Finals are almost over, so I'm redoing the list yayy. I will update more as I come across them but if anyone has any recommendations comment pls!!! ALSO THANK YOU TO THE AMAZING WRITERS THAT ARE PUTTING OUT THESE WORK I LOVE Y'ALL DOWN 🫂🫶🏽
Work by @writerofautumnnights
A Dance with the Devil
Works by @jazziejax
ModernAU Jumpin' (SmokexBlack!OC,StackxBlack!OC)
From the Same Cloth(SmokexBlack!OC,StackxBlack!OC)
Work by @hotgrlcece
Fever (soon to be out,StackxReader)
Work by @strangerexee
Sir,You're Too Fine (Bo ChowxReader)
Works by @livingmybestfakelife
Castle Made of Sand (StackxReader, PlatonicSmokexReader)
Love Rollercoaster (pt1)(StackxReader)
Love Rollercoaster (pt2)(StackxReader)
Waiting to Exhale(SmokexReader)
Works by @rdmasevi
The One Who Asked (RemmickxReader)
The Long Night (RemmickxReader)
Blood&Blues (StackxReader)
Bloodlines&Blues (Stack and SmokexReader)
Works by @aviawrites
Love Bites (StackxOC)
Wait For Me (SmokexOC)
Anastasia Antoinette (StackxOC, SmokexOC)
Works by @fckwritersblock
I Never Told You (Pt1,StackxBlack!Reader)
What I Should've Said (PT2)
Works by @spikedfearn
Mercy Made Flesh
Upon the Scarlet Alter
Work by @uzumaki-rebellion
Choose One (Smoke,Stack&OC. first three chapters posted)
Drabbles by @crystalgemcrusaders
Til Death Do Us Part(Stack)
They Are All Sinners(18+)(Stack)
Headcanon-devils temptation:NSFW(Smoke)
Work by @melancholymetropolis
"Stop pretending that you hate me" (StackxReader)
Work by @coldeforprez
Is It The Way;2003 teaser (StackxBlack!OC)
Works by @szatears
Just a lil' something (SmokexReader,Plantonic StackxReaer)
ModernAuSmoke (personal fav 🤭)
Three's Trouble (StackxBlack!Reader, StackxMary, MaryxBlack!Reader)
Works by @spookysanta
The Stack Effect 1/3
The Stack Effect 2/3
Work by @freshbakedbreadstick
Advantages and Disadvantages (Smoke&StackxPOC!Reader)
Work by @ughdontbeboring
Let Me In (SmokexWOC!ReaderxStack)
Work by @starcrossedxwriter
Still Standing pt1 (SmokexBlack!Reader)
SmokexReader sneak peak
if any author wants to be removed, let me know and I'll glad do so 😁
also here are the A03 works :)
A' Lil Taste by Katetypes (Sammie rec)
Blood Ties by Xoslimm26 (Remmick fic)
níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá by Subedarling (Remmick/reader)
Where's There's Smoke, There's Fire by CreativeBuzz (Smoke/Annie, my parents fr)
Dangerous by Cohrareads (Stack/Mary)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"baby... s'okay" you coo at him, trying to speed up the process a bit.
he's on top of you, his eyes fluttering shut as he relishes in the sensation of you wrapped around his length, taking all of him. he's trying his absolute hardest not to bust right here, especially because he just bottomed out.
"i- i cant-" he takes strangled breaths, shaking his head and letting it fall down to rest on your bare chest. your hand instinctively comes up to meet him, running your fingers through his inky black hair. he leans into the contact.
"jay, im sure you won't cum if you just move a little" you try to bargain with him, the feeling of him just sitting inside you instead of pistoning in and out of you is becoming increasingly frustrating.
he wasn't even gone that long! maybe a month at most. some mission he was dragged away on. not a day went by that he didn't call or text you, going on and on about how much he missed you! how he wished it was your hand instead of his fucking his dick raw every night.
"y-you don't get it, baby..." he licks his lips, looking down at where the two of you are connected, then back up at your impatient face. "i jus- jus missed you so fucking much" he complains, leaning his head down to press soft, gentle kisses to your forehead, your eyelid, the tip of your nose, your cheek, and anywhere else he could reach.
you have to take your bottom lip in between your teeth in order to hold back a smirk. you've never seen him this pathetic.
you experimentally roll your hips against his. he lets out a loud groan, "fuck!" he reaches a hand down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, his other hand staying at its position on the bed beside your head. "don't fucking- mfph!" he tries not to focus on just how tight and warm and wet you are compared to his hand.
you wince at his iron clutch on your hip. "jason!" you whine, "just move baby, please" you pout, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
he meets your gaze, "angel-" he whimpers, his head falling back down. you don't miss the feeling of wetness against your bare skin. is he seriously crying?
"honey..." you purr, "it's okay, i know you missed me" you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, making his breath hitch. "you've been so neglected, huh?" you ask patronizingly. he nods.
your sweet, soothing words are enough to make his balls tighten, sending him over the edge. who knew all it took was just a few words to make jason todd cum?
he lets out a soft, muffled moan against your skin as his hips buck into you, spilling warm sticky release deeeep inside of you.
"f-fuck!" he whimpers. he feels overwhelming embarrassment, lifting his head to look at you, tears still falling down his flushed cheeks. "m'sorry honey, m'so sorry" he shakes his head, hand traveling to the back of your head to bring it to rest in his palm.
you can't help but huff a laugh, "don't be sorry..." you speak gently. "we can go again, yeah?"
you look beautiful in the morning, especially in his shirt ୨୧ choso kamo x fem!reader ୨୧ future husband where are you
choso walks out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and blinking away any sleepiness. it's late morning, and he can hear the sounds of sizzles and cracks in the kitchen.
he walks in and immediately takes notice of your appearace. messy hair and tired eyes, dressed in his shirt with nipples poking the fabric.
his breath hitches and he stands there watching you move around in the kitchen. you look so pretty, so arousing.
he walk up to you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist. he presses his hips against your ass, whimpering softly.
"feel that?" he whispers against your ear. it didn't take long for him to grow hard once he saw you in the kitchen.
he shirt barely covered your thighs, as soon as you bend down he would be able to see everything. the thought drives him crazy and his hands inch closer to the hem.
"we just woke up, cho." you say, not bothering to stop him from touching you. he doesn't answer, rubbing his bugle against your plush.
his hands move under your shirt, going up to your sweet cunt. his hands brush your thighs and then he stops.
what he didn't know, was that you weren't wearing any panties. now, he can feel your pretty pussy. he slides a finger in without hesitation and you squeeze your eyes shut.
"cho, im trying to cook." yet, you still don't move to stop him.
"please? it'll be quick."
you roll your eyes and sigh. he takes that as a yes and slides another finger into your pussy. he feels you melt back against him as he fingers your wet hole. you moan softly, holding onto the counter.
"fuck, baby, doing so good." you whimper. your head is thrown back against his shoulder and he kisses your cheek.
he works his fingers faster, his other hand finding your clit. the sensation is so delicious, you whine. you hear him chuckle as he fingers you.
he pulls away, making you whine at the loss of touch. you're about to turn around to scold him, but he pushes you against the counter.
he rubs his bulge on your ass before pulling his boxers off and letting himself spring out. his tips is red, leaking all over. he pumps himself, spreading the precum on his tip.
he lifts your shirt, lining himself up with your hole.
"so gorgeous." he whispers softly, pushing his way through your soaked hole.
"mm—cho fuck!" you mewl out, cheek pressed against the cool countertop. he pushes deeper till his hips meet your ass.
"big, cho, so big." you mumble, already forgetting how to come up with a single thought.
he rests his hands on your hips and starts to roll his hips against yours. it feels good. his tip kisses your walls softly, making love to your insides. you whine, squeezing your eyes closed.
"that's it, baby." he whispers, starting to thrust slowly. it feels ecstatic.
you cry out softly when his index finger rubs your clit. he rubs soft circles on the sweet bud, making you shutter and whine. "cho! more—ngh—please!"
he takes your plea and thrusts faster, holding your hips with one hand and playing with your clit with the other. it feels overwhelming. his size is huge, not fitting the first time you both made love.
you still haven't gotten used to the size of him. all you need is his hot tip and he'll somehow send you off.
his hips catch a steady pace. its fast and agressive, causing you to clench around him.
"fuck, pretty!" he whimpers, fucking you faster and faster with each thrust. your mouth drops open, spit pooling at the corner of your mouth.
"cho—ahh—ngh good, cho!" he takes your praise and fucks you harder. his finger works faster circles on your clit, flicking and rubbing you to oblivion.
he feels you clench around him tightly, squirming and whining. "close! faster—mmph—faster c-cho!"
his hips drill into yours, finger working on your bud and then he feels you clench. you squeeze him so tightly, he cums with you. he whines, crying out how good you feel.
you stay pressed to the counter, while he stays buried inside. you both pant, pussy pulsing around his cock. he pulls out slowly, making you moan at the sensitivity.
it goes quiet in the kitchen, the only sounds are your breathing. he pulls you back up, twirling you around and kissing your forehead.
choso being soft with you even when he's the one in control ᝰ.ᐟ 18+ mdni, fem!reader
“i can take these off for you, baby?” choso’s deep voice silks through your eardrums, your lips wetting with saliva as your eyes flutter to a close and you nod, mind melting into a puddle of fantasies while you yearn for all he’s going to do to you.
long fingers hook under the band of your soddened panties, his breath warm as his open mouth ghosts over the unblemished skin of your neck. It won’t last for long though, choso takes pride in garnishing your skin with endless examples of his love for you—examples anyone else who pines for you will be able to recognize with ease.
your hips lift for him. you’re silent in your compliance but immediate and it makes him groan, sharp canines grazing just below your jaw while the space in his sweats depletes with each passing second.
a knee wedges between your trembling legs to part them as he comes to hover over you, watching you writhe beneath him need, like you need his touch to be able to breathe.
“cho…” you whine.
“i know, babygirl. you’re being so patient.”
he applies pressure just where you want it and a gasp chokes from your throat, back bowing and nails sinking into the vein ribbed skin of his forearm. a large, gentle hand caresses your cheek, just before his deft thumb dips into the shaky ‘o’ your mouth has formed.
