"

You wrap your legs around his waist, giving enough of an answer. He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as his entire body stiffens and he cums inside you with a broken, shuddering cry.

His seed fills your womb completely, but he doesn't let up. His thrusts continue, nice and slow. Building your shared sensitivity as you whimper. You push on his stomach in an effort to get him to slow down.

"Shh, shh. I know it's sensitive. Just gotta make sure you're nice and full, okay?

You're gonna have my pretty babies, sweet thing."

His cologne envelopes my nose, musky and delicious. My head swims with desire as I pull back from the kiss.

“I haven’t been with an older man before,” I say softly, perched on his lap in the back of his white limousine. I run my fingers over the details of his fine suit, the embroidered vest… god, his style. He's so sexy.

Michael hums, hands gently resting on my hips. “And… how old are you again?” He asks quietly, so reserved and polite, I can’t believe I managed to convince the Michael Jackson to come home with me. I’m practically purring in his lap, rubbing on him like a cat in heat. And all he’s done is kiss me.

“Twenty five,” I say, gazing at his face. I tilt my head, and my long soft honey blond curls slip to the side. “Am I too young for you, baby?” I tease, tilting his chin up to meet my lips. I kiss him again, and he groans quietly, so embarrassed that he can’t resist me.

Our lips move together, softly, but passionately. I moan into his mouth, pulling myself closer to him, pressing my breasts into his chest. A soft sound escapes him as the limousine glides through New York city to my hotel, car horns sounding outside as R&B gently plays from the speakers.

He's so old school, it's crazy hot. Such a gentlemen. I couldn't name how many of these big artists or rappers would just outright ask me to fuck, knowing damn well they wouldn't call me the next morning, or even learn my name.

But Michael? God.

He'd asked my name, asked what I did. Held eye contact as I talked about the artist we were both here to support, mentioned how I knew him. He was so soft spoken it was driving me crazy. When I'd just had enough and asked if he wanted to take the conversation back to my hotel, he'd agreed. Softly saying, “lead the way, Daphne.”

God.

I wondered if he had understood what I meant, but from the way his hand slid down my back to almost touch my ass as we walked to where his driver would meet us...

I pounced the moment that door car door shut.

I didn't even care if anyone saw us leave together.

I kiss his throat, then nibble on his earlobe. He sighs, holding my hips, gently squeezing. "I don't usually do this," he murmurs.

"No?" I purr, kissing his jaw. He's already hard, I can feel him between my thighs. I smile coyly, cupping his face as I kiss his neck again. God, he smells so delicious.

"I got divorced… recently."

I sit up and look him in the eyes. I didn't even know he was married, or rather... still married. Him and his wife hadn't been seen in public for a while.

"I'm sorry," I say gently, pouting my bottom lip a little, "when?"

"A month ago."

My head tilts. He still has his hands me, holding me firmly. "You wanna stop?" I whisper. He glances over me, swallowing, gaze lingering on my low cut rich brown dress, how my breasts peak out from the gap, glistening with glittered body oil. He shakes his head and I smile slowly, "I can make you forget for a little bit," I murmur, grinding on him gently. "If that's what you want."

"I do," he murmurs.

"Yeah?"

He nods, swallowing again, and I gently bite my lip as I feel his grip on me tighten. "You're beautiful," he practically whispers. I bask in the praise, goosebumps skittering over me. I kiss him, cupping his cheeks. I can't quite believe I'm straddling Michael Jackson's lap right now, but I am. And he wants me.

His hands slide over my ass, taking a firm grip of the flesh. I moan, then squeal as he slaps me gently. I bite his bottom lip, then kiss him harder.

We pull up to my hotel not long later. The street outside is quiet, and so is the foyer. Michael's security does a quick sweep of the hotel and my room after I give them the key, then we're on the move. I'm so excited, i’m practically vibrating out of my panties as we wait, standing separately in the elevator. He watches me with those pretty doe eyes and I watch him back, still in disbelief that I get to fuck him tonight.

I take him to my room, and the moment the door is shut, I slide off my silk dress and reveal my body to him. His eyes graze over me, and he slowly slides off his long coat. His outfit is so finely put together it would be a shame to take it off, but... I want him. I want him bad.

He loosens his tie as I smirk and sway my hips to the bedroom, bending over purposefully and sliding off my thin black thong.

