#sub!character

Running a farm sure is difficult. You had to wake up early everyday and get lots of physical work done. Not only that, you also had to care for all of your hybrid animals, each with their own individual needs and problems. You did hire employees to help lessen your workload, but there were still things only the owner can solve. Like today, having to deal with the mystery of one of your best cows producing results atypical of him.

“Ahhn— ahnnghh~ ♡ mmHghff, n-not so roughhhh..!! T-too much too g-guuud ♥︎♡” He mewled, nails digging into his own thighs as he whimpered around the stretch. His knees were raised up to his chest and your cock already bottomed out inside him, causing him to kick his legs futilely. It’s been so long since he last had someone else play around with him in the hay like this. Just the tip alone was enough to make his eyes roll back, his mind all fuzzy with pleasure.

Now with the entire thing inside, his couldn’t hold back his voice anymore, “ahh.. ah—ahNgh, ha,,uuhNnh~ b-big, so biiig ♡ so deep~ h-hurts~!!♡♥︎♡” At this rate, he could swear you were fucking his stomach, reaching places he only gets to experience with you. No matter what he moaned out, he couldn’t fool no one with that big, stupid grin plastered across his face. “You are kind of pissing me off.” For some reason, you felt like you were being played by him. “Spread yourself wider.”

He did as you said, using his hands to hold his legs apart, faint red lines appearing from where he gripped too hard. The hay below was digging into his back and getting into his hair, yet he didn’t care one bit. He couldn’t think of anything but you right now, not when his lovely, favourite farm owner was personally showering him with so much love! You don’t even know how long he’s been waiting to get manhandled by you again.

And fuck, he wasn’t just imagining it, he could totally see the belly bulge apparing and disappearing from his lower abdomen with each thrust. “mhhHffgg~ r-right there, ahhNn～ I-I’ll do anything, so pleassee!! Ha-harder, more, gimme all of it~♥︎” Someday, he was going to make you snap. “Don’t get cocky. I wouldn’t be here fucking your desperate self if you weren’t acting like some bitch in heat.” You snapped at him. That’s right, you were supposed to investigate his milking problem, but the upper half and not his lower, stupid half.

It’s not like you didn’t try solving it in a civil manner first. At first all you did was asking if anything happened or if he felt sick, while he was using the milking machine as per procedure. He replied no to each and every one of the questions, yet only produced a quarter of what he usually did, so it’s understandable that you got concerned.

“Maybe… it’s because of the machine?” That cow hybrid suggested upon your inquiry, gently pulling the pumps off of himself and holding his squishy tits with both hands. It was obvious that these got bigger over the course of the last few days. “Are you saying we should try hand milking?” You wondered, and he nodded quickly. You even felt like his eyes lit up for a split second. So you decided to give it a shot, since you did start off in the traditional way first and just recently adapted the more modern method.

You then quickly proceeded with the experiment and began tracing your fingers around his areola. After a few circles, you pinched his nubs softly with two fingers, trying out the flow. Nothing much happened apart from the low, breathy gasps coming from the male, which was why you began pulling and twisting a little. But once you started doing that, he just immediately moaned out, “aAaHnngg~♥︎♡♥︎ mMhnnh— uHhn,, huUhmff ♡”

After having his nipples sucked by the machine for so long, they were already super sensitive. Then to have his favourite caretaker the one he really really liked ♡ hand milking him again? Who could blame him for getting hard! By then he was already leaking precum onto the hay below. Your fingers were just so skilful, so much more intimate and warm than any device could ever hope to replicate. He just adored having your hands on him. “G-gentle… nghhHgg, l-love it~~ mhmm~! ♥︎”

He glanced down at the spot between his legs, a small puddle of precum already forming there. “I-I can’t help it…! It feels too good when you touch them.” Seeing that the wrong part of him was getting milked dry, you felt this realisation clicking inside, “did you suggest the hand milking just to get off? Don’t you know I have other things that needs to be done too?” The boy stayed quiet for a bit, before smiling sheepishly, noticing your hands were still on his nipples, “nnhhGahhh-ahnn!!♡♡ ha-haaa,, maybe…?”

Needless to say you were at your wits end with him, which is what got you into your current situation. With you holding his waist while slamming your hips against his, lewd squelching sounds echoing through the barn. “You know, this is how you get real cows to produce milk. By breeding them.” You whispered, his walls squeezing your length all snuggly. “Will it work for you too? Though I’m starting to think you were faking it all for attention.”

The way you stared down at him gave him chills. Oh how he loved it when you frowned at the sight of him, your eyes focused on him only. His words were slurred as he babbled with his tongue lolled out, “n-noo, no..!! M’wasnt, i r-really couldnt~ nGhhn ♥︎” look at that, he was thoroughly enjoying himself, wasn’t he?

“So, you are telling me you didn’t see this coming?” He didn’t answer, but his body revealed everything you needed to know. “Cheeky bastard.” You sighed and pulled out until only the tip remained inside, before slamming it all back in, making him curl his toes. “GuuUhhGnn~♡♥︎♡ ah-HnnGh—!!“ His moans turned into a whine when you abruptly grabbed him by the chin, “Since you’ve got so much time on your hands, fix that milking problem.”

“Yuu are sho… mhmm..!!! sho mean…!” He gasped out while you were still squeezing his cheeks. His hands finally released his now bruised thighs and landed on his nipples, his legs wrapping around your waist. The spot where he gripped them before has been decorated with a bunch of red nail-indents. “Ha-haaahh~ like this?” You did let go of him the moment he fulfilled your command.

