#brahms/reader

[dreamerimpossible]

Slashers kinks

Warnings: +18 content, dark content manipulation, obsession, unhealthy relationships, many kinks...

Characters: Michael Myers, Chucky, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Patrick Bateman, Hannibal Lecter, Vincent Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Leatherface, Art The Clown, Jason Dean, Alex DeLarge, Kurt Kunkle, Sweetly Slasher, Brahms.

Michael Myers

I've already said in my previous headcanons that I don't consider Michael Myers to be really interested in sex. However, if you manage to catch his attention, he would be inclined to:

Hunter/Prey: This one is too obvious, isn't it? It would certainly keep its essence if that primary desire for you was awakened. Chasing and killing is something that fascinates him enormously. But since he saw you running away from him, eager for him to catch you... the feeling of pleasure went straight to his cock. Seeing you so vulnerable and innocent before him is a sight that always makes him get hard in his pants. He chases you walking calmly. Just one push is enough to immobilize you.

Corruption: Another way to awaken his sexual appetite is to be the perfect prey to corrupt. Both sexually and mentally. He would like everyone to know that you are no longer as innocent as you were at the beginning. That your skin has the name of Michael Myers marked forever.

Knife Play: A must. He will do everything to you with his knife. He'll make marks on you, both superficial and not so superficial. He'll write things on your skin, like his name. He'll be violent and brutal. Your skin will be scarred. He loves to watch you fall apart in pain and pleasure. It's a show no one else could give him.

Chucky

He doesn't actually have as many kinks as you might think. He's a man of simple tastes…

Lingerie: Coming home and seeing you in lingerie is a surprise that will never bore him. Like I said, he's a simple man. Do that, don't tease him too much and you'll have him. It's that simple. He's on top of you in an instant, he won't listen to you if you tell him not to touch him and shit like that. He doesn't listen to anyone and he'll take what he wants.

Lap dances: Literally canonical. Sit him down and do a nice lap dance for him. He'll be mesmerized by your moves. He'll have a mischievous smile the whole time. His eyes will sparkle with lust. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer. Also, it could work pretty well to make him jealous on purpose. He'll be aggressive with you back and it'll be rough sex.

Praise Kink: Praise him. Seriously. Do it. It'll boost his ego and he might give you a compliment back, telling you what a good girl you're being for him and that you're the best he could ever have. Give him your best compliments and he'll do it right back. He'll tell you that you're the best he's ever had and that he can never replace you and shit. I'm not saying he's lying, but let's just say he'll exaggerate his compliments because he's too turned on not to tell you what you want to hear.

Billy Loomis

Roleplay: The best roleplay here will be ghostface and his victim. He gets a huge turn on from seeing you in that vulnerable state, acting like a dumb girl who needs help. Every time he sees you like that he can't stand it. He needs to take out his violent frustrations on you. It's irresistible. Sometimes he won't even tell you it's role-playing, he wants you to believe he's genuinely considering harming you, it's kind of twisted. But you already knew that.

Cream-pie: He won't use a condom, he wants it to be just risky enough. He needs to fill you completely with his seed and see for a second the fear in your eyes. He will never give that up. He needs to mark you over and over again with his semen. He'll tell you how no one will love you if they know all the dirty things you've done for him.

Dirty talk: He'll tell you the worst things you'll ever hear. He'll threaten to kill you and say he won't if you agree to be his good bitch. He'll tell you all the things he could do to you while showing you his knife. He wants you to feel degraded and unable to help the pain building in your chest and the excitement you're experiencing in your crotch. He'll make fun of how turned on you are and increase the level of his insults.

Stu Macher

Threesome: At some point they'll have a threesome with Billy. It's guaranteed. He'll like watching you fuck and destroy you. The feeling of power they have over you drives him crazy. Being completely willing to him and his desires. It's all he's ever wanted. Billy, on the other hand, also likes to be in control of everything. So having you will be just another example of that. They both treat you like you're their whore, so your opinion doesn't matter much when it comes to what they do. Your moans are the only thing they care about.

Voyeurism: Watching you masturbate is something he'll do often. There will be days when you won't even notice he's there, watching you. But he'll be there. He'll leave minutes after you reach your orgasm. He likes the feeling of watching and being absolutely crazy to touch you and not always being able to. Torturously wonderful.

Phone sex: Every day before he makes his appearance as ghostface he tries to call you and say dirty things to you over the phone. He uses his voice changer. Things get hot quickly. When you ask him to go finish what he started, he just hangs up. He doesn't have time for that. He wants to leave you wanting and make you beg for him once he comes to visit you. He expects nothing less.

Patrick Bateman

Humiliation: He loves anything that involves humiliating you while he is in a position of superiority over you. It turns him on that you feel embarrassed and want to keep pleasing him even though he is fucking cruel to you. He will probably make you lick his shoes or make you cum on them. He might threaten you in your ear while they are doing it.

Master/Slave: This goes hand in hand with the previous kink. He will make you kneel before him and do everything he tells you. This could be extrapolated outside the bedroom to be honest, he is very controlling. You will always have to treat him with respect and he will punish you harshly if you reveal against him or make him feel that you have some discontent. His wishes are his command and he could openly express your position in the relationship in front of others.

Mirror sex: I suppose this does not surprise you. If he has a long-term relationship with you, he will not only enjoy seeing himself, but he will like seeing you too. It's a kind of pleasure that's been building up with you. It's become addictive to see your faces in the mirror, watching your body crumble under his touches and thrusts. He just can't get enough.

Hannibal

Discipline: I firmly believe that Hannibal will start to show his sexual kinks if he has control over you. At first, he will be totally vanilla and show no hint of wanting anything more. Later, after a while and he can see the obedience you show him, he will start punishing you sexually on certain occasions. He will discipline you in ways that will hurt. He will like to see how you change your behaviors when you feel pain. It's a good show for him.

Threesome: This one comes up again, because...he would have a threesome with Will Graham. It's so terribly obvious that it didn't even need to be put in. But it could become a recurring fantasy and something he would do more than once. The perversion, darkness, and secrets you share with each other would make him terribly hard. Having control of both of you really turns his sexual desire up. Not that you're complaining.

Begging: You have to beg him. Seriously, do it. It doesn't matter how committed you are to this. Do it. He'll like it when you get into an inferior position. If you're crying out in pleasure and need his help to have your orgasm, it'll be a nice image for him. If you're being bratty and pretending to beg him to get in the mood, he'll oblige (after disciplining you, of course).

Vincent Sinclair

Wax play: Another one that was awfully obvious. He'll blindfold you and drip hot wax over your body. Your shaky sighs of pain and pleasure will drive him crazy, but he's a patient man, he'll wait until he's satisfied and take his time, as it's the best thing he's done in a long period. He'll caress your thighs while you suppress a slight moan of pain. It's his way of comforting you, but he won't let you off the hook.

Vouyerism: He'll appreciate you lying naked while he's doing his job. He'll get distracted a few times by you, but he won't do anything until he's done. He likes to have a little desperation for you. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen in his life, the most beautiful. And that is already a huge compliment coming from him. He wants your figure to always be in his memory. And he will keep you as long as he can.

Breeding kink: He wants to keep you and he is too excited by the idea of ​​getting you pregnant. He wants you to stay with him forever and not be able to escape from him. If he gets you pregnant, he will never have insecurities about it again and he could be with you and have you all to himself all the time. The orgasm is very strong when he paints your walls white and sees his cum coming out of you.

Jason Voorhees

Blowjob: At first, he would feel quite guilty while seeing your pretty lips wrapped around his penis. Afterwards, he would get used to it, but he would simply make you decide the pace. He would feel quite lustful and dirty if he makes you choke on his cock. He feels bad when he knows it would turn him on too much to ever do it…

Lap-dancing: His body will respond on its own when he sees your hips moving on him to the music. He will soon discover that he cannot resist you. It is impossible. His hands will grab your waist and he will squeeze it tightly. It will be very easy for him to grab you and drag you to the bed. You know it is the easiest way to provoke him, he will never be able to resist your half naked body on top of him, teasing you, without caring at all. He might think badly of you at first, but that feeling is replaced by the inevitable guilty desire. Which makes you irresistible.

Mutual masturbation: This is the best way to give body worship. He will do his best to give you pleasure and you will hear his grunts when you give him pleasure. He will become so desperate that he will want to hear your moan of orgasmic pleasure quickly. He lives to see your body tremble for him, begging him to make you cum.

Leatherface

Praise kink: He needs to be praised by you. Feeling that he is important to you and that you look at him with eyes of desire will always get him going. Praise how strong he is, how well he takes care of you, how safe you feel with him. Tell him those things and he will be around your finger. You don't need anything else.

Vouyerism: He will watch you while you touch yourself. At all times. Sometimes he will demand that you touch yourself in front of him, other times he will watch you secretly. He will like to see your fluids on your fingers and will be hypnotized by the sight of your wet and hot intimacy. He will want to enter but he doesn't want you to see him as a total pervert. He prefers to stay with the desire. At least at first. Afterwards, he will be more shameless.

Blood play: He likes blood, so it is not unusual for him to get excited seeing the blood of victims on you. You will have sex while both have their clothes and bodies stained with blood. If you ever felt shy or guilty about what they do, it quickly goes away. You're likely to be absolutely shameless afterwards. The kink quickly becomes routine, he's practically always covered in blood and will act on his impulses at a moment's notice.

Art The Clown

If I'm honest, I could have written something worse.

Free use: He'll use you at any time. In front of victims, at the mall, at a bar. Obviously he won't ask and he won't stop in case you're embarrassed or don't want to. You're his toy and the maximum compassion he'll have towards you will be to leave you alive. So, thank him. Thank him while Vicky mocks you for being a bitch. Thank him while the man dressed as Santa looks at you in horror. Thank him while you're being thrown out of that Halloween store forever. Just... thank him, okay?

Glory Hole: Obviously only he will be able to fuck you. He likes to remind both you and himself that you're just a hole for him. He'll fuck you and make cuts on your legs, making you understand that he could kill you at any time and that, in fact, it would be quite painful for you. He likes to hear your crying and how you try to escape. You're just so good at satisfying him.

Forced orgasm: He'll use toys to make you cry. You'll be on the verge of overstimulation, to the point that you can't fully control or enjoy the forced pleasure he's giving you. According to him, things aren't all that good without deep pain. So, watching you beg for him to stop is the best thing you can give him at that moment.

Jason Dean

Gun play/Gun kink: Another one that's obvious. He'll use his gun as both a show of power and a sex toy. You might see him threaten you with his gun too if you've upset him. He'll tell you that he owns you and that's why he has all of you in his hands. It's a psychological game that he loves. If you're submissive, you'll practically be drooling at his power. If that's the case, he'll become more obsessed with you.

Hunter/Prey: He's fucking good at hunting. It's a twisted game that he'll repeat over and over. It'll be much better if you use the safe word as little as possible. He'll give you time to escape and he'll play psychological games with you, saying scathing words and phrases to you. He'll find you every time and take what's coming to him. You might get too dirty if he wants to play it out in a forest.

Exhibitionism: He'll definitely fuck you before he ends someone's life. He'll do it in front of them and put on the best show. It's much better if the person watching you is attracted to you. That scenario is the one he likes the most. It's addictive for him to humiliate someone who can never have you. It's one of his many twisted fantasies.

Alex DeLarge

If I'm honest, I could have written something worse x2. Let's see, it's clear what his kinks are; among them, there is noncon. But in my analysis I doubt he does this to his partner, but this is not out of respect or anything like that, the real reason is that he needs to keep you by his side and for you to see him as your leader willingly and to follow his wishes always. For that, he needs to avoid you hating him. Therefore, he will not force you. The only scenario in which I see him doing this is if he no longer wants anything with you and needs to end the relationship somehow or you rebel against him like his droogs did. That said, his kinks:

Gangbang: Yes, he is a possessive man and all that. But, listen, give me a chance. He, at the beginning of meeting you, will not be attached to you enough to prevent this perversion from coming to light. I definitely see him being a jerk and he will definitely tell you that to enter his group you will have to sleep with everyone. I can see this happening in the first few months. Obviously none of them are detail-oriented or anything like that. Afterwards, when Alex becomes attached to you, it will no longer happen, because you will be his property.

Deep throat: If he hears you gag, it's better. He doesn't need you to try hard to limit it. He wants to hear how you struggle to take him. He needs to see the tears running down your cheeks. He needs to feel your throat every time he goes deep inside you. He won't even apologize. He'll like it when your throat hurts afterwards.

Exhibitionism: Another one that is obvious, but is a must. He needs to have sex with you in front of many people. He needs them to see how he gives you pleasure, how everyone envies him. He wants everyone to want to have you but no one can, to look at your body with morbidity, but to never be able to have you. He needs to see the look of disgust on conservative people's faces. It's his ultimate fantasy.

Kurt Kunkle

Angry sex: This will happen often. He always does what he wants and gets absolutely careless with you. So you'll be angry for a long time and the best way to let it out is by having angry sex with him. It's the only way, as he won't listen to reason and will keep doing whatever he wants. Hit him, degrade him and make fun of him. He'll let you do whatever you want. He'll laugh if you're too cruel.

Cam sex: This isn't even surprising. He'll be turned on by fame, so it will turn him on to have sex in front of a lot of people watching. He'll keep his followers happy, so he'll tell you anything they suggest he tell you. So you'd have to be pretty shameless to be with him, as you might come off pretty degraded and pretty much everyone will see you as just a sex toy for entertainment.

Sexting: They'll do this a lot too. He can't be physically with you all the time. So, in his free time he will write you dirty messages and expect you to reply immediately. If you don't, he will get upset and jealous, thinking that you are with someone else. If this happens, the sexting will become more aggressive.

Sweetly Slasher (Quinn from the time jump, obviously, from the time cut movie)

Again it cracks me up, because nobody knows this one, but oh well since I'm including unknown slashers, give me your best suggestions for movie slashers that are not included in this list so I can include them and make the list of slashers longer lol.

Dumbification kink: He is literally a genius who was rejected by a girl; so I think he will continually treat you like you are a fool, it's his way of dealing with the situation (apart from the murder, obviously). And in sex that will intensify much more. He wants to overstimulate you and make you unable to respond with anything coherent. He'll say you're his favorite fool and expect you to act like it. He will manipulate you too much to make you do the things he wants you to do and pretend to praise you at the end.

Power play: I don't know if it's really a conventional kink, but I add it because it's in character. This goes hand in hand with the previous kink. He will put you at a disadvantage on multiple occasions, as he constantly needs to make you and himself understand that he is in control of you. So he will literally make all the decisions. He knows your limits and your tastes perfectly, so he always tends to get it right.

Sex toys: He is usually very busy, so he will play with you from a distance with the help of sex toys. He will order you not to move or do anything that could distract or bother him. Just focus on the sensation he is giving you through the toys. If you behave well, he might pay attention to you.

Brahms

Vouyerism: This kink has come up quite a bit, but it is impossible not to add it to Brahms. He will constantly watch you from behind the walls. He will watch you change clothes, bathe, pleasure yourself. He will watch you all the damn time. You would practically be his entertainment and his desire for you will increase much more as he gets to know your habits and your body.

Objectification: After he watches you for a long time, he will see you as an object. It is inevitable. You are the object of his desires. Made for him. That is why if you do not react the same, things will not be easy for you. You are supposed to agree with everything he says. You are supposed to be his alone and belong to him. He will convince you sooner or later and when he does, he will make the mistake of looking at you as his sexual object every time. You will have to be strong to be able to control him.

Overstimulation: He will like it when you overstimulate him. He wants to cum over and over again for you. He likes you to try to make him cry because he is so hypersensitive. He will beg you to make him cum over and over again. It does not matter how much it hurts or how much he cries. He also likes to feel like your toy. Just play with him.