"God damn," he mutters from behind me as I climb onto the bed and wait for him, lying on my back.

His fine embroidered vest slides off, then his shirt, then those tailored pants. "You sure about this?" he asks me gently, moving over to the bed, so hard beneath his boxers I suddenly can't really think. My body burns, sex pulsing.

"Take them off, and fuck me."

He smiles, teeth latching gently onto that bottom lip briefly. He eases his cock out from his boxers, then beckons me over with a twitch of his long fingers. "Come here."

I gasp, excited, and shift onto my front, crawling over to the edge of the bed where he's standing, hard and ready. I know what he wants. My lips are one of my best features. Or at least People Magazine seems to think so.

I kneel, then ease his cock into my mouth, gazing up at him and pout my lips whilst sucking on his tip. His eyelids flutter as I suck harder, slathering him in my saliva. His hand rests gently on my head, then slides down to hold my cheek as I slide his length in and out of my mouth. "Beautiful," he murmurs, and I feel him pulse in my mouth as I moan for him.

His lustful sighs are so intoxicating that my own arousal drips down my inner thigh. I squirm, pressing my thighs together I ease Michael's cock deep into my throat and hold him here. He pulses, precum oozing so much I can taste him. "That's it," he praises softly, caressing my cheek with his thumb, "that's it, baby."

My eyes water as I slide him out, gasping for air. I blink the moisture away and lick my lips, gazing up at him.

"Lie back."

I do as he asks, completely entranced by him. My heart races as my thighs spread, revealing myself to his eyes. I slide my fingers down my stomach, towards my pussy. I'm soaked, completely, and I might've been embarrassed if it had been any of those random guys but Michael seems so into it that I'm into it too.

He touches me, grazing those long fingers through my slit before easing one inside of me. Pleasure tingles through me, but I want more. Right now.

"Please," I whine, spreading my thighs further, "Please, please, please."

He smiles, still so reserved despite his focus being locked in on my cunt. Then he's moving over me, positioning himself at my entrance, sliding inside. I gasp as my toes curl, my back arching as he fills me.

"Jesus," he hisses, using his forearms to hold himself over me as he stills between my thighs. I whine more, squirming against him, wanting more friction. Then he's moving, hips thrusting into me, pleasure spreading all over my body.

"Oh, fuck," I moan, caressing my hands up his arms to his shoulders. My legs bend and press back into the mattress, spreading myself wider for him. He groans, noticing my flexibility, pushes himself deeper, thrusts faster, more eager.

Obscene sounds leak out of where our bodies connect. I'm so wet, I can hear each movement. But I don't care, this man is insanely hot. I've never been this turned on before. I whine, wanting his lips and pout my own, "Kiss me,"

He does, and I wrap my arms around his neck as his hips continue to pound himself into me.

Then he's pulling out, motioning with a flick of those long fingers for me to turn over. I do so, eagerly pushing my ass in the air as he holds my hips.

This is exciting, so exciting. I'm keening, blushing and smiling as he pushes his cock back inside me, groaning as my wet heat envelopes him again. From this angle he hits a sweet spot inside of me, sending fireworks up my back. "God," I moan into my pillow, gripping the sheets as he grips my ass, smoothing a palms over the flesh then lightly slapping it.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks, voice hushed and so gentle I press myself back into him.

"Yes," I reply, glancing at him over my shoulder, "so so good. You're a king, baby."

His thrusts harden, grip tightening on my hips. An orgasm begins, tingling up from my toes, making me whine needily. "Don't stop," I plead. He groans, quickening his pace. "Just like that," I gasp, tingling rising faster and faster.

"Inside me," I beg, so overcome with desire and pleasure I don't want anything else but to feel this man release inside me. "Cum inside me, please."

His groans turn into a moans, thrusts hard and fast. My own orgasm hits me, and my vision whites out. I cry out, trembling, pulsing around him. With one last thrust, he cuts, pressing himself deep, holding himself there.

I can feel him throbbing, moisture sliding down my inner thigh. I'm panting into my mattress, dazed and relaxed as Michael caresses my hips, then slowly pulls out of me. I squeak when he pops free, surprised at how tightly my sex was holding onto him.

I flop forwards, then twist onto my back, looking to the man who made me orgasm harder than I have done before. "Where're you going?" I ask softly as he stands, reaches for his boxers, cock still hard and glistening.

