𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 ⟡ 27. cancer. brooding. body guard. grumpy as hell. wears black t-shirts and combat boots like a uniform. quiet protector. veins in forearms. loyal. stubborn. secret softie. unreadable. trust issues. won’t drink on the job but loves whiskey. jaw clenched 24/7. calls you ‘kid’ to annoy you. scar on his knuckles.
“Oh my God, enough,” Matt says through his teeth, his hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks red from the sun.
You were on one today. Pennsylvania was going through a heat wave, and it was 102 degrees. You were used to the heat; you grew up in Los Angeles. But this was bum fuck Pennsylvania, where you couldn’t exactly just go to the beach without taking a two-hour drive.
“Matt, it’s fucking hot,” you whine, your feet dragging along the sidewalk.
You begged him to go to the Farmer’s Market. You wanted fresh flowers for the kitchen and good matcha because—
“Pennsylvania’s matcha fucking sucks, Matt.”
And this was the only place that made it the way you liked.
“Baby.” You can tell he’s trying to calm himself down. “I warned you it was going to be hot today. I told you it wasn’t worth coming out here, and I offered to run to the store and grab flowers for you.”
He wipes the sweat from his forehead, squinting against the sun.
“I didn’t want store-bought flowers.” The words leave your mouth sharper than you mean them to.
You know you’re being ridiculous. You know he’s trying to fix the problem instead of arguing. But it’s one hundred and two degrees, your shirt is sticking to your back, your matcha is already melting, and every ounce of patience you woke up with has evaporated into the Pennsylvania humidity.
You finally make it to the flower stand, only to find the bouquets wilted from sitting in the relentless heat all morning.
You stand there with your arms crossed, staring at them with complete disappointment.
Matt takes a slow breath.
“How about these, baby?” He reaches toward a bundle of white daisies. “You like these?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug.
His eyebrows lift.
“…Okay.”
His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek as he walks around to the other side of the stand. He studies a few more bouquets before pulling one out.
“What about these? They don’t look as wilted.”
“I guess.” You let out a long, dramatic sigh.
Matt pauses.
“‘You guess?’” His eyes meet yours. “We drove thirty minutes because you wanted flowers, and all you’ve got is ‘I guess?’”
“I don’t care.” You wave him off. “Just get them. Whatever.”
Even you cringe at your own tone. You don’t mean to sound like a brat. You’re just so hot, and you’re even more annoyed that you’re acting like this but can’t find it in you to stop.
“Got me driving thirty damn minutes for flowers,” he mutters under his breath.
His stride is so long that you practically have to jog to keep up.
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.
“Then you spend the whole time acting like a brat.”
He glances over at you.
“Had a million other things I needed to get done today, and instead I’ve been chasing you around this damn market.”
“Oh my God, Matt, it’s thirty fucking minutes. You’ll survive.”
You double down.
Matt doesn’t answer.
He unlocks the truck, carefully setting the bouquet on the driver’s seat before shutting the door again.
His eyes scan the nearly empty parking lot. A few cars pull out near the front of the market, but the row he’d parked in is quiet, tucked beneath a line of trees.
Only then does he open the back door.
“Get in the back.”
“Why?”
“Get. In. The. Back.”
You barely have time to settle into the seat before Matt reaches for your wrist, pulling you forward. The sudden tug catches you off guard, your balance giving out as he guides you across him. One arm wraps securely around your waist to keep you from colliding with the door, leaving you draped sideways over his lap before your brain can catch up.
“Matt—”
He tugs your shorts and thong down to your mid-thighs.
“Acting fucking ridiculous today, hm?”
His free hand comes up to your face, his fingers closing around your jaw until your cheeks puff slightly beneath his grip.
“Matt—”
“Can you take this?”
“I—”
“Yes or no.”
You swallow hard.
“Yes.”
His hand comes down hard. No warm-up. No warning.
The impact jolts through you, your body jerking on instinct as a startled whimper slips past your lips.
His grip never leaves your jaw, keeping your gaze fixed on him. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip before he delivers another sharp smack.
