Kyomi ۶ৎ

And at first, you blamed circumstances.

Eventually, you started blaming yourself.

The following weeks were a disaster, diva.

You changed your hair, changed it again. Then you became convinced the first version had actually looked better and spent three days mourning it. You switched nail colors so many times that your nail tech eventually stopped asking questions and just started staring at you with growing concern because you were starting to work her nerves. Long nails! Short nails! Red! Pink! Nude! French tips! Nothing seemed helped. Every appointment had the optimism of a woman who was genuinely convinced that the solution to her problems might be hiding inside a bottle of acrylic powder. It never was.

You bought new clothes.

You rearranged your makeup routine.

You spent a ridiculous amount of (his <3) money on skincare products advertised by women who were so obviously professionally done in makeup.

At one point, you became convinced that a boob job would somehow save your relationship.

A boob job would not save your relationship but mostly because your relationship wasn’t actually in danger. But to be fair, you just didn’t know that yet.

The problem was that once insecurity took root, it became impossible to think normally. Suddenly every mirror was an enemy, every picture of yourself fueled your dilemma and every minor flaw you found turned into a very big one. You stood in front of mirrors turning your head from side to side like a confused puppy.

Maybe it was your hair.

Maybe it was your body.

Maybe your skin looked weird.

Maybe your face looked weird.

Maybe you needed botox?

The theories became increasingly unhinged.

By the end of the second month, you had somehow managed to convince yourself that Michael no longer desired you because of a collection of microscopic imperfections that literally nobody else on Earth had ever noticed. The longer Michael avoided sex, the easier it became to convince yourself that there had to be a reason. A person didn’t simply wake up one day and stop wanting someone they loved.

So naturally, the explanation had to be you.

There was simply no other possibility.

Certainly not Michael Jackson, like.. thee Michael Jackson? Get real. A man who instinctively apologizes to inanimate objects after bumping into them. A man who asks you to send his food back because he doesn’t want the staff to feel bad. A man whose default response to conflict is both palms up and hoping the issue is resolved without much confrontation.

No. Clearly the issue wasn’t him.

By the time Michael finally came home from the studio that night, you’d already prosecuted the case, delivered the verdict, and sentenced yourself accordingly. The only problem was that nobody had bothered informing the defendant.

Michael knew something was wrong the moment he walked through the front door.

And not because you said anything weird. In fact, the opposite. You greeted him with a bright smile and an enthusiastic, “Hi, baby!” before immediately returning to furiously wiping down a perfectly clean kitchen counter. The surrounding area smelled aggressively of purple fabuloso. Every surface sparkled pristinely, the furniture had been rearranged—there wasn’t a single thing out of place.

Michael glanced at the clock on the stove. It was nearly two in the morning and exhaustion lingered in the slope of his shoulders. The Bad sessions had been consuming him lately, turning days into nights and nights into mornings. Normally he returned home looking drained, tonight however, the fatigue seemed to disappear the second he got a proper look at you.

He smiled to himself.

Stress cleaning.

He’s learned this quirk of yours long ago. Stress cleaning only happened when something was deeply upsetting that pretty little heart of yours. Normal people cried. Some people yelled. You wanted to flip houses. And that was okay.

“How was the studio?” you asked cheerfully, already moving on to a cabinet door that did not need cleaning. Michael slowly set his bag down on the kitchen island. The smile on your face looked.. suspiciously forced and assembled in a hurry, your eyes red and puffy.

“It was real good.”

“That’s good.” You continued scrubbing.

For a few moments, Michael kept watching you. The way you moved from one task to another without actually accomplishing anything. The way you wiped surfaces that were already spotless. The way your smile appeared and disappeared depending on whether you thought he was looking. A lesser man might have missed it. Michael didn’t.

Slowly, he crossed the room. “Baby love.” The nickname was soft, gentle. And it usually made you look at him.

This time, it didn’t.

Michael’s smile faded slightly. He’s worried.

“Hey.” His hand settled lightly against your arm, stopping your endless circuit around the kitchen and only then did you glance up. The concern in his eyes nearly made you cry all over again. After spending weeks convincing yourself that Michael no longer wanted you, it felt deeply unfair that he still looked at you like that. With that stupidly beautiful face like your sadness mattered.

“You okay?” The question was simple.

