#og michael myers x you

[angled-blade]

Thoughts Unspoken.

Pairing(s): Michael Myers/Reader

Warning(s): Implied mention of violence and murder.

Additional: 5,432 words. Written in 2nd POV [You/Your]. Storyline is set during the events of Halloween (1978).

Michael felt the rush of adrenaline left him quickly as he walked along the streets of Haddonfield, a cool breeze from the wind gently brushing against him. His body remained tense, ready to be on the run from the authorities whenever it was necessary to do so. The night of Halloween was still young—peace and silence now followed him after the actions he committed. Michael strayed away from his home for now, knowing that it would be the subject of interest for the authorities to look into as Halloween passes into November. He felt particularly empty, with a hunger now ebbing away at him the more steps he took down the street.

The function bothered him, as it still attempted to suggest to the Shape that he was still human. Perhaps it was true in the case of when he was younger, a small glint of humanity prospering in his eyes when he had first been taken to Smith’s Grove as the little child he was. The little light had been dimmed and quickly dissipated as he began undergoing treatment. No longer was he a little boy as much as his actions now were no longer excusable—his understanding of it being obscured even further by Dr. Loomis’ belief and understanding of him. If he was the Boogeyman they chose to depict and interpret, that was on them. One thing that was absolute, was that he was no longer human. The newfound title wrapped around his limbs in a tight embrace—as if daring others to prove otherwise. With it as the truth, his viewpoint on the world began to dull with every year that passed.

Common human functions that Michael saw for himself would be the motivations, goals and even desires belonging to those around him. He saw desire ever so present with his victims, their acts of blatant adultery—alongside their motivation to continue on running from him as a futile attempt to escape.. Despite being witness to the many moments of humanity before him, not once had Michael discovered a suitable situation where it required him to demonstrate it. 

Not that there was a possibility that he could have ever tried, but that was the biggest difference between man and Michael. Dr. Loomis’ claimed himself that his mind had already been perfected to the nth degree as a heartless evil who knew no bounds—with a taste for bloodshed, to top everything all off. He, in spite of any circumstance, should know that it was universally impossible for him to attempt at reigniting the cheap alternative of humanity. He knew it was, having had the opportunities to do so permanently snipped away from young. 

—

He recalls each defining moment during his stay at Smith’s Grove as if it occurred within a span of a few days.

When he had been admitted into the sanatorium at six, the four white walls were all that he could see and grow accustomed to. Michael had looked into every nook and cranny that may pose to him as a weakness in the foundation. By then, he decided that he wanted to leave Smith’s Grove. It wasn’t an if at all, but when. It was a more palpable answer to himself that where he was now was not at all ideal. Despite his distaste for the concrete barriers, he was initially tended to by the professionals who came to visit him. Keyword on initially. 

With time, almost every toy imaginable began to manifest before him, dropped off by the doctor in exchange for his words. Michael settled on answering yes or no questions, his child mind failing to understand—let alone wrap around the use of big words said by Samuel. He never understood, despite his high expectations of him being able to do so. 

Michael received more toys whenever he said yes to Dr. Loomis’ queries, to which he took advantage. There were only so many toys for a boy to get. He quickly lost his interest in receiving the toy itself, but still remained stubborn in keeping it a part of his collection. He was quick to figure out that his stubbornness was picked apart by the professionals overseeing him, in which he realised and acknowledged the many eyes on him—those who monitor his every move. 

Michael began to shut down shortly after, resulting in his behaviour now appearing slow and inattentive during interviews.

A year passed, the toys gifted to him from when he was seven were removed from his person. The reason for removal was due to his unresponsive behaviour toward the toys and when it was his turn to answer Dr. Loomis. Despite the sudden changes made by his doctor, Michael did not react. Jotting down his unresponsiveness as yet another inhuman quality, Dr. Loomis moved on to clear his collection, leaving Michael with a barren, white room. Of course, the boy did not seem to respond. With the lack of interest in the toys Dr. Loomis attempted to bribe Michael with for answers he wanted to hear, the lesser the primal urge of possessiveness became prevalent in the young boy.

At age nine Michael began to grow even more quieter, with each word he uttered barely above a whisper. In which his voice began to blend in with the soundless room. Even if he spoke, every word appeared to mimic a muffled voice from afar—that very voice being one inadvertently ignored due to its similarity with all that was natural. Not once would anyone expect a voice from normality. It was at this age where Michael began nurturing his patience, doing so after acknowledging that escape from what he presumed to be a tightly secured building would require for him to wait. With his almost hollowed sense of self, Michael’s focus on his restraint was expanded upon tenfold—testing the limits of it firstly, by remaining stationary for long periods of time. 

Age 10, the boy was near silent. The only sign that he was living were the small, barely noticeable intakes of breath that he took when the nurses checked up on him. Many of the nurses overseeing Michael presumed that he was merely zoning out. They were wrong, as Michael honed in on his skills, patiently waiting for the opportunity to arise.

With Dr. Loomis’ attempts at reaching him, he was continuously deemed unresponsive with every visit. This resulted in the doctor inviting other child psychologists to attempt at reaching him, the change bringing about the many doses they injected into Michael. Being heavily medicated left Michael even more sluggish, especially matched in movement as he was being led to and fro interview rooms before returning to his room once more. Despite the doses, it appeared to those on observational duty noting that Michael had begun to grow.

By the time his silence marked into its 15th year, Michael Audrey Myers had become a behemoth of a man. His stature was intimidating, paired with his already selective behaviour as a man of very few words—he found himself pandered into an image that was reserved for him, a being thought to be lesser than man in spite of the many human qualities they presumed he decided to impersonate. A concretised, textbook definition of evil. 

What they failed to realise was that with every visit they intended to make, Michael’s trust in them dissipates significantly with every direct question they dare ask. Prying into his physical condition was a matter he’d grown to tolerate, however, believing that they of all people have a right to pry into the memories he held onto? Michael stared back unamused, his body unmoving with his lips remaining sealed. Every move of his was monitored as usual, and much to Samuel’s chagrin and frustration, Michael didn’t react. With the claims made by that doctor, it appeared (perhaps as a butterfly effect to seem glad for) that the nurses and guards began to grow careless. Many of them had even been foolish enough to turn with their backs facing him, as if they themselves had forgotten who it was that they were to watch over.

Michael’s eyes were astute in recognising changes to routine, be it his—or the guards that patrol in the sanatorium. He learnt and remembered the changes that the guards at Smith’s Grove make during holidays, with it resulting in a good handful of guards being away and few that would remain patrolling the halls of the sanatorium. It appeared that with recognition of his inhumanity, his senses had heightened to an almost remarkable standard—his sense of hearing being one of them. He used that acutely hearing every footstep as the guard stepped toward the office to clock out. Everything by then appeared to fall into place, a perfect chain of events that followed one after another. Almost as if it were purely by chance, the opportunity to leave the sanatorium had come.

Michael followed through, escaping Smith’s Grove Sanatorium the night before Halloween.

—

That being said, he knew this change was what he wrought out for himself. It never would have been permitted by the doctors who tended to him. He had already blocked out the unnecessary aspects of social function with those people, finding each voice equally irritating than the last. Even if he tried to reciprocate, most, if not all, took advantage of his reaction as being the key to his path of confession and rehabilitation. Alas, there was no need to dwell on life at the sanatorium now that he had successfully paved a path for himself.

Hands far more bloodied than ever before, Michael seemed to snap from his thoughts as a voice calling for him rang through his moment of silence.

A voice among the blurred ocean, one that he was not used to.

Michael turned his head to the right, his gaze immediately locking onto someone not too far away—perhaps only a few feet. There you were, standing on the front porch with a large plastic bowl tucked under an arm. You waved at him. 

“You should head on home and eat, it’s getting late anyway—” You cautioned, before a smile appeared on your features. It was barely noticeable to the naked eye, but not to Michael’s. He took note of your smile that seemed to be illuminated from the warm light of your home. “—...Uh, Happy Halloween.”

With that, Michael watched as you retreated into your home. It had only been a half an hour, he thought. The authorities would still be at the Myers home, loitering around his property in an almost futile attempt to gather even a sliver of traces that could aid in pinpointing the Shape’s current whereabouts, as he came to expect. With a tight grip on the kitchen knife, Michael decided to follow you into your home, deciding to quietly enter through the backdoor.

—

You didn’t know what it was, but after seeing that strange man, you could almost feel an extra pair of eyes staring you down. It seemed as though they were watching your every move.

You chalked up the concern to something close to mere paranoia, setting aside the orange bowl atop the kitchen counter as you tucked away the leftover candy into the pantry. You felt too exhausted to make any labour intensive meals, leaving you to settle on a simpler meal to make. You took your time as you made a few slices of French toast, plating them carefully beside the bowl as you wait for it to cool. You found yourself continuing to ignore the unnerving stares that lingered, shutting the lights off with your plate in hand.

You stopped in your tracks once you turned on your heel to exit the kitchen. Your path was blocked by a tall figure, their presence looming over you despite them remaining almost perfectly still.

By some coincidence, you recognised the figure’s posture.

“You’re that man from earlier.” You spoke, voice already uneasy on how you should conduct yourself before this man. It was as if he was more intimidating up close, but you weren’t too sure. 

“You really shouldn’t break into people’s homes—” That’s when you saw it. It was barely noticeable, and yet with a small glimmer of light hit against the object that the man was holding, revealing the weapon. It was only for a brief moment, although you were now aware of the large kitchen knife that he held in his right hand. Figuring out ways to defuse and minimise the risk of danger, you wracked your brain to recall what you said prior. It hit you in an instant, with you quickly glancing at your plate of French toast. 

“…Are you hungry, sir? Wh–” A hitch was present in your voice as you tried to string words along in a cohesive manner. “Was that why you broke in?” You asked, hesitation layered thickly in your voice. His head slowly tilted slightly toward his left, as if processing your statement. 

—

Tilting his head back into its original position, Michael watched as you set the plate back onto the kitchen counter in its place. Deciding to humour you, he moved to the side before awaiting your reaction. You took the bait, though you ensured that you kept facing him as you moved away. You acknowledged the fact that he was dangerous even before he struck, a fearful expression plastered across your features. Michael turned his attention back onto the meal you had prepared, the smell of butter and egg still in the air as it attempted to combat the thick iron that seeped into the fabric of his boilersuit. The knife was now on the kitchen counter, coincidentally beside the empty plastic bowl that you had been using to innocently hand out candies to the trick-or-treaters. He lifted his mask ever so slightly, his mouth only revealed before he began to eat away at the bread. The meal assisted in abating the hunger he had, the function disappearing soon after—which returned Michael back into a familiar, clearer state of mind. He turned to face the direction from where you escaped to. Your shadow remained at the same spot—he presumed you were standing by the front door, ready to run when the time calls for it. He picked up his knife once more, the sound causing your breathing to quicken. The urge to kill had already died down earlier, leaving him at a loss on what to do. 

He left shortly after, leaving behind a victim bewildered at what transpired.

✻

The days bled through November as you wondered about the night on the 31st.

