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the-s1lly-corner · 8 months ago

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Wearing their jackets (slasher edition)

I need to write slasher stuff more.... I also need to watch scream like I said I would... and other films... but alas cotl rot is too strong

Characters: Jason, brahms, bubba, Thomas, Michael

Notes: reader is gn, cold weather baby!!, in Michael's bit yoy wear his coveralls because he refuses to throw a jacket over it

CWs: none

JASON

Built like a polar bear, he's so used to the cold that he just shrugs it off as he goes into the woods to get fire wood for you

Actually offers his jacket to you until he can get a fire started to keep you warm- he doesn't want you to get sick! Don't worry about him! Especially if this is zombie Jason, the cold doesn't really.. effect his undead body that much...

Doesn't mind it if you steal his jacket from him, he takes it as you being cold- but if you explain that it's partly because you miss him he feels.. bad.. he didn't mean to take so long in the woods he promises

Even if you said it jokingly he's going to do his best to make up for his brief absence

BUBBA

let me tell you, as someone who lives in texas: the winters get brutal. Incredibly cold, he's definitely got at least one coat somewhere... and even if he only had one he would let you take it

But... please stay close to him by the heater, he knows you probably want to go do something else with him but it's truly too cold to not be able to do much else without freezing in their old house- even worse if this takes place in their new home in the second film... underground

He thinks you look really cute in his coat and he tries to let you know that- hes... a little bashful but you think it's sweet

You both probably end up cuddling into one another under the coat together

THOMAS

Once more: texas gets incredibly cold in the winter depending on the time of year and where you are. He's got a coat somewhere

Not that that he really uses it, built like a polar bear like Jason. He tolerates cold pretty well, hardly seems phased by it.. he's so laser focused on his chores and work around the house that you often find him still working outside

And he's given his coat to you because you have a lower tolerance than him... maybe you can convince him to come snuggle with you under it? Maybe? He'd hate to leave his chores unfinished but he doesn't like saying no to you

Very heavy coat, very thick

MICHAEL

Completely unphased by the cold, he also doesn't have a jacket. The best you can do is take his coveralls when you FINALLY convince him to take them off so they can be washed

Does not like sharing his things, the likelihood of him humoring you after you put them in is low. May actually take them off of you himself... not incredibly rough but there's intention to yoink them back

If you're cold then go get a blanket or you're own jacket... why steal his things without asking?

It completely flies over his head that jacket (or rather clothing) stealing is common for couples

BRAHMS

Move over give him his sweater back he's FREEZING! If he needs to he's going to wear the sweater with you in it!

HATES the cold and he's going to make it everyone else's problem, please don't let him catch a fever reader! Please!

Fire place? Lit. Blankets? Gathered. Sweaters? Worn. You're more likely to see him leave the walls during the colder months so he can snag your body heat, too

Lets it go to his head if you let slip that you stole his sweater because you missed him... hes basically hovering over now- well, more than he did before

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macabrebatz · 4 months ago

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WHAT THE SLASHERS SMELL LIKE

Except I get too realistic and carried away

Author’s Note: No seriously. I got carried away. Didn’t intend to write for this many slashers but the thoughts kept coming. If you all want a part 2, let me know!

Characters: Jason Voorhees, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Rufus “RJ” Firefly Jr., Baby Firefly, Otis B. Driftwood, Captain Spaulding, Pinhead, Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, Art the Clown, Michael Myers, Freddy Krueger, Ash Williams (I know he’s not a slasher, shush), Billy Lenz, Brahms Heelshire, Mitch/The Ghost, The Driller Killer

Warnings/tags: Realistic takes on the body odor & hygiene of various horror characters, mention of sex on Freddy’s part (and alluded to in Otis’s part), gender neutral reader, not beta read

Word count: 1.7k

Jason Voorhees

Jason smells bad. Like really bad. He smells like mud, mildew, blood, and a rotting corpse that’s been soaking in lake water. It takes a long time to be in such close proximity to him. Personal hygiene isn’t his strong suit at all. But once you come along he’ll definitely try. His clothes can be changed and washed but Jason’s body stinks in a way that a shower and soap simply can’t fix (at least not fully). It’s possible to get the smell toned down to somewhat tolerable levels. But realistically I think he’ll always have a bit of a smell to him.

Bo Sinclair

Bo, for the most part, smells fine. He takes regular showers, washes his hair with a generic shampoo, brushes his teeth, etc. When he hasn’t been working, he’ll smell like cheap cologne and whatever scented soap you keep in the shower. But if he’s been working at the mechanic shop he’ll come home smelling like sweat, oil, and gasoline (and blood if he’s killed someone that day). There’s also always a faint smell of cigarettes. The smell seems to have seeped into his clothes permanently after many years of smoking. You don’t have to coax him to shower, he heads there without a fight. After a long day, a shower can make him feel better anyway.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent doesn’t smell too bad but he doesn’t always smell great. He often smells like beeswax, which isn’t a bad smell. But he can get quite sweaty as well and doesn’t shower as frequently as Bo. So it’s not the best smell combo. I mean, he’s constantly working in a hot basement/workshop…in a sweater…in a mask…with long hair……in Louisiana. Yeah, sweating is a common occurrence. He’ll probably increase his amount of showers for you. He gets so caught up in sculpting that he forgets sometimes though.

Lester Sinclair

Lester is the worst Sinclair brother when it comes to smell and hygiene. When you first meet him smells like roadkill, sweat, and dirt. His hygiene isn’t great. He doesn’t shower often, nor brush his teeth often. But when you come along he definitely starts caring about his hygiene more. He’ll take showers and brush his teeth. Maybe he’ll wash his clothes more…maybe.

Rufus “RJ” Firefly Jr.

Rufus smells fine for the most part. He showers regularly and uses deodorant. By the end of the day though he might have a slight musky smell to him but nothing too bad usually. Sometimes he would stink after working on cars all day in the Texas heat. He’d come home smelling like sweat and oil and you might have to ask him to take a shower. Occasionally he’d have a faint smell of beer or whatever alcohol was lying around on his clothes.

Baby Firefly

Baby takes frequent showers and bubble baths (when she’s not on the run with the family). She likes soap with a fruity scent, often opting for something that smells of berries. Sometimes she’d smell like blood but usually, she’d smell rather good. She has a variety of different perfumes snagged from the luggage of different victims. Just like her soap, she often goes for things with more of a fruit scent.

Otis B. Driftwood

Otis doesn’t smell good often. In fact, a lot of the time he smells straight-up bad. Like corpses, blood, alcohol, and tobacco. Otis does take showers though so the smell is temporary. He doesn’t take them often though and sometimes you’ll have to ask him (or mildly threaten him) to shower. If he’s being stubborn and you really, really want him to shower then you can coax him by getting in the shower and asking him to join you. He’ll never say no to that offer.

Captain Spaulding

Captain Spaulding smells okay usually. He’s not the best smelling out of the Firefly family but he’s not that bad. He often smells like fried chicken from making it so often at his shop. There are some faint hints of alcohol, blood, and maybe even cigarettes. His dental hygiene isn’t great but he does take somewhat regular showers.

Pinhead

Pinhead smells like blood, leather, and metal. It’s not an overbearing smell like some of the other slashers but it’s there. You can smell it when you hug him close. I don’t think he gets very sweaty. Honestly, do Cenobites even sweat? He doesn’t shower, doesn’t brush his teeth. Hell, he barely even removes the leather he wears. He’s not human and he doesn’t care about human concepts of hygiene.

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal smells really, really good. He takes regular showers, wears deodorant, and brushes his teeth twice a day. He sometimes splurges on more expensive shampoos, soap, and cologne. He goes for colognes with woody scents. Sometimes there’s a small hint of vanilla thrown in. A majority of the time he smells really fresh. He doesn’t often smell like blood because he takes the cleanup process very seriously. Occasionally the smell of whatever he’s been cooking might linger on his clothes.

Will Graham

Will also smells good for the most part. He often smells like the outdoors and cheap cologne. He obviously has a big sweating problem so that can make him not smell as great. But he takes regular showers, especially when he’s been sweating a lot. He likes to smell good but he doesn’t give it much thought.

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba often smells like sweat, meat, and a heavy dose of decomposing bodies. Showers are infrequent but not nonexistent. When he does shower he smells fine but that smell can quickly disappear in the Texas heat, especially if the Sawyers are dealing with unwanted visitors. He doesn’t really notice the smell unless it’s pointed out and he’ll shower and change clothes if needed.

Thomas Hewitt

Much like Bubba, there’s often a smell of sweat, meat, and blood. In fact, those smells are stronger on Thomas compared to Bubba. He’s a rather musky guy. He doesn’t shower frequently. It’s a rare occurrence. But when you’re in the picture he might do a little better hygiene-wise, especially after a heavy dose of scolding from Luda Mae. And he’ll smell better (probably never great though).

Art the Clown

Oh, don’t get me started. Probably one of the worst-smelling slashers out of the bunch. Art smells like shit. Literally. And blood. And not just a little blood. The smell can be so strong sometimes that you swear you can taste iron on your tongue. Sometimes he’ll have faint scents of gunpowder and oil but those smells are often overpowered by others. Surprisingly though, Art isn’t that opposed to showers. He does the absolute bare minimum though, just standing in the water and rinsing off the remnants of his victims. He doesn’t mind getting all of that off of him but he’s not doing it to smell better. If anything, he likes the smell.

Michael Myers

He smells bad. Whether we’re talking about the OG or the RZ version, I can’t imagine this man smelling good when you first come across him. He smells like a corpse. It overpowers any other smell there could be on him. He doesn’t shower, he’ll wear the same coveralls for years if they last him that long. Hygiene is the last of his priorities and he’s not easily convinced at all to bathe or wash his clothes. Maybe (and that’s a very strong MAYBE) you could entice him to do something about the smell. It’ll definitely be a trade-off. He won’t give in easily.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy doesn’t smell great. He smells like ash and burnt skin. He almost smells like a campfire but with the added smell of blood and death. The smell is always there. It’s kind of permanent. And no, he won’t be showering. Don’t even suggest it because he’ll laugh in your face. It’s not that he’s against it, he just doesn’t want to nor does he feel the need to. The only way he’ll get in the shower is to have shower sex and that’s it.

