#Behind the Hockey Mask

[starlightshadowsworld]

Behind the Hockey Mask

Casey: I'm not here to make friends.

Also Casey:

Is absolutely crushed when April gets hurt and blames himself.

Bonds with Donnie over watching Space Heroes with their siblings.

Begrudgingly obeys Leo's orders and muses on how similar older brother mutants are to older brother humans.

Knew Raph for like 5 minutes and saved him from getting hit by a train.

... Yeah don't think so Jones.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Yuuup

Like when April is conflicted and wants to stay with her mum.

Casey is crushed about her leaving but encourages her, wants the best for her.

When they first meet Casey is the one who consoles her about the turtles, without even knowing them.

Reminding her not everything is in her control, tells a personal story and helps her rekindle her friendship with the others.

In Behind the Hockey Mask it's so important to me to show how close they are.

Casey doesn't care about mutants, but he stays to fight the foot invading the lair because they are April's friends and to keep her safe.

He's so proud of her skills and they are each others best friend.

Casey and april appreciation time!

What I like about these two is

Take away the romance bulls••t and they’re legitimately good friends.

Like I totally believe if Casey didn’t immediately start hitting on her when they met or if he didn’t have a crush on her or even was more subtle about his crush, april would go to him about how to handle her dynamic with Donnie.

Like if there’s any dynamic that got screwed over by the love triangle, it’s this one.

I really love these two and wish they were given more appreciation by the fandom, both as individuals and as partners.

[larsnicklas]

they're in a silly goofy mood, your honor

[kitnita]

otter getting ready for overtime — DAL vs VGK — 10.17.23

[principiumindividuationis777]

[pocoslip]

I like to see Archie Raph and Casey Jones in Shredder's Revenge fighting and using their Wrestling Moves on the Enemies Together

(Now I know why Raph makes some Wrestlin Moves in TMNT Shredder's Revenge and Out of the Shadows the Game after I learn about his Black Suit)

[heavyedit]

got a part time job offer 👍

works with my existing work schedule well (pretty much only have to work sundays) 👍

it’s the football stadium where i’d have to work football games 😐

[ellecdc]

Baby…my love…my obsession. While you’re working hockey!marauders I would die for enforcer!sirius black. Even just a little blurb 😌😌😌

I will never say no to a hockey au, I won't lie.

hockey player!Sirius Black x team medic!reader who is not at all pleased with Sirius' theatrics /sarcasm [859 words]

CW: gn!reader, hockey fight, swearing, blood, flirting/banter

Sirius was on his feet before Krum even hit the ice, and he was shouting (and cursing) by the time Krum looked towards the referee as if saying ‘did you not see that?’ as he fixed his goalie mask and reached for the stick that was knocked clean out of his hands.

“Fucking interference! That was interference!” 

“I know Black, I saw it too.” Coach grumbled from behind him; sounding far calmer than his most violent defenceman though he was staring daggers at the linesman currently skating away from his goalie that was just slammed into in his own crease. 

“Let me out.” Sirius barked as he kept his eye on the player - number seven - who dared to touch his goalie. “Come on! Let me out!” 

“Wait your turn, Black.” Coach barked back as the play continued. 

Fenwick raised his glove requesting to switch as Dearborn followed him toward the bench. 

“Alright, Black & Potter, you’re on.”

Sirius had hardly waited for Fenwick to make it to the bench before he was clearing the boards, hearing James’ skates seconds behind him as they moved towards the play.

Sirius hardly spared the puck a second glance as he made it to the other end of the rink, dropped his gloves and launched himself at the fucker who had checked his goalie moments before. 

He had the bastard's jersey tight in his fist as he swung his other into the side of his face. He’d landed one good punch before the Slytherin player clued into what was happening and then it was fair game. 

Sirius could hear the whistle of the referees as other players paired off with one another to keep them from joining the tussle. It was a riot of noise from the crowd as bells and horns sounded and fans banged on the glass lining the boards as Sirius and his opponent focused both on staying upright in their skates and knocking the other over simultaneously. 

Sirius’ helmet fell off with an elbow to his mouth that left his eyes watering, but he quickly had number seven in a headlock as the player fell back, Sirius landing on top of him and landing one more hit before the refs were pulling them off of each other. 

Sirius got two minutes for roughing, but so did number seven, so he felt it was rather worth it as he used one of the gatorade branded towels to clean the blood from his lips in the penalty box. 

His fight seemed to inspire a goal from his team, so he then felt it was very much worth it when the two minutes were up and he left the box to go back to the bench.

“Did ya like my fight, doc?” He asked you breathlessly as if he hadn’t just been sitting in a glorified time-out for the last 120 seconds; his wide, beaming smile only serving to further split his lip as his teeth started to taste like iron.

“For fucks sake, Black.” You muttered as you pulled out an alcohol wipe and dabbed at the cut on his lip; Sirius couldn’t even find it in him to wince at the sting of the alcohol when you were cradling his jaw with your free hand as though you were handling a baby bird; gentle, tentative, loving.

Maybe he was making that last one up, but he felt emboldened by the ghost of a smirk gracing your lips. 

“Always making more work for you, eh doc?” Remus teased from behind you; you rolled your eyes but didn’t bother gracing Remus with an answer as you leaned behind you to grab something.

