dolly @g4ldoll - Tumblr Blog

Jul 11

Made For Me

Pairing: Yandere!Michael x Black!Fem Reader Summary: Michael only had to see you once to know you were everything he ever wanted...and what Michael wants, he gets. Warning: Stalking, Yandere behavior, Stockholm Syndrome, Captivity, Drugging, Baby trapping, smutty smut smut, ooc Michael...like serious ooc Word Count: 12.1k A/N: I had to take it down a notch cause this was becoming a monster, so it might feel a bit rushed at the end...but please tell me how y'all like it...

Michael had just come home and was surprised when he didn't see you. You always greeted him home with a kiss on the cheek, asking about his day.

So the fact that you weren't there caused his chest to tighten. Cautiously, he called out your name, the tightening of his chest getting worse when you didn't answer.

Finally, he spotted you in the living room, curled up on the armchair with a blanket covering everything except your face. Smiling, Michael allowed his body to relax, and he made his way over to you. Gently, he pulled off the blanket, and his body softened at the sight of you. Your belly hadn't gotten big enough to stop you from curling into a ball, and he loved how peaceful you looked. He always said that you'd look so good as a mother, and he was glad to be right.

While he desired to kiss you, he also wanted to let you sleep, so he gently swiped his thumb across your cheek and chuckled softly when he saw you chase after his touch, even in your sleep.

It took you so long to get here, but Michael finally had everything he could ever want.

Michael was a shy man. That was the first thing you noticed, or perhaps not totally shy but cautious. He watched and observed. When he did decide to talk, it was quiet. Just a few words, but then again, all he needed were a few words. He commanded a room just by standing, dominated by singing, and controlled everything using nothing.

Of all the people at the club, you didn't expect him to notice you, but as you would come to find out, he noticed everything, including you.

Especially you.

The moment he saw you, he was captivated. You were dancing, eyes bright and full of life. Sometimes, your laughter would drift over to him through the music, drawing him even closer into your orbit. Your skin glowed and reflected the myriad of colors from the club lights.

Blues, purples, greens, reds.

They all danced on you as if they belonged there, as if your skin was their stage for the night, letting you tell their story. Your hair in its natural glory—side-parted to cover one side of your face—bounced with every move, each curl participating in the dance, the sheen only lending to what Michael could only describe as supernatural beauty. As he watched you, his gaze was intense and focused, and the side of his mouth curled. He knew you were genuinely having a good time because, unlike your group of friends, you hadn't had a single drop of alcohol. He liked that immediately. Over the course of the night, he watched you. He watched you laugh and dance. He watched you rebuff the many men who tried to dance with you. He watched as you cared for your friend when they inevitably lost their fight with the liquor. He watched your hands as they gently cradled their face. He watched as your nails raked their scalp, loosening their limbs and making it easier for you to haul them out. He watched as you cooed to them, settling their upset expressions.

'Such children.' He rolled his eyes at their immature behavior.

'Such maternal instinct,' he thought immediately after as he watched you carry your friend out of the club and imagined you holding a little girl with your skin coloring and his eyes. A shiver of pleasure and of want went down his spine and stayed there, long after you left.

That same night, he requested a dossier on you, and when it arrived at the end of the week, he memorized everything.

He knew of your past. The ex-boyfriends who blatantly flirted right in front of you, who made you feel you deserved less than what they gave, and the family who treated your existence as if it were a burden. You were adopted at the age of three by a couple who believed they couldn't have kids until they did when you turned five. On paper, you had a good childhood. They fed and clothed you. They supported you financially, but the therapist you had since high school spoke of emotional neglect. The feeling of not being enough, a feeling that he knew never fully went away.

Perhaps that is why you took on the motherly role in your group of friends.

He learned that the only way you survived was because of the friends who knew you better than you knew yourself and who weren't afraid to call out shitty behavior. He learned that they tended to drive away potential love interests and that this became a point of contention in your group. He knew then that they were going to be an obstacle, not a particularly hard one but a consistent one. He learned about the way you fought tooth and nail to graduate from college to work with children who needed an angel in the hell that was their lives. He was excited that he was right about your maternal instinct, but he also knew that your job was going to be a defining point.

You were perfect for him, and if there was one thing everyone knew about Michael, it was that what he wanted, he'd eventually get it.

Unfortunately for you, what he wanted was for you to be completely dependent on him. Emotionally, mentally, and financially.

So he learned your schedule. He had someone follow you to work and had them log how many hours you spent working. He admired your work ethic but hated how exhausted you looked when you finally went back to your apartment. Even then, your dedication caused his admiration of you to grow, and he knew that any children you'd have together would never long for parental love. His report also included how many times your friends would visit you. It was the one thing he worried about, but they all had keys to your apartment. He wasn't happy that his assessment of them being a consistent problem was right, but it wasn't as if he couldn't work around that. He memorized when you'd come to the club and how long you'd stay. Waiting for the day he could finally match the day you came was the longest wait of his life, but when you finally stepped through the doors, his entire world narrowed down to you. From the VIP section, he watched you dance, laugh, and experience everything without a drop of liquor dulling your senses. You didn't just live in the moment; you inhaled it. It took weeks of him watching you before he decided to approach. He ignored the suspicion in your friends' eyes when he made his way to you. Not even they could stop you from dancing with Michael Jackson.

You were more beautiful up close, so much more that his imagination did you no justice. He commandeered your entire night, marveling at how easily conversation flowed between the two of you. It was even more magical when he noticed that your attention was kept on him without him trying, and while he maintained a respectable distance, all he wanted was for you to be in his lap. When the night was over, he slipped his number into your hand and waited for your call, which happened the very next morning. Your voice over the phone was just as sweet as in person, and your nerves were far more vibrant; it sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He knew he had to be careful with you, but oh, did he want you.

When you officially met him at the same club, he spent all night watching you; he was sweet. He made you laugh; you left with his number in your palm and a slight wetness on your cheek from where he kissed you goodbye. You called him the next morning and melted whenever he called your name, his voice wrapping around you like silk. There were flowers delivered to your apartment and late-night dates, so there were no interruptions. Handwritten letters with little trinkets or books you mentioned in passing. Your friends warned you not to get too attached so fast, and you tried your best, but even when he was busy, he made sure you knew he was thinking of you. He didn't rush for a relationship; he allowed it to grow slowly, and over the course of a few months, you were infatuated. It was the first time that anyone in your life made you feel seen, and it was a heady and addicting feeling, so you didn't notice how he wasn't quite right until it was too late.

It started with a phone call. Or rather, multiple missed phone calls.

