#michael myers x fem reader

[6lostgirl6]

A Night To Dismember

Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem!Reader

TW: Detailed Gore, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Sexual Assault [Not by Michael], Slightly Possessive Michael, Protective Michael, Mature Audience only!

A/N: Requested by my bestie @prettywhenibleed! I really hope you enjoy this and it was an absolute pleasure to write this for you!! Love you, my favorite slasher whore! ❤️ This isn't my best work, I'm afraid, forgive me.

The Smith's Grove Sanitarium operated according to a schedule that was consistently set in motion without interruption. No authorized doctor employed by the sanitarium, however, would have foreseen this. Medical specialists thought they were completely familiar with Michael Myers' behavior. He was docile and kept to himself, despite being the most dangerous and threatening patient in the hospital. 

But if you left him alone, there was a chance he would treat you in a similar fashion. The sole exception would be if touching his masks or otherwise bothered him. Even being among other patients was something he never enjoyed.

You were a new patient, recently exiled from society and your family because of your dreadful infatuation with fire and burning objects of interest. Your arrival left the building in absolute shock. On your first day, you were assigned to the recreation room. When you entered the room, your initial instinct was to walk over to the largest and most dangerous man within the sanatorium while grinning brightly. You only watched him work on a paper mache mask while standing over his hunched figure in the corner of the room, his hospital-approved supplies scattered along the table. 

You thought the colors were stunning, which you happily expressed. 

As a precaution against Michael harming you, guards stood by the recreation room's entrance wielding batons. Michael, on the other hand, did the exact opposite, giving you a cursory glance before grunting and slackly pointing for you to sit next to him. 

It was like you and Michael had your own timetable inside the sanitarium, and this went on for the next few months without fail. As directed by his psychiatrist, Michael was permitted to create his masks in the recreation area in the mornings. You would follow not far behind and take your normal seat beside him at a table chosen at random, apart from the other patients. You would merely watch him create his masks and ramble about whatever was on your mind. Michael never responded to the conversation, but that didn't stop you from talking to him because he had his own style of doing so without words. You have grown accustomed to deciphering his thoughts from his basic grunts and gestures.

"Hey, Mikey." You said with a smile, taking a seat at your usual spot next to Michael's side, placing your tray of food onto the table.

Michael was in the middle of placing wet paper mache on the face mold for his mask, his fingers caked in colors of paint and residue from the paper mache. He paused for a moment, giving you a small grunt as acknowledgement before returning to his activity.

You smiled more, chuckling at his usual ways of communicating as you watched him craft. You've always been interested in his masks and the variety of patterns he would use for each one. Many of his masks had their own unique qualities. However, you knew to only look, not touch.

"I see you're adding bright colors this time; are those happy pills finally working?" You teased him, nudging him softly with your body.

Michael huffed through his nose, which you learned was his way of chuckling as he shook his head at you. In the past, It took a while, but you had a better understanding of Michael's gestures and emotions than the doctors.

Simply because you treated him like a person, not an experiment.

"Maybe next time then." You replied, turning towards your tray before glancing at his project once more. "You're really good at that, Mikey. You're really talented."

Once again, Michael paused his movements, his stained fingers holding the paper mache while his eyes remained downcast. His fingers twitched before he resumed, and you almost thought you said something wrong.

"I didn't mean-"

You were cut off as Michael grabbed another mold from the table, pushing it in your direction. Your eyes widened slightly as you pushed your tray out of the way as Michael's slow movements brought other materials in your direction.

Still in slight awe, you watched him turn towards you, and your eyes connected through his favorite orange mask. You couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes stared into your own, seemingly piercing into your own soul.

The doctors were wrong; his eyes weren't soulless, nor were they black, resembling a massive void of nothingness. They were blue, similar to a clear sky or the glimmering waves of the ocean.

He huffed before pointing a finger at the materials and then towards you. He wanted you to mold with him.

"Thank you, Mikey." You said softly, a bright smile on your face.

When your eyes met Michael's, he was unable to comprehend the sensation in his chest. Usually, when his sight fell on their figures, individuals would tremble or turn away. He wasn't concerned by their fear of the facility's most dangerous patient. He actually benefited from the fear he instilled in the hearts of many who came to the sanitarium.

Yet you didn't...and he liked that.

He liked that you weren't scared of him, speaking to him, or even touching him like you've been these past few months. The thought of you being scared of him made him feel...hollow.

When you started working on your own mask using the materials that were laid out on the table, Michael couldn't help but covertly place a palm on his chest to feel how his heart was refusing to settle down. He almost wanted to groan in annoyance, hating the way he liked being around you and having your attention.

He had been content with his solitude for a long time, He preferred being alone and had been for many years. However, the notion of you leaving him made the murderous itch inside him threaten to resurface.

He decided that he would keep you with him, protect you with everything he has, and extinguish anyone who threatened to ruin that. With darkened eyes, he returned to working on his mask.

On that day, you and Michael became closer.

You weren't born yesterday and you certainly weren't born stupid. Trouble was afoot in the institution and it was either happening under the doctors' noses or they simply didn't care enough to investigate. Over the past week, you would hear feminine screams down the hallway in the women's section of the institution during the late hours of the night. Last night, the screams could be heard two doors down from your room.

The screams and cries began when a new guard was appointed to the institution, supposedly replacing a well-known guard who was at the age of retirement. Due to your paranoia, you would sit on the edge of your bed, watching the door in the chance of someone entering your room when they weren't supposed to.

During the days, you would spend all you could with Michael, hoping that your association with him would make you seem off limits to mess with, or you hoped. Yet, Michael couldn't protect you when the sun went down and the men and women would return to their respective cells on opposite sides of the institution.

Tonight, you were following the same routine, sitting on the edge of your bed and watching the door. Your mind was in shambles, trying to come up with a plan in that chance, that horrid chance of the new guard coming for you. You hoped it wasn't what you were thinking, and for once, you prayed.

God never heard your prayers, and he certainly didn't now, especially when the jingling of keys were heading down the hallway, towards your room.

Michael couldn't sleep and when he couldn't sleep, he would simply pass the time by creating more masks or painting designs onto them. He was sitting at his desk, the surface covered in paper mache, markers, paint, and crayons. He was in the middle of adding a touch of red when he heard the distant sound of screaming.

His annoyance was disguised under his mask as he sighed and tightened his grip on the crayon in his hand to the point that it almost broke in half. He puffed again at the commotion and went on, indifferent to the screams. Perhaps a patient was making a scene during the nightly check-ins.

In order to block out the noises, Michael withdrew within the walls of his mind. It was a way that allowed Michael to escape freely from the confinement of his cell. He would always imagine a life outside the institution, with you. He would imagine the way he would protect you and provide for you. The thought used to sicken himn, but now he enjoyed it, the possibility. The sound of keys jingling, seemingly opening his cage, caused him to pause, though. With a loud crash, the cell door swung open, and shouting could now be heard outside of his room.

"Want some, freak?" The guard asked him in an mocking manner while Michael remained at his desk, his back to the guard. Michael immediately understood what the guard was pulling when he heard the feminine screams and intended to ignore it. 

He continued to ignore his surroundings, ignoring the rage building within his chest. The sound of his bed creaking didn't deter him from continuing on with his activity. However, it all changed when the victim screamed one word.

"Michael!"

You.

Your trapped figure on his bed, with your nightgown pushed up so that only your thighs were visible, caught Michael's attention as his head whirled around. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, which streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed and struggled. His eyes quickly shifted to the guard hovering over you, and he developed tunnel vision instinctively.

A ferocious roar erupts from Michael's mouth and takes hold of the guard by the neck and collar of his shirt, throwing him off balance. In the midst, you shakily brought yourself to a sitting position, fixing the bottom of your nightgown to cover yourself. Your eyes watched as Michael picked up the guard, pinning him to the wall with eerie silence. The man in his grasp was yelling in pain and fear as Michael kept him pinned, his legs dangling in the air.

"L-Let go! Let go, you fucking punk!" The guard cried out.

Michael did not like that, not at all. Without a second thought, Michael hurled him into his desk, his art supplies falling to the ground in a cluster of clangs while the man groaned in pain. Like a predator stalking his prey, Michael's towering form stalked over to the smaller male, his eyes black as night and void of any life or mercy within. His large hand reached out to grab the same red colored pencil,

Michael's next action seemed to be a blur, he body launching onto the guard and stabbing him with the colored pencil, his resiliant strength making the pencil tear through flesh and muscle.

You watched in a sickening twist of fascination and awe, watching as Michael stabbed the guard over and over, leaving no body part untouched, the man;s screams filling the room. Your heart felt warm, knowing that Michael was willing enough to kill someone for you.

Lastly, Michael stabbed him until his chest, stomach, and face was shrouded in punctures, cuts, and wounds. With one last jab, the colored pencil stabbed into his neck, making the man gurgle on his own blood.

"Michael..." You whispered, your eyes taking in his bloodied form as he slowly turned to you, heaving himself up and moving towards you. It was as if he was a trained dog hoping he made his master proud. However, you were nothing of the sort. When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into his strong form. "Thank you..."

Michael gave a small huff, hesitantly touching your head with his bloody palm, staining your strands with the bodily fluid. Without another word, Michael pushed you away and grabbed your hand, pulling you off the bed and heading towards the door.

"Where we are going?" You asked in confusion, following behind the behemoth of a man down the stark white hallway.

In response, Michael tugged on your hand and you decided to go along with whatever he had in his mind. He saved you after all; even when he didn't have to, he did. It made you feel safe and protected in his presence.

"Alright, Alright." You muttered, your figures turning a corner and out of sight.

Red and white.

Those were the colors you would never forget. The way the walls were coated in blood and bodily fluids of various nurses and guards that laid along the floor in mangled messes.

Michael was strong, very strong. You remembered the way he smashed a guard's skull in with his fingers alone. You shuddered at the thought, crossing your arms and staring at the wall in front of you as you waited for Michael to finish off his last victim. A nurse arriving at the right place at the wrong time as Michael ambushed her, his hands around her throat as he strangled her.

Michael walked over to you, his muffled huffing practically hovering over your ear as he showed you shoes and coat. You stared at the items with a blank expression, wondering what he wanted you to do with these.

He huffed before shaking the items in his hands, motioning the items towards you. You sighed before taking the items with a small smile, throwing on the shoes and coat. You felt the warmth of the fabric soothe your cold figure.

"Thank you..." You muttered softly, looking up at him as he stared down at you.

He couldn't help but think you looked...cute.

He offered you his bloodied hand, which you instantly took and followed him to the exit. You both were finally going to be free and it was all thanks to him.

After a few hours of walking, your feet were beginning to ache and the adrenaline from earlier was wearing off.

After your fifth yawn, Michael stopped in his tracks, turning towards you in the middle of the field. He simply stared at you as you bent forward to rest your hands on your knees.

Michael, I need to rest for a moment. Please my-" Your words were cut off when Michael stormed over to you, grabbing you roughly around the hips, hoisting you into his arms. His arm went around your waist, while the other held your back in a bridal style fashion.

Your eyes widened from his sudden roughness, however you couldn't complain as you basked in his warmth, nuzzling your face in the bloodied fabric of his robe.

"Thank you." You said, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to finally relax for the first time tonight. You didn't notice the way Michael was staring at you in his arms, his darkened eyes filled with something unknown, dangerous...maybe even a little bit of caring.

Silently, he turned and resumed walking through the field, making sure to keep you safe as you began to doze in his arms.

Finally, you were his.

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

Tagging: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed @ghoulgeousimmaculate @britany1997 @rottent33th @slaasherslut @bluecoolr @the-pinstriped-hood @flower-crowned-lady @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @azzy-ozborn @strrvnge @repostingmyfavs

[megangovier]

Two Is Better Than One

Pairing: Michael Myers x fem! reader x ghost face

Summary: You're at home alone on the bed, listening to your spicy playlist. Frustrated you put a pillow on the bed and started to grind on it, not knowing two men in halloween masks were staring at you through the window.

CW: 18+ only | Grinding | peeping Tom's | oral m&f receiving | manhandling | degrading & praising | spit roasting | Choking | dubcon | mentions of slut, cunt | Minors Do Not Interact!

No mention of y/n

Michael talks in this fic!

WC: 959

Friday has come round once again and you can't wait to get home from work, everyone was stressing you out and nagging in your ear especially impatient bosses who orders you around all day and not an ounce of appreciation or something that makes you feel like you're good at what you do.

That's not just the problem, you've been frustrated in the bedroom for a few months and can't take it anymore so when you step inside your flat you're going to have a relaxing bath, with scented candles and roses with a glass of red wine and calming music. Even thinking about being in that bath makes you feel more relaxed in your office chair.

Looking at the time on your phone it read "18:00" a smile appeared on your face "finally, time for the relaxation i deserved" as you stood up from the chair and quickly packed your things away, a knock on the door took you out your good mood "come in.." as the door opened an intoxicating smell smacked you in the nose, turning your head heat crawled up your neck a gorgeous man stepped into your office.

"Evening ma'am, I know you were on your way out to head home but I was wondering if you're doing anything tomorrow night? me and the guys are going for a celebration drink". As you thought about it you agreed and he wrote down the time and his number.

As you locked the office door and headed out to your car, a strange feeling washed over you like you were being watched. As you looked both ways you couldn't see anyone shrugging your shoulders, you put the stuff at the back and got in your car driving away.

Putting Bluetooth on connecting your phone to the radio, slowed down spicy songs came on making your face flushed and a pool started to form between your legs making you whimper "I've got to stop doing this, clearly making things worse for myself" you honestly couldn't wait to get home and have that bath of yours with a nice large glass of red wine for the evening.

A sigh of relief left your lips, you've finally got home. Closing the door behind you putting the bag down beside your draw you ran upstairs and walked into the bathroom, thank god you took the candles and roses out earlier that morning. Putting the taps on you poured lavender and rose body wash in. Walking downstairs to get a bottle of red wine you head back up and turn the taps off.

Taking your clothes off you slip into the bath and relax for two hours. After you were relaxed enough you got out, dried and sprayed fragrance on your wrist, neck and behind ears. Closing the door behind you heading towards the closet you take out thigh high socks, black panties and oversized hoodie. Now in your PJ's you connected your phone to the Bluetooth once again that evening.

As the pool started to grow once again between your legs, you grabbed the closest pillow and planted it on the bed grinding against it. Cute whimpers left your lips. As you were slowly getting to your climax two masked men were peeping through the window getting hard themselves, Ghost Face slipped his latex gloved hand over his bulge "She's fucking begging for it".. Michael was needing a release.

As Michael and Ghost face forced themselves inside your room a squeal left your throat, as you were about to get up Michael forced you back down on your bed closing your legs. Michael grabbed your thighs and opened them "Don't try hiding it from us sweet thing, we know what you were doing. Heat ran up your neck.

Ghost face was salivating, he wanted to know what you tasted like. Michael moved away from you and unzipped his boiler suit, out sprund an 8 inch throbbing cock. As Michael slammed himself into your tight throat, Ghost face slipped his mask up over his nose and got between your thighs heat radiating off your core.

"What a naughty little pathetic slut you're, getting off on this!.." as he grabbed your thighs and started to kiss up a moan left your throat causing Michael to growl "Fuck, just like that princess!" As he fully grabbed your thighs his head went down to devour the needy cunt of yours.

Grabbing the sheets, eyes rolling back a grumbling moan escaped your throat. Michael slipped a hand around your throat making you squirm "Close princess"? Ghost face said.

As Michael growled he painted your throat white, you exploded over ghost face's mask.

