Featuring a variety of Slashers and Killers with differing speaking patterns and verbal abilities
(x Reader too cause itâs me. Fluff.)
Jason Vorhees
Complete and total silence. Unlike others, you wonât even get the occasional huff out of this guy. Can he even breathe? Basically a corpse that you share a space with and get to cuddle.
Light on his feet too, evident by his infamous âteleportingâ. You wonât know where he is until heâs in your eyesight. Please put a bell on him, cause heâs gonna sneak up on you 20 times a day and he feels really bad every time it makes you jump.
Does he use sign language? Yes! I donât think itâs something that his Mother would have taught him, especially considering the time, but once you offer to help him learn heâs really enthusiastic to finally have a form of communication, he loves talking to you all day long. Watching you, knowing heâs being listened to, it gives him butterflies. Strikes me as kind of a yapper after a long day. Youâll also catch him signing to himself when heâs frustrated or anxious.
On top of that, also a good listener himself. He nods and gestures along to the things you say. Since heâs really comfortable around you, heâs able to express more of his emotions and it allows him to feel normal, even just for a little bit.
Michael Myers
Similar to Jason; Youâre not hearing a single noise from him. His vocal cords could be missing for all you know. But you will hear lots of his eerie breathing. Whether itâs measured and calm or strained and staggering, those are the only noises you might hear before heâs suddenly in front of you.
And he actually lives for scaring you. Will press himself into your back when you least expect it and relish in your gasping. Loves to watch you from dark corners and see how long you take to figure out. Your guard is gonna be up for the rest of your life honestly.
Does he use sign language? No! He was taught it during his time in the asylum, so if you sign to him heâll understand just fine. But he refuses to use it himself. His silence is a choice, itâs a way to isolate himself further into his role as The Shape. He honestly doesnât care if you understand him or not, he doesnât have anything he wants to say to you that he canât say through actions.
When youâre yapping, youâll get the occasional head tilt and if youâre really really lucky, a thumbs up or down. Thatâs all youâre ever gonna get from him. He might as well have fallen asleep honestly, you wouldnât be able to tell the difference under his mask.
Bubba Sawyer (Leatherface)
So while he doesnât âtalkâ, he is most definitely not silent. This guy babbles like nobodyâs business, he grunts and squeals, he goes around making all sorts of noises to himself when heâs in a real good mood. If heâs actually ever quiet for an extended period of time, that means heâs in desperate need of a hug honestly. A lot of his rambling does almost sound like words, but he can never quite fully get them out coherently. His tone is usually enough to let you know what heâs thinking though.
And while he can be decent at sneaking when heâs locked in, hunting someone down, that basically never applies to you or the rest of the family. Drayton constantly yells at him to stop parading around the house, his large frame is bumping into anything and everything. Plus he has a touch of echolalia, so any fun noises he happens to hear are being imitated ten times over. You can hear him coming from a mile away.
Does he use sign language? âŚhe tries. Much like verbal communication, he tends to be really clumsy and struggles a lot with it. First of all, itâs gonna take a while for him to memorize even basic signs, although he does have a wonderful time learning from you. Secondly, once he does get them in his head, it doesnât always translate well to his hands. His big fingers tend to get caught up in each other, his movements sometimes get too jittery and sloppy to properly show what he wants to say. Itâs just not in his skill set.
That being said, heâs still so incredibly expressive. Youâre able to tell his happy stimming from his nervous stimming, he makes a lot of âuh huhâs and ânuh-uhâs, not to mention the way his eyes sparkle through the mask. And every time you talk to him, the entire world fades away so he can focus on you, just because he finds you utterly fascinating.
(Sorry no Thomas Hewitt, havenât seen the movie)
Vincent Sinclair
I imagine heâs on the slightly-more ârealisticâ range of being silent. As in, completely quiet most of the time, but he still lets out little hums and sighs to let you know what heâs thinking. The very occasional airy laugh, sometimes a groan.
Heâs either tip-toeing or stomping, no in between. When heâs in a good mood, usually while focused on his art, he has a way of dancing around the room gracefully, like heâs barely touching the floor. And when heâs not, you can definitely hear it, his feet hitting the ground hard as he paces. He doesnât like sneaking up on you though, he gives you a lot of gentle touches to let you know heâs around.
Does he use sign language? Yes! I think itâs something his parents wouldâve had him learn once it was apparent he was non-verbal. Unfortunately, Bo purposefully avoided learning any and Lester only knows a little, so he used it less and less after their passing and he isolated himself into his work. Once you come along, however, and he figures out you know sign he falls right back into it. Heâs a bit brief and minimal with what he chooses to say, but very poetic and careful with his words.
He also likes to leave you a lot of handwritten notes, usually accompanied by little doodles and sketches. Mostly of you, telling you how pretty you looked while you slept or how wonderfully that shirt you wore complimented your complexion. Every now and then, youâll find smiley faces and hearts randomly drawn onto your hands and arms. He never fails to let you know heâs thinking of you.
Billy Lenz
Honestly he almost didnât make this list, because heâs anything but silent. Majored in blabbering with a minor in being a siren. His lips basically never stop moving, he likes to loom over you and narrate everything in his own filthy language. When he does get quiet, itâs eerie, it means something is wrong and you should probably be very worried. But otherwise youâre getting front row seats to every single thought thatâs being passed through his head, no matter how dirty or senseless or repetitive.
