vel

cw - religion mentioned, just the tip!, sweetie pie mike & reader, dry (wet) humping, i mean read the req, thats whats abt to happen wink

also ignore the pink theme, i know i reserve that for perv mike but in my defense i waassss gonna make this apart of that, but it didnt make sense in the long run

god, please give him strength.

"but mikey," you say, luringly, hands smoothing over his half undone button up. "we love each other, how is it sin?" you mumble pitifully, adjusting your sit on his lap slightly.

his eyes drift over your pouty lips, still puffy from his prior attack. you look edible, gluttony lingers around his gentle grip on your hips, he fights it with every coercive word you say.

"i do love you, but we need to be married, baby." he tries to sound assured, but the slight waver doesnt miss you.

your head tilts, he looks at you sharply, knowing youre on to something hes unsure he'll be able to say no to.

you cant help the small smile streching your features, "we dont have to go all the way, what if we just..." you pause, figuring hes more likely to say no if you say it, so you just do it.

your hips lift up half way, before easing back down in a slide on his crotch. electricity zaps up your spine at the movement, your boldness taking both of you by surprise.

his lips trap his bottom lip instantly, hardly holding the grunt that threatened release.

his grip tightens.

"y/n..." he draws with warning, but making no effort to stop you.

you tentatively rise again, but instead of grinding back down, you stay up, waiting for him to move you off...but he doesnt.

shyness creeps up his skin, as he looks away. his vice grip on you tightens impossibly, as he wordlessly brings you down, directly on his hardening crotch.

you gasp slightly, but you grind quickly again, as to not lose the moment.

this unfamiliar indulgence of lust blinds michael, as he grinds up on you, hes never felt this warm. your soft whimpers cascade gently through the room, as your humps quicken.

hes practically gasping with every quick, sophomoric grind. one of his hands detatch, unsteadily exploring the clothed expanse of your body, whilst the other stays planted—half guiding your movements, half tethering himself to you—to reality; that this was, infact, happening.

your hands are finding themselves under the button up, michael groans at your firey touch.

"please—off!" you whine, tugging at the bottom of the shirt, his stomach flexes at your words. he pauses hesitantly, you notice, youre quick to bring your lips to his cheek, drifting down by his ear "i need you mikey, please..." you whine, lips connecting to his neck.

he shudders.

"barely seen you! jus' wanna look." you mumble between the litter of kisses.

he huffs, is this jehovah himself testing his resolve? cause this is purely cruel.

he nods.

you grin, planting a final kiss on his lips, before leaning back to reach for the hem, michael lifts slightly to assist in getting the article off. which is quick to the floor.

his cheeks burn, as he watches your curious gaze.

youre hands trace down his sternum, causing his breath to catch.

he swallows, scratching the back of his neck quietly. "your turn?" he whispers meekly.

you giggle softly, nodding.

god, you look so adorable with your flushed cheeks, he watches your small hands lift your sweater off. he nearly flinches as your bra catches the light. plush breasts cradled by lacy purple—is it silly that he feels jealous over a bra?

he shakes his head of the ridiculous juvenile thought.

his eyes scan slowly over you, from your shy gaze locked on the headbored behind him, to the dip of your collar bone, his eyes haze slightly at the alluring swell of your tits, rising and falling shakily from your uneven breaths. he begrudgingly drops his eyesight, to the dropping curve of your waist meeting your hips. his finger lifts, absentmindedly drawing along said dip. your brows crook upwards at the teasing touch, goosebumps rise in the wake of.

his finger moves north, finding the strap of your bra. he stares with a look you cant quite read, before abruptly breaking the heated silence. "its not a sin to look...its...its natural." he says with a clear of his throat, flicking the flimsy strap gently back to your warm skin.

you nearly ask him to repeat himself, unbelieving michael; the most timid man youve ever met, is asking you to take your bra off.

you blink, before nodding, hands reaching to unclasp the garment.

your eyes drop. frankly, scared to see michaels reaction.

the brisk air hardens your nipples, michael watches silently.

