most of these works are in english, some may be in both spanish and english, take your pick :)
F - fluff, A - angst, S - smut
Michael Jackson
~ Pretty Young Thing F + A
Summary: Michael always knew what made you tick. Which was what made it so easy for him to know when you were hurting.
~ Again II A
Summary: You’d always admired him and knew he was a perfectionist. But when you start working with him, he loses sight of how far he’s pushing you, and you lose sight of why you loved to dance in the first place.
~ New Territory F + S
Summary: Michael and you had known each other for a while. So, of course, you were the only one he trusted enough to help him explore.
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synopsis: childhoodbsf!mj and reader in a hot tub... what can go wrong? (or right :D)
cw: smut, switch!michael, hot tub sex, dry humping, dirty talk, praise, tensionnn, mutual pining, michael jackson being a whimperer (surprise), creampie
based off bad!era mj but any era works (i think)
the hot tub lights cast soft blue ripples across the water, reflecting against the stone around the edge of the patio. the early summer night air brushed against your damp skin coolly in contrast to the heat of the water, while music drifted faintly from somewhere inside the house. overhead, the sky was dark and cloudless, a soft breeze moving through the otherwise still night.
michael leaned back nearby with his arms resting along the edge of the hot tub, curls damp around his face, while he watched you with obvious amusement.
“you know,” he said casually, brushing wet curls back from his forehead, “for somebody always talkin’ big, you scare real easy.”
you looked over immediately. “i do not.”
michael laughed softly under his breath.
you’d known michael long enough to recognize that exact look in his eyes before he even said anything else. the one that usually meant he was about to annoy you on purpose.
the two of you had been attached at the hip since childhood. your families blurred together so often growing up that half your memories included michael somewhere in the background of them — sitting beside you at family parties, showing up to your house unannounced (and vice versa), dragging you outside in the middle of summer evenings because he was bored and wanted company. somewhere along the way, physical closeness had stopped meaning much between you years ago.
hugs.
leaning against each other.
holding hands.
cuddling while watching movies.
being close to michael had never required thought.
leaves rustled softly in the night breeze.
michael’s eyes suddenly shifted past your shoulder.
the teasing look on his face faltered, his mouth flattening slightly as his attention fixed on something behind you.
“…wait.”
you narrowed your eyes at that. “michael.”
“no, seriously.” his brows furrowed now while he stared harder behind you. “what is that?”
you rolled your eyes.
“i hate you.”
“i’m serious,” he insisted, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “right there.”
you turned your head despite yourself.
your eyes scanned once. twice. nothing.
you started turning back toward him with an unimpressed look already forming–
michael lunged forward suddenly with both his hands toward the water behind you.
a startled squeal escaped you as you grabbed onto him on pure reflex, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders while you nearly climbed halfway up him in a panic.
michael burst into loud laughter. bright and boyish.
“oh my god!” you gasped out, still clutching him while he laughed harder against your shoulder. “you are actually evil.”
“it was funny!” he argued through laughter.
“it was not funny!”
you smacked his shoulder lightly, trying not to laugh and failing miserably once his laughter got worse.
michael’s laughter had always been contagious. it was impossible to stay mad at him for long when he was laughing like that.
“yes it was,” he grinned. “you should’ve seen your face.”
“you practically climbed into my lap,” he added.
“i trusted you!”
“that’s your own fault.”
“oh my god, shut up.”
another laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
michael pointed at you instantly.
“see? you’re laughin’ now.”
you groaned dramatically, letting your forehead fall briefly against his shoulder while his laughter softened into quieter little giggles beneath his breath.
eventually, both your breaths started to settle.
except neither of you moved apart.
your arms still rested loosely around his shoulders. michael’s hands still held your waist below the surface.
comfortable. normal.
well, it should’ve felt normal.
instead, the silence that settled between you suddenly felt…heavy somehow.
different.
your forehead still rested lightly against michael’s shoulder while the water moved softly around you both, rippling between your bodies.
neither of you spoke.
you could feel michael breathing now.
not just the movement of his chest beneath your hands, but the actual rhythm of it. slow at first, then slightly uneven when you shifted subconsciously closer.
his hands tightened around your waist. small. almost unnoticeable.
except you noticed it immediately.
your brows pulled together faintly.
slowly, you lifted your head from his shoulder.
michael was already looking at you.
the patio lights reflected faintly in his eyes while water dripped from the curls hanging around his forehead. his expression had gone strangely still now, his hands warm where they rested against your waist.
neither of you moved apart.
you’re not sure why.
usually moments like this broke naturally on their own. one of you would laugh. tease the other. splash water. say something stupid.
instead, michael just kept looking at you.
your eyes flicked down toward his mouth before you could stop yourself.
bad idea.
because the second your gaze dropped, michael noticed. his brows pinched for a fraction of a second.
then, before you could really process it, michael looked away first.
his jaw flexed.
you felt his throat move against your arm when he swallowed.
“…christ,” he muttered quietly under his breath.
heat crawled slowly up your neck. you swallowed once before forcing out, “what?”
michael shook his head once, almost like he was trying to clear it.
“nothin’.”
his voice sounded lower now. rougher.
the water shifted softly around you both when you adjusted yourself, your legs brushing against his–
michael inhaled sharply.
the sound froze you.
oh.
your heartbeat stumbled hard in your chest.
because suddenly you could feel it too.
the reaction pressed unmistakably against your thigh.
heat rushed instantly to your face.
michael went still beneath your hands.
for a second, neither of you said anything.
michael laughed quietly under his breath, though it sounded more embarrassed than amused now. one hand came up to cover his face as he looked away.
“….m’sorry,” he murmured.
your brows pulled together slightly.
of course he was apologizing. that was so michael.
when he’s struggling to keep himself composed, he still sounded more concerned about crossing a line than anything else.
you'd be lying if you said his reaction to you wasn't turning you on.
“….don’t apologize,” you breathed.
michael looked at you. his curls hung damp against his forehead now, water dripping slowly down the side of his neck while his hands stayed fixed carefully at your waist like he didn’t trust himself to move them anywhere else.
he looked away again, exhaling sharply through his nose, almost like a disbelieving laugh at himself.
“just... give me a second,” he murmured. "it'll go away."
michael took slow, controlled breaths like he was genuinely trying to calm himself down.
then before you could overthink it, the words slipped out softly.
“….do you want me to help you?”
michael’s eyes shut briefly while a quiet breath escaped him, almost strained. unfortunately for him, the boner he'd been trying so hard to kill came back tenfold.
one of his hands slid higher instinctively along your waist before stopping there hard enough to make your pulse jump.
“i—”
he cut himself off.
his head tipped back slightly instead, exposing the long line of his throat while he stared up toward the sky for a second like he was physically trying to pull himself together.
it only made him look worse.
or better.
no definitely better.
water glided slowly down the column of his neck while his chest rose unevenly beneath your hands.
finally, michael looked back at you again. wrecked.
he swallowed once before replying quietly, “you don’t have to do anything.”
your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.
“i know,” you whispered.
“i’m asking if you want me to.”
for a second, michael just stared at you.
then slowly, his forehead dropped forward until it rested gently against your temple.
his eyes closed.
his lashes brushed softly against your skin.
the flush along his neck had darkened now, spreading toward his jaw while his breathing stayed uneven against you.
when he finally spoke, his voice came out rough and quiet.
“…i’m a gentleman.”
your chest tightened at the sound of it.
the words seemed to hang between you for a moment.
slowly, you lifted one hand from his shoulder, cradling his face gently until he looked at you again.
his eyes were dark now.
unfocused almost.
still trying so hard to hold himself together for you.
your thumb brushed lightly against his cheek before you leaned in just enough to press a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth.
michael inhaled sharply, head tilting instinctively to chase your lips.
then he was kissing you properly.
one hand slid up the side of your neck as he pulled you closer, the kiss hard and messy, like he’d been trying not to do this for far too long.
your noses bumped awkwardly together between breaths, both of you laughing softly into the kiss before it melted right back into something hotter.
michael bit gently at your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth.
a soft sound escaped you before you kissed him again.
his hand dragged back down your body until it settled low on your waist, fingers spreading carefully just above your ass.
careful and still hesitant. you could feel it.
your hands slid down his arms slowly until they covered his, guiding them lower.
michael broke the kiss at that.
the sound you let slip when his hands finally squeezed your ass made his head drop against yours.
“you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered breathlessly.
you pushed your hips closer against his.
michael let out a shaky breath as your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers catching slightly at the damp curls near his nape.
when he kissed you again, it felt almost desperate now.
like he physically couldn’t stop himself for more than a few seconds at a time. his nose bumped softly against yours between kisses while his hands tightened around your body, guiding you higher on his lap beneath the bubbling water.
the pressure of his hips against yours pulled a gasp from your throat.
your fingers tightened instinctively at the base of his curls as you broke away from the kiss for air.
“michael—”
he kissed the corner of your mouth before you could finish saying his name, breathing hard enough now that you could feel it against your skin.
“i know, baby, i know” he murmured softly.
you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck. he smelled like chlorine and the faint traces of his cologne, warm amber and soft florals mixing with the heat of his damp skin.
michael’s hands guided your hips against his beneath the water, the movement slow at first before his restraint started slipping little by little.
soft sounds escaped you against his neck while michael’s breathing turned rough near your ear, his grip tightening every time you pressed closer to him.
“baby…” he breathed, almost strained now.
the name sent warmth blooming low in your stomach.
this was the first time he’d ever called you that, and you loved the way it sounded coming from him.
his groans started mixing with the breathier moans spilling from your lips as his hands squeezed more firmly at your backside, the bubbling water sloshing harder around you both as he buried his face against your shoulder.
every slow drag of your hips only made the ache low in your stomach worse.
but it still wasn’t enough.
you needed more of him.
“want more,” you whined softly against his neck.
michael’s hips stuttered against yours at the sound of your voice, a quiet groan escaping him.
“yeah?” he murmured breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at you properly.
strands of damp hair clung messily near your cheeks while your lips looked swollen from kissing, slightly parted every time another shaky breath slipped out of you. your eyes were glossed over.
you looked completely ruined.
just for him.
“i’ll give my sweet girl whatever she wants,” he said lowly, with a rasp slipping into his voice.
something about hearing him say it made your thighs press tighter around him. if michael noticed, he didn't mention it.
“anything she asks for.” he added.
“anything?” you responded in a whisper.
michael’s eyes stayed fixated on yours for a second before he repeated it quieter this time.
“anything.”
your stomach tightened hard at the sound of that.