Despite this, he is very quiet as he moves around and he lives for scaring the shit outta you. Heâll bite his own tongue until itâs bleeding just so you donât hear him as he lurches up behind you, giddy at your cluelessness. He delights in hearing you scream for him in lots of ways. Despite some sporadic hand gestures, I think heâs learned to be very careful and tentative with his movements. Canât be caught making a racket in the attic, after all.
Does he use sign language? Doesnât need to. Heâs hyperverbal, if anything. However it would probably be useful for him to have a way to talk to you when heâs lost in a panic and only repeating the same four words over and over, eyes glazed over and holding onto you for dear life. But donât bother bringing that up, heâll become very offended. If he was put into an asylum or psyche ward at any point, he definitely got one of the other patients to teach him all the of cuss words and naughty things to say in sign. He uses those quite liberally, actually.
And echolalia to the max. You yelped while stubbing your toe once, and three days later heâs still repeating that same noise at every opportunity. Whenever you ask him a question, itâs likely his answer is gonna directly copy something youâve said before. This guy loves being a parrot. Any sound he finds remotely interesting is going into his index of ânoises to make whenever I damn pleaseâ. This is especially apparent while watching movies with him, he copies all the sound effects, but especially gunshots and shattered glass. And screams, he loves any and all screaming, actually. This is cute and all until youâre trying to go to sleep and he justâŚdoesnât turn it off.
Brahms Heelshire
So he definitely can talkâŚbut most of the time he doesnât care too. Unless speaking will directly benefit him, he prefers to be quiet and observant. Itâs a habit he got from living in the walls and his existence being ignored most of his life. So a lot of staring at you, all the physical affection you could ask for, only a few necessary words exchanged. He does enjoy listening to you speak, though, adores the sound of your voice.
Just like Lenz, all his movements are cautious and mindful, unless heâs absolutely pissed about something. And while you donât get the feeling heâs purposely trying to scare you, he does find it pretty cute to see you jump in his presence. Heâll mutter a small âsorryâ while wrapping his arms around you, as though he doesnât have a massive grin under his mask. He also has a thousand secret passages and pathways around his massive house and many, many ways of spying on you. Basically, youâll go hours without seeing him and being absolutely oblivious to his whereabouts while heâs been following and watching you through the walls like âwow, weâre bonding :)â
Does he use sign language? Nope. Even if he was a bit of a quiet kid, it wasnât enough to justify his parents having it taught to him. And they certainly werenât going to bother after the fire. Heâs reclusive, but his struggles with communication are more of a social issue than a verbal one. He probably knows other languages though, something dumb and fancy like Latin. Or maybe French.
When Brahms does talk to you, thereâs two versions of what you can get. Most of the time, heâs going to be putting on a boyish persona, pitching up his voice, using posh and proper language, trying to come off as endearing as possible. He thinks being cutesy will win you over, basically. But every now and then, youâll see a glimpse of the man he pretends not to be. Vigorous grunts of anger, the deep voice rumbling in his chest, little groans and huffs as he nuzzles into you. He never likes thinking about how old he actually is, but being so comfortable with you has him putting away the youthful act.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Jason Voorhees x reader, Bo Sinclair x reader, Vincent Sinclair x reader, Lester Sinclair x reader, Rz!Michael Myers x reader, Thomas Hewitt x reader
containsâ random asf, these are all just based on how i feel, there's SFW and NSFW <3
requestsâ always opennnn, so far I've just been writing to write LOL
authorâs noteâ ive been getting lots of love on a lot of my posts and it makes me SOOOOOO happy <3 sorry that its taken me SOOOOO long to post... (its been 2 years...) im gonna try and write more consistently!
word countâ 1,621 words 8,569 characters
gifs aren't mine!
reblogs, comments and feedback is always appreciated <3
Jason Voorhees:
SFW:
Tracks mud all over your house on rainy nights
This big man loves to be babied by you. He loves when you talk to him with such a nurturing and caring voice
Has horrible jealousy issues
Has soft spots for kids
He really wants to have a kid with you, so he can treat the kid with so much love and respect
Heâs so loyal to you, if you want him to kill anyone⌠heâll literally do it in a heartbeat
Carved yours and his initials on a tree in camp crystal lake
leaves letters around the house for you to find with sappy things written in them
an actual gentle giant
bear hugs you from behind when you cook. heâll wrap his arms around you and sway yours and his figure side to side.
he smells like pine like 90% of the time
NSFW:
he loves fucking you while you choke him idc. heâd start off with long, deep, strokes that stretch you so good. if you grab his neck while he does so, he pounds you even harder, and his groans slowly turn into slight whimpers
sucks at pulling out, he loves watching his cum drip out of you. With two fingers heâll shove the cum back into your quivering hole just to see you push it out again âşď¸
the mask stays on during sex, idc i donât make the rules
loves cock worshipping. kiss along his length and lick along it too. loves fucking your throat and making you say you love it with a mouthful of his cock.
loves receiving head so much, itâs literally so slutty.
will actually fold you in half to get better angles.
