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can you please write general nsfw spencer jones headcanons for fem reader? he’s such a big dude but he has this sweet face that makes him seem like a huge sub 😫
oh hell yeah XDD
_________
NSFW HEADCANONS
Spencer Jones x reader
summary: smut and sexual headcanons about sir Spencer Jones
for any gender!
NSFW/ WARNING.
@strangergraphics for dividers!!
ꨄ︎ 100% whimpers when he's close or when he's begging to have sex with you. You like to keep him waiting for him to reach his limit. Like if you were to ask for a whimper audio, he would gladly make you one.
"please baby... i've been patient like you asked.. Just a taste at least?"
ꨄ︎ Spencer's big dick is a real pain for your hole :( The first time you two were intimate, you had to take a break and pause for every inch of him.
ꨄ︎ It doesn't look like he has a big dick with a face like that but when you met him, every comment from your friends and people on social media made sense.
ꨄ︎ he gives sub vibes. He would proudly do anything to pleasure you and is a good boy and will cum when you praise him.
"Im so close, baby boy.." You moaned out as he pounded in and out of you. He whimpered into your ear, "mmm..ugh, oh my god.." You felt the familiar knot in your stomach as he hit your sweet spot over and over again. You scratched his back before pulling him into a sloppy kiss which was more of a messy exchange of spit. You moaned against his lips and dug deeper into his back as the knot in your stomach undid and you came. You soon made eye contact with him, noticing he still hasnt came yet. So.. like any other partner, you got an idea.. You inched your face closer to him and whispered in his ear, " I love it when you take control of me like that, you made me cum so hard.." As soon as you said that his eyes rolled back to the his head, probably looking at his brain and you felt the warm, sweet feeling of something filling you up. You smiled at what you caused and kissed his cheek as he rested his head in the curve of your neck.
ꨄ︎ LIVES to see your pussy stretch for his cock. Even with preparation, your pussy still has to endure the actual thickness of his cock where his fingers nor mouth ever come to match. Loves when you mewl about how big he is and practically drools on the feeling of the tight pressure from you squeezing him.
ꨄ︎ Total ass man. If you allowed him to eat your ass, he would do it with no hesitation. Loves to be dirty and if he’s really comfortable with the people he’s talking to, he has no shame telling them that he eats your ass.
ꨄ︎ hides the liking when you edge and tease him all day.
As the day go, the more he catches on. First, wearing the revealing clothes you promised him that it was only for him. Second, bending over, slightly jumping him, and rubbing close his dick in the car or when laying in bed, enjoying the TV for a while. Finally, he fully caught on when he noticed you sucking and licking at your food and using the excuse that your food “was dripping all over the place.” Even when it was clearly not. You noticed the tent in his pants and smirked to yourself. “Are you really getting hard seeing me eat my food? Pathetic…” He let out a whimper and said, “Youre teasing me that’s why, (name). You’ve been doing it all day.” “Oh really?” You responded, “let’s go to the bathroom then?” You said again, smiling as you took his hand and walked him to the bathrooms.
ꨄ︎ gets shy when you admire him. Might even have a little Exhibitionist In him!!! Lives for the compliments and little comments about his body and does the same for you.
________
A/n: hoped you liked it and they’re a lot more coming if you know what you mean ;)
My tags: @divinedelusional @xoxokiaraaxoxo @hockeygirlyyyy
Summary: Y/N’s reaction to the Michael biopic and seeing Jaafar in costume for the first time.
Authors notes: guys, I never thought I would do a post Michael fic. But here we are. My heart hurts and everyone needs to leave me alone. Enjoy.
Slight trigger warning; post Michael, grief and sadness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Los Angeles, 2022
The call came on a rainy afternoon.
Y/N almost didn’t answer it.
She’d learned over the years that unknown numbers usually brought one of two things, people wanting something from her… or people wanting something from him.
And after all this time, nearly two decades later, anything connected to Michael still had the power to crack her heart open without warning.
She sat in the kitchen for a long moment watching the phone buzz against the marble countertop while thunder rolled softly outside.
Then she answered quietly.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end was careful, respectful and very nervous.
And immediately she knew.
The biopic.
Of course.
Everyone knew it was happening. The internet had been talking about it for months, casting announcements, studio rumors. Endless headlines dissecting every detail of Michael’s life again like the world still owned pieces of him.
Y/N had avoided all of it.
She couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t sit through actors reenacting memories she’d actually lived.
Couldn’t survive hearing someone imitate his laugh.
His voice.
The way he said her name.
The producers spoke gently, explaining that they wanted her blessing, her support and her thoughts.
And then they mentioned Jaafar.
That made her chest ache instantly.
Sweet Jaafar.
She still remembered him as a little boy running through family gatherings with bright eyes, an even brighter smile and impossible energy, always looking at Michael like he hung the moon.
Now he was going to become him.
For the world.
Y/N closed her eyes.
“I love Jaafar very much, he’s a very sweet boy” she said softly.
The room had gone dim around her from the storm outside, rain streaked against the windows while she stared absently at the family photographs lining the far counter.
Michael holding Prince and Paris as toddlers.
Michael asleep on the couch with Blanket curled against his chest.
Michael laughing so hard during some blurry Christmas morning that the photograph itself looked alive.
Her throat tightened dangerously.
“He’ll make his uncle proud” she whispered.
The producers seemed relieved. Grateful.
Then came the harder question.
Could she be involved?
For consulting, interviews, personal insights and archival memories.
Y/N went very still.
Across the kitchen, one photograph caught her eye.
It had always been her favorite.
Michael standing in the doorway of their bedroom sometime in the late 90s, grinning at her while wearing those ridiculous gold tour pants just to make her laugh. The image was slightly blurry because she’d been laughing too hard to hold the camera steady.
For one devastating second, the memory became so vivid she could hear him.
“Baby, admit it I can wear the ever loving gold shit out of these pants.”
The grief hit her so suddenly she had to press a hand against the counter.
No.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t hand strangers the private pieces of him she’d spent her entire life protecting.
The world had already consumed so much of Michael while he was alive. She wouldn’t survive watching them do it again after death.
When she finally spoke, her voice trembled.
“I can’t be part of it.”
There was immediate understanding on the other end. Gentle reassurance. No pressure.
But once she started speaking honestly, she found she couldn’t stop.
“It’s…” Her breath shook softly. “It’s too painful.”
Silence.
Then quieter, “I spent my whole life watching people take pieces of him. Everybody wanted something. His talent. His image. His time. His softness.” Her voice cracked. “But to me he’s just my husband.”
The word still hurt.
Husband.
Even now.
“He’s the father of my babies” she whispered. “He was the man who danced with me in the kitchen at two in the morning. The man who couldn’t cook pancakes without burning them. The man who cried when our children were born.”
Tears slid down her cheeks silently now.
“And I know this film matters. I know people loved him, love him. I know they want to honor him.” She swallowed hard. “But I cannot sit in a room and explain him like he was a character, I hope you can respect that?”
The rain outside grew heavier.
For a moment nobody spoke.
Then the producer said softly, “We understand.”
And Y/N believed they truly did.
She took a shaky breath.
“But my children…” she said carefully. “That’s their father too. If they want to be involved, that’s their choice. I’ll support whatever brings them peace.”
Another pause.
Then finally, “And tell Jaafar…” Her voice nearly failed her entirely. “Tell him it’s ok and to call me.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few weeks later, Jaafar came to see her himself.
No cameras.
No publicity.
Just family.
Y/N opened the door before he could knock twice and immediately saw it in his eyes the pressure, the fear, the desperate need to do this right.
Not for Hollywood.
For Michael.
For the family.
For love.
And suddenly she wasn’t looking at an actor preparing for a role anymore.
She was looking at a Jackson boy carrying impossible weight on his shoulders.
