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starxanemone · 6 months ago

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꩜ⴰ ࣪˖ FROM DUST TO DUST

michael kaiser x gender neutral!reader

you liked to see him crumble—from dust to dust.

warnings ! mdni ! sexual content — sub! brat!kaiser, dom!reader, praise kink, cock sucking, handjob, teasing and denial. also slight character exploration based on his backstory.

note — as a femdom, i am a firm and avid fan of the idea of submissive kaiser. oliver aiku is my next target. also, sorry this took a while : ( i'm busy with uni.

From dust to dust; there is nothing more beautiful than to view the evolution of things. A being grows—all supple skin and flesh and fragile bones—from a mere zygote, born from the fusion of sperm and egg.

And you think that man goes through the same cycle again and again throughout their life. From learning how to stand on one’s feet to no longer being able to do so. From seeking to finding, then to seeking again. From exalted kings to abdicated ones. All from different facets of the humans of society; they go back to their roots, ultimately. From dust to dust.

Michael Kaiser is nothing more than a mere cog born to inevitably contribute and connect with society that is just like him. Yes, by the gods, he was birthed, chosen to be an emperor, and how ethereal he truly is as he devours and rules lowly humans that grovel underneath him. No mercy was shown to anyone that attempted to overthrow his position, and not a simple glimpse was spared for those who raved on about the ‘impossible.’

He was arrogant and his mouth never knew when to stop running. But he would get what he deserves. Just like all the kings and queens, and emperors and empresses that stood before his rule.

They all fall down.

From dust to dust.

“Now, now… quiet down, liebling.” You hum, pressing your right hand tightly over his swollen pink lips. You know he loves it when you call him that, especially with the way his hard-on presses against your knee. He thrashes a little underneath you with his cheeks, ears, and exposed neck all tinted in pinkish and red hues.

You like to think that he looks like a work of art when he is like this. Not when he is in his most glorious state, but when he looks human in their rawest form. All supple skin and flesh ( you’d like to paint with your lips ) and fragile bones ( you’d like to caress ).

You pull downwards, cat-like eyes gazing intently into his half-lidded ones as you hover your face over his sweatpants. You press your cheek right against it teasingly, smiling a little in amusement when he glares down at you.

“Kitty’s got bite, hm?” You chuckle, rubbing your cheek against his crotch, feeling his cock twitch underneath the fabric as you massage his hips with your fingers.

“S-Shut up, a-ah—”

He spits out his words, though you get the feeling that it’s not as angry as he would have liked it to sound, especially with the way he holds back his moan and breathes heavily towards the end.

“Oh,” You pout mockingly. “But you wouldn’t be in this position if you weren’t being such a slut earlier. Like, seriously, making out with me in front of everyone and leaving a hickey on my neck where everyone could see? All because you were jealous of sweet little Yoichi?”

“S-Stop,” He rasps out, bringing his hands down to cup your cheeks to lift it up from his clothed cock.

You can tell that he’s irked with the way you call his rival ‘sweet.’ Your smile softens and you pull yourself up to plant your chin against his chest.

“Why are you so envious, mein schatz?” You bring your hand up, thumbing against his pink bottom lip. You watch in fascination as you press on the soft skin, nail biting onto the flesh, leaving a small crescent in its wake.

His lips part and you grin lazily, slipping your finger into his mouth to touch the wet muscle. Your eyes don’t miss the way his tongue runs over the tip of your finger, brushing over your nail before his mouth closes around it entirely.

You bring your other palm up to cup the side of his cheek as you sit up on his abdomen again. His electro-blue irises and sharp ebony pupils swallow you entirely as he sucks and licks on your finger willingly.

Oh how you loved seeing him crumble like this. All of his wits and pride dispersed with a flick of your fingers. You who have given him the feeling of something new—something so incredibly yet not supposed to be foreign for any living human. An emotion that he could only utter as a wistful wish underneath the eyes of the constellations.

Love. So this is love.

