~WITTYKITTY~ @witzofkittyz - Tumblr Blog

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Master list:

The Girl Is Mine

The Sweetest Thing On HayvenHurst Street ( Pt. 1,2,3,4,5)

Bubble Pop Electric

So Soaked

Something To Prove

Love Potions

Party 4 You

#michael jackson x reader #michael jackson

witzofkittyz

-Party 4 you-

Content:18+ Post otw PreThrillerEra x BsfReader, a little angsty, jealous Michael, switchMichael, switchReader, p in v sex, reader takes Michael’s virginity, fingering, finger riding, unprotected , thigh riding, friends with benefits to established relationship | use of dashes, my work is not ai.

Summary: What happens when your ex boyfriend crashes your surprise birthday party that your bestfriend Michael set up for you, leading to you and Michael having to solve some unresolved issues that you guys have ?

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"Oh jeez, Marlon, can you get off your butt and help me put these balloons up?" Michael says feeling completely frustrated with how his brother was slacking off. The decorations had to be perfect. They needed to be perfect for you.

It was a surprise birthday party, and Michael had convinced himself that his deep feelings for you were just because of your long history together. Nothing else. Being his very first friend when he moved to Hayvenhurst meant the world to him. Uprooting from a small town like Gary, Indiana, and moving into such a fancy California neighborhood hadn’t been easy, but you made everything better. You used to walk by his house constantly just to see if he could play outside. You brought over new games and even convinced your mother to visit Mrs. Katherine so you two could hang out more often.

From that point on, you were inseparable. When the Jacksons became famous, your time together was cut short, but Michael always found a way to stay close. He sent letters filled with pictures of the states he visited and took goofy polaroids just to make you laugh. On lucky nights, you both stayed up talking on the phone for hours, sharing every little thing you were passionate about.

Everything changed after the massive success of his Off the Wall album, when Michael started spending more time at home. You had come over to his room just like old times, laughing and teasing each other until a silly argument turned into a wrestling match right on his carpet.

"Oh, come on, you're cheating!" you laughed, trying to swipe a pillow from his hands to hit him with it.

"I am not!" Michael grinned, his high-pitched laugh filling the room as he blocked you easily. "You're just mad because you're losing."

"Am not! Watch this," you challenged, lunging forward to tackle him. But Michael was too quick. In one swift, smooth movement, he rolled with your weight, reversing your positions until he was hovering completely over you.

"Ha! Gotcha," Michael teased, his voice breathless. He brought his hands down, firmly pinning your wrists against the soft carpet right next to your head so you couldn't move. "Yield? Come on, say it."

"Never," you gasped out, breathless from laughing, your chest heaving. You struggled against his grip, but he held you down effortlessly.

"You have to say it," Michael insisted, but as he spoke, his voice suddenly trailed off.

The playful atmosphere instantly vanished, replaced by a heavy, sudden silence. Michael didn't let go of your wrists, but his grip changed from strong and restrictive to something intensely warm and gentle. He was hovering just inches above you, his chest rising and falling in perfect sync with yours. The laughter died on your lips as you looked up into his large, dark eyes. They were no longer bright with mischief; instead, they had darkened with a sudden, fierce intensity.

Michael’s gaze drifted slowly down to your lips, staring at them as if he were completely mesmerized. The air between you grew incredibly thick, humming with a powerful, unspoken tension that had been building for years.

"Michael..." you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

He didn't say a word. He just leaned down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours until the very last second. When his lips finally pressed against yours, a dam broke. The kiss started deep and urgent, a sudden explosion of all the hidden desire you both had been burying. Your tongues tangled, and Michael let out a soft, low groan against your mouth, finally releasing your wrists so his hands could slide up to cup your face, pulling you impossibly closer as the rest of the world completely faded away.

After that chaotic night, the floodgates opened, and the intimacy between you two quickly escalated into uncharted territory. You became each other's ultimate escape. You ended up giving Michael his very first blow job when he had a rough day at the recording studio right there in the quiet safety of his bedroom, a breathless, intensely vulnerable milestone that bound you even closer together. In return, whenever the stress of life or family got too heavy for you, Michael would gently push you back onto the bed, parting your thighs and eating you out with a patient, devouring devotion until your worries melted into pure, shaking pleasure.

It was intoxicating, but it was also terrifying. One night, sitting wrapped in his bedsheets after breathing went back to normal, you finally had a serious, hushed conversation to define whatever this was. You both explicitly agreed to just be friends with benefits, making each other feel good in ways that best friends absolutely shouldn't. You sat cross-legged on the mattress and laid it out plainly: Michael was simply too busy with his skyrocketing career to maintain a real relationship, and you didn't want to deal with the inevitable heartbreak of him constantly coming and going all the time.

"Just friends who help each other out," you had murmured.

"Right. Strictly practical," Michael had agreed, his voice soft, though his chest twisted at the words.

