as a matter of fact, get me a BOMB bc these people are getting a little bit too bold for my liking

Thrill You Tonight

Disclaimer ‼ I’m basing this on Jafaar's performance of Michael. That means his personality is taken straight from the movies portrayal! This is all purely fictional. Thank You .ᐟ

He wasn't sure how'd you react. Even off to the side, sitting behind all of the chaos of the shoot and dancers, your face never once moved. 

He was in the middle of the big climax of the song, the dance break that would either make or break the music video. He practiced hard, sweated blood, cried when he couldn't get it right during rehearsals, and now it was finally time to show the world all the hard work he'd been putting in. 

The director was yelling orders, pushing people in place. Pointing and checking that the scene was perfect to start. He had everyone find their positions, making sure it looked good in and out of camera. 

Some of the crew members were putting finishing details to the dancers, while someone else was dusting something on Michael's cheek to make his face look more hollow. 

"Okay! The big take!" He clapped, looking around so everyone knew that this moment was serious. "Let's go!" 

"Camera rolling!" Someone shouted, "Take 23! Andddddd—" 

Everybody held their breath. 

"ACTION!" 

spotlight.ᐟ 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　popstar!reader

❝ in the height of 1980s superstardom, michael jackson’s biggest competition arrives in the form of a rising pop icon covered in glitter and fur coats who captivates the world overnight. the world pits them against each other. chart placements, award shows, magazine headlines. ❞

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

♡ concept catalogue (coming soon...)

♡ prologue (coming soon...)

˖ ֗ ﹐ series:

— part one (coming soon...)

❤︎︎ this layout is inspired by @intelligenthottie ❤︎︎

if any angels would want to be apart of the taglist for this series, comment or send me a message! ♡

somewhere in encino ᯽ ݁ ˖

“that’s not a real job.”

“there’s better things to do with your life.”

“you know you have the abilities and intelligence to do something better.”

you’d heard enough.

constant snarky comments thrown at you left, right and centre from your parents purely because you see a future in acting—what’s so wrong with that?

walking out the front door with a loud slam echoing behind you, you drag your feet down the driveway and into the streets.

did you know where you were going?

no.

but just as long as it was away from your parents, it was good enough for you.

the evening air felt warm but not heavy, the kind of summer night that didn’t want to end. you wandered down the quiet streets of the encino, your steps slow and steady—taking your time to stall the time of your arrival back home.

the houses around you were big, tucked behind trimmed hedges and fancy gates, but still somehow felt lived-in. soft yellow lights glowed from windows, and through a few half-open curtains you could catch little pieces of people’s lives—families gathered around dinner tables, someone leaning over a sink washing dishes, a kid running past with a blur of energy. it was calm in that oddly perfect way, like the whole street was holding its breath.

the trees lining the sidewalk stretched tall and wide, their leaves swaying gently above you like they were whispering secrets to each other. the streetlights flickered on one by one as night approached, washing the pavement in a golden glow and making everything look softer, almost dreamy.

the air smelled expensive, like fresh-cut grass and clean concrete and maybe someone’s flowers blooming behind a fence.

you kept walking, listening to the quiet, until a sudden scurry made you pause. a squirrel darted across the sidewalk like it was late for an appointment, its tiny claws tapping against the pavement before it disappeared up a tree. you watch it, amused, letting out a small laugh without meaning to, watching it disappear into the branches like it owned the place.

abruptly, your gaze is diverted to a figure now beside of you, one you hadn’t seen before now—almost as if he appeared out of no where.

you snapped back in shock, clutching your heart in recovery. staring at him—trying to make sense of what’s just popped up in front on you.

he looked like someone you wouldn’t normally see wandering around this neighbourhood so late, not in a suspicious way but more like he didn’t quite belong in the stillness of it.

he was slim and a taller than you expected, dressed casually in faded blue jeans that sat low on his hips and a soft, a slightly oversized cardigan that hung open at the front and underneath it he wore a plain cotton shirt, nothing flashy, like he’d gone out of his way to look normal. the cardigan sleeves were pushed up to his elbows.

when the streetlight hit his face properly, you couldn’t help staring. his afro was full and perfectly shaped, thick curls framing his face like a halo, his beautiful, dark skin glowing warm under the light. his eyes dark and wide, almost like a deer, with long lashes that made him look softer than any stranger had a right to.

“o-oh, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to startle you, i was just looking at the squirrel,” a soft voice apologises.

“no, no. you’re fine, i just… didn’t see you there,” you laugh, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

both of yous look back up to the squirrel, who no longer can be seen—assuming it hid someone beneath the bushes of leaves.

“i-i like your dress,” he murmurs, delivering it quieter than he intended to—fiddling with the hem of his hoodie as eye contact with the floor.

you smile, looking down at your dress—a light yellow babydoll dress with a soft, floaty skirt that bounced when you walked. the sleeves short and puffy all in a buttery fabric which was highlighted further in the soft street lights surrounds yous.

“thank you, i made it myself,” you add, your voice soft but proud—giving him a small twirl.

his head lifts slightly at that, like you’d just said something way more interesting than a compliment deserved. the streetlight above catches his face properly now, and you finally get a clearer look at him. his afro is full and neat, like he’d spent time picking it out carefully, and his features are gentle—almost too gentle for someone who looked like he should be more intimidating standing alone at night. and then there was his smile. it wasn’t big or flashy, just small and shy, like he didn’t use it often unless he meant it.

“you… made it?” he repeats, sounding genuinely surprised. “that’s really cool.”

“yeah,” you shrug, suddenly feeling weirdly bashful. “i just like doing stuff like that.”

he nods slowly, his hands still fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie as though he didn’t know what to do with them. there was something nervous about him, but not in an awkward way—more like he was scared of taking up too much space, trying to make himself smaller.

“it suits you,” he says quietly, then pauses like he’s debating whether he should keep talking at all.

“you’re out pretty late,” he acknowledges.

you hum, glancing down the empty street before looking back at him. “i guess, i just… needed air.”

his eyes flicker over you for a moment, like he could tell that wasn’t the full story. not in a nosy way—more in a ‘i understand’ kind of way.

“bad day?” he asks tenderly, his voice careful.

you let out a small laugh, but it doesn’t sound funny. “more like bad parents.”

his eyebrows lift, just a little, and he tilts his head.

“bad parents?”

you hesitate, because it felt ridiculous saying it out loud to a stranger. but for some reason, it didn’t feel hard to talk to him. he looked at you like he wasn’t judging, like he was actually listening.

“they don’t think what i want to do is serious,” you admit, staring at the pavement.

“they keep saying it’s ‘not a real job’. that i’m ‘wasting my time’. how it’s ’just a hobby, not a career’, that i’m ‘too smart to be doing… something like fashion’.”

his expression shifts instantly—like something about that hit a nerve. his lips part slightly, and his eyes soften, almost sad.

he takes a long breath through his nose, and for a second he looks away, staring at the street like he was thinking of something personal.

“that’s… not fair,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.

“they don’t get it,” you mutter. “they act like having aspirations is embarrassing.”

he shakes his head slowly, curls bouncing a little with the movement.

“dreaming isn’t embarrassing,” he says, almost like he’s correcting you. “it’s important.”

he looks at you again, properly—his eyes catching the light of the street and moon. they were dark and warm, like he carried a lot more emotion than he let on.

“if you can make something like that dress,” he gestures vaguely toward you, “then… you’re already doing it. you’re already being what you wanna be.”

your throat tightens a little, and you blink, caught off guard by how comforting it sounded coming from someone you’d met two minutes ago.

you give him a small smile, “you sound like you’ve had to tell yourself that before.”

his face freezes for a second—in such a way that you’d accidentally read him too well. his lips curl into a shy grin and he lets out a soft breathy laugh, almost embarrassed.

“…maybe,” he admits quietly with an exhale.

there’s a pause, the street seeming quieter than before. the trees sway above you both, and somewhere down the road a car passes slowly, the headlights gliding over the pavement like a wave.

he glances at you again, like he’s trying to decide something.

“i’m michael,” he says after a moment, holding out his hand.

you blink at it, then take it. his hand is warm, gentle—his grip careful like he’s afraid of squeezing too hard.

“i’m y/n,” you reply.

“y/n,” he repeats.

it’s strange how softly he says it, like he’s testing how it sounds—reflecting that he likes it.

he lets go of your hand, the silence returning, but this time it isn’t awkward.

“so,” michael starts, rocking slightly on his feet. “do you… go on walks a lot?”

you shrug. “not usually. only when i’m trying not to cry in front of my parents or need space that’s not my bedroom.”

his eyes widen slightly until he looks down again, lips pressing together like he’s holding back a reaction.

“…yeah,” he says quietly. “i get that.”

you tilt your head. “you do?”

he nods, slowly. “sometimes i walk around here too,” he admits, almost like it’s a secret. “just… to get away. to feel normal.”

you squint a little, studying him again. “you live around here?”

“sort of,” he says—the way he answers is vague, like he’s used to hiding details.

“i just like being outside when it’s quiet.”

you smile a little, glancing up at the streetlights. “same.”

michael’s gaze lifts to the sky, and for the first time, he looks genuinely peaceful.

“it’s nicer when nobody’s watching,” he murmurs.

you don’t know why, but something about the way he says it makes your chest ache.

“who’s watching?”

“oh- uh, i perform sometimes…”

he briefly pauses, continuing with a sigh, “a lot. too much.”

“you sing?”

“i mean yeah, since i was really young.”

“alright, give us a sample,” you egg on, offering him a wide grin—your eyes crinkling in the corners, excited to hear him.

“o-oh… no, i can’t,” he smiles timidly down to the pavements, nervousness evident in his gentle voice.

chuckling you lightly shove his shoulder, nudging him, “i’m only joking, i don’t expect anything. especially if you came out here to escape it.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

an hour had now passed, multiple laps of the neighbourhood taken and numerous conversations exchanged—varying from hobbies, family troubles and future aspirations.