Bo Sinclair:
SFW:
Loves feeling like you can depend on him. He loves the thought of being your little provider (itâs the blue collar in him)
Totally massages your feet LOL idk why. He gives you straight up princess treatment
Dude deadass acts like a dog, howls when heâs like really happy đ
if you massage his scalp heâll actually fall in love with you, and shudder at your touch
heâs such a simp for you in private idc what anyone says
he picks flowers for you all the time 𼺠and leaves them at your bedside for when you wake up
asks you to do his eyebrows from time to time
He loves thinking of you as his little wife. refers to you as his wife to visitors. DONT MAKE FUN OF HIM FOR THAT, he'll get sooooo embarassed lol
makes you a mixtape filled with all the numetal he listens to
has band shirts in his drawer that he throws to you after doing some actvities with each other (if you catch my drift)
NSFW:
literally a horny bastard
Is so rough and passionate
loves to fuck you in his shop and loves to fuck you over the hood of cars
actually loves to pound into your weeping hole till you scream your safe word (its "cherry pie")
doesn't moan, only growls. he's so animalistic once you guys get to fucking
Vincent Sinclair:
SFW:
he draws you all the time, you're his muse!
loves to do little art projects with you as dates
let's you braid his hair and brush out the tangles
He loves it when you paint his nails with your nail polish. Loves it even more if you guys match.
takes photos of you all the time. hangs them up all around the basement
is a simp in private and is a simp in public, you NEVER have to worry about that when you're with him.
loves taking baths with you and legit MELTS into your touch if you coddle him, baby him etc.
NSFW:
noisiest silent man you'll ever meet.
whimpers so much
loves to worship your body, thinks of you as a goddess.
he loves to pepper kisses all over your body and loves to eat your pussy while you hover over him, demandingly.
loves to be overstimulated and loves wax play.
pour wax on his chest as he lays down, eating your pussy as you sit on his face.
fucks like an absolute jack rabbit. he can go pretty fast when he's chasing his high.
Lester Sinclair:
SFW:
The biggest sweetheart
Picks flowers for you and will leave them at your bedside.
He steals lots of female visitor's items, so you quite literally always have new clothes, perfume, makeup etc.
He brings home weird animals and cooks weird things, but you love him too much to deny him.
Is super shy when it comes to affection and stuff like that. You mostly have to initiate a lot of the contact, but his goofy smile and flustered face make up for it.
Secretly wants to have twins, but actually treat those twins with love and care.
Daydreams about you and is super loyal to you.
If Bo makes a comment about you, whether good or bad, Lester will pick a fight with him and tell him not to talk about his woman.
Will ask Vincent to make a portrait of you and him to give you for V-day.
NSFW:
tease him too much and he'll actually cry
he wants to breed you so bad to the point where it's all he can daydream about sometimes.
jerks off when he's alone, whimpering your name.
This boy is a bottom feeder and will beg to eat you out at least once a day
He loves car sex and loves road head.
He will take you on various trips JUST to get some road head and maybe park in the forest so he can shoot his load into you a couple times before you guys' head back :3
RZ!Michael Myers:
SFW:
very silent and ominous man
looms over everything you do
if you cook a meal for the two of you, he will just stand beside you and watch what you're doing 100% of the time
makes papier mâchÊ masks 25/8
makes masks for you as well with your favorite things on it (ex. if you like sanrio characters, he'll make a mask with your fave characters on it :3)
the first few nights he stays with you, you basically have to bathe with him lmao
he smells earthy like dirt and husky pheromones
holds you close to him when you guys shower together
secretly puts kitchen items and closet items on higher shelves so that you come running to him to grab it for you
NSFW:
this man has the absolute stamina of the gods
this man is the king of shower sex
loves to carry you up against the wall as if you weigh nothing and plow into your hole(s)
sometimes having you against the wall isn't enough and he'll just pound you down onto him length and use you as his personal pocket pussy
he is always dominant (sorry not sorry)
he also loves to play a hide and seek game in the woods with you. he'll chase you throughout the woods and if you're able to outrun him or be able to hide without him finding you or tracking you, you can dom him and do whatever you want with him :3 but so far he's always been able to catch up to you and find you before you can think you even have a chance.
his prize for winning that little game is a hard and rough forest sex
but if you were to win (which probably wouldnt happen) he'd def tone down his strength.
he'd let you pin him down and he'll play along with you
but once he's tired, best believe he'll stop giving into you and take you for himself
Thomas Hewitt:
SFW:
the way y'all meet is kinda funny lol
Luda saw you and thought: "wow they're perfect for my tommy" and somehow convinced you to stay for dinner
at first you were terrified of tommy
he was a big burly man with a mask on his face
he was wayyyy too nervy to even look your way when you first came about
luda explained that she wanted grandbabies, and you could see Thomas' eyes dart towards Luda, obviously this wasn't planned at all
but after a few nights with the Hewitts... you kinda liked having teatime with Luda and watching Tommy do yard work from the living room windows.
Tommy was scary but was oh so respectful towards you.
sometimes when he's out doing yard work for the house, you'll walk out in some short shorts and a tank due to the scorching heat and give him a tall glass of lemonade. which he'll take graciously and chug that thang in front of you
Something so simple like that makes his heart pound
luda will ask you to make dinner one night and tommy falls in LOVEEE with how you cook.
his dream is to be a loyal working husband for you
children are definitely on the table for him but i think its more of a breeding kink for him/seeing you all plump and pregnant by him.