"youre...youre beautiful." he mutters.

you swallow thickly.

you feel him shift under you, sitting up, soon his hand on your back, breath on your neck. he pulls you closer to him, lips latching on your pulse as you whine.

finding his shoulders, you arch into his touch, causing a small groan to your neck.

as hes working his lips on you, you press your hips down on his once again.

in a slur of grasping hands, and desperation. you both ended up bare. michael truly didnt mean for it to come this far, but how could he reject the innate need for connection? lust? yes—sinful, but if you don't go all the way, it's technically not a sin.

for being a sinner, he sure does feel heavenly with you on top of him, cute wide eyes locked on his large, hard cock.

he watches through hooded eyes, as you bite your lip, your inexperienced fingers trace down his abdomen. before you can even land where you so desperately wanted to, michaels quick to catch your wrist in his hand.

his breath hitches at the lingering;teasing feel of you, as he looks up. you give him a deliciously curious gaze, he smiles, bringing your wrist to his lips, your perfuming whirring through his senses, before he presses a soft kiss.

"dont want you doin' all the work." he mumbles his flimsy excuse.

you buzz slightly at his words, nodding.

he uses his vantage on your arm to gently pull you down to meet his lips.

"i want you—all of you—i swear i do, but we oughta do it properly." his sigh fans across your pouty lips.

you nod again, deciding this wasnt a battle you wanted to fight at the moment, already content with how far youd managed to come.

he smiled softly at your easy acceptance. a long pause settles between you two, before michaels qauiet words redirect your attention.

"we could still...grind on each other. if youd like?" he says mousily. you light up instantly, nodding.

his hips raise tentatively, before youre quick to meet him, you slide his long length through your weeping folds in a swift motion.

michael gasps, hands quick to your waist.

a sharp whimper falls from both of your lips, as the burgundy tip catches on your entrance.

instinctively michael pulls your hips down slightly, nearly breaching your entrance, before the cloud of lust dissipates enough for him to move back an inch, opting to grind your pearl along him.

your mouth drops open at that, poor little hole clenching around nothing.

you brace yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders as you lift with his moves.

grinding back down, he moans out, head falling back slightly.

his leaky cock is blanketed in a sheen of your essence, he could weep watching your eager movements along him.

everything is warm, every move driven purely by adoration and adrenaline. he can already feel his release building up.

"please mikey...i want to feel you. i love you." you say abruptly, causing michael to whine.

"o—okay, jus'," his breath falters as you buck your hips quicker—you are a siren of desire, luring him into the depths of desire. "just the tip...its not full way...its not bad" he mutters, more so to convince himself, than you.

he raises from his laxed position on his elbows, to his palms, as you strainfully raise your hips over his cock.

he clutchs the bedsheets below him, as he lets you take him into your small grasp, aligning him up to your weeping hole.

the pearly white gates of heaven flash brightly through his mind, as he enters you. he can damn near hear the trumpets, over your shaky whimper.

this is what he was made for.

he lifts an arm to hug you to him, your tits pressing against him is the least of the overwhelming flood of you.

"please—oh god!" he cries out, his grip on you nearly bruising as he fights every single voice begging him to sink you fully down, in one quick succession. he wants oh so bad to burry himself in your tight gummy walls, and lewdly paint them white as you sigh seductively above him.

but he could never forgive himself—god would never.

but oh fuck you feel so good.

he moves you up, then down ever so slightly. his mushroom tip fully immersed in you.

his eyes squeeze shut, before blinking open. he focuses on your withering figure against him. gaze dropping to your neglected bead, his other hand finds it. rubbing small quick circles.

you fall apart, the dam in your core combusts, washing over your exposed skin. lapping at the heightened nerves of your release, as you clench tightly around michaels tip.

he watches your wanton face, as it morphs through the fazes of pure ecstasy. hes never seen anything more beautiful.

he wants more, more of your love, of your touch, of your release. but he cant even adress those thoughts before his own finish line is crashed through.

