Chapter 1: The Start
Someone was here.
A chill ran up your spine making you turn to stare back down the winding sidewalk with a nervous gulp. The wind? Unlikely. Someone was watching you. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your hands sweat. The empty street seeming to give off a foreboding presence in thick waves.
“Oh fuck this.”
With a quick jog up your steps you fumbled open your door, slamming it shut behind you. The locks clicking as you tugged them all into place. Gazing out into the silent neighborhood again you felt eyes on you but couldn’t tell from where. Weird.
You must be hallucinating.
You checked all the locks on any door and window twice that night before falling into a fitful sleep.
A chill down your spine seemed to be the norm the past week as you walked home from work every evening. It was just a feeling, you were sure of that. But when you came home to a mess on your front step you started to change your mind.
“No no no no no that isn’t happening, this is not happening.”
There was a dead rat on your doorstep. There was a dead rat on your doorstep. An animal couldn’t have done this, the cut was too clean. It looked as if it was almost neatly put there.
Almost like it was put down with care.
The cut went straight through its middle and it was squished back together as if to hide the wound and blood all over your steps. You glanced around wildly again to see if anyone was around but the street was as silent as ever. What the fuck man?
You gagged as you grabbed it with a trash bag and tossed it out, the rest of the evening spent hosing off your porch until it was remotely presentable for any steppage. Trying not to think of the implications of someone placing a dead rat on your steps you summed it up to a prank from too eager kids for the approaching holiday of Halloween.
You dreamed that night of a giant rat watching you from your window as it clawed it’s way slowly into your home.
The week rolled on with strange things happening here and there. A dead Lilly on the back porch. A wind chime hanging from your awning, the strange clown faces clinging together in sharp tones. A few dead vermin’s here and there.
You must have a stalker, how… Strange.
It honestly could be thought up to something else if you really wanted to avoid thinking that someone was watching you that bad. But you preferred to face these things head on. So with a red face as you found the fifth dead rat that week laying in front of your door, you kicked it off your porch and stomped down your sidewalk to the edge of the street and shouted at nothing and everything.
“Hey you little greasy fucker! I KNOW you’re watching me! If you’re gonna leave me shit you could at LEAST make it nice!”
The next day there was a candy bar tucked neatly in between your screen door bars. You looked it over thoroughly for any sign of it being open before ripping it open yourself and taking a bite.
Dark chocolate, a good choice.
You were getting back from work a day later before you paused on your steps, something occurring to you mid pulling out your door key.
Why were you so calm with everything happening?
Someone was literally watching you, possibly stalking you, and you were just? Okay with it? Fine??
You thought on all the things that had happened recently and tried to think of if you had any feeling of immediate fear or being scared. But you had only been annoyed and frustrated. Like these serious problems were small inconveniences rather then reportable crimes.
You clicked your tongue in irritation and glanced around the surrounding houses. You waited for some kind of trepidation to grow as you scanned the area but we’re left with nothing but disappointment. This was making you feel weird about your morals. You shoved the door open without another backwards glance and ignored any ‘gift’ that appeared for the next two days before caving for the pile of dark chocolate that was growing on your back porch.
You're annoyance grew slowly as the next week rolled around. The things appearing seeming childish in the face of actually showing the fuck up and talking to you. It seemed more like someone had a crush on you and didn’t know how to say it. Were they a cat? What was this obsession with rats?? God you needed a break.
You resolved to stay up that night and see whoever the fuck it was that was leaving you things. You turned out all the lights in your house and snuck out to the living room to watch out the living room window. It was a decent enough view of the porch. All you really needed was a glimpse of who this person honestly was.
At around 3 am you eyes began to sag, tiredness pulling your body to slumber before you even noticed a single movement outside. You were sure they would’ve shown by now, maybe they were finally finished? The thought made you feel an emptiness in your stomach that followed you into your dreams as you dreamt of an ocean of blue. Drowning in it until you submerged to the dark depths.
When you woke late in the morning you looked at the window to find a colored rubber band sitting on the seal directly in front of you. It was a deep blue and somehow made you smile.
Chapter 2: The findings
The one where she knows
i didn't expect a response for this story. I feel flattered, and also terrified. A good mixture of both i guess. I have a lot of this story written out so ill see how i wanna update it until i run out of prewritten stuff.
