#Michael Myers x black reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nauticheric · 17 days ago

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Spring Cleaning

Michael Myers x Black!Female Reader Warnings: Slight animal death mention, slight violence, implied murder, general Michael Myers being creepy and strange warning, also be warned that y/n enables his behavior greatly. World count: 7k Excerpt: "It wasn’t how you envisioned your day. It was impulsive. You had picked up a shift for your coworker the Saturday before. 3pm to 11pm. A dreadful shift, considering the fact that you were on the payroll for working Mon-Fri, excluding Wednesdays, from 9-5. She had told you, however, that her sister was having a baby, and she was cut from the same cloth as you; an unspoken pact of black sisterhood in the face of 1973 Haddonfield, Illinois. So you sucked it up, envisioning the older woman's smiling face on Monday as she regaled tales of her freshly born niece writhing in the hospital light, and worked through gritted teeth."

It wasn’t how you envisioned your day. It was impulsive. You had picked up a shift for your coworker the Saturday before. 3pm to 11pm. A dreadful shift, considering the fact that you were on the payroll for working Mon-Fri, excluding Wednesdays, from 9-5. She had told you, however, that her sister was having a baby, and she was cut from the same cloth as you; an unspoken pact of black sisterhood in the face of 1973 Haddonfield, Illinois. So you sucked it up, envisioning the older woman's smiling face on Monday as she regaled tales of her freshly born niece writhing in the hospital light, and worked through gritted teeth. You made it back home and into bed half an hour past midnight, and yet when you opened your eyes again the time read 4:27 am. You laid there, blinking at the face of the analog clock. Desperately willing yourself to succumb to sleep, but the longer you stared at the ticking hands the clearer your sleep addled brain became.

You stood in front of your stove, listening to the soft sound of the bubbling water inside of the metal tea kettle. Shifting lazily from one foot to another, slipping a foot out your left slipper to scratch an itch on your bare leg. You wore a large, button up, mens sleepshirt; an act which is considerably indecent for a single woman like you, but you were in the comfort and privacy of your own home. It wasn’t long before the telltale whistle of the kettle filled the kitchen. It was gentle at first but you knew it’d be less than a minute before it was shrieking loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. Your left hand rubbed against the ceramic of the snoopy mug you placed gently against the countertop. A gift from the white lady with the distant, but kind, eyes at your job during last year's secret santa. You hadn’t really been a person who kept up with the Peanuts comic strips in the local paper but you hadn’t cared all too much. You had a fondness for obscure things. Things other people either didn’t seem to care about or that they seemed hesitant about simply because they didn’t, or couldn’t, understand it. You preferred the “weird” or misunderstood things in life. Your right hand dug through your cabinet, mentally cataloguing the teas in your inventory. As your fingers curled around the bag of loose leaf English breakfast tea, you heard it. Just under the rapidly increasing whistle of the kettle. The deep groan of the wooden floor board at the bottom of your staircase, the telltale indication of another presence in the house. Of life standing in the doorway of your kitchen behind you. You lurched backwards, the tea clutched in your hand, as you spun around. Your breath caught in your throat as you choked down a gasp. Eyes dark with dilated pupils scanned the shadows of the foyer. Left to right then right to left before repeating the process again, lingering on the entryway to your seemingly empty living room. Your deep breaths slowly even out once more, the rise and fall of your chest unnoticeable under the excess fabric of your sleepshirt. A bead of warm sweat dripped down the back of your neck, clinging to cold skin, from under the hem of your silk bonnet. That drew your attention back to the steam pouring from the kettle's spout, the poor thing screaming as if it were being murdered. With deft fingers, you plucked the thing from the burner, placing it on an unlit one in the back. As you twisted the knob to put out the flame, you caught a glimpse of a spice jar you had knocked out your cabinet in your haste. Picking it up, your nose crinkled in disgust as you stared down at it. The little holes at the top had crusted over with a dark brown substance. As you weighed the jar in your hand you could tell that the onion powder inside had clumped together into essentially a brick. You narrowed your eyes at the thing, scouring the recesses of your memory. You’re abruptly hit with the reminder that you had bought this when you first moved into this house. Six whole years ago.

That's how your day off had shifted from 24 hours of relaxation into a day of spring deep cleaning. You had been so disgusted that you started tearing out the various spices and herbs from your cabinet, throwing away anything that you had no recollection of even buying. Your snoopy mug and English breakfast tea was forgotten, the water in the kettle going cold as the time stretched on. Once you finished cleaning the first cabinet you found you couldn’t stop. By the time 7 am had rolled around, the sun reaching an overarching hand over the neighborhood, you had cleaned all of your cabinets and fridge. You had accumulated nearly 2 trash bags worth of waste from this, much to your disgust, and dragged the bags to your garage. You went through the house gathering the trash bags from your bathrooms, adding them to the bin in the garage, before dragging it to the curb. Trash collection was on Mondays and you knew your neighbors would likely have something to say about you being a, grueling, day early, but you couldn’t find it in you to care at the moment.

The morning is routine. You make your way back upstairs to gather clothing for the day, before slipping into the shower. You swear you hear the sound of the door to the guest room, across the hall, creak open, but you ignore it as you continue scrubbing at your body. You loved your house, the layout, the area, it was perfect. However, there were a few quirks which permitted the halls of your Haddonfield home. Creaks, doors opened that you could have sworn you closed before and vice versa, a few missing items here and there. At first you figured that you were just paranoid. Your momma had really ramped up the dramatics when you told her you were moving, more than unhappy at the prospect of her daughter living alone,

“In Haddonfield, no less.”

Then, when you started having friends over they would hear it too. Often asking,

“You don’t hear that, [y/n]?”

When things went bump in the night. Many of them had assumed that the noises were something that you hadn’t noticed before, or maybe that they were something new, but after a while you had simply grown to ignore them. Sure, sometimes they got to you like they had that morning, but you found it useless to continually give them attention. After six years of living on your own, you had personified the oddity of the home into a roommate of sorts. As long as you minded your business then they would mind theirs and you both seemed to like it that way.

After you shower, then dress, you tie a silk head scrap around your hair; unwilling to do anything more with it today. You go downstairs, opening your wooden front door, while keeping the glass screen door promptly locked. You pull open the curtains, wincing at the dust dancing in the spotlights the sun creates through the windows. Then you go over to your wooden record player. Gently, you place the vinyl onto the turntable, lowering the needle. There’s static momentarily, before the sweet, melodious, voice of David Bowie fills your living room. In 1968 you had bought his self titled debut album, the one currently playing, and your friends had been incredulous. They didn’t know what you saw in the white boy, but now, five years later, Ziggy Stardust had taken over the world, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit vindicated.

You reorganized and wiped down countertops and shelves. You washed dishes. You dusted every surface. You put your clothes, sheets, and blankets in the washer. You In the time you had made your way through David Bowie, The Ronettes, Ben E. King, Tammi Terrell, and David Bowie again. It’s half past 4 whenever you remind yourself you need to eat. Sifting through the mail that had sat forgotten, for far too long, on your porch steps. Your eyes linger on the newspaper. The headline is bold and stares back at you.

“The Haddonfield Boogeyman-”

Is all you can care about, or rather stomach, reading of it, before you toss it on the wooden table in your foyer. There’s no point in paying the headline any mind anymore. You’re sure by now you could probably recount every single line. A grim recount of excessive force and stomach churning violence, all ending with an empty promise that he will be caught. A promise that feels almost like a call to action. Corpses of somebodies loved ones made into a spectacle in the efforts to urge the citizens to do the job the police have failed at for so long, stoking and prodding at the towns collective fear. It’s not your fault the Haddonfield police department is incompetent. Let it be a black man breaking into white homes and he’d have been caught back during that first Halloween night in 1963.

There isn’t much food left in your fridge and you grimace at the prospect of dirtying your dishes so soon, so you start making yourself a sandwich. You sit down to eat, a notepad next to you, as you scrawl out a grocery list in between bites. You’re chewing your second mouthful, five bullet points down to “eggs”, when you hear a hollow thud above you. You pause momentarily. Blinking rapidly as you swallow down past your bite, clearing your throat. Looking up above you, you half expect to find a face staring back at you. A pale figure, features stretched and hollow, pressing against the white ceiling like it were made of rubber. You half expect to see the Boogeyman.

You shake off the thought, chastising yourself. You shouldn’t have lingered on the newspaper so long. You supply your mind with a memory in order to distract yourself. You’d moved a bunch

of junk into your attic whenever you had first moved in. Christmas and Halloween directions that you swiped from your momma's basement when you were young and convinced you’d actually decorate for the holidays. Bits and bobs you took from your childhood room that your momma had convinced you you’d need. Things you hadn’t looked at in all the years of you living here. You look back down, taking another bite of your sandwich, before standing. The need to feed yourself pushed to the back of your mind. You gather your garbage can, which has been emptied multiple times today, and a broom, as you make your way upstairs; with newly found determination to clean the attic.

You propped open the door to the closet in your guest bedroom. You had to stand on the tips of your toes but after your brief struggle you were able to pull down the string attached to the attic door. You narrowed your eyes as the dark hole came into view, coughing as you waved away the cloud of dust that fell down with the stairs. When your vision finally clears up, your stomach lurches a tiny bit. You weren’t scared, per say, but rather you were filled with a hesitance spurred on by the fact you hadn’t been up to your attic in over half a decade. You were determined to deep clean your entire house, that was true, but something in you dreaded seeing just how dirty it might have been up there. There was no telling how much dust and cobwebs had built up over the years. There was no telling what, or who, your brain unhelpfully supplied, was up there. The creak that sounded from the first wooden step was all too familiar, and it made you gulp around your dry mouth. It took your eyes a moment to adjust when you made it into the attic. It reeked of stagnant dust and the corners of the room were deep in shadow, a tall, wooden, wardrobe from your childhood standing in front of the window. You rubbed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, the muscle catching along the ridges, as you willed the dryness to go away. You took a deep breath once more. You grimaced, able to taste the dust bunnies dancing in the barely there light. However, you felt yourself stutter in place, an acrid, metallic, taste sticking to the back of your throat as a sickly sweet taste of rot tickled the tip of your tongue. Your stomach churned as you blinked rapidly, trying to process what you were simultaneously smelling and tasting. It took a few, agonizing, seconds for your eyes to drag down to the floor in front of you. Smushed in between a few cardboard lay a crumpled duvet and sheet. The duvet was dark in color, but you could tell from what you could see of the white sheet that the thing was stained with some sort of dark red ooze. You knew. You knew immediately. You could physically taste the blood.

You don’t even see him before his hands are on you. You vaguely wonder how someone so big could have snuck up on you so silently. It’s a chilling thought, as his hand wraps around your throat, that all those times you heard him creeping around the house was simply because he had wanted you to. You’re barely afforded half a deep breath, before you’re pressed against the wall of the attic. You can feel the toes of your slippers brushing against the wooden floor from where you hang rigid in his grip. His giant form curls over you, crowding your space, and obscuring

most of his body in shadow. However, there’s one thing you can see clear as day, even with your vision blurring from your eyes watering. That mask. Pale, grey-ish white, rubber, mouth pulled into a perpetually unimpressed thin line. You’re reminded of the ghastly face you imagined pressing into your ceiling and it’s haunting. You feel a deep sense of regret over brushing off the newspaper story, and you find yourself hoping that whenever they publish the details of your death that people actually take the time out of their day to care. To mourn.

Instinctually you reach your left hand up, gripping at the collar of his jumpsuit in the efforts of doing something. Anything. He catches your wrist in a bruising grip, causing you to hiss between your clenched teeth; wasting air you do not have the luxury of wasting. Your fingers clench and unclench around nothingness, spasming like a bug that's been crushed under a person's heel. You see nothing whenever you look into those black holes where his eyes should be. No hint of potential remorse, no hint of humanity. You feel your wrist go limp, your fingers brushing against the clammy chin of his mask. Your vision is fading, before you feel the smallest bit of pressure taken off of your throat. Your pulse jumps with adrenaline, greedily taking in as much air as you can muster with the little reprieve. Your eyes widen as you take him in. His movements are minute. Inconceivable if you weren’t pressed so close against him currently. You watch him lean in closer to your hand. Your fingers brush against the mask again, unintentionally, and he freezes a bit, grip tightening once more. You choke again, willing your body to stay as still as possible. After a few, terrible, seconds, he repeats the process. You can’t tell what he’s doing as he crowds your hand. You can’t even hear his breathing in the silence of the attic, and you have half the mind to wonder if this is some sort of nightmare. Finally, he leans back, seemingly satisfied with whatever assessment he was making, and you feel your feet land flat against the floor once more. All at once, his hand is off your throat and you lean against the wall to keep from falling forward into him. You cough violently, a few tears rolling down your cheeks, as you take in the air around you like it’s your last chance.

Your vision is blurry as you look up at him. You’re slumped against the wall, which only serves to make him look all the more giant. You wonder how you hadn’t noticed that the Boogeyman, the Shape of Haddonfield, was living in your attic sooner. Your mind supplies you with images of your senior year of high school. Of walking down the street with your friends and seeing Laurie Strode, survivor of the Halloween massacre, walking by herself on the other side. The Strode girl was fine as far as you were concerned, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed by you how she seemed to avoid you and the other black students of your high school. How all her inner circle was white. Which, you figured, was a good thing in a way, since all of her inner circle was now dead. She had looked up from across the street, locking haunted eyes with you. Your girlfriends had thrown their arms over your shoulders, turning your head away from the other girl. A reminder to, “Mind your black ass business.”

