Something Is Not Right With Me
Something Is Not Right With Me
Summary: Since his bloodstained encounter one fall evening, Michael has been wrapped in an ever-growing shroud of peculiar behavior. When he runs out of gas on your date night, stranding you in the inky stillness of nowhere, the full moon slips out of hiding, unveiling secrets that flip the evening from a simple fail to a shocking fright...
Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader
Era: Thriller
Setting: Indiana. Autumn of 1957
Category & Warnings: horror, mentions of blood, smut (mild), masterbation (m! receiving)
Word count: 4,522
Note: This oneshot is a continuation of the film at the beginning of Thriller. Both reader and Michael are 18. Re-edited to tweak some things and to correct the em-dashes. Anywho, enjoy! :)
Something is not right with me!
How was I supposed to know?
. . .
Something is not right with me!
Tryin’ not to let it show!
The white Chevrolet halts to a stop as the engine turns off, surrounding the young couple with the mysterious sounds of the night. A frigid breeze sweeps through the heavy layer of oak trees laying on each side of the winding road. The fissle of it dances in your ears, brushing against the skin of your sleeveless arms and sending a chill up your body.
The constant chirp of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl, symphonies that otherwise would be relaxing, were the only sounds that could be heard in the still, quiet of the woods—a daunting reminder of being stuck in the middle of nowhere. Though slightly anxious at the gloomy atmosphere, your worry eases by the reminder of the handsome and caring boy you have by your side.
Since you transferred schools last spring during your junior year, you had been crushing hard on Michael, but never had the courage to make any advances. Nearly every girl in school swooned over him—the captain of the football team—his popularity and good looks were irresistible. Between you both in some of the few classes you shared, there was the occasional, friendly conversation over assignments or the fleeting exchange of a greeting in the hallway.
You reminisce over the scent of oranges, cinnamon and cedar always swirling around him, intoxicatingly sweet yet manly. And though your discussions flowed nicely, it was not enough to convince you of the possibility of him ever having any feelings for you. And with that belief, you remained merely another admirer amongst the rest on campus. What you didn’t know was that Michael had been interested in you as well. That is, until the day he approached you at your locker.
“Hey, I wanted to let you know that I really like talkin’ to ya, and I’ve thought you were beautiful since the first day I saw you sittin’ in Mrs. Kelly’s class. I was wonderin’ if maybe you and I could go out sometime? How’s this Friday?” His accent drawls out smoothly from his supple lips, kind eyes staring intently into yours. He stood there, nearly towering over you, red varsity jacket fitted attractively over his broad shoulders and hands tucked casually into his jean pockets as he waited for your response. Despite his collected demeanor, he was a ball of nerves internally, fearing you would reject him.
Stunned at the request, you simply gaped for a minute that dragged on in awkward silence, entirely surprised and flattered that he approached you for a date. And how could you resist that? Finally collecting yourself, you giddily accepted the arrangement, anticipating how you would spend the evening with him. It had been nearly six months since that fateful day, and you and Michael have been going strong ever since.
Tonight, you both had agreed to go to the showing of Creature From The Black Lagoon at a drive-in theater the next town over, but he had been warning for the past 10 minutes that the tank would likely be empty before you could make it there. Seeing as the car’s not moving anymore, it seems it was no mere jest.
“Honestly, we’re out of gas!” Micahel exclaims with a charming chuckle as he takes in the inquisitive look on your face.
“So, what are we gonna do now?” The honeyed lilt in your voice gave clear indication to Michael of what you were hinting at. Though the dense and lofty woods of Lake county were somewhat unsettling this time of evening, there was still a peaceful solitude it offered that could be used to both of your advantage. You and Michael had strictly been keeping things at first base, scandalous makeout sessions behind school bleachers and in the back of his car, but never anything past the waist.
An arched brow curled up in amusement with a slight smirk resting on his lips, you were under the impression that you both were on the same page about what would take place next… Surprisingly, and much to your disappointment, you instead find the two of you traveling on foot, trying to locate the gas station about 2 miles away from where Michael had left his car.
As you continued your stride, there was a comfortable silence that rested between you two, leaving Michael deep in questioning thought. He was sure that he filled the tank the day before this outing. Or, maybe it was three days ago? Recently, Michael found himself not being able to remember things with certainty. In fact, he’s been experiencing an array of bizarre occurrences for a while now.
It all seemed to start a few weeks ago on that fishing trip he took with his grandfather to Fox Lake. A rare and special occasion, they traveled for miles to the only one in all the state of Indiana that was welcome to black folks for vacationing. Staying out on the water for hours, they took in the vibrant hues of the autumn leaves resting gently against the fading horizon, sharing stories and memories to make themselves merry.
Night had nearly fallen by the time they headed back to shore with their catch of the day when a sudden and violent shaking amongst the bushes alerted them to caution. In an instant, Michael yelped at the sharp claws of a bobcat etching into his hand as it hopped out from hiding and swiftly disappeared back into the thicket just as rapidly as it emerged, but not before he could make out the bright, neon gleam of its yellow tinted iris. The bucket of fish tumbles from the clutch of his fingers.
“Michael! You okay, boy? Lemme look at it.”
Grandpa Sam rushes over to his side, cradling his bloodied hand to inspect it.
“Yeah, I’m fine ‘pa. It got me good, though.” With a wince and a slight hiss from the sting, Michael wraps a cloth tightly around the deep gash to stop the bleeding. A bumpy ride back home in the old pickup truck they came in and his mother worriedly fussing over the wound as she tended to it, Michael soon finds himself easily diving into the comfort of his bed and quickly taken by sleep. Though, it remains anything but a good rest.
First came the nightmare. Astral visions painted with crimson red, haunted by ghastly screams and wild, hideous growls. A demon or some beastly creature with an unruly coat and glowing orbs, bounding through the midwestern woodlands, in a pursuit for carnage. And the moon, full and bright, beaming in an inky and starless sky. Its glow illuminates from above, pouring down over Michael. In the waking world, this feeling would gently bathe over the skin, as faint as a phantom.
But here, it was simmering against Michael’s body, gradually getting hotter and hotter until an unyielding, searing burn gnawed at his flesh. A scorch abruptly set off inside him, as if lava had been directly injected into his veins before he found himself startled awake by his own anguished shout, body and sheets alike drenched in sweat, and panting desperately to calm the racing within his ribcage.
“I heard you screaming. Is everything alright?” His mother inquires with urgency as she barges through the door. Now more collected after a few deep breaths, Michael straightens up, directing his attention to her.
“I just had a nightmare is all. Don’t worry. I’m alright.” Relieved to hear that nothing serious happened, she lightly instructs him to get ready for school as she finishes making breakfast before exiting the room. As he goes to stand up, the gauze that was secured around the scratches slips from his hand and to his astonishment, he's staring at a surface unblemished.
Wide eyed and in disbelief, he flips his hand from front to back, flexing the joints experimentally, as if that would make the mark or its signifying twinge of soreness reappear. Alas, it did not and with it, he began to feel the fraying of his sanity. Ever since that night, his sleep has been disturbed by nightmares. Precisely, the same exact one over and over again.
Then came the hunger. Now, Michael has always been on the smaller side, possessing a lithe frame that most wouldn’t expect to be suitable for football, but strangely, he was one of the best players at Shortridge High. A standard 3 meals a day, prepared by the loving and kind hands of his mother, with regular exercise and training were usually enough to keep him in tip top shape for his games.
But lately, those meals have done little to satisfy his growing appetite. His days have been filled with ravenous engorge. Popcorn bags, mini orange juice cartons and plenty of burger wrappers from Lou’s Diner up the road, all piled high in the corner of his room. And when it came dinner time, whatever protein that’s been made goes on his plate in surplus, priorly requesting of his mother to make extra.
“Michael sweetie, slow down! You don’t want to give yourself a stomach ache.” Kathrine gawked in shock and bewilderment at her son devouring the slab of steak as if he were some starved animal indulging in its first meal in months. Momentarily, he’s snapped out of his frenzied feast, awkwardly gazing up at her.