Unsurprisingly, he kept smirking while he rolled his nips between his digits, licking his lips as his own sweet milk flowed down his wrists. The entire barn smelled of sex and warm, fresh milk. “hey… isn’t this suuuuch a-ahh~ waste?” He brought one of his soiled hand up to his mouth and sucked his own fingers clean, sticking his tongue out afterwards, “you want to make money with this, no? Heh… nghh ♡ So we shouldn’t waste it…!”

He was actually hoping for you to touch him yourself again, but to his dismay, you instead handed him the pumps of the milking machine, forcing him to reapply them to his own chest. “You think I’m that stupid? I won’t fall for the same trick twice.” You raised his hips up a little, getting a better angle before pounding into him even deeper, with surprisingly quicker thrusts. “AhNghhn ♥︎♡ d-don’t stop, ahhh so guuud, too good mghhnnff, m’love you, love this, right t-there ♡♡♡!”

You were hitting his sweet spots with the accuracy of someone who knows how to play his body like an instrument. The way you abused all his favourite places, rolling your hips with each rut into his sloppy hole…? It was simply heavenly ♥︎ his moans bounced off the thin wooden walls of the stable, echoing back at him, though he didn’t care at all. He was getting the privilege of being fucked by you, why would he be ashamed of that~?

Even the low humming of the milking machine was like music to his ears, the soft pressure of the suction pumps constantly stimulating his chest. His body was like on fire. Wherever you touched, heat would blossom beneath his skin. His vision was swimming, brain melting from the absolutely overwhelming ecstasy. It was to be expected that he’d sooner or later reach his limit.

“I’m close… ah~ I’m c-close, hnNhh, gunna cum, m’cummin’~♥︎♡!!— ah, n-nooo!” Right before he could shoot it all out, you wrapped your hand around his neglected cock and pressed your thumb into his slit firmly, denying him his much anticipated climax, “don’t you dare cum before I do. I’m not done breeding you yet.” “Wa— n-no…! L-lemme cum, I wanna— ah, ahNhhhgg, uHHhn!!!”

With that being said, poor thing was forced to endure the ruined orgasm and deal with the consequences of his actions. Shudders coursed through his spine as he cried out with each thrust, pleading so, so so so sweetly for his release. But you stayed firm the whole time, saying you were only going to let go of his now weeping cock once you’ve emptied your load inside him.

This time, you were going to fill him up until he learns how to behave. It didn’t stop him from trying his shot by begging even more submissively though. “P-please… cum already… b-breed me, fill me♥︎ hnNgh, like you said…!! I-I can’t anymore, m’wanna cum, ahh please~♡♡♥︎”

Gradually, you approached your own limit. He’s been getting really good at squeezing around you, shaking his own hips in a poor attempt to speed things up. You took a glance at the machine, then back at him. It seems your little ‘breeding therapy’ bared fruits, there was so much more milk coming out of his tits now. It was filling the tanks up all nicely. The same couldnt be said about his face though. With tears, sweat and snot running down his chin, his eyes glazed over and pleasure-ridden— even his pupils turned into little hearts♥︎!

One of his hands was just shy of grabbing your wrist, the other one clutching at anything within reach. His body was shaking heavily, his breath hitching audibly when you suddenly quickened your pace and mumbled, “fuck… I’m close.” Shortly after you also finally let go of his swollen dick. The shade was an angry red as it leaked precum everywhere, twitching with a mind of it’s own as he whimpered, “y-yes, yes…!, finally, ah- ahnGhh I-i’ve been wa- ah— waiting, gonna cummm ♥︎♡♥︎ f-fuck me harder, Nghh~ deeper, fill me up with your babies ♡♥︎♡”

Soon enough, both of you tipped over the edge. With you filling him to the brim, making his belly distend even more, and him making a mess everywhere. His head thrown back, eyes rolling until only the whites remained, thick ropes of cum coming out of his still jerking cock, splattering everywhere. “MhHmghhn~~ ♡♥︎” he bit down on his inner cheek, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his tongue as he heaved heavily. Chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

You also took a moment to catch your breath, before pulling out of him with a quiet pop. The moment you left him empty and wanting, your cum began spilling from his entrance and dripped down his ass in an undeniably erotic display. His hole fluttered and clenched around nothing, small whines of residual bliss slipping past his lips from time to time. You couldnt help but chuckle at the debauched display, mocking him, “so that’s why you couldn’t produce any milk… it’s because you are such a slut that you need a dick to perform.”

After fixing yourself up until you were presentable again, you stuffed a plug vibrator inside him, to keep your seed trapped inside him. Then you turned it on to the max level alongside the pumping machine, since his breasts were carrying the milk from multiple weeks. This earned you a meek sob from the cow hybrid, but he was way too tired to even argue! All he could do was lay still while letting himself be milked like a good, obedient cow ♡

He still had so much more left until dry anyway, so it wouldn’t be a problem to set the timer to a few hours, no?

You won’t be paying him much attention, engrossed in your own phone, as this is pretty normal behavior from him after a long day.

After a particularly strong roll of his hips and a frustrated little whine leaving his mouth, you’ll giggle, glancing up at him from your phone. 

“Sei, do you wanna have sex?”

