RDR2 | Micah Bell X F! Reader
❤︎ Summary: Your shift is over, and as always, Micah is there to pick you up. But this time, he doesn’t just wait outside—he comes looking for you. The first hours morning feels normal until something unexpected happens. You freeze in place, realizing what just occurred, and Micah notices immediately. His reaction is… well, very Micah. What starts as an uncomfortable situation turns into something else entirely when you both get home.
❤︎ Tags genre: Mentions of menstrual blood, mild anxiety, alcohol, drinkers, light angst, blo0d, teasing, emotional comfort, rough affection, slaps and pains, dominant Micah Bell, modern AU, asphyxiation, established relationship, implied smut, piv, tension, rough handling, suggestive themes, accident, comfort, hurtcomfort,teasing , motorcycle, readerInsert, emotionaltension, vulnerability, fainting , anxiety, crying, softMicah (kind of).
🚨 CONTENT EXTREME WARNING: Mention blood, Explicit sexual content, Breathplay, Intense power dynamics, Strong language, Potential psychological discomfort. AVOID IT IF IT BOTHERS YOU.
Author notes: I as an author am completely aware of how different this can be for some people, but I have always had an interest in my interior about things like this in this period of the female body, I believe that other women become more sensitive at this time and even painful always need to relax and feel pleasure. Please, if you don't like this type of content, just avoid reading it so you don't feel bad. I hope you like it and enjoy this little...gift? Dedicated to Micah Bell's (the mouse) fangirls 🐁, if you can like or republish the post, so I'll know you'll have liked it and then I can create more of these.
Saturday’s early morning was cold and dark, but the smell of gasoline and the flashing neon signs gave the city a vibrant energy. The modern city’s buzz didn’t change Micah’s mood one bit—he was a predator in a world full of prey, impatient and bad-tempered. And you? You were the only one he didn’t devour right away. He only played with you… waiting for the right moment to eat you up.
And you know exactly what kind of eating we’re talking about…
He should have been waiting by his motorcycle like always, leaning against it, cigarette at the corner of his mouth, looking at his watch with boredom until you showed up. But not today. Today, he went to get you in the alley you always walked through before meeting him.
You stepped out of work, feeling the cold wind against your legs. The gray skirt that was part of your uniform was flawless, matching the rest of the professional look your boss required. Elegant, formal… but still short enough to catch some attention.
You saw him before he even spoke. He was leaning against the alley wall, one foot propped behind him, black leather jacket open just enough to show a silver chain hanging from his neck.
— Well, well… look who’s all dressed up today. — His voice was a husky whisper, dripping with mockery.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide a small smile.
— Why are you here? Did your bike break down? — you asked, walking toward him.
Micah smirked, that signature grin that never meant anything good.
— And miss the chance to see you all pretty before you hop on my bike? Not a fucking chance.
Before you could answer, he moved. In one swift motion, he grabbed you by the waist, trapping you against him.
One of his hands rested easily on your waist, the other stayed in his jacket pocket, like it didn’t take much effort to keep you there. His lips were warm, demanding, and the kiss had that bitter taste of cigarettes mixed with something purely him. His mustache tickled your skin, making you giggle.
You gripped his shoulders, feeling warmth spread through your body. But Micah always liked to play. He bit your lower lip, pulling it slightly before murmuring:
— You dress like this just to tease me, don’t you?
— I just got off work, idiot.
— So what? Can’t I enjoy the view? But good, now every client there knows this little piece of ass is mine. — He pulled his hand out of his pocket and smacked your ass, making you go red.
He laughed, his hand squeezing your waist lightly, a reminder that, if he wanted to, he could pull you even closer.
You sighed, his breath brushing against your face, making your nose itch. Then… you sneezed.
You turned your head quickly to the side, covering your mouth with your hand.
— S-Sorry — you mumbled, trying to regain composure.
But as soon as you rubbed your nose with the back of your hand and lowered it to fix your skirt that had ridden up a little, a chill ran down your spine. It wasn’t the cold. It wasn’t the wind.
It felt like something invisible had touched you, dragging over your skin, almost freezing…?
Micah’s eyes narrowed. He raised an eyebrow, watching you with that sharp look of his, the one that noticed everything.