As Michael and ghost face repositioned themselves, Michael was behind you positioning himself between your wet lips while ghost face had your throat "open up slut, I know you can take both of us at the same fucking time" as you opened your pretty mouth for him he slammed himself into you. Michael slammed into you from behind, clenching around his cock he grabbed your hair and growled in your ear "Good girl, taking us both so well".

Ghost face took his cock out your mouth "open up wider baby" as you did what he said, he grabbed your face and spat into it "back in now baby" Michael was pounding you faster now making your eyes roll at the back of your head.

Clenching around him, Michael slipped his hand around your neck and rammed you harder making your body overcome with pleasure "come on baby, come on this cock!" As you did your mouth was moving faster on ghost face's cock "holy fuck, keep doing that and I'm going to come" as you did him and Michael exploded in your holes.

@toxicanonymity @michaelmyers-isdaddy

[ghqstfqce]

My boyfriend's back [RZ ; Michael Myers]

Msj. este one shot lo escribí hace un año en un trade con una amiga y me acordé hace días de el, así que quise compartirlo con ustedes.

Tw. minors dni, smut, mención de violencia, fem reader x rz michael myers, 1.6k w

My boyfriend's back and you're gonna be in trouble (Hey-la-day-la my boyfriend's back)

My boyfriend's back he's gonna save my reputation (Hey-la-day-la my boyfriend's back) ...

Michael y tú se habían conocido en la escuela secundaría. Él era demasiado callado para su propio bien y cuando hablaba solo agravaba la situación, haciendo que volviera al silencio que lo metía en suficientes peleas, todas perdidas. Tú eras demasiado descarada para los estándares que tenían para las niñas de tu época y te metías en muchas peleas gracias a tu lengua afilada. ¿La diferencia? Nadie te podía callar hasta que ganaras dichas peleas. Cuando se unieron algunos pensaron que eran un par improbable, tú tenías una lengua rápida y llena de veneno, él hacía poco uso de su ingenio grosero; otros pensaron que se acercaba el apocalipsis, él estaba lleno de violencia y tú parecías animarlo, disfrutando de ver huesos rotos y sangre en el piso. 

Desde que la prisión de escuela los unió, fueron la pareja que más se encontraba en boca de todo Haddonfield. No era un pueblo pequeño en comparación a otros, aun así, el espíritu de los chismes era algo que lo hacía parecer tan minúsculo. No había días en los que no hicieran algo para escandalizar a los lugareños, a veces ibas con ropas escandalosas y a veces Michael mandaba a alguien al hospital, otras veces coquetearías con otros solo para incitar a tu novio por algo de violencia. Y aunque la gente se alarmaba con la facilidad para los puños que tenía el chico Myers, siempre serías el centro de atención por irrespetar a tu hombre.

Michael no se consideraba un hombre celoso y mucho menos se sentía herido por tus acciones, a pesar de todo lo que pudieran decir las personas en su ciudad, él sabía que los celos eran en parte ocasionados por inseguridades y él podría ser todo, pero no inseguro, menos cuando se trataba de tu amor hacía él y la lealtad hacia su relación. Claro, había crecido en un hogar verbalmente violento en su mayoría y había escuchado a los niños llamarlo todo tipo de nombres, pero también tenía a su mamá, quien siempre le recordaba lo maravilloso que era y después te tuvo a ti, halagandolo como si vivieras para ello, así que elegía creerles. 

Entonces, Michael no se consideraba celoso. Se consideraba posesivo. Sabía quien y que era suyo, sabía que nadie debía tocar lo que era suyo. Pero parecía que otros no eran conscientes de ello a pesar de los años de relación que traían tras de ustedes.

El día de la lección fue el día que volvería de un viaje que hizo a unas ciudades de distancia, no habías estado tratando de llamar la atención de nadie ni arrastrar a un pobre imbécil a su final y no porque no quisieras, simplemente era aburrido sin tu chico aquí, al fin de cuentas, él y sus acciones posesivas eran lo que te ponían en marcha. Así que por primera vez solo tratabas de estar tranquila y de conseguir los materiales para preparar una cena y postre decente sabiendo que Michael volvería pronto, pero aparentemente a alguien no le llegó el memo.

Wesley se había acercado a ti, por su mirada sabías cuales eran sus intenciones y a pesar de las ganas que tenías de ponerlo en su lugar, lo ignoraste. Dejaste que coqueteara y soltara toda línea de recogida horrible que se le pudiera ocurrir, tú solo tomaste los productos que querías y seguiste tu camino, pero como la mayoría de los hombres, no captó la indirecta y siguió tras de ti hacia el estacionamiento. Estabas lista para gritarle, cuando viste el poco disimulado movimiento de su mano acercándose bajo tu falda y cuando estabas lista para poner a un idiota en su lugar, notaste que no llegó lo suficientemente lejos, una gran mano lo estaba deteniendo y estrujando su muñeca sin consideración alguna.

Sonreíste cuando viste a quién pertenecía dicha mano, Michael en todo su esplendor y gloria se elevaba sobre ustedes dos, pero mientras Wesley parecía a nada de cagarse en sus pantalones, tú estabas tan lista para saltar sobre tu novio y besarlo sin sentido. Claro, que antes de que pudieras saludarlo, Michael ya se encontraba golpeando al imbécil. Disfrutaste de la vista unos segundos, lo suficiente como para sentir la humedad llegando a tu ropa interior y después de días sin tu gigante poco gentil, solo querías que te llenará.

– Sabes, es muy grosero de tu parte llegar y no saludar a tu chica.- Había un tono petulante en tu reclamo.

Michael se detuvo y te volteo a ver, no sabías si el idiota de Wesley aun respiraba, pero todo tu atención la tenía el hombre rubio que lo dejo como pulpa. No hablaste, solo estiraste tus brazos mientras hacías movimientos de agarre con tus manos.

– Ya me has puesto tan hume…

Antes de terminar de hablar, fuiste puesta sobre el hombro de Michael y llevada hasta tu auto, no te quejaste cuando lo encendió y abrocho tu cinturón por ti, para después alejarse. Sabías que venía en su auto, así que era obvio el llegar a casa por separado. No le diste muchas vueltas al asunto y te apresuraste a salir del estacionamiento del supermercado. En segundos o tal vez minutos, el tiempo pasa rápido cuando estás emocionada, ya estabas estacionandote frente a tu casa y en el camino frente a la cochera se encontraba el auto de tu novio.

No te molestaste en tomar las compras o cerrar correctamente el vehículo, solo bajaste lo más rápido posible del coche y corriste en dirección a tu hogar. No habías terminado de cruzar por la puerta cuando una gran mano te jalo contra un igual de gran pecho, mientras la otra cerraba sin ceremonias la puerta. Contrario a sus otras bienvenidas a casa, Michael solo se concentró en desvestirse y la ternura fue dejada de lado, tu falda bajo con facilidad para ser descartada en el suelo, lo que pareció molestarlo fue tu camisa abotonada.

– Dejame ayu…

Nuevamente fuiste interrumpida, solo que ahora fue por el desgarro de tu camisa, viste con un puchero como los trozos de tela caían al suelo, solo dejandote en ropa interior.

– Has vuelto muy grosero de ese viaje.

Su única “explicación” fue soltar un gruñido antes de levantarte por los muslos y hacer que envolvieras tus piernas alrededor de su cintura, bueno, lo más que pudiste rodear. Su mano sujetó con fuerza tu mandíbula, movió tu cabeza de un lado a otro con lentitud y luego te hizo mirarlo directamente, en su mirada un obvio cuestionamiento que no debías responder, estaba revisando que aun fueras suya. Satisfecho con lo que encontró, enterró su mano entre tu cabello y a nada de recargarte contra su toque, sentiste cómo tomo un puñado de cabello y te jalo con fuerza, estrellando tu cabeza contra la puerta, aun viéndolo a los ojos, su mano permaneció, pero el agarre se aflojó. A pesar del aguijón de dolor, no contuviste el gemido por ser maltratada de nuevo, gemido que pareció complacer a tu hombre.

La mano que antes se encontraba sujetandote por la cadera se metió entre ustedes y bajo para desabrocharse el pantalón con urgencia. Bajó la prenda y su ropa interior lo suficiente para liberar su ya erecto y palpitante miembro. En algún momento habías quitado tu vista de la suya, aprovechando que ya no sujetaban tu pelo con fuerza, bajaste tu mirada y estabas tan embelesada viendo su pene como si fuera lo último que probarías. Tan distraída que no sentiste como su mano se deslizó entre tu cabello y lo siguiente que sabías es que te estaban abofeteando y gruñendo para llamar tu atención. Mensaje recibido, ojos en él.

Pese a su obvia dominación sobre ti, fue cuidadoso la primera vez que se introdujo en ti, hizo tu ropa interior al lado y con ayuda de una de tus manos guiaste su miembro hacia tu entrada húmeda. Lo sentiste resbalar dentro de ti con facilidad, un gemido suave salió de ti y sabías que estarías viéndolo completamente enamorada. Aun cuando tenía una obvia consideración por tu seguridad, no espero mucho, las estocadas ni siquiera iniciaron despacio, eran rápidas y sin salir mucho de ti. Quería y necesitaba llenarte, que sin importar la clase de juegos que jugaran entre ustedes dos, con jugadores que no querían estar, tú eras suya y de nadie más, nadie podía tocarte más que él y quizás el llenarte hasta desbordar de su semen lo dejaría en claro, tal vez si tu panza se hinchara con las consecuencias de su esencia todos lo captarían.

Tú te encontrabas en la nube nueve, no pudiendo más que llegar tus manos hacia sus hombros para sujetarlo y mantenerte a un en tierra, querías estar lo suficiente presente para disfrutar y sentir el final. Tus paredes se abrazaban al miembro desnudo de Michael y el pensamiento de él sin protección ocasionó que inconscientemente trataras de mover tus caderas, para encontrarte con sus movimiento, animandolo a llegar al final.

Casi llegando al final sentiste sus embestidas tartamudeando y no sabía si estaba pensando lo mismo, pero con la fuerza que tus paredes vaginales apretaban su pene, mientras tus uñas se clavaban en sus hombros, tú y él esperaban que estuvieran en la misma sincronía de pensamientos.

No faltó demasiado antes de que se corrieran a la par. Sintió tus paredes apretarse con  fuerza sobre su pene y tú sentiste toda su semilla llenarte, la última estocada fue con fuerza y profundidad contra ti, no se movió de lugar y mientras lo escuchabas susurrar proclamaciones en el espacio entre tu cuello, sabías que había algo más que solo reclamarte con su esencia, el pensamiento de Michael criandote te hizo soltar y apretar nuevamente con tus paredes, ordeñando más de él.

Acariciaste su largo cabello con suavidad, mientras suaves risitas escapaban de ti. Quizás después hablarías de la importancia de hablar esto antes de solo llenarte, por mientras, tomarías este y cualquier otro reclamo que quisiera hacer en ti.

[nobitchs-world]

Me: I love horror movie slashers

My scary ass if I ever saw them:

[gothic-thoughts]

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.

[gennibennii]

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!

[emxisms]

𝕾𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪.

(fem reader)

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Stu Macher, Thomas Hewitt, Tex Sawyer, Michael Myers.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence.

𝕭𝖔 𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖗

Finds it incredibly attractive at the fact that you would risk your life just for him. He would 100% brag about it to everyone he knows. "My girl would actually kill for me."

Will help you take care of any wounds you may have gotten from the battle. He's got a lot of practice, and knows exactly what to do.

He would want to teach you all about how to defend yourself and him.

𝕾𝖙𝖚 𝕸𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖗

He falls even more in love with you, knowing you'll do anything for him. He feels secure knowing that you support him and what he does.

So. Many. Kisses. The man cannot get enough of you. He thinks you look so beautiful, even when you're bloody. He thinks you look super hot covered in blood.

Begs you to help him and Billy with Ghostface. He totally understands if you don't want to, and how you only did what you did to keep him alive.

He will want every detail on how you felt when you did it. "Did you like it? How did you feel? Would you ever do it again?"

Wants to marry you. He thinks you're the perfect woman. Heaven sent.

𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖙

Why? You didn't have to do that. You could've been hurt. He doesn't want his favorite person in any risk. Don't do it again.

He would freak out. He would think it's awesome how devoted you are to him. It's so reassuring to him, he never understood why you stayed with him. He thinks he's a beast, an awful human. He never thought he deserved you or your love, but you doing this silenced all of his thoughts.

Would never take you out of his sight again. He wont allow himself to let you get hurt, accidentally or purposefully. He hates seeing you in pain.

If Hoyt makes any remarks about how "You're stupid for putting your life at risk for such a waste of life" he would be on his feet in seconds. He can't stand him, and he draws the line at you. He refuses to let Hoyt touch you. Ever.

𝕿𝖊𝖝 𝕾𝖆𝖜𝖞𝖊𝖗

In awe. He swears he can never fall in love more than he already is, but it just keeps happening. He finally found a woman that isn't afraid of his lifestyle.

"Well, darlin' you've got me swept off my feet. You're jus' perfect."

Pulls you in for a million hugs and kisses. XOXO to the max. He tries to convince you to help with the family's routines / hunts, and completely melts if you agree.

Would jokingly ask you to do the same to Alfredo.

𝕸𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖑 𝕸𝖞𝖊𝖗𝖘

Not happy. He had it covered. Don't get yourself hurt because of him.

Throws you down and forces you to let him clean you up. Even though he's not happy that you risked your life, he still cares. He loves you, and will care for you.

He refuses to let you go out alone. He's scared you might get hurt again.

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

Requests are open! ☑️

(check pinned post).

[ghostiesnightmare]

The Subject

Pairing: Michael Myers x Female Reader Summary: As a graduate student writing your dissertation on the enigma of Michael Meyers, you try to prove his acts of violence fulfill a dark, psychological need- a crude substitute for intimacy. When Myers resurfaces, your academic obsession drives you dangerously close to the darkness you have been researching. The deeper you delve, the clearer it becomes that you aren't just studying the monster; you're caught in his gaze. TW: DARK content, extreme gore, descriptions of a dead body, mutilation, murder, weapon play, copious amounts of blood, alcohol, foul language, stalking, non-con, nudity, violence, intense paranoia and fear, power imbalance, degradation, unprotected sex, restraints, rough sex, abuse, blood as lube, creampies, and more Word Count: 12,657 MDNI-NSFW A/N: This is incredibly dark, please read the TW's before continuing.

-----

Every child grows up hearing the story about the Boogeyman. What many consider to be an old-wives tale that serves to trick young children into obeying their parents, the reality of the situation can be much more sinister. Terrified at the prospect of being stolen out of their beds in the middle of the night, they learn to obey their parents, set the table, and have good manners. Haddonfield, however, is plagued by its very own boogeyman, those knowing the story refusing to even mention his name out of fear of summoning him and invoking his wrath. Michael Myers; a force that many can only describe as the essence of pure evil. 

Still at large, Myers’ kill count only continues to soar after his untimely escape from the Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, leaving countless detectives baffled at his ability to evade law enforcement. The nature of his crimes, although gruesome, begs an unanswered question to his motives: Why? Was Michael Myers a forgotten member of society that snapped under the pressure of household stressors? Was he simply “born evil”? Or is there a deeper rooted cause for his bloodlust for violence? The seemingly intimate nature of the unspeakable crimes seem to point to a forgotten theory: What if Michael Myers was a sexual deviant, the thrill of the hunt better than any orgasm intercourse could provide? 

