So, I’m currently sitting in my gmas living room, and I’m trying to decide which fic to write next (aside from the part 2 from my previous Dom x Mercury fic).
Here’s the list of fanfics/communities I’ll write for, though if you have suggestions go for it!
1) Supernatural
2) The Vampire Diaries
3) The Originals…possibly Legacies if we’re talking more Hope route…
4) Teen Wolf (the show/movie from 2024)
5) Stranger Things
6) Lucifer
7) Cobra Kai
8) Shameless
9) Suits
10) Criminal Minds/ Criminal Minds Evolution
11) Outer Banks
13) Dexter (and of the shows that follow)
14) Buffy
15) Angel
16) Hawaii Five-O
17) Cold Case
18) The Bear
19) The Outsiders (movie or book)
20) Marvel
21) It (book or movies)
22) Maximum Ride
23) The Summer I Turned Pretty (show or books/ movie in the future)
24) Camp Rock
25) Joe or Nick Jonas (I would certainly be willing to the Christmas Movie as well)
26) Jamie Camper Bower
27) Millie Bobby Brown
28) Sadie Sink
29) Lola Tung
30) Dominic Harrison (Yungblud)
31) Anything in the LGBTQ world!
32) Micheal Jackson (had to end with the King of Pop himself)
I’m fully aware this list is extensive, but I’m not going to do any of this all at once. It’s just here to give you an idea of what I do and for me a reminder/inspiration for the future because I have a brain of a goldfish sometimes.
Also, please don’t judge or be unkind about any of my choices. I basically just laid out my entire childhood and young adulthood of what I grew up on, and who I am through this list. I’m a full movie, show, book, and music junky, and I’m not afraid to admit that.
Ultimately, I don’t care what you think. I don’t want to hear or take in any bad opinions. I’ll write about what I want, but for those who want to see or read about one of these, they are more than welcome to reach out!
“That dress looks so pretty on you” Megan’s voice is soft as she speaks while watching you apply your makeup. You both got invited to a birthday party of one of Megan’s friends, from culinary school. She finished getting ready half an hour ago, and she was lying on your bed, scrolling on her phone as you got ready. Finally, you approach her and pat her shoulder.
“Let’s go, baby,” You say while walking to the door of your apartment, swaying your hips in a way that drove Megan crazy.
“You are so fucking pretty.” Megan quickly catches up and stands between you and the door. “I’m thirsty, wait for me to get some water?”
You sigh and nod. You were already late, but 5 more minutes couldn’t hurt, right? Plus, your girlfriend was thirsty.
Megan goes to the kitchen, helping herself to a glass of water and staring at you. It was only now, with the soft lighting of the kitchen, that you noticed the tent in her pants.
“What’s that for?” You walk slowly to the kitchen, unable to look away from her pants.
“That dress shows a lot of skin, how am I supposed to react?” Megan shrugs her shoulders and leaves the glass in the sink.
You can’t react before the turns you around and bends you over the counter, pressing her hips against your ass and, oh, you feel it. Megan is so hard it was probably hurting her.
“Megan–”
“Quiet baby, it’ll be quick, yeah?” Megan whispers in her raspy voice, knowing you love that tone.
Megan kisses your nape, your shoulder, your exposed back, literally any inch of skin she has access to. You notice her getting harder and harder with each second that passes.
“You said it was gonna be quick, we are already 15 minutes late”
“So eager for me” Megan says and ruffles up your dress. You can hear her belt unbuckling and her pants sliding down. You turn back to look at her, and you quickly notice the wet stain in her boxers.
“The condoms are in the second drawer of my night table.” You try to turn around, but Megan presses her body against yours
“I don't have time to look for’ em” You hear her pulling down her boxers, and you feel the tip against your entrance. Without saying anything else, she pushed in. Her hips immediately set a fast rhythm.
“Megan, slow down, fuck-” Your cheek pressed against the counter, Megan’s hand holding your head.
“We don’t have time” She said with a soft moan. You loved when Megan got desperate like this, so you just took it.
Her hips snapped harder, even faster, and your moans only got louder and louder.
“You know…” Megan starts, struggling to talk and maintain the pace. “At class, we were seeing desserts- fuck”
“Get to the point” You manage to say coherently
“Crème brûlée is so hard to make” Megan groans and now holds your hips with both hands. You could feel her cock twitching inside you and your walls getting tighter and tighter. You mumbled nonsense, trying to make Megan continue her story.
“But you?- fuck, i’m cumming” Megan murmured right by your ear, and you felt her load shot inside you, thick liquid, rope after rope, triggering your own orgasm. And if it wasn’t for the counter, you would have fallen to the floor.
“You- femme brûlée, under 5 minutes” Megan finally whispered with a soft chuckle before pulling out and getting both of you cleaned up, before heading out to the birthday gathering.
You’d been working for Daniela Avanzini for almost four months. fresh out of college, and somehow landing a job as her personal assistant had felt like winning the lottery. She had a two-year-old daughter who was the cutest thing you’d ever seen. Whenever Daniela brought her into the office for a few hours, the whole place softened. Alexia would toddle around with a stuffed bunny, babbling nonsense, and Daniela’s whole face would change. Softer. Warmer. It did something to you that you tried not to think about too hard.
That Friday, Daniela called you into her office near the end of the day.
“I need you at my place tonight,” she said, not looking up from her laptop. “Some files I can’t access remotely, and I want the presentation notes redone before Monday. Bring your laptop. I’ll feed you.”
You swallowed. “Of course. What time?”
“Seven. Alexia will still be up for a little while."
You arrived at seven on the dot, laptop bag over your shoulder, heart already beating a little too fast. Daniela opened the door in a soft black robe that clung to her curves, hair loose around her shoulders, no makeup. She looked tired and beautiful and dangerous all at once. Behind her, a small voice called out.
“Mama!”
Alexia came padding down the hallway in footie pajamas covered in tiny stars, her dark hair sticking up in soft tufts, the well-loved stuffed bunny clutched in one fist. She stopped a few feet away and stared up at you with wide, curious eyes, one finger in her mouth.
Daniela’s hand settled lightly on the back of your shoulder. “This is the person who helps Mama at work, sweetheart. Say hi.”
Alexia’s free hand rose in a shy little wave. “Hi.”
You crouched down so you were closer to her height, smiling. “Hi, Alexia. That’s a really nice bunny. Does he have a name?”
She considered this with great seriousness, then held the bunny out for a second before pulling it protectively against her chest. “Bunny. My bunny.”
“He’s lucky,” you said softly
Alexia’s face lit up. She toddled closer, planted herself right in front of you, and thrust the book she’d been carrying into your hands—a thick board book about a blue truck. “Read.”
Daniela’s mouth curved as she watched. “She’s been waiting to show someone new her favorite book. Five minutes, then bath and bed. Don’t let her talk you into the whole thing twice.”
You ended up on the living-room rug with Alexia while Daniela moved around the kitchen. Alexia climbed into your lap without hesitation, heavy and warm and smelling of baby shampoo and the last traces of whatever snack she’d had earlier. She opened the book and pointed at every page, narrating in a mix of real words and confident nonsense. You made the truck noises when she looked at you expectantly. She giggled, a bright sudden sound, and leaned back against your chest like she’d decided you were acceptable furniture. At one point she turned, patted your cheek with a slightly sticky hand, and declared, “Soft.”
Daniela appeared in the doorway, arms folded, expression unreadable for a long moment. Then she came over, scooped Alexia up with an easy strength, and kissed the top of her head.
“Bath time, little bird. Say goodnight to our guest.”
Alexia waved at you over Daniela’s shoulder, bunny flopping. “Night-night. Come back.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” you promised, and meant it.
You stayed on the rug while the sounds of water running and soft singing drifted from down the hall. Twenty minutes later Daniela returned alone, the house quieter. A nightlight glowed faintly from the nursery. She poured you both wine without asking and gestured at the couch.
“Laptop’s on the coffee table. Files are in the shared drive. I want the notes tighter. You’ve seen how I talk. Write it like that.”
You sat. She sat closer than necessary. Her thigh brushed yours every time she shifted. You tried to focus on the screen, but her perfume and the heat of her body kept pulling your attention. The wine was dark and rich; you took a sip mostly to have something to do with your hands.
Halfway through the second section, she leaned over, one hand braced on the back of the couch behind you, the other pointing at a line on the screen. Her robe gaped open just enough that you caught the soft curve of her breast, the shadowed hint of nipple.
“That paragraph is dead,” she murmured near your ear. “Kill it.”
You deleted it.
Daniela didn’t move away. She stayed there, breath warm against the side of your neck, the weight of her presence almost heavier than the words on the screen.
“You’ve been staring at me for months,” she said quietly. “Don’t pretend you haven’t. In the office. When I bring Alexia in. Every time I lean over your desk.”
Your pulse jumped. “I—I didn’t mean to make it obvious.”
“Shh.” She turned your face toward hers with two fingers under your chin. “You’re here because I wanted you here. Because I’ve been thinking about this longer than you have.”
She kissed you. Slow at first, testing, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours like she’d been thinking about the exact shape of your mouth. You made a small sound into her mouth—half surprise, half relief. Daniela’s hand slid into your hair and tightened, holding you exactly where she wanted you. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were dark and intent.
“On your knees.”
You slid off the couch onto the rug looking up at her, heart hammering. Daniela stood, untied the robe, and let it fall. Underneath, she wore nothing but a simple black harness already strapped around her hips. She stroked it once, almost absently, watching your face for every flicker of reaction.
“You’ve thought about this,” she said. “About me fucking you. About being my good girl. About calling me what you really want to call me.”
Your mouth went dry. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
You looked up at her, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “Yes, Mommy.”
Approval flickered across her face. “Good. Say it again.”
“I-I’ve thought about it. .”
“About me doing what?”
Heat flooded your face. “About you… fucking me.”
“That’s better.” She stepped closer. The head of the strap brushed your lower lip. “Open.”
You opened without being told. Daniela fed it into your mouth slowly, watching every inch disappear. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked, tasting the faint clean silicone and the warmer scent of her skin where the harness sat against her. She threaded her fingers through your hair and began to rock her hips, shallow thrusts that pushed the cock deeper each time.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “Take Mommy’s cock. Look at you—already so eager. How does it feel?”
You pulled back just enough to answer, spit already shining on your chin. “Good s-so good"
“Then take more.” She pushed forward again, the head nudging the back of your throat until your eyes watered. You moaned around it, the sound vibrating through the silicone. Daniela fucked your face a little harder, controlled and deliberate. “Use your tongue. Show Mommy how much you want it.”
You did—swirling, sucking, letting her use your mouth while soft, wet sounds filled the quiet living room. When she finally pulled back so you could breathe, a thin string of spit connected your lip to the tip.
“Up,” she ordered. “take off your clothes”
You stripped quickly, fingers clumsy with adrenaline. Daniela watched, still stroking the spit-slick strap with one hand. When you were naked she pushed you back onto the couch, knees spread, and knelt between them. She kissed the inside of your thigh, then higher, then dragged her tongue through your folds in one long, deliberate lick.
“Already wet for me,” she said against your cunt. “Messy little thing. Tell me how it feels.”
You gasped as she licked again, slower. “Warm—your mouth is so warm. P-please don’t stop.”
She didn’t. She ate you out until your hips were lifting and your hands were fisted in the cushions. “Mommy—fuck—your tongue—”
She stopped just as your thighs started to shake, then hooked your legs over her arms. The head of the strap nudged against your entrance, slick from your mouth and your own wetness.
“Ready?”
“please—I need it—”
She lined up and pushed in. The stretch made you gasp, a sharp, open sound. Daniela watched your face the whole time, sinking deeper until her hips were flush against yours. She stayed still for a moment, letting you feel every inch.
“Fuck,” she breathed. “You take me so well. How does Mommy’s cock feel inside you?”
She started moving. Deep, steady thrusts that dragged the cock against every sensitive place inside you. The harness rubbed against her clit with every stroke; you could see the tension in her thighs, the way her breathing changed. She fucked you harder, the wet sound of it filling the quiet house.
“Look at me,” she ordered. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Tell me who you belong to right now.”
You locked eyes with her, already breathless. “You. I belong to you, Mommy. I’m yours.”
Daniela’s expression was fierce and soft at the same time—possessive, almost maternal in the way she held you open and used you. “That’s right. You’re mine. My good girl. My little slut who comes to Mommy’s house and spreads her legs like she was made for it. Say it.”
“I’m your good girl,” you moaned as she drove in particularly deep. “I’m your little slut. I came here so you could fuck me. Please—harder—”
Without response she did what you wanted. The dual sensation of the thick cock and her thumb suddenly circling your clit ripped a broken sound out of you.
“oh God—I’m going to come—”
“Not yet. Hold it. Tell me how much you need it first.”
“I need it so bad,” you sobbed, hips rolling to meet every thrust. “I need your cock. I need to come on it. Please let me—please—”
“Come for me,” she ordered at last, voice rough. “Come on Mommy’s cock right now. Let me feel it.”
The orgasm hit hard. Your back arched, thighs shaking around her waist as you pulsed and dripped around the silicone, a high, helpless cry spilling out of you. “Mommy—fuck—yes—”
Daniela fucked you through it, relentless, until you were whimpering from overstimulation. Only then did she slow, still buried deep, and lean down to kiss you.
“Good girl,” she whispered against your lips. “So fucking good for me.”
She pulled out carefully. The strap glistened. Daniela unbuckled the harness with practiced fingers, set it aside, and climbed over you so her knees bracketed your head.
“Your turn to take care of Mommy. Use that pretty mouth. Tell me how I taste.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You licked into her, greedy, tasting how wet she was from fucking you. “You taste so good, Mommy—wet and sweet—”
Daniela’s hand settled in your hair again, guiding you exactly where she wanted. You sucked her clit, slid two fingers inside her, curled them until she was grinding down onto your face with soft, broken sounds.
“That’s it—right there—don’t stop—tell me you’re going to make Mommy come.”
“I’m going to make you come,” you murmured against her, fingers working steadily. “I want to feel it. Please come on my tongue.”
She did—with a low, shuddering moan, thighs trembling around your head, cunt fluttering around your fingers. You kept licking until she gently pushed you away, breathless and flushed.
Afterward she pulled you up onto the couch, wrapped the robe around both of you, and held you against her chest. Her heartbeat was still elevated under your ear. One hand stroked slow paths up and down your spine.
“You’re staying the night,” she said quietly. “Alexia wakes up early. You’ll help me with breakfast, and then you'll help me finish the presentation notes like a good girl. Understood?”
You nodded against her skin, voice soft. “Yes”
Daniela kissed the top of your head, lingering. “And next time,” she added, voice low and certain, “I’m going to keep you longer. Maybe the whole weekend. We’ll see how quiet you can be when she’s napping. How well you can still take Mommy’s cock with your hand over your mouth so you don’t wake her. How many times I can make you come before you start begging me to stop.”
Her fingers traced idle circles between your shoulder blades.
“You’ve been very good for me tonight. Better than I expected. I think I’ll keep you.”
You pressed closer, already half-asleep and still aching in the best way. “I think I'd like that”
30 Days of Dom: Day 30 aka Happy Birthday, Dom! (4 fucking days late)
I Was Made For Lovin' You
Dom x Female Reader
"Hey, love, shower's open!" Dom calls out through the open bedroom door.
No response, but he doesn't think anything of it, knowing that you may just not feel like shouting up the stairs, besides you've still got plenty of time before your dinner reservations, if you haven't come up in a few minutes he'll go see what's keeping you.
Having completely dried off with still no sign of you he pulls on a pair of underwear and a robe on, not bothering to do it up, the downstairs will be chilly with his skin still damp and used to the humidity from the shower after all.
He walks out of the bedroom and leans over the railing at the top of the stairs, looking down into the living room. "Love? Did ya hear me?"
He catches sight of you curled up in a ball on one corner of the couch, a blanket wrapped around you and sighs, worry pricking at him as he makes his way down the stairs to your side.
You've not been sleeping well lately, plagued by anxiety and nightmares that you stoutly refuse to tell him about, it makes his heart twist in his chest.
"Love? Time ta wake up n get ready." He gently shakes your shoulder, wishing he didn't have to disturb your much needed rest.
You jerk awake with a gasp, sitting bolt upright, almost knocking heads. "Nooo!"
