seeing you stir, michael dragged himself closer. he didn’t pull away to start his day. instead, he maneuvered until his chest was pressed flush against your back, slinging a heavy arm over your waist and burying his nose into the crook of your neck.

he inhaled deeply, expecting the sharp, powdery bite of the french designer perfume you had worn since the day he met you. instead, his senses were hit with a soft scent of vanilla and almond oil.

"mmm," he hummed, his voice thick with sleep against your skin. "you changed it."

you stirred again, blinking against the faint morning light. "changed what?"

"your perfume, my love," he murmured, his fingers absently tracing small circles over the fabric of your shirt, right above your hip. "it’s different. sweet."

"the old one started smelling like floor cleaner," you muttered, eyes still half-closed. "made my nose itch."

michael didn't reply, but his hand didn't move either. it stayed anchored there, resting heavy against your midsection.

"angel," you whispered, a slight laugh tugging at your lips despite your bone-deep tiredness. "i have to get up in fifteen minutes. dr. etomi wants the preliminary report on the westside case by eight."

"five minutes.".

he tightened his grip even more, impossibly so, pulling you so close there wasn't an inch of air between you.

it was happening more and more lately. almost six months into the marriage, and while you expected a honeymoon phase like what your married friends had told you, michael had completely morphed into a persistent shadow.

if you were sitting on the couch reading something, he was leaning against your shoulder, resting his chin on your head.

if you were in the kitchen making tea, he’d wander in, wrap his arms around your waist from behind, and rest his forehead against your shoulder while the kettle boiled.

it was sweet, if maybe just a tiny bit suffocating (but honestly it's not like you really minded). you assumed he was just enjoying the rare lull in his schedule—no stadiums to fill, no press conferences, just quiet days at home while he casually worked on music demos.

an hour later, you were fully dressed in your blouse and slacks, rushing through the kitchen to grab your coffee thermos. michael was standing near the counter, wearing an oversized shirt, watching you with that strangely intense focus he’d had all week.

"eat something," he said softly, sliding a plate across the island.

you paused, just staring at it. there was a thick slice of brioche toast topped with a ridiculous layer of raspberry jam and a dusting of powdered sugar.

"michael, i don't eat sweet stuff in the morning. you know it gives me a headache."

"you ate three cinnamon rolls on tuesday," he pointed out, leaning his elbows on the counter. "and you stole my ice cream last night."

“’cos i was running on four hours of sleep and my brain needed sugar," you shot back, though your stomach gave a traitorous rumble. you picked up the toast anyway and took a bite. it tasted ridiculously good. "my cycle is probably just acting up again. you know how irregular it gets when i'm stressed."

"right. stress," he repeated.

his tone may have been neutral, but his eyes tracked the way you swallowed, dropping briefly to the front of your blouse before rising back to meet yours.

he walked around the island, stepping right into your personal space. he didn't even say anything, just reached out and wiped some crumbs on the corner of your mouth. his thumb lingered there, pressing gently, as if testing the warmth of your skin.

"what?"

"nothing," he murmured, softly smiling. "just... stay safe today. don't push yourself too hard."

"i cut open dead people for a living, mike. it's not exactly high-risk."

"still."

he leaned down and kissed you—not a quick goodbye peck, but a deep, lingering press of his lips that left you slightly breathless. when he pulled back, his hands rested firmly on your hips, holding you in place for a second longer than necessary. "call me when you get there.”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

by early afternoon, the morgue felt suffocatingly cold, yet somehow sweat was prickling at the back of your neck.

you pulled off your gloves, leaning heavy against the edge of the metal sink. your head was swimming. the chemical smell of the formaldehyde—a scent you hadn't noticed in years—was suddenly so overpowering it made your throat constrict.

it’s probably just exhaustion, you told yourself. just the double shifts and maybe too much sugar.

you took a slow breath, stepping out of the lab and down the long hallway toward your office. as you rounded the corner, you froze.

your husband was sitting on the wooden bench outside your door.

he was wearing a black fedora pulled low and a dark jacket, his long legs stretched out in front of him. he held a small insulated lunch bag resting on his lap.

"michael? what are you doing here? is everything okay?"

he stood up immediately, stepping toward you. "you forgot your lunch. and you didn't call."

"i was in the middle of an autopsy," you said, incredulous, a fond smile cracking through your fatigue. you almost never forgot your lunch—as you were usually hyper-organized—so seeing him standing there with your lunch bag made the whole day feel a little surreal. "you came all the way here just for that?”

"i wanted to see you.”

he didn't wait for permission. he reached out, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest right there in the middle of the hospital corridor. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, taking a long sniff of that new vanilla scent.

"mike, people are walking by," you whispered, though you wrapped your arms around his waist anyway, letting yourself lean into his warmth.

"let them walk," he muttered into your hair. his hand glided down your spine, resting flat against the small of your back, applying a gentle pressure that seemed to instantly ease the dull ache in your lower muscles.

you pulled back slightly to look at him, searching his eyes. "you're being weird today. you've been weird for weeks."

"i'm fine," he said, offering an enigmatic smile that didn't quite reveal his thoughts. he unzipped the bag, pulling out your usual container alongside a small, chilled bottle of ginger ale. "eat.”

you looked at the ginger ale, then up at his face. a sudden, strange realization flickered at the back of your mind—a thought that cut straight through the fog of your fatigue.

ginger. for nausea.

vanilla. for sensitivity.

sweets. for fatigue.

wait.

"michael," you said softly, your heart suddenly taking a hard thud against your ribs. "how long has my period been late?"

he didn't answer right away. he just held your gaze, his eyes brimming with tenderness, a tiny, triumphant tilt touching the corner of his lips.

