Summary: In a town of punishment and suffering, you are the only one who walks beside Pyramid Head without fear.
Silent Hill had never known love.
It was a place of torment and suffering. It twisted souls into monsters and forced them to relive their worst sins.
But you?
You were different.
Because you had been chosen.
The others feared Pyramid Head. They spoke of him in hushed voices, whispered of the executioner who brought judgment upon the damned.
But you had never feared him.
You had met him in the fog, seen him standing over you like a sentinel, cutting down the horrors that wanted to claim you. You had felt the weight of his hand against your back, his fingers curling around your wrist, not to hurt you, he would never hurt you, but rather to hold you.
He was a monster, they said. A being of violence.
But they had never seen the way he shielded you with his body when the town shifted when rusted walls closed in and the world trembled. When the nightmares came out.
They had never felt the way he pulled you close, the way his massive hands guided you through the darkness, keeping you safe.
He had been a man, once.
You knew it in the way he touched you. Careful. Purposeful.
There was a soul beneath the steel and silence, one that had chosen you in a place where nothing was meant to be kept.
And Silent Hill hated it. The monsters did. Their jealousy and fury manifest in the most terrible ways.
They had tried to take you.
They had whispered in your mind, trying to pull you away from him. But every time, Pyramid Head had found you.
He destroyed anything that tried to take you.
And as you stood in the ruins of what had once been a church, the air thick with the scent of blood and rust, you made your choice.
You turned to him, lifting your hands to press them against his bloodstained chest.
His breathing was slow, deep.
He did not move. But you felt him watching you.
“I am yours,” you whispered.
The air shifted. The town screamed.
Pyramid Head’s hands came to rest against your back, pulling you against him, his grip firm.
His hold was unbreakable, a vow stronger than any words.
Silent Hill would never understand what you were to him.
But it did not matter.
Because you were his.
And nothing would take you from him.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
Dbd Killers reaction to seeing you without underwear
Characters: Ghostface, Pyramid Head, Albert Wesker.
A/N: you are on a trial but you don't have underwear cause life sucks and the entity caught you on a bad moment. Somehow the killers saw it when you end up in front of them.
Masterlist
Ghostface
When he grabbed your foot to drag you to the floor and your shirt rolled up, he froze.
Your tits were in plain site and he got so excited he was glad that he had a mask on.
"My my girl, I didn't konw I could have this kind of a prize."
You took the chance to run off but he kept the rest of the trial running after you.
Now that he knows you can be a really good entertainment, he is not letting you go.
And if he can, he will rip your shirt with his knife.
Pyramid Head
When you fell right in front of him and your skirt rolled up, your ass and cunt were exposed to him.
He had seen naked woman before, mostly in Silent Hill, but this time it felt different.
You were alive and a separated one that he didn't know, and that was curious to him.
You were really scared cause he was not moving and you were certain that he was looking at you.
You put down your skirt and tried to run away.
From the rest of the trial, he kept using his sword and feet to make you fall with hopes of seeing your cunt again.
Albert Wesker
You were running from him and suddently one of his prototype arms wrapped around you.
You were trying to escape and suddently that slimy thing got under your shirt.
"You are very naughty, no bra on a survival game? no wonder why you runned so slow.
You tried to justify yourself even though you didn't need to and he dragged you next to him.
You are now centimeters apart and he is squeezing your body with his mutant arms.
He is inspecting all your features while almost crushing your ribs.
He would not take you to the hook, but he would take you to a branch and leave you there to come back later.
I need to write slasher stuff more.... I also need to watch scream like I said I would... and other films... but alas cotl rot is too strong
Characters: Jason, brahms, bubba, Thomas, Michael
Notes: reader is gn, cold weather baby!!, in Michael's bit yoy wear his coveralls because he refuses to throw a jacket over it
CWs: none
JASON
Built like a polar bear, he's so used to the cold that he just shrugs it off as he goes into the woods to get fire wood for you
Actually offers his jacket to you until he can get a fire started to keep you warm- he doesn't want you to get sick! Don't worry about him! Especially if this is zombie Jason, the cold doesn't really.. effect his undead body that much...
Doesn't mind it if you steal his jacket from him, he takes it as you being cold- but if you explain that it's partly because you miss him he feels.. bad.. he didn't mean to take so long in the woods he promises
Even if you said it jokingly he's going to do his best to make up for his brief absence
BUBBA
let me tell you, as someone who lives in texas: the winters get brutal. Incredibly cold, he's definitely got at least one coat somewhere... and even if he only had one he would let you take it
But... please stay close to him by the heater, he knows you probably want to go do something else with him but it's truly too cold to not be able to do much else without freezing in their old house- even worse if this takes place in their new home in the second film... underground
He thinks you look really cute in his coat and he tries to let you know that- hes... a little bashful but you think it's sweet
You both probably end up cuddling into one another under the coat together
THOMAS
Once more: texas gets incredibly cold in the winter depending on the time of year and where you are. He's got a coat somewhere
Not that that he really uses it, built like a polar bear like Jason. He tolerates cold pretty well, hardly seems phased by it.. he's so laser focused on his chores and work around the house that you often find him still working outside
And he's given his coat to you because you have a lower tolerance than him... maybe you can convince him to come snuggle with you under it? Maybe? He'd hate to leave his chores unfinished but he doesn't like saying no to you
Very heavy coat, very thick
MICHAEL
Completely unphased by the cold, he also doesn't have a jacket. The best you can do is take his coveralls when you FINALLY convince him to take them off so they can be washed
Does not like sharing his things, the likelihood of him humoring you after you put them in is low. May actually take them off of you himself... not incredibly rough but there's intention to yoink them back
If you're cold then go get a blanket or you're own jacket... why steal his things without asking?
It completely flies over his head that jacket (or rather clothing) stealing is common for couples
BRAHMS
Move over give him his sweater back he's FREEZING! If he needs to he's going to wear the sweater with you in it!