You pull your finger back, chuckling a little as he lifts his head up to chase for the sensation between his lips again before dropping his head back down upon realizing his actions. His cheeks are flushed cherry red and his brows are furrowed as if his senses had come back, and you know that he is beating himself up over the constant lapses of weakness before the gaze of someone else. But you don’t care about that.

It was never a weakness to choose to open up oneself to somebody.

You cup his cheek, firmly this time.

“Why are you always so envious? Tell me.”

But he was a stubborn one.

He keeps his lips pressed firmly, glaring up at you in a disobeying manner. It doesn’t look very intimidating with his black cotton shirt half-way lifted up on his upper body, his hair scattered around his head like a makeshift blue pearlescent crown, and the cute little wet patch marking his grey sweatpants.

“Not talking, hm? Okay, then. Fine. We’ll do it your way.” You hum in amusement before you’re snaking back down onto his hips.

In a split second, you grasp the garter of his sweatpants and pull it down, wordlessly gazing at the way his curved cock slaps at the skin below his belly button.

He hisses, “W-What are you—”

“Shut up. Don’t talk.” You murmur before dipping your head down to lick at the pinkish tip. It was already oozing with precum, bubbling and dripping down against the length of his cock, tracing a vein.

“F-Fuck—” He groans, throwing his head back against the pillows.

You pull your lips away from his cock and strike your palm against his inner thigh, leaving a red mark though not enough to cause any significant pain.

Nevertheless, he hisses, eyes widening in shock. “Why did you—”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Your hands smooth over the spot you had just hit before traveling north once more. When your hands reach its destination, you blink when you hear a silent whine leave his mouth.

“Please…” You hear him mumble and your gaze flickers upwards, seeing his disheveled state. Eyes half lidded with his soft lashes pointing southwards, cheeks turning a shade darker than it was previously.

His hips twitch upwards and your gaze softens.

“Okay,” You breathe out. “Okay.”

You have to admit. You cave in way too fast.

You place your hands on the sides of his bare hips, squeezing as you lick your tongue flat across the length of his cock, stopping near the tip. You keep your eyes trained on him and his gaze on yours, brows furrowed over.

You brush your tongue repeatedly against the underside of his pink tip—now all shiny underneath the fluorescent lights of your shared apartment from the mixture of precum and your saliva. His hips twitch and you immediately hold it down, digging your fingers against his skin, leaving marks on the flesh.

“P-Please,” He groans quietly, eyes closing. “Give me more, liebling. Please.”

“Hm?” You hum, tongue toying with his tip. The little crevice is soft and smooth against your touch, now all sensitive. You press your tongue against the underside of it harder before taking just the tip inside your mouth. Your fingers trace against the veins protruding the length of his cock teasingly. “But you haven’t— haven’t answered my question yet.”

You suck on his tip lightly, just enough to have his stomach and shoulders twitching, and hips buck between your hold.

“I-I want you to look at me!” He groans, body twitching when you trace your tongue with more pressure against his length repeatedly, humming a little as you listen to him speak. “I w-want you to look at me only and not that worthless, pathetic man. H-He won’t serve you half as good as I do. He can’t. I want you to love me, and me only.”

You pull away momentarily, chuckling at his uncharacteristic honesty. He whines at the sudden loss of your touch.

“Oh but I already do.” You smile, pressing your lips against the side of his stomach. “I love you, and only you.”

He doesn’t respond, simply staring down at you with pink cheeks and furrowed brows.

He never says ‘I love you' back.

But you already knew how he was. He was never used to the straightforward affection and loving words directed at him, but that never bothered you. Being with him entailed having the ability to read between the lines—it entailed being able to appreciate the little crevices and permanent folds that marred his shirt and was never able to learn how to iron. You appreciated the marks left behind by the past and the past that brought about this present—this gift—him, and only him.

And that was alright with you.

You loved him. You had the ability to build him up, make him crumble, and build him up again.

From dust to dust.