On their tongues. Of course you hadn’t noticed his presence. You were minding your black ass business.

You didn’t even have a minute to catch your breath before he was grabbing the back of your neck like some sort of unruly kitten. You yelped in surprise, but before you could try and scratch at his arm, he was pushing you forward. Your feet scraped against the floor, taking a few shaking steps with him leading you the entire way. You barely stumbled a foot ahead before he was squeezing again stopping you in your tracks. You unintentionally let out a whimper at this, squeezing your eyes shut out of fear. He shook you a bit at this, grip tightening, causing your eyes to fly open. As you took in the sight in front of you, you were confused to find the same thing you saw when you first entered the attic. The mused duvet and sheet set on the floor. He lingered behind you, motionless, and silent. You knew Michael Myers didn’t speak, everyone knew that, but you weren’t quite sure what he wanted from you. You stared down at the disgusting blankets, grimacing. Along with the blood you could see dirt and other grime, mold, and dust. You wonder briefly where he could have possibly even gotten them from. His grip has adjusted once more, large hand splayed against the lower part of your neck, over your cervical vertebrae, pointer finger resting against your shoulder. Seconds turn to minutes and you become increasingly uncomfortable in your own skin as the time marches on. Your eyes flicker off to the side in an effort to try and catch a glimpse of him, but it just earns you increased pressure on your spine. You shiver, looking back down at the floor before you. You’re confused and you’re queasy because of how dirty the blankets are.

An answer to the unspoken, unknown, question flashes into your head briefly. Your eyes linger on the stained fabric at your feet once more. You didn’t know how much longer he’d be willing to be so patient, your voice shaking as you speak,

“Do you-”

You cautiously clear your throat,

“Do you want me to wash these for you?”

You didn’t know what you were expecting to receive in response but the weight, quite literally, lifted off your shoulders. You stalled momentarily, the hairs on your back standing on end as they met with cold air; no longer crowded by the heat of another body. Hesitantly, you kneel down. Gathering the duvet and sheet in your shaking hands. The shaking had less to do with fear, at this particular moment, and more so with disgust over handling the fabrics without gloves. Once they were in your arms, spilling over with a corner dragging against the floor, you turned to face the exit. The Shape was gone. Your eyes frantically scan the room, adrenaline causing a spike in your heart rate. It’s not long before you hear it. The creak of a wooden floor board being pressed on to your right. His indication that he’s here. That he’s still watching you. To behave accordingly. You reluctantly make your way from the attic to the basement. You can feel his presence as you do so. The traits that you had rationalized, and even grown to find comfort in, in your personification of your home had suddenly become unnerving. Despite being acutely aware of his eyes on you, you softened your steps. Flinching everytime the wooden floor sounded under the weight of your feet. Hovering over your, thankfully, empty washing machine, you unceremoniously dumped the dirty fabric inside. Stretching to reach the shelf above the washing machine, where you keep the washing detergent, you falter as you stare at the box. The white, freshly scented, powder coating the sides of the cardboard. You think back to a few hours before. To the same powder coating the fingers of your left hand in your hurry to wash your clothing, before you wiped it on the side of your pants leg. You look down at your hand and it suddenly all clicks. He’d smelt the detergent. On your hand. This fact makes you shiver as the realization that the only thing that stood between you and certain death was the artificial scent of fresh linens. It takes a lot to drag you back upstairs from the damp darkness of your basement. You don’t know what to do with yourself, unprepared to wait the hours it will take to wash and dry Michael Myers sheets and duvet. You’re slowly making your way through the hallway of your home, the thought creeping into the back of your mind of what exactly he’ll do to you after you wash his things filling you with a cold sort of dread. You linger in the entryway of your kitchen. Glazed over eyes staring off into space. You’re distracted by the “what ifs” reverberating in your mind.

That all comes to a screeching halt when you hear it. Low with long, unnatural, pauses in between. Deep breaths coming from over your shoulder.

He’s definitely real.

Your brain supplies you, realizing that this is the first time you’ve heard the Shape of Haddonfield breathe at all. You glance over your shoulder at him and suppress your urge to flinch. He’s not crowding your space like he had been before, but he’s still far too close for comfort. It’s unnerving how a man of his stature could manage to sneak up on you. You stare into those empty black sockets that are meant to be eyes, desperately hoping to find some indication of a living, breathing, human being underneath. You had always avoided fictionalizing Michael Myers. Refused to feed into the sensationalizing of a serial murderer. The things he had done were monstrous, that was true, but he was just a man. A man, a human being, just like his victims, who were mothers, fathers, daughters, and brothers like anyone else and not sacrifices to a Devil walking the Earth. Right now, however, it was growing increasingly hard to maintain this mindset.

The breathing continued onward for far too long. His breaths were surprisingly even, unlike the shallow and raspy things you’d half been expecting. The idea that the sick depravity inside of him would somehow manifest on the outside as well. Unable to keep your eyes on him any longer, you turn your head forward once more. That’s when you notice it. Your barely eaten sandwich sitting forgotten on your kitchen table. You blink owlishly for a few seconds, before turning your head to look at him once more. You stare momentarily, before following his metaphorical gaze to where your food sits. You clear your throat nervously.

“Are you…are you hungry?”

Your momma had taught you to never let guests in your home go hungry. You weren’t sure if this counted since, you figured, on a technicality, he was your roommate, not a guest, so he could feed himself; but, you’d also heard a rumor once that he’d eaten a dog, so you weren’t sure you could stomach him scrounging for food in your home himself.

When you turned to look back at him, you couldn’t hold back your flinch this time around. His head was turned completely to you, his breathing still. You could only stare back with wide eyes, willing your heartbeat to return to a somewhat normal rhythm. You curled your bottom lip under your top row of teeth, running your tongue along the fat gripped in your teeth. Hesitantly, you took a step away from him, testing the waters. You hovered those few extra inches away from him, waiting cautiously to see if he’d try to snuff your life out once more. When nothing happened, you took another step. He simply cocked his head slowly at you at this. A little unnerved by the movement, you continued taking your steps back, until you stood in front of your kitchen counter. He simply hovered in your doorway. Observing you. Your lower back pressed into the counter, pinching at your skin, but you were far too nervous to turn your back to him. It felt unwise. Like you’d be setting yourself up to be killed.

You stayed in that position for a minute, seemingly locked in eye contact, although you couldn’t be too sure. You were surprised, however, to find that you apparently won the supposed staring contest. His head slowly turned away from your sight, as he stared at the half eaten, pathetic, sandwich on the table again. Your heart panged a bit at this, and you were even more surprised to find that you felt almost…sorry for him. Sympathy pulling at your heartstrings as he stood there like a dog begging for table scraps. You frowned deeply, finally turning your back as you gathered the sandwich material. You pulled two slices from the bread box, turning towards the fridge to gather the other material. You placed two pieces of bologna on the left slice. Pulling your freshly washed cutting board over, you placed a half cut tomato onto the wood. You were quick to grab the small knife from the knife block, cutting off two thin slices. It didn’t even cross your mind the fact that you hadn’t thought to use any of the knives to defend yourself. You wiped the tomato juices off on a washcloth hanging on the drawer handle below you, before unscrewing the cap to the mayonnaise. As you stuck the blade into the jar, you felt a tug on the small hoop earring in your left ear. It didn’t hurt, per say, it did sting a bit, but it was obvious that the intention wasn’t to rip the jewelry from your ear. You spun around, shock written on your face and found Michael there. Hovering in your space once more. You should have felt fear at that moment, probably. Fear, dread, that bone chilling confirmation that he was going to hurt you, but you couldn’t help but notice that, although you couldn’t see them, something about those empty black sockets told you that his eyes were full of mirth. An almost playful amusement. Not too dissimilar to the faces your boy cousins would make when you were kids, sneaking up behind you to pull at your braids and run.

Your jaw locked a bit at that as you stared at him. But, he made no movement again so you turned to continue what you were doing. As you wrapped your fingers around the mayo jar, you felt him hook his finger in the hoop, pulling once more. It was, once again, not hard enough to pull the thing from your ear, but you found that it a bit annoying. You turned on your heel much faster this time, pouting up at him, and you could swear that you heard the man huff a bit in laughter.

“What? What do you want?”

You snapped out, tone clipped in a way that was most definitely not appropriate for talking to a prolific serial killer. He tilted his head at you once more, before taking a step forward. You gasped, as he pressed the front of your bodies together. Your eyes bulged out of your skull, feeling adrenaline begin to punch your heart into action once more. He smelled like mildew and motor oil from this close. Which, caused you to furrow your eyebrows, surprised at the lack of copper-y blood scent. You glanced off to the side quickly. Your eyebrows flying back up to your hairline as you watched his right arm move. You tensed a bit, half expecting to find his hand around your throat once more, but instead he reached past you. You heard more than saw the way he scootched the jar of mayonnaise away from the plate you were making his sandwich on. Then, he was taking a step back once more. Still hovering in your personal space, but no longer pressed chest to chest with you. You snapped your head over to look at the counter, and, sure enough, the jar was pushed so far away from the food that it was practically pressed against the fridge. You blinked owlishly at the thing, turning to look at him, before turning to look back at the jar again.

“You don’t want mayonnaise? Seriously?”

You laughed a bit hysterically, unsurprised not to get a response. “Ok…sure, whatever you want.”

You continued to make his food. It was…almost funny you supposed. Michael Myers, the Shape, the Boogeyman of Haddonfield, didn’t like mayonnaise on his sandwiches. To the point that he’d physically stop you from putting it on a sandwich when he, presumably, hadn’t eaten any real food in weeks. You laughed to yourself as you slathered mustard onto the bread, movements slow and deliberate to give him time to stop you. All previous thoughts of his humanity were pushed out of your mind, as you were suddenly affirmed that he was just a man. An extremely terrifying man who killed with no remorse, who haunted a small town in Illinois for years, who didn’t like mayo on his sandwiches, and went through the efforts of stealing a sheet and duvet set to sleep on the cold, wooden, floor of your attic. As you close the sandwich, dropping the cutting board and knife in the sink, you wonder if he actually covers himself with the duvet when he sleeps at night. If he tucks himself into bed. You turn around and he’s already sat at the table. Across from where you had sat before, earlier that day. Your stomach turns a bit as you bring him the plate, the thought that this is a slightly too domestic scene replaying in your mind. When you set the food in front of him, you turn away to go wash the dishes. However, you’re not able to go far, as a large hand grips your wrist. A shiver runs up your spine, as you spin around again. You briefly wonder if this is another one of his acts of amusement. One of his actions that you’d dare to call a bit childish. Which, you pause, is a bit of a horrifying thought. That this large murderous man was taken into psychiatric care as a boy, and now in his adulthood seems to find joy in small, child-like, actions. Actions that he probably never got to partake in when they’d have been socially appropriate.

You wait for him to release your grip, or even tighten it and finally break or kill you. However, neither comes as he stares at your sandwich sitting across from him once more. You pull your lips into a thin line at this. Your stomach feels cold and empty, truly, but you’re not sure if you have much of an appetite currently. You look back at him, fixing your lips to try and explain this to him, but something pulls at your heartstrings once more. That horrible sense of sympathy. You try to think of the newspaper you abandoned this morning. The faces of his victims, of your highschool classmates, but all you can think is of a baby faced, blue eyed, blonde child, eating alone in a large, sprawling, white cafeteria. You wonder how many meals he’s had to eat alone. You try not to think of the potentially dead dog. He’s human. He’s not the Devil. Those people were not sacrifices. He eats because he’s hungry. He feels hunger. You grimace as you gently tug your wrist from his grip and sit across from him. You sit there in silence for a while, waiting for him to start eating his food, but he doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t move at all as he watches you. You think you’re starting to feel sick of being watched. You sigh, picking up your cold sandwich with deft fingers. You take bite after bite, allowing yourself to mindlessly eat. Hoping that the cold emptiness in your stomach will be satisfied with the cold mush that is the chewed up lunch meat and bread. You finish eating, bringing the cup of room temperature water to your lips, as you wash down your food with the stale tasting liquid. It isn’t refreshing by any means. It barely feels like water as much as it feels like drinking liquid dust.

When you finally look up, you find him staring back at you. Food untouched. You sigh, a bit exasperated. You were used to living alone, or rather, you were used to feeling as if you’re living alone. However, what you weren’t used to, was the perpetual silence of another human being. Sure, you weren’t the most chatty when it came to the people you worked with; the only other humans you saw on a consistent basis. But you were used to them filling up the silence. Sitting in the breakroom, listening to the background noise of your coworkers talking to each other, or your older coworker one sidedly regaling a story she heard on the news that morning. You think of the fact you took over her shift the day before. You think of her niece. A new life born into Haddonfield. You wonder when the first time she’ll hear the words “The Boogeyman of Haddonfield” uttered will be. You wonder what horrifying things will follow the name, details of gruesome and brutal crimes, and you wonder how the image she forms of the figure will differ from the image of the man currently in your kitchen.

