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18 y.o Part time slut, full time moron

[lacey-z]

Draft of Chapter 1: First encounter

There were good days, there were bad days. Today was one of those where you woke up with a bad feeling. 

Opening your eyes with much effort, sunlight burning tired pupils, you stare at the ceiling. Yellow and dirty, how did it get like that anyway? Sighing, warm hands pressing on your face, are you awake? Those hands of yours are rough, but clean, short fingernails.

Finally, you focus on the figure lying besides you, eyes deepened by black eyebags, old brownish scars covering his whole body. 

You sat up, a headache creeping in. 

What time is it? You groaned, feeling as if you slept in a bed made of rocks. Peering at the man again, he was freezed in the same position. How long has it been since you two met? You didn’t remember, after some time the days started merging one into another. But… you could recall your first encounter.

You weren’t bubbly, the light of the room or the type of person who’s so pure-hearted that their mere presence makes everyone else feel tranquil, but you always supported your few good friends. Hence, when Sam’s great-grandpa’ cousin’s friend died and he was dragged to their funeral, the group chat voted for you to go, and you obliged without complaint. 

Like that, you both took a four hour drive to the small city where their family lived, but the day went as well as a vigil could possibly go. You gave your condolences for many weeping family members, and even engaged in some talks about the deceased adventures while alive. By daybreak, Sam had disappeared to god-knows-where and you were by yourself, most people were already long gone, so you decided to take a stroll in the churchyard. 

It was beautiful, albeit a bit eerie, as are all cemeteries. You read the names of many people, noticing the dates, a life reduced to epitaphs. 

Amongst the graves was where you first saw him - thinking about it now it’s pretty fitting. The shape of a man stood above a square sepulchre. You winced, stepping in somebody's final resting place was a bit too taboo, if you were one to judge. He was wearing a white hoodie and dark pants, a bit unfashionable, his face was covered by a mask. 

You considered changing paths, but decided against it, he’s just a guy, maybe he’s here for a funeral himself, maybe he’s the janitor… Do graveyards even have janitors? Stepping forward, he was left behind, and you thought nothing of it, how many people did you cross by every day? He was no different. His image forgotten as soon as he disappeared from view.

Then, you saw a little tumblestone, it was a faded pink and had an intoxicating smell coming from it. Casually, you approached it, it was some child’s burial, her name was Annabel Lee. She for sure was loved, you figured, there were many new flowers: primroses, cammelias and red lilies. It sure was beautiful, would somebody remember you like that after you were gone? 

“Your family?” the sudden voice came from behind you. Eyes widened, you scanned that same man from before, now standing only a few meters away.

“What.” Your voice sounded harsher than intended, heart pounding.

“Is that your family member?” He was nonchalant, hands in pockets, mask hiding his expressions.

“...” You kept staring at him, confused. Many times before your girlfriends had shared horror stories about encounters with weird men, some of them were straight up creepy, others seemed ‘just’ oblivious. You were never the type to be approached, for a reason or another, this was a first “No. I was just curious.” 

“Curious about what?” he crooked his head, as if raising an eyebrow. It was then you noticed he had no eyebrows. This look was trendy nowadays, you supposed.

“Are you a cop?” you tried smirking, but it came out as a grimace.

He laughed, louder than appropriate for the shitty joke you made “Well, it’s disrespectful to stare down unknown people’s graves, y’know.”

“Hah… weren’t you, just now, standing on somebody's grave?”

“Were you watching me?”

“You were in my way, I just noticed” you shrugged.

“Very suspicious…” His tone was playful enough.

“You’re the one following me” you retorted. A joke sometimes reveals a deep thought too intimate to be said out loud.

“May-be” he joked?

Neither of you said anything for a while. His presence was off-putting and his intentions were unclear. Is this some type of flirting? Or is this guy really the janitor and he’s acting all weird because that’s his job? 

“It’s a night-blooming jasmine” you spoke despite yourself, pointing at it “the smell, I mean. I suppose because it’s getting dark the smell is coming out”.

“Night-blooming jasmine?” He looked at the small plant half-bloomed right beside the grave.

“The odor is potent, very sweet too.”

“Ah. It reeks.” 

You scoffed. He had no taste.

While thinking about what to say next, or whatever to say something or not, Sam’s voice echoed by the yard, breaking the semblance of solemnity brought by such a place. 

“That’s my call” why did you explain it? “Good talk.”

  “See you” at that point it sounded like a normal farewell, so you gave him a polite smile.

Later, you took Sam to his home and went to yours. It was a cozy little apartment, better than you could hope to afford with your salary. You showered, ate, watered your plants, drank some wine and watched TV, snoozing off on the sofa without a care in the world. Unfortunately, it would not be a long rest. 

That peaceful sleep was interrupted by a fiery pain shooting from your left shoulder to all your body, it traveled from its core point all over to your feet, making it tramble and tingle. Your eyes flashed open, heart heavy with blood, blurry and struggling to make sense of the situation. 

Forcing your sigh, you were able to identify the same man from before, now kneeling above yourself, in his hands a long knife that perforated your member. His face, not hidden anymore, presented a carved smile spread from ear to ear that tried heeling many times unsuccessfully, a white skin stained with red blotches and nostrils where a nose should have been.

Gripping the knife, he slowly removed it, pressing and twisting it, replicating the burning felt before, it was as if he ignited it on fire. As soon as the object came out, blood started pouring out of the hole. It was warm, though it felt cold against your feverish skin, soaking your clothes and hair.

   “Ah!” You tried making any sound, but the pain and terror blocked any sound from escaping.

“Shh… go to sleep” he whispered, knife sliding your stomach’s skin, leaving shallow cuts behind. 

You closed your eyes, panic setting in. When looking up again, you watched him angle himself for another strike. Your hand quickly searched for something, anything, on the table next to the sofa, you needed to defend yourself, or you were going to die, you knew it.

The closest thing was the wine bottle you drank from earlier, not having time to think, you hit him with it. The shards and red liquid fell onto your face, fusing with the blood that tainted it. Thankfully, it was enough for him to be thrown slightly to the side, giving you the opportunity to throw yourself at the floor.

You groaned, back hurting from the awkward fall. But it only lasted so much, as soon as the man began moving once more you dragged your body as far as possible, gaining footing again. By this point he was standing over your pricy couch, boots leaving muddy footprints on its beige surface. You forced a sprint, still trembling, managing to stumble to your room, his footsteps growing louder behind you.

Locking your door, you searched frenetically for another weapon. It was god, you sometimes believed, or it was stupid luck, but your eyes settled on a small and filthy axe left there by one of your friends, you kept it because you were too lazy to get rid of it and it was a funny memento of when you two tried woodworking as a new hobby but figured it was way too expansive. As you held it tightly against your chest flashes of those days came before you, was that how you were going to die?

Blood kept flowing all the way to your socks, it was extremely hot, feeling like the shower scene in Carrie. It soiled the carpet, you shivered. That axe was rusty, would it be too dull? What happens when you hit somebody with a dull blade? Does it-

Thoughts interrupted by the door being broken down. Damn! You hurried to its side, he would bolt in with the door, if you stayed by the walls he would not notice quickly enough to be able to dodge when you attacked him. 

With a thunderous sound, it flew open, barely avoiding your curled figure. As he marched forward you took your opportunity. With a sharp motion you striked him, axe piercing his lower back. Answering your questions from before, the blade became stuck inside of him, not a clean cut like the first stab wound he gave you.   

Both of you cried, he, of course, from pain, a pitiful but muffled, yours with a tone of horror, distress making your hands and feet feel cold. Where did this will to survive come from? Where did this strength come from? You didn’t know, perhaps it was adrenaline, pure human instinct. You supposed it was natural, one never knows how much they can handle until hardships arrive, and it’s your inclination to clasp tightly to that mundane life you worked so hard for.

This does not matter, you think you know. Where that comes is irrelevant, what was and still is important is that you were able to strike him deeply right in his loins. His expression went from deranged, with a maniac smile, to surprised to pained to deranged again, fresh blood soaking his hoodie. 

The staring contest lasted less than ten seconds, the weapon stuck in him. Should you run, or would his legs fail him after such a heavy bleeding? His loud shrill laugh broke you out of your mind. Before you could think he bolted in your direction like a bull, having time only to throw yourself at the floor, you watched as he disappeared inside your apartment, unsure where he went.

Trembling and with a darkened vision from the blood loss, you feebly grabed a table nearby to help your frail body up, hands almost lacking strength to do the task your brain commanded. Walking like a cat, you searched your small house, hand in shoulder trying to slow down your death. Then, you noticed the red trail he left, leading you to the door. “He escaped… Bitch” you knew, and, god knows, you felt victorious.

You recalled all that had happened as you called the police, hand trembling while dialing. You practiced what to say, “help me, I was stabbed?”, you felt almost shy, what if they thought it was a joke, and if they didn’t, would they come with their loud sirens, doctors and police, then you would become the building's main subject… 

“Help…” you managed to welp, teary voice as the woman on the other end asked what was wrong. You didn’t realize how weak your body had become “I’m dying…”.

Then, the world became black. Your friends later on told you the ambulance arrived soon, the police soon after, just to find what they believed to be your cadaver, given the amount of blood and your pale state. 

The next days were spent between the hospital and the police station, the doctors said she was lucky, he missed her artery and lungs. You were never religious, but the same day you were discharged you left a small offering at a local shrine, thinking if the killer had the same luck as yourself. This question was answered before long.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Bus buddy - Jeff the killer x reader - oneshot

=

You weren’t sure how this routine had started, but every night after your shift at work, you would get onto your usual bus, greet your usual driver, and sit across from your usual bus buddy. He wasn’t really your buddy but he had been there long enough to not be scary anymore.

When you first saw him, you had frozen for the entire trip back to your stop, unable to keep your eyes off him. he was very imposing, tall with long black hair peeking out from under his hood. Now you felt comfortable enough to sleep, just as you used to before his arrival, his knuckles knocking against your knee when your stop came up, you would thank him, yawning as you did, and hop off the bus.

Continuar lendo

[mazzyonline]

˚₊‧꒰ა PUT U ON TOP ! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

─── kinktober o5: mc / clothed sex

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ — PAIRING. jesse heil x sub!fem reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ — CONTENTS. reader is smaller than jesse but has no specific height/size, clothed sex, grinding/dry humping, size difference, virginity mention (jesse is a virgin), jesse cums in his pants, clumsy fingering, and use of the following words/terms for readers body: pussy, cunt

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ — NOTES. 2.6k words. the first 'mazzy's choice' day!! i picked clothed sex/grinding literally specifically because i wanted to write jesse for it lmao. anyway more virgin content means im summoning bunny my beloved @potetogrrl1 come get ur food <3

꒰ ⋆ .⺌complete kinktober masterlist here ! ⺌. ⋆ ꒱

Jesse was always so goddamn careful when he touched you. Unless it was some sort of emergency– catching you when you fall or grabbing you to hide you away if someone else stumbled upon the mall– then his hands always seemed to ghost over you, like a single touch from him might shatter you. He curled his pinky around yours or held your hand as carefully as he could, his fingers would tremble when he touched the small of your back or played with your hair, and he held his breath when he cupped your face.

You had seen him do terrible, awful things with those scarred hands– had seen them bruised up and covered in blood. Maybe that was why he never touched you, worried that you would be afraid of him, afraid that he would hurt you like that.

Maybe it had something to do with him being a virgin. He had never told you that– but you had sussed it out when you had to teach him how to kiss, had to give him explicit permission to even put his hands on your hips. Not to mention the way he almost short circuited the first time he saw you take your top off to change.