“Maybe I just wanted you to kiss it better, yeah?” He asked when you turned back towards him. You seemed startled at first; not in a negative way, but rather like you hadn’t expected Sirius Black to be loudly and brazenly flirting with you. You schooled your expression quickly, however, when you narrowed your eyes at him playfully and slapped an ice pack in his glove-free hand.

“Ice it, Black.” You ordered.

“Good idea, gorgeous.” Sirius agreed as he did what was told, turning back towards the game. “Wanna make sure my lips are perfect for our first kiss.”

“Wait, don’t ice it! Some people pay big money for lips like that, Black!” Wood called from further down the bench. 

Sirius pretended to consider it as he squinted his eyes at you, watching as you worked particularly hard to not return his gaze. “No, no. If I ice it now, I’ll be in tip top shape for kissing after the game.” 

“You’re unbelievable.” You muttered as you watched Caradoc nearly toss a Slytherin player onto the Gryffindor bench, your tongue in your cheek as you tried not to smile at Sirius. 

“Thank you!” He accepted readily as the whistle blew - the lines were about to change.

“Try not to get into any more scraps, yeah?” You called to Sirius as he dropped the ice pack into your awaiting hand and lunged over the bench.

“For you, doc?” Sirius volleyed with a cheeky smirk as he skated backwards toward the face off. “Anything.”

[uolarieclosed]

yang jungwon ☆ ! only about love

━━━ in which mr player decides to settle down with his one and only …

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who is the biggest player on the team, finding joy in messing with other people’s feelings for his own pleasure.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who became a player after you—the team’s manager rejected him.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who flirts with girls in front of you and gives them his number to see your reaction; but sulks when you don’t say anything.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who pretends to injure himself so you can be concerned for him.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who writes your name on his hockey stick before taping it up, knowing you’re on the ice with him every game.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who gets jealous when a player from another team tried asking for your number.

“don’t ever speak to my girlfriend again.” jungwon spits through his mask, allowing himself to be dragged away by the refs.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who waits with you while you fill out forms for the uniforms, equipment, next games etc so he can walk you home.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who sits with you on the bus to an away game. he brings snacks and earbuds to share on the ride.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who chooses a jersey number after your favorite number.

“why’d you choose 77?” you ask while giving him a new jersey, knowing his old number was 04. “i overheard you telling coach that your favorite number is 77.” he shrugs, grabbing his jersey.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who goes all out for his next confession, telling himself that this will be the last one if you reject him again.

“i know it may not seem like i’m serious about you but i am.” jungwon suddenly blurts out as you’re locking up the ice rink. he wanted to wait until he dropped you off at home, but it was eating him inside—and it was eating you up inside that you couldn’t hide your feelings anymore.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who blows you a kiss before every game, his smile evident even behind his mask.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who teaches you how to play hockey—his hands are around your waist as he steadies you. it was just you and him in the quiet ice rink spending time together.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who is upset about losing his game and finds solace in you. especially when you encourage him for his next.

“it was just one game, you’ll do better next time, hm?” you rub jungwon’s back, knowing he was pouting the whole time. jungwon nuzzles further into the crook of your neck, muttering a small ‘okay’.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who feigns an emergency in the locker room. in reality he just wants to see you before he has to play.

“you’re not slick jungwon,” you glare at him, crossing your arms. he’s currently shirtless, asking you to massage his shoulders because he’s tense. “if you don’t do it now i won’t play.” he pulls you into him, smirking.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who hates arguments, especially when they’re about his past relationships/flings.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who refuses to play when you’re mad at him. he won’t even change into his uniform, he remains seated next to you pleading for you to talk to him.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who locks you both in the storage room until you forgive him, which you last a lot longer than he thought you would—even his puppy dog eyes don’t work.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who comes to the terms that you’re not forgiving him, so he leaves you alone (which are the worst days of his life).

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who is in the worst mood ever everyday that he comes to practice.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who is extracted from the game because he took his anger out on the opposing team, giving him multiple penalties.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who completely breaks down in front of his friends, annoyed at your stubbornness and afraid that you’ll leave him.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who comes into your room late at night with tears staining his cheeks and with the effort of mending things.

“you’re the only one for me, you know that baby.” he gets on his knees practically begging you. “i never intended to hurt you,” his hands are gripping your thighs, eager to have you back.

HOCKEY PLAYER JUNGWON who wasn’t much of a player in the first place, he just wanted the girl he already had (you were playing hard to get).

© 2024 uolarie

[cece693]

Social Recluse (Jason Voorhees x M! Reader)

Just something that came to mind. Short.

Summary: Even if you accepted Jason and his 'hobby', he understood you didn't like interacting with people. Staying hidden in your cabin, luck isn't on your side when a camp counselor stumbles inside.

tags: the reader doesn't like people, comforting Jason, you get injured (small), short work

Jason was off doing his usual thing—taking care of the camp counselors—while you kept to yourself in the cabin, avoiding the social chaos that always made you uncomfortable. Suddenly, the door burst open, and a bloodied figure stumbled inside, immediately setting you on edge. You retreated into the shadows, watching as the girl frantically searched for something, likely a weapon, before flicking on the lights.

"Ahh!" she screamed, but her panic quickly shifted to relief. "Thank God you're not that freak!"