This strange man who you chanced upon on that fateful Halloween night—you found out about who he was that you survived from. It gave you chills that it was Michael Myers, the infamous serial killer known to be ruthless as he terrorised those who lived in Haddonfield, who had spared you amongst the others whom he crossed paths with. 

After that night in particular, you expected that he would return to kill you some way or another. You never expected him to be by the kitchen doorway, standing still as he watched you cook dinner. You almost dropped your meal once you saw him now a few steps forward, making himself known in an instant. The initial shock didn’t last once you noticed that he no longer carried the large kitchen knife from before, and that his attention was no longer on you—but rather, the meal you had prepared. You grabbed a fork before holding out the plate of carbonara toward him, eyes shutting instinctively in fear of any aggressive reaction. It was nerve wracking, feeling his larger hands grab the meal and fork. You peeked, seeing Michael’s back facing you now as you heard the sound of the metal fork hitting against ceramic.

“Y..You should be sitting down and eating. You might choke on the meal if you keep eating as you stand.” you chastised softly, tensing up once you realised that he stopped moving. You braced for the worse. This is where you die. You could hear yourself reasoning. You’ll die in your kitchen at the hands of Michael Myers. To your surprise, he seemed to listen. He moved toward the dining room, which had you even more agitated with the realisation that he must have figured out the layout of your home without you knowing—either by watching or something even more heinous—seating himself on the chair. It was as he was seated that you grasped how tall he really was, his body hunched over as he ate as quietly as he could. 

He stood up as soon as he finished his meal, his stare returning onto you before he nodded slowly. You blinked in confusion, before realising that he had left once again, leaving you once again mystified at his uncharacteristic behaviour.

You tried to not think too much about it, though you found out that it was only the beginning of his visits.

Days turn into weeks as you find yourself greeted with the sight of Michael more often than not.

One-off visits became weekly before transitioning into him visiting twice or thrice per week. You attempted to adjust, purchasing ingredients to prepare meals for two, plating your meal closest to the doorway to make any particularly quick exits—and almost routinely, Michael returned to eat once again. It was silent during the dinner you now shared together, leaving you to bask in exasperation at the current situation you were in with Haddonfield’s most wanted killer.

It was a Friday, you were seated across from Michael as you ate your portion of lasagna. You turned toward the direction of where he was seated, seeing him slowly take bites. His mouth was the only thing that was uncovered, save for his blue eyes that were visible through the eyeholes of the cheap latex. They were alluring, despite seeming empty yet so full of hidden secrets—some that he kept aside under lock and key. His slow movement as he ate had thrown you into a loop in the beginning, as it was jarring when compared to his ability to disappear sight in an instant—as if he were playing into the idea that he looked to be unassuming and harmless with the reaction speed he had, despite it being further from the truth. You knew that he was far faster than he would let on, leaving you to be reminded further that he was dangerously unpredictable. Alas, your staring did not go unnoticed, seeing how he paused on eating. Not long after, you were quick to realise that Michael was staring right back at you.

—

He watched as you stumbled on your own words, expectantly waiting for you to clarify.

“Sorry for–you know, staring. Did you… Did you like the food?” You asked sheepishly, seeming unsure of yourself as you did so. He could see a grimace present in your eyes, though it appeared to not be directed toward him but toward yourself. Michael wondered about the question, turning his gaze back onto his plate—his head tilted in the process.

 “The food.. Did you enjoy eating it?” You seem to have pressured yourself to elaborate further, most likely due to the silence that perturbed you.

Like? He thought, a feeling of loss now taking over his mind as he ran through multiple ideas on what that word entailed in his case. Did he like eating? Eating was a function he had to endure as a part of him to conduct—as it was a means to stave off the other functions such as hunger and fatigue. After eating as regularly as he visited you, he noted himself that the two functions made themselves less present. Eating was a function to prevent the other two, which were equally troublesome—and had been responsible for nudging the possibility of his humanity. With that conclusion in mind, he supposed that he did like to eat.

But to enjoy? What did that mean?

Michael returned his gaze onto you, head once again tilted as he stared you down. Once more, he was expecting answers from you. You seemed to pick up on this, appearing confused now at his reaction.

“Do..—” You paused, seeming to think over your words before continuing your statement. “—Do you… not understand what those words mean?”

Michael did not respond, though his eyes glanced at your plate for a brief moment. 

“To ‘like’—” You made sure to air quote it. “—it’s… a positive feeling that you might have sometimes. Say, doing a favourite activity for example. You would feel strongly about it, to say the least.” You explained, using your hands to gesture an emphasis on your own words. Michael mulled over your description of the word. You didn’t stop your explanation, filling the awkward silence now with your voice. This time around, Michael didn’t seem to find himself needing to block out your voice. He supposed there was no need to, seeing how your voice did not match the scratchy tones of those before you. Strangely enough, Michael found himself listening to you as you spoke. 

“To enjoy… It’s something you find pleasure in—like an activity you like to the point where you want to repeat—and even return to it—whenever you have the chance. Just like you eating right here… if that is okay to use.” You quickly ended your sentence, a sheepish expression appearing over your features. Michael did not appear to respond.

“Right… right. I’ll be clearing the plates now—” You spoke cautiously, before clearing your throat nervously, your voice now returned to normal. “—I hope that my explanation helped you out in understanding what it meant.” Michael stood abruptly, a slow nod being his only response to you throughout the entire night. Michael left soon after, multiple thoughts swarming his mind as if it were a hive of irritated wasps, a low buzz following after every thought that passed through it.

There was a lot to think over for Michael. He didn’t know what it was, but it intrigued his curiosity to look into it further.

✻

Days pass by as usual, he heard that it was near the end of November.

Michael still continued his visits, your home now a secondary shelter that he found himself returning to more often than his own—be it after a kill, whether he was hungry again or his visits were purely out of boredom—your home was a place that he returned to with a comfortable feeling washing over him, despite him not understanding why he felt it so. You seemed to welcome him inside as well, greeting him each time he stood in your living room or kitchen. You began changing, too, from your initial reaction of fear to one that seemed welcoming to the killer as you began talking to him, your hands multitasking as you did so. This change was new to him as well, seeing how it usually went quite the opposite for people who had interacted with Michael. It was always their guard being down and acting carefree in the beginning before it morphed into one of sheer terror. It was a horrifying feeling, one that overtook their entire body once they saw Michael as the danger he truly was. Despite that, their screams appeared satisfactory to the killer as he watched the life drain from their eyes. 

You, on the other hand, reacted differently. You acknowledged that he was dangerous, as seen with your fear on that night. How you used that fear to escape, however, was what made you incongruent from the victims before him. You reached him with a simple question, one that had him stopping just enough in his tracks from killing you. As if you were struck down with a short sliver of luck, you didn’t die. Slowly, but surely, Michael began to associate you with something similar as a provider—something to feed him. He supposed it couldn’t be helped that he needed you alive to solve the function of hunger. 

And then there was your explanation of those very two words that he was initially lost on.

One thing that also set you apart from the others that he met during his sprees was that you answered him truthfully. His questions were left unspoken, but you picked up on it. He knew how to tell whenever something was amiss, and by body language alone, you were no liar. 

With the time he spent over at your home, he realised that you were growing used to him—that left him confused.

Left to his own devices, Michael realised that he kept on repeating the words that you said in his mind. Answers came easily from you, it seemed to him. He took advantage of it, becoming quick in absorbing your words like a sponge, adding the newfound knowledge to something that was tangible for his mind to accept. Michael applied your examples, especially in the case of him constantly returning for you, taking his time forming new reasons as to what it meant for him.

He started simply enough, what was it that he liked?

He knew he liked eating. It served its purpose in reducing the function of hunger to a noticeable degree, allowing him to continue on his day. He liked the fact that you were quick to adapt and make food for him, as it benefitted him. 

Not long after, Michael began to realise that his answers were beginning to delve into far more specific aspects that pertained to you.

One notable answer was that Michael liked your voice. It was easy to listen to, nor did you seem to use it carelessly. You chose your words tactfully and with a caution that you still held onto despite having gotten used to him as a frequent visitor of yours. 

Another answer was your eyes. They held many emotions that Michael could not even begin to comprehend, nor would he ever find himself to begin understanding. As intriguing as it was seeing you emote freely, it left a bittersweet feeling to form within him the more he stared. This was more due to the fact that those eyes of yours were windows to something that he would never become. A human.

It was midway into December. By that time, he learnt more about feelings with your assistance. Michael began to understand the strong surges of what it was that came over him whenever he did experience them. He learnt the feelings of joy and excitement, seeing it prevalent as you talked about your hobbies. It was one of the many afternoons in which Michael entered your home once again. He did not kill today, nor did he feel the urge to do so. 

Michael noted the fact that you were not in your living room. It didn’t take long for him to realise that you were in your bedroom. He wondered why it was that you were keeping yourself quiet and hidden from him. There was nothing else for you to hide from him anyway. He walked closer, where he heard it a good few feet away from him. It was the sound of you crying. The sound by itself was one of many noises that he was used to hearing, but never from you, which resulted in him being put on high alert. He stood by the door to your bedroom, lightly tapping against it with a knuckle. You quietened shortly after, your hand now on the door knob. He expected you to open it right after, but you seemed to hesitate.

“—’m sorry, Michael. I’m.. I’ll be out soon, give me a second.” You sniffled through your assurance. Michael backed away from the door, standing still as he waited. There was now the soft sound of the doorknob being twisted, the door opening to reveal you before the killer. Now that you did so, he began to assess the situation and the state you were in. 

While you tried to wipe away the tears that streaked down your cheeks, the puffiness of your eyelids and the distressed demeanour you exuded gave everything away. Michael didn’t know what it was, but what followed after struck his chest hard, as if someone swung their bat and had it made contact with his chest. There he felt tide of negative emotions that swept over him, now with words that he learned from you to describe what it was he felt. 

Unbridled rage took over his body, an especially strong emotion that he initially was surprised to know he had, but it felt especially accurate to describe it as such. To him, it felt as though the world around him began to quickly quieten itself at the sheer malice that emanated from his person as his vision turned red. Your words began to sound muffled as he ignored all that was around him, his mind immediately zeroing in on what—or who, in this case—that had you end up in the way you were. He felt his previously dormant bloodlust spike once he had a name to his target. Michael realised that in that very moment, you had become the prized item that he unknowingly sought after from when he was a little boy—one that truly interested him, one that he felt had to be earned—unlike the however many toys that ended up in his way. In which by some stroke of luck, it had fallen into his hands right after he had made that decision to leave the sanatorium. To him, you were something that he now had to look after in his own way, in fear of you enduring harm as you had right now.

Michael’s vision cleared, the red quickly dissolved once he heard you call for him. Your voice seemed to pierce through the rage that he had momentarily, having him glance at your face. You made an attempt to assure him that you would be alright later on, resulting in the man staring back at you, eyes peeking through the mask unamused. He moved toward you, his gaze softening to an considerable degree as he nodded to you in way as if asking you to return to  your bedroom. You attempted to protest, but the words quickly died in your throat as you saw how tightly clenched his fists were. You sighed and nodded, retreating to your bed, hearing the door shut behind you.

The killer was quick to leave your home, knowing that there was a target for him to take care of.

