the sob wedding - part one. romcom fluff with a touch of seduction pairing: bad mj x fem!reader summary: just michael being a total cry baby, a blushing disaster, and an obsessed husband all in one tuscan wedding. w.c: 3.9k a.n: hi guys! i’m currently working on the next chapter for this fic cs i’ve been obsessed with wedding michael lately i just can’t help myself lol. i hope you enjoy reading this! honestly, i think this is one of the sweetest and most heartwarming pieces i’ve ever written for him. enjoy! <3
the sun wasn't just shining. it was practically performing a choreography over the cliffs of the private estate in italy, where the rolling tuscan hills met the sky. the mediterranean breeze was a symphony of wild rosemary and sea salt, a perfect, dramatic backdrop for the day you were officially becoming mrs. jackson. it was a garden party wedding, the kind that smelled like fresh jasmine and an expensive, overwhelming abundance of peonies.
you were in the bridal suite, a stone-walled villa that felt like a sanctuary. your bridesmaids—laura and amanda—were a whirlwind of silk and nervous laughter, but the real star of the room was janet. she was your maid of honor, looking impossibly chic, busy fixing your veil with the precision of a surgeon.
"breathe, girl," janet laughed, catching your reflection. "you look like a vision. if michael doesn't crumble into a heap the moment he sees you, i’m going to be very disappointed."
you smoothed the lace of your gown, your heart doing somersaults. "is he out there?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.
janet smirked and gestured for you to look through the heavy wooden shutters. "take a peek, but prepare yourself."
out on the lush, emerald lawn, amidst an ocean of white roses and hanging crystal lanterns, he was there. michael.
he wasn't standing with the crowd. he was tucked away near the garden gazebo, hovering near a massive arrangement of lilies. he was wearing a bespoke suit in a deep, rich crimson red that made his skin glow and his dark eyes look like velvet. it was a bold choice, but the way he stood—rocking back and forth on his heels and wiping his face with a silk handkerchief—told the real story.
"is he... is he crying?" you asked, stunned.
"he’s been crying for an hour," janet whispered, leaning against your shoulder. "marlon is standing right there trying to distract him, but michael’s just leaning against a tree, sobbing into his hands. the other brothers are just watching, looking like they’ve seen this a thousand times. they’re just waiting for him to compose himself."
you watched, mesmerized. every time a groomsman tried to talk to him, michael would just shake his head, sniffle, and offer that bashful, crooked smile, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming with fresh tears. he looked like a nervous, beautiful boy who had just won the greatest prize in the world and was completely overwhelmed by the gravity of it.
"oh he mad. he’s just entirely undone," janet teased. "he’s been staring at that door since we got here. i think he’s gone through three handkerchiefs already."
you couldn't help but laugh, though a tear escaped your own eye. the decor was a dream—thousands of white peonies climbing up the stone arches, the sound of a string quartet playing soft, acoustic versions of his favorite songs. it was romantic, intimate, and entirely, beautifully, messily yours.
you stepped out onto the gravel path, the italian sun catching the silk of your dress. the moment you emerged, the chatter of the wedding party died down.
michael saw you.
the man who could command a stadium with a flick of his wrist stopped dead in his tracks. marlon stood beside him, looking perfectly calm and entertained, nudging michael’s shoulder to keep him standing straight. michael didn't even notice. his mouth parted in a silent, jagged wow, and fresh tears instantly spilled over his lashes, tracking down his cheeks.
he reached up, nervously adjusting his collar, then realized his hands were shaking too hard. he looked like he wanted to run toward you, his chest heaving with every sob, his face a bright, endearing shade of pink. he was a beautiful, tear-stained mess in his crimson suit, looking at you like you were the only living thing on the planet.
