sell

one audience

✦ pairing: thriller!michael x stripper!reader

✦ wc: 4.5k

✦ summary: a routine night at one of los angeles’ hottest clubs takes an unexpected turn when a mysterious man in a leather jacket becomes the only audience member ‘angel’ is dancing for. beneath the neon lights and pounding bass of 1984, a game of lingering glances and quiet words quickly turns into something far more dangerous.

✦ warnings: 18+ / minors dni, nsfw, explicit sexual content, p in v sex l, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, mirror sex, bathroom sex, possessive behavior, dirty talk, praise kink, light dominance, consensual power exchange, public sex (semi-public), creampie (IM SORRY!!!), stripping / exotic dancing ~1984 setting, thriller era, no use of y/n, only proof-read this once

✦ an: i couldn’t pass up a club fic considering i’m actually a dancer myself, so i wanted to make the atmosphere and stage/club details feel as authentic as i could. obviously every club is different, and clubs in the 80’s could get away with this typa shit but a lot of the little stage details & pole tricks came from my own experience. hope you enjoy! (i gave her a name similar to my stage name LOL)

the bass rolled through the club like distant thunder, low and steady, vibrating up through the sticky floorboards and straight into your bones. neon cut the haze in jagged purple and crimson streaks. smoke hung from cigarettes, the smell of clove, and the sweet chemical tang of fog machines. it was peak 1984, sequins everywhere. catching every flash of light, leather gleaming under the lights, big hair and bigger attitudes everywhere you looked. the music was the kind that made hips move without asking permission. tricks were always pacing your club, big fur coats, flashy gold jewellery and sunglasses.

you worked the main pole on the raised platform, the one that sat under the best lights and drew the filthiest stares. black leather micro skirt that barely covered the lower curve of your ass, matching bustier laced tight enough to push your chest into a high, inviting shelf, 8 inch pleasers. the stage name on the tip jar read “angel.” the men who fed it never asked for more. you were good at this slow rolls of the hips, deep drops that made your little skirt ride up, the kind of grinding against chrome that looked like you were fucking the pole itself.

michael sat at the far curve of the bar, half swallowed by shadow. black leather jacket over a white shirt left open at the throat, black pants molded to long legs, the single white glove resting off his hand lightly on the polished wood beside a half-finished glass of something clear, water, you assumed. aviator sunglasses stayed on even in the dim, hiding whatever was happening behind them. soft dark curls brushed his collar. he looked exactly like the posters and the magazine spreads. sharp, almost fragile beauty wrapped around something quieter and more controlled. people noticed. a few pointed, whispered. no one approached. he didn’t invite it. one finger tapped the rim of his glass in perfect time with the beat, slow and precise.

the dj, who clearly knew of michael’s presence, mixed into ‘p.y.t. (pretty young thing)’ for you. the synths slid out smooth and playful, the bassline teasing. you felt the shift immediately bodies turning, attention locking on the stage. you smiled, slow and deliberate, and let the track own you. you started with a classic climb: hands high on the pole, one thigh wrapping tight as you pulled yourself up in a smooth vertical rise, body arched, chest pressed forward for the crowd. at the top you locked your knees and spun out into a slow spin, legs straight, skirt smoothly spinning up to flash the thin strip of red g-string underneath. the spin carried you down in lazy circles until your heels kissed the stage again. bills started landing.

you caught his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar still seated, still watching, the tapping finger never missing a beat.

you kept going. a body wave that started at your knees and rolled all the way up through your hips, stomach, and chest, ending with your head thrown back. then a slow, deliberate walk-around the pole, one hand trailing along the chrome while the other slid down the front of your bustier, teasing the laces. you dropped into a deep plié, knees wide, and ground against the pole like it was a body, hips circling in tight figure-eights. every move angled toward him. when you turned your back and arched, looking over your shoulder, the sunglasses stayed fixed on you. heat pooled low in your belly.

the track faded into ‘baby be mine.’ the groove was deeper, smoother, more intimate the kind of song that felt like a private invitation even in a crowded room. you changed the energy. less flash, more heat. you pressed your back to the pole and slid down it, thighs parting wider the lower you went, one hand climbing the chrome above your head while the other traced the edge of your skirt teasingly. at the bottom you dropped to your knees, crawled forward a few feet in a slow, predatory slide, then rose again in a liquid wave of muscle. you locked one leg high against the pole in an upright hold and spun, letting the centrifugal force flare the little skirt open again. your eyes stayed on him the whole time. you mouthed the lyrics without sound, tongue flicking out once against your lower lip. the sunglasses tilted a fraction. he set the glass down. his hand rested flat on the bar now, fingers spread.

you stayed on the floor longer than usual, working a series of floor moves, back arches that pushed your chest toward the ceiling, slow hip rolls on all fours, hair flips, and a split that made the crowd feed the tip rail while you kept your focus locked on that quiet figure at the bar. the tension stretched. every time you looked, he was still watching. no smile. no gesture. just that steady, unblinking attention that made your skin prickle under the leather.

when ‘the lady in my life’ came on, the tempo slowed into something lush and sensual, the kind of track that felt like hands already on skin. you used it. you climbed again this time a slower, more theatrical ascent, one knee hooked, body twisting so the lights caught every curve. at the top you released into a controlled spiral spin, the micro-skirt completely useless at covering you now. you finished the descent in a reverse grab, body parallel to the floor for a second before you dropped into a deep squat, knees wide, and rolled your hips in deep, deliberate arcs. hands slid over your own body the way you wanted his to. you caught the edge of the skirt and held it for a beat, flashing everything underneath, then let it fall. men at the rail groaned. you didn’t look at them. you looked at him.

michael’s posture had changed. he sat a little straighter. the aviators stayed on, but the set of his mouth had gone tighter, softer at the same time. you finished the song on your knees again, thighs spread wide, head tilted back, hair in your face, one hand trailing down between your legs just enough to make the gesture clear. bills rained onto the stage. you gathered them slowly, making every movement count arching to reach, letting your breasts press together, the curve of your ass on full display as you stood. then you stepped off the platform and into the crowd.

you didn’t go straight to him. you took the long way stopping at a couple of tables, accepting drinks you barely sipped, letting hands brush your waist or the small of your back while you laughed and moved on. every few steps you glanced toward the bar. he was still there. still watching. the tension coiled tighter with every minute you delayed. you felt the wetness between your thighs already, the way the g-string clung to you. you wondered if he could tell from across the room.

when you finally reached the bar you took the stool two down from his, ordered water, and waited. the bartender set the glass in front of you. you wrapped your fingers around it, nails painted deep red, and let the silence stretch. the music thudded on. people shouted and laughed around you. neither of you spoke.

his voice came soft, almost shy, the same breathy cadence the whole world knew, but pitched low enough that only you could hear it over the noise.

“you’ve been looking at me the whole time.”

you turned your head just enough to meet the dark lenses. “hard not to. you’re the only one in here who doesn’t look hungry.”

a small smile touched the corner of his mouth. he shifted on the stool, angling toward you without closing the distance yet. his hand rested on the bar between you, close enough that you could have touched it if you leaned.

“what’re you drinkin’?” you asked, trying to make conversation, still trying to do your job.

“water,” he laughed at himself, “so angel? thats fitting… y’know… i watched you dance,” he said. “every song. the way you climbed that pole… the way you spun and opened your legs for the room. you move like you know exactly what you’re doing to people.”

“that’s the job.” you laughed a little nervously

“is it?” he tilted his head. the aviators caught a flash of purple neon. “looked like more than a job when you were on your knees for ‘the lady in my life’…looked like you were thinking about something else entirely.”

heat slid down your spine. you took a slow sip of your water, letting him watch your throat work. “maybe i just liked the audience.”

“one audience,” he corrected, voice still soft. “just one. the rest of them were noise.”

you set the glass down. the space between you felt charged, thick. he hadn’t touched you yet. he didn’t need to. the way he looked at you even behind the sunglasses was already a touch. you shifted on the stool, pulse kicking harder.

“what’s your real name?” he asked.

“y’know im not supposed to tell people. i’ll make an exception for you though.” you leaned in, and whispered it into his ear, he repeated it once, quiet, like he was learning the shape of it. then he leaned in a fraction, close enough that you caught the scent of his cologne under the club smoke.

“i want you to dance for me,” he said. “not up there. not for them. just me.”

you arched a brow, playing it cool even as your thighs pressed together. “vip’s upstairs. 100 hundred a song. private.”

“not the vip.” his voice dropped further, still gentle, but with an edge that made your core clench. “the bathroom in the back. and i don’t want a song. i want everything you’re willing to give me… and a few things you’re not sure about yet. i want to watch that pretty mouth say filthy things while i take what’s clearly mine.”

the words landed low in your belly. you glanced around. the club was loud, distracted, bodies packed tight on the floor. no one was watching the two of you closely enough. big boss wasn’t around. so you nodded once.

he stood in one smooth motion. graceful, economical, the same controlled elegance he carried on stage. his hand settled lightly at the small of your back, not pushing, just guiding. you moved through the crowd together. people parted without quite knowing why. the hallway to the back bathrooms was narrow, lit by a single red bulb that painted everything the color of old blood. he pushed the door open, checked that both stalls were empty, then locked it behind you with a soft, final click.

the space was small two stalls, a cracked sink, a cloudy mirror, the lingering smell of industrial cleaner fighting the usual club-bathroom musk. he turned to face you. the aviators came off slowly. he set them on the edge of the sink. his eyes were darker than the photographs, almost black in the low light, and the intensity in them made your breath catch.