And you hated it because it would’ve been much easier if he’d been cold. So much easier if he’d actually done something wrong. Instead, here he was. Standing in front of you after a fourteen hour day, still more interested in your feelings than his own exhaustion.

You nodded too quickly. “I’m fine, Mikey.”

Michael tilted his head. Patient. Skeptical. And entirely unconvinced. “You’re not.”

His statement wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t even challenging. Just super matter of fact like noticing rain through a window.

You laughed weakly and turned back toward the counter. “I am.”

“This spot is about sick of you wipin’ it..” Your hand froze and Michael’s mouth twitched. “You wiped it about five times.”

The laugh that escaped you sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Immediately, the hint of amusement vanished from his face. Without saying anything else, he gently took the rag from your hand and set it aside. And he reached for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

Michael rested his cheek against the top of your head, one hand slowly smoothing over your back as he held you there. Waiting. Patiently. The way he always did. Because Michael had never been the sort of person who demanded answers.

The problem was that once you finally opened your mouth, you weren’t entirely sure you could stop.

The first sound that escaped you wasn’t a sentence.

It was a wail.

A loud, ugly sob that seemed to surprise even you.

Michael immediately froze.

Because one second he was rubbing slow circles into your back and the next he was staring down at you with wide eyes, completely confused. “Hey..”

“I’ve been tryin’ to fix it!” You managed to get out through your cry.

“Fix what?”

“Whatever’s wrong with me!” You wiped your nose. “I changed my hair. I changed my nails. I bought all those dresses!”

Michael looked bewildered. “Why? Why would you think you need to fix somethin’? There’s nothing wrong with you, pretty girl..”

“Because!” You cry again. “You won’t fuck me!”

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Complete, suffocating silence.

You watched the realization arrive in stages. First confusion, as he tried to understand what you were actually saying. Then understanding. Then immediate, unmistakable embarrassment. His entire face went red so quickly it was almost impressive. The color climbed from his neck to his cheeks and straight into the tips of his ears. Michael looked away at once, suddenly finding the refrigerator, the cabinets, the floor, and quite possibly the structural integrity of the kitchen tiles more interesting than making eye contact.

“Oh.” The word emerged strained.

You sniffled miserably. “’s what I've been talking about this whole time..”

Another pause followed. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his expression growing more flustered with every passing second. He looked like a man desperately searching for an emergency exit that didn’t exist.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“No, not okay,” He corrected immediately. “I mean..” His voice trailed off and the poor man looked completely mortified.

“That's what this is about?”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, Michael!”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.

Because he was embarrassed.

Utterly, completely embarrassed.

For months you’d apparently been carrying this hurt around by yourself, blaming your hair, your nails, your clothes, your body, your face, your existence. Meanwhile, he had been operating under an entirely different misunderstanding. Now he had to explain himself, which unfortunately required discussing a subject that already had him blushing so hard he looked overheated.

The heat spread further down his neck.

“Michael.”

“I’m trying..”

”You’re making me anxious!”

He groaned softly and covered part of his face with one hand. “’m trying to figure out how to say it..”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t actively fighting back tears because the sight would’ve been funny under different circumstances. Here you were having the emotional breakdown while Michael looked seconds away from dissolving into the floorboards.

“Baby,” he said quietly.

“What is it, Michael?”

His gaze dropped again. “You really thought I didn’t want you.. like that anymore?” The sheer disbelief in his voice almost offended you.

“Well, what was I supposed to think!” The question seemed to connect the dots for him because from your perspective, the conclusion made perfect sense. And suddenly his embarrassment gave way to guilt.

Deep, genuine guilt.

Because now he understood what these past months had looked like through your eyes. You hadn’t been obsessing over your hair or your dresses because you were vain, not that he would even mind anyway. You’d been trying to solve a problem, trying to fix something you believed was wrong with you.

When in reality, it had never been about you at all.

Michael swallowed then looked down at the floor. “It’s spreading.”

Your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

There’s long pause. “The vitiligo.” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “It’s spreading.” It seemed like he might stop there, he’d already said more than he wanted to but he forced himself to continue.

“On..” He swallowed. “Those parts.” The blush returned.

“Oh.” Your expression was unreadable.

Michael laughed softly, humorlessly. “It looks different now.” His eyes remained fixed on the floor. “I know it shouldn’t bother me.. but it does.” The words came out small as he continued. “I just..” He shook his head. “It’s ugly.”

You just stared at him and then stared some more. Blinked.

Because you were furious.