"okay," janet whispered, handing you your bouquet. "this is it. he’s currently drowning in his own emotions, so go save your husband."
you took a deep breath, the breeze catching your veil, and began to walk toward the altar. as you got closer, you could see the raw, unfiltered adoration in his eyes. he reached out a hand, his long, delicate fingers trembling, and let out a little, choked-up sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.
he wasn't just a global icon today. he was just michael, the man who was about to spend the rest of his life with you, and he was too far gone in his own happiness to even pretend to be stoic. and honestly? you had never loved him more.
as you finally reached the altar, the scene was one of pure, joyful chaos. michael was standing there, his face glistening with tears, his crimson suit slightly rumpled from his nervous pacing, while marlon stood beside him, trying his hardest not to laugh at his brother’s emotional state.
you stood directly in front of him, the scent of his cologne mixing with the garden air. he reached out, his hands shaking, and cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away a stray tear on your cheek. he looked like he was about to lose it all over again.
you decided to break the tension. you leaned in just a little, your voice a soft, teasing whisper that only he could hear. "mr. jackson, you’re ruining the makeup, and you’re making the entire tuscan countryside wonder if you’re being forced into this against your will."
michael let out a wet, breathless laugh, his face turning an even deeper shade of pink. "stop it," he sniffled, his voice cracking. "you know it’s not that. i’m just… i’m looking at you, and i don’t know how to handle it. you’re killing me, honestly."
"am i?" you whispered, running your fingers over the lapel of his crimson jacket. "or are you just finally realizing that you’re the most dramatic groom in the history of weddings?"
michael’s eyes widened, his shyness battling with his absolute adoration for you. he leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping into that familiar, breathy rasp. "you are so incredibly unfair. you look like a dream, and you’re standing here teasing me while i’m trying to keep my heart inside my chest. stop it, baby, please. before i decide to skip the vows and just run away with you right now."
the priest, a kind, elderly man with a twinkle in his eye, cleared his throat, unable to hold back a chuckle. the entire audience—from the jackson family in the front row to the friends in the back—erupted into soft laughter at the sight of the world’s biggest superstar being completely flustered by his bride.
"i believe," the priest said with a smile, "that we have a groom who is quite eager, though perhaps a bit overwhelmed. mr. jackson, if you can manage to stop complimenting your bride for just a moment, we might be able to make this official."
michael shot the priest a look that was half-embarrassed, half-defiant, clutching your hands tighter. "i can't help it," he muttered, loud enough for the microphone to pick up, earning another round of laughter and a collective "aww" from the crowd. "she’s the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen, and everyone needs to know."
you couldn't stop smiling, your own heart racing. "he's a handful, isn't he?" you said to the priest, winking at michael.
"a beautiful handful," michael countered, his tears finally drying, replaced by a radiant, genuine beam that made him look younger than he had all day. he squeezed your hands, his intensity shifting from tearful to deeply, quietly serious.
the laughter in the garden slowly faded into a tender silence as the ceremony began. when it came time for the vows, michael didn't need his notes. he kept his eyes locked on yours, his voice steadying, stripping away the global persona and leaving only the man who loved you.
"i didn't think i could be this happy," he began, his voice ringing out across the tuscan hills. "i've spent my life looking for beauty in music and in the world, but all the beauty i ever really needed was standing right here. i promise to always be your home, to keep you safe, and to make you laugh even when the world gets too serious. i'm yours, completely and forever."
when your turn came, you repeated the words, your voice echoing his sincerity.
the words "i do" hung in the air like a sweet, lingering melody, dissolving the last of the tension into pure, radiant joy. the moment the priest opened his mouth to say the final, life-changing words, "i now pronounce you husband and wife," he didn't even have the chance to add the traditional "you may kiss the bride."
before the last syllable had fully left his lips, michael moved.
it was a sudden, fluid motion—the same grace he displayed on stage, but with an intensity that felt entirely private. he closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. his hands, those slender, expressive hands that had trembled with emotion only moments ago, were now firm, one anchoring your waist and the other tracing the line of your jaw, his fingers tangling into the base of your veil.
