Michael Jackson - Blog Posts

A couple of michaels in my notes from today

LOVE ON TAPE

(michael loves his new camcorder) | 476 words

WARNINGS: fem!reader , sexual themes , filming sex , fingering , riding , exhibitionism

[1993]

im imagining mike with this new camcorder he bought. one he’d been eyeing & so excited to capture all of his memories with you on

like on nights out for events he’d post up in your full body mirror, scanning his suit

i’m recording he smiles, the camera following your strut from the closet

you look stunning. he marvels. absolutely gorgeous…and beautiful…and—

please, baby, we’re so late you chide him with a loving smile and tug of his hand

your lips, perfectly made-up, float behind the camera

a hum seals your kiss

i can picture him wanting to also record other things……

in front of the same mirror, the camera picks up the glimmer of gold that curls around, frames the glass

he has you record the two of you, naked, the view angling just below your chest, a mist of fuzzy bodies in the viewfinder, your legs multiplying as you stand in front of his

in the low light you look like two statues in a museum, the standing lovers

soft kisses spur behind the camera

and his hand slides across your breasts, skin supple from your shared bath and oil

slips, achingly slow, just so the camera sees it all,

like a serpent down your belly, reaching between your legs

he was an artiste that way…

middle finger circling, deeper than the rest, into the dip where your sweetness pools,

shakily you breath in , a motion on the camera, your head falls back onto his shoulder. a kiss is heard again

does that feel good?

mhm…

are you getting it?

mhm…

zooming in, he cups you with his whole hand

on camera, his wedding band glimmers

your gasp shakes the vision

knees quaking

and his dick is absolutely solid behind you, stiff against your skin where the bone dips in your hip, curves you like a violin

your teeth bite into your smile

let them see

there was no them but it got you wetter to think so

you guide the camera into one hand, holding it steadily as you spit into your palm, curve your arm back and wrap around him, your body moving sideways to get a better look for the lens

his breath is trembling, the effect magnetic

his fingers still caressed you, you both moan gingerly

his eyes watch you in the mirror, yours swing between the camera and his arm reaching around to play with you, the veins appearing in your view

you can’t tell which was sexier

you kiss his bicep, gasping louder now

you’re gonna make me…

mhm

the camera drops low as you come undone and michael chuckles, his fingers still rocking you mercilessly.

and maybe he’d record you in the dark, riding him feverishly, his hips melding into yours, his being so deep, his thumb sweet and methodic on your clit……….your moans……..oh he’d praise you like his life depended on it until you both shake with climax

the camcorder falling beside him on the bed

behind the camera, a symphony of panting and the lovers’ satiated giggling

screen cuts to black

𝚃𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝙾𝚛 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚎

Smut

1984

HayvenHurst

Word Count: 7.1k

The family house buzzed with the warmth of laughter and the steady hum of music, though the melody was nearly drowned out by the boisterous chatter and the clinking of glasses. Red Solo cups were scattered around, each one filled to the brim with a mix of spirits and juices, the evidence of a night full of celebration and unwinding.

Perched on the kitchen counter, you found yourself nestled comfortably on Michael’s lap, his strong arm encircling your waist. The firm grip reassured you, keeping you securely against him as he engaged in conversation with his brothers, Jackie and Marlon. Yet, your attention wandered far from their words. The conversation was nothing more than a distant murmur as you became increasingly fixated on the gentle, repetitive motion of Michael’s thumb as it traced slow, lazy circles on the exposed skin of your lower back—back and forth, back and forth. The sensation sent shivers up your spine, a subtle reminder of the electric connection between you.

Shifting slightly, you pressed yourself more firmly against him, seeking both comfort and something more. He noticed immediately, his gaze lowering to meet yours. “You alright?” he asked, his voice laced with concern and curiosity.

You nodded, offering him a small, tight-lipped smile, though deep down, you were anything but alright. The truth was a secret buried deep within you—an unspoken confession of love for the man whose arms held you so tenderly. It was a love that was all too familiar to his siblings, though they remained blissfully unaware of the depth of your secret. None of them knew that when the night grew quiet and the doors were closed, you and Michael crossed the lines of friendship in ways that would shock them.

“Guys,” Latoya’s voice cut through the haze, pulling your attention back to the present as she approached with a playful grin. “We should play truth or dare,” she suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Jackie groaned in response. “Toya, we’re too old for that. Besides, if we mess up the house while Mother and Joe aren’t here, we’ll be in deep trouble,” he cautioned, though his words lacked any real conviction.

Latoya merely shrugged off his concerns, her determination unshaken. “You’re no fun. But we’re still playing. Go get Enid, and Marlon, go grab Carol,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

With resigned sighs, the two brothers rose from their seats, heading off to fetch their wives, leaving you alone with Michael.

Latoya wasn’t done yet. “Michael, are you in?” she asked over her shoulder, already knowing the answer.

He shrugged, his aviators catching the light as he adjusted them on his face. “Sure, why not? But Jackie’s right—we’re too old for this.”

Latoya smirked, a glint of wickedness in her eyes. “We’ll make it dirty,” she teased before disappearing to gather the others.

As the room emptied, Michael turned his full attention to you, removing his aviators and setting them on the counter. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “You heard her, right? She said she’s gonna make it dirty,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth.

You nodded again, trying to maintain your composure as the tension between you thickened. “I heard.”

His gaze dropped to the cup you held, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “You haven’t been drinking, have you?” he asked, reaching for your cup and taking a sip.

“It’s just juice,” you reassured him, watching as he took a swallow before setting the cup back down.

“Okay,” he said, though his eyes remained on you, studying your every move. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting weird all night.”

You offered another nod, your voice a touch too soft as you responded. “I’m fine, Michael.”

But the truth was, you weren’t fine at all. The way he looked at you, the way his thumb continued to graze your skin—it was all driving you wild. Every stolen glance and innocent touch only stoked the fire that smoldered deep within you. The intensity of your feelings threatened to spill over, and all you wanted was to close the space between you, to tell him how much you loved him. But you hesitated, the words lodged in your throat, your desire simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free.

Michael’s gaze never wavered, his eyes fixed on you as if he could see right through the facade. He knew you weren’t fine, but he was patient, waiting for you to come to him with the truth. “You know I’m gonna miss you when we go on tour,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to your thigh. His fingers slipped under your skirt, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through you as he caressed your skin.

“I’ll miss you too, Michael,” you replied, your voice soft and filled with longing. You reached up to caress his face, your thumb brushing gently across his cheek. “I’ll try and come see you, though. You know that.”

“I know, doll,” he said with a smile that made your heart flutter. “You better call me, though. I’ll have someone send you the numbers to the hotels and everything. We’ll talk all night if you want, or… do what we usually do.” His grin turned playful, a mischievous glint in his eyes that made your pulse quicken.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a light, breathless sound that escaped your lips as you playfully smacked his chest. “Quit talking like that before your siblings hear you. We don’t need them catching on, Michael.”

“I know, girl,” he teased, his grin widening. “I’m just saying.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. But before you could respond, the rest of the family began filtering back into the room, their presence shifting the atmosphere. They moved to the couches, settling in for what was sure to be a night filled with laughter and revelations, but you and Michael remained by the counter, his arm still wrapped securely around you as you sat on his lap.

“So who’s startin’ this?” Jackie asked, settling down with Enid in his lap, his tone a mix of curiosity and reluctance.

“Toya should, since she wanted to play,” Carol blurted out, her eyes narrowing playfully at Latoya.

“You guys agreed to it,” Latoya shot back, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall, her expression one of determined mischief.

“Just start the damn game,” Jackie muttered, rolling his eyes as if to say he was already regretting this decision.

Latoya’s lips curled into a sly smile as she turned her attention to her brother. “Okay, Jackie, truth or dare?” she asked, her voice light but challenging.

“Why me?” Jackie protested, pointing to himself in mock indignation.

“‘Cause you’re talking back. Now answer. Truth or dare?” Latoya’s tone left no room for argument.

Jackie sighed, clearly resigned to his fate. “Truth,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of caution.

“Is it true you and Enid did it in Joseph’s car?” Latoya asked, her question landing like a bombshell in the room.

Jackie’s mouth fell open, a look of sheer disbelief on his face. “Now you know I wouldn’t do that,” he stammered, glancing at Enid as if to confirm his innocence. “He’d try and put his hands on me. He’d probably even kill me! Toya, what made you think that?”

Latoya shrugged, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know, it was just a question. Anyways,” she continued, her eyes shifting to the next target, “Marlon, truth or dare?”

Marlon bit the inside of his cheek, weighing his options before he sighed. “Dare,” he said, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Latoya’s gaze flicked to the counter where a few bottles of liquor sat, her smile turning wicked. “Take five shots,” she commanded, her tone daring him to back out.

“Now Latoya, you know Marlon is a lightweight,” Carol interjected, her concern evident as she eyed the bottles warily.

“I’ll be fine, hun,” Marlon reassured her, a playful grin on his lips as he gently moved Carol off his lap. “I’ll just crash here.”

Marlon stood up, swaggering over to the counter where you and Michael sat. You could feel the energy in the room shift, the tension thickening as everyone waited to see what would happen next. The night seemed ready to take a turn for the wild and unexpected, and Michael’s hand on your thigh only heightened your awareness of the connection between you, a steady reminder of the unspoken bond that pulsed beneath the surface.

Marlon grabbed five shot glasses, his movements deliberate as he poured whiskey into each one. You watched, almost entranced, as the amber liquid filled the glasses. Michael’s hand remained on your thigh, his grip firm, as if to anchor you in the moment. Marlon, with a determined look in his eyes, set the bottle aside and licked his lips, bracing himself for the challenge. Without hesitation, he began pounding back each shot, the glasses clinking as he downed them one after another.

“Marlon, slow down!” Carol’s voice cut through the air, but her concern was met with a dismissive wave. He didn’t listen, intent on completing the dare. With a final, defiant slam of the glass on the counter, he exhaled sharply. “I ain’t doing that again,” he muttered, his voice thick with the burn of the whiskey, before he staggered back over to the couch and plopped down with a satisfied grin.

Latoya chuckled, clearly amused by Marlon’s bravado. She turned her attention to Carol next, her tone light but with an edge of mischief. “Alright, Carol, truth or dare?”

Carol rolled her eyes, already anticipating the sort of trouble Latoya might stir up. “Truth, Latoya,” she said, her voice carrying a note of warning.

Latoya’s eyes gleamed as she leaned forward slightly, her question poised to strike a nerve. “Have you ever cheated on Marlon?”

The room went still, all eyes snapping to Carol. Her face hardened, and she shot Latoya a look that could cut glass. “Never in my damn life,” she snapped, her voice ringing with conviction. “Toya, I love Marlon, and every one of you knows this.”

Latoya held up her hands in mock surrender, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “I’m just kidding, relax,” she said, though the glint in her eyes suggested she enjoyed pushing buttons. Then, her gaze shifted, locking onto Michael with a new challenge. “Michael, truth or dare?”

You felt Michael’s grip on your thigh tighten, the tension in his body palpable. He glanced at you, his brow furrowed slightly as he whispered, “Which one?”

You shrugged, your heart racing as you tried to keep your cool. “I don’t know,” you whispered back, though the anticipation of what might come next sent a thrill through you.

Michael licked his lips, a sign of his nerves or perhaps excitement, before answering. “Dare,” he said, his voice steady but laced with curiosity.

Latoya fell silent, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the two of you. The room seemed to hold its breath, the playful atmosphere shifting into something more charged. Her gaze drifted down to where Michael’s hand rested possessively on your thigh, her smirk widening as she pieced together the unspoken tension between you. “Hmm,” she mused, her tone laden with implication as she looked back at Michael, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She had something up her sleeve, and whatever it was, it was bound to stir up the night in a way neither of you could predict.

Her smirk widened as she leaned against the wall, her eyes locked on you and Michael. The air in the room grew thick with anticipation, the playful atmosphere now electrified with something deeper. Her gaze lingered on Michael’s hand, still possessively resting on your thigh, before she delivered her dare with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I dare you to make out with her,” she said, her voice dripping with challenge.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a jolt of shock ripple through you, but Michael remained unphased. His expression didn’t waver as he turned to you, then back to Latoya. “In front of you all?” he asked, his tone calm, as if he were merely discussing the weather.

Latoya’s smirk didn’t falter. She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest as if daring him to refuse. “You claim you don’t have any feelings for her,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a knowing look, “I just want to see it with my own eyes.”

Michael’s gaze softened as he looked back at you, his brow raised in a silent question. “You okay with this?” he asked, his voice gentle, a quiet understanding passing between you.

Despite the knot of nerves tightening in your stomach, you nodded. There was something exhilarating about the dare, about the prospect of revealing the hidden truth that simmered just beneath the surface.

Michael’s thumb brushed your chin as he cupped your face, drawing you closer until your lips were just a breath apart. His warm breath fanned across your skin, and you hesitated for the briefest moment. “Just act like we’re in a room together,” Michael whispered, his voice so low that only you could hear, the intimate suggestion sending a shiver down your spine.

Closing your eyes, you leaned into the kiss, your lips meeting his in a slow, sensual dance. The world around you seemed to melt away as the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding into your mouth to playfully wrestle with yours. Michael’s arm tightened around you, pulling you even closer, the kiss becoming a private exchange of emotions you’d kept hidden for so long.

The room fell into a stunned silence, everyone’s attention riveted on the two of you. Jackie’s eyes widened in surprise, the sight of his little brother’s intensity catching him off guard. Marlon let out a low whistle, leaning back into the couch with a smirk. “Damn, Mike,” he muttered under his breath, impressed by Michael’s boldness.

When Michael finally pulled away, his hand lingered on your face as he wiped the faint trace of his saliva from your bottom lip. His eyes searched yours, filled with a tenderness that made your heart race. “You alright?” he whispered, his voice full of quiet concern, as if the room full of people no longer mattered.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper as you replied, “I’m fine.” Yet every word was a facade, masking the tumultuous storm inside you. The kiss had awoken something primal, an insistent longing that had been simmering beneath the surface, fighting to escape. Michael’s gaze, intense and smoldering, mirrored your own restless desires. His eyes, dark with unspoken yearnings, made it clear that he was feeling the same electric charge that coursed between you.

Latoya, her gaze flickering between you and Michael, finally looked away, her expression a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. The game continued, but with each new dare, the atmosphere grew more charged. The challenges for you and Michael became increasingly audacious, pushing boundaries in a way that heightened the tension between you two. The dares seemed designed to escalate the already palpable desire, adding fuel to the fire that was burning ever more fiercely.