“There you are,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smug smile. “C’mon. I wanna hear you talk.”
Another pause. Another smack.
“Go on.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Bitch at me now.”
You go to open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your eyes sting with tears.
“Quiet now, huh?” he whispers.
Smack.
“God, you must be so embarrassed, baby.”
He licks his lips, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.
“In the backseat of my truck with your panties down, in public.” A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “Fucking ridiculous.”
His hand comes down again. Your ass jiggles from the impact, another broken whimper slipping past your lips.
“The only way to get you to shut up is by spanking you, huh? That’s the only way?”
Smack.
You gasp.
His gaze finally leaves yours, drifting lower as he spreads your cheeks apart. You’re soaked—your slick clings to your inner thighs.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans, grinding into you.
“Wet for me?”
You whimper, giving him a small nod.
Smack.
“You’re unbelievable.” He lets out an exasperated laugh. “Might have to fuck you right here. Let those flowers really die.”
[a/n: old request! short lil blurb! not too confident in this one but hope you enjoy! i've missed his ass]
drew starkey x actress!reader thoughts !!!
drew starkey x actress!reader timeline [UPDATED]
actress!reader camera roll
drew and actress reader wedding/honeymoon thoughts !!!
drew and actress!reader being the best couple for 10 minutes
drew and actress!reader do the “we listen and we don’t judge” challenge
drew and actress!reader do the suspects challenge
actress!reader’s reaction to drew’s new hair (+ eyebrows)
drew being obsessed with actress!reader for 10 minutes
drew and actress!reader having crushes on each other for 10 minutes
charleston being the best dog ever for 10 minutes
drew and actress!reader’s bloopers + bts
drew being obsessed with actress!reader for 10 minutes (wife edition)
drew and actress!reader make some tik toks
drew and actress!reader pregnancy moments
full fics
interview fics - all of drew and actress!reader's interviews in one place
drew and actress!reader’s first premiere as a couple [REMASTERED]
drew and actress!reader move into their new house [REMASTERED]
drew and actress!reader at the venice film festival
drew and actress!reader talk about the future
drew and actress!reader attend a fashion show
drew and actress!reader feel the distance
drew tells actress!reader how he feels
actress!reader and “big, bad boyfriend” drew
actress!reader visits drew on the obx set
actress!reader and drew go public
actress!reader is worried about drew
drew and actress!reader shoot an intense scene
actress!reader supports drew at his premiere
drew’s lockscreen of actress!reader
drew saves actress!reader from the paparazzi
drew’s live gets interrupted by actress!reader
drew and actress!reader argue about their next steps
drew helps actress!reader with a wardrobe malfunction
paparazzi interrupts drew and actress!reader's walk
drew visits actress!reader (+ jealousy ensues)
actress!reader attends the golden globes (with a special accessory)
drew and actress!reader babysit
drew and actress!reader do a q and a
paparazzi catches actress!reader’s baby bump
actress!reader helps drew rehearse a scene
drew and actress!reader take on the snow
drew and actress!reader attend an event following their pregnancy announcement
drew and actress!reader’s first valentine’s day
drew and actress!reader attend poguelandia
drew stands up for actress!reader
actress!reader and drew attend the oscars
drew and actress!reader shoot a music video
drew meets actress!reader’s family
the doubts get to actress!reader
actress!reader, drew, and break up rumors
drew helps actress!reader during an interview
actress!reader has a bad case of baby fever
drew and actress!reader’s first anniversary
the doubts get to drew
drew helps actress!reader while she’s sick
drew pops the question to actress!reader
actress!reader: la vlog
drew and actress!reader go out
actress!reader: get ready with me for the met gala
actress!reader gets asked about drew
drew and actress!reader have a stressful week
drew and actress!reader attend tudum
drew and actress!reader spotted at the eras tour
actress!reader visits drew on the obx set (again)
actress!reader: paris fashion week
drew and actress!reader attend a family reunion
actress!reader: just talking + my nighttime routine
drew and actress!reader for ysl
drew and actress!reader have an argument
drew and actress!reader have a cozy fall day
actress!reader visits drew (and the obx cast) in croatia
drew surprises actress!reader for her birthday
drew and actress!reader find out she’s pregnant
actress!reader visits drew on the final obx wrap day
actress!reader visit drew’s family for the holidays
drew and actress!reader attend the golden globes (with an announcement)
actress!reader: barista vlog
drew helps actress!reader during a stressful time
actress!reader in the “house tour” music video
they’re doing really well! finally settled into their home in pennsylvania and V is feeling more at peace. she’s still making matt change the paint a million times, build furniture just for her to decide it doesn’t fit the vibe, and move things around every other week. he does it all with a straight face, acts like he hates it, but never says no.
