#rz Michael myers fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

6lostgirl6 · 10 months

Text

A Night To Dismember

Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I didn't mean-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On that day, you and Michael became closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Michael!"

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red and white.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you were his.

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

Tagging: Comment to be added!!

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

3K notes · View notes

welcometowhore-rrorville · 10 months

Note

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

Thank you thank you!!! <3

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐹𝑜𝓇

Featuring: Michael Myers

Word Count: 2k

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

As for your question(s):

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1K notes · View notes

calmcoldevening · 1 year

Text

Why did they want to keep you with them? (slashers x reader)

TW! Mention of rape and abuse

Michael Myers

• Michael came to your house to kill you.

• He was prevented by one scene: you were crying and screaming, trying to escape from the grip of your "boyfriend", who forcibly undressed you. Disgusting attempted rape.

• Michael lay low, watching you for a while, watching your pleas and futile attempts to escape. Your gaze reflected the pain of betrayal. This was different from what Myers saw in the eyes of his victims during the murders.

• You reminded him of his mother. Michael grew up around women, and he saw how his mother often cried at night after a particularly hard shift at "work". And although he didn't feel anything towards you at that moment, he understood that it was wrong.

• In place of you and this guy, Michael saw Deborah and Ronnie. And he couldn't stand this sofa imbecile. Such a vile, cruel and disgusting person is not worthy of life, right?

• When he was done with the guy, Myers came up to you and squatted down. You, clearly still on the verge of hysteria and loss of consciousness, clung to his shoulders, burying your face in a blue jumpsuit. Michael didn't know how to react, he didn't feel anything, but something inside was telling him to comfort.

• The voices behaved strangely. At any other time they would have said kill, but not now. And only the mother's voice stood out among this gray series of sounds: "Calm her, Michael."

Bubba Sawyer

• That day you were traveling with Sally, her brother and friends. You've been pretty distant. You were always stressed out by such noisy companies, but Pam begged you, as one of her best friends, to go with them.

• When a strange hitchhiker jumps into your van, you are attracted to his behavior. Why is he so jumpy? Sick in the head? Perhaps. Your fears are confirmed when he snatches a knife from Franklin and cuts open his hand. You look at his distraught face and run up to him, thinking how to stop the blood faster. After walking in for a while, you grab your backpack and take out bandages and some ointments that you bought earlier at the nearest pharmacy. As carefully as possible, you rub his palm and wrap a clean bandage on top. Nubbins, as you will find out later, looks at you with shock and incomprehension.

• When you become one of the Sawyers' victims, it becomes a choice who they want to put at the table as a guest during a dinner party. The choice falls on you and Sally.

• Nubbins immediately recognizes you and begins to actively tell his brothers something. Did you help Nubbins? Bubba is impressed. You didn't offend his brother, but on the contrary, you showed sympathy!

• Bubba is heading towards you (you and Sally are sitting on the infamous bone sofa). He touches your cheek with his thick finger, and you smile nervously. You're ready to cry from fear right now; your lips are trembling, but no tears are flowing. Bubba repeats his action, this time stroking your chin. He smacks his lips strangely from time to time; you can see his crooked teeth.

• To be honest, Nubbins and Drayton never understood why their brother left you, but he continued to be adamant, carefully taking you to his room. He untied your limbs only in the late afternoon, when he was sure he could keep an eye on you.

Vincent Sinclair

• You came to Ambrose and decided to go to the store for a snack. Bo immediately called out to you and offered to go to his house. The boy is cute, smiling — why not?

• When you entered the Sinclair house, you immediately realized that the guy, or guys, it seems he had brothers, had not had proper care and care for a long time: all the rooms were dusty, and the kitchen was littered with dirty dishes and empty boxes of instant food.

• Without thinking twice, you decided to first clear the space a little, and then concoct something in a hurry. In the end, Bo gave it the go-ahead.

• While you are washing the dishes, a strong blow is heard upstairs, and then Bo's angry screams. You hurriedly wipe your hands and almost run to the second floor. Slowly approaching the right room, you hear Bo's furious voice. "Fuck, couldn't you've been more careful, huh? Now she's definitely gonna run away, damn it. And all because of you, bastard!". Then there was a thud.

• You run into the room and see Bo towering over a long-haired guy. He fell on his ass and pressed his hands to his face. You rush to him and help him up. "Are you okay? What was that? Does anything hurt?" you shower the man with questions and only now notice that his face is wearing a mask.

• "Get away from him. And you, freak, move it. You don't want to get another slap in the face, do you?". You frown and stand in front of the guy, blocking him from Bo. You let the long-haired one lean on your shoulder. "Don't yell at him. Can't you see that he's sick?".

• The only thing Vincent can think about at this moment is how you protect him, not afraid to raise your voice to Bo, and what kind of affectionate and warm hands you have. You gently hold him by his broad back, and even through the mask he feels a pleasant scent of perfume. Maybe I shouldn't kill you?

Bo Sinclair

• You arrived in Ambrose with your friends. Although, they could hardly be called that. They were extremely toxic and called you names all the time.

• Your car needed an inspection: while driving, something was knocking violently under the hood, so when one of the guys talked to Lester, you drove into town.

• This place seemed nice enough to you, even though it looked a little creepy and abandoned.

• When Bo was talking to a guy from your company who was driving a car, he saw a young man yelling at you and sometimes swinging. Bo frowned, but did not show his mood change to others. "Why doesn't the girl go to our local "House of Wax"? This place will really make you want to stay" Bo joked, pointing towards a hill near the city. You went in the indicated direction with a clear desire to distract yourself from these vile people, leaving your pseudo-friends in the care of Bo.

• A little later you will discover that all your companions have mysteriously "left", leaving you in this city all alone to fend for yourself.

• Bo will calm you down and try in every possible way to show that you can trust him (what's there, you cried into his vest, and he gently stroked you on the back). The man was grinning.

• In fact, he just saw himself in you at that moment. He remembered how his parents treated him brutally, chained him to a chair with stones and constantly set an example for his younger brother. Something about you, so shrinking and scared, seemed to him exciting and interesting. Perhaps he found in your eyes the same feelings that he experienced in his life, there was something familiar about you, even native, that made him want to protect you and fence you off from these terrible people.

