#krueger fanfiction

[velvet-paradox]

Balance

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: Sebastian Krueger x Female reader Summary: your fuck buddy takes you in the shower. Length: Medium Tagging: @synnersaint @shyjellyfish26 @kosmokenny @butterscotch-babie @cesneo @deaddainish @allkot @jacket-slut99 @hers-area @1-fuzzy-squirrels @hailmesuckers @ella-bella-ella @spookylilbay @t6ylors @salamanderstuff @hh-spnxx @akii1833 @malyshka-3 @etoilebleue @gremlingottoosilly @talktothemoon2 Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, strong language, explicit content, established relationship, voyeurisms (ya'll are fucking in a shower so that counts), unprotected p in v, swallowing, cum eating, detailed smut.

ENJOY!!!

He wasn't a creepy by any means, he was more observant; a fly on the wall, curious in nature. Intrusive thoughts lead to intrusive visions and the more he sat and dwelled on them the more obsessed he'd become. These feelings were not on his radar. There was no expectation, no limits, no planned process. Fly by the seat of his pants, devil may care, play things but ear but then he happened to meet you. And all that flew right out the fucking window.

Uh oh.

This was new, very new territory for the man. He'd been requested, specifically by a man named captain John Price of the 141. He'd be on retainer, handsomely paid, taken care of with the highest respect. With the sum he'd been offered who was he to turn it down? A little stint, all expenses paid as well, was a dream. As he thought of where he'd vacation after you had stepped into the frame. Shattered what resolve he'd had, the walls he'd neatly laid by hand, trauma after trauma.

You touched your ear, earrings dangling in the light and handed Price a neat stack of color coded folders one early afternoon. You looked at him. Sebastian thought you'd be nervous, skittish, afraid even by his head to toe covering, sitting widely at the back of the briefing room, taking up as much space as he needed. But you didn't. He'd later found out why.

He'd heard the name König once or twice in passing, a monster, a thief in the night, the boogeyman. If you weren't scared of König then there's no way you'd be scared of him. And you weren't. You were sweet on him just as he was to you. If he wasn't careful you'd give him a toothache.

It started with casual pleasantries.

Good morning, Krueger.

Gut Morgen my dear.

Two sugars, right?

No pickles.

You fell asleep once with your head against his bicep, exhausted, wiped out. Your head was so small in comparison to his arm, he could crush you like a bug. He'd done so with enemies of the past. He just looked down at you with a smile behind his head covering, blushing a little as you shifted deeper into his side.

You were never in field. Kept safe on base or at the rendezvous point. Out of sight, out of harm and yet even though you were never with him on the battlefield, you were on his mind. Maybe you felt it. Some telekinesis going on but as he laid low, out of harms way on a rooftop in the scorching Sahara, his comms crackled to life.

"Come in Krueger, what's your location?"

"Rooftop. Ten clicks south of the point, target inbound."

"Good. Ghost and Sergeant soap are on their way, wait for my go ahead before clearing the building."

"Roger that."

"Hey Sebastian?"

The sound of his birth name, coming from your mouth made him suddenly hyper aware and stiff. You only ever called him Krueger and it was in that very moment, that dusty hot second that he realized you'd canceled everyone else out, this was a one on one channel.

Alone.

"Ja?"

"You get this job done and make it back to base in one piece," your voice paused and returned momentarily with a smile he could only imagine. "I'll let you buy me dinner."

He'd never gotten a job done quicker than that. No wasted ammo, no casualties. His black heart was full and pumping when he boarded the helo, shoving their prisoner to the wall, seatbelt maybe a little too tight but for good reason, keep him for safe travel and questioning. He had a pep in his step and a grin on his face the whole time.

No one suspected a thing.

You were too cool, too aloof and breezy to let anything unsavory exist. He wondered how did it. How you could be so vulnerable, docile and submissive behind closed doors but be this calm outside of them. Balance, he supposed.

He watched you chat with Gaz, laughing at one of his many told jokes, one he'd heard a handful of times since joining the company. He could only muse how many times you must've heard it.

Kreuger leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, listening but not paying any attention oh no. His sole attention was on you. How you smiled, the way you gently touched his Kyle's shoulder, the way your eyes glinted in the awful florescent lighting. The curve of your mouth, the tilt of your hip. The way your face changed when you caught him watching you.

You were trouble.

A brat.

The way you just so happen to let slip that you'd been needing a long hot shower after this exhausting week let him know your next move. Which meant Sebastian knew his.

It wasn't too long after departure did he venture out of his temporary quarters. A plain grey dresser and matching desk, walk in closet that was mostly bare save for a few key items and his toiletries, a decent king sized bed that he'd fucked you on all four corners of. The first of many late nights and bj's were had on those crisp sheets.

He waited until the rookies had their lights out checks before he slipped out of his room, a heavy towel around his bare shoulders, his tattoos and scars on display as he made his way down to the showers. Luckily the staff had their own private showers, no sharing or horseplay in there. There were at least stalls and cubicles for safety and privacy. Perfect. Krueger made sure the coast was clear before slipping into the room. The sound of a powerful shower head filled the space, warm steam and the scent of your body wash cloaked him in perverse glee. He double locked the door, holding onto the ends of his towel around his shoulders, Sebastian strutted through the locker room. He could hear you humming, coming around one of the corners he caught you with your face dripping with water, the palms of your hands at your eyes.

"Well what have we here?"

His thick accent made you jump and cover your not so private parts. You twisted and turned you're body to shield yourself.

"Krueger! You scared me you little perv, you're not supposed to be in here."

He laughed at your display, still soapy and slick. "I am not Krueger when we are alone, remember? Or… does my little toy need some reminding?"

"Sebastian!"

"What?"

"You can't… what if someone else is in here?"

"There isn't."

"How do you know?"

"Hallo!!??" He shouted, cupping around his mouth, he smiled in silence. "See? It's just you, me and the terrible water pressure."

You scoffed at that.

"Well… are you going to finish cleaning up or what?"

"With you watching?"

"Ja. Why not?"

"I feel like a goldfish." You admitted, still keeping some of your dignity which Krueger thought was cute.

"My dear, I have seen you much more compromising positions than simply bathing."

"That's not the point." You stuttered and looked down at your toes. "Should I perhaps join you then, schatzi? Would that be better?"

The water from your lashes streaked down your cheeks when you smiled and held out your soapy loofah. "Much."

….

He'd said it plenty of times before; you never looked better but each time it was a lie for the next time he got you alone. The suds of soap on your already soft and wet skin glistened in the low light, dripping down your arms, your legs, how the soap clung to your collarbones.

Beautiful.

Krueger removed his face covering, his belly flipped when you eyes him up and down as he stepped out of his sweats, kicking them aside along with his towel. Your traveling eyes only furthered his confidence as he came into your shower cubicle.

His wingspan was enough to block you in the tight quarters, the water rushed over your curves as you backed up, letting him into the space. His mind played tricks and thought intrusively that he could bust down these bricks like cardboard at the look you were giving him just then.

"Is this better, mein schatz?"

"Come closer." You breathed and moved around the shower, keeping your eyes locked on his as it was his turn to stand underneath the water. It splashed and dribbled down his body, his muscles warming in its delicate embrace.

Your hands looked so small whenever you touched him, going over his abdomen with the soapy loofah. He didn't mind that he'd be smelling like mango and shea. He found it pleasing, reminded him of you and suddenly the thought of having to buy a bottle of the stuff to occupy his toiletries once he left this place made him a little somber.

He didn't want to leave you.

The big killing man had a soft spot for you.

Sure, the others gave him shit for following you around like you had some invisible leash around his neck, he'd break fingers and backs of any of your enemies if given the lucky chance. He did so with ease because he was the one to warm your bed, make you laugh and hold you close.

Better to just fuck it out, his feelings could sort themselves down as they circled down the drain.

Your begging made him harder, you both knew his cock fit but to hear you beg for it, plead for him to give it to you made him feral. He grabbed your hip hard and placed your foot on the soap dish partition as he leaned forward, teasing you both as he tapped the head of his cock against your clit, slipping the shaft between your folds. He didn't press in right away, making you arch and pull him closer with a hand on the nape of his neck.

"Make it fit, Sebastian. Make it fit. Stretch me out." You whined, watching him rock his cock up against your folds, coating him with your arousal.

"That's what you want, hmm? Are you worried it won't?" Krueger teased, smiling at your focused face.

"I just…I just want it in me," you batted your lashes then, inching your pussy forward, begging for a little more friction, something only his cock could seem to reach. "I need you."

"Ah, and not just five minutes ago you were shooing me out of here, no? Now look at you, looking to get fucked in the showers by a visiting war criminal."

"Are you trying to turn me on even more?" Your giggle melted into a satisfied moan when he stuffed himself inside you. Thick, rock hard pulsing muscle sinking in deeper. You rested your head on his shoulder the closer he got.

"Oh fuck. That's it."

"This what you wanted, my dear? How quickly you fold for me, ja? How quickly your resolve leaves your body once you are full of me."

Krueger taunted, circling his hips as he held your ankle on the soap dish. His other hand came up to cup your breast as he really started to move and fuck you.

It was so hot and dirty, soap slick skin, sloppy wet kisses caught in between. You licked inside his mouth, your nails scratching down his back. You matched his enthusiasm, moving in unison.

Krueger planted his feet along the slick floor, grunting your name, panting out little phrases.

"Good girl."

"Keep it coming, baby. That's it."

"Good job baby, good job taking it all in."

"Ohhh you are really trying to milk my cock, hmmm? Go on then, squeeze me, squeeze it all out."

You sunk your teeth into his shoulder, keening and begging for more. The grey cloud of leaving you, this moment, this kind of sex crept around his shoulders. He hated it, shaking his head, wetting his face under the water.

"It's so good. You're so good," you cooed, petting his face and staring blissfully into his eyes. "So so good to me."

Krueger would be lying if your admittance didn't steal his breath. How you looked, in general and the way you looked at him like he was everything. Some precious jewel, a forbidden item. He licked his lips and kissed you hard, holding you somehow closer as his cock brushed up deep, nudging a spot inside your cunt that drove you wild. You bit his tongue.

"Oh shit, do that again! Fuck that's good."

"Ja, you like that? Like how I fit so perfectly in your perfect little cunt," Sebastian chuckled as you nodded frantically. "Wish I could take you with me. Keep you like trinket. Fuck, clench around me."

"I am." You moaned.

Sebastian paused, lifting your chin from his shoulder, cupping your cheek. He blinked rapidly.

"I put in a transfer."

"What? Why?"

"Why not? I'm not even from here!"

He gave you sideways look, brows coming together, broken pieces of him were being molded together, weaved together with whatever witchcraft you had. He would never get enough.

"Fuck yes." Krueger kissed you again, sweeter than the last but there was more feeling behind it. "You're mine. All mine now."

Your sobs for more boosted his already incredibly high ego, making him fuck you faster, made him feral with desire as he pinched your nipples, bit the side of your neck, groaned almost pathetically into your ear, licked the shell of it. He called you every beautiful word he knew, huffing when you sang his name.

"Fuck I'm… it's coming, I'm coming, Make me cum, please! I need it, I need it so badly. I'm gonna' cum so fucking hard, don't stop don't stop don't--"

"Atta' girl, there's my girl, Moan it out baby, let me hear it. Let me know how good you feel right now." Krueger sighed when you responded in kind, whining and throbbing your release around him. He wasn't going to last much longer either, everything felt so decadent and warm and safe.

Sebastian pulled out, fucking his fist instead but lost his balance as you suddenly dropped down to your knees, your hot mouth on his cock, tasting yourself along with his pre-cum made him groan. His breath hiccupped the deeper you took him down your throat.