A frown crossed your face. How dare she insult your lover?

You remained silent, your eyes tracking the girl's every move as she nervously paced around the cabin. She tried to engage you, her voice trembling with fear. "Hey, are you okay? Did he…did he hurt you? Oh God, did he cut out your tongue or something?"

Her words barely registered. You didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. The quiet unease of the situation settled around you like a second skin. She probably assumed you were just another of Jason's victims, traumatized and mute, which suited you fine. You had no intention of correcting her.

Suddenly, the door crashed again, and he was there—Jason. Massive, imposing, and silent as ever. His machete gleamed under the dim cabin light, still slick with blood. Her wide, terrified eyes darted toward you, and in her desperation, she lunged, grabbing your arm. The sudden contact made you flinch, recoiling instinctively. You hated being touched, especially by strangers, but she didn’t notice—too consumed by her own fear.

"Come on! We have to get out of here!" she cried, her grip tight as she dragged you toward the door, pulling you along in her misguided attempt to save you both.

But you didn't want to run. You didn’t need saving.

Jason’s heavy footsteps echoed behind you, and you could feel him gaining on the two of you. The girl’s breath came in panicked gasps as she pushed forward, desperately trying to escape. Then, it happened. Jason struck, and the girl screamed as she fell, the force of her collapse sending you tumbling to the ground alongside her.

You hit the floor hard, your knee scraping against the rough wooden planks. A sharp sting shot up your leg as blood oozed from the wound. You winced but remained silent, even as the pain radiated through you.

Jason’s shadow loomed over the girl, and it only took one swift motion to end her cries. Her body slumped to the ground, lifeless. The cabin fell into a sudden, oppressive silence, broken only by the faint sound of your own labored breathing.

Jason turned toward you, his expression unreadable behind that familiar hockey mask, but his actions were anything but threatening. He crouched beside you, his presence calming rather than terrifying. His gaze fell on your bloody knee, and without hesitation, he sheathed his weapon and gently reached out. His large hand carefully touched the area around the wound, touch surprisingly soft, as if afraid of hurting you further.

You remained still, watching him work in silence. There was no fear, no hesitation in your mind. Jason was dangerous, yes, but never to you. He seemed to sense your discomfort with the blood, with the girl’s corpse still nearby, and he positioned himself between you and the body, shielding you from the sight.

With the worst of the blood wiped away, Jason helped you to your feet, his grip steady, never forceful. He lingered close, a silent protector, knowing exactly how much interaction you could handle without feeling overwhelmed. "Thank you." You murmured, leaning your head against his chest. You only received a grunt before closing your eyes and falling asleep. Social interactions always took a large toll on you.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Behind the Hockey Mask

Casey being legitimately terrified that the fungus took out Raph.

Of course he knows the rest of the turtles are strong, but Caseys only ever fought Raph.

And he knows that if Raph wasn't holding back and wasn't a good person, he could have killed him.

So just the idea this thing took out Raph, genuinely freaks him out.

[skeltnwrites]

happy friday the 13th lovelies! i have a similar friday the 13th themed steve drabble i'll try and finish tomorrow 0.5k words

“I think my tattoo is cursed,” Eddie grumbles from the kitchen table behind you. 

“I told you that place was sketch, Eds.”

“I made sure everything was clean! It was a good deal,” he whines like a child might– in this mumbly sort of way that he only does when he knows he fucked up but wants your consolation. 

You turn, abandoning the pot on the stove to lean against his chair. Eddie pokes at his wrist where pale skin has darkened into an angry shade of red. 

The tattoo was not your favorite choice to begin with. Jason’s hockey mask from Friday The Thirteenth– A random Halloween-themed, half-price piece of flash from a gumball machine. It’s slotted between the bats and the crease in his elbow, clunky and clashing art styles with his other ink. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, Eddie doesn’t even like the movie, he was just too embarrassed to chicken out once he pulled the piece of paper out of the machine. 

“Does it hurt?” 

He shrugs, “A little. Mostly just… like tingly, I guess?” 

“Itchy?”

“No, not itchy. Just feels weird– different than usual.” 

You tug his arm up to eye level. The ink twists and swells along some lines, as if a funhouse mirror has warped the image, distorting it into something you probably wouldn’t recognize if you didn’t already know what it was. 

“Probably infected, babe.” 

He reels his arm back in and deflates with a sigh. 

“Eddie, don’t– don’t pick at it,” you swat his fingers away before they can reach. “The ink won’t heal properly.” 

“It already isn’t healing properly,” he pouts, a weak glare attached. You cock your head, dissecting his expression, but his irritation softens into something else. Eddie presses his forehead into the meat of your upper arm. “I should’ve listened to you.”

You card through the knots in his hair, biting back an I told you so. 

“You can always get it covered up. Maybe it was just a different type of ink or something? An allergy.” 

“No, you were right about that guy. He was strange; gave me the heebie-jeebies as soon as we walked in. I think he did some fucked up, witchy voodoo magic shit on me.”

“Oh?” 

“He was all quiet and pale, like sickly pale– and his hands were fuckin’ freezing. Maybe he was a ghost?”

“Wouldn’t be the craziest shit we’ve seen,” the corners of your lips rise as you loop a curl around your finger. 