Well i love them too much hah. I wrote this with my ex-girlfriend a long time ago, so I was not sure if it was worth posting. But what's done is done. These boys are too cute for me not to write this one. So have a good day :)

#slashers x reader #slashers #fanfic #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #drabble #michael myers x reader #michael myers #michael myers rz #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slashers x you #well i love them all

5K notes · View notes

saphirreesuccudus · 22 days

Note

Can you do a small fic with rz Michael? Just a comfort fic, helping Michael cope with trauma bc the poor baby needs it.

Tried my best to write what you asked! You didn’t specify gender so this will be gender neutral.

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | ❀

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞:𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 | ❀

You and Michael hadn’t been dating for long, and not in the way you expected. While most relationships start from a school crush, or your parents setting you up, yours started after smith oaks decided to interview you. You took the offer of course, you wanted a well paying job, and you were smart enough for it, so why not, how bad could it be?

And although being with Michael wasn’t the worst thing to happen to you, you wished it could be easier sometimes. You knew what his childhood was like, and you tried being understanding, but no matter how hard you tried, or how patient you were, he was always closed off. You didn’t even sleep in the same house, he only slept in the Myers home, he didn’t even trust you enough to eat your food. You decided that if you wanted this relationship to work, you would need to talk to him.

-“Michael, can we talk?”

You asked him, heading downstairs once you heard him enter, through the back door like usual.

He peered up at you, clearly nervous, although he barely heard those words put together, he could tell it wasn’t good, but he agreed nonetheless.

-“You’ve been so closed off since we started dating, you won’t sleep in my bed, or eat my food. Is their something going on”

Michael didn’t know how to respond, were you angry? Concerned? Insulted? He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell by your voice, you always spoke to him in a soft voice, almost like his mother, but your voice seemed almost like that of doctors at the hospital. He finally broke down, he never cried in front of you but at this point, he was too emotional to stop himself. Even though you couldn’t see with his mask, you could hear it. You grabbed his hand, leading him to the couch, sitting down, and leading his head onto your lap, removing his mask and gently scratching his head.

-“I’m not mad at you Mikey, I’m just worried that our relationship won’t end well if you’re not open with me”

You said, using your soft, motherly voice once again.

-“We’ll be okay”

He stated, the first time he talked in 15 years

#slashers #rz michael myers #michael myers fanfic #michael myers x reader #michael myers #rz myers x reader #halloween #rob zombie #tyler mane #horror #fluff

94 notes · View notes

skylarsblue · 3 months

Text

Did someone order a 20,000+ word chapter?

CAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU BITCHES GET, FEAST, FEAST MY BELOVED GREMLINS.

DEVOR THE FRUITS OF MY LABOR, LET THY SOULS AND MINDS BE FULL

(Please, my wrists hurt so bad-)

#ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #michael myers #rz michael myers #michael myers x reader #rz michael myers x reader #michael myers x fem!reader #female reader #stuck on a childhood crush #soacc #slasher community #slashers #slasher x reader #slasher fucker

56 notes · View notes

maybe-abbi · 1 year

Note

hi!! can i request a rz!michael x reader where the reader has been held captive by michael in her home to the point where they’re reverting back to their normal routine with michael there and he starts to like them? i think it would be cute if he didn’t know how to react to his own emotions so he’d get randomly angry when they do something cute and they’d be confused bc the anger seemed to be because of them but never directed at them, if that makes sense? like if he sees them doing something like cooking and she just happened to make enough for both of them without asking he’d suddenly get up in a huff and storm off and the readers just like ???

tysm, i love ur writing so far!! <3

Back to normal

Rz! Micheal Myers x GN! Reader

Micheal doesn’t realize how comfortable he’s gotten around Y/n until they start to get comfortable as well.

It had been a few months since Micheal had began holding y/n captive. Y/n had, of course, been terrified of him at first, they refused to eat, drink, or even speak to him for the first few weeks. Micheal had expected that kind of reaction from them, who wouldn’t be scared of The Shape? He had even gotten used to their silence, he even enjoyed it, especially after hearing the screams of his victims all day.

Sometimes he would just sit next to them and look at them from the corner of his eye. He had admired them for a long time, which is why he decided to take them. It took Y/n weeks to allow themselves to relax in his presences, but the change was noticed and appreciated by Micheal.

When Y/n finally spoke to Micheal for the first time, it left him shell shocked. He had just returned home after dealing with an especially troublesome victim. They had cracked one of his masks and left him pretty bloody. Y/n ended up walking him to the bathroom and cleaning his wounds. Micheal watched them with intent, even smiling to himself, when y/n finished cleaning the wound they stared at the ground for a few seconds, then looked him is the eyes.

“Please, be careful.” They said in a whisper. Micheal felt light-headed at the sound of their voice. It wasn’t like they said anything particularly poetic or beautiful, but for Micheal it was a miracle.

Since then y/n had been much more open to Micheal. They talked about how their day went while he was out, they showed him the movies that they liked, and even asked him to bring back certain things for them when he went out. Y/n was started to settle into their new life, the only problem was that it seemed like the more comfortable that Y/n got with Micheal, the less comfortable he got with them.

For Micheal, strong positive feelings about a person are relatively new, but having those feeling reciprocated is a completely foreign concept, leaving him confused about how to react.

This all came to a head one day when Micheal had left for about eight hours, y/n was used to him leaving for a few hours every now and again, but eight hours seemed a little excessive to them. However they new he was a strange person, so they went about their business. When Micheal did finally get home y/n was cooking dinner, he walked in to see what they were making and realized that they had two plates set out, and they were making enough for the both of them. Micheal couldn’t understand why he felt so happy about that, or why he thought that the looked so nice while they were focused on cooking. Y/n eventually took notice of him, considering he was just standing it the middle of the kitchen, staring at them.

