#jacksons

— genre(s): horror, science fiction, soft angst, and romance.

— pairing: shapeshifter!michael x virgin!reader

— contains: AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE FOR MICHAEL! SMUT! tons of flirting, cunnilingus, oral (f & m receiving), fingering (all that silly foreplay), penetration (p in v), unprotected sex.

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

SUMMARY: During a violent thunderstorm, you find yourself stranded near the infamous mansion on the hill. This mansion is home to the mysterious ‘Michael’, a man the town has feared for years due to the supernatural rumors surrounding him. People have whispered stories about him since childhood, claiming he is a ghostly figure who can control spirits and make the dead dance.

(A/N: The reader (you) is/are 25 years old, although they have no experience. (A virgin) A few days ago, I came across a snippet of the “Ghost” movie/music video and became obsessed with the idea of writing about it. Michael was incredibly expressive in that particular movie, to the point where it became my favorite music video. I enjoyed the story behind it, and I personally want to create an “x reader” that is heavily inspired by it! I’ve spent a long time making this, ugh. Anyway, ENJOY, MOONWALKERS!)

The first time you heard about the man on the hill, you were eight years old.

Back then, the adults in town spoke about him the same way people spoke about storms — inevitable, dangerous, strange. Mothers pulled their children closer whenever his name was mentioned. Shopkeepers lowered their voices. Teenagers dared each other to walk past the gates of the old estate after sunset.

Nobody ever stayed long enough to see him. But everyone had a story.

Some claimed he could make the dead dance. Others swore they heard music echoing from the woods at midnight, old jazz mixed with screams and laughter. There were rumors that he never aged. That he appeared differently to everyone who saw him. That he had lived in that mansion for over a century and only came down into town during heavy rainstorms.

You never believed any of it.

At sixteen, you climbed the hill with your friends after a school party, drunk on cheap soda and teenage stupidity. The iron gates had already terrified your friends enough to make them turn back, but you remembered rolling your eyes and continuing alone.

You’d be lying if you claimed that the property didn’t tempt you at all to even consider stepping foot on it.

You made it all the way to the front porch alone before the mansion lights suddenly flickered on. Then music began playing somewhere inside. Slow, elegant, and so damn inviting.

The front door creaked open by itself.

You ran all the way back down the hill screaming while your friends laughed at you for weeks afterward.

You told yourself it was just an old house with some terrible old stuff creaking around and that the sound you heard was nothing more than a placebo effect.

Years later, that old tale resurfaced, and you couldn’t help but recall your harrowing experience at that dreadful house.

And yet you are now standing at the bottom of that same hill again at twenty-three with rain soaking through your coat and your car broken down on the empty roadside, the memory suddenly didn’t feel so funny anymore.

Especially when lightning illuminated the silhouette of the mansion waiting above the trees.

The estate stood untouched by time, its massive black gates adorned with towering windows that glowed gold against the raging storm. Sharp gothic towers pierced the clouds, giving the impression that the estate was more like something alive than a mere dwelling.

You should’ve stayed in the car, and you knew that all too well.

But your phone had no signal, the storm was getting worse, and the nearest town was miles away. So against your better judgment, you walked up the hill.

The gravel path crunched beneath your shoes as wind whipped around you violently. Every step closer made your stomach tighten. The stories came back too easily.

The ghost man. The dancing dead. The thing in the mansion.

Thunder cracked overhead just as you reached the front doors. You hesitated, but then knocked. Nothing happened at first. Only rain. Only silence.

But then, the doors slowly opened inward, and warm candlelight spilled across the porch. There he was.

‘Michael’ stood barefoot at the entrance wearing a loose white silk shirt partially unbuttoned at the collar and black slacks hanging low on his hips. Dark curls framed his face messily, like he’d just woken up, and silver rings glinted against the candlelight as his hand rested lazily against the doorframe.

He was beautiful. Not in a normal way. Beautiful in the way dangerous things often were.

His eyes slowly traveled over your soaked figure before a smile spread across his face. “Well,” he said softly, voice smooth as velvet, “you’re prettier than the last person who showed up during a thunderstorm.”