"Fuck… that's it baby, good God you're so good at taking cock. Doesn't matter which hole. Swallow it down, that's it. Be a good girl, fuck… swallow it all down. It's coming baby, get that pretty mouth ready for me. I can't---I'm coming. Here it comes baby."

You looked like a goddess down there, swallowing his load, gulping it down. You barely showed him your empty mouth before he hauled your ass back up to your feet, crushing you into a sudsy embrace. He kissed you again, tasting everything.

"You are everything to me." He confessed.

"That's why I'm coming with you. Where you go, I go."

He'd figure something out, he thought as the water began to chill. Mixing business with pleasure was always a toss up, could make for a shaky foundation but that's the thing with balance.

[charliemwrites]

Part 2!

Finally finished moving house so hopefully I’ll be updating semi-regularly again.

Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputin’s backstory (injury and illness)

Agatha is over again.

You don’t know why. She doesn’t like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She “keeps tabs” on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.

A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. It’s so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.

Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.

“I know your generation is different but that’s just not the type of neighborhood we live in,” she’s saying.

You’re a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and haven’t registered much of anything she’s said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.

“What do you mean?” you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesn’t buy it.

She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You don’t feel scolded, but you sense that you’re supposed to.

“Now you know just what I mean. People will talk.”

People always talk, it’s an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, you’ve never understood all the chatter.

“Talk about… the buttercups?” you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. You’re quite proud of them actually.

Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. “You ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.”

You blink. Men…?

A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think it’s cursing.)

Ah. Those men.

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you don’t need to justify.

“I’d rather they didn’t feel welcome,” she snips. “Better they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.”

You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.

“They’re nice,” you say. Nice to look at. Krueger’s face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.

“The only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,” Agatha snaps. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.

“Well,” you muse, “better to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.”

That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when it’s just you and the cats.

“You’ve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.”

You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as “young lady” in that insufferably condescending tone. You can’t wait for that day.

Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet “teaching” tone.

“Neighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. That’s why the farmers plant them that way.”

You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agatha’s lips get thin.

“Best that you stay on this side of the street, missy. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You don’t even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as “Off Limits” makes them instantly more appealing.

Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.

It’s nearly sundown when there’s a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.

Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.

“Oh!” Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. “Hallo, Bubchen!”

And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. You’ve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.

And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.

Guy is purring away in Konig’s thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Krueger’s tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.

Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.

“So… the cookies were good then?”

“Very good!” Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.

“We have no baking or cooking skills,” Krueger continues, “so tell us what needs fixing.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. It’s surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. “You don’t need to do that, I was just-“

“Is custom,” Nikto interrupts.

Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)

“In our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,” he explains.

You arch your brows playfully. “I don’t remember inviting you to be guests.”

He arches his brows right back. “We did not invite you either.”

Well shit.

“Okay, okay. I guess there’s a couple things…”

Konig perks up. “We would be happy to help, Biene!”

It’s strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, can’t remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.

There’s a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. It’s not just that they’re big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. There’s a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe it’s in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe it’s the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. And you’re definitely not trying.

You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet you’ve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method you’ve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.

Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesn’t run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when he’s set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.

You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that he’s invading your personal space. He’s not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.

“It’s not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,” you explain.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.

“What happened?” he asks.

You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.

“I’m not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.”

You sigh, scratching at Rasputin’s chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.

“The vet said that that’s probably from a fight with another cat,” you add.

Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. That’s as good an indication as any that Nikto’s probably safe enough.

“I ran down from an office building to save him.” You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. “But anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.”

When you glance up from Rasputin’s happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though you’re not embarrassed.

“I’ll, um, get out of the way,” you say, clearing your throat. “Keep an eye on things, Ras.”

With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.

You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure it’s not too early to start dinner.

“Will I be in the way if I start cooking?” you ask Krueger.

He flicks you a dimissive glance. “A little thing like you?”

You scoff and cross to the fridge. “You could have just said no.”

“Nein,” he snorts.

Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.

There’s meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - that’ll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully you’ll have enough to satisfy their appetites.

“So what’s the plan with the house?” you ask as you get to work. “Just fixing it up to sell or…?”

“We will live there, the three of us,” Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shithead’s batting paws. “Somewhere to stay when we are not working.”

You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still… getting to know people, right?

It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You can’t imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.

“Are you guys military?”

“Contractor,” Krueger corrects.

You perk up. “Wait, really?”

He scowls. “Does it sound like a joke?”

You huff and turn back to the veggies you’re cutting. “No, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?”

He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.

“Yes,” he answers slowly.

“Then… could you maybe answer some questions…?”

His eyes narrow. “Questions?”

You keep your gaze on the cutting board. “Okay, wait, it's not suspicious. I’m a writer and it’s hard to google very specific questions sometimes. It’s just easier to ask an expert in person.”

Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things aren’t accurate.

He makes a considering noise. “A writer?”

You flush. “That’s what I do. Why I’m always home? I publish fiction.”

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task you’ve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.

“And your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and ‘things’?” he asks.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Sometimes…”

“Fine. I will answer your questions,” he allows.

You beam. “Thank you!”

He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.

“What else needs doing?”

Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesn’t feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.

Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. He’s much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.

You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, there’s no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a “real” job.

Before you know it, the moon is high and you’re sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.

You tell yourself it’s not anticipation that goes through you, knowing they’ll be back with it soon.

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Masterlist

[konigsblog]

cw: kidnapping/yandere, dark content, dead dove: do not eat.

thinking about how envious kidnapper-krueger is because you favour your other kidnapper, könig.

könig is so gentle and tender with you, knowing this is new to you, fresh to this environment. when you're crying hysterically after krueger decided to scare you with graphic images, telling you to behave, otherwise you'd be slapped around, you fled from office, begging könig to hold you while you sobbed.

of course, könig and krueger are friends, lifelong friends. but, he can't help but feel ashamed of krueger's cruel taunting; making you sob to break you down, so he can build you back up to fit his ideal standards of obedience, respect and behaviour.

oh, engel, your poor cheeks, shining with your tears while you shake and tremble against könig, krueger coming down and grinning from afar, while könig tries to convince you to tell him what's got you all upset.

könig knows him all too well, yelling and cursing at him in german while cupping the back of your head, kissing your forehead and offering to make you something to eat to cheer you up. :(

[theghostinyourwalls]

Me and my slasher boyfriends

[semiweirdshipper]

Slashers' as fathers with a child/reader. (Comfort drabbles for anyone like me who has daddy issues).

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is less than ten years old (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

I'm a little embarrassed that I made this but I can't deny that it does comfort me and make me feel better. If it makes you happy as well, then I'm glad. Thank you for reading. I hope you have a nice day.

...

Freddy

He was sleeping in his bed when he felt something nudge his arm, the soft callings of your voice quickly rousing him from his slumber. "Daddy? Daddy, please wake up."

Paternal instincts demanding that he instantly wake to check and see if you were okay, Freddy sat up and opened his eyes. Immediately the sight of you standing beside the bed in your pajamas with a sad, frightened look on your face greeted him, and he reached out to gently brush a hand through your messy hair.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Is everything okay?" He asked, gazing around for potential danger.

You whimpered, your little hands anxiously fiddling together as you say sadly, "I... I had a nightmare and I... I got scared."

Relaxing a bit, Freddy sat up all the way in bed and lifted his arms out towards you, "Oh sweetie, come here."

Stepping forward and lifting your arms, you whimper whenever your dad pulled you sideways onto his lap and held you close. He kissed the top of your head and gently patted your back. "Thought I told you not to be having those?" He mumbled.

"I know, but... It was so scary and I-I didn't like it," You whined, burying yourself into the divine safety of his chest, his scent familiar and comforting.

"Shh, shh," Freddy rubbed soothing circles against your back while hugging you securely against him, always prepared to fight all of your demons away- even if your demons were as simple as nightmares. "It's okay, sweetie. You're alright. Daddy's got ya. Everything's gonna be okay."

"Ok..." You whisper, still snuggled against him. He was so comforting and safe. "Daddy? I'm thirsty. Will you get me some juice, please?"

"You want juice?" Freddy tickled your nose causing you to giggle, "Hm?"

"And a story?" You smile at him hopefully.

"And a story? Well, aren't you spoiled," Freddy smiled back and leaned down to nuzzle your forehead, "Sure, sweetie, let's get you some juice."

Grinning at his compliance, you lean forward and give him a big hug. He hugs you back, and it feels so nice and comforting that you feel as if you could go to sleep right then and there.

Freddy holds your hand as he takes you to the kitchen to get you some juice. Then he grabs a book from a shelf and sits down in his arm chair with you sitting in his lap with your blanket and juice in clutch. He reads to you the short story as many times as you want until you've finished your beverage and declared that you were tired again.

"Can I sleep with you, daddy? Please," You ask, fidgeting in the hopes that you wouldn't have to sleep in the dark alone by yourself again tonight.

Freddy doesn't have the heart to tell you "no", so he nods and ruffles your hair, "As long as you promise not to have anymore nightmares. Promise?"

"I promise, daddy," You say happily, crawling into bed with him and immediately going to snuggle into his chest, "I love you."

Freddy kisses your head and tucks you both in with a blanket, one arm wrapping around you to hold you against him. Warm, safe, and comfortable. "Love you too, sweetie. Now get some sleep and, this time, have 'good' dreams."

Bo Sinclair + Uncle Vincent and Lester

"Hey Les, you seen (y/n) around?" Bo asked as he approached Lester's truck.

Lester gave him a look that he came to dread. "Yeah, they're on back with Vincent. Why?"

Relieved by your assured safety, Bo placed his hands on his hips and stared hard at the ground. Guilt chewed on him like a hungry wolf, and shame became a permanent dark cloud hanging all around him. "I-I messed up, Les," He admitted, shaking his head.

Lester raised his eyebrows in suspicion, "What'a ya mean?"

"Yesterday, I... I messed up," Bo huffed, dragging a rough hand through his hair, "An' now they ain't talkin' to me, and I... I just... Uh."

"Oh, so that's why the little critter wanted to spend the night," Lester chuckled and petted his dog's head fondly, "An' here I was hopin' I was the new favorite uncle. Guess I ain't, huh?"

Bo ignored him as he thought about what happened yesterday. He had been angry for reasons unrelated to you, and when you had tried to get his attention he snapped and yelled at you. Even though "what" was all he yelled, he could still tell how much he scared you and hurt your feelings. Now you wouldn't go around him. Gosh, he didn't mean to do it, he just... He was just an idiot.

Lester frowned at him as if noticing his distress, "Well hell, if it's botherin' ya to the pits then why don't ya go talk to them? You are their daddy after all, ain't ya?"

Yes. Yes he was your dad. And no child should ever have to be afraid of their dad.

Making his ultimate decision, Bo adjusted his hat and began stomping away, "Gotta go."

He found you in the house eating snacks with Vincent. When you noticed he was there, you looked at him and then quickly bowed your head like... like you were afraid of him. And it broke Bo's heart. Good grief, what had he done?

Pulsing with regret, guilt and shame, Bo slowly approached you and knelt down beside your chair, "Hey there, little critter bug. What'cha eating?"

You were hesitant, keeping your face averted as you timidly mumble, "Grapes."

"Ooh, yummy, can I have some?" He lifted his hands out, uncertain of where and when he should start explaining himself.

Sadness and uncertainty decorated your face as you lifted out the bowl to him. Vincent seemed to understand what his brother was doing, and he stood up to leave and give you some privacy.

As he ate some grapes, Bo was surprised to hear you quietly ask, "Daddy... Are... Are you still mad at me?"

