neveah ⭑

By Wednesday, the Ferris wheel had risen above the rooftops. By Friday evening, the lights blinked awake together, turning an ordinary stretch of dirt into something that looked as though it had wandered there by mistake. Families came first. Teenagers followed.

The music carried farther than anyone expected, drifting through open bedroom windows long after supper had ended. It mixed with the scent of buttered popcorn and caramel, finding people before they had decided whether they intended to go.

Michael lasted three evenings. On the fourth, curiosity quietly won. He borrowed a baseball cap from one of his brothers, tugged it low over the curls of his afro and left the house before anyone could ask too many questions. The walk took little more than fifteen minutes. He knew the neighborhood well enough to reach the fairgrounds without thinking, though each step slowed as the lights grew brighter ahead, as if some part of him wished to make the anticipation last a little longer. The entrance buzzed with familiar sounds.

Children pulling impatiently at their parents' hands. Coins rattling against ticket booths. Someone winning a prize large enough to draw applause from strangers. A calliope melody circled endlessly around the carousel, disappearing beneath laughter before beginning again.

For the first hour, he wandered. He watched a little boy insist he was tall enough for a ride everyone knew he wasn't. A pair of sisters argued over which horse on the carousel ran the fastest despite neither horse ever moving farther than the other. Near the ring toss, an elderly man spent nearly ten minutes trying to win a stuffed bear for his wife, who laughed every time another ring bounced harmlessly away.The carnival seemed built upon small victories.They mattered enormously for exactly five minutes.

Then another one appeared around the corner. The cotton candy stand stood beside the carousel. Children reached it before they reached anything else.The machine spun without rest, wrapping strands of pink and blue sugar around paper cones while music drifted lazily overhead. Every few moments another burst of laughter rolled across the midway, followed by the creak of painted horses beginning another slow circle beneath the lights.

She worked behind the counter. Soft curls had escaped whatever attempt she'd made to gather them away from her face, catching the glow of the bulbs strung above the booth. Her sleeves remained folded neatly to her elbows despite the warmth pouring from the spinning machine. Every order seemed to arrive with the same patient smile, whether it belonged to a child barely tall enough to see over the counter or a tired father carrying two balloons and a sleepy toddler on one shoulder.

Business slowed only when a little girl wandered up alone. She couldn't have been older than five. One hand clutched three coins so tightly the edges had already left faint circles across her palm.The girl emptied them carefully onto the counter. "I'm... um..." Her eyes drifted toward the price board. "...I'm short." The words barely reached above the music. The woman behind the machine counted the coins anyway. Not because she needed to. Because the child had. She gathered them into her hand before looking toward the spinning cloud of sugar.

"I think you're right." The little girl lowered her head. "But..." A smile returned. "...I also think I made this one too big." She lifted an already finished cone from beside the machine, its pink swirl leaning slightly to one side as though it had grown too quickly. "I can't sell one that's crooked." The girl looked from the cotton candy to the woman and back again. "Really?"

"I'd get in trouble." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "You'd be helping me." The little girl accepted it with both hands. "Thank you." Then she ran. Not because she was in a hurry. Because children rarely walked anywhere happiness could carry them. The woman watched until she disappeared into the crowd before returning the three coins to the cash drawer as though the transaction had happened exactly as it should have.

no announcement accompanied the gesture.The next customer stepped forward.The machine continued to spin. Some acts of kindness were so quietly done that they slipped into the rhythm of the evening without asking anyone to remember them.

Michael remained where he was, the line moving around him almost without his noticing. It reminded him of home. not of fame, rehearsals or television cameras, but of the house before breakfast, where Katherine would always see the smallest things first: a loose button, an empty glass, a child pretending not to be hungry so someone else could have the last biscuit. She had never made those moments seem remarkable. They belonged to ordinary days. Perhaps that was why this one stayed with him. By the time he reached the counter, he'd forgotten to decide whether he wanted pink or blue.

She smiled. "Looks like you've been thinking awfully hard." He laughed under his breath, a little embarrassed. "I guess.. i have."

"So..." She rested one hand lightly against the wooden counter. "Which color's winning?" He looked at the spinning sugar. Then back at her.

"...Could I have both?" A grin spread across her face before she turned back to the machine. "I had a feeling you'd say that." For reasons he couldn't have explained, hearing that pleased him far more than it should have.

She worked with practiced hands.The paper cone turned slowly between her fingers while thin strands of sugar gathered around it, changing from pale blue to pink with the simple pull of a lever. It looked effortless, though the children watching from the front of the counter regarded it with complete amazement, following every movement as though they were witnessing a magic trick rather than melted sugar spun through warm air. She held it out. "There you go." Michael accepted it carefully. "It looks better than everyone else's."

"I'm not supposed to have favorites."

"But you do." She tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "...well, maybe." The corners of his mouth lifted. He thanked her, stepped aside, and nearly walked straight into a little boy racing toward the carousel with a balloon tied around his wrist. The balloon slipped free. It climbed into the evening sky before either of them could react. The boy froze. For a second, he only watched it disappear.

Then the tears came, it wasn't loud or dramatic, it was the quiet sort children made when they were still deciding whether something could be fixed. Michael looked upward.The balloon had already become a dot against the fading blue. He glanced toward one of the game booths instead. Rows of balloons hung there in every color imaginable, swaying gently whenever the breeze reached them. A minute later, the little boy stood clutching another one.The game operator smiled without explaining where it had come from.

The child looked around, searching for the stranger responsible, but Michael had already drifted back toward the cotton candy stand, taking a determined interest in the paper wrapped around his cone.The balloon bobbed happily behind the little boy as he ran back toward his parents. (Name) saw the whole thing. Not because she had been watching him. Because she rarely seemed to miss what happened around her. "You've been here before." Michael looked up. "What..makes you think that?"

"You know exactly where the balloon booth is." He laughed. "I guessed."

"You guessed correctly."

"I got lucky." She leaned one elbow against the counter. "I don't think so." There wasn't an accusation in her voice. Only amusement. Another family stepped forward, ordering four cotton candies all at once. (Name) apologized with a small smile before returning to work, her hands never slowing as she reached for fresh cones and another scoop of sugar. Michael nodded as though she'd asked permission.

He wandered away. At least... that had been the intention. Ten minutes later, he found himself standing only a few booths away, watching an elderly couple argue over whether they were too old for the bumper cars.The husband insisted they weren't.The wife reminded him his knees disagreed.He laughed so hard she glanced over instinctively.Their eyes met across the midway.

She smiled. He looked away first.

The evening settled comfortably into its own rhythm. Children grew bolder after sunset.

Parents stopped checking their watches quite so often.The Ferris wheel turned against a violet sky, each carriage glowing softly as it climbed above the fairgrounds before disappearing again behind the trees. Somewhere near the entrance, a saxophone player had begun entertaining the growing line with melodies older than most of the people listening.The line at the cotton candy stand finally disappeared.

She stretched both arms overhead before reaching beneath the counter for another bag of sugar. It caught. She pulled once.Then twice.The heavy sack refused to move. Michael had crossed the distance before thinking. "Can I..." He hesitated, one hand already half-raised. "...help?" She looked over her shoulder. "I don't think customers are allowed back here."

"I can pretend not to be one." A laugh escaped before she could stop it. "It pays terribly."

"I can live with that." She studied him for a moment. More as though deciding whether he could be trusted with something unexpectedly important.

Then she stepped aside. "All right." He slipped behind the counter.The space felt much smaller from this side.Children appeared even shorter. The machines sounded louder.The scent of warm sugar lingered in the air, sweet enough to settle into clothing. He gripped the sack with both hands and lifted it easily onto the shelf beside the machine. She blinked. "...Well."

"What?" She blinked again. "I've been wrestling with that thing all afternoon." He smiled shyly, brushing invisible sugar from his hands. "There are advantages to having five brothers."

"I imagine there are also disadvantages."

"Oh..." He laughed softly. "Definitely." For a moment, neither of them spoke.The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It simply settled between them while another carousel song drifted across the midway. She folded the empty paper bag she'd been holding. He looked toward the children circling on painted horses. "You like watching them." It wasn't really a question. She followed his gaze.

"I think they're the happiest people here."

"They probably are."

"They don't worry about tomorrow." He nodded. "No."

"They only worry about whether they'll get another ride."

"And whether the blue horse is faster than the white one." She looked at him. "You saw that?"

"I've been here longer than I planned." A smile spread slowly across her face. "I noticed." His ears turned warm. "Oh." She hadn't meant to embarrass him. "You've been very good at pretending to look at everything except this booth."

He laughed into the sleeve of his jacket, ducking his head with the kind of quiet embarrassment only fifteen year old Michael Jackson could manage. "I didn't think it was that obvious."

"It was." A beat passed. Then she added, gently—"...I'm glad you stayed." For the first time all evening, Michael couldn't think of a single thing to say. The carousel continued its endless circle behind them, children calling to parents below as the horses rose and fell to music that had been playing for hours. He looked down at the cotton candy that had long since begun to sag in the warmth of the night, smiled to himself, and decided it didn't matter that he'd forgotten to eat it. There suddenly seemed to be far more interesting things to do than finish dessert.

The evening settled into the quiet that always arrived before closing.The longest lines had disappeared. Parents began gathering jackets from the backs of benches while children negotiated for one last ride with remarkable determination, each promise of five more minutes

stretching into ten before anyone thought to object. Somewhere near the entrance, a worker lowered the volume of the carousel music for the first time since sunset. The melody remained, only softer now, blending with the distant hum of generators preparing for another night. The cotton candy machine finally stopped.

Steam curled lazily into the cooling air before disappearing altogether. She wiped the last traces of pink sugar from the counter with a damp cloth while Michael gathered empty paper boxes into neat stacks beside the stand. Neither of them had spoken much during the past hour. They hadn't needed to. Every so often she'd ask where something belonged, and he'd carry it there without another question. The work grew lighter with two people instead of one. Children passed the stand on their way toward the exit, many of them no taller than the counter itself. One little girl lifted her arm high above her head. "Bye, Miss (Name)!" She looked up immediately. "Goodnight, sweetheart." Another child followed. "See you tomorrow!"

"I'll be here." A boy carrying a stuffed lion nearly twice his size waved so enthusiastically he almost lost hold of it. "Night, Miss (Name)!" She laughed softly and waved back. "Sleep well." It happened over and over again. Different faces. Different voices.The same goodbyes. each child seemed entirely certain she would be standing behind that counter again tomorrow evening, exactly where they'd left her. Michael watched the last family disappear through the entrance gates before reaching for another folded box.