Michael’s touch was a paradox, an intoxicating mix of tenderness and torment. When he shrugged off his jacket, the soft fabric slid against your skin like a whisper, its weight settling over your lap as a shield from prying eyes, cocooning the two of you in an intimate bubble. His hand, warm and insistent, began its deliberate journey up your thigh, each touch a promise of what was to come. As his fingers reached the waistband of your skirt, they moved with the precision of someone who knew exactly what he wanted, slipping beneath the fabric of your panties to graze over your sensitive folds.

“Don’t moan,” he commanded, his breath hot against your ear, his voice a rough, husky whisper that sent shivers cascading down your spine. The deliberate slowness with which his fingers moved, exploring the wetness that had already begun to gather, made your breath hitch in your throat.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry as you fought to suppress the reactions his touch elicited. The warmth of his breath against your neck, combined with the tantalizing pressure of his fingers, was almost too much to bear. “Michael, slow down,” you managed to whisper, your voice a mix of desperation and need, but he ignored your plea, his fingers continuing their relentless exploration, each touch pushing you closer to the edge.

Just then, Latoya’s voice cut through the thick haze of desire, her tone playful yet demanding. “Michael, truth or dare?”

“Pardon?” Michael’s focus wavered for a brief moment, but his hand remained in place, his fingers never pausing.

“Truth or dare?” she repeated, her tone firm and unyielding, as if she were determined to break the spell he had cast over you.

Michael’s eyes flicked to hers, then back to you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Truth,” he said, his gaze lingering on your flushed face before he turned his attention back to Latoya.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she asked, “Is it true that you like her?” The question hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Michael’s gaze flickered between you and Latoya, a momentary pause before he answered. “Yes, I do,” he confessed, his voice steady and unashamed, even as his fingers resumed their rhythm, sliding deeper with a calculated precision that made you grip his thigh in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself.

“Y-you like me?” you stammered, the words barely escaping your lips as your breath quickened, your mind struggling to process both his confession and the sensations his touch was provoking.

Michael chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate, vibrating against your ear. “You couldn’t tell by now?” he murmured, his fingers continuing their deliberate rhythm, each stroke perfectly aimed to drive you closer to the brink. “I’ve been throwing signs at you for a week, girl. I see you as more than just my best friend, and I think you know that.”

Jackie’s voice cut in, surprised yet amused. “Hey, at least she likes you too, Mike.”

Michael’s eyes locked onto yours once more, dark and intent, his fingers increasing their pace, pushing you perilously close to the edge. “You like me too?” he whispered, his voice a sultry murmur that sent another wave of heat coursing through your body.

“Yes, Michael,” you whimpered, the sound escaping despite your best efforts to stifle it.

“Don’t make that sound,” he whispered harshly, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers relentless in their pursuit, each stroke calculated to push you further.

You nodded, your head moving in a subtle, desperate motion, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“Why’d you wait to tell me?” Michael’s voice was louder now, cutting through the haze of desire, demanding answers.

“Because I—I didn’t know how you’d react,” you admitted, your voice trembling with both the physical and emotional intensity of the moment.

Enid’s voice joined the mix, light and teasing. “You should have told him sooner. You two would make a cute husband and wife.”

Michael’s fingers never faltered, each movement precise and purposeful, driving you closer to the edge with every passing second. “You think so?” he asked, his eyes never leaving yours, his focus entirely on you as he continued to push you closer to the brink.

“Yeah,” Enid replied, her voice filled with warmth. “She’d be a pretty Mrs. Jackson, and those babies would be adorable.”

Your eyes locked onto Michael’s, pleading with him, knowing that you were seconds away from losing control. The tension was almost unbearable, every nerve in your body tingling with anticipation, your peak so close you could almost taste it.

“Toya, can we end the game?” Michael asked, his voice tight with restraint as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

“Uh, yes, I was getting tired anyways,” she agreed, the conversation fading into the background as your focus narrowed to the sensations he was eliciting.

Michael nodded, his fingers still working their magic, the wet sounds of your arousal muffled beneath the barriers of clothes. “You two staying in here?” Jackie asked, his tone casual, oblivious to the intimate moment unfolding right beside him.

“Yeah, I need to talk to her,” Michael said, his tone firm. “We’ll clean up when we’re finished.”

“Alright then, goodnight, y’all,” Jackie said as they all left the room, the door closing with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone.

“Michael, I’m close,” you moaned softly, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back.

“Not yet,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a mix of command and desire. His hand moved to cover your mouth, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender.

“Because I thought you didn’t feel the same way,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“But I do,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “I’ve been trying to tell you.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, your body teetering on the very edge of release. But Michael wasn’t done with you yet. His hand cupped your face, his touch firm, demanding your attention as he forced your eyes open. His gaze was piercing, a silent command that sent shivers through your entire being. “Don’t cum,” he ordered, his voice a low, commanding whisper. “Not yet. I know they’re still out there.” His hand moved to cover your mouth, silencing any sound that might escape as his fingers maintained their relentless rhythm, holding you on the brink, the tension in your body building to a fever pitch.

Unable to resist, you laid your head back against his shoulder, your hips instinctively grinding against his hand, seeking the release he was denying you. His fingers moved with precision, curving just right inside you, each pump intensifying the burning need in your core. Your body trembled with the effort to hold back, every muscle tensed, desperate for the permission to let go.

Michael’s focus shifted to the sounds around him, the creak of the stairs and the soft thud of doors closing one by one, signaling that everyone was finally retreating to their rooms for the night. It was only when the house fell silent, the last door clicking shut, that he leaned closer to your ear and whispered, “Let go.”

The words were your undoing. You moaned into his hand, your body shuddering as you came undone, the release you’d been denied flooding through you in powerful waves. Your moans were muffled against his palm, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure consumed you, every nerve in your body tingling with the intensity of it. Michael watched you intently, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, then drifting down to your neck, lingering on the rise and fall of your chest, his gaze darkening as he took in the swell of your cleavage beneath your shirt.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his voice soft and coaxing, “let go for me, babygirl.” His words were a gentle push that sent you spiraling even further into the bliss he’d so carefully crafted.

As the tremors subsided, Michael’s hand moved from your mouth, trailing down your neck with deliberate slowness, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He slipped his hand inside your shirt, cupping your breast, his thumb grazing over your hardened nipple through the fabric, sending another shiver through your already sensitive body.

“So,” he began, his fingers finally slowing their pace, the pressure easing just enough for you to catch your breath, “are we together now, or what?” His tone was casual, but the question carried weight, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

You opened your eyes, still hazy with the aftermath of your release, and looked up at him. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice soft but certain, your head nodding slightly.

A smile spread across Michael’s face, a mixture of relief and satisfaction. He slowly withdrew his fingers from inside you, his touch lingering for a moment before he pulled his hand out from beneath your skirt. “Good,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking off every last trace of your essence with deliberate, lingering strokes. “Cause you’re coming on tour with me now.”

The words took a moment to register, your mind still foggy with the aftershocks of pleasure. “Really?” you asked, your breath still coming in shallow pants.

“Yes, really,” Michael chuckled, his tone light but firm. “I’m not leaving my girl behind, especially not for six months.”

A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “I’m fine with that,” you replied, your voice tinged with exhaustion, yet filled with contentment.

Michael’s smile widened, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice a soft tease.

You shook your head, the denial automatic, though your body betrayed you with the slight droop of your eyelids. “No, I’m not,” you lied, though the weariness was evident in your voice.

Michael’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his hand resting gently on your cheek. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone tender, giving you the space to express your needs.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your posture until you were straddling his lap, the hard bulge in his slacks pressing against you, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. Leaning in, you whispered against his lips, “I want you.”

Michael swallowed hard, his desire finally slipping past the restraint he’d maintained all night. His hands gripped your hips with a firm, almost possessive hold, pulling you closer until the heat of your bodies mingled. His eyes bore into yours, dark with intent as he bit his lip, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached between the two of you, fingers deftly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. The sound of the zipper was almost deafening in the quiet room, a sharp contrast to the heavy breathing that filled the space. He unbuttoned his pants, and in one swift motion, he freed his hardened shaft, thick and pulsing with need. His hand moved deliberately, licking his palm before wrapping it around his length, stroking himself with a slow, purposeful rhythm. You both watched as the thick foreskin peeled back with each pump, revealing the sensitive, reddened tip beneath.

“Pull your panties to the side, baby,” Michael whispered, his voice low and rough with desire.

You stood, your knees trembling slightly as you hovered over him, your fingers slipping beneath your skirt to pull your panties to the side, exposing yourself to him. The cool air against your heated skin sent a shiver through you, heightening the anticipation.

Michael’s hands found your waist, his grip firm as he guided you into position. His eyes never left yours, dark and intense as he angled you just right. “Go down,” he instructed, his voice a husky command.

Slowly, you began to lower yourself onto his length, feeling the pressure as your walls stretched to accommodate his size. The sensation was overwhelming, each inch of him thicker and more substantial than the last, the slight curve of his shaft pressing against just the right spot inside you. A gasp escaped your lips as you took him in deeper, your body adjusting to the intrusion.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his gaze locked onto yours, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

You sank down until you were fully seated on his lap, your breath hitching as you stifled a moan, the sensation of being filled so completely sending a wave of heat through your core. Your walls throbbed around him, your body instinctively tightening against the intrusion, but you relished the delicious stretch, the way his girth filled you so thoroughly, making you feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his length.

Michael held your gaze, his eyes burning with a mix of desire and something deeper, something more possessive. His hands moved to your hips, both of them gripping you firmly as he began to guide you, moving you up and down his shaft with a slow, deliberate pace. The friction was intense, the tightness between you both creating a sensation that was almost too much to bear.

You whimpered softly, the sound involuntary as you felt every inch of him sliding in and out, your body responding to each slow thrust with a shiver of pleasure. The sensation was so intense, so real, that it was almost overwhelming.

“This feels real now, doesn’t it?” Michael asked, his voice a low murmur that vibrated against your ear.

You nodded, your voice barely more than a whisper as you replied, “Yes, Michael.” The intimacy of the moment, the connection between you both, made it feel even more intense. You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder, seeking comfort in the closeness.

Each slow, deliberate movement drove you deeper into a shared world where only the two of you existed. The rhythm of your bodies moving together, his length filling you completely with every glide, left you breathless and wanting. It was an unspoken language, a silent conversation between lovers, where every touch, every sigh, conveyed emotions too deep for words.

Michael’s hands slid beneath your shirt, his palms exploring the soft heat of your skin, savoring the feel of you. You took control, moving on his shaft with a slow, steady rhythm that drew soft whimpers from your lips. Each thrust sent a ripple of pleasure through you, the friction and fullness overwhelming your senses.

“You feel so good,” Michael murmured, his voice a husky whisper as he leaned his head back, his eyes closing to savor the sensations coursing through him. His hands on your waist tightened slightly, guiding you as he let himself feel everything—every emotion, every ounce of desire and connection that had been building between you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers threading through the soft curls at the nape, steadying yourself as you moved. The intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like a warm blanket, making your heart swell. Leaning in close, you whispered against his neck, “I love you, Michael.”

His response was immediate, tender. “I love you more, pretty,” he whispered back, his arms wrapping around you as if he never wanted to let go. He turned his head slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, the simple act filled with affection and warmth.

Even though you weren’t in a room with a bed surrounded by candlelight, this moment felt more real and intimate than any romantic setting could have created. The rawness of your emotions, the honesty of your confessions, made it all the more powerful.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you moaned, the regret tinged with the pleasure you couldn’t hold back.

Michael’s hands slid back down to your waist, his grip firm but reassuring. “It’s fine, I’m not mad. Besides, I got the girl I’ve wanted for years,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness.

You looked at him, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “So, even before we started messing around?” you asked, the curiosity in your voice mingling with the heat building between you.

He nodded, his pace quickening just enough to heighten the sensation, his body shifting slightly to angle himself deeper inside you. “Yes, baby, even before then. I wanted you bad,” he confessed, his voice low and sincere.

The truth in his words sent a thrill through you, your heart racing as the connection between you deepened. A moan escaped your lips, your red-polished nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him. “Fuck…” you breathed, the intensity of your emotions leaving you raw and exposed.

Michael leaned in, brushing his lips over yours, the touch soft and teasing before he captured your mouth in a deep, heated kiss. The kiss was filled with everything you both felt—love, desire, longing—a perfect blend of passion and tenderness. The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourself in him, in the rhythm of your bodies, in the undeniable connection that had finally been laid bare..

Michael’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder and more insistent as he wrapped his arms tightly around your core, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The muffled sounds of your bodies moving together echoed in the small room, each impact sending the bar stool scooting slightly across the hardwood floor, rocking back and forth under the force of your passion. But neither of you paid it any mind, lost in the heat of the moment, in the intoxicating rhythm you’d created together.

The kiss between you deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate. His groans mingled with your moans, the sounds blending into one muffled symphony of pleasure. Your lips moved in perfect sync, a dance of passion and need that left you both breathless. His tongue brushed against yours, the sensation sparking a fresh wave of heat that coursed through your veins, intensifying the connection between you.

Your arousal coated Michael’s length in a glistening sheen, the evidence of your desire dripping down to the base of his shaft and soaking through his white linen briefs. Each thrust pushed him deeper inside you, the slickness of your arousal allowing him to move within you with ease, filling you completely with every stroke.

Michael held you close, his grip firm yet tender, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. The intensity of his thrusts sent shivers down your spine, your body responding to him with a desperate hunger that matched his own. The room around you blurred, the only thing that mattered was the feel of him inside you, the sound of his breath mingling with yours, the undeniable connection that pulsed between you with every beat of your hearts.

“Michael,” you whispered against his lips, the word barely audible as your breath hitched in your throat. The heat between you was almost unbearable, your body trembling with the need for release.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured in response, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. His grip on you tightened as he thrust deeper, each movement more powerful than the last, driving you both closer to the edge.

Michael’s words washed over you, his deep voice filled with a promise that seemed to reverberate through every fiber of your being. You moaned softly in response, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar, intoxicating scent that had become a part of you over the years. The two of you moved in perfect sync, each thrust meeting the other in a seamless rhythm, your arousal slickening him further, dripping down to the base of his shaft as your bodies melded together.