“Micheal… what are you doing?” They asked, slightly concerned. Micheal panicked, not expecting them to ask. He had no idea what to do, so he let out a huff and stomped out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. Y/n was left extremely confused, they thought that they may have offended him somehow. They just turned back around to finish cooking, not knowing what else to do.

Later that night Micheal heard a knock on his bedroom door, when he opened it he expected to see y/n, but instead he saw a plate of food sitting on the floor.

I’m so so sorry about the wait, I’ve been super busy, but I hope you like it anyway. This was super fun to write, I LOVE writing for slashers.

Please request if you have ideas, I love getting requests❤️❤️

#slashers #thomas hewitt #micheal myers x reader #micheal myers #rz myers x reader #rz michael myers #jason vorhees #bubba sawyer #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #ghostface #fanfic #the black phone #vincent sinclair #brahms heelsire x reader

488 notes · View notes

myers-meadow · 2 years

Text

Michael Myers x reader: Sunday roast

Title: Sunday roast

Summary: Michael had expectations of the world, what it would be like when he was free again - but the reality was a little less bright. One evening his hunger drives him closer to a warm house, drives him to you.

Warnings: can be read for any version of Michael. Deals with his thoughts and situation after his escape. Sfw. Not that shippy but perhaps that will come later :)) Happy early Halloween!!

Wordcount: 934

Link to my masterlist

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

A month. That’s how long had passed since he escaped the sanatorium. He thought being out would change him, but it hadn’t. His mind was as busy and annoying as ever – and his dreams were worse. His old childhood home was still home, but it had little of the comforts it used to have. Food didn’t magically appear in the cabinets, no one concerned themselves with him in there, the only thing it held was a filthy mattress and mice in the walls. He liked the mice, though, they weren’t the problem.

And so the days filled themselves. Stealing food, seeking shelter, trying anything to get to a stable mental space. It lasted him a week, during which it rained those bone chilling October rains. He went out, hood over his head, mask on, knife in the pocket of his stained coveralls. Few houses still had the lights on at this hour. The rain was a light drizzle, but the biting wind made it cold. There was a smell in the air, beside that of wet pavement, something warm and familiar. Food. It came from a house with the lights on in the kitchen. Michael came closer to the house, closer than he normally dared at this stage of his hunt, close enough to hear the clatter of the spatula as you dropped it on the counter. The oven beeped, a waft of heat made you recoil, before hands in oven mitts carried the tray to the table. Roast potatoes… How long had it been since he had those? His mouth watered. A twitch in his hand made him realise his hunger out won his bloodlust, at least tonight. And those potatoes are best when they’re still hot.

You didn’t notice him when he slipped in the house, nor the kitchen. He rapped his knuckles against the wood, and you turned around startled. You jumped as you saw him, his white rubber mask, spatula still in hand, onions sizzling away in the pan. Before you could act or speak, he pointed to the tray of roast potatoes on the table in between the two of you.

Eyebrows knitting together in either confusion or fear. “Food? You are hungry?”

Instead of an answer, Michael shoved a chair back and sat down. He watched as the thoughts crossed your face, from alarm to confusion to a final resolute decision.

“That’s quite a familiar mask,” you said, as you reached for a plate from the cabinet and put it in front of the stranger. The spatula too, Michael took it from your hand impatiently and helped himself to a generous serving.

“It must’ve been tough, finally getting out and then this cursed rain never stops,” you say, mindless, as you turn your back to him to grab a second spatula from the drawer and stir the onions. Then halted your movements, and got a fork and let it clatter down on the table, for Michael to grab and use.

Even the smell of burnt onions were a delight. He rolled up the bottom of his mask to allow himself to eat, peeking to ensure you weren’t looking. When you turned around at the second scrape of the fork on the plate, you quickly averted your eyes. Breathed deep, hands gripping the counter, before you resolutely gripped the pan handle and carried it to the table. Without asking, you scooped a good amount of mushrooms, onions and carrots in gravy on Michael’s plate.

Not knowing what else to do, you sat down, dejected, across from him and ate small bites. As he watched you like a hawk, it truly seemed you weren’t reaching for to phone on the wall by the kitchen window, or to do anything shady with the knife that’s still on the cutting board. He devoured the first serving, determined to get as much food in, before things would inevitably go south. A second serving; smaller but still sizable. He was a large, famished man. His hunger was satiated by then, but the homely taste of potatoes in butter and onion gravy made it difficult to stop himself from enjoying a little more.

When he shoved the plate away from him and stood up, it was as if the world returned into razor sharp focus. You hadn’t eaten nearly as much as him, too nervous, but were wide eyed with innocence beyond those nerves. Following his movements, you too stood, but immediately pulled open the fridge.

“Dessert?”

He breathed out, this was truly like a feast. His birthdays, he’d remember his momma with the same tone, asking if he wanted pudding, or candy when they’d watch a movie on tv that went on until later than his bedtime. He nodded, flexing his hand, trying to ground himself. What was this feeling? Good food. That was all. Good food nourished him, satisfied him. And now there’s dessert.

There was just one case of pudding, and you stuck two spoons into the large cup. It was a family portion, no doubt. You ate with him then, although he was quicker, and was the one to finish it all.

“Sweet tooth?” you asked, eyebrow raised, after the spoon clattered against his plate. He leant back, smoothing over his coveralls. You stood and gathered all the dishes to wash, a process during which he slipped out as unnoticed as he came. A mercy unlike any before. Sighing and taking survey of the amount of dishes to be done, you called out from over your shoulder, jokingly: “The cook is relieved of dish duty?” only to be met with silence.

617 notes · View notes

yourlocalcryingcryptid · 1 year

Text

TUMBLR SEXYMAN SHOWDOWN : BRACKET

everyday a different poll will be held and the winning slasher will progress onto the next stage. until their is only one left standing.