“i really do hope you make it, michael,” you gaze up at him, his eyes meeting with yours with a soft glow to them—almost magnetic.

for a moment, he doesn’t speak. not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because it landed heavier than he expected.

the streetlights above casts a dim glow over his face, softening the sharpness in his expression.

he lets out a breath, almost a that of laugh, quietly.

“yeah,” he murmurs, nodding slightly. “me too.”

his hands shift in his pockets as he keeps walking, his pace slowing as if he’s trying to stretch the moment out, even if he doesn’t fully realise it.

“it’s weird,” he says after a pause. “i talk about it in my head all the time, but actually saying it out loud makes it feel… risky.”

you hum in agreement, the pavement crunching faintly under your shoes.

“but it’s… also kinda freeing,” you add.

michael glances sideways at you, his lips twitching as though he’s trying not to smile.

“yeah.”

there’s a small silence after that—not awkward silence, just the kind that settles when two people have already said enough to understand each other.

michael looks ahead again.

“you really think you’d be good at it?” he asks. “the whole fashion thing, i mean.”

you scoff, almost offended as you playfully glare at him.

“obviously.”

he laughs properly this time, shaking his head.

his laugh made everything around us drown out—time freezing. hearing his laugh felt almost euphoric somehow.

addictive.

“that’s fair. that was a stupid question.”

you bump his arm lightly with your shoulder as you walk, not enough to make him stumble, just enough to make your point.

“it’s not stupid,” you say. “i just… i don’t want to stay stuck. i don’t want my whole life to be small. and i don’t want to prove my parents right.”

michael’s smile fades into something more thoughtful. he nods slowly, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“yeah,” he says. “that’s the exact feeling.”

the two of you reach the corner of the neighbourhood where the houses start to thin out, the road stretching into a quieter lane. the air feels colder here, sharper, and the wind brushes past as if reminding you how late it’s getting.

“my parents are gonna start acting dramatic if i don’t show up soon,” he mutters, rolling his eyes slightly.

you laugh under your breath.

“they seem… intense. especially your father.”

“that’s definitely one word for it.” he pauses, then adds, “they’re not bad people. they just think everything that i do and achieve belongs to them too.”

you glance at him again, your expression softening.

“must be exhausting.”

he shrugs, but it isn’t convincing.

“it is. but…” he hesitates. “i’m tired of pretending I’m fine with it.”

a quiet beat passes.

he turns his head, meeting your eyes again.

“thank you,” he says simply. “for listening. most people just tell me i’m being ungrateful.”

you blink, caught off guard by how honest it sounds.

“well,” you reply, “they’re wrong.”

michael exhales through his nose, his shoulders relaxing as though the words loosened something in him.

“i’m glad i met you,” he says, casual, almost too casual, as if he’s trying to make it sound like nothing.

but it doesn’t—not to you.

you look away quickly, pretending to focus on the road.

“yeah,” you say, voice light. “me too.”

the two of you keep walking, the night settling deeper around the neighbourhood but somehow the air doesn’t feel as cold anymore.

however, your body doesn’t know that.

abruptly, your whole body jolts in a shiver from the cold air regarding the fact you’re in a dress in the night breeze. you tense in an attempt to keep warm, crossing your arms and placing your hands beneath your armpits.

this doesn’t go unnoticed by michael—staring down at you with worry showcased on his soft features.

without asking or hesitation, he begins to remove the fleecy cardigan he had around him at placed it gently over your shoulders—adjusting it to make sure it covered your arms.

his fingers grazed your bare arm lightly in doing so, followed a chill running up your spine, but this time it wasn’t from the night’s cold air.

rubbing it off, you peer up at him, a tiny, appreciative smile delivered to him.

“you didn’t have to.”

“but i wanted to.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the streets had long since quietened, the neighbourhood settling into its usual night-time stillness. lights from the passing houses glowed dimly behind curtains, and the distant hum of the nearby motorway carried through the cold air.

two hours. two full hours of walking and talking and laughing, circling roads neither of you even cared to memorise, because the destination had stopped mattering a long time ago—only worry about each other and what to talk about next.

and then, finally, your house appeared.

your house.

the one you’d spent half your life desperate to escape from, yet tonight it stood there almost mocking you, because it meant this was the end.

at the gate, your fingers tightening around the edges of the cardigan around you. the windows were dark, but you knew that didn’t mean anything. your parents could sense your freedom from a mile away.

michael stopped beside you, hands in his pockets again, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. he looked up at your house, then back down at you—neither of you spoke.

it was a strange kind of silence. not awkward or empty, just more reluctant.

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

“well,” you said, forcing out a laugh that didn’t quite sound like you. “this is me.”

michael nodded once, slowly, as if he didn’t believe it.

“yeah,” he murmured. “figured.”

your eyes met his, the moment holding longer than it should’ve. the streetlight above painted his features in soft gold, catching in his eyes and making them look warmer than they had any right to.

you shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how close he was, his features now noticable—his full lips, the random pimples on his cheeks and forehead that stood nothing against the beauty of his appearance, his nose that slightly widened when he would smile…

“i don’t want it to end,” you admitted, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

michael’s gaze flickered, something in him tightening at your words. his jaw clenched, not out of anger—out of restraint. as if he was holding back a thousand things he could say, and choosing only one.

he stepped half a pace closer, just enough for you to feel the heat of him in the cold air.

“let me see you again.”

his words weren’t rushed, not nervous.

only soft, but firm, almost commanding yet not arrogantly—more in a ‘i’ve decided this and it’s happening’ way.

your heart stuttered, lips parting slightly as if your body needed a second to catch up with your brain.

you blinked.

michael lifted a hand, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little less composed.

“sorry,” he said quickly, voice lower. “that sounded intense.”

“it didn’t,” you reply, maybe a little too fast.

“it didn’t sound intense.”

he studied you for a second, searching your face as if trying to figure out whether you were lying. his mouth twitched.

“okay,” he whispers to himself. “good.”

a breath escaped you, half laugh, half disbelief.

“but… how?” you asked, glancing down the street. “i don’t even know your number.”

michael’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he looked at you as if you’d asked the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

“then give me yours.”

the confidence in his tone made your stomach flip.

you opened your mouth to answer but interrupted by the echoing sound of the front door of your house swinging open.

a bright hallway light spilled out into the night, blinding after the dim streetlamps, a voice followed immediately.

“where were you?!”

your entire body tensed at the voice.

your mother’s silhouette stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly. your father appeared behind her, his face already set in that familiar look of irritation—one that always made you feel twelve years old again.

“you can’t just leave like that!” your mother snapped.

“you didn’t even say where you were going!” your dad added, louder, as if volume made his point more valid.

your stomach dropped, dread crawling up your spine, then you looked back at michael.

and suddenly, none of it mattered.

their voices were distant, blurred into background noise. the only thing that felt real was him standing there, waiting, his expression unreadable but steady.

you took a step back toward the door.

“sorry!” you called quickly, not even meeting your parents’ eyes.

“i’ll explain in a second!”

your mum’s face tightened. “no, you’ll explain now.”

your dad pointed down the hallway. “inside. now.”

you didn’t answer. instead, you turned sharply and bolted inside.

the warmth hit you instantly, but it didn’t comfort you. the house felt suffocating compared to the open air outside. your feet flew across the floor as your parents’ voices rose behind you.

“are you joking?!”

“what is wrong with you?!”

you didn’t care. you hands were already searching the kitchen drawer—moving too fast, too frantic, until your fingers closed around a pen. you gripped it like it was the most important thing you’d ever held.

“don’t run off like that!” your mother shouted, following you into the kitchen. “you think you can just-“

you spun around. “i’ll talk to you later,” you said, breathless.

your mother’s mouth dropped open.

“what did you just say to me?”

but you were already moving.

back through the hallway, past the living room, past the framed family photos that suddenly looked fake and staged and nothing like real life.

you threw the front door open, the cold air slapped your face again—michael still there.

still waiting.

for you.

his hands were in his pockets, shoulders slightly tense, but his eyes lifted the second he saw you—something softening in his expression.

you ran down the path without thinking, straight to him.

he barely had time to react before you reached out and grabbed his hand, tugging it free from his pocket. His palm was warm against your freezing fingers, his hand larger than yours, steady and solid.

his eyes widened slightly, “whoa-“

“give me your hand,” you said quickly.

michael’s lips parted, caught between confusion and amusement.

“my hand is already given,” he argued, but he didn’t pull away.

you rolled your eyes, breathless, and uncapped the pen with your teeth. your fingers trembling as you pressed the tip to his skin.

he stared down at you, the streetlight catching the curve of his cheekbone.

“you’re vandalising me,” he said, half laughing.

“obviously,” you whispered, concentrating.

you wrote your number carefully across the palm of his hand, the ink dark against his skin. it wasn’t perfect—your handwriting slightly shaky, but it was readable. proof that tonight wasn’t something you’d imagined.

when you finished, you capped the pen again and looked up at him.

he was watching you in a way that made your chest tighten.

not hungry or flirty—fascinated. as if he’d found something rare by accident.

“call me tonight,” you whisper gently.

michael’s eyebrows lifted, “tonight?”

“yes,” you replied, almost daring him to say no.

his gaze dropped briefly to the number on his hand. he looked back at you, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“i was going to anyway.”

and without overthinking it—without giving fear the chance to ruin it—you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, his warm skin making contact with your lips.

a faint smell of cold air and aftershave and something uniquely him hit—electricity through your whole body.

when you pulled back, michael stood completely still.

frozen.

his eyes flicked to yours, expression unreadable for a beat. he blinked, his lips parting in a quiet exhale.

“…huh,” he breathed out softly, a small smirk looking down at you.

you smiled, small and quick, as if you were scared the moment might shatter if you held it too long.