The second Jaafar hugged her, he broke.
“I’m scared” he admitted quietly against her shoulder.
Y/N held him tighter instantly.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“What if I don’t do him justice?”
That shattered her.
Because it sounded exactly like Michael.
That same gentleness. That same fear of disappointing people.
She pulled back just enough to cup Jaafar’s face in both hands, tears already shining in her eyes.
“Listen to me” she said softly. “Nobody could ever be him. Not really. Your uncle was…” She laughed through tears. “Magic. He was magic.”
Jaafar’s eyes reddened immediately.
“But he would be so proud of you for trying.”
The words barely left her mouth before she started crying properly.
Not quiet tears anymore.
Real grief.
The kind she usually hid carefully from everyone.
Because suddenly she could see Michael so clearly sitting cross-legged on the floor writing music, cradling babies against his chest, kissing her forehead absentmindedly while passing through rooms.
Gone.
Still gone.
All these years later and still gone.
Jaafar held her while she cried.
And somewhere in the middle of it, Y/N whispered the truth she almost never said out loud anymore.
“I miss him every day.”
The room fell silent after that.
Because there really wasn’t anything else to say.
~~~~~~~~~~
Los Angeles, 2024
The set was quieter than Y/N expected.
Not silent, film sets never were but muted somehow. Respectful.
Like everyone understood they were handling something fragile.
Golf carts hummed in the distance. Crew members adjusted lighting rigs overhead. Racks of carefully recreated costumes lined the hallways. Everywhere she looked there were pieces of the past stitched back together with impossible care.
And it made her chest ache.
The producer guiding her through the soundstage kept speaking softly, almost reverently.
“Everyone’s very honored you came today, Mrs Jackson.”
Mrs Jackson.
The title still startled her sometimes.
Not because it felt wrong.
Because it still felt so right.
She gave him a small smile and nodded, fingers tightening around the strap of her handbag.
Beside her, Prince walked quietly with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.
Too quietly.
Y/N glanced at him instinctively.
She knew that silence.
He’d inherited it from his father that habit of retreating inward when emotions became too large to hold comfortably.
“You okay, baby?” she asked gently.
Prince nodded immediately.
Too quickly.
“Yeah, fine mom.”
He wasn’t.
She could tell from the way his jaw flexed.
From the way his eyes avoided certain props as they passed.
A fedora sitting on a chair.
A crystal glove beneath protective casing.
Black loafers beside a costume rack.
Tiny things that felt enormous.
Crew members started noticing them as they moved deeper into the set.
Whispers spread carefully down corridors.
“Mrs Jackson is here.”
“Wow Prince managed to bring his mom.”
“Oh my God…”
Nobody approached them.
Nobody shoved cameras in their faces.
And somehow that kindness almost made it worse.
Because it reminded Y/N how loved Michael still was.
How present he still felt.
A production assistant stopped near a closed soundstage door.
“They’re resetting lights right now” she explained softly. “Jaafar’s inside.”
At the name, Prince shifted beside her.
Y/N reached for his hand automatically the same way she used to when he was little.
He squeezed hers hard.
The assistant gave them a sympathetic smile before quietly opening the door.
And everything changed.
The stage lights glowed soft against an elaborate recreated set Y/N recognized instantly from another lifetime.
A familiar silhouette stood near center stage with his back turned while crew adjusted cameras around him.
Black curls.
Slim frame.
The posture.
Even the way he held still between movements.
For one horrifying second, Y/N’s heart genuinely believed.
Michael.
The thought hit so fast and so violently that her breath caught in her throat.
Beside her, Prince stopped walking completely.
The room blurred around Y/N as Jaafar turned slightly during conversation with the director.
Not identical.
Never identical.
But enough.
Enough to punch straight through years of carefully controlled grief.
Prince made a small sound beside her.
Barely audible.
But broken.
Y/N turned immediately.
His face had gone pale.
His eyes were locked on Jaafar with this shattered expression she recognized instantly the same look he’d had as a child waking from nightmares after losing his father.
“Oh, honey…”
Prince suddenly covered his mouth with his hand and turned away sharply.
And Y/N’s heart cracked clean open.
Because he looked exactly like Michael when he cried.
She followed him quickly as he walked blindly toward a quieter hallway just outside the soundstage.
The second they were alone, Prince broke.
He bent forward with both hands braced against his knees, trying so hard to stay composed while tears hit him all at once.
“I—I thought I would be okay” he choked out quietly.
Y/N was at his side instantly.
“Oh applehead…”
She pulled him into her arms without hesitation and Prince folded against her like he had when he was small, shoulders shaking as years of grief came rushing back unexpectedly.
“He looks so much like him” Prince whispered hoarsely. “From far away I just…”
His voice broke completely.
“I know” Y/N whispered, tears already streaming down her own face. “I know.”
She held the back of his head carefully, stroking his head while he cried against her shoulder.
And suddenly they weren’t adults anymore.
They were just two people missing the same man.
“I’m not ready” Prince admitted quietly. “I thought I was but I’m not.”
Y/N closed her eyes.
Neither was she.
Not really.
Not ever.
Because grief dosen’t leave.
It simply learned how to sit quietly until something brought it roaring back to life.
Inside the soundstage, someone must have noticed the commotion because voices lowered.
Then footsteps approached carefully.
Y/N looked up through tears just as Jaafar appeared hesitantly in the hallway.
And God.
Up close it was somehow even harder.
The makeup.
The costume.
The gentleness in his eyes.
But unlike the illusion from far away, standing here she could see Jaafar clearly now; too nervous, emotional and heartbroken that he’d caused pain.
The poor boy looked devastated.
“I’m so sorry” he said immediately, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” Prince said quickly, wiping at his face. “No, no, it’s not you, man”
Jaafar still looked wrecked.
Y/N saw it instantly the fear that he’d done something wrong. Dishonored Michael somehow.
So despite her own tears, she reached for him too.
The second Jaafar stepped forward, Y/N cupped his face gently the same way she had years earlier.
And for a moment she just looked at him.
Really looked at him.
At the love.
The effort.
The unbearable weight he was trying to carry for all of them.
And suddenly all three of them were standing there in the hallway holding onto each other while the massive movie set buzzed quietly in the background.
Three people connected by the same absence.
The same love.
After a long moment, Prince finally laughed weakly through tears.
“Dad would hate us crying this much.”
A watery laugh escaped Y/N immediately because it was true.
Michael had always panicked when the people he loved cried.
“Oh, he’d be such a mess right now” she agreed softly.
Trying to imitate him despite the lump in her throat, “Please don’t cry, girl…”
Prince laughed harder, covering his eyes.
And for one brief aching second, it almost felt like Michael was there with them too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors note: brb, just going to drown my sorrows with ice cream and tequila.
The Blessing part 2 - a love of a lifetime series.
Summary: Part 2 of the Blessing, Y/N attends the premier of Michael the biopic.
Authors note: I am so sorry. Tissues and wine are on me.
~~~~~~~
Los Angeles, 2026
The premiere of Michael was chaos before Y/N had even left the house.
Flashing headlines, helicopters over Hollywood Boulevard and fans already camped against barricades hours before sunset, clutching old vinyls and glitter pens and hand-painted signs that read WE LOVE YOU MICHAEL.
And Y/N sat silently in front of her vanity while her stylist pinned the final diamond earring into place.
No interviews.
No carpet.
No press line.
That had been her only condition.
She wasn’t there to relive her life in front of cameras.
She was there for family.
For Jaafar.
For her boys.
For Mother, Katherine.
For him.
Even now.
Especially now.
~~~~~~~~~~
The phone rang just as she stood to leave.
“Baby girl?” Y/N answered softly.
A pause.
Then Paris Jackson’s tired voice came through the speaker. “You’re really going, mommy?”
