#The Boy movie

[mauswyx]

saw the tweet and knew what needed to be done ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

my ig ₊˚⊹

[bitchyfoxymama]

Sucking Off The Slashers Headcannons Pt 1

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, cock sucking, Micheal Myers gets his own warning.

...

Thomas Hewitt

He is very caring when you suck him off, does not force his cock any further than is comfortable for you.

Will rub his thumb gently against your cheek as you have his cock all the way down your throat while coating your throat with his come.

Thinks you look so pretty with tears streaming down your face

Bubba Sawyer

Like Thomas will rub your cheeks as you take him down your throat

Is not a selfish lover, will return what is given 

Likes it slow, loves when you edge him.

Micheal Myers

DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK IF YOU CANT BREATHE!! However, he will let up if you are close to passing out. 

You got your hair in pigtails? Will use them to throat fuck your throat

Gets off and when he's finished don't expect any after care

Billy Lenz

Drool. So much drool 

“Such a pretty piggy. Taking billy’s cock so well”

“Look at how pretty piggy is with Billy’s come covering your face” loves to come on your face instead of your throat as much as he does enjoy that as well

Brahms Heelshire

Likes when you play with his balls while you have him balls deep, your nose pressed against the curls above the base of his cock

Loves when you suck him off in the walls, he finds a big enough gap to where 2 people can comfortably be 

Enjoys tasting the left over come in your mouth when you kiss him after getting him to finish

[defectivevillain]

this wallpaper glistens

pairing: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, minor Malcolm/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

You're Brahms' new babysitter. What you expect to be a laughably easy job quickly turns into something much more complicated.

word count: 2.3k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical blood/violence/stalking, non-con kiss (on the forehead)

author's notes: the pacing of this fic is a bit rushed, but it's fine.

also, the title is from dollhouse by melanie martinez because it fits too well.

You’re starting to think the Heelshires didn’t offer you nearly enough money for this. As you stand in the stately halls of their home, you have to second-guess why you came here. Sure, you need the money and your job search recently hasn’t been successful. But does all of that justify caring for this doll, Brahms—one the Heelshires adamantly treat as a real boy? You don’t think so.

Regardless, you’re here now—and you’d feel guilty for leaving the Heelshires’ home unoccupied in your departure. So, like it or not, you’re stuck here for a few weeks: until the elderly couple returns from their vacation. That excuse had been a bit confusing—when you asked them about their plans, they were strangely tight-lipped. But you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth: as you agreed to get paid thousands of dollars for doing virtually nothing. 

At least, that’s what you thought. Then Mrs. Heelshire had given you a list of absurd rules… and you started to question things. They started off with innocent tasks, like reading Brahms a bedtime story every night and dressing him each morning. But they quickly grew strange and inexplicably strict. You’re not allowed to leave him alone or cover his face; you have to kiss him goodnight each night; and you’re forbidden from entering the attic. The Heelshires leave soon after they list these rules, leaving you with no rational explanation for this strangely humane treatment of an inanimate object. 

Now, you’re left alone in the house with nothing but a creepy doll for company. You have to admit it—the thing is unsettling. His eyes are sculpted wide open; his hair is weirdly realistic; and his clothes are reminiscent of a schoolboy’s. You immediately decide the Heelshires’ rules don’t mean a damn thing: the doll isn’t real. And you’re not going to do things you’re borderline uncomfortable with—kissing him goodnight, for example—just for their sanctity. Besides, they made no indication that they’d be monitoring your behavior—instead simply trusting you to comply. 

The thought brings a sarcastic huff to your lips. You roll your eyes and pick up the doll by the arm carelessly, walking into the nearest drawing room and placing him in the armchair. Taken with a strange sense of spite, you pat the doll on the head sarcastically before promptly exiting the room and closing the door behind you. 

Now, you’re just left with one question: how are you supposed to spend your time here? You settle for exploring the house and looking for entertainment. The library looks particularly promising, and you spend quite a bit of time simply looking around in there. 