"You know...all of them." The words left him so quietly they were almost carried away by the breeze.She smiled without looking up from the counter she was wiping. "They know me." There was a difference. One she never tried to explain.

a small pair of footsteps came hurrying back across the midway.The little boy with the blue balloon had returned. He stopped in front of the stand, breathing hard from running. "I forgot." She leaned forward. "What did you forget?" He reached into his pocket and carefully placed a single wrapped peppermint on the counter.

"My grandma says you should always thank nice people." Before either of them could answer, he turned and sprinted back toward the parking lot where his parents were already waiting.The peppermint remained where he'd left it. She looked at it for a long moment before smiling to herself. "I think I made twenty dollars tonight."

Michael looked toward the little sweet. "And one peppermint." She nodded. "I'd say I came out ahead." He laughed quietly. The sound disappeared into the emptying carnival almost as quickly as it had arrived.

By now the midway belonged mostly to workers. Games were covered with canvas sheets. The ring toss bottles disappeared into wooden crates. Somewhere beyond the Ferris wheel, someone began tightening ropes against the night breeze while another called out tomorrow's schedule across the grounds.The carnival never truly slept. It just became quieter.

She folded her apron carefully before hanging it on a small hook inside the stand. The curls that had escaped throughout the evening had fallen farther around her face now, catching the last warm glow from the carousel lights. She tucked one behind her ear without thinking, then reached for a lantern resting beneath the counter. "I should lock up." Michael nodded. He had known this moment would come. Still... he wasn't ready for it. He picked up the last empty box, though there was nowhere left to carry it.

9 minutes later.

the last of the lights above the game booths disappeared one by one. Only the carousel remained awake, turning slowly through another empty song while workers crossed the midway carrying folded canvas beneath their arms. The laughter that had filled the grounds all evening had drifted toward the parking lot, replaced now by quieter sounds—the scrape of wooden crates across packed earth, the click of locks settling into place, the distant murmur of people finishing long shifts before another town and another morning.

She fastened the latch beneath the counter and tested it once with her hand. Satisfied, she reached for the lantern. Its small flame painted warm circles across the wooden boards as she stepped around the side of the stand. Michael followed almost without thinking. Not close enough to crowd her. Only near enough that, if she stopped walking, he would too. They wandered between rides that looked strangely different without children. The carousel horses had become still, each frozen mid gallop beneath rows of quiet lights. The Ferris wheel no longer reached for the sky. It waited patiently against the darkness, enormous and silent, as though it had grown tired after carrying hundreds of people through the evening. Workers passed them every so often. Most offered her a smile. One older man tipped his hat before disappearing toward the trailers. Another reminded her not to forget breakfast in the morning.

She answered each of them by name. It occurred to Michael that this wasn't simply where she worked. It was where she belonged. The thought settled somewhere inside him with a weight he couldn't quite explain. She stopped beside the carousel fence, resting the lantern on one of the painted posts. For the first time that evening, there was nowhere left to tidy. Nothing left to carry. No child searching for a parent. No spilled popcorn to sweep away. Only the quiet that arrived after everyone else had gone home.

"I think that's everything." He nodded. "I think so too." The words disappeared into the night.

as they reached the edge of the midway. Beyond the entrance, the road disappeared into quiet neighborhoods where porch lights had begun going out one by one. The carnival remained awake behind them, though only barely. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed inside one of the trailers before a door closed softly against the night. "You really should head home."

Her voice carried the same kindness it had all evening. "Your mama's going to wonder where you've disappeared to." He smiled, lowering his eyes for a moment. "She probably... is." The thought made him laugh quietly to himself.

Katherine never scolded first. She worried first. Then she scolded.

he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket, though neither of them seemed ready to take that first step toward saying goodnight. The silence lingered comfortably between them, neither awkward nor heavy, as though the evening had simply slowed enough for both of them to notice it. She shifted the lantern into her other hand.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Michael."

Hearing his name in her voice caught him off guard. it sounded different now that the carnival had emptied. Smaller. More personal.

He looked at her for a moment before smiling. "You remembered.." A faint smile touched her face. "You've been helping me all evening." As though forgetting would've been impossible. He laughed softly. His gaze drifted briefly toward the trailers standing quietly beyond the Ferris wheel. A few windows still glowed warmly against the darkness. Someone had hung laundry beneath an awning before nightfall, and it swayed gently in the breeze. It looked peaceful.

When he looked back at her, she was still waiting. Patiently. He hesitated. Not out of uncertainty. Out of respect.

His mother had raised him to leave people more gently than he'd found them. He stepped forward, slowly enough that she had every opportunity to move away if she wished. She didn't. He reached for her hand instead. Carefully. His fingers barely closed around it, warm from carrying the lantern. For the smallest moment, he simply held it there.

Then, with all the quiet courtesy that seemed to belong to another generation, he lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles. It lasted no longer than a heartbeat. A thank you.

Nothing more. When he looked up again, she was smiling. Not surprised. Only... touched. warthm had risen softly into her cheeks. "Goodnight, Michael." His smile grew almost shy enough to disappear.

"...Goodnight, (Name)." The way he said her name made it sound as though he'd been quietly repeating it to himself all evening, afraid he might forget it despite knowing perfectly well he never would. He turned reluctantly toward the road. She remained where she was, lantern glowing between her hands, watching until he reached the entrance gates. Only then did she call after him.

"Don't stay up too late." He turned around, walking backward for two steps with a grin. "I'll try."

"You won't." He laughed. "No..." He admitted. "I probably won't." She shook her head, smiling to herself as he finally disappeared beyond the gates. The lantern remained lit for another minute before she turned toward the trailers.

Michael walked home far more slowly than he'd walked there. The sweetness of spun sugar still lingered faintly on his jacket. Every now and then he caught himself smiling without knowing exactly why, replaying little pieces of the evening that already felt oddly precious—the little boy with the balloon, the carousel music, the way she tucked one curl behind her ear while counting paper cones, the sound of children calling her name as they left.

He wondered whether she had already finished locking the stand. Whether she had reached her trailer. Whether she was asleep yet.

Tomorrow wasn't very far away. He had no reason to believe it would be any different from today. And perhaps that was the happiest thought he'd carried home in a very long time.

Sleep came reluctantly. The carnival had followed him home. It lingered in the faint scent of spun sugar that refused to leave his jacket after Katherine hung it by the kitchen door, in the carousel melody that found its way into his thoughts while he brushed his teeth, in the memory of colored lights drifting lazily above the midway long after he closed his bedroom curtains. He woke before the alarm.

for a few moments he remained where he was, staring at the ceiling while morning light crept quietly across the room. Somewhere downstairs, dishes touched softly against one another as breakfast was prepared. One of his brothers laughed at something he couldn't quite make out, followed by the familiar sound of Katherine asking someone to come to the table before everything got cold. Ordinarily, he would have stayed.

breakfast was never hurried in their house. It was one of the few moments everyone belonged to the same room before the day carried them in different directions. this morning, however... his thoughts had wandered elsewhere before his feet ever reached the floor.The carnival wouldn't be busy this early.

She had mentioned mornings. Supplies. Preparing the stand before families arrived. Perhaps she would appreciate another pair of hands.The thought settled comfortably enough that it no longer felt like an excuse. It felt reasonable. Katherine looked up when he entered the kitchen.

"So early?" Michael smiled sheepishly. "I thought I'd go for a walk."

"A walk before breakfast?"

"I'll eat when I get back." She studied him for only a moment. Mothers often knew when questions weren't likely to produce honest answers. She reached across the table instead, smoothing the front of his shirt where one button had slipped into the wrong place. "There." He glanced down. "I didn't even notice."

"I know. honey." She smiled. "Have a nice walk." The morning air carried none of the excitement that had filled the previous evening.The streets remained quiet, interrupted only by sprinklers ticking patiently across front lawns and the occasional newspaper landing against a driveway somewhere in the distance. Sunlight rested gently across the sidewalks, warming the pavement long before anyone had begun filling it. Michael walked a little faster than usual. Not enough to call it rushing.

Enough that he caught himself smiling more than once without any particular reason.

He wondered whether she'd already unlocked the stand.

Whether she'd laugh when she saw him arriving so early.

Perhaps she'd tease him for ordering both colors before noon.

He rehearsed little pieces of conversation without realizing it, only to abandon each one before reaching the next street corner. None of them sounded quite right. the fairgrounds appeared at the end of the road.

Something felt different. It took him several moments to understand what it was.

The music.

There wasn't any.

He slowed. The Ferris wheel should have been visible above the trees by now. It wasn't. His pace slowed again. Perhaps they had turned the lights off during the day. That made sense. He kept walking.The chain-link fence came into view... there was only grass. He stopped.

The field stretched quietly beneath the morning sun, empty enough that it almost looked untouched. Pale circles pressed into the earth marked where heavy rides had stood only hours before. Tire tracks crossed the dirt before disappearing toward the highway, already gathering dust beneath the warmth of the day.

He remained where he was.

Certain he had taken the wrong road. He looked left. Then right. The baseball field stood exactly where it always had.The old oak tree remained beside the entrance. Even the faded sign pointing toward the parking lot hadn't moved. Only the carnival had. He stepped through the open gate. He frowned.

Another few steps.The carousel. Gone, he kept walking. Faster now. the gravel parking lot still marked by fading tire tracks. He stopped so suddenly the gravel shifted beneath his shoes. The field stretched quietly beneath the morning sun.

No rides.

No ticket booth.

No trailers.

No music.

Only flattened grass and pale circles pressed into the earth where heavy machinery had rested through the night. For a long while... he simply stared. his eyes wandered across the field as though they refused to accept what they were seeing.

The cotton candy stand had been there.

He knew it.The carousel had stood a little farther behind it.The Ferris wheel had cast its shadow across the grass sometime after sunset. He remembered every step he'd taken. Every corner they'd turned. Every place she'd smiled.The field offered nothing back. "No..." His voice barely reached beyond himself.

He stepped through the open gate. One pace, then another one and again. Soon he was walking quickly, his head turning from one side of the field to the other with growing urgency. The place where the trailers had stood. Empty. The path she'd taken carrying the lantern. Gone.