“I’m sorry, Mother. You know how much I love your cooking,” an embarrassed smile of grease-stained lips and meat-stuck teeth accompanied by a subtle moment of silence, and he’s back to eating the second steak on his plate with a calmer restraint.
As a teenage boy, of course your hormones are all over the place. Michael, understanding this, made an extra effort to keep his emotions in check and save that energy for the field where he could release it in a productive way. Sex had been something that Michael tuned out relatively well, simply because he hadn’t actually romantically pursued anyone. That is, until he started going out with you.
Adamant about being a gentleman, he made it clear that he only wanted to fully engage with you when the time was right, and so far he’s miraculously managed to abstain. But ever since that incident at the lake, he’s found himself in constant battle with these carnal desires.
Besides the nightmares, his sleep often was comprised of the vivid and lewd images of you and him. Bodies joined together, gyrating and slick with passion, your wanton cries and desperate calls of his name echoed alluringly within his mind. Consuming and greedy caresses to intimate, fleshy parts flashed enticingly behind his eyelids like a view-master reel, and he’d awaken to briefs damp with his emission, sensitive and still not satiated, craving for the real thing.
Behind the locked door of the bathroom, the recollection of your titillating noises fueled the rapid pace of his fist against himself while his other pressed firmly to his mouth, muffling the pleasured groans that spilled from his lips. Though he made an earnest effort to keep these lustful urges at bay, it was starting to become more tempting to give in.
And then there was his anger. Uncommon and newly emerged, he’d been having an increasingly difficult time grappling with it.
“Mike, chill out man! The guy didn’t mean it!” Max and Chris, Michael’s teammates and friends since grade school, attempt to dislodge his firm grip from the collar of the unnamed kid who’s clearly shaken from the ferocious glare Michael holds. A forceful bump into Michael, being too deeply immersed in the story another classmate was recounting, landed him in this current predicament.
As he gasps from the air being knocked from his lungs after being slammed against the lockers, the handle digging painfully into his spine, and gazing back into the chilling, animalistic glare of his assaulter, one that clearly screamed of intense rage and intent to murder, he wishes he would’ve been paying attention before. After what felt like an eternity, Michael breaks his look away for a brief glance in the direction of his friends, reluctantly releasing hold of his polo shirt.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going next time,” a gruff warning is cast in the quaking boy’s direction as Michael storms out of the locker room. And though his thoughts were veiled with an underlying puzzlement as to why he reacted so explosively, he was still seething too much to even fully acknowledge it.
“What the hell’s the matter with him?”
All three boys stand and stare dumbfounded as the blue door slams behind Michael with a resounding thud. As he paces across the field, his rage riddled mind settles deep in ponderment, unable to shake the feeling that something terrible was happening to him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” gently grabbing hold of his arm and offering your sincere apology, Michael focuses his line of sight on you before stopping and fully turning towards your direction. His voice cuts through the brief pause he takes.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?” You reply softly, taking in his quiet determination.
“You know I like you, don’t you?”
“Yes.” A smile and endearing eyes focused on him, you hold on to every word with adoration.
“And I hope you like me, the way I like you.”
“Yes.”
“I was wonderin’ if… you would be my girl?” During these months of courting as you both grew closer and closer, Michael's feelings had grown much fonder for you. He decided it was the right moment to take the next step in this relationship.
“Oh, Michael…” you two share a warm and tight embrace, pulling apart for Michael to slip a silver promise ring onto your finger.
“It’s beautiful!” Taking in the intricate, fine details of petaled vines spiraling toward the center to a rose with a sapphire gem resting delicately in the middle of it, you feel elated that your connection had finally developed into something deeper.
“Now, it’s official.” Michael chimes with a satisfied grin and voice filled with pride. Though in an instant, his expression turns grim.
“I have somethin’ I wanna tell ya.”
“Yes, Michael?” Staring quizzically, confused at the sudden shift of mood, you wait for him to continue.
“I’m not like other guys…” Michael's voice tinges with foreboding, contemplating if he should come clean about the strange happenings he’s been plagued with since the lake, or if he should just drop it and pretend that they don’t exist. Perhaps, you not knowing would be best for both of you. Somehow, they might disappear on their own, leaving their revelation to you futile in the end, or maybe even scaring you off, ruining what you both have.
“Of course not! That’s why I love you,” your fervent declaration pulls at his heart, anchoring the resolution he has to share these secrets with you. Still, he finds himself troubled on how to phrase it.
“No, I mean I’m different.”
“What are you talking about?” Uttering in perplexity, you begin to worry about what could possibly be the cause of the cryptic nature of Michael’s words. But before he can continue, a yelp filled with agony cracks abruptly in the space between you. Michael crouches down to the ground, doubling over as the same inferno that’s been haunting his dreams starts to set him ablaze from within.
And as he feels a terrifying shift, as if being ripped away from himself and replaced with something untamed and vicious, he is certain that the events over these past weeks are reaching a cataclysmic peak. Whatever this is, he senses if you stay near him any longer, it will have dire consequences.
“Are you alright?!” You go to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but before you even take the first step, Michael’s head whips up, startling you with the horrifying sight of citrine eyes and razor-sharp teeth.
“GO AWAY!”
Frozen in fear, your feet plant firmly to the ground as the petrifying scene unfolds in front of you. Blood curdling screams reach your ears, soon recognized to be your own, tearing out of your throat as you watch Michael transform into something morbid and monstrous. The delicate structure of his face morphs horridly, distorting into a grotesque visage of bulging contours and wiry whiskers. His once smooth skin is replaced by coarse, silver fur and the unmistakable snap of contorting bones rings through the air as his features expand and bloodied claws push through the tips of his fingers.
His protruding maw hangs open threateningly, lined with jagged fangs and emitting unearthly snarls that penetrate the night like a raging hellhound. Though on the contrary, his resemblance is akin to a wild cat as opposed to that of a canine. Finally regaining your senses, your legs break into a sprint towards the forest, hoping to escape the beast that was once your boyfriend in the shadowy vastness of it.
Soles pounding against the leaf-layered ground, the branches you push through tear at the purple skirt of your dress and scratch you in various places, but spiked on adrenaline and fear, you hardly notice. The full moon, backdropped by rolling, wispy clouds, is the only light offered in the ever increasing darkness of the woods as you descend deeper and deeper, getting lost in them. As its rays cast over the trees, creating silhouettes against the forest floor that waver in peculiar and unsettling ways, your pulse hammers in your ears as you find yourself failing to grasp what's real and what’s not.
Your desperate flight carries on as a ghostly howl sounds off not far behind you, spurring you to move faster to seek coverage. Once you feel you’ve reached a safe distance, you quickly take hiding behind the trunk of a towering oak, using this as an opportunity to regain your breath.
Fingers gripping and back pressed to the rough bark, it grounds you as you adjust to the sudden calm that envelops your dim surroundings. The hush of the space brings an uneasy feeling of suspense as you notice the muffled stomps of the creature have vanished entirely.
“Ah!” You shriek as the horrendous brute leaps out from above, pouncing and knocking you to the bed of withered leaves beneath. Hovering and caging you in, it lowers until it's at eye length with you and the huff of its breath fans hotly over your face. And as it lets out a loud bellow, extended claws baring menacingly, your demise seems sealed as imminent.
With clenched eyes and pummeling heart, you brace yourself for the impact of them shredding through your flesh. But a moment passed, yet again, where everything is still. And you wonder, is this truly death? Being so caught up on the uncompromising actuality of it, that you feel nothing at all?
Supposing the universe heard your despairing rumination to make reason of it, you feel the definite press of claws over the left side of your chest, simply resting as if to feel the rhythm there. Cautiously you pry your eyes open, intently taking in the slitted, inhuman orbs piercing through your own.
But oddly, behind them lies no malice. Instead, the tender and musing gaze of your used-to-be lover holds you captive as loud, rumbly chuffs vibrate affectionately against your form. And in this exchange between you, juxtaposing with danger and serenity, you feel as if somewhere far beyond this grisly countenance, he is reaching out to you.