Y/N closed her eyes for a second.
“Yes, honey”
Another pause.
“I just can’t do it” Paris admitted quietly. “I don’t wanna sit there and watch strangers recreate him. I don’t wanna watch people make money off Dad again. Especially some of the people involved.”
There was no anger in her voice.
Just grief.
Old grief. The kind that calcified inside the bones.
Y/N sat slowly on the edge of the sofa, smoothing one hand over her pant suit.
“I know, sweetheart” she whispered. “And you don’t have to explain that to me.”
“I feel guilty.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I just…” Paris exhaled shakily. “Everybody keeps saying it’s to honor him, but nobody knew him the way we did.”
The we nearly broke Y/N in half.
Because even after all these years, Paris still made room for her in that sentence.
Nobody knew him the way we did.
“I’m going for different reasons” Y/N said carefully. “Not for the studios and definitely not for the headlines. I’m going because your cousin carried something impossibly heavy on his shoulders and did it with so much love. And because your grandmother and brothers shouldn’t have to sit there alone.”
Paris sniffled softly.
“And honestly?” Y/N smiled sadly. “I think if I stay home, I’ll spend the whole night wondering if I abandoned him.”
Silence.
Then Paris gave the tiniest laugh through tears. “That’s such a you thing to say.”
“I know.”
“I still don’t wanna see it.”
“You don’t ever have to.”
Another long pause.
“Tell Jaafar I’m proud of him?”
“I will.”
“And… I love you.”
Y/N’s breath caught instantly.
“I love you more, baby.”
“We’ll see each other soon?”
“Soon.” Y/N promised.
After the call ended, Y/N sat there for another full minute staring at nothing.
Then quietly wiped beneath her eyes before standing.
“Okay” she whispered to herself. “Okay.”
~~~~~~~~
The theater was surrounded by screaming crowds by the time her car arrived.
She had purposely timed it late to avoid the carpet.
Still, the second the SUV rolled toward the private entrance, someone shouted, “Y/N!”
Then another.
“Oh my God, it is HER”
The tinted window lowered slightly.
Just enough.
The reaction was immediate.
People screaming.
Crying.
Phones lifting into the air.
Some older fans looked genuinely stunned, like they’d seen a ghost from another lifetime.
Y/N smiled softly despite herself.
Older now.
Softer around the eyes.
Still breathtaking.
She pressed her fingertips briefly to her lips and blew a kiss toward the barricades.
The crowd absolutely lost their minds.
“We love you!”
“Thank you for loving Michael!”
“We miss him!”
Her composure nearly cracked at that one.
But she only placed a hand over her heart before the car disappeared beneath the theater entrance.
~~~~~~~
Backstage was quieter.
Nervous energy.
Studio staff whispering into headsets.
Security moving quickly through halls.
And standing near the curtain in full costume-inspired tailoring was Jaafar.
For one impossible second, her heart stopped.
Because from the side profile alone…
He looked so much like him.
The posture.
The delicate frame.
The lowered head while adjusting a cufflink.
Even after months of preparing herself, it still hit like a punch to the stomach.
Jaafar turned.
The second he saw her, his entire face changed.
“Auntie Y/N.”
His voice cracked.
And suddenly he wasn’t the star of a major Hollywood premiere anymore, he was just a nervous young man carrying an unbearable legacy.
Y/N crossed the room quickly and took his face in both hands.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
His eyes were already glassy.
“You came.”
“Of course I came.”
“I was scared you wouldn’t.”
That nearly undid her.
She smiled through tears. “There is nowhere else i’d rather be.”
Jaafar laughed shakily and looked down for a second. “I keep thinking everybody’s gonna hate it.”
“No” she said immediately. “No. Listen to me.”
She made him look at her again.
“Your job was never to become him.”
His breathing hitched.
“Your job was to love him enough to tell the truth.”
A tear slipped down Jaafar’s face.
“And you did.”
He broke then, just quietly.
The kind of crying people do when they’ve been strong for too long.
Y/N pulled him into her arms immediately.
And for a split second, holding him felt terrifyingly familiar.
Like backstage hugs in the nineties.
Like sequined jackets beneath her fingertips.
Like whispered wish me luck and quick kisses before performances.
She had to close her eyes.
“I’m so proud of you” she whispered into his hair. “And he would be too.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Inside the theater, Y/N sat beside Katherine and her two boys.
The lights dimmed slowly.
The crowd quieted.
And then, there he was.
Not really him.
But enough.
Enough to crack open every carefully healed wound Y/N had spent years stitching closed.
The first time Jaafar appeared fully on screen as Michael, Katherine gasped and grabbed Y/N’s hand so tightly it hurt.
Neither woman let go for the next two and a half hours.
Sometimes Katherine cried silently.
Sometimes Y/N did.
Sometimes they laughed unexpectedly at tiny mannerisms nobody else in the theater would understand.
The way he tilted his head.
The way he hid his smile when embarrassed.
The way he reached for people when they were upset.
Her sons watched on with such pride for their cousin, but such grief and longing for their father - it was palpable.
At one point Y/N actually covered her mouth because Jaafar recreated one of Michael’s private little backstage dances she’d completely forgotten existed.
Not performance Michael.
Not superstar Michael.
Just him.
And somehow that hurt the most.
Because for brief impossible moments, she forgot he was gone.
~~~~~~~~~
By the end credits, the entire theater stood applauding.
But Y/N remained seated, trapped in her grief with tears slipping quietly down her face.
Katherine leaned over and kissed her temple gently.
“He would’ve loved you being here.”
That shattered her completely.
Because suddenly she could hear him.
Could practically feel him leaning close whispering some teasing comment in her ear during the emotional scenes.
Could imagine his hand squeezing hers in the dark.
And there was nowhere for all that love to go anymore.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hours later, long after the family dinner and celebrations had finished, Y/N finally returned home alone.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
She slipped off her heels near the doorway and wandered aimlessly through dimly lit rooms still decorated with pieces of him after all these years.
Photographs.
Awards.
Old piano demos boxed carefully in the study.
A jacket of his she still couldn’t move.
The grief never really left.
It just learned to have better manners.
Until nights like this.
She eventually drifted into the bedroom and froze.
Because sitting across the chair near the window was one of his old tour jackets she’d taken out weeks ago while helping the boys sort storage boxes.
She had forgotten to put it away.
Y/N walked toward it slowly like approaching a wild animal.
Then picked it up carefully against her chest.
The faint scent was long gone.
But memory filled it in anyway.
Suddenly she was twenty three again backstage.
Twenty eight dancing in the kitchen with him at midnight.
Thirty two holding newborn babies while he kissed her forehead.
Thirty five arguing with him over ridiculous disguises before Disneyland trips.
Forty raising their family in peace.
Forty five begging him to rest.
And then, gone.
Just gone.
The sob that left her barely sounded human.
Y/N sank onto the edge of the bed clutching the jacket against her heart as years and years of restrained grief finally spilled over.
“I miss you,” she cried brokenly into the fabric. “God, Michael, I miss you so much.”
No cameras.
No public composure.
No legend.
Just a woman alone with the unbearable reality that the love of her life existed now only in memories, music and fragments of other people trying desperately to recreate him.
And somehow the movie had brought him back just enough for her heart to forget.
Which made losing him all over again feel brand new.
~~~~~~~~~
A/N: let me know what you think? let’s emotionally support each other in the comments.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Heyyyyy! I was wondering if you could write a fluffy headcanon piece for Schmidt where he’s dating a model and he loves picking out clothes for her and is always taking pictures of her?
so sorry for not posting this sooner!!!
________
FASHION DESIGNER
Clarke Schmidt x reader
summary: you’re a top model with a boyfriend who likes to indulge in dressing you as if he was a fashion designer.