He crossed toward where the cotton candy stand had been, stopping exactly where he remembered the wooden counter. His shoes rested on flattened grass.Nothing else. He looked around again. "They wouldn't..." The words caught in his throat. "They wouldn't leave..." Not after saying she'd be there. Not after tomorrow. Not after—A truck rumbled slowly along the edge of the lot.

Michael hurried toward it. The driver leaned an arm out of the open window, looking at the young man standing alone in the middle of an empty field. "You alright, son?"

Michael opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He tried again. "There was..." His voice trembled. "...the carnival."

The man nodded. "Sure was." Michael glanced back across the field. "...Where is it?"

"They packed up around midnight." The answer came so casually. As though it happened every week. As though there had been nothing remarkable about it at all.

Michael blinked. "...Packed up?"

"Traveling carnival." The man offered a sympathetic smile. "They don't stay in one place long." Silence settled between them. Michael's fingers curled tighter around the peppermint inside his pocket. "...Do you know where they went?"

"I heard Bakersfield."

"Bakersfield..."

"Think that's the next stop." Michael nodded once. It happened automatically. "...Thank you." The truck rolled away. He watched until it disappeared beyond the road. Only then did he look back toward the field.

Bakersfield. He whispered it once beneath his breath.Then again.Trying to hold onto something that suddenly felt impossibly far away. The breeze stirred the grass around his feet. A torn strip of pink paper skipped across the ground before catching against the fence. He stared at it. His breathing had become uneven. He reached into his pocket and took out the peppermint.

The wrapper had been warmed by his hand during the walk. He turned it over slowly between his fingers. She had smiled. The children had waved goodbye.

"I'll be here."

She hadn't lied. She couldn't have. She simply... had to leave. Something inside him gave way. His shoulders folded first. Then his head. The peppermint slipped from his fingers into the grass without him noticing.

He covered his face with both hands.The first sob escaped before he had the chance to stop it. It startled even him. Another followed. Then another.

The empty field offered no comfort, no explanation, only silence stretching endlessly around him while tears slipped between trembling fingers and disappeared into the sleeves of his jacket. he cried the way only fifteen year olds sometimes do—without dignity, without restraint, as though the heart had not yet learned that some losses were supposed to be carried quietly.

Minutes passed. Or perhaps only seconds. He couldn't have said. When he finally lowered his hands, his eyes searched the field one last time.

Not because he expected to find her. Because some small, stubborn part of him still hoped he had simply missed the stand.That if he looked once more... she'd be there. Smiling. Ready with both colors.

The field remained empty.The wind rolled gently through the flattened grass, erasing the last traces of footprints left by children who had laughed there only the night before. Michael bent slowly, picking the peppermint back up from the ground. He brushed away a few blades of grass with his thumb.Then held it carefully in his palm all the way home. He never unwrapped it.

He didn't know her last name. He didn't know which company she travelled with. He didn't know where Bakersfield was, exactly.

Only that fifteen minutes had been enough to find her yesterday. And this morning... they weren't enough anymore.

© 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚

𝐻𝑂𝐿𝐿𝑌𝑊𝑂𝑂𝐷'𝑆 𝑀𝑂𝑆𝑇 𝐸𝑋𝑃𝐸𝑁𝑆𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝐶𝑂𝑈𝑃𝐿𝐸?

𝐸𝑦𝑒𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑚 𝑀𝑖𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑒𝑙 𝐽𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑦'𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑝.

𝐽𝑈𝐿𝑌. 𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐴𝑌. 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟸. REC.

It had been one of those Fridays that began with one shop, became three more without anyone keeping count, then slowly transformed into an entire afternoon wandering through Beverly Hills beneath warm California sunshine. Store windows blurred together. Designer boutiques gave way to tiny bookshops tucked between cafés. Michael stopped every few minutes because something reminded him of you, and every single time your eyes lingered on a dress, a record, a perfume bottle or a ridiculously overpriced teddy bear for half a second too long, he reached for his wallet before you could protest.You'd long since stopped asking how.

He'd long since stopped listening whenever you told him no.

By 1993, buying gifts had become one of his quiet love languages. It was never about the price. He simply loved watching your expression change when something unexpectedly became yours. Sometimes it was jewelry. Other times it was a book with a beautiful cover or a silk ribbon you'd absentmindedly brushed between your fingers. He collected those little moments with remarkable care.

By the time the chauffeur turned into the long driveway leading home, shopping bags filled the backseat while your feet had declared complete mutiny somewhere around the fifth boutique.

The front door barely closed before your heels disappeared. One landed beside the staircase. The other several feet away after an admittedly dramatic kick. You didn’t intended to pick them up.

Dinner waited patiently on the kitchen island. Nothing particularly extravagant. Fresh pasta. Warm bread. A bottle of sparkling water.

Two candles someone had forgotten to light. You disappeared upstairs to exchange tailored silk for something considerably softer while Michael wandered toward the guest room he'd slowly claimed as his own whenever he stayed over. A few minutes later he returned wearing an white tank top he'd owned for years, faded blue jeans exchanged for something loose, dark curls still slightly flattened from the baseball cap he'd worn all afternoon in a determined—if not especially successful—attempt to avoid attention. At twenty nine, the world knew him as the biggest on the planet. but inside your home...

he looked wonderfully ordinary. By the time you wandered downstairs again, he had already begun setting the table, it wasn’t really done perfect, one fork rested where the knife belonged, the napkins didn't match, one candle stood crooked because he'd accidentally nudged it while reaching for the bread basket. He looked strangely pleased with the result anyway.You smiled, because nobody else really ever saw this version of Michael. humming to himself while trying very hard to make an ordinary Friday evening feel a little special.

He looked up the moment he heard your footsteps. His entire face softened. "There is my lady." The words escaped almost as a sigh. You crossed the kitchen without thinking, slipped both arms around his waist, and rested your cheek against his shoulder.

The familiar scent of his cologne still carried traces of the department store you'd wandered through an hour earlier, mixed with the faint sweetness of cinnamon pretzels he'd insisted the two of you share despite claiming he wasn't hungry.

Both of you didn't moved. There wasn't any reason to, the day had already asked enough of both of you. outside, photographers were probably still lingering somewhere beyond the gates, hoping one of you or michael might reappear.

20 minutes passed.

as you take another bite of the pasta, you glance up at your boyfriend and notice something that you hadn’t really noticed before. your gaze lowers, past the cut sleeves of his white tank top and notice how the lighting above seems to shine perfectly over his toned arms, accentuating the depth. upon realising, it's like something washes over you. his innocent, confused face, his jawline clenching everytime he chews, his sexy biceps under the light. when did he seem to get so strong? it must have been from carrying all of your heavy shopping bags.

"are you okay, angel?" his concerned voice snaps you out of your trance and you look back up into his worried eyes, watching his eyebrows furrow. you nod faintly, glancing back down at his arms. "baby, can i ask you something?" you question, receiving an enthusiastic nod in return while taking another bite of his dinner. "can i ride your biceps?" you blurt out, causing Michael to choke on his food and his face to immediately flush.

"c-can you what angel?" mutters in disbelief, suddenly looking anywhere but your eyes. "you heard me."

"i-i mean.. yeah, anything for you b-but- um.. i-" he stutters, his voice becoming smaller and his face turning warmer. he can also feel his pants becoming tight and his mind reels at the thought of your suggestion. "but what?"

. . . . . . .

now Michael sits beside your bed, an arm propped up on the mattress and his breathing shallow in anticipation. you discard your tailored silk night dress and underwear, making your way towards him. Michael has done many things. he has eaten you out, got you to ride him, dry humped during a heated makeout.. but this? it’s never been this, but he can’t deny that the idea makes his dick pulse.

he looks up at you as you mount his strong arm, his eyes gleaming. he can feel your wetness spread across the dip of his bicep and his breath hitches. "Your so wet angel..ride good f'me yeah?" you nod, then you lean down to crash your mouth against his and he immediately responds, eyes fluttering closed. he cant help but moan into your mouth when you force your tongue inside.

one hand slides though his dark hair to guide his head and one steadies yourself on his broad shoulder as you grind against him once, testing the waters. he lets out a whine into your mouth as if you’re actually doing something to him, and his arm feels better than you thought it would.

"y-you feel so good baby, c'mon ride harder if y'can okay?" He whispers softly.

becoming more confident, you begin moving back and forth on his arm, breaths becoming more shallow as your grip tightens on his hair and pulling it, causing him to let out a slight groan that makes you wetter and start grinding a bit faster. "yeah faster baby, f-faster." as your pace quickens, you look down at Michael through half lidded eyes to see his free hand reach for his hard, clothed cock. "dont you dare" you press, causing him to whine and grab tightly onto his loose pants instead as an attempt to keep himself grounded.

he knows better than to touch himself without your permission.

as you grind, you think to yourself how Michael is really the strongest man you know. realistically, right now he could manhandle you, throw you over his shoulder, make love until you cant handle it anymore. but he doesnt.

instead he whines and whimpers and groans under you, face flushed as he listens to your every command and obeys. the thought sends a spark straight to your core. "S-such a dirty girl.." you're pulled out of your thoughts when you feel him flex his arm under you, the sensation against your clit practically making you see stars as you throw your head back and let out a loud moan. "yes! j-just like that, baby-" you guide, grinding down harder against his bicep, which he’s now clenching and unclenching for you.

"yuh-huh, keep going- y-you’re doing so good, baby-" your praise causes michael's blood to rush straight to his already hard dick, making it jump in his constricted boxers, which is soaked with too much cum to be considered pre. "ss-shittt baby.. please." He whimpers. he’s mewling and squirming in his spot while trying to focus on keeping you pleasured with his arm.

you can feel that familiar feeling tighten deep in your core waiting to snap, and you press onto michael harder to chase it. "you just love it when i use your bicep as fucktoy, huh?" you tease, your words making your boyfriend nod his head desperately. "y-yes baby, i do- ah-" he whimpers, hips twitching and jerking up into nothing. "good, b-because that’s what it is." face all sweaty, embarrassed from what you do to him and the affect you have on him without even touching him. without even taking his pants off.

"m-make me cum baby, okay?" he nods vigorously before clenching and unclenching the deep muscle of his bicep faster, ignoring the burn to get you off, to please you. the elastic band inside of you finally snaps, and your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami, cumming all over over his arm as you let out a high pitched moan. "shit, baby, that feels so good!" you smash your lips against his and shove your tongue down his throat as you ride out your high, legs trembling.

