warnings: a bit of smut. idk, i'm not good at this stuff yet. just beware
crybaby!jude... who can't go a second without getting your approval of something or hearing your praise. poor thing can't help but tear up if he thinks he hasn't done good enough for you.
crybaby!jude... who cries during arguments. if you make him sleep on the couch that night he won't go. instead he'll sit outside of your bedroom door choking on his own tears, whimpering pathetically until you give in.
crybaby!jude... who wants your attention at all times.
crybaby!jude... who loves when you have anything on your body that represents him. it makes him so happy to see his initials on your nails or around his neck. even better when you wear his jersey somewhere in public.
crybaby!jude... who cries when he's denied of something. he just can't grasp a concept of the word no. he'll get on his knees and literally beg you for whatever it is he wants. all while streams of tears poor down his face.
crybaby!jude... who craves skin to skin contact like a newborn. he slips his hand under your shirt just to rest it against your waist because your skin calms him down. always whining the second you move away in bed, chasing after your warmth in his sleep.
crybaby!jude... who is a complete wreck as his third orgasm washes over him. loud sobs ripping through the room while his body jerks and trembles. your soothing coos doing little work even as you wipe away his tears because that's just how much of a crybaby he is!
a/n: just a lil sum until i finish the other thing im working on.
“oh fuck! jude!” you moaned loudly, putting your hand on his chest as he thrusted into you
“move your hand for me love” Jude didn't wait for you to comply. when you didn't move your hand fast enough, his fingers wrapped around your wrist as he pinned your arm above your head
“I asked you to move it” he murmured, he pulled out slowly before driving back into you with a depth that made your toes curl. “I want to see all of you”
“Jude please”you whimped, your head rolling back against the pillows
then the phone rang..
Jude froze, his chest rising and falling, his eyes slowly drifted toward the glowing screen of your phone on the nightstand. the caller ID illuminated the dark room, flashing Jaafar 💕💋 in bright, unforgiving letters.
a cruel smirk tugged at the corner of Jude's mouth. he didn't let go of your wrist, keeping you pinned as he shifted his weight, leaning over slightly to get a better look.
“that your man calling?” Jude asked
“wait don’t-“ “answer it” he murmured, his eyes snapping back to yours. the sudden command in his tone was suffocating.
he leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “answer it love… let him hear how much you missed him”
your hand shook violently as you reached for the phone, Jude’s grip on your wrist loosening just enough for you to swipe the screen. he didn't pull away, instead, he settled his weight deeper against you, his eyes locked onto yours with a terrifying, thrilled intensity.
you pressed the phone to your ear, praying your voice wouldn't betray the sheer panic clawing at your throat.
“hey Jaafar” you got out, trying desperately to steady your breathing.
“hey babe” Jaafar’s voice came through the speaker, completely unsuspecting. “just leaving the studio i wanted to see what you were up to, are you home?”
before you could answer, Jude, you frantically bit your lower lip to keep from screaming out. Jude’s eyes flared with satisfaction at your reaction, his hips rolling against yours in an agonizingly steady rhythm.
“yeah” you managed, your voice pitching slightly higher than normal as you gripped the bedsheets with your free hand. “yeah, i’m... i’m just in bed. getting ready for bed”
“you sound a little out of breath, you okay?” Jaafar asked, a note of mild curiosity in his voice.
Jude smirked, leaning down to press his lips against your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to make you shiver. he didn't stop moving, each deliberate thrust designed to push you right to the edge.
“I'm fine” you squeezed out, squeezing your eyes shut as you fought to keep your tone casual. “just... did a quick workout earlier..just tired”
“got it. well, don't overdo it” Jaafar chuckled softly, completely oblivious to the man currently INSIDE his girlfriend. “did you get a chance to eat dinner yet?”
Jude’s pace quickened slightly, his hands gripping your hips as he pushed deeper
“I... yeah, I had some takeout earlier” you breathed, a quiet whimpering sigh nearly escaping your lips “how was your day, babe?”
“long. but productive” Jaafar said, his voice a steady hum in your ear while your entire world was being rocked by someone else
“I'll probably head straight to sleep when I get back. I love you, talk to you tomorrow?” Jude's eyes narrowed at the words I love you, his jaw tightening as he hit a spot that made your hips arch off the mattress.
“yeah” you gasped out, your voice trembling. “love you too. see you tomorrow” the moment the call disconnected, the phone slipped from your hand, clattering onto the floor.
“love yo too?” Jude whispered, his voice dripping with mock jealousy. he instantly pinned your hands back above your head and driving into you with a sudden possessiveness that made you completely forget how to breathe
“do you think this is love?”
a/n: so i posted this hitting at the fact i’ll be making a series about being jude’s gf but secretly seeing jaafar and then someone said switch it around sooo
summary: being a fashion student at one of the top fashion unis made it easy to get invited to parties where celebrities always are. One night you made out with a very handsome stranger. The next morning you realized it was jobe.
You were young , in college and an raging alcoholic,
So the club became naturally your second home. The security, bartenders and hell even the cleaning lady knew you by your full name.
But today’s club event wasn’t only for partying, but to get connections. Your friend Hayu informed the group chat that there were fashion designers , models and footballers attending in the club for tonight which excited the fashion student in you.
You wore a black mini skirt and a tight red camisole which made your baby pink bra shine through the corners of the top. While putting on some necklaces you realized that you haven’t had a shot of vodka yet , so u knocked one shot in you (still making that sour face) and were ready to go.
Hayu and the girls had all gotten drunk before they even went in. So you all knew this meant the night will be the best night of your lives.
Getting in wasn’t hard but the club was very full. You and your friends didn’t waste a second and went straight to the dance floor. Dancing while the warm alcohol is swimming in your empty stomach is not recommended (except for experienced people). But the DJ was soo good for the night , everyone was feeling his songs and the transitions , making the room full of expensive perfumes , short skirts and sweaty bodies move.
Jobe and his friends were also in the dance floor and enjoying themselves after a hard week of work. One of his friends is very close with the main club visitors. He already met 3 lovely ladies , that were very kind but one looks like she fancies him ,said his friend. The girl was no other than Hayu.
“You dont get it , he was sooo handsome and veeery tall!”Hayu couldn’t shut up about the handsome stranger , who she met with olivia and anna. Which made you wonder if he really was this fine. “Hayuu please let it go and swing those hips more!!” Olivia yelled making you agree more. If Hayu finds a guy attractive its veryy rare which made you guys happy for her but yall weren’t here to find your husbands.
“Guys!! I will get more to drink im kinda sobering up” the girls nodded, making you squeeze through sweaty people and barely making it out alive.
Jobes eyes catched you, making his head follows your body. You are beautiful ,like very beautiful. He has seen many beautiful women but you caught his attention ,making him actually leave his group and trying to find you again.
Of course he finds you by the bar , ordering 2 tequila shots. You lied when you said you were sobering up, you just wanted something to drink and a little bit of peace.
„Hey“ well fuck that peace i guess
You turned around, already pissed off that your bartender is taking his time and now a fucking MAN tries to talk to you? No way.
But this man was a very tall one , making you look up to see the most attractive looking man you have ever seen. He reminded you of someone but you couldn’t pinpoint who.
„Is everythin’ alright?“ well if that wasn’t a yummy br‘ish accent. While you were thirsting over him , the poor man could only laugh.
„Everthin‘ is great“ you teased him making one of his eyebrows higher than the other.
„Are you from here?“
„Yea i live here but im actually from my mom yk“
He bursted out laughing making you giggle with him.
Your bartender and you had eye contact and he looked at jobe and then back to you , giving you the wink and finally your two tequila shots.
„Two shots by yourself?“ he looked concerned but you gave him one , and he gladly took it.
You two were talking an awful lot more after the shots, literally talking about everything and nothing at the same time.
Jobe was very nice to talk to and also obviously to look at. You weren’t really looking for anything at the moment but if you wanted to jobe would be the one. He obviously shown signs of wanting to pursue you, flirty looks , light touching and lots of eye contact.
~
“Ooh fuck- jobe!!!” you moaned while he kisses that one sensitive spot under your ear. His hands are holding the back of your thighs , while they hug his waist and god damn does he have hard abs. You have been grinding on them a couple of times and you never knew that it feels so good.
“Be quiet, don’t want them to hear you ,do you?” He whispered before smashing his lips against yours , swallowing your moans and whimpers.
You both started to grind on each other while your lips were still kissing. Never have you ever been this needy for some dick but who wouldn’t?
Both of you stopped making out, but the grinding was getting rougher and messier. Jobe closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against yours. You could tell if that continues, that you will either end up at his place or he ends up at your place, orr worse you guys fuck in the clubs girls bathroom. Jobe realized that this needs to stop now. He isn’t a easy person but a good make out wont hurt but he just couldn’t hook up drunk with a drunk woman he just met.
„Lets bring you home“ he said , looking down at you. Your neck had slight hickeys and one bite mark from the footballer. What killed him the most were your eyes, your eyes looked up at him making them bigger. Jobe could just see the neediness but you were drunk. You nodded your head and he gently helped you out of the bathroom.
Jobe took your hand and leads you through the club, searching for the exit. Even though you were drunk out of your mind, you could still sense peoples eyes on you. The crowd made space for jobe out of respect which made you wonder if he was a celebrity.
Finally you guys got out of that club. The night breeze kissed your skin beautifully and the cold breeze felt so nice. Jobe couldn’t get his eyes off you, you were even more beautiful under the moonlight than those colors that change every time you blink. He took your hand , which was still in his and kissed it. It was more intimate than the scene in the bathroom.
Jobe drove you home and carried you after you complained about your kitten heels hurting your feets. Holding you in his arms just felt so right, neither if you wanted the night to end but nothing is forever.
Your body was gently placed on your bed, jobe puts your blanket over your sleepy drunken body. He smiled at the sight , you were truly something.
“Good night y/n”
You woke up with the worst hangover of your life, everything ached and your ears could hear colors.
Grabbing for your phone , looking at the huge amount of notifications. Wtf?
Lots of instagram and the group chat notifications. You went straight to the group chat and red the latest texts
Hayu 🪽: no fucking way is y/n trending on x
Hayu🪽sent a photo
Anna👺: is that fucking jobe bellingham??
Olivia 🫒: babes she has been on my fyp since 3am
Olivia 🫒: bitches are jelly of her lmaooo
Hayu🪽: Wanted him 🥹
Olivia 🫒: babe there’s a ocean full with fishes to hunt
Anna 👺: doesn’t he have an older brother?
Olivia 🫒: ohh pls fuck him
Hayu 🪽: yall he has a gf 😭
Olivia 🫒: if there’s no ring on that finger , there’s still a chance to get fingered
Anna 👺: and ppl say Shakespeare is dead 😭😭
Hayu 🪽: he’s dada fr
Anna 👺: yall say y/n and jobe fucked?
Olivia 🫒: they better , y/n hope u got that bell in ham
Hayu 🪽: bruhh livv 😭😭
Y/n : yall we didn’t fuck but we made hella out
Olivia 🫒: someone woke up
Hayu 🪽: what happened yesterday??
Y/n : will tell you everything over dinner
Anna 👺 : alright 👍
You went in instagram and saw that you gained lots of followers. Yesterday you had 12k followers and now you have 302k followers. What.the.fuck.
Olivia wasn’t joking when she said you were trending, you were also trending on Instagram. Some Jobe fan accounts reported that Jobe was seen last night with a woman and also follows her, that made you check if that last part was even true. And it was true. Jobe fucking Bellingham was following you. Wtf.
Hell you even got an dm from him.
Jobe: hope you slept well, had a great time with you last night 🙃
Jobe: when can i see you again?
Ughh he was such a sweetheart
Y/n : slept fine , just woke up with the worst hangover ever 😓
Y/n : can we meet up tomorrow?
Jobe : yess , how does Italian restaurant at 8pm sound like?
You immediately went to the group chat
Y/n : tomorrow 8pm im going on a date with jobe
Y/n : yall im so fucking nervous
Olivia 🫒: OMGGG WHATT
Anna 👺: thats great to hear!!!
Hayu 🪽: soo happy for you 🫶🏻!!
