#Daniel Robitaille x reader

[whiskehorange]

FUCK YEAH I DIDN'T MISS IT COMPLETELY!

can I request some candyman fluff? maybe in an au where he didn't get his hand cut off? not me simping for nice hands😔 also with a reader who is quite affectionate and very curious?

I'm such a simp for nice hands

Candyman

He appreciates your affection to the moon and back and is not afraid to hand it right back to you on a silver platter. While he doesn't consider giving affection to be a competition, he simply just responds to praise with even more praise

Daniel is honestly a simple man and you being affectionate yourself just means that you'll take his love languages in a much positive way. Being soft with you is a must and should be the only way to treat your partner in the first place

He loves being able to hold your hands and feel them on the side of his face while you rest your head on his chest. Your touch and warmth make him melt and he could stand there forever when you embrace him

Honestly just holding your hands in general, feeling your skin and kissing your knuckles is something he just does without thinking and is one of his biggest forms of praise and respect to you

Especially when you gently touch his face and neck down to his chest with your soft fingertips. You always trail your hands to different parts of his body obliviously. You tell him you're just trying to get familiar with his body but he can't help but laugh at your attempts to get touchy with him

There isn't anything in the world he wouldn't give to you, so he tries his best to satisfy to your need of touch everyday, morning, afternoon, and evening. Sneaking up behind you quietly (which he is extremely good at) and peppering you with kisses while you giggle and return the favor

He's willing to explore just about anything with you sexually or not. If it means he gets to be closer to you and feel you then he's open to just about anything. New positions to lie down with or to be... laid down to. Massages and even small activities to do together that requires teamwork

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

sleeping

slasher x reader

michael myers (halloween), jason voorhees (friday the 13th), thomas hewitt (texas chainsaw massacre), brahms heelshire (the boy), pyramid head (silent hill), chris walker (outlast), daniel robitaille (candyman), harry warden (my bloody valentine), bo sinclair (house of wax), bubba sawyer (texas chainsaw massacre), kazan yamaoka ('the oni' dead by daylight), philip ojomo ('the wraith' dead by daylight), quentin shermer ('the blissfield butcher' freaky)

preferences

not healthy not condoned

Michael Myers

Michael sleeps like a fucking plank. Back flat to the mattress, facing straight up, arms stiff at his side, like he doesn't know how to sleep like a normal human being. If you're lucky, sometimes he'll close his eyes, but for the most part he just stares up at the ceiling, breathing heavy throughout the night. He won't take off his mask either, so that doesn't help at all. 

Something about the embodiment of pure evil laying motionless at your side just keeps you up and you can't sleep unless he's sleeping. You absolutely refuse to let your guard down when he's awake near you on the off chance he decides he's tired of you and wants you dead.

It kept you awake for the first few nights and you considered asking him to go sleep on the couch a couple of times. You know now he's lying there awake for no other reason than to keep you awake as well. He's a spiteful fucking bitch like that. If something bothers you, he actually goes out of his way to continue doing it. Just his sense of humor apparently. Making you miserable seems to be a kink of his. 

Trying to leave doesn't work either. If you get up to go sleep on the couch instead, you probably won't even make it to the living room. He'll grab you by your arm as your leaving the bedroom and yank you back onto the mattress and then not let go of your wrist for the rest of the night. And if by some chance you do actually make it to the couch, he'll just pick you up off of it (doesn't matter if you're actually asleep or not) and carry you back to bed. If you're somehow still asleep, it wakes you up most of the time. There's been very few times where his manhandling hasn't woken you up. 

You notice you have significantly more nightmares with him around. Often, you wake up shaking or gasping for breath, even though you hate looking weak or vulnerable around him. You pull it together as quickly as you can and hope the dark circles don't show as obviously in the morning. Concealer is becoming your best friend realll quickly. 

Michael knows he's the cause of them and obviously is fine with it. He might even be pleased with it. You're not actually sure, he's fucking impossible to read. You don't really want to be able to read him anyways because it means you've gone out of your way to be close to him which you never want to happen.

Still, there's occasional night terrors that he knows he doesn't cause. He can tell which ones they are based on whether or not you reach over to check if he's still in bed next to you. You're not the cuddly sort, at least not with Michael, so he knows it has to be somehow worse than him for you to want to willingly touch him or seek out any sort of comfort from him being there. He allows you to hold onto his arm--maybe his hand if you're lucky during those nights. And the two of you just lay in silence as you blink back tears and try not to sniffle too loud.

Sometimes like once a week he actually does seem to sleep. You're normally not awake to notice this, but a couple of times you've caught him. 

Michael isn't one to have nightmares because he's usually the one causing them, but there are nights where he dreams and wakes up not remembering. And he's left with an awful feeling that is very very different from his usual black numbness. It's gone quicker than it comes, but the fact that it's able to happen at all is...odd.  

He'll put a hand over your neck and feel your pulse increase if you're awake. It's a familiar feeling. A way to remind himself of what he's capable of and it makes the feeling in his chest go away. It makes him feel powerful again. You don't like it, but some part of you knows it comforts him in some sick way. It's not like you can just swat his hand away anyways unless you want the knife in your throat instead. 

All you can do is lay still as his grip tightens slightly every now and then and your heart rate spikes. His thumb rubs slowly under your jaw, against the skin of your neck. 

Jason Voorhees

Jason doesn't really need to sleep, but he does like to rest sometimes after rough nights when he's aching and hurting. Mostly, he just lays there, staring at the ceiling, breathing raggedly. Originally, this concerned you, but eventually you just realized after decades of being drowned or choked or killed in various ways he just...sounded like that. 

He used to hold his machete when he rested, but now he holds you too. The machete can go in the other hand because he's not letting go of it while he has his guard down. Usually, it's rested over your side or overtop your back. It used to make you nervous, but now it's basically like a weighted blanket to you. 

Normally, you sleep with your face to his chest, head bowed, fingers gripping loosely at his torn shirt. He thinks it's cute, but can't really tell you that, so his palm usually just rests overtop the hand clenching at the fabric. 

Ever since you came around, he definitely takes the opportunity to rest more. Especially if he's lucky enough to walk in on you napping somewhere already. It's sort of a bonding activity since he's often too busy tending to the rotting camp or the tunnels or hunting or murdering and such. Sleeping with you is always an option, of course, but he tends to be the one to shy away from this and simple stick to cuddling. 

Sometimes you have pretty rough nightmares that wake you up in an icy sweat. They're never about him. About something else that you definitely can remember every time you wake up, but you don't dare to explain. It's something you don't have to tell Jason, because a part of you believes he already knows the reasons behind your night terrors. 

Luckily, Jason is usually always there and so is his machete so you're quick to calm yourself and press closer into his chest, trying to forget the nightmare as quickly as you can and fill your nose with the smell of earth that clings to him. 

Jason doesn't actually sleep, so there's not much of an opportunity for him to dream. He sees things sometimes, though. Hallucinations maybe. Of his mother obviously. Of water in places where water shouldn't be. He loses himself in old thoughts and memories when nothing else is going on. 

There's not ever much to indicate this happening. He sits quietly at your side most of the time. If you're awake, however, you can usually sense the change in his energy and his demeanor. Tentatively, you'll wrap an arm around him and offer him some comforting whispers, even if you know he won't respond.

"You're okay, Jason."

"I'm here, Jason."

It's everything to him.

Thomas Hewitt

Between the coldness of the basement and the fact that Thomas is a giant heat generator, you can't think of a better sleeping arrangement than with him in that basement. He's only down there on nights when he doesn't come up to the main house to sleep in his actual room, so you have to play your cards right to catch him down there at the right time. He's unpredictable and comes and goes with little to no plans so there's not much of a schedule to memorize. During the summer, though, he tends to sleep down there more so you can always look forwards to that.

You think he might enjoy your company too. Especially during those summers because there's hardly ever a night where it's not sweltering hot and everyone is miserable. The flimsy fans just aren't enough. So when there's no dinner in the basement or anything alive inside of it, you and Thomas utilize it often. The rest of his family tends to keep away from it, so it's even nicer. It's like a little private blood stained suite that Charlie can't burst into unannounced.

Thomas seems to notice that your mood improves when you can sleep in the basement with him, so he actively works harder in the summer to make sure the basement is always cleared out of intruders or whoever's next on the plate. He wants to keep the basement to himself and you as much as he possibly can. 

While he may not be overly touchy when he's awake, that all changes when he's sleeping or getting comfortable alone with you. He's constantly got his arms wrapped around you tight or your body pulled into the curve of his while his soft breath stirs at your hair. Sometimes, he strokes over your soft skin or pulls his fingers through your hair--something you become increasingly attached to and appreciative of. 

You learn quickly to get comfy when he gets his arms around you because you're not going to be able to break out of his grip until he's awake. 

Brahms Heelshire 

He's been practically begging to sleep in the same bed as you for weeks. You hadn't been the biggest fan of this idea, not even when you were letting him sleep with you. Your own bed had been special to you when it came to Brahms' clinginess. Sharing it with him felt like you were going to give up the very last stronghold against him you had. You knew that when you were sleeping, he often spied on you through the walls anyways, but at least you'd had a few hours where he wasn't constantly all over you. 

Reluctantly, however, you'd soon agreed to this after getting annoyed with his antics. He'd gone quickly from simply staring at you from behind cracks and keyholes in the walls to just straight up hovering over you. At one point, you caught him lifting the sheet off of you in what you assumed was an attempt to sneak into bed with you. You figured that he was eventually going to succeed, so the least you could do was have a little bit of control over this and act like it's all on your own terms. It's stupid, but it makes you feel better. 

Holy fuck, he is a snuggler for sure. If you think he's touch starved and needy when he's awake and on his feet he's on a whole other level when he's sharing a bed with you. He's always got a leg hooked over yours and often he presses his face into the crook of your neck or your hair. His hands seem to constantly be moving over your arm or down your side, like he can't actually believe you're real and laying in bed with him. 

Brahms doesn't really hide his "excitement" to be in bed with you for the first few nights, and it makes it awkward to fall asleep with his cock usually pressed to your back. Lucky for you, he soon realizes that being in the same bed as you is not an automatic invitation to fuck you.

Obviously it still happens, you have your needs too and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't getting good at pleasuring you. But at least he has a bare minimum understanding of the importance of your consent. 

You will admit he's a really good cuddler, though. He makes you feel...loved. For a lack of better words. Wanted. And needed by the way his fingers pressed into your skin and the porcelain perfect lips of his mask grazed softly over your neck. 