Micah tilted his head, looking at you seriously, scanning your face with curiosity.
— What’s wrong? You just went stiff like a rock…
You didn’t answer. Shock was still running through your body, like your brain was trying to register what the hell had just happened.
Micah didn’t like being ignored.
He grabbed your chin with two fingers and turned your face toward him.
His tone wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t harsh either. It was firm, like he was saying don’t try to hide anything from me.
And you… you still didn’t know what to say. Because in that moment, as you stared into his blue eyes, even though your vision was slightly blurry, you couldn’t be sure.
The shock ran through you like an electric current. The discomfort came fast, followed by a sudden, warm, wet sensation. You shuddered, feeling liquid rush down way too fast, soaking your underwear, sliding down your thigh before you could react.
Your face went up in flames, your heart pounded. The horror of being there, in the middle of the alley, with Micah looking at you, touching you, kissing you just moments ago… and now, your own body had betrayed you like this?
You curled up, instinctively pressing your legs together, hands gripping your skirt in a desperate attempt to hide the inevitable. Staring at nothing, like you were in a trance.
That sharp, ever-watchful blue gaze of his flickered down to the ground, where your hands fidgeted restlessly—until something caught his eye:
— The fuck… — He blinked, his expression hardening for a second. His entire body tensed.
The first thing Micah thought was that someone had done something to you.
The second was that you were hurt and hadn’t even realized it.
But then… his eyes trailed upward. Slowly. Following the streak of blood from the ground to the hem of your skirt, up to your thigh, where a thin red trail was again making its way downward.
His brow furrowed, his face twisted in mild annoyance, he took a deep breath and tilted his head, finally taking in your flushed face and the sheer mortification in your expression.
You couldn’t look at him. Your chest rose and fell quickly, your eyes fixed on anything but him.
Micah ran his tongue over his teeth, clicked it against the roof of his mouth, and smirked—amused.
— Doll…are you making fun of my face?
You still couldn’t speak.
He let out a quiet snort, taking off his leather jacket at a slow, unbothered pace.
— Red Sea’s floodin’, and you didn’t even notice? You hearin’ me, woman?
You wanted to throw yourself into a hole. Instead, you just took the jacket he handed you and tied it around your waist, gripping the fabric tight to make sure nothing showed.
— Alright, alright, let’s get the hell outta here before someone thinks I stabbed you or—hell, that somebody knocked over a bucket of food coloring.
He slung an arm over your shoulder and led you out of the alley. The walk back to your place was mostly quiet—except for the occasional giggle he let out whenever he saw you walking weird, trying to prevent any more accidents. You looked like you were in labor, with the way you breathed and shuffled, practically dragging yourself onto the motorcycle like you were in unbearable pain.
He even joked about how lucky you were that the bike was black—so no one would see blood on the seat if it happened.
But it was when you finally reached your building—climbing up the brick stairs to the black door—that he completely lost it.
— Oh, for love’a Christ, sweetheart, you look like you just walked outta a damn horror movie… — He clutched his stomach, leaning back as laughter boomed from his chest. — Waddlin’ like a damn pregnant cow that just gave birth, doll! This is ridiculous!
You turned your head and shot him a murderous glare.
— Hah! Can’t! This is a goddamn mess!
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, watching you climb them like you were stepping on glass, his jacket still covering your skirt, your face red with effort and humiliation.
On the porch, a few plants dangled from their pots, vines climbed up the iron railings, and in the corner, an ashtray with old cigarette butts and a skull-shaped beer glass sat abandoned on the table. How long had he left that there?!
Micah slowly made his way up, his laughter dying down to a lazy smirk. With no effort, he reached behind you, grabbing the handle and the lock, pushing the door open without hesitation.
You practically bolted inside, wanting to disappear on the spot.
He was still chuckling as he followed you in.
Micah strolled into the living room, turning on the TV without even looking at what was on. You, on the other hand, were already stripping—ripping off your uniform, panties, bra, and stockings—rushing to toss everything in the washing machine and get into actual clean clothes. Now rummaging through the drawers, looking for wet wipes and a towel to clean yourself up.