You went back to Jobes text
Y/n : like heaven 🪽
Jobe : great 😊 can’t wait
Y/n : me too 🥰
Jobe reacted with “❤️” to your message
Authors note: yall i wrote this in one go so plss dont judge if it was written a lil shitty but i still hope you enjoyed it 💕. Pls give feedbacks and request.
can you please write a blurb about kylian being shirtless after the game because he switched shirts and everybody sees the scratches on his back from his girl? loved your fic 🥹😚
✴︎ scratches down your back now … content. kylian mbappe x fem!reader , mild smut , marking , 628 words
Kylian's body thrums with adrenaline following the end of the match against Senegal. When one of their players asks to swap shirts with him, he doesn't think much of it. After all, he's grown accustomed to giving it away.
Maybe it's the fact that he's winded, mind muddled from all the sprinting, the thrill of scoring twice, that he forgets what's sprawled across his back.
Kylian slips his shirt off with ease, handing it to the player and watching him nod in thanks.
He walks off with his back still exposed, heading down the tunnel, oblivious to the glances thrown his way, the lingering looks glued to his back.
When he reaches the locker room, he heads to his area, throwing down the shirt, picking up his things, and that's when he hears Ousmane, the genuine concern in his voice.
"Holy shit, what happened to your back?"
Kylian's brows furrow, turning over to face his friend. "What's wrong with my back?"
"It's all… scratched up."
Oh.
Well. Now, Kylian definitely remembers.
The memories of last night come to him at once.
"Kylian—"
You had whined into his ear. He groaned when your nails, like claws, had dug into his skin, running them down his back in a futile-like attempt to steady yourself.
It had burned, but it had burned so good that he couldn't help but fuck into you harder, the table shaking from the force of his thrusts as you coated his dick in your slick.
"You love this, don't you?" Your cunt convulsed around him as you nodded hastily. Your nails dug in deeper, and the thought that you'd be leaving those marks on him—a reminder of how good he'd made you feel, a show that he was yours—made him feel dizzy. "Shit—I'm gonna come."
His hips ground against you one, two, three more times before he felt himself break, emptying himself inside you until you had wrung every single last drop from his body.
You had left him with a nice souvenir—beautiful, jagged lines running down his back like he had been attacked by some clawed beast. But that didn't come close to the truth. It had been your doing. Every single line.
"I didn't even notice." The lie falls from his mouth so easily.
"Really? It looks like it hurts. Are you okay?"
Kylian holds back a laugh, amused at Ousmane's genuine concern for his well being. It makes Kylian wonder if he's purposely acting clueless to save him the embarrassment. But embarrassment is far from what Kylian feels.
"More than okay."
He throws on a shirt, lips curving into a smile when he spots you nearby, waiting for him outside of the locker room. He turns back to Ousmane, shooting him a grin. "I'll see you later." Without saying anything else, he makes his way over to you.
Ousmane, however, can't seem to tear his gaze away from Kylian. It stays attached to his back, and although it's covered now, he finds himself squinting his eyes like he's trying to see through the fabric.
He stops when he feels a light smack to the back of his head, whipping it around in an instant. "What was that for?"
"You seriously can't be that stupid," Aurelien chides.
"What?"
Aurelien just tuts in disappointment, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it, Ous."
Later that evening, when you realize the fuss the scratches are making on the internet, the jokes flooding your timeline, shame barrels into your body. "You couldn't have at least tried to hide them?"
Kylian simply shakes his head no, planting a reassuring kiss to your cheek. "Why would I?"
Kylian bears the marks with pride. Let them see, he thinks. Let them all see who he belongs to.
note. i’m proud of myself for writing this in one day lmao. kylian scored twice today also so i just had to. i hope you this is what you wanted! please don't be afraid to comment or send a message to my inbox if you enjoy. all love is appreciated!
summary ౨ৎ thinking about kylian mbappe’s not-so-secret breeding kink 🫣
content ⟢ fem!black!reader, smut smut smut!!— it's in the summary lol but beware, breeding kink!! creampie, unprotected sex (stay strapped w them condoms y'all)
serenity says ໒꒱ to the anon who sent me the breeding kink blurb req w/ kylian, this is for you bb 💋💋 the way it’s been catching dusttt in my drafts and i just now found the inspiration to finish editing it… #sorryigotsmshittodo
see, there's never been a doubt in kylian's mind that he wants children someday— especially with you.
he can't picture building a life with anyone else, watching a baby who holds a piece of you of both grow into their own person. to him, a child born from the love you share feels less like a burden and more like a dream.
but every conversation, no matter how hopeful it is, always ends the same way: not right now.
he understands, in fact, he agrees wholeheartedly.
you're still in the middle of building the career you've worked so hard for. and kylian? every single moment is dedicated to football, the world cup especially. he holds the weight of finishing what he started in 2022— to finally bring the cup home.
so as much as kylian longs for one, love alone isn't enough to take care of a child. love isn't presence. that doesn't stop him from letting the thought settle in the back of his mind, a dream he knows will come true someday.
gently pinning your wrists above your head as he hovers over you, kylian decides to believe today is someday. the bedroom is filled with want, the adrenaline from scoring not one, but two goals, escapes his body in waves. you can feel it in the way his heart beats rapidly against you, fingers trembling as they rest on your hips.
"please, ky." you whisper, breathlessly. "c'mon, don't tease." he only nods. any other time, he'd have chuckled, dragging out the anticipation just to watch you get impatient. this time though, he can't wait either. the tip of his cock says it for him, twitching against your wet hole, fully hard and ready.
he lowers himself a little further, burying his face in the crook of your neck. a lingering kiss brushes against your jaw before he slowly sinks in. the sharp hitch in your breath doesn't escape him, and your warmth draws a quiet hiss from his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut for a fleeting moment.
he imagines a world where you aren’t on any birth control. the same situation, but charged with a important objective, keeping you full of his cum. oh, to be under the welcomed risk of a baby girl or boy— a girl, he hopes— where kylian can rock into you with no worries, slamming over and over until you cum around him, whimpering out praises as he fills you up.
it drives him insane.
"putain," he grits out. "i missed this— missed you, i always do." his hips move in and out, slow and tender, cock already stretching you out. it’s been too long. well, it's only been a week. "did you miss me too, bébé?" he murmurs. "dit moi."
"i missed you too, baby." your sweet words light something up in him instantly. you gasp out, wrapping your arms around his neck, kylian's restraint lost as the slow pace turns intense, rougher. every slam grows more urgent than the last, leaving you shaking beneath him as he ruins you.
"i'm close, mon amour," he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. he needs to know you're certain, that this is what you want too. it's never been about his child or your child. it's always been ours. to hear that you're ready, that you want this just as much as he does, is enough to make his heart race all over again.
"where do you want me—"
"don’t be ridiculous," you scoff, then crying out when the tip of his dick brushes against your cervix. "i—i want it inside, kylian. don’t— shit, pull out."
he groans so pathetically, it's embarrassing.
and god, he’d give you everything. he's always been wrapped around your finger after all. losing control right then and there, not wasting a second to let out every single drop for your greedy pussy to swallow. he pulls you in for a kiss as his cum spurts out, your lips moving against his as you clench around him, feeling the shocks from your orgasm.
"je t'aime," he whispers, like it came from the depths of his heart. "je t'aime," one kiss, "je t'aime," another kiss. he repeats himself between kisses, scattering them across your beautiful face before trailing down to your neck, collarbone, and the center of your chest.
your scrunched smile grows with each declaration of love. he can be so cheesy. "you're so silly," you giggle. he pulls back enough for your eyes to meet, a grin spreading effortlessly across his face.
"only for you."
kylian doesn't pull out, opting to stay inside of you, fucking his cum in deeper as his eyes soften. he'd rather let every responsibility outside the luxurious hotel room fade into nothing, happy to be wrapped around your walls and love.
once his head finally comes to rest against your chest, he lets out a quiet thank you to whatever scientist invented birth control... and another to you, for convincing him to stop wearing condoms.
it might not stick, but he can pretend.
just for now.
౨ৎ kylian mbappe's taglist ꒰ @purplesectorlew ┊͙ @goldenflowergirlyy ┊͙ @mariaaaalm ┊͙ @dayan23jb ┊͙ @sativadivastuff ꒱ ‧₊˚
⤷ want to be added to the taglist? read this!
absolute batman, who's so fucking big that even riding him brings tears to your eyes. he's thick beyond belief, tip leaking, and red. he wants to feel bad, the way your lip quivers and your thighs shake should evoke pity, but god, it just makes his dick twitch beneath you. "take it slow, baby, you want me to help you?" he lifts his hips slightly as you nod, his head tossed back while he eases into you. "fuck, that's it... nice and tight."
you can only ride him for two minutes before your legs start to give out beneath you, and he has to flip you over. his weight almost completely crushes you, the walls of your cheap gotham apartment are thin, and his hand clamps over your mouth while you clench around him. it feels like he never stops, he can pull orgasm after orgasm out of you, and his voice doesn't falter "uh huh...make a mess, just gimme one more."
ok what about thriller era michael playing The Lady in My Life for the first time for reader and they start doing cutesy spins and slow dancing and then when it gets to the lines of “stay with me, i want you to stay with me, i need you by my side” at time 2:30 in the song, reader gets really turned on by his yearning in the song and then their dance together becomes sensual and shifts into dirty dancing and when the song ends it leads them straight into sex?? (p in v, fingering) and it’s hungryyyyy
yeasssss
18+!! MDNI
Pairings: Thrillerdisco!michael x blackfem!reader
Content: fluff, smut, blowjob, p in v, dirty talk, (kinda), fingering
Summary: Michael plays a slow, sweet song on your record player, making an evening you’ll never forget.
[𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞]
You’re curled up on the couch in your bedroom, reading you favorite romance novel waiting for Michael to arrive back home from the studio.
You pop a whole strawberry in your mouth, taking small bites as you flip the pages, already lost in a fantasy. You bite your lip softly, imagining what dirty thoughts come into your mind, after all you and Michael have never shared an intimate moment together.
Well, if a first kiss counted.
You remember it very well, a couple of months ago when you had both first started dating, siting under a willow tree on your favorite hill in the valley. It was sunset, and you and Michael were having an evening picnic, accompanied with desserts, drinks, and other food you could think of.
You giggled at Michael’s silly face as he held a singular moon grape with his nose, then bobbing his head to pop it into his mouth. Juice squirted on your dainty Mary Jane’s, and you grabbed a pink heart-shaped napkin to dab it off.
“Oh, uhm, you have something on your lip,” Michael had pointed out. In fact you did, you had a clump of strawberry jam on your bottom lip from the strawberry butter biscuits (not cookies) you had previously eaten.
“Oh thanks,” you pause, looking down at your reflection in your Easter egg mirror until you catch Michael staring.
“What?” You breathe, searching his face for clues.
He answers by leaning in slowly towards you, face just inches away. You put down your mirror, hands slowly moving towards his flushed cheeks as you smell the sweet smell of his cologne, flooding your senses.
Michael leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours, until his taste now hits your taste buds. A sweet taste of matcha tingles your tongue as you gain entrance, sucking his bottom lip softly.
You cup his jaw with one hand, the other cradling his head as you deepen the kiss.
Shortly, Michael pulls back slowly, admiring your beauty.
“Y’taste just like honey,” Michael murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. He tucks a loose curl behind your ear with a soft smile, as you giggle, nuzzling his nose with yours.
Lost in thought, you stare at your still burning candle, making the room smell of rose and jasmine, an earthy mix.
You hear your bedroom door open, and Michael emerges in a shimmery disco fit, silver bellbottoms, and a matching top, hiding something behind his back. He closes the door softly behind him, a nervous smile on his face.
“Hi,” you smile, looking up from your book.
“You’re back early,” you raise an eyebrow, confused as to why he’s acting so weird and shady.
Michael bites his bottom lip, inhaling before responding.
“Well, today I recorded a new song,” he starts, looking at your eyes for approval. His empty hand is clenched.
“Uh-huh,” you nod your head.
“And I..well wanted to see what you think,” he continues, swallowing nervously.
You narrow your eyes, raising a brow.
“And you were scared to tell me that?” You spoke softly.