—

It was now nighttime when Michael returned to your home. He made sure that there was no blood present on him, knowing you would connect the pieces if he came back as he usually did. 

What he didn’t expect was you bounding over him, concern over your features now as you looked all over him.

“You had me worried, Michael.” For what? He wondered, standing still as you lightly touched him—checking him over for any particular injury you presumed he might be concealing from the human eye. You worry too much. Michael huffed quietly, shaking his head to dismiss your concerns. You sighed, accepting his response.

“Alright… Okay. How about we eat dinner, then? I’ve already prepared it.” You offered before waiting for his response. He nodded, observing your expression turning into one similar to delight. You made your way toward the dining room, leaving Michael on his own by the backdoor. Visiting your home had brought upon many different experiences that were new and unknown to Michael. As he was, the killer began to acknowledge multiple things about himself that he believed to be fact and the truth itself.

Your words had its way to disturb his line of thought and the engrained beliefs he had about himself. Your thoughts and explanations had even challenged the very idea that he was evil incarnate and that he was… human. 

You gave him answers, for the better or for the worse, Michael didn’t care. Because of you, he learnt about the feelings that he had. Because of you, he was acknowledging the parts of him that made him human, and that had him realise he was not as emotionless as he was described and portrayed whenever he was with you. To others who have encountered him, he didn’t care that they saw him as such, knowing how reputation affected those deeply in the town of Haddonfield.

In the end, Michael found himself acknowledging a thought that he had been originally unsure of. Now, he was sure it was definite.

Michael was certain toward the idea of him liking you.

I hope you enjoyed reading this, I am really sorry for any poor quality you might detect!

Hopefully this rendition of Michael Myers that I have written is alright as well!!

If it is alright, please reblog this post! (:

Once again, thank you again for reading and Happy New Years!!

[osirisisv]

Here.

What you always wanted. 🍬💕

Michael is too shy to kiss you yet, he hopes this is enough <3

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!

From our beloved boy mickey 🥰❤️💕

[yourbestprincess]

OG Michael head cannons 🗣️ (I can’t stop thinking about him)

FLUFF-

-He would let you play with his curly hair, 100%.

-He takes pictures of you and you don’t even notice.

-He loves when you follow him around like a puppy. Why would he want to even be alone when you’re there?

-He stalks you just to make sure that you’re okay.

-You’re out with friends? No you’re not. He keeps a time limit on that shit. He needs attention from you too! (You left him for a hour)

-He would pick you up (dbd style) and just throw you over his shoulder whenever you’re being a pain in the ass, and you can’t even move from his grip because he’s so much bigger than you.

-He likes cats, he looks like a cat kinda guy. You would see a stray on the street and pick it up and he would just let you take it home.

-You guys are out and you’re getting tired? He’s gonna hold you, no matter how much you protest, your legs are gonna wrap around his sides and your arms are going to go around his neck. He’ll put his arms around your back to stabilize you. You doubt you’ll fall asleep like this…(you fell asleep 2 minutes after saying that)

-HE’S SO DAMN STUBBORN. Whatever he wants to happen WILL happen, no exceptions.

-He loves it so much when you wear his clothes. When you take a shower, he sets his shirt and boxers out for you to wear instead of your cute pj pants.

-He’a watching you at all times. He needs to know what you’re doing and how you’re doing it or else there’s a risk you could get hurt and he’s not willing to take that.

-He’s SO protective over you. He will kill for you.

-He likes to watch you do things when you knows he’s watching. He loves seeing your reaction to random stuff.

-He loves when you sit on his lap, he would keep you there all day if you’d let him.

-He LOVES LOVES LOVES kisses, this man will kiss you until your lips go numb. He doesn’t know what he’s doing but he loves kissing you.

-He drives you around wherever you wanna go.

-He’s always touching you, no matter what.

-He loves listening to you talk! He also likes listening to you rant, but be careful about who you talk shit about cause if they did anything to you, he’s killing them.

SMUT-

-He loves to breed you. He doesn’t really know what it means, but he loves cumming inside of you, EVERY time.

-If he’s having a good day then he’s more likely to take off his mask when you’re fucking, but if it was a bad day don’t expect his mask to come off because he’s using you as his fuck toy then.

-If he’s in a gentler mood, he gives you kisses while he bottoms out inside you.

-He loves when you say his name so much.

-He’s sooo dominate, he rarely lets you get on top, and if you do…TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THAT cause it’s probably not gonna happen again for a loooong time.

-He’s so big….both ways.

-He mouths your name instead of saying it even though he tries.

-Each time you guys fuck you see more and more emotion on his face!

-You’ll definitely be able to see a tummy bulge cause of how big he is…

-He loves when you whine and cry for him.

-He LOVES to overstimulate you until you’re sobbing and begging him to stop.

-He attempts aftercare and he’s started getting ‘good’ at it. In his eyes you laying on him and him putting his arm around you afterwards is exquisite aftercare. (I still love him 🙏)

-He tries not to make any noise but he ends up grunting…a lot.

-He will gently pull your hair or choke you if you’re not letting him do what he needs to do.

-If he sees that you’re visibly uncomfortable with something that he’s doing, he will never do it again, unless you convince him otherwise and that would be really hard.

-He will go up behind you and purposely scare you and that really turns him on.

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

Hey I was thinking of something really cute and I couldn't get it out of my head 😅 what if slashers ( Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Freddy Krueger.) Reaction to child! Reader putting a bandaid on them and kissing it when they get like a scratch or something. My little niece does that to me and I think it's so cute 🥹

AHH MY REQUEST IS SUCH A MESS RN BUT THIS IS TOO CUTE sorry if this was choppy, it's 10 pm rn and I have no energy.

My gm asked me where the bandaids were while I was writing this woah.

Michael 🔪

Michael always got hurt during his killings. Of course he did it was consequnces for his actions it was no biggie.

But one little person didn't think so.

You secretly got a bandaid from the bathroom the night before since you knew when Michael would attack and get hurt.

Your parents were sure that they weren't gonna get hurt this night since they never did. But still didn't allow you to go out.

But that didn't stop you, you waited till it was 12 or 1 am and climbed down from your window (pretend you live in the ground floor if you don't) and worked your tiny legs away to your waiting friend.

You saw your massive friend behind a tree and you ran up to him with the bandaid in your hand and you saw that he had a small cut on his bicep.

And you immediately went to the rescue.

Michael had spotted you as per usual but what he didn't understand was why did you have a bandaid in your hand. Did you get hurt?

His question was soon answered as you took out the seal and gently placed it on his wound. Michael, confused but felt something warm inside him at this interaction.

But made him look like my profile picture was when you placed a small kiss on the bandaid. Omg.

"I hope you get better Michael." baby you said with a cute small and he thought he was having a seizure because his body shook from the wholesomeness and wanted to go pounce on someone so it'd go away.

Every now and then he purposely gets small scratches or wounds, just small enough not to freak you out but big enough to alert you. He loves likes them get better kisses from his illegally adopted kid.

Jason 🪓

Jason in the winter, sometimes gets scratched by carrying big logs of trees and although it was nothing compared to the injuries he gets from victims, you still wanted your dad to be unscathed nonetheless. There wasn't much visitors in the the camp in winter anyway.

He placed the fire wood inside the fireplace but he was careless and small little red lines on his forearm appeared after dropping them near his arm. You were watching him while it happened, he brushed it off and turned to you but saw you nowhere.

After 3 minutes of searching you around the house, with a non pleasant feeling coiling in his stomach, he saw you coming out of the bathroom.

He was about to mutely scold you but you held something in your hands.

He waited for you to reveal what you were holding but you pointed to the chair in the room and he figured you wanted him to sit down. And so he did.

You went over to his side and bought his arm out and carefully placed the bandaid on his lined arm. Jason was a bit shocked but slowly melted as he giggled at the thought of his child caring for him.

And he almost died when you kissed it. He placed his huge arms around you and almost cried thinking about what he did to deserve such an angel baby like you.

He had been so lonely without his momma, he was so lucky to have you by his side. Besides his anger, you were one of the many reasons he still wants to live.

Pamela just adores his baby boy with his grandchild bonding.

"don't be so clumsy next time dad :)"

He was one lucky daddy.

Thomas 🩸 ���️

Thomas didn't get love nor cared for, that was for sure. And he thought you wouldn't be any different but he still loved you regardless.

You heard your dad rear his chainsaw as your family had found yet another bodies of food. One victim was persistent and your dad almost cut his leg off! It was unfortunate he couldn't see how on edge you were.

But you made sure today, you were show him how much you cared for him. And so that he should be more careful from now on.

Though he wasn't hunting, but he got burned by accidentally brushing the palm of his hand against the hot pan luda was cooking on.

Now he sat on the couch looking at his now red palm. Seeing this, you rushed to the garage and found a med kit, now looking through the med kit you finally found a bandaid.

Now walking back the living room you saw hoyt yelling at Thomas for whatever reason and went back to his car. Thomas getting ready to get up, was pushed back down by a small, weak, body.

He looked over and saw you, showing him a bandaid and quickly ripping off the seal and placing it cautious on his palm. This was a surprise to Thomas but he didn't budge, scared that he might mess u somehow and make you angry.

He was so happy to have received something so pure and lovely from his little kid. He was smiling so big. And he made sure to always protect and be with you when he realised you had kiss on where the aid was placed.

"be careful papa"

Freddy 💤

Such things as scratches or wounds never bothered Freddy, as he could always just regenerate them back in an instant.

And he was always in the dream world anyways. But his intentions weren't harmful when it was towards you. But didn't really think you would patch him up if he got hurt, if anything you probably think he's a scary high ranked dream demon who is unbeatable.

After messing with some poor people, he had a deep cut on his shoulder and he thought what your reaction would be of you saw it. Would you freak out? Would you cry? Would you scream?

Fun was all about freddy's life so why not test it out. He brought himself into the outside world and found you in your couch.

He surprised you by yelling boo in your face and it worked, now the shocked expression on your face was even wider when you saw the leceration on his shoulder. He was laughing at your face but shut up and looked at you as you ran somewhere.

Well... He had his answer now. How boring though. As he was about to mess with you more, you appeared with a bandaid in your hand as you climbed on the couch and placed it on his shoulder. It was now Freddy's turn to get shocked.

Now he couldn't believe what he saw when you kissed on the yellow thin piece of paper. "I don't like seeing you get hurt."

He was shocked but he couldn't help the smile creeping on his face, out of nothing but pure happiness. Damn you reminded him of his mom... So angelic like.

[saphirreesuccudus]

Could you do something spicy with all the slashers and a male reader? Nothing serious just how they would react with reader being handzy for the first time? -⭐

𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐗 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐗 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

I just to do just Mikey and Vincent, since they’re the only ones I could portray accurately!

Michael - Any

You hadn’t gotten the chance to be handsy with Michael so far, besides holding hands, which only lasted for a few minutes, but it was progress at least. And although you were never one to force something onto someone, maybe just going ahead and trying to cuddle him or touch him would help him open up?

You found him laying on the couch, he had just gotten back, and was exhausted. He unfortunately had to chase down a victim. A young teenager, who was probably more athletic than Michael. You loved him nonetheless, and laid down next to him, making sure to face him.