“M-Michael? Are you there? Is it you?” Gingerly, your fingers inch closer and closer until they finally press flush to the cheek of this cat-like beast, silver mane tickling your skin. It reciprocates, overlapping its warm paw over the place your hand rests and letting out a series of soft, chittering purrs. Completely ensnared to each other in this moment, your resistance and distress gradually dissipate until you are only left with a deep yearning to understand this mystifying oddity before you, lost in the moonlit reflection of your eyes.
But, you are given no time as within them, gray clouds roll over, gathering to enshroud the moon, causing the creature to feel an unsteady shift inside of itself. Yowling in affliction, its paw tears away from your hand, claws catching the skin and drawing a scream from you once again with alarm restored. Somehow, you both manage to scurry from each other- you in terror and the nonhuman thing in pain.
And as you dash back into a run in the direction from whence you came, the open gash of your hand leaving a trail of blood in your path, you hear the indistinguishable shout of your boyfriend through the forest that is now almost pitch black as the moon has completely taken cover.
“Wait! Please, come back!” Wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you, you attempt to halt the progression of your steps and turn to see if Michael is really there. You are unable to confirm as you miss sight of the edge of a rock jutting out from the earth, foot seized by it as you tumble to the ground, bumping your head, and becoming consumed by a world of darkness.
Eyelids snapping open, you take in the familiar setting. Your bedroom of soft hues and ruffled accents is lightly aglow with the slivers of morning sky that seeps through the undulating curtains of your window—slightly ajar and inviting the nippy, autumn air into the space. Lifting the pink comforter from yourself and expecting to see the tattered dress from last night, you are surprised to find your form clad in your usual attire of a nylon nightgown. You adjust yourself, sitting up straight to fully take in where you are. How did you get here?
You mull over internally for some explanation. To pinpoint a cause on what you suppose you only could have conjured up in your wildest imagination. Maybe it was stress from the upcoming end-of-semester exams you have, or that off-tasting slice of pie you ate the previous day. Lost in the introspection of your mind, you almost miss the bright ringing of the telephone on your bedside table. With a self-soothing sigh, you extend your hand to the receiver when the dazzle of a silver band graced with a sapphire stone leaves you shell-shocked, ice freezing over your bones.
The ringer thrums one final time before stopping as you fail to answer the call. Feeling as if your mind has stopped functioning while simultaneously being in overdrive, the phone sounds off again. After the third toll, you yank the receiver to your ear, muttering into the transmitter after a beat.
“...Hello?” You're gifted with nothing but the quiet breathing of whoever’s on the other side of the line, and you have a creeping suspicion to who it might be.
“...Michael?” The name drifts out in a low whisper. You then hear a tentative exhale being taken. “Yeah. It’s me.”
An abnormal feeling rests in the pit of your stomach at the sound of his voice, taken aback by the normality of it as your memory flashes back to the possessed and hellish tones that were produced in the woods. His question breaks through the thought. “Do you remember anything from last night?”
“I remember everything.” The statement falls from your lips with clarity and no hesitation.
“...Is it okay if we talk in person?” He requests nervously with an obvious unease in his words.
“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Your chest pangs with apprehension, thoughts varying between the fear you felt last night and your desire to know the unknown. You’re not sure which one outweighs the other yet.
“Baby, please. I’m begging you. Give me a chance to explain. I promise you’ll be safe. I just need you to understand.” He pleads desperately on the other side of the phone, but you're still not sure if you are willing to take that risk.
“How can you promise me that? My hand, Michael. Do you even know what you did?” The incredulity in your voice aches Michael deeply as he rakes through his brain, attempting to spot any glimpses of what took place. But he can only recall the excruciating burn and the pale moonlight; anything else remains hazy.
“I can’t remember everyth-”
“You can’t remember? How is that supposed to reassure me?” You cut his words short with trepidation rushing through your lips.
“I don’t know! I can’t remember! I don’t know what I was. I’m not even sure I know what I am anymore. But whatever happened, you have to know that I am so sorry, and that I would never, ever do anything to intentionally hurt you. I-I need you to hear me out. Please. Baby, it’s me. It’s Michael… Can you just trust me?” The quiver and break of his voice he tries his best to hold in reaches your ears. You feel the strain on your soul as you hear him clearly hurting and confused. Though your skeptical concern still persists, you can’t bear the thought of him dealing with this torment alone.
“...Okay. But I’ll only do it if we go somewhere public.” Your stalled yet willing answer gives Michael a sense of hope and relief. Even though he’s slightly disappointed, he understands your wary disposition. Therefore, he quickly casts the feeling aside, mustering up the best response he can.
“Of course, of course. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I’m headin’ over right now, so be ready in 15 minutes… I love you.”
“I love you too, Michael.” Albeit a small murmuring, you declare it with absolute devotion, soothing his underlying doubt that you no longer felt the same. The conversation ends by the small clack of the receiver against the switch hook, leaving you to simply settle into the stillness of your room, lost in raking over the events of the night before. Panic faintly remains, but you are mostly filled with curious wonder. As you marinate in the mixed sensations and emotions of that unnatural interaction, you think back to the sentimental moment the two of you shared on the earthy ground.
It somewhat subdues the anxiety and confliction you feel as you are reminded of the gentleness you were handled with. Despite the frightening exterior, you can still feel the lingering warmth of its benign touch and the adoring expression it held towards you. Michael’s struggle between beast and man was unequivocal, but you were certain that your affection for him mirrored the same. And though you were still having trouble wrapping your head around the reality of this situation, you were determined to hold the fortitude needed to navigate through it together.
With a sudden shiver, pulling you away from your inner dwellings, a particularly frigid gust of wind blows through your open window. Rising slowly, you shuffle across the room to pull it shut. Placing both palms on the sash, you seal the gap from letting in anymore of the biting air from outside. But as you look down, you are dismayed to see that the wound on your right hand is nowhere to be found.
Note: Thank you for reading and I hope it was enjoyable :) credits to @cafekitsune and @we-die-like-fools for the dividers.
mentions: @mjfavgirlie2006 @mjsgirlie04 @moonwalkerdiana
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More Posts from Starlightz4mj and Others
Just thinking about Mike in gold chains 😩🙏🏽💕
𝚃𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝙾𝚛 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚎
Smut
1984
HayvenHurst
Word Count: 7.1k
The family house buzzed with the warmth of laughter and the steady hum of music, though the melody was nearly drowned out by the boisterous chatter and the clinking of glasses. Red Solo cups were scattered around, each one filled to the brim with a mix of spirits and juices, the evidence of a night full of celebration and unwinding.
Perched on the kitchen counter, you found yourself nestled comfortably on Michael’s lap, his strong arm encircling your waist. The firm grip reassured you, keeping you securely against him as he engaged in conversation with his brothers, Jackie and Marlon. Yet, your attention wandered far from their words. The conversation was nothing more than a distant murmur as you became increasingly fixated on the gentle, repetitive motion of Michael’s thumb as it traced slow, lazy circles on the exposed skin of your lower back—back and forth, back and forth. The sensation sent shivers up your spine, a subtle reminder of the electric connection between you.
Shifting slightly, you pressed yourself more firmly against him, seeking both comfort and something more. He noticed immediately, his gaze lowering to meet yours. “You alright?” he asked, his voice laced with concern and curiosity.
You nodded, offering him a small, tight-lipped smile, though deep down, you were anything but alright. The truth was a secret buried deep within you—an unspoken confession of love for the man whose arms held you so tenderly. It was a love that was all too familiar to his siblings, though they remained blissfully unaware of the depth of your secret. None of them knew that when the night grew quiet and the doors were closed, you and Michael crossed the lines of friendship in ways that would shock them.
“Guys,” Latoya’s voice cut through the haze, pulling your attention back to the present as she approached with a playful grin. “We should play truth or dare,” she suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Jackie groaned in response. “Toya, we’re too old for that. Besides, if we mess up the house while Mother and Joe aren’t here, we’ll be in deep trouble,” he cautioned, though his words lacked any real conviction.
Latoya merely shrugged off his concerns, her determination unshaken. “You’re no fun. But we’re still playing. Go get Enid, and Marlon, go grab Carol,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument.
