summary: you politely ask your boyfriend michael to read you his favorite book aloud, but he seems to find it difficult to do so when your mouth is making him feel so good
cws: 18+ mdni, smut, no plot, public (in a library), mean!reader, whiny sub!mike with some switch tendencies, use of pet names, handjob/blowjob, mild hair pulling, begging (m), dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, michael cries a little, brief religious guilt, brief spit play, car sex, spanking, unprotected p in v (oops pls be careful guys), creampie, reader calls michael daddy once, reverse cowgirl, mike steals reader’s panties
an: technically a continuation of this but both can be read independently! also i was too lazy to create fake text for the book he’s reading sorry babes. thank you for so much love on my last fic ♡
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The hum of the overhead lights of the library did very little to hide the sounds of Michael’s timid whimpers as your tongue lazily licked at his dick like it was a piece of candy. He had one hand holding the book you’d asked him to read aloud, the other gripping firmly into your hair. Every so often you felt the scrape of his nails against your scalp as you peppered kisses and kitten licks against him.
You’d been at this for about ten minutes now after you’d palmed him through his jeans to bring him to an erection. The whole time you had done that, his head had been tucked between your shoulder and neck, soft whines pouring from his lips as he attempted to muffle them against you.
“Mikey,” you had cooed, free hand gripping the back of his neck as your other pressed firmly against his crotch. “I want you to read that book you always check out for me. But can you read it out loud? Love the sound of your pretty voice.”
Michael had looked pained at the request, cheeks on fire. “Can’t,” he said, breathless. “You know I can’t talk when you, oh—” he broke off into a moan as you pressed the heel of your palm down even harder. “Please, baby. Please.”
You tutted in feigned annoyance at his response. “Sweetheart, why can’t you do this for me? I told you, I wanna read the book. You’re being kinda rude.”
Michael exhaled, brows pinched together. “Someone is gonna hear us.”
“Well, only if you keep being so loud,” you chided. “Can’t be quiet like a good boy, can you?”
Michael buried his face into your neck again, gasping like the air was hostile. “You’re so mean,” he said, the fight leaving his body as his hips twitched up to meet your palm.
“I’m sitting here making you feel good and you’re calling me mean?” You sighed, fingers threading into his curls at the nape of his neck in order to tug his head back so you could look right at him. “Aren’t you grateful? Your dick is so hard, and you can’t even thank me?”
Michael whined at the pain, hips pushing forward again. You’d learned that he loved a little pain, and he loved when you scolded him and whispered dirty things into his ear. He’d tried to put on a big show the second time you’d had sex, attempting to take control even though both of you knew that he’d never be the one in charge. It was cute, really. He was so compliant and whiny, you just couldn’t help but to tease him.
“Say thank you,” you said, pressing so hard into him you knew from the dilation of his pupils that it hurt deliciously.
“Thank you,” he rasped, mouth gaping open as you eased the pressure.
“Good boy,” you said, smiling a little.
And that was how it had started. By now he was completely on edge, standing on trembling legs. His back was pressed against one of the bookshelves in the back, an area you knew from years of working at the library that no one really frequented. Still, the thrill of getting caught hung in the air. To his credit, Michael was being a lot quieter than he usually would–not that he was silent at all. If someone cared to wander towards the back, they’d likely hear his mewls of pleasure. You knew both of you got off on that, though Michael would never admit it.
Your knees were getting a little sore from the lack of cushion below, but it was just too fun to edge him like this.
“Baby, you’ve been on the same page for like, five minutes,” you sighed, bringing up a hand to slowly jerk him off as you sat back a little. “I thought this was your favorite book. Can’t you read a little faster?”
Michael’s trembling hands took hold of the book, the hand he had in your hair slipping away as he almost dropped the novel. He read another sentence, slowly, voice strained. “Please let me cum,” he said, almost dropping the book again as your lips wrapped around the tip of his dripping length. “It’s starting to hurt.”
You hallowed your cheeks as you swallowed the length of his dick, the head hitting the back of your throat so abruptly you gagged around him. His hips pushed forward, almost as if they had a mind of their own. His ensuing whine was downright pathetic. The sound of the book falling to the ground with a loud clunk! hit your ears. You pulled back a little to pick it up for him, but suddenly his hands were on the back of your head, holding you in place.
“Please let me cum,” he said, his voice louder than he likely realized. Your eyes were prickling with tears at the loss of oxygen as he held you there. His cock was heavy on your tongue, and he thrust forward once more.
You pushed your hands against his hips, trying to break free for a moment. He reluctantly let go, allowing you to pop off of him.
“If I let you cum,” you said, tone cold. “You need to be quiet. Okay? You’re being so damn loud, Mike. The whole place is gonna hear you.”
Michael nodded, swallowing the sound of his own subsequent moan. “I’ll be quiet,” he promised, nodding again. “Please, please.”
“So, you wanna feed me your cum, huh?” You asked, hand cupping his balls with a tight squeeze before you released them. He bit down on his lip, and you could see the wince of pain as his eyes shut. “Is that what you want? Wanna shut me up with your big dick?”
Michael’s hands balled into fists, throat working into a loud gulp.
“C’mon, sweetie. You choked me on your dick and you can’t even tell me that’s what you want? Use your words, and I’ll let you cum. Tell me.”
“I…” Michael trailed off, eyes opening to glance down at you. They were wide, frantic, and full of tears. You watched as he blinked, one tear rolling down his cheek, and then another on the other side. The sight made you shiver with an arousal you didn’t realize was inside of you.
“I wanna feed youmycum,” Michael said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. He spoke so fast that the last few words sounded like they were one.
“Hm?” You asked, pretending you couldn’t understand him. Just for the show, you cupped a hand to your ear. “I can’t understand you.”
Michael let out a gasp of ragged air. “I wanna feed you my cum,” he said, slower, more determined. He blinked out another tear and you smirked. “I w-want you to choke on my dick as I… fuck your mouth with it.”
“God, you’re so dirty, Mikey,” you teased, reaching up a hand to grip his length. You held him, thumb and index finger forming a tight circle–one that you couldn’t close, even with the tips of your long nails. “What would God think if he heard you talking like this?”
Michael whimpered, and quickly covered a hand over his mouth to hide the sound. “Oh please, baby. Pleaseeee,” he dragged the word out childishly, and you gave him another squeeze.
“Fine,” you said, shrugging your shoulders with the casualness of replying to him asking something mundane like “can you pass me the salt?”
“Put it inside of me, Mike. Shut me up for once,” you told him. Michael’s eyes lit up as your mouth opened, tongue dangling out obscenely.
He wasted no time in obliging, and before you could take a deep breath his pulsing dick was inside of your mouth. He sloppily moved it, and you felt your right cheek bulge outwardly as he tried to find a pace. You knew he wouldn’t last very long now, having been on edge for quite some time. You were actually proud he’d managed to hold it in, especially with the dirty talk that usually turned him into a whiny mess.
He was thrusting inside of you, hands finding the back of your head again to make sure this time you stayed where he needed you. You could feel the burn of his nails against your skull, and you moaned around his length as he began to move his hips faster. The whole thing was completely irrational, really. You were on your knees on the floor, giving him a sloppy, loud blowjob while patrons of the library milled about just aisles over. Shockingly, both you and Michael were thrilled by this. Just last week you’d been in similar positions, albeit reversed, as you sat perched on the edge of the table while he fingered you slowly, tongue sucking at your clit with such force you’d seen stars.
Michael sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth, followed by a short whine as he repeatedly hit the back of your throat. Your eyes met his with a sharp look of warning, and he let go of you with one hand to force a palm against his mouth. You could hear the sounds of his quiet moans through the hand, but you continued to take him inside of you as he chased his release.
You felt his pace stutter, and what followed was the first spurt of his cum inside of you. Your throat worked to swallow as he continued to quite literally feed you his cum. Once he was finished, you pulled away, holding his cock in your right hand. He watched you, eyebrow raised as you spit a mix of your saliva and his cum back onto him before you took his dick back into your mouth to suck it off again.
He moaned at the sight, body shaking. His hands found your shoulders and he pushed lightly, fighting to get away due to oversensitivity.
You popped off of him with a smirk, giggling at his struggle. “Now it’s my turn,” you said with a grin.
Michael’s chest heaved as he nodded, forcing his dick back into the confines of his jeans. “Can I fuck you in my car, baby? Please.”
You smiled, nodding. “Yeah, but if I get fired you’re gonna explain to my boss that I was just helping you bring books out to your car, right?”
Michael smirked, laughing just a little as he hooked his arms under your armpits to bring you up to a stand. He then wrapped you in a hug, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “I’ll do anything if you let me fuck you.”
You shivered at the words, his breath against you causing goosebumps to pebble along your skin. “When’d you get so cocky, sweet boy? Weren’t you just crying and begging me to cum?”
You felt his lips form a smile against you before he sucked the lobe of your ear into his mouth for a moment. His tongue traced up the outside of the sensitive skin of your ear, and your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling.
“That’s true,” he agreed. “But I know you must be soaking wet right now. I bet you could take me already.”
You gasped at his words, pushing his shoulders back to give yourself a moment to pull it together. You giggled, breath shaky. “Let’s go see, then.”
The trip to his car was quick, both of you strung with desire and giddiness. Michael unlocked the car, opening up the backseat–you went first, he was a gentleman after all. You climbed in, knees knocking into the back of the front passenger seat as you climbed inside. Michael followed you shortly after, the door nearly slamming shut behind him. He gripped your wrist, and you turned to him just as he met your lips with a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together briefly as he settled into a rhythm that you allowed him to create. It was messy, saliva dripping from the bottom of your lip as he sucked at your tongue.
Michael had been right about one thing earlier–you were soaking wet. Your panties were clinging to your folds, clit throbbing with want.
“Mike,” you said, pulling away from the kiss to gasp for air. “Take your pants off. Then mine.”
Michael nodded, scrambling to indulge your request. He made quirk work of his jeans, wincing when the zipper scrapped his semi-hard cock–he’d gone without any underwear today, just like you’d asked. Then his hands were on you, undoing your jeans, thumbs sliding into the waistband to pull them down your legs. Your hips lifted up off of the seat to accommodate him, and you took it upon yourself to slip out of your panties on your own. He reached for them, tossing them on his own jeans that had been discarded on the floor.
“Oh wow,” you said, tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth. “I didn’t know you were such a pervert, honey. What, you’re gonna sniff them later as you jerk yourself off? That’s just dirty.”
Michael’s cheeks flushed, but he made no move to hand you the soiled garment. “‘M sorry, lovey. You smell so good.”
You smirked at him. “You mean my pussy smells so good?”
Michael whined, looking away. “Yes.”
You giggled, knowing he wouldn’t say the word pussy. He’d only said it once, right before he fell apart into an orgasm. He told you it was too sacred to call it that. He’d fuck you with his tongue, steal your panties, but he just couldn’t say pussy. He was too cute.
“C’mere,” you cooed, motioning him towards you with the crook of a finger. “I wanna try something, pretty boy.”
“What is it?” He asked, scooching towards you. He pulled you closer to him by reaching under your knees, sliding you along the seat.
“I want you to spank me.” You said simply, smiling.
Michael choked, eyes widening. “W-what? Won’t that hurt, baby?”
“Mmhm,” you agreed. “But don’t you think I deserve it? I was being kinda bad, earlier.”
Michael gulped. “I don’t know, dove…”
“C’mon, daddy. Don’t you wanna punish me for being such a bad girl?”
Michael took a breath in through his nose, and you knew you had him. He always lost it when you called him daddy, even though it wasn’t as if you said it to admit submission to him. It was quite the opposite, really. You said it with a tone laced in mocking, always with an edge to it. You could very well call him pathetic in the same tone, and he’d probably whimper for that too. He loved how dirty your mouth was.
“H-how?” He asked.
You giggled. “Put me over your knee,” you said, glancing down to his leg.
He nodded, stretching his legs over the side of the seat. He guided you down, ass up in the air as you settled your waist over his lower thigh. “Okay,” he said, voice low.
“Now hit me,” you said, wiggling your ass up at him a little. “C’mon. Punish me. I was so mean to you, wasn’t I?”
“Y-yeah,” he agreed, and then he delivered a weak smack to your behind. It was so gentle it made you huff out a laugh.
“No, baby. You’ve gotta do it harder than that. Your hands are so big, aren’t they? Put them to use.”
He moaned, and then you felt his hand come down harder. You jolted forward a little at the feeling, exhaling in relief. “Keep going,” you said, voice trembling a little.
Michael obliged, delivering another smack. He repeated himself a few times, each hit just a bit harder than the last. Finally, a loud smack rang out around the car. You gasped, moaning at the feeling.
“Oh shit, Mikey. Do that again.”
“F-fuck, okay,” Michael said. He hit you once more, even harder, and you both moaned at the same time. His hand came down to rub against the heat blooming on your skin, soothing over the pain. “Please, can I fuck you now?”
You nodded, throbbing for release. “Yes, baby.”
He helped you up off of his leg, and went to lie you back gently on the seat. You held up a finger, smiling a little.
“Don’t you wanna look at the masterpiece you created?” You asked, giggling. You gestured around to your ass, and Michael’s eyes filled with heat.
He nodded. “Yeah. Yes.”
You laughed, planting a kiss to his lips before you crawled onto his lap, hips facing away from him. You lifted yourself a little, hand reaching for his dick as you guided it to your entrance. “You can do most of the work, right baby? My legs are a little sore.”
Michael cleared his throat, hands wrapping around your waist. “Yeah,” He agreed, pushing up a little so the head of his cock entered you.
You smiled, sinking down the length of him in one go. Michael moaned behind you, grip on your waist tightening. The stretch was already making your head spin. “Oh Mikey, you feel so good inside of me. Wish you could fuck me forever.”
Michael sighed, hips jumping up once. “Baby,” he murmured. “I won’t last long.”
You smiled, bouncing a little in his lap to create a delicious drag along your walls. “Me neither, baby. Feels too good. Your dick is like magic.”
Michael whined, planting his face into the back of your head. His hips were meeting yours, and the small space quickly filled with the slap of skin against skin.
Within minimal time–minutes, maybe–you felt yourself nearing your orgasm. The combination of being so pent up from earlier and the feeling of finally being full was too much. You were gasping with each thrust, head falling back against Michael’s chest as your knees wobbled, giving out a little.
“Touch me, Mikey. I’m so close.”
Michael’s hand found your clit almost instantly, rubbing tight circles against it as he continued to fuck into you. Your body was wrought with pleasure, trembling against him.
“Please cum around me, baby. Wanna feel it,” Michael begged, hips still driving into you from below.
You gasped, meeting his thrusts as best you could. His free hand snaked up and under your top, diving under your bra so he could find your sensitive nipple. He pressed inwards, and you moaned. His thumb and index finger pinched the hardened bud, rolling it back and forth. That was what did it for you, and the chord snapped. You cried out his name, walls fluttering around him as your orgasm washed over you. It felt so good that your vision clouded, and your spine went completely rigid.
Michael followed right after, spilling into you, hips snapping up erratically. You felt his release coating you, and your body began to relax as you came down. You were still so sensitive, you whined as he worked both of you through your highs.
“Oh, fuck,” you said, breath coming out in quick gasps. You lifted off of him, and he whined. You cooed at the sound, turning around and climbing back into his lap, now facing him.
“I mean it,” you said, giving him a kiss before you rested your head against his sweaty chest. “Your dick is magic.”
You felt the rumble of laughter against your ear as he wrapped his arms around you, sliding a palm under your top to feel your bare skin. “So, what do you say?” He asked, and you gave him a sleepy “hmm?” in response. “Do you want me to read you that book now?”
It was your turn to laugh, snuggling even closer against him. “Sure, baby. Lay it on me.”
thinking of making a permanent taglist if anyone is interested!! pls lmk if you’d like to be involved (comment, dm, asks whatever). thank you sm for reading <3
This is genuinely off the dome so if you see any mistakes mind yo business 💟
GOLD DIGGER. THAT’S WHAT MOST PEOPLE ASSUMED WHEN THEY SAW YOU AND MICHAEL TOGETHER. They saw a confident, curvy, black woman and instantly deduced that you were using the poor man to get a taste of the finer things in life. It didn’t help that the two of you were polar opposites.
To most people, Michael was a soft spoken, hardworking, kind-hearted young man. He was a once in a lifetime talent who was very humble. You on the other hand, were seen as a demanding, frivolous, and vapid groupie. Your sense of style didn’t exactly help with these thoughts either. You often wore tight but tasteful clothing, a nice cropped cream colored blouse with a low v neck that showed off your love handles or tight blue jeans that highlighted your hip dips.
Obviously this was seen as you being a dirty little attention whore. Constantly showing off your body when you had a good man like Michael by your side was just distasteful.
Never mind the fact that Michael loved the clothes you wore and he loved how dominant and demanding you were. He loved subtly rubbing it into others' faces that they would never get to touch all of your goodness. They would never get to rub your thick thighs while he slowly fingered your puffy pussy. They would never know the feeling of your fat tits bouncing in their faces as you rode him to kingdom come, using him like your own personal sex toy. They would never understand the rush of euphoria he got feeling your luscious lips smack against his as you begged and pleaded for him to go faster, to get deeper.
People didn't know he felt that way though, obviously. They only saw poor little Michael Jackson being bossed around by his mean girlfriend.
Not entirely sure how I feel about this but it was plaguing my thoughts and had no choice but to write this out real quick lol
summary: jermaine leaves you waiting so you decide to make the most of your day…with michael
contains: implied! cheating Jermaine, cheating reader! Michael is easy like a sunday morning, 18+, mdni!, p in v, revenge sex
notes: i wrote this…got uninterested in it and posted it so sorry if it’s shit
“where’s Jermaine?” you asked as you stood in the middle of the Hayvenhurst living room in a bikini on and sunglasses perched on top of your head
the Jackson siblings immediately exchanged looks and not one of them answered
Jackie suddenly became very interested in whatever was in the magazine he was reading, Marlon bit the inside of his cheek, clearly fighting a laugh, Randy looked away altogether
Tito, wisely, decided he wanted no part in whatever was about to happen andstood up, Rebbie immediately followed him
you planted your hands on your hips and began to pace around the living room “your brother told me last week to come over today and take a dip in the pool so i come all the way over here, dressed and ready, and suddenly nobody knows where he is?”
you narrowed your eyes and scanned each and every single one of their faces “fine”
you grabbed your sunscreen from the coffee table and started toward the backyard “since apparently nobody wants to help me…”
you paused at the doorway “Michael” his head snapped up “yeah?”
you smiled sweetly “why don’t you be a peach and help me put sunscreen on my back?”
Marlon’s eyes widened and he muttered “Mike, don’t let her make you fold”
Michael swatted his hand away and immediately followed behind you
you turned and headed outside, swaying your hips as you walked toward the pool, michael watched as you did so. you settled onto the pool lounge chair, stretching one leg out toward Michael as he crouched beside you with the sunscreen, hsqueezed some into his palm and began rubbing it over your leg
you watched him for a moment, a mischievous smile slowly forming “so michael…you seeing anybody” he asked, he snapped his head up “huh?” you giggled “mikey do you have a girlfriend”
Michael let out a small laugh, shaking his head as he continued rubbing the sunscreen into your leg “no, i don’t”
“no?” you repeated, pretending to be surprised “nope” “that’s a shame”
Michael looked up again and you smiled sweetly “because you’re very handsome and good with your hands”
he paused for half a second before looking away, clearly trying not to smile “thank you”
you slowly switched legs, extending the other one toward him, he shook his head with an amused chuckle
“when did Jermaine leave?” you asked “hour before you got here” he replied, you nodded and hummed
you turned onto your stomach, resting your chin on your folded arms “so, where is he” you asked as michael began to rub sunscreen on your back
“well…” he started making you raise an eyebrow “well what?” “he didn’t tell anybody where he was going” “Michael”
he laughed “I’m serious” you gave him a look at he sighed “i heard him talking on the phone earlier..i think he went over to some girl’s house”
“some girl?” “yeah” “what girl?” “Jaleesa, i think” “… Jaleesa? really?” Michael nodded “mhmm”
you stared toward the house for a long moment before slowly turning back around, you already suspected that Jermaine was out seeing another woman before..well he’s Jermaine and you were right so you had the perfect idea to get him back
“since he’s gone and probably won’t be coming back for a while, can i sleep in your room tonight” Michael smiled “sure i don’t mind” “perfect”
“oh my god y/n..”
michael moaned as he slowly pressed his dick deeply inside you, you looked down between you, breathless and stunned with shock at the fact it could even fit
you had one leg draped over his shoulder while michael held the other with one hand, his other hand tightly gripping your waist
Michael paused for just a second, letting you adjust to him, a little smirk tugged at his lips when he saw the breathless look in your eyes
“you're not thinking about Jermaine, are you?” he hummed softly with confidence
before you could even form a response, Michael pulled out just enough to roughly thrust back into you
“ah! Michael!”
“that's it” he whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed against your jawline while his hips never missed a beat “say my name again”
“make me” you gasped out
he nodded and began to thrust in and out of you faster, his grip tightening on your hip as the friction built between you two
he lifted your other leg higher, adjusting his angle and pounding into you with a sudden, force that instantly knocked the air right out of your chest
“Michael!” you loudly moan out as he set a punishing, deep rhythm, leaving no space between you
“there it is” he whispered as he went faster and deeper “that’s what i wanted to hear...”
Michael bit his bottom lip as his grip tightened around your waist, he thrusted into at a pace that caused the headboard to hit the wall and your boobs to bounce with every thrust
“mmm you fuck me so good mikey” you muttered throwing your head back against the pillows
knock! knock! knock!
Michael grabbed your thighs, hauling your legs up and pushing them all the way back until your knees were practically pinned against your ears and he he pushed his dick so deep inside you a sharp, breathless scream tore from your throat
Michael placed his hand over your mouth to muffle the sound
the doorknob jiggled, and the door swung open… Jermaine walked right in
“mike you busy?” he said with a cocky chuckle, michael looked back with hair stuck to his face, keeping your legs hooked tightly over his broad shoulders, completely obscuring your face from the doorway
Jermaine caught a glimpse of Michael’s bare back and a pair of legs wrapped around him, but completely failed to put two and two together
“oh…” Jermaine smirked, shaking his head with a light laugh as he backed out toward the hallway “my bad, didn't know you had company”
Jermaine pulled the door shut behind him, completely unaware that the girl under his brother…was his
🎥 he knows exactly how to take care of his baby ─── thrad!michael
pairings: michael jackson x black!fem reader. genre: smut. warnings: no p in v. fingering + clitoral stimulation mentioned.
thinking about thrad!michael taking care of his pretty girl. mdni.⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
look at my pilot dawg...
i need this man so bad. like yes i do want to imagine thrad!michael gently shushing the reader as he slowly enters two of his fingers inside of her. you're wearing a pretty bra + panties set he bought you and you wore it tonight knowing exactly what would happen. his long fingers curl as they slide in and out, using his thumb to rub softly against your clit. michael just makes you feel soooo good.
and he's very proud of that too. his expression often showing a mix between amusement and concentration. very much in-tune with your body as well! so if you start feeling a bit too sensitive, he'll pull his thumb away and reassure you, voice a bit quiet. "it's okay, baby." and he'll focus on your nipples for a bit until you give him the okay to keep rubbing your clit. even when you squirm around, he's still so gentle and patient with you.
"there you go, pretty. gettin' real close f'me, huh?" but you're completely beyond bliss at this point, so all you can do is nod and let out a whimper. he goes to ask you another question, but your orgasm hits before you can process anything else. your entire body shakes for a bit as an obscene moan escapes your lips. your toes curl and tears prick your eyes. when you finally come back to your senses, michael is watching you with a slight smile, sucking you off of his fingers.
⭒ 18+, suggestive, manipulative!michael x innocent reader, slight aggression
thinking about… him pretending to hate sleeping alone just to get you in his bed. he waits until you’re in a deep sleep to caress your face and trace his thumb over your lips. he loves watching your sleepy face twitch under his touch. he slowly peels the covers off your body to get a good look at what’s underneath. if he’s needy enough he’ll graze his hands over the plumpness of your breasts or caress the roundness of your ass. his eager hands will find their way into his pajama pants and he’ll stroke himself slowly while his shaky hands linger on your skin.
if you wake up he apologizes, “I’m so sorry, Bunny. I feel so dirty. I just can’t help myself next to you, you’re so pretty when you sleep. You’re my best friend, I just wanna make you feel good, mama. You deserve at least that.” your innocence makes you hesitant but your desire makes him impossible to resist.
you strip your clothes slowly, one by one, to give him access to your body. he mumbles sweet nothings in your ear as he strokes himself. he praises you about how beautiful you look, how lucky he is to be your best friend and to be the only one who can touch you like this.
your sweet, feminine moans fill the quiet room along with his loving praise.
thinking about… Michael pulling you to sit on his lap even in a room full of his brothers. his hands snaking around your waist underneath your shirts and resting his chin on your shoulder. he’ll whisper in your ear how good you smell and how much he likes your outfit that day. your shyness washes over your face as you look down and giggle quietly at his public affection.
thinking about… his obsession with your hips. if you’re ever standing in front of him or walking past him he’s not afraid to grip your hips to pull you close to him, pressing your behind to his crotch before wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you close. and if anyone ever questions the flirtatiousness nature of your friendship he’s always quick to retaliate, “What? She’s my best friend, it’s what best friends do. We love each other.” he’ll say before planting a lingering kiss to your flushed cheek.
thinking about… his curious fingers snooping through your overnight bag and finding your dainty lace panties and shoving them in his pockets before you have the chance to catch him. later in the night when you change in front of him (of course because that’s what best friends do, at least that’s what he says) and realize you don’t have the underwear you thought you packed, he suggests you just sleep in one of his loose t-shirts with no panties.
“It’ll be more comfortable anyways, don’t ya think?” he’ll suggest.
you’ll hesitantly agree. “Yeah.. I guess. I just.. what if the shirt slips up in my sleep?”
“Then I’ll take care of you, baby. You know I’m good at that, don’t you?” His fingers will grip your waist, brushing his lips against yours. “Can I kiss you? I’m aching so bad and one of those best friend kisses would help me so much.”
thinking about… Michael getting upset when he picks you up from a party you’ve been drinking at and some guy is whispering something in your ear gripping onto your waist too tight. he grabs you by your wrist and leads you to the car, slamming the door behind himself once you both get settled in the backseat. he yells to Bill to put the partition up before turning his attention to you.
“What the fuck was that about?” he snaps at you, yanking your arm to sit up straight and look at him.
his anger catches you off guard because you’ve never really seen him so upset, especially not at you. “I don’t- I don’t know, Michael. I’m sorry, he was just-“
“Just what? Your new best friend? Only I’m supposed to touch you like that. Did you like his hands on you more than mine?”
“No! No, Michael! I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.” you fidget with your fingers in your lap and look up at him with tears stinging your eyes.
he shakes his head and puts his finger to his lip while looking out the window. you hate him being mad at you, it made you wonder if he’d ever kiss you or touch you again. the thought of never having him in that way felt unbearable. he’s the only boy to ever touch you like that.
“Michael…” your voice trails off as you put your hand up to the side of his face, snaking your fingers inside his curls. “Kiss me.. please. Please kiss me, touch me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I only want you.”
he’ll pat his lap for you to sit in your most comfortable seat and he’ll wipe your tears assuring you there’s no reason to cry even though you do look so beautiful when you do. he’ll take his finger under your chin and make you look up to face him and he’ll plant a loving kiss to your soft wet lips.
when he pulls away your sparkling watery eyes follow his to search for any ounce of lingering anger. the tenderness of his kiss put you in a daze, a pool of arousal soaking your underwear at the feeling of his gentle lips on yours.
“I’m not mad at you, baby. I’m sorry for yelling, let me make it up to you.” he whispers against your forehead before placing a kiss on it.
he drops to his knees in front of you and spreads your legs for easier access. he kisses up from your knee to your inner thigh, whispering how sorry he is in between each kiss.
once he reaches your drenched underwear he giggles to himself at how easily wet you get for him and does his best job at making it up to you.
summary: years ago michael thought you had stolen one of his songs, now two rival popstars are forced to perform together at the 1988 grammys (enemies to lovers), 18k wc
contents: porn with plot (mdni), angst, hurt comfort, complicated reader, nice guy who only hates you LMAO, cursing, fighting, injury, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), creampie, mirror sex, aftercare, nicknames (baby, mama), michael talking you through it, softdom!michael, 1988 grammy snub.
a/n: this is mostly inspired by the intro to the original pressing of i just cant stop loving you (he sounds so goddamn delicious there) i got a req for an enemies to lovers fic and i most definitely got carried away, tried hard with the slow(ish) burn, this is a long one y'all, but there's a reward at the end (michael destroying that kitty)
“No.”
The word was final, though no one in the room was willing to take it as such.
“Sorry?” Michael’s manager blinked, suddenly stiffening up in the plush office chair he occupied.
“I said no.” His manager awkwardly shuffled in his seat, rubbing his increasingly sweaty palms against his slacks.
Cutting through the silence was a feminine scoff, followed by the rustle of clothes against leather. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Michael’s eye flicked over to you, meeting you with nothing but contempt. “You want me to perform with…him?”
Your manager sighed, the corporate-looking woman rubbing tiredly at her face. “It’s already been discussed.”
“That wasn’t my question.” You snapped back, eyes singling on her as you turned to face the woman.
“Well…”Michael’s manager coughed awkwardly, “The recording academy is very excited about this.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Michael sighed, his large hands coming together as he folded his arms across his chest.
“I agree with him.” You couldn’t even bring yourself to utter his name. The simple act of agreeing with him seemingly irritating you as much as the audacious proposition.
His eyes met yours once again. Though there was no warmth, and there hadn’t been for a long time. You scowled at him, and he returned it with an emotionless glare. “For once.”
The hostility, the venomous nature of your relationship had been like this for years.
Wherever one of you went, the other seemed to follow.
Everything had become a comparison. Tabloids picked you both apart. Television segments devoting entire afternoons to discuss who was more talented, more influential, more deserving of the flowers they receive.
Every piece of media was determined to decide who was better.
The press had been running this story for so long that it was impossible not to think of the other when either of your names were mentioned.
The media exaggerated things. That much was obvious.
But they weren’t exactly wrong.
Michael didn’t like you.
Not one bit.
It started years ago, during the making of Thriller. He recorded a song, a small demo, a couple lyrics, a distinct melody, an idea that hadn’t yet become what he knew it could be. It was unfinished, unrefined, and private.