[nemesis-writer]

POV- Writing for ____x reader fic

[opossum-that-serves-cunt]

stockholm syndrome being a "rare psychological disorder" is some bullshit because I feel like it's very natural to watch a horror film and want to fuck him.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

giving him a fast and rough handjob that lasts what feels like several hours, he lays on the bed, his thighs squirming and clenching as you bully his sticky cock, he has cum a bazillion times, cum pooling at his thighs and stomach "oh god.. please mommy..i need more...d-d-dont stop!!" he begs and pleads, and you cant help but grin "don't worry babyboy...i wasn't planning on it~"

[psychotic-star-girl]

[the-s1lly-corner]

Wearing their jackets (slasher edition)

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

Characters: Jason, brahms, bubba, Thomas, Michael

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

CWs: none

JASON

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

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

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

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

BUBBA

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

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

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

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

THOMAS

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

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

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

Very heavy coat, very thick

MICHAEL

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

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

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

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

BRAHMS

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

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

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

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

[amomentsescape]

Reader runs behind slasher because someone else is harassing/chasing/stalking them. They don't even know they hid behind a killer for help and apologized to the killer for their awkward action of hiding behind them.

Imagine if reader is so polite that they do a apologetic bending bow.

Slashers Being the Protector (Rather than the Killer)

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, & Bo

Warnings: Being chased/stalked, maybe a couple cuss words?

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn't do the bow for every Slasher since I felt like it would get repetitive after a while. But I hope you enjoy either way!

Obviously, walking home alone is never your first choice, but it's not like you had an option.

Your job kept you late. And as much as you wished you could have just set some damn boundaries for yourself, you couldn't say no. You were probably the only one that actually cared about your job.

You kept a fast pace, holding your head down as to not make eye contact with anyone you passed by.

And this worked for a while. You were at a point in your journey home where you found yourself completely alone. However, there was still a part of you that felt uneasy. They always say that humans are able to tell when someone is watching them, and you were clearly no exception to this.

You finally took a deep breath and paused, mustering up the courage to look at your surroundings.

The woods were beside you, the darkness only allowing you to see a few trees at a time, but thankfully, no one seemed to be there.

Ahead of you was just more concrete and not a single street lamp in view.

And behind you... was someone.

You hadn't expected to see anyone there, but of course your luck would prove otherwise.

Your eyes widened and your breath got caught in your throat. Why were they just standing there?

Without taking your eyes off of them, you took one step backwards.

They took one forwards.

You took another step.

They did too.

It was in that moment that you knew you had to think quickly.

Should you just turn around and keep running straight ahead? No, that would prove useless. They would surely outrun you and grab ahold of you in no time.

Or should you turn and run to the woods, hiding behind trees for long enough that they give up?

You didn't like this idea much more than the first, but you figured this was probably the only option that got you out of this unharmed.

With your eyes watering and jaw clenching, you sprinted towards the woods.

You could hear their footsteps behind you, branches and leaves snapping in the distance.

They were catching up.

A sob slipped from your lips as you could feel your legs burn.

Keep pushing. Keep going.

And you did, right towards a figure in the distance.

Freddy Krueger

He could hear your sporadic heartbeat from a mile away

He was already smiling, hoping that you were about to be another easy victim

But something about your fright felt off

Someone else was after you

The moment you came into view, his smile softened a bit

You looked so desperate and scared

In any other context, he would have loved to see it, but it wasn't him making you feel this way

Plus, you weren't repulsive to him like everyone else

He could see the split second of hesitation on your face when you saw his gnarled skin and sharp gloves

But clearly that other person had spooked you more

You were already apologizing, begging for some sort of help

You weren't even six feet from Freddy when he raised his arm and a sudden thud could be heard behind you

The person who was once following you no longer had a head

You turned back to the burnt man, suddenly feeling worried that you would be next, but instead, he grabbed the side of your face

"I can't blame the guy. I would have wanted to snatch you up too," he cackled

Michael Myers

Michael raised a single brow under his mask

Clearly, you were terrified of the person chasing after you, but was seeing another large man holding a bloody knife of no concern to you?

You ran up to him, coming to an immediate stop when you saw the blade glinting back at you

"I-I need help. Please," you could barely choke out

He could tell you were trying to figure out who to be more afraid of

It's not like Michael really cared that you were being chased, but this was his territory, no one else is allowed to do his job for him

He stepped in front of you, watching as the other person slowly came to a halt

He grabbed your arm and began to drag you towards the figure

You started to cry at this, thinking he was about to give you up

Instead, his knife plunged deeply into the other person's neck, their body collapsing to the ground

You had blood splattered on you, and you could still feel the fear in your chest

You gave him a soft bow, wordlessly thanking him before stumbling back out

It was only when you heard a branch snap behind you that you turned around

He was still behind you

As you kept walking, he kept following

You really thought he'd just help you without something in return?

Jason Voorhees

He thought he killed everyone already, so how did he miss you?

How did he miss someone so cute too?

Oh, you're running towards him instead of away

This is odd

If he had been any other average sized person, you would have tackled him to the ground with how hard you collided with him

"I-I need help. Please!" you cried out, rushing behind him

He quickly took notice of the person chasing after you, them stopping in their tracks at the sight of Jason

Now, who's being hunted?

The stalker began to run the other way, not failing to notice the freshly bloodied machete like you did

However, with Jason's stride, it didn't take long for him to catch up and knock the person's head clean off in one swipe

He took a deep breath and turned back to face you, expecting you to be running for the hills

Instead, you ran up and hugged him, thanking him through your tears

You weren't... scared?

He had no idea what to do, so he just stood there while you cried into him

At least he was right about his earlier judgment

You were cute

Too cute to turn into just another victim

Thomas Hewitt

He was actually making his way towards you both

He thought you two would be good additions to tonight's menu

But the moment he saw you look at him in relief instead of terror...

Something in him shook

Before you could even say anything, he was guiding you behind him, some protective instinct overriding his usual hunter side

The person who was following put their hands up, saying that they "didn't want any trouble"

And in response, Thomas through a meat cleaver at their head

You about screamed but he turned around, looking at you softly

"I-I'm sorry. You didn't have to d-do that," you said barely above a whisper

He just shook his head and continued to watch you, some internal battle waging inside him

He really really didn't want to kill you

But what would his family think?

Only one way to find out, he supposes

With that, he hoists you up and into his arms bridal style, carrying back home

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba is about three times the size of the guy chasing you

So despite the unpleasant mask, you felt like he was your only chance at safety

He tilted his head in confusion

Normally, people like you run the opposite way from him

So the moment you're in front of him, heaving and shakily explaining what's going on, he feels angry

He might be a murderous cannibal, but Mama taught him some manners

He quickly whips out the chainsaw beside him, causing you to jump at the sight

Now it was the stalker's turn to be afraid

You were left in the woods for probably 15 minutes alone, still too scared to unfreeze yourself from the spot

It was only when you saw a large figure in the distance carrying something that you finally got your bearings

Bubba walked a little past you, holding the body of the man prior

He stops for a second and looks at you, motioning his head for you to follow

And what were you going to do?

Say "no" to the man holding a chainsaw and a dead body?

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms was already on edge

He never strayed this far from the mansion, and the fact that he was out this far made him feel very jumpy

So when he saw you running straight for him, he was ready to attack

Until he saw the desperation on your face

"Help! Please!" you begged him

And a cute thing like yourself would be difficult for him to deny

He saw the figure stalking after you, slowing down when they realized they had company

Brahms stepped in front of you and gave the person a challenged look

And it seemed to have worked, because the person began to back off almost immediately

He could have killed the guy, sure

But he wasn't going to be a threat anymore

Why? Because you were coming home with him

And once you're in his territory, there's no leaving

He'll make sure of it

Norman Bates

Norman wasn't even sure how he got there in the first place

All he remembers was being at home when suddenly everything went black

And now he was here, watching as some person runs up to him him in a panic

Before he could say a word, you were holding onto him, spinning yourself around so you were behind him

And that's when he saw another figure in the distance

"P-please," you suddenly croaked, "I don't know who that is. I was just walking home alone and I-"

He shushes you, his eyes still locked on the man

He could feel your head bump into his back as you bowed, muttering apologies to him

"It's okay," he reassured. "They're not going to do anything."

His brows furrowed as his face twitched

Maybe it was your cute panicked face, or the way your soft hands were gripping his back

But either way, Norman could feel his conscious fading out

He won't hurt you, though the same can't be said for the other person

He just hopes you'll still be there when he comes to

Billy Loomis

You were terrified, that was obvious

But he was honestly surprised that you seemed more scared of a random weirdo behind you than the notorious serial killer straight ahead

You grabbed his arm, not failing to notice the sharp blade in his dominant hand

"I-if you're going to kill me," you gulped, "Then fine, but can you please kill them first?" you motioned

This may have been an odd suggestion to most, but the worst Ghostface was going to do was stab you, but you had no idea what the other person's intentions were

The creep was only a few feet away now, their hand also donning a sharp blade

Billy wouldn't have normally entertained such an idea, but he knew you from school

And God, were you pretty

"Shit," he whispered

He twirled the knife around as he approached the figure, the latter already stepping back

It was an easy kill, and Billy was back to your side in no time

"Thank you," you bowed, head down and awaiting your fate

Instead, he grabbed your chin and made you look at his mask

He couldn't wait to see you at school the next day

Stu Macher

He could see you freeze the moment you were in sight

The Ghostface attire was already pretty notorious in the town, and he could see the worry on your face at the realization

And clearly, the person chasing you also felt the same, because the moment they saw him, they ran off the other direction

Tears began to stream down your face at this

Although, he couldn't tell if they were from relief or fear at that point

He stepped a little closer to you as you stumbled back

"P-please, don't, I-"

He dropped his knife and reached out to you in response

You shakily took his hand, obviously scared of what he was going to do

But he simply began walking you out of the woods, checking around for the creep

He walked you all the way home before giving you a small wave and running off, leaving you completely dumbfounded

He spared you?

It took you a few days afterwards to almost forget about the situation

Until you turned on the news

There was a report of a dead body found in the same woods you were just in a couple nights before

Another apparent criminal from the area...

You gulped, realizing it was your stalker as the phone suddenly rang

"Unknown caller"

Huh, weird

Vincent Sinclair

Bo somehow got him to leave that musty old building

But of course, he ran off to God knows where and left Vincent alone

So the moment he saw your figure sprinting closer, he assumed that Bo would be the one to follow

However, he quickly noticed that the man behind you was not his brother, and he suddenly felt dumbfounded on what to do

Bo would surely be pissed, but something about you told him you shouldn't become just another wax figure in his collection

So the moment you were close enough, he was stepping in front of you, some newfound confidence leading him

The stalker hesitated for a moment before finally stumbling back, leaving the two of you alone

"Thank you, thank you!" you repeated, your head instinctively shifting downwards

Vincent took a deep breath in while looking at you

Yep, Bo was definitely going to be angry

But oh well

You were just too sweet to let go stale

Bo Sinclair

He could hear your erratic footsteps rushing closer to him

And unlike most of the others on this list, he comes off as a seemingly normal guy, so of course you wouldn't hesitate to go to him

His cocky smile only widens when he gets a look at your face

A mighty cute thing, you are

"Excuse me? Sir, I think I'm being followed and-" your voice cracked

How precious

Surely too pretty and too soft to be made into hard wax, hmm?

He steps towards you, and you think he's about to help you

But no

He grabs ahold of your shirt tightly, muttering some smooth nonsense to your stalker about finding "a good place for this one"

Tears begin to stream down you face

How could you have so blindly trusted a stranger?

He leads the both of you back to some empty building that you assume will be the last place you'll be alive

But the moment Bo turns back around, a pipe is swung into the other man's head

He'd be a great addition to the museum

You turn to your "savior" in confusion

"Can't let a pretty thing like you go to waste, huh darlin'?"

All you can do is tilt your head down in a silent "thank you"

[tiki-was-here]

Y/N and their slasher boyfriend

[cece693]

Touch Starved

pairing: brahms heelshire x gender neutral reader tags: touch starved Brahms, you're a nanny, not movie compliant, just you delivering kindness to a man who's living in the walls, cute but also concerning, cause who wants a stinky, murderous man

You hadn’t planned on taking care of anyone but yourself for a while, least of all a man hidden away behind old walls and silent halls. But fate has a funny way of leading you to the places—and people—you didn’t know you needed.

The moment you stepped through the heavy wooden doors of the Heelshire estate, a sense of quiet trepidation mingled with an unexpected tingle of warmth. You were met by the echoes of distant footsteps (or so you thought) and the slow creaking of doors that seemed to open by themselves. There was supposed to be a doll, you’d been told. Brahms, a porcelain boy that you were to care for as though he were a real child. But as the days passed, you quickly realized you were not alone. You could feel it—a presence just out of reach. A low scuff against the floorboards when you turned your head, the flicker of a shadow across a mirror.

Every now and then, you caught sight of a shape in the doorway: tall and still, eyes peering through a masked face. Brahms. Not the porcelain doll, but a flesh-and-blood man, heartbreakingly silent and desperately lonely.

It was late one evening when you finally found him in the living room, crouched behind an old armchair. He might have fled if not for how gently you approached—slow steps, outstretched hands, your voice calm but cautious.

You knelt down, heart pounding, meeting those wide, frightened eyes through the mask’s eyeholes. “You must be Brahms,” you whispered into the stillness. Your words lingered, soft reassurance filling the space between you.

He didn’t speak; you hadn’t expected him to. But there was a distinct tremor in his shoulders as though he was holding back a flurry of words—or maybe sobs. Even behind the mask, you could feel the intensity of his longing for contact, for acknowledgment, for someone to look at him and not run away in horror.

So you didn’t run. You didn’t even back away.

You settled into a routine with surprising ease. Brahms was silent as always, but his presence began to make itself known through little gestures: the steady pattern of footsteps behind you as you moved about the estate, the slight tug on your sleeve when it was time for dinner, or a gentle tap on your shoulder in the afternoons when the house felt too big, too empty.

In response, you offered him wordless kindness. Meals at the table, always setting two plates so he’d know there was a seat for him. A folded blanket left on the sofa, just big enough for the two of you to share when the nights got cold. A record player with music turned down low, so he could sit near you without feeling overwhelmed.

At first, he was shy about receiving affection. You’d see his shoulders tense whenever your hand hovered over his arm—but he never pulled away. Slowly, day by day, Brahms let himself draw closer to you. Where he once watched you from afar, now he’d sit at the edge of the same couch.

One evening, you found yourself in the library. The moonlight streamed in through stained-glass windows, painting the shelves in a kaleidoscope of color. You sat on the old, worn rug, a book splayed in your lap. You were reading quietly to him, your tone hushed and steady, when Brahms leaned close—closer than he ever had.

Your voice faltered for a split second, but you carried on. His breathing was unsteady. At last, carefully, you rested a hand on his knee. For an agonizing moment, you thought he might leap up and bolt into the hidden corridors. But instead, Brahms let out a sound—something between a sigh and a relief-filled moan.

He turned just enough for you to see his eyes through the mask, shadows dancing in the moonlight. Slowly, painfully shy, he laid his head against your shoulder, letting you cradle him gently. Brahms felt fragile, like an abandoned creature starved for love.

You ran your fingers through the strands of his hair that peeked out from beneath the mask’s edges. His shoulders relaxed little by little, tension melting under the warmth of your touch. If you had any doubts that your affection was what he so badly needed, they all drifted away in that moment.