FLUFF
𓇼 Would definitely take inspo from outfits you've already wore on the runway or you did yourself
"Baby, this is almost the same thing I wore when I was walking for Saint Laurent." You said, looking at Clarke through the mirror. "Well... That means i'm as good as Saint Laurent then because I sure didn't look at inspiration for your outfit!" You smiled and rolled your eyes toward him, knowing well he was lying but could you really tell him that you knew?
𓇼 SO supportive for you walks on ANY runway and for ANY brand. You could be walking for Walmart for all he cares or for the most expensive brand he didn't know existed. Just best believe that he's going to be in the chairs and recording when you strut by.
𓇼 If he had to leave early for a game and knew you were going, he would set an outfit that would make him pitch like never before. Even the dugout would tease and leave comments to how he was acting.
"Yo clarke! Why you acting so badass today? you've never tried pitch that hard before. Your lady in the stands tonight?" One of the guys in the dugout said while the Yankees batted. "Yeah, why are you acting like that?" Another said, quickly adding attention to Clarke. "I always pitch like that, what do you guys mean.?" Clarke responded, trying to hide the red on his face from thinking of you. "OOOOO, Clarke's girls in the stand and doesn't know how to function now!" They teased Clarke before he responded again. "Yeah, yeah.. Laugh it up.."
𓇼 loves when you wear the clothes from the same brands to his games. Adores seeing you "overdressed" for him.
𓇼 secretly vlogs and pictures you everytime you dress up for date night, events for baseball, your events, etc.
You see him in the corner of your eye with the camera again. You let out a sigh and turn to him. "Are you filming me?" "Yeah!" He responded back, cheery expression on his face, seeing no problem with it. You couldn't keep a grumpy look on your face when you saw how happy he was. "You're like my personal paparazzi y'know that right?" You said chuckling, going back into fixing the small details in your clothing. "That could mean a bad thing and a good thing." He said back before taking even more pictures.
𓇼 He's very lovestruck and loves when you talk to him about what he likes about fashion, the brands you walk for and even asking you how it is to be a model.
"How do you even like- manage the stage? I can barely block out the noise when i'm pitching!"
"Do you do your own makeup or does somebody do it for you?"
"How many brands are you allowed to walk for? Do you get in trouble?"
𓇼Finally, hes a man that adores anything you do and is COMPLETELY inlove with you..
SUMMARY: what starts with Michael lying horribly about loving to tour slowly becomes an intimate portrait of the life he built with the one person who loved him beyond the fame.
CONTENT: michael jackson x reader. chaotic domestic fluff. established relationship. ‘i love to tour’.
this is one of my favorites so far. dedicated to the kind people in my inbox <3 you know who you guys are!
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭
The cameras had been rolling for almost four hours.
By now they had already covered the children.
Neverland.
Recording.
The media.
Michael’s perfectionism in the studio.
His sleep schedule, which had somehow turned into a twenty-minute argument because Y/N kept exposing how little he actually slept.
And now there were only two topics left on the producer’s clipboard:
Touring.
And Y/N.
Half-empty water bottles cluttered the tables near the monitors.
Somebody’s headset crackled every few minutes.
One exhausted production assistant sat cross-legged on the floor eating pretzels straight out of the bag while trying not to fall asleep.
And in the middle of all of it sat Michael Jackson.
Leg crossed neatly over the other.
Black jacket up rolled slightly at the sleeves.
Dark hair falling softly around his face.
So beautiful it was almost unfair.
But tonight he looked different.
Less guarded.
The whole point of the recording was supposed to be honesty.
Michael watching old home videos and reacting naturally after years of manipulated interviews and twisted media narratives that turned every sentence into a headline.
The production team wanted warmth.
Humanity.
Softness.
What they got instead was Michael Jackson being impossible.
“Okay,” one producer said carefully from behind the cameras, glancing at his notes. “Next we’re gonna talk a little about touring.”
Michael visibly deflated immediately.
Y/N noticed from across the studio and started smiling to herself.
Because she knew that expression.
That was Michael preparing to complain.
The producer continued cautiously.
“Just keep it positive.”
Michael blinked slowly.
“But I don’t like it, though.”
The entire room froze.
A camera operator lowered his headset.
The producer laughed nervously.
“…Michael.”
“No, I go through hell,” he insisted sincerely. “I go through hell touring.”
Y/N had already covered her mouth trying not to laugh.
Michael kept going. “You go from one continent to another. You’re sleepy, the time zones are different. You can’t sleep after the shows.”
The producer rubbed his forehead.
“We just mean maybe phrase it a little more… positively.”
Michael stared at him for a very long moment. Then sighed dramatically.
“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll keep it positive. But you guys know the truth.”
The producer looked deeply unconvinced already.
Michael turned toward the camera, face completely serious.
“I love to tour.” He said while he lifting one hand delicately in this exaggerated little gesture like he was trying way too hard to sell the lie himself.
Y/N absolutely lost it.
Not a cute laugh.
Not graceful.
Full-body hysterics.
She folded in half on the couch beside the monitors wheezing so hard she nearly slid onto the floor.
The entire studio broke immediately afterward.
The sound guy bent over laughing.
One assistant smacked the table repeatedly trying to breathe.
Even the producer gave up pretending to be professional.
And Michael sat there looking deeply pleased with himself.
“That’s not funny,” he muttered while trying not to smile.
Y/N pointed at him gasping for air. “You looked directly into the camera like somebody was holding you at gun point!”
Michael burst into laughter too then. Real laughter. Head tipped back slightly. Eyes squeezed shut. Shoulders shaking.
And years later that exact clip would go insanely viral online.
Millions of people replaying Michael’s painfully obvious lie followed immediately by Y/N’s explosive laugh echoing somewhere behind the camera like she physically could not believe his audacity.
People quoted it constantly.
“I love to tour.” *violent wheezing somewhere off-camera*
Entire compilations existed of “Michael Jackson being accidentally hilarious.”
And Y/N’s laugh became part of internet history.
But back then,inside that warm sleepy studio, it just felt real.
Eventually the producers calmed everybody down enough to continue filming.
“Alright,” an assistant sighed while wiping tears from beneath her eyes. “Let’s roll the tapes.”
The lights dimmed softly.
The monitor flickered.
Static crackled through the speakers before old home video footage appeared onscreen.
Grainy.
Golden.
The kind of footage that made every memory feel softer somehow.
Michael’s expression changed immediately.
The joking faded.
Not completely.
But enough.
Because suddenly there was a younger version of himself onscreen.
No makeup.
No stage lighting.
No rehearsed answers.
Just Michael.
The first clips showed Neverland in the early morning.
Sunlight spilling across the grass.
Animals wandering lazily near fences.
Children laughing somewhere in the distance.
Then suddenly the camera jerked violently because someone behind it started running.
“WHERE IS SHE?” Michael’s voice echoed breathlessly through the speakers.
And instantly Y/N appeared from behind a tree holding two enormous Super Soakers.
Michael inhaled sharply laughing already.
“Oh no.”
Y/N looked directly into the camera with the expression of somebody about to commit a felony.
Then proceeded to fire water directly into the lens.
The footage shook violently while Michael screamed.
The studio burst into laughter.
“She cheated,” Michael protested immediately. Y/N looked offended. “You had TWO super soakers.” He pointed an accusatory finger at where she stood behind the cameras.
“That’s called strategy.”
“That’s cheating!”
The footage continued.
Michael sprinting across the grass absolutely soaked while Y/N chased him relentlessly. Both laughing too hard to aim anymore.
At one point Michael slipped dramatically near the lake and disappeared completely from frame.
Y/N’s scream-laugh echoed through the tape so loudly the cameraman started laughing too hard to hold the camera steady.
Studio Michael physically hid his face smiling.
“Oh my God…”
Another clip started.
The lake at Neverland.