Eventually, he forgot about it. Life had gotten too busy, locked in an endless cycle of rehearsing, recording, touring and interviews. The demo was the last thing in his mind.
Then one soft summers day, where the birds chirped outside his car window and the morning sun reflected softly off the passing cars. He heard it.
His song. His melody. Playing through the radio and the angelic voice that was singing it wasn’t him, it was you.
His unfinished song had become your best-selling record. His art, his work, his idea. Stolen without credit.
Michael was as unconfrontational as they came. So, he never mentioned it, never asked about it, never giving you the opportunity to explain.
All he felt was betrayal. You heard his demo, had stolen his work and changed it just enough that you could call it your own.
And from that moment forward, his anger seeped into every interaction between you. It settled silently, festering beneath every conversation and exchanged glance, until that resentment and hatred had taken root so deeply that neither of you could remember what it was like not to despise the other.
So as the years followed, the industry caught up.
Rivalry sells.
Shock sells better.
So here you were, in a room full of executives and managers who had the audacity to suggest the two of you sing a love song together.
“I just can’t stop loving you?” You laughed at it, the proposition utterly unbelievable. “You’re all insane.”
Michael sighed loudly, pinching his nose. This was insulting. His work, his craft, his emotions and feelings that had all been poured into his music were being dangled in front of the press like bait. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“We tried.” His manager tried to explain. “But the recording academy wanted confirmation in a short amount of time.”
“So, you said yes and assumed we’d go along with it?” You cut in, interrupting his manager.
“Well…”
You interrupted him again, your hands squeezing onto the fabric of your dress. Your glare was piercing, sharp eyes dissecting every awkward movement that the man displayed “Well what?”
Michael’s manger looked down, unable to remain eye-contact with you. His posture crooked, hands tightly wrapped around the notebook in his hand, eyes focused on the small patch of carpet right in front of him.
Silence filled the room, looming over the office like a dark storm cloud. No one dared to answer you, not when they knew the reaction they were going to get. Your manager knew this was a risky move, to force you to dance romantically with your biggest rival.
“What’s the catch?” Michael asked. His voice was quiet, almost resigned. His hand came up to massage his temple, stray curls falling over his brows as he took in a shaky breath.
Your manager straightened up in her chair, heels dragging across the carpet. Her voice shook as she spoke, her stutter a physical representation of how much she feared your reaction. “The academy will remove your nominations if you do not fulfill the performance.”
The room became eerily quiet. The atmosphere shifted instantly, morphing into something murky and suffocating.
Slowly, you rose from your chair, smoothing down the fabric of your dress with shaking hands. “Are you serious?”
Everyone’s eyes were on you. Managers and executives alike watched you cautiously, assessing your posture bracing themselves for your inevitable outburst.
Slowly, your manager nodded, eyes meeting yours then quickly dropping down. “We tried to get them to rethink the decision.”
You put your hand up, motioning her to be quiet. You felt rage simmering within you. Forced to work with the one man you despise, forced to sing his song, this was a humiliation ritual disguised exposure.
Michael saw your shaking hands, your fingernails digging into the flesh of your palm, leaving crescent shaped indents. He wasn’t unbeknownst to the way the industry used musicians for their own stories. He hadn’t expected anything less from the over-bearing men in black suits who controlled the market.
But you hadn’t been a pawn in the game as long as him. While his rage was sedated, disappointment prominent in his stature. Your rage was burning like an inferno.
Slowly, you lowered your hand, eyes singling onto your manager. “Fine.”
Monday – Four Weeks Until Grammy Night
Everyday that lead up to the rehearsal, the pit of dread grew larger in your stomach. You exhausted all of your resources, nothing was going to get you out of this agreement. For the next month, four days of your week would be spent forced next to who you thought was the most arrogant and cocky man you’d ever met.
Call time was 9am sharp. And by 9:30 you had gotten multiple calls from your manager and the choreographer beckoning you to arrive.
You begrudgingly arrived at around 10am, your manager trailing behind you, still attempting to explain why this performance was unavoidable. Though, you had tuned her out. There was only so much corporate nonsense about contracts, nominations and the Grammys that one woman could tolerate early in the morning.
Opening the large studio doors the first thing you heard was music. The music. Michael’s voice playing over the speakers, the lyrics so soft and intimate, telling a romantic love story.
Yuck.
You found Michael quickly, he stood in front of the large, mirrored wall, curls sticking to his forehead, an over-sized white tee draped over his frame and baggy sweatpants hanging off his hips.
His attention was fixed on the choreographer in front of him, attentively nodding to whatever was being explained to him. Your stomach twisted. Why did he look so comfortable? Did he also not spend the last several days trying to dig himself out of this predicament?
His head turned to you as you walked further in the room, brown eyes tracking your movements as you threw your large duffel bag onto the floor. “Morning.” You said to Michael and the choreographer, John.
“Good morning!” John replied with far too much enthusiasm.
Michael stayed silent. He didn’t turn to greet you either, continuing to stare at his own reflection in the mirror.
He couldn’t even muster up a good morning? You thought to yourself, trying to supress the urge to storm out of the room and never look back.
You turned toward him, sucking your teeth. “I said morning.”
Michael stilled, his eyes moving towards your reflection, still not facing you. “I heard.”
You felt your eye twitch. “Y’know if you weren’t so immature we could try and be civil through this whole thing.”
“Immature?” Michael scoffed at you. “I wasn’t the one who had to be dragged to the studio by their manager.”
“I wasn’t dragged.”
“If you say so.” He shrugged.
Any sane person would’ve walked away from him. But in no universe would you let Michael Jackson get the last word.
“Do you always act like a dick, or it is your time of the month?”
Michael span on his heels, “Excuse me?”
“Oh, aren’t you posh?” You let out a humourless laugh. “I’ve got spare pads if you need them.”
Michael’s lip twitched, your crude words irking him. “I don’t need anything from you.”
“Me neither.”
Michael scoffed at you, the memory of his demo flashing in the back of his mind. “Sure.”
The sarcastic tone of his voice set something off in you, blood rushing in your head as you used all of your patience not to throttle him.
John let out an awkward cough clapping his hands together. “Are you guys done?”
Michael’s head dropped slightly, letting out a quiet sigh. “Yeah…Sorry.” He muttered like a disciplined child.
You on the other hand were still trying to reel in the rage that was simmering off of you. “What are we even doing anyway?”
“We are going to be running through the choreo. It’s gonna be decently simple, because the focus is on the two of you and the chemistry that there is.”
“Chemistry?” You laughed out.
“I don’t care if you don’t have it. You’re going to convince me you do.” John replied back.
“Right.” You rolled your eyes. You were making absolutely no effort to hide your disdain for the situation you were in. You had no clue what you had done to Michael, but for years he had acted like you were the gum on the bottom of his stupid shiny loafers.
You and Michael moved to your starting position. You were so close, his breath brushing against your forehead. John messed with the backing tracks so you both awkwardly stood there. His eyes averted your gaze, looking straight above you, he was stiff, hand tightly wrapped around the microphone in his hand.
Despite your mutual disdain for one another, you were still professionals. Managing to stifle down the urge to gag as you felt Michael so close to you.
John jumped up, clapping his hands once. “Alright, let’s move through this fast! We are an hour behind right now!” You rolled your eyes facing Michael once again.
Michael’s eyes dropped down, mouth twitching into a smug grin about the schedule. You grumbled in return, muttering a string of vulgar words.
“Michael, this is going to start with your spoken intro.”
Michael’s body tensed immediately, eyes wide as he shook his head. “What? I didn’t know we were including that.”
“It will be such a good addition Michael! Can you imagine the shock of the world as you profess your love to her. No one will see it coming.” John spoke with excitement, hands moving in the air as he predicted the world’s reaction.
“Yeah, but they mean something.” Michael sighed. “They’re not just for anyone.”
“What? Am I not a suitable for the role?” You taunted. Michael responded with a harsh glaring side eye.
“It’s already decided. You two are in love now, I don’t care what you do outside of this studio. In here, I need to be convinced you two are the happiest couple in the world.”
Michael sighed loudly, running a hand over his face before rolling his shoulders back. He was resetting himself, dissociating from the Michael that wanted to crawl somewhere and hide, and becoming Michael Jackson.
John ran around you both moving your hands into the exact pose he wanted. Michael’s hand hovered just above your cheek, yours on his.
“I just want to lay next to you for a while. You look so beautiful tonight.” Michael whispered into the microphone, his eyes were squeezed shut, trying to erase your presence.
The words that were meant to be sweet and honest, struggled to escape him. His face grimaced with each line, mouth twitching into a frown as he was forced to whisper confessions to you.
You stood there rigid, frowning, foot tapping restlessly as you listened to the spoken word. Watching him be in such discomfort just being near you was insulting.
Yes, you didn’t like him. That didn’t mean you were repulsive.
Michael finished and he let out a sigh of relief, immediately stepping away from you, gasping for air as if your presence was beginning to make him sick.
“Again!” John called out.
You glanced over. “We just did it?”
“Yeah, and now we’re doing it again. Let’s look less sick of each other this time.”
A dramatic sigh left your mouth as you rolled your eyes. Michael’s mouth twitched upwards slightly, holding back a laugh.
“Did you just laugh at me?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I did not.”
“Uhh yes you did?”
Michael looked at you with that same blank expression he had been giving you for years. “Can we rehearse?” There it was, that tone. It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t frustrated. It was dismissive and condescending.
“Sure!” You grinned sarcastically. “Wouldn’t want to be here longer than needed.”
His eyes narrowed, ignoring your snide remarks. “I’m here to work.”
“Yeah? So am I.”
Michael let out a shallow laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Your eye twitched, head cocking to the side. “What did you say?”
Michael kept his blank expression. “That I’m here to work?”
“No. You said something else.”
“Hm, I don’t recall.” Michael shrugged.
God, give me the strength to not strangle this man. You thought.
You stared at him, eye boring into his. He stared back, his blank expression faltering for just one moment.
But you caught it.
That small flicker of irritation.
At least he felt something.
“Again!” John yelled in between both, obviously exhausted with the ridiculous arguing between you.
Michael moved to his position, whispering the words to you once again. He had his eyes open this time, staring right at yours.
It felt like a challenge. Was he testing you? To see if you’d break? Hoping that you’d timidly avoid his gaze like every other woman that fawns over him.
You hated Michael.
You hated losing more.
You kept your eyes focused on his, your hand hovering over his cheek, sucking on the inside of your mouth as he continued to speak.
“I just want to touch you. And hold you. I need you, God, I need you.”
When the music finally stopped, John looked between you enthusiastically clapping. “Amazing! Yes! That is what we want!”
Michael chuckled softly. “Thankyou.”
“This is what I’m talking about. There is something there!”
“Yeah. Mutual hatred.” You laughed, stepping away to grab your water bottle.
For the next two hours the cycle continued. John would demonstrate the choreo. You would question it, complain about the situation. Michael would offer some sort of correction or snide remark. You’d argue with him and repeat.
This was going to be one long month
Monday – Three Weeks Until Grammy Night
By the following week you had learnt two things.
One. John had absolutely no sympathy for your hatred of Michael Jackson.
Two. Michael was a lot more irritating when you had to be within him four days a week.
The first week of rehearsals had all been quite similar. You all argued to John’s deaf ears about the intimate choreography, Michael continuously corrected your timing, you would tell him he’s the most insufferable man you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting and he’d brush you off with a quiet remark that made you wish he’d just yell at you like a normal person.
Though as you two got more acclimated to each other the sharpness off your arguments began to dull.
You’d learnt that when Michael was particularly quiet, he was concentrating, he hated being late and he hated when he got something wrong. While you were sitting down to take a break, he’d stay in front of the mirror marking the choreography over and over until he got it right.
Michael, against his will, had learnt that you became quite argumentative whenever you were tired, becoming even more agitated when you were hungry. That you hummed under your breath when you were concentrating, softly biting your lip as you fought to remember the choreography. He learnt that you tended to deliberately exaggerate your movements whenever he had annoyed you, using your entire body to display your unhappiness.
Neither of you discussed these observations.
Well.
Neither of you discussed anything.
“Again!” John called from the back of the room.
You were glistening with sweat, hair sticking to the back of your neck. John had been making you repeat this sequence for hours now, and you were beginning to think he had some sort of personal vendetta against you.
From one side of the studio to the other you and Michael were meant to move in sync, his hand in yours as you both twisted and turned across the floor. The footwork was intricate, keeping up with it and remembering your lines was becoming all too much to do next to Michael, who somehow managed to do it perfectly every time.
“John. If I do this again, I’m going to throw myself through that window.”
John pouted. “Aw. Too bad its locked.”
Your jaw dropped open, staring at him with wide eyes.
In your ear, you heard a soft snicker.
You head snapped towards Michael. “Do you have something to say?”
“No.”
“You did that thing.”
“What thing?” Michael raised his eyebrow, trying to keep the smug grin off his face.
“Y’know that little.” You mocked his snicker, deliberately exaggerating the sound.
Michael’s jaw dropped. “Never in my life have I made that noise.”
“You just did.”
“I do not sound like that.”
“Uhhh, yes you do.” You mocked him again.
“Hello? Are we rehearsing or doing impressions?” John asked loudly.
“I can multi-task.” You scoffed going back to your starting mark.
Michael let out another snicker as he strode across the room.
“You did it again!” You exclaimed, pointing in his face.
“I really didn’t.” Michael said blankly this time.
“You’re a horrible liar.”
“That’s interesting coming from you.” Michael mumbled, moving behind you.
His hand hovered over your waist in a practiced manner.
You stiffened.
Your head whipping around to meet him and even John straightened in his seat, closing his eyes with a deep breath.
“What is that supposed to mean?” You sneered, cocking your head to the side.
“Nothing.” Michael cursed at himself, regret bubbling in his chest as he realised what he let slip.
“Nah. Say what you meant.” You stepped closer to him, your voice growing sharper.
John sprung up from his seat, stepping between you before the argument could escalate.
“Okayyyy. Whatever unresolved psychological warfare you two have going on, save it for after the rehearsal because I do not get paid enough to break up a brawl.”
You muttered a couple swears under your breath, hesitantly turning away from Michael. Your eyes still stared into him through the mirror, manicured hands squeezing the microphone in your hand.
You were a lot of things. Brazen, bitchy, annoying.
But you weren’t a liar.
“Great. Now again!”
As soon as the music started, it went wrong.
Michael had turned too early, going just a beat too fast. Your shoulder collided with his chest as you turned, his foot catching onto yours as you both toppled sideways.
Your hands reached out and grabbed onto his arms to catch yourself, his large hands catching your waist instinctively before you hit the wooden floors.
Michael’s eyes were wide as they met yours, breathing heavy from the sudden movement. His hands remained grasped tightly onto your waist as his eyes moved over you quickly assessing whether you were hurt.
But your eyes flicked down to your entangled feet. “Was that your fault?”
Michael’s worrisome expression faded back to irritation, his jaw fell slack. “My fault?”
You looked back at him unimpressed, hands still gripping onto his arms. “You turned early.”
“I did not.”
“Well, I was on time.”
Michael blinked slowly, trying to get his head around the whiplash he got from being worried you were hurt to having to defend himself. “You turned into me.”
You let out a loud laugh. “No! I was following the choreo.”
“Well so was I.”
“Well maybe you should follow it properly.” You sneered.
Michael’s brows pinched together, his upper lip twitching. “I know the choreo.”
You laughed at him again. “Oh yeah. Clearly.”
“You walked into me.” Michael said calmly.
“What world are you living in!” You exclaimed, the volume of your voice a stark contrast to his calm demeanour.
“The one where you walked into me.”
“I did not walk into you. You moved too early.”
“No.” Michael shook his head, his voice still calm, but the slightest bit of irritation creeping through. “You moved into me.”
Instead of responding with words, you let out a loud groan of frustration, shutting your eyes tight and exhaling slowly as you tried to stop yourself from jumping up and strangling him.
When you opened your eyes, you finally glanced down to see that you two were still tangled together. “Can you let go?” You sneered.
Michael followed your gaze. His eyes dropped to where his hands were still wrapped around your waist, only just realising they were there.
He immediately released you, gently pulling you back to your feet before stepping away. He turned his back to you, straightening his shirt. “Y’know if you watched where you were going-”
“Oh, don’t start.”
“I wasn’t starting anything.” Michael said this time a little laugh escaping him.
He tried to supress it he really did. But the utter absurdity of the argument had finally caught up to him. How were two of the biggest names in the industry spending several minutes arguing like children over a minor mistake in some choreography?
You stared at him unamused. “Are you laughing? Seriously?”
“It’s just-” He shook his head, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turned to face you once more. “Never mind.”
“No say it.” You demanded
“It’s just funny.”
“Yeah. Funny to you. I almost tripped and died.”
“You’re so dramatic.” Michael chuckled, reaching up to push the soft ringlets that had fallen across his face.
“Yeah, yeah whatever.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. Silence filling the studio like a warm fuzzy blanket.
Your eyes met his, and there was no irritation, no contempt. Just a strange, fleeting warmth that felt foreign between the two of you.
Michael’s expression softened. “Did you hurt yourself?” Michael asked quietly.
The question caught you off guard, blinking a couple times before you shook your head. “No…No, I’m fine.”
In return, Michael gave you a warm, knowing smile “See? You are a drama queen.”
You scoffed this time but didn’t bother hiding the smile creeping onto your face. “Shut up.”
Thursday – Eleven Days Until Grammy’s Night
The novelty of rehearsal’s had long worn off.
You were tired.
Not the kind of tired that could be fixed with a night’s rest. It was the sort of tired that settled deep into the fibres of your body, making every inconvenience and error feel deeply personal. Your muscles ached, your throat was beginning to feel raw and the fact you hadn’t slept well in weeks was all beginning to catch up to you.
And somehow, the one thing you just couldn’t get right, was the simplest part.
The line was right at the end of the song. A short vocal exchange between you and Michael that required you to sing immediately after his note.
You had sung it perfectly countless times. In every rehearsal you had gotten it perfect.
Today, you hadn’t got it right once.
You heard John’s disappointed sigh as the music stopped. “C’mon, that was the fifth time.” he said tiredly. “Again.”
“I know.” You said frustrated, eyes shutting tightly.
“If you know then why do you keep getting wrong?”
“I’m coming in late.”
“Great. So…let’s not do that next time?” John was equally as annoyed as you, and he didn’t care enough to hide it from you. He wanted this performance perfect, not for either of you to be comfortable.
Your jaw clenched, nodding silently as you held back the string of curses that threatened to fly out of your lips.
Michael stood beside you, his microphone hanging loosely in his hand. He hadn’t said anything about your previous attempts, but you could still feel his piercing gaze digging into the side of your face.
The music started once more, Michael singing his line waiting expectingly for yours.
You came in late again, missing your cue once more.
You hand came up to your face massaging your temple. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled under your breath beginning to pace. “Can we just-”
“You’re thinking about it too much.”
Your hand dropped quickly, looking up to him. “What?”
He shrugged confused at your sharp tone, unaware of the dangerous territory he was breaching. “You’re thinking about when you’re supposed to come in instead of listening to the music.”
Your eyes bored into him, face falling flat. “I know how to sing.”
Michael shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah? Well, you implied it.” You scoffed rolling your shoulders back, trying to rid of the growing tension in your body.
“No.” Michael’s brows furrowed taking a step closer to you. “I’m trying to help.”
“Well, you’re not.” You snapped.
Michael sucked in a breath, holding back his temper. This was literally his song, so why were you so adamant on not taking any help from him?
Maybe you only liked to take his music not take notes.
“It’s fine. Just play it again John I’ll get it.” You shook your hands, trying to shake off the nerves that were firing inside of you.
The familiar music played once more, and you missed it again.
“Fuck!” You screamed out tossing out your microphone across the room, it crashing against the floor.
Both John and Michael froze, scared to move, not wanting to aggravate you more.
“I’m getting a coffee!” John sprung up. Michael’s head snapped towards him fear in his eyes. He was frantically shaking his head, begging to not be left alone with you but John just grinned and sprinted out of the room.
Coward.
“You’re thinking about it too much.” Michael said quietly. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to comfort you. Not when all he would get in return was your nasty attitude. “You’re trying so hard to get it right, you’re not listening to the music.”
“Oh really?” You asked him sarcastically.
“C’mon…” Michael frowned.
“You seem to know a whole lot about me, don’t you?”
“No, I didn’t-”
“No. It’s fine.” You stomped over to where you microphone had landed, tapping it to make sure it wasn’t broken. “I’ll try harder.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t worry about it.” You shrugged, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. Michael watched as you move to your position. He wanted to say something, to explain himself better but his mouth stayed shut.
The music played once more.
You followed the choreography, Michael’s voice filled the room, and you waited for your cue.
It was right there. Just one step and one note and you’d finally get it right.
But just as he said, you were thinking about it too much. Your mind was ahead of your body, moving through the movement’s to fast as you focused on the vocal cue.
Your foot landed awkwardly, your ankle rolling beneath you before you had time to realised you mis-stepped. A sharp bolt of pain shot up your leg, stealing the breath from your lungs as you toppled towards the floor with a started groan.
Michael moved before you could catch yourself. His microphone clattered against the wooden floor as he reached for you, one arm wrapping around your torso. He had managed to stop you from collapsing completely, but your palms still struck the floor hard enough for it to sting.
“Woah- Jesus Christ. Are you alright?”
You sucked in a shaky breath, more embarrassed than in pain. You immediately pushed yourself upright, sitting on the floor as another hiss of pain left your lips. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
You attempted to stand, refusing to meet Michael’s worried gaze, but the moment your injured foot touched the floor, a sharp cry of pain escaped you. Michael’s grip tightened instinctively around your waist, keeping you from putting any more weight on it. “Stop. Don’t move.”
Something about his voice made you pause and actually listen.
There was no irritation, no sarcastic or snarky remark waiting behind his words, no trace of the usual impatience that seemed to follow with every interaction between you.
He sounded genuinely worried.
“Michael. I said I’m fine.”
“I know what you said.” He response was firm, but compared to the seriousness in his expression, it was somewhat gentle. His eyes flicked down to your ankle, before returning to your face. “Can you move it.”
You swallowed, testing it carefully by trying to move your foot to the side but even the smallest movement sent sharp pulses of pain through your leg. “I…I don’t know.”
Michael stood up, holding one of his large hands towards you.
“What’re doing?” You glanced up at him, confusion evident on your face.
“Helping you up.”
You shook your head quickly. “No it’s- it’s fine. I can get up.”
Michael gave a look. The same look he’d give you when you’d pointlessly argue with him about corrections, or hiss out a witty insult, except this time there was none of the usual disdain behind it.
“Can you just accept help for once?” His words were slightly exasperated, but they were wrapped win something softer.
Michael didn’t want to win another argument with you. He just wanted to help.
You were hesitant to accept it, but slowly you reached out, letting Michael gently lift you back onto your feet.
It hurt too much to stand properly, those same sharp pains making you groan in agony. Your body weight rested against Michael, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he helped you across the room and settled you on a small bench.
You stared down at your ankle, eyes burning with the threat of tears. Though, they weren’t from pain. It was just…everything else.
You hated this.
You hated being the person who couldn’t get anything right.
And most of all, you hated that Michael had been the only one to witness it.
“It’s not that bad.” You mumbled, staring at your ankle.
“You don’t know that.”
You just shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t afford to be injured right now.”
Michael was sitting on his heels in front of you, slowly lowering your sock to inspect the angry bruising around the joint. “You need to rest it.”
“I can’t do that.” You laughed at his idea, shaking your head.
“You need to.” He insisted.
“This stupid performance is in eleven days.”
“You won’t be performing anything if you make this worse.”
You let out a bitter laugh, looking down as you rubbed your aching palms against your thighs. “I can’t keep messing everything up.”
You didn’t mean to be so vulnerable with him. You preferred to not have any conversations with Michael, especially ones that involve your feelings. But the way his big brown eyes were gazing up at you laced with worry and concern brought out a softer side of you.
“It’s one note.” Michael said. “It’s not everything.”
“You don’t get it.” You shook your head, starting to regret opening up near him.
“Then explain it.”
The room felt far too quiet now. He sat at your feet, patiently waiting for your answer as he gazed at you with sparkling eyes.
“Everyone is waiting for me to mess up.” You confess in a whisper.
“Who?”
You shrugged. “Everyone.” You clasped your hands together trying to silence the dull pain ringing in your palms. “Every magazine, television show, journalist has spent years trying to figure which one of us is better. If I mess up, they will drag it on for months.”
Michael nodded softly. He knew better than anyone the pressure the media could put on one person.
“The managers are saying it’s for shock value, and rivalry and whatever. But I know they just want me to look stupid next to you and just be some scapegoat in the stories they’ve already made about me.”
He stayed silent, an epiphany reaching him as you confessed your feelings to him. For the first time, he began to understand that all the arrogance he’d attributed to your behaviour may not have been arrogance at all.
Instead, it was fear.
And you were just incredibly good at making sure no one saw it.
“You’re not going to look stupid,” Michael said quietly, his expression completely sincere.
“I think you’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You said with a small chuckle.
“I’m serious.” Michael said firmer this time. “We’re here practicing 4 days a week, for hours and hours each day. You won’t look stupid.”
“I feel pretty stupid right now.” You pointed down to your swollen ankle. Michael looked down too, grimacing at the bruises on your skin.
“You should go home. Rest up over the weekend.” Michael stood up slowly.
“John’s not going to be happy.” You mumbled with a grin. “But…yeah you’re right.”
“I’m always right.” Michael said with a grin.
“Oh my god, be quiet.” You shooed him away with your hand, a bright smile appearing on your face.
After you had left, Michael stayed in the studio.
He told himself it was because there was work still to be done. The performance was less than a fortnight away, and he still wasn’t satisfied with certain sections of it. So he played his song again, and again, and again.
By the time he had finally stopped, he was gasping for air, shirt clinging damply to his back, his throat was burnt raw from singing and sweat had gathered along his hairline, dampening the curls that had fallen across his face.
The studio was much quieter now, devoid of its usual ambience. All that remained was the faint hum of equipment and the echo of his heaving breathing.
Michael lowered the microphone and stared at his messy reflection. For a short while, he just stood there, gazing at his dishevelled appearance.
But his mind wandered off, back to earlier.
He remembered the moment your body was pressed against him, unable to stand without his help. Or the way you continued to try and stand and move even in unbearable pain, the expression of your face, that soft wide-eyed hopelessness that appeared when you finally confessed how afraid you were of messing everything up.
He could still hear your voice, angelically ringing in his head. “Everyone is waiting for me to mess up”
His chest tightened painfully. He had no idea someone as confident and self-assured as you could be so afraid.
Or maybe, he never cared enough to look closely.
His gaze dropped down to the floor below him. Reminding him of the childish argument you both had had a week ago.
Michael’s mouth twitched, but he caught the smile quickly, it disappearing almost as quickly as it came.
“What am I doing?” He asked himself as his stare lifted back up to expression.
He saw the faint blush on his cheeks, He instantly frowned, embarrassed by his actions, rubbing a hand through his wet hair.
This was ridiculous.
You were still you. The arrogant, cocky popstar who had taken his demo’s and used them for her own good. Still the only woman who questioned every single thing he did, the one woman he had spent sleepless nights thinking of how he would finally confront you about his stolen song.
But a realization hit him.
And it hit him hard.
He no longer hated you. And even worse, he was beginning to realise he actually enjoyed your company.
Saturday – Nine Days Until Grammy Night
It was well past midnight, the bustling hotel lobby had emptied, leaving only the quiet hum of the air-conditioning and the occasional murmurs of the staff. You kept you head down as you crossed the marble floors towards the elevators, your puffy jacket pulled tightly around your body.
You had dressed yourself in a way that covered you head to toe, a common part of your routine now if you wanted to avoid the commotion that came with being one of the worlds biggest celebrities.
You hated being spotted when you weren’t ready, the looming fear of a camera flash that could expose your catered and perfected image you published into the world.
Your ankle had slightly improved since Thursday. Spending most of your time sprawled out in the hotel’s king bed, your foot elevated and wrapped in ice. Though the pain still resided with a dull ache that spread up your leg, forcing you to favour one side as you hobbled through the lobby.
You pressed the elevator button, leaning against the wall as you waited, trying to relieve some of the pressure against your foot.
With a quiet ding the metal doors glided open, the warm light of the elevator reflecting off the pristine mirrored walls.
You stepped inside, pressing your floor before turning around. You were halfway through adjusting your hat to cover less of your face when a hand suddenly appeared between the doors.
As much as you hated to admit it. You’d recognise those hands anywhere.
Your eyes widened as he stepped inside, his mirrored yours, just as shocked to see you.
“So, you’re following me now.” You scoffed out, bracing yourself against the metal rail, your injured foot hovering above the tiled floor.
Michael let out a small chuff. “Why would I follow you?”
You smirked, shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re obsessed.”
“With you?”
“Don’t sound so horrified.”
Michael shook his head, his finger pressing the floor above yours.
You saw his floor number. He was right above you. “You’re staying here?”
Michael nodded, crossing his arms as he rested against the wall opposite to you.
“Seriously?” You sighed. This had to be some sort of sick joke. Not only did you have to see him at rehearsal, now you had to risk the chance of bumping into him at your hotel.
“Don’t sound too excited.” He smirked. “I might think you’re the one following me.”
You let out a choked cough. “Me? Please. I could think of a million things I’d rather do.”
Michael responded with a shake of his head, a tiny grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
The elevator hummed as it began climbing, the small numbers above the door flickering to the next every couple seconds.
Michael’s eyes dropped to your foot, noticing the way you held it off the floor, your other taking all of the weight.
He felt an inexplainable ache in his chest, seeing you stand there with a brave face even though he knew your foot must’ve been killing you.
“How is it?” He asked, nodding his head forward your ankle.
You straightened, placing your foot back onto the ground. The ache began again but you ignored it. The last thing you wanted to do was show the pain you were in.
“How’s what?” You said defensively.
Michael blew out a frustrated sigh through his nose. “Your ankle.”
“It’s fine.” You said quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Michael scoffed. “I was just wondering.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes it is.” You taunted. Usually, he’d continue to fight with you, desperate to defend himself against your stubborn childish arguments. But today he just laughed, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips.
“And if I was worried?” He tilted his head, a smug grin plastering across his face.
“Well.” You looked away, unable to explain the heat that had suddenly hit your face. “Well. Don’t.”
Michael hummed satisfied at your startled response.
You hated that little sound. And more than that you hated the way he was looking at you. His eyes had settled on you, darting between his own reflection and you. You shifted awkwardly beneath his heavy gaze, pulling your jacket tightly around you, as if it could shield you from his imposing stare.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Michael blinked innocently, “Like what?”