I'll be updating this post everytime someone progresses/is eliminated

I couldn't fit as many people as I originally wanted in (so sorry simps better luck next year 😔❤)

Massive thanks to @restlesssucculent !!! They were a huge help ♡♡♡♡ (so sorry about Billy babes xxx)

Current round: https://at.tumblr.com/yourlocalcryingcryptid/slasher-showdown/4w1wjiwd6qvg

Round 1

https://www.tumblr.com/yourlocalcryingcryptid/709008294067535872/winner

https://at.tumblr.com/yourlocalcryingcryptid/winner/bp4s1qyng73e

https://at.tumblr.com/yourlocalcryingcryptid/winner/4egps68g4j6d

https://www.tumblr.com/yourlocalcryingcryptid/709321849247547392/winner

304 notes · View notes

slxsherwriter · 9 months

Text

Blood Magic

Fandom: Halloween 2007

Pairings: None

Warnings: Blood, self harm (not true but tagging for those that would have an issue)

Word Count: 1439

A/N: Things were kept fairly purposely vague here. Let me know if you want any more! No beta.

The moon was high in the night sky, the only light in the empty forest clearing. A terrifying setting to some but to her, it was nothing but comforting. Out among the trees and the nocturnal life, there was no judgement. No harsh gazes, no whispered words behind her back. Simply her and the natural world. So much power to draw from, a place to commune and reconnect with the universe. The perfect spot to be able to perform the ritual. Letting out a small sigh, she settled down onto the ground, making herself comfortable. A smile was worn and her eyes briefly closed. Soaking in the moment and appreciating the quiet, She was able to find a center, which was just what she needed to concentrate. She could sense the few owls in the area and mice moving underfoot. There weren't any large predators in this forest. Just another reason that it was the spot for her.

Opening her bag, the young woman remained silent, not wanting to break the peace that was blanketing the clearing. She would have to disturb it soon enough but for now, set up could be done silently. Candles, a knife, and a small bowl were removed from the bag. The candles were laid out in a carefully planned pattern in front of her before the bowl was placed in the center. A critical eye was given to the setup, the woman leaning back to get a bitter view of the setup. Satisfied with the result, she nodded to herself. Each candle was lit in the same slow and methodical way that they had been setup.

Knife in hand, she closed her eyes, missing the crunch of leaves that came from behind her. Or the looming presence that drew steadily closer.

"With this offering, I give myself unto the earth and ask for the spirit in return." The knife was brought to her palm, a steadying breath taken, before it sliced deep into the flesh. Blood instantly pooled around the silver blade before dripping into the bowl in front of her.

It was just as she had closed her hand into a fist that the heavy boot hitting the ground behind her caught her attention. Whipping around, she was greeted with none other than the Boogeyman of Haddonfield himself, Michael Myers. Part of her had thought the man a myth, a legend to keep others behaving in the small town. Urban myths were gaining popularity these days after all. She should have known that there was some level of truth there. Proof of the fact was standing right before her now, looming with a menace and a threat of harm. The energy she felt radiating off of him was like nothing she had experienced before, sending a shiver down her spine.

In her haste of movement, she had knocked over two of the candles and the bowl was sent wobbling. Instinctually, she raised a hand to block the blow that was coming. His knife entered into her already cut hand, though this time the blade pierced straight through flesh and bone, embedded into the palm of her hand and appearing on the other side, nicking her cheek in the process.

The movements happened so fast, she couldn't recognize what was occurring. He had interrupted the ritual and the spell.

Her mouth dropped open to let out a pained scream but nothing came out. The pain in her hand faded, only to be replaced with a blinding, body numbing pain that ran from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, coupled with this overwhelming sensation that was suffocating at best. Her entire body locked, muscles spasming painfully, leaving her unable to do anything else against the next onslaught that came. Except nothing ever did.

Her vision was hazy, unfocused, but she could make out the shape of the man hanging above her, arm raised. But he wasn't attacking. Her brain moved as sluggish as the rest of her body felt in that moment, meaning she didn't comprehend what was happening, what had happened, or why he wasn't attacking. Sprawled in the middle of the small ritual setup, she was nothing more than easy prey for the man. Eyes opened wider when the thud of the knife hitting the dirt beside her head registered. It hadn't entered her chest, her throat, or her head. That suffocating feeling was still present and she still couldn't place it. It was not like anything she had experienced in her life before. Another thud and yet, no more pain. The only source was radiating from her hand. Again and again, the knife was plunged into the ground beside her head. Never once did it hit her, never was there any additional blood drawn.

Slowly, the constriction in her throat eased and the pounding in the back of her skull began to fade. Her vision cleared along with it. The towering mass of a man that stood over her, chest heaving and hands clenched at his sides, came more into focus. Little by little, with minimal movements, she slowly pushed herself up into a more seated position. There wasn't any move made to get away from him, at least not yet. The new found situation was delicate. She hadn't expected to find herself alive after all, not once that blade of his that had already caused so much death and destruction had been dug into her own flesh. Never had she felt more acutely aware of her own body; the thrum of her heart, the expansion of her chest, or the bite of fire a little too close to her skin. Michael cocked his head to the side just slightly, but he remained a statue, not moving another muscle. A wave of confusion washed over her. Ever so carefully, she inched forward to get away from the fire even when it put her closer to him.

Her movement didn't not bring any ounce of movement from him. She had no idea what to make of it. Cradling her injured hand close to her body, the pulsing, throbbing pain a reminder of the injury that needed to be treated, her eyes remained locked on the figure before her. There was no telling what his next action would be.

Again, it occurred so suddenly that she was caught off guard entirely. One second she was on the ground, the next she was in the air, in his arms. No excess pain, no difficulty breathing. He was not making an attempt to squeeze her to death. There was enough power in his frame to manage such a feat. No, he was simply holding her off of the ground. Not cradled against his body exactly but also not held out like a rag doll. Blood stained them both as the seconds continued to tick by, nothing being said or done. It took her several more seconds to be able to gather enough courage to speak.

"I need to wrap my hand…" The most pressing thing? Probably not. But it was the safe thing to be able to focus on. Otherwise, she might have lost all sense of composure. Did she really expect any sort of response from the masked killer? No. No she really hadn't. If anything, perhaps the simple act of speaking would be what was needed to kickstart the process of her death.

