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slasherstories123 · 6 months 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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calmcoldevening · 1 year ago

Text

Pov: You knew slashers, when you was a child (Slashers x fem!reader)

I'm back! Well, it os a lazy post from my drafts, until I end my new idea <3

TW: no

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

P.S.: English is not my native language, so lot of these words was translated by simple translator, sorry for misspells and e.t.c.

Enjoy this!

Thomas Hewitt

The transition to a new school has always been a great stress for a child, especially in the middle of the school year.

You and your parents often moved from city to city. Maybe it was their work, or maybe they just wanted to show you as many different places as possible so that your childhood would remain really memorable — you didn't know. But the constant moving was followed by a change of schools and kindergartens. On the one hand, you liked it — new acquaintances, interests and a lot of positive emotions, after all, you were a cheerful and active child — but it also brought its inconveniences — you didn't have "best" friends, you had no more than a couple of months to communicate with each of them, and multiple the change of the team has made you a real chameleon in society.

You were ten years old when you and your parents moved to Texas. The age when most classes have already been divided into peculiar interest groups, which are quite difficult for a new person to join. That's why your mom decided to bake cookies that you could distribute to new classmates. Who doesn't like homemade cakes? You actively participated in the cooking process. A little more practice, and you could learn these cookies on your own. As soon as the treat was ready — several pieces were successfully taken away by your father — your mother beautifully put it in a colored box, now tied with a ribbon. The inscription "Welcome" was painted on the lid in gold paint.

It was very hot in this area of Texas. Therefore, on your first day of school, you decided to limit yourself to a beautiful white T-shirt with some simple pattern and black shorts. The first impression is the most important, right? Your mom took you to school by car. At the reception desk, your mom introduced you and found out the number of the right office. After kissing you goodbye on the cheek, she left you to your own luck. Although you were already used to it, a nervous feeling of anticipation bubbled somewhere in your chest; your palms were sweating.

After a good seven minutes, you were standing in front of the right class, 212, clutching a box of cookies to your chest. Adjusting the strap of the gray backpack, you exhaled anyway.

Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, introduced you in the office. A lovely woman with curly locks hanging down on both sides of her face and freckled cheeks. Her soft figure, dressed in a white blouse and a black pencil skirt, caused a surge of strength and confidence in you. The woman lightly put her arm around your shoulders, so motherly, and asked you to tell about yourself.

"My name is Y/N Y/L," your voice trembled slightly while your gaze ran over the children sitting in the classroom, "I'm ten. I like animals and beading... Mm, my parents and I move around a lot, so I don't think I'll stay here for more than two months. I hope we'll become friends."

You ended your performance with a sincere warm smile. Mrs. Sullivan asked you to take an empty seat. Your choice fell on the farthest place by the window; a guy was sitting behind it, hunched over and staring at the street. Was he weird? No, rather unusual. He had long black hair, so unusual for a boy; his gaze was lowered somewhere on the dusty road near the school, so you couldn't see his eyes. Sitting down next to him, you quickly took out a notebook and pencil from your backpack.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed startled by your voice. He looked at you uncertainly, and you saw a face wrapped in bandages. Sad cornflower blue eyes peeked out from under the white cloth.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper, holding out your hand to the boy, "And what's your name?"

There was no response. Disappointed, you lowered your hand, now paying attention to the teacher's explanation. The woman was writing down her words on the blackboard, and you quickly began copying them into your notebook, clutching a pencil until it crackled.

There was something about this boy that attracted you. It doesn't matter if it was his shyness or isolation — you decided that you definitely want to make friends with him.

At recess, you approached a group of girls. They were dressed up like girls from fashion magazines that you often saw in kiosks by the road.

"Hi," — you said with a light smile.

"Well, hello," said one of the girls, popping a bubble of gum.

"I want to ask. M, that boy," you pointed to the long—haired boy, "What's his name? I asked, and he ignored me."

"Haha, he won't answer you. That's our little Tommy," another girl hissed sarcastically, giggling, "Thomas Hewitt is weird. Very strange. I heard that his father is his brother!"

"And he's also a terrible freak!"

You awkwardly put your hand in your hair. Thomas didn't look as disgusting as the girls described him. It's all rumors. And what to take from these children, they probably didn't even try to talk to Hewitt!

You didn't talk to this company anymore. After waiting for lunch, when all the children went out to the garden at the school, you again approached the boy. He didn't budge. It seems he hasn't even written anything since you sat down next to him.

"Hey, hello?" you waved your palm in front of the guy's face, "Thomas, right?"

This time the boy paid attention to you. There was no emotion visible under the thick layer of bandages, but you were sure that he arched an eyebrow questioningly. He's wondering how you know his name?

"You were sitting alone, so I came over. Your name is Thomas, right?" you repeated the question, finally the boy nodded, "That's wonderful! I'm Y/N, let's get acquainted."

Smiling happily, you hand the guy an open box of cookies. Golden crust with chocolate chips. You had no desire to share such a delicious thing with such terrible and tactless people. And Tommy. Tommy was different. He was timid and calm, unable to cause harm.

"Help yourself," you babble, sitting down next to Hewitt, "I made them myself! Not without my mommy's help, of course..."

You blush slightly and see Thomas's eyes narrow. He smiled! He seems to be starting to like your company.

"Can I call you Tommy?"

• Thomas has become noticeably happier since you met him. The boy began to spend more time outside the house, in your company (Luda was very surprised by this, because usually after school Tommy always came home and sat in his room).

• For your birthday, Thomas himself sewed a soft toy for you, a fox, as he found out later, this is one of your favorite animals. The toy was sewn from different, but matching pieces of fabric, a little sloppy, but quite skillfully. It made you smile. You threw your arms around Hewitt for joy.

• Once you praise him, Tommy immediately blushes a lot. It's good that it's not visible under the layer of bandages. From the moment you became friends, Thomas's self-esteem has risen a little.

• When you first offered to help Thomas change the bandages, he strongly refused. The boy just couldn't let you see his face. But when he finally gave up, Hewitt was pleasantly surprised that you didn't scream and run away. You didn't call Tommy a freak or a monster, but only sympathetically stroked his scarred cheeks.

• Over time, you began to understand Thomas without words, absolutely. You found the right answers in his movements, grunting, awkward head turning or excessive gesticulation. Even Luda was a little amazed at your nonverbal communication, but the woman was glad that her son finally found a real friend.

• Tommy often showed you his drawings. It was like the scribble of a five-year-old child, but you were always happy to accept the leaves and hang them over your bed. Basically, Thomas drew his family: angry Charlie in the corner of the paper, Monty sitting next to him in a chair, a little further away, Luda was cooking, and in the center of the drawing you and Thomas holding hands and smiling.

• It was the first time you begged your parents to stay in this city longer. Fortunately, they agreed after seeing your enthusiasm for the "strange boy".

Brahms Heelshire

• Your parents and the Healers kept in touch for a while, you can say your families were very close. You first met Brahms on his fifth birthday. He was a very well-mannered but private boy, so Mrs. Heelshire was only too happy to introduce you.