Micah threw himself onto the couch, waiting for the next episode of your humiliation.
And, of course, ready to tease you for the rest of the night.
The beer can cracked as Micah pulled the tab, bringing it to his lips without a hurry. The sound of the gas escaping blended with the TV’s background noise—whatever was playing, he wasn’t really paying attention.
He took a long sip, downing half the can at once. The cold liquid was a nice contrast against the warmth of his body.
Slowly, he set the can down on the coffee table, right next to his boot—still dusty from the streets—before unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper of his jeans, letting himself breathe. He threw his body back against the couch, relaxing like he had just finished a long day of work.
That was when, some time later, he heard your footsteps.
You walked into the living room in light aquamarine-blue pajamas—a color Micah seemed to like, though he never commented on it. Your hair was dry and silky, probably from the blow dryer you had just used, and you moved slowly toward the fridge, grabbing one of those mint-milk drinks and, right after, a bar of milk chocolate.
Micah watched your movements from the corner of his eye.
You came back to the living room and sat on the couch—but… farther away.
Without changing his expression, he just shifted his gaze to the side, observing your posture. You were curled up, almost guarded, eating slowly.
Micah clicked his tongue, impatient.
He kept staring at you from the corner of his eye, now throwing an arm over the back of the couch.
— Swear? (sarcasm) ‘Cause it sure looks like you are. Come ‘ere.
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. But you were stubborn.
— Or am I gonna have to come get ya?
His tone made you sigh. Slowly and reluctantly, you scooted closer. But, of course, for him, that wasn’t enough.
He pulled you right onto his lap.
Your expression changed instantly. You didn’t actually want to cry, but you felt pouty and sulky, your face showing that little childish frustration that always made Micah laugh. But this time, he seemed annoyed.
— Aw, for fuck’s sake, look at that face. What is it now?
He ran a hand through your hair—but in that stiff, awkward way that was so him. You relaxed without even realizing it, eyes dropping, body growing heavier against his.
— The jacket didn’t get dirty… — you murmured.
— Good. — he muttered. — And even if it had, I’d still wear it…
Suddenly, he gave your thigh a firm squeeze. You flinched slightly, feeling his hand slide down your legs, massaging your feet.
The relief was instantaneous.
The bastard knew what he was doing.
You exhaled slowly, lips parting slightly as your body melted into his touch—like a cat—feeling those strong fingers pressing into the soft flesh, even with the slight roughness of your feet from work shoes.
But Micah didn’t stop there.
His hands slid up, gripping your thighs with that same bold possessiveness he always had. His fingers dragged along the elastic waistband of your shorts, tugging it aside.
He raised an eyebrow in fake innocence—and instead of stopping, he pinched your skin.
He grinned, amused, then slid the strap of your pajama top down, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. The scratch of his mustache against your skin made you laugh—even though you didn’t want to—made you shudder and wriggle again.
Micah chuckled too, only lower, rougher, the sound vibrating in his chest.
Then, suddenly, he pulled you higher, pressing you flush against him.
Your arms wrapped around his neck on reflex.
His mouth found your throat, nipping at your skin before murmuring, voice husky and dangerous:
— How ‘bout we… you know, Sugarpie… — he smirked against your skin. — I got no problem with a little blood, doll.
Micah’s kisses grew slower, deeper, his mouth exploring your skin with a mix of teasing and possession. You moaned against him, letting him continue, your body warm under his hands. But soon, you realized Micah was serious about wanting more.
His rough hands gripped your hips, his kisses trailing down to your chest, and he was already leaning you back against the couch, the back of his neck settling against your shoulder—positioning himself in a way that made it clear he had something planned.
You held your breath, lifted your torso slightly, hesitated, and with a voice shaky from pleasure, murmured:
— Micah… we can’t. I… I’m bleeding!
He tilted his head back, looking at you under the dim light. Fuck, he looked so good like that—his sharp blue eyes half-lidded as he studied you for a second.
He licked his lips, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
— If you wanna know, doll… — His voice dropped lower, eyes glinting with mischief. — I’ve thought about this a few times.
A shiver ran down your legs and up your neck.
His fingers slid over your skin again, tracing patterns that made your body react instantly.