“yeah… there’s my girl.”
the sound of your delicious little whines are muffled as your lips come to a close, but it’s worth it when he sees the look in your eyes as you look up at him, wet tongue swirling, saliva glistening around his thumb just like it does on his cock every time you sink to your knees for him and suddenly he’s starting to second guess his plan of taking his time with you, but he keeps on. because you come first, always.
he can’t help but admire you like this, letting his head weigh to the side when he sighs, “you’re so pretty.”
your throbbing, slick moistened clit rolls over the area above his knee when he tenses his leg and you squeal, eyebrows bunching in the middle, a desperate plea for him to give you more than what you’re getting.
he kisses his way down your torso, low-lidded intense eyes never breaking contact with yours, a dampened trail of his affection left from his descent. he stops just at your navel, tonguing at the skin there because he knows it drives you crazy, his theory only proven as your hand cards through his hair. you’re near tears and he hasn’t even done anything.
“choso, please…”
“alright alright, m’sorry,” he chuckles lowly, whispering “was just havin’ a lil’ fun.”
licking his lips, he positions himself to lay on his stomach, a full view of your glistening cunt on display and you shudder when he all but growls. it’s primal and feral, has you clenching around what you wish was something. his pupils blowing with that blood thirsty glint he always gets when it comes to you.
he’s got the underside of your thighs in his hands, keeping them open for him because he hates to be interrupted when he eats. nose scrunching slightly as he takes a large inhale, holding the air of your enthralling scent in his nostrils before he exhales loudly, eyes slamming shut to steel himself.
“god, you smell so good… can i taste you, baby? please?”
you’re not sure why he’s asking, the answer is always the same. definitely maybe just to hear that impatient split of your voice when you muster out a response, or to witness the pool of arousal that seeps down between your cheeks and onto the sheets below you because he asked you so nicely. his tongue is already licking impatiently at the slick smeared skin of your inner thigh, like he can’t help himself, eyes that of a man hungry and starved and it only makes you wetter for him.
“say it.” voice soft yet stern in his demand, you whine,
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
choso just wants to do you a favor and give into your fantasy ୨୧ choso kamo x fem!reader ୨୧ i need him to wake me up like this
choso remembers the first serious talk about intimacy you had. he specifically remembers you saying you wanted to be woken up with fingers buried deep inside you, why not make that reality now?
he wakes up from his slumber with a boner growing in his boxers. he assumed he had a wet dream even though he can't really remember. his skin is sticky in sweat as he sits up.
you're laying on your back, sleeping soundly. he watches you for a few minutes before remembering exactly what you said.
he lays back down next to you, kissing your cheek as he hand dips into your panties. he can feel your warmth and he nearly makes a sticky mess in his pants.
he slides a finger inside your pussy. it's not wet, you're asleep, not even close to being aroused. he doesn't want to hurt you so he pulls his finger out. he gathers spit on his fingers and dips them back into your panties.
he rolls two fingers around your clit and he feels you twitch. he stops for a second, making sure you're still asleep before continuing to roll circles on your pretty bud.
you twitch again but this time he doesn't stop. he can feel you getting wetter by the second, your body reacts to him so quickly. he watches your face, your chest heaving up and down.
he wonders if you think you're dreaming.
when you finally get wet enough, he slips one finger into your hole, reaching that one spongey spot. your chest heaves more but somehow you haven't woken up.
he slides another finger in. he can feel a stretch and he hears your breath hitch. he keeps going, thumb rubbing your clit as he fucks his fingers into you.
your pussy reacts to his every move even if you're not conscious. choso thinks it's sexy. he continues fingering your poor pussy till he feels you clench around his fingers.
you gasp, eyes opening, finally coming back to consciousness.
it takes you a few seconds to realize what was happening. choso fingering you while you slept.
a fantasy, one you wanted to experience for the longest.
you smile lazily at choso, pulling him close as he leaves his fingers in your soaked pussy.
he doesn't say anything, his thumb gently nudges your clit again and he feels you get wetter. he smirks, moving his fingers again, this time with you awake.
SUMMARY: You, wearing a summer dress, playing Twister, with Michael. Doesn't that sound so tempting?
PAIRING: Michael x fem!reader
ERA: Thriller
WORD COUNT: 1,6k.
WARNINGS: sub!Michael, soft dom!reader, oral (male receiving), fingering, girl on top, smut with feelings.
NOTHES FROM AUTHOR: Such a long time since I wrote smut, anyway enjoyyyy!
There he is, in quite an awkward position, bodies so close he knows you can hear his heart hammering against his chest. He has his hand close to your hip, his body towering over yours. Michael makes a big effort on not crushing you down, and it gets so difficult because he swears there’s a spark on your eyes he’s never seen before, but he’s too scared to ask.
Too scared to act.
At first it was an innocent afternoon of board games, something you’ve done before, in his very-own bedroom. Yes, you were really close, the co-writing partnership overstepped the professional barrier. Yes, you were his best friend now, and used to stay at Hayvenhurst for long periods of time, even his family wondered if you two were something. Yes, you both kissed two weeks ago after his studio sessions - a desperate, needy kiss in the middle of the night right when everyone had left and it was just you and him.
But you never talked about it. Michael always slipped away and when you wanted to ask what it meant, you always had to leave for whatever reason it was.
So this was it, you already decided on it. And he was nervous as fuck.
“Your turn,” you say, turning the spinner and taking him out of his own trance.
Left hand. Yellow.
Which happens to be between your bare thighs. And you happen to wear a summer dress, what a wonderful coincidence. You chuckle.
Michael trembles, not because of his weight, but because of the turnout of events. He looks at you, excitement bright in his gaze. He wants to do it. He wants to touch you.
And you wait.
And then, he regrets thinking about it. He’s too shy to make a move.
“Something wrong?” you ask, playing innocent.
Michael exhales, licking his lips. He looks right back at you and shakes his head.
“No, nothing…”
“You sure?”
He nods, but he can’t really help himself. He is still shaking, and you wait - and wait again the long seconds for him to place his damn hand on the fucking yellow circle. Or better, between your legs.
There’s too much going on his mind right now.
He wants you.
He just doesn’t know how to have you.
So he slips his knee on purpose, he quickly rolls over so he doesn’t crush you, and you sit down on the mat. You sigh, frustration taking all over you. Michael is sprawled out, looking at the roof, sorting his thoughts when you sit on his lap, the weight of your ass lay on his body.
“Michael-”
“What-”
You both begin at the same time.
He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads, but he keeps his mouth shut and let’s you speak.
“I like you, I want you so bad you’ve no idea,” you whisper. “Tell me you want this too.”
Michael swallows.
Is this some kind of dream? You, on top of him, eyes wide with desire but at the same time looking at him so dearly. The rays of sun breaking through the curtains create a halo around you, so ethereal he thinks he finally made it to heaven. He observes every detail on your face. The beauty of your nose, those lips he always wanted to taste, those cheeks he used to pinch just to annoy you, and your eyes… God, your eyes… He can’t stop thinking about them and how they shine when you look at him.
He says nothing, so you lean over and kiss him.
Finally.
He gasps in your mouth and you roll your hips, grinding against his crotch and he muffles a word you can’t really understand because you devour him wholly. Completely, with tongues and teeth. All the tension building up the past weeks melted into the intimacy of your body dancing over his. Michael doesn’t move at all, he just lets you set the pace and he happily tastes you back. Just a kiss has him growing harder in his pants.
You pull back, only to catch some air.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” you mumble against his swollen lips.
“I don’t want you to stop,” he answers so softly as he finally finds his voice.
You bite your lip and kiss the sensitive skin of his neck, he shivers as you whisper. “Good, ‘cause I wasn’t planning to anyway.”
You continue the assault on his skin, he tilts his head back, exposing himself even more. Chills run over his body, the temperature of the bedroom rising up. He lets out a broken moan when you bite him just a little and fuck, it makes your panties wet..
You buck your hips one last time and reach out for his belt, pulling down his grey pants and undies to reveal his hardness. You feel him with your hand, rubbing his tip with your thumb. He bucks his hips unaware, but this is the effect you have on him.
“Oh, you’re so ready for me,” you purr and he covers his face with a hand, but he doesn’t stop you.
A dirty smile curves your lips as you go down and take him in your mouth without any warning. Tongue runs softly, hand grabbing what you can’t take further. You go slow, humming at his taste. Michael hisses between his breaths, it’s so good. So fucking nice. He can’t look down, but oh lord, he is enjoying the warm, wet cave your mouth is and wonders if your pussy will feel like this - so delightful and heavenly. So close to that sweet release he craves only during his lonely nights when he thinks of you… His fantasy is broken when you stop, straddling his hips once again.
He feels your hands taking his wrists to reveal his flushed face.
“Don’t cum yet,” you say it so sweet he automatically nods, losing all control over himself.
He’s so hard right now he feels like exploding.
Michael wants everything.
He wants to be inside you, he wants to fuck you so hard, he wants to make love to you, he wants to bite your breasts, he wants to kiss every inch of your body, he wants you to do whatever you want to him…
But he won’t voice it out.
He can’t talk more than a weak sentence. “I wanna please you.”
“Wanna have me ready for you, big boy?” you tease with a smirk and take his hand between your thighs.
Panties aside, you walk him through it. His fingers rub your folds in a gentle stroke, a moan past your lips. His fingertips find your clit and you grind your hips over his big hand and your body shakes. Oh, how you love his huge hands. He makes a motion with his finger, teasing your entrance, but he doesn’t go past that. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but you grab his wrist. At this point you're desperate.
“C’mon, slide it in.”
You order. He obeys.
In a shy, soft move, he rubs his finger inside your walls and you practically fuck yourself on his finger. And God, he loves the view, how your eyes roll and bite your lip between soft whimpers. You ask him for a second finger and he stretches you out. You’re so close to your climax that you force yourself to stop and fix yourself on top of him, your wet sex rubs over his hard cock.
“Plant your feet on the ground, lift your legs, don’t thrust up,” you instruct.
Once again, he does as you say and you sink down on him. Both of you groan.
Your hands instinctively grab at his wrists, guiding his palms to his sides, where he can’t touch you. Michael is powerless under your grip. He finds out to adore that.
You begin to roll your hips.
“How’d you feel?” you ask him.
“Perfect,” he whispers.
“Good,” you lean down and kiss his lips, he tastes himself on your lips but he doesn’t care. He finds it so hot.
And when you fuck yourself on his cock, hard, hungry, he loses it.
Michael doesn’t move, he just takes your bounce, hands tightened in fists. He’s dying to touch you, so starved but plays with it, giving into you with his body and soul.
The room is filled with the sound of your ass hitting on his thighs driving him insane. The warmth of your pussy is everything he asks for. But you, oh you- you’re always a sight for sore eyes. That’s what he loves the most. The sensation of your heat, your lips swollen and rounded on every moan, mixing with his own grunts and whimpers, and submitting to your control. He’d do this every single day, every night. He’d just let you have him however you wanted.