• At first, your communication did not work out. Brahms was a rude child in places, took away your toys and teased you.

• His true attitude towards you showed up when you didn't come to his house, although you were visiting the Heelshire family every Monday and Wednesday. He was seriously worried. All morning Brahms sat in his room by the window and looked at the road going through the forest, waiting for your little body in your favorite blue dress to appear from behind the trees. But you were never there. It turned out that you were just sick. That day Brahms went to your house and did not leave your bed, squeezing your hot palm.

• Your parents worked most of the time, so they were not against your games with Heelshire Jr. You stayed in their house more and more often, sometimes even overnight, and you and Brahms made noise all night, forcing his mother to swear. But still, the woman was glad that at least Brahms was behaving quite comfortably and boldly with someone.

• You were only a couple of months younger than Brahms, but you thought it was a good reason to tease you.

• The boy allowed you to enter his room without knocking, consider it a worthwhile privilege, because Heelshire does not let everyone into his personal space.

• When you were sad, Brahms brought you bouquets of flowers hastily made with his own hands. That's why his palms were green most of the time.

• Brahms makes wonderful sandwiches. He often makes them when the two of you are having a "picnic" in the garden. Although in fact he agrees to it only to admire you.

• Heelshire loves sweets very much. Very. His mom doesn't allow the boy a lot of sweets and cakes, so you secretly bring them to him from home. The boy is insanely happy.

• Brahms loves kissing. This habit, or rather the need, appeared in him because you praised the boy in this way. Has he finally cleaned the room? A kiss. Did he break his mom's precious vase during the catch-up today? A kiss! So now he can demand them for any reason. He especially likes it when you kiss him before going to bed, and Brahms falls asleep hugging you.

• You're his best friend. That's why Brahms trusts you with all his secrets. You are the only one to whom he has told about the strange and frightening thoughts that sometimes sound in his head.

"Good night," Mrs. Heelshire said, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

You smile and blow her a kiss, covering your mouth with your palm. When the woman's footsteps recede, you exhale with relief, plopping down on the pillow with force. Squinting your eyes, you wrinkle your nose, trying to blow away the stuck strands of hair from your face. Brahms giggles and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

The room is cool. The window is slightly ajar, letting in a light autumn wind. The curtains are swaying from side to side, taking chaotic frightening shadows.

You get under the covers up to your nose. Brahms follows your example, pressing his whole body against you, and you stroke his head.

"If I ever do something very, very bad, will you stay with me?" Heelshire whispers, looking up at you.

You look into his sad emerald eyes and laugh. He likes to put pressure on your pity, because he knows that at such moments you see him as a tiny abandoned kitten.

"I don't think you'd do anything so bad, Brahms."

"But if I do. What if everyone turns away from me. Even mom and dad. Will you stay with me?"

You pressed your lips together, frowning. Brahms had never asked such strange questions before. And how can a child who is only eight years old think about something like that after a while. Looking down at the ceiling, you turned your head, looking into Brahms' eyes.

"Yes. I'll stay."

"Honestly?" Heelshire asks incredulously.

"Honestly."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise you, silly boy!" you abruptly cover his face with a blanket, holding the edges on both sides of his head.

The boy was kicking, trying to get out from under your weight, while you tried not to laugh. Taking pity on his futile attempts, you took off the blankets, admiring Brahms' flushed face. Heelshire was breathing heavily, and his cheeks and nose were burning like Chinese lanterns that your parents launched on your birthday.

"I won. Again," you grin.

Brahms is silent. You sigh and lie down again, turning your back to Heelshire. Your eyes are shining with joy, and your lips continue to curve in a smug grin. You know that Brahms will not dare to do something to you in return. He always let you get away with such antics. Absolutely always.

When you are ready to fall asleep, through the chatter in your head you hear a plaintive whisper. Having opened your leaden eyelids, you groan with displeasure.

"Kiss me," Brahms whines, and you get up on your elbows, chuckling softly.

"Okay," you kiss Heelshire on the lips, "Good night, Brahms."

• "Now I've won," Brahms croaks, pressing you against the wall and spreading his hands on both sides of your head. Just like a child. Except now he's not the victim here, but you. Although was he ever a victim in your games? Rather, he always played the role of a presenter, you just didn't notice it, as if you were looking through your fingers. And who would have thought that that innocent little boy would ever stand in front of you, towering over your body by a good two heads, and grinning with eyes shining in anticipation through the black slits of the mask.

Sinclairs

Christmas is the most mysterious and magical holiday of the year; the day when the whole family gathers at one big table to properly celebrate this moment together; the day when you receive a lot of gifts from all kinds of relatives, which you sometimes did not realize; the day when all wishes come true.

You clumsily shuffled along the road, shaking your back every now and then to adjust the heavy backpack. Things inside rattled a lot, and you tried to straighten your back faster to avoid crumpled packages.

Christmas was your favorite holiday. And although your parents have been working constantly lately, you were glad that you could spend this family holiday with your friends.

You met not so long ago, only about four months ago, when you first moved here. Ambrose turned out to be a very nice and cozy city with friendly and caring people. Mrs. Sinclair, Trudy, and your mom became friends right away— their interests converged on art. That's when I met her sons, the woman suggested that you make friends with them because of their similar age. And it turned out to be a very good idea. The boys quickly became addicted to you.

Once again adjusting the canvas straps of the backpack, you quickly climb the steps requested by the snow and knock on the sand-colored door several times. On the other side, there is a fussy shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling.

"Hello," you say, smiling, when the door swings open in front of you, revealing a view of the timid Vincent.

The guy nods to you and opens the door wider, motioning you to enter. You kiss Sinclair on the cheek of the mask. Brushing off your feet at the threshold, you quickly take off your shoes and leave your backpack at the shoe shelf. Music from an old radio is coming from the kitchen, some station unknown to you is playing old songs from the seventies. As soon as you entered the room, Vincent stood at the stove again, frying something in a frying pan. Whenever Trudy was busy making figures and arranging a museum that she someday wanted to open, it was Vincent who did the cooking and other household duties. Bo was stubborn and didn't want to do "women's" work, and Lester was still too young for such a large-scale activity. The latter was now sitting at the table and skillfully sliced an apple with a hunting knife into neat pieces.

"Morning, Lester," passing by the boy, you leave a small kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Sinclair winces contentedly, flapping his big copper eyes.

You sit down next to the boy and imperceptibly take a piece of apple from under his nose, throwing it into his mouth contentedly. There were already several plates and cutlery on the table. Vincent loved order, so he prepared everything in advance.

"Where's Bo?" you ask, rocking slightly in your chair, for which you get a menacing look from Vincent.

"Mom asked him to help at the museum," Lester replied, "He should be back soon."

You notice how Vincent turns off the stove and turns his whole body in your direction. The guy takes a notebook lying on the table and quickly scribbles something.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," you say shortly, when Vincent closes the notebook and puts it back, "Honestly."