“Long day Mikey?”

You asked him, earning a grunt in response. You slipped your fingers under his mask, slipping it off and revealing the face you missed looking at. You still fantasized about his beautiful fluffy hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and strong features, no matter how many times you saw it. You allowed him to cuddle into you, even if he seemed to forget your size difference, you let it happen.

Michael loved the way his favorite boy stared at him, and cuddled into him, especially when he was able to be the little spoon. He understood you needed to be taken care of, but theirs nothing wrong with him wanting some prince treatment.

You rubbed your arms across his toned arms, feeling his scars on your soft hands, in contrast to his rough arms. He shivered under your touch, his body heating up. He was clearly nervous, but he trusted you to touch him without hurting him.

He chose to do the same, placing his rough hand on your cheek, and rubbing it, as your cheeks puffed up, smiling with pure joy and excitement.

Vincent Sinclair -

Ever since you and Vincent meant, you frequently hung out him with In his hobbit hole, or Art studio. You never showed interest in the wax sculptures, so you rested on his cot, watching him work. You rarely ever touched him, unfortunately. You understood why, especially with how his brothers treat him, and his work. But you didn’t wanna be stuck only watching him work and nothing else, so you decided to take matters into your own hands

You waited till it was late at night, getting ready for bed, slipped on a pair of boxers and a loose tank top. You soon saw Vincent get up from his seat, cracking his back, and laying down. He had a habit of laying in bed with you till you fell asleep, and getting up later to finish what he needed to finish. Hopefully you can keep him in bed.

You took both arms, wrapping them around his neck, digging your head into his strong chest. You felt his long hair against your skin, which didn’t bother you at all. You soon felt Vincent get comfortable at your embrace, feeling him wrap his arms around your waist, placing one above your ass, softly patting it.

[toxicanonymity]

Morning honey, I was wondering if you could do OG Michael Myers x fem reader who is really horny and Michael can sense it and walks upstairs storms into the room and basically force himself onto you which gets more steamy ! Ty!! <33

CNC-ish (by Spidey sense) Michael

650 | Michael x F!Reader | NSFW

Michael went out a few hours ago and isn't back. You imagine him stalking around Haddonfield in the shadows. His notoriety is so hot to you. His mere appearance is enough to give someone a heart attack. His presence – dark, quietly violent, extreme BDE – sometimes you wish you could meet him all over again. Feel that primal fear before it turned into a primal need. Or was it always a need? You aren't sure anymore. The feeling pounds between your legs. It's hard to remember a time before you saw him this way - a time you wanted to escape.

Michael doesn't even lock you in anymore. You could leave right now. He knows you won't. It's not something you've said out loud, but Michael seems to know everything inside you. So when you begin to throb for him, he knows. And by the moment you start to touch yourself thinking about him looming over you, the door opens downstairs, then slams shut. He takes the stairs two at a time and the thud of his boots makes you even wetter. He pauses at the door, looming there, fingers wiggling almost imperceptibly, a considerable bulge in his jumpsuit. A hot chill rushes over you and you grasp the bedsheet in both hands on your chest.

He lumbers across the room and throws the sheet off of you. His chest rises and falls as you lie naked before him. Your nipples pucker. His hands wrap around your ankles and he yanks you toward the end of the bed. You begin to sit up and reach for him, but with the back of his hand, he slaps your arm away. He grabs you by the throat and picks you up enough to force you face-down down on the mattress.

Your whole body is dizzy with desire. You try to turn over and face him and he forces you back down. You hear his jumpsuit unzip, making you even wetter. You try to catch a glimpse of his monster cock and he forces you down again. The mattress groans under his weight as he kneels on the bed. Then his hands yank your hips up toward him and his cock slaps heavily against your ass cheek.

One hand leaves your hip as his tip nudges your dripping wet entrance then he holds you on both sides again and violently pulls you back, plunging his obscene length into you. You groan as he parts your insides. He exhales sharply, then begins to pound you. You moan and whimper and feel it building in your core as he tears you apart and makes you complete. Nothing compares to the feeling of Michael inside you. Even like this, when you can't even see him. Especially like this. When he takes you forcefully and raw. He knows how needy you are for his cock.

You're starving and every thrust is a little bite of him. You can never have enough. Your body draws him into you as the tension builds deep inside. He pummels you ruthlessly and you take every inch. He grunts and stars burst from your solar plexus, your vision goes white, your body slowly convulses, strangling his cock with your pleasure. He pulses inside you and pumps you full of cum in enormous bursts. The hot, creamy firehose never seems to end until he finally stills his hips.

He withdraws and zips up. His cum trickles out of you as you collapse on the bed and turn over to see him cross the room. He descends the stairs as quickly as he came, then the door opens and slams again.

Master List

Have a beautiful day!

michael: @ethanhoewke @wolvesandvampires @rebel-blue

[slasherhoe87]

Happy Monday honey𓆩♡𓆪

I was wondering if you could write a drabble of Michael Myers where you're dating him and he doesn't know you're into men with balaclava's, until one day he's on your laptop for something and he comes across your tumblr page that is full of guys with balaclava's on and something crawls into his mind.

Maybe smut and Michael being dominate <3

Thank you angel🥰

No problem Megan ❤. Ok!... I'm doing this one before work because I feel so guilty about not getting around to writing any of my other requests yet 🙈🤦🏼‍♀️ (I will get to them, I promise!)

OG/RZ/Peepaw Michael Myers x f!reader

18+ for graphic smut, con noncon, implied violence

Michael indulges in his s/o's balaclava kink:

You had been enjoying a cup of spiced tea on your worn-in recliner, scrolling through Tumblr on your laptop, simping over art and fanfics of dangerous men in masks and balaclavas.

You had always had a kink for masked men but until now it had only been "standard" horror movie masks, such as Jason's, Ghostface's, Vincent's wax mask, Leatherface's and especially your Michael's expressionless alabaster mask. Only recently had you come to appreciate the simplicity of the humble balaclava - Ghost from Call of Duty was the catalyst of this new attraction and you jumped head first into the rabbit hole of art and fiction of morally grey or downright psychotic men with toned bodies, balaclava'd faces and piercing eyes that burned through you with carnal need right down to your core.

As you took another sip of your tea you felt a presence to your left. Turning your head in that direction you see Michael standing motionless as a statue at the base of the stairs just staring at you. Top half of his overalls off of his torso and tied around his waist, mask slightly askew.

Instead of shrieking and jumping like you used to when you were not so accustomed to his sudden, silent appearances you smiled and got up from your seat.

"Did you have a good sleep, baby?" You ask as you place one hand on his chest and the other on his strong shoulder.

You receive nothing in return except for his blank gaze upon you, those darkened eyeholes of his mask as eerie as ever.

Not detoured by his normal silence and seeming disinterest, you give him a peck on the cheek of his mask and head into the kitchen to make him some lunch from yesterday's leftovers.

You hear the tv switch on as you pull out the ingredients to make a sandwich with the leftover chicken. As you begin slicing the cucumber you pause for a second to see Michael watching true crime again. You always wonder what goes through his mind when he sees the crimes of other killers. Is he impressed, unimpressed, indifferent, intrigued? Does he learn anything? You guess you'll never know unless Michael just one day decides to break his self-imposed silence.

xxxxxxx

Later that night you're turning your little house upside down looking for your laptop. You were so sure you had left it on the coffee table in the living room but... you guess not? You didn't blame Michael as he had never shown interest in the laptop before, and its not like you could ask him now anyhow as he was out butchering people to death. Yes, you are aware at how desensitised you have become to murder and death. Loving Michael forced you to accept his lifestyle - fast.

Huffing in annoyance you stomp over to the door leading to the garage, knowing for a fact it won't be there but its the only place you haven't looked yet. You push open the door and flick on the light, ready to immediately switch it off again because you hadn't been in the garage all day.

However, when your eyes fell onto the workbench, there your laptop sat surrounded by empty candy wrappers.

"Michael... what the hell" you mumble to yourself in confusion. You can't say you were really mad at him for using the laptop because he was more than welcome to. But you were just confused as he had never shown interest in it nor did you think he knew how to use it.

Scooping up all the candy wrappers you chuck them into the trashcan beneath the workbench and try to start up the laptop. You were met with nothing but a black screen. "Damn. Battery's dead"

You looked at the wall clock and decided to just call it a night. No Netflix for y/n tonight - insert sad face.

Closing your laptop you make for the door when you hear glass smashing from what sounded like the kitchen area.

Heart jumping to your throat you quickly flick the light off and hide under the workbench while looking at the door which lead into the living room. Surely Michael wouldn't smash in the back door?! He had a key and had stopped breaking into the house since the two of you started a relationship. That was a whole year ago!

Before you could think anymore, a pair of legs slowly walked past the garage door and into the living room. You couldn't get the clearest view of the intruder as only a small lamp was on in the living room - the rest of the house was dark.

Your panicked mind only presented 3 options for you to take:

1. Get out of the house and run to the neighbors

2. Either stay where you were or get upstairs and hide while waiting for Michael to return.

3. Get to your cellphone upstairs and call the cops.

Well.. the house keys for the front door were upstairs too and you didn't want to run out of the back door as you were barefoot and there was no doubt glass everywhere. You wouldn't get very far at all with cut up feet before the intruder catches you.

And you didn't exactly want the cops anywhere near you and your home for Michael's sake. So that left option 2. You just had to get upstairs... lots of places to hide and wait for Michael. You also come to realise that you absolutely needed to get Michael a cellphone for emergencies like this. A simple text in this situation could save your life. Why didn't you think of that before, stupid!?

Mentally shaking yourself from your delaying thoughts, you take a deep breath as silently as you can and creep towards the door. You sit on your haunches for a moment, straining your ears to listen for any sign of the intruder when you hear some soft movements from the dining room. Perfect. If you move now you'll have a chance to get upstairs without being seen.

As silently and quickly as you can you scuttle to the - thankfully - carpeted stairs. Just as you're about to take the first step you hear a crashing sound coming from the garage which sounded very much like hard plastic hitting a concrete floor. Your laptop. You must not have put it far enough back onto the workbench when you rushed to switch off the light.

You know for your own sanity you shouldn't have, but you did - you looked back to the dining room entrance.

And there staring at you from in the dark, illuminated only by a bit of moonlight stood a tall figure in faded black overalls and a... balaclava??

Shrieking you turn back around and make for your bedroom - intending to lock the door and climb out of your window onto the veranda's roof and to make your escape.

Your hear his heavy footfalls behind you, closer than what you would like as you scramble to the top of the stairs. Fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river.

Michael where are you? I need you! You internally shout as tears begin falling from your wide, frightened eyes.

As you reach the top of the stairs a large, warm, calloused hand grabs your ankle painfully and roughly causing you to yelp. You try to kick at the man with your other foot but he throws his entire weight onto your body causing the air to be knocked out of you.

You cough while hitting at his shoulders and head with all your might but it doesn't seem to affect him at all.

He grabs you by both your arms and hauls you up onto your feet before swiftly turning you around to be pulled flush against his solid frame. You kick and scream as he takes you towards the bedroom where your panic rises even more at the prospect of what he might actually have in store for you there.

