mjkinkwiz

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse-Chapter 10

When I arrive home, I cut the engine and sink back into my seat. I close my eyes, letting my head fall against the headrest with a heavy sigh. My mind is reeling—both from the vision and the fact that I’ve finally figured it out.

The dreams and visions, the reason Cora and I look so alike, my inexplicable ability to play a piece of music I’ve never heard before from memory—it all makes perfect sense now. I finally understand the pull I’ve felt toward Michael since the moment I moved in.

I scrub my face with both hands, trying to fight off yet another headache. Then I grab my bag from the passenger seat, sling it over my shoulder, and open the door. My footsteps are slow as I make my way to the house, as though I’m trying to delay the inevitable confrontation.

I step inside and shut the door behind me, dropping my bag on the floor before heading into the living room. I flop onto the couch with a heavy thud. For what feels like an eternity, I just sit there in stunned silence, staring into nothing.

Shock gives way to confusion. Confusion bleeds into anger—and that’s how, twenty minutes later, I end up on the floor, seated at the coffee table, pouring shots and having every intention of getting well and truly wasted.

That’s how Michael finds me when he strolls in ten minutes later—by which point I’m already three shots in.

“There he is!” I say before pouring shot number four, my speech already becoming a bit slurred. “How’s your day going, Maestro?” I ask, peering up at him with a deceptively sweet smile, batting my lashes.

He raises a brow, the odd inflection in my voice not lost on him. Slowly, he moves closer, eyeing me cautiously, before he finally sits on the floor across from me on the other side of the table.

“Nothing to report?” I ask when he doesn’t answer. I down the shot, smacking my lips before my eyes narrow and I give him a close-mouthed smile, leaning forward.

“Tell you about my day instead, shall I?” I ask as I attempt to pour yet another. 

Michael’s mouth opens, probably to stop me, but he thinks better of it, choosing to stay silent.

“I went to the library today,” I inform him, still trying to keep steady as I pour out shot number five, spilling some on the coffee table as I begin to move into drunk territory.

He frowns in confusion, unsure of why a trip to the library would result in… whatever this is.

I continue to sit at the coffee table, having yet to actually throw back my fifth shot. Now I just turn the small glass back and forth with my fingers, staring at the amber liquid.

“Would you like to know what I was looking for?” I ask softly, eyes still staring down at the shot I have yet to take.

“What—” he begins, clearing his throat before starting again. “What were you looking for?” he asks softly, clearly worried about my state of mind.

I can’t help but let out a huff, my eyes still averted as I speak softly.

“Reincarnation,” I finally say it out loud, and I can’t help but let out a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it. I lift my hands, rubbing my eyes as if that will help me make any sense whatsoever of my jumbled, slightly panicked thoughts.

Michael stares at me, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. No doubt he’s shocked that I’ve finally figured it out.

“You—” he whispers, voice catching. “You w-were? Why—Why were you researching th-that?” he asks, clearly growing nervous.

“Oh, is this what we’re doing?” I ask, sarcasm dripping from every word, finally downing shot number five. “We’re just gonna pretend you haven’t known for at least two months?”

I scoff at his nerve as I pour out a sixth shot, my hand more than a little unsteady by now as the alcohol runs through my veins.

Michael swallows nervously, his eyes darting to the puddle of spilled whiskey on the table.

“Don’t you think you’ve had en—” he starts, but my eyes dart to his, flashing as if daring him to scold me for being ‘unladylike.’ “N-Never mind,” he amends quietly.

We lapse into silence for a few minutes, me just staring at my full shot glass, contemplating whether or not I should drink it. Even with my brain swimming in alcohol, I’m aware enough to know that I’ll end up in the emergency room if I keep going like this.

My bottom lip trembles slightly as tears well up in my eyes. Yet, I still can’t look at him as I whisper.

“How could you not tell me?” I ask, finally looking up at him, hurt swimming in my eyes.

Michael’s expression softens, a shadow of pain crossing his features. It makes my heart ache—an overwhelming urge to reach out and take his hand rises in me. But I can’t. Not yet. I need to know. I need to understand why he would keep something like this from me.

“Kendra, I—” he begins softly, his hand twitching slightly, as though he wants to comfort me but isn’t sure if his touch would be welcome.

“I admit, I did start to suspect,” he says gently. “When you comforted me… you did exactly what Cora used to do. You called me Maestro, just like she always did.”

He can’t help but smile wistfully at the memory before a troubled frown chases it away.

“Even the very first night I was able to appear to you… I saw the way you played my music. You didn’t even read the notes. And it was flawless—as if you’d played it a thousand times before. Not only that, but somehow, you could see the music room in your mind—you described it exactly as it had been back then.”

My brow lifts briefly in acknowledgment, though I don’t look at him. I just continue staring at the shot of whiskey in front of me, weighing whether I want to risk it.

“But I told myself there had to be some other explanation,” he admits, shaking his head. “You have to believe me—I wanted to tell you. So many times,” he says, a pleading edge creeping into his voice. “But I was afraid…”

I push the shot glass away without drinking it—much to his relief, if the way his shoulders sag is any indication. At last, I meet his eyes, still silent, giving him space to continue.

“I was afraid of being wrong,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid to hope. Kendra, I’ve been trapped here… alone… for nearly two hundred years. Hope is dangerous for me. The devastation I’d feel if I let myself believe that you were—” he swallows thickly, a wistful, broken smile tugging at his lips, “—that you were my Cora… only to have that possibility ripped away—it was too much to bear.”

I sniffle quietly, my gaze still locked on his.

“So… I kept my suspicions to myself. I hoped—if it was true—you’d come to the conclusion on your own. And you did…”

Tears well in his eyes, and—to both our surprise—they fall, tracing slow, silent trails down his cheeks.

The last vestiges of anger finally drain from me, and I sit back against the couch. I bend my knees, resting my chin on them as I wrap my arms around my legs.

“I can’t believe this is real,” I say softly, staring blankly ahead.

“Three months ago I didn’t even believe in ghosts,” I murmur. “If someone told me I was a reincarnated chick from the 1800s, I’d have had them committed.”

I sigh heavily, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on me. I close my eyes and bury my face in my legs, trying to wrap my head around it all.

I hear a soft rustling and feel Michael’s presence draw closer. I lift my head, resting my chin on my arm as I look at him.

Michael smiles sadly when he sees the tear tracks on my face. He lifts his hand, and my lashes flutter as his palm cups my cheek. I can’t help but lean into his touch, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest.

I open my eyes to meet his, blushing at the way he’s looking at me. I bite my lip shyly, wishing I could read his mind in this moment.

My breath catches when his thumb gently coaxes my lip free, brushing over it in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. I watch him silently as he leans in slowly, his gaze flicking between my eyes and mouth—searching for any sign he should stop.

But I say nothing. I don’t have it in me to stop it—and I don’t think I want to.

As he leans in, I close my eyes again, just before his lips touch mine.

A soft whimper escapes me as I press my lips to his, returning his kiss. One hand rises to wrap around his wrist as he continues to cradle my cheek, while the other lifts to gently cup his face in return as I lean closer.

I inhale sharply when I feel his tongue lightly stroking my bottom lip, seeking entrance—and I gladly give it. My lips part against his, and I hum softly when his tongue dips gently into my mouth to stroke my own.

Our kiss is slow, tentative at first. But it steadily deepens, passion blooming with each passing second. My tongue darts out to stroke his in return, and my hand continues to cradle his cheek as the other trails up the length of his arm, slipping over his shoulder to rest against the side of his neck.

Michael moans softly, pulling me closer as we make out on the floor of the living room. It’s as though he’s trying to make up for lost time—which, I suppose, he is.

Suddenly, he gasps sharply and tears his lips from mine.

My eyes flutter open, confusion blooming—but it quickly gives way to alarm as I see his face twist in agony.

A groan escapes through his clenched teeth, and his hand clutches his chest.

“M-Michael?” I whisper, my voice trembling as panic rises in my throat. “Michael, what is it?!”

His face twists with pain as he continues to clutch his chest, his other hand reaching out for mine. I take it, squeezing gently before I begin to stroke his palm, trying to calm him. I didn’t know what was happening, but I was beyond freaked out.

He closes his eyes and takes long, deep breaths, focusing on my touch, letting it ground him. I frown deeply as I continue to stroke his palm, seeing the muscles in his neck straining, his entire body tense.

After a while, his body begins to relax and his breathing returns to normal.

I open my mouth to ask what the hell just happened, but I raise a brow as a look of pure, unadulterated confusion comes over his face and he looks down at his chest, his hand splayed flat against it.

“What the fuck was that?!” I demand, frowning. My heart pounds in my chest, my body trembling with fear and adrenaline.

Michael slowly looks up, his eyes meeting mine. He looks stunned and confused—which he must be, considering he doesn’t even scold me—as he slowly reaches for my hand.

The frown pinching my brow deepens, watching curiously as he replaces his hand on his chest with my own.

“Can—Can you feel that?” he whispers, his voice filled with awe.

I don’t have to ask what he’s talking about. As soon as he presses my hand there, I feel it. A steady, rhythmic thump against my palm.

For the first time in 188 years, his heart has begun to beat again.

Tears spring to my eyes, my bottom lip trembling as I press my palm more firmly to his chest. A soft, tearful laugh escapes me as I feel it growing stronger—steadier.

I sniffle and scoot closer, his arm curling around my shoulders. Resting my cheek against his chest, I close my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

A few minutes pass, and then I gasp—startled by the warmth blooming against my cheek and seeping through his touch on my shoulder.

Where once he had been cool to the touch, he’s now warm.

Just as warm as me. Just as human.

Just as alive.

I slowly sit up, my eyes lifting to meet his. A tremulous smile touches my lips as I cup his cheek, flushed with the life now flowing through his veins.

My thumb strokes over his lips lightly, feeling their warmth as a stifled sob escapes me.

“Y—you’re alive!” I say through a soft laugh of pure joy, my hands brushing over his cheeks—his skin growing warmer, his heartbeat stronger. “I can—I can feel you. R—really feel you,” I whisper in awe, my gaze tracing over his face.

At first we couldn’t even touch, but even when I could touch him, it didn’t compare to this. Before now, it was as though my senses were dulled. I could feel him, but... not really.

It was the same with how I saw him. I had always found him handsome, of course, but it was nothing compared to now. Even when he was still attractive, he had felt... muted somehow. Like I was only seeing a dulled version of the real thing.

Even my dreams and visions of him felt like seeing him through a sheer curtain. It was him, but it was like viewing a movie in standard definition.

Now it was like I had gone my whole life seeing in black and white, then suddenly... technicolor.

And he was easily the most beautiful man I’d ever seen—almost ethereal.

My hands gently frame his face as I lean in, pressing my forehead to his and closing my eyes. I breathe a sigh, like a piece of me I didn’t even know was missing has suddenly made me whole again.

Michael smiles, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead back against mine, his arms coming around me, holding me in a warm embrace.

“I—I can’t believe this is really happening,” he whispers, his hands gently rubbing my back as he holds me close. I smile softly, feeling his warm breath against my lips.

Still cupping his face between my hands, I press my lips to his once more. I whimper softly as we kiss, a different kind of energy crackling between us. Our kiss continues to deepen, growing more and more passionate—as though we’re trying to assure ourselves this is real.

He eventually pulls back, his eyes—and fingertips—drinking me in. I smile softly when his hands cup my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. His fingers slip into my hair before he affectionately tugs on the end of one of my long curls. I can’t help but giggle softly at the now-familiar gesture.

“You’re really here,” he murmurs, almost in disbelief, his eyes searching mine like he’s afraid I might vanish.

I nod, my smile deepening. “So are you.”

He exhales a shaky breath, his forehead resting against mine again. “I never thought I’d get to touch you like this. Not really.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and I feel it—his joy, his fear, his wonder—all crashing together beneath the surface.

I kiss him again, softer this time, lingering. “You can,” I whisper against his lips. “You are.”

I eventually snuggle into him, laying my head on his shoulder, never wanting to leave his arms.

We just sit there and hold each other, basking in each other’s warmth—wrapped in something that feels like a second chance at life.

“Michael... how do you feel? I mean, really feel?” I ask, pulling back just enough to study his face again.

He tilts his head slightly, focusing on the way it truly feels to be back in the land of the living.

“I feel like I always used to, when I was alive. I can feel my heart beating, I can feel things when I touch them,” he says, emphasizing the point by gently brushing his fingertips through my hair. “I feel warm, where once I only felt cold. And…”

My eyes search his face as he goes silent, and I open my mouth to speak—but before I can ask what he’s thinking, a loud growl comes from his stomach.

“…I’m quite hungry,” he finishes, a slow grin spreading on my face.

“Alright, Maestro,” I say, reluctantly leaving his arms to stand before reaching down and offering him my hands. “Let’s get you fed.”

Once he’s on his feet, Michael and I make our way to the kitchen. I move around the room, checking the fridge and opening cupboards. After a moment, I frown, biting my lip as the truth sinks in—I’m in dire need of a trip to the grocery store.

“So, uh…” I turn to him with a sheepish smile. “It looks like I have no food,” I admit. “I’ll just run out to the store real quick.”

I head out of the kitchen toward the front door, grabbing my keys from the bowl on the entryway table. Michael follows as I open the door and step outside.

I turn to face him—and to both our surprise, he steps past the threshold after me.

I gasp softly, stunned. He had never even been able to do that before.

Michael takes a few steps forward, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back, basking in the sunlight—for the first time in 188 years.

A stunned smile pulls at my lips, and I let out a soft chuckle of disbelief.

“Um…” I start, then smirk. “Ready for your first car ride?” I ask, lifting my hand and jangling the keys.

His brows lift at the question, eyes flicking from the keys to the red Honda Civic parked in the driveway.

His gaze lingers on it with growing suspicion.

“Are… are you sure it’s safe?” he asks, following me hesitantly, still watching the car like it might rear to life and attack.

I can’t help but giggle softly as I open the driver’s side door. “I promise—you’ll be safe with me.”

A small smile touches his lips—full of affection— as he opens the front passenger door. “Well, I know that,” he murmurs, making me smile to myself, my heart fluttering as I buckle my seatbelt.

“Buckle up,” I say, nodding toward his seatbelt before pushing the key into the ignition and turning it.

I sit back, waiting patiently as he follows my instructions. I press my lips together, holding back a laugh as he tugs on the seatbelt—only to lose his grip and send it snapping back to the retractor.

This process—which is endlessly entertaining to watch—happens a grand total of four times before he finally manages to hold on to the buckle and click it into place.

“Ready?” I ask, glancing at him with a knowing smile as I wrap my hands around the steering wheel. 

He gives me a sideways glance, reticent at the almost mischievous grin plastered on my face.

“Um…” he murmurs, eyeing my hands on the wheel. “…yes?” he finally says, though it sounds more like a question than a confident answer.

My smile widens and I giggle softly, glancing out the rear window as I back the car up and turn. I snicker as Michael’s hands shoot out—one gripping the door handle, the other bracing against the dashboard.

I slowly guide the car down the long gravel driveway, stopping at the end. Glancing over at him, I ask once more, “Sure you’re ready?”

Michael swallows nervously, looking between the road ahead and my hands on the wheel. Finally, his eyes flick to mine, and my smile softens into one of reassurance.

“I promise, you’ll make it home safe and sound,” I say gently.

His gaze holds mine, and I see him visibly relax—though only slightly. He nods. “I’m ready.”

I nod back and turn onto the road.

I keep it under the speed limit, not wanting to toss him into the metaphorical deep end too soon. But after a moment, Michael tilts his head, watching the scenery crawl by outside his window.

“I thought you said these cars are faster than horses,” he says, turning to me with a frown of confusion.

I raise a brow, eyes still on the road, and glance at him with a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.

“You want me to go faster?” I ask, grinning as I press a little harder on the gas. “You got it, Maestro.”

Michael gasps, flinching as his hands dart back to the door and dashboard. His eyes go wide as the landscape turns to a blur around us. On a long, empty stretch of backroad, I take it up to ninety miles per hour—more than double anything he’s ever experienced on horseback.

“W—what the?!” he chokes out, staring out the window in disbelief. “I’ve never even been on a train this fast! How—how is this possible?!”

I chuckle as I ease us back down to a calmer forty-five. “I’m afraid I can’t explain the inner workings of the automobile,” I say, still smiling. “But remind me to introduce you to Wikipedia later.”

We make it into town, where the traffic picks up. I notice Michael getting tense—his eyes darting as cars weave around us, horns honk, and people zip by without a second thought. I reach over and gently take his hand, guiding it to rest on my thigh. I steer with one hand, using the other to lightly stroke his palm, silently reminding him I’m here, and he’s safe.

We pull into the grocery store parking lot, and I find a spot before cutting the engine. We get out and walk toward the entrance—only for Michael to gasp and jump back as the doors slide open on their own.

I giggle, taking his hand and giving it a gentle tug as I lead him inside. I grab a cart from the corral and start down the first aisle, Michael trailing behind me with wide-eyed wonder.

I stop the cart every few feet to grab the items I need, always keeping an eye on him. The last thing I need is to lose him on his first trip to the grocery store.

We reach the meat section, and Michael shivers as the temperature drops. He looks around, fascinated by the freezers and coolers lining either side of the aisle, filled with neatly packaged perishables.

I start looking through the different roasts, trying to find the best one.

“How does roast beef, potatoes, carrots, and biscuits sound?” I ask, still scanning the selection. “I know it’s your favorite,” I add, not noticing the way he looks at me, a soft smile touching his lips.

When he doesn’t answer, I glance up, frowning in concern. But when I see the quiet, affectionate smile on his face, I glance around before looking back at him with a shy, almost flustered grin.

“W-what?” I ask, chuckling nervously as I reach up to wipe at my cheek, wondering if I have something on my face.

Michael’s smile deepens, but he simply shakes his head.

“It is my favorite,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

I smile back, blushing under his gaze, and nod before pushing the cart farther down the aisle.

He continues smiling to himself, as I don’t even realize that I’ve begun to remember more and more things—things only Cora would’ve known.

Deciding that I need to go all-out—being Michael’s first meal in 188 years and all—I also grab everything I’ll need to make apple pie, his favorite dessert. And yet, I still don’t realize the subtle shift happening with my memories.

Once I finish shopping, we make our way to a checkout line. Michael watches—completely fascinated—as I place our items on the conveyor belt. His curiosity only grows as he watches me pay, simply by swiping a card, made of some strange, unfamiliar material through a small machine.

I chuckle softly, promising under my breath to explain later. I didn’t think the people in line behind us would appreciate me taking the time to explain credit cards and the countless wonders of electricity.

I finish paying, thanking the cashier when she hands me the receipt. I steer the cart full of groceries to the car, Michael following at my side. I take out my keys, hitting the button on my key fob to open the trunk.

I smile as Michael helps me load the bags into the trunk before I slam it shut. I push the cart over to the nearest corral before we get in the car and buckle up. We head home and, I snort softly as we pass a young woman walking on the sidewalk, wearing short denim cutoffs and a midriff-baring tank top, and I look over to see his eyes widen—utterly scandalized by the amount of bared flesh he’s seeing out in the open.

“W—why is that young lady walking on the street practically naked?” he asks as he turns, sitting back in his seat, a frown of bewilderment on his face.

I grin, chuckling softly as I flip on my right blinker and make a turn. “Michael, it’s the twenty-first century. That’s pretty standard dress for a young woman,” I reply, shrugging. “And she’s not ‘practically naked.’ She’s wearing shorts and a shirt. Everything that needs to be covered in public is.”

“But—but it’s so…so…improper!” he stammers, a bit overwhelmed by how different the world is than he’s used to.

I raise a brow, a flicker of discomfort stirring at his old-fashioned mindset. “Michael,” I say, my tone firm but not unkind. “Like I said, it’s the twenty-first century. Women are free to live the way they want to, dress the way they want to, be who they want to be—me included.”

Michael bites his lip as he looks out the window, quietly contemplating this brand new world he’s suddenly found himself in. He looks over at me, his eyes softening, seeing my slight tension.

“I’ve offended you,” he says quietly, looking down at his hands. “I’m sorry, Kendra. That was not my intention.”

I glance at him, the tension melting away at the look on his face—clearly upset at the thought of upsetting me. I smile softly and reach my hand over, giving his a reassuring squeeze.

“I know, Michael,” I say softly, looking back at the road, though I keep hold of his hand as I switch lanes. “Yes, what you said bothered me. But I also understand that you’re from a very different world, and you’ll need time to adjust.”

He nods, sighing in relief at my assurance. My thumb gently strokes his soft skin, still holding his hand. “It’s alright, Michael, really.”

He squeezes my hand in silent thanks and we stay like that, holding hands, the rest of the way home. 

When we get there, I cut the engine and we both grab the bags from the trunk, carrying them inside to the kitchen. I turn on the oven to give it time to preheat before unloading the shopping bags.

Once everything is laid out on the counter, I gather my long curls into a messy bun atop my head. I reach over to switch on the small radio, and Etta James’ voice soon fills the kitchen.

Michael sits on one of the stools at the island counter, his brows lifting curiously at the music.

I decide to get the longest task out of the way first: the apple pie. Once it’s in the oven, I turn and am surprised to find him still there, quietly watching me move around the kitchen.

“You don’t have to sit there the whole time,” I say, chuckling softly. “Aren’t you bored?”

He merely smiles, shaking his head. “Of course not—I’m with you.”

I blush, ducking my head to hide a shy smile, my heart fluttering at his words.

“S—suit yourself,” I murmur, cheeks still pink, a little flustered by his attention.

While the pie bakes, I get started on the rest of the meal. I unwrap the roast and season it while the skillet heats on the stove. After searing it on all sides, I transfer it to a roasting pan.

Then I mix up the biscuit dough, roll it out, and cut it into circles, placing them on a greased cookie sheet. I move on to the potatoes, chopping them up one by one.

Just as I finish, the oven beeps three times—the pie is ready. I take it out and set it on a cooling rack, then slide the roasting pan in and reset the timer.

While the roast cooks, I fill the sink with dishwater and begin cleaning up. I glance up when Michael joins me, rolling up his sleeves. I smile softly as I wash and he rinses—the domesticity of the moment not lost on me.

We make quick work of the dishes, and I smile up at him. “Thank you for helping.”

“My pleasure,” he replies softly, his eyes searching mine.

The way he looks at me makes my heart flutter. No other man has ever made me feel the way he does—one look, one smile, and I’m completely flustered.

I duck my head, biting my lip in a futile effort to hide my smile as I move to check on the roast. With forty-five minutes left on the timer, I take it out to add the chopped potatoes and baby carrots around the meat, then place it back in the oven. When there are twenty minutes left, I slide the biscuits in to bake.

I smile to myself when “Someone to Watch Over Me” by Ella Fitzgerald comes on the radio—it’s always been one of my favorites. Biting my lip, I turn to Michael and offer him my hand. He takes it, smiling in curious confusion.

“Dance with me?” I ask softly, peering up at him.

“I’d love to,” he replies just as softly, then glances around the kitchen with a slight frown. “But is there enough room in here?”

I grin and giggle softly, gently tugging his hand. “Dancing is a bit different these days,” I say, knowing he’s probably picturing a waltz or something more formal.

We both blush as I guide his hands to my waist. I rest my arms on his shoulders, gently leading him into a slow sway as we move in circles across the kitchen floor.

I smile as he starts out a bit stiff and unsure, but he gradually gets the hang of it. My hands slide over his shoulders, fingers lacing behind his neck as I step even closer. Pressed flush against him, I rest my cheek to his chest and close my eyes. As much as I love this song, the sound of his heartbeat—strong and steady—is the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.

One song melts into another, and when the timer finally goes off, I seriously consider letting dinner burn, just so I don’t have to leave his arms. I feel safe here—loved, cherished—and I never want to let go.

My eyes flutter open, not having realized I’d closed them in the first place. I lift my head, blushing at the intense longing I find in his eyes, knowing that same longing is reflected in my own. I smile shyly before I duck my head and reluctantly leave his arms to take dinner out of the oven.

Michael sets the table while I bring out the food, arranging it in the center. I pour us both a glass of iced tea and bring them to the table.

I blush for what must be the hundredth time in the last hour as Michael pulls out my chair—ever the gentleman.

I serve him first, placing a little bit of everything on his plate. Once done, I make my plate before giving him a nod and a hopeful smile.

I bite my lip nervously as he picks up his fork and takes a bite. He chews slowly, eyes fluttering closed as he hums softly—tasting food for the first time in nearly two centuries. He swallows before opening his eyes and looking at me.

“Kendra, this is amazing,” he says sincerely, taking another bite. He chews, savoring it, then swallows again. “You have quite a talent in the kitchen.”

I sigh in relief, smiling shyly under his praise. “Th—Thank you, Michael. I’m—I’m glad you like it.”

We spend dinnertime talking and learning more about each other as we eat. When we finish our meal, I start clearing the table, smiling in silent thanks when Michael stands to help.

An hour later I’ve finished my shower and am now ready for bed. I step out of the bathroom and make my way down the hall. I stop at the open doorway of what is now Michael’s bedroom—now that sleep has once again become a necessity.

“Goodnight, Michael,” I call, smiling softly when he looks up.

“Goodnight, Kendra,” he replies, returning my smile, affection in his eyes. “Sleep well.”

“You too,” I reply, giving him one more smile before I turn and continue on into my own room.

I pull back the covers and, just as I’m getting ready to climb into bed, I get a text notification on my phone. I frown, wondering who on earth is texting me when it’s ten o’clock at night. I sigh and pick up my phone, opening my text messages. I freeze when I see my ex-boyfriend’s name on the screen.

Jake: Hey, can we talk? I really miss you…

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse-Chapter 9

It’s been two months since the night Michael and I uncovered the truth about Cora’s death. Three months now I've been living in the mansion, though it feels like I've been here much longer—like the house had been waiting for me, even before I knew it.

Time has dulled the sharpest edges of what we uncovered, but the weight of it still clings to the corners of my mind. Some things, like the vision Michael and I shared—the terrible clarity of Samuel’s cruelty—you don’t forget. You just learn how to carry them.

Life has settled into a strange kind of normal. Michael and I spend our days digging through the past, still trying to make sense of everything, and somewhere along the way, we started sharing pieces of ourselves too. Stories. Memories. Small things. But even when everything feels easy, I can still feel something pulling at me—like the past isn’t finished with me yet. Like part of it is still mine.

It’s a quiet afternoon when we come across it. Michael and I are tucked away in the library, sorting through another stack of papers—just another part of the ongoing search for answers. The house is still, except for the rustle of pages turning and the occasional sigh from one of us. I don’t expect anything unusual to happen today. But then, tucked between some old documents, I find two letters of correspondence that change everything.

I unfold the first letter and perk up when I see it’s from Samuel Lockridge to Charles Harris, the chief of police. But just like every other discovery so far, my excitement is tinged with trepidation.

Charles,

I hope this letter finds you well. It’s come to my attention that the rumors surrounding my daughter’s death are not only spreading but beginning to gain traction. I trust you understand how sensitive this situation is, and as always, I count on your discretion to ensure nothing further comes of these whispers.

As we discussed, I’ve arranged for the sum we spoke of to be delivered to you promptly. It should more than cover any... concerns you may have, and I trust this will put an end to any further inquiries. The last thing either of us wants is for this matter to escalate. My position is more delicate than ever, and any loose ends must be tied up quickly.

I need not remind you of the importance of maintaining the necessary... appearances. As we’ve discussed before, the consequences of failing to keep this quiet could be far-reaching, and we both know how much I stand to lose.

I appreciate your ongoing cooperation and trust you will see this through. Your continued discretion in this matter will not go unnoticed, and I’m certain it will be as mutually beneficial as our previous arrangements.

Best regards,

Samuel Lockridge

I slowly set the letter down on the coffee table, somehow shocked yet not surprised at all. Samuel had the chief of police in his pocket. The $3,500 payment—it was for this. To ensure Charles Harris would look the other way, to make sure Cora never got the justice she deserved.

I sigh heavily. As much as I want to forget everything, crawl back into bed, and never come out, I know I can’t stop now. I have to keep going.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I reach for the other letter and begin to read.

Samuel,

I have received your payment, and you can consider our arrangement secured. As we agreed, I will ensure the investigation does not lead back to you.

Given the nature of Michael’s relationship with your daughter, he presents the perfect suspect. In cases like this, people are quick to believe it’s the lover who bears the blame — a tragic story they’re all too willing to accept without question. It won’t take much to let suspicion settle on him.

However, I must be clear: I will not falsify evidence. I will not risk my position or the integrity of the office. Without direct proof against him, no formal charges can be brought. But the weight of public opinion will be more than enough. Once the town turns against him, any doubts about your innocence will fade into rumor and gossip, nothing more.

You have my assurance that no blame will touch you.

C. Harris

I set the letter aside with the other one, disgusted.

"Son of a bitch," I breathe, staring at the letters as if they’ve personally offended me. Which, considering the contents, they have.

"Language," Michael says automatically, without looking up from the document he’s perusing.

Even after months of growing used to my presence in the mansion, my “sailor’s tongue"—as he liked to call it—still left "something to be desired."

I can’t help but snicker softly, despite the anger burning in my chest on Michael’s behalf.

"Oh, stop it. You think I’m delightful and you know it," I retort, sticking my tongue out at him when he glances over.

He smirks, chuckling softly as he shakes his head. His gaze drops briefly to the letters in front of me, then returns to my face.

"I assume, from your uncouth outburst, that you’ve found something," he says, raising a curious brow. "And I’m guessing you don’t like what you’ve found…"

I can’t help but chuckle and roll my eyes when he refers to my “uncouth outburst.” However, when he brings attention back to the letters in front of me, my smile instantly vanishes.

I sigh, placing the letters side by side on the coffee table so he can read them.

"No. No, I don’t," I reply, massaging my temple, feeling a headache coming on. They seemed to be an all too common occurrence lately. "Samuel Lockridge continues to prove to have been an absolute piece of shit."

"Must you—" Michael begins, preparing to scold me for my language, but I cut him off by raising a hand, the other still gently massaging my temple.

"Uh uh," I interrupt, pointing at the letters. "You might want to read those first before you worry about my language.”

Michael scoots closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he leans in. His eyes move quickly between the two letters, the frown between his brows deepening with every line he reads. By the time he finishes, he’s furious, his whole body tense with barely restrained anger.

He lets out a low, almost inaudible growl of frustration, and I watch as his fingers tighten into fists. The lights flicker above us.

"That son of a bitch,” Michael mutters, his voice tight, and the electricity buzzes again, making a lamp by the fireplace dim before it brightens back up.

I stare at him, the air between us crackling with the charged energy of his emotions, literally and figuratively.

“They threw me to the mercy of public judgment to cover their sins and got away with it," he says, his voice raw with a mix of bitterness and disbelief.

“I suppose I should be thankful that they couldn’t actually arrest me!” he spats sarcastically through clenched teeth, the lights humming and the tv flickering as his angry energy fills the room.

I place a tentative hand on his arm, the touch gentle but grounding. "Michael," I say softly, hoping to bring him back before he shatters something in the room.

“How could Harris do this?!” Michael goes on, his voice growing louder in his anger. “He’s the police, for God’s sake!”

I wince as his anger grows and glance over at the TV, which finally flickers to life, the screen glitching. I look back at him and gently squeeze his arm.

“Whoa there, Maestro,” I say with a nervous chuckle, trying again to calm him, not even realizing what I’ve called him. “How ‘bout we stop and take a break, okay?” I ask, giving him a small smile.

Michael’s anger dissipates immediately, the TV turning off and the lights settling as well. Now he just stares at me, his eyes searching my face. For what, I don’t know. But something softens in his features immediately. I blush, butterflies erupting in my stomach at the way he’s looking at me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was… affection?

I glance around the room, relieved that all of my furniture is still intact.

"Thanks for not blowing up another lamp," I say with a teasing smirk. "I didn’t really want to make another trip to IKEA.”

He smiles, chuckling softly, though that look—that emotion I can’t quite name—still swims in his eyes.

"My apologies," he murmurs, his gaze still locked on mine, making the butterflies in my stomach multiply.

He cocks his head slightly, an inquisitive smile tugging at his lips.

"Why did you call me that?" he asks curiously.

"Call you what?" I ask, a slight frown of confusion pinching my brow.

"You called me ‘Maestro,’" he explains softly. "You’ve never called me that before."

Realization dawns on me—I hadn’t realized I’d said it—and I cock my head. I think for a moment, the pinch of my brow deepening.

"I’m not sure," I confess, smiling and chuckling at the odd occurrence. "I suppose since you composed music, it just popped into my head. Weird..." I say, shrugging, thinking nothing more of it.

I stand and head to the kitchen, needing to find something for lunch. 

I had no clue how wrong I was.

A week later, I make my way downstairs, already dressed and ready for the day.

I enter the kitchen and head straight for the coffee maker. I grab the canister from the cupboard, moving on autopilot as I scoop the grounds into the filter. I press the start button and lean against the counter, glaring at the coffee pot as though personally offended that it’s taking more than ten seconds to brew.

Michael quietly enters the room, raising a brow and smirking when he sees me glaring at the machine.

“You know, I’m starting to worry about your relationship with that thing,” he teases, his voice smooth and amused.

I narrow my eyes at the pot, then glance at him. “If it doesn’t start producing results soon, we’re breaking up.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. “Tragic. I thought you two had something special.”

“It’s clearly one-sided,” I mutter, letting out another yawn. “All take, no give.”

As we stand there, the coffee maker sputters to life, filling the air with the familiar gurgle of brewing coffee. It’s strangely comfortable, the quiet of the moment wrapping around us.

Michael leans against the counter beside me, watching the coffee drip into the pot. After a beat, he asks, “How’d you sleep?”

“Uh…” I sigh, reaching up to rub the sleep from one of my eyes. “Fine, I guess.”

He raises a brow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You guess?”

“I had a… weirdly vivid dream,” I admit, stifling a yawn.

“Oh?” he says, tone still light, but his gaze sharpens with interest. “What about?”

I pause, still staring at the coffee pot, watching as it fills—much too slowly, in my opinion. “You were there,” I say slowly. “And you were teaching me to play piano.”

I glance up at him.

“Well—teaching Cora, I guess. But it felt like I was her. Or she was me. I don’t know.” I chuckle softly and shake my head at the weird turn my life has taken these days.

His expression shifts, softens. The smirk fades, replaced by something quieter. Warmer.

“She was sitting at the piano, and you were standing behind her. Your arms were around her, guiding her hands over the keys. She kept messing up… and laughing about it.”

Michael looks away, a knowing smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth.

“That… sounds like a good memory,” he says, his voice quieter now.

The coffee maker lets out a final hiss as it finishes brewing. I grab a mug from the cupboard and pour myself a cup, the aroma wrapping around me like a blanket.

I turn back around and lean against the counter, cradling the warm mug between my hands. Michael watches me quietly, something unreadable in his expression.

I take a sip. “So, vivid dreams and caffeine dependence—that’s my new normal now, I guess.”

“Are we sure the caffeine dependence is a new development?” he asks with a smirk, brow raised in amusement. “The amount of coffee you drink in a day seems like you’ve had years of experience.”

I narrow my eyes at him playfully over the rim of my cup before I defiantly take another sip and stick my tongue out at him.

I finish my coffee, the caffeine finally hitting my bloodstream. The quiet stretches on, and I glance at the clock—realizing I’m running late.

“I should probably get going,” I say, setting the mug down gently.

Michael looks up, slightly surprised. “Going where?”

“I’ve got a few errands to run,” I reply with a shrug.

He nods, his expression softening. “Alright. I’ll be here.”

I pick up my bag and slide it over my shoulder. “Don’t get into too much trouble without me.”

Michael offers a small, teasing smile. “I’ll try not to.”

With one last glance at him, I make my way to the door, the weight of the dream still lingering in my thoughts as I head out to my car.