You look around wildly, panic surging through you along with a terrible, gut-wrenching grief that makes it hard to breathe as sobs overtake you, wracking through your body.
Gentle hands grab your shoulders, warm in their familiarity as Dom makes quiet, shushing noises. "It's ok, love. Yer ok. It was jus' a dream. Jus' try ta breathe. I've got ya."
You cling to him, his words slowly penetrating the haze of your nightmare, closing your eyes and trying to breathe, to stop crying, and calm your racing heart. He slides next to you on the couch and wraps his arms around you, holding your head to his chest as he runs a hand through your hair, still murmuring comfort. You squeeze your eyes tighter and focus on the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the warmth of his body wrapped around you, and the feel of his warm breath as he talks, the sound a comforting rumble, his skin warm and still damp. Still here. Still alive.
Slowly, you calm down enough to pull away from him and wipe your face clean, shame beginning to burn within you, heating your face. "I'm sorry."
Dom gently lifts your face in his palms. You drop your gaze. "Nuh uh, love, none of that. Ya got nothin' ta be sorry fer."
You meet his eyes, seeing the love and worry reflected there and feel fresh tears well up in your eyes, your voice choked by fresh sobs as you throw your arms around him again. "I love you so much!"
Dom rocks you gently, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close as you cry into the warmth of his bare shoulder. "I love ya too."
You force yourself to stop crying and push fully away from him, standing up. "We need to get ready or we're going to be late."
"Wait-" Dom's hand catches yours and pulls you back to the couch. "Wut's had ya so upset lately?"
You shake your head, refusing to meet his gaze and try to pull away. "It's nothing. I'm just being stupid."
He holds you fast. "Please, love, talk ta me. It's clearly not nothin' and maybe I kin help. Ya jus' gotta let me."
"There's nothing you can do."
"Ya don't know that unless ya talk ta me."
"I do know! Even you can't stop the hands of time! It's too late anyways! It's already here. It's already happened!"
"Wut has?"
"Your birthday!"
"Me birfday? Love, wut's that got ta do anythin'? I know I'm older 'an ya, but not by much."
"It's not just any birthday! It's your 27th! It's your 27th and you're a fucking musician!"
You see the realization crash over Dom's face and his grip on you loosens. You pull away, standing up to pace as you get more and more worked up, flashes of your nightmares coming back to haunt you again.
You wrap your arms around yourself, remembering the shock, horror, and grief that had enveloped you when you'd seen the news report in your dream. "27 Club Claims Another Victim."
You whip around to face him, stumbling back from the comforting hand he attempts to place on your shoulder. "You were dead! I saw it! I've been seeing it! Every night! For weeks!"
Dom's face crumples as your words hit him. "That's wut you've been so worried about?"
"Y-yes," your voice shakes as you speak the words aloud. "I told you, you'd think it's stupid. But I just can't help it."
"Oh, love," Dom's voice cracks and when you look up, he has tears shining in his eyes. "Why didn't ya tell me?"
You take a tentative step towards him, his pain drawing you in. "It felt like it would make it real."
Dom nods, holding his hands out for you, but not stepping closer. "I get that. Ya ain't the only one scared of this, love. I been finkin' about it too. But that's why I wanted ta be wif ya all day. So I could face it wif ya by me side."
You look into his eyes, taking a step closer. "Yeah?"
He nods. "I feel stronger wif ya by me side."
You take the final step that brings your hands to his and slide your palms together with his, feeling the warmth and familiar calluses.
"Together?"
"Togetha'."
Your lips meet, softly at first, but filled with passion, each of you trying to pour all the love and fear and need and understanding into the kiss. It quickly isn't enough to express yourselves, and the kisses get deeper, tongues licking into mouths, hands clutching at skin, fingers digging in deep, bodies twined together as close and as tight as you can.
You're not sure who initiates it first, but next thing you know your sweatpants and panties are being pushed down around your ankles. He pushes you gently back into the couch as he tugs them the rest of the way off before settling between your spread thighs, his own briefs long discarded along with his robe. He braces a hand on either side of your head as he pushes inside you, your lips meeting repeatedly the whole time until he's buried deep within you, his hot breaths panting in your face, his hair falling down around you as he holds himself up. You tug on his arms, wanting to feel the warm weight of his body flush against yours. You wrap your legs around him as he begins to roll his hips, your bodies finding their rhythm and making the couch rock.
You pull his head down to press between your neck and shoulder, feeling his hot breath and wet lips pressed there, your hand tangled in his hair as you close your eyes and just feel.
"I love you," you gasp, nearing your edge. "I love you so much."
"I love ya too, so fookin' much it hurts." Dom grunts. "Fuck, ya feel like you were made fer me."
"Dom. I'm gonna-"
"Me too, love, me too."
"Together?"
"Togetha'."
Also, if you haven't already, be sure to check out @jinx-on-mars-19xx story here
And just like that, 30 (ISH) days is over. This was such a fun challenge and it was awesome seeing how the same picture could tell two very different stories. Thank you so much for doing this with me @jinx-on-mars-19xx !!
Beautiful written! I loved all the different emotions and complexities this story had to offer! You did so amazing with this challenge. Can’t wait to see your future adventures! 🖤🖤🖤
Trying to walk squeeze by Simon when he’s standing is hard enough, but when he’s sitting? It’s like a Herculean task. He manages to take up just as much room as he always does, if not more—legs spread wide, feet kicked out in front of him. He's like a human-sized boulder, and it's impossible to get to where you need to go if he's in your path.
"Christ—" you kicked at his foot, "Close your fucking legs, LT."
He grumbled something unintelligible, glaring blankly into the middle distance and making no effort to ease up in his seat or grant you the space you needed to pass.
"I’m serious," you huffed, "There’s no way your balls are so big that you can’t spare a few inches of legroom for me."
It sort of just slipped out; a low-effort joke you hoped might get him to empathize with your struggle—or maybe embarrass him into closing his fucking legs.
"Might be."
Simon didn’t bother looking up at you when he spoke. He remained statuesque, thick arms crossed over his wide chest.
"What?"
"Balls might be ‘at fuckin big," now he looked up, that deep glare finding your face. "Try findin' time for a wank in 'is line o’work."
"I find plenty of time," you shot back quickly, trying to keep up with his odd brand of humor—was it humor? "What? Shower's too good for you? Can’t jerk off in bed like a normal person?"
"Tired." He shrugged.
His eyes were half-lidded, frustrated, but not angry, and when he tilted his head to the side, an almost imperceptible gesture, you thought the conversation was done. You thought you might be able to kick your way past his legs; be able to storm off, knowing you had lost this battle, and allow yourself the time to stew over it.
But then he dropped his forearms to his thighs with a quiet huff—whether it was one of amusement or not, you could never tell with him.
"'Nd the mess ain't worth it."
You swallowed, almost taking a step back out of sheer surprise that he was being so direct. Granted, Simon's only method of communication was to speak candidly, or not at all.
“Maybe you just need someone to…help you out,” there was no hesitancy to your words, though you couldn't hide the slight waver in your voice. “Somewhere pretty to…for—for easy clean up...”
And that’s how you wound up face down on Simon's bed, bent over yourself on shaky hands and trembling knees. A calloused palm pressed against your back, forcing you to arch, squirming while he fucked his previous load back into you.
"Pretty li’l cumslut," his voice was almost jovial, despite the gravelly baritone he maintained, as he watched the messy combination of slick and cum drip down the backs of your thighs. "S'at what you are, sweetheart?"
"I—mmh…Ye-es—"
Groaning at your easy submission, the quiver in your voice as you confirmed his query, he slid his hand down from your upper back, maneuvering between your shoulder blades and pressing down on the side of your head in a gentle but apparent show of control. You arched further, unable to stop yourself from chasing that perfect angle—the one that let you feel him between your ribs, that pushed the air from your lungs while he pulled another orgasm from you.
"Yeah, s’right," his free hand came down to rest on the curve of your ass, spreading you further—wider—for his own enjoyment. "’Nd whose fuckin’ cum dumpster are ya?"
"Please—Simon!"
Your cry of his name inadvertently answered his question, and he growled in recognition, bringing his hand down hard over the flesh of your ass before squeezing.
"Yeah, s’fuckin’ right—" another squeeze, "Mine."
His grip on your ass faltered slightly, just enough to let his palm sweep inwards, his thumb brushing against the tight rim of your asshole while you gasped beneath him.
"Think when I’ve pumped your pretty cunt full, you’ll let me fill ya ‘ere?" He pressed lightly, watching your eyelids flutter as you drooled onto his bedspread.
You moaned wantonly, keening at his words; his filthy promises and desperate touches. The lazy arch of your back against the pressure of his thumb and silent mouthing of his name—that was answer enough for him.
"Yeah—fuck, gonna give it to ya, sweetheart," he practically crooned it, determined to provide what you both wanted again, and again, and again. "Give ya every fuckin’ drop..."
It was so much easier for him to avoid getting cum on his sheets like this, with you so desperate to take everything he mercilessly fucked into you.
For the past hour, you’d been talking mature!Michael’s ear off about the scandal you had just discovered involving your now ex-boyfriend. Wanting to comfort you during your time of need, Michael offered to come over
Without hesitation, he had his security drop what they were doing and rush across town to your house, making only one quick stop at a local flower shop to pick up a bouquet of white roses and your favorite bottle of Pinot
The moment Michael stepped through your front door, his eyes settled on you, filled with equal parts admiration and quiet devotion. It was the first time he’d seen you in a silk nightgown, the delicate fabric draping effortlessly over your figure, accentuating every curve in the soft glow of the room.
Admiring the way your eyes instantly lit up at the sight of the roses and your favorite bottle of Pinot, Michael smiled to himself
He couldn’t help but stare for a moment before closing the distance between you, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Holding you just a second longer than necessary, his hands naturally settled at your waist before subtly drifting lower, just enough for him to sneak a feel of your ass & just enough for him to satisfy his perversions
Now seated on your sofa with half-empty glasses of wine in hand, the conversation flowed far easier than either of you expected. The alcohol had taken the edge off, leaving the both of you noticeably more relaxed than usual. Michael listened to you vent without interruption
At some point he raised your legs to his lap, carefully massaging your legs and thighs. Admiring how delicately you took care of your body, judging by how soft your skin was and the Chanel perfume that you loved wearing so much
Unintentionally you let out a moan from how gentle but firm Michael was being with you, you seemed embarrassed but Michael took this as his opportunity. Gently he pushed your gown up and kissed at your lips through the matching thong, dwelling on your delicate smell making him crave you more than he already did
Before you knew it Michael had both of your legs in the air while he ate your pussy. Instructing you to keep talking to him while he wildly ran his tongue between your folds and ending on your clitoris. Each time he stopped to catch his breath he’d suck hard on your clitoris making a loud noise and moaning at the satisfaction, he didn’t give you a break until you came at least twice, begging you to make a mess on his face. Even allowing you to grind against his nose and lips for your own pleasure
Before you knew he had you on top of him riding his dick while he talked you through it. He had gotten you fully naked so he could fully appreciate your body, hands roaming free and his mouth kissing all over your body before sucking on your nipples, sucking hard enough that he made you orgasm from nipple stimulation
Both feet planted at his sides he bounced you up and down on his dick until your voice went hoarse and your fluids were rushing all over him. Then finally he spared you, but he still had yet to cum. Just then he switched positions with you, kissing your ankle before draping it over the couch and sliding his dick inside of you with no warning
Holding your face close to his while he’s digging inside of you, gently kissing your ear as you completely lost yourself in his embrace. Cumming relentlessly as Michael reminds you of how beautiful you are and how he’d worship you, as his lover. Even happy your loser boyfriend messed up so now he can step in
Finally feeling your wet pussy Michael didn’t have his normal discipline over himself, cumming inside of you each time you asked because all he wanted to do was please you after the rough night you already had
Just as the sun began to rise you pulled Michael into one final passionate kiss before walking him to the front door, just as he walked out your boyfriend was walking to your doorstep with bloodshot eyes. Imagine the shock on his face watching your best friend leaving your house at five in the morning and the unusually relaxed composure you had
Michael was so petty he went as far as hugging your boyfriend knowing how hard he had just made you orgasm and having the same thong he pulled off of you with his teeth now in his back pocket
Sorry to take too much of your time! But could you write a smut where black! shy! reader won her very first Grammy but Michael “rewards” her once they get back to the hotel🙈
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ congratulate the winner • Michael x reader
⤷ ゛Synopsis ˎˊ˗ After winning your first grammy your boyfriend decides to reward you
𑣲⋆ warnings : just fingering. No p in v.
The buzz of your first Grammy win was still buzzing in the air; the heavy flashes of cameras nearly blinded you as you coddled your newfound Grammy baby, a large smile plastered across your face as you snapped your head every which way in attempts to keep up with the constant call of your name. Everyone demanded your attention, demanding to take photos of the Grammy winners of the night. No matter how hard you attempted to rest your face, your smile remained, making your cheeks hurt.
Michael, who stood by your side the whole night cheering you on from his seat, kept a firm hand around your waist, instead of your hand, because of the fact that you were too scared that if you used one hand, you'd be clumsy enough to drop it as you walked to the large black suv that sat in the back of the venue, its engine running heavily as you got in, Michael following in soon after.
“I'm so proud of you, baby." He pressed a kiss to your lips, smudging some of your lipstick that was bound to be smudged anyway.
“Thank you, Mikey, it's all thanks to you for being by my side. " You smiled, your eyes darting to the Grammy that sat perfectly in your lap, ready to be placed on your newfound award shelf, the strands of your curly updo falling to frame your face.
“C'mon, don't give me all the credit; you did that," he whispered, pressing another kiss this time directly against the collarbone of your neck. His curls fall perfectly against your exposed skin.
“What's gotten into you?” You let out a giggle, letting your head rest against the seat.
"Nothing, I just want to appreciate tonight's winner," he murmured against your skin. The gentle sway of the car rocked the two of you in the back seat, Michael's lips still pressed desperately against your skin, moving to your plump, lipstick-stained lips, moving rhythmically.
The ride back to the hotel seemed to be one big blur; even getting back to your room seemed to pass by you. The only thing you could remember was the heavy elevator door cracking open and the way Michael let his hands roam all over you, keeping his lips attached to you like he couldn't live without you before you ended up against the plush sheets, heels kicked off somewhere in the room, the fabric of your dress rubbing against the cotton of the sheets.
“Can I?” His fingers instinctively tangled around the waist band of your panties, exposed by your dress being hiked up.
You covered your eyes with your arm, nodding shyly. Your free hand is playing with the strap of your dress.
“Let me hear you," he cooed, the weight of the bed shifting slightly as he crawled between your legs.
“Yes… you can," you spoke quietly, your eyes shifting from him off to the side of him as he pulled them down, exposing you to the cool air of the hotel room, the warmth of his fingers pressed against your clit, rubbing it in a circular motion eliciting a gasp, your hand instinctively flying to his wrist, his fingers slipping in between your already slicked folds, stretching you out with just his fingers.
“Oh, fuck," you whined back, arching slightly off the bed as he curled his fingers that were buried deep inside your walls before pulling out and plunging them back in with a scissoring motion.
“So pretty, my Grammy winner." He pressed a kiss to your lips, fingers keeping the same steady pace, his thumb swirling around the sensitive bud of your clit.
“Keep doing that, please," you whined against his lips, your eyes fluttering shut because they couldn't stand to be open any longer.
“Whatever you want, it's all about you," he groaned, the feeling of your body clenching around his fingers only making him more eager to make you cum.
"I'm so close," you whined, your legs closing around Michael, trapping him in as your body shook, slightly overwhelmed by all the sensations happening between your legs.
Your core ached painfully for its release, yet Michael didn't let up; instead, he moved fast, the room filling with wet squelching, gasps, and moans that you were sure could be heard through the door. Hips bucking wildly, hands grasping at his wrists as you cried out, your eyes welling up with tears that spilled over, ruining your makeup, mascara running down your face. Curls falling out of your updo. The mess between your legs stained the sheets below you as you gushed around his fingers. Heavy breathing mixed with choked-out sobs filled the hotel room.
“Are you okay?” He wiped the tears that kept falling, fingers still buried inside your cunt.
summary: you're supposed to fly out to michael while he's on the bad tour, but you get sick... really sick, and as soon as michael hears how sick you are, he flies back to the states and refuses to leave your side and resume the tour until you're better
themes: fluff, caretaker!michael, hopelessly in love michael, hurt/comfort, protective!michael, severe illness
author's note: reposted from my wattpad & ao3. and I lowkey went crazy with the word count because this is one of my favorites tropes and tbh had to stop myself from making it even longer hahahaha. hope you enjoy.
