𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 (𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟) ˚.⋆꒰১ ໒꒱⋆.˚
𝗔𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝟮𝟰 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝘃𝗶𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗻, 𝗯𝘀𝗳!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝘆 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘃𝗶𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆!
Warnings/tags: p in v, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, switch Mikey! Switch reader! They do that shit raw (wrap ur Willy kids), Fluffy fluffy, kissing, pet names, no usuage of y/n!
- if you have any request (anons are on!) please send them!
No, it wasn't the fact that Michael was shy. He was far from the timid, fragile boy the public tried to paint him as. He wasn’t blind to the prying interviewers trying to scrape for details of the sex life he portrayed with such calculated secrecy, nor was he oblivious to his brothers’ frequent, boastful tales of intimacy.
He wasn’t stupid, either. He knew the shift that occurred the moment he went solo; his looks, his voice, his sheer presence consumed his fans. The world got louder, crazier, and infinitely more isolating. Craving the simple warmth of someone to hold, he’d dabbled in a few relationships here and there. But they always felt like pointless flings. For the longest time, he couldn't pinpoint why he felt so entirely dissatisfied.
Or, deep down, he knew exactly why. They weren’t you.
The bond you and Michael shared was a rare, sacred thing. Since you were twelve years old, you had gained traditions and vulnerability that no one else could replicate. His mother gave you both knowing, gentle looks; his father offered disgruntled sighs. Michael simply turned the other cheek, ignoring the unspoken commentary. But when it came to his brothers, deflecting wasn't as easy.
It was a quiet afternoon in the living room, the brothers scattered across the couches, caught up in their usual competitive banter. Michael was only half-engaged, hiding behind the pages of a book. He was resting, but he wasn’t relaxed. His leg bounced anxiously, his eyes darting to the clock as he waited for your arrival after your phone call earlier.
"No, me and her hit it off. A little too well, if you know what I mean," Marlon laughed, dapping up Jackie.
Jackie shook his head with a smirk. "Oh yeah? 'Rehearsing' again? What is this, your fifth girl this week?"
Michael cringed slightly behind his book. He couldn't comprehend keeping so many women on standby. It was enough work pouring his soul into one person; why fracture it across many?
Jermaine, meticulously fixing his hair in the mirror, chimed in. "All this talk about honeys is making me excited to see mine. Met her backstage and she almost made me see stars. Can't get enough of it."
The heavy, casual sex talk left Michael feeling suffocated and acutely left out. He had dedicated his entire life to his craft, working so relentlessly that he’d never allowed himself the casual, physical milestones his brothers collected like trophies. As if sensing his internal shift, the four boys locked their eyes onto him. Feeling the sudden, burning weight of their prying gazes, Michael didn't even look up from his page.
"How can we not, when we realize you haven't contributed a single thing to the conversation?" Tito asked, genuine confusion lacing his tone.
Michael sighed, finally snapping the book shut. "I don't have time for that kind of intimacy. I have a lot of work to focus on." He rubbed the back of his neck, a sudden heat creeping up his collar.
Jackie shook his head, a teasing smirk on his lips. "You’re twenty-four years old and a virgin, Mike. How sad."
Michael scrunched his face up, glaring at his brother. So what? He briefly wondered if he could just brand it as a lifestyle choice, make it trend, make everyone else want to be like him. But who was he kidding? In their eyes, he was a dork. With next to no real experience, he was a total amateur at the game his brothers played so effortlessly. It was a frustrating, embarrassing reality for a grown man to face.
Suddenly, four sharp, rhythmic knocks echoed against the front door.
Instantly, Michael’s sour mood evaporated, his posture relaxing into pure excitement. The brothers groaned in unison, knowing exactly who it was.
"What's wrong with you guys?" Michael asked, confused.
Marlon pinched his bridge of his nose. "Man, you are so blind. She's at the door! Why don't you try something with her for once, even if it's just to get some practice?"
Michael’s demeanor fractured, a genuine, defensive shyness taking over. "Marlon, it's not that simple. She's my best friend. I can't just ask something so... dirty of her."
