🪽˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

The curtains billowed gently in the evening breeze.

“What is it, Mikey?” You asked quietly, sensing something was wrong despite coming down from your fucky headspace.

Michael swallowed as his gaze dropped to where he was sheathed inside of you, the tangled sheets gathered around your legs before lifting back to your face. The look in his eyes made your stomach sink—then you felt it pooling inside of you. For a few seconds he seemed unable to form words, before suddenly pulling out of you. His cock slipping free with a wet pop, a thin line of his cum and your juices stretched between his tip and your pussy, connecting the two with a delicate, glistening thread before it broke and dripped down onto the sheets below.

He dragged a hand down his face and let out a breath that sounded almost pained. “I..” His voice cracked so tried again. “I messed up..”

The silence that followed felt endless.

You sat upright and Michael moved too, retreating to the edge of the bed as though distance might somehow help him think. The sunset spilling through the window painted everything gold, casting long shadows across the room and turning the dust floating in the air into flecks of amber. Under different circumstances it would have been a perfect evening. Instead it felt absurdly cruel. The world outside was winding down into a peaceful sunset while the two of you sat here frozen in the middle of what felt like a disaster.

As you sat up, your gaze drifted downward and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight. Michael’s cum slowly dribbled out of your slit as the sunlight streaming through the window caught the liquid, making it glisten against your lips.

“Oh..” You say, still processing what you’re seeing.

Michael lowered his elbows to his knees and pressed both hands against his face. He looked impossibly young like this. Not a performer or a star. But a nervous twenty year old sitting in his childhood bedroom with absolutely no idea what to do. All he accidentally came inside his girlfriend.

“I thought I had more time,” He admitted into his palms. “Honestly, I really thought I did..” The confession was so sincere with no carelessness in his voice, only bewilderment. He genuinely could not understand how his confidence had failed him so spectacularly.

The truth of it wasn’t complicated, even if they both tried to dress it up. Neither of them were remotely sexually experienced in any real sense that would have given them confidence in what they were doing, nothing beyond fragments of hearsay and guesswork and the overconfidence you develop when you’re young and in love and convinced that wanting something badly enough counts as understanding it.

They had only recently become each other’s firsts, which made everything feel.. intensified? and urgent in a way neither of them really knew how to regulate yet; it had gone from tentative curiosity to something extremely addictive overnight the first time they decided it was time to have sex. It’s truly the closeness and euphoria of it all that makes you forget there are supposed to be rules, risks and consequences to sex because all you can think about is how good it feels to fuck.

So when you two rely on something like timing or instinct or the idea of “knowing when to stop,” it wasn’t because you actually knew how any of it worked. It was the fact that you were two people who had decided so foolishly that they were already grown enough to handle it. But in reality, you two were just learning each other too fast, caught in that blur where affection and desire all stack on top of each other neither of you are making smart decisions.

The problem was that neither of you actually knew anything. You knew fragments, half formed ideas passed along that no one bothered to verify with fact. Things told in bathrooms at parties, whispered in bedrooms at slumber parties, repeated by people who were only slightly less lost than you were. Friends. Cousins. Older girls who always sounded like they had access to some hidden manual everyone else missed. It all came packaged and wrapped with a pretty bow like it was the truth but none of it came with proof.

So now, when it matters and the stakes suddenly felt very real, all you actually had was hearsay dressed up as knowledge.

At Hayvenhurst, that realization settles into tension because when you visit, you’re constantly aware that you’re not alone even when nobody is in the room. It’s Sunday, which means the place isn’t so super busy, just dispersed because it’s a day of rest for the Jacksons and people move through their own little corners throughout the day. Somewhere deeper in the house there’s the low sound of a television on, probably one of his siblings watching something. A door opens and closes somewhere down the hall, followed by the soft rhythm of footsteps that don’t belong to either of you.

That’s why you’re both moving like this, a little careful about it as Michael leads you down the hallway in sweats and a wrinkled t shirt he pulled on too fast. His hair is a little messy as you follow a step behind him in an oversized shirt that hangs off your shoulders and cotton panties underneath, barefoot against the polished floor.

When you two reach the bathroom at the end of the hall, Michael pushes open the door to let you in first, his eyes flicking toward the hallway checking whether anyone is close enough to hear or see. There’s a faint sound of a drawer shutting maybe, or someone shifting in a chair—but nothing that suggests someone’s coming.

Inside, the bathroom is lit by the soft spill of light from the small bathroom window. He closes the door gently, careful not to let it click too loud.

You pull down your panties, the fabric sticky with the combined evidence of both your arousal and Michael’s release as you sat on the toilet seat. You can see the large wet spot clearly from here and you shift by spreading your thighs a bit, feeling a slow and steady leak.

Michael is sitting near the sink cabinet back against the door, elbows resting on his knees.

“’s supposed to work..” She says softly.

“Mhm?” He tilts his head a little. “You really think so?”

“Mhm.. well, I hope so..” She nods, chewing on her lip. “Your dad would kill me if I got pregnant..”