“goodnight, michael.”

he watched you, his hand still slightly raised, your number fresh on his skin.

“g‘night,” he replied, still looking at you—an expression with confusion, shock and amusement.

you turned and ran back up the path before you could second guess yourself, before your heart could talk you out of everything.

behind you, you could feel his eyes following you until the door shut.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

your parents were waiting the second you stepped inside.

“care to explain?” your mother snapped, stood with the iconic arms crossed, leant hip.

your dad didn’t speak, but his disappointment filled the hallway like poisonous smoke.

you didn’t answer properly, mumbling something about “walking” and “losing track of time” and “i’m sorry”, but the words felt meaningless.

your mind was already outside again.

already back under the streetlight, replaying the way michael’s voice sounded when he said ‘let me see you again’.

you managed to escape to your room the first chance you got, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it as if you’d just survived something—heart still racing.

you looked down at your hands, as if you expected to see his number there too.

instead, there was nothing.

only the faint warmth where his skin had touched yours.

you crossed the room and collapsed onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, the pen still in your pocket.

suddenly, the phone began to ring. your breath caught—freezing.

you grabbed it so fast it nearly slipped out of your hands, your stomach flipping violently.

for a second you just stared at it—frozen, hovering, but not moving it next to your ear.

then you answered.

“hello?”

a pause hung in the air before a voice echoed through the receiver—soft and familiar

“hey there,” michael said.

the way he said it made your chest tighten, as if he’d spoken directly into your ribs.

you smiled into your pillow, trying to hide it from nobody.

“you did call.”

“of course i did,” he replied, and you could hear the faint grin in his tone.

“you thought i wouldn’t?”

you rolled onto your back, staring at the dark ceiling, your room suddenly feeling different—less lonely.

“i didn’t know what to think,” you admitted.

michael exhaled, and you could picture him somewhere—maybe in his bedroom, holding his phone with that same calm grip he had on everything else.

“well,” he said, “i called.”

a beat of silence.

you asked quietly, “did i get you in trouble?”

michael laughed under his breath.

“not yet. my mother asked why i was late and i said i got kidnapped.”

you snorted, “and she believed you?”

“no,” he chuckled. “she told me to stop being dramatic. which is rich coming from her.”

you laughed again, the sound coming easier now, and for the first time that night, your shoulders relaxed.

a comfortable silence settled between you—his breathing flowing down the phone, gentle exhales every so often.

then he spoke again, quieter.

“your parents seemed… intense.”

an inaudible sigh escapes your lungs.

“yeah,” you muttered, looking g down at your bed covers under you.

“told you so.”

michael didn’t push. he didn’t ask you to explain. he just let the silence sit, as if he understood that some things weren’t ready to be spoken yet.

“your house looked nice.”

you scoffed.

“it’s a prison with wallpaper.”

michael chuckled before another pause occurred.

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine,” you replied, though your voice softened. “i’m used to it.”

he went quiet again.

“you’re not meant to get used to that.”

your throat tightened at the sincerity in his voice, laying your head into your pillow, staring at the wall now, blinking slowly.

“you sound like you care,” you said lightly, trying to tease the seriousness away.

“i do care,” michael replied instantaneously.

zero hesitation, no awkward backtracking—only honesty.

your heart did that stupid thing again, skipping ahead of itself.

“thank you.”

his voice dropped, quieter, gentler.

“i keep thinking about when you kissed my cheek.”

your stomach dropped.

“oh my god,” you whispered, embarrassed, bringing your empty hand up to cover your face in embarrassment. “don’t.”

he laughed softly, “i’m serious, i didn’t expect it.”

“you looked shocked,” you muttered.

“i was,” he admitted. “you just— you did it so confidently. no thoughts, only action.”

you buried your face deeper into your hand.

“i wasn’t confident,” you said, voice muffled. “i was panicking.”

“that’s terrifying. you panic and become fearless.”

you smiled again at his banter, cheeks aching.

“stop,” you groan with a smile.

you didn’t want him to stop.

“i’m not stopping,” he replied.

you could hear the smile in his voice, and it made your heart feel full in a way you weren’t used to.

the conversation kept going with minutes turned into hours.

you talked about nothing and everything—music, his family, the way he hated being treated like a background character in his own life.

you told him about fashion again, about your sketches, about the dream you kept tucked away in the back of your mind because it felt too fragile to say out loud.

he listened.

like it mattered.

he tried to make jokes when he noticed your voice got too heavy.

he went quiet when you needed him to.

at some point, you ended up lying on your back with your phone resting next to your head on the pillow, staring at the shadows on your ceiling.

“you still awake?” you heard michael’s voice faintly ask through the neighbouring phone.

“mhm.”

“good.”

you smiled slightly at that.

“why?”

another pause—almost hesitant.

he speaks, quieter than before :

“because i don’t want to stop talking to you.”

your breath caught, flustered at the bluntness of it.

outside your window, the night stretched on, calm and endless. the world felt asleep as if it had given you both permission to exist in your own little space for a while.

you swallowed, voice barely above a whisper.

“me neither.”

you heard michael exhaled softly, almost relieved, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel trapped.

not by your house, by your parents, not by your own fears.

because somewhere on the other end of the line, michael was there—his voice low, steady, and present.

as the hours slipped by, you realised something quietly terrifying.

this wasn’t just a random meeting.

this was the kind of night you’d remember, the kind that changed things, even if neither of you was brave enough to admit it yet.

you stare over at the cardigan hanging off the chair in the corner of your room, feeling it’s strong gaze beaming at you.

his cardigan.

you smile down at yourself, memories from tonight flooding your brain.

and you soon hope to make more.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋

████████

— type : one–shot (request)

— pairing : michael jackson x reader

— genre(s) : smut

— tags : ennemies to lovers (the beef is kinda one sided) badera!michael, singer!reader, tension, mutual pinning, oral(f!receiving), nsfw, fingering

— disclaimer : wrote this in class and i had to keep myself from screaming in front of my classmates…

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ what will happen when a heated rivalry get trapped in the only suite available in the hotel ?

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it was common knowledge to everyone in the industry that her and michael jackson were oil and water, fire and ice, a complete storm when forced to breathe the same air. they were the top two pop stars in the world, so comparisons were constant, but it ran deeper than career rivalry. for her, the dislike was visceral; she found his public persona performative, his voice grated on her, and his mere existence in her space felt like a challenge. she had made subtle digs in interviews, eye-rolled during award shows when he swept the categories, and generally exuded a chill so profound around him that it could freeze hell over.

for michael, it was just plain annoying. he actually respected her talent, which made her gratuitous, public, almost obsessive hatred of him all the more infuriating. he couldn't stand being hated for absolutely no reason. they were scheduled to play opposite stadiums on the same summer weekend in london, and now, by a cruel twist of booking fate, they were not just in the same massive hotel, but both had been confirmed for the very same top-floor royal suite due to a monumental clerical error. the air is thick with tension, and she has a scowl that could curdle milk. she just wants to get up to the room and get away from him, and he just wants her to stop treating him like a complete villain.

the managers were currently locked in a heated debate at the front desk, each pulling out every industry connection and contract clause they could think of to secure the suite for their respective star. she stood a few feet back, leaning against a marble pillar and huffing with pure impatience, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched the chaos. finally, she couldn't take the incompetence anymore and marched up to the desk, cutting right through her manager’s sentence.

"give me the key," she snapped, her voice like ice as she bypassed her manager. "there has to be another suite. check again. the penthouse, a deluxe, a broom closet—i don't care."

the receptionist swallowed hard, her fingers trembling over the keyboard. "i'm so sorry, ma'am. with both your shows tonight, every five-star room in london is gone. we’ve checked the surrounding hotels too. it's either the royal suite or... well, the lobby."

she let out a sharp, jagged laugh, turning her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder. "i’d rather sleep in the bus than spend five minutes in a room with him."

michael, who had been standing back with a look of exhausted patience, finally stepped forward. his voice was low, laced with an irritation he was tired of hiding. "it’s a four-bedroom suite. it’s bigger than most houses. you won't even have to see my face."

"that's still too close, michael," she spat, turning fully to face him. "your 'energy' is suffocating."

he rolled his eyes, a dry smile tugging at his lips. "my energy? you’ve been making miserable faces at me since the 84 grammys. i'm the one who should be worried about sharing a floor with someone who clearly wants me dead."

"just give us the damn key," michael sighed, looking back at the secretary while she continued to fume. "she can have the master bedroom. i'll take the one furthest away. we’re both adults—well, one of us is acting like one."

she scoffed, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed through the quiet lobby. "acting like an adult? is that what you call it? i call it being a condescending prick, michael."

she snatched the gold-plated key card from the stunned receptionist's hand before he could even reach for it. her knuckles were white from the grip she had on her designer handbag, and her eyes were narrowed into slits. she knew she was trapped; the thought of sleeping on a cramped tour bus with her hair and makeup team was even less appealing than facing him, but she wasn't going to make this easy.

"fine," she hissed, stepping into his personal space, the scent of his expensive cologne hitting her like a physical blow. "but let’s get one thing straight. you stay in your wing, i stay in mine. if i hear so much as a single note of you humming in the shower, or if you even breathe too loudly in the hallway, i'm locking you out on the balcony. are we clear?"

she didn't wait for his answer, spinning on her heel toward the elevators with a dramatic flair. as the gold doors slid open, she looked back at him, her expression one of pure, unadulterated disdain.