Tension builds up, he tries to hold on, distracting himself with the stupidest things in mind as you fuck yourself on his cock. He counts to ten, but that’s how far he can go, so he abruptly lets go, hips thrusting up and curses falling off his lips. The sunlight stills over your skin, an angelical view. Your sloppy, erratic hips milk him as you cum with a broken moan, the grip on his wrists softens, body collapsing on top of him.
Michael finally wraps his arms around you, caressing your back in a gentle caress.
“How’d you feel?” he breathes out.
“Better,” you answer, bright eyes on him. “Better now that I’m with you.”
SUMMARY: Michael realizes he has feelings for his best friend.
CONTENT: inspired by the twister and pool scenes in ‘Michael’. Friends with feelings for each other. Fluff. This will probably be a small series! lmk what you guys think.
There was one thing Michael Jackson still hated admitting.
He got lonely easily.
Especially in that weird in-between stage of his life where everything felt like it was changing too fast.
Off the Wall had exploded.
People looked at him differently now.
The pressure was bigger.
The expectations louder.
And somehow the house in Encino felt emptier because of it.
Tonight was supposed to help.
Michael had spent an embarrassingly long time setting up Twister in the living room because he’d convinced himself his brothers would actually play with him for once.
“C’mon,” he tried again, holding up the box dramatically while his brothers grabbed jackets near the front door. “Just one game.”
“We already got plans, Mike.”
“We’re late.”
“We’ll play another time.”
Michael’s shoulders slumped slightly.
“But you said—”
“Another night, man.”
The front door shut behind them.
Silence.
Michael stared at the bright Twister mat spread across the carpet for a second too long before quietly sitting down beside it.
From the kitchen, Katherine Jackson looked over sympathetically.
“Oh baby…”
“I’m fine,” Michael muttered immediately.
Which meant he absolutely wasn’t.
Meanwhile, from his armchair, Joe Jackson barely glanced up from the television.
“You too old to be sulking over games.”
Katherine shot him a sharp look immediately.
Michael just looked down at the mat.
And then the doorbell rang.
Katherine moved to answer it, and seconds later a familiar voice drifted through the hallway.
“Mrs. Jackson, my mom said you forgot your baking dish again—”
Then Y/N L/N appeared in the living room doorway and stopped mid-sentence.
Because spread across the floor was Twister.
Her entire face lit up instantly.
“Oh my God.”
Michael looked up slowly.
Y/N pointed aggressively at the mat.
“Are we playing Twister?”
Michael blinked once.
“…You wanna play?”
“Michael.” She looked genuinely offended. “I love Twister.”
And just like that, something heavy in his chest loosened instantly.
Because Y/N always did this somehow.
She was the Jacksons’ neighbor in Encino. Loud, funny, dramatic Y/N who showed up unexpectedly and filled rooms without even trying.
Katherine adored her.
Joe absolutely did not.
“She distracts him,” he always grumbled whenever she came around.
Which honestly? Only became more true with time.
Because Michael looked at Y/N differently than he looked at everybody else.
Like he could breathe easier around her.
Even if neither of them fully realized why yet.
Y/N dropped onto the floor beside the mat dramatically.
“Set it up.”
Michael laughed softly for the first time all evening.
“It’s already set up.”
“Oh.” Y/N crossed her legs. “So this is serious.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Twister turned out to be a horrible idea immediately.
Mostly because Y/N cheated constantly.
“You moved your foot!”
“I adjusted it.”
“That’s cheating.”
“It’s called strategy.”
Michael laughed so hard he nearly collapsed onto the mat.
God, He needed this.
Needed someone who didn’t treat him like a celebrity or a machine or the future of music.
Just Michael.
At one point Y/N got completely tangled beneath his arm and burst into helpless laughter.
“We’re stuck.”
“Move your hand.”
“I literally can’t.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Yeah, well, you like that about me.”
Michael opened his mouth automatically.
Paused.
Then smiled shyly instead. “I actually do.”
Y/N blinked at him for half a second too long before immediately looking away.
Because sometimes Michael smiled at her and her brain genuinely stopped functioning for a moment.
Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.
Meanwhile Katherine watched the entire thing from the kitchen trying not to smile too obviously.
Joe, unfortunately, noticed too. And he didn’t like it one bit.
Because Michael had spent all week locked in the studio obsessing over demos and rehearsals and choreography. Focused. Disciplined.
Then Y/N showed up and suddenly he was sprawled across the floor laughing over Twister like the weight of the world wasn’t sitting on his shoulders anymore.
Joe frowned.
“Boy’s distracted.”
Katherine looked at him flatly.
“Boy’s happy.”
Joe didn’t answer.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Eventually the game dissolved into complete chaos because Y/N stopped following the rules entirely.
Then somehow they ended up on the couch with multiple cartons of ice cream spread across the coffee table while an old black-and-white movie played softly in the background.
Y/N sat curled into the corner beneath a fuzzy blanket she’d stolen from Michael’s room earlier.
“This,” she declared seriously around a spoonful of strawberry ice cream, “is the peak human existence.”
Michael laughed softly beside her.
“You say that about everything.”
“Only because I appreciate the beauty in life.”
“You said mozzarella sticks changed your life last week.”
“But they did, Mikey!”
Michael shook his head fondly.
She was absolutely ridiculous.
But tonight something warm settled quietly in his chest every time she made him laugh. Because earlier she’d noticed he was upset immediately.
And instead of brushing it off or teasing him, she stayed. Like his feelings mattered.
Like he mattered.
And Michael didn’t realize how badly he needed that until now.
The movie played softly.
The lights stayed low.
Y/N’s voice slowly got quieter and quieter while she rambled about how old movies needed ‘better kissing scenes.’
Then, eventually, silence.
Michael glanced sideways and froze slightly.
Because Y/N had fallen asleep against his shoulder.
Still holding the spoon.
Michael smiled instantly.
Carefully, trying not to wake her, he adjusted the blanket higher around her shoulders.
And for a second he just sat there looking at her.
At the way her hair spilled against his arm.
The faint remains of eyeliner beneath her eyes.
The tiny pout she always got when she slept.
Something in Michael’s chest ached suddenly, warm in a way he didn’t fully understand yet.
A few minutes later Katherine walked into the living room and immediately stopped.
Because there they were.
Michael sitting perfectly still so Y/N could sleep comfortably against him.
The empty ice cream cartons abandoned everywhere.
The old movie flickering softly across both their faces.
Katherine’s expression melted instantly.
“Oh,” she whispered softly.
Then Joe appeared behind her.
And immediately frowned.
“There she goes again,” he muttered. “Distracting him.”
Katherine looked ready to argue until Michael glanced up briefly.
And the look on his face stopped her. Because her son looked peaceful.
Not exhausted. Not pressured. Not overwhelmed.
Just happy. Safe, even.
Like for one evening he got to simply be a young man sitting on the couch with his best friend instead of carrying the weight of becoming Michael Jackson.
Katherine smiled quietly to herself.
Meanwhile Michael looked back down at Y/N sleeping against him and smiled too.
Small.
Private.
Completely gone for her.
Even if he didn’t know it yet.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
A few days after the Twister episode, the California heat had turned the Jackson backyard into something straight out of a magazine ad.
The pool shimmered bright blue beneath the sun.
Music drifted softly from outdoor speakers.
And floating lazily in the middle of the water was Michael Jackson with a notebook balanced against his bare chest, completely lost inside his own head.
One arm dangled into the water while he scribbled lyrics messily across the page, humming little melodies beneath his breath every few seconds.
His dark curls were slightly damp from the heat already, and his aviator sunglasses rested low on his nose while he concentrated so hard he barely noticed anything else around him.
Michael always got like this while writing.
Tunnel vision.
Obsessive.
Like the song became the only thing existing in the world.
Which was exactly why his brothers chose that moment to interrupt him.
“What are you doing?” Jermaine asked while stepping outside with Marlon and Tito trailing behind him.
Michael barely glanced up from the notebook.
“Working.”
Jermaine stared flatly at the inflatable raft.
“You’re writing music in a pool.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You look ridiculous.”
Michael ignored him completely, scribbling something down quickly before muttering the melody beneath his breath again.
Tito leaned closer.
“What’s got you acting possessed now?”
Michael finally sat up slightly, curls falling into his face while he pointed the pencil toward them dramatically.
“I gotta finish this.”
“You’re at the pool, Mike.”
Michael sighed heavily.
“If I don’t finish it, God’s gonna give it to Prince.”
His brothers exploded laughing immediately.
“That is not how music works!”
“Yes it is.”
“You are insane.”
Michael pointed accusingly at them.
“You laugh now but when Prince releases this six months later don’t come crying to me.”
Jermaine cried-laughed.
And then the back door slid open.
Michael looked up automatically. Big mistake.
Because Y/N L/N stepped outside.
And every coherent thought immediately left his body.
She looked like actual summer personified, wearing a tiny red-and-white checkered bikini tied at her hips with little bows, her hair piled messily on top of her head while oversized aviator sunglasses sat on her nose.
Michael’s aviator sunglasses.
The realization hit him instantly.
“Oh my God,” Jermaine whispered-yelled beside him immediately. “She stole your glasses.”
Michael barely heard anything.
Because Y/N was already walking barefoot toward the pool, sunlight glowing against her skin while the sunglasses practically swallowed half her face.
And somehow the fact she was casually wearing his things made the situation ten times worse for him.
“Oh!” Y/N smiled brightly when she spotted everyone. “Hi boys.”
And somehow her brain had never fully processed that possibility before.
Which now actually felt medically concerning.
The sunlight reflected against the water onto his skin while he sat stretched across the float in black swim trunks, curls messy from the heat, lean chest lightly glistening beneath the afternoon sun.
Y/N actually forgot what she was doing for a second.
“Oh my God,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “You’re shirtless.”
One of his brothers made a strangled noise immediately, trying to suppress a laugh.
Michael blinked once.
“…Yeah?”
“I’ve literally never seen that before.”
Michael sat up straighter automatically. Which somehow only made everything worse.
Because now Y/N got an even better look at him.
And Michael got a very clear look at Y/N staring.
“Oh this is bad,” Marlon whispered gleefully.
Michael tried looking back down at the notebook again pretending very hard to focus.
Unfortunately his body had already betrayed him.
Because Y/N kept walking closer to the edge of the pool adjusting his sunglasses and smiling at him in that absentmindedly sweet way she always did.
Michael shifted awkwardly against the float.
Immediately realizing the problem.
Oh.
Oh, no, He thought.
Actual panic flashed across his face for half a second. Because now Y/N was kneeling beside the pool and Michael suddenly became very aware that his swim trunks were doing absolutely nothing to hide the situation developing in real time.