NSFW:
For a long time, you and Tommy couldn't really do much due to the waiting before marriage beliefs that were instilled into him
he hates the thought of disappointing Luda so its probably gonna take some convincing to get this man to be bad with ya
once you succeed... this man gets pussy drunk soooooo easilyyyy
tommy's weight crushing you + him pounding into you over and over again through your orgasm...
he doesn't even hear your begs to stop
he's so engrossed in the feeling of you squeezing him, the feeling of your tits in his hands, he fucks you raw, like a sex crazed, hungry man
his favorite place to fuck you is in the barn
he'll bring a pretty soft blanket for you to lay on and maybe even a pillow, just so that you wont dirty your pretty gingham yellow dress this is his favorite look on you, no i will not be explaining lol
he's very silent when he's deep in it
he's more of a heavy breather and its amplified because of his mask
Summary: Jason Voorhees has only ever known fear and cruelty, until you. You donât run. You donât scream. Instead, you leave flowers by the lake and whisper soft words into the wind.Â
The world had never been kind to Jason.
He had known fear before he had even understood what it meant, seen it in the way people screamed at the sight of him, in the way they ran, in the way their eyes filled with horror as they gazed upon the monster they believed him to be.Â
They never looked deeper, never saw beyond the mask, beyond the scars, beyond the silence and the mask.
And then, there was you.
You werenât supposed to be here.Â
Crystal Lake wasnât a place for outsiders, not anymore.Â
It belonged to the ghosts, to memories, to the vengeful force that kept its borders clear of the living. But you came anyway, drawn by something you couldnât name.
At first, Jason watched from a distance.Â
He had spent years in the shadows, becoming one with them, learning how to be unseen. He expected you to leave, to take one look at the abandoned cabins and whisper the same fearful stories that had kept others away. But you didnât.
You stayed.
You walked along the lake.Â
And then, one day, you left something behind, a single flower, carefully placed at the edge of the water.Â
Jason didnât understand at first. Was it an accident? A meaningless gesture?Â
But when he found another the next day, and then another, something unfamiliar started inside him.
You werenât afraid.
You should have been.
But you spoke to him, even when he didnât answer.
âI know youâre there.â
The first time you said it, Jason almost left.
But you didnât chase him.Â
You didnât try to find him.Â
You simply sat by the lake and talked, your voice gentle as you spoke of things that didnât matter.
No one had ever spoken to him like that. No one had ever spoken to him at all.
He told himself it was nothing, that you would leave like everyone else, that you were just another momentary presence in a world that had never been meant for him.Â
But then, one evening, as you walked through the woods, you tripped on an exposed root, falling hard against the ground.
Jason moved before he could think.
He caught you, his hands large and unsteady, his body tense as if expecting you to recoil the moment you realized what had happened.
Your skin was warm beneath his fingers.Â
Too warm. Too soft.Â
It had been so long since he had touched another person since anyone had been this close.Â
He waited for you to scream, to pull away, to look at him with that same wide-eyed horror.
But you didnât.
Instead, you exhaled, your hands bracing against his chest as you steadied yourself. And then, so gently he almost didnât believe it, your fingers brushed against his wrist.
âThank you,â you whispered.
Jason flinched.Â
Not because he was afraid, but because he didnât know how to process something so foreign.Â
Kindness.
He stepped back, disappearing into the trees before he could see the look in your eyes.
But you didnât stop leaving flowers. You didnât stop whispering soft words into the night.
And Jason didnât stop watching.
Days passed. Then weeks.
You were determined, and patient in a way no one had ever been with him.Â
Slowly, cautiously, Jason let himself be seen.Â
First, just shadows at the edge of your vision. Then, his figure stood farther down the shore as you sat by the water.Â
And then, one day, he let you approach.
He never spoke. You never asked him to.
Instead, you sat beside him, close enough that he could feel your warmth but not so close that he felt trapped.
"Do you want me to leave?" you asked one evening, your voice soft as you turned to him.
Jason knew he should nod.Â
That would be the right thing, the safest thing. But he didnât.
You smiled then, something small, and it was the first time Jason wondered if maybe, just maybe, the world hadnât been entirely cruel.
The first time you touched his mask, he stopped breathing.
It wasnât fear. It wasnât anger.Â
It was deeper, something raw.
Your fingers were careful, tracing the edges of it with curiosity, not force. And when your hand dropped away, you didnât try to take it off.Â
You simply looked at him, really looked at him, as if trying to see the man beneath the legend.
âYou donât have to hide from me,â you murmured.
Jason didnât know how to answer, so he didnât.Â
But later that night, when he found himself standing by your cabin, watching the soft glow of your lantern flicker through the window, he realized something terrifying.
He didnât want you to leave.
He didnât want to be alone again.
And for the first time in his life, Jason Voorhees understood what it meant to love.
Not the kind of love found in whispered promises or gentle words, Jason had never known those things, never needed them.Â
Love, to him, was something unspoken.Â
It was the way he lingered near, ensuring you were safe. It was the way he stepped between you and danger without hesitation. It was the way he let you touch him, let you stay, let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasnât doomed to be alone forever.
So when the day came that someone tried to take you from himâwhen they entered his woods with cruel laughter and careless threatsâJason didnât hesitate.
They would not take you.
They could not.
And when it was over, when the threat was gone, Jason expected you to fear him.
Instead, you reached for his hand.
