-Ache For You
Summary: On a summer evening at Hayvenhurst, Michael couldn’t bear staying in that house any longer. He hated that he didn’t have the nerve to finally move out. In a fit of rage, he slammed the front door shut and went for a walk to clear his mind. In the distance, he noticed a gleaming light hidden among the flowers. As his curiosity took over, he made his way toward the mysterious glow. Suddenly, a cloud of what seemed to be shimmering dust burst into the air, covering his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut in panic and coughed as he accidentally inhaled the strange dust.
Contains: OTW!Michael - Michael x reader - Bestfriend!reader - sex pollen - slight fantasy - p in v (unprotected) - creampie - ya’ll just get straight into it I’m sorry - multiple orgasms - friends to lovers! NOT PROOFREAD (18+ MDNI!)
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a/n: PLEASE bear with me. This is the first time I’m writing smth about sex pollen. I genuinly crashed out while writing this so if you think it’s too fast paced or it doesn’t make sense, just close your eyes. THANK YA!
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“The hell!?” Michael snorts as the strange substance gets inhaled. He stumbles back and falls to the ground, itching at his face with the backs of his hands, trying to get rid of the strange feeling. His eyes begin to water as his heartbeat races.
The feeling passes, and the still-confused Michael feels even weirder than before. An ache suddenly starts growing throughout his body out of nowhere. Ignoring it at first, he stands up from the grass, only to fall back down again, his body unable to move.
His muscles feel stiff, and his heartbeat grows even faster than before. His mouth parts slightly, letting out heavy breaths. The ache now reaches his core as his cock hardens in the blink of an eye.
“What the—?” he murmurs to himself in confusion. He feels his bulge growing bigger with every passing moment. Yeah, sure, he’d been bricked up countless times before, but this was outrageous.
His body felt weird. Michael squeezes his eyes shut, wincing as he lets out a sound that is half moan, half groan.
A moment passes, and he stands up, rubbing his forehead. His mind suddenly drifts to his best friend—you.
Your plump breasts, your glossed lips, the curve of your ass, how you look in a bathing suit, the sound of your voice whenever you called out his name. He can’t help but wonder what other noises you were able to make, and how you’d sound under his—
What? What was he even thinking about? No, no, he can’t. You’re his best friend, and you trust him, and he trusts you. He can’t break a friendship just because of some stupid, lustful thoughts.
Yeah, you were pretty—utterly gorgeous—but there was no way he was about to risk the breakdown of your friendship.
Until he finds himself standing at your doorstep, about to ring the doorbell.
His breathing has become heavier with every step he takes toward you. His body aches, and he can’t help but let out a groan every few breaths. It was almost painful.
His finger presses against the doorbell, and the chime echoes through the house.
You had just gotten out of the shower and were getting ready for bed when you heard the doorbell ring. Hurriedly, still dressed in your night robe, you make your way downstairs. Through the glass panel in the middle of the door, you can faintly make out Michael’s silhouette.
The moment you open the door, Michael hurriedly steps inside, closing it behind him.
“Parents home?” he asks without even greeting you.
He was acting so strangely. He was never like this. God, he’d never dare walk into your house without properly greeting you first. Something was wrong.
“Mike… what? No. What are you doing?” you ramble, slightly confused.
“God, sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. This is… this is ridiculous and just very unlike me, and—”
“Michael, it’s okay. Calm down. My house is yours too,” you reassure him, gently cupping his face with one hand.
He almost falls to his knees at your touch, catching himself against the doorframe to stay upright.
“Mikey, you’re burning!” you exclaim worriedly. “Are you okay? What’s actually going on? Don’t bullshit me right now,” you command.
His mind goes blank when he notices you’re standing in front of him wearing only your bathrobe, the outline of your body beautifully visible beneath the fabric. To him, you looked like a goddess.
He parts his lips slightly at the sight of the faint silhouette of your breasts.
“I’m not okay. No, I’m not,” he says, snapping out of his thoughts, his eyebrows furrowing into a stressed expression. “I thi—I think I just inhaled some crazy flower-type of stuff, and it’s making my body ache terribly, Y/N. It aches so, so bad.”
He almost cries out as he backs away from you. Your hand falls from his face as he walks backward, settling himself onto the couch in the living room. He sits uncomfortably, unable to hold eye contact with you.