Nagi will bite his lip softly, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly, eyes not leaving his game. “Nnh...Sounds like a lot of work. M’too tired today…”

You laugh again, resting your hand atop his head and scratching lightly at his scalp through his soft, white hair, making his eyes flutter a bit.

“Okay, hun. Just askin’ ‘cause you’ve been rubbing your dick against me for a half hour now.” 

Nagi whines, pressing against you a little harder. 

“Y-Yeah, cause m’hard…”

“I can feel that,” you tease him. “Do you wanna do anything about it?”

Nagi will whine again, as if exasperated by his own body’s needs and their insistence upon tearing him away from the blissful act of bedrotting with you. He looks up at you with his big, grey eyes, and that sleepy little pout on his face that renders you unable to say no to him.

“Can you do it?” he blinks at you hopefully, then adds a soft “please?” 

Of course you give in. How are you supposed to resist him? 

Nagi will whine again when you ask him to lift his hips for you, huffing as he reluctantly does so. “Oh, I know, such an inconvenience,” you tease him as you pull his shorts down his hips, freeing his hard cock, which smacks against his tummy. “Did I bother my sleepy little princess by asking him to move a muscle? My poor baby,” you pout at him sarcastically, and you maybe would’ve missed the way he bites into his bottom lip and whimpers softly at your words, if it weren’t for his cock noticeably jumping at the same time. 

“Does that turn you on?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you wrap a hand around his aching cock, and Nagi lets out a long breath, jaw falling open in a moan as his phone falls from his hands. “You like when I baby you? When I tease you for being my spoiled little princess? Huh?”

Nagi nods, throwing himself over you like a koala, his right leg wrapped over your tummy, his hips pressing against yours in a way that effectively renders your hand unable to move. You chuckle again at his antics, struggling to pull your hand out from between you, making him whine as he rolls his hips into you. It's times like this when you're reminded that your boyfriend is 6'3", well-built, and not easy to manhandle, despite his behavior.

“Shiro, baby, y'can't just slump on me like this. I can’t even move my hand."

At least you expected the dramatic whine he lets out this time. You can read his mind – so much work – as he lifts his hips a bit and tilts them to the right, leaving his aching cock poking out between both of your tummies. 

So cute, you think, as you wrap your hand back around it. “Theeere you go,” you murmur to him, watching as his eyes roll back. Nagi moans, softly rocking himself into your hand as he cozies up to you, nuzzling his head into your neck. 

“Jus’ wanted to cuddle while we do it,” he whispers against your ear, and your heart clenches at how adorable he is. 

“I know, baby. Does it feel good?” 

He nods into your neck, his voice coming out soft and shaky when he answers. "Uh-huh. K-keep going."

You let him stay right there, cuddled into your side, eyes closed, soft noises of pleasure spilling from his lips as you stroke him. It’s moments like these when you can appreciate how much Nagi trusts you – he knows he doesn’t need to be the same monster that he is on the field when he’s alone with you. He lets himself be soft, pliant, even lazy, because he knows you’ll take care of him.

Nagi doesn’t warn you when he’s close, but you know the signs; the way his leg tightens around you, and his breathing picks up, each huff against your skin punctuated by a soft, whimpery noise. You press your thumb right below his tip, rubbing in a firm circle. 

“You close, Sei?”

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, fingers coming to grasp at the material of your sweater, “gonna cum.”

You kiss the top of his head gently. “Go ahead, love.”

Nagi’s body tenses against yours, and with a couple more strokes, he lets go with a shudder, spilling all over your fist and both of your tummies, gasping into your neck at the pleasure that courses through him as your hand mostly stills, just squeezing him in gentle pulses to get him through it. 

Nagi slumps against you when he’s finished, panting heavily as your clean hand rubs up and down his back in soothing motions. 

“There ya go. S’that better, Sei?” You whisper to him, and he nods, whimpering softly, and plants a kiss on your neck. “Poor thing, you were hard for so long. Jus’ waiting for me to do something, huh? My big baby.”  

“Love you~” he slurs, nuzzling into you harder. 

“I love you, too.” 

For a couple minutes, you’re able to ignore the warm, sticky sensation of Nagi’s cum decorating your stomach in favor of stroking his fluffy hair and letting him bask in the afterglow, finally able to fully relax after his long day.

Only for so long, though.

“Okay, Sei, time to get cleaned up. I’ll cuddle you after we take a shower, ok?”

Silence. 

“Seishiro?” 

Then you hear it – a soft snore coming from your boyfriend’s figure, slumped deadweight on top of you. You lift your hand to your face with a sigh and spread your fingers, watching his thick cum web between them as you debate with yourself whether you’d rather put up with another hour of being sticky and wet, or the whiny fit Nagi is bound to throw if you wake him up and drag him to the bathroom. 

So much work.

  -ˋˏ᯽ a/n: had to get this out of my head! i love nagiii i love sleepy boys who can't do anything for themselves and just wanna get taken care of <3 ....so much more bllk stuff in the works btw like 10+ ness drabbles in drafts...also ppl who've requested stuff tysm i love u & i'll get to it soon!!

©decayofalice

You were in your apartment getting ready when the phone rang. You were halfway through your makeup, focused on getting your eyeliner just right, and you let it ring out. Whoever it was could call back. Lay All of Your Love on Me by ABBA blasting out from your turntable speakers, loud enough to shake the vanity beneath your hands.

It went to the answering machine.