You tug at his hair and he loses it, moaning and groaning into your mouth as his hips snap up into the air, hot spurts coming out into his boxers and soaking through onto his loose pants. his eyes are rolled back and he feels euphoric. "shittt ah- s-so good...dirty girl.."

all that's left in the room are both of your heavy breaths and the smell of sex. you huff out a little giggle and slide off of him and onto the mattress beside him. Michael's head immediately flops into your lap, the arm you were just riding on trembling from flexing it over and over again.

your fingers find their way through his hair, scratching gently in a soothing motion that gives him goosebumps. "you did so well, baby" He whispers with so much warmth, "My biceps feel good, huh." He adds, voice softer than before. "i think i deserve a taste." He whispers again, your head immediately snaps up, his eyes looking up innocent at you. "No, you deserve a reward baby." you say, your hand reaching down to caress his warm cheeks, still sweaty.

"No need for that baby. ride my face..? please?" he whispers, voice small and vulnerable as his shaky hands find their way to your waist.

© applewebb.

you've got the album at home, your friends know every lyric, and if someone had told you you'd meet michael jackson on your walk home from a girls' night, you would've laughed in their face. except...that's exactly what happens.

it's late enough that the streets have started emptying out, and you're walking home by yourself because it's only another ten minutes and you'll be fine. meanwhile, michael's car has just turned onto the same street on the way back to hayvenhurst. bill notices you first. michael notices you second. one girl. walking home. by herself. at night.

and suddenly whatever conversation they'd been having completely disappears because that's all michael can think about. "...she alone?" he asks quietly. bill glances in the mirror. "looks like it." and before he even realizes he's saying it, michael's already asking him to pull over.

you don't even process what's happening until the window rolls down. you look over. and nearly stop breathing.

because...it's michael jackson, and not on your television, not on a record sleeve. literally sitting there. looking directly at you. he smiles that shy little smile. "you alright young lady?" and somehow that's the first thing he asks. not your name. not whether you recognize him. but..."you alright?" because he's far more concerned about the fact you're walking home alone than the fact he's currently one of the most famous people on the planet.

you manage the world's most embarrassing little nod. "y-yeah." he smiles shyly again."you sure?"

another nod. he looks you up and down then up and down the street once before glancing back at you. "how much farther?"

"um..."

you point vaguely. "just... down there." he smiles. "okay." there's this tiny pause where both of you just look at each other, you completely forget how words work. then michael reaches into his jacket. finds a little piece of paper. borrows bill's pen. quickly scribbles something down. "here."

he reaches it toward you. "call me when you get home safe, yeah?" poor worried guy isn't trying to flirt nor does he expect anything. he just wants to know you got home. and your heart actually hurts a little because...who does that except before your fingers can even reach the paper... someone screams. "MICHAEL!" then another. another. it's like the street suddenly wakes up.

people come running from everywhere, cameras appearing out of nowhere, hands reaching through the open window, security immediately trying to push everyone back. the tiny slip of paper disappears somewhere between all the movement before you even realize you've let go of it. "wait—" you don't even know whether it was you or him who said it.

bill starts pulling the car forward because he has no choice anymore. the crowd's becoming too much. and for one second... you meet michael's eyes through the window. he's still looking for you. really looking. leaning forward in his seat, trying to see past all the people pressed against the car, hoping to catch one more glimpse of the lady who never got his phone number.

the same way you stand there searching through the crowd for him. but there are too many people now. too many hands. too many flashes. the car slowly disappears into the night. and somewhere on the floor of a California street... lies one tiny folded piece of paper. with michael jackson's phone number written on it.

never called. because it never made it into your hands. and somehow...he spends the entire drive back to hayvenhurst wondering if you got home safely anyway. ❤︎ 🚘

@aadorez. is my 1st account. this is a side blog. ౨ৎ

you stay very quiet and michael noticed that. later that night you're both sitting on the hood of his car outside Hayvenhurst, sharing food from a drive thru bag while the radio quietly plays in the background.

he nudges your shoulder. "You got real quiet back there, lady." You shrug. "Didn't have anything to add."

"...Why?" Another shrug. "...Never kissed, or got down to anyone." He slowly lowers a fry. "...You're serious?" He scans your face. You immediately regret saying it. "Forget it."

"No, no." He turns to face you completely. "You've never been kissed?" You shake your head, already embarrassed.

"I just... never cared that much." He studies you for a second, chin resting on his hand. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not lookin' at you any way."

"You are."

"I am not." Michael laughs, throwing his head back. "I ain't judgin' you, pretty lady."

"You totally are. Young man." You tease. "I'm jus’ surprised." You roll your eyes. "Ugh mike, shut up." 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 He shakes his head, smiling to himself. "I just figured... I dunno."

"What?" You ask curious. "Somebody would've beat me to it."

Your eyebrows pull together. "...Beat you to what?" He freezes. "...Nothin'." The fact he has the nerve to be shy after saying that. "Michael...what do you mean?"

"Nothin' pretty lady, don’t worry."

A few minutes pass before he casually says—"I could teach you both."

You almost choke on your soda. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me." He chuckles. "No, I definitely didn't." You almost choke again. He grins behind his sunglasses, even though it's literally nighttime.

"I said I could teach you."

"You've lost your mind."

"C'mon."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're my best friend!"

"So?"

"Sooo best friends don't…do that stuff."

"...Since when?"

"Since forever!"

He shrugs like you're the unreasonable one. "I think you're makin' up rules." You stare at him. "I am not kissing you."

"Didn't say you had to."

"I said I could help."

"That's the same thing."

"It's educational."

"Oh my goodness Michael."

"You gonna let some random dude be your first kiss and get down him?"

"...Eventually?"

"What if he's terrible?"

"I can take that."

"But what if he ain't patient?" You don't answer. Michael knew what you did there. His smile softens just a little.

"You'd get nervous, hm?"

"...maybe."

"You'd pretend you weren't."

"...maybe, yeah."

"And then he'd rush you." You look away. He sighs. "I wouldn't, pretty lady." That catches your attention. His voice is quieter now. "I'd wait..whenever you’re ready, I’d wait." The air suddenly feels different.

You look down at the paper cup in your hands. "...You're doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"Making everything sound reasonable." He laughs. "Is it workin'?"

"...A little."

"I knew it." He hops off the hood and walks around until he's standing in front of you.

"No pressure."

"You literally just spent ten minutes pressuring me."

"I spent ten minutes presenting evidence."

"You'd make a terrible lawyer."

"I'd make a great teacher." You roll your eyes so hard it makes him laugh. "...okay, one kiss…and you learn me how to give a blowjob?," you mumble.

His grin immediately gives him away. "So you agreed." You look away shyly. "Don't sound so excited." He laughs. "I'm not!"

"Oh you are."

"I'm happy you're trustin' me." He steps closer, suddenly much gentler than before. His hand comes up slowly, giving you plenty of time to move if you want. "You really want this, pretty?"

"...Yeah." He bites his lips. "Cute."

"..Michael."

"Sorry." He's smiling, but softer now. "Just... don't think so much." Easy for him to say.

The second his fingers brush your cheek, your heart starts racing. "I don't know what I'm doing," you admit quietly. "I know, m’lady and that’s okay."

"You better not laugh, okay?"

"I won't."

"You promise?"

"I promise." He leans in slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I got you." The kiss is brief and warm. Gentle enough that it barely registers before it's over. When he pulls away, you're still blinking at him. "...That's all?"

He smiles. "For now."

"...okay well.. show the dirty deed than." He flashes that signature Bad-era grin.

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

he laid out on the bed , his shirt lifted and a lazy smirk on his face as you sat on your knees.

"you look a little flushed pretty girl." his hand coming up to your cheek. "you said you wanted to learn, you getting cold feet now?" Now Michael knows your inexperienced , he’d been taking things extra slow with you but sometimes you surprised him and he didn’t stop you.

"n-no." you started. "but what if i do it wrong , what if i bite you or something? I don’t know."

"you’re not gonna bite me sweetheart... and who knows i might like…that." he chuckled seeing your face flush even more. "c’mon you’re a big girl." his hands wrapping around your thighs. “and i’m here to help you , i promise."

you bite down on your lips, he let out a low groan , he didn’t care how sloppy it might be , he needed to feel your lips around him. "It’s jus’ like a lollipop."

"okay.." he smiled softly , his big hand caressing your cheek. “good girl.” he unbuckled his pants. "Go ahead, take my cock out sweetheart." his eyes were low as he watched you nervously fiddling around with his pants , lifting his hips up to allow you to pull them down enough to pull his cock out,

your eyes widening at his length. "m-Michael..you’re really big." he laughed softly. "Touch it, sweet girl." he groaned softly as you held his soft cock in your hands.

"Y-yeah my sweet girl, now move up and d-down." you obeyed. "slowly." he trailed off as you moved your hands , pre-cum dribbling down his cock. "O-oh fuck…princess , keep going."

"now , if y’want.. give the tip a little kiss." lowering your head down, kissing the tip, the sticky essence coating your lips.

"good girl, open your mouth." he ran his hands through your head softly. "g-go slow." parting your lips , letting his cock slowly slip into your mouth. "fuuuuck." he groaned softly, hissing when your teeth grazed the vein.

"Goodness baby , careful with your t-teeth , you’re doing so good though….so good f’me." he praised,your muffled moans,sending vibrations through his cock. "sh-shit, you like sucking my cock?" he groaned, he tugged at your hair softly. desperately wanting to push your head down and make you gag on his cock…shit he was about to cum. "wait fuck hold on sweet girl , stop.."

"d-did i do something wrong?" you pulled off of him, your lips swollen, eyes teary — and fucked out. "no , of course not – fuck you were too good i almost came." he huffed out a breathless laugh.

"isn’t that a good thing?" you titled your head to the side confused , you were killing him. "Ye-yeah it is angel, but i didn’t want to overwhelm you…" his cock was still hard , twitching against his stomach.

you didn’t know what you were doing, but you picked it back up. "Baby wait you don’t—fuck!" he hissed as you bobbed up and down on his length.

"Ohhhh-baby-fuck." you smiled, mouth full of his cock. "S-shit, sweetheart, i’m gonna c-cum." you kept going , jerking off what couldn’t fit in your mouth.

his cock twitched before his cum shot into your mouth , some of it leaking out the corners of your mouth. "a-ah shitttt, that’s enough f’me..pretty." you pulled off of him , cum and spit coating your lips. "did i do good big daddy." You tease.