You didn't think twice about the way he'd get upset when you didn't answer his calls. He was busy, and he still took the time out of his day to call and check up on you. Making yourself available for him wasn't a hardship when he did the same for you, or at least tried. He called during work breaks and when he knew you'd be home. He never called during work, first thing in the morning, or in the middle of the night. He respected those boundaries he asked you to set.

"You always talk about how you miss me girl, but you're never there when I call." His voice was flat.

"I'm sorry, baby," you apologized, your hand gripping the phone tighter as you heard him sigh on the other end. You hated when he sounded like that...he wasn't angry; it was worse.

Disappointment.

Anger you could deal with, but when he was disappointed, he'd get quiet. He wouldn't ignore you or shut you out, but every action, every touch would become performative. Something he'd do out of habit, not affection. He'd become cold and unloving, so much so that you'd wish he'd pretend you didn't exist rather than deal with becoming an obligation.

"Pick up next time girl," He sounded weary, and guilt festered in your stomach at how tired he sounded. "Don't waste my time."

Your friends thought that was weird. They called it manipulative and controlling, but it wasn't. They likened him to Joshua, one of your exes who called because he felt entitled to know where you were and demanded that you be there when he called. He never understood the demands of your work and always believed he should come first. Michael never did that and would never do that. So, his disappointment wasn't manipulative or toxic.

It was warranted.

Michael simply wanted to talk to you, and you wanted to talk to him, and it hurt him to put in so much effort for you not to meet him halfway. Truly, how was that bad when you're the one who wanted it? You loved it when the first thing he said was, "How are you, mama?"

He'd ask you about your day, genuinely interested in what was going on in your life. You'd never had that before. Your friends knew this, so why weren't they happy for you? Why did they insist he was just as bad as your exes?

Michael's answer came swiftly. The words flowed as if he already knew what to say.

"They're jealous baby," he said, his voice wrapping around you from where you pressed the phone tightly to your ear, pretending he was there, pretending you could feel his breath across your skin.

"They don't have to worry bout you anymore. Don't pay them any mind. Since when is it wrong to want to talk to my girl?"

He was right, you thought. All he wanted to do was talk. You never realized his voice was gently caressing you to ease your worries. You never realized his words were guiding your thoughts. Setting you up to ignore your friends when they expressed their concerns.

"They're jealous baby."

Next came the necklace. A pretty, simple thing really. A necklace with the letter M. A delicate thing in Michael's own writing. Diamond-encrusted, rose gold with a chain that positioned the M perfectly between your breasts. Expensive enough that the mere thought of letting it sit in your jewelry box made you uncomfortable, but simple enough that it would go perfectly with everything, and it did. The smile that lit up his face whenever he saw you wearing it was more than enough for you to get over how expensive it was. You longed to see that smile every time you saw him.

The day he presented it to you, he left a trail of kisses from your neck, right between your breasts, where the M would sit. He clipped it on you, his arms coming to wrap around your waist as he placed his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. He looked at you with a reverence that caused a heat to simmer low in your belly, and you wanted to squirm at the intensity.

You tilted your head to the side, a small sigh making its way from between your lips. You didn't notice the way his pupils dilated at that, or the dark, possessive look that entered his eyes. The moment you looked back at him, his boyish smile was plastered on his face, his eyes already softened. You melted against his body, perfectly content and perfectly ignorant.

Then...the dynamic shifted, and all it took was one man not knowing you weren't single and you not realizing how possessive Michael was.

Michael had brought you out to an event, the first one since you started dating, so it was a big deal. He planned your outfits to match perfectly, from your hair to your jewelry, down to the shoes you wore. Even going as far as to have your dress custom-made. Standing together in a full-length mirror, Michael's arms wrapped around you with his chin on your shoulder, it was impossible to deny how you complemented each other perfectly.

The moment you stepped out of the car, the paparazzi were in a frenzy. Michael's arm was wrapped protectively around your waist, and he kept you close as you navigated the crowd. The event itself was fine; you had an enjoyable time, feeling euphoric every time Michael introduced you as his girl. He preened every time someone complimented how well you looked together or how beautiful you were. You were too excited and too consumed by the event to notice just how possessive he sounded over you.

Before long, however, your heels began to press your toes together in a way that made it hurt to walk. You've never worn heels as long as you have tonight. You were fully prepared to stick it out, but Michael noticed the way you winced with every step you took. With an amused chuckle, he placed a kiss on your forehead to silence your protests and directed you to sit at the bar.

"Wait for me," he mouthed against your cheek.

Unfortunately, a pretty girl sitting alone at the bar invited attention. Attention that was not appreciated by Michael.

When he noticed you talking, he froze for a moment. It was enough to see you laughing, head thrown back, smile wide, eyes crinkled. His eyes narrowed as you gently patted the man's arm.

"Better go get your girl Mike," someone in the group commented with a little chuckle.

Now...Michael wouldn't call himself the jealous type, but what was his...was his. He was possessive, and he did not share. So, the mere thought that anyone felt...entitled to speak to what was his...it made his blood freeze.

A turn of your head and the next thing you knew, Michael was there, his hand wrapped around your arm as he pulled you up.

"I got some people I want to introduce you to."

He was quick to usher you away after that, giving you no time to say goodbye. He brought you closer to him as you approached his group, allowing you to burrow into his side. He didn't look angry or upset, but you knew the truth. He kept his smile on, but you could tell from the corners of his mouth that each smile was forced. He didn't ignore you, but his responses were noticeably more clipped than before. His biggest tell, however, was the way he gripped your waist harder than he ever had. Each time he flexed his fingers, you could feel his nails digging into your soft flesh, and you fought off the urge to wince with every one.

His actions were vastly different from when he would treat affection like it was an obligation. This time, each touch left a trail of fire in its wake. Uncomfortable and lingering. It happened whenever someone got too close. A hand accidentally touching your arm or eyes that lingered for too long on your body; a smile that was too wide and too earnest.

He kept up the charade until the moment you entered the limo. The silence that permeated the small space made you squirm in your seat, and Michael honed in on it.

Ever so slowly, his head turned in your direction, and he could practically hear your heart as it sped up in anticipation.

"Uncomfortable?" He asked softly, and he watched as you tried to come up with a reply. You were anxious, and he knew that his aviators contributed to that. You hated when you couldn't see his expressions, and he fought off the urge to smirk as he watched your anxiousness heighten.

"Mike..." you trailed off, biting your lip nervously. "You're upset, and I don't know why."

Michael tilted his head, and you wish you could see his eyes, but his aviators hid them from you. Still, the way he clenched his jaw and tapped his fingers told you everything you needed to know.

"Did you enjoy your conversation?"

You frowned at the question. "What conversation?"

Michael breathed deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly from his mouth. The playing dumb was aggravating, scratching at his irritation like a fly that buzzed around his head.

