— inevitably, stupidly, and inescapably yours again.
— type: continuation of the previous fic & enemies to lovers, requested by an anon avid reader!
— genre: angst, toxic romance, emotional slowburn, tension-heavy drama, AND SMUT!
— pairing: BAD ERA! michael jackson x choreographer!reader
— contains: toxic obsession, unresolved trauma, screaming matches that sound like confessions, emotional dependency, jealousy, possessiveness, late-night rehearsals, complicated power dynamics, vulnerability issues, kissing fueled by anger, sexual tension, emotionally raw dialogue, mutual destruction, fame-related pressure, toxic yearning, fear of intimacy, arguments turning intimate, michael being emotionally repressed but deeply obsessive, reader struggling between resentment and love, unhealthy attachment, crying, emotional manipulation, desperate affection, and two people ruining each other because they don’t know how to stop. foreplay, making out, and p in v sex, unprotected!
SUMMARY: hating michael jackson used to be easy until the hatred started sounding too much like love. after years of resentment, ruined careers, and emotional damage, being forced back into his world turns every rehearsal into a war zone. now the tension between you feels dangerous, addictive, and painfully intimate and neither of you know how to survive it anymore.
this story honestly feels like smoke, sleepless nights, emotional dependency, and kissing somebody you should absolutely stay away from so the playlist has to sound obsessive, sensual, messy, and devastating at the same time.
— “do i wanna know?” — arctic monkeys
— “wicked game” — chris isaak
— “i wanna be yours” — arctic monkeys
— “the color violet” — tory lanez
— “west coast” — lana del rey
— “pink + white” — frank ocean
— “closer” — nine inch nails
— “glory box” — portishead
— “after hours” — the weeknd
— “in the air tonight” — phil collins
— “love drought” — beyoncé
— “untitled (how does it feel)” — d’angelo
(A/N: i didn’t back down on the “hate” because i genuinely think this is one of the most emotionally exhausting things i’ve written. they’re both horrible for each other but also understand each other too much which is honestly worse. i wanted michael to feel human here. not just “michael jackson” but a man who’s terrified of being unloved. anyway this fic hurts me so much. bye.)
the aftermath of kissing michael jackson felt less like romance and more like surviving a car crash. nothing softened afterward. that was the concerning part.
people always think finally kissing someone fixes the tension. like love magically untangles damage. but with you and michael, it only made everything uglier because now there was no distance left to hide behind.
you knew how he tasted now. knew the sound he made when he lost control. knew what it felt like when his hands shook against your skin like he was terrified of wanting you too much.
and michael? michael became unbearable afterward. because once he let himself cross that line, something inside him stopped pretending.
the next morning at rehearsal, he looked at you differently. still sharp, still intense, but no longer guarded. that should’ve felt comforting. instead it made panic curl violently in your chest.
you walked into the warehouse already exhausted from not sleeping. your mind replayed the kiss on a loop all night long until you genuinely thought you might lose your mind.
and michael? he was standing center stage talking to producers when you arrived. black slacks. black button-up rolled to his elbows. curls still damp slightly like he’d rushed out of the shower.
he looked up immediately the second you entered. the room disappeared, and it happened so fast it made your stomach twist. his eyes found yours instinctively like breathing. and then his expression softened.
not publicly enough for anyone else to notice. but you noticed. you noticed everything about him now. your chest tightened painfully.
michael excused himself from the producers almost immediately and walked toward you while the entire crew stayed busy pretending not to stare. “you left without saying goodbye,” he said quietly once he reached you.
you blinked at him. that was his opener for a conversation after everything? “we kissed,” you whispered harshly. “we didn’t survive a war together.”
his jaw flexed slightly. “felt similar.” you looked away first because if you kept staring at him too long, you were genuinely afraid you’d do something catastrophic.
“last night was a mistake.” the words came out automatically and michael went completely still.
for half a second, real hurt flashed across his face before the walls slammed back up. “don’t say things you don’t mean.” anger sparked instantly because how dare he sound so certain. “you don’t know what i mean.”
“that’s the problem.” silence stretched tightly between both of you.
then michael leaned slightly closer, voice dropping lower. “you kissed me back like you were angry i existed.” your pulse stumbled violently. “that doesn’t exactly scream mistake.”
you hated him, hated how easily he dismantled your defenses now. before you could answer, one of the backup dancers called michael’s name from across the stage. a woman. tall and beautiful. laughing at something one of the choreographers said.
you recognized her immediately. nia. one of the newer lead dancers michael had become close with during rehearsals. she touched his arm casually while asking him something. and something ugly tore straight through your chest before you could stop it.
michael noticed instantly. of course he did. his eyes flickered back toward you sharply. “don’t,” he said quietly. your face went cold immediately. “what?”