“want you inside me,” you whispered sweetly, your hips pressing against his again at the thought of him giving it to you.
michael bit down on his lip, a crooked smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
you sounded so desperate for him.
and god was he just as desperate for you.
maybe worse.
even now, with your body pressed against his and his restraint hanging by a thread, he still tried to collect himself before he spoke again.
because he was a gentleman.
or at least he was trying very hard to be one.
“go on, take what you want,” he murmured roughly.
your hands immediately reached for the waistband of his swim shorts, tugging them down enough to free his dick.
though you couldn't see much through the bubbling water, you felt him. his warmth, his thickness, his length.
the weight of him against your hand alone made your breath catch.
michael groaned softly under his breath, his head falling briefly against your shoulder while his hands tightened instinctively along your thighs.
you shifted carefully onto your knees to give him room while he pulled your swim bottoms aside.
the feeling of him brushing against your bare pussy made you arch into him.
“fuck…” michael hissed quietly, breathing turned heavier near your ear as his hands slid lower along your thighs to steady you.
your face buried closer into the crook of his neck while another broken sound escaped you.
“michael…” your voice cracked softly.
the slow push of his tip alone already had your head spinning. he barely gave you room to breathe.
“fuuck, baby,” he groaned into your shoulder, dragging the words out low and strained. “you’re so fucking tight.”
you nuzzled closer into his neck with a shaky whimper.
“s’too big, michael…” you hiccuped softly.
you were ruining him.
the way your voice broke at just the tip being inside you was doing something dangerous to his self-control.
“shh, it’s okay, baby,” he murmured gently, one hand stroking your damp hair.
his other hand slid lower against your thigh before tightening carefully at your hip.
"tell me if it hurts," he murmured, lips brushing softly against your temple.
then he started easing you down onto him properly.
slow.
your mouth dropped open at the stretch as he lowered you inch by inch, his grip firm enough to guide you while still giving you time to adjust. every small movement made another uneven breath leave your lips.
the heat of the water around you only made everything feel more overwhelming. his cock felt impossibly warm inside you, thick enough that each inch made your body tense before slowly relaxing around him.
michael’s forehead pressed against yours as he watched every reaction on your face.
“that’s it,” he whispered hoarsely. “doin’ so good for me.”
another inch.
your fingers tightened against his shoulders, a soft moan escaping before you could stop it.
his own breathing was wrecked, rough against your skin while his hands trembled slightly where they held you.
like he was using every bit of control he had not to lose patience and pull you down all at once.
instead, he kept guiding you carefully.
letting you feel every inch.
the stretch burned for a second before melting into warmth, your body slowly yielding around him while soft broken whimpers left your throat.
“fuck,” michael groaned quietly, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “you feel so fucking good.”
you buried your face deeper into his neck as another wave of fullness hit you.
then finally your hips settled flush against his.
both of you gasped at the same time.
michael’s head fell back against the edge of the tub with a low groan while his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks.
“holy shit…” he breathed.
you could barely think.
he felt everywhere. warm and deep and overwhelming, filling you so completely that all you could do was sit there for a second trying to breathe through it.
his hands softened again, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your hips.
“you okay?” he asked quietly, though his voice still sounded wrecked.
you nodded weakly against him.
“mhm…”
a small smile pulled at michael’s lips before he kissed the side of your head gently.
“good girl.”
you almost sobbed at the praise. his voice alone could make you cum.
michael stayed there for a second, just holding you against him while both of you tried to recover from the feeling.
his chest rose against yours, shaky breaths fanning across your skin while his hands stayed fixed carefully at your hips like he still couldn’t believe this was real.
then slowly, he rolled his hips upward once.
the movement was shallow.
experimental.
but the drag of him inside you still pulled a broken moan straight from your throat.
michael actually whimpered at that, the sound muffled against your skin, before a strained groan followed right after.
“fuck…”
his grip tightened.
“that okay?” he asked quietly, his own voice already sounding completely gone.
you nodded quickly before he’d even fully finished asking.
“please,” you whispered.
his mouth crashed against yours again while his hips rolled into you harder this time, deeper, the movement making the water slosh violently around both of you until it spilled over the edge of the hot tub, soaking the concrete.
your fingers tangled tighter into the damp curls at the back of his neck as he kept rocking you against him slowly, every thrust deep enough to make your stomach tighten.
he couldn’t seem to stop kissing you between breaths.
messy kisses.
desperate ones.
little broken sounds slipping from his mouth every single time you clenched around him.
“you feel so fucking good,” he breathed shakily. “christ, baby…”
his restraint kept slipping in pieces.
each movement growing rougher than the last, your body meeting his like you both couldn't stop chasing the feeling.
you moaned again. soft and breathless right against his mouth.
“yeah?” he rasped. “that feel good?”
you could barely answer — or could barely hear him, to be honest.
the way he was making you feel left your head completely fuzzy. every deep drag of him inside you made your thoughts melt together until all you could focus on was him.
when you didn’t respond, he tugged you down harder onto him.
a high moan tore from your throat instantly. a sound you would’ve never thought you’d be capable of making.
and if michael wasn’t fucking you so good, you probably would’ve been embarrassed by it.
he pulled back just enough to look at your face, watching your expression.
“tell me.”
it didn't sound demanding.
if anything, it sounded like something he needed to hear.
“y-yes–” you gasped helplessly. “yes, yes, feels so good–”
he leaned closer to your neck and started kissing, sucking, biting, leaving marks all over your neck.
michael cursed softly under his breath at the feeling of you clenching around him.
“shit, baby… you’re squeezin’ me so tight.”
all you could do was moan as he dragged your hips down onto him through another deep thrust that made your entire body jolt.
the praise only made the heat low in your stomach tighten harder.
another soft whine slipped from your throat before you could stop it, your face burying deeper into his neck out of instinct.
michael groaned at the sound.
“those sexy fucking sounds…”
his hips rolled up into yours again, harder this time, and your grip on him tightened hard enough to sting.
one of his hands slid up your body, long slender fingers brushing teasingly against your chest before nudging your swimsuit top up just enough for your breasts to spill out. the cooler night air nipping at your damp skin.
"so perfect." he breathed.
he leaned in, his mouth closing around your left nipple with a slow, warm suck that pulled a breath from your lungs. at the same time, the knuckles of his other hand dragged against your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breasts, teasing every inch of sensitive skin on the way up. he cupped your breast, squeezing gently before rolling your nipple between his fingers in time with the slow pull of his mouth.
every suck, every soft bite, every flick of his tongue had your body arching into him.
you couldn’t hold the sounds back anymore.
every thrust of his hips pulled another sound out of you.
little whimpers.
broken moans.
breathy gasps right against his ear.
“fuck,” he groaned softly into your skin, almost dazed. “keep makin’ those sounds for me, baby.”
you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.
his mouth shifted to your other breast with a worn groan while his hand slipped lower between your bodies.
the second his thumb brushed against your clit, your entire body jerked in his arms.
“oh my god—”
the cry that left you was loud enough to echo slightly off the stone around the hot tub.
“mm, that it?” he rasped, thumb circling you again with shaky desperation. “that what you needed, baby?”
you nodded helplessly against him, barely able to breathe properly now.
the feeling of him thrusting up into you while his thumb rubbed slow, messy circles against your clit was too much all at once.
your thighs started trembling around his waist.
“michael, please.”
“i know,” he breathed quickly. “i got you. i got you.”
he kept thrusting into you deep and slow, but the rhythm was getting sloppier every second. like he physically couldn’t focus anymore with the way you kept whining against him.
“fuck…” he groaned softly. “you’re so sensitive.”
another moan tore out of you when his thumb pressed a little harder.
every little movement pulled another noise from your throat.
your eyes kept fluttering closed from the overwhelming sensation while michael watched your face completely unravel for him, his own expression looking just as gone.
“look at me, baby. c’mon,” he breathed softly.
your eyes fluttered back toward him.
the second michael saw the tears gathering along your lashes from how overwhelming everything felt, something in him completely snapped.
“fuck—”
his forehead dropped against yours with a groan so deep it almost sounded painful.
his thrusts lost what little rhythm they had left after that.
harder now.
messier.
his hands gripping your hips almost desperately while he kept kissing you between breaths like he couldn’t get enough.
“close?” he rasped against your mouth.
all you could do was nod frantically.
your fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders as another wave hit you.
it was too much.
his mouth on your neck.
his thumb rubbing against you perfectly.
the way he kept filling you so deep every time his hips snapped upward.
your thighs started shaking hard around his waist.
“i-i’m gonna–”
“lemme feel it, baby,” michael interrupted, voice breaking. he sounded completely gone. "please..."
a soft curse slipped from him the second your body tightened around him.
“that’s it,” he groaned. “good girl… fuck, that’s it.”
his thumb moved faster.
messier now.
like he was getting desperate too.
the pressure finally snapped.
your whole body jolted against him with a broken cry, your face burying into his shoulder while your body tightened hard around him, nails scratching at his back.
michael groaned loudly at the feeling, his hips stuttering completely for a second.
“shit–”
your vision blurred from how overwhelming it felt, soft little sobs and moans getting caught in your throat while wave after wave kept hitting you.
michael fucked you through all of it, one arm wrapped tightly around your back while his forehead pressed against your shoulder.
“fuck…” he groaned shakily. “atta girl.”
then quieter, almost like the words slipped out accidentally.
“been wantin’ this so bad.”
you clenched around him hard at the confession.
michael groaned hard, head tipping back against the edge of the hot tub.
his lips brushed against your jaw when he looked back at you again, expression completely wrecked.
“you don’t even realize what you do to me sometimes,” he breathed shakily.
“been tryin’ so hard to be good.”
another deep thrust made your breath catch.
“every time you bend over during those stupid twister games…” he groaned softly. “or prance around in those tiny little swimsuits…”
“honestly so mean of you.”
another broken groan slipped from him right after, his face burying deeper into your neck like he was trying to hide there.
little strained sounds kept leaving him every few seconds while his hips lost what little rhythm they had left.
“can’t—” he choked out softly. “fuck, baby…”
his grip tightened almost painfully at your hips before he finally buried himself deep inside you with a whine, warm spurts of cum filling you as his whole body went tense against yours.
you could feel him shaking slightly while he held you close, breathing unevenly against your skin as the water settled softly around both of you again.
the aftershocks rolled softly through both of you, fading little by little into soft tremors.
the world around you felt silent except for the sounds of bubbling water and uneven breathing.
slowly, you pulled back just enough to look at him properly again, your arms still resting loosely around his shoulders.
his curls were a mess.
lips swollen.
flushed all the way down his neck.
and the completely blissed-out look on his face made something warm burst in your chest.
the second michael noticed you staring, a breathless laugh slipped from him, his teeth catching briefly against his bottom lip when his grin widened.
you laughed too.
because somehow, even after all of that, the two of you still ended up the same way you always did.
still just you and michael.