I pull away and take off down the road, headed for town. I had been vague, telling Michael I had errands to run, but what I really needed was the library.

Between the vivid dreams and the visions where I’m in Cora’s place—and playing a piece of music, eyes closed, that I’ve never seen or heard before—it just shouldn’t be possible. And yet, I’m starting to wonder. To entertain possibilities that, three months ago, I never would have believed in a million years.

Twenty minutes later I’m sitting at a small table in the library, surrounded by several books—though they’re all on the same subject. I can’t believe I’m actually here right now, researching reincarnation of all things. I had always thought the notion was absolute nonsense. How could reincarnation and past lives be possible? It was ridiculous! Yet… I don’t have any other explanation for what I’ve been experiencing. Besides, I didn’t believe in ghosts three months ago either, and here I was, living with one. 

I figured it was time to open my mind a little.

I grab one of the books and open it before I start reading silently.

Chapter One: The Echoes of a Life Once Lived Reincarnation and the Persistence of Memory

For centuries, cultures around the world have told stories of souls returning to live again—reborn in new bodies, often in new lands, yet somehow carrying pieces of their former selves. This belief, known as reincarnation, suggests that death is not an end but a transition—a door closing softly behind one life as another quietly begins.

While traditions vary, the core idea remains strikingly similar: the soul survives physical death and may return, again and again, to continue its journey of growth, healing, or unfinished purpose. In many accounts, individuals who experience what appear to be past-life memories often describe a moment of profound familiarity—of knowing things they were never taught, recognizing faces they've never seen, or feeling an inexplicable pull to certain places, times, or people.

These memories may arrive suddenly and without warning—through dreams, déjà vu, or spontaneous flashes triggered by sound, scent, or emotion. They often seem more vivid than imagination, more specific than fantasy. Some recall skills they’ve never learned in this life, languages they've never studied, or events they could not have known.

Skeptics argue these are coincidences, fabrications of a creative brain. But for those who experience them, the memories feel real. They are not always grand or dramatic. Often, they are small moments—a hand reaching for another, the sound of laughter in a familiar room, the unmistakable weight of a love long lost but never forgotten.

Whether one accepts these accounts as metaphysical truth or psychological phenomenon, the question persists: what if the soul does return? And if it does, how much of our past selves might still be echoing in the present?

I swallow as I slowly lay the book down on the table, one of my hands absentmindedly lifting to toy with the swallow pendant that hangs around my neck. After what I just read, I can’t help but think back to my childhood, when I bugged my parents for a month straight to let me take piano lessons—they probably gave in just to shut me up. I don’t know why, but I felt like I just had to learn. 

However, my teacher was shocked by how quickly, how effortlessly, I seemed to pick it up. She said it was as if it were second nature for me. Like I was born to do it. And I loved it—from the first note I ever played, I fell in love with it, an inexplicable joy coming over me every time I sat down to play.

I blink out of my trance, close the book, and set it aside before picking up another. I look through the table of contents until I find a chapter title that jumps out at me.

Chapter Seven: Traces in the Soul Signs of a Life Remembered

Not all memories begin in the mind. Some live in the bones, the breath, the hush between heartbeats. These are the traces the soul carries forward—remnants of lives we no longer consciously recall, yet which still shape who we are.

Many who believe they’ve lived before speak of signs—small, persistent echoes that tug at the edges of their lives:

An irrational fear with no known cause, as though born from a wound suffered long ago.

An unexplainable talent, mastered with little effort, as though remembered rather than learned.

A dream so vivid it leaves a physical ache upon waking.

A face that feels like home, though you've only just met.

These are not proofs in the traditional sense, but they are patterns—recurring motifs in the tapestry of reincarnation lore. In some cases, people report returning to places they’ve never been, only to describe them in detail. Others feel a deep, almost spiritual bond with someone new, as if recognizing them across lifetimes.

It is said that souls often reincarnate in groups—that love, loss, and unfinished stories have a gravity of their own. We are drawn back to those we are meant to find again. And sometimes, in rare and poignant cases, a memory will break through with such clarity that it cannot be dismissed.

Whether fleeting or persistent, these signs suggest that the soul is not bound by time, and that the past may walk beside us more closely than we know.

I close the book, unable to help but think back on my time at the mansion. I had played Michael’s piece without reading the music, as though pulling a memory from deep inside me—one I didn’t even know existed. I remember how I could see my music room as it was then, when Michael was alive. I could see every detail in my mind. It had felt so real—like I’d been in that room before, seen it in its prime with my own two eyes.

My stomach flips, a mix of awe and dread curling in my gut. With every word, the pieces fit together more clearly—and the truth feels a little less impossible. I sigh and grab another book, flipping it open to a random chapter. I lean forward in my chair and begin to read, still sliding the pendant back and forth on the chain around my neck.

Chapter Twelve: When the Past Comes Calling Spontaneous Recall and the Uninvited Memory

Not all memories of a past life come gently. For some, they arrive like a storm—unexpected, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore. These moments of spontaneous recall often strike during periods of emotional intensity, physical stillness, or heightened intuition. A person may find themselves walking down a street they’ve never been to before, only to be seized by a sudden and vivid memory of being there in another time, wearing different clothes, living another life.

Such memories often lack context. They appear not as stories with beginnings and ends, but as fragments—faces, places, names, or feelings that seem both foreign and intimately familiar. These flashes may be brief, lasting seconds, or they may consume minutes, even hours, pulling the individual into a vivid, immersive experience that feels more real than the present moment.

In rare cases, people have described feeling as though they were “slipping” into another self entirely—reliving a moment not through imagination, but as if time itself had momentarily reversed or folded in on itself. Scientists have offered theories: neural misfires, cryptomnesia, even psychological stress responses. Yet in countless accounts from around the world, those who have experienced such phenomena insist that what they saw, heard, and felt was not imagined. It was remembered.

These experiences are often accompanied by a physical sensation: dizziness, nausea, trembling, a tightness in the chest. Others describe a weightlessness, or the eerie sense of watching their own life from outside their body. When they return, they may carry with them lingering emotions that do not belong to this lifetime—grief, longing, love, or even fear.

It is here, in these strange crossings between past and present, that many begin to ask the hardest question of all: What if I’ve been someone else before—and what if a part of that someone still lives in me now?

The first paragraph instantly brings that awful vision of Cora’s death to the forefront of my mind. Visions that “arrive like a storm—unexpected, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore” didn’t even begin to cover it. It was a fucking nightmare. I could feel the evil rolling off of the vision in waves.

I stand on trembling legs and close the books, stacking them neatly. I lift them into my arms and return them to the shelf I got them from, placing each one back in its designated spot. Then I walk back to my table, pick up my bag, and sling it over my shoulder before heading outside to the car.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I close my eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath. I let it out slowly, then open my eyes, staring out the windshield before pushing the key into the ignition. I buckle up and pull out of the parking lot to head home.

I come to a stop at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn green. As I do, I absentmindedly reach up once more to touch the swallow pendant that hangs around my neck.

I gasp as I suddenly find myself falling headfirst into yet another vivid vision.

The world around me shifts.

I'm no longer in my car. I’m somewhere warm, dimly lit—there's the soft flicker of candlelight dancing across the walls. Heavy drapes mute the outside world, and rain patters gently against the windows. Everything feels hushed, intimate.

Michael sits on the edge of a chaise, his shoulders tense, head bowed low. One hand is braced on his knee, the other hangs loosely by his side. His hair falls slightly into his eyes, and his expression is twisted with something I can’t name at first—pain, maybe. Or guilt.

Cora kneels in front of him. There’s such tenderness in her face as she looks up at him. She reaches out slowly, gently, and takes his hand in both of hers.

“You’re not alone in this,” she whispers. Her voice is soft but sure. “Whatever’s weighing on you... you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Michael doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t pull away either. His eyes glisten, and his jaw tightens like he’s trying to hold something back—emotion, or maybe the urge to believe her.

Then I see it—Cora’s thumb begins to move in slow, comforting circles against the center of his palm. The motion is rhythmic, soothing. Familiar.

He finally exhales, a trembling breath escaping him as he closes his eyes. And in that moment, the space between them seems to dissolve. Like she’s anchoring him with that simple gesture, reminding him he’s safe. That he’s loved.

He opens his eyes, smiling softly as he looks at her.

“What would I do without you?” he says softly, reaching out to tug affectionately at one of her long, blonde curls, making her smile.

“You’ll never have to find out, Maestro,” she replies, love shining in her eyes. Michael’s smile widens at the nickname, the look in his own eyes reflecting the same deep affection.

The vision lingers for a heartbeat longer.

And then it’s gone.

I come back to myself, gasping when the car behind me lays on their horn, the light having turned green without my notice. I shake my head, trying to clear it, and I give a wave of apology before pulling through the intersection.

My body trembles and my heart races in my chest as I make my way home. I saw what Cora was doing in my vision—saw it plain as day. She was comforting Michael, doing the exact same thing I had done the day we shared that vision of her death.

And the look in Michael’s eyes when I called him Maestro—it was unmistakable.

At the time, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. But now? There’s no doubt in my mind.

He knows—or at least, he suspects.

Cora and I are one and the same…

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse-Chapter 8

Michael moves to sit beside me, his back against the wall. The silence between us is thick, a quiet that hangs heavy in the air, weighted by the trauma of the revelation we’ve just uncovered. Neither of us dares to break it.

He shifts closer, his shoulder brushing mine.

Without a word, he squeezes my hand as it rests on my thigh. The pressure is gentle but grounding, anchoring me when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

Without realizing it, I lean into him slightly, resting my head on his shoulder. I keep holding his hand, my thumb absentmindedly stroking the soft lines of his palm. My eyes are unfocused, staring into the space ahead, glazed over and unblinking.

Tears cling to my lashes, but they’re not for me. No—they belong to a girl whose life was cut too short, a girl whose sorrow hums quietly in my bones, as if I’ve always known her. A girl who never got the justice she deserved, but whom I refuse to let be forgotten.

I still can’t wrap my head around what I’ve just witnessed. The weight of the vision sits like a stone in my chest. I don’t understand how these memories have found their way into my mind—how I can see, and feel, a past that isn’t mine.

But most of all, I can’t fathom how anyone—let alone a father—could treat another human being so monstrously.

The look in Samuel’s eyes—the cold, unfeeling disdain—makes my heart ache, knowing that was the last thing Cora ever saw before her young life was snuffed out. A shiver crawls up my spine, and I grip Michael’s hand a little tighter.

When he presses his cheek against the top of my head, I close my eyes and breathe him in. The gesture is quiet, instinctive—two broken pieces trying to fit back together.

Without thinking, I lace my fingers through his, holding onto him like a lifeline, as if it’s the only thing keeping me from slipping away.

My mind spins like a top, unable to stop itself from wandering. Why did these visions feel so real? Hell, why was I having them in the first place?

I never used to believe in things like this. Psychic visions, ghosts—this past month had completely turned my life on its axis, calling into question everything I believed in—and everything I didn’t.

Sometimes it felt less like watching someone else's memories and more like... something I should already know—a thought that slips away before I can catch it.

My stomach growls, breaking the silence. I glance at Michael, who offers a small smile—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, still clouded with grief.

“I guess we should take a break,” I say, trying to sound lighter than I feel. “It’s lunchtime anyway.”

Michael nods, and we both move into the kitchen. I rummage through the cabinets, trying to focus on something—anything—that isn’t the letter or the haunting vision I can’t seem to shake.

I decide on a simple sandwich, too distracted by my thoughts for anything more complicated. Moving on autopilot, I gather everything I need. I put the sandwich together, the motion grounding me somehow. The hum of the refrigerator, the soft scrape of the knife against bread—it’s all so normal, so mundane, a sharp contrast to the storm of thoughts and emotions swirling inside me.

I glance over at Michael. He’s still sitting at the kitchen table, watching me quietly, his expression unreadable. His silence is heavy, and I know he’s just as overwhelmed by his thoughts as I am.

I finish making my sandwich and sit in my usual seat at the table. I stay quiet for a moment, knowing I need to say something, but before I can, Michael speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, his voice low. It catches me off guard, and I freeze for a moment. “For everything. For not being able to protect her.”

I frown, leaning forward slightly. “Sorry for what, Michael? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He stares at his hands, his jaw clenched. “I should’ve been able to stop it. I should’ve seen what was happening. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

My frown deepens, and I shake my head, reaching out to cover his cool hand with my own. “You’re right about one thing: you couldn’t. You couldn’t have known what was happening to her. You weren’t there. You had no way of knowing her father was someone she should fear.”

“But she’s dead because of me!” Michael says, his eyes locking with mine.

“What?” I breathe, shaking my head as I squeeze his hand gently. “Michael, no. It’s not y—” I start to protest, but he cuts me off.

“If she hadn’t loved me—if she hadn’t been trying to sneak out to meet me, she wouldn’t have died!” he says, voice trembling. I see the pain in his eyes before he looks away again, ashamed.

“Michael, listen to me,” I say, leaning closer, both my hands gripping his, silently pleading for him to meet my gaze.

Reluctantly, his eyes lift to mine once more, seemingly begging for absolution—and I would gladly give it.

“Cora made her choice,” I say softly. “She chose you. And I have a feeling that, even if she’d known what would happen, she would’ve chosen you anyway. She loved you, Michael. She loved you so much, and I don’t believe for a second that she would blame you for what happened. And I don’t think she’d want you to blame yourself either.”

He looks up at me, his eyes dark with emotion, but there’s something softer now. Something fragile, like he’s starting to believe the words I’m saying.

I squeeze his hand, offering a small smile. “She chose you, Michael. And no matter what happened, she never stopped loving you. She never stopped choosing you.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he nods, his shoulders slumping a little, the weight of his guilt still there, but not as crushing. The room feels quieter, in a peaceful way, like a storm has passed, even if the clouds are still lingering. 

I clean up once I’m finished eating, my movements automatic, the silence between us settling. We head toward the attic afterward. I’m determined to bring down the rest of the boxes and chests—hoping that more answers lie hidden, waiting to be uncovered.

As we descend the stairs, a small smirk tugs at the corner of my lips when I feel the box in my arms suddenly lift, as though it has a mind of its own. I glance over at Michael, and sure enough, he’s watching with that familiar, playful look on his face.

The rest of the boxes follow suit, floating behind us in silent procession as we make our way back down to the living room.

I sit on the couch and settle in, ready to dive back into the search.

An hour later, I sigh in frustration. The first box yielded nothing. My movements grow slower as weariness sets in, the weight of the search threatening to pull me under.

I’ve moved on to the second box by now. Another bundle of yellowed envelopes—wrapped in twine—rests at the bottom. I sigh, bracing myself for more of the same. I untie the stack and pull out the top envelope, unfolding the letter inside, fully prepared for it to hold nothing of consequence.

As my eyes scan the page, I grow a bit more excited when I realize it’s a letter addressed to Cora. My breath catches, and I freeze when I spot the signature at the bottom.

A lead weight settles in the pit of my stomach. I have a feeling I won’t like what I’m about to find.

My Dearest Cora,

I can no longer remain silent. This unbearable weight has settled in my chest, and I must finally let it out, even if it ruins me completely.

I know I am nothing more than a shadow in the background of your life—a fleeting presence you hardly notice. But that doesn’t change the fact that I see you. I see you, and I ache knowing you’ll never look at me the way you look at him.

I’ve watched you—always with him, always absorbed in the music, in him. You’re so focused on him that you don’t even see me, don’t see how I ache to be part of your world. You’ve never once given me a second thought, have you?

And yet, it gnaws at me—this sick, foolish hope—that one day, you might. But I am not blind, Cora. I know the depth of what he means to you. I know how you love him. But I will not let that silence me anymore.

I don’t want your pity, and I don’t want your charity. But you need to know this—he is not the only one who cares. I care. And while you run to him, while you give him everything, know that there is someone else who has always been here, waiting for you to notice—even if it’s too late.

I know this letter changes nothing, but I can’t help myself. I need you to know what I’ve felt all this time, even if it’s the desperate plea of a man who has already lost.

Yours sincerely,

William

My unease has only grown by the time I finish the letter. As much as I don’t want to go on, I know I have to. With a soft sigh, I take the next envelope from the stack and unfold the letter inside. Sure enough, it’s another letter to Cora—from William.

My Dearest Cora,

I can’t stop thinking of you. Every moment, every breath, it’s all consumed by the thought of you and him—him, always by your side. You continue to blind yourself to everything around you, so focused on him that you fail to see the one who’s always been right here, waiting for you. How long will you keep turning away from me? How long will you pretend that you don’t feel what I feel—something more than friendship, something deeper than mere affection?

I am sick of watching from the sidelines, Cora. Sick of being your shadow, lurking in the background, while he takes everything that should have been mine. How dare you give him what you never even considered giving me? You speak of love, but I’ve seen the truth of it, haven’t I? It’s not love—it’s an obsession. You’re obsessed with him. His music. His presence. His every word. And yet, all I am is a shadow—a figure in your periphery, a fleeting thought, an afterthought.

But let me tell you something, Cora: I see everything. I see how you lean toward him, how your eyes soften when you look at him, how your voice trembles when you speak his name. And I see how you avoid my gaze. How you pretend I don’t exist. How you never once—not once—saw me for what I truly am.

I am not some passing fancy. I am not a fleeting moment. And yet, I am treated like one. You would never have the courage to face the truth, would you? That it is I who has always been here. It is I who has always cared for you, who has quietly suffered in silence, enduring while he took what I could never have. He isn’t worthy of you, Cora. He never was. You deserve so much more than him. But you’ll never see it, will you? You’ll never understand what you’ve been throwing away.

And so, I watch, helpless, as he takes everything that should have been mine. But I will not be a fool forever. I will not be your second choice, your consolation. One day, you’ll regret it. I will make sure of that. And when you finally realize your mistake, when you see me for what I truly am, I won’t be here anymore. I’ll be gone, and you’ll be left with the bitter sting of your own ignorance.

For now, I remain in the shadows, watching, waiting for the day when you finally see the truth.

Until that day,

William

I take a deep breath as I set the letter aside. Sitting back, I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. A headache is beginning to form. I glance over at the chest filled with Cora’s journals. Curious if they would provide any insight, I pick up the first journal, flipping through the pages until I spot an entry with William’s name. Sure enough, I find one.

Journal Entry – March 23rd

A letter from William arrived today.

It caught me completely off guard.

I read it three times before I could even process the words. It was… heartfelt. Painful. And deeply sad. I never had any idea he felt that way. William’s always been polite, even a bit reserved, but I never imagined there was anything more behind it. He’s only known me a short while—and yet, from his letter, you’d think we shared a lifetime.

Reading his words—how invisible he feels, how long he’s apparently been carrying these feelings—it made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. Guilt, maybe. Or regret. Not because I wish things were different—my heart belongs to Michael, and always will—but because I never meant to hurt William. I never imagined he was suffering in silence right in front of me.

He deserves someone who sees him the way he wants to be seen. Someone who can return those feelings. I can’t be that person. And I’m afraid even kindness might come across as cruelty now.

I hope this letter was his way of letting go.

My heart aches for Cora. It’s clear she was kind and empathetic, but her heart… it was always destined to belong to Michael. Nothing could change that.

I flip through several pages, stopping when I see William’s name again, written in Cora’s neat hand.

Journal Entry – April 6th

Another letter came today.

This one… was different.

It no longer sounded like someone baring his heart. It sounded like someone unraveling.

His words were angry—accusatory, even. He wrote about how I’ve “given him everything” and how I’m “blind” to the truth. He said I would regret it one day, and that when I did, he wouldn’t be there anymore.

It frightened me.

I don’t know what’s happened between his first letter and now, but something has changed him. There was bitterness in every line, something sharp and cold I hadn’t seen before. He claims he’s been pushed to the shadows, but it’s not true—I never meant to push him anywhere. I never even knew he had feelings for me until the first letter.

Still, I’ve asked Mary not to leave me alone when we go into town. Just in case. The thought of possibly running into William when I’m alone petrifies me.

I close the diary, massaging my temple as my headache sharpens. 

I don’t want to show William’s letters to Michael. I know they’ll break his heart. But I’m at a loss—what choice do I have?

William’s motivations have become painfully clear. He was in love with Cora, and his feelings twisted into anger and resentment—anger that she never saw him, and resentment that, despite Michael’s lower social standing, her heart belonged to him, and him alone.

“M-Michael?” I call, my voice hesitant, as he sits in front of one of the other chests, rifling through it—seemingly with no luck.

He stops, looking up at me with curiosity. “What is it? Did you find something?” His gaze flicks to the stack of letters in my hands.

“Um…” I bite my lip, struggling to find the right words. “I, uh… I think I found out why your friend wrote that letter to Cora’s father.”

His frown deepens as he catches the unease in my expression. Rising to his feet, he comes to sit beside me. He holds out his hand, and though every part of me wants to hold onto the letters, I know I can’t keep them from him. Reluctantly, I place them in his grasp, my stomach twisting with the knowledge of how devastated he’ll be.

Quietly, I sit beside him, waiting as he reads through the letters. My teeth worry at my bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as the minutes drag by. The knot in my gut tightens with each passing second, and I can only watch helplessly as the frown pinching his brow deepens.

Finally, after several minutes, he lays the second letter on the coffee table. He says nothing at first. The clock on the mantel ticks away, the silence in the room almost deafening. He just sits there, staring into space, absorbing the betrayal—centuries old, yet as fresh to him as if it had happened only yesterday.

Suddenly, he speaks, his voice soft and filled with sadness.

“William was my friend—my best friend,” Michael says, eyes still fixed on the floor. “I called him my brother. I thought—” His voice cracks, his eyes glistening with tears he can’t shed. “I thought we were family. I thought I could trust him.”

The devastation he feels at being betrayed by someone he called a friend, a brother, is painfully clear. I want to do something—anything—to comfort him, but how can anyone make something like this hurt less?

“That whole time, he watched me from the shadows, secretly hating me,” he spits, his sadness giving way to anger. “Resenting me—and for what?! Because I fell in love?”

I sit silent, tears filling my eyes as I witness his pain. I wince as I glance over at the lamp beside us, its fluorescent light pulsing bright, then dimming again, over and over. I knew I needed to calm him before we had a repeat performance of him exploding more of my furniture. If that happened, I knew he would shut down completely.

“I must’ve looked like such a fool,” he mutters angrily. “Talking and laughing with him, thinking our friendship meant as much to him as it did to me. I—I confided in him,” he says, scoffing quietly.

“He was the first person I ever told after I realized I loved her. Even before I told Cora. I was so happy—so excited that I finally knew what love was. We were musicians—always playing songs composed in the name of love—but we were only pretending to understand them.”

Unable to help myself, the urge to comfort him overwhelms me. I reach out, taking his hand in mine. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, though his sadness is palpable. I stay silent, letting him continue, his voice filled with heart-wrenching pain.

“But then I met her,” he whispers, a soft smile managing to touch his lips in spite of the devastation he feels.

“Cora was so beautiful,” he continues, his voice reverent as he stares off into space, as if trying to capture a specific memory. “That, of course, was the first thing I noticed about her—when she came to see me play.”

I smile softly through my tears, seeing his love for Cora written all over his face. I had never seen such proof of pure love before.

“But then she introduced herself—told me she had enjoyed my performance,” he says, his voice filled with quiet affection. “We began to talk about music, and her passion for it,” he breathes, shaking his head in awe. “Oh, I had never seen such fire in someone’s eyes. To meet someone who loved music as deeply as I did. She understood me, and I, her.”

He pauses for a long moment, a serene smile on his lips—and I can only imagine that he’s picturing her in his mind’s eye.

“Soon enough, Cora was taking classes at the conservatory,” he eventually continues. “Now we were talking every day. We got to know each other, found we were quite similar in many ways. So, as beautiful as she was on the outside, I fell in love with every part of her.”

Tears spill down my cheeks as I listen to him, gently squeezing his hand, reminding him that he’s not doing this alone. Instinctively, just like before, I begin to stroke his palm lightly with my thumb.

“O—” he begins, but quiets for a moment as he looks down, watching my thumb draw slow circles across his palm. And just like before, he merely smiles softly before continuing.

“Only then did I truly realize what all of those songs were about. I was no longer playing pretend. I understood, deep in my soul, what every note at my fingertips was trying to convey.”

Inexplicably, my heart skips a beat at his passionate words as he tells me about her—about his lost love. And love her, he did. Not a single soul who could see him in this moment—hear the way he spoke of her—would be able to deny it.

“For me, Cora was the music,” he says, smiling despite the ever-present tears in his eyes. “She was my music—my muse. Once I fell in love with her, the music came so easy.”

My heart swells as I listen to Michael talk about her. The way he speaks of her with such reverence, such love—I want a love like that someday.

“You must’ve loved her very much,” I say, a soft smile tugging at my lips as I peer up at him, my face stained with tears.

Michael smiles gently, sadness still lingering in his eyes as they search my own.

“I did, with everything I have—I still do,” he whispers, his gaze never wavering from mine.

Butterflies flare wildly in my stomach at the look he gives me. My lashes flutter, and my eyes fall closed as he reaches out to gently brush the tears from my cheek, his fingertips cool against my warm skin.

When they open again, meeting his, something inside me—almost like recognition—screams for me to figure something out.

But what that something is, I don’t know.

Michael’s hand lingers against my cheek for a moment longer before he lets it fall away, a soft, wistful smile touching his lips. The heaviness in the room doesn’t vanish, but it eases, settling into something quieter—something we can breathe through.

For a while, neither of us speaks. We just sit there, the soft ticking of the mantel clock filling the silence.

Finally, I give his hand one last squeeze before letting go and wiping my cheeks with my sleeve. I manage a watery laugh, the sound soft and a little broken, but genuine.

"I think," I say, sniffling and trying to smile, "we’ve officially earned a break."

I glance over at him—and to my relief, he chuckles, soft and genuine. Warmth washes over me at the sight, glad that he can still find a reason to smile after everything he’s faced today

"A break sounds... nice," he says, his voice still rough around the edges, but lighter somehow.

I push myself up from the couch with a soft groan. "Come on, Maestro," I call over my shoulder, a teasing lilt in my voice. "Let’s see if you can survive the horrors of modern technology long enough to make popcorn—preferably without blowing up my microwave."

Behind me, I hear a muttered, indignant sound—half huff, half laugh—as he gets up to follow.

"I beg your pardon, madam," he retorts, trying—and failing—to sound dignified. "But last time, that deathtrap you call a 'microwave' started it.”

And just like that, the heaviness that had hung between us lifts, replaced by an easy, comfortable warmth. It’s almost like everything that came before—everything painful—fades just a little in the lightness of this moment.

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse-Chapter 7

I’ve been living in the mansion for a month now. Every day has been spent with Michael and me combing through the attic, high and low. And every day ends the same way—empty-handed.

As frustrated as I’ve been with the lack of progress in uncovering Michael’s mysterious past, I know it’s nothing compared to what he’s feeling.

I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to be missing so many huge pieces of your life. Or worse—wondering if you’re the one who caused the death of the person you loved most in the world.

Now I’m sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and sipping coffee, trying to wake myself up and get my blood moving. I’ve been so caught up in the mystery I stumbled into, I’ve completely put off cleaning and organizing the rest of the house—basic things that would make it actually feel livable.

I finish eating and lean back in my chair, coffee cup in hand. The kitchen light flickers, and I raise a brow. Right on cue.

Sure enough, Michael floats straight through the wall. I smirk behind my mug as he sinks into the chair across from me, looking like a sad puppy.

Over the past month, he’s grown moodier. The result? A parade of flickering lights and cold spots sharp enough to make me shiver like it’s the dead of winter. Just the other day, while we were in the living room going through more letters I’d found in the attic, he got so frustrated he made the lamp beside me explode. One second I was reading, the next I was nearly airborne, heart jackhammering in my chest. And of course, scaring me only made him feel worse. He’d been avoiding me since, like he was punishing himself for losing control.

Is this what it’s like living with a moody teenager?

We sit in silence for a few minutes, but I can’t stand it any longer. I sigh, setting my mug down with a soft thunk.

“Michael?” I say, my voice gentle as I lean forward.

When he doesn’t respond, still avoiding my eyes like the plague, I try again. “Michael… please, look at me.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze still firmly fixed on the table. For a long moment, I think he might not respond at all. Then, almost imperceptibly, he glances up—briefly meeting my gaze before quickly looking away.

I sigh sadly, unsure of how to get through to him.

“Michael,” I press on, my voice gentle but firm. “I know you’re upset about what happened the other day, but it’s okay. You were frustrated, and it just happened. I know you didn’t mean to do it, and you didn’t hurt me.”

“Yes, but I could ha—” he starts, but I cut him off immediately.

“No,” I interject, my voice firm with conviction. “You couldn’t have. I know I’m safe with you—always.”

Michael shakes his head, his eyes dark with doubt. He meets my gaze for a fleeting second—then drops his eyes to the table. His voice cracks when he speaks.

“How can you say that? How can you still trust me after everything I’ve done?”

“What do you mean, ‘everything you’ve done’? Michael, it was a lamp. It’s not a big deal,” I say, trying to catch his eye again, but he won’t look at me.

He presses his palms flat against the table, his shoulders tight, his voice barely a whisper.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” he mutters. The kitchen light flickers overhead, a physical echo of his unraveling control.

I exhale hard and scrub both hands down my face. My chest tightens with frustration—at him, at the whole awful mess he’s stuck in.

“Stop it, Michael.” I lean forward sharply, my elbows hitting the table. I duck my head, searching for his eyes. “You did not hurt her,” I say, my voice soft but firm with conviction.

He opens his mouth to argue, but I put up a hand to stop him.

“Nope,” I say simply, shaking my head. “You may not like my answer, but it’s the truth—I just know. I know it as sure as I know my own name.”

I raise a challenging eyebrow, daring him to argue, but he says nothing.

“And I happen to always be right, thank you very much,” I add, smirking softly when he can’t hold back the smile at my teasing.

An hour later, I find myself in one of the spare rooms. Judging by the furniture, it was clearly set up as an office.

The focal point of the room is a large, imposing desk made of rich, dark mahogany, though now it’s covered in a thick layer of dust. Even so, it’s easy to imagine it in its former glory—polished and gleaming beneath the light. The dust has settled into the intricate carvings of ornate leaves and floral patterns that trim the edges.

The desk features drawers on either side, larger at the bottom and growing smaller toward the top, each adorned with brass ring handles.

On the desktop sits an antique gas lamp, its brass tarnished with time, the glass chimney cloudy from years of neglect. Beside it sits an old ink well, now dry, and a worn blotter. An old quill remains propped on its stand, next to a ledger bound in age-worn leather.

I gasp softly, noticing the name embossed on the cover in gold leaf.

Samuel Lockridge

I knew from the letters I'd read in the attic that this was Cora's father's name.

Being careful not to damage anything, I slowly open the ledger to reveal pages yellowed with age. From the looks of it, the book was where he kept all of his financial records.

My eyes scan the pointed scrawl that litters the page until they stop. A payment of $3,500 to one Charles Harris. 

I’ve never been great with numbers, but even I knew that was a lot of money in 1837. Just to be sure, I take my phone out of my back pocket, doing a quick Google search.

“Holy shit,” I whisper as I look at the screen. $3,500 in 1837 was equal to more than $150,000 today.

It was a striking amount, especially considering every other entry is much smaller, ranging anywhere from twenty to maybe a couple hundred dollars.

My finger glides across the page, and something twists in my gut when I see the date: November 21, 1837. It’s just a week after Cora died.

This means something. I can feel it in my gut.

“Michael?!” I call out, knowing he’s sulking somewhere nearby.

“Yes?” he responds, gliding through the wall—despite the open doorway being right there—making me roll my eyes and smirk in amusement.

“Come look at this,” I say, gently turning the ledger so we can both read it. “This seems like an awful lot of money, doesn’t it?” I ask, pointing at the page.

He sighs, obviously expecting disappointment, but obediently comes to my side. His gaze follows my finger, and his brows lift in surprise. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who found the amount practically astronomical.

“That is… quite a large sum,” he mutters, eyes scanning the page.

I nod and gently close the book to show him the name embossed on the cover. 

“Samuel Lockridge,” I say, meeting his eyes. “That’s Cora’s father, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he confirms with a slow nod, brow furrowed in confusion.

“I know he was rich, but that kind of money would’ve put a dent in anyone’s finances back then,” I say, reopening the book to the same page.

“Did you know anyone named Charles Harris?” I ask, pointing at the name scrawled in faded ink.

As soon as I say it, something shifts in Michael’s expression—recognition, sharp and immediate.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “He was the chief of police.”

His eyes drift over the ledger again, like he’s trying to make sense of why Cora’s father would pay the chief of police such a large sum.

My brows lift. Maybe we really were getting somewhere.

A feeling of unease grows in the pit of my stomach, though I’m not sure why. Still, I say nothing. After all, I don’t even know what I’m reacting to.

“Maybe we should keep looking in here for answers,” I hum thoughtfully, glancing around the room. I close the ledger and set it aside before settling behind the desk.

I open every drawer on the right side, finding nothing but yellowed legal documents and other financial records.

I turn to the left side. I reach the middle drawer and tug on the handle. Locked. Of course.

“It’s stuck,” I mutter, leaning back in frustration.

Michael hums thoughtfully beside me. “Would you like me to…?”

“To what?”

He leans forward, his hand passing through the drawer with casual ease. A soft click sounds a second later, and the drawer slides open like it was never locked at all.

I blink. “Okay, that’s cheating.”

He grins. “I prefer to think of it as resourceful.”

I smirk as I open the drawer. “I hope you’re around the next time I lock my keys in my car.”

“Your what?” he asks, tilting his head, a slight frown of confusion wrinkling his brow.

I chuckle softly. Sometimes I forget just how different our worlds are.

“Let’s just say we’ve upgraded from horse and buggy.”

“Why?” he asks, genuinely confused. “Horses are quite efficient… and fast.”

I smirk, shaking my head. “Trust me—cars are a lot faster. And there’s the added bonus of no poop everywhere.”

He smirks, raising an eyebrow in slight concession.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” he replies, but then his smirk fades into a frown. “However, I don’t think a lady should be saying that word.”

I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head to look up at him. “What word? ‘Poop’?” I ask, snorting softly as his frown deepens in distaste.

I snicker under my breath as I sift through a stack of old envelopes, their yellowed edges a sign of age.

“Listen up, Casper,” I start, amused, but also serious. I wasn’t about to let a man tell me what to do. “This isn’t 1837 anymore, okay? It’s the twenty-first century, and I can say whatever I damn well please.”

I flip through the pile, my voice still teasing.

“Besides, I assure you I’ve said a lot worse than ‘poop.’ In fact, I curse like a sailor most of the time. You’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

He presses his lips together, as if trying to fight a smile—and loses.

“I should be scandalized... but somehow, you make it charming,” he says, his voice warm with reluctant affection.

I raise an eyebrow, amused. “I am charming, thank you very much.”

He shakes his head, still grinning despite himself. “You’re a troublemaker, you know that?”

“Troublemaker? I prefer ‘free spirit,’” I say, giving him a playful look.

His smile widens, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re impossible.”

“I consider that a compliment,” I retort, a smirk still touching my lips as I focus back on the task at hand.

We sift through them quickly, but there’s nothing useful.

I lean forward, biting my lip as I feel around the now empty drawer. My brow furrows as my fingers brush against a small latch tucked all the way in the back. I pull it.

The panel that makes up the—apparently false—bottom of the drawer lifts out completely, and I gasp.

“I’m starting to feel like a regular Sherlock Holmes,” I mutter, fascinated that I’m actually discovering things like this.

Honestly, it’s like my life has turned into one big parade of movie tropes since I moved in.

“Who?” Michael asks, frowning in confusion.

“After your time,” I reply with a grin.

Even though Sherlock Holmes had been around for a while, the fact that the character wasn’t even as old as him really put things into perspective.

I frown when my fingers brush against something. It feels like paper—an envelope. I pull it out and, sure enough, that’s exactly what it is.