“take it off,” he said, voice still soft. “all of it. slow. i want to watch every inch of that body you were teasing me with.”

you started with the bustier, fingers working the front clasps one by one while he leaned back against the locked door, arms folded, watching every inch of skin as it appeared. the leather fell away. your breasts spilled free, nipples already tight from the cool air and the way he looked at you. you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of the micro-skirt and pushed it down over your hips, letting it drop. the g-string followed, peeling away from the wetness already soaking the thin fabric. you stepped out of the heels last and stood naked, significantly shorter, under the harsh fluorescent light while he stayed fully clothed.

michael’s gaze moved over you like a slow hand. breasts, the soft curve of your waist, the bare mound between your legs, the sheen of arousal already visible on your inner thighs. he pushed off the door and crossed the space in two quiet steps. one hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up. the other hand settled on your hip and squeezed, warm against your skin.

“you’ve been teasing me for three songs,” he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. “climbing that pole, spinning, spreading your legs, grinding like you wanted me to walk across the room, pull you off that stage, and take what i wanted. is that what you were thinking about while all those other men watched?”

you nodded, already breathing harder. “yes.”

“say it properly. tell me what that dirty little mind was doing.”

“i wanted you to fuck me,” you said, voice husky. “i wanted you to come over there, put your hands on me, and use me however you felt like using me. i was thinking about your cock the whole time i was spinning on that pole.”

a soft, almost shy laugh left him, but his eyes stayed hard and hungry. “good girl. pretty girl.”

he kissed you deep, claiming, tongue sliding into your mouth like he already owned the right. you moaned into it, hands reaching for the front of his jacket, but he caught both wrists and pinned them behind your back with one hand. the other stayed on your hip, walking you backward until your ass met the cold edge of the sink.

“stay,” he ordered quietly, and only then released your wrists long enough to shrug out of the leather jacket. the shirt came next, revealing the lean lines of his chest and the soft trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of the black pants. the contrast of warm hands against your bare skin pressed to the cold sink made you even wetter.

michael turned you to face the mirror. he pressed against you from behind, the hard ridge of his cock grinding slow and deliberate against the cleft of your ass. one hand slid around to cup your breast, pinching the nipple between fingers until you gasped. the other pushed between your legs from the front, two fingers sliding through your soaked folds, gathering the wetness with a soft, filthy sound.

“fuck,” he whispered against your ear, that soft voice turning rough around the edges. “you’re dripping already. been thinking about this the whole time you were up there dancing for those other men? getting this pussy all messy while you spun on that pole?”

“yes- ah- only you…i was so wet thinking about you watching me-“

he pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them, stroking that spot that made your hips jerk, while his hips kept grinding against your ass. you watched in the mirror his dark eyes locked on your reflection, mouth parted, soft curls falling forward as he worked you open.

“look at yourself,” he ordered. “watch how wet you get for me. look at your face while i finger fuck you.”

you did. flushed cheeks, swollen lips, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, the wet sounds of his fingers fucking into you filled the small bathroom. you started rocking back onto his hand, chasing more friction.

“greedy little thing,” he murmured, almost fond. “tell me what you want. use that mouth.”

“your cock,” you panted. “please- i need your cock inside me… want you to stretch this pussy open and fuck me until i can’t stand up straight… want you to ruin me.”

he pulled his fingers free and brought the glistening digits to your mouth. “suck. taste how wet you got for me.”

you did, moaning around them, sucking your own juices off his fingers while he watched in the mirror. behind you you heard the zipper, the soft rustle of pants being pushed down just enough. then the thick, hot head of his cock nudged between your cheeks, sliding down until it notched against your entrance, slick with your own wetness.

michael didn’t push in yet. he held there, one hand on your hip, the other still in your mouth, fucking your lips slowly with his fingers while the head of his cock teased you dipping just the tip in, pulling back, coating himself in your slick.

“beg for it,” he said softly.

“please,” you gasped around his fingers. “please fuck me, michael- i need it- …need that big cock filling me up…i’ll be so good for you, i promise- please shove it in and use me…”

he slammed in to the hilt in one hard thrust.

the stretch burned so good you cried out, the sound muffled by his fingers. he was thick and long, forcing your walls to mold around every inch. he didn’t give you time to adjust. he pulled almost all the way out and drove back in, setting a deep, relentless rhythm that made the sink rattle.

“fuck- yes…just like that,” you moaned when he finally pulled his fingers free from your mouth. “harder, use me.. make it hurt a little- fuck this pussy like you own it…”

“i do own it,” he growled against your ear, the soft voice completely gone now. “you’re mine now. you’re so fucking tight, squeezing my cock like you never want me to pull out. listen to how wet you are…listen to that sound.”

the wet slap of skin on skin echoed off the tiles. every thrust punched a broken sound out of your throat. he fucked you harder, one hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so you had no choice but to watch every second. the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you steady while he drove into you like he was trying to leave a permanent mark.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he snarled. “this pretty little pussy was made to take my cock, wasn’t it? made to get filled up.”

“yes. fuck…yes it was - only yours… i-it feels so good.. your cock…. so deep - don’t stop -“

he reached around and rubbed your clit in tight, mean circles, matching the pace of his hips. you came hard, walls clamping down around him, a raw cry tearing from you as pleasure ripped through you in waves. he didn’t stop. he fucked you straight through it, relentless, chasing his own edge while you shook and dripped around him.

“that’s it baby, cum on my cock like a good girl,” he gritted out. “soak me. let me feel this pussy milking me.”

when the aftershocks started to fade he suddenly stopped mid-stroke, buried deep inside you, hips still. you whimpered at the loss of movement, pussy fluttering around him in protest.

“on your knees,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “i want to see that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock… want you to taste yourself on me.”

he pulled out slowly, the thick length of him glistening with your cum, and stepped back just enough. you dropped to your knees on the cold tile without hesitation, eager, already reaching for him. his gloved hand tangled in your hair, guiding but not forcing, as you leaned in and licked a long, messy stripe up the underside of his cock, tasting the sharp, salty tang of yourself mixed with his skin.

“fuck… look at you baby…” he murmured, eyes dark as he watched. “so eager. open wider.”

you did, taking the head into your mouth and sinking down, messy and hungry. drool slicked your lips almost immediately as you bobbed, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. you took him as deep as you could, gagging hard when he hit the back of your throat, then pulled off with a wet pop only to dive back down again, sucking hard, letting the spit drip down your chin and down your chest to the floor. one hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t take; the other cupped his balls, rolling them gently while you moaned around him like you were starving for it.

“that’s it, messy little slut,” he praised, hips giving small, controlled thrusts into your mouth. “taste that pussy on my cock. you got yourself all over me. suck it clean. use that tongue… fuck, just like that…”

you moaned louder, the vibrations making his breath hitch, and worked him messier. sloppy, wet, spit-slick sounds filling the bathroom as you worshipped his cock with your mouth. you pulled off just long enough to look up at him through your lashes, lips shiny and swollen, and panted, “you taste so fucking good with me on you…love sucking your cock after it’s been inside me…”

he groaned, the soft voice cracking into something raw, but he didn’t let himself get too close. after a few more minutes of your eager treatment, he tugged your hair gently, pulling you off with a string of drool connecting your lips to the head of his cock.

“enough,” he said, breathing hard. “as much as i love that mouth, i need to be back inside that tight pussy.”

he hauled you up, spun you back around to face the mirror, and slammed into you from behind in one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt again. the sudden stretch punched a cry out of you. he didn’t ease in, he fucked you harder than before, one hand still fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip and gently rubbing down your back as he pounded into you, goosebumps rising on your skin from the sensation. the wet, filthy sounds of your soaked pussy taking him over and over echoing off the walls.

“that’s better,” he growled. “this is where i belong, balls-deep in this pussy. you still taste yourself on my cock every time i push in? tell me.”

“yes, fuck y-yes i do… still taste me on you please please don’t stop, use me…”

he reached around and rubbed your clit in tight, mean circles again, matching the brutal pace of his hips. you came a second time with a broken sob, nails scraping the sink, walls clamping down around him as pleasure ripped through you.

“fuck- i-im c- im cumming on your cock, don’t stop, please don’t stop please keep fucking me through it p-please-“

he kept going, hips snapping harder. “gonna fill this pussy up,” he gritted out against your throat. “you want that? want me to come so deep inside you it drips down your thighs when you walk back out there and get back on that stage? want every man who watches you dance to see me on you?”

“yes, please, come in me - i want to feel it wanna be full of your cum. want to dance with it leaking out of me - please please fill me up”

he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken moan against your skin, cock pulsing hard, flooding you with thick heat. you felt every spurt, the way it overflowed around his shaft and dripped onto the porcelain in sticky strands. he stayed buried, grinding deep in slow circles, milking every last drop while you trembled and clenched around him.