But mere dusts of cement clumped together could form a stable foundation, the same way a cluster of atoms can make up a single cell, and how multiple similar cells can form tissue.

You loved him from dust to dust.

You lick a stripe up from the base of your palm up to your fingers, keeping your eyes trained on his and his to yours and what you were doing, before encircling your fingers around the length of his cock, pumping him up and down slowly. He jolts and heaves out a breathy moan each time your hand squeezes at the right areas, up towards his shiny pink tip leaking with his fluids and down once again. Your other hand plays with his balls and you grin at the way he throws his head back, eyes rolling up.

“You must be so tired, mein schatz, but it’s okay, you can come to me. I will always be here to make you feel better.” You mewl, smiling up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“A-Ah, fuck, don’t speak like that to me, I-I’m gonna cum—” He bucks his hips helplessly, whining.

“But why?” You giggle, tilting your head innocently, “Can’t I speak like that to the person I love?”

“S-Stop, haah—” He brings his hands up to cover half of his red face, blue eyes glaring down at yours, but you don’t falter.

“My poor baby,” You pout, pumping your hand against his cock upwards and brushing your thumb against his tip. You hear him choke a little. “You’re so beautiful and you work so hard! I’m so proud of you, hm?”

“H-Haah— I-I’m gonna, gonna cum!”

"Give it to me, my love."

His hips buck against your hand a few more times before he’s shooting spurts of his cum onto your face. He moans, eyes squeezing shut.

You shut your eyes, feeling the liquid spill all over your face for a few seconds.

After a while, you open your eyes to him breathing in and out deeply, his body laying limply on the bed with sweat thinly coating every inch of his skin.

You chuckle, wiping the cum off your face and bringing your hand up to taste it.

He raises his brow as you do so and scowls. “Don’t— don’t do that. That’s dirty.”

“And I happen to be a dirty person. I don't mind." You grin, licking your hand.

He’s silent for a while before he speaks up.

“But is it true?”

“What?” You question curiously, laying right beside him flat on your back. You turn your head to look into his eyes levelly.

“That you,” He purses his lips, voice growing more silent. “Love me?”

You smile, genuinely this time.

“Of course.”

From dust to dust.

#blue lock fanfiction #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock oneshots #blue lock #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x y/n #kaiser smut #blue lock smut #sub!michael kaiser #sub!character #dom!reader

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ghostiesnightmare · 8 days ago

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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.

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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.

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libby-for-life · 26 days ago

Text

An Innocent Look

Eve is not looked on favorably in this. Lucifer x Adam x Lilith

Adam settled beneath the sprawling branches of a majestic oak tree, its gnarled roots snaking outwards like the tangled thoughts in his mind. The warm afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground, but he hardly noticed. He stared off into the distance, lost in thought, waiting for... well, he couldn't quite say. His heart ached with the weight of uncertainty.

For what felt like an eternity, he had searched for Lilith and Lucifer, his elusive companions. They had a way of slipping through the cracks of time, disappearing for long stretches that left him feeling adrift. He started to notice a pattern. Yet this time felt distinctly different. Many suns had risen and set without a trace of them, and the silence of their absence weighed heavily on his soul.

Adam missed them deeply—every strange look they exchanged, every fleeting moment filled with whispered secrets and shared laughter when they thought he wasn't looking. He could still recall how their eyes sparkled with mischief, even when shadows loomed just beyond their smiles. He longed for the warmth of their presence, the comfort of their connection. They were more than just friends; they were his precious people, and whether he was met with their cryptic gazes or not, he yearned to be close to them again.

With a deep sigh, he leaned back against the rough bark of the oak, closing his eyes and letting the sounds of the rustling leaves and distant birds wash over him. He hoped that, just maybe, they would return to him soon.

He didn't realize when he had succumbed to sleep, the weight of his eyelids pulling him into a dreamless slumber. The presence of the Angels manifested in the dim light around him, ethereal beings with an aura of power that filled the space. With a graceful flick of his wrist, one of the Angels cast a spell of deep enchantment, ensuring that Adam would sleep on, undisturbed and unaware, until they chose to awaken him.