Your breath caught immediately.

And somehow, despite every terrifying rumor you’d ever heard about him, the first thing you felt wasn’t fear.

It was heat.

“You flirt with everyone who knocks on your door?” you asked cautiously, but the slight edge of annoyance in your voice didn’t escape his notice.

Michael tilted his head, pretending to think. “No,” he murmured. “Only the ones standing there looking at me all dolled up that.”

“I’m not looking at you any type of way.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His grin widened. “You absolutely are.”

God, you just wanted to punch this ‘guy’.

Even his voice sounded sinful. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on.

You tried not to stare as he stepped aside to let you enter, but it was difficult not to. Candlelight painted gold across his skin. His shirt slipped slightly lower against one shoulder as he moved, exposing his scarily smooth skin and delicate chains around his neck.

The mansion itself looked unreal inside. Towering ceilings. grand staircases. velvet furniture, and hundreds of candles flickering without melting. Music drifted softly through the air despite there being no visible orchestra.

You turned slowly in place, yet cautiously. “This place is insane.”

Michael had shut the door behind you with a loud thud. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You jumped slightly at the sound.

Michael laughed softly behind you. “Nervous?”

“No.”

“No?”

You turned to argue, only to realize he was suddenly much closer than before. Too close. You could smell expensive cologne mixed with smoke and rain.

Michael leaned slightly toward you, eyes glittering mischievously. “You know,” he said quietly, “most people in town avoid me.”

“Maybe I’m not smart.”

“No,” he replied immediately. “I think you’re curious.” The way he looked at you made your skin burn.

Like he already knew things about you. Like he found your reactions amusing.

“You always this weird?” You muttered under your breath.

Michael gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest”“Weird? That hurts.”

“You live alone in a haunted mansion!”

“And?”

“And you opened the door like some vampire in a romance novel.”

His smile turned slow. Dangerous. “Did it work?”

Your face heated instantly.

Michael noticed. Of course he did. And the bastard looked delighted by it. “Oh, you’re blushin’.” He teased softly.

“I do not.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

“I’m wet and freezing.”

“Come again?” Michael chuckled softly at your choice of words, which obviously referred to the ‘wet’ part.

“You’re annoying.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping even closer, “you’re still standing here.”

Your back nearly hit the staircase behind you.

Michael looked entirely too pleased about cornering you there. The storm outside raged louder while the mansion remained eerily warm and dim around you. Candles flickered against Michael’s face, shadows dancing across his sharp features.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

“What?” You nearly let out a groan of annoyance.

“I think you expected me to be scary.”

“Aren’t you?”

His eyes locked onto yours. Then slowly — deliberately — he smiled. Every candle in the mansion suddenly extinguished at once. Darkness swallowed the room.

You gasped.

And somewhere in the dark, Michael laughed. Not cruelly. Playfully. “You scare easy,” his voice whispered near your ear.

You spun around. Nothing.

Then lightning flashed through the windows—And Michael stood halfway across the room somehow.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“How did you—”

Music suddenly exploded through the mansion. Loud drums. Deep bass. The floor trembled beneath your feet as candles burst back to life one by one. Only now, you weren’t alone anymore. Figures stood throughout the ballroom. Tall, shadowed figures. Ghosts. Skeletons. Creatures with glowing eyes and twisted smiles. Your breath hitched.

But Michael? Michael simply leaned against the piano casually, watching your reaction with shameless amusement. “You should see your face right now,” he said between laughs.

“What IS this?!”

“A party.”

“What the fuck?!”

The ghosts suddenly began moving with the music, dancing in eerie synchronization around the ballroom. And then Michael joined them. Damn, you understood the rumors then. Because watching him dance felt supernatural.

Every movement was sharp and fluid at the same time. His body moved like smoke, like magic, like he wasn’t entirely human. The ghosts mirrored him perfectly as he spun across the floor laughing, curls falling into his eyes.

And somehow, even surrounded by monsters, he only looked at you. Like he was performing solely for your attention. Michael slid across the ballroom before stopping directly in front of you. Close enough to touch. “You scared now?” he asked breathlessly.