Jermaine noticed instantly.
And the grin spreading across his face became genuinely evil.
“Oh my GOD.”
Michael snapped his head toward him immediately.
“Shut up.”
“You are fighting for your life right now, aren’t you?”
“I hate you.”
Y/N looked between them suspiciously.
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing!” Michael answered way too fast and his brothers nearly collapsed laughing.
Meanwhile Y/N narrowed her eyes briefly before shrugging.
“Anyway…”
And before anyone could react, she jumped directly into the deep end of the pool.
Then immediately regretted it.
“Oh my God WAIT—”
Y/N resurfaced flailing dramatically because she was way too short to comfortably touch the bottom.
“Y/N—" Michael started, but she launched herself at him without hesitation.
Michael barely steadied the float in time before Y/N practically climbed onto him in panic, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders while she tried to keep herself above water.
The float tipped dangerously sideways beneath them.
And suddenly Y/N was pressed directly against him.
Chest to chest.
Legs tangled beneath the water.
Her thighs brushing his waist while she clung to him breathlessly.
Michael stopped breathing entirely.
Because this was already catastrophic before Y/N accidentally shifted against his lap trying to stabilize herself.
Michael sucked in a sharp breath.
His brothers turned away screaming laughing.
“Mikey is done.”
Michael wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
Because now he was painfully aware of everything.
The water dripping slowly down Y/N’s skin.
The coconut sunscreen smell surrounding her.
The fact she was wearing his sunglasses.
And most importantly: the very obvious problem he was desperately trying to hide while Y/N clung to him in the middle of the pool.
Michael grabbed her waist quickly to keep both of them from tipping over.
“You okay?” he asked, voice noticeably strained.
Y/N nodded breathlessly.
“I hate this stupid deep pool.”
Michael laughed weakly.
Except now Y/N noticed something too.
Not the full situation.
But definitely the tension.
The way his hands tightened carefully at her waist.
The way he kept avoiding eye contact.
The fact his entire face was pink now.
And honestly? Y/N wasn’t doing much better herself.
Because Michael this close felt genuinely unfair.
His chest warm beneath her hands.
His curls damp and falling into his eyes.
His arms flexing slightly every time he steadied her in the water.
And the way he looked at her completely flustered and overwhelmed and trying so hard to stay respectful despite very obviously malfunctioning.
Y/N suddenly became very aware of how close their faces were.
“Huh,” she said softly before she could stop herself.
Michael blinked.
“…What?”
“You look really pretty like this.”
Michael nearly short-circuited on the spot.
Jermaine collapsed into one of the lounge chairs laughing while Tito slapped the table dramatically.
Michael groaned quietly, dropping his forehead briefly against Y/N’s shoulder in complete defeat while she laughed helplessly against him.
And somehow neither of them made any effort to move apart.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The sun was beginning to soften by the time they left the pool.
Everything felt warm and lazy in that golden late afternoon way California summers always did.
Music still drifted faintly from somewhere inside the house while the grass stayed hot beneath bare feet and the air smelled like sunscreen and chlorine.
And somewhere across the backyard, Y/N L/N was currently losing her mind over a llama. Specifically Louie.
Michael sat on the back steps with a towel around his shoulders and watched in helpless amusement while his best friend ran dramatically across the grass trying to feed Louie strawberries.
“Louie!” she gasped. “Save the drama for you llama!”
Louie stared blankly at her.
Michael laughed softly under his breath.
She really did talk to animals like they were people.
Y/N held another strawberry out toward the llama carefully.
“You just get me emotionally, don’t you?”
Louie sneezed directly in her face. Y/N did not move an inch.
Michael laughed really hard at that.
“Oh my God!”
Y/N wiped her cheek dramatically while glaring at the llama in betrayal.
“I thought we had something special going on, Louie.”
Her laughter echoed across the yard a second later anyway.
Bright. Contagious.
Real enough that Michael found himself smiling before he even realized it.
Because Y/N laughed with her whole body. Throwing her head back. Clutching her stomach. Nearly stumbling over herself every single time.
And Michael loved making her laugh more than almost anything.
Which was maybe a problem. A very big problem.
“You got it bad, don’t you?”
Michael startled slightly.
Bill stood beside the porch railing holding a soda, watching Y/N chase Louie around the yard with open amusement.
Michael immediately looked back toward the grass.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bill snorted.
“Michael.”
Across the lawn Y/N was now attempting to braid flowers into the llama’s fur.
Louie looked deeply exhausted by her existence already.
Michael smiled again without meaning to.
Bill noticed immediately.
“Mm-hm.”
Michael realized too late he’d done it again.
Done the stupid soft smile.
The one everybody kept noticing lately whenever Y/N was around.
Michael cleared his throat awkwardly.
“She’s just funny.”
Bill looked at him flatly.
“Boy.”
Michael groaned quietly, dragging one hand down his face.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“The talk.”
Bill burst out laughing.
“The talk?”
“Yes.”
“You twenty something old scared of a conversation?”
Michael looked genuinely distressed. “Yes.”
Meanwhile Y/N finally succeeded in placing one flower crookedly behind Louie’s ear.
“Oh my God,” she whispered to the llama. “You’re gorgeous.”
Michael chuckled at her, feeling helpless again.
Bill crossed his arms.
“You look happier around her.”
Michael’s smile faded slightly at that. Not entirely, just enough to become softer. Because the annoying part was that Bill was right.
Michael looked back toward the yard quietly while Y/N rammed dramatically into Louie’s side trying to hug him.
“She’s different,” Michael admitted softly.
Bill hummed knowingly.
“How?”
Michael took a second to answer. Because truth be told? He didn’t even fully know himself.
“She doesn’t…” He paused. “She doesn’t look at me like everybody else does.”
Bill stayed quiet.
So Michael kept going.
“She just comes over and steals my food and makes fun of my clothes and talks during movies.” He smiled to himself faintly. “And when I’m around her I don’t gotta think so hard.”
Bill’s expression softened at that and he clicked his tongue.
Because Michael spent most of his life thinking too hard.
Overworking.
Overanalyzing.
Overperforming.
But around Y/N? He looked light. Young again.
Like the fame disappeared for a little while.
Bill glanced toward the backyard where Y/N was now laying in the grass beside Louie dramatically.
“She likes you too, you know.”
Michael nearly choked.
“What?” He blurted out desperately and ridiculously fast.
Bill looked amused now.
“Michael,”
“No no no.” Michael sat up straighter immediately. “We’re friends.”
“Mhm.”
“We are.”
Bill took one sip of his soda.
“She wears your sunglasses.”
Michael froze. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“She nearly drowned looking at you shirtless.”
Michael turned bright red instantly, feeling his cheeks warming up. “Well, that was an accident!”
Bill snorted. “And you almost passed out when she climbed on top of you in the pool.”
Michael buried his face into the towel he held immediately.
“Oh my God.” He let out, his voice muffled.
“Son, everybody sees this except you two.”
Michael groaned dramatically into the towel.
Because unfortunately he knew Bill was right.
He did feel different around Y/N.
Too aware of her all the time.
Too happy whenever she showed up unexpectedly.
Too nervous whenever she looked pretty.
And today? It had been particularly catastrophic for him.
Especially the pool.
Especially Y/N wearing his glasses and clinging to him in the water with her legs wrapped around his waist while he fought for his actual life.
Michael groaned, face still in the towel. “Bill, I think I’m dying.”
Bill burst out laughing.
“No, son. I think you just got feelings.” He added between laughs.
Michael looked genuinely horrified by the concept.
Before he could answer though—
“MICHAEL!”
Both of them looked up.
Y/N stood halfway across the lawn waving excitedly while Louie wandered behind her aimlessly.
“Your llama likes me more than you now!”
Michael smiled automatically.
Completely helpless.
Bill watched him for exactly one second before laughing quietly to himself and walking away.
being with choso meant having your tits sucked 24/7 ୨୧ choso kamo x fem!reader ୨୧ i love boobs
it starts off as a coping mechanism after a long hard day. choso will pull your shirt down and suck on your nipple, softly, squeezing the other gently.
somehow over the months, it turns into an obsession. now, even after a good day, choso thinks he deserves to reward himself. his lips attach to your nipple, sucking and licking, rutting his bulge against your cunt.
if you're home all day with him, there's no point in putting on a bra, let alone a shirt. it will be stripped off you instantly. his lips will be attached to your chest in record time.
he loves sucking on them when he fucks you too. he pounds into you while licking your nipples, marking every single bare spot of skin. he thinks you look pretty like that. and when they all start to fade away, he fucks you again so he can mark them.
your tits will always be covered in his spit. he loves the way his spit shines when it catches a shimmer of light. he spits on your nipples before taking them into his mouth, admiring the wetness of him on your pretty buds.
he sucks your nipples while going to bed. you'll cradle his head in your chest while he sucks on your nipples like a baby with a pacifier. you've gotten used to feeling him falling asleep with your nipple in his mouth. his drool with slide on your skin as he sleeps with you in his mouth.
There is a very specific, highly entertaining phenomenon that occurs whenever you take your husband out in public. You like to call it the “Terror and Thirst” effect.
Today, at the crowded public beach, it is in full swing.
You are currently lounging under the massive shade of a navy blue beach umbrella, a trashy romance novel resting on your lap, watching the spectacle unfold at the shoreline.
Ryomen Sukuna is, objectively, a masterpiece of a man. Standing at a towering 6’4”, he is built like a heavyweight champion—broad shoulders, a thick chest, and a torso carved out of solid granite. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung, black board shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips, putting the intricate, sprawling black tattoos that cover his chest, arms, and stomach on full, glorious display.
He is hot as fuck. It’s a fact that is currently not lost on the group of college girls sitting on a blanket about twenty yards away. They haven’t stopped staring, whispering behind their hands, and aggressively adjusting their bikini tops for the last half hour.
But here is the catch: Sukuna is also terrifying.
He has this natural, resting aura of absolute disdain for anyone who isn’t you or your son. He’s a snob, plain and simple. He doesn’t smile at strangers, he doesn’t make polite small talk, and if someone stares at him for too long, he gives them a dead-eyed, chilling glare that practically drops the surrounding temperature by ten degrees.
Case in point: one of the girls giggles a little too loudly, pointing in his direction. Sukuna, who is currently standing ankle-deep in the surf, slowly turns his head. He doesn’t say a word. He just narrows his crimson eyes, his face completely blank, and stares her down.
The girl visibly pales, her hand dropping instantly. She quickly turns around, suddenly very interested in the contents of her cooler.
Sukuna lets out a quiet, dismissive scoff, turning his attention back to the water.