Absolutely, incandescently furious.

Months?

You had spent months without his dick, crying in bathroom, changing your hair, buying new clothes, and conducting increasingly deranged investigations into your own appearance while this man had been convincing himself that you would somehow stop loving him.

First of all, you didn’t even play like that.

“Ugly?” You repeated.

Michael visibly shrank. “Lovey, I—”

“Ugly?”

His eyes squeezed shut.

Before Michael could start apologizing, you grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him. Hard. And the sound he made was mostly surprise as you felt it more than heard it.

When you finally pulled back, Michael looked thoroughly stunned, curls slightly disheveled, cheeks still hot.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Okay.” Its all he can say, really.

Another kiss. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”

Somewhere between your outrage and Michael’s flustered attempts to explain himself, the conversation dissolved completely. Every time he tried to apologize, you interrupted him with a kiss. Every time he attempted to look away, you guided his attention back. By the time you found yourselves stumbling toward the bedroom, Michael looked overwhelmed in the particular way he always did whenever he realized he was being loved much more aggressively than he’d anticipated.

Michael lingered at the edge of the bed, still looking uncertain with the traces of insecurity that had brought the two of you here in the first place. You could see it in the way his shoulders were drawn tight, the way he avoided your gaze.

You moved closer as you sat between his thighs on your knees. “Michael.”

He glanced up at you. “Show me.”

Michael blushed as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, hesitating before lifting his hips an inch to slide them down along with his boxers in the hooks of his thumbs. His initial reaction when he settled back down was to cover himself, for his big hands to hover protectively over his cock to shield your pretty eyes but he knew better. His hands trembled slightly as he revealed his semi hard cock, glancing up at you with eyes that look like he’s maybe expecting rejection or laughter. But he’s not met with any of that. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes because you’re staring at it and maybe if he closes his eyes, it would make him invisible. Michael knows it won’t but, it makes him feel a little better about exposing the dick he’s hid for months.

He hesitantly reached down, his beautiful fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped them loosely around his length. He gave it a gentle tug upward, his breath hitching at the soft sound that escaped him. The motion was tentative—careful he was unsure if he should even be doing this in the first place. Was this even a good idea? What was he thinking? What are you thinking?

Michael opens his eyes a little, to peek at you. Wait. Why were you looking at him like that? Like you.. like this or something? His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he kept his gaze lowered, unable to meet your gaze.

Because.

The look in your eyes was genuinely humiliating. Women had fought for your right to vote and own property only for you to sit there staring at Michael like you’d never had a coherent thought in your life. The look in your eye wasn’t remotely mysterious. There are novels worth of yearning written across your face.

You looked at him with shameless affection and a viseral need that would’ve embarrassed a lesser woman. Every thought seemed to be written plainly across your face. A very obvious: oh my God, it’s so fucking pretty. I need this in my throat.

Your hands slid slowly up his thighs, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles beneath your touch. He let out a shaky breath as you gently pushed his hands away, replacing them with your own. His hips twitched instinctively at the contact and he squeezed his eyes shut again, face burning as you slowly wrapped your fingers around his length instead.

Fuck, its been so long since you had his dick in your hands.

You could see what he’d been referring to. What he’s been so insecure about enough to hide from you and lose sleep over.

It’s different than what it was the last time you saw it. Yeah.

But his vitiligo had created a beautiful, unique pattern across his cock. His shaft was like a piece of abstract work of art; creamy ivory petal shaped patches mixed with brown and pink sections in a way that reminded you of neapolitan ice cream. His balls sat beneath with the same splashes of paler pigment.

“It’s so pretty, Michael.. You were hiding this from me?” you murmured softly, leaning in close. Before he could stammer out a response, your tongue darted out to taste him, starting at the base of his beautiful marbled shaft. You dragged your tongue upward along one of the paler patches, earning a sharp, breathless gasp from him.

Michael’s thighs trembled under your hands as your tongue traced the intricate patterns across his sensitive flesh. “You—you think it’s still pretty?” he breathed, voice cracking with disbelief as he finally looked down at you through lidded eyes. His hips bucked forward instinctively as you swirled around his tip, his shyness melting into need. ”I always thought it was ugly..”

“So pretty, baby..” You murmured against his cock. “Can’t believe you were worried about me not liking it.. God, Michael, he’s gorgeous—can’t wait to feel him cum. Missed him so much, did he miss me?”