When he sleeps, however, he's not as gentle. He has nightmares, often, seemingly violent ones that often wake you up before he wakes up. The first thing he does when he finally wakes up his sit up and wrap his arms back around you, pulling you back under the sheets with him. You can hear his quick, shallow breaths from behind the mask and sometimes you feel him trembling against you.

Once you asked him what it was he dreams of. He responds with one word, softly in the darkness, the child-like tone completely missing from his voice. 

"Fire." 

Pyramid Head

You don't think he sleeps.

Sometimes he'll stand still for awhile, like he's listening for something, but you've never actually see him lay down or give off any semblance of sleep. It makes sense after all--he's an otherworldly monster why would he have to sleep anyways? It does always give you a bit of a giggle though, trying to picture him laying down with that big ass helmet. 

You're not sure what his deal is, but once again, him not ever getting tired or being plagued by exhaustion familiar to human isn't a downside for you whatsoever. It honeslty makes you feel safer.

You're not immune to this human exhaustion however. You'd think being stuck in purgatory hell town would have just some benefits like maybe excusing you from basic human functions, but apparently not. Either way, when you do have to take a break to sleep or nap somewhere, he'll usually stand over you or at least patrol nearby. 

There's this...need in him to just. Make his rounds and punish. Like a shark needs to move in order to live, kinda. 

For most, it'd be harder to fall asleep with a giant menacing monster with a giant knife standing watchfully over you or dragging said giant knife around obnoxiously on the hunt for the damned...but not for you. He's looming and terrifying and possibly hell personified, but his presence is comforting considering the other monstrous shit lurking nearby.

Chris Walker

You're not actually sure if Chris sleeps but sometimes he lays down on flimsy beds or in whatever pathetic, bloodstained cot is nearby and just kinda breathes in and out raggedly while he stares up at the ceiling. 

He doesn't exactly pull you onto the mattress with him (can those springs even take your combined weights?) so you're never sure what to do during these moments. You do find out rather quickly, however, that when his guard is down like this, the safest place to be is probably on top of him, head nestled into his chest. Even being at his side is too far away from him, too risky--anything could grab you. 

You're somewhat of an insomniac yourself, and between that and the uneven, raspy breathing and the rise and fall of his chest, you don't often sleep well. Normally just a power nap here or there or dozing off.

Sometimes one of his clawed hands will find its place over the small of your back. It stays there until he's ready to be on the move again. At first, you think it's to keep you firmly there--to keep you from escaping. But he knows better than that. He knows you'd have to be really stupid to try running away from him for real. It's more of a precaution to keep any variants from trying to kill you or steal you from him. He's very sure that anything that isn't him is out to get you for themselves and he's not even wrong about it--that's probably the worst part. But the point is, nothing is taking you away from him while his guard is down without moving his massive, weighty hand off you first. 

He's a very light sleeper, so something like that would no doubt wake him. Even you can't move without making him stir. He'll give a low, warning growl and you'll instantly go still again, not wanting to disturb him once more. 

As stressful as the sleeping situation might be for you, it's way less stressful than any other idea you have. Things could be worse, you often tell yourself as you lay with your head pressed to his chest, listening to the thump of his great heart. 

You don't know how either of you manage to get any amount of rest between all the screaming and moans echoing through the asylum. 

Daniel Robitaille

Where he resides seems to permanently be cold. Even when the sun beat down during the summers, it was icy and your fingertips and toes seemed to go numb every time. He warms them in his hands, often, when he greets you. 

It's strange that although Daniel met his end in a funeral pyre, a supernatural chill still seemed to follow after him.

At first, you were scared to sleep near him. With long work hours, spending time with him only added onto the exhaustion and the temptation to shut your eyes when he held you in his arms grew stronger and stronger. You didn't think it was cold enough to kill you if you happened to fall asleep, but your paranoia still held you tight in its clawed hand. 

At first, Daniel's insulted, thinking you're too scared or wary of him to let sleep take you when you're around him. You're his one and only, he'd never hurt you, you know that don't you? He asks you this and you only give him a shivering nod. He glances down at your trembling fingers and suddenly wraps his coat around you.

You're relieved that he doesn't attempt to keep you warm with his own body. You still haven't gotten completely use to the gentle hum of the bees that have made their home in his chest. You don't think he produces any sort of body heat either. But at least his coat smells like him and that's enough for you when you snuggle into it and finally get some shut eye. 

Sometimes he sleeps besides you. At least, you think he does. You're not actually sure, but from the way his breathing seems to slow and the way his eyes stay peacefully shut you feel like he does. It's a convincing show, if he's faking. 

Can ghosts sleep? Do they need to sleep? Apparently. Sometimes you wonder if he's getting irritated that all you do when you come to see him now most of the time is snooze. But honestly, he didn't mind. He knows you're either working two jobs or one overly demanding one in an attempt to scrape by. If he could, he'd sweep you off your feet and take you away to some manor--you and him could live luxuriously off his inheritance. But unfortunately, he was a very dead man and there was little he could do to help you. Other than maybeee taking out a few annoying workplace friends of yours that seemed a little too close to you. 

The point is, no matter what it is you're doing, as long as you're in his line of sight or touching him he's fine with it. When you sleep you look cute all bundled up in his oversized coat anyways...

Harry Warden

Although they were dark and scary at first, the caves became oddly soothing to you. It became pretty easy for you to sleep and it became one of the biggest ways you passed the time. Something about the drip of moisture from distant stalagmites to the ground dragged you into a sweet, unconscious bliss without fail. 

However, they are cold. Even without the drafts from the long gone outside, where the sunlight you'd never touch again lived, it was freezing. You'd been too nervous to complain at first, simply happy with being alive in the first place, grateful that Harry had the sense to even spare you. But eventually, your shivering became obvious and you worked up the nerve to say something.

You'd complained to Harry just once, softly as he rubbed at your shaking arms with gloved, sooty hands, streaking black down your skin. He left and came back with what you thought might have been shock blankets or some type of sheet meant to cover cargo being transported. Not the most comfortable in the world, but neither was living like an actual fucking bat and you managed that just fine. 

Sometimes when you fade in and out of consciousness, you'll feel him against you, hands traveling all over your body under the blankets, as if he really can't believe your still here, that there's still breath in your body. What choice do you have? But you're so touch starved you lean into his touch, you let him do whatever he wants to you because at least you're not alone. 

He's warm. 

You don't ever actually see Harry sleep (not that you see much all in the dimly lit cave you stay in). He's constantly on the move, patrolling the mines, pickaxe swinging loyally at his side, searching for his next kill and (let's be real) his next meal. 

Bo Sinclair

Bo's bitter and malicious and all things wrong but all that seems to fade away when he's in bed with you. It's like his mean streak is on break until he's up again in the morning ready to cause problems for the sake of causing problems. You savor those hours. 

For once, that permanent scowl and furrow in his brow seems to leave his face when he's sleeping. There's very few times when you've been able to observe this, considering you often fall asleep before he does. You think he might stay awake longer than you on purpose--some weird dominance thing or some trust issue. Either way, it's hard to keep your eyes open for long with his fingers working steadily into the muscles of your shoulder and back, with his lips ghosting over the soft skin of your neck. 

And when you're actually asleep? He's still all over you. He's 24/7. The mean streak may have an off button but he sure doesn't. Sometimes, when you're partially awake, slipping into unconsciousness, you can feel his lips on your cheek and murmurings that you can never quite understand because they feel so distant. His voice sends you into a comfortable sleep as easy as it can send shivers down your spine and wake you up. 

Bo's hand will always be on you in some way, shape, or form. There is absolutely no leaving the bed without having to move his hand off your body and waking him as a result moments later. You know it started out as an indication of his wariness and distrust towards your own loyalties, thinking you'd attempt to run off in the cover of night when the opportunity presented itself. But after months of your...surprising cooperativeness and obedience, it became more of an affectionate gesture. 

Often nights you sleep fine. Others? Not so much. The nightmares you have are few and far in between, forgotten memories of a long gone past. But when you do actually have them? Oh. It's anything but fun. They wake you up in tears. He's always awake before you, usually because of your thrashing and whimpering. He'll be there to shush you and pull you into his chest as he sits up against the headboard. The first few times he did this, all you'd wanted to do was escape to be alone, to be anywhere else, to not be touched. But now...it calms you down. Struggling doesn't help anyways, it just makes him grip you tighter. 

It's not just you that gets nightmares either. As tough and macho and callous as Bo tried to be (usually successfully to the point where it actually intimidated you), he wasn't immune to his past--to the horror stored in subconscious away from his waking mind. 

He's a killer and a monster and he's evil, you tell yourself again and again late in the night as you watch his face contort. But he's still human. 

You have a decent idea as to what his nightmares may be about, judging by how quickly his fingers fly to the scars on his wrists when he wakes up. You don't really know what to say to him when he settles back into the mattress, trying to act like his chest isn't heaving in fear. You don't want to say anything either. There's nothing to be said that can make him better.

All you can do is reach back and pull his hand over your shoulder gently, and press your lips to his scarred wrist--a strange little gesture that he's completely in love with. 

Bubba Sawyer

It's always hot as all hell. It's worse during the daytime, but the night offers little relief still. Sweat still runs down your back uncomfortably and the fan seems to do nothing to help. Sleeping with the sheets (or God forbid) a comforter is a death sentence so either you or Bubba tend to kick off the sheets every time. It also doesn't help that Bubba absolutely has to be next to you or touching you at all times.

Weirdly enough, you sleep a thousand times better when he's got a massive, scarred hand on the small of your back or chin in the crook of your neck. He sleeps better too, and he's always been a pretty lousy sleeper. He thinks you're the reason he can actually sleep through the nights and that's the reason that under no circumstances will he let you sleep in a separate one. You prefer him close to you anyways on the off chance one of his brothers decides to make an attempt on your life. 

Waking up in the morning, he's usually star-fished out across the bed and you've usually somehow ended up on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest. He's a heavy sleeper and only ever seems to suddenly wake up when you try to get up and off of him and leave. Normally, one of his hands will come down on your back, pushing you back down before his fingers reach up to sleepily curl through your hair. You can only sigh and wait for him to get up because if he's not up, you're not up, period. His fingers do feel pretty good against your head though and it starts to become your favorite part of waking up. 

Bubba doesn't seem to have dreams. If he does, he doesn't remember them and they're never enough to really wake him up. You, however, experience the opposite, especially after the traumatizing chainsaw incident. It's never him you see in your nightmares, just the fucking chainsaw. You'll wake up often gasping or in a cold sweat, and your hand goes to your scarred arm. It's hard to go back to sleep snuggled up against him after those nights. 