"You're not a monster," you whispered, squeezing his fingers in reassurance. "Not to me."
Jason had no words. He never did. But when he pulled you close, when he let himself feel the warmth of your body against his, when he let you hold him like he was something more than a nightmare, he knew.
You were his.
And he was yours.
No one would ever take you from him again.
~Masterlist~
ËAO3Ë
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
Reader coming on there cycle in bed and the slasher thinks there bleeding out or smtn until they explain it to them?
Allll fluff, you could do headcanons or a specific slasher if you want
Slashers reaction to you starting your period
(Michael, Thomas, Vincent)
Note: excuse this if this a little sloppy, i planned on doing a few other slashers but then i didnt feel like it lol. mental exhaustion is real! anyway, i hope you enjoy <33
Michael
It was a rare night where Michael was sleeping in your bed, he usually doesn't sleep at all or chooses to sleep in the guest room or on the couch in the living room. You don't know why he did that, but you never forced him to come and sleep in your bed, not wanting to overstep boundaries. Michael is a complicated man to understand, and you don't want to push his buttons too much.
You nestled against him, your head comfortably resting on his chest as you basked in the warmth he emanated. You appreciated these rare moments with Michael, especially because he kept you warm on the coldest nights. After what seemed like an eternity of tossing and turning, you finally climbed out of bed, intending to get a glass of water. Just then, you heard the sound of Michael shifting, turning to face you.
"I'll be right back." You smiled, taking a moment to admire his mask-less face. From where you stood, he looked like just a normal man, his brown curls that laid perfectly on his forehead, the slightest dark bags under his mismatched eyes, and the way he laid in your bed, he didn't look like a man who has tormented your small hometown known as Hadonfield.
Just as you were about to turn around, a strong hand seized your wrist. When you looked back, you saw Michael propped up in bed, staring at you intently. His expression remained blank, but there was purpose in his movements. He drew you closer, lifting your shirt as if searching for something specific. When he couldn't find what he sought, he gently tugged at your shorts.
"What are you doing?" You questioned with a confused chuckle, looking down at yourself. Michael grabbed the bottom of your shorts and pulled them so you could see. You had apparently started your period, you completely forgot to keep an eye for that this week.
"Oh." You figured that was what Michael was looking for, the source of the blood that now stained your favorite pajama shorts.
Michael looked to you, and tilted his head. You figured he was probably never educated about this subject, you wondered how you would explain it to him.
"It's my period, I get it every month. It's normal so there's nothing to worry about." You explained carefully. "I mean, the only thing you'd have to worry about would be my mood swings." You joked with a giggle. Michael only blinked at you, you didn't know if he understood, maybe he didn't care.
Then, he gave you a subtle nod, one you almost missed if you hadn't been staring at him. You assumed he got what you said, so you left it at that.
Thomas
Thomas shook you awake in the middle of the night, his concern evident. Groggy and disoriented, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, mumbling some indistinct words of annoyance.
"What's wrong, Tommy?" You asked as you shivered, noticing how cold it suddenly was. Oh, the blanket had been pulled off.
Thomas pointed to your legs, and you noticed a small blood stain underneath of you. You quickly realized that as your period. Thomas appeared slightly unsettled, leading you to wonder if Luda Mae had ever discussed periods with him. Before you could clarify, he began examining your body for any signs of injury, which made you chuckle. You found his concern adorable.
"Thomas, i'm okay. It's just my period, it's something that females get every month. it's nothing bad." You clarified, a faint smile resting on your lips. Thomas stopped checking your body, giving you a confused look.
"I promise. It doesn't even hurt me. Well⌠kind of but it's not that serious." You hoped you weren't making Thomas more confused than he already was, but when he stopped furrowing his brows you assumed he understood what you were explaining to him. YA sigh escaped your lips as the reality set in: you needed to change out of your stained pajamas and replace the bedsheet. You longed to have slept in and postponed this chore until morning, yet you couldn't fault Thomas for his concern about your wellbeing. He prepared a swift shower for you to freshen up while he took care of the bedding. Once the chores were done, he made sure you had a restful night, holding you tightly against his chest until the early hours of dawn.
Vincent
You went to bed after Vincent mentioned he would be up a little later, immersed in his work on wax sculptures. This was a frequent situation, even though you often encouraged him to join you, insisting that he needed and deserved the rest. While you wholeheartedly supported Vincent in his pursuits, it always troubled you when he sacrificed sleep for his art.
You had woken up to the sound of shuffling, probably Vincent finally coming to bed. You didn't know what time it was, but you couldn't even be bothered to open your eyes to check. You felt a gentle nudge, Vincent's way of telling you to scoot over so he could get into bed as well. You grumbled before eventually scooting to the other side of the bed, you waited to feel the bed dip, indicating he laid down. But it never came.
Instead, Vincent was shaking you awake, it seemed urgent.
"Hm? Is something wrong Vinc?" You mumbled into the pillow, looking at him through an eye. In the dark, you could barely make out him signing to you.
"What?" You finally moved your face to fully look at him, worried by his seemingly panicked signing.
'You're bleeding. What happened?'
"I'm bleeding? What do you mean?" You furrowed your brows, unsure of what he was talking about. You hadn't been around any sharp objects recently, and you didn't have any old wounds that could be reopened. Vincent then gestured to the bed, you sat up and realized what happened. Where you laid previously had a blood stain on the sheets, you already knew your pants would be stained too.