His voice came through on the speaker phone, over your noisy room, a little rushed, like he'd called without thinking it through first:

"Hey, um, it's Michael. Jackson. Michael Jackson– umm. I know we were supposed to meet up later but I—"

There was a pause. You could hear him breathing.

"Can you just come over? To the house, to Hayvenhurst? Like, this afternoon? I don't want to meet you somewhere public. If we go out they'll mob us and I can't— put you through that. I just need to see you without all of the annoyances. Without people watching. Just come straight to the gate and I'll—I'll meet you there, okay? I couldn't stop thinking about you all week and I don't want to wait any longer. Please? Ok. Goodbye."

There was the sound of him hanging up, then the mechanical beep of the machine.

You stood there in your half-done makeup and stared at the phone, music still blasting in the background.

You grinned almost manically as the crescendo built on the last chorus of the ABBA song, the entire apartment suddenly feeling too small to contain the electricity buzzing beneath your skin.

“Don’t go wasting your emotion…”

The words crashed through the room like they were meant specifically for you, like the universe itself was laughing at how impossible it would be to stay calm after that phone call. Your pulse was hammering so hard you could feel it in your fingertips. Michael Jackson had just called sounding desperate; he didn’t sound like the untouchable megastar the world saw on television. Just Michael. Breathless. Impatient. Wanting you there now.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, one eye lined perfectly, the other unfinished, lipstick still uncapped on the vanity. The song swelled louder. Dramatic. Hungry. Urgent. You did one finally layer of eyeliner to even it out.

“Lay all your love on me…”

God. The way he’d said I couldn’t stop thinking about you all week. The way his voice caught slightly on please.

Your stomach flipped violently.

Every second you stayed in the apartment started to feel unbearable, like wasted time. Like he was pacing somewhere inside Hayvenhurst waiting for you already. Maybe looking out the windows. Maybe replaying the call in his head wondering if he sounded too eager. Maybe counting the minutes until you arrived.

You snatched up your keys so fast they nearly slid from your hand. The eyeliner pencil rolled forgotten across the vanity. ABBA kept roaring through the speakers behind you as you rushed for the door, heart racing faster and faster with every thought of him waiting there alone, hidden away from the world, wanting you before anyone else could take another piece of him first.

₊˚°⊹˚

The taxi pulled up to Hayvenhurst Avenue around four o'clock. The gates were impressive even from the street, black and imposing, and there were people standing outside them. Not a huge crowd, but enough to be weird; three or four girls in their twenties, one older woman with a camera around her neck, all of them just... waiting.

Watching.

When you stepped out of the taxi they all turned to look at you at once. Their expressions shifted from hopeful to dismissive in about half a second — you weren't anyone they recognized, so you were nobody. One of them actually rolled her eyes.

You felt a bit small under their gaze, and wrong, like you didn't have the right to be here. But you straightened yourself, your 60s shift dress flowing in the wind slightly, and you shrugged it off.

You walked toward the gates despite the numerous eyes on you. Toward the buzzer.

You buzzed and waited. Then, all of a sudden, rapid footsteps. 

Michael appeared almost running down the drive, but you could tell he was still trying to act casual. You bit your lip to stop yourself from giggling - what a sight. The butter yellow shirt and bright orange wooly jumper against his skin made him look almost otherworldly — like he'd stepped out of a dream. His hair dark was shorter than you thought it'd be, but still very curly. His skin was gorgeous, like smooth caramel in the California sun. He looked pretty enough to devour.

He was moving fast, purposeful, and when he saw you through the bars of the gate his whole face did something that made the fans' heads whip around in aching unison.

He unlocked the gate from inside and let you step through it, closing it behind you so the other girls couldn't follow, and then he was standing in front of you and you couldn't breathe properly.

He was real. In front of you. Not a voice on the phone or a picture in the newspaper or in a music video on the television screen. He was tall and he smelled like powdery cologne and something sweet, his hair was falling into his face perfectly and he was looking at you with a worshiping, adoring look.

"Hi," he said softly, a great big wide grin on his face. His teeth were impossibly white and straight.

"Hi."

"Now…Your dad showed me your picture," he said, almost immediately, like he'd been holding it in. "The one on his desk at Epic. But you're so much more beautiful in person."

Heat bloomed across your chest. You didn't know what to say to that and before you could even think to reply, he’d moved on from it.

"I'm sorry about them." He glanced at the fans behind him, at the way they were staring. "They're always here. I don't usually—" He stopped himself from explaining their stares. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

He reached out and took your hand, and his palm was warm and his grip was gentle and he looked at your joined hands like he couldn't quite believe they were connected. He brought you closer to him. 

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he said quietly. "All week. I needed to see you."

"Michael, I—" You didn't know what to say. 

"Come on." He pulled you gently away from the gates and prying eyes. "Let's get inside."

He turned and gave a brief nod to the security guard stationed at the small entrance building on the estate. The wealth that this family had, genuinely was incomprehensible to you. Michael didn’t have that air about him, he seemed like he was down on earth in some ways, and high in the sky in others.

He kept your hand the entire walk up the drive. You could see the house getting bigger as you approached, could see details you'd only ever glimpsed in photos, and it was surreal — this whole thing was surreal. You were here. You were actually here.

It was crazy, you didn’t even know what compelled you to call him that night. Boredom mostly, and the thought that it would ring a few times and he’d not answer. 