“This is weird,” I murmur, turning it over in my hands. “That drawer was filled with envelopes and letters. Why go to all the trouble of hiding this one?”

Michael watches closely as I remove the folded paper from the envelope.

I unfold it, surprised to find a letter of personal correspondence rather than a legal or financial document.

It’s addressed to Mr. Samuel Lockridge.

The unease in my gut sharpens as I notice the date: November 21, 1837. The same date as the ledger entry. I have a bad feeling about this.

Michael watches me, silent and concerned, as I read.

Dear Mr. Lockridge,

I trust this letter finds you well, though I suspect the events of the past week weigh heavily on your mind. It seems, despite all your efforts, the truth cannot be buried so easily.

While the public has been led to believe that Michael was responsible for your daughter’s death, you and I both know that the reality of that tragic night is more complex. I was there, Mr. Lockridge—I saw what happened. And I know the truth.

I have kept my silence until now, and I have no intention of revealing what I know. You see, while I have no need to see your reputation ruined, neither do I want to see Michael’s name cleared. I have no interest in exposing the true events of that night, for I have no desire to see Michael unburdened by the guilt that he carries.

Let him bear the blame. Let him live with the consequences of what he has been accused of, just as he will live with the pain of losing her. In my opinion, there is a certain justice in allowing him to endure that guilt for the rest of his life. I need not speak a word about what I witnessed.

I will remain silent, and I expect you to do the same. The truth will remain where it lies, and Michael’s fate is sealed, as it should be.

Yours,

William Clark

I swallow nervously as I fold the letter and tuck it back into the envelope.

“Well?” Michael asks, frowning after I sit in silence for a full two minutes. “What did it say?”

“Um… do you know anyone by the name of ‘William Clark’?” I ask, having a feeling he would.

Judging by the way he goes completely still, it’s all but confirmed for me.

“Yes,” Michael says softly, a frown of confusion wrinkling his brow. 

“He was my best friend,” he says softly. 

“He was a musician too,” Michael adds after a pause. “We met here, at the conservatory. Grew close fast. Honestly, he was more like a brother than a friend. But… he came from a different world than I did. His family was well-off—enough to make things easier for him. He didn’t need the conservatory the way I did. For him, it was more of a hobby, something he enjoyed because he could, not something he needed to rely on for his future. I guess that made him a little different, but we still hit it off.”

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I’m not entirely sure what William Clark knew about Cora’s death, but I have a feeling that discovering his best friend chose to stay quiet—rather than clear Michael’s name with the truth—isn’t going to sit well with my roommate.

“Kendra? What is it?” Michael asks softly, frowning in concern at my obvious apprehension.

“I…” My voice catches, and I clear my throat before trying again. “I’m not sure you want to know.”

“Forgive me, but you look more frightened now than you did when you first moved in,” he points out. Clearly, he isn’t buying it.

“So I’ll ask you again—what’s in that letter?” he presses, his eyes piercing mine.

A look—almost of pain—creases my brow as I peer up at him. After a long moment, I sigh and give in. I lay the letter flat on the desk so he can read it.

I watch him closely as his eyes move steadily down the page, the frown on his face deepening with every line—each word another stab of betrayal.

“Why would he—” Michael whispers, looking to me. “I don’t understand. He knew I didn’t do it? He had information that could prove I was innocent, and he just kept it to himself?!”

I wince as his voice rises, the lights flickering in response to his growing agitation.

“He- he… wanted me to suffer? W- why? I don’t understand,” he continues, pacing back and forth, looking lost.

“And—and what did Cora’s father know?” he continues, more to himself now. In the midst of his growing anger, I’m not even sure he notices my presence anymore.

“Why would he hide anything about Cora’s death? She was his daughter. Shouldn’t he want whoever’s responsible to pay?!”

“I wish I could answer that for you, Michael,” I say softly. I hate that, in our quest for answers, we’ve only added to our list of questions.

I stand and move around the desk, watching him pace, the tension in his shoulders sharp and rigid. He’s unraveling, quietly, right in front of me.

I reach out on instinct—just wanting to offer something. A moment of comfort.

Something human.

And then—

I gasp.

My hand doesn’t pass through him.

It lands.

Not air. Not nothing.

Him.

Solid. Real.

I stare, wide-eyed, at my fingers where they rest against his arm. The fabric of his shirt is coarse beneath my touch, and beneath that—unmistakably—there’s him. 

Not a ghost. Not a memory.

A person—though he’s cool to the touch, and somehow, it seems muted somehow. Like I’m touching him with numbed fingers. 

My head snaps up, and I find him already staring at my hand, just as stunned as I am. His expression is unreadable—some strange mix of awe and disbelief.

“What the—” I begin, but the word barely leaves my lips before the office spins.

The floor shifts beneath me. The walls stretch and blur.

And then—everything drops away.

I’m yanked, headfirst, into another vision—unknowingly dragging Michael with me. I blink through the darkness, realizing we’re standing outside what I can only assume is the Lockridge home.

“Father, please!” Cora cries, clutching her father’s arms. Her voice shakes, her eyes wide with panic as she stares up at him. “I love him!”

“That’s enough, Cora,” he says coldly, prying her hands off him with chilling calm. “My daughter will not marry a penniless musician.”

“I don’t care about money!” she protests, desperation spilling from every word. “I want to marry for love. Can’t you understand that? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Her father’s expression twists. “Happy?” he spits, his voice rising. “You stupid girl—how do you know you’ll be happy? Do you even realize what you’re resigning yourself to?”

He steps toward her, his face contorted with anger, and for a moment, there is no trace of love in his eyes—only disdain.

“You’ll be lucky if you know where your next meal is coming from. You’ll waste away in some filthy little hovel while he scratches out tunes for pocket change. Is that what you want for yourself? For your future children?”

“We’ll be fine!” Cora insists, her voice trembling, tears gleaming in her eyes. “I don’t need wealth. I don’t need servants. I just want to be with the man I love! I know he’ll take care of me. He—he loves me, Father. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

“Love?” he scoffs, a cold sneer twisting his lips as though the word were foreign to him. “Love won’t keep a roof over your head. It won’t fill your stomach. You’ll rot away in squalor! And when the money runs out, don’t think for a second that I’ll be there to save you.”

Cora’s brow furrows deeply as she looks at him, her heart breaking in disbelief. It’s as though, in that moment, she’s seeing him—the real him—for the very first time. She shakes her head, backing away, her gaze still desperately searching for even a flicker of affection in his cold eyes.

“Why are you saying this?” she whispers, her voice cracking as tears roll down her pale cheeks. “Why are you being so cruel?”

“Enough of this!” he growls, eyes flashing with anger. She had never stood up to him like this and he wouldn’t have it.

He knew Michael was bad news—putting ideas into her head, making her rebellious and argumentative.

He’d had enough.

“I am your father. You will do as I say, without question,” he says, voice deadly calm as he slowly advances on her.

She shakes her head, still backing away, tears staining her cheeks.

“No! I won’t!” she shouts, turning to walk away, but he stops her.

I watch helplessly from the sidelines as he lunges forward and grabs her arm, spinning her around violently to face him once more.

“I said no!” he snarls, gripping her upper arms so tight I’m sure he’s leaving bruises.

I gasp sharply as he suddenly pulls his arm back and strikes her, hard, across the face.

Cora yelps as her head snaps to the side. The force of the slap knocks her backward, and she falls, hitting her head on a large rock.

I watch, eyes wide with horror, as Samuel stops, frowning angrily, rolling his eyes.

“Enough with the dramatics, Cora! Get up and go inside!” he says sharply.

But when she continues to lie sprawled on the ground at his feet, eyes closed and body unmoving, he freezes.

“C-Cora?” he says softly, his voice trembling. Apprehensive, he steps forward, dropping to one knee.

“Cora? Sweetheart?” he whispers, his hand reaching down to cup the back of her head.

His frown deepens as he feels something wet on the back of her head. He lifts his hand, eyes widening in horror as he sees the blood—bright red, like a silent accusation—staining his palm.

“My God!” he breathes in shock, leaning down to listen for any sign of life, any breath.

But there’s nothing.

I gasp, hyperventilating, as I’m suddenly back in the library. Tears fall freely from my eyes, wide with horror, as though the vision is still swimming before me. I stumble backward, my back hitting a wall before sliding down to the floor.

I sit there, unblinking as I stare into the space in front of me—though not really seeing anything.

Michael just stands there at first, pale and shaken, staring at me like he’s still trapped in the nightmare we both witnessed. His hands clench into fists at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tight with barely contained rage. For a long, terrible moment, he doesn’t move—just trembles with the force of everything he’s feeling.

"He killed her," he finally rasps, his voice raw and hoarse. "And he let me take the blame."

He sways slightly, chest heaving—and then his eyes fall on me.

The sight seems to gut him more than anything else.

I'm pressed against the wall, shaking, tears spilling freely down my face, my breath coming in shallow, broken gasps.

Something in him breaks all over again.

The anger drains from his expression, replaced by something just as fierce but entirely different. Protective. Desperate.

He staggers forward a step—then another—and suddenly he’s kneeling in front of me, reaching out with shaking hands. Gently, like he’s afraid I might shatter, he cups my face in his trembling hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

The contact barely registers through the numbness wrapping around me like a fog. I don't move, don't flinch—just stare at him, hollow and dazed, clinging to the sound of his voice like a distant lifeline.

"Kendra," he breathes, his voice cracking with anguish. "I’m here. You’re safe. I swear it—you're safe."

I blink rapidly, coming back to myself. Lifting my hands, I grip Michael’s wrists as he continues to cradle my face gently between his hands. A broken whimper escapes me, tears still spilling from my eyes as they search his, as though silently pleading with him to tell me it wasn’t real.

But I know it was.

I feel the betrayal of it all, as though it had happened to me.

I try to breathe, to steady myself, but the tremors won’t stop. The vision lingers, raw and sharp in my mind, like it’s still happening, refusing to leave.

And then I notice Michael.

His eyes are wide and unblinking, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, as if the weight of everything we just witnessed is crashing over him all at once. He’s still, frozen in a way that makes my heart ache.

I don’t think, I just move. My hands tremble as I reach for him, carefully picking up his cold hand and laying it flat on my thigh, palm up. Without thinking, my thumb begins to stroke his palm, the motion gentle, soothing—like I’m trying to comfort him, to help steady him.

Michael’s body jerks, his gaze snapping from my face to our hands, his expression shifting in a subtle flicker—something like recognition, mixed with confusion. His eyes narrow slightly, lips parting as if searching for something he can’t name.

He doesn’t speak, just stares at the movement of my thumb, and I keep going, unaware of the change in him.

His breath hitches quietly, neither of us speaking, neither ready to disturb the silence. His eyes linger on our hands, his fingers almost twitching as though they’re remembering something. Then, with a quick, barely audible intake of breath, he finally shifts his gaze to mine.

Oblivious that an important piece of the mysterious puzzle has just fallen into place for him, I look back at him, smiling softly, though my eyes are still clouded with sadness.

“Are you alright, Michael?” I ask softly, my thumb still stroking his palm soothingly.

Still looking at me as though he’s truly seeing me for the first time—though I take no notice—he nods slowly.

“Yes, I—I’m fine,” he whispers softly as his eyes slowly lift to mine. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

My lashes flutter as his whispered words bring a fresh wave of tears to my eyes and I give him another weak, sad smile.

“I’m sorry you did, too,” I reply, my thumb still drawing slow, soothing patterns over his palm.

We stay like this for a long time, the room completely silent as we both become lost in our own thoughts.

I can still feel the rush of fear that gripped me when I was trapped in that awful vision. The cold shock of knowing something terrible was about to happen, but being powerless to stop it. It’s as if the vision wasn’t just something I saw—it felt... too real, too close. Like I was there, not just watching, but living it.

The unease is still lingering, gnawing at me, and I can’t shake the sense that there’s something more to it.

Something I’m not seeing clearly.

And I have the distinct feeling that when I finally do, my life will never be the same.

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse-Chapter 6

The attic door gives an ominous groan as I push it open. The sound still fills me with trepidation, but at least I’m not alone this time—though, present company might be what most people would fear finding up here in the first place.

Inside, the room looks exactly the same—dusty, forgotten, crammed full of secrets just waiting to give me tetanus.

“So,” I say, stepping aside as Michael floats in after me, his expression already thoughtful. “Any idea what we’re supposed to be looking for? Or are we just winging it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze is fixed on something in the corner, brows furrowed like he’s trying to recall a dream that keeps slipping away.

“I’m not sure,” he finally says, his voice distant. “But there must be something here that can explain why I’m still… stuck like this.”

His eyes stay locked on a trunk in the corner. I follow his gaze to the unassuming chest—dusty and covered in cobwebs.

I tilt my head curiously before glancing back at him. “Uh… should I start with that one?” I ask, gesturing toward the trunk.

Michael drifts silently toward it, brow furrowed, his expression distant.

I trail a few steps behind, careful not to trip over the mess of boxes and forgotten memories scattered like booby traps.

When he stops, hovering in front of the trunk, I kneel beside it. The metal latch gives a reluctant creak as I open it, revealing a clutter of yellowed lace, letters tied with ribbon, and a few items wrapped in protective cloth. One smaller bundle catches my attention—something heavy in my palm when I lift it free and unwrap the fabric.

It’s a pocket watch. Gold, a little tarnished around the edges, but still elegant. I open the cover carefully, half-expecting it to fall apart. The hands have long since stopped moving, but it still holds proof of a love even time couldn’t forget. Inside the lid, I see an inscription:

Until the music stops, I am yours—in this life and the next. —Cora

Behind me, I hear Michael suck in a sharp breath.

“That was mine,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly strained. “She gave it to me.”

“You remember it?”

He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on the watch like it might vanish if he blinks. “She gave it to me the night before we planned to leave together. I’d never owned anything so fine. She saved up for it—I remember that part… but—” His expression clouds. “We fought that night. Her father threatened to disown her if she didn’t break things off with me.”

I stay quiet, letting him sift through the memory.

“I said something I shouldn’t have. Something cruel—something about her always putting him first.” His voice cracks. “And then… I don’t know. That’s all I can remember.”

He looks at me, haunted. “What if that was the last thing I ever said to her? What if I—?”

“No,” I cut in gently, firm but kind. “That’s not who you are. I know we just met, and I can’t explain how I know. But I just… do.”

He looks away, jaw tight, like he doesn’t know what to do with the faith I’ve placed in him.

I tuck the watch carefully back into the cloth. “Let’s keep going. Maybe the rest of the memory is in here somewhere.”

I rise, brushing dust from my jeans. The air in the attic feels thicker now, heavy with memory. Every creak of the floorboards echoes louder in the silence.

“So, what’s next?” I ask, scanning the room. “Do we go for the next most likely thing? Or just open everything and hope we get lucky?”

Michael doesn’t respond right away. He’s still lost in thought, eyes drifting across the cluttered attic like he’s searching for something he’s not sure exists.

Then he moves, slowly floating toward a tall, narrow wardrobe tucked into the corner. “I’ve never seen that before,” he murmurs, frowning. “Do you think it might’ve been hers?”

“Maybe,” I say, crossing the room to help. “It looks like it’s seen better days.”

The door creaks open, and a few items tumble from the top shelf—old coats, a couple of books. I jump back, narrowly dodging the mess, and cough as a cloud of dust billows into my face.

But something catches my eye.

Behind the pile, hidden in the shadows, sits a small wooden box—beautifully carved with intricate patterns that look like sheet music.

Michael goes still. His eyes lock on it, and something shifts in his expression. He knows this box.

No words are needed.

I carefully lift it from the shelf, the wood smooth beneath my fingers, lovingly polished despite its age. I carry it to the floor and kneel, opening the lid.

Inside are a few faded letters, tied with a ribbon. Beneath them, wrapped in a piece of velvet cloth, is something small.

I unfold the velvet and find a locket—delicate, tarnished, and clearly well-worn. The clasp is broken, like it was yanked off in a moment of desperation.

“She wore this?” I whisper, gently brushing my thumb over the surface.

Michael nods, sitting across from me. His eyes don’t leave the necklace.

We both reach for it.

The moment my fingers brush the cool metal, the attic vanishes.

The air bends. The light shifts. The world tilts.

And suddenly I’m standing in a small, dimly lit room. Shadows stretch long across the walls from a flickering candle. I hear voices—raised, urgent, heartbroken.

Cora and Michael.

They stand facing each other, locked in the middle of an argument.

“You don’t get it, Michael!” Cora’s voice cracks, her hands trembling as she clutches the locket at her throat. Her fingers curl tight around the chain, pulling it protectively against her chest. “You can’t just decide for me. You can’t sweep me away and expect everything to be fine.”

Michael steps forward, his face taut with frustration and pain. “I’m not trying to make the decision for you. I’m not trying to take you from your family. But we planned this! I thought you wanted to be with me. Why can’t you just come? Why can’t we leave everything behind?”

Cora shakes her head, voice trembling. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just abandon everything—my life, my family, my future. It’s too much.”

Michael’s voice rises with desperation. “I don’t understand, Cora. I don’t. We’ve talked about this. You know how much I love you. I’m asking you to choose us—not keep living a lie. Your father is controlling your life. When do you get to decide?”

Cora tightens her grip on the locket. “You think I don’t want that?” she snaps, tears glistening in her eyes. “You think I haven’t imagined a hundred versions of a life where we’re free and happy and together and—” Her voice breaks off.

Michael moves closer, voice raw. “Then why not? If you’ve imagined it, if you want it—why not now?”

She turns away, struggling to breathe through the storm of emotions.

“Because I’m scared, Michael! I’m scared of what it will cost!”

He reaches out instinctively, trying to stop her from retreating again. His fingers graze the chain at her neck.

She jerks back, sharp and panicked. The delicate clasp snaps.

The locket slips from her throat and falls between them.

Silence.

Michael stares, stunned. The broken chain dangles from his fingers like an accusation. Cora’s hand flies to her collarbone, as if the absence of the necklace has left her exposed.

“I didn’t mean to—” he begins, voice low and shaken.

But she doesn’t look at him. She backs away. One step. Then another.

The candle flickers.

I inhale sharply.

Suddenly, the attic is back—the dust, the darkness, the creaking boards. My pulse pounds in my ears as I blink, disoriented by the vivid memory I’d just lived.

Michael is watching me closely. A deep frown creases his brow.

“You saw it… didn’t you?” he asks, though he already knows.

I nod, heart aching at the shame that clouds his expression.

“I—I did,” I say softly. “But that memory doesn’t mean you hurt her.”

He turns away, jaw clenched, his face twisted in pain.

“How can you defend me after what you just saw?” he whispers. His eyes shine with unshed tears—tears he can’t shed.

I open and close my mouth a few times, searching for the right words. Then I sigh, a helpless little smile tugging at my lips.

“Because I feel it,” I say simply. “I know in my bones that you loved her—still love her. And I don’t believe for a second you could ever hurt her.”

Michael lifts his gaze, searching mine. I can see it—how desperately he wants to believe me. How badly he wants to have the same faith in himself.

“Look,” I say gently, wrapping the locket and placing it reverently back into the wooden keepsake box. I turn back to him. “I know it’s not the proof you’re looking for. I can’t explain why I’m so sure. But I am. I know you didn’t kill her.”

“I hope your faith in me isn’t misplaced,” he murmurs, doubt thick in his voice as his eyes meet mine.

We sit in silence for a long moment, the only sound the soft creak of the floorboards beneath us as the house seems to exhale with us. This was shaping up to be quite an emotional day.

Eventually, I stand, brushing my hands against my jeans. “Come on,” I say, offering him a small, tired smile. “Let’s go downstairs. I think I could use a break.”

Michael arches an eyebrow. “What are we doing?”

“You’ll see,” I say, gesturing toward the door with a tilt of my head. “C’mon…”

We make our way downstairs in a comfortable silence, the old steps creaking beneath our feet. The heaviness of the attic still lingers, but I’m determined to shake it off—just for a while.

I flop onto the couch and grab the remote. “Alright,” I announce as the TV powers on. “Time for a little cultural education.”

Michael raises a brow as he eyes the television. “You’re certain this glowing box isn’t possessed?”

I smirk. “Only by terrible writing and questionable sequels.”

He crosses his arms, clearly dubious but intrigued. “And people watch stories unfold on that… glowing rectangle?”

I nod. “We call it bonding. Or escapism. Or, on bad days, coping.”

He chuckles, the sound soft and a little bewildered. “Sounds like magic to me,” he says as he finally sits beside me.

“Are you sure it’s safe though?” he asks, still watching the screen with that same wary expression.

“If it helps, I don’t think it could do anything to hurt you…” I say, smirking. After all, he was already dead, a couple centuries over.

“This,” I reply, scrolling through the menu, “is about to change your afterlife.”

His expression shifts from suspicion to mild dread. “Should I be concerned?”

I click play with a satisfied smile. “Only if you’ve got something against friendly ghosts.”

Michael watches the screen in silence for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the flickering light of the TV.

“This… was made by people?” he finally asks.

“Actors,” I say. “Writers, directors. A whole team, really.”

He nods slowly, eyes fixed on the screen as the story unfolds. “It’s like… dreaming out loud.”

I smile to myself as I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Childlike fascination is written across his face, and before long, he’s completely engrossed.

We sit like that for a while, the flickering light of the TV casting gentle shadows across the room.

For the first time since I moved in, there’s no tension, no haunted memories pressing in around us—just two people setting their burdens down for a while, letting ourselves simply… be.

Almost two hours later, the movie ends and the credits roll. I grab the remote and stop the movie before turning to him, a smile tugging at my lips.

“What’d ya think?” I ask, tucking one leg beneath me as I turn to face him.

“It was… quite fun, actually,” he admits, a wistful smile playing on his lips. Then his brow furrows slightly.

“It’s sad that Casper didn’t get his life back in the end,” he says quietly.

I nod, my smile tinged with a hint of sorrow. “It is. Especially when he died so young.”

“It’s nice that he found a friend in Kat, though,” he adds, thoughtful. “And at least he got to dance with her.”

“True,” I agree, nodding again. A small laugh escapes me as I go on. “When I was a kid, I had the biggest crush on the boy who plays Casper at the dance.”

A faint blush warms my cheeks, and I chuckle under my breath.

Apparently, I’ve always had a thing for handsome, undead men.

Michael blinks. “The ghost?”

“Well, the actor playing him at the dance,” I clarify, still smiling.

He’s quiet for a second, then mutters, “Hmph. He wasn’t that impressive.”

I glance at him, laughter in my voice. “Cut me some slack. I was eight.”

I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing as he continues to pout.

“Are you jealous of Casper?” I tease, grinning.

“N-no! O-of course not. That would be absurd,” he stammers, avoiding eye contact.

“Mhmm,” I hum. “Whatever you say, Casper.”

I stand and stretch, my bed calling to me after such a long, emotional day.

I don’t notice the flicker of realization that crosses his face—the significance of the way I address him finally sinking in.

Clearly, my number one ghost crush had shifted from blonde heartthrobs to handsome, dark-haired Victorian men who haunt my bathroom.

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse-Chapter 5

“Holy shit,” I breathe.

“I—I beg your pardon?” he asks, sounding genuinely scandalized.

I blink at him. “Oh, I’m sorry—would you have preferred I fainted and cried, ‘Good gracious, me’ instead?”

The question clearly catches him off guard. He makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh—like he’s trying to maintain some semblance of decorum.

“I’d rather you not faint at all, if it’s all the same to you,” he says, recovering slightly. “But… perhaps a bit less profanity in the future? ‘Good heavens’ might be a reasonable substitute.”

I raise a brow, unable to stop the sarcastic snort that escapes me.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, buster,” I retort unapologetically.

“This is the twenty-first century. You’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

He frowns, confusion knitting his brow. “I’m sorry, but why do you keep calling me Buster?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

I press my lips together to keep from laughing. He looks like an adorably confused puppy.

I chuckle softly and shake my head. “Never mind. Not important,” I reply, waving it off.

“Anyway,” I continue, my voice softer now, suddenly nervous now that I can truly see him. “Nice to officially meet you, Michael. I’m Kendra.”

I hold out my hand.

He glances down, then slowly reaches out to take it.

I hold my breath, watching as he attempts to make contact, but both of us frown in disappointment when his hand passes right through mine.

Okay, so not quite as tangible as I thought.

He smiles sadly, almost like he expected this, then meets my gaze.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, milady,” he says.

Despite the dismay of the moment, I can’t help but smile at his formality.

The silence stretches between us, my thoughts spinning. The attic. The letters. The music. Him.

He’s real. He’s here.

And I realize I don’t actually know anything about him.

“Michael…” I begin, eyes searching his face. “Who are you?”

He gives a quiet, almost amused huff. “It’s a bit of a story.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Good. I like stories.”

Without a word, he stands and offers me his hand before he remembers. Sadness flickers in his eyes and I smile sadly as I stand on my own.

I follow him over to the settee and we sit. I turn sideways to face him, tucking one leg beneath the other.

I look at him, waiting patiently for him to begin. I don’t say a word, giving him the time and space to gather his thoughts. Given his status as an apparition for the past couple centuries, I doubt he’d been given many opportunities for conversation.

Finally, his eyes lowered, staring at his folded hands as they rest in his lap, he begins to tell his story.

“I was a composer. A performer. People used to fill the halls just to hear the music I wrote. My life was loud, brilliant... full. And then—nothing.”

I smile sadly but stay quiet as he goes on.

“Music was my life. It was my passion, my livelihood,” he says, his voice soft. “That’s actually the first time I ever saw C-Cora.”

My heart aches at the sadness in his voice, and I ache to reach over and take his hand, to let him know he’s not alone.

“She would come and watch me perform,” he says, a nostalgic smile touching his lips.

“I couldn’t help but notice her when she kept attending my performances,” he goes on, his melancholy disappearing, at least momentarily, as he talks about his lost love.

“She was beautiful,” I reply softly, recalling the beautiful, elegant young woman I’d seen in the portrait upstairs.

“She was,” he whispers, his smile tinged with sorrow.

“You know,” he continues, his eyes meeting mine once more. “You look remarkably similar.”

I blush at the implied compliment. Unable to hold his intense stare, I look away, trying to hide the shy smile playing on my lips.

“I noticed,” I murmur, cheeks pink.

I was, in fact, still reeling from the shock I’d received when I discovered her portrait in the attic.

Michael smiles, growing a bit shy when he sees me blush. He looks around, sighing as a far-off look grows in his eyes—as though lost in a memory.

“This place wasn’t always like this,” he mutters softly, taking in the slightly cracked ceiling, dingy walls, dusty curtains and peeling wallpaper.

I look around, smiling softly as I take in the room. Yes, it was a bit run-down, but it had its charm, in my opinion.

“I dunno, I kinda like it,” I say, my eyes still looking around before they fall on him once more, and I smile.

He chuckles softly, bowing his head slightly in thanks.

“It wasn’t a home when I knew it… not like this. It was a place of music, of creation. The heart of everything I lived for. And when I lost her… I suppose I never left.”

I turn my body toward him a bit more, his words pulling me in.

“They turned it into a house long after I was gone. But the music? It’s still in the walls. Now that you’re here, maybe it will be filled with music again—like it always should have been.”

Yet another blush blooms on my cheeks, and my eyes wander around the room once more. I smile, trying to picture the mansion in its heyday—alive with people, with music, with joy.

My lips part with a sharp exhale, my eyes staring blankly into space as, to my great astonishment, I can see it. 

A vivid vision passes before my eyes of this very room…

The domed entrances—each painted like a work of art—open into a vast chamber crowned by soaring vaulted ceilings, held aloft by marble Corinthian columns. Every footstep echoes like the memory of applause on the patterned tile floor.

Opulent chandeliers hang overhead, dripping crystal tears, while metal sconces line the walls. Both remain unlit—the midday sun flooding the space through tall, floor-to-ceiling windows. Each one is framed by rich royal blue velvet curtains, drawn open and tied back with golden tassels.

The walls are adorned with silk wallpaper and lined with portraits of famous composers and the wealthy benefactors of the conservatory.

Chairs and settees made of rich mahogany and upholstered to match the curtains in plush royal blue velvet are scattered around the room. The podium stands ready, fitted with intricately carved wooden music stands. A gleaming grand piano sits proudly at the center, while a harpsichord rests off to the side—graceful and timeworn, a relic from an earlier age.

The piano is the focal point of the room, beckoning to me. It dominates the space with quiet grace, elegant and imposing all at once.

Panels and carved latticework line the walls, carefully designed to enhance the room’s acoustics—resonant and alive, even in silence.

Instruments now sit behind glass display cases, waiting to make music once more.

There’s a faint, aged scent—varnish and old paper, like sheet music left too long in the sun.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, a serene smile on my lips. However, when I blink, the vision fades like a dream at sunrise. The room returns to its present state—dusty, faded, a shadow of what it once was. But Michael is still watching me, head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable.

“I saw it,” I murmur, almost in disbelief. “The way it used to be.”

His brow lifts just a little. “You saw it?”

I nod slowly. “The chandeliers, the curtains, the columns… even the piano.” I glance at my own piano now—still sitting in the same place, but modern, out of place, a stranger in a room built for something older. “It was beautiful.”

He looks down, smiling softly, as though he just discovered a secret I have yet to. “It really was.”

Something about the memory—though not mine—lingers in my chest. The ache it leaves behind is strange, like I’ve lost something I never had.

A silence stretches between us before I break it with the question I really want to ask.

“Michael... why are you still here?”

His smile fades, replaced by something far more uncertain. “I don’t know,” he says honestly, his voice quiet. “I’ve asked myself that every day for two centuries. Sometimes I think it’s her. That I was waiting. Or maybe…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Maybe I just couldn’t let go.”

I nod in understanding, giving him an encouraging smile. “Then we’ll figure it out together,” I say firmly. “Whatever’s keeping you here, we’ll find it.”

A flicker of hope passes through his eyes. He nods once.

“Come on,” I say, standing. “Let’s go back up to the attic. Maybe there’s something up there we missed.”

He brightens and moves ahead of me, making a beeline for the wall beside the staircase landing.

“This way’s quicker,” he calls back, already halfway through the wall.

I blink. “Michael?”

He pokes his head back through. “Yes?”

I roll my eyes with a smile as I begin to climb the stairs. “Yeah, I can’t walk through walls, Casper.”

He floats back out with a nod. “Fine. Stairs it is.”

And together, we head back up—one of us walking, the other hovering a few inches above the steps.

“By the way,” he murmurs as we make our way up to the attic. “Who is Casper?”

I can’t help but snort softly, shaking my head in amusement. I smirk as we reach the landing, muttering softly

“I think a movie night is in order for you, buster…”

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse-Chapter 4

Well, That's One Way to Make an Entrance

I sit there in silence with my eyes closed, letting the warmth and peace of the moment wash over me.

I can still feel him sitting beside me. 

Watching. Waiting.

Exhaling slowly, I open my eyes before slipping the pendant back into its red velvet pouch and setting it aside.

The old chest rests just in front of the couch, its lid still half open—a silent invitation to look deeper. I shift forward, kneeling beside it on the floor, and lift out the remaining stack of letters with both hands. The pages are delicate, yellowed with age, tied loosely together with a faded blue ribbon.

Settling back onto the couch, I untie the bundle, and choose one at random.

As my eyes scan the first line, it hits me—I’m holding a piece of his heart, written in his own words. It’s like his soul is still here, lingering between the lines. Unable to help myself, I read on.

My Beloved Cora,

I scarcely know how to put to paper what stirs in my heart each time I think of you. Words are not enough. And yet, I find myself writing again, hoping these pages might carry a fraction of what I cannot say aloud.

The nights grow longer, the days colder. And though I sit by the fire, it is thoughts of you that keep me warm. It is you alone that sustains me. I remember the way you laughed, like the most beautiful music to my ears, when we would walk in the park. I remember how beautiful you were, how the leaves caught in your hair like bits of gold. I would give anything to relive that moment—just one more day beside you.

Each hour I am away from you feels longer than the last. If only the world were kinder… if only we could be together without fear or consequence.

But know this, my love: no matter how far you are, I am yours. In thought. In spirit. In every breath I take.

Until we are together again,

Yours always,

Michael

Closing my eyes for a moment, the weight of his words settle in my chest. The rawness, the longing. I feel it aching in my heart—as if it’s my own. It’s like the past and present are blurring together, tangled up in a love that even centuries haven’t been able to diminish.

My eyes flutter open, fingers tracing the edge of the letter, the ink faded with time but still carrying the weight of every word. Swallowing hard, I brush my thumb over the script. The love in these pages doesn’t feel like history—it feels alive, like it never got the ending it deserved.

My breath hitches softly. I feel something cool against my cheek, as though Michael is trying to wipe away the tear I hadn’t realized was there.

“You must have loved her very much,” I whisper, my fingers still trailing across the faded words on the yellowed page.

The room is quiet, but it doesn’t feel empty. I feel his presence here—gentle, patient. I don’t need to question if he hears me. I know in my heart that he does.

Each letter feels like a thread, delicate but unbroken, tying me closer to him with every word. Like I’m stitching myself into a story that never truly ended—one still waiting, just beneath the surface, to be remembered.

Glancing at the next envelope in the stack, my fingertips brush the fragile paper. Then, carefully, I lift it into my lap and begin to unfold it.

I gasp softly when I recognize the handwriting is different. My hands tremble as I hold the delicate page, excitement swelling inside me as I realize this letter is from Cora.

My Dearest Michael,

I don’t know how to begin this letter without trembling. It’s not the cold—it’s everything I feel inside, the weight of what I’m about to say and the fear of what it might change. My thoughts are consumed with what happened when I spoke your name to my father. The moment your name left my lips, something in him hardened. He didn’t have to say anything—his disapproval hung in the air, like a shadow across the room. He said I was naïve, that you were leading me down a path I wouldn’t return from. He called you dangerous. Said you were trying to steal me away.

I’m torn between fearing he sees something I don’t... and fearing he’s blinded by his own bitterness.

You’ve never once asked me to choose. You’ve only ever asked me to be true to myself. To be free. You’ve never asked for more than the chance to share your heart with mine. And ever since I met you, I finally know what it means to be loved. I feel as though I am finally being true to my own heart and not to someone else’s expectations. But when I am home, under his roof, it’s like I vanish piece by piece until there’s nothing left but what he allows. Sometimes, I feel like I might suffocate from the hold he has on me.

Still, I am his daughter. And I cannot pretend it doesn’t hurt to see the man who once carried me on his shoulders, who I once thought loved me unconditionally, now look at me as though I’m a stranger.

But when I’m with you, I remember who I truly am, free from the weight of everything else.

I wish I had the courage to say this to you in person, but I know if I look into your eyes, I won’t be able to speak. So I’m saying it here: I love you. I don’t know what the future holds, or what I’ll find the strength to do, but my love for you is never in doubt.

Forever yours,

Cora

I stare at her signature for what feels like hours before blinking out of my trance. I swallow the lump rising in my throat. Her pain feels like my own—I feel it so acutely, like it’s carved into the very essence of who I am.

The silence stretches.

“She loved you so much. But she was afraid of her father,” I whisper, knowing Michael is still here with me.

“Do you… do you think that’s why she didn’t show up that night?” I ask softly.

I lift a hand instinctively, rubbing at my chest as a sudden wave of sorrow crashes over me. My heart aches—deep, aching sadness I can’t explain.

The depth of it—his despair—filling the room is answer enough.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I carefully fold the letter, setting it aside. 

For what feels like forever, I just sit there in silence, trying to absorb everything I’ve just read.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a breather,” I murmur, letting out a sigh as my head falls back against the couch.

Several minutes pass before I lift my head and blink my eyes open. I glance at the clock, surprised to see it’s already nearing five in the evening.

Groaning, I press a hand to my stomach as it growls loudly. I’d been so caught up in the mystery unfolding around me, I’d completely forgotten about lunch.