“Like…” You gestured at him, moving your hand up and down, frustration crawling into your voice. “Like you’re judging me.”
Michael shook his head. “I’m not judging you.”
“You’re still looking at me.”
“No.” He grinned. “I was looking at myself.”
“Oh, how humble.” You rolled your eyes, pivoting so you were facing away from him. Though, the mirrors still revealed you to him, his eyes now focused on your reflection.
The elevator continued its slow climb, the soft hum of the machinery filling the silence between you. You tried to focus on the quiet elevator music, the mundane tune suddenly becoming the most interesting thing in the world.
You tried so hard to ignore him. The way his head dipped down, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to get a closer look at your swollen foot. His eyes gliding over you as he tried to translate your body language.
Before you knew it, you had been staring at him, gazing at the way his curls flipped out from under his glasses, the way his large hand wrapped around the metal bar, his body swaying slightly.
Your eyes lifted up to his face, noticing his smudged eyeliner, the defined dimples in his cheeks as he lightly smirked.
His eyes met yours, his smirk growing as he realised you were staring back at him. You let out a little gasp, eyes dropping back to the floor.
“So much for stop looking.” He chuckled.
“You’re so annoying.” You groaned arms crossed tight around your torso.
“Hm maybe.” He shrugged, unable to supress the grin on his face.
“Don’t be so pleased with yourself.”
“I’m not doing anything.” He whined playfully.
“You’re looking.” You said firmly. You felt your insides twist with how comfortable he was speaking with you. His stupid, dumb grin making the heat in your cheeks feel unbearable, your heart doing a flip at the way he comfortably bantered with you.
“And?”
“Stop.”
“Make me.”
Your stomach dropped, your throat going dry, the breath being stolen from your lungs. For once, you had absolutely nothing to say.
His words had been thrown at you so casually you were certain he hadn’t realised what he had done to you.
But Michael watched you closely through the reflection. Your lips parting and closing, his teasing expression starting to fade when he realised you’d gone quiet. Had he been too forward? He guessed he’d gotten a bit carried away, the privacy of the elevator seemingly bringing out a more forward side of him.
“Ew.” You scoffed out, words finally forming in your throat. “You’re so gross”
In an odd way, Michael was actually comforted by your insult. The familiar blanket of banter wrapping over him. “Yeah. You like it.”
“I do not.” You gasped out.
Michael snickered at your outburst. “You’re so easy to annoy.”
“No. You’re just the most insufferable man to ever walk this earth.”
The elevator finally dinged, an audible sign that you could be let out of this trap. The doors slid open, you carefully stepped forward, though you didn’t make it far before your ankle shot with pain, causing you to hiss.
Michael moved quickly behind you.
You shot him a glare, head spinning. “Don’t”
“I didn’t even do anything.”
“You were gonna.”
“….No.” He mumbled quietly.
You continued walking out of the elevator, prepared to walk to your room without saying goodbye to Michael.
However, Michael crept out of the elevator, following several steps behind you. You walked with a determined limp, unaware Michael was quietly trailing you.
Then a squeak reached your ears, the scratching sound of leather rubbing against the tiles.
You turned quickly, heat rising in your body. Why was he being so clingy? He didn’t have to hover over you like a child. You were perfectly capable on getting to your room by yourself.
Had you looked so weak to him that he felt like he had no choice but to walk you home like some sort of damsel in distress.
“Stop following me.”
Michael shrugged. “I’m not.”
You let out a loud annoyed groan. “You literally are!”
“I’m exploring.”
“Okay? Explore literally anywhere else. Go away.”
For a second he didn’t respond, standing there dejectedly, then his stare shifted to your ankle again.
You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling increasingly annoyed at how helpless he thought you were. “Michael, I swear-”
“I didn’t say anything.” He countered.
You looked at him a while longer, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. “I’m fine okay.”
“You always say that.”
“Yeah but I mean it.” You sighed. “I’ll see you on Monday. Okay.”
His eyes lit up ever so slightly. After all this time, he had begun to look forward to seeing you, even when all you did was insult him and fight with him, there was something addicting about the way you acted.
“Y-Yeah.” He stuttered out, swallowing loud. “See you Monday.”
Monday – One-Week Until Grammy Night
The forced rest had been frustrating at first, stuck in the hotel dwelling on how much you had humiliated yourself. But by Monday you found yourself itching to get back in the studio.
Something about your last rehearsal had shifted your outlook on this performance, a strong sense of determination within you. You weren’t going to go onto the Grammy stage simply because you’d been threatened. You were going to perform because you wanted to prove to everyone who was counting on your down fall that they wrong.
Your ankle was still tender, occasional winces slipping past your lips whenever you put too much force into a movement, but you refused to let it slow you down. You’d spent the morning running through the performance section by section, repeating each part until John had finally ran out of notes to give you.
“Alright.” John made direct eye-contact with you, his stare sharp enough to make your stomach drop. “We’re doing that line again.”
Your shoulders tensed instantly. A shuddered breath escaping as you looked towards the mirrored wall
You were nervous.
Undeniably so.
You knew it wasn’t difficult, it was actually painfully easy and that’s what made the whole thing so humiliating. This moment was so tiny compared to the rest of the performance and yet you’d managed to make it your personal enemy.
The last time you had performed it you’d failed so horrendously that it ended with Michael practically dragging you across the studio floor like a piece of meat.
Well. That was slightly dramatic. But still, the memory was enough to make your stomach twist.
Michael had been watching you all morning, his big brown eyes following your every movement, attention fixated on your ankle whenever you had to attempt one of your more demanding dance moves. Every now and then his hands would instinctively lift as though he expected you to stumble again, only for him to realise what he was doing and slap his hands back to his sides.
Two weeks ago, you would’ve already snapped at him.
You probably would’ve told him to stop hovering over you, that you didn’t need to be monitored like a helpless child and that you were perfectly capable of doing your job.
But something had changed. You didn’t want him to stop.
It was irritating to admit, even in the privacy of your mind…but there was something strangely comforting about having someone pay attention to you. You’d spent years thinking the only feeling he had towards you was hatred, so discovering he was actually capable of worrying about you had unsettled you in a way you couldn’t explain.
Michael noticed the tension gathering in your shoulders. He took a small step towards you, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re gonna get it this time.” He said softly, with a smile so genuine you couldn’t help but smile back.
“Yeah. Of course, I am.” You said, quickly turning around before he could notice the smile lingering.
Michael shook his head, amusement flashing across his sharp features. “You’re meant to say thank you.”
“Yeah, and you’re meant to be in your position. Hurry up.” You waved him towards his mark, a desperate attempt to disguise the fact his words had affected you.
He chuckled softly underneath his breath as he moved behind you. You could feel him there without looking. His hands hovered carefully near your waist, just as practiced. You tightened your grip around your microphone, taking a slow steady breath as you waited for the music to start.
You noticed it immediately.
His cologne.
It was different to usual, or maybe you’d just never paid attention to it. It was amber and something faintly spicy. The fragrance lingering in the small space between you both. You inhaled another breath without even thinking, letting his scent settle within you.
You should’ve been repulsed by it.
You should’ve pushed him away, made some stupid comment about how he drenches himself in perfume, anything to restore that normal distance between the two of you. Instead, you found yourself standing perfectly still, almost leaning back to settle against his chest.
You caught yourself immediately. What the hell was wrong with you?
The speakers crackled, forcing both of you to wait as John muttered under his breath and kicked the side of the speakers. “Stupid thing.”
The interruption left you standing there, Michael still behind you, neither of you quite sure what to do with the silence.
Your head turned toward Michael, craning your neck just enough to look up at him. “Thankyou.”
Michael’s brow lifted. “For?”
You hesitated. “Before.”
Recognition flickered across his face, followed by a soft, embarrassed laugh. “Oh…Yeah no problem.” Michael’s eyes nervously flicked between your eyes and just above you. “You didn’t actually have to say it” he added “I was joking.”
“I know.” You retorted, your familiar tone coming back. “I felt nice.” You turned back to look in the mirror, feeling a foreign heat on your cheeks. “Don’t get used to it though.”
Michael looked away, a grin growing on his face. “Didn’t plan on it.”
By the time rehearsal had finally ended, the sun had completely descended from the sky, the only light in the sky coming from the soft glimmering moon.
The night air was cool, the breeze nipping your skin. Standing on the pavement you pulled your jacket tighter around your frame. Your eyes darted over the carpark, a frown settling on your face.
The carpark was empty aside from one sleek black car that hid in the shadows.
You looked down at your watch. 11:15pm.
“For fuck sake.” You muttered under your breath, limping further into the carpark desperately looking for your driver. However, your search was fruitless.
The studio doors opened behind you, you didn’t have to look around to figure out who it was.
“You’re still here?”
You glanced over your shoulder to see Michael stepping outside, a large winter-coat draped loosely over his shoulders. “Obviously.”
Michael ignored your sarcasm and scanned the car park. “Where’s your car?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you go figure that out Einstein.” You looked like a child throwing a tantrum, arms crossed angrily, bottom lip jutted out in a pout.
Michael just shook his head at you, a tiny grin appearing on his face. “Are you done?”
“My driver left.” You spoke.
Michael’s eyes widened slightly, taking another look at the carpark. “Well, my drivers still here.”
“Don’t have to rub it in.” You scowled at him.
Michael rolled his eyes, stepping closer to you. “I mean he can take you home, we’re going to the same place anyway.”
Your head snapped towards him, confusion evident in your features. “What? No. I’ll be fine.” The absurdity struck you. For years, the two of you had refused to be in the same space as the other, and now he was casually offering to drive you home, as if you were friends.
“But you’re still limping.” Michael said looking at your ankle.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“You’re most definitely not.”
“Are you always this observant?”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
You stared at him for moment, the corners of your mouth lifting into a grin. “Fine.” You muttered. “Only cause I’m tired…and it’s cold.”
Michael hummed, “Sure.”
“This doesn’t mean I like you now.” Your eyes squinted, giving him a playful look.
He just laughed in response. “I didn’t think so.”
You slowly walked to the car, limping slightly as your tired muscles ached with every step. Michael watched you carefully out of his peripheral, unable to not worry over you.
He opened the door for you, letting you slide into the warm leather seats before settling next to you.
For the first few minutes neither of you spoke. The city moved quietly beyond the tinted windows. You rested your head against the glass, watching the familiar streets blur into darkness.
Michael sat beside you, one hand resting against the middle seat, while he gazed out the opposite window.
“This is weird.” You mumbled quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.
Michael’s head perked up, gazing over at you. “What is?”
“You driving me home.”
Michael’s expression remained blank. “I’m not driving.”
You stared at him for a second, before you scoffed out a laugh. “You’re such a smartass.”
It was strange seeing Michael like this, wrapped in a large coat, his sunglasses resting on the top of his head, pushing his loose curls up so you could see his long lashes flutter, fighting the urge to finally rest his eyes.
“You tired?” You asked him quietly, the hum of the car engine playing quietly behind you.
Michael nodded. “Mhm…you?”
“Yeah.” You whispered out. “Y’know something?”
Michael’s tired eyes flicked back to you expectingly. “What?”
“You’re less annoying when you’re tired.”
Michael’s head fully turned towards you, one eyebrow lifting as he quietly laughed. Something about that smug little smile that tugged at his mouth made your stomach flip.
“Oh, how sweet.” Michael said sarcastically, sinking further into his seat.
You rolled your eyes, trying to act annoyed but the small smile on your lips betrayed you “Don’t get used to it.”
“I could.”
You choked slightly, eyes widening at his sly response. “Well…don’t.”
His smile lingered as he kept his gaze focused on your burning cheeks “Hm? I’ll try.”
Your eyes darted away from his stare, shaking your head as you turned to look out the windows again. “I take it back. You’re just as annoying.”
Wednesday – Five Days Until Grammy Night
The strange ease the settled between you and Michael in the car ride had seemed to follow you back into the studio.
Neither of you acknowledged it. There were no teasing mentions or conversations about the peaceful drive home. But something had shifted. Michael didn’t seem quite as guarded around you. Instead of your touches hovering as you danced, you both confidently rested against each other, flowing into movements as if they were second nature.
By lunchtime, John had disappeared, skipping out of the room with a wide grin on his face finally rejoicing that two weren’t at each other’s throats any longer.
You sat against the wall, legs stretched in front of you taking large sips of water to soothe your throat. Michael sat beside you, reading through the schedule of performance night.
Michael looked at you, biting his lip nervously. He couldn’t deny his liking towards you but he just couldn’t let his song go. If he could just speak up and finally ask his mind would finally calm.
It was itching within him, the urge to finally come clean, to explain why after all these years he’s treated you so rudely. The past couple weeks, a growing sense of guilt was gnawing in him.
He had seen a side of you that he never realised was there. He thought you were a hungry artist, willing to do anything to get to the top. He had now realised that beneath your tough persona was a woman who was just fighting against the same industry he’d been battling his whole life.
“Can I ask you something?” He asked softly.
You glanced over at him, putting your water bottle down. “Depends.”
“On what?” Michael chuckled.
“Whether it’s annoying.”
Michael grinned, shaking his head. “It’s not. Promise.”
“Hmmm fine. Ask away.”
Michael hesitated for a moment, his stomach twisting in anxiety. “Y’know your song…sunset driver.”
“Yeah? What about it.” You laughed. It seemed like a stupid question to you. Of course you knew it. It was your biggest selling record.
“When did you write it?”
You hummed for a moment. “Uh...I don’t know. Probably ’81?”
Michael’s brows furrowed for a moment. His hands clasped tighter onto the notes. How could you have written it…when they were his lyrics.
“And you wrote all of it?”
“No. My producers helped me. I wrote some parts of it though.”
“What about the melody?”
“I don’t know? Probably, it was like seven years ago.”
“You wrote the melody?” He asked again, his words coming out sharper.
“Michael.” Your voice mirrored his tone. “Why are you asking me this?”
“I’m curious.”
“You’re a bad liar.” You scoffed at him.
Michael shook his head. “I’m not lying.”
“Yeah sure.”
He let out a shaky breath. This wasn’t going how he wanted it to go. “I…I just remembered something.”
You let out a frustrated sigh. “You said this wouldn’t be annoying.”
“Just- Just let me finish.” He placed the notes down, turning to face you directly. “Do you remember hearing anything before you wrote it.”
“Like what.”
“A demo.”
Your brows pinched together, slowly you sat up straighter. “A demo?”
“My demo.” Michael was convinced he was going to throw up from the anxiety coursing through his veins.
“Your demo?” You let out shocked scoff. “What does that have to do with my song?”
Michael swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. He could see the aggravation bubble in you, the way your brows furrowed, and you bit on the inside of your cheek.
“I had recorded a demo…and um.”
“And what Michael?” Your head cocked to the side, glaring at him.
“It sounded the same.”
Michael expected you to shout at him, tell him he was being stupid, or to just shut up. Instead, a loud laugh left you. But when he looked up to meet your angry stare he knew you weren’t amused.
“Are you serious?”
“When I first heard it…I knew that-”
You cut him off angrily. “You knew what?”
“That it was my song.”
You looked around the room, as if you were searching for someone else to see his audacity. “I don’t know what you think happened. But I never heard your demo.”
“Are you sure?”
Him second guessing you made your eye twitch, a bubbling sense of…betrayal overcoming you.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You’ve truly never heard it?” Michael didn’t believe you. Your song had almost the exact same lyrics and melody as his. He figured you just didn’t want to admit to him that you had actually taken it.
“No.” Your answers were quick, becoming increasingly sick of this conversation.
“But the melody…”
“Stop.” You said firmly, putting your hand in his face.
In a moment that was completely out of character he grabbed your hand, moving it out of way. “I’m asking you a question.” He said firmly
“I gave you an answer.” You spat at him, ripping your hand out of his grip. “You’re asking if I stole your song.”
“I didn’t say you stole it.” He rebutted.
“You implied it.”
Michael let out a frustrated groan. “I just want to know what happened, and you’re refusing to give me anything.”
“I don’t owe you anything.” You hissed at him. “You want me to tell you I stole it don’t you?”
“No. I just want to know how you got my demo.”
“I never got your demo!” You jumped up from the floor, unable to sit by him any longer.
Michael followed you quickly. He could feel his heartbeat thumping in his throat, every breath coming heavier as the frustration he’d been holding inside started to boil over. “Then explain it to me.”
“Explain what?”
“How we wrote the exact same song.”
“I don’t know!”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes?” You scoffed at him. “What do you want me to say? That I broke into your house and stole your cassette? That I built my entire career off something you made?”
“No, that’s absurd.” Michael groaned. “But I heard it, with my own ears. Sunset driver is my song.”
“Is this some sort of sick way to take credit for my songs?” You were seething, chest rising rapidly as you refused to break eye-contact with Michael.
“What? No!” Michael threw his hands up, taken back by your accusation.
“Then why are you so adamant that you made the song!”
“Because I did!” Michael shouted.
He’d never raised his voice at you, even when you were on his last nerve, he’d always stayed quiet, ignoring your antics and continuing on with rehearsal.
He saw the way you moved away from him, backing away from him as your lips quivered.
You stayed silent, suddenly looking down, head dropping and looking at the wooden floors. He could hear your heavy breathing, the sound of your fingernails scratching against each other.
“Is this why you’ve hated me all these years?”
Michael felt his heart drop, his feet heavy, planted onto the floor. Shame came over him in harsh, brutal waves. Hearing you say it like that, made him realise how childish he had been.
He had spent years, ignoring you, giving you the cold shoulder because he was too scared to confront you about one song.
“Yes.” The word tasted sour as it rolled of his tongue.
“You’ve hated me for something you’ve never even asked about?” You spat the words out fast and venomous.
“I- I didn’t know how.” Michael stuttered on his words, unable to compete with the anger radiating off of you.
You scoffed at him in disbelief. “You didn’t know how?”
Michael winced, his face scrunching up in embarrassment. “I was hurt. I thought-”
“You thought I was a thief.”
Hearing you say it so blatantly made it sound so much worse. He shook his head, trying to deny the facts.
“What else was I meant to think?”
You laughed in his face, eyes wide in disbelief. “You could’ve come to me!”
“I know.” Michael said shamefully, hanging his head down, curls falling across his face.
“You could’ve asked me.” you continued. “You could’ve just given me a chance, and we could’ve figured out what happened. and instead you what? Decided I had such a horrible moral compass that I’d use your demo?”
Michael nodded, too embarrassed to give you an answer. But his silence just made you feel worse.
You shook your head, blinking rapidly as tears had begun to gather in the bottom of your eyes. “I spent so long wondering what the fuck I’d done to you.”
Your curse made Michael look up, his eyes immediately noticing your glassy ones.
“I thought maybe I had said something to you, or that you hated that the press kept comparing us. I thought that maybe I had said something to you that I didn’t realise.” Your voice began to tremble. Cracks in your armour had begun to form and you didn’t feel safe letting Michael see them.
“But all this time…you thought I stole from you?”
Michael’s expression softened into something pained, and guilt-ridden. Every time he saw your lips quivered, he felt his heart crack. “I was wrong.”
“So what? That’s what you think of me? That I’m not talented enough to make it on my own?”
The accusation knocked the air out of him. “No! That’s not what I think.”
“Then what do you think Michael?”
“I thought you took something that was mine.”
You let out a scoff. “Yeah. Because I can’t create something myself.”
“That’s not what I said!” Michael groaned out. Everything he was saying was falling on deaf ears.
“No of course! Why would I be capable of standing beside you on my own. I’d got to have taken something from you to get here.”
Michael shook his head, “That’s not fair. You know it’s not.”
“Fair?” Finally, your tears broke, years of resentment finally spilling over. “You have spent years looking at me like I’m some sort of fraud! Like I had cheated my way into the same room of you.”
“I never thought you were a fraud.”
“No. You thought I was a thief.” You let out an unbelieving laugh. “Cause that sounds so much better.”
Michael stayed silent. He had no rebuttal. You were right. He had thought you were a thief, and he was too much of a coward to just ask.
“God I’m so fucking stupid.” Your words came out through clenched teeth. You immediately runed away from him, wiping beneath your eyes with the thumb.
The tears were humiliating enough without him standing there and watching them fall.
Michael stared at you, eyes wide with horror. He’d done this. He had taken the first genuine moments of softness and vulnerability you had shown him in years and crushed them within minutes.
“No, you’re not.” He whispered out taking a cautionary step towards you.
“Don’t”
He continued towards you, just wanting to pull you close to him.
“I said don’t.”
You felt yourself slipping, and you hated it. You hated the tremble in your hands and the burning behind your eyes. Most of all you hated that he could see it.
You rolled your shoulders back, and lifted your head high. You wiped your face roughly, your skin dragging against your palm.
Then you looked at him and all that softness was gone. “I was stupid enough to think you were beginning to like me.” You laughed bitterly. “No…The stupidest part was that I started liking you.”
Michael’s heart sank, his lips parting to say something.
“I actually let myself like you.” Your voice cracked, and you cursed under your breath, furious that you were being so weak. “Fuck me.” You swore, scrubbing at your cheeks again.
“Please just- let me explain.” Michael pleaded, he saw the way you were slipping away from him.
“Explain what? While you were being all sweet with me, touching me, laughing with me. Under all that you thought you were the reason for my success?”
Michael shook his head frantically. Did he think you had taken his demo…yes. But he never once questioned your talent, not once.
“For years you have treated me like I was beneath you, like I didn’t deserve to be in the same room as you.”
“I’m sorry.” He muttered, his voice cracking. “Please- just listen and I can explain it.”
You didn’t want to hear his excuses. You had already made up your mind. Just as he had decided what you were years ago. “You punished me for years. You started this rivalry, you let the media string us together and pick us apart because of something you weren’t sure I had done.” You paused for a moment, catching your breath. “Do you know how insane that sounds?”
Hearing it from another perspective, Michael was finally realising just how stupid he had been. He’d been too shy and too immature to just have a conversation. And in return he had deeply hurt you.
You. This beautiful woman who had been kind enough to let him in after all of these years of him pushing you away. This charming, funny, sensitive woman who worked herself to the bone. You. Who was so determined to prove everyone wrong about herself she was willing to push through hatred and injury to show the world what a star she was.
“I know.” Michael whispered out.
“Yeah, because you know everything don’t you?” You seethed, hands clenching into fists. “I should’ve never agreed to this stupid performance.”
“Just stop!” Michael cried out. “Please just listen to me.”
“No! Because I feel like such a fucking idiot!” You shouted at him. “I was sitting in your car last week, and I was laughing with you a-and I was looking at you and thinking. God, I was so wrong about him.” Your voice cracked once again. “And while I was daydreaming about some stupid fantasy, t-that you could actually like me. You were still wondering whether I’d stolen your stupid fucking song!”
“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Michael pleaded.
You just scoffed at him, turning on your heels, heading for your bag. Michael immediately stepped towards you. “Please don’t go.” he pleaded.
“I’m done.” You said defeated, your eyes red and watery. “I’m not doing this.”
“We have five days.”
“Then find someone else.” You hissed at him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the sobs escaping you.
“Please.” Michael grabbed onto one of the straps of your bag, pulling you closer.
“Let go.”
“Please don’t go.”
“Michael. Let go.”
“We worked so hard.” He paused looking at you. “You worked so hard.”
Your jaw tightened. “I know.”
“Then please just- just stay.” Michael’s fingers slipped off your bag. “I can’t do this without you.”
The desperation on his face almost broke you.
Almost.
“You’ll manage.”
The sound of the door slamming rung in Michael’s ears.
You were gone.
Thursday – Four Days Until Grammy Night
For the first time in a month, the studio felt empty. John had brought in a stand-in, but nothing was working. The timing was wrong, the harmonies sounded off. Even the simplest movements had Michael stumbling when you weren’t there beside him.
It wasn’t the stand in’s fault.
She just wasn’t you.
John had given up, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I don’t care what you have to do.” He muttered. “She has to be here tomorrow.”
Michael just gave him a curt nod.
That night he couldn’t sleep. He was stuck thinking about you.
Your tear-stricken face, your heart-breaking confession, the anger that radiated off you.
He just couldn’t get your words out of his head.
I was stupid enough to think you were beginning to like me.
That one sentence was tearing him apart from the inside out. Because he did like you. He was no longer afraid to admit that every morning he woke up, he was excited to see you. That every time you made a quick joke or jab at him, he had to fight the heat the flushed on his cheeks.
His hand was wrapped tightly around the telephone, fingers hovering just above the number pad.
He had to get you back.
He couldn’t do this without you.
The phone rang, his heart pounding with each ring.
Then…“Hello?”
Michael froze, drawing in a sharp breath. Even through the telephone, your voice made his heart race.
“Hi.” He whispered.
There was a beat of silence. “Michael?”
“Yeah…it’s me.” He swallowed when you didn’t respond, breathing slowly, trying to get his words out. “I know you don’t want to talk to me.”
“I don’t.”
Michael ignored the pang in his chest. “I know…I just.” He rubbed his palm on his thigh, trying to gather his thought. “I wanted to call.”
“Why?”
Why wouldn’t he? Because he missed you, because he had spent the entire day looking for you, because he was terrified that he had ruined something he had only just realised he wanted.
“Because I needed to hear your voice.”
“Michael…” You murmured softly, closing your eyes.
“You weren’t there.”
“I said I wasn’t coming back.” You replied quickly.
“I know.” He was quiet, his voice barely audible as he recalled the moment you walked out of that studio. “We tried it with someone else…and it just didn’t work.” He could hear a soft chuckle on the other side of the line. “Everything felt wrong without you.”
“That isn’t my problem.” You said firmly.
“I know.” He whimpered out. “I’m not calling because it didn’t work.”
“Seems like it.”
“I need you.” He paused a fraction too long. “I need you to come back.”
“Michael…” You said, your voice softening.
“Please.” He whimpered. The desperation in his voice silencing you. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. I know you never want to see me again.” You heard his heavy breathing on the phone. “Please come back.”
“Why should I?”
“I can’t do this without you.”
You swallowed, your throat feeling suddenly dry. “You have a stand-in.”
“I don’t want a stand-in.” He replied quickly. “I don’t want someone else. I don’t want another singer. I don’t want another woman standing beside me on that stage.” His voice softened into a desperate plea. “I want you.”
You felt that familiar sting behind your eyes once more. “Michael…”
“I know I don’t have the right. I don’t deserve to even call you right now.”
“You don’t.” But yet, you still kept the line open.
“Yell at me, scream at me, slap me I don’t care. I just need you there with me.” he pleaded, wrapping the telephone cord around his wrist. “Please come back.”
The line stayed quiet, all he could hear was your soft breathing in his ear. “Fine.”
Michael sat up, almost jumping out of his seat. “Really?” He couldn’t believe it, he expected you to yell at him and slam the phone down. “Like actually?”
“Yeah.” You whispered. “I still don’t forgive you.”
“I haven’t earnt it yet.” He nodded. “I will though.”
You let out a small laugh at his determination. “I won’t make it easy.”
“When have you ever?” Michael replied, that familiar banter coming back.
You didn’t respond only giggling softly before sighing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah…see you.” Michael nodded, before he heard the line disconnect. He lowered the receiver slowly, staring at it for a while. His heart pounded with gratitude, he wouldn’t let you slip away again.
Friday – Two Days Until Grammy Night
“Alright.” John announced, dropping himself onto his chair. “We’re doing the spoken intro.”
You looked at Michael, Michael’s head swivelled and turned to John. “No.” he frowned.
“Yes!” John grinned
“I thought we were just doing vocals today.” Michael said with a pout. The room was already tense, he’d spent all his courage calling you last night, he didn’t have anything else left in him to do that damned intro.
It should’ve just been words on a page. Ones he’d written himself. He’d practiced them with you many times over the past month but now it was different.
Now they meant something.
“Yeah, vocals included the intro. Get with the program.” John clicked fiddling with the sound system once more.
“You seem too happy.” You chimed in, squinting at him trying to see what he was planning.
“Because you’re both terrible at this. And it’s funny to see you both fail.” John grinned.
“You’re nasty.” You groaned. “You must be some kind of sadist.”
“A handsome one.” John quipped. “Okay, that’s enough. Both of you sit down before I wither away.”
With a groan you both followed his instructions, sitting on the bench. Michael left a careful few inches between your bodies.
It was a bit ridiculous.
You had been pressed against each other for weeks, His hands had held your waist, yours had travelled from his cheek down to his chest. And somehow, this felt far more intimate.
John handed Michael the microphone. “Be natural, don’t sing it really whisper it.”
Michael looked up at him like he’d asked him to walk on a tightrope blind folded. Looking at his panicked face you couldn’t help but let out a tiny chuckle.
“Hey.” He frowned at you.
“Sorry…sorry.” You laughed again.
“Okay! From the top!” John’s voice boomed through the studio.
The backing track started softly, he sucked in a shaky breath. “I just want to lay next to you for a while. You look so beautiful tonight.” The opening words came softly, describing the desire to have you close.
You’d heard the intro hundreds of times. But this time, Michael wasn’t looking away. He was looking right at you.
Your smug grin slipped off your face. His voice was always beautiful, even in the midst of your hatred you could admit that. But the words sounded different now.
They weren’t towards an imaginary woman.
They were directed at you.
Michael continued. “Your eyes are so lovely. Your mouth is so sweet. A lot of people misunderstand me. That's because they don't know me at all.”
The way he looked at you made your cheeks burn, hot flushes rising up your neck till the tips of your ears burnt.
Those words seemed to hit harder now. Because you had misunderstood him.
You still had lingering anger towards your fight. That hadn’t gone away yet. But the arrogant, cocky man you thought he was a month ago? You were so wrong about him.
His voicer faltered slightly before saying the next line, stumbling on his words. His eyes darted away from you, looking back down to the microphone in his hands.
You heard John’s loud sigh. “Oh for god’s sake!” he whined. “You two are making this so difficult!”
You frowned. “I didn’t even say anything! I’m just sitting here.”
“Exactly! You both look like you’re waiting at the doctors or something.”
You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh, Michael did too. The tension easing slightly.
“Closer.” John clapped his hands together.
Both you and Michael stayed frozen, retaliating against him.
“I’m serious.” He continued. “Scooch.” He gestured impatiently. “You’re singing a love song. So look in love.”
You shifted towards Michael hesitantly, the distance between you both feeling charged. Michael followed until his arm brushed against yours.
The track started again and Michael reached the part he had stuttered on. “I just want to touch you. And hold you.” His voice was steadier this time.