Sinclair puts the hot omelette on plates and pushes you a bowl of oatmeal cookies. You happily take one piece. Vincent sits down across from Lester and lifts the mask just enough to see his mouth. You frown, noticing the edge of his deep scar.

"Hey everyone," it was heard from the threshold, when the front door slammed shut with force, "Oh, honey, and you're here," Bo walks past you, lightly touching your shoulder in greeting, and sits down next to Vincent.

During brunch, you watch Lester and Bo actively negotiate. When their plates are empty, you decide to step in.

"Since everyone is here," you babble happily, clapping your hands to attract the attention of the guys, "I want to give you gifts a little earlier than planned, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Bo abruptly pushed away from the table, "I'm all for it, babe."

Bo winked at you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. Vincent signed something, and you looked at Lester. Your sign language was not yet good enough to understand most of the phrases, you barely remembered the words of politeness. That's why you've always relied on little Lester at times like this.

"He said: "Why are you doing this so early?"", Lester explained, innocently blinking his eyes.

"What's the difference," Bo frowned, "Sooner or later — the main thing is that she gave."

You didn't comment on the elder Sinclair's words, but just got up from the table and went to your backpack resting in the hallway. When you came back, the brothers were already sitting in a kind of semicircle on the floor. Bo sprawled impressively closer to the sofa and grinned in anticipation; Lester, in his usual manner, sat cross-legged; while Vincent tucked his knees to his chest.

You sat down between the twins and put the backpack next to you, unzipping it. You said "Close your eyes" and, as soon as the boys fulfilled your request, you began to take out colorful boxes. All packages had the same color, different sizes. Alternately, you put the gifts in front of them and allowed them to watch. Lester giggled when he saw that his box was the biggest.

"Merry Christmas," you drawled, spreading your arms out to the sides.

The very first gift was opened by Lester. The boy happily tore open the package, scattering the paper around him, and screamed when he saw the cherished surprise. A big stuffed fawn. He had a soft beige body and neat brown horns sticking out in different directions. The muzzle was cheerful, with a big nose and shiny button eyes.

"I knitted it especially for you," you babble, smiling, when Lester looks up at you with an enthusiastic look.

"Thank you!" the boy throws himself on your neck with lightning speed, squeezing your body until the bones crunch; you stroke his back.

Bo was a little surprised when he saw a set of tools under the wrapper. He loved tinkering and was well versed in mechanics; the fact that you remembered about this hobby touched the guy a little; his lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well, thanks, babe," Bo grins, patting your hair.

You're pouting a little. All the time spent in the morning combing this tangled nest has gone to waste. You are dissatisfied with blowing off a few strands that caught your eye.

The last person to open his gift was Vincent. The boy very tenderly unwrapped the package, not trying to tear it, as if stretching and savoring this moment. You watched the deft but careful movements of his fingers with burning impatience. Finally, Sinclair took off all the paper, removing it from the side, and looked down at what he saw. A large set with colored pencils. Exactly the one that the boy looked at with undisguised envy in the window of an art store about a month ago. Did you remember that? With slightly trembling hands, Vincent takes the box and turns it in his hands. There were several more drawing pads under it.

Vincent looks at you, and you see the trembling gaze of his azure eyes in the slits of the mask. Such unbelievers, but at the same time grateful. You crawl up to the boy and hug him tightly, nuzzling his neck. Vincent lets out a ragged sigh.

"Merry Christmas to you, boys," you congratulate them once again, seeing the boys' satisfied smiles.

"So why did you decide to give it to us so early?" Lester asked, clutching the toy to his chest.

"Oh, that," you awkwardly fix your hair, "Well, my parents decided to leave. To another state. We'll leave tonight. So I thought I could have some fun with you now."

There was an oppressive silence in the room. You were afraid to look up, but you could feel the disappointment on the boys' faces. Your heart was painfully squeezed in your chest, from which you gritted your teeth with a creak.

"Will you come back?" Bo broke the silence.

"I don't know. Dad was offered a job in another state. Mom just said I wouldn't be able to see you."

You looked at each of the boys in turn. Vincent's head drooped, Bo's brows furrowed, and Lester's lips tightened into a crooked thread. The elder Sinclair sighed heavily.

"We'll be waiting. All together," he looked at you from under his brows, "Just try not to come back to us."

• Vincent loves sweets; but, often, Bo takes most of the goodies. That's why you put an envelope with several edible bracelets in one of the donated notebooks. Bo will probably consider them girly and will not take them away from his brother.

• You have been knitting a fawn for Lester for about five days; the boy is very happy with your gift. Your relationship is like a brother and a scary sister. He is always ready to rely on you; Sinclair is glad that he has such a caring person, unlike the same brothers (in particular Bo).

• Trudy adores you. You could say that in these few months she began to perceive you as her own daughter. You even know where the spare keys to the back door of the house are.

• Bo always tries to impress you as a self-sufficient high school student. He saw his father's old magazines with tackles, seduction and other materials not for children, so he decided to train on you. He didn't notice how he fell in love.

• Vincent is a good cook.

• Most of Vinnie's drawings in the new notebooks are you. He will paint your portraits for many years after your leaving.

#slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair

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defectivevillain · 1 month ago

Text

this wallpaper glistens

pairing: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, minor Malcolm/Reader

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

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

word count: 2.3k | ao3 version

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

thanks for reading! <3

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#defectivevillain #the boy movie #the boy 2016 #Brahms heelshire #Brahms Heelshire x reader #Brahms x reader #Brahms x male reader #Brahms x gn reader #gn reader #transmasc reader #male reader

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tb3ih · 10 months ago

Text

A TEST OF ANGUISH (pt. 4), kamisato ayato/reader

SYNOPSIS… they love is not for the weak of heart OR KAMISATO AYATO has more buried in his rib cage than he lets on.

⋆ warnings, kamisato ayato & fem-presenting!reader, a smidge of confrontation, pain pain pain. ⋆ notes, ayato is actually an allusion to my ex lmaooo.

⋆ tags! @kiyoomiwo @hotgirlshit5 @kunikuzushisbeloved @iamnotobsessed @lightoftheamethyst @xiaosonlybeloved @jcrml @kireeen @isotofl @iiyumii @neverlandlostchild @lumpywolf @mrs-heelshire @nickey-diano @irisxiel @esthelily @chiisananingen @goodsoup101 @the-real-fandom-person @whatamidoing89 @ayatoslovelywife @lorkai @bambambunny @i-3at-kidz @kyauyumira @pineapplesneedrights @atlas-rin @hyunromi @simplyhumanlol

YOUR fingers are gentle as you thread them through sora’s hair, carefully threading the strands together until it’s a braided crown of blue. you’ve just finished tucking in the last bits of hair into her braid when you see the coloring; it’s faint, but her light blue has begun to shift to a deeper indigo at her roots.