You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with the band. It had been placed right in front of where you were sitting under the window. It seemed like a cheap hair tie, it made you wonder if it was actually a girl out there instead of what you thought was a man initially. But you seemed pretty sure it was a man.
You just knew it.
You fiddled with it almost constantly, shooting it at things in your house randomly whenever you could before retrieving it. Was that disrespectful? Who cares, it was form a stalker after all. You weren’t even sure if it fell under a gift, or if any of the other items did ether.
“Bang!” You fired it at the clock on the wall and watched it bounce off onto the couch. Heh, your aim was getting better. You retrieved it once more before heading to your room to watch TV.
The rubberband found a permanent home on your wrist after a few days of abuse, a constant companion to your chores at home and at work. It was during one of these chores that you heard something that made you pause. Folding laundry was time consuming but needed, and you watched the news half heartedly as you zoned in and out of listening to what went on in the world as you folded.
And it was then that you heard it.
There were killings happening around your town.
4 already found dead. They were brutal murders that ether were stabbings or something else entirely. The thought had crossed your mind before that the person who watched you may be more dangerous than you initially believed. But it usually left as you found some sort of sweet the next morning whenever you began to question an ulterior darker motive. Why were you okay with someone stalking you in the first place? Maybe you needed to do some reflecting.
You fiddled with the band on your wrist as you thought about what had occurred through the last few weeks.
That night you left a small note on your porch and waited for a response.
‘Are you the Halloween killer?’
The note was gone in the morning, but a response never came. In fact, it didn’t come for a solid week. It was only after that time that you came home late one night form work and trudged up your steps. You heard a clang as you reached the top step and looked down, letting out a small gasp at what you saw.
Glinting in the moonlight was a kitchen knife.
What did it mean?
You knew what it meant.
But what did this mean to you?
Were you really debating this? Was this really happening? You had picked up the knife with a sort of reverence as you took it inside. The blade was slightly dull and rusting around the blunt edge. Was this really the knife of a killer? Were you really fucking holding it in your hands right now like it was some sort of blessed holy object? That thought made you drop it on your coffee table with a clatter.
Holy FUCK how were you supposed to respond to this??
You thought to call the police, but couldn’t bring yourself to dial the phone. It didn’t seem right. Them showing you this seemed private, almost… intimate?
What the FUCK was wrong with you?
Everything seemed so confusing as you moved over to your computer to gather any kind of information you could about the infamous Halloween killings. The first ones in your town made by a child named Michael Myers. Was that him? You felt yourself start to sweat. You read of how he had been locked up immediately without question even as a child and felt sympathy build up in your stomach. What the fuck? Don’t SYMPATHIZE with him?? You slammed the laptop shut before you practically sprinted up the stairs and huddle into bed. Everything was so confusing right now. Maybe sleep would help your mind clear up.
You tried not to think about the famous murder weapon sitting in your living room, and the owner of it probably watching you too.
What a stressful fucking week.
You had picked up the knife with an oven mitt and deposited it into a drawer and locked it as you thought of what to do. With more research under your belt you learned that Michael was released ( or escaped, who really knows) not that much earlier then when the killings returned. He was a VERY wanted man. And you had been teetering on the fence of turning everything you knew in or not. But every time you reach for the phone or got close to the station you would stop. It just didn’t feel right.
Why DIDN'T it feel right?
You tugged again at the blue band around your wrist. You remembered the description of his one piece uniform and mask and wondered if giving you a blue band had meant something more than you had thought of before.
You almost choked as you realized the thought made your stomach flutter slightly.
Hold the FUCK up.
You did not catch feelings for a killer. Are you kidding me? Let alone a killer that had been STALKING you? You let out a groan of frustration as you put your finger on why exactly you paused at the thought of reporting him to any outlet that’d let you.
You liked him.
And apparently he liked you too.
You started your car up and headed to the store.
The whole time you cussed and double guessed if you were really going to do this.
That night, a knife layed on your porch again, the rust cleaned off and the blade freshly sharpened.
Chapter 3: The Encounter
The one where they meet
i always loved this part of the story. Writing Michael was actually more fun then what i thought was initially going to be hard.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
It was gone in the morning.
After the ‘knife incident’ as you like to call it. There was no contact. It’s as if he had disappeared into thin air. Weeks passed and the news grew silent of killings occurring within the area. You wondered if it had all honestly been a strange hallucination, maybe a dream? The thought made you sigh as a wave of sadness washed over you. What had you even wanted from all this? A friendship? A lover? You let the thought float through your mind as you lay on the couch and flipped through the channels.