When you emerge from the library, the clock strikes 6 p.m. and you realize you’re growing hungry. Frowning, you head out to the kitchen—only to find the door to the drawing room cracked open. That’s strange. You know you left the door shut, promising yourself to leave the doll in there and never return. Frowning, you glance into the room—only to find things exactly as you left them. Dismissing the strange occurrence, you head back to the kitchen and begin to make yourself dinner. At least, that’s your plan… until you notice the refrigerator door is slightly ajar. You shake your head in disbelief, shutting it and promptly scolding yourself for attributing any significance to the sight. 

Your first night passes without much fanfare. You wake up the next morning to find the door to the drawing room shut, which is a welcome and relieving sight. You must’ve just been paranoid earlier. Everything in the house looks exactly the same. (Although, why should you have expected otherwise?)

You split your time between reading, watching television, and making meals for yourself. It’s all horribly mundane, and if you weren’t getting paid for it, you think you’d be complaining. But you are getting compensated—as you’re reminded by the arrival of Malcolm one day, a man who seemingly works with the Heelshires. He gives you your first week’s pay and some groceries, before staying for some conversation. You have to admit, it’s rather nice to have some company. And Malcolm seems nice enough. The “no guests” rule does flit about in your mind, but you manage to push it aside. Malcolm leaves with the offer to call him if things ever go awry. 

Left to your own devices once more, you walk about the house in boredom. The drawing room door is exactly as you left it- Wait. You see a shadow pass across the ground in front of the door, as if there’s someone moving inside. Unnerved, you try to move away—only to hear the unexplained sound of music growing louder. There’s no one else in the house… and you haven’t played music since you arrived. Confused and a bit concerned, you remain standing in front of the door for a bit. Then, out of nowhere, the door slowly creaks open. 

The first thing you notice is that Brahms isn’t in the armchair anymore. Instead, he’s positioned with his back facing you—as he faces the open window. Swallowing past your growing unease, you decide to retrieve a blanket from your room and throw it over him. Then you firmly close the door and promise yourself not to go back. 

But it doesn’t seem to matter what you do: the doll keeps moving, as if it has a life of its own. When you walk past the drawing room after a mid-afternoon snack, you’re shocked to find the door open once more. And even worse, Brahms is standing in the doorway with the blanket fisted in his hand. You flinch in surprise as you’re greeted with the sight, your heart racing quickly. Brahms is still and unmoving. You crouch down and look into his eyes, which dispels any of your doubts. It’s just a doll. So why is this happening…? 

Is this some sort of karma for not enforcing or following the rules? Maybe the Heelshires are crueler than you thought, and they’re playing some sort of joke on you. You’d think they would have better things to do, but what do you know? Shaking your head in disbelief, you come to the unfortunate conclusion that you need to start treating Brahms as if he’s a living child you’re babysitting. Then, maybe, this weird behavior will go away—and whoever’s watching will stop messing with you.  

In the next week, you become the doll’s unofficial caretaker—doing everything from feeding and dressing him to reading him a bedtime story and kissing him goodnight. You’re not particularly happy about that last part, but you don’t want to take your chances and trigger any more pranks or jokes. After all, that’s really the only rational explanation for the doll’s movements. Besides, that conclusion puts your mind at ease. You don’t want to think about any of the other possibilities, because they’re both disturbing and increasingly fantastical. 

For a while, things are normal. Malcolm begins to stop by more frequently and the two of you get to know each other. He’s a pretty nice guy—and just about the only human company you’ve had throughout your time in the home. You’ve noticed that Brahms—or, moreover, whoever’s monitoring your behavior—always seems to act a bit restless when Malcolm is around. It must be due to the rule against guests; but, honestly, you’re not sure if Malcolm can be considered a guest, since he works for the family. 

When Malcolm reaches out to kiss you one night, you don’t stop him. Maybe it’s because you’re lonely in this house; maybe it’s because you’re bored. Or, hell, maybe it’s just because you’re starting to like him. Safe to say, you certainly don’t object to this new development—and soon, he’s backing you onto the bed of one of the guest rooms. 

Before things can escalate much further, however, the lights in the room flicker. You freeze; when they return moments later, the doll is lying on the bed next to you. You immediately flinch and Malcolm does too, the two of you quickly getting off the bed as any romantic tension in the air promptly dissipates. Both of you are weirded out by Brahms’ sudden appearance—a feeling which is only further amplified when you enter the main hall to find a message written on the floor. 

