#slashers angst

Part 3

Brahms Heelshire x childood friend male reader

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

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.

The house smelled like rot and old grease, heat trapped in the walls like the place itself was breathing. You were tied to a chair that wobbled every time you shifted, rope biting into your wrists. Your head still rang from get knocked out only a couple of hours ago.

Another women was in the room… she was humming.

That was the worst part. She acted so relaxed. It was like as if her people didn’t just massacre yours.

She crouched in front of your bag like it offended her personally, thick fingers tugging the zipper open. “Lord have mercy,” she muttered, already digging in. “City girls always think they somethin’ special.”

The first thing she pulled out caught the light.

Sparkles caught the shine of the overhead light. A (f/c) body suit spilled into her hands, nice materiel, impossibly glittering, every stone sewn with care. It looked obscene in this house. As if it was an item from a different world.

The women froze.

“What in God’s name…” She lifted it higher, squinting. “This ain’t no cheap strip-joint trash.”

She shook it once, the gems catching the bare bulb overhead. The room flashed like a disco ball for half a second.

From the doorway, a low breath caught.

Him.

You felt him before you saw him—big, silent, filling the frame. His eyes locked on the suit, then flicked to you, confusion knitting his brow.

The women kept going.

She dumped the bag out like she was gutting a fish.

Cash spilled first. Not crumpled bills, neat stacks. Hundreds. Thousands. She scooped them up, counting under her breath, disbelief turning sharp.

“Well I’ll be damned.” She chuckled in disbelief.

Then the bottles hit the floor with a heavy clink. Glass thick, labels expensive. Stuff people locked away, not drank in kitchens like this.

“And liquor too?” she scoffed. “What are you, some kinda rich man’s toy?”

She had every reason to assume that. When she looked at you she thought you were drop dead gorgeous. Skin clear and done up, outfit ironed and color coordinated. You were a version of herself she could only dream of.

Lastly came the jewelry.

Diamonds—real ones. Earrings, rings, chains. Not costume. Not fake. The kind that caught light even in this dim hell hole.

She finally looked at you.

Slow. Confusion.

“You ain’t no nobody,” she said, voice dropping. “Who are you girly?”

“Who am I?” you repeated, head tilting. The rope creaked as you leaned back in the chair. “Oh, honey… you wouldn’t believe me.” You tilted your head back and caught the man’s eyes. You smiled at him with such a sweetly sickening expression that he stiffened in the corner. He hadn’t moved since his mother started going through your bag.

You faced forward and inhaled slowly, like you were stepping onto a stage.

“People wait hours just to see me walk out under the lights. They cheer before I even move.”

The women scoffed, but her eyes flicked—just once—to the diamonds.

You kept going.

“I wear custom pieces worth more than this whole house,” you said plainly. “Men cry when I smile at them. Women hate me until they realize I earned it.”

You smiled then. Real. Dangerous.

“I dance on stages so big the lights feel like the sun. I get standing ovations. Reviews. Contracts. I don’t beg—I get invited.”

Your chest rose, pride bleeding into something sharper, darker.

“I drink things you can’t pronounce. Sleep in hotel beds softer than heaven. I wake up to room service and go to sleep to applause.”

Luda Mae’s face twisted. “You think you’re better than us?”

You leaned forward as far as the ropes would allow, eyes blazing.

“I know I am.”

You laughed, loud this time. Almost breathless.

She stepped back without realizing she’d moved.

“You don’t even know what to do with me,” you said, grin stretching too wide. “You don’t know how to touch something this valuable.”

You weren’t screaming.

You weren’t begging.

You were power, wrapped in rope.

The women gathered the sparkly suit again, holding it up like a trophy. “Ain’t this somethin’, Tommy?” she said sweetly. “All that shine ends up right here.”

Tommy didn’t answer.