You felt the same heat crawl up your neck again. Then without thinking you placed your hand on the bench between you.
Michael’s hand was already resting there, your fingers brushed against his. Immediately, you both stiffened.
John watched closely, already bracing to have to restart the track.
Michael’s heart almost lurched out his chest, his fingers twitching against yours. He wasn’t sure what came over him, whether it was the way you were staring at him or the intimate words he was whispering.
But he slowly turned his palm upward, a silent invitation. He closed his eyes, waiting for your rejection.
Instead, your hand delicately slipped into his. Instinctively, his large hand curled around yours, fingers squeezing the back of your hand.
For two people who had spent so long hating each other, it was unnerving how natural this felt.
He swallowed nervously, the last line stuck in his throat. They were so simple, and yet they made everything impossible to ignore.
“I need you, God, I need you. I love you so much.”
His eyes stayed fixated on you the entire time, his thumb brushing against your hand. Even as the music faded, he refused to let go.
“Yes! Finally!” John leapt of his seat.
You both blinked at him.
“Weeks! I’ve been trying to get that out of you for weeks!” John span his chair around, clapping. “Apparently, all I had to do was make you sit next to each other.”
You immediately yanked your hand out of Michael’s, placing it in your lap. “Oh my god. Shut up John.”
“Aw now you guys are embarrassed.”
“Am not.” You retorted.
“Sure.” He said smugly, cheesing at the way you glared at him. “Alright. Both of you up. We’re running this from the top.”
Sunday – Grammy Night
Backstage was utter chaos.
People rushed through corridors with headsets, pressed against their ears. Stagehands running past carrying equipment and clipboards, and somewhere beyond the curtains there was the eruption of applause as another award was announced.
You didn’t pay attention to any of it though.
You just needed to find Michael.
Pushing through the tight hallways you found him tucked away in his dressing room. His back was pressed against the wall, his head bowed into his hands.
He had changed into his performance outfit, a simple white t-shirt and blue button up. His hair was messy and his makeup had just been retouched. But despite his pristine appearance, you could tell immediately that something was wrong.
You gently closed the door behind you, walking up to him slowly. “Michael?”
He looked up and saw you. Your heart sank immediately, his eyes were wet. Not enough that any tears had fallen, but you could see the faint ring of red around them.
His jaw was clenched tight, lips pressed together in a tight line as he blinked rapidly forcing the tears back.
“Hey.” You whispered gently. He looked away from you, a shaky hand wiping his eyes.
“I’m fine.” The answer was fast. If he said too much, he was terrified he’d start sobbing.
“You’re not.”
“I said I’m fine.” He shot back out, immediately regretting raising his voice at you.
You didn’t shy away from him though. For once, you were determined to get closer to him.
“Michael.” You said firmly, your hand reaching up to take his hand away from his face. “You’re not. Don’t bother trying to convince me.”
Michael didn’t fight your touch, he let himself melt into your grasp. He opened his mouth to speak but all that escaped was a hiccupped cry. “I- I worked so hard.”
Hearing his voice break, you pulled him in tightly. Hands wrapping around his torso, forcing him against your frame. He instantly held onto you, his head dipping into the curve of your shoulder.
“Oh...Michael.” You whispered, your hands trailing up and down his back.
“Every category. It wasn’t me. I just- I just kept telling myself that it’d be the next one.” His voice cracked again. “And it wasn’t.”
“They’re fools.” You whispered.
Michael’s head lifted up, pulling apart just enough that he could look at you but close enough that he could still feel your skin under his fingertips. “They forced us here. They waved our awards in our face, forcing us to do our performance. Just so they could get their ratings and their publicity.” His voice was getting increasingly strained, frustration finally cracking through the composure he’d been maintaining all night. “And they couldn’t even give me one.”
You didn’t interrupt him, your hand delicately soothing his back as he vented out his frustrations.
“I’ve been rehearsing for weeks.” He continued. “I’m exhausted, I’ve been working until my feet ache and my throat burns and I can’t remember the last time I slept properly all for what?”
You pulled him closer. “You deserved better.” You whispered. “I know how hard you worked for them. I can’t imagine how hard you worked on this album. They’re all idiots for not recognizing it.”
Michael nodded tenderly. “Thankyou.” His hands rested on the small of your back, fingers fidgeting with the sparkly fabric off your dress.
You both stayed in each other’s embrace. Despite the years of hatred, all Michael craved was you. He wanted to stay there forever.
He looked down at you, his gaze moving up and down your dress. “You look beautiful.”
You blinked. His compliment was so unexpected that you let out a muffled stutter. “Shut up.” You grinned, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.
Michael let out a laugh, it was still raw from all the tears he held but it was real. “It’s gonna look real pretty on stage.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
You let out a small laugh, disguised as a scoff. “You’re gonna look good up there too.”
“I hope so.” He grinned. “Nothing compared to you though. Why couldn’t I get sparkles.”
“You’re not as cool as me.”
“Oh? Is that right?”
“Yeah sorry. You always gotta break some hearts.”
The comfortable banter settled between you both like a warm cloud. No matter how horrible this night had turned out to be, you had both found comfort in each other.
A stagehand knocked on the dressing room door. “Michael! You’re on in five!”
Michael let a heavy sigh, his hands falling from your sides. “You ready?”
“Mhm. Are you?”
Michael shrugged. “Yeah. Just…”
“Just what?”
“Thankyou.”
You grinned softly. “C’mon don’t get sappy with me. We have a performance to do.”
“Yeah” Then almost sheepishly, he added. “Wish me luck?”
“You don’t need it.”
Michael stood alone at the centre of stage, chest rising and falling heavily beneath the bright lights that had followed him through the final movements of Man in the Mirror. His hair was messy, stray strands sticking to his sweat ridden forehead as he stared out into the sea of people before him.
The applause was deafening, the thunderous claps vibrated through the walls of the music hall.
He was no longer thinking about the people who had doubted him, the ones who had decided his work was not worthy of recognition. That bitter disappointment that had followed him to the dressing room had not made it to the stage. He had been overcome with the buzzing thrill of performing, his fingers tingling around the microphone in his hand.
The lights slowly shifted, a soft melody playing through the speakers.
The audience’s claps begun to quiet, immediately recognising the opening of I Just Can’t Stop Loving You.
Michael lowered his microphone, eyes immediately searching for you. Then, right on cue the spotlight moved.
There you were the harsh light reflecting against the sparkly fabric of your dress. You looked…magnificent.
The reaction was instantaneous, screams thundered through the crowd, loud enough that you could barely hear the music beneath them.
No one had known you were performing. Not the press, not your colleagues, only your managers who had kept the black-mailed performance a classified piece of information.
For a month this moment had been kept hidden from the public, and now millions across the world were watching you stride the stage towards Michael Jackson.
You’d performed for sold out stadiums, toured the world, spent your whole life singing for whoever could watch. But all that time in the studio hadn’t prepared you for this.
The stage was intimidating, the lights were blinding and the crowd was deafening. But through all the chaos was Michael, one hand reaching out staring right at you like you were the only person in the room.
There was something different in his eyes tonight. No irritation, no suspicion or nervousness. It was hunger.
He was hungry for you.
Your hand slipped into his, giving him a knowing smile as the track was just about to reach his first line.
He gave your hand a small squeeze, moving you closer to him as he spoke into the microphone. That same intro played once again. The one he fought, the one he struggled against.
That same intro spilled from his lips as if you two were alone, hands twined together, faces so close that you could feel his shaky breath brush against the tip of your nose.
I just want to lay next to you for a while
You look so beautiful tonight
Your eyes are so lovely
Your mouth is so sweet
A lot of people misunderstand me
That's because they don't know me at all
I just want to touch you
And hold you
I need you, God, I need you
I love you so much
For the first time, those words weren’t empty. They were charged, they were desperate and they were honest.
As he held you close, the woes of the night had disappeared and all there was.
Was you.
Your voices sung into beautiful harmonies, every movement that once felt ridiculous now seemed natural. His hand on your waist, yours on his cheek. The way you leant into him and the way he anticipated your presence.
Each movement made the touches between you more electrifying, fingers grazing the curve of your spine, yours tracing the line of his jaw.
For weeks you’d both fought against this. Every lingering glance you’d disguised as irritation and every touch you both shared silently, immediately retreating the moment you realised what you were doing.
On the stage, there was nowhere left to hide.
The final verse amplified around you, voice weaving together as Michael pulled you close once again. You knew exactly where he would be. The weeks of fighting somehow making your bodies intuitively connected.
His fingers bunched around the fabric, tips digging into the supple skin under your dress. Your free hand gripped onto his arm, one leg lifting into the air.
Michael let the microphone drop from his mouth, cradling your leg against his hip, the cool metal of the device biting your exposed skin. Your back arched, chest pressing into his.
The final note rung through the room.
You were meant to hold the position until the light dimmed, gazing into his eyes until he could finally set you back down.
But Michael didn’t intend to let go.
His face was so close, noses softly brushing. His eyes gazed deeply into yours, until they flicked down to your lips.
You saw the change in his stare, the minuscule moment as he considered his next move. He should’ve held the position, he should’ve followed the choreography.
Then with the spotlight centred on you, camera’s zooming in on your pose, he pulled you flush against him and kissed you.
The audience erupted, screams of shock booming through the room. The spotlight remained fixed on you both, the world beyond the stage blurring into darkness as white light engulfed you both.
You froze for a moment, hand stiffening as you felt his desperate lips press against yours. Your heart thumped in your throat, eyes slowly closing as you let yourself melt into him.
Instinctively, your hand gripped tightly onto his bicep, pulling him closer. The silent invitation of your tug broke something in him. His hand spread across your back. The irresistible urge to consume you, had begun to consume him.
His lips moved against you with a sudden, urgent passion. His tongue darting out to swipe across your bottom lip, desperate to taste you. His hand pulled your leg tighter around him, snapping your bodies together in a fast needy motion.
Your breath hitched, a quiet mewl leaving you, only to be instantly muffled by the smack of Michael’s wet lips parting against yours, sucking the soft tender flesh back into his mouth.
He kissed you with the desperation of a man who’d been owed. He needed this. He needed you. The way your hand travelled up his shirt, coming up to grasp his shoulder, made a shiver run down his spine.
As the lights had finally dimmed, leaving you both in a shadow of privacy he slowly brought you upwards, still not daring to break contact. His hands remained on you, secure against the your hip.
When you both finally pulled away a lewd string of saliva from your lips connected you to him. Chest’s heaving, each of you desperately trying to catch your breath.
Now that he had tasted you, Michael knew he was ruined.
He was certain he would chase that feeling for the rest of his life. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your breath, the way you melted into his touch. It was addicting.
If you thought he was unbearable before, you weren’t prepared for what came next.
Because now he had just a taste of what it felt like to have you. But he wasn’t satisfied.
He needed to devour you.
Sunday – After the Grammy’s
The door had barely closed before his hands were on you.
Michael’s large palm was pressed flat against the wood beside your head, the other finding the curve of your hip. The hotel room was similar to yours, glazed with soft lamplight and the soft hum of the heater.
Though, you didn’t pay attention too it. You were too busy focusing on the way Michael’s chest rose and fell like he had just ran a marathon, or the way his eyes darted towards your mouth, brown irises tracing the outline of your lips.
His kiss was rabid. No other word for it. His plump lips slanted over yours. Tongue sliding deep, teeth catching your lower lip just enough to make you gasp.
The sound seemed to undo something within him, a low grumble emerging up from his chest as he pressed you harder into the door. Hastily, he slid a thigh between your legs, the heat of your centre bleeding onto his pant leg.
“Michael-” You groaned out in between messy kisses, hands grabbing on his hair.
He didn’t answer, his mouth too busy dragging wet open mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw, slipping down the pulse point of your neck, his tongue licking a slow stripe against the sensitive skin.
You felt him suck in a sharp breath, his nose pressed flat against the curve of your neck. Your lips parted, a soft mewl escaping as you threw your head back, giving him easier access to your supple skin.
The hot soothing laps of his tongue worked down to your collar bone, leaving soft hasty pecks alone the edge of your chest. His mouth worked back up, suckling on the column of your throat, before crashing back against your lips.
Your hands had travelled down his back, knuckles paling as your gripped onto his overshirt.
“Let me see you.” He growled out, raw and broken against your lips. “Fuck- I needa see you baby. Please.”
You’d never seen him beg like this before, standing in front of you heaving, voice laced with desperation. The usual arrogance and cockiness that sat so comfortably in his voice had cracked clean open, revealing underneath something that was trembling, and almost shy. His pleads disguised the way he begged for permission to see all you, not sure how long he could stand there without indulging in every bit of your sweetness.
His hands reached down to the hem of your dress. The fabric rubbed together as he gathered it in his fingers, a slight tremor running through his hand. You felt it, the faint involuntary shake that showed just how bad he needed you.
He was hesitating, unable to continue until you let him. His forehead rested against yours, desperately waiting for you to give him the subtlest of signs to take you right there.
You reached down, hands enclosing over his, dragging them upwards letting the fabric rise, slowly exposing your smooth skin to him. “Please Michael…wanna feel you.”
His grip tightened, pushing himself clad against you, lips roughly meeting yours in a desperate, and almost thankful kiss. “Gonna give it to you.” He groaned. “Give it to you real good.”
You mewled into his mouth as he begun to peel the dress off, stripping you the fabric off as if he was revealing something sacred. He only pulled apart from you to slip the thin dress past your head, throwing it across the room.
Your exposed skin reacted, goosebumps forming along your arms and legs. You were bare in front of him aside from a lacy pair of panties that did very little to cover you. Though Michael wasn’t one to complain.
He stood back for one moment, eyes raking of your body, salivating at the sight of your bare silhouette. You were so beautiful, draped in the warm light, nipples hardening against the gusts of the heater, lips wet and swollen, ready to be devoured.
“Fuck.” Michael whispered, the word barely making it past his throat. “God…you’re beautiful.”
You couldn’t help but bring your arms up, trying to cover yourself from his predatory gaze, his serene whispers making heat pool in your panties.
Michael’s hands moved, grabbing your forearms, slowly peeling them away from your frame. “Don’t” he growled. “I’m tryna look at you.”
“You can see fine.” You teased, eyelashes batting as you shyed away from him. It felt so unnatural for you, to be so exposed to anyone…especially him. And yet, the hot, flaming desire that burned for him deep within you was only growing bigger.
He growled, pulling you away from the door. “You always got something to say don’t you?” He said, turning you so you walked backwards towards the bed.
“You always listen.” You grinned.
“Mhm.” He purred. “Wanna hear you tonight baby.” He pushed you backwards until the back of your knees hit the edge of the California king , your body falling against the soft, cotton sheets.
You gasped as you hit the bed, the breath leaving your lungs as you reacted to the sudden dominance. Michael was above you, one hand planted beside your head as the other stroked the inside of your thigh, fingertips softly grazing the lacy edge of your thong.
He slotted himself between your spread legs, his aching bulge pressing against your clothed pussy. Slowly, he tucked his head down beside your ear, one soft kiss pressing against your lobe. “You gon let me taste you?” You nodded in response, quick and frantic. Teeth sinking into your lip as you stifled back a moan. “Good girl.”
He pushed off the mattress, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. His knees settled against the plush carpet, his head fitted between your thighs, your knees hooked over his shoulders.
“M-Michael.” You gasped out feeling his hot breath against you.
“Hm? What is it?”
“Need you.” You whispered, rolling your hips desperate for friction.
Michael let out a low chuckle. “I’m getting there. You’re so needy.” His fingers hooked around your panties, dragging them off your legs.
There you were, fully exposed to him, your aching pussy right there in front of him. Michael sucked in a fast breath, his dick twitching against the confines of his pants. “Look at you.” He cooed, long fingers sliding along your folds. “So wet for me.”
You bucked against the sudden touch, heat rising up your neck at his words. “Oh my god, shut up-.”
His mouth was on you before you could finish your sentence. You jolted as if you’d been touched by a live wire. Hips bucked up against his mouth. Michael groaned against your pussy, the vibration humming through your clit.
His tongue continued agonizing patterns, dragging up from your opening, until it reached the buzzing bundle of nerves circling around it slowly. His hands hooked onto the insides of your thighs, spreading your legs further apart.
Michael ate like he was starving, tongue licking along your entrance, his lips finding your clit and sucking on it hard enough for you to see colour behind your eyelids. He alternated his technique, soft kisses, sharp flicks, occasionally shoving his tongue so deep inside that his nose brushed up against your clit.
You were a mess, fingers twisted in the sheets as your legs would wrap tightly around his head, only to be pushed back down by his large imposing hands. “Oh- Michael! Y-yes right there.”
He saw how close you were to coming undone on his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you your tight entrance, curling them upwards at the same rhythm as his tongue. The new sensation was driving you over the edge, desperate mewls and guttural moans fleeing your throat. The pressure continued to build and build leaving you desperately crying out for your release.
“ ‘m gonna cum- f-fuck don’t stop..” You cried out, once again wrapping your thighs around his head.
“Go on baby.” He growled out, his hearty voice sending earth shattering vibrations through your pussy.
The tight coil in your core finally snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, thighs tight around his head, back arching off of the mattress. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, a sob tearing out of your throat.
Michael didn’t move from your pussy until the last tremor passed, giving your clit one final tender kiss. He lifted his head from between your legs, his pupils blown wide, his chin slick.
You’d barely caught your breath before you reached for him. Swinging your legs over his head as you crawled towards him, kneeling on the edge of the mattress.
Michael stood in front of you, his zipper threatening to snap at the sheer size of his bulge.
“Let me see you.” You gasped out, one hand coming up to caress his thigh.
“Gotta say please first.” He said, the corners of his mouth curving.
You rolled your eyes at him, hands tugging at his fly. “You’re insufferable.”
“And your gorgeous.” He stated, his words heavy and desperate.
You got his pants open, tugging his pants and boxers down until he sprang free. All you could do was stare. He was big. Thick enough that your hand only just met around him, his tip was dark red and aching, leaking desperately.
Your mouth watered at the sight, slowly licking your lips as you admired the sight before you. “Fucking hell.” You whispered.
“What?” He said with a slight tremor in his voice, worried that he’d disgusted you somehow.
“If I knew you were this big, we would’ve gotten along a lot sooner.” You grinned, swiping his tip along your wet lips.
Michael let out a strangled gasp at the sudden sensation. “You p-play too much.” He whined, hips bucking towards you, desperate to engulf himself in your warm mouth.
You guided him towards you, tongue flat against the underside of his length, pushing him deep into your mouth.
“O-Oh fuck.” He groaned out, one hand entangling itself in your hair.
You hollowed your cheeks as you pulled back slowly, tongue swirling around his tip, teasing his slit before shoving him deep.
Oh, the sounds he made were so angelic, broken and desperate moans that sent volts straight back to your pussy.
“K-keep going…j-just like that baby. Oh fuck- your mouth feels so fucking good. sucking me so fucking good right now baby.”
It was no surprise to you that Michael was vocal, every stroke of your tongue pulled a new sound from his throat. A groan, a curse, a ragged praise that made you clench your thighs straight together.
You let him guide you, the hand in your hair pulling and pushing you on his cock, nose pressed flush against his pelvis before you came back up for air, saliva dripping down your chin, spitting it back onto his tip before going back in as if this was the first time you’d eaten in months.
When your hand braced against his thigh, the other cupping the heavy weight beneath his cock, you felt him twitch in your mouth, a string of curses flying out of his mouth. “F-fuck baby. S-stop I’m gonna-”
He pulled you off his length, his head bowing down to crash back against you in a wet, messy kiss. “Stand up.”
You looked up at him confused, brows furrowing. “Why?”
“Want you to watch.” He took your hand, gently guiding off the bed. He moved behind you, hands tight on your waist as he led you towards the floor length mirror. “Want you to watch when I fuck this pretty pussy.”
“Michael!” You squealed, palms flat against the mirror as your breasts pressed against the cool surface, your own flushed face staring back at you.
“You don’t want that baby?” He crooned, his lips nipping your earlobe.
“I do.”
Michael swept your hair to one side, letting it cascade over your shoulder, pressing gentle kisses along the back of your neck down to the space between your shoulder blades. As his lips worked on your skin, his hands mapped the curves your frame, trailing from your waist to your hips then to rest on your ass.
He was gentle as he positions you, using his knee to spread your legs far enough, tilting your hips until you were left wide open for him. He lined up to your entrance, running his head along your slick folds.
The first press of him made you gasp. He was so thick, your walls having to stretch to accommodate his size. He felt you tense beneath him, leaning down to give you soft kisses on your shoulder. “Breathe for me…just relax.”
You nodded, letting out a long breath as he pressed into you again, this time you clenched around him, head thrown forward. “S-so big.”
“Yeah baby…but you’re taking me so well.” He whispered, tracing soothing circles on your hips. “Almost there mama…being such a good girl f’me.”
You mewled at his words, a soft whine leaving your trembling lips. As he finally bottomed out you choked, you’d never felt so full before, he was so deep inside you, chest pressed against your back as let you adjust to the sheer size of him.
He began to pull out slowly, before pushing back into your pussy with a hard thrust. That was just the start of the brutal pace he set, skin slapping against each other as he held you close, rutting into your pussy.
The sounds of your bodies moving together was vulgar. Wet squelches as his cock pistoned into your sopping cunt. With each deep stroke he dragged against the sensitive spots inside of you, hips rolling in the punishing rhythm. His forehead fell against your shoulder, hands sliding up your front to cup your breasts. His breath was hot against you, punctuated by streams of husky praises leaving his lips. “So so good, so perfect for me- god this pussy was made for me, taking me so well, all mine…all mine.”
That same tight coil snapped once again, leaving you sobbing against the mirror, tears brimming your eyes, pussy clenching tight around his cock, uncontrollable whines escaped you.
Michael followed you soon after, buried deep inside, your name crying out desperately from his lips as he spilled inside you. Hot and thick ropes pouring inside you, so much that you felt his release drip down your thighs as he slowly pulled out. “So good f’me.”
Your legs gave in as he rested against you, his arm wrapping around your torso, easing you off the fogged glass. You were shaking, muscles twitching uncontrollably, still trying to collect yourself from the earth-shattering orgasm he’d just given you.
Michael slowly guided you back to the bed, laying you against the white sheets. “I’ll be right back.” He murmured, leaning down to give you a tender kiss to your temple.
Your head was still spinning, the ceiling swam as you tried to catch your breath. You heard the water running from the bathroom, and then he was back with a warm cloth, gently cleaning your thighs. “You feeling alright?” he asked softly, settling beside you on the bed, pulling the covers up over both of you.
“Yeah.” You huffed out. “I feel good.”
“Didn’t mean to get so…rough on you.” Michael said quietly, his arm draped over your side, his nose brushing against yours.
“I liked it.” You grinned tracing the contours of his stomach under his shirt. You paused for a moment. “I like you.”
Michael grinned, the apples of his cheeks reddening. “I think we’re past that.”
“I suppose.”
You both laid under the fluffy duvet for a while, neither of you feeling the need to fill the silence. Eyes shut, hands lazily moving against each other’s, the warmth of the blankets and the quiet comfort between enveloping you both.
Michael let out a shaky sigh, his hand halting. “I’m sorry.”
You turned your head towards him, eyes fluttering open in confusion. “Stop.” You said, your voice barely a breath. “Whatever you’re sorry about don’t be.”
“No.” He shook his head, hand squeezing the plush of your hip. “No, I’m sorry…I should’ve treated you better all these years. A-All that time I spent…being childish over something I could’ve just asked about.”
“Yeah, well I haven’t exactly been a saint either.” You chuckled, pushing a curl behind his ear. “And you were right.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“The demo.” You murmured. “The producers I was working with…they reworked it before giving it to me. Saying it was something they made just for me. I had my lawyers look into it after you asked me about it.”
“Oh.” Michael whispered softly, his head reeling. All this time it wasn’t even your fault, and yet he treated you like you’d taken his song yourself.
“Yeah so…I guess I kinda did need you.” You looked down past his eyes.
Michael gasped, shaking his head frantically. “No.” He caught the hand that was caressing his cheek, squeezing it tightly. “You’re brilliant, you always have been.” He brought his lips to your forehead.
“Thankyou.”
“I could’ve had you for longer.” Michael murmured into your hair, the words quiet, but rough on the edges. “And I wasted all that time being a damn idiot.”
“You’re still an idiot.”
“Yeah yeah.” He grinned, huffing a laugh out.
You tucked yourself into his embrace, head resting against his chest, breathing him in. His hand continued to move up and down your spine, slow and steady as if he was memorizing your body with just his touch.
“I’m yours now.”
a/n: if i got here thankyou so so so soooo much for reading, im sorry if it was a bit long i def got carried, i also tried my hand at smut again (my second time #stillnervous). (if u have any reqs plz send mwahhh)
summary: years ago michael thought you had stolen one of his songs, now two rival popstars are forced to perform together at the 1988 grammys (enemies to lovers), 18k wc
contents: porn with plot (mdni), angst, hurt comfort, complicated reader, nice guy who only hates you LMAO, cursing, fighting, injury, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), creampie, mirror sex, aftercare, nicknames (baby, mama), michael talking you through it, softdom!michael, 1988 grammy snub.
a/n: this is mostly inspired by the intro to the original pressing of i just cant stop loving you (he sounds so goddamn delicious there) i got a req for an enemies to lovers fic and i most definitely got carried away, tried hard with the slow(ish) burn, this is a long one y'all, but there's a reward at the end (michael destroying that kitty)
“No.”
The word was final, though no one in the room was willing to take it as such.
“Sorry?” Michael’s manager blinked, suddenly stiffening up in the plush office chair he occupied.
“I said no.” His manager awkwardly shuffled in his seat, rubbing his increasingly sweaty palms against his slacks.
Cutting through the silence was a feminine scoff, followed by the rustle of clothes against leather. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Michael’s eye flicked over to you, meeting you with nothing but contempt. “You want me to perform with…him?”
Your manager sighed, the corporate-looking woman rubbing tiredly at her face. “It’s already been discussed.”
“That wasn’t my question.” You snapped back, eyes singling on her as you turned to face the woman.
“Well…”Michael’s manager coughed awkwardly, “The recording academy is very excited about this.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Michael sighed, his large hands coming together as he folded his arms across his chest.
“I agree with him.” You couldn’t even bring yourself to utter his name. The simple act of agreeing with him seemingly irritating you as much as the audacious proposition.
His eyes met yours once again. Though there was no warmth, and there hadn’t been for a long time. You scowled at him, and he returned it with an emotionless glare. “For once.”
The hostility, the venomous nature of your relationship had been like this for years.
Wherever one of you went, the other seemed to follow.
Everything had become a comparison. Tabloids picked you both apart. Television segments devoting entire afternoons to discuss who was more talented, more influential, more deserving of the flowers they receive.
Every piece of media was determined to decide who was better.
The press had been running this story for so long that it was impossible not to think of the other when either of your names were mentioned.
The media exaggerated things. That much was obvious.
But they weren’t exactly wrong.
Michael didn’t like you.
Not one bit.
It started years ago, during the making of Thriller. He recorded a song, a small demo, a couple lyrics, a distinct melody, an idea that hadn’t yet become what he knew it could be. It was unfinished, unrefined, and private.
Eventually, he forgot about it. Life had gotten too busy, locked in an endless cycle of rehearsing, recording, touring and interviews. The demo was the last thing in his mind.
Then one soft summers day, where the birds chirped outside his car window and the morning sun reflected softly off the passing cars. He heard it.
His song. His melody. Playing through the radio and the angelic voice that was singing it wasn’t him, it was you.
His unfinished song had become your best-selling record. His art, his work, his idea. Stolen without credit.
Michael was as unconfrontational as they came. So, he never mentioned it, never asked about it, never giving you the opportunity to explain.
All he felt was betrayal. You heard his demo, had stolen his work and changed it just enough that you could call it your own.
And from that moment forward, his anger seeped into every interaction between you. It settled silently, festering beneath every conversation and exchanged glance, until that resentment and hatred had taken root so deeply that neither of you could remember what it was like not to despise the other.
So as the years followed, the industry caught up.
Rivalry sells.
Shock sells better.
So here you were, in a room full of executives and managers who had the audacity to suggest the two of you sing a love song together.
“I just can’t stop loving you?” You laughed at it, the proposition utterly unbelievable. “You’re all insane.”
Michael sighed loudly, pinching his nose. This was insulting. His work, his craft, his emotions and feelings that had all been poured into his music were being dangled in front of the press like bait. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“We tried.” His manager tried to explain. “But the recording academy wanted confirmation in a short amount of time.”
“So, you said yes and assumed we’d go along with it?” You cut in, interrupting his manager.
“Well…”
You interrupted him again, your hands squeezing onto the fabric of your dress. Your glare was piercing, sharp eyes dissecting every awkward movement that the man displayed “Well what?”
Michael’s manger looked down, unable to remain eye-contact with you. His posture crooked, hands tightly wrapped around the notebook in his hand, eyes focused on the small patch of carpet right in front of him.
Silence filled the room, looming over the office like a dark storm cloud. No one dared to answer you, not when they knew the reaction they were going to get. Your manager knew this was a risky move, to force you to dance romantically with your biggest rival.
“What’s the catch?” Michael asked. His voice was quiet, almost resigned. His hand came up to massage his temple, stray curls falling over his brows as he took in a shaky breath.
Your manager straightened up in her chair, heels dragging across the carpet. Her voice shook as she spoke, her stutter a physical representation of how much she feared your reaction. “The academy will remove your nominations if you do not fulfill the performance.”
The room became eerily quiet. The atmosphere shifted instantly, morphing into something murky and suffocating.
Slowly, you rose from your chair, smoothing down the fabric of your dress with shaking hands. “Are you serious?”
Everyone’s eyes were on you. Managers and executives alike watched you cautiously, assessing your posture bracing themselves for your inevitable outburst.
Slowly, your manager nodded, eyes meeting yours then quickly dropping down. “We tried to get them to rethink the decision.”
You put your hand up, motioning her to be quiet. You felt rage simmering within you. Forced to work with the one man you despise, forced to sing his song, this was a humiliation ritual disguised exposure.
Michael saw your shaking hands, your fingernails digging into the flesh of your palm, leaving crescent shaped indents. He wasn’t unbeknownst to the way the industry used musicians for their own stories. He hadn’t expected anything less from the over-bearing men in black suits who controlled the market.
But you hadn’t been a pawn in the game as long as him. While his rage was sedated, disappointment prominent in his stature. Your rage was burning like an inferno.
Slowly, you lowered your hand, eyes singling onto your manager. “Fine.”