You make your way over to him, not too close, but close enough, sitting beside him. You were more worried than before. You hated seeing Michael sick like this, let alone in a state worse than a cold.
“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to understand.
“I was just taking a walk in the park near the house, and I saw this weird flower. I—I got curious and… and I went closer, and it… it exploded! And ever since I inhaled whatever that was, I-I can’t be normal anymore,” he continues. “My body is aching, Y/N. Like, really badly. I can’t think straight, and—”
You try to scoot a little closer to him.
“Please! No,” he says, cutting himself off mid-sentence.
“Do not come any closer, please… or I might ruin everything,” he states.
Without hesitating, you scrunch your eyebrows in frustration and move closer anyway. To your surprise, he moves with lightning speed, pinning you down on the couch. Your robe shifts to the side, slightly exposing your nipple.
“I’m hurting badly right now, and you testing me isn’t making it any easier,” he says bluntly. “My body is aching, and the only thing I'm craving is you.”
“Mike... I ”
Suddenly, he snaps back to his senses. He pulls away, looking scared, like he's being possessed and fighting to get back to himself. “Oh god, I’m leaving! Sorry, so sorry!” He stands up and rushes toward the door, but you grab his wrist to stop him.
“Mike, please. You haven't even let me try to help you,” you say.
“Y/N, my body is so hot. I’m weak... and my cock is just so hard. I need release, badly.” He looks pained as he impulsively pulls off his sweater, leaving him in just a simple white t shirt.
“Please, Michael. Just ask for what you want. I’m worried, and I can’t just watch you suffer like this,” you say, half angry and half sad from the frustration.
“Please touch me, Y/N. I need you to just touch me.”
The shock hits you, but you aren't entirely surprised; you knew this was coming.
“Will you, mama?” His eyes lock onto yours, aching for an answer.
“I will,” you whisper. “That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?”
You bite your bottom lip softly, hesitating to touch Michael, but you finally decide to give in. You press your hands flat against his clothed chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart beneath the fabric.
“Ohh,” Michael gasps lightly, his knees buckling at the sensation of your touch. The friction of your palms against his chest only makes his cock feel more urgent, the ache in his core worsening with every passing second.
He doesn't wait for you to move. He reaches out, his hands grabbing your waist with a desperate, almost feral strength, and pulls you toward the couch.
He needs you closer, needs the heat of your body to drown out the stinging ache of the pollen. He drags you down until you're both sinking into the cushions, and then he's on you, his mouth crashing against yours in a hungry, messy need.
There is no gentleness in it—he tastes of desperation, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as he groans deep in his throat, sounding more like a starved animal than a man.
“It’s hurting too much, Y/N... I need to be inside you,” he states pulling away catching breathe, the sheer pain and need vibrating in his voice.
He’s acting completely feral, his hands roaming your body with a frantic, uncoordinated energy as he struggles to get your robe out of the way.
He’s breathing so hard it sounds like he’s running a marathon, his eyes blown wide and dark with a hunger that scares you just a little.
He fumbles with his pants, his movements jerky and rushed, until he finally manages to free his hardening length. He doesn't even have time to fully position himself—he just grabs your hips, pulling you onto him with a sudden, violent tug.
As he pushes himself inside you in one single, heavy stroke, the sensation is so intense that he can't hold it back.
Your body instinctively arches at the sensation. The burn taking you over almost immediately.
His entire body stiffens, his eyes roll back into his head, and with a loud, broken cry, he cums instantly, the force of it leaving him shaking and breathless on the couch.
“Mikey! S-slow down!” You protest, digging tourniquets in his back.
The force of his first release leaves him gasping, his forehead resting against yours as he trembles from the sudden, violent peak.
For a moment, you think the toxins might have been released, that the explosion of pleasure was enough to satisfy the pollen's demand.
But as his breathing begins to even out, you feel his grip on your hips tighten again, his fingers digging into your skin with a desperate, renewed hunger. He isn't done—if anything, the sensation of being inside you has only fueled his need even more.
He doesn't pull out. Instead, he stays buried deep within you, his hips beginning to move in a slow, heavy grind that makes your head spin.
The ache in his eyes hasn't faded—it has only transformed into a dark, hungry focus. He looks up at you, his face flushed and sweaty, his gaze scanning your features as if he’s trying to consume you whole.
"God, Y/N... it's not enough," he groans, his voice a low, pained moan. "It's still there... the ache... it's still so bad." He cries out.