“NO GUESTS” is written in a troubling crimson hue. You only need to take one more step forward to recognize the coppery scent of blood, combined with the scattered corpses of rats from the traps laid around the house. Nausea stews in your gut; fortunately, Malcolm seems to have enough self-preservation to realize he shouldn’t be here, as he takes one look at the display and promptly flees the scene. You don’t blame him—and, honestly, you wish you could do the same. But the moment you take a small step towards the entryway, you recognize the uncanny sensation of breath hitting your neck. You whip around, only to find yourself staring into brown eyes behind a doll mask. 

A man stands in front of you, with dark messy hair and sweat-sheened skin. Your ears are ringing as you recognize the porcelain quality of the mask secured over his face—it’s horribly similar to the doll’s sculpted face. The man stares at you for several moments, tilting his head to the side and regarding you with interest. Your heart is thundering in your chest as you make the connection that has been eluding you this entire time: this man is Brahms. Brahms Heelshire isn’t dead—he’s been alive this entire time, residing within the walls of this house. And he’s standing in front of you. 

You immediately try to back away, but he swiftly reaches out and clamps a hand on your wrist. Then Brahms pulls you towards him, his hand rising to hold your jaw as he stares at you with an uncomfortably scrutinizing gaze. For several seconds, you’re frozen beneath his grip: entirely pliable as he studies you. 

What happens in the ensuing moments is a blur, as you’re easily manhandled into following behind him as he sneaks through the walls of the house until you’re somehow standing in the attic. The Heelshires’ rule immediately comes to mind: Never go in the attic. They knew about Brahms the whole time, didn’t they? Are they even coming back to the house? How long will you be stuck here? 

Immune to your frustrated thoughts, Brahms leads you towards his bed and silently gets under the covers. Then, he stares up at you expectantly. You look down at him in disbelief. Honestly, you’re still reeling from the thought that Brahms is actually alive—and has been hiding in the walls this entire time. You can barely comprehend that, let alone whatever the hell he’s doing right now. 

Clearly growing annoyed, Brahms yanks you forward and onto the bed—to the point where you have to shoot a hand out to catch yourself from falling into him. You’re now positioned over Brahms awkwardly, his hand on your collar tugging you closer to him. He’s staring at you expectantly, before he reaches out with his free hand and points to his forehead. You feel a shiver roll down your spine as you realize what he wants: a goodnight kiss. 

You’re not sure how long you hover there, fighting off your fear and apprehension, before Brahms grows impatient and harshly tugs you towards him. You quickly kiss him on the forehead and lean back, pretending not to notice how tightly he’s still holding you. 

In hindsight, it was foolish of you to think you could leave after tucking him in. Because somehow, even after you’ve complied with the rules, you haven’t done enough. You try to enforce some distance between the two of you, but Brahms growls and his grip on your collar tightens until he’s pulling you down again. A bolt of pure fear runs down your spine as you’re deftly maneuvered into a reclined position on the bed, lying next to Brahms.

Your heart is roaring in your ears and you’re breathing hard. If Brahms senses your anxiety, he doesn’t seem to care—as he instead breaches the distance between you and promptly fits himself against your side. His arm stretches out to wrap around your waist and you choke on a shaky breath. You can’t so much as adjust your posture even a minute amount, because he’s pushing you back into the mattress with an absurd amount of strength.

You’re not sure how long you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, before you chance a glance at Brahms. His eyes are closed and his breaths are calmer—he must be asleep now. You still have no hope of escaping: even a small shift in your positioning is enough for him to press into you further. 

It’s growing late, but you know you won’t be able to sleep at all. You’re only growing more restless as time passes, waiting for the inevitable moment when Brahms grows bored with you and kills you. After all, that was the entire reason behind his confinement, wasn’t it? He killed a friend at a young age; and his parents trapped him here in order to keep him from going to jail. 