“You’re going to give those poor girls a complex, babe,” you call out, unable to hide your amusement.
Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, and the transformation is instantaneous. The cold, intimidating mask melts away, replaced by an expression so incredibly soft and devoted it makes your chest ache. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small, fond smile.
“Not my problem that they are annoying,” he says, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the crashing waves. “Besides, I only want one woman looking at me.”
You roll your eyes, though your cheeks heat up. “Smooth, Ryomen. Very smooth.”
“Dada! Splash!”
A tiny, high-pitched voice interrupts the moment. Yuji, currently sporting a pair of tiny black swim trunks that perfectly match his dad’s, is waddling furiously through the shallow water. He’s got a pair of bright orange floaties strapped to his chubby arms, his pink hair plastered to his forehead from the ocean spray.
Sukuna’s attention snaps to his son. He doesn’t say anything, just calmly wades deeper into the water, his massive hands reaching down to scoop the toddler up under the armpits.
“You want to splash, little man?” Sukuna asks quietly, his tone a low, soothing rumble.
“Yeah! Big splash!” Yuji cheers, kicking his little legs.
You watch, completely mesmerized, as your terrifying, snobbish husband hoists your two-year-old high into the air. Sukuna tosses him up—just high enough to make Yuji squeal with delight—and catches him effortlessly, dipping him down so his little toes drag through the water.
It’s a beautiful, chaotic contrast. The giant, tattooed wall of muscle, gently playing in the waves with a giggling, chubby-cheeked toddler.
They play in the water for another twenty minutes. Sukuna is quiet, mostly just listening to Yuji babble about the “big fishes” and the “salty water,” occasionally offering a calm nod or a soft chuckle. He is completely in his element, entirely unbothered by the rest of the world.
Eventually, Sukuna wades out of the water, carrying Yuji on his hip. Water is dripping from Sukuna’s pink hair, running down the hard planes of his chest and tracing the lines of his tattoos. It is a sight that should be illegal.
He walks over to the umbrella, grabbing a towel with his free hand and tossing it over his shoulder. He sets Yuji down on the sand.
“Go to mama, buddy. Let her dry you off,” Sukuna murmurs, running a hand through his wet hair.
But Yuji has other plans.
He shakes himself off like a wet puppy, sending droplets of water flying everywhere. He takes two steps toward you, stops, and then his head snaps to the left.
You follow his gaze. A new group of girls—three of them, looking like they just stepped out of a swimsuit catalog—have set up their chairs near the shoreline.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, dropping your book. “Not again.”
Yuji’s eyes go wide. He completely ignores you, turning on his heel and marching straight toward the girls. His little chest is puffed out, his arms swinging with an unearned amount of swagger for a kid who still wears pull-ups at night.
“Sukuna,” you warn, pointing at your son. “Stop him.”
Sukuna doesn’t move. He just stands there, drying his chest with the towel, watching Yuji with a quiet, amused smirk. “Why? He’s on a mission.”
“He is two! He is literally a baby!” you hiss, standing up. “Why does he act like a frat boy on spring break?”
“Son't ask me,” Sukuna replies, clearly avoiding your eyes, he took a sip from the bottle of water. He doesn't say it, but you can hear the lingering amusement in his voicd. “Let the boy have fun, babe.”
You groan, watching helplessly as Yuji reaches the girls.
He stops right in front of their beach chairs. He puts his chubby little hands on his hips, tilts his head, and unleashes the weapon: your bright, disarming smile.
“Hi!” Yuji chirps loudly. “I Yuji!”
The girls immediately stop talking. They look down at the tiny, pink-haired toddler, and the collective swoon is almost audible.
“Oh my god, hi!” one of them coos, leaning forward. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing ever?”
“Pweety,” Yuji says, pointing a tiny finger at the girl’s sparkly bikini top. He then flexes his little arm, showing off a completely non-existent bicep. “Look! Strong like dada!”
“I can’t believe this,” you whisper, burying your face in your hands. Sukuna lets out a low, quiet chuckle next to you.
“You are a terrible influence,” you glare at him.
“Babe, I didn’t do anything,” Sukuna says, his voice completely deadpan, though his eyes are dancing with mirth. “I’m just standing here.”
Down by the water, the girls are eating it up. They are giggling, offering Yuji a plastic beach toy, which he graciously accepts. But then, one of the girls looks up. Her eyes scan the beach, looking for the parents, and she spots Sukuna.
You can practically see the cartoon hearts pop out of her eyes.
She stands up, brushing sand off her legs, and walks over to Yuji, taking his little hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go find your dad.”
She leads Yuji back toward your umbrella, her eyes locked entirely on Sukuna. She has that look—the look of a woman who thinks she’s about to shoot her shot with a single dad.
“Excuse me,” the girl says, her voice dropping into a sultry purr as she approaches. She completely ignores you, standing right in front of Sukuna. “Is this little guy yours? He wandered over to us.”
Sukuna stops drying his hair. His smilr vanishes, instantly replaced by that cold snobbery. He looks down at the girl, his expression completely blank, his eyes devoid of any warmth.
He doesn’t say a word to her.
Instead, he steps forward, completely invading her personal space with his massive frame, forcing her to take a nervous step back. He reaches down and scoops Yuji up into his arms.
“Dada! Pweety girl!” Yuji babbles, pointing at the woman.
Sukuna looks at the girl for one more second. It’s a look that clearly says, You are entirely beneath my notice.
“Thanks,” Sukuna says. His voice is quiet, but it carries a heavy, chilling finality that makes the girl flinch. “Come here buddy lets go to mama”
He turns his back on her without another word, walking the two steps over to you. The girl stands there for a second, her face flushed bright red with embarrassment, before she quickly turns and scurries back to her friends.
You are trying very hard not to laugh. “You didn’t have to be so mean to her.”
“I wasn’t,” Sukuna scoffs, setting Yuji down on your beach chair. “I just didn’t care to speak to her.”
“She was totally hitting on you.”
Sukuna finally looks at you, and the ice in his eyes melts completely. He steps into your space, his large hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs gently stroke your cheekbones.
“Whatever,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate register. “I'm married”
Your breath hitches, your heart doing a familiar, stupid little flip in your chest. Even after all these years, he still knows exactly how to render you speechless.
“You’re such a sap,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.
“Only for my wife,” he replies, leaning down to press a slow, deep kiss to your lips. It’s a possessive kiss, one that clearly communicates to anyone watching exactly who he belongs to.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Mama!”
You both look down. Yuji is standing on the beach chair, holding up a slightly crushed, sandy seashell. He shoves it toward you, his big golden eyes shining.
You melt. You absolutely melt. You take the sandy shell, pulling Yuji into a tight hug and kissing his salty, sun-warmed cheek. “Thank you, baby. It’s beautiful.”
Sukuna watches the two of you, his hands resting casually on his hips. “See?” Sukuna says quietly, reaching out to ruffle Yuji’s pink hair. “The kid might have my charm, but he knows the truth.”
At the end of the day, despite the playboy genes and the endless chaos, they were yours. And you were theirs.
And mom was, undeniably, still the best.
an: we're close to 1k what the hekk!!! what one shots do you wanna see next? i can't write smut for the life of me, english is saurrrr hard!! divider by: @pxrce-lain | the art and gif i got from pinterest! feel free to comment who is the orig art creator pls 🙏
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
warnings: 18+ minors dni, cunnilingus, pussy drunk, yearning, coochie warming(lmao), sub!michael, whining, begging, hints of oral fixation, your own personal rose, thriller era!michael, somnophilia, overstimulation if you squint, absolutely no plot.
pairing: michael jackson x fem!reader
wc: 1k+
how could you resist him when he says things like this, while looking up at you like that?
“lay back in my tenderness, lemme taste you girl.”
“ i want to touch you all over, all over baby please I’ll be good for you”
“ i just wanna make you feel good, I’ll be good f’ you”
“lemme just feel it girl, need you on my tongue”
“It’s so cold in here baby, lemme keep her warm for you”
It starts the way it always does with him on his knees.
He's already hard before he even touches you, his cock straining against his jeans as he presses his face into the inside of your thigh. He breathes you in, deep and slow, like a man taking his first lungful of air. His doe eyes are half lidded, dark and glassy, his lips parted. He's not begging yet. Not out loud. But the way his fingers tremble against your skin says everything.
"Please," he finally breathes, voice hoarse. "Please, baby. Let me taste you. Just a little. Just—" He kisses the crease where your thigh meets your hip, tongue darting out to taste salt and warmth. "I need it. I need it."
You barely nod before he's burying his face between your legs.
Michael doesn't start slow. There's no teasing, no gentle buildup. He goes straight for your clit with the flat of his tongue, laving it in long, broad strokes that make your hips jerk. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open for him like you're a meal he's been starved for. And he has been. Every hour away from you is an hour of withdrawal, of craving, of counting down until he can have this again.
He moans against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your core. His tongue flicks faster, circles, presses flat, then flicks again. He's sloppy. Desperate. There's no technique to it just pure, unadulterated hunger. Saliva and your wetness mix together, dripping down his chin, and he doesn't wipe it away. He wears it like a badge of honor.
"Fuck," he mutters against your cunt, the word muffled by your flesh. "Fuck, you taste so fucking good. Sweet. So sweet. I could—" He stops talking because his mouth is too busy, too full of you.
He loses track of time down there. Minutes blur into hours. His jaw aches, his tongue cramps, but he doesn't stop. Can't stop. Every time you try to shift away, oversensitive and trembling, he tightens his grip on your hips and pulls you back. His nose presses into your pubic bone, his lips sealed around your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, then letting go only to dive back in.
When you're in bed, he crawls under the covers without a word. You feel his hot breath against your inner thigh before his mouth finds you, half-asleep and warm. He nuzzles into your cunt like a man seeking comfort, lapping lazily at your folds until you're wet and sighing in your sleep. He falls asleep that way sometimes his cheek pressed against your thigh, lips brushing your clit, breathing you in. He wakes up hard, aching, and immediately starts all over again, licking you awake.
During the day, it's worse.
He'll pull you into the studio under the pretense of needing your opinion on a new track. The door clicks shut, the blinds close, and suddenly he's on his knees again. He shoves a pillow under him not for his comfort, but to get the angle right. His chin tilts up, his tongue out, waiting. Begging with his eyes.
"Just a taste," he whispers. "I'm stuck. I can't write. I can't think. I need—" He presses his forehead to your thigh, breathing hard. "I need your pussy, baby. She's my muse. She's the only thing that makes the words come."