"Oh..." He straightened his posture, set the bowl aside and reached out to gently grasp your shoulder, "Oh, (y/n), I was never mad at ya, I just... I was just havin' a bad day and I..."

Bo sighed, his hand squeezing your shoulder gently in reassurance, "Look, critter bug, I didn't mean to yell at ya, and I definitely ain't mad at ya. I just... Daddy made a mistake, and I'm so, so sorry, (y/n). I promise... I'll never yell at you again. I promise."

Your eyes glistened as you looked at him as if in debate. Bo's throat was dry as he waited for your reaction, the negativity and guilt nearly driving him insane.

Instead of saying anything, you spread your arms and lift them upwards. Bo sighed quietly in relief and went to scoop you into his arms, his aching chest slowly beginning to calm down. He still felt guilty for how he made you feel, and he wasn't lying when he promised that he would never ever make you feel that way again.

Michael + Aunt Laurie

You were both trick-or-treating and having a good evening on Halloween. Michael alternated between carrying you on his back, on his hip, or simply holding your hand while walking. It warmed his heart to see how happy and excited you were, your candy-bag becoming overloaded with sweet treats.

He decided to stop at Lauries for a quick break and some refreshment. You ran back out while he was still inside. It only felt like a minute before he followed your footsteps and soon came to a scene that made his blood boil and his eyes widen.

You were laying on your back against the sidewalk, small, frightened cries spilling from your lips. In the direction you were staring, Michael caught a glimpse of a group of teenagers quickly running away. They must have done something to you. But what?

"D-daddy," You cried as he quickly walked over to you, and you skittered to get to your feet.

Michael barely got to check you over for damage before you were wrapping your arms around his waist and crying into his belly. "They pushed me and stole my candy," You whined loudly against him, "I-I just wanted to be friends, b-b-but they stole my candy. Ehh, daddy, daddy, what do I do? They stole my candy."

Anger invaded every nerve within Michael's body as he held you close protectively. How dare anyone treat you this way. How could they? You were the nicest, sweetest little angel. What was their problem? Michael's eyes burned with the memory of those teenage scum and the direction they fled.

Hearing your loud sniffles, Michael gently coaxed you back and knelt down. Slipping off his mask, he reached out, cupped your cheek and used his jumpsuit sleeve to wipe away your tears and snot. Then he used sign-language to ask if you were okay.

You nodded and cried in great sadness, "But they stole my candy. Wh-why did they do that, daddy? I-I just wanted to be friends."

Michael quickly explained to you how those teenagers were obviously bullies. This same experience happened to him too when he was your age. Everything was going to be alright. They would get you more candy. Calm down. Everything was going to be alright.

Slowly you began to calm down, your sobs and whines diminishing. Michael pulled you into his arms and hauled you against his hip so that he could take you into the house. You stayed attached to him the whole time, and he refused to let you go. Frustration still burned inside him, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to protect and comfort you/his child.

Laurie was there to save the day, thankfully, offering you all of the candy she hadn't yet given out and putting on a fun movie for you to watch.

You were snuggled up against your dad on the couch, your mood significantly eased as he rubbed your head and back and offered you pieces of candy. For the most part you forgot about the incident, but Michael certainly hadn't.

Let's just say that, by tomorrow, you would have your stolen candy back.

Hannibal

He had taken a leave of absence from work so that he could better take care of you while you were sick. It wasn't anything serious; just a small cold. The nurse from your school had sent you home earlier due to a sore throat and a fever. Hannibal had rushed to get you as quickly as he could.

Once he got you home, he had you take a bath and get dressed into your pajamas. You complained of throat and stomach pain, and you had irritated sinuses. He gave you some medication and told you to lie down while he made you some special soup that would soothe your tummy.

As he was cooking, he heard your tiny footsteps echoing from the hallway, and he turned to see your sleepy figure approaching, "Daddy?"

"Yes, my child, what is it?" He asked, setting his cutting knife aside.

"My tummy hurts so bad," You pouted, your voice beginning to sound scratchy, "And I don't feel good. I wanna be with you."

Hannibal grabbed a kleenex from the counter and knelt down to gently clean your messy nose, "I know. And that is precisely why you should be sleeping."

"But I can't sleep," You whimper, looking at him with sad, tired owl eyes, "I wanna be with you. Please, daddy? Let me stay with you."

Hannibal tilted his head at you, his brows lifting in debate. While he would rather you be getting some decent rest, he knew that you were young and still filled with energy even whilst you were sick. He didn't have much left to do cooking wise either, so he figured that having you stay around wouldn't harm anything.

"Alright then," Hannibal leaned forward and picked you up, swiftly positioning you on his hip and supporting you with one arm so that he could use the other to cook with.

You held onto his neck while resting your head against his shoulder, your eyes mostly shut as you listened to the sound of his heart beat. Safety and warmth enveloped you making you feel much, much better than what you had before. Your dad was always so cozy and comforting.

Hannibal was able to finish cooking dinner with you on his hip the entire time. Once it was time to eat, he set you down on a chair and made you a drink and a bowl of soup. You ate quietly which worried him a little, but he knew it was just because you weren't feeling good.

"Feeling better?" He asked when you were finished.

You smiled and nodded at him, "Mhm, it was real yummy. Thank you, daddy."

"You're welcome, my child," He reached out and gently squeezed your cheek before taking your bowl and cleaning it, "I don't suppose telling you to get back in bed will do any good, will it?"

Your pitiful whimper was enough of an answer. Hannibal chuckled, dried his hands and went to pick you up again, holding you close as he carried you to the living room. "A movie it is then."

"Can Will come over?" You asked, grinning.

Hannibal gave you a look, "I'm beginning to believe that you're not sick at all."

...

All good fathers' should fight their child's nightmares away, not be the reason why they have them.

[rabbitblackx]

Hiii! Happy Halloween!

May I please have the slashers (Michael ‘78, Jason, Freddy, Brahms) when their usually cheery and happy-go-lucky S/O tells them they want someone de*d? (Censoring just in case aha)

Also, I love your works!

Hiiii! Happy (late) Halloween! Hope u had a spooktacular time!👻 also thank u sm! I really really appreciate it and am glad u like em! :D💖

Slashers when Cheerful!Reader tells them they want someone dead

Includes: Michael Myers (1978), Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger and Brahms Heelshire

Warning: Violence and sexual references

Michael Myers (1978)

*Head tilt*

Michael didn’t feel much, but it was safe to say he was a tad bit shocked when you said that. You, of all people… wanted someone dead?

Michael stalked this person, tracking them down to their house. Instead of killing them then and there, he dragged them kicking and screaming back to your place.

His white mask shone malevolently in the dark kitchen, void of emotion. Your wide eyes travelled down to the person restricted in his arms. Their head was bleeding and their mouth was covered by Michael’s hand, his other around their neck

“Michael…?”

He wasn’t going to kill them, he wanted you to do it

His black eyes were shadowed in darkness, but you knew what they said. In a silent exchange, you slowly slid open a drawer. The person struggled and screamed into Michael’s hand. Your fingers wrapped around the smooth handle of a knife, and you pulled it from the drawer

Michael watched in awe as you approached, shakily lifting the blade. He held the person against his chest, giving you access to their abdomen. You stabbed them over and over, much like how you learned from Michael. Their cries of pain soon died down to nothing but a gurgling death rattle. He threw the person roughly down to the kitchen floor, where their blood pooled around their limp body

Michael didn’t let you say anything. He thrusted you into a wall, making you squeak. He gripped your wrist tight, your hand still holding the bloody knife. He was completely infatuated with you in this moment. His hungry eyes traced down your body as he breathed heavily behind his mask. Though you had just literally killed someone, you could feel yourself coming back to your cheery self as his lustful gaze made you all giddy inside.

Michael gently grabbed your throat, and tugged you towards your bedroom

Jason Voorhees

Though he wouldn’t show it, he was a bit concerned when you weren’t as happy or cheery as you usually were. One morning in bed, as you both sat up, he gently wrapped his strong arms around your frame. A tired smile met your face, knowing that was how he sometimes asked, are you okay?

“I’m fine, Jacey. It’s just that…”

When you told him you wanted someone dead in that sweet little voice of yours, the arms around you stiffened. Rage overtook Jason’s thoughts. What did this person do to you? If you, cute and innocent you, wanted someone dead, they must’ve been the devil himself

That night, Jason left the woods and headed to the more suburban area of Crystal Lake. He was an excellent hunter, and found your foe real quick. He stood over their bed as they slept, their chest rising and falling with each breath. The person soon furrowed their brow and stirred, sensing the hateful eyes boring into them. Jason hardly gave them a moment to realise what was happening before he went in for the kill. He thrusted his machete down, over and over until they were spewing hot blood all over the bedsheets

Jason walked back home, pretty satisfied with himself. His mother was quite proud of him as well. But what excited him the most, was your own glowing words of praise. You were finally gonna be your happy self again!

Jason crept into the cabin, trudging towards your shared bedroom. You slept soundly within the sheets. Unlike his last victim, he would not wake you so rudely. He instead laid down next to you, bloody clothes and all. Jason wrapped his arms around you and pulled your back into his chest

“Mmm, Jason…?” You croaked

You could feel the fresh blood dampening the blanket. But alas, you were too tired to care. You also knew exactly who’s it was

“Love you, Jason.” You smiled

Jason rested his head on top of yours, cuddling against you affectionately

I love you too

Freddy Krueger

Instantly aroused😨😨

Freddy laughed evilly and licked his lips at you. Now we were talking! He loved that you were always happy and cheery, it was what made you so fun. But there was that small part of him that just wanted to ask, don’t you just wanna go ape shit?

He was gonna go kill them, sure. But in that moment, all he wanted was you. He slammed you against the wall and gripped your waist hard. Flirty giggles bubbled from your lips as he pulled you into a needy kiss

Freddy slithered into the person you wanted dead’s dreams like a fox to a chicken coop. He tormented them continuously, physically and mentally. He even interrogated them, shouting right in their face about you

“How dare you fucking touch them? You’re mine now, you little bitch!”

Couple slashes to the face later, Freddy waltzed his way over to your own dreams; his favourite place in the whole world. You greeted him with a wide smile and open arms, running up to him and attacking him in a hug. Freddy was careful with his bladed glove as he hugged you back

“It’s all taken care of, prince(ss). They won’t bother you ever again.”

Freddy pressed his chapped lips to yours, then shoved his bare hand under your shirt. Now the gory deed of his was done, he wanted you all to himself. You thought you could be all sexy, ask him to kill for you and then get away with it? Nuh-uh, babe! He was gonna eat you up

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms always adored how joyful you were. Whenever he felt blue, you were right there to cheer him up! What would he ever do without you?

One night, after reading Brahms a bedtime story in the most enthusiastic and engaging way possible, you gave him a goodnight kiss before cuddling up next to him in your shared double bed. Like usual, he fell asleep before you did, with his curls nestled against your chest. Just as you were about to drift off yourself, a loud crash sounded from downstairs. You nearly jumped out of your skin, becoming alert. You shook Brahms furiously awake, causing him to moan and groan in protest

“Brahmsy, I heard something from downstairs! I think there’s someone down there!”

You both leapt to your feet and snuck down to where you heard the noise. Just as you guessed, a burglar was in the living room, shoving old antiques and your tech into a duffel bag. He soon locked eyes with you, before looking over to Brahms. The burglar charged towards him, tackling him to the floor. The porcelain mask Brahms wore shattered into five large pieces, and laid at your feet. You screamed bloody murder as the two men began to tussle with each other. You kicked at the burglar, trying to get him off your boyfriend

Brahms ended up shoving him off, scrambling to his feet and looming over the smaller man. You looked to the broken mask on the floor, and a wave of anger hit you

“Kill him, Brahms.”