“…yes,” he says quietly, like a chirp.
You burst out laughing and giggling, clutching your stomach. Michael smiles too, letting out a giggle.
“C’mere,” you beckon, patting a seat next to you on the loveseat. You giggle.
You face towards him, taking both of his hands, as he reluctantly places the new disc on the table.
“Play it,” you invite.
Michael puts the disc onto the record player, reversing it to the beginning.
You giggle at Michael’s shy reluctance as he stands up, hand outstretched towards you.
You take his hand, standing up from the couch as you two start to sway in unison, two hands now on your waist.
There'll be no darkness tonight
Lady, our love will shine (lighting the night)
Just put your trust in my heart
And meet me in paradise (now is the time)
Girl, you're every wonder in this world to me
A treasure time won't steal away
You slow dance with Michael, a small smile planted on your face as the chemistry and heat between you start to brew.
You rest your head on his shoulder, one hand on his waist and the other on his back, the smell of musky cologne flowing through your nose.
You move your head back to meet his face, his warm breath on your neck as he leans in, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he sucks softly.
So listen to my heart
Lay your body close to mine
Let me fill you with my dreams
I can make you feel alright
And, baby, through the years
Gonna love you more each day
So I promise you tonight
That you will always be the lady in my life
Your breath hitches as he slowly moves his head out of your neck, face inches apart from yours.
You give a breathy laugh, which he doesn’t return back, just leans in to give a quick peck to the bridge of your nose.
Lay back in my tenderness
Let's make this a night we won't forget
Girl, I need your sweet caress, oh
Reach out to a fantasy
Two hearts in a beat of ecstasy
Come to me, girl
The music floods your ears as you continue to sway slowly with Michael, his hands wandering up to your back as he rubs slow, soothing circles.
Your eyes flutter as you stare into his doe eyes, which you could get lost into forever if you wanted to.
And I will keep you warm
Through the shadows of the night
Let me touch you with my love
I can make you feel so right
And, baby, through the years
Even when we're old and gray
I will love you more each day
'Cause you will always be the lady in my life
Michael bites his bottom lip softly as his eyes flicker to your lips, then slowly back to your eyes.
Stay with me
I want you to stay with me
I need you by my side
Don't you go nowhere
(Ooh, girl, let me keep you warm)
Let me keep you warm (you are the lady in my life)
You're my lady (feel you with the sweetest love)
I want to squeeze you
(Always the lady in my life)
I want to touch you, baby
Your heart flutters at the sound of his desperation, his begging as you feel heat rush to your core.
“Let me kiss you,” Michael murmurs. You allow him, his face rushing into yours with a needy hunger, his hands wandering up to cup your cheeks.
You pull back, exhaling. Before you can take another breath, Michael twirls you around, you back hitting his chest as you are pulled flush against him. You sway your hips slowly as he dips you down, slowly leaning in to kiss your collarbone.
He peppers your neck with kisses, dipping you back up.
You sway your hips, the back of your thighs pressed against his shimmery trousers.
Quickly, you turn around. Michael’s eyes widen in surprise, but before he can do anything, you push his chest, sending him back into the loveseat.
You bend down on your knees, opening his legs with your hands, a dirty smirk on your face and a hint of mischief twinkle in your eyes.
(Lay back in my tenderness)
(You are the lady in my life)
(Rock me with your sweet caress)
(Always the lady in my life)
You're my lady and I love you, girl
(Ooh, girl, let me keep you warm)
(You are the lady in my life)
Don't you go nowhere
Michael leans in forward to hold your curls up, as you unzip his trousers, slowly teasing him while he’s on edge.
Michael lets out a low groan as you tease his tip with your pointer finger, rolling slow, teasing circles. His smile wavers just a little, by your featherlight touch.
“Do you want me to go further?” You ask, fingers curling around the hem of his boxers.
He doesn’t respond, just chest heaving, forehead sheen from sweat.
“Answer me…” you coo, pulling down his underwear slowly.
He nods frantically, begging for your lips to wrap around his fat cock.
“So needy,” you murmur, pulling down his boxers fully, his dark cock springing up.
Your eyes widen at the sight of his manhood, spitting into your hands, then wrapping them around his cock greedily.
(Feel you with the sweetest love) I love you
(Always the lady in my life) I love you, I need you, I want you, baby
(Lay back in my tenderness)
Stay with me (you are the lady in my life)
Don't you go nowhere
(Rock me with your sweet caress) and I love you, baby
(Always the lady in my life) ooh
Ooh, babe
Don't you go nowhere
You're my lady
All through the night
You suck his tip slowly, taking in the sweet lavish flavor, swirling your tongue.
Michael let’s put another low groan, his back arching deeply, raising his upper body of the couch.
He lazily thrusts into your mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat, the sweet sounds of slurping and gagging filling his ears.
Tears pool into your eyes as he starts thrusting faster and faster, pushing your head further into his cock.
I want to give you all
(You are the lady in my life) in my life, now
(Feel you with the sweetest love) let me feel you, baby
(Always the lady in my life) all over, all over, all over
(Lay back in my tenderness) lay back with me
(You are the lady in my life) let me touch you, girl
(Rock me with your sweet caress) lay back with me
(Always the lady in my life) all over, all over, all over
(Ooh, girl, let me keep you warm) all over, all over, all over
(You are the lady in my life) all over, babe, woo
(Fill you with the sweetest love)
(Always the lady in my life) you're my lady
(Lay back in my tenderness) you're my lady, babe
(You are the lady in my life) hee
He comes undone in your mouth, his white semen going down your swollen throat, the sound of his loud moans filling the air.
“Ahhh a-“ he releases, his dick throbbing in your mouth.
You slide your mouth back up onto his tip with a pop, wiping your lips with your sweater sleeve.
Michael sits up, pupils blown, chest heaving.
“How was tha-“ you start to ask, but Michael cuts you off, jerking your head backwards on the soft, fluffy carpet, stomach up.
He stares at you with predatory eyes, and a hunger you’ve never seen before.
He looks at you slowly up and down, starting at your loose curls, then all the way down to your pink pedicured toes.
His eyes move back up, and lay on your skirt, and specially what’s underneath.
His lips curl into a sick smile, moving his hands along your thighs, then up under your skirt.
Michael kisses you hungrily, face buried into yours as his tongue fights for entrance, sucking your bottom lip softly as his two hands trap you, both on either side of your head.
He pulls back, still having that soft gentleman-like side to him as he pauses more than halfway below your pussy.
“C-can I?” He asks, doe eyes peering at you through his lashes, waiting for you to say yes.
You give him a small steady nod.
He lifts up your white flower laced mini skirt up to your lower stomach, revealing your pink panties, damp with your arousal.
You give him a quiet whimper as his hands move to the hem of your panties, tugging down slowly, unclothing your needy hole.
He starts by sticking in a pointer finger into your abused hole, making you beg for more friction as you thrust into his fingers.
His finger becomes wet from your arousal, slowly pulling it out to stuff it into your needy mouth.
You suck his finger, satisfied by your own sweet taste. You moan silently, muffled by his finger.
For a moment, you could only feel the warmth between you, the steady calm in his hands, the way his voice—low and careful—checked in without breaking the spell.
When you finally managed to speak, your words came out messy, more honest than you meant them to be.
“I need you, inside me,” you beg, voice barely above a whisper. You sound like a desperate plea, begging for sex, like a nasty slut.
“You need me?” Michael teases, rubbing his tip along your lips.
You nod, looking at him desperately.
Michael slowly rolls his hip forwards into you, the warmth of his tip filling you up already.
He stretches you out further, going in one, two, three, four inches in.
“Almost, there,” Michael breathes in between thrusts.
You raise your head up off the carpet, looking at how his dick goes into you effortlessly, the pleasure flooding in your walls.
Minutes pass, and Michael quickens his pace, mercilessly shoving all of his length into your small hole, making you yelp and moan.
Eventually is pace slows, his seed filling you up, his cock throbbing inside of you as your walls clench and flutter around him.
You cum with him, both of your juices mixing together, creating a squelching sound as you release.
synopsis : an ordinary afternoon with your sweet boyfriend quickly turns erotic
warnings : 18+ mdni, smut, shy-ish!michael jackson x reader, oral (f receiving**), face riding, the tiniest mentions of religion, definitely a little wordy ! lightly proofread
author's note : this is my first time writing smut ! i hope you enjoy >< i had michael's song 'the toy' + the beegee's 'how deep is your love' as my inspiration.
it's a warm, stuffy july afternoon. and today is one of those cherished moments when your precious boyfriend is free from the discord and chaos of his rising fame.
the hubbub of the record player in the living room is the only sound competing with the smack of you and michael's lips together. your hips gently rock against each other's as you straddle him. hands groping and running across every inch of eachother's bodies.
michael reluctantly pulls back and leaves a trail of warm kisses down any areas of skin showing through your thin top. a quiet mewl to slips out your lips
you've become a little needy over the past few weeks. every time things between you and your lover got a little too steamy, he would shut things down immediately. you're practically his first in every area! while his reluctance is justified, the sexual appetite of any young adult is curious and demanding.
michael can feel your hands inching closer to the zipper of his jeans by the second and is quick to stop you. he doesn't want to tell his pretty angel no, but jehovah's teachings are set like stone in his mind!
"i'm sorry sweets.." he begins to trail off, his hands trembling and his doe eyes searching for any emotion he can garner through yours that isn't anger. his hand still grips onto your lingering wrist.
you're quick to shoo the guilt out of his head with a peck. "mike, it really isnt a biggie." of course you're not upset with him! never in a million years.
and michael, oh so eager to please, frantically proposes a new idea.
sure, he's abstaining from sex, but who says he can't have a little taste of your sweet sugar?
michael lays himself across the couch, wide eyes following you as you hoist yourself over his face. his hands quickly find their place on your waist, drawing mindless shapes and doodles.
"michael, you sure about this?" you question, the wet spot in the middle of your panties still hovering over his face. he is quick to nod and answer, "positive."
he lightly tugs on your thighs and settles deeper within the couch. "lets get you out of these." he chuckles as he peels away the only thing blocking him from his delicious treat. stuffing the garment in his jean pocket.
you know you'll never see those panties again.
michael gently coaxes you, "lower yourself, sweetie." and you obey. as soon as your sticky core touches his tongue, his pupils dilate. a thick and sluggish stripe runs up your center, barely missing your clit. this is what he's been passing up? he thinks to himself, what a fool he is.
your hips immediately jerk forward, and michael's clammy hands that were once digging into the plush of your thighs are now guiding your waist to a steady pace, up and down his tongue.
the sound that erupts from you is melodic, and he can feel himself straining through his jeans.
your hands fly to anywhere they can ground themselves in. digging into the arm of the couch, grappling his soft curls, and onto the chest spilling out of your top. well—your hands were on your chest, but michael's seemed to have taken those matters into his own hands. his heavy fingers are twisting and fluttering on your nipple.
"'s–'s that feel good?" he muffles under your puffy pussy. "hm?" all he wants to do is please you. its the only thing that constantly floods his mind. a pure love-sick gaze clouds his eyes as he stares up at you.
"uh huh! michael– mmf!" your hips seem to have a hasty mind of their own. up and down. up and down. up and down. you can feel your boyfriend writhe beneath you.
the feeling of your thighs around his head is like heaven. he can barely breathe, and most of the blood that would have been flocking to his brain shoots straight to his throbbing shaft. the only word you think you can distinct from his eager groans is, "tighter."
a hot, pulsing band in your abdomen? bladder? your lower intestine. no—fuck it, its there. and its about to snap.
"oh lord, yes!" a gutteral moan is dragged out your throat. he can feel your legs violently twitch. your orgasm washes over you like an ice bath. you've officially reached cloud nine. michael's burning stare is unwavering. you look so damn etheral.
plopping down on the couch, the sight beside you is surreal. michael is now staring off into space, a cherubic smile plastered on his face. your warm and sticky essence is drips down the sides of his mouth like vanilla ice cream. god, if you could capture a moment forever it would be this one.
a noise coming from the front door alerts the both of you, it's keys jingling. "hello?" a male voice calls out. one of his brothers.