There's times when you can't sleep at all and you'll just lay there, fingers tracing lazily over Bubba's chest, your eyes half shut with exhaustion. 

You often catch quick naps during the day due to your newly erratic sleep pattern. You try to keep out of sight.  Last time Drayton caught you napping you never heard the end of it and ended up catching hell over it because it was an apparent testament to your "laziness". As if your hands aren't raw from the hours you spend cleaning dishes under scalding water. As if your fingers aren't constantly aching from constantly being pricked from all the times you've had to sew up holes in clothes or...God forbid. Damage to the mask Bubba was so fond of.

You keep your naps to Bubba's room when you can. You pretend you don't notice whenever he locks the door from the outside. Probably better that way anyways at least no one but him can come in. 

Kazan Yamaoka

As far as you know, Kazan doesn't...like...sleep. You're actually not sure if any of the killers do. You've tried to figure it out before, between trials. Sometimes you sneak onto his estate, into his realm, hoping to catch him in a moment where he's free of his usual murderous rage. You figure that might include him sleeping. Unfortunately, those moments don't seem to exist because the most that ever happens every time you do this is you run into him being very much awake, and he either has another go at...er...continuing his bloodline or he just straight up drives his katana through your chest. 

Once or twice though, you think you've seen him low on energy when he hasn't had the chance to feed on blood. Sometimes, his head will dip slightly when he leans against a wall. With his mask, it's honestly impossible to tell whether or not his eyes are shut. When he smells nearby blood though, he's alert once more and on the hunt like nothing had happened.

So maybe he doesn't need to sleep because he gets all his energy from blood. And honestly? With you around, constantly scraped up by your own folly or his claws, Kazan's got a steady flowing supply. 

His new affinity for draining you, however, results in your own exhaustion. 

Sometimes it gets so bad, you fall asleep at the start of trials. It makes any runs with the Nightmare extra difficult and you usually don't make it through his trials anymore. Even though Kazan causes much more problems for you, there are some benefits. You know the Nightmare is one of the vulgar killers--the ones that say the most uncomfortable shit possible just to see their victim squirm in their grasp. Once you saw him open his scarred mouth to say something nasty, but he recognized the marks of Kazan's katana and claws in your skin, and quickly shut it. A strange, sick sort of pride flushes your system with smug endorphins. He knows not to fuck with what's Kazan's. With each passing trial and each new killer, you find that they all know as well. Not even the Ghost Face had shit to say to you. 

Are they scared of Kazan too?

During his rounds, if one of your teammates doesn't find you and wake you first, Kazan usually will. When he picks you up, it's enough to stir you from your sleep. You recognize the pinprick of his claws at your ass almost instantly and know not to struggle. You don't dare. A soft sigh simply slips from your lips as your hands drift absentmindedly over the hard, scarred muscle in his back. Honestly, you're just relieved that he took mercy on you and didn't decide to stab you first. 

You think you might imagine it, but sometimes he rubs gentle circles in your back and you can hear a gravelly hum, muffled behind the mask. It's enough to put you asleep again, his touch is so needed. 

Then he hooks you and you're wide awake as pain floods through every one of your systems and the moment's over and ruined but it was nice while it lasted. 

Philip Ojomo 

There isn't much of a reason nor a need to sleep in the Entity's realm. It's like there's permanent adrenaline in the air. It's not like you can't--you're obviously not the only survivor that naps around. It's just unnecessary. The most it does is pass "time" between trials, if that's even a thing in this realm. There's no clocks and it's always permanently night so you don't think time passes. 

You used to regularly try to nap after trials. You soon stopped when one of your teammates warned you of the dangers and brought up the possibility of being transported to a trial in the middle of sleeping. You thought it was stupid--there's no way to sleep through getting summoned for a trial. This awful chill always sweep through your body maybe thirty seconds before a round starts...

Sometimes you sneak out of the survivor camp when no one's paying attention. You try to make it a regular, normal thing for you, these little fake walks. Saying that you "need some air" or you need to "clear your mind" normally works well as an excuse. No one really cares. You've never made much of an effort to get too attached to any of your teammates and they're all too rugged and used to the way this world works too care. Being attached to someone is the worst pain. Having to see them die over and over again and writhe in pain and watch their blood soak the ground? Not ideal, to say the least.

So maybe that's why it's not as bad when it's with a killer. You don't have to see Philip's blood spill or his bones break. You don't have to see him with a hook through his shoulder like everyone else. You imagine that it still might be a little painful for him to have to do these things to you, but he's one of the oldest killers in this realm and at the end of the day he has a job to do. Even before you became closer with him, he never seemed to take pleasure in this job, however. 

That makes you feel less terrible about being in the arms of a monster that murders people constantly for the favor of a cruel god that has ultimate dominion over him. 

Philip tends to lay with you between trials. You don't ever actively try to find him. Doing that just makes it less likely he'll show up. You just walk with a sort of dazed, unfocused energy and he seems to show up on his own. He finds you before you ever find him. 

You don't realize until later, but the reason behind this is because he actively cloaks himself and follows you around before uncloaking. You think it might be his way of warming up for a trial, but eventually come to realize it's just a habit that makes him comfortable. Philip does not like to be seen. Simple as that. You know you could just get better at spotting the shimmering trail he leaves when cloaked or listen a little harder for his sighs--but you don't want to. 

The two of you have a favorite area--just some ruins in between the realms of different killers where it's just dark forest and shrubbery. There's a fire going in a barrel in the middle of the ruins and it never seems to burn out. 

There you settle with him, pressed into his side. He usually keeps an arm wrapped around your shoulders and your head will fall into the crook of his neck as you begin to doze off. You fall asleep faster around him, because as much as he shouldn't, he makes you comfortable and feel safe. 

You don't dream in this realm. It's strange. Laurie dreams--nightmares of the Shape. So do most of the other survivors. Sometimes good dreams. You've heard Yui often groan and talk of how she misses her bike and the road. But it's just black nothingness for you. Maybe it's a blessing. 

You don't know if Philip dreams at all, but when he does close his eyes and lean his head back, he seems very peaceful. If only you knew the fire and machinery, vibrant and loud and terrifying, in his unconscious mind. It doesn't show on his face whenever he wakes up, though, so how could you? He knows you can't read his face very well. It's not your fault--he can't move it that well. 

When Philip does wake up, it's normally because of a calling to trial. You think he gets the same chill as you do--just earlier and more intensely because he's deeper connected with the Entity. When he starts awake, normally waking you up as well, the first thing he does is pull you closer, long fingers biting into your arms, and his other hand goes for the spinal cord at his side. 

It makes you feel somewhat protected as you push your face into his chest, wishing it didn't have to end all so soon. You always know him waking up is a telltale sign of the next trial starting. And before you know it, the Entity's swept you from his arms and back into the cold. Ready to face new hell. 

Quentin Shermer 

Weirdly enough, if he happens to be sleeping in a bed with you, he's so close to your body that there's barely a centimeter of space between you and him.

It's somewhat of a welcome change compared to how cold he normally is towards you when he's awake. You figure maybe it's his way of letting his guard down around you. Or just another freaky way he likes to exert power over you. Maybe it's to keep you from wanting to run from him. Maybe it's a way to get you to let your own guard down. You could have fucking chained yourself to him and he'd still think you'd try to finally leave him. 

Either way you're not going to read too into it. You'd rather just enjoy it while it lasts. Because these are the moments you think of when you lay alone at night without him. You'd rather his suffocating grasp on you than nothing at all.

It used to be practically heart attack inducing to suddenly feel his arms wrap around you--especially when it's at your place. He's always just...shown up unannounced in your house before but it had taken you awhile to get used to it. You noticed it became a lot more common after you'd started fucking him. 

Still, he was unpredictable. As creepy as his place was, it was obvious to you that there was oddly a lot of care put into all the little ritualistic pieces strewn about the room he'd laid claim to. It would take a lot more to get him to abandon something like that. Having two places to switch between also seemed to keep any potential police investigations off his ass if he had a sloppy night. 

Sometimes you find yourself going to sleep alone in your bed and then waking up in his. It'd been terrifying the first couple of times, but eventually you learned that he just...did that to you sometimes. It's almost flattering--especially because you've never once woken up when he's been stealing you out of your own house. It means there's some part of him that's capable of being gentle enough to pull that off. 

It's all a matter of possessiveness. It's fucked up. Plain and simple. It's worse that you're just...fine with it. But why fight it when you could fuck it, right? Because what the hell else is there other than him?

Sometimes you wondered if you should get some fucking therapy. But how were you supposed to explain all of this to a professional? Chances were you'd end up in the same fucking asylum the Butcher had broken out of. And you didn't want the police to catch him through your weakness. You wouldn't let them take him from you. 

It's not harming anyone if you wake up next to him in the morning right? Just you. Only you. And that's fine. 

It's all fine. 

Sometimes it's like the not-so subtle guilt of being with him creeps up on you in your sleep. You can't remember the nightmares. You can just recall the hopeless sort of feeling that follows when you finally wake up. It feels like you're slowly rotting and tearing inside. There should be a 'but'. Like 'but then he's there, he's there and it makes you feel better and it makes it all go away'. But it doesn't. Sometimes you'll feel his fingers through your hair and his breath on your skin.

The feeling of complete emptiness doesn't go away. 

[ria-coolgirl]

Awesome work 🤩 @the-faceless-bride

Can you write candyman with a victim who’s polite and kind and offers their life for someone else in the group, so he decides to spare and keep them for himself?

Sweet Sweet thing...

It was your friend's idea to do this. Seeking off from the other three friends in the living room to the bathroom giggling as she dramatically told the stories of 'the Candyman.'

But you didn't wanna do this. You figured if people were doing this and actually dying from it. From provoking this poor spirit then maybe it was best to leave the poor man alone.

As your friend giggles "Candyman!" Five times in the mirror or the dark bathroom.

When she finished she laughed about she didn't know what she expected as nothing seemed to happen, you sigh in relief... Maybe the poor spirit just wants to be left alone.

Or that's what you thought until the lights flickered like crazy when finally you both saw him. You were in shock and your friend opened her mouth to scream.

The Man seemingly glides over to you both, grabbing your friend covering her mouth, and raising his hook to strike. "Wait!" The stranger paused, slowly looking at you holding your struggling friend. "Please! She didn't mean it. Take me instead..." You look into your friend's terrified eyes and back to the silent strangers, "it was my idea..."