Whatever the reason, it had been months and you hadn't been able to get him to do anything except kiss you– and even then, he was so gentle with you, and always stopped before it got heated.

You weren't blind; you could see the way he looked at you through that mask, could feel the way his body reacted to you when he couldn't quite stop himself. You knew he wanted you, at least as much as you wanted him… he just wouldn't take the leap.

It was beginning to present you with quite the issue, a new level of frustration that throbbed between your legs whenever you had even a few minutes alone with your thoughts.

Most of the time, it wasn't so bad. You had other things to think about– intruders, cleaning up the place to make it a bit more livable, tiptoeing around Jesse’s possessiveness, finding food. There were generally more important things for you to focus on aside from the fact that you hadn't even been able to touch yourself in months, not with Jesse always right behind you.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

He sits on the end of the mattress you two shared, held up off the floor by wooden palettes that almost mimicked a cheap bed frame.

You watch the muscles in his back move, the tight t-shirt he wears not doing you any favors as you try to control yourself and focus on anything but the mounting frustration. But eventually, you just can't take it anymore. You’ll get your answers.

Decisively, you push yourself up and crawl to the end of the bed where he is. Jesse barely has time to lift his head to look at you before you’re throwing one leg across his lap. You straddled his lap, your legs parted and resting on either side of his hips. Your knees dig into the mattress below you as you settle down on his thighs. You feel the way his entire body stiffened up, a wall of tense muscle in front of you, and his hands stilled. You could see the brief flash of alarm run across his eyes, shining through the mask, locked on you completely.

You might as well just come right out and ask, right?

“Jesse,” you start, your hands settling at the tops of his thighs, “Why won't you have sex with me?”

You can see the way he takes a few minutes to even process your question. You can't be totally sure, the room around you quite dim, but you think you catch the skin around his mask beginning to turn a bit red.

He’s silent for a few long seconds, hesitating. You’re used to the way he pauses before he speaks, always unsure if he’s actually going to say anything at all or rely on rough vocalizations and pointing.

“You’re too small,” he finally says, his gravelly voice oddly decisive, like he’s made up his mind on the matter and made his peace with it. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

Well fuck, that's almost adorable. “Jess, I’m not that breakable,” you reply, your voice taking on a slightly more gentle, soothing tone. “You’re not gonna hurt me.”

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. He did not believe you. You guess you’ll just have to show him instead.

You lean closer, peering into his eyes through the dog mask. You were keenly aware of how close you were pressed to him, how your hips pressed against him. Your lips formed a tiny pout, and Jesse could have groaned at the sight. “Can I kiss you?”

He hesitated, a shiver passing over his skin, raising goosebumps along his arms. He raised one hand up slowly, and placed it over your eyes. You got the message, closing your eyes behind his palm, and you listened to the rustling of his other hand fumbling with his mask, lifting it up. His fingers were warm against your skin, the side of his palm resting against your nose. A zing passed through you when you felt his breath fan across your lips, felt him lean closer in the dark provided by your closed eyes and his hand.

Jesse pressed his lips to yours, soft and gentle. He removed his hand from between you, content that your eyes would stay closed while he kissed you.

You hum against his lips, pleased to have gotten your way in this regard, as your lips move against his. You take it slow at first; for how giant and intimidating and literally lethal he is, you’ve come to realize that treating him like a skittish deer is usually the best course of action. No sudden movements. Take it at his pace.

Slowly, your hands moved up, moving off of his thighs and ghosting over the planes of his chest, slipping delicately over his shoulders and neck. Your fingers are borderline hesitant when they reach his jawline, aware of any flinch or jerk he may make in response to you touching his face. He stiffens slightly, but doesn't stop you, too preoccupied with the way you swipe your tongue against the seam of his lips.

You cup the sides of his face, gentle and delicate. You can feel the torn, scarred skin beneath your palms, but you can also feel his warmth, the way he shudders under your touch.

His lips part, and so do yours. You let him take the lead in exploring your mouth, before you make a tiny, strategic whine against his mouth, your fingers holding him close.

You could feel the shift in him, could feel the moment when he realized exactly what you were up to. His hands moved to your hips and began to subtly push at you, trying to break the kiss like he always did. You parted from him, body pushing back against his hands as you gripped him tighter.

“It's okay,” you breathed against his lips, “please don't make me stop. I want you, Jess.” To punctuate your words, you dragged your hips back slowly, a bit too slow to really be a grind. You keep your face close to his, your view of him limited, not wanting to take any chances of freaking him out. Your thumb stroked the scarred skin on his left cheekbone as you did, your movements a mixture of tender and desperate for stimulation, for the touch you had been craving.

You felt him shudder, tensing up beneath you once again, as his fingers pressed a little harder into the fat of your hips. They trembled with the restraint it took to maintain his self control.

You can feel him growing hard beneath you, and– yeah, maybe he is right that he’s a bit fucking big compared to you. Who knew he was hiding a monster like that in those jeans? The outline of his cock, growing erect and very fucking present between your thighs is almost enough to make your mouth water.

Slowly, when he doesn't directly stop you, you pick up the pace of your movements, rocking your hips back and forth over him. Your hands find their place on his broad shoulders, itching to move further down, but you know he'll only stop you.

Instead, ride the seam of your jeans, pulling your hands away from him only momentarily in order to hook your fingers through the belt loops on either side of your waist and hike them up, ensuring the denim seam is pressed firmly against your aching cunt. Your hands return to his body, slipping over his shoulders as your arms hook around him.

He’s so hard beneath you, cock straining against his jeans, and you wish he would just let you touch him– but you’ll settle with this for now, take whatever baby steps he’s comfortable with. With every delicious drag of your hips, the heat of your body seeing through your clothes as your grind against his clothed erection, you can feel his fingers twitch and tremble against your skin.

His hands move, ghosting over your back, your sides, your hips, like he doesn't know what to do with himself. That is, until you shift forward in order to more satisfyingly perch yourself right over his cock, and his hands clamp down on your hips in a vice grip almost immediately.

He was quiet, so stoic and quiet like he usually was, but his breath came in hot, soft pants, fanning against your mouth and face. You were sure you could almost feel him twitching through his jeans, through your jeans, his breathing the only cue he gave you as to what he was feeling. You kept it up, grinding and humping against him so shamelessly, desperately seeking out your own pleasure.

A broken moan passed your lips when you tilted your body, hitting just the right spot for the seam of your jeans to press against your clit, giving you the perfect amount of friction.

Suddenly, his breath hitches, his hips jolting forward as he bucked against you. The movement made you mewl, whimpering as your nose bumped gently against his, the sound lost in the tiny space between you. Your thighs burn, but the feeling of the seam of your jeans digging into your underwear, rubbing so tantalizing against your clit as you grind against him was too good to stop now.

His fingers dig into your hips, letting out a heavy breath and a grunt, and you feel him buck again, cock twitching in his pants. Your head is spinning, eyes half lidded as you breath each others air, and his body trembles, shakes beneath you–

He lets out a ragged breath, and you feel the heat as he cums in his pants, his hips jerking and bumping against yours.

You feel high, unable to stop the way your body moves on its own, desperate to reach the edge with the knowledge that you made him cum, made him feel that good. But Jesse tenses and his hands dig into your soft skin, and before you know it, he’s forcibly halting your movements, lifting your hips off of him.

“Jesse,” you cry, your voice whiny and needy in a way he’s never heard before.

His hands continue to hold your hips still, his body sensitive and overwhelmed at the mess he’s made, that you’ve made of him.

Your clit throbs, your pussy clenching around nothing behind the layers of clothing, your panties slicked and sticking to your needy cunt. You whine in frustration again, your body buzzing with the need to relieve yourself, to be pushed over the edge you had been so close to reaching.

“Jesse, please,” you whine, tears of frustration pricking in your eyes as your grip on him tightens, your fingers gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, “please touch me, I was so close.”

The grip his right hand has on your hip loosens, ghosting across your skin and to the front of your pants. The linger there, the hesitation in his actions clear, so you press your hips forward and into his hand, your entire body buzzing with need. You hear Jesse’s breath hitch, cool air moving against your skin when he releases it, and then he’s dipping his fingers below your waistband.

His fingers are awkward and fumbling, making it obvious he’s never done this before, and he sucks in a breath when his rough fingers make contact with the soaked fabric of your panties. Jesse can feel the heat of your body, the way you seem to thrum with desperate energy, as he strokes his fingers along the fabric, pressing in.

You’re about to open your mouth to try and give him some direction when his fingers slide forward, and they bump over your clit. Your body jolts, and Jesse tenses when you whine, before he seeks that spot out again. With nervous fingers, he applies pressure, moving his fingers back and forth, seeking out the patterns that make you twitch and repeating them.

You moan, your breath coming out shaky and uneven as you hold on to him, finally receiving the direct stimulation you need. “God, yes, Jess– fuck, right there,” you encourage, fingers threading through his hair, nails scraping over his scalp.

He shivers– from your praise or your nails, he’s not sure. Either way, he keeps it up, amazed at the way you seem to come apart under his clumsy ministrations. His hands, so scarred and calloused and forever stained with the blood he spills, are capable of touching you without hurting you, of making you feel good– he wonders, his heart lodged in his throat, if he’s found his new obsession as you tip your head back, your eyes closed.

He finds a steady pace and moves his fingers in circles, your body steadily creeping back towards the edge that you had almost lost.

Jesse watches, enthralled, his breath catching in his throat and his mouth going dry as he watches your face scrunch up, your brow furrowing and your lips parting as you moan and whine and grind against his fingers. Thoughts that he usually tries to keep suppressed trickle in, his brain overwhelmed at the sight of you– he’ll never let anyone else see you this way again. He’ll kill anyone who gets close to you. He wants to pin you down and keep working you with his fingers, hearing you cry and moan and scream his name–

The coil inside you snaps and you squeeze your eyes shut, hips jerking as the orgasm washes over you, Jesse’s mind quieting except for the thought of you, you, you as you cum, fingers digging into his skin.

He withdraws his hand from your pants. Despite the mess you’ve both created now, neither of you moves to get up or clean up yet. He’s not going to move anytime soon, not with you melting into his chest and burying your face in the crook of his neck. His arms are thick and solid when they find their home around your waist, securing your body to his for as long as you want to stay there. One of his hands creeps up, tugging the mask back down over his face, before his fingers run down your spine and rub over your back.

“Next time,” you mutter against the warm skin on his neck, your breath floating under his collar and fanning across his collarbone, “I’ll get you to let me touch you, Jess.”

Jesse only grunts in response, one of his big, calloused hands coming up to rest on the back of your head, keeping you tucked against him– so you miss the way his face burns all around the edges of his mask.

intellectual property of ©️darling--core. do not copy, repost or translate my works without my explicit consent. do not use my works to train ai.

[pand-a-mort]

Jumpscare and Meladrama

Fanartworks by @pand-a-mort

DO NOT REPOST/STEAL PLEASE. Thank you.

[verlaines-corner-archive]

This is the most in depth and thought out thirst I will ever write but your hc about Muerte liking biting during sex has me thinking.

Muerte likes the added stimulation of putting his mouth on his partner, clearly. Plus the trust to let a giant wolf with the bite strength to snap bones with ease to just put his jaws around your throat? Weirdly sexy, to him at least.

And because I’m an absolute freak I gotta know, how does he respond to the stimulation being taken away?