Yet, the secret arrangement became dizzying. Whenever you left his bedroom, you acted like nothing had happened, pretending everything was strictly platonic. But the second the door clicked shut, the tension would explode. Michael's body would ache with desire at the mere thought of kissing you, and you would burn with heat, longing to feel his tongue against yours. Yet, you both stubbornly convinced yourselves that it didn't mean anything.

"Oh, so that's why we're acting like we're robbing a bank," Marlon muttered, dropping his voice as he taped up a streamer. "A surprise party. Man, if she catches on before the lights go out, all this panicking is for nothing."

"She’s not going to catch on," Michael whispered back quickly, his palms sweating. "Mother told her she needed help picking up groceries, so she thinks she’s just coming over for a quiet family dinner. If anyone ruins this, Marlon, I swear—"

"Alright, alright, chill! My lips are sealed."

Michael checked his watch, his heart hammering against his ribs. Waiting in the dark for you was a dangerous game for his imagination. He could already picture the front door swinging open, the sudden shout of "Surprise!" echoing through the halls, and the beautiful look of shock on your face. He planned to be the first one to hug you, playing the part of the happy best friend while his skin burned with the memory of your touch. It was a sweet kind of torture—throwing you this grand party to show the world how much he valued your friendship, all while hiding the electric truth of what happened behind closed doors.

Suddenly, the front gates buzzed. A car was coming up the driveway.

"She's here!" Jackie called out from the hallway, causing everyone to scramble into hiding spots.

"Lights, Marlon! Turn off the lights!" Michael hissed.

The room plunged into total darkness. In the sudden quiet, Michael could only hear the rush of his own breathing. He stood near the center of the room, staring through the shadows toward the entrance. You were about to walk through that door thinking it was just a normal night, completely unaware that your "best friend" was standing in the dark, fighting a losing battle against how badly he wanted to claim you as his own.

“Surprise!” everyone shouted in unison.

You jumped back in shock, almost tripping over Mrs. Katherine, who caught you with a warm, maternal chuckle. Your eyes widened as you looked around the brilliantly decorated room. Standing there were your closest friends from college, your own mother, and, of course, your second family—the Jacksons.

“Oh gosh, guys! My birthday isn't for another three days. This is so sweet,” you said, laughing as you stepped forward to hug everyone who had gathered to surprise you.

“It was Mikey’s idea,” Tito said, smiling as he patted Michael on the back. “He made sure everything was just right for you.”

“Hey, if it wasn’t for me, Michael wouldn’t have added the cute sparkling decorations,” Janet chimed in, jokingly staring daggers into Tito’s head for forgetting to give her credit.

“Thank you, Michael,” you said, walking up to him. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.

To anyone else in the crowded room, it was a completely innocent motion—just a sweet gesture between two lifelong friends. But the second your lips brushed his skin, it sent a jolt straight to Michael's chest. It instantly brought back the vivid memory of those heated nights you shared together.

“You’re welcome. You deserve it...” he murmured, leaning in to wrap his arms around you for a proper hug. As he did, he inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar, intoxicating scent of your perfume. When he pulled back, his hand dipped into a fancy gift bag. “Also... I-I bought you something.” Michael’s voice sounded a little nervous, his eyes searching yours as if he were suddenly terrified you wouldn't like it.

“Michael,” you said, gently frowning. “I told you not to get me anything.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, a soft, boyish grin breaking through his nerves as he pulled a beautiful, elegant box out of the bag. “But what kind of 'best friend' would I be if I didn’t get you anything?”

He popped the box open, revealing a gorgeous necklace with your name beautifully embroidered into the design. It was stunning.

“Wow, Mikey, I—” You trailed off, carefully picking up the necklace to admire the way it caught the light. “I—lo...”

You stammered, catching the word right at the tip of your tongue. Should you say love? You two were supposed to just be friends after all, and love was a very strong word to use. You quickly cleared your throat to cover the slip. “I like it so much. Thank you.” You stepped into his space again, embracing him in another tight hug.

“I’m glad you like it,” he whispered, his smile widening with genuine relief. He gently took the piece of jewelry from your fingers. “Let me put it on you.”

As he stepped around behind you, his hands brushed against your skin. That simple, deliberate touch instantly threatened to make you lose control. Michael carefully gathered your hair, lifting it away to expose the bare skin of your neck so he could fasten the clasp. The warmth of his knuckles grazing your nape made you shiver, sending a sudden, electric tingle rushing all the way down your spine. For a fleeting second, the crowded room full of family and friends completely vanished, leaving only the burning, secret heat that always flared up whenever he touched you

The rest of the day was absolutely amazing. The high ceilings of Hayvenhurst were filled with loud laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the constant shuffling of cards. The massive living room had turned into a full-blown game zone, with people scattered across the couches and the floor, completely immersed in board games and drinks.

You were sitting cross-legged on the carpet, fiercely guarding your property cards during an intense game of Monopoly. Michael was sitting right next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours every time he leaned in to look at the board.

"Don't do it, Marlon. Don't you dare land on my boardwalk," you warned, pointing a finger at him, as he was shaking the dice with a mischievous grin.