"about three weeks.”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

the drive back home was silent.

michael understood you needed the quiet to think and by the time you pulled into the driveway, you had a pharmacy bag clutched tightly in your lap, containing two identical white boxes.

in the master bathroom, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. you sat on the edge of the closed toilet lid, holding the plastic stick in your hand while the small timer on the counter ticked down.

michael, on the other hand, was pacing the tile floor like a caged cat.

he couldn't keep still—his hands went into his pockets, then out, then he was crouching right in front of you, resting his chin on your knees and looking up into your face.

"is the time up?" he whispered. or tried to whisper with his voice pitching high as he struggled to contain his excitement.

"mike, it's been ninety seconds. it takes three minutes."

"it feels like an hour," he muttered, resting his hands on your thighs, his fingers digging in lightly. he was practically vibrating. "i'm telling you. i already know. i just want to see the little lines."

"you don't know anything yet," you countered softly, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. "you're just overly observant and incredibly clingy.”

"i knew," he insisted, a bright, boyish grin breaking across his face. "you stopped letting me lay my head on your chest because you said your bra was too tight. and you smelled like vanilla. and you were cranky."

the timer suddenly went off with a sharp beep before you could answer.

your breath hitched. you looked down at the test in your hand.

two solid, undeniably pink lines.

michael didn't even wait for you to speak. he read the look on your face, let out a gasp, and immediately leaned in, burying his face into your stomach as his arms wrapped tight around your waist. he was laughing, a bubbling sound against your shirt.

“i knew it.”

"you're impossible," you breathed, tears unexpectedly stinging the corners of your eyes as you ran your fingers through his soft curls.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

later that evening, the test sat forgotten on the nightstand, and the two of you were tangled together under the sheets. true to form, michael hadn't put an inch of distance between you since you left the bathroom; he was lying on his side, one leg hooked over yours, his palm resting flat and warm over your lower stomach.

"so," you murmured, tracing the line of his jawline with your index finger. "when exactly do you think this happened, mr. detective?"

michael’s eyes fluttered open, a wicked little smirk slowly spreading across his lips.

"well," he drawled softly, his thumb lazily stroke your hip, sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. "you had that three-day break at the end of april. the studio was closed for renovations.”

"when you insisted on staying in bed until two in the afternoon every day?”

"the very same," he hummed, leaning down to press a warm kiss right below your ear, making you shiver. "remember the second night? when you said you were too tired, and then..."

"okay, alright," you cut him off, laughing as your cheeks flushed hot, burying your face in his chest. "i remember."

"i think it was that night," he whispered into your hair, his voice dropping into that gentle tone that always made your knees weak. "you were extra pretty and extra sweet to me then."

"you're ridiculous," you teased softly, looking up at him. "and you're going to be insufferable for the next eight months, aren't you?"

"absolutely," he smiled, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders and kissing the tip of your nose. "you're stuck with me hovering 24/7 now. no escaping.”

“Michael, you’re going to be sick if you keep eating that,” you said, laughing a little as you watched your boyfriend practically inhale another bite of cotton candy.

“Worth it,” he teased, plopping a bite into your mouth with a grin.

You accepted the treat, hands preoccupied with holding scarce remnants of the snow cones you’d been sharing (one of each flavor). “Do we really have to go on the ferris wheel?” You asked, pouting a little. “You know I’m scared of heights.”

Michael smiled, taking the rest of the food that you both had finished in his hands before throwing it away. “I know, but I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Hm, as much as I trust you and appreciate the sentiment, I don’t think you can control gravity,” you said, smirking.

“Maybe not,” Michael agreed, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you towards him. “But it’s safe. I just want to try it, please?”

You sighed, accepting defeat with a nod. “Okay. But if I get scared, you need to distract me.”

Michael grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Like this?” He asked, kissing you again. “Or maybe like this?” He trailed soft, barely there kisses down the side of your jaw, stopping at your neck.

“I guess that would probably work,” you told him, biting down on your lower lip as he kissed his way to your ear. You felt his warm breath against your earlobe, and you shivered.

You could feel his smile on your warm skin before he kissed just below your ear, tongue swiping out to taste you for just a moment. “I can distract you whenever you want,” he teased.

You brought up a hand to his cheek, directing his mouth to yours so you could kiss him again. “Okay, you win. I’ll go on the ferris wheel.”

He laughed into the space between you, and you couldn’t help but laugh right back. His energy was always so infectious and warm, pulling you in and making you feel grounded even so many years into your relationship.

“You didn’t put up a very convincing fight,” he murmured, kissing you a final time before he grabbed your hand.

As you made your way over to the ferris wheel, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It looked so much bigger up close. “I’d rather be up there with you than down here alone,” you conceded, and he looked over at you with such a soft smile that you could feel your stomach flip over.

“Love you so much, lovebug,” he said. “Promise it’ll be fun, or you can pick the movie we’re gonna watch tonight.”

“I was already picking the movie,” you replied, an eyebrow raised. “But I love you too.”

Michael laughed without abandon, the sound wrapping around you like a blanket. “Okay, you can pick the movie tonight and tomorrow night.”

“Deal,” you smirked, nudging his hip with yours as you walked. You settled into a comfortable silence, his hand steadying you as you approached the steps to lead you up to the ferris wheel.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Michael said gently, leading you carefully up the steps as he nodded to the ride attendant. “I promise you’re safe.”

“I know,” you said, voice quiet. “I know how much you love these rides.”

“You’re so brave,” he smiled, and you could tell he meant it. It wasn’t patronizing at all, and it made you smile right back.

“We’ll see if I can make it without closing my eyes,” you said, sighing dramatically in hopes of masking the actual fear threatening to overtake you.

“If you keep them open, you can see the view from up here,” Michael said, and his arm slid around your back so he could pull you close to him. The bench seat of the ride felt so small suddenly, but his presence against you was the anchor you needed.

“I think the view is what I’m trying to avoid seeing,” you murmured, eyes shutting on instinct.