Affection became your shared language. Brahms still didn’t speak; you didn’t need him to. The way he tentatively placed his hand over yours—masked fingers brushing yours—was worth more than a thousand words. When he was anxious, you felt it in the trembling press of his body against yours. When he was happy, you saw it in the more confident way he moved, as though it no longer pained him to be seen.

You took pleasure in the smallest rituals: combing through his hair by the fireplace, making him tea, encouraging him to hold your hand whenever he felt uncertain. He was ravenous for the smallest bit of kindness. Every fleeting touch on his arm or gentle brushing of your fingers along his back made him shudder in gratitude. You were more than willing to give it to him.

Eventually, one crisp morning, you convinced him to come outside with you. He hovered in the doorway, torn between the fear of the open world and the longing to stay by your side. But you simply offered your hand, palm upturned, and waited with all the patience you could muster.

He took it.

Once outside, Brahms let out a breath he’d been holding for years, it seemed. The sun’s warmth touched him through the fabric of his clothes, through the slight gap between the edge of his mask and his skin. You guided him to the garden, letting him feel the dew on his fingertips.

He never let go of your hand.

You paused by the rosebushes, a single white blossom catching your eye. You plucked it gently and offered it to him. Brahms stared at it for a long, reverent moment. Then, with trembling care, he lifted the bloom to his mask, as though inhaling a memory of a life he never quite had. Softly, you reached out, cupping his cheek over the porcelain of his mask. He leaned into your palm as though memorizing the warmth, the unmistakable proof that someone saw him, someone cared for him. In that private corner of the garden, with sunbeams turning both your breaths into pale mist in the cool air, you let him rest his masked forehead against yours.

[sharkie-ds]

🦈My type🦈

[tac-the-unseen]

Slapping Slasher's Ass and Running away!

Micheal Myers:

•He likes to believe he has complete control over his surroundings 

•He likes to imagine himself as a Jaguar; opportunistic, stealthy, adaptable, and an Apex predator

•And then there's you, here to snap them back to reality 

•If he's a Jaguar, you're an annoying bird that follows him 

•All this made clear when He's just standing in the kitchen and feels a hard smack on his Ass

•He whips his head around to see you, running at full speed and giggling 

•For a moment he's completely stunned 

•But only for a moment 

•He’s quick on your heels 

•In less than 10 seconds he's holding you in the air by your shirt, like holding a cat by its scruff

•You can immediately tell through the mask how pissed he is

•But for a few seconds he just leaves you suspended in the air, and soon enough he makes his decision. 

•He walks to your shared bedroom and drops you onto the bed

•You think you're in for some sexy-funtime

•That quickly washes away when Michael turns around and walk out the door 

•When you get up to follow you find that he's locks you in by putting a chair under the handle 

•This man is so sick of your shit, but loves you too much to actually harm you

•He just put you in time out while he waits for the stinging on his ass to go away

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•When the school day ends you're walking towards the front door, you spot both of your boyfriends walking towards the door too

•With the coast clear of teachers and most other students you knew what you had to do

•You rub your hands together diabolically and begins to run towards them

•when you're finally in the perfect position, you wind your hands back and as hard as you can, you slap their ass

•They both tense up and freeze

•When they see you running past them and laughing, they are quick to give chase

•They Chase you down the field and into the parking lot

•Stu was the one to tackle you onto the grass, making sure to protect your head when you fall

•Stu pins you down while Billy catches up 

•When (a winded) Billy reaches you two he drops to his knees and starts tickling you

•Neither boy takes to seriously and think it's a playful invention to rough house and playfully fight

Thomas Hewitt:

•While he was meticulously cutting up some cow legs, you spotted a golden opportunity 

•Thom’s fat ass in perfect position 

•After circling him, carrying the same box of tools, you decide to go for the kill

•”Tommy!” You shout while running past him

•Your hand makes firm contact with the side of his rear 

•You leave a blazing trail up the stairs while Thom processes what happened

•Thom watches you run away while his ass stings 

•At most he's confused 

•He just goes back to work 

Bubba Sawyer:

•You were playing with him outside

•Running around, picking flowers, picking up pebbles, roughhousing

•While play fighting you slap is ass and run away hoping he would chase you

•instead he stands for confused 

•after an awkward couple seconds, you realize he's not going to chase you, So you walk back to him 

•You ask if He's okay and realize his eyes is watering 

•After a frantic apology and check over You managed to figure out that he's not hurt 

•Bubba Just associates spanking with being bad/bad behavior 

•He was upset because he thought you were punishing him for being too rough 

•You made it up to him by making him a flower crown 

Bo Sinclair:

•This could go one of two ways

•He could be really into it OR he could freak out

•It depends on what mood you catch him in

•One day he'll think it's sexy and want you to do it again 

•The next he'll have a PTSD attack remembering his childhood 

•It's honestly best if you keep your hands to yourself

Vincent Sinclair:

•He honestly thought you did it by accident 

•He didn't understand that you were trying to play 

•He didn't react at all 

•You have to tell him what you're trying to do 

•He gets very embarrassed about not understanding that he kind of shut down for the day 

•He remains hunched over on his desk for the rest of the day 

Lester Sinclair:

•It honestly doesn't matter what you do to Lester, He's just happy you're giving him attention 

•The man is the definition of a puppy 

•He's just happy to be here 

•So if you want to play a game of Chase, He’lll Chase

•As soon as you slap and run away he's hot on your heels 

•He chases you through a field and down the roads 

•When he catches you he's out of breath and takes a second to dry heave 

•Then he'll hug and kiss you while walking back to the Truck 

Billy Lenz:

•Billy is one of the characters you Can not hit

•You think he'd be into to quick slap, but he has the opposite reaction 

•He thinks you're planning on hurting him And will either attack you or hide 

•If he chooses to attack, You're likely going to have to hold him down until he calms 

•If he hides, leave him alone

•trying to find him would be like walking into a coyote's den

•eventually he'll come back out because you're the only person that still talks to him 

•He figures it's better to be physically abused than be lonely 

•Good luck explaining that it was just a joke 

Brahms Heelshire:

•He was acting up after you told him the grocery boy was coming today

•He was whining about how you don't need to interact with him and how the help shouldn't be seen or heard

•You remind them that you're technically ‘the help’ and he pouts on the couch 

•When the doorbell rings he immediately jumps up to try to stop you 

•You have a light bulb moment

•You get closer, reach around, and slap his ass

•You almost immediately push past him to run to the door 

•Brahms is quick to follow, but not quick enough

•You swing open the door before Brahms can reach you

•He hides just in time, and proceeds to stew behind the door.

Hannibal Lecter:

•While he was cooking up some breakfast you come up behind him and hug him

•He greets you and continues to cook 

•You two have a lazy conversation while you lean your head against his shoulders 

•Deciding he's not pay enough attention to you come up with a plan

•You steal one of his knives, slap his ass, and bolt out of the kitchen 

•He gives you about a 5-second Head start before he begins his hunt 

•In that time He turns off the stove and allows himself time to find you

•He slowly starts his prowl 

•Checking doors, behind furniture, around the stairs, and behind curtains 

•When he finds you, he pounces and pulls you into a pinning hug

•He forces the knife from your hand and kisses your forehead

•”Let me finish breakfast, then I'll spend time with you.”

Will Graham:

•While on the world's most boring fishing trip (Will Even admitted this trip sucked) You watch as no lines get tugged

•board out of your mind you decide to at least mess around 

•While Will was leaning over to check his lines you slap his ass as hard as to can, which throws him into the calm river

•You howl with laughter as Will get thrown overboard 

•When he resurfaces we comes back up with a scowls on his lips, but a playful look in his eyes

•”You suck” he chuckles while you help him back in

•As soon as he's on board, he throws you into the water and laughs

The Lost Boys:

•All the boys are up for a good chase, But they all have different reactions 

•David

-Slapping David's ass takes balls

-As soon as you try to run he has you by the arm 

-He smirks and pulls you towards him

-”Oh-ho-ho, where do you think you're going?”

-If you play your cards right he'll let you go to properly chase you 

-All’s well and good before he flies at you like a hawk

•Dwayne

-He'll let you run away But as soon as you're out of sight the game is on 

-It doesn't matter where you're at 

-The boardwalk, the cave, the forest, the beach 

-He sprints and tackles you to the floor 

-”Did you honestly believe you could outrun a vampire?” He muses

-could turn playful, could turn romantic 

•Paul

-as soon as your hand collides with his ass, he shrieks 

-He playful pretends he's wounded 

-He writhes on the ground, cries fake tears, hand over forehead

-”Why should you do this to me!” 

-”I thought you loved me!” 

-Walks around all day telling his brothers that you abuse him 

-gives you love bites while telling his tale of woe 

•Marko

-when you slap his ass he lets out a moan that causes both of you to freeze 

-after a few seconds Marko whips around 

-”Tell no one.” He says in a completely serious voice 

-You know for a fact the others would make fun of him for the rest of his unnatural life 

-Every time you're behind him, he turns around to face you So it never happens again

Thanks for reading <3

Sorry this took so long! I've had a busy week!

[ghostiesnightmare]

The Rules We Keep

Pairing: Brahms Heelshire x Female Reader Summary: While working in the Heelshire manor, you were given one warning: follow the rules. As near-supernatural events rock you to your core, the rules seem to hold you in a vice-like grip. As paranoia takes hold, a chilling discovery marks the start of a deadly game. The rules were meant to keep you safe; but what if following them was the most dangerous thing of all? TW: DARK content, read at your own risk. Non-con, stalking, nudity, foul language, violence, glory-hole, sense deprivation, power imbalance, orgasm denial, degradation, unprotected sex, restraints, rough sex, abuse, creampies, and more. Word Count: 9,623 MDNI- NSFW

-----

The Heelshire mansion was your own personal hell.

The sprawling stone structure seemed to stretch onwards forever, with nooks and crannies at every turn. With multiple floors, countless staircases, and forgotten rooms the manor seemed to be much more of a labyrinth than a household. Doors opened into empty cellars, books activated secret passageways, and every waking moment seemed to present another mystery.

The house itself acted as if it were alive, the floorboards creaking under the slightest pressure, windows hissing at the faintest breath of wind. If you had any sense about you, you would have believed the legends that the house was very much, in fact, haunted. Yet the eerie atmosphere that the house produced was the least of your concerns, with something much more sinister afoot. 

Brahms.

The porcelain doll that you were tasked with caring for was not only unnerving, but unearthly in every way. When introduced to the ungodly toy you had almost laughed, finding the request to babysit an inanimate object to be not only ridiculous, but a joke. Knowing your situation now weeks later, you wished you could take it back.

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for the reality of the situation. Items moving in the middle of the night, screeching across the floor so suddenly it tore you from any slumber you hoped to get. Paintings would topple from their hanging posts, crashing onto the hardwood floors at all hours. The light fixtures would flicker consistently, casting shadows on every surface within the house.

The doll would move too, seemingly hopping from room to room in order to utterly terrify you. One night, you awoke to the wretched thing on your bed, the painted eyes staring at you, taunting you. 

That was the worst part, the feeling of always being watched.

Walking into just about any room left the hairs on the back of your neck shooting up, a wave of goosebumps permanently etched into your skin. It felt as if the world was consistently closing in, the room folding in on itself and leaving nothing but you and that devilish doll. No matter the hour, no matter what you were doing, you felt as if eyes were burning holes into the back of your head.

It left a shiver down your spine in a way that nothing could shake free, the chill of fear in your bones. At first, you thought you were going crazy, the weeks alone in the countryside finally taking their toll after having only the doll as company. But as the nights went on, bringing nothing less than supernatural events, you began to believe the rumors swirling around the brick manor were true. 

You never were a spiritual person, finding urban legends and ghost stories to be nothing short of fiction. Thinking the spirit of a ghost child possessing a doll sounded like something straight out of a horror movie, yet after hearing how the original Brahms was rumored to have killed a girl before perishing in a house fire, the doll seemed all the more terrifying.

At night you could have almost swore hearing whispers through the walls, voices beckoning you to explore the darkness below. The thought alone would send fear coursing through your veins. Throughout all the torment, the paranormal events, and the paranoia, your fears were confirmed: the house wasn’t haunted. It was alive. 

Then there were the rules:

1. No guests.

2. Never leave Brahms alone.

3. Save meals in the freezer. 

4. Never cover Brahm’s face. 

5. Read a bedtime story.

6. Play music loud.

7. Clean the traps.

8. Only Malcolm brings in deliveries. 

9. Brahms is never to leave. 

10. Kiss goodnight. 

Those forsaken rules ran every segment of your life, daily routine completely overrun by caring for the doll and manor to the point where you were isolated from all other forms of life. Malcolm was your only saving grace, the weekly deliveries of groceries single handedly keeping your spiral to madness at bay. It felt as if the doll was draining the life from you, any slip within the rules resulting in the house completely turning against you.

One fateful morning during your first week watching over Brahms, you had haphazardly thrown a blanket in Brahms' direction, which ended up covering it completely. Almost immediately, the grandfather clock in the hallway had toppled over, the hundred year old antique smashing to pieces, causing you to jump out of your skin.

From that moment onward, the rules were much more sinister than suggestion- they meant your survival. 

The soft sound of violin pulled you from your thoughts, causing your spine to straighten abruptly. Wagner’s “Siegfried Idyll” drifted from the gramophone throughout the Heelshire study, the calming melody dampening your mental spiral. Sitting up against the velvet armchair, you leaned closer to Brahms, who sat attentively in his own miniature chair and desk.

Clearing your throat, you reached for one of the worn novels stacked on the wood. “How about another chapter of your book before bedtime?” You mused at the doll, who stared blankly back at you. Not expecting any sort of response, you pushed onwards, grabbing a hardcover copy of Robinson Crusoe, the yellowing pages fluttering under your grasp. 

Scooping Brahms into your arms from the chair, you padded towards the gramophone, lifting the needle from the record. The manor fell into silence, the absence of noise almost suffocating.  Sighing slightly, you glanced around the messy study, making a mental note to clean the bookshelves once Brahms was settled in bed. The smell of paper and pine wafted through the stale air of the room, and you sniffled, rubbing your nose with the back of your sleeve, holding Brahms at your hip.

“Okay… let’s go. Time for bed.” You whispered, holding the doll as if it were a child against you. When you first began working at the manor, the thought of actually caring for the doll, much less speaking to it, seemed completely out of the question. As time passed, however, the supernatural elements that plagued your every move seemed to subside when you spoke to the doll, less angry when you played along.

It kept you from going insane, anyways. 

Exiting the study, you shuffled through the foyer, yawning tiredly with Brahms and the book in tow. Reaching the bottom of the winding staircase, a shift in the light caught your eye. Turning slightly, you gazed at the bronze nameplate that seemed to sparkle in the dim lighting. Of all the paintings in the manor, this had to have been your favorite. The painting was massive, spanning the entirety of the wall and encased in a mahogany frame.

Depicted with utmost care was the Heelshire family in front of their house in an almost Victorian fashion. Mr Heelshire stood to the right, pocket watch in hand and towering over his wife. Draped in a luxurious evening gown, Mrs. Heelshire smiled playfully, hands clasped around an infant Brahms at her hip. They were the epitome of class and elegance, a young family that dripped in wealth and prowess. Your fingers traced the bronze nameplate tenderly, brushing a line of dust off the metal.

The Heelshire family. 

Your brows furrowed, pity sinking into your heart as you gazed at the young couple in the painting. Little did they know their world would be torn apart eight years later, their own child perishing in the fire that almost claimed the manor. Your grasp on Brahms tightened subconsciously as you stared into Mrs. Heelshire’s painted eyes. You found it hard to pull away from the serene moment, lost in the emotion that seemed to swirl in her eyes.

