Words:1.6k
Warnings:Just fluffy sex
Three days. It took three days for the comments about you and Michael to finally get to you. Six months of a quiet and intimate relationship that was kept secret between you, him, and his closest friends and family was now plastered all over twitter, instagram, facebook and every other social media site out there. You were happy to announce it and Michael was even happier, sifting through all his favorite pictures of you two to pick the perfect one—and he didn't even pick just one, he picked five different ones to share. But the kickback of hate, the comments flooding your notifications, was enough to bring you back to square one, unsure of being with him in the first place.
'She's just using Michael for fame.'
'wow, michael would pick someone that ugly. he probably felt sorry for her.'
You felt sick going through your mentions, poking at your stomach when someone mentioned the word fat, hands going through your hair when you saw a comment about how unhealthy it looked, chewing on your nails when someone said you weren't good enough for Michael.
It was a lot and it didn't seem to be slowing down like Michael assured it would. You both took a day away from social media on the night that he had shared the pictures and instead watched movies on the couch until you both fell asleep, bellies hurting from the laughter and all the sugar you had consumed. It was like nothing was different. It was still just the two of you in your new and exciting and somewhat secretive relationship.
Eventually, you couldn't take the comments, throwing your phone onto the counter and jogging up the stairs to shower. Michael was at the studio, and you figured he wouldn't be home for another hour or so. The shower would give you a chance to clear your head and hopefully relax you and help you forget about what people were saying.
Unfortunately, it did quite the opposite. You had washed your hair and your face, crying into the stream as your thoughts were clouded with the words you had read. You weren't good enough for Michael. Michael could do better. He didn't really love you he was just trying to be a nice person. You didn't even finish your shower, quickly getting out and throwing a towel around your body, your hair dripping onto the tile floor as you sat on the toilet seat, face in your palms and just cried.
It shouldn't hurt this bad. You really shouldn't be letting it get to you, but it was. You were thankful your phone was downstairs and you couldn't see any more of the comments, but you knew they were flooding in and... oh my god, Michael was going to know too. And it seemed he already did know when he came running up the stairs, shouting your name.
"Bathroom," you respond, unable to hide the hurt in your voice. He jiggles the handle before knocking twice.
"It's locked."
You hold back a sigh, not wanting to worry him even more than he probably already is. You unlock the door and Michael doesn't hesitate to push it open, taking you into his arms. He sets you on the bathroom counter, his lips moulding with yours, his tongue gliding along your bottom lip, eager to explore.
"Michael, stop," you voice with one hand on his chest as his lips move to your neck and his hand grips your thigh under the towel. He pulls back, his eyes falling to yours, a look of sadness behind the greeny-blues. You drop your head as your bottom lip wobbles. "I don't want you to... to do this just because you feel like you have to to make me feel better. It's okay if you don't-d-don't really love me."
"Y/N," he begs, his finger under your chin to make you look at him. "Do you think I'm just taking pity on you?"
You nod against his hand, blinking back tears. This was it. He was going to admit that he really just felt sorry for you and he didn't actually love you. He was going to leave you and you only had so much time to prepare. You thought about what the fans were going to think, hell, they'd probably rejoice knowing he'd left you.