"No please don't! Just take anything you want, please! But just don't hurt me"

You are met with silence as the two of you enter the bedroom. He pauses in front of the bed and the tears stream out of you even harder. Your sobs finally overtake your screaming.

Suddenly and without warning you're flung towards your floor length mirror with your potential assaulter and murderer firmly placing his body flush behind yours. His eyes boring into your own through the mirror.

And that's when you see it. The man had positioned himself in such a way that the moonlight pouring through your window would reflect onto his masked face.

Your sobs instantly quietened as you saw one stormy grey eye heatedly gazing at you through the balaclava opening and one... scarred milky one.

Michael?

"Michael?" You tentatively ask as you sniffle - your struggling subsiding.

He nuzzles your neck and cups your breast, giving it a firm squeeze. You know that hand. You know it well.

Before you can think further, you're picked up and flung onto your bed, the old mattress squeaking in protest at the sudden weight.

Your mind gets whiplash at how suddenly your body responds to this new information and turn of events.

Michael climbs on top of you, not sparing you from his full weight. He straddles your hips, his bloodied hands gripping your wrists tightly above your head. His head is tilted to the side, eyes dilated and dark.

Your breathing has quickened, your nipples pebble and the juncture of your thighs moisten.

A sudden slap to your face causes you to gasp in surprise and before you can think on what just happened your thin spaghetti-strap tank is being torn off of you and you're being flipped onto your stomach as if you weigh little more than a feather.

"Mich--" you start but are stopped from finishing your question when a piece of your torn tanktop is stuffed into your mouth.

Your teary eyes widen when you feel your poor pajama bottoms being ripped off of your goosebump laden body too but immediately close when you feel thick calloused fingers run up along your wet slit from clit to ass.

You moan into the fabric in your mouth as two of his fingers push past your folds and into your eager hole.

You can hear Michael's heavy breathing as he roughly pumps his digits in and out of your slick cavern before adding a third and eventually a fourth.

Your muffled moans get louder and louder as your body squirms beneath his invasive ministrations. You feel so deliciously stretched out by his four long, thick fingers that your eyes begin to tear up again.

Your loosened hole clenches at nothing as Michael pulls out. You turn your head as best you can to see him behind you and moan once more as you view his balaclava in the moonlight. He takes both his thumbs and stretches your abused hole open as much as he can, admiring your slick, velvety tunnel.

You grip the sheets in anticipation as he releases your flesh and reaches for the zipper of his coveralls pulling them down far enough to reveal his glistening, red, swollen, massive member.

You mewl at the sight and wiggle you bottom in eagerness and want.

Michael obliges by roughly pushing your head back down into the mattress and without any indication rams his heavy, weeping cock into your needy pussy.

You scream and grip your sheets harder as he sets a brutal and unforgiving pace - no slow buildup or sensuality for this one. You can scarcely take it. Tears stream down your cheeks, saliva pools into the fabric stuffed in your mouth and your ass and hips jiggle and ripple with every brutal thrust.

Michael's hand leaves your smushed head and grips your hips in bruising force.

Your room is dark and quiet save for the sound of slick skin slapping against slick skin, grunts of exertion and muffled mewls and moans.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, Michael goes deeper and harder, stretching you wider with his monstrous girth, the tip of his cockhead punching against your cervix in exquisite pleasure-pain.

Your cheeks are hot and red, tear stained. Drool has finally broken past the fabric in your mouth and is dripping onto your sheets. Slick is running down your thighs as your loosened hole just cannot contain your shared juices any longer.

Michael leans forward to squeeze your breasts before pinching your nipples so hard you feel your pussy release a new spurt of moisture.

You want to tell him you cannot take anymore. Your body is turning to jelly, the pleasure plain is becoming overwhelming - every nerve of yours is on electric fire and if you produce any more drool you'll surely choke on it.

Michael leaves your breasts and instead begins his cruel ministrations onto your swollen, throbbing clit.

You begin to feel the tightening in your core, your lower abdomen tenses and you can hear Michael fast approaching his own orgasm too if those quiet gasps and slight jerks in his thrusts are anything to go by.

And finally with one hard slap to your clit and one final deep, bruising thrust inside your wrecked cunt you scream out your orgasm into your tanktop. Your abused pussy quivers and clenches around Michael's pulsating cock as it spurts out its thick ropes of cum within you.

Michael's breaths are heavy and laboured behind you as he pulls out. You hear the sopping squelch and feel the gush of liquids flow out of your red, raw, gaping cunt which is trying in vain to clench and hold onto all the juices that now pouring onto your bedding.

Your jellified arm slowly pulls the now sopping fabric from your mouth before you look behind to Michael. His toned and scarred chest is heaving and glistening with sweat. His eyelids sit low from satisfaction and his fingers idly circle your hips where they lie.

"You saw my.... interests on Tumblr didn't you? That's why you did all this tonight, right?" You ask lazily as you roll onto your back and look up at your still masked lover.

Michael tilts his head and continues to stare at you in silence. He reaches for the base of the black mask and pulls it off of his head and shakes out his dark blond curls. He tosses the mask onto your chest and disappears out of the bedroom.

You shake your head and smile to yourself as you clutch the balaclava.

You will always love Michael best in his signature white mask, but a bit of fun in a balaclava from time to time will certainly be a treat.

Perhaps you can show him all of your other kinks now too, seeing as he seems happy to indulge you. And maybe he has some of his own?

You get up to go enjoy a nice hot shower. Sore and stiff, but very very happy.

@megangovier20 hope you enjoy it girl. 😈

Not proof read as I did this before work.

[itsfuntobeavampiree]

Vincent’s SO having him try a paraffin wax dip for his hands and feet for the first time

Slashers when their SO has an asthma attack; staying with their SO in the ER optional. I’m a Bubba Sawyer and Thomas Hewitt girlie :)

I think I will go with the second one bc I have asthma lol so yk kind of a "I can relate to this* moment. But if I do the Vincent one I will tag u if you'd like.

Slashers with an S/O having an asthma attack

Michael (og)

Now you know this man is NOT dumb, you've told him before you struggle with asthma just to warn him and he'd silently keep that in mind. He'd never thought you'll have an asthma attack this bad, like you always came prepared. Always had more than one inhaler on you, always knew when to slow down and you knew how to take deep breaths but I guess the cold autumn air really got to you one day.

Obviously he was watching you from afar as he noticed you had slowed down and held on tightly to your chest. He didn't want to interfere straight away because he knew you always had it but when you started to wobble and your breathing wasn't even breathing anymore he was ready to run and save you. Unfortunately the resident of the house you collapsed infront was ahead of Michael,coming to your aid he tensed and watched intently.

When he found out that you were at the ER being treated he was kinda annoyed. He's a possessive type, not liking people to talk to you unless he's hearing what's being said. He was actually thinking about slaughtering half the people there just to see you but he held himself back, just for you <3

When you're out the next day he is already there in your home, looming in the shadows. Be prepared because he will actually hug you back tonight! So you won there a bit. He wouldn't show it but he was absolutely petrified. You were the only person who understood him and he didn't wanna see you go because who knows what will happen.

Thomas

He found out you had asthma after realising you were slowler and more easy to catch out of your group. He also keeps this in mind ever since making sure you don't push yourself into chores you won't be able to do. He's always there to help you. He would be more protective and always listening out for your breathing, you could be a mile away and he could tell that your wheezy and so he would pester you into the living room to sit and he would pull out the inhaler he kept his his trouser pockets just for incase (omg he's so cute🥺) and would make sure you're okay. But I guess this time he couldn't.

On this specific day you all were out over working yourselfs, lately more people have became victims to the hewitt household and that meant more chores being forgotten about so today everyone was piling in on themselves making sure they got everything out the way before any more trouble comes rolling down their street. You were the unlucky one to have gained more chores and also had been forced to do some of hoyts as of his lazy ass command. Thomas would've helped you but hoyt scolded him for being too soft. You had soon realised your breathing had decreased the past 10 minutes but you being stubborn just took some deep breaths and conitued over working yourself.

You realised you had fucked up as the texas heat had made your breathing become painful and burnt your throat. As you tried to reach for your inhaler in your pocket, you couldn't feel it your eyes widened in realisation as you had probably dropped it in the hay as you were moving about. You had no patience to scurry around on the floor trying to find it so as you did, you tried to find Tommy.

Tears pricked your eyes as you struggled more and more and your vision blurred. You squinted and saw a large figure in the distance you tried and walked faster towards it but you couldn't even catch a breath when you were going at a slow pace. You fell to the ground with a loud thud and that alerted Tommy he turned quickly and his eyes turned to panic when you saw you on the ground your chest struggling to go up and down. He ran towards you shoving his hand in his pocket to grab the inhaler.

He knelt down next to you and puffed the inhaler into your mouth, making sure you inhaled it properly and making you take an extra one. Thomas carried you into the house and plopped you down on the sofa, wiping the tears from your eyes. He couldn't even imagine how painful it was for you but luda mae came by his side and helped him comfort you.

Luda as the Queen she is scolded hoyt for putting to much hard labour onto you knowing that you had a medical condition. For now on you either had inside chores that didn't need to much running around or some simple quick and easy outside tasks...close to Tommy.

(I love this gif of him he's so silly <3)

Bubba sawyer

I'm sorry but you know his house is damp and dusty and that's just perfect for your lungs! (Sarcasm if you couldn't tell) You told him what asthma was like a week in and you had to explain it to him in depth because sorry but my boy isn't so intelligent. He responded in little grunts of understandment and just patted your head. He also similar to Thomas will keep an ear out for you because after being here for a while your breathing had decreased and omg...those god awful chesty coughs. Now he has a mission! To dust the house for you I mean he can't really stop the dampness but he does try by opening windows during the day.

It was a day like no other, you were washing up, making the bed, doing laundry basically just helping out and doing work the boys were reluctant about. But all this running around made you wheezy so you went and looked for your inhaler, unfortunately this meant going up, down, side ways and under ways and your chest couldn't take it so you sortve gave up and sat down closing your eyes and taking in deep breaths. It hurt so bad but you just had to focus, you continously told yourself.

you heard the door swing open and your eyes squinted open to see your bubba. He looked at you with eyes of worry and made his way towards you. He grunted and snorted asking if you were ok. You just let out a wheezy cough and he knew what was wrong placing an ear to your chest as a way to ask if it was that and you slowly nodded he ran up the stairs and you could hear rustling and furniture moving. You tried to let out a chuckle but a whole lot of pained coughs replaced it instead.

Couple minutes later he came running down the stairs and sat by your side. He moved his hand holding your inhaler up to your mouth and helped you inhale it. After around 2 or more puffs and steady breathing your chest was no longer rising rapidly. He slung his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a side ways hug, you smiled up at him and tilted your head onto him so you snuggled quite nicely together.

He then scolded you playfully but he had a sort of seriousness to him that you kept in mind and didnt want to actually disobey,you nodded along before sighing, laying back into the sofa as he watched you with his gorgeous puppy dog eyes.