───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───
ummm i didnt know how to end it butttt SECOND FICCCCC r we getting somewhere guys
also pls dont acc have sex in hot tubs or pools😭😭 (as hot as it is</3)
Summary: You’d always admired him and knew he was a perfectionist. But when you start working with him, he loses sight of how far he’s pushing you, and you lose sight of why you loved to dance in the first place.
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: some descriptions of injury
A/N: omg i’m so happy so many of you loved part 1!! i hope this next part does your expectations justice! ALSO!! for those that asked to be on the tag list pls pls pls do me a favor, specify in the comments whether you wanted to be tagged for just THIS fic or for any fics. thanks, enjoy!!
Michael was dreading rehearsal before he even left the house. He was expecting for you not to show up, or for you to show up but sit out, or for someone to tell him you called in sick. He saw the limp, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. But what happened was the last thing he was expecting.
You showed up, as if nothing had happened, determination all over your face. Though you were feeling everything but. Your ankle was messed up. You knew it was sprained, and you knew you should’ve been staying off of it. But, of course, you weren’t. Yes, you’d gone home after the mishap, but were doing just about anything but resting. You decided to go over that same routine in which you’d fallen, hitting that same sharp jump and spin that had made everything crumble, practicing and perfecting it. But your ankle was punishing you now for it.
You had wrapped it in bandages as tight as you could, in hopes of being able to push through rehearsal, but it still hurt bad. Your limp was still there, but not apparent to anyone not paying attention. Unfortunately for you, Michael was paying so much attention. Your limp was pretty apparent to him, and had only confirmed what he already knew. What really caught him off guard, was when he watched you start to rehearse with your fellow dancers. He knew you shouldn’t be dancing like that.
In your mind, he should be happy. You were perfect in your dancing now, not letting there be any room for mistake. Your movements were careful but also looked loose enough that it didn’t look like you were in pain. But you were, in so much pain you had to choke back yelps and tears.
Michael was trying his best to keep quiet, after him snapping at you he understood the last thing you'd probably want is to talk to him, but then he saw it. You didn't trip, and again it wouldn't be obvious if he hadn't been paying so much attention. But you stumbled, and he saw the slightest wince on your face, and that was when he decided he couldn't stay quiet.
He called your name, softly and different from the tone he'd had with you the past couple of rehearsals. You did a double take, not initially processing that he was calling out to you. "Yeah?" If he wasn't intently watching and listening to you, he wouldn't have heard your quiet and soft response.
"Are you alright?" He asked, signaling towards your ankle. You put on a shaky smile, one that didn't reach your eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," you responded, doing your best to sound genuine. "It's just yesterday-"
You don't know why but you couldn't let him continue, you knew he was trying to make up for his behavior, but for some reason you were over it. "I said I'm fine." It came out a bit harsher than you'd intend, but you had to put your foot down. His eyes widened a bit, not having expected that from you. He just nodded and decided to back off. Maybe you were fine, and you had every right to be angry at him after everything. So he decided to back off for a bit, give you some time.
Rehearsal came to a halt pretty soon, half of it being over with already. But to you, the break couldn’t come sooner, your ankle was killing you. You couldn’t wait to finally get the weight and pressure off of it. You found a quiet and dark corner backstage, away from everyone, before carefully taking off your shoe and peeling off your sock. Nearly your whole foot and ankle were bandaged up, thanks to you that morning.
You carefully unclipped the bandage and started unwrapping it, feeling the throbbing in your ankle get worse and worse as the pressure from the bandage finally let up. You winced quietly, seeing how swollen and purple your ankle had gotten. When you finally got the entire bandage off, you let out a breath, though you weren’t sure if it was of relief or of pain. You closed your eyes and prayed you could make it through the last half of rehearsal.
Your praying was cut short when you heard a sharp gasp from your side. Your eyes shot open, and there he was. Michael, holding two water bottles, sweat still clinging to him from rehearsal. He was looking at your ankle, and he couldn’t seem to be looking away. You panicked, and frantically tried to rewrap the bandage around your ankle. “It’s fine, it’s nothing.”
The way you tried to brush it off as nothing made Michael’s heart ache, knowing it was his fault this happened in the first place. If he hadn’t been so harsh on you, you wouldn’t feel the need to power through something like this. In your fast and frantic movements, he realized your wrapping was anything but neat. So he carefully stepped forward and put his hand on your arm, making you freeze.
“Can I..?” Was all he whispered out. You hesitated looking between your ankle and his face. Eventually you nodded, and he smiled softly. He handed you one of the water bottles and settled the other one on the floor next to him where he was now kneeling. He carefully undid your messy wrapping before carefully wrapping it again. “I came looking for you, was watching you the entire rehearsal. I could tell something was wrong. Why would you dance on it like this?” He muttered, keeping his eyes trained on what he was doing. His voice was soft, and dripping with what you could only assume was concern. “I didn’t…” you started, but your voice died out. “You didn’t..?”
Michael’s eyes were now on you, as he softly held your ankle. The look in his eyes was so soft, completely different from how he’d been looking at you these past few weeks, at least when you were looking. You weren’t sure if you could tell him what was wrong, but the look in his eyes convinced you.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered, and that gutted Michael. His breath hitched and he looked at you like you’d broken his heart. He closed his eyes and let his head down, letting out a heavy sigh. He gathered his thoughts before finally explaining himself.
“Look, I know I’ve been hard on you, and I realize now how harsh my approach was. But you could never disappoint me. Your dancing and your energy captivated me from the moment I saw you, I just wanted to push you to your best, and I see now that I was completely wrong in how I did that.” You could hear your heartbeat and feel it even in your fingertips. Hearing Michael’s reasoning was leaving you confused but also shocked, he thought you were great. “Please, sit out for the rest of the rehearsal, and the next two.” Your face fell at his words, and Michael panicked to reassure you.
“Just until you heal! I promise. You can still show up and watch, I just- I want you to properly heal, please?” His voice was full of desperation, he really wanted to fix this with you and he knew the first step was to help you heal from your injury. You nodded softly, letting out a soft smile. “Okay,” you whispered, this time a very different tone than when he snapped at you.
“Okay.” He whispered back, softly letting your ankle down now that he was done wrapping it.
For the rest of rehearsal, you sat in the audience with your ankle perfectly bandaged and elevated, due to Michael’s instructions. You watched with a soft smile, as Michael directed and redirected your fellow dancers. This entire thing felt like a huge step forward, knowing now what Michael truly thought of you.
After the rehearsals Michael made you sit out of, you felt the need to get back up on your feet, literally. Your ankle still hurt, although it healed a bit, and Michael had asked you to continue to sit out if you didn't feel like your ankle was ready. But you had to get out there.
So you fastened your shoelaces backstage and stood up determined to get back to work. When you fully stood up though, the severity of your injury made itself known, you winced slightly, feeling the pinching from putting your weight on your ankle. You were about to ignore it and head out to the stage, when you heard Michael's voice.
"Don't." He had been watching you the entire time, and caught the way you'd winced. "Don't what?" You asked, confused. "Don't try to pretend it doesn't hurt, I could see you thinking about it." His voice was gentle and sure, not harsh anymore, or demanding. Just sure. "I wasn't," you muttered, though you couldn't keep eye contact with him as your face warmed. Michael gave you a look, knowing enough that it made your throat tighten. He stepped closer to you, raising a hand slowly so not to scare you, and softly cupped your cheek. His thumb rubbed softly along your cheekbone. "I wasn't going to snap at you." He whispered, before continuing, "and I hate that you don't believe that."
That seemed to do it for you. Tears started stinging in your eyes before you had the chance to fight against them. "I did that, I made you feel like you had to hide and protect yourself from me." The softness in his voice finally made the tears you were trying to fight back fall, his thumb moving to wipe them away. "Please, no, don't." He whispered, the quivering in his voice evident. "I'm fine," you muttered, moving to wipe the tears away. "Don't say that to me right now," his face showed the evidence of his pain, of how much it hurt to see what he'd done to you.
"I just wanted to be good enough," you kept looking at your hands, but he tilted your head to make you look at him. "You were always good enough. More than good enough. I was the one who wasn't acting right, and I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." He pulled you into his embrace, making you gasp and freeze. You stayed tense in his hold for a bit, before you melted into it. You brought your arms up to wrap around him, and let your head lean into his chest.
Although you were still hurt, even with your ankle throbbing and your heart bruised, you believed him. You believed him enough to nod when he softly asked if he could help lead you to a seat. You believed him enough to notice the way he winced when you winced.
For the first time, since you started working with him, Michael didn't look at you like a dancer that needed to be corrected. He looked at you like someone he was afraid of hurting.
A/N: I don't know why this part felt super rushed to me but I really really hope you guys liked it!
Please don't forget to let me know whether you wanted to be in the taglist for just this fic or for all of my fics!
i love this question!! it has to be matilda for me. it literally explains my situation so well and it feels like harry picked my brain and put it into a song. 😭
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i just wanna say you pyt story is one of the best i’ve ever read!!! i giggle hearing the song even more now lolll! like its so memorable and well done!! and ive read a lot of stories!!
omg ilysm!! thank you!! i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it when i listen to the song either so i’m so happy that it has the same effect on you!! 😭
Hi I’m not sure if your taking request but I love your writing! I have a little bit of a heavy request of which Micheal finds out we self harm? If that’s too my j that’s completely okay! Again love your work!
omg i LOVE this idea, i would love to do something with it for sure! consider it noted!!
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Summary: Michael and you had known each other for a while. So, of course, you were the only one he trusted enough to help him explore.
Warnings: smut *MDNI*
Contains: making out, dryhumping, penetration, breeding kink (sort of?)
A/N: I’ve been obsessing over this idea for a while, so here it is lol. it started with Michael being inexperienced but then suddenly he wasn’t too inexperienced?? also, for those asking to be on my tag list, don’t worry, i got you, i just don’t include my tag list on any smut to avoid making ppl uncomfy! anyway, enjoy!
Michael and you had a ritual. Every Friday night, you’d head over to his house in Hayvenhurst, and the entire night was spent watching movies, with countless snacks and bowls of ice cream, as well as the occasional rounds of board games. You were both very comfortable in each other’s presence, having known each other for so long. After a night of innocent fun, it’d turn into sleepovers that were mostly planned but mostly happened because you both dropped dead without realizing.