You gather your plate and cup, walking to the sink. You don’t even hesitate this time, suddenly on autopilot. Michael doesn’t stop you. You begin washing the plate and cup. Your back turned to the other the entire time. You stop before you begin on the cutting board and knife you’d used earlier. You gather a tattered rag from the rack next to the sink. Running it under the water, you ring it as dry as you can, before turning to wipe down the crumbs present on your side of the table. It had taken you no longer than 3 minutes to wash your dishes. However, when you turn to face Michael once more, you find his entire sandwich gone. He’s sitting there now. Watching you. You stare at him with eyes wide with disbelief, letting out a loud and flat laugh. You take a few steps up to him before staring down at his plate. You don’t even see any crumbs. You let out another bout of stale deranged laughter at the thought of him licking his plate clean. You gather his plate, then you continue to clean. There isn’t much else for you to do. You wipe down the plastic tablecloth, and you’re forced to lean a bit into Michael's space as you clean his side. He sits still in the chair and you’d say that it almost seems like he relishes in your invasion of his space. Or maybe, rather, he likes the idea of you forcing him to invade your space. The idea that you’ve accepted his actions, even encourage them to the point of indulging him yourself. You can’t hear him breathing anymore, but you wonder if he can smell your laundry detergent or your body wash. You wonder if the nurses and psychologists who cared for him were forbidden from wearing anything scented. You wonder how long it was in between the washes of his psych ward uniform. You wonder what the night smelled like when he escaped all those years ago. You think that maybe he likes it. Likes smelling things other than antiseptic and likes seeing colors other than a pale, blinding, sterile white. You turn to do the rest of the dishes and when you turn around again he is gone.

You tense up at this, once more. Your eyes scan the room. Hovering from right to left then back again. You scan the room multiple times over before you finally see him. Your heart leaps into your throat as you catch sight of him hovering, partially hidden, in the open archway of your living room. He’s a hulking figure. A streak of synthetic grey-ish white and navy blue in the sunlight haloed image of your living room; bamboo shelves decorated with tchotchkes, end tables decorated with books and magazines, Nubian statues, and a brightly colored rug. He stands out. It’s mind boggling how you, or anyone else, could miss him. But, maybe that’s the tragedy of the Shape, your mind supplies you. So hulking and yet so invisible. Unnoticed because he does not fit in the consciousness of other human beings. The brain interpreting him as inherently different. Forgotten by the herd, overlooked by humanity, because it has been decided that he does not fit into their narrative and he never will. It makes something in you lurch and ache for him. So, you clean. You had personified the oddity of your home into a roommate of sorts, and your personification had become physical, but that did not change the original concept. As long as you minded your business, he would mind his.

You scan through your records, wondering what kind of music the Shape would enjoy most. You settle on 1964’s Make Way for Dionne Warwick and you figure that surely he’ll turn it off if he doesn’t like it. Although, you find that a part of you doesn’t care if he likes it or not. Because you’re the one washing his sheets, and keeping the house clean so who is he to complain about your music. It’s terribly domestic. Almost like the dynamic between a husband and a wife.

You sweep and you lose sight of him as you do so. You thought that’d freak you out more than it actually did. However, not having sight of him relaxed you more. Letting the sounds of the record whisk you away. Suddenly, your house felt like your home again, and there was something comforting about the familiarity of it all. You’d lived here for 6 years and you’d accepted that your house was watching you in a way. Acutely aware of metaphorical eyes on you at all times. In an odd way, Michael Myers validated the existence of those, no longer metaphorical, eyes. His existence, in a sense, only served to validate your routine.

Before you know it, time flies by, and you switch his sheets and duvet from the washer to the dryer. You don’t even grimace at the ring of reddish-brown dirt inside of the machine. Then you make your way back upstairs, switching the record back to Bowie, before you start mopping.

He’s hovering at the door to the basement when the dryer is finished running. You don’t even spare him a glance as you make your way downstairs. You pull his freshly washed sheets and duvet from the dryer, taking the time to fold the large things. You figure there’s no point. No point in folding them when they’re going to end up right back on the floor. No point in washing them when they’re going to end up blood stained again. As you finish folding the sheets, placing them on top of the folded duvet, you feel him press his chest against your back. You can only feel his presence there because of the fact the muscle of his abdomen is actually physically touching you, because you notice that he’s deathly cold. It almost feels like he has no blood pumping through his veins. You can’t even feel his heartbeat through the fabric of the mechanics uniform. He’s stiff and he’s cold and he leans over your shoulder, crowding you closer to the dryer, and you hear him take in a single deep breath. You hear him breathe in the scent of fresh linen and your heart yearns.

There’s no point.

You think as you feel him follow you like a loyal dog up the stairs of the basement.

There’s no point in any of this.

You tell yourself, as he continues to follow you up to the second floor. You risk a look over your shoulder and you notice that he’s purposely a few steps behind you. That, from here, he’s put enough space between you to make it seem like you’re taller than him. That you’re above him.

When you finally make it into the guest room, all you can do is stare at the open closet door. Up one more flight of steps and he’ll retreat back into his attic crawl space. You can pretend that he’s not there until he decides he needs to eat or wash his things again.

But you find, as you stand there, that you don’t want him to retreat back to the attic. There’s no point to any of this, only because you had not acknowledged him before. You realize, with a horror that never truly amounts, that you want him there. You want there to be a point.

So, you dump the freshly washed sheet and duvet onto the guest bed. There’s already a set of clean sheets and blankets on the thing, but you figure that maybe he likes the ones he has. Then you turn to look at him. He’s standing in the open doorway of the bedroom. Half hidden behind the frame, obscured in the increasing darkness of the setting sun, and you see him immediately.

“Michael.”

You croak out, trying your hardest to sound confident with your heart beating in your throat.

Mind your black ass business.

A voice in the back of your head rings in your ears. You ignore it.

“The guest bedroom is yours.”

It’s not a command for him to stay but it’s not an extended offer either. It’s a gift.

You leave him standing there. Hovering in the doorway. When your night finally ends, he’s no longer in the doorway, but he’s not in the guest room either. However, the guest room closet door is closed, and his sheet and duvet are sprawled across the surface of the bed. When you go to sleep that night, you’re sure that you can feel someone there. Hovering over you. Watching you sleep. It doesn’t scare you as much as it should.

#my writing #my fic #fanfic #black fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #black x reader #michael myers x reader #michael myers fanfiction #slasher x reader #Michael myers x black reader #halloween #halloween franchise #halloween fanfic

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nobitchs-world · 8 months ago

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Me: I love horror movie slashers

My scary ass if I ever saw them:

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lace-coffin · 1 year ago

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Hi! Can I ask how the slashers would feel if they ever accidentally hurt their s/o? Gender and everything is up to you!

How slashers would react to Accidently hurting their S/O

Thank you so much for my first ever request ah! I hope you enjoy 💖

Requests are open!

Warning for blood/injury - mild sexual content/reference to sexual activity and power dynamics -unhealthy relationships (I think?)

Reader is gender neutral!

Bubba sawyer

Most likely happened via Bubba playing too hard and Accidently pushing you over or being a bit too heavy handed with you. If it’s a case of them mistaking you for a victim and catching you with their chainsaw before being able to stop then they’ll be even more in inconsolable : (

Stops and stares for a minute to process what’s happened before devolving into full blown panic.

She’ll drop whatever she’s doing to carry you back to the house, even if that means letting the victim escape and having Drayton yell at her.

Will hurriedly explain in rushed sign to either Choptop or Nubbins to go take care of the victim as he’s busy caring for you.

Checks you over frantically. Please explain you’re going to be ok and help them calm down.

Once he knows you’re not in any danger he’ll feel absolutely awful about it and whine apologies to you even if you tell him that it’s ok and it wasn’t their fault.

Please comfort them once you feel better and reassure them.

Will insist you come up with a verbal and nonverbal sign to give if they’re accidently messing around to hard.

Will make you agree to stay in the house out of the way when victims are around so you don’t Accidently get hurt again.

Thomas Hewitt

After another night of Hoyt berating him for things out of his control, Tommy storms off to the basement to cool off. You follow after him, intending to comfort and wanting to help. You place a hand on his shoulder without thinking, forgetting he doesn’t enjoy physical touch without warning, thinking it might help. Whipping around he grabs your wrist a little too hard, causing you to wince.

He snatches his hand back as soon as he realises what he’s done.

Tommy will bring you to Luda may to have her check you over and assess the damage.

Once he knows you’re safe he’ll confine himself to the basement for a few days, only coming out to eat but even then it’s tense.

He’s truly sorry and feels like all those people who called him a monster and an animal were right, he hurt the one he cares about most, after all.

After a few days apart, a lot of hushed words of affirmation and kisses/nose bumps he’ll feel comfortable being with you again.

You know to let him cool off by himself and come to you when he’s ready after a heated argument now.

Michale Myers

You jump out at Michael thinking it would be funny to catch the shape off guard for once and not the other way around. Unfortunately this backfires and he swings his knife at you, thinking it may be an intruder since you’ve never pulled something like this before, You manage to jolt out of the way but the knife still catches you in the shoulder. Thankfully, it’s only superficial and will heal, but it still looks like it needs medical attention.

Initially Michael looks at you unamused, granted it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling underneath the mask. He gives you a kind of “well If you weren’t being dumb this wouldn’t have happened” attitude. However this is a front for the actual panic he refuses to show on the surface.

Having a few cuts and scratches isn’t super uncommon when your with Michael considering his tastes involving knives in bed ; )

Usually hurting others comes naturally and without remorse to Michael, so it shakes him to his core that he’s actively worrying about your wellbeing instead of feeling the usual indifference.

It disturbs him that he actually cares about someone enough to feel remorse for his actions.

After unceremoniously pulling your shirt off and looking the wound over he forces you go to A&E, practically marching your ass out the door.

Since he’s basically an escaped criminal he can’t exactly casually walk in the hospital with you, however he will stalk you the entire time, lurking close by to make sure you arrive and leave safely.

Although he usually has his guard up he vows to try be a little less bristly with you from now on if it means he doesn’t have to see you hurt and feel that awful tug of regret/worry in his chest.

Jason voorhees

You went out looking for Jason one night after he hadn’t returned to the cabin by his usual time. You were worried he’d been overpowered by a group of trespassers or caught in a trap and didn’t have any way to communicate that to you. The woods were beautiful but so dense and vast, getting lost or injured in the thick of them may as well be a death sentence.

Whilst searching for your missing partner you get your leg snagged in a bear trap he had set out previously for the trespassers. You howl in pain as you hear the sickening snap of your ankle between the traps jaws.

Jason was trudging his way back to the cabin when he heard it. Knowing that wasn’t a rougue teen as he’d cleared them out already, alarm bells went off in his head. He stormed to scene as fast as he could.

He could have sworn his undead heart stopped for the second time as he saw you sitting there in agony, murky blood seeping into the forest floor.

He rushes to your side and looks frantically between the trap and your teary face, he knows he’s going to have to disengage the traps and for you it’s going to be..less than pleasent.

He signs for you to grip onto his arm for support. Since he’s already dead and regenerates fairly quickly he feels it’s the least he can do to let you grip his arm for dear life as he wrenches the trap from your shattered ankle. If you cause any damage to his arm (which is very unlikely) it will heal up in no time anyway.

Once he’s carried you back to the cabin he’ll be frantically following Pamela’s directions in his head for what to do and how to clean/ wrap it.

If the damage is extensive he’ll relent and let you go to the hospital, only if a trusted friend takes you though, he’ll be sitting by the window of your shared cabin every minute until you return back to him.

You’re no longer aloud to be out in the woods after dark alone if he’s set traps. You both carry whistles now so if he’s not home and you need to know he’s safe you can whistle to each other and feel more at ease.

Billy Lenz

Interacting with Billy when he’s having an episode is never a good idea. You thought it would be fine to just be in the room though, providing you stay out of his way. As you enter, Billy is in the midst of trashing his attic once again, the disgusting feelings bubbling in his chest too much to bear. You enter just as he’s angrily thrown an old glass christmas ornament at the floor that the sorority had kept in storage. It shatters and flecks of sparkling glass scatter along the floor. One piece catching you in the hand in a nasty glass splinter. You swear under your breath and rush off to take care of it.

Billy doesn’t even realise what’s happened until you return to him, him now having exhausted himself and you knowing it’s safe to try do some damage control. You bring him a sandwich and juice knowing he’ll need it after all the energy and tears he just used up.

Your hands touch as he’s accepting the plate from you with a muted “thank you” and he notices the bandage.

Billy essentially bristles up like an angry cat at the idea of someone hurting his piggy and demands to know who did it and what happened.

Once you tell him it was actually from the ornament he feels horrible. He doesn’t even remember it happening with the state he was in.

He snuggles into the crook of your neck and mumbles apologies into your skin.

Billy will place sloppy kisses over it as an apology until you forgive him. (Not exactly hygenic since it’s an open wound but i mean…you’re dating the attic rat)

Brahms Heelshire

When living with Brahms there isn’t usually much to injure yourself on considering the estate is fairly out of the way from the rest of the village. You most likely caught yourself on a pair of sheers. Brahms is being stubborn about you being out of the house and slings the sheers in your general direction from the door frame when you ask for them. You don’t even notice you sliced your hand when catching them until you see a patch of blood soaking through your gardening gloves about ten minutes later.

You come in to grab a tea towel to wrap your bleeding finger in, not really fazed as it’s only a small cut. Brahms was lurking from the window as you tended to the hedges, not wanting to be away from you but not yet brave enough to tempt leaving the house he’s been in all these years.

As soon as he sees it he’s panicking, it’s only a little cut and you’re not concerned in the slightest but to Brahms you may as well have just came in with an arm missing. He’s instantly flittering around you asking if you’re ok and if you need a hospital.

You stifle your laugh at his over the top concern, you find it rather sweet, it’s not his fault he’s a little bit sheltered.