“Or Gandalf? With that beard. That’s what I thought when we walked in– I mean, if Gandalf was a tattoo artist, I’m pretty sure that’s what he’d look like,” he chuckles. 

You snort, because you thought the exact same thing, which has Eddie laughing twice as hard. And you can’t find the time to be embarrassed when your favorite pair of eyes are creased with glee and beam at you with more love than you can carry. 

When he settles, you hum. “So we’ve narrowed it down to a witch, a ghost, or Gandalf?” 

“Yeah, what do you think?” 

You hunch over the chair, angling his chin towards yours. “I think a kiss might break the curse.”

“Oh yeah? Like sleeping beauty?” 

“Exactly,” you whisper before pressing a slow kiss to his lips.

[lindsay00000008]

Ghost x Fem!Reader

Part 1 (Next)

CW: panty-thief, suggestive fluff

DownBad!Simon Ghost Riley who just loves handling the frustrating, mundane, mildly-anxiety-inducing issues in JustAFriend!Reader’s life.

For a man who’s been through… everything, nothing phases him. Not the phone call to pressure your old landlord into giving you back your deposit, not the broken dryer and the giant pile of wet laundry that needs to be hung in increasingly ridiculous locations, not the stray cat birthing a mewling litter on your doorstep in the middle of winter, or the neighborhood’s package thief stealing your delivery of what may be something electric and flower-shaped.

If you didn’t know any better (you don’t), you’d say he gets a kick out of it, how easily he handled these things compared to you. His take-no-bullshit demeanor, coupled with the respect afforded to those who earn it, smooths things over fairly quickly with difficult people.

He’s handy and likes taking things apart — he’s sure you won’t miss the dusty lace panties he finds slipped under the dryer’s barrel when he bullies the metal frame open (they were your favorite, where on earth did they go??)

When the kittens are a few weeks old and Simon comes to visit with more supplies, they snuggle up under his chin as he slumps on the rug, the furious blush from your earlier teasing (“Daddy’s home!”) warming him from his cheeks to his toes and making him the most cozy spot in the room. He waves off the offer of a hot drink and tells you to “Open a window or sumin’, the lil’ bastards are smotherin’ me”.

When he catches the package thief red-handed on his way up to your door — a fourty-something woman who talks at him louder and meaner than anyone has in a long while — he gives his best impression of a bull at the edge of an unmarked field, making his territory known with a wild look rather than words. When he sets the package down on the kitchen counter, along with the ingredients for tonight’s Thursday Dinner Experiment, he prompts you to open it. “Wanna see what my hard work has earned ya.”

You slice the tape and pop open the cardboard before you remember — and slam the flaps back down. That has his attention. “Whatcha got there, lovie?” He crowds in behind you, looking over your shoulder and grinning, lopsided so you can only see the smirk on the left of his mouth when you turn your head to stammer, “uhh n-nothing, just this stupid book someone recommended me. Can’t let the gang know I fuck with hockey romance, haha.”

“Hockey, huh?” He huffs and leans his elbow on the counter, half of his body still behind you somehow. You pull the box close to your chest, hands shifting to best keep it closed.

“Lemme just take this to my room and we can start making-“

“You’d deprive a man of valuable literary experience?”

“No, nuh-uh,” you dance away as he grabs for it teasingly, fast enough to make you panic but not too fast you can’t get away. A play fight. Your pulse thrums fast in your chest, like it always does when he gets that calculating glint in his eye. It’s thrilling, the way his shoulders shift and settle low, and his touch comes gentle and fast, his face a terrifying mask with that piercing glint of playfulness just barely hidden. You usually love this game. But he cannot see this.

His hand rushes towards you as you skirt backwards into the living room, his fingers tangling in the tape hanging from the box. It tears away and you shriek a laugh at his efforts, leaving him with nothing but another opening as you twist to run to your room. But you don’t count on another opponent entering the ring: the rug — trundled up the stairs by the man himself, the previous one sacrificed to the God of Foster Cats — still new and curling at the edge.

He must not expect it either. Before you’ve fully turned you’re falling into the couch, catching his arm in a bid to save yourself. He goes down too, landing atop you. Your “Oomph”s mingle together in the suddenly still air. His big body makes it impossible to breathe until he lifts up on his arms and takes stock of the situation. He eyes snag on the box where it’s fallen, the shiny inner box and red packing grass spilled out on the rug. You attempt to wriggle out before he sees. Your legs are firmly pinned between his own. You wait for him to laugh.

“Well that,” he breathes, not a giggle in sight. He settles his eyes on you with a look of hot reproach. “That is not a book.”

He hopes it’s broken. That’s a problem of yours he’d love to have a hand in solving.

(Next)

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 26 - seduction

price x f!reader | 1.4k words cw: alcohol, flirting, bad pick up lines, Mr. Blobby, the cowboy hat rule a/n: liberties? taken. smut? look elsewhere. a silly time. my type of seduction. summary: john never saw the appeal of halloween. then he met you. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

What John would do for the quiet of his room.

There’s another hour to go. Another hour of shit beer, stilted conversation, and sweating more profusely than when he was last in Urzikstan.

Heaving a sigh, John pours the dregs of his drink onto the ground, pulls the mask over his face, and returns indoors to the Twilight Zone: Gaz and Soap’s Halloween party.