You should’ve just said yes. Instead you whispered, “No.”

His expression shifted slightly. Interested. “Oh,” he murmured. “That’s dangerous.”

“For who?”

Michael’s eyes darkened. “For me.”

The words settled heavily between you. The music around the ballroom continued — dramatic violins mixed with deep bass while ghostly figures spun beneath flickering chandeliers — but suddenly it all felt distant compared to the way Michael was looking at you. Like you’d become the center of the room. The center of him.

You swallowed carefully. “You flirt with everybody like this?”

Michael smiled slowly. “As i’ve said many times, No,” he said. “Not like this.” The honesty in his voice caught you off guard.

Before you could answer, one of the ghosts dramatically twirled past the two of you, causing Michael to sigh in annoyance.“Rude,” he muttered toward the creature. The ghost hissed playfully back at him before disappearing into the crowd again.

You blinked. “You talk to them?” Michael looked at you like the answer was obvious. “Of course.”

“That thing had glowing eyes.”

“And?”

“And it LOOKED dead.”

“So judgmental,” he teased. “You humans are so sensitive.”“You humans?” you repeated suspiciously. Michael’s grin widened immediately. “There it is again.” And you followed with: “What?”

“That little look.” He stepped closer. “The one where you start questioning if I’m actually human.”

The air suddenly felt warmer. Or maybe it was just him. You folded your arms. “Are you?” Michael leaned down slightly until his face was inches from yours. “What do you think?”

Woah.

It should’ve been illegal for someone to look at you that way.

The candlelight softened his features, gold reflecting in his dark eyes while shadows danced against his skin. Up close, you noticed tiny beauty marks scattered across his face. The silver chains around his neck glimmered every time he moved. Beautiful. Completely unfairly beautiful. And he knew it too.

You could tell by the smug little smile forming on his lips as your eyes accidentally dropped lower.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re staring again.”

Your gaze snapped back upward instantly. “I am not.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like me.”

“I barely know you.”

Michael tilted his head thoughtfully. “That’s never stopped anybody before.”

You rolled your eyes despite the heat creeping up your neck. The truth was, you should’ve been terrified. Nothing about this night was normal. Nothing about him was normal.

But every instinct telling you to leave was being drowned out by the strange pull you felt toward him. Like the mansion itself wanted you to stay. Like Michael was some kind of gravity you couldn’t escape once he decided to focus on you.

And judging by the look on his face, he had definitely decided. The music suddenly slowed around the ballroom, transforming into something softer. Jazz-like. Seductive.

Michael extended his hand toward you dramatically. “Dance with me.” You stared at him. “Absolutely not.” He looked offended. “You wound me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed from irritation. “You literally summoned ghosts five minutes ago.”

“And they’re excellent dancers.”

“That’s not the point!”

Michael laughed — bright and genuine this time — and honestly, it sounded too warm for a man people described as monstrous. You couldn’t help but wonder the background of his life.

“You’re cute when you’re suspicious,” he said.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His hand remained extended patiently between you. The ghosts around the ballroom began swaying slower now, almost expectantly, as though waiting for your answer too.

You narrowed your eyes. “If I say no?”

Michael shrugged lightly. “Then I continue haunting you dramatically until you change your mind.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It’s flirting.”

Your genuine laugh escaped before you could stop it, your eyes had turned into a smile.

Michael’s expression softened instantly at the sound. There was something almost startled in his face for a second. Like he hadn’t expected you to laugh with him. Then slowly, he smiled too. And suddenly the mansion didn’t feel cold anymore.

You looked down at his hand again. Elegant fingers covered in silver rings. Waiting. “You’re impossible,” you muttered finally.

“But charming.” His smirk irritated you.

“Debatable.”

“You’re still taking my hand though.” …Unfortunately, he was right. The second your fingers touched his, the entire ballroom reacted. Candles flared brighter. The ghosts cheered dramatically. One skeleton literally fainted onto a couch. You burst out laughing while Michael groaned. “They’re very emotionally invested,” he explained. “This is insane.” You giggled softly.

“I prefer magical.” Michael exclaimed.