Michael’s hands roamed your body with a reverence that made your heart swell, tracing every curve as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory, though you both knew he had already memorized it all long ago. His touch was firm, yet tender, exploring you with a mix of passion and devotion that left you trembling with need.

“Harder,” you moaned against his neck, your voice a breathy plea that he couldn’t ignore.

In response, Michael’s thrusts became more powerful, each one driving deeper into you, filling you completely. His grunts echoed in the small room, a primal sound that sent shivers down your spine. “I’m gonna give you everything, girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and desire. “I promise.”

You moaned again, your core tightening, burning with the need for release, but you held on, savoring every moment, every sensation. You didn’t want this to end, didn’t want to let go of the connection that had you both entwined so completely.

Michael could feel the tension building within you, your walls pulsing around his thick length as he drove into you. “You close, aren’t you?” he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and heavy.

“Yes…” you breathed, the word barely escaping as a soft moan against his neck.

“Then let it go,” he urged, his voice a soothing command. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel you.”

“But I want this to last,” you moaned, your voice filled with longing.

“It will, baby,” he whispered, his words a tender reassurance. “It’ll always last.”

You lifted your head, capturing his lips in a deep, urgent kiss, your core burning hotter, the need for release becoming almost unbearable. Michael’s hands slid down to grip your behind, his large hands tightening around you as he guided your movements.

“I can’t hold on, Michael,” you moaned, your voice trembling with the effort to stay in control.

“Just let go, baby,” he murmured against your lips, his tone soft but insistent. “I told you, let go for me.”

With his words pushing you over the edge, you began to move faster, taking control, driving yourself toward release. Your legs trembled as you rode him, your pace quickening until you could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you. Finally, with a muffled cry against his neck, you released, your body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you, your walls clenching around him as you came undone.

Michael’s grip on you tightened, his own release nearing as he felt your body convulse around him. With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body stiffening as he released, spilling his warmth deep within you. He moaned your name, his voice raw and filled with need, as he filled you completely, emptying every last drop inside you.

The two of you clung to each other, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of the moment, your breaths heavy and ragged. Michael lifted your head, his eyes soft as he gazed at you, your forehead damp with sweat, your eyes still closed in bliss.

Leaning in, he placed a tender kiss on your lips, watching as your eyes fluttered open to meet his. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice gentle and filled with sincerity.

“I love you,” you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath, completely blissed out from the intimacy and affection that you had just shared.

“You alright?” Michael asked, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his touch tender and concerned.

You nodded, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “I’m just tired,” you murmured, the weight of the night’s emotions settling in.

Michael nodded, understanding. “How about you go lay down on the couch? I’ll clean us up, then I’ll take care of this mess, and we can crash on the couch till morning,” he suggested, his voice soft and reassuring.

You nodded again, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “That’s fine,” you agreed, your body already craving the comfort of rest.

Michael helped you up, his hands steadying you as you rose from his lap. He watched, almost mesmerized, as the evidence of your shared passion began to slip from your body, coating him in a warm, intimate sheen. “Damn…” he muttered under his breath, a mix of awe and satisfaction in his tone. Reaching for the roll of paper towels behind him, he carefully wiped himself clean, his movements slow and deliberate.

Once he was done, Michael adjusted himself, tucking his shaft back into his briefs and smoothing out his clothes. Then, he turned his attention back to you, gently cleaning the remnants from your inner thigh. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as if he was savoring every last moment of closeness.

“Now go lay down,” he said softly, his voice filled with warmth. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You nodded and made your way over to the sofa, kicking off your shoes as you settled onto it. The cushions felt soft and welcoming as you pulled a blanket over yourself, watching through half-lidded eyes as Michael moved around the room, tidying up the remnants of your night—empty juice bottles, liquor bottles, and scattered red solo cups.

When he was done, Michael walked over to the door and flicked off the lights, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow from the lights outside. It created a serene, almost magical atmosphere, perfect for the quiet moment that followed.

Michael kicked off his loafers and slid onto the couch beside you, slipping under the blanket and pulling you close. You nuzzled into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your cheek. “You think they’ll say something?” you asked, your voice drowsy as you burrowed deeper into his warmth.

Michael shrugged lightly, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back. “Can’t say much if they don’t know,” he replied. “But they’ll get the hint.”

You smiled sleepily, feeling content and safe in his arms. “I love you, Michael. I really do. But I didn’t think a game of truth or dare would bring it out,” you confessed, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

Michael’s own tired chuckle rumbled through his chest. “At least we both know now,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t wait any longer to tell you. But just know, I’ve loved you for a while now. You’re always so sweet to me, so kind and loving.” His eyes met yours, the connection between you deepening with each word. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You smiled, leaning up to place a tender kiss on his lips. “Goodnight, Michael. I love you,” you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.

“Goodnight, baby. I love you too,” he whispered back, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you drift off to sleep.

For a while, Michael stayed awake, taking in the reality of what had just happened, of how you had gone from best friends to something much more. It was a moment that should have happened long ago, but he felt grateful that it had finally come.

Eventually, he allowed himself to relax, his eyes growing heavy as he held you close. As sleep claimed him, a smile of contentment and love spread across his face, mirroring yours as you slept in his arms. This was just the beginning of something beautiful—a new chapter in your lives, one that you both knew would last.

“Good looking, good song! 😄👍”

Not him posing like he birthed Bubbles himself lmao

@michaelsfavgirl have you seen this ms girl…

requested by bad-era-obsession

Introduction & Navigation

|☆•° .* * . °•★About Me☆•° .* * . °•★|

☆ Early 20s | Black | Bi | Virgo | She/Her

☆ Interests: music, anime, films, art, Michael Jackson (obviously) and writing.

☆ What I’m listening to at the moment (it’s a mess, y’all): starlightz' rotation

☆ Some of my favorite films: The Color Purple (1985), Edward Scissorhands, Howl’s Moving Castle, The Princess and the Frog, To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything! Julie Newmar.

☆ Some of my favorite anime: Hunter x Hunter, AoT, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, Dorehedoro.

☆ Favorite shows: Interview With The Vampire, The Bear, Snowfall, Steven Universe.

Anyone who likes any of these things or has recommendations, DM me! I’d love to chat :)

|☆•° .* * . °•★About the Blog☆•° .* * . °•★|

☆A place to write and share Michael Jackson content + reblog anything else in my heart and mind (thoughts, art, humor, etc.)

☆Writing Guidelines

☆Masterlist

☆You can find my imagines book on Wattpad here: Sweet Escape

☆Credits to @sweetmelodygraphics, @anitalenia, @cyberangel-graphics, @strangergraphics for the dividers.

☆More to come soon :) edited on 03/24/25.

© All Rights Reserved

Writing Guidelines

☆I am open for requests. Mind you, I am busy in my day to day life + a new writer, so it may take me a while to get to them, but I will do the best I can.

☆I keep Michael’s counterparts pretty neutral (no specific features unless labeled otherwise.)

☆There are so many kinks that exist, so I don’t really know all the ones that are in the ‘no-zone’ for me. But, if I get a request for something I find I’m not comfortable with, I will kindly let you know. However, I absolutely WILL NOT write non-consensual content on this page.

☆This blog IS NOT a safe space for the following: minors, racists, transphobes, homophobes and absolutely anyone who genuinely enjoys carrot cake… I don’t care if there’s no possible way for me to know that last one. You’re aware of the atrocities you indulge in. Leave now.

☆Masterlist

© All Rights Reserved

Masterlist

Total Works: 2

Thriller Era (1982-1985)

Bad Era (1987-1990)

© All Rights Reserved

Thriller Era Fics by starlightz4mj (1982-1985)

Something Is Not Right With Me

Bad Era Fics by starlightz4mj (1987-1990)

It's Our Anniversary

A BAD NEED

(michael’s so delicious and you can’t take it…) | 1.3k words

WARNINGS: fem!reader , oral (m!receiving) , sexual themes

through the front door to the foyer, you laughed into each other’s necks, holding each other close as if there were still prying eyes to lose. you turned no lights on, your eyes were far more keen on devouring each other. and michael could navigate his fortress with as much ease in the dark, even if he was blinded with his hands tied behind his back, so his lips seek to capture yours, he didn’t have to think twice.

“you’re so bad…” michael snickers as your lips connect, recounting the touches you just shared, as secretly as you could muster, in the back of his car.

“you started it…” you whine, coaxing him by the collar to keep his lips on you.

he practically cradles you as you move up the long staircase, his grip both on his banister and the nape of your neck, your hold so loose and lax around his bending shoulders. your arms lift, up and up. your lips mimick each other like a symphony; some kisses lingering, some deep, and deeper still with his so-wet tongue lacing yours with slow, decadent slips melting into melodic hums. as you gracefully ascend to the top of the landing, the light of the night reaches all around you through his tall, reverent windows. the two of you dance, it seemed, to the hallway where you stop him now. you couldn’t handle another step longer without feeling him.

you can’t tell if it was the liquor or him. you’ve been drinking both up all night, though michael has all the more power per volume than any bottle could keep. than any drink could punish you, you thought, with so much need and lust. what michael gives to you--does to you-- burns your body white hot, melts you hollow in your party dress every single time.

when you stop him, he holds your back with a widened palm to keep you close. you sway until you find each other, hip to hip, warmth pooling through both of your epicenters with love so exquisite, it tingled heartily through the both of you, being this close.

gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, so nicely steamed and silky even after a night of everyone fawning over him, you sigh into yet another riff of his tongue, sounding almost as if you were crying.

“michael,” you moan in between kissing. you can’t believe you're his. you can't fathom the beauty of him, so close and for you to touch. a hand goes to his face and cuts into his long, thick hair as if it would get him any closer. “oh, michael.”

“what?” he echoes back to you, a cocky smile forming, widening as he explores the feeling of his teeth now nudging against your open lips. “what is it, baby?”

your lips don’t answer with the words he wanted, just kissed and kissed him. on his cheek, along his chin, and down lower to suck the sinew of his neck, licking with a bad need along his exposed collar beneath the buttons that you’ve been skillfully undoing in all your desperation.

michael moans in awe of you, letting out a husky breath as he tries to make room for your mouth, his hand still holding you, squeezing your body at the jolt of every touch on his sensitive skin. “what’re you doin’?” he asks, playing at cluelessness.

your open mouth continues all down his body, hands bracing you as you slide down his clothed chest, his rib cage, his stomach. “i-i can’t take it…” your statement comes out in sobs, longing so deep it chokes you.

michael laughs slowly, his eyes staying on you, “i knew it…you’ve had that look in your eye all night…” your face buries into the ridge in the crotch of his dress pants, kissing his groin and legs with your hot, open mouth. michael hears you sniffle, his teeth sinking deeper into his swelling lip. “like you want somethin,’” he adds, sadistically, to his teasing, but you barely hear him over the drunkenness that’s found you.

you cross to his right hand, near shaking as you kiss the back of his fingers, feel his hard knuckles press against the tip of your nose. you love this. worshipping him. his breath, elated, getting louder and louder in your ears, his lust coming over him to whisper his nastiest thoughts to you, watching you, his body unable to do much else but melt and give in... his other hand adjusts himself over his pants quickly, a way to relieve his ache.

his fingertips crawl along your bottom lip, curious. then feel your cheek and hold your parted jaw. following your head as you sit back on your heels, he watches you tilt back and open your mouth. he gives you his thumb with a sly smile.

“you’re—“ he breaks into a fit of giggles when your tongue tickles the underside—“you’re such a bad girl…”

his affirmation finds you in a hum, glittering his voice as you latch around his thumb, then his first finger inches its way inside, then his middle, long and smooth, relieves his thumb so he could focus on adding his ring finger, playing with them on your tongue to remind himself of how you’ll feel on him for real.

your head spins in the bliss, savoring the salty taste between each long ridge that dissolves and flows back down your throat. you rock a little, lifting your dress higher on your legs before taking his fingers out of your mouth. with a bit less grace in the darkness, you start to undo his belt, feeling inside his parted slacks for his underwear, soft fabric pushing toward you, wanting you to feel him.

“baby…” you gasp, awed by his firmness growing long against your palm. you take out your hand, pulling his pants further down on his thighs.

“c’mon, you’re playin’ too much,” he gusts, a childish frustration running over his senses, and you bite back a giggle at his eagerness, a nerve to tease him further, before you reach back inside, concentrating on pulling him out all the way.

then his voice came to you again, he was always so light, so sweet. “look at me,” he coos, softly, “look at me while you’re doin’ it.” and his large hand, so gently calm, moves to encourage you, on the back of your head.

but he’s a gentleman, so he lets go of your head and lifts his arms up, holding his hair back to let him see you better. he’d always told you everything of his was yours.

you just take what’s yours, baby, he’d tell you.

so there was never any hesitation when you look up at him with the dreamy eyes he loves so bad, and slide his dick in your mouth. suckling as it stretches out your lips and you bob a little deeper, eyes blinking closed with a satisfied moan that rumbles in your throat.

“oh, baby…yes,” michael sighs, lifting the hem of his shirt above his belly, fingers splayed out wide and rattling a little with each gust of breath.

soon he can’t help it, his hands hold your head, and he’s dragging his hips back and forth into you, as much as you can take, taking pleasure from the easy slide of your blissful mouth, your warm, raised tongue creating a holy place, a ring of fire in him. a moan accompanies his hands sewing into your hair, gritted teeth follows his head lolling back. he closes his eyes and whines, out of breath, “never felt so good…”

a quiet stomp comes down beside you from his readjusted leg. he’s trembling, heart sprinting, he sees his peak coming soon; faster and faster as it comes down in waves from his shoulder blades, crashing lightning into his belly and pooling finally around his still-moving hips.

michael’s head falls back down to watch you. “look at me, baby,” he says again, his voice hushed and pleading. your eyes slide up, wet now; your eyebrows knitting, so he can watch the precious wrinkle show in your forehead. the one he sees when he knows you’re feeling just as good as him. the thought overwhelms him, and he looks so sweet and helpless to you, his face crinkling now as he lets out a final groan, his orgasm so fast, you grab hold of his thigh to steady him, a pretty little whine curling out of you in reply.

If this town is just an apple, then let me take a bite

It’s Our Anniversary

Summary: Michael, once again, fails to show up for an important event you had plans for–this time, your anniversary. Tangled in a web of uncertainty, disappointment, and intoxication, how will his untimely arrival unravel the suppressed feelings and unspoken words you’ve both kept hidden?

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Era: Bad

Setting: Encino, California. Spring of 1987.