“Don’t—don’t talk like that about it..” He manages to say.

The pattern continued across his pelvic area, lighter patchwork breaking through some of his deeper skin tone like poured cream, soft patches drifted across his mons pubis into delicate maps of contrast. Further down, his thighs bore the same mesmerizing pattern, ivory splashes dancing along the inner and outer legs that stretched down toward his knees.

Michael had gotten very good at hiding it. The lower half of his body was easy enough. He rarely wore anything that revealed much skin anyway, so long pants, socks, loafers, and layers concealed most of the areas the public never saw. It was the visible places that required the real effort. His face. His hands. His arms. The parts constantly photographed, filmed, and scrutinized. Topical treatments and makeup helped even out some of the discoloration there, making it easier to step in front of cameras without drawing attention to every new change.

The areas hidden beneath clothing were different. There was no makeup artist touching them up before an appearance. No careful lighting or tricks to soften what he saw. They existed entirely in private, which somehow made them harder to ignore. Michael knew his body intimately and because he spent so much time looking for changes on his face and hands, he noticed every new patch everywhere else too. What most people never would have thought twice about became impossible for him to overlook, leaving him alone with insecurities nobody else even knew he carried.

Standing at its full size, Michael’s cock was a sight—thick and long but it wasn’t.. overly large. He had perfect boyfriend dick, a dick big enough to stretch you out but not so big it would hurt every time you attempted to just sit on it.

He looked down at himself, then at you and his cheeks flushed deeply as he realized how hard he was and just how good you were sucking his dick. He’s not going to last long.

Your mouth closed around him, taking him deep into your throat while your fingers gripped the sparse curls of his pubic hair. Michael let out a broken moan, head falling back and surrendering completely as your warm mouth overwhelmed his usual hesitance.

You pressed your tongue flat against the sensitive underside of his cock, dragging it slowly from base to tip. The broad and smooth surface of your tongue applied pressure against a particular throbbing vein, earning a deep and guttural moan from him. His hips jerked involuntarily, his knuckle in between his pearly whites as he watched you with furrowed brows.

It was filthy.

“M gonna—finish, gonna—’M gonna..” He whined, voice strained. ”Where do you want it? In your m-outh? On your face? Don’t know where to put it..” His hands gripped the sheets tightly, tugging just slightly as his body coiled with impending release.

You pulled back, wrapping your hand around his cock instead, jerking him off fast and tight just how he liked it. ”Cum on my face, baby.” You urged, looking up at him with lust glazed eyes. “Paint me so pretty, just like this fucking dick..”

It only took three more rough strokes before he was cumming, a strangled moan escaping his throat as thick ropes of cum spilled across your face. It landed on your cheeks, dripped down your chin, splashed across your lips and even some hitting your forehead and hair. His hips stuttered against your fist as he emptied himself completely, trembling as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. “Baby.. baby..”

As the last few drops dripped onto your face, Michael slumped forward slightly, breathing heavily as he looked down at you with gratitude. He gently moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing away some of the cum that coated your skin. “Thank you..”

You smiled sweetly. “My turn.”

the camera had been recording for less than thirty seconds and jermajesty was already being a problem.

not a surprising problem.

not even a new problem.

just the same familiar kind of problem that appeared every single time he was placed in front of a camera and given an audience.

some people became nervous when they were being recorded. some people became awkward. some people forgot how to act.

jermajesty somehow became worse.

he became himself.

which was exactly why your subscribers loved him.

and exactly why you regretted inviting him into today's video.

"what's up, y'all?" you greeted as you adjusted your position on the couch, smiling directly at the camera while jermajesty immediately started waving both hands beside your face.

"what's good?" jermajesty added as he leaned forward into the frame, flashing a grin that already looked suspicious.

you narrowed your eyes.

immediately.

"why do you look like that?" you questioned as you turned toward him, already feeling concerned for the future of this video.

"look like what?" he asked as he placed a hand over his chest dramatically, pretending to be offended.

"like you're about to embarrass me," you answered as you pointed directly at him, refusing to let him play innocent.

"that's crazy," he replied as he shook his head in disbelief. "you don't trust me at all."

"correct," you confirmed as you nodded seriously toward the camera.

jermajesty gasped.

the performance deserved an award.

"see?" he complained as he turned toward the camera. "this is what i go through every day."