“Then look at me instead,” Michael urged, turning your head towards him by holding your chin between his thumb and index finger.

Your eyes opened slowly, and the sight of Michael’s breathtaking smile made it feel like your stomach was overtaken by an eruption of butterflies.

“Hi,” he said when your eyes met his.

“Hi,” you replied, lips twitching into a smile. “I guess the view’s not so bad.”

He let out a small laugh, running his thumb gently along your chin. “Do you still need that distraction?” He asked, eyes dropping to your lips before he tracked them up your face to meet your gaze.

“Definitely,” you said, although your nerves were ebbing away faster than you’d anticipated.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, leaning towards you to capture you in a deep kiss. Michael avoided the gentle kisses he’d given you earlier, opening his mouth to capture your bottom lip between his. You gave in to him easily, matching the pace he’d set.

Your hands slid up his body, resting against his chest as you brought yourself even closer to him. You felt his other hand wrap around you, both locked together behind your back. His tongue met yours with a fervor that had you gasping quietly into his mouth.

“Feeling distracted yet?” Michael asked, hands sliding beneath the hem of your sweater so he could lay his palms flat against your bare skin.

“Mm, not quite,” you teased, swinging a leg up to rest it against his lap. You were just about as close as you could get in the position you were in, the safety bar quite literally barring you from climbing on top of his lap like you’d prefer.

“Well, that’s no good,” he said, kissing the side of your neck as his hands shifted up to hold your waist. “What about now?” He inquired, sucking at a sensitive part of your skin close to a vein in your neck.

“Getting better,” you told him, head titling back a little to give him more access to you.

“Hm,” Michael said, licking over the spot he’d been attending to before he brought his lips back to yours. He worked your mouth open, nails running back and forth over the delicate, sensitive skin at your waist. “How about now?”

“Mm, keep going,” you said, goosebumps pebbling your arms at the sensation of his hands.

“You’re kinda needy, you know that?” Michael asked, his right hand sliding up your stomach so he could run a thumb along the underwire of your bra. His thumb dove under the fabric, gently tracing the curve of your breast.

“Just trying to take my mind off of things,” you giggled, leaning into his touch.

Michael smiled before kissing you again, your mind only filled with thoughts of him. His hands, his mouth, his voice. It was enough to genuinely distract you from the sound of a throat clearing.

“Another go around, sir?” The ride attendant asked.

Your face flushed as you broke away from Michael’s lips, burying your face into the side of his neck.

“Yes,” Michael said, laughter ringing into the air. “We’re having a wonderful time, thank you.”

“So embarrassing,” you pouted, pressing a soft peck to his neck.

“I’m glad I could distract you,” he said, wrapping his arms back around you in a hug. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much,” you told him, your smile spreading into a grin. “But I’m still picking the movies tonight and tomorrow.”

Late at night in Michael’s quiet Hayvenhurst home, the two of you were wide awake with no intention of falling asleep anytime soon. You completely organized his cluttered room with him, finding space for all of his fanmail, posters, drawings, and his own albums. This was something you did with him often, making a part of his room a piece of you—leaving behind clothes and little knickknacks from your own apartment.

Nowadays, it seemed like you were never at your own home—spending every hour with Michael at every waking moment meant that he never had the “time” to pick you up from your apartment, and just insisted that you stay with him all the time so he wouldn’t have to miss you so badly.

You both were completely spent from moving everything around in Michael’s room, and you crashed on the memory foam mattress close to you, falling backwards onto it. Michael watched you do this and chuckled, watching your chest rise up and down from all the heavy breathing you were doing.

“S’ gettin’ late, mama. Can you stay tonight?” Michael asked, the tinge of begging in his voice never failing to convince you to do anything he wanted. It was late though, and the last thing you wanted to do was go back to your apartment and be alone, when you had all the access to another warm body right in front of you.

“I’ll stay, but give me a new shirt to sleep in, Mikey. M’ all hot nd’ sweaty.” You obliged, watching the man go through his drawers to find you a simple tshirt to fall asleep next to him in. He scurried around all his clothes to give you a plain white shirt, and carefully watched you undress.

Your body was something so holy to Michael. Every part of you was treated with such grace when it came to him, and he never missed a spot when he made love to you. Your body was one of the most gorgeous things he’d ever seen, and considering you were his first girlfriend, he knew that he had to treat you to a higher standard than anyone you’d ever been with before.

You took off and discarded your old shirt slowly, pulling the fabric over your head and onto his floor. All that was left were your shorts and bra, and no matter how many times Michael has seen you naked, whenever you stripped in front of him, it still made him extremely nervous.

Your tits were spilling out of your bra as it is, and when you unbuckled the back of it for more comfortability, Michael lost it. You saw him watching you with his bottom lip tucked inside of his mouth, scanning your body with precision. You smiled at him innocently, but it only drove him crazier.

You put the shirt of your head, and tugged your shorts down your legs. Whenever you went to sleep, you never wore much to bed—and it was always like that when you slept over Michael’s house. He liked feeling the warmth of your body, not always sexually either—just the coziness of your figure up against his made him turn off his brain.

You climbed into his bed, and got cozy under his blankets. You tapped the side next to you, signaling that he had no other choice but to come lay his body next to yours, because without him beside you—you would never get any sleep.

He walked over to you slowly, trying to get in bed with the clothes he’s had on all day. “Shirt off, Michael.” You demanded. Even though Michael had his insecurities, you never failed to reassure him of his beauty—and that is the reason he was never scared to show his body around you.

He pulled his shirt over his head, some of his curls frizzing up in the process. He got in bed next to you, but you couldn’t shake the dazed look on his face the entire time you laid next to him.

You rubbed circles on his chest, trying to soothe whatever mess was going on his mind, but nothing to work.

At least that’s what you thought.