He begins to pick up the pace, his movements becoming more frantic and uncoordinated as the pollen continues to drive him wild.
He’s chasing the sensation, trying to catch that high again, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythmic, desperate force. Every time he hits your sweet spot, he lets out a jagged, animalistic sound, his body jerking as he fights to stay in control of the overwhelming pleasure.
He is completely consumed by the need to feel you, to fill the emptiness that the strange flower has left him with.
He's chasing the peak, his eyes searching yours for any sign of the same desperate hunger, his entire existence narrowed down to the friction between your bodies.
The friction of his heavy, desperate thrusts sends waves of intense pleasure crashing through you, leaving your mind in a fog.
It feels insane completely, utterly insane to be pinned to the couch, having your best friend fuck you with such feral hunger.
You’ve spent years thinking about what it might be like to have him, to feel his weight against you or his lips on yours, but you never imagined it would feel like this.
This isn't the sweet, romantic encounter you might have dreamed of—this is raw, and overwhelming. Yet you’d be lying if you said that this also wasn’t making you hornier by the moment.
"Please... don't stop... just keep going," he pleads, his voice breaking as he thrusts deeper, trying to find the exact angle that will drown out the ache.
He is acting like a man possessed, his movements becoming faster and more punishing as the tension builds once again. He is chasing the sensation with a speed that is almost frightening.
Your head lolls back against the cushions, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to process the feeling of the sensation.
Every time he slams into you, a jolt of pure electricity shoots from your core to your fingertips, making your toes curl and your breath hitch in a high, broken sob.
The pleasure is so intense that it almost feels like a physical weight pressing down on you. You feel like you’re losing yourself, drifting somewhere between the comfort of your long friendship and the terrifying, beautiful intensity of this new, lustful reality.
“Mike... oh god, Michael,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you try to anchor yourself. Unable to form even a sentence.
The way he’s chasing the sensation, the way he’s acting like he might actually break you, is driving you to the edge.
You can feel your own walls clenching around him, pulsing in time with the frantic rhythm he’s setting, and the sensation is so good it’s almost painful. You’re caught in the middle of a storm of pleasure that you never want to end, even as your heart screams that this is all happening far too fast.
Michael continues to thrust with a punishing, rhythmic force. The pleasure is becoming too much to bear—it is a tightening, heavy pressure that threatens to shatter you.
Your breathing turns ragged and uneven as your entire world narrows down to the point where your bodies meet. You are riding the edge of a massive orgasm, your heart racing to keep up with the intensity.
The tension finally reaches a breaking point. The pressure feels like it is about to explode. Michael’s rhythm becomes frantic, his thrusts hitting deep and hard as he chases his own desperate high.
The sensation is so intense it is almost blinding, and your walls begin to squeeze him with a life of their own.
“M-mike fuck! I’m gon-!” you scream, your voice breaking as the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you.
Your back arches violently, your internal muscles clamping down on him in tight, pulsing waves.
The sensation of you clenching around him is the final trigger. Michael lets out a loud, guttural roar, his body stiffening as he hits his peak alongside you.
He slams into you one last time, his entire frame shuddering as he cums hard. As you both peak, he leans down, his mouth crashing against yours in a messy, desperate kiss, tasting the sweat and the heat of your shared release.
The room spins as the intensity fades. You both collapse back into the couch cushions, gasping for air, your bodies still tangled together.
You have lost track of how many times this has happened—you have lost count of the orgasms. Everything is a blur of heat, friction, and heavy breathing.
Michael’s body finally gives in to exhaustion. His movements slow, and his heavy breathing turns into long, deep sighs. He does not pull out, though.
He stays buried deep inside you, his weight pressing you into the soft fabric of the couch. His head falls heavily onto your chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he finally passes out from the physical toll.
The living room falls silent, save for your synchronized, heavy breathing. The air is thick, smelling of his strange skin toxins and the musky scent of sex. You lie there in the dim light, your heart slowly calming as you feel the warm, sleepy weight of him resting on you.
As you lie in the silence, reality begins to sink in. Was this even a good idea? Should you have let him in like this? Will things be normal again? No, not at all. Who were you kidding?
You look down at the mess on the couch and your tangled, sweaty clothes, feeling a sudden jolt of panic. You have to figure out how to clean all of this up before your parents come home tomorrow night.