Golden sunlight reflecting across the water.
Michael floating peacefully on his back while Y/N swam nearby splashing water directly into his face every few seconds just to annoy him.
“You’re so mean to me,” young Michael complained weakly.
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately I do.”
The studio laughed softly.
But Michael had gone quieter now.
Watching carefully.
Then another tape started.
The camera quality looked worse here.
Shakier.
Chaotic.
The kind of footage that Michael filmed himself constantly.
The screen showed Neverland’s arcade room decorated for some kind of party.
Bright lights.
Music blasting faintly in the background.
And little Macaulay Culkin running across the room screaming.
The entire studio immediately smiled.
“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered already laughing.
The footage panned suddenly —and there she was.
Completely unaware of Michael filming.
Y/N stood in the middle of the arcade dancing ridiculously with Macaulay.
Not normal dancing either.
Terrible dancing.
Full commitment.
Wild arm movements.
Spinning in circles.
At one point Macaulay dropped dramatically to the floor mid-dance and Y/N copied him instantly like they were in some serious choreography routine.
Michael’s voice behind the camera laughed softly.
“Look at these fools…”
Y/N grabbed Macaulay’s hands suddenly and the two of them started aggressively swing dancing completely off beat.
The studio burst out laughing.
“She dances exactly like she drinks,” one assistant muttered.
“Violently,” Michael answered immediately.
Onscreen Y/N attempted some kind of spin, but her boot got caught awkwardly against the carpet. And suddenly—she absolutely ate shit.
Straight to the floor.
Macaulay screamed.
The camera jolted violently because Michael behind it started wheezing.
Not normal laughing.
Full breathless wheezing.
The kind where he physically couldn’t hold the camera steady anymore.
“Oh my God—”
Young Y/N stayed sprawled dramatically on the floor for a second before pointing accusingly toward the camera. She didn’t say anything, just glared.
Michael’s laughter got worse.
The footage shook so badly now you could barely see anything.
Macaulay had collapsed beside Y/N laughing too hard to stand.
“I thought you died for a second!” he yelled through laughter.
Y/N lifted one arm weakly from the floor.
“Tell my family… I was batman…”
The studio completely lost it.
Even the producers were crying from laughing now.
Michael had buried his face in one hand trying unsuccessfully to breathe normally.
“You fell for no reason,” he accused weakly.
“I was performing.”
“You looked absolutely possessed.”
Y/N pointed at the screen defensively.
“That carpet attacked me.”
Michael laughed so hard tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
Then another clip appeared.
Michael teaching Y/N how to moonwalk inside one of Neverland’s empty hallways.
The camera quality got shakier because whoever filmed it was already laughing.
Michael stood patiently demonstrating the movement.
“No, no,” he said through laughter. “You gotta glide.”
“I AM gliding.”
“You look like a confused C-3PO.”
Y/N gasped dramatically, looking genuinely offended. “You take that back,” She pointed her index finger at him. “You know I like R2-D2 better.” Michael rolled his eyes playfully.
Then she proceeded to try again. And immediately lost balance.
Michael instinctively reached forward to catch her.
Which turned into both of them crashing onto the carpet in a tangled mess of limbs and laughter.
Y/N screamed laughing directly into his shoulder while Michael tried unsuccessfully to sit back up.
Then suddenly—without any warning— Y/N grabbed his face and started kissing him everywhere.
Forehead.
Cheek.
Jaw.
Nose.
Rapid-fire affectionate attacks while Michael laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.
“STOP—”
“You’re talented!”
“Y/N—”
“You’re AMAZING.”
Then her voice echoed dramatically through the hallway:
“You know what they say: support the arts, kiss a musician!”
From behind the camera somebody snorted laughing.
Michael blinked up at her.
“Y/N, who on earth says that?”
“Well ME.”
And then she immediately resumed kissing his face obnoxiously while Michael curled into himself laughing helplessly.
The studio melted.
Because neither of them even looked aware of the camera.
It was just instinct.
Comfort.
Love overflowing too naturally to contain.
Another tape rolled.
This one started abruptly.
The camera quality was terrible.
The angle was crooked.
Lens zoomed in.
Clearly filmed by somebody who had absolutely no idea what they were doing.
And of course, Y/N’s voice filled the speakers.
“Okay,” she whispered dramatically into the camera. “Operation Birthday Cake has begun.”
Studio Michael blinked.
“Oh no.”
The footage showed Y/N crouched somewhere inside Neverland’s kitchen wearing oversized pajamas and an apron that said Kiss The Cook.
Flour already covered her cheek somehow.
The camera tilted violently downward as she tried to use a fruit bowl as a tripod.
“I’m baking Michael a birthday cake because he’s a bit sad,” she explained seriously.
Studio Michael immediately softened.
Because he remembered that period.
Exhaustion.
Tour rehearsals.
Tabloids.
Pressure.
He’d barely been sleeping back then.
Then onscreen Michael’s younger voice suddenly echoed from somewhere upstairs:
“Why are you up so late?”
Y/N froze like a criminal, eyes widening.
Then whispered toward the camera dramatically:
“God forbid a girl is secretly Batman.”
The studio burst into laughter again.
“What’s with you and batman?” An assistant asked with curiosity.
Y/N just shook her head and mumbled an “I don’t even know.”
The footage cut suddenly.
Now the kitchen looked like a war zone.
Flour everywhere.
Eggshells on the counter.
One bowl smoking slightly, God knows why.
Y/N stood in the middle of that chaos looking horrified while reading the recipe card upside down.
“What does ‘fold gently’ mean?” she demanded off-camera. “How do you aggressively fold something?!”
Studio Michael physically covered his face laughing.
Then another voice entered the kitchen.
Tiny.
Excited.
“Y/N!”
Little Macaulay Culkin sprinted into frame carrying three bags of candy.
Y/N gasped dramatically.
“Oh thank God.”
Macaulay looked around at the disaster.
“Did it explode?”
“Not exactly.”
After that the footage became infinitely worse.
Because now there were two of them.
Macaulay dumped an entire bag of chocolate chips into the bowl without measuring.
Y/N nodded seriously.
“Beautiful work.”
Another clip.
Flour exploded directly into Macaulay’s face.
Another.
Y/N trying to crack an egg one-handed and accidentally launching it onto the floor.
Another.
The mixer turning on unexpectedly and spraying batter absolutely everywhere.
The camera caught Y/N standing frozen in silence afterward covered head-to-toe in frosting. She looked like a traumatized soldier.
Macaulay collapsed onto the floor laughing.
Studio Michael was wheezing now.
“You two are ANIMALS.”
Onscreen Y/N pointed dramatically toward the camera.
“This is for LOVE, Michael!”
Another cut.
The cake finally appeared.
Crooked.
Leaning slightly to one side.
Covered in way too much frosting.
Decorated with messy stars and badly piped writing that read:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MICHAEL :)
Macaulay stared at it proudly.
“It looks haunted.”
“It looks homemade,” Y/N corrected defensively.
“It looks like it survived something.”
Then the footage cut one final time.
Now the camera had been hidden strategically inside the dining room.
Perfect angle toward the table.
Candles glowing softly atop the cake.
And after a few seconds Michael walked into frame.
Younger.
Tired-looking.
Still wearing rehearsal clothes.
Completely unsuspecting.
Y/N and Macauley’s voice immediately yelled from off-camera:
“SURPRISE!”
Michael physically jumped.
Then he saw the cake.
And his entire face changed. Not dramatically. Not for the camera. Just this small soft shift. Like something inside him loosened.
Y/N and Macaulay stumbled into frame wearing party hats and singing loudly off-key.
Macaulay was still covered in flour somehow.
Y/N looked exhausted, frosting still smeared across her cheek.
Michael stared between them and the cake slowly.
“…You made this?”