Yeah hi, sorry I haven't been writing as much recently, nothings being going on I js cant be asked if I'm honest. Another apology for bubba as I gave up half way in his awhile ago and now js remembered I better finish this off. So rn pls don't request anything bc unfortunately you won't get it till next Christmas.

Love you all my favourite lil slasher fuckers🩷🩷

[6lostgirl6]

OG!Michael Myers Masterlist

🔪= Smut/18+ Themes🔪

Fics:

Headcanons:

Imagines/Scenarios:

[babybooday]

It’s that time of the year to start making my Michael Myers stories 🥹 I love you daddy ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[angled-blade]

Within Reach.

Pairing(s): {OG} Michael Myers/Reader Warning(s): Deliberate mention of violence and murder. Type: Ambiguous | Ficlet

At first, it was a voice that no longer blurred with the rest. A voice that could reach without it becoming one that he found easy to ignore. Your voice wasn’t one that typically called for everyone’s attention, but it was commanding in which your voice was memorable to those who stopped to recognise and remember it. It appeared incongruent amongst the sea of people that he had encountered thus far. 

Perhaps that was why he found it easier to enter your home lacking the intent the kill, and even lacking a sense of direction the moment he stepped inside your home. Perhaps that was why he felt as though he could follow your voice, assuming that it did the impossible that the doctors at Smith’s Grove deemed it as—in which it had reached Michael.

Your voice had reached him, and that interested him.

Without you knowing, your life was on borrowed time by the time he felt the roots of his interest wrap themselves around the image of you—one he had seared into his memory. There wasn’t any word in the world that he knew of that described this infantile infatuation. He was neither a human nor was he truly the devil, leaving him with little words to attach to this interest he was now silently harbouring. 

Michael kept an eye on you. In an almost aberrant fashion, one that Michael realises was an unexpected development the second time that he did so, was that he returns to you. And there he was, standing inside your home as if it were his. The only thing he hears now was your faint breathing as you slept, unaware of him and his staring.

By the time he stood at the foot of the bed, the roots of interest began to steadily grow, no longer thin as they curled themselves around your image—the very same image that he held onto the first time he heard you. 

What was it that had him harbouring an ever so flourishing interest in you? The thought rings in his mind, incongruent to the others that simply gave way to his desires of harming you. This new restraint that he found unexpected himself, Michael only grew restless. In response, he began to target Haddonfield once more—catching the town’s breath as those he encountered slaughtered ruthlessly. 

They assumed the rise in killings as unexpected of the killer, which was what Michael expected of them. He found it foolish of the townspeople to expect him to remain stagnant in craft, to remain silent during the months of February. To him, they seem to forget that he killed with little rhyme or reason time, and time again. 

Though, he supposed he was a hypocrite, as one might say, seeing how he remained stagnant in his process of killing you. Perhaps he was one, but there was no one else to see it except for him. 

Similar to his sealed lips from those years ago, you were an unmentioned secret—one that you were unaware yourself, your decisions dictating how long you were to live another day. Michael found himself impatiently waiting—though he was sure that you were to be dead by the end by his hands—in some way or another.

Much to his confusion, you remained something of interest to him. That, itself, intrigued him to watch a little longer. The roots of his own interest beginning to sprout even more from its base, its grip slowly distorting your image. The longer he watched, the longer his mind began to alter the image of you, something that Michael now believed belonged to him.

It didn’t take long for the roots to destroy your image, in response to you encountering him in your house. 

Now knowing of Michael’s existence as he stood before you, you were frozen in place and prepared for his blade to strike you. The killer held onto the handle of his kitchen knife tightly, feeding further into your fear.

To your surprise, Michael stood still. Despite his eyes being obscured by the mask, you could feel him staring into your very being. His gaze was uncomfortable as it had your skin crawl the longer he remained stationary. To you, this was a fate far worse than the death that you knew the killer promised with every one he encountered—even more when you cannot see his face.

He could see all of you—whilst you on the other hand could only see his hands that held the knife handle ever so tightly. The thought you concocted now left you vulnerable and uneasy for what’s to come, shutting your eyes tightly.

To your surprise, the expected outcome did not arrive. Silence greeted you when you opened your eyes, the killer no longer in sight. You looked around in confusion yourself, your body still unnerved as night bled into the evening.

Michael found that the image of you that he had before was replaced with one that was your encounter of him.

It seemed to him that you will remain in his memory, in which he takes with an essence of possession. His roots no longer curled around you as suffocating as they were before, this development keeping his interest in you alive.

Curiously enough, your encounter with Michael seared itself into your mind. No matter how hard you try to do so, he remained in your memory as well.

I hope you have enjoyed this piece of OG, I apologise for my absence! Time has simply caught onto me. Your requests have been received, and I am currently working on a few of them. Billy and Stu are quite a favourite from what I see.

Again, please reblog this post! I really appreciate them. (: Thank you once more for reading, have a wonderful day/night!!

[chubbyreaderchan]

My Michael Myers in the Pinky Promise series would do dishes and laundry and whatever you ask of him. He doesn't huff or complain either. He may do it wrong but it's never on purpose. Once you teach him how you want something done he'll always do it that way.

He likes a routine too actually. Mostly due to being in a hospital all his life.

[yourbestprincess]

Hellooooo! May I request a fluffy scenario or one shot for OG Michael Myers where his s/o tries to start a snow ball fight with him?

YES OF COURSE! THIS IS SOOO CUTE!! XD

Baby, it’s cold outside.

Michael Myers fluff <33, sweet Michael, Snowball Fight, GN!Reader, Kissing n Cuddles from Michael. OG Michael, Michael is super Lovey and vulnerable too 🫶. Enjoy!

It’s a cold December morning, the trees whirring in the wind and the snow.

You wake up next to your favorite and only person, Michael Myers. He’s claimed you as his, and there’s nothing that anyone can do about it.

You loved the winter with Michael for many reasons, he was so vulnerable, sweet, cuddly, and would be unmasked around you all the time. You’d get unlimited attention, even if you didn’t ask.

On this particular morning, Michael had woken you up with some kisses. He placed your warm clothes on the bed for you to put on. Initially, you though you guys might just go for a walk or maybe even he would take you to get a coffee, but Michael had other plans.

After you had gotten out of your bed and changed, you noticed that Michael was outside of the bedroom door waiting for you.

You smile warmly at him, “What are we gonna do?” He just smiles lightly at your words as he takes your arm and makes you follow him outside.

It was cold and the snow was dry and crisp. As you walked out with him, you saw him sit down in the snow and motion you to come down too. So you do. He lays back, pulling you down with him. You just giggle and don’t ask questions. He chuckles lightly at your giggles and looks in your eyes. It’s as if he’s telling you not to ask questions. He rolls around in the snow, showing you how to do what he’s doing, he’s making..snow angels?

“Awhh! You’re making snow angels, Michael?” You say as you join in on the fun, thrashing your arms and legs in the snow to make a tiny snow Angel next to Michaels 6’7 one.

Michael kisses your cheek as he looks at both of your snow angels. You smile and look at your neighbors yard. It looks like their kids are having a snowball fight, how cute! Then you get the idea.

You walk away from Michael and hide behind a bush as you pack the snow into individual balls.

“Mikey!” You snicker as he looks in your direction. He looks confused as you throw the ball of snow towards him. He has wonderful reflexes, so he just grabs it.

He furrows his brows at this and tilts his head to the right. He doesn’t know wether to be angry or what to feel, he’s never had anything like this happen before.

“Hey, hey, Michael, it’s okay! It’s a game. It’s called a snowball fight!” You exclaim, trying to make him feel less offended.

He shakes his head and looks down at you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you with him. He makes you two go inside and get out of your winter gear.

“Michael..m’ sorry if I made you feel ba-“ he shushes you with a kiss, making you lay down with him.

The rest of the day consisted of you two napping, cuddling, and snacking.

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

May I ask you to do slashers ( Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Sinclair brothers.) With s/o that has a little black kitten that is really sweet and cuddly ❤️. I'm sorry for bad English it's not my first language 😅

It's been 7 weeks 15+ months and three days

I'm sorry anon but this just turned out with the slashers with a black kitten, i didn't include much reader I'm so sorry 😭

S/O has black cuddly kitten!

Featuring: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt and sinclair brothers!

Michael Myers 🔪

Michael Obviously wasn't a big fan of it at first. He doesn't mind the cat itself. No he thought it was cute, the black fur made it look mysterious and cool but it was really affectionate, and he was lowkey worried he will accidentally step on it and kill it by accident and you'll get sad Or angry or whatever those human emotions you'll go through.

He couldn't do anything to it either, he tried to avoid it as much as he could but he could only do so much against a furry creature with a keen sense of smell. And then he had no choice but to accept that a small kitten was playing around his lap and pockets. He immediately grabbed it by its entire body and placed it firmly on the spot next to him when he heard you coming.

Did that stop the kitten? No, it immediately went back to trying to play on his lap.

He sometimes stares at both you and the tiny cat play together. Lifting it up by its armpits and holding the animal close to your face as it licks your nose and you laugh sweetly. Michael decided to have a staring contest with the cat and glare at it later that night,And he lost when your baby started licking his face too.

Now he doesn't have the energy to gaf when your furry child latches itself to michel and sniff and mess with his clothes affectionately. Ig it was a nice backup company when you were gone.

Jason Voorhees 🪓

He doesn't even know how such a small cute animal like that can survive in a place where he lives.

Honestly he was scared of it at first. Similar to Michael he was scared he was gonna accidentally hurt it. And he may or may not have heard of those superstitions of black cats bringing bad luck, he tried his best to avoid it but the sheer power of a kitten's love and beauty is far too much for even a 6'5 huge bulky killing machine to resist.

It started when you went out one day for necessities Jason gets kinda sad and depressed but then your little cutie came and rubbed it's face into Jason's pants, looking for his attention and then bam. You come home to find the both of them running around the campus. (Ur kitten was jumping around and you almost died.)

The cat will soon take after the characteristics of his 'father'. Both are intently looking at you while following you wherever you go and you don't really know what to do. (Insert Jason and a black kitty with it's tail moving slowly from side to side while both are staring at you.)

He definitely likes playing with the musty overcooked puss but gets embarrassed when you find them and if you start teasing him. It's not like you're insulting him but he doesn't want you to view him as someone who is overly soft and maybe "unmanly".

He gets jealous (jealous?) When he sees the both of you together... Without him!? He's stomping towards you guys and then stares at both of you.

Will literally get so angry or panic or maybe both if a victim had discovered either of you. Makes it his goal to turn that person into nothing but chunky messy pieces of bloody meat if it even dares tries contact with you two.

There will be no harm guaranteed with Jason by you and your kitty's side.

Thomas hewitt ⛓️

Fell in love with your baby kitten at first sight, Literally!

He's a busy man but loves spending free time with you and your four legged sweetie even if he's tired. He melts into a blob of hot glue when he's chopping up victims and it climbs from his back to his shoulders and just rests and Or spends the entire time with him.

We all know Thomas is warm, so that hairy coal dusted meow meow will soon eventually fall asleep on Thomas, and it's the most heartwarming and cutest thing when you see the love of your life with your smol ass child on the palm of his hands like a little sushi roll and sleeping peacefully.