— Wanna know what conclusion I came to? Hm?
You looked at him, unsure if you really wanted to hear the answer.
Micah smirked in that way—his way.
— That blood doesn’t bother me. On the contrary, I wanna see how this pretty pussy would look just like this.
Your face burned hotter. The idea seemed absurd, weird… even gross. You parted your lips, hesitating.
— M-Micah, this is… I don’t know, it feels weird. And kinda disgusting. And you’ve been drinking.
He raised his eyebrows and laughed—like your hesitation was amusing to him.
— Disgusting? Doll, you think I give a shit about a little blood?
His fingers traced slowly down your arms, unbuttoning the front of your pajama top. Your body reacted immediately—tiny, invisible goosebumps rising on your skin, your nipples hardening slightly against your soft, plush breasts.
— It’s not “a little blood,” Micah. — Your voice came out weaker than you wanted.
He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming under the dim living room light.
— So what? You’re mine, my girl. — He grinned—that cruel, playful grin. — And I do whatever I want with what’s mine.
— Don’t think you can boss me around, Micah! — You snapped.
He pulled your top off your shoulders, groaning at the sight—your breasts looked fuller, your chest rising and falling with every breath. He wasted no time grabbing your wrists, pinning them beside your head, licking and sucking your tits, tugging at your nipples almost aggressively.
He wanted you desperate. And fuck, you knew it.
Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst out of your chest. You knew he talked like that just to rile you up, to watch you squirm, to leave you speechless. And yet…
He lifted his head, the sound of a wet pop filling the air, his lips now brushing along your jaw before moving to your ear.
— Besides… — His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. — Do you have any idea how fucking hard this makes me? Hm? Even more than seeing your pretty ass red from my spanks.
He chuckled against your skin, fingers digging into your waist.
— What’s wrong, doll? Scared?
You were. And the worst part? He loved it. And maybe… maybe you did too—always so desperate for him, always wanting him exactly like this.
Micah stared at you, his gaze dark and intense. He tilted his head slightly, his lips still wet from earlier kisses.
— Take it off, doll. All of it. —Referring to the lower part that covered his legs.
Your body froze in pure pleasure for a moment, but you knew he wasn’t asking—Micah never asked. With trembling fingers, you pulled down the hem of your pajama pants along with your panties and pad. Fuck, this was so embarrassing. You felt his gaze burning into your exposed skin. The hesitation only made his smirk grow.
He moved closer again, hands sliding up your waist, pulling away the last remaining fabric until it fell to the floor. Your heart pounded as the cold leather of the couch pressed against your bare back.
Micah loomed over you, blond hair falling slightly over his face as he watched you. His eyes traveled over every inch of your body, his chest rising and falling slowly—like a predator preparing to pounce.
You squirmed slightly, biting your lip, a warm nervousness curling in your stomach. He noticed. And he liked it.
— What’s wrong, huh? — He chuckled low, fingers tracing the side of your body, sending a shiver through you. — You look like a sad little pup. But I know you’re faking…
You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. You were anxious. A mix of anticipation and shame. But you wanted this. Wanted him.
Micah knew. And for once, he didn’t mock you for it. Instead, he lowered his head, pressing slow kisses to your shoulder, trailing down to your collarbone, then to the center of your chest.
— Relax, doll. — His voice was a deep purr against your skin.
He glanced to the side, scanning the couch cushions. Grabbing one, he slid it under your lower back, adjusting you so you’d be more comfortable.
Then he looked at you again.
— Ready?— That cocky smirk was still there, but there was something deeper in those blue eyes.
Ready!? Like you could ever be ready for this!
His hands trailed down your thighs, gripping them firmly as he kissed just below your belly button, feeling the heat of your skin under his lips. His mustache brushed against you lower, your swollen folds still hidden between your thighs. He spread them open like a steel clamp, the rough tickle of his facial hair making you shiver, even if you didn’t laugh. He knew you felt it.
The scent of iron grew stronger.
Micah lowered himself further, his warm breath between your legs. His tongue dragged slowly, exploring. The metallic taste mixed with the heat of your body. He licked again, without hesitation, as if he were tasting something rare. The slight saltiness, the sweetness of you—
He groaned, deep and satisfied.