“okaasan, am i pretty yet?” her light indigo irises are fixed on you through the reflecting vanity mirror. sora had sensed your halt in motion, her smile innocent and inquiring.

you bring an easy smile to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair before reassuring her. “you have always been the most beautiful to me.” your hands move to adjust to the collar of her formal dress, the light purple blossoms peeking out just over her shoulders. you had this dress made just before you left the kamisato estate, hopeful that she might be able to wear it during summer festivities rather than a trial between two dominant clans.

a reality which you seem to be so detached from as of late.

it had been a couple months since you’ve moved out of your old residence, a decision you made in the best interest of you and your daughter, and yet you can’t help the strange welling in your heart at the thought of having to set foot inside once more.

a house once full of unity, now harboring distrust and tension, you had no choice to bring sora back to it. as the sole heir to the hayashi matriarch and the only child of the head of the yashiro commission, sora could not be absent.

“sora,” you begin, “i just want you to know… that, uhm…” there’s a lump in your throat and something tickles at your tear ducts. your daughter turns to face you on her chair, her smaller hands coming to cup around your face as her expression fills with worry. “i’m alright, flower, no need to worry.” you bring a hand to place on hers, thumb rubbing softly against the back of her hand in comfort.

“after today, if somethings don’t go the way i planned,” you explain, “i don’t want you to think for even a second that i don’t love you. not ever.” the thought of having to give her up had been tormenting you the past few weeks after the elders had brought into question succession for both clans with the continuance of a divorce.

between the yashiro commission and the hayashi clan, there was only one legitimate heir. and you’re sure everyone who was anyone in the room would want a claim to your sora.

“everything will be alright as long as i’m with mama,” sora replies quietly, offering a soft smile. there was absolutely nothing you wouldn’t do for this little girl.

you press a soft kiss to her forehead. “let’s hope that never changes.”

holding her hand in yours, the two of you leave the room, making it down the hall to the grand room where the most important meetings are held. the few elders which had gathered outside the door lower their gazes and bow, offering you their respects. The guards outside the door stand in position of salute, only moving back to a position of attention when you nod.

there are whispers among the few which you pass on your way towards the doors, their voices hushed but not quiet enough for you to miss.

“a pity the yashiro commission has to incur such a loss over a petty issue,” one criticizes.

“you’d think as a matriarch she’d be more understanding and mature,” the other replies. “it seems ridiculous to stage such a trial between clans, no?”

sora looks up at you with confusion in her eyes, and you simply bring a soft smile to your face, shaking your head in dismissal. “you pay them no mind, flower.” you stop just before the doors, your free hand coming to signal to the door keepers. “vermin who mooch off of their diluted family ties hold no opinion in the court of nobility.”

there are some hushed gasps behind you and you see your daughter giggle, the doors coming to open before you to reveal a larger room of gathering nobles. directly in front of you at the grand table, kamisato ayato sits beside his younger sister, an image of placid indifference reflected in his figure.

the elders seated in the room took to their feet, offering a bow of acknowledgement as you approached the room. ayato was delayed in his response, standing moments later and offering a deep bow.

you bowed in response, sinking deeply before returning back to your full height. Akane appeared at your side at once, ushering sora to the side seats where she could sit but remain in proximity to you.

“matriarch of the hayashi clan, i, kamisato ayato, head of the kamisato clan, greet you humbly. regardless of the outcome, i wish all good intentions during this trial.” his voice is smooth and courteous, but void of any emotion, yet another twist to the knife in your heart.

“i, hayashi y/n, head of the hayashi clan, wish you well in this fair trial and hope you accept the ruling without protest,” you reply, smile soft and polite.

you see his jaw tick at this, a feeling of satisfaction settling deep in your bones.

when the doors open one final time, it is everyone’s turn to bow, for the raiden shogun comes waltzing in, voice calm and level when she asks, “shall we get started then?”

"SHE was born on the kamisato estate, by natural laws she is the kamisato clan’s right!” an elder at the table, whom you recognize to be one of the most senior among those gathered from the opposing party. she only ever liked the number on the profit amount your marriage brought her. “this is inarguably–”

one of the elders from your side stands from his chair, violet eyes seething at the remark. “inarguable? it was not in the contractual agreement!”

the air is tense with anger, confusion, and stubbornness, all of which you remain aware of yet quiet. your eyes are trained on your husband, his eyes also never leaving yours since the moment the both of you sat down.

it isn’t until the raiden shogun speaks do the two of you avert your eyes to her. “why are the lot of you discussing the little girl as if she’s a mere object? Have you any respect for the child?” her violet eyes are narrowed and gaze is pointed, as if to pierce straight through anyone who might answer her conjecture incorrectly.

“n-no, almighty s-shogun–”

another elder stands, trembling before the archon. “please, we didn’t mean any insolence–”

“and yet,” raiden continues, “i have yet to hear anything remotely negotiable in the past two hours i’ve been stuck sitting in this chair. tell me, have you any idea what the girl is like? taken the time to understand who sora is?”

at this, ayato flinches, the question itself more indirectly intended for him.

“it is true that by natural law sora is entitled to the kamisato clan,” raiden begins, the faces of all those in favor of the aforementioned clan lighting up in delight, “but after further examination of the justification for the divorce, it would seem that she is, inarguably, the rightful heir to the hayashi clan.”

protest begins to break out amongst the elders and you feel the heat clawing at the back of your throat, the tickle of electricity in the air as everyone begins to overwhelm you. before you can react, there is a burst of blue, water form the shape of blades pointed at every elder in the room.

“all of you, hush!” it is your husband, hands clenched on the table and expression tight with rage. “had it not been for any of you, we would never be in this mess to begin with!”

the room is silent but for the ticking of the clock. his words ring through your head, a mixture of confusion and anger swirling in the pit of your stomach.

“the elders?” your voice is just barely a whisper. “i spent nearly a decade wasting away in a loveless marriage and you want to blame the elders?!”

your husbands eyes are wide when they meet yours, his mouth open as if his words were not meant to be his.

you laugh coldly. “i knew you were a low creature, but i had never thought you to be pathetic enough to continue blaming everyone but yourself–”

“i do blame myself! i am the only one i blame!” ayato’s eyes are a mix of desperate blue and you’re not sure what to think of it. “i sleep alone and walk past empty rooms where you and sora used to play. i sit at an empty table where we used to eat. i waste away in a home of ghost and absent memories, do not tell me that i do not blame myself!”

“then where were you?” you think he’s unbelievable. “where. were. you? i brought her into this world alone. she received her vision without you. her first summer festival, without you. archons, ayato! where were you?!”

“i thought you hated me!”

“you’re the one who told me we were married for politics!”

“because i wanted you to hurt!”

“why?”

