lorimnnn

[lorimnnn]

om nom nom (slurp)

THANK YOU GUYS FOR 4k<3333

[lorimnnn]

Hi! I really liked your Ghostface crybaby! Post! I was wandering if your requests are open if you’d write a Ghostface with a unrequited survivor/reader/yn where Ghostface has the hots but the survivor/yn just ain’t feeling it. If requests aren’t open plz ignore! But seriously love your work! Totally made my day!

ahhhh i usually hate angsty things like this so I actually considering not doing it.... but the potential was too good to resist. ty for your kind words, i seriously love writing up requests <3

p.s. i accidentally deleted it and got so unmotivated :((((( here it is though

the second he sees you he's convinced the entity has sent him a gift. you're literally his type head to toe and while he's insanely attracted to you, he's twice as excited to kill you

you become his obsession.

over. and over again.

your teammates realise that he will always go after you first if he can and they abuse this fact to an inch of it's life. you understand, of course.

you hate pain. the innocent type, the sweet type. compassionate to a fault even if it's plunged you into pain again and again.

Ghostface wants to break you

there is a perverse thrill in seeing you helpless in the dirt, sobbing, begging him to stop. he has to have mori-d you one thousand times across all the trials you've had together, now. but it never hurts any less and you never get used to it.

you don't seem to understand that this is a game, either. it's like real life.

"God, you're hot." His breath shutters in his throat as he takes you in, bloody and shivering on the ground. The Entity had been feeling generous recently and because of his good behaviour, had put you in a skimpy little dress.

You whimper when he nears.

"No, no no," you say, trying to back away from him. "Please."

"You know it turns me on when you beg, babe."

You sob harder when he crouches, weaving one hand into the back of your hair to haul you upright and against him. As always, he's deceivingly gentle. If not for his wondering hands you'd think he felt bad for you--- but that was never the case.

"Please stop," you say again.

"Now why would I do that?" He combs his gloved hand through your hair. The metallic scent of your blood has him dizzy and plunged into a haze that is purely you. You, you, you. Sometimes he swears he could care less about hurting you. He just wants to see you. Your face, contorting with pain, with a smile, with---

So maybe he liked you a little.

"I know I'm your favourite," he says confidently, and then rearranges you to sit in his lap. You sniffle. He groans.

You're so cute.

And you can't help it, even if you're afraid of him--- by nature you've always been obedient and timid and good. So good. It had costed you everything by the end.

It makes him feel so powerful.

Makes you feel so small.

"I'll give you the hatch if you play nice today," he lies. He rubs your thigh and nuzzles your hair, the plastic probing into your bruised flesh. "Hm? What about it?"

You hate him.

You hate him so much.

And before you know it, it's falling out of your mouth, bitter and harsh and sapping almost all of your remaining energy.

"I hate you. Fuck you."

It's so unexpected that he flinches.

He knows you're not best friends or anything, but he never prepared himself to hear it. and it was different

it actually hurt

and you said in the same way the he claimed to like you--- eternally, unchanging, unaltered

was it the continuous mori-ing?

you had to understand that everything in-trial was purely business, even if he did get a good kick out of it. after a while he'd gotten used to how naive you were and assumed he could twist it to fit his ways

he underestimated you

and he hates himself for feeling like he doesn't know you when you say this, because he's obsessed in every sense of the word. he watches you at the campfire, doting on your teammates. so kind. bright, smiley. then you would cry yourself to sleep and he would only feel the littlest bit bad, but not enough to count

but he should have guessed it

he shouldn't feel hurt by it, either--- you're his victim first and foremost. his beautiful, kind, compassionate victim who he wanted to lock away and protect as much as he wanted to hurt.

he'd never seen you so set in your ways before. so strong. it was a complete contrast to your usual soft-spoken shyness.

He blinked, incredulous. "Aw, sweetheart. I'm sure it isn't personal."

"I hope you die in a ditch."

"You killing me would be hot."

You don't laugh.

Now he's starting to panic a little, because usually he can ignore it. You never laugh. But he can't deny it now.

You hate him.

More than anything in this plane of existence. And that's a problem. Because after this trial, it quickly occurs to him that he doesn't only like you, but likes you a lot. More than he should be allowed. Against his own will he finds his work ethic challenged and his sadistic pleasure dwindling into his guilt, his sole motivation to stay sane in this shitty reality. Now he doesn't know what to make of it.

What was he supposed to do?

He tries everything after that. He genuinely starts trying to give you the hatch and now you're slamming pallets over his head with twice as much of force.

He starts getting artsy with his pictures of you. You're actually alive in these ones. You throw every single one into the fire.

Fuck. He even consults Bubba for help and picks out a bunch of flowers to give to you alongside a heartfelt apology, but you laugh in his face.

it hurts

it hurts even more when you leave and cuddle up to some of the survivors--- the people who left you behind time and time again. the fact that you'd rather them over him spoke volumes and he would find himself incurably jealous.

he couldn't even hurt them to get over it because it would only make you hate him more

for the first time in his life, Jed Olsen regretted killing. It had led him to you and also driven the two of you apart with twice as much force

he hates it

he hates what you've done to him and he hates that he's starting to love you and he hates, most of all---

the fact you will never love him back

[lorimnnn]

hey babez :3 could u possibly write about how michael feels for a hyperfemme bimbo gf? like he never sees her without heels and lashes on X3 this is shamelessly a self insert lol

i have no excuses. this has been sitting in my inbox and stewing in my mind for way too long but here it is!!! i was so excited to put it out I have no idea what happened lol

hope you enjoy my love!!

p.s. remember to reblog and comment!!!

cw: swearing, canon-typical violence, suggestive themes

~

i feel like a lot of the people who say he wouldn't care because he's literally a psychopathic serial killer forget he was born in 1957. He was literally raised in the sixties--- he won't care BUT HE'S GOING TO NOTICE.

michael is a watcher. long before he approached you he has memorised your routine, developed favourites from your closet, salivated over the doe-eyed batting of your long lashes when something doesn't quite go your way. you will later learn that your missing makeup products and fraying clothes is because of this fucker playing with you.

he's intrigued by you. the way you prance around without a care in the world, legs exposed, everything exposed. it's so scandalous. it feels like a sin to look at you alone.

the confidence that you carry yourself with only arouses him even more. he can't even fully objectify you because you know your worth and have standards and therefore he finds himself wondering what you're like. your personality. everything in between.

it becomes obsessive

when he approaches you, it's to extinguish his desire over your body. over you.

if he lets it go any further he'll---

are you... are you flirting with him?

he doesn't know how to feel with you looking directly at him, flinging comments his way despite knowing, KNOWING who he is. you're not even mistaken, you're just going for it even though he still has a knife in his hand

he already can't resist you

when you start running your hands down his body, he's done. just done.

if you're a bimbo in the 1960s (idfk you time travelled), you're going to be an outsider yourself and it makes him feel closer to you. you're practically a power couple--- two outsiders doing whatever the fuck you want with your lives? marriage. now.

you make him feel like a filthy old man. michael was raised with ideas of a white-picket fence and a busy 9-5 with a pretty wife to come home to. all that jazz. while he isn't that traditional you're going to be uprooting everything he once thought he knew and you best believe that when he looks at you, there is not one clean thought in his head

he becomes possessive tenfold. it doesn't help that you're dead gorgeous. will try stop you from leaving the house. will lock you and isolate you in there if he knew it wouldn't draw attention. why the fuck did you have to be so popular?

so many guys asking after you are now dead. and they keep popping up like flies--- Michael gets annoyed by this really easily. it's probably the only part of your getup and lifestyle that he doesn't really like. since he's a pretty independent killer and likes to go and do his own thing, it sets him on edge knowing he can't leave you alone for a minute without having like, 500 men pile up on his hit list

you get a free scary dog now at least. yay! privileges! feel free to walk wherever you want at whatever time of day or night. Michael will take care of you and castrate any man dumbass enough to even look your way

michael is so obsessed it's not okay

his favourite part about this though is watching you get ready. then tearing it all off you and watching you have to start again. you'll be doing your makeup and his hands will just be running up and down your legs, squeezing your thighs and waist, bruises left in his wake.

you'll be constantly swatting him away because he can't help himself. his hand is always on an exposed part of your skin

he just thinks you're so gorgeous and not in a loving way, but an inquisitive way. he's genuinely affronted by how good you look and he doesn't understand it, that explosive, sensual vitality of yours that can never be snuffed out and is so, uniquely you. he wants to pull you apart and understand you because just like him, you're an anomaly of your time

he already has a staring problem... can you imagine him now? he's not looking away once. it'll quickly get uncomfortable because he just won't stop. doesn't even wanna close his eyes when you're sleeping. everything you do to him is just provoking him. push his face away? he's going to steel himself and lean into your touch. shove him? he's a brick wall and thinks you're feeling him up. yell at him about it? he's unimpressed--- don't you get it? you're literally the centre of his world. why would he look away?

michael is literally feral for you i don't make the rules

tell him you've got nothing to wear and he will go and pick an outfit he's lowkey been fantasising about for a good month, waiting for the opportunity. and it's actually pretty good. depending on how you react, this will become his love language for you--- acts of service.

definitely starts targeting other bimbos and stealing from their closet to give you clothes.

i have a very clear image in my head of The Shape himself, prowling down the streets of Haddonfield and surveying the empty streets of the night, utterly ferocious as he hunts his next kill---

completely softening when his bimbo s/o, previously clinging to his arm like they're on a nightly stroll, trips over nothing.

if your feet ever start to hurt from the heels, he will happily carry you. but not in a cute way. as in a 'I want you around but you're holding me up. I'm going to sweep you off your feet now. Don't fall."

decorate his mask with lip prints

I dare you

you'd think he would hate it but it's been like a few weeks and the lip prints are still there. you know he loves it. he knows he loves it. he will always pretend to be indifferent though and it will surprise you every time. michael can care less about how scary he looks. even with his s/o making him look like a besotten college boyfriend, looking scary is the last of his worries when he's literally a famed killer.

since he's following you anyway, use his pockets. mechanics overalls have so many pockets. and he'll encourage you. if you ever end up walking around at night with him and start complaining that you forgot your lipgloss at home, he's going to suddenly be holding out his hand--- he's a walking, non-talking, portable storage bin and be grateful because this is his only way of showing non-physical affection lmao. i fully suggest you take advantage of this. he doesn't need his pockets anyway, he holds his knife. so feel free to stock him up and rummage around as much as you like

but be warned. if you touch him in the slightest when retrieving your lipgloss from one of his pockets, he's going to think you're sending signals.

holds all your specialists at knife point so you can get your stuff done for free. if you don't like that, just tell him. but he thinks he's helping you lmfao. your poor nail girl is pissing herself trying to glue on your acrylics

just give him lots of kisses to fuel up for the day and he's good (he will stand there and act unresponsive and neutral, but if you don't give him his daily dose of affection he's going to continue to stand there, blocking your path until you do)

and don't be fooled, either. Michael may be soft on you but he is not a soft man

definitely takes sick pleasure in seeing his bruises peeking out of your skimpy clothes, his marks on full display on your neck. it's just so territorial and it's one of the few things that is able to send a rush through him--- knowing that everyone wants you and that you're walking prey, but you've already been claimed

is like an animal around you. give him one signal and you will definitely be devoured--- i hope you don't spend a lot of money on clothes because you're going to find a lot of it destroyed. better learn how to sew

just think of him as your pet rabid dog. full stop.

otherwise i actually think Michael loves his hyperfemme bimbo gf. not that he'll admit it, but you know. he's horrible at hiding it but it has a lot to do with the fact he doesn't try. just stay out of trouble and he won't wreck havoc on your life <3

Michael has always been an outsider.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he'd become a killer as a kid, although that was the first and most obvious sign. Growing up in the sanitarium had only conditioned him into believing he could never be anything else and that his only mercy would be embracing it. Funny. Now he was rumoured to be the devil incarnate: the ultimate outsider.

