Apr 4
✦ ✦ ✦
Wip
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Wip
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ BREAK A SWEAT
michael arrives home from a demanding music video filming day and enters absolutely fatigued, wanting nothing but to kiss you all over, however, placing you on his lap as he did so affected him more than he thought.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 18+ mdni
7.3k ﹒ thriller michael ᱒ 𝒻.rea CONTAINS ﹒ ( smut w little plot ) softdom!mj ( i think.. ), established relationship, oral ( m&f ) munch mikey >⁄ ⁄ < crying, dry humping, riding, spit as lube, stomach bulge, insecurities, no use of y/n, unprotected ( wrap your willy! dont be silly! ) creampie, aftercare
your home, once scented tobacco, smells of musk and skin when michael enters sapped, and from afar, bleary.
the click of the door lock pulls your attention from the tv to his beat face, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead and back, clinging to his white tee, creating transparent patches and the faithful impression of how weary he is.
you grab onto the back of the couch as you twist your torso to earn a better view, and at that moment, his tired gaze makes its way to you.
previously half-lidded, his eyes ever so slightly widen at the sight of you clad in nothing but an oversized shirt and panties, because in all sincerity: you didn’t expect him to arrive home so early. it’s usually early mornings to past midnight with michael's schedules, yet it’s only 8 pm.
rising to your feet, your brows crease in worry as he walks over to the couch. “baby,” you breathe, hands reaching out to help him. as he moves closer, his panting grows more evident as well as the scent of sweat and the faint smell of his lingering perfume. only then did your nose take in the scent. “what—”
he nears and takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together and gently squeezing as he collapses himself onto the plush cushions and pillows of the couch, pulling you down with him, though with a lighter landing.
a content sigh escapes him as if he only just revived his memory to breathe. leaning closer, you can hear faint sounds of him panting through his headache; the way it catches in his throat and he has to swallow to breathe properly again; one breath being light, and the other grows heavy to then heavy again and so on; the way he expels a low moan during lighter exhales.
his previously stiffened body finally releases the tension he’s been unknowingly holding all day. he finds comfort in the bolsters of the couch, the welcoming warmth of his home, the quiet dialogue from the television, and most importantly, the presence of you. heck, his head was pounding in his skull before he even came through the door, however, now the first wave of ease washes over his head for the first time in hours as he feels his heartbeat slowing in his chest.
picking himself up, he lays his hands on the cushions, one balled into a fist, and pushes himself toward you. it happened so fast. his head lowers as his fist spreads to hold onto your waist, his other hand reaching for the back of your neck, something you can’t feel until his thumb begins to trace circles against your nape. glancing down, the hand gripping your waist trembles as he caresses your side. he buries his head into the crook of your neck.
“baby, ‘m so tired,” michael sighs into your skin as you feel his sweat adhere to you. his breath is hot against your neck, and you shudder as you try to strain a sentence out of your newly stubborn throat.
“i couldn't tell,” you somehow manage, voice seeping through quivering at first before you could find your poise as you give a languid nod. he lets out a pfft with a laugh despite his exhaustion, still able to muster up strength to laugh with you, and a smile tugs on your lips.
and then you feel it. though it’s feather light, he presses a kiss to your neck. and another. as though it were instinct, your hand makes its way to his curls, lightly scratching at the back of his scalp as his hands twitch from the touch. as they pile up, a giggle bubbles from your throat. “mike—”
“shh,” he chuckles sluggishly, grinning against your skin, “i wanna kiss you.” he intervenes with another kiss, humming into your neck. a hot flush you can’t swallow overwhelms your cheeks as it spreads down to your neck with a shudder, seeking to pass it off as merely tepidity radiating from michael—as if that makes the spin of your mind any better.
you don’t know why this feels different.
your eyes narrow as you gander down and scan his face. his cheeks have grown a little rosy—you’re unsure whether it’s from his exhaustion or if he even walked in with that tint on him at all. his styled edges are visibly a bit soaked from his sweat, regarding the droplets of it, and a faint grin sneaking itself through his kisses, yet the only thing distracting you is how his lips feel on your skin.
they aren’t even on your mouth, you shouldn’t be so affected by it.
and yet, to make it worse, he starts to suck crudely along your neck, a wave of heat hitting your body with embarrassing haste, and your eyes inadvertently shut. your fingers twine with his curls once more, yet this time, it seems as though he tries to stifle something like a groan—something you feel you shouldn’t have caught. the action heedlessly pushes him closer, and he doesn’t pass his chance to mark the rest of your skin accessible to him, kissing you almost ardently, like he got excited from the new reach. your stomach churns.
despite it, you bat your eyes back open. the awareness of how eager he came to be hits him, and with a flush to his cheeks, he reluctantly slows his kisses, suckling gently on your neck, and he splays his quivering hand on your nape. that's when you feel your lungs still, and you belatedly call attention for yourself to take a breath.
michael tightens his grip on your waist, the hand to your nape sliding down to hold your hip with waiting intention unbeknownst to you. his hands snake around your stomach and make their way around your waist until his arms are full of you, so unsought that your gaze instantaneously travels down to his arms around you, and looking back, it leads to your eyes searching him again.
a blemish near his cheekbone, a sweet, lasting mark from his bygone acne as your interest flickers to the tip of his nose retreating with each tender kiss. he tilts his head and settles into the backrest, every so often altering with each new area he covers just to rest back there again; as he does so, the dim light from the television grazes over his skin, and though brisk, you catch sight of the excess beads of sweat sitting on his forehead.
firmly, with his strikingly risqué hold on your waist, he hoists you onto his lap, an almost inaudible gasp leaving your mouth—a sound his ear giddily perks at.
michael lets a low simper make off at your hand in his hair wincing before harking back to your side and onto his wrist, a fleet sound that wriggles its way into your spine and down to your lower back, your stomach stirring anew.
it should’ve been cute; you assume it oughta, but as he digs his face back into your neck and litters wet kisses against your skin, the air around grows someway bawdier than it already was.
his self restraint is unmistakable. he's trying to save his kisses gentle, you can feel it, and yet, his efforts prove in vain as he drifts further from what little control he has in his allegedly tired body. his tongue grazes your skin between a kiss, and michael feels you shudder in his hold.
the television is practically inaudible now—twofold when you’re so drawn to each wet noise he makes when he stops sucking on your skin, and every soft sound that escapes his lips when he leaves another kiss on you.
you can smell him—the faint damp and tangy scent from his sudor, the smell of the vanillas in his shampoo laying just underneath, the airy amber from his perfume, and the raw, musky moisture from his skin that for whatever reason, affects you drastically as your thighs clamp together before you can even have a say in your actions.
michael's heart is hammering against his ribcage. he feels heat bleeding into his cheeks, and as a way to ground himself, he gives a light squeeze to your hip every few kisses, and spoilers, it’s forlorn.
he can't keep ignoring this forever. he needs you so, so madly right now, and the tension in the room only coils in his stomach and bullies his composure (which is something he’s surprised he even has at the moment).
and then it slips.
it starts when his lips caress your earlobe, lightly nipping it with his teeth, and he stops for a heartbeat too slow. his breath stutters in your ear, airy and hot with desire.
and suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re merely wearing panties when a pool of heat reaches your lower back.
he presses his lips together, a little wet from his own saliva, and tries to stabilise his breathing (to no avail). he moves down, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses near your nape, then the dip of your neck, to near your collarbone, until abruptly, he finds the sensitive bit of skin on you, to which you suck in a breath and curl your lips inwards as a sound begged to be let out of your throat. as his teeth nip the area, it prompts your head to tilt averse onto the back of the couch, and michael grows dizzy with pure want.
his hands seep their way into your shirt and caress your sides as he drags his lips, teeth grazing your skin as his breath sends another wave of heat through you.
it was so sudden. both of you didn’t pre-empt it, and it shows when he rolls his hips into you, and a mewl knocks itself out of your throat as michael lets out an audible gasp.
“baby—baby, i'm so sorry. is… is this okay?” his words are strangled as he pulls away from your neck, lips parted. turning your head, your eyes meet his.
they’re wide and hazed, laced with need. his brows are high and drawn together as his last effort to hold back.
and with that, you cracked.
your lips crash onto his, hot and messy, hips grinding against the growing bulge in his slacks as you do so, and michael groans into your mouth. almost immediately, his hands grasp back onto your waist to spin you around, breaking the kiss before settling you onto his lap again, a choked moan leaving his lips at the contact, pressing his lips back on yours as he tilts his head.
painfully, you haul yourself along the thick ridge of his tent, a moan leaving your mouth to which michael eagerly swallows. he pulls away to catch his breath.
he pants lightly against your lips with hooded eyes, yet he can’t manage to keep them off you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth and peppering more down to your jaw, lips wet from you.
you rock down on him, the friction so delicious, yet not enough to satiate. his head promptly drops, forehead sticking to the side of your neck a whimper spills from him, trickling with hunger, and he’s not trying to hide it, either.
his lips find their way back to yours, pure, full-blown desire woven into it as you feel your panties soaking, clenching around nothing, and likely leaving a wet patch on michael's pants.
“mikey, please,” your voice comes wrecked as you force yourself away from him just enough for you to speak, and the sound of you begging alone gets a groan out of him.
he rubs up against you, lightly nipping your bottom lip as an unstable gasp shakes out of you. “yes, pretty?” his words hit firm and teasing, a smile creeping onto his face, one hand sliding from your waist to your thigh, gently squeezing your skin to egg you on.
“need you…” you gulp back a gasp, running words through your head, nitpicking ones you find too vulgar or dirty and scrambling them in frantic obscurity, “make love to me, pl-ease,” you finish meekly. your hands grab onto his shoulders, dipping your head down gingerly in a flustered haze, primarily because you have never done this with him, let alone said such a thing, and the tremble of his hands on you says so much with so little. he connects your lips again, nodding into it as a sign of approval.
his shaky hands move to the backs of your upper thighs, keeping a strong grip as he warily lifts you up. by instinct, your legs wrap around his waist as your arms did around his neck, and he grins into the kiss.
he brings you to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and coming to a halt when his knees hit the mattress, settling you down onto the sheets as if you were a delicacy.
michael wastes no time in peppering kisses down your body—your jaw, neck, your collarbones for a moment too long before moving to your inner thighs.
your panties are so embarrassingly damp from your arousal, and his bottom lip quivers as his breath hitches from the mere sight of you soaked.
he leaves a burning, wet trail of kisses up your thigh up until he feels a hand in his hair, upping his head to avert his attention to you. and suddenly, his eyes slightly widen as he grows meek at his actions, a red tint bleeding up to the tips of his ears.
almost instantly, you clamp your thighs together. “w-wait,” you squeak, and your mouth goes dry. never in your life have you felt more self-conscious, and even more when you feel as though you’ve fissured the moment. humiliation bounds around your muscles and renders you stiff.
the cognisance roots itself into his skin in prickles. his eyes change into something gentler, his brows fleetly lifting before pressing together lightly. he scans your face, looking for an ounce of jest in your expression, because frankly, he can’t wrap his head around how the woman he loves most, the woman who is so incredibly perfect in his eyes, could be thinking negatively about herself. and yet, he finds none.
hand leisurely settling on your thigh, he caresses your skin so tenderly it almost burns, radiating into your chest and down to your core. “mama, you’re so perfect,” he coos, and there’s nothing but pure sincerity dowsed in his voice, your cheeks growing so hot you think he can see it. “i hope you see yourself as i see you. i'll make you feel so, so right, just—please… let me please you. i want to feel like i deserve you, let me—just,” his breath trembles, voice breaking just slightly, so devoutly and longingly you could only take a pause.
and then he glances up.
his eyes glimmer and practically pleads, brows creasing up, and so incredibly desirous it messes with your head. you take your bottom lip amidst your teeth.
barely through your nod, michael's eyes go wide and pries your legs back open, diving down between them and sweetly kissing your inner thighs as a finger twirls around the cotton of the only thing keeping your pretty pussy away from him. the shudder of your breath only urges him further, only cutting short when he reaches too closely, taking another glimpse of you to make certain it’s alright.
rather than a nod, or even a simple yes, he receives your hands tangling themselves in his hair, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.
he slides off your panties almost frantically, precariously pulling ‘til they fall neatly on the hardwood of the floor, raising your leg over his shoulder as the other locks your leg down in a meek, yet firm grip. michael revels in the sight of you all soaked for him so pretty, tentatively staring before a slight tug of his hair spurs him on, shyly dropping his head between your thighs.
he leaves a soft kiss to you, something experimental as his hot breath fans your cunt, fingertips digging into the back of your knee more so for himself. and without thinking, he licks a long, tantalising stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and your mouth gapes, slipping a whimper from your throat. “m-mikey, th-that feels so good—” you scarcely manage, words jumbling in your head as you struggle to make them coherent.
your flavour on his tastebuds intoxicate him and cloud his mind, nose bumping against your bud and savouring your taste as he licks up greedily, humming against you, inducing a choked noise out of your mouth. wrapping his lips around your clit, you pull on his hair with a whine.
“you sound so pretty.” he smiles into your cunt as his tongue probes you. “taste s’sweet—” he cuts himself off like he can’t keep away from your taste for long, hungrily burying himself back into you and swirling his tongue around your clit.
it doesn’t take long for his narrowly reserved pace to speed up as he eats you like he’s been starved of this for far too long, moans muffling against you as your body jolts at the pleasure. his tongue pushes past your folds, messily fucking you with his tongue, barely acknowledging the saliva running down his chin. every little sound of his vibrates up your spine, mewling at each one.
generously, your juices coat his lips and the surrounding skin, legs almost buckling if not for his hold on you. your breath catches in your throat before you choke out a cry of his name, and his ears instantly perk.
he craves to hear it again.
without thought, or even with him regarding it, he brings two digits to you and buries them in the warmth of your cunt, a sob almost immediately ripping through your throat. he laps at you as if it’s the only thing he knows how, nose harshly pushing your clit upward before giving it a suck again.
all he can think about is you—your smell suffocating him so sweetly, your essence all over his face, how responsive you are, all of it driving further and fogging his head. you have not the slightest clue of what you do to him. he wants so badly for you to fall apart right on his tongue, and he’s gonna have it. his tongue enters you again, and you can feel how it drives deeper and deeper, walls fluttering around his muscle as he relishes in your aroma and taste as he loses himself further in you. lewd, filthy noises of him slurping stills in the air, your pants and moans drowning it as your back arches off the mattress, his hand travelling under your thighs to hold your hips down, and your leg instantly closes around his head, only pushing him deeper as his groan hits right to your clit.
his fingers curl inside you again, his eyebrows drawn taut with immersion, eliciting a strangled mix of a whine and a sob from your mouth, quietly gasping reiterates of his name. “baby,” he muffles, refusing to stray from your taste, “wan’ hear you…”
a vulgar string of drawn-out whimpers fall from your lips before his name slips again in a loud moan, squeezing at your hip as he groans in pure satisfaction, pumping his fingers increasingly hastier, the squelch of your walls hitting his ears so obscene he begins to rock against the mattress.
“mikey—please, mh, i think i’m g-gonna…” you barely shove the words out of your mouth as you pant out, legs shaking around his head, waves of pleasure threatening to crash over you with each waking second.
you didn’t have to forewarn him in the slightest. not when he can taste and feel you so undeniably in his mouth—how the band of your lower tummy tightens as your walls succeed, back fighting to arch off the bed, nails digging into his scalp and tugging on his curls.
“i know, pretty… let go f’me, please, baby. need to taste you—mm, wan’ try something,” he mutters breathlessly, pulling away fleetly to take his digits out of you, tentatively pressing his thumb down on your clit as you writhe at the sensation, ecstacy overwhelming your senses as your orgasm ripples through your body, and michael is quick to attach his mouth back on you to lap at your juices.
“mmpfh—mh, taste as good as y’sound—oh,” he moans as he completely engulfs himself into your taste, thumb beginning to lazily draw circles on your bundle of nerves as his tongue plunges into you as if you’re the only thing that’ll quench his perennial thirst, and you pull at his hair, eliciting an elated sound from him.
