Content: Sending Michael off with messages everyday !
A/n: lowkey came out so shitty, but we move !
“I love you” was exactly what was written on the small paper that you pressed against the window, the large black letter contrasting against the white sheet of paper as the curtains fell against your wrist, hiding you from the outside world, but Michael knew because every day since the two of you got married, you did it. Every time he’d leave for an interview, meeting, or whatever, you always sent him off the same way.
You’d watched him do it many times to the fans that waited for him at the entrance of his hotel, excitedly scribbling a quick message to let them know he appreciated them and loved them. Sometimes even sticking a small stuffed animal or a flower outside the window.
It was always something that you saw made his day, a small smile plastered on his face once he stepped back from the window, turning to face you as you sat on the plush bed, legs crossed, smiling from the sheer fact that he was ecstatic. So, from that moment on, you decided you'd love him the same way he loved his fans.
Content: In which Michael visits his favorite barista after hours
It was just about time to close, the lively energy from the day finally coming to an end as many of the customers packed up their belongings, the ambiance of chairs scraping against the smooth wooden floors filling your ears and the smell of ground coffee overwhelming your senses as it seeped into your clothes.
You glanced over the small shop, making sure that the last of the customers were out before flipping the sign to close, one of the things that was a part of your usual routine, but what had just become new to the routine was Michael.
It really started as an honest mistake; he was just looking for some place quiet, some place where he could get away from the hustle and bustle of his glamorous life. He really had no idea you were closed, well until he pulled the handle of the door right as your fingers met with the lock.
His outfit was casual, compared to his usual bling, just a simple sweater and trousers. His hair was in its usual fro, the curls wrapped messily around each other.
“Oh uh, were you closed?” He spoke nervously through the small crack that connected the inside of the shop to the outside world, voice soft like a kid that had just been scolded.
“I was just about to close for the night, but you're welcome to have a seat while I clean!” You spoke, pushing the door open so that he could step inside.
“Are you sure? I mean I really don't want to be a burden,” his eyes glanced over the empty shop, the chairs that had been neatly pushed in, the smell of coffee that took over his nostrils.
“Not at all! Come in.”
That was the moment he decided this would be his new after-hours spot.
The environment was calming, making his worries from the day and the stress from his upcoming solo album melt away.
“Like coffee? It's on the house.” You glanced his way, stepping behind the counter as he made himself comfortable in his seat.
“Not a fan,” he laughed nervously, looking down at his fingers.
“Ah, it's okay,” you giggled to yourself, scrubbing at some of the coffee residue that had been building up throughout the day.
It was a simple interaction, a simple act of kindness. Of course, everyone knew Michael Jackson, the kind that sang ABC and I Want You Back, but whether you knew it or not, you didn't say much. You treated him like he was just your average person, like you didn't want anything from him, but instead wanted to get to know him, and that was something he missed in his life.
“Back again?” You giggle, watching as he settled onto the top of the table, letting his feet hang off the edge, his head hanging low as he let out a laugh of his own.
“Yeah, and I've been workin on my new album, I'm really excited for it,” his eyes lit up, like a kid showing off their new toy.
“It's something that I think would make people wanna dance, y'know?” he glanced at you, taking in your features that made him get this funny feeling in his stomach.
“That's really exciting, Mikey! I'm proud of you.”
“Hopefully I’ll be first to hear it,” you joked, wiping the seats down to get them ready for the next day, the light sound of the spray bottle filling the room.
“How about I take you after this?”
“You really would?” There was a hint of surprise that slipped past your lips as you asked the question. Maybe you were shocked to see that he felt comfortable enough to even let you listen in on something he was so proud of and ready to share with the world.
“Yeah, of course I would, silly,” he chuckled, finally hopping off the table, the soft tap of his shoes hitting the wooden floors, catching your attention.
“I'll just finish up here and we can go.”
There was a faint flutter in Michael's stomach hearing the words. Maybe it was the fact that you used a tone that was calm enough to ease his soul, calm enough to stop any of those unwanted doubts in his head, or maybe it was the fact that from day one you showed him something that seemed to be so rare for him—kindness.
Content: Michael's too nervous to go all the way, so this is the solution
contains dry humping, Michael being embarrassed, no plot um idk what else
The room was nearly silent except for the small whimpers that fell from your mouth, your head resting on Michael's shoulder as your hips rocked in a circular motion over his clothed bulge.
It was dark, almost too dark aside from the small slit of moonlight that shone through the gap in the curtains. The once neatly made sheets had turned into a bunched-up mess, spilling off the sides of the bed.
"Baby, it's s'good," Michael spoke first, his breathing becoming more rapid, chest heaving up and down as if he were trying to suck up all the remaining air in the room. His back was pressed tightly against the headboard, occasionally lurching forward.
He was embarrassed honestly, embarrassed to be in the position of nearly cumming in his pants, his boxers that once fit perfectly now seeming more tight and restricted against his body. He placed one of his hands on the small of your back guiding your hips forward as his other one covered his face, trying his best to stifle any sounds that managed to slip past the filter he'd placed on himself.