"good?" he chuckled breathlessly. "Sweet girl, you sure you haven’t done that before?" you flushed , swatting his chest.

"Mike stop…" he pulled you into his lap. "You did so good." your need for him growing as he praised.

"m-mike-" he rubbed soft circles into your thighs. "getting needy mama?" you whimpered, nodding. "you did such a good job for your first time…only right i help you now right?" you core burning with anticipation. "Wanna sit on my face."

"W-What?" he pulled you further up. "c’mon..let me taste you." he whispered sweetly, hissing the insides of your thighs. "Want you to ride my face , use me. Please."

❤︎ © 888latte.

૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝒌𝒂𝒊': first ever long fic damnnnn to my long fic writers THIS IS THE WORST PAIN. so please LET ME KNOW (I'm begging yall.) if this was good! feedback & comments & reblogs IS ALWAYS appreciated. don't be scared to comment <33 ily.

𝟭 𝗮𝗺. 𝗛𝗮𝘆𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗵𝘂𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝟭𝟵𝟳𝟴.

𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍’𝒔 hand slid up to cup you jaw, thumb brushing softly over your cheek as he pulled you closer.

His lips met yours again, deeper this time, tongue teasing yours as he kissed like he’d been dreaming of this for years. You gasped softly into the kiss and your tug on his soft hair.

Eyes wide, full of longing and need, you whispered, "I need you, mike..." The words made him pause just long enough to glance down at you, chest heaving, a mixture of disbelief and desire in his eyes.

Your big eyes staring up at him, lips already swollen from his kisses, seemed to pull him in further.

He kissed you again, slower, savoring you, before his lips trailed to the side of your neck, his hand still gently cradling your jaw, teasing just enough to make you tremble.

Heat pooled low in your belly, and though nothing else had happened yet, every touch and kiss was enough to make it feel like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

He pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, eyes dark. His voice dropped low, rough with desire. "C-can I touch you?"

you swallowed hard and whispered, breathless, "Please..angel please..." His hand slid further under your shirt, fingers brushing over the soft curve of your breast through your bra. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and he immediately kissed you again.

slower and deeper this time. His mouth is warm and sure, hands trailing along your waist, slipping beneath your sleep dress to touch your bare skin.

His lips move to your neck, dragging along the sensitive skin just below your jaw. "you smell so heavenly...baby," he murmurs, voice sweet and innocent.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders. And when he slips a hand beneath your sleep dress, eyes locked on yours, his sweet voice drops to a whisper that sends shivers straight to your core,

"Let me make you feel good, yeah? but y' gotta be real quiet f'me okay?" His fingers slip, sliding over your panties and the moment he feels the dampness there, he lets out a low groan.

"F-Fuck, lovely." he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours for a beat. "already wet f'me?"

You nod shakily, unable to speak, hips twitching as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clothed slit. The pressure of his fingers through the thin fabric has you gasping, legs parting on instinct.

then he presses a little harder, and your breath hitches, your body arching into his hand with a quiet, needy whimper. Michael smiles against your neck, voice low and sweet. "Sound so sweet f’me, baby."

You shiver as his hands slide up your legs, thumbs brushing gently along your inner thighs. Then he leans in close, until his breath is hot and heavy right against your dripping cunt.

He doesn’t touch you yet. Just breathes. Watches. Fingers going up and down your slick folds as you writhe under him, desperate and aching. "Look at you," he murmurs, completely entranced.

His thumb swipes gently through your wetness. "My sweet beautiful girl." You bite your lip, a whimper slipping from your throat. "Shhh baby, we don't wanna wake the others up don't we?"

then, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, soft and lingering, before sliding his tongue slowly up your slit, groaning low against you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

The moment his tongue touches you, it’s over. He moans and whimpers low against your pussy like he’s tasting something he’s been craving for years.

He starts slow, teasing licks through your folds, lips wrapping around your clit just enough to make your whole body jolt. And then he does it again. And again. Each time a little rougher. A little wetter.

A little more desperate. "Fuuuck," he groans into you, hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open for him. "You taste so good, so good baby."

You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, hips lifting off the bed as he sucks your clit into his mouth. It’s messy, and dirty, the sounds of him licking you echoing through the room, wet and filthy and perfect.

Then suddenly, he’s slipping two fingers back inside you pushing in deep, curling them up in just the right way, and your moan breaks into a whimper. "Ngh—Michael—!" he groans again, like your voice alone is enough to make him lose it. Then he adds a third finger.

Your back arches, legs trembling as he fucks them into your soaked cunt fast and deep, his palm smacking softly against your skin with every thrust. His mouth never leaves your clit tongue flicking, sucking, devouring like it’s the only thing that matters.

"Let go, my sweet girl," he mumbles against you. "Wanna feel you." You’re already so close.

you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t stop yourself from grinding against his face like your body’s got a mind of its own. The pressure snaps.

you cry out, thighs clenching around his head as your orgasm crashes into you. Your fingers tug at his hair, your hips jerk, your moans breaking into soft, high pitched whines as you fall apart in his mouth. But Michael doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking. Keeps fucking his fingers into you like he wants to memorize the way you cum.

And when you finally start to go still, trembling and breathless beneath him, he pulls back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, lips swollen, chin glistening with your slick.

He crawls back up your body, kissing a trail from your trembling thighs to your stomach, over your chest, leaving warm, messy kisses across your skin before finally reaching your mouth.

He kisses you hard. Hungry, deep, desperate, his lips still slick from tasting you, his tongue dragging over yours like he needs more of you in every way.

You can feel how hard he is now, pressed between your thighs. It’s driving you crazy every movement, every breath just making it worse. Still kissing you, he breaks just long enough to whisper, breathless, "n-need to be inside you, baby. Can’t wait no more." You nod, dazed, still catching your breath.

michael shifts back, and in one smooth motion, he pushes his shorts and boxers down, finally freeing his cock.

You can’t help the soft gasp that leaves your lips, and Michael smirks through heavy breaths. He leans down again to kiss you, while his hand slides up your thigh.

Then suddenly, he grabs one of your legs, lifting it over his shoulder. His other hand cups your breast, fingers squeezing, thumb brushing softly over your nipple as he lines himself up.

"Look at me..please baby." he murmurs, voice low and thick with heat. You do. And then he slides in.

Slow at first, inch by inch, until he’s buried deep inside you, your walls fluttering around him. You moan his name, back arching off the bed.

Michael’s jaw clenches, his hand tightening on your thigh. "F-Fuck, lovely…"

he groans, eyes fluttering shut for a second. "You feel—so good—fuck."

His hips start to move, deep, rolling thrusts that drag every inch of him along your soaked walls. He keeps your leg hooked over his shoulder, the angle letting him hit every sweet spot, his other hand still cupping your breast like he can’t get enough.

"So perfect…so tight for me—fuck!" he pants, voice all praise and heat. You moan louder, nails digging into his arms as he starts to pick up the pace,

hips slapping against yours, breath hot and ragged, all while he keeps watching your face like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Michael's rhythm starts to falter, his hips snapping faster, rougher, his breathing growing messier with each thrust.

His brows are furrowed and lips parted.

"Oh my goodness—shit baby," he moans, head dropping forward.

"Y-you feel so f-fucking good, baby—s-shit, you’re so tight—oh fuckk—" The way he says it, so breathless, whimpering, makes your whole body react.

Your walls clench down around him instinctively, squeezing him hard, and it pulls another choked moan straight from his throat. His voice breaks again.

"Ohhh f-fuck—just like that—my s-sweet g-girl.. shit—" He sounds so good. Ruined. Wrecked.

Like he’s completely unraveling inside you. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, gasping for air, thighs trembling as he pounds into you deep and fast, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke.

Then he brings his hand down, finding your clit like he knows exactly what you need.

His fingers are messy, fast, rubbing tight circles in sync with his thrusts. You cry out, arching under him, clutching at his biceps as he holds himself over you and keeps fucking you through it.

"Yess m-mikey—!" you sob, voice high and desperate. He groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

"That’s it, sweet girl," he pants, kissing your jaw, your neck. "C-come on—cum for me again—please, I need to feel it—need to feel you fall apart on me."

You’re so close, your legs starting to shake, your fingers gripping him like a lifeline, your moans breaking into breathless little whimpers.

And all you can hear is him—moaning, gasping, whimpering, praising you like he’s gone completely stupid from how good you feel.

Your whole body locks up as that final wave crashes over you—tight and hot and overwhelming.

You cry out his name, legs shaking, back arching as you cum hard around him, fluttering and pulsing deep on his cock.

michael chokes on a moan—high, broken, wrecked. "fuuuck—so good—so fucking good, baby—"

He doesn't pull out in time, gritting his teeth through a loud, desperate groan as he grinds a little harder and spills in, all in your pussy, sticky and thick ropes of cum painting your skin while his hips twitch and his breath catches in short.

He collapses forward slightly, chest rising and falling, eyes still glazed with pleasure. Then his gaze drops down, seeing the mess he made of you, and he groans again, softer this time, like it’s too much to handle. "Shit,"

he breathes. "you’re so fucking perfect…" He leans in and kisses you slow and warm.

his hand brushes your cheek before moving to the nightstand, grabbing some tissue from a pack you kept there. "I got you." he murmurs.

you hum softly as he wipes you clean—gentle, patient, still pressing soft kisses to your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere his mouth can reach.

And when he’s done, he tosses the tissues aside and crawls back into bed, settling in beside you. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his chest like he has to keep you close.

You feel his breath in your hair, slow and steady now. His hands finds your waist, his thumb stroking lazily over your skin.

Then he whispers, barely audible in the dark,

"I’m sorry..i'll clean you up better tomorrow yeah? Joseph and the rest are here..so there's not much I can do baby..."

You kiss him back sleepy. "It's okay angelface..you made me feel really..really good."

the room was dark and quiet.

Michael was already asleep beside you, one arm lazily draped across your waist, his breathing slow and steady.

for a moment, you let yourself pretend, pretend you weren't hiding, pretend there wasn't a ring tucked away where nobody could find it, pretend everything was okay.

Then your stomach hurt. You immediately sat up. a sharp wave of nausea hitting you out of nowhere.

Your hand flew to your mouth. "Oh goodness." The movement woke Michael instantly.