“t-too much!” you cry, voice increasing in pitch as your trembling legs unwillingly wrap him into you nearer, contrasting as you wholly try to push him away.
withdrawing himself from you pains him more than he can feel.
but when he does, his eyes meet yours, pupils dilated and swallowing the brown of his iris, and with a brief glance down, his lips gleam in the dim light, drenched in you, chin dripping with your arousal, the sight immediately rushing heat up your neck and into your cheeks.
then his eyes flash with guilt. “baby,” he says, voice is trickling with urgency as his tongue darts out to taste yourself on his lips, still covetous even as he apologises, “i’m so sorry, pretty, i should’ve stopped—‘m sorry, are you okay?” his large hand caresses your quivering inner thigh and kneads the skin there, free hand finding perch on the plush of the bed next to your other thigh, propping himself up as the mattress dips with the weight of his knee. his other knee settles beside your hip, the hand that assisted him in climbing on the bed landing on the sheets behind you, his disparate hand never halting motion on your skin.
michael’s eyes flicker between yours, big and hazy, glutted with concern as though he’d done something unable to be pardoned. you can only scoff, the tip of your index tracing his jaw without a thought, and you take in the sight of his eyes briefly splaying as your finger wipes your arousal off his jaw. his breath stutters once you reach his chin, flicking your finger off and cupping his cheek as fast as you jerked your finger, gently coaxing him in before your lips meet again in a tender kiss.
he melts into it instantly, the hand rubbing your thigh flying to hold the small of your back. drawing averse, he pants as he murmurs a hot string of babbles of how he adores your taste, a breath-width away from your lips before he delves back, pushing his tongue in your mouth to help you taste your flavour. “y’taste like a dream,” he sighs into your mouth, smiling against your lips with gratitude more than anything. the flavour of your essence mingled with michael’s own taste is enough to take a precedent swelling moan out of you and into his ears, to which he drinks with the same indebtedness.
heedlessly sliding your heel toward you, your knee lifts and catches itself when it makes the slightest contact with the aching tent in michael’s slacks he’d been desperately trying to disregard, a whimper leaving him as quick as his head dips in the crook of your neck, hand holding back from squeezing your skin in a fit of self-restraint. he’d been holding back. “mike,” you mutter just loud enough to reach his ears as he barely manages to lift his head, eyes locking to yours with a critical aching need consumed in his gaze—something you can’t bear to pay no heed to. “let me take you.”
who are you not to repay him?
your words come sheepish, timid, yet to him it hits with a newfangled ripple of unadulterated need searing ardently through his veins. you gesture to the edge of the bed with a tilt of your chin. he knows better than to ask how despite his struggle to credit the prospect of you taking him in any of the perverted ways that is on his mind. he heaves himself away from you. jointly, you find your way to the contrasting cold of the floorboards from the warmth of his sheets. the cold almost instantly dissipates under the contact of your knees as michael seats himself on the outskirt of the mattress with untrained eyes indulging in how your eyes look under the dim light as your attention flickers to his trousers.
and a rush of deep red amasses into his cheeks, mouth parted, yet producing no sound as he catches his breath at the fleeting recognition. “oh—wait,” he says, his usual soft tone welling with uncertainty as well as a faint, almost eager undercurrent—which he can’t veil when your eyes find their way to his once more.
“i can’t…” he takes a deep swallow, “no, i can’t let you do that, pretty, you shouldn’t be down there doin’ somethin’ like… that,” he speaks already as though he floundered to make something articulate.
“you’ve helped me, haven't you? can’t i do the same?”
he stammers as his head tries to conjure a valid reason against yours. “let me, baby.” your hand taps his knee, a smile playing at his lips like it always does when you call him that, yet an unfamiliar, almost heated shiver wriggles up his spine at the tap of your finger. “i want to.”
his dire need garners and gluts his senses as the allure of your glim unwavering causes his reason to fail him, both mingling into something he’s impotent to reject. he parts his lips, though not without reluctance. “you’re sure?” he asks, however, by this time, your leisure taps move into full-on caresses, and his limbs draw themselves tense. and before you could answer, your unplanned touch ignites a feeling that travels through his veins with haste. “ah- ah, it’s… why is it— why does… okay, okay,” he qualms as the emergent bulge beneath his pants begins to sore like he’s never felt before, his lower abdomen burning. is it supposed to feel like this? he didn’t know it could get this bad, and embarrassment seeps through his bones.
with his wince and agreement, briskly, you tug on his pants as he lifts himself from the sheets so you can slide them off, the fabric leaving his skin also leaving a fire with them as ardour hums everywhere in his body. and as your hands make contact with the waistband of his underwear, an unmistakable wet patch that formed a while ago from his generous amount of precum visible to you, his mind, as well as his heart, racing.
his hands aviate to cover his face when you free him from the confinements of his briefs. as soon as the cold air hits him, his mind races a slew of protests.
you’re too pretty to be down there. this is so dirty. on your knees is so, so dirty—as if he didn’t just eat you out and would do it for hours if you just let him. what if you think it’s… i dunno, ugly? you shouldn’t be doin’ something like this. he shouldn’t have accepted, but how could he not when desire settles and rattles his bones? the words weigh on his tongue until he can’t carry it any longer, lips parting to give way to his protest.
with such tenderness his heart aches, your plush lips wrap around his mauve tip, previously coated in precum with now your saliva, and the words lodge in his throat almost violently as a hearty wail ousts it. your eyes flick up just in time to view the hands shielding his face trembling and moving down, revealing his crimson-painted cheeks with his brows creased and oh, what a sight it is. his hands descend to steal a glimpse of your mouth around his length, and from the mere gander, a whimper slips his throat.
you have never thought of such about him when you finally viewed him. tip slick with so much precum, the mere sight already soaking you again, veins running prettily along his length. if he’d been looking at you earlier, he’d see the way you were gaping him with such awe. as if he couldn’t get any more perfect, this sure solidified it.
you give him initially shy kitten licks on his tip, whimpers already spilling out of his mouth before you start lapping, savouring the taste of his leaking slit before moving down—though not without taking a hefty inhale first—his big hands finding purchase in your locks.
the sight is so filthy to see. how you meld to him, engulfing his dick and letting him feel the warmth of your mouth, dim light shimmering in the shade of tears stilling in your waterline. his hands twine themselves in your hair and gently tugs as your hands wrap around the area you can’t reach with solely your mouth. lifting your head up and off of him, your tongue traces along his prominent vein, applying pressure with which his head starts to swirl at as his hips jerk without his say. he’s grateful he didn’t do that while he was in your mouth—until it happens.
your lips envelop him, bringing him back into the warmth of your mouth, swallowing him as your hand experimentally squeezes his base. before you could ask if that felt okay, his hips thrust up into your mouth again, and he’s immediately spewing apologies. he loves it so much, and you’ll do it again if it means eliciting that mewl out of him again. you pull yourself up from him with a pop, hands working his shaft to replace the absence of your mouth.
“i didn’t mean to… oh, ‘m s’sorry,” his words slur as your hand unwavers, and he’s sneaking his bottom lip between his teeth as you finding leverage on his shirt, yanking him toward you and colliding your lips together in a hot, muddled kiss, interjecting his effort to suppress the noises slipping from his lips so he could speak. his slick on your tongue transferring to his tastebuds spins his mind as a hand to your hair moves to your cheek.
your arm wraps around his neck, hand tugging on his shirt as he sets out a whimper to your mouth before complying, breaking off the kiss so he can lift his shirt up and over his head only to reattach your lips to his just as quickly as he hurls the fabric to who-knows-where in the room. you break it off once more. “stop apologizing,” you whisper, squeezing as you pump him, thumb rubbing along his prominent vein glossed in your spit, and a cry tears through him as he pulls himself back with his hands tangling in your hair again. licking a long stripe, your hands settle back near his base anew before you have him back in your mouth, unconsciously humming against him as vibrations shoot up his spine expels itself as a moan.
“th-that… that feels weird, mgh, do it again… please,” he mutters breathlessly. your cheeks hollow, and his head throws back as his oozing tip brushes the hind of your throat, his bottom lip quivering when you bob your earnestly. oh, you look perfect like this—hair tussled from his tugs, lips moulded to his shaft, eyes glossy and cheeks flushed a rosy tint, peeking through your eyelashes to glance at his expression, eyes falling to his abs coated in a light sheen of sweat before shutting your eyes again—something he doesn’t fail to miss.
“y-you have such a pretty mouth—ah, feels so—” he blabs, cut short by his own whimper. his hips stutter at the feel of you rotating your wrist, one hand moving down from your scalp to caress your cheek, tracing along your jaw with gentle, yet jagged lines as he strains to keep his head steady. as his tip hits the back of your throat once more, you ardently fight your gag reflex, throat tightening around him as he fills with concern. “can you—ngh,” he cries, “breathe? o-oh, baby—” his hand draws taut in your hair, and when you peek up, tears are stinging his waterline. “baby, please,” he pleads, voice cracking, “i can’t… i don’t wanna c-cum like this,” he divulges, gripping the sheets with his hand formerly on your cheek with a firm hold.
michael’s arm, placed precariously behind him with his hand outward and grasping the sheets for poise, collapses as his strength leaves him, his elbow hitting the mattress. and generously, craving to fulfill his desires, you climb on the bed and move to the left of him as he discerns you with impressive haste, pushing himself back so his legs won’t dangle out of the mattress anymore.
propping your knees to either side of him, you hover your sopping cunt above his waiting dick as tenderly, he kneads the side of the small of your back—more so for himself. and when he finally regards what you’re about to do, his object is cut short by his tip prodding your entrance, and your whimpers mingle with the burning aroma of the space.
gradually, sorely, you sink down into him, both of his hands flying to your lower back, nails digging divots into your skin as his cock twitches inside of you, forcing a whine from your throat. he’s filling you up, head falling low as whimpers leave you in strings. your hands head for his shoulders as gently, he brings you in until you embrace, tilting his head and whispering tenderly in your ear. “y’r doin’ so well, ma… jus’ a little— m-ore,” he coos, sighing barely through the latter, unable to mask the garbled moans that escape his mouth.
“o-oh my—mike,” you choke out, shaking with each inch you descend as your grip on his shoulders grow firm, then weak again. his arms tremble as they assist you in falling into him, whining dulcet in your ear as the feeling of being stuffed overwhelms your system before you’re to the hilt. you pant against his chest as he does your head, his hand tracing leisure, consoling circles to your skin.
the moment you finally pull off him, the sweat coating his torso clings to your shirt before you fully asunder. the hold you have on his shoulders linger as you begin to move, his breaths coming ragged and in a medley of bursts and drags. “hoh, you…” he swallows deeply, “y’feel s’ warm, so tight… oh, you’re s’tight—didn’t know it felt like this, oh,” he cries, and when your head lifts, tears are threatening to fall and lacquer a watery line down his cheeks. the sight alone makes you clench down on him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest and sending searing flurries of heat through his veins as you find your rhythm.
his hands work to guide your hips, bucking his up with every pummel he ushers from you, clit brutally bumping against his pelvis with each. his name falls from you, breathy and mingled with his plethora of babbles as your nails bore crescents in his shoulders, your eyelids fluttering shut and back open just to see the blissed out expression adorned on his comely face. his thumb caressing your inner hip falters when you roll your hips on him without his guidance, his hands tightening around you and rocking you down, and with it, a tear that was stilled in his eyes finally founders and leaves a line of salty liquid as it falls, then another—but that one mixes in his sweat. the feeling of your walls suffocating him leaves him delirious, but the notion of you exhausting yourself up there pains him, and oh, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep still. and it doesn’t at all take long for him to act.
his hands grasp stiff and unyielding to your hips, flipping you both and stealing you of your breath as he snaps his hips and rips a lewd sound that lands somewhere between a mewl and a cry from your achy throat. he grabs firm to your shirt and briskly pulls it up and over your head and off to somewhere in the room as swiftly as he had flipped you.
he gapes at you from this newfound angle of being on top of you, and it knocks a strained grunt out of his parted lips as he begins to move. “mikey, w-what—ah! mh, ke-keep going, please…” you sob as his dick drags in your gummied walls, melding each ridge and vein of him into you and stretching you impossibly more than you already have been. eyes ripping from yours, his burning stare is pulled to where you two join, and michael ogles at how his cock continuously buries and disappears into the warmth of your sweet cunt. each thrust forms a frothy ring of his precum and your arousal at his base, his eyes eagerly drinking up the sight before his fixation moves just slightly up.
his pupils blow wide when they land on the swell outline of his dick in your tummy, and from the sight alone he chokes out a strangled moan. “am…” he pants as his hands move near your navel, “am i doin’ that?” he presses lightly on your abdomen as he bucks his hips a tad harsher than intended, and your body quivers, back arching off the sheets as his tip dotingly kisses your cervix, letting his head fall as well as his jaw.
with the shift in your positions, the feverish newfound angle has his cock hitting deep into the sponge tissue of your sex, and your mouth gapes. “th-there! right there, mikey, please…” your whimpers are drowned by the lewd noises of his pelvis slamming against your moist skin as his pace grows relentless at your spur.
all that consumes him is how your hot cunt sucks him in and the filthy squelch that comes with it. his dewy eyes dart between your disheveled face and the curve of his dick bulging from your stomach, and when your walls clamp down on him again, he shuts his eyes, the salty droplets that had settled in the rim of his eyes rolling down his rouge tinted cheeks and falling from his chin. “you’re… y’r squeezin’ me—hoh,” he moans, head reeling as his hands hastily shrithe to envelope your torso, slogging to refrain from collapsing on you as he lowers until you’re wholly flush against his clammy chest. he strains a throaty mix of a huff and a whine against your cheek before smashing his lips onto yours in a searing kiss, his hand caressing your side and leaving heat where it was once placed.
each snap of his hips have him continuously ramming into and abusing the sweet dip in the inlay of your womb. the bedframe gashing the paint off the wall with every rock accompanies the wet plaps of skin slapping skin and the descants of your fused moans—sounds that send tingles through michael’s body—sounds he’s eager to devour. his swollen lips trails wet kisses down to your lower lip, your chin, and to your jaw, and you let your head fall back only for michael to capture your lips in his again, your raised head only deepening the sloppy motions of your mouth against his, and you squirm as you struggle to keep up, for each buck of his hips swirls your head absurdly further.
his head falls into the dip of your neck, panting against your skin, your pussy pulsing around his length as your abdomen twists. “mh, mikey, hoh! ‘m s-sssso close,” you choke, hands clutching at his shoulders and the flesh of his upper arms as you clamp around him, suctioning his girth deliciously as he brings a hand to return to your belly, the pressure from his wring reducing your mind to a haze of nothing but him.
“i-i’m close too, ohmy— oh, wh-where should i… do i do it—” he’s cut short by his own cry and swallow, “inside? wan’ me to pull out?”
you claw at his back, only mustering a frantic shake of your head, holding him firm in place, his large hand once on your belly trembling as he takes a soft hold to your cheek. the rhythmic pace of his thrusts grow sloppy, overbrimming with primal need, to which your sight distorts ‘til you’re convinced the whites clouding your vision are clusters of stars.
the hot coil in your lower abdomen snaps when he fills you to the hilt again, your body falling limp, cunt throbbing around him as ripples of pleasure glut your being, creaming his dick and gushing on the sheets as he helps you ride out your orgasm. michael’s mouth hangs open, slurring a series of moans and incohesive blabs as he soaks in every contortion of your face, the bucking of his hips turning desperate. he buries himself in you wholly when his warm seed spills and earnestly coats your velvety walls in white, filling you so full with his release it shows with a mere glance at your tummy.
the both of you stay like this for a little while—panting against each other’s skin as he stills inside of you, the dripping of cum spilling out your sopping cunt and droplets running down his length eliciting quivers out of you two until he slowly drags his leaking cock out of the warmth of your sex. “are… are you okay?” he breathes before raising his head from the comfort of the curve of your neck, meeting your dazed eyes as his thumb grazes your cheekbone.
his curls cling to the clammy skin of his forehead, eyes hazy and pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen. “mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as a smile adorns his elated face. with one last peck to your lips, he heaves himself up and off the mattress, heading to his restroom and back with a cloth before he settles himself between your aching thighs again. his cheeks flush a deep red upon the sight, shyly swiping the cloth to wipe away the mingled essences of the both of you, and as he progresses closer to your core, your body flinches and some of his seed seeps further out of you, and his teeth tug on his lower lip as he can’t seem to pull his eyes away.
when he finishes up, he plants a tender kiss to your inner thigh. he then waits outside the door of the restroom as you use the toilet a few minutes later. by this time, you two are dressed back up, although hodieral in pyjama attire.
the moment he hears the twist of the doorknob and you swinging the door open, he’s already on you—lips crashing onto yours in a messy, yet gentle kiss as he devours each of your laughs, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips as he backs you into the bed and sends the both of you collapsing onto the plush pillows.
the final thing you’re able to recall is how his lips travel to your cheek, leaving sweet pecks in between ‘thank you’s before your eyelids give out on you.