An hour later, I sit at the kitchen table with a plate of spaghetti and a much-needed glass of wine. I eat slowly, still sifting through all the new information swirling in my mind.

After I finish eating, I lean back in my chair, sipping the last of my wine while my thoughts continue to spin. Once my glass is empty, I stand and carry my dishes to the sink.

I make quick work of cleaning up the kitchen before trudging upstairs.

Even though I’d showered earlier this morning, I feel grimy after spending so much time in the dank, dusty attic.

Heading into my room, I grab a fresh set of pajamas, and lay them on the foot of my bed. Then, stepping back out into the hallway, I make my way toward the bathroom.

I pause mid-step, smirking as I feel the soft flicker of his presence nearby. Turning my head slightly, I speak into the open space with a playful lilt:

“I know you like to haunt the bathroom, but from now on, it’s off-limits while I’m in the shower, buster.”

My tone is light, teasing—but the message is clear. Friendly ghost or not, a girl needs some boundaries.

“I won’t be long,” I assure him before slipping into the bathroom. The door closes behind me with a gentle click.

Turning on the shower, I let the water warm up as I strip off my clothes, tossing them into the hamper. Stepping under the spray of hot water, I sigh, letting it wash away the grime—and stress—of the day.

Taking my time, I let the warmth relax me as I lather up, then rinse the suds from my hair and body. Once I’m done, I slide the shower door open and reach for my towel, wrapping it snugly around myself.

Opening the bathroom door, I step out into the hallway and head to my room. A blush creeps up my neck as I get the distinct feeling I’m being watched—paired with a subtle wave of embarrassment that’s not entirely my own.

I smirk to myself as I close the bedroom door behind me.

Turns out chivalry isn’t dead—it’s just haunting my hallway.

Even as a ghost, he’s still more respectful than half the guys I’ve dated.

I chuckle softly at the thought. I’m not sure if that’s funny… or just a really sad commentary on the modern dating pool.

Once I’m dressed, I open the door and step out into the hallway.

Smiling softly, I realize he’s still there—waiting for me. I don’t know how I know; I just do. Somehow, I can feel him: a constant, comforting presence, always by my side.

I head downstairs, my ever-present companion moving beside me, unseen but undeniably close.

Back in the living room, I lower myself in front of the chest by the couch and open it once more. My hands find the small stack of yellowed sheet music—his music—every note a lingering echo of the man who once composed it.

Lifting the pages from the trunk with care, I cradle them reverently against my chest.

Down the hall, I walk toward the room I’d set up as my music room. I reach for the switch, flipping on the light to reveal the baby grand piano standing proudly at the center of the space.

A soft smile tugs at my lips as I step forward—then pause, halfway across the room.

I bite my lip, suddenly unsure, still holding the precious pages close.

“M-may I?” I ask softly, knowing he’s still with me.

My breath hitches softly, and I close my eyes, feeling the lightest brush against my cheek—a whisper of warmth that wraps around me like a quiet embrace.

When I open them again, I catch it—just in time—a shadow falling across the ivory keys, as though he’s taken a seat at the far end of the bench… silently waiting for me to join him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say softly as I come closer.

Placing the stack of delicate pages on top of the smooth black surface of the piano, I spread them out, trying to decide which one I want to play first.

It’s apparent that my invisible companion has an opinion on the matter when a specific page is subtly slid across the smooth, shiny surface by an unseen hand before it falls into place on the music desk of the piano.

“Melody for a Muse,” I whisper to myself, reading the faded title at the top of the page.

I smile softly, knowing instinctively that he wrote it for her.

“So, I’m thinking you want me to play this one…” I say into the silence, amusement evident in my tone.

My smile widens and I can’t help but giggle softly, watching in fascination as he answers in the only way he can—a bright, high-pitched note playing three times, the key depressing on its own, as though spelling out Y-E-S.

“Yeah, that wasn’t subtle. This one it is,” I say, my smile widening as I settle onto the bench.

Placing my hands in the proper position, my eyes scan the notes on the page as I begin to play.

Soon, the room is filled with music—tender, romantic, joyful, and full of love.

Without even realizing it, I close my eyes and continue to play without missing a beat.

This shouldn’t be possible—I’ve never seen or heard this music before. Not once in my life have I played this song.

And yet… my hands seem to know exactly where to go, each movement smooth and certain, like muscle memory.

It’s as if this particular melody is etched into the very fabric of my being. 

I play the final note, letting it hang in the air as silence settles over the room.

For a moment, I just sit there, still and stunned. Then, slowly, my eyes open—and I gasp, staring down at the sheet music in awe.

How was that even possible?

I turn my head—and nearly jump out of my skin.

There’s someone sitting beside me.

It’s him.

Very much real. Solid. Tangible.

I stare, wide-eyed, as he lifts his hands and looks at them in wonder. His dark eyes—so warm and familiar—turn to mine. And when he sees the look on my face, he knows.

I can see him.

He’s here.

And somehow, I’m not scared. Not even a little.

“Holy shit…”

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse-Chapter 3

When Google Says Run

I stare at the portrait, transfixed. Her eyes—my eyes—seem to stare straight into mine, blurring the line between past and present.

Okay, it wasn’t me—not exactly. But it’s her. The woman from my dream, who looks almost identical to myself.

Releasing a slow, shaky breath, I reach out, fingers trembling, as I brush away the thick layer of dust clinging to the frame.

The moment my skin grazes the wood, a gasp escapes me.

A flash—too vivid to be imagination—overwhelms me. A memory, maybe. Or something deeper.

I see her—in my mind—smiling, something unspoken shining in her eyes.

That’s when I see him.

The same man from the mirror. The same man from my dream.

Now I know. That something unspoken is love. Love meant for him—and him alone.

The man smiles as he gazes into her eyes, the look in his own leaving no question…

He loves her just as deeply. And if that look is anything to go by, it’s the kind of love that transcends time.

I hear someone whisper in my ear and gasp, yanking my hand away from the frame.

My chest heaves as my eyes dart around the attic—but there’s no one.

“Cora…” the voice breathes again, so close I can feel the warmth of it on my cheek.

A sharp gasp escapes me. I heard it. Clear as day.

There was no mistaking the name.

“Cora,” I repeat the name softly, testing how it feels on my tongue.

In that moment, a warm pressure closes gently around my hand—the same one that touched the frame.

It’s him. His presence is unmistakable.

And one thing is clear…

He wanted me to know.

I stand on trembling legs, flashlight in hand. With the other, I hesitantly reach down and pick up the portrait. Thankfully, this time nothing happens when I touch it. 

Descending the stairs, I step out into the hallway, feeling as though I’ve quite literally stepped through time. I make my way downstairs and into the living room. 

Propping the portrait on the couch, I take a step back. I stare at it for a long time before I begin pacing back and forth—it’s a wonder I don’t wear a hole in the floor. Her eyes—Cora’s eyes—follow my every move. It’s more than a little unsettling.

I stop pacing and force myself to step closer. I sit on the coffee table, criss-crossing my legs. I sit in silence, just staring at her.

“Who are you?” I whisper, though I already know.

Cora. Me—but not me.

“This is insane,” I groan, scrubbing my face with my hands. 

Not knowing what else to do, I pick up my laptop. Lifting the lid, I open the browser before typing:

Cora, Normal Valley, 1800’s

I scroll… and scroll… past countless irrelevant results. Old census records, genealogy blogs, town history blurbs.

Then I see it.

An article on a local historical website:

“TRAGIC DEATH OF CORA LOCKRIDGE – SUITOR SUSPECTED”

My stomach turns as I click it:

In 1837, tragedy struck the affluent Lockridge family when their only daughter, Cora Lockridge, was found dead outside her family estate. Local authorities were never able to prove foul play, but suspicion centered around her rumored lover, a man named Michael Jackson, with whom Cora was believed to be planning an elopement. Although no charges were filed, the court of public opinion was swift and brutal. Shunned and reviled, Jackson withdrew from society, living the remainder of his days as a recluse in the very mansion now considered one of Normal Valley’s most haunted homes…

A chill races down my spine.

It’s obvious the “haunted home” in question is the one I’m currently living in. It’s no wonder the people in the diner were acting so strangely the other day.

I stare at the screen, heart pounding.

If the rumors were true… then I’m not alone here—though I’d already come to that conclusion on my own.

More importantly… if the rumors were true… I might not be safe.

“Is it true?” I whisper softly, staring at the screen—not really to myself. I know he’s listening. “Did… did you do this?”

For a moment, everything is silent.

Then the screen flickers.

Once.

Twice.

Then it glitches—lines distorting across the display, the article warping before it suddenly disappears.

I jolt backward as the screen goes black.

“What the hell…” I breathe softly in shock. 

I notice movement behind my reflection of the blacked out screen and freeze in absolute fear—the silhouette of a person standing behind me unmistakable.

Just when I reach out to close the laptop, words begin to appear—typed out slowly, one letter at a time.

No.

No.

No.

No.

Over and over again. The same word flooding the screen, each repetition more frantic than the last.

I slam the lid shut, heart hammering against my ribs. At the same time, I whip my head to look over my shoulder. But as expected, I see nothing.

But even in the silence that follows, I can feel it—feel him—filling the room with sorrow.

A sorrow that doesn’t feel like guilt.

It feels like grief.

There had to be more to this. I might not know anything about this ghost—this Michael—but even though I was freaked out, I just didn’t feel like I needed to fear him. Something deep down—whether in my heart or my gut, I don’t know—was telling me I could trust him, that he would never hurt me.

“There has to be something up there,” I mutter, glancing at the ceiling—the attic just above.

As if on cue, I hear a loud thud overhead.

“Do you want me to keep looking?” I ask softly, knowing he’s listening.

A steady, rhythmic thud echoes from the attic above, growing louder with each beat. It’s as if he’s desperate for me to unravel this mystery as soon as possible.

“Okay, I’m going,” I reply as I head towards the stairs, then stop. “But no more jump scares, alright? That’s not cool.”

Suddenly, I feel a presence beside me—and then, a gentle tug on that same curl as before.

A silent apology.

A flicker of a smile touches my lips, the knot of unease in my stomach beginning to loosen.

Taking a deep breath, I start up the stairs, cringing as the attic door creaks open.

“If this were a horror movie, the audience would be screaming at me to get the fuck out right now,” I mutter sarcastically as I climb the stairs.

Clicking the flashlight on, I sweep the beam around the attic, unsure where to start.

As if he’s reading my mind—and hell, for all I know, he can—I hear a dull thud from the corner. I swing the light in that direction just in time to see the latch fall open on a dusty, heavy wooden trunk.

“Hint taken,” I murmur softly as I make my way over, sidestepping the various boxes and trunks scattered around the attic.

Kneeling down, I lift the trunk lid, letting it fall open with a creak. A cloud of dust bursts out, and I cough, waving it away.

“Wow,” I whisper as I peer inside.

The chest is filled to the brim with what I assume are journals and letters, the pages browned at the edges and worn thin with age.

Reaching in carefully, I lift the journals out one by one and set them aside on the floor. Dozens of letters follow—some sealed with wax, others tied with delicate ribbon. I set those aside, too, before shining the flashlight back into the trunk.

Near the bottom, I find several loose pages of sheet music—written for piano, it seems.

Lastly, I find two velvet drawstring pouches—one purple, one red.

Opening the purple one first, I tip the contents into my palm. 

It’s a ring. But it’s not just any ring—it’s clearly an engagement ring. 

I gasp, clutching the ring in my fist as I suddenly get a flash of memory—though clearly not of my own.

I see Michael. He’s standing alone on a street corner, in the dead of night. His eyes peer through the dark around him—as though looking for someone. He pulls the same ring I currently hold in my hand from his pocket and smiles softly.

He’s waiting for her. He’s going to ask her to marry him. I don’t know how, but I just…know. 

He pulls out his pocket watch every once in a while as he waits.

“She’s an hour late…” I hear him whisper, his voice soft and gentle, tinged with disappointment.

I release a harsh breath as I’m pulled out of the vision. Looking down at the ring in my palm—the silver band and beautiful diamond still looking rather shiny and new—I’m suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of profound sadness—a sadness I know isn’t my own. It’s his. He’s here, I can feel it. I shiver when I feel something brush my hand—as though he’s holding it, seeking comfort—goosebumps traveling up my arm. 

I’m suddenly very sure of one more thing:

He never got the chance to give it to her. My heart breaks for them—this couple, so young and in love, who were destined for tragedy.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into the dimly lit attic, still feeling his presence beside me. I smile sadly, feeling a gentle pressure on my hand, as if he’s squeezing it in silent thanks.

Sighing, I drop the ring back into the pouch, tightening the drawstring. I set it aside before I pick up the red pouch.

Opening it, I tip the contents into my palm. It’s a pendant—a delicate silver bird, its wings outstretched as though mid-flight.

My breath catches. I know this bird. It’s exactly like the one I’ve worn around my neck for as long as I can remember.

I don’t remember where I got mine. It’s just… always been with me.

But this one is older, worn smooth at the edges.

A chill prickles down my spine, though I can’t explain why. It just feels important—more than just familiar. Almost like a piece of a memory I didn’t know I’d lost.

Somehow, I know this wasn’t just any necklace. It meant something. To her… and maybe to me, too.

Dropping the necklace back into the pouch, I tighten the string. I place everything back in the chest, then close the lid before fastening the latch.

Reaching in, I pull my own necklace out from under my shirt. My fingertips stroke the silver bird that hangs from the delicate silver chain.

Releasing a soft gasp, I go still when something cool brushes my skin—as though Michael is reaching out to touch the pendant.

Smiling sadly, I sit there for a moment, just processing this new discovery. I finally shake my head, as if trying to clear my thoughts.

Right now, I have work to do.

I stand before I lean down, grunting as I lift the chest. It’s heavier than I expected. Making my way down the stairs, I nudge the attic door shut with my foot. Down in the living room, I set the trunk on the floor.

I open the trunk and take out the pouch that holds the pendant before siting on the couch. Opening my laptop, I settle in to resume my search.

I tip the necklace back into my hand, looking at it thoughtfully. “This has to mean something…” I whisper, the pool of silver resting in my palm.

The screen flickers, and I glance up as the Google page glitches, then reappears with search results already pulled up—results I hadn’t searched for myself.

“You’re awfully helpful today,” I mutter, amusement evident in my voice.

I glance at the words in the search bar:

Swallow bird Victorian pendant meaning

I quickly scan the top of the results page, reading the short explanation:

In Victorian-era jewelry, a swallow pendant typically symbolized loyalty, a safe return home, and hope for a loved one’s return. Swallows were also associated with faithfulness and everlasting love, often gifted to loved ones as a token of affection before a journey. Their ability to migrate long distances and return to the same place each year was seen as a representation of commitment and fidelity.

My heart aches. It’s very clear to me that Michael and Cora were deeply in love. And knowing that she died before they even had a chance at a “happily ever after”? Well, it’s a fate no one should have to bear. 

“I know you didn’t do it,” I whisper into the silence. 

And I mean it. I don’t know how I know—I just… know. 

“Oh…” I breathe softly, closing my eyes. A sudden wave of peace washes over me—like Michael himself just exhaled in relief.

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse-Chapter 2

Cue the Ominous Background Music

My whole night is spent tossing and turning, the sheets twisted around me like a trap. A man haunts my dreams—unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar, as if I’ve known him forever. My head stirs against the pillow as I sink deeper into the dream. But this isn’t just any dream. It feels vivid and real—more like a memory.

Candles flicker along the edges of a grand ballroom, their glow casting golden halos across polished hardwood floors and velvet drapes. Music swells—rich, romantic—and I find myself at the center of it all, surrounded by laughter and swirling masks, dressed in what looks to be a ball gown straight out of a Victorian novel.

“What the…” I whisper, looking around at the masked dancers, utterly confused. I quickly realize that I, too, am wearing a mask and reach up to touch it. My fingers graze the cool surface, and I gasp, shocked at the solid, tangible feel of it. Never has a dream felt so real. I look down at myself again and don’t recognize the gown, but a part of me feels like I’ve worn it before.

I get the eerie sense that I’ve been here before—that I’ve lived this memory.

I blink beneath my mask as someone steps in front of me. I tilt my head, curious—his white, ruffled shirt looks familiar. My gaze travels upward, and I meet the eyes of a man. His skin—what little isn’t covered by his mask—is alabaster. His hair is dark and gently curled. If it weren’t pulled back, it would likely brush his shoulders. His eyes, fixed on me with an intense stare, are a deep, rich brown.

Something scratches at the back of my mind—like I should know him. A strange familiarity washes over me. But why, I don’t know.

Suddenly, he smiles and steps closer. He takes my hand in his and rests the other on my waist. I place mine on his shoulder, as though I’m no longer in control of my own body. Unbidden, like it’s not even me, a smile touches my lips as we fall in with the rest of the partygoers, dancing a waltz.

I’ve never had a single dance lesson, yet I perform the steps flawlessly. The mysterious man twirls me around the room, making me laugh with delight. Once again, I feel like I’m outside my own body, watching from a distance.

What on earth is happening to me?

“There’s something familiar about you... I can't quite place it, but I find myself intrigued,” the man says softly.

I blush, grinning coquettishly—as though I’m well aware of this little game of pretend.

“Careful,” I reply with a playful smile. “I might think you make a habit of trying to sweep unsuspecting young women off their feet. Young women you don’t even know, no less. Are you a scoundrel, sir?”

I surprise myself with the words that slip from my lips, as though I know exactly what to say—like I’ve spoken them before. But more than that, I’m startled by the sound of my own voice. It’s incredibly similar to mine, yet the inflection isn’t quite the same.

He chuckles softly at my reply, and the sound sets butterflies loose in my stomach—vivid, visceral, and completely beyond my control.

“My apologies, milady. I am but a man, and you are a beautiful woman. I can’t seem to help myself,” he says, a smile playing at his lips.

A soft laugh escapes me—both mine and not mine at once—at his brazen reply.

“Such bold words from a man who doesn’t even know my name,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “Should you not be more proper with a lady you’ve just met?”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs, feigning shame. “I must beg your forgiveness. May I have your name, madam? That way, I can flirt with you properly…”

Another laugh threatens to escape me at his shameless determination.

“Hmm…” I look him over, as though sizing him up. “I’m not sure you’ve earned it quite yet,” I retort playfully. “You’ll have to work harder than that, sir.”

“I’m confident I can rise to the challenge,” he says, a slight smirk touching his lips. “And I’m even more confident you’ll be worth the wait.”

A slight shiver runs through me when I feel his thumb stroking the small of my back through the delicate material of my dress.

Love—oh, I love this man. This strange, slightly different version of me does, anyway. I can feel it in my bones. I don’t understand it, but my heart just… knows.

We continue to spin around the room, the people around us fading away. Right now, it’s just us. His words, his smiles—only for me.

My dream suddenly shifts. I’m still in the same dress, now hidden beneath a traveling cloak. My heels click against the hardwood floor as we hurry toward the door.

I try to smother my giggles as my masked mystery man leads me by the hand. I bite my lip, glancing over my shoulder as I stumble along behind him, making sure we haven’t been spotted slipping outside.

Muffled music floats on the air—the ball still underway inside. I gasp as, in the blink of an eye, he presses me against the wall. My chest heaves, each breath curling like smoke in the cold night air.

Beneath the masks, our eyes lock intensely. The silence hangs between us until a slow, flirtatious smirk curves across my lips. A matching smile appears on his face as he lifts a hand, his fingers playfully tugging on a curl that frames my face. He leans in as I lift a hand to his cheek, pulling him closer.

Our breath mingles between our lips, eyes fluttering closed as his nose nuzzles mine sweetly. Then—like he can’t bear to let another moment slip by—his lips claim mine. I inhale sharply through my nose as we lose ourselves in the kiss—passionate, hungry, and utterly consuming. 

I moan softly into the kiss, and without parting my lips from his, my free hand reaches up to pull off my mask. He draws back slightly, smiling with love in his eyes as his thumbs gently stroke my cheeks. I can’t help but return the smile, a shiver running through my body at the way he’s looking at me. 

He reaches up and removes his own mask. I gasp softly as his face is revealed. It’s him—the man I’d seen standing behind me in the bathroom mirror. It was him. It was strange, feeling both this woman’s profound love for him and my own confusion at once. 

Slowly, I lift my hands to cup his face. I tilt my head in wonder as he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. He leans in again, our lips just a breath away… 

I gasp as my eyes snap open. Sitting up quickly, my gaze darts from left to right. 

I’m in my own bedroom.

Panting softly, my eyes scan the dark room. Moonlight spills through the window, its pale glow dappled with the shifting shadows of tree branches swaying outside.

Sinking back into my pillows, I try to catch my breath as I stare up at the ceiling.

“What the hell was that?!” I whisper to myself.

Lifting a hand, I let my fingertips brush over my lips—I could still feel the echo of his kiss.

Releasing a slow, trembling breath, I replay the dream in my mind. I had never experienced anything so vivid. It felt real—like I had lived that memory before.

I didn’t know who the man was, but there was no mistaking it: he was the same one I’d seen behind me in the bathroom mirror. Surely this proved I hadn’t imagined it—that I wasn’t going crazy.

And the woman… it was me, but—it wasn’t. Not quite. We looked incredibly alike, as though we could’ve been related, but some of her features were slightly different—her voice, too.

Scrubbing my face with my hands, I let out a sigh, and roll onto my side, pulling the blankets up to my chin as I close my eyes. I try to push the dream from my mind so I can get some sleep. After lying there for what seems like hours, I finally drift off.

Hours later, soft morning sunlight filters through the curtains. I stretch my arms over my head before my eyes flutter open. With a sigh, my body relaxes as I stare up at the ceiling. The strange dream I’d had the night before drifts back to me—though sleep had done nothing to help me make sense of it.

Throwing the covers back, I sit up, shivering as my bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor. I make my way to the bathroom, blindly flipping the light switch. My eyes flick toward the mirror—but I quickly look away.

Reaching in, I turn on the shower before stripping off my pajamas and tossing them into the hamper. Stepping under the hot spray, I slide the glass door closed behind me. I turn my back and close my eyes, leaning my head back to wet my hair.

My ears are on high alert, straining for any suspicious sound. I wash my face and body, then shampoo my hair. But when my eyes flutter open, I freeze—my heart thudding in my chest. Through the steam-fogged glass, I see the silhouette of what looks like a person.

Swallowing nervously, I reach a trembling hand out to grip the handle of the shower door. With a sudden and swift movement, I slide the door open. My eyes dart from one corner to the next, trying to see through the haze of steam. 

Nothing—again.

“What the f—” I start to whisper, but I’m cut off by a growl of frustration.

“Ouch!” I hiss through clenched teeth, squeezing my left eye shut as shampoo drips down my forehead.

Huffing in irritation, I slam the shower door closed, ducking under the spray to rinse away the suds.

Once I’m done, I turn off the water and cautiously slide the door open, eyes scanning the bathroom again. Rolling my eyes at myself, I let out a frustrated sigh, yanking a towel off the rack and wrapping it around my body.

Stepping in front of the mirror, I lean forward to wipe away the condensation. A sharp gasp escapes me—I see him again, standing behind me. Just like the day before. I spin around, but the room is empty. When I turn back, only my reflection stares back at me.

“Of course,” I mutter, beyond irritated with this little game.

Shaking my head, I pick up my toothbrush, my gaze glued to the mirror the entire time. When I’m done, I lean down to spit in the sink—and flinch the second I stand up and see him in the mirror again.

Tilting my head, I lock eyes with his reflection. My heart skips a beat—and not from fear.

Still, I am in no way prepared to unpack whatever that feeling is.

I whirl around, hoping to catch him, but it’s useless. He’s already gone. With a groan, I finish up in the bathroom and flip off the light.

Back in my room, I drop the towel and get dressed—only to freeze when I hear whispering from the corner.

My eyes dart toward the sound. Nope. Not doing this right now.

I throw on my clothes at record speed before heading to the kitchen in search of breakfast.

Standing at the counter as a skillet heats up on the stove, I beat eggs for an omelet. My hands go still when I hear whispering again—somewhere behind me. Slowly, I turn my head to glance over my shoulder.

Nothing. Of course.

Turning back around, I shake my head and return to my task. A sharp gasp escapes me when the pots hanging over the island begin to sway, the soft clang of metal filling the room.

“All right, that’s it,” I mutter, spinning around and peering across the empty kitchen.

“Listen up, Casper! I get it—this is your house. But it’s mine now, too. So, you’re gonna have to accept that. I’m not going anywhere. Got it?”

The pots go still instantly—yeah, he heard me. I get the distinct feeling he’s sulking.

“Good,” I say, turning back to the stove and pouring the eggs into the skillet. I continue, almost casually, “By the way, we’re gonna need some boundaries. Stop haunting my bathroom—it’s weird, dude.”

I raise a brow when I hear what sounds suspiciously like giggles coming from the corner. A smirk tugs at my lips as I finish making breakfast. It’s becoming pretty clear my own personal house ghost is a bit of a mischief-maker. I suppose it could be worse—at least he’s not trying to kill me.

Once the food’s ready, I plate it and sit at the table. I eat and sip my coffee, enjoying the quiet of the morning. My fork is halfway to my mouth when I pause, glancing out of the corner of my left eye. I can’t see him, but I get the distinct feeling he’s sitting right next to me. I pick up a slice of toast before I stop, looking at the table.

“Oh, I forgot jelly,” I mutter to myself, turning in my chair, getting ready to get up and grab it from the fridge. However, I stop when I hear the sound of something scraping against the table.

Turning back, my brows raise when I see the jar of jelly sitting on the table—where it decidedly wasn’t a second ago.

I blink at it.

“Okay,” I murmur, slowly setting my toast back down. “That’s... new.”

I glance toward the empty chair beside me, lips twitching.

“Well, aren’t you helpful.”

I pause.

“You taking requests now, or was that a one-time thing?”

Silence. Typical.

I shake my head, half-laughing under my breath as I reach for the jelly.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if I could see you… and I’d feel a lot less crazy if you could talk back.”

Still nothing.

Suddenly, I feel a gentle tug on one of the long curls that frame my face—affectionate, just like he did in my dream.

My heart leaps, the seemingly small gesture stirring something deep inside me. I still don’t fully understand why it makes me feel… whatever the hell this feeling is.

“I’ll take it,” I say with a soft smirk, still sensing his presence—even if I can’t see him.

I finish eating, then rise to bring my dishes to the sink. After cleaning up the mess I made with breakfast, I leave the kitchen and head upstairs toward my room.

Halfway down the hall, I freeze. Faint sounds—like muffled footsteps—echo overhead. My heartbeat quickens as I realize they’re coming from the attic.

Considering how creeped out I’d been yesterday, I’ve been avoiding the attic like the plague.

Ducking into my room, I grab a flashlight from the nightstand drawer, then step cautiously back into the hallway.

I stop in front of the narrow door, staring at it, unmoving. My fingers twitch at my side.

Finally, I summon my courage and step forward, wrapping my hand around the doorknob. I try to turn it—it doesn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” I whisper, sighing—though I’m not sure if it’s from frustration or relief.

As if on cue, a heavy skeleton key tumbles off the top of the doorframe and lands at my feet with a solid thunk.

“You sure are helpful today,” I mutter sarcastically.

Letting out a shaky breath, I bend down to pick it up. I slide it into the keyhole—it fits perfectly—but hesitation freezes my hand.

“Do you really want me to go up there?” I ask quietly. I couldn’t believe I was having one-sided conversations with a ghost. What even is my life?

In the heavy silence, I watch in stunned disbelief as the key turns on its own, the lock clicking open with soft finality.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I murmur, my heart thudding.

Wrapping my fingers around the doorknob again, I steel myself. Before turning it, I pause.

“Just... don’t kill me, alright?” I say—only half joking—then push the door open.

It creaks, loud and slow, scraping at my nerves. Clicking the flashlight on, I step forward.

Cobwebs cling to the corners like forgotten memories as I climb the narrow staircase, brushing them aside. Dust dances in the dim beam of light, and the air grows colder with each step.

I reach the top and sweep the flashlight across the attic. A surprising number of dust-covered boxes and chests are stacked around the space—clearly untouched for centuries. It feels like I’ve stepped straight into a time capsule.

Kneeling down, I cough as a cloud of dust wafts into my face. Waving it away, I squint through the beam of light as I unfasten the latch on one of the heavy wooden chests.

“Whoa…” I whisper, finding it filled with dusty, long-forgotten clothes—gowns and hats, unmistakably from the same era as my dream the night before.

Closing it carefully, I then pause as my eyes catch the edge of what looks like a large picture frame, propped up and facing the wall. Curiosity prickles. Walking over, I kneel down, setting my flashlight on the floor before gently turning the frame around. Resting it back against the wall, I pick up the flashlight again, directing the beam at the image.

It’s a painting. Of a woman.

A shocked gasp escapes me as my eyes lock onto the face staring back.

“What. The. Fuck…” I whisper, heart pounding.

The woman in the painting… is me.

[mjkinkwiz]

The Maestro's Muse--Chapter 1

Welcome to Your New Home: Roommate Included

Reaching over, I tune the car radio when the station cuts out. I’m currently driving, heading toward the new property I just inherited from some distant relative I didn’t even know existed. I breathe a sigh of relief when I finally pass the "Welcome to Normal Valley" sign.

I huff, rolling my eyes. When the attorney first contacted me about the inheritance and mentioned the town’s name, I had to ask if he was joking. What kind of name was that for a place?

Pushing those thoughts aside, I make a left turn, leaning forward to peer out the windshield while I slowly drive through the center of town. It looks like I’ve driven straight into freaking Mayberry. 

I already miss L.A. Small-town life never appealed to me, but after the year I’d had—a nasty breakup and missing out on a promotion I’d more than earned, lost to a less-qualified man, no less—I was ready for a fresh start. Almost like fate, the inheritance came right after everything fell apart. So here I am.

Glancing at the directions the attorney sent to my phone, I make a right turn onto a more secluded road. As I turn onto the street I’ve been looking for, I start checking house numbers—though I soon realize that won’t be necessary. Based on the way the attorney described the place—an old, run-down mansion that had seen better days—it’s immediately obvious when I’ve found it.

Apprehension fills me as I look up at the towering house, which looks like it was ripped straight from a horror movie. So much for living on the Mayberry side of town.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?" I whisper as I slowly drive up the long gravel driveway.

If you looked up the word fixer-upper in the dictionary, this house wouldn’t be pictured under it. No—this one would be filed under “Wtf?” As in: What the actual fuck were you thinking, Kendra?!

Groaning, I inch forward, the sad state of the mansion becoming even more apparent the closer I get. I park and cut the engine, sitting back and just… staring at my new “home.”

With a heavy sigh, I open my door and step out. A chill passes over me and I instinctively wrap my arms around myself, rubbing at them for warmth. Walking around the car, I open my trunk to grab a box of my things. As I do, I glance over and see several ravens perched on the rusted iron fence that lines the perimeter of the property.

"Yeah, that’s not creepy at all," I mutter, turning back to close the trunk before heading to the front door. Maneuvering the box under one arm, I fish into my pocket for the key the attorney mailed me along with the deed. I slide it into the lock and slowly, cautiously, push the door open.

Still full of hesitation and second thoughts, I step over the threshold. Reaching out blindly into the darkness, I find the light switch. When I flip it on, dim lights flicker to life, and immediately a strange sensation washes over me. I freeze, exhaling a shaky breath.

What the hell was that?

I take a few deep, calming breaths and shake my head, trying to laugh it off. Clearly, this creepy-ass house is already getting to me.

Forcing myself to move, I start exploring, eventually climbing the stairs to pick a bedroom. Room after room is dusty and outdated, but I finally find the master bedroom. It’s spacious and has potential, even if it’s in desperate need of a deep clean. I drop the box on the floor, coughing when a cloud of dust puffs up around me.

Back outside, I make several trips to haul all the boxes into the house. Once everything’s inside and roughly placed in the right spots, I start the long process of unpacking and settling in.

Pulling my hair up into a messy bun to get it off my neck and out of my face, I set to work. Bending down, I open the first box, starting in the main living area. A few times, I snap my head around, convinced I see movement out of the corner of my eye—but nothing’s ever there. I roll my eyes at myself. I’ve been in this place for five minutes and I’m already losing it.

Eventually, I find my record player and set it up, dropping a vinyl on in hopes that music will fill the eerie silence and put me at ease.

I continue arranging and decorating the space to make it feel more like my own. I hang a large framed picture on the wall, adjusting it until it’s straight—when I suddenly feel a breeze brush against the back of my neck, like someone’s standing right behind me. A sharp gasp escapes me and I spin around, dropping the picture in the process.

But there’s no one there.

Looking down, I groan—the glass is cracked, a long jagged line cutting through most of the image. "Perfect," I mutter, leaning it against the wall.

Forcing myself to move on, I try to ignore the unease curling in my stomach.

Hours later, everything is unpacked and in place. The house still creeps me out, but at least it feels a little more like mine now. Glancing down at myself, I wrinkle my nose—I’m a sweaty, disheveled mess. Heading upstairs, I go into my room to grab a clean outfit. I toss the clean clothes on the foot of the bed before walking down the hall and into the bathroom, flipping the light on.

Stripping down, I toss my clothes in the hamper, then step into the shower once the water warms. As I wash up, I pause several times, frowning and quickly yanking the glass door open to look into the steam-filled room. I swear I keep hearing something.

Each time, there’s nothing.

"This house is going to drive me crazy," I mutter, rinsing my hair.

But then, as I finish up, I hear what sounds like muffled footsteps. That’s it—I’ve had enough. Turning off the water quickly, I grab my towel, and wrap it around myself before stepping out onto the bath mat. I move to the mirror and wipe away the condensation—and then freeze.

For a split second, I swear I see something behind me in the reflection.

A man.

He’s pale, with dark eyes and long, curly hair—and he’s dressed like he walked out of another century.

"This is ridiculous," I whisper, scrubbing at my face. "I’m losing my fucking mind."

Anxiety knots in my stomach. The entire time it takes me to brush my teeth and dry my hair, my eyes are glued to the mirror. Nothing. Still convinced it’s just my imagination, I try to let it go. I walk back into the bedroom and drop my towel—unaware that I’m being watched.

A cold breeze suddenly brushes my bare skin. I gasp, shivering. That’s it—I’m out of here.

With record speed, I get dressed, grab my shoes, and head downstairs. Snatching my purse and keys from the table by the door, I step outside, and lock up behind me. I breathe in the fresh air, feeling some of the tension drain from my shoulders. Getting in my car, I buckle up, and head toward town, driving slowly as I take everything in.

Eventually, I spot a diner and pull into the lot. I step inside, the bell over the door jingling lightly. Every person in the place turns to look at me.

Smiling awkwardly, I blush under their stares. Anxiety bubbles up again—but for a different reason this time. It’s painfully clear this town doesn’t get many newcomers. I spot a “Seat Yourself” sign and head for a booth in the back, slipping in and opening the menu.

A waitress soon approaches, smacking her gum.

"I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before," she says, giving me a once-over. "You just passing through?"

I keep my polite smile in place, though I’m already wondering what the hell is wrong with everyone in this town. Had they never seen a stranger before?

"No, I actually just moved here today," I reply, glancing at the drink menu. "I finished unpacking and thought I’d take a break to grab some dinner."

"Really? Where’d you move to?"

I look up, surprised she’d ask that so directly. Must be a small-town thing—everyone up in everyone’s business.

"Um… I inherited the big house on the hill, on Raven's Hollow," I reply, gesturing toward the window, where the looming mansion is visible in the distance.

The diner goes dead silent.

Every head turns. Every pair of eyes locks on me.

Blushing furiously, I shrink into the booth, wishing I could disappear.

“You… you actually live there?” she asks, looking like I just told her I murdered someone and got hungry after burying the body. What was with these people?!

“Uh… yes?” I reply, the unease clear in my tone.