Ash Williams

Ash smells good 90% of the time. He smells like pine shampoo, aftershave, and whatever cologne he wears. It’s not expensive but it smells nice. The other 10% of the time (when he’s hacking away at deadites), he smells like a mixture of gasoline, oil, blood, and whatever hellish smells come out of deadites. It’s not great and he’s aware of it. The last thing he wants is to be covered in brains but it’s just another day in his life. He honestly can’t wait to shower it all off.

Brahms Heelshire

Upon first meeting him, Brahms didn’t smell good. He smelled like a combination of sweat, dust, mothballs, and mildew. A direct result of constantly staying in the walls and lack of showering. If the smell bothers you though, Brahms is more willing to bathe than most slashers. He can be stubborn sometimes but he rarely puts up a fight.

Billy Lenz

Much like Brahms, Billy has a strong odor of dust, mothballs, and whatever other lingering smells are in an attic. Old boxed-up books, cardboard, mildew, the faintest smell of cologne (not sure if it’s his or it's just rubbed off from some clothes in the attic). The smells have stuck to his clothes and he doesn’t wash that sweater. He won’t put up a fight if the smell bothers you though. He’ll happily take a shower for you.

Mitch/The Ghost

Mitch smells fine…usually. He showers regularly, wears deodorant, etc. He usually smells of whatever soap is in the shower. The only time that he ever really smells bad is after long nights of running the Haunt in October. On those nights he’ll smell strongly of blood, corpses, and whatever acid they use to dispose of all the unlucky haunt visitors. Other than that, he smells fine the rest of the year.

The Driller Killer

The Driller Killer smells like cigarettes, leather, and blood. He smokes often. It’s not like he’s going to get sick from them (not 100% he can even die). Sometimes when you hug him, you swear you can smell the faint scent of a woody cologne. Or maybe it’s his hair gel. You’re not fully sure. But there’s definitely something there.

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cami040405 · 2 months ago

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Just saw that one gif of the couple in a haunted house where the guy pushes the girl in front of the “killer” and runs away, so said killer gives the girl his knife and she chases after her man. Could you write a similar scenario. Whether the killer hands reader their weapon, reader asks for it or just takes it, I just think it’s kinda funny. Reader’s boyfriend shoves her in front of the killer and books it so reader ends up with the slasher’s weapon and goes after her boyfriend herself. I’d like Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees please but if you wanna add anyone I certainly won’t stop you.

Slashers' Reaction when they See the Reader being Offered as Bait by Her Own Boyfriend.

Summary: When your cowardly boyfriend shoves you into the path of infamous slashers to save himself, you don’t scream—you get even. Each killer watches you take their weapon and chase down your backstabbing boyfriend with rage, sarcasm and style. Turns out, the real horror isn’t the killer... it’s dating a man with no spine.

Includes: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhes, Bo Sinclair, Charles Lee Ray, Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

A/N: I found this request very interesting, I certainly wouldn't let it go if it were me. Thank you for sending the request, I loved writing it and imagining the scene.

Michael Myers

You should’ve known something was off the second your boyfriend suggested the two of you “go for a walk through Haddonfield” at night.

“It’s Halloween,” you said.

“Exactly,” he replied, smug. “Let’s live a little.”

So you ended up strolling near Lampkin Lane, where the houses were quiet, the wind was sharp, and something was watching you. You turn the corner near the old, abandoned Myers house—the one that’s still cordoned off with faded “No Trespassing” signs and urban legends as thick as fog. The porch creaks in the distance. Somewhere, a swing sways on rusted chains, though there’s no breeze.

Your boyfriend chuckles nervously beside you.

“This is kinda spooky, huh?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, eyeing the dark windows. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

Suddenly, something shifts in the shadows. A figure steps into the orange glow of a flickering streetlamp at the end of the block.

Tall. Silent. White mask. Mechanic’s suit. Michael. Myers.

You freeze.

He’s far away—but not far enough.

Then your boyfriend, in a move so quick and selfish it would impress Olympic sprinters, screams like a banshee and SHOVES you toward the street—toward him.

“OH MY GOD! TAKE HER!” he shrieks. “TAKE HER, NOT ME!”

You stumble into the road, landing on your hands and knees.

“Are you KIDDING ME?!” you shout, spinning around to watch him full-on sprint in the opposite direction.

You can’t believe it. Your boyfriend just offered you to Michael freaking Myers like a sacrifice in sneakers.

You turn back.

Michael is still there. Watching. Still as a statue. His head tilts.

You meet his dark, unreadable eyes behind the mask.

“…I’m not with him anymore,” you mutter.

He slowly approaches. No words. Just the rhythmic sound of his boots crunching on leaves. He stops in front of you, towering and ominous, the chef’s knife in his gloved hand glinting under the moonlight.

You brace for the worst.

Then… Michael raises the knife—slowly—and flips it.

He holds it out to you. Handle first.

You blink. “Wait—are you… giving this to me?”

The silence is deafening.

You glance over your shoulder. You can still hear your ex-boyfriend screaming in the distance, fumbling with a chain-link fence and tripping like he’s in a bad horror movie.

You look back at Michael. His hand doesn’t waver.

“…Hell yes,” you mutter, and take the knife.

You get up. Your shoulders square. You’re no longer the girl who got shoved into danger.

You’re the danger.

“Thanks, Mikey,” you say, not expecting a response. But you swear—swear—his head tilts just a bit more. Like amusement. Then you take off, knife in hand, stalking your way through Haddonfield.

“HEY, JAMES!” you yell into the night. “I’M GONNA CARVE OUT THE WORD ‘COWARD’ ON YOUR BACK!”

From down the road, your ex screams. “WHY ARE YOU SIDING WITH THE KILLER?!”

You shout, “BECAUSE THE KILLER HAS MORE INTEGRITY THAN YOU!”

Michael watches from the shadows, the slightest movement betraying what might almost be a nod of approval.

For tonight, Haddonfield’s boogeyman takes a break.

You’ve got vengeance covered.

Jason Voorhees

You weren’t thrilled about this trip to Camp Crystal Lake in the first place. Your boyfriend had sold it as a “fun, spooky weekend getaway”—just you two, nature, and some “light ghost hunting” for his vlog.

You hadn’t signed up to get eaten alive by mosquitoes, much less the thought of possibly running into Jason freaking Voorhees. Still, you tried to enjoy it. The lake was beautiful in that eerie, mist-covered way. You even held his hand while walking the trails after sundown, lantern swinging in your grip, nerves humming with unease.

That’s when you heard it—a twig snapping, somewhere off the trail.

Your boyfriend froze, eyes wide. “D-did you hear that?”

You sighed, half-annoyed. “It’s probably a deer or—”

Crunch.

Another step. Heavy. Deliberate. Slow.

You both turned.

And there he was.

Jason Voorhees.

Towering. Silent. Mask glinting pale in the moonlight. A blood-stained machete gripped in his hand like an extension of his soul. You took a shocked step back. You weren’t even sure if you screamed. But your boyfriend?

He screamed louder than you’ve ever heard a grown man scream. Full panic mode. Then, without warning—

HE SHOVES YOU FORWARD.

“TAKE HER!” he shrieks, dead serious, and takes off running like a cartoon character on fast-forward.

You stumble, barely catching yourself before hitting the forest floor. Heart racing, hands trembling—you look up, expecting death.

Jason hasn’t moved.

He just stares at you.

You look back in the direction your boyfriend fled, the underbrush still shaking from his cowardice.

Then you turn back to Jason. And it clicks.

“...Did he seriously throw me to you like I’m a Scooby-Doo extra?”

Jason doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. But somehow, you know he gets it. The way his mask tilts slightly, just enough to read like confusion and maybe even a little pity—it’s almost comical.

You wipe some dirt off your pants. “You know what? Screw it. You’re not the scariest guy out here tonight.”

Jason just stands there. Then, slowly, he flips the machete in his hand and holds it out to you.

Handle first. No sound. No words. Just… an offer.

You stare at it.

Then, slowly, grin.

“Oh... Oh, you’re my new best friend.”

You take it. It’s heavy—really heavy—but you’re running on pure adrenaline and RAGE now.

“Thank you, Mr. Voorhees,” you say, sincerely. “I’ll bring it back with blood on it.”

You spin around and stalk into the woods, machete dragging across the dirt, screaming your boyfriend’s name into the trees:

“YOU THREW ME TO JASON VORHEES, YOU SPINELESS TOAD?! YOU’D BETTER HOPE HE KILLS YOU FIRST!”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear a terrified voice yell, “OH GOD SHE HAS A MACHETE—JASON, STOP HER!”

Jason doesn’t move. He watches you vanish into the trees, his massive shoulders rising and falling once with what might—might—have been the ghost of a laugh.

He doesn’t need to lift a finger tonight.

You’ve got it covered.

Bo Sinclair

Ambrose wasn’t even supposed to be on the way. You’d both taken the detour after your boyfriend swore up and down it would be a "fun, spooky, abandoned town Instagram thing." Classic him. Anything for the views, right?

But now?

You’re standing in the middle of Main Street—surrounded by wax figures, everything dead silent—and you’re glaring at your boyfriend, who’s just realized the garage isn’t as empty as it looks.

Bo Sinclair steps out of the shadows, wiping his hands with a rag, eyes landing on you both like a lion sighting fresh meat.

"Well, well," he says, slow Southern drawl curling around his smirk. "Y’all lost or just dumb?"

You don’t even get a chance to answer.

Your boyfriend screams—like, actual scream—and grabs you by the shoulders.

“TAKE HER!” he shouts, shoving you toward Bo with both hands. You stumble, trip, and land at Bo’s feet.

Then the bastard runs. Full sprint. Down the road. No looking back.

You lie there for a second, stunned, blinking up at the sky.

Bo just blinks down at you, his expression blank for a beat.

Then his lips twitch.

Then he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, goddamn," he wheezes, clutching his stomach. "You see that? He tossed you like a sack o' potatoes!”

“Yeah,” you mutter, standing up and brushing off your clothes. “Believe me, I felt it.”

Bo whistles, still grinning. “Girl, he didn’t just throw you under the bus, he started the engine and reversed over you twice.”