"She probably wouldn't even mind," Marlon countered smoothly. "You two do everything together. Hell, you even dedicated a whole song to her!"
A small, helpless smile tugged at the corner of Michael's lips. Marlon wasn't entirely wrong. You had been his anchor through the dizzying madness of his career. After getting completely consumed by the pressure of transitioning from Off the Wall into the monolithic creation of Thriller, he had made the unforgivable mistake of forgetting your birthday. You had been growing distant, and that was the breaking point. You had screamed and cried at him over the phone for hours; he had begged for forgiveness, but you refused to let him off easy. The slam of the receiver had shattered his world.
In the painful space he gave you to heal, he poured his agony into music. That was how Carousel was born, a sonic love letter, a desperate plea for your return. He still vividly remembered the night he played it for you, the way you had forgiven him by peppering soft, breathless kisses all over his face and neck, the lovesick smile completely taking over his face.
If he wanted to feel those lips again, he had to open the door. Another impatient flurry of knocks broke his daydream. He rushed to the front foyer, messily unlocking the door.
The moment it swung open, your beauty hit him like a physical wave. It was always so refreshing being in your space, your features instantly brightening his entire world.
Your soothing voice pulled at his chest. He felt like a total dork just standing in your shadow. "Hi, baby. I'm doing good. Come in." He caught your hands, gently leading you into the living room. You offered polite, quick hellos to his brothers. They greeted you warmly—some flirty enough to make Michael’s jaw tighten. You noticed his grip on your hand firm up significantly, but you kept quiet, a secret thrill humming in your veins.
Without giving them another chance to linger, Michael guided you down the hall and into the privacy of his bedroom. He shut the door behind you, letting out a long, heavy exhale.
You didn't waste a second. You stepped into his space, snaking your arms loosely around his neck. "You know, I really want to hear those new records. Come relax with me. I want to cuddle."
And who was Mikey to deny you?
He let out a low chuckle, his hands coming to rest firmly on your waist as he guided you backward slightly. "Be patient, mama. Let me hear about your day first."
That deeper, velvety register, the tone he only ever reserved for you, made your knees feel like absolute jelly. It was these hyper-intimate, quiet moments that constantly made you question the boundaries of your dynamic. You stayed up late on Friday nights wondering how far you could push the envelope. It had started so subtly: touches that lingered a second too long, forehead kisses that migrated to your cheeks, then to the sensitive skin of your neck. Then came the possessive nicknames, and you were completely falling. Sometimes, hearing his voice low in the dark was enough to make you ache, forcing you to excuse yourself to the bathroom later just to find relief with your own fingers.
If only your sweet Mickey knew what he did to his Minnie.
You both laid down on the plush bedroom couch, Michael’s chest pressed flush against your back, his strong arms wrapping around you to rub your arms, soothing away your tension. You talked about your day, your career, your thoughts—the mundane things Michael could listen to for hours.
But today, he was uncharacteristically distant. His mind kept drifting back to his brothers' crude conversation. Michael had always claimed he was saving himself for someone special, but sitting here, the realization hit him with staggering clarity: the someone was you. If he had one wish, it would be to taste you. To completely unravel your mind. He imagined how delicious your moans would sound, how he’d want to press his fingers over your lips just to catch your cries, how he’d love the feel of your hands tangled in his curls while he made you see stars.
"Mickey, are you even listening to me?"
Your voice shattered his train of thought. He stammered, nodding hurriedly. "Y-yes, Minnie. I am, baby."
You saw right through him, turning around to face him fully. "No, you're not. What's on your mind?"
Fuck. How could he possibly explain that he wanted you to be his first? He braced himself, certain you'd be appalled. But biting the bullet, he laid it all out. "You know, my brothers were talking about girls... and all the different, explicit things they do to them."
You tilted your head, confused but letting him speak. Suddenly, Michael’s hands grew clammy, the large bedroom feeling entirely too small.
"You can't laugh at me," he whispered, deadly serious. "I just feel so far behind. Men my age have so much experience, they know how to actually wow a woman. Jackie... Jackie called me out. He said it was sad that I'm twenty-four and a virgin."