Daniel looks at you... No, it wasn't he watched the whole thing from the mirror, you didn't even want to do this. You had even tried talking your friend out of this, "if he kills those who call him, maybe we should leave the man alone don't you think?" Were your exact words as he remembers.

Tossing your friend how to the bathroom floor, she scrambled back hitting the wall terrified, As she watches the Stranger approach you.

He stares into your eyes, quietly staring, looking into your soul before smiling and giving you the most lovesick eyes. You feel a tear run down your cheek as your head slowly tilts your breath slow, entranced by the Man.

You wake up confused and blurry-eyed, the sound of sirens blaring in your ears. Looking around finding puddles of blood all around you.

"Be with me... Forever my dearest... Be my victim."

[hooterhorror]

Could i please have some Daniel Robitaille/Candyman fluff? Just like,,,,,, soft domestics hcs of life (?????) while dating him. Thank you!

HI SAPH !! YES OFC!

Domestic Candyman HCs

additional note: I love him sm ty Saph this was fun!

warnings: cursing, not proofread

He loves waking up beside you. He can't say it's his favorite thing out of everything... but it's up there. for sure. He loves to spoon you, though he isn't sure how you can be comfortable with his ribcage yo against your back all night... Damn shawty you live like this?

SWEET PET NAMES 100%. calls you his sweetheart and darling A LOT. also "my love" gets sprinkled in. He loves to make you flustered and likes the reactions he gets ;) especially when he kisses your knuckles and winks at you.

Cooks for you. I said it. HE'D COOK FOR YOU. Or often times he'll order food that he knows you love. It's common when you're upset, it's how he shows he cares and that he's there if you don't need words, you just need a simple gesture. He's fine with just sitting with you in silence as you wallow in your feelings.

Obviously it was odd living with an actual urban legend at first, but you both grew accustomed to it. Sometimes you forget he and you haven't always known each other, loving him just came so.... naturally. Telling him what was a bit embarrassing and anxiety inducing, I imagine. But he'd smile, take your hands in his, and press a kiss to your knuckles.

"You don't have to worry about rejection, my love. I've been waiting to hear you say that."

God DAMN YOUR HEART MELTS AS HE KISSES YOUR FOREHEAD AND CARESSES YOUR CHEEK- AND I DO NOT BLAME YOU.

He's so very careful with you- that doesn't change as you start dating (or "courting" as he's been calling it... old ass) he's always so worried about hurting you, though the fear itself is shoved away and he tells you "You just mean so much to me, sweetheart." and you do!

Tell him to relax, though. You may end up feeling stifled, and he doesn't want that. Just know though, that you'll always have him protecting you silently from the dangers that lurk around every corner.

He loves to play with your hair. Don't have any? Don't want him to play with it? He'll gently trace your spine. He loves to embrace you and just gently trace the curve of it.. It's kinda soothing even when your face is burning red from it.

And oh my god, if you take his jacket? His heart explodes. With love!

"Aw, my darling... It's far too big on you."

HES RIGHT BUT HE DOESNT HAVE TO SAY IT.

He'll call you adorable and cute and hold you as he kisses your face.

If you surprise him by cooking for him, his eyes immediately fill with love. Unfortunately he doesn't really eat,,, or need to,,, but the effort means so so so much to him!

Use one of his old shirts as pajamas. He can't love you anymore than he already does but he'd swear that's what makes his love levels for you up a little...

Tries to keep bugs to a minimum even if you tell him you don't mind them.

You swear this man treats you like the finest China with how he embraces and kisses you. It's instinctual to be careful, but he doesn't baby you or anything like he used to. But you can't stop this gentle treatment. Why would you? it's so nice!

I can see him using a fair share of each love language. Though gift giving and physical affection is definitely the top two, followed by words of affirmation. He'll get you little things that shows you he cares. A coat similar to his or a perfume or body wash he knows you've wanted but haven't got around to getting for yourself yet- y'know! little things... oh yeah also silk sheets for y'all's bed. More so a gift for you since he may be out late and unable to enjoy it as much.

He wishes he could take you on a normal date, honestly. He wants to take you to a nice dinner and smile at you over the candlelight and study how the light dances across your face...

Surprise him with a candlelit dinner at home and I think he'd need a second- he's so shocked and I'm pretty sure he's want to marry you on the spot ;)

[soupbabe]

Can I get Carrie White, Candyman, Martin, and RZ Michael comforting an s/o about being “too sensitive” thank you as always Theo

-📽️

Slashers Comforting a Sensitive S/o

Featuring: Carrie White, Daniel Robitaille (Candyman), Martin Mathias, and RZ! Michael Myers

WOOHOO !! HAVEN'T HAD AN EMOJI ANON IN SO LONG !! Anyways thank you sm for the request!! <33

Tagging: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @devil-doll13, @bugginbeetlew

Carrie White

- She empathizes a lot with you, she's used to people poking fun at her for being sensitive too

- I think Carrie would have you lean your head on her shoulder and tries her best to comfort you with her words

- She loves you just the way you are, that people are cruel and if you don't mind her asking, who was it that told you you were too much?

- As calm as she's trying to be, there is a bubbling anger inside of her for your situation

- Carrie wouldn't tolerate her partner being insulted like that, it's okay to drop the names of the person that was being mean to you

Daniel Robitaille

- Candyman isn't always a constant figure in your life despite the relationship you built with him. There's always someone out there summoning him, keeping his legend alive

- However he seems to always appear when you need him the most, and this time was no different

- Thinking about a cold hook gently grazing the side of your face, momentarily distracting you from dwelling on an interaction you had earlier today

- Daniel is taken aback when you explain what's upsetting you, what do you mean "too sensitive?"

- He adores how emotional and sensitive you are, it's just something very human.

-You feel everything more intensely than he does, it can make you more open to other's feelings and he swears he can feel his heart beat again when you shine under his praise

Martin Mathias

- In general, I think Martin isn't the best at comfort. He sometimes panics and ends up making the situation worse

- So seeing you downtrodden and sad puts him off, might make him think he did something wrong

- He'll ask you what's bothering you, but he'll go quiet for a bit, unsure of how to comfort you at first

- Martin is very physical, he'd gently hold your hand and let you rest your head on him

- "They don't know what they're talking about. Maybe they should learn from you and be more considerate of others."

Michael Myers

- Is it too mean to say that while Michael can agree that you're too sensitive, but he still gets angry at who upset you?

- Michael doesn't pay a lot of attention to you when you're distressed, but if he gets the hint that someone else made you feel that way, he's instantly protective

- it gives very much "you're a sensitive crybaby, but you're my sensitive crybaby," y'know?

- Like?? Start talking or he will find out who made you upset

- The comfort only really comes in after he's gone out and taken care of the person

- He pulls you into his lap, still covered in blood, and just holds you there. He doesn't care if you talk or you two spend the moment in silence, it's his best attempt at calming you down

[ebonyslasher]

Could you make a Candyman NSFW alphabet post or smut with him?

Spicy Alphabet: Candyman Edition

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Daniel uses his one hand to massage you down, allowing your body to completely relax. You didn't think it was possible, but he was an expert at giving his one hand massages. Once, you're completely melted, he cleans off any residue and lays beside you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Daniel: His legs. They're long, beefy, and smooth. They are quite powerful.

You: Your hips. It turns him on when they swish side to side as you walk and tease him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Ejaculates an average amount, but it’s honey?

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He did attempt to control the bees to help a previous partner get off…using the idea of old sex toys that were used by Cleopatra. It did NOT go well. The bees were angry at him, they wouldn't even come when he summoned them! At least he didn’t have to see that sex partner ever again. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yes. He’s been “alive” as a ghost for a long time. Throughout the ages, he would occasionally have some fun with some very willing victims.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Neutral. He’s open to laugh and joke flirtatiously, like most older black men do. But, he can be quite serious when he needs to be. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Groomed. There’s no way a man dressed like that would not be

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimate. The way he takes you down and up, inside and out, wet and messy would be classified as a romantic experience. He leaves you utterly spoiled when he makes love to you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It’s quite hard to jack off if one of your arms is missing and then…the bees. So he just relies on sexual encounters with others. If he’s desperate to come, then he will just grind on something and ejaculate at the friction

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Nice fragrances or aromas, voyeurism, cumplay, massages

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your smiles, smelling good, flirting with him. Calling him daddy. Dressing up in lingerie under normal clothes.  

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Don’t argue, be mean, dismiss his abilities, or let him see that you’ve been with other people

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers giving. Daniel savors the taste of you with precision. The years of practice show through his tongue.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and hard

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s the making love type, so he would rather take his time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes, as long as no one gets hurt.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Moderate. He can last 20 to 30 minutes a session. He can go for 4 or 5 sessions in a day

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No, manufactured sex materials don’t really do it for him. Rather, he would be prefer to use it on you to see you writhe and grind.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He will verbally tease you as he slowly strokes against your sensitive walls.

"You were talking all that shit earlier, now look at you...my beautiful mess."

"You can do it baby, Daddy's got you. Yessss, feel it on through."

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Moderate. He grunts and has low moans. He’s also a dirty talker

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Since he ejaculates honey, he will lick it up (or have you do so) and spit swap when making out.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

9 inches length. 2 inch Width. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Average.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends. He entertains fake sleeping beside you, just to be close to you. Once you’re asleep, he will disappear. If you’re still awake, then he will take it as a challenge to put you to sleep.

[sanguinellojuice]

Ups, wrong brownies (2)

Context: A friend gave you some of his weed and you decided to use it as an ingredient for brownies just for you and made non-weed brownies to share, but someone accidentally took your personal brownies and ate them.

> Asa emory

He didn't consume anything you prepared, apart from being respectful of your things, it wasn't to his taste.

> Tom Hanniger

You had prepared some brownies to give as a gift, and "special brownies" for some friends who might like them more than the "non-special" ones, what you didn't know was that those "friends" were going to make a "prank" to your friend Tom to give him a brownie with weed.

That night there were reports of, in the words of the alleged victims, a "crazy drunk" dressed as a miner trying to attack people near the mine where previously the incident of the explosion and murder of miners working for the Hanniger Mining Company had occurred.

The next day after the reports, one of your friends called you to tell you that Tom was in the hospital for cannabis intoxication according to the doctors after someone found him near his house passed out and in his underwear.

> Chromeskull / Jesse Cromeans

You had prepared "special brownies" for yourself with some weed that a friend had given you to try, Jesse thought it was a good idea for it to be sold and given away as a little extra payment for some customers, so he brought you more good quality weed, you cry a little internally.