"Oh, I'm landing on it, and I'm buying it right out from under you," Marlon teased, tossing the dice onto the board. They rolled to a stop on a safe utility space.

"Ha! Saved by the dice," Jermaine laughed, taking a sip of his drink. He leaned over from his spot on the couch, nudging you. "You better watch out though, because Michael has been quietly hoarding all the railroads while you weren't looking."

You whipped your head around to look at Michael. He was trying to keep a straight face, biting his bottom lip to hide a smirk as he neatly stacked his cash. "Michael! We're supposed to be allies!" you exclaimed, giving his arm a playful shove.

"Hey, it's just business" Michael giggled, his high-pitched laugh echoing in the room. He gave you a quick, innocent wink. But underneath the table, out of everyone's sight, his bare foot gently rubbed against your ankle—a hidden, electric touch that made your stomach flip. "Besides, I can lease them to you for a very reasonable price."

"Don't trust him," one of your close friends from college, Tasha, laughed from across the room where she was playing spades with Jackie and La Toya. "Michael plays to win."

The energy in the room was warm, safe, and perfect. You felt incredibly happy, surrounded by your college friends, your own mother chatting with Mrs. Katherine in the kitchen, and the Jacksons who always made you feel at home. For a few hours, the hidden tension between you and Michael turned into pure, lighthearted fun.

But the beautiful night came to a sudden halt when the front doorbell rang.

Because it was a surprise party, nobody else was expected. Curiosity took over, and within seconds, Marlon, Jermaine, and a few of your college friends scrambled over to the large front windows, parting the heavy curtains to peer outside.

"Uh, who is that guy standing on the porch with a giant bouquet of roses?" Marlon asked, squinting through the glass.

Tasha peeked over his shoulder, and her face instantly turned white as a sheet. She gasped, quickly covering her mouth with her hands. "Oh my god... I am so sorry. I accidentally told him where the party was. I didn't think he'd actually show up!"

You stood up from the floor, your stomach dropping into a cold knot as you looked at her. "Tasha, who is out there?"

"It's Marcus," Michael answered for her, his voice cutting through the room like ice.

The playful, giggling boy completely vanished. Michael was already at the window, pulling the curtain back with a harsh, tight grip. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscles leaped, and a dangerous, white-hot fury flashed in his dark eyes. Michael remembered every single detail about Marcus. When Michael had been away on his grueling tour, isolated in distant hotel rooms, you had called him countless nights crying your eyes out in your college dorm. He remembered sitting up until dawn listening to you sob over how terribly Marcus treated you, how he ignored you, belittled you, and made you feel worthless. Michael had felt so helpless being thousands of miles away, wishing he could fly back just to protect you.

And now, seeing the guy standing on his porch, trying to act all sweet with a massive bundle of roses, made a toxic mix of protective rage and bitter jealousy explode in Michael's chest. Who did Marcus think he was, showing up at his house, trying to ruin the perfect night Michael had spent days planning for you?

"What is he doing here?" Michael spat out, his voice shaking with pure anger as he glared through the glass. "He has no right to be near you. Not after everything he did."

Before anyone could stop him, you walked past the nosy crowd at the window and pulled the heavy front door open, needing to face it yourself.

Marcus was standing there, holding the flowers. He didn't look arrogant or angry; instead, he looked completely miserable and desperate.

"Happy Birthday," Marcus said softly, his voice trembling. He looked at you with pleading eyes. "I know I'm the last person you want to see. I know I was a completely shitty boyfriend, and I ruined everything we had. But I couldn't let your birthday pass without trying to apologize. I want to win you back. I want to make things right, if you'll just give me a chance to talk to you."

Behind you, the entire living room was dead silent, everyone straining their ears to hear the drama on the porch. But right behind your shoulder, Michael stepped up, his breathing heavy and his posture rigid. He glared down at Marcus with a protective, icy stare, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, ready to shut the door in the ex-boyfriend's face the second you gave the word.

You turned back to Michael, whose face was so flushed with anger it looked like his head could blow steam. He was absolutely furious that Marcus was standing on his porch.

"It’s okay, Michael, really. I’m just going to talk to him," you said, trying to soothe him with a small, awkward smile.

"You sure?" Michael asked, his voice tight. He desperately didn't want you to go out there. He knew you weren't his. He knew he had no right to dictate who you chose to be with, but a powerful, possessive urge came over him whenever it came to you. He hated seeing another man near you, especially one who had broken your heart. But then the harsh reminder hit him again: you two were "just friends." There was nothing he could do, you both mutually agreed on it.

"Mhm, I’m sure," you said, giving him a quick, awkward thumbs-up to reassure him. "J-just give me a few minutes outside with him, yeah?"

Michael gave a tense, rigid nod, practically fuming with jealousy. He reluctantly forced himself to step back and walk away toward the living room, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets to hide how hard they were shaking.

Turning back to the porch, you stepped out and let the heavy front door click shut behind you. The loud, comforting sounds of the party vanished, replaced by the quiet California night air. Now, you were standing completely alone, face-to-face with the toxic college ex who had made your life miserable for months.

