I’VE NEVER REALLY…
— wc 3.1k the longest shit i’ve ever written
— post-owt!michael x fem!reader
after millions of phone calls, and trouble with both of your timezones you finally have a late night reunion with michael after your little trip from italy.
credentials — established relationship, oral sex (reader receiving) loss of virginity, slight overstim, soft dom reader, slight praise kink, and a little bit of fluff… just a little, guidance, slowburn ?? submissive!mike
You and Michael had been dating for quite some time now. After your little trip away from home, phone calls were all you had, but they were never short of anything. He’d talk your ear off about everything he was working on — his new album, fresh song ideas, melodies he’d been piecing together at all hours of the night. You loved how passionate he got about it. His mind for music was something you always found completely adorable.
You sat plopped up on your bed in the vacation home, magazine open in your lap. Your parents had decided it’d be good to get out of California for a while, and though you absolutely hated flying across the world, today was the day you were finally heading back. More importantly, you were going to surprise Michael. Just the thought of it made your stomach flip, a smile creeping up behind the pages as you imagined the look on his face.
“Y/N!!” You perked up at the sound of your dad’s voice booming from downstairs. “Did you pack everything up already? Our flight leaves in an hour, so be ready!”
“Yeah! I’m pretty sure I got everything!” you called back, settling back into your magazine. Your mom’s voice floated through the hallway, something about a missing perfume and how it couldn’t have just disappeared.
Just as you were about to lay back down, the phone rang. You reached over with a small huff and answered, “Hello?”
“Uh, baby? What’s wrong?”
Michael. You sat up a little straighter. “Oh — Michael! Nothing, I was just getting into my magazine.”
“Ah, one of your fashion magazines, hm?” He said it a little too cheerfully, the way he always did when he was teasing you. He knew all about your love for clothes — you’d made him more than a few things over the years.
“Yeah,” you laughed. “What are you doing calling so early anyway?”
“I can’t call and check on my sweetheart?” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay this morning. Say… when are you coming home? I miss you. A lot.”
That little whine at the end made your heart melt every single time.
“Uh… next week, I think. That’s what my dad told me,” you said, lying straight through your teeth. You felt a tiny pang of guilt — but that was the whole point of a surprise, wasn’t it?
“Ugh, your dad is keeping you away from me on purpose, isn’t he?” You both laughed at that.
“Awh, come on. You know I miss you too, Michael.” You smiled, tucking your legs underneath you. “There’s a lot to do here in Italy. Maybe I ought to bring you with me next time.”
“I like the sound of th—”
“Y/N!!!” Your dad’s voice cut through the room and you glanced at your watch.
“Oh, shit.”
“Y/N?” Michael’s voice came through, confused.
“Michael, I have to go — family breakfast!” You hung up before he could even get a word in, catching only a faint “Oh—” before the line went quiet.
You grabbed your luggage and rushed downstairs. Your dad stood at the bottom with a look that wasn’t quite angry but made it very clear he meant business. “What were you doing up there? I called your name twice.”
“I was on the phone,” you admitted. “With Michael.”
He let out a low hum, picking up the suitcases and heading for the door. “That boy’s going to get you into trouble if you don’t start paying attention.”
————
The flight home was a drag, plain and simple. Your mom spent most of it fretting about the time, muttering something about how it’d be the crack of dawn before they even pulled into the driveway. She wasn’t wrong. By the time you were unloading the car and hauling bags inside, it was almost three in the morning. Any hope of surprising Michael that night had gone right out the window — he’d be fast asleep by now.
You set your bags down in your room with a quiet “I’ll deal with these in the morning,” freshened up, drew yourself a rosemary bath, and changed into your silk pajamas. Then you fell face-first onto your bed with a groan.
“So tired.”
You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. I should probably call Michael.
You reached for the phone before you’d even fully talked yourself into it, tugging the cord loose where it had tangled around the nightstand leg, and dialed his number.