After cleaning the cut and bandaging it, it’s totally fine. If anything Brahms needs more reassuring and coddling than you do to get him to settle.

He apologises a thousand times for his attitude because he knows If he hadn’t been stroppy about you leaving the house and passed the sheers nicely then you wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. He promises to try be more composed when he starts getting antsy.

He may need some ✨punishment✨ in order to encourage his behaviour change and to feel forgiven.

He begrudgingly lets you back outside to garden after about a week.

Asa Emory

If you’re the pet of Asa then it’s likely that most of your injuries are purposefully given from him and are no mistake. You’re poked and prodded often considering your residency in the collection. Wounds from experiments and correctional punishments when you disobey or refuse to submit are not uncommon at all. So it doesn’t bother him since he inflicted them. This also assures he cleans them with clinical precision. If you were anyone else he would leave the wounds to fester, if you died from a complication then that was just inconvenient. Not you though, you’ve caught his attention and heart. He loves you in his own domineering way.

If the wound was created by him on accident then he would give himself a hard time, chastising himself for his carelessness.

For example, if he had more trouble with law enforcement than he thought and that led to you to spending way more time in the trunk than you usually do, causing you to develop a sore from sitting in one cramped position for too long.

Asa would realise you’re injured once you’re let out of the trunk, hissing in pain as you stretch. He makes you show him where you’re hurting so he can inspect over it.

Despite Asa’s stony face his stomach is actively sinking. He knows you’re hurt because of him and it wasn’t purposeful or measured like it would be during a punishment. He sees this as failure in his pet care and it takes a blow to his god complex. Gods don’t make mistakes, but here he is, hurting his dolly by being so out of it.

He’ll make sure to clean it for you and even stop putting you in the trunk for a while. This does however still mean you’ll be attached to him via leash or chain connected to the ring sitting on his belt. Just because you’re hurt and his favourite toy, doesn’t mean he will except anything less than your complete and total submission.

He’ll be more tender and soft handed with you than usual for a while after. Punishments will be withheld until you heal. Then it’s back to normal routine as expected.

Predator/yautja

You were wearing a new perfume you’d picked up at the market during the day, You were only supposed to be getting meats and maybe a new fur for the bed but once the alien at the stand had convinced you to sample it you fell in love with it.

Your mate picks up on an unknown scent entering the house, hackles raising and stalking towards it. As soon as they catch the heat signature they throw a wrist blade in warning.

Their eyes widen in horror, rushing to the door as they catch scent of your tangly blood dripping onto the hardwood floor of your shared home.

The new perfume masked your familiar scent from them, making them believe the house was in danger and being intruded on. If their face could loose colour it would, cringing as they see the wrist blade sticking through your palm, groceries discarded at the door.

They start talking at you in rapid clicks before they realise you can’t actually understand. After making sure to keep the object in your hand so you don’t bleed out and that you’re not going to pass out on them, they insist on carrying you their medic instead of going to an ooman one.

They argue that their medicine is far more advanced and will heal your wound much more efficiently then your “ primitive ooman medicine”

Thanks to yautja medicine being far more advanced, It will heal like nothing ever happened in around two weeks. The wound stitched shut and given some kind of injection.

Your mate purrs and clicks for you deep from their chest the entire time you’re having the blade removed to try calm you.

They beg for forgiveness despite it literally being an accident and will need some reassurance that they haven’t failed you as a mate. Once you’re all healed up they’ll bring back an impressive skull from a hunt as an apology even if you’ve already forgiven them.

Whilst it’s healing you’re probably going be kept in the nest of furs and pulled tightly against them whilst they purr and sooth you.

My requests are open if you’d like to send any prompts or ideas for me to write!

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gothic-thoughts · 7 months ago

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Scariest Promotion Ever

(im tired of hiding my love for him yall, Im coming out as a slasher lover)

Michael Myers x Black Fem Reader Fluff

MeetCute(?), Nurse!Reader, AsylumPatient!Michael

Part 2: Here

CW: Your first time meeting Michael and his threatening ass aura in person, hair pulling, fear, crying

Word Count: 1489 (give or take)

The guards opened the door and moved aside for me to enter but I was frozen. They looked at me expectantly, but all I could do was clutch my clipboard to my chest and tremble as my eyes search the dark room for the patient I was supposed to be watching. I look back at the guards, voice shaking.

“W-why did the last nurse quit again...?”

The guards look at each other a little worried then back at me.

“Quit?” One asked.

“They... told me she quit.”

“Uh, sure... Technically she did "quit" the job... forever...”

“...What...?”

“He, uh...” The other guard joined in, “He didn't like her I guess.”

“They usually last a whole lot longer than she did. She was so scared of him that she barely spoke to him and...”

I gulp thickly, “And...?”

“He strangled her... before he removed her face...”

I gasp, turning to look back into the dimness of Michael’s room, the only light being the gloomy sunlight seeping through the barred window on the other side of the area. My breath catches in my throat and my stomach burns and bubbles with fear. The guards assured me that the door would stay open now when nurses visit him specifically because of the incident, hoping that I'd calm down.

But of course, my only thought was to make sure I talked to him.

I hesitantly step over the threshold of his doorway with the 2 guards remaining just outside to monitor me— or rather, monitor Michael Myers, making sure he doesn't kill me or at the very least become violent. His room is cold, dark, and... full of masks. I examine the few that I could see with the sun pouring in through the window before scanning the dark side of the room until my eyes lay on the eerily still figure sitting on the bed against the opposite wall. I gulp softly, swallowing my vomit at the stomach-tightening realization that he was most likely watching me since the door opened.

“Uh... H-hi Michael...”

No words. I couldn’t even see him blink because of that orange papier-mâché mask he was wearing. The only way I knew he was even alive was the slow rise and fall of his broad chest. His masked face never moved or turned, it stayed focused on me— analyzing me— before his head slightly tilted to the right. After a few more seconds of deafening silence, Michael slowly stands up, making my eyes drift upwards to watch him essentially grow until he’s standing at 6’9” making me realize another thing my boss left out about him— his fucking height.

“Wow... Um, I-I'm your n-new nurse... I'm just here to watch you and... a-and...”

When he begins to walk it scares a sharp gasp out of me, which he didn’t even acknowledge. His steps are heavy and threateningly slow so I back away at the same pace, hoping to somehow get to the door before he could hurt me. That’s when I heard the door slam with a small, muffled apology thrown my way; something about not wanting him to get out.

I shake, forcing myself to calm down enough until I feel the door against my back. Michael continues to get closer, towering over me as he is practically trapping me against the door, and he still hasn’t said a word. I flinch away, shut my eyes, and hold my clipboard in front of my face as some wack form of protection for it only for it to be ripped from my hands and tossed across the room with a clatter.

I yelp, tears brimming my eyes as I reach back and paw at the door, looking for the handle but Michael’s head tilts, an indication that he caught on before he swiftly grabs my wrist with one of his huge hands causing a terrified shriek to leave my lips. The guards bang on the door and call his name, trying to get his attention.

“Michael!” One called, "Michael stop!"

“Michael, get away from the door and leave her alone!”

“She’s just here to help you!”

“You gotta give her a chance!”

He still hasn’t spoken, just remained eerily still as he looked down at my tear-streaked face. After a few seconds, his free hand grabs the couple of box braids in front of my face tightly, fingers slowly rubbing up and down the duo-colored strands. I wince at the slight pain and shock before I look up at him with pleading eyes and hushed whimpers. He slowly lifts the braids higher to his face before letting them slip through his fingers to fall back to my chest. He firmly grabs them and lifts them again, the tautness in my scalp causing me to move closer to him in hopes of relieving it. I sniffle, watching him with confusion.

“Y-you like them..?”

No words— I don’t even think he heard me, but he keeps threading the thin, silky strands through his thick fingers. He suddenly yanks them to bring them closer.

“Agh!” I swat his hand away with my free hand, “That hurts!”

His hand suddenly stops moving and I begin crying again, trying to step back as my brain swirls with regret as I realize what I did. He suddenly encloses the 4 braids in a giant fist and tightens his hand on my wrist as I start to sob softly.

“No no no no no, okay... I'm sorry, okay?” I whimper, gasping for air, “I'm sorry, I’m so sorry... It was just instinct 'cause it hurt... y-you have to be gentle if you like them...”

He grunts under his mask then opens his fist, letting my braids drape over his index finger as he strokes it gently with his thumb. My eyes widen slightly; he actually listened.

“Y-yeah... Yeah, like that... There you go...”

He gently continues to run his fingers over the hair, letting out a much softer huff.

“U-um...” I wipe my tears, trying to stay calm, “They're called box braids... they're braided into my h-hair to protect it... A-and sometimes... it's a little tight on my scalp so it hurts when it’s pulled... that's why I swatted you... it was an instinct, I’m sorry...”

His head nods so slightly that I almost didn’t notice. He was listening to me... and he seemed to be following instructions. I continue to look up at his orange mask, my eyes occasionally drifting back to his large fingers playing with the four braids. I looked into the eyeholes of the mask in an attempt to see what his eyes looked like since his body language was much calmer now, meaning that hopefully, he was less likely to react. His eyes suddenly snap to mine, the cold, pale blue irises sending a chill through my body. Michael huffs heavily again, his fingers slowly leaving the braids to which I let out a sigh of relief.

“Uh, it's time for lunch... A-are you hungry?”

His head tilted before he released my wrist and backed up so I took it as a yes and slowly stepped out of the way of the door as I opened it, allowing him to step out with slow, heavy steps that made the guards back up and rest their hands over their tasers. But he just stands there, towering over us and staring down at me. Even when the guards call for him, he remains still. Eerily still. I look at the two guards, then back at the 6’9” killer, wondering why he opted to stare at me instead of walking with them.

“Um... Michael... I thought you were hungry.”

Silence. He steps a little closer to me.

“O-oh... Oh, you're following me...?”

A subtle nod is all it took for my body to completely relax at the realization that he liked me— or at least a whole lot more than his last nurse. I start slowly walking down the hall, looking over my shoulder to see Michael’s shaggy form following me like a big, dangerous shadow. His weight made his steps echo and his long legs made his stride much longer putting him surprisingly close behind. My eyes flickered back to him often, making sure he wasn't gonna get randomly violent as I tried to stay calm, knowing his eyes were on me the whole way behind that mask. Every step felt like he was getting closer.

Eventually, I arrive at a big cafeteria room, with many other patients eating their food at the tables before the guards take over my leadership role and guide Michael to the corner of the cafeteria to a secluded, metal room. They open the doors and Michael enters silently before sitting his imposing figure down at the table, huge legs spread wide for comfort as he settles in front of the food.

But he doesn’t make a move to eat it. He just continued to stare at me through the reinforced plastic of the window on the door, watching me, his eyes through the mask never wavering. I think he likes me more than I thought.

#spooky month #spooky season #black reader #black writers #x black reader #x black fem reader #black fem reader #micheal myers #michael myers #halloween is coming #slashers x reader #slashers x y/n #rz myers x reader #rz michael myers #rz halloween #halloween #rz michael myers x reader #october

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livindeadgirlgrav · 10 months ago

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Hi, i was wondering if you could do a Michael Myers, Otis driftwood, The sinclair twins and The grabber x Reader, but the Reader is kidnapped or is cornered by them, and with no options left, they Surprise attack with a smooch!!!

Of course!! Thank you for the request! Also I love your profile pic its so cute!

Warning: Violence, slashers, kidnapped, kinda NSFW, blood, gore, slasher things, overpowered, mature themes, Stockholm syndrome,

Michael Myers

Since Michael has kidnapped you, you have become use to him towering over you and corning you but he usually would turn around and leave after a few minutes but today he wasn't moving a muscle. In fact he kept getting closer to you. Forcing you to back up into the wall. Starring at him you watched him become inches away from you, lowering down to become inches from your face. Forcing you to stare into his dead eyes through the eye holes of his mask your eyes glanced down at the lips of the mask and before you knew it you threw your arms around his neck and smashed your lips onto his. You held onto him tightly as he sprung up faster then his typically movements. Michael quickly grabbed your arms forcing you to let go. As your feet hit the floor your furrowed your eyebrows at him, upset at the lose of contact. Michael quickly left the room, he was more confused than he had ever been.