— Mmmmp… You know I don’t mind getting messy, doll, — he murmured against your skin. — In fact… I think I like this too much.
His hands squeezed your thighs, thumbs pressing into your sensitive flesh. Micah showed no disgust, no hesitation. He loved it. The way he devoured you made it clear.
You couldn’t even speak from the overwhelming sensation, tried to say something, but barely managed:
— Mmmhp… M-Micah…! Oh… slower, please. It’s weird. — OH! T-This is… I don’t know…
He pretended not to hear you. He always did that—on purpose.
You moaned as if it was the first time he licked and sucked you. It wasn’t. But like this? While bleeding? It felt a million times more intense—painful and pleasurable—like a goddamn blood pact with him.
He laughed between your thighs, placing more kisses along them.
Short, gasping moans left you when his tongue dived between your folds again, slow kisses and obscene wet sounds filling the room.
— What if—ah—what if we make a mess on the couch?
You grabbed at his shoulders, trying to pull him away, but instead, he buried his face in you, pressing against your clit hard.
A choked moan left your lips at the firm pressure.
He mumbled a “fuck it” between your legs.
Then, Micah lifted his head slowly from between your thighs, his eyes locking onto yours.
His blues were dark. Feral.
He looked at you like a wild animal—someone who owed nothing to anyone. His mouth was filthy, lips stained crimson, blood clinging to his mustache and the scruff along his jaw.
He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting you again. Your face burned.
Silence stretched between you.
Your eyes flickered down—to the blood, to the state of him. You pointed a teasing finger at his face, raising a brow.
— You like what you see, doll?
His laugh was deep, husky. He grabbed the back of your head, pulling your mouth to his. The metallic taste of your own blood mixed with the slow, dirty kiss, neither of you in a hurry to end it.
When he pulled away, his fingers slid down your waist.
— On all fours, Sugarpie. — It wasn’t a request.
You obeyed, lying on your stomach against the couch.
Then, he folded your knees, spreading your legs apart completely. Your eyes squeezed shut in shyness, feeling the warmth of your menstrual flow dripping between your thighs, streaking down onto the couch cushions.
Before you could even react, you heard the sound of his clothes hitting the floor.
His weight followed right after.
He chuckled and groaned softly, watching your hips sway ever so slightly from side to side. The dizziness of arousal clouded your mind. His large, calloused hands roamed your sides, spreading your cheeks apart to look at both of your holes—your cunt drenched in deep crimson.
Micah’s grip on you tightened, and you could practically hear his teeth grinding.
— You really are a little brat… — he groaned.
The air around you burned. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple, your fingers digging into the pillows in front of you, your pussy clenching around nothing. You needed to be fucked. Now.
Normally, he’d tease you, torture you just enough to see you cry, beg for it. But tonight, he seemed just as desperate as you—probably because of the days you two hadn’t been able to fuck.
Now, he only paused behind you to spread your pussy apart briefly with his thumb.
He grabbed a bottle of lube he’d left on the couch, squeezing it until the thick liquid dripped onto his dick. It smelled like cherry bubblegum. You hated that scent—but right now, you couldn’t care less.
You whimpered when he rubbed the tip against your clit.
— Impatient, huh? Be a good girl, Sugarpie…
A loud smack landed on your ass, burning like it always did. But you liked it.
Then he started to push in, his cock splitting you open. The stretch burned—that sharp sting when the fat head breached you, then the slow, agonizing slide deeper. You were so much more sensitive than usual, and Micah wasn’t helping.
He wasn’t insanely long, but fuck, he was thick. Wide. Heavy. Hot—like his broad chest pressed against your back.
If your cramps weren’t so bad, you’d be riding his fat cock right now, sinking down on him until you were sobbing on his chest. Or sprawled on his stomach, bouncing while his hands controlled your hips.
You’d give him that treat soon enough.
But right now, his cock sank into you all the way.
And fuck, you forgot you were even bleeding. But with that thick, girthy cock plugging your hole, it was like he was stopping the blood, keeping it inside you—making you feel less messy.
You moaned helplessly into the pillows.