At least it was innocent fun, until one night.
Michael had been thinking a lot lately. He’d been made fun of by his brothers earlier that week, teased for not having his first kiss, which then turned into being teased for being so inexperienced with sexual acts. He was never in any rush for it, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it now.
When you arrived at his house that Friday, he couldn’t stop his mind from traveling into dirty places. His eyes would flicker to your lips every time you licked them, or every time you bit them. He also couldn’t stop glancing at your legs, it was like you knew it was the perfect time to torture him, as you’d shown up in a flowy and short sundress. He tried to rid himself of these thoughts, he really had.
But when he asked what game you were in the mood for, you suggested twister. Usually, he was always really excited for it, but with the thoughts that were polluting his mind, he didn’t know if he could control himself being that close to you.
But he could never say no to you. Which was how you ended up the way you did. As Michael’s luck seems to have it, you were currently bent over right in front of him. Your right foot on green, your left foot on blue, and both hands on yellow. He tried not to look down, as his right foot was also on green, and his left foot was also on blue. It was just a matter of leaning a bit forward and Michael’s crotch would be right against your ass.
He looked up at the ceiling trying to gather his thoughts before he looked down. He was looking for the spin wheel before he finally looked down at you. The sight of your perfect ass so close to him made him grow hard in an instant, his cock straining against his pants. He groaned quietly and closed his eyes.
“I lost,” He blurt out, stepping off of the board immediately. Before you could stand up right and maybe see his predicament, he sat on his bed and covered himself with a pillow. When you did start standing up right, Michael caught sight of your panties under your dress. It was like the universe was testing him. He closed his eyes again and shook his head.
You giggle and look at him, before taking a seat next to him. “That was quick, you’re usually really good at twister,” you tease, oblivious to Michael’s problem. He shrugged and smiled at you, sighing out. “Let’s just watch a movie, you pick,” he signaled towards the television with his head, knowing he couldn’t move the pillow, much less get up.
When you finally picked a film, you both sat in comfortable silence. You were engrossed in the film, the popcorn bowl he’d prepared before you got here in your lap. Michael wasn’t paying attention though. He couldn’t stop thinking about what his brothers said, but he also couldn’t stop thinking about how good you’d looked bent over in front of him. Suddenly he had an idea, and he knew he could trust you enough to at least ask.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” He speaks out, before he can chicken out. You look over to him and smile, readjusting your position so you were facing him. “Of course, anything.” You looked so pretty. He could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.
“Well, I-” He wasn’t exactly sure how to go about this in a way that wouldn’t make him sound like a creep. “I’ve been thinking about how… how I haven’t had my first kiss,” he nervously mumbled, you just nodded and gave him a smile that told him he could keep going. “And, and I was just thinking that it’s about time I do.”
He was a stuttering mess. He knew you wouldn’t judge him, but he was afraid of rejection. You, on the other hand, were praying he would ask to kiss you. You’d been smitten with him for a while but were always too scared to say anything. “What is it, Michael?” You asked, voice soft as ever, after a couple of seconds of silence. “I was wondering… if you could be my first kiss,” he finally spits out.
You were both flushed, excited beyond belief. You chuckled softly, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling. His eyes darted all over your face, searching for any sign that you were uncomfortable. There wasn’t any.
“I would love to be your first.” Michael couldn’t believe his ears. He thought he was dreaming. “R-really?!” He asked, causing you to nod your head. You slowly got up to your knees and got closer to him, softly laying your hands on his shoulders. You leaned in until your face was right in front of his. “Is this okay?” Your voice shook with nerves. He just nodded fast and multiple times. You slowly leaned in further until both of your lips came into contact. Both of you let out soft gasps, as you pecked each other’s lips once, twice, and three times.
When you pulled away, he had a bashful smile on his face and he was struggling to make eye contact. “Can- can we do that again?” He whispered, his hands coming up to your waist. You nodded gently, before moving to straddle his hips. That caught him off guard. You settled each of your knees at either side of him, hovering to make sure you weren’t making contact. Then you leaned in and kissed him again. This time it was longer and much more passionate. He took the lead, and you gasped when his tongue grazed your lips.
That gave him the opportunity to kiss into your mouth. Your tongues made contact and you both sighed into one another. Lost in the kiss, you’d unknowingly lowered yourself onto his lap. Your clothed cunt had come into contact with his growing bulge, making you both gasp and pull away from the kiss. Michael immediately panicked.
“I’m so- so sorry, I just-” You just shook your head, cutting off his rambling. “It’s okay, Michael. I promise,” you whispered, your eyes were hooded and you leaned back in to kiss him with new found hunger. One you both shared. His hands gripped your waist tighter, as you rolled your hips into his. Your core was growing wetter by the second, and you were sure that with each grind of your hips your arousal was leaving a wet patch on your panties and the front of Michael’s pants. He whimpered into your mouth as you continued your movements on his lap. You started kissing down to his jaw and then his neck, and he thrusted his hips up into you. He just couldn’t help himself. You both let out gasps of pleasure at the feeling. “Can I- is it okay if I just take my pants off?” He whimpered. You moaned softly at the need in his voice and nodded. You got off his lap as he unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, pulling them down to his ankles, before reaching for you again.
“W-we don’t have to go further, I just want to f-feel you closer,” The quiver and whimper in his voice was only doing more to turn you on. “Okay,” you whimper back, sighing at the feeling when he pulled you back down onto his bulge, still covered but more prominent now. Knowing the only thing stopping him from slipping inside you was both of your underwear was driving you insane. You felt the head of his cock nudge right against your clit, and all you could do was throw your head back.
This gave Michael the opportunity to kiss and suck on your neck, leaving kiss marks wherever he could. He couldn’t get enough of you, of your noises, the way you looked, and how wet you felt even through your underwear. “So good,” he whimpered out, after the tip of his cock grazed your entrance. This was when he got the nasty idea. He maneuvered his hips so that his cock was aligned with your entrance, and he slowly slid the tip in, your and his underwear acting as barriers. But the feeling was nonetheless toe curling.
“Michael,” you gasped out. He just looked at you, with a pussy drunk look in his eyes. “I know, I know. I know I said we didn’t have to go any further, but I can’t help it baby. I need to feel you, please. I’m so close and I just want to cum inside you,” You couldn’t help but just breathe heavily at his begging, this is a side of Michael you’d never seen before. But you loved it. You nodded, feeling your heartbeat thrash as he slightly pulled down the band of his underwear, his cock springing free. Your mouth watered at the sight, your eyes growing wide. It was a lot bigger than it felt. He noticed your expression and cupped your face with one hand, tilting your head to look at him.
“Are you sure this is okay?” He was ever the gentleman, regardless of how far you’d already gone. You smiled and nodded. “Use your words, sweet girl,” he whispered.
“It’s okay, I want this,” you whisper back, and he bites his lip letting out a soft groan. He reaches his hand down to move your underwear to the side, nothing coming between your cunt and his cock now. He brought the tip of his cock to your clit, letting your arousal coat it. It was messy and it felt so good. He decided to test the waters, once again tilting his hips to insert just the tip. You both let out noises of pleasure and threw your heads back.
Michael kept you there, just his tip inside, but you wanted- no, needed more. So you took it upon yourself to slide all the way down, holding onto his shoulders to help you settle down. You both moaned, him at your gummy walls and you at the way he stretched you deliciously. “Nghh, so tight,” he muttered out, eyes rolling back into his head. You knew you wouldn’t last, and neither would he. He tentatively brought a hand up to circle your clit, making you gasp out in pleasure. “Don’t stop, Michael. Please,” If it hadn’t been for how turned on you were, you would’ve cringed at how needy you sounded.
“I wasn’t planning on it. I’m so close baby, d’you feel it? You feel what you do to me?” You were shocked, to say the least, at Michael’s filthy words. “Michael, please, fill me up,” was all you could think to say. Michael couldn’t believe this was real. He gripped your hips and thrusted his hips upwards, reaching that spot inside you that left you seeing white spots. The sound of skin slapping along with the filthy noises you were both making helped you both reach your limits. Your back arched and toes curled as you reached your high, it washed over you as Michael continued to thrust up into you, helping you through your orgasm while still chasing his.
“Fuck, ngh,” He lets out as he finally cums inside you, sticky ropes of cum filling you up. You whimper feeling it filling you up and he couldn’t help but keep thrusting. He groaned, looking down and seeing the mess that you were both making, eyes rolling at the white ring of cum at the base of his cock.
You both breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath. But neither of you moved, his softening cock still inside you. He looked up at you and brushed your slightly sweaty hair away from your face and behind your ears. He smiled as you smiled at him, leaning in to give you a soft kiss. When he finally pulled out, you both winced before you collapsed on him. You were both spent and content. Your head on his chest as he rubbed your back and kissed your head from time to time.
“Thank you,” he whispers, to which you just respond, “my pleasure.” You both had the biggest smiles on your faces.
You both knew things would never be the same, and neither of you minded.
A/N: I’m in the process of writing the part 2 to Again but I had to put this out first. I couldn’t stop thinking about it lol! Hope you enjoyed!
Summary: You’d always admired him and knew he was a perfectionist. But when you start working with him, he loses sight of how far he’s pushing you, and you lose sight of why you loved to dance in the first place.
Word count: 2.2k
A/N: okok, so far i haven’t disappeared again yet lol, i just have so many ideas for michael! anyway, enjoy!
You were ecstatic, to say the least, when you’d found out you were going to be able to be a back-up dancer for THE Michael Jackson. He’d been your inspiration to get into dancing, and it felt wonderful to know the hard work paid off. You’d been practicing relentlessly the past couple of weeks, getting ready and trying to soothe your nerves before having to work with him.
Today was finally the day. You had gotten up extra early that morning and made your way to the studio, getting familiarized and warming up before Michael actually arrived. Dancers started piling in one by one, and the energy in the room seemed to get more and more vibrant. Everyone was buzzing with excitement.
You sense his presence before you actually see him. The place gets eerily quiet as everyone freezes in suspense. You feel your heartbeat get quicker and stronger.
When he walks in, you’re the first one he notices, though you don’t realize. He looks you up and down, and feels drawn to you. He sees a sort of spark that he himself has always felt when it came to dance, he just had to see if it was persistent.
“Hello, everybody,” he eventually speaks up. “I hope you’re all excited to get started. Now, I’m sure you’ve all practiced the routine I assigned to help me get a feel of the kind of dancers you all are. Please, everyone spread out and give each other room, I’d like to see you all go through the routine.”