What did HE even want though? You thought on a weird sense of friendship possibly. But it didn’t seem very likely. There was a dark space at the back of your head that grew as you thought on the probability of him wanting to kill you. It would make sense. The strange gifts and dead animals. The stalking. Your opinion of him not changing after thinking on this surprised you more then the thought of potential murder.
When had you become so jaded to death? Even the thought of your own?
You ran over the possibilities throughout the night until you fell into a dreamless sleep.
A few days later the rubber band broke.
It was a quick clean snap that hit the back of your wrist as it fell off. You might’ve not even noticed had you not been hit on it’s way down. The sight of it broken made you feel something in the pit of your stomach, so you tied it back together and placed it back on your wrist. It was more snug then before, but doable. You fiddled with it for the rest of the day as you kept the radio on. you watched out your window for the majority of the night.
One day when you were returning from a short grocery trip, you looked around to find your back door wide open. A sudden race in your pulse of fear and excitement started up and you began to look around for a person. Had he come back? He’d never came into your house from your knowledge, and why did that make you excited?
A break in shouldn’t be getting you this riled up in a positive way.
The floorboards creaked as you shuffled around, the option to turn on a light always looming over but you refrained. What if he didn’t want to be seen? As you made your way into the kitchen you let out a sharp gasp. There in a dark corner next to your counter, was a giant of a person. He was in a mechanics uniform? There was a mask over his face, it was stark white and the hair smoothed back. God he was huge. As big as your fridge, if not taller.
His head tilted at the name, and you let out a breathless laugh. Taking a cautious step forward the laugh broke into a smile. He seemed nervous? You looked down and saw the knife you had fixed up clutched in his large hand, the handle completely covered by his fidgeting grip. He didn’t seem particularly threatening right now, so you took another step forward. His head shifted slightly and as you took the next step, his other hand shooting out. His grip firm as he grabbed your wrist, the quick action made you gasp at first in fear only to calm as you realized what he was doing. His thumb ran over the band wrapped around your wrist, stopping at the knot where you had tied it together. You watched it before glancing up at his covered face.
“Sorry, uh- it broke when I was doing laundry.”
There was a pause before he gave the slightest of nods and let up his grip. His finger still occasionally ran over the band and you watched him as he tilted his head this way and that, just watching you. It was making your heart flutter.
He seemed as relaxed as he honestly could be, and you didn’t push for him to talk. There was a comfortable silence settling over you as he began to trace the artery near the joint of your wrist. You were about to ask how he got in when he suddenly stood up at his full height. You didn’t realize just how much he had been slouched until he was towering over you, his large shadow casting a heavy darkness over the rest of the room. He was rigid. His hand gripping your arm hard enough to bruise as you saw the knife you had fixed up being raised and his breathing get harsh. A jolt of fear ran through you at the thought of dying right here because of a stupid infatuation. Because you thought you had developed feelings for a stalker. A killer. Oh god, was this really it?
And suddenly, you were thrown away. He had pulled you by the arm to fly over to the other side of the counter, almost cracking your skull open on the metal oven that waited there. You caught yourself before you hit anything and whipped your head around back to ask just what the hell he thought he was doing.
But then you saw it.
A man in a ski mask was in the house, he had been coming up from behind you with a large knife not that unsimilar to Michaels. You watched the intruder tremble under the sight of such a monster of a man. He brought his knife up shakily as he threatened Michael with some empty words of death. Michael didn’t care or seem to hear him as he strode up and smacked the knife right out of his hand as if it were nothing. You felt trepidation and a deep curling terror flood every inch of you but couldn’t seem to find your voice as you knew what would happen next.
The intruder was lifted by the scruff as Michael wasted no time to bury his knife through the top of his sternum into his throat. You watched the blade disappear inch by inch and thought of how you had been the one to sharpen it. To enable this. You were an accessory to a murder now. The implications of what the knife and the man behind it did was always present but never felt real. It was just back and forth flirting from the beginning and just now did you begin to contemplate the death that trailed this killer everywhere he went. But none of it felt as real as when you watched the light die in the burglars eyes as he choked on his own blood. The tears were quick to fall after that.
Michael didn’t even turn to look at you as he left the house out the back door, the body dragged behind him, staring at you until they disappeared into the night.