Your father had told you all about Michael, his charisma, the spectre of his talent. How he could command a room when he was singing, but also the hushed conversations over the console when Michael was laying down vocal in the studio. The producers and executives at Epic were always fed information on the young star. He seemed lonely in a room of people; someone who needed direction, away from all the ‘yes’ men, merely in his orbit for his money. Your father always stuck up for Michael, you felt a strange longing to do the same.

You felt a need to make him feel something other than adoration from fans, you wanted him to have some sense of normality - you were, for the most part, living a normal life in LA. You could bring him up to speed, let him see that his fame doesn’t need to hold him back from absolutely everything.

He squeezed your hand, like he was checking you were real to him. 

₊˚°⊹˚

Michael guided you through the doors of Hayvenhurst, through the hallowed halls of the infamous Jackson family. It smelled oddly sweet, like cookies and flowers. You ogled in awe at the entryway and the hallways until you started hearing chatter and television static down the luscious, pristine hall.

The living room was chaos.

"—I'm telling you, he was out of bounds, the whole play was—"

"Randy, you can't just make up rules—"

"I'm not making up rules, those ARE the rules you moron—"

The petite girl on the sofa with big hair, you assumed after seeing pictures, was Janet. She sat on the couch with her legs tucked under her, half-watching the basketball game and half-reading a magazine.

When you and Michael came through the door she looked up and her eyes went straight to your joined hands, to the way Michael looked at you like you might disappear if he let go.

She didn't say anything, but Marlon, who was leaning against the doorframe of the opposite door that led to another hallway, caught it too.

He and Janet exchanged a look that was loaded with information.

"Oh, heyyyyy," Marlon said, drawing it out like he was tasting the word. Like he hadn't been expecting you. 

Like he hadn't heard Michael practically vibrating with nervous energy all afternoon.

"This is Y/N," Michael said quickly. "Her dad's part of my team at Epic."

"Right," Marlon said slowly. He was looking at your hand in Michael's hand. "The producer's daughter."

"Oh, THIS is the girl Mikey was drooling over at the receiver earlier," Randy said, finally sitting up from where he'd been sprawled on the floor with a pillow. "Wait, isn't this your first time meeting her in person?"

Michael's grip on your hand tightened slightly. "Yes. It is. And we're going to use the studio, so please do not disturb us. Or you'll get clapped around the head, you schmucks."

"So this is like a first date situation," Randy continued, totally ignoring what Michael said, his grin spreading. "That's bold, Mikey. Bringing a girl back here on the first try — she'll probably run away screaming when she meets Joseph."

"Don't joke about that," Michael said, but there was an edge to his voice now. You felt him tense up, felt his hand grow slightly sweaty in yours.

Marlon slowly made his way from the threshold of the room and plopped himself down beside Janet, who'd gone back to her magazine with a smirk plastered across her face.

"Y'all better be sneaky if you don't want caught by the parentals," Janet piped, her voice muffled behind the magazine. "They'll have ALL sorts of smothering questions. Mother will want to know your entire family history, Y/N."

"And Father will want to know your intentions with her, Mikey." Marlon added with mock seriousness. “That man is gonna be setting up lawyers; locked and loaded with a prenup, just like he did with good ol’ horny boy, Jermaine”

"Dad is gonna freak when he realises half of his fortune is at stake," Randy said, cackling at his own joke.

"Randy, shut up," Michael said, but there was no heat in it. He was already flustered enough.

Randy jumped up from watching the game and darted over to Michael, clearly trying to dap him up. Michael let go of your hand to shove him away, but Randy just grinned wider.

"My big bro FINALLY got some game," Randy announced to the room like he'd just made a major scientific discovery.

"Man, you guys are the worst," Michael said, shaking his head and nervously running his hands through his hair. "I was trying to play it cool and you all start acting like complete idiots."

"JANET," came a painfully loud, high-pitched voice from the echo-y hallway. "Mother wants your opinion on new patio furniture from the catalogu—"

LaToya walked into the living room, stopping dead when she saw everyone standing there. She looked at you, then at Michael, her eyes wide with shock.

"Oh," she said, her eyebrows raising in an exaggerated arc. "I'm interrupting something, aren't I?"

"No," Michael supplied almost immediately. "We are going to the studio so I can let her hear the song that I’ve been working on, for the new album."

"Mmm-hm," LaToya said, and it was the most loaded 'mmm-hm' you'd ever heard. "Of course. Working on the song."

Michael grabbed your hand again and started dragging you toward the hallway. "C'mon, Y/N, let's leave these Neanderthals behind before they say anything else mortifying."

"Too late," Janet called after you both,

You followed along, your arm outstretched in front of you as he pulled you through the house and then out another door onto the driveway. The evening was cooling down, the sun starting to dip lower in the sky.

"Our studio is just across here," he said, turning back to look at you as he walked, his excitement finally breaking through the embarrassment. "Fully kitted out. State of the art."

He was already pulling you toward a separate building, this sleek modern structure that looked like it had been added on recently. When he pushed the door open you stepped into controlled chaos; equipment everywhere, soundproofing on the walls, a mixing board that looked like it cost more than a car. 

Interestingly, there were post-it notes covering most of the felt walls. Sketched drawings, yellow paper scrawled with black or red sharpie. You realised you were seeing a map of Michael’s internal monologue whilst he worked. It was just as chaotic as you imagined.

But Michael went straight to the tape machine, his entire demeanor shifting. The nervousness fell away. This was his space. This was where he was in control.