“take it,” he whispered, voice soft again but still rough. “take every drop. this pussy is mine.”

you stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, then he slowly pulled out. a thick trickle of his cum followed, sliding down your inner thigh in a slow, sticky path. he watched it with dark satisfaction, he reached down and pushed two fingers back inside you, scooping some of the mess and pressing it deeper, holding it in while you whimpered.

“keep it,” he murmured. “i want you walking around this club with my cum inside you for the rest of the night. every time you climb that pole, every time you spin and open your legs, i want you feeling it dripping out of this well-fucked pussy.”

you nodded, still dazed, still pulsing around his fingers. “yes… i’ll keep it. wanna feel you the whole time.”

he cleaned you gently with paper towels almost tender now before helping you back into the g-string, the tiny skirt, the bustier. you left the evidence between your thighs exactly as ordered, sticky and unmistakable. when you were dressed he put his own clothes back on with the same quiet efficiency, slid the aviators into place, and unlocked the door. before he opened it he leaned in one last time, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice soft again.

“same time tomorrow night,” he said. “and next time i’m not stopping at a funky bathroom sink. i’m taking you somewhere i can keep you for hours… and you’re going to beg even prettier for me. i want you. i’ll be back for you.”

✦ pairing: bad!michael x reader

✦ wc: 730

✦ summary: after the final show of the week, michael asks the driver to take the long way home. somewhere between the city lights and the quiet hum of the freeway, he finally finds the courage to sing something he’s been too nervous to share with anyone else.

✦ warnings: fluff, established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, late-night drive, post-concert vibes, shy!michael, bad era michael, nervous singing, hand holding, lots of yearning, no y/n, michael being an absolute sweetheart, mild spanish lyrics

✦ an: this one is for the softies. 🫶🏻 i don’t write enough non-smut and this request was way too fcking cute to pass up. thank you for trusting me with it! @sunsetdrivers hopefully the puerto rican/dominican heart energy has been received and returned with interest 💗

the los angeles night was warm, the kind that clung to skin and made everything feel slower. you were both in the back of the black van after the last show of the week, the rest of the crew already gone ahead. michael had asked the driver to take the long way, windows cracked just enough to let the city air in.

he was still in the red leather jacket from the stage, the one with the silver zippers, though he’d loosened it. the fedora sat on the seat beside him. a faint sheen of sweat still caught along his jaw from the encore. his curls were damp at the edges, and every few seconds his gloved hand would flex against his thigh like he couldn’t quite sit still.

you’d been talking quietly for the last twenty minutes, about nothing important, about everything that mattered. then the silence stretched, soft and charged, until he cleared his throat.

“i… i’ve been wanting to do something,” he said, voice low, almost shy. that soft, careful cadence that always made your stomach flip. “for a while now. but i keep… chickenin’ out.”

you tilted your head.

“what is it?”

he looked at you, then away, then back again. the gold of his eyes caught the passing streetlights.

“there’s a song. you know the one. the spanish one they had me record for the bad reissue.”

a small, nervous laugh.

“i practiced it a lot. more than i needed to, if i’m honest.”

your heart was already beating harder.

michael shifted closer on the bench seat, close enough that his knee brushed yours. he took a slow breath, the way he did right before a big note on stage, except this wasn’t a stadium. this was just the two of you and the low hum of the engine.

“i’m gonna mess it up,” he murmured, almost to himself. “my spanish ain’t perfect… and i’m kinda nervous.”

“why nervous?” you asked softly.

he met your eyes. the answer was right there, quiet and unmistakable.

“because it’s for you.”

he rubbed the back of his neck with a quiet laugh.

“you’d think singin’ in front of eighty thousand people would’ve prepared me for this.”

you smiled.

“guess not.”

he shook his head.

“not when it’s for you.”

he looked down at your joined hands. took another breath. smiled to himself.

then he started to sing.

not the big, soaring performance voice. something smaller. sweeter. the one that lived in the quieter moments, velvet and trembling just a little at the edges.

“todo mi amor eres tú…

y no puedo parar de amarte…”

his eyes never left yours. the spanish curled warm and careful off his tongue, every syllable deliberate because he wanted it to land right. his voice stayed soft, intimate, the way it only ever got when the lights were low and no one else was listening. his spanish was perfect.

“cuando estoy cerca de ti…

siento que el mundo se detiene…”

a faint flush crept up his neck under the collar. his gloved hand found yours, thumb brushing once over your knuckles like he needed the contact to keep going.

“no importa lo que digan…

yo sé que este amor es verdadero…

todo mi amor… eres tú.”

he held the last note longer than necessary, voice dipping into that gentle, almost shy register that made the words feel like a secret. when he finished, the only sound was the tires on the freeway and the quiet rush of your own breathing.

michael’s shoulders were tense, waiting.

he let out the tiniest laugh through his nose.

“…forgot half the words.”

“no, you didn’t.”

“…almost did.”

the bravado from the stage was gone. in its place was just a man in a red jacket, looking at the person he loved like he wasn’t sure he’d be allowed to keep looking.

you squeezed his hand.

a small, relieved smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. he leaned in, forehead almost touching yours, voice barely above a whisper.

“i meant every word.”

outside, the city kept moving. inside the van, time felt like it had finally slowed down just for the two of you.

playboy mike

✦ pairing: thriller!michael x reader

✦ wc: ~5k

✦ summary: after spending the entire day finding excuses to touch you, michael finally works up the courage to admit what he’s been wanting all along. what follows is a night of firsts, gentle reassurance, and a breakfast his brothers will never let him forget.

✦ warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, mutual first time, dual virginity loss, fluff, hurt/comfort, awkwardness, teasing, shy!michael, needy!michael, touch-starved!michael, excessive affection, hotel room, jackson family antics, soft aftercare, no y/n, lots of consent & check-ins, mentions of blood due to first-time sex, reader discomfort, creampie sorry i cannot help myself

✦ an: yet again got carried away i hope this makes yall laugh as hard as i did cus that morning after breakfast part is my fav lmfaooo

all day michael had been touching you like he couldn’t help himself.

it started during soundcheck. he brushed past you in the narrow hallway backstage and his fingers lingered at the small of your back for three full seconds longer than necessary. when you glanced up he gave you that soft, private smile and murmured, “sorry… didn’t mean to bump you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you sure about that?”

he laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “maybe not… y’know.”

later, while the others were laughing about something, he drifted close enough that the back of his hand rested against yours. his pinky hooked around yours for just a moment before he pulled away.

you leaned in a little. “you’re being real bold today, mikey.”

his cheeks went pink. “just… wanted to touch you. that okay?”

“more than okay,” you said quietly.

in the dressing room he kept finding reasons to stand near you. he’d lean in to ask if the lights looked okay from the front, voice quiet, breath warm against your ear. “you sure everything’s good? i just… wanna make sure you’re comfortable, y’know?”

you smiled. “im good. you’re the one who keeps looking at me like that.”

he ducked his head with that little shy laugh. “can’t help it.”

by the time the show started he was worse. between songs he’d glance toward the side of the stage where you stood and his eyes would stay on you a second too long. once, during a quiet moment in the set, he actually mouthed “hi” at you with a shy little grin and a wave. you mouthed it back and watched him bite his lip to hide a smile.

after the final bow he was still buzzing, skin damp, curls sticking to his forehead. the second the suite door closed he disappeared into the bathroom. you heard the shower start.

you waited. then you went in for the toothbrush you’d left earlier.

steam filled the room. michael stood under the spray with his back to you, rinsing soap from his shoulders. the door clicked and he spun around so fast water flew off his hair. his eyes went wide. one hand flew up to cover himself even though the frosted glass already hid most of him.

“oh- y-you- i didn’t- i thought you were still…hi mama…” he stumbled, voice soft and high. water ran down his chest and stomach. he rubbed the back of his neck hard, looking at the tile, the wall, anywhere but you, who was smirking at him. “hello to you too…” you said gently. a shy smile tugged at his mouth. “you, uh… need somethin’?”

you leaned against the counter, taking your time. “just my toothbrush. but… the view’s better than i expected.”

his cheeks went pink instantly. he let out that quiet little laugh that sounded almost like a hiccup. “c’mon… don’t tease me like that. im all wet n’ everythin’. you can’t just… stand there lookin’.”

“why not?” you asked, voice light. “you’re the one who left the door unlocked… im just the simple girlfriend looking for her toothbrush” you stifled a giggle.

he shifted his weight, still half-turned. “i- i didn’t think you’d… come in. you gonna… you gonna stay the whole time?”

you stayed a few more minutes just to watch him fidget, how he kept glancing at you then away, how his free hand kept rubbing the back of his neck, how he bit his lower lip. then you finally “found” the toothbrush and stepped back out.

“take your time, mikey. i’ll be outside thinking about what i just saw.”

the water shut off almost immediately. a minute later he emerged in a soft white robe, hair dripping, still looking flustered. he caught your wrist gently as you passed him.