"Awh⌠I got my period." You frowned, huffing from your nose. Your least favorite time of the month. You felt bad for staining Vincent's sheets, making a mental promise to yourself that you'd get it out tomorrow morning.
'Period?' He signed, tilting his head. He still seemed worried about you, you could see it in his body language by the way he leaned toward you and slightly reached his hands out to you. You knew he wanted to check you for any wounds, something he did quite often because you were very clumsy and often got scrapes and cuts, which he would patch up for you.
"Yeah, yeah. It's just something girls get every month. I get cramps and whatnot. Sorry for staining your sheets."
'Cramps? Anything else?'
"Uhhh, food cravings, mood swings." You shrugged, starting to scooch off the bed. Vincent took your hand and helped you up, then started leading you toward the bathroom. "Where are we going?"
He didn't respond as he released your hand and knelt beside the bathtub, turning on the water and testing its warmth with his fingers. You had always known Vincent to be thoughtful, consistently showing you kindness and tenderness. However, you never anticipated him starting a bath for you in the middle of the night.
"Oh, Vincent, you didn't have to." You smiled warmly at the gesture, feeling grateful to have a significant other like him.
Summary: You thought a road trip with your âfriendsâ might make you feel better, at least, thatâs what your best friend thought. But when you get stranded in a rural town in Texas? It turns into something your nightmare couldnât even make up.
TW: Blood, extreme violence, gore, stockhome syndrome, binds, gags, Hoyt being perv, SA (not towards reader or Thomas), eventual smut, eventual romance. lmk if i missed any. Pregnancy, talk of birth, FLUFFF
Word count: 800
_________________________________________________
Those Eyes: Epilogue ďżź
âMatthew! Come on, donât run from me please!â You call after your son as he runs off into the yard. Itâs been 5 years since youâve come across this rundown town. Now? You have a husband, a four year old and another one on the way. And you wouldnât change it for the world.
Youâre too pregnant to chase after your 4 year old, the most you can do is waddle. You brought him outside to help you get the laundry off the line. You shouldâve known better. Midway through, he decided it wasnât for him anymore and to go running to the barn.
Waddling after him isnât very effective, he just giggles and runs right into the barn. âMatthew! Iâm serious!â Thereâs silence for a moment. One thing youâve learned about being a parent is that silence is never good. Ever. âMatt? Sweetheart?â Another moment of quiet. Another. And another. Andâ
Thomas busts out through the doors, Matthew being tickled in his arms before he puts them on his shoulders. âJesus! You both almost gave me a heart attack!â Matthew giggles, âSorry, mommyâ. Tommy leans down so you can give a kiss to Matthewâs head while heâs still on his shoulders. You give Matthew a forehead kiss and Thomas one too.
âCome on, both of you. Mamaâs almost done with dinner and sheâll kill you both if you come to her table dirty.â
___________
Youâve tried to help Mama with meals or chores but she shoos you off. She did this to you with your first pregnancy too. Her and Thomas barely let you move a muscle every time. Matthew turned out a lot like Tommy. A big, chunky baby with dark thick hair and eyes. The only thing he got from you was nose. You hope this time your baby will look more like you. Though, you donât mind another cute baby that looks like your husband.
The only part you do mind is how big the baby was during birth! It felt like you were pushing out three at once. Especially with nothing for the pain, it was hell. But again, you wouldnât have it any other way.
You love your baby, even when heâs a little butthead sometimes. You love Thomas just as much. Heâs been nothing but caring since the beginning. He was scared to be a dad, terrified. But Luda taught him everything he was worried about and didnât know. Now look at him.
Speaking of Luda, she was more than ecstatic when she found out you were pregnant the first time. She sewed all of your maternity dresses and all the baby clothes. She was more than happy to have little ones running around again.
Thomas made toys out of wood and managed to find some of his old ones up in the attic. You will never forget the first time Thomas held Matthew. He cried. Sobbed, actually. He held him so gently. So, so gently.
___________
âMatthew, baby, use your spoon.â You say to your son in his highchair as he picks up the corn with his hands. Matthew copies his dad by eating with his hands or just mouth. Thomas has tried to use cutlery after you all realized but itâs less comfortable for him. Luda and you are really trying to teach Matthew table manners.
âBut dada doesnât!â âYeah, well, dadas a big kid, you arenât. So, pick up your spoon please and eat your corn right.â After a very exaggerated pout. He picks it up and starts eating.
After dinner, you carry Matthew to bed. âBut I'm not tired, MommyâŚâ âMhm, I donât buy it, love. You fell asleep at the table.â You say as he rests his cheek on your shoulder. You manage to tuck him into bed and start on a story. Heâs out like a light on the third page.
You sneak out of his room and manage to get out without noticed. You go to you and Tommyâs room. Heâs there, getting ready for bed. He turns around when you open the door. âMatthews out like a light. I think playing with Jediah really exhausted him.â Thomas grunts in agreement. You change and get into your night dress. You donât even hear when Thomas comes behind you. You only know heâs there when he places his hands on the bottom of your bump and lifts.
You groan and lean back against him. He doesnât know how good it feels to have those extra pounds lifted. âTommy, donât move. PleaseâŚâ You feel an amused huff in your shoulder as he leans down to rest his head there.