© doemj.
𝓔RIS♡᭮ ⠀⠀ᯇ⠀⠀this took me a little to write cause this is my debut fic on mjblr…. i wanted to make certain i didn’t get anything wrong golly. thank you SOSOSOSO much for reading and if you enjoyed it make sure to SMASH that reblog button
HONEY GLAZE — Michael Jackson x F. Reader.
— SUMMARY: Michael’s sleeping over at your house for the first time without your family there. You decide to play a game and give him a taste of your favorite lipgloss.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, fluff, dual loss of virginity, face-fucking, oral, fingering, protected sex, dry humping, premature ejaculation, scent kink (?), reader is a tease, reader is experienced, use of daddy to tease, manipulation (sorta), michael is lowkey a himbo LMAO, dirty talk, pleasure dom reader. jermaine feature.
— WC: 7.7k (let’s all act surprised).
— A/N: Loosely based on this request. Let’s pretend the strawberry shirt he has on in the photo is a pj shirt. Please leave feedback in the comments and don’t forget to like and reblog!
Michael was absolutely buzzing with excitement today. This evening, he’d be sleeping over at his girlfriend’s house for the very first time. The best part? The two of you would be completely alone.
He honestly didn’t know why he was so excited about the alone aspect of it all, though. It’s not like he was brave enough to do anything more than hold your hand.
The two of you had fooled around before, you mostly taking charge, but his brain got so fuzzy around you. Any sense of self or right and wrong would go out the window as soon as he smelled your honey glaze scented lipgloss.
He’d spent the day driving around and shopping with his brother Jermaine, making sure to pick up things you’d mentioned liking the last time the two of you browsed through retail catalogues. The fuzzy white comforter you imagined sprawled at the end of your bed, the cute pajama set he couldn’t wait to see you in, and the stunning golden charm bracelet from your favorite jewelry store, were all carefully strewn across Jermaine’s backseat, a cute enveloped note written to accompany them sitting on top of the pile.
“Mike, this girl’s got you whipped! You droppin’ 3 thousand on a lil’ bracelet?” Jermaine asked with an incredulous laugh after the two settled into his car, driving along the Santa Monica Pier.
“Maine, she’s not just some girl. She’s the love of my life,” he said with a wistful sigh. “Besides, 3 thousand is nothin’. I’d hang the moon and stars for her,” Michael responded earnestly. He’d do a lot for you for no reward at all; just the thought that it was something that convenienced you even a fraction was enough.
“See, this exactly what I mean. Doin’ all that for her and you haven’t even laid down with the girl yet.” The older brother laughed at Michael’s ‘yes man’ attitude toward you, finding the idea of his superstar brother being a total worm for you hilarious.
“We’ve done plenty!” he defended, not enjoying the idea of his older brother seeing him as less experienced for what he’d allowed himself to explore regarding his sex life.
“Like what?” Jermaine questioned, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.
“It doesn’t matter! And I don’t see relationships as transactional anyway. The fact that she even likes me is enough.”
A beat of silence settled over the car as Jermaine drove away from the boardwalk, pulling up the car’s hood as they approached a crowd of teenaged girls dancing to one of their older songs, not wanting to be recognized.
When they finally hit the freeway, Michael spoke.
“What do you do?”
“Whatchu mean?” Jermaine pressed.
“Like, how do you…start? Making love, I mean.” Michael cleared his throat.
“We’ve done stuff before, I wasn’t lyin’ about that. But we haven’t gone all the way. She makes me too nervous, ‘n I’m scared of…I don’t want it to end so fast,” he rambled on, realizing Jermaine wasn’t going to interrupt him and was actually giving this some thought.
“You gotta just let it happen, man. I mean, I usually lay the girl down ‘n start kissin’ up on her, but I don’t see you bein’ the type to…” he trailed off in thought. “Just build up tension. Start givin’ her the eyes, ya know? She’ll get the hint.”
“The eyes? Maine, I can barely get close to her in the moment without goin’ dumb.” Michael wiped his hand across his face, trying to cool himself down before he started blushing.
“Here, how’s this?” Jermaine exited the freeway and began demonstrating what he meant at the red light.
“Take your hand, place it on her shoulder like this, look her up ‘n down from her lips to her eyes, and give her a lil’ smirk. She’ll know.” He accelerated on the gas pedal as the light turned green.
“O-okay. Yeah that seems easy enough,” Michael responded shyly.
“Don’t bring this up to anyone else, Maine. I’ll kill you,” he added, realizing how vulnerable he’d gotten. He’d never hear the end of it from Marlon if this got out.
At exactly half past 5, Michael was ringing at your doorbell, your gifts and his belongings in tow. He told Bill he was spending two nights at your place, reminding him not to be seen by your neighbors during his patrols, and basically flew to your doorstep.
You opened it almost immediately, seeming just about as excited as he was, and plastered your lips onto his in an intimate kiss- too intimate for your front door.
“Hi, my pretty boy. Let’s get you inside, yeah?” you greeted him, noticing the way he flustered up at the nickname.
“Yeah…” he said with a ditzy grin across his face.
“O-oh! I got you these gifts!” he announced with pride. He was carrying them and all of his belongings for the sleepover in one hand, determined to not let you help him carry anything.
You pushed the door wide for him to come in, knowing better than to offer to help him. He seemed to be moving without thinking, just taking steps by pure instinct. As he neared the staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms, you could see the defeat dawn across his face.
“C’mon, baby. Lemme at least just carry one bag. I’m a big girl.” You took his duffel bag, presumably with his belongings, and led the way, not giving him a second to stop you.
He sighed dramatically and trailed up the steps behind you, his fingers that were straining under the heavier duffel bag feeling relief from the absence of its weight.
As you pushed into your bedroom, the scent of fresh linen and cinnamon wafted into his nostrils, a sudden comfort settling into his bones at the now familiar scent. You shrugged your robe off your shoulders, and Michael realized you were already in your pajamas. He took his duffel bag from your hands, sat down his belongings, and handed you your first gift.
“I’m realizin’ it’s probably too late for this now, but here! I have a feeling you’ll love ‘em.” He was practically vibrating in anticipation.
“I can’t believe you brought me gifts, Mikey. You’re so thoughtful.” You gave him a quick peck and opened the gift box. Inside sat the pj set you fawned over with Michael 2 weeks ago at your kitchen table. It was a red and white gingham two piece set with strawberry pockets on the butt of the mini shorts. The top was a lace-trimmed camisole that stopped just above your hipbone and was see through around the flowy skirt of it. And it was perfect.
“Oh, Michael! I’m putting this on immediately, are you kidding? This is perfect! Thank you so much.” You grabbed him with both hands by the face and littered his burning cheeks in kisses.
“It was nothin’. Here, open the others!” He was eating up your reactions. You jumped up and down at the blanket and tried to pick him up and spin him once you saw the bracelet.
“Hey, let go!” he’d declared in protest with a surprised chuckle at your strength.
“Put it on me, baby,” you told him, breathless, as you let go of his torso.
With a shy smile, he followed your demand mindlessly.
“Do you like it?” he asked, knowing you did. He just wanted to hear you say it.
“I adore it. The first charm I’m gonna buy will be a little ‘M’ just for you. Wouldn’t that be so cute?” you asked him, twisting your wrist around in the warm lighting of your bedroom.
“You’d do that?” he asked you, genuinely surprised by the act of possession.
“Of course! I’d tattoo your name across my chest,” you responded with a quick kiss to his lips as you made your way to your restroom with your new pajama set in hand.
The idea of you tattooing his name on you filled him with a sickening amount of pride.
You stepped back into the room almost as quickly as you left it, and you looked unreal. The cups in the top held your breasts up in just the right way, and the sheer, flowy bottom of it put your torso on full display for him. The shorts were no better. You gave him a twirl, and when his eyes met your backside, he nearly fell at your feet. Your strawberry-adorned ass was sitting prettily in the fabric, the bottom of your soft cheeks on full display for his greedy eyes. You turned back around and sauntered over to him.
“You look perfect,” he complimented you with a dumb smile.
“Hmm, do I?” you teased him as you unzipped his jacket for him.
“Yes, perfect…” he said, losing his train of thought as his eyes fell to the barely-there neckline of your top. He absentmindedly let you pull the jacket off, completely distracted by the view in front of him.
“Get comfortable, baby. I’m gonna go get us popcorn and oj. Then I’ll pick a movie. How’s that sound?” you asked him, knowing he was barely even paying attention.
“Hmm? Yeah, sounds great…” he responded, not able to find more words.
“Michael. Shower. Now.” You turned on your heel and walked with an extra bounce in your step, purposely doing so to make your ass move a bit more as you stepped. He drank it all up and unpacked his stuff in a daze.
He realized he forgot to bring his own body soap, and reveled in the idea of using yours. He couldn’t wait to smell like his girl. It was all he thought about during the 15-minute shower as he lathered up, scrubbed his body, and rinsed off. He brought his own lotion and toothpaste, disgruntled by the idea that he had no excuse to use yours. After he finished moisturizing, he left the room with a small smile, and placed his clothes into your hamper.
He saw you sitting comfortably on the soft carpet at the foot of your bed, your robe on your shoulders and a deck of cards sat in front of you alongside your snacks. You’d brought 2 big slices of homemade pizza, a bottle of tobasco, wet wipes for your hands, and two water bottles, alongside the share-size bowl of popcorn and two glasses of orange juice you’d mentioned. Bambi was in your VCR displaying the main menu, waiting to be played.
He approached you quietly while holding his breath, his mind going crazy at the sight of your legs crossed in front of you. They were making him nervous. He loved your legs.
You looked up at him and a cocky smile spread across your lips.
“You found a matchin’ shirt, huh?” you pressed your index finger to his torso as he sank down next to you, finding the idea of him searching for something to go with your sleep set cute.
“Oh…Yeah, is the matchin’ too much? I just wanted to…” he trailed off, unable to find any excuse that didn’t expose his intentions.
“I love it, baby. We look cute together.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on his jaw. A shiver ran down his spine.
“Eat. I just got this out of the oven, so it should still be hot.” You picked up his plate of pizza and handed it to him, watching with a devious glint in your eye as he obeyed your command. He said a quick prayer, blew the slice, and took a hearty bite while looking deep into your eyes.
“Thank you so much. It’s really good,” he said earnestly, covering his food-filled mouth as he spoke.
“Thank you. Now eat up. I’m gonna start the movie and we can play cards while we watch, when we’re done with the pizza.”
You did just as you said and so did he, eagerly at that. You’d think he didn’t have a brain for his own with the way he just did whatever you told him to. He was wrapped tightly around your pinky finger, just how you liked him.
After you beat him for the fourth time at Go Fish, the movie long having ended, you had him help you bring down your empty dishes and soiled wet wipes downstairs to clean and get rid of.
“I have a game I wanna play,” you stated casually as you handed him the soapy pizza pan you just washed. He rinsed and dried it immediately.
“What is it?” he asked with a little too much enthusiasm. He would do anything if it meant being in your presence.
“It’s…not really an official game. Just somethin’ I sorta made up. You’re gonna like it though.” You said the last sentence as an order, not an assumption. His stomach turned with excitement at the sternness in your voice. “Finish rinsing and drying these and I’ll go brush my teeth ‘n set it up for us. You also brush your teeth when you’re done.”
You left him to the task and hurried up the stairs. You were much more excited than you were letting on tonight. You’d went on a little shopping trip yourself, earlier, spending spent the day at different makeup and department stores meticulously picking out an assortment of flavored lipglosses and chapsticks. You wanted to try them all on and have Michael guess what each flavor was after kissing you. The thought came to you after a particularly vivid dream of him begging you to wear your honey glaze scented gloss while you fucked. You decided you wanted him to be like that after any scent he ever smelled from there on out.
After brushing your teeth, you took off your robe and then laid all of the lip products evenly on your fluffy carpet, and placed your black eye mask beside them, waiting patiently for your boyfriend to leap up the stairs.
As he made it inside your room from your bathroom, having entered it from the hallway, he took in your position and the random scene in front of you, lifting an eyebrow.
“What kinda game is this?” he asked, sounding almost frightened.
“It’s a chapstick challenge. I put on a layer of one of the glosses or lip balms, and you guess the flavors by french kissing me,” you responded with a dazzling smile.
“K-kiss…Okay.” He was already losing it by the mere idea of the game. “And I wear the blindfold?” he inquired.
“Yep. No peeking, understand?” you said, faux seriousness laced into your voice.
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, only half jokingly with the honorific, with his left hand to his temple in a fake salute.
You placed the blindfold over his thick afro, leaving it up just above the eyes, before giving him a kiss. You pulled away and bit your lip at the dazed look on Michael’s face.
You got up- slightly bouncing your ass again- to turn on the record player sitting on your bedside dresser, and adjusted the volume to a comfortable background hum, setting the ambience.
You plopped back down in front of him, and he looked at you hungrily, licking his lips and trying to ignore the lust growing in his abdomen.
“Can I know the flavors, please? Or am I going into this blind?” he inquired.
“We’ll do 7. They’re pretty easy to guess, so I’m making you go in blind. You’re fine with that though, aren’t you baby? You’ll be the best guesser ‘cuz you’re just so smart, right?” you cooed at him, knowing the way you spoke to him would get him to move a mountain for you if you told him to.
“Y-yeah I’m…It’ll be easy.” Bingo.
You pulled the mask over his eyes and opened the first chapstick, the pop of the lid unsealing catching his surprise since his non visual senses were heightened. Cherry. Easy. You applied a generous layer and rubbed your lips together as you inched toward his face.
You pressed your lips to his harshly and he got to work immediately. His tongue explored your lips much longer than it should’ve. This was one of the easiest flavors to guess, by far. He was being greedy. You pulled away with a pop, smirking at his neediness.
“Ch-cherry?” he asked, like it wasn’t obvious.
“You sure you don’t wanna search some more? That was one of the easiest. You could’ve been more sly about it,” you said teasingly.
“‘M s-sorry. I just love your lips…” he trailed off, embarrassed.
“I’m just teasin’. Of course it was cherry. One point to you! Good job, Mikey.” His lip twitched at the praise.
Peach was next. It wasn’t too hard, but the scent threw off the flavor; it smelled like mango. That was the exact reason you chose it. The ambiguity left room for more.
You repeated your earlier ministrations of application, and kissed him again, this time scooting a little closer to his body. You even cupped his jaw with your hand, eliciting such a soft whine, you were almost convinced you misheard it.
The kiss was longer this time, but purposely. You even took the opportunity to pull at his hair the tiniest bit, smiling against his lips as he made a surprised sound at the back of his throat. He pulled away this time, out of breath.
“That one stumped me. It smells way different than it tastes. I’m gonna guess somethin’ fruity…Peach?” he guessed.
“You got it!” you responded, genuinely surprised. “That one was one of the hardest ones. Didn’t it smell like mango?”
“Yes, that’s what that smell was! It confused me bad.” He chuckled softly, as he reached his hand out toward you, searching for your waist. You reached out to his hand and guided it to where he wanted it, biting your lip at the contact.