Otis Driftwood

You had been stuck in Otis's bedroom since the first day he kidnapped you. Otis has tortured you for weeks now, but it wasn't as bad as what you seen him do to other victims within the house. Besides you were the only victim in his bed now...which is scary by itself. Today was like any other, you woke up chained to an empty bed. Sitting up you rubbed your sleepless eyes and pulled at the doll like dress he forced you to wear. You hated it, it was short and itchy but it was better then being naked all the time. Your head shot towards the door as you heard him barge in carrying a unconscious girl in his arms. You sat up on your knees looking to see who the girl was. "Who is she?" You asked a bit demanding. Otis shot his head up at you. "A new pet.." You widened your eyes and quickly stood up on the bed and shook your head. "No! Get her out of here!" You shouted. Otis chuckled a bit watching you before turning and placing the girl on a chair, tying her up. "Otis get her out of here." You demanded stepping down off the bed. Before you knew it Otis grabbed your throat and forced you back onto the bed. Falling down you caught yourself on your elbows. "Now listen mama, I don't rightly care for your attitude." He stated shaking you a bit. "Maybe I need to remind you about your place here hm?" He asked but seeing that his threats weren't phasing you made him more mad. Otis pulled his bloody knife out from its holster on his hip but before he could do or say anything you grabbed his hair by one of your hands using the other to balance yourself on the bed. Pulling him down quickly you smashing your lips onto his. Otis didn't pull away he chuckled into your kiss as he kissed you back roughly. Before you knew it your dress was being cut off with his bloody knife. Once your dress was off he pushed his knife onto your neck. "Come on mama, lets finish what you started." He stated as he ushered to his belt with his free hand. Quickly nodded you did exactly what he wanted, your fingers undid his belt with ease. Otis was a bit shocked by your eagerness but he wasn't about to stop you anytime soon. But he did know one thing your lips were much sweeter when you kissed him willingly.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent favored you ever since you rode into town. He actually thought you would have wanted his twin brother more than him but when he saw you running into the wax museum trying to hide within his work he felt a sense of happiness he had been searching for. So when he came out of hiding, gently pushing you into a corner of the museum, smiling a bit to himself when you didn't shout out a blood curling scream. "Help me." You stated softly starring at his waxy face. Vincent tilted his head in confusion. Weren't you scared of him? Vincent grabbed your hand and pulled you into another room then through a door and down the wax steps. Pulling you into his workshop. Luckily there wasn't any projects down there at the time. "You make them?" You asked softly as you looked around. Vincent stared at you before walking closer towards you. "T-That man out there is trying to kill me.." You stated as you watched the man. Vincent pointed to himself. Shaking your head you stated. "No, not you. The mechanic, I think his name is.." You stopped trying to think before you knew it you were pushed against the wall. "Hey?" you stated looking at the man. "I'm sorry, thank you for helping me." You stated before kissing the man's waxy cheek. Vincent quickly backed up and stared at you. Starring back you watched him point towards a bed within the corner. Nodding you walked towards the bed and sat down as you watched the man nearly trip up the stairs and slamming the door.

Bo Sinclair

Bo chased you down and jumped on you like he's down countless times to several different victims. The more you squirmed the more he liked it. He flung your small figure over his shoulder and carried you into his shop and down to his little makeshift dungeon. Bo slammed you down into the chair in the center of the room and was surprised when you didn't fight back or tried to get up and run. Regardless Bo still tied you down with duck tape. You breathed deeply trying your best to calm yourself down. Bo quickly grabbed your jaw and forced you to stare at him causing you to whimper a bit. Bo smirked a bit as he stared down at your lips. "Look at the way those lips curve." he stated in his deep country accent. Without thought you leaned up and smashed your lips onto his, Bo didn't stop you and didn't push away he simply kissed you back a bit rougher then you were. As you pulled away Bo bit your bottom lip and tugged it a bit before letting go and pulling away. He watched you lay your back down against the chair, once again Bo smirked and chuckled. "Don't you worry darling we'll get there. Just gotta be patient girly." His words made your face heat up turning your glace away from him, he chuckled and stood straight. You eyes wondered you him, watching him grab his keys and head to the door. But before closing said door he glanced up at you with the most lust filled eyes you've ever seen. You knew exactly what was gonna happen once he got back but for once you were excited to see him come back.

The Grabber

Sitting on the mattress you stared at the door. Today was the day you knew it. You knew you had to get out of there. Feeling yourself slipping into what felt like madness. You were so strongly conflicted, you despised your captor but in another light you were weirdly attracted to him. You liked the way his hair framed his masked face, you enjoyed the way his fingers moved and how comforting his presence could be. You picked at the skin on your fingers thinking about how soft his lips were before being interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking and opening. You watched him walk in with a tray of food. The same as always eggs and a soda. "I made you some breakfast." He said like every other day. You nodded and walked over towards him. He looked down at you, watching how your eyes glanced at the stairs behind him. He tilted his head a bit. You could have swore he read your thoughts because as soon as you darted behind him he dropped the tray and grabbed you up. But to his surprise you didn't fight him or scream. He growled and walked towards the mattress but as he tried to throw you down he noticed how you hung onto him. He pried your hands off of him. "Stop! Don't!" You shouted as you fell to the bed but you quickly grabbed his shirt pulling him down a bit just to wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips onto the masked lips. Kissing him you didn't care that it wasn't his actually lips. This was still him and you loved it. The grabber was taken back but he let you kiss the lips of his mask. Once you stopped and pulled away looking at his blueish brown eyes. "Don't leave me." You stated as you hugged him. Albert furrowed his brows but he let you hug him placing a hand on your back.

__________________________________________

Wellll thank you for reading! And I hope you guys enjoyed! I loved this request! Thank you again for it! 🖤🖤

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tac-the-unseen · 7 months ago

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OUAGH the last one gave me the idea of a musician reader x slasher

If I were to suggest a specific genre maybe they’re into rock because. Yeah.

Could you do something with that?

Slashers x Musician Reader

Micheal Myers:

•Plays it off but thinks it cool as hell

•He did play the piano for a very short time in his childhood, but the ward made him very rusty

•Will happily watch any concerts you put on for him

•Will Secretly watch you if you don't

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•They both immediately pitch in a song request

•They bring up the fact that you play an instrument to win arguments with people

•Will eventually find a way to break your instrument

•They will be very apologetic about it

•attempts to replace it

Thomas Hewitt:

•very interested

•He's curious by nature, he wants to know everything he can about it

•Your instrument is the most expensive thing in the house

•daydreams about being able to play a song for you, one day

•until then, he'll try to figure it out himself

Bubba Sawyer:

•Tries to sing along when you play

•he also dances but always ends up knocking stuff over

•Will sit in front of the door so his brothers can't get in while you're playing

•They constantly complain about the racket

•Chop-top will occasionally sit in while you play

Bo Sinclair:

•immediately shows you his acoustic

•brags about how he can out play you

•loses miserably because he only practiced for a couple months

•mad about it

•polishes its case whenever he comes around to it

Vincent Sinclair:

•romanticizes it by thinking about how you're two different types of artists

•Sketches you playing your instrument

•Sheepishly asks you to pose

•makes a mini wax sculpture of your instrument

•He get super giddy if you play a song for him

Lester Sinclair:

•extremely impressed

•He's always thought of being able to play an instrument as a high class/rich person activity

•Falls asleep while you play, Not because you're boring, But because he finds it soothing

•will find out how to care for your instrument so he can help repair any damages it might face

Billy Lenz:

•probably was the reason He zeroed in on you in the first place

•fines it incredibly alluring and wanted you to play all the time

•Will find a way to get his grubby hands on your instrument

•Will eventually break it but not feel sorry

•(Not So) patiently waits for you to get it fixed

Brahms Heelshire:

•He can play the piano and just uses it as another excuse to hang out with you

•looks up songs to properly make a duet with you

•whenever conversations died down or get a little stale, he whips out the instrument card

•whether you did or didn't know how to play an instrument he's going to romanticize it anyway

Hannibal Lecter:

•insists on making some kind of duet with you, and whether or not your instruments align with each other

•buy stuff to make for your instrument is a mint condition

•’humbly’ braggs about your talent at his dinner parties

•Will make you food associated with your instrument(s) (look that up, it's a real thing because of course it is)

Will Graham:

•Like to watch you play whatever it is you play

•He's never really had any interest in instruments, But he starts listening to videos featuring your instrument.

•Casually asks Hannibal facts about your instrument

•makes you a little charm related to your instrument to put on your keychain

•Has flashbacks to the guy with his throat turned into a Cello

The Lost Boys:

•They all at some point have picked up an instrument

•David can play the Piano, Organ, violin, and guitar

•Dwayne can play the Hand drums, flute, and Bass guitar

•Paul can play the clarinet, electric guitar, French horn, and marimba

•Marko can play the Drums, Harp, Cello, and viola

•They have all genuinely considered starting a band

•No matter what you play, you'll fit in

Thanks for reading <3

I went for a more neutral tone with this fic. Because I don't want to write 16 other fanfics about specific music genres ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠🎀)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

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creepswrites · 6 months ago

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hiii! i come here to fulfill my self-indulgent mind,,,, can i get some headcanons of jason, michael ('78) and billy lenz with a (gn) s/o who always asks before kissing them wich ends up in peppering their faces/masks and neck with kisses and sometimes licks their faces out of nowhere bc they're a little bit silly? :-)

ur writing is amazing btw!!! hope ur having a great day, thanks in advance <3

(sorry if my english is weird 🍭)

oughhh yesss omg this is so cute!!!! i hope the emoji was for like. anon tag. bc i did that lol

SLASHERS x GN! READER WHO LICKS & KISSES THEM

JASON VOORHEES

"Jason? May I kiss you?"

He's a little confused why you'd feel the need to ask

His mother taught him when you're in a relationship with someone, kissing is to be expected

But if it's a regular thing for you, he'd find his own way to ask quietly, be it brushing your lip or cheek for your approval for him to kiss you

He, of course, lets you kiss him anytime you ask! He rarely takes his mask off though and is very self conscious of his face :(

Whenever you DO get to pepper his actual face with kisses, he gets nervous about it

He's not sure how you find him attractive so he's much more comfortable with affections when he's masked up

One time you lick the side of his mask and that definitely stuns him for a second

I wouldn't recommend licking him, with how often he goes in the lake or gets blood on his mask but you do you!!

He'd still let you. He loves you, he's far more tolerant of your antics than anyone else's

MICHAEL MYERS

"Michael, could I kiss you?"

Honestly he appreciates you asking. Some days he does say no and you, of course, respect that

Sometimes he'll take his mask off for it, other times he doesn't

He's relatively unresponsive. Sometimes he'll close his eyes and that's as good an indicator as any that he Does feel something about it

He's not a very expressive person

When you lick him though, you get a raised eyebrow for it

He's not like. Affronted by it or anything. It just takes him by surprise!

Honestly? He'd probably show you affection by biting you sometimes in response

Michael is autistic and I'll die on this hill

When you get his guard down enough and get him comfortable, he'll lean into kisses and let you run your fingers through his hair :)

BILLY LENZ

"Hey Billy? Want a kiss?"

Of the three, he's the most accepting of the licking!!

Honestly he probably joins in on that and licks you back

He does, however, shriek and shy away whenever you try to kiss him

It makes him nervous but licking is something he can easily reciprocate

Whenever he says yes to kissing though, you can't help but cover him in them until he's screeching and shoving you away as gently as he can

Like Michael, probably bites you to show affection. He's also way more comfortable kissing you than he is being kissed

Will bite your fingers or nip at your ear or cheek to get attention and babbles whenever you lick him

Probably calls you "kitty" or some variation of that

While he does get shy about the kissing, he's very... enthusiastic. Lots of tongue involved

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #🍭 anon #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you #friday the 13th #michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #halloween 1978 #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #billy lenz x you #black christmas 1974

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ebonyslasher · 1 year ago

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Sleeping Time

A little something creepy for Valentine's Day. Hope you all enjoy!!

TW: A teeny mention of non-con thoughts in Billy's part

Michael was the subject expert at watching people from afar. Although he was tall, he was easy to miss for those who weren't paying attention. Even when he was on the prowl, ready to kill a nearby target, they still wouldn’t feel his presence until it was too late.

This was the same with you, as you soundly slept in your soft bed. Pillows surrounded you like a halo, the fan blowing right on your unconscious form. Michael stood off to the side of the bed, watching as you rested. You were none the wiser, not even feeling the aura of his presence in the room.

Michael tilted his head as he observed your relaxed face. You were unlike most he came across, your look was so beautifully unique. At first glance, he was immediately obsessed. His cold eyes took note of your position, on your back with one arm lifted over your head. The only sign that you were alive was the movement from your chest. Something that could be easily taken away, if Michael so chooses.

But, he doesn’t. He viewed your eyebrows, nose, and ears first. His eyes traveled down towards your mouth, chin, and then your neck. He spent ample time observing, his eyes going back and forth between your features. However, he couldn’t help but gravitate his view towards your neck. Especially when you move your head from side to side. Your neck didn’t look fragile, but it didn’t look strong either. Your skin looked smooth. The appeal of your neck made him want to reach out and squeeze. To see your pretty eyes open in shock and pain as he drained your breath from you.

But, he doesn’t.

Maybe one day.

Danny Johnson was a born stalker. In elementary school, it was seen as a childish quirk that he had. Easily dismissable. In middle school, it started to become concerning, but fluctuating hormones were used as an excuse. With eyes on his behavior, he tried to break the habit. In high school, he tried his best but failed. By adulthood, he had practiced how to get away with it. Now, he was using those skills to watch you.

Being a journalist had its perks. That meant he could carry a camera with him wherever he went. He had been stalking you for a while, taking notes on where you went and any routine(s) you had. He would often take pictures, usuallywhen you were looking off to the side or down. At first he was excited to have pictures of you so he could hang them in his room. However, he wanted a closer look, getting frustrated with just zooming as a temporary relief. Danny could only get so close to you in public without notice.

Danny planned to break into your house, once he was comfortable knowing the layout. He was already watching you from the window. You had knocked out on the couch with the TV still on. Bingo.

He carefully walked through the front door and silently made his way over to the couch. You didn’t stir at his presence, giving him plenty of time to watch you.

Finally, Danny could look at you closely. He peered at your face, eyes zooming in on your jawline and puffed cheeks. You looked so cute, so fragile. The desire to stab or pinch your cheeks made him smile wildly in glee. But…he didn’t want to ruin that pretty face.