"and don't you dare think this means we’re cool. i still can't stand you."

once inside the sprawling suite, she moved like a shadow, immediately claiming the furthest bedroom and slamming the door so hard the crystal ornaments on the console table rattled. she spent the next hour pointedly ignoring his existence, emerging only to grab a bottle of water from the common area with her chin held high, looking everywhere but at him. every time their paths nearly crossed, she would pivot or walk faster, radiating an almost physical aura of rejection that made the massive room feel small and suffocating.

michael sat on the edge of the velvet sofa in the main living area, his leather jacket discarded beside him. he watched her flash past the doorway again, the sheer effort she was putting into hating him finally reaching his breaking point. it wasn't just annoying anymore; it was genuinely baffling. he was used to adoration, to screams, to being loved by millions, and here was someone who treated his presence like a biohazard.

"you know, it's actually impressive," he called out, his voice cutting through the heavy silence of the suite. "the amount of energy you're wasting just to make sure i know you're miserable. doesn't it get tiring?"

she stopped in her tracks, her hand on the handle of her bedroom door. she didn't turn around. "what’s tiring is you thinking you’re entitled to my conversation, michael. stay on your side of the rug."

he stood up, pacing toward the center of the room, his frustration bubbling over. "i don't want your conversation if it's going to be like this. but this? this silent treatment? it's childish. i haven't done a single thing to you, yet you act like i'm some kind of monster. it's too much. it’s actually insane how much you hate me for nothing."

she spun around, her eyes flashing with a cold fire as she stared him down. "it’s not for nothing, and i don’t need a reason to stay away from you. just leave me alone, michael. i want to finish this night without having to acknowledge that you’re even in the same zip code as me, let alone the same room."

she turned back to her door, expecting that to be the end of it, but something in michael finally snapped—in a different way. the sheer intensity of her anger was so over-the-top that it crossed the line from insulting to hilarious. he realized that the more he tried to be the "bigger person," the more she thrived on her disdain. if she wanted a villain, maybe he’d give her a nuisance instead.

a small, mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching her retreat. "oh, i see. you're afraid," he said softly, his voice carrying perfectly across the suite.

she froze, her hand tightening on the doorknob. "afraid of what? your ego?"

"no," he chuckled, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. "afraid that if you actually talk to me for five minutes, you might realize you don't actually hate me. it's a defense mechanism. it’s actually kind of cute."

"cute?" she whipped around, her face reddening. "do not call me cute. and i am not afraid of you. i'm disgusted by you."

"right, right," michael nodded mockingly, picking up a small decorative pillow from a nearby chair and tossing it up and down. he walked closer, invading the invisible boundary she had drawn in the air. "is that why you're shaking? or is it just the 'energy' in the room?"

he stopped just a few feet away, a playful, lopsided smirk on his face that he knew drove her crazy. "you know, since we're stuck here, i was thinking... maybe we should watch a movie. i hear 'thriller' is a classic. have you seen it? i could give you a live commentary."

she rolled her eyes so hard it physically hurt, letting out a sharp, derisive snort. "thriller? please. that music video is twenty minutes of you dancing with dusty skeletons in a graveyard. it’s overrated, michael. it’s dramatic, it’s long, and quite frankly, the special effects are tacky. i’d rather watch paint dry in the dark than sit through your live commentary of a horror movie parody."

she turned away quickly, her heart hammering against her ribs in a way that made her stomach flip. inside, she was spiraling. it was one thing to hate him from a distance or across a crowded room, but having him stand there, looking relaxed and teasing her with that stupid, knowing smirk, made her feel dangerously off-balance. she felt weird—exposed, almost—and it frustrated her that his presence was suddenly making her pulse race instead of just making her blood boil.

"you think you're so charming, don't you?" she added, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to sound bored. "it's pathetic. you really can't handle the fact that one person in this world doesn't want to join your little fan club."

michael just laughed, a soft, melodic sound that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. he took another step, closing the gap until he was hovering just outside her personal space. "oh, i handle it just fine. it's just that the 'i hate you' act is starting to wear a little thin. you’re overcompensating. what are you really hiding behind all that attitude?"

she bit her lip, her mind racing to find a comeback that didn't sound like a stutter. for the first time in her career, her sharp tongue had failed her. her thoughts were a tangled mess of irritation and a sudden, terrifying awareness of how close he was standing. why was his voice so calm? why did the air in the suite suddenly feel like it was losing oxygen? she felt completely out of her depth, and the confusion was making her skin itch with a nervous heat she couldn't explain.

"i'm not hiding anything," she finally managed to choke out, though her voice lacked its usual bite. she couldn't look at him anymore—not when his eyes seemed to be reading every flicker of doubt on her face. "you’re just... you’re a lot. and i’m tired. i'm going to take a shower, and when i come out, i want you to be invisible. or at least silent."

she didn't wait for his reaction, practically stumbling into her bedroom and grabbing her silk robe with shaking hands. she needed the steam and the locking door to ground her. as she stepped into the bathroom, she leaned against the cold tile, her heart still thudding a frantic rhythm.

it was supposed to be simple. she was supposed to hate him. but the way he had looked at her—like he was seeing right through the wall she’d spent years building—made her feel more unsettled than any tabloid headline ever could. she turned on the water, the loud hiss of the spray drowning out the silence of the suite, but it couldn't drown out the nagging thought that she wasn't as repulsed by him as she desperately wanted to be.

michael leaned back against the mahogany sideboard, listening to the muffled roar of the shower behind the heavy door. a small, knowing smirk remained on his lips, but as the minutes ticked by, his expression softened into something more contemplative. he reached up, absently tugging at a loose curl on his forehead, his mind replaying the way her voice had faltered at the end.

it was fun, he had to admit. there was a certain thrill in watching her icy composure melt into pure, unadulterated frustration. for years, he had been the one on the receiving end of her silent treatment, but now that he had finally pushed back, he realized she wasn't nearly as bulletproof as she pretended to be. her "disgust" was starting to look a lot more like a shield, and he found himself wondering what exactly she was trying to protect.

he paced the length of the living room, his boots silent on the thick carpet. he was still annoyed—the things she had said about the "thriller" video were uncalled for, even if she was just trying to get a rise out of him—but the annoyance was being replaced by a nagging curiosity. why was she so determined to make him the villain? and more importantly, why did she look so genuinely shaken when he stepped into her space?

"confused," he muttered to himself, a low chuckle escaping his throat. he could see it in her eyes—that split second where the hatred flickered and turned into something else, something much more vulnerable.

he knew he should probably just let it go and go to bed, but the mischievous side of him wasn't finished yet. he wanted to know if he could break that wall down completely. he wasn't sure if he liked her—she was still incredibly rude, after all—but he definitely liked the way she couldn't seem to look him in the eye anymore.

as he headed toward the kitchen to make some tea, he found himself wondering if she’d come out of that shower with her armor back on, or if the cracks he’d made were permanent. one thing was for sure: this was going to be the most interesting night he'd had in london for a long time.

the steam cleared slowly as she stepped out of the shower, her skin flushed from the heat. she reached for a towel, wrapping it tightly around herself before pausing in front of the large, illuminated vanity mirror. instinctively, her fingers went to her damp hair, smoothing back the stray baby hairs and checking her reflection with an intensity she usually reserved for red carpets. she caught herself applying a touch of lip balm and adjusting the way her silk robe sat on her shoulders, then immediately froze. she scoffed at her own reflection, annoyed that she was subconsciously trying to look presentable for a man she was supposed to loathe.

she shook the thought away, tightened the belt of her robe, and steeled her nerves. she wasn't going to let him win.

stepping out of the bedroom and into the common area, she headed toward the kitchen to put her water bottle away. the suite was quiet, save for the soft clinking of a spoon against a ceramic mug. michael was there, leaning against the marble countertop with a cup of tea in his hand, looking entirely too comfortable in her presence.

she felt his gaze on her the moment she entered the room. usually, she would have a sharp insult ready to fly, something to keep him at a distance, but the words felt stuck in her throat. instead, she opted for a heavy, pointed silence. she walked past him, her eyes fixed forward, though she couldn't help but give him a look of pure, concentrated venom as she reached for the fridge.

it was a glare that should have ended the conversation before it started, but there was no fire in her voice this time. she was unusually quiet, her movements quick and slightly stiff. she didn't say a word as she slammed the fridge door shut, but the way she avoided his eyes spoke volumes. the air between them was thick, and the confusion she had felt in the bathroom was only growing as she realized that being near him—even in total silence—was making her heart race all over again.

michael didn't look away this time. usually, he would have politely averted his eyes or offered a professional smile, but something about the way she was trying so hard to ignore him made him do the opposite. he took a slow sip of his tea, his eyes trailing over her—not with his usual teasing smirk, but with a quiet, intense curiosity that felt far more intimate. he noticed the way the silk of her robe moved and the way her damp skin caught the light from the kitchen pendants.

"you're still doing it," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave, breaking the heavy silence.

she stopped halfway across the kitchen, her grip tightening on her water bottle. "doing what, michael?"

"holding your breath," he replied, setting his mug down on the counter with a soft thud. he didn't move toward her, but his gaze was so focused it felt like he had. "you're acting like if you stay quiet enough, i'll just vanish. or maybe you're just afraid that if you speak, you'll say something nice for once."

he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving hers. "it’s okay to admit the room feels a little different now that the managers aren't here to watch us fight. you don't have to perform for me."

she finally turned to look at him, intended to snap back with something cruel, but she found herself caught in his stare. it wasn't the look of a rival or a nuisance; it was the look of a man who was seeing right through her carefully curated mask, and for the first time, she couldn't find the breath to tell him to go to hell.

she didn't answer, her chest heaving as she scrambled for a way out of the suffocating intimacy of the kitchen. "i'm not performing anything," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper as she spun on her heel and retreated toward the expansive living room. she just needed space—away from the scent of his tea, away from the heat radiating off him, and especially away from those eyes that seemed to be peeling back layers of her soul she hadn't even looked at herself.

she practically threw herself onto the far end of the velvet sofa, grabbing a random fashion magazine from the coffee table and flipping through the pages with frantic, meaningless speed.

michael didn't stay in the kitchen. he followed her, his footsteps light and rhythmic on the hardwood floor before they were muffled by the rug. he didn't sit down; instead, he began to pace slowly in front of her, his presence impossible to ignore as he circled the space like a predator who had finally found a weakness in the armor.