“because i love you!” he is huffing and attempting to catching his breath. he runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, looking around at the room of eyes all on him. lowering his voice, he continues, “from the moment i met you, i loved you, and i have never felt like i was enough and thought of bringing you anything but happiness did terrible things to me.”

you swallow the lump inn your throat. “so you abandoned me?”

he can’t meet your eyes. “i felt if you were too close, you might discover the worst of me. that maybe if you–”

“no. no, ayato, don’t be cruel,” you interrupt, shaking your head. You will not hear any of this. you stand from your chair, a look of anguish on your face when you meet those beautiful cerulean irises. “you have no right to say that.”

he stands too, hand almost reaching towards you. “my dearest–”

“no!” your voice cracks and you pick up the skirt of your dress, back up towards the doors which you came in. “you can curse at me, insult me, do your worst, but you have no right to plead your love to me!”

sora stands from her chair and comes running to you, her small hands clasping at yours. you gather her in your arms, ordering the guards to open the doors. you turn to face your husband who, having rushed from the other side of the table, stands just meters away from you.

“you are a cruel man, kamisato ayato.” your eyes are sharp with hatred, your expression twisted with pain. you bow in acknowledgement to the raiden shogun, who nods back. you meet the gazes of all the elders in the room before replying, “this trial is over, i will hear no more of your grievances.”

and you turn and run. you escape. you leave with sora in your arms your past on your tail.

because love shouldn’t hurt. it shouldn’t.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5 (coming soon!)

#xx tb3ih #genshin x reader #genshin impact #ayato angst #ayato x reader #ayato imagines #ayato x you #ayato x y/n #angst #angst without a happy ending #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact ayato #kamisato ayato #ayato kamisato

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midn310 · 2 months ago

Text

obscure

Your stay at Heelshire Manor was nothing more than a convenience. Having moved to England with the aim of getting a degree, the job came up as an opportunity to support yourself with something more than a scholarship.

Without a second thought, you applied and, as soon as you met Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire and their harsh rules about looking after their child and the house, you thought nothing could be more intimidating. That was until you met the "child"

The emotionless doll was treated better than any real child you'd ever met, but you wouldn't judge, the memory of the only child lost in an accident was the only thing the elderly couple had to cling to.

You were diligent with your tasks up to a point, but in the third month things got difficult. Your studies consumed your time and energy, in addition to the obligatory extracurricular activities of a poor scholar.

It's not as if you weren't trying, you tried, but the doll-related tasks became mechanical and less and less frequent.

That's when the storm began, you didn't believe in ghosts, but the dark antics of a doll were destroying the skepticism you had cultivated. The childish voices you heard weren't coming from a sleep-deprived mind, nor were the things mysteriously disappearing the result of forgetfulness or the daily rush to college.

Until one night, things got sinister.

One night, as she finished writing her essay, her tired body, fueled by coffee and cereal bars, almost didn't distinguish the sounds coming from the bedroom wall, imagining that they were just rats exploring the mansion in search of food (you should remember to put those damn traps back).

That's when the sounds increased, the sound of footsteps upstairs, too loud to ignore. Your mind went into alert mode, heart beating fast, as the fog of sleep disappeared in favor of your growing panic when you realized that SOMEONE HAD INVADED THE HOUSE.

While your sham experience of horror movies told you to stay locked in your room until the stranger managed to take what he wanted and leave, the other part wanted to check and protect the house, since you depended on your job and your bosses would blame you for some missing expensive pieces of art and the doll..... wait.

Shit, the doll! You'd forgotten it upstairs.

That's how you found yourself in that situation, an umbrella firmly in your hands staring at a man almost two meters tall wearing a mask similar to the face of the fragile little porcelain boy in his hands, the burn marks on his shoulder and arm leaving little to imagine.

You weren't an idiot, you just had to put two and two together and realize who that man was: Brahms Heelshire.

The adjustment wasn't easy, especially given Brahms' demanding personality. You really preferred the days when he was just reserved.

Even more so, you developed a strange feeling for him, and he seemed, as always, attached to you, so of course you would set limits, no matter how difficult it was to get close to him without scaring him and making him run for the walls.

But today is a totally different day from the others.

Brahms is more isolated than usual, you've only seen him during bath time and breakfast, it's almost dinner and he hasn't shown up.

Very worried about him, you decided to search the walls, vaguely remembering the places where Brahms used to disappear. You managed to locate one of the entrances behind the mirror in the room that belonged to you. A shiver ran down your spine as you imagined what Brahms must have seen you doing.

You decide to ignore the sensation in favor of navigating the narrow, dusty path until you find a light source, that must be where he is when he disappears, you thought.

Approaching with a determined stride, you stop abruptly when you hear a low, guttural moan.

"Y/n".

Shit, is that ......?

Curiosity gets the better of you as you move into the bedroom and see a scene that could only be described as debauched.

Brahms propped up in bed with a pair of stolen panties pushed up his nose while pumping his monstrous cock with one hand.

Faced with the perverse scene that was unfolding, you remained frozen. Just after a eternity, you moved your gaze upwards, only to be surprised by Brahms' bare face. But what gave you chills were his eyes.

Brahms was staring deeply at you, almost as if he expected you to appear. He wasn't the shy man you were used to seeing and now he certainly wasn't an innocent little boy.

That cold, dark gaze made your core burn with excitement and shame, both at having invaded his sanctuary at such an intimate moment and at Brahms' indecent action of moaning your name and jerking his cock in front of you.

And even after crossing your eyes with his, he didn't stop!

"B- Brahms, I have to go, I'm sorry". You were already spinning on your heels, nervous and ready to run under the covers and pretend it never happened, when Brahms cornered you with absurd speed, pinning you to the wall before you could process what had happened.

"I need you, Y/n, I heard you moaning my name that night, I see the filthy things you do".

For a minute your heart dropped, knowing now that your private nights had a fucking audience, and that the audience in question was the reason for your frequent attempts to relieve stress late at night.

"Brahms, I-I..."

"Tell me you want your pussy filled with my cock, let me taste you and fuck you until I make you forget that stupid delivery man." There you go. The reason you couldn't even imagine that triggered Brahms' dark and perverse behavior was Malcolm and his increasingly frequent attempts to get close to you.

You almost roll your eyes at how ridiculous that sounds. As if you cared.

You were about to retort, but the only thing that came out of your mouth was a confused moan as Brahms lifted one of your legs and rubbed his cock against your clothed core, the skirt you were wearing doing little to protect the friction against your panties.

And of course Brahms heard. The attentive, lustful look he gave you was nothing short of obscene and made your pussy moist and clench around nothing. You just wanted him to fuck you into oblivion

Throwing all caution to the wind, you grabbed Brahms' face and captured his lips in a needy kiss. The hungry, messy kiss turned into a section of heavy petting, but soon Brahms was tearing the clothes you were wearing to shreds, leaving you naked to his shameless gaze. He took off his own clothes in one swift movement.

You had little time to ponder Brahms' muscular body when he suddenly lifted you up and held you by the back of your knees. Fuck! Where did he learn that?

Any thoughts were interrupted when you felt that delicious cock rubbing directly against your wide-open, wet pussy, making you both moan with excitement.

"Please, Brahms. You didn't even know what you were begging for, but Brahms got the message, pushing inch by inch of his cock into your pussy.