1988
neverland ranch
This was bad, really bad.
You knew something was wrong the second you woke up.
Pain pulsed through your entire body immediately, deep and overwhelming. It settled heavily into your back, your shoulders, your arms, and your neck. Every inch of you ached in a way that made your stomach twist uneasily. It wasn't soreness from sleeping wrong. It wasn't the kind of ache that disappeared once you stretched or moved around; it was sharper than that.
A miserable groan left your lips as you shifted beneath the blankets, your body protesting even the smallest movement. Heat clung to your skin uncomfortably, sweat dampening the back of your neck and the collar of your sleep shirt, the feverish warmth that had pulled you awake in the first place. You felt like your body was burning from the inside out.
Your eyes drifted toward the clock sitting on your nightstand: 3:00 a.m. blinked back at you. You were supposed to leave for the airport in three hours. You were supposed to be flying out to meet Michael in Rome.
Michael had already left the States days ago with the crew to begin preparing for the second leg of the Bad World Tour. Even though the Rome shows weren't for another two weeks, rehearsals and preparations had already started overseas.
You had stayed behind because of work obligations, but the plan had always been for you to join him early so the two of you could finally have a little time together before the chaos of touring swallowed him whole again.
He had been so excited.
You could still hear his voice from your last phone call, soft and warm through the line as he rambled about all the places he wanted to take you once you got there. Little cafés tucked away from crowds. Late walks through the city. Quiet mornings together before rehearsals started taking over his schedule again. Michael had been clinging to the idea of having you there with him, especially after the insanity of the American leg of the tour.
Your packed suitcases sat neatly beside the bedroom door, ready to go, but there was absolutely no way you could get on a plane like this.
The nausea rolled through you next, sudden and vicious enough to make your stomach clench painfully. You squeezed your eyes shut as the sensation intensified, bile creeping up the back of your throat. There was nothing in your system to throw up, not at this hour after barely eating the evening before, but you already knew if you got sick, it would just be miserable dry heaving.
Your entire body hurts. Even breathing felt uncomfortable now, every inhale dragging against aching muscles and feverish exhaustion.
You swallowed hard before trying to sit up so you could reach your landline, but the second you lifted yourself from the mattress, dizziness slammed into you violently. Your vision blurred almost instantly, black spots flickering across your eyesight as lightheadedness crashed over you so hard it made your stomach churn.
"Shit," you muttered weakly under your breath before immediately forcing yourself back down against the pillows. Your heart pounded heavily from the effort alone.
Breathing carefully through the dizziness, you slowly scooted yourself closer to the edge of the bed until your fingers could finally reach the phone sitting on the nightstand. Even lifting your arm felt exhausting.
You dialed Bill's pager because you knew he would recognize the number immediately, and you also knew it was already noon in Italy.
Three minutes later, the phone rang.
You grabbed it quickly despite the ache in your arm and answered weakly, your voice barely above a rasp. "Bill?"
"Hey, sweetie, you okay?" Bill's familiar voice filled the line warmly, but concern immediately lingered beneath it.
You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gather enough energy to answer him properly. You had always considered Bill your real future father-in-law in every way that mattered. Michael loved him deeply, trusted him deeply, and over the years, so had you. Bill had become family long before the engagement ring ended up on your finger.
"Bill..." Your voice cracked painfully around his name. "Is Michael available?" On the other end of the line, Bill frowned instantly. Your voice sounded awful. It was hoarse and weak, every word strained like speaking itself was taking energy you didn't have.
"You don't sound good," Bill said immediately, his tone sharpening with concern as he listened closer. Even your breathing sounded shallow through the phone.
You swallowed thickly against the nausea crawling in your throat. "I don't think I'm gonna be able to fly... Michael should hear it from me." The sentence alone drained you. You let your head fall back heavily against the pillows afterward, your body feeling impossibly heavy beneath the blankets.
"Okay, hold on for one moment, I'll go get him," Bill said quickly. You nodded instinctively even though he couldn't see you.
The second the line muffled, you let yourself sink further into the bed, exhaustion swallowing you whole. A shaky breath left your lips, but the inhale immediately made pain flare sharply through your body again, another miserable groan escaping you before you could stop it.
Your body hurt so badly that even breathing was starting to feel like work.
"Baby?" Michael's voice filtered softly through the phone, pulling you out of the haze you had started drifting into. You hadn't even realized how close to sleep you had gotten again until you heard him. Everything felt foggy and heavy, your body sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress with every passing second.
"Bill says you don't sound good... what's wrong?" The concern in his voice immediately twisted painfully in your chest.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment because guilt hit you almost instantly. Both of you had been looking forward to this trip for weeks. Michael had been counting down the days until you got there. Every phone call lately had somehow circled back to Rome, to all the little plans he'd made for the two of you before the tour completely consumed him again.
And now this.
"I'm so sorry, Michael..." Your voice cracked weakly around the apology. "I don't think I'll be able to fly." The words sounded awful even to your own ears.
On the other end of the line, Michael immediately straightened where he was sitting. He could hear how hard it was for you to get the sentence out. Every few words were interrupted by another shaky breath, your breathing uneven and strained in a way he didn't like at all.
"Bill's right, you don't sound good," Michael said quietly, concern sharpening underneath every syllable.
You could practically hear the wheels turning in his head already, and that alone made your stomach twist harder. The last thing you wanted was for him to start spiraling while he was supposed to be preparing for tour rehearsals.
"Michael, I'll be okay... probably just..." You stopped, forcing yourself to breathe through the ache in your chest and the nausea rolling through your stomach. Even speaking was beginning to exhaust you. "Probably just need some more sleep."
Michael shook his head immediately. This was not "just tired." As you spoke, he was already turning toward Bill, panic beginning to settle quietly into his chest as he mouthed: Start looking for flights back to California.
Bill nodded instantly without hesitation.
"Baby... I really don't like the way you sound," Michael admitted softly. "You're straining to breathe just to say words." Your brows pulled together weakly at that because you had been trying so hard to conceal it.
"It's fine," you whispered. Another wave of pain crashed through your body suddenly, sharp enough to make your eyes sting. A soft sniffle escaped you before you could stop it, and the sound cut straight through Michael.
His entire expression changed. The exhaustion from rehearsals, the tour stress, the overseas travel, all of it disappeared beneath immediate fear. "I'm coming home."
Your eyes widened slightly at the firmness in his voice.
Ever since you had moved into Hayvenhurst with Michael back in 1985, the two of you had built a life together there naturally. But after he proposed to you last year, right before the first leg of the Bad Tour began, everything had changed. Michael had wanted something that belonged fully to both of you.
A place that existed outside of cameras and screaming crowds and tour schedules. The second he remembered Sycamore Valley Ranch from filming Say Say Say there years ago, he had known, and now it was Neverland.
Your home.
The home the two of you built together from the ground up, filling it with warmth and life and softness in all the ways Michael had always craved. Exotic animals roamed peacefully across the property under the care of trained staff. Children visited constantly, their laughter filling the grounds alongside carnival music from the amusement rides Michael had built. Every piece of Neverland carried both of your fingerprints on it.
It wasn't just Michael's dream anymore; it was yours, too.
"Michael... you're in the middle of the tour," you said weakly before another strained breath interrupted you.
"And the Italy shows don't start for another two weeks," Michael replied immediately. His voice had taken on that soft but immovable tone you knew well. The one that meant his mind was already made up. "I can't leave you alone in this condition, baby."
Your eyes burned with tears instantly. Of course, he was coming home.
That only made the guilt feel heavier because you knew how many people were depending on him right now. The tour was massive. Rehearsals were massive. Entire crews moved around Michael's schedule constantly, and now, because of you... All of that was getting interrupted.
"Baby, I'm okay..." Your voice trembled as exhaustion dragged at every word. "It'll pass in a few days, and I should be able to... to make it to Rome before the..." You paused again, trying to force enough air into your lungs to finish the sentence. "...before the shows start."
Michael's face tightened painfully as he listened to you struggle through every word. It only solidified the decision already settling deeper into his chest.
He was coming home; there was no discussion anymore.
"Michael, I found a flight that leaves in the next two hours," you heard Bill say somewhere in the background.
"Book it," Michael said with no hesitation in his tone. You closed your eyes with a quiet sigh as you heard movement on the other end of the line, Michael's attention returning fully to you again. "I'm coming home, and that's final, baby." The firmness in his voice told you instantly there was no point trying to argue anymore.
You knew Michael; once he made up his mind about something involving the people he loved, especially you, there was no changing it. Not when he already knew something was wrong. Not when he could hear it for himself every time you spoke.
You hated the idea of derailing the tour. Hated knowing how many people depended on him right now. But you also knew nothing you said was going to reassure him enough to stay in Italy while you sounded like this.
"Okay," you whispered quietly.
Another deep breath followed instinctively, but the uneven strain behind it was impossible to hide now. Michael heard it immediately, and the sound made his chest tighten painfully all over again.
"What are your other symptoms besides your breathing?" Michael asked softly.
You frowned weakly against your pillows; you didn't want to answer that. You could already hear the worry in his voice, could practically feel him spiraling from thousands of miles away, and the last thing you wanted was for him to panic while trapped in another country waiting for a flight home.
"I'm okay," you said automatically. There was a brief pause.
Then, instead of one of his usual endearments, he said your name, softly and gently like he always does, but there was a quiet firmness underneath it that immediately told you he was serious.
Michael rarely used your actual name like that unless he truly needed something from you emotionally. He needed to know. You sighed weakly before forcing yourself to speak again.
"It's 3 a.m., and I woke up this early because I'm really hot..." Your voice rasped painfully around the words. "And my body hurts... everywhere."
You swallowed thickly, squeezing your eyes shut as another wave of aches pulsed through you.
"My back... shoulders... my neck." You paused again to breathe carefully through the nausea twisting in your stomach. "My head is pounding... and my stomach hurts too."
On the other end of the line, Michael's expression tightened with helpless worry. He hated this. He hated being this far away from you while you sounded so miserable. Twelve hours suddenly felt unbearable. Entirely too long to be separated from you when you sounded weak enough that even talking exhausted you.
For one irrational second, he genuinely wished he could somehow teleport home.
"I will be home in twelve hours," Michael said softly but firmly, grounding both himself and you with the certainty in his voice. "And I'm calling my mother to come stay with you until I get there, and then I will call the doctor to come see you."
A small sniffle escaped you instantly for multiple reasons.
Because you loved him so much, it physically hurt sometimes. Because even from another country, Michael was still trying to take care of you in every way he could think of. Because he sounded terrified but was still trying to keep you calm, and because the guilt sitting in your chest felt overwhelming.
He was pausing the tour for you.
"Okay... thank you, Michael," you whispered softly.
"Get some sleep, baby. I love you." Another shaky breath left you automatically, rough and uneven from exhaustion and fever, and when Michael heard how difficult even breathing sounded for you now, his heart clenched so painfully it almost stole his own breath for a moment.
"I love you more," you whispered weakly.
Neither of you hung up. Instead, silence lingered softly between you for a moment before Michael's voice drifted quietly through the receiver again, he was singing.
Gentle and warm and achingly tender despite the exhaustion weighing on him. "You know how I feel, this thing can't go wrong, I'm so proud to say I love you..."
The familiar melody wrapped around you softly in the darkness of your bedroom, Michael's voice soothing something deep inside you, even through the fever and pain. Your body still hurt terribly, every inch aching beneath the blankets, but hearing him sing to you made some of the fear loosen slightly in your chest.
Michael kept singing quietly over the phone, his voice low and intimate, meant only for you, and slowly, your breathing started getting heavier and deeper as exhaustion was finally dragging you back under again.
Michael recognized it immediately. He knew your sleeping patterns too well not to. Sick or not, he could always tell the difference between your awake breathing and your sleeping breathing.
Even now, from thousands of miles away.
He hated knowing it wouldn't be restful sleep. Hated knowing your body was probably burning with fever while you slept alone in your bed.
"I love you," he whispered one more time after he was sure you were asleep. Then finally, reluctantly, he hung up the phone. The second the line disconnected, the exhaustion and fear he'd been trying to suppress settled visibly across his face.
Bill looked up immediately when Michael stepped back into the room. "When do we leave?" Michael asked quietly.
Bill nodded once. "In an hour." Michael nodded, already mentally somewhere else entirely.
"Okay..." He rubbed a tired hand over his face briefly before exhaling shakily. "I have another call to make." Bill understood instantly and stepped out quietly to give him privacy.
The second the door closed behind him, Michael sat down heavily and took a deep breath before dialing a number he had known by heart for years.
Hayvenhurst.
───────────────౨ৎ───────────────
Several hours later, you were pulled out of an uneasy, feverish sleep by the sound of knocking against your bedroom door.
The noise barely registered at first through the heavy haze clouding your head. Your body felt impossibly weighted down, every limb aching worse than it had earlier in the night. Even opening your eyes felt difficult. You blinked slowly toward the clock sitting on your nightstand and saw that it was a little after 10 in the morning.
And somehow, you felt even worse now than you had at 3 a.m. Your fever had clearly climbed while you slept. Everything hurt.
Your head throbbed relentlessly, your body aching so deeply it felt embedded into your bones now, and your stomach still twisted unpleasantly every time you moved even slightly. Your skin felt damp and overheated beneath the blankets, yet chills still trembled through your body hard enough to make your teeth almost chatter.
"It's open," you managed to croak out weakly.
Your voice sounded awful, raw and strained, and barely recognizable even to yourself.
You weren't entirely sure who was on the other side of the door, but you knew Neverland security remained on the property whenever Michael traveled. The guards who didn't accompany him overseas always stayed behind with you when you weren't on tour with him, so whoever was knocking had already been cleared through the gates, so you knew it had to be someone you're familiar with.
The bedroom door opened carefully a moment later, and Katherine Jackson stepped quietly inside, carrying a tray assembled carefully with water, medicine, and a steaming bowl of soup.
The second you realized it was her, your head immediately dropped back against the pillow again because even lifting it had exhausted you.
"Mama Katie, what are you doing here?" you asked weakly through shallow, shaky breaths. The second Katherine got a proper look at you, her expression fell into immediate concern.
The blanket was tangled halfway over your legs and twisted beneath you from how restless you had clearly been while sleeping. Your body trembled faintly beneath the sheets despite the visible sheen of sweat coating your skin. Damp strands of hair clung to the sides of your face and neck, and your cheeks were flushed deeply with fever.
You felt miserable, too hot and too cold at the same time. Your back was damp with sweat, heat radiating off your skin uncomfortably, while chills still crawled underneath it.
"Michael called me and told me what was going on," Katherine said softly as she crossed further into the room. "Since his flight is twelve hours, he didn't want you to be alone, but as soon as he told me your condition, I was going to come over anyway."
A small sound escaped you then, somewhere between relief and a weak cry. You hadn't realized just how alone and miserable you'd felt until someone was finally there with you.
Your family was still back home in New York while you and Michael built your life together in California, and suddenly the distance between those two places felt very real. Normally, Neverland felt warm and alive and comforting even when Michael traveled.
But being this sick inside the massive house without him there had made everything feel strangely empty.
The mattress dipped gently beside you as Katherine sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. She placed the tray on your nightstand before turning all of her attention toward you fully, her expression immediately softening further with concern.
"I'm going to help you sit up so you can take this medicine and try to eat, okay?" she said gently. You wanted to nod, but your body felt so heavy and weak that you couldn't even convince your head to move properly.
Katherine noticed immediately. "Oh, honey," she murmured softly under her breath.
Carefully, she slid one arm behind your shoulders and helped ease you upright. Even that small movement made dizziness ripple through you instantly, your stomach twisting again as your body protested being moved.
Michael's pillows from his side of the bed were gathered gently and tucked behind your back so you could lean against them without straining yourself further. The familiar scent of him lingering faintly on the pillows made your chest ache suddenly because you missed him.
Katherine's hand moved gently to your forehead, then the back of her hand rested carefully against your overheated skin before she checked your flushed cheeks, too. Her face tightened with concern immediately.
"You definitely have a fever, honey..." she sighed softly. "The medicine will help bring it down."