“hey…” his thumb stroked your pulse point, slow and careful. “you really gonna just walk out after that? after lookin’ at me like… like that?” his voice was soft, almost hopeful. “ain’t fair, y’know.”

you tilted your head. “maybe i like teasin you a little.”

he let out a quiet breath. “yeah… i noticed.”

dinner with the family was loud and warm. jackie cracked jokes, tito and marlon traded stories, randy stayed quiet. michael sat close enough that his thigh stayed pressed to yours the entire time. under the table his fingers traced slow, absent-minded circles on your knee whenever no one was watching.

you leaned in close enough that only he could hear. “your hand’s getting higher, mikey.”

he froze, eyes flicking to yours, then gave the tiniest smile. “you want me to stop?”

“didn’t say that.”

his fingers kept going, just barely, and he let out a tiny breath like he was the one being teased.

later, back in the room, the door had barely clicked shut before michael was on you. not aggressive, just needy. he pressed his forehead to yours, voice already going soft and a little whiny.

“been thinkin’ about you all day… every time i touched you i just… wanted more. y’know?”

his hands slid under your shirt, tentative, mapping skin.

you kept your voice light, almost innocent. “more what?”

he blinked, cheeks already pink. “y’know… more.”

“i dunno,” you said, tilting your head. “you’re gonna have to tell me, baby.”

he let out a quiet, nervous little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away for a second. “c’mon… don’t make me say it.”

you stayed right there, waiting, fingers lightly tracing the edge of his robe. “say what?”

his voice got softer, almost pleading. “i… i wanna be close to you. like… really close. i been thinkin’ about it all day and i just… i want you. want you to… let me.” he stumbled over the words, looking down, then back up at you with those big dark eyes. “please? i don’t even know how to ask it right. i just… need you.”

you smiled a little, still making him work for it. “need me to do what, exactly?”

he laughed under his breath again, embarrassed, shifting his weight. “you know what i’m askin’… don’t you?”

“nuh uh.”

michael’s face went warmer. he leaned in closer, forehead still against yours, voice barely above a whisper. “i wanna… make love to you. properly. i wanna be inside you. i ain’t never done it before and i know you…y’know… either but… i want it to be with you. i want you to let me be inside you. please?”

only then did you soften, hands sliding up to cup his face. “there it is. was that so hard?”

he let out a shaky little breath, half-laugh, half-relief. “yeah… kinda was. you happy now?”

“getting there.” you backed him toward the bed, letting him sit while you stood between his knees. “you sure about this?”

he looked up at you, lower lip caught between his teeth. “yeah. i… i want to. with you. i said it, didn’t I? i wanna finally feel you.”

you leaned down and kissed him slow. he melted into it with a quiet sound, fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes. when you finally pulled back he was breathing faster, cheeks flushed.

“we can go slow,” he murmured. “i don’t wanna hurt you. i really don’t. but i still… i still wanna be inside you.”

“i know,” you said softly. “we’ll figure it out together.”

clothes came off in soft, clumsy stages, his robe first, then your shirt, his hands trembling just a little as he helped with the rest. he kept glancing down at himself like he still couldn’t believe this was happening, then back up at you with that shy, almost disbelieving smile. when he was fully bare he immediately reached for the edge of the sheet, half-covering himself until you gently tugged it away, “now how exactly do you expect us to do anything with that sheet over you?”

he laughed under his breath, nervous. “you sure this is okay? we don’t gotta rush… we can just… kiss some more if you want. or you can touch me… if you want.”

“i want this,” you told him, letting your hand slide down his chest. “but we go at your pace too, okay?”

you pulled him down onto the bed with you. for a long time that was all it was, slow kissing, soft touches, learning each other. michael’s hands were careful, almost reverent. he’d stroke your side, then pause and look at your face.

“this okay?” he whispered.

“yes baby. keep going. want you to touch me, please”

when his fingers finally slipped between your legs he went so slow it almost hurt in a different way, tiny circles, checking your expression every few seconds.

“this good? you’re… you’re so wet already.”

“feels so so good,” you breathed. “please keep touching me like that…”

he was hard against your thigh the whole time, but he didn’t push. he just kept touching you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, the soft skin under your ear.

“can i… can i put my fingers in a little?” he asked softly. “just to… get you ready?”

you nodded innocently. “please. but go slow.”

he did, careful, shallow, watching your face the whole time. “you’re so warm… and tight. i can’t believe i’m finally touchin’ you like this.”

you tugged him closer after a while. “mikey… i want you. properly.”

he settled between your legs and paused again, forehead against yours, the head of his cock resting against you.

“tell me if it’s too much, okay? promise me. i’ll stop the second you say. but… can i put it in now? please?”

“yes yes i promise. please i just want you inside me-“

he was huge. the stretch burned. you felt the sharp sting and the warm trickle of blood almost at the same time. michael froze the second he felt the resistance give, eyes wide.

“oh-oh no… did i-? baby, im sorry-” his voice cracked. he started to pull back immediately.

you held him there, breathing through it. “wait- no just… wait a second. don’t pull out yet. i can take it.”

he stayed perfectly still, one hand cupping your cheek and kissing you, the other stroking your hip in tiny, soothing circles. “i got you baby… just breathe with me. we can stop. we don’t gotta do anythin’ else. i don’t care, i just… i don’t wanna hurt you. even if it feels… really good already.”

your eyes watered. he kissed the wetness away the second it appeared, murmuring soft apologies against your skin.

“im right here baby… we can wait as long as you need. or we can stop. whatever you want. i ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“it hurts,” you whined quietly. “a lot. but i don’t want to stop. just… go really slow. stay inside me.”

he nodded hard. “okay. really slow. you tell me every time it gets bad. im right here.”

it took a while. you stayed like that, him barely inside, holding completely still, stroking your hair, kissing your temple, whispering that it was okay, that you were doing so good. when the worst of the sting finally eased into something fuller and more manageable, you nodded.

“you can move. just a little.”

he moved the tiniest bit. just a shallow roll of his hips, watching your face the entire time.

“still okay? jesus, you’re so tight around me… i can feel everythin’.”

“yes… keep going. god you’re so big.” you whined.

another pause. another soft “still okay?” another careful inch. every time you tensed he stopped completely, forehead pressed to yours, waiting until you relaxed again. there was more blood, he felt it, saw it when he carefully pulled back once to check, and his expression crumpled with worry.

“there’s… a little more,” he whispered. “does it still hurt bad? we can get a washcloth… or ice… or just stop. i mean it. i don’t care about finishin’. i just want my baby to be okay. even if i really wanna stay inside you.”

“it’s better than it was,” you said, voice a little breathless. “come back. i want you here. you’re so big… it still hurts but it feels so good too.”

he went slow, so slow it was almost teasing in reverse, tiny thrusts, lots of kissing, constant check-ins. his own inexperience showed in the way his breath hitched every time he bottomed out, in the soft broken sounds he couldn’t quite hold back.

“god… you feel… so warm. so wet for me. i didn’t know it’d feel like this.” his voice stayed quiet, almost reverent. “you good? tell me if it’s too much… ‘cause im already tryin’ not to finish.”

“im so good,” you whispered, then louder as he pushed deeper. “fuck, mikey… you feel so good. it’s so deep… it feels so so so good now.” you breathed out, brain blanking with pleasure. you weren’t even sure what you were saying anymore.

gradually the pain faded into something else. you encouraged him with soft sounds and the way your hands scratched down his back, hips starting to move with him.

“please… keep going like that. you’re so big, i can feel every inch. you feel so good inside me-“

that was all it took. his rhythm grew a little more desperate, a little more needy, soft broken sounds falling from his mouth every time he moved. you got louder with him, not caring about the walls anymore.

“oh my god right there pleaseplease don’t stop. you feel so good, mikey… im gonna cum if you keep fucking me like that-”

“please… can i-? i wanna… i need…” He buried his face against your shoulder, voice going high and pleading. “feels too good… i can’t- hold it much longer… you feel so- so tight around me… im gonna cum if i keep goin’ like this…”

“it’s okay,” you told him, stroking his hair, voice breaking a little as the pleasure built. “you can. i want you to. fuck, im close too-”

you came first, tightening around him with a soft, broken moan that was definitely louder than you meant it to be, saying his name and how good he felt as the wave hit. the way you clenched around him pulled him right over the edge with you. he finished with a quiet, almost surprised moan, body shuddering as he came inside you, still murmuring soft, broken things against your skin.

he stayed buried deep for a few seconds, panting, then carefully pulled out and immediately reached for the tissues on the nightstand. he cleaned you with gentle, almost shy strokes, frowning at the blood mixed with everything else.

“there’s… more than a little,” he murmured, worried. “does it still hurt? i can get ice or… somethin’. whatever you need. im sorry it hurt at all. even if it felt… really good for me. and you… you sounded like it felt good for you too at the end.”

you pulled him back down. “come here. im okay. it was worth it. you felt so good… and so big.”

he curled around you instantly, leg thrown over yours, face pressed to your collarbone, one hand still stroking your side like he couldn’t stop checking that you were okay.