He only looked at you—really looked—and for the first time since you were dragged into that house, you saw it clearly. He was terrified of what he saw.

~~~~~~~~~

Hello! My name is Thérèse and I am an aspiring author. In this masterlist you can find all my works for this series linked under their respective characters. I write for the characters listed but I will make exceptions if requested. Thank you and happy reading!

MICHAEL MYERS

-nothing yet :(

JASON VOORHEES

-nothing yet :(

BILLY LOOMIS

-nothing yet :(

STU MACHER

-nothing yet :(

BUBBA SAWYER

-nothing yet :(

VINCENT SINCLAIR

-nothing yet :(

BO SINCLAIR

-nothing yet :(

LESTER SINCLAIR

-nothing yet :(

TIFFANY VALENTINE

-nothing yet :(

BABY FIREFLY

-nothing yet :(

DOOMHEAD

-nothing yet :(

BRAHMS HEELSHIRE

-nothing yet :(

DARRY JENNER (Jeepers Creepers)

-nothing yet :(

ART THE CLOWN

-nothing yet :(

PENNYWISE

-nothing yet :(

"Anywhere For You"

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Brahms Heelshire x GN|Y/N

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Warnings: Trauma, Angst, Yandere

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Summary: In which he might have accidentally almost killed you..

TW: Mentions of injury, Michael stabs reader in the shoulder, Michael is most likely ooc in this fic (First time writing for Michael)

Pairing: RZ! Michael Myers x GN! Reader

Michael entered his old estate, which now, you both occupy. In a bad mood. His grip on the knife remains tight even after you have greeted him with widest smile you could muster. He seems to walk past you like a ghost, shoving you aside with little effort. You say nothing and just decide that maybe his latest victim put up too much of a fight for Michael to enjoy, you sit and ponder for a little while before you hear the water run from upstairs. Finally you decide that he may just need a proper rest, so in the end you close the lights downstairs and clean up after Michael's bloody tracks.

Michael was greeted with the dark and empty halls once he had stepped downstairs, he concluded you were made upset by the fact he shoved you aside and paid no mind to you a little while earlier. He put on some sweatpants that hanged above his ankles, and a white t-shirt that was a little tight on him. He grabbed his knife to fend off any possible intruders and waited patiently for your return.

You went inside through the back door, a stupid idea but you knew that it was almost never locked and you were sure Michael was asleep by now. So using the front door would just alert and wake him when he hears your keys jingle. Plus that door always has a horrible creak because of it's age. What you never thought twice about was Michael being awake.

You weren't really expecting a blade going through your shoulder. You screamed in pain when the blade retracted immediately, Michael dropped the knife in an instant and flicked the light on, he turned you around to examine the wound and you felt his grip tighten on your shoulders in panic and frustration.

The blood seeped through your shirt as you whimpered and grunted in pain every time Michael would poke at it. "Michael." you said at the verge of tears, he looked up and you could see the slightest hint of desperation in his eyes "Get the med kit from the upstairs bathroom, please." your voice wavering in the near end.

Michael rushed upstairs and came back with the med kit, he threw it onto the table and walked around the kitchen looking for a washcloth. You took out balls of cotton and some gauze and bandages and inhaled a deep breath, you almost screamed when you sanitized the huge gash on your shoulder. You bit your lip so hard you could taste the metallic copper tang of blood on your tongue.

i’m so sorry for what i just wrote — guys please don’t hate me 🥲 i only did Bo because if i wrote two y’all would definitely hate me for life 🧍🏾‍♀️i can totally do this again another day tho!

trigger warnings : death ; the reader dying ; angst ;

𝙱𝚘 𝚂.

for the past few days your condition has been getting worse and worse, your doctor told you that you had only a few months to live the last time you were at the doctors, you never told Bo this but you decided to stop all doctors appointments in the future and make Bo a little memory box that you said he couldn’t open because there was something that was gonna happen out of his control very soon. when that opens then he can open the box

when you felt your body start to slowly start to give out you went to Bo and tried your best to seem like you weren’t in any pain but Bo being Bo asked why you were acting so weird,

“i just…. have a headache is all — i’ll be okay! can we go work on the garage together?” you spoke, wanting to spend as much time with Bo as possible in your final days… Bo had been upset that entire day

“no — go do somethin’ with Vincent, ‘m not in the mood” he said before storming out the room and slamming the door behind him. you stood there for a few seconds before coughing up some blood, you went to wash your hands and face off before you sat down at the dining room table playing with the bracelet on your arm that Bo had given you as a gift a few weeks ago. you never took this off — the only times you do is whenever you shower