You only had time to sigh before Brahms started pumping into you. Hard.

"Ah! BRAHMS!". The wet sound of you being brutally fucked echoed through the room, anyone passing near these walls would wonder what was going on, you hoped Malcolm wouldn't show up today.

His movements became more erratic until he couldn't stop himself, semen leaking out of you as he gave his last thrusts.

You hadn't come yet, trying to rub your clitoris in an attempt to relieve yourself, Brahms seemed to notice, pulling your hand away and carrying you to the bed, depositing desperate kisses on your neck and breasts, he didn't seem to get enough. Moving down your torso and onto your hips, he deposited warm veins and bites close to your wet core.

Brahms' first lick on your slit made you squirm, causing Brahms to hold you in place with his arms, a cocky little smile on his face as he wrapped his arms around your clit and started sucking you hard, washing your release and his own with his tongue.

The way he fucked you was hungry, Brahms was lost in your sweet taste, needing more and more. You felt your orgasm building strongly until you were hit like a train, rubbing shamelessly against Brahms' face as you descended back to earth.

Brahms licked you clean of your release, not wasting a drop, and worked his way up your body to your face, kissing you sloppily. You looked into the man's eyes through the mist in his eyes.

"Y/N, don't leave me". You were perplexed, the heaviness in your heart at the thought that this man thought you would leave him.

"I would never leave you, Brahms"

And you didn't.

#brahms heelshire x reader #the boy 2016 #brahms the boy #smut #brahms heelshire

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charliedawn · 7 months ago

Note

How would the slashers react to a nurse who’s just like Ryuzaki/ L Lawliet from Death Note? If you’re never watched death note I’ll break down his character

Ryuzaki/ L Lawliet s a detective and has also created fake names to keep his identity hidden, (including the name Ryuzaki it’s a fake name) he’s a popular and well known detective who’s always alone by himself and practically does everything by himself. He’s also a person who loves sweets and sits in weird positions . If you haven’t watched Death Note I definitely recommend it

If this request is too much feel free to ignore it, have a nice day!!

Nurse L.

Nobody came to them unless they had a problem to solve. And you had a problem to solve—a big one. You had a whole hospital filled with slashers, but you had yet to find out HOW one became a slasher. Or what it meant exactly.

You had hence asked Nurse L to help you by investigating on the slashers.

When Nurse L arrived, they immediately introduced themselves to you, but you didn’t even get to introduce yourself—they already knew you. They hence asked you to lead them to the slashers who had been warned that they would be asked questions.

Brahms:

"Brahms. Someone is here to see you." You announced and Brahms slowly looked back at Nurse L with a slight curious tilt of his head. L sat down in front of him and both of them weren’t actually sitting, just crouching and staring at each other. L had made their research beforehand and hence started.

"Are you Brahms Heelshire—son of Cole Heeshire and Maria Heelshire ? Born in 1983 ? In America ?"

Brahms didn’t answer, but he eventually nodded and L nodded before writing it down.

"According to my calculations, you stopped aging at age 33, is that correct ?"

Another nod.

"Can you tell me when you realised that you were a slasher ?"

Brahms looked up at the ceiling of his room where pictures of flowers and poneys were there to help him when he was faced with strong emotions.

"…Greta. Stabbed me." He finally said. "I…bled. The blood wouldn’t…stop." He lifted his hand to his side and looked down—as if expecting blood to come out.

Nurse L observed his reaction and hummed understandingly.

"What did you feel ? Did you feel betrayed ?"

Brahms started thinking about it before slowly nodding. Nurse L wrote it down before smiling at Brahms.

"I see…Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Heelshire."

Your heart squeezed as you saw the sadness in his eyes before you and Nurse L left the room.

Jason Voorhees:

Jason hesitated. He didn’t like strangers asking him questions. But with enough coaxing, he was finally brought before Nurse L.

She looked through his file.

"Tell me, Jason…Why did you become a slasher ?"

Jason looked away before he forced one word out.

"Alone."

Nurse L looked up at him.

"Interesting. Could you please develop ?"

Jason started fidgeting nervously as he continued.

"Jason was…alone. Only Mama stayed. But, Mama then gone…Jason alone. And Jason kill. And be killed."

Nurse L nodded understandingly.

"And how old were you when you died ?"

Jason hesitated.

"…11."

You frowned. 11 ? Nurse L seemed to notice your puzzlement and then asked Jason.

"But, you do not look 11."

Jason tilted his head before he pointed towards his own head significantly.

"…11. Brain. Dead. 38…Body."

Suddenly, your eyes widened in shock as you realised what he meant. Jason had drowned at 11, but his body had kept growing…until his body had died at the age of 38.

…

The realisation made you sick and you quickly hugged Jason tightly. He hugged you back.

Penny:

Penny thought it would be funny to scare Nurse L and appear in front of them out of nowhere. But, Nurse L remained completely calm as they looked at him.

"Ah. Penny I presume ?" Penny blinked twice before grinning.

"Yessss."

Nurse L nodded before writing it down.

"Born Bob…Do you remember your last name ? Your place of birth ? Or anything from your life as a human ?"

Penny blinked twice and Nurse L sighed.

"I will take that as a no."

L then looked back up at Penny.

"Do you at least remember why you became a slasher ?"

Penny remained silent for a moment before he grinned once more and leant forward to look L in the eyes.

"I was starving…Do you know what starving feels like ? It has…no words. The pain has no limit."

L hummed before nodding.

"So…you were starving. But many people die of starvation in the world. Why were you any different ?"

He was silent for a moment.

"…They…trapped me. They locked me up. They didn’t want to see me anymore." Penny said—his eyes unfocused. Nurse L hummed before writing it down.

"Who…Penny ?"

Penny didn’t answer. He then giggled maniacally.

"Foolish human. I am a god. You thought you could just get the answers you seek out of me so easily…?"

L hummed once more before writing it down.

"I see…Thank you. Would you mind taking me to your brother then ?"

Pennywise:

"So…Pennywise. You are Penny’s brother. But, you were born Robert Gray, is that correct ?" Nurse L asked Pennywise who hummed and nodded.

"Yeah."

Nurse L nodded.

"And you were born in the colony of New England and had 6 brothers and one sister, correct ?"

Pennywise nodded again.

"Then…How did you become a slasher ?" Nurse L asked and Pennywise sighed.

"The turtle."

L frowned.

"The…turtle ?"

Pennywise nodded again.

"It is called Maturin. The turtle at the origin of your pathetic world. The one you owe your lives to…"

Nurse L was silent for a moment.

"And that…turtle…turned you into a slasher ?"

Pennywise nodded again and Nurse L lowered her notebook to look at Pennywise.

"Then…why ? Why were you chosen ? Your brother said you were gods. Is that how you see yourself ? And if so…then why did Maturin make you slashers ? Why did it save you ?"

Pennywise growled.

"I don’t know. The old fossile enjoys the sight of suffering or something…How the hell should I know ?"

L remained silent for a moment before proceeding.