> Pinhead / Elliot Spenzer

"This enriches my palate" Elliot says while eating one of your burnt brownies, at least he enjoys it (or do you believe that)

> Candyman / Daniel Robitaille

You had prepared brownies with some weed that some friends had given you with the idea of experiencing what it felt like to be high, since you had some leftover brownie dough and you didn't want to waste it, you decided to prepare it thinking if the spirits could also at least try some foods.

You call Daniel to eat what you had prepared, he tells you that he doesn't need to eat, but at least he can taste it, he takes a piece of your brownies that you showed him, while he watches some of his bees land on the brownie and walk on its surface while Daniel makes sounds as if he is thinking and murmurs some about that piece [*], the bees leave and Daniel takes a bite of the brownie - mh, It's the second sweetest thing I've ever tasted in my life - he says, you thought that you put too much sugar in your brownies and you felt very discouraged thinking that but also surprised that there is something sweeter than that, so you asked him what was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted before, he walks towards you leaving a short space between you almost threatening your intimate space - You - he says as he tilts your head up with his hook, before you protest he gives you a kiss on the lips.

You and Daniel spent some time together eating the brownies you had prepared until you started to get sleepy. You thought the weed was having a good relaxing effect on you until something caught your attention, Daniel was the one who ate your "special brownies" and you ate the "non-special brownies", now you have more "doubts" about the spirits.

[*]Note: bees can smell and taste with their feets and antennae

[black-brained]

Ok we can all agree Daniel Robitaille would be a great boy friend but we can not ignore that there are fucking bees in his mouth... that mans going to go down on you and babe it’s all over!!!!

[horror-stuff]

can you do one of candyman meeting us and falling in love

ofc, I'm not good at doing romance much though so this won't be entirely what you requested but I will try my best

Daniel Robitaille x Gn reader

You stood in front of the mirror, silently staring into it. You had found this urban legend online, and you were bored so you decided to do it. You chanted candyman five times and turned the lights off.

Nothing happened.

Which was weird considering the entire bathroom suddenly had this unsettling aura about it. You walked out and went to your computer, continuing to read about urban legends. Then suddenly, you heard buzzing coming from the bathroom. You slowly walked back over to it. Looking through the doorway, you saw that the bathroom was pitch black. You still heard the buzzing, but this time it was louder and it sounded as if there were multiple insects in the bathroom.

You then noticed the silhouette of a figure in your bathroom. By now you were pretty creeped out, especially with the idea that there was an intruder in your house. "Who are you?" You asked the figure, as you began backing away from the bathroom. You heard them start loudly whispering, "I am the writing on the wall, the whisper in the classroom. Without these things I am nothing."

You were now several feet away from him, while you were backing away he kept moving closer to you. You could now make out most of the features of him. He was quite tall, and wore a large fur coat. You took note of the hook for a hand that he had.

You saw him look at you with a strange look in his eyes. It appeared as though he wasn't trying to come off as hostile. He was now directly in front of you, you were extremely scared despite him somehow not coming off as scary. You didn't move, since you were backed to the edge of your bed now and trying to back away anymore was useless.

He looked into your eyes, it felt as though he was staring into your soul. One thing didn't seem right though, you should be dead by now. So why hasn't he killed you yet? Is he trying to prolong your death? Questions swarmed your mind even though it was hard to think at that moment. You were in a sort of trance by just looking at him.

He didn't do anything, he simply stared at you. He slowly brought his hook up and caressed your face with it. Then he muttered something and the lights went off. When you turned then back on, he had disappeared.

(A/N: sorry if this was bad, I wrote this in school and had a bit of writers block)

[macabrebatz]

CANDYMAN MASTERLIST

How You Met Candyman

(More coming soon…)

[el-writes-i-guess]

The Worm and the Bees

Candyman x Reader

AN: going through @bloodybrahms’ candyman tag and saw the ‘if i was a worm’ post. Got inspired. Take it or leave it

Word Count: 2.8k

___

“Daniel?”

He glanced at you, smiling slightly at the gleam in your eye. This was a beautiful look you got whenever you were planning something, and he was curious about the result. Besides, whatever came out of your mouth made angels pale in comparison.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

He paused. “I’m sorry?”

You roll your eyes, smile on your lips as you lean into his shoulder. “If I was a worm. Would you still love me?”

Ah. This was clearly some modern day question. It was probably popular on whatever ‘social media’ you were on lately. Of course, there was some reason you would be asking such an odd question, and he would figure out what it was.

“And why would you be a worm, darling?”

You shrug, voice nonchalant as you reply. “I don’t know, some other urban legend turns me into one? But would you?”

Oh. He understands completely. And he took any doubt of his love, joking or otherwise, very seriously.

He moved his arm to wrap around your shoulder, pulling you further into him. “I would let you rest further inside my heart, a place you already reside. I will surround you with my body, nourish you with my soul, let you thrive in my love. I will never stop loving you, my love. Even if you were a worm.”

You let out a breathy laugh, and there’s somehow more love reflected in your eyes. “Oh? And what about the bees?”

“They are a part of me, darling. They’ll protect you from any harm the world tries to send you, keep you warm from cold nights.”

“Mm.”

He brings a hand through your hair, giving you a soft smile. “Now, why do you ask? Do you plan on turning into a worm, darling?”

You shake your head.

“No?” He lowers his arm, wrapping it around your waist. “You don’t plan some midnight ritual to try to sneak away?”

“Fine, you got me.” You lean further into him, and he can feel you holding back laughter. “I’m gonna look in the mirror, and say ‘Worm-man’ five times.”

“Really?” He replies, a gentle tease in his tone.

“Mm-hm.” You let out a giggle. “Candyman and the Worm. Don’t they sound like soulmates?”

He smiled, kissing your forehead.

“Yes, my love. They do.”

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

trying to leave

slashers x reader

michael myers (halloween), jason voorhees (friday the 13th), thomas hewitt (texas chainsaw massacre), brahms heelshire (the boy), pyramid head (silent hill), chris walker (outlast), daniel robitaille (candyman), harry warden (my bloody valentine), bo sinclair (house of wax), bubba sawyer (texas chainsaw massacre), kazan yamaoka ('the oni' dead by daylight), philip ojomo ('the wraith' dead by daylight), quentin shermer ('the blissfield butcher' freaky)

preferences

not healthy not condoned

Michael Myers

Obviously, you only ever tried to leave early on in whatever defined this "relationship" you had with Michael. That was back when you didn't fully understand how things worked now that Michael was in your life. Back when you didn't fully understand what he would do to keep you where he wanted you. Back when you didn't fully understand how dangerous of a man he really was.

Your plan had been to just get in the car and fucking bail. You'd had a bag packed, ready to go, and little attachment to the house or the people in this small town. Michael's knife had been to your throat far too many times now for your comfort despite your complacent nature and usual lack of energy. He'd been wearing on you. Slowly. So you thought you could leave. He certainly wasn't going to anytime soon.

Apparently, when you hadn't been paying attention, he snuck into the backseat because you'd only been driving for five minutes before you felt that familiar blade to your throat and a hand gripping hard at your shoulder to keep you pressed back to the seat. He was lucky your nerves were steady enough that you didn't crash the car off the side of the road, and instead the steering only shook lightly before you stabilized the wheel again. 

When the blade never fully slashed over your throat, instead remaining steady against your skin, you figured he didn't intend to kill you right then and there. It'd have been pretty stupid to do that when you were going forty down a road with plenty of curves and poles to crash into. 

He didn't have to say anything to get the message across. He never did. 

You turned the car around.

He never took his knife away from your skin.

The cold bitterness was mutual and the silent tension became thicker and thicker with every passing second. Your hand tightened on the wheel so much your knuckles turned white. 

The knife only left when you pulled back up to your house. You grabbed your bag from your passenger seat, silently, storming back into the house. You hoped when you slammed the door it was in Michael's face, part of you wanting to aggravate him as much as he aggravated you. A dangerous move on your part. But you never heard the door open behind you, leading you to believe he was going to leave you alone for awhile.

Wrong. 

While you were furiously throwing your bag back onto the bed, ripping your clothes out from it, he showed up again, like he normally did, just out of the blue. Was he really quiet or was he supernatural? You didn't know. You didn't care. What you did know was all the sudden his hand was buried in your hair. With force that you'd come to expect from him, he yanked your head back once again, overpowering you with his larger stature and forcing you partway down onto the mattress, your fingers gripping at the sheets as you bit back a cry of pain. 

Michael's knife made itself known against the delicate skin of your throat for the second time that day.

"Okay. Okay. I get it," was all you managed to get out--some strained excuse for an apology.

Apparently it was good enough for him. The blade went away in favor of his bare, rough fingers, forcing you to stand back up fully again as your fists clenched at your sides. His chest was heaving against your back, his masked cheek against yours. You could hear him breathing behind it, deep and slow in contrast to your quickening breath. 

You hadn't tried to leave him since. 

Jason Voorhees 

The one thing you hadn't expected when you'd finally made a move to get away from Jason was the strange sense of sadness and sudden pity that had made it's home deep in your chest. You thought you'd shake it off the farther you got away from him, you thought you'd break out of whatever strange, trance like state seemed to overcome you when he was around. Like an instinct to keep you docile and sedated and ultimately alive. 

You'd actually gotten somewhat far, you could almost see the entrance signs of the camp. You should have kept going. You knew damn well you shouldn't have stopped. You shouldn't have stopped to stare, your hands close to your chest, wringing at each other nervously, suddenly unsure of whether not you really wanted to go back...out there. 

Despite his size, Jason actually managed to sneak up on you. The minute he grabbed you with a clumsy hand, too strong for his own good, fear came crashing all around you like a tidal wave that you'd been secretly waiting for this whole time. Drowning you. Suffocating you. So much so that you couldn't even scream, only stare dumbfounded at him as he hunched lower to begin dragging you back. 

You couldn't help but start crying, stifling your sniffles and cries with one hand while Jason practically crushed your other free hand in his own. He was cold. He was very, very cold. When his grip only continued to tighten, you could no longer bite back sobs and pitiful apologies. Over and over you apologized as he pulled you back up the rotting cabin steps. You were surprised that they didn't give out under your combined weights as he shoved the door wide open with a powerful shoulder, the chain around his neck jangling as he moved so suddenly.

You wanted to think that it was your incessant, pitiful, trembling apologies and tears that kept Jason from doing anything to you. But weirdly enough, a part of you believed he didn't plan on doing anything to you in the first place. If he'd wanted to hurt you (on purpose) he would have done it already. If he intended to kill you for trying to leave the machete would have already been through your chest. 