The reminder is enough to send a renewed fear crawling up your chest. You don’t realize you’re crying until there’s a calloused hand wiping tears from your cheeks. Somehow, in your distress, you must’ve woken Brahms. He turns to the side and looks down at you for a long moment, before leaving inexplicably closer. Quick as lightning, he’s reaching down to press a goodnight kiss to your forehead—his porcelain mask almost cold against your skin. Then Brahms stares at you for several minutes. You’ve never felt such a stiff and oppressive silence before. 

Finally, after what feels like far too long, Brahms settles back in and closes his eyes once more—leaving you to your conflicting emotions and the uncompromising darkness. You’re not sure of much right now, save for one thing: it’s going to be a long night. 

thanks for reading! <3

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[a-writer-on-elm-street]

Haunted

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

pairing: brahms x gn!reader

summary: in which the boy who haunted the heelshire mansion finally comes home

warnings: smut, somnophilia, DUBCON, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, scarring, mentions of abuse

a/n: so this is the final part to this series. i hope you have all enjoyed the series so far, i certainly enjoyed writing it. and thank you to everyone for reading and giving feedback, i really appreciate it. <3

word count: 1956

Calloused fingers were desperately digging into the flesh of your hips, your joggers pulled down to your knees, as you slowly came into consciousness.

You could feel his hair tickling the back of your neck as he gently thrusted inside of you, coaxing a quiet moan from your lips.

Last night was still fresh in your mind, the smooth porcelain of Brahms' mask against your lips, his growing erection beneath your hand. And now here you were, feigning sleep as Brahms continued to gently push himself inside you.

Another soft moan fell from your lips when he started to pick up the pace, his grip on your hips becoming tighter.

You could hear him groaning behind you, as he brought himself closer to his release, all the while you were remaining limp in his hold.

Brahms hadn't realised you were awake yet, he was too busy focusing on burying himself deeper inside you, dragging more quiet moans from your throat.

Something about using you like this seemed to spark excitement in him, it made him feel alive. He hoped you could at least feel him though, he hoped your moans were a reflection of the moment you were currently sharing.

Unbeknownst to him, however, you were desperately fighting the urge to push back against him, your need for him becoming unbearable. Heat was pooling in your stomach, your skin feeling as though it had been set alight, and you weren't sure how much longer you'd be able to pretend you were asleep.

Fortunately, you were able to remain still, allowing him to continue using you. And once he was finished, you felt him carefully pull out, the mattress lifting behind you as he got up. And you remained where you were, unmoving, as you listened to the sound of his footsteps leaving the room, your door closing behind him.

You decided to wait a moment before getting up, thoughts about what just happened still swirling around your head.

Your stomach was still tingling with excitement as you laid there, clenching your thighs together. You wondered if you would see Brahms around today. You hoped you would see him.

Once it was finally safe for you to move, you sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed as you contemplated what just happened.

You hadn't expected things between you to escalate so quickly, yet here you were, your breathing still shallow, and your skin on fire.

You had never thought Brahms would be comfortable moving so quickly like that, but it was clear you had him all wrong. You were just struggling to decide how you would show him your thanks, without scaring him away.

~*~♡~*~

Two slices of toast were waiting on the kitchen table when you finally made it downstairs, a cup of coffee placed beside the small plate.

You couldn't help the warmth that filled your heart as you sat down, picking up a slice.

"Thank you, Brahms!" You called out, your lips pulling into a grin as you ate your breakfast.

You had forgotten what it was like to be happy, and you never thought that you would find happiness again, much less, in the boy who haunted this house.

This place really had become your sanctuary, and you wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

You tried to eat your breakfast slowly, in the hope that maybe Brahms would join you. But even as you got to the last bite, he still hadn't showed, leaving you alone in the kitchen. He had to show up at some point today, surely.

~*~♡~*~

You tried to fight back the disappointment as you tucked the doll into bed, pressing a light kiss to its face.

You'd gone about your day as usual, hoping that Brahms would show at some point, except he never did. You understood that he probably wasn't comfortable around people, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

You thought that after last night, and this morning, that you were making progress with him. You thought that maybe he might be comfortable enough to spend the day with you. Clearly you had gotten it wrong.

Once you were certain you had finished all your tasks for the night, you decided to just go to bed. You weren't really in the mood to do anything else.