Monday – Four Weeks Until Grammy Night
Everyday that lead up to the rehearsal, the pit of dread grew larger in your stomach. You exhausted all of your resources, nothing was going to get you out of this agreement. For the next month, four days of your week would be spent forced next to who you thought was the most arrogant and cocky man you’d ever met.
Call time was 9am sharp. And by 9:30 you had gotten multiple calls from your manager and the choreographer beckoning you to arrive.
You begrudgingly arrived at around 10am, your manager trailing behind you, still attempting to explain why this performance was unavoidable. Though, you had tuned her out. There was only so much corporate nonsense about contracts, nominations and the Grammys that one woman could tolerate early in the morning.
Opening the large studio doors the first thing you heard was music. The music. Michael’s voice playing over the speakers, the lyrics so soft and intimate, telling a romantic love story.
Yuck.
You found Michael quickly, he stood in front of the large, mirrored wall, curls sticking to his forehead, an over-sized white tee draped over his frame and baggy sweatpants hanging off his hips.
His attention was fixed on the choreographer in front of him, attentively nodding to whatever was being explained to him. Your stomach twisted. Why did he look so comfortable? Did he also not spend the last several days trying to dig himself out of this predicament?
His head turned to you as you walked further in the room, brown eyes tracking your movements as you threw your large duffel bag onto the floor. “Morning.” You said to Michael and the choreographer, John.
“Good morning!” John replied with far too much enthusiasm.
Michael stayed silent. He didn’t turn to greet you either, continuing to stare at his own reflection in the mirror.
He couldn’t even muster up a good morning? You thought to yourself, trying to supress the urge to storm out of the room and never look back.
You turned toward him, sucking your teeth. “I said morning.”
Michael stilled, his eyes moving towards your reflection, still not facing you. “I heard.”
You felt your eye twitch. “Y’know if you weren’t so immature we could try and be civil through this whole thing.”
“Immature?” Michael scoffed at you. “I wasn’t the one who had to be dragged to the studio by their manager.”
“I wasn’t dragged.”
“If you say so.” He shrugged.
Any sane person would’ve walked away from him. But in no universe would you let Michael Jackson get the last word.
“Do you always act like a dick, or it is your time of the month?”
Michael span on his heels, “Excuse me?”
“Oh, aren’t you posh?” You let out a humourless laugh. “I’ve got spare pads if you need them.”
Michael’s lip twitched, your crude words irking him. “I don’t need anything from you.”
“Me neither.”
Michael scoffed at you, the memory of his demo flashing in the back of his mind. “Sure.”
The sarcastic tone of his voice set something off in you, blood rushing in your head as you used all of your patience not to throttle him.
John let out an awkward cough clapping his hands together. “Are you guys done?”
Michael’s head dropped slightly, letting out a quiet sigh. “Yeah…Sorry.” He muttered like a disciplined child.
You on the other hand were still trying to reel in the rage that was simmering off of you. “What are we even doing anyway?”
“We are going to be running through the choreo. It’s gonna be decently simple, because the focus is on the two of you and the chemistry that there is.”
“Chemistry?” You laughed out.
“I don’t care if you don’t have it. You’re going to convince me you do.” John replied back.
“Right.” You rolled your eyes. You were making absolutely no effort to hide your disdain for the situation you were in. You had no clue what you had done to Michael, but for years he had acted like you were the gum on the bottom of his stupid shiny loafers.
You and Michael moved to your starting position. You were so close, his breath brushing against your forehead. John messed with the backing tracks so you both awkwardly stood there. His eyes averted your gaze, looking straight above you, he was stiff, hand tightly wrapped around the microphone in his hand.
Despite your mutual disdain for one another, you were still professionals. Managing to stifle down the urge to gag as you felt Michael so close to you.
John jumped up, clapping his hands once. “Alright, let’s move through this fast! We are an hour behind right now!” You rolled your eyes facing Michael once again.
Michael’s eyes dropped down, mouth twitching into a smug grin about the schedule. You grumbled in return, muttering a string of vulgar words.
“Michael, this is going to start with your spoken intro.”
Michael’s body tensed immediately, eyes wide as he shook his head. “What? I didn’t know we were including that.”
“It will be such a good addition Michael! Can you imagine the shock of the world as you profess your love to her. No one will see it coming.” John spoke with excitement, hands moving in the air as he predicted the world’s reaction.
“Yeah, but they mean something.” Michael sighed. “They’re not just for anyone.”
“What? Am I not a suitable for the role?” You taunted. Michael responded with a harsh glaring side eye.
“It’s already decided. You two are in love now, I don’t care what you do outside of this studio. In here, I need to be convinced you two are the happiest couple in the world.”
Michael sighed loudly, running a hand over his face before rolling his shoulders back. He was resetting himself, dissociating from the Michael that wanted to crawl somewhere and hide, and becoming Michael Jackson.
John ran around you both moving your hands into the exact pose he wanted. Michael’s hand hovered just above your cheek, yours on his.
“I just want to lay next to you for a while. You look so beautiful tonight.” Michael whispered into the microphone, his eyes were squeezed shut, trying to erase your presence.
The words that were meant to be sweet and honest, struggled to escape him. His face grimaced with each line, mouth twitching into a frown as he was forced to whisper confessions to you.
You stood there rigid, frowning, foot tapping restlessly as you listened to the spoken word. Watching him be in such discomfort just being near you was insulting.
Yes, you didn’t like him. That didn’t mean you were repulsive.
Michael finished and he let out a sigh of relief, immediately stepping away from you, gasping for air as if your presence was beginning to make him sick.
“Again!” John called out.
You glanced over. “We just did it?”
“Yeah, and now we’re doing it again. Let’s look less sick of each other this time.”
A dramatic sigh left your mouth as you rolled your eyes. Michael’s mouth twitched upwards slightly, holding back a laugh.
“Did you just laugh at me?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I did not.”
“Uhh yes you did?”
Michael looked at you with that same blank expression he had been giving you for years. “Can we rehearse?” There it was, that tone. It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t frustrated. It was dismissive and condescending.
“Sure!” You grinned sarcastically. “Wouldn’t want to be here longer than needed.”
His eyes narrowed, ignoring your snide remarks. “I’m here to work.”
“Yeah? So am I.”
Michael let out a shallow laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Your eye twitched, head cocking to the side. “What did you say?”
Michael kept his blank expression. “That I’m here to work?”
“No. You said something else.”
“Hm, I don’t recall.” Michael shrugged.
God, give me the strength to not strangle this man. You thought.
You stared at him, eye boring into his. He stared back, his blank expression faltering for just one moment.
But you caught it.
That small flicker of irritation.
At least he felt something.
“Again!” John yelled in between both, obviously exhausted with the ridiculous arguing between you.
Michael moved to his position, whispering the words to you once again. He had his eyes open this time, staring right at yours.
It felt like a challenge. Was he testing you? To see if you’d break? Hoping that you’d timidly avoid his gaze like every other woman that fawns over him.
You hated Michael.
You hated losing more.
You kept your eyes focused on his, your hand hovering over his cheek, sucking on the inside of your mouth as he continued to speak.
“I just want to touch you. And hold you. I need you, God, I need you.”
When the music finally stopped, John looked between you enthusiastically clapping. “Amazing! Yes! That is what we want!”
Michael chuckled softly. “Thankyou.”
“This is what I’m talking about. There is something there!”
“Yeah. Mutual hatred.” You laughed, stepping away to grab your water bottle.
For the next two hours the cycle continued. John would demonstrate the choreo. You would question it, complain about the situation. Michael would offer some sort of correction or snide remark. You’d argue with him and repeat.
This was going to be one long month
Monday – Three Weeks Until Grammy Night
By the following week you had learnt two things.
One. John had absolutely no sympathy for your hatred of Michael Jackson.
Two. Michael was a lot more irritating when you had to be within him four days a week.
The first week of rehearsals had all been quite similar. You all argued to John’s deaf ears about the intimate choreography, Michael continuously corrected your timing, you would tell him he’s the most insufferable man you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting and he’d brush you off with a quiet remark that made you wish he’d just yell at you like a normal person.
Though as you two got more acclimated to each other the sharpness off your arguments began to dull.
You’d learnt that when Michael was particularly quiet, he was concentrating, he hated being late and he hated when he got something wrong. While you were sitting down to take a break, he’d stay in front of the mirror marking the choreography over and over until he got it right.
Michael, against his will, had learnt that you became quite argumentative whenever you were tired, becoming even more agitated when you were hungry. That you hummed under your breath when you were concentrating, softly biting your lip as you fought to remember the choreography. He learnt that you tended to deliberately exaggerate your movements whenever he had annoyed you, using your entire body to display your unhappiness.
Neither of you discussed these observations.
Well.
Neither of you discussed anything.
“Again!” John called from the back of the room.
You were glistening with sweat, hair sticking to the back of your neck. John had been making you repeat this sequence for hours now, and you were beginning to think he had some sort of personal vendetta against you.
From one side of the studio to the other you and Michael were meant to move in sync, his hand in yours as you both twisted and turned across the floor. The footwork was intricate, keeping up with it and remembering your lines was becoming all too much to do next to Michael, who somehow managed to do it perfectly every time.
“John. If I do this again, I’m going to throw myself through that window.”
John pouted. “Aw. Too bad its locked.”
Your jaw dropped open, staring at him with wide eyes.
In your ear, you heard a soft snicker.
You head snapped towards Michael. “Do you have something to say?”
“No.”
“You did that thing.”
“What thing?” Michael raised his eyebrow, trying to keep the smug grin off his face.
“Y’know that little.” You mocked his snicker, deliberately exaggerating the sound.
Michael’s jaw dropped. “Never in my life have I made that noise.”
“You just did.”
“I do not sound like that.”
“Uhhh, yes you do.” You mocked him again.
“Hello? Are we rehearsing or doing impressions?” John asked loudly.
“I can multi-task.” You scoffed going back to your starting mark.
Michael let out another snicker as he strode across the room.
“You did it again!” You exclaimed, pointing in his face.
“I really didn’t.” Michael said blankly this time.
“You’re a horrible liar.”
“That’s interesting coming from you.” Michael mumbled, moving behind you.
His hand hovered over your waist in a practiced manner.
You stiffened.
Your head whipping around to meet him and even John straightened in his seat, closing his eyes with a deep breath.
“What is that supposed to mean?” You sneered, cocking your head to the side.
“Nothing.” Michael cursed at himself, regret bubbling in his chest as he realised what he let slip.
“Nah. Say what you meant.” You stepped closer to him, your voice growing sharper.
John sprung up from his seat, stepping between you before the argument could escalate.
“Okayyyy. Whatever unresolved psychological warfare you two have going on, save it for after the rehearsal because I do not get paid enough to break up a brawl.”
You muttered a couple swears under your breath, hesitantly turning away from Michael. Your eyes still stared into him through the mirror, manicured hands squeezing the microphone in your hand.
You were a lot of things. Brazen, bitchy, annoying.
But you weren’t a liar.
“Great. Now again!”
As soon as the music started, it went wrong.
Michael had turned too early, going just a beat too fast. Your shoulder collided with his chest as you turned, his foot catching onto yours as you both toppled sideways.
Your hands reached out and grabbed onto his arms to catch yourself, his large hands catching your waist instinctively before you hit the wooden floors.
Michael’s eyes were wide as they met yours, breathing heavy from the sudden movement. His hands remained grasped tightly onto your waist as his eyes moved over you quickly assessing whether you were hurt.
But your eyes flicked down to your entangled feet. “Was that your fault?”
Michael’s worrisome expression faded back to irritation, his jaw fell slack. “My fault?”
You looked back at him unimpressed, hands still gripping onto his arms. “You turned early.”
“I did not.”
“Well, I was on time.”
Michael blinked slowly, trying to get his head around the whiplash he got from being worried you were hurt to having to defend himself. “You turned into me.”
You let out a loud laugh. “No! I was following the choreo.”
“Well so was I.”
“Well maybe you should follow it properly.” You sneered.
Michael’s brows pinched together, his upper lip twitching. “I know the choreo.”
You laughed at him again. “Oh yeah. Clearly.”
“You walked into me.” Michael said calmly.
“What world are you living in!” You exclaimed, the volume of your voice a stark contrast to his calm demeanour.
“The one where you walked into me.”
“I did not walk into you. You moved too early.”
“No.” Michael shook his head, his voice still calm, but the slightest bit of irritation creeping through. “You moved into me.”
Instead of responding with words, you let out a loud groan of frustration, shutting your eyes tight and exhaling slowly as you tried to stop yourself from jumping up and strangling him.
When you opened your eyes, you finally glanced down to see that you two were still tangled together. “Can you let go?” You sneered.
Michael followed your gaze. His eyes dropped to where his hands were still wrapped around your waist, only just realising they were there.
He immediately released you, gently pulling you back to your feet before stepping away. He turned his back to you, straightening his shirt. “Y’know if you watched where you were going-”
“Oh, don’t start.”
“I wasn’t starting anything.” Michael said this time a little laugh escaping him.
He tried to supress it he really did. But the utter absurdity of the argument had finally caught up to him. How were two of the biggest names in the industry spending several minutes arguing like children over a minor mistake in some choreography?
You stared at him unamused. “Are you laughing? Seriously?”
“It’s just-” He shook his head, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turned to face you once more. “Never mind.”
“No say it.” You demanded
“It’s just funny.”
“Yeah. Funny to you. I almost tripped and died.”
“You’re so dramatic.” Michael chuckled, reaching up to push the soft ringlets that had fallen across his face.
“Yeah, yeah whatever.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. Silence filling the studio like a warm fuzzy blanket.
Your eyes met his, and there was no irritation, no contempt. Just a strange, fleeting warmth that felt foreign between the two of you.
Michael’s expression softened. “Did you hurt yourself?” Michael asked quietly.
The question caught you off guard, blinking a couple times before you shook your head. “No…No, I’m fine.”
In return, Michael gave you a warm, knowing smile “See? You are a drama queen.”
You scoffed this time but didn’t bother hiding the smile creeping onto your face. “Shut up.”
Thursday – Eleven Days Until Grammy’s Night
The novelty of rehearsal’s had long worn off.
You were tired.
Not the kind of tired that could be fixed with a night’s rest. It was the sort of tired that settled deep into the fibres of your body, making every inconvenience and error feel deeply personal. Your muscles ached, your throat was beginning to feel raw and the fact you hadn’t slept well in weeks was all beginning to catch up to you.
And somehow, the one thing you just couldn’t get right, was the simplest part.
The line was right at the end of the song. A short vocal exchange between you and Michael that required you to sing immediately after his note.
You had sung it perfectly countless times. In every rehearsal you had gotten it perfect.
Today, you hadn’t got it right once.
You heard John’s disappointed sigh as the music stopped. “C’mon, that was the fifth time.” he said tiredly. “Again.”
“I know.” You said frustrated, eyes shutting tightly.
“If you know then why do you keep getting wrong?”
“I’m coming in late.”
“Great. So…let’s not do that next time?” John was equally as annoyed as you, and he didn’t care enough to hide it from you. He wanted this performance perfect, not for either of you to be comfortable.
Your jaw clenched, nodding silently as you held back the string of curses that threatened to fly out of your lips.
Michael stood beside you, his microphone hanging loosely in his hand. He hadn’t said anything about your previous attempts, but you could still feel his piercing gaze digging into the side of your face.
The music started once more, Michael singing his line waiting expectingly for yours.
You came in late again, missing your cue once more.
You hand came up to your face massaging your temple. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled under your breath beginning to pace. “Can we just-”
“You’re thinking about it too much.”
Your hand dropped quickly, looking up to him. “What?”
He shrugged confused at your sharp tone, unaware of the dangerous territory he was breaching. “You’re thinking about when you’re supposed to come in instead of listening to the music.”
Your eyes bored into him, face falling flat. “I know how to sing.”
Michael shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah? Well, you implied it.” You scoffed rolling your shoulders back, trying to rid of the growing tension in your body.
“No.” Michael’s brows furrowed taking a step closer to you. “I’m trying to help.”
“Well, you’re not.” You snapped.
Michael sucked in a breath, holding back his temper. This was literally his song, so why were you so adamant on not taking any help from him?
Maybe you only liked to take his music not take notes.
“It’s fine. Just play it again John I’ll get it.” You shook your hands, trying to shake off the nerves that were firing inside of you.
The familiar music played once more, and you missed it again.
“Fuck!” You screamed out tossing out your microphone across the room, it crashing against the floor.
Both John and Michael froze, scared to move, not wanting to aggravate you more.
“I’m getting a coffee!” John sprung up. Michael’s head snapped towards him fear in his eyes. He was frantically shaking his head, begging to not be left alone with you but John just grinned and sprinted out of the room.
Coward.
“You’re thinking about it too much.” Michael said quietly. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to comfort you. Not when all he would get in return was your nasty attitude. “You’re trying so hard to get it right, you’re not listening to the music.”
“Oh really?” You asked him sarcastically.
“C’mon…” Michael frowned.
“You seem to know a whole lot about me, don’t you?”
“No, I didn’t-”
“No. It’s fine.” You stomped over to where you microphone had landed, tapping it to make sure it wasn’t broken. “I’ll try harder.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t worry about it.” You shrugged, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. Michael watched as you move to your position. He wanted to say something, to explain himself better but his mouth stayed shut.
The music played once more.
You followed the choreography, Michael’s voice filled the room, and you waited for your cue.
It was right there. Just one step and one note and you’d finally get it right.
But just as he said, you were thinking about it too much. Your mind was ahead of your body, moving through the movement’s to fast as you focused on the vocal cue.
Your foot landed awkwardly, your ankle rolling beneath you before you had time to realised you mis-stepped. A sharp bolt of pain shot up your leg, stealing the breath from your lungs as you toppled towards the floor with a started groan.
Michael moved before you could catch yourself. His microphone clattered against the wooden floor as he reached for you, one arm wrapping around your torso. He had managed to stop you from collapsing completely, but your palms still struck the floor hard enough for it to sting.
“Woah- Jesus Christ. Are you alright?”
You sucked in a shaky breath, more embarrassed than in pain. You immediately pushed yourself upright, sitting on the floor as another hiss of pain left your lips. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
You attempted to stand, refusing to meet Michael’s worried gaze, but the moment your injured foot touched the floor, a sharp cry of pain escaped you. Michael’s grip tightened instinctively around your waist, keeping you from putting any more weight on it. “Stop. Don’t move.”
Something about his voice made you pause and actually listen.
There was no irritation, no sarcastic or snarky remark waiting behind his words, no trace of the usual impatience that seemed to follow with every interaction between you.
He sounded genuinely worried.
“Michael. I said I’m fine.”
“I know what you said.” He response was firm, but compared to the seriousness in his expression, it was somewhat gentle. His eyes flicked down to your ankle, before returning to your face. “Can you move it.”
You swallowed, testing it carefully by trying to move your foot to the side but even the smallest movement sent sharp pulses of pain through your leg. “I…I don’t know.”
Michael stood up, holding one of his large hands towards you.
“What’re doing?” You glanced up at him, confusion evident on your face.
“Helping you up.”
You shook your head quickly. “No it’s- it’s fine. I can get up.”
Michael gave a look. The same look he’d give you when you’d pointlessly argue with him about corrections, or hiss out a witty insult, except this time there was none of the usual disdain behind it.
“Can you just accept help for once?” His words were slightly exasperated, but they were wrapped win something softer.
Michael didn’t want to win another argument with you. He just wanted to help.
You were hesitant to accept it, but slowly you reached out, letting Michael gently lift you back onto your feet.
It hurt too much to stand properly, those same sharp pains making you groan in agony. Your body weight rested against Michael, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he helped you across the room and settled you on a small bench.
You stared down at your ankle, eyes burning with the threat of tears. Though, they weren’t from pain. It was just…everything else.
You hated this.
You hated being the person who couldn’t get anything right.
And most of all, you hated that Michael had been the only one to witness it.
“It’s not that bad.” You mumbled, staring at your ankle.
“You don’t know that.”
You just shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t afford to be injured right now.”
Michael was sitting on his heels in front of you, slowly lowering your sock to inspect the angry bruising around the joint. “You need to rest it.”
“I can’t do that.” You laughed at his idea, shaking your head.
“You need to.” He insisted.
“This stupid performance is in eleven days.”
“You won’t be performing anything if you make this worse.”
You let out a bitter laugh, looking down as you rubbed your aching palms against your thighs. “I can’t keep messing everything up.”
You didn’t mean to be so vulnerable with him. You preferred to not have any conversations with Michael, especially ones that involve your feelings. But the way his big brown eyes were gazing up at you laced with worry and concern brought out a softer side of you.
“It’s one note.” Michael said. “It’s not everything.”
“You don’t get it.” You shook your head, starting to regret opening up near him.
“Then explain it.”
The room felt far too quiet now. He sat at your feet, patiently waiting for your answer as he gazed at you with sparkling eyes.
“Everyone is waiting for me to mess up.” You confess in a whisper.
“Who?”
You shrugged. “Everyone.” You clasped your hands together trying to silence the dull pain ringing in your palms. “Every magazine, television show, journalist has spent years trying to figure which one of us is better. If I mess up, they will drag it on for months.”
Michael nodded softly. He knew better than anyone the pressure the media could put on one person.
“The managers are saying it’s for shock value, and rivalry and whatever. But I know they just want me to look stupid next to you and just be some scapegoat in the stories they’ve already made about me.”
He stayed silent, an epiphany reaching him as you confessed your feelings to him. For the first time, he began to understand that all the arrogance he’d attributed to your behaviour may not have been arrogance at all.
Instead, it was fear.
And you were just incredibly good at making sure no one saw it.
“You’re not going to look stupid,” Michael said quietly, his expression completely sincere.
“I think you’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You said with a small chuckle.
“I’m serious.” Michael said firmer this time. “We’re here practicing 4 days a week, for hours and hours each day. You won’t look stupid.”
“I feel pretty stupid right now.” You pointed down to your swollen ankle. Michael looked down too, grimacing at the bruises on your skin.
“You should go home. Rest up over the weekend.” Michael stood up slowly.
“John’s not going to be happy.” You mumbled with a grin. “But…yeah you’re right.”
“I’m always right.” Michael said with a grin.
“Oh my god, be quiet.” You shooed him away with your hand, a bright smile appearing on your face.
After you had left, Michael stayed in the studio.
He told himself it was because there was work still to be done. The performance was less than a fortnight away, and he still wasn’t satisfied with certain sections of it. So he played his song again, and again, and again.
By the time he had finally stopped, he was gasping for air, shirt clinging damply to his back, his throat was burnt raw from singing and sweat had gathered along his hairline, dampening the curls that had fallen across his face.
The studio was much quieter now, devoid of its usual ambience. All that remained was the faint hum of equipment and the echo of his heaving breathing.
Michael lowered the microphone and stared at his messy reflection. For a short while, he just stood there, gazing at his dishevelled appearance.
But his mind wandered off, back to earlier.
He remembered the moment your body was pressed against him, unable to stand without his help. Or the way you continued to try and stand and move even in unbearable pain, the expression of your face, that soft wide-eyed hopelessness that appeared when you finally confessed how afraid you were of messing everything up.
He could still hear your voice, angelically ringing in his head. “Everyone is waiting for me to mess up”
His chest tightened painfully. He had no idea someone as confident and self-assured as you could be so afraid.
Or maybe, he never cared enough to look closely.
His gaze dropped down to the floor below him. Reminding him of the childish argument you both had had a week ago.
Michael’s mouth twitched, but he caught the smile quickly, it disappearing almost as quickly as it came.
“What am I doing?” He asked himself as his stare lifted back up to expression.
He saw the faint blush on his cheeks, He instantly frowned, embarrassed by his actions, rubbing a hand through his wet hair.
This was ridiculous.
You were still you. The arrogant, cocky popstar who had taken his demo’s and used them for her own good. Still the only woman who questioned every single thing he did, the one woman he had spent sleepless nights thinking of how he would finally confront you about his stolen song.
But a realization hit him.
And it hit him hard.
He no longer hated you. And even worse, he was beginning to realise he actually enjoyed your company.
Saturday – Nine Days Until Grammy Night
It was well past midnight, the bustling hotel lobby had emptied, leaving only the quiet hum of the air-conditioning and the occasional murmurs of the staff. You kept you head down as you crossed the marble floors towards the elevators, your puffy jacket pulled tightly around your body.
You had dressed yourself in a way that covered you head to toe, a common part of your routine now if you wanted to avoid the commotion that came with being one of the worlds biggest celebrities.
You hated being spotted when you weren’t ready, the looming fear of a camera flash that could expose your catered and perfected image you published into the world.
Your ankle had slightly improved since Thursday. Spending most of your time sprawled out in the hotel’s king bed, your foot elevated and wrapped in ice. Though the pain still resided with a dull ache that spread up your leg, forcing you to favour one side as you hobbled through the lobby.
You pressed the elevator button, leaning against the wall as you waited, trying to relieve some of the pressure against your foot.
With a quiet ding the metal doors glided open, the warm light of the elevator reflecting off the pristine mirrored walls.
You stepped inside, pressing your floor before turning around. You were halfway through adjusting your hat to cover less of your face when a hand suddenly appeared between the doors.
As much as you hated to admit it. You’d recognise those hands anywhere.
Your eyes widened as he stepped inside, his mirrored yours, just as shocked to see you.
“So, you’re following me now.” You scoffed out, bracing yourself against the metal rail, your injured foot hovering above the tiled floor.
Michael let out a small chuff. “Why would I follow you?”
You smirked, shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re obsessed.”
“With you?”
“Don’t sound so horrified.”
Michael shook his head, his finger pressing the floor above yours.
You saw his floor number. He was right above you. “You’re staying here?”
Michael nodded, crossing his arms as he rested against the wall opposite to you.
“Seriously?” You sighed. This had to be some sort of sick joke. Not only did you have to see him at rehearsal, now you had to risk the chance of bumping into him at your hotel.
“Don’t sound too excited.” He smirked. “I might think you’re the one following me.”
You let out a choked cough. “Me? Please. I could think of a million things I’d rather do.”
Michael responded with a shake of his head, a tiny grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
The elevator hummed as it began climbing, the small numbers above the door flickering to the next every couple seconds.
Michael’s eyes dropped to your foot, noticing the way you held it off the floor, your other taking all of the weight.
He felt an inexplainable ache in his chest, seeing you stand there with a brave face even though he knew your foot must’ve been killing you.
“How is it?” He asked, nodding his head forward your ankle.
You straightened, placing your foot back onto the ground. The ache began again but you ignored it. The last thing you wanted to do was show the pain you were in.
“How’s what?” You said defensively.
Michael blew out a frustrated sigh through his nose. “Your ankle.”
“It’s fine.” You said quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Michael scoffed. “I was just wondering.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes it is.” You taunted. Usually, he’d continue to fight with you, desperate to defend himself against your stubborn childish arguments. But today he just laughed, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips.
“And if I was worried?” He tilted his head, a smug grin plastering across his face.
“Well.” You looked away, unable to explain the heat that had suddenly hit your face. “Well. Don’t.”
Michael hummed satisfied at your startled response.
You hated that little sound. And more than that you hated the way he was looking at you. His eyes had settled on you, darting between his own reflection and you. You shifted awkwardly beneath his heavy gaze, pulling your jacket tightly around you, as if it could shield you from his imposing stare.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Michael blinked innocently, “Like what?”
“Like…” You gestured at him, moving your hand up and down, frustration crawling into your voice. “Like you’re judging me.”
Michael shook his head. “I’m not judging you.”
“You’re still looking at me.”
“No.” He grinned. “I was looking at myself.”
“Oh, how humble.” You rolled your eyes, pivoting so you were facing away from him. Though, the mirrors still revealed you to him, his eyes now focused on your reflection.
The elevator continued its slow climb, the soft hum of the machinery filling the silence between you. You tried to focus on the quiet elevator music, the mundane tune suddenly becoming the most interesting thing in the world.
You tried so hard to ignore him. The way his head dipped down, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to get a closer look at your swollen foot. His eyes gliding over you as he tried to translate your body language.
Before you knew it, you had been staring at him, gazing at the way his curls flipped out from under his glasses, the way his large hand wrapped around the metal bar, his body swaying slightly.
Your eyes lifted up to his face, noticing his smudged eyeliner, the defined dimples in his cheeks as he lightly smirked.
His eyes met yours, his smirk growing as he realised you were staring back at him. You let out a little gasp, eyes dropping back to the floor.
“So much for stop looking.” He chuckled.
“You’re so annoying.” You groaned arms crossed tight around your torso.
“Hm maybe.” He shrugged, unable to supress the grin on his face.
“Don’t be so pleased with yourself.”
“I’m not doing anything.” He whined playfully.
“You’re looking.” You said firmly. You felt your insides twist with how comfortable he was speaking with you. His stupid, dumb grin making the heat in your cheeks feel unbearable, your heart doing a flip at the way he comfortably bantered with you.
“And?”
“Stop.”
“Make me.”
Your stomach dropped, your throat going dry, the breath being stolen from your lungs. For once, you had absolutely nothing to say.
His words had been thrown at you so casually you were certain he hadn’t realised what he had done to you.
But Michael watched you closely through the reflection. Your lips parting and closing, his teasing expression starting to fade when he realised you’d gone quiet. Had he been too forward? He guessed he’d gotten a bit carried away, the privacy of the elevator seemingly bringing out a more forward side of him.
“Ew.” You scoffed out, words finally forming in your throat. “You’re so gross”
In an odd way, Michael was actually comforted by your insult. The familiar blanket of banter wrapping over him. “Yeah. You like it.”
“I do not.” You gasped out.
Michael snickered at your outburst. “You’re so easy to annoy.”
“No. You’re just the most insufferable man to ever walk this earth.”
The elevator finally dinged, an audible sign that you could be let out of this trap. The doors slid open, you carefully stepped forward, though you didn’t make it far before your ankle shot with pain, causing you to hiss.
Michael moved quickly behind you.
You shot him a glare, head spinning. “Don’t”
“I didn’t even do anything.”
“You were gonna.”
“….No.” He mumbled quietly.
You continued walking out of the elevator, prepared to walk to your room without saying goodbye to Michael.
However, Michael crept out of the elevator, following several steps behind you. You walked with a determined limp, unaware Michael was quietly trailing you.
Then a squeak reached your ears, the scratching sound of leather rubbing against the tiles.
You turned quickly, heat rising in your body. Why was he being so clingy? He didn’t have to hover over you like a child. You were perfectly capable on getting to your room by yourself.
Had you looked so weak to him that he felt like he had no choice but to walk you home like some sort of damsel in distress.