You couldn’t pinpoint what exactly drew you to the painting, something anchoring you in place every time you passed it, almost daring you to come closer. There was a sense of mystery surrounding the painted figures, the moment frozen in time for eternity in a way that left your head reeling with questions. 

A creak in the floorboards above tore through the eerie silence, and you ripped your gaze away from the painting. Brahms’ lifeless eyes seemed to burn into your skull, and you hoisted the doll up to eye level, inspecting the porcelain slightly. “Someone’s impatient…” You mused, shuffling the doll in your grip.

Sparing the painting one last glance, you turned and continued your trek up the stairs, leaving the lower floor in silence. Unbeknownst to you, another creak in the floorboards rang throughout the house, the wooden panelling under the painting shaking as a force passed through, no behind it at an almost inhumane speed.

And then, silence. 

—

Sighing tiredly, you finished the final button on Brahm’s sleepshirt, leaning back and admiring your handiwork. Tugging the embroidered comforter over the doll’s body, you fell backwards into the wooden rocking chair, pulling open the book once more. Shifting the bookmark from the worn pages, you leaned further against the padded chair, tucking your feet underneath your body.

Clearing your throat, you glanced once more at the doll before beginning. “Chapter four: Crusoe considers. And now being to enter into a melancholy relation of a scene of silent life, such, perhaps-” The shudders behind you fluttered suddenly, the nighttime air whipping against the side of the house.

You swallowed thickly, unease settling in your stomach. “-as was never heard of in the world before, I shall take it from its beginning-” The wall on the opposite side of the bed thumped loudly, almost toppling one of the shelves nailed to the wood. A startled yelp escaped you, and you whipped your head towards the doll.

Nothing.

Gritting your teeth, you struggled to find your place in the book once more. “...I-....I shall take it from its beginning, and continue it in its order.” Voice cracking, you snapped the book shut as the light fixture over your head flickered, casting the room in haunting shadows. “Brahms!” you chided, irritation boiling in your throat. Almost instantly, the light returned to its warm glow as the house seemed to settle under your words.

“If you don’t want to read, you could have just said so.” you grumbled, shoving the book off your lap and watching it clatter to the floor haphazardly. Glaring at the doll, you rose from your spot and picked the book back up, placing it on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. Fingers tracing the cool glass of Brahms’ face, you swallowed, nerves creeping up your spine. 

You always hated kissing the doll, bile somehow forming when your lips pressed against the cool surface. Something about the action felt so… lewd, the air in the room instantly feeling heavy whenever it was time to kiss Brahms goodnight. Thousands of imaginary eyes seemed to follow your every move, and the action itself left you feeling dirty and used, always craving a hot shower when the deed was done.

Glancing at the doll once more, you shuddered slightly, disgust gnawing at you. Leaning forward, you quickly pecked the porcelain forehead, retreating as if you were burned. Standing, you wiped your hands on your jeans while turning towards the door, trying to erase the feeling from your mind. “Goodnight, Brahms.” you mumbled over your shoulder, flicking off the light and shutting the door behind you, refusing to spare the doll another thought.

If he didn’t want a bedtime story, that was his own fault, rules or not. 

Shutting the door, you padded down the hallway to the guest room, trying to shake the apprehension that had wound your stomach into knots. Practically throwing open the door to the room, you immediately headed towards the bathroom, flipping on the hot water in the shower. Leaving the bathroom, you rummaged through the wooden drawers before grabbing some pajamas to change into.

Tucking them under your arm, your feet absentmindedly searched for your slippers before heading back into the bathroom. Steam began to coat the mirror, the air heavy with moisture, and you took a sigh of relief at the sensation. Setting your pajamas on the countertop, you quickly discarded your clothing, kicking off your slippers before stepping in the shower. 

The near-scalding water cascaded down your skin, and you relished in the feeling of the water washing away the stressors of the Heelshire mansion. Squeezing your eyes shut, you rested your forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, feeling peace for the first time in the day. It felt so good, not having to walk on eggshells in the confines of the shower.

You almost felt protected by the hazy steam that clouded your vision and billowed towards the ceiling. The comforting warmth allowed you to pretend that you were safe, not in an abandoned manor with a doll that acted very much alive. Quietly, you scrubbed the grime of the day away, skin red from the heat of the water and the rough scraping, but the warmth felt too good not to indulge in. 

Rinsing the suds from your body, you reluctantly turned off the water, almost groaning as the water sputtered to a halt. Reaching around the shower curtain, you blindly searched for a towel, clawing at the air. Fingers brushing against the soft fabric, you pulled the towel into the shower, wrapping the fabric tightly around your body before pushing the shower curtain aside,  metallic creaking filling the air.

Stepping onto the tiled floor, goosebumps prickled your skin as the heat of the shower faded, your bare feet leaving damp prints on the floor. The hairs on the back of your neck stood suddenly, and your spine straightened. Turning slightly, something caught your eye as you approached the mirror to grab your pajamas. 

Steam continued to coat the surface of the mirror, the glass fogged up everywhere but the middle, where it was perfectly clear, your shocked expression staring back at you– as if someone, something wiped away the condensation. Your heart dropped in your chest as the steam began to clear, revealing faint but telltale words on the mirror’s surface, water dripping around the letters.

 BREAK A RULE, PAY THE PRICE. 

Your blood turned to ice, fingers trembling as they clutched the towel around your shivering form. Your mouth gaped, a scream clawing out of your throat as you stumbled backwards, eyes trained on the words. The letters dripped as the steam evaporated, the message seemingly etched into place.

This couldn’t be real. This was just a horrible nightmare. 

Fear stabbed into your heart, and you whirled around the small bathroom, looking for any possible explanation. Your gaze jolted to the door, lock still intact and door secure. You were the only one who had been in the bathroom, yet the words on the mirror were all too real to ignore. Break a rule… you squeezed your eyes shut, a sob wracking your chest.

The bedtime story and the thump on the wall. The flickering lights, the tapping on the floorboards, it was all part of the fucked up game that Brahms was playing, and you were losing. “I… I’m sorry.” Your lip quivered as you apologized, voice barely above a whisper as you stared at the drying mirror, the disappearing words demanding your submission. 

The sink pipes groaned suddenly, pulling you from your trance. The wall shuddered, pipes screeching under an unknown pressure and causing the mirror to rattle violently. Your eyes widened, and you scrambled backwards, tripping over the bathmat and crumbling onto the tiled floor. “I’m sorry! It… It won’t happen again, I promise.” You babbled, hiccuping as tears rolled down your cheeks in fat globs.

The rumbling stopped abruptly, your sniffles being the only noise in the bathroom. Lifting your head up, you shakily stood, knees weak and trembling. “...Hello?” You called out, voice strained and hoarse.

No answer. 

The silence was deafening, your breaths coming out in shallow huffs as the adrenaline died down. Gripping the sink, you hoisted yourself up the rest of the way, fingers digging into the bowl. Someone– something was in the house with you. Bile rose in your throat at the thought, and your fingers gripped the bathroom door handle, cautiously peeking the door open, heart in your throat.

Pitch black stared back at you, seeming to swallow you up. Blindly stepping forward, you clutched your towel with one hand, feeling around the room with the other. “...Hello?” You pressed again, straining your ears for any movement or sound. Nothing. 

Finding the door to your bedroom, you pushed it open, feet planted against the hardwood of the hallway. Tracing the wall with your hand, you braved onwards, every hair on your skin standing on edge. Your foot almost caught the runner carpet in the hallway, and you struggled to balance yourself.

The house was silent, seeming to hold its breath with you as you reached Brahms’ room, any creaks or groans absent. Practically bursting through the door, you flicked on the light, relieved to find Brahms still tucked into bed. Scooping Brahms into your arms, you quickly retreated back to your room, clutching the doll as if it were a lifeline. 

Slamming your door shut, you immediately locked it, silently letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. Throwing the covers open, you tucked Brahms into your bed, looking for any semblance of comfort as you turned back to the bathroom. Shedding your towel, you quickly hung it up before reaching for your pajamas, grabbing air.

You froze, glancing at the counter.

The black stack of clothes that was your pajamas was missing, nothing but countertop space staring back at you. You whipped around, quickly looking for anything else out of place as you darted towards your drawers, fingers fumbling to grab another set of pajamas. 

Quickly sliding the material onto your body, you pressed your palms into your temples, trying to slow your breathing. You didn’t feel safe. Not here. Not anywhere. Creeping back into the bathroom once more, your gaze met the mirror, begging for the words to be gone. When your wish wasn’t granted, you sighed in frustration, tears filling your vision. You turned to flick off the light when a smudge caught your attention. Squinting your eyes, you looked closer at the mirror.

There, pressed against the bottom right of the mirror’s surface, was a handprint. 

—

Sunlight peeked through the heavy curtains of the bedroom, casting a soft glow across the hardwood floor, illuminating specks of dust and grime. Forcing your bloodshot eyes open, you tried to blink the tiredness away. You hadn’t slept well, if you could even say you slept at all.

You were terrified, any semblance of a noise causing you to jolt awake with Brahms clutched like a vice in your grip. You had hoped that bringing the doll with you would have provided a form of comfort or safety, but his cold porcelain form dug into yours throughout the night and gave you nothing but a sore side.

Nevertheless, you watched the doll like a hawk, afraid to let him out of your sight and possibly break another rule. 

With a halfhearted sigh, you pulled yourself from the tangle of sheets on your bed, reaching to grab Brahms from his seated position on a pillow. In the dim sunlight, his painted eyes lifelessly stared forward, causing a shiver to waft down your spine. Shaking off the nerves, you picked the doll up before heading to his room to get him dressed for the day.

He’s just a doll, he’s just a doll, he’s just a doll. The mantra repeated in your head like a broken record, but there was no solace within the words. If Brahms was just a doll, there were much darker demons at play, and you prayed you wouldn’t insight their wrath. Either way, today was a new day, and the morning routine waited for no one.

The doll had needs, after all.

Trying to keep the normalcy of the daily routine, dressing Brahms was first and foremost. Setting the doll on his bed, you rummaged through his lengthy wardrobe in order to find a suitable outfit. Settling on a tweed jacket and slacks, you quickly dressed Brahms, fastening brown loafers onto his glass feet before carrying him into your room and dressing yourself.

Slipping on a pair of jeans and cable knit sweater, you moved Brahms and his “dirty” clothes downstairs to the kitchen. Throwing the clothes in the hamper, you sat Brahms at his miniature chair next to the marble island, throwing your hair up in a ponytail. Grabbing a kettle, the pipes groaned as you filled the pot with water, the sound causing you to grimace at the memory of last night. 

Putting the kettle on the stove for tea, you continued to move around the kitchen, wiping counters as the tea boiled. The rules– although simple, were very clear, everything in the manor needed to be kept tidy and organized. You had learned the importance of cleanliness the hard way through the first week of your stay, and avoiding consequences was at the top of your to-do list these days. Wiping at the counters, you found your mind wandering to the handprint on the mirror.

The sight alone had left your stomach tied in knots for hours, yet something about it seemed… off.

It had to have been yours, right? Maybe you were leaning against the shower earlier in the day when doing your skincare, or bumped into it on your way into the shower. That made logical sense, didn’t it? No matter how many times you ran through scenarios, the unease lingered, tightening around your throat like a vice. 

The screeching of the tea kettle pulled you from your thoughts, and you quickly rushed to turn off the stove. Pouring yourself a cup of tea, you leaned against the island, staring warily at the doll, whose gaze never left your own. Drumming your fingers on the teacup, you sipped at the bitter liquid eagerly, trying to unwind the bundle of nerves in your stomach.

After a full cup of tea with no relief, you decided it was a lost cause, preferring to take your chances cleaning the manor instead. Hefting the doll out of the chair and into your arms, you padded over to the study, the unorganized clutter immediately reaching your gaze. Setting Brahms back in his study chair, you went to work, dusting shelves, reorganizing bookcases, wiping down the fireplace, cleaning the windows, and then some. 

As you worked, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, consistently looking over your shoulder to stare at the unmoving doll in anticipation that something, anything would happen. Yet, nothing. Wiping your hands clean, you glanced around the study once more, the space much more tidy compared to last night.

Nodding triumphantly, you moved around the first floor, dragging Brahms as you went to clean anything that was deemed out of place or unnecessary clutter. Once everything was in working order, you began the trek up the all too familiar flight of stairs in the foyer, taking a quick moment to polish the nameplate of the painting as you went. 

Stepping into your room, you swept the floor, picking up dust and grime as Brahms watched you from your bed, silent as ever. After a quick dusting and window cleaning, your room practically gleamed in the sunlight. Next, the bathroom. You turned towards the room, dread creeping up your throat again.

You had refused to go into the bathroom since discovering the cryptic message and handprint, too terrified to confront any more ghosts or experience any more hauntings. Now that morning had come, a sense of bravery had fallen upon you, the daylight bringing a sense of security with it.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and pushed into the room. 

The damp smell of soap immediately hit your nostrils, the air hanging heavy with moisture from the night before. The mirror was still foggy, condensation dripping from the reflective surface, the words barely legible in the dim light.

Your brows furrowed, confusion wracking your form– it shouldn’t be this humid in here. The bathroom had time to air out all night.

Grabbing a microfiber cloth and Windex, you pushed up on your tiptoes, leaning over the sink to wipe away at the mirror. As you wiped away the mist, something caught your eye. A streak of grime– or dirt?– was stuck to the mirror.

Wiping harder, the mark appeared unfazed– as if the streak was inside the mirror. 

Trepidation churned in your gut, and you forced yourself to continue wiping the surface. Maybe the mirror was damaged in a way that you hadn’t noticed before, or it was poorly made. Yet, your stomach twisted every time you ran the cloth over the streak. Huffing in frustration, you threw the cloth into the sink, elbow accidentally slamming against the mirror.

Upon the harsher contact, the mirror vibrated, a hollow rumble escaping the surface– just like last night. Rubbing your slightly injured funny-bone, you traced the surface of the mirror again, fingers dusting over the mysterious streak once more. Pushing against the material again, the mirror shifted, not much, but slightly giving in against the tiled wall as if it wasn’t hung properly. 

Worried you broke the mirror, your fingers pressed against the edge of the surface, causing the whole thing to wobble slightly under your touch. Your breath hitched, curiosity racking your brain as you ran your fingers along the edge of the mirror, feeling for any gaps between the wall and the mirror that was causing the noise.

Tracing the bottom right corner, thumb touching the smudged handprint, your nail snagged something. Feeling blindly for the snag, it dawned on you that there was something– a latch hidden between the mirror and the wall. Without thinking, you pressed down on the latch, heart pounding in your ears. 

Immediately, a faint click sounded out against the bathroom, the mirror sliding towards you slightly, revealing a slight crack of darkness behind it. Swallowing thickly, you pulled at the mirror, the hinged surface swinging towards you and revealing a perfectly cut rectangle where the mirror sat at the wall. A damp smell invaded your nostrils, any leftover moisture from your late-night shower pouring into your bathroom, causing you to gag at the smell.

Gripping the mirror, you looked at the inside of the mirror, finding the smudge of dirt glaring back at you. Horror gripped your chest. It wasn’t just a mirror, it was a one-way mirror. Gazing through the inside, you could clearly make out the tiled wall of the bathroom, clear as day. As you swung the mirror from hand to hand, the traces of lettering caught your attention. 

Written on the inside of the mirror was your cryptic message, and before you knew it you dipped your finger in the letter “B”, a wet material coating your index finger. Bringing your finger to your nose, you could faintly smell oil. Your brain seemed to short circuit at the realization.

There wasn’t a ghost boy haunting you, there was a very terrifying, very real person writing you messages in the mirror, knowing that the condensation on your side would reveal their haunting warning. Your lip quivered at the thought. You were staring at a door, a door leading to something. 