“do that thing where you pretend you’re not jealous.” you laughed once in disbelief. “you are genuinely insane.”
“we kissed one time, michael.”
“and you do not get to act possessive over me.” his expression darkened slightly. “i’m not possessive.” that was almost funny because suddenly every interaction between michael and anyone else over the next few days became unbearable to watch. especially women. you never realized how magnetic he actually was until now. everybody gravitated toward him constantly.
makeup artists lingering too long, assistants laughing too hard at his jokes, and dancers touching his shoulders casually during rehearsals like they belonged there. and michael? he always flirted without meaning to. that was the worst part.
he didn’t even realize the effect he had on people anymore because he’d lived inside it too long. his softness. his voice. the eye contact. the way he made people feel seen for half a second before moving on.
you hated watching it. hated how irrationally angry it made you, and unfortunately michael noticed that too.
one afternoon during rehearsals, nia was helping him adjust choreography positioning while you reviewed lighting notes nearby. she laughed at something he whispered. michael smiled back automatically.
and suddenly your stomach turned so violently you slammed your clipboard down harder than intended. the sound echoed through the room. everybody looked up including michael.
his eyes locked onto yours immediately. you smiled tightly. “sorry.” liar. his expression shifted subtly like he knew.
later that evening he cornered you backstage near wardrobe fittings while crew members rushed around nearby. “what’s wrong with you today?”
“not everything is about you.”
you crossed your arms angrily. “you’re unbelievable.”
“you looked like you wanted to kill nia.”
“i was not jealous.” michael stared at you for a long second before stepping closer. “you know,” he said softly, “you get this vein right here when you lie.” his fingers brushed lightly near your forehead.
your entire body betrayed you instantly. you pulled away immediately. “stop acting like this means something.”
that had hit him. you saw it immediately in the way his expression tightened. “that’s not fair.”
“fair?” you laughed bitterly. “you wanna talk about fair now?”
“well trying is not an answer for the great pain you’ve caused me.”
silence settled. michael looked at you carefully then, too carefully infact like he was trying to figure out which version of you he was speaking to.
the angry one? the frightened one? or the one who kissed him back like she’d been starving. “you know what i think?” he asked quietly.
“i think you’re terrified this matters as much to you as it does to me.” your chest physically hurt because he was right. again.
you hated how often he was right now. before you could answer, nia appeared backstage holding revised choreography sheets. “michael, they need you onstage.”
her eyes flickered between both of you briefly. she wasn’t stupid. nobody was anymore. the tension between you and michael had become visible enough that entire rooms felt it now.
michael didn’t move immediately though and kept staring at you like he was waiting. for what, you didn’t know. finally he stepped back slowly. “we’ll finish this later.”
you laughed coldly. “there’s nothing to finish.” but his eyes lingered on your face one second too long before leaving with nia, and that should’ve been the end of it.
instead you spent the rest of rehearsal watching them together until it made you feel physically sick. because nia was easy around him. easy in ways you never were.
she made him laugh. touched him casually. understood rehearsal rhythms without fighting him every five seconds. she looked good beside him. too good.
and suddenly a horrible thought started rotting through your chest: maybe michael only wanted you because conflict addicted him, maybe the obsession was never love, and maybe you were just the one person who challenged him enough to keep him interested.
the realization gutted you so badly you left rehearsal early without telling anyone.
you sat in your car afterward gripping the steering wheel while tears burned behind your eyes for reasons you couldn’t even explain properly because jealousy felt pathetic after everything the two of you survived.
you’d spent years hating him and years of rebuilding yourself after him. now you were crying in parking lots because another woman made him smile. humiliating. completely humiliating.
your phone rang around midnight. michael. you stared at the screen until it stopped. then rang again immediately. you answered angrily. “what?”
silence for half a second then his voice came quieter than expected. “where’d you go?”
your chest tightened involuntarily. “home.”
“because i wanted to. i was done with my part.” another silence. you could hear him breathing faintly through the phone.
“you left without saying goodbye again.” something about the disappointment in his voice made anger flare hot through your chest. “you seemed busy.”
michael went quiet immediately. too quiet. “…is this about nia?”
“don’t flatter yourself.”
“you think i want her?” you laughed bitterly. “i think you want everybody to want you.” that hit him hard enough you heard his breathing change.