In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to entertain the image. Ghostface unsheathed his dagger and lightly traced the tip of it right above your jawline and cheek. The peach fuzz on your face raised, the tip of the hair touching the knife. But, your skin was none the wiser. The urge to cut down on your fantastic skin increased. He did not want to ruin the moment, so he retracted the blade from your face.

He took a moment to look at you again. How peaceful. Danny gets out his phone, making sure the shutter from the camera app was silent. He took up close pictures of each individual part of your face. That cute nose. Beautiful eyelashes. Amazing shaped eyes. Soft, delectable lips. He sighed in pleasure at the view each time his camera focused.

Once he was satisfied, he walked out of the house. As he made his way home, he began to plan your kidnapping. There was no way he’d let anyone else view your perfect face ever again.

He had been stalking you for 3 weeks now. The first week was spent getting to know your routine, place of residence, car, and whatever else he could find. The second week, he went through the local building department archives, obtaining the blueprint to your house. The third week he solidified his plans, confident with your schedule and house layout. He had broken in a few times while you were away to practice.

However, one thing that he had trouble with was the dilemma of what he wanted to do with you. He needed to decide whether to have you in his collection or to keep for himself. Viewing you from a distance was not enough to make his decision. The pictures hanging in your house didn’t help him decide either. They were not enough, he had to get closer.

It was 2:03 am when he disabled your security system and snuck into your house. He goes straight to your bedroom, not wanting to waste any time. Thankfully, the door to your room was slightly open enough for him to slide through. He goes in, quietly walking up to your sleeping form.

You were sleeping on your side, hugging the pillow under your head. Your arm did not obscure the view from your face, thankfully. Asa focused on the curve of your nose that flowed nicely into wide nostrils. There was a shine against your skin, blessed moonlight rays hitting you from the window. Your eyebrows, which would scrunch intermittently, fanned out beautifully. As he took in more of your features, he wondered between the two options. While stalking you, he would watch your facial expressions often. They were quite alluring.

If you were part of the collection, he would have to decide which facial expression would be best to accentuate your features. A hard decision, as so many suited you just right.

But…..

If collected, he wouldn’t be able to see the full range of how you changed your face, especially when you’re being tormented and in pleasure. He pondered on the possibility of that face making delicious expressions. In that case��

It might be better to keep you to himself.

In the moments that he doesn’t want to gruesomely kill randoms, he likes to watch people. He’s very attached (literally) to his camera and likes to document the small things in life. He would do this to victims he stalked. It makes the build-up to the climax so sweet when they were killed. He intensely set his eyes on you at first sight, making him double-take at your beauty as you crossed the street. You were a knockout.

As he had his goons follow your every move, they noticed that you were a heavy sleeper. This was great news for Jesse, as he decided to take a closer look. You were knocked out, sleeping soundly in your messy bedroom. Jesse took his shoes off, as his heeled boots could make noise. He did not want to mess up this glorious opportunity. He tiptoed gracefully around everything to get close to you.

He leaned over, looking at your angelic face. As he appreciated the view, he made sure to record the whole thing, excited to review the footage whenever he felt lonely. Although, he would never admit that. He wanted you to be his little piggy princess.

But… he had to wait. It wouldn't be fun if he indulged now.

He continued to gaze upon your sleeping face, excited when you started going through REM. Your eyes shifted quickly under your eyelids and your mouth started to slightly open. His eyes dart to them immediately. It was a moment before you whimpered, eyebrows cutely scrunching throughout your dream. Random body parts would jump and faintly spasm, enthralling Chromeskull each time. It was obvious that you had sleep paralysis. The fight in your body made him excited. Would you act the same under his control, if he tied you up or held you down?

It seemed like the fight was beginning to end. Your limbs were successfully fighting off the paralysis one by one. He took the final opportunity to enjoy a full-body view of you writhing underneath the covers. He knew you were going to wake up soon. He dips silently, walking out the door as you wake up disoriented.

Billy loved to watch. Anything. He was a voyeur. Intimate moments were the forefront of their entertainment. Watching people shower, expel their waste, shave, cry, and masturbate were some of his favorites. It was his own reality tv show. But, the one habit he adored watching was people sleeping.

When Billy watched you sleep, it inspired his imagination to go wild. The thought of doing something to you, even around you, without you knowing made him feral. To imagine and know he could do whatever he wanted was so appetizing. It could be as innocent as caressing your soft hands. Or as devilish as wiping his cock lightly across your face.

The latter weighed heavily on his mind as he leered at you sleeping. You slept haphazardly but that did not hide the curve of your body. As you shift, he drooled at the way you twisted and moved under the covers. He wants to rip them off to see how you truly look.

Any sounds you made, Billy mentally took note to mimic. But not only that, your whimpers and odd sounds excited him. He wondered what sounds you would make if he pleasured your unconscious body. How he would love to see your face as he did so, imagining your blissed expression in glee. It was his favorite to watch if you had a particularly wild dream or nightmare, to see you toss and turn turned him on further.

The voyuer that he was loved watching you sleep. He wished he’d forced his parent to buy him a camera. It would have been a favorite pastime to take photos of your sleeping face. It would provide him ample jerk off material when he couldn’t observe you. Thankfully, he had plenty fun of jerking off to you as you slept before him.

The curve and plumpness of your lips was a sight to behold. It was equally enthralling watching them slightly open as it was seeing you talk. It turned him on so, so much. His eyes would pop when the covers would hug your form nicely, showing off your luscious curves. In certain positions, your body would look downright divine, often sending him over the edge.

The best parts would be when you tossed and turned to the point where the covers would start to fall off. The opportunity would give him a lovely view of whatever you had on (or not) to bed. If you were naked, he would go feral!

#slasher x reader #black reader #michael myers #ghostface #brahms heelshire #billy lenz #jesse cromeans #asa emory #danny johnson #chromeskull #michael myers x reader #brahms x reader #billy lenz x reader #asa emory x reader #jesse cromeans x reader #danny johnson x reader #ghostface x reader

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acreepsblog · 1 month ago

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How it feels to read a fic where the character is so mischaracterized you can’t stop reading in disgust.

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gennibennii · 1 year ago

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backshots. ♡ 🌷🦴

𝜗𝜚. masked! michael myers x fem! reader. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚

( warning ;; another straight-forward, word porn fic! im still very new to writing and i promise to switch my works up later on/add more plot when i get new ideas or requests from you guys! enjoy it, lovelies! )

There's no feeling in the world that can compare to being pounded from behind by a six-foot-seven meathead of a man, his hand wrapped firmly in your hair as he rams his cock in and out of your pussy. Luckily for you, that's what's happening right now-- One of Michael's hands pulling your soft locks and another gripping your plump asscheek. You jolt forward with each thrust, face inches away from being shoved in a pillow, but his grip on your hair doesn't allow you to, your neck craned to the point where all you can see is the bedframe in front of you and the occasional glimpse of Michael's mask.

He hammers his dick into you over and over again, a rough calloused hand occasionally slapping your ass and you wince every time. It feels damn near close to a paddle with how much force he puts into every hit, a big red handprint forming on your bruised behind. It's evident Michael isn't exactly considerate about your pleasure when you two fuck. That's just who he is. You kind of predicted that when you willingly decided to get into a close relationship with a psychopathic serial-murderer, but the dick is good and you're a braindead slut when it comes to him, so no objections have come from you yet.

You can quite literally feel his mushroom tip continuously punch your cervix and your eyes water each time. It feels amazing, but it hurts like hell. He's completely aware his cock is absolutely gigantic and he still jams it as far as he can. Bottoming out is a must for him and it's one of the only times he'll actually audibly moan out loud. He doesn't make a peep when he gets injured by a victim, whether it be a gunshot or a stab wound, and no offense, but good pussy won't change the fact that he's a crazy, silent bastard. And trust me, you have very good pussy, so it has to be a Michael thing.

Michael's thrusts seem to quicken out of no where and wails seem to pour out of your mouth quicker than that, you being completely unaware of how well your cunt lips are gripping his cock, your folds holding onto the sides of his shaft with all it's might, as if it would shrivel up and die if a dick wasn't inside it. White cream builds up around your messy hole, streaks of nut juice coloring Michael's pale cock even paler and you can feel it spray on your skin and the linen bedsheets beneath you when he slams his hips against your cute little bum.

Feeling his orgasm approach, he tenses up and his hold on your hair tightens, a squeak escaping your lips when he suddenly plunges deep inside your womb, pumping your belly full of sperm. He pants heavily, unsheathing his dick from inside you and tapping the tip against your ass, wiping off the leftover cum onto your skin and climbing off the bed, leaving you there. The lack of aftercare bothered you at first, but at this point, you can't even gather the energy to overthink it. You already know he'll come back hard and ready to go after a few minutes, so why care?

The end!

#slashers x reader #slashers #fanfiction #x reader #fanfic #michael myers x reader #michael myers #slasher smut #smut #michael myers x you #michael myers fanfic #black reader #black y/n #black!fem!reader #black!reader #black!y/n

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sylveon-and-velveon · 1 year ago

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Playing "4 Big Guys" around the slashers

Shitpost idea has been made, so here XD

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD

Given the music is VERY adult related, this is 18+ ONLY

OG Michael Myers

Ain't gonna lie, the second you play that song he's probably staring at you instantly. Anger? Disappointment? Cursing your entire family and possible future children? Who knows! It's Michael-Fucking-Myers baby!!!

He's not used to anything sexual overall so hearing a song openly sing about gay sex, and in such a detailed way, would worry him. Not for the singer, no- more on your taste in music.

And don't even get me started on when he hears about shit being involved. The second he hears that being mentioned he's turning off the music entirely, patting your head, and dragging you away so you'll listen to something he likes instead to cleanse that weird mind of yours. Like... Kate Bush or something.

He'd like Kate Bush right? He looks like a Kate Bush enjoyer.

RZ Michael Myers

Judging you, hard. Though he ain't saying it. His aura is practically smellable he's judging you so hard.

Does he like it? No. It's loud, obnoxious, and profound filled. Ignoring the obvious "gay sex and other weirdness" part, the volume of the music reminds him of his childhood.

He's smashing the device the music is coming from. He doesn't care if it's your MP3 all the way to a damn TV or Alexa, he's smashing that shit to pieces if it means he doesn't need to hear it anymore.

What would he put on instead? Calming ambient noises that play for hours on end on YouTube. It's the exact opposite of whatever hellscape you just played. It's better.

Brahms Heelshire

Well first of all it ain't classical, so that's a point on the "I Hate This" list.

Second it's not a piano.

Third it's literally "4 Big Guys"-

Not only is this poor man confused about everything the singer is saying, I highly doubt his parents explained LGBTQ+ to him, he's also hating how loud it is.

"Who puts things up their ass?" - Brahms Heelshire 2024

You turn off the music yourself when he practically begs you to.

You're probably tryna hold in your laughter while he's sitting on the floor trying to figure out what the fuck he just heard.

Jason Voorhees

Is there a bigger word for "traumatized"? Because that man earns it.

You're lucky af, if his mom was live she'd hit you with a crowbar so fast- Not kill you tho, she wouldn't dare hurt her boy.

But yeah, he's not saying anything, nor moving. Bro's too traumatized. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE-

You better give him his teddy he fucking deserves it TmT

Laughing his ass off until the shit is mentioned, even this horny gremlin has his limits.

Can you tell I hate shit kinks? XD

He'd want an apology for you blasting that song so far to that section. But no music! He hates Christmas songs, they're so repetitive and they all sound the same anyway.

Bake him a cake, the more unique the better. His favourite so far is red velvet with cream cheese frosting!

Then when he's finished eating you're getting railed by him not longer after, man's not changed. Not now, not ever.

Freddy Krueger

You can play this entire song with this man on REPEAT and he'd be fine with it.

I'd be surprised if he didn't given his track record and.... slicing open his skin to reveal green "blood" and maggots crawling out.

Would he laugh the first time? ABSOLUTELY!

Would he jokingly sing along, probably.

But he would TOTALLY play this song when going after his victims sometimes. Imagine dying and the last thing you hear is:

"4 BIG GUYS AND THEY GRAB ON MY THIGHS-"

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis

Billy is concerned for your wellbeing. Especially when you start singing it at full force with Stu joining in not long after.

Yeah Stu is enjoying this to the max!

Finds it hilarious, who the fuck wouldn't when you've got humour more broken than Brahms' doll-

But seeing you enjoying yourself to this.... absurdity, at least makes Billy calm down from worry. Now he's just concerned your taste in music may infiltrate your taste in movies.

I doubt the man's used to hearing music.... imagine this being his first time hearing it-

OMG he'd probably think this is normal for music.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? XD

If it's not his first time hearing music though? No concern, laughter, nothing. He's neutral, given that this is something that makes you a little chaotic gremlin.

He's happy seeing you comfortable enough around to be a "gremlin" as you call it.

Bubba Sawyer

Don't traumatize him more than he's been already!!

Sure he doesn't realise it, or the fact he's used to it, but the poor guy's already traumatized-

Though he's probably more confused in the whole scheme of things. I mean, he knows what sex is. But just the surface of it.

So he's probably just learnt way too much in such a short period of time.

Oh lord what have you done-

Harry Warden

Okay first of all, why is there no GIF of this man? WTF????

Second; man's from the mines, man's old fashioned, you've probably just thrown way too much modern shit in his face way too quickly that he's just staring at you, the music video, and then the floor.

Poor miner is so confused, especially when the "cum starts spraying".

Oh god he'll probably think it's like dust from the mines spraying everywhere.

Fucking hell that's a vision-

Tiffany Valentine

Finds it amusing? Yes.