“I thought someone already lived there,” she says. “Lots of people have reported seeing someone in the window. But whenever anyone actually checks inside, no one’s there.”

Unease twists in my stomach at this revelation.

“Maybe it’s haunted,” she adds, giving my arm a playful shove as she chuckles.

All I can manage is a weak laugh.

I’d never been one to believe in the paranormal. But considering the inexplicable things I’ve experienced so far in that house… well, I couldn’t help but wonder.

She takes my order before walking away. I turn my head toward the window, staring at the mansion in the distance. Shaking my head, I roll my eyes at myself.

Surely I was being ridiculous… right?

A short while later, I finish eating and pay the bill, leaving a tip before stepping out of the diner. I slide into my car and head for the grocery store—my kitchen cupboards completely bare.

I finish my shopping and load my groceries into the trunk of my car. I make my way home—though I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to calling it that—and gather the three grocery bags in my arms. Hands full, I head to the door with my keys clutched between my teeth. But just as I prepare to set the bags down and unlock it, the door pushes open—on its own.

I stand on the porch, blinking owlishly. Trepidation fills me, but what other choice do I have? My eyes flick from side to side as I step inside, hesitant. Slowly—my head on a swivel, on the lookout for anything suspicious—I make my way to the kitchen. Setting the bags on the counter, I open my mouth, letting the keys drop into my palm.

Swallowing thickly, my eyes scan the kitchen. But like always, there’s nothing.

The waitress at the diner must’ve just made me paranoid. I probably didn’t latch the door when I left earlier, that’s all.

Unfortunately, that didn’t explain the man I saw standing behind me in the mirror this morning.

“You’re losing it, Kendra,” I mutter to myself. I shake my head, eyes rolling at my own ridiculousness, and start putting away my groceries.

I’m halfway through when I freeze, dropping the box of crackers I’d been about to put in the cupboard. Music—muffled and skipping—drifts in from the living room.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, I set the box on the counter. Apprehensively, I make my way out of the kitchen.

When I reach the living room, I release a harsh breath. There’s my record player—cover lifted, record spinning, needle dropped. It had been silent when I got home, so someone must’ve just turned it on.

My chest heaves. My eyes sweep the room, but I still see nothing. The volume rises—skipping again and again—making it harder to breathe.

Rushing forward, I quickly lift the needle before pulling the record off the turntable. I whimper when I hear noises—like someone whispering—in the corner.

But as soon as my eyes dart there, the whispering shifts—now coming from the opposite corner of the room.

Tears of pure fear well in my eyes. Another soft whimper escapes me as I back up, bumping into the wall. Quickly, I turn and walk out, making my way back into the kitchen.

My hands shake as I force myself to finish putting away the groceries. I’m on edge—ears straining, listening for any other unexplainable noises.

One thing is becoming abundantly clear: I’m not imagining this. This isn’t something I’ve made up in my head.

No—this is really happening.

I’m being haunted.

[mjkinkwiz]

Moonwalk Through Time - Part 15

(Final chapter, here we go!)

Over the next several months, the bond between Michael and me only grows stronger, our love deeper. But that isn’t the only thing growing. As the weeks pass, my belly swells with our child. In the early stages of my pregnancy, I was so excited—feeling our baby move inside me was one of the happiest moments of my life. But by the time my due date comes and goes, I’m the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been.

Now, I’m five days past due and counting. I’m stretched out on the couch, reading—or at least trying to. I’ve never been so miserable in my life. With an irritated sigh, I shift from side to side, trying in vain to find a more comfortable position.

I heave a sigh and toss my book onto the coffee table before letting my head fall back onto the arm of the couch. I don’t even notice Michael walk in as I close my eyes and rub my protruding belly, groaning softly. I feel beyond dejected—barely sleeping, incredibly sore, with our baby clearly having claimed one favorite spot to practice kickboxing. And with that thought, I realize I have to pee for what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour.

I start to haul myself up from the couch, pausing when I hear Michael’s soft voice.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs as he walks over and takes my hands, helping me the rest of the way to my swollen feet. “Bathroom break?” he asks knowingly, offering me an empathetic smile.

I nod, pouting. “Again,” I mumble.

He chuckles softly and brings his hands up to cradle my face, pecking my lips sweetly. “I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his hand drifting down to rub my sore belly. “Hopefully our little one will have mercy and be ready to come into the world soon.”

“I hope so. I want my body back,” I reply after kissing him back, then waddle my way out of the living room, muttering to myself as Michael chuckles behind me.

“…and to be less acquainted with the damn bathroom.”

I slip into the bathroom, answering nature’s call before washing my hands and stepping out. I smile tiredly when I find Michael still there, waiting for me. He pushes himself off the wall and wraps his arms around me.

“It’s almost dinner time. Are you hungry?” he asks, his large hands gently rubbing my back, making me sigh in relief.

“Mhmm,” I hum softly, resting my head against his chest and closing my eyes.

“What are you in the mood for?” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on top of my head.

I tilt my head up, my chin resting against his chest as I pout. “Something spicy. Maybe that’ll get this baby out of me,” I reply, remembering that eating spicy food was one of my doctor’s suggestions to try and induce labor—though she did say it was purely anecdotal and not scientifically proven. But at this point, I would try anything to end this torture.

Michael smirks softly, nodding. “Whatever you want, sweet girl,” he says, dipping his head to kiss me before taking my hand and leading me to the kitchen.

He informs the chef, who gives him a suspiciously knowing smile in response to Michael’s request to ‘Make it as spicy as possible.’ Less than graceful, I sit—or drop, rather—into my usual seat at the table after Michael pulls out the chair for me.

Unfortunately, all I’m left with is heartburn. Another two hours go by, and I haven’t had so much as a single contraction. Michael and I both get ready for bed and settle in.

I turn onto my side to face him as he does the same. He gives me an empathetic smile at the look of abject misery on my face.

“Ya know,” I start, reaching out to play with a button on his pajama top. “The doctor did suggest one other thing that might induce labor.”

“Mhmm?” he hums in reply, the slight smirk on his lips telling me he already knows what my suggestion will be.

“Can we?” I ask, peering up at him pleadingly. 

When he sees tears of frustration forming in my eyes, he can’t help but give in. Without a word, he scoots closer. His hand cups my cheek, pulling me into a deep, languid kiss.

I whimper softly in relief as I kiss him back, my hands cupping the sides of his neck. My fingers begin to work the buttons of his shirt before pushing it off his shoulders.

Michael slowly undresses me, his lips trailing to my neck. Once I’m free of my clothes, he stands and removes his pajama pants and boxers.

Knowing there’s only one position I find comfortable these days, he gently urges me to turn over onto my hands and knees.

As quickly as my body will allow in its current state, I do as I’m told. I turn onto my hands and knees, biting my lip when I feel him moving behind me. Guiding himself to my entrance, he slowly sinks into my welcoming heat, giving me one inch, then another, until he’s fully sheathed inside me.

“Oh, Daddy,” I whine softly, his length stretching my tight walls. We hadn’t made love in weeks because I had been so miserable, and my body was having to acclimate itself to his size all over again.

“Does this feel good, baby?” he whispers in my ear as he leans down, pressing his chest flush against my back.

I moan, throwing my head back against his shoulder. “Y-Yes, Daddy! So—Mmm—so good, Daddy,” I whisper through another breathy whine, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

Michael’s large hands slip from my hips, moving up to cup my breasts. I whimper softly, more sensitive than usual lately. My head rests back against his shoulder as little moans of pleasured relief escape me while he massages my full breasts.

He finally begins to move, rolling his hips into me at a slow, sensual pace. With his hands still massaging my breasts, he dips his head lower, placing soft, wet kisses up the length of my spine while his fingers gently pinch my nipples.

Within minutes, I’m already panting and moaning as I near the edge. He plays my body like an instrument—expertly. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since we’ve been together this way; he always knows exactly how to make me tremble and lose myself in the moment, completely satisfied.

“Cum for me, sweet girl,” Michael whispers, bringing one of his hands down between my legs to rub slow, deliberate circles, his fingers expertly teasing me.

I cry out, bucking my hips at the added pleasure as he angles his hips, his hard length hitting that sweet spot deep inside me with every stroke.

“Fuck!” I groan through clenched teeth, my eyes rolling back in pleasure.

My walls begin to flutter, clenching around him and holding him deep inside me. My chest heaves as I gasp for breath—until finally, a long, high-pitched keen falls from my lips.

“Unh, yes! Michael!” I cry out in ecstasy as his slow, deliberate thrusts send an intense wave of pleasure crashing through my entire body.

“Shit!” he grunts, his eyes rolling back as my spasming walls push him to the brink. Within seconds, he follows me over the edge, spilling inside me. “Fuck! K-Kendra!”

When he finally slips out of me, I whimper softly at the loss. He moves to lie on the bed beside me, then gently helps me maneuver into his arms. Once I’m settled, I sigh contentedly, turning onto my side and nuzzling my face into his neck.

“I love you, sweet girl,” Michael whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple as he holds me close.

“I love you, too,” I reply softly, tilting my head up to look at him. I cup his cheek with my hand and pull him down into a slow, lingering kiss.

This is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks. I just hope it works—and that labor will start soon.

I get up to use the bathroom and put my pajamas back on before climbing back into bed. Michael pulls the blankets up over us, then reaches over to turn off the lights. Sated and safe in his arms, I drift off to sleep within moments.

Hours later, in the middle of the night, I wake suddenly from a deep sleep. I gasp and sit up, feeling wet and uncomfortable. Throwing the covers back, I realize my water must have broken.

A second later, my conclusion is confirmed when I’m seized by a painful contraction. My hand flies to my tight belly as I let out a groan through clenched teeth.

“Michael,” I call, but my voice isn’t strong enough to stir him—I’m too overwhelmed by the pain.

“MICHAEL!” I finally manage to shout, reaching over to shake him once the contraction releases its grip on me.

“Wha—huh?” he mumbles sleepily, his bleary eyes blinking open.

“I’m… in… labor,” I pant, clutching my belly.

His eyes snap wide open, suddenly alert as my words sink into his sleep-addled brain.

“Oh… O-Oh!” He looks around frantically before the fog of sleep clears and he scrambles out of bed. “Oh my God! It—it’s time!”

If I weren’t in so much pain, I might actually laugh at how adorably rattled he looks in this moment.

He comes over to my side of the bed, helping me stand. But as soon as I do, I hunch over, immediately at the mercy of another contraction.

“Shit,” he winces sympathetically before jumping into action.

He looks down, realizing my pants are soaked, and quickly grabs a clean pair of underwear, a comfortable pair of sweats, and a t-shirt from the dresser. He returns and helps me get dressed. Lastly, he slips my feet into my slippers—there’s no time for real shoes.

He helps me sit on the edge of the bed while he throws on his usual combo of black pants and a red button-up shirt. After slipping on his shoes, he grabs my hospital bag from the closet, the one I’d packed weeks ago. Making sure he has everything I’ll need, he picks up the phone. After calling Bill to inform him of what’s happening, he takes my hand, helping me to my feet before he leads me downstairs.

By the time we step outside, Bill is already there, waiting by the running car, the door open.

“Thank—thank you, Bill,” I say, my voice weak with pain, gently squeezing his hand as he helps me into the car.

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Jackson,” he replies, giving me a sympathetic smile as I wince.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Bill?” I say with a tired smile. “Please, just call me Kendra.”

He chuckles, winking playfully as he tips his hat. Despite the fact that I’m in excruciating pain, I can’t help but giggle softly.

Once we’re all loaded into the car, Bill pulls off and drives as fast as legally possible toward the hospital.

An hour later, I’m lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines monitoring both me and the baby. More importantly, I’ve been given an epidural and am feeling much more comfortable—well, at least I no longer have the overwhelming urge to murder anyone. That’s something, right?

The doctor comes in periodically to check my dilation progress. At the five-hour mark, she finally delivers the blessed news: it’s time to push. As scared as I am of the pain of giving birth, that fear is slightly overshadowed by my desperate desire to no longer feel like a beached whale.

Over the next two hours, Michael is my rock. Without him here to support me, I know I would’ve given up a long time ago. He sits behind me on the hospital bed, his legs on either side of my body as I rest against his chest. My own legs are in the stirrups, and my hands grip his thighs for strength.

“You’re doing so good, sweet girl. Just a little longer,” he says softly in my ear, kissing my temple gently. One arm is wrapped around my shoulders, the other holding my hair off my damp forehead.

“I’m so tired,” I groan softly, tilting my head back to peer up at him pleadingly, as if he could somehow make it all stop.

“I know, sweetheart,” he replies, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he continues to hold my hair back. “You’re almost there. You can do this.”

I whimper, closing my eyes as I focus on his lips brushing my overheated skin. I groan again when another contraction takes over and the doctor urges me to push.

This goes on for another hour until, finally, the doctor says she just needs one more big push.

With gritted teeth, I force myself to sit up a bit. I grip Michael’s thighs and bear down, pushing as hard as I can, a long moan of pain spilling from my lips.

A loud, strong cry fills the room as our baby finally comes into the world.

“It’s a girl!” the doctor announces, smiling up at us as she lifts our daughter slightly, letting us catch a glimpse.

Tears fill my eyes as a tired but radiant smile spreads across my face. I collapse back against Michael’s chest, panting from exertion while the nurse takes the baby to clean her off, weigh and measure her, and check her reflexes.

“I’m so proud of you, sweet girl,” he whispers, pressing kisses to my temple as he wraps his arms tighter around my chest from behind.

“I love you,” I say softly, tilting my head back. My hand finds his cheek and I pull him down into a soft kiss.

“I love you more, Kendra. So much more,” he replies, just as gently. “Thank you. A family—a life with you—is all I’ve ever wanted, sweet girl.”

I give him a tired smile and close my eyes as he kisses my forehead again.

Once the nurse finishes, she swaddles our daughter in a blanket and returns with her, smiling as she gently lays the baby—still crying—on my chest. She makes it abundantly clear that she is not happy about being pulled from the comfort of my womb.

However, as soon as I cradle her close, holding her snug against my chest, she begins to settle.

“She knows who her mommy is,” Michael says softly, smiling over my shoulder as his finger strokes her chubby little cheek.

I smile at Michael’s words as I peer down at our daughter, rocking her gently in my arms.

“Hello, little one,” I say softly as I stroke her little hand with my finger, giggling softly as her little fist grabs onto it.

“What should we name her?” Michael asks, smiling as he continues to stare at her in awe, his hand gently stroking the back of her head.

I bite my lip, thinking as I look over her beautiful face. Suddenly, it comes to me: “Moira,” I say softly. 

Michael cocks his head, turning the name over in his mind as he looks at her, and smiles.

“It’s beautiful,” he replies. “What made you think of it?” he asks curiously, his hand still stroking her little head.

“Well, I’ve always been fascinated by Greek mythology,” I explain softly, shushing her gently when she begins to fuss. 

Michael hums, nodding in understanding as he listens, waiting for me to go on.

“It’s another name for the three Fates. And given the way her mommy and daddy met, I think it’s rather fitting,” I explain, tilting my head back to smile up at him, the deep, profound love I hold for him evident in my gaze.

Michael’s smile brightens, tears gleaming in his eyes as he looks back at me, my love reflected back at me in his own.

“It’s perfect,” he says, leaning in to kiss me softly before he looks back at our daughter. 

I look back down at her and smile, sniffling softly before I speak. “Welcome to the world, Moira Elizabeth Katherine Jackson”

Michael blinks, turning his tear-filled eyes to me. I glance up at him, my heart fluttering at the look of awe on his face as he registers both his and my mother’s names.

“It’s beautiful,” he says softly, looking back at her. “Just like her.”

As though she wants to be included in the conversation, Moira flails her little arms, a smile coming over her little face as she coos happily.

“I think she likes it,” I say, grinning and giggling softly, stroking her fingers as they wrap around one of my own.

“I love you so much, Kendra. More than you will ever know,” Michael whispers, pressing his forehead to mine when I look up at him.

“I love you more, Michael. I always have and I always will,” I whisper in reply, closing my eyes as I press my forehead back against his.

In this moment, surrounded by the two greatest loves of my life, I close my eyes and send up another silent ‘thank you’ to whatever force brought me here, to this moment. I had been given an unfathomable gift, and I vowed, here and now, that I would never take for granted what I have been given.

I open my eyes and smile as I rest against Michael’s chest. Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of love and peace washes over me as I look into my daughter’s eyes and, once again, I have no doubt that I am exactly where I was always meant to be.

(There you have it! I had a lot of fun writing this story after having the idea in my head for literal years. I hope you all enjoyed not only the journey, but the destination here at the end. Thank you to everyone who read/liked/commented their encouragement. It means a lot to me.💜💜)

[mjkinkwiz]

Moonwalk Through Time-Part 14

The next morning, my eyes flutter open as the golden sunlight rises over the rolling hills of the Santa Ynez Valley, spilling through the window and painting the unfamiliar room in a warm glow. I stare up at the ceiling, momentarily confused by my surroundings—until it hits me. A wide grin spreads across my face just as an involuntary shriek escapes me. I flip onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow as I kick my legs in a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. Today is my wedding day. Today, I get to marry the love of my life, my best friend, my person.

Several hours later, after I’ve showered and forced myself to eat something—despite the butterflies fluttering in my stomach—I find myself getting ready for my wedding, which will take place at dusk. I stand in the designated “bridal suite,” which is really just one of the many unused guest rooms. Smiling, I listen to Katherine and the girls chatting with my best friend, Sophie, on the other side of the privacy screen.

Sophie was one of my first true friends when I moved to L.A. We attended school together, both pursuing degrees in elementary education. She was now a fourth grade teacher, while I was a music teacher, both of us working together at the same school. From the moment we first met we were best friends, almost like sisters. Before everything happened with Michael, and growing close to his family, Sophie was the only family I had after I lost my mother. I hated that I couldn’t tell her the truth of how I had met Michael, or how we were so sure already that we were prepared to make a lifetime commitment to each other, but she didn’t ask too many questions. She was simply glad for me that I had found happiness. So when I asked her to be my maid of honor, she didn’t hesitate.

I strip down before putting on the lingerie I bought just for this occasion. Then, I carefully take my dress off the hanger and step into it, pulling it up. I slip my arms through the draping straps, holding the bodice against my chest before stepping out from behind the screen.

"Sophie, can you zip me up, please?" I ask, turning my back to her.

"Of course," she replies, coming up behind me to carefully fasten the zipper.

She bends down, straightening the train of my dress so we can get the full effect as Katherine and the rest of the girls come over. Katherine smiles, tears in her eyes, as we all take in my reflection in the mirror.

"You look absolutely beautiful, sweetheart," Katherine says, the others nodding in agreement.

"Mike’s gonna forget how to talk when he sees you, girl," Janet teases with a grin, her eyes glistening suspiciously in the light.

"I hope not," I reply with a soft giggle. "He has to be able to say at least two very important words when I meet him at the end of that aisle.”

“Girl, he’ll probably say ‘I do’ before the preacher even has a chance to ask,” La Toya jokes, grinning as she looks at me through the reflection.

I blush, though I can’t help but chuckle, grinning at her playful words.

A short time later, there is a knock on the door. Janet hops up to answer it, opening the door to reveal Jackie.

“Hey, ladies,” he says, grinning at us. “Just coming by to let you know it’s about that time.”

I gasp softly, glancing at the clock on the wall. I had completely lost track of time, and here it was—showtime.

I splay my hands over my stomach as the nervous butterflies flare to life in the pit of my stomach. I give La Toya a nervous but grateful smile when she makes one last fuss over me. Once she’s made sure my makeup is perfect and that not a hair is out of place, she nods her approval.

The girls give themselves one last appraisal in the mirror before they each pick up their bouquet. Sophie hands me mine, then carefully pushes the comb of my veil into my hair at the back of my head, careful not to mess it up. Lastly, she assures me that she has Michael’s ring safe and sound. She gives me an encouraging smile and squeezes my hand gently before she and the rest of the girls file out of the room.

I look up, taking a deep breath and smiling through tears as I meet Katherine’s kind eyes and warm smile. She comes over, gently cupping my face in her hands.

“My son is lucky to have you, child. I’ve never seen him so happy, and I know he’s in good hands with you,” she says, her words bringing a fresh wave of tears to my eyes.

“I’m lucky to have him, too. I’m grateful that I get to be the one who loves him and makes him happy. I promise I’ll never take that for granted,” I vow softly as I lean into her palm.

“I don’t doubt it, sweetheart. I knew from the moment I met you that you were special. My boy is smitten with you; anyone can see that,” she says, making my heart swell with happiness. “I wish you both nothing but happiness for the rest of your lives. And I won’t complain if you get started on making me some grandbabies as soon as possible,” she adds with a playful wink before giving my cheek an affectionate pat.

“I’ll see what I can do, Mother,” I say with a giggle, biting my lip to hold back the urge to tell her that she would, in fact, be getting her wish.

Katherine smiles, giving my hands an affectionate squeeze before turning and leaving the room. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves and ground myself. When I open them again, I find Jackie still standing in the doorway, watching me. I cock my head slightly and offer him a warm smile as he shifts from one foot to the other. Finally, he clears his throat before speaking.

“I was just wondering… since you were going to walk down the aisle by yourself,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck. “I—I would be honored if I—if I could walk you down the aisle. If—you know, if you want, of course.”

The threat of ruining my makeup looms dangerously as more tears fill my eyes at his kind gesture. I take another deep breath and glance upward, trying to blink them back. God, this pregnancy is making me a basket case of emotions. When I look at Jackie again, I give him a tremulous smile and nod.

“I—I would like that,” I reply softly, my voice catching in my throat. “Th—thank you, Jackie.”

He smiles at my acceptance and offers me his arm. “Well then, shall we?”

I grin and place my hand in the crook of his elbow before he leads me down the hall and outside. I gasp softly when I see the result of Michael’s quick—yet incredibly thoughtful—planning with my own eyes. It’s beautiful. A few rows of white folding chairs are arranged on either side of a white runner, scattered with flower petals. The Giving Tree is draped in soft, gauzy white fabric and illuminated by delicate strands of fairy lights twinkling overhead.

I take a deep breath as I clutch Jackie’s arm, both of us slowly making our way forward. Randy and Janet walk down the aisle together, followed by Jermaine and La Toya. Rebbie and Tito follow, and then Sophie and Marlon are the last to walk, acting as maid of honor and best man, respectively.

There is a string quartet seated off to the side, playing softly. I clutch my bouquet in my free hand—fuchsia dahlias, orange daisies, sunflowers, all accented with hypericum berries. Jackie and I pause at the end of the aisle just as the music changes. I smile as the soft, familiar melody of Pachelbel’s Canon in D begins to float through the air.

I look up, letting out a quiet breath of awe when I see Michael for the first time. His wedding attire is somewhere between the outfit he wore to Elizabeth Taylor’s wedding in 1991. His long curls are pulled back in a low ponytail, framing his handsome face. He’s chosen to forgo his usual makeup, wearing only enough foundation to even out his skin tone. I always loved him like this—just him. He has always been so handsome to me, just as he is.

Michael looks up when the music changes—and sees me in my dress for the first time. I can’t stop the bright smile that spreads across my face as he takes me in. He smiles back at me, and my heart skips a beat at the love shining in his eyes. A sudden feeling of complete and utter peace washes over me—like the final piece of the puzzle that is my life has finally fallen into place. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that my path was always meant to lead me here—to him.

After what feels like an eternity—though it’s really only seconds—Jackie and I reach the end of the aisle. He leans down and kisses my cheek before gently taking my hand from his arm and placing it in Michael’s. The two of them share a brief embrace before Jackie moves to stand in his designated place. I turn and hand Sophie my bouquet before facing Michael again, both of my hands clasped in his.

“You look beautiful, sweet girl,” Michael whispers as he lifts my hands and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. Though his voice is quiet, everyone hears, prompting a round of soft chuckles and a collective “Aww” from our small audience.

I blush at his words, a bashful grin spreading across my lips as I realize everyone heard. “Th-Thank you. You look pretty handsome yourself,” I reply just as softly, my eyes already glistening as I peer up at him. He smiles at my reply, his thumbs gently brushing over my knuckles as he holds my hands in his.

The preacher clears his throat gently, and we both turn our attention to him as we stand facing each other, our hands still clasped. He smiles warmly as he begins to speak, and the ceremony officially begins.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of two people in marriage. This is a day of celebration—a moment where we recognize the strength of love and the depth of the commitment being made before us.”

He pauses, glancing between the two of us.

“Marriage is not just the joining of two people. It is a promise to stand beside one another through life’s joys and sorrows. True love isn’t just present when the sun shines. It remains even when the clouds roll in and the world feels dark. It doesn’t falter in the face of hardship—it grows stronger. It is the commitment to be each other’s home, each other’s peace, and each other’s strength. And today, before those dearest to you, you have chosen to make that sacred promise.”

He turns slightly toward Michael. “Michael, do you come here today of your own free will, with love in your heart and the intention to join your life with hers—to walk beside her, love her, and cherish her for all your days?”

Michael turns to look at me, smiling with tears in his eyes as he gently squeezes my hands. “I do.”

The preacher turns to me with a warm smile. “And do you, Kendra, come here today of your own free will, with love in your heart and the intention to join your life with his—to walk beside him, love him, and cherish him for all your days?”

I swallow the emotion welling in my throat and nod. “I do.”

He smiles, nodding approvingly. “Then let us now hear the vows you’ve prepared for one another.” At this, he looks to me first.

I nod, taking a deep, nervous breath as I turn my eyes back to Michael. I peer up at him, my eyes still shining with love, and tears, as I begin to speak.

“Michael… from the moment you came into my life, nothing has been the same. You’ve shown me what it means to love with my whole heart, to feel safe, seen, and understood in a way I never knew I needed. You’ve been my comfort in chaos, my joy in the midst of sorrow, and my strength when I didn’t think I had any left. You are my peace, my person, and I can’t imagine sharing this life with anyone else. It’s you, and it always will be.

Standing here with you now, I promise to choose you every day—not just when things are easy, but also when life feels like it’s too much to bear. I promise to support you, to protect you, and to grow with you. To be patient, to listen, and to love you unconditionally. I promise to celebrate your victories, because when you succeed, so do I. I will help carry your burdens and lift you up when life tries to beat you down. I promise to hold your hand through everything in between.

I am so proud to be yours—and even more proud to say that you are mine. You’re my home, my heart, and the love of my life. And I can’t wait to spend forever loving you.”

Tears glisten in Michael’s eyes, just as they do in mine. He gives me a beaming smile, lifting my hands to kiss my knuckles once more. I giggle, smiling shyly when I hear Katherine sniffling softly in the front row. I sneak a glance out of the corner of my eye, surprised to see that even Joseph seems to have softened a bit. After all, anyone looking at me could see my love for Michael plastered over my face. There was no denying it.

The preacher turns to Michael with a gentle nod. "Michael, your vows?”

Michael takes a slow, steady breath, his hands still clasped in mine. His eyes never leave me as he begins to speak, his voice thick with emotion.

“Kendra, I stand here today, not just because I love you, but because you are everything to me. From the moment we met, I knew my life would never be the same. You’ve shown me what real love is, how it’s more than just words—it’s the quiet moments, the unwavering support, the way you make me feel seen, understood, and valued.

You’ve been my rock, my joy, and my inspiration. When I was lost, you were there to guide me. And in you, I’ve found a home. You are my heart, my strength, and my future.

I promise to love you, protect you, and stand by your side through every season of life. I promise to always choose you, even when things are hard. I will cherish you, support your dreams, and be the one you can rely on, no matter what.

I will laugh with you in moments of joy and comfort you in times of sorrow. I will be your partner, your person, just as you are mine. I promise you now that I will never stop loving you, not today, not tomorrow. I promise that my love for you will only grow with each passing day.”

He pauses for a moment, his gaze softening as he smiles down at me. "You are my everything, Kendra. As long as there is breath in my body, my heart is yours.”

The preacher gives us both a warm smile before continuing.

“May I have the rings?” he asks gently.

Marlon steps forward, handing over my ring before Sophie does the same with Michael’s. The preacher takes them, holding them between us.

“These rings are more than just metal—they’re a symbol of your love and the promises you’ve just made to each other. A circle, with no beginning and no end, just like the love you share.”

He turns to Michael.

“Michael, as you place this ring on Kendra’s finger, please repeat after me.”

Michael carefully takes the ring and lifts my hand. His eyes meet mine as he repeats:

“With this ring, I give you my heart. I promise to love you, honor you, and stand beside you for all the days of my life.”

I sniffle quietly, smiling and blushing when the sound is echoed by Katherine, Michael’s sisters and Sophie. The preacher turns to me now, offering me Michael’s ring.

“Kendra, as you place this ring on Michael’s finger, please repeat after me.”

I gently slide the ring onto his finger as I echo the words:

“With this ring, I give you my heart. I promise to love you, honor you, and stand beside you for all the days of my life.”

The preacher smiles at both of us, his voice steady and warm.

“Having pledged your love and exchanged your vows and rings in the presence of those dearest to you, it is my honor to pronounce you husband and wife.”

He pauses, the smile on his face widening just a bit as Michael barely restrains himself, waiting for those magic words.

“Michael, you may kiss your bride.”

A soft wave of laughter and applause ripples through our small audience as Michael wastes no time. He pulls me gently toward him, one hand cradling my cheek while the other settles at the small of my back. I barely have a second to take a breath before his lips meet mine in a kiss—sweet, tender, and full of promise.

The sun is just beginning to sink below the rolling hills of the valley, casting everything in a warm golden glow. It’s like a scene straight out of a movie, like time has slowed down just for us. When we finally part, he rests his forehead against mine, both of us smiling like lovesick fools as the applause swells around us.

But this isn’t a movie. It isn’t a dream. We’re really married. I have no clue what force made all of this possible, but right now, in this moment, I close my eyes as Michael and I continue to hold each other, surrounded by our loved ones, and I offer a silent thank-you to whatever power brought me here.

We turn, bright smiles on our faces, and I giggle as Michael raises our clasped hands, as though in victory. We make our way back up the aisle as everyone cheers. We steal away for a brief, quiet moment. I whimper softly when Michael’s lips capture mine, his arms pulling me into a tight embrace—one around my waist, the other cradling the back of my neck.

Michael pulls back only when the need for air can no longer be ignored. He presses his forehead to mine, still holding me close as he whispers softly. “I love you, Mrs. Jackson.”

A brilliant grin illuminates my entire being at the way he addresses me. “I love you more, Mr. Jackson.”

We eventually force ourselves apart, knowing our loved ones are waiting for our return. 

The reception is already in full swing when we walk in under the tent, the soft hum of conversation mingling with the gentle notes of the string quartet. Golden light spills from the fairy lights strung overhead, casting everything in a dreamy glow. Laughter bubbles up from the tables as champagne flows and plates of food are passed around. It’s warm, and joyful, and everything we’d hoped for.

After a while, Michael squeezes my hand and nods toward the microphone near the head table. I smile, nerves fluttering in my chest as we stand together. The chatter slowly dies down as we step up in front of our guests, all eyes turning toward us.

Michael clears his throat gently, his hand still holding mine. “We just wanted to thank you all for being here,” he begins, his voice soft but steady. “Tonight has been… beyond anything we could’ve dreamed. It means the world to us to be surrounded by the people we love most.”

I nod, smiling at our family and friends as I add, “This day wouldn’t have been the same without you. And though there are some very important people m-missing—” My voice catches. “I know they’re here in spirit.”

Michael glances down at me with a sad smile as he gives my hand a gentle squeeze before turning back to the crowd. “And since we’re talking about things we’re grateful for, you may be wondering why we put this together so fast…”

He pauses. I press my lips together to hold back a smile. My new husband always did have a flair for the dramatic. He splays one large hand over my belly.

I place a gentle hand over his as I finish, “…we figured now might be the perfect time to announce that our family is growing.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence—then an explosion of cheers, gasps, and excited voices.

Katherine gets to her feet, tears already in her eyes, as she pulls Michael into a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you two,” she says as she pulls away, only to pull me into a warm, motherly hug next.

When she pulls back, she can see the nervousness in my eyes that I’ve tried to suppress. She smiles softly as she cups my face in her hands. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother, dear. Trust me, a mother just knows these things,” she says with a wink, making me smile as tears fill my eyes. “After all, it’s in your blood. I may not have known her, but I know you’re mother must have been a wonderful mother, because she raised a wonderful young lady,” she continues, gently patting my cheek.

I smother a sob as I lose the fight, unable to stop my tears from falling. I pull her into another tight hug as I whisper in her ear. “Th-Thank you…M-Mother.”

“Congratulations, son,” Joseph says as he shakes Michael’s hand. As if that wasn’t surprising enough, he turns to me. I swallow nervously, unable to help but be wary. “Congratulations, Kendra. And…welcome to the family,” he says, giving me a brief pat on the shoulder before he turns, stepping away from the fray.

“Wow…that was as good as an ‘I love you’ from Joseph,” Michael says, watching after him, stunned.

I nod, staring after him, equally perplexed. “I’ll take it,” I reply. I knew enough about him to realize how big a deal that was. It might have been the bare minimum, but I had enough grace to acknowledge how difficult it probably was for him to be that open.

Michael smiles softly, glad to know his father was coming around. 

I gasp before I laugh as I suddenly find myself in the middle of a Jackson sister group hug. The three of them surround me, hugging me and touching my still flat belly, giggling as they fawn over me.

“You guys are having a baby!” La Toya squeals happily, already talking about taking me shopping for everything from fashionable maternity clothes, to baby clothes.

“We don’t even know what we’re having yet!” I point out with a grin.

“I can’t believe Mike is finally gonna be a dad!” Janet says, smirking over at him. “It’s about time, Applehead. You were getting up there in age.”

Michael scoffs, pinching her side playfully. “You do know it’s my wedding day, right? You should be nicer to me.”

Everyone laughs as they playfully rib each other. 

“Girl, get in here!” Rebbie calls as she reaches behind her, tugging Sophie’s wrist, who giggles as she joins in the group hug.

I sniffle as we all let go each other, only for me to Sophie into a proper hug, which she returns, tears of joy in her eyes. We pull back and I place one hand on my belly, my other hand gently clasping her own. 

“You know this little one will be your niece or nephew, too,” I say through tears. “We might not be blood, but you’re family. I want my baby to know their Aunt Sophie.” She beams through her tears as she pulls me back into another hug.

We all stand under the white tent, everyone pulling us into one hug after another, all of us a complete mess of happy tears and well wishes. 

The reception continues with good food, a never-ending flow of champagne, and dancing. Late into the night the party finally breaks up and we tell everyone goodbye as, one by one, they make their way to their cars to head home for some much needed sleep.

Once everyone has left, Michael and I walk hand in hand upstairs to our bedroom. I walk in as he follows, closing and locking the door behind him. I sit on the edge of the bed, groaning in relief at finally being off my feet. Whoever invented heels was clearly a sadist.

Michael chuckles softly at my dramatic groan, his eyes warm with affection as he slips off his loafers and pulls off his socks. As I lean down to remove my shoes, he stops me. Kneeling before me, his large hand brushes over my right calf beneath the skirt of my dress.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of care. His nimble fingers unfasten the strap of my shoe. “Let me help you.”

I smile adoringly, watching him with unmistakable love shining in my eyes as he takes care of me so tenderly.

He slips off my shoe, then gently lifts my leg and presses a kiss to my ankle. He repeats the gesture with my left leg, then begins to massage my sore, tired feet.

My eyes flutter closed as a blissful sigh escapes me. His fingertips caress my legs like he’s trying to memorize the feel of my skin—soft, warm, and familiar in a way that feels like home.

Michael stands before he reaches for my hands, gently pulling me to my feet. His eyes are gleaming with love and affection as they look over me in my dress.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers reverently. “You always are, but today…you were absolutely breathtaking, sweet girl.”

I can’t help but blush. No matter how many times he told me, it never failed to make my heart skip a beat. Knowing I was the woman he chose, the woman he loved—it was a heady feeling.