"anyway," you interrupted as you rolled your eyes, refusing to let him continue. "today we're doing a q&a because y'all have been asking for one forever."

"and because y'all are nosy," jermajesty added as he folded his arms across his chest.

"that too," you admitted as you laughed.

you reached for your phone.

the list of questions stretched forever.

which was either a good sign or a terrible sign.

you hadn't decided yet.

"okay," you began as you scrolled down. "first question. how did you two meet?"

"you answer it," jermajesty instructed as he pointed toward you.

"i answer it every time," you argued as you looked over at him.

"because you tell it better," he replied as he shrugged casually.

you rolled your eyes.

"we met through jaafar, his brother," you explained as you looked back toward the camera. "and i thought he was annoying."

"which was disrespectful," jermajesty interrupted as he shook his head.

"you were annoying," you continued as you laughed.

"you loved me," he corrected as he pointed at himself confidently.

"eventually," you admitted as you smiled despite yourself.

"thank you," he replied as he nodded proudly.

you hated how satisfied he looked.

"next question," you said quickly as you looked back down at your phone.

"how long have y'all been together?"

"four years," jermajesty answered immediately as he rested his arm along the back of the couch.

"almost five," you added as you leaned against his shoulder briefly.

"that's my wife," he announced as he pointed toward you.

"we're not married," you corrected as you laughed.

"yet," he replied casually.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

then grinned.

the comments section was already going to be unbearable.

"moving on," you muttered as you scrolled faster.

jermajesty started laughing.

"what's your favorite thing about each other?" you read aloud as you continued scrolling.

"you go first," jermajesty replied as he looked toward you.

you thought for a moment.

"my favorite thing about him is probably how dependable he is," you answered as you glanced over at him. "if i need something, he's there."

his expression softened immediately.

"aw," he said quietly as he looked down.

"don't get emotional," you warned as you pointed at him.

"i'm not emotional," he argued as he sat up straighter.

"your eyes literally got watery."

"mind your business."

you laughed.

"what's your favorite thing about me?" you asked as you nudged his arm.

jermajesty looked at you.

then looked at the camera.

then looked back at you.

you already knew that look.

"choose your next words carefully," you warned as you narrowed your eyes.

he started laughing.

immediately.

"i like everything," he answered as he held his hands up defensively.

"mm-hmm."

"i'm serious."

"mm-hmm."

"your personality," he added quickly.

"okay."

"your smile."

"okay."

"your laugh."

"okay."

"and—" he paused dramatically before continuing, "the way you look when i'm inside you."

you choked on air.

"jermajesty!" you screeched as you covered his mouth with your hand.

he mumbled something against your palm.

"don't you dare," you warned as you pulled your hand back.

"what?" he asked innocently as he blinked slowly. "it's my favorite thing."

"we're skipping that," you declared as you scrolled faster.

"skip that one," jermajesty said immediately as he saw the next question over your shoulder.

"you didn't even read it."

"i can tell."

you looked at the screen.

then immediately covered your face.

"absolutely not," you said as you shook your head.

jermajesty looked far too interested.

"read it," he encouraged as he leaned closer.

"no."

"read it."

"no."

"coward."

"we're skipping it," you declared as you continued scrolling.

"for the record," jermajesty said as he looked directly into the camera, "i had an answer."

"and nobody wants to hear it."

"i think they do."

"next question."

the argument continued for another thirty seconds.

you eventually won.

barely.

"who said i love you first?" you read.

"you."

"i did not."

"you definitely did."

"i absolutely did not."

jermajesty immediately sat forward.

"you literally did," he insisted as he pointed at you. "right after i made you come for the third time."

you froze.

"jermajesty," you warned through gritted teeth.

"what?" he asked as he shrugged. "it's true."

"we're not talking about that," you hissed as you glanced nervously at the camera.

"why not?" he questioned as he leaned closer. "they asked."

"because my subscribers don't need to know about our sex life," you explained as quietly as possible.

"i think they do," he whispered back as his hand slid to your thigh. "especially the part where you—"

"next question!" you announced loudly as you slapped his hand away.

jermajesty chuckled as he watched you scramble.

"what's the biggest argument you've ever had?" you asked as you read the next question.

both of you immediately started laughing.

"we can't tell that story," he replied as he shook his head.

"absolutely not."

"we looked ridiculous."

"completely ridiculous."

"it lasted three days."

"and neither of us was right."

"facts."

you nodded.

some memories deserved privacy.

especially embarrassing ones.