HATES the cold and he's going to make it everyone else's problem, please don't let him catch a fever reader! Please!
Fire place? Lit. Blankets? Gathered. Sweaters? Worn. You're more likely to see him leave the walls during the colder months so he can snag your body heat, too
Lets it go to his head if you let slip that you stole his sweater because you missed him... hes basically hovering over now- well, more than he did before
Hi, could you write Billy and Stu separately with a very funny and sweet reader? She loves everything soft and pink and cute.
Lovestruck Boys!
billy loomis x fem!reader + stu macher x fem!reader
mdni // first request. hope you like!
Boyfriend Billy who acts like he doesn’t care about cute or pastel things but secretly associates them with you and ends up liking them because they remind him of you.
Boyfriend Billy who lets you steal his jackets and hoodies because he likes seeing you bundled up and comfortable in them.
Boyfriend Billy who keeps one stuffed animal you made together at Build-A-Bear sitting on his bed and refuses to admit it means something to him.
Boyfriend Billy who holds your hand more tightly in crowded places, making sure you never get separated from him.
Boyfriend Billy who remembers small details about you, like your favorite colors or snacks, and casually surprises you with them.
Boyfriend Billy who gets jealous when someone else makes you laugh too much and suddenly pulls you closer without saying why.
Boyfriend Billy who drapes his arm around your shoulders whenever someone flirts with you, his way of reminding everyone you’re his.
Boyfriend Billy who watches you carefully when you’re talking about something you love because he likes memorizing what makes you happy.
Boyfriend Billy who lets you decorate small parts of his room with soft blankets or pillows and never moves them afterward.
Boyfriend Billy who gets jealous when you say your plushies comfort you, so he quietly pulls you closer and rests his chin on your head.
Boyfriend Billy who pretends he doesn’t enjoy movie nights but always lets you pick cozy blankets and snacks.
Boyfriend Billy who shows affection in small, subtle ways like brushing his thumb across your hand or remembering random stories you told weeks ago.
Boyfriend Billy who keeps little things you give him in a place he never lets anyone else see.
Boyfriend Billy who feels calmer when you’re around because your bright personality balances out his mood.
Boyfriend Billy who doesn’t always say how much he cares but proves it by always being there when you need him.
Boyfriend Stu who fully matches your bubbly personality and encourages everything that makes you excited or happy.
Boyfriend Stu who insisted on going to Build-A-Bear with you and made matching stuffed animals just because he liked seeing you smile.
Boyfriend Stu who constantly hugs you from behind or flops next to you whenever you sit down.
Boyfriend Stu who laughs at every joke you make, even if it barely makes sense, because he loves hearing you laugh at yourself.
Boyfriend Stu who buys you random little gifts because he saw them and thought you would like them.
Boyfriend Stu who lets you decorate his things with stickers or small accessories just because you enjoy it.
Boyfriend Stu who brags about you nonstop and tells people how funny and sweet you are.
Boyfriend Stu who plans chaotic but adorable dates like arcade trips or late-night snack runs.
Boyfriend Stu who insists on sharing blankets during movie nights and ends up stealing most of it anyway.
Boyfriend Stu who loves hearing you talk about things you enjoy, even if he barely understands them.
Boyfriend Stu who always finds ways to make you laugh when you’re upset, even if he has to act ridiculous.
Boyfriend Stu who naps with you comfortably, usually tangled in blankets or pillows.
Boyfriend Stu who holds your hand whenever you’re together because he just likes feeling close to you.
Boyfriend Stu who reminds you every day how much he loves how kind and cheerful you are.
Boyfriend Stu who genuinely believes life is more fun and colorful with you around.
Slashers seeing their s/o in a self-made p☆rn (Pt.1)
Characters include:
Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Michael Myers,
———————————————————————————
✨im back✨
this is not edited whatsoever
TW: NSFW, descriptions of sexual acts, masturbation, voyeurism, Micheal being Micheal
Jason Voorhees:
Oh boy
His view on sex is so skewed from his childhood, finding out you recorded a video of yourself in any way sexual has him so deeply confused
Honestly, he probably found it on your phone searching for something completely innocent in your camera roll
You only made the one video (he looked for others)
He takes your phone into the woods and privately watches the entire video
He's wounded at first - why would you do something like this? You seemed so innocent, nothing like the type of person he pictured would make this content
He starts to blush when your body straddles a pillow within frame of your poorly propped up phone
The sounds you make while humping the pillow has his free hand clenching tight at his side
He's careful with the volume, holding the phone close to his ear to listen to your whimpers then pulling the device down and rewinding so he can watch the video with the noises still fresh in his mind
Poor guy is so hard by the time the video is done
It would be wrong to touch himself to a dirty video of you, so he resists the heat between his legs and returns your phone, trying his best to play it cool like he didn't just watch you hump a pillow until you orgasmed
He won't mention it at all
Sometimes, he might make up an excuse to borrow your phone to watch it every now and then
Thomas Hewitt:
Similarly to Jason, his view on sex is skewed from childhood
He was taught that sex should be private and sacred and only after marriage
But masturbation? He's more confused about where that stands
Again, he would probably stumble across the video by accident
You left your phone open on your bed while you went to take a shower and he got curious
As soon as he realizes what the video is, he's hurrying to the basement as quick but non-suspiciously as possible
He locks the basement door- not that anyone, yourself included, goes down here often. It's just in case...