Category: angst, fluff, smut, oral (f! receiving), sexual intercourse (p in v) 

Word Count: 10,472

Note: For plot's sake, you'll have to pretend that the Havenhurst house wasn’t inhabited by the whole Jackson clan. Sorry if there’s any grammatical errors, btw. Also, I was listening to Anniversary by Tony! Toni! Toné! when the idea for this popped up, hence the title. I think using songs for my imagines might be a recurring feature. Anyway, enjoy! R.I.P. to D’Wayne Wiggins <3

Do you know what today is?

It's our anniversary

Made for you and me

Appareled in a Prussian Blue Valentino gown, you sit in the lavish dining room of the Havenhurst home designed with warm, Victorian elements. The intricately paneled walls display expensive oil canvases from the Romanticism and Renaissance periods. It was your boyfriend’s taste, not yours in particular, but still a stunning sight to take in. A pair of French antique chandeliers, adorned with crystals and bronze candlesticks, dimly light the space—accompanied by the silky notes of Jazz Noir drifting from a record player—blending together to set a mood of intimacy and relaxation.

Yet, as your dolled-up reflection looks back at you in discontent through the polished wood of the mahogany table, you are anything but relaxed. The loud dong of the grandfather clock adjacent to your right tolls aggravatingly for a third time, marking the three hours ago that Michael was supposed to be here. Unsurprisingly to you by now, he is not. That doesn't make the ache of disappointment any less painful.

For nearly the last year of the two you have been a couple, Michael’s packed schedule has been a constant interference to the increasingly rare occasions you spend with each other. Around when you had met him, he had concluded his activities for the Victory Tour, taking on less strenuous pursuits in his career after the success of Thriller. There were the infrequent appearances or interviews here and there, but overall, it was the least busy he had been for most of his life. And in that time, he and you had plenty of it to build a connection.

Being an attorney and starting out on a semi-business basis, you assisted in some of the proceedings he and your colleague took in purchasing the ATV Music Catalogue. There were a few times they came to you for advice on matters of intellectual property, that aspect of law being your area of expertise. Yet, unusually, despite Michael hiring nothing but the best for his legal selection, he hadn’t given any indication that he wanted to have a fiduciary relationship with you, even though you were the top IP lawyer at your firm. Your initial reaction was to be offended. After all the guidance he seeked, what could he possibly have against hiring you? 

“Well, Mr. Jackson, I don’t quite understand why you’d request my help, but decide to not appoint me to a position on your team. Is there some reason you think I’m unqualified for the job?” Voicing your potentially out-of-line assumption, you still maintain a courteous tone, even though your pride was slightly wounded. However, he simply lets out a giggle at the question.

“It’s the opposite, actually. I’d love for you to be a part of my team, but… it would conflict with another interest I have.” His aviator-shielded eyes cast downward toward the ground as he smiled coyly.

“And what might that be?” Your arms folded across your chest as your intrigue was piqued by the ambiguous statement, waiting for him to provide clarity.

“Taking you out to dinner on Saturday night. If you're up for it, of course.”

Your face donned with pleasant surprise as his words registered—a bold approach to make with such a shy demeanour. Though you wouldn’t say it aloud due to professional conduct, you had been an admirer of him since you were a girl in pigtails, starstruck by his strong voice and cherubic charm during that monumental premiere of The Jackson 5 on American Bandstand. 

Having a celebrity crush as a youth was nothing uncommon, but actually being presented with the opportunity to pursue a romantic gesture from them as an adult was inconceivable. The part of you that subdued the adolescent fancy you held for him felt as if it had been sparked again.

And with indignation replaced by delight, previous aggrievance long forgotten, you happily accepted his offer. From that point on, you and Michael went on numerous dates. You remember the more intimate ones—taking walks at night on the beach in Malibu or going to high-end establishments, such as opera houses and fine dining restaurants. The fun ones like going to the movie theater or to arcades in whatever crazy disguise he threw together. Most of them made you erupt into fits of laughter. 

You always voiced the theory that the zany costumes were more of an attention grabber than if people actually saw him in his normal attire, to which he proved otherwise. Long story short, on one of your many visits to Disneyland, you both, along with the Mickey Mouse mascot you were being photographed with, were swarmed by a herd of hysterical fans in the blink of an eye. You’re still not even sure how the limousine managed to get through the crowd as his security guards threw all three of you into the backseat. 

“Holy fucking shit! What the hell is going on?!” The heavily muffled shout of the man beneath the cartoonish mouse head would have been comical, if not for the overly excited group enveloping the vehicle, packed in close and trying to get a glimpse at the King of Pop. You yourself were staggered at the mob and attempting to calm your jittery disposition. All the while, you looked over to find Michael simply smiling and greeting the rowdy bunch, as if this were an average day for him.

Realizing that it was just that, you acknowledged the grace and composer he held himself with as an extremely admirable trait. You couldn’t fathom handling this lack of privacy and fanaticism since childhood. It was moments like this that made it click for you that being Michael Jackson, the popstar, came at a great price. To the world, he was this magical entity to marvel at—a wizard of entertainment. Before, due to the lack of familiar proximity, you used to hold that same image of him to some extent. But now, he was just Michael to you.

Michael, who had an affinity for Peter Pan and old Hollywood and Tchiakovsky. He always approached learning opportunities with eager curiosity, whether it was the sudden interest he’d taken in anatomy in recent months, or his humility in seeking mentorship from those he collaborated with in the industry, despite being a master himself. Michael, who was susceptible to internal struggles like anyone else and oftentimes wore himself down with his own expectations, but only because he believed in himself so fiercely. Michael, who was a beautiful fusion of contrasting energies—childlike spirit and wise, old soul, both wrapped in one. And the more of him you got to experience personally, the more profound and loving your relationship blossomed.

It carried on like this for a while, leisure time filled with frequent rendezvous, until his life started to pick up pace again. With the many filming projects he starred in, paired with countless hours of recording for his upcoming album, the days where you hardly saw him were steadily growing. You were able to distract yourself from his absence by getting lost in your own taxing work of large files riddled with dense jargon. Still, that only served as a temporary solution. 

“I miss you, Michael. We never see eachother anymore.” You utter into the phone while absentmindedly twirling the coil cord around your finger. You were bundled up in Michael’s bed, relaxing on your day off. But for him, he was busy in the studio, perfecting his sound for this new era of artistry. 

An exhaustion-filled sigh is let out into the receiver. “I know. I miss you too. I keep running into all these problems with the tracks. And Quincy-–he wants to go in a completely different direction with the sound than I do. It’s like, I can’t get anything worked out right today… Maybe I should just drop all of this and come home to you.” 

“Well, as much as I’d love that, I wouldn’t let you do it. I know how much this album means to you, to your fans… I want you to give it your all. You’ll get where you need to be. I know it. Just keep trying.”

He’s deeply appreciative of your encouraging words, grateful to have someone so supportive in his corner, even though he’s aware his hectic schedule no doubt takes a toll on you as well. “Yeah… I guess you're right. But still, I wish we had as much time together like we used to.” 

You think for a moment. “Well, how about we try our best to set some time aside out of the holidays for ourselves?” The suggestion was favorable enough, given the circumstances. And although there was some lingering resistance to practices outside of his past religion, such as festivities, he had opened himself generously to trying new things with you—some, more willingly than others…

So, that was the arrangement you both agreed upon. For a brief period, while still new, it was upheld fairly well-–until it wasn’t. The more activities Michael started to be bombarded with, the less he was able to keep his end of the agreement, and many of the days you had reserved for yourselves were cut into or entirely canceled by his heightened workload. But each time, you were understanding.

Like when he missed Valentine’s Day due to a conference he had for a potential brand deal with a fragrance line, which, by the way, ended up falling through, leaving the meeting pointless. Or when he got held back to reshoot some scenes for the Captain EO short film on your birthday, even though he was supposed to wrap up earlier to celebrate with you.

He would always return home with a peace offering, profusely apologizing for not being able to make it. And taking into account the extent of relentless demands in his career, it felt juvenile to be upset. So, you never truly expressed how much it bothered you, keeping it inside in favor of savouring the few moments you did have with each other. 

However, tonight is a different case. It’s your anniversary. And with each of the many reminders you gave over the last few weeks, he promised that no matter what, he would make it here by eight this evening. Instead, you found yourself alone, staring into the porcelain plate of chicken piccata you prepared, which has gone cold by now, with the hands of the clock moving farther and farther away from that designated time. As the minutes dragged on into hours, there wasn’t a single call sent as a courtesy to explain his nonappearance.

For him to not only be a complete no-show but also fail to at least leave you with prior warning—you were nothing less than seething at this point. The fretful bounce of your stilettoed foot carries on as you take a large swig of Chardonnay to ease the perturbance, waiting for the telltale sound of loafers padding down the marbled floors of the corridor. 

Meanwhile, the fluorescent lights of Los Angeles pass by in a blur as Michael heavily steps down on the accelerator of his Mercedes-Benz. Rush hour has long since been over, leaving the roads relatively uncrowded, thankfully making his race home quicker than usual. As the traffic light turns red, wheels halting in place, his right hand rummages around in his pocket to pull out a velvet box. How could I have forgotten? He inspects the small item, twirling it around with his fingers. 

What happened today was nothing short of chaos. Yet again, he and Quincy spent what felt like forever clashing over creative differences. Quincy, favoring the music production, wanted Al Capone to be on the album. Michael, on the other hand, preferred Smooth Criminal. Although both had the same thematic origins, with this song, he had a clearer, conceptualized idea of how it would look and feel in a movie short—the 1920s speakeasy scene, gangster suits and some influences of jazz in the dance style. After much discussion and weighing the pros and cons, Michael's decision ultimately prevailed.

The real trouble began when they actually started recording. From too much echo and reverberation polluting the sound of the tracks to Michael’s vocals not landing where they needed to, he found himself stuck in a continuous loop of scrapping various sections of his work just to start all over again. The constant mishaps couldn’t easily be pinpointed to one thing.

The stress of the ever-nearing approach of deadlines for this album, from music videos to preparations for the upcoming tour. Fatigue from rehearsal-filled days and sudden bursts of inspiration at night—lyrics, harmonies, choreography—that left him sleep-deprived. Or the nervousness from the much more immediate cause that, somehow, amidst all the madness, had completely slipped his mind.

As he returned to the sound booth from a restroom break, fully intending to keep recording until he felt the song he’d been working on was perfected, his eyes caught the red numbers on the digital clock hanging above the entrance—10:39 PM. Panic set in as the realization dawned on him: he was supposed to be home three hours ago for his anniversary. And though being so late to this very important event that you both had greatly anticipated did nothing to ease his anxiety, it was not the primary reason for it.

Michael had planned to turn this celebration of two years together into something even grander—a marriage proposal, but the potentially disastrous outcomes he had conjured up loomed over him like a dark cloud for weeks. As result, this entire studio session ended up in no meaningful progress, and astonishingly, he’d forgotten the one thing he promised he wouldn’t. Quickly pivoting on his foot, he scrambled towards the rack where his leather jacket hung, clumsily throwing it on.

“Smelly, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” The quizzical tone of Quincy’s voice doesn’t falter his rushed escape out of the room.

“I’m sorry, but I really gotta go! I’ll explain it tomorrow!” He hastily offers to wrap up their session before rushing towards the elevator. After impatiently waiting for the platform to ascend and dashing in upon its arrival, he soon reaches the first floor of the main lobby, booking it towards the exit of revolving doors. 

His attention is snapped from the burgundy colored cube in his hand as out of his peripheral, the stoplight turns green, putting the vehicle back in motion. As he carries on with his journey of about ten minutes left until he reaches home, his mind wanders back to the day you first met.

“There’s some parts of this document that are vague. You think you could come over and take a look?” John, Michael’s entertainment lawyer, had just had a brief exchange over the phone with someone moments ago before three loud knocks were heard at the closed door of his workspace. When it opened, in pranced a stunning woman, clad in a form-fitting red skirt suit, instantly drawing in Michael’s intrigue.

“Good afternoon. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” you chime in a genial tone, approaching with a beaming smile and extended hand, which he enveloped gently to shake—a fluttering giddiness erupts at the touch. As the two attorneys began to delve into the content of the forms, their words hardly registered to Michael. He was too focused on the concentrated gaze with which you scanned the documents, the shape of your rouged lips curving over vowels.

His eyes wandered to your accentuated curves as you leaned over the desk to examine the papers—voluptuous and alluring. And as you closed your revision of the material with an ‘I’m here if you need anything else,’ he couldn’t stop himself from watching the sway of your hips as you made a swift exit from the room.

You frequented over the next week, offering advice and providing context when needed. Sometimes, he would feign confusion with some parts of the text just so you could stay a little longer. Realizing that this was not the most practical way to prolong your being, nor considerate of your actual work duties, Michael finally decided to voice an inquiry.

“Hey, John, what’s your policy on dating clients?” The brunette man sipping on a latte pauses mid-drink with a puzzled look before lowering the mug.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t go that way.” 

“Not you, silly. I’m talking about her.” Michael waves in the direction of your office, lightly chuckling at John’s humorous remark. “Lawyers and clients aren’t allowed to be romantically involved, right?” He had done some research of his own about the situation, but wanted further confirmation just to be sure.

“Correct. But technically, you aren't an official client of hers, so you could still go for it.” And with that answer, he was asking you out later that very same day. 

Michael had been relatively green to the world of dating by the time you two had met. The seldom flings he had with women, kept under the radar, never developed into anything serious. With the way most of them soured, he wasn’t exactly sure that he would ever find what he was looking for. He often encountered people who were more enamored with his status and what luxuries it could offer than with him.

And though he was more than happy to shower his lady companions with anything they desired, he mostly did so out of the fear of being alone rather than the rapture of being in love, yearning to experience the joys of having a significant other. But little did he know, a certain lively attorney would be the end to his string of unfulfilling situationships.

Of course, he hadn’t initially come in with much expectation that the dynamic between you would deviate from the usual—gifts and opulence in exchange for company. Yet, surprisingly, when he did make such gestures, there was often protest and reluctance from you to accept them. You let it be known that while you were appreciative, he should never feel as if your affection needed to be bought, emphasising that just being together was enough.

And in the time he’s got to share with you, you’d become both his best friend and the light of his life. Mirroring his childlike tendencies, you enjoyed the likes of practical jokes, whimsical films, amusement parks. You both gave each other an equal dose of mischief and excitement—a temporary escape from the pressures of adult life.