Before you could even realise what you just said, it was too late. Like a trained attack dog, Brahms threw himself onto the burglar. He straddled his hips, holding him down. He felt around for one of the shards of porcelain, and snatched one off the floor.

Brahms drove the jagged edge into the burglar’s throat. Your words echoed in his mind as he twisted the porcelain deep within the man’s jugular. He would do anything for you. You told him to do something, and he was straight on it. Always

When the burglar’s body stilled, Brahms lifted himself off him and stumbled over to you.

“Brahmsy…”

You threw your arms around him, and laid your head against his chest

“It’s okay, dear. I’ll protect you forever.” Brahms uttered in that deep, rich voice of his

[sweetiecutie]

Part ten: breast worship~ 🩷 Kinktober Masterlist 🩷

Pairing: Sebastian Krueger x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, tiddy sucking, breast worship, thigh humping, love🥺

A/n: yes, October is over and so is Kinktober so WHAT??? Try fucking stopping me duh

It was a fun little quirk of Krueger’s, the one you’ve discovered a whole while after starting your relationship. His oral fixation. A rather huge one.

Sebastian had something in his mouth pretty much all of the time - nibbling onto the straw long time after he finished his juice, numerous chewing gums and marmalade candies which could be found in the pocket of his every jacket, his own fucking nails for the lack of anything else, which you oftentimes scolded him for.

That’s why most of the nights you or Sebastian spent over at the other’s place ended up pretty much the same - both of you cuddled up under heavy layers of blankets, all warm and snuggly, Krueger’s head hidden under your (his) shirt, mouth full of your soft tits. The tip of his tongue traced circles around your erected nipple, head dizzy from your sweet and oh so dear scent, making him cuddle even closer into you. His hand was busy with your other breast, making sure that both of his girls were getting enough attention, nimble fingers tweaking and pinching your nipple softly, eventually causing slick to pool in your panties.

Small whine escaped Sebastian as you felt his hips humping against your thigh, his hard cock poking your leg, some of the precum was soaking through the cotton of his boxers, wetting your skin. Your hand came to rub wide circles onto his back, a simple and casual gesture making Krueger melt into a soft puddle in your loving arms, softening his bones and filling his stomach with butterflies.

Releasing your breast with a loud ‘pop’ his wet lips stared scattering small kisses all over your sternum, slowly making their way to your other tit.

- Ich liebe dich, - he whispered, those words never failing to make your heart skip a beat. You wrapped yourself further around his bulky form, sleep heavy on your eyelids, exhaustion of the day thrumming in your very bones.

- I love you too, - you mumbled, placing a kiss on the top of Sebastian’s head through the fabric of the t-shirt he was under. Closing your eyes it was no surprise you were fast asleep in a few minutes, and so was your lover.

And, of course, it was no surprise to wake up with Krueger’s mouth suckling gently onto your tits once again, his big glossy eyes gazing up at you adorably as you peeked under the neckline of your t-shirt. The best fucking way to start your day<3

[24kvlaks]

SURVIVOR

(Survivor X Male DBD characters.)

Imagine the killer taking interest in the reader. This is a variety of different situations and the reader acts different in each scenario.

THE TRAPPER X NEWB!E READER

Trapper, if you had to be honest he was terrifying. The mask, the height, the damn traps. Worst of all his speed, it was just unnerving going up against him.

Or anyone to say the least, you didn't even know why you were there. You didn't have a crazy sob story, anything supernatural going on. You were an average joe.

Everyone else had these crazy abilities, and you just stood out of the way and did generators from a far distance.

So during your usual routine, doing a generator in the far distance you heard a snap in your left ear. The fuck? were your only thoughts as someone strong threw you over there shoulder.

And you thought you were completely fucked. You were so focused on generator rushing you didn't notice all your teammates had died, he had went past numerous of hooks.

You were hopeless and thought he was toying with you, but he stopped in front of a generator and let you waddle off of his shoulder.

You saw the hatch though you didn't dare go towards it and obeyed his wishes too finish the halfway done generator.

2 more gens to go, you sighed. Not daring to speak aloud in front of the beast.

Hot on your heels you led him to the next generator, and began working on it though you could hear him growl every time you accidentally popped it.

After what seemed like hours you moved towards the last one, thinking he was going to trick you and down you for his sick and twisted pleasure.

You were determined to escape, making sure to not fuck up like you usually did. He saw your sweat, watching how determined you were to limited freedom. Almost pissed you'd have to suffer at the hands of another killer.

Finishing the generator you sprinted yet quickly he grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder once again, and letting you down.

He opened the door for you, and the entity whispered, dawned by his disobedience.

_

THE WRAITH X INN0CENT READER

You've been in the trials for a while now. Though you always believed that the killers were still redeemable no matter how unaesthetically pleasing they were.

Especially "The wraith." There was just something about his little eyes that gained sympathy from you.

So here you were running from him, first aid in hand and not dropping pallets on him. Why? Because you refused to hurt him. Especially after you heard about his past, poor dude.

Confused by you he flinched every time you neared a pallet wondering why instead of fighting back you ran away.

Could this person possibly have empathy? To test that theory he cloaked and stalked you half the game, only gaining two kills which had been before he confronted you.

He thought you might've been a little dumb, he knew that his cloak was practically invisible though you could easily see it when he moved.

Eventually he revealed himself and chased you, just to figure you out, and to see if you'd attack if he seemed threatening enough.

Yet you didn't, you ran while you cried. Eventually the last generator got popped and they began opening the exits.

Wraith revealed himself once again and just stood there trying to at least indicate he meant no harm but was curious. Stepping out of the bush they opened the gate in front of wraith.

Gaining a sense of trust. You nodded and mumbled a tiny thank you.

_

THE HILLBILLY X INJURED READER

Running back and forth to heal your teammates, unhook them and save them so they could generator rush towards a win. Once again hillbilly on your trail.

You were getting tired, and eventually slacked off almost ending your own life, luckily he only hit your mask.

The scratches that other killers had left on your face, then started to burn from the dust in the air. He watched you fall and heave from the pain. Honestly it was a disgusting sight to see.

Though it reminded him of the pain he felt internally from his deformity. Revving his chainsaw he ran after someone else. Thinking you had enough problems on your own.

Feeling bad almost, and hooking the first survivor he saw with an aid kit so you could heal your face up. Once you did he continued the trial like usually.

Taking it easy on you but not letting you get ahead of yourself.

_

THE SHAPE X WEAK READER

You were your groups aid, you didn't fight or unhook because that wasn't your best suit.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being stalked. Every trial you had against the shape he had a close eye on you, yet didn't spare you pain. He'd hook you, and injure you.

Yet he wouldn't finish you off because he saw you as weak and had no interest in killing someone who didn't pose as a threat to him. Nor did he bow to the entity he did get here by himself after all.

He didn't care for looking for the hatch, he just cared for killing those who posed as strong or smart. You didn't, you had a brain it just didn't challenge his intellect.

Though you had your moments, stunning him. Out-thinking him from time to time. Though still, if he really tried he knew he'd kill you in an instant.

He'd camp your campfires and watch you have panic attacks after a trial or before one.

You weren't strong minded but determined to survive. Odd combo but it suited you, he knew not giving up was your strong suit.

Which is mainly why he kept an eye on you, not doing you lots of harm but hurting you when you got in his way.

_

THE CANNIBAL X CLUELESS READER

Very first trial, you had no clue what happened you just woke up there. The other people didn't talk to you they didn't trust each other especially after the unknown had resembled a little like Dwight.

So as soon as you were thrown on some farm you ran towards the nearest person, he was huge with a chainsaw. But hey! He could've just been farming right?

"Hey uh what am I supposed to do?"

Taken back he just started swinging, scared and frightened he listened to the entity's command.

"No! I'm sorry, I just want to go home man I don't know where I am."

Confused he started roaring and mumbling, it was clear that he seemingly had a disorder or speech problem so you started to speak slowly in hopes of an understanding.

Yet you got no where and he was busy having a tiny panic attack, so you walked away and sat on some hay in hopes someone would help you out.

Hearing screaming your first thought was to help so immediately ran towards the sound. Laying on the ground had been someone from the camp bleeding out.

Though as soon as you went to grab them that same man had picked them up and threw them on a hook, a fucking hook.

You dropped to your knees and begged the man to stop, and God he was fucking confused so he stood waiting for the entities command yet nothing was heard so he continued standing.

You unhooked the person and thanked the man, he mumbled something but it wasn't comprehensive so you just went along with it. You ignored the screams as you began to have an idea of what was going on.

You continued to save others whilst avoiding any conflict with him.

the trial went by fast, his confusion with no guide became beckoning, so as the gates opened you called him over, he just stood there whining.

"I don't know your name man but whoever you were talking too, will be back. Though seemingly times running out, thank you for taking it easy uh leather face?” you threw him your cloak because it was a tad chilly and jogged to the exit."

Leaving him confused he thought of it like having two opposing masters too obey when all you did was be kind towards him.

_

FREDDY KRUEGER X ATTRACTIVE READER

You had been there for a while, and yet you've heard all this news about this new killer. You were curious and determined to beat him once you met him.

You weren't going to lose to someone who the survivors say looked like a pizza with the cheese wiped off.

Yet the more you kept thinking about him the more you kept having these odd dreams. A red boiler room and some claws.

You asked others about it yet they stayed silent not wanting to get involved.

One night you went to sleep on Dwight's leg as everyone slept around the campfire.

Opening your eyes you saw the same boiler room from those other nights, yet this time you walked towards a scraping sound.

Too your surprise you saw the dude everyone was talking about. "what the fuck is this?" You cursed at him hands up ready for a fight. “This a new trial?!”

"Feisty aren't ya!" You quickly caught on by the way he was speaking to you so obvious he was flirting with you. Gross.

"What do you want, this isn't a trial. This isn't possible. Just another fuckin' nightmare." You roared at him, hands in fist you charged at him.

Just to somehow end up falling with ya legs tied. "Oopsie." He laughed at you, fucking demon.

"God, wake up dumb ass, wake up." You yelled at yourself. "This is my world, pretty bitch." He said what? And you couldn't even get up to defend yourself. Pathetic position you were in.

"God you don't get it, I own this mind of yours-"

Before he could finish his sentence she grabbed his glove and stabbed herself. Immediately she woke up.

"Crazy, but God I'd fuck that." He spoke before ending the dream.

You woke up with blood on your hands, oh you’d beat his ass next trial.

_

THE LEGION X STRONG CRYBABY READER

He thought of everything as a game, he knew he couldn't die in this realm so he roamed freely.

So once you were added into these trials golly he got excited. He knew that the entity gave you permission other known as a (perk) to fight back.

So he tested it, chasing you and breaking the finale pallet leaving you in a corner. He swung, you dodged and kicked. God did it hurt, he was stunned. Sitting there for ten whole seconds.

Quickly he realized that was going to be a problem and wondered how he could've countered it.

Legion being Legion he quickly began collecting kills. Yet he kept seeing you, he was reckless but he wasn't stupid. Chasing you would've wasted time and all of your teammates.

Yet one fucking problem was you were everywhere, you were popping generators and unhooking.

So he knew he had to get rid of you, though it was looked down on Legion camped a body knowing you'd come to the rescue and yes you did.

You got the unhook but you were knocked, so when he hooked you he took it as a sweet and sour victory.

Though as soon as he threw your shoulder on the blade you let out a petrifying roar.

He turned to you and saw his big strong girl being a cry baby. God, she looked adorable. Covered in blood and as strong as a killer but here she was crying when she got hooked.

He started accidentally camping, he was just in such awe. He stood there for so long he got you into the second hook faze.