he moves out of you—in a blink, he has your back to the matress, as his cum squirts along the expance of your stomach. he cries out, as he paints your soft skin milky white.

the devil has won.

a/n - ok u can totally tell this was written at 3am, please exuse the horrid writting; if you just dont read super in depth then all will be good!!!!

not proofread i am SO sorry lmao i can not for a life of me reread this nightmare, also sorry again if this is choppy i miggggggght be as high as the empire state, speazking of which trump made the knicks lose AUUGGGHHH. its ok tho mamdani will fix it mashallah knicks in 5

also sorry for my inactivity BUT IM DIALED IN ON ASKS!! when i wake up i promise ill pump out actually coherent pieces!!

It kept you up at night — how can a man so infatuated not want to strip you bare and ravish you till the sun came up. Not want to see you, stark naked, in all your glory, writhing and whining underneath him as he took you.

Michael had his reasons.

Timidity. Inexperience. Insecurity.

But, the largest factor of all — religion.

Michael was a raised as a devoted Jehovah’s Witness — something his Mother had instilled in him from birth. A religion built on morality and modesty. A religion that forbid sexual intercourse before marriage.

Michael wasn’t as devoted as his Mother — ever since his album Off the Wall, he had slowly began parting ways with the religion. Distancing himself as the connotations of his album were subtly frowned upon due to mentions of sensuality and infidelity — however, his personal beliefs about a higher power still remained.

He still, after his parting, believed that sex was something marital and holy — something to be worshipped and protected, performed with someone you truly love and trust.

And he did. He did, wholeheartedly, love and trust you — with every fibre of his being. But, every time your hand would trickle down his body, grazing over the painfully obvious bulge that clad him beneath his slacks — he would stop you. The guilt that washed over him far greater than any aching pleasure he so desired.

As time progressed, and your relationship blossomed — that guilt diminished. Grower smaller and smaller with each tentative touch or pleading look you’d give him. Each one cracking the glass dome of restraint he had locked himself in.

You knew tonight you’d finally shattered it.

Michael was sat comfortably next to you on the sofa at Hayvenhurst, a gentle hand resting on the curve of your clothed knee, television blabbering in the background as you watched him. He looked gorgeous in every aspect, but right now — calm, relaxed, content, it took the cake.

“Watch the movie, lovey.” His voice soft and bashful, a blush creeping onto the round of his cheeks after catching you staring.

“I think my view is better.”

Michael breathed out a huff of timid air — your quick-witted flirting always got to him. “Stop. Y’know I’ll get shy.”

You giggled next to him, shuffling closer to his warm body, “I know y’beautiful, Mike.”

He laughed, turning his flushed face away from you in embarrassment, “Can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause..” “‘Cause, what, angelface?”

Michael groaned, finally returning his gaze back onto you, a smile he failed to suppress adorning his ethereal face, “‘Cause y’makin’ me think things that I shouldn’t.”

Ting!

The lustful lightbulb sparked so bright in your brain you almost saw stars.

There was your green light.

“Like what, sweetie.” Your voice now hushed, darker, deeper — an undertone of temptation that had Michael reeling inside, “Tell me.”

“B-Baby.” He was cracking — you were certain. The way he twitched as a calculated hand fell into the tense of his lap, stroking languidly along his clothed thigh, the denim scratching along your manicured nails — paired with a small knit in his eyebrows that made him look so deliciously adorable.

“What’s up, honey?” You teased, face now inches from his own bashful one, “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty lil’ mind of yours.”

Michael whined, deep from his throat, as you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your mouth moved slowly — trailing to his warm cheek, to the sharp of his jawline, and ending on the smooth of his bare neck. The gentleness of your lips against his burning skin had him fluttering his eyes shut — basking in the sensation. His hands moved subconsciously, once against your knee, now hesitantly holding the curve of your waist as you pressed yourself against him.

“Wanna hear it, Michael.”

He whined again, ever so louder this time, a statement of his timidity, “Baby, please.”

Your lips left his skin to move upwards, meeting his gaze once more. He looked wrecked — torn between honouring his devout innocence or letting his dirty mouth reveal his secrets.