Like, does he get rougher because he has to make up for the loss of contact? His grip is probably bruising skin and leaving small pricks with his claws. he’d be bent over you with his mouth right by your head, probably drooling an awful lot because he needs your throat in between his teeth. It’s not even the fact that he just misses the feeling, he misses the taste.

Or, on the opposite end, slightly submissive Muerte? He’s too proud to beg but he’s getting dangerously close to it. You never thought you’d hear Muerte, straight up Death, whimper, but you swear you hear it in between his heavy gasps and him asking (pleading) for you to let him just taste you already. He swears he’ll do whatever you want, fuck you however you want, just please take it off. You can’t even process what he’s saying because of the desperate and sloppy pace he’s moving at.

But that’s just me <3

Anon you are so fucking smart

I’m going to assume that we’re taking away the stimulation via muzzling and honestly when you first suggest it Muerte is probably rather amused. He’s not offended or anything [honestly I see him as willing to try most anything out] but he definitely laughs because, well, surely he doesn’t need your taste that much. If you’re trying to one up him, in his mind you’re doing a very poor job, but Muerte will humour you anyway.

Now I think Muerte’s initial reaction to the lack of stimulation during sex is almost nonexistent. He might press the end of his muzzle against your throat and growl, but that’s really all. I don’t think he cums as quickly as he would otherwise, but apart from that during the first round he’s relatively fine with it. Muerte has, at times, a surprising amount of self control, and even if he finds himself craving your taste he doesn’t let it show. Not due to pride, but more to tease you, deprive you of the reaction you were hoping for. 

That doesn’t last long though, of course. The more you have him muzzled like this the thinner his self control gets, and it leads to a mix of dominance and submissiveness. 

The way he fucks you is dominant, aggressive. Muerte’s grip is almost bone crushing, claws digging into your skin as he fucks into you like a beast starved. The scent of blood doesn’t help either, and soon it’s sloppy and messy, but more importantly desperate, lacking any real rhythm as he tries to make up for the stimulation that he so desperately craves. Drooling from behind the muzzle as he tries to imagine your taste, growling and whining beside your ear.

And you’re right anon, more than the feeling it’s the taste of you that Muerte wants. The taste of your skin, your sweat, your pleasure, it’s intoxicating to him and the fact that he’s being deprived of it causes him to whine and beg. Like you said he’s a little hesitant to beg at first, but the closer he gets to his climax the more he lets loose. Muerte goes from growls to pitiful whines, muzzled nose pathetically buried in your neck [as well as it can be] as he begs you to take it off. He’ll be a good boy for you, let you do whatever you want with him, he promises, just please take it off and let him taste you. 

And yeah, good luck if you can actually process what he’s saying. Muerte has all but fucked you dumb, but if you can do take it off for him. His reaction is fairly cute in a way, tail wagging as he places his jaw around your throat, almost cumming immediately when he does.

Taglist: @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this | Want to join the taglist? Send in an ask and I’ll add you!

[verlaines-corner-archive]

This is the most in depth and thought out thirst I will ever write but your hc about Muerte liking biting during sex has me thinking.

Muerte likes the added stimulation of putting his mouth on his partner, clearly. Plus the trust to let a giant wolf with the bite strength to snap bones with ease to just put his jaws around your throat? Weirdly sexy, to him at least.

And because I’m an absolute freak I gotta know, how does he respond to the stimulation being taken away?

Like, does he get rougher because he has to make up for the loss of contact? His grip is probably bruising skin and leaving small pricks with his claws. he’d be bent over you with his mouth right by your head, probably drooling an awful lot because he needs your throat in between his teeth. It’s not even the fact that he just misses the feeling, he misses the taste.

Or, on the opposite end, slightly submissive Muerte? He’s too proud to beg but he’s getting dangerously close to it. You never thought you’d hear Muerte, straight up Death, whimper, but you swear you hear it in between his heavy gasps and him asking (pleading) for you to let him just taste you already. He swears he’ll do whatever you want, fuck you however you want, just please take it off. You can’t even process what he’s saying because of the desperate and sloppy pace he’s moving at.

But that’s just me <3

Anon you are so fucking smart

I’m going to assume that we’re taking away the stimulation via muzzling and honestly when you first suggest it Muerte is probably rather amused. He’s not offended or anything [honestly I see him as willing to try most anything out] but he definitely laughs because, well, surely he doesn’t need your taste that much. If you’re trying to one up him, in his mind you’re doing a very poor job, but Muerte will humour you anyway.

Now I think Muerte’s initial reaction to the lack of stimulation during sex is almost nonexistent. He might press the end of his muzzle against your throat and growl, but that’s really all. I don’t think he cums as quickly as he would otherwise, but apart from that during the first round he’s relatively fine with it. Muerte has, at times, a surprising amount of self control, and even if he finds himself craving your taste he doesn’t let it show. Not due to pride, but more to tease you, deprive you of the reaction you were hoping for. 

That doesn’t last long though, of course. The more you have him muzzled like this the thinner his self control gets, and it leads to a mix of dominance and submissiveness. 

The way he fucks you is dominant, aggressive. Muerte’s grip is almost bone crushing, claws digging into your skin as he fucks into you like a beast starved. The scent of blood doesn’t help either, and soon it’s sloppy and messy, but more importantly desperate, lacking any real rhythm as he tries to make up for the stimulation that he so desperately craves. Drooling from behind the muzzle as he tries to imagine your taste, growling and whining beside your ear.

And you’re right anon, more than the feeling it’s the taste of you that Muerte wants. The taste of your skin, your sweat, your pleasure, it’s intoxicating to him and the fact that he’s being deprived of it causes him to whine and beg. Like you said he’s a little hesitant to beg at first, but the closer he gets to his climax the more he lets loose. Muerte goes from growls to pitiful whines, muzzled nose pathetically buried in your neck [as well as it can be] as he begs you to take it off. He’ll be a good boy for you, let you do whatever you want with him, he promises, just please take it off and let him taste you. 

And yeah, good luck if you can actually process what he’s saying. Muerte has all but fucked you dumb, but if you can do take it off for him. His reaction is fairly cute in a way, tail wagging as he places his jaw around your throat, almost cumming immediately when he does.

Taglist: @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this | Want to join the taglist? Send in an ask and I’ll add you!

[dervampireprince]

[dni minors, dni blogs that have no 18+ age listed in their bio]

m4a, gender neutral reader, sub bottom reader

“having any regrets, cariño? not many people enjoy getting this close to death.”

the wolf towers above you, eyes glowing, his snout an inch from your nose. he grins as you shake your head, whimpering, wanting him closer, his tongue slipping out from between razor blade teeth to lap at your lips. heat courses through your body, always with that underlying hint of fear. you wonder if it’s instinctual, that because you know he is death, that he isn’t mortal, there will always be that nagging awe at the back of your mind, the knowledge that he could rip you apart whenever he wanted.

which is also what makes it so much more special when he has you laid down on the bed, his nose pressed into your crotch, huffing out breaths, the heat of it making you squeeze your thighs together. peering up at you like this he almost looks… cute.

he blinks up at you. you nod your head.

you watch as his claws drag your clothes down, reminding you of his patience. that one day he could have you squirming for hours, content to tease you and bring you close to the edge over and over, but never letting you orgasm, and you could imagine he’d just look down at you, a slight smirk on his face, even if now that smirk tended to be softer in his eyes.

he nuzzles at your stomach, running his cheek against you as he breaths in, looking almost embarrassed when he catches you staring, as if he’d gotten lost in your scent. the leathery pads of his fingers slide around your waist, claws scraping, not drawing blood but leaving marks, his marks, red lines running down your waist, around the backs of your thighs.

his tongue moves over your jaw and licks it’s way into your mouth as you writh under him. “so needy,” he chuckles, sliding back down to pet at your thighs, encouraging you to spread your legs. “and already this ready for me? aren’t you just precious.”

whether you were able to think of a response of not doesn’t matter, any words get cut off as he licks a stipe up between your legs. your fingers curl and clutch at the sheets as he prepares you for him, “it’s what you want, isn’t it? so eager to get my cock inside of you? well, since you’ve been so good for me, and you’ve been treating your life like the precious thing that it is…”

a puddle of his clothes ends up on the floor in an instant, his fur soft against your skin, his cock poking out, red and dripping. “you’re not the only one who’s eager, cariño” he pulls you by your hips so that his cock is pushing against you. “you are still sure you can take me?” you whine and frantically nod your head. he pushes his nose under your chin, licking up at your jaw, before pushing his cock inside you.

you arch your back as your stretched out, it’s so much but exactly what you wanted. once his cock is inside you, his controlled demeanour starts to crack, not wanting to hurt you but “you feel so good wrapped around me, little one, so warm, squeezing onto me as though you never want me to leave,” you moan and clench around him, “would you like that? keeping me inside of you? how long would you let me stay buried here, hm? you may get exactly what you’re wanting for”.

growls fill the room as you feel it, the base of his cock swelling and hitting against you, not able to slip inside, not yet, “is this what you want? you don’t have to take it, but if you want it you’d better make up your mind now. if that’s what you want? you want me to knot you little pup?”

not even sure if you’re able to speak, you try anyway, gasping and choking on your breath, “please”.

you scream when his knot slips inside of you, your body stretched even wider, throwing your arms around him, clutching onto his fur, your nails digging into him, muffling your noises in his chest as you cum around his cock, as he continues to thrust until he’s snarling, lips flaring around his teeth, spilling inside of you, filling you up.

he cradles you afterwards, running his claws over your scalp, “it’ll go down soon. i am surprised you took it so well, though perhaps your determination should not be a surprise to me anymore… and you did take it well. you did very well,” he praises you as you cuddle into him, “you should be proud of yourself, allowing me to knot you now means i cannot return to my work until it goes down. i suppose i have nothing else i can do but lay here with you… if that is no bother?”

in response you reach up to scratch behind his ears, smiling as he instinctually relaxes into your touch, tail thumping against the mattress, and groaning as he throbs inside of you.

[kokusfluffyhair]

You, Kokushibou, and Your Koku-Plushie

(artworks found on Pinterest) Your adorable Kokushibou plushie came in the post and your demon boyfriend isn't prepared for it. + He doesn't know what to think of the thing. He might actually say "What the fuck is this?" (and that's very out of character for him -- the man never swears)

+ What makes it worse is that the plushie comes naked and with some clothes to put him in. So, your demon boyfriend is watching you with 6 eyes as you're putting the clothes on the plushie.

+ The expression on this poor man's face. He's so confused. Like this kind of confused:

(he does get some of the best expressions in the whole manga)

+ He can't understand how you got a toy that looks like him and can't understand WHY you'd get one. You have HIM, why are you getting a toy version of him? because it's adorable and smol

+ To make matters worse, you're giggling as you're dressing that KokuPuffs plushie and you aren't giving any of your attention to him. And he's standing at the door watching you.

+ It's safe to say, the poor man's getting jealous of that plushie

+ So, he tries clearing his throat. You don't care that he's there, you're too preoccupied with your new toy.

+ This probably never happened before. You're usually so attentive to him when he's around you. The demon's got to take some time to think.

(the man thinks a lot, so not much of anything new here)

+ You didn't notice him getting into his thinking mode, but even if you did, you would never think that he had anything particular on his mind. He's always doing stuff like that and it's his go-to way to be together with you without engaging in conversation.

+ But then you hear him finally speak

+ "Dearest." "What?" (you answer as you're still in awe over the toy) "My love, what is that thing you're playing with?"

