Michael couldn't believe it. He had the prettiest girl he had ever seen sitting on his lap, with your slender fingers tracing circles on his sun-kissed, exposed chest, listening to him ramble on about one of his personal thoughts. That's what he liked most about you: you never made him feel like he was odd or bizarre for the things he adored. California was delightful this time of year, with cloudless, slow, hot days spent wrapped up in each other's arms.
“Tink, can I tell you something—never mind…It’s stupid.” Michael says, hiding his blushing face into your neck. You didn’t like it when he did that, made himself smaller like his thoughts didn’t matter. In reality, they meant the world to you. You tenderly lift his face from your neck. “No…,” you dragged out, curiosity lingering in your voice, “Let me know what’s on your mind, angel face.”
Michael presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, playing with the hem of your shorts, caressing the soft skin. “I have an idea. A great one, mama.”
“Let’s hear it.”
He adjusts you on his lap, clearing his throat. “I want to do a film, I think it’s going to be great. You’ll be there, of course. I jus’ want to get away from music for a bit and get more into acting.”
You smile at him, “That sounds great, Michael!” A light bulb sparks in your head. “I’m sure I know a few people who could help. I know they won't mind!”
Michael can remember the first day he met you. Waiting in the lobby, peeking up from the page of his magazine, eyes following your lace kitten heels clicking against the linoleum floors of Motown Records—everything about you drew him in. Michael yearned for an experience of a fulfilling, passionate connection.
Passing him by walking into your dad’s office, as if he had been blessed, his longings answered. You waved at him. A small, simple wave.
It was rare to see someone who didn't merely see him as a celebrity but as a person, which brought out an unfamiliar side of him.
Michael grinning at you virtually instantly, pressing a kiss upon your lips. “My girl, looking out for me.”
“Oh, I’m your girl now?” You smirked.
You feathered your fingers, tickling Michael’s ribs. “Stop, Tink! You know I'm ticklish!” he says, squirming away from your attack.
He really relished the days like this. “You’re so funny, y’know,” He says, adjusting you so you're sitting fully on his lap. “Why thank you, Mr. Jackson, my soon-to-be-million-dollar Hollywood man!”
It was the cutest thing—the sight of your incredibly beautiful, flustered boyfriend. The “M” engraved heart-shaped necklace, sat perched on your clavicle—a gift, a reminder of your love. You throw your arms around his shoulders, wildly peppering kisses on his face. “C'mon, angel, show me that Hollywood smile!”
His face heats up with every wavering moment, failing to repress his smile. Just him and his girl. Michael wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
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I’m going to say this once and never again. If you don’t agree with me, you’re more than welcome to unfollow and block me. I’m also not a chicken and will be tagging exactly who I’m talking about because this is honestly ridiculous.
I’m going to preface this by saying this isn’t to cause drama or get likes. My account is garnering plenty of engagement from my writing and my personal posts already. This is merely for educational purposes and to shed light on an issue that’s infested the internet for years. This is also NOT just about the MJ fandom but I’m using it as an example because it’s happened here. Again, if you don’t agree with me, unfollow or block me!
I recently followed an account under the impression that they were a black owned blog. Their layout, use of AAVE and black oriented reaction pictures made me believe that I found another black writer to support. But I learned that the owner is a white women.
I want to follow more black writers here to uplift them in a space that is heavily biased against black fans. Situations surrounding belittling black writers in the MJ community have been rampant for a while now so I take it upon myself to support and follow fellow black writers who represent me and many black MJ fans who have felt underrepresented in the fandom.
Back to the issue. Finding out that this account is a white woman behind the scenes upset me quite a bit. I genuinely believed she was one of us and was combating the racial problem within the fandom. That being said, I’d like to point out why this is more than just a ‘I feel scammed’ situation and more about digital dishonesty.
Digital blackface is a massive issues in online communities across the internet. It’s a conversation that has been ongoing for years now, even before I was on the internet. Many people outside of the black diaspora have downplayed it as a problem, stating that free speech shouldn’t be considered black fishing or harmful towards black communities. However, I would like to point out that Digital Blackface is more than just using ‘black media’ to express yourself, it directly impacts how the world views black peoples as a whole.
Accounts on Tumblr and other platforms have popped up pretending to be black people since conception of social media. They use Ebonics and black reaction pictures/gifs as a means of communication which often time leads to real black-owned accounts believing that they are interacting with black people. In hindsight, one would merely say “well it’s not their fault you thought they were black,” and that is exactly the problem.
As I said before, I follow black blogs to uplift my people. The internet is riddled with racism directly impacting black communities. We get called the hard r, monkeys, ghetto, nasty, undesirable etc and platforms don’t bat an eye. Racism towards us is so normalised that it’s bled into every internet fandom. So you see why black people online gravitate towards each other? Because we want a safe space for ourselves. We want to appreciate each other, dote on each other, love, respect and support each other’s art.
How do black folk know that an account is black owned? We use Ebonics, black media and black phrases that only we would know. So you can imagine how disheartening it is to find out that an account using such media would be a white woman behind it.
Nonblack POC or white person reading this might not understand the gravity of this situation but I implore you to read up on it and take time to fully understand why it’s upsetting.
Terms like ‘the saxophones are getting louder” “goofy ahh” “I’m crine” “unc” “Deadass” are AAVE/Ebonics. Finding them on TikTok and incorporating them into your online vocabulary when you’re not apart of that community is a form of digital blackface and cultural appropriation. It’s not Gen Z slang or TikTok slang and it’s not a funny audio just for vibes. It’s BLSCK AMERICAN language.
I’m not BA and I do use Ebonics here and there but I avoid incorporating it into my speech when I don’t understand how to use it properly. And I don’t use much of it because, again, I’m NOT black American. Black Americans have been kind enough to even let black people outside of the United States use their language and I don’t even want them to think that I’m being irresponsible with that privilege.
Now in regards to this situation. I don’t want to hear things like “Michael was for everyone.” Although that was true, you would be really stupid to believe that Michael didn’t understand that black people were/are the most marginalised and racially abused people on the planet. This man grew up in undoubtedly the most racially divided time in USA history. He even spoke out about the industry steals from “especially black artists”. He was aware that black art is abused for white financial and political gain. Black media (whether it be music or simply reaction photos) is art.
So why position yourself in a way that make you appear to us as a black woman @michaelmuse ? Your entire aesthetic is based in a way that draws in a black audience. You use black faces as reaction pics and Ebonics but you draw the line at reblogging black fanfics when you know that this site favours reblogs over comments and likes.
Your previous username (ebonymuse) in itself is indicative of the issue I’m discussing here. ‘Ebony’ is a term primarily used to describe black people. Urban dictionary defines it as “the essence of dark skin that is enriched and plentiful with melanin. greatness. beauty”. It’s even a common term used to define a porn category for to black people. Now the term itself is constantly being critiqued for bordering on being a fetish term, however, you see how it’s for black people? Dark skin people to be exact?
So why is a white woman with white ass skin using that term in their username? I’m a black woman with albinism and even I wouldn’t use that term. Why? Because it isn’t not for my pasty self.
I’ve read some of your fics and this has nothing to do with me wanting diversity or inclusion from you, nor is it to hate on your work. You do use Ebonics in your work so I’m sure you knew that your fics would attract black readers to your blog. Your behaviour (whether you did it intentionally or not) was deceptive and potentially harmful to my community. You need to educate yourself on the contents of this conversation to fully understand how bad this situation actually is. There’s no way you’ve been on the internet and didn’t know that black Americans have been begging nonblack (especially white) folk to stop using their media as your own or as ‘a silly tend’ or to be relatable.
I’ve seen a few black British blogs come to your defence and I’m bewildered to see them pandering for a white woman about something that affects black people as a whole. I myself am not Black American but I will stand by them when their culture and language is diluted and turned into a ‘trend’ for everyone else to steal and appropriate. It’s wrong and it impacts us all. White people (even other POC) don’t separate us. They see one fake black account say stupid things and assume that’s how all of us feel/act. I understand that the UK is differently set up but your low racial self esteem is affecting us all. You let white Brits walk all over you and your culture and you just laugh along like it’s funny. This is why racism there will never end. You let white footballer wear braids, let white folk use AAVE and flat out call your Afros messy and you think it’s not that serious. Stand up. Immediately.