"jackie, they're probrably upstairs! hush." another voice quickly shuts him down. that's definitely latoya.
—𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒; everyone sees the soft-spoken, gentle, respectful michael jackson — but, after opening night for the victory tour in kansas city and a few bottles of hard liquor, you see how alcohol turns that sweet mouth real dirty
—𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆; smut, 18+, heavy alcohol consumption, reaaaaal dirty talkin, soft-dom!mike, semi-public sex (tour bus), cunnilingus, cursing, jackson brothers are such teasing lil shits, creampie.
—𝐀/𝐍; HIII, i’m baaaack! did you miss me :D also new layout who dis
Celebrating with the Jackson brother’s wasn’t anything short of lively.
It was a warm summer’s night in July — the air was muggy, manageable, but enough to cast a thin sheen of sweat across your forehead in the main seating area of the black Eagle entertainer coach. One singular window was cracked, letting in a blissful, relieving blast of cold air as the tour-bus whirred down the freeway.
The atmosphere was upbeat — the sound of loud laughter, teasing comments, and playful insults hurled in the air as conversations flowed with ease. For the first time in a while post-concert, every Jackson brother was present — Tito was shuffling a stack of playing cards, Marlon was relentlessly teasing Jermaine for finally being allowed permission back into the group, Jackie was conversing quietly with a fan he’d brought from the bustling crowd of Kansas City, one of the many girls he’d go to pick up after a show, who sat nervously next to him, Randy watched his brother’s shameless flirting with wide eyes, utterly stunned at his boldness for bringing a girl, let alone a fan, back onto the tour bus with the whole family, and Michael, quiet as always, sat comfortably beside you, his lady, with a hand laid lovingly on your clothed thigh.
All seven residents of the tour bus, excluding Jackie’s friend, encircled two large separate foldable tables, both locked into place to allow card games and beverages to splay across the plastic top.
Speaking of beverages, thanks to Jermaine and Marlon, who decided opening night of their Victory Tour in Kansas City couldn’t be a night without a “special somethin’”, had provided more than enough liquor to clean a hospital — and maybe even put them in one after consumption.
As Tito announced that he’d successfully shuffled the cards to his best ability, he began distributing them, calling out Michael’s name to reach over the intersection of the bus to grab ahold of yours and his cards. As your boyfriend rose to his feet, took the cards from his brother’s hands, and then resided back into his seat — you met his eyes as he handed your bunch to you.
Michael shon a gentle, sweet little smile your way, his eyes twinkling with affection as you watched them travel over your grinning face. His hand slipped back onto your thigh, giving it a small squeeze and a light pat. Sifting through your cards, becoming accustomed to your hand, you let your cheeks warm at the subtle display of affection.
Michael was always doting — from the moment you met, when your high-school best-friend, La Toya Jackson, had brought you home for supper, he had been seeing hearts in his vision.
You had been friends with La Toya from school for a few years at that point in ‘73, knowing each since the jovial days of middle-school, often walking home together after a long day of classes, and stopping by at her small, yet comforting, home in Gary, Indiana, for dinner. And from the first day you stepped foot in the Jackson home, you were welcomed with open arms — Katherine Jackson, La Toya’s mother, adored you, always calling you her fourth daughter, and practically begging La Toya to bring you round more often.
And once her older brother’s got whiff of a new female face around the house — the teasing began. Marlon, being close to you and La Toya in age, loved to pick on you childishly — claiming that he was going to tell the guy at school that you had a crush on, that you liked him, or that he saw him kissing another girl behind the Sycamore tree at lunch. And, as your relationship with the family blossomed and strengthened, you teased back — playfully winding him up, saying that when he approached and painfully flirted with the new girl by the lockers, that he had peanut butter on his chin. He didn’t, but the look on his face would send you into fits of laughter.
Tito and Jackie, the eldest of the Jackson siblings, treated you as if you were their little sister — often warning you about what guys really want when they ask a girl to a drive-in movie, or what to say when a guy’s teasing you at school. The rest of the Jackson brother’s, as well as La Toya’s younger sister, Janet, all adored you too — finding it bizarre how La Toya didn’t introduce you sooner.
Even Joseph tolerated you — and that was saying something.
But, no Jackson sibling, or parent, or cousin, or uncle, or niece, that you met, because you had as Katherine had basically adopted you at this point, would ever equate to your favourite.
Michael.
He was different, intriguingly so, different from all his brother’s and sister’s — who were loud, boisterous and lively, who weren’t afraid to quip back a snark response during a playful spat, or chase you round the backyard in an attempt to push you into a large murky, muddy puddle during winter. No, he was definitely different. Shy, softly-spoken, gentle and endearingly polite — it was as if all the extraversion was given to his siblings and left him nothing.
But, you liked him that way.
Oh, boy, did you like him.
La Toya would tease you relentlessly — poking your sides when she caught you staring at him from across the living room, or clutching her stomach in laughter when you revealed you actually might have a crush on him, or deliberately knocking into you to force you to stumble into him in the kitchen, muttering a knowing ‘Oops’ with a smirk on her face as the two of you blushed and apologised profusely.
You were convinced your feelings for Michael were one-sided as after five years of mingling around the Jackson family and falling even harder for the bashful boy, now at the ripe age of seventeen and you eighteen, no obvious, reciprocated romantic emotions were shared. Michael was always sweet and friendly, sharing laughs and stories with you at the dinner table whenever you sat near one another, or bringing you a cold drink on a hot summer’s day when they all moved to Hayvenhurst and you’d stay for weeks at a time during the warmer months — but, his true feelings were never clear.
It was unbeknownst to you that Michael had been utterly infatuated with you from fourteen years-old when you and La Toya trudged through the front door, slinging your back-packs and Mary Jane’s to the floor, and rushing through to the kitchen to formly introduce you to her parents — he was speechless. Even at such a mutual young age, he thought you were beautiful. His boyish heart would thump in his chest at the sight of your plump, adolescent cheeks, soft eyes and toothy grin — but, what got him the most, was the sweet, fruity aroma of your cherry-scented shampoo. The waft of your freshly washed hair flooding his nostrils whenever you’d step foot into the home, running past him with a quick, high-pitched ‘Hi, Michael!’ with a cheesy smile on your face — it sent him spiralling.
But, as all inexperienced, nervous teenagers do, they assume the person they like are unlikely to reciprocate their feelings — so, he kept to himself. Letting his brother’s do all the teasing, and the talking, and the flirting when you turned eighteen — it pained him to keep so quiet, it wasn’t out of character due to his shy nature, but all he wanted to do was reach out and kiss you, and tell you exactly how he felt.
And when La Toya, both of you aged twenty, and Michael nineteen, threw a birthday party for her boyfriend at the time, and you consumed one too many fruit-punches from a three litre plastic container in a red solo cup, now completely plastered beyond recognition, did you decide to finally spill your guts.
Literally and figuratively.
You had approached Michael, stumbling and giggling, who sat on the sidelines of the Hayvenhurst back-yard that swarmed with people from your school and his family, pretending the orange juice in his solo cup was alcohol, and sat promptly next to him on a lounge chair.
You let your mind run away with itself — telling him how nice he is for letting his older sister host a party for her boyfriend, who you revealed you hated as you knew he had slept with her other friend before dating Toya, who you also didn’t like, and ignored him when he reminded you it wasn’t his house, but continued to let you ramble. And when you finally finished praising him, on how nice his shirt was, and his teeth, and his hair, and his eyes, and his lips—you had already said too much. Deciding that now was the perfect time to let slip that you had been hopelessly in love with him from the second you laid eyes on him sat on the couch in the little living room of his Indiana home, that your feelings hadn’t faltered for the past six years, and that you wanted so badly to kiss him right now.
But, before Michael, who was wide-eyed, slack-jawed and blushing, could have a chance to reveal he felt the same — you were puking into the grass, heaving and crying as he held your hair back.
In the morning, you woke up with a headache and a dry throat on La Toya’s bed — but, no amount of physical pain could amount to the sheer dread and embarrassment that flooded your system at the realisation of what you’d said the night before. Well, a mere few hours earlier, as your body clock had decided a three-AM till seven-AM sleep was sufficient after a night of drinking.
And when you finally decided to crawl out of bed at twelve-PM that same day, bags under your eyes and hair a mess, you faced your fear — diminishing any humiliation by facing the problem head on.
You had knocked on Michael’s bedroom door, swallowing thickly and gnawing at your lip as you awaited permission to enter. And when he did, opening the door with furrowed eyebrows and a confused expression, which instantly melted once he set eyes on you, you rambled once more, now sober with no excuse, tears falling freely from your eyes as you apologised.
And Michael, watching as you word-vomited, thankfully figuratively this time, gained a sliver of confidence and cupped your cheeks with gentleness, before pressing his lips to yours to shut you up. You had frozen, before sliding your hands into his bed-head of hair, and sobbing into the kiss, ignoring the way your spit-stricken lips mixed with your salty tears, only catching your breath as he pulled away, whispering a nearly inaudible, ‘I’m in love with you too.’
The rest was history — Katherine was ecstatic her son and her favourite friend any of her children have ever had, were together, literally jumping for joy and pulling you in for tight hug. Of course, the Jackson brothers teased you shamelessly, never missing a second after you revealed your relationship without picking on Michael with a — ‘Damn, Mike, how’d you get this one to agree to go out with you?’ ‘I didn’t even know you had any game, little brother.’ ‘Whenever you’re done, bring her ‘round to me, yeah?’
But, for once in his life — he paid no mind to his brother’s childishness. He suddenly had all the confidence in the world since he was now officially with the one girl he’d been in love with since he was fourteen.
And six, nearly seven years together, here you were — Michael now at twenty-six, you twenty-seven, accompanying him and his brother’s on their Victory Tour around the United States and Canada. You had accompanied them on many a tours previously, when they became ‘the Jackson’s’, when Jermaine parted from the group to stay with Motown, and always remained an anchor and lifeline for Michael. He hated whenever there was times you weren’t there with him on tour — feeling awfully woeful and lonely laying in an large, empty hotel bed, pouting on the phone to you for hours about how much he missed and needed you, how he couldn’t wait to see you in the next city when you were flying in, and how much he loved you.
Like I said — always doting.
“Let’s get this party started, shall we?” Marlon quipped, pulling you from the memory of your childhood love affair, grinning from ear to ear as he reached over the playing cards that Tito had placed in front of him, and grabbed ahold of a large bottle of Tequila — chuckling darkly to himself as he unscrewed the cap and flicked it across the room, howling as it smacked Randy right between the eyes.
Ignoring his brother’s curses from injury, Marlon brought the glass bottle to his lips, gulping two deep swigs of the hard, straight liquor, cursing as he swallowed.
“Your turn, Mr Big Shot.” Marlon joked, passing the bottle to Jackie, who now had his arm around the blushing fan next to him.
Jackie chuckled, leaning slightly to take the litre bottle from his brother’s hands, and bringing to his lips as he did — wincing after a large swig.
“You want some of this?” Jackie asked, turning to the girl next to him.
Her eyes blew open, clearly unaccustomed to alcohol by the way her mouth parted and closed a few times before speaking, “I, um, I—“
“Sweetie, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, they’re just alcoholics, so pay no mind to their peer pressure.” You spoke up, leaning over to press a reassuring hand to her knee as you smiled.
She turned to you with a thankful grin, before shaking her head at Jackie, mumbling a soft ‘No, thank you’.
“Alcoholics? Girl, I know you’ lyin’.” Marlon exclaimed, titling his head at you.
You laughed loudly, “Am I wrong? You just drank that shit like it was water.”
The room erupted into soft laughter as Marlon shook his head with a chuckle, “That doesn’t make me an alcoholic.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right.” You started, with a playful smirk, “An alcoholic wouldn’t go ‘Ooh, ah, fuck, shit, that’s strong, fuck’!”
Loud roars of laughter, even including your quiet boyfriend who giggled beside you, filled the room as Tito nudged Marlon teasingly.
“Oh, really? Think you can do better?” He shot back.
“In what way?”
“I reckon you can’t take three swigs of that shit without gagging or, or, cursing.” Marlon challenged, raising his eyebrows in contest.