“Pick up…” It rang. And rang. He was definitely asleep.
“Hello?” His voice came through finally — low, raspy, hovering somewhere between awake and gone.
“Mike? Did I wake you?” You were already smiling. You didn’t feel that bad about it.
“Mmm.” The grogginess was thick in his voice.
“Is everything okay? Why are you calling so late — it’s almost four in the morning here, babe.” A yawn stretched out somewhere in the middle of the sentence, and you smiled wider.
“I just wanted to let you know I made it home,” you said. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but I got in a little later than expected.”
A beat of silence. Then rustling — sheets, movement, the sound of someone sitting up.
“Mike? What’s all that noise?”
“I’m coming over.” Fully awake now, just like that. “I need to see you.”
“What? It’s four in the morning, you should go back to sleep—”
“I’ll see you!” And then the line clicked.
You slowly pulled the phone away from your ear, biting back a grin. Michael had always been like that — thoughtful, impulsive, never one to miss a moment with you if he could help it. You set the phone down on the nightstand and smiled at the ceiling.
He was on his way. He was on his way!
Here’s the continuation smoothed out and made consistent with everything before it:
He was on his way.
You sat up straight, suddenly very awake. The tiredness that had been dragging at you all night evaporated somewhere between hanging up the phone and realizing Michael was about to show up at your house at four in the morning.
You’d already had a bath, but you still found yourself darting to the mirror — a few spritzes of perfume, a once-over of your hair. Lipgloss? No, no. Chapstick. The cherry one. You were so giddy you could barely stand still, bouncing lightly on your heels as you waited.
Then came the knock at the window.
You leapt up and threw it open so fast you nearly took Michael clean in the face with the frame. “Whoops!” you yelped.
He pulled his head back just in time, laughing. “Someone’s excited to see me.”
He climbed in through the window, and the second he was through, his arms were around you — a tight, genuine hug, the kind that said more than words. You melted into it.
“I’m so happy to see you,” he murmured into your hair. “You have no idea.” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before loosening his hold, his hands settling comfortably at your waist.
“Mike, you could’ve just come through the front door,” you said, already kissing along his jaw, his cheek, the side of his neck. “My parents wouldn’t have heard a thing.”
“That is a risk, baby, and you know it.” He was grinning as he drifted over to your bed and sat down, his hand finding yours and pulling you gently along with him. You stood in front of him, his fingers still laced loosely through yours.
He tilted his head up at you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home when I called this morning?”
“That’s strange, because I could’ve sworn I mentioned it…” You pressed a finger to your lips like you were genuinely trying to remember.
“Stop messin’.” His big brown eyes looked up at you, soft and warm despite the mock seriousness.
“I just wanted to surprise you, that’s all.” You reached down and cupped his face, leaning in to kiss him once, gently. “And it worked, didn’t it?”
“Oh, you surprised me alright.” He smiled against your lips.
You settled onto the bed beside him. Almost immediately his fingers found each other in his lap, fidgeting the way they always did when you were close. He’d been that way since the beginning — a little nervous, a little quiet, even after all this time. You loved that about him.
“Tell me about Italy,” he said. “Beyond what you already told me over the phone. Anything I’m missing?”
“Well,” you started, smoothing your pajama pants over your knees, “my dad took me to see a few fashion schools while we were there. They were all so beautiful, Mike, you can’t even imagine. And we went to a couple of museums, and there was this one guy—”
Michael’s eyebrow lifted just slightly.
You caught it immediately. “Chillax.” You gave his arm the gentlest tap. “He was like a mentor figure, not even close to our age. He makes clothes too, actually. Really beautiful pieces.” You glanced down at your hands for a moment, thoughtful. “It got me thinking a lot, honestly.”
When you looked back up, Michael was already watching you. Not listening, exactly — just looking. At your face, your lips, the way you talked with your hands without realizing it.