You guys really need to do better. Stop misconstruing Michael’s words to get away with disrespecting black people. You’re becoming just as bad as those who racially attacked him.
“How do you feel about this one, angel eyes?” You ask, showing him another costume idea. Michael gazes at the vibrant sketches spread across your desk, each one filled with intricate designs that showcase your creativity. He leans back against your plush leather couch, his brow furrowed in concentration. His stance reflects deep contemplation—arms folded tightly across his chest, as if pondering the essence of what his iconic outfit should embody. He needed something special, something that would do the video some justice.
“Well, I really like the jacket for sure, Tink. But I’m not so sure about the hat,” he replies thoughtfully, his eyes still scanning the designs.
“Hm…You’re right; let’s lose the hat then!” you exclaim, a spark of inspiration hitting you. With that, you carefully set the drawing aside, placing it among the others. Creating costumes for Michael was more than “just making clothes”—it was expression, a way to share your passion with the light of your life. As you watch Michael flip through the many drawings on your desk, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement.
Michael pauses, finger hovering over a particular illustration that captured his attention. “Do you have this one?” He says, beckoning you over with a flick of his fingers. The drawing displays a slender figure clad in a striking studded crimson jacket. While he adjusts himself comfortably on your bed, you rummage through the endless catalogue, glancing out of the corner of your eye in search of that standout outfit.
And then, like a miracle emerging from the depths, you find it.
“Got it!” You declare triumphantly, carefully pulling the ensemble out so he can admire it fully.
“Do you like it?” You ask, holding it out for him to take.
He glides his hand over the jacket, fascinated, tracing every detail down to the zippers. “I really do, mama. I like this one a lot,” he says, his voice filled with admiration. The pieces were finally starting to come together. “It’s perfect.”
"A star can never die. It just turns into a smile and melts back into the cosmic music, the dance of life"
Destiny has a cruel way of making us come to reality, and leaving us without you is that hurtful reality. It pains me, but I know you're at peace now, the one that you deserved for so long, the one that was taken away from you since you were a child. We try to make your legacy a beautiful thing, even when others try to take it down; your memory lives in our minds and hearts. You make the sky sparkle, and now I celebrate you. I love you, applehead.
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┊ ♡ ﹒ summary : michael wants to be mister big man for the night and thinks he can handle giving you back shots for the first time.. tell me why he can’t, girl. he has to pack it up. and swiftly.
┊ ♡ ﹒ byi : smut, mdni! michael being a fake ass dom! 😭, reader is very curvy/thick (lots of body descriptions, fattest pussy ever award winner), implied experienced reader, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, premature ejaculation, accidental creampie, playing around with power dynamics, use of the word “daddy” but in a “those you get it, get it” way. branding if you squint. girl idk!
Michael had decided the rarest thing in the world was a quiet house, but not a house where everyone was asleep or a house where everyone had gone out for an hour. A genuinely empty house where no television was running somewhere in the distance, no siblings were wandering in and out of rooms, no doors were opening and closing, and nobody was shouting for somebody else from across the property.
Just the two of you.
“I think this is the longest we’ve ever been alone in this house.” You giggled, swinging one leg idly from your spot on the kitchen counter.
Michael glanced over his shoulder from the sink with a little hum of a smile. “I wish it was like this all the time..” The admission comes easily, absentmindedly even.
He stood at the sink with his sleeves rolled up, dutifully washing dishes because you’d cooked a nice little dinner for him. The steady sound of running water and the occasional clink of dishes made you smile to yourself—he looks so cute.
You hop down from the counter and Michael barely has time to register the movement before your arms are sliding around his waist from behind.
“Hey,” He laughs softly.
You press your cheek against the back of his shoulder before rising onto your tiptoes, reaching just high enough to press a kiss against his cheek.
“Thank you for doing the dishes, angel baby.”
A shy smile tugs at his mouth as he ducks his head a little toward the sink, suddenly finding the plate in his hands very interesting.
“..Well, you cooked for me..” He says softly.
“Mhmm~ ♪ ” You nod, peeking over to smile at his profile.
“So.. I’m doing the dishes for you.” Another kiss is pressed against his cheek at his words.
“You’re sweet.” His ears are hot now, he never really got used to your affection. Every time feels like the first time. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you my sweet angel?” You tickle under his arms and the laugh that leaves him is bright and completely involuntary, shoulders jumping toward his ears as he clamps his arms tightly against his sides.
“Stop it!” The words come out between laughs, Michael twisting away just enough to escape your hands before inevitably ending up right back where he started, wrapped up in you.
You settle against his back again with a satisfied little hum, arms around his waist. After a second, you lean forward and bite his shoulder through the sweater
“Hey.” The protest is immediate, though there’s no real conviction behind it.
You smile against the fabric. “Hmm?” You tighten your arms around his waist, your cheek brushing his shoulder as he reaches for another plate.
“..Besides, I like doin’ things for my lady.”
“Oh, yeah? Your lady?” You repeat with a grin.
Michael hums and one of your hands slips beneath the hem of his sweater, acrylics finding warm skin as you scratch lightly across his stomach, feeling him suck in a small breath. Your hands were always cold when you were here.
You smile against his shoulder and a shy grin pulls at the corner of his mouth despite himself.
“Mm.. I like that, baby.” You say, hand still running along his soft skin.
“Well, you are..” He’s drying a cup with a rag
“I’m what?”
Michael shrugs one shoulder. “My lady.”
He’s halfway through drying his hands when you hook two fingers into the collar of his sweater and tug him towards you as you lean back against the kitchen island, still smiling at him.
He stumbles a half step closer, blinking down at you.
“I like when you claim me like that, daddy.” You chew on your bottom lip, running a hand down the side of his face before caressing his chin.
Michael’s entire face changes: his eyes squeeze shut and a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh escapes him.
“Don’t.. call me that dirty stuff..” The words come out awkward, almost scandalized.
“What’s the matter?” You tilt your head, running your hands down his chest. “Big man..”
Here’s the thing about Michael.
Michael.. likes taking care of you, loves it even. That itself isn’t particularly groundbreaking—anyone who spends five minutes around him could figure that out. He likes carrying things when your hands are full. He likes opening doors. He likes hearing you call for him from another room because you need help with something. He likes being useful to you in a way that feels embarrassingly earnest. Somewhere along the way, usefulness and affection became tangled together until he stopped being able to tell where one ended and the other began.
And it isn’t as though the idea appeared out of nowhere. Michael grew up around men born in a certain generation, and men always seemed to have very strong opinions about how other men were supposed to act. Most of it came from his father and brothers. The latter didn’t have malicious intent. It was just the endless background noise of older brothers who found his softness endearing, but amusing. Michael was too nice. Too polite. Too easy. Michael let girls get away with murder. Michael needed to be tougher. More assertive. Less shy. The comments were usually followed by laughter and a head lock, but that didn’t stop them from sticking somewhere in the back of his mind.
So as he got older, the idea lingered. Not as some conscious mission to reinvent himself, but as a quiet curiosity about what adulthood was supposed to look like. What being a boyfriend was supposed to look like. Sometimes he found himself reaching for a version of masculinity that seemed to come naturally to other men. More decisive, confident and more certain of itself. And lately, with you, he’d been.. experimenting with it in harmless little ways. A hand at your back guiding you through a crowd. Taking charge of small decisions. Calling you my lady when the affection got ahead of his self consciousness.
The thing was, all of that felt very manageable when it lived inside his own head. But then.. you looked up at him, smiling, and said something, something “I like when you claim me like that, daddy.” And suddenly the entire arrangement collapsed.
Because of what it meant.
Because in one sentence you’d revealed that you had noticed. You’d noticed him trying. Noticed the possessive little note hidden inside my lady. Noticed the confidence he’d been attempting to grow into. Worse, you seemed to genuinely like it.
That was the part he wasn’t prepared for.
Michael could imagine himself being more assertive. He could imagine himself being the sort of man who knew exactly what he was doing. Those fantasies were safe because they belonged entirely to him. They required nothing. Risked nothing. But now you were looking at him like you believed it a little. Like you had taken that tentative confidence at face value and decided to encourage it.
And for one dizzying second, Michael finds himself trapped between two versions of himself. The first is the man he’s been trying to become: calm, confident, capable of handling the way you’re looking at him without blinking. The second is the boy currently standing in his kitchen with burning ears and a racing heart because the second you treated him like that man, he realized he might be in over his head.