Instead, what it did was make the man turn and start walking, with her still in his arms. With nothing else to focus on, she finally was able to give thought to what she had felt before and the lingering sense of something else that was still present in her mind. While the ritual had not been completed, something had been exchanged. She closed her eyes, trying to sort it all out in her mind. What else was she supposed to do anyway? It wasn't like she was escaping the ironclad grip of Michael Myers. There was nottelling where she was going or what the man planned to do with her. He wasn't one to play with his victims. That was a well known fact.

Blood as an offering. But spilled with malicious intent, from a blade that wasn't her own. A blade that wasn't cleansed. The candle pattern disrupted.A jolt of realization went through her. Had she just performed soul magic by accident thanks to his attack? When she had asked for the spirit, she had meant the Earth. Could it be possible that some of his spirit had been transferred instead? The thought made her stomach churn for a moment. Oh, shit.

#halloween #michael myers #rz michael myers #slasher writing #horror writing #slasher x reader #michael myers x reader #michael myers x ofc #michael myers fanfic

72 notes · View notes

slasher-male-wife · 2 years

Note

Heyoooo! :-D

May I Request RZ Mikey And Thomas Hewitt With The Face Squishes Prompt Again?

Sorry For The Repeat But I Love My Squishies :"-)

Don't be afraid to ask my guy I love this idea. I'm so down bad for my giant men with long hair. Like bro it's rotting my brain at this point I'm ngl. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Strong language

RZ Michael Myers

He’s gonna be confused at first. Why do you want his hands on your face?

He might be a bit rough at first, putting his hands on your cheeks and just kind of violently squishing them. Tell him to be more gentle and he will be don’t worry.

He honestly kind of likes seeing how calm and peaceful you get while he just cups your face and gently squish it.

Thomas Hewitt

He’ll be nervous at first to do that with you because he knows how strong he is, he doesn’t wanna accidently crush you skull or something. Put your hands on top of his and show him how to gently do it.

Once he gets the ropes he loves cupping your face and pressing his fingers gently into your cheeks.

He’ll honestly do that while you two are cuddling or he’s stressed himself.

#michael myers #rz michael myers #michael myers x y/n #michael myers x you #michael myers fanfic #halloween #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x y/n #texas chainsaw the beginning #tcm the beginning #slasher #slashers #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader

494 notes · View notes

gothlollipop09 · 2 years

Text

Michael Myers x Self Insert +18

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!! PLS NO INTERACTION IF YOU ARE A MINOR

doing this shit at 2am, I hope they don't delete it lmaoo

230 notes · View notes

6lostgirl6 · 10 months

Text

RZ!Michael Myers Masterlist

Fics:

A Night to Dismember - Michael Myers x Fem!Reader

Headcanons:

Imagines/Scenarios:

138 notes · View notes

wallhusband · 2 years

Text

Keeping Michael

RZ!Michael Myers x Reader

Gender neutral reader.

Word count: 500~

Everyday I am grateful to be alive. He had chosen me, and then again chosen that I should live. Michael Myers. In a way I revered him. Like a vengeful god he could strike me down-snap my neck or rend my flesh to red pulp-but he didn't. He showed mercy. It was hard not to worship him for that alone.

I try not to think that way, but the emotions are etched into me. I can tell myself I should hate Michael. That he is a monster. Evil, even. But thinking that way changes nothing. When he brings blood onto my floors I clean them. When he bleeds from the poor soul who fell under his rage I bandage him. When he is cold and hungry I leave the spare key under the flower pot by the back door and wait for him.

At first I did it to survive. I did it to try and stay in spotlight of the good graces he has granted me. Now it's become a habit, I do what I do because it has always been done. The mind in the face of great uncertainty and danger latches onto what is familiar. Michael and I have a routine:

He leaves

He returns in the morning

I tell him to shower

His stained clothes are put to soak in hydrogen peroxide

I mop the floors

He comes out of the shower in lounge wear I bought him.

I disinfect and bandage his injuries.

I reheat him the rest of last night's dinner. He eats all of it. There's never any leftovers

We sit on the couch-I sit as far away from him as possible, he sits right next to me (our legs touch), and we watch television. He likes horror films and animal documentaries.

Rinse and repeat. Ad infinitum. It bothers me. It bothers me because I have carved a ledge out of the unknowable fragility that is housing Michael Myers. I have laid there so long the edges have worn away and become comfortable.

When he first tracked blood across the linoleum of my kitchen I vomited. He stared at me as I spit into the kitchen sink and rubbed tears from my stinging eyes. He left when I began to gargle water to stop the burn bile had left in my throat. I had to look up how to clean vomit. You cover it in baking soda and then scrape it off the floor with cardboard from amazon boxes you haven't thrown away yet. Then you disinfect.

I've gotten very good at disinfecting. Cleaning. I'm always cleaning after him. Trailing behind him with mops, scrub brushes, warm soapy water, and hydrogen peroxide. Oxygenated detergents break down blood best. I buy oxygen bleach off amazon, it's shipped to me every two weeks. Michael kills at least three nights a week. I have to keep track. Eventually he'll run out of people in Haddonfield...When that happens...I can only assume that I will be next.

#rz!michael myers x reader #rz michael myers x reader #michael myers x reader #rz michael myers #rz halloween #michael myers #rz!michael myers #slasher fanfic #slasher fanfiction #slasher fandom #slasher tag #slasher community #slasher fucker #wallhusband's fanfiction

182 notes · View notes

calmcoldevening · 1 year

Text

A little smut (////) (Slashers x reader)

Tw: well, 18+, blood play, knife play, temperature play, possibly forced to have sex

Michael Myers.

It was a difficult day. A new employee has appeared at your workplace and, as luck would have it, you had to tell everything about his duties. Jake turned out to be a nice guy, he even brought you coffee during lunch, and tried to joke in every possible way. No matter how much you complained about fatigue, the thought that now you will have a person at work with whom you can just talk in a friendly way pleased you.

Opening the front door, you quickly pulled off your shoes. Even if the heel was almost imperceptible due to a more or less low platform, your feet are really tired. Dropping your bag at the doorstep, you relaxed and walked to the laundry room, unbuttoning your shirt. I had to get clean clothes.