I smile softly as I lift my hand to cup his cheek. “Thank you, Daddy,” I reply, my thumb stroking his soft skin. “You clean up pretty good yourself, handsome,” I reply teasingly, giggling before he silences me with his lips.

I inhale deeply through my nose as we kiss languidly, a soft hum sounding in the back of my throat. 

My arms slip around his neck as I feel his own wrap around my waist. He gently tugs me closer, my body flush against him as we kiss. Our kiss is slow, unhurried as we take our time. 

Michael’s hands slip from my waist and glide over my back before his fingers find the zipper of my dress. His lips trail along my jaw, down to my neck as he mutters against my skin.

“As beautiful as you are in this dress, I think I’ll like it much better on the floor,” he hums softly as he gently tugs the zipper. 

His progression is slow, his fingertips lightly grazing over the length of my spine, sending a shiver of anticipation running through my body.

“Turn around for me, sweet girl,” he whispers. I immediately obey, turning my back to him.

I bite my lip when he gathers my long curls and drapes them over my shoulder. I keep still, waiting with bated breath to feel his touch once more. My eyes close, my mouth falling open with a soft sigh when his lips caress the back of my neck.

He kisses over the backs of my shoulders, and my breath hitches as his lips begin to leave a trail of warm, wet kisses down my spine. His fingers linger at the straps of my dress, each tug slow and deliberate, as though he’s savoring every moment. The fabric slides off my shoulders with ease, and I feel the air cool against my skin, sending a wave of goosebumps over me. His lips, warm and tender, trace the line of my neck, and I can’t help but let out a soft, breathless sigh.

He helps me pull my arms from the straps of my dress before his fingers return to the zipper. He tugs it the rest of the way, causing the bodice to fall away from my body. As he moves lower, he drops to his knees behind me, his hands gently gripping my hips. He gives my dress a gentle tug, letting it fall the rest of the way with a whisper of delicate fabric to pool around my feet.

Now left in a white lace strapless bra and panties, I shiver as his large hands skim my sides before smoothing over my backside, making me whimper. He pulls his hands away, and I can’t stop the mewl of protest that escapes me. I craved his touch, needed it, and each passing moment I’m deprived of it is excruciating.

As I wait, my pulse quickens, each second stretching longer than the last. My breath comes in shallow bursts, as though I can’t quite catch it. I feel his presence, his heat behind me, and it’s almost like I can feel the love and desire radiating from him. It’s as though nothing exists outside this moment—just him, and me. My heart races with each passing second, consumed by the need to feel him close.

He tugs gently at my hips, urging me to turn and face him once more.

After what seems like an eternity, he gently touches my hip, silently urging me to turn around. I slowly do as I’m bid, my heart stuttering in my chest at the sight of him on his knees before me. A million emotions swirl inside me when I see the raw hunger in his eyes. But beyond that hunger, I see deep love and unending devotion. It’s overwhelming, and I feel as though I’m falling all over again.

Michael rises to his feet, and I find myself looking up at him, almost hypnotized by the depth of his gaze. I can feel the weight of his touch, gentle but firm, as his hand moves to cup my cheek. His eyes are soft with affection, but there’s a raw intensity behind them that speaks to something much deeper.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you, Kendra?” he whispers, his voice full of tenderness and awe as he looks over my face before staring into mine.

I smile, my breath catching in my chest as I lean into his touch, almost drunk on the way it feels to have his hands on my body. “Show me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, as I rise up on my tiptoes, closing the distance between us.

More than happy to oblige, he dips his head to capture my lips in a deep, passionate kiss. I hum softly when I feel his warm hands caressing up and down my back. I press myself into his chest when I feel his fingers at the clasp of my bra. Expertly, he flicks it open, letting it fall to the floor.

Another wave of goosebumps forms on my skin, my nipples hardening as the cool air of the bedroom washes over me. My arms tighten around his neck, and a moan escapes me as my sensitive nipples brush against his chest with each deep kiss.

Michael’s thumbs hook into the waistband of my panties, swiftly tugging them down until they pool at my feet. I step out of them, never breaking our kiss.

Unable to bear another second of not feeling his skin against mine, my hands push his suit jacket off his shoulders. I let it fall to join my dress on the floor before my fingers move to work on the buttons of his shirt, one by one. I push it off him, adding it to the growing pile of clothes at our feet, whimpering in relief as my fingertips skim lightly over his arms and chest.

I pull my lips from his, only to begin trailing them over his chest, my tongue flicking out to tease his nipples. My hands slide down, urgently working at his belt, the need to be closer, to be joined with him once more, overwhelming me.

I sigh in pleasure as I feel his long fingers threading through my hair, gently guiding me as I continue kissing and licking my way over his chest. My fingers work quickly to unzip his pants, tugging them down with a sense of urgency. Once they fall to his feet, he steps out of them, nudging them aside. My hands move with purpose, pulling his boxers off his hips, letting them follow suit. My breath hitches as I look down, a soft moan escaping my lips at the sight of him—hard and ready, making my pulse quicken with desire.

Before I can react, I suddenly find myself swept up into his arms. A surprised gasp escapes me, but my legs instinctively wrap around his waist as our lips meet again in a hungry, breathless kiss. He carries me the short distance to the bed, his steps steady and sure, before gently laying me down, never once breaking our kiss.

I moan softly as he settles over me, our kiss deepening with every passing second. My breath catches when I feel him—hard and hot—pressing against my aching center, the heat of him sparking a fresh wave of desire that pulses deep inside me.

“Mmm, Daddy,” I whisper, my voice catching as his tongue flicks out to tease one nipple, then the other.

I spread my legs, desperation flaring hot and fast inside me. I wanted—no, needed—him inside me. Desire surges through me—raw and tangible, like a live wire under my skin. I can hear the blood pulsing in my ears. It feels like I might die if I have to wait much longer. But unfortunately for me, as Michael’s tongue blazes a slow, heated trail down my body, it’s clear he has other plans. Before I can stop it, a soft whine escapes me.

“Oh, Daddy, please!” I beg helplessly, though it’s futile.

He ignores my plea completely. He wouldn’t be rushed—not tonight. I bite my lip, squirming as he kisses his way down. I smile, tears stinging my eyes as he presses soft, reverent kisses over my belly. My hand finds the back of his head, gently tugging the elastic from his hair before my fingers bury themselves in his loose curls.

Michael's gaze locks with mine as he moves lower, his hands gently spreading my legs apart, his fingers tender against my skin. I shiver at the warmth of his touch, my pulse quickening with anticipation. He brushes his lips over my inner thighs, moving slowly, deliberately, savoring each inch of me.

The intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. He’s determined to savor this moment, refusing to rush. His lips are soft against my skin as he kisses his way towards my heat. I close my eyes, surrendering to the pleasure he’s giving me. Each kiss is tender yet confident, his tongue teasing the sensitive crease between my thigh and torso, making me shiver. I bite deeper into my bottom lip as his slow, steady movements keep me focused on him, on the pleasure he’s giving me.

When he finally reaches his destination, his lips graze the sensitive skin of my folds. His tongue flicks over my swollen clit, and I gasp, the sensation lighting every nerve in my body. His touch is loving, each movement slow and deliberate. His hands explore my body with reverence, his tongue gently lapping at me in soft, rhythmic strokes.

I can feel his every breath against my skin, each light touch of his fingertips as if his love is enveloping me, surrounding me. The world outside this room fades, and all that matters is his focus on me, on making me feel cherished, desired.

Every touch is a quiet declaration of love, every kiss a promise that he will always be here, always care for me, in ways words could never convey. His movements stay slow and unhurried, drawing me closer to the edge, as though he’s memorizing the taste of me, the way I tremble at every gentle pass of his tongue over my drenched folds.

My hands clench in the sheets at my sides as my breathing becomes labored and quick. My back arches off the mattress, my eyes closed as my mouth falls open with a long, desperate moan. My body begins to tremble, my thighs shaking as they tighten on either side of his head. 

“Unh yes!” I cry out when his lips wrap around my clit, pulling it deep into his warm, wet mouth. He sucks hard, the flat of his rough tongue massaging the engorged flesh. A sharp gasp is torn from deep within me as I fall over the edge. My eyes roll back into my head, a loud cry of his name leaving me as I cum. “Oh God! Yes! M-Michael!”

He growls lowly, opening his mouth to greedily swallow every drop I have to give. I groan softly, squirming as he feasts on my sensitive pussy. After several minutes of blissful torture, I tug at his shoulder, unable to take any more. My hands come up to cup his face, gently pulling him down into a slow, searing kiss, a low moan escapes from the back of my throat when I taste myself on his tongue.

My desperation only grows, the ache in my core nearly unbearable as I spread my legs in silent invitation. I pull back, keeping my hand on his cheek, gently stroking his skin as I gaze up at him through heavy, pleading eyes.

“Please, Daddy," I whisper, breath hitching. "I need you... inside me. Please.”

“Shh, I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he whispers softly, his eyes searching mine. 

Michael keeps his gaze locked with mine, and I can hardly breathe under the weight of the love I see there. My mouth falls open, a soft frown tugging between my brows as he guides himself to my entrance and slowly begins to push inside.

I wrap my arms and legs around him, whimpering as I cling to him tightly. It feels like I can’t possibly get close enough. Sensing my need, he slides an arm beneath my waist, the other cradling the back of my head as he lifts me slightly off the mattress, holding me close. 

I sigh in relief, closing my eyes as I nuzzle into the crook of his neck. A high-pitched, muffled moan escapes me as he pulls back—only to sink into me again, achingly slow, giving me all of him, over and over.

Our bodies move together in a slow, seamless rhythm, each thrust measured, purposeful. It’s not rushed. It’s not frantic. It’s just us, our love—deep, consuming, and unspoken.

Every time he fills me, I come a little more undone, like he’s breaking me open in the most beautiful way. My fingers clutch at his back, nails gently dragging along his skin as I moan softly into his ear.

“I love you,” I whisper, breathless, as my lips graze his neck. “So much…”

His movements falter for the briefest moment, like the words struck something deep, then resume with even more intention—deeper, slower, more reverent. He shifts slightly, finding that spot inside me that never fails to unravel me.

“Ohh, Michael…” I gasp, my voice trembling from the force of so many feelings and emotions swirling inside me.

He lowers his forehead to mine, our eyes locking, our breaths mingling. “I love you more,” he murmurs, voice raw, like he’s baring his soul with every word, every touch.

I peer up at him, my breath hitching at the pure, unadulterated emotion I see in his eyes. It’s as though he’s seeing me for the first time. It felt like he could see straight down to my soul. 

Within moments, Michael has me panting, moans slipping from my lips uncontrollably. My nails dig into his back. My legs tighten around his waist as I whimper helplessly into his ear.

“I’m so close,” I whisper, a high-pitched moan escaping me. “Please don’t stop!”

He moans at my plea, his hand sliding between us to rub me as he rolls his hips, each movement purposeful, stroking that spot inside me just right.

“Let go for me, Kendra,” he commands, his voice low and urgent, eyes burning into mine. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

My body, trembling with need, responds on its own, clenching around him as my chest rises and falls with each labored breath. I feel the pressure building, every inch of me straining toward the edge. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, I throw my head back, letting out a long, desperate moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“Michael! Oh, yes, Michael!” I cry, my voice breaking with the intensity as I fall over the edge, my body trembling in ecstasy, the release overtaking me completely.

“Good girl. Such a good girl,” Michael whispers as he holds me in his strong embrace.

He groans deeply, the pressure building to an unbearable peak. His thrusts become erratic, and then, with a deep, strangled grunt, he releases inside me, his body trembling with the force of it.

“K-Kendra,” he gasps, his eyes closing in ecstasy as he releases inside me, his grip tightening on my body.

I moan softly, my eyes locked on his as the look of pure bliss on his face sends a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over me. A second, more intense orgasm ripples through me, my body trembling beneath him.

“I love you so much, sweet girl,” Michael murmurs after catching his breath, his eyes full of adoration as his fingers gently stroke my cheek.

I blink slowly, meeting his gaze with a soft smile, leaning into his touch. “I love you, too, Daddy,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as I begin to drift off.

As his arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, I feel that familiar sense of peace wash over me. A peace I have only ever felt here, in his arms. I bask in the stillness of this moment, with only the sound of our breathing filling the air, and I know that I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

(Unless my brain runs away with sudden ideas, there is probably just one chapter left!)

[mjkinkwiz]

Moonwalk Through Time - Part 13

The morning sun rises, casting its warm glow through the curtains of our bedroom. I inhale deeply, surrounded by Michael’s calming scent. A soft hum escapes me as I stretch, slowly waking. But the cocoon of warmth and comfort I felt in his arms is abruptly shattered. 

Suddenly, I bolt upright, a hand slapping over my mouth. Still very naked, I scramble out of bed, stumbling over my own feet as I sprint to the bathroom.

Michael’s eyes snap wide open before he sits up, looking around groggily in confusion. His frown deepens with concern as he sees me disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of retching jolts him into action—he quickly pulls on his boxers before hurrying after me.

When he reaches the bathroom, his concern only grows as he finds me on my knees in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of my stomach. Without hesitation, he kneels behind me, one hand holding my long curls back while the other rubs soothing circles on my back. When my body has nothing left to give, I sag back onto my haunches, groaning softly.

Michael reaches over to grab a wad of toilet paper, gently wiping my mouth before tossing it into the trash. Then, he stands and fills a small cup with water, handing it to me. “Here, sweet girl. Sip this.”

I murmur a quiet thanks, taking a small sip to rinse my mouth before spitting it out. Then, I drink the rest slowly, my body still trembling from the sudden nausea. Once I’m done, I let out a weary sigh and rest my head on his shoulder, closing my tired eyes as he continues to rub soothing circles along my back.

“Do you need anything, baby?” he asks softly, pressing a kiss to my temple as he holds me.

“Maybe some tea,” I murmur, still resting against him. “And more sleep,” I add with a small yawn.

He smiles softly at my reply, though concern still lingers in his eyes. “Whatever you need, sweet girl,” he says gently.

Standing, he reaches down and lifts me into his arms, cradling me bridal-style as he carries me out of the bathroom. He gently lays me back onto the bed, tucking the blankets around me with care.

“Stay here and rest, baby. I’ll get you some tea,” he murmurs, leaning over me to brush a curl from my eyes. I nod, closing my eyes as he presses a soft kiss to my forehead before slipping out of the bedroom.

Minutes later, Michael returns, carrying a mug of hot tea and a sleeve of crackers. A soft smile touches his lips when he finds me still tucked safely under the covers, fast asleep. Setting the mug and crackers on the nightstand, he sits on the edge of the bed. Reaching out to cup my cheek, he calls my name softly.

“Kendra? Wake up, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking my skin.

A soft whimper leaves me as my eyes flutter open. I give him a sleepy smile when I’m met with his warm gaze.

“I brought you some crackers in case you’re still feeling sick,” he says as I slowly sit up. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” I say softly as he hands me the warm mug. I take a few tentative sips of the hot tea before I nibble on a cracker.

“Do you need anything else, baby?” he asks as he gently rubs my leg through the blankets.

I swallow the hot liquid before I shake my head, giving him a tired smile. “Just you,” I reply softly as I set the mug on the nightstand. I gently tug at his hand, wanting him to sit next to me. 

He moves to sit with his back against the headboard, smiling adoringly as I turn and rest my head in his lap. His fingers begin to comb soothingly through my long curls, coaxing a soft sigh from my lips as I close my eyes.

“Maybe you should make an appointment with the doctor,” Michael murmurs, still gently playing with my hair while his other hand rubs my arm.

I nod in agreement, nuzzling his thigh with my cheek. We stay like this for a while, waiting for the nausea to subside. When it finally does, I sit up slowly before getting to my feet. After slipping into some clothes, I settle back onto the edge of the bed and pick up the phone. Dialing the doctor’s office, I schedule an appointment for the next day.

The following morning, I wake and get ready for the day. After giving Michael a kiss, I leave for my appointment. I drive through the grounds of Neverland, waving to the guard at the gate before heading out.

After my appointment, I stop at the mall to pick something up on my way home. Now, I drive towards Neverland, glancing at the small gift bag sitting in the passenger seat. I can’t stop it as a wide smile lights up my face. 

Butterflies fill the pit of my stomach when I reach Neverland’s gates. I drive through the grounds, taking in its beauty. I park the car and cut the engine when I reach the main house. I grab the gift bag from the passenger seat before heading inside.

“Michael?!” I call out as I walk through the house.

“In here!” I smile when I hear his muffled voice calling from the library down the hall.

I bite my lip, the butterflies flaring wildly in my stomach as I walk down the hall, slowly getting closer to him. An adoring smile spreads across my face as I step through the open doorway and see him. He sits behind his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose as he looks over a document.

He looks up, an equally adoring smile spreading on his lips when he sees me. He stands as I cross the room to him, my hands behind my back.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says as he gently grips my arms and dips his head to kiss me sweetly.

“Hey yourself, handsome,” I reply, grinning up at him as I continue to hide my hands.

“You seem to be feeling better. How was your appointment?” he asks curiously, completely unaware of what is coming.

“It was fine,” I say with a shrug, though I can’t wipe the smile from my face.

Michael raises a brow, giving me a confused smirk. “Alright, then do you know why you’ve felt sick the past couple days?”

“Mhmm,” I hum, nodding. I press my lips together as I try to stop smiling, failing miserably, increasing his curiosity.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” he asks with a grin, laughter in his voice at how mysterious I’m being.

“First, I need you to open this,” I say, still unable to stop smiling as I take my hands from behind my back, revealing the small silver gift bag I was hiding.

He gives me a confused but excited smile as he takes the gift bag from me. He pulls out the tissue paper, letting it drift to the floor. He reaches in, lifting a small wooden picture frame out of the bag. His eyes scan it carefully, tears beginning to form in his dark, warm eyes. The border is engraved with the words Love at first sight at the top, and Baby Jackson, coming March 2010.

“Oh, my God,” Michael whispers in awe, his fingertips stroking the glass that covers the black and white sonogram picture of the child growing in my womb, our child.

With tears in my eyes, I watch him quietly, not wanting to shatter the moment.

“Y-You’re pregnant?” he whispers in awe as he looks up, his eyes meeting mine.

I smile tremulously, tears blurring my vision as I nod. “I-I’m about six weeks along,” I reply, sniffling softly.

A happy laugh escapes me as I suddenly find myself being swept off my feet as Michael hugs me to him tightly. My arms immediately wind themselves around his neck, hugging him just as tightly. I press my face into his shoulder, both of us crying tears of pure joy, gladly welcoming this new chapter in our lives.

“I guess that just leaves one question…” he hums, the smile evident in his tone.

I pull back just enough to look into his eyes, my arms still around his neck as he holds me off the floor. “Oh? And what question might that be?” I ask curiously, unable to help but return his infectious smile.

“Should we get married before or after the baby’s born?” he asks, his smile growing so wide it was a wonder he didn’t split his face open.

“Well, I have a feeling your mother wouldn’t appreciate it if we waited until after,” I reply, my heart fluttering at the happiness I see written all over his handsome face.

“You’re probably right about that,” he says with a chuckle before pecking my lips sweetly. “Before it is then,” he adds before he gently sets my feet back on the floor, though he keeps his arms wrapped around my waist, keeping me close.

“Which means we should have the wedding soon,” I say as I peer up at him. “I don’t want to walk down the aisle looking like a big white whale,” I add, pouting cutely.

“Nonsense,” Michael retorts. “You could never be anything but beautiful, sweet girl,” he says before pecking my lips. “But if you want to have the wedding soon, you know I’m more than happy to marry you as soon as possible.”

I blush, grinning at his sweet words before I kiss him softly. “I love you,” I reply, my arms draped over his shoulders as he continues to hold me close. “And I would marry you tomorrow if you wanted…but I do want the chance to pick out my dress.”

“What if you could pick out a dress AND get married tomorrow?” he asks, a mysterious smirk touching his lips.

“Um…I would say ‘Let’s do it’, but…how would we do that, exactly?” I ask, giggling in confusion at the look on his face. 

“Well, there are some perks to being me, believe it or not,” Michael teases, his arms still wrapped low around my waist.

I grin and giggle softly, still thinking he’s joking.

“So? How ‘bout it?” he asks, grinning down at me. “Will you marry me tomorrow, sweet girl?”

I peer up at him in stunned silence, blinking owlishly as I realize he is being completely serious.

“You- You mean it?” I whisper, my eyes searching his as my hands come to cradle his face.

Michael smiles softly, his hands coming up to cover mine. “Of course I mean it, sweet girl. Forever with you is what I’ve wanted my entire life. I want forever to start as soon as possible.”

My heart swells with love for him at his words. An adoring smile touches my lips as I stroke his cheek.

“Then let’s do it,” I say softly, needing absolutely no persuading. I wanted nothing more than to marry him as soon as possible. He was the man of my dreams and I still couldn’t quite believe that life had brought me to this moment.

Michael beams at my immediate agreement. His hands cup my face tenderly as he dips his head down, kissing me slowly, passionately. His nose nuzzles mine sweetly as he presses his forehead to mine, both our eyes still closed as he speaks.

“I love you so much, Kendra,” he whispers, his soft breath puffing against my lips.

“I love you more, Michael,” I reply just as softly, making him smile.

“Not even married yet and she’s stealing my lines,” he teases, sighing and shaking his head in playful exasperation as I giggle softly.

“Alright, I better make some calls so we can get this show on the road,” he says, pecking my lips.

He releases me before sitting back down at his desk. He picks up the phone and starts making phone calls. 

No stone is left unturned. He arranges for a beautiful set-up under his “Giving Tree” for the ceremony, as well as a large tent with an equally beautiful setting for the reception nearby. He also calls around until he finds someone who can officiate at such short notice.

He calls his stylist, making sure he had something to wear for the ceremony. However, he is more concerned with my own attire. He knew I was already emotional, missing my mother more keenly than ever right now. He wanted to make sure I still got that magical moment of finding the perfect dress, wanting me to have the wedding of my dreams. Lastly, he calls his family, informing them of our plans to marry the following day. 

Later that afternoon I am stunned when someone shows up at the door with several assistants. All of them wheel in rack after rack of designer wedding dresses in different styles for me to choose from. 

I lead them to a large guest room so they can set everything up. I look on in awe at the sea of white dresses as they pass by. I look over my shoulder when Michael steps up behind me before I turn to face him.

“You didn’t have to do all of this, Michael. I would marry you in jeans and a t-shirt for all I care,” I tease, grinning up at him. My hands come up to rest against his chest as he wraps his arms around my waist and holds me close.

“Absolutely not,” he replies, shaking his head. “You deserve to feel like a princess every day, but especially now. I want this to be a day that always makes you smile when you remember it.”

“It will be, Michael,” I reply softly as I peer up at him. “Because I’m marrying the man of my dreams. How could I be anything but happy?” I ask before I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him sweetly.

After a moment, Michael pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. “I know you miss your parents even more right now, especially your mother. And I wish so badly that I had the power to bring them here. But all I can do is promise you that, from now on, you will never be alone again. I’m your family now, and I will always, always be by your side.”

“I know, Michael. I know,” I reply softly, tears glistening in my eyes. “I love you so much,” I whisper, kissing him once more.

“I love you more, sweet girl,” he replies, pecking my lips several times, making me smile. “Now, get in there and have fun picking your dress. I’m sure you’ll look beautiful, no matter what you choose,” he says, releasing me before turning me around and nudging me towards the rows of beautiful gowns lining the room.

I spend the next hour looking through my options, but none of the dresses really resonate with me. I bite my lip as tears fill my eyes, wishing so badly that my mother was here, sharing this moment with me. I missed my father, too, of course. But it was another thing entirely for a girl to not have her mother there to share the happiest day of her life.

Unbeknownst to me, when Michael had called his family, he had made a special request of his mother and sisters. Knowing I needed support during this emotional moment, he asked them if they could come to Neverland. After talking with him for all of five minutes, they assured him they were on their way. 

I stand in the middle of the room, tears rolling down my face. I felt so very alone in this moment and it was becoming more and more difficult to enjoy the process of picking out my wedding dress. This was a moment every woman should treasure, but instead, all I could think about was that my mother should be here right now.

As if on cue, the door to the guest room opens and the four of them walk in. Seeing the tears on my face, his sisters immediately come forward, surrounding me in a group hug. I can’t help but laugh through my tears, my heart swelling at how loving and kind they were towards me already, even though they barely knew me. 

They pull back and I look up, my bottom lip trembling when I see his mother, tears glistening in her own warm, dark eyes. She steps forward, enveloping me in a tight, motherly embrace.

“I know I could never replace your mother, dear, and I would never dream of trying to,” she says, gently rubbing my back as she holds me, my head resting on her shoulder as I close my eyes. “But as long as I’m around, you will always have me. You’re a Jackson now, and that means you will never be short on family.”

We stay like this for some time before I finally manage to gather myself. I thank the four of them profusely for being here, feeling a weight lifting off of my shoulders, and my heart, as they begin to help me choose the perfect dress.

After trying on several dresses that didn’t quite feel right, I glance up as Janet pulls one from the rack. A soft smile tugs at my lips as I immediately feel drawn to it, but the true test comes when I slip it on. Behind the partition, I carefully step into the dress and adjust it before stepping out, my heart fluttering nervously as I smooth my hands down the delicate bodice.

The moment I emerge, the room goes silent, followed by a collective gasp.

“Oh, Kendra,” La Toya whispers as she looks over me in awe.

“You look absolutely beautiful, sweetheart,” Katherine says, a fresh wave of tears filling her eyes.

“You look like a literal Disney princess, Kendra,” Rebbie says, smiling as she looks at me.

“Mike is gonna flip when he sees you, girl,” Janet says, giggling.

I flash them a nervous grin before I slowly walk over to stand in front of the floor-length mirror. My hands come up to smooth over the delicate bodice of the dress as I look over my reflection. Tears fill my eyes as it finally hits me: I was really getting my happily ever after, with the man of my dreams. I couldn’t believe that I was here right now.

The dress is a vision of understated elegance. The tulle fabric drapes effortlessly over my frame, light and ethereal, but not overly voluminous like a traditional ball gown. The sweetheart neckline dips low, stopping at the top of my breasts, leaving my collarbones and neck bare, with just a hint of tasteful cleavage. The sheer bodice over my abdomen gives just a peek at my skin, covered by intricate white-on-white embroidered flowers and delicate leafy vines that seem to bloom across the fabric. The straps, instead of resting on my shoulders, drape softly down to my elbows, adding a touch of whimsical romance to the dress. The skirt falls gracefully to the floor, its gentle flow moving with each step I take, completing the ethereal, dreamlike look. 

I change back into my normal clothes before carefully hanging the wedding gown on its hanger. I place it on the back of the door, setting aside my chosen shoes and veil. Once I let the people who brought them in know that I’ve made my choice, they begin to wheel the racks back out, taking their leave shortly after.

Michael’s mother and sisters leave soon after, needing to find their own dresses before tomorrow’s ceremony. I hug each of them goodbye, thanking them for being here to share this moment with me. It had meant so much to me, more than they could ever know. 

Once they are gone, I go off to find Michael. I walk down the hall, stopping when he steps out of another guest room, where he had been having his own try on session, also trying to find something to wear the next day. A smile lights up my face as he turns to face me.

“Hey, handsome,” I say as he reaches out, tugging me close. I stand on my tiptoes, kissing him softly as my arms slip around his neck. “Did you find something?”

“I did,” he replies with a matching grin, nodding as he holds me. “What about you? Did you find the perfect dress?” he asks, his hands gently rubbing my back.

“Mhmm,” I hum softly, my nose nuzzling his sweetly. “Thank you, by the way,” I say softly.

“For what, sweet girl?” he asks, one hand coming up to cup my cheek when he sees tears in my eyes.

“For calling your mother and sisters,” I respond, leaning into his touch. “It meant a lot, having them here to help me.”

“I’m glad they could be here for you, baby,” he replies softly, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that escapes to roll down my cheek. “I have one more surprise though.”

I cock my head and smile curiously as I peer up at him, still held in his arms. “Michael, what else could there possibly be? I think you’ve done more than enough.”

“Well,” he says, squeezing my waist gently, a teasing smile on his lips. “I still need to pick out a ring for myself, and…you’re going to need to pick something that goes with your dress. So…” At this, he releases me before he opens the door to another unused guest room. 

I step inside and gasp at the sight before me—a man stands surrounded by cases of dazzling earring and necklace sets, just waiting for me to peruse to my heart’s content. My jaw drops in awe. 

I knew I had to be standing amid millions of dollars worth of jewelry. I was never one to wear it all that much, but I was beyond touched by Michael’s unending thoughtfulness and generosity.

“Michael…” I breathe his name softly as I look back at him over my shoulder. “You really didn’t ha-” I continue as I turn to face him. However, he cuts me off, pressing a finger to my lips.

“I wanted to, sweet girl,” he replies, smirking softly when my eyes cross slightly, looking at his finger. “You deserve to have the perfect day. Besides, I’m about to be your husband. That means I have the legal right to spoil you as much as I damn well please.”

The two of us spend the next hour looking through everything. Michael chooses a simple white gold band, matching the metal that my own ring is made of. I take a bit longer to choose. However, fresh tears fill my eyes as they catch a set that looks remarkably similar to the jewelry I’d seen my mother wearing in my parents own wedding photos. It was almost uncanny and I knew, deep down, that it was my mother's way of letting me know she was with me always, but especially now.

Michael glances at me, immediately coming to my side when he sees tears in my eyes. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asks softly as he reaches out to brush a tear from my cheek.

I clear my throat softly as I look up at him, smiling tremulously. “I-I’m fine. It’s just…this looks just like the jewelry my mother wore when she married my dad. It’s like- It’s like she’s letting me know she’s here,” I explain as I look back down, my fingers lightly stroking the necklace, the diamonds shimmering under the lights. “Does that sound ridiculous?” I ask with a soft chuckle as I look back up at him.

“Not at all, baby,” he replies as he caresses my cheek with the backs of his fingers before he leans down, pressing his lips to my forehead in a gentle kiss. “She’s always with you. And as much as I’m sure she wishes she could be here fully, I absolutely believe she is trying to tell you she’s here for you, in whatever way she can be.”

I offer him a teary smile before I lift my hands to his face. I stand on my tiptoes, kissing him slowly before I press my forehead to his.

“I love you so damn much, Michael Jackson,” I whisper softly against his lips, my heart swelling. “And I can’t wait to be your wife.”

“I love you more, Kendra,” he replies just as softly, stealing the line I had playfully stolen earlier, making me grin. “I’ve longed for this day for most of my life, and I can’t believe it’s finally here.”

Later that evening, I reluctantly kiss Michael goodnight. We had decided to follow tradition and sleep apart the night before our wedding. However, as I leave to sleep in one of the cottages on Neverland’s grounds, a wave of regret washes over me. We hadn’t spent a single night apart since I returned from my little trip through time. I knew, though, that it would make it all the more special when we see each other for the first time tomorrow as I walk down the aisle.

Once I’m settled and changed into my pajamas, I turn off the lights and get into bed, snuggling under the covers. Between my excitement for tomorrow and the strangeness of being in an unfamiliar bed without Michael’s arms around me, it takes forever to fall asleep. Eventually, exhaustion takes over, my eyes grow heavy, and I finally drift off, a soft smile touching my lips as I dream of what is to come.

[mjkinkwiz]

Moonwalk Through Time - Part 12

Saturday arrives, and I find myself standing before the full-length mirror in the bedroom, eyeing my reflection critically. My hands glide down my sides, smoothing over the soft fabric of my dress. Turning slightly, I examine myself from different angles before facing the mirror head-on once more. Biting my lip, I tilt my head, then shrug as if to say, This is as good as it’s going to get.

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice Michael’s presence as he comes down the hall. He stops, leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches me. But when he notices my hesitant shrug, his smile fades into a frown.

“Why don’t you smile at yourself, sweet girl?” he asks as he pushes off of the doorframe to walk over and stand behind me in front of the mirror. I blink at the sound of his soft voice and lift my eyes, giving his reflection a weak smile as his hands come up to rub my arms gently.

“I-I don’t know, Daddy,” I reply softly with a shrug as I lower my head, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

Michael continues to frown in concern as he gently turns me around to face him. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, my head still bowed submissively. He lifts his hand, his finger slipping beneath my chin to gently tilt my head, forcing me to look him in the eye.

“Don’t you know how beautiful you are?” he asks softly as he continues to hold my chin, his thumb stroking my bottom lip.

I swallow nervously before I shrug, averting my eyes. I had never been the most confident of women. It still amazed me that, of all people, Michael loved me. He was one of the most handsome, successful men on the planet. He could literally have any woman he wanted. The fact that I got to call him mine was baffling to me.

“But you are, Kendra,” he breathes, his gaze warm and unwavering. “Your beauty isn’t just in how you look though, sweet girl. It’s here,” he says, pressing one of his hands to my chest, feeling my heart beat beneath his palm. “You’re beautiful here, too. Your heart, your kindness…that is what truly makes you so beautiful.”

I blush at his loving, passionate words. I can’t help but smile as his thumbs gently stroke my cheeks as he leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to my lips.

“And if you don’t believe me, I guess I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life proving it to you,” he continues, making me giggle softly before I step closer, resting my cheek against his chest as his arms immediately come around me, holding me in a loving embrace.

“I love you so much, Daddy,” I whisper softly in his ear, my arms wrapping around his waist as he holds me tightly against his chest.

“I love you more, sweet girl,” Michael whispers, kissing the top of my head as he holds me. “Always more,” he continues softly, one of his hands stroking my hair tenderly.

An hour later, the two of us sit in the back of the car, the hum of the engine barely registering over the sound of my own thoughts. I rest my head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around me, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along my arm. My stomach twists with nerves, but I focus on the calming rhythm of his breathing, letting his presence steady me.

Michael holds me close the whole way to Hayvenhurst. I continue to take deep, calming breaths as my hand presses to my abdomen, trying to ease the nervous butterflies that are fluttering wildly in the pit of my stomach. I drape my legs over his lap, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder. I eventually manage to calm the anxiety welling up inside me, that is until we come to a stop at the gate. I manage to keep my anxiety at bay… until the car rolls to a stop at the gate. My stomach clenches as I watch the main house draw closer, nerves gripping me all over again.

The car comes to a stop, my heart pounding as the door opens and Michael steps out. I swallow hard as he turns back, offering me his hand. Taking a steadying breath, I place mine in his, letting him guide me to my feet. My grip tightens instinctively, and he responds with a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"It'll be alright, sweet girl," he murmurs. "My family is going to love you, I promise.”

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. I tilt my head, attempting a smile, but it wavers—more a nervous grimace than anything else.

Michael leads me to the front door, my hand clasped firmly in his. Stepping inside, I close the door behind me before following him obediently toward the sitting room, where the somewhat familiar sound of his brothers’ voices drifts through the air.

Still holding my hand tightly in his own, he leads me down the hall and around the corner. I hide behind him as much as possible as his brothers and sisters all stop talking, turning to look at us. 

“Hey, everyone!” Michael greets them, smiling. I swallow, twisting my fingers nervously when he releases my hand as Janet jumps up and comes over, hugging him tightly.

“Hey, Applehead,” she says, smiling as they hug, rocking back and forth playfully.

“Hey, Dunk. How have you been?” Michael replies, giving her a gentle squeeze before they let go.

“I’m just fine, but enough about me,” she says, waving him off with a laugh. My stomach flips nervously as she turns to me with a warm smile—one that reminds me so much of Michael’s. “Who’s this?” she asks him, looking at him briefly before turning her smile on me once more.

“This is Kendra…” he replies, giving me a knowing smile and winking playfully before he looks back at Janet. “…my fiancée.”