The worst part is that he likes it. He likes the approval in your voice, likes being seen as someone strong enough to take care of you..
So now he’s forced into the humiliating position of trying to act like Mister Big Shot over here while every instinct in his body is screaming. Trying to keep his shoulders squared and his expression composed while his pulse is hammering in his throat. Trying to look like he belongs in the role you’ve handed him when, in reality, he is discovering that being treated like a confident man is significantly more intimidating than pretending to be one.
Which is why he couldn’t possibly say no to you when you were whispering so sweetly in his ear that you want something he’s never done before.
Because now this was an opportunity to admit he had no idea what he was doing, and another opportunity to pretend he did.
Michael’s penis, unfortunately, found the second option extremely tempting.
So he nods a little too quickly. “..Okay.” The answer leaves his mouth before his courage has a chance to catch up with it.
You take his hand, fingers sliding into his as you look up at him with heart eyes. Your bottom lip is tucked between your pearly teeth, “C’mon..” You say softly.
“I—” He starts, then stops immediately because he doesn’t actually know what he was going to argue against.
You’re already walking and the kitchen light falls away behind you as you guide him out, past the quiet hallway.
By the time you reach the stairs, he asks a stupid question. “Where are we going?” He asks.
You look back at him over your shoulder and smile. “Upstairs, silly..”
You guide him up the stairs, each step making your thick thighs flex under those clingy little shorts. The fabric over your ass is this close to splitting—seams straining as your supple flesh jiggles with every ascent, cheeks spilling from under the bottom.
Thar soft layer of padding of your tummy peeks out where your baby doll tee rides up just an inch or two. Every curve is exaggerated now, tits heavy and full beneath the flimsy top that clings for dear life. From here he can see the little “ℳ ” you got tatted right below the dimples on your lower back.
It wasn’t planned, but seeing it right there on you.so casually displayed while you climb those stairs..? It ignites something in him and pride swells hot under his ribs. That little letter isn’t just ink, it’s ownership stamped delicately into soft skin and the best part is.. she doesn’t hide it. She’s proud of it.
His confidence flickers to life like a match struck, so sudden and bright. Maybe.. maybe he really can do this?
This is his lady.
His.
Aaand for all the confidence he had, it’s gone when he has you up in his room. The air thickens as he takes in the sight of you sprawled across the bed—bare, save for the cotton fabric clinging to your hips.
You’re propped up on your elbows, eyes locking onto his with intent—dark and fathomless, pupils blown wide enough to swallow him whole. He feels like you’re not just looking at him but you’re devouring him, leaving no space for him to doubt or retreat between where you lie and where he stands frozen at edge of mattress. Every curve is exposed now, full breasts rising slowly with your breaths, thighs pressed together but already parting slightly—an invitation without words needed.
And then he sees it.
The wedgie on full display, panties in losing the battle.
Your fat folds devour the fabric, sucking it inward like a hungry mouth. The delicate material stretches taut across your plushness, struggling to contain what’s beneath: a soft pussy spilling over and around. Heavy inner thighs press tight together without thinking, sandwiching the wet spot into an even more pronounced bulge against thin cotton as you try to silence the heartbeat of your clit.
It looks obscene—how much your body is consuming the thin garment. The crotch seam rides deep between you; not just damp but soaked through with evidence of how badly you want this moment to unfold.
The air reeks of musk now, a raw, feminine hunger so potent it makes his throat dry. Your eyes never leave him though, not even when your hips lift slightly off the bed like an offering when his slender fingers hook into the waistband and pulls them down your thighs.
“Can I—” He stops himself. “‘M gonna eat it..” His voice is barely above a whisper. You tilt your head at him and give him a knowing smile that makes his hands shake with adrenaline. For the first time ever, he’s told you what he’s going to do versus asking you.
And u don’t even need to speak, the slow roll of your hips in answer says everything. A silent hurry.
Michael is so fucking hard that he doesn’t know if stalling with hurt or help him at this point. His entire body is thrumming, cock straining painfully against his boxer briefs, the fabric digging in just enough to border on torture. He doesn’t want to cum too fast.. he’s had issues with that in the past but tonight is different.
Tonight he’s fucking you from behind and he’s so nervous.
He remembers your hands guiding his head between your thighs months ago, teaching him exactly where and how to press his tongue against your pussy before sinking his fingers into you properly. The lesson flashes behind his eyes as he licks upward in one long stripe, tasting salt sweet arousal smeared across your lips.
Michael moans against you when you part those folds just enough for him at first, warm breath ghosting over slick skin while fingertips dig into soft flesh.
Oh, fuck.. he looks up at you with those wide, Bambi eyes—long lashes fluttering every time he drags his tongue through your folds. The contrast is maddening, that sweet faced devotion on a man who’s currently feasting on you like it's his last meal.
His cheeks are flushed hot; spit and arousal smearing across his chin as he licks deeper. Every little noise he makes, whimpers or muffled groans, vibrates against your clit in the most delicious way.
You love this: how helplessly hard he is while worshipping at your altar with nothing but kittenish stares and clumsy devotion. It makes something primal curl in your stomach when those lash fringed eyes lock onto yours just to see if you’re watching him because your approval still means everything to him.
“Oh, my gosh, baby..” You whine, reaching down to cup his chin as you roll your hips onto his face. “Makin’ me feel so good..”
The sudden shift hits him suddenly because one second he’s buried between your thighs, the next you’re gently guiding him up by his chin. Your lips crash into hus, still wet and swollen from eating you—tasting of sweetness as you kiss him deep. The moment breaks when your words register:
“But I wanna cum on that cock.”
A shudder wracks through him. That cock? The one currently aching so badly it’s embarrassing? The one straining against fabric like a prisoner begging for release? Oh. That cock.
The moment fractures whatever composure he was trying to keep.
He thought that there would be time. A period of anticipation, where he could mentally prepare himself. But you move with lethal grace, flipping onto your hands and knees in one fluid motion dismissing all pretense.
Your spine curves into a perfect arc; an offering carved from flesh. The sheer weight of what you present to him is overwhelming—the swell of the hip leading to the fat of your ass. Your hand slides beneath yourself, fingers parting the swollen folds and opening a sacred text meant only for him alone.
A sharp inhale betrays him and his body reacts before reason can intervene, already leaking against fabric. Your cheek presses into the mattress—squished, almost childlike in how you’re smiling. Lips caught between your teeth, a single dimple popping on one side as you watches him over your shoulder with half lidded amusement.
Michael thinks you could be posing for some sinful Renaissance painting right now.. all plump lips bitten to hold back laughter, eyes dark with mischief while presenting yourself like an unholy altar just for him.
His fingers tremble as they hook into the waistband of his underwear, peeling them down with a shyness that’s almost endearing. He’s exposed now, dick standing up on its own as every nervous breath id visible in the way his chest rises.
Goodness, you’re just.. there’s so.. much—all warm flesh and soft curves where he can barely see past.
For a second, he just stares—overwhelmed by you, eyes drinking in the swell of your ass beneath him, those parted lips glistening, it short circuits coherent thought. He cups one cheek with his palm before lining himself up with your slit, tentative pressure as he nudges forward.
A gasp escapes you both when heat finally meets heat and suddenly there’s no turning back now.
The first inch sinks in and his entire body jerks..
His cock pulses violently inside you, twitching with every shallow breath, every micro movement of your walls clenching around him. It’s not smooth, it’s frantic like his dick has a mind of its own and is begging to thrust deeper even as the rest of him trembles from sensory overload.
A broken sound escapes his throat, somewhere between a whimper and a groan as he bottoms out slowly, each new millimeter met with another involuntary spasm from that overstimulated length.
He isn’t thinking about anything else right now, just the white hot intensity: how tight, how warm, how perfectly you take him.
This position..
Standing behind you, hands gripping your hips—he feels it, He feels power of this angle. The way his cock disappears into you with every shallow thrust, how your body yields beneath him like clay under a sculptor’s palm.
It makes him feel filthy, a man using what he wants. It coils hot in his gut—the part of him that likes knowing he could pin you down harder if either of them wanted it rougher. It’s dirty.
Every thrust punches a wet sound through the room—no hiding how deeply he bottoms out, how thoroughly he’s using you for this moment.