In the true sibling rivalry that you had formed with them, especially so with Marlon, you tongued the inside of your cheek, mentally deciding whether a hangover was worth this childish game.
“Or, you can remain a pussy.”
“Give that here.” You spat, snatched the bottle from the table in front of Jackie, ignoring the way Marlon cackled at the fact his provoking had worked.
With a deep breath, you brought the bottle to your lips — squeezing your eyes shut as the burning liquor trickled down your throat, setting fire to your taste buds as the harsh Tequila settled in your mouth.
One swig, two swigs, three swigs — and you slammed the bottle back down onto the table with a sigh, repressing a gag that threatened to creep up your throat and pressing your lips together to prevent any profanities from falling into the air.
Michael, watching the juvenile scene play out in front of him, squeezed your thigh in support as you finally let out a shaken breath, meeting Marlon’s eyes with your glassy ones, and sticking out your clean tongue.
“Beat that, fucker.”
The taste of Tequila stuck to your tongue as you let the room erupt into applause as Marlon rolled his eyes, “Always the show-off.”
“Y’just a sore loser, brother.” Jermaine piped up, grabbing an unopened bottle and drinking it himself, as Jackie did the same, handing it to Randy once he was finished.
Within fifteen minutes of the bottles being opened, the room had erupted into tipsy giggles and slurred conversations — Jackie’s girl had finally agreed to have a drink, clearly a light-weight as she was snorting with laughter at whatever Jackie had whispered in her ear. The card game had been abandoned before it even really started — Tito had attempted to explain the rules, but was continuously cut off by Jermaine and Marlon who repeated everything he said back at him in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, before finally giving up and telling them to fuck off, sending laughter throughout the room once more.
Luckily, everyone in the bus had failed to realise the quiet man next to you had avoided taking any swigs from the bottle at all — just silently observing the mess that was his drunken girlfriend and brother’s unfold before his eyes as cards were thrown around the bus, and competitions on who can do the best Joseph impression sent everyone into fits of giggles.
When finally, his silent avoidance was shattered,
“Ay, Mike, you haven’t had a drink yet!”
Jermaine’s loud, accusatory voice sounded out into the room, everyone’s head’s snapping towards the bashful boy, whose cheeks flushed burgundy at the exposure.
“I’m alright, ‘Maine, I don’t fancy a drink.” Michael replied coolly, hand still wrapped around the comfort of your thigh.
“Oh come on, everyone’s drinkin’, don’t be a party pooper.” Marlon teased, eyes drooping slightly as he slurred his words.
“Hey, leave my man alone.” You fired back, reaching up to press a defending hand to Michael’s chest, “He can choose to not drink if he doesn’t want to, Marlon.”
“Quit dick-ridin’ and pass him the bottle.” Marlon spat, laughing as he slid the bottle across the table in Michael’s direction
“Ew, why would you say that?” Michael spoke up, grimacing at the lewdness of his brother’s words.
Jackie cackled, “Actin’ like you haven’t been together for, what?, six years? Boy, we’ve all heard ya.”
You gasped, “Oh my God, what? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Qui—Quit changing the subject and get some liquor down you, little brother.” Marlon exclaimed, smiling widely.
Michael looked from the bottle, to his brothers, to you — searching for an escape as he swallowed thickly. It wasn’t that he didn’t necessarily want to drink — he just knew he’d ultimately regret it in the morning or do, or say, something he’d also regret.
You met his eyes, “‘S alright if you don’t want to, baby, you don’t have to.”
The look on your face, eyes bloodshot and hazy, cheeks flushed and smiling toothily, all drunk and happy, made his heart swoon. He was here, with all his brother’s and the love of his life, touring again with his beloved family on opening night — everyone looked so upbeat and giddy, all desirable qualities after a long first show, surely a drink wouldn’t be so bad, right?
That theory was soon diminished.
An hour later, after forcing six long swigs of Tequila down his throat from his persisting brother’s, who also ended up pouring the liquor straight into your mouth for your seventh swig, everyone was hammered. Jackie and his girl had retreated from the room half-an-hour ago to his bedroom in the back, ignoring Jermaine’s shouts to keep off of his bed. Tito and Randy had fallen asleep on one another, heads resting against each other’s as their snores filled the quieter room. Marlon was nearly spent — sighing deeply as sleep also threatened to taken over his drunken body as he slumped in the chair.
As for you and Michael, you were tucked neatly into the corner of the cushioned benches around the side of the bus, pressed up against one another — his hands caressing the curve of your waist as you pushed your chest against his, letting him whisper sweet-nothings into your ear, warm breath and soft lips grazing the shell as you shuddered.
You’d never seen Michael under the influence before, even when you first confessed your undeniable love to him, he had been consuming orange juice all night, so his behaviour had struck you speechless.
The second the alcohol hit his system — he was a changed man.
Suddenly, he was the loudest and most confident man in the room — laughing and shouting boyishly with his brother’s, shooting insults at Marlon, or letting curses slip past his lips, which erupted gasps in the room at his profanities due to his shy, collected sober nature.
But, that wasn’t all.
He became twice as handsy.
It started after his second swig, it all hitting him at once, as his hand trailed just that little bit higher up your thigh, dangerously close to where you twitched — a movement that had your breath hitching in your throat at the sudden action. He played it off smoothly, just peering down at you with an innocent smile when you glared up at him in shock.
Then, after the third or fourth swig, he pulled you into his lap, hand splayed across the bare of your stomach as he rest his chin on your shoulder, ignoring the way everyone exchanged glances at his sudden public display of affection — something he would never normally do around his brother’s.
Furthermore, after the fifth, he was gone — now kissing your neck openly, running his hands all over your sides in a slow, steady rhythm as he whispered how much he loved you into your ear, and how beautiful you looked, and how happy he was that you were here, and how— he didn’t stop. Just blabbering away, slurring and stuttering, about his utmost gratitude and adoration for you as his breath fanned over the back of your ear.
Finally, he had let you down from his lap after you grew increasingly more bashful at the way his brother’s ogled and teased about Michael’s sudden boldness — but, not letting you off that easy. Not letting a single second pass by, once you left the comfort of his lap, before pulling you against him and cupping your jaw to press soft kisses to the ridge.
“God, you’re so beautiful, Cherry.”
Your heart fluttered at the nickname, a long-standing term of endearment he had given you years ago from the scent of your childhood shampoo, one that he adored, as you braced a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Mikey.” You whispered back, head fuzzy and dazed as the alcohol buzzed through your system.
“Y’know how much I love you, right?” He mumbled for the thousandth time that night, the scent of his minty breath filling your nostrils as he pulled back from your jaw to meet your gaze.
“I do, angel,” You hummed, leaning forward slightly to nudge his nose with your own, “I love you more.”
“No, I do.”
“Nope.”
“No. I love you the most, Cherry.”
“Not true. I love you the—“ “Get a room, guys, Jesus.”
Jermaine’s slurred words hit your ears as you turned your head to face him, pulling away from Michael’s face.
“Fine, we will.”
You gasped as Jermaine groaned at the insinuation of Michael’s words as he rose to his feet, extending his hand to help you up from the seat. You did so willingly, still shocked at his confidence at a such lewd revelation in front of Jermaine, who shook his head.
Michael didn’t waste a beat — dragging you swiftly into the back of the tour bus, towards his bedroom, one that was, thankfully, reserved just for him, despite all his brother’s having to share with one another. His feet moved quickly as he guided you through the dark of the hallway, hand still enclosed tightly in your own as an anchor in the low-lighting, especially in your drunken stumbling.
Once you clambered into the room, giggling as you tripped over your own feet and slammed into his back, Michael shut and locked the door and instantly pressed you against it. His lips met yours instantaneously — a low hum of satisfaction leaving his mouth and into yours as he cupped your burning hot cheeks. His hands, nimble and precise, moved and found solace in the curve of your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you flushed against his body, while his tongue nudged your bottom lip.
You whined into his mouth, feeling awfully needy after his continuous teasing throughout the evening, as he slot a knee between your legs — his clothed thigh now inches away from where you had begun to throb in your panties, now stricken with slick that drooled from your twitching pussy.
The alcohol had hit you straight between the legs — arousal now flooding your veins twice as hard as the liquor had, your head reeling as his eager tongue slipped into your mouth, colliding with your own. The kiss was sloppy and needy, tasting heavily of liquor, tongues and teeth clashing together in a feverish connection as you clung desperately to the fabric of Michael’s shirt, crinkling the material in your tight grasp.
Michael parted from your mouth for a mere second just to guide you — turning you around from the comfort of the door, and towards the bed. He laid you down gently, as he always did before you had sex, cradling your head to soften the collision with the mattress — before instantly attaching himself back to your lips. Your legs instinctively wrapped lazily around his hips as he hovered over you, holding himself up on two elbows as he continued his work on your mouth, groaning down your throat as you shamelessly began rutting your crotch into the painfully obvious bulge in his joggers.
“So needy, my baby, hm? You want me that bad?” He spoke lowly, the gruff, deepness of his voice hitting you full force — a soft gasp ripping from your throat as his mouth attached to the bare of your neck, suckling the skin gently.
You’d never heard him talk like that — even during sex. It was always gentle and loving, coaxing rather than tantalising.
But, this—this—was different.
His voice had a bass in it that you’d never heard before — a dark, seductive growl, a statement of his need.
This was the alcohol talking.
But, as he sucked dark, prominent marks into your skin, now meeting your hips halfway as you humped up into his bulge, mewling as the tip of his stiff cock rocked against your aching clitoris repeatedly — you didn’t care.
“Mich—Mike, God.” Words failed you as you rambled into his ear, hands now threaded through his curls still damp with sweat, “Need you.”
Michael groaned into the warmth of your collarbone, lips detaching, he lifted himself up, to meet your glassy gaze — pupils blown and dancing in burning desire.
“Yeah? Really need me that badly baby, yeah?”
He was slurring, repeating himself, as he rolled a particularly harsh thrust into your clothed cunt — revelling in the way you mewled loudly at the connection, your grip in his hair tightening.
“Please.”
The sound of your meek begging had him dizzy — theoretically drunk on arousal as he fumbled with the button of your denim shorts, swift fingers dragging down the zipper before pulling them down your legs. He moved even quicker to your shirt — yanking at the hem and practically ripping it off of your body and to the floor, atop of your discarded bottoms.
His eyes met your half-naked frame, now clad in just your bra and panties, which now sported an obvious wet patch right were you drooled in anticipating arousal — a groan slipping past Michael’s lips at the sight of it.
Your back arched off the bed as his thumb traced the prominent circle of slick that painted your panties — his thumb catching your clenching hole, as well as the edge of your clit, as you jerked your hips into his touch.
“My baby’s so wet, God, look at you.” Michael whispered, eyes locked on your soaked underwear through the moonlight peeking through the curtains, “What am I gonna do with you, hm?”
You whined, an eager, desperate display of your desire, eyebrows furrowed in need as he slid a tentative thumb along your slit.
In your own drunken boldness, words fell from your swollen lips before you could refrain yourself, “Fuck me, please.”
“Patience, baby.” He whispered, pulling the your panties to the side, “Been waitin’ to touch this pretty pussy all night.”
You didn’t know what had gotten into him, in your intoxicated brain, but you knew sober you would understand that getting Michael Jackson drunk was like dangling a carrot in-front of a pigs face — you couldn’t exist around him while he was drinking without him getting crazed with need.
In a slow, tantalisingly steady movement, he crouched between your thighs, large palms needing the skin as he came face to face with where you drooled. He pressed his warm face right where you needed him — the sound of your aroused gasp at the sudden contact and his deep, guttural groan of satisfaction at the sweet scent of your cunt as he deeply inhaled your aroma, filled the thick air.
“Shit—so fuckin’ sweet.” He mumbled, soft lips dragging along your folds as he nuzzled into your sex.
“Michael, pl—please.”
The melodic sound of your whining ripped another groan from deep in Michael’s throat — grip tightening around the plush of your thighs as they enclosed around his head the second his mouth started working on you. He lay his tongue flat along your cunt, a slow, teasing drag of the muscle along the ridge — collecting your essence that had coated your lips, as well as your thighs, on his tongue.