You’re still glaring after your fleeing boyfriend’s back. The rage is setting in. Humiliation burning behind your eyes.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “He really left me to die.”

Bo wipes his eyes, watching you with interest now. “So what’re you gonna do, sweetheart? Scream? Cry? Run after ‘im?”

You inhale sharply, glance over at the tool bench behind Bo… and then look at the wrench in his hand. Your eyes narrow. Bo watches you eye it. Then, with the ease of someone offering a gift, he flips it around and holds it out handle-first.

“Tell ya what," he says with a grin. "You wanna clock him one? I won’t stop ya. Hell, I’ll even give you a five-minute head start before I come collect what’s left.”

You take the wrench.

It's heavy. Cold. Satisfying.

You grin wickedly. “I’m not gonna kill him.”

Bo lifts a brow. “No?”

“Just gonna remind him that if he’s gonna throw me to the wolves, he better hope they’re hungrier than I am.”

Bo gives a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Damn, girl.”

You start marching in the direction your boyfriend ran, full murder in your stride.

As you pass a wax figure of a man mid-scream, you mutter, “Better start running faster, Jason. I’ve got a wrench and no sense of mercy right now.”

Bo watches you go, still smiling, his arms folded.

“Gotta admit,” he says under his breath, “I kinda wanna see how that turns out.”

Charles Lee Ray (Chucky)

“Babe, this is not funny anymore,” you hiss, clutching your coat tighter against the biting wind. “We were supposed to be in Little Italy. Where the hell are we?”

Your boyfriend glances over his shoulder, jumping at every shadow. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he mutters. “Let’s just keep walking. There’s gotta be a main street nearby.”

A garbage can rattles.

You both freeze.

Then comes the sound of tiny footsteps… fast. Too fast.

And then you see it.

A doll. A little red-haired Good Guy doll. Just standing at the end of the alley.

“What the f—” you begin.

And then it moves. Fast, like a blur, and suddenly that high-pitched, gravelly voice cuts through the silence.

“Hi, I’m Chucky. Wanna die?”

The doll leaps toward you both.

Your boyfriend screams like a child at Chuck E. Cheese and, without a moment’s hesitation, grabs you by the arm and throws you in front of him like a ragdoll.

“TAKE HER!” he yells, already bolting down the alley like his soul’s on fire.

You land hard on your hip, scraping your palm against the concrete. “You son of a—!”

Chucky skids to a stop, blinking down at you as you sit there on the ground, stunned and seething.

“…Damn,” Chucky mutters, cocking his plastic head. “That guy really tossed you like yesterday’s trash. That’s cold.”

You slowly push yourself up, wiping blood off your palm. “You think?”

Chucky shrugs, then straightens up, switching the bloody knife in his tiny hand to a reverse grip. “Normally, this is the part where I stab you and laugh about it, but…”

He glances down the alley, where your boyfriend’s distant scream echoes into the night. “I think I just found someone I’d rather gut.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

There’s a pause. Then you step forward.

“…Let me see that.”

Chucky eyes you. “You wanna borrow my knife?”

“I insist.”

He grins wide, teeth sharp behind the plastic sheen of his face. “You’ve got style, sweetheart.”

He hands it over, hilt first. You feel the weight of it—smaller than you expected, but razor sharp and warm. You give it a test twirl, then glance down the alley where your dear boyfriend disappeared.

You take a deep breath, grit your teeth, and start walking.

“YOU CHOSE ME TO DIE, YOU LITTLE COWARD?” you bellow into the dark. “YOU USED ME AS A HUMAN SHIELD FOR A DOLL?!”

You break into a sprint, blade gleaming.

Behind you, Chucky watches with absolute delight.

“Y’know,” he says to no one in particular, lighting a cigarette, “I think I’m in love.”

Then he casually strolls after you, whistling.

Billy Loomis (Ghostface)

The old Macher house had been abandoned since Stu's party. Of course it had—the murders, the blood, the urban legends whispered through Woodsboro’s halls made sure of that. But your boyfriend had dared you to break in with him anyway.

"It’s just an old house," he said. "Nothing’s gonna happen."

You should’ve known something was off the moment the door creaked open by itself.

You wandered the trashed kitchen, cobwebs stringing across cabinets like decaying tinsel. Somewhere down the hallway, something thumped. You froze. He grabbed your arm.

Then the phone rang.

Not a cell phone. A landline. On the counter. Plugged into nothing.

You blinked. Your boyfriend picked it up, smirking like a frat boy on Halloween.

“Hello?” A pause. Then a voice, low, amused, just slightly familiar.

“Do you like scary movies?”

His face went white. “Wh—What? Who is this?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Nope,” he said, slamming the receiver down. “Nope nope nope nope—”

But it was too late. From the hallway, Ghostface stepped out.

Not a replica. Not a costume.

The Ghostface.

He held the knife low, that signature gliding gait stalking slowly forward.

Your boyfriend’s survival instincts kicked in—and unfortunately for you, those instincts said sacrifice your girlfriend.

“TAKE HER!” he shrieked, physically shoving you forward into Ghostface’s path, then booking it full-speed out the back door, limbs flailing like a Scooby-Doo reject.

You hit the ground with a grunt. Time froze. The killer stared down at you. His knife gleamed. But then—he tilted his head, like you were more interesting than expected.

The mask came off.

You gasped.

“Billy?”

Billy Loomis smirked down at you, all smugness and shadowed cheekbones.

"Hi, sweetheart."

You scrambled to your feet. “Are you KIDDING ME?!”

He nodded toward the door your boyfriend had just sprinted through like the coward he was.

“He really just did that,” Billy mused. “Didn’t even hesitate. Just… ‘here, kill my girlfriend, I gotta run.’” He mimicked your boyfriend’s scream with a chuckle. “Classic.”

You glared, chest heaving. “I’m going to kill him.”

Billy raised a brow. “You sure you need me to do it?”

There was a pause. A tense, burning one.

Then you lifted your hand, palm open.

Billy blinked.

“…Can I borrow the knife?”

Billy looked down at the weapon in his hand. Then at you. Then back to the hallway.

“You know what?” he said, almost tenderly. “You’ve earned this.”

He flipped the knife and offered it to you, handle-first. Your fingers curled around it. It was still warm from his grip.

“Thanks,” you growled, eyes blazing. “I’ll bring it back with blood.”

“You better,” he replied, stepping back and watching like a proud director. “Make it messy.”

You threw open the back door and stormed into the night, yelling after your now-regretful boyfriend:

“YOU LEFT ME TO DIE, YOU CHEAP-SHOE-WEARING, NO-LOYALTY-HAVING DOLLAR STORE SCREAM QUEEN!”

Somewhere in the trees, your boyfriend screamed again.

Billy leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms as he watched the carnage unfold in the distance.

He gave a small, satisfied smile.

“Damn,” he murmured. “I think I’m in love.”

Stu Macher (Ghostface)

It was supposed to be a fun night.

The local horror maze downtown had been canceled last minute, so your boyfriend had the brilliant idea to “break into the old abandoned farmhouse on the edge of Woodsboro,” which in hindsight was like asking to die in the first ten minutes of a horror movie.

“C’mon, babe,” he’d said, “It’s totally safe. We’ll be in and out. No psycho killers, promise.”

You’d rolled your eyes but agreed—because hey, what could go wrong?

The house creaked like it wanted to collapse on you. Dust curled off the stairs. Every door groaned like a warning. You were maybe two steps inside when a TV flickered to life in the corner of the room, showing a grainy VHS of old horror movie clips—then cut suddenly to live footage of you two standing right there in the house.

“What the hell—” you whispered.

That's when you heard it. The low, distorted voice from behind:

“Wanna play a game?”

You turned just in time to see Ghostface—tall, lanky, and looming—emerge from the hallway with a gleaming knife in hand.

And your boyfriend?

Your loving, caring, chivalrous boyfriend?

He screamed at a pitch only dogs could hear, shoved you toward the killer like a sandbag, and ran.

Not a glance back. Not a “run!” Just: “YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN, BABE!”

You hit the floor hard, wind knocked out of you, staring after him.

Ghostface froze. There was a pause… and then a very familiar wheezy laugh behind the mask.

“Oh my god,” the killer wheezed, pulling the mask off with a flourish. “Did that dude just yeet you at me?!”

You blinked.

“Stu?!”

“Sup!” he said, waving with the knife still in hand. “Didn’t know it was you, swear. Thought I was doing the old ‘boo and stab’ tonight. But wow, your man just offered you up like a Happy Meal.”

You sat up, groaning. “He shoved me so hard I almost blacked out.”

Stu held his stomach, doubled over in laughter. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—he was like ‘TAKE HER, OH MIGHTY KNIFE DEMON, SHE’S THE SACRIFICE.’”

You rubbed your temple. “I should stab him.”

He froze, then lit up. “Wait. Wait. You should! Here—” he spun the knife in his hand and offered it, handle-first. “Go get him, tiger.”

You hesitated.

Stu leaned in, grinning. “You know you want to.”

“…You know what? Screw it.”

You snatched the knife, stood, and dusted yourself off.

“I’m gonna murder him. With my words. Maybe the knife. TBD.”

Stu made an exaggerated swoon motion. “Oh my god. You’re so hot right now.”

You stormed out the front door with purpose, knife in hand. “I SEE YOU HIDING BEHIND THE TRASHCAN, JEREMY! DON’T THINK I WON’T DUMP YOU WITH A KNIFE IN MY HAND!”

From behind, Stu followed casually with the Ghostface mask hanging off one hand and a big grin on his face.

“If you stab him, I’m definitely taking you to prom.”

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b-00-biez · 2 years ago

Note

Would you be able to write if {Michael, Brahms, and Thomas} found out their s/o had a breeding kink.

Breeding kink

With Michael, Brahms, Thomas

Michael

He honestly doesn't know what to do with this information but he will save it for later.

One night you were particularly stubborn and the easiest way for Michael to coax you into doing what he wants is to abuse your poor little entrance. You know he hasn't touched you for weeks and him just teasing you with just his tip probing at the entrance that awaits his full length, fluttering and welcoming him with open arms but he doesn't give in.