And you let him. Because it's true. The moment his mouth finds you, the tension in his shoulders melts. His hands roam your ass, squeeze, spread, pull you closer. His tongue works you until you're gasping, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips grinding against his face. He moans with every flick, every suck, every time your cunt clenches around nothing because his tongue is right there, pressing into your entrance, tasting your cream.
He comes in his pants without realizing it.
The first time it happens, he's so focused on your pleasure that he doesn't notice his own cock throbbing, pulsing, spilling into his jeans. The wet patch spreads warm against his thigh, and he only becomes aware of it when you're done, panting and limp, and he pulls back with a glistening chin. He looks down at himself, blinks, and then grins, sheepish, embarrassed, but also proud.
"Sorry," he mutters, but he's not sorry at all.
It becomes a pattern. Two pairs of jeans a week. Sometimes three. He starts buying cheap brands because he knows they'll be ruined. The laundry basket fills with stiff, stained denim, and he never complains. He just shuffles to the drawer, pulls out another pair, and gets back on his knees.
You have to push him away.
It's the only way it stops. When your clit is raw and swollen and every flick of his tongue makes you flinch, you press your palm against his forehead and shove. He resists at first, whining against your skin, trying to chase your taste as you pull back. "No," you say, breathless. "Michael. Stop."
And he does. But only because you said so. Only because your voice has that edge of finality that he can't ignore.
He sits back on his heels, chin wet, lips red and puffy, eyes glazed. His breathing is ragged, and there's a smear of your arousal across his cheek. He licks his lips slowly, savoring the last traces.
"Sorry," he says again, but his voice is thick. He's not sorry. He's already thinking about the next time, counting the hours until he can taste you again.
He crawls up the bed and curls against you, pressing his face into your neck. His hand is still wet, still slick with your juices, and he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean one by one. His eyes close. He's content. Sated. But only for now.
Because tomorrow morning, before the sun rises, he'll be between your thighs again. His tongue will find your clit before you're fully awake. His mouth will seal over you, and he'll hum in satisfaction, drinking you down like a man dying of thirst.
And he'll whisper, half to himself, half to you: "Not my fault you taste so sweet."
He says it like a prayer. Like a confession. Like the truest thing he's ever known.
(a/n: andddddd yet another old note turned into a mini fic posted, been thinking about how michael has the most insane case of ‘coochie pls🥺’ eyes I’ve ever seen for a long while)
“softenin' it,” your husband replied, his voice completely deadpan. he didn’t look up, his face carved into an expression of such absolute, scholarly focus you might have thought he was doing open-heart surgery rather than kneading your ass.
you’d been trying to get some rare peace and quiet, lying face down on the bed half-asleep, when the attack started. toji had the massive, beefy build of a pro athlete, a guy made wholly of dense muscle who had absolutely zero concept of "personal space"
yet, for the last ten minutes, those huge, scarred hands—hands that literally killed people for a living??—had been thoroughly squashing and massaging your ass with the obsessive devotion of a baker molding a piece of sourdough.
“softening it?” you repeated, the mere insanity of it wiping away the last of your drowsiness. “toji, it’s an ass, not a cheap steak. you’ve been doing this for ten minutes. let go.”
he was lying on his stomach right next to your thighs, his nose hovering close over your asscheeks. feeling suddenly frustrated, you planted your forearms on the sheets, trying to crawl away from... whatever he was doing.
and you couldn't even make it an inch.
a heavy, coarse palm slapped down on the small of your back, securing you to the mattress like a literal ton of bricks. when you twisted your neck to glare at him, his stunning profile was pulled into a focused, childish pout. his emerald eyes stayed glued to his work while his other hand went right back to its aggressive squeezing, paying no attention to your feeble protests.
“keep still,” he grumbled, voice getting petulant like a boy refused candy “you’re messin' up the texture.”
“the texture?” a sudden rush of heat hit your cheeks—the result of your annoyance and being vividly aware of how his face was glued to your backside. “i am trying to sleep, you psycho. your hands feel like sandpaper.”
“then don't move and it won't scratch,” he reasoned in a plain tone as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
and yet, there was something weirdly mesmerizing about how engaged he was. he looked almost peaceful sitting there, if you ignored the thick fingers poking at your crack.
finally comprehending it was useless to fight a fatty bitch with two hundred pounds on his body, you collapsed face-first into the pillow, letting out a defeated groan.
“...if i see any bruises, you're gonna pay for it.”
that lazy, almost boyish grin finally shattered his straight face. toji didn't bother lifting his chest or moving back. he just rested his heavy jaw in his free hand, watching your clothed butt devotedly.
“can’t charge a guy who's broke,” he reminded, his deft fingers continuing their task. “now shut it. 'm not done tenderizing.”
Nanami was fast asleep, back towards you the only sound being his soft snores that feel up the empty and dark room. Well, almost dark. Your screen was dimly lit as you doom scrolled.
Instagram, TikTok, Pinterest—repeat. You weren’t tired although you promised your husband you’d atleast try to start getting some proper sleep.
You also complain about how unfair it is, how easy he can fall asleep. But you guess that’s just the perks of old age. You turn your sound up a bit as you scroll through reels. Not even five minutes later, Nanami’s up.
His eyebrows furrow as he adjusts his eyesight. “Honey.” His tired voice rings in your ear, you discard your phone elsewhere on the bed. “I tried, I can’t it’s hard for me to fall asleep quickly.” He lets out a huff before pulling you into his chest where you can his heartbeat.
“Maybe, if you reduced the time you spend on your phone before bed—“ he kisses the top of your head. “Then maybe you might be able to go to sleep.”
You let out a weary sigh, “I’ve tried that.” You can hear him scoff. “baby love, you tried it for two minutes and you went back on your phone. “Yeah.” You nod, “still effort.” You feel him shake from the vibration of his laughter. “A for effort.” He teases.
Nanami drapes the blanket over the two of you, His fingers find your cheeks and just your face in general. “Relax them, relax your face muscles.” Once he feels you relax, he then takes his hands off. “Now drop your shoulders.” You do as he says. “Why are you so tense, hm?” He asks through the process.
You let out a deep breath, “Am I tense?” he nods, “Relax your arms and exhale.” You obey, “good, look honey, you’re doing so good.” he whispers into your ear.
You smile against him. “Now this is gonna sound a little silly—“ his hands find your waist. “Imagine some peaceful scenery, where you’re at. Could be the beach, mountains, anywhere”
Your breath comes warm against his chest, “my girl.” he murmurs pressing one more kiss to your head. “my sleepy girl.”
sometimes I write what I want to experience and it’s sad because like 💔💔
neighbor!simon riley who can't say no to you asking him for help (and still does things without you having to).
pt.1
ever since asking simon for help on your car, it's like a floodgate has opened up. first you're asking him for help on your car, and the next thing you know, he's in your house every few days with a new repair you've roped him into. he doesn't talk much. actually, you haven't been able to get another word out of him since he was on his back, under your car.
you've tried, you really have, but the bastard won't give in. you think he's just closed off—in reality, simon's heart is beating a mile a minute, and his mind is repeating over and over again not to make himself a fool in front of his pretty neighbor.
so you figured that asked him to help around your house would do the trick, luring him into your space in order to open him up. it's not like you'd get around to these tasks yourself. they just weren't your area of expertise.
and for a decently new house, you sure had a lot to be repaired.
first, it was those squeaky hinges on some of your doors. now, in the beginning, you were still hesitant to wander over to his front door to get his help, but after his eagerness the first time, it gave you the confidence to return. simon was in your house faster than you were, already taking a guess as to which door it was—since he knew his way around from bringing in groceries and such. armed with a lubricant and a few other tools, he got to work. within a few minutes, they were good as new. you couldn't thank the man before he was out the door.
it was off-putting, but you were still determined. it was unlucky that the first thing you asked him to do took only a few minutes of his time, and even less for cleanup.
with every day that passed, you were grasping at straws. how could you get this man over here? your house was in perfect condition, and you barely saw the recluse of a man, as he remained in his house most of the time. save for the times he takes in your groceries or takes your bins out, you don't see him.
until you notice something odd.
coming home from work—this time, your car light remains off—you get out of your car and notice a bit of chopped grass that's been left behind. with furrowed brows, you took a moment to look at your lawn.
what are the chances that, after living here for a few months, the grass doesn't decide to grow?
yeah, none. the bastard has been doing it for you, and you never noticed. he never mentioned or made a big deal out of it, and somehow, it got missed on your motion activated doorbell cameras that has a perfect view of the lawn. even the hedges are trimmed.
so what do you do? take the opportunity to stop over to his doorstep, rapping your fist on his door until he opens. eyebrows raised, ready to take on the next task at your house, he steps out and shuts the door behind him. with a nod, he gestures you to lead the way.
except you don't have a repair for him. "have you been mowing my lawn?" the words spill from your lips before you have a chance to reign yourself in. the absurdity of the situation is making you loose-lipped.
his eyes widen, and you swear you see a faint blush on the pale skin behind his balaclava. he just nods, gaze softening as he stares down at you.
"thank you." you sputter out, in shock at his brazen admission. he just nods again, and you're at a loss for words. how do you keep his attention, keep his eyes on you? "well, I'm gonna need your help planting flowers."
planting flowers? that's all you could come up with? your face flushes with embarrassment, bracing yourself for his reaction. the man could easily say no because mowing the lawn and changing your lightbulb and fixing your squeaky door hinges is considered masculine. you could've insulted his masculinity by suggesting he plants flowers.
but he just stares at you some more. "let m'know when," and he shuts the door in your face.
but you turn around with the goofiest smile on your face and pump your fist with a soft "yes" before skipping back down the path and road towards your house just next door. little do you know, simon's face wears a smile just like yours as he watches the dorky display.
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ synopsis : imagines of young!black!fem reader, and mature!michael (set in 2000’s ofc.
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ contains : reader is considered wild, “young ho” in a sense. Some fluff, kind of comedy?? a tad little smiddge bit of smut. Age gap (reader is early / mid 20’s.)
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ a/n : black fem reader and mature Michael have been on my mind HEAVILY, plus some other fics have been fueling this inside of me, I HAD to get this off my chest 😖
✧.*young!black!fem!reader and mature!michael : who were first spotted together hand in hand at the nearest shopping mall, bags around your wrist, smiling at the paparazzi, while Michael kept his glasses close to his face. You guys met at a fashion show, where you showcased at, your bold walk, and your confidence bled through the crowd, catching Michael’s eye, he quickly asked to meet you backstage, wanting to learn more about you.
when you finally saw him, you didn’t give him the satisfaction of fan-girling, yes you knew about his music, you really enjoyed it, actually. But, you were bigger than that, to scream, and run around? Completely out of character.. so you kept it cute, and cool. Which, is honestly what made him fall for you in the first place.
