Chapter Text
Mine
Michael x Reader
Ten weeks later, you find yourself thinking about him, again. Wondering where he is, what he’s doing, if, maybe, just maybe, he’s thinking about you too.
Shaking your head, you focus in on what the doctor’s telling you. “You’re baby’s developing normally, though I would recommend cutting down on your caffeine some more.”
You give her a sheepish smile, “Sorry, I’ve been having cravings.”
The rest of the appointment goes quickly, and as you drive away, you find yourself heading towards the place you’ve been dreaming of.
In the days after your were saved it was searched and checked, but there was no sign of your masked assailant. Both the cops and Cassie tried to get you to call what he did rape, but you couldn’t, wouldn’t. While it was the last thing you had expected when you walked up those stairs, you have no regrets when it comes to what happened between you. You honestly loved what he did to you, playing your body like nobody before.
Cassie’s pissed at you, wanting you to hate him as much as she does, wanting you to get rid of your baby. After all, he killed all those people, some of them her friends. Why can’t you see just how evil he is, how evil his spawn will be?
She doesn’t understand that you can’t see him like that. Selfish? Yes. Sadistic? Incredibly, but evil? No.
Pulling up in front of the house, memories assault you. The sights, the smells, the feelings over take you. Time flies as the memories do.
Glancing up, you make up your mind. Clutching the letter you wrote earlier today, you walk up to the busted door.
It looks even worse than the last time you were here. The windows are all broken, graffiti stains the walls and porch.
You move to open the door, but something stops you. What if he doesn’t remember you? What if he freaks out about the baby? What if he kills you?
Your hand falls to your belly, showing only the slightest bit. You want to see him again, desperately, but you want this baby that much more. Still , you think, he should know.
Having thought ahead, you reach into your purse, pulling out a roll of tape. Two pieces of tape have the envelope secured. A tear falls as you give the paper a quick kiss.
You speed back to your car, turning for home as quick as possible. If you were to look back, you would see that the letter is gone, a garish white face with its pitch black eyes following your car’s journey as you drive away.
You don’t see him pull up the mask, you don’t see his eyes fly over the page, you don’t see his fist smash into the wall, and you don’t see the car that follows you home, never letting you out of his sight.
Pulling into your driveway, you roll your eyes at the guy who was tailgating you like a mother fucker. “Asshole,” you mutter, climbing from your car.
Wondering about what you just did, you’re completely oblivious to your surroundings. Second guessing the letter, again, you don’t realize he’s right behind you until he shoves you through the door you just unlocked.
He slams the door as you stumble into your living room, catching yourself on your couch.
Before you can catch your bearings, he tosses you on the couch. Pinning you there, one hand rests against your throat, the other cradling your slightly swelling stomach.
"Michael," a sob escapes you as you see "his" face again for the first time.
The hand on your neck drifts up to your cheek, his head tipping at the display.
Without thinking, you throw your arms around him and pull, more lifting yourself up than dragging him to you. As soon as you can, you bury your face in his neck, crawl into his lap, and let the tears you've desperately been holding at bay burst from you.
He squeezes you back, though not nearly as hard as you're squeezing him. His mask glides across your neck, absorbing as much of you as he can.
As the tears dry, you pull back. Cupping his face, you pull him in for a kiss. It's every bit as awkward as one would expect, and the best kiss of you life. Your tongues duel through the plastic for what feels like forever.
His hands trace up and down your back, until one hand winds through your hair, pulling your head back. You lick your lips, not wanting to lose the taste of him.
The other finds your belly again. You know what he wants, so you untangle yourself before standing. His grip tightens, a barely audible growl escaping him.
Cupping his cheek, you reassure, "It's okay. I have something for you."
Reluctantly, he lets you up, and you sprint to your kitchen. You carefully pull the two pictures from the fridge and sprint back, crawling back into his lap.
"Here," you hand him the black polaroid. "It's the ultrasound. I made sure to grab you one."
He stares at it for a few minutes before you realize he has no idea what he's looking at.
You start pointing out the features. "This is their head, that's their arm and wrist, and this right here, is their heart. They're about this big right now," you show him about two inches.
Then you remember, "Oh yeah." You jump up again, this time heading for your TV. "I also got a video."
Since you've been watching it a couple times a day, it's still in the machine. You get it queued up and settle in against him.
A fast, deep whoop-whoop fills the room, and you hear his breath catch as the video starts. The baby dances and moves, while the doctor took notes. Labels flash across the screen and you do the best to explain what they mean.
As the video ends, you turn off the TV and turn to him.
Everything stills, waiting for his response, but Michael isn't known for his enigmatic nature for nothing. After what feels like hours, you break, "Well? What are you thinking?"
Instead of answering, he stands, staring down at you.
A shriek escapes you as you find yourself thrown over his shoulder, quickly stalking up your stairs. He has no trouble finding your bedroom, gently dropping you on bed.
Wasting no time, he has you naked. Before you can ask, he drops onto you, his face pressed against your belly.
"Um, Michael," you start, but he lets out a low growl, cutting you off.
He climbs off you, grabbing your shirt. Your eyes widen as he tears it into strips.