“I wouldn’t even let him near you, Tinker..” He huffs

After a couple seconds, you feel something warm in your bladder.

“Oh, Mikey.” She closes her thighs a bit. “Have to pee..”

“Go ahead,” he says immediately, soft about it like it’s not something she needs permission for—oh, he’s in love.

“Close your ears,” she whines. “’s embarrassing.”

He lets out a small, easy breath and turns his head away, obliging without hesitation. “I don’t mind, really.” He adds quieter this time.

He stays turned anyway, giving her space.

A few minutes pass in silence. She’s still sitting there, knees drawn together, staring at the floor while Michael remains nearby, quietly keeping her company.

Then she suddenly looks up. “What if I sneeze?”

Michael glances over. “Pardon?”

“What if I sneeze really hard?”

He frowns slightly. “Sneeze?”

“So your stuff comes out.” The answer is delivered with the complete sincerity of someone desperately trying to solve a problem. “My cousin told me about that!”

For a moment, he just looks at her. “You think you can sneeze it out?”

“I don’t know,” She admits. “Maybe, feels like there’s still some in there..”

The idea sounds strange, but neither of them knows enough to explain why. At this point they’re willing to consider almost anything.

Then she perks up slightly. “Black pepper.”

“What about black pepper, Tinkerbell?”

“It makes people sneeze.”

Michael thinks about it for all of two seconds. “Okay. I’ll go get some.” And before she can say another word, he’s already getting to his feet.

The house feels almost unnervingly normal compared to the panic upstairs. A television murmurs somewhere in the den. Somebody laughs from another room. A faint jingle of keys at the door.

He finds the little glass pepper shaker beside the stove and grabs it without hesitation, but the moment he turns toward the stairs, a voice stops him.

“What’re you doing, son?”

Michael nearly drops the shaker, slowly looking up to find Joe standing in the hallway, watching him with mild curiosity.

Michael just stares back then he looks at the pepper in his hand.

“(Name) needs it for her sinuses..”

Joe's eyes flick down to the shaker. “Black pepper.”

Michael swallows and nods, doing his best to appear casual. Unfortunately, casual has never been one of his stronger skills when it came to interacting with his father

“For her sinuses,” Joe repeats.

“That’s what she wanted..” Another pause.

Joe studies him for a moment longer, clearly aware that something about this interaction makes absolutely no sense.

But eventually he just shrugs.

“If you say so.”

Michael nods once then immediately heads for the stairs before another question can be asked.

His grip tightens around the pepper shaker as he takes the steps two at a time, relieved to have escaped the conversation. Explaining that he needed the pepper because his girlfriend was attempting to sneeze away a pregnancy scare would have been a considerably more difficult discussion.

⊱ Mature!michael who puts you before anything. The second he gets a call saying you need or want something, he drops whatever he’s doing and comes straight to you. No hesitation, no excuses—you always come first.

⊱ Mature!michael who doesn’t play games in a relationship. No pettiness, no silent treatment, no going to bed angry, and definitely no playing hard to get. He knows what he wants, and he knows healthy relationships require effort, honesty, and communication.

⊱ Mature!michael who hates arguing over the phone or while you’re apart. If there’s a problem, he wants to talk about it face-to-face. He values communication and prefers getting straight to the point rather than letting issues drag on.

⊱ Mature!michael who believes in giving 100%. He doesn’t think all the responsibility should fall on the woman. He helps around the house, takes care of you when you’re sick, and makes sure you’re never carrying everything on your own.

⊱ Mature!michael who gives you his full attention whenever you’re together. He listens carefully when you talk, remembers the little details, and always pays attention to your needs. Especially in public, he’s constantly checking to make sure you’re comfortable and doing okay.

⊱ Mature!michael who gets a little possessive at times. He’s been in the industry long enough to know exactly how people can be. If you’re wearing a dress that turns heads, he notices every glance sent your way. Not because he’s insecure—he trusts you completely—but because he knows how others think. He’ll casually pull you a little closer, rest a hand on your waist, or lean down to whisper something that leaves you trying not to smile for the rest of the evening.

⊱ Mature!michael who spoils you endlessly. Anything you want, it’s yours. Every time you walk into a store, he’s already asking, “See anything you like?” with his arm wrapped around you. He rarely looks at the price tag; if it makes you happy, that’s enough for him.

⊱ Mature!michael who carries extra things for you without being asked. Your bag starts feeling heavy? Somehow it’s already over his shoulder. Your jacket is bothering you? He’s holding it. You don’t even realize he’s doing it half the time.

⊱ Mature!michael who always keeps a hand on you in public. A hand on your lower back while guiding you through crowds, his fingers intertwined with yours, or an arm draped around your shoulders. It’s never controlling—it just makes him feel better knowing you’re close.

⊱ Mature!michael who always reminds you to take care of yourself. “Did you eat today?” “Did you get enough sleep?” “Did you take your medicine?” It becomes a running joke because he asks so often, but secretly you love knowing someone cares that much.