“Mike.” You tilted your head. “Are you even listening?”
His eyes snapped back to yours. “Mhm.” A little nod.
You narrowed yours.
“Mhm,” he said again, more convincingly this time, the corner of his mouth giving him away.
You rolled your eyes, scooting up until your head found the pillow, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking about going to school there,” you said quietly. “There are so many opportunities, and you know how much fashion means to me, Mike. I just…” You paused. “I don’t want to leave everything I have here.”
You could feel his eyes on you from where he sat at the edge of the bed. The mattress shifted, dipped, and then he was lying beside you.
“Do what you want, baby,” he said softly. “You won’t be leaving anything behind that matters less than your dreams.”
“I don’t want to leave you though.” You turned to face him. “Or my family.”
He was already looking at you. “You should always follow what you want — you know that. I would never be upset at you for going out there and becoming everything you’re supposed to be.” His voice was gentle, certain, and his breath was warm against your lips.
“I know, I know, it’s just—”
He kissed you.
Soft at first, then slower, deeper — his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. You felt yourself lean into it without thinking, your fingers curling into the front of his sweater. When he finally pulled back, your lips felt warm and a little numb, like the kiss had taken something with it on its way out.
“Michael, you can’t just—”
He kissed you again.
This time his arm reached across you, gently guiding you back down against the pillow, his weight settling over you in a way that made your breath catch. Your fingers found their way into his hair and tugged, just slightly, and the small sound he made against your mouth sent your heart straight into your throat.
You wanted him. You’d missed him for weeks and right now every part of you felt it.
You could feel him too — the slow, almost involuntary press of him against you, his breathing getting heavier between kisses. Finally you pulled back, just enough to speak.
“I want you,” you whispered.
Michael exhaled and dropped his forehead lightly toward yours, his expression caught somewhere between wanting and careful. “Baby, we can’t. Your parents are right down the hall.”
“They’re asleep,” you murmured, reaching up to grab the hem of his sweater, tugging gently. “Please?”
He looked at you for a long moment, jaw tight, eyes soft. You could tell he was thinking about it — really thinking about it.
Then he shifted, sitting back just slightly, his eyes moving off to the side in that way he did when something was sitting heavy on him.
“I’ve never really…” he started, then stopped.
“Done anything more?” you finished for him, your voice gentle, no teasing in it.
He exhaled quietly. “Yeah.” A small, almost sheepish nod, his gaze still somewhere just past you.
You reached up and turned his face back toward yours, your hands soft on his jaw. He looked at you then — really looked — and there was something so open and unguarded in his expression that it made your chest ache in the best possible way.
“Hey,” you said quietly. “That’s okay.”
You kept your palms cupping his jaw, thumbs stroking slow arcs over his cheekbones until the tension in his shoulders eased. Michael’s eyes stayed locked on yours, wide and dark and trusting.
“That’s okay,” you repeated, softer this time. “We don’t have to rush anything you’re not ready for.”
He swallowed. “I want to. With you. Just… sometimes my head gets loud.”
You nodded and leaned in, brushing your lips over his. He sighed into the kiss, hands finding your waist again. Your silk pajama top was still buttoned, the shorts and underwear still on underneath.
Michael’s fingers hovered at your waistband, hesitant.
“Michael,” you whispered, guiding his hand lower. “Take them off.”
He nodded, swallowing hard, and slowly tugged both the shorts and your underwear down your legs together. You lifted your hips to help. The silk slid cool against your skin until both pieces were off and tossed aside. Your top stayed on, unbuttoned just enough at the collar.
Michael stared between your legs, breathing faster. “I… I want to try.”
You spread your thighs wider, more open for him. You were almost embarrassed at how perverted the scene might’ve looked. “Go ahead.”
He lowered himself between your legs, settling on his stomach. His hands shook a little as he pushed your thighs apart more. The first lick was tentative, tongue flat and warm against your pussy. You bit your lip, but a soft moan still slipped out.
