#bubba sawyer promts

[hot-diggety]

Bubba, after accidentally stepping on Michael's foot: *Apologetic noises*

Michael, internally: Bitch gon step on my fucking toe bitch with the fucking cowboy fucking boots bitch d i s g u s t i n g.

[hot-diggety]

here for some sort of specific headcanons if youre up for it, how do you think bubba would feel about an s/o wanting to partake with the normal dining habits of the sawyer family? would that to be expected of his partner or would he try to keep his s/o from eating human flesh?

sorry if this is too short! hope you like it <3

Leatherface with a cannibal s/o

Honestly, Bubba always thought strange of your eating habits. He initially tried getting you into human flesh, but you had too much of a good excuse not to. So he ended up helping you with your diet rather than trying to convert you.

You proposed the idea one day before dinner. You stopped him when he was about to put the beef and vegetables in the slow cooker for you to eat.

"Hey, Bubba, I was thinking maybe I'll just eat normal dinner today!"

He was confused at first, and couldn't help but tilt his head. But you said you were severely allergic to human meat! What if you die?

"Oh yeah, um... I'm cured! Yay!"

Well, he didn't know allergies could be cured, but that's okay!

Honestly, he was more relieved than happy to have you eat 'normally'. Animal meat was expensive; not that it mattered, he loves you anyway! But his family started pressuring him to stop buying it, so seeing your eagerness was a breath of fresh air.

And he wasn't the only one who was happy to hear it! Everyone was more than happy to show you the best ways to properly cut --and eat-- every part of the human body.

That night you learned a lot about anatomy, to say the least.

[hot-diggety]

Tummy tickles with Bubba and his s/o?

This is hella long, hope you like it!

Tummy tickles with Bubba

Your chest went out of breath when you hit the floor forcefully, like a direct kick in the lungs. The chainsaw’s purring sounds echoed in your ears, like a very distant chaos melody. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Struggling to get up on the ground with the hand that wasn’t painfully unbearable to use, you carried your knees to your chest in an attempt to sit up, clumsily.

Squinting in pain, you caressed your left arm, and sluggishly turned your head when you didn’t feel the coldness of your fingertips. Your sight was blurry and struggled to focus, but you managed to make out the shape of your arm bending in a way that it wasn’t meant to. You cringed; it looked broken beyond repair.

You heard a bunch of muffled, barely recognizable noises in the back of your head, and to you, everything sounded like a radio under hundreds of sheets. You saw, in the corner of your eye, a prominent, fleshy figure crouching to your side, followed by anxious noises that you couldn’t, or didn’t try to comprehend.  

“Damn, they got her good, the shitheads! Wait, Bubba, where are you going?”, or something along those lines was the last thing you heard somewhat clearly, followed by what you could only describe as static before you passed out cold.

The sun was shining through the room’s window, dyeing it a rusty gold. You had to take the white sheets out of your body to realize you were soaked in sweat. The summer in Texas was always tough to bear. On the hot sunny days, where you could see the heat weaves hovering on the pavement of the streets, everything seemed to go slower. The days were long, the nights lasted a second, yet the heat never ceased to be agonizing. Particularly in the Sawyer’s residence, where warmth knew no end and showed no mercy.

You tried to tense your ill arm, that still felt numb, to make sure it didn’t somehow detach from your body. Much to your luck, it was still there; stabilized with a tree branch and wrapped entirely with dirty bandages. You leaned forward to sit on the bed, and realized how heavy your head felt; ¿Just how much time have you been lying in that bed?  

Apparently, the grunts and moans of pain weren’t as quiet as you thought, because you immediately heard Bubba bursting through the bedroom door to come to your rescue, between loud whimpers of concern.

“Bubba, hey there--!” You greeted him, with an embarrassed smile, as he crawled into your lap like a dog who hasn’t seen his owner for years. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, holding onto your waist as if you were going to vanish if he didn’t.

You caressed his hair with your steady hand, assuring him over and over that you were okay. You recognized a familiar shape standing in the doorframe. “Hey you, you’re finally awake!” Chop Top announced excitedly. “Thank god, we thought you were gone for good, hehe! Leatherface’s been runnin’ around like a chicken with its head cut off all day!”

“How long have I’ve been out?” You looked up to see him, sliding your fingers through your lover’s hair, who kept squealing in your lap.

He turned around to leave, “It’s been a day and a half, so you better catch up, okay?”

You widened your eyes and watched him leave in disbelief. You suddenly felt disconnected with reality, as if you’ve been sleeping since 1866 and woke up in an entirely different reality, so now you’ve got to learn to live in a totally unfamiliar society with a family of cannibals.