Realizing he didn't want you dead, at least yet. he hurriedly ran away. And to his satisfaction someone rescued you.

You healed yourself up as he went to slaughter the rest of your teammates. It was up to you to save them.

He had hooked the third teammate so immediately you unhooked them, hiding behind a huge rock as you crouched towards Dwight's hook and unhooked him as your teammate did with the other.

One generator left. You decided to go head on with the killer. Just to buy time even though you were the only one with a second hook stage.

Yet you couldn't find him. Almost as if he wasn't in the trial. Unbeknownst to you he was avoiding you. Knowing you had second stage.

So as the last generator popped and two teammates died, you and Laurie managed to escape.

—

THE DOCTOR X PSYCHOTIC READER

There you were. The trial had just began and you already had a sick plan in your head.

You were going to sacrifice your teammates and find the hatch. Easy plan.

The trial begins. You had no sight of the killer so you just started on a generator. Absolutely oblivious until you felt shocks going through your body and you let out a petrifying scream.

You ran, quickly. Hoping that he didn’t notice you but oh how he did and he was hot on your trail.

Shit, this is not how you expected it to go. And your teammates were popping generators left and right.

Only 3 generators left, and he’s wasting his time trying to hook you and please the entity.

Though unbeknownst to him, you were just as much of a sick fuck as he was.

So you did what any bad teammate would do, and led him towards your other comrades. They were in shack, and you already had an escape plan.

You dropped shack palate cornering your teammates in a circle. Then hopped out the window as he went to slaughter them. You ran downstairs and opened the box.

To your amusement a first aid had been inside. You began wrapping up your wounds. The blood stopping making moving much ease.

The crazy fuck had hooked two of your teammates and the other one was on the rescue so you didn’t bother saving them.

You heard the doctor upstairs. His sick laughing feeling you with jealousy. How he got the pleasure of being a killer.

And you were stuck running.

The doctor saw what your little plan was, fishing it amusing to watch you jeopardize the life of the others just to win.

You snuck out of the basement and went to do a generator in the near corner. Both of your teammates unhooked and they got stuck in a tunneling chase.

You didn’t care. You just wanted to win. You wanted to make the entity amused and pleased.

Maybe that’s why they chose you.

Your sick and twisted mind.

You intrigued him. He wanted to dissect you, analyze your brain. Fix you, fix you with his electricity. Or kill you trying.

Your teammates got hooked again. 2 on the second phase and one on the first. Of course you weren’t going to save them.

You used the time to pop gens.

One generator left. And a teammate on a second hook phase. You rescued them, not because you cared but because you needed him to be distracted.

You heard him nearby.

You ran towards him to loop him towards your teammate he had a sickening smile on your face. He loved watching you play games with him.

You were his new favorite toy.

He shocked you just to hear you scream. It was music to his ears. Imagining you as his new test subject brought him joy.

Any joy he actually had left.

You led him to your teammate but he didn’t want to play by your rules. So he continued chasing you, he managed to hit you once.

Still hot on your trail as you barely had the strength to run. He downed you, throwing you over his broad shoulders.

He hooked you. God it was painful but nothing you’ve never felt before.

His sickening laugh filled your ears.

As your teammate came and saved the day. They downed themselves in the process, what a waste of a life.

You saw the hatch. But he saw you; and it was just a race for it. Both of you running for your life.

He hit you, you fell above the hatch.

He laughed and watched as you fell through.

Next time he would’ve made you scream for his very mercy.

He wanted to play with you, toy around with any sanity you had left.

You were a sick fuck. A sick fuck ready to be an experiment. He let you escape, he could’ve killed you if he tried. But what fun would that be if he killed you that easily?

And you both were looking for some fun next trial.

[hunterbunter3000]

OH LORD MAMA TAKE THE WHEEL THISNIS MY LAST ONE.

imagine the boys just got back from a mission and when they enter the base, they found sweetheart cooking their country food for them. The taste is giving ✨SEASONED✨, its giving ✨you want me to marry you✨, its giving ✨that type of food that added 10 years to your life span✨, ITS GIVING ✨YOU DID A VERY GOOD JOB AND IM PROUD OF YOU✨

NOOOO NEVER STOP THESE I SWEAR YOU'RE JUST FINE 😍😍🫂🫂 these give me life you have no idea miss roro💕

(@missroro ROROOO GURL IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER😭😭 PLS FORGIVE ME I WAS SHADOWBANNED AND THEN OTHER ASKS KEPT POURING IN🧎‍♀️this is quite long, so hopefully you will take that as a sacrifice for my tardiness 🙏I hope you're doing well! I miss you LOTS 💓)

BUT UGHHH GOD

And the FACT that I already have a scenario that's kinda like this blows my mind 🤯🤯

When Sweetheart wasn't needed for this certain mission, she said "aight bet. I know yall are gonna be so damn tired and hungry so watch this WORK."

(Idk if you wanted Sweetheart to cook her home food, or cook their country meals, so imma do both 💀)

Her home-cooked food:

When Task Force 141 came back to the base they smelt that SEASONING IMMEDIATELY LIKE--

Gaz: Something just happened.

I know he's the FIRST to book it to the living room, and then he sees the PLETHORA

GRITS, SWEET YAMS, MAC AND CHEESE, CHICKEN, HAM, GREENS AND OX TAILS, CORNBREAD-- ALL THE GOOD SHIT YOU CAN THINK OOOFFF

Gaz squeals (LITERALLY SQUEALS) cause he's been wanting to taste her cooking.

(He's always asked about African-American cooking since he grew up with British cooking. Sweetheart told him the goodness and he's been hooked on it ever since)

Everyone else comes in and sees the table and they're just in shock

Like what the hell- how long did it take you to make all this?? I love you???

It felt so domestic, like coming home to a home cooked meal after getting off work and seeing your wife smile at you saying "welcome home, dear!"

Sweetheart is just beaming at them, saying "I know yall have been through hell, so have a lil' piece of heaven!" (She's so CHEESY) the mother in her comes thru, telling them to take showers and get situated first then come eat.

WHEN I TELL YOU THAT THEY B O O K E D IT TO THE MENS SHOWERS TO GET CLEAN-- GHOST PUSHED ALEX AND SOAP INTO A WALL SO HE CAN GET THERE FIRST (König and Price were already in there LOL they're witches I swear)

They were done so quickly Sweetheart had to check if some of them were actually clean

Sweetheart: Suds?

Soap, flushed: uhm, yeah?

Sweetheart, eyes squinting: Did you wash yo' ass?

Soap:

Soap: Yes...?

Sweetheart: GO GET CLEANED

Soap: BUT FOOD--

Sweetheart: G O

(Alex and Gaz low key laughing at him and Price is disgusted that Soap sometimes doesn't wash his ass)

They all finally sit down and they just enjoy the warm feeling in their chests while looking at the food. Sweetheart turns on some r&b music (is this a black 80s BET movie? MAYBE) and she walks to the edge of the table, eyes are filled with love and pride for her team. "Aight, I'm gonna keep this short and simple cause I know all yall are hungry and tired," she starts. The team sit on every word she says, as they always do. She smiles. "I'm glad you all made it back safely. Successful mission or not, I will always be proud of all of you. I love yall."

She's too good for them, man. Wtf

They all just fell in love with her more AHA

So she sits down and the chatter and clatter begins. They all moaned so much when they ate the food 💀💀

(They all went into a food coma and had the BEST SLEEP EVER)

--

(If she made everyone's food from their culture) (I put my whole ass into this wow)

When SAS and Los Vaqueros trudged through the hallway, they heard a clang and a yelping "Ow! Son of a-"

Price and Ghost look at each other before picking up the pace towards the kitchen. "Sweetheart? Are you -" Price freezes when he sees the kitchen filled with different types of food. " - Okay..."

"Oh fuck-- Hey! Yall are back already! That's wonderful." Sweetheart nervously laughs as she wipes her hands on her messy apron. The others start to come in, not expecting the different dishes on the counters. She squeals, "Nah uh! Don't come in here! Go and get cleaned now, all of you!" They stare at her for a bit until sprinting to the Men's Showers. Shouts and loud bangs from falling tact gear are heard, making Sweetheart chuckle and shake her head. Once the men came back to the kitchen, she was gone and so was the food. "In here!" She yelled. Soap made it first to the dining room and let out a big gasp. On the long, make-shift table sat a multitude of different foods and drinks each man recognized from their home country.

"Oh, mo leannan, this looks barry!" Soap exclaims.

"In English, Mactavish." Ghost mumbles, making Soap kiss his teeth. "This looks wonderful, St.! I'm- how did you--" Sweetheart shushes him, Soap still smiling ear to ear. "Don't ask questions! Just come sit down and get your plate."

They all grab a plate and utensils with rushed steps and big smiles.

- 𓆩♡𓆪 -

Price, Ghost, and Gaz sat at the end, where they all recognize the things to make Bangers and Mash. Shepherd's Pie and Fish and Chips could be found on all their plates with a side of Barm cakes. Their dishes melt in their mouths, dragon breathing at every bite since it was still hot. Ghost had a feeling in his chest that he felt extremely warm and overwhelming. He didn't think she would make something like this for him. "How're yall enjoying it?" She asks behind Price. "Umberweivable!" Gaz spouted out, a disbelief and amazed look on his face. Sweetheart laughs at him, "Hopefully, that meant unbelievable!" Gaz nods quickly with big food-filled cheeks. "Absolutely amazing, Princess." Price says after taking a swig of homemade Ginger Beer. "Haven't had Shepherd's Pie and Ginger Beer in so long. Good run down memory lane." Price smiles with soft and grateful eyes. Sweetheart snorts out a laugh and taps her cheek. Price raises an eyebrow until the embarrassment creeps in. He grabs his napkin and wipes the food that was stuck to his cheek. "I'm glad you like it, Cap! It was so hard finding an easy recipe for that damn beer." Sweetheart grumbles, looking at the kitchen with furrowed eyes and hand on Price's shoulder. He leans into her touch and sighs. "All in all, thank you." He murmurs, lifting her hand and placing a kiss on it. Sweetheart giggles, ignoring the heat coming from her hand. "You're very welcome!" She moves to Ghost, who has been quietly shoveling food in his mouth. "Hey Ghost! Are you--" Sweetheart stopped when he looked up at her. Eyes big with tears running down his flushed, stuffed cheeks. His eyes tick away from her changed face. "What...?" Simon whispers. She gives him a soft smile as one of her hands wipes off his tears. He didn't even notice the tears falling... "You enjoying the food?" She asks softly. Oh, that tone. That tone she uses only for Simon. He shivers, nodding his head slowly and then laying on her hip. She coos, wrapping her hand around his head while giving him head scratches to calm him down. You're alright, Simon. She's saying through her touch. Enjoy yourself.

Soap was practically vibrating in his chair when he saw a pitcher of Scottish Ale next to a big pot of Cullen Skink and an array of Scotch Pies with small Bacon Butties on the side. He did a double take when he saw a dish filled with Stovies and fried cut potatoes. Just how he ate it when he was younger. He lets out a disbelieved laugh as he reaches for it. "St.!" He calls out to her. She comes over with a worried look. "Wassup Suds? Everything okay?" He looks up at her with glassy eyes and a smile, nudging the Stovies. Sweetheart snickers, "I told you I would make it! I remember you tellin' me that your...màthair? Or-- mudder- damn I forgot how to say it-- but ya mom use to make this for you! So I looked up a recipe and may have added some of my extra spice to it." She explains as she whispers and laughs that last part. He can't believe that she remembers that. He told her that when he met her; telling her all the different Scottish cuisines. "I hope it tastes good..." She mumbles to herself. She cares. Soap grabs his spoon and collects some of the dish. She cares so much. Memories going through his mind when he chews it. She cares too much. "It's delicious." Soap whimpers out. Sweetheart smiles as she bends down to hug him. "I'm glad you like it."