+ You're really happy to turn around, showing him the (fully clothed) plushie, and saying "It's you, Koku!"

+ The amount of blushing this man does, oml

+ So he's blushing all over his face and looking at the plushie, which is looking back at him. He knows he looks like a fool, so he gets kind of angry.

+ "Am I not enough for you, Love?" (he speaks calmly, but you can tell in his tone that he's not pleased. At all.)

+ You aren't afraid of him. You know he would never hurt you. unless you cheat on him with Yoriichi You look at him with confused eyes. "What do you mean?" you ask him.

+ "Why do you need a silly toy of me?" "Because it's cute." "You have me." "I know that." "Then why is that here?" "It's a toy."

+ For some reason that silences him.

+ "Kokushibou, do you think I got this toy to replace you or something?"

+ He still says nothing.

+ You start laughing.

+ He's beet red (not that he stopped blushing much since he started, but he had gone from a red to a pink and now he's red red red)

+ You're still laughing at him because you're you, but you put the plushie down and go over to your demon boyfriend to hug him. You're not trying to get him more flustered at all

+ "Dearest, you know I don't handle teasing well," he says. You give him a squeeze, put your head on his shoulder and say, "Could I do this with a toy, Kokushibou?" "No."

+ He hugs you back and gives you so many kisses in your hair. He feels like an idiot, but it's okay. He knows that you love him for all that he is, including his awkward self.

+ "It can't replace you," you say. "But when you're gone a long time on missions, I can keep the plushie with me to remind me that you'll be back."

+ He gets tears in his eyes. You can't see and he will not let you see, but you can feel in his energy how much you touched into his heart. You don't say anything. You enjoy the privilege of being in his vulnerability and you let him hold you for as long as he wants (it's going to be a long time)

+ Kokushibou does feel guilty about having to go on missions and leaving you alone, but he's Upper Moon 1 and it's part of the job. So, he hopes the plushie will give you some comfort.

+ It still takes him a little while to get used to the plushie being around, though, and he asks for it to not be in bed with the two of you. It's no problem for you because why does anyone need a Kokushibou plushie in bed when they can be big-spooned by the real Kokushibou?

+ But one day, you find him playing with it himself, like it's his mini-me. He made a tiny sword for the plushie out of his flesh and tries to make the toy imitate his sword swings.

+ The plushie has become part of your family. Now it's his turn to somehow secure a plushie of you.

[kokusfluffyhair]

You, Kokushibou, and Your Koku-Plushie

(artworks found on Pinterest) Your adorable Kokushibou plushie came in the post and your demon boyfriend isn't prepared for it. + He doesn't know what to think of the thing. He might actually say "What the fuck is this?" (and that's very out of character for him -- the man never swears)

+ What makes it worse is that the plushie comes naked and with some clothes to put him in. So, your demon boyfriend is watching you with 6 eyes as you're putting the clothes on the plushie.

+ The expression on this poor man's face. He's so confused. Like this kind of confused:

(he does get some of the best expressions in the whole manga)

+ He can't understand how you got a toy that looks like him and can't understand WHY you'd get one. You have HIM, why are you getting a toy version of him? because it's adorable and smol

+ To make matters worse, you're giggling as you're dressing that KokuPuffs plushie and you aren't giving any of your attention to him. And he's standing at the door watching you.

+ It's safe to say, the poor man's getting jealous of that plushie

+ So, he tries clearing his throat. You don't care that he's there, you're too preoccupied with your new toy.

+ This probably never happened before. You're usually so attentive to him when he's around you. The demon's got to take some time to think.

(the man thinks a lot, so not much of anything new here)

+ You didn't notice him getting into his thinking mode, but even if you did, you would never think that he had anything particular on his mind. He's always doing stuff like that and it's his go-to way to be together with you without engaging in conversation.

+ But then you hear him finally speak

+ "Dearest." "What?" (you answer as you're still in awe over the toy) "My love, what is that thing you're playing with?"

+ You're really happy to turn around, showing him the (fully clothed) plushie, and saying "It's you, Koku!"

+ The amount of blushing this man does, oml

+ So he's blushing all over his face and looking at the plushie, which is looking back at him. He knows he looks like a fool, so he gets kind of angry.

+ "Am I not enough for you, Love?" (he speaks calmly, but you can tell in his tone that he's not pleased. At all.)

+ You aren't afraid of him. You know he would never hurt you. unless you cheat on him with Yoriichi You look at him with confused eyes. "What do you mean?" you ask him.

+ "Why do you need a silly toy of me?" "Because it's cute." "You have me." "I know that." "Then why is that here?" "It's a toy."

+ For some reason that silences him.

+ "Kokushibou, do you think I got this toy to replace you or something?"

+ He still says nothing.

+ You start laughing.

+ He's beet red (not that he stopped blushing much since he started, but he had gone from a red to a pink and now he's red red red)

+ You're still laughing at him because you're you, but you put the plushie down and go over to your demon boyfriend to hug him. You're not trying to get him more flustered at all

+ "Dearest, you know I don't handle teasing well," he says. You give him a squeeze, put your head on his shoulder and say, "Could I do this with a toy, Kokushibou?" "No."

+ He hugs you back and gives you so many kisses in your hair. He feels like an idiot, but it's okay. He knows that you love him for all that he is, including his awkward self.

+ "It can't replace you," you say. "But when you're gone a long time on missions, I can keep the plushie with me to remind me that you'll be back."

+ He gets tears in his eyes. You can't see and he will not let you see, but you can feel in his energy how much you touched into his heart. You don't say anything. You enjoy the privilege of being in his vulnerability and you let him hold you for as long as he wants (it's going to be a long time)

+ Kokushibou does feel guilty about having to go on missions and leaving you alone, but he's Upper Moon 1 and it's part of the job. So, he hopes the plushie will give you some comfort.

+ It still takes him a little while to get used to the plushie being around, though, and he asks for it to not be in bed with the two of you. It's no problem for you because why does anyone need a Kokushibou plushie in bed when they can be big-spooned by the real Kokushibou?

+ But one day, you find him playing with it himself, like it's his mini-me. He made a tiny sword for the plushie out of his flesh and tries to make the toy imitate his sword swings.

+ The plushie has become part of your family. Now it's his turn to somehow secure a plushie of you.

[lacey-z]

Whose is the Face in the Mask part 3

CHAPTER 3: Let me be your freedom

As the days passed, Myers and Eliza grew closer. It was the little things, things that in others would be considered unimportant, worthless of note, but that in Myers were huge.

During their appointments, he would look at her, focused on whatever she was saying. This surprised her at first, but slowly the woman got used to it, talking more and more, leaving the initial silence behind. Ignoring him at this point would be counterintuitive, Eliza thought, would cause him to shut down again, and that wasn't the plan.

She would talk about her day, the news, the books she had read and daily life in general. It was difficult to come up with new topics, since he didn't speak at all, and her life was now limited by the walls of the sanatorium. But honestly, Michael didn't care, he listened attentively to everything she said, it had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him about anything other than himself, and in such a pleasant way! His face would remain as stoic as ever, but at least he was invested now.

There would still be moments of silence, which Eliza tried to maintain so as not to overwhelm the man, but unknown to her, he was patiently waiting for her to speak again.

              Being in the solitaire for the most part of his life, besides the fear Loomis’s tales invoked in the other inmates, Michael had little to no “conversations” – if you can call a monologue a conversation – outside of the psychiatrists’ questionings. Of course, he was still wary of the woman talking to him, figuring it may all be a tactic to get him to talk. But, since she didn’t wait for any response from him, Myers allowed himself to think it would be fine.

              - Do you know Linda? She is that nurse I told you about, the one who sometimes come here give me papers. She is the one who made cake for us too… Well, for me, but you enjoyed it too! – Eliza giggled, patting her own legs idly – She gave me the recipe, so I will make us cake as well soon enough.

              Myers’s blinked at her, unfazed.

              - I know, it’s great, right? – From the first day that Eliza offered him the cake they made it a routine, once a week she served him a dessert, and the detective could have sworn that he would be waiting for her.

That made her smile, but it also brought up some concern about the man's health – since a dead criminal is a boring criminal. She knew that all the patients ate together in the cafeteria, a sort of resocialization, yet she never saw Myers there, which made sense, as he was considered "too dangerous for socializing”, but it made her question whether he was eating at all as the other doctors often bragged about the different torture methods they used to try and get him to talk.

Surely, he would eat in his own cell, but his physique made her question it. Myers was a tall man, certainly taller than most, he was heavily built but oddly thin. His face also gave off a sickly impression, pale and unkempt, dark circles under his eyes. She sometimes wondered if he could have looked handsome if it weren't for his dire circumstances.

              - Aren’t you feeding only of the cakes, are you, Mr. Myers? – She smirked at him after thinking a bit, it was the first time Eliza asked him a direct question, and the woman didn't expect any answer, of course.

              And none came, a blank stare was all answer given.

              - Does Loomis send you food? – Ignoring the silence and moving forward seemed to be the best approach when dealing with Michael, so she kept doing it.

The mention of Loomis' name made the man lose interest, looking elsewhere. When this first happened, Eliza worried that she had lost him, but over time it became clear that it was just something he would do, so she didn't worry too much, but took note of it.

Myers seemed to dislike his therapist, that much was obvious. Each time his name was suggested, Michael closed up again. Eliza could not judge him for that, even if the man was a criminal, he was still a six-year-old child when he was admitted for the first time, and the "professionals" of the sanatorium never tried to approach him properly, soon declaring him to be a soulless monster that needed to be contained, not treated. Sure, his crime was horrific, but really, there were worse people in the facility, it looked like Myers had just become a scapegoat for the doctor's cruelty, which was enough for him to win Eliza's favor.

- Perhaps I should go to your… room to police your eating? – It was meant to be a joke, but his eye immediately went back to her, attentive - …Yes?

He said nothing, but for her it was a positive.

              - I will… Uh, ask for permission to do it, don’t worry.

              The last minutes of their appointment went as usual, completely silent.

              When the guard arrived to take him back Eliza stood up with them, walking to Myers’s side, wishing him a good night.

              Convincing Loomis wasn’t easy, really, just talking with him wasn’t easy too for that matter.

              - Think about it, Doctor.  It’s a great opportunity to get him talking! - It was frustrating how much control he had over Michael, the final word was always his. Eliza had no interest in making Myers’s talk so soon, and if he spoke anything she would never tell Loomis – If he already is eating by himself, what difference will it make that I’m there?

              - The man is dangerous, Doctor Monroe, how can I allow you to be there? – He was always with Myers, yet somehow, when others wanted to do the same, he was suddenly “too dangerous”, what was this? Jealousy? Was he too egotistical to assume he made a mistake in portraying a mentally ill child as a monster to the outside world?

              - There have never been any accidents with Myers, Doctor. I am willing to take the risk for the sake of the research – Eliza caressing her own arm, trying to calm down.

              - Do you think this attitude will make him change anything?! Claire, you are acting like a fool. Michael Myers can’t be changed or convinced to speak.

              - For god’s sake… - Should she get rid of him? Send him off somewhere so she could assume Myers’s case? – Listen, I’m not asking for advice, you have your approach, I have mine, all I want is for you to don’t make my job harder. You can keep your own… “treatment”, I will try mine as well.

              - Honestly, how could Doctor Bennet-

              - We are colleagues, Loomis. Nobody here works under you, we are equal. Don’t start with this shit talk, spare me my time.