as his lips met yours, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. it wasn't a tentative, shy peck, it was deep, deliberate, and hungry. he kissed you like he had been waiting a lifetime to finally claim you, his breath hitching against your skin. the kiss was electric, a sweet collision of his tenderness and a sudden, burning passion that took you by surprise. you could feel the erratic, powerful thrum of his heart against your chest—the rhythm of a man who was finally, completely home.
the tuscan breeze seemed to stop, the rustling of the olive leaves quieting as if the earth itself was holding its breath. for a long, aching moment, the only sound was the faint, soft sigh michael made as he pressed closer, his crimson jacket creating a sharp, beautiful contrast against the delicate ivory of your lace gown.
the priest, meanwhile, was left standing there with his hands halfway raised in blessing, his mouth slightly agape. as the seconds ticked by and the kiss only deepened, the elderly man let out a hearty, booming laugh that rippled through the garden.
"well!" the priest chuckled, shaking his head with a wide, indulgent grin. "i suppose that is one way to start a marriage! i hadn't even finished the benediction, but i think it’s safe to say these two have already received the blessing!"
a wave of laughter and cheering roared from the audience. you heard janet whistling, the jackson brothers shouting in approval, and the frantic clicking of cameras, but it all sounded like it was happening a million miles away.
michael finally pulled back, just an inch, his eyes dark, heavy-lidded, and shining with an intoxicating mix of triumph and residual emotion. his face was flushed, his hair slightly tousled by the wind, and he looked at you with a gaze so intense it made your knees feel weak.
he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your cheek with a gentleness that stood in stark contrast to the urgency of the kiss seconds before. his voice was a raw, breathy rasp, barely audible over the clapping crowd.
"i'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes dancing with a playful, dangerous light as he looked at your swollen lips. "i couldn't wait another second. i think i forgot how to breathe the moment you walked down that aisle, and i needed to make sure you were real."
he leaned in again, just a fraction, his nose brushing against yours. "do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "because i’m fairly certain i’m never going to let you go."
you leaned into him, resting your forehead against his, both of you laughing softly while the world cheered. it was messy, it was passionate.
the sun had begun its descent, painting the tuscan sky in bruised purples, dusty pinks, and molten gold. the formal rigidness of the ceremony had dissolved into the relaxed, candlelit magic of an italian garden after-party. the heavy silk gowns were traded for something effortless. you wore a flowing, floor-length slip dress in ivory silk that caught the evening breeze, while michael had swapped his crimson suit for a sharp, tailored black waistcoat over a crisp, unbuttoned white shirt—effortlessly chic, as always.
the garden was glowing now, illuminated by thousands of fairy lights woven into the gnarled branches of ancient olive trees. a jazz band was playing something low and sultry in the background.
you were by the long, rustic wooden table, laughing with laura and amanda as you sipped on sparkling elderflower lemonade.
"i still can’t believe he cried through the whole exchange of rings," laura said, her eyes bright with amusement. "it was the most endearing thing i’ve ever seen. he’s not a groom! he’s a romantic protagonist in a period drama."
amanda nodded, adjusting a drooping flower in her hair. "and he hasn't taken his eyes off you for more than ten seconds all evening. look, he's doing it again."
you turned your head. near the edge of the terrace, michael was standing with marlon, jermaine, janet, and la toya. he had a flute of champagne in one hand, but he wasn't really drinking it. he was staring across the lawn directly at you, his eyes glassy and shimmering.
as you watched, a single, fat tear tracked a path through his makeup, dripping right into his champagne glass.
la toya saw it first. she let out a sharp, joyful bark of laughter and poked jermaine in the ribs. "look at him! he’s at it again. he’s literally seasoning his drink with tears."
janet, who was standing closest to him, shook her head with a sisterly eye-roll, though her expression was filled with love. "mike, seriously? again? we’ve been at the reception for an hour."
marlon, never one to let a moment pass without a jab, put a heavy arm around michael’s shoulder and leaned into the mic-like proximity. "hey, bride! get over here!" marlon bellowed across the lawn, waving his free hand. "come get your husband before he dehydrates! he’s crying into his moet, and it’s getting embarrassing for the family brand!"
the whole table erupted in laughter. michael turned a deep, embarrassed shade of crimson, but he didn't look away from you. he just sniffled, wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, and gave you that wobbly, crooked smile that made your heart do a complete somersault.
you excused yourself from laura and amanda and walked over, the hem of your dress sweeping over the grass. as you approached, the banter was in full swing.