But that wasn't the point.

Even if Michael weren't a killer, he'd always been different. A flimsy grasp on emotions and even clumsier responses to things that were supposed to inspire sympathy. Sadness. Pity. The in-between emotions that weren't quite happy but weren't quite sad or angry or scared. But he'd just been slow in development, right? One day it would end and he would wake up and be like the rest of them. It had been a naive thought--- it had gotten Judith killed.

The sanitarium also taught Michael other things, other than the fact that he would never belong in society as anything more than a menace and disruption. He learned that he was a rarity. Some sort of unexplainable anomaly that they had to contain because they couldn't understand, and because he didn't care about changing that, he would never be free. The sanitarium had taught Michael that people feared him because there weren't many of him. So he gave them something real to fear.

He never really came across someone like him. It wouldn't have really changed things, but it would have added bredth to perspective. But Michael would soon find out that anomalies like him came in all shapes and sizes. Anomalies, like you, were just as strange, even if you fit in much better than he did.

You.

He didn't know what to make of you.

"Hey sexy!" A drunkard's voice floated over the heads over the bar and stabbed right into your back. You only wrinkled your nose.

"Um, ew!"

"Aw, don't be like that. You don't mean that." His eyes raked over you. "Looking for anybody, hey? I can save you the time you spend searching."

You look like you're about to gag. "No. Like, never. In a kajillion years."

"Bitch."

"What's the word again?" You frowned. "The men with no dicks?"

"... Eunuchs?"

"Yeah!" You beamed. "That's you. 'Cause you have no balls."

His friends roared in laughter as red crawled over the man's face. You were satisfied enough by then to move on. You knew he wasn't done. He'd probably try follow you home. That made you smirk.

You had a little magic trick up your sleeve for little diseases like them. A magic trick you weren't even sure knew that you knew he existed: Michael fucking Myers.

Michael didn't understand what it was about you that stuck out so much. You were here at the bar for what every other person was there for. Talk. Drink. Fuck, maybe, if you got lucky that was. You were all dolled up like every other woman in the room but it was like the spotlight was naturally attracted to you and he couldn't look away. Was it that tiny little skirt? Your tits pressed up towards your chin by a tight little top? You were so scandalously dressed and hid nothing. Your intentions were clear and yet somehow that repelled people the same way it drew them in.

Michael could tell you were like him. You couldn't relate to the conversations. The difference was that you tried to. They'd just laugh at you and walk away--- another dead tonight.

How long has it been, now? Since he'd started stalking you? A few days? Weeks? Months?

It had never occurred to him that you could be doing it on purpose. Changing with your blinds wide open, bending over when you caught a glimpse of him standing there in your mirror. But the obsession had gripped him. There was no escaping.

And it was distracting him horribly.

You would die tonight, he decided. These... Feelings would die with you.

It all happens in moments.

Him, following you home.

Him, raising the knife above his head.

You, turning before it could meet home, pressing your body against his.

"I knew you'd say hi one day."

Michael stops. Tilts his head.

"Not like this, though." You pout. You run your finger down the cheek of his mask and along the zipper of his mechanic's overalls. Your touch is electric and he can nearly feel it against his skin, the thrills exploding at the slightest pressure. "I'm honestly kind of hurt."

He could kill you now.

Maybe give you a chance to run?

Having you see him and speak directly to him, though, is a dizzying feeling he can't quite seem to recover from. But from the outside he looks stoic. He looks like he's humouring you before your inevitable death, which you inwardly frantically hope against.

"Michael, right?" You taste the word, curiously finding your way around it. "Mikey."

He stares at you impassively.

"I thought you had a crush on me." You draw circles into his chest with your finger and tilt your head back to look at him. "Did I get it wrong?"

Er... Not really.

You were either really dumb or maybe just---

Maybe a little weird like him.

Michael slowly lowers the knife. You take it as an olive branch and push yourself further against him, hard enough to feel the contours of his toned stomach and the rippling valleys of his body. Muscular. Well, he was a serial killer. You could put that thought away for now, though.

"I've been dying for you to talk to me all week. What took you so long?" You bite your lip. "I almost went and talked to you myself. Oh. Oooh. Maybe I should have. I think you're more excited than I am that we're finally talking."

Experimentally, his hand comes up to take hold of your throat. He inspects you--- your long, fake lashes framing filthy doe eyes, the sparkling smear of eyeshadow across your lid that matches your abnormally long and sharp nails. The confidence in which you hold yourself despite being at the mercy of The Shape himself. Genuine.

You're being genuine.

And Michael is... Feeling things. A lot of things. It's almost overwhelming, the onslaught of arousal, the heightened obsession, the near-desperate desire to possess you right there and then---

Mine, he thinks, and he almost says it out loud. Mine.

[lorimnnn]

pov: you suddenly believe in christmas in july and are frantically writing to santa for a chance, just once chance to be that chainsaw, machete and axe as we speak

I think people who write slasher movies really underestimate the erotic potential of a giant man swinging around a chainsaw like it weights nothing (and those things are huge)

Or throwing a machete so hard that it cuts through the body at the 20 feet distance

Or lifting a grown adult man on an axe without even breaking a sweat

[lorimnnn]

I watched ✨House of WAX✨and YOU BEST BELIEVE I'M POPPING OUT A REVERSE HAREM WITH THE SINCLAIRS ONCE I'M FINISHED WITH THE FICS I PROMISED YOU. ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE FINISHED.

Vincent the voyeur. The second you come into town you can feel eyes on you but you don't know who they belong to, and you can't shake the feeling of being watched. But he's everywhere. He's sneaking peaks at you hiding in plain sight, shuddering as he completes his sketch, pencil moving frantically over every inch of the page. He can't move fast enough.

You're in awe of all the effort he takes into making the wax sculptures and beg to meet the artist himself, and he's scared shitless that the mask will bother you but you're just impressed it's molded so accurately to his face. Let's you touch it and guides your fingers over the contours of his mask, shaking at the miniscule tingles he can feel against his weathered skin.

obviously you're attracted to him

Bo the flirt, of course. The second he sees you he knows you'll be fun. Heat licks up your spine every time he looks at you and it's a burrowing, soul-squirming, slow and steady kind of stare that makes it feel like he's looking at every part of you, not just the parts that they all usually like.

And obviously you're this sweet, shy thing emboldened by his attraction. You can't get enough of it and he can't get enough of you. It really will be a shame to kill you.

All your friends are terrified of the goofy, scraggly driver and kind of dicks to him, and you're frowning and he's feeling his heart stutter at someone finally standing up for him and appreciating him the way he deserves. Lester giggles when you ask him more questions, normal questions, almost like you're trying to get to know him. Calls you a 'pretty thing' and gives you a little pendant made from a squirrels skull for good luck, knowing what lies ahead.

And he's falling all over himself too to be the perfect gentleman. Holding your hand to help you out the truck, the touch lingering a tad too long (he's not extending this gesture to your dick head friends of course) leaning against said truck to talk to you and missing like a complete dork, falling on his face. Embarrassed but it's all worth it when you laugh

and then all three of them when you're still roaming around and you can't find your friends, not knowing they're already dead and you're the only one left. You go to the gas station to ask around and they're all there and pretending they have no idea, smirking at your flustered expression when Bo flirts to redirect the conversation, backing you into Vincent as he does. Now you're a bit intimidated. Why are they cornering you like this? Even Lester isn't doing anything apart from an occasional 'knock it off, eh?" when you're too flustered to speak

Hehe you're in for a ride

Mini rant:

No because immediately what struck me watching it is that Carly and her friends are kind of asses??? Like yes I'm all for character flaws but just being an idiot is basically your death sentence. It was karma. The only one I feel bad for is Paige. Tell me why I had hope that they would deserve to live when it was a bunch of college kids - - - you can never trust them to be protagonists of a horror movie because WHERE IN UR RIGHT MIND DOES IT BECOME ACCEPTABLE TO TRESPASS INTO AN AREA THAT CLEARLY SAYS 'CLOSED' OR KEY A WALL FOR PROOF??? like what if I went to ur house and saw it was locked and was like "oh, that's just a decoration" and to prove your window was real glass I threw a brick at it??? Same energy really Carly's boyfriend had it coming.

p.s. i've started writing a reverse harem novel based on house of wax--- it's gonna be a slow burn that's kind of romantic and has a lot of sexual tension hehe. would any of you be interested if I posted it on ao3, or posted updates here so you know when you can perhaps... buy it? i feel like it's going to be around 150,000 - 200,000 words

[lorimnnn]

hey loves!! i know i’ve been away and the fics I promise didn’t end up coming out... 

｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★ ｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★

but i’m back again and this time i’m going to keep my promises, since I really love this blog and everything that it’s about.

posts to look out for:

1. House of Wax drabble - 7.07.23

2. Michael Myers + Ghostface asks - 8.07.23

3. Michael Myers: Mine part 5, final - 22.07.23

4. Kazan Yamaoka ask, part 2 - 22.07.23

5. Ethan Landry fic - 23.07.23

i love all of you so much, stay safe (or not) my gorgeous slasher smashers <3 (p.s. I love the account making mini slashers so much, this has to be my fave gif of all time now!)

[lorimnnn]

sooo... amazon, still waiting on my order?

(Bo)nus part

[lorimnnn]

he's perfect, your honour

He's a 10 but he kills people in the source material

[lorimnnn]

I was just wondering if you were still working on the Mine series? No pressure of course I’m just curious and I’ve fallen in love with it.

awwwww thank you, sweets!

seeing this turn up in my inbox instantly brightened my day. and to answer your question, yes! I am still working on the Mine series. I'm working on the last part actually, so it's coming to an end :((

i'm so happy you've enjoyed the journey Michael and reader have been able to go on. there may even be more of michael and reader coming in a few different fics and series (hint hint cough cough)

the last part should be coming sooner or later or whatever, i won't make any excuses and i'll just be real: it definitely depends on my laziness and time! but it's definitely continuing!