              They exchanged unsatisfied stares, a wordless war. If Loomis wanted to dig his own grave Eliza wouldn’t stop him, if she was going to die testing her hypothesis on Myers she didn’t want to be stopped as well.

Michael wasn't a psychopath, thankfully. He wasn't charming at all, never had any immorality (besides killing, of course) in his life before - thought Eliza believed that his "sister obsession" had sexual roots, be it desire or trauma. And most important, he lacked the famously grandiose sense of self-esteem, so common in many criminals and so disgusting to Eliza.

When dealing with criminals, Eliza would often lay low, hiding her identity, waiting for their moves, and reacting accordingly. With Myers it was different, she couldn't expect him to act, because he wouldn't. She was the one leading, appearing, and putting herself in a dangerous position. Ever since she started seeing him, her worries started to come up more, what if someone found out that her identity was fake? What was Myers using her, pretending to act like she wanted just to escape? What if Loomis found out she was a fake due to their arguments? What if Linda, who was so close to her, started to suspect something was off?

Mind consumed by paranoia, she arrived at the cafeteria, carrying her food and an extra plate. Those worrisome thoughts only disappeared as she made her way to Myers's cell, where he was being held for "security".

The guards allowed her in after some convincing. Only if Loomis had been this easy.

Michael sitting in his bed, tied by his foot, avoiding an escape, he was in his hospital clothes, as always; they were gray, like from the most patients.

              - Goodnight again, Mr. Myers – Eliza entered carefully, being sure to close the door behind her.

              His eyes were fixated in her direction, almost surprised.

              - Are you happy I came? – She smiled, walking in his direction, still cautious but also more relaxed now that Loomis wasn’t in her mind anymore – I told you I would make sure you are eating well. Bet you didn’t expect me to be this fast!

              -… - His eyes followed her as she approached.

              - I hope you’re not a picky eater – Joking, Eliza placed the dish at his side, sitting across him in the floor, her own plate in hands.

              -… - After some seconds of he not making a single move to grab his food the woman started wondering if he was waiting for her to go away before eating.

              Thankfully, as she was thinking about how to get up and go away without embarrassing herself ever more, he took his plate into his lap and slowly started eating, eyes now fixated on his food.

              It was a weird puree with some kind of meat, small vegetables at the side, all carefully chopped, since knives and forks weren’t allowed to the inmates. Eliza couldn’t complain much, it was one of the best things she had eaten since arriving there, but that didn’t mean a lot.

Myers, on the other hand, seemed to hate it. His face revealed absolutely nothing, but he carefully separated the vegetables from the rest of the food, taking small portions to his mouth.

              The detective shoved the whole meal into her mouth as always, leaving her time enough to inspect the man’s moves; his slow chewing, followed by some seconds of nothingness, and then taking the spoon to his mouth, cycle repeating again and again.

              It made her remember Yatter; he would eat so calmly, as if he had all the time in the world. Huh, who would say that Michael Myers was so common after all.

[lacey-z]

Whose is the face in the mask? part 2

Hello my lovers, thank you for reading the first chapter! I really like writing for our boi Michael.

CHAPTER 2: Why so silent?

              As the days went by, the image of Myers’s back lingered in Eliza’s mind, that body’s seemly lack of life, the miserable conditions he was left in, besides the – perhaps purposeful – manner in which he was abandoned, vulnerable to anyone who happened to find him, all of that only fed her interest.

When she finally met Doctor Loomis, he told her the same thing he had told the media a billion times before, “There is no conscience, no understanding of good or evil, life or death, right or wrong”, describing Myers’s with having the “Devil’s eyes” and being simply evil.

              Eliza rolled her eyes when hearing that initially, and every time she got to see “The Shape” it just made her more and more frustrated. She did find Michael’s attitude odd, abnormal even, but to call it “pure evil” seemed farfetched.

              Maybe Loomis’s obsession made him read too much into Myers’s condition, seeing things where there weren’t. Or it could be just a way to take advantage of this murderer to gain fame, it would be a smart idea, and if so, it did work out, Loomis became very famous because of it, giving speeches and writing books about the case. Either way, the detective was almost positive that Michael Myers was nothing more than a common killer with some kind of mental illness.

One would think this would be enough to satisfy her interest, it was the most likely conclusion, and she knew it from the beginning.  But it was the contrary, the idealization of a criminal who became a victim of his own crime, never allowed to a second of peace, subjected to all kinds of experiments and so on; Myers had become Loomis’s cute prize, the psychiatrist would show him off and use him to promote himself, in some ways it was an amusing turn of events.

              Observing the man’s reaction – and apparent acceptance - to his own doom was remarkable, enough to fire Eliza’s desire to have a closer look at him.

So, when he was appointed to her for the first time she was thrilled, planning over and over again how she would act. The woman knew that he would be unresponsive, but she also was aware that he likely craved for any kind of positive attention, being allowed to be silent without push backs, not being low-key tortured, and much more.  He wasn’t going to ask for it to thank her for giving him, but with time she hoped it would soften him slightly, and when he was exposed, she would attack, breaking his protection and, hopefully, breaking him in the process.

As soon as he entered her clinic the world disappeared around her, words went dry and the thoughts lost their voice, the focus was only in that one man.

              His hair, the same hair that laid once in the dirty floor of a cell, was touching his shoulders now, surprisingly clean. But, more importantly, his pale face held no expression at all.

              The detective waited in her own chair as the guard who pulled him into the room made him sit down and handcuffed his hands.

              - Thank you – Eliza smiled, now assuming Doctor Claire’s stance.

              - No problem. If anything happen you can scream for me – The guard motioning to Myers – Don’t worry, he won’t cause you any trouble.

              The doctor thanked him once again before the man left, leaving the pair alone.

              - Good evening, Mr. Myers – Claire said, looking at the man right in front of her, motionless like the first time they meet.

              This was the full extent of their “conversation” for the next two months or so. He would be dragged into the clinic’s chair and stare profoundly to the walls behind her, completely uninterested in Doctor Claire.

              Eliza knew that would happen, actually, if he had any other reaction she would be deeply startled. Things going as planned, she decided the best course of action would be to ignore him back, anything other than that would likely make him cautious of her, like the detective imagined him being with the other psychiatrists, but she had the advantage of being a woman and still young enough to make him believe she genuinely didn’t cared about him and was just there because of her work, and that would eventually be his downfall, she hoped.

              The “doctor” would read sometimes while he ignored her, working in her cases or simply listening to music during the consultations with him. Sometimes she would engage softly with him, asking if he wanted some coffee when she was drinking it herself, always giving him a good evening, questioning if he wanted her to close the windows so the sun light wouldn’t hit him in the face, all answered with the predictable silence.

              But, for some reason, that day was different.

              He went in the room as usual, hands tied, guard left.

              - Good evening Mr. Myers… - Claire was already preoccupied with some paperwork given by her supervisor last night, not giving him as much attention as usual.

              The criminal she was ordered to investigate this time was particularly disgusting, a white male who was suspected of killing seven teenager girls after his wife divorced him, the corpses were left in dire conditions.

              As Eliza browsed the files she had her typical coffee, to fend away the tiredness, and a piece of cake she received from Linda that same day. To chew things helped her ratiocinate better, but she was so attentive in this case she nearly missed the sensation of being watched.

              Looking up from her papers she found a pair of deep blue eyes staring right back at her.

              For the first time Michael Myers was gazing back at her.

              Her heart nearly stopped beating altogether, she, who peered at him so many times before, who inspected his every move, now was being noticed back. His eyes, though still devoid any emotion, appeared to be intent on something.

              There was silence, from both sides. Eliza blatantly stared at him too, uncertain of why the sudden shift happened.

-… - Carefully the detective followed his gaze, who guided her to the cake she was eating not long ago.

She wanted to laugh, of all things to attract his attention this was it?

Of course, it made sense. He was locked up as a boy, probably never again having access to any kind of dessert, so maybe he wanted to have it again? Or it remembered him of something? No matter the reason, it made him react, and Eliza would not let that slip.

- Do you want a piece of cake, Mr. Myers? – His eyes were on hers, unblinking.

The doctor stood up, carrying her plate to the small table in front of the killer, surprisingly his attention moved alongside her, even as she placed the sweet near him. Perhaps that’s not what he wanted? ..Or maybe he won’t eat in front of others?

- I will leave you with it, Mr. Myers, just don’t tell Loomis about it – She stated, moving towards the door – You can eat it calmly, I will use the opportunity to use the bathroom.

And she left him there, warning the guard that she would be back soon.

“Don’t tell Loomis”, what a funny thing to say. Of course he wouldn’t say a thing, the woman knew that very well, but, with that she would create a secret between them, a false impression of trust, “I am trusting that you will not tell this”, hopefully that would make him feel more comfortable.

Eliza waited ten minutes to past before coming back in and was unable to control a smile when she did it. The cake was eaten, Myers was distant again, but she knew things had changed, and it was enough to satisfy her.

[lacey-z]

Whose is the face in the mask?

Hello my lovers, this is my first fanfic in english (Which is not my native language) so there will likely be many mistakes, this also hasn't had any proof reading, so ehhh

Hope you enjoy it (this is just an introductory chapter, so there is no romance nor strong Myers appearance yet), if you want you can give me critique (but please be gentle, it has been some years since I wrote anything).

Thank you for reading!

Synopsis:

              October thirty-one, 1963; Judith Myers was murdered by her six-year-old brother, Michael Myers.

              Needless to say, this case was reported by numerous newspapers, each of which telling a crazier version of the story, from a sexual deviant who held sexual desires for his own sibling, to a monster of abjection; even going as far as to claim he was an evil force of nature itself.

              These absurd claims, corroborated by the man’s own psychiatrist, attracted the attention of a certain individual.

              Thirteen years after the killer was admitted in Smith’s Grove Sanitarium a young woman decided that it was finally time to see by herself if the man was indeed “The Shape” as many claimed, and she was pleased, to say the least.

    Chapter 1: That man and mystery

  Even after thirteen years the newspapers still talked about the “Haddonfield’s Boogeyman” from time to time, describing his condition and psyche by the perspective of young and uneducated reporters that visited the sanitarium in which he was admitted.

              Being thirteen when she first heard about the famous Halloween crime, the now twenty-eight years old detective, Eliza Davis, was eager to finally set her eyes on the man. His crime was very well known in the area, becoming a somewhat celebrity. Police, psychiatrists, and even religious figures had visited the so-called Shape, all corroborating the claims made about him.

              The novelty of all of this, including the fact that he was the first criminal she had taken interest in, encouraged Eliza to take a deeper look in his case, going as far as planning to move to the area. Her colleagues tried to dissuade her from this “insane” idea, arguing that the case was solved years ago, a revisit wouldn’t tell her nothing more then what had already been spoken about a hundred times before.

              But it was useless. Her mind was made a long ago, the only thing she desired was to look, to analyze, to recognize, to touch, thar man who other deemed sinister, cruel, and immoral. That path guided her directly to Michael A. Myers.

              Convincing her supervisor was the most difficult part, he didn’t like the idea of losing – even for a short period of time – one of his most precious employees, and when he didn’t like something it was nearly impossible to deal with his arguing.

“Besides that,” he started, “How do you intend to keep your identity concealed? The company can’t help you with this- No, no, no, Eliza. I will not make any exception”.

              Their bickering kept going on and on for almost a week, he would deny her and the next day she was again in his office, trying new arguments. Thankfully, for the rest of the team, each detective was allowed to work where, how and (almost always) when they pleased, so the constant fighting was mostly avoided, although acknowledged.   