“Stop following me.”
Michael shrugged. “I’m not.”
You let out a loud annoyed groan. “You literally are!”
“I’m exploring.”
“Okay? Explore literally anywhere else. Go away.”
For a second he didn’t respond, standing there dejectedly, then his stare shifted to your ankle again.
You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling increasingly annoyed at how helpless he thought you were. “Michael, I swear-”
“I didn’t say anything.” He countered.
You looked at him a while longer, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. “I’m fine okay.”
“You always say that.”
“Yeah but I mean it.” You sighed. “I’ll see you on Monday. Okay.”
His eyes lit up ever so slightly. After all this time, he had begun to look forward to seeing you, even when all you did was insult him and fight with him, there was something addicting about the way you acted.
“Y-Yeah.” He stuttered out, swallowing loud. “See you Monday.”
Monday – One-Week Until Grammy Night
The forced rest had been frustrating at first, stuck in the hotel dwelling on how much you had humiliated yourself. But by Monday you found yourself itching to get back in the studio.
Something about your last rehearsal had shifted your outlook on this performance, a strong sense of determination within you. You weren’t going to go onto the Grammy stage simply because you’d been threatened. You were going to perform because you wanted to prove to everyone who was counting on your down fall that they wrong.
Your ankle was still tender, occasional winces slipping past your lips whenever you put too much force into a movement, but you refused to let it slow you down. You’d spent the morning running through the performance section by section, repeating each part until John had finally ran out of notes to give you.
“Alright.” John made direct eye-contact with you, his stare sharp enough to make your stomach drop. “We’re doing that line again.”
Your shoulders tensed instantly. A shuddered breath escaping as you looked towards the mirrored wall
You were nervous.
Undeniably so.
You knew it wasn’t difficult, it was actually painfully easy and that’s what made the whole thing so humiliating. This moment was so tiny compared to the rest of the performance and yet you’d managed to make it your personal enemy.
The last time you had performed it you’d failed so horrendously that it ended with Michael practically dragging you across the studio floor like a piece of meat.
Well. That was slightly dramatic. But still, the memory was enough to make your stomach twist.
Michael had been watching you all morning, his big brown eyes following your every movement, attention fixated on your ankle whenever you had to attempt one of your more demanding dance moves. Every now and then his hands would instinctively lift as though he expected you to stumble again, only for him to realise what he was doing and slap his hands back to his sides.
Two weeks ago, you would’ve already snapped at him.
You probably would’ve told him to stop hovering over you, that you didn’t need to be monitored like a helpless child and that you were perfectly capable of doing your job.
But something had changed. You didn’t want him to stop.
It was irritating to admit, even in the privacy of your mind…but there was something strangely comforting about having someone pay attention to you. You’d spent years thinking the only feeling he had towards you was hatred, so discovering he was actually capable of worrying about you had unsettled you in a way you couldn’t explain.
Michael noticed the tension gathering in your shoulders. He took a small step towards you, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re gonna get it this time.” He said softly, with a smile so genuine you couldn’t help but smile back.
“Yeah. Of course, I am.” You said, quickly turning around before he could notice the smile lingering.
Michael shook his head, amusement flashing across his sharp features. “You’re meant to say thank you.”
“Yeah, and you’re meant to be in your position. Hurry up.” You waved him towards his mark, a desperate attempt to disguise the fact his words had affected you.
He chuckled softly underneath his breath as he moved behind you. You could feel him there without looking. His hands hovered carefully near your waist, just as practiced. You tightened your grip around your microphone, taking a slow steady breath as you waited for the music to start.
You noticed it immediately.
His cologne.
It was different to usual, or maybe you’d just never paid attention to it. It was amber and something faintly spicy. The fragrance lingering in the small space between you both. You inhaled another breath without even thinking, letting his scent settle within you.
You should’ve been repulsed by it.
You should’ve pushed him away, made some stupid comment about how he drenches himself in perfume, anything to restore that normal distance between the two of you. Instead, you found yourself standing perfectly still, almost leaning back to settle against his chest.
You caught yourself immediately. What the hell was wrong with you?
The speakers crackled, forcing both of you to wait as John muttered under his breath and kicked the side of the speakers. “Stupid thing.”
The interruption left you standing there, Michael still behind you, neither of you quite sure what to do with the silence.
Your head turned toward Michael, craning your neck just enough to look up at him. “Thankyou.”
Michael’s brow lifted. “For?”
You hesitated. “Before.”
Recognition flickered across his face, followed by a soft, embarrassed laugh. “Oh…Yeah no problem.” Michael’s eyes nervously flicked between your eyes and just above you. “You didn’t actually have to say it” he added “I was joking.”
“I know.” You retorted, your familiar tone coming back. “I felt nice.” You turned back to look in the mirror, feeling a foreign heat on your cheeks. “Don’t get used to it though.”
Michael looked away, a grin growing on his face. “Didn’t plan on it.”
By the time rehearsal had finally ended, the sun had completely descended from the sky, the only light in the sky coming from the soft glimmering moon.
The night air was cool, the breeze nipping your skin. Standing on the pavement you pulled your jacket tighter around your frame. Your eyes darted over the carpark, a frown settling on your face.
The carpark was empty aside from one sleek black car that hid in the shadows.
You looked down at your watch. 11:15pm.
“For fuck sake.” You muttered under your breath, limping further into the carpark desperately looking for your driver. However, your search was fruitless.
The studio doors opened behind you, you didn’t have to look around to figure out who it was.
“You’re still here?”
You glanced over your shoulder to see Michael stepping outside, a large winter-coat draped loosely over his shoulders. “Obviously.”
Michael ignored your sarcasm and scanned the car park. “Where’s your car?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you go figure that out Einstein.” You looked like a child throwing a tantrum, arms crossed angrily, bottom lip jutted out in a pout.
Michael just shook his head at you, a tiny grin appearing on his face. “Are you done?”
“My driver left.” You spoke.
Michael’s eyes widened slightly, taking another look at the carpark. “Well, my drivers still here.”
“Don’t have to rub it in.” You scowled at him.
Michael rolled his eyes, stepping closer to you. “I mean he can take you home, we’re going to the same place anyway.”
Your head snapped towards him, confusion evident in your features. “What? No. I’ll be fine.” The absurdity struck you. For years, the two of you had refused to be in the same space as the other, and now he was casually offering to drive you home, as if you were friends.
“But you’re still limping.” Michael said looking at your ankle.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“You’re most definitely not.”
“Are you always this observant?”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
You stared at him for moment, the corners of your mouth lifting into a grin. “Fine.” You muttered. “Only cause I’m tired…and it’s cold.”
Michael hummed, “Sure.”
“This doesn’t mean I like you now.” Your eyes squinted, giving him a playful look.
He just laughed in response. “I didn’t think so.”
You slowly walked to the car, limping slightly as your tired muscles ached with every step. Michael watched you carefully out of his peripheral, unable to not worry over you.
He opened the door for you, letting you slide into the warm leather seats before settling next to you.
For the first few minutes neither of you spoke. The city moved quietly beyond the tinted windows. You rested your head against the glass, watching the familiar streets blur into darkness.
Michael sat beside you, one hand resting against the middle seat, while he gazed out the opposite window.
“This is weird.” You mumbled quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.
Michael’s head perked up, gazing over at you. “What is?”
“You driving me home.”
Michael’s expression remained blank. “I’m not driving.”
You stared at him for a second, before you scoffed out a laugh. “You’re such a smartass.”
It was strange seeing Michael like this, wrapped in a large coat, his sunglasses resting on the top of his head, pushing his loose curls up so you could see his long lashes flutter, fighting the urge to finally rest his eyes.
“You tired?” You asked him quietly, the hum of the car engine playing quietly behind you.
Michael nodded. “Mhm…you?”
“Yeah.” You whispered out. “Y’know something?”
Michael’s tired eyes flicked back to you expectingly. “What?”
“You’re less annoying when you’re tired.”
Michael’s head fully turned towards you, one eyebrow lifting as he quietly laughed. Something about that smug little smile that tugged at his mouth made your stomach flip.
“Oh, how sweet.” Michael said sarcastically, sinking further into his seat.
You rolled your eyes, trying to act annoyed but the small smile on your lips betrayed you “Don’t get used to it.”
“I could.”
You choked slightly, eyes widening at his sly response. “Well…don’t.”
His smile lingered as he kept his gaze focused on your burning cheeks “Hm? I’ll try.”
Your eyes darted away from his stare, shaking your head as you turned to look out the windows again. “I take it back. You’re just as annoying.”
Wednesday – Five Days Until Grammy Night
The strange ease the settled between you and Michael in the car ride had seemed to follow you back into the studio.
Neither of you acknowledged it. There were no teasing mentions or conversations about the peaceful drive home. But something had shifted. Michael didn’t seem quite as guarded around you. Instead of your touches hovering as you danced, you both confidently rested against each other, flowing into movements as if they were second nature.
By lunchtime, John had disappeared, skipping out of the room with a wide grin on his face finally rejoicing that two weren’t at each other’s throats any longer.
You sat against the wall, legs stretched in front of you taking large sips of water to soothe your throat. Michael sat beside you, reading through the schedule of performance night.
Michael looked at you, biting his lip nervously. He couldn’t deny his liking towards you but he just couldn’t let his song go. If he could just speak up and finally ask his mind would finally calm.
It was itching within him, the urge to finally come clean, to explain why after all these years he’s treated you so rudely. The past couple weeks, a growing sense of guilt was gnawing in him.
He had seen a side of you that he never realised was there. He thought you were a hungry artist, willing to do anything to get to the top. He had now realised that beneath your tough persona was a woman who was just fighting against the same industry he’d been battling his whole life.
“Can I ask you something?” He asked softly.
You glanced over at him, putting your water bottle down. “Depends.”
“On what?” Michael chuckled.
“Whether it’s annoying.”
Michael grinned, shaking his head. “It’s not. Promise.”
“Hmmm fine. Ask away.”
Michael hesitated for a moment, his stomach twisting in anxiety. “Y’know your song…sunset driver.”
“Yeah? What about it.” You laughed. It seemed like a stupid question to you. Of course you knew it. It was your biggest selling record.
“When did you write it?”
You hummed for a moment. “Uh...I don’t know. Probably ’81?”
Michael’s brows furrowed for a moment. His hands clasped tighter onto the notes. How could you have written it…when they were his lyrics.
“And you wrote all of it?”
“No. My producers helped me. I wrote some parts of it though.”
“What about the melody?”
“I don’t know? Probably, it was like seven years ago.”
“You wrote the melody?” He asked again, his words coming out sharper.
“Michael.” Your voice mirrored his tone. “Why are you asking me this?”
“I’m curious.”
“You’re a bad liar.” You scoffed at him.
Michael shook his head. “I’m not lying.”
“Yeah sure.”
He let out a shaky breath. This wasn’t going how he wanted it to go. “I…I just remembered something.”
You let out a frustrated sigh. “You said this wouldn’t be annoying.”
“Just- Just let me finish.” He placed the notes down, turning to face you directly. “Do you remember hearing anything before you wrote it.”
“Like what.”
“A demo.”
Your brows pinched together, slowly you sat up straighter. “A demo?”
“My demo.” Michael was convinced he was going to throw up from the anxiety coursing through his veins.
“Your demo?” You let out shocked scoff. “What does that have to do with my song?”
Michael swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. He could see the aggravation bubble in you, the way your brows furrowed, and you bit on the inside of your cheek.
“I had recorded a demo…and um.”
“And what Michael?” Your head cocked to the side, glaring at him.
“It sounded the same.”
Michael expected you to shout at him, tell him he was being stupid, or to just shut up. Instead, a loud laugh left you. But when he looked up to meet your angry stare he knew you weren’t amused.
“Are you serious?”
“When I first heard it…I knew that-”
You cut him off angrily. “You knew what?”
“That it was my song.”
You looked around the room, as if you were searching for someone else to see his audacity. “I don’t know what you think happened. But I never heard your demo.”
“Are you sure?”
Him second guessing you made your eye twitch, a bubbling sense of…betrayal overcoming you.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You’ve truly never heard it?” Michael didn’t believe you. Your song had almost the exact same lyrics and melody as his. He figured you just didn’t want to admit to him that you had actually taken it.
“No.” Your answers were quick, becoming increasingly sick of this conversation.
“But the melody…”
“Stop.” You said firmly, putting your hand in his face.
In a moment that was completely out of character he grabbed your hand, moving it out of way. “I’m asking you a question.” He said firmly
“I gave you an answer.” You spat at him, ripping your hand out of his grip. “You’re asking if I stole your song.”
“I didn’t say you stole it.” He rebutted.
“You implied it.”
Michael let out a frustrated groan. “I just want to know what happened, and you’re refusing to give me anything.”
“I don’t owe you anything.” You hissed at him. “You want me to tell you I stole it don’t you?”
“No. I just want to know how you got my demo.”
“I never got your demo!” You jumped up from the floor, unable to sit by him any longer.
Michael followed you quickly. He could feel his heartbeat thumping in his throat, every breath coming heavier as the frustration he’d been holding inside started to boil over. “Then explain it to me.”
“Explain what?”
“How we wrote the exact same song.”
“I don’t know!”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes?” You scoffed at him. “What do you want me to say? That I broke into your house and stole your cassette? That I built my entire career off something you made?”
“No, that’s absurd.” Michael groaned. “But I heard it, with my own ears. Sunset driver is my song.”
“Is this some sort of sick way to take credit for my songs?” You were seething, chest rising rapidly as you refused to break eye-contact with Michael.
“What? No!” Michael threw his hands up, taken back by your accusation.
“Then why are you so adamant that you made the song!”
“Because I did!” Michael shouted.
He’d never raised his voice at you, even when you were on his last nerve, he’d always stayed quiet, ignoring your antics and continuing on with rehearsal.
He saw the way you moved away from him, backing away from him as your lips quivered.
You stayed silent, suddenly looking down, head dropping and looking at the wooden floors. He could hear your heavy breathing, the sound of your fingernails scratching against each other.
“Is this why you’ve hated me all these years?”
Michael felt his heart drop, his feet heavy, planted onto the floor. Shame came over him in harsh, brutal waves. Hearing you say it like that, made him realise how childish he had been.
He had spent years, ignoring you, giving you the cold shoulder because he was too scared to confront you about one song.
“Yes.” The word tasted sour as it rolled of his tongue.
“You’ve hated me for something you’ve never even asked about?” You spat the words out fast and venomous.
“I- I didn’t know how.” Michael stuttered on his words, unable to compete with the anger radiating off of you.
You scoffed at him in disbelief. “You didn’t know how?”
Michael winced, his face scrunching up in embarrassment. “I was hurt. I thought-”
“You thought I was a thief.”
Hearing you say it so blatantly made it sound so much worse. He shook his head, trying to deny the facts.
“What else was I meant to think?”
You laughed in his face, eyes wide in disbelief. “You could’ve come to me!”
“I know.” Michael said shamefully, hanging his head down, curls falling across his face.
“You could’ve asked me.” you continued. “You could’ve just given me a chance, and we could’ve figured out what happened. and instead you what? Decided I had such a horrible moral compass that I’d use your demo?”
Michael nodded, too embarrassed to give you an answer. But his silence just made you feel worse.
You shook your head, blinking rapidly as tears had begun to gather in the bottom of your eyes. “I spent so long wondering what the fuck I’d done to you.”
Your curse made Michael look up, his eyes immediately noticing your glassy ones.
“I thought maybe I had said something to you, or that you hated that the press kept comparing us. I thought that maybe I had said something to you that I didn’t realise.” Your voice began to tremble. Cracks in your armour had begun to form and you didn’t feel safe letting Michael see them.
“But all this time…you thought I stole from you?”
Michael’s expression softened into something pained, and guilt-ridden. Every time he saw your lips quivered, he felt his heart crack. “I was wrong.”
“So what? That’s what you think of me? That I’m not talented enough to make it on my own?”
The accusation knocked the air out of him. “No! That’s not what I think.”
“Then what do you think Michael?”
“I thought you took something that was mine.”
You let out a scoff. “Yeah. Because I can’t create something myself.”
“That’s not what I said!” Michael groaned out. Everything he was saying was falling on deaf ears.
“No of course! Why would I be capable of standing beside you on my own. I’d got to have taken something from you to get here.”
Michael shook his head, “That’s not fair. You know it’s not.”
“Fair?” Finally, your tears broke, years of resentment finally spilling over. “You have spent years looking at me like I’m some sort of fraud! Like I had cheated my way into the same room of you.”
“I never thought you were a fraud.”
“No. You thought I was a thief.” You let out an unbelieving laugh. “Cause that sounds so much better.”
Michael stayed silent. He had no rebuttal. You were right. He had thought you were a thief, and he was too much of a coward to just ask.
“God I’m so fucking stupid.” Your words came out through clenched teeth. You immediately runed away from him, wiping beneath your eyes with the thumb.
The tears were humiliating enough without him standing there and watching them fall.
Michael stared at you, eyes wide with horror. He’d done this. He had taken the first genuine moments of softness and vulnerability you had shown him in years and crushed them within minutes.
“No, you’re not.” He whispered out taking a cautionary step towards you.
“Don’t”
He continued towards you, just wanting to pull you close to him.
“I said don’t.”
You felt yourself slipping, and you hated it. You hated the tremble in your hands and the burning behind your eyes. Most of all you hated that he could see it.
You rolled your shoulders back, and lifted your head high. You wiped your face roughly, your skin dragging against your palm.
Then you looked at him and all that softness was gone. “I was stupid enough to think you were beginning to like me.” You laughed bitterly. “No…The stupidest part was that I started liking you.”
Michael’s heart sank, his lips parting to say something.
“I actually let myself like you.” Your voice cracked, and you cursed under your breath, furious that you were being so weak. “Fuck me.” You swore, scrubbing at your cheeks again.
“Please just- let me explain.” Michael pleaded, he saw the way you were slipping away from him.
“Explain what? While you were being all sweet with me, touching me, laughing with me. Under all that you thought you were the reason for my success?”
Michael shook his head frantically. Did he think you had taken his demo…yes. But he never once questioned your talent, not once.
“For years you have treated me like I was beneath you, like I didn’t deserve to be in the same room as you.”
“I’m sorry.” He muttered, his voice cracking. “Please- just listen and I can explain it.”
You didn’t want to hear his excuses. You had already made up your mind. Just as he had decided what you were years ago. “You punished me for years. You started this rivalry, you let the media string us together and pick us apart because of something you weren’t sure I had done.” You paused for a moment, catching your breath. “Do you know how insane that sounds?”
Hearing it from another perspective, Michael was finally realising just how stupid he had been. He’d been too shy and too immature to just have a conversation. And in return he had deeply hurt you.
You. This beautiful woman who had been kind enough to let him in after all of these years of him pushing you away. This charming, funny, sensitive woman who worked herself to the bone. You. Who was so determined to prove everyone wrong about herself she was willing to push through hatred and injury to show the world what a star she was.
“I know.” Michael whispered out.
“Yeah, because you know everything don’t you?” You seethed, hands clenching into fists. “I should’ve never agreed to this stupid performance.”
“Just stop!” Michael cried out. “Please just listen to me.”
“No! Because I feel like such a fucking idiot!” You shouted at him. “I was sitting in your car last week, and I was laughing with you a-and I was looking at you and thinking. God, I was so wrong about him.” Your voice cracked once again. “And while I was daydreaming about some stupid fantasy, t-that you could actually like me. You were still wondering whether I’d stolen your stupid fucking song!”
“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Michael pleaded.
You just scoffed at him, turning on your heels, heading for your bag. Michael immediately stepped towards you. “Please don’t go.” he pleaded.
“I’m done.” You said defeated, your eyes red and watery. “I’m not doing this.”
“We have five days.”
“Then find someone else.” You hissed at him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the sobs escaping you.
“Please.” Michael grabbed onto one of the straps of your bag, pulling you closer.
“Let go.”
“Please don’t go.”
“Michael. Let go.”
“We worked so hard.” He paused looking at you. “You worked so hard.”
Your jaw tightened. “I know.”
“Then please just- just stay.” Michael’s fingers slipped off your bag. “I can’t do this without you.”
The desperation on his face almost broke you.
Almost.
“You’ll manage.”
The sound of the door slamming rung in Michael’s ears.
You were gone.
Thursday – Four Days Until Grammy Night
For the first time in a month, the studio felt empty. John had brought in a stand-in, but nothing was working. The timing was wrong, the harmonies sounded off. Even the simplest movements had Michael stumbling when you weren’t there beside him.
It wasn’t the stand in’s fault.
She just wasn’t you.
John had given up, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I don’t care what you have to do.” He muttered. “She has to be here tomorrow.”
Michael just gave him a curt nod.
That night he couldn’t sleep. He was stuck thinking about you.
Your tear-stricken face, your heart-breaking confession, the anger that radiated off you.
He just couldn’t get your words out of his head.
I was stupid enough to think you were beginning to like me.
That one sentence was tearing him apart from the inside out. Because he did like you. He was no longer afraid to admit that every morning he woke up, he was excited to see you. That every time you made a quick joke or jab at him, he had to fight the heat the flushed on his cheeks.
His hand was wrapped tightly around the telephone, fingers hovering just above the number pad.
He had to get you back.
He couldn’t do this without you.
The phone rang, his heart pounding with each ring.
Then…“Hello?”
Michael froze, drawing in a sharp breath. Even through the telephone, your voice made his heart race.
“Hi.” He whispered.
There was a beat of silence. “Michael?”
“Yeah…it’s me.” He swallowed when you didn’t respond, breathing slowly, trying to get his words out. “I know you don’t want to talk to me.”
“I don’t.”
Michael ignored the pang in his chest. “I know…I just.” He rubbed his palm on his thigh, trying to gather his thought. “I wanted to call.”
“Why?”
Why wouldn’t he? Because he missed you, because he had spent the entire day looking for you, because he was terrified that he had ruined something he had only just realised he wanted.
“Because I needed to hear your voice.”
“Michael…” You murmured softly, closing your eyes.
“You weren’t there.”
“I said I wasn’t coming back.” You replied quickly.
“I know.” He was quiet, his voice barely audible as he recalled the moment you walked out of that studio. “We tried it with someone else…and it just didn’t work.” He could hear a soft chuckle on the other side of the line. “Everything felt wrong without you.”
“That isn’t my problem.” You said firmly.
“I know.” He whimpered out. “I’m not calling because it didn’t work.”
“Seems like it.”
“I need you.” He paused a fraction too long. “I need you to come back.”
“Michael…” You said, your voice softening.
“Please.” He whimpered. The desperation in his voice silencing you. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. I know you never want to see me again.” You heard his heavy breathing on the phone. “Please come back.”
“Why should I?”
“I can’t do this without you.”
You swallowed, your throat feeling suddenly dry. “You have a stand-in.”
“I don’t want a stand-in.” He replied quickly. “I don’t want someone else. I don’t want another singer. I don’t want another woman standing beside me on that stage.” His voice softened into a desperate plea. “I want you.”
You felt that familiar sting behind your eyes once more. “Michael…”
“I know I don’t have the right. I don’t deserve to even call you right now.”
“You don’t.” But yet, you still kept the line open.
“Yell at me, scream at me, slap me I don’t care. I just need you there with me.” he pleaded, wrapping the telephone cord around his wrist. “Please come back.”
The line stayed quiet, all he could hear was your soft breathing in his ear. “Fine.”
Michael sat up, almost jumping out of his seat. “Really?” He couldn’t believe it, he expected you to yell at him and slam the phone down. “Like actually?”
“Yeah.” You whispered. “I still don’t forgive you.”
“I haven’t earnt it yet.” He nodded. “I will though.”
You let out a small laugh at his determination. “I won’t make it easy.”
“When have you ever?” Michael replied, that familiar banter coming back.
You didn’t respond only giggling softly before sighing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah…see you.” Michael nodded, before he heard the line disconnect. He lowered the receiver slowly, staring at it for a while. His heart pounded with gratitude, he wouldn’t let you slip away again.
Friday – Two Days Until Grammy Night
“Alright.” John announced, dropping himself onto his chair. “We’re doing the spoken intro.”
You looked at Michael, Michael’s head swivelled and turned to John. “No.” he frowned.
“Yes!” John grinned
“I thought we were just doing vocals today.” Michael said with a pout. The room was already tense, he’d spent all his courage calling you last night, he didn’t have anything else left in him to do that damned intro.
It should’ve just been words on a page. Ones he’d written himself. He’d practiced them with you many times over the past month but now it was different.
Now they meant something.
“Yeah, vocals included the intro. Get with the program.” John clicked fiddling with the sound system once more.
“You seem too happy.” You chimed in, squinting at him trying to see what he was planning.
“Because you’re both terrible at this. And it’s funny to see you both fail.” John grinned.
“You’re nasty.” You groaned. “You must be some kind of sadist.”
“A handsome one.” John quipped. “Okay, that’s enough. Both of you sit down before I wither away.”
With a groan you both followed his instructions, sitting on the bench. Michael left a careful few inches between your bodies.
It was a bit ridiculous.
You had been pressed against each other for weeks, His hands had held your waist, yours had travelled from his cheek down to his chest. And somehow, this felt far more intimate.
John handed Michael the microphone. “Be natural, don’t sing it really whisper it.”
Michael looked up at him like he’d asked him to walk on a tightrope blind folded. Looking at his panicked face you couldn’t help but let out a tiny chuckle.
“Hey.” He frowned at you.
“Sorry…sorry.” You laughed again.
“Okay! From the top!” John’s voice boomed through the studio.
The backing track started softly, he sucked in a shaky breath. “I just want to lay next to you for a while. You look so beautiful tonight.” The opening words came softly, describing the desire to have you close.
You’d heard the intro hundreds of times. But this time, Michael wasn’t looking away. He was looking right at you.
Your smug grin slipped off your face. His voice was always beautiful, even in the midst of your hatred you could admit that. But the words sounded different now.
They weren’t towards an imaginary woman.
They were directed at you.
Michael continued. “Your eyes are so lovely. Your mouth is so sweet. A lot of people misunderstand me. That's because they don't know me at all.”
The way he looked at you made your cheeks burn, hot flushes rising up your neck till the tips of your ears burnt.
Those words seemed to hit harder now. Because you had misunderstood him.
You still had lingering anger towards your fight. That hadn’t gone away yet. But the arrogant, cocky man you thought he was a month ago? You were so wrong about him.
His voicer faltered slightly before saying the next line, stumbling on his words. His eyes darted away from you, looking back down to the microphone in his hands.
You heard John’s loud sigh. “Oh for god’s sake!” he whined. “You two are making this so difficult!”
You frowned. “I didn’t even say anything! I’m just sitting here.”
“Exactly! You both look like you’re waiting at the doctors or something.”
You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh, Michael did too. The tension easing slightly.
“Closer.” John clapped his hands together.
Both you and Michael stayed frozen, retaliating against him.
“I’m serious.” He continued. “Scooch.” He gestured impatiently. “You’re singing a love song. So look in love.”
You shifted towards Michael hesitantly, the distance between you both feeling charged. Michael followed until his arm brushed against yours.
The track started again and Michael reached the part he had stuttered on. “I just want to touch you. And hold you.” His voice was steadier this time.
You felt the same heat crawl up your neck again. Then without thinking you placed your hand on the bench between you.
Michael’s hand was already resting there, your fingers brushed against his. Immediately, you both stiffened.
John watched closely, already bracing to have to restart the track.
Michael’s heart almost lurched out his chest, his fingers twitching against yours. He wasn’t sure what came over him, whether it was the way you were staring at him or the intimate words he was whispering.
But he slowly turned his palm upward, a silent invitation. He closed his eyes, waiting for your rejection.
Instead, your hand delicately slipped into his. Instinctively, his large hand curled around yours, fingers squeezing the back of your hand.
For two people who had spent so long hating each other, it was unnerving how natural this felt.
He swallowed nervously, the last line stuck in his throat. They were so simple, and yet they made everything impossible to ignore.
“I need you, God, I need you. I love you so much.”
His eyes stayed fixated on you the entire time, his thumb brushing against your hand. Even as the music faded, he refused to let go.
“Yes! Finally!” John leapt of his seat.
You both blinked at him.
“Weeks! I’ve been trying to get that out of you for weeks!” John span his chair around, clapping. “Apparently, all I had to do was make you sit next to each other.”
You immediately yanked your hand out of Michael’s, placing it in your lap. “Oh my god. Shut up John.”
“Aw now you guys are embarrassed.”
“Am not.” You retorted.
“Sure.” He said smugly, cheesing at the way you glared at him. “Alright. Both of you up. We’re running this from the top.”
Sunday – Grammy Night
Backstage was utter chaos.
People rushed through corridors with headsets, pressed against their ears. Stagehands running past carrying equipment and clipboards, and somewhere beyond the curtains there was the eruption of applause as another award was announced.
You didn’t pay attention to any of it though.
You just needed to find Michael.
Pushing through the tight hallways you found him tucked away in his dressing room. His back was pressed against the wall, his head bowed into his hands.
He had changed into his performance outfit, a simple white t-shirt and blue button up. His hair was messy and his makeup had just been retouched. But despite his pristine appearance, you could tell immediately that something was wrong.
You gently closed the door behind you, walking up to him slowly. “Michael?”
He looked up and saw you. Your heart sank immediately, his eyes were wet. Not enough that any tears had fallen, but you could see the faint ring of red around them.
His jaw was clenched tight, lips pressed together in a tight line as he blinked rapidly forcing the tears back.
“Hey.” You whispered gently. He looked away from you, a shaky hand wiping his eyes.
“I’m fine.” The answer was fast. If he said too much, he was terrified he’d start sobbing.
“You’re not.”
“I said I’m fine.” He shot back out, immediately regretting raising his voice at you.
You didn’t shy away from him though. For once, you were determined to get closer to him.
“Michael.” You said firmly, your hand reaching up to take his hand away from his face. “You’re not. Don’t bother trying to convince me.”
Michael didn’t fight your touch, he let himself melt into your grasp. He opened his mouth to speak but all that escaped was a hiccupped cry. “I- I worked so hard.”
Hearing his voice break, you pulled him in tightly. Hands wrapping around his torso, forcing him against your frame. He instantly held onto you, his head dipping into the curve of your shoulder.
“Oh...Michael.” You whispered, your hands trailing up and down his back.
“Every category. It wasn’t me. I just- I just kept telling myself that it’d be the next one.” His voice cracked again. “And it wasn’t.”
“They’re fools.” You whispered.