“Looking goood Michael,” a nun with a crooked habit croons, looking over the shoulder of a familiar mohawked head, its face buried in her neck. “Y’wanna take the other side?” 

Beneath the mask, his nose wrinkles. Handy thing about Myers, his silence. He doesn’t feel a lick of guilt ignoring chatter.

He nearly collides with Simon around the bend. The big man leans against the wall, arms crossed, the distressingly realistic machete clutched in a mitt. His head angled toward where John just passed.

“Are you…?”

From behind the shadow of the hockey mask, Simon huffs. “Yes, sir.”

“Right. Behave.” A chuckle follows him around another corner. 

In the main thoroughfare of Kyle’s home, John hugs the walls. His other sergeant is occupied on the makeshift dance floor, four bodies deep on every side. The younger man’s got a nurse in the front and a Beetlejuice in the back. Ambitious.

He pushes toward the kitchen, stopping short at the sound of cheering. A sigh rattles out from his chest. He swore he’d stay until one. Gave his word. But pulling an Irish goodbye grows all the more enticing. With the men thoroughly distracted, it’s not as if they’d notice his departure.

“You look like you could use a drink, Mike.” A voice chirps in passing, coming from the rear.

His head swivels and his breath catches. Pretty. A feast for the eyes disguised as a cowgirl. A cow print shirt with nacre buttons tied loose in the front, exposing ample skin above and a sliver below. A bandana knotted at her throat. Deep brown leather chaps worn over jeans with a big buckle. Topping it all off is a cowboy hat, tilted slightly, casting a shadow over the top half of her face.

“Gruesome work by the way. The IV bag? Brutal.” She grins, walking right on by.

Her outfit has no lasso, but John feels her tug anyway.

It’s chaos in the matchbox-sized kitchen. A group of men egg on a lobster necking a boot, whose face matches the shade of his costume. A man’s slotted between the legs of a woman perched on the counter, their faces melded together by spit. He locks eyes with the lone ranger as she hip-bumps the refrigerator shut, two longnecks in hand, before she slips through another archway.

He follows.

She winds through a cluster of people, not once glancing back to see if he’s behind her. Works for him. Her jeans hug her arse perfectly, the chaps creating the perfect frame for its lovely shape. A more animal part of him disconnects, wandering off to imagine her with only the leather on. He swallows a pool of saliva as he crosses over into the sitting room. He finds her hovering beside a bookcase. He closes the distance and yanks off the mask.

“Beer?”

His eyes fall to her hands. “Yeah, let me–”

“I got it. Hold this.” She relinquishes a beer then fixes the other bottle to her belt buckle. With a metallic clink, the crown finds a groove, and the cap pops off with a twist of her wrist. Her free hand snaps out to catch it before it falls, but John doesn’t look away from her waistline. Without a word, she exchanges the bottles and repeats herself. A small, triumphant smile breaks across her face. “There.” An introduction rolls off her tongue as she taps their beers together.

Christ.

“Thanks.” The back of his neck is damp, as is his hair, something he didn’t think to mind until now. Sheepish under her obviously appraising gaze, he rakes a hand through his mussed hair in an attempt to tame it. His eyes dip briefly to her belt again, stuck on the patch of skin below her navel. Looks like a nice, soft spot for a kiss. His name sticks to the roof of his mouth briefly. “I’m John.”

“John.” she echoes. Best he’s ever heard his name sound. “Well, John, you’re welcome for the beer and for doing you a favor.”

The wry smile on her face is infectious. His mouth twitches. “And what favor is that?”

Her lips shine from a sip. “You were gonna bolt and miss out on the show.”

“The show.” He repeats, squinting. “How did you…?”

“I’ve pulled enough French exits to see the signs. With or without that mask,” she points to his face. “You radiate I don’t want to be here energy. As for the show, everyone knows the best shit goes down after midnight. Especially on Halloween.”

 Doubtful. Yet, who is he to refuse such company?

“I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

“Most people are open books without realizing it.” A smirk forms on her face, her voice light but pointedly cheeky. “You know, I read palms, too.”

It’s a bit. John plays into it, returning the expression. “Yeah? You want to try mine?” 

She swallows a drink and sets the bottle on a shelf, gesturing for him to give her a hand.

He chuckles, obliging her. 

With a waggle of her brow, she steps closer and turns his palm up, immediately inspecting it as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. She’s silent the first few moments, and though the party buzzes around them, he’s glued to the feigned expression of severity. Focused on the soft pressure of her fingers gliding across his skin, tracing its lines and the calluses.

“Hmm.” she hums knowingly, tapping one juncture of lines. “Your career line. Says you’re doing well, that you’re on an upward trend. Similar story for your travel bug line,” she recites the platitudes for several minutes, eyes flicking up to meet his as she goes. She’s gorgeous, better up close, and funny. She effortlessly riffs off his comments, cracking the both of them up over her more far-fetched predictions. Admittedly, the plunge of her tied shirt tempts his focus once or a dozen times.

A playful lilt teases the edge of her words. “We can’t forget your heart line, John.”

“Can’t imagine it’s very interesting.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Something impish glints in her eyes. “In fact, I see an encounter or two in your future.”