"It's okay, Mikey, it's just us," you moaned against the crook of his neck, earning another stifled whimper.
You were close, so close that you could feel your hips sputtering, desperately humping at his bulge. Your panties now completely soaked through, creating a new wet spot on his boxers.
"It's too much," his words were slurred, like he was completely drunk off the feeling of your body pressed against his, like he couldn't help but feel this way when you were this close to him, breath fanning against the sensitive skin of his neck.
"Do it, baby, I'm here," you whispered closely in his ear, just enough to drive him straight off the edge, enough to let the pleasure he'd been denying himself slip through the innocent mask he pretended to wear.
"Oh... ohh," it was louder than he intended it to be, but he couldn't help it, his hips forcing themselves upwards as his head flung backwards, brows knitted tightly, eyes fluttering open before shutting again.
There was a pause in the room, the closeness that was once there now gone, as it made room for the gasps of air that fell from Michael's lips and the small whines that fell from your own.
"You... okay?" You smiled, suppressing a small laugh at the way Michael's eyes could barely stay open, jaw relaxed as his mouth hung open.
“It's not funny, I'm embarrassed now” he turned his head so that he wouldn't be looking you in the eyes, but it didn't last long before your fingers grasped at his chin, moving it to that he'd be facing you before kissing him, sending shivers all over.
I severely want to start writing fics, but im overthinking it so bad because of how many fantastic writers are on here that It'll be bad to people who read it 😔😔✌️
Shopping with Michael always made you come out with things you most definitely didn't need. Whether you just barely glanced at it or picked it up once before setting it back down on the shelf, at the end of the day you somehow ended up with a pile of shopping bags. The price was never a problem for him; the only thing he cared about was getting you whatever you wanted.
“Michael, I already have three of these,” you sighed, watching him hand over his card.
At this point, you wondered if you should just wear a blindfold and keep your hands glued to your side.
Content: In which Michael visits his favorite barista after hours
It was just about time to close, the lively energy from the day finally coming to an end as many of the customers packed up their belongings, the ambiance of chairs scraping against the smooth wooden floors filling your ears and the smell of ground coffee overwhelming your senses as it seeped into your clothes.
You glanced over the small shop, making sure that the last of the customers were out before flipping the sign to close, one of the things that was a part of your usual routine, but what had just become new to the routine was Michael.
It really started as an honest mistake; he was just looking for some place quiet, some place where he could get away from the hustle and bustle of his glamorous life. He really had no idea you were closed, well until he pulled the handle of the door right as your fingers met with the lock.
His outfit was casual, compared to his usual bling, just a simple sweater and trousers. His hair was in its usual fro, the curls wrapped messily around each other.
“Oh uh, were you closed?” He spoke nervously through the small crack that connected the inside of the shop to the outside world, voice soft like a kid that had just been scolded.
“I was just about to close for the night, but you're welcome to have a seat while I clean!” You spoke, pushing the door open so that he could step inside.
“Are you sure? I mean I really don't want to be a burden,” his eyes glanced over the empty shop, the chairs that had been neatly pushed in, the smell of coffee that took over his nostrils.
“Not at all! Come in.”
That was the moment he decided this would be his new after-hours spot.
The environment was calming, making his worries from the day and the stress from his upcoming solo album melt away.
“Like coffee? It's on the house.” You glanced his way, stepping behind the counter as he made himself comfortable in his seat.
“Not a fan,” he laughed nervously, looking down at his fingers.
“Ah, it's okay,” you giggled to yourself, scrubbing at some of the coffee residue that had been building up throughout the day.
It was a simple interaction, a simple act of kindness. Of course, everyone knew Michael Jackson, the kind that sang ABC and I Want You Back, but whether you knew it or not, you didn't say much. You treated him like he was just your average person, like you didn't want anything from him, but instead wanted to get to know him, and that was something he missed in his life.
“Back again?” You giggle, watching as he settled onto the top of the table, letting his feet hang off the edge, his head hanging low as he let out a laugh of his own.
“Yeah, and I've been workin on my new album, I'm really excited for it,” his eyes lit up, like a kid showing off their new toy.
“It's something that I think would make people wanna dance, y'know?” he glanced at you, taking in your features that made him get this funny feeling in his stomach.
“That's really exciting, Mikey! I'm proud of you.”
“Hopefully I’ll be first to hear it,” you joked, wiping the seats down to get them ready for the next day, the light sound of the spray bottle filling the room.
“How about I take you after this?”
“You really would?” There was a hint of surprise that slipped past your lips as you asked the question. Maybe you were shocked to see that he felt comfortable enough to even let you listen in on something he was so proud of and ready to share with the world.
“Yeah, of course I would, silly,” he chuckled, finally hopping off the table, the soft tap of his shoes hitting the wooden floors, catching your attention.
“I'll just finish up here and we can go.”
There was a faint flutter in Michael's stomach hearing the words. Maybe it was the fact that you used a tone that was calm enough to ease his soul, calm enough to stop any of those unwanted doubts in his head, or maybe it was the fact that from day one you showed him something that seemed to be so rare for him—kindness.