she’s in law school now, matt’s working as a mechanic, and they are extremely happy. 😇
SUMMARY: inspired by this request. Michael spends months hiding an engagement ring and waiting for the perfect moment to propose. unfortunately, Y/N doesn’t know about either of those things and writes a song making that everybody else’s problem.
CONTENT: michael jackson x singer!reader. established relationship. raye inspired reader. “where is my husband!” - all credits go miss raye! fluff. comedy. public shenanigans. michael needs to hurry up.
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭ .
Everyone had accepted one simple truth: Michael Jackson and Y/N were going to get married.
Nobody questioned ‘if’ anymore. They only questioned the ‘when’.
Which, unfortunately for Michael, had become the most frequently asked question in entertainment journalism.
They had been together for nearly four years now.
She was the industry’s newest darling—a powerhouse vocalist whose soul, jazz and pop influences had made her one of the fastest-rising artists at the time. Every awards season belonged to her just as much as it belonged to him.
Together, they were impossible to ignore.
Magazine covers.
Award shows.
Movie premieres.
Charity galas.
Somehow they always ended up photographed laughing in corners, stealing little glances when they thought cameras weren’t paying attention.
And every interview somehow eventually became the same conversation.
“So…” The interviewer smiled knowingly. “When’s the wedding?”
Y/N always laughed. “Don’t look at me!” She shook her head and held out her hands. “It’s not me you should be asking that!”
The audience laughed.
Michael laughed.
The interviewer laughed.
Then the camera inevitably cut to Michael.
He’d smile innocently. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” she’d tease. “They’re asking you!”
He’d simply shrug. “I don’t know what everyone’s talking about.”
“Oh, you know exactly what they’re talking about.”
“I really don’t.”
“You’re such a bad liar!”
Another interview. Another city. Another red carpet.
“So,” another reporter grinned, “have you started planning the wedding?”
Y/N sighed dramatically. “Well, I’ve started.”
Michael blinked beside her. “You have?”
“Yes, I have.” She nodded throughly. “I’ve picked flowers.”
Michael tilted his head at her. “You have?”
She nodded once again. “I’ve picked music.”
“…You have?”
“Oh, honey, I’ve even picked the cake.” She stated in a very serious tone.
Michael laughed. “Of course you have.” He said, pulling her closer with the arm he had around her shoulder and placing a kiss on her temple.
The clip aired everywhere.
Fans adored them.
The jokes became a running thing.
Whenever Michael left for another leg of his tour, Y/N would wave him goodbye dramatically.
“Come back with a ring!”
He’d point at her. “No promises.” She threw hands every time.
Months passed. Another tour. Another album. Another awards season.
And still…
No proposal in sight.
But what nobody knew—not the press, not the fans, not even Y/N—was that tucked safely inside the back drawer of Michael’s dresser sat a navy velvet ring box.
Inside rested the most beautiful marquise-cut diamond he’d ever seen.
He’d spent nearly six months searching for it.
Six long months of sneaking around in jewelry stores.
Six long, exhausting months of yearning to drop on one knee and call the woman he loved his fiancée and eventually wife already.
But Michael simply refused to rush something he’d dreamed about his entire life.
He wanted the moment perfect. She deserved nothing but perfection.
Y/N, meanwhile, was getting very impatient.
Not genuinely, thought. Comically impatient.
On one specific afternoon she stormed into the studio chewing on some gun and carrying righteous indignation.