He was always like that. Light sleeper. The second you moved, he was awake. "lovely?" His voice was rough from sleep.

You pushed yourself off the bed. "Bathroom." He still doesn't understand what's going on. "Y'okay?"

No.

You weren't. You practically stumbled into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. the nausea passed after a few minutes, but the panic did stay... because this wasn't the first time.

Suddenly all you could hear was your own heartbeat, Michael's face, The secret engagement ring and...Joe. Joe. Joe.

you leaned against the sink, trying to breathe, trying not to think. Because if you thought about it too hard...you'd start crying.

a soft knock.

"pretty baby?"

Michael. You closed your eyes. "I'm okay angel."

lie.

Because Michael knew you.The door opened a crack.Then he stepped inside. Concern written all over his face. "What happened?"

"N-Nothing baby..don't worry." Immediately —"Nah." His hand found yours. Cold fingers wrapping around cold fingers.

"Baby, What happened?" And that was all it took. Your eyes filled immediately. Michael's expression changed. "n-no." His voice dropped.

"What is it my baby? please..talk t'me baby...did I hurt you while we were makin' love?"

You couldn't even look at him, saying it out loud would make it real. "I think..." Your voice cracked. And suddenly you were crying. "I think I might be pregnant.." It was Completely silence.

Michael froze. For like one horrible second. Then again. You couldn't read his face. Then your chest hurt. "Mike...say something." His eyes finally lifted.

And fuck. He looked terrified. Just as terrified as you felt, i mean hello?....Secretly engaged. Living under the shadow of everybody else's opinions.

And now maybe—Maybe a baby.

A shaky breath left him.You watched him process it, the panic, fear and reality.

Then his hand squeezed yours tighter. not letting go. "Okay beautiful." You stared. "What?"

His voice wasn't steady...Not at all. But he kept talking anyway. "Okay."

"Michael—"

"W-we don't even know yet." His eyes were shiny now. "You hear me lovely?" You nodded.

"We don't know." Another squeeze. "But if y' are..." His voice cracked.

And for the first time all night he looked every bit as young as he actually was. Just a scared young adult.

"If y' are baby...wow." He swallowed hard. "We'll figure it out. 'kay?" Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks.

Because that wasn't the problem, the baby wasn't even the problem. The problem was everything around it.

Joe.

all the pressure,The expectations, The way people already looked at you. Like you didn't belong. Like you were getting in the way.

Michael knew exactly what you were thinking.

Because he looked away. Jaw tightening.

"You talked to my Joseph again, didn't y'?" The question wasn't really a question.

You just stayed silent, and that was enough. Michael closed his eyes. Immediately understanding and angry. not at you, Michael was never mad at you.

At him. "What'd he say?" You shook your head. "Forget it."

"Beloved, talk t'me, What did that bastard say?" The hurt in your expression answered before you could.

And suddenly Michael looked sick. Because he already knew. He knew exactly what kind of things Joe said.

"He..thinks I ruined you.." The words came out before you could stop them. Michael's face darkened instantly. "He said that?" You looked down.

"He thinks I'm a problem." Michael couldn't believe it. "Baby, fuck... y'know you ain't the problem right?" The response came quickly.

"That fucking bustard, how dare he...fuck. i'm so mad.."

"M-michael, it's okay..you know how Joe is."

"I don’t care, he can not talk to my woman like that." His voice shook.

"You are not my problem." Tears slipped down your face. And that made him look even more upset, he hated when you cried.

Especially over things other people put in your head. Michael stepped closer. Both hands finding your face. Making you look at him.

"My Pretty baby, don't cry..listen to me okay?"

You could hear the emotion in his voice now. "I chose y'." Your breath caught. "I chose y'." He said it again.

like, he needed you to understand. he needed himself to understand. "They didn't choose y'...i did."

The bathroom felt too small for all the emotions trapped inside it.

Everything all tangled together. Michael looked down at your hand. At the hidden ring. Then back at you. You cried so hard.

The second your voice cracked in that bathroom—too loud, you already knew what was coming.

You just didn’t want to believe it. Michael was still in front of you, hands on your face, breathing uneven, trying to keep you steady like he always did when everything was falling apart.

But then—Footsteps. Down the hallway.

Both of you froze. Michael didn’t even have to look.His jaw tightened instantly. "No." You barely breathed it.

"Michael…" The knock came anyway. not soft also asking...a warning. Then the door opened.

Joe. He didn’t even bother hiding the fact that he was already angry. His eyes moved first to you. Then to Michael. Then to the bathroom.

"Why the hell is there yelling in my house at this hour?"

Michael stepped slightly in front of you without even thinking. Protective. "Go back to your room."

Joe’s eyes narrowed. "I asked a question."

Michael didn’t move. "Leave." That one word changed the air. Joe walked in anyway. Joe Jackson didn’t ask permission in his own house.

His gaze landed on you again. Longer this time.

"Still here," he muttered. like you were something that had overstayed its welcome.

Your stomach dropped. Michael felt it.You could tell by the way his hand clenched slightly at his side.

"You don’t talk about her like that." Joe let out a short laugh. "Oh, I don’t?" A step closer.

"Then what the hell do you call it, Michael? Sneaking her into my house like this? Acting like I don’t see what she’s doing to you?" Michael’s breathing changed.

"She’s my fiancée." The word hit the room like a gunshot. Joe’s expression didn’t change at first. Then it hardened. "Your what?" Michael didn’t look away.

"Fiancée." You felt your blood run cold.

Because that wasn’t supposed to be said..not like this, not here.

© KAIOMII. ‎‎‎ ❤︎ all rights reserved. all works are a work of fiction. do not copy.

You spend so much time making sure everyone else's days are beautiful. I hope someone remembers to make yours beautiful too.

You looked around the studio. Michael was pretending to read lyric sheets. Pretending very badly. When your eyes met, he smiled small, shy and immediately looked back down.

It became a habit. A poem tucked into your clipboard, A note hidden beneath your coffee cup, A cassette left on your desk with him quietly singing a melody he'd written the night before.

"You know," you laughed one afternoon, unfolding another note, "you're gonna run out of things to write." He looked offended. "I've got plenty."

"You've written me one every day this month."

"I-i know." He smiles even wider. "...Why?" He shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the floor. "'Cause..." Silence. "...I like knowing you'll smile at least once today."

...how could someone be that soft? Even the staff started noticing. "Another letter?" one of the makeup artists teased. Your face burned. "It's... poetry."

"From who?" You smiled to yourself. "...A secret admirer." Across the room, Michael nearly choked on his water trying not to laugh.

Joe Jackson noticed too. Not the letters…Michael. The way his son stopped looking exhausted whenever you walked into a room. The way rehearsals went smoother when you were nearby. The way Michael unconsciously searched for you after every performance. Joe had spent years teaching his children one lesson.

‘Feelings were distractions’

‘Distractions cost money.’

One evening he stopped you in the hallway. "I need a word." You smiled politely. "Of course, Mr. Jackson." His expression never changed. "You're close with Michael." You hesitated. "I work closely with him."

"That's not what I asked."

...

"I care about him." Joe nodded slowly. "I believe you." For one foolish second...You thought the conversation had gone well.

The next morning, everything changed. Michael walked into the studio carrying another folded letter. He stopped when he saw Joe looking at him and you besides him. Joseph didn't shout this time, He simply placed a photograph on the table.

You...standing beside Jackie, laughing. Jackie's hand resting lightly on your back. Perfectly innocent. Perfect timing. Michael frowned. "...When was this?" Joseph shrugged. "Yesterday." Michael looked at you. "You didn't tell me you were with Jackie." You blinked. "...We were discussing wardrobe budgets." Joseph answered before you could. "For nearly two hours."

"It wasn't—" Joe laughed. He loved ruining everyone’s lives. "He asked for her personally." Michael looked back at the photograph. His smile was already disappearing.

Then Joseph pulled out another envelope. "I wasn't going to show you this." He sighed dramatically. "But perhaps you deserve honesty." Inside...was a handwritten note.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

"I'd love the opportunity to work with you permanently."

"You're much easier to talk to than your brother."

Jackie's name signed underneath. Your stomach dropped. "I've never seen this." Joseph looked almost offended. "No?"

"No!" You said fast. Michael's eyes found yours. "...You didn't?"

"N-No." You said weak. "I..." Michael started, but then stopped. You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. Just enough to break your heart.

Joseph quietly added, "She declined at first." Michael swallowed. "...At first?" Joseph Nodded and Smiled "But eventually..." He slid over the forged transfer papers. "...she accepted." You tried to take the papers. "Nah uh." Joseph Laughed. "I didn't."

"No?" Joseph looked at the signature. "It certainly looks convincing." You couldn’t believe your eyes, is this man crazy??? "It's fake."

"You keep saying that." Michael wasn't looking at Joseph anymore.

He was looking at you. Trying...trying so hard...to fit this version of you together with the girl who laughed at his poems. Who reminded him to eat. Who tucked blankets around him when he fell asleep in the studio. It didn't make sense. None of it did.

"...Why didn't you tell me Jackie asked?" Your heart cracked. "...Because he never did."

"You swear?" His voice cracked. "I swear." Joseph folded his arms. "Careful. Son." You looked at him. "I won't tolerate lies."

Michael rubbed his face. "...Joseph..." It came out exhausted. Joseph softened his voice. "Michael."

"I know this hurts." Michael tried to find his words, but genuinely couldn’t "..." Joseph was very satisfied "But she's a young woman."

Michael still couldn’t find his words. "Jackie's older. Established. Confident. He isn't..." Joseph let the sentence hang. "...like you." Michael flinched. Just barely. You saw it anyway. Joseph kept going. "You've always been sensitive…Girls don't usually choose sensitive."

"...Joseph."

"They choose certainty." He nodded toward the papers. "Looks like she did." You stepped forward. "I chose this job because of Michael."

Joseph smiled. "There." He looked at Michael. "Did you hear that?" Michael frowned. Joseph repeated it. "She chose the job." Not you. The job. Then Joseph quietly added, "She never said she chose you." ...

The room became impossibly still. Because...he was right. You never had. You couldn't. He was your boss.

Nothing had ever happened, No confessions , No promises. Just letters…Poems. Smiles that lingered a little too long. You had never told Michael you loved him. Michael looked at you. "...Did you?" You frowned. "...Did I what?"