On the other hand, the womanly side of you was self-assured and sophisticated. Despite the stipulations that came with his public persona, you weren’t one to crease under the weight. With poise and level-headedness, you managed to navigate both the harsh anatomization and glitzy display of his idol life. And though the expectations and prying scrutiny were unrelenting, your devotion to him never faltered.

As the demands of the day faded and it was just the two of you, your tenderness was given space to flourish in the sacred confines of one another. In the sentimental conversations you found yourselves getting lost in late into the night—confidences, dreams, worries—you had become a part of him he didn’t know he needed.

You possessed the ability to truly see and understand him, even when he tried to mask the parts of himself he feared would make you grow tired and flee. The solitude of his stardom, the sadness from past traumas, which he had believed for so long was impossible to escape, were eased away by the comfort of your unwavering presence and acceptance.

While these gloomy moods burdened Michael at times, he still held a great love and optimism about life. When it came to his craft, he was fiercely passionate and hopeful about all the possibilities he envisioned for himself, even when others thought he may have been overachieving or setting his expectations too high.

But you never doubted or dissuaded him from his aspirations. You were his biggest supporter. Always uplifting, always giving your undivided attention to his enthusiastic ideas about the next big thing he was going to do, eager to get a glimpse into the innovative makings of his mind. And when the work was tiring, your love and support motivated him to keep going.

As your endearments were reified through these saccharine partakings, he was certain that he wanted forever with you. He found refuge in your affections, your embrace—your peace sheltered him from the harsher aspects of his success and internal pains that, at times, would well up so much he thought he could drown. When he felt as if he would lose himself to those turbulent waters, you were the gentle wave beckoning him back to shore.

And in all these things, his resolution to ask for your hand in marriage was absolute. However, there was an additional reason why he decided an engagement was fitting—to convey that his adoration had not been swayed or dulled for you. He was aware that the requirements of his work agendas held great potential to cause a rift in your relationship. 

Consequently, he flipped between confidence that your feelings for him were so strong that you couldn't possibly reject him, to doubts clawing from the darkest corners of his mind, trying to convince him that his fame, his tireless routine, and himself, were still too much for you. As the in-house security guard granted him access through the ornamental gates of his estate, he began to feel that unease bubbling to the surface again.

Easing down the herringbone pavement leading to the main entrance of the house, he sees your car in its usual parking spot and places his directly behind it. With a sturdy twist of the metal key in the ignition, the rumble of the engine dies down, leaving him to collect himself in the still silence.

He gets out of the car, taking calculated steps as he approaches the double doors of the entry, apprehension swirling around him as he suspects that his untimely arrival will not go over well with you. His ears catch the faint rise and fall of music as he steps inside, quietly sealing the door shut. Slowly carrying on down the hallway, timidly walking past the threshold of the dining room, he is greeted by the upward flick of your gaze over the rim of a glass of wine—cold and distant. Without breaking eye contact, you chug the last remnants of the intoxicating potion before firmly setting the glass down.

“Happy anniversary. Glad you could join me.” Between your sarcastic remark and the displeased expression, he’s wary that he might not be able to recover easily from this one tonight.

“Baby, please don’t be like that. I’m really sorry. I ran into some trouble at the studio and lost track of time.” He offers his regret as he takes in the elegant layout you put effort into, left abandoned by his lack of show for the event. A twinge of guilt twists inside him.

“Save it. I’m really not in the mood to hear any excuses. You swore you’d make it, and you didn’t. Again. Simple as that,” you mutter with contempt as you move to grab the plates of untouched food, your heels clicking briskly as you make your way towards the kitchen.

From the wine you had been downing these past hours, to finally hitting a breaking point from the repeated absences from Michael, you let your frustrations flow freely for the first time. He’s taken aback by the bluntness of it, and although his contrition is strong, he feels a growing urge to defend himself as he trails behind you.

"Yes, I know I promised, and I wanted to be here with you today more than anything. But with everything I’ve had to do to get this album ready, I have a lot on my plate. I don’t think you’re being fair to me. It's not like I did this on purpose.”

His response only irks you more as you scrape the wasted meal into the trash bin. From his attempt to justify his actions to the fruits of your labor being overlooked, your tip-toe around full on confrontation has come to an end. With a heavy toss of the plates into the sink, not caring if they broke from the force, you sharply turned around, vitriol, tinted with liquid courage, pouring from your lips.

“No, what’s not fair is for you to leave me sitting here like a damn fool for three hours, and on top of that, not even call me to let me know where the hell you are!” 

Michael has never heard you yell like this before. In fact, during this whole two-year relationship, you’ve never once had a serious argument. Small disagreements that were resolved so fast you both hardly remembered what you were upset over? Yes. But full-blown, furious disputes had never found their way between you. However, there’s a first time for everything. 

"Look, honestly, it just slipped my mind, okay?! You have no idea how bad my day has been. Can’t you just hear me out? I don’t know why you’re giving me such a hard time all of a sudden.”

He finds himself gradually raising his volume as well. Despite his plea, his fortified reflex drives his actions, clouding the more rational approach of trying to wind down this heated energy between you instead of fanning its flames. And you’re ready to throw back just as much fire.

“Because I’m fed up with you not being here! I have been for a while now. And I’m busy too, Michael. My job is high maintenance, but I still show up for us. It feels like you're not even trying to do that!” 

Deep down, you knew that wasn't a fair or honest stance to take. Yes, you put in many more hours than most, plus the mental muscle necessary for your job was hefty. But Michael’s career required even more of him to succeed. Truthfully, you just wanted him to feel the same hurt you were feeling. And as the anger in his gaze momentarily wavers into something dejected, you were certain it worked.

“I am trying! If I wasn’t, I’d still be working instead of standing here right now.” There’s a slight quiver in his exasperation as he feels his worst suspicions coming true—he had let you in, and finally, it had become too much for you to bear.

“Well, what do you expect me to make of it, huh?! I’ve been very lenient all the times you’ve failed to show up—a full year, Michael. And now, this one time I desperately ask you to be here, you can't even do it!” You exclaim as you feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. Somehow, you are able to uphold an unshaken demeanor of hostility.

You don’t know exactly where this shouting match is taking you, but you weren’t betting on the cruel grin that takes over Michael’s face as he lets out a bitter cackle. Though, it’s quickly replaced by a scowl that shoots daggers through you. 

“Right. So, I’m just a terrible boyfriend who always forgets about you? When we got together, you knew how demanding my life was. I can’t change that. And you said you understood, but it doesn’t seem like that anymore. If it’s not something you can handle, what are you still here for?!”

There's an uncomfortable silence that settles in the air before the unmistakable sound of a sniffle breaks it. He immediately wishes he could take his words back as he watches the tears brimming your eyes begin to trickle down your face.

“You know what?! Fine! Maybe I’ll leave then!” Your voice cracks as you exit the kitchen with a hurried stride, heading toward your shared bedroom—more accurately, your shared suite—to retrieve what you’ll need for your departure.

Hot on your tail, he’s following you up the path winding stairs, shame and dread brewing in his conscience as he takes your declaration as an act of permanence. Contrarily, you were just heading back to your apartment in the city for a while to cool off. He feels foolish for ruining the evening and the proposal he had planned, sullied by his own vexations and rash need to have the last word. And the thought of this possibly being the end of your relationship has sent him spiraling.

“Wait, that’s—that’s not what I meant.” A desperate attempt at an explanation to backtrack your decision comes tumbling from his mouth, but you are done listening as you barge through the door, determined to get away from him.

“Well you certainly said it, so you must have meant it.” Your vacant tone pulls at his heart, knowing that you’re shutting him out now. Still, with an earnest plea as he watches you shuffle around inside the dresser trying to locate something, he attempts to get through to you.

“No, I just—can you stop and listen to me for a second?!” He soon finds out what you were looking for—the silver glare of your car keys dangles from your manicured fingers. No, no, no. This is not how the night was supposed to go. 

“I’ve already heard enough from you.” Your assertion leaves no space for bargaining as you turn to exit the bedroom, but Michael is towering over you with brooding eyes before you can take another step. Swiftly, he yanks the keys right out of your hand.

“You’re not leaving me.” He can’t lose you. Not like this. With firm conviction, he is hell-bent on not letting you set foot outside of this room. Aggravated by his antics, you try to grab the keys, but he just moves them farther from your reach. Like a childish game, he extends his arm higher and higher away from you as you stand on your tiptoes, pressed flush against him and struggling to retrieve the metal object.

“Michael, give me my keys back! Now!” You exclaim with heightened annoyance, slightly stumbling over your feet as he roughly pulls away from you, walking towards the glass doors of the balcony. He wouldn’t dare…

“I said you’re not leaving, dammit!” You watch, mortified, as he twists the golden handle to open the door before tossing the keys two stories down to get lost in the flower bed beneath, not even bothering to close it before he turns back around. Both breathing heavily from the exertion of your previous scuffle, you exchange a hard stare down from a distance.

“What…THE FUCK is your problem?!” You shriek incredulously as he just stands there, glowering and not saying a word. Shaking your head in disbelief, you once again move to exit the suite—this time, to search for your keys—but startlingly, Michael makes fast strides in your direction. Before you can register what’s happening, he seizes your wrists tightly, pushing you until your back is pressed to the mural-painted surface of the wall.

Both puzzled and shaken by the impact of it, you’re ready to protest this strange action, but are quickly interrupted as the sudden crash of his lips to yours cuts you off. Wide-eyed with surprise and unable to break free from his vice-like grip, the vigorous motions of his mouth forces yours to do the same.

As your eyelids reluctantly start to flutter shut, getting lost in the sensation, Michael abruptly tears from the kiss before you fully cave in. Curiously, you watch as he walks over to the bedroom door and shuts it—the snap of the lock setting in place rings through the hushed space.

His eyes are darkened with a new aura as he prowls back toward you—something fervent and burning. Suspense looms over you once he fully approaches, simply standing with his intense gaze sauntering over your flustered form. Clearly consumed by his thoughts, his close inspection leaves you wondering what’s about to happen. That uncertainty is shattered by a low command that has heat stirring inside of you.

“Take your panties off.”

“Are you seriously trying to-” stunned at the vulgar statement, you start to question him, but are silenced by the sharp slap of his hand on your behind.

“Do it right now. Don’t make me repeat myself.” The gruff command leaves no room for debate as he moves back, giving you just enough space to maneuver out of them. Though it takes you a moment to adjust from the initial shock of his harsh touch, you timidly do as he says.

The lacey undergarment slides down your legs with ease, briefly snagging on the rhinestone accents of your blue heels before laying crumpled on the floor. Slightly kicking them out of the way, you watch with anticipation as Michael hastily unzips his leather jacket, casting it aside without concern for where it landed.

He pounces back on you, meshing your lips together with fluid, eager movements that make your heart race. With just as much longing, your fingers tangle into the loose locks of his hair as your tongues become entwined through desperate pants into each other’s mouths. His usual note of cinnamon, warm and sweet, dances on your taste buds, drawing you in more. With excitement heightened by this carnal entanglement, you can feel the slickness of it starting to build in your nether regions.

His kisses trace downward to the unblemished expanse of your neck where he begins to etch dark bruises, causing soft whimpers to fall from your lips. At the same time, his hands deftly shift the sparkly fabric of your dress up higher until the skirt crumples around your waist.

“Hold this up for me.” He whispers softly, pulling away from the marks he’s painted into your skin—a canvas stained with burning desire. Obediently, your hands clumsily bunch up the coarse, lurex material as your core aches with need and expectation.

Once he’s sure your grip is secure, he impatiently falls to his knees, draping your right leg over his shoulder and grabbing hold of your hip to keep you steady. You gasp as his mouth now sears welts into your thigh, sucking and biting at the flesh with urgency as he inches closer and closer to where you crave him most.

His breath fans hotly over you wet folds before you feel him take a broad, firm lick over the surface. He prods farther, parting your lips to swipe directly at your slit, languidly moving his tongue up and down to collect your honeyed nectar. Carrying on like this for a while, muscle deliberately stroking along the strip of your womanhood, the erotic mixture of his saliva and your arousal making the movements smoother, he soon hones his attention onto your throbbing pearl.

Your breath deepens as he flicks and circles it at a steady pace, only using the tip of his tongue for the assault. And while the feeling is wonderful, it doesn’t do enough to soothe the pain deep within you. With hips canting upward, you try to get more of him, but he pulls back to deliver another hard smack to your backside. With a yelp, you jolt at the sting, looking down at him with longing and frustration.

“You’re only getting what I decide to give you. Understand?” He questions with blown out eyes. You’re both intimidated and thrilled by the wild intensity in them. You nod your head stiffly, swallowing to alleviate the dryness in your throat, but you take that’s not the response he was looking for as he slaps your behind again, much more powerful than the last. With eyes clenched, you grit your teeth from the lingering bite of it.

“I wanna hear you say it.” His stern declaration sizzles in the space between you, thick with tension, waiting for you to give a proper answer. Slightly quivering at the weighted feel of the atmosphere, you utter with avid compliance;

“Yes, I understand.” Although quiet, it is satisfactory enough for Michael as he delves back into your warmth, resuming his manipulations. The pressure continues to leave you just teetering on the precipice of what you seek. You have to concentrate to restrain yourself from moving your hips again. Sensing your struggle to hold back, the rigidity in your limbs is obvious as you now release more constrained breaths, he fully envelops your bud into his mouth in an act of mercy.

As he builds the intensity of his motions with harder laps of his tongue and the harsher suction of his lips, he is practically making out with the drenched bundle of nerves. Finally getting what you yearned for, wanton moans climb from your throat freely as your body begins to slacken against the wall, swept away in this pleasant feeling.

Your soft, pleasured utterances fall upon Michael’s ears like a sweet symphony—high and melodious. His length is straining in the tight confinement of his pants, begging to be freed as the sugared and earthy scent and taste of your sex fills his senses.

With eyes peering up, he hungrily takes in the state of your form: the rapid rise and fall of your chest with each inhale you take, eyes shut, furrowed brows and mouth agape in blissed-out desire. The elegant bun your hair was neatly pulled back into has somehow come undone in the midst of this interaction, now flowing over your shoulders. God, you’re so beautiful like this. The salacious sight sets him ablaze, making him more zealous in having you fall apart for him.

The plush skin of your thighs curve over his fingers, grip squeezing firmer and opening you more as the fluctuations of his mouth become more vigorous, devouring you until he’s drooling on your sopped and weeping petals. In embarrassment and sweltering lust, heat rises to your cheeks at the slick and tacky sounds of his mouth passionately unwinding you.