Marcus took a small step closer, his eyes scanning your face desperately as he held out the massive bouquet of roses. "For you," he said softly, his voice cracking a little. "I remembered how much you love these."

You slowly took the flowers, the familiar scent immediately bringing back a flood of old memories. Standing there in the cool night air, away from the warmth of the house, you felt a strange tug in your chest. Marcus looked completely different from the arrogant guy who used to pick fights over nothing. He looked small. He looked truly sorry.

"Marcus, you shouldn't have come here," you murmured, looking down at the petals. "This is Michael's family home. It's my birthday party."

"I know, and I’m so sorry for crashing it. I really am," Marcus said quickly, taking another step forward, his hands open in a pleading gesture. "But Tasha mentioned it, and I just... I couldn't let today go by without seeing you. Ever since we broke up, the apartment feels completely empty. Every time I achieve something at school, or have a bad day, you're the first person I want to call. I was a terrible boyfriend, and I know I treated you badly when things got stressful. I took you for granted."

You bit your lip, your heart doing a strange flutter. You remembered the bad times, of course—the nights you spent crying on the phone to Michael—but seeing Marcus like this made you remember the good times, too. The early days of college when he used to walk you to class, the shared jokes, the comfort of having someone who belonged completely to you. With Michael, everything was a secret, hidden behind bedroom doors, constantly interrupted by world tours and massive fame. Marcus was ordinary. He was right here.

"I've changed, I promise you," Marcus continued, his eyes locked onto yours, full of hope. "I've been going to counseling, working on my anger, trying to be the man you actually deserve. I don't expect you to forgive me tonight. I just... I want the chance to take you out. A real date. Let me prove it to you."

You stared at him, genuinely torn. Part of you wanted to say yes just to have something stable, something normal that didn't require hiding from the world or pretending to be "just friends." The thought of giving him one more chance actually crossed your mind. Maybe people could change.

"Marcus..." you started, your voice breathless as you glanced back at the heavy wooden door, knowing Michael was pacing like a caged animal right on the other side. You looked back at Marcus, feeling the immense weight of the decision.

"Please," Marcus whispered. "Just think about it?"

You took a deep, shaky breath, clutching the roses tightly against your chest. "Okay," you said softly. "I... I need some time, Marcus. I need to think about it. Today is supposed to be about the party, and my head is completely spinning right now."

A huge wave of relief washed over Marcus's face, a genuine smile breaking through his anxious expression. "Thank you. That's all I can ask for. Happy Birthday. I'll call you in a few days."

He gave you one last lingering look before turning around and walking down the long driveway. You stood on the porch for a moment, your mind a chaotic mess, before turning around to head back inside, wondering how on earth you were going to tell Michael you might possibly get back together with Marcus let alone look him in the eye.

You slowly walked back inside, the heavy front door clicking shut behind you. The living room instantly went dead silent. Every single eye in the room was fixed on you, scanning your expression, but you ignored them all. Your eyes darted around the crowded space, desperately searching for a familiar head of curly black hair.

Michael was nowhere to be found.

Your chest tightened, and a sudden wave of emotion hit you. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes. Despite the secret arrangement you shared, despite the physical line you crossed behind closed doors, Michael was still the anchor you needed right now. He was the only one who truly understood you, who knew exactly how to comfort you when your head was spinning. You needed your best friend.

“Where’s Michael?” you asked Jackie, your voice trembling as a stray tear escaped down your cheek.

“He, uh...” Jackie looked around the room nervously, shifting his weight. He scratched the back of his head, looking completely uncomfortable. “He, uh, went up to his room. He didn't seem to look too happy at all, to be honest.”

Without another word, you turned and fast-walked down the long hallway, heading straight toward his bedroom. You reached the heavy wooden door and knocked urgently.

“Michael,” you called out, your voice thick with unshed tears.

No answer. Total silence came from the other side.

“Michael, please. Can you hear me?”

Still, nothing.

The weight of the entire day, the confusing encounter with Marcus, and the agonizing choice ahead of you finally became too much to bear. Your legs felt weak. You slid your back down the smooth wood of his bedroom door until you were sitting flat on the carpet, pulling your knees up to your chest and burying your face in them.

You sat there quietly, letting out soft, broken sobs. Your mind was a chaotic mess. Why did making a decision like this have to be so hard? Why were you still sitting here contemplating a choice between a guy who was always too busy for a real commitment, and a guy who had done nothing but treat you terribly in the past? It felt impossible.

“Mikey, please...” you sniffled, your voice cracking against the door. “I need you.”

On the other side of the wood, Michael was standing completely frozen. Hearing you cry tore his chest wide open. He hadn't been ignoring you out of anger or spite; he was just terrified. He was terrified of saying the wrong thing, of overstepping the boundaries you both had drawn, and of making your confusion even worse. He knew he had no official right to be jealous, but hearing you broken down and calling out for him shattered every piece of restraint he had left.

Suddenly, the door clicked open behind you. Before you could even register it, Michael was leaning down.