And so, you did. Or, to say at least, you tried to. Bubba kept lingering around you all day to check on you every couple seconds, and if you didn’t assure him you were okay in a two and a half second span, he would carry you to your bedroom and make sure you rested. Not the greatest feeling ever. So, there you were, sitting in a chair at the kitchen. Bubba was washing the dishes, watching you over his shoulder every then.

“Okay, I’m going to—Fuck!” You muttered under your breath, while you stood up from the chair when a piercing pain filled your arm like a thousand wasps stinging you at once. You let out an agonizing quiver, and of course, Bubba dropped everything he was doing to come to check on you. You don’t know how, or why, but as soon as you saw him, you saw red. It’s not like it was his fault, not at all. Maybe it was the fact that his overprotective ways fed you up. Or maybe, you felt guilty, if not useless, having him put you as a priority over his chores when he knew damn well it would get him in trouble. Perhaps you just weren’t in the mood.

“Don’t touch it!” You pulled your hand in a flinch and snapped at him with accidental aggressiveness. He flinched at your fierceness and seeing his usually cheerful expression drain in the split of a second, regret filled your chest.

“Oh my god, Bubba, no, I’m sorry…” Your expression immediately softened, eyes shining with guilt. When your hands reached out to him, he stepped back and raised his arms as if you were going to hit him, and you felt your heart sunk.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m so sorry…”

He hummed and approached you slowly. You put your hands on the sides of his face, holding it dearly, and you felt him melt in your touch. You gave him a peck on the lips, and his joyful moans were music to your ears. Your hands left his cheeks and slid past Bubba's neck, then his chest, finally stopping at his belly, which you loved so much, just as much as his whole existence. You gave him a faint squish, and scrunched your nose playfully, matching a joyful smile, when you heard him giggle. You kept rubbing his tummy, crackling at the way he enjoyed it.

But it wasn’t long until he returned the favor. Suddenly, you felt his warm, big hands sliding under your shirt, and a chill went down your spine when the tip of his fingers explored your skin lightheartedly.

“Bubs, stop!” You laughed blissfully, trying to get his hands off you, but he just kept going and going. The light-hearted moment soon turned into a tickling competition; You ran around the kitchen, trying to tickle him and not be tickled back, but Leatherface was used to playing catch, and you didn’t last long enough out of his hands.

“For real, I’m going to pee, stopppp!” You managed to articulate, between loud peals of laughter, as you two fell to the floor.

He was on top of you, and you lied with your back on the floor, panting rapidly. Bubba eyed your red face, full of delight, and a weave of love came over him. He lifted his hand to caress your cheek, clumsily but warmly and wondered what did he do to deserve you. He hummed once again, tilting his head, as he realized he couldn’t take his sight off you. Even covered with sweat and red as a tomato, you were still so beautiful, dammit!

[hot-diggety]

Oh, OH MY GOD YOU DO BEETLEJUICE OKAY HOW WOULD THE SLASHERS AND BEETLEJUICE REACT TO AN S/O WHO TENDS TO WALK AROUND WEARING NOTHING BUT THEIR SHIRTS ILY 💞💞💓💓

THANKO ILY TOO 💖

The Slashers + Beetlejuice reacting to his s/o walking around with nothing but their shirt on.

(Warning: Mild NS/FW)

Michael Myers.

After every sleepless night of stalking and killing, Michael Myers always found peace in watching his s/o wake up in the morning, even if he wasn't with them throughout the night. When he comes home, always at the exact same hour, he silently slips straight to the bedroom and sits on his side of the bed. He doesn't talk, he doesnt touch, he just stares until you're conscious enough to meet him with a sheepish smile.

Now, it's no surprise he was unhappy when he found the white, messy, yet empty sheets on the bed you two shared. He tilted his head, analizing the space on the bed where you should have been; you were never awake at this hour.

The light steps above his head immediatly caught his attention. He stopped for a second to hear them, but wasted no time climbing the stairs to the second floor. Walking meticulously, the wooden tiles barely creaked under his feet, which was a skillful job for a man his size. A dogwhistle would have made more noise.

Knife held at head level, and a tight grip on the handle indicated that Michael was ready to stab whoever dared to disturb the peace he liked to come home to. That is, until he saw you. You came out the bathroom, clumsily as you did when sleepy, and closed the door behind you. Michael noticed something that was his.

He recognized the white, dapper shirt he usually wears under his coverall, hanging just a couple centimeters under your crotch area, complimenting your figure the best way possible. He watched you raise your arms above you to undo the messy bun that was once on your head, quietly loving the sight of your naked skin against the cold air once the shirt flied up.

The Shape was glaring at you like a predator glares at his prey.