"That man. Did you enjoy his attention on you?"

You blinked at him, once, then once more. You were caught off guard by the question. "Michael," you said apprehensively, an unpleasant feeling settling in your stomach. "It was just a conversation."

"Not when you're actin like a single woman." You stared at him, eyes wide and slightly open. His words burned.

"What is that supposed to mean?" You asked, folding your arms in front of you. You didn't like the way he was accusing you, the way he just assumed you were flirting.

"Did you tell him you were taken?"

"I didn't have to," you spoke slowly and carefully.

"Everyone there knew I came with you. You showed me off to everyone; you introduced me as your girl."

Michael tilted his head up, and you watched with bated breath as he inhaled and exhaled slowly.

"That doesn't stop men from thinking they still have a shot. How is what you did any different from what your exes did to you?"

Michael watched from the corner of his eye as your jaw dropped and hurt flashed in those pretty eyes before it disappeared as quickly as it came. He knew very well what bringing up your exes would do, and while he hated to hurt you, he needed you to understand.

"That is nothing like what happened tonight. They flirted on purpose." Her voice was low and angry, but Michael refused to backtrack.

"Oh," Michael breathed, nodding his head. He tapped a finger on his lap. He let the silence stew for just a minute before he spoke again.

"So, because it was an innocent conversation, my hurt about you letting him flirt with you is invalid?"

"That's not what I meant." You were speaking through your teeth now, your hands clenching and unclenching as they rested on your lap.

He looked at you fully. "Then what did you mean? Do you have any idea what you looked like laughing with him? Touching on his arm like you were his girl?"

You opened your mouth to say deny it, but stopped when you remembered that you didn't know. You didn't realize how it would look from an outside perspective. With horror, you realized that you had become your exes tonight. Not in the sense of you flirting...but the obvious hurt you caused Michael to feel with your actions.

You didn't think anything of the conversation. You didn't think you had to tell him you weren't available, and you didn't think twice about initiating physical touch first. That revelation caused your breath to hitch, and liquid pooled at the bottom of your eyes.

Michael hummed and nodded. He turned his head to stare out the window, but you couldn't look away from him. You so desperately wanted to apologize, but you couldn't get the words to leave your mouth, no matter how much it opened and closed. The entire ride back to Neverland was stifling; your body refused to relax, your mind refused to stop running in circles, and Michael refused to look at you.

"You're mine," he said quietly, after the silence settled like a weight heavy on your back.

He finally turned his head to look at you. "Do you understand?"

Silently, you nodded, eyes watering at the thought of disappointing Michael or worse, making him feel like your exes made you feel.

You sniffled as you picked at the skin around your nails. "I'm sorry." Your voice cracked.

You heard Michael sigh, his hand coming to stop your movements. Gently, he gathered your hands in his, rubbing circles atop them. He brought them up and kissed your fingers, forgiveness tangled in the softness of his touch. You felt your body finally relax and melt as he brought you into a hug, placing your head right above his heart. You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat, noting how with each beat of his, yours was right behind.

"Don't cry and don't hurt yourself baby," he reprimanded. You sniffled once more, fisting his clothes tightly.

"It's okay. I forgive you," he hushed. "As long as you remember you belong to me."

As you lay on his chest, those last two sentences sent shivers down your spine, and you didn't know why. You wanted his forgiveness...so why did it feel like an acceptance of something you had yet to understand?

After that night, it was like a flip switched. Whenever you were out together, you were constantly watched. If not by Michael, then by someone on his team. Any time a man would approach you, you were suddenly whisked away and found yourself right back by Michael's side, his arm wrapped around your waist. His nails digging into your skin.

It was stifling and controlling, and yet, you couldn't bring yourself to tell him anything. Not when his reaction from that night played in your mind. You made a mistake; he's just making sure you never make it again. You tell yourself over and over again, hoping that the sinking feeling deep in your stomach will finally lift.

Over time, the feeling dulls, but it never fully leaves.

Things began to take a turn when he asked you to move in with him. You'd only been dating for a year, and yet, he wanted your lives intertwined as if you'd been together for years.

It wasn't the first time he'd asked. Or the second. Or the third. Each time, he came up with new arguments. Ones that made sense. Ones that had you second-guessing yourself.

"Mike...honey, we've only been dating for a year," you said, biting your lip, but your resistance was low.

"I know you're the one for me girl." He grabbed your hands, rubbing circles on the back of them before bringing you into a hug. One hand came to hold the back of your head, and the other gripped your waist. His nails didn't dig into your skin, but his hug pressed you tightly against his body. So tightly, you could feel his heartbeat against yours.

You noticed that it was slightly more in sync than the last time.

"You can keep your apartment if we living together doesn't work out, but we can at least try yeah?"

He tilted your head up, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Just imagine it baby. Never having to worry about paying bills or making rent. No more broken ACs or perverted neighbors. No more missed calls. No more having to say goodbye."

He brushed his lips lightly against yours. You sighed at the softness, whimpering when he pulled back.

"You'd be waking up next to me every morning. You love that mama," he reminded you, and you did. You loved the feeling of his arms wrapped around your body as if he never wanted to let you go. His breath on your neck, his lips mumbling against your skin, and the way he automatically folded himself around you if you ever switched positions.

"Say yes," he whispered.

"Michael..." your voice trailed off as he brushed his lips against yours again. Your reasoning for refusing left your thoughts in his proximity. You inhaled deeply; the full force of his cologne combined with the feel of his lips covered your mind like a fog. You leaned up on your toes, trying to close the distance, but he pulled back once more, his fingers tightening on your curls, reprimanding.

You whined, and he chuckled at your desperation.

"Say yes," he whispered again, leaning down so his lips touched yours with every movement of his words.

You took a shaky breath, unable to get much air into your lungs. Your eyes fluttered, his gaze catching yours and locking you into place. You felt your heart stutter at the array of emotions in his eyes. Love being the most prominent. Never had anyone looked at you like that. Gently, you placed a hand on his cheek, your body softening at the way he nuzzled into the palm of your hand, his eyes closing at the contact.

"Yes," you finally whispered, and you moaned when he closed the distance, and you felt the full force of his lips on yours.

He licked your bottom lip, and you eagerly opened your mouth to him, your fingers gripping his shirt tightly as he devoured you. He pushed you against the wall, making sure his groin pressed against yours.

Michael broke the kiss, burying his head in your neck to hide his smile. He knew you'd give in so easily. One touch of him was enough to melt the tension off your shoulders. So desperate, so willing to please, and he loved you for that. Giving yourself so easily to him.

"Thanks Mama."