Judging? Not as much as you'd expect.

Girl's been through a wild ride, hearing you blast out "4 Big Guys" from your phone wouldn't be the most shocking thing in the world.

Hell. she'd probably encourage you to start singing along to it XD

Oh she's gonna use that song to torture someone with it. She doesn't know how yet, but she's got the idea in her head now

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nobitchs-world · 1 year ago

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If you’re gonna make a smut fic please specify which sexual acts that will be in it I don’t want to be surprised attacked by a nigga getting his butt fingered

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lace-coffin · 1 year ago

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Slasher kinks headcanons

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Minors DNI

Slashers x gender neutral! reader

Trigger warnings : consensual non consent (cnc), blood, degradation/humiliation, kidnapping? (Only for Asa)

Kinks: general rough sex, bdsm dynamics, daddy/mommy kink, humiliation/degradation, knife play, primal/prey & predator play, praise, sex whilst ovulating/on period, medical play, topping from the bottom, anal, face fucking, face slapping, spanking/punishment, breeding, knotting, hucow kink, phone sex, the list goes on

did anyone request this? No. Am I going to make u all look at it bc I’m a horndog? Absolutely

I will be writing a top/bottom section for every slasher! No gentials will be mentioned for reader (hole is used to be neutral) but strap/cock will be used in relation to the reader topping.

Michael will also have an extra t4t section for my friend bc there isn’t enough t4t Michael < 3

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas isn’t super experienced in sex before he meets you, infact you’re his first partner. Obviously he knows some of the ins and outs (pun intended) from his own teenage curiosity and hormones. He also might have stolen Atleast one of Hoyt’s porno magazines before now.

Tommy would become more confident in taking the lead once he knows what you like a little more, then he’d be ok trying other positions and bottoming sometimes. Stuff in the beginning might be pretty slow and steady but after you’ve been together a while it can get a lot more intense.

Definitely has a breeding kink, has a dream of having a big family with you and raising them on the farm to continue the Hewitt name. Something about seeing his seed leak from your abused and puffy hole makes him want to breed it into you harder. Tell him you want him to make you a mommy/daddy/parent (even if it’s not biologically possible) and you’ll be manhandled into a mating press until he feels he’s filled you up enough for it to take.

In the same way it makes him feel so pretty and desirable if you tell him your going fuck a baby into him, he doesn’t care if it’s not technically possible, tell him your going to knock him up and keep him round with your seed, he’ll be moaning around your cock/strap like a slut. Push your fingers into his mouth to give him something to keep quiet on : )

Hucow kink! Loves it whether he’s the one submitting or dominating! Let him lead you around the barn with a cute cowbell collar and cow ears on! Loves to include chest play, no matter what gender (or lack there of) your chest he loves grope it, abusing your nipples until they’re swollen/hard and sensitive, don’t worry though, he’ll be more than happy to lave over them to lessen the sting. If your a good little heifer he’ll shove you face first onto a hay bale, pounding you until your hole is gaping and cum is leaking from it into the rough hay <3

If Tommy is being submissive in this situation he’s super eager to please! Tie him up and Milk his cock over and over until he’s actively squirming away from your hand and groaning in overstimulation. He’s a good boy though and knows his place so he won’t break the binds even if it would be easier for him than most people. Humiliate him and make him moo/beg for your cock/strap! Fuck him whilst using his horns as a grip.

Bubba sawyer

Like Tommy bubba is also inexperienced, raised under Drayton’s view that it’s “sex or the saw”. Due to this Bubba viewed sex as a betrayal of his family, being told it was only there to distract you from what’s important. Please be patient with her and reframe her view of sex, let her know she’s not dirty or immoral for having needs and desires.

Once they know more and gain more experience they’re super eager to impress! Litterally goes down on you like it’s their job. You might have to tap out after a few orgasms because he could drink you down for hours. He’ll leave you shaking and leaky and just look up at you with a happy smile on their cum smeared face.

He loves praise and to know that she’s doing a good job, tell them that they make you feel so good in a way no one else can. Don’t be afraid to get a little more rough with your language however, he loves when you compliment how his cock stretches you just right or how he’s made to take your strap/cock. It feels so taboo for them and makes them squirm.

Absolutely loves it if you use feminine names for her in bed. Doll/baby/princess. Makes him feel so pretty and cared for! Play with bubbas tits, they have an ample chest to paw at 👀 will absolutely mewl into the bedsheets and press their tits further into your hands. Loves to be called mommy! It lets them know you feel safe and comfy with them.

Jason voorhees

Jason is another slasher with a skewed view on sex, his mother taught him it was sinful and the reason for his death, but surely anything he does with the person he loves that feels this good can’t be wrong. Encourage him and let him know it’s ok to fulfill his need and he’s not dirty or wrong for it!

Jason is happy to let you take the lead most of the time considering his inhuman strength, he doesn’t want to hurt you and would feel more comfortable if you took things at your own pace, not wanting to get too excited and manhandle you too much (not that you would mind in the slightest). He’s also not opposed to the sight of you on top of him.

He loves it when you take control, using his cock like it was made for you, draining it for all it’s worth. He loves to know he’s the one making you feel good and he’s the one you love. Praise him and tell him how good he’s doing, that he knows all your favourite spots and can make you fall apart. let him know you own his cock and you’ll do whatever you want with it (with consent obviously)

Despite this, if Jason’s had a bad day with trespassers escaping or traps breaking on him he may be inclined to storm through the front door and pin you to the nearest service, spearing you on his thick cock and leaving you dripping without warning or mercy.

Jason will be open to bottoming over time once his confidence in being intimate has improved and he feels less anxious about trying new things. He’ll still need a lot of encouragement to relax but once he does he’s happy to let you take care of him. Hold his hand as you stretch him open on your fingers, exploring parts of Jason he didn’t even know were an option. He gets a little addicted to the feeling of being used, fucking into him with reckless abandon. You can be rougher with him when topping because of his inhuman nature, thrust a toy or finger in his ass along side your cock/strap, he can take it. He doesn’t have much of a gag reflex due to being undead so fuck his face to your hearts content as long as you wipe his tears and drool for him and tell him what a sweet boy he is for you!

Jason’s very sweet with aftercare, making you a warm drink and cleaning you both up with a wet rag, he appreciates if you do the same for him, maybe bring him his cherished teddy bear to ground him until he feels less floaty.

RZ! Michael Myers

Michael may be quiet but he’s very forward and unashamed with the things he wants. Don’t expect Michael to be shy when it comes to needing you. He’ll silently wrap around you from behind, grinding his need into your behind no matter the time or place, although he’ll back off if you tell him no, he’ll pout and let out a grunt of understanding, leaving to deal with it himself if your not in the mood.

Michael is more relentless in topping when he’s come back from a hunt, the adrenaline quickly turning to arousal as he smears the still slightly warm blood over your lips.

I defiantly think Michael enjoys CNC (consensual non consent). He hasn’t had a lot of control over things in his life considering he spent most of it in Smith’s Grove unable to even dictate the most simple aspects of it. He likes the total power exchange and the control he has over you as you squirm underneath him. It really riles him up if you fight back, biting him until he bleeds and thrashing so he can hold you down even harder. Michael loves to silence your pleads with his knife, running the dull side of it over your flushed and tear laden cheeks, moving it down to your throat as a warning.

(Will absolutely make you suck the handle of his knife until your eyes are teary before stuffing as much of it as he can into your man cunt. If you don’t want to Accidently cut your thighs then you better lay still and take it like a good boy.)

To add onto this I think he enjoys cnc on the receiving end to, if he wants to submit he wants to be dominated completely and wholly without mercy (safewords in place obviously). Michael likes to be handled roughly and shown that even if he is The Shape that you can break him down into a drooling mess. He’s 90% legs but Lord does he get insanely hard when you fold those long legs in half and drill him into the bed with your cock/strap.

(Hold him down and strip him of his coveralls and boxers, eat his pussy before he can even get a chance to steady himself. Manhandle him into position and rut your cunt into his, ignoring his pleasure and using him to get off selfishly. He’ll look at you dumbly and fucked out after, long hair frizzy and a mess of slick on his thighs)

Pull him aside and use him whenever you want, if he rolls his eyes or acts bratty feel free to slap him around! He loves a firm smack on the cheek when he won’t open up more than he likes to admit, he likes to feel powerless under you.

Michael would totally be into predator/pray with him playing the predator. Stalking you through the woods or the empty streets of Haddonfield with his trusted knife. He’s not worried about you being in any actual danger because he’s the bulk of danger in the town anyway. he has no doubts that should someone try get the best of you in the dark he could take care of them and not break a sweat. He stalks you through the town loving the way the your pace picks up the longer it takes for him to strike. He knows it’s inevitable, there’s no where you could go that Michael won’t find you. Don’t expect to make it home once he corners you, you’ll be pushed against or bent over whatever surface is nearest and having his cock bullied into you.

(Michael would grab you and slam you against a tree once he had you cornered, making quick work of his zipper and underwear. T-dick engorged with arousal and want, lips glistening behind the dense brown hair. He pushes you to your knees and gets to work. You will be spending the next while with your mouth and fingers pressed against Michael’s cunt, your head jerked harder and more forcefully the closer he gets)

Billy lenz

Billy is also very forward with what he wants as we can see from the movie, though I do personally headcanon that Billy is hypersexual due to his trauma so sex can go either one of two ways. Either he’ll be super into it and eager or ashamed and feeling disgusted with himself, if it’s the latter please reassure him it’s not dirty or wrong and try distract him with something else.

This couldn’t be a Billy lenz kink post without phone sex. He loves to call you up when your busy (shopping, on a walk, at work) and spew filth down your ear, telling you all the things he’s going to do to you or that he’ll let you do to him. The riskier the location the better. Sometimes he’ll even already be touching himself, mewling down the receiver like a slut for you to come home.

To add onto this I think he’d have a kink for fucking you whilst you talk to someone on the phone, giggling as he nudges his dick against the perfect spot, making you keen into the speaker.

Billy loves dirty talk on either end, whether it’s him telling you how he’s going to choke you on his fat cock or you telling him how good he feels inside you and to cum inside. He adores degrading you, making you feel like a cum dump. He’ll taunt you, telling you you’re only good to warm his cock and get him off, making you sniffle and repeat it back to him for his own satisfaction and ego.

He occasionally thought about the possibility of bottoming from time to time before meeting you but brushed it off since he’s not super familiar with it and didn’t want to meet up with a stranger to try. That didn’t stop him from experiencing with a finger or two but he wasn’t informed and didn’t use lube so it wasn’t good lol.

All this changes after you mention it one night in bed, excited but nervous Billy accepts. It turns out he’s a complete bottom bitch, such a slut any time you can get him under you, he’ll moan without holding back not caring if the other sorority members hear. He doesn’t care whether you’re pounding into him with his face smashed into the covers like a whore or if he’s riding you greedily, he loves it anytime he can have your cock/strap in him.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is incredibly needy and intense, inexperienced but excited to get as close to you as humanly possible. He may come off a little bratty and demanding but he’s completely willing to wait until you’re ready, he’d never do anything you didn’t want. When you are ready it’s all hands on deck, Brahms wants you all the time at any time.

It doesn’t matter if you’re impaled on his cock or if your burried inside him, Brahms is just happy to be close and horny lol

Absolutely has a mommy/daddy kink (dude has crazy mommy issues). He enjoys it when you take the reins for him and tell him what to do, order him about, tell him how to please mommy/daddy just the way they like. You already have quite the control over him in your daily life anyway, telling him what to do and when, making sure he follows his rules. Talk Brahms through how to ride your shaft/strap, make him slow down and speed up whenever you feel like it for your own enjoyment, ignoring his pleas to fuck him properly.

Brahms is horny pretty often, as a result of this penetrative sex isn’t always a need. He loves having free use of you, fucking your thighs until he spills all over them or grabbing your hand and rutting against it whilst you read a book in the other.

Spanking! Nothing puts unruly little boys back in their place like beating their ass until they beg you to stop, all of Brahms’s brattiness seems to disappear once he knows he’s pushed it to far and has a punishment coming his way. He’ll cry and beg you to change your mind but it’s too late, bend him over your lap and rip his trousers down. If he’s been extra ill-behaved bring out the paddle, switching cheeks and making him count until his ass has a pretty pink flush to it.

Asa Emory

Asa demands to be in control, that much is clear and that translates over into bed too. You might have met Asa organically through his university lectures or a museum, if this is the case then you will still be with him under the guise of a 24/7 power exchange relationship. If you met him via kidnapping and was taken to the hotel to be a pet then this will still be expected of you but with the addition of being experimented on/tortured for his own satisfaction. You won’t have a say on your freedom. (I’m going to be writing it from the perspective your kept at the hotel as a pet because it’s more likely)

Asa gets a sick thrill out of treating you like a dog. Fucking you whilst gripping the leash wrenched around your neck until you’re wheezing for air. He’ll make you bark for his cock just to laugh at how pathetic and needy you are, humiliating yourself so you can get your hole stuffed, disgusting. Paw mitts and belts on the thighs/calfs are used to make you practically immobile, totally reliant on him to fulfill your needs and unwilling to do so until he’s broken you down into a sobbing panting mess.

Even when bottoming Asa takes control, barking orders at you about how he likes to be fucked, faster, deeper. You better not even think about cumming without permission or you won’t be cumming again for the next few days whilst he uses your cock/strap like a sex toy. Asa pulls you by your hair as you eat his ass, choking/slapping you if you’re not doing it to his liking. At the end he’ll spit in your mouth and make you say “thank you sir”, forcing your jaw open to make sure you swallowed it all down and patting you on the cheek as a reward.