You paused, leaning back from your desk riddled with papers, empty coffee cups, and almost illegible notes. Rubbing your eyes, a frustrated sigh huffed from your lips as you scanned the words again, the bold text of your introduction glaring back at you. Something about that final sentence– it wasn’t right, not compelling enough to capture the intensity of your theory. Leaning forward, you deleted the sentence, fingers tapping away at the keyboard as you typed: 

The undeniably intense nature of these crimes are marked with a chilling, hands-on approach, raising a disturbing possibility: for Michael Myers, the thrill of the kill transcends primal violence, serving as a perverse substitute for human connection.

Brows furrowed, you gnawed on your bottom lip. It was better– but not quite there. Grabbing a red pen, you glanced at your to-do list, the bullet points feeling a mile long as you jotted down: Fix Introduction– final sentence? Groaning slightly, you looked upwards, the words:  Dissertation Defense: one month! staring back at you from a neon post-it note taped to the corner of your clunky macintosh computer. Your chest tightened, anxiety spiking at the almost unending list of corrections, evidence gathering, and typing required in the next few weeks. Your pen clattered against the desk as stretched, joints popping from the pressure, a tired yawn escaping. You needed coffee– desperately. Eyes shifting through the introduction for one last measure, you highlighted the final sentence as yet another reminder to tweak your work. Before you could finish, however, your swirling thoughts were crudely interrupted at the jolt of your door swinging open, accompanied by your roommate’s dramatic entrance.

Kimberly waltzed into the small bedroom, permed curls bouncing as she balanced a concerning amount of Chinese takeout containers. “Jesus, you need to open a window in here– it smells like a library.” She cringed, ruffling her nose as she hurriedly dumped the takeout containers on your floor. You rolled your eyes at her theatrics, pushing away from the desk before plopping onto the shaggy carpet, unpacking the haul. “Says you, beaver lady, every time you come back from the lab you reek of pond water.” You teased, and she huffed. “That’s so not true! And stop calling me that, once you read my totally rad argument, you’ll never look at them the same!” She defended, offended at your jab, sitting in front of you and grabbing a box of lo mein from the takeout pile. You grinned at her antics, perfectly manicured hands struggling with the wooden chopsticks as she shoveled the noodles into her mouth. 

“Okay, okay fine– just stop calling me Hitchcock and I’ll call it even.” You joked, stomach growling as you grabbed your own pair of chopsticks, rummaging through the pile for your kung pao chicken. Kimberly was not only your roommate, but best friend from highschool, with both of you deciding to apply to colleges together during your senior year. Now, almost six years later, you were joined at the hip while you worked towards your Masters Degrees. Your mouth watered as the comforting taste of chicken and tangly vegetables invaded your senses, stomach growling as you devoured your meal. Kimberly shifted, lo mein sauce dripping down her chin. “So… how’s the paper? I swear if I write anymore my brain will literally explode.” She pouted, glancing at the whirlwind of papers dotting almost every surface of your room. You shrugged, choking down another bite, chopsticks still gripped in your hands. 

“It’s going well… I just feel like it's missing something. There hasn’t been a killing pinpointed to him in months, and I’m getting tired of reading over the same reports and crime scene photos–” “Ew, I’m eating. No gore, please.” Kimberly shuddered, and a tired chuckle escaped you at her squeamish nature. She paused, chewing on her bottom lip before speaking again, the friendly atmosphere in the room hardening. “Do you… think he will be back?” She muttered, and your smile fell. Pondering, you set the container onto the carpet, wiping your hands on your bell bottomed jeans. “Probably,” You voiced finally, “–why? Are you scared a big bad killer will come after you?” You mused, shoving her arm playfully, causing a startled squeak to escape from her. “Uh, duh. I don’t know how you aren’t terrified of Mr. Boogeyman.” She retorted, nose scrunching at the prospect of the masked psychopath. 

“With my research, I’m sure he doesn’t want to be within 100 feet of me, scared I'll finally prove my theory.” You joked, falling backwards onto the floor and staring at the ceiling, food abandoned. “Ugh, I’m pooped. I feel like I could sleep for years.” You complained, joints stiff and mind heavy. Kimberly slammed her plastic tupperware onto the floor, the noise jolting your gaze towards her as she stared at you with newfound conviction. “No can do, missy, we have to go out!” You groaned, pushing yourself upwards by your elbows. The last possible thing that you needed was to be pressed up against other students at a dive bar drinking your night away, much rather preferring a hot cup of tea and a good night’s sleep. “I can’t, I have to wait for a call from the police station to get more files-” Kimberly let out an exasperated sigh at your statement, silencing you.

“C’mon… Halloween is a few days away and Fowl Play is hosting their annual costume party. I swear if you stay in this room any longer you’ll fade away. Mr. Slasher can wait.” Kimberly persisted, standing abruptly and turning to rummage through your closet, throwing random articles of clothing onto your bed as she searched for a costume. You began to protest, but she cut you off. “I’ll buy your drinks,” She mused, voice full of mischief as she pulled a lace bra from the pile of clothing, holding it up to her chest and striking a lewd pose, causing a smile to break out on your face. “It’s late anyways, the detectives can call you in the morning… please?” She begged, those brown doe eyes pouting as she bargained with you. A defeated sigh escaped you, and you shuffled upwards, padding over to her and snatching your bra from her grasp. 

“Two drinks,” You stated, fighting off another yawn, and she squealed in delight. “You’re the best, you know that? I promise it will be fun. Now go figure out a costume! We leave in ten minutes.” Kimberly called over her shoulder, rushing to the door and heading to her room, the whirlwind of movement just as chaotic as when she arrived. The door slammed shut, and you grimaced, dropping the bra back onto the bed. Glancing back to your desk, you sighed, rubbing your temples. Just a few hours, and then you would be back to work. What could possibly go wrong?

__

“What on earth are you dressed up as?” Kimberly questioned, voice barely audible over the thumping synth at Fowl Play. Tugging the thin strap up your shoulder, you glanced down at the now-ruined satin dress clinging to your skin. Pulling your costume together took sheer willpower and luck, finding a half used canister of fake blood from one of your Sociology projects hidden away in the kitchen cabinets. “I’m Carrie White, duh.” You mimicked her iconic catchphrase, gesturing to the plastic crown on top of your head. She rolled her eyes, shoving a Tequila Sunrise into your hand. “Always so morbid, you creep.” She teased, tattered sleeve brushing against you as she showcased her zombified cheerleader costume. 

Fowl Play was the place to be in Haddonfield, usually packed to the brim with college students throwing down shots under the illumination of neon lights after a long school day. Today was no different, a colorful glow cascading through the crowd decked out in ripped jeans, leg warmers, and hair teased to the ceiling. Only a few days before Halloween, the theme did the holiday justice, with faux spider webs dripping from the ceiling, swaying under the breeze of the fog machine. The room was covered in a hazy atmosphere, blue lights making the plastic skeletons hanging from the rafters glow an eerie green. You eagerly sip on your drink, trying to block out the stench of sweat, cigarettes, and hairspray coating the room. Kimberly sways her hips to the beat, head rocking as she downs her drink, grimacing at the strong taste of alcohol. 

“Ohmygod, I love this song!” An excited shriek escapes her, the sound of the Bee Gees’ Night Fever tearing through the speakers. Tugging you further onto the dancefloor, you squeeze past an intoxicated Frankenstein, who glowers at Kimberly’s antics. Unphased, she pulls you across the floor, and you laugh at her easy going nature. Suckling on your straw, you quickly set your empty glass on the bar as you passed by, catching the eye of the bartender apologetically as you were dragged along. Finally reaching a suitable dancing place, Kimberly stopped, spinning you around as she settled into a groove, feet kicking and hands shaking. Stomach warm from the alcohol, you threw your head back, surrendering to the music. The dance floor was littered with costume-clad classmates, all swaying to the beat in various stages of intoxication. Glancing at a cardboard cutout of Nosferatu, you shook to the beat, eyes darting over the crowd. 

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you needed the distraction. You couldn’t remember the last time you went off campus for anything not school related, and you relished in the feeling of the stress washing away with every shake of your wrists. A vampire and mermaid tried to do the robot, causing Kimberly to burst into laughter, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and you gripped her hands, spinning her. The music cut out suddenly, causing the crowd to groan in annoyance. The DJ, perched behind a booth lined with cassette tapes and records, huffs into the microphone at the rude reaction. Kimberly grips your hands in excitement, realizing the votes on the costume contest were in. 

“Alright, alright, I know you all have been waiting for this moment. The winner of this year’s annual Spooktacular Showoff is, drumroll please–” The sound of rumbling thundered around the room in anticipation, people stomping their feet while waiting for the news. You braced in anticipation, excitement coursing through your veins. “ –Carrie White! Get on up here, you cool cat!” Your jaw dropped in shock, ears ringing as Kimberly screamed in excitement, practically shaking you like a ragdoll and dragging you to the DJ booth. Applause roared through the crowd, spare a few disheartened grumbles of disappointment. The DJ presents you with a purple wristband, the words Free Drinks sharpied onto the paper material. You paled, embarrassed under the spotlight, hands clammy as you gripped your prize. The DJ turned to the crowd, microphone hissing as he spoke again. “Better luck next year, everyone! Now, who’s ready to boogie?” Shoving another cassette tape into the player, the speakers thrilled to life once more, and you were left to escort Kimberly to the bar, pushing through the sea of bodies in your way. 

Kimberly leaned on the chipped wood of the high top counter, batting her eyes at the bartender before proudly pointing to your wristband. “Two Alabama Slammers please, extra strong.” She shouted over the music, and you grimaced at the high pitch. Kimberly quickly grabbed the glasses, winking at the bartender before turning to you. “See, fun right?! Now we have to stay, it’s not every night you get free booze!” She mused, gulping down her drink, other hand gripping onto yours as well. You sighed, chuckling at her inebriated state. “How about some shots? It’s time to party!” She squealed, chugging the rest of her beverage before sipping on yours, not that you were complaining. You cringed internally, quickly realizing you were responsible for her actions for the rest of the evening. It was going to be a long night…

__

After what seemed like hours of music and infinite drinks, you finally were able to pull a now very intoxicated Kimberly out of the bar, narrowly avoiding her elbow as you peeled her away from her sloppy makeout session with a football player. The cold air bit into your skin as you stepped outside, goosebumps spreading across your arms. Slipping an arm around Kimberly to steady her swaying form, you shuffled down the sidewalk, eyes scanning for a cab. Behind you, the bass from the bar thumped faintly, your drunken counterpart bobbing her head to the beat, hiccuping mid-step.  “Pshhh… that was– sooo much fun.” She slurred, breath reeking of vodka. You cringed at the smell, silently cursing yourself for not cutting her off sooner.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” You muttered, trying to ignore her whining protests to go back to the bar. Sweat dotted your hairline as you pulled Kimberly along, the damp fabric of your dress sticking uncomfortably to your back. You were in desperate need of a hot shower and a good night’s sleep after a night like this, and you groaned at the thought of the mountain of work you had waiting for you upon your arrival. Kimberly stumbled, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, almost pulling you down with her. You steadied her, bracing against her dead weight as she babbled about the Halloween decorations lining the street. Glancing around your surroundings, you silently admired the quaint houses dotting the sidewalks, pumpkins and foliage adorning their porches.

“Heyyy look, it… it’s mister boogeyman….” She spewed out, grip tightening on your arm suddenly. Her words made your stomach drop. Following her gaze, you froze, Kimberly nearly bumping into you as your feet locked into place. A towering figure stood ahead on the sidewalk, clad in the unmistakable mechanic suit and white mask you had seen countless times during your studies. Your heart seized in your chest, details from case files and crime scene photos flashing through your mind, apprehension winding in your gut. It’s just a prank, you reasoned with yourself, knowing the streets were full of replicas of the killer during the Halloween season. But as you stepped closer, unease churned in your gut. The figure stood perfectly still, like a statue, the faint flow of jack o’lanterns casting eerie shadows across his masked form. Kimberly laughed, sticking out her tongue at the male before you could stop her. “N-nice costume, creep.” She called, pointing at him. Your nails dug into her wrist as you quickened your pace, keeping your gaze forward, though you couldn’t help but spare him a glance as you passed by.

The void of the eye holes in the mask burned into you, your mouth instantly drying at the sight. “Sorry…” You squeaked out over your shoulder, hating the tremble in your voice. He didn’t move, but you could feel his gaze, heavy and chilling as you continued walking. The headlights of a taxi cab crested over the hill, and you stopped abruptly, frantically waving your hand. Relief washed over you as the car squeaked to a halt in front of you. Throwing open the car door, you  practically shoved Kimberly in, ignoring her drunken protests before climbing in behind her. The taxi driver glanced out the window, brows furrowing at the Michael Myers impersonator on the sidewalk. “He with you?” You whipped your head around. The masked man stood in the same spot as before, watching. Shaking your head quickly, you turned back to the driver. “No. Just drive, please.” He grumbled at your command, putting the car into gear and tearing away from the sidewalk. 

Your gaze creeped to the back window, leaning against the glass as you watched the masked man fade into the distance behind you. Only when he disappeared from view did you relax, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Kimberly slouched against the seat, tracing her knee with her fingertips, mumbling to herself. You could practically feel the disappointment wafting off of the taxi driver, but you didn’t care, wanting to get back to the safety of your room as soon as possible. The rest of the taxi ride went smoothly, the outline of your apartment building entering your vision after a short time. 

Leaving the taxi driver a generous tip, you dragged Kimberly from the car bed and led her towards the building. Balancing Kimberly against you, you fumbled with your keys, pushing the door open and maneuvering her carefully up the flight of stairs, trying to avoid any safety hazards as you went. Hauling Kimberly into your shared apartment, you quickly dumped her onto her bed before rushing to grab her a glass of water. By the time you returned, beverage in hand, a passed out Kimberly met your gaze, snores filling the room. Begrudgingly, you set the glass on her nightstand, pulling a blanket over her costume clad body before turning away, shutting the door behind you. 

As the door shut, exhaustion hit you like a wave. Kicking off your shoes, you head to your room, skin itching for a hot shower. Ripping the tiara from your hair, your fingers scratched your scalp, a satisfied groan escaping you as you massaged your skin. Picking up a sleep shirt and a pair of shorts, you shoved the pile of clothes Kimberly left on your bed onto the floor, mentally noting to pick up your room in the morning. You turned, arms full of clothing as you headed towards the hallway for the bathroom. The phone rang, the shrill landline tearing through the silence, and your blood ran cold. 

Snatching up the phone, you pressed it to your ear. Who calls this late at night?  “Hello?” You grumbled, irritation seeping into your tone at the delay of your pursuit of a hot shower. “Detective Langley speaking.” A gruff voice answered. A rustle of papers sounded out through the telephone, noise grainy against your ear. “... Is this miss (l/n)?” Your pulse quickened. “This is she.” “I know you’ve been working with Detective Harmon for months now,” Langley said abruptly, voice sharp with urgency and something else you couldn’t quite place. “If you were anyone else I wouldn’t be calling, but–” He paused, seemingly debating whether to continue. “... I have something better than case files for you. Can you be ready in ten minutes? I’ll have a cruiser parked at campus.” Another pause, this one more heavy. “We think… He struck again.” Blood pounded in your ears, shower forgotten as the words echoed in your mind. Excitement coursed through your veins as you dropped your pajamas onto the counter. “I’ll be ready in eight.”