"What was so entertaining about you and Penny’s suffering then ?"

Pennywise blinked twice in astonishment at their words before he snarled.

"Fuck off with your questions !"

And with that, Pennywise disappeared and L sighed.

"Sensitive that one…Oh well…Guess I’ll have to ask someone else."

Michael Myers:

"…So, Michael Myers." L started and Michael gave them a side glance. He remained silent and L decided to jump right away to the main question.

"Mr. Myers. Do you remember how you became a slasher ?"

Michael was silent for a moment before he started writing down on his special notebook.

My biological parents were part of a cult. I was chosen as a human vessel for an evil spirit.

Nurse L nodded understandingly.

"I see…It must have been painful, right ?"

Michael nodded before writing again.

The worst pain one could even feel…

Nurse L could tell that Michael didn’t like talking about his past and nodded.

"And can you tell me how you died exactly ?"

Michael’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists and wrote down.

My sister killed me.

L nodded.

"I imagine you resented her for it ?"

Michael nodded and L nodded back. But, when Nurse L wasn’t expecting was what Michael wrote down next.

Yes. I resent her for it. Because she should have made sure I wouldn’t come back.

You gasped and Nurse L stared at Michael and the sorrow in his eyes.

"I see…Thank you for your help."

Jack Torrance:

"Well…Hello there. What can I do for you ?" Jack asked and Nurse L smiled.

"Mr. Torrance. Could you tell me about the night you became a slasher ?"

Jack tilted his head before thinking about it.

"I mean…You already know everything. I was chasing my wife and my little boy in a maze when I died frozen. That’s pretty much it."

Nurse L nodded.

"And tell me…What were your last thoughts before you died ?"

Jack’s smile faltered a little as he remembered that night. He took a swing of his drink before sighing and confessing.

"…That I wish I had been a better man. For them."

Nurse L hummed understandingly before replying.

"Is that the reason you let yourself die that night ?"

Jack frowned a little in confusion.

"…Let myself die ? What are you talking about ?"

Nurse L sighed.

"Mr. Torrance. I made the calculations. There is no way you would have spent the entire night in that maze and not find the exit. At some point, you must have found an exit. There were four exits in that maze. Plus, you had an axe. And the maze was made of bushes. At any point, you could have cut down the bushes to get out. So, why didn’t you ?"

Silence settled all around before Jack huffed a small humourless laugh.

"You are pretty clever…Alright. I’ll tell you." Jack finished his drink before his smile turned to a sorrowful expression and he let out a deep sigh. "…I was a shitty man. My wife insisted on staying with me when I knew she could found so much better. And Billy…Billy deserved better. At the end, they left and I…I just let them go."

You felt a knot in your stomach at Jack’s words. The man then ran a hand on his face before he uttered in a whisper.

"Just one last attempt to…be a good man."

He then stood up and forced a smile on his face.

"…I guess I managed to do one good thing at the end."

And with that…he was gone.

Freddy:

When Freddy was asked the question, he scoffed.

"Let me see. When did I become a slasher ? Hum…I died. So…there’s that. A bunch of kids testified against me and I flee cause angry parents started running after me. They then burnt me alive and…yeah. That’s pretty much it."

Nurse L nodded before writing down the details and they then looked up at Freddy.

"…From what I recall, you were about to adopt when the case blew up, right ?"

Freddy’s smile faltered.

"Yeah."

Nurse L nodded before continuing.

"And turns out, it was your sister who had abused and killed a lot of kids ? And framed you for it ?"

Freddy’s smile dropped completely.

"Yeah."

It was strange to see Freddy replying so shortly. Him who usually lived nothing more than talking. Nurse L lowered her notebook and noticed that Freddy’s eyes were covered by the brim of his fedora.

"…It must have been quite difficult and painful to realise that…you had been betrayed by pretty much everyone around you."

Freddy gritted his teeth and tilted his head to the side.

"Are we done ?" He replied sharply and before she could add anything else, Freddy was out the door. You were about to follow him when Nurse L asked you to bring one last slasher in.

Eddie Gluskin:

Eddie sat down in front of Nurse L and they both sized each other up. Nurse L asked the usual questions until L went to the question that they had been asked to answer today.

"Ah. Eddie Gluskin. The last addition. Tell me. How did you become a slasher ?"

Eddie remained silent for a moment, staring at L until he finally replied.

"I died. A metal spike went right through my heart. I died at the age of 44 and was given a second chance."

There was a long silence before L leant back in their chair.

"Funny choice of words. A second chance ? A second chance for what ?"

Eddie’s eyes glanced at you and smiled.

"A second chance at life."

L frowned.

"Why ?"

Eddie looked back at her and his smile widened.

"To find my perfect wife. Of course. Since the last one killed me."

L sighed before nodding.

"I see…Thank you. That will be all."

After the interview:

You looked at Nurse L who sighed as she looked over her notes.

"Nurse Y/N. Did you notice anything special about the testimonies today ?"

You started thinking about it before answering her.

"Hum…They all died ?"

Nurse L nodded.

"Precisely. But, more than that…How did they die ? WHY and HOW did they die ?"

You started thinking more about it before your eyes widened at the realisation.

"Betrayal…They all became slashers after they died because they were betrayed by those they trusted the most." Nurse L mused before looking at Nurse Y/N. "They all died because they trusted someone…And then died in the most excruciating way out of trust and the weakness of their own hearts."

You looked away and Nurse L sighed before finally closing her notebook and setting it down on a table nearby.

"They were hence given a second chance. All of them. They became more than just slashers. I believe the Penny brothers are somehow right. They are gods. All of them."

You frowned.

"No. They are not gods. They are human…"

Nurse L smiled and shook their head.

"Now, understand that when I say gods…I do not mean that they are Ancient beings meant to guide and protect. I mean that they are beings that were meant for greatness, but something or someone changed their fate. And turned them into what they are now. The slashers were born with hearts, and those hearts were broken and betrayed. Hence, they became slashers—overruled by their own emotions and pain. Pain is hence something their share, a fuel that keeps them alive. So, they did not become slashers because of some outside cause…but because of something within them. You see…You and I are human because we care. But…imagine for a second that we stop caring. That pain is the only thing remaining. The only thing that matters…What would happen ?"

You were taken aback by the question before you finally replied.

"I guess…we would turn into monsters. If nothing mattered anymore and if nothing held us back then…"

Nurse L smiled.

"Precisely. We would turn into monsters. Slashers. If nothing held us back. If we simply stopped caring. If we decided that we just wanted the world to feel the same pain as us and nothing else. If we wanted the world to turn into ashes. If all that mattered was pain…pain…and more pain. Nothing else."

Your eyes widened at the realisation. The reason. The way slashers became slashers. The atrocious truth…

Nurse L smiled before standing up.

"I guess…We now have our answer. The secret behind the birth of slashers."

You also stood up and sighed before shaking L’s hand.

"I guess we do…"

L nodded before adding.

"This place. St Louis. It is…a good place for them. Keep taking care of them, and maybe their pain will heal one day."