The move was quick. Quicker than you were expecting and efficient enough, you didn't have much time to dwell on it.

By the end of the week, you weren't just a guest at Neverland Ranch; you were an occupant.

It was nice living with Michael. You didn't have to worry about bills or rent or noisy and nosy neighbors. Whatever you were in the mood for, his chefs made it for you. Your laundry was always done before you ever had the chance to fill up your basket. You didn't have to worry about chipping a nail trying to repair anything. Your hands no longer cracked or peeled from the cleaners you used.

Your every need was taken care of. It was easy to fall into a rhythm as if you'd always been there. It was easy to ignore that there wasn't an adjustment period.

The best part, however, was that he finally had you all to himself. He took a month off, just to be with you. So he could wake up with you in his arms. So he could watch you sleep and admire the way your skin glowed underneath the warmth of the morning sun. He could finally take his time learning your body. The way your breath would hitch when he ran his fingers down your side, or the way you'd bite your lip when he kneaded your ass, or the way you moaned when he sucked on your neck. Even if he couldn't be inside you, your body learned how to react to his touch and his voice.

Almost like you were his puppet. Almost.

The best part was when you'd both fall into bed at the end of the day, and he'd grab you by your waist so that you were facing him and he'd watch you fall asleep. Knowing that his face was the last thing you saw every night was a dream come true.

Unfortunately, something he learned was that all dreams had a bumpy road to a happy ending, and his bump came in the form of your friends.

It had been a month since you moved in, and Michael had taken time off just to be with you. It was an entire month of you coming home and being met with Michael's embrace. An entire month of you spending every moment you had free with him, and it was wonderful, but you needed a night out. As much as you loved spending time with Michael, you missed your friends.

"Michael, I haven't seen my friends in weeks. I just wanna go out and have some fun."

Michael cocked his head to the side, his eyes flickering to you once before going back to his book.

"You can baby," he said coolly, and it made your insides twist in on themselves and your palms sweat.

You frowned. Licking your lips, a nervous habit you haven't been able to break. "Why do you sound so upset then?"

Michael sighed and placed his book down gently on the table. He lifted his eyes to you, and you took a single step forward at the discomfort on his face.

"Those are the friends that always upset you baby. They always got something bad to say bout me." Michael looked down then, his face twisting before smoothing out.

"About us."

"They're just worried," you defended.

"About what?" He shook his head, a frown marring his expression. "I finally get some time off and wanna spend it with my girl, and suddenly I'm keeping you trapped," he scoffed, but you heard the hurt he tried to hide behind frustration, and a knot formed in your stomach.

"I haven't met them, and somehow, they seem to think they know everything about me."

You rush over to him and sit on the floor beside him. Cupping his face, you place kisses on both of his cheeks, then his nose, and then finally his mouth. When he looked you in the eyes, the hurt you saw caused tears to pool in your eyes. It was the type of hurt you saw when the media said something hurtful again or when interviewers would ask questions they knew would sting. It was the type of hurt he wore when he didn't know why the world was cruel.

"I didn't know they made you feel that way baby," you whisper, tears spilling from your eyes and guilt settling in your stomach.

Michael shrugged, averting his eyes from yours.

"They're your friends. Even if they don't like me, they make you happy."

You snorted and shook your head. "How can they when they make the love of my life feel this way?"

You knew they didn't like him, but you truly believed that over time, they'd change their minds.

You sighed and put your head on his lap. Closing your eyes when his hand came to play with your curls.

"I'll talk to them," you promised.

Michael paused his hand, his eyes flickering to your head for the briefest of moments; a spark of triumph flickered to life before he continued playing with your hair.

"I don't want you to choose." His voice was gentle, but his gaze intensified, softening the moment you began to raise your head.

You looked up at him, your lips pursed and brows furrowed. "It's not a choice," you denied, shaking your head. You leaned up to place a chaste kiss on his mouth.

"I love you," you whispered, laying your head back down on his lap.

Michael's face changed gradually as he knew he was that much closer. A small but satisfied smile grew on his face.

"And I you."

Your friends did not appreciate your words about how they made Michael feel. They threw around words like "manipulative" and "toxic" as if they knew a single thing about him. You spent hours trying to convince them that Michael wasn't like your ex-boyfriends, that they were being overly protective of you when they didn't need to be, but it was as if you were speaking to a wall. How Michael was so tolerant of them, you didn't know, but the differences were stark, and you clenched your jaw so tightly at the thought.

You slammed the phone down on the receiver, tears running down your cheek, and like you summoned him, Michael appeared before you, his smile falling the moment he saw you.

He said nothing but opened his arms, and you ran into them. You cried into his shirt, and he just held you. One hand rubbing your back, the other coming to hold the back of your head, and he smiled.

Your friends were the first to go.

Then came your job.

Now Michael loved your job. He loved that you loved helping children, but now that you were living with him, your job pulled you away far too much. He had plans for marriage and children of your own.

You loved your job. You loved helping children get away from situations like yours. You took such great care to make sure each child received your attention, and at first, Michael was supportive. Given his love of children and his own passion for making their lives better, he was thrilled to have found someone who cared about children as much as he did.

Still...the thought of him going on tour without seeing you every day overrode that support.

"Michael," you sighed, completely irritated with him. "Those children need me."

Michael, who had bowed his head, lifted it, an incredulous look on his face.

"And I don't?"

You shook your head; the weight of the argument started to settle now. "That's not what I meant."

Michael scoffed, standing up so abruptly that it caused you to take an involuntary step back.

"What did you mean then? I need you," he stressed. "This tour is bigger than anything I've ever done."

"I know Mike," you sighed. "We promised that dating you wouldn't get in the way of my job. If it was a week, then I'd agree, but this is more than a year."

Michael stood where he was, his face finally showing some sign of hearing what you were saying. His shoulders slumped after a minute, and he bowed his head.

"Yeah," he croaked out, and your breath caught at how utterly defeated he sounded. "It's just..." he trailed off, and you took a step toward him.

He looked up at you, and when you saw the tears in his eyes, your heart stuttered in your chest. You hated it when he cried. It tore at you as if someone had raked your chest right open. You took another step toward him, your arms opening slightly, and he readily closed the distance between the two of you, leaning his forehead against yours. His arms came to settle around you, gently cradling you as if you were the most precious thing to him.

"I can't do this without you mama," he breathed. "It's going to be so much. They're going to demand so much, and I want to do this...I want to do my first solo tour; I just want to be able to recognize myself when it's done."

Your next breath was shaky. You closed your eyes and tried to picture the children who need your help, but all you could see was Michael. Michael struggling against the expectations. Michael alone without anyone to confide in. Michael, without the safety net of home to fall back on, and something in you shattered with his next words.