He sits down in a creaky wooden chair and pulls out your phone
Still unlocked, he finds the video again
He's exhilarated and oh so nervous as he watches your legs spread and your hands wander
He gets so hard at the sight of you so open and relaxed, touching yourself
Your first loud moan startles him, rushing to turn down the volume only he could hear
He knows it's wrong to touch himself to a video of you, but- oh god- you make it so difficult for him
He can't help it. He caves three minutes and seventeen seconds in when your legs shake and you make a sound that sends him over the edge
By the time he's finished, he's committed the entire video to memory from how much he has rewatched it to be able to finish in his own hand
He will return your phone to the spot on the bed he found it before your shower is done
He finds out your passcode later by looking over your shoulder, filing the information away so he can watch the video anytime he gets the opportunity
Michael Myers:
This guy steals your phone on the regular
It goes missing for days at a time, and you know it's him who takes it, though you can never get him to own up to it (or find where he hides it)
When he's snooping through your phone, he comes across a certain video of you getting intimate with a toy
He watches the entire thing (on repeat)
He doesn't care if your right in front of him, or sitting beside him, or out of the house- he's watching the entire thing shamelessly
Head tilts at the sounds you make
He turns the volume to max so he can hear every hitched breath and soft noise you make
He goes through your stuff, finding that particular toy (if you still have it) or something similar to it
He will bend you over into the same position as the video and use what he found to fuck you until your a mess with the video playing in front of you
Call it his way of getting back at you for using the toy and not him ;p
Just imagine Billy flirting with you whenever you're at the same party and Stu always sitting next to you in class, even though you don't bother answering either of them.
The boys can't explain it but they feel you are special. They want to know more about you, to discover you and your secrets.
You, on the other hand, you are not interested in them - or in anyone - because you're a killer and you don't want people to find out what kind of monster you truly are.
Imagine you enjoy to lurke in the shadows when you hear that Ghostface strike again. You like their style and you enjoy how messy the crime scenes are. Sometimes, you even find your own prey near by.
But that one night you catch Billy removing his Ghostface mask. You think he was just a disturbed guy trying to scare off the neighborhood. The next day, you notice Stu is hurt like the news reported Ghostface to be.
So, of course, you decide to follow the two of them to make sure they actually are the killers wandering in town. You are good at hiding in the shadows, and soon enough you discover their secrets.
Imagine becoming interested in them after that because they might finally be people able to understand you. So you start to flirt back with Billy and you start to tease Stu and chat around with them both.
They enjoy the attention and soon enough you become a thing, even if it isn't anything official because it would draw too much attention on the three of you.
Imagine you decide to fuck with them and you start to dress as Ghostface to kill your own victims. The police doesn't understand what is going on as you are killing people who aren't related to Sidney in any way.
Billy and Stu are absolutely losing it as well. In a way, you are helping them but at the same time you are messing up with their plans. You are finding it very funny.
At some point, they decide to put the murders aside to discover who is toying with them like that. But, fuck you're good at hiding and how could they suspect their cute baby girl?
The night they catch you, the three of you in your Ghostface costumes, you're quick to remove your mask before they could hurt you.
"Oh come on, guys, no need to be mad. I was just playing around with the two of you" you pouted
Billy doesn't know if he wants to fuck you or to kill you. Stu perfectly knows he wants to eat you out.
- this is classified as “dating” bc Art’s version of asking you out was looking at you like 😱👉🏻👌🏻
- so romantic <333
- if you don’t know asl already, you’ll learn some from Art, but he also has his own miming gestures that he often prefers just bc he’s dramatic
- unlike some other slashers, we’ve seen Art eat (casual cannibalism but the point is he actually does eat sometimes) so he loves skipping hand in hand with you to take you places to eat
- sometimes he starts food fights in public but he makes sure he does it when you go to the bathroom so that only he gets in trouble
- he’s also been known to fake-propose to you in the middle of restaurants to get free meals
- anything that is messy or results in mess, Art loves
- makeouts are ALWAYS sloppy
- but he is capable of giving you the tiniest, barely-there kisses on your nose, your forehead, cheeks and temple; more in fond teasing than affection
- Art prefers to be holding your hand at all times when you’re close enough
- a few times, he’s started doing something oddly domestic like folding laundry when he suddenly frowns VERY seriously, stomps across the room over to you, grabs your hand and drags you over to the laundry pile. just to hold your hand while he folds laundry. he doesn’t care that it takes him longer to do that with his one free hand
- Art likes to take things from his victims or their homes to gift to you, when things remind him of you
- he’ll raid jewellery boxes and closets most of all, sometimes spending actual hours holding clothes up to his own body to judge how they’ll fit you
- doesn’t necessarily care for special occasions but loves ANY excuse to throw a party! valentines day? christmas? st patricks day? HATS! PARTY POPPERS! BALLOONS! TWISTER! CAKE! doesn’t even matter that only the two of you are in attendance, Art loves every goddamn second
- more often than not, Art is rough when he grabs you, drags you places, holds onto you; he’s not opposed to leaving marks but most of the time it’s genuinely not intentional
- on the rare occasion he unintentionally hurts you enough for you to cry out or flinch, he has learned to utilise what he very fondly regards as “Art’s sorry kisses”, which include him nuzzling into your hair and your neck while his fingertips trail up and down your arms soothingly. it’s debatably genuine, more likely he’s doing it bc he knows you’ll forgive him in no time
- he knows how to play you like an instrument and you fall for it every time
- he is a freaky little weirdo but simultaneously not always meaning to be sexual about it
- he’s a certified panty pervert but instead of sniffing them he likes flinging them around like slingshots and silently giggling to himself
- likes snapping the waistband against your skin and gets very upset when he inevitably accidentally tears them bc he literally just wants to play w them he’s an idiot
- that said, when you first warn him that if he keeps snapping/tearing your panties you’re going to run out of them…you’ve given Art the best idea he’s ever heard
-terrifier 3 spoilers below-
- so yk how Art sat still for literally 5 years? that’s bro when you don’t text him back
- doesn’t even LET YOU get jealous of the time he’s spending w Vicky bc you’re by his side at every moment you want to be and he’s comin right back over to you, leaving a little kiss on your nose to show you that you’re his priority always
If you don’t like the fuck out of Halloween as a holiday, this might lose you. Either way, 🎃HAPPY FIRST OF OCTOBER!!!🎃 (Pic source: Rob Zombie’s Halloween (2007))
5k+ words
October 29th
For you, the living, this mash was meant too
When you get to my door, tell them Boris sent you
The sung notes of a white man’s doo wop, a Halloween classic in its own right, fill the air as the Monster Mash plays around you. Scents of cinnamon and glove, pumpkin guts and decaying fall leaves accompany the music. All adding to the warm feeling that sloughs through you while you’re waiting to be handed an autumn flavored drink of your choice and the big ass muffin top you’ve been eyeing for the better part of the five minutes you’ve been waiting in line.