Sera, her eyes wide with concern, glanced at Michael, whose expression was fierce and resolute. The determination radiating from him charged the air with tension. Unable to hold back her worries any longer, she spoke softly, almost hesitantly, "Are you truly certain about this path we are taking? The Almighty Father alone is the creator of life. To interfere in such a significant aspect of His design—"

Before she could finish her thought, Michael's gaze shot towards her, intense and unyielding. The penetrating look silenced her instantly, as if the very essence of his authority was enough to quell any further words. "Lucifer has severed his ties with Heaven and fled, taking Lilith with him. Adam now stands alone, abandoned in a world that he was not meant to navigate by himself. It has become painfully clear that we misjudged our approach in assigning him a dominant role; he has always thrived in the patience of listening rather than the demands of leadership."

Sera bit her lip, choosing not to remind Michael that it was the Angels who had placed that burden on Adam in the first place. She understood the folly of voicing dissent while Michael was consumed by his fiery resolve. The atmosphere thickened around them with unspoken truths and shared burdens.

"We will create a new companion for him," Michael continued, his voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of urgency. "Someone who will safeguard Adam and guide him, ensuring he does not stray from the path intended for him. This is necessary to restore balance, to give him the support he needs in this world." The weight of his decision lingered, heavy with the implications of their actions.

Sera watched as Michael bent down and ripped open Adam's side. She grimaced when she saw the strange red liquid seep onto the ground, painting the green grass a different shade. Sera let out a gasp when he ripped a rib out and inspected it while more red liquid spilled out. She immediately hurried over to heal him while Michael walked away with the crimson-stained bone.

The Seraphim looked at Adam as he whimpered silently in his sleep while she healed him. "Sh, it'll be okay. Almost done." She finally healed the last bit but realized that a mark would always be present right there. Adam will always carry that mark on him. She didn't know why it made her sad.

She stood up, her heart racing, and locked eyes with Michael, who was now cradling a woman in his arms. The figure he held was striking—a tall, delicate figure that rivaled Adam in height. Her long, flowing brown hair cascaded down her back, reaching almost to her feet, shimmering with subtle hints of movement. Her skin was a warm tan, kissed by the sun, and faint freckles adorned her cheeks like stardust scattered across the night sky. What struck Sera most was the fact that the woman was breathing, each breath a testament to the life that Michael had summoned forth.

As the woman slowly opened her vibrant green eyes, confusion flickered across her features like a shadow, revealing a depth of emotion and awareness as she took in her surroundings. Michael’s face broke into a wide, proud smile as he greeted her, “Hello, Eve.”

Eve blinked and, almost immediately, responded, “Hello, Michael.” The ice in her voice sent a shiver down Sera’s spine.

But that small, almost innocent exchange left Sera feeling uneasy. "She already knows your name? Didn't she just wake up?" Sera’s mind raced with questions, a mixture of awe and uncertainty swirling within her.

Michael, however, only smiled wider, his eyes twinkling with an almost manic excitement. “I gave her all the knowledge she would need to take care of Adam properly. She must know more things than Adam. He will learn from her.”

Sera’s unease deepened; there was a gleam in both of their eyes that sent a ripple of apprehension through her. This wasn’t merely about creating life—there was something else at play, an unspoken tension that made her wary of the path they were embarking upon.

Eve was placed by Adam, her expression turning to one of wonderment as she gazed at her new companion. Sera still felt a sense of wrongness as they left her to tend to Adam.

XxX

Adam awoke abruptly, jolted from his dreams by a searing sensation radiating from his side. It felt as if something sharp had dug into him, eliciting a startled yelp that echoed in the quiet garden. As his eyes fluttered open, he was met with an arresting sight—a pair of striking green eyes staring intently at him. The woman before him was undeniably beautiful, with cascading dark hair that framed her delicate features and an enigmatic smile that hinted at something he couldn't name.