For some reason, that almost made you cry. Maybe because she was taking care of you so naturally. Maybe because you felt so terrible. Maybe because, despite everything, she had still come immediately.
"Thank you," you whispered weakly.
Katherine gave you a soft smile before reaching for the medicine bottle. Knowing you probably wouldn't handle swallowing pills very well in your current condition, she had brought liquid Tylenol instead. The sweetness of it sat unpleasantly against the nausea already twisting in your stomach, but you forced yourself to swallow it down anyway.
The second you finished, Katherine handed you the glass of water. You drank gratefully, your throat painfully dry despite the fever. Then, once she was sure you had gotten enough down, Katherine carefully lifted the tray from the nightstand and settled it gently across your lap.
Although your entire body hurt, you pushed through it and reached for the spoon anyway. Even lifting your arm felt exhausting.
Your hand trembled faintly from weakness as you scooped up a small amount of soup, the steam curling softly against your flushed face. You managed two spoonfuls before your stomach twisted hard enough to make you stop completely.
The nausea hit almost immediately.
You swallowed thickly against it before slowly shaking your head and looking over at Katherine, your eyes glassy with exhaustion and fever.
"I can't," you whispered weakly. Even those two bites felt like they had taken everything out of you.
Your body ached terribly from simply sitting upright this long, your muscles heavy and sore beneath your skin, while dizziness lingered faintly at the edges of your vision. The warmth from the soup should have been comforting, but instead, your stomach rolled harder in protest, making you feel dangerously close to getting sick.
Katherine didn't push, but the concern in her eyes softened immediately instead. "That's alright, sweetheart," she said gently.
Carefully, she lifted the tray from your lap before setting it aside, then moved back toward you to help ease you down against the pillows again. The second your head touched the mattress, you let out a shaky breath of relief. Even sitting upright for those few minutes had exhausted you so badly that it felt like your body was shutting down all over again.
Katherine quietly carried the tray to the bedroom door and handed it off to one of the staff members waiting outside before disappearing briefly into the bathroom.
You could hear soft movement inside through the haze clouding your head: running water, cabinet doors opening and closing quietly. When she returned, she had several cold, damp cloths folded carefully in her hands.
"Let's try to cool you down," she said softly. You nodded weakly. At this point, you didn't have the energy to fight anyone anyway.
Katherine moved around the room with the same gentle calmness she always carried, settling one of the cold cloths carefully across your forehead before placing another lightly against the back of your neck. The coolness against your overheated skin made you exhale shakily, your body instinctively relaxing into the relief despite the chills still trembling through you underneath the blankets.
Your fever made everything feel strange. You felt too hot and too cold simultaneously. You were sweating while shivering. You felt miserable.
Katherine adjusted the blankets carefully around you afterward, making sure you were comfortable before brushing another damp strand of hair away from your forehead.
"Try to get some sleep," she murmured gently. "I'll be downstairs, but I'm going to keep checking on you, alright? You don't need to try to call out for me." The tenderness in her voice almost made your chest ache.
You had spent years around the Jackson family now, long enough that Katherine's warmth toward you no longer felt formal or polite. It felt real. Genuine. Maternal in a way that wrapped around you softly, even now, while you lay feverish and exhausted in bed.
"Thank you, Katie..." you whispered weakly. "You didn't have to do this for me." Katherine's face softened immediately. She reached down instinctively, smoothing your hair back from your damp forehead with the same tenderness she showed any of her children whenever they were sick or hurting.
"Sweetheart..." she said quietly, her voice full of affection. "You've been my daughter-in-law in my heart for years. I was just waiting for Michael to make it official." Something warm bloomed painfully in your chest at her words. Even through the fever and exhaustion and body aches, emotion tightened suddenly in your throat, because she meant it, she genuinely loved you.
Katherine lightly brushed her fingers through your hair one more time before finally standing from the bed, leaving the room quietly so you could rest.
And less than five minutes after the bedroom door closed behind her, exhaustion dragged you back under completely.
───────────────౨ৎ───────────────
When Michael got back to Neverland, the second Bill pulled the car to a stop in front of the house, and Michael was already halfway out the door before the engine had even fully settled. Exhaustion clung heavily to him after the long flight from Italy, his body aching from jet lag, readjusting to the new time, stress, and lack of sleep, but none of it mattered the moment his feet hit the ground.
His entire mind had been consumed by you for the last twelve hours. Every mile between Rome and California had felt unbearable, knowing you were here alone and sick enough that even speaking had exhausted you.
He moved quickly through the front doors of Neverland, his eyes immediately scanning the house as staff members moved quietly throughout the downstairs like normal, though there was an unmistakable tension lingering beneath everything.
Then he saw his mother sitting in the living room. "Mother, how is she?" Michael asked immediately.
Every instinct in him had screamed to run upstairs the second he walked through the door, but he forced himself to stop long enough to ask first because if you were asleep, he didn't want to wake you unnecessarily. Katherine had been here with you the entire time he was in the air, helpless and terrified.
Katherine looked up the moment she heard his voice, and the expression on her face made Michael's stomach drop before she even spoke.
"Not good, Michael," she said softly, and Michael felt something inside his chest tighten painfully at the words. "She has a fever. Her forehead and face are very hot, nearly burning to the touch. I put wet cloths over her forehead and body to try to bring her temperature down. She had medicine, and she drank water. She tried to eat, but I don't think she can keep anything down. She stopped after two bites, but it was taking a lot out of her just to try."
Every word hit Michael like a weight pressing harder and harder against his chest. He pictured you trying to force yourself to eat while barely able to sit upright. Pictured you feverish and trembling in bed while he was trapped on a plane thousands of miles away. Pictured you trying to hide how sick you really were from him over the phone because you didn't want him to worry.
The guilt alone nearly made him sick.
"Thank you for staying with her, Mother... I'll take care of her now," Michael said quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to Katherine's cheek. Katherine smiled softly at him, though concern still lingered heavily in her eyes.
"I know you will, baby... but do call me if you or her need anything, okay?" Michael nodded immediately before escorting her back outside, where Bill waited to take her home to Hayvenhurst. The second Katherine was settled into the car, and Bill pulled away, Michael turned and headed back into the house, his pulse pounding harder with every step he took toward the staircase.
By the time he reached the hallway upstairs, his chest already hurt from anticipation and fear. The bedroom door opened quietly beneath his hand before he carefully shut it behind himself, trying not to disturb you if you were sleeping.
But the second his eyes landed on you, something inside him shattered.
You were asleep, but even from across the room, Michael could immediately tell it wasn't restful. Your blanket was tangled halfway off your body like you had spent hours tossing feverishly beneath it, and your body trembled faintly every few seconds despite the visible sheen of sweat dampening your skin. The cool cloth his mother had placed across your forehead had slid slightly crooked during your sleep, damp strands of hair sticking to your flushed cheeks and neck.
But what broke his heart the most was the position you were curled in.
You had folded completely into yourself beneath the blankets, curled tightly into a fetal position with your arms wrapped around your own body as though you were trying to physically hold yourself together through the pain.
And Michael knew what that meant immediately. You only slept like that when you were hurting badly.
When your cramps were so severe during your monthly cycle that you swore it felt like someone was twisting knives into your stomach. When you had gotten sick before and curled inward because every part of your body hurt too much to stretch out normally. Whenever the pain became overwhelming, your body instinctively folded into itself, as if protecting your stomach and chest might somehow lessen it.
So seeing you like this now, curled so tightly inward, trembling weakly in your sleep while trying to comfort yourself because your body hurt that badly, made something inside Michael ache so violently he could barely breathe through it for a moment.
You looked small, fragile, and miserable. And all Michael could think about was the fact that he hadn't been here.
Slowly, he crossed the room and knelt carefully beside the bed. His movements softened instantly once he was close enough to touch you, all urgency melting into tenderness the second he reached out. Gently, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the top of your head since the cool cloth still covered most of your forehead.
His hand slid carefully into your hair afterward, fingers combing slowly through the damp strands with heartbreaking gentleness.
The touch made you stir weakly beneath the blankets.
Your eyes fluttered open slowly, unfocused at first from exhaustion and fever, and for a brief moment, you genuinely thought you were dreaming him. Michael had been in Italy twelve hours ago. Your fever-clouded brain couldn't fully process how he could suddenly be kneeling beside you now, looking at you with tears nearly gathering in his eyes.
But then your vision cleared enough for recognition to settle in. "Michael," you croaked weakly, your voice rough and painfully hoarse.
The sound alone made Michael's expression crumple further. "Hi, baby... I'm home," he whispered softly. His hand continued moving gently through your hair as he watched your eyes flutter shut again almost immediately, like even keeping them open for more than a few seconds hurt.
The sight devastated him.
"And I will be home for as long as you need me," he whispered quietly, the promise settling heavily between you as he looked at you curled weakly beneath the blankets, already knowing there was nowhere else in the world he could possibly be right now besides beside you.
"Michael... your tour," you whispered weakly as you tried to shake your head. Or at least, you thought you were shaking it.
Your body was so exhausted and feverish that you barely moved at all, the effort stopping somewhere between your brain and your muscles. Even trying to protest took too much energy now, your voice rough and strained from dehydration and sickness.
Michael's expression softened immediately as he looked at you lying there, and you were still worrying about him, even now.
Even curled into yourself with a fever burning through your body and exhaustion dragging at every breath you took, you were still thinking about his tour before yourself.
"That doesn't matter right now," Michael said quietly, his voice low and unwavering as he gently brushed another damp strand of hair away from your forehead. "Only you do."
Your eyes slowly opened again at his words, glossy and heavy with exhaustion. "Michael—" He cut you off gently before you could continue trying to convince him to leave.
"Hey..." His thumb stroked softly across the back of your hand as he held it carefully in both of his, his voice full of quiet emotion. "You turned down a huge clothing contract after the Pepsi incident because you wanted to stay by my side..."
The memory hit both of you immediately: the burns, the pain, and the terrifying aftermath of nearly losing him.
You had dropped everything without hesitation back then because the only thing that mattered to you was being beside him while he recovered. Michael still remembered the way you refused to leave the hospital for hours at a time, remembered you sleeping in chairs beside his bed because you couldn't bear being away from him while he was hurting, and now here you were trying to apologize for him doing the same thing for you.
"So if I have to postpone the tour to stay by yours," Michael continued softly, "then that's what I'm going to do."
His fingers slowly slid over your hand, finding your engagement ring, then gently turning it against your finger as he stared down at it for a moment. The gold caught softly in the afternoon light filtering through the bedroom windows, and emotion tightened visibly across Michael's face as his thumb traced over it carefully.
"I gave you this ring with the intention of promising you for better or for worse," he whispered.
Your chest tightened painfully at the emotion in his voice.
Michael had never taken commitment lightly, not with you. Everything between the two of you had always been deep and consuming and real in a way that grounded him beneath all the chaos of fame and touring and public scrutiny. Neverland existed because of the life the two of you were building together. The ring on your finger existed because Michael always saw forever when he looked at you.
And right now, forever meant this too: sickness, caretaking, and staying.
"We've been through my worst..." Michael murmured softly as he lifted your hand closer, pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles near your ring. His voice cracked slightly around the next words despite how gently he spoke them. "Now we're gonna get through yours."
Emotion burned behind your eyes instantly.
You managed the smallest nod before exhaustion pulled at you again, your eyelids growing impossibly heavy as another wave of feverish fatigue settled over your body. Michael noticed it immediately, the way your breathing deepened slightly as your body started slipping toward sleep again.
Carefully, he leaned forward and pressed another kiss against the top of your head, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary as his fingers continued smoothing gently through your hair.
"Get some rest, mama..." he whispered tenderly. "I'll be right here."
And for the first time since waking up sick and alone in the middle of the night, some of the tension in your body finally eased, because Michael was here now, his hand still wrapped carefully around yours as sleep slowly pulled you under again.
───────────────౨ৎ───────────────
The next time you woke up, it was because of the overwhelming pressure in your bladder pulling you out of another feverish, restless sleep.
For a moment, you just lay there trying to orient yourself through the heavy fog clouding your head. Your body still ached everywhere, deep and relentless, the kind of ache that settled into your bones and made even breathing feel exhausting. You had no idea how long you'd been asleep this time. The room remained dim, the lamps turned low enough that you couldn't tell whether it was daytime or nighttime outside the windows.
What you noticed first, though, was that Michael wasn't beside you.
He had only stepped out briefly to call his private doctor and return one of Frank's increasingly worried calls about the tour, but in your exhausted state, all you processed was the empty space beside the bed.
You swallowed thickly before slowly forcing your legs over the edge of the mattress. The movement alone made your head pound harder. Your muscles protested immediately, soreness radiating through your back, your shoulders, your stomach, even your legs. You paused there for a moment, sitting hunched slightly forward while you tried to steady your breathing through the dizziness already creeping into your head.
You hated this. You hated how weak you felt; you hated that even something as simple as standing up felt like preparing for something physically demanding.
But you needed the bathroom.
Taking a slow breath, you carefully pushed yourself to your feet, but the second you fully stood upright, the room tilted violently around you. Your vision blurred at the edges as another rush of dizziness hit hard enough that you instinctively grabbed for the wall beside you before your knees could buckle completely beneath you, and a shaky breath escaped you.
The bathroom wasn't far. Under normal circumstances, it would've taken seconds to cross the room. But now, feverish and exhausted, your body trembling from weakness, it felt impossibly distant. You forced yourself to take another step anyway, then another.
Each movement drained you further, your breathing turning shallow from the effort alone. Michael had left the lights low before stepping out, enough that the room glowed softly without the brightness hurting your head, but the shadows around you only made the dizziness feel worse.
Another wave hit suddenly. Your hand slid harder against the wall as your body sagged with it, your forehead nearly brushing the surface while you tried to keep yourself upright. You barely even heard the bedroom door opening. The only thing you could focus on was the terrifying feeling that your body was giving out underneath you.
The second Michael walked back into the room and saw you half collapsing against the wall, his heart pretty much stopped. "Baby—"
He crossed the room so quickly it barely registered before his arms were around you, carefully catching you before you could slide any farther. One arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other steadied your shoulders, pulling you gently against his chest as he held your weight for you.
"Baby, what are you doing out of bed?" he asked softly, panic buried beneath the tenderness in his voice. Your head fell weakly against his shoulder almost immediately, too exhausted to even fully hold it up anymore.
"I have to pee..." you whispered hoarsely.
The words alone made humiliation crash over you so hard it almost hurt more than the fever itself, because this was Michael.
Michael, who had seen you dressed beautifully on red carpets, laughing beside him in interviews, dancing around Neverland with him at two in the morning, planning your wedding with stars in his eyes whenever he looked at you.
And now he was carrying you to the bathroom because you were too weak to walk there by yourself.
Michael didn't react to any of that embarrassment, though. He only tightened his hold on you gently and carried you into the bathroom without hesitation, helping lower you carefully onto the toilet before quietly stepping outside to give you privacy.
The second the door clicked shut behind him, the tears started. At first, you tried to stop them.
You pressed your lips together tightly, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat, but the humiliation kept building anyway because you felt trapped inside a body that suddenly couldn't do anything right anymore. Everything hurt: standing, walking hurt, and talking too much left you breathless. Even trying to use the bathroom by yourself had nearly ended with you collapsing against the wall.
You felt helpless, weak, and worst of all, you felt ugly in your suffering.
Michael had already seen you sweating through your clothes, feverish and disoriented, curled into yourself in pain, barely able to eat without getting nauseous. Now he was carrying you around the house because your body physically couldn't support itself for long enough to cross a bedroom.
The tears slipped harder down your cheeks, a choked sob coming from your lips before you could stop it and when Michael hears it... when he hears you crying from outside the bathroom door, his heart dropped instantly.
He pushed the door open without hesitation before immediately kneeling in front of you, concern flooding his face the second he saw the tears running down your flushed cheeks.
"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked softly.
You shook your head weakly before squeezing your eyes shut, more tears slipping free.
"This is... so humiliating, Michael..." Your voice cracked apart around the words as another shaky breath left you. "I can't do anything because everything hurts so much."
Talking was already exhausting you again. You had to pause to catch your breath before continuing, your chest tightening painfully as you tried not to cry harder in front of him.
"And you have to see me like this," you whispered brokenly. "It's embarrassing." Michael felt his own eyes sting almost instantly.