It makes him feel like a caveman, sweat dripping down his temple, teeth bared in focus so he doesn’t cum so soon. The slap of skin on skin drowns out rational thought; all that's left is the slick heat squeezing around him and her ass jiggling obscenely with every snap of his pelvis.
You start fucking him back, the shit leaving your mouth is lethal. The shift is instant—rolling your hips back to impale yourself deeper on him. There’s gentleness now just raw, grinding friction as you ride his cock like it’s yours. Each backward thrust drives him impossibly further into that sweet spot inside you, the one that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back. The slap of skin echoes louder this way, more obscene.
“Fuck, daddy..” You grit through your teeth.
...You know what you’re doing.
The second that word leaves your lips again, his world stops.
His eyes slam shut, body going rigid as every muscle locks: biceps trembling where they grip your hips, thighs burning with tension. The sheer power of that word unravels him in ways he’s never.. anticipated.
Because this? This isn’t some kink for him—it’s a fucking revelation. A man who’s spent his life being called weak, too soft, a boy, too nice.. but now.. now you’re branding him something else entirely with just one filthy syllable.
He can feel it: that thick cock pulsing inside you like a live wire when you ride back onto it, your pussy taking what belongs to him. His breath comes in ragged bursts; jaw clenched so tight it aches. A broken groan rips from his throat as pleasure coils violently low in his stomach, too fast to stop now.
His hands grip to your waist not guiding anymore, just clinging because he cannot physically pretend to have this under control. “Oh—don’t stop! (Name), baby.. please, don’t stop! Don’t, don’t stop!”
“Michael.. You feel ’s good stuffing me full of that fuckin’ dick..” The words slither down his spine, his gaze falls to the “ℳ ” on your lower back.
Unfortunately, that’s a trigger he didn’t know he had until now.
“Oh—no, no, no.. no, no..” His balls tighten instantly; a coil snapping without warning, just pure reflex taking over as pleasure crests violently. A choked gasp escapes him before he can stop it; hips jerking erratically as the first hot pulse surges inside you.. and then another, and another.
The realization hits him a second too late. His hips jerk backward hard as the last few hot stripes of cum paint your lower back where they drip down toward the curve of your ass.
A ragged whine tears from his throat as he watches it happen—helpless to stop himself. The sight is obscene: pearly ropes sliding between the swell of you while his own spend starts leaking out from where he was buried moments ago.
It’s mortifying and exactly what he didn’t want to happen.
You giggle, looking back at him. “What happened, my love?”
“I.. I didn’t mean to.” Oh, he’s embarrassed.
So embarrassed that he couldn’t look you in the eye until the next morning.
synopsis: you and michael have been together since you could ever remember, as the two of you grew up micheal decided to dedicate his life to knighthood. leaving the particularly sensitively stubborn princess to rely of the orchestrated courtship’s of your mother—the Queen.
warning: the queen isn’t very nice.. per say, traumatic experiences, fluff, smut, oral sex, ANGST, crying(?), j*e mention, mikey’s eyes get a little green 👀, consensual sex, semi-accurate time period sexism (“how a proper princess should behave”), corny jokes, michael and y/n lowkey trauma bond, slight innuendos.
word count: 2.6k+
a/n: michael has bewitched my heart and i’m on my period so i had to make you feel my misery (just a little bit)
“Your Highness! It's the Queen!”
Michael’s voice rang out sharply as he swung your chamber door open with a deliberate scrape. You quickly turn into your bed, sinking deeper into the warmth of your blanket, seeking comfort. “A few more minutes, please, Michael?” you plead softly, your voice muffled by the pillow. He would be lying if he said he didn’t have a soft spot for you. Michael walks over to your carefully arranged courting dress, “I’m not so sure about that, princess. There’s a lot on your agenda today,” he says with a teasing voice, a glint of playfulness in his eyes.
You stretch slowly, loosening the tension in your muscles. The anticipation of being the future of your kingdom weighed laboriously on your shoulders. The point in having to be “given away” to a stranger for the sake of keeping kingdoms together irritated you to no end. Besides, you had many more strengths that interested you rather than being someone's pawn.
“Tell me, my dear knight, has the Queen informed you that you’d be accompanying me to town today?”
Michael raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement lingering in his expression. He knew one thing for certain about the Queen: she insisted on strict standards for how a young woman and princess should carry herself—venturing outside the castle into the village? Absolutely not. "I’d have to check with her about that," he said with a sly grin. You roll your eyes at him, sensing the unspoken challenge behind his words.
“You're my knight, you're supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side.”
“Then take me out to the village.”
Michael smiles at your usual teasing antics. “You're one of the most stubborn, hard-headed princesses I’ve ever come across,” he says with a grin. He walks over to the entrance and gestures toward your dressed mannequin. “The day is calling. I’m off to the Great Hall and will be waiting for you there, Your Highness,” he says with a smile, closing the door behind him.
—
Later that evening, preparations for what would be the most important day of your life as proper royalty began. You sat at your vanity as your chambermaid, Teresa, helped you get dressed. The plum-colored fabric of your gown fits you perfectly. Teresa helped you style your hair into an intricate braid before grabbing a small brush to apply rouge to your cheekbones.
Thoughts drifted to Michael. For as long as you could remember, beneath everything, you had wondered how he truly felt about courtships. Did he share your feelings? Would you ever find out? Before Michael decided to become a knight, he almost worshiped the ground you walked on. As kids, given that you both come from influential families, friendship was almost destined.
“Arms up, Milady!” Teresa said, adjusting the fabrics on your embroidered gown once more. You raised your arm as the final touches were complete. Everything was flawless. Teresa guides you to the full-length mirror, its large, intricate wooden frame carved with your house sigil. “Very beautiful, Your Highness,” she says softly. You tilt your head with a small, appreciative smile, gloved hands gliding over your skirt. As you gaze into the mirror, your mind can't help but drift to the upcoming ceremony, expectations mulling over. Teresa brushes her hands off on her apron, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, her touch reassuring you, “You’ll be fine, speak to him before you go,” she murmurs, her eyes filled with emotion and concern.
You glance over to see Michael standing in the entrance of your room. With clasped hands, you walk up to Michael slowly, standing before him. The light that illuminated the room reflected off the striking jewels that decorated your gown. Michael grabs your hand and places a soft kiss on it.
“You look lovely tonight, my princess.”
“And you too, my handsome knight.”
Michael shies away, looking down at his polished dress shoes. His outfit was exquisite, his house sigil pinned on his suit jacket right beside yours. His curls are perfectly styled, accentuating his flawless face and stunning, clear, expressive doe eyes, which hold a hint of vulnerability.
He links his arm with yours, a slight, saddened look etched on his face, guiding you gently to the grand entrance way of the Great Hall. How could he bear not having you around anymore? All his life, every moment, every memory, all he has ever known was you.
—
You scramble happily around the lush gardens of the castle as Michael playfully chases you. Laughter bubbled in the air as both of your moms stood to the side, their faces delighted, watching the innocent chaos before them. The soft grass tickles the soles of your feet as you run away from Michael. Suddenly, you tumble to the ground, taking him down with you. You stare at each other before letting out a laugh.
“Michael?”
“Yeah?”
You sit up slowly, pressing your palms into the cool, dew-kissed grass, fingers nervously fidgeting with a blade of grass between them. "Will you stay at the castle today?”
He sits upright, aligning himself with your position. “Yes, well, I don't see myself leaving any time soon. Besides, your horses would miss me.” Michael loved animals, especially your stallions. Memories invade your mind as you walk arm-in-arm with your loyal knight. You bring his arm closer to yours as the grand doors swing open, and eyes fall on the two of you. Michael brings you to the front of the room, bowing as he lets you go—a true sign of grandiose and poise. You let go of his hand, walking up to your mother to bow before her.
Your mother rises from her seat, a delicate glass of wine in hand, and lifts your chin with a warm smile, bringing you from your bowed position. “Welcome all!” her commanding voice echoes through the room. “Today marks the day of our courtship ceremony; please enjoy yourself.” Her speech signals the start of the social festivities. Guests start to disperse into groups to drink, converse, and dance. Many suitors introduced themselves to you, some of whom were dreadfully dull, yet your attention remains fixed on one particular individual whose presence captivates you.