You cried out, albeit louder than sober you would’ve wanted, hips jerking up to meet his mouth half-way as he tongue-fucked your cunt — movements sloppy and messy as he lapped at your clit like a man dying of thirst. He, matching your whines of pleasure, hummed and groaned into you — enclosing his lips around your nub, suckling frantically, as a singular finger slipped inside, instantly curling upwards to abuse the spot that had your toes curling.
“Oh—Oh, God—“
The words barely made it past your throat, coming out in a croaked stutter, before your orgasm crashed over you violently. In your pleasured and liquor-induced drunken haze, you failed to register the tightening of your abdomen and the twinkling of ecstasy down your spine that occurred prior to your orgasm before it arrived — instantly rendering you speechless, mouth in a tight ‘O’ shape as your eyes locked into the back of your head.
Michael, still lapping at your cunt, tongue swirling around your clit, and his digit moving at a rapid pace, groaned loudly, the vibration, a statement of satisfaction, only adding to your pleasure, as he began unapologetically rutting into the mattress, attempting to soothe the painfully hard bulge that, drooling pre-cum, rest underneath his uncomfortably tight boxers.
As your release fluttered away into a blissful buzz of post-orgasm glow — Michael took to his knees once more, palm encasing around his stiff cock, now harder than he’d ever been before.
He shuffled closer, a strong hand taking ahold of your hip, dragging you closer to where he throbbed as he continued to jerk himself — utterly bewildered at how hard he had gotten despite his alcohol intake.
Your hand flew to his chest, tangling in the crinkled material of his shirt once more, legs wrapping around his waist, as he decided that tonight he didn’t have time for anymore foreplay, that he just needed to be inside you, that there was no time for games.
And, at the sight of your glistening cunt catching in the light, creaming and clenching around nothing, pussy lips all swollen and doing nothing to hide where you dripped, he managed to form a coherent thought — that the sight was definitely going to leave him hard for days.
Michael cursed under his breath at your vulnerability, all spread out and dripping just for him — he stood, hands flying to his joggers, thumb latching underneath the waistband of them, along with his boxers, and tugged them down his legs. He kicked them off his ankles as he crawled onto the bed with you, knees either side of your raised legs, as a firm hand enclosed around the length of him.
He hissed at the contact as he pumped himself, lip coming between his teeth as a dribble of pre-cum slipped from his mushroom-headed tip, and dropped onto the fat of your pussy lips, trickling down your slit. His hazy, drunken mind instantly ran away with itself — eyes locked on the way you clenched around nothing.
“Gotta give it t’ya, baby, can’t wait.” He mumbled, finally slotting between your thighs, sliding the thick of him through your folds, “Can yo—you take it? Talk to me, pretty.”
You mewled — eyes fluttering shut momentarily at the sensation of the warm, stiff length of him rutting between your folds, gathering your sticky essence along his cock, hips twitching forward, subconsciously begging for more.
“Need words if you want my cock, Cherry.”
You gasped, your throat dry and sore from the harsh Tequila, at the assertiveness — something completely atypical from your man atop of you. As your eyes shot open in surprise, chest heaving, lips agape, the look of raw, dark, devilish thirst for your submission hit you — the moonlight catching the way his hungry eyes bore into your own, sending shivers down your back, sheen in sweat.
“Please—fuck—I can take it, just please.” Your sober self would’ve curled into a ball of embarrassment at the sheer intensity of desperation evident in your voice — the way it cracked and stuttered as you forced the words out, trembling in desire.
Michael hummed, satisfied with your response, as he pulled your soiled panties completely from your legs and angled himself, albeit clumsily in the drunken darkness, towards your clenching hole. You had attempted to sober up before he pushed in, thinking hard about remembering to keep quiet — but, when he slide inside, sheathing himself to the hilt in a singular, harsh roll of his languid hips, cunt stretching deliciously quickly around the size of him, you failed to suppress to pleasured cry of surprise that left your lips.
Your head lunged back into the pillows, back arching into his chest, your clothed breasts pressing against the soft of his t-shirt. Michael took this opportunity to lean down, slipping his hands underneath your curved back and unclasped your laced bra with practiced ease, ripping it off your arms and to the floor.
“Much better.” He mumbled drunkenly, hands finding instant comfort in your bare tits — cupping them and using them as anchors as he began his brutal thrusts.
Your breathless, whiny mewls of pleasure only grew in octave and intensity as Michael set a relentless pace — the fat tip of his cock repeatedly slamming against the gummy, sweet spot inside your weeping cunt that had your eyes rolling deep into your skull and carving lines into his back under his shirt.
You chanted his name like a prayer — like you were begging for forgiveness at his feverish pace, his stamina proving just as strong even in his drunken state. Every ridge and vein of his thick cock was dragging along your tight, gummy walls — only increasing your pleasure.
“Jesus, Cherry.” He panted, grip tightening as it slid down to your hips as he pulled you down onto his cock, “Y’squeezing my cock like you own it."
You took a mental note to get Michael drunk more often as the provocative words slipped from his lips — forcing your eyebrows to curve up your forehead as the dirty sentence hit your ears.
His brutal pace never let up — hips slamming into your own as he rutted into you like he was born to please you, like he was running out of time. His grasp slipped down your hips to your legs, hands curling underneath the backs of your knees, and forcing your legs to your chest. A choked gasp escaped your throat as he pressed his body weight onto your front — now impossibly and deliriously deep, the tip of his cock grazing your G-spot, and kissing your cervix with every thrust.
“Ho—Holy shit—Oh, my fucking God—“
Strings of broken pleas and curses slipped past your lips as he leant over, grunting wildly into your skin as he peppered hurried kisses to your neck — spit glistening on your skin in the light as he continued to force himself deeper.
“That’s it, thaaaaat’s it, baby, you can take it.” He mumbled, voice muffled as he sucked a particularly harsh love bite into your burning hot skin, “Y’sucking me in like you fuckin’ live off my cum.”
Now, that did it for you.
Clenching cunt instantly quivering and fluttering around the thick girth of him, a husky whine ripping from your mouth as your back curved once more, erect nipples grazing his clothed chest, at the sound of his gruff, seductive voice talking dirty to you like he wasn’t the shyest, most sweetest boy in the world.
“Ooh, Mic—Michael.” His name fell from your lips in a shocked, breathless manner, eyebrows still taut into the crease of your forehead.
He ignored your silent, rhetorical questioning for why he was acting so out of character, as in his drunken mind, he saw no difference to his intoxicated self to his usual persona — deciding that instead of replying to your splutters, he’d lift his body from yours, lift your legs into a V-shape in the air and rut into you faster than before. If that was even at all possible.
The scream that ripped from you could’ve been heard by the hundreds of passerby’s in their cars on the freeway — your hands flying to his forearms, nails digging into the soft skin, tracing the veins that bulged from the tensed skin. Your second orgasm, now scarily close, was given a forceful shove to tick over your gyrating body as your eyes flicked up to your boyfriend — who was a sight for sore eyes if you’d ever seen one.
His head was thrown back, a few stray curls cascading over his flushed face, eyes squeezed shut, his t-shirt between his teeth, now soaked in his saliva, as he mumbled almost incoherently into the material — ‘Oh, yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah’ ‘Fuuuuck, yeah, yeah—God, fuck, yeah’ ‘Gonna—Gonna—oh fuck!—Gonna cum—’
It was nonsensical blabber — spit staining his lips, and the softness of his shirt, eyes now half-open as they rolled deep inside the sockets, his grip on your ankles, the ones that held your legs up so perfectly despite his drunken clumsiness, tightened as you fluttered dangerously around him.
His name fell from your lips, paired with strings of incoherent sentences about how good he felt, as your orgasm washed over you twice as intensely as the first — nails leaving indefinite claw marks into his skin at the sheer volume of the release. He didn’t let up though — still slamming into you like it was what he was born to do, not music, not dance — no, just slip inside your warm, squeezing cunt and let you milk him for all he’s worth.
Michael doubled over, t-shirt slipping from his mouth, now messier than you’d made it, his grip on your ankles diminishing as he fell to your chest — flushed face nestling into the crook of your neck once again as his hips faltered ever so slightly.
“Fuck—y’so—so tight.” Michael inhaled sharply, a raw, broken whine slipping past his swollen lips, “Oh my—Fuck, ‘M gonna—Gonna marry you.” He was panting like a dog in heat, still rutting into you as he chased his own release as yours subsided slowly, “My girl. My fuckin’—Aah! Fuck—Gonna fill ya so deep. That what you—what y’want?”
A screech of agreement left your lips at his mindless rambling — cunt spasming violently as the suggestive, pornographic worthy sentences trickled from his lips like syrup, coating your whole body in a thick sheen of arousal.
You almost couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing — Michael was usually shy, nearing submissive, and gentle during sex, which you also adored, but this—this—was something to look back on late at night when he was thousands of miles away on tour with your hands down your pyjama shorts.
“‘M there—Oh, fuck, ‘m there!” He cried, knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping the sticky bedsheets beside your head, “Take it, take it, take it, tak—“
He cut himself off with a hoarse, raucous groan — so loud it rang throughout the room, near enough echoing with how quiet the bus had gotten without you realising, hips twitching aggressively as he spilled inside you. The warm, blissfully familiar, sensation of his fierce spurts of cum painting your fluttering walls had you whining too — biting your lip so hard the indentation of your teeth was traceable with your tongue, as he, despite being almost painfully overstimulated, rolled his infamous hips deep into you, fucking his seed deeper inside your drooling pussy.
Then came the silence.
The deafening, almost ear-piercing silence that coated each and every corner of the tour bus — no voices, no laughter, no snoring, nothing. Just the uncomfortable knowledge that hung thickly in the air that everyone—oh yes, everyone—had heard you.
Michael pulled out with a wet pop! and rolled next to you with a loud huff — head spinning and eyes fluttering shut as he attempted to catch his breath, chest heaving. You, too, succumbed to the relieving solace that was sleep, your own eyes still squeezed shut as your legs fell to the bed, now sporting a dull ache that matched your sex — now dribbling with his release over the sheets.
But, before your drunken mind could register the severity of what your boyfriend’s brother’s had just heard — sleep took over. Lulling into a relaxed, much needed slumber — still bare and sweaty, pulled against Michael’s chest as he too, for once, slept beside you.
However, all actions have consequences.
Unfortunately for you.
So, when you woke that morning, head pounding, lips dry, eyes squinting from the brightness of the morning sun, and body aching — you enjoyed the few blissful seconds of your waking where you had forgotten what you’d got up to last night. Just turning over and smiling softly at Michael’s sleeping frame, the soft, slow deepness of breathing as he slept calmly warming your heart.
Then, it hit you.
Your eyes shot open — finally registering the hangover and the nakedness you and Michael both sported, mouth hanging open in shock as your vision fluttered towards the locked door to his bedroom, knowing that behind it was a conversation and years worth of teasing you’d never, ever live down.
You knew you couldn’t hide in here forever — their next show was tonight, and you needed Michael to recover from the hangover, one that you were certain he would have, as soon as possible.
You groaned, rubbing a hand across your face, knowing that you’d have to take your pride and reputation and throw it out the window onto the freeway that you were still on, and face his brother’s, just like you had with Michael the morning after your drunkenly confessed your love.
Similarly, you also decided that staying away from alcohol for the foreseeable future was probably a good idea.
Rising from the bed, not without a wince at the dull ache between your legs, solidifying your realisation that everyone had heard how Michael laid it down on you like it was his last day to live, last night — and that there was no way to avoid this.
The bedroom door opened with a creak, impossibly and noticeably loud, as your eyes adjusted to the brightness of the hallway. In the distance, the sound of soft laughter and quiet conversations filled your ears, sighing loudly as it became apparent every member of the Jackson siblings was present in the same room that got you into this mess.
You walked, stealthily slow, head still throbbing wildly, as you finally reached the part of the bus where you knew you would curse yourself for ever entering. Your eyes locked on the five men splayed across the seats, as you did the night before, plates of breakfast and cups of coffee residing in front of them.
For a moment the room stopped — all five siblings rendered themselves silent as their gaze dropped on you, watching as you pursed your lips together, awaiting their next movements.