Michael was going insane after seeing you half-naked like that earlier. It didn’t matter how many times he’d fucked you into oblivion, the sight of your body made him so erect that it physically hurt. He’d been staring at the ceiling trying to take his mind off of it, but feeling your fingertips rubbing his chest was not helping his case.

“What’s the matter, baby? What’s on your mind?” You questioned, laying turning your body to the side to look at him.

“S’ nothin’, baby… let’s just tryn’ go to sleep.” He nervously chuckled, knowing that he wasn’t fooling you at all, but he had to try.

“Don’t get all quiet on me, honey…c’mon, baby, what do y’ need?” You plead, sitting up against the headboard now. Michael was learning to finally talk to you about everything that was going on with him, but there were times where he’d continue to shut you out, even though that’s not what he intended to do.

He closed his eyes, a little embarrassed that he couldn’t contain himself around you, and even though you always took care of him, you still made him tense. The first time the two of you made love, he completely froze when you spread your legs for him, and it took a minute for you to get him to snap out of it.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Tink. M’ good… get some rest.” Michael begged.

You started to put two and two together, and based on his reaction, you knew that deep down the problem was that Michael was horny. He hated admitting it, even though in your eyes it was nothing to be embarrassed about—you had no problem letting your beloved boyfriend know when you needed him to handle you. But Michael, he was timid—and getting a confession like that out of him took more than begging him to talk to you about it.

You had to physically get the reaction out of him.

“No, baby… I don’t think you’re good.” You said, seduction laced in your voice. You slowly slid down under his blankets, leaving just enough room for air, and to watch his face as you did what you had to do.

You’d never sucked Michael off before, just because he felt that it would put you in too much of a vulnerable position, but that was the least of your worries. You wanted to please your man in any way that you could, and giving him this would help ease the tension in his mind.

His body was on edge, and as you ran your hands along his waist and down to his boxers, he didn’t say much—he just let you.

“I really wanna suck it, baby. Can I?” You urged, your eyelashes fluttering at the man above you. He looked down at you, and nodded his head.

“Don’t just nod at me, Michael. Use your words, baby, Y’know better.” You begged, running your hands along his bulge.

“Okay, okay… but I wanna see all of you. Not just under these blankets.” Michael asks, his dick twitching at your touch.

“And that means?” You tease, knowing exactly what it meant. Michael wanted another chance to worship you, and seeing your whole body in full view is what gets him there every time.

“Can you get on your knees f’me, mama? Please?” Michael begged, his voice shaking.

You agree, and Michael sits up against the headboard. He turns his body around to sit up straight on the edge of the bed, and you sink to your knees. You thought the process would be more fun if you stripped again, so you deliberately removed his shirt clad to your body, and the bright beams of the moon above cascaded down the arch of your back.

You pulled down Michael’s boxers, and the inches he had on him used to intimidate you. Now, you know exactly how to use all of him to your advantage and his, and every session the two of you had was pure bliss. It was girthy while still maintaining its length, but you were confident that you’d use your mouth to satisfy him.

“M’ nervous, mama. You’ve… you ain’t never done this before—I don’t wanna hurt you.” He says, his eyebrows knitted on his forehead.

“I’ll let y’ know if it’s too much, baby. Relax, and let me do this.” You insisted, taking one of his hands already gripping the sheets into yours.

You started off slow, you slid your hand up and down against his shaft, just to get it going. Then, you kissed his tip, the beautiful brown shade that you adored so much, and all the way down to the bottom of his dick. Michael was so anxious all the time, but you could see in his face that he was enjoying himself.

Michael’s dick stood thick and hard before you, his veined shaft pulsing faintly with anticipation, and the swollen head already glistening with a bead of precum.

“Mm—goodness, girl. Yeah, that…that feels nice.” He admits, his fingers threading into your hair.

This was only the beginning.

You finally put your mouth on him, taking in as much as you could. Your throat felt endless when it came to Michael’s dick, and all of your saliva covering it was turning him on more than ever.

Your hand wrapped around the base, squeezing gently, and you opened your mouth wider. You took him inch by inch, your lips stretching around the girth, tongue pressing flat against the underside as you sank deeper. The wet heat of your mouth enveloped Michael completely, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked.

You bobbed your head with a steady rhythm, taking him to the back of your throat before pulling back with an obscene pop. Your saliva continued to slide down his shaft, dripping down to coat her fingers as you stroked him in time your mouth.

“Oh shit, mama. Feels so good.” Michael moaned, his hips bucking involuntarily as you took him deeper again, relaxing your throat to swallow around the head, the tight constriction making Michael’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

“I knew you’d like it, Michael.” You moaned, and it was absolutely filthy. Your eyes were watering slightly but you never broke contact. You worked him faster now, sucking harder–and your head moved with wet, slurping sounds that filled up his bedroom. You were praying no one heard the two of you–considering how loud Michael’s whimpers and groans got whenever he was close to his climax.

Your lips were swollen and shiny, sliding with ease up and down Michael’s glistening shaft, while you twisted your hand around the base with just the right pressure.

“M’ gettin’ real close, beautiful. Where do y’ want it…?” Michael pleaded with you, because he was throbbing. He was close, every nerve alight. You could feel it in the way he was swelling around your tongue, and getting him like this made your core blaze.

“Back of my throat, baby. Mm–need it.” You teased, a wicked smile in your eyes. You doubled down, starting to suck him relentlessly, your mouth a perfect, velvet vise of heat and friction until Michael’s grip tightened in your hair. He spilled down your throat with a deep, guttural groan, and you swallowed every drop. You milked him through his aftershocks with lazy licks until his body was spent and trembling.

You pulled off with one last kiss to his sensitive tip, and licked your lips as you looked up at him.