Michael stood at the edge of the room. He watched every single one. He watched them try to make you laugh, even crack a smile. They couldn't. He knew they couldn't because they weren't him. His eyes watched you like a hawk. How badly he wished you'd walk over to him to tease him until he blushed pink. Michael didn't like the idea of the ceremony much more than he'd like to admit. You caught Michael’s stern face in the corner of your eye as you entertained another suitor.
“Your Highness, you look stunning tonight.” That's what the last five of them said. This one was going to be no different than the last. A nameless face you couldn't even remember, places his hand on your waist, pulling you into his chest. Michael’s chest tightens, and he quickly looks down at the floor, adjusting his sword anxiously. He turns his head before rushing out of the room. You shove the suitor off of you, your head whipping in the direction of where Michael was. Guilt fills your body as you scour around the room for him. “I’m sorry, I can't do this,” you say, voice cracking.
—
You weave through the crowd away from him, running out of the ballroom. Holding up your gown with your hands, you search throughout the different rooms in the castle. You couldn't find him. Defeated, you start looking outside of the castle, warm, hot tears stream down your cheeks in frustration. You end up in the luxuriant garden you used to play in as a child. Sitting on the bench in the moonlight is where you find your knight. A small smile spreads across your face, and the scenery is just as beautiful as he is.
“Michael?”
He looks up, surprised by the tears on your face. “What happened, princess?”
“I came looking for you. I can't marry any of those suitors, Michael.”
“You have to, you can't let your knight hold you back. It's your duty, my princess.”
“I won't. I can't because I realized—" You pause, taking a breath. “I love you, Michael.” He shakes his head. “You don't really mean that, no, the Queen—" he sighs, “Your mother won't approve of this.”
You sit next to him, putting your hands into his. “It doesn't matter what my mother thinks; it's what I feel.” You cup his face, thumb gliding across his flushed cheek. “And I love you, my knight.”
The midnight encircles the two of you. Michael’s cheeks flush even deeper as he inches his large hands onto your hips. He brings his face closer to yours. His thumbs press into the fabric of your dress. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours. It felt as if you were burning up on the inside. Michael's kisses shift from your lips down to the column of your neck. Your body flushes against him, your heart thumping in your chest. One of his hands raises to your breasts, slightly moving your neckline. Michael’s soft lips explored every inch of your chest, nipping and sucking at anything his eager tongue could reach. Your hand carded through the soft curls on his head, slapping your other hand over your mouth to conceal your desperate sounds of pleasure. Michael lifts his mouth off your breasts. “Move your hand, let me hear you.”
You drag your hand from your mouth, a wanton moan leaving you as Michael sucks your nipple back into his mouth, and teasing the other. He swaps breasts, giving the other the same praise. “Please, my knight,” you moan, voice barely there. He cheers up at you. “Anything, my princess,” he says, grinning. Michael adjusts your position on the bench, kneeling on the ground. In front of you, he bunches your skirt up in his hands. Looking at you for confirmation, you nod your head, giving him the permission you always desired to. He dives in, tongue presses against your clit, grazing the sensitive nub in slow, deliberate strokes before he wraps his lips around your clit and gently sucking. You pulse as his tongue laps at your nub, gripping the bench below you. The mix of arousal and spit created a mess between your thighs, allowing Michael to easily guide a finger to the entrance of your pussy.
“Fuck—that feels so good.”
Michael kisses his teeth. “That’s no language for a royal. What would your mother say if she heard your mouth?”
The combination of Michael’s mocking, lips, and fingers sent you into oblivion. He wanted to push you to the edge. Hips jolting, mumbles, and cries fly from your lips as he brings you closer to climax. Michael looked up at you, caressing your swollen pussy with his mouth. Your back arches, a muffled sound leaves your lips, heat-filled as a fierce orgasm rushes over you, leaving you trembling.
He gets up, his damp chin glistening with you, a bright, victorious smile on his face; he leans in to steal one more kiss from you. “Bet you none of those suitors could do that.”
You let out a breathless laugh, tasting yourself on his lips. “I think you'd be right.”
—
Michael helped you fix your skirts, resting his hand on your lower back and laughing at another, terribly corny joke, something along the lines of "what did the princess say to the knight?” on the way back to the guarded doors of the Great Hall. Your shared laughter cuts short as your mother stands outside the door. Waiting for you.
“Where have you been!”
“Mom—I was—”
“Silence!”
She storms up to you, yanking your arm and pulling you away from Michael. “You will not ruin this for my kingdom by being an ignoramus,” her voice is filled with anger. You free your arm from her deadly grip. “This is my kingdom too, and this is not what I want!” you protested.
Your mother's nail-strewn hand strikes you across the face, knocking you to the ground. Her eyes burn into you as she shakes her head in disbelief. Fat tears streak down your cheeks as you hold your face in pain. She walks over to your trembling form, pushing your head to the side to reveal the dark love marks on your neck. “Seems like you’ve already made your choice.”
The click of her heeled shoes echoes in the silence of the hallway. Heartbreaking sobs wrench from your trembling body. Michael hated seeing you like this—mainly because he knew how it felt—he gently cradles your sobbing form in his arms. Michael lifts your chin, delicately dabbing the tears from your face. “I’m sorry, Michael,” you whisper, your voice filled with pain, which deeply affects him; the fact that you feel the need to apologize for your despair breaks his heart. "It’s not your fault,” he says softly, his arms slipping beneath your thighs as he lifts your bridal style. You bury your face deeper into his chest, finding comfort in his presence. The betrayed look on your face haunted Michael’s brain as he carried you to your bedchambers.
Michael walks into your room, filled with lit candles, and heads over to your plush bed. Gently, he helps you lie down, assists in removing your ceremonial dress, and replaces it with a silken nightgown. He adjusts the pillow beneath your head and kisses your forehead before heading out. “Try to rest easy tonight, princess, you've had a long day.” Your hand reaches out to grab his hand, hindering his movements. You couldn’t be alone, not right now.
“I need you tonight, please?” you plead. Michael nods, takes off his armor, pulls the blanket over both of you, and settles in beside you. “Of course, and maybe tomorrow we can check out the village.” You gaze up at him, kiss his cheek, and then let sleep take over.
—
The next sunrise sends streams of sunlight through the open windows of your bedroom. Your eyes flutter open, feeling heavy—mainly from crying. A slight smile spreads across your face as you feel Michael’s warm arms around your waist. You turn in his arms to catch a glimpse of his face. His chest rises as he lets out a tiny sleepy sigh. Softly, you unwrap his arms from around you and throw your legs off the bed to walk out onto your open balcony.
You close your eyes, letting the gust of morning wind sweep away your troubled thoughts. Resting your head on your arms, a thick lump swells in your throat as reminders of yesterday reappear in your mind. You allow your tears to fall against your hot skin. Another pair of feet shows up beside you, catching your attention.
Michael clears his throat, resting his hands on the balcony railing. “My father wasn't the kindest man, you know.” You turn to him, intrigued. “I know as kids, I—I never really spoke about him, but he was harsh.”
“That night, I couldn't stop thinking about it. The look of fear, betrayal, and apprehension when someone who is supposed to protect you is the cause of your suffering. I knew it all too well, sadly enough.” He looks down, fidgeting with his fingers. “He’s the reason I wanted to become a knight,” he says, pulling you into him by your waist. “I wanted something to protect and devote myself to, and I found it.”
“And that's the only thing I’ll thank him for.” He says, leaning down to kiss you passionately.
—
Weeks slipped by after that unforgettable day. Michael led you to the palace stables, guiding you toward the stunning white horse. “I doubt Maximus would mind joining us for a trip to town this morning," he said with a smile. You gently ran your hand along the horse's mane, feeling a touch of anticipation.
Michael leans down to kiss you, steadying your waist as he helps you onto the horse. Sitting behind you, he takes hold of the reins. “Shall we go?” he asks. “We shall, my love,” you reply.
Hayvenhurst was peaceful at night. Michael enjoyed that detail about the house, surrounded by his family, yet he couldn’t help but feel alone. Reading helped with that problem. This night's selection was one he had found at the Salvation Army, tucked away in a small nook in the back of the store.
The Story of the Wandering Faeries
The loud hum of the cicadas outside his window clouded his mind as he caught himself re-reading the same sentence for the third time.