[lorimnnn]

Hiii! May I request something for Kazan Yamaoka?

During a match at the Yamaoka Estate where Kazan sees from a distance survivor reader is gonna go to a gen that's in one of the houses but she catches herself before she steps inside. She takes her shoes off and leaves them at the door before going to the gen. Despite it being a realm different from the real world she still respects Japanese culture. And she does this every time she goes through any houses in his realm.

Idk I'm just curious how Kazan would react to this since none of the other survivors or killers (besides him maybe) respect this. But if not that's totally ok!

omg, I can't explain how much I love this request! I know it took me ages but I'm here! I'm looking to write more on Kazan because there's hardly anything on him.

☆…☆…☆…☆…☆…☆☆…☆…☆…☆…☆…☆☆…☆…☆…☆���☆…☆

warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, life-threatening situations, swearing, i hate editing so obviously it's not edited but i'll probably go over it one day

trope summary: fluff, slow-burn

☆…☆…☆…☆…☆…☆☆…☆…☆…☆…☆…☆☆…☆…☆…☆…☆…☆

You were the last one left. Did you know that?

It had never crossed your mind--- so no, you didn't. You had learned long ago not to care about those types of things when you were facing killers like The Oni. He was a devourer. Your teammates never stood a chance to begin with.

But you didn't know that.

The first time The Entity threw you into The Oni's world, you took off running. That's what your other teammates did, anyway. There had been a collective groan when the fog cleared and you all came to terms with where you were--- then a grim caress of fear that seemed to possess all of you. The sight of your teammates so flighty had struck you the wrong way and you weren't going to go about asking questions about it.

The primal roar in the distance said all that you needed to know.

What was this place, anyway?

It was like you'd time-travelled to Edo-era Japan. It was beautiful and antique and you'd never seen anything quite like it. But you'd always wanted to travel to Japan.

The Entity took that chance away from you.

You found yourself reminiscing over all those lost opportunities. You were never going to get them back. You should've gone even when you were sure you were going to be dirt poor afterwards. You should have taken the chance and travelled everywhere as soon as you got the money for it. You didn't even know what you were saving for. Everyone else was doing it, so you supposed you were supposed to as well. But what was the point of having so much money if you couldn't even use it to buy the things that would make you happy?

If you could go back, you would leap at the chance to travel somewhere here. But you supposed that 'here' wouldn't really exist in the real world. Not like this. Not at the peak of it's grandeur.

Ha! The irony.

Could you even call this a privilege when you were only here to die?

You heard Kate cry out in the distance. You flinched; you needed to wake up. Work on some gens. You were still running aimlessly, trying to get away---

Kate had just died, and here you were.

Admiring the scenery.

Idiot.

You'd always been little airy-fairy. Not quite there, sometimes too much in the moment, sometimes a little too far off. It meant you had a lot of delayed reactions, such as now.

Right now, you needed to be thinking of how to stay alive and keep your teammates that way, too.

So you headed for the house, running faster than ever. The doors were open and you could already see the gen.

"Quick," you muttered to yourself.

Before he catches up to you.

You hadn't seen The Oni, but you'd heard stories about him. Gruesome stories of his brutal, unforgiving nature, his mistaken dignity and honour. A true warrior who had been corrupted by his blood thirst.

You wondered how a samurai of all things learned such villainy. Weren't they all about honour? That's what you'd read in your books, at least. Now you weren't so sure.

Before entering the house with the gen in sight, you paused. You know you shouldn't of. You know that he was the last person in this hellish world deserving of respect when he was literally out killing all of you, but---

But this was different.

"It's the bare minimum," you reassured yourself. It helped comfort your warring fear that you were crazy. That you were empathising with a killer.

You took off your shoes and aligned them neatly outside before heading in and working the gen.

~

Too easy.

It was all too easy. Sometimes so much so that it got boring very quickly--- the same chase, the same screams, the same mindless fury that Entity infused him with. It wasn't as though he cared about the survivors in any way. He couldn't care less if they had families, let alone worth it personalities. But there was no more motive behind the kills. No more drive.

It was the ultimate disgrace to his honour---

But if Kazan admitted that, what would the Entity do?

It would be an insult. It would risk his life and extended existence, and there was so much he hadn't done yet. So much he was already doing that he had vowed to finish. One day the Entity would release him and he would resume his life and old purpose. Or maybe he would start all over again and honour his father better.

That was his secret hope.

You were the last survivor. He hadn't met you yet. Hadn't even heard of you, but he knew that you weren't fresh of the boat if you had eluded him so easily. You must have heard things or been smart to ask if it meant that it was your first instinct to run.

"Shoes...?" He muttered to himself.

He could hear you working on the gen. You were so diligent. So focused.

So naive--- how had you not heard him?

Well, Kazan had been taking his time with you. He didn't attempt to be quiet often. The kills were usually so quick that it didn't even matter. He was fast and they were prey and he would consume them before they even knew they were food.

But that was a thought for another day, because---

Because---

You had put your shoes outside. You had set them up neatly. It was a custom he had almost forgotten about and learned not to apply to the survivors. He never bothered to hold it against them, either. In this game of life and death, customary traditions were the last of any of their worries, even his.

And yet you had remembered.

Something dead twitched in his cold, hollow heart. It was small, but so significant that it barrelled into him--- a short breath escaped him in a husky puff.

Warmth.

He was feeling... warmth.

He looked up from your shoes. He watched you gently, the hardness receding from his gaze for that moment alone--- he observed your fixated frown, the nimble work of your fingers, the way you were still too absorbed to notice him...

Kill.

The Entity's voice startled him, even if it didn't show. It had been a while since she had spoke to him at all, and it was only at the start when he'd been summoned to this cruel arena of death.

Her voice was sharp. Cutting.

A warning.

Kill.

Was this all they were meant to do? To kill and consume, to die and be reborn, only for the cycle to continue until the end of eternity?

Could he really kill you now?

He would never admit it. Not allowed, unless he wanted to die. But the Entity's voice, it had disgusted him. It probably knew that. Somehow, even a fraction of his hesitance had amounted into something significant enough for the Entity to speak--- it knew all.

It knew he wanted to spare you, just for this small gesture.

But it knew he wouldn't.

Kazan killed you in cold blood.

He thought about you long after.

~

The Oni was said to roar when he killed. It was loud and brutal and everyone knew about it--- you became a sacrifice in his hands, and you died with honour.

Did he hate you?

Why had he killed you so silently?

One moment you had been working on the gen. The next you were dead. All you saw was a flash of a grotesque mask. It was drenched in blood but you were still able to make out the curving and elongated features of it, the bright red eyes that shone through and burned through your soul. You hadn't even had time to scream. To feel scared. He had grabbed you and killed you from behind and all you'd seen was the blur that the last seconds of living had afforded you--- in that way, you felt betrayed.

Had you insulted him by doing what you had thought would appease him?

You hadn't even intended to win his favour. That gesture had been out of respect for his culture. It had been more for you than anything.

Did he think you were shitting on his culture instead? What the fuck?

You were more angry about it than you had right to be. Jake was out doing his alone-time things in the woods when you bumped into him, kicking twigs and punching trees.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," you grumbled. Jake didn't believe you, and you were terrible at hiding things. You sighed. "I hate killers! I hate them! What the fuck!"

Jake's usually impassive face betrayed the hint of a smile. "I know."

"Why are they such heartless pains in the ass?"

"They're built that way."

"Were they not people, once upon a time?"

"Hardly." Jake shrugged. He tried to end the conversation there, but you kept following him around and eventually he was forced to sit when you clung to his sleeve. "They have inhuman backstories. So I've heard."

"And what's The Oni's?"

Jake snorted. "He's bothering you?"

"Is it that unbelievable?"

"He's not worth a backstory," Jake said. "Trust me. He's purely in it for the kill."

Somehow, that made you angrier.

You clung to Jake's sleeve harder when he tried to stand, and he looked at you, slightly irritated.

"Can I go now?"

"No," you said flatly.

"What do you want?"

You stopped. He sighed.

You let go of his sleeve and sat there, fighting tears. They fell anyway.

~

Kazan didn't understand you.

You didn't understand Kazan.

You kept unintentionally respecting him, and he kept killing you. he didn't really know how to react, actually. You were too...

Too-

Too kind.

He caught himself stalking you outside of trials. He covered it up by banging on the boundary that separated the killers from the victims and acting like he was trying to come after you. At first you were scared. He regretted scaring you.

Kazan did it again and again anyway. It had been a while since he'd felt anything. The more trials he had with you, the more things he was left to grapple with. He hated it.

He yearned for it.

So he kept seeking you out.

You were kind. A bit stupid--- how could you not see how the other survivors abused your purpose and skillset? Or did you know? Why did you let it happen if you knew?

You seemed to like the other survivors, though. He couldn't understand why.

He quickly learned that you were sentimental. Ah. That made sense. No wonder you bothered with things such as cultural customs.

Sentimental was not good. It meant emotional.

To be emotional in a place like this was to kill yourself over and over, and everyone knew it. It had established the natural order of kill or be killed. Survive or die. And yet you were there, uprooting it.

No wonder everyone borderline disliked you. You showed too much interest in doing more, being more. Connecting.

How long had it been since he'd connected?

He supposed he had Rin. His descendant. But that was a bit different, wasn't it?

"What the fuck is your problem?" You'd yelled out once. You'd startled him by coming right up to the boundary and screaming in his face--- he'd stopped trying to break it just to let you speak. "What the fuck do you want? Why do you want to kill me so bad? Are you okay? Are you good?" You paused to take a breath. You were panting, hot in the cheeks, sweat beginning to bead in your hairline. "Are you fucking okay?"

He should have been angry. Who gave you the right to talk to him in such a way?

Who?

Who gave you a right to make him feel like this?

Feel anything?

And who the fuck gave you the right to make him feel bad of all things when he caught you crying?

He wouldn't have seen them if you hadn't turned your head that slightest angle, the sun hitting the thing glaze of your tears. They were shining.

You seemed to realise you were about to fall apart the same time he did and retreated. Why were you embarrassed?

Why was he contradicting himself?

Kazan watched you run away into the woods. He growled when he saw that black haired one who often pretended to ignore you sigh to himself and then run after you.

He shouldn't have stalked the both of you as far as the barrier allowed him to. Shouldn't have hid when he heard you sobbing out loud, shouldn't have stayed hidden when that stupid survivor took you into his arms--- pretending to hate it--- and let you cry there as he battled with his red cheeks.