Your nerves were through the roof. You’d gone over this routine hundreds of times since his team sent it out, you were confident you knew it like the back of your hand. But knowing Michael was watching, it made it all nerve wracking.
It had all gone smoothly, you’d done the routine perfectly how you had practiced. During the routine, Michael was walking around, observing everyone. But he couldn’t help that his eyes kept drifting back to you. His initial instinct was right, you had a special talent. A way of capturing attention while you were dancing, all while making it seem effortless. “Good,” He muttered passing by you. You tried not to let it get to your head, convincing yourself he was just making an observation of the whole group.
“That was amazing everybody, I’m going to cut it short today, I just wanted to see how you all performed. Please keep your eyes open for any possible changes in schedule. Otherwise, I’ll see you guys tomorrow at the same time for rehearsal.”
It seemed like the whole room as a collective let out a sigh of relief as Michael began walking out. You thought it went well, you hadn't tripped up and he seemed to have been satisfied with the results.
What you didn't know was that Michael had made his mind up on something as soon as he saw your dancing. He was certain you had potential, and he'd be damned if he didn't encourage it. So he'd decided, while still remaining equal towards everyone, he was going to push you, to the potential he knew you could reach.
What he didn't know, at least not yet, was how far he was going to push you, without even realizing it.
The next day, the level of excitement was no different during rehearsal. Everyone was making sure they were the most precise they could be with their movements. Michael was walking around, correcting people where they needed correcting.
"Try not to think too much," You stop and jump slightly at his voice behind you. You turn and see him looking at you. "You're not letting yourself just feel the music, and you can see it on your face," His voice was soft, but the criticism was hitting you in any way but. "O-okay, thanks." That was all you could get out. You were determined to fix it immediately, and you did. As Michael continued observing, he noticed you taking the advice and improving on it, so he thought he was doing you good. And for some part he was, but as he kept giving advice you noticed that you were being singled out more than anyone.
"Good, that's great, keep it up," You'd heard multiple phrases along those lines coming from him with other dancers, but with you it was different. "Try that again, your arm's not ending up where it's supposed to."
During your water break, you found yourself too into your head. You'd thought you were doing good, but according to Michael's comments, maybe not as good as you'd assumed. You found yourself watching the other dancers, wondering what you were doing wrong. But there was one thing you did know, you weren't going to give up. You weren't going to let him down.
Michael, on the other hand, was feeling satisfied with the results of his comments to you. To him, it seemed that you were good at taking criticism and working on it. It seemed like you could take the pressure, so he didn't let up.
As more and more rehearsal sessions went on, his comments seemed to become sharper, whether he'd noticed or not.
The rehearsals had become quicker and more difficult, but for the most part you were keeping up. "Alright, we've been working on this number for quite some time. So, I want to see how you all flow as one. Let's take it from the top, all together, please." Michael announced, before taking a seat in the audience.
The music started and you all started moving together. Michael couldn't seem to take his eyes off of you for long, you were good. But he knew you could be better. As the music finally came to a close, everyone cheered and complimented each other. Michael returned to the stage and smiled at the dancers, before looking at you.
"You were a bit late. You have to do a better job of keeping up," You felt your heart plummet. You were confused beyond belief, you thought and felt that had gone well. But what mostly confused you was that you were the only one he said anything to. You looked around in embarrassment as the other dancers gave you tight lipped smiles. They could see the kind of pressure you were being put under, and they understood what it felt like.
You shake it off, trying to get rid of the disappointment in yourself but it was no use. After everyone said their goodbyes and headed out, you'd decided to stay back. You went over the routine time and time again, trying to make sure the music and your movements were completely aligned. Your body and legs were screaming at you to take a break, to stop for the night. But your brain was telling you something completely different. To keep going, to be better, to not disappoint. And your brain was winning, with the help of Michael's comments playing over and over.
You were too into the routine, you hadn't noticed that Michael walked back in. He'd forgotten his water bottle, and froze when he saw you still rehearsing on stage. He watched you go through the routine with a sense of pride, seeing your dedication. But instead of voicing his pride, he was choosing to share his criticism, not to hurt you but because he wanted to ensure you were aiming for the perfection he knew you could reach.
You got through the entire routine and started heading to grab your water, breathing heavily. As you reach down for your bottle, you freeze, having spotted Michael. It's quiet for a moment before...
"Watch your feet. You need to hold the end position better so it looks smooth." That was all that came out, before he grabs his bottle and walks out. You couldn't help it this time, as tears fill your eyes. No matter what you did, it didn't seem to be enough. It didn't help that you were exhausted, a sign of how much you'd been overworking yourself. But you couldn't let yourself succumb to the exhaustion, you had to be better.
After that moment, rehearsal started feeling heavier. You were arriving before everyone, and leaving after them. Your body was constantly sore and your eyes burned with the lack of sleep, but you knew you couldn't stop. You found yourself on edge whenever Michael was near you during rehearsal, you overthought how your body was moving and fixated on every step. It got to the point where dancing didn't feel free anymore, and felt more like a burden.
It didn't take long for the other dancers to notice.
"Start again, it's not good enough." You'd heard Michael mutter next to you, before walking away. You sighed heavily and had to collect yourself to ensure you wouldn't break down. "You okay?" The dancer next to you whispered, noticing your shaky breathing, especially after having heard Michael's comment to you. You just nod your head, and give her a practiced smile. "Don't take it personally, I think he just wants us to reach our potential," she whispers again. You wanted to believe it, it was what you were telling yourself at first. But it felt heavier than that, it felt like he didn't think you were good enough.
And you didn't know it was anything but that.
The tipping point of it all, was worse than you'd thought it would be. It was during a pretty harsh rehearsal. You'd left the studio late last night, and had gotten there again very early. You were exhausted and sore and your mind was reeling, having heard the same section of the same song for hours now. To make matters worse, Michael decided today was another day to give you all anxiety.
"Alright everyone, I want to see this routine with you all together. Please get into positions." He announced, making everybody rush to a spot. The music started and things seemed to be going smoothly enough, at least at first. As the music continued, you felt Michael's gaze on you and you couldn't help but get into your head. Now, you don't know if you were thinking too much or not enough when it happened, but during a sharp jump and spin you landed wrong. Your ankle bent and a sharp pain ran up your leg. You yelped slightly and felt yourself make contact with the ground before you had any chance of saving yourself. The dancers around you stopped, along with the track a couple of seconds after. Michael snapped, before he could stop himself.
"What was that?" It comes out harsher than he intends. Your face burns with humiliation and you stand up, and that's when you realize you'd sprained your ankle. As you get up, you make sure not to put your weight on it, not wanting to make it apparent. "How many times have we been over this sequence?" His tone doesn't get lighter and it just makes you more nervous. "I... I just-" But he doesn't let you explain yourself. The initial worry he had for you faded into frustration, one he didn't realize he was now taking out on you.
"You just what? You're losing focus, you're not grounded in your movements." You feel everyone's eyes on you, and the pressure accompanied by the embarrassment just makes your eyes fill with tears. Tears you weren't going to let yourself let out. "I'm trying," you whimper out, voice shaky. "That's not enough right now, not at this level."
You just nod your head and let out a small 'okay,' not trusting yourself to say anything more. He shakes his head slightly. "Sit this one out." He mutters, already turning to take his previous spot. "Okay," you whisper again, nodding your head and willing yourself to move. As soon as you put the smallest amount of weight on your sprained ankle, a wave of pain flares sharply, but you didn't want to draw more attention to yourself. So you bite back any reaction, and limp backstage, quietly and carefully.
Halfway through your journey towards backstage, is when Michael notices. He sees the limp in your step and your efforts at keeping as much weight off your ankle. His face and heart drop at the same time, because he now realizes he went too far and failed to notice you were hurt. But it's too late now, because you disappear behind the curtain.
When you make it to the back, tears finally start pouring. Your vision turns blurry, but you know it's more from the situation rather than the pain. Someone from the crew immediately notices you. "Hey, hey what happened?" They ask, as they help you limp towards a seat. "My ankle," you whimper, tears still rolling down your face as you try to steady your breathing. They crouch down in front of you and lightly inspect your ankle, before running to grab some ice. "You definitely sprained it, stay off of it for a bit." You just nod at their words, hands still slightly shaking as you place the ice on your ankle.
Out on stage, you can hear rehearsal continue. The music and the counts and the steps, and Michael stays out there. But he's not completely focused, like he was before. His eyes keep flicking back, to the curtain which you disappeared behind, and he can't stop picturing it. Your face, the tears in your eyes, and the way you limped away. But especially, the way your shaky voice whispered 'okay.' He feels awful, and the feeling completely consumes him.
He realizes now, he's been going too far this whole time.
A/N: I absolutely LOVE this type of angst so I had to write something like it. I most likely will write a part two, let me know if you guys would like that.
taglist: @darkgreengrl
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Summary: Michael always knew what made you tick. Which was what made it so easy for him to know when you were hurting.
Word count: 7.3k (I may have gotten carried away, oops)
Warnings: abusive behavior, domestic violence, some angst.
A/N: Holy shit, am I actually back?? Who knows, I always say I am and then disappear, WHOOPS lol. Anyway, like most people after watching the Michael movie, I just HAD to write something for him. Enjoy!
It was more natural than you’d think, the way Michael and you met. The way you’d entangled yourselves into each other’s lives. It happened on a faithful day in high school, assigned seating seemed to be on both your sides.
He had plopped down next to you before the bell even rang, but you made an effort not to pay him any mind. You knew who he was, most people did, what with majority of his life spent in the public eye. He was also known to be somewhat of a flirt, not in a harmful way, just in a way that seemed like he couldn’t help but be charming. That made you nervous. But it didn’t stop him from engaging.
“You don’t look like you’re paying attention,” he finally broke the silence between you, in the middle of lecture. You raise your eyebrows in surprise, looking up at him. He was smirking, not cocky but soft. He glanced at you before glancing down at your notebook, doodles dancing around your notes. “I am,” you reply, before you go back to finishing your little drawings.
“You’re doodling,” he states, matter-of-factly. “I can do both,” you reply almost instantly. He leans a bit closer, peeking further at your page. “It’s not even related to the assignment,” he chuckles out, eyes glancing between your drawings and your face.
It was true. Around your little amount of notes was countless of doodles, some meaningless, but most meaningful. Drawings here and there of inspiration for designs. Fashion designs. You’d been intrigued in fashion design for quite some time now.
“You don’t even know what the assignment is,” you bite back eventually. That makes him pause, looking at a loss for words. All before that smile creeps back on his face. “That’s not the point.”
