DR. JACKSON

⋮ ⌗ pairing┆therapist!michael x actress!reader

⋮ ⌗ cw┆'retirement' au, angst, hurt/comfort, reader/michael have trauma and flaws, reader has underlying family issues, corrupt industry, explicit/sexual content later on, mentions of dissociative episode(s), (★) in place of name, age gap (reader is twenty-nine), entire story takes place within michael's office, more to come...

MASTERLIST

I do not fw lisa marie in the slightest.

She can go straight to HELL….oh wait 😹

‧₊ ♪˚⊹ 𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑬

need to know | michael jackson

history! michael x wife! reader

request: would it be crazy to ask for a fic based on michael body building for the dangerous (and or history) tour and merge it with your idea of riding his abs…and maybe thick thighs. also since this isn’t anon please don’t post me 🙏 thank u!

cw/tw: nsfw 18+ mdni, smut, no plot, soft! dom mike, mentions of thigh riding and m! masturbation, ab riding, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie

wc: around 900

🪐— inspired by this clip. — i’ve done thigh riding for him in the gold pants before! you can read that here

michael rested his arms behind his head as he watched you. the way you had your throat bent back as you dragged your bare pussy across the length of his abdomen.

occasionally flexing the muscles there just to see the full body reaction you had to it.

after all, you had asked him for this. albeit, shyly. muttering under your breath in a lust induced haze about how good his abs must feel as you ran your hand down his stomach through his wet shirt. you’d been like that a lot lately, he had noticed. ever since he started to put on a little more weight and muscle, you seemed starved. your eyes hungry and always watching him in a way that was wholly inappropriate and he loved every minute of it.

christ, the first fitting of him with the gold pants, you were practically insatiable. he had dragged you over his lap, expecting you to grind down on his already hard cock, but instead you spread your legs and rested your clothed pussy against one of his thighs. your pupils completely blown as you rode him like that… he hadn’t been able to help himself as he took his dick out and jacked off to the sight of you.

but this? his abs?

who was he but a gentlemen? of course he’d oblige in his wife’s curiosity.

hell, his hair was still wet from the shoot. your eagerness adorable as you peeled off his shirt and pushed him flat into the mattress with your nails digging into the toned plane of his chest.

his stomach would clench even harder when you rolled your hips too far back, your ass and edge of your sopping cunt teasing the head of his aching cock.

it rested against his naval, neglected and leaking pre-cum onto searing skin. twitching every time you moaned.

michael’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he watched you, his eyes on a repeated cycle of flicking between your face and your pussy. mesmerized as you started to grind down harder and faster. your moan cutting off into a high pitched sound.

“that’s it mama, just like that.”

his hands found your hips in a grip strong enough to leave bruises as he dragged you against him, helping you reach your climax in a wet gush along his stomach.

“michael- oh fuck!” you practically shrieked when he dragged you further down, immediately rolling his hips up into yours with a sharp smacking sound of skin hitting skin as his cock slammed into you.

a groan tore right up from his diaphragm when he bottomed out, your pussy still fluttering from being in the middle of an orgasm.

you were soaked, practically making a mess across his pelvis as he fucked up into you.

the force of his thrust so strong, it sent you falling forward on his chest and his mouth latched onto your own in a sloppy kiss.

one of his hands buried in your hair while the other remained digging into your hip, slamming you repeatedly back down onto him and the only noise echoing in the room was your pathetic whimpering and the lewd sounds of skin slapping skin.

michael rolled you over, keeping his dick buried deep inside of you as his hands cupped beneath your knees. pushing them up and out and the new angle made your head spin.

“please—“ it hurt and it was wonderful. the head of his cock hitting every single inch inside of you and his pelvis was dragging an incessant rhythm into your clit.

“that’s it, baby. take it.” his voice was rough in your ear with his own heavy breathing before he leaned back and maneuvered onto his knees, lifting your hips up to stay joined with his at the tilted angle.

and jesus, was that a new feeling.

a moan tore out of him as his eyes fell to where your bodies were connected. his cock continuously disappearing inside your swollen and glistening pussy. a wet, creamy ring forming at the base of his cock and it only drove him to go harder. desperate to reach something inside of you that he wasn’t even sure was humanly possible.

the sight of michael being entranced as he fucked you made your head spin and push that much closer to the edge, especially as the muscles in his stomach rippled when you’d tighten around him. the ridges of his abs glistening with sweat and your arousal from earlier.

“m-mikey, i’m—“ your words broke off in a moan as he reached a hand down, rubbing tight circles into your clit.