“that was… a lot,” he whispered after a while, laughing softly under his breath. “i think we mighta been kinda loud at the end. hope the walls ain’t thin… but im glad we waited. glad it was with you. even if it hurt. i’ll make it better next time, i promise. we’ll go even slower…“

you kissed the top of his head. “next time we’ll both know what we’re doing a little better. and maybe you won’t make me drag it out of you first.”

he let out another soft, embarrassed laugh against your skin. “no promises… you know how i get. especially when i want you that bad.”

he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder and stayed quiet after that, just holding you, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin until you both drifted off.

morning came with sunlight and the smell of bacon.

the second you both walked into the shared living area of the suite, jackie looked up from his plate with the biggest shit-eating grin.

“well well well. the man of the hour.”

marlon snorted into his drink. tito just shook his head, laughing. randy kept his eyes on his food but the corner of his mouth twitched as he stifled a laugh.

michael’s entire face went red. he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing that soft embarrassed laugh, and muttered, “oh my god yall… shut up. please.”

jackie leaned back in his chair. “man, we could hear you two all the way down the hall. ‘you’re so big’ this and ‘it feels so good’ that. and mike goin’ ‘pleaseeee’ the whole time. damn. didn’t know little brother had it like that.”

marlon added, grinning, “pretty sure the whole floor knows how good it felt for both of y’all.”

you sat down beside michael and reached for his hand under the table. “jackie, you been practicin’ that impression in the mirror or somethin’?” you laughed. marlon lost it again, choking on his drink. “stop it!! don’t encourage him,” you groaned, laughing despite yourself. “i also don’t remember soundin’ quite that dramatic.” you rolled your eyes, still laughing.

michael buried his face in your shoulder with a groan. “oh my god…”

michael’s fingers laced with yours, squeezing once, gentle, careful. he leaned in just close enough for only you to hear, voice soft and still a little hoarse.

“worth it though… y’know? even the part that hurt. long as you’re okay. even if they’re never gonna let me live this down.”

you squeezed back. “yeah… you’re never, ever living this one down, but im okay. more than okay. and next time maybe you won’t make me work so hard to get you to say what you want.”

he ducked his head with that shy little smile. “no promises. especially if you keep makin’ me say it out loud… and then sayin’ all that back.” he looked at you for a second, the teasing around the breakfast table fading into the background. despite the laughter, despite his brothers refusing to let him forget the night before, his expression softened into something quieter. “i’m glad it was you,” he murmured. your smile answered before your words did. “me too.” his fingers found yours beneath the table, naturally, like they always seemed to. they fit together without either of you thinking about it.

jackie groaned dramatically across the room. “oh, brother. here go playboy mike again.” everyone laughed. michael just squeezed your hand once and glanced over with that bashful grin that always seemed meant for you alone. somehow, in a room full of people, it still felt like the two of you were sharing a secret. and if his brothers never let him live it down… well.

I wanna see something like that with bsf!otw mike but he's a virgin and the reader is experienced but shy at the same time. And Mike is shy abt the whole thing and sassy but he wants to learn more about how to please her, though she doesn't know he wants her.

just kissing?

* pairing: otw!michael x reader

* WC: 5.5k(+?)

* summary: michael’s never been with anyone before. you’re determined to make sure your guys’s first time is something he survives, it’ll be something he remembers. thankfully, he’s a very good listener

* warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, emotional tension, sub!michael, praise, no y/n, use of 'mama' (dis shit again rated P for PORN)

an: otw michael is my fav era dear god & i don’t wanna talk about how many times this got rewritten to be an established relationship rather than bsf cus it would’ve been 10 years long. all ima say is “green as grass” survived every draft and i’m standing onnat. enjoy, and please remember to reblog if you liked it!!!

the party had finally quieted down. most of the guests were gone or crashed somewhere upstairs in the encino house. the den was dim, just the soft glow of a single lamp and the faint leftover bass thumping through the floor from the stereo. you and michael had claimed the big couch like you always did when the night wound down. your legs lightly tangled with his, his leather jacket draped over the armrest, his white shirt half-unbuttoned and a little wrinkled from dancing earlier.

he was yours. had been for months now. quiet dates when the schedule allowed, late-night phone calls when he was on the road, slow kisses that lingered longer each time, hands held under tables, foreheads pressed together in quiet corners. everybody closest to you both knew, even if the rest of the world didn’t. but that was as far as it had ever gone. no wandering hands. no skin touching under clothes. nothing more than the aching sweetness of wanting and waiting.

michael’s fingers traced slow, restless circles on your knee over the fabric of your dress, his hands cool against you. he had that familiar nervous bounce in his leg that hadn’t stopped since the last person left the room.

“you been quiet,” you murmured, your fingers disappeared into the soft coils at his temple, smoothing where they’d been pressed down. “whats goin’ on in that head, mikey?”

he gave a soft, almost shy laugh and leaned into your touch like he was already offering himself up. “just… thinkin’ ‘bout you. ‘bout us. how good it feels when it’s just like this.” his voice carried that gentle southern lilt that always thickened when he was feeling something deep. “been watchin’ you all night. the way you smile at me across the room like we got a secret. drives me crazy in the best way.”

you shifted a little closer. his knee pressed more firmly against yours. neither of you pulled away.

“yeah?” you asked softly. “what kind of crazy?”

michael’s hand stilled on your knee. he looked at you fully, dark eyes wide and earnest and a little scared. “that kind where i can’t stop wonderin’ what it’d be like to touch you for real. to make you feel good. you’ve… you’ve been with people before. you know things. and i’m… i’m green as grass, baby. never touched nobody like that. not once. not even close. i don’t ever want you to feel like you’re missin’ out ‘cause i don’t know what i’m doin’. i just… i wanna be good for you. whatever that takes.”

you cupped his face, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “then let me teach you. right now. i’ll walk you through all of it. you just have to listen and do exactly what i say. can you be good and do that for me?”

he swallowed hard, leaning into your palm like he was already melting. “yes mama. i’ll listen real good. just… don’t make me say those kinds of words, alright? feels dirty comin’ out my mouth. but i’ll do whatever you tell me. anything. please. just wanna make you feel good.” he pouted without even realizing it. god, he was adorable.

the tension between you pulled taut. you kissed him slow, then deeper when his hand slid into your hair. you straddled him gently grinding on him, feeling how surprisingly big he is. when you pulled back from the kiss, he was breathing faster, heavier, forehead resting against yours, already looking at you like he’d do whatever you asked.

“okay, jesus,” you whispered, trying to compose yourself. “no dirty talk from you yet. just follow my voice. be good for me.”

you took his hand and guided it under the hem of your dress, up the outside of your thigh. his fingers trembled the second they touched bare skin. he let out a soft, needy little sound.

“feel how wet i am already?” you said, keeping your voice steady and clear. “that’s because of you. us kissing. just kissing you does this to me baby.” he looked at you “just… just kissing?” he whispered, like that was shocking. “sh. yes baby now focus, go higher… yes. right there.” he simply nodded in a daze. fully nonverbal, “now slip your fingers under my panties. don’t be scared. i want you to feel everything.”

michael’s breath hitched as his fingers brushed over the soaked fabric. he groaned quietly, eyes half-lidded, completely focused on obeying.

“i’m soaking wet,” you told him explicitly. “feel that? my pussy is dripping for you. now pull my panties to the side and press two fingers against my clit, that little swollen nub right at the top, and rub in slow circles. not too hard yet. just get used to the way it feels under your fingers.” he was watching your facial expressions, watching how good he made you feel. “that’s my good boy.” you muttered against his ear. the praise made him shiver hard“y-you’re… you’re so wet, mama… f-feels so soft… am i-am i doin’ it right? does it feel good when i rub your… your clit like this?”

he stuttered over the word like it burned his tongue, cheeks burning, but he didn’t stop touching you. his eyes stayed locked on your face, adjusting the moment your breath changed, like your reactions were the only instructions that mattered. his fingers were careful, almost reverent, circling the slick bud of your clit.

“a little firmer,” you instructed. “yes-fuck, just like that baby. keep those circles going while you slide one finger inside my pussy. slowly and curl it upward toward your palm…” he did exactly that, his long fingers making you see stars. “t-there. oh my god, okay. you feel that slightly rougher spot on the front wall? keep rubbing against it while your thumb keeps working my clit. don’t stop unless i tell you.”

michael’s forehead dropped to your shoulder. his fingers moved carefully, devotedly, following every explicit direction like he was born to take them.

“that’s it,” you praised, hips starting to rock against his hand. “you’re makin me feel so good already. add a second finger baby, stretch my pussy open for you. i want to be ready to take your cock later. you’re doing so well.”

he added the second finger with a shaky exhale, moving them gently the way you guided. you kept talking him through it, how deep to push, when to speed up, when to ease off, how to curl and stroke that spot until your thighs were trembling and you came on his hand with a quiet, broken moan, coating his fingers. he watched the whole time, lips parted, looking stunned and almost worshipful, still nervous even in the middle of it. he kissed your leg. “did i.. did i do good mama?”