The ravenous motions of his tongue against your clit causes your walls to deeply throb, sending a new wave of your essence to mix with the messy concoction between your legs. As Michael can feel the dribble of it streaming down his chin, he moves his thumb to continue the work on your button while shifting his head to take greedy laps at the dripping source, reveling in the taste of you.

As his tongue swirls and plunges deeper inside of you, he comes to the delightful realization that he would die happily here—face basking in the warm paradise of your love, drinking down the sweet waters of your orchid. Getting lost in these elysian pleasures through tender ministrations and fervid caresses.

“Michael, I’m so close!” You wail through needy cries as you feel the muscles in your pelvis beginning to be pulled taut. There’s hot pressure growing in your lower belly with the wish for release. The fibrous cloth of your dress itches your skin as your clammy hands struggle to hold it up, trembling as you can feel the force in you, building unbearably.

Michael groans enthusiastically into your core at the gratifying revelation, gripping your hips even tighter, intent on making you come undone on his tongue. The rumble of it vibrates deliciously against your lady bits, bringing you even closer to your peak when instantly, his mouth is surrounding your whole mound with loud, eager slurps, loosening his jaw to take more of you in.

And as he hotly consumes your sensitive parts, you’re finally granted that explosive release you’ve been waiting for. Uncontrollably, ardent moans tumble over your lips as the tension in your walls spasms without reserve, sending bright tingles of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body.

Michael drinks your pleasured sounds and the sap of your orgasm with elation as he can feel his own organ twitching with excitement behind the barrier of his briefs. Slowly, as you come down from the rush of it, gasping for air, he pulls away to examine the results of his work—you’re enticingly engorged and soaking. With a more delicate touch, he brushes featherlight kisses to the inflamed hues on your thigh before gingerly removing it from its place on his shoulder.

Rising eagerly, he brings you into another searing kiss. Although, the movements are slow and relaxed as he takes his time letting you taste yourself on his mouth. As his lips flow languidly against yours, sinking into the warmth of your embrace as you let go of your gown to wrap your arms around him, you both have a quiet understanding that you’re attempting to make amends for the hurtful things said and expressed during your earlier clash.

When you both slowly part from the kiss, the amorous, yet reverent stare he fixates on you with those deep, soulful eyes sets your heart aglow with a tender longing. Delicately, you lift your hand to cradle the side of his face, stroking the smooth skin with affection. His eyelids close in comfort, nuzzling into it as his lips gently peck at your palm.

Softly grabbing your wrist to break the contact, he sets your arm down, quietly stepping back while maintaining his gaze. His hands move downward to unbutton his shirt, fingers tactfully untangling the brass knobs from the red article of clothing. His expectant stare calls for you to follow his lead.

The plunge back making of your dress causes the sleeves to glide down your shoulders with little to no resistance, unveiling your bare chest to the cool, night air the open window lets in, causing your nipples to stiffen up. The textile plummets to your feet where you shuffle it aside, kicking your heels along after. With added effort, Michael eventually disrobes himself entirely of his leather and buckled garments, leaving him nude and just as exposed as you are.

Your pupils dilate as you take in the gorgeous sight of your boyfriend. The olive contours of his lean physique are illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. Your vision moves along the faintly defined muscles of his chest and torso, down to the neat trimming of his pubes, until they land on his impressive member, hanging proudly between his toned thighs and scattered with a constellation of vitiligo markings.

With hands trembling in inclination, you reach out to pull him back to you. This time, you’re the one to initiate the passionate dance of your lips. You feel him shudder, whimpering into your mouth as you firmly grasp his thick appendage, stroking it with purposeful motions. Pushing the skin back to circle your finger around his slit, a dribble of precum glides down, smoothly aiding the up and down caress of your hand to the velvety surface of his length.

Once stiffened to full capacity, he moves your hand to take hold of himself, placing the tip between your drenched lower lips, dragging it through the slick blendings of your previous foreplay. Leisurely, he rubs through your folds at a steady pace to liberally lubricate his girth before you feel the head gently breaching your entrance.

With breath fluttering into your neck as his head rests on your shoulder, he’s slowly inching into your awaiting canal. You feel slight discomfort at the burn of his width stretching you tremendously, but you do your best to relax the muscles, inviting him deeper into you. Finally, you’re stuffed full of him with his pelvis pressed flush to yours.

He peppers light kisses onto your throat, lifting your left leg up with a secure hold to cozily lay on his hip. And then, he begins to move with a slow, steady rhythm, pulling out all the way to the tip before delving back into you. By the slight grimace on your face, he can tell that you need more time to adjust to his size. But the slick, warm grip of your tight walls has him biting his lip in resistance, struggling to hold back the need to thoroughly ravage you.

Finally, he hears it. You let out small, pleasured sounds as he’s succeeded in fully loosening you up for him. The pain has been ebbed away into dazzling sparks of pleasure as you angle yourself upward to take him in deeper. With that queue, Michael gradually breaks from the slow tempo until he is rapidly driving into you, no longer able to contain himself.

Losing yourself in the feeling, desperate moans begin to fall from your lips in staccato with each powerful thrust he delivers to your watering core. Panting and groaning just as loudly, his nails dig crescent-shaped imprints where he grips your thigh, stroking into you relentlessly. Your own carve long, red scratches into his back, being overwhelmed by the sensations taking over your body as he hits your walls in just the right way.

“Damn, you feel amazing.” He speaks lowly through shallow breaths against your collarbone, hips continuing at a dizzying rate as he gets sucked farther into your wet and fleshy opening.

“S-So do you.” You barely are able to get the words out. The dizzying way he pummels your walls has heat stirring beneath your bladder. Blood rushes to all of your erogenous zones, heightening their sensitivity, begging to be touched. One hand rises to the aching buds of your breast while the other heads down to rub at the one between your legs, but Michael pulls back to quickly swat them away.

“Baby, please! It’s not enough.” You let out in agony, desperate to have those extra flares of stimulation. Discontented at being prohibited from it, you feel tears of frustration stinging your eyes. She’s so needy. Michael thinks to himself with amusement as he takes in your expression.

“Yeah? You want more?” The teasing tone of his question, paired with the lazy smile his lips are curved into screams of devious intentions. You’re unsure of what he has up his sleeve, but you hope it’s something that puts an end to your suffering.

“Yes!” You gasp out as he has now decreased his speed to deliver slow, long thrusts, stimulating you in a new and electrifying way as you can more distinctly feel him brushing against every ridge inside of you.

“Okay, I’ll give you more.” He stops his movements entirely to hoist your other leg around his hip, suspending you in the air. Quickly, you scramble to wrap your arms around his neck and lock your ankles to keep from falling. Just as soon as you are situated, once he’s certain his hold on you won’t slip, his hips begin to snap upward rapidly, hitting deeper and pressing right to that spot that has you keening with ecstasy. 

“Oh, fuck!” The hammering force of his strokes are so powerful that it has you roughly sliding up and down the wall. Your brace your legs tighter around his waist, unintentionally pulling him deeper into you. The lewd slaps of skin on skin, paired with the untamed moans and groans of rapture that rise from within your chests, echo pornographically off the walls of this ample suite.

His lips travel from your neck, down the swell of your breast where he takes your nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling it with fervor. While not fully sure if he means to or not, his pelvis rubs delightfully against your clit from the way he grinds you, giving you the relief you were after. He drifts his oral manipulations to the other breast, making sure it receives the same treatment.

With a wet pop, your tit falls from his mouth as he lifts up to press his forehead to yours. And then, he does something that has you nearly floundering out of his hold, not knowing how to handle this heightened pleasure that has jolts of electricity shooting up your spine.

Lightly undoing the lock you have around his waist, his arms allow the back of your kneecaps to rest on either side of him, causing you feet to dangle freely. In tandem, his arms mount you up to the tip of his erection, before dropping you back down all the way to the hilt with smooth thrusts meeting the falling motion. He does this over and over again until the stimulation of it buzzes in your nerves like static.

As wanton cries spill from your lips, back arching to take in more of his wild loving, he offers a smug question; “You like that?” 

“Oh God, yes!” It breathily rushes out as his hips are angled just perfectly to abuse the sensitive, spongy bump that lies on the upper part of your walls. 

“I know you do. No one else can do your body like this, baby. Only I can.” He seduces huskily, breath fanning warmly against your mouth as he pulls you into a brief, yet searing kiss before moving to lick and bite at your neck.

Everything is steamy, slick and wet between you. A thin sheen of sweat coats your bodies, causing a light glisten to waver off of your gyrating forms. The mixture of your heady arousals strings off of him like gooey webs when he pulls out, acting as a glue that sticks you together as he slides all the way back in. It pools around where you two are joined, dripping onto the ground as more from each of you overflows.

And as he melts back into you, over and over again, you let out sounds that gradually expand in octave as the friction of him rubs you in a blissfully disorienting way. That hot and familiar coil in your gut is starting to wind tight, waiting to be snapped free. He lets out his own pleasured noises against the shell of your ear as he feels his own release building, eager to spill out. And from the way you clench around him, he can tell that you’re nearing your climax as well.

But somewhere beneath these carnal sensations, lies an inkling of distress in Michael that once this is over, it may also be the end of you two. The worry has vulnerability pouring through his words as he says;

“Tell me you won’t go anywhere.” The tone pulls at your heartstrings as you feel him press a delicate kiss just below your jaw—a silent request for compromise. You lean into the mild touch as your arms squeeze tighter around his neck. You feel his heart beating sporadically as his chest lies atop of yours.

“I won’t go anywhere, Michael. Ever.” Full of devotion, the words pass your lips, holding him closer to you as he litters more affectionate kisses to your skin. 

“Tell me you love me.” He whispers against your cheek, hopefully awaiting your response. Much like the storm of passionate emotions raging within him, he rolls into you with frenzy as he can feel an orgasm steadily approaching, setting his loins aflame.

“I do… I love you so much.” The declaration comes out in a desperate sigh, spoken against his lips resting on the corner of yours. He delivers a delicate kiss to it—a stark contrast to the wild way he works your body.

“You gonna cum?” Michael’s question rings in the air with eager expectation, wanting to feel you come apart on him. And from the way you’re constricting around him, he knows you're getting ready to.

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chant in a daze as you feel the simmer of your release starting to bloom with heat deep within your walls. 

“Go on, girl. Give it to me.” The raspy command has you gripping him tighter, crying out as your canal overflows, showering Michael’s groin with the rains of your earth-shattering crest. The waves ride out within you, currents of electricity shooting up from your pelvis, to your chest and spreading outward to every extremity of your body. You lean back limply against the wall, basking in the feeling.

As you descend from euphoria, Michael’s thrusts continue, rubbing you into overstimulation. However, you make no complaints as his hips start to stutter their movements, signifying that he is on the cusp of his own climax.

And as he struggles to maintain his composure, the warm and gummy grip of your cunt tempting him to let go inside of you, he musters a moment of strength to pull all the way out, carefully letting you down to your feet as his hand takes over to replace your walls. 

Your ears are doused in the shlick sounds he creates with fast and smooth tugs along his length. With eyes closed and face furled up in concentrated bliss, his mouth hangs ajar, emitting high, breathy moans as sweat beads down his brow. You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed something so beautiful, yet so erotic in all of your life. 

Finally, with back bowed and fist clenched beside your head, his load shoots out of him in heavy spurts, coating his fingers and landing on your lower abdomen. He continues to stroke himself until every last drop has been squeezed out and his erection has died down before collapsing into your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

As you both use this moment to catch your breaths, your hands lift to gently stroke his head, curling the locks around your fingers, as he places a faint, yet lingering kiss over your heart, shifting the atmosphere into something soft and affectionate. You remain this way for a while, silently marinating in the calm of each other’s presence, before Michael rises from your chest to lay a light peck on your cheek.

“Wait right here.” He whispers it into your skin, pulling away to disappear into the bathroom, switching the lights on. It sends rays of yellow beaming across the floor, bringing some brightness to your dim surroundings. Your ears pick up the distant downpour of water from the shower running as Michael emerges back into view, walking over to carefully scoop you into his arms, taking you both to get cleaned up.

The calming scent of lavender permeates through the humid space, refreshing waters cascading down your bodies as your hands tactfully assist each other in washing away the remnants of your love making. Though you don’t speak as you go through the motions of bathing, the quiet between you is peaceful. The care with which you attend to each other conveys the love you are feeling.

Soon, you both find yourselves half dressed, Michael in his standard pair of briefs and you clad in a pale night slip, laying in the plush and spacious comfort of his king size bed. Your fingers idly twiddle with each other as you lie face to face, not having said a word yet, though there is a growing urge for someone to do so. Coincidentally, you both break the silence with an uttered ‘I’m sorry,’ at the same time. Staring at each other, you wait for one of you to carry on with what you want to say.

“Let me start.” You take the initiative to speak first, the satin sheets sliding off of you as you sit up to gather your thoughts.

“I’m sorry for how I acted tonight. I’ve always admired how dedicated you are to your career. It’s just that, I’ve been so lonely without you this past year… I guess I just lost my cool from not saying anything about it for so long.” You say in a small voice, now feeling embarrassed for your earlier outburst. Michael holds a solemn expression as you reveal to him what you’ve been holding back on, his thumb ghosting over the back of your hand in a soothing manner.

“No, I should have been here to celebrate with you. I know it’s been a lot to deal with, me being gone all the time, but I never knew you were struggling with it this much. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” He questions with a tone full of concern. Weighing on him like a great failure, he feels upset with himself for not truly knowing the extent of the suffering you’d been dealing with.

“Your work means so much to you, Michael… I didn’t want to get in the way of that.” You mumble the last part so small that he almost didn’t hear it, but when it registers, his fingers delicately grip your chin, turning you head upwards to be eye to eye with him.

“You could never do that, angel. You’re important to me too, and I want you to let me know when things are difficult for you. Don’t ever feel like your worries are a burden to me.” He proclaims in a soft, yet vehement manner, lighting your heart aglow with adoration.

Internally, Michael feels a deep settling nervousness as he decides whether or not to state his next words. But in keeping his troubles from you, that would be hypocritical to his previous declaration. With that reasoning, albeit a murmur, he’s saying them before he loses the strength to.

“When you told me you were leaving, I couldn’t handle it. I never wanted you to know, but I think it’s best you do… I get scared sometime. Scared that you won’t stay with me. That what I do, who I am—it’ll be too much for you and one of these days, I’ll come home and you won’t be here.” 