“Now you get some rest.”

freakinme ©, all rights reserved! (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑), i hope you enjoyed!

taglist — ⋮ ⌗ ୭ ᵎᵎ 🧁 ┆ @angelcrescent @smoothcriminalgf @kiwikisses20 @savagenctzen @plan3tch1ld @platanita @iluhbiceps @mikesbian @angelofmikes @j3nnyluvscupc4k3s @jackiesbambi

it’s the night before another gala—some industry thing michael’s been invited to, and you’re his plus one. another night of camera flashes and everyone looking absolutely perfect—yet you, on the other hand, can’t stop picking yourself apart. the dress fits like it was sewn onto your body, and your hair’s done flawlessly, each strand falling exactly where it should

but it’s your eyes that keep putting you off.

they look too light—too strange—in this lighting. the amber catches the vanity bulbs and throws back something that feels wrong, like a spotlight you never asked for. you tilt your head, trying to find an angle where they don’t look so obvious, so alienated, but it doesn’t work. it never does. every shift just makes the gold more pronounced and impossible to ignore.

“tink?”

michael’s soft voice comes from the doorway, and you feel the way the air shifts when he enters a room, like gravity pulling everything toward him.

you don’t turn away from your reflection.

“i’m fine,” you say automatically, your voice flat. “just—making sure everything looks okay for tomorrow.”

“you look beautiful.”

the words land softly, but you deflect them just as quickly. “you’re just saying that,”

“i’m not just sayin’ anythin’.” he moves closer, and you can see him in the mirror now, coming up behind you like a shadow made of warmth. his hands settle on your waist, fingers spreading wide, anchoring you. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head. “nothing. i’m just being stupid.”

“you’re never stupid,” his chin rests on your shoulder now, and he’s watching you in the reflection, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to read something written in a language only he knows. “talk t’me.”

the concern in his voice cracks something open inside the hands of your soul that’s been holding your insecurity shut for years.

“i just—” you swallow hard, and it feels like swallowing glass. “there’s going to be so many people and cameras tomorrow, and i just know someone’s going to notice, and they’re going to say something, and i just can’t—”

“notice what?”

you gesture vaguely at your face, the movement small and full of shame. your eyes. the thing you’ve spent your whole life trying to hide or ignore.

michael goes very still behind you, listening to your vulnerability wholeheartedly.

“baby,” he says quietly, and the word is so tender it hurts. “we’ve been through this.”

“i know,” your voice is so small it’s barely there. “i know we have. but i can’t just turn it off, michael. i can’t just stop feeling like this. it’s been like this for my entire life.”

his arms come around you fully now, pulling you back against his chest, and you can feel his steady heartbeat faintly against your spine.

“i know,” he murmurs into your hair, his breath soothing against your scalp. “i know you can’t.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

the first time you told him felt like yesterday.

it was early—maybe two or three weeks into dating, when everything still felt fragile and new, like something you could break just by holding it wrong. you’d been trying so hard to keep it together for him, to not let him see how deep the roots of your insecurities ran. but he—of course, he did—noticed.

you were on his couch, curled into the corner with your knees pulled up like you were trying to morph yourself into something smaller. he watched you do so with an expression that made you feel too seen in a way that was both terrifying and safe for how new everything was.

“why d’you do that?” he’d asked you softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“do what?”

“hide from me,” he’d shifted closer, and the couch noticeably dipped slightly under his weight. “every time i really try ‘n look at you, you turn away. like you don’t want me to see you.”

your throat had gone tight, and your confession threatened to spill from its strict confinement. “it’s not—it’s not you, michael.”

“then what is it?”

and then it finally slipped through the cracks of your vocal chords, and you told him everything.

“they used to call me a freak,” you’d whispered, staring down at your lap like the words were etched into the flesh of your thighs. “it started in kindergarten when this girl told everyone i was feral, or that i was cursed.” the laugh that came out was pitiful and broken, more of a breath than an actual sound. “and y’know, kids really believe that stuff, like it's a gospel of some sort.”

michael’s hand had found yours, and he laced his long fingers with your delicate ones. his thumb brushed over your knuckles in slow, deliberate strokes.

“it got worse in middle school,” you’d continued, and the words were coming faster now, like a dam of words was breaking in your throat. “boys would make jokes. say i looked like an animal—they’d meow at me in the hallways sometimes, and everyone would laugh.” your voice cracked slightly. “in high school, the insults slowed but the stares never stopped. i think that was worse, actually. it was like i was something in a museum, or a circus freak. something to gawk and point at.”

he just stared at you lovingly, and you could see his heart breaking in real time, the empathy etched into every line of his face.

“i tried coloured contacts once. brown ones,” you’d finally looked up at him then, and the pain in his eyes had nearly undone you. “i thought maybe if i looked normal, people would see me instead of just… that. but it made it worse, because then i was just hiding. admitting they were right about me.”

he’d pulled you into his lap then, cradling you against his chest while you quietly wept at the harsh memories. his hand ran up and down your spine in soothing lines, helping you ease your breathing patterns.

“every single person who made you feel like that was wrong.” he’d said, and his voice was rough with compassion.

“michael—”

“no, listen to me for a sec tink.” his hands had framed your face then, thumbs brushing away the fallen tears resting on your rosy cheeks like they were something precious. “you remember that dinner? the one with all those people from the label?”

you’d nodded without trust in your voice.

“you laughed at somethin’ someone said, ‘n the light hit you just right, ‘n i—” he’d stopped and swallowed hard, a sense of embarrassment washing over him from the confession he was about to let out. “i forgot what i was sayin’. right there, mid-sentence. i immediately lost my train of thought.”

your breath had sharply caught in your chest.

“it was your eyes,” he’d said quietly, and the words felt like they were being pulled from somewhere deep inside him. “the way they caught the light, all gold ‘n warm ‘n alive. i’d never seen anythin’ like it in my life—” his voice had dropped intimately lower. “—i still haven’t. i look at you every day ‘n i still can’t believe i have the honour to see that colour up close.”

