Yeah.

yeah.

Boris Groh

I think monsterfucking is about vulnerability. When you think about it

this is my comfort character, he makes me happy *points to the most mentally ill dude ever*

Michael Myers/trans male reader: Wall fucking (1.6k)

MINORS DNI!

You hadn’t even realized he was in the house when he pounces on you. You’re walking down the hall toward your room, and suddenly big, rough hands are against you, pressing you up against the wall. Michael stands in his full, bloody glory, tracking mud and god knows what else on your floors. You don't have time to complain to him before he’s yanking up his mask until you can see his lips and nose and pulling you into a bruising kiss. He’s already hard, probably has been since he killed some poor innocent person out too late at night. You try to feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel anything except ecstatic when he’s rutting against you like this. 

You moan into his lips as he grinds forward harshly, already feeling yourself growing slick. He swallows your noises easily, biting your lip and pulling, making you lean forward to follow him. Michael’s tongue thrusts past your lips, hungry, and twines with yours. He tastes faintly coppery, you don't want to know why. When he draws back, you’re connected by a line of spit. You can’t see his eyes with the mask obscuring them, and you wonder if you can get away with it this time. Maybe he’ll let you… 

Before he can grab your hands, you reach up and tear the mask off his face, dropping it to the ground. For the first time, you see him in the flesh, and not the picture that’s been repeated on the news. He’s handsome, even with the scar marring his eye, rendering it sightless. When he was younger he must have been gorgeous. He’s still attractive, and right now he’s frowning harshly at you for the presumption. His hand closes around your neck, threatening to lift you off the ground, but it doesn’t quite cut off your airway. If he was really mad, he’d have killed you by now. He probably knew what you were going to do before you did. He always seemed to be one step ahead of you. 

His frown lines settle back into a neutral expression. For some reason, you thought that he’d be expressive under the mask, like he was hiding something by wearing it. Instead, it looks like he’s wearing another mask, a mask of his face. “Thank you,” you tell him, your hands cupping his face. He’s warm, like any other human, but you know that he isn’t like any other human. He leans forward, expecting another kiss, but you surprise him by peppering his face with kisses instead, his hand still on your neck, but more as a weight than to stop you from moving. His eyes go half-lidded, the barest hint of something soft entering his eyes as you kiss his cheeks, feathering your lips on the soft skin below his eyes. You’re drawn back to his lips, and you kiss him again. Michael seems to unfreeze after that, and goes back to pressing you against the wall, mouth rough and demanding against yours. One of his hands comes up to grasp at your hair, yanking it back with enough force that you yelp, but then his lips and teeth are on your neck, biting and sucking marks into the tender flesh. 

One of your hands cups his head, the other undoing the zip on his coveralls. You drag it down, revealing pale, toned flesh, surprisingly untouched by age. He’s strong and firm under your hands. You reach into his boxers and stroke along the length of his cock, moaning as his stubble scratches against your neck. It’s sure to leave your sensitive skin with beard burn, but it feels so good against you. He bites down hard on the juncture of your shoulder and neck when you stroke him, fingers struggling to close around the girth of his dick. It stings, but it’s probably not deep enough to draw blood. You push him back and he goes easily enough. You look at his cock in your hand, intimidatingly large, and drop to your knees. The hardwood floor is uncomfortable and you wish you had a pillow, but you’re not interrupting this to go grab one. 

You’re at eye level with his dick now, staring at the tip where precum has started to bead. It isn’t the first time you’ve done this, but it never gets less scary. He’s long and thick, fitting of a man of his size and stature, and you lean forward to press a kiss to the head, staring up at him. He’s looking down at you, stoic except for the furrow of his brows. You hope that means he likes it. Leaning forward, you take the head into your mouth, your tongue teasing his glans, licking up salty, bitter precum. He tastes like skin and musk and sweat, surprisingly intoxicating, and you moan, slip him deeper until his tip bumps the back of your throat. It threatens to make you gag, but you fight it off, tears beading in your eyes as one of Michael’s hands lands in your hair and tugs on the strands. You can’t tell if he wants to go deeper or not, so you take a deep breath through your nose and swallow him down. You can’t quite get all of him, so your hand makes up for what your mouth can’t take, sliding along his shaft that’s now slick with spit. 

Your other hand cups his balls, rolling and massaging them as you bob your head along the length of his cock. His hand in your hair tightens, anchoring. You moan, thighs rubbing together. Your jaw aches, but you ignore it in favor of pulling off for a second to feather kisses along his shaft, trying to give him your best seductive look. It must work because he tugs you by your hair until you’re standing again as he pins you to the wall with a bruising kiss. His hands are hot on you, not bothering with your shirt in favor of going straight to your pants, popping the button and yanking them down your legs so roughly that it stings where the denim has dragged against your legs. You hurriedly step out of them, shucking off your boxers before he decides to rip them off you. His hand is between your legs in a heartbeat, fingers sliding over your dick, aching for his attention, running through your slick folds. Two fingers enter you with little resistance, slipping in and stretching you out the barest amount. Michael’s never been good at foreplay, but you’re looking forward to the main event too. 

When his fingers leave you, you can’t help a moan of frustration, but then his hands are on the backs of your thighs and he’s lifting you straight off the ground. You brace against the wall, legs shooting to wrap around his waist. He supports you easily, and you marvel at how strong he is, holding you steady without even a shake in his arms. His cock slides up the apex of your thighs, bumps your dick at this angle, and you rut against him for a second, pleasure sparking behind your eyes. The head of his cock slips past your entrance, misses, and you reach down to grasp him, lining him up. This time, when he ruts forward, he slides deep in you, and you groan at the stretch. It burns in the best way, an ache starting up deep inside you where he’s buried. He grunts, quietly, and buries his face in your neck, biting the flesh there until you’re sure you’ll have an imprint of his teeth there in the morning.

He fucks into you harshly, panting into your neck while your back bangs against the wall. “Fuck, Michael,” you whisper, turning your head to press a kiss to the side of his face, “kiss me.” He obliges you, leaning up to bite your lip, tongue fucking you at the same pace his cock was. His beard scratches at your face, rough and delicious, and he thrusts into you like he’s an animal. Every once and a while, grunts and growls escape him, and you clench down hard at the noises, so rare from him. He must have been desperate tonight, to be so noisy for you. His hands press bruises into the backs of your thighs and hips where he’s holding you up and you kind of can’t wait to see the imprint of his fingers in the mirror the next morning. You bite his lip, dragging it between your teeth, before surging forward, tasting stale blood and the unique flavor of his mouth. Your hand comes down to rub tight circles around your throbbing dick and you moan helplessly as you send yourself over the edge. 

You clamp down on his cock like a vise, legs shaking where they’re wrapped around the broad span of his hips. He gasps, the noise cut off, and his rutting hips lose their rhythm, fucking into you brutally as he chases his own climax. He hits it not a minute later, teeth clamping down on your neck so hard they break skin, but you’re hardly in the headspace to be concerned about it, moaning and riding out your orgasm as he cums inside you. 

When he sets you down on your feet, your legs collapse and you fall to your knees in front of him again. He looms over you, cock softening and wet with your combined release. “Welcome home, Michael,” you tell him, shaking, as you lift a hand to your bloodied neck. He looks down at you, blood in his scruffy beard, and you think you see the barest hint of a smile.

Halloween Ends, 2022

James Jude Courtney