"what's one thing your boyfriend does that annoys you?" you continued.

you didn't even hesitate.

"everything."

jermajesty gasped dramatically.

"everything?" he repeated as he looked genuinely offended.

"everything."

"wow."

"everything."

"that's crazy."

"everything."

jermajesty stared at the camera.

"y'all seeing this?" he questioned as he pointed toward you.

you couldn't stop laughing.

"okay, my turn," he announced as he sat up straighter.

"fine."

"you steal my hoodies."

"they're comfortable."

"you steal my chargers."

"you have extras."

"you steal my snacks."

"our snacks."

"see?" he said as he pointed toward you.

"that's called sharing."

"that's called robbery."

the two of you argued about snacks for five straight minutes.

somehow.

nobody knew how.

"okay," you said eventually as you wiped tears from your eyes. "last question."

"make it a good one."

you scrolled.

then smiled.

"what's something you hope never changes about your relationship?"

the room became quieter.

not sad.

not awkward.

just softer.

jermajesty looked at you.

you looked back.

and suddenly neither of you was joking anymore.

"i hope we're always friends," you admitted as you tucked your legs underneath yourself. "seriously."

he nodded.

immediately.

"same," he agreed as he looked down briefly. "because you're my favorite person."

your heart melted.

instantly.

"that was cute," you admitted quietly.

"i know."

"don't make it weird."

"i'm trying not to."

you laughed.

he laughed too.

and just like that, the mood felt normal again.

comfortable.

easy.

home.

"alright," you concluded as you looked toward the camera once more. "that's all the questions we're answering today."

"because she keeps skipping the good ones," jermajesty interrupted as he shook his head.

"because you can't behave," you replied as you rolled your eyes.

"that's fair," he admitted as he shrugged casually.

"thank y'all for watching," you said as you smiled at the camera.

"like, comment, subscribe," jermajesty added as he pulled you closer.

"and stop asking weird questions," you warned playfully.

"keep asking weird questions," he countered with a grin.

“I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Michael asks softly, his fingers lazily tracing circles on the small of your back. Warmth floods your chest at his concern; you can’t help but hold him a little tighter.

"No… no,” you reassured him, adjusting your position to look at him properly. He was already looking down at you, his doe eyes gazing into yours with such warmth. “You were perfect.”

Michael hummed.

Neither of you spoke after this; the only thing that could be heard was the rhythmic tapping of the rain outside and Michael occasionally peppering kisses on your neck. Sure, the tension was gone, but the smell of sweat and passion still lingered in the air. For a while, you thought things were going to be left unsaid, until—

“What is this?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, feigning confusion. You readjusted your position to sit up, gently pulling the blanket over your breasts.

“C’mom,” He mummers. 

“Well, um,” you stammered out, scooting back towards Michael’s headboard—the cold cedar wood now touching your back.  “What do you want this to be?”

“Look,” he scoots back against the headboard to join you. “I really like you.” He reveals, as if it’s been a secret this whole time. “I-I completely understand if you don’t feel the same—with me about to be on tour and all. I just.. I don’t know, I couldn’t just leave without telling you how I felt.”

“God, Michael,” you say finally, releasing the breath you didn’t even know that you were holding. You scooted closer to him, gently placing your hand on his cheek. “I’ve quite literally been in love with you for years. I’m pretty sure everyone has noticed but you.”

Michael blinked at your confession, but his disbelief soon turned into laughter. He dragged his hand down his face before looking at you, a soft smile forming on his lips. “What exactly have we been doing this whole time?”

“I don’t know,” you giggled, running your fingers through his soft curls. “I just can’t believe it took this,” you say, gesturing between the both of you. “For us to say something.”

Michael’s smile had only gotten wider by the second. Rather than speaking, he gently pulled you in, his soft lips finally connecting with yours. You immediately reciprocated, running your fingers deeper through his curls—earning a soft whimper from him. Before things could escalate further, Michael pulls away, his brown eyes gazing into yours.

“Come on tour with me.”

“What?” You blinked, moving away a strand of hair from your face.

“Come on tour with me,” he repeats. “I want you there—only if you want to, of course. I don’t want to force you.”

“What about Joesph?”

“I’ll talk to him,” he says immediately, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Just—come with me. Please.”