Caught off guard by her allure, Adam couldn’t help but stare in wonder, momentarily forgetting the discomfort at his side. However, the moment was quickly shattered as she extended a long, slender finger and jabbed him once more, right in the same spot. The sharp pain shot through him, forcing another cry of distress from his lips. “Please, stop!” he pleaded, instinctively pulling away to create distance between them.

The woman’s expression shifted, her frown deepening as she regarded him with a mixture of frustration and curiosity. "Then wake up when I call your name," she commanded, her voice laced with authority. Adam blinked in confusion. He didn't even know her name, let alone understand why she was demanding his attention.

"Who are you?" he inquired wearily, his voice tinged with confusion and dread. The garden felt oppressive as he scanned the surroundings, searching for any sign of Lilith and Lucifer. Where were they?

She smiled, a soft yet cold expression that sent a shiver down Adam's spine for reasons he could not comprehend. "My name is Eve," she said, her voice melodic yet foreign, "and I am your new wife."

Adam's breath caught in his throat, and a wave of disbelief washed over him. What?! No! Lilith was his wife! The realization hit him like a sudden storm, and he instinctively shook his head, his mind spiraling into chaos. Panic surged within him, and he began to hyperventilate, oblivious to the frown that crossed Eve’s face as she watched him struggle.

"Lilith?! Lucifer?!" he exclaimed, his voice rising with desperation. He wanted—no, needed—his precious people back! The thought of losing them felt like a hollow ache in his chest, amplifying the intensity of his fear and confusion. In the depths of his being, he fought against this new reality that threatened to erase everything he had cherished.

A sudden, sharp crack pierced the stillness of the garden, reverberating off the trees and sending startled birds into flight. It took Adam a moment to process what had happened; the sting of pain blossomed on his right cheek, a burning reminder that he had indeed been struck. His wide eyes were locked onto Eve, who stood before him with an expression of fierce defiance.

"You will not speak those names in my presence," she declared, her voice ringing out with a mixture of authority and anger. "They have failed and rebelled against Heaven. They have run away. Do you understand me?"

Adam felt his heart drop at her words, a wave of disbelief washing over him. Gasping, he struggled to comprehend the enormity of her claim. What? No, that couldn’t be true! Lilith and Lucifer—how could they abandon him like this? The idea was incomprehensible; they were his friends, his closest people in an existence filled with divine wonders. They wouldn’t just run away. They couldn’t.

Eve grabbed his hair and yanked it back. Adam cried out in pain and she growled, "I said do you understand me?!" Adam was quick to answer her making her look pleased. "Good. Now, it seems I have my work cut out for me."

Adam didn't understand what she meant but she easily pulled him up to stand tall as she inspected him. Adam felt like something was crawling under his skin, threatening to burst out as he felt her hands wander invasively over his body. He had only ever wanted Lilith and Lucifer to touch him like this. Not Eve.

"Can you not do that?" Adam timidly asked a hand grabbed him down there and pulled on it. Eve's eyes snapped back and he yelped when she pinched it. "I am your wife. I will do as I please. If I want to touch you, I will. If I say to do something for me, you will. Heaven has put me in charge. Do you want to disobey Heaven?"

Adam's complexion drained of color as he took in the weight of the moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He shook his head vigorously, the thought of disobeying Heaven sending a chill down his spine. All his life, he had yearned to make them proud, to earn their favor, yet the path he had chosen—a delicate balance between devotion to the divine and loyalty to Lilith and Lucifer—had proven to be fraught with challenges.

Struggling with the tension, he shot a quick glance at Eve, apprehensive at the thought of inciting her anger. The corner of her mouth curved into a smile, but there was something about it that unsettled him, a flicker of intensity in her eyes that made him hesitate. Swallowing hard, he shook his head. Her smile broadened, yet it left Adam feeling uncertain, as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, unsure of what lay below. “Good,” she said, her voice laced with a mixture of approval and something deeper that Adam couldn’t quite place, heightening the unease that settled in his gut. "Now let me explore the rest of your body. We have a lot of training to do."