The sound of your ragged breathing between every sentence, the way every tear seemed to physically exhaust you further, the humiliation written all over your face while you sat there crying in front of him, it shattered something inside him completely.
Because none of this was embarrassing to him.
It devastated him that you genuinely thought he could ever look at you like this and see anything shameful, when all he saw was the woman he loved hurting so badly she could barely stand on her own, apologizing for needing care when all he wanted was to protect her from every ounce of pain he possibly could.
Without thinking, Michael reached up and cupped your face carefully in both hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears spilling over your cheeks.
"You don't have to be embarrassed, baby," he whispered, his own eyes beginning to water as he looked at you. "Never with me." His voice was impossibly soft, steady in the way he only became when he was trying to hold someone else together emotionally. "I will always take care of you, no matter what."
The sincerity in his voice only made fresh tears fall harder because you knew he meant it completely. There wasn't hesitation or obligation in him. Michael loved with his entire heart, and right now every ounce of that love was wrapped around you so carefully it almost made your chest ache.
Once you had calmed enough to stand again, Michael helped you carefully back to your feet so you could fix your clothes and wash your hands at the sink. He stayed just outside the bathroom doorway the entire time, close enough that if your legs weakened again, he could catch you immediately.
And the second you opened the door afterward, Michael stepped forward without hesitation and lifted you back into his arms again.
"Michael..." you whispered softly as he carried you back toward the bed.
He leaned down instinctively and pressed a gentle kiss against your temple, immediately frowning against your skin when he felt how warm you still were beneath his lips. Your fever hadn't broken at all. If anything, you still felt overheated despite the medicine, and Michael silently made a mental note to wake you for another dose later, even though you could barely keep your eyes open now.
"I'm right here, baby," he murmured as he settled you carefully back beneath the blankets.
"You shouldn't stay... in here too long..." You whispered hoarsely, your eyes already drifting shut again from exhaustion. "You can't get sick."
The words hit him deeply because even now, even feeling as miserable as you feel, you were still worried about him first.
Michael brushed his fingers gently through your hair before answering softly, "If I get sick, then I get sick. I'm not leaving you."
At some point while he sat beside you, your body instinctively shifted closer to him beneath the blankets. Without even realizing it consciously, you wrapped your arms loosely around his forearm, where it rested beside you on the bed, clinging softly to him in your exhausted state like your body recognized him as safety before your mind even fully could.
The sight made Michael's chest ache with love. A small smile finally touched his face for the first time since getting home as he looked down at your arms wrapped around him.
Carefully, he settled closer beside you before softly beginning to hum under his breath, his voice quiet and soothing as he sang gently to you the same way he always did whenever you were upset, hurting, or unable to sleep.
And slowly, curled beside him with his voice wrapping softly around you, your breathing deepened again as sleep finally pulled you back under.
───────────────౨ৎ───────────────
The next few days melted together so completely that eventually you stopped being able to tell where one ended and another began. Everything became centered around the same miserable cycle that your body refused to break out of.
You slept for hours at a time only to wake up feeling just as awful as before. The fever never fully left you, lingering stubbornly beneath your skin, no matter how many cool cloths Michael pressed against your forehead or how carefully he kept track of your medicine schedule.
Your body ached constantly, deeply enough that even lying still hurt after too long, but moving hurt worse. Every muscle in your back, shoulders, neck, and legs felt exhausted and inflamed, like your body was fighting itself from the inside out.
Most of the time, you drifted in and out of sleep because staying awake required too much energy. Whenever you did wake up, Michael was there.
Sometimes he sat beside you quietly reading while keeping one hand absentmindedly against your leg or arm so he could feel if your fever changed. Sometimes he hummed softly under his breath while changing out the cold cloths on your forehead after they became warm against your skin. Sometimes you woke up to find him simply watching you with exhausted eyes, his expression heavy with worry, he tried desperately not to let you fully see.
You tried to eat because he asked you to, and that alone was usually enough to make you try.
Michael would sit beside you, carefully holding a tray while encouraging you softly through every bite, his voice gentle and patient, even though you could see the concern tightening behind his eyes whenever you managed only a few spoonfuls before your stomach started turning again.
And every single time, guilt hit you immediately afterward, because you could see how badly he wanted you to improve. You could see the hope that flickered briefly across his face every time you attempted to eat something, only for it to quietly disappear again when nausea forced you to stop.
The doctor Michael brought to Neverland, had explained everything gently after examining you. A viral infection. Antibiotics wouldn't work; there was no instant fix. Just hydration, medicine for the fever, and rest while your body slowly fought through it on its own.
You understood, but that didn't make it easier. If anything, hearing there was nothing either of you could do except wait somehow made the whole thing feel worse, and Michael took that helplessness harder than he ever let himself admit aloud, because he hated seeing you in pain.
And not in the casual way people said it when someone they loved got sick for a few days, but in a way that visibly affected him every hour he spent beside you. Michael absorbed the suffering of the people he loved deeply, and there was something quietly devastating about watching someone he adored hurt this badly while being unable to truly fix it.
Every time you stood up and your body immediately swayed from dizziness, his entire face tightened with panic before he moved instinctively to steady you. Every time you curled into yourself beneath the blankets because stretching out fully made your body ache too much, he looked at you with the same wounded expression he'd worn since the moment he came home and saw you lying there trembling in pain. Even hearing you speak hurt him now because your voice remained weak and strained, every sentence clearly costing you energy you didn't have.
And still, he kept himself together for you. He stayed gentle, patient, and soft.
But sometimes, usually late at night after you fell asleep again, Michael would sit quietly at the edge of the bed with his head lowered while exhaustion and helplessness settled visibly across his face, tears slipping from his eyes. Because now he understood exactly what you must have felt after the Pepsi incident.
Back then, when he'd been lying in the burn unit with pain radiating through his scalp every time he moved, you had looked at him the same way he looked at you now. He remembered the way your face used to crumble every time he winced despite trying to hide it. He remembered waking up during the night and finding your head resting on his bed near his thigh because you couldn't bear leaving him alone while he was hurting. He remembered how helpless your eyes looked whenever the doctors explained how bad the burns had been and how extensive the treatment afterward would be.
Now he understood why you used to cry quietly afterward when you thought he couldn't hear you, because loving someone while watching them suffer felt unbearable.
When you woke up this time, your body still felt heavy with fever and exhaustion, but before you even fully opened your eyes, you heard Michael's voice across the room.
He was trying to keep his tone low, trying and failing.
"I don't care, Frank... I told you I'm not coming back until she's better and able to travel with me."
Your eyes slowly fluttered open at the sharpness in his voice.
Michael stood near the windows with the phone pressed tightly against his ear, one hand rubbing frustratedly over his face while tension radiated through his entire posture. His hair looked slightly messy from repeatedly dragging his hands through it over the last few days, and exhaustion sat heavily beneath his eyes from barely sleeping since he'd gotten home.
He was talking to his manager, Frank DiLeo.
Everyone else remained in Italy, preparing for the tour, while Michael stayed here with you. The rehearsals, interviews, photoshoots, and scheduling meetings, all of it was still continuing overseas while Michael delayed everything from California because he refused to leave you in this condition.
Michael went quiet for a moment while Frank responded on the other end, but whatever he said only made Michael's frustration finally snap through completely.
"Then postpone them, Frank!" Michael's voice rose sharply, anger breaking through in a way you had almost never heard before. "I don't care about photoshoots and interviews when my fiancée is so sick she can barely stand."
Your chest tightened painfully listening to him. Michael rarely got truly angry. You'd seen him serious before, firm before, upset before, but genuine anger almost never surfaced because Michael hated confrontation. Usually, when something upset him deeply, he became quieter rather than louder.
But this was different.
Because Frank wasn't just talking about tour dates to Michael right now. In Michael's mind, Frank was asking him to leave you while you still couldn't walk across the room without nearly collapsing.
"You work for me, not the other way around," Michael said sharply, his voice low and controlled in that dangerous way it only became when he was genuinely furious. "I will call you when we make our way back to Italy. Goodbye, Frank."
The line disconnected hard enough that you could hear the sound from across the room. For a moment, Michael just stood there breathing heavily through the frustration, one hand still gripping the phone tightly.
Then he turned around, and the second his eyes landed on you awake in bed, every trace of anger disappeared from his face so quickly it almost felt surreal. His shoulders softened first, then his expression.
The tension left his jaw almost immediately, replaced by concern so gentle and immediate that it made your chest ache as he crossed the room toward you.
"Hey, mama," he said softly the second he reached the bed, his voice completely different now, warm and careful as he sat beside you and immediately brushed the back of his hand against your forehead to check your temperature. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."
"No," you whispered as you shook your head weakly before letting out a slow breath.
Your body still felt exhausted, heavy beneath the blankets, but at least the pain wasn't as sharp as it had been a few days ago. The fever still lingered inside you, though. You could feel it every time another chill rolled through your body, despite how warm your skin remained.
"Michael, I don't want you to get in trouble..." you said quietly. "I'm sure your Mom can come back and stay until I'm better."
Another cold shudder passed through you hard enough that your body trembled beneath the blankets, and instinctively you pulled them tighter around yourself as though you couldn't decide whether you were freezing or overheating.
Michael's expression softened immediately, but there was still an unmistakable firmness behind his eyes.
"Baby... I'm not having this discussion again," he said gently as he settled himself more comfortably beside you. "I'm not leaving until you're well enough to come back to Italy with me."
Before you could protest again, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss against the top of your head, his lips resting there long enough that he could immediately tell the fever wasn't nearly as high as it had been before.
Your forehead was still warm, too warm, but not burning anymore, so that was a good sign. Relief loosened something quietly inside his chest at that realization. It was the first real sign your body might finally be starting to fight through the worst of it.
"I need to shower..." you murmured softly after a moment, your voice rough from days of sickness and sleep. "I've been sweating and sleeping for days."
Michael nodded immediately, understanding the discomfort behind your words. Your hair still felt damp most of the time from the fever, and despite how exhausted you were, he knew you probably felt miserable physically after being stuck in bed for days.
"How about a bath?" he suggested softly. "You're still wobbly when you stand, and with the steam and heat from the shower, I don't want you to pass out."
The protectiveness in his voice made your chest ache softly. Even now, he watched every movement you made carefully, constantly anticipating what might exhaust you too much or make your dizziness worse.
"Okay," you whispered.
Michael stood and disappeared briefly into the bathroom to start the water while you slowly pushed yourself upright in bed. Your body still protested the movement, soreness flaring through your muscles as you sat up, but the pain wasn't nearly as unbearable now as it had been during those first few days. The worst of the body aches had dulled slightly, though every so often, sharp waves of pain still pulsed unexpectedly through your back or shoulders hard enough to make you wince.
Still, this was better.
Weakly, you managed to peel yourself out of the oversized shirt and shorts you had been wearing since the morning you woke up sick. Even that small effort left you breathing a little heavier afterward, exhaustion still clinging stubbornly to your body despite the slight improvement.
When Michael came back out of the bathroom, he already had a towel waiting in his hands. Without saying anything, he wrapped it carefully around you before helping you slowly to your feet, one arm immediately sliding around your waist to steady you.
You noticed the difference instantly.
You still felt weak, but you weren't immediately collapsing into dizziness anymore. You could stand for longer now before the lightheadedness crept in, and although your legs still felt shaky beneath you, at least you could walk the short distance to the bathroom without your vision going black.
Michael noticed the improvement, too.
He didn't say it aloud because he didn't want to overwhelm you or make you push yourself too hard too quickly, but quiet relief settled visibly across his face as he carefully walked beside you into the bathroom.
The warm water was already filling the tub with soft steam by the time he helped you over. "Easy," he murmured gently as he helped lower you down into the bath.
The second the warm water touched your body, a deep breath escaped you automatically.
Relief spread through your aching muscles almost instantly, the warmth soothing places in your body that had felt tense and sore for days. Slowly, you leaned your head back against the tub wall and let yourself sink slightly deeper into the water, your eyes fluttering closed as some of the tension finally eased from your shoulders.
Michael watched you carefully the entire time.
Even now, after days of caring for you almost nonstop, his eyes tracked every little expression crossing your face, every shift in your breathing, every sign that something hurt or exhausted you too much.
When he saw some of the tightness leave your body, his own shoulders softened slightly, too. He lowered himself beside the tub afterward, kneeling near you so he could stay close in case you needed help.
"Do you need help?" he asked quietly.
You shook your head softly. Right now, you just need a moment to sit there in the warmth and let your body breathe for the first time in days before trying to move again.
"Thank you for taking care of me, Michael," you whispered softly, your eyes still closed.
The warmth of the bath felt incredible against muscles that had been aching relentlessly for nearly a week now, and just being clean again already made you feel a little more human.
Michael's expression softened immediately at your words.
"You never have to thank me for that, baby," he said quietly. "I'm going to get you some soup... hopefully you can hold something down."
You nodded faintly. You hadn't properly eaten in days.
Not because you didn't want to, but because every attempt ended the same way: nausea twisting violently through your stomach after only a bite or two until you physically couldn't force yourself to continue. For days now, your body had survived almost entirely on medicine and water because it was the only thing you could consistently keep down.
Michael lingered beside the tub for another moment, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before finally standing and quietly stepping out of the bathroom.
Once he was gone, you slowly started washing yourself, everything still took effort.
You had to pause occasionally to breathe through sudden waves of soreness or dizziness, but eventually you managed to wash your hair and body completely, the warm water easing some of the lingering ache from your muscles with every passing minute.
And once you finished, you simply stayed there soaking quietly in the warmth, your body finally beginning to feel just a little less miserable than it had been the last few days.
When Michael came back upstairs about thirty minutes later after making the soup, he balanced the tray carefully in his hands as he walked back into the bedroom. The house had gone quiet again while he was downstairs, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of Neverland outside and the soft creak of the floor beneath his feet as he crossed the room.
He set the tray down on the nightstand before making his way toward the bathroom, pushing the door open gently. The sight waiting for him immediately softened his entire expression.
You had fallen asleep in the bathtub.
Your head rested against the cool tile behind you, your damp hair clinging slightly to your skin while the rest of your body remained submerged beneath the water. The steam had long since faded from the room, leaving only the lingering warmth of the bathwater around you, and Michael could already tell from how long you'd been asleep that the water was probably cold by now.
A quiet smile tugged softly at his lips despite the lingering worry that had been sitting heavily inside him for days.
You looked exhausted.
Even sleeping, he could still see it written all over you; the fatigue had settled deeply into your face and body after nearly a week of fever, pain, and barely eating. But at least now, for the first time in days, your body looked more relaxed than miserable.
Michael lightly shook his head to himself before grabbing the towel he had wrapped you in earlier and kneeling beside the tub.
"Baby..." His voice came out soft and warm as his fingers carefully slid through your wet hair. "You have to wake up really quick, baby girl."
Your eyes fluttered faintly at the familiar touch before slowly opening. For a moment, your gaze stayed unfocused, heavy with sleep and lingering exhaustion as you blinked through the haze, but then your eyes landed on Michael kneeling beside the tub.
"Did I fall asleep again?" you asked quietly. Michael chuckled softly under his breath as he nodded.
"Yeah," he murmured. "The water must be cold by now, so let's get you back into bed."
You nodded sleepily, and Michael reached over to pull the drain plug, letting the water slowly begin draining from the tub before he helped you carefully to your feet once the water lowered enough. His hands stayed steady against you the entire time, one supporting your waist while the other held your arm gently in case your legs weakened again.
The bath had helped. You still felt weak, but not in the same unbearable way you had a few days ago. Michael dried you off carefully before wrapping the towel around your body again and helping you back into the bedroom. By the time you reached the bed, you felt tired in a different way now, cleaner and more comfortable instead of feverishly miserable.
And for the first time since getting sick, you were able to stand long enough to get dressed on your own.
Michael had already picked clothes out for you and left them on the bed: a pair of soft cotton shorts exactly like the ones you always loved sleeping in, and beside them sat one of his oversized Bad Tour shirts, freshly washed.
A small smile finally pulled at your lips when you saw it.
The shirt swallowed you completely once you pulled it on, the familiar softness and faint scent of fresh laundry making something inside you relax further. It felt comforting in the way Michael always felt comforting, and by the time you climbed back into bed afterward, your body already felt calmer than it had earlier.
Michael immediately handed you the soup once you settled yourself upright against the pillows.
You still couldn't eat much.