“I think today was a good choice to come,” you start, shuffling forward with little thought when the line goes up. Where your hands are shoved in your pocket in a bid to stave off Illinois’ current coldfront, they flex and squeeze around nothing. “The crowd is full enough that the place doesn’t feel deserted, but not too much that we can’t find pockets around here to enjoy ourselves.”
“Yeah, sure, baby,” your man mutters, attention audibly split even as you refuse to acknowledge it. When he glances at you, he doesn’t wink or smile or anything you’re hoping for. Terrance slips the twenty dollar bill from his free hand into yours, only looking at you for a second, expression pursed, before his face is lit by the light of his screen again. “Get me a hot chocolate, will you,” he finishes.
There’s a part of you that already wants to snatch the phone out his hand, but you behave and uncover a hand for only the flash of time it takes for you to retrieve the money before shoving both back in your pocket.
Haddonfield’s neighboring town’s Fall Festival and its characteristic oddness wrap around you like a comforting blanket despite everything, at least.
With the lighter of your winter coats on and the sun setting in the distance casting the sky in radiant oranges and ombré blues, you certainly feel the edges of that coziness too. In your bones as you carefully palm your drink, trying to fight off the creeping freeze of Terrance’s barely present existence around you with its warmth, you know you’re only playing at being a couple.
The man’s already stepped aside and sipping from his cup as you pay for the drinks and your muffin, smiling when the guy handling the booth dressed like Frankenstein’s Monster wishes you a Happy Halloween.
“Did you think about what I said?” you toss out quietly afterwards.
No response.
A sip is taken by you, then by him, and then you again as you gravitate back to Terrance and start walking.
The zing of pleasant flavors taste too bitter on your tongue for your liking. A frown pulls down your content smile due to the Festival the longer you wait for any acknowledgment of what you’ve said and are met with nothing.
Letting a stream of air out your nose, you take to cracking your knuckles against their warm new handhold. You don’t look at Terrance where he’s keeping pace with you, or comment on his uncharacteristic lack of interruptive commentary, you just continue where you left off.
“There's that little squared off spot in the barn the hay rides operate out of we found last year. We could sneak in there again, maybe?”
A beat.
Two.
The silence between you reigns.
Now you look over at your fiancé, not bothering to suppress the urge to squint.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Baby, I’m literally right here.” Terrance picks his head up, looks at you like he’s barely refraining from rolling his eyes. The fingers of the one hand you put back in your pocket curl into the makings of a fist, you force them to relax, taking a deep breath.
“Really?” You stop walking, turning to him fully with a scowl, pursed lips, and your hip cocked. “The fuck did I just say then?”
“I don’t know, something about going on a hayride?”
A stiff, cooling breeze rushes through your tight curls, wisps over your scalp and ruffles the scarf around your neck.
Desperately, you try to let your irritation be carried off by it.
“Close, but no. I’ll let you try again though.”
“Mmchtt,” he sucks his teeth. “Man, you been talking a lot. You can’t expect me to remember all that.”
“Sucks for you,” you snap, “because I sure as hell do. When I speak it’s with the expectation that you’ll listen.”
Terrance’s expression pinches with an emotion that might be regret. Could just as easily be poorly hidden resentment.
Either way it’s hard for you to read him anymore.
“Okay, alright. Fine.” He sighs. Looks around a little haplessly. “Let’s just walk together, alright? I don’t feel like anything crazy.”
He holds out an arm to you, and like a beaten dog you jump for the bone. Latch onto his arm to curl your own around it and keep the disappointment off your face with a vengeance at the way he brushes off your attempt to hold his hand too.
Can’t be a hand down when he just has to be on his phone.
Less than three months ago he wouldn’t have dreamed of blowing you off like this.
Guess you two’ll just be walking the event this year.
Swallowing hard, you take what he is giving you in stride. The two of you walking around, you easily juggling your drink and your treat until the muffin top’s polished off and sweetness permeates on your tongue and your fiancé’s warmth stops feeling quite as uncomfortable.
Dirt gives marginally beneath your shoes, not wet, but certainly damp with the fog in the air and lapping at your ankles.
There is plenty to look at, at the very least. Considering this was meant to be a date and all, otherwise you would’ve come here to sightsee by yourself with your own mental commentary and a playlist to keep you company.
The winning sculptures from the pumpkin carving competition and the interactive decorations and festive boots offer a lot of entertainment though.
With Terrance’s current mood you don’t stop to take pictures at displays or buy from any of the booths, but you think about it the entire time. Just can’t sike yourself up enough to force the issue, not when the man’s barely given you a stroll together.
After a few more minutes of you awkwardly throwing conversation starters at him that he refuses to catch with more than a quickly dropped “uh huh” or “sure, babe” you guys close in on the pumpkin patch and your eyes light up.
Your pace picks up and how you point out the patch for him is juvenile, but you don’t care, finally smiling wide since getting here.
“Oh, we could carve pumpkins together! That’d be fun, right? We haven’t done that in a hot minute.”
Again Terrance only gives you a cursory glance.