“come f’me. i want all of it.” he ground out, somehow going just a bit deeper and harder and that was enough to send you toppling. tongue dripping a bunch of orgasm induced nonsense.

michael threw his head back at the feeling. he loved it when you came on his cock. getting to feel every single twitch and convulse and it never failed to make him follow soon after.

your name leaving his mouth in a broken sound as he started to come, his attention rapt on your pussy as he did so, seeing the way his cum would start to leak out of you in a gush as his thrusts grew erratic and sloppy before he finally pulled out and collapsed on top of you.

not giving a single damn how much of a mess he just made of the sheets.

michael jackson masterlist

taglist: @solarrandom @mjssluttyfish @tojiswifeforlife @sometranslationnoteru @sunshineyrosie @amoravelee @mvsticmoony @softchaosdiary04 @slugstarzz @redemptioninthe4ethers @saberlight1 @roseidol @iimsopretty @auroralwriting @thottiepebbles16 @wannabestartinsmth @delicate-ray-of-sunshine @loverstar014 @mjjsangel @18lkpeters @devilslittlehelper @cherubae111 @pr3tt1d0llx @ursamajor17 @sarcasmismyfirstlove @bbpanth3rr @justalocalloser @brainacidsstuff @fayleyy @lovern-9 @jxngwons-pinkyy @veraberaxx @thrill3rnights @arzua10 @michaelcomeback @coornballz @escapefromrealitylol @rorawrnoa-zoro @ooooglymoooogly @tellybearryyyy @softchaosdiary505 @yennabow @sparklyglove @khxna @grumpyy-bearr @erenstitanweave @loveposiie @mikaylajacksonnn @shadesofcool51 @httpbluberri @judesboots @mvkas @rebelatbay @littlenerdybee @dumbrunnete @plantanita @desireinink @nodisdino @michaelswifesstuff @nata-de-coconuts @sagasreads @kilorugs @cherrypiex-a @oidloid @galacticpurpl3

Is it bad when I see a fanfic that has pics of white girls in the banner(?) I immediately scroll away. Even when the tags say “no race specified?” Bc now you got me thinking of a white girl, no shade😔😔😔😭😭😨

i literally LOVE finding black-owned fanfic accounts, i be eating that shit up every time ˚˖𓍢ִ໋

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🍸✨🩶🪞Imagine This་༘࿐

Flashback, 1 week prior

As you packed for your upcoming trip, your husband hovered nearby, watching your every move. Leaning against the bedroom pillar, his eyes followed each piece of clothing you folded into your suitcase. Little did he know, the lingerie had already been tucked away inside a hidden compartment long before he walked in. Still, you met his suspicious gaze with a reassuring smile, convincing him this was nothing more than another business trip. Before long, you’d be back home… and the two of you would put this rough patch behind you

But this couldn’t be any further from the truth

Immediately upon arriving in Paris, you were welcomed by a warm bath drawn by Dangerous!michael himself. As you sank into the steaming water, he stood behind you, gently massaging the tension from your shoulders and back, the fragrant suds gliding beneath his hands. Champagne flute in hand, you absentmindedly watched droplets of water cascade from your raised leg back into the tub while the two of you savored the rare moment of peace

Between quiet sips and soft laughter, you vented about the chaos you’d left behind. Michael listened without interrupting, occasionally brushing a kiss along your temple before trailing them to the side of your neck, placing his free hand in between your thighs and rubbing your pussy. Smirking against your skin as your lip bites turned into full blown moaning. Gripping at the sides of the bathtub until you reached your climax against his fingers

But this was far from over. Immediately out of the bath Michael bent you over the bathroom counter, one leg draped over the cold marble. Holding your face as he fucked you from behind, his lips pressed against your ear. Telling you how beautiful you are and how much he loved the way your pussy felt around his dick, the way it constricted around his shaft and squeezed when he hit your cervix. Michael always took his time with you & appreciated every part of your body. Eating your pussy like it wasn’t enough, worshipping your body and making up for lost time

Just as you climaxed for the final round, your head draped back and your eyes shut. Digging your nails into his chest as the dopamine flooded your brain. Clenching your walls around Michael’s dick as you leaked out “That’s my baby” Michael coo’d running his fingers through your hair before pulling his attention back to your perky nipples. Just then you were lying on your back, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you relentlessly

You stood just behind the stage curtain, absentmindedly biting the cap of your pen as you watched Michael command the stage during Give In to Me. Every movement, every note, every flick of his wrist had the crowd hanging on his every word. Your eyes drifted to the gold chain resting against his chest, and you couldn’t help but blush

Just hours earlier, that very same chain had been brushing against your face as the two of you shared another moment together. The memory was enough to make your cheeks warm, forcing you to look back down at your clipboard before anyone noticed where your mind had wandered

The affair had become full-fledged, and somewhere along the way, you’d stopped trying to fight it. You’d become so consumed by the world you’d built with Michael that the life waiting for you back home had begun to fade into the background. Your husband could barely get a hold of you anymore, probably because you were too busy making love to Michael to hear the phone in your room ringing off the hook

That’s actually how you almost got caught the first time. After weeks of hiding behind excuses like “I’ve just been really busy” and “I’m exhausted,” your husband decided to surprise you in Paris. Unfortunately for you, his timing couldn’t have been worse. Michael was still in your hotel suite, fast asleep and naked when word came that your husband was on his way upstairs

Thankfully, security intercepted him before he reached your floor, buying you just enough time to throw on a robe, compose yourself, and meet him downstairs over coffee,doing everything you could to convince him he was simply an unexpected visitor, not a man who had almost stumbled upon the truth