"you’re hiding behind that magazine, but you’re holding it upside down," he pointed out, his voice smooth and laced with that newfound, playful confidence.

she froze, her eyes darting to the glossy pages. he was right. she felt her face burn a deep, humiliated crimson as she flipped it over with a sharp snap. "leave me alone, michael. i mean it."

"why?" he asked, stopping right in her line of sight, forcing her to look at his legs if she wouldn't look at his face. "is it because it’s harder to hate me when i’m just a person standing in front of you? no cameras, no press, no charts. just us."

he leaned down slightly, resting his hands on the back of a nearby chair, his gaze dropping to the way her fingers were trembling against the paper. "you've spent so much time convincing the world i’m the worst thing to happen to music, but right now, you look like you’re just trying to convince yourself."

she dropped the magazine onto the table with a muffled thud, her breath hitching in her throat. she couldn't even pretend to read anymore; the letters were just a blur against the backdrop of her own skyrocketing pulse. she kept her gaze fixed on her own hands, noticing how the pale silk of her robe rose and fell with every shallow breath. the silence in the room wasn't empty anymore—it was heavy, charged with a static electricity that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up.

michael took another step closer, his shadow falling across her lap. he was being relentless, peeling away her defenses with a soft-spoken precision that was far more terrifying than any of their public shouting matches.

"you’re so quiet now," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that vibrated in the small space between them. "where did all that fire go? the girl who told the press i was 'artificial' seems to have run out of things to say."

she swallowed hard, her throat feeling tight. she finally looked up, but it was a mistake. he was closer than she realized, leaning over the edge of the sofa just enough that she could see the dark intensity in his eyes. the playful smirk was gone, replaced by a look of genuine, piercing inquiry. he wasn't just teasing her anymore; he was studying her, searching for the exact moment her resolve would shatter.

"i'm just... i'm tired of the noise," she managed to say, her voice small and uncharacteristically fragile. she reached up to nervously tuck a damp lock of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing against her temple.

"is it the noise?" michael asked, his gaze following the movement of her hand. "or is it that you're realizing the person you've been hating all these years doesn't actually exist? you’re looking at me like you’ve never seen me before."

he reached out, his hand hovering just inches away from the velvet of the sofa near her arm. he didn't touch her, but the proximity was enough to make her heart do a violent somersault. she felt trapped, not by the room, but by the sudden, overwhelming realization that his presence didn't feel like a threat anymore—it felt like a magnet. she shifted slightly, her knee accidentally brushing against the fabric of his trousers, and the small contact sent a jolt through her that made her gasp softly, her eyes widening as she looked into his.

the air in the suite felt thick, almost heavy enough to touch. she sat frozen, her breath caught in her lungs as the silence stretched between them, no longer cold but burning with an unspoken friction. she looked down at where her knee had grazed him, her heart hammering so loudly she was sure he could hear it. the nervous energy she had been carrying all evening was reaching a boiling point, and the confusion was being replaced by a terrifying, electric awareness.

michael didn't pull away. instead, he leaned in further, his presence engulfing her. the playful taunting had completely vanished, leaving behind something raw and focused. he watched the way her pulse jumped in the hollow of her throat, his own expression unreadable but intense.

"you’re shaking," he whispered, his voice a low velvet rasp that sent a fresh shiver down her spine. "tell me again how much you can't stand me. tell me you want me to leave."

she tried to find the words, tried to summon the familiar wall of disdain that had protected her for years, but it had crumbled. she looked up at him, her eyes wide and clouded with a vulnerability she had never shown anyone. "i... i should," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "i should want you to go."

"but you don't," michael countered, his gaze dropping to her lips for a fleeting second before locking back onto her eyes. he slowly moved his hand, finally closing the small gap and resting his palm on the sofa right next to her thigh. the heat from his body was overwhelming. "the hate was easier, wasn't it? it kept things simple. but we aren't being simple anymore."

she let out a shaky exhale, her head falling back slightly against the cushion as he moved even closer. the proximity was dizzying; she could smell the faint trace of his tea and that expensive, woody cologne that had been haunting her senses since the lobby. her hand, still trembling, reached out instinctively, her fingers hovering near the lapel of his shirt as if she didn't know whether to push him away or pull him closer.

michael jackson was standing right in front of her, stripped of the stage lights and the bravado, and all she could feel was the magnetic pull of the one person she had sworn was her greatest enemy.

the space between them had vanished, replaced by a magnetic heat that made her vision blur. she felt her back press firmly into the velvet sofa, her breath coming in ragged hitches as michael’s hand began to move. it wasn't a sudden grab; it was a slow, agonizingly deliberate crawl. his fingers first brushed the hem of her silk robe, the contact so light it could have been a trick of her imagination, but the look in his eyes told her it was very real.

he watched her face with a predatory focus, tracking the way her pupils dilated and the way she bit her lip to keep from making a sound. his hand slid further, his palm finally making full contact with the smooth skin of her thigh. his touch was warm, possessive, and carried an authority that completely bypassed her logic. she should have pushed him away, should have screamed, but her body felt like lead, heavy with a sudden, overwhelming desire she had spent years suppressing.

"you’ve spent so much time talking about me," michael murmured, his thumb beginning to trace slow, hypnotic circles against her skin, moving higher with every rotation. "all those interviews, all that anger... it was just a way to keep from feeling this, wasn't it?"

she let out a soft, broken whimper, her hand finally gripping the front of his shirt, her knuckles turning white as she anchored herself to him. the friction of his thumb against her inner thigh was causing a fire to spread through her veins, turning her knees to water. she looked up at him, her defiance finally shattered, her eyes searching his for a sign that he was going to stop.

but michael wasn't stopping. he leaned down until his lips were just an inch from her ear, his breath hot against her damp hair. "it’s a long night in london," he whispered, his hand tightening its grip on her leg, pulling her a fraction closer to him. "and i think we’re both done pretending."

she didn't argue. she couldn't. the tension had snapped, and as he shifted his weight to loom over her, the only thing she could feel was the desperate need to bridge the final gap between them. the enemy she had spent a lifetime fighting was the only person she wanted to touch.

the air in the suite was suffocatingly hot, thick with a tension that had been building for years. michael’s eyes never left hers, dark and intense, as he maintained that maddeningly calm composure. he shifted his weight, his presence looming over her until she was pinned against the back of the sofa, her robe slightly askew.

with a slow, deliberate movement, he used his free hand—the only one touching her—to apply a firm pressure against the inside of her knee. he didn't rush; he savored the way she trembled under his touch.

"you've been so loud for so long," he murmured, his voice a low, melodic growl that vibrated in her chest. "but right now, you’re so quiet. is this what it takes to shut you up?"

he nudged her leg further, his fingers hooking into the edge of the silk. "go on," he whispered, his gaze dropping to the space he was creating. "open up for me. let's see if you're still as tough as you were in the lobby."

she felt her resolve dissolve completely. as she instinctively obeyed, his hand slid higher, his palm flat against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. he started to caress her with a slow, torturous rhythm, his thumb grazing dangerously close to the center of her heat. he wasn't even rushing to give her what she wanted; he was taunting her, playing with the boundary between irritation and pure, unadulterated need.

"look at you," he chuckled softly, his hand pausing for a second just to feel the frantic beat of her pulse through her skin. "the big star, reduced to this just because i’m finally giving you the attention you were screaming for. you don't hate me. you’ve just been waiting for me to do this."

every stroke of his hand was a challenge, a reminder of the power dynamic he had just flipped on its head. she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, unable to look away from the man she had called her enemy, who was now the only thing keeping her grounded.

she let out a sharp, choked breath, her head falling back against the velvet as his fingers continued their slow, agonizing ascent. the friction of his palm against her inner thigh was electric, a torturous contrast to the cold disdain she had tried to maintain all evening. she was completely exposed now, the silk of her robe falling away as his single hand dictated exactly how she moved.

"still nothing to say?" michael teased, his voice dropping to a velvety whisper as he watched the way her eyes clouded with a mix of frustration and pure, raw want. "where’s that sharp tongue now? you were so brave when there was a microphone between us."

his hand moved a fraction higher, his thumb applying a steady, rhythmic pressure that made her hips arch instinctively toward him. he was mocking her with his touch, showing her just how easily he could dismantle the wall she had built over years of public rivalry.

"you’re so tense," he murmured, leaning his face so close she could feel the heat of his skin. "just let go. you’ve been fighting this since the moment we walked into this suite. you don't have to be the enemy anymore."

she gripped his forearm, her nails digging into his skin as a wave of heat crashed over her. she hated that he was right, and she hated even more how much she wanted him to keep going. she was trapped in the gravity of him, her body betraying every nasty thing she had ever said about him in the press.

"look at me," he commanded softly, his hand pausing at the very top of her thigh, his fingers curled slightly against her skin. "tell me you want me to stop. say it right now, and i’ll walk away."

she opened her mouth to speak, to finally reclaim her pride, but all that came out was a soft, broken moan that signaled her total surrender. michael’s smirk widened, his thumb finally crossing that last line, proving once and for all that the line between their hate and this was nonexistent.

the air was thick with the scent of his skin and the heavy silence of the suite, broken only by her shallow, hitched breaths. she felt completely paralyzed under his gaze, her pride having long since fled the room. her mind was a static mess, every witty comeback and sharp insult she’d ever prepared for him dissolving into nothingness.