You will also commonly find Thomas and the cat together in bed during nighttime, they are best friends now.

He just looks at the cat while it's nuzzling up to him and wonders 'how can such a small thing live?'

We all know hoyt is a bastard and WILL try to mess with your dark choco pussycat but Thomas and Luda mae are in the dark corner with white glowing pupils. (Plus you running towards him straight with a pan.) Your kitty doesn't see anything wrong though, such a sweet one.

He loves how cuddly your cat is, it's the perfect solution when the family starts getting stressed. One little paw on any limb and it'll instantly lighten the mood.

He wishes he can spend more time with you and your newly adopted child but business is business but the time will come where you can all act like one small but big family<3.

Sinclair brothers 🕯

Bo despised it at first. Like really. He already has one mutt to take care of (not rlly) and now there's a fucking cat in the house? He wanted to avoid it as much as possible but the fact it just followed him no matter where he went both annoyed him and flattered him. He decides to sit down and the coca cola flavoured kitten child decides to sit with him too? And have the audacity to lick his clothes??? Well it's not that bad... Still, he picked it up and dropped it where you were and the vantablack, wormhole, monstrous shadow king of the land of darkness turns around and meows at him. Bo quickly left after that. He's a prick sometimes and messes with the kitty like holding it by it's collar but all it does is meow, lick, purr and hug his arm or bury its face into Bo's clothes and what can he even do anyways. After a while he started to not mind, actually loves it. But he will deny to no end if you ask him if he does though. But you saw how he and the cat fell asleep on top of each other one night. And that's more than enough for an answer.

Vincent thinks it's adorable, he's wondered how having a cat would be like for quite a while and safe to say he's not disappointed. It's nice to have a warm fuzzy little thing playing around him when he's painting, it would've been perfect if you were there and leaned against him. He's honestly pretty surprised the poosay actually wants to hang out around him, the place he's in is really warm 24/7 and he doesn't expect an animal to like it. The power of love is indeed strong. Coming to your boyfriend's room and finding him in his bed with your kitten just chilling around is probably hot and cute. Absolutely handles your fluffy ball of black fur child with a loving and gentle care and you often see vincent trying to make Jonesy and the cat get familiar with each other. I can see him getting along pretty well with animals? It's a lottery since your cat likes to get touchy. Likes painting the black fusty and damp blop of flesh, just waving the paintbrush around while your baby tries ro catch it is just *sobs*. black kitties are aesthetic and he knows it. Bro 100% falls in love again when he sees you with the burnt living food, it's in his mind rent free forever now.

Lester loves it, he already has a dog he takes care of and now there's a cat!? Sign him up! It takes a little while getting used to for Lester, having a cat is nothing like having a dog. He's used to the sheer power of a toddler sized pitbull lunging towards him (playfully) but now he has a tea cup sized baby cat that you can crush with 5% of power climbing up his pants? Damn this was better than he expected. He always heard some people say cats are the equivalent of evil and he was prepared for its attacks but now those people are mute to him. He didn't bring the fetus that close to Jonesy because what if she eats it (jonesy wouldn't do that). Honestly lester is just having the time of his life with two dawgs and you find them on all ground after maybe 1 hour sleeping peacefully and you joined them too cause you ain't missing out on something like that. Sometimes he forgets that it's weaker and more fragile than jonesy and uses more strength than needed when playing with the kit, your little baby just thinks it's extra strong love though<3.

[rave-quinn]

HII, if your requests are open, may i have some michael (og/peepaw) fluff? like you can do anything i don’t care i just want to read about his soft side when it comes to his partner.

Of course spookie! ^^ your wish is my command

Og/peepaw Myers Random fluff headcannons

Og/peepaw Michael Myers🔪🖤

💜OG Michael would randomly just pick you up whenever he wants attention. And no there is no way of stopping him from doing so if he wants your attention he's gonna get it.

💜I think that he would just play with your hair, it doesn't matter if it's long or short, it's calming to him, he might it get knotted on accident if your hairs really long but that's okay, you could always ask him to brush it for you I'm sure he'll love that

💜as we all know OG Michael likes sweets, I feel like he would share his secret candy slash with you, but he'll never show you were it is, he changes its location in the house everytime

💜if your gone for long periods of time like let's say you got college or work long hour's, he would definitely just stalk you a little just to make sure your doing okay an because he missed you, but like if there's a classmate/coworker just being a plain asshole to you, they might appear "brutality murdered" on the news the next morning, Michael won't say a thing tho, another thing he will do if your gone is he'll just lay in your bedroom because it smells like you. Can you blame him?

💜if OG Michael is out on a hunt and if he sees something his victim has that you might like, he's definitely taking it, an he'll leave it in your room, yes it's a very bloody but it's the thought that counts

I hope you liked these fluff random headcannons spookie 🖤💜 an remember your slasher boys love you

[yeyinde]

TEETH | Michael Myers

blood fest 〉 week one

You can't say it wasn't, in its own way, thoughtful.

Or: Michael brings you a gift

WARNINGS: mild gore, mild sexual themes, mild violence, Michael being Michael, gender neutral reader (but mild feminine adjacent language used extremely briefly), slight Dom!Michael

KEYWORDS: Wicked. Rain

NOTES: i left the version of Myers (OG, RZ, Peepaw) extremely vague so you can pick your own Michael poison.

this is also my first writing challenge. i hope you enjoy 🖤

He comes to you covered in blood that's rarely ever his own. 

The veracity of that statement has become ingrained inside of you to where you have quickly learned to stop worrying, to stop fussing over him, whenever you round the corner, and catch sight of the man in your foyer drenched in ichor, and dripping gore on the carpet. 

It's not quite a routine, but it's – something. 

Not rare enough to be considered sporadic. Not frequent enough to be anything quotidian in your life. His visits linger somewhere in the unspoken fringes. A truism, yet hardly anything banal. 

(A visit from the boogeyman could hardly ever be considered commonplace.)

While the biblical rain this weekend has washed most of the viscera away, he's still soaked in it, covering every inch except his latex mask. It's almost preternatural how it manages to stay free of blood, of carnage. 

He shakes his head like a giant, wet dog, splattering pink droplets of diluted townsfolk over your living room. Your mouth knots when it lands on the new cream-coloured Sherpa throw you bought, but you have enough sense to say nothing about it. 

It's not like he'll listen, anyway. 

He has a remarkable ability to hear everything and yet absolutely nothing at the same time. Cherry-picking. You say, don't get blood on the linoleum, and he hears it as get blood all over the linoleum. 

Or maybe he just purposefully ignores you, and does what he wants. 

(That one is far more likely than the rest.) 

You bite your tongue, saying nothing. He won't care, and it certainly won't stop him the next time he comes. 

The pat-pat-pat of something hitting the floor draws your eye to his hands. His bloodied fist is clenched loosely by his side. The awkward, bulging shape of it makes you wonder if he hurt his palm. 

"Are you–?"

His hand lifts, a meandering incline until it's pitched in front of you, unwavering. You gawk at the blood soaked knuckles in your face, uncomprehending, and then up to him. He gives nothing away. Bland impassivity colours the crescent outline of his eyes through the tenebrous holes of his mask. Blank. Unbothered.

"Michael, I don't know what you want."

His head tilts, chin dipping in a way that means you've displeased him. He's impatient now. Surely, his wordless, confusing actions are enough for you to interpret. 

You huff, rolling your eyes back down to his outstretched hand. Something about his palm. He has something in it. He's trying to give you something –

Ah. 

Oh. 

You shiver. Michael doesn't often bring gifts with him. It's only ever happened once before. Something you try – very hard – to forget. 

He lingered in the doorway one evening, watching you at your vanity. You didn't think he was paying much attention to you; before when Michael watched you, you just thought it was a scare tactic. That he wasn't observant. 

A mindless killing machine. 

How wrong you were. 

His eyes tracked the way you picked up the delicate opal earrings you'd gotten from your parents that year, sliding off the brass back with care before dropping it on a cloth to keep it from running off. His gaze never waved when you tilted your chin, fingers tugging on your lobe to line the post up with the hole. Slipping it in with a small wince when it caught on your tender skin. Reaching for the back to keep it in place. 

He watched as you marvelled at the pretty gem in your ear before doing the same to the other one. 

It was easy to mistakenly believe he was just there, looming as always. Or maybe it reminded him of something his mum used to do. Whatever it was that ensnared his attention, it didn't matter much to you. 

You forgot all about it until he came back with his first gift. A pair of earrings. 

(With the ears still attached.)

You shudder. "Oh… um…" 

How do you refuse the gift of a serial killer without becoming his next victim? 

You don't. You can't. 

Swallowing thickly, you try to peer into the eyeholes that fix themselves to your face, catching every glimmer, every expression, that passes. The abstruse abyss reveals nothing. Impatience radiates off of him. If presence alone was a physical thing, Michael Myers' might just suffocate you. 

It's a struggle to hide your grimace, the horror at what you might uncover, but it's all for nought. He catches it, anyway. His chin tilts again, lowering so that he can see into your eyes. 

You're not an expert at reading his body language, but you managed to pick up on a few of his idiosyncratic behaviours with each visit from the boogeyman. He's curious. You might even go so far as to proclaim him amused. Luridly so. 

Each shiver, tremble, wince, and shudder you give is observed with this slight decline of his chin. You can't even begin to understand how he ticks – Michael Myers is an enigma to you – but you know he enjoys your fear. He likes catching you unawares, likes it when you jump at his sudden appearance.

It's a truism, now. 

One that often ends with you underneath him, bracketed by his thick, firm biceps, hands perched as close to your temples as possible. Sometimes, if you've greatly entertained him, he'll wrap his hand around your throat, almost purring as he stares down at you, watching your soundless gasp, the way you claw, futility, at his wrist. He likes when you struggle. Likes when you give him the opportunity to chase you. To hunt you down. 

It's effortless for him to haul you back where he wants you, slamming the end of the blade into the end table, right where you can see it. Always within your periphery. And then he takes you. Bites your neck, and collarbone. The inside of your wrist. Thighs. All marked with the impression of his teeth, stained in a ring of black, and leaking blood onto the sheets. He'll press your raw thighs to his hips, holding them there so you can feel him grazing the irritated flesh with each controlled, brutal thrust into your body. It makes you yowl, an amalgamation of pain and pleasure wracking through you with such visceral intensity that you often sob into his shoulder, clutching his wrist in a desperate attempt to get some respite. Some reprieve. 

It never comes. You're his conquest—a prize for him to take, to claim. 

He likes your pain too much to stop. Enjoys the bloodied mess he makes of you. Likes, even more, when he pries your aching thighs apart, head cocking to the side as he watches his release seep out of you, joining the blood that soaks the sheets below. 

Michael takes. And takes. 

It's very rare that he ever gives. 

Another shudder rolls through you, eyes fluttering at the memory of his last gift, and how he sought gratitude from your body after. 

(There's a hole in the drywall from where he slammed you, a touch too hard, into the wall with the brutal way he pounded you, bloodied earrings dangling from your ears.)

Michael huffs. The noise is amplified by the mask's acoustics, a ragged exhale. He's waited long enough, it tells you. 