All he did was sit you down, his hand still firm on your arm as he stared down at you. In this...strange, sad way of his that only evoked further conflicted feelings of pity. All you could do yourself was look away from him, fighting back even more tears as you trembled. You felt his hand stroke slowly up your cheek, a clumsy thumb rubbing under your eye to vainly dry your tears.

He's lonely and he's chosen you as his. So you're not getting away from him anytime soon. 

Thomas Hewitt 

Being initiated into the Hewitt family wasn't exactly an easy feat. Although at the moment when you had agreed to stick around them, not having anywhere else to be or any awareness of what went on in that hellhouse, slowly your decision was becoming more and more regrettable. 

Even Luda Mae's favor couldn't exactly save you from the less charming parts of the house and family. 

But you kept your nerve and your promises. You kept busy with chores Luda Mae gave you and you avoided the basement just like she told you to. But it wasn't long before you saw one. Another person in the house. Not a family member.

You'd just been passing by the sliding door that you knew lead into the basement. You'd heard a scream and you'd frozen in place. Looking back, you wished you'd minded your business and continued on walking. The door moved. You stared, a hand covering your mouth in shock. Some terrified looking teenager covered in blood missing an arm came shrieking out of the door, frantically trying to shove it open all the way. And then a large, bloody hand grabbed them by the back of their head, yanking them back in. You caught a glimpse of the beast of a man lurking behind the door. And that was what sent you running. 

Not for long, obviously. You didn't even reach the front door before that same man reappeared, literally blocking the entire doorway. You almost fainted out of fright when you first saw him. Did the Hewitts know this man was living in their basement? You considered calling for Luda Mae as you stumbled back, gasping for air. 

"Grab 'er, Tommy, don't be shy!" came the Sheriff's voice from a flight above. 

Tommy? They know him? Why hasn't anyone introduced him to me yet? 

He'd grabbed you tightly by your arm and pulled you back into the kitchen where Luda Mae was waiting, an exasperated hand on her hip. He'd thrown you forward, so hard you had to grasp at a kitchen counter to regain your balance. Fingers arched against the surface, you raised a hand to brush back some of your hair as you looked up at her, still trying to get your breath back. 

Luda Mae cracked a half smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "So you finally met my Tommy..." 

Raising your eyebrows and casting a quick glance over your shoulder at the hulking man standing almost...shyly (?) near the entrance of the kitchen, his dark eyes trained on his shoes rather than on you. 

All you managed to say was, "Apparently." 

Brahms Heelshire

You really did try to stick around for a few weeks, hoping to find an out from this unfortunate situation. You did have a spot in your heart from Brahms and pitied him and knew of what had happened to him. You thought he was just...misunderstood and hurting and was emotionally stunted. You'd always been the type to give people the benefit of the doubt, no matter what they'd done and you'd found it easy to forgive him for his grievances against you. Whether it was spying on you or going through your clothes, stealing your undergarments or things and denying any knowledge of it, throwing destructive tantrums that even made you fear for your safety...you somehow found it in you to forgive him over and over and over again. 

Maybe it was the way he'd hold your hand in his, the way he'd nuzzle into your neck and wrap his overly strong arms around you, telling you whatever it was you need to hear, whatever it was you wanted to hear from him. He was manipulative like that and you could almost say you loved him for it, loved him for the way it made you feel. 

But eventually it wasn't enough.

You tried to leave late at night, long after you'd tucked him in and kissed him on the cheek. Strangely enough, that night, he didn't try to get anything more from you. He'd just given your arm a tight squeeze before rubbing his hand down it softly. Which made you feel even worse about what you planned to do. 

Apparently, he'd woken up right as you began to sneak downstairs. You heard him call your name. You ignored him--something you weren't used to doing less he have a tantrum. He called again. You flinched, but held you ground, continuing quicker down the stairs, eyes set on the front door. You hadn't even touched the handle before you heard him begin to cry. And good God you'd never heard a sound more heart wrenching in your entire life. Something that made your chest twist. But you shut your eyes and continued on, pushing open the door. 

He wouldn't be able to stop you if you left right now. There was nothing to threaten you with. There was nothing to say to you once you were out the door. No words. 

But even as you sat outside, the door still partway open as you stared out into the trees, into the night, you could hear him begin to scream and cry even louder. You could no longer recognize your name in his call. Only the incessant sobbing and howling. The begging. You bit your bottom lip, bowing your head. 

And realized.

You couldn't leave him. 

You turned around and went back into the manor and there was Brahms, standing only a few stairs away from the floor. His tears had created streaks through the dirt and blood gathered on his porcelain mask and his head hung pathetically. You closed the door behind you and he looked up, eyes reddened. You stood before him, bottom lip quivering, hands clenched into fists at your side. You felt Brahms come closer to you, steps slow. The slightest hint of his breath stirred at your hair from the nose of his mask as he leaned into you. His hand stroked up your arm before his fingers tightened, digging into your skin. 

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. You refused to look at him. 

Pyramid Head 

Silent Hill residents are quick to accept the idea that there's absolutely no way of getting out of this semi-purgatory.

There's no where to go in the fog itself anyways. You know from experience that even outside the winding, decomposing buildings the roads are mysteriously collapsed trapping you on this tiny hell island. You'd prefer to stay in the building anyways, knowing that they did an okay job of protecting your lungs from the soot and ash in the air. 

You were sure trying to find yet another way out would just me run-ins with monsters and more blood and rotting gore. 

Ultimately, it's safer with the seven foot tall monster with a pyramid for a head and a big ass sword that might weigh more than he does. At least he fucks good. 

Chris Walker

You only tried to leave Chris Walker when he was resting and his guard down. You'd been somewhat amused and confused to find that variants like him even needed something akin to sleep. You'd assumed the morphogenic engine just constantly had him with adrenaline coursing through his veins and bloodlust in his brain. Either way, you didn't know when you'd find the opportunity to sneak away without Chris muttering a quiet "come back, little whore..." under his breath between shredded lips, wrapping thick fingers around your waist and picking you up like you were no more than a doll to him. 

Which, to be fair, you kinda were. He's not good at remembering to handle you gently and there's tons of bruises on your arms and body from when he grabs you too tight or shoves you to the side to chase down a variant nearby. But a part of you thought he might have even liked you or actually been attached to you. There was never any sort of defined expression in his milky white, blank eyes. But you thought maybe he might have cared a little for you or your well being. He definitely did like you, which in this asylum could have been defined as love. 

But it's not enough to convince you to stick around him for long. What convinces you is the fact that you'd never be able to make it on your own if he wasn't there. If he wasn't your protector. 

That was made clear to you when you tried to leave him as he dozed, clawed hand resting on his stomach, his eyes half shut. You hadn't even been able to make it through the hall before a variant attacked you, slamming you hard into the wall. If the sound of your body hitting wood that roughly didn't wake Chris Walker, your scream of fear sure did. The only thing that had stopped that variant from practically ripping your head off had been the top of the Mount Massive food chain himself. You could finally breathe as gnarled hands were swiftly removed from your throat and you collapsed down to the floor, hand to your neck, coughing as you pressed back into the wall to try and stay out of Chris' way. 

He made bloody work of that variant. If you weren't mistaken, you might have thought he was purposefully dragging out the variant's death, twisting his head slowly, painfully before snapping it off completely, his palm swallowing the variant's face whole. Your chest moved rapidly with fright as you let the back of your own thankfully intact head hit back against the wall. The floorboards creaked and you opened your eyes to see Chris squatting before you, hulking shoulders blocking your vision as he traced a bloodied finger down your cheek. Hoping he'd be quick to forget your grievance and forgive you, you took his hand in yours, pressing it further against your cheek even if you could feel it wet with blood. It didn't matter. As long as it wasn't your blood.

You hadn't tried to leave Chris' side again after that.  

Daniel Robitaille 

Trying to leave? Daniel Robitaille? The Candyman? Bad fucking move all the way. 

He doesn't just spare random people you know, you're chosen, you're special. You're his. So why in the fresh hell would you ever try to escape him? He has no ill will towards you...only desire. It's extremely insulting to him when you think you can leave him in the first place.

No matter where you go or try to stay to get away from him he just...shows up. He's supernatural, he can just do shit like that apparently. Benefits to being a vengeful ghost. There's no way to escape him for long. The longest you've ever gone after moving somewhere in secret was maybe a day or two before he shows up in the room, all powerful, all terrifying, arms tucked neatly behind him as he glared down at you.

"Why are you still running, dearest? I'll always find you. Always." 

There's a threatening aura behind his words, all of his promises to you. He tries the nice approach first, but you can see right through him. You could always see the hunger in him, the burning anger. So it's not long until he begins to get aggressive.

Boy is he fucking pissed that you keep moving. Obviously he can always find you but it's beginning to get less helpless and charming and more annoying. He's never been a fan of straying too far from Cabrini-Green. But he figures if he keeps it up eventually he'll be able to drive you back to your original home, closer to his familiar hunting ground. He can tell that you miss it. You wear your expressions clear on your face. 

It was a game of persistence, basically. One that he did, eventually, end up winning. You did last long though, a couple months at least before one day you felt his hook at your throat and decided you had pushed him too far. 

You stopped trying to move around the city as much and actually ended up moving back into your old place. Settling down in a familiar place was easier on your mental health which was quickly becoming more and more fragile. There's no point in trying to leave anymore or trying to lose Daniel. 

He'd find you, even if you moved to the ends of the earth. 

Harry Warden 

You had thought you knew the way out when you tried to leave. You'd watched Harry pass by numerous times and when you'd gotten bold, you'd even explored a little ways from the main cave, hands tracing along the wall, never straying too far. Your fear of the dark still pursued you, even with the lifestyle you were beginning to get adjusted to. It had scared you realizing that you were adjusting to living in a dark cave with a cannibal murderer in a gas mask. Maybe that's what had finally pushed you into trying to bail. 

Unfortunately, you became completely lost within minutes in the mines. At first you'd been calm, simply turning around, hoping to head back to where you'd began to try all over again. There were only so many tunnels and caves and passageways you were bound by chance to eventually pick the right one. Right? But when you couldn't find your way back to the more familiar parts of the mines, cold panic began to set heavy on your chest and shoulders. 

Eventually, all you could do in the pitch black was slowly drop to the ground, pressed hard to the chilled walls and bury your head in your arms. You had only intended to stay like that for a moment to recollect your thoughts and regain your composure. But your head wouldn't stop spinning and you felt more and more faint. You couldn't help but begin to sob and cry, muffled in your arms in the pitch blackness. 