"M-michael please.. " you tried to beg for him to just fuck you, insert his full length into you despite him not wearing a condom right now. "Please Michael I'll do whatever the fuck you ask me just fuck me outta my misery.. " you said frustrated already, you know despite his mask, he's smirking underneath. Without a warning, he shoved his whole cock inside making you yelp and ease up around his length. He hooked your legs onto his shoulders and started fucking. His balls slapping your ass and you can hear it making lewd noises. On how rough he was being you can't help but feel your orgasm coming. You grasp whatever words you have left in your cock drunk brain and said "cum in me! Get me fucking pregnant!! " you screamed. Now, he's curious. You want his seed? You want your tummy full of his babies, your breasts swollen with milk? He's not too sure about this but hell you were such a good girl for him right now looking all needy and disheveled, maybe just this once he will fuck you full of his seed.

Brahms

The fact that he was spying on you watching porn and your fingers melting into your very Nectar. He has to know what you were watching so he can replace those damn fingers with his cock. So while you were asleep he swiped your phone and in the safety of his walls he played the video he saw.

He couldn't take off his eyes on that pussy being abused and edged by this guy's long shaft. The video was about to end until the guy pulled out a mix of their cum oozing out of her cunt onto the bed as she shivered from all the orgasm she had. You were watching this while your fingers were desperately trying to make you cum like the needy slut that you are? He didn't want you to suffer when all you needed was his cock and his buckets of cum in you.

After he persuaded you to do it with him he's already in you with no foreplay whatsoever rubbing your clit so roughly while snapping his hips with yours. "Ugh.. All mine Mine!! " he said going faster just burying you on the bed, ass up. He slapped your ass until it was red making you yelp while you felt his cock ramming itself in and out. You had no energy to tell him to slow down but gosh it felt so good when he's this rough! "Get pregnant Get pregnant Get pregnant!! " he chanted while rearranging your insides. Gosh how many orgasms have you had and how many loads does he need to fill you with until he's satisfied?

Thomas

He couldn't help but imagine how your legs wraps around his waist pulling him closer to you while he ruts your very hole. He couldn't help but notice how unresponsive you were after 2-3 rounds and he just couldn't get his mind off on how his meaty cock was a bit visible on your cute tummy while he fucked you up.

He didn't understand what a breeding kink was until you blurted out that he should cum inside you that day.

In the morning while you and his family were having breakfast, Luda Mae asked if you two were gonna have children soon since you couldn't even be separated from Thomas. You choked on your water then looked at Thomas who was already blushing but nodded that he indeed plans to have children with you sooner or later but until you get married to him.

One particular night after that you couldn't take it anymore. He kept cumming outside and on you! He was so careful not to get you pregnant until marriage. "T-thomas please.. Just cum in me! Please I can't wait till marriage I'm already yours!! " you blurted out. He stopped for a moment but then picked up the pace as he rutted into you fucking your g-spot over and over again as he groans in agreement. Mixing your juices and his pre-cum so deliciously and night after night he kept fucking you full of his loads and every time after that you felt satisfied even after you conclude that you were indeed pregnant now.

#slasher fucker #slasher x you #slashers x reader #slasher imagines #slasher headcanons #slasher smut #michael myers x y/n #michael myers headcanons #michael myers smut #brahms x you #brahms smut #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms heelsire x reader #thomas hewitt headcanon #thomas hewitt smut #thomas hewitt

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angelbarelywritesslashers · 1 year ago

Text

♡ slashers scenarios | sharing a bed

♡ fandoms; The Boy, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; very suggestive content, implied smut

♡note; swapped out billy in this one bc i can’t imagine him sharing a bed with someone and not getting literally pornographic

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire

> Once he decides he wants to share the bed, he finds the biggest guest room bed and brings all of the comfiest pillows and blankets he can to make it perfect

> For you more than him, but he doesn’t feel too hurt when you push half of them to the foot of the bed

> It was a lot even for a king bed

> You’re reluctant at first, not used to sharing a bed

> But you find he’s very hard to say no to once you’re in that deep

> He tries to give you space, but it’s not long before he’s wrapped around you, clinging for dear life

> And he almost immediately falls asleep like that, head tucked into your chest

> You sigh and try and relax, petting his hair

> And you fall asleep with your hand still tangled in his black locks, holding him close to you

> You wake up to him nuzzling your neck and practically whining

> “Baby…wake up…”

> You’d ask him what the problem was…if you couldn’t feel it against your leg

> You spend most of the morning still in bed, lazily fixing his predicament

Micheal Myers

> He doesn’t get why you want him to do this

> You know he doesn’t cuddle

> You know he usually gets restless and wanders at night

> But there’s no reason to say no, and even he can’t stand how sad your pout is

> You hum and stretch, tucking yourself in and look at him expectantly

> He takes off his boots and lays on top of the covers beside you, stiff as a board

> You have to coax him to even take the mask off, but he still won’t relax

> You quickly realize he’s used to high security psych ward bunks, not big comfy queen beds full of stuffed animals

> “…do you…wanna sleep on the floor?”

> He pauses.

> Shakes his head and closes his eyes.

> After you finally fall sleep, he sits up, intending on leaving

> But you look so peaceful…he can’t help to stay and watch you. Just for a little while.

> When he touches your cheek, you press into his hand. Maybe a while longer.

> When you wake up he’s still staring at you, hand long gone from your cheek

> But once you blink awake, it creeps somewhere else..

Thomas Hewitt

> He’s almost nervous of the idea

> Y’all are certainly intimate with each other - just as intimate as you would be if you were married like his mama was planning

> But what if the family noticed you were in there? He’d kill Hoyt for calling you anything nasty-

> When he sees you in skimpy PJs, he immediately forgets his worries

> He has a huge bed because he’s a huge guy, so when you curl up in it alone, it’s almost comical

> He’s staring at you as he climbs in after you, cautiously removing his mask

> His shoulders relax a little when you smile up at him, still so amazed you can stand to look at him

>“Hold me?”

> He grunts and takes no time in pulling you flush, spooning you. He’s more relaxed than he’s been in a while, sure he’ll fall asleep in no time

> Until you give a tiny sigh and shift your hips, innocently adjusting

> It doesn’t take much for you to set him off- he’s touch starved and obsessed with you.

> Along with feeling him against your ass, you can literally hear his breathing change.

> “…Tommy baby? Want me to take care of that?”

> It takes another two hours before you fall asleep, both sticky with sweat and sated, your head laying on his broad chest.

Bubba Sawyer

> He’s so happy to have a sleepover- even if you live right down the hall in the same house (I cannot imagine you dating him and being allowed to leave the farm tbh)

> He gives you an updated tour of his room- he’s very happy to show you the collection of polaroids of you he hung up.

> You were wondering where those went

> Finally he drops you on the bed, giggling quietly

> It’s old but comfy, and he has plenty of stolen pillows and blankets, and even some stuffed bears

> He strips right on down to his heart boxers, leaving his mask on for last

> He takes it off slowly, giving you that shy look he always does

> You grin and open your arms and he’s more than happy to scoop you up with a coo.

> By the time you’re settled, you’re curled around his back

> He loves being the little spoon, even if he’s a big brute

> When you wake up he’s bursting back into the room with some slightly burnt toast for breakfast

> It’s a sudden wake up call, but a welcome one

> And you repay him in tons of kisses, all over

Vincent Sinclair

> Like some of the others he’s hesitant

> But you want him to relax, he’s been working so hard- so you take him away from the studio, and into your room

> You’re not even letting him so much as sketch until he sleeps

> He tilts his head and is almost pouting, trying to guilt you - even more so once you help him remove his wax

> Until you coax him into his stomach so you can massage his back, that is

> You’re clumsy and certainly not a professional, but your hands on him is enough to melt away the stress

> He suddenly rolls over and grabs your hips as he hears you yawn

> It’s your turn to pout down at him

> But eventually you relent and let him cradle you close to his chest as he hums a nonsense lullaby

> You keep him trapped in bed the next morning as revenge, again straddling him before he can get up to leave

> But this time, you’re most certainly not yawning

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6lostgirl6 · 2 years ago

Text

OG!Michael Myers Masterlist

🔪= Smut/18+ Themes🔪

Fics:

Headcanons:

Imagines/Scenarios:

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amomentsescape · 2 years ago

Text

Slashers React to You Being Harassed

Warnings: Being verbally harassed by a gross man, some cuss words

A/N: A lot of you seemed to really like the last "Slashers React" fic I did, so I figured I'd write up another one. This came out a little cheesy, but oh well? Hope you enjoy!

Context: You were feeling a little cooped up recently due to being stuck inside from the flu. Now that you were feeling better, you wanted to go out and take some time away from home. But of course, you could never have more than a few minutes of peace. Some older man decides that you are the perfect one to pick on. He attempts to flirt with you, and even after saying "no" a handful of times, he still doesn't get the hint.

Michael Myers

You were honestly a little scared

Not for yourself, but for what was going to happen to the man

Even after weeks of insistence, Michael refused to let you go anywhere on your own

Even if he wasn't right next to you, he was lurking somewhere nearby

He was a blatant and proud stalker

So you knew that it wouldn't take long before-

Welp

The man is now dead with a slit throat

That was quick

"You could have stepped in sooner, you know?"

He just grips onto your hand and drags you back home

"But I've only been outside for five minutes!" you protest

He forces you to stay inside for another couple of weeks

Jason Voorhees

This disgusting man was now attempting to reach out and touch you

You took a step back and tried to put some space between you two

But in the blink of an eye, a large machete burst through his chest at you, your clothes getting splattered with blood

You scream

The now dead man drops to the ground as your eyes meet his killer

"Jesus, Jason! A bit of a warning next time, please."