“Seems like you don’t have one,” you bite back a grin at how easy this flowed. The back and forth. The banter.
From then on, it was always easy. You both find each other’s way into your lives. You sit together, you walk the halls together, you have conversations that last longer than they should. For Michael, the best of all was that you didn’t treat him like everyone else. You didn’t treat him like you wanted something from him. You just let him be.
Regardless, the flirting starts almost immediately and naturally. But it’s completely different than how he is with other girls. With other girls he’s confident, smooth, almost like he practices. But with you it’s playful and constant.
With you, he laughs. But it’s not the same laugh you hear when he’s with other people, this one is real. That’s when things start to change.
You see him being flirty all the time. The way he talks to other girls and the way he moves about a conversation like he always knows where they’ll go. You even thought that the fact that you’d already seen it would make you immune to it. It didn’t. It actually makes it worse.
When he flirts with you, it doesn’t feel the same. It feels personal.
“You know you’re trouble right?” He asks one day, looking at you a little longer than usual. You blink up at him, caught slightly off guard. “Me?” You ask.
“Yeah, you.” He simply responds. You recover quickly, being used to this back and forth. “It sounds like you’re projecting,” you grin as you respond. He smiles, in that slow and knowing way that is sort of intoxicating. “Maybe I am,” he replies softly.
Your heart skips and it’s like you short circuit. But you don’t let it show.
“Careful, you’re starting to sound nervous.” You tease. “I don’t get nervous,” his reply is almost instant. “Everyone gets nervous,” you quip back. “Well, I don’t” He smirks, and you just roll your eyes before responding. “Liar.”
He laughs again and you feel it in your chest, like always. That’s the thing, you always always always flirt back. No matter how nervous you get, no matter how fast your heart beats. You don’t let him win, but of course he notices. He notices the way your look flicks away for even just a second too long, and the way your tone changes just a bit when he gets too close. The worst thing about it is that when he notices he leans further into it.
It happens during one of your usual back and forth rituals. He’s teasing and you’re teasing back. It’s the same rhythm it’s always been. Until he says it.
“You know… you’re a pretty young thing,” his voice drops slightly when he says it, and his gaze stays locked on you. It sounds casual, like he didn’t even think twice about it, like it slipped out. But it doesn’t feel casual.
Your breath catches just slightly, and your entire body reacts before your mind can catch up. You feel your face heat up almost instantly, and the way your composure slips just slightly. Of course, he sees it. That’s what gets him, because you never react like that. You try to recover, you really do. You roll your eyes and cross your arms, trying to force that familiar energy into your voice.
“That was so smooth,” you say, trying to make the sarcasm in your voice sound as genuine as possible. But your voice isn’t as steady as it usually is, and he knows. “Oh you like that,” he mumbles immediately, while stepping just a little bit closer as his tone becomes softer.
“I don’t,” you try to lie, knowing it’s useless. “You do,” he argues back instantly. You stay quiet in hopes that he’ll just drop it, but he doesn’t. “You’re flustered,” he points out. “I’m not flustered.” You bite back, although you definitely were flustered. He smiles, that knowing smile he gets when he knows he got through to you some way.
“Pretty young thing” He says again, slower this time and softer. “Stop,” you immediately respond, feeling another wave of heat starting to flush your face.
That’s the moment he locks it in. From that point on, the name is yours. He doesn’t say it all the time, it’s not constant, but it’s enough. He uses it when he wants to get a reaction out of you, when he wants to see that same shift in you, when he wants to push you just a bit further again. Every single time, you react, and every single time, he notices.
Neither of you actually acknowledge what’s there between you. You just both stay in that space where you’re close, flirty, and dangerously unmentioned. Because saying it out loud would change everything, and neither of you are ready for that.
At least not yet.
When high school ends, everyone was expecting you both to drift apart, or for something to change between you. But it doesn’t, at least not how they were expecting.
You each do technically go your separate ways. You have different campuses, different schedules, and different lives that begin to take shape in ways that feel just right. You go right into fashion, how you always imagined, you had long hours in the studio, samples of fabric covering every surface of every table, and sketches filling up your notebooks faster than you can keep track of. It's everything you’ve ever wanted.
You still somehow manage to see him every day. It’s funny, because it wasn’t really planned or discussed, it sort of just happens. As soon as you finish classes, you make your way over to him. He finishes up whatever he’s up to, and makes time for you. Sometimes it’s quick, like an hour squeezed in between everything else going on. Other times, it’s all night, conversations taking the same shape they’ve always had. No matter how busy things get for each of you, that part always stays exactly the same.
The only big difference, is that his world doesn’t just change, it almost explodes. It starts off exciting, as something that’s manageable. The performances, the attention, and the people that start to recognize him outside of his circle. You watch it build up, proud in a way that feels almost protective. You’ve always seen and known he had something special, something bigger than what most people noticed. Now everyone is starting to see it, and with that come the people that start treating him differently. But you don't, you never do.
The flirting doesn't change either, persistent and constant as always. If anything, it gets worse, because now he knows how to get a reaction out of you.
"You've been busy," he randomly says one evening. It had been spent watching movie after movie, stopping once in a while for a round of twister or him asking if he can show you a song. He watches you more closely than usual. "I have a life," you reply, as you flip through your mini sketchbook. "So do I." He quickly has a rebuttal.
"Debatable," you grin, which in turn also makes him grin as he tilts his head slightly. "You saying I don't?" He asks, that glint in his eyes he always gets when you guys have this back and forth being very prominent. "No, what I'm saying is that you're starting to think you're more important than you are," you bite, though there's no real heat behind your words.
He steps closer, too close. Close enough that you can feel his breath on you, and you start to wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. "You don't think I'm important?" He asks, dropping his voice just enough to make your heart skip. But you don't back up, because you never do. "I think you like hearing that you are," you shoot back, even as you feel that same heat creeping up your neck. He smiles. That damn smile. "Careful, you're starting to sound jealous," he almost whispers.
"I'm not jealous," your reply was immediate. "Then why're you getting so worked up, pretty young thing?"
There it was.
It hits you like it did the first time, and all the times after that. Your breath catches, for a small second, but he notices. He notices your entire body reacting before you can stop it. "Stop," you mutter, you try to brush it off, but there's no real strength behind it. He leans in slightly, his voice soft like he's doing it on purpose.
"What? You don't like it?" His voice is almost husky at this point, he was so obviously amused at how flustered he could make you. You swallow, and try to force yourself to hold his gaze. "You're annoying," your voice was kind of shaky despite your efforts to keep it steady.
"You like it," he immediately points out. He was right.
That was the thing about you two. Despite the fact that neither of you had been brave enough to try to name or even acknowledge what was going on between you, it still hadn't changed. So, nothing changes but at the same time, every thing does. Because now, people are watching.
It starts off small. Looks that linger a little too long when you're together, people whispering, trying to piece together how you're related to him. You're around too often, too naturally, and too comfortably for it to go unnoticed by the public. You don't think much of it, or maybe you just don't let yourself. Until it becomes louder. Questions start popping up in places you don't expect. In articles, speculation, people trying to define something you two hadn't even labeled. The assumption becomes obvious.
You and him. Together.
You see it before he even says anything. The headlines and the small mentions, the conversations that make it obvious and clear what people think is going on.
"Have you seen this?" You finally ask him one night, holding up a magazine as he walks in. He glances at it, already knowing what it is. "Yeah." He simply says. "And..?" You ask, expecting more of an answer from him. He shrugs lightly, like it doesn't matter, like it's no big deal. "They're gonna say whatever they want."
His response ticks you off, because it's not like him to act so nonchalant about something like this. Because it's not like him to pretend something that involved you didn't matter. "That's not an answer," You tell him, and there's a pause. "They don't know what they're talking about," He simply says, and you don't respond to that. Because something about what he said and the way he said it lets you know that it's going somewhere, and it does.
It didn't take him long after that to address it, publicly and directly. You're not there with him when it happens, but you hear about it almost immediately. Everyone does. In an interview, with a question he can't avoid.
"Is it true you're seeing this woman you're photographed with?" The interviewer asks, and you laugh at it because of how much it seems like an interrogation. You expect him to pause, to hesitate, or to just show some emotion other than the one he ends up showing.
"No," he responds almost instantly. "She's just a close friend."
Just.
It shouldn't hurt the way it does. The words shouldn't land the way they do. You watch the clip for longer than you should, replaying it even though you already heard it and processed it clearly the first time.
Just a close friend.
It obviously makes sense, how could it not? What else would he say? What else could he say?
But that doesn't stop something heavy from settling in your chest. Later, when you see him like you always do, you don't bring it up, and neither does he. But it doesn't all flow the way it usually does.
"You're quiet," he says, he's been watching you closely all night. He sort of feels like he should be walking on egg shells around you, but he also knows he doesn't want to bring it up. He doesn't want to address the elephant in the room. "I'm always quiet," you mutter out, not looking at him. Suddenly the movie you weren't really paying attention to had become interesting all of a sudden. "No, you're not." It didn't seem like he was going to let it go.
You shrug, trying to brush it all off. "You're imagining things." And of course, he doesn't believe that. And of course, you can tell. But he chooses not to push, because even now, after everything, you're still in the same place you've always been. Always constant and close, and flirting like nothing's changed.
But still, you weren't quite anything more.
You figure you should try to do everything in your power to move on, to get yourself to not rely on that space you've created with Michael. So you meet someone. But from the moment you mention him, something in Michael doesn't sit right.
It's subtle at first, just a pause that's a second too long when you say his name. His expression hardens just slightly, like he's trying to process something he can't quite understand. He doesn't say anything outright to you, at least not immediately, but you know him well enough to realize when there's something off.
"You really like him?" He asks, and you can tell it's taking everything in him to keep his tone neutral. You nod, more defensive than you realize. "Yeah." He scans your face for a moment, like he's trying to read something hidden in your answer. "Okay," he finally says. Just that. But it doesn't really feel like acceptance.
He's never liked any of your boyfriends, that's not something new. Every time you've dated someone, he's always had something to say. Whether it was small comments, small criticism, or an almost disapproval that seems like instinct. You've learned to brush it off, to roll your eyes and tell yourself it's just how he is.
But this time feels different. He's quieter this time.
When you finally introduce them, the tension doesn't go by unnoticed. It's not loud, or obvious to anyone who doesn't know to look for it. But it's definitely there. Michael is polite, like he always is. He greets him, shakes his hand, and keeps his tone even and his posture relaxed. There's nothing obviously wrong with the way he behaves, there's no disrespect or unnecessary attitude. It actually looks almost too controlled.