But instead of easing the tension, it only made things worse. Now you had a suspicious husband back home and an increasingly jealous Michael questioning why your husband had shown up in Paris at all. The moment the two of you were finally alone again, his frustration was impossible to hide. Every touch, every lingering glance, every possessive embrace carried the weight of questions he hadn’t yet asked

He began taking his frustrations out on you sexually, forcing eye contact whenever he was on top. Thrusting in you harder. Intertwining your fingers with his. Asking you questions like “Do you love me?” “When am I going to have you all for myself?”. Everything about the sex had changed, as if this was Michael’s way of getting you to pick him

Truthfully, you were trapped in a cycle of your own making. You loved your husband—you truly did—but somewhere along the way, your feelings for Michael had grown into something you could no longer ignore. He understood parts of you that had long gone unseen, making it harder to remember the life waiting for you back home

Yet the thought of choosing Michael terrified you. The headlines, the judgment, the inevitable backlash that would come with finally living your truth weighed heavily on your mind. So, for now, you remained exactly where you’d been for months—a woman torn between the life she’d built and the love she never expected to find

But it all came crashing down the moment you returned from Paris. Waiting for you in your office was your husband, a handwritten letter you’d foolishly tried to hide clutched in one hand… and a pair of underwear from one of your rendezvous in the other. Your feet felt rooted to the floor as you searched his face for any hint of mercy. There was none. In that moment, every lie, every excuse, every stolen weekend caught up to you all at once. Truthfully… you knew you were fucked

A/N: I’m reaaaaally liking side!michael. Yes I’m writing more as we speak!

Taglist: @applesange1s @michaelsgirllxo @mikeysfavoritefish @narratedillusions @savagenctzen @loveposiie @18lkpeters @j-nae @slugstarzz @evetheegoonette @diorzaep @mikeysfishfr @j3nnyluvscupc4k3s @neverstreett @prettygurljo @botdfaholic @yungrapunzel @blkkbratt @honeyb334

poison tree — vampire michael jackson

“ take away my blood and bones / let your branches fork my veins... “ — grouper (liz harris), based on the gothic poem by william blake.

cw: minors absolutely DO NOT interact. this story will feature violence, blood, murders, sexual and explicit content, death, injuries, stalking/threats, explicit language and other mature themes.

please check individual chapter warnings for additional content. without further ado, enjoy!

𝒄hapter i: bright eyes in the mist

oakridge, oregon. 2005.

i stood by the worn laminate counter of the corner diner across the street from our workshop, leaning my elbow on the surface while i waited for martha to finish brewing the fresh pot of coffee.

my eyes kept drifting up to the small portable television resting on a metal bracket above the pie display casing. the local news anchor's voice was soft, competing with the metallic sound of the diner's espresso machine.

"...state police have officially expanded their search parameters along the eastern ridge. county sheriff thomas palmer emphasized that while the fourth vehicle was found abandoned with its hazards still blinking, there is currently no evidence of foul play. residents are urged to remain cautious after nightfall..."

"foul play…” i muttered to myself, shaking my head as i watched the grainy tv images of the incident. it was completely ridiculous.

"here you go, honey.” martha said, her voice cutting through my thoughts as she slid a cardboard take-out tray onto the counter, two thick ceramic-lined paper cups steamed inside it. "black, no sugar for spencer and yours with just a splash of cream.”

“it smells good. thanks, martha.” i said with a smile, sliding a few dollar bills across the counter and carefully gathering the warm drink tray.

“you two should get straight home after you close up tonight. the town council is talking about a voluntary eight o'clock curfew starting tomorrow." the old lady said as she leaned in a bit forward on the other side of the counter after taking the bills, as she gestured towards the news on the tv.

“yeah, he doesn't let a little fog dictate his work schedule, but i'll try to convince him."

the walk back across the street was freezing, the autumn air bit straight through my denim jacket. the cedar avenue was eerie, entirely devoid of the usual evening traffic. the few businesses on the block were already dark.

across the road, the yellow bulbs of my brother's workshop glowed lagainst the pitch-black tree line. i pushed the side door open with my elbow. half-hidden behind the frame of an old motorcycle, spencer didn't even look up at me. his face was smeared with black grease, his fingers working at a exhaust pipe.

"you missed the news update on the diner tv.” i said, walking over to his wooden workbench and setting his coffee cup right next to his socket wrench set. "they found another car up on the eastern ridge.”

spencer finally pulled his wrench away, wiping his hands on a rag that was already completely black. he gave me that exhausted look he always used when he thought i was being overly dramatic. "people get lost in the fog, that’s all there is to it."

walking over to the cluttered desktop near the back office, i slid onto the high stool and flipped open my heavy college textbook on early pacific northwest trade routes, propping it against a stack of gaskets.

"well, it’s the exact same pattern as the disappearances in the seventies. the town is definetly hiding something and the sheriff is just trying to keep everyone from packing up and leaving the valley." i shrugged, looking at him as i took a sip of my own hot coffee.

i knew he was probably sick of my theories or of me being nosy whenever it came to these things, but deep down, i couldn’t help it. i liked it more than i cared to admit. he also knew my brain was practically made to absorb this kind of information about history, it seemed to work on its own. besides, it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened in town and no one seemed particularly interested in finding out what was really going on.