Micah, however, was quiet behind you. One of his hands slid up your belly—higher—until he gripped your breast, making you arch into his hold. He kissed and bit at your shoulder, growling deep in his chest, possessive and hungry.
Then, in a split second, his cock was moving—pulling back and slamming forward.
You tried to move away, but his hands clamped down on your thighs, dragging you back. That fat cock pounded into you—fast, slow, fast, slow—stretching you open, stuffing you full.
— Feels like I just shoved my cock into a mashed berry pie… — he groaned, watching himself disappear inside you, coated in slick and crimson.
Micah’s nails dug into your thighs, keeping them stretched open as he rutted into you, thrusts deep and relentless.
He was loud, fucking you from behind, watching the way you sobbed, gasped, took him without even trying to pull away.
— Mmmh, tighter than usual, Sugarpie… — he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure. — Such a greedy little thing, sucking me in so good…
He laughed low, shutting his eyes tight, forcing himself not to cum too soon.
— M-Micah…! Mhmmnn—I need you to… to…
But before you could finish, he slammed into you, quick and deep—knocking the words from your throat.
No one had ever done this to you before. Your thoughts swirled with both shame and blinding pleasure.
— S-stop! — you whispered. — W-wait a… just… oh—
Your body collapsed, trembling, melting into the couch as he ignored your pleas.
No cramps. No pain. Just his cock—his cock, his cock, his cock, his cock—
Your hands twitched, weakly pushing at him, but he didn’t like that.
His pace snapped faster, making you drool into the pillow, your mind shutting down.
Forced yourself to stop resisting.
And the moment you did, his grip on your hips loosened slightly. A deep hum of approval rumbled from his chest.
Your head dropped forward, forehead pressing into the cushions in complete submission.
Almost like you belonged there.
— Oh God, oh God, oh my God… — you babbled against the lined fabric, your legs shaking with the effort to close—but failing against his grip.
— I like it when you fight me, Sugar… — he drawled, grabbing your arms and pinning them behind your back. His breath was hot against your spine as he pressed your legs open—to an almost painful degree. — But I’m gonna take what I want.
He slammed into you again, fucking in and out, in and out.
Your pussy was already numb—but pulsing for release.
You couldn’t form words anymore—just broken, stuttering syllables, your fingers pressing harder against your mouth, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you climbed toward a peak so intense it scared you.
Again, his cock slammed deep inside—your muscles locked—and then—
Or you thought you would.
But your muffled moans died in your throat as you suddenly felt it—felt him—pull away.
Heavy breaths, sweat trickling down his forehead as he growled:
His body was still hot against yours, but the movement had ceased entirely.
You blinked, dazed, your voice trembling in shock:
— W-What the hell, Micah!!?
He threw his head back against the pillow, clearly frustrated.
He threw his head back into the pillow, clearly irritated. And still hard, his pink dick–in summer peach color, stained with his blood. He didn't even seem to care about that detail.
— Shit, Sugarpie, just sit the fuck down already, — he ordered, patting his lap, his belly—the soft, shameless beer gut he carried like a king.
You crossed your arms, your pussy still trembling—your whole body still trembling—as you narrowed your eyes.
— Y-you stopped on purpose, you fucking asshole!
His gaze cut through you—sharp—but the corner of his mouth curled into a taunting smirk.
— And now I want you to do the work… — he murmured, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you onto him. — Be a cowgirl for me, sweetheart.
The sweat between you made everything hotter—stickier—more unbearable.
So you sank back down on his cock, hands bracing against his belly.
You let yourself relax around the thick, deep intrusion, getting used to just how far he was in this time.
His hands stroked possessively along your sides.
Then—when he started moving—you choked on the sensation.
He was reaching so deep, his balls slapping against you, his cock pushing into places you didn’t even know existed.
Micah groaned beneath you, bracing himself on the couch, watching as you lifted and sank onto him—slow at first, deliberate, the fat girth stretching you, filling you.
His skin was sticky with sweat, pressed flush against yours—the coarse hair on his chest brushing against your palms.
Your eyes widened in disbelief as pleasure coiled inside you again.
Your thighs tried to spread wider—but you were trapped between his strong legs, locked in place, unable to do anything except bounce and grind.
