imgonnagetyouback
SUMMARY: After a painful breakup caused by the pressure of fame, Michael and Y/N spend months desperately trying to move on while constantly being pulled back into each other’s orbit. As they continue running into one another, it becomes painfully obvious that neither of them ever truly stopped loving the other.
CONTENT: michael jackson x reader. angst. romance. inspired entirely by TTPD (all credits go to taylor swift). mature!michael. listened to imgonnagetyouback, loml and the manuscript while writing this.
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭ .
Nobody knew they used to belong to each other. That was the funny part.
The tabloids knew they’d dated, of course. The tabloids always knew enough to be cruel about it.
But nobody knew.
Nobody knew he used to fall asleep with his face buried in the crook of her neck after exhausting rehearsals.
Nobody knew she still had one of his old button-ups folded carefully in the back of her closet because it still smelled faintly like his cologne if she held it close enough.
Nobody knew he once whispered ‘don’t leave yet’ against her skin at four in the morning like the simple thought of it terrified him.
Nobody knew they hadn’t broken up because the love disappeared.
Quite the opposite, actually.
That had been the problem.
The love stayed. The scrutiny got louder.
And eventually Michael cracked beneath it.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The breakup itself had been devastatingly quiet.
No screaming.
No betrayal.
Just Michael sitting across from her in the dim kitchen of her apartment at three in the morning looking exhausted beyond words.
The city lights glowed weakly through the windows behind him while untouched tea sat cold between them.
Y/N remembered thinking he looked sick.
Not physically, though. Emotionally.
Like the world had been clawing pieces out of him for months.
“They won’t stop,” he whispered again, voice fraying at the edges. “Baby, they won’t stop hurting you.”
Y/N stared at him in disbelief.
“Michael, I don’t care.”
“But I do.”
And there it was.
The terrible heartbreaking truth of loving Michael Jackson: he would bury himself alive if he thought it could protect the people he loved.
Even from things they never asked protection from.
Y/N remembered laughing dryly once after that.
Not because anything was funny.
Because she genuinely couldn’t believe this was happening.
“You’re breaking up with me because people take pictures of us at dinner?”
Michael looked wrecked already.
“It’s more than that.”
“Then what is it?”
He looked down at his shaking hands.
And quietly, like confessing something shameful:
“I can’t breathe anymore.”
That one stayed with her.
Long after he left.
Long after the door clicked shut behind him.
Long after the silence settled into the apartment like another living thing.
And the cruelest part?
Even then, even heartbroken and furious and shaking, Y/N understood him.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Afterward, she unraveled slowly.
In embarrassingly human ways.
The kind of heartbreak nobody wrote songs about correctly.
She stopped sleeping in her own bed because everything smelled like him.
His cologne lingering faintly in her pillows.
His shirts still hanging beside hers.
Ghosts everywhere she looked.
So eventually she ended up curled beside her mother at night instead, exhausted and hollowed out while sitcoms reruns played quietly in the background just to fill the silence.
She only ate kids’ cereal for almost two weeks. Colorful sugary garbage straight out of the box because actual meals felt impossible somehow.
Her friends tried. God, how they tried.
They dragged her outside.
Made her shower.
Sat beside her while she stared blankly at old movies without processing any of the plot.
But grief sat heavy inside her chest anyway.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just constant.
Like a dull ache she couldn’t cut out.
And the worst part?
He was everywhere.
On magazines.
On television.
On the radio.
The world loved him loudly while she missed him quietly.
Sometimes she’d hear Billie Jean playing in grocery stores and abandoned her cart to go cry in the parking lot.
Other nights she replayed every soft thing he’d ever told her like reopening wounds on purpose.
“You’re the love of my life.”
He had said it. Over and over.
In hotel rooms.
Half asleep against her shoulder.
Laughing into kisses.
Like he believed it with his entire soul.
You’re the love of my life.
You’re the love of my life.
You’re the love of my life.
He had said it about a million times.
And somehow that almost hurt more than losing him.
Because how could something that real still end?
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The first time Y/N saw him after the breakup was at a private afterparty in Beverly Hills.
Six months.
Six whole months of trying to pretend she didn’t still orbit him instinctively.
And then suddenly there he was across the room in black silk and diamonds, laughing softly at something Quincy said while photographers hovered nearby like vultures waiting for blood.
Y/N stopped on her tracks immediately.
Because even now, even after everything, her body still recognized him first.
Michael looked up at the exact same moment and froze.
There she was.
Lilac short skirt. The one that fit her like skin.
Michael felt his stomach drop.
Because of course she wore that tonight. Of course.
Y/N watched realization flash across his face instantly and nearly smiled despite herself.
The worst part? He still looked at her exactly the same way.
Like seeing her physically knocked the air out of his lungs.
Like he still remembered what it felt like to kiss her slowly against kitchen counters at midnight.
Like he still woke up reaching toward the empty side of the bed sometimes.
His expression shifted almost immediately afterward though.
Guarded.
That careful Michael Jackson mask sliding back into place.
Y/N loathed that mask.
Because she knew the real him underneath it.
The soft one.