“what the town is truly hiding is a bad economy.” spencer answered, turning back to the motorcycle chain. "now help me pull up the inventory log on the desktop and do your homework. noah’s off tonight and my back is killing me."

rolling my eyes, i uncapped a bright yellow highlighter and stared down at the text of my book, though my mind was still stuck on the news broadcast. but i didn't even get a chance to read more than a paragraph or to check the inventory.

suddenly, an erratic sputtering sound came from the gravel driveway outside. it was a heavy engine, suffocating before it gave a final gasp and died right under our awning. my brother dropped his rag, his defensive instincts instantly kicking in as he stood up straight. nobody really came to the shop this late anymore.

i watched a massive, black sedan settle into the shadows of our garage door. i knew it was probably a jaguar car but i didn’t know which exact model was this, the windows were tinted so dark they looked like solid glass panels. neither of us moved for a second, the car just sat there in the fog, completely dead.

then, the driver’s door finally opened. a tall man stepped out into the mist, his shoulders broad and his posture remarkably rigid. his bright, caramel eyes instantly lockied with ours before he even closed his door. he easily cleared spencer's height by several inches, adding the presence of the dark well-tailored jacket he was wearing. i had never seen a pair of eyes like his.

"can i help you?" spencer called out, stepping through the side door onto the covered concrete apron. his tone was polite, but his hand stayed near the heavy wrench on his belt. "we're technically wrapping up for the day."

"we apologize for the trouble.” the stranger said, stepping into the light. his voice was dry and kind of husky. "the alternator gave out a mile back. we barely made it down the hill."

‘we?’ i thought.

my brother studied the vehicle parked in front of us as though analyzing it and weighing whether helping the man was worth it. one hand rested against the back of his neck, his lips twisting slightly as he thought it over. i knew his back was killing him, he rarely hesitated this much with customers.

“that’s a jaguar xj, man. beautiful.” he let out a sigh out, bringing both of his hands to his waist. “but the alternator on these isn't something i just keep on the shelf.”

the guy seemed a little desperate, his gaze dropping to the concrete floor before he turned back toward the car. his ringed fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh, and for a moment, he looked at it almost as though he were silently asking it for help.

the passenger door swung open and i lifted my gaze from the textbook once again, a second man stepping out into the damp afternoon air. he wasn't tall like the driver, he was much closer to my own stature, slender and slight beneath a heavy dark red wool coat with the collar turned up high against the cold. a black fedora was tilted forward to hide half of his face, leaving only a sharp jawline visible.

“good evening.” he said. “we’re sorry to bother you, but we need to get somewhere and we’d really appreciate any help you could give us.” his voice was startlingly gentle, soft and melodic, completely foreign against the rougher timber accents i’d grown up around.

as he spoke, he gentle removed the fedora from his head, getting a full look at his face. my breath suddenly caught in my throat.

he was stunning. and not just attractive in a everyday way but devastatingly gorgeous. his skin was flawlessly smooth, pale like fine porcelain, contrasting with the dark framing of his hair and the deep wool of his collar. his features had a delicate sculpted elegance that felt entirely too refined for a cluttered garage in a muddy logging town.

but it was his perfectly shaped lips and the wide, striking brilliance of his dark eyes that made my chest tighten. he looked like a film star who had somehow stepped out of a black and white reel and into the real world.

a punch of reality then surged through me. i couldn't just sit there staring at him like an idiot, i’d creep him out. so i quietly cleared my throat and stood up from the stool to make my way toward spencer, whispering, “you should give them a hand.” he immediately turned to see me. “it’s an expensive car, think about it.”

as i palmed my brother’s back, the sheer intensity of his eyes on me made the skin on the back of my neck prickle. a sudden jolt of pure adrenaline made me feel exposed and unable to handle the unblinking weight of his attention any longer, i forced myself to break the connection by going back to my spot.

desperately trying to focus on the paragraph about twentieth-century logging trade routes, the words blurred together under my highlighter. i could still feel the print of his gaze right between my shoulder blades. outside, the heavy rattle of the garage door rolling upward cut through my mind. spencer was helping them push the vehicle inside out of the rain that had recently started.

the passenger stranger remained by the edge of the apron for a second longer. he finally stepped inside quietly, giving the impression that his weight was nothing.

"man, this thing is heavy.” spencer breathed, wiping a mix of sweat and rainwater from his forehead with the back of his hand. he walked around the front of the pristine black car, looking down at the vintage grille. "what is it, an eighty-nine brougham? you don't see many of these in the valley."

"eighty-nine.” the taller man confirmed as he unbuttoned his damp jacket. "we keep the original parts, no aftermarket modifications."

walking over to his workbench to hunt for his flashlight, spencer didn’t seem to notice the oppressive silence radiating from the passenger, who had drifted silently toward the far wall where spencer kept old, framed photographs of oakridge from the early logging days.

"i might have a salvage piece in the back shed that fits the bracket but it’s going to take some digging in the dark.” he then looked at me before saying, “victoria, can you pull up the old inventory log on the desktop? see if we even have any late-eighties domestic parts left in the yard."