“yes baby, you did so good,” you said once you caught your breath. “now i want your mouth on my pussy. get on your knees for me.”

he slid to the floor between your legs immediately, no hesitation. you helped him ease your panties all the way off. he folded them neatly out of habit, then waited again, hands resting lightly on your thighs.

“lick me from my entrance all the way up to my clit,” you told him. “long, slow strokes with the flat of your tongue. don’t be shy, taste how wet you made me. i want to feel how much you like eating my pussy. show me.”

the first tentative lick made him moan against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. you kept the instructions coming, explicit and steady.

“circle my clit with the tip of your tongue…firmer. suck on it a little, gently at first, then harder. use your fingers again while you do it. two fingers, curling just like before, fucking them in and out of me. i want you to make me come on your tongue. be good and don’t stop until i say.”

michael listened like it was the most important thing he’d ever been asked to do. every correction, every “harder,” every “right there, don’t stop,” he followed instantly, soft little whimpers slipping out of him whenever you praised him. halfway through, while his tongue was working your clit and his fingers were buried deep, the words started slipping out of him in a breathless rush.

“mama… you taste so good… is this right? am i makin’ you feel good, mama? tell me… please…”

you pushed his head right back to where it needed to be. “yes love. keep going. you’re doing so fucking well.”

he moaned louder against you, emboldened. you noticed he was grinding himself against your leg. “you taste so good… so wet on my tongue… i love it, mama. i like makin’ you drip like this…”

when you came the second time, flooding his mouth, he stayed with you until you gently tugged him up by the collar. his lips and chin were shiny with you.

you kissed the taste of yourself off his mouth, then undid his belt and zipper. he hissed when your hand wrapped around his thick, leaking cock, hips twitching, but he didn’t thrust, he waited.

“you’re so hard,” you murmured, stroking him slowly from base to tip, spreading the precum. you moved him up onto the sofa next to you, hand still wrapped around him “i’m gonna ride you now. you’re going to watch my face the whole time and do exactly what i say so it feels good for me too. okay?”

“okay,” he whispered, voice wrecked and soft. “i’ll do everything you say. i’ll be so good for you. promise.”

you straddled his lap and sank down onto him inch by careful inch. the thick tip of his cock stretched your entrance wide. michael’s head fell back, a broken, overwhelmed sound spilling out of him. he bit into his hand to stifle the sounds he was making. his other hand hovered at your waist, waiting for permission to hold on, body tense with nerves even as he sank deeper into your heat. his hips instinctively bucked up

“stay still,” you ordered softly against his ear, giving him goosebumps with your words. “let me adjust. you’re so thick… so big…stretching my pussy so much. put your hands on my hips. help me move when i tell you.”

when you started to move, you kept talking, riding him in slow, deep rolls.

“thrust up when i come down - yes, like that, so it’s deeper…” he whined, clearly wanting more. “you can go harder mikey, i can take every inch of this cock. put one hand between us and rub my clit in those same circles i taught you. don’t stop even when it feels like you’re close. you’re not allowed to cum until i say. understand?”

“yes, mama,” he breathed, already sounding wrecked and all his words came out fast and jumbled. “i understand - i’ll wait, w-whatever you want.. your pussy feels… god, it feels so tight around me…”

his hips snapped up to meet yours only as hard as you allowed, fingers working your clit with focused, eager pressure. his eyes never left your face. every time you moaned or clenched around him he let out a soft, desperate little sound, still taking orders even while buried inside you.

“you’re doing so good,” you moaned. “fuck, right there. i’m gonna cum again and i want you to feel every second of my pussy squeezing you. don’t you dare cum until i say.”

his jaw clenched, but he nodded, holding back through sheer will while he fucked up into you and rubbed your clit exactly how you’d shown him. the dirty talk kept spilling out of him now, nervous and filthy all at once, the change in him made your own finish come faster.

“mama… your pussy feels so good… so hot and wet… can feel you drippin’ all over me… am i fuckin’ you right? tell me im makin’ this pretty pussy feel good…”

those words coming out of his mouth made your brain fuzzy. when you clenched hard around him and came, pulsing and soaking his cock, you finally looked him in the eye.

“baby i- im gonna… can i- where do i..?” he blurted out, rushed and breathless

“cum inside me. fill my pussy up. want you to experience how good that feels baby.”

his eyes went wide. the nerves flared bright.

“i- mama, i don’t know… what if - i’ve never… what if i can’t stop once i start? what if it’s too much- i-“

“do it baby, i’ve never let anyone do it before,” you said firmly, still rolling your hips. “be good and cum inside me. i want to feel every drop of you.”

he broke with a grateful, almost pained moan, holding you flush against him as he spilled deep inside you for the first time, hot, thick pulses flooding your insides while his hips stuttered and soft broken sounds spilled out of him the whole time. even through the orgasm he sounded jittery, overwhelmed, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to finish inside you.

for a long minute neither of you moved. he stroked your back in slow, soothing passes, pressing soft kisses to your temple and the corner of your mouth like he was thanking you, still trembling.

“i love you,” he murmured, still a little shaky. “love that you’re teachin’ me. love that i get to learn how to make you feel like that.” a soft, almost sassy smile tugged at his lips as he shifted, already half-hard again inside you, the mix of both of you leaking out around his cock. he started moving inside you again, knowing you didn’t tell him to do that. his hands slid back to your hips, thumbs stroking gentle, obedient circles. “can we… can we go again? please, mama? i wanna practice everything you just showed me. i’ll listen even better this time.“ he seemed much more confident now.

you smiled against his skin and rolled your hips once, slow and deliberate, feeling his cum squish inside you. he whimpered and pushed deeper. “wanna try a different position this time mama.. now that i know what im doin’”

“nuh uh. im riding you. pay attention,” you said, voice low and explicit all over again. “because i’m going to teach you how to make me cum even harder on this cock. and this time you’re going to keep talking while i ride you. tell me exactly how my pussy feels.”

michael’s breath hitched. his nerves were completely overrode by the hunger to please you. he nodded, eyes glassy, completely given over.

“yes, mama,” he whispered. then, quieter, filthier, the words tumbling out nervous and eager: “please… i wanna feel your tight little pussy squeeze me again when you cum. i wanna hear you say i’m makin’ you feel good while i fill you up a second time. i’ll do anything… just use me however you need. your pussy already feels so full of me…”

you raised an eyebrow, pleased. he flushed deep, but he didn’t look away. “mm. someone learned how to use his words,” you cooed “i thought that was too dirty for you, baby?”

michael’s hips gave a small, needy roll under you, still half-hard and slick inside your cunt. the shyness was still there in the way his ears burned, but his voice came out lower, steadier, almost hungry.

“it is dirty… but i like sayin’ it for you, mama. i like tellin’ you how your tight little pussy is still full of my cum… how it’s drippin’ down my cock every time you move. i wanna fuck it back into you. wanna feel you squeeze every drop outta me while i fill this pretty pussy up again. use me. please. ride me till i can’t think of nothin’ but how good your pussy feels when it milks me dry.”

“good boy,” you purred, starting to move again, his softening cum making the slide filthy and wet. “keep talking like that while i fuck myself on you. tell me how it feels every time i take you deeper.”

his hands tightened on your hips, his voice came out low and rough, the nerves no longer threaded through every word as the dirty talk spilled freer now.

“feels… so wet, mama. your pussy’s so slick with both of us… every time you sink down i can feel my cum gettin’ pushed deeper. fuck - it’s so warm… so tight. you’re squeezin’ me so good. i love watching you takin’ me, every inch…don’t stop… please don’t stop. use my cock. make yourself feel good on it.”

you rode him harder, grinding down so the wet, filthy sounds filled the quiet den. his head tipped back against the couch, eyes glassy and locked on your face like he was still learning every expression you made.

“that’s it,” you breathed, one hand braced on his chest, the other reaching down to rub your own clit. “keep talking. tell me when you’re close.”

“im - im already close, mama,” he admitted, voice cracking with pleasure. “your pussy feels too good… i don’t wanna finish too fast but it’s hard. you’re milkin’ me… every time you clench i feel it all the way in my stomach. can i- please can i cum inside you again? i wanna fill you up so full it leaks out when you stand up…”

you leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “not yet. make me cum first. rub my clit for me. just like i taught you.”

his fingers scrambled between your bodies, finding the swollen nub and circling it exactly the way you’d shown him earlier, focused, eager, desperate to get it right. the dual sensation of his thick cock stretching you open and his careful fingers working your clit pushed you over the edge fast. you came hard, pulsing around him, a broken moan spilling out as your walls fluttered and squeezed.

“now,” you ordered, still shaking. “cum. fill me.”

michael broke with a wrecked sound, hips jerking up as he spilled inside you a second time, hot, thick pulses flooding your already messy insides. he kept whimpering through it, soft little “mama… mama…” tumbling out while he held you flush against him, trembling the whole time.

when it finally eased he stayed buried deep, arms wrapped tight around your back, face pressed into your neck like he was still a little overwhelmed.