The one who used to kiss the inside of her wrist absentmindedly while talking.
The one who got shy every time she complimented him too sincerely.
The one who ended things sitting across from her looking like he was ripping his own heart out.
Back at the party, Michael tried very hard not to stare. Failed catastrophically.
Because Y/N moved through the room like she belonged in every fantasy he’d spent months trying to bury.
Confident. Beautiful. Still wearing that tiny silver necklace he bought her in London.
He noticed immediately. Because he always did.
And then (because apparently the universe enjoyed humiliating him) she looked directly at him while taking a slow sip of champagne.
Michael almost looked away. ‘Almost’ being the keyword.
Because then she smiled. Not sweetly. Dangerously.
Like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
Quincy noticed instantly from beside Michael and sighed dramatically.
“Oh, man.”
Michael cleared his throat. “What?”
“That woman is going to be the death of you.”
Michael looked down into his drink quietly.
“I know.”
Across the room Y/N laughed at something somebody said, head tipping back slightly, and Michael’s chest ached at the sound.
Because he missed her laugh most.
Missed the way she filled rooms.
Missed how alive everything felt around her.
Missed being looked at like a man instead of a monument.
And worst of all? He knew she still wanted him too.
Y/N had always been impossible for him to read publicly, except with her eyes.
Michael knew every version of her eyes.
Angry.
Sleepy.
Teasing.
In love.
Lustful.
And right now?
Reading the whispers in her eyes? Yeah. She was nowhere near over him.
Later that night, while Michael stood near the balcony pretending to listen to some producer ramble about international distribution, someone approached him quietly.
It was one of Y/N’s closest friends.
Michael immediately straightened his postured awkwardly.
“Oh— hey.”
The friend looked at him for a long moment before sighing softly and pointing softly at him.
“You really broke her heart, you know.”
Michael visibly stilled.
Every sound around him seemed to dull instantly.
“What?”
“She acted okay in public,” She admitted quietly. “But afterward…”
Michael’s stomach twisted violently. He felt sick.
Y/N’s friend looked down into her drink before continuing.
“Afterwards she only ate kids’ cereal.”
Michael’s face fell.
“And she couldn’t sleep unless it was in her mother’s bed.”
Oh. Oh God.
Michael physically looked away after that, jaw tightening hard while guilt crashed into him all over again. Because suddenly he could picture it too clearly.
Y/N curled up miserably beneath childhood blankets.
Mascara smudged.
Not sleeping.
Not eating properly.
Vulnerable.
Heartbroken because of him.
The friend softened slightly seeing the devastation on his face.
“She never hated you, by the way,” She added quietly. “Honestly that was the saddest part for me.” She paused for a moment. “She kept defending you.”
Michael shut his eyes briefly.
“She said she knew you were scared. Said you thought you were protecting her.”
His could feel his chest tightening so much it hurt.
She studied him carefully. “You know what the worst part was?”
Michael couldn’t answer.
“She really thought you were gonna marry her.” That was the final and lethal blow. That one nearly dropped him to his knees.
Because once, before all the pressure and cameras and panic, he had wanted that too.
God, how he wanted.
He’d longed for rings and babies and quiet mornings and forever.
He used to joke about it constantly.
Talking rings and talking cradles like it was inevitable.
Like they had all the time in the world.
The friend walked away quietly after that, leaving Michael alone with the wreckage of himself.
And for the first time since the breakup, Michael let himself admit something fully:
He had not survived losing her nearly as well as he pretended to.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
They collided again three weeks later at a movie premiere.
Then at Madonna’s birthday party.
Then at some stupid industry dinner neither of them actually wanted to attend.
It became almost comical.
Like the universe refused to let them separate completely.
And every single time?
The tension got worse.
Because Michael still looked at her like she was sacred.
And Y/N still looked at him like she wanted to either kiss him senseless or ruin his life completely. Sometimes both.
At one particularly miserable Hollywood party, Y/N found him alone on a balcony overlooking the city.
Michael leaned against the railing quietly, sunglasses hiding his eyes despite it being nighttime.
“Those are ridiculous indoors, you know,” she said softly while stepping beside him.
Michael smiled faintly without looking at her, his chest warming up at the sound of her voice. God, how he missed that voice.
“You used to steal them constantly.”
“You used to let me.”
Silence. The city lights glittered below them like spilled diamonds.
Y/N looked sideways at him carefully and bit her lip at the feeling of her heart skipping a beat.
He still looked beautiful enough to make her furious.
“You look tired,” she whispered.
Michael laughed once under his breath. “I am tired.”
The honesty in his voice hurt her.
For a second neither of them spoke.
“Are you seeing anybody?” She blurted out before she could stop herself.
Michael finally looked at her then.
And the devastated expression on his face answered before words ever could. “No,” He paused. “You?”
Y/N swallowed hard.
“Me neither.”
Something shifted in the air immediately.
Dangerous now. Tender.
The same unbearable pull that always existed between them.
Michael looked away first. Always the coward when it came to this.
“Baby…” he started softly, ducking head.
Y/N’s chest twisted hearing him calling her like that again after months without it.