You silenced your alarm clock. Not today, not after that. You rolled over again and cried yourself into a fitful sleep. Your dreams consisting of a dead intruder and evil lurking in the shadows.
The rest of the week was spent coping with what had occurred. Halloween came and went and you listened to the news as there were 2 bodies found in an abandoned house. The thought made your head hurt and stomach recoil. You kept the tv off the rest of the night.
It was after the second week that you began to feel any kind of normal again. The thought of all that occurred floated to the back of your mind. Life was settling down again and you could feel the stress unwinding from your body.
And then he showed up.
He was quiet, standing where he had been the first time, and it made your stomach clench in a pleasant way. You stomped down the happiness that grew at seeing him okay and here. That wasn’t right. You couldn’t do that. He was a murderer.
You were blushing.
The death that followed him had been distanced and you were mad at yourself for trying to forget the horrors but not necessarily him.
He moved this time towards you, two hesitant steps. He slowly reached out for you, your hand twitching as he grazed your fingers before gripping your wrist again. A sigh left you at the difficulties of the situation, his thumb already running over the band like the first time you met.
“This is hard.”
It was a simple statement, but spoke volumes. You just hoped he understood the implications underneath it. His whole body seemed to pause, his head tilting as he stared down at you. You let out a breath before continuing.
“Death isn’t an easy thing to come to terms for everyone. And you kill people Michael. I like you, I like you a lot. Ha, probably too much. But the fact is that you’re a killer and I need some time to decide whether or not I want to deal with that or just…” you refrain from talking about the police. Of turning him in. You didn’t have THAT big of a death wish.
He seemed to be contemplating what you said. You listened to his steady breathing as he stood still next to you. He hold slightly more hard on your wrist and you winced. It was bruised. Had been since the last time he saw you. He seemed to be staring you down as he brought the appendage closer to his face and turned to look at it. He was quiet as per usual, but he seemed to be oozing a particularly menacing aura. He dropped your arm suddenly as if it burned him. His head jerked in a way that made you think he was denying your request before pushed past you to leave the house.
You didn’t know if he refused the idea of you needing space or getting injured. Both made you nervous.
im so excited to the the boy 2 when it comes out. i want to write brahms too at some point, i also have a leatherface story floating around. but idk if i got the guts to post that one yet lol
Chapter 4: The Question
The one where you ask
this part gets kinda touchy lmao. Fingers crossed my work closes before i actually get this virus. Also sorry its kind of short, it didnt feel right to end it anywhere else
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
There was a candy bar on the windowsill of your room the next day. You cried when you took the first bite.
The bruise was gone in another week, and you found you missed the print that was left for so long.
You ignored the thought that you liked being marked by him that tried to come up.
the next time you saw Michael the kitchen was lit and you saw just how grimy he was. He seemed nervous. You gave a tired sigh. After a few minutes you put down a sandwich for him to eat. Honey and peanut butter.
Both him and the sandwich were gone before you could turn around again.
It became a kind of laughable routine, and in a way helped you decide where you wanted to stand with any of this. One day you placed a second sandwich down. And moved to sit. He tilted his head at the gesture, a long pause lingered between you before he grabbed both sandwiches and left the house in the quickest escape you’ve ever seen.
Once the shock passed you laughed as you realized it was the first time you’ve seen him run.
The next time you saw him a few weeks later he lingered far into a different room before stomping up and sitting down. He was twitchy and shoved the sandwich underneath his mask, but the gesture wasn’t lost on you. You enjoyed it while it lasted, unsure if he’d ever bend to you again.
Maybe this could work after all.
“You need a haircut”
When you first noticed the blonde hair poking out from under the mask you had been thrilled, but it soon turned to irritation as you realized how low his self-care system was.
There was a grunt in response, and he proceeded to yank on a wave of blonde poking out from underneath his mask. It made you frown.
“Would you let me cut it?”
The abrupt departure seemed an answer to that question.
The next time you saw him there was no hair poking out. You gave a silent prayer to the lovely locks he probably lobbed off with that kitchen knife.
His visits were getting longer, he almost stayed for an hour last week. You were slowly growing fonder of the quiet giant and the thought of the power and danger that he could evoke onto anyone became less of a fear and more of an attraction.
Maybe you should get out more.
“Can I ask you to do something?”
A small nod.