“you love that stupid inventory log, don’t you?” i teased, almost muttering the words to myself. i took a few steps toward the desktop at the counter, tapping away at the dusty keyboard, grateful for the excuse to keep myself busy.

out of the corner of my eye, i watched the passenger man. he stood perfectly still in front of a black and white print of the cedar avenue from 1974, just staring at the old photo with his hat hanging from his hand. i quickly guided my eyes back to the screen.

"the driver side bracket on the ninety caprice assembly should match the eighty-nine body, spence.” i called out after double checking, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen.

"sweet.” spencer said, grabbing a rusted key ring from a hook by the door. he turned back to the tall driver. "i'm gonna have to pop your left headlamp casing anyway just to clear the path for the belt routing. you mind if i head out to the yard to pull the part first?"

"yeah, do what you need to do.” the driver replied, his bright eyes tracking spencer's movements. “we are in no hurry. we just need it fixed before the night moves much further."

spencer threw a reassuring nod toward the two strangers before stepping out the side door. the heavy metal latch clicked shut behind him, leaving the garage suffocatingly quiet. i kept my hands on the keyboard, pretending to read a spreadsheet but my heart was still beating that strange, erratic rhythm against my ribs. i was nervous for no reason.

i noticed the passenger finally move from the pictures to then stare back at me. desperate for a distraction, i snatched my flip phone off the desk, flipping it open. i kept my head down, pretending to intensely read a nonexistent text message, my thumb frantically tapping the arrow keys just to keep the screen backlight from dying.

i could feel my cheeks burning, my entire body rigid as i tried to project an aura of indifference. his gaze was so intense i was tempted to stare back at him and i wondered if i still looked good. i grabbed my coffee again and took a longer sip this time.

the agonizing tension was finally broken by the sudden rattle of the side door. spencer stepped back into the garage, stamping his boots against the concrete to shake off the slush. his face was twisted into a frustrated scowl and his hands were empty.

"man, i'm sorry guys.” he said, tossing his heavy ring of keys onto his wooden workbench. "looks like the inventory log is outdated. one of my guys must have scraped that caprice housing for core credit last month when i was out sick. the only domestic brackets i have out there are for mid-nineties fords and they won't clear your belt routing."

the taller stranger frowned, his brows knitting together as he looked down at the dead engine. "so we are stuck."

"for tonight, yeah.” spencer sighed. "the warehouse up the highway opens at nine tomorrow morning. if i call them first thing, i can have the exact replacement delivered by noon. but until then, the tank isn't going anywhere."

the same man clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed and turned his head toward his companion. "we have a scheduling conflict."

the gorgeous man spoke again, his voice coming out completely conversational as he addressed his friend. "it's fine, we can just wait until tomorrow."

hearing how normal and polite he sounded again gave me a sudden burst of confidence. i couldn't just let them wander out into a freezing oregon rainstorm without any direction, so i slid off the high stool one more time and walked across the concrete floor toward them.

as i stepped into their space, stopping a few feet away from them, his scent hit me. it was deeply masculine but completely distinct from the smells of cheap cologne i was used to. it was like an intoxicating mixture of expensive wool and a subtle undertone of something exotic i couldn’t identify.

"there's a motel about two miles down the highway.” i spoke, forcing my voice to remain steady as i looked up to meet his wide eyes and noticing they were carefully lined. "past the diner, it's called the pine crest. it's nothing fancy but they usually have vacancies this time of the year."

he tilted his pretty head down slightly, a breathtaking smile touching the corners of his lips as he looked directly at me. i felt a sudden warmth creep across my cheeks but i answered with the warmest smile i could manage. i had the strange impression that he was much older than me and the thought alone made me bite the inside of my cheek.

"thank you.” he replied softly, his tone dropping to a gentle whisper meant just for me. "that is very kind of you."

my big brother glanced between the two of us, oblivious to the intense vibe in the room and scratched the back of his neck. "well, you leave the keys on the dash. i'll lock up the shop and see you guys here tomorrow around noon."

“okay.” the other man sighed, seeming to relax a little before stepping forward and holding out a hand to spencer. “i’m adrian, by the way. this is michael.”

they shook hands and michael did the same with my brother, offering a quiet, “nice to meet you.”

“i’m spencer, this is my sister victoria. we’ll wait for you tomorrow, i’ll give you guys a call.”

after adrian gave his phone number to spencer, they both headed out of the workshop, feeling the cold breeze of the outside after it rained a little. before leaving, michael stopped in front of me to stretch my hand, gifting me another of his perfect smile. his touch sent a shiver down my spine and i noticed the size of his hand compared to mine, which made my heart jump a little. he was cold as a stone.

“it was nice to meet you too, victoria.”

i didn’t have the chance to answer, the two of them disappeared out of the garage into the dark of the night. i stood on the garage floor for a long time after the door closed, the trace of his masculine scent still hanging in the cool air, completely turning me upside down.