Her jaw drops, as does everyone else’s, at Michael’s casual reveal that he is suddenly engaged after fifty years of, as far as his sisters knew, being completely single with no desire to date whatsoever. He delivers the news with the same nonchalance as if he’d just mentioned that his favorite color is red.

“WHAT?!” Rebbie, La Toya and Janet all shout in unison, their wide eyes darting between Michael and me as if trying to make sense of what they just heard.

I shift beside him, my face growing hot under their stunned gazes. Forcing an awkward smile, I lift a hand in a small, uncertain wave.

La Toya’s sharp eyes immediately lock onto the ring flashing on my finger. Before I can react, she grabs my hand, pulling it closer. My blush deepens as all three of them crowd around, inspecting the beautiful white gold band. A three-carat cushion-cut diamond sits proudly atop it, encircled by delicate peridot stones—a subtle nod to my August birthday.

“Wow, good job, Mike!” Rebbie teases, shooting him an approving grin. 

I giggle softly as he puffs out his chest, grinning with unmistakable pride.

“It is beautiful,” I say, tilting my head up to smile at him, the love I have for him evident in my eyes.

Michael smiles down at me adoringly, his arm wrapping around my shoulders to tuck me into his side.

“Baby, these are my sisters: Rebbie, La Toya and Janet,” he introduces, nodding to each of them respectively as he says their names, though I of course already know who they are.

"It—It's nice to meet you all," I say, offering a warm but undeniably nervous smile.

"It's great to finally meet you!" Janet exclaims, stepping forward without hesitation. A surprised sound escapes me as she wraps her arms around me in a warm, welcoming hug. I quickly recover, returning the embrace, relieved and overjoyed that they seem so accepting of me already.

“We’ve heard so much about you!” La Toya chimes in, coming forward after Janet pulls back, hugging me as well.

“Seriously! My little brother never shuts up about you!” Rebbie adds to the conversation as she takes her turn to greet me with a warm hug as well. “You’ve got him head over heels, girl!”

I blush, grinning shyly as I glance over at Michael, catching his eye. He blushes as his sisters tell on him, giving me a playful wink as he grins at me over Rebbie’s shoulder.

"W-Well, the feeling is mutual," I reply with a soft giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as my cheeks burn. I steal another glance at Michael before ducking my head shyly, my heart fluttering at the way he’s looking at me.

“What’s all the commotion out here?” a soft voice suddenly cuts in from the doorway. 

I look over and swallow nervously when I see Michael’s mother standing there, a dish towel in her hands. She must have just come from the kitchen, where she’d been preparing dinner.

"Mother!" Michael greets warmly, stepping forward to wrap her in a tight, affectionate hug.

"Hello, baby," she replies, smiling as she hugs him back just as tightly. When they pull apart, she reaches up, gently patting his cheek. "It's good to have you home.”

They share a brief moment, catching up, before he takes her hand and leads her over to me. I offer a soft smile, though my nervousness is clear in the way my fingers twist together in front of me.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet someone very special,” Michael says, looking at Katherine with a warm smile. “This is Kendra.”

At this, he turns to me, his eyes filled with love. “Kendra, this is my mother, Katherine.”

“H-Hello, Mrs. Jackson,” I say softly, giving her a warm smile as I offer her my hand.

She surprises me, however, by waving away my hand. Instead, she steps forward, wrapping her arms around me in a warm, motherly hug. 

“It’s wonderful to finally meet the young lady my baby can’t seem to shut up about,” she says as she pulls back, cradling my face in her soft hands.

“Mother!” Michael groans, laughing as his hand comes up to cover his face, which is heating with embarrassment.

“You were right, baby,” she says, ignoring his embarrassment as she continues to hold my face in her gentle hands. “She’s as beautiful as you said she is.”

It is my turn to blush, and I giggle shyly at her words. I can’t help but grin as Michael groans through a laugh as he continues to hide his face in complete and utter embarrassment as his mother playfully tells on him.

Michael drops his hand, and he can’t help but smile warmly at the sight before him as his mother looks back at me.

“Thank you, sweetheart, for making my boy so happy,” she says, her hand gently patting my cheek.

Tears well up in my eyes, her words making my heart swell with happiness.

“That’s all I want, Mrs. Jackson,” I reply softly. “I’m lucky that I get to be the one that makes him happy,” I say sincerely, meaning every word.

“I like her,” she says, looking over at Michael, who is grinning so much it’s a wonder his face hasn’t split open.

“I’m glad to hear that, Mother,” he replies, still grinning, “because I have some news.”

Michael reaches for my left hand, lifting it gently and drawing his mother’s attention. I swallow hard, my heart pounding as her eyes drop to my finger. The moment she notices the ring, a sharp gasp escapes her lips, her expression shifting from curiosity to pure shock.

“Oh my…” she breathes, taking my hand in both of hers as she inspects the gleaming ring. Then, as realization sets in, her face lights up. “My baby’s finally getting married!” she exclaims, making us all laugh.

I bite my lip, my nerves creeping back in despite her excitement. Would she still be as supportive now that she knew just how serious our relationship was?

Mrs. Jackson releases my hand to wrap her arms around Michael, hugging him tightly.

“I’m so happy for you, sweetheart,” she says as she pulls back, cupping his face in her hands before she gently pulls him down to her, kissing his cheek.

“Thank you, Mother,” Michael says, smiling warmly back at her. She smiles, patting his cheek before releasing him. 

I swallow nervously as her attention is once again brought back to me. My heart races in my chest as she pulls me into another motherly hug, making me practically deflate in relief.

“Congratulations, and welcome to the family, Kendra,” she says as she gently rubs my back. It was clear that Michael had inherited his sweet, loving nature from her.

“Th-Thank you, Mrs. Jack-” I start to reply, but she stops me, shaking her head as her hands gently grip my shoulders.

“None of this ‘Mrs. Jackson’ nonsense. You call me ‘Mother’,” she says, causing tears of profound gratitude to well up in my eyes.

I had lost my mother almost five years before. So for her to readily welcome me into her family, to immediately treat me as though I were one of her own, words could not express how grateful I was to her in this moment.

“Thank you…M-Mother,” I reply softly, my eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

Michael watches quietly, well aware of my loss and the emotions it must be stirring inside me. He stays back, not wanting to interrupt the touching moment between the two most important women in his life. Tears fill his eyes, his heart swelling in his chest as he sees just how much it means to me that his mother has so easily accepted me.

Michael’s mother eventually makes her way back to the kitchen to continue preparing the meal. Meanwhile, he leads me over to the couch, and we sit and talk with his brothers and sisters.

As the conversation flows around us, laughter and warmth filling the room, I feel Michael’s fingers gently intertwine with mine. I glance over at him, my heart skipping a beat at the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the most precious thing in the world.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs softly, his words just for me.

I nod, giving his hand a small squeeze. “More than okay,” I whisper back, my lips curling into a tender smile.

His eyes soften even more, and for a moment, it’s like we’re the only two people in the room. Then, with a grin, he leans in just enough to press a sweet, lingering kiss to my temple before pulling me even closer against his side.

Michael’s mother eventually calls everyone to the table and we stand, making our way to the dining room. I thank Michael as he pulls out my chair, helping me in as I sit down. I smile softly as he takes the seat next to me, Janet sitting on my other side. 

I blink as the chatter immediately stops and I look up, seeing Joseph walk in. He stops when he reaches his chair and looks around. His eyes land on me and they narrow suspiciously. 

“Who the hell are you?” he asks rudely as he continues to glare at me.

“Joseph, language!” Katherine admonishes him before she explains. “This is Kendra, Michael’s fiancée.

I swallow nervously, my stomach twisting in nervous knots all over again. I feel somewhat relieved when I feel Michael’s hand reach over to cover mine underneath the table, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“It- It’s nice to meet you, Mr.- Mr. Jackson,” I say, stuttering slightly. It was more than a little intimidating, the way he stood there, staring me down, as though assessing whether or not I was a threat that needed to be neutralized.

To everyone’s surprise, Joseph merely grunts in reply as he takes his seat. I blink before I turn my head, looking at Michael, not entirely sure what to make of it. Michael just shrugs, his brows raised slightly, as if to say he was just as confused as I was.

Unfortunately for me, Joseph’s relatively uneventful reaction to my presence lulls me into a false sense of security. We all begin to pass the food around, making our plates. As everyone is talking amongst themselves, his gruff voice interrupts the din of conversation.

“What do you want with my son?” he asks bluntly, his eyes staring me down from across the table. I look up slowly, my hand going still in the middle of spooning some mashed potatoes onto my plate.

“I-I’m sorry?” I ask, stunned at being put on the spot all of a sudden. My hand falters, the spoon slipping slightly in my grasp as I try to scoop some onto my plate. 

“You heard me,” Joseph replies shortly. “What are you doing with my son?”

“Joseph, that’s en-” Michael tries to interject, but Joseph puts up a hand to stop him.

“Boy, be quiet. I was talking to her,” he cuts him off before turning his cold, piercing green eyes back to me, his eyes devoid of the warmth Michael’s held.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. My cheeks flare with heat, wanting nothing more than to disappear through the floor as everyone looks between Joseph and myself, like we were some kind of fucked up tennis match.

“I-I love Michael,” I reply softly, my fingers gripping Michael’s hand like a lifeline beneath the table. “I want to make him as happy as he makes me,” I say, turning my head to smile up at him, love shining in my eyes.

“You want his money,” Joseph interjects, his tone making it sound like an irrefutable fact.

I recoil as if he’d physically struck me, everyone else at the table letting out audible gasps at Joseph’s blunt rudeness. The room falls into an uneasy silence as Michael opens his mouth to speak, looking livid. However, I surprise him by squeezing his hand and giving a subtle shake of my head when he turns to me, frowning in confusion. I give him a small, reassuring smile, even though it feels like my entire body is wracked with nerves. 

I keep a tight hold on Michael’s hand as I turn my eyes back to Joseph. I sit up straight and pull my shoulders back, gathering my courage. I was intimidated, but I would not just sit here passively while he took shots at my character, especially when he didn’t even know me.

“Mr. Jackson, I don’t want anything from your son, except his love,” I say firmly, though my body is trembling. “All I want is to love him and to have the chance to make him as happy as he makes me, every single day.”

“Oh, please,” Joseph retorts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t nobody want that boy. I know what you are. You’re a gold-digger, and once you’ve bled his wallet dry, you’ll leave him.”

Another audible gasp sounds around the table. I frown deeply, my lips parting in shock—not just at how cruel he is to someone he’s just met, but at the implication that his own flesh and blood is unlovable.

"Mr. Jackson, I don’t want Michael’s money,” I say, my voice deceptively calm, though there’s a slight tremor beneath it as I keep a tenuous grip on the tether of my temper. “I’ve spent almost twenty-two years of my life without it, and I’ve taken care of myself just fine.”

Katherine smiles approvingly at me from her seat at the end of the table. She was glad that, even though I was clearly nervous, I wasn’t afraid to stand up for myself.

“There,” she says before Joseph can reply. “Now that that’s settled, let’s eat.”

“Katie, we have to protect him,” Joseph says, unwilling to let it go.

“Joseph, I’m not a child,” Michael cuts in, having had more than enough at this point. “I love Kendra, and I know she loves me. I trust her and I know in my heart that she isn’t using me.” He looks over at me and I smile softly, seeing my love for him reflected back at me in his warm, kind eyes.

“Michael, you’re too soft,” Joseph grumbles in reply. “You’ve always been too soft. You can’t see it when people are just using you. You trust people too easily. I’m trying to protect you here.”

“I don’t need protection, Joseph,” Michael cuts him off, his tone growing more and more tense. “I’m a grown man! I don’t need you interfering in my personal life.”

“Yes, you do,” Joseph grits out through clenched teeth, his fist hitting the table as his frustration grows. “You’ve always been blind to the way the world actually works! She’s going to chew you up and spit you-”

“I’ll sign a prenup!” I say suddenly, silence falling over the room at my words. 

“What?” Joseph says with surprise, though his eyes are still narrowed suspiciously.

“I said I’ll sign a prenup,” I say again, my cheeks blazing as everyone’s eyes turn to me once more. 

“Good. At least someone is seeing sense,” Joseph says, a slight smirk of triumph on his face. Meanwhile, Michael’s eyes snap quickly to me.

“The hell you will!” he replies firmly before he looks at Joseph. “That is quite enough, Joseph. You have been nothing but rude and cruel from the moment you walked in and I won’t have you disrespecting the woman I love like this.”

“But, Michael, if she’s willing to sign it you can protect yourself. Why the hell wouldn’t you?!” he asks, frowning as his irritation grows.

“Because if I let her sign a prenup I might as well be saying I don’t trust her or her love for me!” Michael retorts, his body trembling with adrenaline next to me. 

My heart swells at his trust in me. I was happy that Michael was secure in my love for him, but if I needed to sign a prenup to put his family at ease, I would do it without hesitation.

“Michael, it’s alright,” I say as I squeeze his hand reassuringly. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll sign it if it will prove to your family that I love you…for the right reasons.”

Michael shakes his head, turning to face me. He takes both of my hands in his, his eyes searching mine intensely.

“No, sweet girl. It’s not alright,” he says softly but passionately. His hand continues to hold mine, while his other comes up to cup my cheek. “I know you love me. I don’t need you to sign a piece of paper to prove that. More importantly, I will not demean you, or diminish your love for me, by asking you to.”

“You can’t be ser-” Joseph starts, still unwilling to give in. However, this time it is Katherine who has had enough. 

“Enough!” she says firmly, her voice louder and more forceful than I’d ever heard it. “It’s Michael’s life and his relationship. He knows what he wants and he’s the only one who truly knows Kendra. He trusts her, therefore so do I. I won’t have you disrespecting this sweet young lady at my table anymore. Either behave yourself and eat your dinner, or you can leave.”

Thankfully, Joseph is smart enough to keep his mouth shut from then on. We all go back to filling our plates and chat amongst ourselves as we eat the delicious meal that Katherine had prepared.

Hours later, Michael and I are in the car, heading home. He opens his arms and I immediately scoot across the leather seat, tucking myself into his side. A soft sigh of contentment escapes me as I drape my legs over his lap, calm instantly washing over me when I’m back in his arms again. I close my eyes as I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry about dinner earlier,” Michael murmurs into my hair before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head. I tilt my head up to look at him, my hand lifting to his cheek.

“It’s alright, Michael,” I reply softly. “I know, in his way, your father is trying to look out for you.” He stares at me for a moment before he chuckles softly.

“You are unbelievable, you know that?” he asks softly before turning his head to press a kiss to my palm. I cock my head, giving him a confused smile.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my smile brightening when I feel his lips against my skin.

“You’re just always so kind, to everyone,” he replies softly as he strokes my cheek. “Even when someone might not deserve it. I love that about you.”

I blush and smile shyly before I gently pull him down to me for a kiss. We stay like this the entire two and a half hour drive home, just talking, kissing, and holding each other. We soon pull through the gates of Neverland and I smile softly, instantly feeling at peace in our own private little world. We get out and make our way inside and up to our bedroom, more than ready to spend the evening alone, just the two of us.

I slip off my shoes and stand on my tiptoes, giving him a quick kiss before I disappear into the ensuite bathroom to get ready for bed. I brush my teeth and remove my makeup before I undress, tossing my clothes in the hamper. I turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat up. Once it's warm, I step in and slide the glass door closed.

I wash up quickly before I turn off the water and slide the door open. I wrap a towel around myself before I step out. I dry my hair and do the rest of my usual nighttime routine before I open the door and step out into the bedroom. I stop in my tracks when I look up and notice the lights are off, the room dimly lit by candlelight. I look over and my stomach instantly fills with butterflies when I notice Michael sitting in the armchair that is placed diagonally across from the foot of the bed. 

Michael sits there, barefoot, his long curls loose and hanging around his shoulders. He wears the same black button-up shirt he wore at dinner, but it is unbuttoned, revealing his firm chest and abs. He is still wearing his pants, though they are undone, giving me a peek at his black boxers. He has, however, removed his belt, and the sight of it resting on the arm of his chair sends a flare of excitement through me. If you looked up ‘sinful’ in the dictionary, there would be a picture of him there, looking just like this.

“Take off the towel, Little One,” Michael says softly, though his tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. When he addresses me like that, my hands move to obey without a thought. 

The towel falls to the floor around my feet, leaving me completely bare to his heated gaze. He sits up slightly, gesturing with a crooked finger for me to come closer. 

Once again, I obey his silent command without hesitation, stepping toward him slowly. I stand beside his chair and close my eyes, my breath trembling slightly when he reaches up to stroke the side of my right breast with the backs of his fingers.

“So beautiful,” he whispers softly as he touches me, goosebumps forming on my pale skin. “I want you to do something for me, Little One.”

“A-Anything, Daddy,” I reply softly, my response immediate. A brief, small smirk touches his lips at my obedience, though I remain unaware.

“Always so eager to be a good girl for me,” he hums softly, biting back a smirk at how readily I obey.

A flush of pleasure rolls over my skin like a wave, a delicate shade of pink traveling from my cheeks to the swell of my breasts at his praise.

“I want you to lie on the bed and spread those beautiful legs,” he says, his dark eyes staring intensely into mine.

I nod before I immediately turn and walk over to the bed. I crawl up to the head of the bed and lie down. I bite my lip as I slowly spread my legs open, revealing all of myself to him.

“Lovely,” he breathes, his eyes looking over every inch of my naked body. “Now, I want you to touch yourself for me,” he commands softly.

Butterflies flutter wildly in the pit of my stomach as embarrassment washes over me at the thought of touching myself in front of him. Yet, the idea of anything less than my complete and utter obedience never even crosses my mind. Blushing, I take a deep breath to steel my courage. I peer up at the ceiling, too shy in this moment to look him in the eye, as my right hand slowly moves between my legs. 

Michael watches silently as I begin to rub slow circles over my clit. My eyes fall closed, a soft gasp of pleasure escaping me. My bottom lip quickly becomes trapped between my teeth as I try to muffle my moans. My folds grow slick with arousal, my excitement heightened at the knowledge that he is watching me touch myself for the first time.

My toes flex into the mattress as my finger dips lower to tease my entrance. My other hand slowly caresses the length of my body as it travels upwards before gently cupping and massaging my left breast, while my right remains nestled between my legs.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Don’t stop,” he commands softly as he watches from the chair in the corner.

A soft whimper escapes me when I gently pinch my hardened nipple between my thumb and middle finger. Meanwhile, I continue to rub my entrance with my other hand. I drag my teeth over my bottom lip as I dip the tip of my finger inside the pool of wet heat between my legs. 

“Oh, Daddy,” I moan breathily as I begin to slowly thrust my middle finger in and out of my aching core. 

“Does it feel good, Little One?” he calls softly from his seat in the corner, his hand drifting down to palm himself through his pants.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” I moan in reply as I continue to move my fingers in slow, deliberate strokes, my body responding eagerly to the pleasure building inside me.

Michael’s dark eyes remain locked on me, ablaze with longing. He reaches inside his boxers, freeing his hard member from its confines. He continues to watch me pleasure myself as his fist slowly strokes up and down his rigid shaft.

My heavy lids part just enough to take him in. A moan escapes me at the sight, my pleasure heightening as I watch him stroke himself in the corner. My finger moves faster, my thumb circling my aching clit in tandem. My breath grows ragged, my moans rising as pleasure coils tighter in my belly with each stroke.

Within minutes, I feel myself teetering on the edge. The knowledge that Michael is watching me in such an intimate moment sends a fresh wave of heat through my body, heightening every sensation. My chest heaves as my fingers move faster, a desperate whine slipping past my lips, my body aching for release. The pressure coils tighter, my muscles locking as a high-pitched keen escapes me. Then, at last, it crashes over me—I tumble into bliss, a long, loud moan of his name spilling from my lips.

“D-Daddy!” I cry out before collapsing onto the bed. My chest rises and falls as I pant for breath, one hand resting between my breasts while the other lies limply on my thigh, my fingers still slick with my arousal. My eyes remain closed as I come down, my body weightless from the pleasure still coursing through my veins.

Still lost in the lingering waves of pleasure, I don’t notice Michael rising from his chair. A sharp gasp escapes me as his hands suddenly grip my thighs, spreading them open with deliberate force, pressing my knees to my shoulders. My cry turns into a desperate moan the moment I feel his tongue—hot, eager, and relentless—lapping at me hungrily.

It doesn’t take long before I’m trembling beneath him, moaning helplessly. His tongue moves with expert precision, knowing exactly how to unravel me and send me spiraling into bliss.

“Ohhh, my God!" I moan, my hand flying down to grip his hair. My hips roll instinctively, grinding my dripping pussy in a slow, sensual rhythm against his tongue.

Within minutes, my breathing turns ragged, each gasp coming quicker as I near the edge. A sharp cry rips from my lips when his teeth graze my swollen, sensitive clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through me. That final push is all it takes—the coil inside me snaps, pleasure crashing over me in waves. My entire body tenses, then melts into bliss as I cum, his name tumbling from my lips in pure ecstasy.

“D-Daddy!” I moan loudly as he growls, his tongue greedily lapping up every last drop my body has to offer.

Michael slows his pace, his tongue now tracing gentle, languid strokes over my folds. A soft sigh of relief escapes me as I close my eyes, surrendering to his touch. My fingers weave through his loose curls, my body melting beneath his tender ministrations.

After minutes of this sweet torment, I can take no more. My fingers curl around his shoulder, tugging gently, yearning to feel his lips on mine. He rises over me, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath. My hand lifts to cradle his cheek, my thumb tracing his skin before I pull him into a deep, unhurried kiss.

My hands slip down the sides of his neck before exploring the planes of his firm chest. I hum softly into our languid kiss as my hands glide over his shoulders, slipping his unbuttoned shirt down his arms.

He tugs his shirt off the rest of the way, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. His lips find mine again in a passionate kiss, swallowing my desperate whimper as I reach down, tugging at his already unbuttoned pants. I take his boxers with them, eager—aching—to feel him inside me once more.

“Please, Daddy,” I beg through a low moan as he kicks his pants and boxers the rest of the way off. “I need you, p-please..”

“Shh, Daddy’s got you, Little One,” he coos, cradling the back of my head in his palm. 

His other hand slides down to grip my thigh, guiding it over his hip. His dark, smoldering gaze locks onto mine as he sinks into me, inch by inch.

"Is this what you needed, sweet girl? Hmm?" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. His hips move in a slow, deliberate rhythm, savoring every inch of my tight, welcoming heat.

We make slow, passionate love until we are both utterly spent. Now, we lie tangled in the sheets, our bodies slick with a light sheen of sweat. With my eyes closed, I rest against Michael’s chest, nuzzling into the warmth of his neck. A contented sigh slips from my lips as his fingertips trace lazy patterns up and down my spine. A soft smile forms when he tilts his head, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“I… love you… Daddy,” I murmur softly into his neck, my voice hazy as sleep begins to pull me under.

“I love you more, my sweet girl,” Michael whispers, his fingertips gliding up and down my back in soothing strokes. “Always more.”

I fall asleep, feeling safe in Michael’s arms. I had no clue that when the sun rose in the morning, it would bring with it one hell of a surprise.

[mjkinkwiz]

Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Michael Jackson (Musician) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Michael Jackson/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Michael Jackson, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Romance, Science Fiction, Time Travel, Bad Era (Michael Jackson), Thriller Era (Michael Jackson), HIStory Era (Michael Jackson), Dangerous Era (Michael Jackson), Invincible Era (Michael Jackson), Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Mature Era (Michael Jackson), Off the Wall Era (Michael Jackson), Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Light Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Explicit Consent, The Jackson 5 Era (Michael Jackson), Jacksons era (Michael Jackson), Love, Falling In Love, Time Travel Fix-It, daddy dom Summary:

A young woman named Kendra is mysteriously sent back in time to guide a young Michael Jackson through life. She realizes she is being given the opportunity to right the many wrongs that one of the most famous, most loving, and yet most persecuted people in the world had been subjected to. What she didn't plan on, however, is falling in love with him. It's an amazing yet terrifying feeling, falling in love with someone who might still be gone forever by the time she returns to her own time. Can she change the course of history, and possibly even save his life in the process, and get her happily ever after?

[mjkinkwiz]

Moonwalk Through Time - Part 10

“I have a question I need to ask you, sweet girl…”

At Michael’s words, I pull back. I sniffle softly, reaching up to wipe the tears from my cheeks before I cock my head curiously. I search his eyes, still not noticing as his hand clutches something in the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Al-Alright. What- What is it, Michael?” I ask softly, wondering why he seems so nervous all of a sudden. Michael takes a deep breath, his eyes staring intensely into my own as he speaks.

“I love you so much, baby. You have been there for me my entire life. You have guided me, cared for me, and protected me. You have literally saved my life, in more ways than I even know about. You are my guardian angel and I love you with everything I have. I have waited a lifetime for you, and I would wait a thousand more to be with you if that’s what it took. You are everything I’ve wanted since I was fourteen. You’ve been my best friend, my protector, and my lover, . You’re it for me. You’re my soulmate and I can’t imagine loving anyone else.”

A fresh wave of tears fill my eyes and I let out something between a laugh of pure happiness and a sob, overwhelmed with love for him at his words. Still not realizing exactly what is happening in this moment, I continue to search his eyes through my tears as he goes on.

“But it’s my turn now, sweet girl—to take care of you, to protect and love you. I want to do just that every single day for the rest of my life. Will you let me do that? Will you let me spend the rest of my life making you happy?” Another sob escapes me at his passionate words, tears escaping to roll down my cheeks. My hand grips his tightly as I nod quickly.

“Of c-course, Michael. I can’t- I can’t imagine my life without you, not anymore. I don’t think I could live without- without you,” I reply, my voice trembling with emotion. He smiles softly, his eyes filled with his love for me, his thumb gently stroking my knuckles as he continues to hold my hand in his.

“Then I just have one more question, baby,” he says, making me cock my head slightly in confusion as my eyes search his.

“W-What is it, Michael?” I whisper softly, both of us still kneeling in the middle of my living room floor, surrounded by sunflowers and candlelight.

Michael finally pulls his hand from his pocket and I look down as he lets go of my hand. My hand quickly comes up to cover my mouth as I gasp in shock, seeing the small black velvet box in his hands as he opens it, revealing a beautiful ring.

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world and be my wife? Will you marry m-” He whispers softly, tears still swimming in his dark eyes. A soft whimper escapes me as my tears fall freely, unable to hold them back. He doesn’t even manage to finish asking his question as I nod and reply without even a second of hesitation.

“Y-Yes! Of course, yes!” I answer, nodding quickly before I cup his face in my hands and crash my lips over his, kissing him deeply.

We kiss passionately until we are both breathless. I press my forehead to his as I wrap my arms around his neck, his arms slipping around my waist. My eyes still closed, I pant softly against his lips, both of us just holding each other, knowing that for the first time, I wouldn’t be taken away from him ever again.

“I love you so much, Michael,” I whisper, my nose nuzzling his sweetly.

“I love you more, Kendra,” he replies, a soft grin touching my lips at those familiar words, this time spoken only for me.

We stay like this for a while, neither of us seeming to be able to let go of the other. Eventually, Michael forces himself to pull back and he presses a sweet kiss to my forehead before he takes the ring out of the box and slips it onto my finger. I sniffle, smiling as I look down at it, sparkling in the candlelight. I blink and look up as he moves to his feet. I watch curiously as he walks over to my couch and, instead of sitting down, he pulls off the cushions. I raise an amused brow as he drops them onto the floor. He then grabs a few throw blankets and pillows, creating a nest of blankets and cushions.

“What are you doing?” I ask, grinning softly as he walks over to me. He leans down, effortlessly picking me up off the floor and lifting me into his arms, my sandals falling off of my feet to land on the floor with a dull thud. My arms automatically wrap around his neck as he carries me, bridal style, over to the makeshift bed he’d made on the floor.

“I’m making love to my fiancée…properly,” he replies simply, kissing me sweetly before he slowly and carefully lowers me onto the pile of cushions and blankets. He stands up straight before he toes off his loafers, his socks quickly following suit. I lie still, peering up at him silently. I swallow, my chest heaving slowly as my breathing deepens. We had made love many times, but this time felt…different somehow. 

My heart begins to race as I watch him pull off his suit jacket. He tosses it over the back of the couch before he pulls the tail of his shirt from his pants, his long fingers beginning to slowly undo the buttons one by one. Shirt now undone, his hands move down to unbuckle his belt, followed by the fly of his pants. His eyes stay glued to mine, the desire I find in them making me shiver. He pulls off his shirt, tossing it over the back of the couch to join his jacket. Next, his hands move to push his pants and boxers down to pool around his feet. 

My eyes slowly rake over his body, a soft moan falling from my parted lips at the sight of his long, thick and very hard cock. I follow his movements as he comes forward before he kneels down on the makeshift bed. I obediently lift my arms above my head as he grips the hem of my dress and slowly pulls it up and off of me. He tosses it aside and I arch my back slightly as he reaches beneath me to undo the clasp on my bra, which he tosses aside to join my dress. I lie still, our eyes watching each other intensely as he comes over me. I sigh softly in relief when I feel his bare skin against mine. My arms reach out for him, wrapping around his neck and pulling him down into a deep, slow kiss as he rests his body gently on top of my own.

One of his hands moves to cradle the back of my head, his other one reaching down to stroke my hip and thigh as we continue to kiss passionately. I let out a trembling gasp when I feel Michael’s hard shaft against my pussy. I spread my legs, my knees bent on either side of him as my hips cradle his body on top of mine. 

“Please, Daddy. I need you. Please..” I whisper pleadingly, my eyes fluttering open to search his.

“Shh, Daddy’s got you, sweet girl,” he replies softly against my lips. His hand grips my thigh, hiking it up over his hip before he reaches down to slowly slip his long middle and ring fingers inside me.

“Ohhh God! D-Daddy,” I whine softly as his fingers gently stretch my tight walls, my eyes rolling slightly at the pleasure, which is mixed with slight pain, my body still sore. 

He stops, seeing the slight wince of pain on my face. I whimper in protest when he slowly pulls his fingers out of me. However, my disappointment is short-lived. I sigh softly as he begins to kiss over my jawline and down my neck. He kisses and licks over the swell of my breasts, his mouth and tongue teasing my hard nipples. He continues lower, nipping teasingly at my hips before he leaves a path of soft, wet kisses over my abdomen, his tongue dipping into my belly button, making my muscles clench at the ticklish feeling, a soft giggle escaping me before I can stop it. He smiles at the sound before he gently urges me to spread my legs further. 

He moves to lie on his stomach as he begins to kiss, lick and suck at my thighs. I bite my lip, peering down to watch him as he begins to kiss over my lips, purposely teasing me as he takes his time. Only when he has me squirming with need beneath him does he finally have mercy. His thumbs gently spread my lips to reveal my clit, which is swollen and peeking out from its hood. My clit throbs as he moans at the sight and I bite down harder on my lip as he leans in and slowly but firmly drags his tongue up the length of my slit, from my entrance to my clit. 

“Unh Daddy!” I moan in pleasure and relief as he begins to lap at my sore pussy with his warm, wet tongue, gently easing the ache.

I gasp sharply, my back arching slightly when he captures my clit between his lips and sucks at it gently. My eyes roll further back in my head as he pulls the sensitive button deeper into his mouth, massaging it with the flat of his tongue. 

Michael eats my pussy slowly, easing me over the edge gently. I let out a long, low moan, my eyes closing in bliss as I cum. I whimper as his tongue laps up every drop of my juices. He kisses his way back up my body, finally reaching my lips. I hum softly as we kiss languidly, tasting myself on his tongue. My hands come up to cup his face before my fingers move up into his hair, which is slowly beginning to escape the elastic that holds it back.

I immediately wrap my legs around his waist as he rests his body on top of mine once more. I moan as we continue to kiss passionately, feeling his tip prodding at my entrance. My fingers continue to thread through his hair, absentmindedly pulling the elastic from his hair, freeing his long curls. I let out a muffled groan into his mouth as he slowly slides his rigid length inside me. 

My eyes flutter open and I moan as I am met with his own dark, heated stare. His loose curls fall around us as he begins to roll his hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. I cling to him tightly as his hand continues to cradle the back of my head, his other hand slipping beneath me to wrap around my waist, holding me close as he makes love to me.

“God, you feel so good, baby. You al-always feel so fucking good,” Michael groans through clenched teeth as his hips continue to roll into mine. “Can I stay inside you all day, sweet girl? Daddy never wants to stop making love to you.”

I moan at his words, nodding as he presses his forehead to mine. “God, y-yes! Whatever- Whatever you want. Don’t- Don’t stop. Please don’t ev-ever stop, Daddy,” I whisper through a breathy moan against his lips.

He growls at my reply, his hold on me tightening as he lifts me off the floor slightly, holding me flush against him. His lips move along my jaw and down to my neck. I close my eyes and groan through clenched teeth as he begins to suck hardly at my pulse, leaving yet another mark on my pale skin.

I turn my head slightly before I begin to leave my own mark on his neck. We cling to each other as we make love, my hips beginning to meet his own as he continues to roll his hips into me sensuously. A sharp cry is ripped from my throat when he angles his hips slightly, his cock finding and stroking my spot perfectly, sending pleasure radiating through every inch of my body. I blush, hearing my wet pussy squelching loudly around him, my juices creaming on his rigid shaft.

I whimper as he suddenly lifts me further as he sits back on his haunches. I wrap one arm around his neck, my eyes staring into his. My other arm stretches behind me, bracing my hand on the floor as I obey his silent command and begin to ride him, rolling my hips over his cock slowly. 

“Ohh God, yes! You f-feel so good in-inside me, Daddy,” I moan as I let my head fall back, my long curls draping down my back. 

I gasp softly, biting my lip as I moan in pleasure, feeling Michael’s tongue on my heated skin as he leans down to drag it up the length of my throat. My walls clench when he nips playfully at my chin before his lips find mine once more. 

I hum against his lips as we kiss hungrily. My hips continue to roll over him as he thrusts up into me. I groan in pained pleasure, my hand moving off the floor to grip my lower abdomen, feeling his cock deep inside me, but I never wanted him to stop. He kisses his way to my ear, making me shiver as his warm breath puffs across my skin.

“Does it feel good, Little One? Do you like having Daddy’s cock deep inside your tight little pussy?” He whispers, his voice rough with pleasure as we continue to writhe against each other, his head pulling back slightly to look into my eyes.

I moan loudly, nodding in reply, unable to speak as I gasp for breath. My arm wraps tightly around his shoulders, my other hand tangling in his loose curls as I press my forehead to his. My eyes flutter open, staring into his own as I begin to slide my pussy up and down his hard shaft.

“D-Daddy, I-I need- I need to cum. P-Please, can- can I cum?” I beg, a look of agony on my face, but all I feel is pure pleasure. Michael moans deeply in approval when I beg for permission.

“Yes, Little One. You can cum,” he whispers huskily. His hand slides up the length of my spine, then up further to grip the hair at the back of my head. “Cum for me. Let go and cum for me, Kendra”, he commands as he pumps his cock up into me harder and faster. 

“Th-Thank you, Daddy,” I moan in relief. His grip on my hair tightens, forcing me to look him in the eye, and I whimper at the pained pleasure.

My breathing becomes faster and deeper as the feeling of pleasure grows more intense by the second. My eyes are wide, my pupils blown wide as they stare into his own, unable to look away as he continues to grip my hair tightly. A soft, high-pitched keen tumbles from my parted lips as my walls clench around his cock as I fall over the edge and cum, my juices spilling over his shaft.

“D-Daddy!” I whine as I continue to gasp for breath, the pleasure of it all completely overwhelming. 

My body trembles in his arms as I collapse against his chest, resting my cheek tiredly on his shoulder. One of Michael’s arms wraps around me, under my ass to support me, holding me up. His other hand continues to cradle the back of my head, his grip loosening on my hair. My hand comes up to up his cheek, my tired eyes searching his as he continues to thrust up into me as he gets up on his knees, his hands gripping my ass for leverage as he drives towards his own pleasure. 