“is it wrong?” long silence then finally michael spoke again, voice rougher now. “you really think i’d kiss you like that if this was casual to me?”
your throat tightened painfully. “you don’t get to say things like that and then stand there flirting with other women in front of me.”
“you smile at her differently.” another silence. then quietly: “because she’s easy.”
that hurt more than you expected. you laughed softly without humor. “wow.”
“that’s not what i meant.”
“you’re making this so complicated again.”
his voice sharpened suddenly. “you wanna know the difference between you and everybody else?” you closed your eyes tightly. fuck. this conversation felt like it should stop. “stop-”
“nobody else gets under my skin like this.” your breath caught.
“nobody else leaves rehearsals and suddenly the whole room feels wrong afterward.” his voice grew rougher now. more honest. “nobody else makes me this fucking angry and this fucking-”
he stopped himself too late. your pulse slammed violently against your ribs. “say it.” silence. then finally: “…insane.”
that word wrecked you. because michael jackson never sounded helpless. ever. you pressed your forehead against the steering wheel weakly. “you’re gonna ruin me again.”
his inhale caught audibly through the phone. “i know.”
“and the worst part is i think i’ll let you.” michael went completely silent after that. when he finally spoke again, his voice sounded devastated. “don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
but you did mean it. that was the tragedy of all of this. because somewhere between hatred and obsession and understanding, michael jackson had become the one thing you could never survive losing correctly. and both of you knew it now.
the next few days became unbearable in the most intoxicating way possible because now every interaction between you and michael carried the memory of almost losing control.
every glance lasted too long, argument felt charged, and accidental touches became catastrophic. somehow the tension only got worse after the phone call.
you walked back into rehearsal trying to act normal. what a huge mistake.
michael was already there standing near center stage reviewing visuals with producers, dark glasses hiding half his face. but the second you entered the warehouse, he looked up immediately like he felt you arrive before he saw you. your stomach twisted violently. you hated this.
because now you noticed ridiculous things: the way his sleeves rolled up exposed his forearms while he worked, the rasp in his voice after hours of rehearsals, and those sweat dampening the curls near the back of his neck.
it felt humiliating. worse, michael looked just as wrecked by it.
you noticed it every time he got too close during rehearsals. his jaw would tighten slightly. his breathing would change. sometimes he’d stare at your mouth for one second too long before catching himself.
and the fights? the fights became lethal afterward. because underneath every argument now sat the terrifying awareness that both of you wanted each other badly enough to destroy yourselves over it.
one night rehearsal ran late again. of course it did between you. the warehouse emptied slowly until only scattered crew members remained adjusting equipment in distant corners.
you stood near the lighting board arguing with michael over stage pacing while exhaustion frayed both your tempers raw. “the choreography needs more depth,” you snapped.
“not everything has to feel aggressive.”
“and not everything has to feel like an emotional foreplay.” silence. your stomach dropped instantly. michael realized what he said too late.
crew members nearby suddenly became very interested in cables and floor tape. you stared at him in disbelief. “did you seriously just say that?”
his jaw flexed sharply. “forget it.”
“no, explain that actually.”
“what, suddenly you’re shy?” his eyes darkened immediately. you recognized that look by now. it was the same look he got right before kissing you.
“careful,” he said quietly. “or what?”
michael stepped closer slowly. too close. close enough that your pulse immediately started misbehaving.
“i’ll fuckin’ kiss you right here, right now.” he murmured. your throat tightened. crew members wisely disappeared from the area one by one. cowards. “michael—”
“you stand there looking at me like you hate me,” he continued softly, eyes locked onto yours, “but every time i touch you, you stop breathing.” your face burned instantly because he was right. again.
you hated how observant he’d become with you. like he memorized every physical reaction against his will. “you’re insufferable.”
his mouth twitched slightly. that almost-smile would kill you someday. “liar.” before you could answer, one of the producers called michael’s name from across the warehouse asking about camera placement. the moment shattered immediately.
michael looked away first, dragging a hand across his mouth roughly like he was frustrated with himself. “five minutes,” he called back without taking his eyes off you. then quieter: “don’t leave.”
your pulse stumbled violently and you should’ve ignored him. instead you stayed. pathetic, ain’t it?
fifteen minutes later you found yourself alone backstage searching for revised performance notes when michael appeared behind you silently enough to startle you. you spun around sharply. “what the fuck?”