"well, well.” spencer’s voice shattered the quiet with a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he grabbed his heavy canvas jacket from the peg by the door. "i didn't think anyone could make you drop your phone that fast, vic.”

as i hurried back to the desk, i aggressively stuffed my history textbook and highlighters into my bag to hide my embarrassment. i hated when he made me feel caught. "i was just trying to be kind, it's freezing out there."

"sure, kind.” he teased as we walked toward the main light switch after grabbing his untouched coffee. "just try to keep your head in the textbooks tonight. we still have to pay the rent on this place on thursday."

"you sound like dad sometimes.” i answered, clicking off the main halogen breaker and plunging the workshop into the dim, watery gray of the outdoor streetlamps.

ignoring me completely as we walked toward our truck parked behind the shop, he continued. “they don’t look like they’re from around here, more like travelers or tourists. just date someone from college.”

“shut up and open the car. i’m not gonna date anyone.” that made him laugh instantly. when we reached the truck, he was still shaking his head as he unlocked it. i opened the passenger door and slipped inside, grateful for the warmth waiting in the cabin.

once we were inside the truck, i had the unsettling feeling that my attention was never going to stay on history textbooks again. i couldn’t explain why but i was already looking forward to seeing that beautiful stranger again tomorrow.

n/a: i enjoyed writing this so much it’s ridiculous, i’m so excited to share this new story with you guys. you have no idea what i have planned for this!!

and i hope you love it as much as i do <3 please feel free to let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

Dapper Don!Mike Headcanons

Synopsis: A dapper don is somebody who's a boss— extremely confident, and always very, very well dressed.

Content: Fluff, 18+, scent kink if you squint?, lots of kinky stuff too idk

Author's Note: Saw a pic of mike and couldn't help myself, my boy was fresh to death 😫 I tried to figure out gradient text and couldn't smh I'm irritated pls help

dark eyes, bright smile, and a heart of gold

Your preferred royal entertainer, full of mirth, finds himself “poking the bear” at your irate condition.

Michael has served you for long enough to notice your… tells.

He watches as your souring mood exacerbates as the hours pass, remaining completely still in the court’s corner, hidden beneath a blanket of thick shadows; waiting, observing for the perfect moment to strike.

A low sigh reverberates through your sunset-ombre chambers, a twitch of the waterline – irritation oozing from your form in ruthless waves, and most obviously of all, a scornful frown cracking the plush of your cheeks; casting aside any request brought to your attention with a theatrical roll of the eyes, the crown of your head resting on the throne’s cool material, contrasting the blistering midday warmth.

At your lax posture, the man muses, “What ever is the problem, your divine highness? Were the grapes picked by youthful maiden’s fingertips much too ripe for your liking?”

Black or White (3/∞)

SPEED DEMON ;1988 ⁀જ➣

ᝰ.ᐟ description: one spin on a 2010 video game rips you from your living room into 1980s hollywood. suddenly, you're a global pop titan co-starring alongside michael jackson—forced to fake a legendary life while fighting an intoxicating spark brewing between you.

content: time travel, time jump, badera!michael jackson, popstar!reader, slow burn, sci-fi???

authors note: i think this has been my greatest idea yet, once i lock in… it’s over with. i think this story will have 5 chapters. gotta keep yall fed.

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↝ the floorboards of your living room were icy cold against your bare, socked feet. it was 2010, the tail end of another draining, monotonous workday at your desk job. your reward sat on the coffee table: a plastic container of bland, lukewarm meal prep that tasted like nothing at all. you scarfed it down in three minutes flat, not because you were enjoying it, but just to check off the box of having eaten.

you needed endorphins. you needed an escape. anything to pull you out of the gray, repetitive drone of your daily routine.

walking over to the console, you turned it on, the bright glow of the television screen illuminating the quiet dimness of your small apartment. you picked up the motion controller and navigated through the main menu of the michael jackson experience. sliding through the colorful tracklist, your thumb stopped on your absolute favorite: speed demon.

you loved everything about it—the pure, kinetic energy of the baseline, the wild creative absurdity of the claymation motorcycle sequence, the sheer thrill of stepping into the rabbit disguise on screen. selecting your player, you stood up in the middle of your living room in your oversized gray sweatpants and faded tank top, letting the deep, heavy 80s synthesizer baseline fill the room and reverberate through the floorboards.

you sang along at the top of your lungs, laughing at yourself in the dark as you matched the rhythm prompts floating across the display. i wish you were still here, you thought, that familiar, lingering ache tightening in your chest as your mind drifted back to june 2009. i wish i could have seen you live. just once.

then, the neon prompt flashed brightly across the center of the screen: the spin.

usually, this was the part where you’d give up halfway through to keep from stumbling into your furniture. but tonight, your feet moved on pure instinct.

one turn. two. three.

you didn't stop. the room began to blur into a soft, dizzying smear of shadow and tv light. your head throbbed with a sudden, intense pressure—a split second of pure panic hitting you as you wondered why a silly video game move was making your head spin so violently. the music swelled, instantly doubling in volume until it was no longer coming from your small television speakers—it was vibrating directly through the floor, rattling your ribs, echoing with live studio depth.

you finally landed, throwing your arms out wide to catch your balance, braced to hit the sharp edge of your coffee table.