This flavor was watermelon. You applied the sticky balm to your lips and smacked them loudly, warning him of your impact this time. He met your lips with ease and immediately got to sucking and licking. His free hand cupped the back of your neck and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue past your lips and into your mouth. He moaned when your wet muscle met his, then pulled back, chest heaving.
“Just been waitin’ to do that. I know it was watermelon,” he announced proudly.
“Someone’s gettin’ a lil antsy, huh?” you responded, trying to conceal your bated breath. His lips faltered at the teasing, trying and failing to find an excuse.
“It’s okay, baby. I like when you get desperate.” He bit his lip and covered his face with his hands.
You reached for the next lip balm, this one being cinnamon flavored. He loved cinnamon, which was the reason you bought it. You lathered it on and pulled his hands away from his cheeks, meeting his lips once more. You decided to turn it up a notch by placing his hands right under your breasts and sliding a hand onto his chest, feeling his heart hammering pathetically under your touch, and throwing one of your legs over his. He gasped slightly and pulled you closer, his fingers holding you with a firm grip.
You led the kiss this time, almost forgetting you were playing a ‘game.’ You bit his lip and sucked his tongue just enough to make him squirm, and pulled away.
“What flavor?” you asked him smugly, staring at the slight sheen of lipgloss scattered about his chin and mouth. He didn’t respond, mouth still slightly hanging open with a dazed grin.
“What’s the matter? Cat gotcha tongue?” you continued teasing.
“No, I…You make me forget things,” he admitted sheepishly.
Scratching his neck while keeping one of his hands on your body, he continued.
“Well, I definitely know that was cinnamon. That’s my guess.”
“I knew you’d get that one. I thought of you specifically when I bought it,” you admitted. You poked his nose and absentmindedly applied the next gloss. It was one you already owned and the two of you absolutely adored. Honey glaze.
You smacked your lips one more, letting yourself taste the flavor as you did so, and settled yourself fully on top of his lap now. You felt how hard he was and ground against him languidly once. He whimpered at the contact immediately.
“Aww, my baby’s getting this turned on just from kissing? What am I gonna do with you?” you cooed at him, your breath fanning over his lips. His dick jumped immediately.
“Oh. You’re wearing my favorite…honey glaze.” His knowledge surprised you.
“You peeked, didn’t you?” you questioned him suspiciously.
“N-no! I just…I love the smell of this one. I can recognize it anywhere. Please kiss me,” he whined.
You leaned in and the kiss turned sloppy immediately.
He gripped your waist hungrily with both of his hands, and rocked up into your crotch desperately. You moaned against his tongue as he licked your mouth inside and out, drool sliding down your cheek.
The both of you got incredibly lost in the moment, allowing your need for each other to bubble up sporadically. You ground harshly against his erection and sucked his neck, leaving a bruise in its wake. He moaned once really loudly, and his hips jerked against yours. Then, his hands flew from your waist and ripped the blindfold off of his face.
“‘M sorry. I need to use the restroom,” he quickly mumbled out. He gently slid from underneath you, then made a beeline for your bathroom door.
“Mich-” you called after him breathlessly as the door shut.
“Damnit,” he mumbled as he pulled down his pants. His cum sat proudly against the fabric of his boxers, much to his annoyance. He grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned his crotch wildly, the cold wetness making him shiver. He couldn’t believe he let himself go like that. Sliding his underwear off, he internally cursed himself for being so embarrassing. He washed his hands and entered the room again, his head hanging low and his underwear balled into his fist. He put it inside your hamper and then sat on the edge of your bed without a word, avoiding your gaze.
You knew exactly what happened, and it made you cocky.
“Mikey, baby. I know you came your pants,” you announced crudely. You sat down next to him with a wicked smile tugging at your lips.
“It’s embarrassing. We didn’t even do anything…” He sniffed in shame.
“Baby, it’s flattering. I’m glad to know that you get that horny for me,” you replied. You gripped his jaw, forcing him to look you in the eye.
“It’s not…Well, yes. I do get…aroused by you. But it’s your lipgloss. The smell…It makes my brain numb,” he admitted.
You removed your hand and bent over right in front of him to pick up the honey glaze scented gloss from the carpet, purposely nudging your butt against his knee as you reached down. You turned back around and waved it in his face tauntingly.
“This lipgloss? My favorite one?” You opened it and applied another layer. Setting it down on the bed, you placed your hands on either side of his legs and inched toward his face.
“The smell turns you on?” you asked, letting the scent waft around his personal space. He whimpered loudly.
“Yes,” he spat out, shoving down a heavy gulp. He could already feel himself getting hard again, and his eyes trailed down your torso, straight to the curve of your breasts, which were more visible due to you being bent over.
“You checkin’ me out?” you asked him mockingly.
His eyes snapped to your face as if he got caught doing something wrong. You sat back down next to him and stared at his bottom lip, which was being cradled between his teeth.
The way you were looking at him, like you were a predator hunting its prey, made Michael’s heart hammer so loudly against his chest that he swore you could hear it.
Then, a voice echoed in his head.
Start givin’ her the eyes…Take your hand, place it on her shoulder…look her up ‘n down…
He followed each direction as it played in his mind, his sudden confidence faltering your own in its track. Then, he gave you the sexiest smirk you’d ever seen.
…Give her a lil’ smirk. She’ll know.
“Do you wanna fuck me?” you asked him straightforwardly. He flinched a bit at how direct your words were.
“Yes,” he sighed. “B-but only if you wanna! I don’t…It has to be your choice.” What he really wanted to say was that he wanted you to use his body like he only existed for your pleasure.
“Then fuck me, Michael. Rip my clothes off and plow me into my sheets.” You slid your thumb across his bottom lip and tugged it down. He stared at you like a deer in headlights.
“You gonna touch me, or what?” you asked, cocking your head to the side in fake confusion. You knew your words were scrambling his brain, and you loved it.
“Y- sorry. Um.” He fumbled with his hands, not knowing where to touch you or place them. He felt like an idiot. You’ve engaged in sexual acts before, but he felt out of his league now, the looming state of his virginity making everything much more serious.
“Go get a condom from my dresser. Top drawer,” you ordered him. He obeyed and picked a small foil wrapper from the unopened Trojan box. He secretly thanked God at the sight, realizing you hadn’t recently been using them with anyone else, although he already knew that.
He held the foreign object in his hand and stood between your parted legs.
“C’mere,” you said before pulling him down by his neck and making out with him like you hadn’t been allowed to for a century.
He cautiously explored your body with his large hands, continuing certain gropes and squeezes when you gave him louder whines.
His body was now hovering yours, propped up by his forearms, and you could feel his heavy dick slap against your crotch through his pants as he went to kiss tenderly on your neck.
“I’m not wearing any underwear either. Wanna feel how wet I am for you?” you asked him lewdly.
“Please,” he begged, letting you take his hand and place it square on top of your clothed pussy.
He could feel you pounding beneath his palm, and he felt that familiar slimy substance connecting his hand to your core. He rubbed two of his fingers into you a bit, collecting some of your arousal. Detaching his mouth from your neck, he looked down at you with a dazed expression. With his free hand, he gently gripped your face, making you look at him.
Without a word, he removed his hand from your sex and sniffed his fingers greedily. He bucked his hips into yours, and shoved those fingers into his mouth with a loud groan.
You were in awe.
“I had no idea you were this filthy. Thought you were a good boy, but I guess you’re way dirtier than I thought,” you told him with surprise etched into every word. Your statement only made him needier. He shoved his fingers farther into his mouth and pulled them out, searching for your cunt again.
“Please, let me take these off. Wanna feel you,” he begged, a mixture of drool and your arousal collecting at the corner of his parted lips.
“Go ahead baby. Show me how much you want me.”
With a whimper, he crawled down your body and landed on his knees with effortless agility. He hooked his fingers into the top of your pajama shorts and froze.
“I-i’m a virgin,” he stated, voice barely above a whisper.
“Michael, I know. We’ve talked about this plenty of times,” you responded patiently. You knew he was nervous, but you also knew he wanted this.
“I know, it’s just that…I’m not gonna know how to do everything. I don’t wanna embarrass myself,” he replied meekly.
“Baby…I know you think I’m some sex god, but I’m still a virgin too.” You sat up and looked down at him, forcing him to meet your intense gaze. He looked stunned.
“It’s okay if you’re not. You don’t needa lie to me to make me feel bet-” You interrupted him by clamping your hand over his mouth.
“Michael, I’m not lying. When I told you before we ever did anything sexual that I had experience, that wasn’t a lie either. I’ve just never trusted anyone to go all the way. But I trust you and I want this with you. Don’t you wanna give it to me?” you asked him with a faux-sad pout.
“Of course! I wanna be your first…I want you to be mine. And my last. I wanna give my soul to you,” he rambled, inching your shorts down your thighs as he leaned in closer.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me..” he spoke quietly, mostly to himself, drifting off once he unclothed your lower body. He threw the damp shorts onto the floor and looked up at you with so much gratitude that it made your heart swell.
“Taste me,” you said, as you watched him lick his lips like he was starving.
He placed your thighs atop his shoulder and delved in, immediately grinding against nothing at the scent of your pussy.
“Mmm, th-that’s right. Just how I taught you before,” you spoke to him. He was circling your clit with his tongue with expert precision; just enough to feel like you were floating, but not enough to feel like you were grinding against a rock. Then he did something else you taught him, but with his own twist. He scratched up and down your thighs, the familiar sensation making you feel like music. But then, he slid his tongue down to your entrance and stuck it in, your arousal pooling around it in the act.
“F-fuck. Where’d you learn how to do that? Been seein’ someone else?” you inquired, only half joking. He pulled out and looked up at you with an earnest fire in his eyes.
“Never.” Then, he continued his actions, fucking his tongue into you as far as both of your anatomies would allow.
You pushed his head into you, grinding down with need. His afro acted as a protection against your brutal shove. He slid his tongue back out and worked your clit again, feeling confidence settle into his demeanor. So much confidence, he took two fingers, collected your arousal into them, and slid them into you. You cursed loudly.
“O-oh my god…F-Yeah! Curl them like that,” you mewled, your brain not knowing how to compute your pleasure into words. You’d only felt your own fingers inside there, once or twice, and you didn’t enjoy it. Your fingers couldn’t reach as far as his currently were, though.
You fell back against the bed as you felt your orgasm sprinting toward you faster than you anticipated, gripping onto your sheets and locking your ankles around Michael’s neck in an attempt to hold on.
“M-mikey, ah. Stop. Stop, stop, stop,” you breathed out to him, feeling the knot in your stomach almost unravel. He immediately withdrew his mouth and fingers, you arousal leaving a string of connection to his chin as he did so.
“Did it start to hurt? Sorry, I just thought you were gonna have an or-”
“I was gonna have an orgasm. I just don’t want to yet. I wanna suck that pretty dick of yours first. You’re gonna let me, right?” you asked him, not really leaving space to take no for an answer.
Michael never let you suck him off, to your own disappointment. He’s eaten you out so many times that you’d run out of positions for it, he’s let you grind against his dick with clothes, he’s even let you jerk him off, but he’s never let you get on your knees and put your mouth on it. His exact words were that it was ‘degrading and useless.’ He didn’t wanna hurt you. But you wanted to see him let go. You wanted the proof of your lewd acts with him physically etched into bruises to the back of your throat.
“Baby, I can’t let you do th-” You clamped your hand against his mouth once more.
“You’re gonna let me suck you off. Right?” you asked, slowly moving your hand away from his mouth.
“Ok-kay,” he responded with resignation in his voice.
He stood up and you slid his bottoms off, licking your lips at the sight of him. He was holding out on you because god was it pretty. And big. You thought he was just being a modest gentlemen when he told you he didn’t want to hurt you, but it was more than just that. He was really long, and he knew it.
“So you knew how big your dick was huh? That’s why you never let me do this. Betchu imagine me sucking that pretty thing off all the time.” You reached for it greedily and spit onto his tip, watching it slide down the base slowly.
“Stop- d-don’t talk about it like that..” he said weakly.
“Oh but you like it, though. I could practically feel you getting harder, baby. No need to be shy about it,” you egged him on. Before he could protest any longer, you wrapped your hand around his base and began tugging upward. You reached for your lipgloss with your free hand and applied a thick layer to your swollen lips. You blew a taunting kiss at him. He was visibly holding back his moans, much to your disapproval.
“Nuh-uh, let me hear those pretty moans. Sing for me, Michael,” you directed. He obeyed, and not even on purpose. The way you were touching and talking to him made him forget who he was.
“Feels s- you feel so good. I love you..” he blabbered.
“I love you too, baby.” You leaned forward and gave his shaft an open-mouthed kiss, maintaing eye contact with him. His whole body went rigid in shock as he saw the sticky mark your lip product left in its wake.
“Oh, god,” he groaned, jerking his hips up into your hand. You started twisting it whenever you got closer to his tip.
Without warning, you took it into your mouth, eyes focused on his, and sunk down on it. His eyes rolled back and his hands flew to the back of your head, holding it for composure. You began slowly moving up and down, flattening your tongue and sucking him like he was the best popsicle you’d ever tasted.
“Pl-ease, I don’t wanna cum yet. Plea-, please, please,” he begged on and on, turning please into a chant.
You hummed around his length, ignoring him, and continued to work. Tears stinged at your eyes, and drool dribbled out of your mouth. The sinful sight of you made him do something he swore he wouldn’t do. He rocked into your mouth roughly, just once, but it was enough to make you falter and gag against him. You moaned lustfully and your eyes lolled to the back of their sockets. He removed his hands from your head and scooted back from your mouth with a pop.
“‘M so sorry! I should’ve contained myself better. I know better. Did it hurt? If course it hurt, you’re crying and you gagged. Oh, God I’m so sorry prett-” You gripped onto his dick harshly, cutting him off.
“Michael, I want you to do that. I love it. Fuck my mouth, angel face. I can take it,” you reassured him with a devilish grin.
“N-no, I shouldn’t’ve let you touch me like that. You’re too precious…I can’t hurt you agai-”
“Michael. For the love of God, shut the hell up. I want you to hurt me and bruise me and make me cry. Is that not okay? Am I too dirty for you?” you asked him, feigning hurt. You secretly enjoyed tricking him into getting what you wanted because he somehow always gave it to you, and this time was gonna be no different.
“Not at all! You could never be too dirty for me…You’re perfect. I just don’t wanna degrade you like that. But since it’s what you want, okay. I’ll give you anythin’ you want.” Bingo.
“M’kay, now you gonna fuck my throat like a good boy, right?” you asked him with puppy dog eyes, tears still sitting in your waterline.
“Y-yes,” he responded hesitantly.
“Yes, what?” you asked him, enjoying working him up like this.
“Yes, angel. I-i’m gonna fuck your face…like a good…boy?” he responded, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than he was you.
You gave him a soft hmm and pulled him back towards you, spitting a glob into your hand once more. You jerked him slowly 4 times and then looked him in his face.
“Don’t worry about me, ‘kay? If I want you to stop, I’ll make you stop. But, I trust you,” you said earnestly. “C’mon, stand up and give it to me, baby.”
Then, you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out in anticipation. He hesitantly stood up, jerked himself twice, and then pushed into your mouth. Holding the back of your head gently, but firmly, with both of his hands, he set an inexperienced pace with his thrusts. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harshly whenever he would drag his hips back, causing his legs to shake.
“Th-this is so, AH, wrong. You shouldn’t look this pretty like this. With my…thing in your mouth.”
You scrunched your brows into a pout and moaned loudly, forcing him to unconsciously fuck your mouth harder.
“B-baby you can’t do that, ‘m gonna finish if you do.” You continued moaning and sucking loudly, noticing his breaths shorten as his climax neared.
“God, you’re so pretty d-down there. Ngh- wait-” You forced yourself away from his crotch and crawled to the center of your bed, positioning yourself on all fours. You turned around and coaxed him over to you with a teasing finger.