But when you entered your room, you almost jumped out of your skin, a dark silhouette lingering by your bed. Brahms.

"You know, you really shouldn't do that." You sighed, walking towards your bed.

He just cocked his head at you, clearly confused.

You just ignored his confusion, simply choosing to keep talking. "I missed you today."

Silence.

"Look, I get that you're shy, but could you try and talk to me?" You asked, moving towards your wardrobe to find your pajamas.

"Kiss?" He finally answered.

You turned around to find him still standing beside your bed, his fingers nervously tugging on the sleeve of his cardigan. You were unable to contain a smile as you watched him from across the room. He looked so unbelievably soft like this, standing there waiting for your response.

You just abandoned your pajamas, walking back towards the bed before gesturing for Brahms to join you under the covers, much like you had done last night. And he quickly complied, sliding in next to you, his eyes still very much visible to you in the dark.

"Do you think I could kiss you...somewhere else?" You asked him, carefully resting your hand over his crotch to let him know what you meant.

You heard him quietly gasp beneath the mask, before he gave you a small nod.

You offered him a silent nod in response, before sitting up, gently pulling the covers from both your bodies.

Brahms watched your every movement as you brought your hands down to his trousers, carefully unzipping them and pulling the material down his body, his already hardening cock now coming into view.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" You told him, looking right at him as you wrapped your hand around his length.

He just gave you another small nod, his eyes never leaving you as you leaned down to press your lips to his tip, earning a sharp inhale from him.

Brahms could already feel his pulse quickening and he thought his heart was going to shoot out of his chest when you finally closed your lips around him, effortlessly taking him into your mouth.

He was no stranger to the notion of sex, but he never thought it could be like this, so tender, so extraordinary. He had thought what he'd felt this morning was the best thing he could've experienced with you, but clearly he was wrong, because feeling your lips moving around him like this was like heaven to him. He wanted to know what else you could make him feel.

It didn't take long for you to bring Brahms to his release, taking only a few more moments of sucking him off for him to come, the warm salty substance coating your tongue.

You couldn't hide your smile as you pulled off of him, swallowing quickly, as you watched him attempting to catch his breath, his chest heaving.

"Did that feel good, Brahms?" You asked, crawling up the length of his body to straddle his lap.

He nodded.

"Use your words, Brahms." You urged, smiling at him as he sat up slightly. "Please?"

"Yes." He finally answered, although he was no longer looking directly at you, as his eyes were focused on where you were currently straddling him.

You were already feeling that familiar fire coursing through your veins as you looked at him, gently bucking your hips over him. "Please touch me, Brahms."

He complied, reaching down between you to press his fingers to your clothed cunt, his other hand fumbling with the button on your jeans.

"You can take them off." You assured him, your eyes never leaving him as he continued to stare at your crotch.

You waited patiently as he popped the button open on your jeans, pulling the zipper down, and you helped him remove the material, finally managing to discard them on the floor.

You then slipped your underwear down your legs, dropping them to the floor along with your jeans, and suddenly you were much more vulnerable now.

He cautiously moved his hand back between your legs, his fingers brushing your clit. And you found yourself gripping onto his shoulders as he continued rubbing his fingers against you.

"Oh, fuck." You sighed, your skin growing hot as you screwed your eyes shut. "Brahms."

When he finally pushed one of his slender fingers inside you, you gripped his shoulders even tighter, your head falling forward as you tried to keep your composure.

You had never felt such intense pleasure as you did now, with one of Brahms fingers moving carefully inside you. It felt incredible, and you were unsure just how long you would be able to last like this.

It didn't take long for the heat to begin building in your stomach, your grip on him becoming even more forceful as you rocked your hips into his hand, desperately chasing your release.

And Brahms found himself completely in awe as he watched your face, your eyes clenched shut and your mouth agape. It was him who was pulling such a reaction from you, and he felt a strange sense of pride from it. Maybe he could get used to this with you.

It only took a few more pumps of his finger for your release to hit you, pleasure wracking through your body as you cried out his name.

And when he pulled his hand away, you almost flinched from the sudden emptiness.

You climbed off of him, laying down beside him as you caught your breath, and you had never been happier.