instead, your socked feet hit heavy, polished hardwood.

the air in your lungs smelled entirely different—warm, thick, and rich with the unmistakable scents of ozone, hairspray, expensive perfume, and professional stage fog.

the music was deafening. crisp brass, heavy bass, and the distinct, syncopated hit of an authentic 1980s studio recording session. your heart slammed violently against your ribcage as your eyes blinked open, trying to adjust to the blinding brightness. you were still wearing your faded tank top and gray sweats, but you were nowhere near your apartment.

you were standing in the middle of a massive, high-ceilinged dance studio framed by wall-to-wall mirrors, heavy rolling film equipment, and a full production crew dressed in vintage leather jackets, high-waisted denim, and bulky headsets.

and standing less than ten feet directly in front of you, drenched in sweat and holding a sharp dance pose, was michael jackson.

not a hologram. not a digital remaster. michael in the mid-1980s—his hair dark, glossy, and wet, wearing a fitted red button-down shirt and black trousers, his chest heaving with deep, measured breaths.

"and... cut!" a voice boomed loudly through a plastic megaphone from behind the camera rig.

the music snapped off instantly. the sudden silence in the room was suffocating. you stood completely frozen, your soul practically hovering outside your physical frame as you stared at him.

michael dropped his tight frame, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist, his dark eyes turning directly toward you. he blinked, a faint flicker of confusion crossing his features as he noticed you staring at him as if you had just seen a ghost.

"you okay over there?" the director called out, lowering his metal clipboard as he took a few steps into your line of sight. "looked like you lost your mark on that last turn."

"i..." your voice was barely a thread. the air in your throat felt like sharp glass. "i feel sick."

before anyone could ask another question or step closer, you turned on your heel and ran. your socks slipped awkwardly against the slick studio floor, but you pushed through a heavy pair of double doors, desperate for cover. the first sign you caught down the hallway was a set of retro, brass-lettered tiles reading women's restroom. you shoved through the heavy door, ducked into the nearest stall, and slammed it shut, leaning your back against the cool metal panel as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut.

this is a stroke, you thought, panic clawing wildly at your throat. you passed out from spinning in your living room and you're having a stroke.

taking a long, shaky breath, you forced your eyes open and looked down. no watch on your wrist. you looked at the plumbing—an old-fashioned, heavy-duty chrome lever flush toilet.

unlatching the door with trembling fingers, you hesitated, stepping out of the stall and slowly walking toward the wide mirror stretching across the marble vanity.

the breath completely left your body.

the reflection staring back at you was breathtaking. your features were sculpted to effortless perfection—sharp, flawless cheekbones, long lashes, full lips, and an innate, undeniable radiance that practically radiated through the glass. your body had an incredible, tone-sculpted posture—a true superstar silhouette that carried an effortless aura of absolute power and elegance, even dressed in your baggy sweats. you looked practically perfect.

before your brain could process what you were seeing, the restroom door burst open with a heavy swing.

"there you are!" a woman wearing a sharp tailored jacket and massive silver hoop earrings rushed in, her face pale with worry. she came straight up to you, her hands warm and entirely real as she gently cupped your face, her eyes searching yours. "what happened? you looked like you were going to collapse right in the middle of the choreography. do we need to call a doctor? do you need some water?"

she looked at you with deep, genuine affection—the kind of intense, protective concern only a close friend and long-time confidante possessed.

"i'm okay," you managed to say, your voice sounding smoother, richer, and more resonant than you remembered. you forced a subtle, reassuring smile. "just... dizzy. a sudden spell."

"you push yourself way too hard," she sighed, holding your hand tight as she led you back toward the restroom door. "come on. let's tell the director you're done for the day."

when you walked back into the main rehearsal hall, the chatter in the room instantly hushed. the crew was huddled around playback monitors, but michael was standing near the edge of the floor, taking a small sip from a glass bottle of water. as soon as he saw you re-enter, he set the bottle down and walked over, his stride smooth, his eyes searching yours with genuine care.

"hey," he said softly, his voice low, gentle, and melodic. "are you alright? you turned completely pale back there."

you stared directly into his dark, expressive eyes—the ones you’d spent years watching in grainy music videos and remastered documentaries—and your chest tightened. he's alive, your brain screamed in disbelief. he's standing right here in front of you.

"i'm fine, michael," you said, forcing your voice to stay grounded and calm. "just got turned around on that last spin."

"we should call it for the day," the director called out from across the room, waving a hand toward the crew. "we've got plenty of coverage for the duet section anyway."

"i'm gonna stay behind and run the third verse a few times," michael said, turning back toward the director before looking at you again. "you should head home and rest. don't worry about finishing the section tonight."

you offered to stay too, the words slipping out almost automatically because the idea of walking away from him felt impossible. but michael gently shook his head, insisting that you go home so you could recover. you almost fought against it—almost pushed to stay on the edge of that hardwood floor just to watch him work—but as you looked around the room and saw the crew waiting on your cue, reality hit you. you couldn't break character. you had to play the part.