Alejandro exclaims loudly when he takes a bite of his abundantly covered Elote. Rudy chuckles at him, taking another big ladel of Pancita and putting it in his bowl. "Hey guys, are you- WOW," Sweetheart yells. "You guys really ate almost everything! The Tamales and Flautas are gone..." Alejandro hums as he swallows. "So is the Ceviche and the Pipián." They both laugh at Sweetheart's surprised face. "Yall were hungry!!"And we still are, mama!" Alejandro snickers, taking more bites of his corn. "Mi flor, how did you make some of these dishes? And by yourself?" Rudy asks. He's so proud of her. He feels like he's back at home. "Oh, I had some help! Kinda-- some of the rookies helped me make the dishes! But then I kicked them out cause they were getting on my nerves." Sweetheart said, making the men laugh. "I knew you were a good cook. You would make a good wife someday, Sweetheart!" Alejandro shouted out as he smiled. Her shy laugh made him feel warm, but he wants his statement to come true.

König wanted to cry. He hasn't seen such a big pan of Tiroler Gröstl in a while. A basket of Kaiser Rolls is next to some Kasnocken and a pot full of Potato Gulasch. He scratches the brown hood he has on. Sweetheart made it for him so he could wear it when he's on base, since his other one was stinking up the joint. He watches Krueger take a big bite of his food and gulp down his drink that tastes like Almdudler. He's also wearing a hood that Sweetheart made for him; light blue fabric and handmade yellow stars scattered around it. It's scrunched up to his nose, his scarred lips still munching on his roll. He seems to be enjoying himself. König hasn't eaten with Krueger ever since they were kids. The impact on Krueger's actions in the past really changed everything for König and the family. But at least they're bonding in silence. "Hey, you two! Enjoying the food?" Sweetheart asks. Sweetheart. "Yes, meine kleine Göttin. It's very tasty." Krueger compliments her. She giggles, but it's cut short when Krueger grabs her arm and kisses her cheek. "Thank you for this wonderful feast, my love." He whispers in her ear with a smirk. Her mind goes blank for a moment, the heat of the kiss still searing on her brown skin. König grips his fork hard, turning his knuckles white. She sputters and then loudly laughs. "Yeah! No- no problem! I uh, König? How you uh, you enjoying the food?" He looks down at his plate, still quite full of food, yet not feeling like eating any of it anymore. König smiles with his eyes. "I am, Schatz. Thank you."

Horangi was enjoying himself to the fullest. Slurping down some Jajangmyeon with korean fried chicken and Kimchi fried rice with an egg. It reminds him so much of his mother's cooking, and when he didn't receive any Valentine's Day gifts so he would eat the noodles on Black Day. He blows on the noodles, the steam fogging up his black sunglasses. He wishes his past choices didn't bring him to this point. To be reminded of what he had, and now it's gone. He drank some of his soda, causing a big burp outta him. "You seem to be enjoying it, Horangi!" But without all his choices, he wouldn't have met her. He chuckles, covering his heavily scarred smile with his hand. Her warm hand snakes around his, gently pulling it down. She wants to see his smile. Her eyes sparkle at seeing his half-uncovered face. He's so pretty... "You like the noodles? M'sorry if I got the sauce wrong, I think I forgot some ingredients--" Horangi shakes his hand up. "No, no! It's perfect. The black bean sauce is amazing. I almost finished the whole pot." He's extremely impressed by her, but the cold feeling in his spine is wanting him to put the mask back on. Sweetheart squeals and claps, "Oh wonderful! I'm so glad you like it! By the way.." She leans down to hug his frozen form. "I hope to see your smile again. It's very pretty." She says. He is not grateful for his past choices, but he is grateful for her.

Alex and Roach enjoy their food in comfortable, happy silence. Alex hasn't had a decent cheeseburger since his leave. He dips a crinkle cut fry in ketchup, while Roach enjoys a big Maine Crab Roll. He's never tasted one before, but he always has, ever since Sweetheart gave him a postcard with the Roll on it, it's been his dream to taste one. "Yo, Alex! How's the burger?" Sweetheart asks, walking up to the both of them. Alex hums with a smile on his face. "You can't go wrong with a cheeseburger unless it's from a dirty bar." Sweetheart laughs, "Amen to that! And you're you doing, Gare Bear? Ya like the roll?" She asks sweetly. Roach can feel his face heat up from the nickname. He puts it down, finally taking breaths from horking it down non-stop, and putting two thumbs up. Her bright smile made both of them feel warm inside.

Graves sighs. His bones and joints hurt so damn bad. That mission with everyone was successful but it always costed some type of labor pain. He went to his dorm, already clean and changed into casual clothes. He could've sworn he heard laughing on the other side of the base... It didn't matter to him. All he wanted to do was to sleep off this pain. He notices a big plate covered in tin foil and a small note plus a coke-a-cola on his door mat. His eyes scan down the hall way with confused brows. Is he being pranked by one of his shadows? He better not be, he doesn't have the patience for it- Oh it's from Sweetheart. Wait- "What?" Graves mumbles, eyeing the messy note. The note reads:

Hey Graves. Congrats on the successful mission

Made you some dinner cause I'm pro proo pri PROU FUCK proud of you. That is the only time I'm gonna say that to you and it's not even in person. Doesn't matter, enjoy the food

Sweetheart ♡ (p.s. you still an asshole and NO I did NOT put laxatives in your food this time)

He huffs out a chuckle with a wobbly smile. So she does care for him. In a-- weird, hateful way. He walks in his dorm with food and drink in hand and opens the tin foil, the smell of barbecue baby back ribs, steamed carrots, buttered rolls and mashed potatoes fill his nostrils. His mouth waters immediately as he sits in his desk chair. He digs in with the utensils that Sweetheart gave him, his mind immediately going to his repeated fantasy about having a family with Sweetheart. Her, serving him a big plate of food with their baby boy on her hip. She kisses Graves's forehead and situates their son in the high chair before she starts to eat as well. A happy smile works on his face, not feeling the tears streaming down his cheeks. A happy family. "It's delicious..."

- 𓆩♡𓆪 -

After Dinner Bonus!

"Hey, no one go ANYWHERE! Yall are helping me clean all this shit up!" Sweetheart points out with a frown. Soap laughs, "Of course, hen! Why wouldn't we?"

"You did a lot for us, Princess. We'll take care of everything now. Go and take a load off." Price says close to her. Very close to her. "Nah, I can help!" Sweetheart pushed. "Your shoulder has been bothering you, hasn't it?" Ghost said, making Sweetheart flinch. "Why you gotta call me out like that, man?" Sweetheart whined. He was right, though. She's been rotating her left shoulder from time to time, playing it off every time one of the boys asked about it.

Alejandro laughs, placing his hand on her hip. His thumb doing small circles on her thin clothing. Rudy and Krueger strolled towards Sweetheart. Rudy wore a soft smile, yet his eyes told a different story. A more mischievous story. Alejandro's voice dropped an octave, making a hot jolt spike through Sweetheart's spine. "Come now, mama. I know just what to do to help you relax."

°.Reblogs are highly appreciated.! Thank you for your support everyone!!

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Phayvanh 'Nak' Sotsvahn belongs to @vasyandii , who I love dearly. He's an amazing artist so please, PLEASE go over there because he's awesome and so talented. And hilarious too! And a fantastic writer (pls more of Nak x Krueger pls pls)

Krueger is... Krueger

''Heh heh you're so smol''

''Do you want a kick on the nuts?''

''I'll shut up''

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈𝓎, 𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈𝓎

Featuring: Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Art the Clown 

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: creepy men, murder, cat-calling, murder boyfriends coming to the rescue (sort of), kind of more protective than jealousy but still, suggestive content, i will probably make more of these if wanted 

Jason

You never have the opportunity to interact with others, usually, most often staying behind in your shared cabin as Jason lurks around the camp. 

Still, there are times where it happens, though rare.

Specifically, there was a time you were near the water’s edge, a swimsuit on as you dipped your feet into the cool water.

Jason was out somewhere, leaving you alone as you watched the sun begin to set.

You moved to wade into the water, but a voice behind you caught you off guard.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a male called, and you turned to spot a man in hiking clothes with a map in his hands.

You raised a brow. How did someone manage to get all the way back here?

“What are you doing here?” you asked, leaving the shore to meet the man in a grassy clearing. 

“I was trying to find an old camp, but it seems like I found something even better,” he replied, a smile on his face that made you cringe.

You frowned. “You should leave.”

“Don’t be like that, baby, c’mon! I can’t leave a poor girl like you all alone out here! There’s some real bad guys out there, ya know.”

You recoiled when he tried to place a hand on your shoulder.

You crossed your arms. 

“It’s not me you have to worry about,” you replied. “Now go back the way you came.”

The man stepped closer to you again, and you were forced to back up until the lake water lapped at your heels. 

“Don’t be scared, honey,” he cooed.

You were about to let out a frustrated groan when you spotted a familiar hulking figure looming near the cabin.

A smile appeared on your lips, and you shot a small wave.

The man noticed your actions, and turned, only to stumble backwards and splash into the water at the sight.

Jason had returned.

Disregarding the man, you trotted to Jason, standing on your tip-toes to plant a soft kiss to his mask. 

You looked to see a machete in his hand, already dripping with a dark red substance.

“Jay-baby,” you whispered, leaning against his solid chest. “I almost thought something happened to you.”

A large hand rested on the small of your back, and you felt him nestle his face into your hair. 

He grunted in response before gently guiding you behind him. 

Though he didn’t say, you could tell he was upset, and you simply watched as he trudged over, large lumbering steps leaving massive footprints in their wake.

The terrified hiker finally scrambled upwards and out of the water, but he only made it a few stumbled steps before Jason grabbed him by the back of his shirt, yanking him backwards.

You knew what would happen next, and so turned your back.

Jason hated when you saw him kill, though you never really minded, but you still wanted to respect his concerns.

Screams echoed behind you as you climbed the steps and swung open the door to the small cabin.

“Wash up when you’re done!” you called out. “I’ll be waitin’ inside!” 

Freddy

Though he’s only really present in your dreams, you know he can see every mundane thing you do, including your trip to the supermarket.

He’s a crazy dream demon who thrives on blood and violence, so it’s no surprise he’ll jump at the chance to eviscerate anyone who dares to talk to you.

You stepped inside the small store, grabbing a cart and swinging your purse inside.

You only needed a few things for dinner, and prayed nobody would be stupid enough to catch your attention.

The rumor was you were cursed, since everyone who ever attempted anything was always found dead, mutilated in ways previously unseen—all in their own beds.

You didn’t mind, a loner anyways, and it’s not like you were ever really alone.

You grabbed a can off the shelf, tossing it into your cart before continuing down the aisle.

A man blocked the way, his own cart by his side as he examined a section of cans.

“Excuse me,” you called, catching his attention.

He looked to you, smiling bashfully before swinging his cart to the side so you could pass.

“My bad,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You’re okay,” you said, beginning to pass by him.

“Wait—” he spoke, a hand shooting out to land on your shoulder softly. 

You flinched, turning around.

“I’m new in town—any idea where to get a cup of coffee around here?”

“Try Starbucks just up the road. See you around.”

“Would you, umm, mind showing me?”

You let out a sigh. “I’ve got a dinner to make. Sorry.”

With that, you left the man alone in the aisle, your hands gripping the cart handle. 

You knew you’d never see that man alive again.