“Cum in-inside me. Please, Daddy,” I whisper breathily against his lips as I press my forehead to his.

I whimper at his urgency as he suddenly crashes his lips over mine, kissing me almost desperately. He gives me one last hard thrust, holding his shaft deep inside me as he cums hard, filling my womb with his seed. Even after all this time, neither of us had ever even thought about protection. 

“Fuck! Unh K-Kendra!” He groans my name, his voice muffled against my lips as he grunts, giving me a few more staggered thrusts as he empties himself inside me completely. 

Both of us panting for breath, he gently lays us back on the floor, in our makeshift bed. We lie in each other’s arms for a while as we come down from the intense high of our lovemaking. Michael eventually gets up to blow out all of the candles before he comes back over to me. I squeal and giggle as he lifts me into his arms and carries me down the hall as I direct him to my bedroom. 

We make love once more before I fall fast asleep in his arms. This had been the longest, most emotional day of my entire life, and I was exhausted. I lie in his arms, my head resting on his chest as I sleep deeply. He watches me for a while before he can no longer fight sleep himself. 

I sleep for hours before I begin to wake the next morning. I stretch languidly and groan softly, my body sore. My eyes flutter open and I smile softly as I tilt my head up, watching as Michael sleeps peacefully. I sit up before I press a soft kiss to his lips. Careful not to wake him, I slip out of his arms and get out of bed. I walk into the ensuite bathroom and close the door before I run myself a hot bubble bath. 

I turn off the water once the tub is full and carefully step in. I lower myself into the hot water and lay back with a sigh of relief. I close my eyes as I just lie there, soaking and letting the hot water ease the ache in my muscles and between my legs. Still rather tired, I can’t fight it as I fall into a light sleep. 

“N-No.. No, not again. P-Please, not again! I can’t- I can’t take it any-anymore!” I am abruptly woken up at the sound of Michael’s muffled voice coming from the bedroom. I had never heard such fear and panic in his voice before and I was more than a little alarmed. 

The water thrashes around me as I scramble to climb out of the tub. I push the door open and run out into the bedroom, oblivious to my nakedness, as well as to the fact that I’m dripping water all over the floor. My heart breaks at the sight before me. Michael sits on the bed, his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

“M-Michael?” I say softly as I slowly step closer. “Michael, what is it? What’s wrong?” I ask with concern as I reach out to brush my hand over the back of his head. 

I gasp sharply in surprise as he quickly lifts his head, his face stained with tears. Without warning, he stands and roughly pulls me into his arms, hugging me so tight I can barely breathe. I whimper as he buries his face in my neck and I wrap my arm around his shoulders, holding him to me as my other hand continues to comb soothingly through his long curls.

“Daddy, talk to me. What’s the matter?” I ask softly in his ear as he continues to cling to me, as though afraid I might disappear.

“I-I woke up and- and you were gone,” he says, sniffling softly. “I thought- I thought you had been t-taken away from- from m-me. I thought it was- I thought it was hap-happening a-again.” My eyes close at the realization and I mentally kick myself for being so stupid and causing him to worry.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I was being stupid,” I reply softly as I continue to hold him and stroke his hair, trying to soothe him. “I was just, um, really sore,” I explain, blushing. “S-So I- So I wanted to take a hot bath. I wasn’t thinking about how you might react if you woke up a-alone. I’m sorry I scared you,” I say, kissing his forehead as he continues to cling to me.

“It’s okay,” he whispers as he lifts his head, pressing his forehead to mine, his hands coming up to cup my face. His thumbs stroke my cheeks, seemingly trying to reassure himself that he isn’t just dreaming.

“I’m here, Michael. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere, ever again. I promise,” I whisper reassuringly against his lips. 

“I know. I know, sweet girl,” he whispers before he kisses me slowly. He eventually pulls back, smiling softly as the backs of his fingers caress my cheek. “Let’s get you back in that bath, baby,” he says before he pecks my lips.

I squeal and giggle sweetly as he stands, lifting me up in his arms. He carries me into the bathroom and carefully lowers me down into the hot, soapy water. He steps in behind me and sits back, his long legs on either side of me. He gently pulls me to recline back against his chest and I sigh softly, closing my eyes in contentment as he wraps his arms around me. 

After relaxing for a while Michael gently urges me to sit up. Just like he had done before, he washes my hair carefully, taking care of me. He rinses my hair before he pulls me to rest back against him once more. I watch as he wets a washcloth, lathering it with soap before he begins to wash my body. He takes his time, bringing me over the edge as he gently rubs the cloth between my legs. He presses a kiss to my temple, holding me in his arms as he rinses the suds from my body. 

After his gentle ministrations I am putty in his hands, feeling completely weightless and relaxed. He stands, holding me in his arms as he grabs a towel. He gently sets me on my feet, wrapping the towel around my wet, naked body before he lifts me once more, carrying me out to the bedroom. He lays me on the bed and I watch him, my eyes soft and full of the deep love I feel for him as he dries me off. He rummages through my drawers next, finding me fresh, comfortable clothes: a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt.

I blush, a soft, adoring smile touching my lips as he helps me get dressed. I raise a brow as he urges me to lie back and he covers me with the blankets before he leans down, kissing my lips before he nuzzles my nose sweetly with his own. I bite my lip, watching his naked form retreating from the room as he goes to the living room. He comes back moments later, now wearing his boxers. He comes over, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Stay here and rest, sweet girl. I’ll go to the kitchen and make us some breakfast,” he says, smiling softly as he peers down at me. I smile shyly and nod, my heart swelling with love for him at his care for me.

“O-Okay, Daddy,” I whisper in reply. I sigh softly as I close my eyes and I feel his lips on my forehead. I turn onto my side as he leaves the room once more, quickly falling back to sleep, never having felt such peace as I do in this moment.

[mjkinkwiz]

Moonwalk Through Time-Part 9

I let out a little gasp of shock when I reappear somewhere else. Gripping the sheet and holding it tight around my naked body, my eyes slowly scan my new surroundings. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize I’m in Michael’s house, at Neverland. Unfortunately, my relief is short-lived. My eyes widen when I hear movement behind me and I slowly turn around. A blush instantly appears on my pale cheeks, spreading all the way down my neck and over the swell of my chest. There Michael sat, in the sitting room at Neverland, staring back at me with his mouth hanging wide open. Unfortunately for me, he wasn’t alone. All five of Michael’s brothers stare with wide-eyed shock as a naked woman, wrapped up in nothing but a sheet, appears out of thin air, right in front of them.

“What the-“ Jackie breathes as they all continue to stare at me. I swallow nervously, giving them a sheepish smile, which looks more pained than anything, and an awkward little wave as I continue to hold the sheet around my body.

Michael snaps out of his stupor and quickly stands, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tightly. I rest my cheek against his chest, one arm wrapping around his waist. However, my other hand continues to clutch the sheet. I didn’t need to add to my embarrassment in this moment.

“You’re here!” Michael says, smiling happily before he pulls back. He cradles my face in his large hands and kisses me deeply. He pulls back, chuckling and blushing as it finally registers in his mind that I’m currently standing almost completely naked in his living room, surrounded by his brothers.

“Wait, is that…?!” Marlon says, sitting forward as his eyes look over my face. This catches everyone else’s attention, all of them sitting forward as well, their eyes moving from my body, up to my face, my very…familiar…face.

“So…my brothers are here,” Michael says with a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, his other arm still wrapped around my waist. I continue to blush as I look up at him with a lopsided smirk.

“So I see,” I murmur softly, completely embarrassed that his brothers were seeing me like this.

“Uh…Mike?” Jermaine cuts in as they all continue to stare at me, shock and bewilderment evident in their eyes, along with something else that I wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Marlon cuts in again, his eyes still studying my face closely. “Isn’t she the girl that saved your ass when we filmed that Pepsi commercial?” He asks as his eyes move to Michael.

“Uh….yes. She is,” he replies, knowing there was not point in lying. They had all just seen me appear out of thin air.

“But….how?!” Randy asks, frowning in confusion as he looks me over as well. “She- She looks exactly the same. That’s impossible!”

“Yeah,” Tito chimes in, looking just as confused as the rest of them. “That was twenty years ago. She looks like she hasn’t aged a day!” Michael sighs, still holding me close in his arms. At Tito’s words, I realize it must be 2004 right now.

“I told you guys back then and you didn’t believe me,” he replies, shrugging.

After eavesdropping on us that day in his dressing room, Michael’s brothers had pestered him endlessly about who I was. He had finally decided to just tell them the truth, that I was from the future and had been traveling through time to visit him, ever since he was a little boy in Gary, Indiana. Of course, they thought he was just making up wild stories and just didn’t want them to know or get anywhere near me. However, after what they just witnessed, they were beginning to realize that, as impossible as it seemed, Michael had been telling the truth the entire time.

“Holy shit,” Jackie breathes, staring at me dumbly, completely floored that this was actually happening.

“But again….How?” Randy asks once more, finding it difficult to grasp the situation. I couldn’t really blame him. I was the one all of this craziness was happening to, and yet I still couldn’t quite believe it myself. I clear my throat softly, all of their eyes moving back to me at once.

“Um…I-I was taking a walk around my- my neighborhood, in my time. While I was walking, I found this lying on the ground,” I explain, holding up my arm to show them the charm bracelet that was still around my wrist. Their eyes are drawn to the delicate, silver music notes that adorn the bracelet.

“And- And when is your time ex-exactly?” Jermaine asks without taking his eyes off the bracelet, eyeing it apprehensively.

“I-I’m from two- two thousand and nine,” I reply before I worry my bottom lip between my teeth nervously.

“Two thousand and- Holy shit..” Jackie says again, seemingly unable to snap out of it as he continues to stare at me. My blush brightens and I give him a sheepish smile.

“Y-Yes, two thousand and nine. As soon as I put the bracelet on I was taken to Gary, Indiana, just a few days before you all auditioned for Motown,” I continue to explain, my fingers absentmindedly playing with the charms on the bracelet out of nervous habit.

“Whoa,” Jermaine says, his eyes still staring at the bracelet warily.

“So you’ve been coming to him all these years, ever since he was a kid. But he’s older than you, so you went back to 1968 before you were even born?” Marlon asks, looking even more confused when he says it out loud.

“Uh, yeah. I’m having a very…weird day,” I reply with a soft chuckle, my fingers tugging at my ear, still feeling completely flustered that I was standing in the middle of Michael’s sitting room, surrounded by him and his brothers, and I was still wearing next to nothing.

“No kidding,” Jermaine says jokingly, scrubbing his face with his hands, as though trying to assure himself that he’s not having some kind of weird dream.

I chuckle softly, surprised they were taking this as well as they were. They looked freaked out for sure, but they weren’t running out of the house screaming. I considered that a plus. Michael chuckles softly before he looks down at me. It’s in this moment that he finally realizes the state I’m in, in front of his brothers no less.

“Oh! Baby, I have your…dress…upstairs,” he says sheepishly, rolling his eyes as, predictably, his words cause their eyes to travel over my body yet again. I breathe a sigh of relief and nod. “It’s hanging on the back of my bathroom door.”

I blush as Michael gives me a quick kiss before he pats my ass, gently urging me towards the stairs. My blush deepens as the others smirk knowingly. The implication that I showed up wearing nothing but a sheet and the fact that my clothes are currently in his bedroom was making it quite clear what we had been doing the last time we had seen each other. Not only that, but the fact that I clearly know exactly where his bedroom is made it more than a little obvious.

I make my way upstairs and slip into Michael’s bedroom. I close the door before I walk across the room and turn on the light in his ensuite bathroom. I smile softly when I find my dress hanging right where he said it would be. I take it off the hanger before I drop the sheet and slip the dress over my head. Once I’m dressed I toss the sheet in the hamper before I turn off the light.

I make my way back down the stairs. I hear muffled voices coming from the sitting room, fairly certain I had heard my name. However, when I turn the corner and walk back into the room, Michael and his brothers immediately go quiet. I blush hotly, the fact that they’ve all suddenly gone quiet letting me know that they had, in fact, been talking about me while I was out of the room. Michael looks up, smiling when he sees me

“Hey, baby. Come here,” Michael says as he holds his hand out to me.

I immediately obey, crossing the room and taking his hand. I blush as he tugs me down to sit on the couch between him and Marlon. I smile softly as Michael wraps his arm around me, holding me close into his side.

Over the next half hour his brothers ask me about myself in an effort to get to know me. It was obvious to them, simply by the way Michael looked at me every time I spoke, that I was important to him. There was no question that he loved me, not when he was looking at me the way he was. Not to mention, it provided an explanation as to why their brother had refused to date or even so much as ask a girl for her phone number.

“So, why do you think all this is happening?” Jackie asks curiously. At his question, the others look over at me, looking just as curious for the answer.

I swallow nervously, biting my lip to hold back the tears that threaten to fill my eyes. I glance up at Michael and he gently squeezes my shoulder as he holds me, giving me a sad smile. However, he nods gently, encouraging me to be honest.

“Um, well…” I clear my throat, nervous as I recall Michael’s initial reaction when I told him all of this. “You- You remember seeing me in 1984?” I ask and they all nod, staying silent as they wait for me to continue. In- In my original time, obviously I wasn’t even born yet. That means that I-I was never there to- to push him out of the- the way.”

Michael can tell that it’s becoming more difficult with each word for me to keep the tears at bay, so he gently rubs my arm as he keeps his arm wrapped around my shoulders, his other hand reaching over to hold mine, squeezing gently to give me courage.

“Michael’s hair caught on- on fire. He was left with second and- and third degree burns on his scalp,” I begin to explain, all of them frowning deeply at this knowledge. “Because of this, his hair never grew back. So, he- he had to wear wigs for the rest of his life.”

“Wow, that’s awful,” Jermaine says, looking over at Michael. However, at the look on Michael’s face, it’s clear that there is much more to it. Jermaine looks back at me, going quiet so I can continue.

“The- The pain from the burns never went a-away,” I explain, my voice quiet and audibly trembling. “He- He developed an addiction to- to pain pills. He also struggled his entire life with- with insomnia. He just- He was so desperate to sleep that- things just got out of control, and- and he had a-a heart attack after taking something that- that never should have been given to him, especially not when he was at home, not in a h-hospital.“ I sniffle, a tear escaping to roll down my cheek as my grip tightens on Michael’s hand. “I-I’m from 2009, June twenty-fifth to be exact, and in my original time…it-it’s the day he d-died.”

Unable to hold it back, a sob escapes me and I turn my head to bury my face into his chest. Michael’s arms immediately wrap around me, his fingers combing through my hair gently as he whispers words of love and assurance in my ear, letting me know he was there, that he was healthy and safe, and it was all because of me.

“D-Died? In- In 2009? But…He’d only be f-fifty!” Marlon breathes, frowning deeply in shock. The others frown as well, their eyes all glistening with telltale tears, obviously and understandably deeply upset at hearing all of this.

“And- And drugs?! Mike doesn’t touch that shit,” Randy says, shaking his head. I smile sadly, remembering how Michael had said the exact same thing when I had revealed his possible fate.

“I-I know, but you have to understand,” I begin to explain gently as I lift my head, pulling my face from his neck. “In my time, no one was there to stop the accident. He- He was in constant, excruciating pain for years. There was nothing that could be done. He was just desperate for the pain to stop. He just- He just wanted to sleep. It wasn’t- It wasn’t his f-fault.”

“You said she was an angel,” Tito says, looking over at Michael. “You weren’t kidding.”

I blush hotly, embarrassed at his words. I give them all an awkward smile as they look at me in awe. Michael smiles softly down at me, squeezing me to him closer before he looks back at his brothers, nodding.

“Yes, she is. If it weren't for her, I have a feeling my life would be very, very different right now,” he says softly. “But she is here, and she saved me, and because of her, I’ve lived an amazing life, and I plan to continue to do so for years to come. I’m healthier and happier than ever. Though I’ll be much happier when she’s with me for good and won’t go disappearing on me anymore,” he says, winking down at me and smiling adoringly when my blush brightens.

I grin and giggle shyly as they all look at me, smirking at my obvious embarrassment. I blink in surprise when Michael cups my cheek and gently tilts my head up. My eyes search his curiously before they close instinctively as he leans down and kisses me sweetly.

“Now, I haven’t seen my girl in almost three years, and I have no way of knowing how long we’ll have together this time,” Michael says before he looks up at his brothers and smirks. “So if you knuckleheads could see your way out..”

I squeak in surprise when I suddenly find myself being hoisted over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I gasp at his words, my face turning beet red. His brothers all laugh, smirking knowingly. It didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out exactly what he was saying.

“Michael!” They chuckle when they hear me scolding him playfully as he carries me out of the room and up the stairs. I huff as I hang over his shoulder, laughing as I swat playfully at his ass.

“Michael Joe Jackson, put me down, you butthead!” I shout through giggles, the others laughing when they hear my muffled voice as they walk to the door and outside to head home.

“That’s not very nice!” Michael taunts, his large hand suddenly coming down in a sharp slap on my ass, making me yelp, my hand instinctively moving back to cover my backside protectively.

“Hey!” I shout through giggles before I shriek as he unceremoniously drops me onto the bed, making me bounce before I lie back, still grinning up at him as he takes off his loafers and socks.

My grin slowly softens and my heart flutters in my chest at the way Michael is looking at me. I swallow as my eyes track his movements. His eyes stay glued to my face as his long, nimble fingers begin to undo the buttons on his shirt. My hands reach down to grip the hem of my dress, but I stop, my eyes searching his for permission. Michael smirks softly in approval before his features soften and he nods.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers softly as he continues to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving me.

I moan softly at his words as I slowly lift my dress up and over my head. I toss it to the floor before my bra quickly follows. As Michael had ruined and stolen my panties, I now lie naked in the middle of his bed.

“So beautiful,” he says as he brushes the side of my left breast with the backs of his fingers before he continues to unbutton his shirt.

He undoes the last button, leaving his shirt on but open, his firm chest and toned abs on display. He stares right back at me as he reaches down and unbuckles his belt.

I squirm as my eyes dart to the belt, the metallic clank of the buckle making me whimper as he pushes his pants down to let them pool around his feet. Michael turns his head slightly, looking at me sideways as he narrows his eyes in playful suspicion.

“Oh, Little One?” He coos softly, his voice taking on a teasing, sing song tone. Oblivious that he had noticed, my eyes immediately snap to his, giving him my undivided attention.

“Yes, Daddy?” I reply sweetly, cocking my head a bit in curiosity. He smiles softly, easily able to see how badly I want to please him. He comes over and sits on the edge of the bed as he reaches out to stroke my cheek.

“Daddy is going to ask you a question, and I need you to answer honestly. Can you promise to do that, sweet girl?” He asks, his eyes searching mine. I frown slightly in concern but nod.

“Of course, Daddy. I wouldn’t lie to you,” I reply earnestly, my eyes still searching his in curious concern.

“That’s my good girl,” Michael replies, smiling softly as he continues to stroke my cheek. I blush and smile softly as I continue to peer up at him.

“What is it, Daddy?” I ask softly as I press my cheek into his palm, my own hand coming up to cup his cheek. I smile softly when he presses a sweet kiss to my palm.

“Daddy noticed you looking at his belt before,” he says, a soft pink blush instantly spreading on my cheeks, making him chuckle knowingly. “Tell Daddy. Tell Daddy what you want him to do with his belt.”

My eyes widen and I blush hotly, from my cheeks to my breasts. I whimper and cover my face, followed by a muffled groan of embarrassment. I pull my hands down to just below my nose. “D-Do I have to- have to say, Daddy?” I ask meekly as I peek up at him shyly.

“Yes, Little One,” Michael replies with a nod before he raises an eyebrow. “You promised Daddy you would tell the truth, remember?” He asks, my eyes instinctively lowering submissively at his gentle reminder.

“Y-Yes, sir,” I reply softly. Still blushing, I bite my lip nervously before I swallow as he nods for me to continue. I force myself to speak, though my voice is barely above a whisper. “I-I wanted you to use it on- on me, Daddy.” He bites his lip to hold back a moan. However, I don’t notice as I keep my eyes down.

“How do you want Daddy to use his belt on you, Little One? Hmm?” He asks, humming softly.

“Daddy!” I whine as I cover my face with my hand, completely embarrassed. I groan when he gently reaches up to pull my hands down away.

“Tell Daddy. You’re Daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?” He says softly as his fingertips trail lightly down my neck and over my collarbone. I whimper softly and squirm in embarrassment, but I obey.

“I-I wanted you to- to s-spank me with- with it, Daddy,” I reply softly but honestly, still blushing. Michael bites his lip to hold back the growl that threatens to escape at my words.

“Yeah? You want Daddy to whip you with his belt?” He asks, wanting to be absolutely sure that this is what I want. Still blushing, I nod slightly.

“Y-Yes, sir,” I reply softly, my head still bowed demurely.

“Whatever my sweet girl wants,” Michael hums softly in reply before he gently pats my thigh. “Turn over and get on your hands and knees for me, Little One.

My heart begins to race in my chest at the realization that this was really about to happen. I can’t help but instinctively feel a little scared, but the excitement that wells up inside me far outweighs any fear. I immediately turn over before I obediently pull myself up onto my hands and knees. My fingers grip the sheets beneath me tightly as I face the headboard. My breath hitches softly when I hear the soft metal clank of his belt buckle as Michael bends down to pull his belt from the loops on his discarded pants. My heart picks up speed and I begin to tremble with nervous anticipation when I feel his presence moving behind me. I peek back at him and I bite back a moan. He was standing there wearing nothing but his boxers and his open button-down shirt, a few of his short curls coming down to hang in his eyes. He looked like sex personified.

“Hmm…” Michael hums softly as he cocks his head. His eyes are ablaze with desire as he gazes at my very wet pussy. “You are excited, aren't you, Little One?” He says, chuckling softly.

“Y-Yes, sir,” I whisper in reply, knowing there is no point in lying. The evidence of my excitement was currently dripping down my thighs. I whimper softly when I feel his fingertips lightly petting my swollen lips, teasing me before he pulls his hand away.

“Daddy is going to give you ten lashes. Do you think you can handle that, Little One?” He asks softly, now brushing the cool leather of his belt over my round ass teasingly.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” I whisper in reply, still trembling with excitement. I close my eyes, whimpering when I feel the cool leather on my bare skin.

“I want you to count each one out loud. Can you be a good girl and do that, sweet girl?” He asks softly as he continues to tease my bare skin with the thin strap of leather.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” I reply immediately, my voice merely a breathy whisper. My grip tightens on the sheets beneath me, forcing myself not to squirm.

“Good girl,” he praises softly before he stands up straight, wrapping the buckled end of the belt around his hand. His free hand reaches out to stroke the curve of my ass. “Are you ready, Little One?” He asks, and I nod, keeping still as I wait for the blow.

I stare at the headboard as I wait. After making me wait in silence for several agonizing seconds before he pulls his hand back as he holds the belt before he strikes, bringing the strap of leather down over my left ass cheek. I squeak, more in surprise than anything. He hadn’t struck me hard enough for it to actually hurt, but I knew that I had nine more to go.

“O-One, sir,” I say softly as I continue to kneel on my hands and knees.

This continues until we reach five lashes. The power behind his strikes steadily increases. Tears sting my eyes, but at the same time, the pain was mixing with pleasure, making my pussy drip even more down my thighs. However, I was not prepared for the sixth blow. I gasp and cry out, my eyes rolling back when he brings the belt down. This time, it catches my swollen lips, making my clit throb.

“S-Six, sir!” I moan out loudly, unable to to stop it. My back still to him, I don’t see Michael’s reaction. He bites his lip, fighting to not break character, wanting nothing more than to bury his face between my thighs.

I whimper when I feel his hand splay over the middle of my back. He gently urges me to lean down and rest my cheek on the mattress. This effectively spreads me wide open, my swollen clit on display as it peeks out of its hood. He takes a deep breath and pulls the belt back, bringing it down once more. This time he purposely catches my pussy, a loud crack echoing off the walls when it catches my clit.

“F-Fuck!” I scream loudly, my eyes rolling back further in my head. My body trembles and my clit throbs needfully. “S-Seven, sir,” I say, my voice audibly shaking with arousal.

Michael’s grip tightens on his belt, still fighting the urge to taste me. He pulls his arm back once more, but this time, he brings the belt down, directly on my clit, three times in quick succession.

“Ohhhh fuuuuck!” I moan even louder, my voice echoing throughout the room. “E-Eight! Nine! T-Ten, s-sir!” I let out a sob, my clit throbbing with the sting, but a pleasure so intense wells up between my legs.

Michael hears my sob and, thinking he had hurt me, he quickly casts the belt aside, letting it drop to the floor, a whimper involuntarily escaping me when he stops. He moves to kneel beside the head of the bed, frowning in concern as he reaches out, brushing a long curl back out of my face and tucking it behind my ear. My eyes flutter open and I pant softly as I search his eyes, frowning at the obvious worry I see in them.

“Daddy? What- What’s wrong?” I whisper, oblivious to the tears staining my pale cheeks until he cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my tear-stained face.

“You- You’re crying, sweetheart,” Michael says softly as he continues to look over my face in concern. “Did Daddy hurt you?” He asks, looking upset at the thought that he might have. My frown deepens and I shake my head before I press my cheek into his palm.

“N-No, Daddy!” I reply breathily, rushing to reassure him that I’m okay.

“Then why are you crying, baby girl?” He whispers, his thumb still brushing over my damp cheek. I blush, squirming slightly as my clit continues to throb with pleasure and need.

“It, um…” I mumble before I clear my throat, forcing myself to continue, though my voice is still shy and meek. “Your belt, it- it hit my- my clit, Daddy.” At this confession, Michael presses his lips together tightly, fighting once more to stay in character.

“Oh?” He asks softly, his brow raised with interest. “Did it hurt, Little One?” I lower my eyes demurely as I nod.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” I whisper in reply. He bites his lip, searching my face before he speaks.

“Daddy needs you to be really honest again, Little One. Can you do that?” He asks. I nod and he smiles softly. “Did you like that it hurt, baby?”

At his question I blush beet red. I look down as my teeth worry my bottom lip in embarrassment. A soft whimper escapes me when he reaches out to gently tip my chin to make me look him in the eye. He raises a stern brow and I swallow before I nod.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” I admit softly, my eyes searching his shyly. “Is that- Is that…bad?” I ask, clearly ashamed by my confession. He frowns before his eyes soften and he shakes his head.

“No, sweet girl. Of course not,” Michael reassures me softly, his thumb stroking my cheek. He bites his lip as he searches my eyes intensely. “Do you want Daddy to keep going?” He asks, still kneeling on the floor at the side of the bed.

It takes everything in me not to bury my face in my pillow in complete and utter embarrassment. I swallow nervously as I continue to blush, my face burning hot.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” I whisper softly. As embarrassed as I was, the thought of lying to him never once crosses my mind. He smiles softly in approval at my answer and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises softly, his fingers gently combing through my hair and pushing it back out of my face. I whimper softly, preening at his praise as I lean further into his touch.

I take a deep, trembling breath as Michael stands and moves back to his position behind me. I continue to kneel on all fours on the bed, waiting.

“Lay your head down for me, Little One,” he commands gently.

I blush for what seems like the hundredth time, but I obey. I lean down, resting my cheek on the mattress, effectively spreading myself open for him once more. He picks up his belt off the floor, wrapping the end with the buckle around his hand like before. I squirm a bit in anticipation before I force myself to keep still.

“Good girl,” he coos softly when I go still. “Now,” he continues, his free hand reaching out to brush his fingertips over my left hip, “How many lashes should Daddy give your pretty little pussy, hmm?” I moan softly at his words, swallowing thickly before I speak.

“How- However many you- you think I deserve, D-Daddy,” I whisper in reply, my voice trembling as I instinctively give the only possible answer my mind can fathom in this moment. My back to him, I don’t see the way Michael’s eyes roll back slightly as he bites back a growl, most definitely approving of my reply.

He stands there, watching me in complete silence. After several agonizing seconds, just before I am about to speak, a loud crack bounces off the walls as he brings the belt down, directly on my swollen clit, making me scream in pained pleasure.

“F-Fuck, Daddy!” I cry out at the sting. However, he has no need to make sure I’m okay as his eyes zone in on the arousal dripping down my thighs.

Over the next several minutes he takes the belt to my pussy a total of ten times. The last blow is the sharpest yet, and by the end I am a quivering, dripping wet mess of need and desire.

“D-Daddy, p-please!” I beg through a low groan, my fingers gripping the sheets desperately as I continue to prostrate myself on the bed before him.

Michael watches me, his head cocking in interest as he continues to watch the arousal dripping heavily down my thighs. My ass, pussy lips and the backs of my thighs are streaked with red, and my clit is unbearably swollen.

“P-Please, can I- can I cum now, Daddy? P-Please?!” I whine breathily, nearly in tears as the pleasure overwhelms my body.

“Yes, Little One, you can,” he replies softly as he drops the belt to the floor once more. “Cum….NOW!!” He continues, his bare hand suddenly coming down to deliver the final blow.

“Fuuuuck! Oh God, yes! Th-Thank you, Daddy!” I moan out, unable to stop it as I cum hard on his command, my juices dripping heavily all over his hand.

Michael snarls and quickly drops to his knees. I moan as his hands grip my cheeks, keeping me spread wide open as he buries his face in my pussy. My eyes roll back as he laps hungrily at my juices, my eyes rolling back as he prolongs my pleasure, making me cum again before he finally has mercy.

Just as quickly, he stands and hastily removes the rest of his clothes. I pant heavily, my eyes closed as I try to catch my breath. However, he gives me no reprieve. Without warning, he grips my hips and thrusts his full length deep inside my drenched pussy.

“Sh-Shit! Oh God, D-Daddy!” I moan loudly, turning my head to bury my face in the pillows. Uncontrollable moans of pleasure are constantly pulled from somewhere deep inside me as he begins to fuck me, his thrusts hard and fast, the sound of his skin colliding with my own filling the air.

We are given more time together this time than we’ve ever been given before, and we don’t waste a single moment. We make love several times, over and over again, until we’re both exhausted. We eventually force ourselves to get up and get dressed.

Michael takes my hand and leads me downstairs and into the kitchen, having realized how hungry I must be after everything that had happened. We sit at the island counter, eating a simple meal of sandwiches, chips and apple slices. I breathe a sigh of relief, my stomach finally satiated after protesting the lack of attention to my hunger. I couldn’t really be blamed though, having been more than a little distracted with more important things.

Since we were given so much time together this time, I have a feeling that the next time I am pulled away, I will be brought back to my own time. We finish eating before he takes my hand and leads me out to the sitting room. I grin and giggle softly as he sits and tugs me down onto his lap. I groan through giggles, my backside more than a little sore.

“I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he says, chuckling softly as he helps me move a bit more onto my side to ease the ache, one arm cradling me to him, the other hand gently rubbing my ass and thigh.

We sit cuddled together on the couch as we talk. Like all of the other times before, we talk and he catches me up on his life. To my immense relief, I hear no names that set off alarm bells, nor does Michael mention anything about disastrous interviews, or an ensuing witch hunt as a result. I can’t help but let hope take root deep inside me. Maybe, just maybe I will have done enough. Maybe, just maybe Michael would still be here, happy, healthy and safe. However, despite my growing hope, fear and doubt continue to creep at the edges of my mind. All I can do is pray, because I knew if I returned to my time to find all of this had not been enough to save him, that I would have to live the rest of my life without him, it would be a short life. There was absolutely no way I could survive that.

“I have a random question,” Michael says suddenly and I raise a brow, smirking softly up at him as I nod for him to continue. “What’s your favorite flower?” His question catches me off guard, and I give him a confused smile.

“Um…sunflowers. Why do you ask?” I ask, chuckling softly, still confused. However, he simply smirks and shakes his head.

“Just curious,” he replies before suspiciously changing the subject.

After a while, I sigh sadly when I feel that all too familiar pull. Michael smiles sadly and reaches up to cup my cheek, his eyes searching mine.

“It’s alright, Kendra. We’ll be together again soon. I promise you, I’ll be there, waiting for you,” he says softly, seemingly able to read my mind, knowing the fear and hope battling for dominance in my mind and heart, while also sensing that this was probably the last time before I would return home.

“You better be,” I whisper as I press my forehead to his. I sniffle softly, fighting off tears and I cup his cheek, my other hand wrapping around his wrist as he cups my own.

My eyes still closed, I press my lips to his. We kiss passionately, as though it is the last. I whimper softly when I feel the pull getting stronger.

“I love you, Michael,” I whisper, hearing him say it back just before I disappear from his arms, hopefully for the last time.

When I open my eyes, I gasp, seeing that I am back on the sidewalk in my neighborhood. I look down, my breath trembling as the clasp of the charm bracelet breaks, the bracelet falling off of my wrist. I bend down to pick it up, gripping it in my fist. Tears fill my eyes and I turn, running as fast as my legs can carry me. I burst through my front door when I make it home. I sob, tears blurring my vision as I run towards the living room, desperate to get to the tv so I can check the news.

“Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay,” I whisper through tears and sobs, my heart racing and my stomach tied up in knots of pure fear as I turn the corner. When I do, I stop in my tracks, stumbling slightly at the scene before me, frowning in confusion.

My living room is dark, the lights off, but it is dimly lit by what seems to be one hundred white candles. Not only that, but there are vases, filled with bouquets of sunflowers on every available surface. I look over, my face stained with tears, and all the breath leaves me.

There Michael stands, holding a single sunflower. His hair is in his signature long curls, tied back. He was dressed similarly to the way he appeared at the 2006 World Music Awards, wearing black from head to toe, his suit jacket and the front of his shirt covered in sequins.

My eyes slowly rake over him, and when my eyes finally meet his, I can’t stop it as another sob escapes me. He still looks just as he did during his Bad era, though of course, his skin is pale and he looks a bit older. His body, however, was more filled out, much like he was during his History tour. He looks so much more healthy than he ever did in my original 2009. It was strange, I suddenly have all these new memories of Michael’s life in the spotlight, while still keeping all of my original memories. I didn’t care though. I wished I could erase them from my mind, but if that was not possible, I would gladly bear the burden of them and take them to my grave.

The emotional upheaval of this very, very long day finally catches up to me and I fall to my knees. I cover my face with my hands as I cry openly, rocking myself back and forth as I sit back on my haunches. I wanted so desperately to run into his arms, but I couldn’t physically move. The shock and joy I feel at the realization that somehow, some unknown force had given me the chance to right so many tremendous wrongs was overwhelming.

“I’m more than okay, sweet girl,” he whispers as he immediately comes forward, dropping to his knees before me. He gently tugs my hands from my face, cradling it between his own, and begins to kiss away the tears on my pale cheeks.

“M-Michael?” I whisper his name like a prayer as my own hands come up to cup his face as well. “Are- Are you really h-here? Please, t-tell me this isn’t just- just a dream,” I whimper softly, my fingertips studying every inch of his handsome face.

“You’re not dreaming, Kendra,” he replies with a bright smile as he shakes his head, his eyes glistening with tears of his own. “I’m here. I’m right here with you, and I’m just fine. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been, and I’ve lived a good life. I’m so grateful for you, angel. I may not know everything you’ve done for me, but I know I can never thank you enough. I love you so damn much, baby. I’ve loved you for almost my entire life, and the happiness I’ve known in life, just because I knew you loved me just as much, is more than I could ever make you understand.”

“I love you s-so much more, M-Michael. I would- I would do it all over again. I would do any-anything for you,” I whisper, stuttering through tears.

I whimper and close my eyes as he buries his fingers in my hair and captures my lips in a deep, passionate kiss, stealing the breath from my lungs. He presses his forehead to mine, both of us panting softly, his thumb stroking my cheek. My eyes still closed, I don’t notice as his right hand slowly moves down to reach into his jacket pocket as he whispers softly against my lips.

“I have a question I need to ask you, sweet girl…”