Then, as your pace slowed—your body shaking with pleasure, pausing to catch your breath—
Only the faint sound of the TV filled the room.
The second he felt you stop, he grabbed you by the waist, yanked you up off his cock—your blood dripping—and then slammed you back down in one hard thrust.
His fingers squeezed your breast—tight, possessive.
Your eyes snapped open, startled out of your trance.
— Oh… — you gasped. Then again— oh… ohhh…
Because the fire in your gut was reigniting—burning hotter, higher—so soon after the last high.
Micah’s rough fingers traced along your skin—slowly—dragging from your shoulder… up… up… to your neck.
Just let his large, heated palm creep over your throat—tightening with a pressure that was all too familiar.
Your body reacted instantly.
Your chest heaved, breath cut off.
You gasped, eyes wide, locked onto his—while a slow grin spread across his face.
— Look at you… — his voice was low—almost a growl.
He tilted his head, watching—observing every little twitch of your body, the way your legs clenched around his waist.
His grip tightened—just a little.
Your mouth parted—desperate for air.
Micah only laughed, smug.
This didn’t happen every time, But when it did—he savored every second.
And you…? Deep down, you liked it too.
It only made you hungrier to cum on his cock.
But you couldn’t even think anymore—your mind already turning to mush as he fucked into you—harder, deeper, more.
The sensation of his body beneath you was overwhelming.
The thick scent of sweat, leather, cigarettes, and beer flooded your senses—mixing with the metallic taste still lingering in your mouth. Now, with your tits pressed against his chest, your arms gripping his broad shoulders, your brows furrowed in pleasure—he grunted, slamming up into you.
The kisses were messy, hungry, drenched in the animalistic fury only he possessed.
Micah held you firm, his rough, calloused hands gripping your waist like he was claiming you.
Then, suddenly—he flipped you.
Shoving you back onto the couch.
His eyes glowed in the dark—cold, unreadable.
The kisses didn’t stop—deeper, wilder.
Thank God, he hadn’t pulled out.
His rough fingers slid back up—gripped your throat—squeezed.
And in its place—came a wave of mind-numbing pleasure.
Your back arched—your hands shot up, gripping his wrists—your body trembled between panic and bliss.
Micah watched—his blue eyes locked onto yours—devouring every second.
Then—just like always—he knew exactly when to let go.
— I know how much you love this, Sugarpie… — he rasped. — Imagine how good it’ll feel when I fill you up…
Your whimpers only made him wilder.
One of his hands lifted your knee—hooking your leg over his shoulder.
You could barely think—couldn’t string words together—It felt so fucking good—
Your needy little “Mmmhmmp!” noises filled the room—
And for the first time in your life—
You’d never been more grateful to be bleeding. Not that you could think about that anymore.
Because the second your brain short-circuited. And your mind melted into nothing—
The only thing left was him.
You could feel yourself come, slow and gratifying, Micah above you groaning roughly as he held your thigh and the other over his shoulder. You felt the ropes of his cum spill inside you, pulling out of you. You gasped at the loss of contact between your bodies, your sensitivity making you shiver. He settled beside you, slipping an arm behind your neck. The heat of his body against yours was warm and dense, his muscles still rigid under his skin. The sound of the TV playing in the background, muffled, mixed with the distant noise of the city across the street. Your head rested on his chest now, feeling his heartbeat against your ear and his scent. His scent—leather, smoke, and something metallic—was still strong in the air.
And then the tears came, without any warning.
First, silent. Then, accompanied by a trembling breath you couldn’t hold back.
His body, which had been relaxed, tensed slightly. He lowered his gaze without moving his head, feeling your chest rise and fall in a more irregular rhythm. The warmth of your breath against him was wetter than before.
You shifted, trying to hide your face even more against his chest.
You didn’t answer. Your shoulder lifted subtly in a shrinking motion, as if you wanted to hide even more from him. Even you didn’t understand what had come over you.
Maybe it was the fault of the extreme pleasure you had felt.
The silence between you lasted a few seconds. Micah exhaled heavily through his nose, as if trying to make sense of it. His arm, previously resting on the couch, moved slowly to your back. His fingertips brushed your skin first, testing, before finally moving more decisively, stroking you in his rough and clumsy way.