He guides you gently into bed, not letting his hand up. And when he does, he only goes to massage your back. You turn over to face him. âI love you, TommyâŚâ He grunts and leans down to nuzzle his face into your neck. He loves you too. More than you know
i just wanna thank everyone for reading! The amount of support i had with this story is incredible. Iâve had lots of ups and downs while making this but everyoneâs interactions and comments made it all worth it in the end. You all are amazing and thank you for reading!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
You had refused to believe Brahms could be alive for months. Ignored the noises,the doll moving,the creacks that you knew weren't just the house settling. Because you knew yourself. You knew how much you loved Brahms. How much you still love him despite the decades that have passed. It was only logical to think you were simply delusional. And far easier than deal with the thought that maybe all the pain you carried was for nothing. That Brahms was still alive. That you could have had your friend with you all those years,instead of being alone.
But now you couldn't deny it anymore. Not when he's standing right in front of you,watching as you pretend to sleep.
You were in bed trying to fall asleep when you heard a door opening. Except,it wasn't the room's door. The noise came from where the mirror was. Your hand flew to the gun you were now used to sleeping with,ready to defend yourself,and you dared to open one eye a fraction. A hulking figure stood by your bed,silently staring at you. As your eye got used to the dark,you slowly looked up at the man's face. It was covered by a porcelain mask similar to the doll's face. Once you could see more clearly,your eye almost widened,revealing you were awake.
Brahms?
How is this possible? Brahms is dead. He died twenty years ago...you cried for him...mourned him...
And yet,you knew it was him you were looking at. You could recognize those eyes anywhere,with how they had plagued your dreams for years now.
For the first time in a very long time,you have no idea what to do. You usually have a plan for everything just in case,but this? This you didn't know how to deal with. Too many emotions at once,you did the only thing you felt safe doing and spaced out.
You felt more than saw Brahms' body tense at that. Yep,it's definitely him. No one else could ever tell when you spaced out so quickly.
He simply stood there,a calming presence as your mind slipped further away.
When your senses came back that morning,he was still there. Now sitting next to your bed,his head resting on the matress next to your face,asleep. You stared as his chest rose and feel ritmically. You wanted to reach out. To shake him,to scream at him,to make sure this wasn't just an hallucination. Instead you stayed still,watching him. He grew up so much,and yet you could still recognize that boy who you used to spend your time with everyday. In in his stance,in the color of his hair,in the way his eyes were never quite still even as he slept. He doesn't know it,but you spent many of your nights hiding away in his room,watching him sleep,when you were just a kid. You can vaguely see the irony in how the roles swapped,but it wasn't particularly amusing. You never really understood what was so funny about irony,but you had to learn to recognize it to be able to understand other people better.
When he woke up,you almost cried out. Because you could finally see those dark eyes clearly,and suddently your brain realized thar this really was your Brahms. Not a dream or a delusion. Your Brahms.
You never really were one for physical touch. You usually keep your distance from everyone. And yet at that moment,you all but jump on him,wrapping your arms tight around his torso and holding on like your life depended on it. Maybe it did.
Because despite surviving all those years,despite the fake bonds with other people you had spend so much time crafting,despite the life you had pretended to live,you never were really living. You were simply doing what you knew you were supposed to do. But your heart,your dreams,your soul died the day you lost Brahms. And now that you had him in your arms,you could feel them coming back. You could feel life start again. You could feel the sun hitting you,the blanket still laying over your lower half,the birds chirping outside. The worls seemed to come back to life as you could hear Brahms' heart beating in his chest,his arm wrapped so tight around you it hurt,his silent sobs as he held you. You finally found your heart again. And you never,ever gonna let him go again.
Guys do y'all want a bonus chapter written trought Brahms' perspective? Basically the whole story trought his eyes? I will write it if someone requests it.
Summary: Michael comes home after a killing spree with injuries on his hands. You tiredly bandage them and you soon realize that the killer likes it when you kiss over his injuries.
The heat from the large blankets became unbearable, and you kicked them off with a huff. Sleeping wasnât the same without him; you shouldâve known not to grow too attached to the idea of it, yet you let the small moments get to you. You turn to the empty spot on the bed, then over to your phone. With the press of a button, it turns on, and the screen light blinds you. A groan leaves your lips at the harsh lights, squinting to turn down the brightness.
âItâs three in the morning,â you groan.
Usually, Michael would be back by midnight, or sometimes at one in the morning, but that was the latest heâs ever been. Youâve been tossing and turning since nine at night. It frustrates you how much you relied on his presence for a good sleep, but your mind wouldnât shut up unless you knew he was safe and sound. You then sit up with your back against the headboard, pulling your knees close to your chest. Each blink made you want to keep your eyes shut, but now your mind wouldnât rest.
You felt the air shift. A strong presence entered your home; you knew it could only mean one thing. Michael came back. Sometimes, you found it funny how the mass murderer of Haddionfeild always came back home; you didnât know whether he returned for you or just for a place to stay. The bed creaks as you stand to your feet and put on your fuzzy house shoes.
Going downstairs wasnât your first thought; however, you shuffled to the bathroom first to obtain the medkit under the sink. The pit of worry in your stomach was practically eating you alive as you made your way downstairs. A deep sigh leaves your lips once you reach the last step, reaching out to the light switch that turned on the living room light. Michael was there. The first thing you noticed was his bloody hands; it didn't look like it was from his victims.