“Here, grab my leg, and squeeze. just enough to bruise, okay?” you were really fucked up, oh god what were you doing? You were holding your thigh near your knee and demonstrating what you wanted him to specifically do. The idea of bruises seeming more and more erotic every time you thought back on the one he left on your wrist. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun in a slightly different place would it?
Maybe? Probably. Who really knew.
It was honestly just to fulfill a fantasy that’s been growing inside of you. Just curiosity, honestly. Did this count as taking advantage of someone? You wondered if that would even apply to a murderer.
He seemed confused, judging from the rapid head tilts, but curious nonetheless. He shifted over slowly, before gripping your thigh in his large hands. They could almost wrap around your whole thigh, holy hell. You forgot how large he was sometimes. The feel of them made you let out a gasp. And it seemed to spur him on to begin to press into them.
Everything was going smoothly, he was even seemed to be enjoying himself. When his thumbs began to grind down into the soft flesh enough to hurt you let out a hiss between your teeth. He sucked in a breath at the noise, and the pressure suddenly grew in a fast interval. You groaned underneath him and began wiggling.
“Okay, Michael, o-okay we can stop now. I-“ he was breathing harder than you. His hands had slid up further on your thighs and there was an aching pain twitching through the muscles in your legs. The whole situation seemed so weirdly intimate and you let out a breathless moan.
And suddenly there was nothing.
You caught your breath as you stared at your back door swinging with the force it was shoved open with.
What the hell just happened?
Also the boy 2 was horrible and im so mad with what they did to the story and Brahms. This hatred of the second movie will fuel my need to write for him.
Chapter 5: The Confession
The one where you confess
My life has been a whirlwind of dead ends lmao i had to find a new job and there's been non stop drama, My drive for writing has been slim to none. but i've been editing another story and its slowly bringing me back into the loop. things seem to be evening out in my life and calming down so maybe ill want to write more now.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
There was a pause in visits that made you feel like it may have been a mistake to ask for what you did. The bruises bloomed dark blues and purples over your legs and the sight made you excited and weary. Would this be the last evidence of his visits?
You hoped not.
There was always the underlying thought of him killing you if you went too far for his comfort. Wherever that lay. It wasn’t a big fear, but a buried one that whispered when you got upset. You placed a hand over an almost perfect hand print resting in the middle of your thigh. It made your heart flutter as you looked at just how big he was compared to you. Your hand half the size of his, at most .
God you had it horribly bad.
That night a feeling of dread roused you from your slumber as you blearily looked around your room for the source. You found him quickly, probably because he wanted you too. Before a greeting could even leave your mouth he was on top of you, his breathing harsh as he boxed you underneath him with no escape. His name fell from your mouth breathlessly, almost a whisper. And that was when you noticed the knife in his grip.
You wiggled underneath him as you watched him hover it over your stomach. Your body quivering with an unidentified feeling. If he wanted to kill you it would have happened already, right? The thought placated you enough into a numbing excitement as you watched him with heavy lids. He seemed intrigued by your response, lightly trailing the knife down until he hit the dip of your pelvic bone.
You remembered through the haze that you were only in a tank top and underwear. The least amount of clothes you've ever been in in front of him. He seemed to notice too, his head tilting at the thin fabric of your underwear as he slide the knife underneath it and pulled it up by the blunt edge, letting it snap back against you. The atmosphere felt overbearingly thick and heavy, you couldn’t have imagined anything like this in your dreams and the sound alone of him playing with your underwear caused a breathy moan to escape your mouth.
The noise made him snap his head up as stare at you, snaking his other hand up to rest at the base of your throat. A light squeeze feeling like a threat and encouragement all at once and made you sag into the bed even more. You clutched at his sleeve as he turned his attention back to your hip.
He continued further down, shoving your knee open wider. It made you gasp and he clutched a little harder at your throat. Your bruises were on full display now. He seemed transfixed, his breathing hard as he squeezed your throat once again. The vulnerability of the situation making it all the more intense. Without warning he moved the knife down and left a cut right next to the inside of your knee. You bit your lip this time from making a noise, it was a slow cut. He made sure you had felt it. The blood that dripped down your leg felt hot too. He released your throat to move his other hand and touch the red liquid dripping down your leg. Seeing him run his hand back up it smearing it all across your thigh was so weirdly arousing. You were into this? You guess you were. What else could you honestly have expected from a serial killer to be into either way. This man did not look like the slow and sensual type at ALL. and it was showing now too.