He just tilts his head at you

You start grumbling about how your clothes were basically ruined now

Jason just picks you up and swings you over his shoulder

"This was my favorite shirt," you continue groaning

He gifts you with a small pocket knife the next day to take with you when you go out

Brahms Heelshire

You promised Brahms you wouldn't step too far off the Heelshire property line

So the fact that anyone was even over here seemed odd to you

And now here you were, wishing Brahms wasn't so weird about leaving the house

Because unfortunately, this man didn't seem like he was going to go away without a fight

So you did the only thing you could think of in that moment

You screamed

It lasted a few seconds

But the man didn't seem fazed

"There's no one else out here, Sweetheart," he said

"Hmm?" a voice spoke behind him

The man spun around and was immediately thrown to the ground

Brahms bashed his head in repeatedly with a rock

"Thank you-" you started

Brahms just grabbed you by the arm and drug you back inside the house

He didn't let you go outside for a while after that

Billy Loomis

You were about ready to punch this man yourself

But you didn't want to risk anything since you were alone

This man was good sized and you knew that trying to fight him probably wouldn't end well for you

But lo and behold, you wouldn't even have to lift a finger

A knife was quickly plunged into the man's throat causing him to bleed out in seconds

After a moment, you finally looked up and saw Billy in front of you

"Thank, God," you sighed, hugging the boy

It took you a second before you pulled away, looking at him in confusion

"Wait, how did you know I was out here?"

Billy avoided your gaze

"Were you stalking me?"

"I like to call it, observing"

You let out a groan

Stu Macher

You're crazy if you think Stu was going to let you outside by yourself

This boy is glued at your hip 24/7

The only reason why this other man was even flirting with you right now is because Stu went off to "take a whizz" as he likes to say

Thankfully, this doesn't normally take him long

So as this man continued to push his luck, Stu walked up next to you, his eyes a little dark

"Is there a problem here, babe?" he asked a little too nicely

How you answer this is definitely going to affect what Stu does next

But this man was pissing you off so...

"Yeah, he won't leave me alone"

And that's all it took for the man to end up dead on his side, a knife in his chest

Afterwards, Stu and you continued your little venture outside

He just held you a lot closer to him the whole time

Eric Draven

You were honestly getting freaked out by this man

In a city like this, anyone could be hurt

But your moment of panic soon died down to the sight of a black crow perching on the nearby building

"Thank you," you murmured

"What was that?" the man spat back

You couldn't help but smile a bit

"You're about to get your ass kicked"

He just laughed at you

Your smile grew when you saw a figure approach the man from behind

He noticed this and turned around, only to be met with the city's best vigilante

"Hi"

The man was suddenly struck with a metal pipe

And he continued to be struck another 17 times

Eric walked up to you after he was done, his painted face dripping with red

"You didn't have to kill him," you said

Eric just shrugged

"Oops?"

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regianenascimentooficial · 4 months ago

Text

PART 1: How did every slasher become obsessed with you?

Part 2 Here!

🌹Slashers:

Jason Voorhees / Michael Myers / Pinhead / Vincent and Bo Sinclair / Thomas Hewitt / Bubba Sawyer / Asa Emory.

🌹Warning:

⚠️All headcanons have things that minors cannot read! Read at your own risk!⚠️

🌹🌹GOOD READ! 🌹🌹

🥀On a night of hunting, he would go after you, just as he did with the unfortunate lives that surpassed his patience and path. However, when he got close to the door of your room, he heard you praying for the one you called "the drowned boy" to have peace and find his mother. You cried a lot for the boy. Deep down, he saw that you were different, in his perception, you were someone who didn't see him as a monster and, praying for him, it became clearer. After that scene, he didn't kill you or anything like that, but he watched you until he saw you try to escape the place when you discovered that everyone was dead. A blow to your head and when you woke up, you were with him. With your feet in chains and him hovering over you in curiosity and tenderness. You can't go anywhere now... You're his.

🥀It would be a normal day of killing in Haddonfield, until something broke his routine. In front of his house, there was a jar of sweets, and on top of it a note: "I don't know what you've been through, but you're not a demon to me, Michael. May you find the peace you need. Signed: S/N." He looked at it in confusion. He thought the person was more disturbed than he was, but this triggered him. Congratulations... You're his new obsession. With that, he waited for one day for you to leave something in front of the house and, sure enough, you showed up. Myers analyzed you and took in every detail of you. Two months went by and he kept giving you gifts in secret and you didn't know who they were from. You just thought it was strange and smiled. Michael decided from then on that you were now his and no one else's and whoever came to you would appear on the news as one less person on earth. Michael was just waiting for the right moment to show up to you, and when that happened... You know what would happen.

🥀After you managed to escape from him, you don't know what you just did. You signed your name on Pinhead's dark heart. Even though he had escaped, he had even tried to live his life in the infernal labyrinth, however, nothing made him think that his audacity to face and win would bring you back. Calmly and skillfully, he began to draw up a plan to get you back. Whatever the cost... He might not be one to attack what he wanted head on, but he was strategic. Three years after he escaped, his face still remained in the Infernal Priest's head, he had a plan. A man next to his apartment was seduced by the configuration of the lament and when he opened it, he had an idea and knew that his next door would be taken too... Lying in bed, they felt strange, and when he opened his eyes... He was there... With a victorious smile... You would not escape him now.

🥀After you showed up in town and started praising his waxworks and even defending them from his friends who were making fun of him, he found you intriguing. He analyzed you for a while and waited for the right moment. His curiosity was so great that he began to feel bad for being so obscene, drawing and painting pictures with you in positions that made him delirious. No matter what he did, you wouldn't leave his mind. His new art muse, his perfect sculpture worthy of being among the Greek pantheon. When the time came, he would go with the help of his brother, catch you and lock you up so that no one would praise his great masterpiece anymore.

🥀You were a girl who had no fear and had defied the most insane brother among Vincent. He fell in love with you in a sick way. He would try to convince his brother to kidnap you and have you all to himself. He could kick and punch him, and even shoot him, but he wouldn't give up on you... In the end... You ended up tied to a chair and a gag with him holding your face and saying: "You're going to get used to being mine from now on."

🥀Since the beginning of the hunt, he had liked you. He liked you completely. He wouldn't know what that feeling was, but he never felt alive. All because you praised him when you accidentally took off your leather mask to protect yourself. It's a fact that you did it just to destabilize him and run away, and you succeeded, but the price was high... He couldn't stop thinking about you. So, in the end, you didn't escape, you became his and not only his wife, but the mother of his children.

🥀Bubba didn't know much about life and was shy. But when she was tied to a chair at the dinner table by force, after being captured, she realized that the great man was humiliated by his relatives and so she defended him... Girl... Girl... His young and shy heart was happy to hear that... He managed to break free and escape, however, even under the warning of his relatives, he went after you and managed to catch you. In the arid Texas desert, no one heard your screams... You were now his girlfriend.

🥀He had gone to the vet to see one of his German Shepherds who was feeling unwell, and you were also a patient who was by his side with his sick cat. You started talking to him, saying several things, including that you loved spiders, beetles, museums, art galleries, and especially criminal cases, and that you were fascinated by what the journalists on TV called "The Collector", among other things. When he heard all this, you became his obsession, a rare specimen in his collection. But of course, you wouldn't know that you were talking to the man himself. After six months of watching you, he already had everything in mind, he was strategic... Soon you would be put in the red box and that way, with him, you would stay forever.

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noxturnals-void · 5 months ago

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Slashers seeing their s/o in a self-made p☆rn (Pt.1)

Characters include:

Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Michael Myers,

———————————————————————————

✨im back✨

this is not edited whatsoever

TW: NSFW, descriptions of sexual acts, masturbation, voyeurism, Micheal being Micheal

Jason Voorhees:

Oh boy

His view on sex is so skewed from his childhood, finding out you recorded a video of yourself in any way sexual has him so deeply confused

Honestly, he probably found it on your phone searching for something completely innocent in your camera roll

You only made the one video (he looked for others)

He takes your phone into the woods and privately watches the entire video

He's wounded at first - why would you do something like this? You seemed so innocent, nothing like the type of person he pictured would make this content

He starts to blush when your body straddles a pillow within frame of your poorly propped up phone

The sounds you make while humping the pillow has his free hand clenching tight at his side

He's careful with the volume, holding the phone close to his ear to listen to your whimpers then pulling the device down and rewinding so he can watch the video with the noises still fresh in his mind

Poor guy is so hard by the time the video is done

It would be wrong to touch himself to a dirty video of you, so he resists the heat between his legs and returns your phone, trying his best to play it cool like he didn't just watch you hump a pillow until you orgasmed

He won't mention it at all

Sometimes, he might make up an excuse to borrow your phone to watch it every now and then

Thomas Hewitt:

Similarly to Jason, his view on sex is skewed from childhood

He was taught that sex should be private and sacred and only after marriage

But masturbation? He's more confused about where that stands

Again, he would probably stumble across the video by accident

You left your phone open on your bed while you went to take a shower and he got curious

As soon as he realizes what the video is, he's hurrying to the basement as quick but non-suspiciously as possible

He locks the basement door- not that anyone, yourself included, goes down here often. It's just in case...

He sits down in a creaky wooden chair and pulls out your phone

Still unlocked, he finds the video again

He's exhilarated and oh so nervous as he watches your legs spread and your hands wander

He gets so hard at the sight of you so open and relaxed, touching yourself

Your first loud moan startles him, rushing to turn down the volume only he could hear

He knows it's wrong to touch himself to a video of you, but- oh god- you make it so difficult for him

He can't help it. He caves three minutes and seventeen seconds in when your legs shake and you make a sound that sends him over the edge

By the time he's finished, he's committed the entire video to memory from how much he has rewatched it to be able to finish in his own hand

He will return your phone to the spot on the bed he found it before your shower is done

He finds out your passcode later by looking over your shoulder, filing the information away so he can watch the video anytime he gets the opportunity

Michael Myers:

This guy steals your phone on the regular

It goes missing for days at a time, and you know it's him who takes it, though you can never get him to own up to it (or find where he hides it)

When he's snooping through your phone, he comes across a certain video of you getting intimate with a toy

He watches the entire thing (on repeat)

He doesn't care if your right in front of him, or sitting beside him, or out of the house- he's watching the entire thing shamelessly

Head tilts at the sounds you make

He turns the volume to max so he can hear every hitched breath and soft noise you make

He goes through your stuff, finding that particular toy (if you still have it) or something similar to it

He will bend you over into the same position as the video and use what he found to fuck you until your a mess with the video playing in front of you

Call it his way of getting back at you for using the toy and not him ;p

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charliedawn · 9 months ago

Note

Nurse brings their baby to work because they couldn't find the baby sitter. And the baby first word is dad. how would the slasher react to suddenly being called dad???