Michael’s head lifted up, pulling apart just enough that he could look at you but close enough that he could still feel your skin under his fingertips. “They forced us here. They waved our awards in our face, forcing us to do our performance. Just so they could get their ratings and their publicity.” His voice was getting increasingly strained, frustration finally cracking through the composure he’d been maintaining all night. “And they couldn’t even give me one.”
You didn’t interrupt him, your hand delicately soothing his back as he vented out his frustrations.
“I’ve been rehearsing for weeks.” He continued. “I’m exhausted, I’ve been working until my feet ache and my throat burns and I can’t remember the last time I slept properly all for what?”
You pulled him closer. “You deserved better.” You whispered. “I know how hard you worked for them. I can’t imagine how hard you worked on this album. They’re all idiots for not recognizing it.”
Michael nodded tenderly. “Thankyou.” His hands rested on the small of your back, fingers fidgeting with the sparkly fabric off your dress.
You both stayed in each other’s embrace. Despite the years of hatred, all Michael craved was you. He wanted to stay there forever.
He looked down at you, his gaze moving up and down your dress. “You look beautiful.”
You blinked. His compliment was so unexpected that you let out a muffled stutter. “Shut up.” You grinned, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.
Michael let out a laugh, it was still raw from all the tears he held but it was real. “It’s gonna look real pretty on stage.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
You let out a small laugh, disguised as a scoff. “You’re gonna look good up there too.”
“I hope so.” He grinned. “Nothing compared to you though. Why couldn’t I get sparkles.”
“You’re not as cool as me.”
“Oh? Is that right?”
“Yeah sorry. You always gotta break some hearts.”
The comfortable banter settled between you both like a warm cloud. No matter how horrible this night had turned out to be, you had both found comfort in each other.
A stagehand knocked on the dressing room door. “Michael! You’re on in five!”
Michael let a heavy sigh, his hands falling from your sides. “You ready?”
“Mhm. Are you?”
Michael shrugged. “Yeah. Just…”
“Just what?”
“Thankyou.”
You grinned softly. “C’mon don’t get sappy with me. We have a performance to do.”
“Yeah” Then almost sheepishly, he added. “Wish me luck?”
“You don’t need it.”
Michael stood alone at the centre of stage, chest rising and falling heavily beneath the bright lights that had followed him through the final movements of Man in the Mirror. His hair was messy, stray strands sticking to his sweat ridden forehead as he stared out into the sea of people before him.
The applause was deafening, the thunderous claps vibrated through the walls of the music hall.
He was no longer thinking about the people who had doubted him, the ones who had decided his work was not worthy of recognition. That bitter disappointment that had followed him to the dressing room had not made it to the stage. He had been overcome with the buzzing thrill of performing, his fingers tingling around the microphone in his hand.
The lights slowly shifted, a soft melody playing through the speakers.
The audience’s claps begun to quiet, immediately recognising the opening of I Just Can’t Stop Loving You.
Michael lowered his microphone, eyes immediately searching for you. Then, right on cue the spotlight moved.
There you were the harsh light reflecting against the sparkly fabric of your dress. You looked…magnificent.
The reaction was instantaneous, screams thundered through the crowd, loud enough that you could barely hear the music beneath them.
No one had known you were performing. Not the press, not your colleagues, only your managers who had kept the black-mailed performance a classified piece of information.
For a month this moment had been kept hidden from the public, and now millions across the world were watching you stride the stage towards Michael Jackson.
You’d performed for sold out stadiums, toured the world, spent your whole life singing for whoever could watch. But all that time in the studio hadn’t prepared you for this.
The stage was intimidating, the lights were blinding and the crowd was deafening. But through all the chaos was Michael, one hand reaching out staring right at you like you were the only person in the room.
There was something different in his eyes tonight. No irritation, no suspicion or nervousness. It was hunger.
He was hungry for you.
Your hand slipped into his, giving him a knowing smile as the track was just about to reach his first line.
He gave your hand a small squeeze, moving you closer to him as he spoke into the microphone. That same intro played once again. The one he fought, the one he struggled against.
That same intro spilled from his lips as if you two were alone, hands twined together, faces so close that you could feel his shaky breath brush against the tip of your nose.
I just want to lay next to you for a while
You look so beautiful tonight
Your eyes are so lovely
Your mouth is so sweet
A lot of people misunderstand me
That's because they don't know me at all
I just want to touch you
And hold you
I need you, God, I need you
I love you so much
For the first time, those words weren’t empty. They were charged, they were desperate and they were honest.
As he held you close, the woes of the night had disappeared and all there was.
Was you.
Your voices sung into beautiful harmonies, every movement that once felt ridiculous now seemed natural. His hand on your waist, yours on his cheek. The way you leant into him and the way he anticipated your presence.
Each movement made the touches between you more electrifying, fingers grazing the curve of your spine, yours tracing the line of his jaw.
For weeks you’d both fought against this. Every lingering glance you’d disguised as irritation and every touch you both shared silently, immediately retreating the moment you realised what you were doing.
On the stage, there was nowhere left to hide.
The final verse amplified around you, voice weaving together as Michael pulled you close once again. You knew exactly where he would be. The weeks of fighting somehow making your bodies intuitively connected.
His fingers bunched around the fabric, tips digging into the supple skin under your dress. Your free hand gripped onto his arm, one leg lifting into the air.
Michael let the microphone drop from his mouth, cradling your leg against his hip, the cool metal of the device biting your exposed skin. Your back arched, chest pressing into his.
The final note rung through the room.
You were meant to hold the position until the light dimmed, gazing into his eyes until he could finally set you back down.
But Michael didn’t intend to let go.
His face was so close, noses softly brushing. His eyes gazed deeply into yours, until they flicked down to your lips.
You saw the change in his stare, the minuscule moment as he considered his next move. He should’ve held the position, he should’ve followed the choreography.
Then with the spotlight centred on you, camera’s zooming in on your pose, he pulled you flush against him and kissed you.
The audience erupted, screams of shock booming through the room. The spotlight remained fixed on you both, the world beyond the stage blurring into darkness as white light engulfed you both.
You froze for a moment, hand stiffening as you felt his desperate lips press against yours. Your heart thumped in your throat, eyes slowly closing as you let yourself melt into him.
Instinctively, your hand gripped tightly onto his bicep, pulling him closer. The silent invitation of your tug broke something in him. His hand spread across your back. The irresistible urge to consume you, had begun to consume him.
His lips moved against you with a sudden, urgent passion. His tongue darting out to swipe across your bottom lip, desperate to taste you. His hand pulled your leg tighter around him, snapping your bodies together in a fast needy motion.
Your breath hitched, a quiet mewl leaving you, only to be instantly muffled by the smack of Michael’s wet lips parting against yours, sucking the soft tender flesh back into his mouth.
He kissed you with the desperation of a man who’d been owed. He needed this. He needed you. The way your hand travelled up his shirt, coming up to grasp his shoulder, made a shiver run down his spine.
As the lights had finally dimmed, leaving you both in a shadow of privacy he slowly brought you upwards, still not daring to break contact. His hands remained on you, secure against the your hip.
When you both finally pulled away a lewd string of saliva from your lips connected you to him. Chest’s heaving, each of you desperately trying to catch your breath.
Now that he had tasted you, Michael knew he was ruined.
He was certain he would chase that feeling for the rest of his life. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your breath, the way you melted into his touch. It was addicting.
If you thought he was unbearable before, you weren’t prepared for what came next.
Because now he had just a taste of what it felt like to have you. But he wasn’t satisfied.
He needed to devour you.
Sunday – After the Grammy’s
The door had barely closed before his hands were on you.
Michael’s large palm was pressed flat against the wood beside your head, the other finding the curve of your hip. The hotel room was similar to yours, glazed with soft lamplight and the soft hum of the heater.
Though, you didn’t pay attention too it. You were too busy focusing on the way Michael’s chest rose and fell like he had just ran a marathon, or the way his eyes darted towards your mouth, brown irises tracing the outline of your lips.
His kiss was rabid. No other word for it. His plump lips slanted over yours. Tongue sliding deep, teeth catching your lower lip just enough to make you gasp.
The sound seemed to undo something within him, a low grumble emerging up from his chest as he pressed you harder into the door. Hastily, he slid a thigh between your legs, the heat of your centre bleeding onto his pant leg.
“Michael-” You groaned out in between messy kisses, hands grabbing on his hair.
He didn’t answer, his mouth too busy dragging wet open mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw, slipping down the pulse point of your neck, his tongue licking a slow stripe against the sensitive skin.
You felt him suck in a sharp breath, his nose pressed flat against the curve of your neck. Your lips parted, a soft mewl escaping as you threw your head back, giving him easier access to your supple skin.
The hot soothing laps of his tongue worked down to your collar bone, leaving soft hasty pecks alone the edge of your chest. His mouth worked back up, suckling on the column of your throat, before crashing back against your lips.
Your hands had travelled down his back, knuckles paling as your gripped onto his overshirt.
“Let me see you.” He growled out, raw and broken against your lips. “Fuck- I needa see you baby. Please.”
You’d never seen him beg like this before, standing in front of you heaving, voice laced with desperation. The usual arrogance and cockiness that sat so comfortably in his voice had cracked clean open, revealing underneath something that was trembling, and almost shy. His pleads disguised the way he begged for permission to see all you, not sure how long he could stand there without indulging in every bit of your sweetness.
His hands reached down to the hem of your dress. The fabric rubbed together as he gathered it in his fingers, a slight tremor running through his hand. You felt it, the faint involuntary shake that showed just how bad he needed you.
He was hesitating, unable to continue until you let him. His forehead rested against yours, desperately waiting for you to give him the subtlest of signs to take you right there.
You reached down, hands enclosing over his, dragging them upwards letting the fabric rise, slowly exposing your smooth skin to him. “Please Michael…wanna feel you.”
His grip tightened, pushing himself clad against you, lips roughly meeting yours in a desperate, and almost thankful kiss. “Gonna give it to you.” He groaned. “Give it to you real good.”
You mewled into his mouth as he begun to peel the dress off, stripping you the fabric off as if he was revealing something sacred. He only pulled apart from you to slip the thin dress past your head, throwing it across the room.
Your exposed skin reacted, goosebumps forming along your arms and legs. You were bare in front of him aside from a lacy pair of panties that did very little to cover you. Though Michael wasn’t one to complain.
He stood back for one moment, eyes raking of your body, salivating at the sight of your bare silhouette. You were so beautiful, draped in the warm light, nipples hardening against the gusts of the heater, lips wet and swollen, ready to be devoured.
“Fuck.” Michael whispered, the word barely making it past his throat. “God…you’re beautiful.”
You couldn’t help but bring your arms up, trying to cover yourself from his predatory gaze, his serene whispers making heat pool in your panties.
Michael’s hands moved, grabbing your forearms, slowly peeling them away from your frame. “Don’t” he growled. “I’m tryna look at you.”
“You can see fine.” You teased, eyelashes batting as you shyed away from him. It felt so unnatural for you, to be so exposed to anyone…especially him. And yet, the hot, flaming desire that burned for him deep within you was only growing bigger.
He growled, pulling you away from the door. “You always got something to say don’t you?” He said, turning you so you walked backwards towards the bed.
“You always listen.” You grinned.
“Mhm.” He purred. “Wanna hear you tonight baby.” He pushed you backwards until the back of your knees hit the edge of the California king , your body falling against the soft, cotton sheets.
You gasped as you hit the bed, the breath leaving your lungs as you reacted to the sudden dominance. Michael was above you, one hand planted beside your head as the other stroked the inside of your thigh, fingertips softly grazing the lacy edge of your thong.
He slotted himself between your spread legs, his aching bulge pressing against your clothed pussy. Slowly, he tucked his head down beside your ear, one soft kiss pressing against your lobe. “You gon let me taste you?” You nodded in response, quick and frantic. Teeth sinking into your lip as you stifled back a moan. “Good girl.”
He pushed off the mattress, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. His knees settled against the plush carpet, his head fitted between your thighs, your knees hooked over his shoulders.
“M-Michael.” You gasped out feeling his hot breath against you.
“Hm? What is it?”
“Need you.” You whispered, rolling your hips desperate for friction.
Michael let out a low chuckle. “I’m getting there. You’re so needy.” His fingers hooked around your panties, dragging them off your legs.
There you were, fully exposed to him, your aching pussy right there in front of him. Michael sucked in a fast breath, his dick twitching against the confines of his pants. “Look at you.” He cooed, long fingers sliding along your folds. “So wet for me.”
You bucked against the sudden touch, heat rising up your neck at his words. “Oh my god, shut up-.”
His mouth was on you before you could finish your sentence. You jolted as if you’d been touched by a live wire. Hips bucked up against his mouth. Michael groaned against your pussy, the vibration humming through your clit.
His tongue continued agonizing patterns, dragging up from your opening, until it reached the buzzing bundle of nerves circling around it slowly. His hands hooked onto the insides of your thighs, spreading your legs further apart.
Michael ate like he was starving, tongue licking along your entrance, his lips finding your clit and sucking on it hard enough for you to see colour behind your eyelids. He alternated his technique, soft kisses, sharp flicks, occasionally shoving his tongue so deep inside that his nose brushed up against your clit.
You were a mess, fingers twisted in the sheets as your legs would wrap tightly around his head, only to be pushed back down by his large imposing hands. “Oh- Michael! Y-yes right there.”
He saw how close you were to coming undone on his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you your tight entrance, curling them upwards at the same rhythm as his tongue. The new sensation was driving you over the edge, desperate mewls and guttural moans fleeing your throat. The pressure continued to build and build leaving you desperately crying out for your release.
“ ‘m gonna cum- f-fuck don’t stop..” You cried out, once again wrapping your thighs around his head.
“Go on baby.” He growled out, his hearty voice sending earth shattering vibrations through your pussy.
The tight coil in your core finally snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, thighs tight around his head, back arching off of the mattress. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, a sob tearing out of your throat.
Michael didn’t move from your pussy until the last tremor passed, giving your clit one final tender kiss. He lifted his head from between your legs, his pupils blown wide, his chin slick.
You’d barely caught your breath before you reached for him. Swinging your legs over his head as you crawled towards him, kneeling on the edge of the mattress.
Michael stood in front of you, his zipper threatening to snap at the sheer size of his bulge.
“Let me see you.” You gasped out, one hand coming up to caress his thigh.
“Gotta say please first.” He said, the corners of his mouth curving.
You rolled your eyes at him, hands tugging at his fly. “You’re insufferable.”
“And your gorgeous.” He stated, his words heavy and desperate.
You got his pants open, tugging his pants and boxers down until he sprang free. All you could do was stare. He was big. Thick enough that your hand only just met around him, his tip was dark red and aching, leaking desperately.
Your mouth watered at the sight, slowly licking your lips as you admired the sight before you. “Fucking hell.” You whispered.
“What?” He said with a slight tremor in his voice, worried that he’d disgusted you somehow.
“If I knew you were this big, we would’ve gotten along a lot sooner.” You grinned, swiping his tip along your wet lips.
Michael let out a strangled gasp at the sudden sensation. “You p-play too much.” He whined, hips bucking towards you, desperate to engulf himself in your warm mouth.
You guided him towards you, tongue flat against the underside of his length, pushing him deep into your mouth.
“O-Oh fuck.” He groaned out, one hand entangling itself in your hair.
You hollowed your cheeks as you pulled back slowly, tongue swirling around his tip, teasing his slit before shoving him deep.
Oh, the sounds he made were so angelic, broken and desperate moans that sent volts straight back to your pussy.
“K-keep going…j-just like that baby. Oh fuck- your mouth feels so fucking good. sucking me so fucking good right now baby.”
It was no surprise to you that Michael was vocal, every stroke of your tongue pulled a new sound from his throat. A groan, a curse, a ragged praise that made you clench your thighs straight together.
You let him guide you, the hand in your hair pulling and pushing you on his cock, nose pressed flush against his pelvis before you came back up for air, saliva dripping down your chin, spitting it back onto his tip before going back in as if this was the first time you’d eaten in months.
When your hand braced against his thigh, the other cupping the heavy weight beneath his cock, you felt him twitch in your mouth, a string of curses flying out of his mouth. “F-fuck baby. S-stop I’m gonna-”
He pulled you off his length, his head bowing down to crash back against you in a wet, messy kiss. “Stand up.”
You looked up at him confused, brows furrowing. “Why?”
“Want you to watch.” He took your hand, gently guiding off the bed. He moved behind you, hands tight on your waist as he led you towards the floor length mirror. “Want you to watch when I fuck this pretty pussy.”
“Michael!” You squealed, palms flat against the mirror as your breasts pressed against the cool surface, your own flushed face staring back at you.
“You don’t want that baby?” He crooned, his lips nipping your earlobe.
“I do.”
Michael swept your hair to one side, letting it cascade over your shoulder, pressing gentle kisses along the back of your neck down to the space between your shoulder blades. As his lips worked on your skin, his hands mapped the curves your frame, trailing from your waist to your hips then to rest on your ass.
He was gentle as he positions you, using his knee to spread your legs far enough, tilting your hips until you were left wide open for him. He lined up to your entrance, running his head along your slick folds.
The first press of him made you gasp. He was so thick, your walls having to stretch to accommodate his size. He felt you tense beneath him, leaning down to give you soft kisses on your shoulder. “Breathe for me…just relax.”
You nodded, letting out a long breath as he pressed into you again, this time you clenched around him, head thrown forward. “S-so big.”
“Yeah baby…but you’re taking me so well.” He whispered, tracing soothing circles on your hips. “Almost there mama…being such a good girl f’me.”
You mewled at his words, a soft whine leaving your trembling lips. As he finally bottomed out you choked, you’d never felt so full before, he was so deep inside you, chest pressed against your back as let you adjust to the sheer size of him.
He began to pull out slowly, before pushing back into your pussy with a hard thrust. That was just the start of the brutal pace he set, skin slapping against each other as he held you close, rutting into your pussy.
The sounds of your bodies moving together was vulgar. Wet squelches as his cock pistoned into your sopping cunt. With each deep stroke he dragged against the sensitive spots inside of you, hips rolling in the punishing rhythm. His forehead fell against your shoulder, hands sliding up your front to cup your breasts. His breath was hot against you, punctuated by streams of husky praises leaving his lips. “So so good, so perfect for me- god this pussy was made for me, taking me so well, all mine…all mine.”
That same tight coil snapped once again, leaving you sobbing against the mirror, tears brimming your eyes, pussy clenching tight around his cock, uncontrollable whines escaped you.
Michael followed you soon after, buried deep inside, your name crying out desperately from his lips as he spilled inside you. Hot and thick ropes pouring inside you, so much that you felt his release drip down your thighs as he slowly pulled out. “So good f’me.”
Your legs gave in as he rested against you, his arm wrapping around your torso, easing you off the fogged glass. You were shaking, muscles twitching uncontrollably, still trying to collect yourself from the earth-shattering orgasm he’d just given you.
Michael slowly guided you back to the bed, laying you against the white sheets. “I’ll be right back.” He murmured, leaning down to give you a tender kiss to your temple.
Your head was still spinning, the ceiling swam as you tried to catch your breath. You heard the water running from the bathroom, and then he was back with a warm cloth, gently cleaning your thighs. “You feeling alright?” he asked softly, settling beside you on the bed, pulling the covers up over both of you.
“Yeah.” You huffed out. “I feel good.”
“Didn’t mean to get so…rough on you.” Michael said quietly, his arm draped over your side, his nose brushing against yours.
“I liked it.” You grinned tracing the contours of his stomach under his shirt. You paused for a moment. “I like you.”
Michael grinned, the apples of his cheeks reddening. “I think we’re past that.”
“I suppose.”
You both laid under the fluffy duvet for a while, neither of you feeling the need to fill the silence. Eyes shut, hands lazily moving against each other’s, the warmth of the blankets and the quiet comfort between enveloping you both.
Michael let out a shaky sigh, his hand halting. “I’m sorry.”
You turned your head towards him, eyes fluttering open in confusion. “Stop.” You said, your voice barely a breath. “Whatever you’re sorry about don’t be.”
“No.” He shook his head, hand squeezing the plush of your hip. “No, I’m sorry…I should’ve treated you better all these years. A-All that time I spent…being childish over something I could’ve just asked about.”
“Yeah, well I haven’t exactly been a saint either.” You chuckled, pushing a curl behind his ear. “And you were right.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“The demo.” You murmured. “The producers I was working with…they reworked it before giving it to me. Saying it was something they made just for me. I had my lawyers look into it after you asked me about it.”
“Oh.” Michael whispered softly, his head reeling. All this time it wasn’t even your fault, and yet he treated you like you’d taken his song yourself.
“Yeah so…I guess I kinda did need you.” You looked down past his eyes.
Michael gasped, shaking his head frantically. “No.” He caught the hand that was caressing his cheek, squeezing it tightly. “You’re brilliant, you always have been.” He brought his lips to your forehead.
“Thankyou.”
“I could’ve had you for longer.” Michael murmured into your hair, the words quiet, but rough on the edges. “And I wasted all that time being a damn idiot.”
“You’re still an idiot.”
“Yeah yeah.” He grinned, huffing a laugh out.
You tucked yourself into his embrace, head resting against his chest, breathing him in. His hand continued to move up and down your spine, slow and steady as if he was memorizing your body with just his touch.
“I’m yours now.”
a/n: if i got here thankyou so so so soooo much for reading, im sorry if it was a bit long i def got carried, i also tried my hand at smut again (my second time #stillnervous). (if u have any reqs plz send mwahhh)
Content:18+ Invincible/Mature/Blood on the dance floor Michael x WifeReader, oralFemRecieving, p in v sex , unprotected, creampie, domMichael, brattysubReader, fingering, edging, reader is 28, pussy slapping, hella teasing, kinky, FILTHY (Michaels in love with your ass) written with Invincible Era Michael in mind but can be read as any of his older eras listed above!! | use of dashes, my work is not ai.
These two are newly weds on a honeymoon that have sex like animals.
Summary: What happens when you and Michael set up a challenge to see who’s louder during sex and the loser has to stay on a call for fifteen minutes and try to be quiet without cumming?
————————————————————————
Three years had flown by since you and Michael first crossed paths, and now, you were officially newlyweds.
Michael loved telling the story of how he knew, from the very first second, that you were the one. He’d been on set directing one of his films when you walked in. You were stunning—nails always freshly manicured, hair styled to perfection, and a fashion sense that quite literally made his knees weak.
For you, the exact moment you fell for him was when you realized he wasn't intimidated by your personality. Where other people ran from your sharp attitude, Michael just grinned and leaned in closer.
"You think you're tough, don't you?" he’d laugh, pulling you in by the waist. "It’s not gonna work on me, sweetheart."
Now, you two were riding the high of a dream honeymoon. Finding time off was a rare luxury for a man as busy as Michael, but for this, he had set the world on pause just for you.
The soft, steady rhythm of the ocean waves echoed through the open balcony door, filling the cool air of your luxury suite. You quietly rolled out of the plush bed, sliding your arms into a soft silk robe. Tying the belt around your waist, you walked over to the window and pressed your hands lightly against the glass, taking in the breathtaking view of the beach.
“Hmmm…” Michael hummed softly from the bed, his eyes tracing your figure outlined by the bright morning light in the window. “Looks like someone is enjoying her very first morning beach view here.”
He swung his legs out of bed and walked over to you. Sliding his warm arms around your waist, he pulled you back against his chest, pressing a trail of gentle kisses along your cheek and down the curve of your neck.
“Oh, baby,” you murmured, turning around in his arms to face him. You cupped his cheeks, practically bouncing on your toes with excitement. “This is absolute perfection! I love, love this so much!”
Michael let out a dramatic, playful cough, raising an eyebrow at you. “Ahem. And what about me? Do you love me?”
“Of course I love you, silly,” you giggled. You flicked the side of his jaw playfully before wrapping your arms tight around his neck, leaning in to aggressively pepper his whole face with soft, fast kisses.
“Alright, alright! I get it, I get it!” he laughed, squirming under your affection.
His warm hands smoothed down to your waist as he turned you back around to face the ocean. “You know, normally I’d call you a spoiled brat... but this, my sweet angel? This is exactly what you deserve.”
Before you could even reply, his hand slid down from your waist, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and giving it a sharp, teasing smack that echoed in the room.
“Gosh, Mikey!” you gasped, biting your lip as a flush hit your cheeks, playfully swatting his shoulder.
Michael just grinned, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as his arms wrapped snuggly around your waist again.
"What? Can’t a guy appreciate his wife?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Besides, you were taking way too long to pay attention to me."
You turned your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder and crossing your arms over your chest with a dramatic sigh. "Well, excuse me, Mr. Impatient. The ocean was putting on a show.
Michael laughed, as he pulled you back against his chest. "Oh, is that how it is? You'd rather look at some water than your handsome new husband?"
"Maybe," you said, rolling your eyes with a smirking tilt of your chin. "You're going to have to do a lot better than a beach view if you want all my attention today."
"You really are a handful," Michael chuckled, shaking his head as he nuzzled into your neck. "Good thing I like a challenge."
You tilted your head back, letting out a soft sigh as his lips brushed your skin, but you kept your smug little smirk intact. "Good. Because I expect breakfast in bed—on the balcony—and you're ordering everything on the menu."
"Yes, my sweet little menace," Michael whispered against your ear, his hands smoothing down your waist. "Anything else your royal highness requires?"
You turned in his arms, resting your hands lightly on his chest and looking up at him. "I'll let you know when I think of it."
Michael didn’t just order breakfast; he ordered practically the entire menu. Pancakes, fresh tropical fruit, pastries, eggs —if it was on the page, he wanted you to taste it. You sat on the balcony like a little queen, taking tiny bites of everything while he watched you with a foolish, head over heels grin, utterly charmed by your bratty antics.
After breakfast, the two of you slipped out to explore the resort. Hand in hand, you wandered the private grounds, laughing as a small army of discreet resort security kept a watchful distance to ensure Michael’s privacy.
When you finally made your way down to the secluded stretch of beach, you claimed a pair of lounge chairs right near the water. You kicked off your sandals, feeling the soft, warm sand between your toes before laying face-down on your towel to catch some sun. Your sun-lotioned skin glisten under the bright sky, and the high-cut bikini bottom riding up your cheeks didn’t make it easy for Michael to contain himself.
He stretched out on the towel right next to you, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles down the back of your neck. His touch trailed down your spine, dipping lower and lower until his palm cupped your bare ass, squeezing the soft skin before landing a light, playful smack.
"Michael, you're getting sand all over my butt!" you whined playfully, kicking a little bit of sand back toward his towel.
Michael wasn't bothered by your protests at all. He just laid there, biting his lower lip, his gaze heavy as he took you in.
"Sorry, Angel," he purred, his palm smoothing over the warm skin in a half-hearted attempt to brush off the sand—and apologize at the same time. "You just look too good. I can't help it."
Seeing the effect you had on him sparked a cheeky idea in your head. You loved watching him get all worked up, seeing that cool, composed mask crack just for you. So, for the rest of the afternoon, you made it your personal mission to push his buttons.
As you strolled toward the resort's private cabana bar, you suddenly gasped and stopped in your tracks. "Oh, oops!" you giggled, letting your designer sunglasses slip from your hand. Instead of squatting down properly, you bent straight over at the waist, arching your back just enough to guarantee your tiny bikini bottoms completely disappeared between your cheeks. Behind you, Michael froze in his tracks. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched as his length instantly hardened, pressing visibly against his pants.
Later, while cooling off in the quiet resort pool, you swam up to the shallow ledge where Michael was leaning back with a cold drink. You rested your arms on his thighs under the water, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. With a innocent smile, you slowly slid your foot up his calf, tracing the inside of his leg under the water until your toes brushed right against his growing hardness. Michael nearly dropped his glass, as he swallowed hard. "You're playing a dangerous game, girl," he rasped, but you just giggled and swam away before he could catch you.
When a waiter brought over fresh coconut drinks, you made sure Michael was watching. You wrapped your lips around the straw, taking a slow, exaggerated sip while locking eyes with him, your tongue flicking out to catch a drop on your lower lip. Michael’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. He dragged a hand down his face, letting out a low, frustrated groan. "Stop that," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with warning.
By the time the sun began to set Michael had reached his absolute limit. Every sway of your hips, every little glance, every bold stunt had been building a fire inside him all day.
The second the door to your luxury suite clicked shut behind you, leaving the two of you completely alone, Michael dropped all pretense of patience.
Before you could even kick off your sandals, his hands were on your waist, spinning you around and pressing your back firmly against the door.
"Alright," Michael growled, his voice deep, raspy, and dangerously quiet. His eyes burned into yours, his hands gripping your hips with possessive force as he pressed his hard length flush against your stomach. "You’ve been a little menace all day long, haven't you?"
You bit your lip, a bratty smirk tugging at your mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mikey—"
"Don't 'Mikey' me," he interrupted, a wicked, breathtaking grin breaking through his stern expression, though his eyes remained fiercely intense. "You knew exactly what you were doing. Dropping your glasses, touching me under the water... you thought it was funny getting me all worked up, huh?"
He leaned in, his lips hovering an inch from yours, his hot breath fanning across your cheeks.
"Well, congratulations, sweetheart," he whispered against your mouth, his hands sliding down to firmly grip your ass, lifting you up against him. "You got what you wanted. Now let's see if you can handle what comes next."
“I can definitely handle it, Mikey,” you said, deliberately emphasizing the nickname just to playfully get under his skin. “You’re the one who’s always super loud when we have sex.”
To push his buttons even further, you reached down and slowly rubbed his hardness right through his pants. He was just so unbelievably sexy when he got frustrated, and you loved every second of it.
“Oh, really? I’m the loud one?” Michael asked, raising a eyebrow as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who has to bite my shoulder just to suppress your moans. In fact, I still have the teeth marks right here from our wedding night.”
He rubbed his collarbone with a chuckle before reaching up, his long fingers gently catching your chin to lift your face toward his. You stubbornly tried to turn your head away, refusing to make it easy for him to take complete control, but Michael gently guided your face right back to meet his gaze. You were always a little stubborn whenever he tried to assert his dominance, but you both knew deep down that you secretly craved it—and Michael was well aware of his effect on you.
“Well, since you think you know everything, let’s see who’s actually the loudest tonight,” you challenged, suddenly wrapping your hands around his jaw to hold his face still, attempting—without much real effort—to take the lead.
“Ha! Okay, okay. So you really wanna play games today, huh, Angel?” Michael laughed softly, placing his warm hands right over yours. The gesture made you grip his cheeks a little tighter, leaning into the battle for control. “Fine. Then the loser has to make a phone call and try to stay silent... and they have to try not to cum.”