              When Eliza announced with a giant grin, she gained permission to conduct her privative investigation on Myers they were in disbelief. “Had that old man gone insane?”, “The director really allowed you to go?”.

              They agreed upon her travel on the conditions that she would report to him every so often via paper mail or telephones, if possible. She would also keep working as an agent for the company in Illinois, taking cases and searching for possibly know criminals living in the area. The deal was great, in Eliza’s opinion, so much so that she thanked her boss multiple times, promising that he wouldn’t regret.

              She took a train in the next few days, heading directly to Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, where her interest was hospitalized.

              The locomotive would take days before arriving at her destination, in this time, one of her colleagues, Reese Yatter, was meant to help her during this sudden transference.

              - So, you were able to convince the old man to let you move, huh? I’m impressed, Liza – The man sitting at her side praised – You must teach me your technique someday.

              - Don’t flatter me, Yatter. – She giggled, deviating her attention away from the train windows – If someone can persuade others it’s you.

              - Yet I couldn’t convince you to stay away from Myers – He sighed, looking at her – Tell me, what he has that attracts you?

              - I just think his case is interesting, that’s all.

              - I see nothing special about it. A child who killed his sister and became insane, I’ve heard about similar stories a billion times, so did you. So why him, specifically?

              - If it wasn’t Michael Myers, it would have been a John Smith, or a Josh Williams. It’s not about him in particular, I am just interested in revisiting a case I head about in my younger years.

              - Hmm – He studied her, light green eyes caressing her expression in a search for deceit, but smiling when none was found – So, I don’t have to be jealous of any Myers guy, that’s good.

              She laughed at his smug appearance, amused by his concern. Various “I am all yours, Yatter” and “Stop lying already, Liza” followed, their idle chat going on and on.

              Shortly after, Eliza had time to admire the Illinois’s flat landscape, covered in green and yellow vegetation, the smell of fresh air typical of a rural area making her feel free, full of possibilities ahead.  

              Her travel partner disliked trains by a lot, sleeping most of the time, and sulking when awake. He and Liza had a great friendship since she entered the company with his assistance many years ago, they worked together most of the time from that point on, and she was grateful for having him with her, even if he acted as a grumpy old man.

              All detectives in the company were encouraged to keep an alias for the outside world, maintaining a job, having friends, and even creating a family to help concealing their secretive work. Reese’s identity was the reason why he was now aiding Eliza; being a famous doctor had its advantages after all.

              - When we arrive, you will hand them the papers I gave you, I will talk with them for a while, just to be sure everything is as we had agreed prior – He instructed, tapping his feet compulsively at the metal floor – Then I will leave as soon as this is sorted, do you understand, Liza?

              - Yes, captain – The woman smiled, hugging his side friendly – Thank you, thank you, thank you Yatter! Have I already told you how much I adore you?

              - Not that I remember of – He replied, jokingly – Ah, Liza, I wish I could do more for you, perhaps stay for some days to be sure everything will be okay.

              - Your wife is going to be really unhappy with you if you stay – Eliza smirked, pinching his nervous leg – Don’t worry, Mr. famous doctor, I will be fine. Besides, I doubt Myers will be able to maintain my curiosity long enough.

              - I hope so. I heard he don’t talk a lot, this alone will probably bore you enough, you will be running back, taking all the nice cases back to yourself.

              - Hey! I won’t steal any criminal from you, promise.

              - You won’t steal because I won’t have a chance to touch the case before you take it in your own hands.

              - You are too patronizing with your murders; I could never take them away from you.

              - Instead of thinking about the future cases you plan to steal from me – Reese started, as he looked outside the window for a brief moment – You should get ready, we are almost there.

              When Eliza realized he was right she quickly put her shoes on, getting ready disembark. Her excitement tangible, finally! She was eager not only to speak with “the Shape”, but also to see the insides of the mental institution, to explore that state she had never been to, and discover interesting new cases too. Her mind raced through the possibilities now so close to her, wearing off every single new thing she was so close to doing.

              Yatter snickered to himself, organizing their luggage, foot still hitting the floor in a consistent flow of motion.

              Just as the train stopped, Liza was almost dragging the displeased man to the sanitarium, thanking him repeatedly.

              Her legs were numb due to days without use, but all her focus was on the place right in front of her. The monochromatic walls, the protective fences, the old signal with the place’s name, all giving an eerie atmosphere to the location.

              The insides were not much different, pastel-colored walls in the entrance with motivational posters all over, a little radio in the counter playing jazz music. The staff quickly welcomed both detectives, thanking the “Doctor Bennett” for helping them find new talented professionals.

              - With that Michael Myers here many of our psychiatrists traveled away, out of fear or fame gained with interviews about him. There was a man who used to work here, he wrote a full book about the case! – The light-haired nurse complained, looking happily in Liza’s direction – It’s nice to have a new professional here, Doctor Bennett talked greatly about you!

              - I’m sure he went overboard with it, I hope to live up to your expectations – Eliza, now going by Claire Monroe, replied. Reese had handed her some fake documents and a brief backstory while in the train, who that name belonged to prior to being used by Liza, it’s unknow, but that’s the last thing in woman’s mind.

              - Come. We will help you accommodate yourself, miss Monroe – With this Liza left Yatter, giving him a last thankful smile which he answered with a concerned look, the slight taps in the floor slowly disappearing as she walked by the long white corridors.

              The room designated for her was a small chamber, similar in appearance to the rest of the institution. It was located in the same block as the other’s doctor’s bedrooms.

              At first Eliza intended to move to the famous Myers’s house so she could have a closer look at Michael’s childhood life, observing the same walls, rooms, and doors he once knew. But yielding to her supervisor’s orders, she instead made a room for herself in the sanitarium.

              The nurse helped her to unpack her belongings, which weren’t many. They talked idle about the patients admitted in the asylum; it was a clinic for the criminally insane, individuals who had taken other’s lives or attempted to, Myers was not the worst case there, as expected, he was just the most interesting, making the place famous for being his “lair”.

              Eliza, or Claire, or whatever she’s know by, was happy with what she had seen so far, she thought that it would be an almost prison-like sanatorium, but it was friendly enough that she could work silently in her cases in the time off and nobody would suspect anything.

              Since this research on Myers was her own personal project, she had to support herself financially while there. Eliza felt grateful for Yatter’s help, especially since her actual psychiatric background was only used in tracking down criminals, and as that was done in secrecy, the asylum would probably have deemed her too inexperienced to be working there.

              - We were really needing a helping hand, dr. Monroe, you can’t imagine the pandemonium this place was slowly becoming! – The short woman complained, finishing to prepare the bed – Honestly, I don’t even understand why we maintain that killer here, I know it may bring reporters here, but how would that be a good thing?! They are destroying this place in order to milk an old story that everyone know about!

              - “That killer” you mean Mr. Myers? What there is about him that make people come here so much? – Pretend to not knowing things only reveals facts that we were so unaware of, that we didn’t realize we didn’t know. This was an Eliza’s favorite, she never ceased to be surprised by how much you can actually learn with this.

              - You don’t know? – She widened her eyes, blonde hair strands contrasting with the darker complexion – He killed her sister some years ago and had not spoken a single word since then.

              - Mute?

              - We don’t really know. Doctor Loomis claims that he is capable of speaking… He is really scary! You should see, absolutely catatonic! – She laughed nervously – But really, I’ve never seen such a thing before, you would think he was a statue, completely still.

              - That seem weird – Eliza agreed. His silence was his biggest mystery, if he had been captured and acted less stoic this case wouldn’t have received that much attention – You mentioned a doctor Loomis, is this his psychiatrist?

              - Ah yes, Loomis is very famous here, you can’t hear Michael Myers’s name without hearing Loomis’s name! He accompanied the case since Michael was a boy, and he thinks he is pure evil, like, evil in human form! “The Shape”, how creepy is this?

              - Very creepy indeed. So, Mr. Myers is attended only by Doctor Loomis?

              - Don’t stress over it! You will be able to see the boogeyman yourself – The nurse smiled half-heartedly – All the patients here make weekly visits to most of the doctors, so you will eventually catch Michael.

              - I admit I am intrigued – The detective grinned back, putting the final objects in place – I want to meet his main doctor, he seems to have some interesting ideas on his… condition.

              - Ha! You tell me! – They both chuckled – After you had a look on him, Michael I mean, come talk to me about what you think!

              Soon after they wished each other’s a good night, and the gentle blonde woman went back to the reception.

              Eliza tried to sleep in her new bad, knowing the next day would be demanding, and wanting to make a good impression at her first day, but with the excitement she could barely stay still.

              After some pondering and frustrated attempts to ease her mind, the woman decided to take a short walk to become familiar with the asylum and to waste some energy.

              The detective heard low talking as soon as she walked in the white corridors, the wooden floor making crackling noises while she moved, announcing her presence, yet nobody seemed to notice it, too busy in their own schedules to pay attention to the newcomer. The calm feeling was normal there, most of the patients were allowed to walk freely within their quarters. The doctors and nurses also crowd the place, pacing from a clinic to the other.

              As she approached the cafeteria the sound of chatting became more apparent, as did the large number of patients admitted to the sanitarium. Many sitting on the floor, watching and old TV. Other were eating in large wooden tables, talking, and playing cards. There were some younger delinquents as well, those had toys and jigsaws to their disposition.

              The smell of hot meals filled the air, and the whistle of the wind entering by a large window created a nearly cozy scene.

To see how well those criminals were treated brought a smile to the woman’s face. Resocialization was a word many of her work colleagues disliked, “Once a killer, always a killer” seemed to be their corporation slogan. Being pretty much bounty hunters, it was only natural to discredit any possibility of change in one’s character. And even if they could change, should they have the opportunity to? Their victims surely didn’t have this chance, being robbed of their lives, their experiences, their families, and all they could have achieved, so why those offenders should gain something they never offered to those who they harmed?

It was disgusting, really. To steal somebody’s chance of happiness out of futile motives. The thought of living your life normally one day, pursuing your dreams and planning your future, then suddenly somebody destroys all this, and for what? Self-satisfaction? A moment of pleasure in exchange for sadness of the deceased loved ones, why give them the privilege to enjoy those things their victims could never again? How could this individuals be forgiven?

They couldn’t. This was the consensus between detectives Eliza worked with.

But those inmates were deemed mentally ill, responsibility taken away from them. Was that right? If you can’t control your mind, can you really be blamed for it? But at the same time, if you can’t stop your violent urges, is it correct to allow one to live alongside the rest of humanity, risking innocent lives for this misfit one? Or perhaps are those victims too? Victims of themselves, maybe they only need help, to punish this people would be to persecute somebody for a crime they didn’t choose to commit.

              Eliza always felt conflicted towards this kind of predicaments. The borders of justice and vengeance would blurry in her mind, wishing she could do more. Those feeling, since a young age, pushed her to follow her career path, so in some ways she was grateful for them.

              The entertainment value of a criminal’s mind was one of her greatest pleasures too, it was the reason she had studied psychology and why she was interested in Myers. When investigating a particularly insane or sadistic offender it was her priority to understand how their mind worked.

Brushing away those opinions she headed towards another door, much alike the others, expecting to see similar scenarios. But instead, she was greeted by an empty hallway, so poorly lit that the white walls seemed gray. To see more than a few palms ahead was almost impossible. This sudden change of ambience made her squeeze her eyes before looking back to where she came from, making sure she didn’t miss any warning signs that this sector was abandoned, but there were none.

Studying the surrounding area, Eliza quickly realized that the corridor held the entrance to several, seemly empty, solitaire cells.