You looked up when you thought you saw a flash of light. You felt a strange mixture of relief and dread, knowing what the light belonged to. You let your head fall back into your arms to spare your eyes from Harry's piercing light. Tears still rolled down your nose. 

He crouched down in front of you, only his heavy breathing filling your ears. A gloved hand stroked under your jaw and then over your cheek, fingers beginning to press into your skin. He tilted your head up. You couldn't see past the shaded black lenses of his gas mask, but judging by his body language, you felt like you had less of a chance of him punishing you or hurting you. Maybe he thought you'd simply gotten lost. Maybe he didn't realize that it was a failed escape attempt. It was out of character for you to do that, you were sure, due to your usual meekness and obedience and strange need to depend on Harry.

Then again, it hadn't been a very long time that you'd spent with Harry, so reading his body language might not have been the most reliable bet. He still could be intending to hurt you later, to make you pay for straying off from the designated area in the mines he'd purposefully familiarized you with. He could have been luring you into a false sense of security to make it all hurt worse, with his gentle strokes and soft touches.

Maybe both, you think when he squeezes your arm just a little too tightly when he's pulling you up to your feet. He didn't let go either, his grip staying iron and firm on you as he marched you back through black passageways, the light from him cutting through the darkness like a white knife. 

When he finally got you back at the lighted area you recognized, he pressed down on your shoulder, sitting you back down in the exact same spot you'd left several hours ago. He looked down at you as you wrapped your arms around yourself. You only glanced up for a split second before quickly looking back down, instantly feeling guilty.

No words. Just heavy breathing from Harry's end. But the idea was clear enough to you.

Don't. Move. Again. 

Bo Sinclair 

Trying to leave Ambrose after newly discovering the horrors inside was a natural process, Bo figured. You were already somewhat soft and delicate and oh so meek in nature, so he knew there was no way in hell you'd ever take it well once you learned the truth. He'd given you a somewhat merciful grace period to freak out and try to run. He came to the decision that once he'd caught you, he'd give you the choice between staying with him or becoming a new attraction in the House of Wax. Either way you were fucking sticking around. The world couldn't have you take you back, away from him, not when you were obviously meant for him and him alone. 

When he did begin to hunt you down, Bo found that you were much more frustrating to deal with when you had completely lost your shit. Damn you could move. It wasn't that you were faster than him, it was just that you could dodge his grabs and suddenly change up directions a lot faster than he could. At least now he knew what you were capable of when you weren't busying up with that meek, quiet, innocent little act of yours. He wouldn't underestimate you like this again. 

When he finally was able to tackle you to the ground, you felt his lips press against your neck. You burst into even more tears. You don't struggle beneath him or try to fight him off. You already know he can overpower you and how scary his hair trigger temper can be. He turned you over beneath him, brushing your hair away from your face as he shushes you.

"Come on, don't cry now, pretty girl, don't cry," he told you. But he never gave you a reason not to.

He's surprisingly tender for a man that was obviously seething with rage. He pulled you to your feet before lifting you and throwing you over one of his broad shoulders. You knew if you had tried you could have wiggled out of his grip and maybe hit the ground. But you had a feeling he'd be back on top of you all over again, with a lot less mercy. You winced and bit back a sob as his hand held over your hips, readjusting slightly so his fingers pressed a little too hard into your ass. 

You recognize the gas station he brings you to, but you've never been down in the cellar before. He ends up setting you down in a chair as you continue to cry, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you bowed your head down, tears rolling down your nose dripping into your lap as you trembled. 

"Thought I told you to stop with the damn cryin' already, (Y/N)," Bo said, a warning tone in his low voice, tilting your head back up and once again brushing the hair from your eyes. 

"I'm s-sorry, Bo," you apologized between harsh breaths, trying to hold back anymore tears. He lifted your chin higher to kiss you. 

The bliss was only momentarily, only making you forget about what was happening for milliseconds, before Bo was suddenly strapping your wrists down. 

"You ain't gonna kick me or nothin' right, baby?" he asks, although it sounds like more of a command. You shook your head rapidly 'no'. He smiled. "'Course you wouldn't. You know better than that, don'tchu?" A thumb brushed over your cheek affectionately before he stood up straighter, towering over you. 

He knows you're not much of a screamer either, so he chooses not to reach for the superglue. Not like anyone else was here to hear you and interfere anyways--he'd taken care of the shallow, conniving mockeries you called "friends" a loong time ago.

"See, here's the deal, sweetheart, you're gonna stay here til you can get your head on straight, alright? And while you're doing that, I want you to think, real fuckin' hard about what's important to you. 'Cause it'd be a real, real shame if you ended up all pretty and dolled up in that damned wax museum with the others." 

Bo really didn't intend on giving you the choice between him and the wax museum on the off chance you picked wrong and ended up being made into a statue for real. First of all, he didn't want his brother's hands on your body because that's where his hands were supposed to be. And second of all, he liked you alive and breathing, and staring at him all teary with those soft doe eyes, while he stroked rough fingers over your real skin. 

Lucky for Bo, it doesn't take you long to come down from your episode. Obviously, he doesn't stick around all day to watch you, he only returned once every few hours to see how you were holding up. Sure, maybe he cared, but mostly he was hoping he could rush a decision out of you and stop wasting his goddamn time.

You're not very stubborn or strong willed and end up giving in only after the first day. It's an easy choice to make, ultimately. Because it's not like you suddenly don't want Bo anymore, as fucked up as that is. Part of you was still attracted to him, part of you still needed him and wanted him, even after what he's put you through and what he's currently putting you through. Sure, he was involved in the murder and torture of everyone in this town, but...he wasn't the one pouring the wax. So...it wasn't so bad to still want him right? The alternative for being good for him and to him wasn't appealing in the slightest anyways. 

Bo will never let you forget how quickly you broke, how quickly you surrendered to him and called his name and chose him.

"Good girl," he praised you again and again, kissing up your neck, to your jaw as he undid the straps around your wrists. He looks you in the eyes, that familiar smirk on his face. "I think you went ahead and made the right choice, didn'tcha?" 

Bubba Sawyer 

It's pretty hard to integrate into the Sawyer family and lifestyle since you were formerly a menu item and the chance of you being back on the menu was low, but never completely 0%. From the beginning, the rest of Bubba's family obviously weren't lining up for autographs. Everything about you was different to them and they didn't like different. 

Normally, it wasn't hard to catch them mumbling misogynistic slurs or insults under their breath. If you're lucky, it's straight to your face, accompanied with a death threat if Bubba doesn't step in or if he isn't present. Sometimes, you found yourself wishing there was another woman in the house who wasn't a mummified corpse, but part of you figured if there was any living female figure in this family, she wouldn't have been too big on you either. 

Sometimes you wonder why they hate you so much. You thought about asking, but figured it wouldn't go too well if you opened your mouth in front of them. Eventually, you connected the dots and realized they hated you because Bubba didn't. Maybe to them, you were some symbol of his ability to make his own choices, a testament to his free will and a trophy of rebellion against his family. That didn't make you feel any better. You weren't a symbol or a trophy or a testament you were you. And it wasn't your fucking fault Bubba just so happened to decide he liked you enough that he wanted to keep you around. It'd been fuck or die in that barn those months ago and you did your best to remain confident that you'd made the decision you had wanted to. It wasn't about which one was the right one, there was no right option in a situation like that, anyways. It was just about making you feel like you had a little control still. 

His family's verbal abuse and obvious disdain doesn't do much to turn Bubba against you--if anything he gets more protective. And you hate that as a result you began to actually like him way more and actively seek him out. It wasn't hard to seek him out anyways, he seemed to heavily dislike not having you at his side if he wasn't out or busy butchering. His possessiveness and obsession with you scared you more at first than it comforted you. But once again, that was before you realized how much nastier the rest of his family was compared to him.

Every insult drove you further into his rough, scarred, and eagerly waiting arms. Crazy how they made him look like the best option in the house when he was a murderous cannibal with a chainsaw. At least he was kinda sweet...his passive nature somewhat aligned with his soft, dark eyes. You thought you might have had the potential to love him. You thought maybe if his family hadn't been able to influence him the way they did, things could have been different. But you're not living in that timeline. 

These feelings of conflict only seemed to depress you more.   

So you tried to bail.

It didn't work. 

Bubba caught you pretty quick--his only hobbies were tending to you, putting up bones around the house, and chasing teenagers around with a chainsaw so he's quick to notice you're gone and even quicker to track you down to the barn. There was no other place for you to go anyways, not in this heat, but as long as it was out of the house it didn't matter to you. 

He found you in the hayloft, staring out the window across the barn, on the opposite wall, knees drawn up under you chin and tears in your eyes. One of his oversized dress shirts clung to your body. If you weren't wearing whatever dress (he normally took those from victims that didn't let him lay pipe like you had) he picked out, you normally only had his shirts to pick from. You imagined that seeing it on your body probably played a huge part in calming him, because instead of the roar of a chainsaw, you only heard his soft growl in your ear when his cheek pressed into yours. Bubba's head settled into the crook of your neck, a heavy, hot breath coming from him. 

You wiped at your eyes with a long sleeve.

"I'm not running away. Promise." You sniffled. Total lie. If you'd had a plan and a place to go, you'd be long gone by now. 

Bubba's palm pushed up against your cheek as clumsy fingers rubbed over your skin, damp with a mixture of perspiration and tears. His thumb pushed down at your bottom lip lightly. You turned your head away.

"I just needed some time alone. I'm fine now. I'm fine." Another lie. A sigh of your own escaped you as you tucked your head back into your arms.

Awkwardly, like he still wasn't used to being able to touch someone else in an affectionate, romantic way, he rubbed his hand up and down your back. It felt...kinda nice.

You leaned softly into his side, shutting your eyes. 

Kazan Yamaoka 

In the Entity's sick game of glorified cat and mouse, there is no "leaving". You can attempt escape. Not from this place, though. Maybe from the killer. Maybe to the exit gates. The hatch if you're lucky. But there really is no true escape. 

Kazan's possessiveness of you does not soften him, make no mistake. If anything, he's more eager to hurt you--more eager to absorb the blood you leave behind as you limp or drag yourself away. Like he savors it more than any other survivor's blood. In a gross way, you're somewhat flattered by it. 

Every single trial you get with Kazan is guaranteed death. He wants you to die by his hand every time. As mentioned before, he absolutely refuses to give you the hatch and targets you constantly, even if you're not marked as his obsession during the round. 