later that day you went down to the Gas Station where Bo was at still working. you gave him a little paper bag

“the fuck is this?” he asked as he looked over at you from the side. he was trying to find some tools

“i made you some food — there’s more at the house but i thought….. that you would like to have some right now. ya’know..” you told him, trying to hold a cough back that entire sentence. he let out an annoyed sigh before walking past you accidentally hitting your shoulder when he did

“give it to vincent — ‘m not hungry”

“oh…. okay….. well, what’re you doing there?” you asked as you held onto your shoulder seeing as bo was working on the engine of a car you haven’t seen before

“stop botherin’ me, goddamn it — go do somethin’ else that ain’t botherin’ me” he snapped, today he was more annoyed and short tempered than he usually is. but you obviously not having the energy to argue with him you simply nodded, placed the bag down on his desk and walked back up to your shared house

over the course of a few hours Bo was still in the Gas station, you were in your shared bedroom watching television or whatever Bo set the tv to have on and you hugged the pillow. you started to cry knowing that you were going to die tonight or sometime in the morning… you could just feel it and knowing that Bo was too upset to spend time with you actually kinda hurt you — the man that you loved so much not even being in the right mood to spend time with you

at the gas station Bo was taking a break and went to his desk to sit down, he started at the papered lunch you had given him. he decided to open it to see what was inside it, there was a little note

‘i want you to know that i love you with all my heart Bo Sinclair, you mean everything to me — it’s happening…’ the note read

bo was confused as to what the hell “it’s happening” meant, underneath the note was his favourite food that you made every once in a while. he started to feel bad since all day he was kinda cutting you off and then you made him his favourite food. it was cold so he made his way up to the house to heat it up. once it was heated up he grabbed himself a drink and started to eat. he found it weird that you didn’t come down to greet him like you normally do whenever he comes back home. but he just thought you were sleeping so he didn’t bother you

once he was done eating he went to throw away the paper bag and when he did he noticed a bloody tissue in the bin. thinking nothing of it he placed his cup and tupperware along with the fork he used in the sink before making his way upstairs to your shared room

“babe/darlin’? listen….” he began as he went to get changed “‘m sorry for bein’ rude all day.” he continued before going to your side of the bed. he looked at you for a few seconds before reaching down to turn you over to look at him and when you didn’t move, his heart sank in his chest so fucking hard that he felt almost sick. he shook you

“y/n? hey! y/n! this ain’t funny! wake up!” he pleaded as he fought back his tears, in his head you were just in a deep sleep and that you’ll wake up after a few seconds with more shaking…. right? after finally realising you were dead and not waking up he let out a heart breaking yell as he started to cry. hugging your body as he did

vincent heard this yell and quickly ran up the stairs thinking that Bo got hurt or something, when he opened the door and saw Bo hugging your body and crying he knew what happened almost immediately. bo hadn’t even heard vincent running up the stairs or barging into the room that’s how hard he was crying

“y/n please! wake up! ….. please!!” he pleaded as he just cried and cried — eventually his crying died down since he cried to much that it was basically impossible for him to cry for the rest of the night, even if he wanted to. he looked over to see Vincent standing in front of the Tv just watching. under his mask he was silently crying. you were like the brother/sister he wanted, you were so kind to him always, you were there to console him after Bo got angery at him for no reason or whenever he himself got upset and just needed a break, always so gentle with both him and Bo. vincent thanks you for being there for the two brothers and staying even after you found out the town’s secret…

over the next few days Bo was just not himself anymore, with you gone forever he lost his entire happiness. you were the sunshine to his rainy day — the glue to a broken toy — the bandaid to a scrape on the elbow or knee. he kept that note that you gave him with his food a few days ago — he keeps all the little notes you gave him with lunch, they brightened up his day a lot more whenever you did. he remembered the box you said for him not to open and remembered why you said not to open it until the thing out of his control happened.