“We went to battle for you,” Y/N informed him seriously.
Macaulay nodded solemnly.
“She almost died.”
“I did not.”
“You caught the oven mitt on fire.”
“Okay, that was ONE time.”
Michael laughed softly. Then looked back at the cake again.
And suddenly he looked emotional.
Really emotional.
The kind he tried hiding immediately.
Y/N noticed instantly and her voice softened right away. “You okay?”
Michael nodded quickly. But he kept staring at the cake.
At the uneven frosting.
The crooked decorations.
The ridiculous amount of effort somebody put into making him feel loved.
Then quietly—almost too quiet for the tape to catch— he said:
“You did all this for me?”
Y/N looked genuinely confused by the question. “Yeah?” She said it was obvious.
Like loving him was the easiest thing in the world.
The studio watching the footage went completely silent.
Because even through grainy tape quality you could see exactly when Michael fell a little more in love with her.
Another clip rolled unexpectedly afterward.
The camera pointed shakily toward Neverland’s front gates before suddenly turning around and there was Michael.
Huge grin already forming on his pretty face.
Holding a tiny dachshund puppy carefully against his chest.
The puppy blinked at the camera while Michael tried unsuccessfully to act normal.
The entire studio immediately gasped.
“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered, immediately covering her mouth with a hand.
Michael looked directly into the camera with the most devastatingly smug expression imaginable.
Then he lifted the puppy slightly higher, so the camera could capture him. It was so tiny it fit in only one of Michael’s hand. “Y/N is always saying she wants a wiener dog,” He shook his head, chuckling at how she referred to dachshund dogs. “and if my girlfriend thinks she can just bat her cute little eyelashes at me and get whatever she wants…” He glanced down at the dog. Then back toward the camera. “…she’s absolutely right.”
The studio audibly melted. Everyone chanted “awww” in unison.
One assistant physically grabbed her chest.
Another whispered:
“Ohmygod I think I’m gonna die.”
Michael hid his face smiling while Y/N looked seconds away from emotional collapse already.
Then the footage jolted because Michael started walking quickly through Neverland holding the camera in one hand and hiding the puppy behind his back with the other.
The puppy’s tiny paws kicked lazily against his shirt.
“You have to be quiet,” He whispered dramatically to the dog. “This is espionage.”
The studio burst out laughing.
The footage moved through the house shakily before finding Y/N near the kitchen island wearing sunglasses indoors and holding a mug she had custom made just to tease Michael.
It said ‘Coff-hee-hee’
She looked completely unsuspecting.
Michael tried to sound casual.
“Hey.”
Y/N looked up.
“Hey.”
Then, the puppy made the tiniest sound imaginable behind Michael’s back. Y/N narrowed her eyes immediately.
“…Michael.”
“Hmm?”
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“You look guilty.”
“You always say I look guilty.”
“True.”
The studio laughed softly.
Then Michael finally stepped closer and revealed the puppy from behind his back.
He was met with silence.
Y/N froze completely.
The beloved mug almost slipped from her hand.
“Michael.”
The puppy blinked at her.
“Michael,” And then Y/N made the most horrible strangled sound alive before bursting into tears immediately. “Oh my GOD—”
She dropped to the floor beside the puppy laughing and crying at the same time while Michael started laughing behind the camera.
“You gave me a wiener?!” Michael chuckled hard at her words.
The puppy climbed directly into her lap while she held it like it had personally descended from heaven.
“Oh my God,” she kept repeating emotionally. “Oh my God…”
Young Michael crouched beside her still laughing softly while she cried over the dog dramatically.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
“You deserve every wiener dog in the world, my love.”
“LOOK at him!”
The puppy licked her chin.
Y/N gasped like she’d just experienced divine intervention.
“We’re naming him Shamone.” She blurted out.
Michael burst into laughter.
“Absolutely not.”
“Yes we are.”
“No dog should be named Shamone.”
Y/N clutched the puppy protectively against her chest like a Victorian mother shielding her child from the horrors of the world.
The puppy blinked sleepily in her lap.
Then suddenly Y/N looked down at him very seriously.
“Don’t you love your name, Shamone?”
The dog barked.
Y/N’s jaw dropped dramatically before she whipped her head toward Michael with the most vindicated expression imaginable.
Michael stared back at her in complete disbelief.
“…What the schmuck?”
“See?!” Y/N screamed triumphantly. “He knows that’s his name.”
“That dog does not know his name!”
“He identified with it.”
“He barked!”
“Because he’s spiritually connected to me!”
Michael laughed hard while the camera shook violently in his hand.
The puppy barked again.
Y/N pointed at him accusingly.
“AND HE SAID IT TWICE.”
“You’re insane,” Michael wheezed.
“And yet our son agrees with me.”
“Our WHAT?”
Back in the studio present-day Michael had tears in the corners of his eyes from laughing.
“You traumatized that poor dog.”
“He loves me.”
“He fears you!”
The room dissolved into laughter again while onscreen younger Y/N continued crying over the dachshund like Michael had just gifted her the moon itself.
But slowly, as more tapes rolled, the atmosphere softened.
Because every clip carried the same feeling underneath the chaos.
Ease.
Safety.
Love without performance.
Then another clip appeared onscreen.
The lake again.
Sunset this time.
Michael sat wrapped in a blanket beside Y/N near the shore while she listened to him ramble quietly about something off-camera.
And the way she looked at him—
God.
Even the crew noticed it.
Patient.
Soft.
Completely focused.
Like listening to him was the easiest thing in the world.
Michael swallowed hard.
His eyes looked glassy suddenly.
Not crying. Just dangerously close to it.
The producer noticed immediately.
“What’s going through your mind?”
Michael didn’t answer at first.
The footage kept rolling silently.
Young Y/N laughing beside him.
Young Michael smiling without restraint.
No cameras they were aware of.
No performance.
Just happiness.
Finally Michael spoke quietly.
“I think people don’t realize how rare it is…”
His voice sounded softer now. Careful. “To have somebody around you who never wanted anything.”
The studio went completely silent.
Y/N looked up immediately from the couch.
Michael still hadn’t looked away from the screen.
“She never cared about any of this,” he continued softly, motioning vaguely around the studio. “Not the fame or the money or… any of it.”
Onscreen younger Y/N shoved him accidentally into the lake.
Michael’s younger voice screamed while she laughed so hard she almost fell in after him.
Studio Michael smiled watching it happen.
And suddenly he looked younger too somehow.
“She just loved me.”
Silence filled the room afterward.
Heavy silence.
The emotional kind.
One assistant discreetly wiped beneath her eyes.
Y/N looked down quickly trying not to cry herself.
Because Michael said it so simply. Like it still surprised him after all these years.
Like unconditional love still felt miraculous to him.
The producer cleared his throat softly after a moment.
“There’s… one more tape.”
Michael’s head snapped up immediately.
“No.”
The producer blinked.
“You did approve all the footage.”
“I know which one that is.” Suddenly Michael looked genuinely nervous for the first time all night.
Not playful nervous. Real nervous.
He turned immediately toward Y/N across the room.
And Y/N’s expression softened instantly.
Because she knew.
“Oh,” she whispered quietly.
The producer looked between them uncertainly.
“We don’t have to show it—”
“No,” Y/N interrupted gently.
Michael looked at her again.
Still hesitant.
Still protective.
Because this clip—this one had never been meant for anybody else.
No press.
No cameras.
No documentary.
Just him and her.
Private.
Sacred almost.
Y/N smiled softly.
“It’s okay.”
Michael searched her face carefully.
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“Let them see.”
The studio had gone completely silent now.
Even the assistants stopped moving.
Then slowly, the final tape rolled.
The footage started shakily.
Clearly handheld.
Nighttime.
Soft golden lights glowing through Neverland’s gardens.