As a lone tear rolls down his cheek from the forlorn statement, you swiftly pull him into a tight embrace. Rubbing gentle circles on his back while he quietly weeps into your neck, regret fills you as you realize that you failed to even consider that he was being tormented by such doubtful beliefs.

“Oh, Michael… After all this time, don’t you understand that I’m not going anywhere?” You say as you move him to face you once again, wiping away the wet streaks that stain his face.

“You should know by now that you can’t get rid of me that easily.” It’s spoken with a light lilt of mirth to lift the mood, to which Michael offers a weak smile that fades just as quickly.

“Well, what about what you said tonight?” Raking through your brain, you scan to recall what he is talking about. It finally hits you that he mistook your ‘I’m leaving’ as an ‘I’m leaving for good.’

“Wait, did you think I was talking about forever?” It shouldn’t be funny, but the fact that he had such a big reaction over a minor misinterpretation of words has you stifling a laugh.

 “...Weren’t you?” He asks with genuine confusion, looking at you with a pouty expression that you find so adorable, you can’t help but crack, giggling at the hilarity of it.

“Hahaha! No, baby. I just needed to clear my head for a bit… I’ll always come back to you.” Your laughter gradually fades into a tender utterance as you lovingly gaze into his gentle eyes while caressing his face. A bashful grin stretches across his lips, also finding humor in what transpired due to the misunderstanding. Still, there is a crucial, unresolved aspect of the night that keeps him on edge.

“I can’t believe the night turned out so bad.” He mutters, thinking about how the sole thing he wanted to accomplish this evening was squandered by the fight.

“Well, I’d say we definitely made up for it with something else...” You lightly muse, but it’s hardly noticed as Michael seems to be intensely absorbed in his thoughts.

“No, it wasn’t just the anniversary…” Contemplation pulls at his mind like a match of tug-of-war. Should he seize the moment and go forth with his plan right now, before he loses the courage to, or wait for another day to prepare more and make the event better thought out and more special?

“I’m…not catching on. What are you talking about?” There’s something unreadable in his stare that has you growing puzzled. It only increases as Michael gets up from the bed, going to where his clothes are strewn on the floor, fishing out his leather jacket before removing something from one of the unzipped pockets. What’s he up to? 

Michael takes one last look at the velvet box, mind set on going through with the proposal, taking a deep breath to steady himself as he treks back to you, each step seeming to span for an eternity with all the overwhelming emotions swirling inside of him. He comes around to your side of the bed, gently shifting your legs over the edge so you can see him better.

Much to your confusion, you’re about to ask him what’s going on, but the words quickly get trapped in your throat with astonishment as he drops down to one knee. Is he getting ready to do what I think he is? Your wonder is confirmed by what he nervously verbalizes next;

“In the two years you’ve been in my life, you’ve become my everything. I never knew it was possible to be so in tune, so connected with another person, until I met you. Now, I can’t imagine spending a single day without you by my side. My love for you is infinite, and I want to share that infinity with you. So… would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He pops open the box, revealing a beautiful, gold Art Deco-style ring adorned with white and emerald diamonds. Heart pounding in your chest with joy, you’re so excited and in disbelief that you almost can’t speak. Somehow, you manage to rush out a small whispered ‘yes,’ as your answer.

“You will?” Michael’s eyes lighten up as you start to nod exuberantly with a radiant smile on your face, dropping down to join him on the floor.

“Yes, Michael! Of course I will!” You warble out, being overcome by exhilaration as his own hand shakily slides the shimmering jewelry onto your finger, wrapping his arms securely around you for a hug full of relief. And now, you're crying again, but for an entirely different reason this time.

“I just got you that Mickey Mouse watch you’ve been raving about. I guess it kind of pales in comparison to your gift,” you let out a watery laugh as joyful tears flow freely. Giggling at your remark and just as elated, he eases his firm hold on you to pull you into a swooning kiss.

Giddily, Michael starts to plant smooches all over your face, which you giggle at and try to bat away the ticklish feeling. Though, he abruptly pauses his affections to give voice to something you had almost forgotten.

“Oh! And, uh… sorry about your keys, by the way.” He offers sheepishly, feeling that the earlier action was a bit theatrical.

“That’s okay, sweetie. You’re definitely looking for them by yourself tomorrow, though,” you lightly jest, not even really concerned about it. And as you nuzzle back into Michael, squeezing him tightly, those terms are more than fine with him.

Note: Credits to @cafekitsune for the divider. Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, likes and reblogs would be appreciated :)

mentions: @mjfavgirlie2006 @h4rtz-f0r-lm @thatoneliberiangirl

@tsunderesheepme @st4rwild @local-she-wolf @kenzie2cool4u @kpopfan-03 @joyboxx88 @marionnas-world @dollika2w8 @margeoww @xgrisleyx @callingallbaddies @moonwalkerdiana

© All Rights Reserved

I got something to say.

Doll

The way he’s caressing her face…Oh. Y god..

Something Is Not Right With Me

Summary: Since his bloodstained encounter one fall evening, Michael has been wrapped in an ever-growing shroud of peculiar behavior. When he runs out of gas on your date night, stranding you in the inky stillness of nowhere, the full moon slips out of hiding, unveiling secrets that flip the evening from a simple fail to a shocking fright...

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Era: Thriller

Setting: Indiana. Autumn of 1957

Category & Warnings: horror, mentions of blood, smut (mild), masterbation (m! receiving)

Word count: 4,522

Note: This oneshot is a continuation of the film at the beginning of Thriller. Both reader and Michael are 18. Re-edited to tweak some things and to correct the em-dashes. Anywho, enjoy! :)

Something is not right with me!

How was I supposed to know?

. . . 

Something is not right with me! 

Tryin’ not to let it show!

The white Chevrolet halts to a stop as the engine turns off, surrounding the young couple with the mysterious sounds of the night. A frigid breeze sweeps through the heavy layer of oak trees laying on each side of the winding road. The fissle of it dances in your ears, brushing against the skin of your sleeveless arms and sending a chill up your body.

The constant chirp of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl, symphonies that otherwise would be relaxing, were the only sounds that could be heard in the still, quiet of the woods—a daunting reminder of being stuck in the middle of nowhere. Though slightly anxious at the gloomy atmosphere, your worry eases by the reminder of the handsome and caring boy you have by your side.

Since you transferred schools last spring during your junior year, you had been crushing hard on Michael, but never had the courage to make any advances. Nearly every girl in school swooned over him—the captain of the football team—his popularity and good looks were irresistible. Between you both in some of the few classes you shared, there was the occasional, friendly conversation over assignments or the fleeting exchange of a greeting in the hallway.

You reminisce over the scent of oranges, cinnamon and cedar always swirling around him, intoxicatingly sweet yet manly. And though your discussions flowed nicely, it was not enough to convince you of the possibility of him ever having any feelings for you. And with that belief, you remained merely another admirer amongst the rest on campus. What you didn’t know was that Michael had been interested in you as well. That is, until the day he approached you at your locker. 

“Hey, I wanted to let you know that I really like talkin’ to ya, and I’ve thought you were beautiful since the first day I saw you sittin’ in Mrs. Kelly’s class. I was wonderin’ if maybe you and I could go out sometime? How’s this Friday?” His accent drawls out smoothly from his supple lips, kind eyes staring intently into yours. He stood there, nearly towering over you, red varsity jacket fitted attractively over his broad shoulders and hands tucked casually into his jean pockets as he waited for your response. Despite his collected demeanor, he was a ball of nerves internally, fearing you would reject him.

Stunned at the request, you simply gaped for a minute that dragged on in awkward silence, entirely surprised and flattered that he approached you for a date. And how could you resist that? Finally collecting yourself, you giddily accepted the arrangement, anticipating how you would spend the evening with him. It had been nearly six months since that fateful day, and you and Michael have been going strong ever since.

Tonight, you both had agreed to go to the showing of Creature From The Black Lagoon at a drive-in theater the next town over, but he had been warning for the past 10 minutes that the tank would likely be empty before you could make it there. Seeing as the car’s not moving anymore, it seems it was no mere jest.

“Honestly, we’re out of gas!” Micahel exclaims with a charming chuckle as he takes in the inquisitive look on your face. 

“So, what are we gonna do now?” The honeyed lilt in your voice gave clear indication to Michael of what you were hinting at. Though the dense and lofty woods of Lake county were somewhat unsettling this time of evening, there was still a peaceful solitude it offered that could be used to both of your advantage. You and Michael had strictly been keeping things at first base, scandalous makeout sessions behind school bleachers and in the back of his car, but never anything past the waist.

An arched brow curled up in amusement with a slight smirk resting on his lips, you were under the impression that you both were on the same page about what would take place next… Surprisingly, and much to your disappointment, you instead find the two of you traveling on foot, trying to locate the gas station about 2 miles away from where Michael had left his car.

As you continued your stride, there was a comfortable silence that rested between you two, leaving Michael deep in questioning thought. He was sure that he filled the tank the day before this outing. Or, maybe it was three days ago? Recently, Michael found himself not being able to remember things with certainty. In fact, he’s been experiencing an array of bizarre occurrences for a while now.

It all seemed to start a few weeks ago on that fishing trip he took with his grandfather to Fox Lake. A rare and special occasion, they traveled for miles to the only one in all the state of Indiana that was welcome to black folks for vacationing. Staying out on the water for hours, they took in the vibrant hues of the autumn leaves resting gently against the fading horizon, sharing stories and memories to make themselves merry.

Night had nearly fallen by the time they headed back to shore with their catch of the day when a sudden and violent shaking amongst the bushes alerted them to caution. In an instant, Michael yelped at the sharp claws of a bobcat etching into his hand as it hopped out from hiding and swiftly disappeared back into the thicket just as rapidly as it emerged, but not before he could make out the bright, neon gleam of its yellow tinted iris. The bucket of fish tumbles from the clutch of his fingers.

“Michael! You okay, boy? Lemme look at it.” 

Grandpa Sam rushes over to his side, cradling his bloodied hand to inspect it. 

“Yeah, I’m fine ‘pa. It got me good, though.” With a wince and a slight hiss from the sting, Michael wraps a cloth tightly around the deep gash to stop the bleeding. A bumpy ride back home in the old pickup truck they came in and his mother worriedly fussing over the wound as she tended to it, Michael soon finds himself easily diving into the comfort of his bed and quickly taken by sleep. Though, it remains anything but a good rest.

First came the nightmare. Astral visions painted with crimson red, haunted by ghastly screams and wild, hideous growls. A demon or some beastly creature with an unruly coat and glowing orbs, bounding through the midwestern woodlands, in a pursuit for carnage. And the moon, full and bright, beaming in an inky and starless sky. Its glow illuminates from above, pouring down over Michael. In the waking world, this feeling would gently bathe over the skin, as faint as a phantom.

But here, it was simmering against Michael’s body, gradually getting hotter and hotter until an unyielding, searing burn gnawed at his flesh. A scorch abruptly set off inside him, as if lava had been directly injected into his veins before he found himself startled awake by his own anguished shout, body and sheets alike drenched in sweat, and panting desperately to calm the racing within his ribcage.

“I heard you screaming. Is everything alright?” His mother inquires with urgency as she barges through the door. Now more collected after a few deep breaths, Michael straightens up, directing his attention to her. 

“I just had a nightmare is all. Don’t worry. I’m alright.” Relieved to hear that nothing serious happened, she lightly instructs him to get ready for school as she finishes making breakfast before exiting the room. As he goes to stand up, the gauze that was secured around the scratches slips from his hand and to his astonishment, he's staring at a surface unblemished. 

Wide eyed and in disbelief, he flips his hand from front to back, flexing the joints experimentally, as if that would make the mark or its signifying twinge of soreness reappear. Alas, it did not and with it, he began to feel the fraying of his sanity. Ever since that night, his sleep has been disturbed by nightmares. Precisely, the same exact one over and over again.

Then came the hunger. Now, Michael has always been on the smaller side, possessing a lithe frame that most wouldn’t expect to be suitable for football, but strangely, he was one of the best players at Shortridge High. A standard 3 meals a day, prepared by the loving and kind hands of his mother, with regular exercise and training were usually enough to keep him in tip top shape for his games. 

But lately, those meals have done little to satisfy his growing appetite. His days have been filled with ravenous engorge. Popcorn bags, mini orange juice cartons and plenty of burger wrappers from Lou’s Diner up the road, all piled high in the corner of his room. And when it came dinner time, whatever protein that’s been made goes on his plate in surplus, priorly requesting of his mother to make extra.

“Michael sweetie, slow down! You don’t want to give yourself a stomach ache.” Kathrine gawked in shock and bewilderment at her son devouring the slab of steak as if he were some starved animal indulging in its first meal in months. Momentarily, he’s snapped out of his frenzied feast, awkwardly gazing up at her.

“I’m sorry, Mother. You know how much I love your cooking,” an embarrassed smile of grease-stained lips and meat-stuck teeth accompanied by a subtle moment of silence, and he’s back to eating the second steak on his plate with a calmer restraint.

As a teenage boy, of course your hormones are all over the place. Michael, understanding this, made an extra effort to keep his emotions in check and save that energy for the field where he could release it in a productive way. Sex had been something that Michael tuned out relatively well, simply because he hadn’t actually romantically pursued anyone. That is, until he started going out with you.

Adamant about being a gentleman, he made it clear that he only wanted to fully engage with you when the time was right, and so far he’s miraculously managed to abstain. But ever since that incident at the lake, he’s found himself in constant battle with these carnal desires.

Besides the nightmares, his sleep often was comprised of the vivid and lewd images of you and him. Bodies joined together, gyrating and slick with passion, your wanton cries and desperate calls of his name echoed alluringly within his mind. Consuming and greedy caresses to intimate, fleshy parts flashed enticingly behind his eyelids like a view-master reel, and he’d awaken to briefs damp with his emission, sensitive and still not satiated, craving for the real thing.

Behind the locked door of the bathroom, the recollection of your titillating noises fueled the rapid pace of his fist against himself while his other pressed firmly to his mouth, muffling the pleasured groans that spilled from his lips. Though he made an earnest effort to keep these lustful urges at bay, it was starting to become more tempting to give in.

And then there was his anger. Uncommon and newly emerged, he’d been having an increasingly difficult time grappling with it.