he went to go find the box and it took a long time but he eventually found it under the bed in the guest bedroom. you knew that he never went into that room so it was a perfect hiding spot. when he opened it he saw a long letter

‘Bo, im going to just be blunt — i’m dying… the doctor told me that i only had a few months to live so after that i just completely stopped going to the doctors because why the fuck would i need to? i’ve only told Vincent about this and i made him swear he were not to tell you even if you yelled at him to tell you. hopefully he hasn’t peeped a word since. i didn’t tell you because i knew that you wouldn’t handle it as well as you think you could have. we both know you wouldn’t be able to take it, no matter how much you tried to hide it. there are two things i want you to do, one is live your life. be the best man you can be, treat your brothers right and treat every day like it’s your last. don’t spend forever wishing you could have changed the past, don’t spend the rest of your life wishing you could have done this or thing thing better. and two have vincent make me into a wax figure, Vincent already knows how i want to look. i love you and i always will, please never forget that’ the letter read

in the rest of the box there were more letters that you wrote to him every day since you got the information you were dying. then there was your bracelet he gave you, before you died you put a few things in the box like your bracelet, your ring, a few things you had made him and the small childhood teddy bear you had kept. after a while he went to Vincent

“you knew…?” was all he said, vincent was already starting to work on making you a wax figure, vincent turned to Bo and gave a slow nod expecting him to be pissed off, ever since you died Bo barely worked and barely took care of himself and barely spoke to Vincent or lester

“‘n….. you kept that promise you made ‘em…” he let out a small dry chuckle as he thought “i’m kinda… proud of ya for keepin’ it — it must’ve been hard, huh?” bo asked, vincent slowly nodded, those entire five months he wanted to tell Bo so much but he swore he wouldn’t until after you passed, it fucking sucked to be honest. he knew his brothers s/o was going to die and Bo didn’t…

“s…s…sorry—“ vincent grumbled out, he rarely spoke and only spoke whenever he actually needed to or didn’t know what else to do

“for what..?”

“n…ot t…telling…”

“it was their wish for you not to tell me and you respected that — don’t be sorry”

there were a few seconds of silence before Bo spoke again “you getting ‘em done?” vincent nodded before he started to work on your body

“please… put all your heart into this — They would want you to make ‘em look amazin’ …. oh, ‘n put this with ‘em tho” bo said as he placed your childhood teddy bear on the table

✨bonus✨

after vincent was finished with making you into wax like you asked he placed you into the museum then ran to find his twin brother. Bo started to slowly started to get back on track but he still had his bad episodes without you. he was in the garage organising some supplies when vincent came in, he grunted to make his presence known to Bo

“what…?”

vincent signed ‘i finished it!’

“did ya now? well let’s go see….” Bo said softly as he placed his stuff down and followed vincent, he wasn’t prepared on what he was about to see but he had to be. when he walked inside and followed vincent to where he had out you he stared for a long time

there you were, a wax statue in a standing pose with your childhood teddy bear in one hand and the other one waving with a smile on your face, you were wearing one of Bo’s favourite dresses/outfits he had gotten you a year ago. there are rare moments where he is genuinely so shocked he can’t say a word, this is that moment. he felt himself start to tear up from the sight

“thank you….”

This is my official masterlist for Slashers/Horror Characters. I write for all the characters listed as well as others if it is requested. For additional information, please refer to the post linked below.

This masterlist along with my others will be updated everytime a new story/fic is written or in the works of being written.

MICHAEL MYERS:

-none yet

JASON VOORHEES:

-none yet

BILLY LOOMIS:

-none yet

STU MACHER:

-none yet

BUBBA SAWYER:

-none yet

VINCENT SINCLAIR:

-none yet

BO SINCLAIR:

-none yet

LESTER SINCLAIR:

-none yet

TIFFANY VALENTINE:

-none yet

BABY FIREFLY:

-none yet

DOOMHEAD:

-none yet

BRAHMS HEELSHIRE:

-none yet

DERRY JENNER (Jeepers Creepers):

-none yet

NORMAN BATES (Bates Motel):

-none yet

HANNIBAL LECTER (Hannibal):

-none yet

ART THE CLOWN:

can I request headcanons with Norman who goes off on his s/o after they accidentally said something to offend him and they start to avoid him? I like angst very much >:)))

Thanks! x

Norman Bates loosing his temper? Angst on a bad month? Imma try my best!

Sorry it’s so short! This is an older one I got when I first started writing! I feel bad it took this long!! I’m not proud of it, but at least it’s done…? Sorry..

Slashers | Norman

Angry Norman Bates x Reader

TW: angst, things said, hearts broken, “whore” mentioned once, no comfort

↓Angst under the cut↓