Chapter Text
Inspired by the song, "Walk Me Home" by P!nk *Contains graphic depictions of sex and gun violence*
Standing there in a suffocating throng of onlookers, you felt as though a giant hand was squeezing you to a pulp under the flashing red and blue lights. Cold sweat dripped down your back: you hated crowds, they made you panic. You elbowed a bystander in front of you, scrambling for a small window through which to view the scene. Through it, you could make out two armed police officers confronting a young man in a dark hoodie. Another nauseating wave of panic churned in your stomach, for you knew this would not end well.
"Show me your driver's license!" barked the officer on the left.
"Why?" asked the hooded figure.
"That's an order, Son!" You could see the young man's body turn rigid with tension. Around you, the crowd was closing in tighter and the world suddenly made no sense to you. Your eyes searched frantically for Michael, the love of your life, but every face you saw was unfamiliar. Cold fingers of fear were closing in on you, closing in on your brain, on your lungs. Two thoughts circled your mind, again and again, pounding against your ears until your head throbbed in a stew of panic: Where's Michael? I'm gonna die! Somewhere in the numbness, the man in the hoodie thrust his hand quickly into his back pocket. Rule number one of police encounters: no sudden moves, you could feel the thought rippling through the crowd. Bam! The sound came out of nowhere. Bam! Somehow, you guessed, all knew what would happen. Bam! But not a soul was prepared. Not to see a man drop to the pavement dead before their very eyes, not to see his blood fill the street. Mass hysteria spread in waves around you as people ran, screaming, every which way, constricting your breath, constricting your sanity. Where's Michael? Your mind raced, I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! Where's Michael? Where's Michael? Michael... And then everything went black as the screams continued around you.
⭐⭐⭐
You came back to yourself just as you heard the light padding of feet. Sitting up, you took in your surroundings; the street was deserted and decidedly silent. Too silent. The footsteps came closer and you could make out Michael's figure just beyond the nearest street light.
The moment he saw you he ran to your side and knelt beside you, helping you to sit up. "(Y/N)," he breathed, "Thank God."
Your eyes dilated at the sight of him, appalled by his clothing, drenched in blood.
"It's not my blood," he hurriedly explained, "I was helping to evacuate some of the bystanders."
"I was so scared," you admitted, beginning to cry, "I couldn't find you. I'm still scared, Michael."
Michael pulled you into a tight embrace, stroking up and down your back and saying, "Me too, Babygirl, Me too." He smelled too strongly of blood, of fire and destruction. Once you had cried for a few minutes, Michael helped you to stand. "Are you going to be alright?" he asked, lifting your chin to look into your fear-stricken eyes.
"Please walk me home," you begged, "I can't be alone right now, not after all this."
Michael obliged, holding your hand protectively in his own as he accompanied you back to your house. Once inside, Michael grabbed a large trash bag from your kitchen, not answering your questioning look until he had led you into your bedroom. "Take everything off," he instructed, "Trust me, after what just happened you'll never want to see those clothes again."
You nodded and began to pull off your shirt. Once both you and Michael had stripped down to your underwear, Michael placed the tarnished clothing in the garbage bag and sealed it shut. Striding to the window, he tossed the bag out into the night air, into the garbage can that he knew you always left open. Your eyes swept over his form, illuminated by the light of the moon, for the first time truly taking in the caramel hue of his skin. His beauty was enough to drive you mad, but you realized now how easily the man in the hoodie could have been him. "M-michael," you stammered, "come back." He obeyed and you threw your arms around him tight, never wanting to let go. His hands clasped together behind your back as you lamented, "The world is such a terrible place, Michael."
"I know it is," Michael replied, "That's why we have to work to make it better."
You gripped him tighter if that was even possible. "That man tonight. What if that was you?"
Michael began to rub circles on your back. "I'm here, (Y/N)," he said, "and I promise I won't leave you." He caressed your cheek lightly as he leaned in to kiss you.
When he pulled away you said, breathlessly, "Show me."
"How?" His eyes bored into your own, deeply, softly, a wordless promise that, whatever came from your mouth next, he would listen. A reassurance that his only wish was to
heal you, the one he held most dear.
With lowered eyes, your response came faint, wobbling, as though your mouth was almost uncertain that the words could be spoken. "I...I-i-i want t-to feel your p-presence. Michael, I..." a breath, "I need you to bed me."