Curiosity peeked by the contrast between the freedom and lenience offered outside that hallway and the oppressive, silent environment inside it, she decided to take a closer inspection of the place. The once existing sound of inmate’s conversation disappearing behind her as she ventured deeper inside.  

“Is this even legal?”, she wondered, sparing glimpses inside every room. The detective knew they had solitary confinement in prisons, but it was surprising that they existed in asylums too. Most of the cubicles had only a bed and a toilet, no windows, or sinks. Just looking at it made her feel claustrophobic.

Then, she noticed a particularly recluse cell, located right at the end of the hall, this one had metal bars instead of walls, similar to a cage. The familiar but uncomfortable smell of dirt, sweat and blood emanating from inside attracted the woman to peer closer, almost expecting to see a deceased body.

With her heart shrinking in her chest, hands gripping each other tightly for comfort, she spotted the back of a male’s body lying in the cold stone floor. She narrowed her eyes, searching for any sign of life in that man whose face she didn’t knew, only being able to sign in relief when his body moved slightly in a calm breathing motion.

 Looking at that man for a few more seconds, a smile came to Eliza’s lips, and she knew.

“It’s him; it is Michael Myers”.

[joelsgeetar]

Little request for Myers… Michael realizing he loves his s/o?

Like that ‘oh damn i truly cannot live with this person’ kind of realization? Bonus If he suddenly gets all affectionate (in his emotionally constipated way but still fluffy) with his beloved.

Love your work btw!

Michael Myers (Halloween)

MASTERLIST

drabble/small fic.

italics are flashbacks for the moments he started falling in love.

word count: 1.3k+

this is so sweet to think about omfg thank you for the request and kind words. <3

Love is taken for granted every day by so many people in this world and yet the most cruel man you know doesn't do that - mostly because he isn't sure what it is, why it feels so overwhelming.

Michael remembers moments spent together when he got all warm inside - he often daydreams about those memories when he is missing you. If you are gone longer than a day, he feels unstable. Of course he never shows it though. No matter how much you reassure him that it’s okay to feel emotions and show them in a softer way - he doesn’t budge. Michael has kept the usual energy, blank like a canvas and so stiff, never allowing himself to be too close.

It’s not that he hated it - he wanted it, searched for it late at night when you were sleeping. He would lay near you, staring and reaching to touch your cheek but always pulled away. Michael is not used to any of this - you are the one who introduced him to this new world of love and friendship.

Michael never had a true friend before you. When nothing romantic was blooming in the beginning, he found so much comfort in your ways of being a friend. He felt confused too. You would sneak out to hang out with him during the night like he preferred. And when you did go to his home - he always got bags of candy and a few drinks. You knew he had a sweet tooth without him having to say it. Michael knows it’s silly but he feels heard and seen because of that.

The way you trusted him so blindly stunned him. You had no questions about the mask or the outfit. You never pushed his boundaries - always asking him if it was okay to sit next to him during movie nights. He denied it a few times but the first time he did was nerve wracking - he didn’t understand how relaxed you were with being so close to him; a monster, full of evil. Someone unlovable, as he believed. It’s hard to feel accepted when all he’s heard since childhood is how horrible he is. You slowly taught him that yes - he is lovable, if given the chance on both sides. Michael is more than thankful that he didn’t kill you. 

-

the first time he let you sit next to him:

“What about this one for tonight? Or.. wait- let me get snacks first.”

Michael said nothing and only nodded, watching you leave the living room. His chest is tight, he is uncomfortable - anxious, but he won’t admit that. And it’s all because he is mentally screaming at himself to stay close to you for tonight.

He didn’t care about the movie and focused on you instead. You felt his stare the whole time - it’s almost funny how blunt he is with it. He isn’t even trying to be casual, no short glances. Michael sat on the other end of the couch, head turned and breathing a little heavy, probably from his heart rate increasing.

“Nothing you do scares me more than you staring at me like I’m dinner.” An attempt to joke falls into an awkward silence. Your words didn’t pull any reaction from him, not even a huff that he does when you do say something weird or funny. 

Michael finally looked away to stare at the couch, looking back up to you and then pats the spot next to him once like you were a dog. When you didn’t move closer, he hit it a little harder which made you hold back a laugh. 

The night ended with you right next to him, the credits rolling and your head on his shoulder. He didn’t move a muscle and instead let you rest.

dinner for two:

Michael loves your cooking even if it’s bad. He won’t eat unless you’re in his house making it. And for the past couple days you couldn’t hang out with him so you told him to just come over your house. He didn’t want to at first. Michael is not a fan of change - but he sucks it up and comes over, somewhat clean and not all bloody in respect of your home you pay so much for.

You’re surprised of how polite he could be - you never imagined it like this but here he is, standing beside you, fixing his own plate and lightly pushing you away - he made your plate too. (He saw this in movies so why not try with you? His thought process is cute but don’t say that..)

Once both of you were sat down he didn’t start eating until you did. Michael took his time to enjoy the food and you - the way he looked at you from across the table is one for the books, his masked eyes hiding the softness.

From then on, he refused to eat alone. To him, it’s intimate since he needs to lift his mask enough to expose his mouth. You’re able to watch the shape eat like he is a normal working man who just got home from a 9-to-5 job.

the first time you cried:

Michael had no idea how to handle the situation. All he knew was that someone had hurt you in some way which started a flame of rage, soon to explode. But he also felt hurt - like he was feeling it with you, he is very connected to you.

You knew that he isn’t good at being a rock for someone, he never had anyone in his life long enough to actually care about them the way he does with you. This didn’t stop you from breaking and being selfish enough to push his limits, asking him for a hug.

Michael didn’t hug you but he walked over to you and almost bumped chests. This was his way of telling you it’s okay to cling onto him. That night he adores more than others; he found out that he actually likes holding you in some kind of way, to feel your body against his. Michael felt so needed - lovable.

Whoever hurt you no longer walked the earth - you don’t need to know that though. Michael wants you to not worry; leave all the hard work to him.

-

You were gone for days. Weeks. Four whole months. Michael went insane - more than he already is according to Dr. Loomis. Michael tries to understand you had family to visit out of state, he does his best at holding back any rage fits that can only be calmed by hunting. 

He missed you. It’s like a sappy movie he watched one time with you. The couple were forced to be away from each other and Michael didn’t understand why they cried so much or why they ran to each other and hugged.

Now he does - it all makes sense because he got to experience the rush the couple must have felt when he saw your car pull up to your house. The way he hid so well during this cold night made it seem like he was preying on you; he even looked a bit scary, with the way he walked towards you.

He didn’t run like they did but he made up for the lack of excitement with a very strong, bear like hug. You had to drop the suitcase and whatever else because he tugged on your wrist roughly, forcing you into his arms. And as always, you tap his back with a groan. That man’s grip is deadly even when he means well.

Michael felt okay again. No more anxiety of you getting hurt, he isn’t angry at the world and he won’t be if you do what he says. It’s a simple word but you’d do anything to here it over and over; he sounded so gentle.

“Stay.” 

[justasimp1]

Micheal Myers x F! Reader

Smut, Fluff, Rough Submissive

Wet Dreams

You straightened out the ruffles in your skirt. Your fishnets squeezed against your plush thighs. You were doing a last check of the cells before you could head out to a party. Everything was nice and silent until a faint whimper broke the air.

"Y/N" You immediately noticed the gruff voice and broken syllables. "Micheal?" You paused, walking down a closed off hall. This part of the asylum held only 1 cell, protected by different chambers and the latest locks.

You quickly rushed down the narrow halls, afraid something must've happened the the broad male. You clawed at the high barrier window on the cell door. The window had been modified to Micheal's height and you could barley get a steady peak.

You huffed, unlocking the thick door. A loud creak echoed inside the darkness. "Micheal?" You paused to remove your shoes, remembering how Micheal easily got irritated at the clicking on the floor. You squirmed to his crowded desk, flicking on the lamp.

"Jesus! Micheal you scared me" You jumped as you turned around. Micheal was wide awake, sitting on the edge of his bed. His eyes roamed over your figure. "I just heard you call my name and you seemed distressed" You muttered, shifting the weight of your body on the balls of your feet.

You slowly took note of the tiny beads of sweat stuck on his skin, uneven breathing, anxious bouncing leg, and bulge in his pants. "Oh! Micheal it's okay- sometimes we have dreams- and we can't control what we dream about"

You internally started panicking, eyeing the closed door. You tried to shuffle past Micheal but he made a firm grip on your wrist. You didn't want to make Micheal feel ashamed and you couldn't judge him when you've had more sinful thoughts.

You sat next to him on the bed. "Heard they're moving you tonight" You fiddled with your fingers, watching the boner twitch underneath Micheal's sweatpants. "They even got you cleaned up" You inhaled his new scent.

It was made of vanilla body wash and herb-infused shampoo. You brushed through his protective wall of brown strands. You hesitantly rubbed on the stubble coating his chin. Micheal flinched but leaned into the touch.

It happened in a flash. The pulsing under your skirt sent impulse through your veins. Michael wasn't an experienced kisser. So it was messy tongue and pants. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your thighs together.

"Micheal" You broke free from the kiss. He seemed to partly nod before leaning back down. "Stop--" You grabbed his face to get his full attention. "--Please when they move you don't do anything stupid. They're already careless enough with their guns as it is. I don't want you to get hurt"

Michael huffed. But you took it as a yes. He kissed, it was gentle and slow. His hand intertwined with yours, bringing your palm down to his erection. Through the thin useless cloth, you could feel every twitch and pleas.

Micheal shifted to face you, his lips sucked and pulled around your neck, licking strips of your pulse point. "Be a good boy for me k?" You tugged on his roots, keeping eye contact with him. Some would say the eyes of Micheal Myers we're empty.

However, to you, they seemed hungry, alone, and full of emotion.

Micheal nodded along to your fulfilling words. "Show me what you dreamed about" You softly moaned as he squeezed your neck, bringing you into another kiss. The thirsty feeling in your abdomen was growing by the second.

Micheal's lips parted and then closed. He didn't speak much, only small mutters and broken syllables. You learned habitats to decipher his new bland language. He nervously eyed the ground and his eyes had been trained on your lips.

Also, the multiple sloppy kisses were a slight giveaway. "Micheal, you're a very naughty boy aren't you?" You pouted, calming his bulge with your hand. Micheal flinched, his hips squirmed around. "Want me to suck you off, huh?"

You looked up at him for confirmation. Besides the burning red covering his cheeks, he nodded. You skimmed down to your knees. Micheal spread his legs. You pulled down the sweatpants, allowing his cock to stretch against his abdomen. A glistening substance coated the tip.

Beads of precum over spilling from the pink tip. You hesitantly caressed the shaft. Your hand struggled to close around the girth. You took the overwhelming weight into your mouth. A scorching irritation scratched your lips as you opened your mouth wider.

Tears already had begun spilling down your eyes. You moved your hand, still grasping on the base, up and down. You bobbed your, tongue swirling over the satly taste. Micheal's fingers dig into your roots, pushing down your head.

Insignificant amounts of air was doing a poor job of fueling your lungs. "Does it feel good?" You finally got a clear intake of air. The cool crisp air packed your shaking lungs. You spread your wasted saliva around his cock with your tongue.

Micheal moaned, moving his hand towards your neck to urge you to go on. "Use your words, Micheal" You squinted at his gesture, trying to get a precise idea of what he what trying to say.