You can't stall any longer. 

You don't bother trying to hide your grimace when you slide the cup of your palms under his fist, feeling the steady beats of the blood dripping onto your skin. Another steady huff. Amusement. He relishes your disgust. 

His gaze never strays from you when his fist unfurls, fingers splaying wide. He watches, dark eyes boring into your own as you feel the first clump of whatever he's given you fall into your palm. 

You hold his eyes for a moment longer, unwilling to look down and see what small objects he's brought you. It's better to look into this cerulean abyss, into the gaping maw of a monster, than it is to see what awaits below.

But Michael tires of your avoidance. He's eager for you to see. 

It's only when his head leans forward, lids lowering only slightly, do you break the intense stare. 

You can't quite make sense of the little clumps in your palm, or the ones that slowly loosen from the congealed blood on his hand, falling into yours. They're small, white. 

Pomegranate seeds. He's giving you fruit. 

Oh. 

You begin to smile, wondering when he had the time to flesh the fruit, and why he kept it clenched in his hand for so long, but it fades quickly when the last one falls from his palm. 

The blood has mostly dried, and the object sitting on the top of the pyramid has little covering it. There is no mistaking what his gift is. 

Michael lowers his hand, letting it fall to his side. He doesn't clench his fists, he keeps them half furled. Relaxed.

But the look in his eye belies the bland nonchalance of his countenance. 

His gaze is unyielding, rapacious. Hungry. 

In your palm sits teeth. 

Human teeth. Some of them are still attached to the roots, and from the indents on his first knuckles and fingertips, you can easily surmise that he wrenched them out of the jaw with that very hand. You swallow hard, bile rising up your oesophagus. Guilt, terror – both spume in your chest, a dizzying, almost noxious compound that nearly smothers you with its unparalleled rue. 

But why? Why teeth?

It clicks, then, when the lightning outside the rain drenched window catches on the flash of gold on one of the incisors. 

Michael sees everything. Notices more than you might expect.

He is always watching you. Always. He's there, lurking, hiding in the shadows. At first, you thought he was just terrible at stalking. You could see him, you knew he was there. 

It was only when he disappeared from your periphery that you realised all those times when you saw him across the street, standing half hidden behind the door frame, garish mask catching in the black of your television as he lurked behind you, it was intentional. Michael wanted you to see him. To know he was there.

You relaxed when he was gone, thinking he must have gotten bored and wandered off. The tension in your posture dissipated. You greeted the locals, the guilt of having him waiting for you at home was gone. It was easier to breathe without his presence suffocating you. 

One man, in particular, approached you after your shift finished. You smiled at him. He grinned back, gold tooth gleaming in the ochre sunset. 

It started innocuously. An older man stopping you to speak wasn't uncommon. It was nothing that hadn't happened before. You listened, a brush impatient, as he introduced himself, and asked if you wanted to get a drink. 

You're cute, he grinned again, leaning against the door of your car. I wanna get to know you. 

You didn't think when you responded. It was all routine. A polite, impassive smile, slightly strained around the edges, eyes demuring to show your feigned contrition. Sorry, I have a boyfriend. 

Sometimes it works. They raise their hands, a little disappointed, and nod in understanding, respectful of your choices, and comprehending of your unavailability. 

Sometimes, however, it doesn't. 

He doesn't need to know. A wink. A cloy smile. I don't see him anywhere around here, anyway. 

You lost count of all the ways you said no without actually saying the word, too afraid of causing a scene, or of being noticed. You didn't want that kind of attention when your house was a steady crime scene, and a myth lurked in your foyer, eating all your cereal. 

Your smile waned. Please, I'm not interested.

You get it now. 

He scared you. With the wolfish grin, the firm hand he kept on your car door, the way he invaded your space, intentionally bringing himself closer and closer to you until your bodies were a scant hair away. It forced you from the handle. You kept taking a step back, away from the safety of your car. The gleam in his eye was wicked; his intentions vile, disgusting. 

His hand closed around your jaw, squeezing until your mouth opened. When the flash of your teeth was revealed, he smirked. There ya go, smile more for me, hon. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, making you tremble. 

You only escaped when the security guard wandered around the corner, giving you a chance to flee.

Michael is infinitely complex and entirely inscrutable. You can't really understand him, or how he ticks, but you grew accustomed to his peculiarities – and his sense of humour. 

He's giving you the man's teeth – the same ones he used to smile at you, to scare you. Something that only Michael is allowed to do. 

(You're sure, then, that somewhere in your house you'll find the man's hands. The same ones he used to touch you.)

His chin dips again when you smile, taking in the wobbly edge to it, the tension in your shoulders. Your voice catches in your throat, tremulous, drenched in the coalescence of your fear, your uncertainty, and your gratitude. 

However wicked the boogeyman might be, however vile and evil, you can't ignore the thrum in your chest when he's near. You, paradoxically, feel safer under his gaze. Under him. 

He holds his palm out to you again, waiting. 

When he'd given you the earrings, you'd been shaken. Terrified. Unsure what to do, you kissed his hand. 

It's become a thing, an expectation. Whenever he does something for you, he expects a kiss on his palm. 

But –

It's covered in blood. Saliva. Gore. 

You reach out, fingers curling over the thickness of his wrist – so much larger than your own – and pull his hand close to you. He watches, bland, expectant. His eyes – vacant, stormy – narrow when instead of pressing your lips to his flesh, you pull his hand up to your neck, setting his heartline flush against your thundering pulse. 

It's a break in what has, unfortunately, become the norm, but his hand is slimy on your neck, reeking already of rot. You won't put your mouth there, where you can feel the pocks in his flesh from the teeth he ripped out with his bare hand on your skin. You'll show him your appreciation in another way. 

(Hopefully, this one doesn't end with another hole in the wall.)

Michael considers this, his head angling to the side as he takes in the contrast of his bloodied hand and your smooth, clean neck. He tips it the other way. A new angle. A new thought. 

A huff, then. He finds what he's looking for. 

His fingers stretch out, thumb pressing into your jugular as the others curl around the nape of your neck, index finger settling behind your ear. His hand is massive. His grip is tight. Choking. You gasp weakly when the tip of his thumb digs into the small knob on your throat. Phosphenes spume across your vision. 

Your hand barely fits around his wrist when you grab his flesh. You'll never get him to stop – you're not strong enough to ever dislodge him from your body; his grip is ironclad. Your bones are fragile in his hold. Holding him like this is to ground yourself. To find a strange, almost anomalous comfort in the steady thud of his heart beating against his pulse point. Touching him like this reminds you Michael is human, despite how much you believe otherwise. Flesh, bone. You find kinship in the warmth of his skin. 

"Michael," you croak, head spooling with the thick gossamer of hypoxia. Tears flood your eyes at the pressure, the lack of air. "Thank you."

Your head hits the wall when he shoves you back, the bulk of his body nearly suffocating as he looms over you. His flesh is burning, his hand nearly searing the skin of your thigh when he grabs it, fingers digging into the plush give of your body. His grasp is harsh enough to bruise the bone. Your leg aches already. Throat throbbing from the force of his hold. 

You're sure, then, that you won't be able to walk tomorrow much less swallow.

Michael is often mistaken as cold. Indifferent. Despite his vacant gaze, you can feel the heaviness of his desire curling over you; a thick haze of palpable hunger that leaks out of the bruising press of his body flushed against yours.

His other hand falls, fingers curling over your thigh. He lets you breathe for a moment, let's the anticipation simmer in your hazy stare until he's had his fill of it. Then, he squeezes. His fingers burrow into your skin, rupturing the capillaries under blood blooms under your flesh in the perfect replica of his handprint.

Michael hikes your thigh up, locking it around his hip, and drives into you with enough force to rattle the wall, shaking the pictures loose. They fall to the ground, shattering into pieces. The sound is dulled under the harsh, angry pants aerated from the holes of his mask; the cacophony of his want, his wild, untameable desire. 

He towers over you. His wide chest expands with each deep, ragged inhale, filling your vision until nothing remains but Michael, and his unfettered hunger. 

Desire and anger are one in the same with Michael. His fury reeks of his impatience to be inside of you; his need to cudgel into your body with thrusts that are too similar to the way he hunts, maims, to ever be a mere coincidence. He takes his aggression out in the softness of your flesh, leaving behind the brand of his claim. His ownership.

You'll never escape him. Never run from him.

His want for you is apoplectic. Your fate was sealed the moment you caught the boogeyman's interest.

(they told you, didn't they? don't let the boogeyman see you.)

His thumb moves from your jugular, huffing when you gasp for air, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as oxygen fills your lungs in a deluge. He's not gentle when he slides it across your skin, nail catching on the curve of your jaw, but it's as soft as he'll allow, as he's capable of. 

Rotting blood is smeared across your skin. His eyes trace the trail, narrowing when the tip of his thumb hits the slope of your pouting lip. 

You know what he wants. What he always wants. 

And you can never deny him. You should have known better from the start. 

Your jaw drops, lips parting for him. 

All you get in response is another deep inhale. A bland acknowledgement. But the fever in his gaze nearly consumes you in its fire. 

He wanted a kiss. Wanted to see your lips stained red with the fruits of his effort. You didn't allow him that. 

So, he takes.

His thumb slips over the bump of your lip, resting the first knuckle on the fleshy bed, and he waits. He knows, now, that you will obey.

Your mouth closes without preamble, puckering around the tip of his thumb, catching the crimson congealing on his flesh where it sits like a macabre lipgloss on your skin. 

You can feel his excitement as it bludgeons into your core, jerking at the gentle kiss. The hard thickness of him makes you whimper in response, lashes fluttering shut as a molten want gnaws inside of you. 

He tastes of iron when your tongue laps over his flesh, and you find you quite like the taste.

His gifts might be macabre remnants of his unhinged carnage, leftovers from his icy warpath, his insatiable need to tear into flesh until the stench of death permeates in the miasma around him. You might be dragged along to the pits of hell for letting this untameable quietus into your home, your bed, your body, your heart, but when he ruts into you like he's starved for the feel of your flesh, you can't help but to take an ungodly amount of pleasure from the horrible things he gives you. 

He takes. And takes. And when he gives – 

He makes sure to let the world know it was him, and him alone, who gave it to you. 

It's awful. Horrible, even. Vile. Any number of debauched things. But despite the morality of letting a murderer fuck you senseless into a blood soaked mattress until you're screaming hymns in his name, you're already looking forward to the next gift he brings for you.

(You just wish he would give you something that wasn't still attached to a person.)

–its my personal headcanon that Michael Myers absolutely gets off on terrifying people, but no one more so than whoever catches his attention. Mikey likes you? you better prepare yourself because this man is going to psychologically torture you as a form of foreplay and/or courtship. but ONLY Mikey is allowed to scare you. that horror movie you watched that made you jump? you find it destroyed in your living room. better not go to a haunted house or you'll have a massacre on your hands.

–he also gives terrible gifts. tell him you like someone's shirt, well. he gives you the shirt. cute. but it comes with their torso. coo at some birds? you find bloodied feathers all over your porch. he's a menace. and make no mistake – he knows this absolutely terrifies you. he likes that.

Thank you for reading~