He trailed his knife over a few more places, leaving shallow cuts here and there. Some spotting with blood and other not. Nothing was really deep enough to bleed as the on under your leg. You watched him litter your skin with marks. It left you with a sense of calm that really had no right to be there. Staring over at him as he played with your leg made your chest swell with a strange sort of affection that warmed you from your head down to your toes. God this was really happening. You were really happening. This relationship was really happening. You two together almost seeming normal if you ignored the mask and knife and cuts. It had your mind swirling and palms sweating. Something at the back of your mind making you need to spill over these bubbling feelings. Say anything. Something.
“I think I can love you, Michael.”
Once the words were whispered he froze. Everything stock still, and the room going cold. Had it been too much? Probably. Will you ever learn to shut your mouth? God you hoped so. His hand twitched on the knife, and suddenly he was upon you once again. His hand at your throat and squeezing. You were gasping underneath him as he brought his knife down fast. The blood was leaking before the pain even registered. You choked out a yelp and clutched at his arm. There was tears running down your face when he made the next cut. You sobbed into your hand at the one after that. By the time he made the last one you were drooling and clutching his arm with a death grip. He lingered over you for a while, breathing heavy and tense, before he moved off of you onto the corner of the bed. Your sobs quieted into sniffles, his hand resting on your ankle in a comforting sense. At Least you’d hoped. You were both quiet in the aftermath of whatever the fuck just happened.
You vowed to keep your mouth shut next time you felt something like that. Looking down to see what he was doing, you saw him staring at the blood covering his hand. Your blood. Jesus that was a lot of blood. He didn’t linger long after that, letting go of your ankle and slipping out your door. You were so tired after all of this. You didn't even want to get up and check if he had locked the back door. You doubted he'd even let anyone get past your yard either way.
With your leg throbbing and room a mess, you passed out into a dreamless sleep that had you more tired when you awoke.
Upon a closer look the next morning, you found a red and just deep enough to scar cut into the fleshy part of your thigh.
It spelled out ‘M’.
He cut you.
He cut you.
Be bothered. Be upset. Get mad. You couldn’t even walk for fucks sake. Your bed was covered in blood. Days bleed together- hah- because of the blood loss. Your recovery was slow, only able to hobble over to the bathroom on the second day to clean the wound. You missed multiple days of work due to the injury. The beratement continued for the remainder of the week until the fogginess in your head disappeared and you were left staring at the back door.
The remaining feeling could only be described as empty.
In hindsight, you should be glad he was gone.
But you were never really smart were you?
These affections weren’t good, you could at least admit that. But it was too
to just kick out all of these muddled feelings that had taken root in you over the past months. And, to be quite honest, you didn't
to. You hadn’t been lying when you said you could love him, and by this point you felt like you already
. The hole he left behind felt gapping and cold.
Fuck morals, fuck everything else, you missed him. You just wanted Michael back.
You curled into a ball of hurt and cried yourself to sleep.
After a few days of mundane routine you noticed something was off. You never heard anything in the night, but a quick glance in the kitchen made you feel strange. The bread seemed to be going faster. And a quick glance at the pantry showed you that the peanut butter and honey were low too. You haven't been able to bring yourself to eat it since he left. So it couldn’t be you.
And that thought alone left you smiling.
A quick trip to the store left your favorite sandwich ingredients fully stocked and more, and you slept better that night then you had all month.
Another week later had you waking in the middle of the night, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight as you shot up and glanced around. He was right at the end of your bed this time, knife present as he held it loosely in his hand. You heard your blood rushing through your ears as you choked out a laugh. So many feelings bubbling up at the sight of him, everything culminating in you raising your arms shakily as an invite. He was still as a board the whole time you stared at him, not even a sign of breathing.
You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, the silence for once feeling heavy rather than pleasant. His blank mask peering down into you making you feel raw and exposed. Right when you began to drop your arms he snapped to attention. His grip on the knife flexing before he raised it suddenly and brought it down fast into the wooden frame at the foot of your bed. The thunk of the knife masking the gasp that had escaped you at the quick motion. Holy fuck that had scared you , Your arms were frozen half in the air as you stared down at the knife. Your skittish nature wouldn’t change anytime soon, you were positive of that, especially with who you decided to be with.