Her producer looked up from the piano. He grimaced. “Should I be worried?”
“Yes.” She answered, dropping onto a chair near the piano.
He sighed, turning on the bench to face her. “What happened?”
“My boyfriend is testing me.” She pressed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes harshly.
“…Michael?”
“Michael.” She affirmed in a low voice while nodding.
“He do something?”
“Absolutely not.”
“…Okay?” The producer frowned. That man was getting confused.
Y/N groaned and dropped her head dramatically. “He won’t propose.”
Silence.
He pondered for a few seconds before nodding. “Yeah, that’s actually fair.”
“Thank you!” She threw herself dramatically onto the chair one more time. “I’ve been so, so patient.”
He snorted at her, getting up from the bench and placing his hands on his waist. “Darling, you’ve been making jokes about it on national television.”
“Exactly.” She pointed a sharp finger at him.
“So what’s your plan?”
Y/N sat up slowly, a mischievous smile slowly spreading across her face.
“I am about to write the most direct song of my entire tiny career.”
Her producer immediately started laughing. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
Three hours later she walked into the vocal booth.
The band watched through the glass.
The backing vocalists waited beside their microphones.
She adjusted her headphones. Smiled and cleared her throat.
Then announced: “Okay, this one goes out to my wonderful boyfriend,” A beat. “who apparently needs some instruction.”
Her producer snorted, shaking his head at her. This girl was impossible.
When the recording was finished, the producer slowly removed his headphone. “You’re going to send Michael Jackson into cardiac arrest.” He noted.
“Oh, I know.”
“You’ve publicly declared war.”
“Well, you know what they say,” She said through the microphone while shrugging slightly.
The producer shrugged and frowned. “Uh, I actually have no idea what ‘they say’” He paused. “Please, enlighten me.”
Y/N smirked. “All’s fair in love and poetry.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
She kept the song secret for a few weeks.
Even from Michael. Well, especially from Michael.
Which made the invitation to perform at a major Award show ceremony all the more dangerous.
Nobody knew what she planned.
Not the audience.
Not the press.
Certainly not the man sitting front row in a black tuxedo who believed he was simply there to support his girlfriend.
The auditorium lights dimmed. A spotlight illuminated center stage. The curtain lifted and the audience erupted.
Y/N stood beneath a vintage microphone wearing a floor-length crimson gown that glittered beneath every light in the room.
The silhouette hugged her perfectly before flowing elegantly to the floor.
Her hair curled softly beneath her jaw.
She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a 1950s Hollywood film.
Behind her waited an entire live band.
Piano.
Double bass.
Drums.
A brass section.
And three women in matching satin gowns standing behind vintage microphones.
Michael smiled immediately at the sight. But something about this entire setup made him a bit nervous, what he couldn’t place a finger on it.
“You know, she didn’t let me hear this one yet,” Michael commented casually to the man sitting beside him. It was Y/N’s producer, who didn’t take his eyes off the stage.
“Oh, trust me, I know.” He answered with a scoff.
Michael frowned a little at that response. “She just keeps saying it’s ‘special.’”
The man scratched the back of his neck and clicked his tongue. “It is.”
“You’ve heard it?” Michael asked, turning towards him.
“Unfortunately.”
Michael laughed. “Unfortunately?”
“Yeah, yeah,” The producer finally looked at him. “You’ll see.”
Then the lights dimmed.
The pianist played the opening chord.
Y/N wrapped one elegant hand around the microphone.
Smiled sweetly.
“Oh, baby…” She sang, her voice floating through the room like velvet. Warm. Playful. Dangerously theatrical. Then she tilted her head, a mischievous grin appeared on her red lips. “Where the hell is my husband?”
The audience exploded.
People gasped and screamed before she’d even finished the sentence.
Michael covered half his face with one hand.
“Oh my God…” He murmured under his breath.
The cameras immediately found him. Worst possible thing ever for Michael.
Because Michael Jackson looked like he was trying to decide if he should laugh, cry or faint.
Y/N caught him looking. Smirked. Then continued.
God, how he loved her.
Michael slowly turned to her producer with widened eyes.