Medical play is a favourite of his. He enjoys nothing more than stripping you naked and strapping you down to the chilly metal medical table, securing your wrists to the wrist clamps. Snapping on his black latex (unless you’re allergic to latex lol) gloves Asa will dissect you bit by bit. New toys are regularly incorporated to see if he can get a different reaction from you. This can be through pain or pleasure, they’re both the same to him. Clamping your nipples and pulling them until they’re red and sore or landing slaps on your hole for squirming too much. Writing your reactions down on his clipboard and looking at you as nothing more than one of his specimens to pull apart and observe. If he notices a reaction he hasn’t seen from you before he’ll try again and again to recreate it no matter how taxing that may be on your body. Speculums are a favourite of his, prying open and inspecting your most private parts, pressing his fingers or different toys in to see how you react, spread hole twitching at the stimuli and unable to do anything about it. It feels intimate and violating in a way he loves to be able to look at your inner most parts so coldly and close up.

Yautja/predator (female and male)

Yautja are naturally pretty dominant in bed, the whole culture they live in revolves around shows of strength and resilience. Your mate thrives off taking care of all of your needs and proving themselves worthy and this is no different in bed. Always happy to satisfy your needs as your lover and the one who cares for you, your mate will come to help out any time they smell your arousal.

Female Yautja

Your mate naturally takes care of you in bed, a headstrong women who has earned her place on the higher end of society, because of this she loves to dress you up in the finest clothing and jewellery on Yautja prime, showing off her status and by proxy, yours. Don’t think you’re going to just leave the house in it though, she’ll pin you down, eyes taking in every part of you, the way the silky fabric lays across your centre, ready to be opened like a gift. The outfit will include a gold collar to match, one with her mark carved in it so everyone knows who you belong to. She may even take to fucking you in public if anyone tries to challenge her bond with you, your abused hole on display for anyone to see.

As your mate she trusts you to return the favour, however control isn’t given over that easily. You may be the one inside her cunt but she’s the one using you until your spent, a death grip on your collar as she looks down at you from on top, snarling in your face and a placing marking nips against your throat with her mandibles.

Once mating season rolls around she’ll be even more demanding, the instinct to mate and breed you at its peak. You’ll be kept in the nest of furs and fucked over and over. If you pass out? Not her problem, she’ll keep going until she’s satisfied your scented up and marked properly. She takes no brattiness during this time either, acting out or being difficult will earn you getting pinned to the furs, mandibles flared and snarling until you submit.

Male yautja

Another one I think would enjoy primal/predator play. Your mate stalks you through the jungle whilst cloaked. He knows your every exact move and you’re none the wiser. He loves how he can taste your fear in the air but he knows it’s all for show because he can taste you arousal permeating the dense tree’s too. He’ll appear out of nowhere just as your adrenaline reaches it’s peak and swipe your ankles, forcing you down to the leafy floor with him. He lets out a clicky laugh at the surprise scream you let out. Wasting no time he mounts you like an animal and ruins you again and again until your both spent.

Your mate can tell when you’re ovulating and he’s ecstatic to help. Blood is so common to him in his daily life it doesn’t phase him at all, he’s perfectly happy to get down and a little messy, you smell so sweet to him during this time. If this matches with his rutt then you aren’t leaving the bed for a few days, he’ll fuck into you mercilessly until his swollen knot pops inside you, connecting you both together. Once it deflates he’ll scoop his cum back up and push it into your hole, not wanting to waste a drop.

Sometimes it’s nice to be taken care of, and you prove this by absolutely destroying him. Go feral, show him how much of a capable mate you are, wrestle him to the floor and ruin his hole, leave bites and marks on him to claim him. He’ll snarl the whole time and fight back but he loves it. He may even let you use a toy/strap with a knot on it to emulate being seeded and stuffed at the end.

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gothic-thoughts · 6 months ago

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His Favorite Nurse

Michael Myers x Black Fem Reader Angst

AslumPatient!Michael, Nurse!Reader, Kinda Dark, Feat. Dr. Loomis

Part 2: Right Here

Part 4 (Last): Right Here

CW: reassuring Michael after a rampage, he just missed u fr,

TW: gore/blood mention

Word Count: 1973 (give or take)

On my day back, I walked into the asylum to hear alarms blaring loudly, but I was in the lobby so everything seemed fine. It was only after hearing the faint sounds of police sirens that I ran into the elevator, tapping my foot impatiently as it took me to the 3rd floor. When it dings open, I run into the hallway Michael’s room was in, heels clicking quickly until I reach the start of the corridor but I freeze in place.

My jaw drops and my breath halts.

Bodies of guards and nurses were scattered all over the hall accompanied by their own puddles of blood, some had their heads crushed into a chunky mess while others had their throats ripped out. None of these puddles are dry, did he just do this? Why? And where is he? Despite my stomach being sick I push through, stepping past and over the multiple corpses.

“S-She’s coming back, I swear!” He whimpered, “Please, I didn’t mean it, just please...!”

Shit, that’s the next hall. I turn the corner to see The Shape further down the hall stalking towards an unarmed guard who crawled back from him with a brutally broken arm, begging for his life. The killer’s hands, arms, and feet were soaked in blood, I could hear his heavy breathing from all the way down here.

Without thinking, I ran a little closer in hopes of distracting him from earning another kill as loud police sirens closed in from afar. I stopped a good 20 feet from my big, murderous patient and did the only thing I could think of to potentially distract him enough:

“Michael!!”

The Shape freezes in place, his long, shaggy hair shifting as he slowly lifts his head from the guard. He looks back over his shoulder almost as if to confirm it was me before turning his entire body to face me, leaving the guard completely forgotten behind him. My heart pounded with fear and disbelief that I actually stopped him, even if for only a second. I remain still, watching him from afar and he doesn't move either, most likely analyzing me from behind that orange mask of his.

“I... I'm back...?”

After another long 10 seconds of silence, he tilts his head to the right. Then takes a step forward, foot thudding from his weight.

I stumble back a little but he continues to approach wordlessly, with slow, deliberate steps.

“Uh, hey big guy...”

His breaths are instantly back to being undetectable, even more so as more police sirens join the others. At first, I wanted to let him close the gap between us but the scent of blood— the sight of it practically dripping from his body combined with the intensity of the moment made my courage crumble and I ran in the other direction. I hear Michael huff angrily as his heavy footsteps stomp quickly behind me, closing the distance as if my running didn’t matter, his longer legs helping him gain on me in seconds— in my defense, I was wearing heels.

Knowing that I wasn’t gonna be able to outrun him, I started banging on all the patients' doors in the hall, hoping to find an unlocked one as my heart raced. Little did I know, this whole floor had been evacuated right after Michael broke out and before my shift started.

“Hello!? Let me in!” I begged, “C’mon, please! Somebody help me!”

Nobody responds, the only sound being the loud footsteps of the nearly 7-foot killer getting closer. As I reach the next handle, Michael suddenly grabs my arm, causing me to scream as he forcefully spins me to face him. He calmly and slowly leans down to look at me while I panic but as soon as I try to pull away, he roughly pulls me flush against his blood-soaked clothes with a single grunt.

“Michael, no!” A familiar voice called, “Stop!”

I look back over my shoulder to see a group of police officers running behind Dr. Loomis with their guns drawn as they make their way down the blood-soaked hallway. They all stop and stand at the end of the corridor, smartly staying a safe distance from Michael. Tears sting the corner of my eyes as I wait for him to hurt me.

But he doesn't.

In fact, upon seeing Loomis he pulled me impossibly closer to his bloody shirt, holding me so tight against him that a small amount seeped from the fabric and smeared my right cheek.

“What is he doing...?” Loomis asks aloud, “He's never done anything like this before; he doesn’t take hostages. Michael... Let the girl go... please.”

Michael doesn't say a word, his head never lifting to even consider looking at Loomis.

“Please...” I whimper, choking up, “P-Please don’t hurt me...”

“Michael...” Loomis says, taking a step forward, “She's begging you. Don’t hurt her, let her go.”

The doctor’s step made the masked killer immediately take another step back.

“No.” I sniffle, looking up at him, “Please don’t hurt me, just... please.”

He tilted his head to the side, at least giving me some confirmation that he was listening to me, but his arm didn’t even attempt to loosen from around my back. That’s when Loomis picked up on something:

“Do... you like her?” He asks gently, “That’s it, isn’t it... you like her...?”

I tense at his words, eyes widening at the revelation. After all this time, Michael hadn’t made a single move to hurt me. He hadn’t crushed me, broke my neck, hit me, nothing. I had been in his grasp for over a minute and the only thing wrong is how fucking terrifying he is. I look up at the killer's mask and take it upon myself to try something— since we already bonded a little, it didn’t seem like that big of a risk. I slowly wrap my arms around Michael’s waist, staining my arms in blood.

“Michael...?” I say, taking a deep breath, “C-Can you can wrap your arms around me... like this?”

The killer stays silent for a moment, head tilting to the right.

“Please...? You’re... You're scaring me...”

He readjusts his head, never taking his cold eyes off me. A couple seconds of silence passed before he readjusted the arm across my back and added his other to mimic me, completely enveloping me in his tight embrace. I gasp softly in disbelief.

“Yeah, like that, good.” I choke up despite being a little calmer, “That’s better...”

His huge arms instantly relaxed at my words, I even managed to catch a soft breath from behind that orange mask.

“You just killed so many people, and... do you know why...?”

He huffs behind the mask, seemingly agitated again as he starts tensing against me so I instantly shush him and rub his lower back, bringing his large frame to a frighteningly immediate halt.

“Easy, you know I’m just asking. Like the questions last week, remember?”

Another softened huff as he retightened his embrace. Then a subtle nod. He’s really trying his best to be gentle; it’s kinda cute. It’s just too bad my heart was already going a mile a minute. Everyone must think I’m crazy, but I just need to keep him calm... or whatever his version of calm is.

I can feel Loomis’ and the police’s confused looks on us, completely at a loss of what to do now but I ignore their stares, doing everyone a favor by keeping the murderous giant calm and collected by softly petting his chest and a few gentle words. Somehow.

“That's it, you don’t have to hold me so tight. I won’t go anywhere.”

My eyes stayed locked on the cold, dead blue ones behind the mask, making sure he was watching as I slowly pulled my arms from around him. I rest my hands on his broad, blood-stained chest while I gently coax him to loosen his grip, trying to convince him I wasn’t gonna try to run away, and after a full minute, he finally listens, arms slowly becoming less tense. I smile.

“There you go, see? I'm right here...” I whisper, “Did you hurt all this staff just because I left for the week?”

Michael suddenly drops his arms from my body. He hangs his head, his long, brown hair obscuring his mask as his bloody hands gently grab the chin of his mask and the string on the back of his head, slowly pulling off his mask before promptly dropping it to the floor next to him. I hear the cops murmur, their grips on their weapons tightening as Michael reaches into his pocket, but I hear Loomis shush them.

“What are you doing?”

He pulls out a bloody ID card, the movement making 3 more fall out and clatter to the floor. He didn’t react to them, opting to hold up the first one to my face with his fingers. A...nurse? He killed her and took her ID? Wait... I take the card and pick up the ones that fell, reading all of them to see that they were all nurses.

Between this and what the guard said when he was crawling away, it all clicked: “S-She’s coming back, I swear! Please, I didn’t mean it, just please...”. I look up at his obstructed face and I couldn’t help but pout sympathetically as if he didn’t just murder 4 nurses and then some.

“I didn’t leave you, and I’m not going to. I just took a break.”

Michael's head lifts slightly, giving me a glimpse of those dead, blue eyes narrowing through his hair. Oh right, I leave when my shift ends. Shit.

“And if I do, I'll be right back; nobody’s replacing me— especially not if this is what you do when you miss me. Next time, I’ll tell you when I’m taking a long break okay?”

He nods subtly.

“Why’d you take off your mask? You didn’t need to.”

He firmly grabs my wrist and to my surprise, he guides it past his dark strands until my palm rests on his cold cheek. I smile at him.

“Aw, you’re kinda cute when you’re not all, uh...” I quickly glance at the carnage around us again, “Angry...?”

A small huff and I could see his eyes close.

“We gotta get you cleaned up, big guy. Can I take you to the showers? I won’t let the police hurt you, but—”

The blue eyes snap open. The killer's body straightens up, lifting his free hand and poking my chest.

“Me...?”

A nod.

“Fair, I guess them hurting you isn’t really the issue but they won’t hurt me either.”

His lack of movement makes me sigh. Without letting go of his face, I look over my shoulder at Loomis wondering how to even ask this.

“Loomis, can you get the police to clean up everything else while I... fix him up?”

“Is he...” Loomis steps back, “Are you sure? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just need you to get the police away cuz he thinks they’ll hurt me.”

“They’ll hurt you?!”

“Just... humor me, alright? Unless you wanna deal with him?”

Loomis rightfully hesitates but knowing the carnage in the next hall, he complies and turns back to face the police, telling them to, at the very least, put their guns away— to leave him alone and carry on with the crime scene clean up as normal— as normal as they can anyway. I look back at Michael, watching his shoulders lower as the cops holster their guns. Once a few start to leave to go get the cleanup team, he finally releases my wrist and steps back, waiting for me to lead him to the shower room.

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