You swallowed hard, a sudden wave of heat washing over you at the stakes he just set. “Okay... deal.”
Michael didn’t waste another second. He immediately closed the distance between you, crashing his lips onto yours in a hot, breathless kiss that instantly wiped every smart comment right out of your head.
His tongue slid past your lips, deep and possessive, tasting the sweet tropical drink lingering on your breath. You let out a muffled gasp into his mouth, your fingers tangling into his hair as he pressed you firmly against the heavy wood of the door. The sheer weight and heat of his body crushed against yours made your knees feel weak, but you fought to keep your ground, kissing him back with every bit of feisty energy you had left.
When he finally pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected your lips, and his eyes burned with a hungry intensity that made your heart jump. "Who are you calling first, sweetheart?" Michael rasped out, his hands sliding under the hem of your bikini bottoms trailing up your thighs and making your skin break out in goosebumps. "Because I am more than ready to watch you break."
"In your dreams, Michael," you panted, your voice trembling just a little despite your best efforts to sound cocky. You reached down, your fingers fumbling slightly with his belt buckle before yanking it loose. "I'm not losing to you. Not tonight."
Michael let out a low, husky laugh that vibrated against your chest. "We'll see about that," he whispered, his warm lips brushing against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. His hands gripped your waist tight, lifting you clean off your feet so you had to wrap your legs securely around his hips. "Let's see how long that stubborn mouth of yours stays quiet."
He gently placed you onto the king-sized bed, his body hovering over yours as his lips trailed down your neck to your chest. Slowly, he moved your bikini top aside, exposing your bare breasts. Michael leaned down, taking your sensitive nipple into his warm mouth, licking it slowly before flicking it fast with his tongue. At the same time, his fingers pinched and teased the other side, sending a sharp wave of pleasure straight down your spine.
An instinctive, breathy moan escaped your lips, but you suddenly remembered the stakes of the challenge and bit your lip hard, forcing yourself to quiet down.
“What was that, Angel, hmm?” Michael hummed low against your skin, his hot breath fanning across your chest as he openly teased you for making even the slightest noise.
“S-shut up... it was nothing,” you stammered out, your face flushing as you fought for control.
Determined not to let him win so easily, you reached out and pulled him into a fiery kiss, sliding your hands straight down into his underwear. The second your palms cupped his bare, throbbing shaft, you began stroking him with a fast rhythm. Small, gravelly groans instantly slipped past his lips into your mouth. Your touch was pure magic against him, and you could feel his body tense up as he tried his absolute hardest to keep his own pleasure under wraps. Smiling against his lips, you tightened your grip and gave the tip of his shaft a firm, deliberate squeeze.
“Mmm, you feeling good, Mikey?” you purred against his cheek, eager to turn the tables on him.
Michael didn’t answer with words. Instead, his eyes flashed with a competitive fire. He abruptly pulled his hand away from your chest, his long fingers hooking around the thin strap of your bikini bottom to drag it to the side. Without a second of warning, he pushed his middle finger deep inside you, making you let out a loud, sudden gasp.
He didn't give you a single second to catch your breath, pumping his finger deep and steady into your slick heat. As he worked you open, he leaned in and reclaimed your mouth, kissing you in a sloppy and desperate. Every time a fresh wave of pleasure threatened to drag a loud moan from your throat, you were forced to swallow it right down his mouth, the muffled sounds lost in the wild heat between you both.
His fingers picked up a relentless pace, working you so deeply that your toes curled into the soft bedsheets. You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands desperately tightening around his shaft, pumping him back just as hard to force a surrender out of him. The friction was maddening. Every deep slide of his fingers made your hips helplessly arch off the mattress, while every firm stroke of your hand had him breathing heavy and jagged against your neck.
Michael pulled his lips away just an inch, his forehead resting against yours as he panted, his chest heaving. "Look at you," he rasped out, a dark, wicked smirk pulling at his lips even as a low grunt escaped him from your tight grip on his shaft. "Trying so hard to be quiet... but you're shaking, baby."
"You're... you're literally about to break, baby," you wheezed out, your voice trembling as you squeezed his tip again, feeling him pulse violently in your hand. "I can feel how hard your dick is throbbing."
"Is that a challenge?" Michael growled softly.
Before you could answer, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you aching and empty for a brief second—only for him to strip his pants off completely in one fluid motion. He spread your legs wide open, giving himself a quick, slick stroke before slowly pushing his way into your tight heat. A shared shudder ran through both of your bodies at the intense feeling.
He started off with agonizingly slow, deep strokes—the exact kind he knew were guaranteed to wring noises out of you. He was expertly hitting that sweet spot inside you with every single slide, and despite your best efforts, a breathless moan slipped out.
"S-shit, Michael... you know exactly what you're doing," you whimpered, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist to pull him as close as humanly possible.
Michael let out a raspy, chuckle against your throat, his hips keeping up that steady, intoxicating pace. "Oh, so we're cursing now? I thought you were supposed to be keeping quiet."
He was winning, and for a few blissful seconds, you honestly didn't even care. The feeling of him filling you up so completely, your own slick wetness dripping down your thighs with every deep thrust, was pure magic. But then his arrogant little smirk snapped you right back to reality.
"Oh, fuck you, Michael," you gasped out, your eyebrows furrowing as your teeth pierced your bottom lip.
You couldn't let him win this easily; the brat in you simply wouldn't allow it. Gathering every ounce of strength you had, you suddenly slid out from under his heavy frame and shoved him backward. Michael let out a soft oof as he tumbled back onto the mattress, his head resting against the plush headboard.
"Ahhh, I should’ve known my stubborn Angel was gonna do something like this," Michael chuckled, shaking his head with a lazy, captivated grin.
You didn't answer. Instead, you climbed on top of him, straddling his lap and grabbing his hot shaft to guide him toward your entrance. Rather than taking him all at once, you dragged his blunt tip slowly through your folds, thoroughly teasing him and letting the head of his length grind right against your sensitive clit.
A low, helpless groan immediately broke from Michael's throat. "G-gosh... you're so pretty like this," he panted, his hands twitching against the sheets as he tried not to force you down. "Teasing me like that..."
The cream you released from your heat was dripping all down your hole and coating his shaft, making him throb painfully beneath you. He was practically vibrating with desperation, dying for you to take him whole.
"Girl, stop teasing me," he groaned out, a hungry smirk straining against his self-control. "Slide all the way down on me, mama. You know you want to."
"I-I'll go down when I want to," you trembled, your legs shaking as you hovered over him.
His hard length felt heavenly against your sensitive skin. You wanted nothing more than to slam yourself down onto him, but your fierce desire to win was holding you back. You kept up the slow, maddening tease, but as your strength started to fade, Michael officially reached his absolute limit.
"That's it," he growled.
Without giving you another second to play your games, his large hands shot up, firmly gripping your hips. He yanked you all the way down onto his shaft, burying himself into you. Before you could even process the sudden fullness, he began pumping up into you at a frantic, punishing pace, his thumb reaching around to relentlessly circle your swollen clit.
The sudden, intense friction shattered all your restraint. A loud, echoing moan burst from your chest, ringing out through the entire room as Michael’s breathless laughter filled your ears.
"See? I told you!" Michael laughed breathlessly, his hips snapping up into you with relentless speed. "Look who's screaming now!"
"M-Michael—ah!" you gasped, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders as your head fell back against the headboard. Every hard, upward thrust hit so deep that he completely wiped away any remaining thought of winning the stupid game. The sudden change in pace had your heart leaping into your throat. "You... you cheated!"
"I didn't cheat, baby, I took control," he growled low in his throat, his thumb applying just enough pressure to your swollen clit to send an electric shock of pure pleasure straight down your spine. "You were taking way too long, teasing me like that. And I'm not waiting on my wife when she looks this damn good."
The relentless friction was unbearable in the best way possible. You tried to bite your lower lip to stifle another loud, humiliating moan, desperate to salvage what little pride you had left. But Michael immediately noticed. He reached up with his free hand, his long, warm fingers gently catching your jaw and pulling your bottom lip free from your teeth.
"Uh-uh, don't hide it," he purred, his voice dropping into a raspy, possessive whisper right against your cheek. "Let me hear you. I wanna hear every single sound you've been holding back all day long. I want the whole resort to know who you belong to."
"I hate you," you whimpered out, though your body completely betrayed you. Your hips were already moving in perfect, desperate sync with his, riding him faster and harder as an intense, aching buildup began to peak deep. You were practically begging for it, your hands sliding up to clutch at the back of his neck, tangling in his hair.
Michael let out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated beneath your hands, his dark eyes burning with satisfaction as he watched you completely undo yourself on top of him. "Sure you do, Angel. Keep telling yourself that while you're sitting here milking me dry."
He sat up slightly, wrapping one strong, arm securely around your waist to pull you tight against his chest. His other hand stayed planted firmly between your thighs, keeping up that wicked, torturous rhythm against your clit. The friction of your skin pressing together, slick with heat and sweat, drove you both over the edge. His lips dragged across your jaw line and down over your earlobe, his ragged, heavy breathing fanning hot across your sensitive skin.
"Every single stunt you pulled today".... he grunted out "You were begging for this. You wanted me to break."
"Michael... please," you gasped, throwing your head onto his shoulder as the pleasure turned into a sharp, dizzying crest.
"Now tell me," Michael panted, his hips driving up into you with a power that shook your whole frame. "Who lost the challenge, hmm? Say it for me."
"Me..." you sobbed out softly, completely unraveling beneath his touch as your inner walls began to pulse and clench around his shaft. "I lost... Mikey, please, I can't—"
"Good girl," he whispered proudly against your lips, capturing your mouth in a deep, bruising kiss just as the massive wave of your orgasm crashed over you both.
The sweet, overwhelming shock of your release clamped around him so tightly that Michael let out a ragged, uncontrolled groan into your mouth. His own body shuddered beneath you, his hips driving upward to pour himself into your slick heat. For a few glorious seconds, the entire world narrowed down to the sound of your shared, heavy breathing and the fast, erratic thud of his heart hammering against your chest.
You collapsed against him, burying your hot face into the crook of his neck, completely exhausted. Michael’s arms tightened around your waist, holding you flush against him as he slowly fell back against the headboard, taking you with him.
"God, baby," he panted, his hands gently running up and down your bare back, tracing the smooth curve of your spine. "You almost had me. I swear my heart nearly stopped when you were hovering over me like that."
You let out a weak, muffled laugh against his skin, giving his neck a tiny, playful nip. "I should have won. You literally forced me down."
"Because you were torturing me, you little brat," Michael chuckled softly, his chest rising and falling beneath you. His fingers tangled into your hair, gently massaging your scalp as the wild energy in the room slowly melted into a warm, heavy quiet. "You spent all day driving me out of my mind. " I was a saint for waiting until we got back to the room."
You raised your head slightly, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him through heavy, satisfied eyelids. "So... does that mean I still have to make the phone call?"
Michael looked at you, wicked glint flashing in his eyes as a slow smirk spread across his lips.
"Grab the telephone," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, raspy purr that sent an instant shiver straight down your spine. "Call your best friend and make plans with her on the phone while I eat you out."
Before you could even process what he just said, his broad hand landed a sharp, playful smack against your sensitive inner thigh, making you gasp.
"And you better not cum until the fifteen minutes is up," he added, his thumb smoothing over the warm skin he’d just struck.
Your jaw practically dropped as you stared at him, your heavy eyelids fluttering open in shock. "Michael! Are you out of your mind?! My best friend? She’ll know immediately!"
"Then you better be convincing, Angel," Michael chuckled softly, sliding out from beneath you and shifting down the bed.
He didn't give you a second to argue. His hands slid under your knees, lifting your legs and spreading them wide over his broad shoulders, leaving your sensitive, slick core completely exposed to him. He reached over to the nightstand, picked up the hotel landline phone, and pressed the receiver into your trembling hand.
"Go on," Michael whispered against your inner thigh, his warm breath fanning over your sensitive skin, making your whole body tense up . "Dial. And remember... the clock starts the second she answers."
Swallowing hard, your fingers fumbled with the buttons as you punched in your best friend's number. The line began to ring—once, twice—and right as the call connected, Michael buried his face between your thighs, dragging his warm tongue slowly, deliberately, all the way up your wet folds.
"H-hello?" your best friend answered, her voice loud and clear through the speaker.
You bit down hard on your lower lip, every muscle in your body locking up as Michael’s tongue flattened against your clit, swirling in a slow, agonizingly wet circle. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the heavy plastic phone receiver, trying with everything in you to keep your breathing steady.
"Hey!" you squeaked out, your voice a full octave higher than normal. You quickly cleared your throat, trying to sound casual while Michael let out a low, muffled chuckle against your skin. "Hey, girl! Just... wanted to call and check in."
"Girl, hey!" she replied cheerfully, completely oblivious. "How's the honeymoon? Is Michael being good to you?"
Michael took that exact moment to flick his tongue fast right over your most sensitive spot, before sliding two fingers deep inside your slick heat. A sharp gasp hit the back of your throat. You slammed your eyes shut, your hips instinctually jerking off the mattress, but Michael’s strong hands held your thighs firmly pinned to his shoulders.
"Y-yeah," you managed to strain out, your voice trembling terribly. "He's... ah... he's great. Really good."
"Are you okay? You sound out of breath," your friend asked, her tone shifting to slight confusion.
"Oh! Just... just did a little evening workout," you lied through your teeth, digging your fingernails into the bedsheets. "Anyway! I was thinking... when we get back next week, we should totally get brunch. At that place with the bottomless mimosas?"
Michael set a brutal, rhythmic pace with his fingers, pumping them in and out of you while his lips pulled your swollen clit into his warm mouth, sucking gently. The pleasure was so intense it made your toes curl and tears prick the corners of your eyes. You could feel the climax building at a terrifying speed, threatening to shatter you way before the fifteen minutes were anywhere near up.
"Brunch sounds amazing!" your friend chatted away, blissfully unaware as she began rambling about her schedule. "So Tuesday or Wednesday works for me. Which day were you thinking?"
"T-Tuesday..." you whimpered, placing a hand over your mouth to stifle a loud groan as Michael gave your clit a sharp, teasing nip. You glared down at him through tear-rimmed eyes, but he just looked up at you from between your legs, his dark eyes sparkling with absolute triumph, his tongue flicking relentless heat against you.
"Tuesday it is!" your friend cheered. "Are you sure you're okay? You're breathing super heavy."
"Just... out of shape," you choked out, your whole lower half trembling violently as you fought with every fiber of your being not to cross that edge. "I'll... I'll call you when we land, okay?"
"Okay, love you! Have fun!"
The second the call clicked off, you dropped the telephone onto the bed, letting out a loud, helpless wail of pleasure. "Michael, stop! I can't—"
"Fifteen minutes aren't up yet, sweetheart," Michael purred, his voice thick and raspy as he picked up the pace, relentless and hungry, determined to push you to the absolute limit.
The torment was absolute. Every stroke of his warm tongue sent electricity shooting straight to your brain, making your hips arch uncontrollably off the soft mattress. The pressure in your lower belly built up so fast and so hot that you knew you were only seconds away from completely shattering.
"Michael—please!" you sobbed out, your fingers tangling desperately in the bedsheets as your toes curled. "I'm gonna cum—I'm gonna—"
Just as the peak hit you and your body began to tighten for the initial crash of release, Michael abruptly stopped.
He pulled his mouth completely away and pulled his fingers straight out of your dripping heat.
The sudden, agonizing emptiness made you let out a loud, pathetic whimper. Your body hovered right on the edge of the cliff, aching and completely unfulfilled, desperate for that final push.
"Nope," Michael whispered wickedly, resting his chin on your inner thigh as he looked up at you with heavy, hooded eyes and a teasing smirk. "Not yet, Angel. I told you—you have to wait."
"You are so evil," you gasped out, your voice cracking as you tried to tilt your hips toward him, begging for his touch. "Put your mouth back... please, Mikey, just a little bit—"
"Tsk, tsk," he hummed, catching your hips in his large hands to hold you firmly in place so you couldn't move against him. "Look at how needy my bratty wife gets when she doesn't get her way."
He hovered over your swollen, sensitive core, blowing a soft, cool breath of air right over your slick entrance. The sensation made you shudder violently, a breathless gasp tearing from your throat. He pressed one warm thumb lightly against your clit, giving it just a single, agonizingly slow rub before pulling back again, keeping you trapped right on the agonizing threshold.
"You've got ten more minutes to go," Michael purred, his eyes sparkling with pure delight. "And every time you whine, I'm resetting the clock."
"Michael, that's not fair!" you cried out, your breath catching in your throat as your thighs trembled against his shoulders. The unbearable pulse between your legs was practically screaming for relief.
"Did you just whine?" Michael teased, low chuckle vibrating against your skin. He leaned down, placing a warm, lingering kiss right on the inside of your thigh, just inches away from where you desperately needed him. "That's another minute added to the clock, sweetheart."
"I hate you," you gasped, throwing your arm over your face to hide how flushed and desperate you felt.
"No, you don’t," he purred, his long fingers trailing lightly over your stomach, making every nerve ending in your body flare up. "You love how much I push your buttons."
He hovered over your slick core once more, bringing his mouth agonizingly close without actually touching you. The heat from his breath alone was enough to make your hips twitch involuntarily. Gently, agonizingly slowly, he brought just the tip of his tongue up to skim the very edge of your swollen center—just a tiny, fleeting taste that had you arching off the mattress with a choked-off gasp.
"Michael... please," you whimpered, your fingers reaching down to tangle into his hair, trying to pull his head closer. "Stop torturing me."
"I'm not torturing you, Angel," Michael murmured, looking up at you through his dark lashes, his eyes heavy with raw heat and absolute control. "I'm making sure that when I finally let you cum... it's the absolute best feeling of your life."
He gently pried your hands out of his hair and pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, leaving you completely exposed and at his mercy.
"Now," he whispered, his tongue trailing a slow, agonizing line right up your wet folds, stopping just shy of your clit. "Be a good girl and count down the seconds for me."
"O-one..." you squeaked out, your entire body trembling violently under his firm hold. "Two... thr—oh, god!"
You completely lost count as Michael pressed his warm lips against your slick center, taking your swollen clit into his mouth and applying a gentle, rhythmic suction. The exquisite friction was too much, too sharp, and too sweet. Every nerve ending in your lower half flared like live wire, sending waves of intense, agonizing pleasure straight up your spine.
"Focus, Angel," Michael murmured against your skin, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sent shivers straight to your core. His long fingers slid back inside you, pumping with a firm, deliberate depth that matched the swirl of his tongue. "Count for me."
"F-four... five..." you gasped, tears of sheer pleasure pricking the corners of your eyes. Your hips bucked helplessly off the mattress, seeking the full weight of his mouth, but his broad hand on your hip kept you perfectly anchored. "Michael, I can't... I swear I'm going to snap..."
"You're doing so good, baby," he purred softly, his tone shifting into something sweeter, richer, even as his mouth worked you with merciless precision. "Just a little longer. Keep holding on for me."
You held out through eight, nine, ten excruciating seconds, your breath coming in short, frantic hitches as the pressure in your belly coiled into a tight, explosive knot. You could feel every pulse of your own heart, synchronized with the deep, rhythmic thrusts of his fingers.
When the fifteen minutes finally expired, Michael felt the wild, uncontrollable shivers running through your legs. He pulled his fingers free, sat up in one smooth motion, and gathered you up into his arms, positioning you over his lap before driving himself all the way inside you in one swift, agonizingly deep plunge.
"Now, sweetheart," Michael rasped into your ear, his chest heaving against yours as his hips snapped forward. "Cum for me."
He strokes himself up into you once more at a fast pace, he was so hard he felt his own release coming quickly too as the mixes of each others juices splat all over the sheets.
A shattered, breathless scream tore from your throat as your walls clamped down hard around him. The long-awaited release crashed over you like a tidal wave, blinding and absolute. Stars appear in your closed eyelids as your whole body shook in the grip of an intense orgasm. Michael growled out your name, his own restraint completely breaking as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body jolting as he poured himself into your slick heat, riding out the tail end of his own release alongside yours.
Exhausted, you lay tangled in the soft white sheets, your head resting comfortably on Michael’s bare chest. His broad hand moved in slow, soothing circles across your lower back, his fingers occasionally twirling a strand of your hair. The intense, competitive heat from earlier had completely melted away, replaced by a cozy, heavy warmth.
"You're a monster, you know that?" you mumbled tiredly into his skin, your voice hoarse.
Michael let out a soft, rumbled laugh that vibrated pleasantly against your cheek. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head.
"I'm not a monster, Angel. I'm just a man who knows how to keep his wife entertained," he teased softly, his thumb lightly stroking your hip. "Besides... you were the one who started the challenge."
"And I learned my lesson," you sighed, pulling the plush comforter up over both of your shoulders and nuzzling deeper into his chest. "Next time, we’re having normal sex.”
Michael chuckled, wrapping both arms around you securely, pulling you so close there wasn't an inch of space left between you.
"Deal," he whispered, his warm breath fanning across your forehead as he kissed your eyelids, your nose, and finally your lips in a slow, sweet sequence. "Rest up, sweetheart. I'm right here."
With his steady heartbeat drumming a comforting lullaby beneath your cheek, you closed your eyes, feeling completely warm, loved, and safe in his arms as you both drifted off into a deep, well-deserved sleep.
————————————————————————
Authors Note: This is so freak nasty I’m cryinggggggg, I hope yall enjoy.
Michael being mean! Bad!Michael x bsf!reader (18+ for smut!) reader has expensive taste! 👅
Michael was cuddled up on the couch with you, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other was deep in a bowl of freshly popped popcorn. Horror movies were Michael’s favorite and yours too, so he invited you over for a movie night. Just the two of you, without your boyfriend.
“Hey, angel, come sit in my lap,” he patted his lap. “Let’s get nice and warm, yeah?” He licked his lips as you settled into his lap without hesitation, your round, heart-shaped ass pressing directly onto his growing erection.
Michael was intoxicated by your intense vanilla and cashmere scent, your soft curls falling onto his face, tickling his cheeks.
“Baby, when’s your boyfriend coming over?” He grunted rolling his hips up onto you. A soft moan escaped his lips.
“Oh, he’s coming in twenty minutes cause I need a ride to get back home,” you answered, absentmindedly twirling a curl with your finger.
“Well, ride me then.” Your eyes widened in shock, and something else. But Michael was just your friend, and you already had a boyfriend.
“But Michael what I-“ you protested, but Michael cut you off by a kiss, wrapping his arms around your torso, pulling you flush against him.
“C’mon babygirl, we do this all time,” he brushed a couple of curls out of your face. Then he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “he won’t have to know, angel…”
You gave in, helping him unzip his trousers, throwing them off to the side while he unbuckled his belt, placing it onto the couch beside him. He bunched your dress up to your waist, removing your now wet panties and stuffed them into his Bad jacket pocket.
He rolls hips up onto yours, filling you up all the way, causing a moan to escape your bruised and swollen lips. Your hips twitch involuntarily, walls clenching around his length. A whimper leaves your mouth.
“Michael I can’t,” you whine, despite the roll of your hips, and your dilated pupils.
“Shhhh, stop squirming,” he flips you onto your stomach, laying on top of him, chest pressed into the couch, ass up. “What did I say about squirming?” His palm meets your left cheek. You yelp in pain and pleasure, biting your bottom lip.
“You gonna listen now? You gonna be a good girl?” He teased, striking your right cheek with a stinging slap that surely leaves a red mark. You whimper, nodding.
“Hmmm? That’s not answer,” he tsks, striking again causing you to yelp.
“Yes-yes, I’ll be good Michael,” your clit throbs. Another broken moan leaves your lips as he hauls you back up to straddle him, thrusting upwards into your cunt. Each thrust hits your g-spot instantly, sending sensations throughout your entire body.
Michael chuckled at your whimpering and moaning, teasing you even further by applying a thumb to roll your clit, while the other played with your tits, kneading and punching your nipples playfully.
“Michael I can’t, I can’t, I’m about to-“ you gasp.
“You’re about to cum?” He cooed. “Cum all over my cock then,” he leaned in to whisper in your ear. He sped up the pace of his thrusting and clit stimulation, leaning forwards to latch onto your nipple, sucking and biting softly.
The triple stimulation was too much, causing the coil in your stomach to snap, your orgasm riding in waves as you arched into his touch, walls clenching and unclenching around his length.
“That’s it, good girl,” he praised, thumb brushing against your flushed cheek, the leather of his fingerless gloves rough against your face. “Enjoy the ride?” He smirked, leaning back and resting his arms lazily on the couch head behind him.
“Better than any Porsche or Lamborghini,” you leaned in to kiss his jawline, resting your hands on his shoulders.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ᝰ.ᐟHIStory!ℳichael helps you with your work-he just can’t stop loving you!
────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨
Currently you were bent over the table, ass up, Michael’s cock deep inside of your cunt, and tears of pleasure prickling in your eyes. The laptop on the table in front of you shook violently as you gripped the edges until your knuckles were white.
“Read it,” he snarled against your ear, his golden leotard sticking to your glistening sheen with sweat back. You let out a whine but complied.
“I-I think that I would be per-ahh!-perfect for the job,” you spoke, voice cracking with pleasure as he bottomed out inside of you, deliberately quickening the pace.
“You gonna talk like that when you got your interview?” He teased, striking your ass with his palm. Your clit throbbed with pleasure, a moan escaping your lips.
“Hmmm?” He hummed as you didn’t answer, leaning in to whisper in your ear while continuing the backshots. “I didn’t hear an answer, baby,” he spoke, feigning sweetness.
“I w-won’t,” you gasped as you felt your walls clenching around him with each thrust. He thrusted all of his inches into you, your slick arousal coating his cock.
“Keep reading,” he groaned, head rolling back as the grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh.
“B-but I can’t, I’m so close-!” You gasped, your hips twitching. Michael deliberately slowed his pace, stripping you of your release.
“Read it, I’m not telling you again,” he murmured in your ear. Another whine escaped your bitten and swollen lips.
“O-ok,” you spoke, voice shaky and sore from screaming in pleasure. “P-previous job experience, b-barista,” you continued. “M-Michael please,” you begged.
He shook his head behind you, pressing his lips together to contain a groan as he got closer and closer to the edge, gripping your hips, leaving crescents onto your skin.
Your legs shook, walls sore and raw from overstimulation as he pounded into you, the pace growing like a crescendo. “I’m almost there,” he growled.
“I can’t-I can’t take it!” You cried out as he finally climaxed, the hot seed filling your womb, walls clenching and milking around him.
A shaky breath and praise left Michael’s throat as he collapsed forwards onto you, chest on your slick skin. He stayed inside you, dick still erect and throbbing.
“You’re gonna get that job, baby,” he breathed, still recovering from the aftershocks. “Damn right you will,” he reassured, giving a playful squeeze to your boobs.
A/n: this was kinda short, but long fic coming out probably tonight so bear with me 😮💨
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summary : you and michael aren’t quite ready for your youngest first day of school
you and your husband sat in bed together, reading silently as a way to wind down before calling it a night and heading to sleep
“thoughts about tomorrow” you said, licking your thumb and turning the page of the book you were reading
you and michael had five, yes five, kids together, Prince, Paris, Blanket, Lyric and Quincy with that being said all of the other kids had started school and been in school for a while but tomorrow would be the first day of school for your youngest son …Quincy
Michael signed and put his book down “can i be honest” he said softly, you looked at him and nodded “i’m not ready for him to start school”
you couldn’t help but smile “mike…” “i’m serious,” he said, his voice softening as he leaned his head against your shoulder
“they’re all growing up too fast Prince is in school, Paris is in school, Blanket is in school, Lyric is in school… and now Quincy?”
“i know” you closed your own book and rested it in your lap “i’m not ready either…but think about it this way,” you continued, gently brushing a curl away from his forehead “once quincy starts school, we’ll have a little more time to ourselves”
he thought about it for a second
“just us?”
“just us”
a small smile appeared on his face “yeah… you’re right”
you leaned over and kissed his forehead
Michael was quiet for a few seconds before looking at you again
“can we make another?”
“boy bye”
the next day early that morning the family did the morning routine but this time Michael took the older kid to school while you took Quincy to his pre school since Michael claimed he couldn’t handle it
so, naturally, you ended up taking Quincy yourself thus it was just you and your baby
“how do feel about going to the big school quincy” you looked back at your son in the rearview mirror “i dunno” he said with a shrug
“are you excited? ..are you nervous? ..are you scared?” “hmm scared” “oh why are you scared”
“cause i’m gonna be by myself and you and daddy won’t be with me” the little boy said staring out the window
“aw Quincy, you know mommy and daddy are gonna take turns picking you up and dropping you off every day” “but i wanna be with you and daddy all the time”
you looked in the rearview mirror again and sighed “y’know i sometimes i don’t like leaving you and daddy either, because i know you two get lonely without me and i get lonely”
“so you’re gonna miss me?” “every single day.” “even when i’m at school?” “especially when you’re at school.”
Quincy smiled, finally looking a little less nervous
“okay”
you smiled to yourself as you drove “that’s my baby”
a few hours later, the school day was finally over
michael pulled up to the preschool a little earlier than necessary, mostly because he’d been watching the clock all afternoon. the second he spotted the little students coming out with their teachers, he sat up a little straighter
then he saw Quincy
his little backpack was hanging off one shoulder, and he looked around until his eyes landed on Michael
“daddy!”
Michael immediately smiled and opened his arms, Quincy ran straight toward him, dropping his backpack halfway there. michael caught him and lifted him into his arms, holding him close
he kissed the side of his head “how was your first day at school”
Quincy was quiet for a moment, then he wrapped his arms tighter around Michael’s neck
“i was lonely ” Michael’s smile softened “you were?”
Quincy nodded against his shoulder “i missed you”
Michael rubbed his back gently “i missed you too” “and i missed mommy” “i know, mommy missed you too.”
Quincy pulled back just enough to look at him “she did?” “of course she did” Michael smiled “she’s been waiting by the door all day wondering when her baby was coming home”
Quincy’s little frown disappeared “i wanted you and mommy to pick me up” “well, you’ve got daddy right now” Michael adjusted him comfortably against his hip “and we’re gonna go home and see mommy”
“okay” Michael picked up quincy’s backpack with his free hand “come on, let’s go home to mommy”
Quincy rested his head against his father’s shoulder “daddy?” “yeah?”
“i don’t wanna go tomorrow” Michael paused, trying not to laugh “well…”
he looked down at his son “we’ll talk about that when we get home”
Quincy sighed dramatically, and Michael couldn’t help but smile as they walked toward the car