The next time he had a trial with Jake Park, he brutalised him again and again.

Jake didn't know why, of course. And would The Oni ever tell him?

No.

Because how would he even begin to explain what he was feeling when he didn't even know himself?

~

You'd had enough.

The Oni had made you his obsession over and over, saving you for last. It had made his kills twice as brutal and twice as painful because know you were always ready for them.

And recently he'd been coming on to you with a vengeance, like you'd done something wrong.

You were going to sort this out for once and for all. Somewhere along the way it had become incredibly personal and this undiscovered connection and had become intimate, even if it was mostly comprised of him killing you for more than just that, killing you. Somehow that alone made it all the more emotional, all the more addictive.

You couldn't run away; there was nowhere to go.

So the next time you had a chance, you went to his realm on your own. You hunted him down and yelled in his face--- he hadn't expected you, clearly.

He had been meditating in his temple and suddenly you had come flying out of nowhere.

"Why are you doing this?" You shouted. "Why do you keep doing this? I don't get it. What have I done to hurt you so personally?"

The Oni scrambled--- ungracefully-- to his feet and stood up.

"Are you seriously going to kill me again?" you wailed. "Outside of a trial of all things? I just came to talk! Because you're a bully! A mean fucking bully!"

The Oni hesitated, his hand uncurling from his katana.

"I hate you!" You yelled.

He said nothing. Of course he did.

Now you just felt embarrassed.

"I hope I never get put in a trial with you ever again!"

That prompted the Oni to take a step closer to you. You were already walking away, though, and was surprised to find the Oni close behind, trailing at a modest distance away. You walked faster. So did he.

You walked slower.

So did he.

"Go away," you mumbled, shoving your feet back into your shoes. "You make me so mad. I don't know what I've done to piss you ff this much, but I hope it's worth it!"

The Oni kept following you.

It was quickly becoming aggravating. You stopped and turned around, probably to yell at him, but seeing him just standing there made you too mad for words and you turned back around to walk. You stomped your foot and screamed at the sky.

You hated this.

It made no sense.

You jumped at the feeling of a hand curling around yours. It was big and meaty and riddled with scars and veins. It was a human hand. The Oni's hand.

And he was touching you gently, like you could break at any moment.

Like he was sorry.

But Kazan would never say it.

"...Stay," he said.

You gawked. You hadn't even realised he could talk. You'd been sure his only language was punching and letting out battle cries. Still, over the revelation, you glared at him. "Are you crazy? What if you kill me?"

"I won't."

He held your hand slightly tighter. Was that a threat?

You pulled away your hand to test it; he didn't try squeeze it harder.

Not a threat.

"Um..."

Oh.

What did you do now?

You hadn't expected this.

"Stay," he said again.

"Why?"

"For tea."

You felt like laughing. Was he serious? Was he actually genuine? For tea? He wanted you to stay for tea? Huh? What? Why-

"Yes," you said. "Okay."

You were staying for tea.

~

The Oni was... Not what you expected. He didn't say much, but when he did, it was choked and gruff like he wasn't used to talking. And maybe he wasn't.

You were skeptical the whole time, but not once did he move to hurt you. He didn't even poison the tea that he made--- hand ground and the water boiled over a fire. He showed you his every move with distinct slowness like he knew you were watching.

"Does it ever get lonely here?" You found yourself blurting. "All alone. I mean, I heard you're related to Rin. Is that true?"

All you got was a nod. You weren't sure whether that was to the first or the second question, but you ran with it.

"Do you often make tea?"

He shook his head.

"Am I annoying you?"

The Oni looked at you again--- this time sharply, and you tensed and held your breath. You weren't expect the flash of deadpan attitude in his eyes when he sighed and turned away.

"So... I'm not?"

"Drink your tea," he said.

You did.

~

You should have never come back.

But the tea...

The tea was good.

Yeah, the tea.

~

So... Kazan may like you more than he thought.

It wasn't intentional; it had just happened. You kept coming for tea, he kept listening to you babble, and he started to crave your company the second you left. You had managed to fill a gap in his chest that he hadn't even realised had been vacant to begin with.

You were just so beautiful.

It had caught him by surprise. One day you came to his realm, took off your shoes and waited for him to pour you a cup of tea and it had struck him that you were the most stunning thing to exist in all his millennia of living, and could spend a millenia more of just admiring you if you allowed. But you never did.

You always thought something was wrong when he stared at you for too long. Always took it as your cue to leave.

Kazan regretted killing you over and over again.

Maybe if he didn't, you'd be more willing to trust him again.

"Yamaoka Kazan," he said one afternoon. It had slipped out. You were in the middle of talking and then he'd just said it.

"Pardon?"

"My name."

"Oh, well if I'm right, you introduced yourself with your last name first. Out of respect, should I call you Mr Yamaoka?"

That alone sent a shudder down his spine. Kazan barely managed to hide it. The only thing stopping him was his need for you to say it again, say it more intimately. Say it like you meant it. And not his last name.

"No," he said.

You were past that. You deserved more. Deserved everything.

But selfishly, he wanted something from you first.

Hesitantly, you tried his name in your mouth. "... Kazan?"

Kazan.

Kazan.

Kazan.

Suddenly he was just a man, not a killer. A man who had lived and breathed and felt things, and now he felt them for you.

"Well, if we're on that level, my name is Y/n."

"Y/n."

You looked away from him, and he smirked beneath his mask.

It seemed he affected you just as much.

☆…☆…☆…☆…☆…☆☆…☆…☆…☆…☆…☆☆…☆…☆…☆…☆…☆

I swear to the universe the only thing i could think of with 'you were staying for tea' was that meme from mulan like 'would you like to stay for dinner' and then the grandma yelling out 'would you like to stay forever' but it's rin

I wanna write a pt. 2 for this but would you be interested in that?

As always, please reblog!

[lorimnnn]

PLEASE 💗💗💗💗💗💗

there is nothing I want more

POV mom said that you could pick one thing if you behave

[lorimnnn]

YES. YES. YES. YES.

and none of us can act like this is not who we are aspiring to be, whether you're the psycho or the darling. We all wanna be seemingly helpless victims of destruction when we're actually the ones pulling the strings all along. AND I WANNA BE A SUPER FEM BIMBO HOPELESSLY IN LOVE WITH MY VERY CONFUSED, KINDA INTO IT, SUPPOSEDLY ANTAGONIST MONSTER (or dark haired lonely man)

[lorimnnn]

Hello, would you be so kind to write for some DBD killers? If so, could you please write some headcanons on Max, Kazan and Anna taking pity on a survivor reader? She has been hiding away the whole trial and they find her shaking in a corner, hugging her knees and crying. She is so scared that she can't move and the only thing that comes out of her mouth is a weak "I just want to go home"

Than you in advance! 💗

absolutely!!!!

i do apologise for taking WAY too long with this, sometimes a lack of motivation trumps all, no matter how good the request is!

I hope what I've written is plenty enough to please you...

also, keep requesting guys! I love seeing your messages turn up in my inbox &lt;;3

~

cw: canon-typical violence, gore, some swearing, panic/anxiety, but mostly just angsty fluff, ngl

DBD Killers With a Scared!Reader

Max Thompson Jr.

Initially... he's so confused. He doesn't know what to think, first, but avoids you as an issue to deal with later. I'd like to think the Hillbilly prefers to take care of the more difficult survivors, first--- he's just like that.

His screams terrify you. You can hear the sound or people getting torn apart and you've never been particularly fond of torture. You were a sensitive, emotional soul, and so, very kind. But make no mistake. The Entity meant for you to be here--- whoever the "Entity" was, anyway.

At this point, everybody had left you behind to fend for themself. Since the Hillbilly was an unsubtle butcher, it was easier to elude and avoid him--- giving them time to try explain to you and encourage you to do your part. But it just went in one ear and out the other. You were terrified, after all. Eventually, they just gave up and let you be, crying and frozen with your hands clamped over your ears.

How did it ever come to this?

Now you're the only one left. Max doesn't notice you at first, you know, since you're new. He thinks he's taken care of everyone, but he doesn't understand why the trial hasn't ended

Then he hears small, breathless sniffles

Whips around, confused

His chainsaw growls at his side and the crying grows louder as he nears. He hunts you down and just... finds you. Raises the chainsaw above his head and is about to kill you--- but then you look up at him, completely defeated and vulnerable, wet-eyed and quivering

You don't even try to run at that rate. How can you? Where will you go? You've never been here before. But it looks very far from home

I think it's the hopelessness in your life that makes him pause

he's completely quiet and just standing there

And realising that nobody is coming to help you, you burst into more violent wails

"I want to go home!"

Awkwarddddd

stands there watching you tear up and inwardly panics

doesn't know how to comfort anyone. his parents were terrible and tortured him, and because of his prison in the walls, he never got to make any friends

he's grappling with the feeling of duty

it's not the first time survivor's have cried before, but it's the first time one has cried and not looked at him with complete disgust or hatred. you're crying because you're scared, yes, and obviously scared of him... but it's like you're giving him an opportunity to win your trust

he finally gets to be more than an angry villain... and he's unsure where to start

so he puts down his chainsaw, first. turns it off and everything, then just chucks it somewhere behind him. he'll go find it later

you're watching him like a deer in the headlights as he gets down on his knees and carefully scoots towards you

you flinch when his hand descends close to your face... and then rests on your head

*pat pat pat*

You're still so stiff, so terrified, but your tears are beginning to cease in passion

seeing your reaction feels like a reassurance, so he does it again

a bit harsh with it though

"ow..." you say when it starts to feel like he's hitting you. "that hurts..."

oh my gosh he feels so bad

hand retreats immediately

makes a sound that has you deflating completely, because you realise he's trying. he's truly trying, and is just not very good at it

he's completely defenseless, too

you realise that with a flinch, because it means that this disfigured, monstrous killer is trying to appeal to your trust, telling you he won't kill you

you soften up a little

you fear that when he stands up because you're taking too long, he'll grab the chainsaw again and make it quick. but you don't want to die--- you saw everyone else get chopped up and you don't want that to happen to you

max stiffens when he sees you beginning to move on to your hands and knees, crawling towards him. your face is still wet but now they're full of hope, not just undiluted fear

"can... can I have a hug?"

he's so scared he'll crush you

in all honesty maxie's never gotten a hug before. he's not used to this kind of gentleness, just violent anger

so he opens his arms up slowly, jerking like a rusting machine, inviting you in the best he can. trying to smile at you, even though his face doesn't allow. it's like his hatred for his disfigurement has just been renewed--- he wishes he could look nicer, just for you

definitely has a moment where he's like, "what the fuck am I doing right now?"

very well knows the entity may punish him for this

can't bring himself to care

not when you curl up against his chest between his knees, your sobs starting up again as you grip into his clothes, holding yourself impossibly close

absolutely melts

a natural at adapting to the cuddle

wraps his arms around you like you're delicate, though. not the firmness you need but it makes you feel so special and so cared for that you just cry harder, burying your face into him

max cannot believe this is happening rn

a new, alien kind of warmth floods through him, protective and strong. he strokes your arm gently and lets you cry, wishing he knew how to help, cursing himself out for the fact he doesn't

jumps when you speak, "will I ever go home again?"

his heart practically breaks. he doesn't want to shake his head, but he has to. he doesn't understand why he hates it when you cry, but he allows it.

and he promises that he'll do everything in his ability to protect you, and make sure you never have to cry like this again

all in all a 10/10 touch-starved baby. would probably fall a little in love with you when you recover, shaky hands reaching to pull you into another hug, but not knowing if it's okay.

will bridal carry you into the hatch and drop you in, heart breaking all over again when you scream and fight to reach for him, hands desperately fumbling for grip on his clothes

but he'll see you again

just you wait, sweetpea

Kazan Yamaoka

an asshole. he's so driven by rage that he most likely won't notice at first. just destroys and destroys, reaping destruction in his chosen path

this means that you won't even have a chance to talk to the other survivors. they know how kazan is and they'll send you an apologetic glance as they all scatter, wishing they had more time to explain but knowing if they didn't work fast, they were all done for

you're on your own, kid

let's say you're a good climber. shakily, you haul yourself on to the roof and choose there to hide, because for some reason... nobody ever looks up. ever.

until the end

kazan is wracking his head for a solution--- why isn't the trial ending? hasn't he won? he killed them all... hooked, mori'd, he'd lost count. but he knew the faces of the survivors he hated the most to the ones he still couldn't stand on a lesser scale and was sure he'd made a mess of all of them. but still, the trial continued

which meant a new survivor

so who was it?

where was it?

drives himself insane trying to find you. for all his rage and godlike pride, he's not the brightest

only realises you're on the roof when you start hiccupping, panic increasing tenfold when you realise you're the only one left. You don't know about hatches, you don't know about anything. Nobody explained anything to you

And now you're stuck with a flaming, angry monster

you can't even scream. it's stuck in your throat, muffled, choking on it--- you can only watch as kazan gets closer and closer. he's even angrier than usual--- did you mean to trick him? did you plan this? of course, you wanted to make a fool out of him

approaches you with audible, potent breaths. he reminds you of a hungry lion on the prowl, an apex predator approaching you, unrivalled. proud. ego hurt.

you back away

there is no remorse in this samurai, you can see it. you're scrambling back with your hands still on your ass, sniffling. and then you slip.

it's completely clumsy and stupid. you're at the end of the roof and you didn't realise, and now you're on your back, nothing to grab on to, and rolling off the edge.

kazan watches you smack against the ground. he expects you to get up and run away again.

but when you cry out, a vulnerable, naked cry, innocent to pain like this, he stops.

he watches you sob harder, muttering to yourself. "I wanna go home, I wanna go home, I just wanna go home..."

and your eyes are clenched shut, like you're praying. don't you know your wishes are futile, here? the Entity is not a merciful god, nor is it kind

you curl up into a ball and just lay there, and he can only stare

he starts to remember how your teammates didn't even help you. they only cared for themselves and their own survival. dishonourable cowards.

they'd left you stranded, and none of them had noticed

he supposed he could try and understand their positions. they were in a high-pressure situation and they could only do what they needed to do, lest they be butchered by them premature to even the middle of the trial. but still

there was a special kind of fear you honed that made him almost feel... bad

it took him back to his youth. he remembered his dead father. that man had not been innocent to bloodshed, but he had been innocent, no less. and he had died. dead in a way he did not deserve

you reminded him of his father taking his last breath

that day, he had failed to protect his family and honour his last name. he had not been a warrior that day, but a coward

and seeing you was a painful reminder of all his regrets

so he sighed

and carefully made his way towards you

you didn't even notice him until he grabbed you by the chin, turning your head to face him. your breath hitched in your throat and you froze all over, more tears surfacing to your eyes

but the feared oni only scoffed

"I'm not here to hurt you. I would have done so already if that were the case."

you sniffled pathetically

he loosened his grip on your face

being gentle had never been his strong suit. it had been a while since he'd had such an opportunity, to be responsible for someone else's comfort. be the person they needed

swallows when you melt into his touch

your entrance had been a rude one, after all. he was the only person who'd ever stopped and attempted kindess with you in this hell hole. the other survivors had neglected you

"your arm is broken?"

"i... I think so."

"The Entity will fix it."

"Entity?"

sighs

gently explains to you where you are and what's going on. at this point, he has squatted down to sit, less beast and more man... and you have finally sat up, cradling your arm as you scoot closer. kazan has noticed but hasn't said anything, unsure of your movements but certain of your weakness

does not expect you to throw yourself into his arms

the impropriety!!!

kazan is an Edo-era samurai, come on

freezes up like he's been violated

"s-sorry," you whisper. "I just... I need someone. Please. To tell me I'll be okay."

relaxes

pity begins to transform into sympathy and something else, something that makes him feel responsible for you. Like a dad or something, or maybe even more. a possible companion

won't get ahead of himself, though

strokes your hair like a domesticated cat and eventually hauls you into the little cradle formed in the centre of his crossed legs

you're baby now

not that you're complaining

kazan is as warm as a furnace and he's the first comforting thing you've had in a while. against your will, your entire body melts and you become liquid in his arms, much to his pleasure

he finds he... may like this

he's never really given tender affection like this before. sure, he had his family, but that had been purely for the upholding o his dark legacy

now that's over and immortalised, and there's you

he doesn't mind you

remember that kazan is very headstrong and emotionally driven. he kills everyone in an episode of unparalleled anger. so of course he starts to see you in a certain way--- his little deer, little one, sweet creature

depending only on him

of course he'll take care of you when he puts it like that

but alas, he can't keep you here forever

"Little one, we must part. But I will see you again. I will make sure of it. You will be strong when I see you next time. You will not cower. Do you understand?"

You really don't, but tearfully, you nod. you don't want to disappoint and it pleases him that you care to appease to a monster at all

leads you to the hatch with one hand on the back of your neck. sends you off with an approving nod.

you'll never know how softly he smiled at you that day

Anna

with her hunting skills, you have more luck being obvious than you do hiding and being subtle. you hiding and being subtle was what gave you away immediately

and also, Anna loves a challenge

the other survivors tried dragging you around with them, explaining, but it was all in vain. you weren't moving. you weren't doing anything but crying

they gave up and abandoned you when it compromised their own safety to be around you

but some stayed

who was it? leon. of course it's leon. he's too noble, too kind-hearted to leave you behind

he tries to defend you when Anna finally approaches, but he can't

you feel your entire world break apart when she mori's him right in front of you

that's when your hardly-contained sobs turn into silent, breathless whimpers, more tears streaming down your face and your chest quaking as you fight to breathe

you can't breathe

noticing how you aren't even moving away, Anna will pause

she will look at you, consider your state

do you enjoy being such easy prey?

maybe, maybe not

she takes her time to study you because you're not going anywhere and even if you tried, she'd be on to you in seconds

you're staring at Leon's mutilated body, hands curling into the dirty

i think that's when it hits you this is very real, and there's no escape

you're absolutely done for

and you're terrified because of it

and as Anna approaches, you can't even back away. too in shock, too scared, to helpless and vulnerable

who is this woman, so sly and stealthy, murdering all of you one by one? a rabbit mask on her face--- a real rabbit, too?

and why is she hesitating to kill you when she didn't hesitate to kill Leon?

little do you know, Anna's soft spot for little girls has been triggered

it just has to be the way you're curled up, knees to your chest and arms helpless beside you, fighting to curl around your legs when there's no strength to hold them there

you just look so... small

like you need someone

Anna will feel slightly bad that she killed the only person who gave you any sort of momentary security

after all, Anna knew what it was like to be left completely alone

the feeling of loneliness was unparalleled and the fact you looked so... defenceless made her feel even worse about it

at least the other survivors had their own skills

you were obviously new to all of this--- did you even know what you could do?

poor baby

immediately decides she will spare you. fuck being a survivor, you're helpless and you need someone, even if that means her, a killer. you need her

motherly instincts absolutely activated

you squeak pathetically when she crouches down beside you, arms looping beneath your knees and back

you can't even scream when she lifts you. what the fuck--- what are you doing, what---

she lifts you so easily, too. doesn't matter how heavy you are. remember her strength is increased by the entity, and she can hunt bears and stuff. she's strong

and she's... she's rocking you like a newborn baby...

anna sings to you. she sings the lullabies her mother used to sing to her and hums into your ear, trying to calm you

soothe you

it works, if only slightly

you're still not ever the fact that she brutalized Leon like that RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU

and she does feel guilty but she isn't sure there is anything she can say to you to fix that

your eyes are just too innocent

it's very clear to her that you've never seen blood before. at least, not like that

not to that extreme

starts babying you until your cries cease completely

whispers to you comfortingly in Russian

you vaguely understand a question she keeps asking you: what's wrong? what is it? what is the problem?

at least, you think so

you just look at her tearfully, about to burst all over again and say, "I just want to go home!"

at that moment, her heart breaks for you

and she feels so much anger towards the Entity, because can she not see? is this some joke?

you are the last person deserving of this kind of hell

you reminded her of the rabbits that used to roam her forest. they were so vulnerable and weak

but they had their own tenacity she was sure she would see in you

puts you down and holds your hand, then starts tugging you along

you follow dumbly, with a bewildered expression on your face

her message is very clear: "I'll get to you in a minute. Let me take care of something first, okay?"

holds your hand tighter when she hooks and mori's the other survivor right in front of you all over again, feeling that you're trying to run away

it's like she's trying to each you something

shows you how to hide and the best places to do so (and pretends she can't see you when she forces you to practice)

it's giving father-son catch except it's more so mother-daughter hide and seek

not very fun on your end and you get more and more freaked out but you find you'd rather be favoured by the killer than hated

by the time there's nobody left, Anna will reluctantly lead you to the hatch

she doesn't want to let you go

she might even offer things to the entity to keep you as her little daughter

she knows she could protect you much better and hates the idea of seeing you hurt when she just knows the other killers won't be as merciful

they won't understand

feels so possessive of you already, but knows that either way, the Entity will take you away

So she pulls you to her, kisses your head

then shoos you off the hatch like a mother duck bidding farewell to her duckling

you just stare at her, confused

does it again

realising that she wants you to jump into the unknown door in the ground, you start crying again

no! no! don't do that!

hugs you in a panic and pets your hair

depending on how severe she will pick you up again

and in either case, she will have to--- broken heartedly--- send you off into the abyss as you sniffle

"please don't make me go..."

oh trust me, she doesn't want to

but she'd rather not find out what the entity will do to you

strokes your hair and gives you a gentle push

she'll come back for you, y/n

mommy's proud of you!!!

~

yay! I did it!

I hope you enjoyed this, nonnie. this was so fun to write.

please keep sending me requests!

oh, and remember to reblog and follow!

lorimn <3

[lorimnnn]

pt 1 of i wish i had a fictional boyfriend (slasher edition)

man, sometimes i hate writing these fanfics--- only because i become psychotically obsessive with the idea of this total devotion, then realise i’ll never truly have it. obviously, that’s a good thing (probably). having a slasher boyfriend would not be very beneficial in the long run (probably).

but i’m just thinking about how even these killers would treat us better than any real, available human being on this earth. how they’re already ten times more interesting than fuckin brad with his vape and trackies, choosing which hoe he’ll ghost this time or if he’s ready for fresh meat this week. or not even. just every other person we decide we’re into for no good reason, aware that we could do better but won’t risk being single for like, ever. 

like, these slashers--- when they obsess over something, it’s singular. it’s unparalleled. imagine that in a romantic context. everything about you is evangelised in their eyes, even your flaws. everything you hate about yourself or unsure about is only something that makes you more perfect in their eyes. you could do anything. I don’t know, you could even fart. ghostface would giggle but he wouldn’t get disgusted by it. y’all could grow out your body hair as much asyou wanted, if that’s what you wanted that is, and they wouldn’t care, because it’s just as valid as the hair that grows on your head, which varies in length depending on preference or convenience. and then there’s michael. all he’s ever gonna do is stand there like an npc, but even he’s more interesting that your local Brad. he cares. he would get you gifts and do things for you because he likes to and it’s the one way he knows to make you happy, and these Brads could know a hundred ways to make you happy and they won’t do it. Or Jason Voorhees. Tell me he wouldn’t pick flowers with you and go on a picnic. Tell me you couldn’t tell him everything, especially if you’re bothered about something and all you need is a safe place to cry. he would give that to you. so would bubba. and i’ll even bring fucking Patrick Bateman into this, because even if it’s straight up insane, his narcissism would not stop him from spoiling you as much as he could and letting you talk yourself up. he’d probably encourage you to love yourself and be just as self-centred.

I wish I had someone who could lay out their imperfections so openly, so honestly, and not let me just... find out about them. like, let me love you as a whole. i know they would love us as a whole. or obsess over us. i don’t know. 

man, i’m so lonely. i just want a hot slasher boyfriend, guys. tell me that’s not what we’re all here for ahhh

p.s. no hate if your name is brad or you vape or wear trackies/sweatsuit, but i will shit on you if you give the vibe that usual combo 😭 

[lorimnnn]

drabblessss

no because imagine Ethan having the dorkiest college crush on you ever, and nobody realises how fucking obsessed he is. they just think he’s being cute. but he’s so frustrated with himself, because he has no idea how to talk to you, how to begin to even do more than look at you in the eye for more than a second. how to come up to you and compliment how you look instead of just memorising every subtle detail of your face to save up for his dreams, and waking up fucking heartbroken because each and every time, he’s forced to remember why they’re not real. because he’s shy and has no game.

and that’s just by day.

he starts sitting next to you more, high off the scent of your perfume. Stealing little things like your pen or something and keeping it all in one drawer in his room, and soon his little collection turns more sinister, less innocent. starts breaking into your dorm and stealing your panties, grinding into them at night, soiling them beyond repair until they’re no more recognisable than a soaked rag. can’t you imagine it? him holding it against his nose, each inhale just more and more intoxicating and not enough. not ever. and each time he goes to break in  when his supply runs short, he wears his ghostface mask just in case, like it will hide him, like it will make it easier to escape if you ever catch him.

ha. he thinks he’s being so slick.

but the icing on the cake?

you’ve known the entire time.

in fact, you’ve been watching him too. let’s say you’re even a tiny bit psycho yourself. everybody thinks you’re sweet and cute and quiet but you’re a watcher. you’re a stalker. you’ve watched him with rapt interest since day one and nobody has known how you’ve literally salviated over the way he moves, peeping throug his windows when he’s getting dressed and distantly following him after class, studying his routine. his friends. how he acts. somehow it’s never occurred to you that he may like you until you catch him stealing your panties. and one day you walk in on him going through your dirty laundry, trying to decide on his favourite pair when something smacks into his sizes. it’s a pair of panties. and when he turns around, terrified, there’s just you. staring at him shyly like you didn’t just fling your panties at him, all innocent and cute like you’re flirting with someone for the first time, no better than he is. 

“thought you might need a new pair.”

[lorimnnn]

Mine Pt. 4

summary: before Michael was ever ‘The Shape’ of Haddonfield, he was just a boy. he was a boy in love with the girl across the road, his sister’s best friend--- the only girl to show him kindness, love and warmth. you.

Basically, Michael falls in love with his sister’s best friend at 6, who sometimes played emergency babysitter especially when Judith was fooling around with her bf. He clings to those memories growing up in the asylum until the day he breaks out, where he decides the first thing he wants to do is find you and keep you, your sunshine only for him. Reader is super girly and feminine, which just fuels michael’s possessiveness.

cw: gore, violence, kidnapping, obsession, manhandling, possessiveness, non-con themes, murder, not edited :((

welcome back:  puppiegutz666  clovers-anxiety  dragonlorpar  nightmare669  r0reep  novaeisnothere  fanlovedlt  idcalol

zoom1374  calmcoldevening  big-puppy-dawg-eyes   ily-jupit3r  vixllen  monterray  sadiedrew  simpforavillain bigcreatorwombatdreamer  slashershell  gremlinfuck  cherrydeathweb  stickygumchewer 

laylasbunbunny

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

~

You’re numb. 

Time slips past your fingers like sand, your breaths more laboured by the hour. Long after he leaves, long after the police finally infiltrate your graveyard of a home, you’re still rendered comatose by shock. No, by grief.

How has your life come to this?

Not that you’d had dreams, or anything. That had never really been your thing. Ambitions were beyond you. Of course, you thought what they were doing with the suffragettes was amazing. It was about time. Opportunities and basic human decency, the validity of a woman’s life as just a life--- it should have been a given. It shouldn’t have been questioned, and it should have never had to have been fought for in the first place. But as amazing as you thought there was, it would never alter your outlook on life.

What did you even want from your life?

It had always seemed to be a given that you were put on this earth to live. What that exactly entailed didn’t really matter to you. Your life, your choice. If you chose to bum out for the rest of your existence, why not? If you chose to forge a career, why not?

You chose to get a job that funded your fun. Forbidden romantic rendezvous with unsuspecting men who would later spend a good six months of their life worshipping you and the rest remembering what it was like. Parties and dates and whatever the fuck you wanted to do. Whoever the fuck you wanted to do. 

It angered you that suddenly, your life had shrunk into the size of a little, puny rock in an overgrown man’s fist. 

But that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was...

“Miss L/N, please. Please co-operate if you can. I understand you’re in shock, but your statement is critical to furthering the investigation.”

You sighed.

You couldn’t escape the police anywhere. Not even in your hospital bed, chained up by IVs and barred across the stomach by your tray. Untouched jello and porridge. 

Gross. 

And you weren’t talking about the food.

The officer at your bedside clicked his pen again. Over and over and over again. 

“I’m not allowed to talk to men.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, officer.”

“Miss L/N.”

“Do you want to die?”

And you weren’t even joking. The words fell out of your mouth with some sort of airy humour, some sort of empty threat. But it wasn’t you that would do anything. No. Who knows--- he was probably watching right then. Waiting. Establishing his next victim.

You thought of the cute, rookie cop who had so diligently guarded your house. Who had watched you, red-faced and flustered and so, achingly hard as you changed behind an exposed window, that vivacious, scarlet lingerie set a teasing invitation he would never be able to accept. It was good fun. 

Could’ve been more, if your serial-killer stalker hadn’t cock-blocked you. 

Fucking Michael Myers and his baseless obsession. 

“Miss L/N, I can assure you that I can handle myself. I’m part of the FBI. And you’re currently under witness protection.”

“Sure I am.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know. What about you check the news? I’m not sure shoving me in a random new town with a random new name will do you or me any good, officer. Respectfully, of course.” You rolled your eyes. “Actually, I changed my mind. Fuck off, unkindly.”

“Miss L/N.”

“What in the flying fuck do you want me to say? It’s exactly what it looks like.” You shrugged. “I used to babysit Michael Myers and for some reason, he came back for me. I don’t know why. If I knew, I would’ve called you first before any more people could die. Just chuck me behind bars at this rate. Probably safer in there than it is in here.”

Click click click. 

That fucking pen.

The officer rolled it between his forefinger and thumb, eyes moving over his notes, one ear tilted your way as you talked. His eyes blanked with thought. There was an unsettling amount of consideration he took regarding your words that possessed you with the urge to squirm--- he knew something you didn’t, he knew something he would never tell you. 

And judging by the way his gaze darted between you and his notes, up and down with equal scrutiny....

The more you talked, the deeper the hole you dug yourself.

You were only an object to him. Honestly, probably even the height of his career.

“How’d you know you wanted to be a cop?”

The Officer blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He paused. Looked at you like he was trying to read you. But you had no answers for him. Answers that you’d probably want for yourself first, anyway. 

“I...”

You stared.

“I just did. I knew it. It was my purpose in life. It was my dream.”

“Boring.”

“Boring?” He raised one eyebrow. “Those are the words of someone who’s never had a dream to begin with. And looking at your file, I don’t think I’m wrong.”

“So what if I didn’t live my life by the books? Why should I be expected to know these things from the beginning?”

“There’s nothing wrong with not knowing, Miss L/N. It’s the not trying. Have you ever tried?”

Of course you tried.

In this stupid world, all you could ever do was try. 

Try live. Make sense of it all. Realise you never will. So then you try surviving. Can’t do that? You’re existing. 

And you were fine with existing. Sometimes those late night escapades made you feel like you were immortal. Eternal. Infinite. People lived, survived and died. You would exist and exist forever. 

“What are you trying to say, officer?”

“You tell me, Miss L/N. According to your file, you’ve always been a popular party girl. Living for cheap thrills. Nothing particularly beyond that.”

“And there’s something wrong with that?”

“You’re missing the point.”

“You fail to have one.” You lifted your chin. “Are we done here?”

The officer only smirked. He stood and looked you over, once again seeing something you didn’t, once again scaring you with how tempting it was to wrap the tube of your IV around this fucker’s neck and watch him die on these cold, linoleum floors. 

“Parties and sex aren’t the only way people get cheap thrills, Miss L/N. Your history of moral depravity and narcissistic justice are what conceived history’s most horrifying killer. Perhaps you’re more compatible than you think.”

He walked out. 

He walked out and like a gentleman, offered a smile as he closed the door.

What the fuck?

What the fuck? 

You screamed yourself hoarse at his shadow. 

___

Was it your fault?

Was it?

That was the thought that continually plagued you the moment the officer left and the second nightfall hit. You’d drawn your knees up to your chin, frail arms wrapped around your calves. He’d used such fancy words--- fancier words than you’d ever use to call someone a secret psychopath.

What a pretentious dick.

Moral depravity and narcissistic justice your ass. He probably rehearsed those words in front of mommy before he ever said them to you. Motherfucker. Little shit. For someone so ‘intelligent’, you could think of a hundred better ways to show it than to blame an innocent woman for someone else’s mental... Not even problems. Mental nothing. Whatever went on in Michael’s brain was beyond you. It was beyond everyone,

And obviously, beyond that fucking officer. 

Oh well.

He’d be dying in a few hours anyway. 

Hang on.

The fuck?

“Did I really just think that?” You paused, tilting your head towards the window. It was barred shut and you could hear the wind and rain whipping the smudged glass. You would do anything to nudge it open a bit. Get a breath of fresh air and remind yourself you’re still alive, that you’re not just another name in someone else’s narrative. That you had as much willpower as anybody did, and wouldn’t succumb to something as stupid as peer pressure. “Maybe he wasn’t making up about moral hunger or whatever.”

Because you had to be honest.

If you closed your eyes, as much as you pretended to hate it, you were comforted by Michael in your arms. Even with him threatening to gauge out your intestines, you’d reminsiced. You’d remembered how it had been, how easy it had been then--- when you were young and still had your heart intact and highschool wasn’t all about hunting you down for counselling and gossiping about whether or not you were the one who told Michael to do it.

To kill Judith.

About everyone knew that you were babysitting the little killer, that your friendship with Judith was balancing precariously on the precipice of completely falling apart. Judith couldn’t keep her mouth shut about anything. So why did you have to? Why did you have to be the better person just because it was the right thing to do?

There you go again.

You sighed. “What the fuck. I need to clear my head.”

But nobody would be letting you out. The closest thing you had to escape was the bathroom, and at that point, you were taking whatever you could get. And that was a shower. A long, hot shower, missing half your skin-care products and useless pampering tools, but it was a hot shower nonetheless and you were taking it.

Is he watching me now? 

The thought struck you without warning, and you froze in the midst of undressing. Suddenly, there was an underlying, taboo hint of sensuality in everything you did. Peeling off your shirt, your shoulders flexing, spine lengthening. Loose pants sinking lower on your hips. The fabric grazing the surface of your skin, the slow drag all too similar to someone’s heavy-handed carress.

Was this wrong?

Were you secretly a problematic nymphomaniac? 

Your breathing escaped you quicker, harsher. Your hands shook as you reached for your throat, remembering the roughened meat of his palm against your delicate flesh, holding you captive with impossible strength. He had bended you to subservience, just like that. Without trying. Without you properly fighting. 

And that’d pissed you off more than anything--- this little boy pretending to be a grown man, throwing you this way and that, using force to achieve the impulses of every habitual whim. 

But..

He’d sunk into you yesterday.

He’s softened. He’d become human again. He grew up. He’d pursued you for a scrap of affection he would never be able to relive--- it was stolen from him.

And here you were, sympathising with a killer. No. 

Sympathising with a man so starved of affection that he only knew how to threaten the one person who’d given it to him, hoping for it again.

It’d been tragic.

It’d been...

You wanted to sob. You were fucked, you were so fucked in the head. And as the water hit your skin, as your hand ventured south of your body, nipples erect and skin prickled over with goosebumps, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

You were hardly aware of the clanging outside. None of it mattered.

Nothing at all. 

Was it wrong, that you were remembering his hardness now?

That at the prime of the moment, you’d hated it. But now you remember it with a strange hope, with a whispering “what if”--- because, what if? 

What if Michael Myers was more than a monster? Or what if he was only a monster, cultivated by misunderstandings and chanceless assumptions?

He had been a live animal in your arms, yesterday.

A live animal. Alive. Real. Tangible. 

Less... Terrifying. 

Were you the only one who would ever see him like this?

And did that make you wrong, or the world wrong? 

You didn’t flinch when the door to your shower slid open behind you. It was like that scene out of psycho, where the killer attacked that poor woman without her ever suspecting, without the face ever showing, only his hand and the knife. Funny how it was almost metaphorical, now. Because nobody would ever believe if you if you told them there was a time in Michael’s life where all he wanted was someone to show that that they did see him, that the attention he so desperately begged for was within reach, that his sister might’ve not paid attention the way she was supposed to but at least her best friend did. 

You should probably be scared.

Petrified, even, so you feign it as you lift your gaze over your shoulder and see him, because you’re more scared of what it means if you aren’t.

And there he was.

Standing there, a void of nothing, yet still consuming you all the same.

That mask.

That fucking mask.

If you tore it off his face, would your sanity come back for you? Would his face finally deter you? 

Shakily, you reached outwards, fingers curling as they neared him, burned away by those demonic, soulless eyes. You got close enough to almost touch him before his hand came out of nowhere and caught your wrist, grip hard enough to bruise you purple. A weak cry started in your throat.

It never escaped. 

“Why?” you whisper.

And of course, he had no answer for you. Just staring. Only staring. Holding your wrist in a grip hard enough to break, naked body trembling even as the water began to scald your back. 

“Trying to get to second base so soon?” You try, and you can’t stop. Why are you joking with him? What part of this is a joke? “I didn’t think it was in you to skip first base, but then again. I’m not sure I know you at all.”

His grip softened.

“I’ll be taking that back,” you said, and surprisingly, he let you rip your arm away. It landed with a faint smack against your chest. “Guess I didn’t teach you well enough if you think pulling me around, driving me insane with fear is a good way to woo a woman, let alone your old babysitter.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned away from him, entire body shaking so violently, all sense of strength abandons you within seconds. But you forced yourself to reach for the sponge. Forced yourself to soap your body like he wasn’t there, like this waws an everyday occurrence. 

And well, it sort of was. Minus the serial killer part.

Men have been in your shower before, right? 

He was just another.

He meant nothing to you, right?

Get it together, Y/n. 

“So who was it this time?” You could see his reflection against the wet tile. He stared listlessly back at you--- so nonchalant, yet so, distinctly intent. “The poor soul who had to suffer at your hands for existing, that is. I’m really hoping it wasn’t my nurse. She was actually pretty nice. Didn’t do shit. But none of them do, right?”

He stepped forward.

Your breath hitched in your throat. 

“I-I-” you cleared your throat. “I...”

Something touched your back. Something roughened, heavy-handed but deceivingly gentle, the water trickling down your spine washing the blood off the rest of his finger. It pooled at your feet, staining the drain. 

You’re paralysed.

You couldn’t stop it as that cursed finger trailed further south, tingles spiraling across your back in waves, zinging at every forewarning of more pressure. 

His hand. Your bare back. 

It was the worst kind of foreplay known to man.

Death?

Something worse?

Your eyes widened at the feel of his entire palm splayed out across the small of your back, pushing gently until your front touched the wall of the shower. There was so much power behind that simple push. So much deliberation, like he was teetering on the edge of killing you, just like that.

But he wouldn’t. 

No. 

That traitorous, earthy groan that escaped him said all. The way he pushed the rest of his body against you said more. 

And it also said something else. 

You were never getting out of this. 

Hardcore smut in next part!

And as usual, reblogs appreciated! Comment or follow to be up to date with the next one!

[lorimnnn]

Mine pt.3 (Michael Myers x AFAB!Reader)

summary: before Michael was ever ‘The Shape’ of Haddonfield, he was just a boy. he was a boy in love with the girl across the road, his sister’s best friend--- the only girl to show him kindness, love and warmth. you.

Basically, Michael falls in love with his sister’s best friend at 6, who sometimes played emergency babysitter especially when Judith was fooling around with her bf. He clings to those memories growing up in the asylum until the day he breaks out, where he decides the first thing he wants to do is find you and keep you, your sunshine only for him. Reader is super girly and feminine, which just fuels michael’s possessiveness.

cw: gore, violence, kidnapping, obsession, manhandling, possessiveness, non-con themes, not edited :((

welcome back  sowhatariyana  bigcreatorwombatdreamer  cherryxnessa  literalawkwardsimp  bitchyglitterfox  cavern-creature  herwitchbasement  mychemicalimagines  itsjust-menow  nerd-bookworm  fall-myriad  saccharinescalpel  puppiegutz666  pupperony 

pt. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

~

It comes to you when you’re trying to sleep--- the memories.

The memories of Judith. It’s been so long, you don’t even remember what she looks like anymore, and the pictures of the two of you standing next to each other feel like no more than husks of who you used to be. Growing up--- and growing apart, especially--- did that to you. She was your best friend.

But she was becoming less and less worthy of that title the more she hung out with Danny and selfishly indulged in her own desires without a plan or second fuck to give. 

Not that Judith could tell.

You remember getting ready for a party. It was the last one you were going to before your vacation with your mother, and the last one you would ever go to in Haddonfield no less. You were at the vanity.

Judith was on your bed, lying down with her feet kicked up on a pillow. Shoes and everything. That last part made you grit your teeth, but you knew it didn’t matter whether you told her you didn’t like it or not.

You knew it was all because of Danny.

Once her puppy love for him died down, she’d come to her senses and remember how to function like a respectable human being, an older sister, and a better friend. 

You were giving her the benefit of the doubt.

“Ugh!” she groaned. She’d been going on and on for quite a while now, and you didn’t really know what she was talking about. All her complaints seemed to mash together into one, big blur of unpleasantries you couldn’t care less for. “I’m so annoyed.”

“Why?”

“I can’t believe Mom is making me babysit Michael for Halloween.”

You remember humming back at her as you swabbed some lip gloss over your bottom lip. Then you were adjusting your earrings, and eventually your dress--- shorter than usual, celebratory of one, last hurrah. You looked stunning. You turned in your mirror over and over again like some narcissistic egomaniac.

“I was supposed to go out with Danny for Halloween.”

“Mhm.”

“Mom knows this. Why does she keep planning things over my plans? I have a life, too. The world doesn’t revolve around her.”

You’d nodded sympathetically. Inwardly, you’d rolled your eyes.

“I’m so jealous of you, you know.”

That caught your attention. You looked at her hesitantly.

“Why?”

“You’re going on vacation.”

“You’ll miss me?”

Judith sighed exasperatedly. “Your babysitting skills, yeah.”

Ah. There it was.

You turned back to your vanity and checked your reflection one, more time.

“Let’s go, yeah?”

Judith jumped up. She was still moaning and groaning, but this time you ignored her as you drove to the party, cranking up the radio over her voice. You weren’t supposed to be driving, not really, but there was a special perk to looking like a senior when you were still a freshman, one that your parents didn’t care much to rectify as long as you returned their baby without a scratch.