Despite any semblance of your conscious screaming at you to stop, you pulled the mirror fully open, the glass tapping the wall to your left. The gaping hole in the wall was filled with dust, and the stale air immediately invaded your senses, feeling heavy and suffocating. The space behind the mirror was small and narrow, but was just wide enough for a person to squeeze through.

Through the lighting of the bathroom, you could barely make out the faint outline of a passageway, the wooden beams acting as the support structure of the house fading into pitch black. Your chin trembled, fingers fumbling as you dug your phone from your back pocket, turning on the flashlight.

A thin stream of light illuminated the cavern, the passageway going straight then sharply turning left. You swallowed thickly, biting your cheek as you turned towards your room. Hurriedly putting on a pair of boots from the closet, you apprehensively approached the gaping hole in the wall.

Shutting the toilet seat, you stood on top of the toilet, turning your body over the sink as you reached into the passageway. Gripping onto a wooden support beam, you pulled yourself forward, inching over the sink and plunging further into darkness. Crawling into the small space, you glanced backwards, your feet dangling from the opening into the sink. 

Tucking your arms into your body, you let the phone’s flashlight guide the way, army crawling through the dirt until the cavern opened up, the walls thinning and ceiling expanding upwards. Immediately, you shifted uncomfortably until you were standing, crouching slightly. Looking back on the way you came, you noticed a wrapper on the dirt floor, the plastic pushed haphazardly to the side by your clumsy crawling.

Someone had been here– recently.

You inhaled sharply at the thought, heart twisting in your chest, but you pushed onwards, determined to solve the mystery that plagued you for weeks. As you turned, everything seemed to click into place.

Someone had been watching you. Someone in the walls.

A click made you jolt, and you realized the mirror had shut again, leaving you in unfamiliar territory. You stood, rooted in place, phone shaking in your hand as you tried to slow your breathing. Realizing there was no way to go but forward, you trembled slightly, bile threatening to rise in your throat.

The handprint. The rules. The noises. The lights. Everything– it all clicked into place with a terrifying realization. You weren’t alone. Ever since you stepped foot in the manor, you had never been alone.

“Just a quick look…” You reasoned with yourself, pushing forward. 

The passageway seemed never-ending, twisting and turning around the countless rooms in the manor. The wooden beams surrounding you were almost impossible to maneuver around, causing you to walk hunched over to avoid banging your head against the low ceilings.

The wooden planks creaked beneath your feet, and you cringed at any sudden movement you made. Within the tight confines of the passageway, every sound felt amplified– your breath, the rustle of your clothes, your steps. The twists and turns of the passageway left you at many forks, leaving you to blindly choose a direction with nothing but instinct to guide you. 

The deeper you went into the passageway, the more unnerved you became. It felt as if you were crawling into the belly of the beast, and a part of you was terrified with what you would find. You passed an immeasurable amount of peepholes drilled into the wall, each hole giving a clear view of the room attached to it.

Your bedroom. The study. The kitchen.

A chill creeped up your spine as you realized how every single moment you experienced in the manor had been on display, every movement watched by another. You swallowed thickly at the thought. Braving onwards, it felt like a lifetime had passed within the passageways, with you maneuvering against the nooks and crannies of the house.

Suddenly, the passageway opened up, housing an actual room in a space you could only imagine was the attic. An old bed frame was pushed to the far side of the wall, adorned with a ragged mattress and mismatched blankets. Food containers, papers, books, and other odds and ends covered almost every surface of the room.

A singular light bulb hung from the ceiling, the bulb swaying slightly in the drafty air. Papers were plastered to the wall, covered in sketches and pictures. You had stumbled upon your stalker’s hiding place. Lip quivering, you approached the wall, looking at the pictures under the light of your phone. 

They were sketches of you.

Drawings in various stages of completion of you doing random tasks, some with the doll, some alone. Your nostrils flared at a sketch of you in the shower, suds caressing your skin under a stream of water. Another showed you sleeping, the viewpoint being so close you were sure they were in your bedroom with you to sketch it. Your chest tightened at the sheer amount of sketches, and you backed away subconsciously.

Your knee hit the edge of the metallic bed frame, causing your attention to divert to the unmade bed in the corner of the room. Your eyes snaked across the multitude of blankets before reaching the crevice of the bed that met the wall. Two pillows were stacked on top of each other, your stolen pajamas from the night before pulled over them as a crude form of you. Crumpled up tissues dotted the edge of the bed and the floor, stomach churning violently as the reality of the situation set in. 

Your breathing hitched, and for a moment, you were sure you were going to faint.

Your stalker wasn’t just watching you. He was controlling the house– controlling you, by making you believe that the doll was real. The rules you were so keen on following weren’t about the doll at all. They were about you. The realization left you gasping for air, the atmosphere of the room becoming much too cramped for your liking.

Your breath came out in strangled huffs, and every part of you screamed to run, but you felt bolted in place. Your legs felt like jelly, and you struggled to tear your gaze away from those godforsaken pajamas and go back the way you came. 

Finally ripping yourself away from your trance, you turned towards the opening, flashlight trembling as you stopped dead in your tracks. Standing no more than a few feet in front of you was a man, his imposing form towering over you as he slouched against the walls. Silently watching you, his head cocked to the side, catching the light of your phone.

Your heart nearly stopped as the light illuminated a porcelain mask, all too familiar to the very doll you were employed to take care of. Your world came crashing down, each brutal piece falling into place to show you the true, horrifying reality. He was here; the whole time, terrorizing the manor and making your life a living hell.

Brahms Heelshire. 

You felt as if you were punched in the face, mouth parted in shock as you simply gaped at the man before you. Clearly not expecting you, Brahms stood with a tupperware in his hands, half eaten leftovers you made clearly forgotten. For a moment, neither of you moved. The atmosphere was impossibly heavy with tension, weighing down on you so strongly you could cut the air with a knife.

Your chin trembled, voice catching in your throat as you gaped like a deer caught in headlights. “(Y/n)?” A childlike voice escaped the hulking male in front of you, and a wave of nausea washed over you. The figure in front of you was nothing like the childish doll hidden away inside the manor, he was a man– a towering, cardinal force of nature that made your blood run cold. 

Brahms took a step forward, snapping you out of your shock induced state. Through the holes in the mask, you caught his eyes– brown so dark it looked black stared back at you, a curious but predatory look in them. You swallowed thickly, nodding quickly to acknowledge the man.

He hummed in approval, the noise much deeper than the voice let on, sending a shiver down your spine at the almost primal sound. You shuffled backwards, boots dragging across the floorboards, a creak splitting through the silence. Brahms froze, eyes narrowing, hands too large for comfort tightening into fists. You could hear a pin drop in the silence, the weight of his gaze alone making your head swim. 

“You… you broke the rules…” The voice chided you, cracking down at least an octave at the statement, the childlike pretense twisting into something much colder, sharper. He cocked his head again, eyeing you darkly. “-Now, you pay the price.” A shudder tore through you, his words echoing the haunting message on the mirror the night before.

The mantra pounded in your skull, gaze flying to the wall of sketches before landing on the rustled pajamas. Break a rule, pay the price.

The realization slammed into you just as your body reacted, a burst of movement tearing through you. Heels skittering across the floor from the force, you turned, the noise echoing through the room like a gunshot. You jolted, legs pumping as you sprinted to an opening in the wall. 

Brahms, startled by your sudden attempt at escape, took a step forward, hand clawing at your hair as you whipped past him. “Get back here!” He bellowed, the childish facade shattering as his rough, deep voice rattled your bones.

Ducking into the passageway, you narrowly missed crashing into the ceiling, phone slipping from your hand in the chaos. The space was suffocating, illuminated only by the slivers of light pouring through the peepholes in the wall.  The passageway rattled behind you, a furious Brahms expertly navigating the tunnels, too close for comfort.

You were in his territory now, and he was never going to let you escape. 

A sob clawed its way through your throat as you sharply turned right, trying to increase the distance between you and your attacker. Fumbling down another miniature flight of stairs, your sweater caught momentarily on a nail, causing you to lose precious seconds tearing yourself free. You could practically feel Brahms behind you, hot on your heels and closing in for the kill.

Adrenaline pushed you forward, and a fork in the road quickly met your gaze. Which way? Not missing a beat, you turned left, almost tripping down the passageway’s sharp decline. The stale air seemed cooler as you pushed onwards, and you prayed that the tunnel was leading towards the basement. If you could reach the basement, you would be able to slip through one of the windows or hide among the debris until you could formulate a better plan. 

What you weren’t expecting, however, was the collapsed wall you almost ran into full force.

Over the years, the beams had rotted away, folding in on itself and leaving small gaps in between the rubble. Panic seized you like a vice, heart beating so loudly that you were certain Brahms could hear it. Digging your nails into the wall, you threw yourself against the deteriorating beams, trying to open up a gap large enough for you to crawl through.

A rustle of clothing sounded behind you, a spike of terror seizing your chest. Brahms was close– too close, as if he was about to reach out and grab you.

Throwing your full weight against the beams, a sob tore through your throat and despair settling in the pit of your stomach. With a crack, one of the beams shifted, revealing a thin gap just wide enough for you to squeeze through. An unearthly growl sounded out behind you, practically right at your heels, and before you knew it, you surged forward through the gap, bracing for the impact against the cold floor. 

The impact never came.

Instead, pain exploded throughout your midriff as the beam fell, caving in on its own weight and crushing you in place. The air was knocked from your lungs, and you sputtered for air, trying to weasel your way through the gap, expletives flying from your mouth. You were pinned in place, the beams above collapsing in at a bruising force, and your lower ribs burned as if you were stabbed.

Breaths coming out in shallow, pained huffs, you quickly realized your situation. You were injured, trapped, and exposed. Stomach crushed painfully in between the beams, your hips knocked against the beam stubbornly, too large to un-wedge yourself from your position, no matter how hard you barred down and pushed.

A breathless chuckle escaped from somewhere behind the wall– chillingly amused. 

Your sight was useless against him, vision blocked by the very beams pinning you in place. Craning your neck, your hearing sharpened as blood roared in your ears. You could hear him– feet shuffling against the dirt floor as he approached you slowly, predatory and deadly. Squeezing your eyes shut, you stiffened, back scraping painfully against the wood, splinters biting into your skin.

Icy fingers brushed against your back, and you physically jolted at the sensation. You cursed your sweater, its betrayal evident as it bunched around your shoulders from the chaos.  A deep hum sounded out behind you, the graze of his fingers much more deliberate as they curled along your lower spine, seemingly savoring your warmth. 

“Caught you…” Brahms whispered, eerily calm in a way that made your head spin.

The passageway was catastrophic, walls closing in as your senses heightened, hyper-aware of the precarious situation. Jagged edges dug into your ribs, each breath you took causing a white-hot pain to shoot to your sides. Brahms’ blunt nails scraped against your back, more persistent, hungry.

Blind panic seized you, feet kicking blindly as you fought against the beams, praying for something to give way. A hand roughly grabbed an ankle, squeezing so tightly you were certain he would leave bruises. You froze, and the hostile grip eased slightly. “Fight all you want…” He growled lowly, voice dropping. “–you aren’t going anywhere.”

Tears fell at that, and you smacked a hand over your mouth to silence your sobs, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Brahms… I-... I’m sorry.” You sputtered out, voice shaking as you begged for mercy. The rules were supposed to be your saving grace, and now that they had been broken, nothing would be able to rescue you now.

Dropping your leg, Brahms clicked his tongue, weighing your apology while shuffling forward. He was so close, you could practically feel his breath on your back as he triumphantly stood over you. His icy touch returned, fingers tracing the vertebrae of your spine exploringly. You inhaled sharply, stomach clenching as he caressed the sensitive skin in an almost endearing manner.

His fingers faltered slightly, palm spread over the bottom of your back, pushing you down. 

Immediately, you arched, the pressure sending ripples of pain in your ribs that you struggled to alleviate. A heavy sigh rang in your ears, and realization stabbed into you like a knife. He was experimenting; a man hidden away from society and living in complete isolation for decades and never experiencing human touch, human connection.

But he was still a man, a man with wants… with needs.

Your heart caught in your throat as his palm retreated suddenly, opting to trace the curve of your waist almost shyly, curiosity evident in the slow, inexperienced touches. Calloused fingers wavered over the hem of your jeans, feeling your softness. The sensation sent you into a squirming mess, trying to push away from the ticklish movements. 

Brahms pushed onwards, fingers shaking from what you could only imagine was excitement as he dipped below your jeans, tapping your hip bones.  Large hands stuffed beneath the denim, he gripped your hips sharply, a startled yelp escaping your lips.

He shuffled even closer, hips draped over your clothed ass, almost leaning into the wall, hungry for the warmth radiating from your skin. You squirmed immediately, the weight of his eyes scalding as his touches became more frantic. A hand surged around your front, toying with the button on your jeans, and you inhaled sharply.

Break a rule, pay the price. 

The button popped beneath his fingers, zipper straining as it was practically yanked downwards. “Brahms-” you pleaded, boots scraping against the dirt as you braced yourself against the wall. Brahms huffed, seeming to enjoy the way you called his name, any warning or emotion attached to it forgotten.

Your jeans were unceremoniously pulled downwards, bunching around your knees, excited hands drawn to the exposed skin like a moth to a flame. Brahms’ patience quickly faded as he pressed forwards, poking and prodding your thighs with his fingers.

“So… soft.” a broken murmur came from behind the wall, Brahms enchanted by the way your skin felt beneath his fingers, better than any silk or velvet in the manor. 

You shuddered at his words, the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sending a stroke of fire to your stomach. Gone were the gentle, exploring brushes, replaced with something much rougher. Brahms mapped your legs with his hands, yanking your boots from your feet and leaving your lower half bare, spare your cotton panties.

Any exposed surface was immediately touched, hands encircling your much smaller ankles, scraping along your calves, or gripping your hips. A sharp smack to your ass left your head spinning, a startled gasp escaping you. Brahms was falling fast, resolve shattered at the promise of the new, shiny toy sprawled in front of him, hands kneading your ass while his hips absentmindedly ground against you. 

You jolted sharply as the outline of Brahm’s cock pressed into your upper thigh, the excited nature of the male behind you only amplifying once he discovered how good it felt brushing against your rear. An animalistic growl cut through the air, hips snapping against yours momentarily before your panties were grabbed tightly, the fabric straining against your skin before being torn to shreds, skin raw from the force.

“Brahms!” You tried to chide, knowing it was futile. It was almost laughable trying to control the doll version of Brahms, so the very primal, very real Brahms was out of the question. 

At first, there was nothing.

You could faintly make out his heavy breathing, and you cowered under the apparent gaze that was fixated on your newly exposed skin. If this had been any other situation, you would have been flustered, embarrassment coating your skin at the rough nature of your partner, but now you only felt terrified anticipation.

A lone finger drifted from your hip bone to your front, the touch surprisingly soft as it trailed down your skin, causing your thighs to clench at the feeling. Scraping down your pubic bone, the finger brushed against your pussy, dipping within your folds. Shame burst through you as he pulled your folds apart, swiping at slick collecting between your thighs.

You were aroused, your body betraying you from his soft touches as his finger experimented against your skin.

Brahms grunted, seemingly pleased, instinct pushing him onwards, another finger joining his endeavor, spreading you apart. The cool air hit your core at that, and you tensed, completely exposed and at his mercy. Almost lazily, his finger trailed along your slit, coated in your juices, mapping your folds to memory as you squirmed against his touch. A knuckle brushed your clit, and your heart almost stopped, stomach clenching at the sudden touch.