Your eyes landed on Marlon, whose lips twitched up into a smirk, laughter crawling up his throat as he pointed at you, eyes squinting—
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
The sound of your croaked, stern voice sent the room into screams of uncontrollable laughter — tears falling from their eyes, fists banging on tables, and stomachs clutched as they roared at you. Marlon was practically sobbing — face beat red and cheeks soaked in humorous tears as he gripped Jermaine’s arm for stability, attempting to calm himself down.
“You two caused this.” You snapped, pointing between Jermaine and Marlon, the mastermind’s behind bringing the alcohol to the bus.
“Us?” Marlon managed to force out between giggles, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “I think you should be thankin’ us, girl. Sounds like you had a reaaal good time back there.”
The room burst into fits of laughter once more, only furthering as you threw a pillow at Marlon’s body, arms crossing over your chest.
“Oh, yeah, a real nice time. Remind me, ‘Maine, did it go more like ‘Oooh, Michael!’ or ‘Ohh, Michaeeel!’.” Jackie teased, his voice shifting in octave as he mocked your pleasured moans that had evidently rang loudly throughout the bus.
“Real mature. You never heard people have sex before?” You quipped, trudging to your handbag that lay on the table opposite where the boys sat, and pulling out a packet of Advil, and a grabbing a bottle of water.
“Well, actually, no, I hadn’t.” Randy started, a teasing, toothy grin spread across his face, “But, I sure as hell have now.”
You rolled your eyes as the boys screeched into laughter once more, a snarky remark at the ready to be fired back, when you turned around and your face fell.
“What’s so funny?”
Michael’s tired, hoarse voice rang throughout the now quiet room — all eyes now on him as he rubbed his tired eyes, joggers, once on the floor of his bedroom, now hanging loosely around his hips, as he approached you, back facing his brother’s as he leant down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. Visible to everyone in the room, a fact that had you squeezing your lips together in dread, were the sharp streaks of nails marks that you had dragged down his back, as well as along his forearms, painted across his skin in deep, rose coloured lines.
You knew the laughter was coming before it even started — eyes fluttering shut as Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. It was apparent to everyone in the room, apart from him of course, that he still had no recollection of the night before — or even if he did, he sure as hell wasn’t aware of the intensity of the noise.
Michael’s eyes flickered around the room, attempting to piece why his brother’s were in bits from laughter, and why you were knee-deep in embarrassment. But soon, once his vision locked on the three empty Tequila bottles, the opened pack of Advil, bags under everyone’s eyes, the hickey’s on your neck and the scrapes of pleasured marks on his arms — he gasped as the ball dropped.
“Oh, my God.” He breathed, hand coming to clasp over his mouth, eyes darting between you and his brother’s, who were watching the scene unfold in real time, only making it twice as funny, “Did we?—Oh, no, and they—they heard? Oh, God—Oh, my good God.”
You nodded slowly, eyes full of shame as you met his own wide ones — blown into saucers as the dreadful realisation hit him.
Marlon, deciding that laughing in your face wasn’t enough, grabbed a half-drunk bottle of Tequila and raised it into the air, waving it in your faces as a teasing reminder on what got you into this mess to begin with, smiling widely, before speaking.
“What a great start to the tour.” He breathed out a chuckle, “Oh, and you’re welcome, little brother.”
･ ⟢ ⋮ AUTHORS NOTE: posting this early bc I’m going shopping for a new outfit n seeing fireworks show later so wont be able to post at my usual time. LMK IF WE WANT A PART TWO THO. also did u guys get the title get it thriller = thrill her teehee (also fuck me i cant make mood boards for nun) also guys pls comment . also this WAS a requst based off the headcannons i posted, i kinda did my own thing tho. LMAO also i dont fucking know whats up w google docs i used like the middle paragraphs thingy n it didnt work kms so the words are left sided
･ ⟢ ⋮ SUMMARY/CW: I dont fucking know. Werewolf michael being a pervert n lowkey managing to get you to agree to doing some bestfriends w benefits stuff..also readers lowkey sus asf over him. Content warning for maniputalive michael tho like hes actually a sneaky bastard lmao. I WILL be doing a gender neutral fic next. :)
･ ⟢ ⋮ WORD COUNT: 4.4k
･ ⟢ ⋮ GENRE: SMUT - fem!reader n implied black!reader due to a mention of 4c hair types but thats it.
The thing about Michael was that he'd always been touchy.
Ever since you were kids, he'd been the type to sling an arm around your shoulder, pull you into his side, press close when you were watching movies. It was just how he was. You never thought twice about it. When you were seven, he'd hold your hand during a thunderstorm. When you were twelve, he'd pulled you into a hug after you'd scraped your knee.
When you were sixteen, he'd let you cry into his shoulder after your first heartbreak. Physical affection was just his love language. You'd accepted that years ago. But lately, it'd gotten worse. Not in a bad way. Just more. He layered you in his jackets every time you came over, claiming he was "too warm" or that you "looked cold" even when the thermostat was pushing seventy-five.
He'd toss his hoodie at you before you could even ask, his ears going pink when you pulled it over your head. He'd find reasons to brush against you in the hallway, to sit closer than necessary on the couch, to let his fingers linger when he passed you something.
He'd developed a habit of combing through your hair, of touching your lower back when he guided you, of letting his hand rest on your knee when you sat next to him in the car. You thought it was cute. Endearing. Just Michael being Michael. You didn't know he was doing it on purpose. Didn't know that every time you wore his clothes, he had to physically stop himself from pressing his nose to your neck and breathing in deep.
Didn't know that his instincts were quite literally screaming *mine, mine, mine* every time you pulled his scent over your skin. Didn't know that he'd lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the thought of you with someone else made his chest feel like it was caving in. Didn't know that when he touched you, it took every ounce of self-control not to pull you into his lap and never let you go.
And you definitely didn't know about the imprinting. Neither did he, to be fair.
Michael had no idea why his body reacted the way it did around you. He just knew that when you were gone, everything felt wrong. The world seemed dimmer, quieter, less colorful. He'd find himself sitting by the phone, hoping you dialed his number. He'd catch himself smiling at memories of you, only to feel loneliness when he realized you weren't there. When you wore his clothes, something in his chest settled. When his brothers looked at you a little too long, he had to clench his fists to stop himself from doing something stupid.
Like growling. Which he definitely did, one afternoon when you were over and his brother Jermaine decided to be an ass. "Looking good today, pretty girl," Jermaine said, leaning against the kitchen counter with that smirk he used on everyone. Michael's hand tightened around his glass. A low rumble built in his chest before he could stop it, vibrating through his ribs like a warning.
You didn't seem to notice. You just laughed, rolling your eyes at Jermaine. "You say that to every girl who walks through this door."
"Only the pretty ones." Michael set his glass down harder than necessary. He pouted. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" Jermaine raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Nope. I'm free all afternoon."
Michael's jaw tightened. He stepped closer to you without realizing it, his shoulder brushing yours. His hand found your waist, a possessive gesture he didn't even register making. His thumb traced a small circle against your hip, grounding himself, reminding himself that you were here with him, not paying attention to Jermaine's nonsense.
You glanced up at him, confused. “You okay, angel?” He forced a smile. "Fine. Just tired of hearing him talk." You giggled, patting his chest. “Don't worry. I don't pay attention to him anyway.” As if realizing finally that he was far too close, he removed his arm instead crossing them over his chest. He could feel his face burning. "Good," he murmured. “'Cause you're too good for him and he's an idiot.”
You just laughed and shoved him playfully, teasing Jermaine about being an idiot. Michael watched you, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to pull you back against him. Wanted to wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your hair and breathe you in until the jealousy subsided. He didn't. He just stood there, crossing his arms, trying to look casual and not annoyed
…
When you weren't around, Michael fell apart. It started small. He'd find himself at your place, alone, waiting for you to get back from an errand. He'd wander into your room just to be surrounded by your scent.
He'd run his fingers over your pillowcase, your blankets, the clothes you'd left draped over a chair. He'd open your drawers without thinking, his fingers brushing over your folded clothes.
And then he'd find them, your underwear.
The first time it happened, he stared at the fabric in his hands for a full minute, his brain short-circuiting. He knew he should put them down. Knew he should walk away. But your scent was everywhere on the cotton. Sweet and warm and so you that his knees went weak. He started drooling n it dropped straight onto your panties. His hands started trembling..
He brought them to his face before he could stop himself then he realized how foolish he was being and with a flushed face he put your panties back. The second time, he didn't even bother pretending he had control. He buried his face in the fabric, breathing deep, a whine building in his throat. His hips bucked against nothing. His hand moved to his jeans without his permission.
"Sorry," he whimpered against the fabric, even though no one was there. “Sorry, sorry, sorry—”
He rubbed himself through his jeans, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Your scent was driving him insane, clouding his thoughts until all he could think about was you. The curve of your waist. The sound of your laugh. The way you said his name. The way you looked at him like he was someone worth looking at. The way your skin felt under his fingers. The way your lips parted when you were about to speak. “Oh g-gosh..”
He came with a strangled moan, shuddering against your underwear, completely unashamed of himself. Apparently he wasn’t all that sorry. He cleaned up as best he could. Hid the underwear in the back of your drawer, hoping they'd dry before you noticed. His face was burning the entire time. His hands wouldn't stop trembling.
"M'sorry," he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "M'sorry, m'sorry. That was stupid.” He didn't even know why he did it. He just knew he couldn't stop. And then, one day, he stopped showing up.
You called. Wrote. Left voicemails that went unanswered. A week passed. Then two. You were sick with worry, your mind spinning through every worst-case scenario. You showed up at his house, but his brothers said he wasn't taking visitors. You left him notes, care packages, snacks you knew he liked. Nothing. Finally, you called his brother. “Hey, is Michael okay? He hasn't answered any of my calls. I'm starting to get really worried.”
Tito was quiet for a moment. Long enough that your heart started to sink. Then: “Yeah, he's fine. Just came down with something nasty. You know how it is. Doesn't want you to catch it.”
“A virus? Is it serious?”
"Nah, he'll be fine in a few weeks. Just needs to rest. I'll tell him you called." You hung up, relieved but still uneasy. *Weeks?* Michael had never been sick for weeks in his life. It almost seemed untrue.
Because it was.
Michael was curled up in his room, his body overtaken by fever as his bones reshaped themselves for the first time. He was going through his first full transformation, his body fighting itself. He thought about you the entire time. Your face. Your voice. The way you smiled at him. The way you said his name like it mattered. The way you laughed, bright and unguarded, when he said something stupid. The way you felt in his arms when he hugged you.
He humped his pillow every night, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. He couldn't stop himself. The rut made him feral, made him needy, made him want things he'd never admitted out loud. He'd bury his face in the sheets and pretend it was you, pretend he was buried inside you, and come with a broken sob.
It was the only thing that kept him sane through the pain.
…
When he finally showed up at your door a month later, he looked thicker. His shoulders seemed broader, his jaw sharper. He'd filled out in ways that made his shirts fit differently. Pretty healthy, actually. His eyes had a new intensity to them that you couldn't quite place.
"You look better," you said, pulling him into a hug. He laughed weakly, burying his face in your hair. He breathed in deep, and you felt his chest expand against yours. "Missed you too, bunny."
“I was so worried. Why didn't you call me back?”
"Didn't want you to see me like that." He pulled back, rubbing the back of his neck. "I looked rough."
"Rough is an understatement. Are you okay now?"
"Yeah. I'm okay now." He wasn't, really. He could smell you differently now. Could pick up the sweetness of your shampoo, the warmth of your skin. the faint, intoxicating scent of your arousal when you shifted too close to him. It made his head spin. Made his gums ache. Made his fingers curl into fists with the effort of not touching you. Made him want to sink his teeth into your neck and never let go.
He controlled it. Barely. And he found every excuse to be near you. "I've got a headache," he'd whine, flopping onto your couch. "Can we lie down?" You'd laugh. “You have a headache every time you come over.”
"'Cause you're comfortable." He'd pat the couch, giving you those big puppy eyes. “C'mon, bunny. Just for a few minutes.”