You searched Michael’s eyes to find any reluctance, but you didn’t see any. He actually wanted you there. He wanted you there with him. Finally, your concern turned into a soft smile—placing a quick, but affectionate kiss on his lips. 

cw - religion mentioned, just the tip!, sweetie pie mike & reader, dry (wet) humping, i mean read the req, thats whats abt to happen wink

also ignore the pink theme, i know i reserve that for perv mike but in my defense i waassss gonna make this apart of that, but it didnt make sense in the long run

god, please give him strength.

"but mikey," you say, luringly, hands smoothing over his half undone button up. "we love each other, how is it sin?" you mumble pitifully, adjusting your sit on his lap slightly.

his eyes drift over your pouty lips, still puffy from his prior attack. you look edible, gluttony lingers around his gentle grip on your hips, he fights it with every coercive word you say.

"i do love you, but we need to be married, baby." he tries to sound assured, but the slight waver doesnt miss you.

your head tilts, he looks at you sharply, knowing youre on to something hes unsure he'll be able to say no to.

you cant help the small smile streching your features, "we dont have to go all the way, what if we just..." you pause, figuring hes more likely to say no if you say it, so you just do it.

your hips lift up half way, before easing back down in a slide on his crotch. electricity zaps up your spine at the movement, your boldness taking both of you by surprise.

his lips trap his bottom lip instantly, hardly holding the grunt that threatened release.

his grip tightens.

"y/n..." he draws with warning, but making no effort to stop you.

you tentatively rise again, but instead of grinding back down, you stay up, waiting for him to move you off...but he doesnt.

shyness creeps up his skin, as he looks away. his vice grip on you tightens impossibly, as he wordlessly brings you down, directly on his hardening crotch.

you gasp slightly, but you grind quickly again, as to not lose the moment.

this unfamiliar indulgence of lust blinds michael, as he grinds up on you, hes never felt this warm. your soft whimpers cascade gently through the room, as your humps quicken.

hes practically gasping with every quick, sophomoric grind. one of his hands detatch, unsteadily exploring the clothed expanse of your body, whilst the other stays planted—half guiding your movements, half tethering himself to you—to reality; that this was, infact, happening.

your hands are finding themselves under the button up, michael groans at your firey touch.

"please—off!" you whine, tugging at the bottom of the shirt, his stomach flexes at your words. he pauses hesitantly, you notice, youre quick to bring your lips to his cheek, drifting down by his ear "i need you mikey, please..." you whine, lips connecting to his neck.

he shudders.

"barely seen you! jus' wanna look." you mumble between the litter of kisses.

he huffs, is this jehovah himself testing his resolve? cause this is purely cruel.

he nods.

you grin, planting a final kiss on his lips, before leaning back to reach for the hem, michael lifts slightly to assist in getting the article off. which is quick to the floor.

his cheeks burn, as he watches your curious gaze.

youre hands trace down his sternum, causing his breath to catch.

he swallows, scratching the back of his neck quietly. "your turn?" he whispers meekly.

you giggle softly, nodding.

god, you look so adorable with your flushed cheeks, he watches your small hands lift your sweater off. he nearly flinches as your bra catches the light. plush breasts cradled by lacy purple—is it silly that he feels jealous over a bra?

he shakes his head of the ridiculous juvenile thought.

his eyes scan slowly over you, from your shy gaze locked on the headbored behind him, to the dip of your collar bone, his eyes haze slightly at the alluring swell of your tits, rising and falling shakily from your uneven breaths. he begrudgingly drops his eyesight, to the dropping curve of your waist meeting your hips. his finger lifts, absentmindedly drawing along said dip. your brows crook upwards at the teasing touch, goosebumps rise in the wake of.

his finger moves north, finding the strap of your bra. he stares with a look you cant quite read, before abruptly breaking the heated silence. "its not a sin to look...its...its natural." he says with a clear of his throat, flicking the flimsy strap gently back to your warm skin.

you nearly ask him to repeat himself, unbelieving michael; the most timid man youve ever met, is asking you to take your bra off.

you blink, before nodding, hands reaching to unclasp the garment.

your eyes drop. frankly, scared to see michaels reaction.

the brisk air hardens your nipples, michael watches silently.