Sure enough, as soon as you fell asleep that night, you appeared in a darkened room, looking just enough like your bedroom to make you believe you’d woken up, but you knew you didn’t go to sleep in crotchless lingerie.

You rolled your eyes. “This is a bit tacky, don’t you think?” 

A presence made itself known in the corner of the dream room, and you shot Freddy an annoyed look.

He stepped close enough to brush his clawed glove against your cheek. “Would you rather be naked?”

“You’re a jealous bastard, you know,” you replied, your own hand resting over his glove. “He was just being nice.”

“He’s not anything anymore—” he laughed wickedly— “that weasel drowned in his own blood.”

You leaned into his touch, letting him push you back against the soft blanket. 

You noted a particularly devious glint in his eye, and if he still had enough skin to show it, you knew his cheeks would be flush with excitement. 

“You’re lucky I think you’re hot when you’re angry,” you teased. “Else I might actually get mad at being the talk of the town.” 

Art

Despite his refusal to talk, his over-exaggerated facial expressions always let you know what he’s thinking.

One such facial expression appeared on his white-covered face as you chatted to a man in a Halloween store, trying to get some help in finding a costume. 

 You thought it would be cute to surprise your clown with a clown costume of your own, but this man wasn’t any help, and you could tell the only reason he still chatted with you was the direct line of sight to your low cut tank top.

Finally, you brushed him off, deciding to look around yourself.

“Let me know if you need anything, little lady!”

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore his eyes still on your back as you flicked through the hanging costumes.

Finally, you found something that looked decent, and begrudgingly walked up to the counter.

“Wanna try it on first?” the man asked, a dirty smile on his face upon seeing the short black and white dress.

You resisted the urge to climb over the counter and fight him, but luckily a certain someone caught your attention.

You looked over to the changing rooms, locking eyes with a familiar murderous clown. 

He peeked his head out from the changing room curtain, shooting you a toothy grin.

“Sure,” you finally replied, taking the costume back and heading towards where you just saw Art disappear back behind the curtain.

You stepped inside and pulled the curtains closed, seeing Art sitting lazily on the bench.

You smirked, shaking the revealing costume at him.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

You grinned when he smiled widely, hand reaching out to snatch the dress off the hanger. 

You knew that peeping tom cashier would want to sneak a peek soon enough, and it didn’t take long before you saw his shoes standing just outside the curtain.

You sat, still in your regular clothes, feet up on the bench.

Finally, the curtain slid open just slightly, and the man recoiled when his eyes met those of Art.

He sported the short dress, and he put his hands under his chin, batting his eyelashes.

The man’s lips curled into a disgusted frown, but quickly changed into a look of fear when he spotted the large hatchet dangling from Art’s gloved hand.

You waved from behind the slasher, a soft smile on your face. “Like what you see?”

The man didn’t have a chance to scream before the hatcher buried itself deep within his skull.

You stood up, giving your lover a cheeky grip to his rear end. “You should wear this more often,” you teased. 

[circusmania]

Hello! Can I request Yandere romantic michael myers that know detective reader is secretly a Eldritch Abomination that showing or feeling no interest, enthusiasm, or concern?

Btw i love your writing😊

Yandere!Michael Myers x GN!Reader ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Notes: Aww! I'm so grateful that you enjoy my writing! Hopefully, you enjoy this one, too. ♡ Also, I hope that it matches what you requested. :')

Muah Muah 🖤

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

WARNINGS: Gore, stalking, mentions of body mutilations (reader + corpses)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Amidst the rain, flashing red and blue lights could be seen. Haddonfield is quiet on this Halloween night, which is no surprise to the people who live there. No trick-or-treaters are seen on the streets, just police and their cars.

A car pulls up, catching the attention of the officers. Out steps the famous detective, You. You've impressed many with your skills and clue findings, no killer has ever been able to slip past you. Except for a particular man. The Boogeyman. You've been on his trail for years now, and you can't say that you haven't enjoyed the chase.

You step in a puddle, paying no mind to your wet shoes as your assistant scurries over with an umbrella.

“Detective!” He frantically fixes himself as he struggles to hold the umbrella over your head. “It's an 18-year-old girl. She was babysitting a young boy (who thankfully survived) when the killer forced himself into the house and stabbed her many times.”

You two approached the body of the girl. Your assistant turned his head, not wanting to see the gruesome sight. There's blood dripping from every open wound. Her face is twisted in agony and there's no light in her eyes.

“Do you think…. He did it? You know… the Boogeyman.” He whispered as if he was afraid of anyone hearing.

You didn't say anything. Obviously, it was, who else could it have been? You crouched down next to her, no emotion displayed on your face as you put on your gloves.

“Her parents are here…” Your assistant spared you a glance as a car pulled up not far from the crime scene.

“Don't let them come near.” You said, getting up after finishing examining her.

“Shouldn't we let her parents see her…?”

The screams and weeping of the parents could be heard from behind the police tape.

You sigh. “This is no place for a funeral. I don't want them touching the crime scene or moving anything.” You replied sharply.

Your assistant shivers at your coldness. He nods and moves to tell the officers. Suddenly, you notice something on one of the trees next to the body.

A heart had been carved into the trunk of the tree. You moved closer, straying away from the umbrella your assistant was holding. Now drenched in rain, you traced the carving with your finger. Whoever had done this knew how to handle a knife… The carvings were deep and done with passion.

Michael Myers was watching from afar, heavy breathing could be heard from under his mask. His grip tightened on his bloody knife as he saw your assistant yell after you for getting soaked.

Back home, your sanctuary, you finally felt relief. Your house was located deep in the woods to avoid any human interactions. The naked eye couldn't process your naked form.

The human skin stuck to yours. You peeled it off, layer after layer. You're careful not to rip it, as human skin tends to be too fragile for your claws. You laid your drenched skin suit on your chair.

You strolled over to your fridge and opened it. Your amalgamation of a hand reached in and pulled out some sort of meat. You engulfed it, not letting any of your teeth have a chance to penetrate it. You scarfed down any remaining bones on the plate.

All of a sudden, one of your many eyes picked up on a movement outside your window. Your eyes narrowed as you closed your fridge. You don't care if a human ever catches your form. Your bare body would make any sane man explode (literally). So you didn't worry about your secret getting out. However, this was different.

Your acute ears focused on any sounds that would indicate the presence of another being. Abruptly, you heard a twig snap.

You rushed out of your house at an abnormally fast rate. You were ready to confront your stalker, however, once outside, you were greeted with the dark, lonely forest and the song of the crickets you were accustomed to.

Whoever you were dealing with couldn't be human. You scoffed and went back inside, failing to notice the pale mask of the Boogeyman amidst the trees.

You were planning on relaxing the rest of your afternoon, but Michael had other plans. You were called in again when another body had been found dumped in a ravine close to your house. You put back on your skin suit, it was extra tight on you since it hadn't dried off yet.

Once again, you did your usual routine. Examine the body, look for clues and ask questions. Whoever this mysterious Michael Myers was, he sure knew how to put up a game of cat and mouse… And romance you in his own way.

The stab wounds on his victim were in a heart-shaped pattern.

“Ain't it too early for Valentine?” Your assistant attempted to (nervously) crack a joke, which fell on deaf ears.

You remained with a stoic face as you watched them place the body in a body bag.

Each year, the Boogeyman gets bolder and bolder. Yet, never had the guts to face you. Unbeknownst to you, tonight would be different.

Your assistant coughed to get your attention. “I've… got to go… family emergency.”

“Mm, okay.” You turned back to the crime scene.

Your assistant lingered for a while, expecting any worried expression or encouraging words. But was ultimately met with your usual uncaring tone.

Another hour had passed, and you were finally granted permission to go home. Home.

As you arrived home, you parked your car and got out. A beautiful stench filled your nostrils. Laying on your welcome mat was a human heart surrounded by a heart formed of drops of blood.

Your door was ajar.

A twinge of hope that today could be the day you meet him arose. But, it quickly died down as you entered your home.

The smell flooded your house as each step made it stronger and stronger. Like a game of hot and cold, each step you took was warmer and warmer.

Laying on your kitchen table on a fancy dish was the head of your assistant. His tongue was pulled out all the way through his mouth and his teeth were knocked out and laid next to his head.

You ignored him though, because your attention was focused on the giant man standing in the dark hallway. He was bloody, and heavily breathing, but somehow quiet…. He was awaiting your next move.

Perhaps the thing that sparked Michael's obsession with you wasn’t that you weren’t human, but the fact that you never showed any ounce of fear towards him. Or maybe because you both shared a taste for carnage.

Your human skin faltered as your smile stretched beyond human capabilities. Your eyes were gouging out of your sockets as your appearance looked less and less human.

In all of your and Michael's years, this may be the first time a spark of emotions illuminated in both of your empty bodies.

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[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

Next

Masterlist

[konigsblog]

having two pervy, sleazy boyfriends... könig and krueger

tw: rape/noncon, mentions of drugs and alcohol, somno, armpit huffing, gross könig and krueger

könig and krueger stay up all night, smoking weed and getting drunk. they don't even register eachothers scent as bad because they're both used to it by now. it's only you that notices. forcing them into the shower and promising them a blowjob when they're finally clean.

after waking up in the middle of the night, you'll stumble downstairs to them. rubbing your eyes and watching the way they chat and take hits from a glass bong, the football on the TV ignored. they're so obviously drunk and high, and you can't help but walk over, with the hopes at convincing them to come back to bed. yet, they don't want to — infact, they want you to stay with them, to hopefully suck them off while the other fucks that ass. :3

but they're so musky and gross, you can't help but push your boyfriends away and roll your eyes. you hate how krueger always forces your face into his neck or armpit while you're riding him, bucking into your tight hole repetitively for hours on end while you whine and slap him across the face. only encouraging him to go faster and harder. “don’t cry to me, taube...”

and könig will wake you up, begging for sex! he's musky, but too big and strong to push away. you don't have the confidence to say no, allowing him to slide inside and fuck you roughly and restlessly! each thrust hard, deep, and leaving you breathless and panting. crying softly as he fucks hard into you, his meaty cock stretching you out painfully. :( he's so perverse, so greedy when he pushes your panties to the side and takes you whenever and however he likes...

[virginvideovixen]

i'm going to say it since no one else is - they had no right to make freddy krueger say "come to daddy" in nightmare on elm street: the dream master. no right.

[semiweirdshipper]

Slashers as fathers with a child reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is less than ten years old (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART ONE.

Freddy Krueger

It felt like he had been a completely different person when he did it. Work had been stressing him out, parts of the house needed fixing, and he was a single parent. He wasn't getting enough rest. Eventually every little thing began to get to him.

Freddy hadn't been in his right mind when it happened. You loved making pictures for him, and one day you decided to nail some pictures on the wall by yourself. Not only had you nailed the pictures too low, but you had also accidentally made a large hole in the wall.

The incident had caused Freddy to explode. Not only did he yell at you for ruining the wall, but he ended up tearing one of your pictures in half. "I don't need this shit," He had shouted at you, "You think I feel like dealing with that? You ruined my wall, (y/n), and now I gotta fix it. I just- I can't... Ugh."

Freddy had avoided you for the remainder of the night- not because he was mad at you but because he was afraid he 'would' get mad at you again. It was a bad idea. He should have apologized for the way he acted. Because the next day when he woke up and went into his office, he noticed that every picture you had drawn him had been torn from the nails on the wall, shredded up and shoved in the trash.

Horror, heartache and regret immediately consumed his guilty conscience, and he rushed to find you. You were in your room playing with toys. It nearly destroyed him to see the way you flinched and scurried to hide behind a laundry basket.