"...Choose me?"

...nothing came out. Because how could it? You couldn't say yes. Not when neither of you had ever crossed that line. You just stared at him with tears in your eyes. And your silence...answered the wrong question.

Michael looked down. "...Oh." One tiny word. Barely audible. But it sounded like something inside him had snapped.

Joseph gently rested a hand on his shoulder. "I know." Michael didn't move. Joseph spoke softly. "The poems…they were only poems." Michael laughed once. It wasn't funny.

"I thought..." He shook his head. "...I really thought..." His eyes closed. "...I'm stupid."

"N-No Michael.." You took another step. "No, Michael." He backed away. Just one. It hurt more than if he'd screamed.

"So..." He looked at you. His eyes were glossy now. "...when you smiled at the letters..that wasn't..."

"It was real."

"I loved your letters." The second the words left your mouth...Joseph interrupted. "But not him." ...Michael's eyes met yours again.

Still Waiting…Hoping…Begging. Just give him something. Anything. But your throat closed. Because Joseph had cornered you perfectly. You couldn't say I love you.

It wasn't true. Not yet. You couldn't say I wanted you instead of Jackie.

Because there had never been a "you instead of Jackie." There had never been a choice. Only a crush that had quietly become something much deeper. Too late. Michael nodded slowly. "...Right." He smiled very broken. "...I get it now."

"You liked the attention." His voice was so calm. So heartbreakingly calm. "I don't blame you."

"I never—"

"I wrote poems..." He laughed at himself. "...Joseph was right."

"No."

"I made it into something it wasn't." Tears streamed down your face. "Please listen to me."

"I did…For months." Another smile.This one even sadder. "I just heard what I wanted."

He reached into his jacket. Pulled out the newest letter. The one he'd planned to leave on your desk that morning. Still perfectly folded. He looked at it for a long moment.

Then…without opening it...he quietly tore it in half. Then again. And again. Little white pieces drifted onto the studio floor. You sobbed. "...Please don't."

"I shouldn't have written them." His voice cracked. "It must've made you uncomfortable."

"They didn't."

"I'm sorry."

"No—"

"I’m sorry I embarrassed you."

"You never embarrassed me."

"I'm sorry I mistook kindness..." He swallowed. "...for something more."

Joseph watched in silence. Satisfied. His plan had worked exactly as intended. He hadn't needed Michael to hate you. Only to stop believing in you.

❤︎ © 888latte.

mil talks ૮ • ﻌ - ა. this took ME again so long *sigh*... lmk if this needs a part 2??? I love writing angst sm <3 anyways #fuhjoe and have a great day / night ilyyall.

You stand in front of your closet way too long staring at colors like they’re life decisions instead of clothes.

The blue hangs directly in front of you, mocking you... and you don't like that.The second Michael sees you, he knows. Not because of the dress itself, but the color... black looked beautiful on you, making it impossible to ignore you.

The kind of thing magazines would describe as timeless. But it wasn’t blue. And that tiny fact settles somewhere deep in his chest before he can stop it.

He still walks into the conference smiling. Still shakes hands, still answers questions smoothly while cameras flash bright enough to hurt his eyes. But something inside him quietly sinks anyway. Because he’d written that stupid line at three in the morning in a hotel room half delirious from missing you.

Wear blue tomorrow if you still want me writing you.

And you hadn’t. The realization follows him through the entire conference. He keeps trying not to look at you. Keeps failing. You’re three rows back taking notes with your head lowered, pretending not to notice him.

Every now and then your pen pauses against the paper like your concentration slipped somewhere else entirely. He knows you too well already. That’s the frightening part.

“Michael, what inspires your songwriting process lately?” The question barely reaches him. His gaze drifts back toward you instinctively.

black sleeves..gold earrings. no blue. His chest aches in a way that feels embarrassingly dramatic. “Uh—human emotion mostly,” he answers distractedly.

The room laughs softly at something afterward. Michael doesn’t hear it. Because you finally look up. And for one awful second your eyes meet his.

god...you look guilty.

That hurts worse than anger would’ve. Michael glances away first this time. He never does that. The conference drags after that. Questions blur together beneath fluorescent lights while disappointment settles heavier and heavier inside him.

Not because you rejected him exactly—but because he realizes he gave you something vulnerable and watched you quietly hand it back untouched. By the end, his throat feels tight. Actually pathetic. You leave quickly once it’s over.

Michael watches you gather your papers too fast, avoiding his direction completely while reporters crowd around asking for final comments. For a moment he thinks about letting you go, maybe he should? maybe this is the answer? But then he remembers every letter folded carefully in your hands.

The way your breathing changed whenever he stepped too close. The expression on your face backstage last week when he called you pretty. And suddenly letting you walk away felt impossible. “Excuse me,” he says quietly to an assistant before moving through the hallway after you.

He catches you near the side corridor. You stop immediately when you hear his voice not turning around yet. That somehow makes this harder. “Michael,” you say softly. He notices the tension in your shoulders right away. Like you already know what he’s going to say. For a second he just looks at you.

At the curve of your jaw beneath the hotel lights. The way your fingers tighten around your notebook when you’re nervous. He’d written songs with less longing than this.

“You...wore black,” he says finally. Your eyes close briefly before you turn toward him. And there it is again—that expression...regret. “I thought it would be easier,” you admit quietly. Michael almost laughs at that.

not because it’s funny. Because it’s heartbreaking. “Easier for who?” The hallway hums softly around you with distant voices and moving equipment, but it all feels strangely far away.

You glance down instead of answering. And Michael suddenly realizes you really are trying to end this.That thought lands like a bruise.

“You know,” he says softly, “I kept checkin’ for blue all morning.” Your face falters slightly. He wishes it didn’t. Because now he knows this affects you too. “I shouldn’t have written that,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “Y-you were just..honest.”

“Yeah.” His mouth twists faintly. “That usually where my problems start.” Silence stretches between you.

Michael studies your face like he’s trying to memorize it before losing access. Then quietly: “Did you mean it?” Your brows knit slightly. “..Mean what?”

“This.” He gestures weakly between you both. “Tellin’ me no.” Your throat moves when you swallow. And that tiny motion nearly undoes him. “I don’t know,” you whisper. That should make him feel better. Instead it destroys him. Because uncertainty means you want him too.

And still chose against it. Michael looks down for a second, rubbing tired fingers against his mouth before laughing softly under his breath. “You know what’s crazy?” You stay silent.

“I think I would’ve taken any little sign from you today.” His voice lowers carefully. “Blue dress. Blue earrings. Hell, blue nail polish probably would’ve done it.” Your eyes shine suddenly and he immediately hates himself for saying that.

“No, hey—” He steps closer instinctively. “Don’t look like that.” But you already are. And somehow seeing you upset while he’s the reason feels unbearable.“I’m trying to protect both of us,” you say quietly. “I-i know...”

“You could lose things over this.” Michael smiles sadly. “You think I care about articles right now?”

“But that’s not fair.”

“No,” he agrees softly. “None of this is.” a long pause follows.You look exhausted suddenly. Young, frightened by your own feelings. and Michael...Michael falls a little deeper in love with you right there in that ugly hotel hallway. Which is exactly the problem.

He stares at you for a moment too long before speaking again. “When I wrote those letters…” His voice catches slightly. “I think part of me hoped you’d stop me before it got bad.” Your eyes flicker upward. “And now?” Michael looks at you quietly. Then smiles in the saddest way you’ve ever seen from him. “I think it already did.”

The silence after his words doesn’t feel empty.

It feels like something collapsing. Michael doesn’t move at first and neither do you...just two people standing too close in a place that was never meant for anything honest.Then you step forward, something inside you finally stops negotiating.

Michael catches it the second you decide. His breath changes first. Then his posture. Then that impossible restraint he’s been carrying all day starts to crack at the edges. “You shouldn’t—” he begins. But you don’t let him finish.

You grab his jacket instead, pulling him in like you’ve been starving for too long to behave properly now, the kiss lands messy, urgent. All teeth and breath and years of pretending this didn’t exist.

Michael makes a quiet sound against your mouth—half shock, half surrender—before his hands finally find you. One at your waist. One at your back. Like he’s been waiting to be allowed.

The world outside the hallway disappears. completely. Just him reacting like he’s been holding his breath for months and you finally gave him air. When you break apart slightly, it’s only because you have to.

Your forehead rests against his for a second, both of you still too close to think clearly.

Michael’s eyes stay closed a moment longer than yours. Like opening them would make this unreal again. “You’re gonna get us killed,” he murmurs.

But there’s no bite in it. Only disbelief. You laugh once small, wrecked. “Then stop making it impossible.” That finally does it.

Something shifts in his face, it softens, it falls, he finally gives in, and suddenly the control he’s been clinging to is gone. His hand tightens at your back and he pulls you in again, slower this time, deeper.

like he’s decided consequences can wait. When you finally pull back again, your breathing is uneven, words catching in your throat before they even form properly. “I can’t keep pretending,” you whisper. Michael opens his eyes. And whatever he sees in yours makes him go still.

You swallow hard. “I’ve been in love with you,” you say quietly. “For longer than I can even explain. Since before I understood what it meant. Since before I told myself I was just doing my job.” His expression breaks in the smallest way.

something inside him finally hears what it’s been waiting for.You don’t stop now. “I read every letter like it was going to ruin me.” A shaky breath. “And I still opened them anyway.” Michael’s thumb brushes your wrist without thinking.

“I tried not wanting this,” you admit. “I really did.”

His voice comes out rougher than before. “Yeah?” You nod once. “But I did anyway.” That lands heavier than anything else. Michael stares at you for a long moment like he’s trying to decide if you’re real or something his loneliness invented after too many hotels and too many empty nights.

Then he exhales. “Don’t do that,” he says quietly. Your brows knit slightly. “Do what?”

“Talk like I imagined you.” That makes your chest tighten instantly. Because that’s exactly what you’ve been afraid of too. That none of this is real enough to survive daylight.

You reach up, touching his collar lightly. “I’m not imagined.” Michael lets out a breath that sounds almost like relief.

Then his forehead dips closer again, resting briefly against yours.His voice drops lower. “I’ve been tryin’ to stop myself from wanting you since that first conference.” Your heart stutters.

“Didn’t work,” he adds softly. The hallway is still there. Somewhere footsteps echo faintly in the distance reality waiting patiently at the edges. But neither of you steps back into it yet.