With resigned sighs, the two brothers rose from their seats, heading off to fetch their wives, leaving you alone with Michael.
Latoya wasn’t done yet. “Michael, are you in?” she asked over her shoulder, already knowing the answer.
He shrugged, his aviators catching the light as he adjusted them on his face. “Sure, why not? But Jackie’s right—we’re too old for this.”
Latoya smirked, a glint of wickedness in her eyes. “We’ll make it dirty,” she teased before disappearing to gather the others.
As the room emptied, Michael turned his full attention to you, removing his aviators and setting them on the counter. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “You heard her, right? She said she’s gonna make it dirty,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth.
You nodded again, trying to maintain your composure as the tension between you thickened. “I heard.”
His gaze dropped to the cup you held, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “You haven’t been drinking, have you?” he asked, reaching for your cup and taking a sip.
“It’s just juice,” you reassured him, watching as he took a swallow before setting the cup back down.
“Okay,” he said, though his eyes remained on you, studying your every move. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting weird all night.”
You offered another nod, your voice a touch too soft as you responded. “I’m fine, Michael.”
But the truth was, you weren’t fine at all. The way he looked at you, the way his thumb continued to graze your skin—it was all driving you wild. Every stolen glance and innocent touch only stoked the fire that smoldered deep within you. The intensity of your feelings threatened to spill over, and all you wanted was to close the space between you, to tell him how much you loved him. But you hesitated, the words lodged in your throat, your desire simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free.
Michael’s gaze never wavered, his eyes fixed on you as if he could see right through the facade. He knew you weren’t fine, but he was patient, waiting for you to come to him with the truth. “You know I’m gonna miss you when we go on tour,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to your thigh. His fingers slipped under your skirt, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through you as he caressed your skin.
“I’ll miss you too, Michael,” you replied, your voice soft and filled with longing. You reached up to caress his face, your thumb brushing gently across his cheek. “I’ll try and come see you, though. You know that.”
“I know, doll,” he said with a smile that made your heart flutter. “You better call me, though. I’ll have someone send you the numbers to the hotels and everything. We’ll talk all night if you want, or… do what we usually do.” His grin turned playful, a mischievous glint in his eyes that made your pulse quicken.
You couldn’t help but laugh, a light, breathless sound that escaped your lips as you playfully smacked his chest. “Quit talking like that before your siblings hear you. We don’t need them catching on, Michael.”
“I know, girl,” he teased, his grin widening. “I’m just saying.”
You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. But before you could respond, the rest of the family began filtering back into the room, their presence shifting the atmosphere. They moved to the couches, settling in for what was sure to be a night filled with laughter and revelations, but you and Michael remained by the counter, his arm still wrapped securely around you as you sat on his lap.
“So who’s startin’ this?” Jackie asked, settling down with Enid in his lap, his tone a mix of curiosity and reluctance.
“Toya should, since she wanted to play,” Carol blurted out, her eyes narrowing playfully at Latoya.
“You guys agreed to it,” Latoya shot back, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall, her expression one of determined mischief.
“Just start the damn game,” Jackie muttered, rolling his eyes as if to say he was already regretting this decision.
Latoya’s lips curled into a sly smile as she turned her attention to her brother. “Okay, Jackie, truth or dare?” she asked, her voice light but challenging.
“Why me?” Jackie protested, pointing to himself in mock indignation.
“‘Cause you’re talking back. Now answer. Truth or dare?” Latoya’s tone left no room for argument.
Jackie sighed, clearly resigned to his fate. “Truth,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of caution.
“Is it true you and Enid did it in Joseph’s car?” Latoya asked, her question landing like a bombshell in the room.
Jackie’s mouth fell open, a look of sheer disbelief on his face. “Now you know I wouldn’t do that,” he stammered, glancing at Enid as if to confirm his innocence. “He’d try and put his hands on me. He’d probably even kill me! Toya, what made you think that?”
Latoya shrugged, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know, it was just a question. Anyways,” she continued, her eyes shifting to the next target, “Marlon, truth or dare?”
Marlon bit the inside of his cheek, weighing his options before he sighed. “Dare,” he said, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Latoya’s gaze flicked to the counter where a few bottles of liquor sat, her smile turning wicked. “Take five shots,” she commanded, her tone daring him to back out.
“Now Latoya, you know Marlon is a lightweight,” Carol interjected, her concern evident as she eyed the bottles warily.
“I’ll be fine, hun,” Marlon reassured her, a playful grin on his lips as he gently moved Carol off his lap. “I’ll just crash here.”
Marlon stood up, swaggering over to the counter where you and Michael sat. You could feel the energy in the room shift, the tension thickening as everyone waited to see what would happen next. The night seemed ready to take a turn for the wild and unexpected, and Michael’s hand on your thigh only heightened your awareness of the connection between you, a steady reminder of the unspoken bond that pulsed beneath the surface.
Marlon grabbed five shot glasses, his movements deliberate as he poured whiskey into each one. You watched, almost entranced, as the amber liquid filled the glasses. Michael’s hand remained on your thigh, his grip firm, as if to anchor you in the moment. Marlon, with a determined look in his eyes, set the bottle aside and licked his lips, bracing himself for the challenge. Without hesitation, he began pounding back each shot, the glasses clinking as he downed them one after another.
“Marlon, slow down!” Carol’s voice cut through the air, but her concern was met with a dismissive wave. He didn’t listen, intent on completing the dare. With a final, defiant slam of the glass on the counter, he exhaled sharply. “I ain’t doing that again,” he muttered, his voice thick with the burn of the whiskey, before he staggered back over to the couch and plopped down with a satisfied grin.
Latoya chuckled, clearly amused by Marlon’s bravado. She turned her attention to Carol next, her tone light but with an edge of mischief. “Alright, Carol, truth or dare?”
Carol rolled her eyes, already anticipating the sort of trouble Latoya might stir up. “Truth, Latoya,” she said, her voice carrying a note of warning.
Latoya’s eyes gleamed as she leaned forward slightly, her question poised to strike a nerve. “Have you ever cheated on Marlon?”
The room went still, all eyes snapping to Carol. Her face hardened, and she shot Latoya a look that could cut glass. “Never in my damn life,” she snapped, her voice ringing with conviction. “Toya, I love Marlon, and every one of you knows this.”
Latoya held up her hands in mock surrender, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “I’m just kidding, relax,” she said, though the glint in her eyes suggested she enjoyed pushing buttons. Then, her gaze shifted, locking onto Michael with a new challenge. “Michael, truth or dare?”
You felt Michael’s grip on your thigh tighten, the tension in his body palpable. He glanced at you, his brow furrowed slightly as he whispered, “Which one?”
You shrugged, your heart racing as you tried to keep your cool. “I don’t know,” you whispered back, though the anticipation of what might come next sent a thrill through you.
Michael licked his lips, a sign of his nerves or perhaps excitement, before answering. “Dare,” he said, his voice steady but laced with curiosity.
Latoya fell silent, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the two of you. The room seemed to hold its breath, the playful atmosphere shifting into something more charged. Her gaze drifted down to where Michael’s hand rested possessively on your thigh, her smirk widening as she pieced together the unspoken tension between you. “Hmm,” she mused, her tone laden with implication as she looked back at Michael, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She had something up her sleeve, and whatever it was, it was bound to stir up the night in a way neither of you could predict.
Her smirk widened as she leaned against the wall, her eyes locked on you and Michael. The air in the room grew thick with anticipation, the playful atmosphere now electrified with something deeper. Her gaze lingered on Michael’s hand, still possessively resting on your thigh, before she delivered her dare with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I dare you to make out with her,” she said, her voice dripping with challenge.
Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a jolt of shock ripple through you, but Michael remained unphased. His expression didn’t waver as he turned to you, then back to Latoya. “In front of you all?” he asked, his tone calm, as if he were merely discussing the weather.
Latoya’s smirk didn’t falter. She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest as if daring him to refuse. “You claim you don’t have any feelings for her,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a knowing look, “I just want to see it with my own eyes.”
Michael’s gaze softened as he looked back at you, his brow raised in a silent question. “You okay with this?” he asked, his voice gentle, a quiet understanding passing between you.