__

Hair still damp from what was probably the fastest shower of your life, you shoved your keys into your bag, beelining towards the patrol car parked at the curb. Fumbling with the passenger door, you glanced at the officer inside, who you could only imagine was Detective Langley. The older man sat in his seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel, dark eyes meeting your own. You clambered into the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt before shutting the door. Detective Langley shifted the car into gear, pulling away from the curb and moving towards an unknown destination. He glanced at you expectantly, and you quickly pulled out your small voice recorder from the bag, items shuffling around as you pressed the record button. “Log seventy eight. Thursday, October 29th, 1980. Time is–” You glanced at the dashboard for the time. “–Eleven forty-five.” Setting the device in your lap, you waited for the officer to speak, mind swirling with possibilities. 

Adrenaline began to pump through your veins, heartbeat quickening as you were possibly being escorted to a live crime scene. After pestering detectives for months, attending multiple press conferences and participating in many ride-alongs, this could be your big break for new evidence. You would be experiencing everything first hand, the prospect sending your head spiraling. Officer Langley shuffled uncomfortably at being recorded, pausing slightly before speaking. “Victim is a 19 year old babysitter. Distress call came in at eleven fifteen from the victim’s employers who arrived back from dinner to a silent house. The child she was caring for was unharmed, but–” He faltered, eyes flickering to your own before finishing “... but the victim was found dead on scene.” Your heart dropped at that, the reality of the situation quickly setting into place. Someone was murdered, and you were going on scene.

“Suspect is still at large, with many indicators pointing towards Myers. Same MO, same timeline.” Langley finished, clearing his voice suddenly. You took that as your queue and pressed the pause button on your recorder, staring at him expectantly. “Look kid, this is nothing like the crime scene photos or briefs you’ve seen. This is an active crime scene, and there’s a few rules you have to follow.” Your spine straightens, and you wait for instruction. Langley sighs, eyes steely as he cruised down the road. “You are a civilian, remember that. No touching, no pestering, and god no puking. You watch, take notes, and maybe ask some questions.” Your heart flutters, eyes trained forward as the telltale red and blue peeked over the horizon, illuminating the dashboard. “Thank you, Detective.” You whisper, nerves leaving you giddy as the car slowed, crime scene tape blocking the street. “Don’t mention it, kid. I’m doing this as a favor.” He said gruffly, and you didn’t question further. 

Police cars lined the street, officers swarming the house as a terrified family stood in the front lawn. A press van idled against the curb, a newscaster speaking to the camera with the house in the background, trying to flag down an officer for questioning. You swallowed thickly, watching the chaos unfold in front of you. Detective Langley parks the car, and you jolt out of the seat, grabbing your notebook and pen. Popping the trunk, the detective quickly pulled a blue vest over his chest, grabbing a bag before circling the car to the passenger side. An identical vest was shoved into your hands, and you quickly slipped it on. Detective Langley moved towards the lawn, pulling the crime scene tape upwards and allowing you to slip underneath. As you stepped forward, a hand quickly grabbed your shoulder, halting you in place. “Remember, no touching. And for the love of god, no recording.” You nodded, hands gripping the notebook tighter. 

The air felt heavy, tainted with the prospect of death. You meekly followed the detective in front of you, trying to ignore the puzzled looks of other officers brushing past you. Reaching the front porch, the flash of a camera within the house illuminated through the windows. A rush of officers moved through the front door, and Detective Langley pushed forward, stepping into the house. You ducked in behind him. Immediately, the bag dropped to the floor, and he pulled the zipper open. Realization hit you like a wave, you were suiting up. Mimicking his movements, you quickly pulled booties onto your feet, covering your shoes. Slipping a plastic poncho over your head, the fabric crinkled as it settled around your knees. Detective Langley paused, fishing something out of the bag before handing it to you. A ponytail. You quickly bunched your hair on top of your head, not wanting to interfere with the investigation. Pulling on a pair of sterile gloves, you straightened, covered head to toe in anti-evidence attractant. Detective Langley moved forwards, and you silently trudged after him, dwarfed in the billowy poncho and booties. As you walked, a foul odor hit your nose, causing your face to scrunch ever so slightly, brows furrowing at the smell. The smell was metallic, mixed with an earthy scent that made your stomach flip. The scent of death, you thought, pushing past another officer before entering the living room of the house, trying to steel yourself as you braved onwards. Another flash blinded you momentarily, and you blinked. The temperature dropped with every step you took, as if you were walking into a grave, goosebumps settling across your skin. Something horrible happened in the room ahead of you, and you glanced at the wall of the living room, stomach dropping at the bloodied handprint streaking against the yellow wallpaper. 

Stepping into the kitchen, you froze, blood turning to ice. A few mere feet in front of you, was a body. The first thing you noticed were her eyes, open so wide with only one expression, the sight making you falter: terror. Her face was frozen in a moment of raw fear, mouth gaped open, eyes staring back into you, unmoving, unyielding. Her blue sundress was covered in blood, the crimson pooled around her and soaking into the tile below. Skin deathly pale, covered in gashes, no doubt from a knife. You grimaced, glancing at her stomach, naval cavity torn open so feverishly you could see the yellow of her ribs, organs poking out of her, intestines spilling onto the floor. And the smell, a mix of blood and raw flesh so putrid the singular drink curdled within your stomach. You paled, head reeling as you gaped at the body, fingers gripping your notebook so tightly your knuckles turned white. 

Officers moved around the body, unphased by the gruesome sight as they tried to collect evidence. You stood frozen in place, ears ringing as you imagined her final moments. A terrible struggle. A desperate attempt to escape. A knife raised in the air. A blood curdling scream. Then, silence. You squeezed your eyes shut, the imaginary scream rattling you to your bones. The black and white photographs of the crime scenes you were used to were nothing compared to the live scene, the nature of it all leaving you feeling light headed. Detective Langley approached the body, and you weakly followed him, swallowing thickly. Crouching over the body, he glanced at you trying to avoid the pool of blood creeping towards your bootied feet. 

“See this?” He gestured, finger extended above the body, tracing the laceration on her stomach. The closeness of her body was worse, you could practically feel the terror radiating off of her, final moments ingrained permanently into the house. You trailed his movements, trying to ignore the view of the ruptured liver engorged on the tile floor. “One laceration to open her up, then short, quick stabbings. That’s why her organs look like mush.” Langley muttered, and you grimaced at the crude words. “A rage killing…” You said, mind flickering to the countless pictures you had seen in the past, frozen in time. The detective nodded, standing once more. “What do you think, kid? Your theory still make sense?” You faltered at his words, staring back at the mutilated body in front of you. Pausing, you exhaled sharply, pushing yourself into research mode. 

Flipping through the pages of your notebook, your gaze met the detectives once more, emotion seeping from you as you got to work. “The MO is identical; babysitter around Halloween found in the wrong place, wrong time. Her wounds are strikingly similar to–” You flipped through another page, wracking your brain for other victims. “–Bob Simms, who also had severe lacerations to his abdomen. This however… seems more personal. See the ligature mark around her left wrist?” You gestured to her arm, confidence quickly invading your senses, the buzz of gore falling from your mind. “He tied her up, and she escaped. He likes the chase, but when his victims defy him, he reacts poorly, losing control.” You paused, before muttering, “– Like an enraged lover.” Detective Langley pondered your explanation, nodding. “I’m surprised. You know more than I expected.” Another blinding flash of the camera, and you glanced down at your notes, quickly flipping to a blank page to sketch the basic layout of the body, marking points of interest.

“What’s the civilian doing here?” An officer grumbled out, and Langley shot him a deathly glare. “She’s with me, working to crack the case. What are you doing?” He bit out, and the younger officer paled, stammering out an apology before moving back to investigate. Turning back to you, Detective Langley huffed. “Take some time to jot down some notes, I have some paperwork to fill out. Good work, kid.” Brushing past you, Langley disappeared into the sea of officers, leaving you alone. Thoughts whirled through your mind, and you stared at the body once more, lips pursing at the sight. The more you stared, the more confident you became in your theory, the hands-on approach towards the violent killing meaning only one thing:

Michael Myers was a predator. A sexually deprived, anger driven force of nature that sought pleasure within his obsession for violence. The one thing he craved to invoke being the last thing his victims ever feel: terror.

Your mind clicked, and you scribbled the sentence down in your notebook, writing: introduction? before circling the passage. Tucking the notebook under your arm, you quickly slipped out of the suffocating house, desperate for fresh air. Stepping into the night, you peeled the poncho over your head, discarding it in a marked bin on the lawn. Stripping the protective layers from your body, your breaths greedily drank in the fresh air, savoring the scent of pine and freshly mowed grass. Around you, the crime scene continued to bustle with life– flashing lights, murmured voices, the crunch of boots on gravel. Your gaze drifted past the chaos, drawn to the dark treeline sprouted behind the house. Dense shadows swallowed the foliage, faint outlines of pine branches drifting in the chill October breeze. 

A shuffle in the distance caught your attention. You squinted, zeroing in on the movement. Settled in between two bushes, something shifted– a figure, still as stone, blending in against the trees. Your breath caught in your throat, panic gripping you as you gaped forward. Another patrol car rumbled down the street, the headlights cutting across the line of trees as it curved around the bend. For a split second, the light caught something. A flash of white. Your mind flickered back to the bar, to the masked man who stood motionless on the sidewalk. Horror churned in your gut, the realization slamming into you full force. It wasn’t a costume. It was real, it was him. Michael Myers; waiting, watching. 

The sound of gurney wheels squeaked against the gravel, tearing your eyes from the scene. The body bag, black and heavy, was escorted by two officers to the waiting van, enticing you. It was only a second, your gaze shifting before moving back to the treeline, where the figure had been. Your chest tightened as you stared at the bushes, the bushes empty. You scanned the treeline, eyes straining for any movement. He’s gone. Pulse quickening, you glanced down at your notebook, tucked in your grasp. Had you imagined it, the tension from the grizzly scene making you see things? The flash of white, the outline of his silhouette against the treeline— it felt so real. 

Detective Langley reappeared at your side, the sudden presence startling you. The older male chuckled at your jumpy state. “Crime scene jitters?” He mused, gruff voice teasing. You hesitated at the question, debating telling him of your discovery, but the words died on your tongue. “Yeah… I guess so.” You muttered, eyes still trained on the treeline. He patted your shoulder reassuringly, calling over another officer. “Get her back to campus,” He ordered before turning back to you. “When the pictures are developed, I’ll send them your way. If you have any more ideas or theories, give me a call.” Digging into his pocket, he produced a card, his number written on it. You thanked him, taking the small piece of paper and tucking it into your notebook. Another officer led you to the cruiser you arrived in, and you shakily slid into the passenger seat, dumping your notebook into your bag.

The ride back to campus felt like a blur, the events of the past few hours burned into your skull. Exhaustion weighed down on you in a vice-like grip, but sleep never came, leaving you tossing and turning, mind going a million miles a minute. Each time you closed your eyes, the image of terror on the butchered girl’s face stared back at you, sending bile rising in your throat. You stared at the ceiling, imagining the treeline. The rush of lights, the flash of movement. The white of his mask, watching silently. You wondered if you would ever sleep again.

__

You tried to convince yourself that it was just stress, but something felt off. Your body ached from long nights of restless sleep, terrorized by vivid nightmares that jolted you awake, drenched in sweat and goosebumps covering every inch of skin. Images of the crime scene burned into your brain, the hollow eyes staring back at you in the woods. Your room was a chaotic mess, papers, notebooks, maps, photos, and almost illegible handwriting covering every surface. The few days after the crime scene had sent you down a rabbit hole, with you spending every waking moment hunched over your desk, typing away at your computer screen. Each bump in the night, each shadow cast along the wall somehow traced back to him. Your masked killer invaded your life, even outside of your research. Walking back from the library one night, the streetlights cast unnatural shadows against the sidewalk, shifting under your gaze. The quiet was deafening, broken only by the patter of your footsteps in the late hour. But it was always there– the subtle noise of shuffling behind you, always watching. Always waiting. You had whirled around, scanning the darkness, seeing nothing. Yet the feeling was always there, the sensation of being followed coating you like a second skin, creeping into your bones and sending your brain spiraling. You had picked up speed, terror gripping your chest, only relieving slightly when you reached your apartment, locking the door behind you. But as you turned to shut the curtains, your stomach dropped. Under the faint glow of the streetlight in your peripheral vision, a figure stood there, the white mask catching in the light. But as soon as you shifted your gaze to the movement fully, it was gone. 

The days began to blur together as you poured over your work, trying to settle the feeling of constant dread in your stomach. But no matter how fast you typed away at your dissertation, no matter how long you engrossed yourself into your research, the feeling remained. Even Kimberly began to notice the shift in your behavior, cautiously leaving food at the foot of your door, begging you to relax, to take a break. But the dissertation had you in its hold, demanding you continue onwards, pushing you to the brink. As the deadline to your dissertation approached, so did the inexplicable things that began to haunt you.

Your door would slightly be open when you returned from class, ajar and leaving a crack of light into your room when you were certain you had locked it. Your papers would be shifted, unorganized chaos jolted as evidence would be stacked differently than when you had left it. Pieces of information would be underlined or circled, even though you were sure you hadn’t touched them. It was always worse at night, faint creaks and heavy breathing seeming to come from outside your window, even from the second floor. As time passed, though, things began happening that you couldn’t chalk up to paranoia, something real.

You had been stewing in your room, shuffling through papers and editing your final draft of your dissertation when the phone rang. The shrill sound had startled you so badly you almost dropped your coffee mug, the liquid dangerously close to spilling from your mug. Thinking it was Detective Langley asking for progress, you had picked the phone off the receiver quickly, pressing it to your ear. “Hello?” But there was no answer, heavy silence on the other line. You almost ended the call, confused, when you heard it. The breathing, rough and oppressive, was very same that you could practically feel pressing down your back during sleepless nights. “Who… Who is this?” Your voice had trembled, fingers gripping the phone like a lifeline as you strained for an answer. 

The line went dead. You slammed the phone on the receiver so hard the plastic had cracked, blind panic tearing through your chest. Kimberly’s words rang through your head from that fateful night, taunting you. I don’t know how you aren’t terrified of Mr. Boogeyman. But now, you knew. He was like a shape in the dark, a creature of the night feeding off your fear, growing bolder as your paranoia began to take hold. And that was the most terrifying part of all. 

 The murders hadn’t stopped, either. Almost nightly, Detective Langley would summon you at ungodly hours, desperate for your input on another case. The bodies began to pile up, a mountain of evidence continuously being added to your work as your point was all but proven. The scenes became all the more violent, crimes of something you could only describe as passion rattled you to your bones, each victim becoming more mutilated, more disfigured. The last crime scene had finally broken you, vomit spewing from you as you ran from the house, stomach twisting at the decapitated body of another unfortunate babysitter. Haddonfield was put under curfew, children were shuttled home in groups, and parents refused to let their teenage daughter babysit for others. But nothing could stop the carnage. You were spiraling, and fast. Tension began to build within you at your heightened stress, lack of sleep, and the deadline hanging over you like a death sentence. 

The apartment door slammed shut behind Kimberly, rattling against the cheap metal frame so loudly you jumped. Lifting your head from the kitchenette table, you glared, bloodshot eyes worn from pouring over your notes. Kimberly dumped her book bag onto the floor at your feet, smushing a stack of papers that you gingerly grabbed off the floorboards. “Jesus girl, you need to calm down. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kimberly groaned, shrugging off her jacket before reaching into a cabinet, grabbing a mug and a handle of vodka before making herself a drink. You glanced behind you, staring out the window into the pitch black. “I saw him again,” you bit out, voice tight with nerves. “–He was right there, outside the window. Just standing there.” Kimberly rolled her eyes, a sharp laugh escaping her, although it sounded forced. “Him? You mean Mr. Boogeyman? You have got to be kidding me.” 