“Baby, I need you. See how wet I am?” You arched your back and swayed your hips side to side, letting the light catch your arousal. “I need you to make me feel better. It’s aching,” you pouted. His feet were moving before his conscious mind could register your words, and he joined you in bed. He picked up the condom he mindlessly dropped earlier and unwrapped it.
“I-i’ll make you feel better,” her says as he pulled the rubber from its foil packet.
You turned around and took the contraceptive from him.
“Let me put it on you, daddy,” you smirked as you said the nickname.
“Don’t call me th-that,” he pouted.
You placed it on his tip with unnecessary friction and rolled it down his shaft, raising your eyebrows and smirking at the pathetic boy in front of you.
“Mmm, but you like it when I tease you with it,” you told him.
“Okay.” He gulped audibly and leaned down to press a hot kiss to your lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Michael. Now fuck me like you need it,” you said as you went back to your position on all fours. You were almost scared that he’d be too big, or that you’d need lube that you didn’t have, but as soon as he pushed his tip in, your pussy sucked him in. It was an unfamiliar feeling, being stretched like this, but your body didn’t register too much pain. You were drenched.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he called out as your sex squelched around him, forcing him in deeper. You moaned out as he stretched and filled you. As soon as he bottomed out, he laid on top of your back, already feeling overwhelmed.
“M-michael! Oh my god, ‘m so wet. Needed your dick inside me so bad, fuck,” you inched forward and slammed back against his length forcefully, arching your back in the process. He sat up immediately and gripped onto your hips.
“The way you talk…” he trailed off as he started thrusting into you slowly.
“You like m-my dirty mouth, baby? Want me to talk to you through it, pretty boy?” you asked him, feeling his tip hit your g-spot with ease.
“Yes, please,” he whined, speeding up slightly in anticipation.
“F-fuck me harder, baby. Feels so good.” You pushed your head into your mattress, arching your back up higher, allowing yourself to take him deeper. He followed your instructions and snapped his hips into you harshly once, gauging your body’s response to the action. You pushed your ass further into his crotch, and he took that as silent permission.
“Mikeyyy. You’re so bad, taking my virginity in my bedroom like this. Mmm-fuck,” you whined, your vision going blurry with tears of pleasure.
“Y-yes, so bad. ‘M so bad,” he repeated, slamming into you faster. Your bed was creaking with his thrusts. He could already feel himself losing it again.
“Mmm, mmm, Mikey p-push my head into the mattress baby. Be rough.”
He obeyed immediately, leaning over and pressing his palm to the side of your head. He took one look at your face and felt his orgasm creeping up. Your mouth was wide open and there was a huge wet spot where your mouth leaked drool onto your sheets.
“You’re so pretty, baby. You look so good like this,” he complimented.
“With you plowin’ me into m-my own sheets? Thank you, baby boy.”
Your tongue licked at his thumb that was near your lips, and you sucked it into your mouth.
“OH! I’m g-onn…I’m cumming. Shit, I’m cumming!” he cried out as his hips stuttered. He buried himself into you deeply and filled the condom with his seed. He collapsed his torso onto your arched back and you bit his thumb. He clutched it after you spat it out of your mouth.
“I didn’t say to stop, did I? I thought you were a gentleman. Make me cum,” you demanded.
“Yes, baby. ‘M sorr-y…” he apologized in between whines of overstimulation.
You reached your hand down to your clit and started playing with it needily, overeager to cum on him. He pounded into you again, his dick half hard, as you started babbling into your bedsheets.
“Mikey, ‘m s-so close. Keep fuckin’ me like that, baby. You’re doin’ so well for me. You’re fillin’ me up so good.” The sound in the room was so unmistakable. The noise of creaky box springs, skin slapping and sticky arousal drowned out the hum of music leaving your record player.
He leaned down and hovered over your ear, whimpering into it. He sounded like an undiscovered instrument. The sound made your pussy squeeze against his shaft, signaling your orgasm.
“Y-yeah be louder. Love your filthy little whimpers, Michael. Gimme more,” you said with the last of your breath. He pounded harder and fully moaned into your ear, causing you to completely come undone.
You reached behind you and dug your nails into his sides as your legs shook and your pussy spasmed around his spent dick, already hardened again. You screamed his name like a prayer and Michael wished that was the only sound his ears would ever be subjected to again.
As you began going limp, Michael slid his arm underneath you, wrapping around your waist, and pulled out of you. He rolled into his side and pulled you on top of his chest, ignoring how hard he was again.
“I’m so glad it was you,” he said after he caught his breath.
“Hmm?” you asked him, looking up to the side of his face.
“My virginity. I’m glad you took it. It feels like you were exactly who I was waitin’ for whenever I would tell my brothers I was waitin’ on the right girl. No, you’re even better,” he said bashfully.
“Well, I’m glad you took mine too. You were absolutely perfect. I’m so glad we get to share this memory with each other. We fit so well together, don’tcha think? Like two halves of a puzzle,” you mused with a faint smile.
“I’d say so,” he said with a gulp loaded with a double meaning.
“Whatcha mean by that, baby?” you questioned him.
“Just…It’s like your body was swallowin’ me whole. It was incredible.” He bit his lips as he looked you in your eyes. You felt a pulsing at your abdomen, finally noticing how hard he was.
“Ohhh, my baby’s ready for round two? You have stamina…Good ta know,” you teased him with a giggle.
“‘M sorry, you just look ‘n sound so pretty when you’re tellin’ me what to do…”
“It’s okay, baby. Here. Let’s go take a quick shower, yeah? Then we can sixty-nine,” you said as you sat up on your knees. You gave him a wink. He gulped both audibly and visibly.
“Oh, yes please. I’d love that,” he responded with unconcealed enthusiasm. You pulled him behind you and led him toward the restroom, the excitement of round two noticeable in your light steps. You discarded your shirt and pulled Michael’s over his head for him.
“Take off that condom, baby. I’m gonna wash you up.”
He threw the soiled condom into your tiny tin trash can, and trailed after you like a puppy.
You turned on your shower and faced him, your tits on full display to him now. He swallowed loudly and gave a kiss to each of your nipples, surprising you in the act.
“I love you,” he whispered, and then leaned in to give you an intense kiss. His tongue slotted between your lips before you pulled away.
“Uh-uh. Don’t start something you can’t finish in here, needy boy. I’ll make it worth the wait.”
You stepped into the shower, him immediately after you, and the two of you let a comfortable silence settle in the air, washing yourselves and then each other’s backs.
With the two forgotten lip balm flavors lying lazily on the floor, the promise of your newly broadened sexual history etched into the empty house with a faint trace of a sweet scent. The scent of honey glaze.
Tags: @simp4eshal @urbanfunkchild @gothicmj @lil6uapa @yenvixx @cndybliss
Dm to be added or removed!
— 𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ; 𝐁𝐀𝐃 (michael)
through every era, him. 18+ (i got super carried away so enjoy a long one!)
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
150 days.
150 excruciatingly long days without him.
150 days since Michael cut the cord — ending your three year long relationship on a whim.
It came as a shock — something you would’ve never thought in your worst nightmare that would come true.
You had crawled into bed with Michael one night, skin glistening from the expensive floral scented lotion you’d just delicately rubbed into your skin, settling comfortably in the sheets next to him. He was quieter that night — he mumbled at dinner, barely conversing with you, playing with his food. Michael didn’t have a large appetite, so his lack of eating hadn’t phased you as much as it did now. You didn’t expect him to be too chatty that night either, you had already had a heated disagreement a few hours earlier that remained unresolved — something that was becoming more frequent in recent times due to his demanding career.
So, when you nestled against him, his hands rigid at his sides, was when you noticed something was undeniably wrong.
“Is everything okay, baby?” You asked, peering up from his chest to glance at his pokerface.
“I think we should split up.”
The words hit you full-force, panic and shock instantly flooding your emotion — sitting up so frantically it made Michael flinch.
“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Your voice was frantic and distressed, face forced into a scrunch of anxiety.
Michael stayed silent for a few moments, not daring to meet your eyes, just staring blankly at the wall next to him.
“Michael, don’t fucking joke with me. Fucking say something.”
“Stop cursing, please.” He forced out, voice hoarse and low, attempting to keep his dignity.
You scoffed in disbelief, “So, you blurt out that you wanna break-up, but all you care about is a curse? Are you fucking serious?” Anger was the emotion at the forefront of your brain now, utterly disgusted with his coldness towards you mixed with the cruelty of his words.
“Things are complicated right now.” He started, still facing away from you, “I’ve got the album and the tour, and we’re fighting too much already because of it. It’s not good for us especially if I’m away for long periods of time. You deserve someone who can be around for you. Someone better.” He sighed, shaking his head, “I don’t want to let this progress and then end up hurting one another more.”
“‘Let this progress?’ Michael we’ve been together for three years, nearly four. You didn’t think to end things three and half years ago if you didn’t wanna get hurt? Are you serious?”
“I still love you, I just want to protect us both from pain.” He spoke quietly.
“Love? This isn’t love, Michael, this is cruel. This is worse pain. Someone who loved me wouldn’t treat me like this. Why are you doing this to me? To us?”
His heart clenched as your voice cracked, not brave enough to look you in your eyes, now brimming with tears.
“I’m sorry.”
The words felt faux as they left his lips — silencing encasing the room. You scoffed, standing up swiftly from the bed, rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door harshly behind you. You missed the way Michael flinched once more as the loud sound echoed throughout the quiet room, a single tear falling down his cold cheek — attempting to ignore your wails of despair from behind the door.
He saw you for the last time as you rushed out of the bathroom — bag full of your toiletries in hand as you raced towards the bedroom door, sobbing.
He called your name, but you cut him off, swearing brutally at him, along the lines of ‘Go fuck yourself, Michael’. Your memory of that night wavered thin now — your brain compartmentalising the pain to the back of your mind, pushing it the furthest away from to prevent you from punishing yourself with the hurtful memory.
You were packed and moved out the same night — moving back in with your parents, who comforted you for weeks on end as you experienced the worst heartbreak you’d ever felt in your life. The one person you loved and trusted the most in your life had been the one to hurt you the most, too. It was a strange phenomenon — to still love and yearn for the person causing you agonising misery.
At month one, you spent most days in bed — wallowing in your despair, reading old love-letters, staring at photos taken on your first tropical vacation, your anniversary, his birthday. You were torturing yourself — a bittersweet pain that you struggled to rid yourself of. Ending most nights by sobbing into your hand as you read the newspapers — headlines of your split plastered everywhere. Utterly devastated at how disgusting tabloids portrayed you as a deadweight on Michael’s blossoming career, that you were only dragging him down, that he made a good decision to free himself of you.
By month two, you got back to work. You had managed to find your new routine — working hard on your own music, pouring your damaged heart into each song, passion flowing from your lips with each lyric. You didn’t cry as much — only now and again when Michael would pop up on the television, his new album ‘Bad’ going world platinum again, just as his others did, his success booming. What irked you most was he looked perfectly fine — smiling happily for the cameras, performing on stage on tour with pure, irrevocable talent, adoration and excitement oozing off of him, like he didn’t destroy someone’s life two months ago.
By month three, you acted unaffected. You’d moved out into your own place — gaining some unwanted independence. You began going about your life like you’d never met him — going on a few dates, dancing at clubs with your friends with guys you were a stranger to, late night calls with men you knew deep down would never compare, but indulging in the fun of it nonetheless— heart fuelled by anger and frustration, desperate to get back at him. When you finally moved on sexually, you were irritatingly disappointed — no man on the planet could please you like Michael had. That’s what filled you with pure rage. Faking orgasms and pretending as though their cock’s even made half the stretch that Michael’s did had you furious — often pushing them away mid sex, ordering them to get out of your apartment.
You were now almost at month six and the ice in your heart towards Michael hadn’t let up.
You pretended, to your family and friends, that you were over it — that it didn’t affect you anymore. That you had totally moved on with your life. Wrong. You were still livid deep down — not a single day going by where you didn’t curl your fists up in fury at the thought of him. Fury that you still had an annoyingly large place for him in your heart — that no matter how bitter you tried to convince yourself you were about him, it did nothing to dilute the sickly sweetness that overpowered your heart.
And that lovesick heart of yours was pounding violently in your chest right now.
Sat in the back of a limousine, dolled up to the Gods — hair, makeup and outfit perfected to a T, you looked divine. So divine you were determined to make a statement — one just as bad his.
Ironic.
The man in question who you were dying to shock, self-proclaimed as ‘bad’, connotations to his new album, was someone you believed to be sweet, tender and loving. An album title you always thought was truly ironic as he was quite the opposite.
Not as of recent.
Diana Ross had been a thorn in your side since the day you and Michael met. Her relentless flirtatious energy towards the man you craved was angering — even before you called it official was she persistent with her teasing.
“So, you’re the girl Michael keeps talkin’ so much about.” She drawled, the day you met her, your handshake harsher than usual as you gripped her bony hand in your own, “Not his girl, yet though, right?” She laughed, “Better snatch that handsome thing up before I do.”
You confessed your love to Michael that night.
You did truly have intense feelings for him — but that old cow had given you the push you needed. No way in hell was she going to take him away from you — not on your watch.
So, rightfully so, you were anxious at the thought of her finding out about your split — wondering what her next move would be. You’d spend everyday reading the newspapers in a panic, skimming through a thousand words a second in an attempt to find any news of them being spotted together.
And the day came — a week before The 1988 Soul Train Music Awards. The very award ceremony you were heading to, looking so beautiful.
Michael and Diana were front page — pressed tightly against one another at a famous club. His smile was bright, wide and genuine — something you’d missed seeing in person, now adorning his captivating face because of that witch. She had looped her arm through his, the picture capturing her pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. The title read ‘MICHAEL MOVING ON ALREADY? — OLD FLAME REIGNITED’
Oh, he had really done it this time.
He knew how much you hated her — loathed her, actually. The older woman often getting in the way of your relationship throughout the years you were together — despite having a husband herself, she was betrothed with your man.
So, even if technically he didn’t owe you a thing as you weren’t his anymore, you silently felt fury at him for letting her kiss him for the cameras.
Therefore, your only response was to fight fire with fire — childish? Maybe. But, clever? Absolutely.
“You ready, sweetheart?”
The sound of Prince’s voice next to you in the limo tugged a devilish smirk onto your face as you nodded.
If Michael wanted to play dirty — you would play real dirty.
The car had rolled to a stop — flashes of the paparazzi’s intrusive cameras burnt into your vision as the driver pulled the door open. You stepped out, smoothing your dress, a wide smile on your face, waving sweetly as you waited for your date to exit the vehicle.
If you thought the flash was bright before, you were mistaken. Spots blurred into your vision as Prince stood next to you, instantly taking your hand in his own, confidence oozing from him as always, before smiling down at you. You turned to him — pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, lipstick now smeared across his skin, earning a knowing laugh from his throat.
Cha-ching!
Those pictures, dripping with revenge, were a real moneymaker — something that would put that sloppy, old hag’s attempt to make you jealous to shame.
Everyone knew of the musical feud between Michael and Prince — the two men battling for the title of ‘the biggest star in the world’. You knew that Michael took the cake — but, you also knew that seeing his biggest rival with his ex-girl would shut down any attempt of riling you up.
“Nicely done.” Prince whispered, lips close to your ear as you were ushered inside the building. He was aware of your vengeful plan — and more than willing to help aggravate his arch nemesis.
“You too.” You sent a wink his way, engaging in a childish, unison giggle, knowing exactly what you were doing was going to end messy, “I’ll see you later.”
You parted ways with your exes nemesis, not before letting him press a calculated kiss to your knuckles, peripheral vision burning as more cameras captured your (fake) romantic moment, before being ushered to your assigned seat.
You were fairly near the stage, around three rows in front, next to your favourite female pop-star and close friend, Whitney Houston. A real, genuine smile burst across your face when she seated herself next to you.
“Girl.” She breathed out a laugh, placing her clutch bag gently in her lap.
“What?” You laughed, smiling across at her in confusion.