Michael Myers

Michael stares at the baby in your arms, his expression hidden behind his mask, but you can sense his surprise. He wasn’t expecting to be called dad, and the word feels foreign to him. For a moment, he freezes, his usual menacing air disappearing as he just stares. Slowly, he reaches out, his hand gently touching the baby's tiny fist. Though he doesn't say anything, there's a subtle shift in his body language, a quiet acceptance of the title.

Yeah. That baby is gonna have a great dad.

Jason Voorhees

Jason, who is often seen as a protector in his own way, might feel a wave of unexpected emotion. He has affection for them and the appellation dad did make him still for a second, reminding him of what he once longed for—a family and love. He crouches down slowly, tilting his head in that childlike way he sometimes does, unsure of how to react but clearly moved. Gently, he pats the baby’s head, trying to be as soft as possible, his usually violent hands becoming tender. Jason lost his father at a young age, and he would make sure that doesn’t happen with your baby.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy's reaction would be more layered. He'd laugh, finding the idea of being called dad by your child both amusing and strange. "Well, look who’s got great taste," he’d tease, his grin wide and mischievous. "Calling me daddy, huh ? Heck. I might start to like you, ya lil’ goblin !"

But deep down, there might be a flicker of something else—perhaps a sense of pride, though he’d never admit it. He’d probably try to play it off, cracking jokes, but you’d catch a glimmer in his eyes that says it means more than he lets on. Freddy wanted to be a father, before he died. But he never got the chance. So, he’d be secretly happy to keep an eye on your baby.

Chucky

Chucky would be taken aback, but his pride would swell almost instantly. "That's right, kid ! Dad's here !" he’d say with a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the title. He’d probably pick up the baby—carefully, for once—and start telling them how lucky they are to have him as their father. Chucky would take this as an ego boost and start acting like he's the best "dad" in the room, making jokes and pretending to give fatherly advice.

He would be the type of father to fight tooth and nail for his kid though—even though he pretends not to care.

Norman Bates

Norman would be stunned, unsure how to process being called dad. His face would soften as a mix of emotions flicker across his expression—uncertainty, fear, and a strange sense of warmth. He’s never really had anyone look to him in such a way before, and it would catch him off guard. "Dad…" he’d repeat softly, almost as if testing the word himself. There’s a brief moment where you see a tender, vulnerable side of him emerge. He’d be happy. But…He would also be conflicted because he’s never really had a father figure before and he would be afraid to not be up to the task…

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms would be overjoyed, his eyes lighting up with excitement as the baby calls him dad. He loves the idea of family and devotion, so this would feel like an affirmation of the bond he craves. "Did you hear that ? They called me dad !" Brahms would say, almost giddy with happiness. He’d immediately want to hold the baby, showing an unusually gentle side, savoring the moment as if it cements his place in your life even more deeply. He’d also wonder what it would be like to be YOUR partner…to be the real father of the child. Let me say, Brahms would actually buy you a wedding ring if that meant you would let him be yours and the baby’s family.

Bo Sinclair

Bo would smirk at first, his Southern drawl slipping out, "Well, ain’t that somethin’ ?" He’d be caught off guard, unsure if he should embrace it or brush it off. But deep down, the idea of being called dad would actually make him proud and happy. He’d probably roll with it, giving you a cocky smile, but you’d know from the way he looks at the baby that it’s gotten to him more than he’ll admit. He would wait until you are out of the room before kissing the baby’s forehead and whispering to it.

"Yeah…I’m yer Pa now, baby. And me and ya are gonna make yer mama so happy. You’ll see."

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent wouldn’t show much outward reaction at first, his face hidden beneath his mask, but he’d pause. The idea of being called dad by your child would stir something deep inside, something warm and unfamiliar. He’d probably kneel down, gently offering his hand to the baby, who’d grab onto his fingers. In that small, quiet moment, Vincent would silently accept the title, his body language soft and careful.

He would also take a picture—to remember that moment forever.

Pennywise

Pennywise would be utterly caught off guard. He’d be playing his usual mischievous role, trying to get the baby to laugh with goofy faces or strange noises when the word dad slips out. He’d freeze, his sharp teeth momentarily retreating, eyes widening in shock. "Dad, huh? Well, that’s new," he’d chuckle, though the sound would be a bit strained, a mix of amusement and uncertainty. Deep down, Pennywise would be torn between his natural chaos-loving self and an unfamiliar, almost protective instinct. After all, the word dad is reserved for those who care, and that’s not something he’s entirely familiar with. He doesn’t care. About anything or anyone. Still, he might lean into it, thinking of it as a twisted joke between the two of you, but somewhere in the back of his mind, the idea of being important to someone would linger.

Pennywise *hesitates before taking the baby in his arms* : "…You’re one ugly baby. But…I guess that’s okay. That just means am gonna have to take care of you."

Penny

Penny, on the other hand, would be thrilled. The second the baby says dad, he’d light up with genuine excitement, clapping his hands and letting out a loud, gleeful laugh. "Oh, did you hear that ? I’m dad !" he’d exclaim, picking up the baby and twirling them around carefully. Unlike his brother, Penny wouldn’t be conflicted—he’d embrace the title with his usual boundless joy, seeing it as the highest honor. He’d probably carry the baby around for the rest of the day, boasting to the others with pride.

Jack Torrance

Jack's reaction to being called dad by your baby would be complex. At first, he might freeze, his mind racing between his past as a father and the present moment. A flash of old memories might cross his face—memories of his son, Danny, and how things went terribly wrong. He might force a smile, but it wouldn’t reach his eyes. "Dad, huh ?" he’d mutter, his voice tinged with a strange mix of affection and unease. There’s a part of him that wants to embrace the title, to be a better father this time, but there’s another part—the darker part—that’s afraid of what that responsibility could mean for him. You’d catch a glimpse of his inner struggle as he tries to keep it together, quietly stepping back while nervously running a hand through his hair.

Jack would likely need a moment to collect himself, caught between the warmth of being seen as a father again and the haunting fear of repeating his past mistakes.

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 1990 #slashers #pennywise 2017 #pennywise x reader #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #jason voorhees x reader #norman bates x reader #chucky x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #jack torrance x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader

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the-s1lly-corner · 1 year ago

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Calling various slashers pretty boy

Oh yeah we are cooking today

Characters: Jason Voorhees, Brahms Heelshire, Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, OG Michael Myers

Notes: reader is GN, admin is writing this in bursts so any noticable difference in energy is due to that LMAO, written on mobile

CWs: blood mentions but it's very small

JASON

It takes him a while to believe you think hes pretty since it's so deeply ingrained in his mind that hes got a face only a mother could love

He doesn't reject the nickname, it just takes him some time to truly fully believe you when you call him pretty boy!

The first time he pauses for a moment before turning his gaze towards you... very intense stare

Absolutely melts into your arms when you pepper his bare face with kisses while calling him pretty boy

Hes careful not to smoosh you under him buts hes basically draped over your lap and pressing his face into your stomach

MICHAEL

Little to no reaction when you call him pretty boy, if there IS a reaction hes just the slightest head tilt as he stares you down

He doesnt care all that much, at least as far as you can tell... Michael... isnt the easiest to read

But you're more than sure that he would stamp it out if he didnt like it, so at least you have that going on!

Doesnt take his mask off around you at all so you dont.. actually know what he looks like... you sometimes wonder if he thinks you're just saying the term without actually meaning it

Affection with Michael alwaus feels a little one sided but you know he st least partly cares for you.. maybe..(/lh/hj)

BRAHMS

Oh look what you've done... now hes going to expect you to keep going-

Tell him just how pretty he is, what you like about his looks... he might even insist you call him Pretty Boy in place of his name!

Not that that he isnt going to return at least some of the energy, hes totally obsessed with you and hes not about to let you go feeling unloved

Call him pretty boy while the two of you are cuddling and hes going to grab your face and just.. stare intently..

Then saying you're beautiful in return, likely saying something specific about your face

BUBBA

No ones ever called him pretty boy before... let alone pretty..!

Totally melts when you call him that, pauses his work on whatever hes doing at the moment to process what you've called him before giving a soft giggle

He wants to show you how pretty he thinks you are, too, typically shows that by touching your face and tracing your skin, sometimes playing with your hair

Its... best not to call him pretty boy when hes working on carving up some meat, hes become desensitized to blood..

Unless you're okay with the upcoming mess!

THOMAS

The only person who's really complimented his looks, at least before you came along, was family members

Needs a minute to turn over what you said in his mind, and for a moment you may even wonder if you said something to upset him

Very gently takes your hands and traces them along the sides of his face, against his mask if hes wearing it

Then he holds your face in his hands... it's not a new piece of affection, he occasionally traces his fingers along your skin as the two of you snuggle

Hes going to be thinking about the name for a while, but hes not going to let it get in the way of his work and chores

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slashingdisneypasta · 29 days ago

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Slashers x Survivor!Reader || Imagine/Excerpts

Plot: You were the only other survivor. You were hurt, but left for dead rather then finished off- and there doesnt seem to have been a reason for it. You figure you were lucky, but others don't buy that 'story'. Rumours run wild. // Or, alternatively: // You're branded as the monsters franken-bride when you fail to die. They think you did something for him, in exchange for your life. Its not true. Its not!

You survived, but just to be seen as a pathetic whore.

Characters Included: Bubba Sawyer+Sawyer Brothers, Chucky Lee Ray, Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers.

Warnings: Heavy sexual references, throwing up, slut-shaming, bullying, sex-for-survival, references to injuries-hospitals-and-stitches, gun mention, one 'kill yourself', etc. This is a dark one. Reader is over the age of 18 in all of these. The only reader who's gender is mentioned is Michael's. I think.

Part 2? 🤔

Bubba Sawyer:

You still remember being at court the week after. Just trying not to move lest your stitches broke; just trying to keep your liquid lunch down- when you found out what the people were saying. The papers had been kept from Sally and you until then, so you really had no idea. No idea, that they were saying you'd allowed yourself to be... that you'd... with them-

The papers used phrases like 'passed around', and you puked.