A soft, understanding expression washed over your face. You reached out, squeezing his knuckles tightly. "Mikey, baby... you’re a visionary. You’ve been in the spotlight since you were a child. It makes complete sense that you didn't have time for normal teenage experiences." You leaned up, kissing his knuckles tenderly. "If anything, you are the most attractive man I've ever seen. You’re going to find someone who loves you for exactly who you are, who wants to make those memories with you."
The irony hung thick in the air. Both of your minds were screaming the exact same thing: Me. Let it be me.
The tension in the room snapped into something heavy, electric, and undeniable. Michael stared into your eyes, completely intoxicated by your presence. Before his anxious mind could intercept his impulses, his mouth moved on its own.
His heart instantly dropped into his stomach. He braced himself for a slap, a rejection, an awkward laugh—until he looked at your face.
"Are you sure, Michael?" you asked, your voice overflowing with a profound tenderness.
"You know me better than anyone, Minnie," he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion. "I trust you with my life. I want it to be you."
He didn't wait. He leaned forward, his hands cupping your face as he began pressing urgent, sweet kisses along your jawline, trailing down to the sensitive pulse point of your neck. He nipped gently at the skin, a low growl gathering in his throat as he shifted, hovering over you on the couch, completely commanding your space.
"Fuck... Mike," you breathed, completely caught off guard by the sudden heat. "Do you know what you want to do first?"
He looked down at you, his large, dark eyes completely swallowed by a heavy, lustful glaze. "I want to eat you out."
The sheer dominance in his tone had you instantly flooding your underwear. He might have been inexperienced, but he wasn’t entirely oblivious; he had shared a brief, guided encounter with a backstage guest once before, a brief lesson in what a woman needed. But looking at you, he knew this was an entirely different league.
He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, over your collarbone, moving down your torso until he was positioned perfectly between your thighs. A sudden wave of shyness hit you, and you instinctively tried to close your legs. Michael caught your thighs, his large hands anchoring your knees and firmly pressing them wider, exposing you completely to his gaze.
His breath hitched, his mouth visibly watering as he stared hungrily at the damp fabric of your underwear. He looked up, his eyes silently demanding your complete surrender.
"Take them off with your teeth," you whispered.
A breathtaking, wicked smile spread across his face. His teeth caught the elastic waistband of your underwear, and with agonizingly slow grace, he slid them down your legs. You lifted your hips, desperate for the touch of his mouth, your breath hitching as the cool air hit your damp skin.
"Michael..." your voice was barely a whisper, your fingers tangling in his soft curls.
He murmured a low, vibrating reassurance against your inner thigh, a quiet promise that was instantly swallowed by the blistering heat rising between you. When he finally shifted, centering himself, the first touch of his wet tongue against your clit was electric. Your hips arched sharply off the cushions, your hands tightening frantically in his hair.
Michael adjusted his grip, his thumbs anchoring your hip bones firmly to the fabric, ensuring you couldn't pull away from the pressure. He knew exactly what he was doing. The rhythm he established was torturously perfect. "Tell me what you need," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy velvet vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "Don't hold back for me."
A high, needy whimper tore from your throat, and Michael caught the sound, using it as absolute fuel. He picked up the pace, his tongue working in a deliberate, devastating cadence, hitting the exact structural sweet spot of your clit. This was nothing like the lonely Friday nights in your bedroom; Michael was bringing every hidden fantasy to life.
"Oh my God, fuck, right there—please don't stop, Mike!"
A switch flipped inside him. Hearing his name on your lips, wrapped in pure pleasure, ignited something feral. "Yeah? Can't get enough of Mikey's tongue, can you?"
The dirty talk flowed from his lips seamlessly, fueled by years of repressed desire and the echoed brag’s talk of his brothers. He knew exactly what got a woman going.
Your fingers gripped his head tighter, your moans climbing an octave as the friction built. "Yes, baby... you're doing so good. Such a good job eating mama out."