She took a gulp of her drink, grimacing at the bitter taste before turning to you. “You’ve been obsessing over him for weeks, certain he’s ‘after you’”, she said, airquoting her words snarkily before adding, “–You’re just paranoid.” You grit your teeth at her words. “I’m not paranoid.” You snapped, practically snarling at her. “I know what I saw. He was there.” Kimberly sighed, worry settling into her frame as she smiled pitifully at you, as if you were insane. It made your blood boil. “Look, I get that you’re super into this whole true crime thing and want a shot at being Miss Detective, but you’re letting it get to you. I mean, really?” She scoffed, throwing up her hands. “You think some infamous killer is stalking you because you want to prove that he’s a pervert? Do you hear how crazy that sounds?”

You swear you see red. “I’m not crazy.” You seethe, stomach churning at the word. Crazy– she thought you were crazy. Kimberly sighed, brushing her hair out of her face before speaking, chewing at the bottom of her lip. “I’m sorry. It’s just– I’m worried about you. If it’s bothering you that much we can call campus security. Do you want some tea or something?” Her voice wobbled, and you rolled your eyes. Security wouldn’t stop him, if anything it would only make him more angry. You ignored her, turning your attention back to your work, going through highlighted passages and making changes. The sound of glass shattering had your gaze shooting to Kimberly, whose mug was in pieces on the tile. “Damn it!” She cursed, dropping to her knees. You stood, rushing over to the paper towels before kneeling across from her. You padded at the liquid silently, tension thick between the two of you as you cleaned her mess. Kimberly slowly picked up the pieces of the mug, and you finally noticed her shaking hands. 

__

The ear-splitting sound of your alarm clock jolted you from an uneasy night’s sleep. Groaning, you tore yourself away from the bundle of sheets, blindly slapping your hand down on the clock, silencing the noise. You yawned, rubbing your tired eyes as you stared at the clock. The glowing red numbers read 6:00AM. Your breathing hitched, nerves crackling in the air of your bedroom. Today was dissertation day. You sat frozen in your bed, anxiety weighing you down against the sheets. Months of research, sleepless nights, crime scene tours, and the questioning of your sanity have led to this moment. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or terrified, but you were too tired to care. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stretched, trying to shake the exhaustion that clung to your skin. Things will finally settle down after today. They had to. 

Creaking open your door slowly, you peeked into the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted to your nostrils as you stepped into the shared space, however Kimberly’s usually boisterous presence was absent. You glanced at the counter, an array of empty bottles of liquor staring back at you, and you sighed. You hesitated outside her closed bedroom door, deciding against waking her to apologize for your behavior. It looked like she had a long night. Opting to not start another fight, you grabbed a mug, pouring the liquid gold that you considered to be your lifeline into the cup, warmth seeping into your hands. You sank into a chair, pulling out your prepared stack of notecards, flipping through them absentmindedly as you drank. 

After what felt like the longest hot shower of your life, you steeled yourself to your fate and began preparing for the day. The dissertation defense was scheduled at 11:00, and by 10:00 you were dressed in business professional– pressed shirt chafing against the material of your blazer. Fiddling with the tailored sleeve, you checked your appearance in the mirror for what seemed like the hundredth time, smoothing out your slacks nervously. The overall look screamed professionalism and sophistication, though you spent at least 15 minutes deciding between heels or loafers. Sighing, you chose the heels, slipping them onto your feet for the extra mile. Running a hand through your hair, you grabbed your notecards, speech recorder, and a printed copy of your dissertation, taking one last look in the mirror. “You can do this.” You breathed out, forcing a confident smile.

The walk to the campus building was brisk, heightened by the bundle of nerves churning in your stomach. Shivering against the October breeze, you pulled your blazer closer to your body, braving onwards. Passing students chatted happily, their carefree nature buzzing in the air as you brushed past, running possible scenarios through your head. Muttering to yourself, you tried to pinpoint your key phrases as you walked, the telltale brick of the graduate student conservatory cresting the horizon. Pushing through the heavy wooden door, the smell of old books and cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and you took a deep breath inwards. Approaching the small conference room, you tried to shake the nervous tremble in your voice, professionalism quickly overtaking your form.

Glancing into the conference room, a board of five suit clad figures discussed your work, each having meticulously read your dissertation in the previous days. Doctor Strigler, the head of the Sociology and Human Behavior department, relaxed in his swivel chair, waving you inside. Swallowing thickly, you entered the room, settling behind the oak podium and flipping through your notecards. “Good morning, miss (l/n). Take a moment to prepare yourself, and then we can begin. After a standard presentation of your findings, you will be cross examined, followed by a final Q+A, and then you are free to wait outside until the decision is made.” Doctor Strigler smiled fondly, adjusting his spectacles. You nodded, palms sweaty as you pulled out your printed dissertation. Clearing your throat, you settled, pushing your nerves away before starting. “Good morning gentlemen, it is my honor to present my findings on what we consider to be one of the most prolific, yet mysterious serial killers in our great state of Illinois–” Your voice trembled ever so slightly. “–Michael Myers.”

For the next two hours, the room was a blur of academic rigor and prowess. You presented your findings on the masked killer with practiced confidence, taking the committee through multiple recorded pieces of evidence, showing crime scene photos, and more. Occasionally, questions interrupted your presentation, some easy while others required you to contemplate before responding. During the cross examination period, you defended your points passionately, citing your mile-long list of sources and evidence. As you talked, the nerves melted away, replaced with a calculated sense of confidence that highlighted your almost obsessive nature towards your theory. After what felt like centuries, the committee called time, thanking you for your presentation and excusing themselves to deliberate. You paced the hallway, wracking your brain for any mistakes you may have made in the heat of the moment, wringing your hands nervously. 

The door to the conference room swung open, Doctor Strigler stepping into the hallway to wave you down. You halted your movements, almost skidding across the floor. This was it– the moment that decided your fate. You swear your heart was going to beat out of your chest, and you had the sudden urge to retch. The anticipation hung over you like a death sentence, and you steeled yourself, squaring your shoulders before approaching the older male. Smiling warmly, he extended his hand towards you. “Congratulations, Doctor (l/n).” Tears instantly welled in your eyes, your body feeling a thousand times lighter, the unforeseen weight lifted from your shoulders. Your cheeks hurt from how wide you were smiling, and you quickly grabbed the Doctor’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically.

Stammering out your appreciation, you rushed back into the conference room, thanking each of the committee members and picking up your extensive collection of files scattered along the desk. Practically sprinting out of the room, you fought the urge to skip out of the building, arms full of paperwork, feedback, and your research materials. The walk home felt surreal– the sun shining brighter, the birds chirping joyfully, and the breeze carrying a newfound lightness with it. You thought of all the ways you would celebrate with Kimberly after a sincere apology, bracing yourself to the possibility of spending the night at Fowl Play again. The thought alone made you smile, your pace increasing as you hurried home to break the good news.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were giddy with excitement, the afternoon beginning to fade into the evening with the October chill setting in. Practically bouncing up the stairs in the apartment building, you rushed into your bedroom, dumping the stack of papers onto your desk. Kicking your heels off, you shrugged off your blazer, hanging it in the closet before heading back into the kitchen. “Kim-bear, I’m home! Come on out, there’s something I’m dying to tell you!” You half expected Kimberly to pounce on you at your words, squealing and shaking you like a ragdoll. Instead, silence was your only response, lingering heavily in the air. 

Opening the overhead cupboards, you grabbed two wine flutes, the reality of your accomplishment sinking in. “I did it…” You whispered, setting them down carefully on the counter before turning to the fridge. The bottle of white wine glared back at you, unopened– you and Kimberly using it as a milestone market, not opening the bottle until one of you passed your respective dissertations. Digging through the cupboards for the wine opener, you called over your shoulder.  “Kimberly, you’ve been in there all day.” The telltale pop of the cork echoed around the kitchen, but still, there was no response from your roommate. Your frown deepened as you poured the sauvignon blanc into the glasses. “Look, I know I’ve been an ass recently,” you admitted, tone softening as you glanced at her closed door. “–But I did it, so we’re celebrating whether you like it or not!” 

Nothing. Setting down the bottle with a hollow thunk, you grabbed the glasses, padding over to her room. Although closed, the crack under the door flooded with light, signaling she was home. Irritation prickled at your skin, but the longer you waited, the more it was outweighed by unease. “Kim-bear?” You called again, knocking against the door, wine sloshing in the glass. You pressed your ear against the wood, straining for any noise. No footsteps, no sound of her hushed voice, even the telltale noise of music playing non-stop on her vinyl player was absent. Just silence. Your palms grew clammy, glasses balanced in one hand as your fingers hesitantly brushed against the cool metal of the doorknob. “Kimberly.” You urged, panic beginning to set in, voice barely above a whisper. You gritted your teeth, worried you’ll run into a very hungover roommate who was not in the mood to chat. “I’m coming in…” You warned, twisting the doorknob and pushing into the room.

The sight inside stopped you mid stride. The bedroom was a mess– mirror smashed against the carpet, shards of glass covering almost every inch of the floor. Papers, photos, and cassette tapes were strewn across the room, desk chair overturned, legs shattered into splinters. And there, draped against her bed, was Kimberly. At least, what was left of her. Blood stained feathers coated her skin, pillows torn to shreds at her side. Shirt cut clean open, a nasty gash sliced through her midriff, ribs protruding from the open cavity of her chest. Her organs were on full display, liver ruptured and pressing against the gnarled entrails of her intestines. There was so much blood– pooling from the open carcass, staining the sheets in a deep scarlet, covering every surface within its reach. And the smell, the metallic scent of blood mixing with her open cavity in a way that made your stomach flip.

The wine glasses slipped from your fingers, shattering against the floorboards. Your stomach lurched at the gruesome sight, throat choking on a scream that refused to come. You dry heaved, bile rising to your throat as you suffocated on air, blind panic tearing through your skin. The world tilted around you, spinning as your knees wobbled, the sight of her glassy eyes staring straight into your soul. A gargled sob finally tore through your throat, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your cries, the horror of the scene sinking into you. Blood dripped from the edge of her bed, winding down her limp leg before dripping onto the wooden floorboards in sickening plops. Your breathing hitched, suffocating you under the weight of realization. Her wounds were fresh– gaping, raw, and impossibly brutal. Her last breaths were probably moments before you walked in the door, a flash of horror sending white hot fear stabbing through your chest. You had just missed the act, meaning her killer was still here. 

A faint clatter came from behind you, the sound subtle– like the scrape of metal against wood. Your heart seized within your chest, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up. The all too familiar feeling of being watched settled over you like a wet blanket, heavy and suffocating. You turned slowly, worried about any sudden movement resulting in your certain demise. Your gaze landed on the bathroom across the apartment, the doorway an ominous void of inky black. Your brain screamed at you to look away, to run, but you were frozen in place, legs bolted to the floor. The darkness seemed to shift, alive and writhing, a figure emerging from what you could only describe as hell.

First, the pale mask appeared– eerily blank, followed by the navy of the mechanic suit, fabric soaked with so much blood it looked black. His broad shoulders shook with the same ragged breaths that kept you awake so many nights before. He tilted his head just slightly, examining you. The light caught the knife clenched in his fist– your roommate’s blood still dripping from the blade, and your knees wobbled. You leaned against the doorway, bare foot crunching on shards of broken glass, needles of pain slicing up your leg. But you couldn’t move– no matter how much you screamed at your legs to run, your body betrayed you as it remained rooted to the floor. The only thing you could do was stare– gaping at the legend you had spent the better part of a year dissecting, eyes tracing the inhumane shape of a man who had spent a lifetime dismantling lives. Michael Myers had finally come for you, the devil paying his due. 

Your brain wracked with silent begs of mercy, but all that escaped your lips were broken sobs. You knew nothing could save you now, any pleads of salvation useless against him. And as much as the terror short circuited your brain, you couldn’t deny the curiosity pooling within your stomach. The specimen you had been obsessively studying for what felt like a century stood just feet away, the probability of your theory practically proving itself as an image of Kimberly’s disfigured corpse flashed through your mind. He took another harrowing step forward, and the inquisitiveness bolting you in place shattered, replaced by the primal urge to escape. Legs faltering, you propelled yourself forward, sprinting towards the door leading into the hallway. Pain shot up your legs as the glass embedded deeper within the flesh of your feet, but you refused to stop. Practically launching around the kitchen counter, you stumbled over your discarded heels, almost crashing into the wall. Breaths coming out in frantic puffs, your hand stretched towards the door, your only saving grace. Your voice finally returned, a scream so raw with emotion it rattled your ears. “HEL-”

A hand too large to be human clamped down around your mouth, yanking you backwards by your jaw. Immediately, you dead weighted– pressing downwards as you clawed forwards, fingers desperately trying to reach for the door. Wailing screams pressed against the meaty palm, the noises almost completely silenced as you tried to wrench yourself from his grasp. Flailing your limbs, you struggled like your life depended on it, clamping your jaw down so hard into the palm of his hand that you drew blood. Michael huffed, pulling you backwards with such force you lost your footing, bloodied soles of your feet slipping against the wood. Your back hit the hard expanse of his chest, blood– Kimberly’s blood– instantly soaking through your thin blouse and pressing into your skin. The blade of the knife was pushed against your throat, and you grimaced at the cool metal biting into your skin, the sharp edge slightly drawing blood. 

The mantra you confidently spouted all those weeks ago echoed in your head, chiding: He likes the chase, but when his victims defy him, he reacts poorly, losing control. You stilled at that, heart in your throat– life in the hands of your own personal boogeyman. Those horrid breaths wafted from his mask, fanning over the top of your head, ruffling your hair. He smelled like death– rather, he was death, dragging you into the depths of hell. Your research told you he liked fear, practically basking in it– but was it more than that? Was the gratification in the initial scare itself, or the control he asserted over his victims? You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing your brain– constantly analyzing, dissecting. Your heels dug into the floorboards as he stepped backwards, head craning into his chest to try and alleviate the sting of the blade against your neck. He maneuvered you with ease, pulling you towards your bedroom. 

A small part of you flushed, stomach dropping– your room. Your research papers were still scattered across the desk, the walls coated in notes– like an obsessive stalker, about to be unveiled by the subject of your research. Every detail of his history, every violent act, every conspiracy documented with extensive detail. You mentally cringed in his hold, wanting nothing more than to curl into yourself from the embarrassment, the irony of it all. Michael kicked your door, the wood splintering beneath his boots as he pulled you into the room. The pressure of the knife against your neck alleviated, the deadly weapon clattering against your desk, splattering droplets of blood across your printed dissertation. Hand still holding your mouth under his bruising grip, he pushed you into the desk.

Sparks flew across your vision– the world spinning as your skull cracked against the wood, disorientation rattling your brain. Your right temple felt like it was burning, a warm gush of blood dripping down your eyebrow, filling your eye with stinging pain. You moaned weakly, blinking as your dazed vision began to clear once more. Vision settling, a crude sketch of the mask in the bushes that fateful night stared back at you, taunting you. You wanted to die– not from his knife, but from the mortifying realization that your work was on full display. Your hands were forced behind you, tearing you from the self-deprecating spiral, a hand pressing them against your back, holding you flat against the desk. Your hip bones dug into the edge painfully, breasts uncomfortably squashed beneath your weight as you wriggled against the hard surface. 