"I need you, baby...please."

The Bad tour was just as hectic as you were expecting it to be, and every waking moment you had was spent by Michael's side. It was more intense than the month you spent at home. You left for work then; you had an outside life, but the tour changed all of that. Your life began to revolve around him, his schedule, his wants, and his needs. By the time the tour was over, you hardly remembered where he ended, and you began.

Trying to go back to work was like fitting a puzzle piece missing an arm. It fit, but something was missing. It was as if a vital piece of you was ripped off, and while you tried to focus on your job, you found yourself seeking the comfort and familiarity of Michael's arms more often than not, and that caused problems at work.

"You've been distracted," your boss said when he called you into his office.

"You were once our top social worker, but now you've missed vital calls, and you've been late to check-ups. Your paperwork has had more errors this month than last year combined!"

You flinched when he yelled and tried to ignore that voice in your head that whispered to you, telling you that you would feel better at home.

"I know," you replied weakly. "I'm just going through a rough patch."

Your boss scoffed and then sighed heavily.

"Rough patch, or is living with the King of Pop more important than hurt children?"

You gasped at the vitriol, anger rising suddenly in your chest. Narrowing your eyes at your boss, you spoke through clenched teeth. "Michael has nothing to do with this! I just came back from tour with him. I just need time to acclimate again."

Your boss looked at you, his jaw tight with eyes full of frustration, and you felt cold, your anger crumbling away like dust.

"I wasn't talking about Jackson," he replied, and that coldness became a block of ice as apprehension wrapped around you.

"I was talking about you. You seem happier when your day is done. You don't stay as long as you used to. You do the bare minimum."

You shook your head and clenched your fists. "I know," you repeated. "I just need time."

Your boss shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Those kids can't afford to wait for you to find the time. You forgot Jordan's name last week. That isn't needing more time. That's you trying to find it after you gave it away."

With each word he spoke, a numbness settled over you as his words rang into the office. The truth of it slapped you across the face as you remembered the crestfallen face of Jordan when he realized you had forgotten his name. You hadn't meant to, but your mind wasn't on his case...it was on the ticking clock.

"We can't afford any more mistakes, and those kids can't afford your offer of something you don't have."

He reached into his desk and pulled out a check. He slid it across the desk. You looked at the check and then at your boss's face, and your own crumbled when you saw the genuine regret in his eyes.

"Please see your way out of the office. You're fired."

As you made your way out of the office, you got a sense of relief that was quickly followed by a gasp of horror as you realized the reality of your situation. You shouldn't have agreed to go on tour with him...you should have been here...and yet, the thought of having let Michael do that tour alone sends you tumbling down a hole of guilt so deep, you don't think you'd ever hit the bottom.

You don't know how long you stood out there, but you watched as coworkers passed you by, and not one of them said a word to you. You didn't blame them. Social work was not for the weak...or the lazy...or the unmotivated. These were children. Innocent, harmless, unprotected children, and it was your job to keep them safe. This wasn't a job you could treat like a hobby or slack off in because that would result in a child who would end up dead or gone. You loved your job, and yet...it still came second to Michael, and the worst part was that you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Sure, you felt horror at how you let this slip through your fingers, but the horror wasn't enough, and you couldn't pinpoint the moment it happened.

Eventually, you made your way to your car and drove home.

The minute you entered the door, Michael had called your name. Following the sound of his voice, you found yourself in the kitchen. Michael took one look at your face and came to wrap you in a hug, but you couldn't find the energy to bring your arms around him.

"I got fired today," you said in perhaps the blankest voice possible.

Michael pulled back to look at you, brows already furrowed, and a question on his lips that you didn't want to hear.

"How did it get to this, Mike?"

You stared around the kitchen and walked out to the living room. You stared at the house Michael had made his home in and saw nothing of yourself in it.

"How did it get to what?"

You threw your arms out, gesturing to the house, to him, to yourself.

"How did I lose myself in you so much that the job I fought so hard for has become second in my life?"

Michael's face was one of concern when you began talking, but by the end of your sentence, it had turned into something like adoration. Michael came up and grabbed your arms, rubbing them up and down, before grabbing your shoulders and gently massaging them.

He was trying to calm you down, to take away the tension that caused your shoulders to climb higher and higher up your neck.

He found it adorable that you believed that you lost yourself, as if he'd ever let that happen. Everything he loved about you was the same.

"You haven't lost yourself baby," he cooed. His hands squeezed once and then came to frame your face. He pressed his lips against yours, nipping at your bottom lip.

"You're exactly who you should be."

A chill went down your spine, and your hands came to rest atop Michael's.

"Who is that?" You asked, but you were afraid of his answer, not because you already knew what it was, but because you already knew you'd agree.

Michael smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Mine, baby."

He leaned in closer, nuzzling your cheek, and without a single thought, you leaned into his touch.

"You're mine," he whispered.

You stood there with his hand on your cheek, his words echoing in your head. You were his, but you also wanted to be your own...and you were losing that.

"I think..." you stopped and licked your lips, hands already sweating with nerves.

"I think I need to go back to my apartment."

The moment you spoke those words, Michael took several steps back from you. His face showed no expression, his eyes completely unreadable.

"What?"

That single question froze the air in the room. Michael's voice sounded devoid of any emotion. It was monotone and flat. It was less of a question than it was a statement.

"I need to go back to my apartment," you said again. "I don't want to just be yours, Mike. I need to remember how to be my own."

Michael shook his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He should have known that losing your job would be the breaking point, but you were his.

"You can't," he said, still shaking his head.

"Michael," you began to say, but you stopped in your tracks when he abruptly grabbed your arms, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Our love comes first. Everything else is secondary. You can't leave me, baby."

Michael knew he looked scared because he was. Scared that all his efforts were going to waste. Scared that the minute you're alone in that apartment, he'll start to become second in your life. He worked so hard to get you here.

"I'm not leaving you Mike." He heard the words, but he also heard the fear underneath those words. He shook his head again, leaning it on your chest.

You gently pull yourself away from him and grab his face gently in your hands.

"I need this love. You promised me," you remind him. He stares at you before he drops his head and nods. You let out the breath you'd been holding and smile gently at the top of his head.

Michael sniffles but straightens himself up.

"Can we at least eat dinner before I help you pack what you need?"

You nod and follow him into the kitchen. Dinner was a silent affair; the only sounds were the clinking of silverware against your plates. Soon enough, dinner was done, and before you could get up, Michael slid a glass of wine in front of you. He hadn't looked at you the entire time, and he wasn't looking at you now.

You sighed but drank the wine. You originally meant to drink as much of it as you could, but it was good wine. Smooth and sweet, just like you liked it.