Michael let out a choked sound, his cock throbbing painfully against his slacks. He felt like he could ruin his pants right then and there. He didn't let up for a second. His thumbs dug deeper into your hips, holding you steady against the relentless, building friction. The sensations began to coil tightly, a sharp, heavy ache gathering deep in your core, spiraling outward until every nerve ending was screaming for release. It was becoming too much.
"Mikey, I'm gonna cum... baby, you're gonna make me cum," you whined, your legs instinctively trying to clamp shut around his head.
Using his upper body strength, Michael clamped his forearms against your inner thighs, forcing them wide open. He abruptly pulled his mouth away for a fraction of a second, his open palm coming down in a sharp, stinging smack against your inner thigh. The sudden sensation sent an electric shock straight to your core.
"Keep those legs open, or I stop," he commanded, his eyes intensely focused, holding you to the promise of your pleasure. "You can take it for me."
You nodded frantically, whimpering as he buried his face back between your thighs. The pressure built to a fever pitch. Michael knew exactly how close you were; he increased the suction, his tongue flattening out, working with a sudden, fierce intensity that pushed you right over the precipice.
You screamed, your vision blurring into pure white as the climax hit you in violent, crashing waves. Your vaginal muscles clamped down, your hips bucking helplessly against his face as a loud, uninhibited cry tore from your lungs. Michael didn't pull away; he held you through the worst of the tremors, his tongue continuing to stroke firmly through the intense, pulsing aftershocks, drinking you in until your breaths finally began to slow.
Breathing heavily, he dragged his body up yours, his face flushed and glistening, a needy, desperate look overtaking his features. "C'mere, pretty girl."
Your lips crashed together in a sloppy, bruising kiss. He deliberately swiped his tongue against yours, making you taste yourself, sharing the absolute sweetness he had just devoured. You chased his lips as he pulled away slightly, a breathless coo leaving his throat. "You taste so sweet, don't you, girl?"
You slid your arms from his hair down to his shoulders, looking into his eyes with complete vulnerability. "Mikey... I want to go to the next step. I want you inside me."
The bravado Michael had just displayed instantly vanished. The heavy reality of what was about to happen dawned on him, the sudden wave of vulnerability making his eyes doting anxiously. He was getting cold feet, terrified of ruining the moment after showing out. Sensing his hesitation, you slid your hand down, gently cupping the heavy, painful bulge straining against his pants.
"First," you whispered, pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, letting your breasts free in the warm air of the room. "Take off your clothes. Let's feel each other."
His hands trembled slightly as he shed his shirt and pants, leaving him in just his boxers. He hesitated, a deep-seated insecurity creeping in about what you would think of him. But you reached out, your pupils dilating as you took in the sheer size and thick, heavy shape straining against the cotton of his underwear.
"Keep going, Mike," you encouraged softly.
He shed the final barrier, throwing them onto the floor. In all its heavy, thick glory, he was breathtakingly blessed. You swallowed hard, aching to feel him.
"Do you have any lube? Or oil?" you asked softly.
He nodded, reaching blindly into his nightstand drawer to pull out a sleek container. He waited, intently listening for your instruction.
A small, knowing smirk grew on your face. "Okay... put a generous amount on your hand, and stroke yourself."
He nodded, uncapping the bottle. You watched, your own pussy growing wetter by the second as Michael poured the slick liquid into his palm and wrapped his fingers around his shaft, stroking himself with slow, heavy sweeps to coat the skin. Deciding to prep your body for his size, you slipped two of your own fingers inside your heat. Michael’s breath hitched at the sight, his own strokes growing faster, more erratic. You studied each other like predator and prey, locked in a gaze of shared, guilty pleasure.
Realizing you were loose and slick enough, you told him to stop. "Mickey, are you ready? We can take our time if you need to."
Michael shook his head fiercely. He crawled over you, his large hands framing your face to give you a deeply sweet, lingering kiss, followed by a tender rub of your noses. "I'm ready, Minnie. I'm sure. Let me give myself to you, baby."
With matching, breathless smiles, he positioned himself between your thighs. You wrapped your legs firmly around his waist, guiding his fat mushroom tip to your opening.