Before you could say another word, Michael pulled you gently toward him as one hand settled carefully against your waist. The other remained intertwined with yours. And suddenly, you realized how close he actually was.

Your breath caught slightly, and he noticed immediately. His eyes flickered down to your lips before returning upward slowly. “There’s that look again,” he whispered.

“What look?”

“The one that makes me want to cause problems.”

Your stomach flipped embarrassingly fast.

The music wrapped around the two of you while he guided you effortlessly across the ballroom floor. Somehow, despite all the teasing and theatrics, he danced with surprising softness. Careful with you. Like he already knew exactly how much pressure to use when holding your waist.

Like he was trying not to scare you away. “You know,” he said quietly as you moved together, “you’re the first person who’s stayed this long.”

Something about that made your chest ache unexpectedly.“What happened to everyone else?”

Michael’s expression shifted. Subtly. The flirtatiousness dimmed just enough for you to notice the loneliness underneath it.

“They usually run.” The answer was lighthearted, but the sadness behind it wasn’t. Your gaze softened before you could stop yourself. “And you let them?” Michael gave a small shrug.“What else am I supposed to do?” he murmured. “People fear what they don’t understand.”

Thunder echoed outside again. The ghosts around the ballroom slowly quieted. Even the mansion itself seemed to grow still.

And for the first time that night, Michael looked less like a supernatural creature and more like a man who’d spent years being left alone inside this enormous haunted house.

You didn’t realize you’d moved closer until his eyes widened slightly. “You know,” you said softly, “for someone everyone calls terrifying…” Michael raised an eyebrow.

“You’re actually kind of pathetic.”

A stunned silence filled the ballroom, then the ghosts gasped dramatically.

Michael looked genuinely offended. “Pathetic?”

“You throw haunted dance parties because you’re lonely.”

“That is unbelievably rude.”

“You flirt with strangers because nobody stays long enough to know the real you.”

His mouth opened, then closed.

You smiled slightly. “And you’re pouting now.”

“I do not pout.”

“You absolutely pout.”

Michael stared at you for a long moment. Then suddenly, he laughed. Not the teasing laugh from before. Not the theatrical one. A real and genuine laugh. Warm enough to melt through every creepy rumor you’d ever heard about him. And somehow that felt far more dangerous than the ghosts ever could.

“No, I’m not staying just because you’re lonely. I genuinely find you interesting.” A sigh escaped your lips as you gently traced your thumb over the back of his palm.

He appeared glamoured by that. The way his eyes sparkled wasn’t lost on you. “That’s a first,” Michael chuckled softly.

The heavy oak door clicks shut, sealing out the spectral whispers of the hallway. Rain lashes the floor-to-ceiling windows, shaking the glass in its frames. Michael stands by the edge of the massive four-poster bed, his silhouette flickering like a dying candle. A faint, iridescent shimmer pulses beneath his skin, a telltale sign of his shifting form reacting to his nerves.

"You're trembling," he says. His voice carries a melodic rasp. "I'm not scared," you whisper. "I know." He steps closer, the scent of ozone and dried lavender clinging to him. "That's what makes this terrifying. You're the only person who hasn't looked at me and seen a monster."

He reaches out, his fingers grazing your jawline. His touch hums with a low-frequency energy. You lean into his palm, closing your eyes. "I don't see a monster, Michael."

"Then look at me."

You open your eyes. His pupils have expanded, swallowing the iris until his gaze is two deep, shimmering voids.

"I want you," he murmurs. "But I can feel your heart. It's hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You've never... have you?"

You flush, looking away. "No." Michael freezes. The shimmering beneath his skin settles into a soft, golden glow. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. “Can I still..”

“Please..?” You wanted to slap yourself at how weak that sounded.

"Thank you for telling me." He kisses your forehead, his lips warm and lingering. "We’ll go at your pace, sweet girl. Only your pace."

He lifts you effortlessly and lays you back onto the silk sheets. He doesn't rush. He strips away your clothes with a reverent precision, his eyes tracing every curve as if memorizing a map. He moves down your body, his breath hot against your thigh. "Tell me if I'm too much," he whispers.