Content: in which Michael's running a fever, yet refuses to stop practicing
A/n: I wrote this with otw Michael in mind, but it can be any era!
“Enough, Michael!” Your voice boomed over the music that blared from the speakers before your fingers moved towards the plug, abruptly cutting the music. The silence that fell amongst the room was almost deafening; the only thing that could be heard was the sound of his ragged breathing, as you watched his chest heave up and down in a rhythmic pattern, sucking up every little bit of air around him, sweat dripping down his forehead and neck, pooling at the collar of his T-shirt.
“But, baby—”
Classic Michael. Using pet names to deflect as soon as he was cornered.
“No, you're clearly not feeling well, yet you'd rather drop dead than admit it and give it a rest.” You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing at his sweaty form. The room felt hot and stuffy, small waves of air hitting the room from the open door, but it wasn't enough to cut through the humidity of the room.
“C'mon, you know I have to practice… I have to be perfect,” his voice was uneven, still catching his breath from the intense dance session that happened moments before. His knees seemed wobbly as he tried his best to hold eye contact. His hand pressed against the wall to steady himself, against the weight of his fatigue and fever. He looked absolutely exhausted, eyes heavy and half-lidded, shoulders hanging low.
“Mike, you've been in the spotlight for so long, performing for fans all over, I think you deserve to give yourself a break. I mean, look at you, you're on the verge of collapsing.” You looped your arm around his own sweaty arm. His skin was hot and flushed, like it could burn your own, but you didn't care. The only thing on your mind currently was keeping him upright.
“Let's get you back to bed, okay? I'll get you a compress and some soup. How does that sound?” You glanced at his features, completely drained of all the energy he had left.
The woman who seemingly couldn't keep her hands off your man. Her fingers lingering on her own skin, small playful slaps on the shoulder, the way she'd lean in close like she couldn't hear when the afterparty got too loud, her nose nearly touching his cheek when she knew you were watching.
It was pathetic, really, sick even.
A woman that old toying with someone much younger, not to mention that she clearly knew Michael was completely devoted to someone who wasn't her. The way she'd glance your way with that stupid smile of hers before she'd burst Michael's personal space bubble.
Michael wasn't oblivious. He never was.
He knew exactly how you felt about the relationship he and Diana had. In fact, he'd make it obvious that the love that he once had for her was completely gone as he tried his best to scoot away from her.
“Mikey, can't you see that she still has some weird obsession with you?” You spoke in his ear, the warmth from your breath and the smell of your perfume sending chills down his spine.
“I know, baby, but—" His sentence was cut off by the grating sound of Diana's voice calling out his name.
“Michael! So nice to see you! And congrats on all those awards tonight." She looked him up and down, admiring his body like she was the one dating him.
There were only a few words that came to mind: I know this bitch did not.
"Furious" was an understatement, your skin prickling with the heat of pure anger. She knew all the right things to press to get you heated, especially when it came to Michael, who, by the way, is YOUR man, not Diana's.
“Thank you." Diana moved her hand so that it was strategically grasping Michael's own hand.
Oh, you were fed up. First, she ignores you; okay, fine, you didn't like each other anyway. Then she eyes-fucks your man. Oh, hell no. Lastly, she goes out of her way to grab his hand, too? Oh fuck no. It was about time Diana had been told about herself, and you were going to be the one to do it.
"Diana," your voice was just barely heard over the blaring music and singing of the afterparty, yet your voice was calm, almost too calm.
“Don't you think you should leave a taken man alone? Especially at your age?” You emphasized that last part.
“Oh, I'm just being friendly! Don't be dramatic."
Dramatic? You were being dramatic?
“Dramatic? You know what? Let me tell you something, Diana, this is my man, not yours. Whatever sick twisted thing you had with him is dead. Do you hear me? Or do I have to fuck you up for you to get that through that head of yours?” At this point you seemed louder than the music, earning a few stares from the people around you, who'd stopped dancing just to see what would go around.
“Baby, look—" he started, only to be immediately shut down by a look that could only be described as a “shut the hell up or I'll deal with you personally."
“There's no need to be like that. Michael and I go way back." She tried cracking another joke that fell on deaf ears.
“I don't think you get it. I don't care! Leave him alone.” Honestly, you hated being in this situation. The situation of you yelling while others were around caught at the forefront of the fire, and if steam coming out of your ears was a real thing, they'd definitely be able to see it. The only thing you could think to do was grab Mike's hand and get the hell out of there. No more talk, no more bickering.
There was a moment of silence as you led Michael to the car, your hand wrapped tightly around his own, walking so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet before he finally let out a laugh.
“It's not funny, Mikey, I was really going to fuck that bitch up.” You spoke, crawling in the back of the car that waited around back for you.
"Oh, I believe it," he laughed again, his hand pressed against your thigh as he took a second to catch his breath.
“Absolutely not funny. I'm sick of her."
“I know, baby, but you know I only have eyes for one person… Diana, just kidding." He laughed again, this time louder, nearly doubling over in his seat.
“Stop it!” You turned away from him, facing the window, completely ignoring him as he tried his best to make up for the terrible joke.
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