"Brahms?" You spoke, gaining his attention as he turned to look at you. "I want to kiss you."

He knew what you meant by that, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to comply to this particular request. He thought about it for a moment, worried that he might scare you away. But as he looked at you, all he could see was sincerity in your eyes. He looked at you and he saw home.

Finally, he reached up, anxiety rising in his chest as he pulled the mask away from his face, revealing the very thing he had been hiding beneath.

And when you saw the scarring across his face, the sadness that you had initially felt for him returned, your chest growing heavy as you took in the sight. It seemed he had been more broken than you thought.

It reminded you of why you had come here in the first place. The memory of your father came to you like a stab in the chest, old injuries once again making themselves known. The countless bruises, both physical and emotional.

You fought to hold back tears as you stared at Brahms, noting the shame in his eyes as he awaited your response.

So you leaned closer to him, placing a gentle hand on the side of his face, before pressing your lips against his, the tears finally escaping from your eyes.

When you parted, Brahms noticed the tears that now stained your skin, so he brought a hand up to your face, his fingers gently wiping them away.

He had lived in this house all his life, but not once had it ever felt like a home. At least not until you.

And now, as he watched your face in the dark, his fingers gliding along your skin, he knew he was finally home.

[Main Masterlist]

tags: @bdudette @r02eg0ld @maxismp1 @smileykiddie08 @hamburgerslippers @partssoldseparately @kalinaselennespeaks @kkleve3 @slasherenthusiast @thatoneautor0123 @slasheerwhore @goodiesinthecloset21

[mrs-b-heelshire]

Brahms cuddles

Waking up to the sun shining through the curtains, casting a faint relaxing glow over the room, shuffling slightly under the fluffy duvet only to feel strong arms pulling you closer and a small huff is let out, turning to see Brahms, asleep and relaxed, his hair a mess and covering his eyes slightly.

how perfect does that sound 🥰😩

[huggbees]

I love my friends 🥺 /pos

[gremlintaro]

i hired these freaks to stare at you

my new banner for stinky bird app !! was suppose to finish this before halloween but fukc it we ball

aaaand i wanted to squeeze ghostface in there but i wasn't too interested and willing at the time,,,, just made the super clever idea of having him behind the camera

without da glitch effect ^ 🩸

[captainimfangirling]

Brahms was on the new Chucky episode. 🤣

[camm-6]

he's like a dog i think

[mostly-ghostly-hotel]

Brahms Heelshire: Look, my only crime is caring too much. I mean, yeah, there has been some murder and a little kidnapping, but caring too much is the real problem.

[misstwisted]

my favorite slasher trio

[mauswyx]

soft-spoken s/o

TLDR: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, Jennifer Check, and Bo Sinclair's reactions to having a fairly quiet s/o WORD COUNT: 1k CW: none, fluff AO3

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Thomas Hewitt

ironically would not be used to the silence at first; he’s used to chatters and screaming! He’s never met someone who speaks so quietly 

will lean towards you when you speak, listening intensely 

finds your silence comforting after the initial shock and enjoys your quiet presence as he goes about his business

quickly adapts to communicating with you via body language and facial expressions, etc; it is a method he’s familiar with after all

takes great pride that he’s the only one that can read your mind or decipher your mumbling

He couldn’t help but spare you a glance every so often as you sat at the opposite end of the barn as he worked. You were mending a shirt Luda Mae scavenged from some luggage…or at least trying to. Your bottom lip was swollen from being gnawed on and your brow was furrowed–the needlework must be tedious, he concluded. He turned his attention back to his work, a few minutes passed before he decided to glance up again only to find that you were muttering to yourself, trying to rethread the string through the eye.

Despite finding your frustration amusing, he couldn’t take your suffering anymore. He strode over to you, gently enveloping your hand in his before plucking the needle away. He made quick work of the thread, giving you a knowing look as he set back to work, but not before hearing a quiet “Thank you Tommy.” 