"Come here," he whispered softly.

He pulled you up from the floor and gathered you tightly against his chest, locking his arms around you in a fierce, protective embrace as you finally let the rest of your tears fall.

“How did the conversation go?” Michael asked softly, his fingers gently patting your head as he tried to soothe your shaking shoulders. “What happened out there?”

“He apologized for everything he’d done,” you said, sniffing in between sentences and wiping at your eyes. “And... and he sounded genuine, Michael. He really did.”

Michael’s heart completely stopped at your words. The air left his lungs. You aren’t seriously thinking of getting back together with him, right?

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his large dark eyes shot with a volatile mix of deep sadness and sudden, fierce anger.

“Mikey... Michael, listen to me,” you pleaded, seeing the look on his face. “I know what he did, but he seems like he’s actually changing. I truly believe—”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Michael cut you off sharply. His hand moved up, his fingers gripping your chin to lift your face up so you had no choice but to look directly into his burning gaze. “He doesn’t deserve you at all. You are too good for him. If he treated you like garbage before, he isn’t going to magically treat you right again. Listen to me... just... just don’t get back together with him, okay? Promise me.”

“Really? That’s it?” You snapped, a sudden wave of defensive anger washing over you. You snarled at him, twisting your chin out of his grip. “Are you saying that just because you want me all to yourself? That’s what this is, isn't it? I can’t officially be yours because you're too busy flying around the world, yet no one else is allowed to have me either!”

“That is not what this is about!” Michael shouted back, his voice cracking with an intensity that shocked you. He stepped closer, completely invading your personal space, his chest heaving. “I am trying to protect you from getting your heart broken all over again by a guy who already proved he couldn't care less about your feelings!”

“Oh, and you can?” you yelled, pushing against his chest. The room felt incredibly small, the air thick with years of unspoken words and hidden desires. “You leave for months at a time, Michael! We hide in this room like we’re doing something illegal! You wanted this 'friends with benefits' arrangement just as much as I did because it was practical. But now you want to act like the jealous boyfriend? You don't get to have it both ways!”

“You think I want to hide you?!” Michael roared, his hands coming up to grip your upper arms, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor you to him. His face was flushed, his breath hot against your skin. “You think I like watching you walk out that door and pretending you’re just my childhood friend? You think it doesn't tear me apart inside? I am crazy about you! I have been since the day we met!”

“Then why didn't you say anything?!” you screamed back, tears spilling over your lashes again. “Why did we make this stupid rule? If you care so much, why—”

“Because I’m terrified of losing you completely!” Michael interrupted, his voice dropping into a desperate, raw register. The possessive, electric tension between you two exploded, humming so loudly it felt like the walls were vibrating. His eyes dropped to your lips, his chest rising and falling violently against yours.

“Michael, I swear, if you think you can just dictate my life—”

You didn't get to finish the sentence.

Driven completely over the edge by his own jealousy and the agonizing fear of losing you to someone else, Michael cut you off entirely. He closed the tiny distance between you, slamming his lips onto yours to finally shut you up.

The kiss was sudden, He wrapped one hand firmly behind your head, tilting you back as he pulled your body flush against his length, claiming your mouth with a bruising, desperate hunger that told you exactly who you belonged to.

Without breaking the desperate, heated rhythm of the kiss, Michael began walking backward, his hands anchoring you firmly to his body as he guided you toward the bed. His knees hit the edge of the mattress, and he sank down, instantly pulling you up onto his lap. His legs hung off the side of the bed, his strong grip keeping you pinned securely against him as the kiss grew deeper and more uninhibited. It was breathless and sloppy, the intense friction of your lips leaving a trail of wet saliva running down your chin as your tongues collided and tangled with a fierce, unchecked hunger.

When Michael finally pulled away, it was slow and agonizing, a thin string of saliva briefly connecting his lips to yours before it broke. His chest was heaving, his dark eyes wide and glossy with a mix of raw desire and desperation.

“I want you to be mines officially. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Angel,” he breathed against your skin. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, peppering hot, frantic kisses against your sensitive skin while his large hands slid down to firmly squeeze your thighs.

“I was scared of what making our relationship official would do to us, but—I realized it’s worth taking a chance," he confessed, his voice cracking with emotion as he held you impossibly closer. "You are worth taking a chance for. If I don’t take a chance now, I don’t think I’ll be able to live without you by my side, mama. I need you. I need you so bad it hurts."

He let out a shaky, low groan, the tight grip on your thighs shifting as he rocked his hips slightly against yours, letting you feel the undeniable proof of how much he wanted you.

"I’m willing to take a risk," he begged, his lips moving against the warm skin of your throat as he continued to press soft, desperate kisses into your neck. "All I know is that I want to be yours. Please... please don’t get back with him, Angel. Please.”

“S-shit, Mikey,” you gasped, your voice breaking as he bit and sucked on the sensitive skin of your neck. His raw confession made you completely weak, the last remnants of the argument melting away into pure, dizzying arousal.