"Okay, so—" He was already threading a tape in, his hands moving with an understanding not many people have of that apparatus. " I have been working on this for about three weeks.” He grinned back at you.

“All thanks to your Dad for helping green light this new project” He supplied after. 

“Jackie, my older brother, has been helping me hone in on the tone of the lyrics I was writing for a concept song I am working on. I wanted to lean into something a bit more synthesized. Much darker than Off The Wall”.

You chewed your lip in anticipation of being able to be one of the first people to hear this demo. 

The tape finally stopped rewinding with a short ‘Click’ and it was ready to go. You got a bit of fright when the demo started playing, a sharp creak of a door opening and shutting, and then all of a sudden, Michael howling like a wolf in the background. It was clearly a rough cut up of his vision.

You side eyed him after hearing this, not fully trusting his process on this one, and he was already staring at you, his eyes large, hopeful, saying ‘give it a chance.’

Then the beat kicked in, strong horns in staccato, blaring over the track, and then finally the Michael you had listened to over and over again on his first separately produced solo album. His tenor was smooth, he was an expert in being, not only a soulful singer, but also able to be the rhythm as well through his adlibs, and his beatboxing. The song was almost fully realised just with him making sounds with his mouth. Good with his mouth, you thought.

He played the rest of the song, and bopped and beat boxed along to it, whilst holding eye contact with you. It was really intense. You could not believe the change in him — the way his whole body moved with the rhythm, the way his voice could shift from vulnerable to commanding in a single breath. 

This wasn't the boy who'd been mortified by his siblings upstairs. This was someone else entirely. Someone creatively dangerous in the best way possible.

When it ended, the tape spooled to silence and Michael turned to you, breathless, his chest still moving with the energy of what he'd just performed along to.

"That's called 'Thriller,'" he said quietly, straight back to his airy speaking voice.

"Thriller," you repeated. It fit. Everything about it; the wolf howls, the darkness underneath the pop production, the way his voice became almost predatory in places… it all made sense now. "Michael, that's..."

"Tell me honestly."

"Honestly?" You shook your head. "I think that's its the most sophisticated thing you've ever done. The production, the concept — it's not like anything on the radio right now and that’s a fact."

He smiled, but it wasn't his shy smile. It was something more confident, more sure of itself. He reached over and rewound the tape again.

"I want to play you something else," he said. "There's a bridge section that I wanted to take out, as it felt a bit too sexual, the innuendo. Jackie suggested I just let lose and try it, and I wasn't sure but now I think—" He stopped himself, looking at you. 

"Actually, before I do that, I need to ask you something."

"What?"

"Do you feel it? What I'm trying to do here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, do you understand what I'm going for? Because most people don't get it. They hear the pop hooks and they think it's just a dance record. But it's not. It's supposed to be scary. It's supposed to make you uncomfortable but also, elated, make you feel thrilled." 

He was animated now, his hands moving as he talked. "I want people to feel hunted when they listen to it. I want them to feel like something's chasing them and they can't escape it and whether that's a zombie or a crazed crush in the night… that’s up to who’s interpreting."

You thought about the phone call. About how vulnerable he'd been, how exposed. And then you thought about this — him in his element, confident and commanding, talking about his art with you like you’d always been in the room with you. He had no ego though, completely stripped of one, he spoke as if he knew that you would be able to understand everything he was talking about. 

You couldn’t, but with the way he looked and spoke at you - you might just be able to figure it out. His vulnerability was what gave that little bit of darkness in him,  its teeth.

"Yeah," you said. "I feel it."

He looked at you like you'd just given him the most important compliment of his life. Then he turned back to the mixing board and started adjusting levels, his fingers moving over the knobs with practiced ease.

"Tell me honestly if the innuendo was too much, because I don’t really have a reader on these things, if I am completely honest," Michael said, not looking away from what he was doing. "But it's said that the best artists are the ones who aren't afraid to show people the parts of themselves that scare them or that they have not tried to utilize yet. The parts they usually hide."

"It’s hard to hide from your inner monologue, it's why I journal." You supplied, feeling nervous that you weren’t getting it.

He smiled at you. 

The tape that changed and rewound started playing, a muffled static and hum of the mic and then his isolated vocal - “all through the night” his strong vibrato lingering in the otherwise empty and quiet studio, “I’ll save you from the terror on the screen, I’ll make you see, that this is thriller, thriller night.” 

Then he grabbed your arm, and signalled to listen to the next line, ‘cause I can thrill you more than any ghoul would ever dare try”.

The line hung in the charged silence. 

His eyes were wide, vulnerable, waiting for your judgment on the lyric, on the boldness of it. You didn't answer with words. You stepped forward, closing the distance, and kissed him. It was a soft, firm press of your lips to his, an answer in itself.

He froze, a startled little "Mmph!" caught in his throat. Then he melted, his hands coming up to hover near your shoulders before finally settling, trembling, on your upper arms. The kiss was achingly chaste, closed-mouthed, lasting only a few seconds before he broke it, pulling back just enough to look at you, his breath coming in quick, shallow puffs.

“I really am glad you decided to call me, because this is what I have been needing… what I have been missing” He said, quietly.

This time, he pulled you in with confidence. His lips moved tentatively against yours, and when you gently coaxed them apart, he sighed—a surrendering, warm sound—and let you in. The kiss deepened slowly, becoming wetter, hotter. His hands slid down your arms to your waist, clutching the fabric of your dress.