You protested immediately, desperate noises sounding too lewd for comfort pressing against his palm. His hand released your jaw, teeth audibly clattering together as you begged, “Please, don’t look–” frantically before something was shoved into your mouth. You choked slightly, the taste of worn clothing coating your tongue. He gagged you– you realized, aching jaw throbbing. The research you had worked tirelessly on shifted beneath you, and your eyes shot upwards to the collection of polaroids, crime scene photos, and police sketches of the very man holding you down. Your room looked like an obsessive shrine, theories connected with red twine pinned along the entire expanse of drywall. You swallowed thickly, humiliation churning in your gut like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. You weren’t his typical MO, but your research must have hitten a nerve from the masked killer. He was going to kill you– you had delved too far within the rabbit hole, and now you would pay for it with your life. You squeezed your eyes shut, heart hammering within your chest as an eerie sense of acceptance washed over you. 

You half expected him to rip your heart from your chest, feasting on your flesh before he fled the scene, but you knew he would use that god forsaken knife. You knew him too well, the months of research proving just exactly how he would kill you– slowly, intimately. The smallest voice inside of you revelled in the fact that you were right, aware all along just how deep he had fallen from grace. You braced yourself, expecting the blade to tear through you– instead, a torn paper was slammed down onto the table next to your head. You jolted from the sudden movement, quickly reading the crumpled paper. Your eyes widened, breath faltering as you writhed against his grip, twisting your wrists so vigorously that you were certain your skin was rubbing raw. The scribbled line you had written for your final introduction glared back at you, a cruel reversal of your own research being used against you: Michael Myers was a predator.

You weren’t just terrified– you were transfixed, the idea of him actually reading through your notes… was it a sign of acknowledgement? The hand that wasn’t pinning you to the desk brushed your hip, and your breathing hitched, silencing your analyzing thoughts. Cheek scraping along the wood of the desk, you met your captor’s gaze– peering into the void. Fingers curled around the waistband of your slacks as he stared back at you, challenging you. The blood drained from your face as your slacks were tugged roughly down, catching at your knees. Goosebumps erupted along the exposed flesh, bare ass hanging off the edge of the desk– a harrowing realization tearing through you. You weren’t just an unlucky researcher who got too close to the sun, you were prey– and the boogeyman finally came to collect. The rough pads of his fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, kneading the skin so curtly your stomach somersaulted.

You should want to scream– to run, to pound your fists into his chest and claw at his skin– but all you could do was watch his exploratory movements. He was studying you, just as you had done towards him for the better part of a year, curiosity stilling you against his touch. This was so wrong– you were supposed to be dead by now, blood pouring from your skin as life drained from your eyes– not sprawled half naked over your own research. Your thighs clenched as the scratchy material of the jumpsuit brushed against your skin, hips meeting his. Gaping at that devilish mask, you refused to avert your eyes– even as your panties were ripped away from your body you stood firm, entranced. Was he experimenting with you before ending your life, or was he finally, finally cracking under the pressure from the lack of intimacy? The beast of a man behind you jerked forward slightly, hips grinding against the fat of your ass– but you were too focused on your inner ramblings to care. 

A ragged huff escaped the male hovering over you, breath fanning your back as realization slammed into you. He wasn’t doing this for him– he was doing this for you, giving you the concrete evidence you were missing in your theory. The thought made your head spin, warmth pooling in your stomach– Michael had read your research, combed over the countless theories with meticulous detail, and now he knew the perfect way to make you pay for your pitiful investigation. The knife haphazardly draped against the dissertation was lifted, and a pang of fear stabbed into your chest. Was this it? Were you going to be found half naked and covered in bloody handprints over your own research? You tried to track the weapon with your eyes, but Michael quickly ducked out of view behind you– leaving you in the dark. 

A cool sensation fluttered over your left asscheek as a finger brushed over the skin, wet and slimy. You cringed at the feeling, trying to arch away from the mysterious liquid as it— your eyes widened— dripped down to your lower thigh. The finger trailed lower, through the crevice of your ass and coating your inner folds, smearing your skin with the liquid. The telltale scent of iron invaded your nostrils as the thick fluid clung to your skin, sticking to your folds. Your stomach fluttered in betrayal at the action, the finger lazily dipping into your folds to smear more– your stomach tightened– blood onto your pussy. He was using your best friend’s blood to prepare you, to ruin you. The thought made your lip quiver, your own juices mixing into a concoction of dizzying sin and lust. The air was thick with tension, a sense of anticipation and shame quickly washing over you. The object of your obsessions was teasing you, somewhere inside making the darker parts of your mind swoon. 

Michael’s finger pushed inside of you, testing the waters. You shivered at the feeling, clamping your jaw shut so as to not expose your thoughts. The finger curled within you, and with it, your stomach flipped. Michael grunted, seemingly pleased with the warmth coming from your folds, and quickly withdrew his finger. The rustling of fabric tore you from the daze, and you strained your head above the desk– barely able to make out the monster of a man unbuttoning his mechanics suit in your peripheral. Your breath hitched. This couldn’t be happening– it was all just a fucked up dream you were having, the obsessive nature of the killer finally manifesting itself in the darkest of ways. Yet the warm press of bare hips against the fat of your ass was very much real, the outline of his cock nestled dangerously close to your blood tinted folds. You screwed your eyes shut, fuck you were not prepped enough for this– mentally or physically you couldnt decipher. A deep huff sounded out behind you, Michael’s patience wearing thin, and his cockhead caught against your folds as he pushed forwards– coating himself in your juices. 

You whimpered as his free hand gripped your hip, blunt nails digging into your flesh while he steeled himself, inexperience radiating off of him as he finally aligned himself to your core. You tried to relax, a shuddered breath escaping you at the prospect that this was going to hurt, and badly. Your captive hands curled into fists, digging into your palms as your bit into your inner cheek for comfort. And without so much as a warning, Michael sunk inside of you. A choked gasp spilled from your lips at the stretch, feeling as if you were being torn in two by the almost inhumane size. Tears welled in your eyes, teeth gritting against each other as Michael stuttered forward— inch by inch. Helplessly, you clenched around him, body screaming for relief, but your silent pleas went unanswered. Cockhead dragging against your gummy walls, his tip dug mercilessly into your cervix, causing a flash of white-hot pain to erupt within you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, drawing blood, and you sucked on the metallic taste for comfort. God, you felt like you were dying– stabbing pain encompassing your lower half as you tried to arch away from the onslaught. 

Michael shuddered, hips stilling once he was fully submerged in your warmth. Tears streamed down your cheeks onto the wooden desk as relief washed over you, the burn of it all settling in the pit of your stomach. You were so full, stuffed to the brim to the point where the pressure was unbearable. Any solace of comfort was ripped away as he moved, pulling out quickly before slamming his back into you. Black spots shot across your vision– a broken moan tearing from your throat as your cheek dug into the wood. The hand gripping your wrists tightened, your fingers tingling from the lack of blood flow as Michael settled into a deep, grueling pace. It was too much– too rough, the force of his thrusts causing the wood of the desk to clatter against the wall. Papers crumpled beneath your weight as you were forcibly rocked to the movement, wood splintering into your cheek as you chafed against it. Your body barred down, staccato pants spilling from your mouth as you laid there and took him. If this had been anyone else, you would have been embarrassed at the way you could barely breathe, but with every sharp thrust you fell further from sanity.

He was ruining you, seemingly pushing so far you could feel it in your throat. Michael bottomed out suddenly, and you swore you saw stars, body spasming as he kissed your cervix. Any shame that you had been gripping onto seemed to vanish into thin air with every thrust, your hips pressing so hard against the wood you were sure there would be bruises. Fuck it felt like you were being dragged into hell itself, the devil reincarnated destroying you for all others. Sweat clung to your hairline, the room burning as Michael fucked into you like a man gone mad. Involuntary grunts, gasps, and moans bounced off the room, raw with emotion– and you finally realized they were coming from you. It was so wrong, so lewd to be tainted by the very person you had obsessed over, but it felt too good for you to care. The underside of his cock brushed against that oh so sensitive spot so sinfully your toes curled.

You were consumed with it– taboo and all, stomach tightening as Michael’s hips rocked into you. Brows furrowing, you abandoned any semblance of control or consciousness, chasing the high that sprouted in your stomach. You felt like you were going to break, stomach fluttering at the sting of his sheer size. You were practically milking him, clenching down so hard you swore you could have heard him hiss from behind you. The hand that was gripping onto your hip like a lifeline tangled within your hair, yanking you upwards. You gasped, pain needling your scalp as you arched to meet his demands. Refusing to let up, Michael continued his mericeless pace, using your hair as an anchor against his thrusts. The cool material of his mask brushed against your shoulder, causing another gargled moan to seep from you at the action. You were a mess– button down clinging to your sweaty skin as you subconsciously angled your hips to accommodate the shift in position. 

The outline of his cock was much more evident now, scraping against your walls so brutally your heart caught within your throat. Your body tensed, praying– begging to find release. Practically teetering on the edge, you wrenched your head from his grasp, turning to meet his gaze. You just wanted to see him, the monster you had spent countless nights studying. The hazy light of the bedroom caught his mask; the devil staring back at you. A sea of blue met yours, pupils so dilated they looked black. Those eyes– not the animalistic thrusts, not the churning of your insides– but those eyes threw you over the edge. A guttural scream tore from your throat, body spasming as you came around his cock. Michael’s hips stuttered against your at the sudden shift, a deep groan invading your senses as you fell from grace. Your eyes rolled to the back, head hanging weakly as you gasped for air. Electricity jolted through you like a live wire, and you shuddered, fluttering around him. Michael huffed, composure quickly falling away as you clung to him like a lifeline, his own orgasm fast approaching. 

He shoved you forwards once more, pressing you so hard into the desk you felt as if you were going to melt into the woods. He pushed forward– once, twice before finally, finally he finished. Hot, thick ropes of cum coated your insides, and you subconsciously fluttered at the feeling. Michael stilled, hips flush against the fat of your ass, cock throbbing as you both struggled to come down from the high. You sank into the wood, exhaustion weighing you down, head still spinning from your orgasm. Michael slowly withdrew from your sputtering form, the void quickly overtaking you as he tucked himself back into his jumpsuit. The ache of his cock quickly overtook you, and you winced, fear beginning to settle into your stomach. Michael had gotten what he had wanted– now what? You squirmed against the hand still pinning you to the desk, babbling utter nonsense in the hopes it would spare your life. The knife that rested just inches from your face was lifted, and your eyes screwed shut, waiting for the final blow. 

But it never came. The hold on your wrists eased up, and you quickly fell backwards, knees weak and legs trembling. You quickly whipped your head around, trying to shield yourself from any attacks, but you were met with nothing. Your room was empty, door wide open as your personal boogeyman seemed to flee into the night. The knife was nowhere in sight, seemingly vanishing into the air. Your frantic gaze scanned your room for anything out of place, any secret hiding places he could have gone to, but everything was the same as you had left it this morning. Your knees gave out at that, and you crumpled onto the shaggy carpet. Tears of relief, fear, shame– and something else you couldn’t quite place dripped down your face. You were alive, somehow spared. The events of the day quickly came crashing down: your dissertation, Michael, and– your eyes flicked to the open door once more– Kimberly. You pushed yourself upwards once more, knuckles gripping the desk as you rose to your feet. Wobbling slightly, a blank patch on your desk caught your attention, stopping you in your tracks. 

Your printed dissertation– it was gone. Your breathing hitched, stomach knotting at the sight. Somehow, you already knew where it had disappeared to. Lip quivering, you stumbled into the kitchen, mind still reeling. The sensation of him lingered, thick and heavy, the evidence of what he had done to you– with you still dripping down your thighs. You cringed at the feeling. Kimberly’s door remained open, and you sucked a breath through your teeth, refusing to look. Hands fumbling for the receiver, you quickly punched in Detective Langley’s number, gripping the kitchen counter so hard your knuckles turned white. The line rang, and you shifted your gaze to the window. The sun had nearly vanished beneath the horizon, painting the sky in a crimson hue that made your skin prickle. It was the same red that was smeared on your skin, the same red that pooled beneath Kimberly’s lifeless body– the color of blood. 

The dial tone droned in your ear, and for a moment, everything blurred, the phone shaking in your hand as the horrifying truth gnawed at your stomach. You had spent months dissecting the mind of a killer, and he had finally come for you. And yet, you were alive– untouched yet violated, unscathed yet completely undone. The phone continued to ring, and a thought flickered in your mind, wrapping around your heart like a vice. You had never been the observer, you had always been the subject. 

And worst of all– he knew it too.

[msneedful-ispleaseful]

Eat up!

Haven't fed you guys since October sorry, I'm at a creative block any requests send em in lol enjoy this blurb.

Brahms was pressed firmly against the stone-cold wall, staring intensively through the small peephole he had created in the wall. His breathing was shallow as he slowly palmed his aching cock through his pants, it was so hard that it strained even in his loose joggers. He shakily sighed, fighting back pitiful moans as he stared at your sleeping form.

Sometimes Brahms wondered if you knew he loved to peer through the walls of the old house and watch you sleep. Maybe that's why you were wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and white lacy panties, looking oh so saintly.

Laying on your stomach with one leg bent gave him the perfect view of your ass and a teasing glance at your overflowingly fat pussy lips. Your sleeping form was practically begging him to come have his way with you. Brahms was desperate to touch you in the ways he often imagined, to explore your body and show you exactly who it belonged to.

Brahms started to undo his belt when you let out a soft moan in your sleep. Immediately, his eyes snapped back to the small hole in the wall to peer at you once more, wondering if you had awoke. His nails dug into the wood inside the wall as he watched you hungrily. he could hear the sheets ruffle as you rolled onto your back.

"Mmmm, Brahms."

The way you moaned his name in your sleep was disgustingly pornographic. Brahms could feel any restraint he may have had left crumble to the ground just like his belt. It was obvious you were dreaming about him, just as desperate for him as he was for you.

As quietly as he could, Brahms snuck his way into your room, careful to not wake you. There was something about the innocence and vulnerability of your sleeping that he didn't want to miss the chance of taking advantage of.

You hadn't stirred since you had moaned so prettily for him, so he was confident you were still sound asleep. At first, he just stood over you, admiring you up close, but it didn't take long for his aching cock to remind him why he was in your room.

Carefully, he traced his hand up your thigh to the swell of your ass, testing the waters. His touch was feather light to not wake you. However, when you didn't flinch he grew more confident. This time his hand trailed lightly up your side, sneaking up under your shirt. Ever so carefully, he bunched up the thin cotton until your breasts were exposed to him. Without the thin barrier to keep them warm, your nipples hardened and so did Brahms's cock. He let out a small whimper at the sight of you being exposed to him, luckily you didn't wake.

Brahms fingers continued up your sides until he reached your breasts and he began gently tracing your hard nipples. Without any restraint left, he caved and took your hard nipple into his warm mouth. He traced the hard peak with his tongue and then began gently sucking as his hand began pinching at your other.

You let out a soft moan and Brahms froze, pulling away from you. He waited until you settled once more before he continued. This time he trailed his way down to your pussy, finger gently tracing your folds through the lacy material of your panties. He could feel that you were wet and that only fueled his arousal.

Trying his best to hold back his heavy breaths, he carefully moved your panties to the side to reveal your wet pussy to him. He gently pushed a finger between your folds, collecting some of the wetness there before carefully circling your clit.