“Mm.” He grimaces, blurring thumbs tapping at his screen.
Again you’re dismissed.
Fine. Okay.
Downing the last dredges of your more warm than hot drink, you detach from him with a hidden sneer. Get closer to the patch teeming with plenty of families, and smiling couples you barely keep yourself from glaring at.
It wasn’t their fault your boyfriend was steadily becoming less compatible with your system.
The pumpkins bring your mind back to work, but it’s not an unpleasant occurrence. You had purpose when helping the patients at Smith’s Grove, for one. And you know one person who’d appreciate some spooky holiday cheer at least.
Maybe you’d get Michael a little pumpkin. Keep his spirits up as the date of the murders he committed nears only hours away, and his hearing with it.
Everyone had been tense around him aging into reevaluation territory. Even though you’d been assigned to walking a new female patient around earlier today, you still know he’ll be standing in front of the suits in charge of the Sanitorium so they could come to their own conclusions about whether he should be let go or not tomorrow. Knew already that the verdict would be a resounding ‘fuck no’.
The news vans and sea of reporters and protesters alike had been telling enough as to the direction his hearing would go in, and you knew Michael was dangerous, but it was still surreal to walk past all those raging people on your way into work this morning.
So yeah, Michael could be considered a monster— and your brows had definitely shot up towards your hairline when you found out how young he was considering his significant stature, but he could still use some reprieve in the form of a baby Jack o’ Lantern on what you were reasonably sure would be his last day out of full scale prison.
The patch is more than a bit picked through, but that’s alright. You wade through empty spots and squishy dirt and gnarled vines until you get to anything of interest.
To your surprise Terrance keeps pace on the outskirts of the patch. He glances over to you with a curl to his lip, but otherwise only raises his brows before shoving both hands in his pockets.
Heart picking up, your smile widens even more for him.
“Hm,” you mutter absently, hand going up to trace the pads of your fingers lightly over one of the smaller gourds. You pick it up to show him, careful of smashing any unsuspecting pumpkins while you make it a little easier for him to see. “Do you think Michael would like a pumpkin? Would I be allowed to give him one?”
“Jesus, Y/n,” your fiancé starts up, and you snap your head up to look at him, pumpkin momentarily forgotten as both your brows raise. Running his hand down his face, he gestures jerkily at you crouched over crunching leaves and browning corn husks, severed roots ground beneath your soles. “We’re on a date and you’re thinking about that fucking freak.”
“Uhm,” you start, blinking hard at him like he’s sprouted sparkling bat wings and started screeching for the whole Fall Festival to hear. “Excuse me, Whiplash, you’ve been in your phone all day.”
“Hn,” he scoffs, shaking his head at you like you’re some sort of child. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was, maybe, thirty minutes tops. I had shit to do.”
“Thirty—?” You shake your head, standing from the soft ground to face him. “Are you deadass?”
Terrance narrows his eyes at you, stepping up to you until he can move to speak directly in your ear. The hand he wraps around your bicep doesn’t squeeze, but the fact that it might as well be makes you freeze.
“I don’t like you thinking about other men when I’m around, yeah?” He shifts till he’s looking you in the face. “That’s not unreasonable, is it?”
The words ‘like you’re always thinking about other women’ and ‘fuck yes’ skip in rushed circles around your brain as you stare Terrance down, brows steadily furrowing over your eyes now and fists clenched at your side.
None of them falls past your lips.
“He’s a patient,” you ground out, tilting your head at the man in the exact type of way that lets him know you think he’s a dumbass. “And at least if I bring Michael a pumpkin someone will be enjoying Halloween with me.”
Terrance shakes his head, and the too amused, too sarcastic, “Right,” that falls past his lips makes your fists start to tremble, you tighten them so much. He’s on the cusp of getting as nasty as you've only recently learned he’s capable of being at all, and you’re gearing up to make a fool of yourself in this pumpkin patch because you’ve apparently been craving more heartbreak as of recent, when his phone rings.
Spell broken, you nearly stagger away from him and his hand slips from your body like a limp noodle.
Both of you stare at one another — blank, open-mouthed, and short of breath for no good reason — before Terrance’s phone is on its fourth ring. His hand snaps out to answer the call before it goes to voicemail and your mouth closes, lips forming a thin line.
In the end you don’t end up getting that small ass pumpkin, but that’s only after calling your head nurse, the one that likes you, not the one you’d reported for berating the patients. When she instructs you that a physical Jack o’ Lantern might not be the best idea given Michael’s unpredictability, you settle on lugging two of the roundest pumpkins you can find that are easiest to carry back to the vehicle you came in.
All the while your fiancé stays on his phone, laughing it up leant against his truck whenever you’re not in earshot, and glancing more at whatever he’s being texted than at you and your trembling arms as you’re shoving your second pumpkin past the tailgate.
Motherfucker.
─────
October 30th
The halls of Smith’s Grove echo.
Shoes, the squeak of wheels on a cart, your soft hums as you travel door to door, all of it bounces around and back to you two-fold while you’re doing your rounds for the afternoon.
Dinner time was usually uneventful, unless Cassidy was accidentally given canned peaches or Trumble got too heavily interrupted during his usual true crime ramblings and was knocked outta routine, so you’re not in any hurry as you make your usual stops.
The only surefire sounds around you that aren’t your own are of Nurse Trudy doing a similar dinner run with the patients in the rooms across from your delivery recipients. Older and more experienced, she gets through her run faster every time, but you don’t mind.
It wasn’t like you needed to be particularly speedy, especially not when your shift would be good as over right after this. Three more hours out of a twelve hour shift was practically nothing considering the field you were in.
Cassidy thanks you, tells you your new uniform looks nice, and you nod politely and redirect him like you’re taught to. Ker laughs when you enter, doesn’t do or say anything else, but he stays on his bed when you enter his room to set down his styrofoam tray of assorted food stuffs.