XxX

Lilith and Lucifer had long lived in the shadows, shunned from the celestial realm they once called home. They had been gone for months now and they enjoyed their new freedom but something new had come up. Whispers of a new presence in the garden drifted to their ears, sparking both curiosity and concern. Despite Lucifer’s fall from grace, he remained tethered to Heaven by a thread of lingering connection; he could hear the faint echoes of divine conversations. Among those whispers, one name resonated: Eve, the new wife of Adam.

Their hearts grew heavy, knowing that Adam, blinded by his unwavering obedience to Heaven's edicts, would be an impenetrable wall against any attempt to sway him. No matter how they might plead or reason with him, Adam was steadfast, a loyal servant to the cosmic commands that governed his existence. The realization that they would need to abandon him, leaving behind the bonds of love and companionship they once shared, shattered their hearts into countless pieces.

But Eve was different; she was new and untested in the ways of Heaven's influence. Perhaps she had yet to grasp the weight of the expectations placed upon her. It was this glimmer of hope that drove Lilith and Lucifer to make a pivotal decision. They resolved to venture into the garden, to seek out this woman for themselves. If there was a chance that Eve could be freed from the same shackles that had bound Adam, they felt compelled to explore it. With heavy hearts but determined spirits, Lilith and Lucifer set out, eager to meet the woman who might hold the key to a future unbound by divine dictates.

As Lilith and Lucifer stepped into the garden, an eerie silence enveloped them, wrapping around the vibrant greenery like a heavy cloak. Normally, the air would be alive with the cheerful melodies of birds flitting from branch to branch, crickets chirping in the underbrush, and the rustling of small animals frolicking in the foliage. Today, however, the stillness was palpable, and the absence of sound sent a chill down their spines.

Unease settled in the pit of their stomachs; a garden filled with life and noise had transformed into an unsettling void. With stealth and caution, they moved deeper into the expanse of cultivated beauty, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of Eve. But the once familiar paths and vibrant blooms now felt foreboding, as if they were intruders in a place accustomed to the laughter and joy of its inhabitants.

Suddenly, a piercing yelp sliced through the thick silence, followed by an agonized cry that resonated with despair. Lilith and Lucifer exchanged frantic glances, their hearts racing with concern. Without hesitation, they followed the sound, their footsteps whispering against the soft earth as they raced toward the source.

What awaited them when they arrived was beyond their worst fears. The sight that met their eyes was shocking, a scene that shattered all expectations and left them grappling with a sense of dread they had never known.

Adam was tied up but what looked like vines, his body trembling with exhaustion as he held himself up. His face was turned to the side on the ground as he held his ass in the air and low whimpers left his mouth. What really concerned them was the fact Adam seemed to have a large object sticking out of his ass. It looked painful and large. This has to be the source of his pain. Despite both of them wanting to avoid Adam for the time being, they would never leave him like this.

Lilith was the first to dash toward him, her heart racing as she slid to a stop beside him. Adam looked up in surprise, his wide eyes reflecting both pain and hope, and he gasped softly when he saw her. A radiant smile broke across his face, illuminating the shadows of his suffering, as he gazed up at her with an expression that mingled relief and joy. “Lily... you came back. I knew you would,” he breathed, his voice trembling with both gratitude and lingering agony.

The words struck Lilith like a dagger, twisting deep within her. She had walked away from Adam, alongside Lucifer, with no intention of returning, yet here he was, clinging to the belief that they would come back for him. The weight of his expectations crashed over her, making her heart shatter into pieces. She let out a choked sob, the sound echoing the turmoil within her.

With trembling hands, she gently pulled Adam toward her, her instincts driving her to cradle him as delicately as possible, mindful of his injuries. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the cold reality of their choices, and she fought back tears as she held him close, wishing she could take away his pain.

As Lucifer stepped into view, the atmosphere around him seemed to shift, and Adam's smile brightened with a warmth that melted the tension in the air. "Luci! You came too!" Adam exclaimed, his voice a mix of relief and joy.