He parts your legs, his soft yet calloused hands wrapped around your thighs as his tongue had found you with a sudden, wet heat. You gasp, your fingers digging into the mattress. He doesn't just lick; he tastes, his tongue shifting in texture and shape to find exactly where you are most sensitive. The sensation is overwhelming, a rhythmic, swirling pressure that makes your hips arch off the bed.

He adds two fingers, sliding them inside you with a slow, steady glide. He watches your face, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. “Are you okay?” Michael had rested his head on to the side of your thighs. He curls his fingers, mimicking the motion of the act to come, stretching you gently while his thumb maintains a relentless friction on your clitoris.

"You're so tight," he groans, his voice dropping an octave. "But you're melting for me."

You reach for him before he could start eating you out again, pulling him back up. You want to feel him, to give back the pleasure. You slide down the bed, your hands shaking as you reach for the fastening of his trousers. When he is free, the sight of him makes your breath catch. "I... I don't know how," you admit.

Michael lets out a low, yet soft laugh. He reaches down and cuppes the back of your head, his fingers gently weaving through your hair. "I'll teach you," he whispers. "Start slow. Just the tip of your tongue." You follow his guidance, tasting him, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. "Now wrap your lips around me," he instructs, his voice straining. "Use a suction, like you're drinking from a glass. Gently. No teeth."

You mimic his instructions, your mouth sliding over him. He lets out a sharp hiss of breath, his hips twitching.

"Fuck, baby. Just like that. You're a natural. You’re doing so good." His voice didn’t fail to make you even wetter.

“Are you sure about this, pretty girl? That your first sex is with a monster they claim me to be?” Michael asked with his most raspiest voice, in contrast to his sweet tone.

“Just please, Mike. Give it to me.” You sounded so damn pathetic.

He can't take it much longer. He pulls you up, flipping you onto your back. He looms over you, his muscles coiled and shimmering. He positions himself at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat. "Look at me," he commands.

You lock eyes with him, seeing the raw, aching hunger. He pushes forward, a slow, deliberate invasion. You let out a sharp cry, the sensation of being filled for the first time sending a shockwave through your spine.

"Breathe," he murmurs, staying still to let you adjust. "Just breathe for me, please."

As the tension eases into a heavy, pulsing heat, he begins to move. He doesn't just thrust; he adapts. You feel his internal structure shift, molding himself to fit your anatomy perfectly, maximizing every point of contact. The friction becomes a fire, a rhythmic collision of skin and supernatural energy.

"You're mine," he gasps, his voice a ragged edge. "In this house, in this storm... you're mine."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, the ghosts in the corners of the room dancing in a silent, celebratory whirlwind as you both break under the weight of the climax.

As you both calmed down, Michael didn’t realize you were actually crying. Tears streamed down your beautiful, doll-like eyes. “Baby, is everything alright?” Michael suddenly felt so maternal. Nobody has been this vulnerable with him.

“I am, but it’s just that you felt so good…” You chuckled softly, your hands softly caressing his cold arms.

“Can I be yours in the waking world?” Michael softly says, his eyes hanging with the shown hope of your answer.

Jaafar has it all…a thriving career and a stable 10 years relationship with his fiancée, Maddie. But what’s really happening behind closed doors?

Jaafar Jackson x reader .

Previous Part

Six Months Later

Time did what it always did. It kept moving.

The breakup stopped being fresh, the sharp edges softened.

Jaafar smiled and laughed more, started sleeping again, started looking less like a man carrying the weight of a funeral and more like himself.

People called it healing, Y/N supposed it was. From the outside, he looked better but there were still moments.

Keeping up with the Jacksons (reality TV fanfic)

i've been working on something a little different. it's written a little differently than my usual style, but i'm REALLY excited about it 😭

I think you can tell the vibe based on the name

i should be dropping episode/chapter 1 sometime this week 

in between writing the first and second episodes, i'm also finally starting the jafaar mini-series i've been thinking about forever 

it's only gonna be two chapters, so don't worry, we won't be away from this series for long before episode 2 comes out 💜

That's all y'all are getting for now 

MOODBOARD

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