"nothing left to say?" michael whispered, his voice low and dangerous as he watched the frantic pulse in her neck. "where's that attitude you're so famous for?"

she tried to find words, to tell him how much she still hated this, how much she hated him, but her brain wouldn't cooperate. "oh god..." she finally breathed out, the word escaping her lips like a broken prayer, her voice trembling and raw. it was the only thing she could manage to say, a desperate acknowledgment of how far gone she was.

michael’s smirk deepened at the sound of her surrender. he leaned in closer, his dark curls brushing against her forehead as he moved his hand one last time. slowly, with agonizing precision, he slid his fingers past the damp silk of her robe, finding the heat he had been seeking.

he didn't start to stroke her yet. instead, he simply let his fingers rest there, barely brushing against her most sensitive skin with a delicate, ghost-like touch. he was hovering, teasing the very edge of her control without giving her the release she was silently begging for.

"you’re so warm," he murmured, his eyes locked onto hers, searching for the exact moment her pupils dilated even further. "does this feel like 'artificial' energy to you? or is this the most real thing you've felt all year?"

he stayed like that, perfectly still, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter between them. he wanted her to feel every second of his presence, to realize that the man she had called her greatest enemy now held her entire world in the palm of his hand. her fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as she let out another shaky, frustrated moan, her body arching involuntarily against the light, mocking pressure of his hand.

the silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the sound of her frantic breathing. michael stayed perfectly still, his fingers barely resting against her, prolonging the torture of the wait. he could feel her trembling against his hand, the heat radiating from her skin evidence of just how much her body was betraying her mind.

"you’re so quiet now," he whispered, his voice smooth and low. "what happened to all that talk? i thought you couldn't stand to be near me."

he shifted his hand just a fraction of an inch, his fingers ghosting over her without any real pressure, just enough to make her gasp. he was intentionally holding back, keeping her right on the edge where the frustration was almost physical. he watched the way she bit her lip, her eyes fluttering shut as she tried to maintain some semblance of control.

"look at me," he commanded softly. when she finally opened her eyes, he was smiling—that same mischievous smirk that usually infuriated her, but now it only made her heart race faster. "i want you to see exactly who’s doing this to you. the man you hate so much."

he began to move his fingers with agonizing slowness, just brushing against the very surface, teasing the sensitive skin without ever giving her a full stroke. every time she tried to move against him, to force the contact she was craving, he would pull back just enough to keep her reaching.

"michael..." she whispered again, her voice cracking as her fingers dug into his shoulders.

"is that all you have to say?" he teased, his hand still just hovering, dancing around the center of her need. "because i think you want to say a lot more. you've been fighting this for years, haven't you? pretending you didn't feel this pull every time we were in the same room."

his thumb traced the very outer edge of her, a slow, circular motion that was so light it was almost a suggestion, yet it sent waves of static through her entire frame. he was enjoying the power shift, the way the most vocal critic of his life was now completely at his mercy, unable to do anything but whisper curses and pray he wouldn't stop.

the atmosphere was thick enough to suffocate, the only sound being the rhythmic, frantic hitch of her breath against the silence of the suite. michael leaned in even closer, his face inches from hers, his dark eyes scanning every inch of her flushed skin. he could feel the heat radiating off her, the way she was vibrating under his hand, yet he kept his fingers perfectly still—just a ghost of a presence right where she was most desperate.

"you're so desperate to move, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice a low, smooth purr that felt like a caress in itself. he felt her fingers tighten on his shirt, her knuckles white, her body arching instinctively toward the contact he was teasing her with.

"michael..." she whispered, his name trembling as it left her lips. it felt sharper, more raw, echoing the total breakdown of her composure.

michael’s smirk sharpened, that dangerous, playful glint returning to his gaze. he didn't budge. he stayed right on the edge, his thumb ghosting over the very top of her inner thigh, never crossing the line.

"is that all you have for me? just one word?" he challenged, his voice dropping to a velvety command. he nudged her leg just a fraction wider with his palm, keeping his fingers hovering in that torturous, agonizing space. "i want to hear you say it. i want you to tell me exactly what you want."

she let out a broken, frustrated sound, her eyes searching his for a mercy he wasn't ready to give yet.

"beg me," he whispered, his breath hot against her lips. "if you want me to stop playing and actually touch you... if you want to feel what you've been pretending to hate... you're going to have to ask for it. properly."

he gave her a tiny, infinitesimal flick of his finger—just a tease, a second of friction that made her hips lurch—before going completely still again. "tell me. what do you want me to do to you?"

she was drowning, her lungs burning with the effort of trying to stay afloat in the sea of tension he’d created. her pride was a distant memory, burned away by the heat of his gaze and the torturous stillness of his hand. she looked up at him, her eyes glassy and wide, seeing the dark triumph in his expression—that same sharp intensity that had always gotten under her skin, but for a completely different reason now.

"please," she whimpered, the word finally breaking through the wall of her silence. her fingers digging deeper into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down until their chests were almost touching. "please, michael... touch me. i can't—"

she broke off with a hitched breath, her hips jerking upward in a desperate, involuntary plea for the friction he was withholding. the silence of the suite was gone, replaced by the loud, frantic thudding of her heart against her ribs.

"you can't what?" he whispered, his voice dangerously low as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her earlobe. he still hadn't moved his fingers, keeping them hovering in that agonizing, ghost-like tease. "finish the sentence. tell me what you need so badly from the man you supposedly despise."

"fuck, michael, just... please," she sobbed out, her head rolling back against the sofa. the sheer weight of her desire was crushing her. "i want you to touch me. right there. i don't want to wait anymore. please."

she felt his chest vibrate with a low, dark chuckle that sent a fresh jolt of electricity through her. he finally let his gaze drop from her eyes to the space between them, his smirk turning into something more hungry and focused.

"well," he murmured, his thumb finally pressing down with a firm, rhythmic stroke that made her vision go white. "since you asked so nicely."

as the words left her lips, the air seemed to ignite. michael didn't wait another second. his hand, which had been a ghost of a presence, suddenly became a solid, grounding force. he didn't just touch her; he claimed her, his fingers sliding home with a confidence that made her entire world narrow down to that single point of contact.

"there you are," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with a dark, triumphant satisfaction.

he began to move, his fingers finding a rhythm that was steady and relentless. he wasn't teasing anymore; he was showing her exactly why he had been so patient. every stroke was deliberate, designed to shatter what was left of her composure. she let out a loud, unrestrained cry, her back arching off the velvet sofa as she tried to pull him even closer, her legs falling wider apart instinctively as she surrendered to the sensation.

"fuck... michael..." she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands moving from his shoulders to his hair, pulling at the dark curls with a desperate energy.

he leaned over her, his body a heavy, warm weight that pinned her down, his lips trailing hot, damp kisses along the line of her jaw. he was watching her face now, savoring the way her features softened and blurred with pleasure. his persona was still there—the edge, the intensity—but it was directed entirely at her, focused on breaking her down until there was nothing left but this.

"i knew you’d sound like this," he whispered, his thumb catching her rhythm perfectly, pushing her higher and higher. "all that fighting, all that shouting... it was just a rehearsal for this, wasn't it?"

she couldn't even find the breath to argue. her head thrashed against the cushion, her voice reduced to broken stammers of his name and desperate english curses. she was right on the edge, the tension coiling into a tight, white-hot knot in the pit of her stomach, and michael was right there with her, his eyes dark and burning as he drove her toward the finish line he had planned for her from the moment they walked through the door.

she couldn't even form a coherent thought, her mind completely submerged in the friction of his movements. michael leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that felt just as intimate as his touch.

"don't look away," he commanded, his thumb circling with a punishingly perfect pressure. "i want you to stay right here with me. i want you to remember exactly who is making you feel like this."

she let out a ragged moan, her fingers tangling deeper into his hair as she tried to ground herself. "michael... please..."

"please what?" he whispered, his eyes burning into hers, dark and heavy with a possessive heat. "you spent years telling everyone i was just a shadow, just an image. does this feel like an image? does this feel fake to you?"

he increased the pace just a fraction, his fingers mimicking the frantic beat of her heart. he watched her face shatter, her lips parted and her eyes clouded with a haze of pure, raw sensation.

"you’re so loud now," he teased, a small, dark smile playing on his lips. "i think i like you much better when you're not arguing. when you're just... mine. for as long as i want you like this."

his hand was relentless, driving her toward a peak that felt impossibly high. he leaned in even closer, his chest pressing against her heaving breaths, his voice dropping to a final, devastating murmur. "you can hate me again tomorrow, if you think you still can. but right now, you're going to scream my name until you forget why you ever tried to fight me."

she was already on the brink, her body trembling with a frantic energy that made the silk of her robe hiss against the sofa. michael watched her, his eyes dark with a calculated, heavy desire. he knew exactly how much she could take, and he was enjoying every second of her unraveling.

"you're almost there, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice dipping into that low, rhythmic rasp.

without breaking eye contact, he shifted the angle of his hand. his thumb kept its steady, maddening pressure on her surface, but he slowly, deliberately slid one finger inside her. the transition was seamless, a deep, invasive warmth that made her eyes fly wide and her breath hitch in a sharp, broken sob.

"fuck..." she gasped, her hips jerking upward as her body tried to accommodate the new, fuller sensation. her nails dug into his forearms, leaving crescent marks in his skin.

"shhh," he whispered, his finger beginning to move within her, curling slightly to find the exact spots that made her toes curl and her voice fail. "just feel it. no more thinking, no more talking. just this."

he increased the tempo, his hand working with a coordinated precision that felt like it was tearing her apart and putting her back together all at once. he was relentless, his finger pushing deep as his thumb continued to drive her toward the edge.