Michael flung his blanket off his legs and sat upright. Sweat beaded on his forehead; he couldn’t find out what was wrong with him.
Heading downstairs, down the grand staircase to the backyard. Michael heads to the one place he can find serenity, his tree. A shimmering pond stood a few feet away, basking in the moonlight. He had never felt this drawn to the pond ever, until tonight.
Michael inches closer to the pond, crouching at its edge. Was it something or someone?
—
Floating on the opposite side of the pond lay a woman. Curls flowing down her back, water beading off her brown skin.
“You can come out, I won’t hurt you,” Michael said, leaning down to reach for your hand.
You back away slightly, caving in the small corner of the pond. A rush of fear flowed through you. When you were a child, the elders warned of the dangers of letting humans get too close.
“Miss? I want to help you, please?”
With much thought and the slow nod of your head, you take Michael’s hand into yours, allowing him to help pull you out of the pond. You never had the chance to meet a human, but this one felt strangely special.
—
Michael's eyes trail down your soaked figure and the beautiful, glistening wings protruding out of your back before covering his face with his hands. “How about we get you something to wear? Mother tells me it’s not good to stay in wet clothes.”
You raise your hands to remove his hands from his face, “I’d like that.”
He pulls off his robe, placing it on your shivering shoulders. Michael led you to the glass backyard doors into the foyer. “You have to be quiet, you don't want to wake my family.”
You take in the beauty of his home, even though you practically had the entirety of the forest to yourself, exploring the outside world wasn't the greatest concern.
But if this were the beauty of the outside world, you wouldn't mind indulging it.
—
Michael’s room was like nothing you've seen before. The mulberry carpet felt ticklish on the bottoms of your feet. Posters litter the walls, piles of mail on the floor, and a monkey?
You tilt your head at the animal. Did humans always have animals like this?
“Oh! That's Bubbles, he's quite alright.” He says, walking over to sit next to the primate. “Once you get to know him, of course.” Michael lets out with a small laugh.
You walk over, sitting down next to him, holding out your hand to Bubbles. He slowly inches closer to you, his small hand rises to touch yours.
“Hi, Bubbles.” Michael couldn't help but notice the small smile on your face as you interact with someone he considers one of his best friends.
“What about you?” Veering around to him, letting go of Bubbles' hand.
“Hm?”
“Your name?” After telling Michael your name, he watched as you paced around and explored his room in detail. Every item you picked up, he had a story for it. Minutes would pass by before Michael claps his hands against his thighs, then gets up and stands in the middle of the room.
“I’m gonna get you some blankets for tonight.” He says, walking towards the door, “Just stay in here for a minute, and I’ll be right back.” before shutting it behind him, leaving you in silence.
Once he left the room, you noticed a thick hardcover book resting on his bedside table. Curious, you picked up the book, gently opened to the front page, and found yourself captivated by every carefully printed word.
—
Michael’s feet pad from the linen closet, blankets in hand. To the kitchen, opening the fridge, grabbing orange juice and two glasses from the cupboard. He gingerly pours the beverage into the cups, his smile fading as Joe enters the room.
“What are you doing up this late?”
“Nothing, Joseph.”
Joseph’s suspicion deepens as he struggles to read Michael’s uncertain expression. It seemed Michael was attempting to trap him, perhaps to catch him in a lie. His gaze shifts to the cups on the cluttered countertop, noticing their uneven placement and the faint stains on their surfaces.
“Two glasses. Interesting.”
Michael stays silent.
Joseph narrows his eyes at Michael before turning to leave.
“Goodnight, Michael.”
“Goodnight, Joseph.”
Michael lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. All he had to do was get to you, and he'd be fine.
—
To his surprise, when he opens his bedroom doors, he finds you sleeping on his carpet. Bubbles walks over to his legs, “Tried to keep our guest up, huh, bud?” Michael walks up to your sleeping form and picks up the book lying beside you.
“Must’ve found it a lot more interesting than me.”
Michael maneuvers your body from the floor to the bed, draping one of the blankets over you. Where did you even come from, and how did you end up in the pond behind his house?
a/n: got a little lazy at the end forgive me pls 🤞🏾
synopsis. In the fresh modern age of 2026, the last thing you'd expect was to get thrown in a Back to the Future plot. You and your totally basic life go haywire during a moment of curiosity when you decide to test out a stubborn retro camera with mixed up dates. What happens when it wasn't just any old camera? What if it had taken you back to the 20th century? And what will you do when you find the chance to change his fate?
starring. multiple eras!michael jackson x time traveller!reader
content warnings. death, sexual content later in the story, tobacco, alcohol, mental and physical abuse, michael's childhood, and many more content labels yet to come! muahaha
MASTERLIST
(total episode count has not been determined yet)
—prologue | Say cheese!
—episode 2 | This is far out!
—episode 3 | Oh, dear child...
—episode 4 | Funky 21st century girl!
—episode 5 | ...
—episode 6 | ...
—episode 7 | ...
—episode 8 | ...
—episode 9 | ...
—episode 10 | ...
—episode 11 | ...
—episode 12 | ...
—episode 13 | ...
—episode 14 | ...
—episode 15 | ...
—episode 16 | ...
—episode 17 | ...
(Further episodes will be decided later on.)
If you would like to be tagged for this series or for my general taglist, please let me know!
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Could you please make a Taniel x f!reader fic where his lil crush is easily an asshole to everyone in Derry because she hates that town and is only fairly nice to him and super sweet to his aunty??? No rush!!
a/n: this shouldn’t have taken this long but life got so busy but i’m alive!!! :3
You never felt welcome in Derry. The stares, whispers, all of it got under your skin. The only good thing that came out of this town was Rose’s shop. It was the only place in town that didn’t give you the creeps. The doorbell jingle sounded as you walked in, your eyes on Taniel, who was organizing items at the front.
Rose comes out from the back of the store to see the two of you talking.
“Staying out of trouble, I hope.” She says with a small smile.
“I try, Miss. Rose, this town is just not right.” You say.
Taniel and Rose share a look at your statement. They knew a lot more about the secrets of Derry and the energy it carried. Your family had made their presence in the town with your father working at the local hospital and your mother teaching at Derry High School.
-
“What’s that frown for?” Taniel asks, looking at you gently as he closes your bedroom door behind him. Unfortunately for you, when you walk from Rose’s shop, you encounter some not-so-friendly strangers. Little did they know you were exactly as kind as they were.
“I hate the people here! If it weren’t for you and your aunt, I would’ve left by now.” You say sitting on your bed with your arms folded across your chest. The intense emotion you had towards your current situation could never be justified to your parents. Having Taniel by your side was the only thing that kept you going.
Taniel takes off his jacket before throwing it over your desk chair.
“Would you like to tell me what happened?”
You let out a groan before starting. Leaving the butcher shop, you peer across the street to see a group of young men bothering a small boy. Storming over towards them, you pull the taller one away from his victim.
“What the hell is wrong with you!”
The stranger lets out a scoff at your outburst. “Why don’t you mind your own business?” he says, turning back to his friends.
“Why don’t you find something better to do?”
He turns around, getting in your face. “You better watch your mouth, bitch,” he says with a threatening tone. His friends came up behind him in his defense, nearly cornering you. You look over to realize that the boy had run away after your interference.
“And what if I decide not to,” you challenge him. He raises his hand to go across your face before the local butcher runs out of the store. The butcher scolds the group of boys, “Get away from my store with this mess!” making them run away with the thought of the authorities possibly being called. You couldn’t believe that people dared to do things like that to others unprovoked.
The butcher turns to you, “I know your father is a pleasant addition to the town. You shouldn’t be getting into things like that,” he says, shaking his head. You collect yourself before walking back home. Entering your front door, you drop off the groceries you got for dinner. Your mother places a kiss on your forehead, thanking you. Pulling away from her hug, you walk around sitting at the kitchen island. She pauses, laying the knife down on the cutting board.
“I know that look. Did something happen today? Did it?”
You let out a sigh. You knew that your mother would see right through it. “It’s nothing, Mom.”
“Okay, whatever you say honeypot, Oh! And Taniel called earlier.” You gag at the mention of your childhood nickname, running over to the phone. “And Mom, that nickname is ancient. I’m not three anymore,” she walks over to you, placing a kiss on your cheek, grabbing her mitts, and walking over to the oven.