You made the decision for him, clambering over him to settle in his lap, legs either side of his twitching hips. His eyes shot open in surprise.

“Honey, I-“ “It’s okay, sweet boy, I know what you’re thinkin’, anyways. Someone else is doin’ all the talkin’ for ya.”

Michael knew exactly what you were on about.

His embarrassingly obvious hard-on pressed into the softness of your clothed cunt — your skirt ridden up your thighs so perfectly that the cotton of your panties now resided directly on top of the boner he was attempting to hide. Despite never seeing his gracious cock with your own eyes, you knew he was big — every ridge now digging into the slick of your covered folds, hugging his length through his pyjamas bottoms.

“Let me make you feel better, handsome.”

Heaven and hell. That was the only thought that plagued Michael’s mind in this moment. Did he remain pledged to his beliefs, or was the way your drooling cunt wrapped around him, despite the barrier of clothing, enough to make him crack?

With one flex of his grip around your waist, and a breathy whine from your lips — the restraint shattered.

His lips met yours in a feverish connection — sloppy and messy. Spit coating your lips and chin as he forced his eager tongue into your mouth — hands now splayed across the small of your back, pushing you closer. His mouth met yours in a frantic motion, quick and rushed, like he was afraid someone, or something, would stop him at any moment. Your hands slipped up his body, resting on the lean of his shoulders, before sliding into the sweetness of his curls.

He truly crumbled when your hips began moving.

A slow, tantalising rock against him — movements so precise and languid he was certain one harsh buck and he’d fill his boxers right then and there. You had played this game with him before — being in this compromising position wasn’t new to you and Michael. You had once, in a state of pleasure, picked up your speed as you rocked against him, but he quickly shut it down. Telling you, bashfully, he was soon to finish and felt wrong about it — paired with a pout and blush.

This time, though, when your hips picked up a swifter pace — he daren’t stop you.

He’d been agonisingly hard and denied an orgasm for months now — every time he’d nearly get there, the devil on his shoulder telling him to carry on and make a mess of his shorts, the angel on the other side would force him to halt your hips to a stop, apologising at the way you’d whine in disappointment.

Michael let you take what you needed — back arched, hands threaded through his curls as you fucked yourself on his clothed cock, the prettiest noises falling from your swollen lips.

“Y’look so beautiful like this.” Michael revealed quietly, hands following the liquid movements of your hips, eyes trailing over your frame, focusing on your erect nipples poking through your tank-top, the curve of your breasts becoming more visible with each bounce.

With every drag he guided along the ridge of his cock that relentlessly nudged against your puffy clit — your whines got louder, only forcing his cock to throb beneath.

Michael, all too familiarly, held you to a stop.

“Michael.” His name fell past your lips in a desperate plea, the pleasure depleting as you stilled against his crotch.

“I know, I know, sweet girl.” He reassured, leaning up to press a gentle peck to your pouting lips, “M’not stoppin’, don’t worry that pretty head. Just wanna try somethin’.”

He lifted you off his lap with strong precision — settling you down to a place you’d not explored with the temptation between your legs.

His thigh.

“There y’go, pretty.” He whispered, smoothing down the back of your hair in kind strokes, “Go’head, baby, take what’cha you need.”

Your head reeled at the sudden change in his disposition — the once shy boy had magically been transformed into a confident man as the remains of his restraint settled around you.

His new attitude sent a pulsation so strong between your thighs you ground down on his — the tense of his muscle rolling against your nub in the most sensual way. Something you’d never quite felt before.

“Oh, God.” You whined — ignoring the way Michael tched at the name used in vain, not once stopping as he dragged you along his leg, lip caught between his teeth as he ogled at you.

“D’ya feel good, pretty?” Despite his switch in confidence, he was still desperate for your praise, his voice cracking slightly as he met your glossy eyes.

“Mmhm—s-s’good, Mikey.” Your voice hit him right where he needed you most — the place between his twitching legs that had been denied touch for so long.