Lucifer knelt beside him, every muscle in his form trembling as his gaze meticulously roamed over Adam’s body, taking in every detail of the damage. Anxiety and concern etched deep lines across Lucifer’s face, and his voice quivered with barely contained emotion. "Adam, what happened?" The urgency in his tone suggested that he was fighting the urge to shout, a tempest of fear and disbelief brewing beneath the surface.

Lilith sat frozen, her heart heavy with a whirlwind of emotions. As she observed the scene unfolding before her, the deep sorrow that initially filled her chest began to twist into a fierce anger. Who could possibly have done this to Adam? She firmly believed he was incapable of inflicting such harm upon himself. And when they find the culprit, they'll be sorry that they ever hurt Adam like this.

Adam tilted his head as Lilith gently untied the vines while Lucifer contemplated how to take what looked like a large corn out of his ass without hurting Adam more. "What do you mean?" Lilith gently held Adam as Lucifer pulled it out making him yelp in pain. "All of this! Why are you tied up Adam? Why is there...corn in your ass?! Who left you like this with no aftercare?!" Lilith demanded.

Adam’s voice was calm and almost casual as he spoke, “Oh, that? It’s just my training.” He made it sound so utterly mundane, as if he were discussing the weather rather than something profound affecting his existence. “Eve said I needed it. I... don’t quite understand it myself, but she insisted that Heaven wanted it, so I must do it,” he added, a hint of confusion flickering in his eyes.

Lilith felt an intense surge of anger coursing through her veins, a fire igniting within her as she held Adam tightly in her embrace. The warmth of his body contrasted sharply with the chilling realization of what was unfolding before her. She had consumed the forbidden apple, awakening her senses to the depths of both good and evil. She knew what Eve was doing and she wouldn't stand for this. Lucifer looked just as angry.

"Well, it seems like the two troublemakers have returned." A voice said and it didn't go unnoticed that Adam trembled in her grip due to her voice. Eve. Lilith glared at the woman who pouted at the vines around their feet. "Aw. You messed up my present. I was going to enjoy him after he was nice and used by the corn but you took it all out. He's not even crying."

"How dare you do this to him?" Lucifer said, voice low. "Do you have any idea what you were doing?" Eve tilted her head like she was amused. "Of course I did. He looks cute like that, doesn't he? I like it when he cries." Lilith held Adam close as he flinched at those words.

They were wrong to come to the garden for Eve. They should have come for Adam. How long was Adam being abused and thinking nothing of it because he simply didn't understand that it was wrong for her to do that? What if they hadn't come at all? Would Adam be stuck here forever under her, forced to play into Eve's sexual fantasies?

"Well, you aren't going to be near him ever again." Lilith said. She handed Adam Lucifer who took a confused and scared man into his arms while Lilith stood up to her full height. She was taller than Eve and the woman scowled when she noticed it. "Lucifer? Take Adam to the Tree. I'm going to deal with Eve." Eve laughed as Lucifer flew away with Adam, brown eyes staring into her purple ones as they left.

"You think you can take me on? And why are you so upset? Didn't you leave him? Why care now?" Lilith simply growled and launched herself at Eve.

XxX

Lucifer flew purposefully through the dense foliage, cradling Adam in his arms as the soft rustle of leaves whispered around them. The vibrant colors of the forest contrasted sharply with the weight of uncertainty that hung in the air. Adam, gazing up at him with wide, puzzled eyes, couldn't hide his confusion. "What’s going on, Luci?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and bewilderment.

Lucifer managed to muster a tight smile, a mask for the turmoil churning within him. "Adam, do you trust me?" he inquired, his tone edged with an urgency he tried to suppress.

Adam stared back at him, his expression reflecting a blend of disbelief and earnestness. "Of course I do!" he replied emphatically, as if the very idea of doubt was foreign to him. Those words struck a chord deep within Lucifer, making him flinch inwardly. They echoed the painful reminder of his past betrayal—how he had turned his back on Adam when he needed him most, leaving him vulnerable and alone in the vastness of their shared world.