Despite the knot of nerves tightening in your stomach, you nodded. There was something exhilarating about the dare, about the prospect of revealing the hidden truth that simmered just beneath the surface.
Michael’s thumb brushed your chin as he cupped your face, drawing you closer until your lips were just a breath apart. His warm breath fanned across your skin, and you hesitated for the briefest moment. “Just act like we’re in a room together,” Michael whispered, his voice so low that only you could hear, the intimate suggestion sending a shiver down your spine.
Closing your eyes, you leaned into the kiss, your lips meeting his in a slow, sensual dance. The world around you seemed to melt away as the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding into your mouth to playfully wrestle with yours. Michael’s arm tightened around you, pulling you even closer, the kiss becoming a private exchange of emotions you’d kept hidden for so long.
The room fell into a stunned silence, everyone’s attention riveted on the two of you. Jackie’s eyes widened in surprise, the sight of his little brother’s intensity catching him off guard. Marlon let out a low whistle, leaning back into the couch with a smirk. “Damn, Mike,” he muttered under his breath, impressed by Michael’s boldness.
When Michael finally pulled away, his hand lingered on your face as he wiped the faint trace of his saliva from your bottom lip. His eyes searched yours, filled with a tenderness that made your heart race. “You alright?” he whispered, his voice full of quiet concern, as if the room full of people no longer mattered.
You nodded, your voice barely a whisper as you replied, “I’m fine.” Yet every word was a facade, masking the tumultuous storm inside you. The kiss had awoken something primal, an insistent longing that had been simmering beneath the surface, fighting to escape. Michael’s gaze, intense and smoldering, mirrored your own restless desires. His eyes, dark with unspoken yearnings, made it clear that he was feeling the same electric charge that coursed between you.
Latoya, her gaze flickering between you and Michael, finally looked away, her expression a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. The game continued, but with each new dare, the atmosphere grew more charged. The challenges for you and Michael became increasingly audacious, pushing boundaries in a way that heightened the tension between you two. The dares seemed designed to escalate the already palpable desire, adding fuel to the fire that was burning ever more fiercely.
Michael’s touch was a paradox, an intoxicating mix of tenderness and torment. When he shrugged off his jacket, the soft fabric slid against your skin like a whisper, its weight settling over your lap as a shield from prying eyes, cocooning the two of you in an intimate bubble. His hand, warm and insistent, began its deliberate journey up your thigh, each touch a promise of what was to come. As his fingers reached the waistband of your skirt, they moved with the precision of someone who knew exactly what he wanted, slipping beneath the fabric of your panties to graze over your sensitive folds.
“Don’t moan,” he commanded, his breath hot against your ear, his voice a rough, husky whisper that sent shivers cascading down your spine. The deliberate slowness with which his fingers moved, exploring the wetness that had already begun to gather, made your breath hitch in your throat.
You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry as you fought to suppress the reactions his touch elicited. The warmth of his breath against your neck, combined with the tantalizing pressure of his fingers, was almost too much to bear. “Michael, slow down,” you managed to whisper, your voice a mix of desperation and need, but he ignored your plea, his fingers continuing their relentless exploration, each touch pushing you closer to the edge.
Just then, Latoya’s voice cut through the thick haze of desire, her tone playful yet demanding. “Michael, truth or dare?”
“Pardon?” Michael’s focus wavered for a brief moment, but his hand remained in place, his fingers never pausing.
“Truth or dare?” she repeated, her tone firm and unyielding, as if she were determined to break the spell he had cast over you.
Michael’s eyes flicked to hers, then back to you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Truth,” he said, his gaze lingering on your flushed face before he turned his attention back to Latoya.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she asked, “Is it true that you like her?” The question hung in the air, heavy with implication.
Michael’s gaze flickered between you and Latoya, a momentary pause before he answered. “Yes, I do,” he confessed, his voice steady and unashamed, even as his fingers resumed their rhythm, sliding deeper with a calculated precision that made you grip his thigh in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself.
“Y-you like me?” you stammered, the words barely escaping your lips as your breath quickened, your mind struggling to process both his confession and the sensations his touch was provoking.
Michael chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate, vibrating against your ear. “You couldn’t tell by now?” he murmured, his fingers continuing their deliberate rhythm, each stroke perfectly aimed to drive you closer to the brink. “I’ve been throwing signs at you for a week, girl. I see you as more than just my best friend, and I think you know that.”
Jackie’s voice cut in, surprised yet amused. “Hey, at least she likes you too, Mike.”
Michael’s eyes locked onto yours once more, dark and intent, his fingers increasing their pace, pushing you perilously close to the edge. “You like me too?” he whispered, his voice a sultry murmur that sent another wave of heat coursing through your body.
“Yes, Michael,” you whimpered, the sound escaping despite your best efforts to stifle it.
“Don’t make that sound,” he whispered harshly, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers relentless in their pursuit, each stroke calculated to push you further.
You nodded, your head moving in a subtle, desperate motion, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.
“Why’d you wait to tell me?” Michael’s voice was louder now, cutting through the haze of desire, demanding answers.
“Because I—I didn’t know how you’d react,” you admitted, your voice trembling with both the physical and emotional intensity of the moment.
Enid’s voice joined the mix, light and teasing. “You should have told him sooner. You two would make a cute husband and wife.”
Michael’s fingers never faltered, each movement precise and purposeful, driving you closer to the edge with every passing second. “You think so?” he asked, his eyes never leaving yours, his focus entirely on you as he continued to push you closer to the brink.
“Yeah,” Enid replied, her voice filled with warmth. “She’d be a pretty Mrs. Jackson, and those babies would be adorable.”
Your eyes locked onto Michael’s, pleading with him, knowing that you were seconds away from losing control. The tension was almost unbearable, every nerve in your body tingling with anticipation, your peak so close you could almost taste it.
“Toya, can we end the game?” Michael asked, his voice tight with restraint as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.
“Uh, yes, I was getting tired anyways,” she agreed, the conversation fading into the background as your focus narrowed to the sensations he was eliciting.
Michael nodded, his fingers still working their magic, the wet sounds of your arousal muffled beneath the barriers of clothes. “You two staying in here?” Jackie asked, his tone casual, oblivious to the intimate moment unfolding right beside him.
“Yeah, I need to talk to her,” Michael said, his tone firm. “We’ll clean up when we’re finished.”
“Alright then, goodnight, y’all,” Jackie said as they all left the room, the door closing with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone.
“Michael, I’m close,” you moaned softly, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back.
“Not yet,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a mix of command and desire. His hand moved to cover your mouth, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender.
“Because I thought you didn’t feel the same way,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.
“But I do,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “I’ve been trying to tell you.”
You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, your body teetering on the very edge of release. But Michael wasn’t done with you yet. His hand cupped your face, his touch firm, demanding your attention as he forced your eyes open. His gaze was piercing, a silent command that sent shivers through your entire being. “Don’t cum,” he ordered, his voice a low, commanding whisper. “Not yet. I know they’re still out there.” His hand moved to cover your mouth, silencing any sound that might escape as his fingers maintained their relentless rhythm, holding you on the brink, the tension in your body building to a fever pitch.
Unable to resist, you laid your head back against his shoulder, your hips instinctively grinding against his hand, seeking the release he was denying you. His fingers moved with precision, curving just right inside you, each pump intensifying the burning need in your core. Your body trembled with the effort to hold back, every muscle tensed, desperate for the permission to let go.
Michael’s focus shifted to the sounds around him, the creak of the stairs and the soft thud of doors closing one by one, signaling that everyone was finally retreating to their rooms for the night. It was only when the house fell silent, the last door clicking shut, that he leaned closer to your ear and whispered, “Let go.”
The words were your undoing. You moaned into his hand, your body shuddering as you came undone, the release you’d been denied flooding through you in powerful waves. Your moans were muffled against his palm, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure consumed you, every nerve in your body tingling with the intensity of it. Michael watched you intently, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, then drifting down to your neck, lingering on the rise and fall of your chest, his gaze darkening as he took in the swell of your cleavage beneath your shirt.