You sniffled, your breath still shaky.
His voice was lower now, still heavy with exhaustion, but there was something there… curiosity, maybe concern?
You shook your head against him.
The question came out dry, direct. But he kept running his hand over your back, his fingers pressing a bit more when they reached your waist and ass, then sliding up again.
— I… don’t know, I think it’s emotional.
Your voice came out muffled against his skin, and it was in that moment that you realized your throat was tight.
Another silence. He didn’t answer immediately. He just kept up that slow, almost thoughtful touch until he let out a short grunt.
He scoffed, his tone laced with teasing, but without real malice. You let out a weak laugh, even though your voice was still thick with emotion.
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. His arm around you stayed there, holding you as if accepting that, for some reason, you needed that contact right now.
And, in his way, that was enough for you.
The weight of sleep came quickly and inevitably. Your breathing slowed, and before you even realized it, your body was already sinking into the warmth against his. Micah stayed awake for a while longer, feeling your body go limp. Only when he was sure you were asleep did he pull away from the couch, covering you with blankets, then digging through the pockets of his pants left on the floor for a pack of cigarettes.
When he found it, he got dressed and left while lighting one.
When you opened your eyes, the house was silent. You had slept longer than you should have.
You stretched, feeling your muscles slightly aching and your bones cracking, before sitting on the couch, blinking a few times to shake off the drowsiness of sleep. The metallic and musky smell hung in the air, still carrying traces of what had happened there, and it made your face heat up.
With a sigh, you stood up with your aching legs, gathering up the dirty pillows and your messy pajamas before heading to the laundry room. Then, you took a damp cloth and cleaned the couch patiently, your fingers pressing into the soft leather, erasing marks that only you knew were there.
The shower was quick, but necessary. The hot water ran over your skin, washing away the sweat, blood and cum stuck to your skin, the tiredness saying goodbye, the heat that still seemed to be stuck to you. When you got out of the shower, you felt lighter. You put on clean, comfortable clothes, walked down the hallway, and without thinking, stopped in front of the mirror.
Your reflection stared back at you. You looked… good. Maybe even pretty.
And then, without warning, a name popped into your head.
Heat rose to your face. You huffed softly, shaking your head, trying to push away the memory of how he touched you, the sound of his husky laugh still echoing in your ears. But it was no use. Your eyes were already drifting to the back door of the house.
Curious—or too anxious to admit it—you walked outside.
You walked through the backyard, across the quiet lawn, until you reached the end.
And there it was—the garage.
Micah was leaning against his bike, an unlit cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, his forearms slick with grease. The red and black motorcycle reflected the dim light of the room, the skull design on the bodywork shining under his fingers. He ran a yellow cloth over the metal with precision, the muscles in his forearms and broad shoulders flexing with each movement.
You stood there, silent, your arms crossed behind your body, your bare feet on the cold floor.
“Are you spying on me now?” His voice came low, slurred.
Your heart jumped in your chest.
“Nah.” Your answer came out too quickly to seem natural.
He let out a short sound, half laugh, half grumble, but he didn’t look at you right away.
“Then come here,” he stopped what he was doing as he stretched his legs out on the seat for you. “Or are you running away from me?”
This time, Micah looked up. The blue of his eyes met yours, direct, full of something you couldn't define.
Your body responded before your head could decide. You hesitated, but took steps forward, stopping next to him. He still seemed tall even sitting down, and before you could react, you felt his firm grip on your waist.
With one easy movement, he pulled you onto his lap.
No comments. No smirks. Just the strength of his hands holding you there. He didn't even stop what he was doing, continuing to polish the bike as if nothing was strange in this scene.
The silence grew between you.
You swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of how warm he was, of the steady rhythm of his breathing. Your heart stumbled in your chest.
Micah didn't say anything. He just continued his work, his fingers gliding over the metal with the same precision as before.
At the end, he let out a low sound, something between a grunt and a laugh, without even looking at you.
He knew how nervous you were about what happened, but he wasn't going to tease you or scare you away. Not now.
List of people’s: @micahsmalevolence-pccw
@coloruin @rom-707 @the-official-memester