Brahms Heelshire

does not enjoy that he can’t coax loud reactions from you; he works so hard to mess with you and you don’t say anything?! How rude!

will switch gears and will purposefully pretend not to know what you’re gesturing to or that he can’t hear you to annoy you; he can play by your game but he won’t play fair

he’s been (watching) studying you through the walls so it’s quite easy for him to pick up on your body language to know what you’re feeling or wanting of him 

actually likes your voice and will do everything in his power to get you to use it; even if it means getting a scolding 

bedtime is his favorite part of the day because he gets to listen to you read; will pick out exceptionally long books to listen to you just a while longer 

Echoes etched the room as you tapped your foot against the dusty rug. He had been in a mood all afternoon: being especially disobedient and ignoring your calls from within the walls. He was being so difficult that you had no choice but to search for him, though it proved to be in vain as you couldn’t find him anywhere. A worried knot began to form in your stomach. There was only one thing you could do. With a deep inhale you rolled your head on your shoulders before letting out a shout.

“Brahms!” Your voice was hoarse–not used to being at such a volume, rolling your eyes in frustration “Please come out!” The scraping of wood met your ears shortly before his long arms wrapped around your waist from behind. You bit the interior of your cheek as you could hear the smugness in his voice, having won his game.

“There’s no need to shout.”

Jennifer Check

“they said no pickles.” embodiment 

at first, mistakes your quietness for being flustered by her and she amps up her prowess only to realize you’re like this…all the time…with everyone 

will speak for you whether it’s ordering your food or answering a question on your behalf; is actually exceptionally good at knowing what you want without much effort 

actually doesn’t mind the silence when you don’t feel like talking—grateful that you two can just share a moment together or that she can have someone to rant to

will not make a big deal if you feel talkative, she’ll casually continue the conversation in hopes it’ll make you feel more comfortable

“-and who does that? It’s bullshit!” she scoffed, gently scraping the tips of her long nails on the back of your hand as she laid next to you. You silently nodded in agreement, staring up at her face: her nose was scrunched and her eyes were glazed over, lost in thought–before suddenly snapping down to stare into your own. “I mean, you don’t think I’m in the wrong do you?” 

You couldn’t help letting your lip curl up at her pout, she had definitely been the cause of the altercation but you’d never tell her that; instead, you opted to halfheartedly shake your head. As expected, your poor acting didn’t go unnoticed and her eyes widened before playfully swatting her hand at your stomach.

“No way! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Bo Sinclair

“huh” x5

cannot understand what you’re saying for the life of him and gets annoyed very easily; more so at his own inability to comprehend you when everyone else seems to understand you just fine

interrupts you when you’re speaking, trying to guess what you’re saying instead of just listening 

puts on a big show to do as you asked when he does finally pick up on what you’re saying 

often wrongly infers what you’re saying but at least he’s trying

“Darlin’…'' he groaned, running a hand down his face “-you’re gunna needa work with me…” You huffed out a breath of air, already annoyed at having had to already repeat yourself twice and repeating yourself a third time honestly wasn’t even worth it; you just wanted the step-ladder to reach something in top-stock, but at this point you’d rather just climb the shelves themselves than have to be stuck in this never ending game of charades. You were half-tempted to do just that, but the look on Bo’s face made you relent; he had been so patient the least you could do was not give up on him.

“I need the ladder…” you said again, this time trying to enunciate your words as best as possible and to your surprise his face lit up. Not a great sign. 

“Bladder?” he repeated, not waiting for a response as he sped towards the shop counter, “Don’t worry baby! I’ll get the restroom key!”

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[bustedrocket]

girls with messy black hair

[halloweenbitch2764]

i love your blog !! i'm new to reading slasher fics, but i've been loving the hcs people have been coming up with. i'm a sucker for fluffy headcanons about thomas, vincent, and brahms if you're willing 💜

and if you fr do ahs too, kit has always been a fave! and kai... lord have mercy. i'll be happy with whatever tho, i love your writing!

- 🔪💕

Ahhh thank you so much! I can definitely give you some fluff :D So, I started writing this months ago and am just getting back to it. I'm gonna skip the AHS boys on this (just for now) because I really want to focus on the Slashers. Sorry!

Slashers x Reader Fluff

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas had had a long day working, and you had had a long day of doing your own chores. Your joints ached, and you thanked the stars that it was becoming fall. The almost unbearable heat from the summer nights was moving out, and it was becoming nicer.