The air goes thin—charged, electric, each syllable dangling like a worm on a hook. “Is that so.” he angles closer, fingers slowly closing to catch hers. “These ‘encounters’…Anything you can tell me about them?”

She abruptly flattens his fingers again, smoothing over his palm without looking down. “Something about taking a cowgirl home to put her in cow—What the fuck?” Her eyes break away, widening in a mixture of disgust and disbelief.

He turns just in time to see a Mr. Blobby barge into the room, purposefully trip, and fall down onto a coffee table. The wood cracks and splinters beneath the monstrosity’s weight, while whatever psychopath inside the costume does his best impression of the creature’s demonic voice. There’s an accent to it. Vaguely familiar, but ultimately unplaceable.

Gaz appears in the doorway, Beetlejuice face paint smeared on his cheek. His mouth hangs open, then shuts in a snarl. “What the fuck—”

John swears, his hand slipping free, and abandons what might’ve been the ride of his life to interject.

It takes some doing to wrangle the diseased yam outdoors, with Simon and Soap hauling it by each of its arms. John lingers in the doorway, watching the pitiful man be dragged off by his lieutenant and cursing sergeant. The latter’s sore about missing the good word from his girl in the veil. Somewhere in the house, Gaz plays the aggrieved host, surely seeking the comfort of his nurse. A dejected Beetlejuice tosses one back in a corner.

John slowly oscillates through the rooms in a loop, his expression carefully neutral, but his eyes dart past every shoulder and over each head, searching. He returns to where he left her, but the cowgirl’s nowhere in sight. Probably left with the small group scared off by the disturbance. His hand twitches at his side, feeling the ghost of her fingertips. 

A slight weight touches his head as he turns to finally make for the exit himself. He catches his surprised look in a mirror on the wall, then the cowboy hat on his head.

And her sly grin poking over his shoulder.

“You still interested in a roll in the hay, or did I misread that?”

[oneforthemunny]

break the ice |hockey!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: a scheduling mishap leads you and eddie to meet. or how you and hockey!eddie's story begins lol.

contains: eddie au. fluff. that's it. happy one year!

The hiss of the puck gliding over the ice, skittering into the goal, skates whizzing to a stop. It was comforting to Eddie. He’d never really known what people meant when they’d say “get in the zone” growing up, until he started playing again, playing for real this time. It was easy to focus on the sounds, silence your brain by tricking it to listen to the claps of the stick on the ice, the pop of the puck soaring, the- 

“Skidamarink a dink, a dink. Skidamarink a doo.” 

A clean miss, startled by the sudden blaring of music from behind him. Skates wobbling, knees locking into place. Eddie turned, squinting towards the other end of the rink. 

“Hey, hey!” Eddie skated, shouting over the music- horrendous at that, what was this song? 

“Excuse me,” You looked up, adjusting the volume on your boom box. “Hey, uh, sorry this is a closed practice.” Eddie skated to you, hockey stick waving exaggeratedly behind him. 

“Yeah it is.” You nodded, head tilting to the side slightly. “Are you… here to drop off?” 

“What? No, no, I-” Eddie paused, brows furrowed at you lightly. “I- this is my practice.” 

“Your practice?” You repeated, pointing at the ice below you. 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re here for the Snowflakes?” 

“No, I play for-” Eddie shakes his head, hand running over his face. “Snowflakes? What-” 

“-The three to four year old class?” You press, brow raised, face contorted in what Eddie could only assume was your best judgment masking, though by the scrunch in your nose, it wasn’t working very well. “For ice skating lessons?” 

“Lessons? Sweetheart, c’mon, does it look like I need lessons?” Eddie grins, smug and sweet. His heart skips when you bite back a smile, lips twitching. “I’m- I rent out the time to practice.” 

“Oh,” You frown slightly. “I, uh, I did too.” 

“You know what, let me- let me just go ask Max.” Eddie flashes you a dazzling smile. “I’ll get it sorted out.” 

“You’re both right.” Max droned behind the desk, flipping through a magazine lazily. “Both of you have the slot for today.”

“What? Why-Why would Bobby book up both spots?” Eddie frowned. “That makes no fuckin’ sense. I’m here every Thursday-” 

Max huffed, snatching the scheduling paper off the back wall, slapping it on the desk. “Eddie Munson. Five to six-thirty. Left.” Her blue eyes raised in boredom. “That means, you’re on the left side.” 

“Left? This is- That’s fuckin’ ridiculous, Max, c’mon-” 

“-It’s Bobby.” Max rolled her eyes. “He’s trying to double book, make more money during the dead season. I don’t know what to tell you.” 

“So I have to practice with a bunch of fuckin’ kids running around?” Eddie huffs. “How the hell am I gonna do that? Huh? Do you hear the shit they’re playing in there?” Eddie throws a hand out towards the rink. “I’m already about to lose my mind.” 

“So get some ear plugs, Eddie, I don’t know.” Max huffed, throwing her hands up. “You know I can’t refund you, so either leave, or suck it up. I honestly don’t care, Munson, up to you.” 

Eddie’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek, rolling furiously. Bunch of kids skating all around him, screaming and shit, he’d never get anything done. 