Slowly, deliberately, Michael began to push inward. A delicious, stretching burn instantly hit you, causing your back to arch completely off the bed. He was incredibly thick, and that was just the head. Michael let out a ragged groan, his own composure fracturing as your tight, slick walls clenched desperately around him.
His voice was shaky, vibrating against your ear. "Relax for me, baby... show me you can take it."
His soothing words were the magic key; your muscles yielded, allowing him to slowly, fully slide himself all the way in until his hips rested flush against yours. "Yeah... just like that. I've got you, mama. You're doing such a good job. Mikey's so sorry if it hurts," he cooed, kissing your temple.
He stayed perfectly still for a full minute, allowing your body to adjust to his impressive length and weight. You took a deep, stabilizing breath before whispering, "Move, Mike."
The pleasure hit like a lightning bolt the moment he began to pull back and thrust down, starting with a slow, neutral pace to test the waters. You bit your lip, looking down to watch the beautiful, glistening connection where your bodies met. He leaned down, peppering your neck with bruising kisses with every downward stroke.
"Yeah... you see who's inside you?" he whispered darkly, his pace picking up. "Look at how good you're taking me, baby. Let me hear how good I'm making my baby feel."
You couldn't hold back the sweet, undone sounds anymore. You rolled your eyes back as his head hit the exact internal sweet spot that had you seeing stars.
"Oh my God, Michael... right there, baby!" Your fingers clawed at the smooth skin of his back. "Go a little faster, Mike... I'm not made of glass,"
The encouragement shattered his restraint. Bracing his weight on his hands, he hosted your legs higher over his shoulders, altering the angle. He began pistoning into you hard and fast, the friction intense and overwhelming. Uninhibited wails and praises tumbled from your lips.
"Yeah? That's what you wanted? This what you needed from me?" he asked, his voice taking on a desperate, whiny pitch. The sheer tightness of your pussy squeezing his shaft had him completely undone. Your frantic moans were dragging him straight to the finish line, and he internally cursed how close he was already getting.
Determined to make you ride the wave with him, he suddenly slowed his lower body, keeping himself buried deep inside you while his hand reached down to rub your clit with fast, electric friction. The sudden burst of direct stimulation set your nerves on fire.
"Mike, please... I'm so close, I need it."
Hearing you beg put him entirely at your mercy. "Whose pussy is this?" he demanded, his voice laced with an intense, possessive hunger.
"Yours, Michael! It's always been yours, no one else's!" you cried out.
That was all he needed. Leaving his hand down there to friction your clit, he began thrusting erratically, his movements heavy and unyielding. The headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall, the wet slap of your skin, the harmony of your moans together in the quiet room. Both of you were completely overwhelmed, teetering on the edge of an intense orgasm.
"I'm gonna cum, Mikey, I can't hold it—fuck!" you whined, your brow furrowing in pure pleasure.
"Be a good girl and cum on this dick," he growled, pushing deep. "Show me how good Mikey can make you feel."
Your mouth fell into an 'O' expression as a loud, breathless howl tore from your throat, your entire body exploding into violent, pulsing waves of release.
Michael’s vocal groans completely filled the space as he felt your tight walls convulse and squeeze him in frantic successions. The sight and sound of your undone state pushed him entirely over the edge. He needed his own release.
"You're close, baby? You can cum now... it's okay, cum in mommy," you breathed, vocabulary completely unhinged by the pleasure.
With three last, deep, primal strokes and a heavy, incredibly sexy moan that vibrated straight through your core, Michael came just as hard as you, filling you completely. Riding the intense aftershocks of his first orgasm, you ran your nails through his damp curls, whispering endless praises into his ear to help bring him down from the clouds.
After a long, quiet moment of recovery, a sharp thought suddenly dawned on him. He had come completely inside you. For the hundredth time that day, his heart dropped to his naked ass, a look of sudden panic crossing his features.
But like the mind-reader you always were, you smoothed a hand over his cheek, smiling softly. "I'm on the pill, Mikey. It's okay."
He let out a massive, relieved sigh, collapsing his weight safely beside you, pulling your bodies flush together. He was so incredibly glad he had gotten to experience this with you.
After all, what are best friends for?
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