“you’re just saying that—”

“i’m not,” he interrupted you, and he pressed his forehead to yours, staring intensely into your gorgeous eyes. “i’m really, really not.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

“hey, come here,”

michael’s soft voice gently pulls you back to the present. he turns you around slowly, hands on your shoulders until you’re facing him instead of your own reflection and all the judgment that comes with it. he guides you to the bed, and makes you sit right in front of him. he kneels in front of you, and his large hand cradles the side of your face, and it spreads warmth everywhere in your nerves.

“look at me,” he whispers.

you do.

“‘atta girl,” he teases, and you chuckle at the endearment, the sound slipping from your sad lips surprising you. he smiles at your reaction and it makes your chest ache in the best way. he studies you for a long moment, eyes tracking over your features like he’s memorizing something he’s seen a thousand times before but will never get enough of.

“sometime when you’re sleepin’,” he admits quietly, and there’s something vulnerable ingrained in his voice, “i just watch you. the way the morning light hits your face in the morning when you’re finally shiftin’ awake—your eyes look different every time. sometime more gold, or more brown, and sometime they got these little flecks of green in them,” his thumb brushes your lower lashes. “it’s like you’re made of sunshine or somethin’, as corny as it sounds.”

your throat tightens, and heat quickly spreads across your cheeks, your face bleeding to a beet red.

“you’re ridiculous,” you whisper.

“i’m honest is what i am,” he shifts closer, nose brushing yours. “i’m so in love with you it drives me crazy, girl. but especially these—”

he kisses your right eyelid, feather-light, like he’s pressing his love for you directly into your delicate skin. and then he repeats the tenderness to your left, lingering just a moment longer.

“—because they’re yours,” he murmurs against your skin, and you can feel the words as much as hear them. “because when you look at me, i get to see all that gold pointed in my direction ‘n then i remember how lucky i am that you chose me.”

the words land somewhere deep, somewhere you’ve been holding your breath without knowing it. all those years of hiding, of flinching, of voices in the hallways and the weight of being seen in all the wrong ways—but now, he’s here, kneeling in front of you, saying he wants to see. that he’s been watching. that he willingly chose this, chose you.

your eyes overwhelmingly burn at the corners with tears threatening to spill, and your hands find his shoulders to grip there. the touch reminds you that your earth isn’t tilting—this is real. he’s real. the way he’s looking at you—like you’re not a problem to solve or a flaw to overlook, but instead something he genuinely, deeply loves—it’s all real.

something cracks open in your chest from the affection, and you reach for him without thinking.

your lips find his sharp jaw first—soft, deliberate—and you whisper against his skin, “i love you.”

another kiss, this time to the corner of his mouth. “i love you.”

he laughs, a surprised little sound that vibrates fully through his chest. “tink, what are you—”

“i love you,” you say again, kissing his cheek now, then you switch to his other one, being deliberately silly about it. your voice is muffled against his skin. “i love you and i love you.”

“okay, okay, i think i’m gettin’ the message,” he breathlessly says, but he’s grinning while his hands come up to steady you as you shift closer, fingers curling tightly around your waist.

you kiss his forehead. “i love you.”

his nose. “i love you.”

the corner of his mouth once again, but this time you’re both giggling a little, the tenderness mixed with something light and easy. “i love you.”

“you’re ridiculous, mama,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite to it, only amusement and warmth so thick you could drown in it.

“i love you,” you mumble, kissing his neck now, and he makes a soft sound that’s half-laugh, half-sigh. you’re being completely goofy about it, pressing exaggerated, quick kisses to his collarbone, his shoulder, narrating each one like you’re announcing them to an invisible audience situated on his smooth skin. “i love you, i love you, i love—”

but then his large hand comes up to cup your face, gentle and unhurried, and he’s tiling your chin up to meet his lips. his kiss is sweet and warm, laughing against each other's lips that you’re both equally swallowing down, tasting the euphoric joy shared between you.

when he pulls back, he’s smiling against your lips, and you can feel the curve of it against your now glossy lips.

“i love you too,” he whispers softly. “in case that wasn’t clear already.”

you’re both grinning now, foreheads touching, and you feel lighter than you have been all evening. all your life, really.

“pretty clear, i think.” you whisper.

he kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips again—all quick, affectionate pecks that make your smile impossibly wider against the apples of your cheeks. “good. ‘cause i’m gonna keep tellin’ you ‘tl you stop doubtin’ it.”

“that could take a while,” you tease.

“i got all the time in the world,” he says simply as he pulls you close, wrapping his long arms around you. you sink into him, your head fitting perfectly against his chest, and you can feel him smiling into your hair.

you stay like that for a while, completely wrapped up in each other. his heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, and it’s the only thing you could hear in the quiet room other than the occasional break of your content sighs and the hushed rustle of fabric as he adjusts to hold you closer. his hand finds your back and starts to trace lazy patterns—circles and figure-eights and shapes that don’t mean anything except i’m here, i’m here, i’m here.

“you’re gonna be so beautiful tomorrow,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice drowsy with sudden sleep. “gonna walk in there ‘n everyone’s gonna stare, ‘n i’m gonna get to be the one standin’ next to you.”

“michael, stop—”

“i’m serious.” he pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are tender in the dim light. “when they look at you, i want you to remember this. remember me tellin’ you that i see you, that i always have, and that i’ll never stop seein’ you.”

you nod, and the tightness in your chest is different now, like a sort of ointment that's healing your scars instead of reopening them.