"look at me," he commanded, his face so close she could feel the heat of his skin. "don't close your eyes. i want to see the moment you break. i want to see you lose everything to me."

she was helpless, her head thrashing against the cushions, her voice reduced to a series of sharp, rhythmic gasps that matched the movement of his hand. the world outside the suite didn't exist; the rivalry didn't exist. there was only the weight of him, the fire between her legs, and the devastating realization that he was exactly what she had been missing.

the air in the room seemed to vibrate with her ragged breathing as michael finally shifted his weight. he didn't pull away entirely; instead, he began to trail slow, languid kisses down the side of her neck, his lips barely brushing her skin but leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"you're so sensitive," he murmured against her collarbone, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. "every time i touch you, you jump. it’s like you’ve been starved for this."

he moved lower, his hands sliding down her sides to her waist, pulling the silk of her robe further apart. he dropped to his knees on the plush rug between her legs, his dark curls spilling over his forehead as he looked up at her from below. the view from down there was possessive, his eyes tracking the way her chest heaved and the way her thighs trembled, still slick from his touch.

"don't hide from me," he whispered, his hands firmly grasping her knees to keep them wide. he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the pale skin of her inner thigh, right above the knee. "i told you it was a long night. we're going to take our time with every single inch of you."

she let out a shaky moan, her fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his head, unsure if she was trying to pull him closer or hold him back. michael didn't stop. he continued his slow descent, his lips peppering hot, damp kisses higher and higher along her soft skin.

"you spent so much time trying to tear me down in public," he said, his voice muffled against her skin, his breath ghosting over her most sensitive areas. "but here you are... begging me not to stop. who’s really in control now, darling?"

he reached the apex of her thighs, his nose brushing against her, his gaze lifting one last time to lock onto hers. "i want to hear you," he breathed, his hands sliding up to grip her hips tightly. "i want to hear exactly how much you like this."

she let out a stifled sob, her fingers tightening desperately in michael’s dark curls as she looked down at him from the sofa, completely vulnerable. she no longer had the strength to lie, no longer the energy to play the role of the cold, detached critic.

"it’s you... fuck, michael, it’s always been you," she whispered, her voice breaking under the weight of the confession. "i never wanted anyone else... i was just too terrified of how you made me feel."

michael paused for a beat, his hands gripping her hips with a newfound intensity. a slow, triumphant smile spread across his lips, but this time, the mockery was gone, replaced by a deep, burning satisfaction. he loved hearing her admit defeat, especially when she looked so beautiful in her surrender.

"that’s all i wanted to hear," he breathed, his warm breath ghosting against her damp skin.

true to his word, he tilted his head and pressed his lips against her with a delicacy that made her shudder from head to toe. he started with small, light kisses, almost chaste, on the tops of her thighs before moving closer to the center of her heat.

"look how you react for me," he murmured between kisses, his voice nothing more than a velvety growl. "all that anger... all that venom in the press... all of it just to end up here, trembling under my mouth."

he traced his tongue with unbearable slowness along her length, savoring the taste of her desire and the violent shiver that racked her frame. she arched her back, letting out a strangled cry, while he continued to kiss her tenderly, almost religiously, turning every inch of her skin into a field of pure electricity. he wasn't rushing anymore; he wanted her to feel every second of this devotion, proving to her with his lips what she dared not deny any longer.

the friction of his lips against her skin was a sensory overload, a soft contrast to the hard, demanding edge he had shown just moments before. he hovered there, his breath hitching as he felt her thighs quiver against his cheeks. he was taking his time, worshipping the very part of her that had been wound so tight with tension.

"you're so perfect like this," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her inner thigh. "so open. so honest."

he leaned in further, his tongue darting out to taste her again, a slow, swirling stroke that made her hips lurch upward uncontrollably. she let out a long, high-pitched whine, her head thrashing against the velvet cushion. she felt his hands slide from her hips down to her underside, lifting her slightly to meet him, grounding her as he focused all his attention on her center.

"fuck, michael... please," she gasped, her voice barely a thread.

"i've got you," he murmured, his gaze lifting for a split second to catch her blown-out pupils before he returned to his task.

he began to alternate between soft, feather-light kisses and the rhythmic, insistent pressure of his tongue. he was teasing her again, but in a way that felt like a promise. he knew he had won, but he wasn't just interested in the victory anymore—he wanted to drown her in the pleasure he knew only he could provide. each time she thought she was about to snap, he would slow down, trailing his lips back to her sensitive skin, murmuring low, dark praises that made her blush even deeper.

"tell me you're mine," he breathed, his teeth grazing her lightly, sending a fresh wave of static through her nerves. "tell me there's no one else you want but me."

"only you," she sobbed out, her hands gripping his hair so tightly she was practically pulling him into her. "it's only ever been you, michael. god, please, don't stop."

he let out a low growl of satisfaction, his grip tightening on her as he buried his face against her, finally giving her the deep, relentless attention she was begging for, determined to make her forget everything but the feeling of him.

the sound of her voice admitting he was the only one seemed to flick a switch inside him. his restraint, once so calculated and cool, began to fray into something much more primal. he didn't pull away; instead, he used his hands to pull her hips right to the edge of the sofa, bringing her flush against his face as he knelt between her trembling legs.

"good girl," he growled, the words vibrating directly against her heat.

he took her then, his tongue sweeping over her with a sudden, intense hunger that made her entire body stiffen in shock. it wasn't the delicate teasing from before; this was deep, rhythmic, and demanding. he used the edge of his teeth just enough to make her gasp, followed immediately by the soothing, wet glide of his tongue that drove her closer to the edge than she had ever been.

"fuck... michael, i'm... i'm going to—" she couldn't even finish the sentence, her voice hitching into a series of broken, high-pitched sounds as the tension in her lower body reached a screaming point.

"let it happen," he commanded, his voice muffled but firm. "give it all to me. i want to feel every bit of it."

he didn't let up for a second. his hands were like vices on her thighs, holding her open and still so she had no choice but to take everything he was giving. the world narrowed down to the scent of his cologne, the heat of his mouth, and the sheer, overwhelming power of the man who had gone from her greatest rival to her absolute master in the span of a single night.

as she finally shattered, her body arching in a violent, beautiful release, michael stayed right there, drinking in her cries and the frantic pulsing of her muscles. he didn't pull back until the last of her tremors began to fade, leaving her slumped against the cushions, breathless and completely spent.

he looked up at her, a stray curl falling over his dark, shimmering eyes, and a smudge of her lip gloss on his chin. he looked every bit the king she had feared and craved, and as he reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, he gave her a look that said this was only the beginning.

the heavy silence that followed was broken only by the sound of her gasping for air, her chest rising and falling in jagged movements. michael didn't move from his position on the floor, his knees still pressed into the rug as he watched her with a dark, predatory calm. he reached up, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip, which was swollen and trembling.

"see?" he whispered, his voice smooth and terrifyingly steady. "no microphones, no cameras, no lies. just you, breaking for me."

she couldn't even find the strength to pull her robe back together. she felt completely unraveled, her skin still tingling from the intensity of his mouth. michael stood up slowly, his movements fluid and graceful, and sat back on the edge of the sofa beside her. he didn't touch her intimately this time; he simply tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that felt almost more intimate than what had just happened.

"you look so much better when you aren't trying to fight the world," he murmured, his eyes searching hers. "it’s exhausting, isn't it? pretending you don't need this. pretending you don't need me."

she swallowed hard, her voice coming back in a hoarse whisper. "fuck... i hate that you're right."

michael chuckled, a low sound that vibrated in the small space between them. he leaned down, pressing a final, lingering kiss to her forehead before resting his chin on his hand, watching her with that signature intensity.

"you don't hate it," he corrected gently, a spark of that the playful mischief returning to his eyes. "you just hate that i'm the one who proved it. but don't worry, darling. we have the whole night ahead of us to make sure you never forget it again."

he watched her for a moment longer, his dark eyes drinking in her disheveled state, before he moved. he didn't give her a chance to overthink or retreat back into her shell. leaning forward, he captured her lips in a kiss that was vastly different from the teasing ones before—it was deep, slow, and possessive, tasting of her surrender and his victory.

"oh my god..." she breathed against his mouth, her hands instinctively finding their way back to his neck, pulling him closer.

michael shifted his weight, moving from the edge of the sofa to hover directly over her. he lowered himself with agonizing slowness, making sure she felt every inch of his body making contact with hers. his chest pressed against her heaving breaths, his thighs slotting between hers, pinning her gently but firmly into the plush velvet.

"you’re so soft," he murmured against her lips, his voice a low vibration that sent fresh shivers down her spine. "i’ve spent so long wondering if you’d feel this good under me."

he supported his weight on his elbows, framing her face with his hands. his eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that made her feel like the only person in the world. he began to trail slow, damp kisses from her mouth to her jaw, then down to the sensitive hollow of her throat.

"stay right here," he whispered, his lips grazing her skin. "don't go back to that person who fights me. just be mine tonight."

she arched beneath him, the weight of him feeling like the only thing keeping her grounded. her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even tighter against her as she let out a broken, needy sound.

"i'm not going anywhere," she managed to choke out, her fingers tangling in his hair. "just... michael, please don't stop."

he let out a low, satisfied hum, his body settling completely onto hers, a perfect fit. the power struggle was over; there was only the heat of the room, the scent of his skin, and the slow, rhythmic movement of his hips as he began to lead her into the next part of the night.

the weight of him was a warm, solid comfort against her, but he didn't stay still for long. his hands, large and steady, began a slow journey across her skin, tracing the curves he had only ever seen from a distance. he started at her shoulders, his palms smoothing over her heated skin, before sliding down the length of her arms to interlace his fingers with hers, pinning her hands gently against the cushions.

"you're shaking," he whispered, his voice a dark silk against her ear. "i can feel your heart hammering against my chest. it’s like a trapped bird, isn't it? trying to fly right into me."

he released her hands to let his touch wander further. his fingers grazed the sides of her ribs, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of her hip bones through the opening of her robe. every touch was deliberate, intended to keep her skin humming with a constant, low-voltage electricity.