A whimper escaped you, and Brahms paused at the noise, curious. His fingers withdrew from your core, shuffling ensuing as you strained to hear something, anything. A droplet of something wet hit your rear, and you jolted. He was drooling, mask abandoned as he stared down at you, the heat of his gaze sending sparks down your spine. 

Abruptly, a finger wedged between your thighs, pushing inside of you. You cried out, the sudden intrusion causing you to clench around his digit, hands clawing at the dirt beneath you. Sinking inwards, he twirled his finger, flesh scraping against your gummy walls, much larger than your own fingers. The finger stilled, another quickly pushing in to relish in your warmth, the stretch uncomfortably addicting as he rocked his fingers within you.

You pressed your forehead against the dirt, heavy pants escaping you as he fucked you with his fingers, chasing the feeling of you clenching around him. The air felt heavy, tension crackling between you and your captor as you fell apart on his fingers, shame fading away as something much more primal began to take root. 

Brahms, addicted with the feeling of your soft walls, picked up pace, and you whimpered at the force. A shuddered sigh escaped the male behind you, getting lost in the image of his fingers sinking within you, a lewd squelch filling the air as his fingers retreated from your core. His hips ground against your upper thigh, and your lip quivered at the feeling of his clothed cock rutting against your skin.

His fingers scissored within you, and a broken moan tore within you. This was so wrong, so perverted, but you couldn’t help but get lost in the feeling, a wave of warmth tearing through you. Sweat beaded your hairline, and you clamped your jaw shut to try and silence the noises threatening to spill from your lips. 

Brahms however, always observant, noticed the slip immediately, no amount of stifling able to keep your sounds away from him.

Although quiet, the moan rattled throughout the passageway, shattering any sense of resolve or patience that was left. You wanted it, you liked what he was doing to you, and that was all the reinforcement he needed, whether you knew it or not. Your skin felt as if you were on fire, the pain in your ribs mixing with the pleasure in a dangerous concoction that left you reeling.

Your nails dug into the dirt, coating your fingertips as tears streamed down your cheeks, any coherent thought melting away as you felt your orgasm building within you, muscles tightening. The hand not driving into you traced along your lower back once more, the soft touches contrasting the rough thrusts of his fingers so sinfully your eyes rolled. 

You were so close, body quickly submitting to the pleasure that rocked your body, head spinning as he brushed your clit once more. Your hips rolled slightly, eager to match the pace, oblivious to the devious grin sported on the other side of the wall. Brows furrowed, your mind short circuited, chasing the feeling as you silently begged, praying to get your release.

Brahms’s fingers tore from you so quickly it hurt, orgasm halted right before you hit the precipice. Your jaw clamped down, biting into your cheek so roughly you drew blood, frustration wracking your body. Your legs shook, emptiness consuming you as you squirmed against the wall, desperately trying to reach your high. 

So caught up in your denial, you barely registered the shuffling of clothes, ears ringing as your heartbeat pounded in your head. A hand gripped your hip suddenly, nails digging into your skin as Brahms' hips met your ass. Your eyes widened, the feeling of his bare skin against yours sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could even think, Brahms nestled in between your legs, clumsily aligning to your core and entering you in one, quick thrust. A scream tore from your throat at the intrusion, and you steeled yourself against the wall, trying to catch your breath as Brahms’ cock delved into you without any chance of stopping. 

Aching, you faltered, clenching blindly around Brahms as he quickly bottomed out, scraping against your walls in ways that made his fingers seem like child’s play. He was so big, filling you so full you could feel him in your stomach, his bruising force shoving you further into the wall, your ribs screaming in pain.

Bracing yourself against the dirt, you helplessly met his ruthless thrusts, choked moans spewing from your throat. It hurt so good, the uncomfortable stretch melting away with every thrust, the only thing grounding you in place being his hands digging into your flesh. He fucked into you, chasing the sensation of your snug walls, heavy groans and pants echoing around the passageway. 

You were falling fast, lost in the feeling of his cock pushing into you so forcefully you felt as if he were rearranging your insides, so consumed with nothing else but him. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe, pleasure racking through you so violently your toes curled into the dirt. Your whole body tensed, clenching down on Brahms so hard you were sure you were squeezing him to death.

Static heat prickled against your skin, electricity flowing through your limbs as you felt like you were going to burst. You babbled nonsense, chanting into the stale air as you felt your orgasm approaching, mind moving a million miles a minute and ready to crash down at a bruising force. Brahms continued his onslaught, refusing to let up as he delved into you, chasing the sensation of you wrapped sinfully around his cock. Your back scraped against the wood as he thrusted into you, head bobbing against the dirt as you took him with everything you had, drool dripping down your chin. 

It was too much, everything was too hot, too fast.

The grip on your hips never relented, pulling you towards him as if you were a fuck-toy, and you weakly met his thrusts. Arching your back, you ignored the burning sensation in your ribs, caught up in the addictive nature of Brahms’ cock drilling into you, ruining you for all others.

His cockhead snapped against your cervix, pain blossoming within you, and you sucked on your lips for comfort. Brahms was like an animal, so caught up in the way you sucked him in that nothing else could ever compare to. Your eyes rolled as he angled his hips upward, cock hammering into your spongy walls, the new position making your stomach roll. 

Your fingers dug into the dirt so hard a nail snapped from the pleasure, and you came.

Your orgasm crashed into you, body spasming as you screamed, clinging to the dirt like a lifeline. Brahms faltered at your visceral reaction, hips rutting against yours as you finished, fucking you through your brutal orgasm. The world tilted, vision dotted with black as you struggled to breathe, consumed with the release of pressure within you.

Brahms growled, pulling your hips flush against his, pace wavering as you clenched down on him like a lifeline. The sound of his cock leaving you in a squelching, moaning mess bounced lewdly along the walls, but you found yourself too exhausted to care. Stamina evaporating, Brahms collapsed on top of you, head pressed against the wood as he pushed himself so deep you were sure you were suffocating.

Thick ropes of cum coated your insides, filling you to the brim as you weakly took his final thrusts, Brahms heaving as he stilled within you. 

The air was heavy, the smell of sex coating your sweaty body as you laid limply in the dirt, cable knit sweater scraping against your raw skin. Brahms retreated from you slowly, a hiss of pain escaping you as emptiness consumed you. Your legs spasmed, twitching from the force of his thrusts as you tried to catch your breath.

Your ribs throbbed, the ache making it hard to breathe– limbs weak and heavy, adrenaline leaving your body as you trembled from the aftermath of your climax. Somewhere behind you, Brahms shifted, feet scraping against the dirt, a new wave of anxiety coursing through you.

The scratchy fabric of your jeans dragged against your legs as he tugged them back into place, movements rough and quick. You winced, powerless to stop his antics, but relieved to be clothed once more. With a sudden grunt of effort, the crushing weight on your ribs eased.

You blinked, confused as the beam pining you in place was hoisted into the air. The opening was wide enough for you to crawl through, and hope surged through your limbs. You wriggled forward, using the little strength you could muster to drag through the rubble.

Before you could crawl more than an inch, however, a strong hand gripped your sweater, yanking you backwards with a brutal force. 

You hit the ground, pain shooting through you as you landed in a crumpled heap onto the dirt floor. The beams came crashing down, a cloud of dust enveloping you, sealing the passageway you had fought so desperately hard to escape through. You stared at the crude wall of wood and stone– your escape route, gone.

Brahms stood a few feet in front of you, shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breaths. You swallowed thickly, the taste of dust and dirt coating your tongue as you gaped at your captor, mask tightly bound against his face once more. Dazed, you fumbled with your boots, slipping on the uneven ground as a defeated, tired sigh escaped your lips. 

Your gaze shifted to Brahms, who tilted his head, catching you in his line of sight. His eyes bore into you, making your stomach churn, your skin flushing at the memory of his hands on you just moments before. Wordlessly, Brahms stalked over to your form, towering over you as you pressed further against the floor.

Before you could react, a rough hand grabbed at your arm, pulling you up with unnerving ease. You stumbled, knees weak and body sore, a low chuckle escaping his lips, muffled by the mask.  A hand roughly gripped your jaw, forcing your face upwards to meet his eyes. Your breathing hitched at the proximity, his strength evident in the bruising grip.

The cool porcelain of his mask brushed against your damp forehead as he leaned closer, causing you to shiver. “New rule…” He rumbled, voice low with a newfound sense of authority. His grip tightened, your teeth knocking together painfully as you gaped into the void of his eyes.

“– I kiss goodnight.”

[part 2]

—

A/N: This definitely took longer than expected... I will try to post more consistently now that my schedule is more consistent! If you have any requests or suggestions please message me! Enjoy ;)

[hyuniemyunie]

Sleeping Together

slashers x gn!reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): established relationship, cuddling, sleeping next to them.

I LOOOOOOVE BRAHMS. BUT I ALSO LOOOOOVE BUBBA. BUT I ALSO LOOOOOOVE STU. should i do aftercare scenarios?🤔 but after they got fucked/pegged😞🙏 so dom/top reader scenario😞😞 nvm im gonna do it

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

ᯓ★ Brahms cannot sleep unless you’re touching him in some way. He’s like an overgrown child in that sense—if you try to roll away, he’ll grab onto you immediately, pulling you back with surprising strength.

ᯓ★ Sometimes he keeps his mask on, sometimes he takes it off in the dark when he knows you won’t see. If you try to touch his face, he’ll freeze up for a moment before leaning into your touch.

ᯓ★ He mumbles in his sleep sometimes, little, breathy "stay with me"s or "don’t leave." If you answer back, even just a quiet "I’m here," he’ll calm down instantly.

ᯓ★ Sometimes, he’ll pretend to be asleep just to see if you try to sneak away. If you do? He’ll wake up immediately, whining. "Bad. You’re being bad.."

ᯓ★ He doesn’t sleep much, so you might wake up to find him just watching you. No noise, no movement—just staring. He thinks it’s comforting. (It’s not.)

Brahms is not a quiet sleeper. He breathes heavily, even behind his mask. You learned this on the first night you stayed in the mansion. He watches. Always. Even in the dead of night, even when his arms are wrapped around you, he does not sleep easily.

Tonight is no different.

You stir in bed, feeling the weight of his body pressed up against yours. Brahms clings to you, desperate for comfort, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. His breath, warm and slow, fans against your neck. It should be unsettling—should send shivers down your spine—but it doesn’t.

Instead, you find yourself relaxing into his embrace, despite the feeling of his masked face resting against your shoulder. He lets out a low hum, a noise of contentment, and his grip tightens ever so slightly.

"Don’t move." His voice is thick with drowsiness, but there’s a quiet possessiveness to it.

"I wasn’t planning to," you murmur, shifting just enough to get comfortable.

Brahms lets out a sigh, nuzzling into you like a cat seeking warmth. You wonder if he’s actually asleep or simply pretending, waiting for the moment you slip away. He does that sometimes—tests you.

The old pipes in the house creak, and you feel him tense. His fingers twitch against your side. "Stay," he whispers again, softer this time, like a plea rather than a command.

You reach up, brushing your fingers over his arm. "I’m here," you reassure him.

And with that, Brahms finally drifts off, chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours, his paranoia momentarily eased by your presence.

ᯓ★ Bubba runs hot. Laying next to him is like sleeping beside a furnace, and if it’s summer? You’re gonna suffer. But in the winter? Absolute heaven.

ᯓ★ Once Bubba’s out, he’s out. Thunderstorms, screaming victims, even Drayton yelling? Nothing wakes him up unless you shake him really hard.

ᯓ★ He has nightmares a lot. Some nights, you’ll hear him whimpering, and if you rub his back or whisper his name, he’ll calm down instantly, snuggling closer.

ᯓ★ He doesn’t mean to, but in his sleep, he’ll just… roll on top of you. And given that he’s built like a truck? Yeah. RIP you.

ᯓ★ Bubba holds onto you with pure affection. He’s like a giant, overly attached teddy bear.

Bubba sleeps like a rock. A very warm, very heavy rock.

The moment you settle into bed with him, it’s like being trapped under a weighted blanket made entirely of muscle. Bubba curls himself around you, practically cocooning you with his sheer size. His body radiates warmth like a furnace, and while it’s comforting, it also means you’re at risk of overheating within minutes. ESPECIALLY in a place like texas.

His head rests against your shoulder, the sound of his soft, occasional pig-like snorts filling the room. Every so often, he lets out a little grunt in his sleep, twitching as if chasing something in a dream.

You shift slightly, trying to peel yourself away just a little so you don’t combust. But the moment you move, Bubba lets out a distressed whimper, his thick arms pulling you back in an instant.

"No, no, I’m not leaving," you whisper, gently patting his arm. "Just getting comfy, big guy."

Bubba responds with a content sigh, nuzzling into your hair. His fingers twitch against your side, gripping onto the fabric of your shirt as if afraid you’ll disappear in the night.

And so, you let him hold you, even if it means waking up drenched in sweat.

ᯓ★ Unlike Brahms’ creepy staring or Bubba’s snorting, Thomas is eerily silent when he sleeps. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, you’d think he wasn’t breathing.

ᯓ★ The slightest noise will wake him up. He’s used to being on high alert, and if you move too much, he’ll stir immediately.

ᯓ★ He’s not naturally affectionate in his sleep, but if you lean into him? His arm will instinctively come around you, pulling you close.

ᯓ★ Even while unconscious, his body is positioned between you and the door, keeping you safe.

ᯓ★ He may be a massive, intimidating man, but when he’s resting? His grip is surprisingly gentle. His hand will rest on your side or your back, just to make sure you’re there.

Thomas is the definition of a silent sleeper. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, you’d worry he wasn’t breathing at all.

Thomas is more… reserved. He doesn’t wrap himself around you completely, but his presence is felt—a heavy, solid weight beside you, protective even in rest.

You shift slightly, rolling onto your side to face him. Even in the darkness, you can see the faint outline of his face—his strong jaw, the scarred skin, the way his lips are slightly parted as he breathes in deep, steady intervals.

Carefully, you reach up, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand.

His reaction is almost immediate. His grip tightens ever so slightly. You whisper his name, just to see if he’s awake. He doesn’t respond, but the faintest twitch of his fingers against your side tells you that he hears you.

And with that thought, you close your eyes, resting against him, knowing that no harm will come to you so long as he is by your side.

ᯓ★ His breathing is deep and slow, a steady, soothing rhythm that lulls you to sleep. Sometimes, if you listen closely, you’ll hear him let out soft, almost content sighs.

ᯓ★ Jason doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, it’s light. The smallest noise will have him waking up, ready to defend you from whatever danger he thinks is lurking.

ᯓ★ He sleeps with an arm around you, keeping you close. If you try to move away, even in sleep, his grip will tighten automatically. If you somehow manage to roll out of bed, he will gently pick you up and place you back like it’s nothing.

ᯓ★ If he ever catches you watching him sleep, he’ll get weirdly flustered, shifting slightly like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The camp is silent at night, save for the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional rustling of the trees. You’re nestled against Jason’s broad chest, his warmth keeping the night chill at bay. He doesn’t need sleep the way you do—whatever supernatural force keeps him alive seems to have erased the human need for rest—but he still lays beside you.

Your fingers rest against his chest, tracing slow, absent-minded patterns over the worn fabric of his shirt. His breathing is deep and even, but you can tell he’s still awake.

"You don’t have to stay up, you know," you murmur, shifting slightly to look up at him.

Jason doesn’t respond with words—he never does—but his arm tightens around you, fingers flexing against your back. It’s his silent way of saying, I want to.

You exhale softly, nuzzling against him, pressing your forehead to the cool metal of his mask. He still wears it, even here, even now. Maybe he’s afraid. Afraid you’ll see him—truly see him—and decide you no longer want to be here.