That lunch you had been trying so hard to settle that day came out all over the polished wood floors. It was so recent, you could still smell the sweat and the blood and the rot from that house-- to think that you would have done anything like what they detailed in those heinous articles made you heave, and they had to take you back to the hospital to be sewn back up again. The proceedings had to wait for a day.

When you finally got back a few days later and the proceedings truly begun, you were ready. You lowered your gaze and met no one's eyes except the Judge's, and Sally's- she had to know it wasn't true. She believed you; she was the only one who did.

They had to sell papers; you knew that. You understood, in a way. For a while.

You had no idea the lie would stick.

Now its 30 years later and the internet still knows you as the girl who fucked Leatherface.

Chucky Lee Ray:

The first time you heard what they were saying, you were shopping for groceries with your parents a month after Sarah Pierce' death. You'd been the Pierce' neighbour, and close friend- so of course you were caught in the crosshairs when everything happened. But you were finally starting to feel half-way to normal again in that store choosing avocados and apples. Daniel and Sarah were dead. Charles was dead. But the baby survived- and so did you. You felt like you were toeing a line; walking a tightrope fraying in the middle, but you were learning to shuffle along.

You were even getting used to the whispers that followed you around town.

Then you heard what they were saying.

It was a couple of teenagers on the other side of the citrus fruits, they were glancing at you sniggering. Chatting casually about you while they chose big fat oranges; chatting about you. Your scraped bruised knees. Something about your cut-up back.

You'd paused. You hadn't been sure you were understanding properly. There was no way... no chance, they were suggesting what you felt like they were. It was too horrible to believe.

Your parents had heard, too, and they had tried to move you along fast. They'd known.

When you realised it wasn't just your fucked-up medicated brain, that they really were saying what you thought they were- you'd rounded the oranges and lunged at them.

You still remember the feeling of your fingernails digging into that 19-year-old's scalp.

Freddy Krueger:

You were fucked-up to say the least when it was all over. For a week after, until your parents managed to get you on strong sleep medication, you slept about 40 minutes every day and only when it was light outside. The only person you would speak to was Nancy, because no one else believed you.

You were exhausted, you were literally sick with the worst flu of your life because you refused to get any real rest, and you Fed Up. Fed up with everyone treating you like you were delicate, and like you were crazy; You were worn so thin, you were saying whatever came to mind. Anything that would elicit a responce from people other then 'oh poor Y/N'.

You had been so sick of that narrative. You were mad! Come on! Now of course, safe on Hypnocil for a decade and well-enough rested, you supposed that that would have made an easier story to live in then the one you saddled yourself with forever in the media. But you weren't in your right mind, then.

It was during that first week, before the sleep meds you had to start taking. You had to go to a press conference with Nancy and the police,.. and the damn Springwood media, who were absolutely obsessed with the story.

One of the women in front shoved a microphone in your face one-too-many times. Officer Thompson had managed to keep you quiet for most of the conference with his hand on your shoulder and faster responses then you could manage in your state, but you had had enough by this point.

So what do you say to the rumours, Y/N??

:What rumours?

Well, the bitch had looked elated. Obnoxious and elated that you were clueless, and she got to tell you and get your reaction on camera. That you had relations with the killer. Sources tell us thats how you survived when 3 local Springwood teenagers didn't.

The cogs in your brain had been working so, so slowly during that time,.. it took you a minute to understand what that meant.

When you did, your eyes filled up with fire.

You remember at the time you were frustrated that no one was saying his name. The adults in town were all acting like he didn't exist, never did, and you and Nancy were crazy. It pissed you off more then anything because you knew part of what happened was their fault. And then your mouth moved before you could think. You regret that, now.

:Thats between me and Fred Krueger. I dont kiss and tell. Now fuck off.

Jason Voorhees:

The rumours that you somehow had sex with the Crystal Lake killer didn't crop up until a few years after the events. The anniversary. It had already been a hard time for you, being the anniversary of the single worst time of your life. The only saving grace was that the media hadn't come back on you so hard again this time; they'd already squeezed every little bit of information out of you and the police. Every gory, gritty detail. Or so the people thought.

Because the media did something they do very well, that year.

Made up the news.

Headlines like Victim or Bride of Frankenstein? Maybe Both., How Y/N L/N Really Survived the Crystal Lake Killings!, and your favourite, the one that made you vomit all over the newspaper and your kitchen table- New Information Leak Says All Star Survivor Had To Do To Live Was Open Their Legs; Who knew it could be so easy? If only the real victims had known., were all over the national news circuit that weekend. You hadn't puked like that in years.

You were once again bombarded by reporters that weekend. A few old stalkers came back, the spark of interest revitalised, which was Just Brilliant seeing as your restraining orders had all met their end already and you had to get more, and your mail box was

once. again.

a dump for insane people obsessed with the Voorhees family. You got letters persuading you politely to kill yourself because poor innocent Jason, magazine letter threats, and pictures of Jason and Pamela before he supposedly drowned- making him out to be a child. There was the odd person who thought of Jason as a God and you his sacrifice, too. Of course. That was vaguely interesting.

... you had been easy with the media before this, you gave them what they wanted. It was easier.

After this though you basically became the stereotype of a recluse. You burnt all the mail you'd received and boarded up your mail box, you cut off almost everyone in your life who you didn't Know you could trust, you ordered smoke bombs and chucked them out at reporters camped out on your lawn. You bought a gun.

If you were going to be used for the nations entertainment it would be on your own terms.

Michael Myers:

It was the same year they started saying Laurie and Michael were siblings. Because 2 girls being chased through the night and hunted by a random escaped lunatic in a mask wasn't horrible enough, anymore. Not entertaining enough, apparently. No, it had to be his baby sister and a sacrificial whore.

Because two young women couldn't possibly have survived that if they weren't either related to the monster, or used her womanly 'wiles' on him.

When you saw the headline at the store, you were picking up aspirin. You ended up going home with aspirin, and vodka. Laurie came over that night and the two of you drank that entire bottle, no chasers. She stayed over and it was almost like the nights after you escaped him together, except back then you were hurt (a few stab wounds each), and you stayed together to keep each other Safe from Michael. Now you stayed together to keep each other Safe from the Town. The town that had already failed the two of you, and just kept finding new ways.

The town never really let this one go, after that. It became canon lore that That is what happened; thats how you survived.

As if you would ever.

As if Michael himself, the cadaver filled with nothing but a hunters bloodlust, even had that kind of desire in him.

... You made an official denial and Laurie proved hers with her birth certificate, and Dr Loomis went on record one time debunking the myth, and Michael's public defender even made a statement-- but the town had made up their mind.

#Slashers x Reader #Slashers x Reader Excerpts #Slashers x Reader Excerpt #Slashers x Reader Imagine #Slashers x Reader Imagines #Excerpt Set #Bubba Sawyer #Bubba Sawyer x Reader #Charles Lee Ray x Reader #Charles Lee Ray #Chucky #Chucky x Reader #Freddy Krueger #Freddy Krueger x Reader #Jason Voorhees #Jason Voorhees x Reader #Michael Myers #Michael Myers x Reader #Slashers

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cami040405 · 2 months ago

Note

Told you I’d get annoying in here >:) anyways, can I request Michael, Bo, and Brahms with a fem!s/o that talks like, a lot a lot, and gets really insecure about it sometimes so she just goes quiet? Very much a comfort thing needed :p if not then it’s totally okay!

THANK YOU SM FOR ANSWERING MY OTHER TWO REQS BTW, THEY WERE WONDERFUL <3

Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair and Brahms Heelshire with a Talkative S/O (SEPARATE)

Summary: Imagine Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair and Brahms Heelshire with a Fem! S/O who talks a lot but gets insecure about it sometimes.

A/N: I loved writing this request because I identified with it a lot, I talk a lot sometimes too, so I felt very much like the character, thank you for sending the request, your ideas are great!

Michael Myers

Being with Michael was… strange to most people. You were the girl who talked a mile a minute — whether it was about something you read, your thoughts during a horror movie, or even just wondering aloud if clouds ever felt jealous of each other. People often told you to "slow down" or "quiet down."

But Michael never did.

He wasn’t the type to speak — not even once. And yet, he was always there when you talked. He listened, you could tell. He’d sit with you for hours in total stillness, letting your voice wrap around the silence like a blanket. Sometimes you’d sit at his feet while he cleaned his knife. Sometimes you’d walk through the woods with him beside you, and you’d fill the air with your thoughts while he just listened.

At first, you assumed he just tolerated it — like you were background noise. But over time, little things started to make you question that.

He’d lean in slightly when you were excited. Tilt his head when you were rambling about something obscure. Once, he even handed you a book — not for him to read, but for you to read out loud. He sat there silently while you read three chapters, curled into his side, your voice the only sound in the house.

But even with him… you had your moments. Those creeping thoughts, the ones that told you you were too much — too loud, too annoying, too exhausting. That if he ever wanted peace, it meant without you.

One evening, you were pacing the cabin, rambling about a dream you had, hands flailing as you talked — until you caught yourself. Mid-sentence. You felt that cold wave of self-consciousness hit your chest like a brick.

“I talk too much,” you mumbled, suddenly frozen, heart sinking. “God, I don’t know how you put up with me…”

The silence that followed felt like punishment. You stared at the floor, not daring to look at him. You sat down, curled into yourself, quiet. The room felt bigger when your voice wasn’t filling it.

Michael, still standing in the doorway, just stared at you. His mask revealed nothing — but his body language changed.

He walked over slowly. You didn’t look up until he was kneeling in front of you.

His gloved hand reached out. Gently — so gently — he touched your face, his thumb brushing beneath your eye like he was memorizing your features. He held your gaze, quiet but intense.

You tried to laugh it off, still unsure. “I just… I know I talk a lot. I must get on your nerves sometimes.”

He didn’t speak. But he shook his head, slowly, once. Then twice. With quiet care, he moved behind you on the couch and let you curl into him — big, warm arms wrapping around you like armor.

His hands settled against your stomach. His masked head rested beside yours. You could hear his breathing — slow and steady. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t upset. He was anchoring you.

You felt tears prick at your eyes. “I just… don’t want you to think I’m too much.”