The producer was doing his absolute best to not look back at him.
Michael shook his head in disbelief, a smile starting to appear on his face. “You knew about this?”
“Mhm.”
“And you let her do this?”
The man shook his head with a tiny smile, but after a few seconds the nods turned into a negative head shaking, the smile vanishing from his face as he stared at a very amused Michael Jackson. He gulped.
“Michael, I value my life.” He kept glancing between Y/N and Michael. “Do you know how stubborn your girlfriend is?”
Michael grinned and nodded knowingly.
“Your wife can be very persuasive—No, not wife—I mean, I—girlfrie—wife to be—I mean—“ Michel roared with laughter at the poor man. “I’ll just…” He sealed his lips shut and turned towards the stage once again with cheeks as red as Y/N’s gown.
Michael stared at him for a few more seconds before sighing with content and turning his eyes to his girlfriend on stage.
The backing vocalists answered every phrase behind her like a mischievous Greek chorus.
“Woo-hoo…” She wandered slowly across the stage. Shielding her eyes dramatically as though searching the audience. “What is taking him so long…” She scanned the balcony, the orchestra and the celebrity tables. “…to find me?” She pointed at herself.
By the second verse the audience had completely surrendered to her.
“I’m doing lonely acrobatics…”
She dramatically reached behind herself pretending to unzip the back of the gown.
Then threw one hand dramatically into the air. “This where your wife is!”
Without missing a beat she pointed directly toward the front row. Toward Michael.
Every head in the theater turned.
Michael slowly leaned back in his chair.
He couldn’t stop smiling.
When the bridge of the song came through entire room somehow got louder.
“I would like a ring…” She lifted her left hand beneath the spotlight. Completely bare, no ring in sight.
She admired the nonexistent engagement ring as though it were worth millions. Turning her wrist elegantly, smiling proudly at absolutely nothing. “I would like a diamond ring…”
She extended the imaginary diamond toward the audience.
“I would like a biiiiig…” Her hands spread dramatically apart. “…and shiny diamond…” She suddenly gasped and shielded her eyes.
“Oh!”She stumbled backward theatrically. “It’s blinding.” She said, a little comment in between the verses.
Then the choreography began.
All four women lifted their left hands simultaneously.
Waving their empty ring fingers around the theater, turning their wrists and admiring invisible diamonds from every angle.
One backing vocalist pretended to faint over Y/N’s imaginary engagement ring.
Another applauded.
The third dramatically shielded her own eyes from the ‘sparkle.’
The theater roared.
Michael had both hands over his mouth now, shoulders shaking with laughter. He wasn’t even trying to be discreet about it.
Y/N looked directly at him and grinned wider.
She was loving every second of this.
The music softened, brass disappearing and drums fading away, until only the piano remained.
Y/N glanced toward the ceiling.
Then slowly lifted one finger upward. “…Grandma?” She nodded to herself, pointing upwards once again. “Oh, there she is.” She smiled with satisfaction.
Then, through the speakers, a female elderly voice echoed through the speakers.
“Your husband is coming.”
The audience yelled at the iconic line.
Michael looked at the producer in disbelief, his cheeks starting to hurt from smiling and blushing. “She even got grams involved?” He couldn’t believe it!
The producer nodded once like it was obvious.
“Oh, yeah, the whole family’s is out to get you.” He said bluntly. Michael laughed loudly once again.
Then, Y/N clutched her chest dramatically.
She laughed into the microphone at herself before stepping away from it completely.
And instead of returning to center stage she wondered towards the very edge of it.
Toward the front row.
Toward Michael.
Every camera followed.
Every screen in the theater showed only them now.
She stopped directly in front of him.
Only a few feet separated them.
Michael looked up at her with the expression of a man realizing he was absolutely not surviving this performance.
Then—to everyone’s surprise—Y/N gracefully lowered herself onto the edge of the stage, onto her stomach and resting on her elbows. Her chin settled into her hands. High heeled feet kicked lazily behind her in the air. Completely girlish. Completely shameless. Like she was lying on her bedroom floor gossiping with her best friend instead of performing in front of Hollywood.