You let wet delicate kisses around his throbbing mast. Micheal's nails dug into your skin, leaving irritated crescents into the fragile flesh. You put his cock back into your mouth, sucking hard enough to make your cheeks hallow.

You couldn't comprehend the heavy breathing at that moment. Until hot droplets of white painted your throat. You gaged at the huge load of the sticky substance. You gulped down the heavy liquid.

You giggled while looking at the quick climax that consumed Micheal. You licked up his shaft, sucking at every spilled droplet. Micheal put a hand over his face, he whimpered from the sprouting sensitivity. "You cummed rather quickly" You let out a soft laugh.

Micheal's thumb darted in between your lips, pressing down on your tongue. He pressed down on the musky sticky shallow puddle. You closed your lips around his bitter skin. You twirled your tongue around his thumb, seductively moving you head.

Micheal's erection grew alive once more. You stood up, pulling down your undergarments and stockings. You climbed over his lap, positioning his tip below your entrance. The vast length stretched your flesh walls.

"Shit-" You stopped sinking on his cock. Tears sliced your eyes. A wide blur covers your vision. You gripped his shoulders. Micheal's hand squeezed your neck, pushing you further down. "Micheal- Wait it's too big"

You talked in shaky breathing. Micheal pressed his fingers into your collarbone. Micheal gripped your hips, slamming you down on his thick erection. You gasped, the air being forced out of your lungs. Steaming tears plummet off your cheeks.

Micheal threw his head back, bucking his hips up. "Micheal, you said you'd be a good boy for me" You panted, gaining consciousness of the situation. "I am" His voice cracked, his nails desperately clinging onto your skin.

You smirked, a threatening idea coming to mind. You lifted your hips and slammed them back down. You bounced on the hardening length. Tiny fireworks went off underneath your skin. Your chest floated as your imagination swirled with dopamine.

Micheal gripped your neck. You were purposely going fast and then slowing down to bring Micheal closer to the edge. His cock brushed deeply on your gummy walls. His tip ghosting sweet spots and plunging into sensitivity.

Heatwaves slithered over your skin. You were going at a steady pace until Micheal started moaning. His soft whimpers made your core melt. The minimum amount of lubrication allowed you feel every inch sliding into you.

Micheal embraced you, keeping your skin close to yours. His hand stayed on your neck, alerting you of when his orgasm was close. His other hand wandered over your body. Slipping under your shirt, squeezing your breast, applying pressure towards your hard nipples.

The overwhelming feeling prodded at your velvet gummy walls. Micheal's rough finger wiped away a tear on your cheek. Micheal gave your neck a harsh squeeze. You hauled your movements. "You're close?" You hummed, shifting your hips around.

Micheal whispered an inaudible statement. "Y\N, please let me" He grunted, repeating his broken words. "You wanna cum inside me?" You hummed, gaining speed. Micheal whined, thrusting up into you.

"I want to" He begged, hoping the exploding pleasure wouldn't end. The tight twisting in your stomach finally reached its boiling point. Your hole clenched around the wide girth. "It feels so good" Micheal's syllables were slow and weirdly adorable.

The rope inside your abdomen snapped. Mixing fluids leaked down onto the sheets. You clutched the hem of your skirt in your hand. Serial shivers leaped up your spine.

You moaned loudly, crashing your lips onto Micheal's. Your tongues dashed out, making you gag a little from the force. Micheal squeezed your neck, bringing your form closer to his.

"I'm going to miss you, Michael" You sighed, the scent of sex lingering in your nose. Micheal brushed his thumb over your cheek, smearing a sticky tear trail into your skin. "I won't leave" Micheal grumbled, hugging you tighter.

"Yeah... let's get this cleaned up" You chuckled, smiling at him but your heart still curled.

Master list

[thespookiestace]

Kiss challenge 16 is so cute!! Kissing away pouts is always an adorable trope to me😭

(I hope your ok with me asking wahh!!)

MIIIIIIIINK I am so sorry this took so long 😭 The muse was on the struggle bus. I hope it's worth the wait 🥺

#16: one person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

Michael Myers x GN!Reader

You planned for a full day out with your friends; you did not plan to get home at almost 5am. You head for the bedroom without turning on any lights. Flopping onto the bed, you kick your shoes off and groan. The last of your energy expelled, you will yourself to sleep. But the shadows don’t feel empty. Prey instinct fights to warn you of watchful eyes. A pale face, lit from the bounce light of predawn, hovers over you. Cold light from the window casts onto the knife he points at you. You startle awake, laughing when recognition sets in.

“Dammit, Michael,” you breathe, “you got me.”

He stares. Normally, that admission makes him smug, but he seems unaffected. The scent of almond and detergent drift from him—he showered, and washed his coveralls, but put them back on.

Eyes widening, you sit up. “Have you been waiting for me?” His breath hardens; you kick yourself. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to be out this long. You were here the other night and I don’t usually see you so soon again. I didn’t expect—”

You reach for him, but he backs up. “Michael, come here.” He huffs. Pat the mattress. With a grunt, he throws all his weight onto the bed, still out of reach. Knife clutched in his far hand, shaded glare prickling your skin. Cautious, you inch closer to him. He retracts his hand when you brush it with yours. You know the compulsion to flee from vulnerability well enough to recognize it in someone else.

“I said I’m always here, and then I wasn’t tonight. It’s okay to be upset by that. Did you feel lied to?” Shoulders tensing, he looks away. When you place a hand on them, he tenses more and raises them in defense. Stoke until you reach his neck, and rub soothing circles into his skin. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but I’m here now.”

Grumbling in response. Breath held, you fold his mask, slow and cautious, until you reveal his very pouty lips. Resist the urge to giggle. He won’t face you, so you get up and circle around him. His lower lip protrudes some, plump and red and begging for a kiss. Cup his face, keep the mask lifted with your thumbs, and press your lips against his.

He doesn’t reciprocate at first, but when you reseal the kiss, his mouth parts enough for you to capture that pouting bottom lip. Pull and nibble, nip and lick at him, let yourself act a little silly to bring him back. The faintest graze of your tongue against his wakes him up.

Rough hands seize you as he dominates the kiss. Sit in his lap, wrap your arms and legs around him. Slip your hands under the mask to finish sliding it off. He carries you into the bed, laying atop you and deepening the kiss. Yes, you’re here now, and you need to make it up to him.

💜♠️💜♠️💜♠️💜♠️💜♠️💜♠️💜♠️💜♠️💜♠️💜

50 Types of Kisses Writing Prompt – Send me a number! (At the time this posts, requests are closed, but any prompts from this list will be honored once requests open again.)

[yachiblanca]

Dont mind me thirsting over lion! Jonathan because my size kink is going apeshit rn-

So like imagine him on heat and just pounding the fuck out of you, saying that you will be his forever mate and wanting to put cubs in you.

Sorry if this is shit,this is my first time thirsting😭

NSFW! Minors dni

LION JONATHAN & SIZE KINK? HELL YEAHHH.

Jonathan loooooveesss to fuck you all the time, BUT HEAT? Oh Jonathan thinks you're already perfect and ready for this, this man is a sex is love- expect him to destroy your cunt with his big cock along with his strength to go along, you'd be pounded hard because of the size difference of you and Jonathan.

He just loves seeing you under him, seeing your face enjoying his cock inside of you makes him love you more, you're enjoying it right? The more he just looks at you the more he's imagining of how would your baby cubs surround you, a happy family to be exact, you're the perfect mother for his cubs- your baby cubs, he's so happy that he's yours.

Let Jonathan destroy you in a missionary pose, you won't be able to feel your legs in the middle of mating. But if you prefer a different pose- I assure you Jonathan can fuck your ass hard, pounding along the sounds of your ass cheeks clapping against his skin.

Your moans make Jonathan get rougher, he knows that moans are mostly the sound of pleasure- he thinks the louder you moan the more you enjoy his mad cock thrusting you.

Jonathan's moans are deep- and sometimes he growls, holding you tight by the hips while he's saying that how much he wants to put cubs in you- and that you're his forever mate and nothing can change that.

When reaching Jonathan's climax- be prepared to grip whatever you find, roll your eyes and toes curling- this man IS WILD, with all those imaginations of you makes him wanna fuck you harder, he loves you so much that he can't wait to fill you with tons of his thick orgasm.

[b-00-biez]

"Slashers with an s/o who's distant when she's sad"

Characters: Brahms Heelshire, Jason Vorhees, RZ Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair and Vincent Sinclair

Warning:A little bit of smut in Bo's

Brahms Heelshire:

He doesnt actually know what to do

But he is trying :c

He threw tantrums but nothing would get you out of your room, not even when he almost ALMOST destroyed half of the house

But once he saw that it was that serious he stopped

He made you your favorite sandwich but you locked your door and you are ignoring him.

Don't lock the wall child out :c He just wants to make you feel better

"Y/n please come out..I miss you"

When you're ready to talk he would hug you so tight your sadness would squeeze out of you.

Since you were ignoring him and he missed you you're going to cuddle for hours not that you would complain

When you're early in the relationship he tries to do the things that could cheer you up

Jason Vorhees

Also doesnt know what to do honestly

He could kill the person who made you sad but you wouldn't talk to him

So he asks his late mom for guidance

Flowers, a suit he somehow stole from a camper and something he thinks a girl would like:

Like a condom he mistook for a chocolate and a little handbag

When he's all ready to cheer you up he slides a note under your door knocked

"Y/n please come out, I have a surprise for you that could make you feel better"

You were reluctantly but nonetheless you want to see your boyfriend

And he's so cute🤗💕

The suit barely fits him and theres a bouquet of flowers he found in the woods and

a condom and a handbag

It made you giggle but it made him smile under his mask

RZ Michael Myers

Michael is really bad at cheering people up

He actually thinks you hate him when you're distant like this.

But he tries to win you over again although you dont actually hate him

He would give you a little of his food during dinner, He tries to make cute masks for you and he often checks up on you 🥺

You have to explain to him that you're not mad or hating on him. You were just sad and it was a habit.

Omg dont scare him like that :c you gave him a mini heart attack

When he feels like you're sad about something he persuades you to talk to him

Yeah he's not really going to talk back but he's a good listener

He gives comforting pats and would honestly kill whoever made you sad.

No one makes his baby sad, NU UH 😤

Bo Sinclair

I'm sorry but this man only knows like make up sex

If you're mad at him he'd fuck the hell out of you until you feel like jelly

But this time it was different

You explained to him that you don't want to do anything sexual right now

Acts like he doesn't give a fuck but deep inside he's worried. He is concerned about you.

You would observe that he's more open and more affectionate with you

Not anything sexual no He gives you long hugs and sweet kisses that you have never seen him do on a daily basis

You even get to see a soft smile if that's what you wanted

He would do anything for you that he doesnt do ever

Like cooking

Yeah he's a bad cook but gosh darn it he's trying

He tries to make you laugh. He would do anything to see your bright smile🥺

"That's it darlin, I love your smile"

Vincent Sinclair

He's observant of you

He starts to get worried when you don't visit him in the basement more often than you did

But once he was done with work for the day he knocks on your door

You see a little envelope with some doodles on it

"Hello love, I'm worried about you. Please go down to the basement and tell me all your problems. I won't force you"

After some thinking you went to the basement and god it was the most romantic thing you've ever seen

He hung fairy lights with the help of his brothers and displayed all the artwork inspired by you that he was keeping as a surprise

He welcomed you and held your hand not letting go

He also hung a hammock for you two to cuddle in when you're sad like this again.

He would bake cookies and other sweet treats you like