"You know I love you, right?"

Michael's voice broke the silence. You looked at him, but he was looking down at his wine glass. It was almost empty, and that spoke for his emotional state.

"Yeah," you breathed out. "I know."

You reached over and grabbed his hand, waiting until he looked up at you. Meeting his eyes, you gave a shaky smile, relaxing when he returned it.

"I love you too."

His smile widened, softening at the edges. You finished your wine and began to head up the stairs when a wave of dizziness took over. The stairs in front of you doubled, and the edges of your vision began to blacken. You stumbled, but Michael was there to catch you.

"Baby?" He called, his voice tinged with worry.

"Mi—" you tried to call him, but your voice slurred, and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Blinking, your vision steadily got blurrier the more you tried to clear it. Your head lolled to the side, and despite your trying to fight the way your eyes wanted to close, your eyes rolled in the back of your head, and all you knew was darkness.

Michael cradled you close to his chest as he carried you up the stairs. He didn't want to resort to this, but you leaving was not an option. Hearing you remind him of what he said about the apartment sent a chill down his spine. How could you have remembered that, and why? He couldn't stop the thoughts that entered his head. He didn't want to distrust your words, but how could he not when you remembered so easily? Gently, he laid you down on the bed and lay down beside you, wrapping one arm around your body; he pulled you close to him. He knew you'd be angry and scared in the morning, but he also knew that this was necessary. You'd get over it, you'd learn.

Warmth was the first thing you felt.

Fear was the second.

You opened your eyes slowly and were met with the lavish ceiling belonging to your and Michael's bedroom. Turning your head to the side, you met Michael's eyes as he waited for your reaction. Slowly, you took a deep breath and sat up. As calmly as you could, you got off the bed and began to walk out of the room. Following closely behind you, Michael trailed after you down the stairs but stopped right as you got to the front door.

"You can't leave me." His voice was soft, calm, and firm. You looked behind you once and faltered at the sight of Michael standing there, hands in pockets and completely unbothered.

"You drugged me," you replied, clenching your hands to hide the shaking.

Michael nodded his head and took a few steps toward you. "You were trying to leave me."

You stood still as he crept closer and closer to you. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, and it took everything you had to not hyperventilate.

"You're mine, and I'm yours. That's how it works."

You shook your head, backing up slightly. This was escalating faster than you previously thought it would. You turned and walked to the front door, but when you went to turn the handle, it didn't budge. You tried it again, only for the same thing to happen. Your hand fell away as the reality of your situation began to settle in.

"I didn't want to do this. I wanted you to surrender to me without all this." Michael's voice came from behind you, his breath tickling your neck. He wrapped his arms around your middle and began to guide you to the living room. He sat you down on the couch while he went to sit on the armchair by the fireplace.

"Michael, please. Just let me go," you begged, but he simply looked at you. No, it was more that he looked through you. His gaze was unfocused, his face set in a carefully blank mask. Even as he lounged in the armchair, there was this unmistakable tension in his hands as he gripped the arms.

"Why do you want to leave me?"

Michael stood up from where he was sitting near the fireplace and sauntered toward you. His feet made no sound, but you learned to sense where he was. He bent down on his knees in front of you, your eyes looking at his, his gaze locking with yours. His hands came to grip the sides of your face, and you fought your flinch. He sighed the moment his hands came into contact with your cheeks, and then he dug his nails into your skin.

"I love you, don't you understand that?"

You shook your head, tears slipping as you closed your eyes.

"I want to go home," you murmured, voice cracking, missing the way his gaze sharpened, anger simmering just below the surface.

Michael wrapped his arms around you, and your cage tightened.

"You are home."

The following months were harrowing. You weren't allowed outside of the gate, and no matter how much you pleaded, everyone answered to Michael. There were a few times you tried to leave, but each time, you were carried back by a security guard who had no reaction to your kicking or screaming in his ear. They pretended that they couldn't hear you crying and begging. Their eyes simply looked right through you as if you didn't exist unless you tried to escape.

Every time you'd shed a tear, Michael was there. His hands gently wiped away your tears, no matter how much you twisted and turned to stop his hands from touching you. He finally stopped trying to comfort you when you slapped his hands away in a fit of rage. You hated the way you felt guilty at the hurt that entered his eyes and bit your lip on the apology that sat right on the tip of your tongue.

That didn't stop him from trying to keep things..." normal," but you were determined to make a stand, in whatever way you could. At first, you refused to speak to him, sleep in the same room, or allow him to touch you. You rebuffed every offer he gave, and soon he left you alone, content to simply watch you struggle. Even when you yelled at him and pushed him away, he never fought back or yelled. He simply watched; his eyes lingered on you, following your every move, and yet he made no move to speak or touch. You cursed yourself for not believing your friends when they called him manipulative. You had no one to turn to. So you stayed, but the longer you went without touch or company, the lonelier you became. It kept you up at night. Instead of sleeping, you walked around the house. Your footsteps were silent, and often the only sound you'd hear was your own breathing. After months of silence, you longed to speak to anyone; it had become unbearable. So, one day, when he came back from a meeting, you finally caved and asked how his day went. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he didn't question why you spoke to him. He treated it as a normal occurrence. Then it happened again.

And again.

You still refused to let him touch you, and you refused to sleep in the same room, but eventually, you were back to having full conversations again. He'd begun to call when he was out, and you shuddered violently when you noticed that it was almost exactly like the beginning of your relationship all over again. That realization made you want to stop, but the mere thought of going back to that suffocating silence was enough to send your heart racing.

Michael thought your rebellion was adorable. He wanted to act normal; he thought that if he showed you that nothing had changed, you'd eventually realize that you overreacted, but you did the opposite. You tried to escape; you refused to talk or let him touch you or sleep with him. You slapped his hand away when he tried to comfort you; you pushed and yelled, so he gave you what you wanted. Instead, he watched you. He watched as the silence and isolation started to wear you down. He listened as you crept from the guest room and walked around, unable to get a full night's rest. He watched the way you perked up the minute he came home because that meant you weren't completely alone. He knew it was only a matter of time before you broke, and when you finally caved, your voice was like sweet music to his ears.

Still, you refused to let him touch you. You kept sleeping in the guest room, but Michael was patient. He called, he talked, and he made you laugh on a few occasions. He watched as you struggled between needing conversation and wanting to stay away. He was more than content to let you decide the pace. He'd get what he wanted in the end. He always did.

Weeks passed by, and the more you talked to Michael, the more you craved his touch. You held out for as long as you could until one night, you finally managed to fall asleep, only to be awoken by a dream that served as both a nightmare and an awakening.