Your stomach remained sensitive, and the exhaustion lingering in your body made even holding the spoon feel draining after too long, but this time, you managed more than just two or three bites before the nausea finally started creeping back in again.
When you eventually looked over at Michael and slowly shook your head, silently telling him you couldn't manage anymore, Michael glanced down at the bowl and immediately took note of how much more was gone compared to the last few days.
Relief softened visibly across his face.
"Hey... this is more food than a few days ago," Michael said softly before leaning forward to kiss your forehead gently. "I'm proud of you, mama." The praise made a small smile tug weakly at your lips again, and the second Michael saw it, his entire expression warmed.
"There's my girl," he murmured softly.
The tenderness in his voice made your chest ache.
You had missed this version of yourself. The version that could smile at him instead of only curling inward from pain and exhaustion. You still felt weak, and your body still hurt in waves, but for the first time since waking up sick that morning days ago, you finally felt like maybe you were slowly coming back to yourself again.
"Will you lie down with me, please?" you whispered.
Michael nodded immediately.
He stood long enough to carry the tray to the bedroom door and place it outside so the staff could take it downstairs later, once they saw it, then he came right back to you without hesitation.
"Do you want me to hold you?" he asked softly as he slipped back into bed beside you. "I know you're going back and forth between being hot and being cold."
You nodded. You never minded warmth when it came from Michael. "Yes," you whispered.
Michael's arms wrapped carefully around you from behind, slowly pulling your body back against his chest until you were fully settled against him. The warmth of him immediately surrounded you, steady and comforting in a way that made your entire body slowly unclench. You rested your hands over his, where they lay against your stomach, lacing your fingers through his as your eyes drifted closed again.
Everything about this felt better.
You were finally clean after days of fever and sweat clinging to your skin, dressed in soft, comfortable clothes, wrapped safely in Michael's arms. Even the bed felt different beneath you now because while you had been soaking in the bath, Michael had changed all the bedsheets too, replacing them with fresh, clean ones before going downstairs to make your soup.
The clean sheets, the warmth of Michael behind you, the lingering softness from the bath easing your aching muscles, all of it combined into the first genuine sense of comfort you'd felt since getting sick.
"Your fever is going down, baby... it shouldn't be too much longer now," Michael said softly against the top of your head.
You nodded faintly where you were tucked against his chest, his arms still wrapped securely around you beneath the blankets. The warmth of him had become grounding over the last few days, especially during the moments when chills rolled through your body hard enough to make you shiver despite the lingering fever still heating your skin.
For the first time since getting sick, though, your body didn't feel like it was fighting itself quite as violently anymore. You still felt weak, exhausted, and achy in ways that made every movement slow and careful. But there was relief beginning to settle underneath it now, too.
"Will we still be able to get to see some of Italy before your shows?" you asked quietly. Michael let out a soft little chuckle at that, leaning down to kiss the top of your head again as his fingers absentmindedly traced along your arm beneath the blankets.
"I will make sure we do," he murmured. A small smile tugged at your lips.
Even now, exhausted and half-asleep against him, the thought of finally getting to Italy with Michael still made warmth bloom softly in your chest. The trip had meant so much to both of you before you got sick. It wasn't just about the tour. It was about finally having a little time together away from cameras and schedules and rehearsals before Michael became swallowed by work again.
Very slowly, you turned in his arms so you could look at him properly. The movement alone visibly worried Michael.
His expression shifted immediately as he watched you carefully, noticing how much energy even that small adjustment seemed to take out of you now. Your breathing deepened slightly from the effort by the time you settled facing him, and his hand instinctively slid along your back gently like he could somehow steady the exhaustion still moving through your body.
"Easy, baby," he murmured softly.
You looked up at him quietly for a moment before speaking again. "Can we get married in Italy?" Michael's eyes widened instantly. Of all the things he thought you might say, that wasn't one of them.
For a second, he just stared at you, searching your face to make sure the fever wasn't making you delirious or emotional in a way you'd regret later, but then he saw it clearly in your eyes. You meant it.
"We can get married wherever you want, baby," he said softly. You nodded slightly against the pillow.
"I want to..." You paused briefly, your voice still rough from days of sickness and sleep. "When we're in Italy... I want to get married there, even if it's just legally, and we have an actual ceremony later so our families can come."
The softness that spread across Michael's face at your words was immediate and overwhelming; it wasn't hesitation or uncertainty. It was pure love.
"You know I'd marry you anywhere, mama," he whispered, smiling down at you so warmly it made your chest ache softly. "Let's do it."
Your eyes widened slightly. You had wanted him to say yes, obviously, but part of you still hadn't fully expected him to agree so quickly, especially with everything surrounding the tour right now.
"Really?" you asked quietly.
Michael nodded immediately before leaning down to press another gentle kiss against your forehead. "Really."
Emotion swelled so suddenly in your chest that you instinctively buried your face against him, inhaling deeply against his skin. The breath shuddered all the way through your body in his arms, and Michael felt every bit of it.
He tightened his hold around you immediately, his hand slowly smoothing up and down your back beneath the oversized shirt you wore.
"I'm really glad you came home, Michael..." you whispered softly.
The words settled heavily between you because both of you knew exactly what it had cost him to leave Italy so suddenly. The tour. The rehearsals. Frank is practically losing his mind over postponements, interviews, and schedules.
And still, Michael had gotten on a nonstop twelve-hour flight without hesitation the second he realized how sick you really were. You knew he was frustrated with Frank, but you also knew part of him worried about delaying things.
But sitting here in his arms now, finally feeling some small sense of comfort after days of pain and exhaustion, you couldn't stop yourself from admitting how grateful you were that he had come home anyway.
Michael's arms tightened around you slightly at your words.
"I couldn't stay away after hearing you like that, baby," he admitted quietly. "I just knew I needed to be here." Your eyes fluttered closed briefly because you understood that feeling completely.
You had felt it after the Pepsi accident. You had been working when Jackie called you from the hospital to tell you what happened, and you immediately left, not caring if you got in trouble; the only thing you felt was the overwhelming certainty that there was nowhere else in the world you were supposed to be except beside him while he hurt.
And you would do it again without hesitation.
"I love you, Michael," you whispered softly before another yawn slipped from you, your body instinctively curling closer against him underneath the blankets. Michael smiled faintly against your hair before kissing the top of your head once more.
"I love you more, mama... get some rest," he whispered.
You nodded weakly against him, already feeling sleep beginning to pull at you again, but this time it felt different.
For the first time since waking up sick that morning days ago, you finally felt truly safe enough to rest deeply instead of just collapsing from exhaustion. Michael's arms remained wrapped securely around you, his heartbeat steady against your body while his fingers continued moving slowly through your hair.
And somewhere between the warmth of him, the clean sheets beneath you, and the lingering comfort still relaxing your muscles from the bath, hope finally settled softly inside your chest that maybe you were going to start getting better soon.
───────────────౨ৎ───────────────
Over the course of the next few days, you slowly began to come back to yourself.
The changes were so gradual that neither you nor Michael fully realized how much better you were getting until he caught himself no longer panicking every time you stood up from the bed. Your fever finally disappeared completely, leaving your skin warm instead of burning beneath his touch, and little by little, color started returning to your cheeks again. The dark exhaustion still lingered beneath your eyes, but you no longer looked pale and feverish in a way that made Michael's chest tighten every time he looked at you.
You were finally able to eat more, too.
Not full meals yet, and Michael was careful not to push your body too hard after nearly ten days of barely keeping anything down, but now you could manage soup, toast, crackers, and small portions at a time without your stomach immediately turning violently afterward.
Every time you finished a little more than the day before, Michael tried not to look too visibly relieved, but you always noticed it anyway. The softening in his shoulders. The little smile he tried to hide. The way he'd kiss your forehead afterward, like he was proud of you for something as simple as eating.
And honestly, after feeling so miserable for so long, it made your chest ache every single time.
The biggest difference, though, was that you could move again.
You could walk across the room without your legs giving out underneath you. You could stand in the bathroom long enough to brush your teeth without gripping the counter for balance. You could hold conversations without needing to pause every few words just to breathe through the exhaustion crushing your chest.
The only thing that still clung stubbornly to you now was the fatigue.
Your body had fought hard against the virus, and now that the worst of it was over, all the exhaustion left behind seemed to settle deep into your bones. You slept heavily every night, sometimes drifting off in the middle of conversations with Michael simply because your body still needed rest so badly.
And throughout all of it, Frank never stopped calling.
Rome was getting closer and closer, and every single day, the pressure mounted more from overseas. Rehearsals had to be rescheduled. Interviews postponed. Photoshoots rearranged. Every time the phone rang, Michael's expression would tense before he answered because he already knew what the conversation would be.
Frank wanted him back in Italy, but every time Michael looked at you, all he could still see was the first night he came home: you curled tightly into yourself in pain, too weak to even properly hold yourself upright.
That image had stayed lodged painfully inside him ever since.
So now, seeing you improve day by day affected him more emotionally than he knew how to explain aloud. Watching you walk into the bathroom on your own for the first time had nearly made him emotional. Seeing you shower by yourself again without nearly collapsing afterward had filled him with such overwhelming relief that he'd had to look away for a second just to compose himself.
For days, Michael had genuinely been scared, and now, finally, he could feel that fear beginning to loosen its grip on him too.
When you woke up that morning, Michael was already awake beside you.
You had fallen asleep tucked against his chest again sometime during the night, your body naturally seeking him out in sleep now after days of him holding you through fevers, chills, pain, and exhaustion. One of his arms remained wrapped securely around your waist beneath the blankets while the other rested lazily across your back, his fingers occasionally tracing soft patterns there absentmindedly while he watched you sleep.
He couldn't help it, you looked peaceful again: not feverish, trembling, or hurting anymore. Just resting. After how terrified he'd been seeing you sick like that, watching you sleep peacefully against him now felt healing for him, too.
"You're staring at me," you mumbled sleepily, your voice rough with sleep as you slowly started waking up. A soft laugh escaped Michael immediately before he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss against your forehead.
"Because you're so beautiful," he murmured.
A sleepy smile spread across your face almost instantly, and without even opening your eyes fully yet, you tucked yourself closer against him beneath the blankets. Over the last several nights, you had stopped sleeping, curled into yourself in pain. Now you slept curled around Michael instead, your body instinctively seeking comfort from him even while unconscious, and every single time he woke up with you wrapped around him like this, it affected him deeply.
"When's the flight?" you asked softly after a moment. "I know you have to get to Italy... I feel a lot better. I can survive a twelve-hour flight." Michael's expression softened immediately, though concern still flickered behind his eyes.
Of course, he wanted you there with him.
He had missed you terribly before all of this happened, and honestly, after spending the last week terrified and attached to your side almost nonstop, the idea of leaving you behind again sounded unbearable to him.
But at the same time, he could still see how exhausted you were. Even though the fever was gone and your strength was returning, your body still tired easily, and Michael hated the thought of pushing you too hard, too fast, after how sick you'd been.
"Baby... are you sure?" he asked quietly, his fingers brushing gently through your hair. "I don't want you to push yourself too hard while you're still recovering."
At that, your eyes finally fluttered open fully so you could look at him, and immediately, Michael's breath caught slightly, because you looked so much more like yourself now.
Your eyes weren't clouded with fever anymore. Your cheeks held real warmth and life again, instead of that flushed, sickly heat that had haunted him for days. Even tired, even still recovering, you looked alive in a way that made relief wash through him all over again.
"I want to go," you said softly. "I know we probably won't get to spend as much time together because you have to make up rehearsals, but I want to be there, Michael."
The sincerity in your voice softened him instantly. Michael leaned down and kissed your forehead again before pulling you a little closer against his chest.
"Okay," he murmured softly. "Bill arranged the flight already... We'll leave later tonight." A smile spread slowly across your face at that.
Very carefully, you pushed yourself up onto your elbow so you could look at him better, the oversized Bad Tour shirt shifting against your shoulder as you moved closer toward him in the bed.
"I know I already said it, but thank you for taking care of me, Michael," you said softly, the sincerity in your voice making Michael's expression immediately melt into something warm and affectionate.
He smiled while lightly shaking his head, his fingers still absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against your back beneath the blankets. "In sickness and in health..." he murmured. "It's in the vows."
A quiet laugh escaped you as you rolled your eyes playfully, the sound soft and still slightly sleepy from just waking up. "We're not married yet," you pointed out.
Michael's smile only widened at that. "I know," he said softly, his eyes moving across your face with that same overwhelming tenderness he'd been looking at you with for days now. "But we will be soon."
The warmth in his voice settled deep into your chest.
You smiled before shifting closer to him until your foreheads rested together, your breath mingling softly between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Michael's hand slid gently along your waist while your fingers rested against his chest, and suddenly the thing you had missed most over the last ten days settled heavily between you both at the exact same time.
Kissing him.
Not feverish kisses pressed to your forehead while you drifted in and out of sleep, or exhausted, little touches while he checked your temperature or helped you back into bed.
A real kiss.
You could see Michael wanting it too in the way his eyes softened the closer you got to him, the way his breathing shifted slightly before he leaned in to meet you halfway. He had held himself back for days because you'd been too sick, too weak, too exhausted to even think about something like this while your body fought through the virus.
But now you were here, warm in his arms instead of burning with fever, looking at him with clear eyes again. Your lips met softly, and immediate warmth spread through your body that had absolutely nothing to do with being sick anymore.
Michael kissed you carefully at first, almost reverently, like he was still worried you might break if he touched you too hard after everything your body had just gone through. His hand came up slowly to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your jaw while your lips moved together softly.
And the second the kiss deepened even slightly, you melted into him completely. You had missed this, missed him.
You missed the intimacy of simply being able to kiss your fiancé without exhaustion or fever or pain interrupting it. Michael felt it too in the way he pulled you closer instinctively, his forehead pressing more firmly against yours between kisses like he couldn't stand even the smallest amount of distance between you anymore after the fear of the last week and a half.
You were the one who eventually pulled back first, your breathing growing slightly uneven from lingering exhaustion more than anything else.
Michael noticed immediately. His hand stayed gentle against your cheek as he pressed another soft kiss against your forehead while you steadied your breathing.
"You okay, mama?" he asked quietly.
You nodded almost immediately, smiling at him softly. "I love you."
The words made Michael's entire face light up. His full, wide, and genuine smile that's so full of love, it made your chest ache just looking at him.
"I love you more," he whispered.
And for the rest of the day, the two of you stayed wrapped up in each other like that.
The heaviness that had hung over Neverland for the last ten days finally began lifting now that you were recovering, and for the first time since Michael had flown home from Italy, things started feeling normal again between you. You spent hours lying together, talking quietly about your wedding plans once you reached Italy, both of you getting increasingly more excited the more real it started to sound.
The thought of marrying Michael in Italy made your stomach flutter now in an entirely different way than sickness had.
Since your suitcases had already been packed before you got sick, there wasn't much left to prepare before leaving. Instead, the day became about simply being together again without fear hanging over either of you.
You and Michael made lunch together slowly, Michael still hovering slightly every time you stood too long or moved too quickly, though now it made you smile more than anything else. He still watched you carefully while you ate too, quietly relieved every time you managed to finish food without getting nauseous afterward.
Later, the two of you showered together, not out of desperation this time, but simply because after spending days caring for you so intimately, neither of you wanted distance from each other anymore.
And when it was finally time to leave for the airport that evening, Bill drove both of you there while Michael kept one arm wrapped around you almost the entire ride.
The second you boarded the private plane and settled into your seats for the long flight ahead, exhaustion immediately started creeping back into your body again. Recovery still weighed heavily on you, even though you felt infinitely better now than you had days ago.
Michael noticed instantly.
"Get some sleep, baby," he murmured softly as he pulled you against his chest again beneath the blankets provided on the plane.
You curled into him easily, your head resting against his shoulder while his arms wrapped securely around you, warm and familiar and safe in the quiet cabin.
Even now, with Italy finally ahead of you again and the tour waiting overseas, Michael still remained conscious of your health in every little thing he did. He adjusted the blankets carefully around you, pressed soft kisses against your hair, and kept his hand slowly rubbing along your back until your body relaxed fully against him.
Tucked safely into his arms in the back of the plane, surrounded by his warmth and the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, you finally let yourself drift off to sleep again.