He glances at me, face calm, despite the slight flush in his cheeks. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"Stay," I command in a light voice, patting the bed beside me. There is more than enough space, and I plan on having him again before dawn. I hold eye contact, knowing I'm going to get what I want, since I usually do. He watches me for a moment before he moves back onto the bed, lies next to me.

I smile, pleased, then get up, heading to the bathroom to clean up, wash my make up off and everything else. "Don't go anywhere," I tease, padding nude to the bathroom. He smiles a little, though I can see it in his face he can't quite believe we fucked.

When I reemerge, clean and ready for bed, he's still there. I climb into bed beside him, smiling at him. "What is it?" I ask.

"You're so young," he mutters.

"I'm twenty five. A full adult, actually."

"I mean in comparison to me."

I grin, and he glances away from me, lifting his hand to rub at his brow, as if he is genuinely stressed about this. I giggle at him. "Oh stop fretting, old man," I grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face, "our age gap isn't that bad, I've been approached by eighty year olds."

He looks at me, frowning, "And you accepted?"

"No! I'm not a hoe."

He sighs, looking back to the ceiling. I want to laugh at him so bad because I can still see him thinking about our age gap. Which is not even that bad. Only fourteen years.

"Want to take me out to breakfast tomorrow?" I ask. He glances at me. "If it'll make you feel more like a gentlemen."

"Sure," he agrees. I yawn into my hand and snuggle close him, deciding in that moment, as he puts his arm around me, that I think I'd like to keep him. I've been thinking about getting a boyfriend for a few weeks now, actually.

"Are you on birth control?" Michael asks once we've been quiet for a few minutes.

"Yes," I say sleepily, eyes closed as I rest my head on his chest. "Disappointed?" I ask the quiet. He huffs, and I smirk.

We fuck again when morning comes, finishing inside me when I ask him to, then he does as he said he would, and takes me out for breakfast. I'm smiling like crazy at the odd romance of it all. He chooses a nice place for breakfast that gives us a private room so we can drink mimosas and eat smoked salmon.

I kind of half expect him to bid me farewell for good when his limousine drops me back at my hotel, but when I'm about to get out, he says: "wait."

I glance back at him, fluttering my eyelashes. "Yes?"

"Your cell phone."

I bite my lip as I grin, sliding the device out of my little pink purse. I hand my phone to him, and he gives me his, though frowns when he sees my rhinestone covered device.

When he hands me my phone back, I smirk at his contact. "Michael Jackson," I say, as if I wouldn't know who it is. The fact he put his full name is hilarious. "Cool," I grin, "call me, okay?"

He nods, so serious and so reserved. I'm giddy as I step out of his limousine and head back into my hotel, heels clicking with a big fat smile on my face.

Yeah, I know that man is mine now.

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End notes:

Okay so what did we think?! I’m low key in such a mature Michael Jackson phase that I’ve been devouring all content like a maniac omg.

Let me know if you guys want a part 2! ❤️💋

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You were exhausted. Your coworkers had left the kitchen a mess, leaving you to clean all of it up before the owner came in the next morning. You had half a mind to call their homes and demand they get their butts back to the Sweet Shop and help you, but you didn't want to deal with the hassle.

The shop had closed at 11, it was now an hour past and you were at the home stretch of finishing up. You wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse into your bed, in fact you had planned to have a chill night, to have a relaxing night after work. But no, no here you were, mopping the floor like it had personally attacked you.

You muttered angrily about how you were going to chew out the people working the shift before you when there was a knock at the glass door. You jumped slightly, who in their right mind was here at this hour. You turned and saw Bill standing outside the door.

A bit of anger washed away as you smiled at the close family friend. You expected to see his wife, Gail, beside him, but no it was just him. Weird. You quickly unlocked the door, smiling up at the man. "Bill? What are you doing here so late? Where is Gail?" You brought him into a quick hug. Bill and your father had been friends since childhood, and he was like an uncle to you.

He hugged you back, "Hey there, duck." He used his little nickname for you. "Sorry for this... but I have a favor to ask." He pulled away and stepped to the side to reveal a sleek black car parked in front of the shop. You knew that car. That car was his work car.

You looked at him painfully, "No no no no, don't do this to meeeeee. I was just about to finish mopping." You pouted a bit, trying to avoid his pleading eyes.

"Just this once, I swear. Look, the kid hasn't eaten all day, and I know if I drop him off at home he'll just go straight to bed."