You were alone. There was no one around you. You walked along empty streets surrounded by abandoned buildings, except that everything looked as it should. No broken windows, no trash in the street, no broken-down cars. It was as if everyone tidied up and then left. You continued to walk until you heard your name being called. Cautiously, you made your way towards the sound, and as it got closer, you recognized the voice.

It was Michael. At first, you slowed down, your steps faltering. You looked around, hoping to find someone else, but the streets and buildings remained empty. His voice called to you again, and so you continued on your way. Turning a corner, he sat on the ledge of a fountain. He turned his head toward you and smiled that boyish smile of his that you took so much time memorizing.

"Hey, mama," he said gently. Pushing himself up, he made his way to you, grabbing your hands and pressing them to his lips.

"Where is everyone?"

Michael looked around and shrugged. "It's just us. We're the only ones here. Just as it should be."

You shook your head and ripped your hands out of his.

"No, no, no, no, no," you said over and over again, only stopping when you heard the disappointed sigh. Looking up, you were met with Michael frowning down at you.

"You've been alone your whole life girl. Your biological parents abandoned you. Your adopted parents stopped loving you. Every previous boyfriend treated you like a burden, preferring to find excitement somewhere else." Michael began to list off the people in your life that have forsaken you. One hand gently played with your hair, twirling your curls around a finger.

"Stop," you whispered. You didn't want to hear this.

"You had to take on the role of a mother to your friends, just so you could continue to feel useful, and still, the minute you disagreed with them, they left you too," he mercilessly reminded you, cooing when you whimpered.

"Your job demanded so much from you. It exhausted you, and you liked it for a while, but the reason you stopped caring wasn't because of me. It was because you finally experienced the one thing you never had."

"Please," your voice cracked as you held back a sob. It was just a dream...a horrible dream.

You felt Michael lift your chin. His face had softened into pity and concern.

"You finally have someone who puts you first. You have everything you could ever want with me. You could help charities and homeless shelters. You could donate to orphanages. You could leave for more than just a night at the club. You have someone at home who loves you. Every inch of you. Why would you want to throw that away?"

"I'm losing myself..." you murmured.

"You're becoming who you've always meant to be," Michael replied. You looked at him, your tears blurring your vision.

"Stop fighting it," he whispered, and something in you broke or shattered or crumbled. You couldn't tell what the sensation was, but it didn't matter. You felt yourself nod, and then Michael's lips were on your own.

You woke up abruptly and lay in your cold bed. Your dream played in your head on repeat. You were so tired, you realized. So tired of denying him. You had nothing and no one except for Michael, who wouldn't leave you...

Who wouldn't allow you to leave him.

You pulled yourself out of your bed and made your way down the hallway, stopping in front of what used to be your bedroom. Hesitantly, you knocked on the door and waited for Michael to answer it. It was moments later that the door opened and the sleepy face of Michael appeared before you. If he was shocked, he didn't show it. He merely stepped aside and let you in.

He wasn't surprised to see you there. He always knew that it was a matter of time before you caved in. He side-stepped and allowed you to come in, which you did with no hesitation. Once you were inside, he closed the door and came up behind you, wrapping his hands around your middle. He turned his head into your neck, taking a deep inhale of your scent, groaning before sucking on your skin. Oh, how he missed the feel of your skin on his.

"I've missed you," he whispered, and you shivered at the feel of his breath on your skin, closing your eyes. He smiled slightly at your reaction, glad to have confirmation that he wasn't the only one touch-starved. He buried himself back in your neck, your scent overwhelming him, and he felt the prickles of heat building in his stomach.

"I've missed you too," came your quiet reply.

"Would you let me touch you?"

Your eyes opened, and you turned your head to look at him. He didn't look expectant but patient, and you knew he'd back off if you said no. While you knew it wasn't the smartest idea, you weren't feeling particularly smart, so you nodded. He wasted no time, attaching his mouth to your neck and suckling on your skin.

You tasted divine on his tongue; his eyes fluttered with the pleasure that was rapidly filling his dick, straining it against his pants. He felt your breathing begin to pick up, and he fought the urge to smirk at how fast you gave in. He took one hand and gently squeezed your breasts, pinching your nipple between his fingers, rolling it until it got hard. He did the same with your other breast before kneading them both, his mouth still attached to your neck.

Your breathing had picked up; the pleasure from his ministrations caused your head to fog up. You lost time as clothes were removed, your mind coming back online as he laid you down on the bed. You had never been naked in front of him before. There was always your underwear and bra acting as some sort of wall, but now they were gone, and you felt your slick run down as he teased your folds with his fingers.

"So wet for me," he murmured, his fingers dipping in and out but never fully going in.

"Beautiful." He watched transfixed as your pussy tried to keep his fingers inside, licking the corner of his mouth to catch the drool that started to drip.

"Michael," you moaned, squirming your hips, trying in vain to get him to finger you. "Please."

He groaned and pushed his fingers into you fully. The way you begged scratched a part of his brain that had been denied for so long. The way you arched your back and your slick ran down his wrist made him so hard, it was painful at this point.

He removed his fingers from your soaked pussy and put his wet fingers around his dick; the slickness made the slide of his hand that much smoother.

You lifted your head and unconsciously licked your lips at the sight of him jacking himself off, his eyes locked on the way your hole quivered.

He scooted closer to you, dick still in hand, and you startled when you felt it touch your lips.

"Michael, we can't," you moaned as he rubbed his dick over your folds. "We promised."

Michael nodded absentmindedly, but you could tell his mind wasn't in the moment.

"I know, ma," he said, licking his lips, eyes still locked on your quivering hole.

"Just the tip, baby. Just the tip. Please mama?"

You closed your eyes at his begging. Your resolve to wait until marriage would crumble if he kept this up. You knew it. Trying to stop him, you grabbed his face and mushed your lips together, sucking on his bottom lip, but that did nothing to deter him.

"Please, please, please," he begged against your lips, making it worse because you could feel his desperation through your lips. Michael broke the kiss, leaning down so his mouth was right beside your ear.

"I just wanna be in you, baby," Michael whispered, his breath tickling your ear, and you shuddered with goosebumps that lined your spine.

"Imagine it. Feeling me inside you, connecting us like that. It'll be just the tip," he said again, moving his lips down the side of your neck, gently grazing your skin with his teeth.

"Imagine it," he mouthed, and by God, you did.

"Okay," you nodded, licking your chapped lips.

"Just...just the tip."

Slowly, Michael positioned his dick right at your entrance, grabbing your chin and making you look down at where it sat. He rubbed his dick up, flicking your clit once and then once more before he began to push in.