Lunch was being served in everyone’s rooms today on account of a fight breaking out yesterday over the therapy dogs, so now the patients had to keep to themselves for a bit and you’d probably never see those scared puppers again.
All in all, you can count your blessings, making quick time of your next two stops before knocking on the last door in the block. Michael’s room is across from one empty room and beside another just as empty one because the others annoyed him too much, and an agitated Michael was the last thing anyone wanted.
“Myers,” you call out softly, giving one swift knock to the bulky metal of his door. “Dinner.”
What remains on your cart are his tray of food and paper cup of medicine, both of which were personally handled by you from start to finish. A precautionary measure you’ve taken up because certain members of staff were even more wicked than the patients sentenced to live out the rest of their lives in here— all of them varying levels of violent, and with Michael being the least reactive out of all of the ones you’ve ever worked with.
And you shouldn’t be showcasing such blatant favoritism, maybe, but Loomis never once disapproved of or reported your actions.
“You’re new, Miss Y/n, so you don’t know about Michael just yet, but if you remain careful I don’t see the problem with sweeping this giving him treats business under the rug so long as you do,” he’d said. “Might just do the boy some good, maybe you being closer in age and providing him with a more levelheaded peer presence could keep him on the level, hm?”
Loomis had smiled at you, almost warmly then. Let you shuffle off to freak out in private over how easily he’d clocked you. Michael had stepped in front of a plastic tray of food coming straight for you only two weeks into your psychiatric residency, though, the least you could do was thank him appropriately— and since you couldn’t very well take any physical blows for him, this was your compromise.
A little candy, a smidgen of advocacy.
Regardless…
“I hear he’s been in a mood since Loomis’s last visit after lunch,” Trudy says, voice just barely above a whisper that only carries to you in an echo from where she’s settled at the other end of the hall waiting for you.
Beside her, Matias finally steps forward from where he’s been leant against a shadowy corner on the same far wall as your fellow nurse— or, well you were an RN, but, whatever. For the first time since you’ve gotten over here the security guard is deigning to do his job, crossing the length of the hall to get to you since everyone knows Loomis signed off on you interacting with Michael and personally monitoring his medicine intake.
Sure, this was your fancy version of an internship, but all the nurses over you pushed for you to gain hands-on experience where you could, and this was no exception. Your head nurse would only shadow you twice before she was confident you had things relatively settled, and after that you’d just be lightly monitored.
Matias is meant to shadow both you and Nurse Trudy as you guys go from door to door, but he was an asshole and a bum, so more often than not you had to power through without the promise of his backup. Hell, you’re surprised he’s even stayed through for the entirety of dinner delivery today.
Biting back a cringe at Trudy’s words, you stare perhaps a little more apprehensively at the door, and the barely their shuffling you can hear from just behind it, than you had been before.
“Understood,” you mutter, nodding, and not a second later does Michael finally knock back.
None of their doors locked from the inside, but you liked to give them a few seconds of at least a semblance of privacy before you barged in. The count of three wasn’t a lot sure, but it was nice enough, and all you could reasonably give without the forewarning becoming a security risk.
Michael, however, as was becoming maybe a bit too common for you on the scarce days of the month you were assigned to work with him at all, you liked to give you explicit permission.
The man was big and quiet apart from his muteness and even as you swing the door open of your own volition, you have to take a step back as to not back peddle too harshly from where he’s towering at the very edge of the door frame.
Matias’s heat lights up your back in the way only the sun does when you’re really not in the mood for its shit during the summer, over warm and threatening to be nauseating, but you don’t pay him much attention outside of stepping aside so he can silently cuff Michael.
That fact, his lack of taunting or trying to work Michael up, is something you can appreciate even if the guard is decidedly unreliable.
Too many guards and orderlies liked to…poke at Michael — too many nurses liked to gossip about him like he was deaf too, and you’ve long since adopted Loomis’s wariness at the shift in Michael’s eyes whenever he was being antagonized. You never forgot about the hard won lesson that was his psychiatrist showing you the old security footage of Michael earning his ‘no metal utensils’ rule.
Matias stays by the door as Michael shuffles away from it. As the bigger, towering man takes a seat in his desk chair and levels you with his usual stare from behind the curtain of blonde hair obscuring his face.
“Good afternoon, Michael,” you chirp, taking care not to bring the cart in after yourself even with him restrained.
Michael looks at you, the weight of his stare physical enough to press against your lungs, but it’s near impossible to even hear him breathing. Bar the rise and fall of his broad shoulders you’d be well within your rights to think he wasn’t.
“I’ve got your meds,” you begin, the usual running commentary you liked to keep up when dealing with him tumbling past your lips unbidden, “and then I’ve got your dinner.”
With that said, you hold out two small paper cups: one with pills and one with water.
Air conditioning sluggishly pouring cool breeze into the room, Michael only stays paused for a few beats before reaching out to grab both items from your outstretched hands where you’ve stopped just within arms reach in front of him, his chains clinking with his movements.
A bigger part of you than was probably wise might’ve felt bad for the guy, but you were both invested in your own continued safety and under no delusion that the newly minted twenty-one year old did more than tolerate you slightly more than he did everyone else.
When he’s done, Michael stiffly hands everything back to you and you retreat back to the cart for his food.
Matias grumbles all the while about how you’re doing too much and how he’d’ve just tossed the shit on the ground.
Ignoring the guard, after glaring at him out of the corner of your eye, you pass where he’s leaning against the one bit of wall by the door not covered by Michael’s scarce personal belongings.
The room itself, decorated from roof to ceiling, wall to wall, with various paper masks of his own creation, is small but otherwise tidy.
His desk is full to the brim with cuts of paper and the usual glue mixture he uses for his paper mache endeavors. The wall behind it taped full with newspaper clippings that’ve caught his attention over the years. Hands, nicked from his youth, are probably likely sticky with the glue solution going off the structure of a full face mask with a wide grinning maw sitting atop his table.