“No,” she interrupted. “You don’t get to do that.” She shook her head negatively. Anger and frustration were starting to get the best out of her.
“Do what?”
“Talk yourself out of loving me.”
Michael flinched.
Because she knew him too well.
She didn’t say anything else after that. Just turned around and left the balcony immediately.
Sometimes Y/N hated him for leaving.
Other times she understood so deeply it made her sick to her stomach.
Because loving Michael Jackson meant loving somebody the world constantly consumed.
And Michael—sweet, devastated Michael—had convinced himself loving him would eventually destroy her too.
But Y/N never cared about the cameras.
Never cared about the headlines.
She cared about him.
The man who danced around kitchens barefoot at two in the morning.
The man who still got embarrassed when she caught him singing love songs under his breath.
The man who once came over and built a fort her during a thunderstorm because she admitted lightnings scared her.
Small talk, big love.
That was them. Always too much beneath the surface. And maybe that was why she could never fully hate him.
Because even now, every memory still glowed gold around the edges.
Dancing phantoms on the terrace.
Late-night grocery store runs in disguises.
His laugh muffled against her neck.
The way he looked at her like she’d personally hung the moon.
It was legendary.
It was momentary.
And God, it was unnecessary to destroy it the way they did.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The breaking point finally came at another industry party months later.
Y/N arrived feeling already irritated. She had spent the entire week hearing whispers about Michael being linked romantically to some actress.
Rationally? She knew better.
Emotionally? Well, pick your poison.
She spotted him instantly across the crowded room anyway. And of course he spotted her too.
Michael visibly straightened his posture the second she walked in. Then he looked absolutely terrified.
‘Good.’ She thought.
Y/N crossed the room deliberately.
Every step graceful.
Purposeful.
Irritation glistening in her eyes.
Michael watched her approach like a man moments away from either salvation or execution.
She stopped directly in front of him.
“You avoiding me now?” She asked sweetly. Too sweetly.
Michael looked helpless. “No?” It sounded more like a question than an answer.
“Really?” She tilted her head. “Cause you’ve been acting real strange for somebody who used to sleep in my bed.”
Quincy choked on his drink nearby as he pretended to not listen to their conversation.
Michael went bright red instantly. “Y/N—”
“No, seriously.” She stepped closer. “What exactly are we doing here?”
Michael stared at her silently. Because he didn’t know.
All he knew was every room felt wrong without her in it.
Every party felt emptier.
Every song sounded unfinished.
And every time she walked away from him lately, panic curled ugly in his chest.
Y/N softened slightly seeing the conflict in his face.
‘Damn it.’ She thought. She loved him too much. Even now. Even angry. Even heartbroken.
Specially heartbroken.
“You still love me,” she whispered, finally.
Michael closed his eyes briefly.
And that silence? That silence answered everything Y/N needed to know.
When he looked at her again, his voice came out broken. “Always.”
That single word wrecked her entire world in less than a second.
Because Michael Jackson loved with his entire soul once he let himself. And Y/N knew that better than anyone.
She stepped closer again until only inches separated them.
Michael’s breathing had already changed.
She noticed immediately.
“You know what your problem is?” she murmured.
Michael looked dazed and in agony at the same time. “What?”
“You think leaving me changed anything.” Her fingers slid carefully along the lapel of his jacket. “But you were never not mine.”
Michael held his breath.
Y/N tilted her head slightly, studying him beneath the dim hallway lights.
“I haven’t decided yet, you know?” she whispered. “Whether I’m gonna curse you out… or take you back to my house.”
Michael let out the faintest disbelieving laugh, forehead nearly dropping against hers.
“Baby…”
“But,” she continued softly, eyes flicking toward his mouth, “I’m gonna get you back.”
And that.
That finally destroyed whatever self-control Michael still had left.
His hand wrapped gently around her wrist before he pulled her toward him and kissed her like he’d been starving for months.
Desperate.
Immediate.
Like every ounce of restraint collapsed all at once.
Y/N made the softest startled sound against his mouth before kissing him back even harder, hands gripping his jacket tightly while Michael backed her gently against the wall.
There she was.
His girl.
Still tasting like champagne and anger and everything he spent months trying to forget.
Michael kissed like a starving man. Hands shaking slightly where they held her waist. Like he genuinely couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch her again.
Y/N pulled back just enough to breathe.
“I hate you,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice carried with emotion.
Michael laughed once against her lips.
“I know.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“And I love you anyway.”
Michael rested his forehead against hers breathing unevenly.
Because this was the truth they kept running from:
Bygones would never be bygones with them.
They broke all the pieces but still wanted to play the game.
Every single time.
Y/N brushed her thumb carefully beneath his eye.
“You gonna run again?”
Michael looked wrecked by the question.
“No,” he admitted softly.
“You promise?”
He didn’t answer. He just kissed her, slower.
Tender.
Devotional.
Like a vow.
And quietly, against her mouth, Michael whispered:
“Even if it’s handcuffed…” He smiled sadly, eyes shining a little now. “I’m leaving here with you.”
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭ .
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