“Just like that,” he murmured, his voice soft and coaxing, “let go for me, babygirl.” His words were a gentle push that sent you spiraling even further into the bliss he’d so carefully crafted.
As the tremors subsided, Michael’s hand moved from your mouth, trailing down your neck with deliberate slowness, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He slipped his hand inside your shirt, cupping your breast, his thumb grazing over your hardened nipple through the fabric, sending another shiver through your already sensitive body.
“So,” he began, his fingers finally slowing their pace, the pressure easing just enough for you to catch your breath, “are we together now, or what?” His tone was casual, but the question carried weight, his eyes searching yours for an answer.
You opened your eyes, still hazy with the aftermath of your release, and looked up at him. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice soft but certain, your head nodding slightly.
A smile spread across Michael’s face, a mixture of relief and satisfaction. He slowly withdrew his fingers from inside you, his touch lingering for a moment before he pulled his hand out from beneath your skirt. “Good,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking off every last trace of your essence with deliberate, lingering strokes. “Cause you’re coming on tour with me now.”
The words took a moment to register, your mind still foggy with the aftershocks of pleasure. “Really?” you asked, your breath still coming in shallow pants.
“Yes, really,” Michael chuckled, his tone light but firm. “I’m not leaving my girl behind, especially not for six months.”
A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “I’m fine with that,” you replied, your voice tinged with exhaustion, yet filled with contentment.
Michael’s smile widened, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice a soft tease.
You shook your head, the denial automatic, though your body betrayed you with the slight droop of your eyelids. “No, I’m not,” you lied, though the weariness was evident in your voice.
Michael’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his hand resting gently on your cheek. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone tender, giving you the space to express your needs.
You shifted slightly, adjusting your posture until you were straddling his lap, the hard bulge in his slacks pressing against you, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. Leaning in, you whispered against his lips, “I want you.”
Michael swallowed hard, his desire finally slipping past the restraint he’d maintained all night. His hands gripped your hips with a firm, almost possessive hold, pulling you closer until the heat of your bodies mingled. His eyes bore into yours, dark with intent as he bit his lip, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached between the two of you, fingers deftly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. The sound of the zipper was almost deafening in the quiet room, a sharp contrast to the heavy breathing that filled the space. He unbuttoned his pants, and in one swift motion, he freed his hardened shaft, thick and pulsing with need. His hand moved deliberately, licking his palm before wrapping it around his length, stroking himself with a slow, purposeful rhythm. You both watched as the thick foreskin peeled back with each pump, revealing the sensitive, reddened tip beneath.
“Pull your panties to the side, baby,” Michael whispered, his voice low and rough with desire.
You stood, your knees trembling slightly as you hovered over him, your fingers slipping beneath your skirt to pull your panties to the side, exposing yourself to him. The cool air against your heated skin sent a shiver through you, heightening the anticipation.
Michael’s hands found your waist, his grip firm as he guided you into position. His eyes never left yours, dark and intense as he angled you just right. “Go down,” he instructed, his voice a husky command.
Slowly, you began to lower yourself onto his length, feeling the pressure as your walls stretched to accommodate his size. The sensation was overwhelming, each inch of him thicker and more substantial than the last, the slight curve of his shaft pressing against just the right spot inside you. A gasp escaped your lips as you took him in deeper, your body adjusting to the intrusion.
“Just like that,” he murmured, his gaze locked onto yours, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.
You sank down until you were fully seated on his lap, your breath hitching as you stifled a moan, the sensation of being filled so completely sending a wave of heat through your core. Your walls throbbed around him, your body instinctively tightening against the intrusion, but you relished the delicious stretch, the way his girth filled you so thoroughly, making you feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his length.
Michael held your gaze, his eyes burning with a mix of desire and something deeper, something more possessive. His hands moved to your hips, both of them gripping you firmly as he began to guide you, moving you up and down his shaft with a slow, deliberate pace. The friction was intense, the tightness between you both creating a sensation that was almost too much to bear.
You whimpered softly, the sound involuntary as you felt every inch of him sliding in and out, your body responding to each slow thrust with a shiver of pleasure. The sensation was so intense, so real, that it was almost overwhelming.
“This feels real now, doesn’t it?” Michael asked, his voice a low murmur that vibrated against your ear.
You nodded, your voice barely more than a whisper as you replied, “Yes, Michael.” The intimacy of the moment, the connection between you both, made it feel even more intense. You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder, seeking comfort in the closeness.
Each slow, deliberate movement drove you deeper into a shared world where only the two of you existed. The rhythm of your bodies moving together, his length filling you completely with every glide, left you breathless and wanting. It was an unspoken language, a silent conversation between lovers, where every touch, every sigh, conveyed emotions too deep for words.
Michael’s hands slid beneath your shirt, his palms exploring the soft heat of your skin, savoring the feel of you. You took control, moving on his shaft with a slow, steady rhythm that drew soft whimpers from your lips. Each thrust sent a ripple of pleasure through you, the friction and fullness overwhelming your senses.
“You feel so good,” Michael murmured, his voice a husky whisper as he leaned his head back, his eyes closing to savor the sensations coursing through him. His hands on your waist tightened slightly, guiding you as he let himself feel everything—every emotion, every ounce of desire and connection that had been building between you.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers threading through the soft curls at the nape, steadying yourself as you moved. The intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like a warm blanket, making your heart swell. Leaning in close, you whispered against his neck, “I love you, Michael.”
His response was immediate, tender. “I love you more, pretty,” he whispered back, his arms wrapping around you as if he never wanted to let go. He turned his head slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, the simple act filled with affection and warmth.
Even though you weren’t in a room with a bed surrounded by candlelight, this moment felt more real and intimate than any romantic setting could have created. The rawness of your emotions, the honesty of your confessions, made it all the more powerful.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you moaned, the regret tinged with the pleasure you couldn’t hold back.
Michael’s hands slid back down to your waist, his grip firm but reassuring. “It’s fine, I’m not mad. Besides, I got the girl I’ve wanted for years,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness.
You looked at him, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “So, even before we started messing around?” you asked, the curiosity in your voice mingling with the heat building between you.
He nodded, his pace quickening just enough to heighten the sensation, his body shifting slightly to angle himself deeper inside you. “Yes, baby, even before then. I wanted you bad,” he confessed, his voice low and sincere.
The truth in his words sent a thrill through you, your heart racing as the connection between you deepened. A moan escaped your lips, your red-polished nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him. “Fuck…” you breathed, the intensity of your emotions leaving you raw and exposed.
Michael leaned in, brushing his lips over yours, the touch soft and teasing before he captured your mouth in a deep, heated kiss. The kiss was filled with everything you both felt—love, desire, longing—a perfect blend of passion and tenderness. The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourself in him, in the rhythm of your bodies, in the undeniable connection that had finally been laid bare..
Michael’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder and more insistent as he wrapped his arms tightly around your core, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The muffled sounds of your bodies moving together echoed in the small room, each impact sending the bar stool scooting slightly across the hardwood floor, rocking back and forth under the force of your passion. But neither of you paid it any mind, lost in the heat of the moment, in the intoxicating rhythm you’d created together.
The kiss between you deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate. His groans mingled with your moans, the sounds blending into one muffled symphony of pleasure. Your lips moved in perfect sync, a dance of passion and need that left you both breathless. His tongue brushed against yours, the sensation sparking a fresh wave of heat that coursed through your veins, intensifying the connection between you.
Your arousal coated Michael’s length in a glistening sheen, the evidence of your desire dripping down to the base of his shaft and soaking through his white linen briefs. Each thrust pushed him deeper inside you, the slickness of your arousal allowing him to move within you with ease, filling you completely with every stroke.
Michael held you close, his grip firm yet tender, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. The intensity of his thrusts sent shivers down your spine, your body responding to him with a desperate hunger that matched his own. The room around you blurred, the only thing that mattered was the feel of him inside you, the sound of his breath mingling with yours, the undeniable connection that pulsed between you with every beat of your hearts.