“Well, you’ll always be my baby, don’t forget that.”
-
“And how we got here.”
Taniel sits up, hearing you finish. He reaches out, locking your hand in his. “I know somewhere I can take you.” You look up at him. He’d never prompted something like that before. Taniel gets up, grabbing his coat from your chair. He waits for you to get yourself together, leaving a note for your mom before heading out of your house. Taniel takes you to his van before driving onto the main road.
Looking out the window, you can see the sunset, with beautiful hues blending.
“Would you come with me? Away from Derry.” You said.
Taniel shakes his head before turning to you. “I don’t know. I can’t leave my aunt.”
“Your aunt can come with us. I like her.”
Taniel lets out a laugh.
“I’ll think about it.”
Taniel stops the car, removing the key from the ignition. There were a few hangout spots in town, but nothing beat Derry Diner. A greasy fantasy tucked away in a small corner. Taniel tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear before opening his door and walking around to the passenger side. He holds out his hand for you to take as you walk to the entrance of the restaurant.
“We’re here.”
You smile at him.
“You know I love this place.”
“Yup, something to get your mind off things.”
The jukebox in the corner starts up a record as you get seated in your booth. An older woman in a uniform and a name tag that reads Gloria, approaches the table to take your order. After skimming over the menu, you select the classic strawberry milkshake, and Taniel orders the same but with fries on the side. “You’d better keep away from my fries.” He says. You let out a surprising giggle, and in that moment he couldn’t have heard anything more perfect.
“We’ll see about that.”
-
Walking out of the dinner, jokes and laughs float in the air as you walk back to Taniel’s van. “To answer your question, I would.” Confused, you whip your head in his direction. “I will leave Derry with you.” He pulls you into him, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re fiery, bold, and you’re never afraid to say what’s on your mind.”
“I need people like you,” Taniel pauses. “I’ve loved you for a very long time.”
A small tear rolled down your face at his confession. Taniel panics seeing your tears, fearing that he did something wrong. His fear melts away when you move your hands to cup his face.
“That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I love you too, Taniel.”
In a world where everyone is OOC and reader is a veterinary technician who has a big fat crush on the new doctor at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center after a forgotten lunch incident…where her father- Dr. Robby and uncle…Dr. Abbot work.
⚕️Dennis Whitaker x !Robinavitch reader |TAGLIST CLOSED| EXTRA: all my reaction pics pt.2
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ forced to work as a cashier at a family owned grocery store, you believe your life is over. until a hot older guy with a staring problem comes in once. and then, never again. not for three years. suddenly, he’s back. and you’ll make sure you never lose him again.
── warnings . . . not canon whatsoever. completely different universe with some of the same plot. cannot reiterate enough, this is completely big AU. lewd talks, curse words, bad jokes, sorta obsessive and stalker-ish!reader. will add more as the story progresses
── pairing . . . fem!reader x andrew “pope” cody
── note . . . this is me coping from that end. have to make a cute little smau
synopsis: you and your family move to derry, maine for a new beginning, but that burden slowly starts to fall on your shoulders. luckily there's a cute guy who works at the furniture shop your mom frequents.
word count: 1.4k
warnings: arguing & angst
a/n: i lowk have to get on my zoom and write more plus like there’s barely any fics for taniel so i had to put matters into my own hands
It was easy to fall in love with Taniel.
Even though you had known Taniel for only a couple of weeks, you had become accustomed to him. Moving to Derry wasn't your first choice, nor was it your mother's. Downstairs, Charlotte sat on the couch with Taniel’s aunt, Rose. They shared a cup of tea and chatted about recent events.
Upstairs, you are sitting at your vanity, applying more eyeshadow to your lids. A small knock on your bedroom door, assuming it’s your mother; you open the door. You head downstairs to greet Ms. Rose, but Taniel surprises you. He looks down at your outfit, a light rouge spreading across his cheeks.
“You look nice.”
“Thank you, I reckon you came up here to fetch me."
Taniel smiles at this statement. “Your presence is imperative, Your Highness."
You let out a small giggle at his joke. You had let him borrow one of your favorite storybooks—a small tale of a knight and a princess. Taniel holds the bedroom door open. You both head downstairs. He places his hand on your lower back, guiding you to the living room.
Walking into the living room, your mother peers her eyes toward Taniel’s lower hand on your back. She coughs, and the two pull apart. Your cheeks burn as the two women look at each other, knowing expressions on their faces. You turn your attention to the van parked outside.
“More furniture?” you ask your mother. Charlotte squints at you, seeing right through your attempt to distract her. Rose turns to Taniel, who has been avoiding her gaze as well. "You wouldn’t mind helping her move the furniture upstairs."
Taniel nods, grabs the keys to the van, letting you lead the two of you to the van to get the furnishings. You attempt to grab a small lamp before he stops you. "Taniel, you already have something in your hands; let me help,” you emphasize. He glances at you, then flicks your nose. He leans down, grabs the lamp, and carries it inside with the other furniture.
“Got any place I can put this stuff, Ms. Charlotte?"
“Up in her room, you already know where it is.”
Taniel follows you up the stairs, where you are holding the door open for him.
He sets the items on your soft bedroom floor. His eyes catch your moving figure as you sift through the small bookshelf above your desk. The way the light from the room reflected on you, Taniel couldn’t keep his eyes off you.
“Taniel?”
He snaps back to you, hearing your voice call out for him. "Yes?"
“Later tonight, would you like to come by? I got a new book at the shop today."
“I’d love to.”
—
The muffled sounds of your parents arguing downstairs made you roll your eyes. It was the same routine every day, especially after moving to Derry. You focused on removing your makeup, but the noise distracted you. Soon, tears rolled down your face, leaving marks on your white nightgown. You wiped your palms on your face, but then you heard Taniel tapping on your window.
Taniel’s smile drops at the sight of your tears as you walk towards the window to let him in. “Now might not be the best time, Taniel.” You said not to look into his eyes. He reaches out, tilting your chin to face him. Taniel wipes the remaining tears off your face before embracing you. You sob into his chest, allowing his warmth to comfort you.
You pull away from him, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this."
He frowns at your words. “Don’t apologize.” He takes your hand into his and leads you to the bed. You sit on your bed, with a frown painted on your expression. Taniel grabs the book you had earlier this afternoon.
“How about I read you something to take your mind off things?"
“I’d like that a lot."
Taniel walks over to you, propping himself up on your bed, you tucked into his side, head resting on his chest. His smooth voice flows with the words on the pages, one hand holding the book and the other caressing your side.
Taniel continues to read, pausing once he hears your soft snores. He adjusts your duvet, pulling it over you, making you cuddle closer. Stretching his arm over to your small nightstand, he puts the book down to take you into his arms. He places a small kiss on your forehead.
“I’ll always be here,”
—
The next day, you hadn't come out of your room since Taniel left that morning. You could hear them talking about you downstairs.
It's because of the move. Be gentle with her.
That's foolish! How long has it been, Charlotte?
You turn in your bed and see the book Taniel read to you on your nightstand. You open it to find something falling out of it.
You shouldn't have to carry that weight. Keep your window unlocked. There's something I want to tell you, Taniel.
Later that evening, as promised in his letter, Taniel showed up at your window. You wave at him, letting him know that it is open. He takes his boots off, leaving them by the window, standing in the middle of the room. Your eyes drink in his every movement as he continues his path to you. He pauses in front of you, face close to yours, so that your breaths are mingling.
“So, what did you want to tell me?”
Taniel cups your face in his hand before placing his soft lips against yours. It feels as if the world goes quiet. His warm lips meet yours, and all the longing surges forth. He kisses you like it is a promise—one to protect you and adore all you are. You pull apart, heads pressed together. Your fingers tangle in his hair, grounding yourself to him as you move your lips against him with vigor.
Taniel pulls away first, moving his hand from your face to your waist. You place your arms around his neck, looking into his eyes. “You sure made your point clear,” you say, catching your breath. Taniel smiles at you before spinning you around in your room, making you squeal. He sets you down, arms still embracing you. “I have something for you," he says, reaching into his jacket; it is the heart-shaped necklace that caught your attention during your first visit to your aunt's store.
—
“Welcome in!” says Rose, greeting you and your mother as the two of you walk into her shop.