"Michael. I'm home," you shout, even though you know he's probably been following you since work.

Pulling off your wet shirt, you were about to unzip the skirt, when your wrists were intercepted by big hands. Looking up in surprise, you met the empty eye sockets of the mask.

"Michael? Something happened?"

The man didn't answer, just tightened his grip on your hands, pressing them against the wall. You were really scared. Heavy breathing came from under the mask.

"Mikey, what's wrong with you?"

The man lifted the edge of the mask so that his mouth and nose were visible. Leaning towards you, he bit your neck. You squealed. Pain pierced your sensitive skin. Leaving a noticeable bite, Michael began to lick it, growling animalistically.

With one palm continuing to hold your hands against the wall, he slid his fingers behind your back and unbuttoned your bra, throwing it aside. Squeezing your chest in his hand, he fell back to your neck, leaving new marks.

You let out a muffled moan. His cold hand contrasted pleasantly with his hot breath. Michael has always been rude to you, but now his actions went beyond the ordinary. You instinctively squeezed your hips, feeling the viscous warmth accumulating in the lower abdomen.

My thoughts got confused when Michael switched to your collarbones. He is well aware of your sensitive spots. The man ran his palm over your stomach, you squeaked. The skin was covered with a swarm of goosebumps.

"M-Michael, s-stop."

Lowering your head down, you noticed a bulge in Myers' jumpsuit. It surprised you a little. You had sex a couple of days ago, and with his superhuman endurance, the next time was supposed to be in a couple of weeks when he returns from his little hunt again. Did something make him angry? You didn't know. At least you won't know until he decides to talk.

Electricity seemed to radiate from his every touch. The current was flowing under your skin, making your blood boil. You began to feel a growing excitement. Tasting every inch of your skin, Michael left red marks. Bruises have already begun to form on your wrists from his brutal grip.

Running his hand lower, Michael dug his fingers into the fabric of the skirt, pulling it down. The lightning made an unpleasant crack. There was a small scratch on your thigh from a metal clasp. You whined.

Sliding his hand into your panties, Myers brought his fingers into your wet entrance. You flexed your hips, squeezing Michael's hand. Your muscles stretched painfully around his fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut, chaotic stars appeared on your eyelids. You tried to squeeze out at least a few words, but only a pathetic meow came out when the man began massaging your clitoris with his thumb.

The legs turned to jelly. You let out a strained sigh when Michael's hand stopped holding your wrists and moved to your ass, squeezing your soft flesh for support. You wrapped your arms around the man's neck, digging your nails into the back of his head, trying to remove the tired mask.

"M-Michael. Mmm, p-please."

You bury your nose in the collar of your jumpsuit, trying to catch your breath. Michael, watching your futile attempts to pull off the cold latex, stops. He seems to be thinking about something for just a moment. He loosens his grip on your buttocks, and you take it as permission. Finally freeing the beloved's face from the mask, you throw it on the floor. Looking up at Michael, you catch your eyes on such familiar and dear features. Since the last time, his pale face had been covered with light stubble; brown hair fell in careless waves over his large shoulders; pink lips were compressed into a nervous thin line. While enjoying your beloved face, you meet Michael's sky-blue iris with your eyes. So bright and warm, like a summer sea breeze shining under the persistent, warming rays of the sun. For others, these eyes looked like empty pieces of ice, "the Devil's eyes."

You smile, moving your hand from the neck to Michael's face, gently running your fingers over the prickling hairs on his chin.

Myers looks at you for a couple of seconds before pressing on your sensitive clitoris again. You return to the pool of excitement and a feeling of heaviness in the lower abdomen. Just a moment, allowing you to wait out the accumulated heat, has now only doubled your growing desire.

Rolling your throbbing flesh between his fingers, Michael watched with delight how quickly the emotions on your face changed. You bite your lower lip. Unexpectedly for you, your hips themselves begin to sit on the fingers of a man, directing him to the right points of pleasure.

When you almost reach the edge, just a couple of movements to let you fully enjoy the euphoric feeling of pleasure, Michael removes his fingers. You whine in protest and try to squeeze your hips together, looking for the cherished friction.

Michael brings wet fingers to his mouth and greedily licks. You look at him from under your eyelids covered with resentment when a man pulls you in for a kiss. He crushes your lips roughly and pulls your tongue into his mouth. You feel the salty taste of your arousal mixed with the pleasant taste of his tongue.

He lowers you down and unbuttons his pants, continuing to kiss you insistently. Michael untangles his legs from his clothes and grabs you under the hips with both hands, pressing you against the wall. Your vertebrae slide unpleasantly on a hard surface, and your skin is covered with goosebumps from the cold of the painted walls.

Finally, Myers breaks the kiss, and you whine at the feel of his hot cock at your entrance. He enters only half, but it still brings you tangible discomfort and echoes of pain, despite your walls stretched by his fingers. Michael waits a couple of seconds for you to get used to it. Having coped with the sensations, you wrap your legs around his lower back, interlocking them together. Your fingers are clenching from the rush of autumn cold: it seems that Michael did not close the window, although you were not sure about it before. The man comes out a little, and then fills you with his entire length, starting to slowly hammer into your wet entrance, accelerating the pace. The room was filled with strange, unusual sounds for your tired hearing, mixed with the measured blows of the window frame against the wall.

You moaned, at first in pain, slowly turning into a pleasant pleasure. His cock touched all the sensitive points inside you. Michael smirked to himself, your reaction only increased his desire to mark you. "Mine," he whispers roughly, squeezing the soft muscles of your buttocks. You moan in time with his thrusts. Thoughts got confused, forming a strange black-and-white lump of words stuck somewhere inside your head. The only thing that filled your creation right now was the desire to feel Michael. All, without a trace.

"Mine. Mine" murmur turns into a scream, and the man roughly bites into your neck, biting the place where a bruise from his past actions has already begun to form.

"Y-Yes" you answer when a stream of electricity spreads through your body from his bite.