“I don’t want him, Michael... I think about you all the time. I—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Michael shifted his weight. In one movement, he moved you from straddling both of his legs to just one. Now, you were straddled completely across one of his denim covered thighs. The thin fabric of your sundress offered no protection, leaving your soaking heat pressed directly against the hard muscle of his leg. Michael gripped your waist with both hands, his fingers digging into your hips as he forcefully guided you forward and backward, grinding your center right against him.

“A-ah…” you moaned, the sudden, intense friction stealing the breath right out of your lungs. You arched your back, your hands clutching tightly at the fabric of his shirt just to stay anchored.

“Tell me,” Michael groaned against your throat, his movements steady and relentless as he kept your hips moving in a slow, agonizing rhythm. He rocked his thigh upward into you, making you whimper. “Tell me what you want, Angel. No more secrets. No more 'friends.' Who do you belong to?”

“You,” you cried out, completely helpless against the blinding pleasure washing over you. You threw your head back, riding his thigh as the slick heat between your legs soaked through your panties and dress, lubrication friction-heated against his jeans. “I want you, Michael! I want to be yours officially. I’ve wanted it for so long... I was just so scared of losing you.”

Hearing your confession made something shift in Michael. A low, growling sound vibrated in his chest. His hands gripped your hips even tighter, his pace quickening as he ground you down hard against his leg, matching the frantic rhythm of your breath.

“You’re mine,” he possessed, his dark eyes locking onto yours, hooded with pure lust and love as he watched you pleasure-daze under his touch. “You’re officially mine, Angel. I’m never letting you go back to him. Never.”

You leaned down, capturing his lips in another wet, messy kiss, your hips moving entirely on instinct now as you rode him, the intense pressure against your swollen clit bringing you closer and closer to the edge while he held you securely on his lap.

Michael’s hands slid down the soft fabric of your sundress, his fingers hooking under the elastic of your panties and pulling them firmly to the side.

Before diving back in, he raised his hand, pressing two of his long, slender fingers against your lips. "Lick them for me, Angel," he murmured, his voice husky and deep. "Get them slick for me."

Your eyes locked onto his hooded, dark gaze as you parted your lips, sliding your tongue over his fingers and coating them in saliva. Michael let out a low, shaky breath at the sight, completely captivated by your obedience. The second you finished, he plunged those wet fingers deep inside your soaking, swollen heat.

You gasped, your head slamming back as he immediately captured your mouth in another sloppy, breathless kiss. Your tongues tangled hungrily, the wet sounds of your lips meeting filling the quiet space of the bedroom. Michael began to move his fingers in a steady, deep rhythm, pumping them inside you while his thumb found your highly sensitive clit, rubbing it firmly.

"You're mine," he whispered against your lips between heavy, desperate kisses. "Oh god, you're officially mine now. I'm so happy... I'm so incredibly happy you're all mine, Angel."

The pleasure was blinding. Driven by pure instinct, you gripped his shoulders and began to roll your hips, riding his fingers up and down just like you had been riding his thigh. You ground yourself against his hand, setting a frantic, desperate pace that had his fingers bottoming out inside you with every downward stroke.

"A-ah... Mikey," you moaned out loud, breaking the kiss to look down at him, your face flushed and your eyes heavy with pleasure. A wicked spark of confidence hit you as you felt how much he was trembling underneath you. "You like that, pretty boy? You like the way I ride your fingers?"

Michael’s eyes widened slightly, his breath hitching completely. The dirty talk made him absolutely melt. A low, dirty growl tore from the back of his throat, his face flushing dark as pure ecstasy and shock washed over his features.

"Yes... oh god, yes, Angel, keep going," he panting, his grip tightening on your hips as he thrust his fingers up harder to meet your downward rhythm. He looked completely undone by your words, his head rolling back onto his shoulders for a brief second. "You ride them so perfectly. Talk to me like that again. Tell me who you're riding them for."

"For you," you whimpered, picking up the pace, your moans turning high-pitched and breathless as the friction built a tight, electric tension in your lower stomach. "Only for you, Michael..."

"That's it, mama, right there," he groaned, completely overwhelmed by the sight, the sound, and the incredible tightness wrapping around his hand as you rode him closer and closer to the edge.

Michael wanted to feel more of you—he just didn't know how to ask. He was a virgin, and he knew you weren't; you were far more experienced, often being his first for a lot of sexual milestones. He grew harder and harder in his jeans, thick precum seeping through the denim fabric because he was so incredibly turned on by how good you looked riding his arousal-coated fingers.

“Angel, I—I want to feel more of you... I need it... if that’s okay,” he pathetically begged, his hips shifting up against the empty air as his length throbbed painfully in his tight jeans.

“Of course, pretty boy. Unzip your jeans for me and I’ll really show you how good I ride,” you whispered, kissing a trail of fire along his jaw.

His hands shook as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, revealing his precum-stained boxers. You leaned down, shifting your dress out of the way to lick right through the damp cotton fabric, letting out a deep moan. “You taste so good, pretty boy. I’m so wet for you.”

Michael let out a high, broken whimper, his head tossing back against the pillows.