"fuck, michael..." she gasped, her head rolling to the side as his hand slid upward, his palm brushing the underside of her breast.

"shhh," he murmured, his lips moving against the pulse point in her neck. "i want to know every part of you. i want to know where you're the most sensitive, where you hide your secrets. i want to see if you can handle how much i want you."

his hand moved lower again, his touch becoming firmer, more possessive as he stroked the length of her thighs. he watched the way her eyes clouded over, the way her lips parted as she struggled to keep her breath even.

"you’ve spent so much time talking about me," he said, a slow, dangerous smirk touching his lips as he looked down at her. "writing about me. analyzing every move i make. but this... this isn't something you can write down, is it? you can't describe the way your body feels right now. you can only experience it. with me."

he leaned down to catch her bottom lip between his teeth, a tiny, sharp tug that made her arch into him. "don't think about tomorrow. don't think about what you're going to say when you leave this room. just feel what i'm doing to you right now."

as michael hovered over her, he pulled back just enough to create a sliver of space, his dark eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. with a slow, deliberate movement, he reached for the buttons of his shirt, his gaze never wavering.

"you’re looking at me like you’ve been waiting for this for a long time," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

he unfastened the first few buttons, his fingers moving with a grace that was almost hypnotic. as the fabric parted, revealing the smooth, toned expanse of his chest and the sharp line of his collarbone, she felt a fresh wave of heat crash over her. he looked incredible— his silhouette, the lean muscle, the raw confidence that radiated off him in waves.

"oh my god, michael..." she whispered, her voice thick with desire. seeing him like this, partially undone and completely focused on her, made her blood feel like it was boiling. he was effortlessly attractive, his presence filling the room until there was nothing else left to see.

"is that it?" he teased, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it pool around his elbows. "you’re getting so hot just looking at me? i haven't even started yet."

he leaned back down, the cool air hitting her skin where his body had been, only to be replaced by the searing heat of his bare chest pressing against her. she could feel his heart beating—a steady, powerful rhythm that matched her own frantic pulse.

"you want me, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against hers, his hands sliding up to frame her face again. "more than you ever wanted to admit. i can see it in your eyes. you're burning up for me."

she arched into him, her hands wandering over the smooth skin of his back, marveling at the strength she felt beneath her fingertips. he was right; she was on fire, and the sight of him—this close, this real—was the spark that was about to turn the whole room into an inferno.

michael let out a low, breathy laugh as he felt her hands roaming feverishly over his bare shoulders. he moved with a slow, feline grace, reaching down to unbuckle his belt, the metallic click echoing sharply in the quiet suite. he didn't take everything off yet; he just loosened his clothes enough to feel the friction of her skin against his without any barriers.

"you’re staring," he whispered, his voice dropping into that dangerously smooth register. he leaned down, his bare chest finally making full, skin-to-skin contact with hers. the heat was instantaneous, a white-hot bridge connecting them. "do i look the way you imagined when you were writing those cold, professional articles about me?"

he began to move against her, a slow, torturous grind of his hips that made her let out a broken, needy sound. he was so lean, so powerful, and the sight of his dark curls falling over his eyes as he looked down at her was almost too much to bear.

"you're so flushed," he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw before sliding down to grip the back of her neck. "i can feel the heat radiating off you in waves. you want this so badly it’s making you shake, isn't it?"

he tilted her head back, exposing the long line of her throat, and began to pepper hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin, moving toward her ear.

"i told you... i’m not just a story for your magazine," he breathed, his teeth grazing her earlobe just enough to make her gasp. "i’m real. and i’m going to make sure that every time you pick up a pen from now on, you feel exactly what you’re feeling right now. you’re going to taste me in every word you write."

he shifted again, his body heavy and perfect on top of her, his hands sliding down to pull her legs even tighter around his waist. "tell me you're ready. tell me you want me to stop talking and finally give you what you’ve been begging for."

she locked her eyes onto his, her fingers digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders. "i’ve never been more ready in my life," she whispered, her voice vibrating with an urgency she no longer tried to hide. "make me forget everything, michael. make me feel like i’m yours."

michael let out a low growl, a mix of triumph and raw desire. he pressed himself against her, his burning skin against hers, and began to move. it wasn't penetration yet, but a slow, heavy, and rhythmic friction against her center, already slick with longing. he wanted her to feel every inch of him, every curve of his power, torturing her deliciously before the point of no return.

"feel that," he breathed against her temple, his hips tilting with exquisite precision. "i want you to feel exactly what you’re doing to me. i want you to be obsessed with this weight, with this heat."

he increased the pressure slightly, his hands sliding under her back to lift her and press her even more firmly against him. the friction of his loosened trousers and the searing heat of his body created an unbearable sensation that made her groan in jagged gasps. every movement was calculated to bring her to the edge of the abyss, giving her maximum sensation while still withholding exactly what she was begging for.

"look at me," he commanded softly, his voice nothing more than a hypnotic murmur. "don't close your eyes. i want you to see the man who is driving you out of your mind. i want to be the only thing that exists in your world."

she was at her limit, breathless, her hips instinctively trying to follow the rhythm he imposed, while he continued to rub against her with a provocative slowness, savoring every shiver that racked her body.

she watched him, mesmerized, as he finally pushed his trousers down and kicked them away, leaving him completely bare before her. the sight of him—strong, lean, and unmistakably ready—made her heart skip a beat. he looked like a god in the dim light, and the way he looked at her made her feel like the most precious prize he’d ever won.

"see what you do to me?" he whispered, his voice thick with a raw, masculine hunger. "you’ve spent months trying to take me down with your words, but your body... your body has been begging for this since the very first interview."

he moved back over her, the full weight of his naked body finally meeting hers. the sensation of skin-to-skin contact was electric, a total sensory explosion. he gripped her thighs, draping them over his broad shoulders to open her up completely to him.

"you're so beautiful when you're caught like this," he murmured, his thumb grazing her lower lip as he positioned himself at her entrance. "no more games. no more reviews. just this."

he didn't rush. he pushed into her with a slow, agonizingly steady pressure, his eyes locked onto hers to catch every flicker of emotion on her face. he watched her gasp, her back arching as he filled her completely, the breath leaving her lungs in a long, shaky exhale.

"fuck... you're so tight for me," he growled, his forehead dropping against hers as he stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust to the stretch of him. "it’s like you were made specifically to hold me. tell me how it feels. tell me you've never felt anyone like this."

"never," she sobbed out, her hands clutching his damp back, pulling him deeper. "never like this, michael. please... don't ever stop."

he let out a low, triumphant sound and began to move, a deep and rhythmic pace that claimed her entirely. "i’m going to make sure you never think of another man without tasting me," he whispered between heavy breaths, his pace quickening as he drove her higher and higher. "i'm going to ruin you for everyone else, darling. you're mine now. every word you write, every breath you take... it belongs to me."

the rhythm of his movements became more urgent, a relentless and deep cadence that left her gasping for air. he was moving with a raw, athletic grace, his muscles rippling beneath her fingertips as she clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

"look at me," he commanded again, his voice strained and heavy with the effort of his own restraint. he reached down, his fingers interlacing with hers and pinning her hands to the pillows once more, forcing her to endure the sheer intensity of the pleasure he was driving into her. "i want to see you break. i want to see the moment you realize you'll never be free of this."

"i'm already... there," she cried out, her voice breaking as she arched her back, her hips rising to meet every one of his thrusts. the friction, the heat, and the sound of his low, guttural moans in her ear were driving her toward a peak that felt terrifyingly beautiful.

michael leaned down, his lips brushing against her sweating skin, his breath hot and ragged. "you're so perfect," he hissed, his pace turning into something faster, something more primal. "so loud for me now. keep making those sounds. i want the whole world to know who you're screaming for."

his movements became more powerful, each strike intentional and deep, claiming her over and over again. he was no longer just a man; he was a force of nature, and she was drowning in him. as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in her lower body, she felt the first sparks of a massive release beginning to flicker.

"michael... oh god, michael!"

"that's it," he growled, his grip on her hands tightening until it almost hurt—a delicious, grounding pain. "give it to me. let go. give me everything you’ve been holding back."

with one final, devastatingly deep thrust, she shattered, her body convulsing in a violent, exquisite climax that went on and on. michael let out a loud, triumphant roar, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he followed her over the edge, his own release hitting him with a force that made his entire frame shudder against her.

for a long moment, the only sound in the room was their synchronized, frantic breathing and the distant hum of the city outside, as if the world had stopped spinning just to witness their collapse.

he stayed collapsed against her for several minutes, his heavy, rhythmic heartbeat thumping against her chest like a drum. the air in the room was thick with the scent of them—heat, sweat, and the fading notes of his expensive cologne. michael slowly lifted his head, his face softened by a vulnerability she’d never seen, though that possessive spark still flickered deep in his eyes.

"you're still shaking," he whispered, his thumb catching a stray tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye. he didn't pull away; instead, he shifted his weight to his side, pulling her with him so they were tangled together, chest to chest, on the edge of the velvet sofa.

he draped the discarded robe over her trembling shoulders, his touch surprisingly tender for a man who had just claimed her so ruthlessly. "you aren't going to be able to write a single word about tonight, are you?" he murmured, a low, tired chuckle vibrating against her collarbone. "because there are no words for this. for us."

she leaned her forehead against his chin, her voice barely a breath. "i think you've effectively ruined my career, michael."

"good," he said, his grip tightening around her waist. "then you'll have more time to spend right here. where you belong."

he began to trace lazy, soothing circles on her lower back, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of her head. the fire was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but for now, there was only the quiet, heavy weight of their shared breath.

"don't move," he commanded softly, his eyes finally closing as he pulled her closer into his heat. "the world can wait until morning. tonight, the king isn't going anywhere, and neither are you."

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warning !!! if you read this at 3am you may get pregnant 😣😣