You bit your lip, still thinking.

Bill quickly threw in something he knew you would like, "I'll buy you that new mixer you really wanted."

Your eyes shot to his, "The pink one???" You got a little giddy. He nodded. "The pink one with the white accents and different whisks??" You had to confirm.

He nodded again, "Yup, I swear on it, duck."

You smiled widely, hugging him tight, "Thank you thank you! You can tell him to come in!"

Bill hugged you back and looked at the car, giving Michael a nod. Michael quickly got out of the car, and raced into the bakery. "Bill, you're an absolute life saver."

"Not me, Joker. You should thank her." He nodded his head at you.

Michael turned and looked at you. The two of you locked eyes and for a moment you forgot all about the mess you were left with, or how tired you were. He smiled at you, that charming grin. "Thank you..." He waited for your name.

"Y/n." It came out quieter than you meant. Michael let out a tiny breathy laugh, eyes still holding yours.

"That's a sweet name."

Bill eyed the two of you, "Go on and tell her what you want so she can head home soon."

You both snapped out of whatever trance was put on you. Michael looked at the big menu above the counter, eyes scanning. "Gosh, it all sounds so good. Bill, what do you recommend."

"My wife and I typically get cookies, or sometimes they have ice cream in the summer."

Michael nodded, and looked at you, "Do you guys have ice cream right now?"

"Well, it's the middle of summer, so yeah." You teased him. He laughed a bit, head ducking down for a second.

"Then, I'll take strawberry ice cream with as many toppings as you can add, and like 5 chocolate chip cookies." He looked back up at you with a smile. You nodded and moved around the back. You scooped three large scoops of ice cream and loaded them with sprinkles, whipped cream, fruit, and syrup. Bill and Michael were now sitting at one of the little tables. You came and gently placed the bowl of ice cream down in front of him before looking at Bill.

"Do you want anything, goose?"

"Goose?" Michael questioned, looking at you with a smirk. Your face heated up, and stepped away.

"Let me go get those cookies for you." You quickly left.

Michael turned to Bill looking to him for an explanation. Bill smiled. "Her Pa and I have been friends since childhood, so I've known her since she was a baby. When she was a toddler her favorite game to play with me was Duck Duck Goose, and we played it so much that she started calling me Goose. And I call her Duck."

Michaels smile somehow grew as Bill told the story. He leaned back to get a better look at you again, something in the back of his mind told him that there was something about you. Like he could feel that this wasn't the last time he would be in this shop. You came back moments later with the cookies in a small brown paper bag. You handed it to Michael, your fingers brushing his as he took it. It felt so sweet, like a toothache. His eyes met yours again, both of you were slightly red in the face.

You lead the two men to the door, hugging Bill goodbye. "Do not forget about the pink mixer you promised me." You warned him playfully. He smiled, and hugged you back. Michael watched, making a mental note of what you said. Bill pulled away and told Michael he was going to start the car. Michael stayed back for a moment and you looked at him, "It was really a pleasure to meet you Michael."

"You as well," His eyes widened and he reached for his wallet, "I'm sorry, I almost forgot to pay you." He fumbled quickly.

You laughed a bit and put your hand on his, stopping him, "It's okay, really."

"No I insist, I've kept you far later than needed, the least I can do is pay."

"Michael, please. You're real good to my uncle, and that's payment enough." There was something so gentle behind your eyes. Michael couldn't stop his heart from swelling up. He nodded and put his wallet away, instead taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"I'll see you around, Y/n." He smiled and left you standing in the doorway, cheeks red as roses. As he got in the car he waved one last time to you before taking off down the road. You cleaned up the rest of the shop with nothing but a stupid smile on your face.

As Bill drove Michael back home, Michael couldn't help but think about you. Call him crazy, but Michael knew immediately what that feeling in his chest was. He had never believed that love at first sight could exist, at least not until now. He was in your vicinity for all but 20 minutes and he was absolutely smitten. He hadn't felt this certain about anything or anyone in all his life.

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As Bill dropped him off at Hayvenhurst he looked over at Michael in the passenger seat and locked the doors before he could get out.

"Michael, you know you mean a lot to me. You're like a son to me. But she means just as much. If you hurt her you will regret it."

Michael nodded seriously, "I won't. You know me, Bill. I wouldn't hurt any girl, especially a girl like that."