"Wha-" a piece is wound around your eyes, before you find yourself beneath him again. Butterflies flutter as you feel the skin on his face for the first time. Unable to stop yourself, you run your fingers through his hair. He stiffens, but doesn’t stop you.
You lay there for hours, darkness falling even through your makeshift blindfold. There’s not a single thing in the whole world that could get you to leave this spot.
The only thing that could possibly get you going is hunger, and at that moment your stomach let out a vicious growl, completely embarrassing you.
“Michael,” you groan. “I think the baby wants food.”
He sighs, but pulls himself off you. In no time, you’re dressed, calling for your usual pizza, hoping he’ll be okay with it.
You settle back into the couch, white noise of a movie playing in the background. Sitting there, you just enjoy his presence. Looking deep into his eyes, you finally ask, “Are you okay with this? I know it isn’t something you were planning on.”
Your eyes widen as you realize how that sounds, “Not that I did.”
No response.
It’s not really surprising, but at this moment, it hurts, it hurts so much more than you could have imagined. You’re about to unload on him when the doorbell rings.
Sighing, you go pay for and grab the food, placing it on the table.
“Diner’s here,” you quietly tell him, appetite gone.
Your emotions have been all over the place lately, and him just acting like himself set you off. You hated it.
Today had already gone so much better than you could have hoped, but your body was giving logic the middle finger.
You’re about to run to the bathroom, hoping to calm down a little, when you run smack dab into Michael’s chest and a sob escapes you. You try to play it off, but he won’t let you.
He forces you to eat and won’t let you go until you tell him what’s wrong.
You want to fight it, deny your pain, but his steady quiet aura draws it from you. All your grief from the last ten weeks bubbles and pours from you. Cassie, your less than stellar health insurance, worry about being a single mother. Your growing feelings for a known killer.
He holds you as all the darkness pours from your soul. As the tears slow and dry, he carries you up to your room. Placing you on the bed, gently this time, he makes sure you’re comfortable.
Once he’s sure you’re okay, he mimes a pen and paper. You hand him a notebook from the floor and a pen from your bedside table.
Repeat all questions. A slight flush overtakes you at his bluntness, and that his penmanship is better than yours.
Still, you do as he asks, “Okay, first, what are your thoughts on the baby?” Thinking on it more, you add, “Actually, that’s the most important, if I need to know more, I’ll ask.”
I want it. That’s MY baby.
Giggling softly, you roll your eyes, “ Our baby.”
In the blink of an eye, you find yourself pinned to the bed, his hands rending the clothes from your body, again. You’re suddenly naked beneath him, his powerful figure looming almost menacingly over you.
Arousal surges through you, the smallest hint of fear making it that much sweeter.
Wasting no time, he strips, erection bouncing free the moment it can. Your mouth waters, wanting nothing more than to take it deep. What you want will have to wait though, he has plans for you.
Gripping your hips, he flips you over then pulls you to your hands and knees. Once he has you where he wants you, you feel his hot breath against your exposed pussy. If you were to turn and look you know you would see his face, but as much as you were trusting him not hurt you, he was trusting you, and there’s no way you are going to break that trust.
Burying your face in your pillow, a scream rips through you as he plunges his tongue deep inside you. He shocks you with his skill, this tongue playing your body like it’s an instrument only he’s mastered.
Bouncing between short, powerful sucks and long, tender licks, your clit is a hard little pebble. One finger spreads through your slickness, slowly massaging at your entrance. He’s not rushing this time, obviously planning to explore you so thoroughly, he could draw a map directly to all your pleasure.
You want to rock back into him, but hold yourself back, wanting him to have his fun, not that it’s a hardship. Then he surprises you.
He slips his finger out of you, pressing against the tight ring of muscles at your rosette.
“Michael!” you squeal, your shock allowing it to slide in. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt , bringing your climax from a distant dream to right here. As he starts fucking it into you, he adds another finger to your pussy, filling you with a completely new and unique sensation. Your hands dig into the blanket, and there’s no more keeping your hips still.
He starts pistoning in and out, latched on to your clit, sucking hard while his tongue lashes.
You detonate, every muscle in your body clenching down, as an earth shattering orgasm tears through you.
Tremors still coursing, you feel his hands on your hips, seconds before he slams deep, stealing what little breath you still have. He sets a pace specifically designed to make you feel dominated, owned. One hand tangles in your hair, the other splays across your stomach.
“Mine,” he growls, catching you completely off guard. Using your hair, he pulls you up to him, “Mine.” Moving your head to the side, he licks your neck, still pounding away. “Mine!” His teeth dig in, setting off an orgasm you have no way of preparing for.
“Michael!”
His low growl vibrates through you, as he cums deep inside.
You melt into him. Making sure your eyes stay shut, you turn your head, searching for his lips. “Please,” you beg, “please kiss me.”
He actually complies, surprising you with how soft and tender his lips are. Laying out, you stay like that for some time, loving the connection.
Slowly drifting off, you snuggle into his side, “I really missed you, and I’m really glad you’re here.”
He breaths in your scent, before you hear him whisper, “Mine.”