Still, Eddie’s eyes wandered back to you. In your matching tracksuit, a powdery blue that seemed to shine even under the fluorescents of the rink. He supposed there could be worse people to share the ice with. He faced Tommy Raider again next season, and he’d rather be with a bunch of screaming toddlers anyday over him anyday. 

Besides, the kids weren’t so bad. The occasional screech or laughter when you’d have them do something silly. It was cute, honestly, Eddie decided, seeing these little kids wobble around on skates while you cooed enthusiastically at them. 

“Ok, my little flurries,” You grinned, cheeks aching from the amount of feigned enthusiasm you had to muster. “Next week we’re going to really work on our glide.” You pushed off dramatically, soaring a few spaces then stopping. 

It was so exaggerated, over the top and made the kids giggle; Eddie was sure he was in love. 

“So be sure to be practicing holding your arms way, way out!” You extended your arms, beaming at the few who mimicked you. “And I’ll see you all next week!” 

Eddie had spent the majority of the time practicing what he’d say to you, how he’d ask you out. A classic chat up line always worked at the bar, always helped him score. Still, his knees wobbled, tight and a little unsure as he skated over to you. 

You were waving goodbye to a student, stepping off to the bleachers to undo your own skates. “Hey,” Eddie’s voice cracked, wobbly and unsure in his throat, teeth clenching in a grimace.

You looked up, a tiny half smile in greeting. “Hi. Hope we didn’t bother you too much.” 

“What? No. No, no, no. No, you didn’t-” Eddie took a breath, heart hammering in his chest, ringing in his ears. “It was… Yeah, that was really fun to watch actually. The, uh, seeing the kids in their skates and shit. You’re-You’re really good with them, and, uh…” The fuck is that Munson? The fuck are you doing? Eddie’s mind raced, furiously. 

“Thanks.” You grinned, a wicked little smile that had Eddie’s cheeks flushing. He hadn’t felt like this in years. Felt like he was back in middle school, swooning any time Connie Donohue would swish her hair over her shoulder, letting it land on his desk and brush his hand. 

“They’re a fun age. Super sweet. Not like the asshole eight year olds.” Your finger curled under the untied laces, shimmying them loose. 

“Oh? Eight year olds, they're the asshole group?” Eddie grinned, leaning against the rink’s surface. He hoped you couldn’t tell how he was flexing, muscles protruding under the tight, black material of his shirt. 

“Total assholes. I had them last year, and that’s why I switched-” 

“-Excuse me?” A tiny squeak of a voice came from behind you. You turned, expecting one of your kids who had forgotten a mitten or jacket. 

“Are-Are you Eddie Munson?” The small boy with wide eyes gaped at Eddie. 

Eddie flushed, swallowing, eyes flickering to you. Your brows creasing, looking at the tiny boy then back at Eddie. “Yeah, yeah that’s me.” Eddie forced a smile, gripping the rink as he stepped onto the bleachers, settling on the ones across from you. 

“What’s your name, little man?” Eddie grinned. 

“Samuel.” The boy grinned, a little shyly. 

“Samuel, that’s a cool name. How old are you?” 

“Eight.” The boy beamed. 

Eddie’s eyes cut over to yours, lips twisting, fighting back a grin. You blushed, turning away from his glances, cheeks burning with heat you hoped he didn’t see. “Eight? That’s a… that’s a cool age, right?” 

“Right.” Samuel nodded. “I-I watch you all the time with my dad and my mom.” Samuel babbled in true kid fashion. “You’re my favorite hockey player.” 

“Me? No way, c’mon.” Eddie shook his head playfully. 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re from Hawkins too.” Samuel nodded, matter of factly. “They said that on-on the TV one time when I was watching.” 

“Yeah, that’s right.” Eddie nodded. “Used to practice here when I was your age.” He nodded over towards the rink behind him. 

“We went one time to a game, and… and you lost a tooth!” Samuel giggled in true, eight year old asshole form. “The other guy knocked it out when-when you were fighting!” 

Eddie laughed, a howling of a cackle that bounced off the walls of the rink, over the hum of the electricity and heat in the stands.

You watched carefully, interest piqued. You knew he was good, you’d watched him practice, it was obvious he had skill. And the name did sound familiar, plastered across headlines and the local news, one of Hawkins’ very own made it big. 

Eddie signed Samuel’s jersey, left him scampering back to his awaiting parents with a triumphant grin. “What are the odds of that?” Eddie beamed, grinning ear to ear when he looked over at you. 

You laughed, knotting your own skates together, reaching for your snow boots. “I, uh, I didn’t realize you-you played for the… Played hockey.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged, inked hand running down his arm. You tried not to stare. “It’s alright, really. Not bad benefits, but work hours are a little crazy.” 

“Yeah?” You laughed lightly. “I would say so. Pretty demanding.” 

“Oh yeah. And you lose a tooth or two sometimes.” Eddie’s eyes cut to yours playfully, a dimpled grin that had your heart shooting with heat. 

“Yikes.” You sucked in a breath dramatically. “That seems brutal.” 

“You ever been?” Eddie asked, untying his own skates, letting the blade rest on the cement barrier in front of him. 

“To… what? A game?” 

“Yeah.” 

“No.” You shook your head. “Not, like, a real hockey game. Not… Not one of yours.” Your knee bounced nervously, a little unsure even in your own answer. 