This time, though, you slept smiling, excited that you were finally joining your fiancé on tour again.
a/n - hey!! i read one of ur early requests and i couldn't do it much early cause school so sorry plus im not sure if this is good enough for you!! but i will might do that mj x model!reader request tho 🥹
flirty!michael who's 100% i guarantee you a shy type of flirt. yes, he's very bold and intense when it comes to live performances on stage but off stage, he's one hell of a shy gentleman but still, he always tries at giving playful compliments and teases.
flirty!michael who is either a fluffy gentleman where most of his flirting would come from attention, the kind where even in a crowded room, he's the first one you would lay your eyes on or probably the most pervy kind of one (respectfully tho).
flirty!michael who can't help himself whenever his eyes keeps lingering on you whenever you dress finely, like imagine you busy with photoshoots while he's there admiring you like a glutinous man seeing a feast.
flirty!michael who always hides his dirty-mindness with his gentlemanly acts, he would let you go first and secretly eyes your body silhouette cause gosh, you're so perfect in every way possible.
flirty!michael who loves spoiling you in many ways, either luxury or just pure emotional affection– when something catches your eye, he notices it immediately and buys it for you, you're so precious to him– how could he not spoil you really??.
flirty!michael who gets super jealous if he noticed someone flirting with you, he wouldn't confront directly but instead he'll subtly pull your attention away from that person and toward him– lingering close to you, telling playful jokes to make you laugh, sometimes even getting touchy if he's that extremely jealous.
flirty!michael who always have you as his muse in his short music flims as an excuse to be close and get all touchy with you. whether the way you make me feel, in the closet, you rock my world— you're in every of them as his muse.
flirty!michael who can be quite clingy with you. whenever you visit him at his studio during rehearsals or filming sets, he immediately softens up and would give his all to try impress you. after filming– he'll then run up to you and pull you in for a bear hug and sweet kisses all over your face, watching you giggle and shriek from how sensitive you were to touches.
“michael stop I'm ticklish—!” you whined as you can't help but giggle from his kisses, feeling both touched and a little embarrassed as michael kept his hold on you. “oh c'mon honey, you know i can't help it when you look so beautiful mmh... ♡”
flirty!michael who just can't help himself thinking about you every single day, the thought of you keeps playing in his mind like a constant pop-up ad and his loved ones always wonder why he sometimes zone out so much when in reality he's just daydreaming about you. ♡
megan was an absolute vision on that stage, a force of nature that commanded every single eye in the room. she had always been breathtaking, but there was something visceral about the way she performed— a raw, oozing confidence that radiated from her every movement while performing in front of fans and the outfits that left little to nothing to the imagination. every every curve on display created an agonising tension in the pit of your stomach, fueling a primal urge to simply reach out and tear those skimpy pieces of clothing right off her body.
but you held back, you could control yourself, you had to. a sex scandal was the last thing anyone wanted. so you played the part of the composed partner, though internally, you were fraying at the edges.
“y/n?” the sound of her voice snapped you back to reality. you realised you had been staring intently at the curve of her back for a few seconds too long. megan had turned around, her expression a mix of confusion and curiosity, tilting her head as she looked at you. “you good? you looked like you were in another dimension.”
you licked your lips, your gaze traveling slowly up from her legs to her eyes. you swallowed hard, the air in the kitchen feeling suddenly thick and heavy. the restraint you'd maintained all night snapped in a single moment of daring. “can i eat you out?” you asked, your voice low and lustfilled.
megan’s eyes widened, her breath hitching in her throat. a deep, crimson blush crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks. she instinctively glanced around the room; the bathroom was far from the ideal setting for such an act, megan much preferred lying down. but as she looked back down at you, she saw the hunger in your eyes. you looked like you were seconds away from begging, and the sheer intensity of your desire sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. she felt a sudden, heavy dampness between her thighs, her own longing mirroring yours.
a small, breathless smile tugged at her lips. “yes,” she whispered, the word barely audible. the moment the permission left her lips, you jumped up, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. you crashed your lips against hers in a kiss that was less of a thank you and more of a claim, desperate and hungry. megan groaned into your mouth, her hands gripping your shoulders as she leaned into the heat of you.
your hands moved frantically, grabbing the hem of her cropped top and pulling it over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it carelessly onto the tiled floor. without breaking the kiss, you guided her forward before turning her around and pressing her down against the cool, hard surface of the bathroom counter.
megan let out a soft gasp as her palms slapped against the granite, her body stretching out before you. you trailed a line of searing kisses down the nape of her neck, moving slowly down the sensitive skin of her spine. as your lips pressed into the small of her back, megan let out a sharp moan, her back arching instinctively, pressing her hips back against you in a silent plea for more.
you didn't stop at the small of her back. you continued your descent, your lips leaving a trail of fire across her skin, savoring the way she shivered under your touch. every kiss was a deliberate, slow torture that had her gripping the edge of the granite counter so hard her knuckles turned white in anticipation. you could hear her breathing becoming erratic, those shallow, needy gasps that told you she was getting hornier with each second that passed.
as you reached the swell of her hips, you paused for a heartbeat, feeling the heat radiating off her. with one swift motion, you gripped the waistband of her grey sweatpants and panties, pulling them both down in one fluid tug. the fabric slid down her legs, leaving her completely exposed to the cool air of the kitchen and the heat of your gaze.
the sight of her from behind was almost too much to handle. she looked like a masterpiece, her skin glowing under the dim kitchen lights. without warning, you leaned in and sank your teeth into one of her ass cheeks, not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark. megan let out a sharp, high-pitched whimper, her body jolting forward against the counter. at the same time, your hand wandered to her other cheek, fondling her firmly, kneading the plush skin in a way that made her hips sway uncontrollably.
“shhh,” you whispered against her skin, your voice thick with your lust. “don’t hold back. i wanna hear you. let me hear exactly how much you want this.”
megan let out a broken sob of desire, her head dropping as she leaned her forehead against the cold wall. “please,” she whimpered, “please, y/n.”
that was all the invitation you needed. you shifted your position, sliding down until you were kneeling behind her. you parted her slightly, the scent of her arousal hitting you like a wave, intoxicating and sweet. you didn't hesitate; you dove in, your tongue finding her center with a sudden, fierce vigour.
megan moaned, the sound echoing through the quiet house as you began to eat her out from behind. you were relentless, using a combination of broad strokes and kitten licks that had her whiny above you. she was shaking now, her legs trembling as she tried to keep her balance on the counter. every flick of your tongue sent a fresh jolt of electricity through her, and she began to moan loudly, no longer caring who might hear through thin walls.
you could feel the tension building in her muscles, the way she was pulsing against you. you increased the pace, your breath hot against her skin, determined to push her over the edge. megan’s cries turned into incoherent pleas, her fingers scratching at the countertop as she arched her back one last time, her entire body convulsing in a powerful, crashing orgasm that left her breathless and clinging to the counter for dear life.
even as megan’s body shuddered from the first peak, you didn't pull away. you stayed right there, your tongue continuing its rhythmic, relentless dance against her sensitive skin. at first you kept licking at her clit to help her ride through her orgasm, but as time passed you began to speed back up. she was completely overstimulated now, her nerves raw and firing with every tiny movement you made.
a small, shaky cry escaped her as she tried to shift, her breath coming in ragged hitches. “y/n- fuck. i can’t- it’s too much,” she whimpered, though her words were contradicted by the way her hips continued to roll.
you didn't listen. you wanted her completely undone. you pressed closer, your face buried deep between her thighs, and as she instinctively pushed back against you in a desperate search for friction, your nose nudged firmly against her entrance. the sensation of the pressure, combined with the wet heat of your tongue, sent a new wave of intensity crashing over her.
you leaned into the assault, increasing the speed and pressure. you were driving her toward a second, even more violent peak. megan’s hands were sliding across the granite, her fingers searching for anything to cling tightly to until she gripped the edges of the sink bowl as she began to tremble violently. she was trapped between the hard counter and your hungry mouth, with nowhere to go but deeper into the pleasure.
her moans began to shift, losing their depth and turning into high-pitched, frantic keens that filled the bathroom. she was practically sobbing now, her voice reaching a pitch of pure ecstasy that sounded almost like a scream. she began to thrash, her heels lifting off the floor as her internal muscles clamped down hard around the pressure of your nose and tongue.
the tension reached a breaking point. megan let out one final, piercing cry, her back arching so sharply it looked like she might snap, and suddenly, she came. a powerful surge of release flooded over you, her body convulsing as she squirted, the warmth of her climax soaking into your skin. she collapsed forward onto the counter, her chest heaving and her muscles twitching, completely spent and utterly conquered by your hunger.
you stayed there for a moment, breathing in the scent of her and the aftermath of her release, before you began to move. you didn't just pull away quickly, you started a slow, worshipful ascent back up her body. your lips pressed into her skin, leaving warm, lingering kisses on the backs of her thighs and the curve of her hips.
“you were so fucking perfect,” you murmured against her skin, your voice thick with praise. “so loud f’me, so wet. you took every bit of it, didn't you? god, you're incredible, megan.”
the praise seemed to melt whatever was left of her resistance. she let out a soft, shaky sigh, her body still humming from the intensity of the orgasm. you continued your journey upward, kissing each vertebra of her spine, your words a constant stream of adoration that made her feel like the only woman in the world.
carefully, you gripped her waist and guided her to turn around. she was a mess, her hair disheveled, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and small, glistening tears of pleasure clinging to her eyelashes. your heart softened at the sight of her vulnerability. you reached up, your thumbs gently brushing away the tears from her cheeks, your gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch all over again.
without a word, you leaned in and pulled her back into a deep, searing kiss. as your tongues met, megan let out a low moan. the taste of her own arousal was still present on your lips and tongue, and the intimacy of it— the raw, salty sweetness of her climax— sent a fresh shiver of desire through her. she melted into you, her arms winding tightly around your neck as if she were afraid you might disappear.
when you finally pulled away, both of you breathless and reeling, megan’s gaze drifted downward. she blinked, noticing the state of you. your shirt was clung to your neck, damp and stained from her release, and several strands of your hair were glistening with her slick. a look of guilt crossed her face, and she bit her lip, looking up at you with wide, apologetic eyes. “oh my god, y/n,” she whispered, her voice still raspy. “look at you... i’m so sorry. i completely ruined your clothes.”
you smiled and kissed her nose, making her scrunch it up. “it’s okay, nothing the washing machine can’t fix,” she hummed, playing with a dry strand of your hair. “round two in the shower?”
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: off the wall!boyfriend!michael jackson x f!reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend fucks you in the back of his car
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: smut, 18+, penetrative sex (p-in-v), blowjob, porn with little plot, unprotected sex, sub!michael, mike lost in the sauce, creampie, semi-public sex, car sex.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i just wanted to say before you read, that, as i and many other wonderful poc writers on here have become victim to the disgusting racism that is prevalent on this app, that you are safe here. i don’t mention it explicitly as i want everyone to enjoy my work, but im picturing a black fem reader, as that’s what i am. and im proud. if you’re experiencing racism or hate and are upset, please, come talk to me. i’m shy but my dms are always open. i love you and stay strong sisters🤎 but thank you everyone for your support i love you all :D but anywho here’s a lil smth while i cook up some longer fics
“S—Shit, baby, keep goin’.”
If anyone walked past Michael’s car right now, they’d be mortified.
There you were—parked up in the lot of your place of work, a restaurant that Michael often dined at just to come see you (And swarmed paparazzi at, he had good intentions though)—with his dick down your throat.
His head was lolled back against the backseat headrest, his hand threaded through your locks of hair, guiding your mouth as it enveloped his dick hungrily—Spit, pre-cum and your cherry-scented lip gloss smothered everywhere.
He was loosing his mind—Every time your tongue grazed the thick, pulsating vein on the underside of his cock, or your lips suctioned around the swollen head, or you hollowed out your cheeks as you slithered down to the base, taking all of his length down your greedy throat in one go—He couldn’t help but whine and squirm beneath you, his grip tightening in your hair every so often.
“Nngh—S—Sweetie, shit, ‘M so close, baby.” He panted, eyes darting down to your moving head, teeth gritted together as he suppressed his orgasm.
You pulled off him with a wet pop!, your hand still pumping him slowly, slick with your syrupy saliva, as you met his gaze.
“Don’t cum yet, lovebug.” You drawled, pressing a chaste kiss to his drooling tip, catching the pre-release on your slick lips, darting your tongue out to taste him.
Michael whined as he watched you—His lip coming between his teeth as his vision locked on your glossed-over, blown out pupils, watching his greedily.
“‘M—I’m tryin’ baby, but—but, y’doin’ so good.”
He looked adorable like this—Cheeks flushed red, hair a frazzled mess from where you’d threaded your fingers through it when you kissed him previously, and lips swollen from how many times he’d gnawed on them.
Your boyfriend was always shy and submissive when it came to sex. He was always the one to let you take the reigns, be the one in control, tell him what to do—Leaving him whining and begging for you to let him cum, or pleading with you to taste him. He was always timidly intimate like that. And you adored it. Watching his gorgeous face contort into scrunches of pleasure whenever he’d slip inside, or hear him, just like he had done, whimper and cry at your work on him—It turned you on every time without fail.
You licked a long, teasing stripe from the base to the tip, giving it a tantalising flick of your tongue when you got to the top—Just to hear him beg. His dick twitched violently in your hand, earning him a playful, smug smile plastering across your face as he gripped the denim of his discarded jeans next to him.
“Please, God, please, baby.” He heaved, “Needa cum inside your pussy, angel, please.”
You stayed silent—smirking as you watched him writhe, your hand moving painfully slow around him. Michael whined, louder this time, as you refused to move from where you crouched in the footwell. Your tongue lolled out once more, swirling around the tip, occasionally slithering it into your mouth to suck, increasing the pressure around him, before pulling off with a loud slurp, and resuming your licking. Michael wriggled uncontrollably, his knuckles strained and tensed around his jeans as his grip tightened, eyes now clamped shut as a beg crawled up his throat, before—
“Please, baby!”
With his abrupt, desperate cry—Your smile deepened. That was what you were waiting for.
“Mm, such a good boy, Mikey.” You praised, pressing one last kiss to the throbbing head of his dick, his hips jolting, before you finally climbed up his body, “You really wan’ it that bad, honey?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, baby, I do, I do—mmhf!”
He was cut short after you settled in his lap, legs either side of his bare, thick thighs as you connected your lips fiercely—Tongue entering his mouth smoothly. He whined at the taste of himself on your tongue, his hands flying to grip the curve of your waist as yours threaded through his curls at the nape of his neck.
“Lemme’ put it in, baby, please.” Michael mumbled against your lips, his right hand crawling between your legs, dipping under your uniform skirt, and pulling your panties, soaked in your own arousal, to the side, “Need t’feel you, mama, please.”
You nodded against him, your lips still pressed firmly against his own, capturing them in a passionate embrace—Before gasping, as his mauve-coloured tip slipped between your glistening folds.
“Shit.” You whispered, as his tip grazed against your aching clit—begging to be touched after it’d throbbed with every whine and whimper that left the man beneath you as you sucked him.
“Can I? Please, can I be inside you, love?” Michael whined, his voice quivering as the head caught at your clenching entrance, dripping with slick arousal.
You nodded again quickly, “Yeah, baby—Stuff me full.”
Michael moaned loudly—Equal parts from your lewd words, and the sensation of his hard, thick cock slipping inside your warm pussy. You pulled apart from his lips momentarily, your forehead lolling against his, breath panting against his swollen lips as he pushed deeper inside—His head nudging closer to the spot that made you scream.
“Oh—Oh, God, mama.” Michael cried, his head thrown back once again, eyes slammed shut as he finally bottomed out, tip kissing your cervix beautifully, “Y’so tight …so warm—Oh, Jesus.”
He wasted no time—He instantly set a gruelling pace. From seeing you waitressing in a miniature skirt with a sweet smile and perfect customer service, to having your plump, warm lips wrapped around him—He had been hard the second he laid eyes on you. And the sensation of finally slipping inside your deliciously wet heat had his mind numb—Fully loosing control of any self-restraint as he ploughed into you.
Your back arched in a brutal ‘C’ shape, breasts, still clad in your lacy, pink bra, pressed up against his clothed chest—Lips parted and panting out ragged breaths as you involuntarily bounced on his crotch. Michael was a goner—Whimpering uncontrollably into the air, hips thrusting upwards into your oozing cunt, as his hands forced you back down by his grip on your waist, so hard you were certain he’d leave marks.