So you do the only thing you can. You press a gentle kiss against the mask, just over where his cheekbone would be.

Jason stiffens, his entire body going still. Then, after a long pause, he exhales a slow, shuddering breath. His fingers twitch against your side before he pulls you even closer, tucking you beneath his chin like something precious.

And in that moment, despite the horrors of the world, you’ve never felt safer.

ᯓ★ Michael is used to watching people sleep, not actually doing it himself. He doesn’t need much rest, but when he does sleep, it’s eerily still—no tossing, no turning, just pure silence.

ᯓ★ If he wakes up before you (which he always does), he just… watches you. If you wake up to find him staring, good luck falling back asleep.

ᯓ★ Michael isn’t really affectionate, but if you lean into him or drape an arm over him, he won’t push you away. Instead, he’ll slowly adjust, letting you stay there.

ᯓ★ Even in deep sleep, if you get up to leave, he’ll wake up instantly. No words, just a heavy hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you back down.

ᯓ★ No pillows for you. He is your pillow. No exceptions.

Michael doesn’t sleep. Not in the way normal people do. Tonight, like every night, you wake to find him watching you.

His head is tilted slightly, the dim glow of the moonlight casting shadows across his mask. He’s barely inches away, sitting on the edge of the bed, just staring.

You sigh, rubbing at your tired eyes. "Michael, you’re supposed to be resting."

No response. He just keeps watching, the dark voids of his eye holes locked onto you.

You groan, reaching out blindly, fingers curling around his wrist. You expect him to pull away—Michael isn’t exactly fond of touch—but instead, he lets you guide him down. Lets you pull him into the bed beside you.

"Lay down," you tell him softly. "Just for a little while."

He obeys without protest, stretching out beside you. His body is tense, like he’s unsure how to relax. You move closer, resting a hand on his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing beneath your fingertips.

After a long, long moment, he finally reacts. His arm moves—not to strangle, not to harm, but to rest against your side, hesitant but firm.

It’s the closest thing to an embrace you’re going to get.

And it’s enough.

ᯓ★ Years of surviving in the mines have left Harry with a deeply ingrained sense of paranoia. Even when he sleeps, his muscles stay coiled, like he’s always expecting an attack.

ᯓ★ Some nights, he’ll suddenly jerk awake, breath ragged and hands clenched. If you soothe him—whisper his name, rub his back—he’ll calm down quickly, grounding himself in your presence.

ᯓ★ Harry will drape his arm over you, and there’s no escaping it. He doesn’t even realize how heavy he is, but at least he’s warm.

ᯓ★ If you can’t sleep and shift restlessly, he’ll reach out—without opening his eyes—and rest a hand on your hip, rubbing slow, absent-minded circles to lull you back to sleep.

The scent of coal and metal clings to him, even in sleep. It’s ingrained into his skin, his clothes, the very air around him. You don’t mind. It’s comforting in its own strange way—earthy, familiar, him.

Harry sleeps still and silent, body coiled with tension even in rest. His arm is thrown over you, holding you close, a subconscious need to keep you safe.

You shift slightly, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his collarbone. "Relax, Harry," you whisper against his skin. "You’re not in the mines anymore."

His breathing hitches for just a second before he exhales, body sinking just a little deeper into the mattress. He doesn’t respond—not with words, at least—but his grip on you tightens ever so slightly.

You know what it means.

You’re the only thing in this world that makes him feel human. The only thing that keeps the nightmares of gas leaks and cave-ins at bay.

And as long as you’re here, he’ll never let you go.

ᯓ★ Some nights, he sleeps curled up like a cat. Other nights, he sprawls out like a starfish, trapping you under an arm or a leg.

ᯓ★ His curls are soft but everywhere. If you sleep facing him, expect a mouthful of hair at some point.

ᯓ★ Loves touch but won’t ask for it. Vincent won’t initiate cuddling often, but if you reach for him? He’ll melt into your touch instantly.

ᯓ★ If you’re sleeping back-to-back, he’ll slowly shift closer until you’re touching. If you’re apart, he’ll move a hand toward yours, just close enough that your fingers brush.

ᯓ★ When he thinks you’re asleep, he buries his face against your neck or hair, inhaling deeply like he’s memorizing your presence. It’s both sweet and a little creepy.

ᯓ★ If you ever fall asleep working on something, he’ll carry you to bed and wrap around you like a koala.

He sleeps curled around you, his body fitting against yours like he was meant to be here. His hair is soft against your cheek, his breathing slow and steady.

You run a hand through his curls, untangling them gently with your fingers, making q soft hum rumble in his chest

"You’re warm," you murmur, lips ghosting over the top of his head.

Vincent shifts, burying his face against your neck. His arm tightens around you, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. You sigh, wrapping your arms around him in return, letting him hold you as tightly as he needs.

In the daylight, Vincent is silent, a ghost among the living, hands stained with wax and sin.

But here, in the quiet of the night, he is yours.

ᯓ★ Billy? Light sleeper. The smallest noise wakes him up, especially if it sounds off. If you roll away from him, expect to be yanked back within seconds.

ᯓ★ Stu? Sleeps like a damn rock. He can snore through a chainsaw massacre and not flinch. You could literally sit on him, and he’d just groan and roll over.

ᯓ★ Billy does not like admitting he’s a cuddler, but he is. He needs to have a hand on you—hip, stomach, thigh, doesn’t matter—just to know you’re there.

ᯓ★ Stu, on the other hand, is needy and will completely engulf you. He sleeps like an octopus, limbs everywhere, sometimes even throwing a leg over you so you physically can’t escape.

ᯓ★ Billy runs hot—he’s like a damn heater, which is great in the winter but suffocating in the summer.

ᯓ★ Stu runs cold and will shove his freezing hands under your shirt just to hear you scream.

ᯓ★ Billy sometimes keeps his mask nearby, almost like a security blanket. If he falls asleep before taking it off, you might wake up to him still wearing it.

ᯓ★ Stu? Nah, he flings that thing across the room and immediately collapses on top of you.

ᯓ★ Stu mumbles the weirdest shit in his sleep. Sometimes it’s a movie quote, sometimes it’s nonsense like "Dude… cows are just meat puppies…"

ᯓ★ Billy rarely talks in his sleep, but when he does, it’s always your name. Always.

The room is dim, the flickering neon light from the parking lot outside casting shadows across the ceiling. The bed is too small—way too small for three people—but that hasn’t stopped Stu from sprawling across it like a damn starfish, his arm thrown haphazardly over your waist.

On your other side, Billy is awake. You know he is. He’s too still, too aware. His arm is draped possessively over your stomach, fingers idly tracing circles against the fabric of your shirt.

"You’re awake," you murmur sleepily, tilting your head just slightly toward him.

Billy doesn’t respond—not with words. Instead, his fingers tighten against your side, pulling you just a little closer.

"You guys are so clingy," you tease, voice drowsy.

"Pfft—says you," Stu mumbles against the pillow, his breath warm against your shoulder. His voice is thick with sleep, but that doesn’t stop him from blindly groping around until he finds your arm, flopping his own over it in an attempt to keep you pinned. "Ain’t going anywhere, babe. You’re trapped."

Billy huffs, a soft almost-laugh, but you can feel the tension lingering in his shoulders. He still hasn’t let go.

You reach up, brushing your fingers against his wrist, grounding him. "I’m right here, Billy."

His breath stutters just for a second. Then, slowly, finally, he exhales. His grip on you doesn’t loosen, but his body relaxes just a fraction.

Stu, half-asleep, suddenly nuzzles against the crook of your neck. "We make the best blanket, huh? Two-for-one deal."

"More like a human straitjacket," you mumble, trapped between Billy’s intense grip and Stu’s dead weight.

Neither of them responds. Stu has already drifted back into sleep, and Billy, still silent, just pulls you even closer.

You sigh, but there’s a warmth in your chest—something safe, something real.

And in this moment, with two killers wrapped around you like you’re the most important thing in the world, you know you’re never getting a peaceful night’s sleep again.

But honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[slasher-fxcker]

Slashers S/O falling asleep on them

A/N: Just a quick little drabble of me fantasizing about our favourite slashers. I am still working through requests so please don't think I am ignoring you guys! They are coming :)

Billy Loomis

· Billy isn’t sure how to react at first, if you are around people sorry but he’s not going to tarnish his reputation with these soft moments. But if you're alone he will be conflicted.

· He’s not used to soft moments and he likes to be in control of any affection. He tries to keep it light like hand holding or sexual to try and keep you at a distance. So, this makes him sort of short circuit.

· Once he decides to allow it, it takes him a while but he does eventually relax into the embrace. He hates to admit that it is comforting, you make him feel secure and that worries him.

· He probably won’t sit for too long and may move eventually, he won’t disturb you but will leave you on the couch to rest.

Bo Sinclair

· Bo will never ever admit to this but he loves your soft affection, even if it’s only when you're asleep that he embraces it. He will pull you closer to him and wrap his arm around you. It’s the time he will let his guard down and let himself truly feel.

· If his brothers walk in he’s going to act like it’s a hassle, but even they know he doesn’t really mean it. Will also probably whine at you about it later.

· Bo loves you but he won’t admit that yet, even if you question it sometimes just know that you don’t get to see the way he looks at you like you're his world, or how your cute sleepy expression grips his heart. It’s these times where he thinks maybe he should be nicer to you, it’s now when he realises that he needs you even if he’s not ready to admit that.

Jason Voorhees

· Jason will not move a muscle if you fall asleep on him, you may as well be leaning on a comfier version of a statue. He wouldn’t do anything to wake you up.

· Barely breathes in fear or disturbing you. This man adores you and if you need sleep you're going to get it.

· If there are any trespassers he is going to be even more brutal than usual, how dare they disturb this intimate moment with his loved one. He lays you down as gently as he can, lucky you're a heavy sleeper.

· Jason will make quick work of the trespassers so he can get back to you, sure you may wake up with some leftover blood on you but it’s all worth it in the end to be in Jason’s arms.

Jesse Cromeans

· Jesse gets a small smirk on his face when he realises you’ve fallen asleep in his lap while he’s completing some paperwork. He will hold you while he works, occasionally stroking your hair and placing his chin on your head.

· You seem so small buried into his chest, it reminds Jesse how delicate you are and how protective he is of you to keep you here with him.

· Jesse is a busy man so its highly likely that he will end up having some sort of work that pulls him away from this intimate moment. He will carry you with ease to your bed and cover you in blankets to keep you warm until he can return.

· Won’t leave without placing the gentlest of kisses to your forehead and watching you snuggle in.

Lester Sinclair

· Lester is a busy man, he loves your affections but try to catch him when it won’t interfere with his day or piss Bo off. He will put your affections first and that can often get him in trouble with his brother.

· This man is the cutest cuddle bug, he will hold you for as long as you want. Will wrap you up in his arms and put a movie on, he is definitely the most chill out of the slashers when it comes to this kind of affection.

· Expect him to occasionally cover your face in soft kisses, the small smile it puts on your face gives him the cheesiest grin. Part of him wants you to hurry up and wake up so he can give you more affection, but don’t worry he wouldn’t dream of waking you.

· Lester cherishes you and when you wake up still in his arms expect to give him all of your attention for a while.

Michael Myers

· Do you like sleeping on the floor? Because that’s where you will end up if you fall asleep on Michael when he’s not in a very good mood. He’s an asshole. He does love you, but you don’t get to be affectionate without his approval when he’s in this kind of mood.

· If you catch him on a good day he will simply let you rest against him, most likely sitting still and watching you sleep.

· He thinks you're naïve to trust him when you're in such a vulnerable state, how he could hurt you at any moment. He likes to pretend that he could but you both know he would never do anything to hurt you. Not now that he had let you in.

· If you wake up to his head resting against yours as you both find comfort in the slight affection he will jump up and storm off as soon as he notices you're awake. Don’t bring it up unless you want him to pout for a while or threateningly glare at you from across the room. He will pretend it never happened.

Stu Macher

· Stu had always been a night owl, and it didn’t help he spent a lot of his nights out with Billy.

· You would wait up for him a lot at his place, flicking through the channels of the tv and waiting for that familiar click of the front door. He would instantly come and join you, arms open and waiting. He always missed touching and holding you.

· Would probably ramble on and not realise you were sleeping until he notices you aren’t answering him anymore. The cheesy smile this boy gets when he realises you're asleep.

· He will probably just watch you for a while, moving the hair out of your face.

· Stu is the type of guy to draw on people’s faces while they sleep, but with you he will just gently trace your features or draw small love hearts with his finger, laughing quietly to himself as your nose crinkles at the feeling.

· He wouldn’t move you, he loves holding you in his arms, keeping you close to him. Will for sure tease you about it later though.

Thomas Hewitt

· Thomas just melts when he feels your head rest against him. He knows how tiring it can be working in the heat, so he will let you rest for as long as you need to.

· He will blush if anyone else sees the two of you, but he’s still not moving.

· Thomas could hold you like this forever, but he worries that the couch isn’t the comfiest place to spend the night so he will carry you upstairs to your room, this man just wants what is best for you. He tries his best to be as gentle as possible when he lays you down, not wanting to wake you.

· He stands up to leave but notices you clinging to his shirt, the crinkle in your brow showing you're clearly not happy with the loss of contact. He lets out a husky huff before climbing into bed next to you, he melts under your touch and the thought that even in your sleep you need his touch.

Vincent Sinclair

· He stills immediately when he feels the contact. Vincent loves you so much but he’s not sure he will ever get used to the physical affections.

· When he realises you’ve fallen asleep on him his heart swells. You better believe this boy will not move an inch, your comfort is his entire priority. He will be dead still until you wake up, would not dream of disturbing you.

· Will definitely watch you sleep, he feels like he needs to commit every single line of your face to memory. Not only will he want to sketch you later on but the fear of you leaving still weighs heavily on him and he needs to make sure he would remember every detail of you.

· It’s like you can feel him staring when you shuffle closer to him and mumble his name, he instantly melts. He pulls you closer, reassuring you that he’s still there. He’s not going anywhere, he will always be there.

[saminsecret]

Slashers Reacting to their S/O trying to "escape" while sleep walking

Inspired by this post by @amomentsescape . Go check them out! Fell in love with their post and just HAD to write about it myself I am working on a few requests and original ideas, so if you've requested something know that it is (slowly) in the works!)

posting this early to show I'm still active! let me know if you want a part two with other slashers, im already working on one for the sinclair bros but check my character list to see which others i should add! ive added a few new characters to my list aswell :3

CW: Implications of abuse, kidnapping, and other unhealthy relationship dynamics

GN Reader!

Characters include Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, Billy Loomis, and Stu Macher!

You’ve been with your slasher for a while now, trapped living with them in their respective homes. You have no intentions of leaving as Stockholm Syndrome has long kicked in. But right as your slasher lets you sleep without the chains, your brain decides that it’s a perfect time to start sleepwalking…

Michael Myers (Halloween ‘78)

Michael is up the second you are. He never truly sleeps, so the moment your body starts to shift out of bed his eyes are open and watching you intensely. He stopped handcuffing you to the bed post a few nights ago, but he still doesn’t trust you to not leave. Before you can walk towards the bedroom door, he’s already infront of you and grabbing your wrists tightly.

He doesn’t care that you’re asleep. When you didn’t react to him grabbing your wrists, he tilted his head. It takes him a few moments to realize that you’re still asleep. He grabs you by the shoulders and aggressively shakes you awake, startling the hell out of you. “What the fuck!?” You wake up to see Michael glaring down at you menacingly. He is pissed.

You can’t plead with him. Your wrists are back to being cuffed to the bed and he doesn’t let you leave the bedroom. It doesn’t matter that you were asleep, you still tried to leave him. You cry and beg, swearing up and down that you love him but all you get back is an icy glare. Any trust you thought you had with him is gone for the next few months. He loves you Y/N, no matter if you like it or not.