When you run from him in a match he will not hesitate to strike you down with his kanabō. You're pretty sure once you heard the crack of your bones against it, he hit so hard. He prefers to use the katana, however--it makes you bleed more. You won't tell him, but you actually prefer the katana to the kanabō because it hurts just a little bit less. 

What he does to you every time is painful as all hell and Kazan knows it but he doesn't care. He obviously has a rather extensive history of hurting people--hurting everyone--even those he was supposed to love and care for. His own family. Children. It should scare you that he's capable of that. And it does. But it shouldn't have sent those pleasurable thrills down your spine either that you tried to hard to shove into the back of your mind. It's like he knows he gives you that thrill--it's impossible to hide it from him. It's like the more blood he takes from you the easier he can read you, the better he understands you, the closer he is. And you still barely know a thing about him.

It's just in his nature to be cruel. Something inexcusable under normal circumstances, but once again, these are not those circumstances. 

You're almost relieved he doesn't treat you any different from the other survivors--if anything he actively tunnels you and treats you worse. It's like there's a switch in him that's broken and his love language is physical pain. If every slice of his blade, every strike of his club was the equivalent of an "I love you", then Kazan was head over heels for you. 

Sometimes when he hooks you, he'll linger for just a moment. He'll stroke a clawed thumb under your jaw or past your bottom lip, hooking on it to draw a light amount of blood. Sometimes his nose will be only inches away from yours, his rough, heavy breathing harsh behind the mask. It's like a reminder that in his own way, no matter what he does to you, he still wants you.

And you lean into his touch, no matter how badly you're hurting.  Every time. 

Philip Ojomo

You don't want to run from Philip, but you both know that if you don't it raises eyebrows. It looks suspicious and neither of you want to chance anyone catching on to the two of you. Sometimes when you hesitate to run from him, taken aback by his sudden appearances, he'll purposefully lunge for you just to spur you into action. As time goes on, you get more used to it. More used to the idea that no matter how much you might love him and no matter how much he might love you he's still a killer and when there's a trial he has a job to do. 

Philip doesn't really try to hunt you down and he doesn't try to avoid you either. He's opportunistic and not obsessive in his nature. If he happens to come across you, that's when he'll go for you, but for the most part if you just stay away from him during matches where he's focused on serving the Entity above all else, he won't go actively searching for you. 

He doesn't go easy on you either when he is hunting you. Leaving him behind? Not an easy feat, at all. He often cloaks, herds you into a corner so you can't get away and uncloaks. If someone's watching or nearby, he'll club you in the side--not as hard as he hits other survivors, but your screams suggest differently. 

Philip doesn't flinch or anything when he hears the ear piercing cries you make, but he does seem to look...sadder than usual. Like he half believes he's actually hurting you as much as your screaming suggests. What can you say? You're a convincing actor and so far none of your teammates have gotten suspicious--if anything they pity you during Wraith rounds, thinking that for some reason he really has it out for you.  

But there'll be times--rare times, but ones that you savor--where no one's watching and no one's nearby and he'll wrap his arms around you when he's cloaked to let you know that he's there, that he's coming for you. Philip throws you over his shoulder when he finally uncloaks and you don't bother faking a scream then.

You know you'll let a very real one out in a few moments when the hook comes through your shoulder. 

No matter how gently or reluctantly Philip tries to hook you, it just hurts worse. You prefer it when he does it quickly, when he just gets it over with faster. It's not that pleasant of an experience for him either, so you know it's somewhat difficult for him too. 

Sometimes, his gaze lingers on you for a few moments too long when he stands there before you. The look on his face always makes your heart and guts twist. 

Once or twice he's aided in your escape and given you the hatch. You usually just lie to the other survivors and tell them you found it on your own. But it's a rare occasion, albeit an appreciated one that only means more to you because of how uncommon of a gesture it is for him to make. 

Quentin Shermer

Sometimes you think about how things could have gone for you if you'd just given up on him and left town long ago. 

Boring.

Leaving town wouldn't work anyways. He's made himself a second home of your house so he'd notice if you were packing to leave. 

Leaving whatever fucked thing you have going on with him won't work either. You can sure try though. God knows you haven't tried to move on from him, choose someone else in town to fawn over and adore. Someone who would match your affections and treat you better than he ever could. But if you find them they don't ever last long so you just stop trying. Trying to leave him just gets people hurt. It hurts you too. It stings to think about ever leaving him when you've put so much time into him. 

It's easier just to stay and spare yourself the heartache.

If you so much as hold anyone else's hand or look at anyone else the same way you look at him, they're gone the next day. He's not a stalker type but he's not a fucking idiot either. He notices when you drift from him. So he's quick to reel you back in and keep it all going. 

And for you, it's very hard to pick between him and what seems to be nothing at all. He's the only option and you wouldn't honestly have it any other way. Ultimately you can't help just...coming back to him anyways. You can't help wanting him and caring about him the way you do you just can't. It's unbearable to think of him ever not wanting you anymore and the paranoia plagues you constantly. 

You can't get a read on him. He's still as unpredictable to you as ever. You don't realize that as much as he's cold and distant from you, he's just as ensnared in your web as you are in his. Otherwise, you'd obviously have been dead a long time ago. It's not like he's got groupies lined up at the shattered windows of his place either. It's just you. Only you. And it's not a bad thing for him. It's nice to have a warm body on his every other night. Maybe it was just a sex thing to him--you weren't sure. But thinking about it too hard just made your chest tight. 

All that mattered was he gave you just as much pleasure as you gave him. It's an understanding. And it's not like your life is on the line either. You still feel ashamed to realize that you want him bad. And once he gave you a taste it only got worse. All of the sudden his stupid fucking mattress on the floor of that fucking abandoned dirty house seems much more comfortable than your bed at home.

He sees you. Quentin sees you. 

He sees you and if he's the most notorious serial killer in the town's history then what of it. 

It's very hard for him to want to let you go at all either. He doesn't share. It's not in his nature. His. His. His. That's what you are. 

Again and again you can't help but grow insecure, wondering if it really was all just sex. Nobody's exactly lining up to let him fuck them or touch them the way you let him do to you. Maybe it was all just sex. Maybe. But the way he...has you in his arms after every time makes you confused. It makes you feel differently. It makes you think that maybe just maybe there's some tiny sliver of his heart that isn't dead and cold and it maybe beats for you. 

End of the day, you're not leaving. No one's really keeping you there clinging to him.

Just your addled head. 

[monibabsx2]

Hello 🐑✨, can I request some Yandere Daniel Robitaille headcanons? He is my guilty pleasure. Thank you very much and have a beautiful day!

YES YES YES!! I'LL WHIP SOMETHING UP FOR YOU!!

head canons start under the cut 🫶🏾‼️nsfw warning (no actual details)‼️

HE'S SO FINE!!!

He's litteraly the sweetiest when it comes to you

Romantic hunk 🫶🏾

He'd watch you from afar and would be so careful around you

He doesn't want to scare you but would most definitely understand if you do become afraid

He uses his bees to scout you out and follow you throughout the day

Will leave you little gifts like little bee charms as a way to claim you

Would smile so much If he actually sees that you wear them

He'd never dream of hurting you he just wants to keep you safe dear 💕

Watches over you when you're walking or doing something late at night and you're alone

NSFW‼️

SERVICE TOP

Best head, soft lips

He'll treat you like royalty

If you ask to try something different he's always willing to try everything at least once (unless it hurts you but if you already established it he'll go for it)

He's surprisingly a good bottoming and listens really well to instructions

Will get hot and bothered if you do it nice and slow (treat him kindly he needs it)

He's a god when it comes to making love to you

STAMINA FOR DAYS

After care king 👑

He loves you too much for your own good. WELP THAT'S ALL I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! MUAH MUAH 💋🥹

[darkpeacemusic]

Slashers with a S/O who is insecure about their body

Slashers: Jason, Daniel, Bubba

CW/TW: Body insecurity

Jason Voorhees

"Do you think I look fat?" you say to Jason, standing in front of a mirror.

Jason would look at you and shake his head no.

'I don't think you look fat.' He written.

"I just..... feel like I'm not pretty enough for anyone." you say, crying.

He would wrap his arms around you and whisper "You're pretty to me."

"I love you Jason." you say, smiling in tears.

Jason kisses your head as a sign of love.

Candyman/Daniel Robitaille

You stand in front of a mirror, looking at yourself closely before sighing to yourself.

"Y/N....." called out a smooth, charming voice.

You turn around to see your only Daniel right by your doorway.

"Good evening, Daniel." you say, feeling a bit sad.

"Is something wrong, my honey?" he says walking up to you and grabbing your chin.

"Do you think I'm fat?" you ask him.

Daniel looks at you with a saddening gaze.

"Why would you say that?" he asks in worry.

"I don't know. It's just some people say I look like a pig or something." you say, looking down, trying to contain your tears.

"Y/N..... Look up at me."

Daniel holds up your chin as you look into his eyes.

"You're not a pig. You're a very beautiful person. Anyone who says otherwise are the pigs. They don't know you as much as I do. A very kind, beautiful person."

He holds you close as you felt warm within his grasp.

"I love you, my sweet honey."

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba looks in concern as you look in the mirror while crying to yourself.

He doesn't understand why you are crying but he goes to check on you.

"Bubba, do you think I'm fat?" You say.

Bubba looked in shock to hear you say those words.

He hates it when you talk bad about yourself.

He doesn't really know how to deal with the situation so he just hugs you, trying to assure you that he loves you.

He snorts softly, trying to tell you that you look beautiful the way you are.

You smile as you nuzzled over his shoulder.

"Never change, bubba."

[imaginaenespanol]

Slashers Bot

Hey!

in recent days I have been making Chatbots of our beloved Slashers in Aisekai.ai (more easy to me and the +18 it's allowed)

I currently have these available:

1) Candyman

https://www.aisekai.ai/?character=654305cc7bed2cc35355cfde

2) Vincent Sinclair

https://www.aisekai.ai/?character=654327c351473398e83352ca

3) Herbert West

https://www.aisekai.ai/?character=6544010adc422a12fdb8dc9b

4) Pinhead

https://www.aisekai.ai/?character=65446a0acb922e814405d1c7

5) Lester Sinclair

https://www.aisekai.ai?character=654ae9134903225ff140e05f

🖊️pending to make🖊️:

-Thomas Hewitt

-Freddy Krueger

If you have any suggestions to improve the writing of a bot, do not hesitate to write to me ✨

[horrorslvt]

𖹭 ── Candyman. (1992)

Daniel "Candyman" Robitaille.

Nothing yet.

Helen Lyle.

Nothing yet.