“you stayed.” your chest tightened immediately at the almost-relief in his voice. “don’t sound so surprised.”
he leaned against the doorway watching you carefully, black shirt partially unbuttoned now from rehearsals, and sweat cooling against his skin.
eyes exhausted and too intense all at once. the air shifted immediately. it always did with him now.“you’ve been avoiding me all day,” he said quietly.
you scoffed. “that’s rich coming from you.”
“so am i.” silence stretched. then michael stepped into the room fully, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. your heartbeat spiked instantly. “michael.”
“make this more scary than it already is…” you finally said the unsaid words between both of you.
his expression changed slightly. “too late.” your breath caught because there it was again. that horrible honesty he only seemed capable of around you now.
you should’ve walked away. instead you stood there staring at him while tension wrapped tighter and tighter around the room. michael looked exhausted.
like wanting you had become something painful.
“you know what’s really fucked up?” he asked softly after a long silence. you crossed your arms defensively. “what now?”
“i used to think fighting with you was the most intense thing i’d ever experienced.” your stomach twisted violently. “and now?”
his eyes dropped briefly to your lips again. slowly.
“now i think not touching you might kill me.” your breath left your lungs completely. the room felt suddenly too small. too warm. “you say insane things.”
“only to you.” that hit way harder than it should have. because michael jackson flirted with the world constantly without realizing it.
but this? this felt different. more raw. like every word cost him something. you tried to steady your breathing. “you’re making this complicated.”
“it was always complicated.”
“no,” you whispered shakily. “it used to just hurt.”his face changed instantly at that. softened. then michael moved closer again until your back nearly brushed the table behind you.
your pulse was so loud now you were sure he could hear it. “and now?” he asked quietly. you stared at him.
at the exhaustion in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and the unbearable vulnerability he only ever showed you in moments like this. your voice came out barely above a whisper. “…now it hurts differently.”
silence. then michael lifted one hand slowly like he was giving you time to stop him. you didn’t.
his fingers brushed lightly against your waist. the contact burned. you inhaled sharply despite yourself. michael’s eyes fluttered briefly at the sound.
he looked just as affected as you felt. “see?” he whispered roughly. “you do that breathing thing again.”
“shut up.” a soft laugh escaped him then. warm this time. it wrecked you instantly because suddenly he didn’t look like michael jackson anymore. not the icon, not the performer, and not the impossible man the world worshipped.
just him. just a man standing too close to you looking like he wanted you badly enough to lose sleep over it.
your hands curled instinctively into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself. michael noticed immediately. his breathing changed hard.“there you are,” he whispered again.
your stomach flipped violently. “i still hate dislike.”
“you don’t hate me anymore?” he asked in that teasing tone of his. his thumb brushed slowly against your waist.
your entire body reacted instantly and you hated how obvious it probably was. michael’s forehead dropped lightly against yours with a shaky exhale. “you have no idea what you do to me.”
your voice cracked slightly. “this is still a terrible idea.”
“we’re gonna destroy each other.” his eyes lifted toward yours again then. dark, wrecked, and honest. “maybe,” he whispered. then after a pause: “but tell me you don’t love this anyway.”
after a few weeks of no rehearsal due to some events, the sound of the door slamming against the wall echoes through your small apartment, a violent intrusion that makes you jump. you don't even have to turn around to know who it is. the air in the room shifts, thickening with a familiar, electric tension that tastes like ozone and old regrets. michael stands in the doorway, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and rimmed with a desperation that borders on mania. he looks frayed, the carefully constructed image of the icon stripped away to reveal a man who hasn't slept in days.
"get out, michael." you keep your back to him, your fingers gripping the edge of the kitchen counter so hard your knuckles turn white. your heart hammers against your ribs, a trapped bird screaming to be let out.
"i can't." his voice is a jagged whisper, raw and trembling. he moves into the room, the distance between you shrinking with every heavy step.
"you can't do what? leave? you've spent years leaving and coming back whenever you decide i'm a convenient place to land."
"this is different. i'm dying here. i'm actually dying without knowing where i stand with you."
you spin around, your eyes flashing. anger is your only armor, the only thing keeping you from collapsing into the gravitational pull he exerts over every room he enters. "you stand exactly where you've always stood. on the outside. i'm done being the only one who remembers how much this hurts."
michael stops inches from you. he smells of expensive cologne and cold rain. he reaches out, his hand hovering near your cheek, not touching but radiating a heat that makes your skin prickle. "you think i don't remember? i wake up with the ghost of you in my life every single day and night. i see your face in every crowd. i can't breathe because the air is full of you, and i'm suffocating in it."
"stop it. stop saying these things. you just want the chase. you want to know you still have power over me."