The orange paper he voicelessly requested from you less than a handful of days prior is neatly tucked into a corner of the white wooden surface bolted to the floor. Awaiting its decorative application once he’s done with the mask’s frame, no doubt.
Michael lets you get around his bulk so you can put down his food for the afternoon. Keeps his distance even as he turns to track how you putter around, blue-grey eyes burning a hole into the side of your head.
“I know your parole hearing is today,” you talk, keeping your voice level while double checking you haven’t accidentally left anything with him you’re not supposed to. “It sucks that instead of giving you parole they want to move you.”
A scoff sounds from behind you. You ignore Matias and don’t roll your eyes how you want to because you’re an adult.
It wasn’t like your opinion meant shit on the matter anyway. The decision had practically already been made, they were just bringing Michael in after the five o’clock dinner time as a formality, really. Michael hadn’t committed any violent crimes since he was twelve, but they were sending him off to prison regardless. And Loomis had signed off on it.
Sure, you didn’t think Michael was in any condition to leave Smith’s Grove, not with how heavily he disassociated without being drugged till he couldn’t so much as lift his head, but making him do hard time for disassociating and killing his bully and abusive family nine years ago seemed far-fetched and like a disaster waiting to happen when his routine got shaken up and he was put in a penitentiary that wouldn’t remotely accommodate his needs.
To your credit, you don’t look back at Michael until your hand’s shoved into your pocket after you’ve put down his plastic spoon and a few napkins.
The man doesn’t so much as blink back at you, but his gaze does drop, zeroing in on your covered hand.
You stifle a snort.
“Alright, Michael,” you sigh. “You’ll probably be gone by the next time I’m in, but I’ll miss your silent, looming presence when you’re gone. And try not to cause too much trouble.” You smile at him, wane and fleeting. Hope he can read the sincerity in your expression. “Happy early Halloween,” you say next, a lot softer before slipping a hard candy or five and a few fisted fun sized chocolates under the brim of his styrofoam tray and the cover of a napkin.
In response the only reaction you get, if you could call it that, is a hitch in the rise and fall of his shoulders, but that’s all he gives.
The amusement on your face gets a little broader anyway.
“Christ,” Matias curses, and you suck in a sharp breath, caught up enough you’d nearly forgotten he was in the room.
Looking him over in his pristine white patient scrubs, his form statue-still, you curb the urge to ask Michael something banal like ‘how are you doing’ and step away from him, loafers tapping lightly against his scuffed floors.
“Are you fucking crazy?” The assigned guard hisses, grabbing you by the upper arm before you can even get partway through the room on your own. You stumble as he damn near drags you the rest of the way out. “Kid, I know you’re naive enough to get anywhere near the freak without a weapon, but don’t tell me you’re stupid too. Are you trying to set him off?”
“Set him off— Michael hasn’t had an incident in years! Loomis makes it a point to mention the date all the time during October to test his triggers.”
Okay, yeah, maybe you should exercise some more caution in general around the guy, but you’ve literally seen Loomis chat Michael up about the haunted holiday in a bid to get him talking and get nothing but a blink in response.
“This isn’t necessary,” you grunt, briefly glancing at him to glare.
“Yeah?” Matias snaps a scathing look your way, shoving you out the door before immediately following you through and shoving the keys on your key ring into your hand. “Well the Doc ain’t here, now is he?
When you look back into the room Michael’s standing stock still beneath the dim white lights, nearly halfway across the room, food untouched and eyes honed in on a spot just behind your back.
A hitch hiccups through your chest at the unexpected positioning, but you only meet the darkened gaze of one Michael Aubrey Myers for a split second, feel it suck you in and dry your insides out, before the metal of his door slams shut with a resounding thunk by your hand and your key is in the lock.
The guard somewhere at your back lets out a nasty curse, tongue lashing, and you’re so stuck on getting your heart to stop climbing up your throat you can’t even be irritated.
Heaving a shuttering breath, attempting to fortify yourself, you look up. Look up and meet the very gaze mere inches from your face through the little glass window that nearly swallowed you whole seconds prior. Meet it and feel your whole world tilt just as your wrist pivots and your key clicks with the sound of the locks engaging.
Your chest heaves. Your brown eyes widen and your lashes flutter.
“S-shit,” you gasp, breathless, and nearly trip into the cart next to you when you stumble backward.
Slowly, you watch Michael’s dilated, nearly pitch black eyes shift past you.
Watch them land on their target and hold, and would bet a good amount of your paycheck that his fists are trembling behind the door.
Matias makes a strangled sound, and is standing just to your left, hand clamped tight around the hilt of his baton when you turn around. All the color drained from his face and turning his complexion ashen in a way you wouldn't be surprised currently mirrors your own.
Okay.
Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything for real, because you’ve never seen Michael move that fast. Not even when he’d seemingly materialized from the shadows on your first day and taken a tray full of food to the chest so it wouldn’t hit you square in the face.
“I’m sorry,” you mutter to the tiny window, lips numb and heart rioting, the feeling in your stomach less unpleasant than it should be. Grabbing the cart, you give him a handful of glances while he stares Matias down.
Shame lashes a violent path up your chest and sends overwhelming warmth clashing through your blood. Something more dangerous brushes gently alongside it.
─────
October 31st
In the end Michael follows his mother.
After a jolt that finally set him back into motion. A broken shard and a man’s throat giving way beneath his palm that made him feel more whole.
Follows his mother and her flowing white dress and the white horse at her side into the light.
Has no choice but to be spurred on by the pain thrumming through his body. Multiple pinpricks peppering down his front from that cop and his shiny metal weapon.
Silent, his jaw works. Memories batter for entrance into his thoughts. Make his head throb lowly.