“Michael,” you whispered against his lips, the word barely audible as your breath hitched in your throat. The heat between you was almost unbearable, your body trembling with the need for release.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured in response, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. His grip on you tightened as he thrust deeper, each movement more powerful than the last, driving you both closer to the edge.
Michael’s words washed over you, his deep voice filled with a promise that seemed to reverberate through every fiber of your being. You moaned softly in response, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar, intoxicating scent that had become a part of you over the years. The two of you moved in perfect sync, each thrust meeting the other in a seamless rhythm, your arousal slickening him further, dripping down to the base of his shaft as your bodies melded together.
Michael’s hands roamed your body with a reverence that made your heart swell, tracing every curve as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory, though you both knew he had already memorized it all long ago. His touch was firm, yet tender, exploring you with a mix of passion and devotion that left you trembling with need.
“Harder,” you moaned against his neck, your voice a breathy plea that he couldn’t ignore.
In response, Michael’s thrusts became more powerful, each one driving deeper into you, filling you completely. His grunts echoed in the small room, a primal sound that sent shivers down your spine. “I’m gonna give you everything, girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and desire. “I promise.”
You moaned again, your core tightening, burning with the need for release, but you held on, savoring every moment, every sensation. You didn’t want this to end, didn’t want to let go of the connection that had you both entwined so completely.
Michael could feel the tension building within you, your walls pulsing around his thick length as he drove into you. “You close, aren’t you?” he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and heavy.
“Yes…” you breathed, the word barely escaping as a soft moan against his neck.
“Then let it go,” he urged, his voice a soothing command. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel you.”
“But I want this to last,” you moaned, your voice filled with longing.
“It will, baby,” he whispered, his words a tender reassurance. “It’ll always last.”
You lifted your head, capturing his lips in a deep, urgent kiss, your core burning hotter, the need for release becoming almost unbearable. Michael’s hands slid down to grip your behind, his large hands tightening around you as he guided your movements.
“I can’t hold on, Michael,” you moaned, your voice trembling with the effort to stay in control.
“Just let go, baby,” he murmured against your lips, his tone soft but insistent. “I told you, let go for me.”
With his words pushing you over the edge, you began to move faster, taking control, driving yourself toward release. Your legs trembled as you rode him, your pace quickening until you could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you. Finally, with a muffled cry against his neck, you released, your body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you, your walls clenching around him as you came undone.
Michael’s grip on you tightened, his own release nearing as he felt your body convulse around him. With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body stiffening as he released, spilling his warmth deep within you. He moaned your name, his voice raw and filled with need, as he filled you completely, emptying every last drop inside you.
The two of you clung to each other, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of the moment, your breaths heavy and ragged. Michael lifted your head, his eyes soft as he gazed at you, your forehead damp with sweat, your eyes still closed in bliss.
Leaning in, he placed a tender kiss on your lips, watching as your eyes fluttered open to meet his. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice gentle and filled with sincerity.
“I love you,” you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath, completely blissed out from the intimacy and affection that you had just shared.
“You alright?” Michael asked, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his touch tender and concerned.
You nodded, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “I’m just tired,” you murmured, the weight of the night’s emotions settling in.
Michael nodded, understanding. “How about you go lay down on the couch? I’ll clean us up, then I’ll take care of this mess, and we can crash on the couch till morning,” he suggested, his voice soft and reassuring.
You nodded again, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “That’s fine,” you agreed, your body already craving the comfort of rest.
Michael helped you up, his hands steadying you as you rose from his lap. He watched, almost mesmerized, as the evidence of your shared passion began to slip from your body, coating him in a warm, intimate sheen. “Damn…” he muttered under his breath, a mix of awe and satisfaction in his tone. Reaching for the roll of paper towels behind him, he carefully wiped himself clean, his movements slow and deliberate.
Once he was done, Michael adjusted himself, tucking his shaft back into his briefs and smoothing out his clothes. Then, he turned his attention back to you, gently cleaning the remnants from your inner thigh. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as if he was savoring every last moment of closeness.
“Now go lay down,” he said softly, his voice filled with warmth. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
You nodded and made your way over to the sofa, kicking off your shoes as you settled onto it. The cushions felt soft and welcoming as you pulled a blanket over yourself, watching through half-lidded eyes as Michael moved around the room, tidying up the remnants of your night—empty juice bottles, liquor bottles, and scattered red solo cups.
When he was done, Michael walked over to the door and flicked off the lights, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow from the lights outside. It created a serene, almost magical atmosphere, perfect for the quiet moment that followed.
Michael kicked off his loafers and slid onto the couch beside you, slipping under the blanket and pulling you close. You nuzzled into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your cheek. “You think they’ll say something?” you asked, your voice drowsy as you burrowed deeper into his warmth.
Michael shrugged lightly, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back. “Can’t say much if they don’t know,” he replied. “But they’ll get the hint.”
You smiled sleepily, feeling content and safe in his arms. “I love you, Michael. I really do. But I didn’t think a game of truth or dare would bring it out,” you confessed, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.
Michael’s own tired chuckle rumbled through his chest. “At least we both know now,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t wait any longer to tell you. But just know, I’ve loved you for a while now. You’re always so sweet to me, so kind and loving.” His eyes met yours, the connection between you deepening with each word. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
You smiled, leaning up to place a tender kiss on his lips. “Goodnight, Michael. I love you,” you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.
“Goodnight, baby. I love you too,” he whispered back, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you drift off to sleep.
For a while, Michael stayed awake, taking in the reality of what had just happened, of how you had gone from best friends to something much more. It was a moment that should have happened long ago, but he felt grateful that it had finally come.
Eventually, he allowed himself to relax, his eyes growing heavy as he held you close. As sleep claimed him, a smile of contentment and love spread across his face, mirroring yours as you slept in his arms. This was just the beginning of something beautiful—a new chapter in your lives, one that you both knew would last.
embarrassment has good bones
I'm so indecisive with how I want things stylized on here oml 🙄😑
TURKEY, GREENS, AND…
[you made dinner, but mike is hungry for something else…] | 2.1k words
WARNINGS: fem! reader , sexual themes , fingering , oral (f! receiving) , penetration , dirty talk , another size kink if you squint
[1991]
he’d called a few hours ago to let you know he’d be home late. you’d thought, by the grace of something holy, you’d be fast asleep by the time he slips into bed with you, but it becomes clearer as the night grows heavier that you too had begun to adapt to michael’s nocturnal tendencies. perhaps begrudgingly, you are wide awake. so you wait for him while your cornbread cools by the oven, still hot from the turkey dinner you made while he was gone, flicking aimlessly through the late night channels, legs curled under you until, well past midnight, you hear his key turn in the door.
he seems surprised to see you bumbling to the foyer, displaying you’d been strong enough to wait up. and he seems quite pleased by it, wrapping his arms around you and dipping you in love.
you beam at his sleepy doting. “hi, baby.”
“hi, angel,” he muses, capturing your lips in a devout kiss. “i didn’t wake you did i?”
you shake your head, nuzzle against him, the heady scent of him slipping into your nose and warming every nerve. his cologne, sweet hair oil, the perfect treat he was for you. “i missed you.”
“i missed you more,” he answers. his voice low, tired. his fingers squeeze you closer like he wants to bring you somewhere.
you size him up, arms secure around his neck. “did you eat at all while you were over there?”
he chuckles boyishly, already used to the question, and the repercussions of fibbing to get out of it. “no. we didn’t have time.”
you figured just as much, but could strangle bill and ted anyway. “well, i’ll heat up dinner for you, baby, you must be starving.”
you fail to notice that his grip on you doesn’t fall away easy. the fabric of your shirt, that he so aptly attempts to grab a hold of, slips urgently through his fingers and that’s when he notices. that’s his shirt. one of his collared button-downs draped over you like a nightgown.
those ardent eyes trail after you on the way through the house like you were a pie wafting on a windowsill. his bottom lip disappears beneath his teeth, seemingly staving off temptation.
“smells good, baby,” he says as casually as he can muster it and his ‘good’ comes out like gary, indiana snuck in through the backdoor and yawned back into his bones. you hum into a smile, the sound melting you delightfully like a popsicle on the fourth of july.