Michael continues to move for a few more minutes, until finally he digs into your cervix with one rough thrust. He growls, and you feel his cock filling your core with thick seed. A moment, and you are shaken by your own orgasm. As if the heavenly butterflies that had been accumulating in the lower abdomen had flown out, leaving behind seconds of pleasure, an unearthly buzz. You shudder in Michael's arms, feeling incredibly small. You like it. Michael whines low, feeling your walls shrink around his cock, helping the man recover from his orgasm.

"Mine," he whispers, gently kissing your collarbones.

Myers carefully comes out of you, lured by his sperm flowing out of your entrance, and carries you into the bedroom. Gently placing your limp body on the bed, Michael covers you with a blanket, laying down next to you and hugging you tightly to him.

"Mine Y/N."

Vincent Sinclair.

The room was hot. The fire under the container with wax pleasantly heated the air in the room, slightly burning the lungs. You never understood how Vincent could be here, being dressed in overalls and a warm sweater. Although, probably, it was just a precaution. At least you wouldn't want to get burned because of your inexperience.

The man was lying on a couch covered with a dark sheet. His blue eye was watching you curiously. Carefully removing the wax mask from his face, you put it on the table with tools.

"I like your face."

You whisper, gently tracing a massive scar with your palm. Vincent enthusiastically closes his eye, pressing his cheek harder against your soft hand. The keratinized skin scratches your fingers slightly, but this only spurs you on more. Having wound your fingers into the guy's smoldering hair, you bend down, covering his lips with your own. A slight sweet taste touches your tongue when you slide it into the guy's yielding mouth. His nimble tongue tries to compensate for his master's inexperience by playing with you. Crushing his reddened lips like plasticine heated in your hands, you gently bite them with your teeth.

With one hand you wrap Sinclair's hair around your fist, knocking a groan out of Vincent, with the other you slide over his bare chest. His curls are hot and obedient from the moisture covering them. Removing a few strands from the guy's face, you kiss his neck. Gently, gently, you run your fingers over the protruding veins, feeling the rhythm of his pounding heart. The beating fills your ears, as if giving you mute consent, and you smile contentedly, kissing Vincent on the cheek for the last time.

Descending lower, you begin to kiss his jerkily heaving chest. Tracing Sinclair's halos with your fingers, you take them into your mouth, slightly pulling and sucking. Vincent squirms under your actions. An incoherent string of sounds escapes from his throat, more like the plaintive whine of a puppy. Wrapping your fingers around his nipple, you move your free hand to his pants, pressing on the growing erection.

"So fast, baby?"

Vincent shrinks from the pet name. He always liked the melody with which these words poured out of your mouth. He's ready to listen to it forever.

The guy directs his hips up behind your hand. You gently stroke his bulge. Your cheeks are burning like hell, either because of the heat in the room, or because of your own excitement. It becomes more and more difficult to breathe, with each breath you try to take more and more burning air into your lungs.

"Wait a little, honey."

You stop and hear Vincent gasp in protest. He gets up on his elbows, but you gently guide him back. Taking a small guy's working candle from the table, you bring it to the others, already lit. After waiting for the fetish to ignite and a little wax to melt, you hold your hand over Vincent's chest. The red light playfully sways from each of your movements, mesmerizing Sinclair's attention. A slight tilt, and the pale skin of the guy is already reddening from the slowly hardening wax. From the very depths of his throat comes a mixture of hissing and a satisfied moan.

You grin as you watch Vincent's good eye roll up in pleasure. His bitten lips are compressed into a thin, sinuous line. His whole body is trembling in pleasure.

You giggle a little as you swipe at the hardened wax on your chest. Vincent's cheeks are noticeably flushed. He is ashamed that he appears before you in this form, even though he likes it. There are too many contradictions.

"My good, pretty boy."

You gently take his palm in your hand and begin to slowly kiss each finger. Every scar, every bruise, every mole. His fingers linger on your lips, tracing the pinkish skin with his nails. You perceive it as a desire for touch and bend down again to kiss him on the lips.

Pulling away from Sinclair's mouth, you blow out the candle and put it aside. Approaching the lower part of Vincent's body, you carefully take off the guy's pants and underwear, freeing his erection. The guy looks at you in a strange ecstasy, as if waiting for your approval of his body.

"Vincent is very nice."

You whisper and wrap your palm around its length. Slowly rubbing his penis, you enjoy watching Vincent's reaction. The guy throws his head back, frantically digging his hands into the edges of the couch, and sighs softly. You giggle devilishly and rub a drop of pre-ejaculate with your thumb. Seeing Vincent like that, you can't help but grin. Feeling your slow movements, the guy breathes erratically, trembling covers his body, making him moan raggedly.

Already wet, his penis slides well in your hand when you grab a third of the length with your lips. Vincent arches at the feel of the warmth of your mouth. You giggle hollowly, and he shudders even more from the vibration that has squeezed his being. You begin to slowly stick your head on his cock, sucking cheeks.

Vincent shivers and whispers your name fragmentally. You smile as you swallow his cock. Continuing to move your head, you gently touch Sinclair's trembling chin. "Look at me," you babble, and Vincent obeys. He casts a fleeting glance at you and squeals, ending up in your mouth. Vincent closes his eyes, his vision swimming with colorful fireworks of euphoria. The guy's body is cramped with a pleasant cramp and he feels a simultaneous unforgettable pleasure and a strange current subsiding deep in the bottom of his stomach. Moving away from orgasm, Vincent looks at you from under his closed eyelids. Your smiling face now, covered with his release, makes him shrink and at the same time be content with what he saw. Mixed feelings are struggling in him: shame for what he did to you; joy and relief for your affection and care; a strange feeling of satisfaction bubbling in your chest for the fact that your lips and cheeks are covered with his sperm.

"Good boy," you say, erasing the essence of your boyfriend and licking it off your fingers "You are very tasty."

You're walking lazily towards Vincent. He blushes, turning his head in the opposite direction from you, and raises himself on his elbows. "Better than candy," you add, and grabbing Sinclair's chin, you cover the guy's lips with your own.

Thomas Hewitt.