A low groan sounding through the room caused you to jump, hands quickly dropping onto the sheets. The groan seemed to rattle through his whole frame, raspy and long. The noise seemed to spur him into action, and he slowly began to make his way onto the bed. You wondered if the mattress was big enough for you both as you brought your arms back up to welcome him further. He let you slide them up his shoulders and onto his back, mindful not to go near the mask as he came closer. Even on his hands and knees his head was higher than you sitting up straight, You clutched a hand in his mechanic suit as he stopped above you, his face was inches from yours.
The closeness made your heart flutter as you looked over the mask, you could almost see the eyes behind it shining at you. You pulled your hands down to rest on his shoulders.
“Can I touch it? I won't take it off, i swear.” You desperately wanted to get closer, needed something to feel connected in a way. A semblance of a normal thing couples would do. If this was even considered a relationship. You wanted to look into his eyes, trace his features with the tips of your fingers, run your hand through his hair. Anything .
The question seemed to bring back that frozen statue that stood over your bed for a second, and you run your thumb over his shoulder in a comforting gesture. With a jerky nod in response you smiled up at him and brought your hands forward. You ran your fingers along where you knew his jaw was, the material pulling in to rest against his skin. This is what you needed,. something so intimate it felt embarrassing to ask. Something so horribly domestic you could ignore all the problems with this relationship and just believe it would work out. Slowly tracing up his ‘face’ made you feel calm deep in your soul. The mask was pretty well kept, all things considering. Michael was stock still the whole time you touched him except for the quiet breathes between you.
You traced over the eyes and eyebrows, fingers tapping lightly right under the eyes as you gave a breathy laugh. “ I see you.” You teased, his response a soft puff of air behind the mask.
You ran your hands through the masks hair once before deeming it too tangled and trailing your hands back down the face. You traced over the lips a few times before an idea popped into your head. I wonder if … The thought sat incomplete as you pulled your face forward impulsively and brushed your lips over the masked ones, eyes half lidded as you stared up into the burning abyss behind the mask. You couldn’t see his stare, but you for sure felt it. Feeling confident (you really shouldn't be) you lean forward again and trace his jaw with your lips. His breath faltering when you press a little harder, grip his jumper a little tighter.
One of his hands came up to grip your wrist, the forever present blue band under his thumb as he shifts against you. You pull back after what feels like an eternity, face flushed and feeling hot. God he hadn’t even touched you and you were already a mess. You wanted him here when you woke, you wanted to feel him around you when you sleep. Gah, you were like a little love sick school girl.
“Will you stay?” it came out a whisper into the quiet room, almost as if you were scared of someone hearing. He didn’t make a move to come down to the bed, but when you laid back and tugged him down he didn’t protest ether. He slowly fell onto his side next to you, keeping eye contact the entire time. You ran a hand over his cheek once more before wiggling your arm under his. Holding him around the waist as you rested your head against his chest.
This was nice.
Oh god this was so nice. You felt like you were going to implode. This was probably so much for him and you were so happy he let you get this close. In your giddy excitement you remembered something and pulled back. You locked eyes immediately upon pulling away.
“You haven't seen it yet!” You threw back the covers and grabbed his hand slowly leading it down to the inside of your thigh. You heard him suck in a breath as he looked down at the scabbed injury. The M kept its shape nicely during the healing process, and you laid his fingers lightly over it. “It’s still kinda tender, so not too hard.” He seemed transfixed, tilting his head back and forth at it. He gripped your knee after a second and bent your knee, watching the flesh move back and forth as he pulled your leg this way and that. You laughed, feeling so happy you felt drowsy. Or maybe that was because it was late? You immediately yawned when thinking about sleep. Michael turned towards you at the noise, stare quietly before putting your leg down and throwing the cover back over you. He settled on his side again, and you rested against him the same way you did the first time. Michaels hands never left his side, but you didn’t mind. This was already so much more than you could hope for. With a content sigh you smiled into his chest.
“Good night Michael.” His soft sigh enough to send you off into pleasant dreams.
I used to have a laptop that i could sit in bed with and just pound out chapters like no tomorrow, but now that i only have my desktop its different and i don't ever want to write on it lol i never really got why, maybe its the comfortability of sitting in bed? who knows. But anyways I've ran out of my pre written content for this story. So its gonna be a second before ill update again.
SHOULD I LINK MY TUMBLR? i feel like id just get bullied to write faster lmao plus that leather face story tho SKSKSK