“You should come.” Eddie shrugged cooly, hoping you couldn’t see the way his hands shook with adrenaline. “Come to the opener in a few weeks. I’ll get you tickets.” 

“What?” You laughed lightly. “You- No, you don’t even know my name, and you’re gonna get me tickets? Yeah, right.” You rolled your eyes at him. 

“Well, I was hoping I could get your name, maybe your number too.” Eddie’s lips pursed lightly. “Get to know you before the game. Can give you those tickets next time I see you. What do you think? You free Friday night? Saturday?” 

You blushed, looking down at your boots, fiddling with the laces to avoid his gaze. “Saturday. I don’t have to work.” You looked back at him. 

“Saturday it is.” Eddie beamed. 

You scrawled your name and number on the torn corner piece of the schedule. Eddie had snatched it and a pen from behind the desk, ignoring Max’s huffs of annoyance. He’d clutched it the whole way home, paper a little soft from the dampness of his sweaty hands. The tiny slip of paper was taped to his landline, staying there long after Eddie had memorized the number. In your pretty, loopy handwriting for Eddie to see each time he called you. 

[i-arch-my-backula]

Slashers falling for their final person

So I did a post kind of like this as my first request and it was really bad so I thought I would kind of re do it. Idk I'm struggling and I need to take my mind off of stuff.

Includes: Jason Voorhees, Harry Warden, Thomas Hewitt and Brahms Heelshire

Warnings: Murder mentions, violence, strong language, heavily implied kidnapping of reader, no use of y/n or gendered pronouns for reader

Jason Voorhees

It's around midnight and you're running aimlessly in the woods. You were spending time at a friends lake house when a man in a hockey mask attacked your friends, killing them. You realized he's Jason Voorhees, the man that everyone says roams crystal lake, killing anyone who comes near. Your body is crying to stop but you can't. Thank god there's a full moon out tonight.

Up ahead you find a small run down cabin. You glance behind you and you can't see anything. You run into the cabin and lock the door. You grab a fire poker near the door and back up. You hear a noise to your left and watch as Jason busts through a window at the side of the cabin. You let out a throat shredding scream as you back up further.

"Jason," You yell not entirely knowing what you're doing, "Jason I don't want to hurt you," You can see your friend's blood on his clothes, "Jason please listen to me. I don't want to hurt you so please don't hurt me ok?" Your words don't seem to do anything as he's still walking towards you. He's eventually mere inches away from you, but his machete is down, "Ok Jason, I'm not going to hurt you. Now let me just leave and I won't tell anyone about this." You try to move to the left but he grabs your arm and moves you back.

He takes the fire poker from your hands as he grabs your right wrist and pulls you out of the cabin with him.

Harry Warden

You came down to the mines with your boyfriend to have a fun time. He wanted to show you where he worked and get some alone time away from the party going on upstairs. But now you're hiding in a small cave in the mine from a crazy guy in mining gear with a pick ax who killed your boyfriend. You hear footsteps coming behind you. Looking to your left you find a broken pick ax. The pick itself is too heavy to lift so you grab the broken handle and when you hear him right outside the cave you jump out and slam it against his knee. You hear a muffled scream as he falls to the ground.

You run away quickly and up the tracking leading back outside. You're just about up when someone grabs your wrist and pulls you backwards making you fall down the incline and roll to the bottom. You've hit your head pretty hard on the way down and now your vision and hearing is fuzzy as you look up at the man in the coal mining mask.

You groan as he lowers himself down to your level. You turn your head away as he cups a hand on your cheek. His body language changes. Your vision starts to black as you feel yourself being picked up by the man. You can barely put up a fight as he carries you up the mines again, soon blacking out.

Thomas Hewitt

You're stuck in a house from hell. In the basement hiding under a table on the wet floor. Your entire body aches and your eyes are irritated from tears. You hear footsteps coming down the stairs and you put a hand to your mouth. They finally reach the basement and walk towards the table. You're frozen with fear as two large legs stand before you.

Whoever this is, is doing something on top of the table. You look to the open side and you take the chance to crawl away. You get as far as the stairs before you feel someone pull on your ankle making you fall on your stomach and hit your forehead on the steps. You scream and quickly turn on your back. You're met with the sight of a large man wearing a leather mask around the bottom half of his face.

"Don't kill me!" You say not daring to move, "I live on a farm too! I know how to survive on my own! I can help you ok? Just don't kill me! Please I promise I'm not going to leave just don't kill me!" The man above you pauses and sets down his butchers knife. He grabs you and pulls you up by your wrists. He ties your hands together than to a wooden beam by the stairs before leaving. You can only hope that he really isn't going to kill you.

Brahms Heelshire

After watching over a doll for the past two months you're finally face to face with the real Brahms. You're holding a fire poker in both hands while you cry. Brahms just broke through a mirror and killed your abusive ex-boyfriend. Now he's staring at you. Holding a shard of his old doll.

"Brahms," You say trying to keep your composure, "Brahms please drop that," He stands up, "Brahms I'm telling you to drop that shard right now," You slightly raise your voice. This gets him to really drop his weapon. You set yours down too, "Are you going to hurt me Brahms?" You ask him.

"Not unless you leave."

"I'm not going to leave Brahms. I promise."