"i’m just saying," jermaine was saying, patting michael on the back, "if you cry one more time, we’re going to have to charge admission for the spectacle. 'the sobbing superstar,' coming soon to a theater near you."
michael leaned into you the moment you were within reach, his hand finding your waist and pulling you against his side. he didn't even look at his brothers. he just buried his face in your hair, letting out a shaky, contented breath. "baby… they’re mean to me," he whispered into your ear, his voice thick and breathy.
"they’re just jealous, baby," you teased, running your hand down the back of his waistcoat. "they aren't married to the most beautiful girl in the world."
marlon snorted loudly. "oh, god, here we go starting the compliments again. janet, help me, i’m going to throw up from all this sweetness."
janet just laughed, clinking her glass against yours. "let him be, marlon. he’s a hopeless case. he hasn't been this happy since he was a kid."
michael pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still bright with moisture. he lifted his champagne glass, his hand trembling just a little bit, and toasted you. "to my lovely beautiful wife," he said, his voice ringing with absolute sincerity that silenced the teasing for just a heartbeat. "who is currently watching me make a fool of myself, and loving me anyway."
"oh, stop it, you big baby!” la toya laughed, though she leaned in to kiss his cheek. "go on, take her to the dance floor before you soak through that shirt. you’re ruinining the evening with all this sentimentality."
michael didn't need to be told twice. he grabbed your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, and pulled you toward the small, makeshift dance floor under the olive trees.
"i love you," he whispered as he pulled you into a slow, swaying motion, his arms wrapping around you until there was no space left between your bodies.
“i love you the most, silly…” a beautiful genuine smile appeared on your face.
he looked down at you, his face soft and glowing in the fairy-light haze. "you're really mine," he murmured, his thumb tracing your hipbone. "say it again. tell me you're mine."
you laughed softly, looking up into those soulful, tear-filled eyes. "i'm yours, michael… my sweet handsome husband. forever."
he closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against yours, and let out a long, shuddering sigh of pure, unfiltered relief. for a few minutes, the world, the brothers, the cameras, and the noise fell away, and it was just the two of you, swaying in the tuscan night, completely lost in the magic of the beginning.
the party was winding down, and the tuscan air had turned crisp, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the faint, sweet trace of woodsmoke from a distant fire. the guests were starting to drift toward the villa, but you and michael had managed to slip away to a secluded stone bench tucked behind a row of cypress trees, far from the prying eyes of the jackson brothers.
the moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting silvery shadows across his face. he was still buzzing from the champagne and the sheer euphoria of the day, his eyes fixed on you with that intense, focused gaze that made you feel like the only person on earth.
"you've been quiet," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly hum in the quiet night. he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your neck. "are you tired, my love? or is the mrs. jackson title finally sinking in?"
you felt a mischievous spark ignite in your chest. "it's sinking in," you said, a playful smile playing on your lips. "in fact, it's so permanent, i decided to make it official in a place where only you would ever see it."
michael tilted his head, his dark eyes widening with innocent curiosity. "what do you mean? what did you do?"
you leaned in closer, the silk of your dress whispering against your skin. "i have a wedding surprise for you. something i got done just for tonight."
he went perfectly still, his breath hitching as you slowly shifted the neckline of your ivory silk dress just enough to reveal a peek of skin. you looked at him through your lashes. "it's right here, michael. do you want to see it?"
he looked at the opening of your dress, then back at your eyes, his face turning an immediate, brilliant shade of crimson. he looked like he’d been caught in a crime, his hand instinctively covering his own mouth. "baby," he stammered, his voice sounding like a panicked, melodic squeak. "we’re… we’re practically in public. marlon or anyone could walk by at any second."