You walked him backward until his legs hit the low, wide leather listening couch. He sank down, pulling you with him so you were straddling his lap. The position made him gasp into your mouth. 

He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

"I want to..." he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. 

"I want to touch you. So much. But I can't... you know, I can't go all the way. It's not right. Not yet. Maybe not ever, I don't know, it's all so confusing..." He sounded genuinely distressed, torn between desire and deep-seated doctrine.

"Shhh," you soothed, running your hands through his soft curls. "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. We can just... fool around."

He looked up at you, his eyes liquid with gratitude and pent-up want. 

"Can I... can I see you?"

You nodded, reaching back for the zipper of your dress. His hands were there first, fumbling clumsily. 

"Let me, please," he murmured, his fingers shaking. He managed it after a few tries, and helped you shimmy out of the simple 60s style shift dress. It pooled around your hips on the couch.

He stared, his lips parted. You were in just your bra and underwear now. His gaze was one of pure, reverent awe. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, almost to himself. "Like a little painting."

He leaned forward, burying his face in the valley between your breasts, nuzzling the soft skin there with a soft, desperate sound. His arms came around you, holding you tightly. 

You could feel the hard length of him, trapped in his trousers, pressing against you. You rocked your hips against him, a slow, deliberate grind.

He moaned, a long, low, helpless "Oooohhh..." and his own hips jerked up to meet the motion. 

"Oh, wow," he gasped, his voice strained. "That feels... that's okay, right? Just... just like this?" He jerked his hips again, and rolled, like the motion of a dance he was familiar with.

"Just like this," you affirmed, continuing the slow, rocking rhythm. 

It was dry, and a bit frantic at times, though still incredibly intimate through the layers of fabric. 

His hands clutched at your back, his fingers pressing into your skin. He was panting, little hot breaths against your chest.

"Can I... take this off?" he asked, his fingers hooking under the strap of your bra.

"Yes."

He undid the clasp with surprising dexterity, and when the garment fell away, he made a small, choked sound. He didn't touch at first, just stared, his eyes dark. 

Then, hesitantly, he reached out and cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. 

A full-body shiver wracked you.

"You're so soft," he whispered. He leaned in and took the peak into his mouth, suckling gently, then with more pressure when you arched into him with a soft cry. His hips were moving in a frantic, grinding counter-rhythm to yours now, the friction maddening for you both.

After a few minutes of this, he pulled his mouth away with a wet pop, his face flushed. "I'm... I'm gonna… go too far… I can't stop myself like this," he confessed, his voice thick with shame and arousal. "It's too much, to feel you up this way. I’m so tempted."

You stilled your movements. "What do you want to do, Michael?” You whispered. “I don’t want you to feel pressure to actually go through with this if it will hurt you mentally or have…reprecussions"

He wouldn't meet your eyes. His brain ran off for a minute, clearly trying to brainstorm ways to keep this going.

"I've... I've thought about it. What it might be like. If you... if you used your mouth." The words came out in a rushed, guilty whisper. 

"But that's probably worse, isn't it? And you wouldn't want to, we aren’t going steady, and it's dirty, I'm—"

"Michael," you interrupted softly, tipping his chin up so he had to look at you. "I want to. Very much. I don’t really care that we aren’t going ‘steady’."

His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of deception or pity. Finding none, he bit his lip, a war playing out on his face. "Really? You... you want to?"

"Oh, yes."

A tremor went through him. He nodded, a quick, jerky motion. "Okay. Okay. But... can we... not all the way? I mean, I'm still dressed, you're... you're mostly dressed. It's less... it's less like that."

You understood where he was going with that statement. A slight barrier to his fervent sexual intention. His religion was stepping in the way of the raw desire he had burning up through him, it was clear to see. 

You could see it, raw and held back in the way he danced on stage, even in the way he sang. This strain…a fight against the odds. 

The layers were a psychological barrier as much as a physical one. 

"Of course." You said.

You slid off his lap and knelt on the plush carpet between his knees. He watched you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Your babydoll shift dress was still sitting just above your hips, so your whole chest was on show to him.

You reached for his belt, and he flinched, then forced himself to be still. You undid the buckle, the button of his trousers, the zipper. He lifted his hips to help you push them down just enough, along with his underwear, to free him.

He was fully erect, beautiful and flushed. He was quite big - a bit bigger than you initially expected, from his wiry frame. 

The sight of him though, combined with his utterly vulnerable expression, sent a jolt of pure heat through you. You wanted to make him feel good. Inform his art, his craft and allow him to draw on real life desire.

You leaned forward, but he suddenly put his hands over his face, peeking through his fingers.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice muffled. 

"I'm so embarrassed. I shouldn't be letting you do this. You must think I'm not strong, for being so easily swayed."

"I think you're beautiful, and very normal" you said firmly. You reached up and gently, but insistently, pulled his hands away from his face. He resisted for a second, then let you, exposing his blush-red cheeks and worried eyes. 

"And I want to do this. Look at me, Michael. See that I want to."

He held your gaze, his own wide and trusting. Slowly, you lowered your head and took him into your mouth.

The sound he made was unlike anything you'd ever heard—a high, shattered gasp that broke into a choked-off sob. "Ah! Oh—gosh... Y/N..."

His hands flew to your head, not to guide, but to simply hold on, his fingers tangling in your hair. 