“Mike, chill out man! The guy didn’t mean it!” Max and Chris, Michael’s teammates and friends since grade school, attempt to dislodge his firm grip from the collar of the unnamed kid who’s clearly shaken from the ferocious glare Michael holds. A forceful bump into Michael, being too deeply immersed in the story another classmate was recounting, landed him in this current predicament.

As he gasps from the air being knocked from his lungs after being slammed against the lockers, the handle digging painfully into his spine, and gazing back into the chilling, animalistic glare of his assaulter, one that clearly screamed of intense rage and intent to murder, he wishes he would’ve been paying attention before. After what felt like an eternity, Michael breaks his look away for a brief glance in the direction of his friends, reluctantly releasing hold of his polo shirt.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going next time,” a gruff warning is cast in the quaking boy’s direction as Michael storms out of the locker room. And though his thoughts were veiled with an underlying puzzlement as to why he reacted so explosively, he was still seething too much to even fully acknowledge it.

“What the hell’s the matter with him?” 

All three boys stand and stare dumbfounded as the blue door slams behind Michael with a resounding thud. As he paces across the field, his rage riddled mind settles deep in ponderment, unable to shake the feeling that something terrible was happening to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” gently grabbing hold of his arm and offering your sincere apology, Michael focuses his line of sight on you before stopping and fully turning towards your direction. His voice cuts through the brief pause he takes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?” You reply softly, taking in his quiet determination.

“You know I like you, don’t you?” 

“Yes.” A smile and endearing eyes focused on him, you hold on to every word with adoration.

“And I hope you like me, the way I like you.” 

“Yes.”

“I was wonderin’ if… you would be my girl?” During these months of courting as you both grew closer and closer, Michael's feelings had grown much fonder for you. He decided it was the right moment to take the next step in this relationship. 

“Oh, Michael…” you two share a warm and tight embrace, pulling apart for Michael to slip a silver promise ring onto your finger.

“It’s beautiful!” Taking in the intricate, fine details of petaled vines spiraling toward the center to a rose with a sapphire gem resting delicately in the middle of it, you feel elated that your connection had finally developed into something deeper. 

“Now, it’s official.” Michael chimes with a satisfied grin and voice filled with pride. Though in an instant, his expression turns grim.

“I have somethin’ I wanna tell ya.”

“Yes, Michael?” Staring quizzically, confused at the sudden shift of mood, you wait for him to continue.

“I’m not like other guys…” Michael's voice tinges with foreboding, contemplating if he should come clean about the strange happenings he’s been plagued with since the lake, or if he should just drop it and pretend that they don’t exist. Perhaps, you not knowing would be best for both of you. Somehow, they might disappear on their own, leaving their revelation to you futile in the end, or maybe even scaring you off, ruining what you both have.

“Of course not! That’s why I love you,” your fervent declaration pulls at his heart, anchoring the resolution he has to share these secrets with you. Still, he finds himself troubled on how to phrase it.

“No, I mean I’m different.”

“What are you talking about?” Uttering in perplexity, you begin to worry about what could possibly be the cause of the cryptic nature of Michael’s words. But before he can continue, a yelp filled with agony cracks abruptly in the space between you. Michael crouches down to the ground, doubling over as the same inferno that’s been haunting his dreams starts to set him ablaze from within.

And as he feels a terrifying shift, as if being ripped away from himself and replaced with something untamed and vicious, he is certain that the events over these past weeks are reaching a cataclysmic peak. Whatever this is, he senses if you stay near him any longer, it will have dire consequences.

“Are you alright?!” You go to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but before you even take the first step, Michael’s head whips up, startling you with the horrifying sight of citrine eyes and razor-sharp teeth.

“GO AWAY!” 

Frozen in fear, your feet plant firmly to the ground as the petrifying scene unfolds in front of you. Blood curdling screams reach your ears, soon recognized to be your own, tearing out of your throat as you watch Michael transform into something morbid and monstrous. The delicate structure of his face morphs horridly, distorting into a grotesque visage of bulging contours and wiry whiskers. His once smooth skin is replaced by coarse, silver fur and the unmistakable snap of contorting bones rings through the air as his features expand and bloodied claws push through the tips of his fingers. 

His protruding maw hangs open threateningly, lined with jagged fangs and emitting unearthly snarls that penetrate the night like a raging hellhound. Though on the contrary, his resemblance is akin to a wild cat as opposed to that of a canine. Finally regaining your senses, your legs break into a sprint towards the forest, hoping to escape the beast that was once your boyfriend in the shadowy vastness of it.

Soles pounding against the leaf-layered ground, the branches you push through tear at the purple skirt of your dress and scratch you in various places, but spiked on adrenaline and fear, you hardly notice. The full moon, backdropped by rolling, wispy clouds, is the only light offered in the ever increasing darkness of the woods as you descend deeper and deeper, getting lost in them. As its rays cast over the trees, creating silhouettes against the forest floor that waver in peculiar and unsettling ways, your pulse hammers in your ears as you find yourself failing to grasp what's real and what’s not.

Your desperate flight carries on as a ghostly howl sounds off not far behind you, spurring you to move faster to seek coverage. Once you feel you’ve reached a safe distance, you quickly take hiding behind the trunk of a towering oak, using this as an opportunity to regain your breath. 

Fingers gripping and back pressed to the rough bark, it grounds you as you adjust to the sudden calm that envelops your dim surroundings. The hush of the space brings an uneasy feeling of suspense as you notice the muffled stomps of the creature have vanished entirely.

“Ah!” You shriek as the horrendous brute leaps out from above, pouncing and knocking you to the bed of withered leaves beneath. Hovering and caging you in, it lowers until it's at eye length with you and the huff of its breath fans hotly over your face. And as it lets out a loud bellow, extended claws baring menacingly, your demise seems sealed as imminent.

With clenched eyes and pummeling heart, you brace yourself for the impact of them shredding through your flesh. But a moment passed, yet again, where everything is still. And you wonder, is this truly death? Being so caught up on the uncompromising actuality of it, that you feel nothing at all? 

Supposing the universe heard your despairing rumination to make reason of it, you feel the definite press of claws over the left side of your chest, simply resting as if to feel the rhythm there. Cautiously you pry your eyes open, intently taking in the slitted, inhuman orbs piercing through your own.

But oddly, behind them lies no malice. Instead, the tender and musing gaze of your used-to-be lover holds you captive as loud, rumbly chuffs vibrate affectionately against your form. And in this exchange between you, juxtaposing with danger and serenity, you feel as if somewhere far beyond this grisly countenance, he is reaching out to you.

“M-Michael? Are you there? Is it you?” Gingerly, your fingers inch closer and closer until they finally press flush to the cheek of this cat-like beast, silver mane tickling your skin. It reciprocates, overlapping its warm paw over the place your hand rests and letting out a series of soft, chittering purrs. Completely ensnared to each other in this moment, your resistance and distress gradually dissipate until you are only left with a deep yearning to understand this mystifying oddity before you, lost in the moonlit reflection of your eyes.

But, you are given no time as within them, gray clouds roll over, gathering to enshroud the moon, causing the creature to feel an unsteady shift inside of itself. Yowling in affliction, its paw tears away from your hand, claws catching the skin and drawing a scream from you once again with alarm restored. Somehow, you both manage to scurry from each other- you in terror and the nonhuman thing in pain.

And as you dash back into a run in the direction from whence you came, the open gash of your hand leaving a trail of blood in your path, you hear the indistinguishable shout of your boyfriend through the forest that is now almost pitch black as the moon has completely taken cover.

“Wait! Please, come back!” Wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you, you attempt to halt the progression of your steps and turn to see if Michael is really there. You are unable to confirm as you miss sight of the edge of a rock jutting out from the earth, foot seized by it as you tumble to the ground, bumping your head, and becoming consumed by a world of darkness.

Eyelids snapping open, you take in the familiar setting. Your bedroom of soft hues and ruffled accents is lightly aglow with the slivers of morning sky that seeps through the undulating curtains of your window—slightly ajar and inviting the nippy, autumn air into the space. Lifting the pink comforter from yourself and expecting to see the tattered dress from last night, you are surprised to find your form clad in your usual attire of a nylon nightgown. You adjust yourself, sitting up straight to fully take in where you are. How did you get here? 

You mull over internally for some explanation. To pinpoint a cause on what you suppose you only could have conjured up in your wildest imagination. Maybe it was stress from the upcoming end-of-semester exams you have, or that off-tasting slice of pie you ate the previous day. Lost in the introspection of your mind, you almost miss the bright ringing of the telephone on your bedside table. With a self-soothing sigh, you extend your hand to the receiver when the dazzle of a silver band graced with a sapphire stone leaves you shell-shocked, ice freezing over your bones.

The ringer thrums one final time before stopping as you fail to answer the call. Feeling as if your mind has stopped functioning while simultaneously being in overdrive, the phone sounds off again. After the third toll, you yank the receiver to your ear, muttering into the transmitter after a beat.

“...Hello?” You're gifted with nothing but the quiet breathing of whoever’s on the other side of the line, and you have a creeping suspicion to who it might be.

“...Michael?” The name drifts out in a low whisper. You then hear a tentative exhale being taken. “Yeah. It’s me.”

An abnormal feeling rests in the pit of your stomach at the sound of his voice, taken aback by the normality of it as your memory flashes back to the possessed and hellish tones that were produced in the woods. His question breaks through the thought. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

“I remember everything.” The statement falls from your lips with clarity and no hesitation.

“...Is it okay if we talk in person?” He requests nervously with an obvious unease in his words.

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Your chest pangs with apprehension, thoughts varying between the fear you felt last night and your desire to know the unknown. You’re not sure which one outweighs the other yet.

“Baby, please. I’m begging you. Give me a chance to explain. I promise you’ll be safe. I just need you to understand.” He pleads desperately on the other side of the phone, but you're still not sure if you are willing to take that risk.

“How can you promise me that? My hand, Michael. Do you even know what you did?” The incredulity in your voice aches Michael deeply as he rakes through his brain, attempting to spot any glimpses of what took place. But he can only recall the excruciating burn and the pale moonlight; anything else remains hazy.

“I can’t remember everyth-” 

“You can’t remember? How is that supposed to reassure me?” You cut his words short with trepidation rushing through your lips. 

“I don’t know! I can’t remember! I don’t know what I was. I’m not even sure I know what I am anymore. But whatever happened, you have to know that I am so sorry, and that I would never, ever do anything to intentionally hurt you. I-I need you to hear me out. Please. Baby, it’s me. It’s Michael… Can you just trust me?” The quiver and break of his voice he tries his best to hold in reaches your ears. You feel the strain on your soul as you hear him clearly hurting and confused. Though your skeptical concern still persists, you can’t bear the thought of him dealing with this torment alone.

“...Okay. But I’ll only do it if we go somewhere public.” Your stalled yet willing answer gives Michael a sense of hope and relief. Even though he’s slightly disappointed, he understands your wary disposition. Therefore, he quickly casts the feeling aside, mustering up the best response he can.

“Of course, of course. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I’m headin’ over right now, so be ready in 15 minutes… I love you.”

“I love you too, Michael.” Albeit a small murmuring, you declare it with absolute devotion, soothing his underlying doubt that you no longer felt the same. The conversation ends by the small clack of the receiver against the switch hook, leaving you to simply settle into the stillness of your room, lost in raking over the events of the night before. Panic faintly remains, but you are mostly filled with curious wonder. As you marinate in the mixed sensations and emotions of that unnatural interaction, you think back to the sentimental moment the two of you shared on the earthy ground.

It somewhat subdues the anxiety and confliction you feel as you are reminded of the gentleness you were handled with. Despite the frightening exterior, you can still feel the lingering warmth of its benign touch and the adoring expression it held towards you. Michael’s struggle between beast and man was unequivocal, but you were certain that your affection for him mirrored the same. And though you were still having trouble wrapping your head around the reality of this situation, you were determined to hold the fortitude needed to navigate through it together.

With a sudden shiver, pulling you away from your inner dwellings, a particularly frigid gust of wind blows through your open window. Rising slowly, you shuffle across the room to pull it shut. Placing both palms on the sash, you seal the gap from letting in anymore of the biting air from outside. But as you look down, you are dismayed to see that the wound on your right hand is nowhere to be found.

Note: Thank you for reading and I hope it was enjoyable :) credits to @cafekitsune and @we-die-like-fools for the dividers.

mentions: @mjfavgirlie2006 @mjsgirlie04 @moonwalkerdiana

© All Rights Reserved

Why am I so stupid chronicles pt.1

This whole time I was thinking wow janet jackson looks so much like michael jackson and then I saw a picture of her recently and again thought wow the resemblance is uncanny and then was thinking ooooh have they ever been in a room together and tried to google about the resemblance only to realize they’re freaking SIBLINGS??!!!???!?!!?

My brain can’t be bothered, ahhhhh the perks of not being american (srsly the country needs help) hehehehehehe

Secret Bosses

Heya I'm deciding to do a thing for secret bosses until Chapter 3 (hopefully chapter 3 doesn't release for a while) I'll try and show off a secret boss every day

Feel free to give me ideas and requests

And because of this format don't expect all of them to have a lot of details because some days I might not have time for that

photos.app.goo.gl

New item by Thomas Pasquariello

Count Von Thrill!

A boss based on Micheal Jackson's Thriller (this was drawn in October btw)

He was a former musician who made a deal with the devil to be the top of the charts. So his fellow musicians banished him to hell. But now that he's back he's ready for one final grand tour and all he needs is a Lightner soul to stay in this realm and top the charts once again!

lDARKNESS FALLS ACROSS THE LAND

THE MIDNIGHT HOUR IS CLOSE AT HAND

CREATURES CRAWL IN SEARCH OF S O U L

TO TERRORIZE YALLS HOUSEHOLDS

AND WHOSOEVER SHALL BE FOUND?

BUT THAT WITH A SOUL TO PIERCE THE GROUND

YOU STAND AGAINST THE GATES OF HELL

TO BE FREE OF YOUR CORPSES SHELL

A SULPHURIC SMELL HANGS IN THE AIR

AND A DEMON DESCENDS TO BRING DESPAIR

AND GRISLY GHOULS CRAWL FROM THEIR TOMBS

TO COME TO SEAL YOUR DOOM

THOUGH YOU FIGHT TO STAY ALIVE YOUR SPINE FEELS A CERTAIN CHILL

FOR NO MERE MORTAL CAN SURVIVE

THE DEMON OF

COUNT VON THRILL!

Also he's based on Asriel and has hidden demon wings