The had came again to your chin, guiding the gaze of your eyes back to Michael's "Look at me now, (Y/N), look at me," he cooed sweetly and sternly, clasping your body to his, wishing with all his heart that no harm had ever come to you, that none ever would, " (Y/N), I can't just...you need to rest, girl."
"I can't rest easy." your tone was accompanied by an air of tiredness, not the kind that was found in the arm or leg-- tiredness of the mind.
"Listen, (Y/N)," Michael explained, "you've been through a lot of trauma tonight, it's too much for you to ever process. It's uncomfortable, I know, God, how I know! But you can't try and solve it quickly like this, it's not good for your health." He took your hands in his, softly brushing his thumbs over your worn knuckles. "I don't think it would be right for me to have sex with you tonight, (Y/N). I'm sorry."
A heavy sigh lifted the brief load of silence. "Michael," you began, "I know you might think that I'm trying to drown my troubles in pleasure, but I'm not. I want you to use intimacy to comfort me."
Michael gave his head a slight shake, glanced down briefly to the womanly organ clothed in only a pair of lace panties. "That beautiful flower of yours can't solve all your problems."
You nodded in agreement. "You're right, it can't," you said, "but it can make them hurt less."
Michael bit at his lip, skeptical. "Would it really help you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Without a doubt?"
"Yes!"
Instantly, Michael scooped you up into his arms and carried you across the room, setting you down gently on the bed. Climbing on top of you, he pulled your underpants down to your knees and lowered his head between your thighs. His tongue delved deep within you, tasting with desperation, as though this moment was all he had.
His lips buzzed delightfully against your folds as you called out, "Auugh, Michael!"
Satisfied, Michael began to crawl up your body, slipping two fingers inside of you to feel your wetness. His lips brushed gracefully against your neck as he pushed down his boxers and you suppressed a gasp as you felt him rub against you. Looking you in the eyes, Michael held still, silently asking for your permission.
"Please," you invited him.
His lips curved into a smile as he lowered his head again, kissing your lips relentlessly as he entered you. You moaned into his mouth, amazed by how he could send you into shock, very different from the one you had experienced earlier that night. You welcomed this shock, grasping it tight and riding it like a wave as it sent all of your systems into overdrive.
Michael's lips trailed along your jaw, settling at your ear as he said, "It's alright, (Y/N), I'm here. I'll always be right here."
You dug your fingers into Michael's back as he moved within you, delighting you with the wickedly pleasureful sensation of skin against skin. You gazed longingly at his hardened nipples, aching to tease them.
Noticing the focus of your eyes, Michael encouraged you, "Go ahead."
Smiling, you let two of your fingers trail around his body all the way to his nipple. As you rubbed in small circles, Michael's whimpers became moans and he began to thrust deeper inside you. You fought to contain a smirk as you took his nipple into your mouth, knowing full well the intense pleasure that it would cause him.
"Oohhhhhhh!" Michael gasped, barely managing to contain a scream. And then you smelled it again: blood. In your mind's eye, you could see it again: Michael's shirt drenched in blood, the street flowing with blood, and the screams, oh, the screams... Instantly, you found yourself once again crying uncontrollably into Michael's chest.
He caressed your sides in an attempt to comfort you, adjusting his thrusts to become slow and deep. As he claimed your lips again, Michael, at last, brushed against your G-spot. "I got you," he promised and stimulated it once again.
The moan escaped your mouth with such force that it almost left your throat torn to bits. Your eyes clenched shut as your chest rose and fell violently as the sea and your brain seemed to leave your head and tour the world.
When your wits returned to you Michael was within an inch of collapsing. "I love you... so much," he gasped out, falling at last onto your chest and beginning to tremble.
Your hands carded feverishly through his curls as you felt the rush of warmth gathering in your abdomen.
Soon Michael's shaking subsided and he began to kiss all over your breasts, all but overwhelmed with love. He slowly began to draw out, but you pulled him back against yourself with haste. "Please stay," you begged.
"Alright," Michael gave in, covering him and yourself in the blanket. He rested his head between your breasts and cradled you close to himself, smiling adoringly as he fell asleep.
A/N: Hey, guys! This is my first time writing imagines and I'm very nervous. How am I doing? If you would like a request, want to chit-chat, want to rant about that stupid documentary, or IF YOU JUST WANT SOMEBODY TO YELL AT, my inbox is always open.
--FangirlMuch