"nobody is coming, handsome," you teased, stepping into his space until your bodies were pressed together. "don't you want to see your wedding gift, hmm?"
he looked so torn. part of him wanted to be the perfect gentleman, but the rest of him was absolutely, undeniably human. he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, and with a hand that was shaking like a leaf in the wind, he leaned in. his eyes focused right on the spot where the lace met your skin, his expression one of pure, wide-eyed wonder.
he looked down, then back up at you, his eyes searching yours as he whispered, "i can't read it, it's too dark."
"lean closer, angel face…” you whispered.
he obeyed, his breath hitching as he leaned down, his nose brushing against your skin. he squinted, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he finally made out the delicate, cursive script tattooed right in the center of your chest: mrs. jackson.
the effect on him was instantaneous.
michael didn't just gasp. he physically shuddered. his knees gave out, and he let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh, stumbling backward until he hit the stone bench with a heavy thud. he sat there, looking completely undone, his hands covering his face as he let out a high-pitched, incredulous wheeze.
"oh my god," he choked out from behind his fingers. "oh my god, you didn't!”
you laughed, feeling a surge of affection as you sat down beside him, pulling his hands away from his face. he was absolutely radiant, his eyes shimmering with tears again, his mouth hanging open in complete shock.
"you actually did it," he whispered, staring at you like you were a piece of fine art. he reached out and traced the skin just above the tattoo with the lightest, most reverent touch imaginable. "you are absolutely, completely insane. and i think i’m going to have a heart attack right here in this garden."
he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body shaking with a mix of laughter and overwhelmed emotion. "how am i supposed to be a normal husband," he muffled into your shoulder, "when my wife is out here walking around with my name inked on her heart? you are dangerous. you are so, so weird."
you hugged him tight, feeling the erratic, powerful beat of his heart against your own. "i thought you liked it," you whispered into his ear.
he pulled back, his eyes dark, heavy, and filled with a raw, intense love that made your head spin. "i don't like it," he murmured, his voice dropping. "i’m obsessed with it."
he leaned in closer again, but this time, he didn't stop at just a kiss. he pressed his lips to the skin just above the mrs. jackson tattoo, his touch feeling like it was burning. then, with slow, deliberate movements, he began to plant soft, wet kisses downward, his tongue dancing teasingly against the smooth skin right next to the tattoo. he began to suck gently, a rhythmic, intoxicating pressure that sent a pure electric shock straight to your core, his warm breath hitching against your chest.
you gasped, your head falling back as your hands flew to his hair. you tangled your fingers into his dark curls, pulling him closer, needing more. you couldn't stop yourself—you started raining soft, frantic kisses all over the top of his head, nuzzling into his hair and pressing your lips to his scalp with a desperate, crushing affection. absolutely overwhelmed by how he had gone from a weeping, shy groom to this.
michael let out a low, guttural moan into your skin, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it left an imprint. he pulled back just an inch, his eyes hooded and wild as he looked up at you, his lips glistening.
"if you think i’m ever going to let you wear a low-cut dress in public again," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper against your skin, "you’ve got another thing coming, mrs. jackson."
tag list: @meowwnchild @erenstitanweave @daniaalhaid @j5rneymercies @tenderlyboundlessparagon @moonwalkarchives @heyitsconysstuff @platanita @blepblep2807 @carouselgirl77 @silentonthedancefloor @callida07 @discobabiemj @freaky1interlude @callmelyriic @nuhogom @michaelsbabymother @layschips07 @miratate @glitterqueen123 @pytforever @bnnybb1 @majush @maricxnt @gxsela @bloomyandy