"youre...youre beautiful." he mutters.

you swallow thickly.

you feel him shift under you, sitting up, soon his hand on your back, breath on your neck. he pulls you closer to him, lips latching on your pulse as you whine.

finding his shoulders, you arch into his touch, causing a small groan to your neck.

as hes working his lips on you, you press your hips down on his once again.

in a slur of grasping hands, and desperation. you both ended up bare. michael truly didnt mean for it to come this far, but how could he reject the innate need for connection? lust? yes—sinful, but if you don't go all the way, it's technically not a sin.

for being a sinner, he sure does feel heavenly with you on top of him, cute wide eyes locked on his large, hard cock.

he watches through hooded eyes, as you bite your lip, your inexperienced fingers trace down his abdomen. before you can even land where you so desperately wanted to, michaels quick to catch your wrist in his hand.

his breath hitches at the lingering;teasing feel of you, as he looks up. you give him a deliciously curious gaze, he smiles, bringing your wrist to his lips, your perfuming whirring through his senses, before he presses a soft kiss.

"dont want you doin' all the work." he mumbles his flimsy excuse.

you buzz slightly at his words, nodding.

he uses his vantage on your arm to gently pull you down to meet his lips.

"i want you—all of you—i swear i do, but we oughta do it properly." his sigh fans across your pouty lips.

you nod again, deciding this wasnt a battle you wanted to fight at the moment, already content with how far youd managed to come.

he smiled softly at your easy acceptance. a long pause settles between you two, before michaels qauiet words redirect your attention.

"we could still...grind on each other. if youd like?" he says mousily. you light up instantly, nodding.

his hips raise tentatively, before youre quick to meet him, you slide his long length through your weeping folds in a swift motion.

michael gasps, hands quick to your waist.

a sharp whimper falls from both of your lips, as the burgundy tip catches on your entrance.

instinctively michael pulls your hips down slightly, nearly breaching your entrance, before the cloud of lust dissipates enough for him to move back an inch, opting to grind your pearl along him.

your mouth drops open at that, poor little hole clenching around nothing.

you brace yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders as you lift with his moves.

grinding back down, he moans out, head falling back slightly.

his leaky cock is blanketed in a sheen of your essence, he could weep watching your eager movements along him.

everything is warm, every move driven purely by adoration and adrenaline. he can already feel his release building up.

"please mikey...i want to feel you. i love you." you say abruptly, causing michael to whine.

"o—okay, jus'," his breath falters as you buck your hips quicker—you are a siren of desire, luring him into the depths of desire. "just the tip...its not full way...its not bad" he mutters, more so to convince himself, than you.

he raises from his laxed position on his elbows, to his palms, as you strainfully raise your hips over his cock.

he clutchs the bedsheets below him, as he lets you take him into your small grasp, aligning him up to your weeping hole.

the pearly white gates of heaven flash brightly through his mind, as he enters you. he can damn near hear the trumpets, over your shaky whimper.

this is what he was made for.

he lifts an arm to hug you to him, your tits pressing against him is the least of the overwhelming flood of you.

"please—oh god!" he cries out, his grip on you nearly bruising as he fights every single voice begging him to sink you fully down, in one quick succession. he wants oh so bad to burry himself in your tight gummy walls, and lewdly paint them white as you sigh seductively above him.

but he could never forgive himself—god would never.

but oh fuck you feel so good.

he moves you up, then down ever so slightly. his mushroom tip fully immersed in you.

his eyes squeeze shut, before blinking open. he focuses on your withering figure against him. gaze dropping to your neglected bead, his other hand finds it. rubbing small quick circles.

you fall apart, the dam in your core combusts, washing over your exposed skin. lapping at the heightened nerves of your release, as you clench tightly around michaels tip.

he watches your wanton face, as it morphs through the fazes of pure ecstasy. hes never seen anything more beautiful.

he wants more, more of your love, of your touch, of your release. but he cant even adress those thoughts before his own finish line is crashed through.

he moves out of you—in a blink, he has your back to the matress, as his cum squirts along the expance of your stomach. he cries out, as he paints your soft skin milky white.

the devil has won.

a/n - ok u can totally tell this was written at 3am, please exuse the horrid writting; if you just dont read super in depth then all will be good!!!!

not proofread i am SO sorry lmao i can not for a life of me reread this nightmare, also sorry again if this is choppy i miggggggght be as high as the empire state, speazking of which trump made the knicks lose AUUGGGHHH. its ok tho mamdani will fix it mashallah knicks in 5

also sorry for my inactivity BUT IM DIALED IN ON ASKS!! when i wake up i promise ill pump out actually coherent pieces!!