You smiled back and nodded.

"I will…Thank you."

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 2017 #pennywise 1990 #slashers #pennywise x reader #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #jack torrance x reader #eddie gluskin x reader

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smilessssss · 1 year ago

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Yandere Brahm Heelshire H/Cs

You were kind of fucked the second you took the job and walked in.

Ms, and Mr Heelshire we’re nice. A lovely old couple trying to cope with the lost of their son. You did find it sorta weird that you had to be babysitting doll but whatever works.

You always felt like you were being watched, every day. While you slept, showering, cleaning and eating.

Brahms would take your stuff while you were doing whatever. Basically stealing anything of yours until it’s quite obvious your stuff is going missing.

Gets real jealous of the doll, he should be the one getting all the praise, he should get all the kisses from you, he should be getting tucked in each night. Not him.

Jealous of Malcolm, doesn’t like that another guy is talking to you. Doesn’t like how both of you are buddy buddy. He wants to be buddy buddy with you. Doesn’t like anyone talking to you in general.

Watched you like a hawk, thinking you’ll leave him.

Won’t come out of the walls after a long time. The final straw is when you invited Malcolm to hangout in the house.

He tried to kill Malcolm didn’t succeed. You and Malcolm tried to escape but it was only him that was able too.

Now that Brahms showed himself he basically keeps you captive (like you weren’t before).

More clingy and whiney, wanting to make up for all the time and affection you spent on that doll. Throws a tantrum if you don’t show the tiniest bit of attention to him. Really gets annoying.

You don’t get hurt in the tantrums, unless he was really mad. You constantly have to yell at him because of how he is.

(Sulks in the wall when you do)

Particularly assumes that when your near the door or anything you can leave through. That your trying to leave him.

Loves getting goodnight kisses.

Just a big man child, that alway wants to be with you. But he loves you! And he believes you do too.

#brahms heelshire #yandere Brahm Heelshire #Yandere Brahm Heelshire x reader #Brahm Heelshire x reader #Slashers #slashers x reader #The boy

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hp-hcs · 1 year ago

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😜💖 friendship is magic 😌✨ (Chapter Four of The Doll) — slytherin boys x gn! ‘the boy’ (2016)! reader

❕new addition of Regulus Black❕

tws: dolls, obviously; reader referred to as ‘it’ (presumed inanimate); mentions of past child character death(s); mentions of a house fire—implied arson; violence; & murder

based entirely off of the 2016 film ‘the boy’. just slow plot shit this chapter, i’m afraid

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Determined to find the source of the leak, Blaise tromps back out to the hall to find wherever the L/Ns stashed their pole hook to open the attic. Tucked away in a dusty corner is where Blaise finds it, and he carries it back into Y/N’s room with a pleased expression.

This was going to be a piece of cake. If Blaise could find the leak and patch it up, maybe the L/Ns would put in a good word with the courts and shorten their sentences. Or his, anyway.

Slowly raising the pole hook up towards the ring handing from the attic ladder, Blaise missed multiple times, the ring bouncing off of the hook.

“Hey.”

“Holy fucking-” Blaise startles and drops the pole hook, taking a step back. The figure standing in the doorway of Y/N’s room waves awkwardly.

“Sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Regulus? Er- Regulus Black? I’m the grocery boy for the L/Ns.” He trails off, motioning to the milk crate he held against one hip that was practically overflowing with produce and wrapped butcher’s packages.

“Oh! Yes, yeah, sorry. Uh, house just has me on edge is all,” Blaise rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Do you need help with the groceries?”

Regulus’ eyebrows raise and he smiles. “That would be fantastic, actually,” he turns on his heel, already starting down the stairs.

Blaise has to jog to catch up, following the spry boy ahead of him down to the kitchen. Regulus is maybe a year younger than him, but has far too much energy for five in the morning.

“So why are you lot here? The L/Ns aren’t exactly known for their warmth and welcoming-ness. If you’ll excuse my bluntness, they don’t really have a propensity for entertaining guests.”

“They’re on vacation. Uh, we’re here as part of a…community service punishment,” he winces as he skates around the truth.

“Ah, nice,” Regulus seems unruffled as he puts away a carton of eggs. “What are they making you do? House-sitting?”

“Uh, babysitting.”

Regulus hums. “Ah, really? They didn’t take Y/N with them? That’s pretty surprising.”

Blaise startles. “Please tell me you don’t also think it’s…”

“Alive? ‘Course not. But it’s better to just humor them. Mrs. L/N gets awfully upset if you mention anything about it being inanimate, and this job pays too well for me to want to piss off my employers.”

Blaise laughs. “That’s fair. So…was there really an Y/N? Like, an actual one?”

Regulus nods, handing him a stack of cans and motioning towards the cabinet they belonged in. “Mhm. We were never allowed to play with them when we were kids. My older brother always called them freakish. And Mr. L/N only ever described them—the one time I asked, back when I very first started working for them—as odd.”

Blaise pauses halfway through stacking apples in the fruit bowl. “You knew them? Like, you were the same age?”

“They were a year or two older than me, but yeah,” Regulus accepts the mug of coffee Blaise offers with a quiet thanks, sitting down with him at the kitchen table.

“Anyway, story goes that they were playing out in the woods with Brahms—he was their only friend, that I know of—and they got in an argument or something… Mr. Heelshire—that’s Brahms’ dad—found ‘im by the river, skull all smashed up. The police chief wanted to question Y/N, you know, just to cover all the bases, but nobody could find ‘em and then-”

Regulus makes a fwoosh noise, setting down his mug to spread his hands out as if to imitate an dramatic explosion.

“Boom! The L/Ns’ house completely burned down. The only person inside? Y/N L/N.”

Regulus takes a sip of his coffee before speaking again. “Look, I’m not saying they’re connected, but…”

Blaise shivers, cracking his knuckles anxiously. “How long ago was this?”

“Oh, a while. Happened when I was real young. I think Y/N was…eight or nine. Should be just about a decade since then.”

“So why the doll?”

“Nobody knows,” Regulus shrugs. “They rebuilt the house after the fire, and then the doll just showed up one day. It’s creepy as fuck, I’m aware.”

“Just a bit,” Blaise drawls.

Regulus laughs. “You seem cool, man. D’you wanna come hang out with me sometime? I could take you to the good restaurants in town for like, lunch or something. Lord knows you gotta get outta this house.”

“Sounds great,” Blaise grins. “Would be nice to hang out with literally anyone other than those guys. I love ‘em, but y’know.”

“Well, if you’re not busy, how ‘bout today? There’s this awesome old-school diner that makes the best onion rings-”

Regulus chatters on, promising to pick Blaise up at noon for lunch. Blaise smiles, actually smiles, and tells him he can’t wait. After walking him out to his car, Regulus calls from the window, in a sing-song voice,

“See you soon, Blaisey-Waisey!”

Merlin, he’d get along great with Pansy, Blaise muses as he walks back towards the house.

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