You caught him in the corner of your eye. "Michael! I didn't... I didn't hear you come! Uh, I mean, I never do, but..." You babbled nervously, blushing at the way he peered at you lustfully through his mask. You grabbed the end of the shirt, in an attempt to pull it down and hide what was beyond it, but it was too late.

"I, uh... Do you... want me to take it off?" You asked shyly, at the thought that maybe he would be mad at you for stealing his shirt.

Leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed, Michael nodded slowly. You complied. "Alright, then... I'll go change."

But he blocked the way to the stairs as soon as you tried, clashing gently against his chest. He leaned towards you, pressing his body onto yours, and you felt his cold fingertips creeping up the sides of your thighs.

Yes, Michael wanted his shirt off you. Right then and there.

Jason Voorhees

Sundays were always a lazy day for you and Jason. It's the day where you could sleep until 3 pm, but also the day you woke up alone in the bed.

Since Jason's forest ressembled more of an advanced torture machine than an actual forest, he had to make sure all the traps worked without fail, which usually took the whole day thanks to the size of the forest. And, while you didn't like to complain, it did get lonely when he wasn't around.

You tried to convince him to take you with him, but he was worried you would get hurt. You were dealing with deathly traps, after all.

So there you were, lying on the sofa, with his ripped blue shirt on and nothing else. It was a long day of loneliness, and there were at least two hours left before Jason arrived. You groaned at the clock on the wall, as if it were guilty of it all.

You got up and decided to roam the house for the fifth time, just to get you distracted. You were convinced nothing will come out of it, but it's not like you had anything better to do.

Walking through the long hallways, a rusty red thing caught your eye. You apptoached it curiously, and took it with both your hands: you have obtained a Rusty Old Radio!

A smile was drawn on your face. You ran excitedly to the kitchen, to see if it still worked. You pressed the buttons you thought would work, and lo and behold: Mr. Blue Sky started playing, muffled and with a bit of static, but it worked nonetheless!

...

Jason walked heavily, between dry leaves and wet mud, towards his home after a long and rough day of work, the only thing on his head being coming home back to his s/o.

He was aware that he finished earlier than usual, and was excited to spend what was left of the day with the person waiting at home. His pace became quicker at the thought of it.

When he opened the door, he expected an excited (y/n) throwing themselves at him as soon as they saw him, but was met, instead, with a muffled sound coming from somewhere around the house. He tilted his head; maybe they were hiding.

Jason followed the sound to his source, not really knowing what to expect. It became more clear with every step he took; some kind of pretty melody, and the sound of footsteps against the ground. He tried to quiet down the nearer he got, peering around the corner to discretely see what was happening.

What he saw genuinely moved him; his s/o, the person he loved so much, dancing and humming at the rythm of whatever song the small device was playing, wearing his favorite shirt like the prettiest summerdress he's ever seen.

He couldn't resist but run towards you and pick you up in his arms, spining you around. He noticed you were naked underneath, but who cares? You looked so cute.

"Jason! You're home!" You threw your arms around his neck, and he hugged you back putting his hand on the back of your head.

Since that day, you started noticing a lot more shirts just lying around the house.

Bubba Sawyer

Honetly, being in charge of most of the chores of the family wasn't easy. Specially when you have no other choice but to do so.

Unfortunately, Bubba was a big baby, and his passive nature made him an easy target. Everyone ordered him around and threatened if he didn't comply, he was so dependent of his family that it was almost as if he had no mind of his own. You felt bad for him.

So here comes another day, having to wake up earlier than everyone in the family to avoid being yelled at for not keeping the bussiness going. Bubba sat up on the bed sluggishly, rubbing his eyes as he did, and reached his arm for you to caress your hair before he had to leave. Except that you weren't there.

He glazed anxiously at your side of the bed, confirming the emptiness, and shot up the bed, quickly grabbing his mask and his chainsaw resting in the side of the bed between worried grunts and sighs. Making his way out the room, in his underwear and with a dirty white shirt on, he was about to make a mess looking for you. But then he heard your voice.

"Bubba!" You called out sweetly, looking over your shoulder with a smile. You quickly looked back at what you were doing; washing the dishes. Fortunately, it didn't take him long to find you. There you were, with your beautiful face and a pretty smile meeting him.

He let out a relieved sigh, and his eyes wandered off your face for a second, down to what you were wearing, and his eyes opened like two plates.

It was his white, buttoned shirt, that while looked a little big on you, it barely managed to cover your bum. He dropped the chainsaw instantly, beggining to fiddle with his fingers; you were talking to him about something, something to do with chores, but he just wasn't paying attention. He couldn't when your hips moved like that, the white fabric struggling to stay in place.

Bubba approached slowly while you were speaking (to yourself, at that point), as if he wanted to take a closer look. Your butt looked way too tempting not to.