You started slow, using your tongue, your lips, finding a rhythm. He was vocal, helplessly so, filling the studio with a stream of breathy, broken praise and disbelief.

"It feels... oh, it feels so good... how does it feel so good? You're so warm... your mouth is so soft... I shouldn't... I shouldn't like it this much..."

His hips began to move in tiny, aborted thrusts, a subconscious seeking of more depth. You took him deeper, relaxing your throat. He moaned, long and loud.

"God, I am so close... How can I be so close, I can't... I've never felt anything like this..." His voice was taut with panic and pleasure. 

His grip in your hair tightened unconsciously as you took him deeper and deeper, teetering on the edge of hitting your gag flex he was so big. "Please... don't stop... I'm gonna..."

His rhythm became more urgent, his thrusts into your mouth less controlled. He was losing himself, the conflict drowned out by sheer sensation. "Oh, I'm gonna cum... where... where should I...?"

You didn't pull away. You looked up at him with only your eyes, meeting his desperate gaze, and took him as deep as you could, your message clear.

That was his undoing. 

With a cry that was half-anguish, half-ecstasy; his hips snapped upward, his hands on your head holding you firmly in place as he spilled himself down your throat. 

He wasn't rough per se, but there was a surprising, instinctive strength in his grip, a complete surrender to the climax that forced you to take every last pulse. He shuddered violently, his whole body bowing off the couch.

When it was over, he went limp, his hands falling from your hair to hang uselessly at his sides. 

He was panting, staring at the ceiling with a dazed, shell-shocked expression. You pulled back, swallowing, and rested your cheek on his inner thigh.

For a full minute, there was only the sound of his ragged breathing. Then, slowly, he looked down at you. 

His expression shifted from a somewhat post-coital blankness to dawning horror. He saw your lips, your chin, the evidence of what he'd done.

"Oh, no," he whispered, his voice small and shattered. 

"Oh, no, no, no." He scrambled back on the couch, pulling his trousers up with frantic, clumsy movements, covering himself. He covered his face with those big hands again.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I made you do that. I lost control, I hurt you, I— just wanted you so badly. It felt so much better than just using my hand."

"Michael," you said softly, climbing onto the couch beside him. You reached out and touched his arm. He flinched. "You didn't hurt me. I wanted to. Every second of it."

He peeked out from behind his hands again.  His eyes were so honest - this was not an act. He really felt this internal battle, of what his body wanted, what it called for and what his religion told him was right. 

"Really?"

"Really. It was beautiful. You are beautiful. I don’t mind being slow, as long as I get to spend more time with you" You said, now tracing circles on top of his thigh.

The tension slowly bled out of him. He uncurled slightly, letting his legs drop from where they had tense. 

He looked at you, his boyish vulnerability returning in full force, replacing the tortured guilt. He reached out a trembling hand and brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, wiping away a stray drop.

"Your mouth," he said, wonder in his voice. "It was… so… addicting." A faint, disbelieving smile touched his lips. It was gone in a second, replaced by shyness. He couldn't hold your gaze. 

"I... I liked it. A lot. More than I've ever liked anything. Does that make me terrible?"

"It makes you human," you said, leaning in to kiss him, a soft, chaste press of lips. 

He tasted himself on you, and he sighed into the kiss, a sound of pure, sweet surrender.

He pulled you up to lie beside him on the wide couch, arranging you so your back was to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you. He nuzzled his face into your hair.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For being patient with me. For being so sweet. For... for letting me feel normal for a little while." He paused. 

You smiled in the dim light. "It was thrilling." You let your dirty sense of humour come out to play again, as he didn’t seem as vulnerable.

He giggled then, a soft, silly, boyish sound, and squeezed you tighter. "Good." He was quiet for a long moment. 

"Jackie is going to freak when I confirm I added that little line to the song." Michael said. “He’ll want to know why I changed my mind.”

"Maybe it can be our secret," you suggested. “Just be friends, but fool around like this?”

He pressed a grateful kiss to your shoulder. "Yeah. Our secret." He yawned, a huge, unguarded yawn, and snuggled closer. 

"Don't go yet, okay? Just stay for a little while longer, I don’t want you to go back to being a voice on the phone or an image in my head.” 

You smiled with genuine excitement in your heart.

“Oh I am not going anywhere.”

AND THEM HANDS??? oh, don't get me started on this man's hands―UGH TAKE ME NOW. they can hold you down, and i mean pinned down ! perks of being a gamer, gripping your wrists down together above your head or at your side is like holding a game controller. despite his slender appearance, idia can most definitely keep you down if he actually tries.

i also feel like idia would be the type to try out different toys, IM NOT EXACTLY SURE WHAT KIND, LITERALLY ANY HE MAY FIND THAT HE THINKS WILL GET YOU GOING. bonus points if you give him the same treatment. he would experiment different kinds of vibrators on you and keep them in the back of his mind.

idia shroud is a switch, and will most definitely top you when he feels like it. maybe fuck him once or twice and get him to cum fast―not that you barely have to try―he'll try to beat your record by remembering all the ways to get you crying out his name in disheveled gasps.

man, i luv my bf guys...

end notes ; scared to post this because i don't want people to come at me saying this is all inaccurate, im always scared of mischaracterisation and cry about it for a whole day (⁠˘⁠･⁠_⁠･⁠˘⁠)

𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐯𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝜗ৎ ― 2026