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nandors-girlwife · 5 months ago

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I AM LIVING FOR YOUR SLASHER HEADCANONS, esp the last post!! but i have a question: what do you think michael would do if the next time he wants to fuck, they’re like “nope, don’t want to, you didn’t make me cum” and is generally just provoking him and saying shit like “i can just find someone that CAN satisfy me” and other dumb shit. would he not care?? get jealous? knife through the door?? so many possibilities

Thank you thank you!!! <3

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐹𝑜𝓇

Featuring: Michael Myers

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: oral sex, fingering, rough sex, overstimulation, general nsfw things, mdni, i got carried away, unedited because I didn't think i'd write this much

As for your question(s):

I think it definitely depends on how long you've known him. The only way he'd give a flying fuck about what you think is if he was down bad. Especially if we're talking about the OG Michael. RZ Michael is easier to convince to actually give a shit what you want in bed, but it's still not a priority for him. Still, there are certain personality traits you can exploit to get what you want. . .

When you first brought up that you were unsatisfied in bed, it was a very soft comment after he was done and zipping his jumpsuit back up.

"I didn't even cum. . ." you mumbled, staring at your bare abdomen and leaking cunt. It was all him. You didn't even have the chance to pleasure yourself; it was too difficult with him constantly flipping you over and manhandling you. Your body was sore and bruised, but you laid there, discontent.

You moved your gaze to look at his masked face. Judging by the way he stopped his movements, he'd heard you. You bit your lip, turning your eyes away and down to your hands which fiddled with each other. You knew he didn't care, but it would be nice if he did.

"Just get out, okay?" you spoke, embarrassed and a little angry. "I'll just get myself off since you can't seem to do it."

Your tone had him walking around to the side of the bed, grabbing his discarded knife from the nightstand. You flinched, but didn't bother to run. If he wanted to kill you, he would have already.

Just as you figured, he turned back around, trudging out of your bedroom with the blade in his grip. You rolled your eyes. You were half tempted to call up and old friend of yours for a night, but realized that might end in bloodshed. Michael was much too possessive for that.

Suddenly, an idea crossed your mind. You knew Michael was selfish, but he also always had something to prove. He wanted to, no, needed to be the best at everything. Nobody could escape, outrun, or hide from him, and he knew that. So what if. . .

It was a few days later when he came back, heavy footsteps on your porch alerting you. Still, you pretended not to notice, phone up to your ear as you chatted. You were leaned against the kitchen counter, occasionally popping some popcorn into your mouth.

The door to your house creaked open before shutting again. You paid no mind.

"Go out? Ha," you spoke, fingers moving around a stray popcorn kernel absentmindedly. "If I want to get drunk, I'll do it in my own home, thank you very much."

At this point, he was looming in the kitchen doorway, but you didn't even bother with a glance.

"Oh, go out to meet someone, huh? Yeah, I guess that would be nice. . . I mean sure, there's a guy that stops by, but I'd be lying if I said I was satisfied." You leaned against your fridge, his massive form still lingering just a few feet away.

"It's just. . . other people I've been with have gotten me off four, five times a night, but this guy? Not once. Yeah. You heard me. Not once."

You made sure to emphasize that last phrase. You knew the dangerous game you were playing, but you didn't care. "Talk to him? Girl, I've tried. He's like a brick wall. Doesn't even say goodbye. As soon as he's done he's out the door. Rude? Tell me about it. Sure, I've had better, but he always keeps crawling back looking like a kicked puppy. I just kind of feel sorry for him."

You didn't have time to speak again before the phone was ripped from your grasp and tossed carelessly across the kitchen, plastic pieces shattering across the tile.

One hand wrapped around your throat while the other rested just beside your head, almost denting your poor fridge with the force. The choke was painful but not deadly, and you locked eyes with the culprit, staring intently.

He pulled you against him before slamming you back against the fridge, and you winced at the sudden force. "What's wrong with you?" you sputtered out, your hands trying to fight the grip on your throat.

He glanced at the destroyed phone, and you had to stifle a smirk from appearing on your lips.

With another slam, he finally released his hand from your neck, and you took in a few shaky breaths. Still, he loomed close enough to leave you pressed against him.

"You're angry," you spoke, rubbing the marks forming on your neck. "I assumed Michael Myers never got angry."

He looked to the shattered telephone again before looking back at you. He wanted an explanation.

"What do you want me to say? It's true. And I'm pissed about it. All you ever do is use me then leave. I haven't had a proper orgasm in weeks!" You pushed your hands against his chest angrily, but he didn't budge. "I know you're not a good man, but it still isn't fair. I can't even call anyone because you'll have a knife through their neck before they can get their pants off."