Candles everywhere. Hundreds of them. Wrapped carefully around trees. Floating beside pathways. Lighting the lake in warm reflections.
The camera moved slowly through the garden until Michael’s younger voice whispered nervously behind it:
“Okay… okay…”
The entire studio immediately melted.
Because Michael Jackson sounded terrified.
Then the camera tilted slightly and there was Y/N.
Standing near the lake in a soft yellow dress.
Completely unsuspecting.
The wind moved gently through her hair while she stared at the candles in confusion.
“Michael?” she called softly.
The camera shook because Michael’s hands were visibly trembling.
Studio Michael immediately buried his face in one hand.
“Oh my God…”
Onscreen younger Michael finally stepped into frame after setting the camera down carefully on a nearby table.
And somehow—
despite every stage he’d ever stood on—
despite millions of screaming fans—
he looked more nervous here than anywhere else in his life.
Y/N noticed instantly. She always did. Her smile softened.
“What’s wrong?”
Michael laughed nervously. “Everything.”
The studio laughed softly through the tension.
Then he walked closer slowly.
Close enough to hold her hands.
And immediately his entire expression changed, as if touching her grounded him.
“You know,” he started quietly, “I spent my whole life thinking love was something people earned.” Y/N’s eyes softened immediately. Michael kept going. “Like I had to perform for it. Or work for it. Or become something for people to stay.”
The studio had gone dead silent now.
Even the cameras felt still.
“But you…” Michael laughed shakily. “You loved me when I was annoying. And exhausted. And paranoid. And ridiculous.”
Y/N was fighting tears back already.
“You loved me before all this got…” He motioned vaguely around himself. “…heavy.”
His voice cracked slightly on the last word. And instantly Y/N squeezed his hands tighter.
Michael looked down briefly trying to compose himself.
When he looked back up his eyes were glassy.
“I don’t think you understand what you did for me.”
Y/N covered her mouth as tears kept pooling around her eyes.
And Michael—sweet, impossible Michael—started crying too.
Not dramatic.
Not movie tears.
Real ones.
The kind he kept trying unsuccessfully to blink away.
“You made me feel safe,” he whispered.
That broke the entire room.
A producer wiped tears away.
One assistant outright started crying.
Onscreen Michael laughed shakily through tears.
“You’re my best friend.”
Y/N was fully sobbing now.
Michael reached up instinctively wiping beneath her eyes with both thumbs.
“And every good thing in my life somehow leads back to you.”
Then—
finally—
he dropped slowly to one knee.
The studio audibly gasped.
Y/N made the most heartbreaking sound imaginable.
“Oh my God…”
Michael looked up at her like she hung the moon itself.
Completely undone.
Completely in love.
“I don’t want another version of my life that doesn’t have you in it.”
His voice cracked again.
“I don’t care where we are. Or what happens. Or what people say about me tomorrow.”
Then he smiled through tears.
“As long as you’re there.”
Y/N was crying too hard to speak now.
Michael laughed softly.
Which only made him cry harder.
“So…” he whispered shakily. “Will you marry me?”
Y/N didn’t even let him finish fully before dropping to her knees with him.
“Yes.” Immediately. Without hesitation. “Yes, yes—”
She grabbed his face kissing him through tears while Michael laughed against her mouth so overwhelmed he could barely breathe.
The studio lost it.
People cried.
Laughed.
Covered their mouths.
Onscreen Y/N kept kissing his face over and over while Michael held her so tightly like he physically never wanted to let go again.
Then through tears she laughed shakily:
“You realize I’m gonna annoy you forever now.”
Michael laughed into her shoulder immediately. “Promise?”
And somehow—
somehow—
that hit even harder.
The footage ended shortly afterward with Michael forgetting the camera existed entirely.
Still kneeling beside the lake.
Still holding her face carefully.
Still staring at her with this expression like he genuinely could not believe she loved him back.
Then the screen went black.
Silence filled the studio.
Nobody moved.
Nobody even pretended not to cry anymore.
Present-day Michael sat quietly staring at the blank screen.
Eyes red.
Hands folded together tightly.
Y/N looked emotional too.
But calmer somehow.
Certain.
The producer spoke softly after a long moment.
“That might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Michael looked down shyly.
And Y/N just reached over quietly intertwining their fingers.
Because after all these years, after every headline and every tour and every interview and every lonely horrible thing fame had dragged through Michael’s life: their love had remained the truest thing in the room.
Synopsis: just mike having a strong preference for chubby women. <3
Word Count: 1k
Requested: yes/no (one of you gave me an idea for this a while back)
Author’s Note: this is for my fellow softies! love y'all
Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist
✎ᝰ! This man has been into fuller women all his life.
✎ᝰ! He cannot quite pinpoint when this so-called preference began, yet he vividly remembers his entire family teasing him about it.
Once, during his childhood, he stumbled across a pinup magazine featuring a drawing of a fat woman. Captivated, he quickly cut out the picture and tucked it neatly into his notebook. Each afternoon after school, this adorable fool would pull it out and stare at it, daydreaming instead of completing his homework.
The peace didn’t last long though. One day, his mother, Katherine, discovered the picture while tidying up. She chuckled, thinking it harmless, and set it conspicuously on his desk. That’s when chaos truly ensued. Marlon barged into the room unannounced, as was his habit, and immediately spotted it. Oh, it was over for little Mike. The relentless teasing that followed could fill a book.
“Damn, Mike, we didn’t know you were into fuller gals,” Jermaine said with exaggerated emphasis, holding the picture for the other brothers to see.
“What’s this, Mike? Planning your future with Miss Chubby Cheeks?” Tito teased, grinning ear to ear. He was mortified, face burning red as his brothers howled with laughter.
✎ᝰ! Naturally he got embarrassed from their teasing yet it didn't make him any less ashamed of what he was into.
✎ᝰ! Always ran after the rounder girls in school.
✎ᝰ! It crushed him every time they turned him down.
✎ᝰ! Poor thing couldn’t comprehend that being into softer girls wasn’t mainstream.
✎ᝰ! As he grew older, his innocent admiration evolved into a more passionate, teenage longing.
✎ᝰ! His once puppy eyed stares grew more sinful as his hormones kicked in.
✎ᝰ! The urge to kiss soft, chubby cheeks turned into a desire to bury his face in full, ample tits and to grip meaty love handles.
✎ᝰ! Every time a curvy girl walked by, his breath would hitch, his gaze following the hypnotic sway of wide hips and jiggling bellies.
✎ᝰ! But even in his late teens, the frustration mounted. Porn magazines, ubiquitous among his peers, featured nothing but slim women. Respect them though he did, they simply didn’t ignite his imagination. leaving him to rely on his thoughts , filthy thoughts might I add.
✎ᝰ! Often imagining a fuller girl astride him, her soft body bouncing as she rode him, her weight pressing him into the mattress. His fantasies would leave him fisting his stiff cock fast like a mad man.
✎ᝰ! As he moved onto his solo career, away from his brothers, he had to be very careful about his image.
✎ᝰ! That's something both he and Frank agreed on, however that's not what Michael insinuated when it came to his dating life, or the type of women he wanted in his short films.
One such instance occurred during the production of the Thriller music video. Michael and his manager Frank DiLeo sat reviewing headshots of potential female leads.
“Hm, no, not this one,” Michael said, tossing aside yet another photo of a slender model.
Frank groaned, exhausted. “Michael, for God’s sake, this is the hundredth girl you’ve rejected. Pick someone so we can move on.”
Michael shrugged casually. “Hey, all these girls are cute, but I want it to be realistic.”
Frank gaped. “Realistic?! Michael, you’re playing a werewolf in this video!”
Michael sighed, annoyed. “Not that kind of realistic, Frank. If I’m supposed to give this girl a damn promise ring in the video, she should look like the kind of girl I’d actually give it to.”
Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. “Michael, we’ve been over this—”
Michael’s voice turned sharp, leaving no room for debate. “No, you’ve been over it. I’m not changing my mind. Either find me a softie, or I’ll find myself a new manager.”
✎ᝰ! Thankfully, things often worked in his favor.
✎ᝰ! Whenever he brought a curvy girl to set, no one batted an eye, assuming she was just a friend.
✎ᝰ! No one noticed that these “friends” never appeared more than once, nor did they question why his hand always rested possessively on their plush hips.
✎ᝰ! He’d smirk, thanking god for how clueless people could be.
✎ᝰ! Of course, not everyone was oblivious. Karen, his longtime makeup artist, had clocked his preference long ago.
✎ᝰ! She’d tried everything to seduce him—short dresses, red lipstick, flirty banter—but to no avail.
✎ᝰ! One day, as she applied his makeup, she noticed his attention fixed elsewhere.
✎ᝰ! She followed his gaze, annoyed that he wasn't facing her, to see him staring intently at another makeup artist across the room, her round cheeks glowing as she did his back up dancers makeup.
✎ᝰ! “Do you know her, K?” he asked, still staring, eyes never straying away from her round features.
✎ᝰ! Karen’s lips thinned. “No,” she said curtly, jealousy simmering beneath her skin. It was then she understood the truth.
✎ᝰ! By the time interviewers began prying into his love life, the pattern was unmistakable.
✎ᝰ! Questions about his “hidden” relationships amused him.
✎ᝰ! He wanted to laugh every time someone asked why he was so secretive. Secretive? Hardly. The world’s ignorance was the real culprit.
✎ᝰ! For years, he’d been openly hand-in-hand with his soft little muse, yet the tabloids never caught on.
✎ᝰ! Finally, he decided to just say ‘fuck it’ after marrying the love of his life in a beautiful secret ceremony.
✎ᝰ! The second the wedding photos were released, chaos erupted. No one could stop gossiping about it.
“Did you see the photos?” one host exclaimed. “He married a curvy girl! I mean, she’s stunning, but no one saw this coming.”
“I know, right?” another added. “I thought he’d end up with a model or actress, not someone so… chubby.”
Back at neverland, you lowered the TV volume and turned to him.
“You know this isn’t going to blow over anytime soon, right?” you asked.
Michael smirked, pulling you into his arms. “Who said I wanted it to? I want the world to know you’re my pretty wife—nobody else’s.”
He pressed a line of kisses up your neck, pausing to playfully nibble at your soft double chin.
“Ow! Hey, I’m not food,” you giggled.
He raised a brow. “Oh really? Because you tasted real sweet this morning—” You silenced him with a hand over his mouth, his muffled laughter warming your heart.
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cations: having a kid with Aaron, curse words, sex, mentions of self body shaming
Aaron woke up being smothered by kisses from his wife, reader, and their daughter. Their daughter's kisses were more like spit and slober buthe didnt care. He chuckled he undured the slobbery kisses. "Happy Birthday, baby..." you said with a smile on your face before giving him a peck on the lips. Baby Nora just babbled the word 'dada' as all of you cuddled together before Aaron had to leave for an early game at 12. You got up to hand him a small gift that you had with his favorite meal in a lunch box that was gifted to nora for her first birthday but thats besides the point.
"Good luck" you said with a wink before he left the hotel, leaving you alone with Nora.
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You and Nora dressed up to head to the game with the Astros. "Such a cutie, Nora!" you said to your daughter as you took a photo of her sitting all by herself in the seat of the family seats. Nora giggled before reaching for you, 'mama..' You picked her up and placed her on your lap. You soon saw the WAGS of both the Yankees and the Astros. Sara, the girlfriend of Ben Rice sat down next to you along with Amy, the wife of Gerrit Cole. "Hiii! Oh my god, I missed you guys!" Sara said, hugging you and quickly squeezing the hand of Nora. You smiled up at her before looking at Amy. Amy came with her two sons, Caden and Everett. "Long time no see," Amy said bending down to your level to hug you and to smile at Nora.
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The game started as soon as all of you sat down and relaxed. The start was... decent. The first inning went by the first three going down then with the Astros a homer... then a HBP and finally the inning ended. Then second inning, a strikeout then a single by Jazz, a lineout then another strikeout. When the Yankees came out to the field, you heard the chants of "Happy Birthday" to Aaron. You couldn't help but laugh and get flustered for Aaron at the thought of the whole world knowing your birthday.
Then, things turned bad quickly by the fifth inning, the Yankees were down by seven. This meant that if they didn't get their act up they might lose on the captain's birthday. But, luckily the next inning your man shot a homer down the left center! You shot up as soon as you heard the crack of his bat. With Nora in your arms, you cheered as you shook Nora gently. Nora let out a squeal as she saw her dada jog from third to home. He gave a quick nod to you and blew a kiss to Nora before he celebrated with his teammates. Randomly, by the ninth inning the Yankees seemed to finally wake up with a double by Goldschmidt, bringingJazz home, a double by Escarra and a single by McMahon, bringing Escarra home. Then, a lineout to third from Caballero. The score was 4-7.
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Thankfully, the Yankees let Aaron go after the game was over to celebrate with his family: You and Nora. You smiled up at him and gave him the biggest kiss before handing Nora to him. "Congrats on the birthday homerun." You teased, making Aaron smile. "Couldn't have done it without you and girly with me." You gave a smirk, "Yeah right, act all humble. Let's see how humble you are in bed later.' You said with a wink before walking to your car. You didn't care to look back at Aaron, you didn't need to when you saw his hard-on while he drove.
You quickly put Nora to sleep so you could give Aaron his present. When you stepped in yours and Aarons shared room, he pounced on you. Attackng your chest, quickly forming hickeys across you. "Shit, aaron..." you moaned out, leaning your head back against the pillows. "Finally getting my present, waited way too damn long..." he said, sounding muffled against you.
You watched as he took off his clothes, admiring the abs and muscles that were pronouced with every move he made. You did the same, except you 'admired' your body, noticing the loose skin, slight tummy and the stretch marks that Nora left while you were pregnant with her. You frowned but quickly changed your expression, trying not to worry Aaron. But Aaron catched on. "Whats wrong, honey?" he said, sliding off the bed to approach you. You let out a whimper before answering. "Do you really like me like this? I really tried to bounce back for you..."
He couldnt help but purse his lips and let out a huff. He lifted up your chin, "Dont let me ever hear you say those words again. You carried life, Nora's life. She wouldn't be here without you carrying her for nine months and through hours of labor and pushing. Dont ever try to 'bounce back' for me." Your eyes quickly filled up as you hugged him tightly. He kissed your head for a while before he layed you down on the bed. "Are you sure you want to continue?" You nodded, already soaked for him. He dove right in, drinking up your juices and moaning out like he tasted the best meal of his life. You mewled for name and curse words as he sucked on the right spots and actually cried as he shoved two fingers in you.
As you got closer and closer to climax, you noticed the humping of Aaron. No wonder he was moaning so much.. You climaxed, clenching his fingers and his tongue as he moaned like he came with you. You slowly and shakily sat up until you giggled whne you saw aarons cum dripping from his cock to the floor. "Aaron! You really came while eating me out?" You teased as you saw his face turn red and his cock softening. "I'll get you back eventually'' He mumbled before rubbing his face in your neck and pull you from the waist. He kissed you neck before falling asleep. Surprisingly the pussy put him to sleepppp!! Although the Yankees lost 4-7, Aaron Judge's wifes pussy making him cum was a silver lining to the day.
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a/n: How could i forget my husbands birthday and a post?? I hope you guys liked it. Sorry for making it very long!!
my tags: @xoxokiaraaxoxo @divinedelusional @hockeygirlyyyy