You slowly reached into his boxers, releasing his aching length as it sprang free, thick and heavy. You hovered over him, lowering yourself just enough to tease the very tip of his head with your swollen clit, sliding up and down against it without fully taking him in.

“Oh, god... please, please,” Michael whined, a pathetic, high-pitched moan tearing from his throat. He reached out blindly, his large hands squeezing your behind for support, his nails digging into your hips as he tried to pull you down. “Don’t tease me, Angel... I can’t take it, please...”

You finally relented, slowly lowering your body until he slid entirely inside your slick, tight heat. Michael gasped, a choked, broken sound escaping him as his eyes went wide. Because he was so big, he stretched you out completely, filling you so deeply that your head immediately rolled back on your shoulders.

Then, you began to ride him.

Michael’s eyes didn’t know what to focus on—the hypnotic bounce of your breasts beneath the sundress, your pretty, flushed face, or the tight, wet friction gripping him. It all felt too good, completely overwhelming his senses.

“A-ah... fuck, Mikey,” you moaned pathetically, your voice cracking as you picked up the pace, your hips rolling over his length. “You’re so big... you feel so good inside me. Look at how well you fit me, baby.”

“Angel... oh my god, you’re so tight,” Michael sobbed out, his moans completely unraveled and desperate. He arched his hips up to meet every single downward stroke, completely losing his mind. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna lose it, mama. It feels too good. Please don't stop, please keep riding me...”

“I’m right here, pretty boy, I’m all yours,” you whimpered, tears of pure pleasure pricking your eyes as the friction pushed you closer to the edge. You rode him hard, your slick heat slapping against his thighs, matching the desperate, pathetic whimpers escaping his lips as he held onto you like you were his entire world.

A sudden shift in energy hit Michael, the last of his hesitation vanishing entirely as a raw, urgent need took over his senses. He locked his large hands onto your hips, his grip tightening securely as he took complete control of the pace, driving his hips upward with a deep, steady rhythm that made you bite your lip to catch your breath. The sheer size of him filled you completely, stretching you out so deeply that every single upward thrust sent a sharp jolt of electricity straight to your core.

"Michael... oh my god, just like that," you breathed, your head rolling back against his shoulder. You tried to keep your own rhythm, but his sudden, fierce dominance completely threw you off balance.

"Tell me you like it," Michael murmured against your ear, his voice dropping into a low, breathless register that sent shivers running down your spine. Without breaking the heavy, bottoming-out rhythm of his hips, his hand slid up under the soft fabric of your sundress. His warm fingers pressed firmly against your bare skin, tracing the curve of your waist before anchoring you securely against him. "Tell me you're staying right here. Tell me you aren't going anywhere."

"I am... I'm right here," you gasped, your voice straining as you clung to his shoulders for dear life. Your fingers dug deeply into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself as the friction built an unbearable, tight tension in your lower stomach. "You feel so good... go harder."

"I've got you," he promised fiercely, his eyes dark and focused entirely on you, hooded with a potent mix of love and pure, unchecked lust. "Look at me, Angel. Tell me how good I'm making you feel."

"So good... Mikey, you feel amazing," you whimpered, tilting your pelvis down to take him even deeper. "You're filling me up so perfectly... please, Michael..."

He let out a low, guttural groan, lifting his hips to meet you fully and burying himself to the absolute base in your slick, soaking warmth. "Say it again," he panted, his chest heaving against yours as he picked up the pace. "Tell me exactly how it feels."

"It's too much," you cried out softly, the deep thrusts driving the air from your lungs. "You're stretching me so deep... I can barely breathe, Michael. I've never felt anything like this."

Hearing the words come out of your mouth made him completely lose his remaining restraint. "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered intensely, his lips catching yours in a deep, bruising kiss before pulling back just enough to watch your expression. "You're officially mine. I'm never letting you go."

Your head thrashed against his neck as he accelerated, his thrusts becoming a blur of friction and deep, driving pressure. The slick lubrication was pooling between you, heat radiating from where your cores locked together.

"Mikey, I can't... you're making such a mess of me right now," you whimpered, your breath hitching as your internal muscles began to contract violently around him, squeezing him so incredibly tight it made his whole frame shudder. You threw your head back, your chest heaving as you hovered right on the absolute brink of a shattering climax. "Please, give me more..."

"Go ahead, Angel, let go for me," he whispered desperately against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as his hands guided your hips into a faster, harder pace. "Give it all to me. Let me feel everything."

"Michael!" you gasped out his name as the waves of pleasure hit you fully, your body trembling in his arms.

"That's it, mama, let it all out" he groaned out, his voice completely unraveled. He accelerated his thrusts, meeting your contractions with powerful, commanding strokes that left you completely breathless, holding you tight against his chest until the entire room dissolved into a long, overwhelming blur of pure, breathless ecstasy.

The heavy, frantic rhythm of his hips began to shatter as Michael reached his absolute limit. His chest heaved violently against yours, his breath hitching as his entire body went rigid. The intense heat and the tight grip of your core were pulling him right over the edge, and he knew he couldn't hold back for even another second.