He let out a breath, both hands finding purchase on your hips. "Now's not the time," you huffed, moving to push his hands away. His grip tightened. You headbutted his chest, forehead resting against the rough material of his jumpsuit. How could he be raring to go at a time like this? "Unless you've got anything planned for me tonight, I'm not interested."

He didn't falter. You looked back up to try and read his face through his mask. It did not work. You could tell he was. . . different than usual, but he was probably still pissed off from your words over the phone.

His fingers nestled behind the waistband of your shorts, and in one fell swoop they dropped to the floor. You stayed silent. He never had the decency to take your clothes off. It was always ripped or sliced, and there was never any time taken. Hell, he'd never taken your shorts off without your underwear going with.

You stifled a laugh. Was he actually. . . trying?

He slid a knee between your thighs, pinning you. One hand explored your upper half, sliding under your shirt until he hit your bra. His other hand travelled downwards, slipping underneath your panties. You felt a rough digit slide against your clit and let out a sudden breath. Quickly, he backtracked, moving back up until he found that same spot.

You had to bite your lip to prevent a gasp from leaving it. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been stimulated there. It was suddenly all too-sensitive.

Two fingers caught the small nub, and you had to grip his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling. The digits toyed with it, squeezing and brushing like he was testing something. Your forehead pressed against his chest as heavy breaths left you.

One hand worked at massaging your chest, running a thumb against your nipple, while the other played with your clit harshly. You didn't expect him to be gentle in the slightest, but it still had you shimmying your hips in discomfort. It's not that you weren't aroused, and in fact, you were all too turned on. He'd never shown any interest in any part of you besides your cunt and mouth, and even then it was only to slide his dick into. This? This was all new. This feeling of rough hands overtaking your body, touching your skin, pleasuring you for the first time. . .

You pushed your hips forwards, trying to gain friction. With any luck, you could actually get off tonight.

Suddenly, all hands were off of you and he stepped back, tilting his head.

You rushed to hold yourself up, knees wobbly. You shot daggers at him, eyes burning. He stopped. Why the fuck did he stop?

He stared at you, waiting for something. You crossed your arms over your chest, looking as put-together as you could with wetness creeping down your thighs and shorts discarded on the floor.

"I'm not apologizing, if that's what you want," you muttered. "Congratulations, you found the clit. Took you long enough. You'll have to work a little harder if you're looking to clear your name."

In a flash, he had you hauled over his shoulder, and you let out a gasp of surprise. You could only sigh as he took you to your destination.

You were dropped onto your bed, legs dangling off the front as he pushed you down into the mattress. You cocked a brow.

In an event you'd never thought would happen, he kneeled down in front of you, hands spreading your thighs apart. Was this a dream? You were in shock. There's no way he was going to. . .

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your panties were slid down your legs and tossed aside. It didn't take long before one hand was back between your legs, rubbing your clit as the other pressed against your stomach to keep you in place. You couldn't move your thighs which were locked apart, blocked by his shoulders.

You couldn't sit up with the way he had you pinned, and so stared at the ceiling, hands gripping the sheets.

A new sensation startled you, and you tried desperately to sit up enough to see, but it was no use.

It was his tongue, dragging up your folds until he reached your clit. He took the nub in his mouth, and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent the noise that threatened to come out.

That old and familiar feeling built within you, like a spring coiling and coiling, ready to snap. Your mind went blank as a tension built within you. It was like everything but your cunt was numb. There, feeling was in overdrive. Every swipe of his tongue, every prod of his fingers inside of you, swiping forward to push against your favorite spot: it was too much.

You came with a breathless gasp, back arched as your hands dug into the sheets. Even without seeing, you knew your cunt was a mess. You could feel your cum seeping out. You could smell the scent of sex in the room. Your thighs shook, pussy clenching around nothing.

You expected him to pull back, but instead you felt his tongue licking at your cunt, swiping up any spill into his mouth. You let out a whine as he prodded inside, tongue lapping up your wetness.

Digits were back to circling your clit, and you moaned, still much too sensitive. Despite this, he had no intentions of stopping, instead switching out his fingers for his mouth as he thrust a finger inside of you. You had no time to process before another joined the first. Your head pressed desperately against your bedsheets.

"Slow down," you gasped, voice shaking. He didn't heed your words, and in fact, sped up the way his fingers pushed in and out of you. You whined. The tension was already back and ready to snap within you.

"Michael," you cried, eyes clenched shut. "Please!" You weren't sure what you were pleading for.

You came again, more violently than the last. Over and over your cunt pulsed, leaking your cum to pool at your enterance, only to be pushed back in with the shove of his fingers.

"Okay! Okay! You win!" you panted, wiping the sweat from your face.

When he still showed no signs of letting up, all you could do was let out a weak groan. You got what you desired, you supposed. But it seemed he found something he liked as well.

All this because you decided to talk a little shit about him. You didn't dare tell him there was nobody on the other line.

#slashers #michael myers x reader

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