You watch them interact, closely without even meaning to. The way your boyfriend talks and the way Michael responds. It's short and measured, like he's keeping the conversation exactly where he wants it, nothing deep and nothing personal. "Nice to meet you," your boyfriend says. "Yeah, you too." Michael replies, and you're not sure if you imagine it, but you hear an ounce of passive-aggressiveness in it.
Later, when it's just the two of you again, you decide to bring it up. "You could've tried a little harder," you whisper, not wanting the calm bubble you always seemed to be in pop. "I was polite," he whispers back. "You were barely polite."
He just exhales quietly, all while shaking his head. "I don't trust him." The bluntness of the statement catches you off guard. "What? You don't even know him," you immediately respond. "I don't need to." The routine of it all makes you roll your eyes, trying to brush it off like you always do. "You say that about everyone."
"No, not like this." He says, quieter this time. Against your better judgment, you decide not to push it. Because you don't want to, it's easier to believe he's just being protective, just being himself.
At first, everything seems fine and normal. But "normal" doesn't last. The shift happens so slowly that you don't even realize it from the beginning. It starts with his tone, little things. The way your boyfriend speaks to you when no one else is around, the way his words have a sharp edge when he's frustrated or when he doesn't get his way. You try to tell yourself it's nothing. Everyone gets irritated, everyone has their moments.
But then it becomes more, his patience wears thinner and his reactions get bigger, while his voice gets louder. But it gets worse, because then it crosses a line. His aggression takes over, and you're at the receiving end of it, feeling the sharpness of his hand smacking across your face. You freeze, not because it hurts but because you didn't expect it.
After the first time, it turns into something you start anticipating while trying to avoid it all at the same time. You adjust and get used to it, without even realizing. You speak more carefully, more cautiously. You start choosing your words before speaking, when before you would let them come naturally. Slowly, you even start disappearing.
Of course, Michael notices. How could he not? Though it's the simplest thing, you not being there as often, the daily rhythm that you've had for years breaks. What used to be constant and effortless turns into something inconsistent. Days pass where he doesn't see you, excuses in the place of your presence.
"I've just been busy," you tell him, the same way you'd practiced, because you knew he would eventually ask. "You've always been busy, that's not new," you hate how much it sounds like this has been weighing on him for some time, like he's been thinking about it a lot.
He decides not to push right away, but he also doesn't let it go. Then, it turns into something else. The way you act when you are around him. You're quieter, and not in a thoughtful or observant way, this feels like you're withdrawn. "You're not talking," he points out one day, watching your expression closely. "I am," you respond, and it's obvious that you don't believe it yourself. "I'm just tired," You add.
He doesn't believe you, and you know that. Then, he sees it. It's small and barely noticeable. Someone drops something nearby, a sharp sound against the floor, and you flinch. It's quick, like an instinct. But he catches it. His expression changes immediately. "What was that?" He asks instantly. "What?" You reply too quickly, trying to act oblivious. "You flinched," he mutters.
"You're imagining things," he stares at you when you respond, obviously not convinced. You force a small laugh and shake your head, trying to brush it off. But now he starts paying more attention, more than before. Once he starts noticing it, he can't stop. The way your shoulders tense at sudden movements, the way you hesitate before you speak, and the way you look over your shoulder sometimes like you're expecting something. He doesn't know what to make of it, he just knows it doesn't fit who you are.
"What's going on?" He asks, his voice more serious than you've ever heard it. "Nothing." You reply, and again it sounds practiced. "That's not nothing, and don't tell me you're fine. You don't come around anymore. You barely talk when you do, and you flinch at everything. You expect me not to notice that?" You can't look at him as he seems to finally let it all out. "Talk to me," his voice drops, unsteady, as he steps a little closer. You just shake your head. "I can't."
The words slipped out before you could stop them, and that's what really scares him. Because it's not that you won't, it's not that you don't want to, it's that you feel that you can't. Suddenly, everything feels a lot more serious than he realized.
He tries to let it go, he really does try, for your sake. After that last conversation, after the way you shut down, Michael pulls back in the only way he knew how. Not completely, he doesn't abandon you, but just enough to give you the space you needed. Enough to make it feel like he's respecting whatever this boundary was that you put up, even if he doesn't like it. But it doesn't get rid of the feeling in his chest.
It doesn't stop the way his eyes track your every move whenever you're around, and it doesn't stop the way he listens for any changes in your voice or the way he notices the small shifts in your posture and reactions. Most importantly, it doesn't stop the instinct inside him that's screaming that something is wrong.
The moment it all comes down happens by accident, it always does. You're sitting with him, closer than you've let yourself in a while, the space between you familiar in a way that almost feels normal again. You're really trying to act like nothing is wrong, like everything is fine and you can still exist in this space without it slipping. But your sleeve rides up when you reach for something. Slightly, but enough, and he sees it.
His brain doesn't automatically register what he's looking at, not fully. Just the mark, something against your skin that doesn't belong there, and it finally clicks. His entire body freezes.
"What is that?"
His voice isn't calm or controlled, just still. You follow his gaze, your stomach dropping the second you realize what he's looking at. Your hand moves quickly, too quickly, pulling your sleeve back down like that'll undo the fact that he already saw it. "It's nothing," you say immediately. He doesn't move, or say anything. He just stares at you, and then he steps closer.
"Let me see it," his voice is no longer quiet, more strict now. "No," you say, your voice sharp as you pull your arm back. That's when he knows, because you've never reacted like that with him. You've never pulled away or said no like that. His jaw tightens, and something dark settles into his expression as he reaches for you again. This time he's more careful, but he still has this firmness that doesn't leave any room for argument. "Let me see it," he repeats, this time quieter but still heavy.
You hesitate for a second, but it's enough. He pulls your sleeve up before you can stop him, and there it is. Clear now, and worse than it looked at first glance. It's a handprint. His breath leaves his body in a way that doesn't come back right away.
"Who did that?" He already knows, but he has to ask. "Michael, it's not... it's not a big deal-" But he doesn't let the excuses that he knows are coming settle in. "Who did that?" He repeats, louder this time. You don't answer, but he doesn't really need you to. Something in him snaps, not in a loud way, but in a quiet and controlled way that's somehow worse. He slowly lets go of your arm, like he's afraid to hurt you more. He clenches his hands at his sides slightly, scanning your face. That's when he sees something else, and he doesn't know how he didn't notice at first.
There's a slight discoloration around your eye, color that doesn't exactly match the rest of your skin. His eyebrows furrow and he sighs heavily, before turning abruptly and walking away from you without a word. For a moment, you think he's leaving. But then you hear it, the cabinet opening, the urgency in his movements. He comes back seconds later, with makeup wipes in his hand and your stomach drops.
"Michael..." you try, but he doesn't listen. He steps close again, too close, and raises one hand up to your face. You flinch, and it takes everything in him not to freeze at it, and before you can move away, he grips your chin firmly, tilting it slightly. "What are you doing?" You ask, your voice breaking slightly.
He doesn't answer, he just starts wiping. The first swipe is rougher than he means it to be, the pad dragging across your skin. The tears start coming before you can stop them, the concealer you spent so long applying carefully that morning coming off with every wipe. "Stop," you try, as you pull back slightly. But he doesn't stop. His movements turn sort of frantic, something driven by the need to see, to confirm what he already knows but won't let himself believe until it's in front of him. He swipes again and again, the makeup coming off too easily.
Then, he finally sees it. The swelling and the black eye you tried so hard to hide. You feel your breath catching, not because it's revealed, but because of his reaction. He goes completely still, his grip on your face loosening and his movements slowing as the reality sinks in. "...No," is all he can murmur, you almost don't hear him.
Your tears don't stop. He lifts his other hand slowly, cupping your face with a gentleness that wasn't there a second ago, like's he's afraid you'll break if he's not careful. When you look at him, he's already tearing up. Tears sit heavy in his eyes, and they start slipping down before he even realizes, his expression a mix of anger and heartbreak. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asks, his voice breaking. You just shake your head, as your own tears continue to spill out as well. "It's not... Michael, it's not what you think-"
"It's exactly what I think," he snaps now, the anger growing again, but it's not towards you. Not really. "He did this to you." He mutters. You don't answer, but that's really all he needed. "Why are you still with him?" He asks, a desperation in his voice. "It's complicated." You whisper. "It's not complicated!" He responds, his voice rising. "He hurt you!"
"It's not like that..." you try to build up a lame excuse, but he won't let you. "Then what is it like? Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like that!" He presses, his hands drop from your face now as the frustration in him continues to grow. You take a step back, and then another.
"Stop." You say, your voice shaking. "No, I'm not stopping. Not when this is happening." He responds. You couldn't take it anymore.
"It's none of your business!" It was your turn to snap, the words came out louder than you intended and the room goes silent. He freezes. Your chest rises and falls as you breathe unevenly, heart pounding as your words settle in around you both. Then, you finally let it out. "You said it yourself, I'm just a close friend."
That hits him hard, harder than anything else. "You made that clear, so don't act like you suddenly get to..." you hiccup, tears still streaming down your face at a fast pace. "Don't act like you get to decide what I do."
His face drops. He's not angry anymore, or frustrated, just stunned. Like the ground under him just disappeared. "That's not..." he tries, but the words die. Because he knows what he said, what he meant, how it sounded. And now, he knows how much it hurt you.
You quickly wipe your face, shaking your head like you're trying to pull yourself together. "I'm fine," you say, though nothing about you looks like you're fine. Before he can say anything else, you turn and leave. The door closes behind you with an echo in the silence that you leave him in. Michael doesn't move. He can't, so he just stands there. He's frozen in place, your words playing in his head over and over, your face all bruised and broken. It's burned into his memory. Because now he gets it, you weren't just hurting because of your boyfriend, you were hurting because of both of them, just in different ways. He doesn't know which part of that hurts more.
You feel it the moment you step back into that house. You know before a single word is even said. The air feels heavy and waiting. It presses on you the second you close the door behind you, like something is already building. You see him in the living room, he's watching you. You felt his stare before you even saw it. "Where were you?" He sounds calm, but you know better than that.
You try to keep your voice steady. "I told you, I was out."
"With him?" He snaps, walking closer to you. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know where you go?" Your stomach drops. This is the exact reason you stopped going, why you started pulling away from Michael. You made yourself smaller, quieter, and easier to manage. But it was never enough.
"I wasn't..." But your voice falters, because you were. And he can so obviously see it. "Don't lie to me," his voice harsh as his hand cocks back, and the next moment you realize your face is turned the other way, cheek stinging. The argument explodes and gets out of control, how it always does. Loud and fast before you can even try to control it. His hand reaches into your hair, gripping and tugging with a force that whips your head back and tears a whimper from you. That's when you notice the tears falling down your face, ones you didn't even know when they started pouring.