"fuck the power," he hisses, his composure finally snapping. he grabs your waist, pulling you flush against him. the impact knocks the breath from your lungs. "i don't want power. i want you. i want to be consumed by you until there's nothing left of me. tell me you don't feel it. tell me you aren't shaking right now."
"i'm shaking because i'm angry," you lie, your voice cracking.
"you didn’t have to lie," he whispers.
he crashes his lips onto yours, and the world dissolves. it isn't a gentle kiss; it's a collision. it's the sound of two starving people fighting over a scrap of bread. his tongue forces its way into your mouth, tasting of mint and desperation, sucking on your tongue with a greedy intensity that leaves you lightheaded. you moan into his mouth, a sound of surrender that you hate yourself for making. your hands find his hair, pulling him closer, trying to merge your skin with his.
"please," he gasps against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. "please, i can't stop. i've tried to stop for a lifetime."
he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he carries you toward the bedroom, neither of you breaking the kiss, the exchange of saliva messy and wet. he drops you onto the mattress, the springs creaking under the weight of his obsession.
he strips your clothes off with frantic, clumsy fingers, ripping a button from your blouse in his haste. you scramble to get him out of his clothes, your nails scratching at his back, leaving red welts that only seem to fuel his hunger. when he is finally bare, you see the way he looks at you—like you are a miracle and a curse all at once.
"you're so beautiful it hurts to look at you," he whimpers, his voice small and broken.
he moves between your thighs, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until you arch your back, a sharp cry escaping your throat. he leans down, his mouth replacing his fingers, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth with a wet, slurping sound. you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
"michael, please... just... now."
he doesn't wait. he reaches down, his fingers sliding into your wetness. you are drenched, your pussy pulsing around his touch. he finds your clit, rubbing it in fast, rhythmic circles that send sparks of electricity shooting through your nerves. the sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you is a loud, wet shlicking, the lubrication creating a squelching noise that fills the quiet room.
"you're so wet for me," he groans, his voice deep and guttural. "you've been wanting this as much as i have." he positions himself, the head of his cock brushing against your opening. he pauses for a second, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for any sign of hesitation. you pull him down, your hips tilting upward.
"do it." he thrusts inside you in one heavy, desperate motion. the air is pushed out of your lungs in a sharp huff as your tight walls stretch to accommodate his girth. he lets out a strangled cry, his face contorting in a mixture of agony and ecstasy. he stays still for a moment, buried deep, his cock pressing against your cervix.
"oh god," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. "i'm home."
he begins to move, the pace slow and agonizing at first. each thrust is deliberate, designed to feel every ridge of your interior. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. the sound of your bodies colliding is a rhythmic slap, his balls hitting against your perineum with a wet thud.
as the tension builds, the pace quickens. he loses the soft control, his movements becoming frantic, almost violent. he's thrusting into you with a desperation that feels like he's trying to crawl inside your soul. the shlicking sound intensifies, a messy, slippery friction that smells of sex and sweat.
"i love you," he gasps, the words spilling out of him unbidden. "i love you so much it's killing me."
you can't answer; you can only moan, your head tossing from side to side on the pillow. the pleasure is too sharp, too focused. you feel the pressure building in your lower belly, a coil tightening until it snaps. you scream his name as your orgasm hits, your internal muscles clamping down on his cock in tight, rhythmic pulses.
michael lets out a guttural roar, his body stiffening. he thrusts one last time, burying himself as deep as possible, and cums with a force that makes him shudder. you feel the hot, thick jets of his seed filling you, splashing against your cervix in heavy waves. he collapses on top of you, his heart racing like a drum against your chest.
for a long time, neither of you moves. the only sound is the synchronized gasping of your breath and the slow drip of fluids onto the sheets. the desperation has faded, leaving behind a hollow, aching vulnerability.
he shifts, rolling to the side but keeping you tucked firmly against his chest. he pulls the duvet over both of you, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive softness. he kisses your temple, his lips lingering there.
"don't go back into your shell," he whispers, his voice sounding exhausted. "please. just stay here with me for a while."
you lean into him, the scent of him now etched into your skin. the fear is still there—the terror that this intimacy is just a bridge back to the version of yourself that he destroyed—but for now, the warmth of his body is the only thing that feels real.
"we're going to ruin each other, michael," you murmur, closing your eyes. “but i just can’t stop loving you.”
“neither can i, sweetheart.” michael whispered back. “i love you so much, and no negative feelings can make the both of us get exhausted with each other.”
he followed up with, “so, can i please be your boyfriend?”
of course, you said yes, silly.
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