“it’s the cornbread,” you simper, bare feet padding onto the clear kitchen tiles. you bend into the fridge light. the tail of michael’s shirt betrays you, giving way to a glimpse of your panties. “your mom gave me the recipe for her turkey and greens. did you want all of it?” then, in the drawer at your hips, silverware clink and dink in your fingers, the large dinner plate you had wrapped in foil sat right beside you on the kitchen island. “i can just give you the turkey if you don’t want the whol—“
your face flushes a becoming red, surprise beams all the way down to the tips of your toes. you shift and feel nearly every inch of michael, spread out and solid, against your body through the fierce strain in his pants. you laugh, you think, but it comes out like a twist between a gasp and a gulping sound. you feel michael’s hands sneak around your waist, pulling you into his needy embrace, his mouth bending to your skin, sweeping onto your neck with gluttonous kisses.
you find his hands with yours, eyes fluttering closed to the heat of his touch. “don’t you want dinner?”
he doesn’t respond, just slips his hands beneath his shirt. slow palms wipe your skin with a sweetness, finding your breasts bare as he tenderly cups them. the shirt raises, exposing your near nakedness below.
“aren’t you hungry, baby?” you try again, though your voice only sighs meekly, cowering your head back onto his collarbone. tension quickly falls from you.
“‘s not what i’m hungry for,” he replies, simply, still mouthing along your neck.
“baby…”
he hums into your shoulder, sending vibrations dipping all down your body like it was a line on the telephone.
“you look so good in my shirt.” the ‘good’ dancing out again like sipping iced tea on the rickety back porch.
his skin grazes your nipples delectably, the decadence makes you want to fill your mouth with something. his unoccupied hand sweeps down your belly. you welcome his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties.
“mm mm mm,” he marvels at the feel of you with a shake of his head. your neck now slick with the remnants of his tongue.
michael places his weight on your back, sandwiching you between his fingers making a mess of you and his dick gliding against the fabric still covering you from behind. your moans come out weakly, his arms like a harness for you to lean into as you slip your hips back and forth, grinding on each other.
“i’ve always wanted t’…t’ do it here,” he whispers, huskily.
“me too…” and you have. you often imagined it like this, after dona would go for the day, just the two of you, making love, hands begging for mercy against the counter, and finding nothing to grab.
you shiver against him. he swipes deep between your legs with his middle finger. slick stains his skin.
that was all he needed. his shoe nudges your heels as he slides it in between your feet and you tip toe your legs apart, the way you open feels serene in his baptized hands. “that’s it…that’s it, baby…my baby…” he coos, coaxing you. his open mouth huffing like a furnace. “you gonna give it to me?”
your hands cup the edge of the marble, wordless.
“hm?”
your temples sweat as you nod your answer. “mhm.”
his hand rebounds, wetting your belly as he pulls it away. that sweet ache he leaves you with sends a whine up throat.
“bend over.”
you had no time, no desire, to question what’d gotten into him, like a hound on a leash, you obey. he kneels down, observing your thighs quivering with the strain of arousal. his touch is light and ticklish as his hands sail up the back of your legs, pushing his shirt over your hips and effortlessly dragging your panties down. he, with his manners shining, stretches the fabric in his fingers so you can step out of them, expanding the dark spot where you soaked through. with a light pull on your shin, he beckons you around.
seeing him down on one knee sent your heartbeat seething through you. you pulse, flowering like his face was the sun. he brings your foot up to his knee, resting the sole on it. you watch him wet three fingers in his mouth, a concentrated lust brewing. he touches you gently, spreading your lips apart like he was searching for a jewel. he smiles when he finds it. but he doesn’t let himself win it yet.
he flicks his gaze up at you and then down at her, like he was proud of it. “pretty girl…” he whispers, his tongue peaking out from between his perfect smiling teeth.
he lifts his head to you, slowly, pointedly, zig zagging his tongue from the bottom to the top, humming his eyes shut as your scent envelops him. heavy, sweet, the tip of his tongue now covered in your slick pool. his sweet mouth seals around your clit, sucks and licks, one hand cradles your ankle, the other stabilizes your trembling hip. he swallows the longing as it spills down his throat.
“oh—michael—y-yes.” your hands sweep into his hair, not pulling, but leading the loose curls into your fists, massaging his head like a house cat. “yes,” you whimper, rocking into his tongue, feeling so good, feeling so free. it’s your house and you can have your man; your pop-star; the king between your legs, in your kitchen, whenever you so please.
his eyes open, eyelashes aflutter, as he guides his fingertips to your throbbing core, already clutching around the idea of him. it’s easy, when he slides each of them inside and curls deftly. two of his knuckles bend into your ridged wall, petting you in all ways. you keep your hands in his hair, breathlessly moaning, stepping onto his thigh deeper with each nudge of his fingers and tongue, each suckle from his lips. your mouth slacks as you come, body elated and shaking while he sucks it up, still caressing you inside until you keel over his head, his mouth berating you to bliss like an incessant drum. then, he stops, soft and loving, giggling under your belly.
you let him up, the muscles in your abdomen utterly spent.
“you alright, baby?” he cups your face in his talented hands, gazing into your eyes. his smile smug. triumphant.
“y-yes,” you pant.
his thumb brushes over your lips. gentle. “you want more?”
you answer like a girl possessed, “yes.”
what time was it? what did it matter? the food? oh…you forgot all about that.
“you want it right here?”
he peers into your eyes, they’re flooded with silent pleading.
“i want it right here,” you echo, lips parted, words pour out of you like a most desperate beg.
his lips collapse into yours, the kisses between you quick and clouded by passion. your hands tug fabric from his pants, knocking into tight muscles, soft and smooth on your fingers. his zipper lowers with a high pitched grind, his lips all over you, wildly claiming skin as your breath sweeps out of you in gusts. michael kisses down your neck and licks back up the muscle, closing his mouth around your earlobe.
his hands grab and spin you, pressing his palm to your lower back. as you lay your chest flat to the surface, you look at him, his eyes cast down to the pearling between your legs.
“mmm…baby.” he eases against the opening. you part for him without any toil and he rocks you into a dream, one so entangled in love.
tears fill your eyes to accompany your whimpering at the depth of him. all of his girth barely squeezing inside, especially not from this angle. your body arches into whatever irrepressible sensation he gives. you love him, you thought, you love him so much.
his hips speed. quicker and quicker, but loving all the same. his hands cull your body up to drape his head against your shoulder. with his hold on you, you can feel his heart beating. you can feel it everywhere. in a sudden bite of passion, you drag your knee up on the counter edge and he groans, edging deeper inside.
“you don’t understand what you do to me.” he begins to chant into your ear, sweating from all his longing. “you don’t understand…” he shakes his head, his voice a broken plea. “you don’t understand, baby.”
you hook your arm around his head, your folded shirtsleeve drooping up on your bicep. you pull him in, looking deeply into his doe eyes.
“make me…make me understand—i—i wanna—ah—understand.” your breath comes out in hitches, sucking the air from your words.
a soft growl rumbles from him. the heat from his body, the heat from his thrusts grasping you, trampling every thought and function. he rolls his fingers around your clit and you quiver inside. again and again and again until you’re whimpering.
“c’mon, baby, c’mon, baby.” he hooks onto your mouth, the kiss deep and fast as you tighten into orgasm, a spasm tumbling around his throbbing width. slowly reopening, unable to recover, you feel yourself spill over, slipping and shaking along his length like grooving waves. your leg gently comes down as he empties you with a quickness. he holds your gasping body close to him as he pumps his length, wet with your arousal, and comes into his fist.
the afterglow looks hazy, sleepy, and smiling. your hands rub his face affectionately, your lips kiss the corner of his mouth. “you want your dinner now?”
michael lets out a noise that resembles a snort. you look at him with a confused smile…you’re not joking.
growing pains: tami williams for garage magazine oct. 2019
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Moonwalker and new writer who just started making Michael Jackson fanfiction. 18+ content. MDNI. For those uncomfortable with NSFW stuff involving Michael, just block and move along. I am currently not taking requests.
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