Stares at you through the night. The first couple of nights after your sleepwalking incident, he can’t close his eyes. Ends up just staring at you for the rest of the night, not really sure how to feel about what you’ve done. He won’t say it, but his feelings are really hurt. Why can’t you just do what he wants?

Thomas Hewitt (Texas Chainsaw Remake)

He wakes up alone in bed. He has to get up extra early for his daily chores, so he’s used to see you by his side, still fast asleep. When you aren’t there, he starts to panic. He’s tossing the room frantically hoping to find you, all while fearing the worst. He should’ve listen to his family when they said not to unchain you.

He finds you at the front door, staring at it absentmindedly. He rushes towards you and grabs hold of you, which wakes you up. You scream in confusion which makes him scream. He’s a blubbering mess afterwards while you try to explain what sleepwalking is and how you weren’t consciously trying to leave

He believes you, but he’s still scared that you might leave. He installs a lock on the bedroom door and keeps the key hidden away during the night so you don’t wander off again. He’s worried that you might end up hurting yourself walking around the house, so you can’t coax him out of the lock.

He hugs you extra tight at night. He was always a cuddler, but now he’s nearly smothering you every night in fear that he might wake up alone again. Don’t fight it, it’ll only make him hug you tighter.

Brahms Heelshire (The Boy)

Crashes the fuck out once he realizes you aren’t in bed with him. He’s running around the mansion frantically looking for you in every nook and cranny, getting more and more worked up. Probably starts crying and/or screaming after not being able to find you quickly.

He finds you in the garden, eventually. He hates going outside. He hates you going outside even more. It’s dead of night when you wake up to Brahms incoherently screaming at you while being dragged back inside. You’re so confused while Brahms is just having a full on meltdown, accusing you of trying to leave him.

You have to wait for him to calm down before explaining what happened. He's screaming so loud, sobbing and stomping back and forth the hallway as you sit on the ground, half-dazed. You try to talk to him but he literally can't hear you over his tantrum.

Clings to you. After his break down, you explain what happened-- "I was just sleepwalking, Brahms." He isn't completely convinced but he accepts the explanation on the condition that you never do it again, which you try to say you can't really control it but- oh well. It doesn't matter, as Brahms is always by your side now, holding your hand or waist or the hem of your shirt while you go on with the chores. You never have a moment alone now, and probably never will again for a good while. Do you even want to?

Billy Loomis (Scream)

Another certified crash out. He wakes up one night expecting you beside him, only to find you gone. Immediately tears the house apart looking for you. And when he cant find you? He snaps. Thinks you've left him. Escaped his tight grasp. Destroys everything, grabs his knife, and goes to look for you. If he cant have you then he's going to kill you.

He finds you standing on the porch. Looking back, he doesnt know how you didnt wake up from the noise he was making. He puts the knife to your throat, threatening you until he realizes you were kinda just...not responding. Waves his hand in front of your face and realizes you are asleep and just stares at you. How the fuck did you even get past the locks anyways?

So pissed at you. Its not your fault but it doesnt matter. You should subconsciously want to be near him at all times, sleepwalking or not. He drags you back to the bedroom, gripping your arm so tightly that it wakes you up. You're confused on whats happening, but Billy ignores your questions before tossing you on the bed and forcing you to go back to sleep.

He starts tying you to the bed. He doesn't let you have a say in it, either. He won't say it, but waking up and seeing you gone was one of the very limited moments in his life when he felt fear. And he doesn't intend to ever feel that way again.

Stu Macher (Scream)

Where'd you go, Y/N? He wakes up without you under him, and is immediately confused but not worried. You must have needed to go to the bathroom! Still, he feels a weird flutter in his chest as he gets up to check on you.

He finds you in the hallway just standing there, like a ghost. You startle awake because he screams, not expecting to see you in such a creepy way. He laughs immediately after, finding it hilarious that you managed to scare him!

He has a tight grip on you as he guides you back to bed. You notice as you both lay down that he clings just a bit more to you than usual, so much that you almost feel suffocated. He won't say it aloud, but he doesn't like the idea of you leaving the bed, of leaving him.

He starts laying on top of you during the nights, as a way to hopefully stop you from leaving the room. It works for the most part, and Stu loves the new-found closeness, even if you have to give up a bit of air at night. If you ask, he'll try to shift his weight to one side so he doesn't completely cut off your airflow, but he's reluctant to get off of you completely. What if you hurt yourself walking around?

Freaks out every time you move. Ever since that incident, Stu is hyper focused on you when you sleep. Every time you slightly shift during the night, Stu is locked on you, waiting to see if you try to get up or not. He doesn't want you to leave, y/n, and if that means having to sacrifice some sleep to make sure you stay, that's alright with him.

[lace-coffin]

Hi! Can I ask how the slashers would feel if they ever accidentally hurt their s/o? Gender and everything is up to you!

How slashers would react to Accidently hurting their S/O

Thank you so much for my first ever request ah! I hope you enjoy 💖

Requests are open!

Warning for blood/injury - mild sexual content/reference to sexual activity and power dynamics -unhealthy relationships (I think?)

Reader is gender neutral!

Bubba sawyer

Most likely happened via Bubba playing too hard and Accidently pushing you over or being a bit too heavy handed with you. If it’s a case of them mistaking you for a victim and catching you with their chainsaw before being able to stop then they’ll be even more in inconsolable : (

Stops and stares for a minute to process what’s happened before devolving into full blown panic.

She’ll drop whatever she’s doing to carry you back to the house, even if that means letting the victim escape and having Drayton yell at her.

Will hurriedly explain in rushed sign to either Choptop or Nubbins to go take care of the victim as he’s busy caring for you.

Checks you over frantically. Please explain you’re going to be ok and help them calm down.

Once he knows you’re not in any danger he’ll feel absolutely awful about it and whine apologies to you even if you tell him that it’s ok and it wasn’t their fault.

Please comfort them once you feel better and reassure them.

Will insist you come up with a verbal and nonverbal sign to give if they’re accidently messing around to hard.

Will make you agree to stay in the house out of the way when victims are around so you don’t Accidently get hurt again.

Thomas Hewitt

After another night of Hoyt berating him for things out of his control, Tommy storms off to the basement to cool off. You follow after him, intending to comfort and wanting to help. You place a hand on his shoulder without thinking, forgetting he doesn’t enjoy physical touch without warning, thinking it might help. Whipping around he grabs your wrist a little too hard, causing you to wince.

He snatches his hand back as soon as he realises what he’s done.

Tommy will bring you to Luda may to have her check you over and assess the damage.

Once he knows you’re safe he’ll confine himself to the basement for a few days, only coming out to eat but even then it’s tense.

He’s truly sorry and feels like all those people who called him a monster and an animal were right, he hurt the one he cares about most, after all.

After a few days apart, a lot of hushed words of affirmation and kisses/nose bumps he’ll feel comfortable being with you again.

You know to let him cool off by himself and come to you when he’s ready after a heated argument now.

Michale Myers

You jump out at Michael thinking it would be funny to catch the shape off guard for once and not the other way around. Unfortunately this backfires and he swings his knife at you, thinking it may be an intruder since you’ve never pulled something like this before, You manage to jolt out of the way but the knife still catches you in the shoulder. Thankfully, it’s only superficial and will heal, but it still looks like it needs medical attention.

Initially Michael looks at you unamused, granted it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling underneath the mask. He gives you a kind of “well If you weren’t being dumb this wouldn’t have happened” attitude. However this is a front for the actual panic he refuses to show on the surface.

Having a few cuts and scratches isn’t super uncommon when your with Michael considering his tastes involving knives in bed ; )

Usually hurting others comes naturally and without remorse to Michael, so it shakes him to his core that he’s actively worrying about your wellbeing instead of feeling the usual indifference.

It disturbs him that he actually cares about someone enough to feel remorse for his actions.

After unceremoniously pulling your shirt off and looking the wound over he forces you go to A&E, practically marching your ass out the door.

Since he’s basically an escaped criminal he can’t exactly casually walk in the hospital with you, however he will stalk you the entire time, lurking close by to make sure you arrive and leave safely.

Although he usually has his guard up he vows to try be a little less bristly with you from now on if it means he doesn’t have to see you hurt and feel that awful tug of regret/worry in his chest.

Jason voorhees

You went out looking for Jason one night after he hadn’t returned to the cabin by his usual time. You were worried he’d been overpowered by a group of trespassers or caught in a trap and didn’t have any way to communicate that to you. The woods were beautiful but so dense and vast, getting lost or injured in the thick of them may as well be a death sentence.

Whilst searching for your missing partner you get your leg snagged in a bear trap he had set out previously for the trespassers. You howl in pain as you hear the sickening snap of your ankle between the traps jaws.

Jason was trudging his way back to the cabin when he heard it. Knowing that wasn’t a rougue teen as he’d cleared them out already, alarm bells went off in his head. He stormed to scene as fast as he could.

He could have sworn his undead heart stopped for the second time as he saw you sitting there in agony, murky blood seeping into the forest floor.

He rushes to your side and looks frantically between the trap and your teary face, he knows he’s going to have to disengage the traps and for you it’s going to be..less than pleasent.

He signs for you to grip onto his arm for support. Since he’s already dead and regenerates fairly quickly he feels it’s the least he can do to let you grip his arm for dear life as he wrenches the trap from your shattered ankle. If you cause any damage to his arm (which is very unlikely) it will heal up in no time anyway.

Once he’s carried you back to the cabin he’ll be frantically following Pamela’s directions in his head for what to do and how to clean/ wrap it.

If the damage is extensive he’ll relent and let you go to the hospital, only if a trusted friend takes you though, he’ll be sitting by the window of your shared cabin every minute until you return back to him.

You’re no longer aloud to be out in the woods after dark alone if he’s set traps. You both carry whistles now so if he’s not home and you need to know he’s safe you can whistle to each other and feel more at ease.

Billy Lenz

Interacting with Billy when he’s having an episode is never a good idea. You thought it would be fine to just be in the room though, providing you stay out of his way. As you enter, Billy is in the midst of trashing his attic once again, the disgusting feelings bubbling in his chest too much to bear. You enter just as he’s angrily thrown an old glass christmas ornament at the floor that the sorority had kept in storage. It shatters and flecks of sparkling glass scatter along the floor. One piece catching you in the hand in a nasty glass splinter. You swear under your breath and rush off to take care of it.

Billy doesn’t even realise what’s happened until you return to him, him now having exhausted himself and you knowing it’s safe to try do some damage control. You bring him a sandwich and juice knowing he’ll need it after all the energy and tears he just used up.

Your hands touch as he’s accepting the plate from you with a muted “thank you” and he notices the bandage.

Billy essentially bristles up like an angry cat at the idea of someone hurting his piggy and demands to know who did it and what happened.

Once you tell him it was actually from the ornament he feels horrible. He doesn’t even remember it happening with the state he was in.

He snuggles into the crook of your neck and mumbles apologies into your skin.

Billy will place sloppy kisses over it as an apology until you forgive him. (Not exactly hygenic since it’s an open wound but i mean…you’re dating the attic rat)

Brahms Heelshire

When living with Brahms there isn’t usually much to injure yourself on considering the estate is fairly out of the way from the rest of the village. You most likely caught yourself on a pair of sheers. Brahms is being stubborn about you being out of the house and slings the sheers in your general direction from the door frame when you ask for them. You don’t even notice you sliced your hand when catching them until you see a patch of blood soaking through your gardening gloves about ten minutes later.

You come in to grab a tea towel to wrap your bleeding finger in, not really fazed as it’s only a small cut. Brahms was lurking from the window as you tended to the hedges, not wanting to be away from you but not yet brave enough to tempt leaving the house he’s been in all these years.

As soon as he sees it he’s panicking, it’s only a little cut and you’re not concerned in the slightest but to Brahms you may as well have just came in with an arm missing. He’s instantly flittering around you asking if you’re ok and if you need a hospital.

You stifle your laugh at his over the top concern, you find it rather sweet, it’s not his fault he’s a little bit sheltered.

After cleaning the cut and bandaging it, it’s totally fine. If anything Brahms needs more reassuring and coddling than you do to get him to settle.

He apologises a thousand times for his attitude because he knows If he hadn’t been stroppy about you leaving the house and passed the sheers nicely then you wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. He promises to try be more composed when he starts getting antsy.

He may need some ✨punishment✨ in order to encourage his behaviour change and to feel forgiven.

He begrudgingly lets you back outside to garden after about a week.

Asa Emory

If you’re the pet of Asa then it’s likely that most of your injuries are purposefully given from him and are no mistake. You’re poked and prodded often considering your residency in the collection. Wounds from experiments and correctional punishments when you disobey or refuse to submit are not uncommon at all. So it doesn’t bother him since he inflicted them. This also assures he cleans them with clinical precision. If you were anyone else he would leave the wounds to fester, if you died from a complication then that was just inconvenient. Not you though, you’ve caught his attention and heart. He loves you in his own domineering way.

If the wound was created by him on accident then he would give himself a hard time, chastising himself for his carelessness.

For example, if he had more trouble with law enforcement than he thought and that led to you to spending way more time in the trunk than you usually do, causing you to develop a sore from sitting in one cramped position for too long.

Asa would realise you’re injured once you’re let out of the trunk, hissing in pain as you stretch. He makes you show him where you’re hurting so he can inspect over it.

Despite Asa’s stony face his stomach is actively sinking. He knows you’re hurt because of him and it wasn’t purposeful or measured like it would be during a punishment. He sees this as failure in his pet care and it takes a blow to his god complex. Gods don’t make mistakes, but here he is, hurting his dolly by being so out of it.

He’ll make sure to clean it for you and even stop putting you in the trunk for a while. This does however still mean you’ll be attached to him via leash or chain connected to the ring sitting on his belt. Just because you’re hurt and his favourite toy, doesn’t mean he will except anything less than your complete and total submission.

He’ll be more tender and soft handed with you than usual for a while after. Punishments will be withheld until you heal. Then it’s back to normal routine as expected.

Predator/yautja

You were wearing a new perfume you’d picked up at the market during the day, You were only supposed to be getting meats and maybe a new fur for the bed but once the alien at the stand had convinced you to sample it you fell in love with it.

Your mate picks up on an unknown scent entering the house, hackles raising and stalking towards it. As soon as they catch the heat signature they throw a wrist blade in warning.

Their eyes widen in horror, rushing to the door as they catch scent of your tangly blood dripping onto the hardwood floor of your shared home.

The new perfume masked your familiar scent from them, making them believe the house was in danger and being intruded on. If their face could loose colour it would, cringing as they see the wrist blade sticking through your palm, groceries discarded at the door.

They start talking at you in rapid clicks before they realise you can’t actually understand. After making sure to keep the object in your hand so you don’t bleed out and that you’re not going to pass out on them, they insist on carrying you their medic instead of going to an ooman one.

They argue that their medicine is far more advanced and will heal your wound much more efficiently then your “ primitive ooman medicine”

Thanks to yautja medicine being far more advanced, It will heal like nothing ever happened in around two weeks. The wound stitched shut and given some kind of injection.

Your mate purrs and clicks for you deep from their chest the entire time you’re having the blade removed to try calm you.

They beg for forgiveness despite it literally being an accident and will need some reassurance that they haven’t failed you as a mate. Once you’re all healed up they’ll bring back an impressive skull from a hunt as an apology even if you’ve already forgiven them.

Whilst it’s healing you’re probably going be kept in the nest of furs and pulled tightly against them whilst they purr and sooth you.

My requests are open if you’d like to send any prompts or ideas for me to write!