“Honey, I think you know what.” She shook her head with a grin, “You made quite the entrance back there.”
Perfect.
The corners of your lips tugged up into a deeper smile, “Then my plan is working.”
Whitney chuckled, “I just know that poor man is beyond ticked off right now.”
“‘Poor man’?” You scoffed, “He is far from poor. You saw the papers, right?”
“Everybody did, sweetie.”
“Number one, not helpful,” You pointed a finger at her, ignoring the way she cackled, “And two, he had it comin’” You paused, “Everyone, including him, knows how much I hate her.”
“Hate who?”
You froze — the infamously familiar voice that once had you smiling like a damn idiot before, now had your face falling as your head lurched behind you.
And there he was.
Michael.
In all his annoying glory — sporting a dashing red button-up, a sleek tie around his neck, paired with a black suit jacket, that hugged the curve of the lean muscles in his arms in a way that your breath hitching in your throat.
It aggravated you that he looked so good.
But, you knew that he knew that you looked better.
Your irritation only blossomed as you glanced at the seat to your right — eyes rolling in annoyance as his name, scribbled onto a flimsy piece of paper on the chair right next to you, hit your vision.
Fuck award show assigned seats.
“Well, shit, girl.” Whitney mumbled, laughing under her breath as she turned away from the tension that was rising as Michael took his seat.
“Hello.” He spoke, voice soft and gentle, just like you remembered.
“That’s all you have to say to me?” Your voice came out harsher than expected, an angered frown visible on your face as a grin bloomed on his.
His mouth went to open, but you cut him off, hand shooing him away, “Actually, don’t even speak to me, please.”
“You look beautiful.”
“What did I just say Michael?”
You hated the way he smirked at your snappy tone, lip coming between his teeth as he obeyed your request, getting comfortable in his chair. You also hated the way your heart did an extremely noticeable flip in your chest at the compliment.
This night was going to be the death of you.
And it only got worse as Michael retreated to the stage, not once, but twice — each time looking more gracious and handsome as the next. He won Best Single and Album of the Year for Bad — the trophies enclosed around his beautiful, slender hands, ones that once gave you blissful satisfaction.
You despised your weak mind for the way you let it run away with itself — eyes trailing over his tall, elegant frame each time he’d take the stage. That infamous smile that had you weak at the knees did nothing to cool the desire that was overpowering your anger, the yearn for him only increasing.
Michael thumped into his seat next to you with a sigh, now two awards richer, running a hand through his long curls that cascaded down his shoulders.
You could sense he was looking at you — his smiling face visible in your side eye-line, but you refused to turn, your eyes fixated on the stage as the next category was revealed.
“Saw your little stunt earlier.” He whispered, “Real classy.”
You scoffed quietly, “That’s rich.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
You knew that tone — that cocky, teasing tone that had you gritting your teeth.
You finally turned to face him, “Oh, right. I’m sure letting that old crow kiss you is a regular thing now, huh?”
“Saw that, did you?” He was testing you, it was evident in the way the knowing smirk on his face never faltered.
You were halfheartedly listening as your name was read for the nomination, not even bothering to care as you held your gaze with the man seated next to you — a brutal lock of eyes that said a thousand words. You were furious, failing to hide it miserably, and he, well, he was enjoying it.
“I did.” You started, “Nice to see a downgrade was my replacement.”
Michael’s smile flickered at your harsh dig at his life-long friend, “I think I could say the same about your date.”
“At least I have one.”
That sure wiped the smirk off his face.
“And definitely not a downgrade in the bedroom.”
You basked in his shock — the smirk he once sported now adorning your face, nearly missing the way your name was called from the stage, the room erupting in applause.
“Excuse me?” Michael’s voice was bitter, cold, mortified at your admission. A false one at that, but he didn’t need to know. Yet.
“Sorry, can’t hear you.” You shrugged him off, rising to your feet with a proud smile — at your award mostly, but also at your triumphant win in the petty disagreement, as loud cheers exploded in your ears.
You took the stage — a new found confidence oozing off of you, a gorgeous smile on your face as you took the award from the announcer’s hands, pulling them into a small hug. You thanked your producer, musical team, family and friends — humbleness evident in every word you spoke.
You looked perfect — utterly radiant under the bright lighting blaring down onto the stage, award glistening in your hands as your pearly white smile twinkled in the spotlight.
Michael, albeit still in an angered daze over your admission, couldn’t help himself but rake his eyes over your frame — breasts pushed perfectly up your corseted dress, the curve of the plush mounds visible to everyone’s eyes from the audience, eyes never leaving those perfect tits he’d once nestle his face into as he flung your legs over his shoulders and filled you to the hilt with his cock.
The thought had him readjusting his slacks — hard-on now painful against the restrictive clothing at the delicious reminiscing of your love-making.
It was your next words that had the sexual memories leaving his head.
“And I wanna thank my wonderful date for tonight— matter of fact, come up here! Prince, where y’at, honey?”
The room erupted into cheers once more — everyone but Michael, who attempted to drown out Whitney’s disbelieving laughter from two seats down from him, watching as you shielded your eyes from the light, searching for the man in the crowd.
Michael stared lethal daggers into Prince’s back as he sauntered up the stairs to the stage — his chest heaving in undeniable envy as he watched Prince pull you into a tight hug. Those gorgeous breasts now pressed up against Prince’s chest.
He was livid. Hands tightening around the material of his trousers, knuckles white as his grip turned taut.
“Not only is he a Pop King,” The room exchanged hushed gasps at the title, one that everyone knew belonged to your furious ex, “But, he’s also a fantastic plus one.” Laughs fizzled out the shock at your insinuation that Prince was only there with you, not for his own musical nominations.
Michael, however, had never felt fury quite like it.
That title was his.
One he worked so hard for — something him and that idiot, in his mind, up on stage with you had fought over for so many years. And you knew that.
He knew you were aggravating him deliberately.
Prince smirked, eyes finding Michael’s in the crowd, expression darkening, “Sorry, Michael.”
And with a smooth arm wrapped around your back, and a swift dip in the air — he kissed you.
Well, not actually.
His lips attached to the corner of your mouth, barely touching, but to the audience, and more importantly, the cameras, it looked as though your ex-boyfriend’s fiercest enemy was kissing the life out of you on stage.
And, boy, did everyone in the room eat it up.
Standing ovations and screams of joy sounded in the room as they clapped — basking in the pure drama of it all.
Prince pulled away from you with a smile, winking at you as you laughed, shaking your head. He took his hand in yours, guiding you backstage, the noise of the crowd dying down as you were ushered away.
“You’re evil.” You chuckled, chest heaving from the adrenaline.
“Well, maybe it’ll give him the push he needs to try get y’back.” Prince admitted, “Either that or to write ‘nother okay album.”
You shoved his arm playfully, “Oh, stop. Y’know it was a good album.”
“Sure, sweetheart, sure.” He teased, sending another smug wink your way, earning another giggle from your lips.
You’d barely made it ten steps backstage before an all familiar frame blocked your way.
You swallowed thickly as Michael’s cold, blank expression met your eyes, his hands curled at his side as he held your gaze — watching as the smile fell from your face.
He didn’t fail to notice how quickly you dropped Prince’s hand, either.
“Come with me. Now.” His voice was darker than his usual soft, gentle tone — not holding a deeper undertone of something that had a chill running down your spine.
“Oh, he mad now.” Prince spoke up, a soft, breathy laugh leaving his lips, “Don’t be jealous, brother, y’got ‘Ross don’t’cha?”
Michael’s jaw clenched, his gaze turning to Prince, eyes darkening into something icier, “I’d walk away if you know what’s good for you.”
Prince laughed once again, eyes flickering back towards you, “Good luck, girl.” He turned back to Michael, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Be sure to bring her back t’me when you’re done, yeah?”
Michael lunged, flinging his hand off his shoulder in a brutal shove, turning towards him with clear intent. You rushed in between a seething Michael and a laughing Prince, hands steadying the angered man on his chest.
“Enough. Both of you.” You hissed, “Just go.” You signalled to the amused man behind you.
Prince didn’t fight it — just turned to walk away with his hands in the air in surrender, chuckling as he went.
“Michael, what the hell was that for?” You snapped.
Michael didn’t speak — only grabbed your wrist in a firm, not aggressive, more so possessive, grasp, tugging you away, his longer legs moving swiftly with each stride, your own practically in a run as you fought to keep up.
He found a nearby bathroom, pushing the door open with all his strength, ignoring the way you winced at the sound of the handle harshly slammed into the wall. The door was shut and locked quicker than it had opened — before you were pushed against it.
“Me?” He started, answering your prior question, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, pupils blown in distress, “I think I should be asking you that question, sweetheart.”
The pet-name spat from his mouth with a curl of his lips — face contorted into a scowl.
You gained your pride, taking two hands to his shoulders and shoving him, your strength against his own doing as little as moving him a few steps backwards.
“Don’t get it twisted, Michael.” You retorted, “You started this with that bitch.”
Michael scoffed, “Go’head, baby, try and convince yourself I’m in the wrong here.” His tongue poked out from his inner cheek, “You’re insatiable.”
“Don’t you dare call me that.” Your voice seeping with distaste at the familiar pet-name, “You lost that privilege the second you gave up on us like we were nothin’.” You shook your head, “Would’ve let you have it back if you didn’t let that old slut rub up on you like you’re a fuckin’ groupie.” You laughed darkly, looking him up and down, “Not now. Lost every fuckin’ chance with me.”
Michael looked taken aback by your disrespectful words — teeth grinding together as he never took his eyes away from your own.
“I never gave up on us willingly.” He revealed, ignoring the way you scoffed with a laugh, as he took a step closer to you, “And as for her,” He paused, attempting to find the right words.
“See? You can’t even convince yourself there’s nothin’ going on there.” You cut him off, hands flailing in the air as you spoke theatrically.
“Let me finish, woman.” He shot back, “As I was sayin’ — she means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. She’s an old friend. Someone who mentored me as a kid. We have history — but nothin’ more than platonic. Barely even platonic, just professional.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Michael. No ‘professional mentor’ kisses their ‘colleague’ like that.” You air-quoted the words that felt faux with your manicured fingers, shaking your head, “Do you take me for some kind of idiot?”
“Not in that sense, no.” He started, “For actin’ like that with him? Maybe.”
You laughed in disbelief, “You just love it, don’t you? Pretending to yourself that I’m the bad guy, that I went up there and acted like that just to hurt you with no real reason?” You looked him up and down with disgust, “You’re so blind.”
“How many times, girl? There’s nothin’ going on with me and Di.”
He regretted the use of the nickname the second it left his mouth.
“Di? That sounds real professional to me, asshole.” You turned on your heel, clicking the lock back open and twisting the handle, pulling the door open in an attempt to storm out.
Before you could even move, the door was slammed shut once again. The loudness blooming a new found silence in the room, one that failed to occur from the second you walked in there.
Michael’s hand, despite his burning anger, remained gentle as moved your body back to face him, pressing you back into the door.
“Don’t even think about it.” He whispered, “You are not walkin’ away from me.”
“That’s ironic.” You bit back, “If you hadn’t have done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be havin’ this argument.”
“Y’think I wanted to do that? Think I wanted to sit there and watch you panic? Listen to you cry? Hear you cuss me out because of pain and anger I caused? No. That’s where y’dead wrong, girl.” He let out a shaken breath, “I have always, from the moment I met you, till this very day, loved you. Loved you so much I had to give you the life you deserved. I had to let you go. Had to get you away from the pain I was bringin’. No one wants to be with someone who’s never there, and when they are, they’re always fightin’.” Then, he went silent, his eyes now softened as they met your glassy ones, tears threatening to fall as you let him talk.
You both stayed in deathly loud silence, louder than any door slamming or screaming argument — silence that spoke more words than any you’d ever said.
You swallowed thickly, your resolve cracking as his admission settled in your brain, “That wasn’t your decision to make, Michael.” Your voice was quieter now, still with the same stubborn sharpness, but less accusatory, now filled with evident upset.
Michael breathed, his head hanging low, his forehead a mere few inches from your own, “I regret that night every fucking day.” He whispered, a vulnerable string of words that hung heavy in your heart, “Letting you walk out that door was the worst mistake of my life.”
“Why her?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, a stray tear falling down your cheek as you met his gaze.
“It wasn’t a personal attack. She was just at the same club and approached me.” He revealed, “The picture was taken before I even had a chance to say no.”
You shook your head, breaking the eye-contact as you looked at your feet, hiding your rapidly falling tears. Michael’s trembling hand reached for your face, a tentative hand cupping your warm cheek, lifting your face to meet his eyes once more.
“Mama..”
“Stop.” You turned your head, pushing his hand away with your own, “I can’t even look at you.”
“Don’t act so innocent.” Michael’s tone, that had once softened, grew the all too familiar iciness that had been evident the whole evening, “I’m trying to fix things here despite your little ordeal earlier. D’y’know what it’s like to see you kissing him up there? That used to be me if you even remember.”
You let out a low laugh, “He didn’t even kiss me, fool, ‘was all an act. Unlike you and Di.” You barked, “Y’know you actually blow my mind, you’re so—Mmmph!”
Michael connected your lips in a frantic kiss, cutting off your incessant bickering, lips moving against yours quickly.
You shoved him back, gasping for air at the sudden loss of breath, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Puttin’ that bratty fuckin’ mouth to better use.”
He kissed you again — mouth sliding against your own in a feverish lip-locking, a hand now gripping the nape of your neck, the other on the curve of your waist.
And this time — you let him.
You melted into him, hands flying to his face, eyes fluttering shut as you caved, droplets of tears falling onto the tops of your cheeks — falling deeper into his mercy. His tongue slid across the surface of your bottom lip, still awaiting permission despite his frustration. You allowed it, letting his tongue slide into your warm mouth, humming in delight at the taste of his minty breath on the hot muscle, revelling in the way he pushed his body into yours. His hands wondered — now travelling down your body to grab a handful of your ass through your dress, continuing his oral assault on your swollen lips.
“Jump.”
You obeyed, leaving his lips to leap into his arms — his hands cradling your behind as he connected your lips once more, settling you on the sink, slotting himself between your ajar legs.
Michael detached his mouth from own, moving his lips down the curve of your jaw, and down your exposed neck — letting his hips rock into yours involuntarily, while he sucked possessive marks into your skin, at the sound of your breathy moans, head tilted back to allow him better access.
“Michael, please.” You whined, voice a needy plea, hands sliding up into his hair, threading through his tight curls.
“Please, what, angel?” He mumbled against your neck, breath hot against your skin, fresh lovebites forming as he spoke.
“Please—mmhm—Need you, fuck.”
Michael pulled away, hands flying to your dress, pulling down the zipper harshly — before pulling you to your heeled feet, pushing it off your body swiftly, leaving you in just a skimpy bare of lace panties.
Ones you knew were his favourite.
“Oh, sweetheart,” He breathed, eyes raking over your bare frame, glossy doe-eyes peering up at him as he towered above you, “Wore my favourite just for me?”
You nodded, “Just f’you, Mike.”
Michael turned you, with precise smoothness, pressing your stomach against the cold of the sink, your bare back now pressed against his chest.
He slid a tentative hand up your side, toying with the tiny string the thong that clad your bottom half, as he locked eyes with your own in the mirror before you, “How am I supposed to know you didn’t wear them for him, mama?”
You pushed back against him, rolling your hips into the statement of his arousal, “Shut up about him and fuck me.”
A harsh hand connected with your left ass cheek — a half-gasp half-moan ripping from your throat at the sudden contact, “Thought I told you to keep that bratty mouth shut?”
You, testing your luck, ground against him once more, smirking at the way his hand tightened against your hand-printed behind, “Give me what I want then.”
Michael shook his head behind you — one hand working on his belt, pushing his slacks down along with his boxers, his palm wrapping around his achingly hard cock, pumping himself slowly, while the other pulled down your panties, now morphed into the shape of your plush folds from your leaking arousal, to the side, “Be careful what you wish for, doll.”