You didn’t miss the way his hips bucked ever so slightly upwards, chasing a grasp he undeniably craved. Your hands soothed that ache — reaching forward, ever so hesitantly, to palm the bulge in his slacks.

Michael gasped, hand flinching at your side, frantic eyes meeting yours once more, “This okay, angel?” You questioned.

Michael’s lip sucked between his teeth once again, glance flickering from your gorgeous smile to your manicured hands hovering over his crotch. An act he would once deny — but not this time.

He hummed, his voice high-pitched and needy, nodding quickly, “Please, mama.”

A curse fell from your swollen rosebud at the sound of his despair — your hand enveloping around his length beneath his bottoms.

“Oh, my Lord.”

He was done for — head falling back against the plush of the sofa, eyes rolled to his skull as the pleasure washed over him. You wasted no time in pleasing the man beneath you, never once stopping rocking your hips against him, as you slowly stroked him.

The scene was erotic — a dirty array of arousal in the way he bucked his hips unapologetically into your hand, cock throbbing under your palm, as you continued to hump the meat of this thigh, your slick staining the blue denim that had trickled from your soaked panties. It was enough for him — no direct physical contact, but just the right amount of pleasure to satisfy you both.

When your thumb swiped over the oozing head of his cock, Michael lost it. Whining so loud like he didn’t care who heard — the sudden boldness depleting faster than it had come around, now replaced by uncontrollable desperation.

“O-Oh, s-shit,” The curse fell from his mouth before he could suppress it, “G-Gonna cum, lovey.” His hips now fucking up into your hand pathetically, chasing a high he’d been yearning for for so long.

In your own state of blinding pleasure, your only response was a melodic whimper, his tensing thigh hitting the ridge of your clit that had your own orgasm building. Michael, with no prior warning, came with a cry, his milky white release soaking the material of his boxers — the neediest whines of lust filling the room. You soon followed — an exclaim of his name hitting his ears, only furthering his pleasure, as you came undone on his thigh, humping him at such a speed you were almost a blur in his glassy vision.

Michael heaved as he came down from a high that had been lingering on his mind since the moment you met him — an orgasm so strong he was twitching uncontrollably. You stilled against his leg, catching your breath simultaneously, peering down at his fucked out state.

“Thank you, pretty.”

“Ah, ah, I’m not done with you yet.”

Michael swore he died and went to heaven as you dropped to your knees beneath him — eyes hungry and dark, agenda unclear to him.

It was only when you lay your tongue flat against the rough of his jeans, the ones you had once fucked yourself on, licking up your essence that clad the denim, that Michael realised how much of a sex-hungry slut you were. The tang of your seeping arousal lingered on your tongue as you lapped up the mess you’d made on him — glancing up at him through your lashes at his knitted eyebrows and agape mouth. His suspicion that you were a cock-slut only deepening as you retracted your tongue back into your mouth, savouring the taste of yourself, and kissed your way up his leg, getting dangerously close to where he was pulsating.

“Mama, I—“ “Shhh, just gonna clean y’up, baby.”

Michael saw stars when you shoved his pyjama bottoms down his thighs and latched your greedy mouth to the wet spot that clad his boxers, a crackled groan ripping from his throat as you hummed around him. Your lips, settling right against the softening tip of his cock, suckled the cum straight from the cotton — his salty release flooding your tastebuds, colliding with the tang of your own essence in a delicious blaze on your tongue. His hand flew down to cradle your cheek as you lapped up the cum that stained him — his cock throbbing once more as your hands gripped his thighs, jeans now even more wet from your eager mouth.

“Baby—fuck, I-I’m gonn—“ With a strangled cry, another irrepressible spurt of cum shot from him once more, hands tightening ever so slightly around your flushed cheek as you greedily sucked up what he blessed you with — lapping up his second orgasm like you were dying of thirst.

Only when you pulled away, satisfied with your salty refreshment, did Michael’s breathing level out — blissed out expression meeting your devilish one.

And he knew — he had never loved you more.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･