“Hi, Mr. Jackson.” You smiled, holding your hand out, to politely shake. To which, he smiled, shaking your hand, rubbing a long, calloused finger along your palm. “oh, please.. call me Michael.” You guys hit it off ever since.
———
✧.*young!black!fem!reader and mature!michael: Which Michael would invite to the studio, a way to show you how he does his work, and a way to show off subtly. His hands rubbing small circles on your waist, as you popped your gum in your mouth, nodding your head like you understood (you didn’t.)
“And that’s where you can enable the mic, but i think they have another button up there, where you can turn it on in the booth, so don’t worry.”
“Wasn’t going too.” You quickly snapped back, a annoyed sigh left your lips.
———
✧.*young!black!fem!reader and mature!michael : which Michael can hardly take you on interviews with him, due to your smart mouth.
“..I just don’t understand why you’re so invested in our sex life,” y/n started, the interviewer, being weird and a little parasocial, had the nerve to ask “soo… how’s the sex life? Who’s the more dominant one, you know.. Michael being soft spoken—.”
That’s all you had to hear to completely go off on them.
“—he takes me down, and it feels good—“ You continued, and Michael playfully put a hand over your mouth, a small giggle leaving his lips, his glasses shaking up and down, rested on his face as the crowd laughed as well. “…this is the last time you’re gonna be in an interview with me.” Michael playfully said, his hand resting back onto her thigh, as another hand rested on his forehead,
———
✧.*young!black!fem!reader and mature!michael : who Michael has to put in place frequently.
you were already pissed off before you even got to this event that Michael dragged you too. You had started your period, staining your white bed sheets, leaving you to clean them when you got home, because you weee too nervous to give it too the maid, though you deserved the life of luxury, you weren’t that comfortable of leaving people to deal with your dirty sheets.
Then, the symptoms of even having your period started kicking in, headaches, mood-swings, all of that. So here you sat, cameras in your face, as you were forced to hold Michael’s hand.
He noticed this, the attitude, the rolling of your eyes, the way you gave anybody who looked at you a dirty glare, you already had a bad rep of having a horrible attitude, so Michael knew he had to fix this.
Michael tapped you on your shoulder, going to press his lips against your ear. “…put a smile on your face, now. Do you want another headline about your attitude?” You rolled your eyes, your gaze getting darker as you scooted down in your seat, like a child who got caught, something only he could do.
The only one to make the famous fashion model submit so easily, was him. The loud music of the event covering up his words for no one else to hear, he pulled his lips away slowly, giving you a knowing look through his glasses, before squeezing your hand tighter, nodding his head to the music.
———
✧.*young!black!fem!reader and mature!michael : where Michael STAYS with a phone in his face, because reader always records him.
your phone was propped in your hand, camera flicked to your mirror, showing you, and your curvy figure. “Mmhhhmmm..” you mumbled to yourself, pushing your hair past your shoulder, pushing out your duck-lips. It was Michael’s lucky day, because he scooted right past you, a small “ ‘xcuse me..” left his lips, before you grabbed him by the back of his shirt, bringing him back into the camera. “No, take a picture with me.” You giggled, pushing him to get behind you. Bringing his hand rest in your waist, as your phone flashlight flicked, a small giggle falling from your lips.
———
✧.*young!black!fem!reader and mature!michael : where reader is basically his chaperone (by force), and reader blasts music throughout the whole car ride.
“….i don’t know why you make it seem like I can’t drive… I’m a awesome driver..” You talked over the reader, one hand on the wheel, while the other one waved in the air.
Loud Hip-Hop blasted through the speaker, as you turned a corner sharply, almost hitting the curve. Michael gripped the handle of the car, carefully trying to calm his breathing.
“Baby.. can’t we just slow down.” He breathed out, a hand resting on your thigh, a way to subtly say “calm the hell down.”
“…don’t have a heart attack over there, grandpa.” You giggled, hitting another harsh corner, this time running over the curb. “See, you distracted me.”
———
✧.*young!black!fem!reader and mature!michael : where reader can’t help but send nudes everytime they’ve been too far away from each other, Michael being in public, sliding his reading glasses on to see them, and immediately blushing at the fact, forgetting to even respond sometimes. (No need to further explain on this one!😖😖)
A/n :I love me some mature Michael likeeee overly, I wanna write some dbf! hcs, but I rlly gotta put my mind to it, and find some bizarre ideas for that..!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Waking up in the morning and Price is buried between your legs. It's not his usual frantic or hungry pace, he's not eating you out to make you cum, he's just enjoying your taste, savouring you.
Price is the type to hold a hand over your stomach, keeping you from squirming too much, keeping you from taking away his breakfast. Price is the type to look at you through his lashes, tongue swirling over your clit, watching you as you throw your head back, whining, it's still too early for this even when you're shivering everytime his moustache and beard brushes against the tender skin of your inner thighs. But Price isn't the type to move away from your folds when he needs to murmur his scold; his words sending the softest of vibrations through your core “Don't start the day by complaining too much, doll”
Although he won't give you the chance to complain, or even utter a word, because when Price starts his morning with his head buried between your legs, there's a high chance you won't be getting out of bed at all that day.
❛ mature era!michael jackson 𝑥 𝑓 nanny!reader ❜ ╱ summary. some instances in which michael and you function as a couple . . . which you guys aren't. just a really, really good team.
warnings. no real warnings, it's just mainly fluff. and tbh i can't tell if this is actually domestic or not, but oh well i just really wanted to write the following scenarios. prince being prince. hints at michael's obsession for you. age gap - twenty years. not proofread. series m.list main m.list
michael who made an extreme emphasis on his desire to be present in his children's lives and not have them be raised by nannie's. but soon after blanket's birth he knew he needed a little extra help with a newborn and two little ones running around.
the interview process was long and tedious and happened over a few weeks as michael personally reviewed over applications, made the phone calls to let which applicants will be getting interviewed where and when, and conducted the interviews process with various questions;
"during times of stress how do you handle the chaos of the children?"
"what was the reason for leaving the last family you works for, and what made you interested in caring for my family?"
"do you have any formal education in child care, child education, or child development?"
"are you ready to take on not just my children's schedules but my own, and what that entails?"
he wants the best for his children and you just happen to be that. you're one of two of the last applicant who progressed to the very last interview, and watching the other applicant go first and leave with an unreadable expression only worsened your worries. and when you think everything is going good your nerves are on edge and heart pounding against your chest when michael rose from his seat across from you and extending his hand out to you. placing trembling hands on the edge of the conference desk to push your seat out and away so you can also stand, wiping your sweaty hand on your slacks before extending it to meet michael's firm grip, "congratulations, you're hired."
you didn't formally meet the children until your second day, you're first day was just you getting acclimated. already having signed every form of paper possible upon getting hired, all michael requested of you for your first day was to show up to neverland ranch at 7 a.m sharp. giving you a proper tour of neverland ranch before returning back to the house and to his office to go over the kids routine.
michael's eyes follow where your body bends to reach inside of the bag you brought with you, eyes widening just a bit when you pull out a dark green journal and pen. flipping the journal open and clicking the pen to jot down the small bit of what he had said about their schedules before he went silent, only the sounds of pen on paper filling the office.
when there's nothing more left to write down you peer your gaze up just a bit, but michael's eyes are trained on the journal in your lap, mouth slightly agape. "you can continue, mr. jackson."
the sound of your voice pulls his eyes back up to meet your own, licking his lips, "right," he continues, coughing lightly, "'nd it's michael, no formalities."
and he gets amused when you give him a curt nod before moving your pen to the very top of the page and write something down, probably something along the lines of no use of formalities.
only further getting amused by you when just before you leave you pull a container full of various cookies out, "i don't know what they're favorite is so i just made small batches of chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, and sugar cookies with sprinkles," you explain, fingers gripped around the nice container you bought specifically for this, not wanting to hand michael jackson a tupperware container.
hand it over, feeling uneasy when all he does is start at the container now in his hands, "you and the other staff can have some too of course, they're not just for the children," rambling on.
when michael looks up there's a small smile on his face, "thank you, we 'ppreciate it. they're are going t'love them for dessert."
introductions with the children go well, michael makes them thank you for the cookies, and it really doesn't take too long for them to warm up to you. it only took prince a few hours to approach you to ask if you would play with him, and if there's one thing about childcare that you will never get over is their small voices when they're still a little shy, which didn't last long with prince once he got comfortable with you.
and with blanket it took no time. the five of you sat around the dinning table as the kids ate their breakfast, with prince and paris sat next to each other, paris next to michael who is at the head of the table, you were in the seat right in front of paris while blanket was in his father arms, already having had a bottle. when michael was nursing his glass of orange juice that's when you feel it, a chubby hand lightly against your forearm.
taking blanket's smaller hand in yours, the natural movement he's making seem like the two of you are shaking hands. "hi, blanket," you muse, grinning when the infant begins to coo and show off his gummy smile. his arms now fully trying to reach you.
"he's tryin' t'escspe my arms, d'you wan' him?" the question has you thinking for a second, but you do agree.
"yeah, i'll take him." opening your arms and reaching out to grab the infant. blanket instantly settling within your arms, resting his head onto your shoulder, his cheek squishing adorably against it that has michael bringing a finger to sooth at his other chubby cheek.
however, it's paris that takes some time to fully warm up to you. she still interacted with you, but she never sought you out like how prince would take your hand in his and guide you off somewhere, most likely somewhere with an elaborate toy set up or the makeshift fort he built. or how blanket started to naturally cling to you whenever you were around. but paris seemed to always longingly stare at you whenever you interacted with her brothers. you always tried to include her, making the space for her to join in welcome as you remember michael telling you that paris is interested in whatever prince has.
you didn't take it personally, you figured it would take time since during the first meeting she had clung to michael's leg, using it to hide and peek from as she'd like. and you related to her, being a shy yourself during childhood, knowing that within time and gentleness that she will hopefully get more comfortable around you.
and that she did. a few weeks into caring for them it was quiet time. blanket was down for afternoon nap and this was the time where you'd put on a movie for the kids, usually a disney one and they could choose from watching the movie, a quiet activity, or to take a nap as well. prince had insisted on watching tarzan just end up curled asleep on the couch before jane and tarzan even meet, while paris chose to do a quiet activity of coloring.
taking this time you'd often journal in the very same dark green journal about anything and everything, a habit you carried for middle school, through high school, through college, and now through adulthood. you used to journal right before bed when you were younger, but the hours of being a nanny are from the start of the morning to the end of night, so you often opt for any free time you have to do so.
