5SOS Preferences

#80 Nerves

#80 Nerves

Michael:
"I can't do this," you muttered, "Oh my God."

You paced around the hotel room, letting your mind wander everywhere it shouldn't have gone, because now you were a nervous wreck.

"Babe," Michael sounded out, trying to calm you down, "Babe, (Y/N), relax, it's okay. You need to lie down."

"Michael I can't do this," you repeated.

"(Y/N), I mean, you don't really have a choice..." he smiled sympathetically, trying to make you feel better.

"You fucking suck at sympathy, you know that?"

"Don't swear, babe, it's not good for the baby," he motioned to your protruding belly that had been developing for nine months now. Meaning you were going to have a baby soon. Meaning it was going to hurt like hell. Meaning you were about to punch Michael in the face.

"Michael I swear to God I'm asking them to knock me out and you are going to pay for it," you snarled.

"Aww, but babe," he teased, "Don't you want to see our little miracle?"

He walked up to you, putting a hand on your swelled tummy. You couldn't even see your feet anymore, much less try to pace around a hotel room without waddling like a penguin.

"Our little miracle is about to rip my vagina into a million pieces, so no, not particularly."

"C'mon, (Y/N), don't be like that," he bent down and kissed your stomach.

"Hey little guy," he cooed, "We're gonna see you soon, okay? I know your mum's being really mean," he looked up at you, sending you a fake glare, "but she doesn't mean it. This whole pregnancy thing's got her emotions out of whack. She'll punch me in the face and then start crying about the hungry children in Africa."

"You're not helping, Mike," you responded flatly.

"Look, babe, you'll be fine. It's not like you can die from giving childbirth."

"Yes you can, Mike."

"You can?" he questioned, "Well, fuck. Guess you're screwed then."

"Gee, thanks! Father of the Year right here."

"Well I'm not a father yet so I can be as irresponsible and mean as I want," he laughed.

"For the next 48 hours, maybe."

"In all seriousness, though, babe, you'll be fine," he smiled, "I'll be right here and you can squeeze my hand off, except not my left hand because that's my lucky hand. But you can squeeze off my right. Actually, could you not squeeze either of them off I kind of need them to play guitar."

"Michael," you groaned, ignoring his comments. You knew he was only trying to make you laugh and feel better but he had a stupid way of doing it. He stood back up and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, keeping a hand on your stomach.

"I don't think you realize how wonderful this is, (Y/N)," he kissed you again.

"We're going to be parents soon. We're gonna have a kid. And it'll call you Mummy and it'll call me Daddy and we'll be parents. And we'll buy it shit and you can feed it with your boobs and -"

"Michael," you cut him off, an unimpressed look apparent on your face, "So much for not swearing in front of the baby."

"Well it's not here yet, so,"

"You fucking hypocrite."

"That's right, babe, get it all out while you still can," he laughed.

"Are the boys coming?" you asked him, changing the subject.