You'd roll your eyes but sit down anyway, and then his head would rest on your thigh. He'd try to play it cool, your hand stroking through his hair, but the moment his nose got anywhere near your crotch he was done for. He could smell you through your clothes. Could feel the heat radiating from through your pants n underwear. Could imagine with painful clarity, what you tasted like.
He'd get hard instantly. Every single time.
He'd have to adjust himself subtly, pray you didn't notice, and spend the rest of the time trying to think about unsexy things. It was torture. The best kind of torture.
. . .
He’d started guilt-tripping you into wearing skirts. "It's hot out today, bunny," he'd say, even when the forecast said sixty degrees. "Why don't you wear a skirt? It's cute. I like the skirt." You'd raise an eyebrow. "It's not that warm."
"Please?" Puppy eyes. Full force. “For me?” You'd sigh and agree, because truthfully, Michael had always had good fashion sense. He knew what looked good on you. And the way his face lit up when you came out wearing the skirt he'd picked out made you happy.
He'd spend the entire day trying to catch a glimpse of your underwear every time you bent over or sat down. He'd picture what was underneath the curve of your thighs, the dip of your waist, the damp spot that he knew would be there if you were as affected by him as he was by you. His mind would run wild, and the moment he got home he'd lock himself in his room and touch himself to the memory.
He was a pervert, and he was aware of it. But he didn't care. And Michael had never been good at denying the himself.
…
He supposed this was gonna happen eventually.
It happened on a random night. You and him were supposed to watch horror movies together, easily his favorite genre, but not because he liked being scared. He liked the excuse to press close to you in the dark, to feel you jump and grab his arm, to act like he was the one protecting you when really, he was just looking for any reason to have your body against his.
He was laying across your lap, his head resting on your thighs while your fingers traced absent patterns through his hair. The movie was playing some thriller (get it?…LMAO) flick he'd seen a dozen times but he couldn't focus on it. Not with you so close. Not with your scent filling his lungs with every breath. Not with the warmth of your thighs pressing against his cheeks.
Not when his instincts were clawing at the inside of his skull, screaming at him to claim you, mark you, make you his. He shifted, his nose brushing against the fabric of your shorts. He inhaled without meaning to, and a low whine escaped his throat.
You paused the movie. "You okay?"
"Yeah." His voice came out rough, strained. “Just…headache's acting up.”
"You want me to get you something?”
"No." He turned his head, pressing his face against your thigh. “Just stay here. Please.” You laughed softly, your fingers resuming their path through his hair. "You're so clingy lately. Did the sickness make you emotional or something?"
“Or something.” He breathed you in again, and this time he couldn't stop the way his hips twitched. He felt himself hardening, pressing against the seam of his jeans. If you noticed, you didn't say anything. The movie played on. Neither of you were watching. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken things.
He was being good. He was trying so hard to be good. But then the scene changed, and you shifted, and a fresh wave of your scent hit his nose. And he couldn't help it. He couldn't. “Hey, bunny?”
"Yeah?" He sat up slowly, turning to face you. His hand found yours, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. “Can I ask you something?”
“You just did.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He looked nervous. Actually nervous. “I mean, something else.”
"Go ahead."
He took a breath. "Do you ever think about... kissing?"
You blinked at him. “I mean. Sometimes. Why?” He shrugged, trying to look casual, but his ears were bright red. "I don't know. I was just thinking. I've never really done it before. Kissed anyone. And I was wondering if maybe—" He cleared his throat. "If maybe you'd want to practice with me?"
Your heart paused. “Practice?”
"Yeah. You know. Just to see what it's like." He squeezed your hand. “We're best friends. There's no one else I'd rather practice with than you. And if we're bad at it, it doesn't matter because we're just figuring it out together.” You hesitated. "Michael."
"I mean, unless you don't want to." He looked down, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. "If you don't want to, that's okay. I'll just find someone else to practice with. I just thought it'd be better with you, since we trust each other."
The guilt trip was subtle but effective. The thought of him kissing someone else, practicing with someone else, made something twist in your stomach.
"Fine," you said. "But just once." His whole face lit up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. And then he kissed you. It started soft. Gentle. His lips moved against yours slowly, learning the shape of them. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and when you didn't pull away, he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced along your lower lip, asking permission.
You opened for him, and the sound he made was almost a whimper. His tongue slid against yours, warm and wet, and he kissed you like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment. He tilted his head, adjusting the angle, and suddenly he was *good* at this. Surprisingly good. You didn’t know he could be this confident actually.
And then you felt it a warmth spreading across your chin. Wetness. Damp. He was drooling into your mouth. Not a lot. Just a little. A bit of extra saliva that slipped past his lips and into yours when he got too into it, He didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.
He just kept kissing you, deeper and hungrier, until you were both breathless. When he finally pulled back, you were panting. Your lips were swollen and glistening. Your head was spinning. And then you really looked at him. His eyes weren't brown anymore. They were glowing. Dark yellow, like embers in the dim light of the TV. Warm and bright and distinctly not human.
"Mikey?" Your voice came out shaky. “Your eyes.” His pupils were blown wide, his irises that strange, luminous gold, and when he smiled, you saw them his canines. They were longer than they'd been this morning. Sharper. Like a dog's teeth. He blinked, and the color seemed to flicker. He laughed softly, brushing it off, but his voice was rougher than before. “It's just the movie lighting, bunny. Scary movies always mess with your head. You're imagining things.”
You wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that the movie turned off, and the only light in the room was the lamp in the corner. But he was already leaning in again, already pressing soft kisses to your jaw, your neck, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver. And you were too distracted to argue. He smiled against your skin, pressing closer. The makeout sessions became a regular thing after that first time.
. . .
started with sleepovers. You'd stay over at his place, or he'd stay at yours, and somewhere between the movie and the late-night snacks, he'd find his way into your space. His hand would rest on your thigh. His lips would brush against your shoulder. He'd give you that look, those big puppy eyes, and you'd cave every single time.
It was nice, honestly. He was a good kisser. Attentive. Soft when he needed to be, hungry when you wanted him to be. And he always held you after, pressing kisses to your hair, telling you you did good, that you were getting better at it. Tonight was no different.
You were at his place, sprawled across his bed in matching pajama sets he'd bought for the two of you months ago. The movie was some action movie neither of you were paying attention to. His hand was on your waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the fabric.
He leaned in, and you met him halfway. The kiss started slowly, familiar. His tongue slid against yours, and you hummed, your hand finding its way into his hair. He pulled you closer, your chest pressing against his, and you felt the familiar heat building between you.
But tonight felt different. His kisses were hungrier. His hands were more restless, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you against him. You could feel him hardening through his pajama pants, and you pulled back, breathless. "Mikey.."
"Sorry." His voice was rough. “Just - feel good. You feel good.” He kissed you again, deeper this time, and his hands found the hem of your shirt. He paused, asking permission without words. You nodded, and he pulled it off, tossing it aside. His lips found your collarbone, your chest, the swell of your breasts through your bra.
"Michael," you breathed. "Want you so bad," he mumbled against your skin. “Been thinking about it all day.” He shifted, guiding you until you were straddling his lap. The position pressed his hardness directly against your core, and you both gasped.
"See?" His voice was strained. “Feels good, right?” You nodded, your hands braced on his shoulders. He rocked his hips up, grinding against you through the layers of fabric, and a moan escaped your throat. "That's it," he murmured. “That's my good girl.”
He kept grinding, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. The friction was overwhelming, even through your clothes. You could feel how hard he was, could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric. "Mikey, I don't know if we should.."
"Just this," he said quickly. “Just this. No pants. Just grinding. Please.” You shook your head. "That's too far."
"Bunny." His voice dropped, soft and pleading. "Please. I've been so good. I haven't pushed. I've been patient. But I need this. I need you."
You hesitated, and he pressed closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Do you want me to go find some random girl?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Because I will, if that's what you want. But I'd rather it be you. It's easier this way. We trust each other. You know I'd never hurt you."
Your stomach twisted. The thought of him with someone else, of some other girl seeing him like this, hearing the sounds he made it made you feel sick. "Please, bunny." His voice cracked. “Don't be a bad friend.” The guilt trip hit its mark. You swallowed, your resolve crumbling.
"Fine," you whispered. “Fine. But just this once.”
"Just this once." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I promise.” He helped you out of your pajama pants, tossing them aside. His own followed, his pants pooling around his thighs. You were both still in your underwear, but you could see everything the outline of him, thick and hard, straining against the fabric of his boxers.
He guided you back onto his lap, and you felt him pressing against you through the thin layers. His hands found your waist, his grip firm. "You ready?" You nodded, and he pulled you down. The pressure was immediate. He was hard and hot against you, and you moaned, your head falling back. He groaned in response, his hips bucking up to meet you. "Yeah—fuck—yeah, just like that—"
He guided your movements, his hands on your hips, showing you a rhythm. The fabric of your underwear slid against his, and you could feel the dampness of him, the heat of him, the way his breath hitched every time you rolled your hips. "Doin' so good," he breathed. "So good for me, bunny."
His head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut. His lips were parted, his cheeks flushed, and he looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. "Look at that," you heard him mumble, and when you followed his gaze, his eyes were fixated on the tent that was visible in his boxers, the outline of his length straining so obviously, so big and heavy, that it was impossible to look away.
He looked up at you, his eyes dark and wanting. “We got time. We can take this slow.”
"Doin' s’good," he breathed. "So good for me, bunny." His head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut. His lips were parted, his cheeks flushed, and he looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. But as his hips moved faster and his breathing grew more ragged, you started to notice things.
His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing harder into your skin. When you glanced down, you could have sworn his fingernails looked darker, thicker. Like claws trying to push through.
And his sounds they were changing. His moans were deepening into growls, low and rumbling, vibrating through his chest. When he opened his eyes, they weren't brown anymore. They were yellow. Bright and glowing, his pupils narrowed into slits.
"Mikey" Your voice came out shaky. He blinked, and for a second, he looked almost panicked. Then he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. You swore you felt something sharp graze your skin, but it was gone before you could process it. "You're imagining things," he mumbled against your throat, his voice deeper than before, rougher. “Just the lighting. You're seeing things.”
His lips found yours again, kissing you deep and desperate, distracting you. His hips kept moving, grinding up against you, and the sensation made it hard to think. Hard to focus. But when his mouth trailed down your neck, when he bit down gently on the curve of your shoulder, you could have sworn his teeth felt sharper than before. And when your hand found his arm to steady yourself, you could have sworn the skin felt coarser. Hairier. "Mike."
"You're imagining things," he repeated, his voice breathless, almost pleading. "Just focus on me. Focus on how good this feels. Feels good right?” He pulled you closer, held you tighter, and kept you from seeing his face You could feel him trembling beneath you, his whole body wound tight like a spring. His hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering, and you knew he was close.
"Bunny" His voice was wrecked, barely human. "I'm—I'm gonna—" His back arched, his grip on your hips turning bruising. His moan pitched lower, twisting into something that didn't sound human at all a howl, long and desperate, needy almost, that tore from his throat and filled the room.
His whole body shuddered beneath you, his hips jerking as he came in his boxers, warm and wet against the fabric.And then he collapsed, panting like he'd run a marathon.
His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His forehead pressed to yours, his eyes still squeezed shut."Holy..that was." he breathed. You stared at him, your heart pounding. "Did you just howl?" Now you weren’t hearing things. That was no movie. He laughed weakly, still catching his breath. "What? No. That was..that was a moan. A really loud moan."
"That didn't sound like a moan." You may not have ever slept with anyone ever but you knew moaning shouldn’t sound like a wild animal. "You're hearing things, bunny." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, still panting. "Scary movie's got you all spooked. My moans don’t sound that bad.” He joked. You wanted to argue. You were pretty sure you knew the difference between a moan and a howl.
But he was already holding you closer, already burying his face in your hair, already breathing you in. And you were too tired to argue.
fuck me forgot the taglist LMAOOO TAGLIST: @floatyangel @stargir428 @mjsbabyyy @xyzabceo
“In a world filled with hate, we must still dare to hope. In a world filled with anger, we must still dare to comfort. In a world filled with despair, we must still dare to dream. And in a world filled with distrust, we must still dare to believe.” - Michael Joseph Jackson (August 29, 1959 - June 25, 2009)