The time is approaching evening. The Texas sun is slowly moving towards the horizon, gradually mixing pure blue with acid orange. The trees swayed steadily in the surprisingly strong wind. The dilapidated barn door with a characteristic thud hits the nearby iron pitchfork and rake. Someday they will certainly fall, leaving noticeable dents on the ground.

You were sitting on the porch watching the sun go down. You've never seen the moon from here, but still you hoped to see it at least once. It's been about six months since you started living in this Texas Hewitt family house. You are used to the daily routine and the manner of communication of all the inhabitants of the estate. Hopelessness or your own desire to stay, you didn't know. The only thing you were sure of was your love for the Texas Killer, little Thomas.

You lazily climb the wooden steps and enter the house, closing the door behind you. Dinner was over a long time ago, the dishes were washed and put away, so now you had nothing to do. You decided to visit Thomas in the basement, who was probably engaged in the last of the morning violators.

Going down the stairs, you jump over a large puddle at the foot of the steps by inertia. The basement smelled of dampness and death slowly filling your shrinking lungs. You notice Thomas hunched over a table with a sewing machine. You can't help but smile sweetly.

Approaching the man from behind, you put your hand in his wet curly hair. That's the gesture you always use to tell Hewitt that it's you and no one else. He visibly relaxes, and his previously tense shoulders go limp. You turn Thomas to face you and see his new mask. Still a fresh human mask.

"Hi, Tommy. Did you miss me?"

The man nods. You're giggling. Running your fingers over the skin, you look at the remaining blood on them, which you immediately rub between them, making a sound like a disgusted groan.

" I'll get a rag."

You leave and return to the basement with a clean white cloth. You begin to slowly drive a napkin over someone else's skin. Thomas is watching you closely. You blush slightly under the attentive gaze of metal eyes. Thomas touches your face with his bloody hand, and you smile.

"Can I take off your mask, Tommy? I need to clean your face."

He seems to hesitate for a moment. After all, you will see his real face, his "progressive ugliness". But he looks into your eyes, so dear and beloved, and does not find that lie and disgust in them, nods. You gently pull off the elastic skin and put it on the table, next to other skin patches. Again, you take a rag and already run it over Tommy's scars. You stop at his lips.

"Can I kiss you, Tommy?"

He always appreciated that you respected his personal space and always asked before touching him in such exceptional places.

Thomas nods. You grab his shoulders with your hands, guiding the man's body, and cover his lips with your own. The taste of copper soaked your profusely saliva, but you did not resist, only deepening the kiss.

Looking away from such desirable lips, you notice a strange twinkle in his curious eyes. Hewitt kisses you again, albeit clumsily, but insistently, and stands up to his full height. You are once again convinced of its large size in absolutely everything. His lips curl in an insidious grin, and a second later his hands pick you up like a feather, carefully pressing you to him. You cling to the man's bloody shirt with your palm. Thomas is carrying you out of the basement. You already knew what to expect, mentally imagining the further development of events.

Hewitt brings you into his, your shared room, closes the door with a latch, which Hoyt kindly made so that during Thomas' absence old Monty could not spy on you, and puts you on the bed.

Thomas stops not far from you and takes off his mostly blood-stained clothes, remaining in only his pants. Then he walks towards you. The springs creak with a nasty creak under the weight of Tommy's body. He carefully removes your big shirt, which you secretly took from his things, and shorts, leaving you in your underwear. Thomas looks at you, looking for the slightest drop of protest in his eyes, but, fortunately, he does not find it. A man gently runs his rough hands over your chest, stomach and thighs, pulling short moans out of you. Pleased with himself, he hooks the edge of your panties and slowly pulls them down. You clench your legs in embarrassment. Thomas settles at your hips, picking them up and laying them on his broad shoulders. You can see how his chest is heaving unevenly.

If earlier it was just hot in the room, now you felt the fire burning and enveloping you both. Your heart beat in anticipation. Thomas briefly admires you and squeezes the outside of your thighs. He looks at the bottom of your stomach and kisses the heated skin. A groan escapes from your chest. Thomas likes the sounds you make, so he leaves more long and sensual kisses on the outside of your thighs, stomach and sides.

Noticing your humidity and how you began to actively fidget in search of liberation, he smiles, after a moment touching your entrance with his face. Hewitt inserts his tongue into your sensitive walls several times, watching your reaction. Continuing his actions, he runs his tongue along your entire slit from top to bottom and back, noticing that your emotions become brighter when he touches the top of your penis. The man touches that place again, watching you enthusiastically bring your eyebrows to the bridge of your nose and bite your lip. Thomas feels a throbbing bulge under his tongue. Having found the reason for your pleasure, he begins to actively lick and suck your clitoris. You squeeze your legs around his head. Thomas, pleased with his actions, begins to work harder with his tongue, accelerating the pace. A few movements, and your body cramps pleasantly. One moment you seem to find yourself in the arms of clouds, soft, fluffy and so inviting, and the next second you hit the ground with force, still in a strange euphoric state. An orgasm will cover you instantly from head to toe, you feel your toes curl up, and your hips begin to frantically lose themselves on Thomas's tongue and face in the hope of waiting out a wonderful feeling.

Thomas straightens up and looks at the mess he's made of you with his tongue alone. Your tear-stained eyes; trembling lips; reddening cheeks, not so much from embarrassment as from the blood that covered them.

You look at Hewitt and smile. his face, shining from your release, shimmers with red-orange fire from the window of your room, his wet hair is wound behind his ears and covered with already dried blood, silver eyes are carefully studying you.

"Thanks. Tommy," you say through heavy breaths.

Thomas gently takes your hand and begins to slowly draw letters on it so that you have time to understand his message.

"Y/N. P.R.E.T.T.Y."

"W.I.T.H. B.L.O.O.D. O.N. H.E.R. F.A.C.E."

Well, ha, I'm horny before the New Year and decided to write this~ And so, happy holidays, sweethearts ;)

#slashers x reader #fanfic #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #drabble #michael myers x reader #michael myers #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #michael myers rz #slashers x you

2K notes · View notes