Your legs parted more as you stirred and let out another soft moan, but still you continued to sleep. Brahms kept running a finger through your folds before slowly and gently easing a single finger into you. You were so wet it sunk inside of you easily and Brahms moaned as he felt your warm walls. He no longer cared if he woke you as he added another finger and began pumping them in and out of you rapidly. The wet sounds your pussy made around his fingers caused him to let out a desperate whimper.

This time your moan was louder and Brahms could feel you tense as you woke up to the sight of him between your legs. "Brahms," you moaned out, "what are you doing?"

"Please," he begged, "please let me y/n. I promise I'll make you feel good. I promise I'll be a good boy." His voice was shrill as he begged, and you weren't awake enough to decide whether this was right or wrong. Instead you simply gave into the pleasure and let Brahms continue what he was doing. You were so shocked at his bold acts of touching you. You of all people knew that brahms lacked proper social skills and physical boundaries but, touching your sleeping form was entirely new.

Soon enough his tongue joined his fingers and began circling your clit as his fingers continued to pump in and out of you. He moaned as he tasted your dripping pussy, eating you out like he was a starved man. Alternating between licking and sucking, Brahms abused your clit until he had you singing his name. Looking down at him, you realized his entire face was exposed to you. He glanced up and the two of you made eye contact as he savored your pussy juice, it was a daringly wrong sight to see.

"Am I doing a good job, y/n? Am I being a good boy?"

You let out a loud moan as you felt your climax building, your hips grinding down against Brahms' face. "Fuck! Yes, Honey! you're doing a good job. Such a good boy for me."

Brahms ministrations didn't stop even once you had finished. His tongue continued to suck at your overstimulated clit. Grabbing his hair, you had to practically pry him away from your pussy and he whimpered as you did. His hips thrust against the bed and you noticed he was still rock hard inside of his pants.

Guiding him on top of you, you pulled his face towards yours, kissing him softly despite the aching need for him. He kissed you back eagerly, and you could taste your release on his tongue. "Come one, take what you need brahmsy"

[l0sercat]

hii, i was wondering if u could do like scenarios of a fem survivor having like major anxiety and they hide around corners alot, scared of the killer. kind of like a better version of dwight.

killers for it if possible: trickster, huntress, myers and wesker please :)

love ur stuff!!

Awww thank you bby! Im always happy to do requests I'm just a little burnt out lol! What I used to get done in less than an hour now takes me over an hour 😔

Fem!Survivor w/ anxiety x Killers

Trickster

He saw you run around corners and hiding everywhere and everytine you saw him you would panic and run

Which eventually always ends up with you accidentally running a lap around the map and end up running right into him

He always laughed at it and while you squealed and ran off he would call out teasingly

He loved to save you for last to make your anxiety worse, he loves how fast your heart beats

Huntress

She can hardly even get a glimpse of you before you start to run away, is she that scary?

I mean everyone is afraid of her, but you take it to an extreme

Micheal Myers

Doesn't pay you much mind, everyone is afraid of him, as they should be

But how you act does peak his interest, you don't cower and do your tasks, but you barely have your heart beating and you run away

Most likely would stalk you at the survivor camp, and see you act more friendly and happy

Wesker

Likes to mess with you more after seeing how you act, it makes him chuckle seeing you scramble away shrieking

Your hands tremble trying to do gen knowing Wesker is around and when he pops around the corner you nearly piss yourself

And Wesker takes pride in knowing that he strikes so much fear in you

[weasleycream]

. ୭.ᰍㅤ𝅄 ֹ " 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐎𝐏 " 🔪 Ⳋ

ઈઉ ㅤִㅤ𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 ; 𝑅𝒵!𝑀ichael 𝑀iyers 𝓍 𝐹em!𝑅eader

ઈઉ ݁  ㅤִㅤ𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; Use of bad words, mentions of blood, childhood love, quite cloying, Michael Myers is sweet, bad grammar in English.

ઈઉ ㅤִㅤ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 ; 4k+

ઈઉ ㅤִㅤ𝗨𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱

ઈઉ ㅤִㅤAnother little whim, I really love RZ Michael, since I saw him as a child and as an adult I fell in love 🤒❤️‍🩹

Her family had moved to Haddonfield, Illinois a little less than two weeks ago for work reasons, for a girl who was barely nine years old she understood it quite well, she even liked the change of environment, without a doubt for the little girl that little one The town was beautiful and quiet, he was really happy to have found a peaceful place where he would be happy with his parents.

"Y/N, Honey! Come down now, dinner's ready!" called her mother from downstairs, breaking her out of her little bubble of imagination. She opened the door to her room and hurried down the stairs, instantly smelling the pleasant aroma of freshly prepared food, knowing immediately that her mother had prepared her favorite dish, a delicious Bolognese pasta with cheese and toasted bread.

"I'm here, mommy!" She said arriving in the kitchen to sit in the small dining room for four people, seeing how her father was there calmly reading a newspaper, which he then put down when the little girl arrived.

He hummed a little with a mischievous smile on his face before he began to speak, drawing the attention of his curious daughter "Y/N Daughter, we already found school, starting tomorrow you will start your classes again, aren't you happy?" she announced and asked her daughter waiting for an answer "It's the school we saw a few blocks from here, I'll be able to take you every day before I go to work"

The little girl just smiled a huge smile to jump happily, going to hug her father. "Yes, dad! I'm very happy, I'll be able to make new friends!" She was excited, above all because now they won't have to look for a teenage babysitter who only concentrates watching pretty boys and pull her by the hand to take her to school, she loved the fact that her father was now going to take her.

After that, dinner went quite normally while they told the little girl what her school was like and that she was going to have a great time, earning a smile from her, who was surely not going to be able to sleep from excitement that night, thinking about what the other children in their school and classroom were going to be like. As soon as he finished, he left his plate in the sink and thanked for the food, went up to his room to brush his teeth in the small bathroom he had there, he changed and put on his animal pajamas, went to the window to close it. and close the blinds, but before doing so, he could see a blonde boy with hair down to his shoulders peek out. They made eye contact, and the girl shyly waved with her hand and a small smile, receiving a somewhat surprised and confused look and then shyly returning the wave with her hand, and closed the curtain, leaving the girl looking out, thinking that she could speak another day with the neighbors child.

It was already daylight, opened her eyes with extreme happiness, getting out of bed as soon as she heard her mother knock on the door to get her up and help her get ready for her new school.

Minutes passed and her mother was already combing her hair, she let her put on that cute pair of baggy jean shorts that reached her knee with the favorite band t-shirt, his mother combed his hair in medium hair ponytail the top layers of her hair leaving the lower ones loose along with her adorable bangs, then she went down excitedly wanting to see how her mother was preparing her snack for the afternoon in her new lunch box, a delicious sandwich with avocado and mayonnaise (and obviously cheese with ham) was now inside the little pastel blue box along with fresh cut strawberry pieces and a carton of chocolate milk. She packed everything into her small shoulder backpack along with her notebook and pencil, closing it to wait for her father to finish breakfast, since she had stuffed everything into her as if she had never eaten out of excitement, wanting to leave now to her new school.

He waited patiently until he saw how his father finally finished. "Hurry up dad, we're too late!" The little girl rushed, jumping desperately. 'God, Y/N, we're going forty minutes early, wait a little,' he replied, going back up to brush his teeth and get what was missing in his work briefcase, making the little girl get desperate and start to go around the whole anxious room.

When she got back down, she said goodbye to her wife with a small kiss and hug around the shoulders. The girl copied her action and hugged her mother's legs and hips and said goodbye to her with a big hug. happy smile, receiving the same from her mother. When they finally left, she ran away absentmindedly, without noticing that a boy blonde with chubby cheeks was passing by, colliding and both of them falling to the ground with a crash. 'That makes you restless! Apologize to him now, honey,' her father shouted, closing the door from the porch.

"Uhm… Sorry, I was distracted, let me help you." He apologized immediately without taking into account his now scraped and somewhat bleeding knee, he got up quickly and held out his hand, waiting for the blonde boy he had seen the night before to take it. .

The boy looked at her doubtfully for a few moments and took the girl's hand, standing up from the ground and quickly picking up the small knife that came out of her pocket, hoping that the girl or the adult who was approaching them don't had noticed it. .

"Excuse my daughter, boy, she is quite excited to enter her new school, although I believe do you study there, would you like to join us?" She finally said as she reached the children's side, inviting the boy to come with them.

Distrustful, the boy gently shook his head with a bored look, beginning to walk, leaving the other two behind, until the little girl came forward and walked next to him.

"I'm Y/N, what's your name?" She asked as soon as he got to her side and held the strap of her backpack nervously.

"Michael" He responded without faltering, paying'nt attention to the girl next to him, hoping that she would not be noisy, unfortunately, the little girl did not stop talking to him all the way to school, receiving dry and annoyed responses from the blonde [ she will will move away like the others] he thought immediately after reaching the corner next to the institute.

They arrived and the blonde boy simply entered the building quickly without speaking to the little girl or saying goodbye to the adult. The little girl just looked at him until he disappeared through the main door of the building, waiting for her father to speak and say goodbye to her, wishing her a good day.

"Well honey, I hope you have a good time here, and remember, anything ugly or bad they say to you, tell me or your mother, I love you, don't forget it." He said goodbye to her little daughter with a kiss on the forehead and a light hug, to get away from her a little, waiting for her to come in so he could leave without worries. The pretty girl walked timidly into her new school, looking for her address.

After the hallways suddenly emptied, indicating that classes had already started, the more nervously she began to search more quickly for the principal's office, finding it on the third floor where all the high school students were. She knocked on the door and waited patiently, until apparently a somewhat disheveled teacher opened it, looked down, and saw her.

"Do you need anything, honey?" She asked him with a certain false kindness, sketching a false smile that the innocent little girl did not notice, timidly playing with her fingers.

"Well… I'm new and I was looking for the principal's office to find out my classroom and schedule… Can you help me?" She said nervously, looking into her eyes as she finished speaking.

The older woman made a face, simulating a kind smile, "Sure, honey, wait a moment." He took her shoulder and made her go to a kind of 'waiting room' and left her sitting, while she saw the principal's office in front of her, where the teacher entered. A few long minutes passed and the woman finally came out with some papers in her hand and a look of annoyance on her face. "Come on, girl, I don't have all day," she urged, now in a less fake voice.

They walked through the hallways and down the stairs to the first floor again where they headed to a classroom a little away from the main exit. When they arrived, the teacher simply knocked on the door and entered, and spoke to the other woman inside, who looked at the door and gave her a warm smile, which made her nervous and she looked down at her feet.

Another tedious minute passed, the woman accompanying her came out with the papers already filled out "Here is your schedule and the list of materials you need, if you have any concerns tell your teacher" and with that she left, leaving him. she there at the door, until the woman called out to her when she opened the door.

"Okay kids, quiet!" She asked, raising her voice a little, drawing the attention of the children, who were speechless when they saw her. "This is Y/N, she will be your new partner from now on, I want their to treat her well and help her advance in her grades. Well Y/N, sit in the window seat, I will explain a bit what we were doing." He went to the assigned seat and sat down, leaving his suitcase on the small hook that was on the side of the table, and paying attention to what the teacher was saying with a nervous and shy look, feeling a small blush. on his face in the face of shyness.

They spent two hours where they saw some Language and the other where they saw Social Sciences, she took notes of what the teacher explained on the blackboard, and when she announced recess time, she didn't know what to do and stayed sitting looking the window, where you could see a road with one or another vehicle passing by. She was scared when a small group of girls and boys suddenly arrived at her seat, where they began to talk to her about trivial things, but that could not prevent her from seeing that he neighbor, the one she had bumped into hours before, was there, I hadn't noticed it when it arrived. She excitedly stood up from her seat, taking her snack without eat it, and walked to the side of the blonde boy who seemed somewhat displeased at not being alone in the classroom at recess that day.

"Michael! I didn't know you were in the same class! How exciting! Don't you think so?" She greeted the little girl, pulling a chair next to the child, sitting down, she saw that the taller child had nothing to eat and was only coloring with some crayons and colored pencils on a somewhat crumpled sheet of paper.

"Ah, I should have guessed, what a thrill" He mentioned without any interest or joy in his voice "What do you want?" she asked in a hostile manner, not looking at the girl next to her, as she continued coloring meaningless doodles on the page.

"Nothing! I just saw you and wanted to talk to you, it would be more entertaining than talking to the kids who came to my table out of nowhere, I also saw that you didn't have anything to eat, aren't you hungry? Can I share my snack with you!" offered, placing the blue lunch box on the little free space on Michael's table, opening it to reveal what her mother had packed for her.

The group of children who initially approached the little girl who had walked away from them now looked at them with great confusion. As soon as they spoke to her, they told her not to go near the strange boy of the classroom, but as soon as she saw him in the classroom completely alone, she went after him, they looked at each other very strangely and left, giving the innocent girl a confused and annoyed look.

"Don't bother" The blonde boy responded, still without turning around, remaining in great silence.

"Well, it doesn't matter, I'm still going to leave you food, even if it's half, it's bad that you're still hungry, Mikey!" The little girl answered, taking the Sandwich and biting it until she ate half, leaving the other remaining piece in the lunch box again, and then taking the strawberries and doing the same, also with the chocolate milk. All in view of the boy's surprised look at the girl's nickname and actions, he thought that she was going to leave after all, but she was still there, and her was really going to feed him.

Recess passed, and after making sure that Michael had really eaten what she left him, she returned to her seat with a smile, even though Michael was very quiet and dry when it came to talking, she did not stop talking to him, and she really enjoyed it, because she knew that despite that, Michael had listened to her at all times.

Then, hours passed until school finally ended, she turned to Michael again with a big smile.

"Michael! Do you want to go back to my father and me? Like this morning!" She offered excitedly, waiting for his response, she jumped off of happily when he gave her a vague nod quickly putting things away, afraid she would see the polaroids scattered all over he backpack.

So days passed, which turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into months, and so on until finally he had lived in Haddonfield for a year and a half. I was on mid-year vacation with Michael, they had three weeks off and I was really enjoying it, today I was going with Michael to the stream that was a few streets near his house, where I was going to give Michael a surprise, I knew that they would both They had become really close, even Michael was possessive of her when she talked to other people and she got sad when she thought that Michael was going to leave her aside when they had different people in their school work.

He happily jumped out of his bed as soon as he woke up and headed downstairs where his mother was making breakfast while his father was getting ready for work.

"Mommy, mommy! Did you make them? Tell me yes, please!" She ran excitedly towards her mother, hugging her waist while he looked at her expectantly, waiting for an affirmative response.

She laughed at her daughter's haste, turning her head slightly to look at her. "Yes, I made the cookies that Michael likes so much, just like you asked me, sweetheart," her mother agreed, receiving a big smile from her daughter, who jumped up while still hugging her.

"And, did you also receive the Ring Pop i ordered?" She asked again this time with more insistence, because it was the most important thing she was going to give to her dear friend.

"Of course, honey, don't worry," she responded affirmatively again, making her daughter jump with excitement again, this time releasing her and running through the kitchen, making her laugh with amusement, "but don't hurry, first you're going to get ready and have breakfast, otherwise "You're not going out," she said when she saw that her little girl started looking for the cookies and candy all over the kitchen.

She snorted a little dissatisfied now, but she hurried, going up the stairs again, while her father went down them, surprising him with the hurry with which he was going, he arrived at his room again, and began to choose the clothes he would, she found a Michael's t-shirt, one that he had lent him one day when he went to his house for a sleepover, since his annoying sister had intentionally spilled all her juice on his t-shirt, Michael kindly lent him one of his t-shirts (without mentioning that it was his favorite in that moment) from the band Kiss, one of the many he had. She knew he had to return it, but he wanted to wear it that day, he took it along with an equally black Bermuda shorts and some slightly worn black converse. She went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then took a quick shower, changed and quickly went down to the dining room where her mother had already served breakfast to her and her father, she sat down and began to eat quickly.