 Judith began to shout at you. You’d ignored her still.

And then she grabbed your arm and yanked on it for your attention, causing you to swerve. You had lightning fast reflexes though, and too much self-respect to be too shocked at her actions. You still had lightning-fast reflexes. 

Your self-respect? Not so much.

You remembered your last words to Judith as you stomped on the break and turned into the side of the road. You waited for her to stop shouting, and then you looked at her, pointed to the sidewalk, and glared.

“Get out. Get Danny to drive you, or walk for all I care. You suck, Judith.”

And when she didn’t get out, still screeching nonsensically at you, you snapped. You got out yourself and dragged her out. Oh, yes. Kicking and screaming and everything. You shoved her so hard, she tore open her knee on a rock as she fell.

You didn’t turn back once.

You drove off.

That had been the last time you saw Judith. The last time you saw your best friend.

Somehow, you still failed to regret it, even to this day.

---

Michael didn’t come back the next day, but that wouldn’t been silly, anyway. The police were all around your house, maybe guarding it--- but you knew better. Your house was a trap. 

And you were the bait.

“I just don’t understand why he let you live,” one detective had muttered. “He never lets any of them live.”

You’d shrugged. You weren’t too emotional about it, but then again, you were still denying any of it ever happened.

Michael Myers is a serial killer, not a rapist. 

But that night, it had been crystal clear that he hadn’t meant to kill you. And he wasn’t going to, if he usually followed a pattern. This irregular, jarring disturbance was a new trail to follow into the unknown. It sparked fear in Haddonfield. 

None of them thought it could get any worse than this.

Well, neither did you. If it wasn’t already bad having your house flooded with cops and journalists, the top priority of every authority’s watchlist, a council-approved ban from leaving your house and the unspoken promise of another visit from a serial killer discovering his cock for the first time, then maybe the constant, bone-chilling feeling of being watched following you through every moment was enough to drive you insane.

Or maybe it was the man claiming to be Myers’ psychologist insisting to talk to you every day, even though you denied him each time. 

“Please, Miss L/N.”

“Please what, old man?” You mumble through the keyhole. “You’re going to have to beg prettier than that.”

You hear one of the cops stationed at your porch stifle his laughter behind a cough. You smirk.

“This is no time for games, Miss L/N.”

“And this is no time to be harassing me for the fifth time this week. I can literally get a restraining order; won’t that be fun?”

“Michael is a dangerous-”

“Blah blah blah. You’re forgetting that speech won’t work on me. I’ve already maxed out the danger, Mr Loomis. So kindly fuck off unless you can say something useful, like maybe: ‘Oh, Miss L/N! I have a coffee for you’ or maybe even ‘I know how to get the ban off you!’, or, my personal favourite: ‘I can promise Michael won’t fucking destroy your next one-night-stand!’“

Doctor Loomis goes quiet.

The cop chokes again, and you open the door that tiniest bit to grin at him in the face.

“You know, if I was sure I wouldn’t be putting you on a hit list, you’d probably be warming my bed right now.” You wink. You really hope you aren’t pushing it, but who knows--- he left before the two of you could discuss the rules of this demented little game. “You’re real cute, you know. And if your face is like that, I wonder what the rest of you’s like.”

The young cop is just a rookie. There isn’t any real suave to him yet, no kinky cop fantasies. Or maybe all of the kinky cop fantasies, if he was really that fresh off the boat. That’s hot. You like the one’s with no ego.

Usually that goes hand in hand with no experience, unfortunately. You’ve unintentionally established yourself as a cougar.

The cop’s entire face descends into a deep crimson, and it spreads down to his neck. His hands. You follow it down his uniform and back up.

Doctor Loomis clears his throat. “Miss L/N, please.”

You laugh. “That’s the spirit. Aren’t you a bit too old for this?”

Doctor Loomis sputters.

You laugh harder.

Then you close the door again. 

Outside the door, you hear the cop trying to hustle him away. But Loomis won’t be deterred, and you hear the thud of him throwing himself against the door for one, last time.

“I researched you, Miss L/N!” He yells, voice strained. “I know your history, and let me tell you now, any connection you think you may have with him is futile! He is insane! He is pure evil!”

You don’t answer.

You do, however, thrust your middle finger towards the door like he can see it, because you feel strangely unjustified on Michael’s behalf. Isn’t the whole ideal of being someone’s psychologist to tell people that they aren’t insane?

You don’t know much about Michael.

But if he’s been stuck with this big oaf all his life, then maybe he wasn’t a born monster.

Maybe he was created instead.

You kick the door where you imagine Loomis’ crotch would be as you hear him get dragged away.

---

Later that night, you wake to a thud at your porch. You instantly know it’s the cop. This time, you don’t even deny it. Maybe now he’s here to finish the job.

Maybe now he realised his mistake.

You sink further into the sheets and pull your blanket over your head the way you used to when you were a kid, scared of the dark. It’s ironic, really. How could someone shut their eyes, inviting themselves to pure darkness, yet be afraid of it in the world around them?

They’re the same thing.

Yet one is controlled--- and one is not. 

Darkness controlled...

You spare yourself a short moment to mourn that cop outside. He’d been so cute. So eager and dutiful, and also so distracted every time you stepped out just to check your mailbox. Didn’t matter whether you stepped out in a robe or something completely un-sexy. He was enamoured. That had been nice. 

It’s always nice to feel adored.

You hear the doorknob rattle, and you curl into a ball. 

He’s really fucking there.

You know you don’t have enough time to run and grab the phone. Maybe that would only provoke him. But would you really rather stay alive when you were doomed to his plot?

The detective didn’t know why you were still alive, and frankly, neither did you. Old babysitter or not, he had no reason to keep you around.

You didn’t understand it.

The door swung open.

The floorboards creaked beneath his weight, the sounds sharp and cutting against the silent, chilly air. It feels so tense.

You’re so scared.

You battle with your urges to save your skin. It’s all purely instinctual, all impulsive and illogical, but it doesn’t stop you from considering whether or not you still had time to run. Maybe crash through your bedroom window and pound down the doors of your neighbors until someone let you in.

But you know this town, even though it had been so, so long.

You know this town just like they know Michael, and because of that, they were never going to let you in. 

Your bedroom door finally opens. You hold your breath.

You can hear him, now--- his breathing shallow, labored, his footsteps wet and squelching against the floorboards. You hope it isn’t blood. 

But what else could it be?

Don’t cry.

Don’t run.

A large, meaty hand fists the blankets, tugging them away from you. Or trying. Your flight or fight instinct kicks in, and you’d already rejected flight. You wrestled with him to keep it over your head, but it was no use. He was too strong.

It’s almost supernatural, how strong he is. 

He rips the blanket away from you and you gasp, your nails burning. You scramble towards the corner of your bed as he watches you through the holes of his mask, those unseeing eyes, merely shadows cast over where his sight should be detailed, observing you too closely. 

He sees everything.

The heaviness of his breathing doubles, and you dig your burning fingers in to your mattress. 

The adrenaline snuffs out your fear, but not by much. You still tremble. You still manage to hold your chin up as you glare at him.

“Well?”

He’s silent, a solitary statue. 

You refuse to scream. You should, but you won’t. You know better than to try. 

“Don’t just fucking stand there like a creep,” you snap. “Do something. Play your part. Don’t be confusing; it doesn’t suit you.”

Almost on cue, he raises his knife above his head. Your force yourself to keep your eyes open, gritting your teeth against the fear.

Nothing.

Nothing happens.

It infuriates you more than it scares you, and on an enraged impulse, you snatch the pillow off your bed and launch it at him. It hits him square in the face. 

He doesn’t even the flinch.

It falls to the ground and you both look at it, pathetic. You even have the gall to be embarrassed about it. 

“Don’t just stare at it...”

His head snaps up. He looks at you.

Your hackles raise, and he advances, landing with one knee on the bed as he crawls towards you, one hand outstretches as it descends on your ankle. You screech and scramble back, falling. It doesn’t hurt. You squeal anyway, purely out of fear, and back away from him--- into your old vanity. 

Memories.

It hits you like a train, and the parralell is almost funny, if not entirely, terrifyingly ironic. You, at your vanity, touching up your makeup. Michael staring at you, starry-eyed and wondrous.

“You’re a princess,” he used to say when you’d teasingly ask him how you looked. He used to be so cute.

Now he’s a man, and he’s a serial killer, and he’s sitting in the same position he used to as a kid but he’s not a kid. He has a knife in his hand, one that’s wet with the blood of the cop outside, and it’s going to go into you, soon, if you’re not careful. 

Michael follows you on to the floor. You throw your hands over your head and he catches your wrists, and as he fits himself between your legs, it suddenly occurs to you what he’s trying to do.

No.

No no no-

NO-

You fight him, elbowing him in the cheek. It does nothing. He contiues to press his weight against you until there’s nowhere to go, until he’s so hard you can feel him stabbing into your core, demanding entrance through his mechanic’s overalls. 

This time, you scream.

But it’s just as you expected. He bends his arm, your wrist still in his hand, and muffles the noise against his forearm. You bit him, you try anything.

But he’s relentless.

You’re better off subjecting yourself to his torment. 

Terrified, you shut your eyes. You fall limp, hoping that your compliance will end this quicker, that your obedience might persuade him to hurt you less--- but he doesn’t hurt you at all. 

He lays down between your legs, head on your chest, and shoves your hands into his hair.

You have no idea what he’s trying to do and don’t really care... That is, until you feel the tip of his knife poking you between the ribs. You rack your brain and think.

Think. 

And then you remember.

The two of you, curled up on your couch, watching TV, just like this. And despite yourself, you laugh. You laugh hard.

“You hunt me down for this?”

Michael doesn’t answer.

“You’re so fucking weird,” you sigh. “I don’t get you.”

You suppose this is better than whatever you thought he was going to do with you in the beginning. A lot better. Even if it makes no sense. But if it saves your skin, you’ll do anything.

You’ll even graze your nails at his scalp the way you used to .

Something of a purr vibrates in his chest. 

You relax, if only slightly. 

But you don’t fall asleep, even when he does. A sleeping beast, content in your arms, almost peaceful, almost tamed. 

But the knife, still fisted in his grip like a comfort-toy, stays there to scare you. 

But something tells you he won’t use it.

So long as you obey.

---

Michael is celebrating.

Finally.

Fucking finally. 

He has you.

But the next step is to keep you--- and make sure that you know one thing.

You’re his.

Mine.

And you’re coming with him to his childhood home, where he’ll keep you forever, just him and you... You want him, don’t you?

You want him now.

You wanted him then.

Maybe not as much as he wants you, twice as much now than he did as a child, but that’s easily rectified. You’ll learn.

You’re already learning now. 

~

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