Michael leaned forward slightly, and you felt the solid press of his forehead against your shoulder — his version of a kiss. His hand traced slow circles over your arm, over and over, until your breathing matched his.

No words. Just presence. Just comfort. And in that moment, you understood:

Michael didn’t just tolerate your voice.

He needed it.

Bo Sinclair

You’d always been a talker — a storyteller, a rambler, a collector of strange little facts and chaotic commentary. At first, you weren’t sure how Bo would react. He had that whole Southern charm going for him, sure, but beneath it was a man made of sharp steel, biting sarcasm, and deep-seated shadows.

But surprisingly? He never shushed you.

Bo liked the sound of your voice. Whether you were sitting on the front steps of the gas station rattling off about some dream you had or pacing around the house going on about a podcast episode, he listened. Not always obviously — he’d still be working on the car, tossing a wrench from one hand to another — but he heard every damn word.

He even started teasing you playfully, tossing out smirks like:

“Ain’t no one ever tell you to breathe between sentences, baby?”

But he’d say it with this softness in his voice. Like he was entertained. Like he genuinely cared.

It was on a quiet afternoon when it happened.

You were curled up on the couch in Bo’s room, legs tucked under you, chattering while he tinkered with something by the window. But mid-sentence, the words caught in your throat. Your mind spiraled.

“Do I sound annoying?”“Maybe I’m just talking too much again.”“He’s probably sick of hearing me ramble.”

And just like that, silence. Bo didn’t turn right away. But he noticed. His shoulders stilled. His hands paused. The air shifted.

He turned slowly, blue eyes narrowing in that way he did when something wasn’t sitting right. “You alright?” he asked, voice low and even.

You managed a small shrug. “Yeah. Just tired.”

That was a lie, and he saw right through it.

“Don’t bullshit me, sweetheart,” he said gently, wiping his hands on a rag. He walked over, crouching in front of you. “You were goin’ a mile a minute a second ago. Now you’re all quiet.” He tilted his head. “What happened in that pretty head o’ yours?”

You bit your lip, eyes dropping to your lap.

“I just… I feel like I talk too much sometimes,” you whispered. “Like I’m annoying or—just too much.”

Bo blinked. And then he looked at you like you’d just insulted yourself in front of him — which, in his mind, you had.

“Too much?” he echoed, almost offended. “Honey, let me tell you somethin’ real clear.”

He leaned in, one hand coming up to rest under your chin, coaxing your gaze back to his.

“You think I’d sit there listenin’ to you talk about those weird little facts, or them stories you spin outta nowhere, if I didn’t want to?” His thumb brushed over your cheek with a gentleness that contrasted every rough edge of him. “Hell, half the time, you’re the only thing keepin’ me sane in this damn place.”

Your breath hitched — eyes glassy, throat tight.

“I like the sound of your voice,” he continued, quieter now. “I like how you light up when you’re tellin’ me somethin’. I like when you forget what you were even sayin’ ‘cause you got so excited.”

He chuckled under his breath, eyes soft. “Drives me crazy in the best kinda way.”

You blinked back the sting of tears, and Bo noticed. He leaned up, kissing your forehead, lingering there for a moment before resting his own against yours.

“You don’t ever gotta quiet down for me, darlin’. Not ever. You go ahead and talk my ear off — I’ll be right here, every time.”

You nodded, sniffling softly, and he gave you that crooked little smirk you loved so much.

Then, with a wink, he muttered,

“Now come on. Tell me the rest of that story about the raccoon with the donut. I was listenin’.”

And just like that, the words started coming again — hesitantly at first, then more freely — and Bo? He just leaned back, arms crossed, watching you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Because to him… you were.

Brahms Heelshire

The manor was quiet.

A strange thing, considering how much your voice usually echoed through its old walls. Whether it was humming while organizing the dusty shelves, ranting about something you read, or just talking to Brahms about literally anything, your presence filled the house like sunlight — warm, persistent, and impossible to ignore.

But today? Silence.

You sat curled on the far end of the window bench in the library, knees drawn up under your chin, hands tucked into the sleeves of your cardigan. You were staring out at the garden, not really seeing it, just sinking into your thoughts.

From the hallway, soft footsteps echoed. Brahms emerged from the shadows, face partially covered by his porcelain mask. His gaze drifted across the room—searching—before settling on you.

“Darling?” His voice was cautious.

You didn’t answer right away. Just a small, tired shrug.

He tilted his head. Something was off. You hadn’t spoken to him all morning. No cheerful greeting, no “Brahmsie, did you move my book again?” No rambling about your dreams or the weird crow you saw outside. Nothing.

A quiet Brahms was normal. A quiet you? Not at all.

“Why are you being so… quiet?” he asked, stepping closer.

You hesitated, biting your bottom lip before finally whispering, “I just… I don’t know. I talk too much. I get annoying. I thought maybe you'd enjoy a break.”

The moment those words left your mouth, Brahms froze.

Then, slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe what he heard, he took a step toward you. And then another. His long frame moved with that eerie grace he had — like a wind-up doll, gentle but uncanny.

“You think… I’d want less of you?” he said, voice low. “That I get tired of you?”

You avoided his eyes. “Sometimes I see your face and it’s like… I don’t know. Blank. Or distant. I just overthink, I guess.”

He was beside you now, sinking to his knees in front of the bench. His masked face tilted up to you, gloved hands gently finding yours and tugging them free from your sleeves.

“Blank doesn’t mean bored,” he murmured, voice softer now. “I just get lost in you, that's all. I listen to every word. Even the nonsense. Especially the nonsense. You fill the house. You fill me.”

You blinked. He tugged your hands to his chest, pressing them over his heart.

“When you go quiet,” he said, almost mournfully, “everything feels wrong. Empty. Like the house used to feel before you.”

His grip tightened just a little, as if he thought you might slip away with your silence.

“Say something,” he whispered. “Anything. Say I smell funny. Say you forgot how to spell ‘rendezvous.’ Say I’m a spoiled man-child. I don’t care. Just... don’t go quiet. Not with me.”

You finally laughed—a breathy, watery laugh that escaped your throat before you could stop it. And it lit his whole posture up like a switch had flipped inside him.

“There she is…” he sighed, pulling himself up onto the bench to sit beside you. “I missed your voice, little dove.”

And as you began speaking again — slowly at first, hesitantly, then with growing comfort — Brahms curled around you like ivy, head on your shoulder, arms holding you gently in place, like you were something precious he couldn’t bear to lose.

He didn’t say much else.

He didn’t have to.

His silence said: Talk all you want. You’re never too much for me.

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slasherstories123 · 1 year ago

Note

Hii this is the first time I make a request. Can you make slashers(your choices hehe) react to S/O making a plushie that look just like them? Thank you :)

Slashers reaction to their S/O making a plushie of them

Paring: Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Vincent Sinclair,Lester Sinclair, and Brahms Heelshire x reader

Tagslist: @dootys @callmemeelah @fluffy-little-demon @mehidktbh @the-anxious-youth @beanbagbitch @mrs-heelshire @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @oneofvincentscandles @sleepypersonblog @alexxavicry @vexeliers-breakroom @l0sercat @naxxsstuff @beel-mcburger @pink-apollo @charliedawn @emychan @slasherscrybaby @l0sercat

A/N: When you said dolls it made me think of crochet dolls, but if not then I’m sorry😭💗

Jason Voorhees

Very curious. He's curious about the process of you making the plushie once tibeas given to him.

Jason loves the plushie, even carrying it around like it’s his own child and will even sleep with it besides his teddy bear that was given by his mother.

He’ll hug you to no end as his way of saying thank you

If you were to make another plushie he’d want to watch you make it so he could make one of you, it was terribly made but it was his first time… and it’s the thought that counts

He’ll be forever grateful because it’s the fact that you wanted to make the plushie and haven’t had any sort of gift in years ever since his mother was killed, it’ll possibly even make him emotional just the thought of him receiving any gifts after being called a monster or freak.

Michael Myers

He’s giving you so many head tilts of confusion

All he can think about is why? Why are you making it, he knows you love him, but that far to make a plushie?

He’ll keep it of course but you won’t see him around with it, he probably has it put up on your dresser.

Will he stare? Yea. He’ll stare at you through the whole process of making it. Once it’s done he’ll definitely see something missing. Going in the kitchen to get the largest knife and give it to you.

You’d have to stifle a laugh and make a large knife that will fit the doll to fit his liking, handing it up to up for his own approval.

He’d take the doll and hold it by its head. Placing it on his shoulder.

He’d walk around the house with it on his shoulder, surprisingly, it doesn’t fall off.

Vincent Sinclair

Loves it.

Vincent keeps anything you give him, even if it’s a a half head flower you saw outside he’ll keep it even if it’s shriveled up into nothing

At first he’s curious since he never knows you could make things like he could. Once you show him how you do it, just know he’ll also make you one as well so you both can have plushies of each other

He’s rather good at it for the first time but often cuts his fingers so you’d have to stop him just to patch them up or to make sure he isn’t bleeding

He’ll often watch you make them since it’s satisfying in his opinion to watch. Just have music play in the background while you work he could stare for hours and not get bored at all.

Lester Sinclair

Lester literally laughs at the sight of it

It’s more of a surprise laugh since he didn’t expect you to make a doll that’s exactly like him, he loves it and will give you the tightest hug known to mankind

Even press kissed all over your face happily, mustache sloppy but they’re still kisses 🤷🏾‍♀️

He’ll even call the doll “Lester Jr” and will have it in his truck… or will carry it everywhere but will also have it in his truck since it reminds him of you

He’ll hug it to no end, even in his sleep, or he’ll have you hold onto it while he curls up besides you to sleep

Brahms Heelshire

It would be hard for you to even make it since he’ll sometimes take the tools away just so he can get your attention.

Once he settled down… hopefully. He’ll watch while having the porcelain doll of himself in his lap. Holding onto it until you finished with the doll you were currently making yourself.

Just like with the porcelain doll, he expects you to be careful even though it isn’t as fragile as the one he has

It’s a doll, and it was made by you. He wants it to be taken care of of since it resembles him.

As his way of a thank you, he’ll give you one perfectly made as well, and it has more details of your features that you don’t even pay attention to.

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