Michael paused, looking up. “Was that okay?”
“Yes,” you said in a very airy tone. “Keep going. Please.”
He licked again, slower, dragging his tongue from your entrance up to your clit. Another moan escaped you, louder. He pressed his face closer, licking with more pressure, the wet sounds filling the quiet room.
“Fuck,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. “That feels s’ good, Michael.”
He moaned against your pussy at the praise, the vibration making your hips twitch. He licked harder, tongue circling your clit before dipping lower to push inside you. Your hand flew to your mouth to muffle another moan.
“Michael,” you gasped into your palm. “Don’t stop.”
He kept licking, sucking gently on your clit now, his own quiet moans vibrating through you every time you praised him. Your thighs trembled around his head. He was getting more confident, tongue working faster, still checking your reactions with every stroke.
Your breathing turned ragged and your grip in his hair tightened, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “You taste really good.”
You pulled him up by his sweater. “I need you inside me now.”
Michael nodded fast, face flushed, and shoved his pants and underwear down. His cock was already hard, tip wet. He climbed over you, settling between your thighs. You reached down and guided him to your entrance.
“Slow at first,” you told him.
He pushed in, inch by inch, both of you biting back groans. When he was fully inside, he froze, breathing hard against your neck.
“You okay?” you asked.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Jus’… really tight. Feels so good.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist. “Move. But stay quiet.”
Michael started thrusting, slow and careful at first, then deeper when you rocked up to meet him. The bed creaked softly. He buried his face in your shoulder to muffle his moans.
“Harder,” you whispered in a breathy moan. “Fuck me harder.”
He obeyed, hips snapping forward with more force. Each thrust pushed a suppressed moan out of you that you had to swallow. Michael’s breathing was ragged, his thrusts getting uneven.
“Tell me what you want,” he panted against your ear. “I’ll do it.”
“Deeper, ff—uck” you said. “Don’t stop.”
He pushed your legs higher, fucking into you harder, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy loud in the dark room. You clenched around him and he whimpered, hips stuttering.
“I’m close already,” he admitted, voice shaking. “Feels too good. I can’t—”
“Not yet,” you said, gripping his ass to pull him deeper. “Keep going.”
Michael kept thrusting, sweat dampening his sweater. Your silk top stuck to your skin. Every time he bottomed out you had to press your hand over your mouth to stay quiet. He was moaning into your neck now, trying to stay silent but failing.
“Michael,” you whispered. “You’re doing s’ good. Fuck me like you need it.”
He groaned and picked up the pace, fucking you faster, the headboard tapping the wall in a steady rhythm. Your pussy clenched around him again and he choked on a moan.
“Shit— I’m gonna cum,” he gasped. “Can I—?”
“Inside,” you told him. “Fill me up, Mi—ke” Your moans were so hitched, you were desperately trying to keep quiet.
Michael buried himself deep and came with a long, muffled groan against your shoulder, his cock pulsing inside you. The feeling pushed you over too. Your orgasm hit hard, pussy squeezing him tight as you bit down on your own hand to stay quiet.
He didn’t pull out right away. His hips kept moving in tiny thrusts, overstimulated, cock still twitching. You were shaking too, every small movement sending sparks through your over-sensitive clit.
“Too much,” he whimpered, but didn’t stop. “Feels so good it hurts.”
You held him close, legs still locked around him. “Keep going. Just a little more.”
Michael kept fucking you through both your orgasms, small desperate thrusts while you both fought to stay silent. His cock stayed hard inside you, overstimulated and leaking, your pussy fluttering around him. The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the wet slide of his cock still moving in you.
Finally he slowed, collapsing on top of you, both of you trembling and trying to catch their breath without making noise.
“You okay?” you whispered, stroking his back.
He nodded against your neck. “Yeah. Just… really sensitive now.”
You smiled and kissed his temple. “You did perfect.”