âHey, youâre hurt,â you said through the silence.
You watch as Michael turns his head towards you in the doorway, rubbing your tired eyes that were soon full of worry. You stood there with your medkit. He sat in the large black leather chair, the dark circles of his mask stared at you before turning back to the wall. His cut-up, bloody hands got your attention. Someone must have cut his hand in self-defense. The wooden floorboards groan with every step you take towards him.
Michael kept his bloody hands in his lap. You wonder if he could even feel pain anymore. Or maybe he could, and he just didnât care about being hurt due to always getting beaten up by his victims. But you did. You always cause a fuss whenever he comes home hurt, but a cut-up hand was the most tamest injury heâs sustained that youâve seen so far. Carefully, you walk towards him and stand in front of him.
âMay I see your hands?â you ask with your hand out.
You didnât grab him, nor pull him towards you; it was his choice to take your help or not. You could hear the faint sounds of his breathing as he slowly raises one of his bloody hands. Now that you got a better look at the injury, you saw that it was more of a gash rather than small cuts; the fresh gash bled and stained his hands.
âThank you, Mike. Letâs wash your hands first.â
You quickly made your way to the kitchen, and he followed you silently. You did your best to wash his hands gently with warm water and soap, washing around the gash. You went back over to your medkit and grabbed it, opening the white box to grab a sterile gauze pad and placed it directly over the gash on his hand, then you used the white bandage to wrap around his wrist that made its way up to the cracks of his fingers.
You finally sealed it off with tape and did the same thing to his other hand. Once finished, you closed the white box.
âYou gotta be more careful out there, Mike,â you said gently. âYouâre lucky you donât need stitches.â
He didnât move. A relaxed sigh left your lips. Waves of exhaustion hit you now that you knew he was safe and patched up. Youâd change the bandages later, after you got enough sleep. You retrieved the box.
âIf you want to sleep with me, you know the rule: no coveralls in my bed, you know where your pajamas are.â
You made your way upstairs and put back the medkit. It felt like a massive weight being lift off your shoulders once your body hit the bed that now felt comfortable. As your eyes close shut, you felt at peace. The bed dipped. Tiredly, you open one of your eyes to see Michael in his blue pajamas. It was hard to find ones similar to the coveralls he wears everyday. His mask was still on. Heâd never take it off, not even to sleep.
A sigh left your lips as you close your eye to sleep. You felt your body relax, falling deeper into dumber, until a large hand gripped your throat with a firm grip. Your eyes shot open as Michael made you turn your head in his direction.
âYes, Mike?â you say tiredly.
The grip loosen, yet his hand never left your throat. It took him a while to teach him to make his grip less tight on your neck, it was his own weird way of touching you. His thumb rubs your chin, then snakes its way up to your bottom lip. Gripping your throat was one thing, but he never put his fingers up to your lips before. It made you sit up, as groggy as you were, it had to be something importantâŚright?
You take his hand off of you to hold it. Yet he pulled back, you were too sleepy to figure out whatâs wrong.
âI donât know what you want Michael.â You say with a yawn.
Michael points to the inner palm of his hand where the gash was, then up to his masked face. You did a slow blink with confusion written all over your face. He did the motion again, but more so pointed at his masked lips rather than his face. It then made sense. You always kissed his injuries after patching him up. It must not have crossed your mind to do it, but it surpluses you that he actually paid attention to you doing itâŚand taking a liking to it.
A smile forms on your lips as you take one of his hands. Pressing your lips to the very center in a kiss and did the same for the other one. âIs that better?â
Michael took his hand away afterwards. Stiffly lying down on his back. It was the closest thing youâd get to him relaxing to sleep. Now it was your turn to lie down with him. Your arms wrap around his arm and you rest your head on his chest. He still was still stiff, but didnât pull away. You soon began to learn that he didnât mind, if he did, he wouldâve pushed you offâŚheâs done it a few times before.
hi, could you write Brahms or Billy Loomis with the reader and their daughter pls
Tough luck raising children with brahms.
It was mostly likely a careless accident from him. He might indulge a bit into the whole 'putting a baby inside you' in an attempt to look cute and sexy but when the baby actually arrives...
Brahms struggles with sharing their attention, yes, even with their own daughter. Reader is his only source of human interaction, they already have a hard time dealing with the man-child himself.
All the responsibility is dumped onto Reader, Brahms can't help them in the slighest way even if he tried. Mostly out of ignorance and petty jealousy.
What used to be late night cuddling with the love of his life turned into them spending more time cradling the screaming bundle in their arms. Can't it just cry itself to sleep?
He has to come forward with the fact that he is in fact a grown man, even if he's mentally regressed. With another human being in both their care, he begrudgingly tries to achieve those 'paternal instincts'.
Brahms is the type to puff up his chest in pride after rocking their daughter to bed, while his partner did literally everything else. On the topic of this, he does enjoy dressing their child up. He likes to think of his daughter as the living version of his own doll.
It's not too bad. Reader can find Brahms and their baby girl laughing and playing, cooing to her in that baby voice you told him to ditch long ago.
He will eventually become attached because she's something that belongs to both of them, she's a reminder of the love they share. Everytime he looks into her eyes, they remind him of Reader.