“okay,” you whisper, genuinely listening to his words.

he kisses you again, slow and sweet, and when he pulls back his eyes are dancing with something that looks like hope. you smile at that, and pull him into a reassuring embrace.

and for the first time in longer than you can remember, you close your eyes and the darkness behind your eyelids isn’t crowded with the ghosts of your past. the faces don’t materialize. the voices in the hallway don’t echo in your eardrums. the weight of all those stares—the ones that made you feel like something being perceived in a jar, dissected endlessly until being utterly dismissed—they don’t press down on your chest like they usually do.

instead, there’s just michael.

the same michael who looked at you tonight like you were made of stardust. whose hands framed your face like he was holding the rays of the sun. whose voice went soft and certain when he claimed that he saw you like it was the simplest truth in the world.

you feel his heartbeat aligning into rhythm with your own, his breath warm against the back of your neck. his arms rest heavy across your waist, anchoring you—to his hold, to this pure moment, to the possibility that maybe you've been wrong about yourself all along.

because tonight, while you're wrapped in michael’s love and letting it settle over you like a blanket, you think you might be learning a different language where being beautiful doesn’t feel like a lie. where being seen doesn’t mean being judged. where your amber, impossible eyes, are exactly what they should be.

1980 encino

michael had the biggest crush on you.

you’d been friends with latoya for years, and for just as long, he’d thought you were gorgeous. every time you came to hayvenhurst for dinner, he found himself hanging onto every word that came out of your mouth as you talked and laughed with his family. the sound of your voice settled somewhere deep inside him, warm and comforting in a way he could never quite explain, and hearing you laugh always managed to bring an unconscious smile to his face. he loved whenever you were around, even if he could never hold a conversation with you for longer than five minutes before his nerves caught up to him and left him stumbling over his own words.

he’d never said anything about his crush because he was convinced you only saw him as "latoya’s younger brother," and nothing more. so instead, he admired you from a distance, content with whatever moments he could steal while pretending his heart wasn't racing every time you looked his way. now, he was sitting in the living room with his brothers while you and latoya were upstairs getting ready for the pool day everyone had planned.

“watch when she comes down in her bikini, mikey’s gonna short circuit,” marlon teases and michael rolls his eyes as he turns to his brother.

“shut up, marlon,” he says and his other brothers laugh.

“you will, you always do whenever she’s around,” jackie says as he shakes his head.

“come on guys, don’t start,” michael says because he’s already blushing.

“when you finally gonna tell her, huh?” jermaine asks and they all laugh again.

“oh come on, mike’s got no chance with her, have you seen her?” marlon says and they all laugh again while michael’s cheeks burn hotter.

the truth was, you also had a crush on michael. there had always been something about him that drew you in, from the quiet kindness in his smile to the way his shyness only made him more endearing. you'd figured out a long time ago that the easiest way to pull him out of his shell was to ask about his music, and every time you did, it was like watching him come alive. he could spend hours talking about melodies, lyrics, and ideas that danced around in his head, and you loved listening because he never seemed to realize just how talented and thoughtful he really was.

“he’s just gonna keep writing songs about her and yearning,” tito says as he shakes his head.

“stop, y’all, you’re embarrassing me,” michael says, right as you and latoya are coming down the stairs.

“cmon mikey, what’s the worst that could happen, she tells you no?” marlon teases.

“which she probably will,” jermaine says and they all laugh again.

“you guys are terrible,” michael says with a soft laugh.

you shake your head at the teasing, but then the meaning behind every word finally settles in, and your heart nearly skips a beat.

michael has a crush on you too?

all at once, every little moment you'd brushed aside came rushing back. the conversations where neither of you seemed to be the first to look away, the way his eyes lingered on yours just a heartbeat longer than anyone else's, the softness that always settled over his features whenever you walked into a room. you'd spent so long convincing yourself you were reading too much into it, telling yourself that michael was simply attentive and sweet by nature, but hearing his brothers tease him made it impossible to ignore what had been right in front of you all along.

because you had noticed the way his entire face seemed to brighten whenever he saw you. you'd noticed how his smiles stretched just a little wider around you than they did with anyone else, and how, no matter how many times you told yourself to act normal, you always ended up blushing whenever he looked at you for too long.

latoya glances over at you, and the knowing look she gives you says everything. she already knows about your crush, and judging by the tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she knows exactly what you're thinking now.

when you walk into the living room in your bikini and cover up, the brothers fall silent, immediately wondering how much you heard. you make a beeline for michael, and to everyone's surprise, even your own, you settle yourself right onto his lap.

the room seems to freeze.

michael's eyes go wide as you make yourself comfortable, one of your arms naturally slipping around his shoulders to steady yourself while your fingers find the soft curls at the back of his head. you gently begin playing with them, smiling to yourself when you feel him go completely still beneath you, like he's forgotten how to move.

“hi, michael,” you say with a smile and michael’s entire face flushes as he looks at you.

“h–hi,” he says softly which makes you smile wider. “are you um… are you comfortable?” he asks and his brothers fight the urge to laugh at his question, and you nod your head.

“very… is it okay that i sat right here?” you ask and he quickly nods, and then tries to recover himself.

“y–yeah, it’s okay,” he says and you nod with a bigger smile.

his heart is beating so hard he's almost certain you can feel it through the way you're sitting against him, but somehow, despite how overwhelmed he is, he can't bring himself to look away from you. all he can think about is how close you are, how gently you're running your fingers through his curls, and how this has to be some wonderful dream he'll wake up from at any second.

“you know michael… i was wondering if i could ask you something,” you say and michael bites his lip, trying to hide his smile as he nods.

“yeah?” he asks.

“i was wondering…” you trail off and lean close to his ear to whisper so his brothers won’t overhear. “if you’d like to go out on a date with me?” you whisper and michael’s eyes widen, only making you smile more when you pull back from his ear to look at him.

his brothers haven't taken their eyes off either of you the entire time. moments ago they'd been teasing michael about never having a chance with you, and now they can do nothing but stare as the entire situation unfolds in front of them in a way none of them could've possibly predicted.

“r–really? with me?” he asks and you nod.