You dressed into your nightgown and climbed into bed. Thomas wasn't far behind, undressing down to his boxers and climbing in after you. He had even gotten comfortable enough to remove his mask. The bags under your eyes felt like they weighed a ton as your eyes struggled to stay open.

You looked over to Thomas, who was already staring at you as he admired your features. He still couldn't fathom why someone as pretty as you would fall for someone like him. You never chastised him like Hoyt did.

You felt your cheeks start burning and averted your eyes, which caused him to chuckle. He pulled you closer to him, and you couldn't help the giggle that left you. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he grinned. Despite being married (at least in the eyes of the family) you two acted like you had yet to leave the honeymoon phase. Of course you had the occasional argument. It was nothing that couldn't be solved though.

Your sleepiness hit you in the face and you felt yourself starting to drift off. Thomas had started his nightly habit of rubbing your back. It seemed as soothing to him as it was to you. You gave him one last sleepy smile before drifting off. He drifted off as well.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent had been working in the basement (as per usual), and you knew he needed to quit for the night. The sun was nearly setting, and he had worked through the day from nearly sun up. You had brought him food and drinks throughout the day to make sure he didn't get too engrossed in his work. You had also made dinner, which was why you wanted him to stop for the night.

You made your way to the basement, knocking to announce your arrival so you wouldn't surprise Vincent. You opened the door and stepped in, smiling at Vincent, who had looked up to see who was at the door. From the way his mask shifted, you could tell he was smiling.

He wiped his hands off on his apron, and you practically skipped up to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his masked cheek. Vincent hugged you to him before releasing you after a moment. "I think it's time for a break, my love." You say and smile at him. He stands still for a moment as if thinking over what you said before agreeing with you. "It's becoming night anyway." He nodded, and you two headed back to the house.

It didn't take long for you to arrive, and you got plates out from the kitchen, setting the little kitchen table. Silverware came next, and then you plated the food, setting it on the table. Vincent waited for you to sit down before removing his mask to eat. Vincent wasn't scared to take his mask off around you anymore. He just preferred to have it on.

You two ate happily, making small talk about your current projects and such. After dinner was finished, being ate and cleaned up, you headed for the bedroom. Neither of you were ready for bed, but you knew it likely wouldn't be long before you got tired. You yawned and changed into your pajamas before climbing into bed. Vincent changed out of his wax stained clothes and did the same, changing into his own pajamas and climbing into bed with you.

You let out a sigh and rubbed your eyes. Vincent smiled at you, and you could tell he was worn out. You smiled back at him snuggled against him. He blushed but didn't object, wrapping his arm around your waist. You played with a strand of his hair and kissed him sweetly, which he returned. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, apparently more tired than he had realized.

Brahms Heelshire

A soft yawn escaped you as you stood in the kitchen, making the two of you dinner. The majority of the rules had been completed, which left you at dinner. Brahms had disappeared into the walls before you started cooking as he usually did.

You hummed softly as you diced the vegetables that would be used in the dish. Soon enough the dish went into the oven to cook. You let yourself drift into your own little world as you cleaned up the cabinets and cutting board. So far into your own little world that you didn't notice Brahms standing behind you.

The feeling of eyes on you pulled you out and you turned, jumping almost instantly at the sight of Brahms in your peripheral. A soft huff left you as you hung the towel up you had used to dry your hands. "Why didn't you say something?"

He shrugged before picking you up by your thighs and setting you on the counter. A surprised squeak left you as you grabbed onto him for support. A childish giggle left him. He seemed proud of himself. Before you could say anything he shoved his face into your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Your chest had easily become his favorite pillow (next to your thighs). When you read to him, he would lay with his head on your chest. If he could find the opportunity to do it, he likely would. You wrapped your arms around his head loosely and set your head on top of his.

Though you couldn't see his face, you knew he was grinning. His body language alone portrayed how he was feeling. You let your fingers run through his hair, gently working out any knots. He nearly purred. And so you two stayed in relatively the same position until the meal finished cooking.

[mrs-b-heelshire]

The love I have for this man is borderline delusional 😂