"wha's that?" a small voice asks.
feeling startled you look you see paris standing in front of you, trying to peer into the journal on your lap, "oh, it's just my journal," you respond, showing her the outside of the cover that's a little worn at the edges and the inside of the lined pages where you write.
her eyes sparkle with curiosity as you show the journal off, "is it for coloring?"
you're eyebrows furrow as you look at it, flipping through its ages, "it can be," you don't see why it couldn't be, "but i use it to write."
it's then that paris moves from in front of you to now sit squished against your side, "'nd write what?"
the question makes you smile, remembering how michael and her were sat at the dinning table just being dinner with sheets of blank paper and different colored crayons as she practiced writing her name. "i write anything," you begin, moving the journal from your lap into hers and allowing her to flip through the pages, "mainly about how i'm feeling."
"oh," it comes out quiet, like she's thinking about something.
and as you watch her an idea comes to mind, "y'know, i could get you a journal like mine."
your words instantly has paris's head turning to look at you, eyes wide like saucers, "really?" she exclaims.
chuckling at her excitement and the fact that she's still at the age where r's still sound like w's as you nod, "really, and we could practice your writing in it too," you solidify.
that's when paris's arms shoot and wrap around your torso, hugging you and squeezing her eyes shut, "than' you."
the moment tugs at your heart, wrapping your arms around to embrace her, "you're welcome, sweet girl."
and when you left that night you returned the next morning with baby pink journal, a few pack of stickers, and a glitter pen set.
it's truly fate on how well you and michael work together. falling into an easy rhythm within no time between the two of you and the children. you'd arrive at neverland every morning at 6, which gives you just enough time to say your hello's to the rest of the staff around the house before the children need to be woken up. you've developed routine of swigging by the kitchen to see what the chef is cooking for breakfast and snag a small bite of whatever is available, usually fruit when the chef's back is turned. and more times than not it leaves you and michael enough time to do a debrief of what the day entails, which is something that isn't really needed since you stay a little later on sunday nights to go over the next week, but still happens regardless. and through time it developed from that, figuring which one was going to wake which child up to random small talk, you're often the person who catches michael up on whatever sitcom show is airing on tv while he's tells you something from the news.
just outside the kid's bedrooms michael and you play rock paper scissors, the both of you hitting your open palms with your first as you whisper the words. and when you go for your safety, the reliable rock, while michael just had to go for paper you groan, throwing your head back.
looking back at him he's grinning at the way your shoulders are slightly slouched, "out of three?" you attempt, wiggling your eyebrows at the father.
an airy chuckle passes from his lips, "i've woken the lil' dragon everyday this week, by time i've gotten to wake the princess."
you and michael started referring to prince as little dragon when it comes to waking him up in the morning. he's stubborn, and it's hard to get the boy up and out of bed without persistent gentle pats and rubs to the head or back and encouraging words. you two try to hold off on turning the lights on in the kids room to get the up, finding it too abrupt, so more times than not the only light is either from the hallway or the raising sun through the curtains. while little miss paris is a dream to wake up, all it takes is a warm hand circling her back that gets her up and stretching in bed.
everyone knows that michael captures everything when it comes to his kids. from home videos, sports events, recital, anything, he finds it worthy of being caught on film.
and that includes the hard days. blanket had come down with cold that had only made abnormally fussy, and you would be lying if you said you weren't relieved when michael returned home. because entertaining prince and paris while maintaining blanket's symptoms and staying on top of his doses and still making sure that the two old kids don't get too close to blanket as siblings do so they don't fall sick as well.
michael took over for the evening essentially, he was with blanket for a little bit before you thought about how if anyone can get sick from being in close proximity to blanket it should probably be you, so you two swapped while he wore down the older kids and got them settled for the night.
while he was handling bath and bed time you were able to give blanket some purée that michael request the chef to make in batches and a bottle along with a night dose of medication. and instead of retreating back to couch that you've been on for most of the day, you retreated to blanket's nursery. sighing when you're tired body hits the rocking chair, instantly getting into the subconscious movement of rocking the infant to sleep. and in doing so you're own eyelids get heavy with each blink.
unknowingly michael had been looking for you after putting both prince and paris to bed. it takes him returning to the hallway where the kid's rooms reside to notice you and blanket in the rocker, watching the gentle movements of the rubs you're giving blanket's back. he doesn't fully know how to process how or what he's thinking, and to be honest michael hasn't been able to form a full solid opinion on you since the day you met. not that that's bad, you just seem too good to be true, and the way at which you deeply care for his children only confuses him more. knowing what it means for them to reach their development milestones along with ensuring that they are healthily expressing themselves both identity wise and emotionally. and it doesn't help that you're smart, one of the old family you nannied for during high school being generous enough to fund you going to school for psychology, and beautiful, your go to outfit being jeans with either a loose t-shirt or sweater it's effortless but pull it off too well and often more times than not you opt to have your curls up and away from blanket's strong grip.
and he knows it isn't right to develop a crush? or a deep admiration for his nanny, it gets in the way of you being able to do you job and it gets in the way of michael being able to form coherent thoughts around you, not to mention that he's twenty years your senior. he's kept it at bay since you started working, but he can't help but have the reason of why you split with your previous family you worked for loom over her head, the reason being that the kids you cared for just got too old for a nanny, entering adolescence. and although it was a mutual decision between you and the family, he doesn't think he could ever come to the conclusion that him and his children won't need you.
pulling himself out of his thoughts he retreats and returns with his camcorder. catching the sweet moment as a forever memory, just in case there is every a time you decide to leave, maybe to leave to pursue further education (although michael would happily fund it and keep you employed at the same time) or to start your own family (which he secretly dreads), for the kids to have moments they can look back on with you in them.
you who start staying later than you need to. masking it in the disguise of wanting to help michael with whatever chore is left, which is true, but you also selfishly enjoy the alone time with michael. the nights where you stay and help pick up toys and put them back and arrange them, which sometimes turn into small fights between you and michael when either one of you throw a stuffed animal at each other and quickly turn your backs before the other turns around. or the quieter nights spent listening to the jazz station on the radio as michael washes the dishes while you dry them. it's chores that you and michael really don't have to do, he has cleaners.
prince can pursued anyone, including his father and you. which is exactly how sleepovers became a special occasion.
the hard bargaining wasn't even getting his father to say yes, it was michael having to tell blanket that you may have something you'd want to do for yourself or with friends instead of having a sleepover with them.
which was a hard pill to swallow for both, but prince still being young ran from his father and straight to you. collapsing into you arms with tears brimming in his eyes, "please have a sleepover with us," his small voice messing up the pronouncement of a few words from pushing his face into your sweater, smoothing a gentle hand through the boy's hair to regulate him.
upon looking up to search for michael, he's already there, a hand on his hip, "he wan's y'to stay 'nd have a sleepover, but i told him that y'may have plans," he explains, walking over and trying to pull the boy from off of you, but he clings to your waist.
looking down at only the peek of blonde hair, you frown then smile, looking back at michael, "'m free friday night so i really don't mind."
"you really don-"
"'s alright, michael. and besides, haven't you been wanting to build that jumbo fort, prince?"
the mention of a fort and his name has prince pulling himself back from where he hides his face against your stomach, hands still crumpled in the material of your sweater. "yeah," it's quiet and meek as he nods his head.
you hand falls from his head down to his rosy cheek to wipe his tears streaks, "then no more cryin', we've get to look forward to friday."
which is exactly how you spent a friday night building the biggest fort you have every built with michael and the kids, the night entailing movies and ice cream and books and flashlight shows.
michael who has selfish thoughts whenever you're around. often during mealtimes when the five of you intertwine hands to bless the food.
he knows it's wrong to fantasize about the five of you being a real family whenever you arrive extra early just because you promised the kids special pancakes.
michael shuffles into the kitchen, expected to see the chef, which he does, but they're off to the side chopping fruits while you're the one at the stove. the sound of your name falling softly from michael's tongue has you looking up.
and he knows he's beyond gone when the wide smile that spreads across your face gives him butterflies, because it shouldn't.
"want a pancake?" you ask, as michael moves closer, turning your head back to pan to pay attention.
"wha' are you doin' this for?" he's close enough to you for you to feel his breath on your neck and for him to smell the faint scent of your perfume mixing with the scent of your hair products.
"for the kids," of course it is he thinks, peering down into the pan to see various sizes of pancake shapes, "gonna turn them into designs, like a monkey or somethin'" you explain, flipping the pancakes once their tops get all bubbly.
and when that's done you turn your head again, as best you can with michael close in your proximity, he might as well be glued to your back. "d'you want a pancake?" asking the father again as the two of you lock eyes.
"yeah, i'll take a pancake."
your head swiftly nods and once again focuses back on the pancakes. hearing shuffles of michael's feet and no longer feeling the presence of his body close to yours, "gonna go wake up the kids for breakfas'."
michael who secretly refers to paris and you as his girls.
all three of his children are blessings, but there was nothing more exciting than to find out he was having a daughter. and now with you in their lives he's thankful to have such a positive and strong woman figure in their lives.
lingering around in the mornings, body pressed against the bathroom doorframe as he watches you do paris's hair for the day as she sits on the bathroom counter. he can do his daughter's hair, but mostly just in simple plates and ponytails, while you can do the more detailed hairstyles.
and he loves nothing more than to come home and notice that the two of you has a dress up day. either by the colorful marks on your face and the precise blends of color on paris's or by paris running into her father's arms right when he steps through the door to show off her nails that you painted while he later notices the messy marks of nail polish on your nails and the surrounding skin at dinner.
michael who keeps a polaroid of you and the kids in his wallet. one taken on blanket's first birthday that he cherishes whenever he's away. often tracing a too large finger over your faces, missing the cheerful chaos of the kids and you no matter he's at a buzzing event or a quiet hotel.
the four of you are all wearing tiny birthday hats for blanket's birthday party. the birthday sits calmly in your lap while michael attempts to direct the old two around.
"no, prince, on her other side," his voice already defeated as the young boy keeps wanting to pose his own way.
"i wanna d'it like this though," prince pouts, moving to stand right behind where you sit on the floor and throw his small arms over your neck and hook his chin over your shoulder.
"let him be," you muse through a small grin that you shoot michael, the two of you know that prince is going to win the battle either way.
"okay, paris," just when he starts paris settles against your side, removing a secure hand around blanket's belly and using it to wrap around paris and pull he snug under your arm, "good, good," clicking his fingers together to get blanket's attention facing forward.
"everyone say happy first birthday, blanket."
and when it's said and the four of you are all smiling at the end, there's a click, that encases the memory forever.