“…was that okay?” he asked quietly after a long moment, voice soft and shy again. “did i… did i do good for you?.. did i hurt you..?”

you stroked his chin, pressing a slow kiss to his temple. “you did so good, baby. perfect. it only hurt a little because you’re so big. felt so good”

he let out a tiny, relieved breath and nuzzled closer, “i already wanna practice more… whenever you’re ready. i’ll listen real good. i promise.”

you smiled against his skin and held him tighter, “you’re so eager. so sweet” you said sleepily.

8 counts too early

*pairing: bad!era michael × principal dancer!reader

*genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn (me when i lie)

*rating: 18+ / MDNI

*contains: NSFW, explicit sexual content, strong language, backstage setting, dance rehearsals, rivalry, eventual romance (they fuckinnn EEOOOWWW), dom!michael

*wc: ~6.2k

*an: this lowk got longer than i meant lol my bad yall ily keep the reqs comin

michael loathed working with you, even though he’s the one that hired you on.

you were loud. he was meticulous. you challenged every decision he made. michael corrected every decision you made.

somewhere between rehearsals, interviews, and endless hours trapped in the same room, the line between irritation and fascination became impossible to find.

the first time you met him, he corrected you in front of forty people.

not particularly loudly.

not cruelly - just enough to make everyone in the rehearsal hall look up.

“y’were a count too early.” he sighed, fingers rubbing his temples in irritation

your head snapped toward him.

“no. i wasn’t.”

“you were.” he sighed.

“no.”

a beat. the choreographer pinched the bridge of his nose.

“can we not do this today? jesus christ…” he trailed off and walked backstage for a drink.

too late.

that was how every interaction between you and michael went.

it had been three months since you’d joined the bad tour as one of the newest principal dancers. you’d earned the position after years of dancing for award shows, music videos, and backup acts. everyone warned you before your first rehearsal.

“don’t take it personally.”

“he’s a perfectionist.”

“if he keeps correcting you, it’s because he notices you.”

you didn’t find that comforting.

you found it irritating.

every rehearsal felt like an invisible competition neither of you remembered agreeing to.

if your timing slipped by half a beat -

“need you sharper.”

if you improvised a transition -

“that’s not the choreography.”

if you laughed during a break -

“we’re still workin’ over here.”

it was exhausting.

the worst part to admit was

he wasn’t wrong.

and him not being wrong was nauseating

the motherfucker had an eye for detail that bordered on supernatural.

and you hated that because every correction made you want to prove him wrong.

every correction made you work harder. every correction made you better which somehow only annoyed you more.

by month four, the crew had started placing bets.

not on whether you’d argue.

because that happened daily.

the bets were about how long it would take.

5 minutes? 10? before lunch?

you were seemingly always at each others throats.

one of the guitar techs won thirty dollars the day you made it exactly forty-three seconds into rehearsal before rolling your eyes at him.

“you gotta attitude today” he smirked at you

“i’ve got opinions.” another eye roll, hand on your hip in exhaustion.

“that usually are incorrect”

“oh, i’d love to hear how yours are always right.”

he just looked at you. up and down this time. examining your body. something else behind his eyes. though he remained completely calm.

somehow that made you even angrier.

nobody really understood why he singled you out.

what they didn’t realize was that he hardly spoke to anyone else.

he trusted his longtime dancers because they already knew what he wanted.

you were new, unpredictable, and talented enough that he couldn’t ignore you.

stubborn enough that you challenged every note he gave.

you became literally the only person willing to tell him “no.”

he became the only person willing to tell you “again.”

so when he popped into your dressing room after rehearsals, not even knocking as you sat on top of your vanity table and wiped sweat from your forehead, you weren’t really surprised. he usually popped in to tell you what you could be doing better.

this time, he was leaned against the door, arms crossed, just staring at you. that same up and down stare as before

“stop lookin’ at me like that.” you muttered coldly

“like what?” he snapped back

“like you’re tryna figure me out.”

he smiled - a smug, infuriating smile.

“maybe i am.”

your jaw tightened.

“you think you know everything michael.”

“i know enough.” he laughed and trailed off.

silence settled between you. you held eye contact with him. he was notorious for being too shy, but something behind the way he looked at you told you he was anything but.

so neither of you looked away.

the room suddenly felt much smaller than it had five seconds ago.

someone called michael’s name from down the hall.

he didn’t answer.

he kicked the door shut with his foot.

neither of you moved.

the tension stretched until it was almost unbearable.

he came to you, face inches away, “why dont ya jus’ listen?”

you got impossibly closer, nose to nose, and whispered, “cause i don’t wanna. i know what im doing.”

he pushed your knees apart hard and stepped between your legs, the thick outline of his cock pressing right against the thin fabric of your shorts. “y’know what you’re doin’?…”

his hand trailed up your inner thigh, fingers sliding under the string of your shorts and brushing over your core. he rubbed slow circles over your clit, already finding you wet. his other hand coming up to your chin, forcing the eye contact that you lost in the midst of all of this. “y’know why i single you out?”he cooed, right in your ear, his breath making goosebumps rise on your skin. you tried to keep your cool as his large hand gripped your hip and yanked you tighter against him, his fingers still working between your legs. “nah. not a clue,” you said almost teasingly, even as a soft, involuntary sound slipped out when he slid your shorts to the side, and pushed one long finger inside of you. he worked it in slow at first, curling it just right, watching your face the whole time. a second finger joined the first a moment later, stretching you open while his thumb brushed over your clit in lazy, deliberate circles. you were already dripping around his fingers, hips twitching despite how hard you were trying to stay composed.

“still notta clue?” he murmured, voice low and amused against your ear as he kept working you open, scissoring his fingers deeper. “it’s cause you look so pretty when you’re tryin’ not to react… even prettier when you finally break.”

he didn’t rush. he just kept fingering you like that, deep, thorough, almost teasing, until your thighs were trembling and soft, involuntary sounds kept slipping out of you no matter how hard you bit them back. only when you were properly soaked and rocking against his hand did he finally pull his fingers free, slick and shining, and reach down to free himself.

he wrapped his slick fingers around his cock and gave it a slow, deliberate stroke, eyes locked on yours the whole time. the head was already shiny with precum, thick, big and heavy in his hand, and he made sure you saw exactly how hard you’d made him. you were taken aback by his size, already thinking about how good him stretching you out would feel.

“still pretendin’ you don’t want this?” he murmured, voice low and mocking. “look at you. thighs shakin’, pussy drippin’ all over my hand… still tryna act like you’re above it.”

he moved his hips closer but didn’t touch you yet, just kept stroking himself with the same fingers that had been buried inside you seconds ago. he put his head down, spit on it, making sure you were watching the whole time. the wet sound of it was filthy.

“go on. keep that attitude. keep glarin’ at me like you hate me. makes my cock even harder. i’ve been pushin’ every single button i can find just so you’d get this mad… just so you’d finally stop pretendin’ and let me ruin you.”

he tilted his head, smirking when your eyes dropped to the way he was fisting himself.

“that’s it. keep watchin’. keep gettin’ angrier. i want you so fuckin’ pissed you can’t think straight… cause the second you stop fightin’ it, im gonna shove this cock so deep you’ll forget why you were mad in the first place.”

he stepped in finally, close enough that the head of his cock brushed your stomach, smearing a wet stripe across your skin. his voice dropped even lower.

“come on then. close the gap pretty girl. or you still gon stand there actin’ like you don’t need it?”

your mind couldn’t even form a sentence. every sharp comeback you’d been lining up just dissolved the second the head of his cock brushed your stomach, smearing a wet stripe across your sensitive skin. his voice dropped lower, almost lazy, like he already knew he’d won.

“still gon stand there actin like you don’t need it, pretty girl?”

you did. fuck, you needed him so badly it felt humiliating. the argument, the months of sniping, every time you’d told yourself you hated him - none of it mattered, none of it was even true. especially when he was this close. your pulse was hammering, you were dripping between your legs and all you could think was don’t let him see how desperate you are.

he didn’t give you the chance. he stepped in, one hand yanking your shorts and panties fully aside like they were nothing, the other wrapping around his cock so he could drag the thick head through your soaked folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in you while he watched your face with pure smug satisfaction.

“look at that,” he murmured, almost fond. “soakin wet for the man you claim you can’t stand. pathetic lil thing. but goddamn, you’re still the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen drippin all over my cock.” he pushed just the tip in, stretching you slightly, then pulled back, teasing, refusing to give you more. you whined, pouted and looked at him through your lashes. “use your words, beg for it, mama. say please and maybe ill be nice.”

your pride cracked. hips twitching forward on their own, voice coming out shaky and broken. “please-“

“louder.” he tapped the head against your clit, smirking. “i wanna hear how bad you need to get fucked.”

“please,” you gasped, cheeks burning. “please, michael just - put it in. i need y-you inside me. needa feel you..”

he laughed under his breath, low and dark. “there she is. my pretty girl finally tellin’ the truth.” then he shoved in.

one deep, rough thrust that buried him to the hilt and pinned you hard against the vanity mirror. the glass was cold against your back; he was scorching inside you. a broken, gorgeous sounding moan punched out of your throat before you could stop it.