With one swift, sudden thrust, Michael pushed inside you — bottoming out instantly. A scream erupted from your throat at the instant fullness, your tight cunt struggling to adjust to the sheer size of him as his leaking tip kissed your cervix. Your pussy betrayed you as it clenched around him, drooling around him, coating his cock in your slick.
His hand flew to your mouth, his large palm enclosing around your swollen lips, muffling the whimpers that left you as you struggled around him — eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of him throbbing inside you.
“Keep those eyes open, mama,” He ordered, sliding out of you slowly until the only thing that remained inside your quivering hole was his plump mauve cockend, “Want you to see how pathetically you fall apart on my cock. My cock. No-one else’s.”
He pushed in again with the familiar harshness from before as your eyes shot open — now starting a brutal, animalistic pace that had you clawing at the tense of his hand that enveloped your mouth, hiding the high-pitched squeals and whines of pure, irrevocable lust that took over your mind, body and soul.
Michael groaned into your ear, eyes locked on your own as he fucked into you with such a pace and lack of gentleness that you’d never seen before. During your companionship, Michael took his time with you — worked you open with his mouth and fingers, took his time to get you ready for the thickness and length of him. But, not this time — all the pent up rage brought upon him from the start of the night now being fucked into you with every harsh rock of his hips.
Keeping you flush against his chest, his free hand slid down to where you connected — rubbing tight figure eights against your clit that throbbed for attention. Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes rolling to the back of your head, ignoring any order he gave you to hold his gaze.
“Mmphmh—M-Mich—Michael, please!”
Words failed you as you cried against his hand, drunk on the way his cock dragged in and out of your gummy walls that sucked him in with each thrust — the sound of your feverish moans and your squelching cunt mixing with his breathy groans filling the air of the bathroom that now stunk of Michael’s intoxicating cologne and passionate sex.
“Take it, baby, take this fuckin’ dick.” He grunted into your ear, his words unlike his usual loving coaxes, “Make up for what’cha did.”
Michael hissed as you bit down on the skin of his palm, his hand pulling away from the source of pain as he meet your gaze in the mirror — your own expression now deepening into a scowl, “Fuck you.”
The words spat from your mouth, dripping with venom, at his words of blame, watching as his face scrunched up in frustration.
“Oh, you’ve done it now, ma.”
His pace never let up — if anything, since your oral stunt, it quickened. He forced you down, now completely bent over the sink as he created a new angle — his cock now driving deeper into your sopping cunt, abusing the sweet spot inside you relentlessly.
Now released from his grasp, your loud, incessant cries sounded throughout the small room — so voluminous that any passerby would hear every scream of his name.
His hand collided with your ass cheek again — cursing under his breath as the familiar feeling of a much needed orgasm crept up his abdomen. The lustful spark in your stomach blossoming much the same as he slid a hand into your hair, tugging your head upwards to look directly into the mirror once more. You were a state, completely, and literally, fucked — eyes streaming with tears that coated your hot cheeks, lips swollen and stricken with spit from his frantic kisses, and a small yet equally evident imprint of his fingers around your mouth where he held you harshly.
“‘M gonna cum so fuckin’ deep in this pussy that you can’t fuckin’ walk without flooding your little panties with my seed.” He grunted, never letting his thrusts faltering as you squirmed beneath him, “Who’s needy little cunt is this?”
Words failed you as you continued to cry — only desperate, eager whimpers falling from your lips.
Another spank connected with your ass cheek, coaxing a loud whine out of you, “Answer me when I ask you a fuckin’ question, woman.”
“Yours!—fuck, Michael, it’s all yours.” You panted, tears falling from your eyes faster than you could stop them.
“Say this pussy’s mine.” Michael spat, tugging hard on your locks of hair.
“My pussy’s all yours, baby, fuck—mmph!—Gonna cum!”
Michael hummed, clearly pleased with your response, his hips stuttering as he neared his own release, “Cum with me, beautiful, cum on my cock like a good girl.”
You cried out, loud and despairingly, as you finally broke — red-hot ecstasy taking over your body as you came, the flood gates of your pleasure breaking open to consume you. Michael followed, the tight clenching of your quivering pussy sending him over the edge, spurting his hot seed into your fertile cunt as he groaned lowly — the sensation of his cum filling your fluttering sex only furthering your own orgasm.
You slumped against the countertop — chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath. Michael stilled behind you, swallowing thickly as he softened inside you. He leant down, pushing his chest against your back, coated with a sheen of sweat, before pressing a soft, loving kiss to your shoulder.
His kisses trailed up to your neck, beneath your earlobe, your cheek, before using a trembling hand to tilt your head to the side, and pressing his lips against your own. You sobbed into the kiss, more tears, now from overwhelming emotion, falling from your eyes. Michael’s hand cupped your cheek — deepening the kiss, that once held so much irritation, resentment and anger, now filled with undeniable attachment, deep love and compassion.
“I love you.” Michael breathed, disconnecting your lips, resting his forehead against yours — singular curl that stuck to his slick forehead tickling your own, “Please be mine again.” He whispered.
You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his nose, head reeling from the overstimulating rush of emotions.
“But don’t pull that shit again.” He added with a playful smile.
“Yeah,” You sniffled with a breathy laugh, “You too.”
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
taglist: @444sturns @lotuspetalss @shadyforharrington @sassenachmalfoy @sgl8 @slugstarzz @tirallymissu @undergroundtwink @castielsb1tch @grey342 @simply-lovley44 @ang9lic @lovecherishly @ssamanthasaenz @peacemakersbeloved @ghettofabu05 @lov3lylxvender @lavnderluv @nuhteyam @amoravelee @carterstales @dolliestmelody @ambmxj @msapplehead @ghulify @cafe-lectura @westcoastsayian @bernardsbaby @whoiseanna @winterswifee @inana177 @brownskinnedwitch @btslvts @iwonthurtubaby @dear-mono @hcwait @butterfliesandcoffeex2 @junkie05 @skiicoreee @donniesbbg @mjssluttyfish @michaeljacksonspyt @szalipcombo @princessrosalia @loveposiie @starddustt @veliriumm @your-premier-amour @1andonlytashae @callmeliptoncuzimtea comment/message to be removed! taglist now closed <3
top 10 days of ilya’s life were definitely getting to see shane’s childhood bedroom and touching everything, he probably asked a hundred questions without breathing once - “nice room…” “what’s this” “what’s that” “yearbooks!?!” “so cute and boring” “YOU BLEACHED YOUR HAIR?” “awww you look so cute here” “most likely to play for the NHL wow” “who are these girls signing with hearts?! are you cheating on me?” “what’s that” “so many trophys mr superstar” “wearing a jersey for halloween is so boring” “can i have this picture” “you still have all your jerseys?” “who are those children” “PROM PICTURES” “aw all your ottawa friends” “what’re those?” “why are you wearing goalie gear” “you look so cute” “you read books that aren’t about hockey?” “where is the poster of me?” “you had to play with number 42?” “what is timbits hockey” “of course you were 10 year old captain” “what’s that” “hockey bedsheets im not surprised” “is that a puck shaped pillow” “wow hollander you are obsessed with hockey”
twister, pools and llamas
Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4
SUMMARY: Michael realizes he has feelings for his best friend.
CONTENT: inspired by the twister and pool scenes in ‘Michael’. Friends with feelings for each other. Fluff. This will probably be a small series! lmk what you guys think.
⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆
There was one thing Michael Jackson still hated admitting.
He got lonely easily.
Especially in that weird in-between stage of his life where everything felt like it was changing too fast.
Off the Wall had exploded.
People looked at him differently now.
The pressure was bigger.
The expectations louder.
And somehow the house in Encino felt emptier because of it.
Tonight was supposed to help.
Michael had spent an embarrassingly long time setting up Twister in the living room because he’d convinced himself his brothers would actually play with him for once.
“C’mon,” he tried again, holding up the box dramatically while his brothers grabbed jackets near the front door. “Just one game.”
“We already got plans, Mike.”
“We’re late.”
“We’ll play another time.”
Michael’s shoulders slumped slightly.
“But you said—”
“Another night, man.”
The front door shut behind them.
Silence.
Michael stared at the bright Twister mat spread across the carpet for a second too long before quietly sitting down beside it.
From the kitchen, Katherine Jackson looked over sympathetically.
“Oh baby…”
“I’m fine,” Michael muttered immediately.
Which meant he absolutely wasn’t.
Meanwhile, from his armchair, Joe Jackson barely glanced up from the television.
“You too old to be sulking over games.”
Katherine shot him a sharp look immediately.
Michael just looked down at the mat.
And then the doorbell rang.
Katherine moved to answer it, and seconds later a familiar voice drifted through the hallway.
“Mrs. Jackson, my mom said you forgot your baking dish again—”
Then Y/N L/N appeared in the living room doorway and stopped mid-sentence.
Because spread across the floor was Twister.
Her entire face lit up instantly.
“Oh my God.”
Michael looked up slowly.
Y/N pointed aggressively at the mat.
“Are we playing Twister?”
Michael blinked once.
“…You wanna play?”
“Michael.” She looked genuinely offended. “I love Twister.”
And just like that, something heavy in his chest loosened instantly.
Because Y/N always did this somehow.
She was the Jacksons’ neighbor in Encino. Loud, funny, dramatic Y/N who showed up unexpectedly and filled rooms without even trying.
Katherine adored her.
Joe absolutely did not.
“She distracts him,” he always grumbled whenever she came around.
Which honestly? Only became more true with time.
Because Michael looked at Y/N differently than he looked at everybody else.
Like he could breathe easier around her.
Even if neither of them fully realized why yet.
Y/N dropped onto the floor beside the mat dramatically.
“Set it up.”
Michael laughed softly for the first time all evening.
“It’s already set up.”
“Oh.” Y/N crossed her legs. “So this is serious.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Twister turned out to be a horrible idea immediately.
Mostly because Y/N cheated constantly.
“You moved your foot!”
“I adjusted it.”
“That’s cheating.”
“It’s called strategy.”
Michael laughed so hard he nearly collapsed onto the mat.
God, He needed this.
Needed someone who didn’t treat him like a celebrity or a machine or the future of music.
Just Michael.
At one point Y/N got completely tangled beneath his arm and burst into helpless laughter.
“We’re stuck.”
“Move your hand.”
“I literally can’t.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Yeah, well, you like that about me.”
Michael opened his mouth automatically.
Paused.
Then smiled shyly instead. “I actually do.”
Y/N blinked at him for half a second too long before immediately looking away.
Because sometimes Michael smiled at her and her brain genuinely stopped functioning for a moment.
Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.
Meanwhile Katherine watched the entire thing from the kitchen trying not to smile too obviously.
Joe, unfortunately, noticed too. And he didn’t like it one bit.
Because Michael had spent all week locked in the studio obsessing over demos and rehearsals and choreography. Focused. Disciplined.
Then Y/N showed up and suddenly he was sprawled across the floor laughing over Twister like the weight of the world wasn’t sitting on his shoulders anymore.
Joe frowned.
“Boy’s distracted.”
Katherine looked at him flatly.
“Boy’s happy.”
Joe didn’t answer.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Eventually the game dissolved into complete chaos because Y/N stopped following the rules entirely.
Then somehow they ended up on the couch with multiple cartons of ice cream spread across the coffee table while an old black-and-white movie played softly in the background.
Y/N sat curled into the corner beneath a fuzzy blanket she’d stolen from Michael’s room earlier.
“This,” she declared seriously around a spoonful of strawberry ice cream, “is the peak human existence.”
Michael laughed softly beside her.
“You say that about everything.”
“Only because I appreciate the beauty in life.”
“You said mozzarella sticks changed your life last week.”
“But they did, Mikey!”
Michael shook his head fondly.
She was absolutely ridiculous.
But tonight something warm settled quietly in his chest every time she made him laugh. Because earlier she’d noticed he was upset immediately.
And instead of brushing it off or teasing him, she stayed. Like his feelings mattered.
Like he mattered.
And Michael didn’t realize how badly he needed that until now.
The movie played softly.
The lights stayed low.
Y/N’s voice slowly got quieter and quieter while she rambled about how old movies needed ‘better kissing scenes.’
Then, eventually, silence.
Michael glanced sideways and froze slightly.
Because Y/N had fallen asleep against his shoulder.
Still holding the spoon.
Michael smiled instantly.
Carefully, trying not to wake her, he adjusted the blanket higher around her shoulders.
And for a second he just sat there looking at her.
At the way her hair spilled against his arm.
The faint remains of eyeliner beneath her eyes.
The tiny pout she always got when she slept.
Something in Michael’s chest ached suddenly, warm in a way he didn’t fully understand yet.
A few minutes later Katherine walked into the living room and immediately stopped.
Because there they were.
Michael sitting perfectly still so Y/N could sleep comfortably against him.
The empty ice cream cartons abandoned everywhere.
The old movie flickering softly across both their faces.
Katherine’s expression melted instantly.
“Oh,” she whispered softly.
Then Joe appeared behind her.
And immediately frowned.
“There she goes again,” he muttered. “Distracting him.”
Katherine looked ready to argue until Michael glanced up briefly.
And the look on his face stopped her. Because her son looked peaceful.
Not exhausted. Not pressured. Not overwhelmed.
Just happy. Safe, even.
Like for one evening he got to simply be a young man sitting on the couch with his best friend instead of carrying the weight of becoming Michael Jackson.
Katherine smiled quietly to herself.
Meanwhile Michael looked back down at Y/N sleeping against him and smiled too.
Small.
Private.
Completely gone for her.
Even if he didn’t know it yet.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
A few days after the Twister episode, the California heat had turned the Jackson backyard into something straight out of a magazine ad.
The pool shimmered bright blue beneath the sun.
Music drifted softly from outdoor speakers.
And floating lazily in the middle of the water was Michael Jackson with a notebook balanced against his bare chest, completely lost inside his own head.
One arm dangled into the water while he scribbled lyrics messily across the page, humming little melodies beneath his breath every few seconds.
His dark curls were slightly damp from the heat already, and his aviator sunglasses rested low on his nose while he concentrated so hard he barely noticed anything else around him.
Michael always got like this while writing.
Tunnel vision.
Obsessive.
Like the song became the only thing existing in the world.
Which was exactly why his brothers chose that moment to interrupt him.
“What are you doing?” Jermaine asked while stepping outside with Marlon and Tito trailing behind him.
Michael barely glanced up from the notebook.
“Working.”
Jermaine stared flatly at the inflatable raft.
“You’re writing music in a pool.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You look ridiculous.”
Michael ignored him completely, scribbling something down quickly before muttering the melody beneath his breath again.
Tito leaned closer.
“What’s got you acting possessed now?”
Michael finally sat up slightly, curls falling into his face while he pointed the pencil toward them dramatically.
“I gotta finish this.”
“You’re at the pool, Mike.”
Michael sighed heavily.
“If I don’t finish it, God’s gonna give it to Prince.”
His brothers exploded laughing immediately.
“That is not how music works!”
“Yes it is.”
“You are insane.”
Michael pointed accusingly at them.
“You laugh now but when Prince releases this six months later don’t come crying to me.”
Jermaine cried-laughed.
And then the back door slid open.
Michael looked up automatically. Big mistake.
Because Y/N L/N stepped outside.
And every coherent thought immediately left his body.
She looked like actual summer personified, wearing a tiny red-and-white checkered bikini tied at her hips with little bows, her hair piled messily on top of her head while oversized aviator sunglasses sat on her nose.
Michael’s aviator sunglasses.
The realization hit him instantly.
“Oh my God,” Jermaine whispered-yelled beside him immediately. “She stole your glasses.”
Michael barely heard anything.
Because Y/N was already walking barefoot toward the pool, sunlight glowing against her skin while the sunglasses practically swallowed half her face.
And somehow the fact she was casually wearing his things made the situation ten times worse for him.
“Oh!” Y/N smiled brightly when she spotted everyone. “Hi boys.”
Brutal silence. Jermaine slowly turned toward Michael.
And immediately started grinning.
Because Michael looked absolutely doomed.
Not subtle at all.