“Fuck, Mike, I—“
Words failed you, for once. When making love—Or in this case, fucking like rabbits—you were often more dominant. Like stated before, you took control of the situation—But, this had rendered you speechless. You had an long and early shift today—a ‘Clo-pen’ as they liked to call it when you opened and closed in one shift—So, not only did Michael miss out on your usual morning sex routine, but he also tortured himself by visiting you at work, letting himself watch you walk around in that short, tempting skirt and not be able to touch you. So, rightfully, he was pent up—And it was obvious.
The way his languid hips, so fluid from his years of dancing, snapped up fiercely, pushing his stiff dick as far as it’ll fit inside your pulsating cunt, had you seeing stars—Incessant, repeated whines of your own stumbling past your lips.
Michael pulled you impossibly closer—His arms wrapping around your back as he pressed you against his chest, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck as forced you back down on his cock harsher than before. His dick, hard and drooling, repeatedly slammed against your G-spot—Rendering you delirious as your own unexpectedly quick orgasm crept up your spine.
“Oh, mama—Oh, my baby, shit, you feel s’good. So damn good, baby.” Michael, his voiced muffled against your neck as he pressed messy, sloppy kisses to the flesh, whimpered into your skin, “You close, mama?”
“Fuck—Yes, baby, don’t stop—Keep goin’ jus’ like that.” You affirmed, your cheeks rubbing against his own as his face rolled from your neck to press against you.
“Y’squeezin’ me so hard, baby—mmhm!—‘Gonna make me cum, love!”
You whined—His name tumbling from your mouth as he quickened his pace, now jackhammering into you aggressively as he chased his peak like a dog in heat. He continued his noises—Whining and pleading as he nuzzled his face into your own, spit dragging along your cheek as he drooled, eyes rolled into the back of his head as you clenched around him.
“Shit, Mikey, ‘M there! ‘M cumming, baby!” You announced desperately, your back arching further as your pussy convulsed around him.
“Yes! Tha’s it, baby!—Oh, God, please. Give it to me, pretty, give it to me. Cum on me, love, I—Mmgh!” Michael rambled, before cutting himself off with a particularly loud cry.
Your orgasms were unison—You spasming and tightening around him as you creamed deliciously, the pleasure consuming you fully as you rode out your high, your hips twitching to keep his cock nudging your spot as you released. Michael seized up—his hips stuttering violently as he pulsed inside you, the sensation of his dick twitching and throbbing against your spongy walls only prolonging your orgasm as he flooded your cunt with his seed, filling you to the hilt with his cum, as he cried out unapologetically.
As you both came down, panting and red-faced, glistening in sweat, Michael’s hand slithered to your cheek, cupping the skin as he connected your lips. This kiss was far more romantic and endearing than the last—The kisses lengthened and deeper as he savoured your lips against his own. He remained inside, even as he softened, as he kissed you lovingly—His hands cradling your face, as yours slid to grip the soft material of his crisp white T-shirt.
You pulled off with a slow, sensual mwah!, peering down to smile at him sweetly—Thumb rubbing gentle circles over the clothed skin of his glistening chest.
“I love you, baby.”
Michael smiled, a large, deep, genuine smile at your words, his head falling slightly in timidity at the sudden affection, “I love you, more, honey.” He reciprocated, followed by a quick smooch.
You giggled, leaning down to press your head against his chest, his quickened heart rate, slowly decreasing in pace, filled your ears, as you gazed out the window. You chuckled at the condensation that filled your vision, from the increased temperature that had erupted in the car—Before, you reached over and wiped it clean with your palm.
As the bare, open parking lot came into clearer view, your eyes landed on a familiar frame stomping angrily towards the car. Your eyes widened, before shooting off of Michael’s lap, his softened cock slipping from your pussy, drooling with his release, as you scrambled into the front seat.
So, I went back in time with this one. Hope you enjoy this one! Probably going to do this proposal story soon. Post birthday gift, I suppose 🖤
Warnings: none really, just a whole lot of love and cuteness!
Enjoy!!! 😊
🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀
(December 2020)
The snow falls over the London skyline as you sip on your hot chocolate. Jamie has left for a movie shooting for a couple of months. You and Dom have your first official date later tonight. After that day at the coffee shop and his house, we’ve kept in contact. He didn’t just want a one night fling especially considering we are working on a music video together. Plus, he admitted to having a crush on me for years. Not that you didn’t either. He’s such a cutie pie.
Your phone goes off interrupting your thought process. You go over to the coffee table, setting your mug down. You pick up your phone and see a text from Dom.
💋🖤Domino 💋🖤: hey love, when do you want me to pick you up later?
Me: Um, I wasn’t aware ya were gonna pick me up…I’m capable of walking to your place, Domino.
💋🖤Domino💋🖤: Fook no! Do you see the snow outside, baby?
You roll your eyes at his dramatics. The snow wasn’t that horrendous. It was fully easy to walk to his place which was only ten minutes away. You aren’t going to argue with him. You’ve known him for a month, and he’s already overprotective in an adorable.
Me: Fine, babes, pick me up around seven.
He likes your message before you set your phone down. You look at the time. It’s 10 in the morning, so you have time to relax and do some errands before getting ready for the date.
🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀
You put on the finishing touches of your makeup. You’re wearing a simple but cute outfit—black leggings and a red sweater with a white tank top underneath to add an extra layer of warmth. You pair it with brown ankle boots, and your usual assortment of golden jewelry.
Ding Dong!
The sound of the doorbell echoes throughout the house. You rush to go answer the door. More excited than you would ever like to admit. You open the door, and Dom stands there in black jeans and a white button down underneath his signature leather jacket. His black boots secure on his feet. In his hands are red roses in supersized bouquet of flowers.
A small smile crosses your lips as you take the flowers from him. “Oi fanks, babes! Fer beautiful!” You go and get a vase putting water in before placing the flowers in.
You turn to see Dom pouting, and you raise an eyebrow.
“No kisses?”
You snort, and you go over and cup his face, pulling him down. You capture his lips in a sweet kiss. His arms wrap around your waist, tugging you against him to eliminate any space.
You pull back. “Save ‘em fer later, darlin’…we got dinner at yer place.”
He hums reluctantly. “Fine, let’s go.”
You go and slide your white puffer jacket on. He grabs your bag from you, not letting your protest as you lock up your apartment.
He guides you down the stairs and to his car. He opens the passenger door, helping you in with a firm hand to your lower back. He can’t help but give your ass a playful squeeze.
You settle in the seat, and he buckles you up himself, and you giggle. He kisses your forehead. “Don’ say nuffin’…I get ta spoil ya, princess.”
He shuts the door, and jogs over to the drivers side, hopping in. He starts the engine, and he clicks on the playlist.
He pulls out of the driveway, heading to your house. One of your songs comes on. You laugh. “Really are crushin’, huh?”
His cheeks turn pink, and he keeps his eyes straight ahead. “Shh, yer voice is jus’ too lovely not ta listen to.”
You look out the window, letting your song fill your ears. You can’t say you haven’t done the same for years.
🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀
The house smells like garlic and parsley when you enter. “Wow…ya really can cook, huh?”
He smirks. “‘M a man of many talents, love.”
You toe off your boots and hang up your jacket. “Obviously.”
You follow him into the kitchen. He takes the lasagna out of the oven, along with the garlic bread. “Go sit in fe dinin’ room, baby.”
You go over to him, rubbing his back before kissing his cheek. “Smells good.” You go and head into the dining room.
You gasp. The lights are dimmed. Red rose petals scattered across the dining room table and floor. Candles light and placed in the center of the wooden top. You can smell incenses…jasmine. You go and sit down at one of the chairs.
He walks out with two plates. He sets one in front of you, squeezing your shoulder. “‘Ere ya go, baby.”
Your expression softens as you watch him sit down. You’re not used to this level of treatment, especially not with your past experience with men. “Fanks, Domino.”
He sits down across from you, and he holds your hand as he digs in. He watches you with anticipation. You take your first bite. A moan of appreciation escapes you before you can stop yourself.
“Holy shit, fis is good, darlin’,” you brush your thumb across his knuckles. “Yer an amazin’ cook, Dom.”
He blushes. “Fanks Mer.”
You reach out and brush his hair out of his face. “Yer a good man, Dom. I’ve nevah’ ‘ad someone do all of fis fer me. As first dates go…yer exceedin’ fe bar, baby.”
He sets his fork down, and he leans across the table to cup your face. “Baby, ye deserve fis an’ so much more…’M gonna give ye everythin’.”
You kiss his palm. “So, ye wan’ more dates?”
He kisses your nose. “Absolutely, now finish yer dinner.”
You grin. “Yes, sir.”
His eyes darken over at your teasing tone, but he doesn’t comment further. The rest of the dinner goes smoothly with talks about the past and future, jokes, lots of laughs, and lingering touches.
🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀
You help him clean up after dinner before he leads you to the living room. You get comfortable on the couch. Your legs sprawled across his lap. He massages your feet and ankles. You sigh as you flick on a movie.
He wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling your back against him for cuddles. You lay your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Halfway through the movie, he notices you fell asleep. His expression melts. “Oh baby…” he kisses your forehead. He shuts off the tv, and he grabs a blanket, wrapping it around you two. He shuts off the lights with his phone app before he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep. He knows that no matter what, he wants to protect you. He’s falling for you…and hard. So are you, even though all of your instincts scream not to, but he’s an amazing person, and you know that if you love him…he’s gonna wrap you in warmth, not drown you in his own insecurities like the others did.
Night passes into early morning, but you to barely notice. Too busy curling up in the warmth of each other. Love is like a hurricane…it comes in fast and hard, and it can be dangerous, but it can leave you a lot as well. So, he’s worth every second of your time.
🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀
Thanks for reading!!!
29 looks so good on him! He means so much to me, and this series has been fun to write! Appreciate all of the love and support with these stories!
cw: Nsfw, top reader, bottom Dominic, the readers hardware will be left up to interpretation (whether you have a dick, use a strap, etc.) but the term cock/dick will be used so if that doesn’t seem suitable keep it moving.
Dominic was slightly sprawled out across the bed you two were sharing, the blankets hiding a portion of his lower half. His head turned to look back at you as you were on your knees above him admiring the view.
“I know I said we’d go sight seeing soon but I guess you’ll get a proper sight soon enough” he said before giggling to himself, his tongue sticking out slightly. you couldn’t help but giggle along, his accent was always a delight to hear. “You’re always a handsome sight to see, after all I see you almost every day so I think I have good judgement there” You said giving him a wink.
You rubbed your hand up and down his back as you grazed his behind from atop the sheets, of course he had to cheekily shake it a bit for you as your hands rested on him. “cmon, do a grand reveal. Pull the sheets and get your well earned prize babe.” Of course you obliged as you practically threw the sheets off him, the slightly cool air making its way all over him. “well i didn’t think my arse would get you so impatient” of course throughout all his talking he just stared with this look in his eyes, he knows how much of a tease he’s being and he knows the effect it’s having on you. The smirk not helping his case.
You let your hands rub him down a bit, very lightly biting your lip while devilishly smirking directly into his eyes. He looked back while raising an eyebrow to you before looking forward again, his head resting in his hands. You smacked his ass a bit before teasing his hole a bit with your finger “how many do you think you can take?” You questioned as you put about two fingers in your mouth before teasing again with just one.
“Do two why don’t you?” he said before taking a deep breath, anticipation filled the room before you gradually entered inside of him with your fingers, “O-ohho fuckin hell babe a-ah.~” His hand balled up into a fist with the sheets in hand, you went back and forth as you increased the speed while curling your fingers to find that G-spot of his. It didn’t take long that’s for sure. He backed himself into you as it seemed like he was becoming more and more desperate for you.
“Waste if you just- use your f…fingers mmf-“ he had a point, you removed your fingers before pressing your cock against him, the tip barely going inside. “want more of it?” Dom nodded quickly, sounds of affirmation as he looked back at you. “Well then you’ll have to beg” you thrusted right above his hole to show what he’s missing on. “Fuck me please y/n? I wanna feel how good you feel in me” he giggled with just the thought of you before his eye widened with pleasure.
You pushed your dick inside of him all the way, his whiny moans told you just how good he was feeling with you in him, as you only got faster. You had one hand on his waist and the other on his back. “Want it so b-bad? Back yourself up on it then” You stated while admiring your boyfriend in front of you, how wonderful he looks doing all of this. Dominic moved back on you pretty fast, his sounds only filling you with more and more lust.
“F-fuck i’m c-close” Dom whined out as you sped up, you felt just as close, both of your hands now wrapped themselves perfectly around Doms’ ass, you thrusted quickly as you felt yourself getting closer and closer each time. “Oh shit i’m gonna cum babe~ o-oh fuuck.” You heaved as Dominic joined you as well, the both of you all whiny and heaving, sweat almost sticking the two of you together.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ that was so good” Dominic said as he turned around to see you, you had already pulled out as you made your way to rest next to him, the blanket he had on before now also covering you. “You were so good babe…not to be gross but, i think we’ll just shower in the morning” you groggily stated before pulling your boyfriends head into your chest as sleep consumed you both.
Warnings: language. Cotton candy levels of fluff. Established couple. Birthday surprises. Boys in lingerie
Go read @smutblud 's Day 30 🖤
You cursed under your breath when you heard your partner stirring in the bedroom. You'd been fighting time to get breakfast ready to take to him in bed but of course it didn't work in your favor. The man could barely sleep in general but he got as excited as a kid on Christmas for his birthday, especially since the two of you started dating. You had thankfully finished the bacon and the confetti pancakes but you hadn't assembled the plate or finished making his tea.
You ran from the kitchen with hopes to stop him from entering just in time to look up and see him exit the bedroom. He was standing on the landing and looking down at you. You almost whimpered at the sight of him, he was only wearing black underwear and a white robe. Something he'd stolen from the hotel you'd had sex in on tour after waiting too long for fear of being heard by the band. He was so sentimental and you loved that about him. You wanted to reach into your shorts to readjust yourself but then you'd have to wash your hands before finishing the food and everything just felt like too much trouble. He was used to seeing you turned on but it was annoying how easy you were for him.
“Morning love.” He grinned down at you and you smiled back. “Kitchen explode?”
You raised a brow before looking down at yourself and realizing how absolutely messy you'd made yourself. How was breakfast so difficult for you? You huffed softly and gave him a shrug. “Not exactly.”
“Well let me ‘elp. You're a menace in the kitchen.” He teased, starting to walk down the stairs.
“No!” You accidentally shouted before calming your voice. “No baby, just wait for me. I've got it.” You tried to soothe but he just gave you that quizzical puppy head tilt he was so good at.
“Alright.” He agreed after a moment and disappeared back to bed. Turning around to go back to your work it hit you that you hadn't said ‘happy birthday’ and you hoped he didn't think you'd forgotten. No, you just didn't want your plans interrupted.
You lost yourself in decorating the pancakes. You'd made them far too large but you knew he could eat them. He'd just find a perfect way to burn the calories with you later. You were so caught up that you jumped when arms wrapped around your waist and a chin rested on your shoulder. Damn him, of course he couldn't stay in bed.
“You're too bloody sweet. Look at tha’.” Dom cooed, kissing your cheek and taking a piece of bacon.
“Since it's your birthday I won't kill you for chewing in my ear but I might since you didn't listen to me! I wanted to surprise you!” You huffed.
“And ya did! I'm well surprised. Fank you.”
“Happy birthday asshole. You're lucky you only ruined step one of the day.” You growled playfully, turning in his hold to kiss his greasy lips.
“Actually…” He trailed off, giving you that practiced innocent look that told you whatever he was about to say he certainly was at fault. “I saw the lingerie bag. Which of us is supposed to wear tha’ by the way? I don't fink I'll fit. I don't fink neither of us will.” He giggled.
“That's the point silly. Here.” You smirked, tugging down your shorts to show him you were already dressed in one of his gifts. A black lace thong that left nothing to the imagination and he was correct, your cock was in perfect view.
He swallowed hard. “‘Appy birfday to me.”
Author's Note: I can't believe I completed a 30 day challenge after not writing for so long. I'm glad I took the challenge even if it was sometimes overwhelming. I'm sure I'll write more at some point but I might take a little break. Though I do have a few bonus fics after all this. I hope you enjoyed the journey with me 🖤