Hands clench tight enough they start up a small tremble at his sides.
He misses the weight of the knife he’d taken in his hand.
He’d find another one.
Ambulances were ear splittingly loud up close. A fact he only remembers duly. Memories burrow deep, and only come up in disjointed spurts despite the vivid picture his first string of kills still run through his mind in.
Michael remembers the armada of fire. The sizzling, all consuming pain of bullet after bullet tearing through him, and then…
…nothing.
A blank, all consuming anger.
He was nothing, and that was nothing new.
Memories still fizzle like pop rocks — ones you’d snuck him once, the ones from his candy pale on That Night — of what happened before the bullets and tearing of skin.
Before his undoing; if he were going to put this still gnawing feeling in the cavern of his chest into the kind of fancy word Loomis would sprout.
He remembers his sister. Of finding Boo. Not remembering how to stop her crying like he used to.
Pain.
His stolen knife through his neck, maybe.
Then.
The anger.
Michael remembers the anger. The rage that took him over and was always teeming at the edge of him, waiting for unrestrained release.
Angel didn’t want him. Had hurt him too.
He’d run at her with barely a thought after chasing her through their old home. After she and Loomis had tricked him, gotten him to let go of the last of his family only to let him get shot for the trouble. Every too easy to rip off and crumble floor board and strip of ceiling once he’d retreated back into the house had stoked his fire.
Every word out of Loomis’s mouth was a lie. Michael lets the sound, the blood pouring sight, of the old man’s head giving and starting to cave in beneath the pressure from his hands replay in his mind.
Grunts out of something that might be satisfaction.
The trembling in his fists jars his wrists.
A howl builds in his chest. Stays trapped behind clenched teeth.
Michael drags up the place he retreats to in his mind as he walks away from the crash, his belly full with raw beef and slick warm blood. The mask that still remains on his head cool to the touch.
Recalls flashes of monochromatic memories and mischievous disimbodied giggles while he’d been confined by thin plastic.
Searchingly, he goes there now.
Forgets about his legs, about Angel hurting him, about Loomis. Lets his feet carry him on autopilot, and travels toward the fading after effects of his mother’s voice.
Forward, he walks. On and on.
Sees those neverending white walls he retreats to close in around him and the pumpkin-headed court he'd thought up at twelve. Occasionally, when his head is too active he finds them and their bloody antics to capture his attention instead.
Bishop Trick settles into his seat at a grand, decorated table, silver platters and ornate goblets and candle operas with lit candles all around.
Everything he sees is in black and white. Snow falling and the air twinkling.
From the head of the table the scepter King Jack holds waves around, gesturing in a manner Michael finds vaguely amusing, to the form that takes up most of the space on the table. He’s surrounded by his Lord Treat as well, all their similarly cherubic faces trapped inside their pumpkin heads marred with expressions that say they’re up to no good.
Finally, Michael lets his metaphysical gaze pan to where the king had gestured.
To you.
Feels the pressure on his knuckles loosen some. Curled fingers going lax.
Legs crossed and bent at the knees beside you, your body propped up by your arm as you lay amongst a bed of flowers and leaves over the table cloth eating whatever odd assortment on the plates before you.
It’s you, your hair longer and tight, springy curls fuller, but the woman laid out like a goddess on King Jack’s table is the one nurse he’s ever attached to.
Snow flakes fall onto your dark skin and melt. Land onto your hair and nestle like diamonds amongst the coils.
The smile you give him is familiar when you turn to look over your shoulder at him. The silver glint on your wrist beneath your frilly sleeves and the chain running from it and attaching you to the table is an affirmation that settles in his bones.
Gait shifting, memories surface of the trashed file room he’d left behind at Smith’s Grove and the words he’d memorized drag up, and he starts heading in the appropriate direction to find your address.
In the end, he leads himself back to you.
TBC…
NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! 🎃🔪
I used a combination of the theatrical cut and the workprint versions of the movie (alongside trying to send Michael to jail from the original) for the timeline here, just amalgamated them together and made a few of my own changes. And Michael is twenty-one here because I forgot he was older than in the original and it was too late to change.
I started writing the majority of this fic before watching part two — and have only added small bits of plot info and details of Michael’s increased emotional state and general mental state after the events of the first movie — and by the time the final half of the movie started all the good will it gained from how much I loved part one, that it’d been steadily losing as part two went on, completely fled the scene. Did not like the supernatural ghost/shared hallucination angle, or the entire climax really. Annie’s death was sad, and I really loved the exploration of everyone's mental health post Michael’s big attack though— anyway. Also, I was vibing so hard with Harley in the van that when Michael burst in to kill her that was one of the few times I jumped hard as hell.
When I’m not bending canon I think RZ!Michael would just kill you. It’d be more drawn out and intimate like it tends to be when he’s formed a “connection” with somebody, but maybe he’ll pose your body somewhere comfortable at the end and we’ll call that a manifestation of some fondness. Or, honestly, as long as you don’t try to keep him locked up or outright reject him you might be tentatively fine— might.
Also, because of me wanting both Michael and the reader-insert to be closer in age, she’s gone through her first four years of college and is now in her first year past that in her residency, and I think that works age-wise. Question her professionalism all you want, I didn’t know wtf I was doing there, so whatever.
And as someone who doesn’t mind the lack of mythologizing Michael and what rules him — ultimately humanizing him — in Rob Zombie’s reboot, I really like how differently RZ!Michael reads when compared to any version of OG!Michael. They’re very similar, but where they diverge is distinct and I’ve had a good time since watching the 2007 movie unpacking RZ!Michael as best I can. All this to say it’s really fun for me that the versions are so different from one another and, as such, cause me to write them incredibly differently from each other and play around with different ways they’d work— especially in a reader-insert fanfiction sense.
Anyway, bye!!! 🫶🏾
btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!