Your breath caught at the feeling. It didn't hurt necessarily, but the feeling caused your pussy to clench and leak even more. You could feel your fluids steadily flowing out, even around his head, but it left you deeply unsatisfied. There was an ache in your belly that wanted to be soothed. You warred with yourself for a full minute before you felt that resolve shatter.

You looked up at Michael and found him already staring at you. A dazed look in his expression.

"...does it feel good for you?"

Michael nodded quickly. "So good. So good."

"Can you...Is this enough?"

Michael hesitated and then shook his head. His jaw clenched tightly.

You licked your lips, nodding to yourself. "You can put it in more."

Without preamble, Michael pushed his cock all the way in; your scream and his groan rang out in the otherwise quiet room in tandem.

You had to clench your eyes shut against the pain. You weren't expecting him to do that, but now his dick sat heavy in you, surrounded by your gummy walls. You whimpered every time you felt it throb, the sensation overriding the pain faster than you realized. It was perfect when the pain subsided. He fits you like you were made for him.

"So wet, so tight. Oh god," Michael breathed as if experiencing heaven for the first time. You looked at him through lidded eyes and swore he was an angel. His skin was shiny with sweat, his head thrown back so you could see the perfect line of his throat.

He was right. He always is. The connection you felt was...there were no words.

"You're in," you moaned. His dick filled you up deliciously. Your eyes fluttered as you clenched around him, and his hips gave an aborted push, and you choked on your next breath. He slowly circled his hips, not pumping but stimulating your walls. Your mouth fell open with drool falling from your lips to your chin, but you couldn't be bothered to wipe it off or care all that much about it.

Michael bent down to lick your drool, dragging his tongue from your chin to the side of your mouth before sucking your tongue into his.

Slowly, he began to pump his hips, his pelvis making contact with your clit. With each contact of his hips, your moans increased in volume.

"Fuck," he hissed. Lifting himself, he grabbed onto your hips with a bruising grip, bringing you closer to him. The change in angle caused your back to arch as his dick pushed against that bump.

"Michael!!"

"There it is." He grinned and aimed, so he hit that spot every time. The wet squelch of your pussy was like music to his ears.

He watched with lidded eyes as you lost control, your legs beginning to shake and your eyes rolling in the back of your head. He wanted, no, needed to see your face up close as you got closer to cumming. Leaning over you, he grabbed the back of your hair, balling it into a fist so he could control the movement of your head.

"Look at me." He commanded, and your body obeyed immediately. Opening your eyes, you met Michael's gaze and his shark-like grin.

"You're gonna look at me while you cum on my dick. Keep those eyes open."

With that, his hips began an impossible pace, causing the headboard to smack against the wall. You fought to keep your eyes open, but each time his dick entered you, the pleasure was so intense, you were fighting a losing battle.

Against your will, your eyes squeezed shut and immediately shot back open when Michael yanked your hair.

"I said, 'Look at me."

His grip on your hair caused a delicious pairing of pain and pleasure. As you kept your eyes on Michael, he leaned closer until your noses touched.

"This makes you mine," he whispered, his breath ghosting on the skin of your lips.

"I'm going to cum inside you, baby. Fill you up, like you're meant to be."

You began to say yes until his words caught up with the fog in your brain.

"You can't cum inside Mike," you hiccupped when he gave a particularly sharp thrust.

"No co-condom." Your words stuttered as you felt your climax approaching like a predator hunting its prey.

"You'll have my babies, won't you?" Michael asked. His own orgasm was just around the corner. He had you in every way but marriage, and he'd have you this way too.

Your back arched and your toes curled at his words. Unbidden, the image of you pregnant entered your mind. Your belly, swollen with Michael's child, was such a tempting thought, and you tried to tell him to pull out, but your legs wrapped themselves around his waist, shoving him in deeper.

"You like that, ma?" Michael smirked. He caught your reaction when he mentioned you having his babies. He wanted that. He wanted to see your belly grow as your child grew. He longed to see your stomach covered in stretch marks, a permanent reminder that you bore something of his.

He pumped his hips faster, smacking against yours. Your walls clenched tightly on him as you finally orgasmed, and he whined at the tightness as he flooded your walls with his cum.

He grabbed your face and brought his lips to you. You couldn't kiss him back, too lost in pleasure, but he made do by sucking on your tongue, his hips still pumping, milking himself dry.

Finally, his hips stopped moving, and he lay himself gently on you, his body serving as a weighted blanket. You breathed heavily and let your legs fall, a small moan slipping past your lips as your movement caused his dick to shift positions inside you. Heat traveled up to your face when you felt his cum slosh around inside your walls.

Michael's hand came to rub your belly, and dread made a home in your chest when you realized what happened.

"Oh god," you whimpered, covering your eyes with your hands.

"We shouldn't have done that."

Michael removed your hands and kissed your eyelids. "It's okay mama," he purred.

"It doesn't matter if you have my baby now. We have all the time to try again."

Neverland was full of Michael's friends and family. As it turned out, you did get pregnant, and Michael was ecstatic. His treatment of you didn't change. He was still sweet and caring and gentle, but now everything carried a sort of reverence for you. It was as if your mere existence was a blessing, and while he became overbearingly protective, you were content. You never did make up with your friends, and your job was lost to you, but as time slipped by and Michael gave you more freedom, you helped with homeless shelters and volunteered at children's hospitals. The media gobbled up any sighting of you, and once your belly bump made itself known and the world knew Michael Jackson was going to be a father, it sent everyone spiraling down a hole of insanity, and soon, you became accustomed to the walls of Neverland.

This time it didn't bother you as much. You had enough experience to guide you through it. This time, there was no loneliness or silence, especially since Katherine had moved in briefly to help you. Michael insisted, saying that a mother figure would help with any anxiety far better than he would. You relented after a while; the longing for a mother that never faded reared its head and planted itself upon your shoulder.

As for the baby, once it had developed enough to learn its gender, a baby shower was in the works. He planned your baby shower with the strategic force of a general and the energy of a puppy. It was there that he staked his final claim in front of everyone he held closest to his heart.

"Marry me."

You stared at him as he bent down on one knee. His eyes glossy, his smile shaky. He was nervous. He had you exactly where he wanted you, and he was still nervous. Anxious. Afraid you'd say no. Afraid that you'd deny him.

He loved you. He only wanted to give you everything you've ever wanted. All he asked for was little in comparison.

How could you have denied him? Why did you fight him for so long? This man. This beautiful, wonderful man.

"Yes," you whispered, answering his shaky smile with one of your own.

Distantly, you heard the claps and the whistles, but as he picked you up in his arms and twirled you around, all you could hear was his laughter.

When he finally put you down and placed his forehead against yours, you focused on the sound of your heartbeat, and you knew that if you were to place your hand against his chest, yours would finally match his.

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