“of course, silly. you’re so sweet and cute, and i love when we get to spend time together,” you say and jackie’s jaw basically hits the floor.

for a moment, michael can only look at you. he'd spent so long convincing himself this could never happen that hearing the words come from your lips leaves him completely speechless. every insecurity his brothers had joked about only minutes ago melts away beneath the warmth in your eyes, replaced by a happiness so overwhelming that he can barely contain the smile spreading across his face.

“i’d love to… i–i’ll make it real special,” he says and you smile, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his cheeks and you feel the warmth of his flushing skin.

“perfect… will you come swim with me?” you ask and michael quickly nods, making you smile wider.

you stand from his lap, and as soon as michael finds his feet again, you reach for his hand without a second thought. your fingers lace together effortlessly, and with a smile that says you know exactly what you're doing, you purposely saunter past all of his brothers on your way toward the backyard. michael follows right beside you, still blushing so hard it reaches the tips of his ears, but he can't stop smiling as your hand remains wrapped around his.

the brothers watch the two of you disappear toward the pool with matching looks of complete disbelief. “well, i’ll be damned,” marlon says and they all laugh again.

“we should’ve known,” jermaine says as he shakes his head, and then all the boys and latoya come out and join you all at the pool. the afternoon quickly fills with laughter as you and michael splash each other, trade playful teases, and steal shy smiles every time your eyes meet. somehow, despite all the noise around you, being together feels effortless, and by the time the sun begins to settle lower in the sky, the only thing either of you can think about is how excited you are for your first date together.

Only, you didn’t know that technically wasn’t what he was embarrassed about…

"Can I… go lower?" you ask, pressing soft, lingering kisses down Michael’s solid stomach, reaching his waistline, eyeing the heavy, unmistakable bulge in his trousers that he tries to shield with a long, elegant hand.

Michael nervously clears his throat, a soft, high-pitched breath escaping his lips. "You mean… down my pants?" he asks, his dark eyes wide and glossy with a sudden rush of heat.

You nod, gently toying with the waistband of his sweatpants, making him hitch his breath. "I don’t have to if you don’t want to, baby. I want you to be comfortable," you add, tracing a finger over his hip.

Michael pauses for a second, his fingers tangling nervously in the fabric of the sofa cushion. "I don’t feel uncomfortable, honey. I just… what if you don’t like it?"

You smile sweetly, pressing another tender kiss just below his belly button. "I promise I like all of you. Let me make you feel good."

Michael blushes a deep, beautiful shade beneath his warm brown skin, a timid smile finally breaking through. He helps you pull down his pants along with his boxers, and a thick, heavy, incredibly veiny cock springs free.

You can’t help the way your mouth gapes open. You had absolutely no idea your sweet, gentle boyfriend was hung like this.

It’s not like you expected him to be small — you’d briefly caught glimpses of him hard through his stage costumes and rehearsals over the months. But this? You almost couldn’t find the words.

"I’m sorry— maybe I should put my pants back on, do you want me to cover up?" Michael stammers nervously, instantly shrinking back. He looked practically humiliated by your silent reaction, assuming you were shocked in a bad way.

You quickly stop his hand as he reaches down to pull his boxers back up. It all suddenly began to make sense.

"Michael… are you embarrassed about how big you are?" you ask gently, your gaze softening.

Your boyfriend’s cheeks flush even darker, his lashes fluttering as he looks away. "Yes… isn’t it awful? I was so worried it would frighten you… or that i’d hurt you," he murmurs softly, reaching down with a trembling hand to play with a stray curl of your hair.

You felt your heart throb completely for him, a warm ache pooling deep between your thighs.

It was never about you. It was never that he didn’t want to go there with you; he was just terrified of being too much.

"Baby, it’s not a bad thing at all," you smile, your eyes flickering between his handsome face and his massive length. “Can I touch it?"

Feeling deeply reassured by the warmth in your voice, Michael nods slowly, giving you the green light to wrap your hand around his thick shaft.

When you do, he instantly lets out a breathy, high-pitched moan, his entire slender frame shivering violently at the contact. You were barely even stroking him and he was already falling apart. "Oh— Jesus, Angel…" he stutters, his fingers digging into the cushions.

The way you could barely wrap your hand all the way around his girth made your core pulse desperately — you could only imagine how deliciously, perfectly stretched you’d feel taking him inside.

"Do you want me to move my hand, Mikey?" you ask, though you could already read the answer clearly in his dilated, starry eyes.

Michael’s breath catches in his throat. "Yes— please, don't stop, angel."

You begin stroking him from base to tip, slow at first to let him adjust, then setting a steady, deliberate rhythm that has him instinctively bucking his hips upward for more friction. Thick pre-sead beads at his tip, heavy veins pulsing right against your palm.

"Hoo— is it supposed to feel…" he pauses to let out a long, breathless whine, "t-this good?"

You begin to twist your wrist slightly at the peak, brushing your thumb right over his sensitive, leaky slit. "You’re just extra sensitive because it’s your first time, honey. You’re doing so well," you praise softly.

Your gentle words have him whimpering louder, every stroke of his length making him grip the couch tighter as his back arches.

Wanting to drive him completely over the edge, you lean in closer, wetting his thick head with your tongue before taking him into your mouth.

"Ahhh— momma!" he mewls, his hips jolting forward as a familiar, overwhelming wave builds rapidly in his chest.

"I think I’m g-going to — mnn — cum," Michael gasps, his hands flying to grab your shoulders as he tries to pull back. "Wait— I don’t want to — haaahh — get it on you, honey, let me—"

You chuckle against him, holding him gently in place as you swirl your tongue around his flushed, leaking tip. "I want it. Please, let me have you."

The plea broke whatever control he had left. He shattered instantly against your lips.

"O-ohhh god — baby," Michael moans breathily, his eyes rolling back as thick, hot spurts erupt into your mouth.

The utterly filthy, devoted sight of you taking him so completely ignited something raw and primal deep within him. All his shyness, all his stage-induced perfectionism melted away into pure, unbridled desire.