"Adam, I need you to eat this," Lucifer said, a glint of worry in his eyes as he picked up the small, red fruit that seemed innocuous enough but was laden with consequences. He held it out toward Adam, who was still in his arms, gave him a frown and knitted his brows in confusion.

"But...Heaven said—" Adam hesitated, uncertainty flooding his voice as he recalled the edicts he had received from above.

"Do you trust me?" Lucifer interjected, his tone smooth and persuasive, the flicker of confidence in his demeanor compelling.

"Yes!" Adam answered, his voice filled with longing and a flicker of resolve, as if the very act of submitting to this choice would alter his existence forever.

With that spark of trust ignited between them, Adam took the fruit, his fingers brushing against Lucifer's as he pulled it closer. He hesitated for just a moment longer, the weight of the apple heavy in his hand, before sinking his teeth into its smooth, glossy surface. The crispness of the flesh broke under the pressure, releasing a sweet, tantalizing juice that trickled down his chin. He chewed slowly, savoring the unexpected rush of flavor, until he swallowed, the act feeling monumental.

As the taste lingered on his tongue, his expression shifted from puzzlement to terror; his eyes widened as realization washed over him like a tide. Lucifer watched intently, knowing the impact of the moment, the weight of knowledge settling in Adam’s mind.

Suddenly, Adam's breath hitched in his throat, and he clutched at it as if the very air had turned acrid. Tears sprang to his eyes, realizing the implications of what he had just done. The sobs that escaped him echoed hauntingly in the stillness. He understood everything. He had Free Will.

Everything that was done to him he now understood. Adam sobbed in Lucifer's arms while the angel gently shushed him. Lilith broke through the clearing, her arms bruised as the only thing she had to prove she ever fought with Eve. "We need to leave." She said, her eyes flickering to Adam worriedly as he cried. Her gaze wandered to the apple and she looked at Lucifer, understanding why Adam was so upset.

They were about to leave, Adam now staring ahead in a listless way, when Lucifer said, "They're coming. I can feel them." They didn't have any warning chains wrapped around them. Adam was forcibly ripped from Lucifer's arms and Adam wailed for 'Luci and Lily' in a way that broke their hearts.

"How dare you?" A voice said and Lucifer's face darkened when he realized it was his brother. Michael.

Meanwhile, Adam was dealing with so many new things all at once.

Adam felt a whirlwind of emotions crashing over him, a storm that was impossible to navigate. The chaos around him blurred into an incoherent mess, with voices raised in anger and conflict that pierced his ears like shards of glass. All he could think about were Lily and Luci, the two comforting anchors he so desperately needed in this chaotic sea.

Every shout, every argument, only intensified his desire to escape. He longed to disappear from the suffocating atmosphere that enveloped him, to find solace far away from the turmoil of those he once trusted. Anger bubbled within him, mingling with sadness, confusion, and a deep sense of horror at the situation around him. It was as if his heart was a battleground, fighting against all these conflicting feelings.

He felt an intense hatred toward Heaven and Eve, a burning resentment that clouded his judgment. But as much as he wanted to direct that anger at Luci and Lily, the fact that they had returned for him shattered that impulse. Their presence was a confusing balm; it both soothed him and ignited his frustration. Why had they chosen to come back? Did they not understand the weight of the anger he felt?

The overwhelming rush of emotions clawed at him, demanding to be released. He found himself screaming, his voice an echo of the confusion that churned within him. Each scream was a plea for clarity in a world where nothing made sense, where love and hatred were entwined in a fierce dance, leaving him lost and alone.

"Look at what you've done to him. You've tainted him." Adam screamed when he was thrown towards Lucifer and Lilith. "He can rot with you." Adam's tears dried as the ground opened up and they all fell inside the hole. The last thing Adam saw was Eve's blank face as the hole shut on them.

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