Michael finally opens his eyes again. And when he looks at you this time—there’s no distance left.

Only certainty. And something dangerously close to regret that it took this long.

“We shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs.You nod faintly. “Wanna go?” but neither of you moves.

© 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚

𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. ౨ৎ and they lived happily ever after, married with 18 kids 📖📖 📜📜... 🥂🥂 thank you everyone for reading. im soooooo glad yall loved this mini series, i made it with sm love <3 you guys don't know know how HAPPY every comment & reblog made me 🫰🏽😭 stay tuned for more my loves mwahh.

𝑘𝑎𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑠 ▶︎ this is all fiction and fun!! more is on da way >>>

© KAIOMII. ‎‎‎ ❤︎ all rights reserved. all works are a work of fiction. do not copy.

𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 was waiting on the bed with his sunglasses in one hand when the bathroom door opened.

You nearly turned around and went right back inside. The bikini had looked fine in the store and fine in your hands.

But now, standing in front of him, suddenly felt ridiculous. Your arms folded instinctively across your stomach.

Michael saw that, his smile faded. not because he disliked what he saw. because he recognized insecurity the second it appeared. You looked away first. "i-it's ugly isn't it.." The mattress shifted quietly.

When you looked back, he'd already stood. "Why do you say that baby?" You shrugged Unable to explain it properly.

Michael stopped in front of you, Close enough now that you could smell his cologne also close enough that looking at him felt harder than wearing the bikini.

His eyes travelled slowly over you once.. taking you in. Appreciating. The look alone made heat creep into your face. Michael's expression softened. "Baby.. my beautiful lady..." You immediately looked down. That made him smile.

His fingers found your chin, lifting it gently until you looked at him again. "Look at me please.." You hated how nervous you felt. And he could tell.

His hand slid from your chin to your cheek. Thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "You've been standing in that bathroom worryin' about this, haven't you?" You didn't answer. Michael laughed quietly. but not at you, never at you. It was the kind of laugh that said he'd already figured it out.

His other hand settled carefully at your waist. You felt your pulse immediately betray you.

"I don't like when you talk about yourself like that." His gaze dropped briefly. Then returned to yours. "Especially when I get to look at you." The words came out so naturally that they made the butterflies in your stomach active again. Michael seemed embarrassed the second he realized he'd said them out loud, His eyes flickered away.

a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, very shy. Always shy when he meant something. You loved that about him. "Michael..." He shook his head Still smiling to himself.

Then his hands settled at your waist properly Drawing you a fraction closer. "You know what I see?" His voice was quieter now. You shook your head. For a moment he simply looked at you. Like he couldn't believe you genuinely didn't know.

Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against your forehead trailing down to your neck. His hands never leaving your waist."I see the prettiest girl I've ever known." You immediately groaned. Michael laughed. "Look at you."

"Michael Stop it. I'm serious."

"So am I baby." The answer came too quickly. His forehead rested lightly against yours. A smile still lingering on his lips. And suddenly he looked far more nervous than you did.

His thumb moved gently against your side, Back and forth. "I don't want you hiding from me, ever. do you hear me baby?" You looked up. Michael's eyes were impossibly soft. "If you're nervous, tell me you're nervous."

"But don't stand in front of me thinkin' there's somethin' wrong with you." His gaze dipped once more before returning to your face. A faint smile appearing again. "Because, baby...fuck." His hands squeezed your waist lightly. "There really isn't."

( 💌 𝓀𝒶𝒾; never be insecure my loves, you are truly beautiful the way u are! )

© KAIOMII. ‎‎‎ ❤︎ all rights reserved. all works are a work of fiction.

Michael had been the first one to hear her soft cries through the baby monitor. Before you could even sit up, he was already moving. "I got her, mama. Stay in bed." You tried to argue "Michael, you have work tomorrow, I can—"

"No." His voice was gentle, but firm. "You’ve been with her all day. Let me take care of my girls tonight." My girls. those two words always made your heart ache a little. because he still said them like nothing had changed. Like you were still his, like he still belonged to you.

You watched him walk into the kitchen, his hair messy from sleep, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and somehow he still looked like the man you fell in love with. He made Michaella’s bottle perfectly, checking the temperature on his wrist like he’d done a hundred times before.

because he had.. and never complained, not once.

Now, he sat in the rocking chair with your daughter curled against his chest, feeding her slowly while humming some random little tune he made up.

and that’s when he saw you, still awake and watching him. His eyes lifted from the baby and immediately softened. "Baby?"

"Hm..?"

"Why aren’t you asleep?" You shrugged. "Couldn’t." He gave you that look.The one that said he knew you were lying. "Baby." Your breath caught.

He still called you that sometimes... usually late at night when he was too tired to remember he wasn’t supposed to. "What’s on your mind?"

"Nothing." You Sighed. "That’s a lie." You looked away and he sighed, setting the bottle down for a second after making sure Michaella was comfortable. "C’mere."

"Michael—"

"Come here."

There was no pressure in his voice, just love. the same love that had been there the first day he held your hand, the same love that was there when you told him you were pregnant, the same love that was there now. So you moved closer.

And without even thinking about it, he pulled you into his side while still holding your daughter. "You know i don't like when you do that hm?" he whispered.

"What?" You knew exactly what he meant. "You try to do everything alone." You didn’t say anything, because he was right. You always felt bad asking for help. You always thought you were being too much, but michael? he never saw you as too much. neverrrrr.

"You carried my baby for nine months," he said quietly. "You brought my little girl into this world. You stayed up through the sickness, the pain, the crying, the fear. And now you think I’m gonna let you sit there exhausted and do everything by yourself?"

Your eyes started burning. "Michael, we’re not even together anymore." The words hurt both of you. You could see it in his expression. But he shook his head. "Doesn’t change anything for me." Your heart stopped. "What?"

"You heard me." His eyes never left yours. "You are the mother of my child. You are the woman I loved. The woman I still care about more than anyone." He looked down at your sleeping daughter. "I’d do anything for both of you." Then he pressed a small kiss against your forehead. The same way he always used to. "Now go back to sleep, my lady"

"What.. about you?" a little smile appeared on his face. "I’m gonna sit here and finish feeding my princess."

"You need sleep too." He laughed softly. "I can survive being tired." you actually hate that when he says that. "Michael—"

"No, listen to me." He looked at you with so much love it made your chest hurt. "For once, let me love you the way you deserve to be loved. Let me take care of you." and that was the dangerous thing about Michael.

even when he wasn’t yours anymore… he still loved you like he was.

❤︎ 🧸 © 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚

comment on this POST , if u want to be added to my perm taglist!

You raise an eyebrow and sigh. “Martin..How.” He hesitates. then Actually hesitates. Which is rare for him.

“….i 've been wanting do to a thing,” he starts. “That’s not a good start.”

“No, wait—” he lets out a small laugh. “It’s not dumb, I swear.”

“Okay…” He shifts his weight, suddenly awkward again. “It’s like—” he gestures vaguely. “You hang upside down. And then you—” You blink. “…You want to hang upside down in my window.”

“When you say it like that it sounds weird.”

“It is weird.” He groans softly. “Okay, forget I said anything.”

He starts to pull himself back out the window—“Wait.” He pauses. You step closer, trying not to smile. “…Show me.” His head tilts slightly. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” A beat. Then, “Okay.” He climbs fully outside, gripping the top of your window frame. You watch him carefully—how natural it looks for him, like gravity just...works differently for him.“...Be careful.” He goes quiet. “...I will.” And then, Neither of you moves. You’re just there. Close. Too close.

“...So,” he says quietly. “Was the whole upside down thing worth it.” You don’t answer immediately, Your heart starts racing. “...maybe,” you say softly. “Maybe?” he repeats.You roll your eyes a little, but you don’t step back. “...Just—hold still.”

“I am literally hanging upside down,” he mutters. “I can’t get more still than this.” You huff a small laugh. Then lean in. You hesitate right before. Just for a second.

Because suddenly it feels real, Because this is Martin. Because he showed up for you. Because you’re not mad anymore.

“...Wait,” he says quickly. You freeze. “What.”

“...i've never done this upside down.” You stare at him.“...Me neither??”

“Righ...never mind.” a pause. “…Okay.”

“…Okay.” Neither of you moves.Then—You lean in again. This time, your lips actually meet. it's a little off. You bump slightly because of the angle, and he lets out a quiet, breathy laugh against your lips.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Shut up,” you whisper, trying not to smile. You adjust a little, one hand coming up to steady yourself on the window frame—The other, without really thinking, lightly holding onto his sleeve so he doesn’t swing.Then you try again.This time it lands better. soft, Still unsure. But you don’t pull away. And neither does he.There’s this small moment where you both just stay there—Not really moving.

Just...feeling it.His breathing is uneven. Yours too. Your lips press together again, a little more sure this time, lingering just a second longer than before. not perfect...not practiced. But real. And warm. And kind of overwhelming.

When you finally pull back, it’s slow. Like neither of you really wants to be the first to move.“…Oh..wow,” he says quietly. You let out a small breath. “..Yeah.” He’s still upside down, just staring at you through the mask like his brain hasn’t caught up yet.“...Wait,” he says. “What..?”

“…Can we—” You laugh softly. “You’re so—” But you lean in again anyway. This time it’s quicker, a little less awkward, like you both know what you’re doing now. A small, second kiss, Better and Easier. When you pull back, you’re both a little breathless.“Okay,..wow.” he says, voice soft and a little stunned. “That one was good.”

You smile, cheeks warm. “Yeah. It was.” He stays there for a second longer, like he forgot he’s literally hanging outside your window. Then—“Okay I might fall if I don’t move,” he mutters.“Please don’t die after that.”

“No promises.”

All of a sudden. Everything feels different in a warm way.

Like something just quietly shifted between you. He stays there for another second, like he doesn’t want to move. Then slowly pulls himself back up, flipping upright again and landing lightly on your windowsill. You’re both avoiding eye contact now.“...So,” he says. “So.”

“…Still a little mad?” You pretend to think about it. “...Maybe less.” He grins. “Worth it.” You shake your head, smiling.“…Get out of my window, Spider-Man.”

“Don't worry ma'am.” But he goes—dropping down, disappearing into the night. And this time, When you close the window. You’re still smiling.

© saevss.

veya'a note; this was SO BAD im sorry. hoped u did enjoy 😭 <3

© saevss.

© saevss.