The crowd completely lost whatever composure they still had left.
Michael threw his head back laughing before looking back at her with the most loving and tender eyes known to mankind.
“Oh, my love…” He mumbled through smiles.
She smiled innocently at him and batted her eyelashes. Then pointed directly at him.
“Where…” She tilted her head, singing in a paused voice. “…is my husband?” She smiled so sweetly it was almost criminal.
The cameras immediately cut to Michael.
He bit his lip, a big, big smile on his face.
The audience screamed louder.
He shook his head lightly before looking around the theater innocently. Then—that teasing, teasing man—pointed towards himself. “Me?”
The audacity of this man! Y/N only raised a sharp brow in response.
The building practically shook.
People were already standing.
Cheering.
Screaming.
Whistling.
Y/N laughed so hard she had to pull the microphone away from her mouth.
She leaned forward just enough to tap the tip of Michael’s chin with one finger before gracefully pushing herself back to her feet.
She smoothed down the shimmering red gown as though she hadn’t just publicly confronted the biggest pop star on Earth just because she could.
Then she turned and walked back toward center stage with the effortless elegance of an Old Hollywood leading lady.
The band exploded back to life.
The brass returned.
The backing vocalists joined her one last time.
She held the final note effortlessly.
The lights cut.
Blackout.
Then, half a second later, the standing ovation hit.
It was deafening.
Michael stood immediately. Still laughing. Applauding louder and harder than anyone in the room.
She caught his eye from across the stage.
Blew him a kiss.
He caught it.
Pressed it dramatically against his heart.
Then mouthed “You’re unbelievable.”
She simply winked. Not sorry. Not even a little bit.
The ovation continued.
And then, something nobody noticed. Not the cameras. Not the audience. Not even Y/N.
As the applause kept going Michael quietly slipped one hand inside his tuxedo jacket.
His fingertips brushed against the small navy velvet box resting inside of his inner pocket.
He smiled and looked down at the object. Then his eyes traveled back to woman taking her final bow beneath a shower of applause.
She thought she’d just cornered him.
She thought she’d declared war.
She thought she’d just spent four minutes publicly bullying her boyfriend into proposing.
Little did she know the ring she’d spent the entire performance pretending to wear already existed.
And was less than two feet away from her.
Michael closed his hand around the little velvet box for a second longer than necessary before slipping it carefully back into his pocket.
Beside him, Y/N’s producer happened to glance down at that exact moment, his eyes catching the corner of the small box. He blinked once. Twice. Mouth opened and closed. Then looked slowly back at Michael. Actual relief crossed his face.
“Oh, thank goodness, man!” He ran a hand through his hair.
Michael didn’t say anything, just smiled and bit his bottom lip. He simply looked back toward the stage, where Y/N was taking another bow beneath the thunderous applause, still wearing that triumphant smile she wore whenever she thought she had won a battle.
The producer followed his gaze.
A slow grin spread across his face.
“Well,” he murmured. “Guess she wasn’t singing to the void after all.”
Michael laughed quietly to himself.
“No,” he admitted, unable to take his eyes off her. “She wasn’t.”
The applause kept echoing through the theater.
Y/N waved one last time before disappearing behind the curtain, completely unaware of Michael’s plans.
Michael smiled to himself. ‘Okay,’ he thought. ‘I think I’ve made my future wife wait long enough.’
“She is never going to let you live this performance down, you know that, right?” the producer asked rhetorically.
Michael’s smile only grew. “Oh, I know.” He patted the pocket of his jacket almost absentmindedly.
warnings/tags: kinda toxic, mentions of teen pregnancy, cuss words, exes to lovers, brothers best friend (?), they kinda hate each other (KINDA!), y/n’s lowkey bipolar, avoidant behavior
timeline (ish): twitter!!!
in which teen parents turned co-parents, y/n and hollis, juggle a four-year-old, passive-aggressive texts, and the fact that this was not in the five-year plan.
navi. ← │ →
an: HELLOOOOO i hope we’re all doing amazing and i hope everyone who went to govball had so much funnnnn
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