"alright," you nodded softly, giving him a small smile. "don't stay up too late yourself."

he returned the smile—a flash of pure, genuine warmth that nearly made your knees give out—before stepping back toward the center of the dance floor.

walking back toward the private dressing rooms, your manager matched your stride, handing you a heavy silk trench coat to wrap over your oversized sweats. two massive security guards in dark suits immediately fell into formation on either side of you as you approached the building's side exit.

"heavy crowd out front tonight," one of the guards muttered, placing a firm hand on the bar of the heavy metal exit doors.

the moment the doors swung open, a wall of deafening sound hit you like a physical force. blinding camera flashes exploded continuously like lightning in the dusk air. on the other side of a long row of wooden barricades, hundreds of screaming fans were waving posters, pushing forward, and chanting a name—your name.

security ushered you swiftly down the short flight of steps. you dipped your head, slipping into the plush leather interior of a sleek, blacked-out luxury sedan. the heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the crisp night air and instantly muffling the roaring crowd down to a distant, low hum.

your manager slid into the seat across from you, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as the driver smoothly pulled away from the curb.

"absolute madness out there today," she said, reaching into her leather briefcase and tossing a fresh print edition of an entertainment trade paper onto your lap. "look at this. the press is already losing their minds over the collaboration."

you picked up the paper with cold, numb fingers.

sprawled across the front cover was a full-color photograph of you. you were on a massive stadium stage under blinding spotlights, caught mid-performance with a microphone pressed to your lips. you looked completely invincible—an undisputed, unstoppable global pop titan.

below the photograph, the bold headline read:

the queen of pop returns: inside the record-breaking world tour

with three consecutive diamond albums, multi-platinum singles, and an unmatched stage presence, the megastar prepares for her most ambitious project yet alongside michael jackson.

the breath left your chest in a quiet gasp. you weren't an assistant, a back-up dancer, or a casual observer in this era. you were the biggest female artist on the planet, sharing the absolute peak of the music industry right alongside the king of pop.

the rest of the drive passed in a surreal blur of city lights, rain-slicked streets, and smooth leather. the car eventually pulled into the private underground garage of an exclusive high-rise complex. your security detail escorted you up a private, key-card-operated elevator that opened directly into a sprawling, multi-level 1980s penthouse.

floor-to-ceiling glass framed the glowing los angeles skyline. polished marble floors, sleek black leather furniture, and wall-mounted glass display cases filled with your own platinum records stretched out through the grand entryway.

you wandered through the silence of the massive apartment, running your fingers over the cool marble countertops and exploring the grand layout. you eventually found your way into the master suite, stepping into a massive walk-in closet filled with racks of custom designer clothing, silk gowns, and tailored suits.

reaching down, you gathered the clothes you had been wearing when you arrived—your faded gray sweatpants and tank top from 2010. you folded them carefully, feeling the worn fabric between your fingers, grounding you to the world you had left behind.

as you went to put them away on a quiet shelf, a small piece of heavy cream cardstock slipped out from the folds of your jacket pocket and fluttered down onto the floor.

you paused, leaning down to pick it up.

written across the center in elegant, neat handwriting were six words:

“call me when you can - michael”

directly beneath the message was a ten-digit telephone number.

your breath caught in your throat. you gaped at the slip of paper, your thumb gently tracing the dark ink of the digits.

you stood motionless in the middle of the closet, thinking it through. if you two were already close friends—if you were intimate confidantes who talked every single day—he wouldn't have felt the need to write his phone number down for you on a paper note. he would have assumed you already had it saved or memorized.

the realization settled in quietly: right now, in this timeline, you were just elite peers. high-profile collaborators and professional acquaintances navigating a massive project together. nothing more.

you walked out of the closet and over to the bedside table, where a heavy, vintage brass clock sat beside a sleek black landline telephone. the glowing hands of the clock read 11:20 pm.

you stared at the telephone, heart hammering against your ribs, catching your breath as you saw your own unfamiliar, stunning reflection caught in the dark glass of the window pane. your fingers hovered over the heavy plastic receiver. taking a deep, steadying breath to compose yourself, you picked up the receiver, held it to your ear, and carefully dialed the digits written on the cardstock one by one.

the line clicked.

it rang once. twice.

on the third ring, the line picked up with a soft static click.

"hello?"

Yeah, I know that I'm supposed to be working on Chapter 2 of my fic, I am, but I've been doing my usual of reading and supporting other fics on both here and Wattpad. With that being said, I've noticed a very annoying thing on both platforms.

Please stop romancing this man with women who not only betrayed him but would disgust him if he were to actually be alive and active in the industry, watching the prejudiced slip-ups your faves are making in public. Hell, I'm not saying he was perfect, especially in his last moments due to stress, his health, and his perception of the people around him, but do not get this man's beliefs fucked up for your own agenda.

Beauty is Her Name

Based on this request!

a/n: I couldn't go without talking about Blood on the Dance Floor! Love that mv and how he looked!

songs that inspired me while writing: 2 Wicky by Hooverphonic, Altitude by Montell Fish, Damned by Miguel, Beauty by Drue Hill, Porcelain by Lloyd

Tagged: @sinflowersugar