"You think I don't see the way you look at him? You think I don't know what's going on?" His voice rises. "There's nothing going on!" you cry, your voice dripping with desperation. You just wanted it all to stop. "You're lying," he yells, his hand coming in contact with your face once more before you're thrown to the ground off to the side. That's when you taste it, the metallic taste in your mouth. Your hand comes up and catches the blood that started dripping out, and for some reason it makes you cry harder. Not the pain, just the sight of your blood.
He rushes back over to you, picking you up by your hair and grips your shoulders, with a force that you knew would leave new bruises. You barely have any time to react or process anything before it spirals and starts getting worse. You're trying to get away, trying to protect yourself, trying to make it stop. Your mind goes into survival mode and every instinct is focused on just getting out. You black out and when you finally come to it, you'd somehow made it out. You genuinely didn't remember how.
You just remember finally opening the door, the cold air hitting your face, and your body moving before your mind can catch up. You're crying, shaking, and your breath is uneven as you put as much distance as you can between you and that place. You're trembling, one eye unable to open from how swollen it is, blood still dripping though you were unsure if it was still from your mouth, from your nose, or from both. But you keep moving, and there's only one place your mind goes. One person.
Michael.
By the time you reach his door, you're barely holding it together. You're limping and growing weaker by the second. Your hands shake as you knock, your body swaying slightly as you try to stay standing. Your breath is coming out in broken pieces. The door opens almost immediately. The second he sees you, everything in him drops. His face falls completely, any composure he may have had was shattered in an instant as his eyes take you in. The bruising, the blood, the way you're shaking, your tears. It all hits him at once.
"Hey, hey..." he breathes, his voice breaking as he steps forward quickly. You don't even get a word out, you just collapse into him. Your hands grip his shirt tightly as you sob into his chest, the sound coming out of you like you've been holding it in for too long. Because you had. Your entire body shakes with adrenaline and fear. All of it catching up to you at once. He holds you tightly. "I got you," he whispers, his arms wrapping around you like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold you hard enough. "I got you, you're okay."
His own voice keeps breaking and you can hear it. His face presses into your hair, his lips brushing against your head over and over again as he tries to calm and soothe you. He's also trying to make sense of what he's seeing and feeling. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he whispers. So typical of him, to apologize when none of it was his fault. That makes you cry harder. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands slowly coming up to your face, more gentle than anything you've ever felt. His thumbs hover, like he's afraid to touch too much, like he'll hurt you if he's not careful. Then you notice, his eyes were full of tears.
"He's not touching you again," he says, his voice shaking with emotion. "Do you hear me? He's not coming near you ever again. I'm gonna kill him, I swear I'm gonna kill him for ever touching you." You can hear it in his voice that he's crying and you feel his tears hitting your head. "You're safe here, I got you... I got you," he continues pressing kisses to your forehead, to your hair, then again. Like he doesn't know how else to comfort you. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, pulling you gently back against him as you cling to him again. Your sobs quiet just slightly against his chest.
"Pretty young thing..." he murmurs softly into your hair. The nickname hits different now, not teasing or playful, but protective. "You're okay," he repeats, his voice is steadier now, even as the tears from his eyes continue to fall. "You're okay, pretty young thing... I got you." His hand rubs slowly up and down your back, steadying and never stopping.
"You're safe, you're okay," he whispers again, and then quieter, more certain, "My pretty young thing."
The words settle into you like nothing else has, not as a tease or a reaction, but as something real and protective. For the first time in a long time, you believe it. Because in his arms, you finally feel safe.
The recovery isn't quick, it's not easy either. There are good days, where you almost feel like yourself again, where you laugh easily and your shoulders aren't constantly tense, where you're not replaying things you wish you could forget in your mind. Then there's the bad days, where something small sets you off. A loud noice, a sudden movement, a voice raised just a little too fast. Your body reacts before your mind realizes.
Those are the days that Michael notices the most. He's careful, not in a distant way or a way that makes you feel fragile, more in a way that shows he's paying attention to everything. The way he moves around you is slower now, more intentional. He makes sure to announce himself without making it obvious, he gives you space when you need it but never too much, not enough to make you feel alone.
The first time you flinch around him after everything, it hurts him. He reaches for something near you too quickly, his arm moves into your space without warning, and you recoil instinctively, your breath catching as your body pulls you back before you can stop it. He freezes immediately, not annoyed or confused, just still.
"Hey... hey, it's me," he whispers softly, his voice dropping into something gentle and steady. You blink, and force yourself to breathe. Your hand presses lightly against your chest as you to calm the sudden feeling of panic. "I know," you whisper back. "I know, I'm sorry-"
"Don't," he cuts you off quickly, while he shakes his head. "Don't apologize." He moves slower this time. "Can I...?" He asks quietly, his hand hovering just slightly in front of you, waiting for permission. You nod, and only then does he touch you.
It becomes something he learns, the way to ground you when you drift too far into your head. The way to bring you back without overwhelming you. His voice and his presence, the way he softly says your name when you start to shut down, it becomes your anchor.
But the flirting? It never goes away. It actually comes back stronger. Not right away, not in the beginning. At first, everything is softer and focused on making sure you're okay. Slowly, as you start to feel like yourself again, it slips back in. Carefully and playfully.
"You're staring," you mumble one afternoon, after you catch him looking at you from across the room. "I'm not staring," he defends himself. "You look different," he adds after a couple seconds of silence. That makes your eyebrows raise a bit. "That's a weird thing to say."
"In a good way," he adds quickly. You narrow your eyes slightly and bite back a grin. "You better mean that." He smiles at your rebuttal, that same smile that always gets to you. "You're still my pretty young thing," he says casually, like it's nothing. But it's everything. Your heart skips like it always does. "Stop," you mutter, even as you feel the heat rising to your face. "You like it."
"I don't," you argue. He smirks and you just roll your eyes, but you don't walk away. You never do.
Somehow, even after everything that happened and what you went through, despite the fact that you're still healing day by day, you grow closer. Closer than you've ever been, and neither of you thought that was even possible.
So when he asks you to come to the studio with him, you don't question it. He's done it before, so it's nothing new. "I got something to show you," he says, trying to sound casual. But he sounds off, he almost sounds nervous. And you notice.
"You're acting weird," you look at him suspiciously, as the elevator doors close, before lifting you guys up to the floor where the studio was. "I'm not acting weird," he mutters, not even making eye contact with you. He exhales slowly, looking up at the light above the doors indicating what floor you were on. "You're nervous." It wasn't a question.
That makes him scoff lightly. "I don't get nervous," he tries to act casual, and it's not working. "You do when it matters." He doesn't respond to that, and that's how you know you're right.
The studio feels alive in a way that's different from everything else. There's always energy in it, quiet and focused, while people move with purpose. You settle into the couch behind the producers, like you've done thousands of times before, watching as Michael steps into the booth. He looks at you through the glass, as he puts on the headphones. That same smirk growing on his face and your stomach flips.
You hear his voice through the speakers, softer now, and a little breathless as he leans into the mic. "This one's for you," he says, and pauses for a second before, "I wrote it."
Your heart stops.
Then the music starts.
"You know you,
you make me feel so good inside.
I always wanted a girl just like you,
Such a P.Y.T."
You can feel your heartbeat everywhere, in your ears and your face, in your finger tips. His voice sounds smooth and seductive. It catches you a bit off guard. Your brows furrow in confusion though, at the term 'P.Y.T.' You weren't sure if it was supposed to mean something. You're in the middle of racking your brain before he answers your question.
"Pretty Young Thing, ooh
Where did you come from, lady?
And, ooh, won't you take me there."
Your mouth drops. As the music continues, there's an intense heat flooding your face. You laugh softly without even realizing it, and you can't take your eyes off of him. He sings smoothly and moves his body in tune with the music, his eyes closing from time to time when he savors the music but opening once in a while to look at you with a mischievous glint.
"Let me take you to the max,
I want to love you (P.Y.T.)
Pretty young thing.
You need some loving (T.L.C.)
Tender love and care
And I'll take you there, girl, ooh-oh"
He continues singing and you can't help the tears building in your eyes. You feel so seen and loved as the music flows around you and his voice hits something deep inside you. He keeps smiling at you in that way that makes you weak. The song carries on until he's done and he's still smiling big and wide, as he takes the headphones off and makes his way out of the booth.
"So? What did you think?" He asks, putting his arms out in question. The producers step out quickly and quietly, to leave you in the intimacy of the moment. You chuckle and do the only thing you can even bring yourself to do. You cross the distance between you fast and grip his shirt before pulling him down for your lips to meet.
You both gasp and he freezes before melting into it, hands coming down to your waist. You both let out a breath that sounds like you were drowning without kissing each other. Your hands wrap around his neck as you pull him closer to you, the moment passionate and heated. When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you breathing unevenly with the cheesiest smiles on your faces.
"So, I take it that means you liked it?" He murmurs softly. You laugh quietly, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah, I loved it," you whisper.
This time there's nothing unsaid. And you're both more than okay with it.
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I’ve had a few people ask if I’m going to the MSG residency. The short answer is no.
I want to say this upfront. Nobody is forcing anyone to go. No one is entitled to tickets or access. That can be true while people are still allowed to talk about why this rollout feels disappointing.
I’m choosing not to go because I genuinely think more dates will be added later. But I’m also disappointed, and that part matters.
This era is being framed around togetherness, community, and the fans. In reality, a thirty night residency in one of the most expensive cities in the world immediately shuts out a huge portion of the fanbase. Travel, hotels, food, time off work. It is not realistic for most people.
The “I didn’t know people would be waiting for me” narrative feels disingenuous. This comeback was long awaited and he knows that. Acting surprised by the demand feels insulting when fans have been openly counting the days for years.
Context matters too. America is in shambles. ICE is actively deporting people and many fans are scared to travel, especially through airports and across borders. Add in the cost of living crisis and it becomes clear why this feels out of touch.
Access is another issue. One city. One venue. For Canadian fans, this is essentially the only North American option unless they travel overseas, which adds even more barriers.
People are frustrated by how exclusive and competitive this all feels. Presales, limited access, resale prices that will skyrocket. What should feel communal instead feels stressful.
Loving an artist does not mean never questioning their choices. Disappointment and appreciation can exist at the same time.
I hope more dates are added and access expands. I just hope future choices better reflect the values being talked about, not just the image being sold.
i’m a jester and i’m yours @tpwkyarely - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