“fuuuuck, listen to that,” he groaned against your ear, rolling his hips once, grinding deep like he wanted you to feel every thick inch. “that’s the noise you make when you finally stop lyin to yourself. still gonna pretend this isn’t exactly whatcha wanted, mama?” he pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in harder, the mirror rattling. “look at you. takin’ every inch like you were made for me. my pretty girl, so tight and wet and desperate for me.”

you couldn’t answer. every thrust knocked the air out of you, and the only thoughts left were too deep, too good, hate how much i need this. your nails dug into his shoulders as he fucked you like he had all the time in the world to ruin you - long, punishing strokes that made wet, filthy sounds fill the dressing room. “please- it’s so deep i… i can’t” you tried to push his hips back and he moved your hands away. “take it baby. you can take it.”

“listen to that pussy,” he muttered, voice thick with smug heat. “so wet around my cock already. y’were talkin so much shit five minutes ago… now you’re just beggin to be used. say it again. tell me how big i am and how much you need it.”

“please,” you whimpered, voice cracking as he drove deeper. “please fuck me please michael-don’t stop, i need it, need you-“

“thats it. beg for me, pretty girl.” he gripped your hips tighter, angling up so every thrust dragged over that spot that made your legs shake. “tell me whos cock you’re drippin’ for. tell me you hate how good it feels.”

“yours, michael please-“ you sobbed, clenching around him. “i ha- i love it - i love how good it feels- please don’t stop- please it’s so good you’re so good” your words were rushed and jumbled.

“not stoppin anytime soon mama” he groaned, like it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard, pace turning brutal. “fuck, you’re perfect when you’re ruined. my pretty lil mama, takin it so well look at you. grippin my cock like your body was made just for me.”

he didn’t speed up until you were shaking. until you were gasping his name like a curse and a prayer at the same time. then he gripped your hips tighter, angled deeper, and drove into you with a steady, relentless rhythm that made stars burst behind your eyes.

“gonna cum for me?” he asked, voice rough now, that teasing edge still there even as his control frayed. “go on. milk me like the needy lil slut you are. cum for me, pretty girl. show me how much you need this cock.”

you shattered with a broken moan, walls fluttering hard around him. he laughed darkly, fucked you through it, and then - right as you were still clenching and trembling - he buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside you.

hot, thick pulses flooding you, painting your insides while he held you locked against the mirror and growled low in his throat. he didn’t pull out. just stayed there, cock twitching as he emptied every drop, making sure you felt the heat of it, the claim of it. you were his, no denying that now.

when he finally spoke again his voice was quieter, almost smug against your damp skin, hips giving one last slow grind that pushed his cum deeper.

“…still hate me, mama? or are you just gon keep drippin my cum down your thighs like a good pretty girl?”

“i- i never hated you. idiot…” you managed through breathless gasps

“oh, i know, beautiful.” he stayed deep inside you. stayed buried, cock still twitching as the last thick spurts of his cum filled you up, leaking out around him in slow, sticky trails that dripped down your thighs. his forehead rested against yours for a second, breathing hard, that smug little smirk already back on his face.

“look at you,” he murmured, voice low and rough, one hand still gripping your hip like he owned it. “flushed, shakin’, full of my cum… and we still have to walk back out there. poor pretty girl. everyone’s gon know exactly what just happened to you.”

you tried to glare, tried to find some leftover pride, but your legs were jelly and you could feel his load already starting to slip out of you the second he finally eased back. he watched it happen with zero shame, eyes dark and satisfied, then casually tucked himself away and fixed his clothes like he hadn’t just fucked you stupid against a vanity mirror.

“fix your face, mama,” he said, gently moving your hair behind your ear, as he tugged your shorts back into place, deliberately leaving them a little crooked. “you look thoroughly ruined. it’s a good look on ya, but the whole cast is about to see it.”

you barely had time to wipe the fog off the mirror and try to collect yourself before he was opening the door. the second you stepped out into the hallway the noise of the rehearsal hit you - and so did the silence that followed when people started noticing.

you were glowing. cheeks scarlet, lips swollen, eyes glassy, a faint sheen of sweat at your temples. your legs still trembled with every step. and worse, you could feel his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs, warm and unmistakable, soaking into the fabric of your shorts. every shift of your hips made it worse.

he walked half a step behind you, hand resting low on the small of your back like it belonged there, guiding you toward the side stage entrance with the calm arrogance of a man who knew exactly what he’d done.

someone wolf-whistled. someone else coughed pointedly. a few dancers exchanged looks. the soundproofing in that dressing room had clearly been a suggestion at best, your moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin had carried. one of the dancers was mocking you, “michael…please - don’t stop - need it” while laughing, which means his filthy answering growls of “that’s it, pretty girl, take it” had not been subtle.

he leaned in as you reached the stage, mouth brushing your ear so only you could hear.

“they all know,” he murmured, voice dripping with smug heat. “every single one of them knows i just had my way with you and bred you five minutes before we go back on. look how red you are. look how you’re walking like you can still feel me. my good little mama, dripping on the floor and still tryna act like she doesn’t love it.”

you wanted to tell him to shut up. instead your thighs pressed together and another slow trickle of cum slipped out, making your face burn hotter.

he chuckled under his breath, like an asshole, and gave the small of your back one last proprietary squeeze as the stage manager waved you both forward.

“chin up, pretty girl,” he said, loud enough for the people closest to hear. “you look beautiful.” it made your heart swell.

you stepped into the lights with him right beside you, heart hammering, cheeks on fire, shorts damp, the entire room very much aware that the two of you had just been anything but enemies for the last fifteen minutes.

and the worst part? the smug bastard next to you looked completely unbothered - like he’d already decided he was going to do it again the second you were alone.

you forced yourself to stand straight, forced your body into the starting position, forced your expression neutral when the music kicked back in. he was center stage, all easy focus for the rest of the cast, the perfect picture of composure. no one would ever guess he’d just been balls-deep in you five minutes ago… except everyone that already knew.

and then his voice, low and filthy, slipped straight into your ear the second the choreography brought him close.

“still drippin’, pretty girl?”

your breath caught. you kept the steps clean, kept the timing perfect, but your thighs pressed together on the next turn and another thick smear of his cum soaked further into your shorts. he noticed. of course he did. the corner of his mouth curved up just enough for you to see as he passed behind you.

“look at you tryin’ so hard,” he murmured under the next eight-count, lips barely moving as the routine forced you back-to-chest for a beat. “dancing all flushed and shaky, pretendin’ you’re not full of me. my good little mama, leakin’ in the middle of rehearsal. they can all tell. look at the way they’re watchin’ you.”

your next step faltered for half a second. you recovered, but your cheeks were on fire. he used the next lift in the choreography as an excuse to grip your waist a little too tightly, fingers digging in just above the waistband of your shorts, lingering just a little too low, just a little too proprietary.

“feel that?” he whispered when the track dropped out for a moment so the choreographer could adjust something. “that’s me still inside you. every time you move i bet you can feel how wet and stretched open you are. bet you’re clenchin’ around nothin’ right now, wishin’ i was still stretching you. so fucking pretty like this.”

you shot him a half glare half grin over your shoulder that only made his eyes darker with amusement. the music started again and the rest of the dancers kept going, completely (or not-so-completely) ignoring the fact that he was currently destroying you with nothing but words.

between counts he leaned in again during a close formation, voice pure velvet filth against your ear.

“funny,” he murmured, pure smug satisfaction dripping from every syllable. “you’re not arguing with my choreography anymore. no more attitude, no more ‘that count don’t make sense,’ no more fighting me on every little thing. all it took was gettin filled and suddenly my pretty girl is so fuckin obedient.” he chuckled low when your breath hitched. “look at you. quiet, dripping, takin’ every note without a single complaint. i should’ve fucked the fight out of you weeks ago.”

your knees almost buckled on the next turn. you had to force the movement sharper, heart slamming against your ribs. another slow pulse of cum slipped out of you and you prayed the harsh rehearsal lights were dim enough to hide the dampness spreading between your thighs.

he noticed that too. the smug bastard always did.

between counts he leaned in again during a close formation, “when this run-through’s over im taking you straight back to that dressing room. or maybe i won’t even wait that long. maybe i’ll just drag you behind the speakers, bend you over, and push my cum back into that messy lil pussy while you’re still dripping my first load. would you beg again, pretty girl? would you say please while the whole cast can still hear you?”

“t-they already did…” you said, meekly. almost embarrassed

“there it goes,” he breathed, almost fond, almost mocking, as the choreography spun you past him again. “another little drip. makin’ a mess of yourself in front of everyone and you can’t even stop it. my perfect, ruined pretty girl… still tryna hate me while you’re dancing to my music with my cum painting your thighs.”

“michael… stop sayin i hate you…” you replied out of breath and genuine.

the song ended. the choreographer started calling notes. you stood there breathing hard, face burning, and the second there was a pause he was right there again, mouth at your ear, hand sliding possessively over your hip where only you could feel it.

“two more run-throughs, mama,” he whispered, voice thick with promise and pure satisfaction. “then you’re mine again.” excitement pooled in your stomach. ‘his again…’ you ruminated on those words.