Bill nodded and unlocked the door, wishing Michael a goodnight.

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When you came into work the next day one of your coworkers immediately pulled you to the back. There on the table sat the pink mixer with a big white bow and a note attached. You smiled at Bill's thoughtfulness and grabbed the card.

Thanks for opening your doors up for me and thank you for the ice cream and cookies. Everything was so sweet that I'm looking forward to coming back. I hope you like the mixer.

-M

P.S. I'm not talking about the treats.

A gentle smile spread from your lips as you tucked the note into your purse.

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Michael came by almost every night. You always told him that if he kept eating only sweets he was going to get a sugar crash. He always shrugged it off and told you he just had a strong sweet tooth that came out late at night. But you were the sweetness he was craving so badly. The more time he spent with you the more he felt addicted.

He started coming to the shop even when he was up late at home, despite the fact that the store wasn't exactly close to Hayvenhurst.

He would show up outside the shop's glass windows, a wide smile on his face as you let him inside. He would sit on the counter as you moved about the shop, either cleaning or preparing things for the next day. He watched you work with an intensity you could feel trailing your every move.

Michael's friendship meant a lot to you, you greatly appreciated that despite how busy he was he always found a way to come and visit you. Even if it was only for a minute or two, seeing him smile at you like you were the best thing on the earth became your favorite part of the day.

Conversation flowed naturally between the two of you, both of you listening to the other with such pure intention that it made the other actually slow down and think about what they were saying. You had never done that before. You had never really given much thought to the way that you spoke to other people, or the things you said. But with Michael you did, and not because he was this big celebrity, but because you wanted him to understand your words fully.

One particularly late night you were prepping from frosting that needed to chill overnight and Michael stood close behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist and he rested his head on your shoulder, watching you work diligently. He had come up behind you and hugged you, and he truly meant for it to be strictly friendly, but then he didn't pull away. And you didn't tell him to.

He listened to the beat of your pulse as you worked, it beat steadily, and somehow that made him fall for you even more. Because he knew that you were comfortable around him, he knew that this kind of touch was something you both wanted. He rested there, head turned slightly into the crook of your neck, for a while. And then he got an idea. He moved one arm and stole a piping bag from beside you.

"Michael!" You turned to face him as he ran to the other side of the counter, ducking behind it.

You quickly got your own, knowing exactly what was about to go down. You leaned over the counter and squeezed the bag hard, making the icing fly onto him. He gasped and jumped up, retaliating immediately. Icing was flying left and right, and when the bags were empty you both decided to grab fistfulls of icing and fight each other playfully. You grabbed a glob and smeared it all over his chest. In turn he grabbed you and hugged you to him, smearing it all over your body. You both laughed and screamed as the other tried attacking the other. You yelped as he smeared some onto your cheek.

When the icing ran out you were both covered in icing, and the floor of the shop was sticky. The two of you breathed heavily, looking at each other with sickeningly sweet smiles.

Your eyes traced his face admiring him as he stood there. You quickly glanced down to his lips. You blushed and walked to the back, grabbing two rags. You returned and handed one to him. You expected him to clean off his own face, but instead he grabbed your arm and pulled you back, carefully cleaning off a large spot on your cheek. His hand moved the rag gently across your face, easing the icing off. "There, now I can see your pretty face again."

You smiled and took the rag, carefully cleaning off his face. Your touch was just as gentle as his. Your hand stayed on his cheek as you looked up at him. He smiled and looked down at you, "I missed a spot." His eyes moved to your lips as his hand settled on your waist.

You both pulled into each other at the same time, lips meeting gently. He could taste the frosting on your lips as he kissed you. Your hand rested on his shoulder as you held him close. It felt like a movie cliche, the kiss ignited fireworks between the two of you. It was like you fit together like two perfect puzzle pieces. You were made for each other. The kiss stayed sweet, but there was an unmistakable passion behind it that made your head spin.

Michael pulled away a smile etching onto his face. "You're a real sweet girl, y'know."

You smiled up at him, "I could say the same thing about you."

He laughed and hugged you. "We should clean up now that I've successfully trashed your place of work."

You laughed with him and looked around. Yeah this was going to be a nightmare. "We should, but I want to kiss you again."

That was enough said for him, he pulled you right back to him. A calmness settled over his mind. You were exactly what he was craving

You were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted, and he couldn't get enough.