"(y/n)," Freddy went to kneel in front of you, "Sweetie, what did you do? Why did you tear up daddy's pictures?"

"Because," You whimpered, keeping your teary face hidden, "You said you didn't need them. You... You tore it in half. I... I'm sorry, daddy. Hic... I-I-I'm sorry th-that I-I made a hole in the wall, an-and I'm sorry th-that you h-h-hate my pictures."

The amount of sadness, regret and complete and utter crushing guilt that fell upon Freddy was suffocating. Hearing your broken apology and seeing the way you were shaking caused him to be so disappointed with himself. He couldn't believe what he had done. Why did he do that? He would never do anything to cause you to feel this way, and he 'loved' your pictures.

And yet look what he caused. Not only did he hurt your feelings by being cruel, but he lost all of his near and dear pictures- even the ones you made when you were a toddler. They were all destroyed.

"I-I'll never color again," You swore in a loud whine.

"Oh no, sweetie, no," Freddy attempted to get closer to you, frowning heavily when you flinched at his touch, "Please don't do that. Listen- hey, look at me. I need you to look at me."

And when you did look at him, Freddy felt like punching himself in the face. You looked so scared, so sad and unbearably hurt. Oh gosh, what had he done? Why?

"Oh (y/n)..." Freddy sighed, shaking his head, "I'm so sorry. Yesterday I... I was just in such a bad mood an-and not because of you but because.... Look, (y/n), daddy didn't mean to act the way he did, and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that I yelled at you and I'm especially sorry that I did that to your picture. I regret it so much, you have no idea. Please... I'm sorry. I 'love' your pictures (y/n), please don't stop making them."

As Freddy eagerly waited for a brightened response from you, his heart sunk from his chest when you turned your back to him and quietly mumbled, "I wanna play with my toys please."

Excuses and more apologies sat on Freddy's tongue, but he denied saying them for he believed that you simply needed time to forgive him. "Ok sweetie," He got up to leave, "If you need anything, come get daddy, ok?"

"Ok, daddy."

While, over time, you did warm back up to your father, you never did say that you forgave him. And Freddy never got another picture. And he would never, ever stop regretting what he had done.

Michael Myers

Michael was overwhelmed by the frustration work caused. Due to lack of loyal employees, he was forced to work over-time and pull extra shifts. He was sore, tired and angry. It felt like he was the only person at work who ever did anything right.

And that anger built and built until it eventually brought out the worst in him and made him do something that he would regret for the rest of his life.

You loved (sport) and had been outside practicing with some of the neighbors. Michael had been inside attempting to relax when suddenly one of the living room windows shattered. He flinched and rushed to his feet, red clouding his vision when he saw a familiar ball on the floor.

On his way to the door, you ran inside breathless and gasping, "Ah! I'm sorry, daddy, it's my fault. I-I accidentally threw the ball too hard and-"

Michael, with his emotional bridge broken, raised his hand to cut you off. A seething scowl took place upon his face, and he began to lecture you out in sign language. "I don't wanna hear excuses. Why were you playing so close to the house? You should know better. Now look at what I have to fix. All I want is to relax and now I can't because of your stupid (sport). Why do you even play (sport)? You're not even good at it."

Even though his words were literally silent, the crushed look on your face explained that you knew exactly what he had said. Michael ignored your crestfallen face and quiet sobs and demanded that you help him clean up the glass before sending you to your room. Yes, your friends had watched the whole thing.

Michael's seething attitude didn't diminish until the next day after he got some good sleep. He soon realized that he felt bad for how he treated you yesterday and decided that he wanted to apologize. But when he went to your room, he was stricken to see all of your favorite sports gear sitting in a trashcan. (sport) merchandise and even pictures you drew were also in the trashcan.

Overcome with concern, Michael wandered to your bed where you were hiding underneath your blanket. When he tapped on you, you twitched but otherwise kept pretending to be asleep. So he tried again.

You caved and lowered the blanket. Michael didn't like the way you winced at him, your eyes squinted as if you were expecting the worst out of him. He quickly used sign language to ask, "What is going on? Why are you throwing all your (sport) stuff away?"

"I..." Your voice was hesitant and quiet as you gazed away, "I don't like (sport) anymore. I... I-I'm not good at it, an-and you h-hate me playing it, an-and I'm sorry that I broke the window... I'm sorry, daddy. I promise-huh... I-I-I'll never play (sport) again."

What? Michael's eyes nearly popped out, regret, guilt and fear clouding his soul. Oh no. What had he done? You didn't like (sport) anymore? And all because he had overreacted and told you that you weren't any good at it. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. It couldn't be like this. You couldn't stop doing what you loved all because he was stupid and having a bad day.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, Michael quickly explained with sign language, "But you are good at (sport). Don't quit. I was having a bad day, I didn't mean to say that stuff. You don't have to quit. I'm sorry that I said that. Don't quit playing (sport), you love it."

Your lips wobbled and you turned your head away, your voice a broken whisper, "Ca-an I sleep some more before school. Please?"

Your lack of an answer both irritated Michael and broke his heart. He became angry at himself and regretful about what he had done. He wanted to talk to you more about it, but decided not to. Hopefully you would think about his apology and take all of your (sport) stuff out of the trash.

But, unfortunately for Michael, you never did get back into (sport), and he never got to stop feeling guilty about it.

Bo Sinclair + Uncle Vincent and Lester

Bo could admit that, on the surface, he had a very fragile temper. Ever since he had you he had tried his hardest to hide all the ugly parts of himself, especially his anger. Any time he began to lose his temper, he usually stomped off somewhere by himself to maybe punch something and take a moment to breathe.

So far he had done a fairly decent job.

Up until today that was.

It had been a long week. It was summer. Tourists were pouring in at random needing fast work done to their vehicles. The gas station and church needed extra attention. It was hot outside. And, once again, Bo had a very fragile temper.

It happened when he was elbow deep in truck externals. Ever since you could walk you had always been his little helper. Already at your age your dream was to be an engineer, but you still had a lot to learn. And the fact that you had a lot to learn is what caused Bo to snap.

With the impatience of the person waiting on their vehicle to be fixed, Bo also became impatient. You had been trying to help him, bringing him tools he needed.

Whenever you brought him one too many of the wrong tools, he ended up throwing a wrench and his hat to the ground. "What is your fuckin' problem?" He shouted at you, "Are ya stupid? If ya can't bring me what I need then get the fuck outta here."

You had flinched, tears immediately filling your eyes as you carefully backed up. Bo continued to give you a serious, livid glare that scared you, his words ringing in your head and shattering your heart. He watched you run away, his chest pounding with guilt he ignored as he finished his work.

Bo didn't see you for the remainder of the day, but he did check in with Vincent to make sure that you were alright. As night fell, he became more calm and relaxed, and soon he felt absolutely horrible for how he treated you. He sat on his bench rubbing his forehead in distress for almost an hour wishing he could take it all back.

He had shown you one of his worst sides. And it had hurt you. Now what was he supposed to do? He called you 'stupid'.

Unfortunately for Bo, he didn't get a chance to apologize that night for Vincent soon brought him a note explaining that Lester had taken you home with him for the weekend. Gosh darn it. He really wanted to apologize.

But his apology had to wait for- not one week or two weeks- but a whole month. That's how badly you were trying to avoid him. It was more than enough time for Bo to sit and think about his mistakes.

When Lester finally brought you home, Bo was grateful that you didn't appear to be angry or sad. You rushed to him and gave him a big, welcoming hug that soothed his core, "Daddy!"

"Hey, critter bug," Bo chuckled, ruffling your hair, "Missed you. Guess what? Some ol' couple brought in a beat up station wagon. Needs fixin'. Wanna help?"

"No thank ya," You said casually, leaning away from him, "I don't wanna be a engineer anymore."

Bo's world stopped rotating. "What?" He gave you a stabbed look, "But ya love doin' that stuff?"

"Not anymore," Your voice turned into a lightly disappointed mumble.

Bo's mouth went completely dry. He didn't know what to do or say. All of this time apart he thought that you would have gotten over his temper tantrum, but apparently you 'really' got over it. He had been the boulder that crushed your dreams. And it...

It almost made him wanna cry.

Bo swallowed, trying not to seem too beaten down, "But... Who's gonna be my helper?"

You smiled and pointed to the man standing beside the truck, "Uncle Lester will."

"Right..." Bo nodded, his chest aching with guilt, self-hatred, regret and sadness, "Right."

You never helped him with another car again.

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal liked to believe that he was the ultimate best at keeping his temper under control. He never got mad at you or expressed any negative emotions towards you. If you needed to be taught a lesson, then he would sit with you and have a firm, constructive conversation about how you needed to improve.

Your bond was strong and healthy and it made Hannibal proud. You even took after him by wanting to be a professional cook. And Hannibal was ecstatic to help you carry that dream into reality.

But one day all of his pride, arrogance and content came to an end.

You had woken up before him that morning and had snuck to the kitchen to make him breakfast. However, things went south and you accidentally ended up breaking one of his rarest, most treasured dishes- a dish that was literally one of it's only kind on the whole planet. And it upset him.

"I-I'm sorry, daddy," You had apologized desperately, "I-I just thought since you liked the plate so much you would also like eating off of it. I didn't mean to break it!"

Hannibal, his heart racing and his nerves burning with anger, had said almost too vastly, "And what lead you to believe that I would enjoy such horrible cooking on my most treasured dish? You knew these pieces were not meant to be eaten off of, yet you disrespected me anyway."

"Horrible cooking?" You murmured.

Because Hannibal was hurt, he couldn't resist the urge to make you hurt as well. "Yes. You are an awful cook. Your presence in this kitchen has always been a waste of time."

The way your eyes widened with hurt and how your hands immediately flew to your chest would be a sight that haunted Hannibal for the rest of his life. Slowly your eyes closed and you began to cry, your hands going to cover your face as you ran away, a sobbed "I'm sorry" echoing through the hall.

Instead of feeling satisfied that he hurt your feelings as intended, Hannibal immediately felt remorseful and guilty. Goodness. He knew that you were young and didn't mean to break his plate. He just... He just treasured the dish so much and now it was ruined forever. He let his emotions get to him, and he hurt you in the process. While it was your fault, he didn't blame you. You were innocent and you just wanted to make him happy.

After he cleaned up his broken dish, Hannibal searched for you and found you snuggled up on the couch. He sat in front of you and spoke calmly, "I'm sorry for getting angry at you. It wasn't my intention. You were just trying to make me breakfast and wound up making a mistake. It happens to all of us."

"I'm sorry..." You whimpered, obviously still upset.

"It is alright," Hannibal reached out and gently squeezed your shoulder. "I'll get started on breakfast."

"Can I help?" You asked hopefully.

Hannibal gave you a hesitant grimace, "I think it would be best if you skipped helping me in the kitchen for today."

Instantly your eyes puffed red and turned watery. Hannibal left you alone to exhale your emotions. He knew that you would be upset for a while, but he too was also upset. He just needed some time is all.

But apparently he was wrong yet again.

After that day, you never helped Hannibal in the kitchen again. For weeks after the incident, you didn't even eat the food that he cooked. It was like you banned yourself from the kitchen entirely. He had tried to coax you into helping him, but you always found excuses not to.

Soon Hannibal learned that he had destroyed your passion for cooking by making you believe that you were a terrible chef. And he regretted it so much that it was nearly unbearable. Hannibal couldn't handle mistakes he couldn't fix.

And no matter how hard he tried, he knew that he could never mend your feelings that he severed.

-

In part two I planned to age up the reader and have them secretly doing their passion behind their dad's back. And the slasher will find out and be like "what, I thought you gave up on that! Holy sh*t, I'm so happy". And the reader will be pleasantly surprised.