Taniel looks up after hearing his auntie’s voice. He hadn't seen anyone as pretty as you before, especially not in Derry. You left your mother to check out the selections. You found a stunning heart-shaped necklace. There was something on it you couldn’t quite understand, but it didn’t take away from its beauty.
the piece.
“It means I love you."
You jump at hearing the voice behind you. “What?”
“The necklace, the engraving. Its meaning is I love you,” he says, pointing at the small words you inquired about earlier. Your lips form the shape of an 'o.' You both share a small laugh. Then, you ask the mysterious boy more questions about the necklace. On the other side of the store, the scene happening in front of your mother takes her aback.
"Is that your girl?” Rose asks.
“Yeah, is that your son?"
“No, he’s my nephew, but I haven’t seen him like this when talking to someone.”
“She’s never this talkative, especially when it comes to new people.”
Your time with Taniel ended when your mother finished her business with Rose. He steps behind the counter, grabs a small business card, and flips it to the blank side. Then, he writes something on it and hands it to you. Your mother calls out your name standing by the door, “Well, I can't be here all day."
“Coming! Until next time then,” you say to him, waving before letting the door close behind you.
For the first time, Taniel had something to look forward to in this town.
—
You look at the necklace, then at him. “Oh, Taniel, you didn’t have to."
“But I wanted to.” You turn your back on him for him to put the necklace on you. Taniel lifts your hair, placing a slight kiss on your neck that makes your breath hitch. He clips it on, and you look down at the charm of the necklace and rub the small engraving.
kisâkihin
It was a saying in his language, the only one he ever taught you.
synopsis: adrian's girlfriend is a model and john economos is a jackass!! (jk it's just for the sake of fanfiction)
word count: 1.2k
warnings: none besides you getting your purse stolen and then returned
a/n: sorry it's been days since i posted this girl has been busy 👩🏾💻also listen to sweet boy by malcolm todd it’s so good!! #eargasm
The 11th Street Kids couldn’t believe it. Adrian’s stories seemed almost impossible to believe. There was no way he could have been dating you for five months without them noticing. Adebayo, Adrian, and John were sitting in their office space, deep in conversation.
“So, you’re really… dating her?” Economos asked Adrian with suspicion, pointing at the woman in the magazine. Adrian looked at John with a raised brow.
“Yeah, I don’t have to lie about it,” Adrian said confidently. “I talk about her every day,” he added. John scoffed, “Well, if your ‘girlfriend’ is legit, why don’t you invite her to come out to the bar with us next Saturday?” Adrian immediately stood up, storming toward the door.
“You know what? I will! And I can’t wait to see the look on your faces when you realize I was telling the truth,” he declared. He paused, then suddenly had a lightbulb moment.
“She’s got a show this weekend. I’ll get us all invites,” Adrian said.
“Yeah, invites from your ‘model’ girlfriend, right?” John said mockingly, in air quotes. Adrian shot up from his seat, storming out in frustration. Adebayo looked on at John with a concerned expression.
“Do you think you might have taken that too far?” she asked. John looked regretful. “Come on, do you really think he’s dating that girl?” he said. Adebayo rubbed her temples, feeling a twinge of sympathy. Even if she didn’t believe it herself, she would never hurt Adrian’s feelings.
“That doesn’t matter. Even if you don’t believe him, he’s still our friend,” she said. John rolled his eyes, pushing his chair back to his desk. Meanwhile, outside, Adrian was texting you.
adrian: hey babe, do you still have those spare tickets to your show?
you: yeah! are you bringing friends?
adrian: yup, and they’ll finally get to meet you.
you: ok babe :) i’ll send the tickets now <3
adrian: i can't wait 🧜♂️
Adrian sighed, glancing up with a hint of disappointment. He still couldn’t quite understand why John was being so harsh. He talked about you constantly—during meetings, after meetings, on stakeouts, even to Eagly. Adrian was just determined to prove everyone wrong.
—
You kept your head still as the makeup artist added more blush to your cheeks. Your phone buzzed on the vanity, and when you looked at it, a smile spread across your face as you read the message.
adrian: i’m here, don’t worry, you’ll do amazing! i love you so much.
You always thought his use of that emoji was adorable. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door—a delivery man holding a bouquet. “These are for you, ma’am,” he said, walking over and placing them on the vanity. You picked them up and immediately recognized your favorites—magnolias—and noticed a note attached:
You’re the best girlfriend ever. Can’t wait to see you work your magic! Love, Adrian.
He was always the sweetest. Just then, your stage manager entered to let you know you’d be up in just a few minutes. Your stylists made the final touches, and soon you were about to walk on stage.
Sitting in the audience was an anxious Adrian, his leg bouncing vigorously. Adebayo gently placed her hand on his thigh, stopping the movement. “I’m sure she’s okay, Adrian. Don’t worry—the show will start soon.” As the lights dimmed and music permeated the space, you stepped onto the runway, dressed in a short white dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline and floral embroidery on the corset and skirt. Adrian sat front and center, captivated by your beauty. You clicked your heels downstage, then scanned the room for him, finally finding his tousled curls. You blew him a kiss.
Adrian watched in awe as you struck a series of effortless poses for the cameras before heading backstage. He turned to Economos. “I told you so.”
—
Backstage, you were sitting at your vanity, adding hair clips to keep your glam in place after the show. Your agent entered, accompanied by Adrian and the other 11th Street Kids, all smiling brightly. Adrian held a bouquet, beaming.
“You did amazing, just as I predicted!” he exclaimed. Your cheeks warmed at his praise. You moved to kiss his cheek and gently took the flowers from his hands. John’s eyes widened at the display of affection.
“You already got me flowers, babe. You didn’t have to get me more,” you said shyly.
“I know, I just wanted to,” Adrian replied with a beaming smile. You reached up to fix his hair, laughing softly. “Sorry, it was bothering me,” you explained. Amid the tenderness, you hardly noticed his friends watching.
Economos cleared his throat, catching your attention. “You must be John—the denier,” you said with a mischievous smile. Adebayo tried to hold back her laughter. John blinked in embarrassment. “Well... yes, but that was before I saw you in a magazine,” he stammered.
You looked at Economos, then back at Adrian, then at John, and couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s okay, you’re fine. I just wish you could’ve seen your face!” John exhaled in relief.
You wrapped your arm around Adrian’s biceps, holding the bouquet in your other hand. “Since the show’s over, how about we go out for drinks? It’s on me,” Adebayo considered it. “I wouldn’t mind, John?” she asked.
“Actually, I’d like to,” John replied.
“Yeah, after being proven wrong and embarrassed, I think I need a drink too,” Adrian added with a smirk.
Later, at the bar, you and Adrian sat side by side. He kept a steady hand on your lower back while you sipped your drink, soaking in the new friends’ chatter. But your focus stayed on him, his thumb gently caressing your back.
Adebayo’s question snapped you back. “So… how did you and Adrian meet?” she asked.
You took a breath, recalling the story. “It’s kind of cliché. A few months ago, I was leaving my apartment for a casting. Just as I stepped outside, a thief ran past and snatched my purse. I yelled after him, "Hey! What the fuck!" Out of nowhere, a taller guy with glasses chased after the thief, tackling him to the ground.”
You continued, “He grabbed my purse and handed it back to me. I stood there for a moment, and he asked if I was okay.”
“Would you like to have a drink as a thank you?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
You took another sip before adding, “And that’s how it all started. I wouldn’t trade that moment for anything in the world.”
“That’s really sweet,” Adebayo remarked. Adrian kept replaying that exact moment in his mind every day. After hours of talking and getting to know each other, you noticed he seemed quieter than usual.
“Are you okay, babe?” you asked, touching his arm. “Ready to head out?” Adrian nodded. As he was your designated driver, you grabbed your purse and moved to pay the tab. Outside, the three of them waited by their cars. The bar door swung open as you approached.
“I’m ready to go, Adrian,” you said, clasping his hand.
“Yup, I’ve got the keys,” he replied. He moved to your side, opening the car door. Glancing over the roof of his Sebring, you said, “It was really nice meeting you both. Hopefully, we can do it again sometime,” before getting in. Adrian came around, started the car, and headed back to your shared apartment.
—
“So, how did you enjoy that?” you asked.
“It was a surprise, to say the least,” Adrian said.
You let out a small, slightly tipsy laugh. “You talk about me to your friends.”
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