His eyes widened slightly before darting downward toward the notebook in his lap like he suddenly remembered he was supposed to be pretending to work.
“Ohhhhh,” Marlon whispered delightedly.
Michael snapped back to reality instantly.
“What?”
Tito crossed his arms trying not to laugh.
“Nothing.”
Meanwhile Y/N finally looked properly toward Michael.
And she froze.
Because Michael was shirtless.
And somehow her brain had never fully processed that possibility before.
Which now actually felt medically concerning.
The sunlight reflected against the water onto his skin while he sat stretched across the float in black swim trunks, curls messy from the heat, lean chest lightly glistening beneath the afternoon sun.
Y/N actually forgot what she was doing for a second.
“Oh my God,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “You’re shirtless.”
One of his brothers made a strangled noise immediately, trying to suppress a laugh.
Michael blinked once.
“…Yeah?”
“I’ve literally never seen that before.”
Michael sat up straighter automatically. Which somehow only made everything worse.
Because now Y/N got an even better look at him.
And Michael got a very clear look at Y/N staring.
“Oh this is bad,” Marlon whispered gleefully.
Michael tried looking back down at the notebook again pretending very hard to focus.
Unfortunately his body had already betrayed him.
Because Y/N kept walking closer to the edge of the pool adjusting his sunglasses and smiling at him in that absentmindedly sweet way she always did.
Michael shifted awkwardly against the float.
Immediately realizing the problem.
Oh.
Oh, no, He thought.
Actual panic flashed across his face for half a second. Because now Y/N was kneeling beside the pool and Michael suddenly became very aware that his swim trunks were doing absolutely nothing to hide the situation developing in real time.
Jermaine noticed instantly.
And the grin spreading across his face became genuinely evil.
“Oh my GOD.”
Michael snapped his head toward him immediately.
“Shut up.”
“You are fighting for your life right now, aren’t you?”
“I hate you.”
Y/N looked between them suspiciously.
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing!” Michael answered way too fast and his brothers nearly collapsed laughing.
Meanwhile Y/N narrowed her eyes briefly before shrugging.
“Anyway…”
And before anyone could react, she jumped directly into the deep end of the pool.
Then immediately regretted it.
“Oh my God WAIT—”
Y/N resurfaced flailing dramatically because she was way too short to comfortably touch the bottom.
“Y/N—" Michael started, but she launched herself at him without hesitation.
Michael barely steadied the float in time before Y/N practically climbed onto him in panic, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders while she tried to keep herself above water.
The float tipped dangerously sideways beneath them.
And suddenly Y/N was pressed directly against him.
Chest to chest.
Legs tangled beneath the water.
Her thighs brushing his waist while she clung to him breathlessly.
Michael stopped breathing entirely.
Because this was already catastrophic before Y/N accidentally shifted against his lap trying to stabilize herself.
Michael sucked in a sharp breath.
His brothers turned away screaming laughing.
“Mikey is done.”
Michael wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
Because now he was painfully aware of everything.
The water dripping slowly down Y/N’s skin.
The coconut sunscreen smell surrounding her.
The fact she was wearing his sunglasses.
And most importantly: the very obvious problem he was desperately trying to hide while Y/N clung to him in the middle of the pool.
Michael grabbed her waist quickly to keep both of them from tipping over.
“You okay?” he asked, voice noticeably strained.
Y/N nodded breathlessly.
“I hate this stupid deep pool.”
Michael laughed weakly.
Except now Y/N noticed something too.
Not the full situation.
But definitely the tension.
The way his hands tightened carefully at her waist.
The way he kept avoiding eye contact.
The fact his entire face was pink now.
And honestly? Y/N wasn’t doing much better herself.
Because Michael this close felt genuinely unfair.
His chest warm beneath her hands.
His curls damp and falling into his eyes.
His arms flexing slightly every time he steadied her in the water.
And the way he looked at her completely flustered and overwhelmed and trying so hard to stay respectful despite very obviously malfunctioning.
Y/N suddenly became very aware of how close their faces were.
“Huh,” she said softly before she could stop herself.
Michael blinked.
“…What?”
“You look really pretty like this.”
Michael nearly short-circuited on the spot.
Jermaine collapsed into one of the lounge chairs laughing while Tito slapped the table dramatically.
Michael groaned quietly, dropping his forehead briefly against Y/N’s shoulder in complete defeat while she laughed helplessly against him.
And somehow neither of them made any effort to move apart.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The sun was beginning to soften by the time they left the pool.
Everything felt warm and lazy in that golden late afternoon way California summers always did.
Music still drifted faintly from somewhere inside the house while the grass stayed hot beneath bare feet and the air smelled like sunscreen and chlorine.
And somewhere across the backyard, Y/N L/N was currently losing her mind over a llama. Specifically Louie.
Michael sat on the back steps with a towel around his shoulders and watched in helpless amusement while his best friend ran dramatically across the grass trying to feed Louie strawberries.
“Louie!” she gasped. “Save the drama for you llama!”
Louie stared blankly at her.
Michael laughed softly under his breath.
She really did talk to animals like they were people.
Y/N held another strawberry out toward the llama carefully.
“You just get me emotionally, don’t you?”
Louie sneezed directly in her face. Y/N did not move an inch.
Michael laughed really hard at that.
“Oh my God!”
Y/N wiped her cheek dramatically while glaring at the llama in betrayal.
“I thought we had something special going on, Louie.”
Her laughter echoed across the yard a second later anyway.
Bright. Contagious.
Real enough that Michael found himself smiling before he even realized it.
Because Y/N laughed with her whole body. Throwing her head back. Clutching her stomach. Nearly stumbling over herself every single time.
And Michael loved making her laugh more than almost anything.
Which was maybe a problem. A very big problem.
“You got it bad, don’t you?”
Michael startled slightly.
Bill stood beside the porch railing holding a soda, watching Y/N chase Louie around the yard with open amusement.
Michael immediately looked back toward the grass.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bill snorted.
“Michael.”
Across the lawn Y/N was now attempting to braid flowers into the llama’s fur.
Louie looked deeply exhausted by her existence already.
Michael smiled again without meaning to.
Bill noticed immediately.
“Mm-hm.”
Michael realized too late he’d done it again.
Done the stupid soft smile.
The one everybody kept noticing lately whenever Y/N was around.
Michael cleared his throat awkwardly.
“She’s just funny.”
Bill looked at him flatly.
“Boy.”
Michael groaned quietly, dragging one hand down his face.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“The talk.”
Bill burst out laughing.
“The talk?”
“Yes.”
“You twenty something old scared of a conversation?”
Michael looked genuinely distressed. “Yes.”
Meanwhile Y/N finally succeeded in placing one flower crookedly behind Louie’s ear.
“Oh my God,” she whispered to the llama. “You’re gorgeous.”
Michael chuckled at her, feeling helpless again.
Bill crossed his arms.
“You look happier around her.”
Michael’s smile faded slightly at that. Not entirely, just enough to become softer. Because the annoying part was that Bill was right.
Michael looked back toward the yard quietly while Y/N rammed dramatically into Louie’s side trying to hug him.
“She’s different,” Michael admitted softly.
Bill hummed knowingly.
“How?”
Michael took a second to answer. Because truth be told? He didn’t even fully know himself.
“She doesn’t…” He paused. “She doesn’t look at me like everybody else does.”
Bill stayed quiet.
So Michael kept going.
“She just comes over and steals my food and makes fun of my clothes and talks during movies.” He smiled to himself faintly. “And when I’m around her I don’t gotta think so hard.”
Bill’s expression softened at that and he clicked his tongue.
Because Michael spent most of his life thinking too hard.
Overworking.
Overanalyzing.
Overperforming.
But around Y/N? He looked light. Young again.
Like the fame disappeared for a little while.
Bill glanced toward the backyard where Y/N was now laying in the grass beside Louie dramatically.
“She likes you too, you know.”
Michael nearly choked.
“What?” He blurted out desperately and ridiculously fast.
Bill looked amused now.
“Michael,”
“No no no.” Michael sat up straighter immediately. “We’re friends.”
“Mhm.”
“We are.”
Bill took one sip of his soda.
“She wears your sunglasses.”
Michael froze. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“She nearly drowned looking at you shirtless.”
Michael turned bright red instantly, feeling his cheeks warming up. “Well, that was an accident!”
Bill snorted. “And you almost passed out when she climbed on top of you in the pool.”
Michael buried his face into the towel he held immediately.
“Oh my God.” He let out, his voice muffled.
“Son, everybody sees this except you two.”
Michael groaned dramatically into the towel.
Because unfortunately he knew Bill was right.
He did feel different around Y/N.
Too aware of her all the time.
Too happy whenever she showed up unexpectedly.
Too nervous whenever she looked pretty.
And today? It had been particularly catastrophic for him.
Especially the pool.
Especially Y/N wearing his glasses and clinging to him in the water with her legs wrapped around his waist while he fought for his actual life.
Michael groaned, face still in the towel. “Bill, I think I’m dying.”
Bill burst out laughing.
“No, son. I think you just got feelings.” He added between laughs.
Michael looked genuinely horrified by the concept.
Before he could answer though—
“MICHAEL!”
Both of them looked up.
Y/N stood halfway across the lawn waving excitedly while Louie wandered behind her aimlessly.
“Your llama likes me more than you now!”
Michael smiled automatically.
Completely helpless.
Bill watched him for exactly one second before laughing quietly to himself and walking away.
Because yeah.
That boy was falling hard.
⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆⭒˚.⋆
Taglist:
@skiicoreee @18lkpeters @ami-kay-01 @bouncylikebouncyball @hewassunshine @umafanficdoidaqualquer
in which perv!bsf!mikey tries really hard to be a gentleman for your first time together, but you just feel soo good >⩊<.ᐟ
cw: p in v, soft dom, kinda ooc mike SRRYY, honestly reader is a bit ditzy, coercion, virginity loss for both cuties, freaky ass tear kissing...smile.
porn with a smidge of plot
a/n: omg yall went crazy in the comments asking if yall wanted this, so here it is!! it was originally gonna be a blurb so, sorry if it reads as such!! also ommmfghhh he looks so yummy in that pic... ˙𐃷˙
wc : 1.5k ish
inspired loosely by the lovely @/glossiercheeks manipulative bsf mike!! go check out their work its so so yum and NOT ai lmao
"please, baby, you trust me dont you?" michael mumbles into the sensitive skin, his lips catch on your neck. you whine quietly. "but–mikey, were just friends..."
he pulls away slightly, to gaze apon your flushed face. "you trust me, dont you?" he knows hes not really asking, knowing your blind devotion to not upsetting him, a trait hes never been happier for you to have, then is this momment.
nibbling on the fat of your lip momentarily, you catch his gaze. its heavy with a fog you cant name. shivers twirl up your spine as you gaze away again. "yes, michael, i trust you." you mutter faintly
you catch his growing smirk in your peripheral.
"friends can touch eachother," he peppers two soft kisses on the apple of your cheek. "friends can make eachother feel good."
you curse mentally at his ability to make you mush at his stupid words.
your silence irritates him, "youre really gonna leave your bestfriend high and dry?" he sighs, as if your pulling away more. you panic, shaking your head. "you know what I go through?" he says, suddenly standing, moving to pace infront of you. "being me? I cant even go outside of the gates without being bombarded."
"mikey–"
"do you want me to find another girl, y/n?" he says, with a sterness you'd rarely hear from him. pausing infront of you.
you shake your head once more. the thought genuinely frightens you. you've knows michael for so long, the thought of him seeking out a different woman, makes your heart sink. "no, no! michael, im sorry!"
he continues without acknowledging you. "really? do you want me to go out of my way, to find another girl to help me, when you're here?" his condescending tone makes your thighs press slightly together.
"no!" you pause, looking to the carpeted floor." "ill—ill help you, michael." you say huffing softly.
you can practically hear his grin, "yeah? youre gonna be good for me?" he says in a low voice that makes your stomach tighten. you nod.
he closes in on you slowly, like your subdued prey. long fingers finding your jaw, he lifts your gaze to his.
his smile softens into something sweeter. he gently taps the side of your thigh. "lay down, baby, I'll be a gentleman—i promise."
swallowing thickly, you inch back, before letting your back rest atop the bed.
his large palms are careful drifting down the curves of your sides, taking in the delicious figure underneath the flimsy cami you wore. "so beautiful." he mutters, more for himself to hear than you.
he notices your nervous fingers twiddling with the duvet under you, he smiles softly at your juvenile shyness around him.
he unbuttons your shorts, unzipping them patronizingly slow. your breath quickens as the denim drops quietly on the floor. youre to nervous to look at him, but you hear almost a grunt, he had to physically bite back the noise at seeing your frilly pink panties. he was sure you planned that just for him.
jumping slightly at his warm touch on your abdomen, your fingers halt his. "michael—ive never-"
"i know, angel," he paused, speaking quieter. "me neither." his confidence cracks slightly, but its back as soon as it left. "but i like it like that, you all f'me." he says with a nod to himself. before continuing his hands up your shirt, you let him.
his skin has never buzzed like it does now. electricity shoots through him as if hes touching a static television every time he runs his fingertips over your warm skin or presses a kiss along your sternum.
you look holy.
you are a mosaic window of lust, the way your silky skin absorbs the rooms dim light and the scarlet blankets caress your figure, the downcast of shadows from your lashes brushing over your cheekbones, the milky moon veiling you.
holy is an understatement.
michaels heart is pounding in his ears, as you lean up, taking him in your hands. is this what hes missed out on for so long? how is sex sinful when this feels so fucking good? it wont be sinful for long, as you line him up to your hole, hes confirmed in his head—you will be his wife.
he braces himself on his arms on your sides, as your broken whine cracks the air, the air in his breath is knocked clean out, as he enters your pussy slowly.
he makes it half way in, before your hole constricts, tightening, your body is begging him in. you lay fully back, he can see the tears glittering over your warm eyes. "shh—sh, baby, youre so good for me." he whispers, barely audible as he continues his hips forward.
youve never felt so full , his cock opening you in a way you hardly knew possible. pain throbbed around the intrusion, as he halted fully in you, it soothed into unadulterated pleasure.
he shivers at your small hands embracing his biceps as he settled, letting you (him) adjust.
"m—michael, youre so big!" you cry out, his knees buckle slightly at that, which slides him out of you, hes quick to push back in which elicits a moan from you. you attempt to close your legs out of instinct, but michaels quick to pry them back open, gaze not breaking from watching you reconnect repeatedly.
hes trying so hard to keep your pleasure at the forefront of his brain, but can you blame him when he starts thrusting a little too fast, in and out of you? hes sure he'll have a chance to make it up to you later, but for right now. hes chasing the primal voice in his head thats coaxing him in and out of your tight hole.
your crys and moans are muffled in his ear as he picks up his pace, streching you fully around him each time he slams back into you.
he leans down, grip tightly on your hips, to keep you in place while he fucks you. he watched for a moment as a tear slides down your flushed cheek. as another threatens to break, his lips connect. "please dont—dont cry angel, you look so pretty, baby." he mutters.
he burrows his head in your neck. he feels your dull nails break the skin on his back, sending his cock into you.
he can feel his finish building up, you writher under him, your own release following suit.
his grip is bruising as he lifts his head to meet your hazy gaze.
"i love you—i love you y/n" he cries out, his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncordinated. "s—say it back" hes practically begging.
"oh! i love you michael!."
stars flood his vision as he pushes fully into you, flooding your poor pussy. you whine out, back arching into him as you cum.
everything is damp, the lewd smell of sex in the air as you both gasp for air. he lays his head between your breasts.
the room stills for a pause.
"i meant it."
a/n:....sssooo how are we feeling....grin.
i got LOST IN THE SAUCE BROOO, euphoria finale fucked me up so bad so i had to dial in on a dead guy fucking you guys. i love the internet, and more so you guys!! thank u for the hype to get this done!!! plzplzplzplz make reqs guys I BEG I BEG IM ON MY KNEES TELL ME WHAT U WANT FROM ME FUUUHH
anyways, its late as balls, gn. and rip u know who (euphoria)