"Bubba, are you listening?" You turned back to see him, and quickly felt his big hands gripping the side of your hips, and his crotch against your lower body. Your wet hands went to grab his instinctively, as you managed to swallow a muffled moan.

"Wait, wait, Bubs, I'm washing the di--" But he didn't give you time. He took you in his arms, putting your body on his shoulder and a hand in your ass, and into the bedroom you were.

You couldn't say you didn't expect this outcome.

Brahms Heelshire

How cute, he thought to himself, you were trying to seduce him.

He admired you silently while watching every part of your body bounce to the rythm of your steps. You were too busy cleaning up the mess in his room, you didn't notice him standing in the doorway, breathing with excitement every time you bent down to pick up something. He wasn't going to stand still for long.

You were minding your own bussiness. You had your mind in another place, thinking about all the things you needed to do for the day, while leaning down to pick up the toys lying around the floor. When, squish! You felt a warm, familiar hand cupping your cheek and squishing it mercilessly.

You shot up with a gasp, and turned around to confront the figure standing behind you.

"Brahm--!" Your angry shouting was cut off by the sight of his mask, being dangerously close to your face. His eyes pierced yours with lust, threatening you from beyond his mask. You stepped back, but he wouldn't stop approaching you.

You swallowed when you felt the cold wall stop you from retreating; he had you cornered, and right where he wanted you. "Brahms, stop it..." You tried to sound assertive, but more of a whimper came out of your lips. Your face was so close to his chest you could smell his faded cologne.

He didn't comply. His hand reached for your cheek, caressing it with the back of his fingers. He hid behind his childish, innocent facade while knowing damn well the intention behind his actions.

His fingertips roamed through your jaw, slowly, finally ending with his hand wrapped around your neck. Bastard.

"Brahms Heelshire, I swear I'll-"

"You'll what?" He interrupted, in his childish voice, while pressing his bulge against your crotch. "I've been a good boy, pretty (y/n). This is my reward."

He forced the mask's lips desperately into yours. You didn't even get to finish the sentence.

Beetlejuice

You had a terrible habit of reading things out loud.

You had just woken up, after a hot summer night where you had the freedom to sleep naked. It hasn't ocurred to you until that night to sleep with no clothes on-- but boy did you enjoy it.

With the air in the morning still feeling warm, you stood up after putting some socks on and were about to make your way to the kitchen. When you catched a glimpse of a white shadow on the corner out your eye.

You stopped on your tracks to take a look at it; a stained, white buttoned shirt, hanging from the edge of your drawer.

You raised an eyebrow, and a smile couldn't help but escape your lips. Had Beetlejuice left his shirt in your room so you would remember to summon him first things in the morning? Probably yes.

Approaching the cloth with excitement, you playfully put it on your naked body without buttoning it. It was a little big on you, but you could always use it as a lab coat, you thought.

You noticed a piece of paper fell when you took the shirt. Bending to pick it up, you noticed the messy handwriting written with a green glitter pen. You couldn't really understand what it said, but you tried to read it anyway.

Out loud, you started. "Betel juzz... Beetle geuse... Beetlejuice?"

Oh, shit.

You didn't really realize what you've done until you heard his infamous laugh behind you, and a green smoke started filling the room. Smart idiot!

"I knew you would fall for it!" He shouted between laughs, not really seeing you at first.

"Beetlejuice, don't--!" You covered your body however you could, with your arms and hands, while frowning in embarrassment at the situation you put yourseld into.

"Come on, babes, it's just-- Wow." He eyed, carefully, your body up and down. Your face went red, and felt a knot tangling in your throat. "Well, damn, haha. Straightforward, I see. I appreciate that."

Beetlejuice, previously levitating, stood on the ground in front of you, watching you with an eyebrow raised. He was smiling devilishly at the way you shyly stepped back everytime he approached.

"You don't know..." He growled intensely, showing his teeth with a side smile. You tried to step back once more, but the drawer stopped you in your tracks Our reader is cornered once more.

"...For how long..." Beetlejuice growled once more, and his resemblance to a hungry wolf was uncanny. You whimpered when he grabbed firmly the side of your thighs, settling himself between your legs. You felt his hands wander towards your the back of your thighs and up, pressing his lower body against yours, and...

"...I've wanted this". Squish.

"BEETLEJUICE, BEETLEJUICE, BEETLEJUICE!"

"Wha-"

...

He was gone. In an act of desperation, you screamed out his name to send him back to the netherworld. And seemingly, that worked.

You were sweaty, red, and felt weak at the knees. You sat down in your bed with your head between your hands; you were so flustered you acted without thinking. But you definetly need to confront him about this.

Maybe you should call him again?

(Whew, this took so long! I hope you enjoy it, thanks for the ask!)