"Darling, don't eat so fast, Michael isn't going anywhere" Her father scolded, seeing how his daughter was almost choking on the food for swallowing so quickly, his wife handed a glass of water to his daughter so she could the food will pass easily.

"Leave her, she is happy because she has almost reached two years of friendship with Michael and she wants to give him something" Her mother relieved, letting her daughter be, ignoring her father's scolding, as she continued to eat faster.

She let out a sigh and smiled "Well, I'll let it go just because I'm happy that she got someone special" she didn't understand why her father said that, although Michael was special, very special to her, she saw him as her best friend and other half, and not as someone to classify as 'someone special' in your family.

She finished breakfast and thanked, leaving the plate in the sink, she quickly brushed her teeth again and then said goodbye to her parents, before her father left, she ran to the house next door, where Michael lived, she He stood on tiptoe and reached for the bell, ringing it three times. He waited a few minutes, listening to the usual screams inside the house due to the multiple fights that Deborah, Michael's mother, had with her idiot boyfriend, he heard steps approaching the door and heard how the man of the house screamed. 'Michael, you're not as much of a sissy as I thought after all!' She clearly got upset, she hated how that old man treated he dear friend, but she couldn't do anything.

The door opened and she watched as Michael opened the door with his plump lips pursed adorably, who upon seeing her, with a small smile, softening his gaze, hugged her and greeted her.

"Y/N! I thought you would come a little later, I hope you didn't rush to eat for you came quickly" guessed her dear blonde friend, stepping aside for her to pass "Sorry for the mess, wait for me at the living room, I'm going to bring something and I'll come back to lower,” he invited her while he accompanied her to the living room, leaving her sitting.

She waited until she listen choose how Michael went down the stairs and said to her mother: 'mom! I'll go out with Y/N ​​for a while and I'll be back in the afternoon!' and with that, she took her hand and they left, before hearing her sister's constant complaints.

They walked for a while while talking about anything that came to mind until they reached the small stream where they looked for a tree with good shade to sit. When they found one, the little girl who is now 10 years old, she spoke up.

"You did bring your Ring pop, right?" She asked as took out his, it was of strawberry and the plastic of the ring was an electric blue color, and then looked at his friend, waiting for an answer.

"Ah… Yes, of course, I hope you like the cherry one, I didn't find any other flavor," he mentioned, taking the candy out of his pocket in the same way, revealing a ring of the same brand, but with colored plastic somewhat bright yellow.

"Don't worry, Mikey! You know I love cherry" Of course he knew it, but he wasn't going to reveal the fact that he only really found apple or orange candy, it took him a long time to find a one of cherry one since it was the best seller, but he would search everywhere just to find something she wanted or liked. He couldn't hide the blush on her pale cheeks at that thought.

"Well, then why did you want me to bring one?" She asked after trying to control the slight blush, and waited, watching as the girl's cheeks also turned red from her nerves, giving her an adorable sight, she tried to stop herself from cracking a smile.

"Well… You know that in a few months we will celebrate two years of friendship… And well, I appreciate you very much, and I wanted to give you something to celebrate… Here, I asked my mother to make this for you" he said, handing him the box decorated with twisted hearts and glitter. Since he came home, Michael was curious about the small decorated box, but he didn't mention anything.

He took it in his somewhat chubby hands, and opened it, he saw several homemade cookies with chocolate chips and lemon, his favorites, he also saw several packages with gummy bears and small chocolates and bonbons, next to them, a letter on a page of notebook. , folded like an envelope and sealed with a children's notebook sticker.

"Read the letter when you need it, I made it for when I can't be there for you and you miss me" The boy nodded and put the letter in the box and closed it again, leaving it aside.

"Thank you very much Y/N… I really love you very much…" He said moved as he hugged her tightly, she was very special to him and sometimes he thought that she was too much for him, but still, he needed her among so many problems .

"I love you too Mikey.." she responded, returning her hug, giving him a small kiss on her cheek, and then separating from him. "Now open your Ring Pop, let's make a promise for when we're older and twenty-one," she said, and took the strawberry candy and opened it, taking it gently without putting it on, making Michael repeat his action.

Then, she spoke again, looking him straight in the eyes with great affection "I, Y/N L/N, solemnly promise that I will be with you throughout my life, that we will be best friends and that we will be there at all times, in good times, in bad times, and be best friends forever, and forever" he said, as he took his friend's free hand, and put on the strawberry ring, intertwining their fingers, leaving each one a free hand. "Now you, Michael."

The boy, who was stunned by the girl's gaze, could not pay attention to the words she said, much less after she intertwined her hands in that cute way "I uh… I, Michael Myers… Ehm, I promise to always be with you at all times, and to be the best of friends forever, and ever" he imitated distractedly while doing the same, and intertwined the other hand, leaving them both in a nice moment.

"Well… I heard that when two people love each other, and want to be together for a lifetime, they get married when they are older, and seal their promises with a kiss, then, when we are twenty-one, you promise me that you will marry me." ?" she asked innocently, getting closer to him, staying a short distance away, making a blush begin to adorn both of their faces.

"I promise you Y/N, I promise you that when we grow up, I will make you happy and I will be with you at all times" And so, he shortened the short distance and brushed his lips with hers, in an innocent kiss, which was soon inexperienced, sealing his great promise, which would continue throughout his life.

★ WAAAHHHH I LOVED THIS WITH MY LIFE, I'm seriously thinking about making a fic of this (really, I'm strongly considering it, maybe I will).

★ Credits to the fanart, textual aesthetics and dividers to the corresponding people!

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

Hi dear,

I was wondering if you could write for creepy neighbor! Michael x fem! reader, where he finds her on social media and downloads her pics to jerk off to then gradually 2 months later he storms into her house at night and fucks her into the mattress, love your blog <3

a/n: i absolutely can write that! thank you so much for the request and i hope you like it <3

pairing: creepy neighbour!michael x fem!reader

warnings: stalking, home intrusion, unprotected sex, rough sex

word count: 1005

You were beautiful, that much Michael knew. Even as you were staggering up the front steps to your door, your coordination severely lacking, he thought you were the most beautiful person he'd seen in a while.

Something about you always made his cock twitch in his pants, a sensation he had long since forgotten, it had been so long.

He'd first noticed you a few months ago, stumbling up the front steps to your new house, with a heavy box in your arms. No one ever came near his house, so he was surprised to find that you had been the one to finally move in next door.

He thought he had finally gone mad, that the long stretches of silence he usually endured had finally corrupted his mind, destroyed his sanity.

But with each month that passed, it became apparent to him that you were in fact real, and you were living right next door.

As he watched you jam your keys into the door, he quickly unbuttoned his coveralls, wrapping his hand around his aching cock.

But unfortunately, your brief presence outside your door wasn't enough to satisfy him, so he found himself reaching for the phone he'd stolen, quickly bringing up the images he'd taken from your social media.

He found that he rather enjoyed the idea of being able to watch somebody by simply tapping a few buttons on a screen. It certainly saved him the energy of having to sneak around outside all the time. Now, he could just watch you from inside the walls of his own home.

He pulled up an image of you in a bikini, the sun warming your skin and your chest glistening. He imagined his hands on you, rough fingers slipping beneath the straps, pulling the material over your head.

He imagined your breasts. He imagined his hands, wandering over your body, dipping inside your panties, driving his cock into you...

He wanted to hear you scream. He wanted to feel your skin beneath his hands, his cock buried deep inside your pussy.

Once he came to the realisation that a simple image wouldn't be enough to satisfy him, he put the phone down, tucking his cock back into his pants and walking towards the door.

You were home alone tonight, he knew that, which meant he was free to pay you a visit, satiate his need for you.

He silently left his house, walking straight up the steps to your house, and he opened the door with ease, noting that you rarely remembered to lock your doors at night.

Luckily for you, Michael had no intention to actually harm you tonight. He only intended to finally live out his fantasy, to feel your skin against his as he fucked you.

You were halfway up the stairs when you suddenly heard something behind you, strong hands roughly gripping your hair, forcing you forwards.

"What the fuck?!" You screamed, struggling in his hold as he continued to shove you forwards, barely even flinching as you thrashed around. "Let me go!"

It only took mere minutes to reach your bedroom, and he released his hold on your hair, forcefully throwing you into your mattress. And that was when you saw his face, the signature white halloween mask that belonged to none other than Michael Myers.

You thought he was dead. Everyone did. Yet here he was, standing over you as you laid there helpless.

"Michael?" You breathed out, staring up at him in shock. "Is that really you?"

He offered you no response, simply standing there motionless, his muffled breathing filling the silence.

"Michael─"

Before you were able to say anything else, he was closing in on you, his hands quickly finding the waistband of your shorts, effortlessly tugging the material from your body.

You probably should've struggled, attempted to fight him off in some way, but you could only lay there as he pushed your shirt up your body, revealing your tits to him.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. You also hadn't expected to be so turned on by it.

You gasped when you felt his hands on your tits, the heat growing between your legs becoming uncomfortable.

"Michael," you whined. "Please, fuck me."

That was all the encouragement he needed to finally take his cock out, wasting no time in pushing into you, a muffled groan falling from his lips when he heard you cry out.

His hands were still roughly gripping your tits as he thrusted into you at a bruising pace, revelling in the sounds that he was pulling from your throat, and the near violent slapping of skin that filled the small bedroom.

You let out something short of a scream as he fucked you into the bed, the pressure building in your stomach becoming almost too much to bear.

"Oh, fuck! Shit!" You hissed, desperately clawing at the bed sheets.

Michael didn't let up, curling his hands around your waist as he continued to thrust into you relentlessly.

He loved the way you were squirming beneath him, trying to get away, to relieve yourself of the pressure.

And it wasn't long until you felt the sting of tears in your eyes, your body aching as he continued to pound into you.

"Michael," you breathed. "Oh God!"

The fire that had been building inside you finally exploded, a shock of pleasure coursing through you as you continued to cry out, your vision becoming blurred.

Michael continued to fuck you through your orgasm, your body becoming limp as he slapped up against you. And it only took one last pathetic moan from you for his hips to stutter, pleasure crashing over his own body now as he spilled into you, a muffled groan pushing past his lips.

Once he was finished, he pulled out of you, leaving you to watch as he tucked himself away, quickly doing up his coveralls before turning and walking out of your door.

Michael would definitely be doing this again.

[Main Masterlist]

[megangovier]

The Night Walker

a/n: for you @toxicanonymity thank you for all that you do🥺🫶🏻

Wc: 934

Pairing: Dark! Michael x sub! fem reader

Summary: You're walking through the alleyway at night, turning a corner a sharp pain shoots up your neck and knocks you out.

Warning: 18+ only // drugging // handcuffs // Fdom - Fsub // choking // tied up // dub-con // Msub - Mdom // P in V // multiple cream pies // cheating // glove kink // fingering // kidnapped // masked man // pussy eating // spit kink // degradation // slapping // BJ // praising // riding // doggystyle // daddy! Kink //MDNI

All fictitious ♥️

It's currently 11:30pm and you're strolling through the streets, tears rolling down your face and anger boiling up in your system. Work has been so stressful; you couldn't get a five-minute break. The boyfriend now ex didn't help with contacting multiple women behind your back, you were together for 6 months and that's how he treated you, wishing you just disappeared into thin air and just be left alone for a lifetime. You were 3 blocks from your house heading inside an alleyway, turning a corner that's when a sharp pain shot up your neck, feeling drowsy you fell into someone's strong arms. Lifting you up bridal style, heavy footsteps in the distance a sound of a vehicle door opens, and darkness grows over.

1 hour later..

Head full of stinging hornets, pain behind the eye's groans left your lips. Trying to move you couldn't, hands were cuffed to the bars of the bed, feet were tied with silk, eyes widening with fear. Looking around there wasn't much, just a few things here and there nothing worth using to release yourself from the handcuffs. Wriggling around on the bed, trying to shake free from the cuffs nothing worked, heavy footsteps pounded on the creaking floorboards of the staircase pretending to fall asleep he opened up the door and closed it. Walking towards you, a grin appeared on his face. He knew you were pretending to be asleep, so he slowly ran his fingers up your heated thighs.

A soft moan escaped your lips, red faced and eyes opening you looked at your kidnaper, he was wearing a white mask, white shirt and black latex gloves that your eyes fell onto. They looked so good on him, the way the veins showed on his forearms and the tattoo on his wrist it was just so attractive to stare at, and he knew you were getting off on this. Just by how wet your pussy was getting and the way your body reacts to his touches, your body shouldn't be acting this way around a man you don't know or never met. You were becoming a whiny mess under his fingers, pumping faster into your wet cunt noises echoed into the walls, a growl left his throat.

Releasing your hands and feet from restraints, Michael pulled your thighs closer to him, his forming bulge grinding against the pillow he slid between himself and the bed. Pulling his mask up, he spitted onto your already wet cunt making it clench around air "fuck, look at you slut, already wet for me, how disgusting and pathetic of you" a whine left your lips. You've never felt like this before, not even with your now ex-boyfriend, he's never made you feel this good, the way Michael is sucking and nibbling your clit or the way he's curling his gloved fingers inside you reaching that sensitive spot of yours. Toes curling and eyes rolling you were in ecstasy; you were so close.

"Michael. I'm going to - " mouth opened, saliva dripping out the corner of your mouth, eyes closed and legs shaking, your body convulsed into an out of body orgasm. Panting and sweat dripping from your face Michael didn't give you time to recover he slid his hand around your throat and slammed his cock into your mouth "oh god, you're so tight, good fucking girl, take it all till your jaw locks" a gurgle moan left your throat causing Michael to groan "who's my good little cum slut, oh those birthing hips of yours, I need to fill you up with my hot seed" you needed him inside you NOW! your jaw was starting to hurt, and you wanted him to breed the fuck outta you.

Removing his cock out your throat, he lied on the bed and you hovering over him "It's so big, will it fit?" a growl left his throat "I'll make it fit, if I have too" taking his cock in your hand, you tease him a bit with sliding it over your warm pussy "don't tease me! fuck me alrea-" eyes rolling back, grabbing your hips roughly skin slapping and balls deep a groan left your lips. "See you can take it all, I knew you could slut, now put your hands on my chest and fuck me harder, like your life depended on it". Doing what he told you, his fingers digging into your sides "good girl". A hand slid around his throat, fingers slightly squeezing the sides of it "just like that" his hand wrapped around your wrist, his eyes darkened on yours.

"Oh god, please choke me harder" doing as he says Michael's cock was throbbing inside you "going to cum huh, come inside me daddy" aura changed inside him, flipping you over on your hands and knees pounding you from behind "say that again, I dare you!" a smirk fell onto your lips "cum inside me daddy" growls and chest heaving he pushed you down into the mattress, your head in the pillow "oh yes, just like that daddy, fuck me like your personal fleshlight, like I'm your filthy Porn star". Michael was so close; you wanted your stomach to swell with his babies "I'm so close slut, now I want you to cum with me. In 5. "that's it, you're doing so well" 4. "you're so pretty, you can do this 3. "Such a pretty girl, so drunk on my cock" 2. "Atta girl" 1. "Cum for me Now princess" legs shaking, eyes rolling at the back of your head you came all over his cock. "Good girl"

[nobitchs-world]

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

[gothic-thoughts]

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.