"Angel, I'm—I'm gonna..." he gasped out, his voice completely strained and desperate.

Before the final wave could take him, Michael locked his hands onto your waist and lifted you up slightly, sliding his throbbing length completely out of your slick warmth. The sudden absence of him made you let out a soft cry, your body trembling as the cool air hit your bare skin.

He didn't wait a beat. Shifting you securely on his lap, Michael gripped himself, his knuckles white as he began rapidly stroking his length, his hips twitching upward in anticipation. You looked down at him through heavy, hooded eyes, completely undone by the raw, unraveled expression on his face. Clinging to his shoulders, you leaned in close, your voice a breathless whimper against his ear.

“Give me all of it... cum all over me, pretty boy, cum all over me, please.”

A loud, broken groan tore from the back of Michael’s throat at your words, the dirty talk completely destroying what little restraint he had left. His pace quickened into a desperate blur, his eyes locking onto yours with absolute devotion and intense lust just as his climax violently took over.

With a low, guttural cry, he came, thick ropes of white warmth spilling across your chest and stomach. He arched his back, his jaw clenching as his entire frame shuddered through the intense release, his fingers digging into your thigh for support while he poured himself out onto your skin.

He let out a long, shaky breath, his chest rising and falling erratically as the waves of the orgasm finally subsided. Slowly, Michael’s head dropped forward, his forehead resting gently against your bare shoulder as he panted heavily, completely spent.

"Oh, god," he breathed into your skin, his voice thick with raw exhaustion and pure satisfaction. He slowly raised his head, his dark eyes glossy and full of affection as he looked down at the mess he had made on your chest. He reached up with a shaking hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your flushed, sweat-cooled face.

Once you were both cleaned up and he had pulled his jeans back up, he collapsed backward onto the pillows with a contented sigh, instantly opening his arms wide for you.

You didn't hesitate, sliding up his body and curling into his side. He wrapped his long arms around you, pulling the soft duvet over both of your shoulders until you were completely cocooned in his warmth.

For a long time, the room was completely quiet except for the sound of your synchronized breathing. Michael’s fingers slowly traced soothing patterns up and down your bare arm, his chin resting against the top of your head.

"I can't believe I finally said it," Michael whispered into your hair, his voice light and filled with a relief so deep it felt like a physical weight had been lifted from the room. "I've been wanting to tell you that for... I don't even know how long. Months. Maybe years."

You chuckled softly, pressing a kiss against his collarbone. "You certainly took your time, pretty boy. It took me almost going back to my terrible ex just to get a confession out of you."

"Hey!" Michael protested, a bright, melodic laugh bubbling out of his chest. He squeezed you tighter, burying his face in your neck. "Don't remind me of that. My heart literally stopped. I thought I was losing my mind." He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his dark eyes sparkling with a warmth you hadn't seen in a long time. "But seriously. No more hiding. No more 'friends with benefits' rules. You're my girl now. Officially."

"Your girl," you repeated, the words feeling incredibly sweet on your tongue. "I like the sound of that. Even if you are jealous and dramatic.

"I am not dramatic!" Michael defended himself, giggling as he booped your nose. "I was just... passionately protective of what's mine."

"Mhm, sure," you teased, poking his ribs.

Michael gasped, squirming away from your fingers because he was notoriously ticklish. "Ah! Stop, stop! I surrender!" he laughed, his shoulders shaking as he tried to pin your hands down. You both ended up tangled in the blankets, muffled giggles filling the space between you as he finally managed to trap your wrists, looking down at you with a breathless, lopsided grin.

As the laughter died down into a comfortable, warm silence, a faint, rhythmic thumping sound suddenly registered in the background. You both froze, listening closely.

From deep below the bedroom floorboards, the muffled baseline of a party was still faintly vibrating.

You blinked, looking up at him in realization. "Wait... Michael. What time is it?"

Michael glanced over at the digital clock on his nightstand. "It's almost two in the morning."

"Oh my god," you choked out, a hand flying over your mouth. "The party. We totally left everyone downstairs."

Michael’s eyes went wide for a split second before a mischievous, completely unbothered smile spread across his face. "Oops," he said softly, giggling into his hand. "I completely forgot there were people in my living room."

"Michael, we can't just vanish into your bedroom for two hours during your own gathering!" you said, though you couldn't help but laugh at how absurd the situation was. "What are they going to think?"

"Let them think whatever they want," he chuckled, pulling you back down against his chest and resting his cheek against yours. "Honestly, I'm just hoping everyone got tired, realized the host was gone, and went home. If we stay really, really quiet, maybe they'll think we went to sleep."

"You are terrible," you laughed, wrapping your arms around his waist and melting right back into his side. "The absolute worst host."

"Maybe," Michael murmured happily, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple as he tightened his hold on you. "But I'm the happiest guy in the world right now, so I don't care. Let's just stay right here."

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Authors Note: Are they toxic?… yes… do I love the dynamic?… ALSO YES.