Slashers X Y/n - Blog Posts

I swear theres alot of more things art would've done 🥴🥴🤌🤌🤌

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader SMUT • headcanons, how Art fucks, what he gets off to, etc

big content warning! contains some stuff that may gross you out; read at your own risk: menstruation kink, piss kink, oral sex, anal sex, object insertion, blood kink, various weapons mentioned, bondage, human hair and bones, butts and what comes out of butts, public sex, cockwarming, mostly dom!Art and sub!reader

🔪 Remember the work desk with all of Art’s weapons and tools on it? He knows you want him to fuck you, but he’s got shit to do (meaning weapons to build) so he lets you sit under the desk, cockwarming him while he works. You’re on the ground between his knees, patiently holding him in your mouth. When he finishes constructing his latest instrument of torture/slaughter, Art pats his palm against his thigh, wordlessly telling you to climb up into his lap and ride him.🩸

🔪 Art enjoys blood and guts, so it goes without saying that during your period, he’s particularly eager to fuck you. He can detect the slight change in your scent, usually aware you’ve begun to bleed even before you know. He plays with your pussy like it’s a new, special toy when you’re bleeding, spreading your lips and tracing his name on your inner thighs in red. Seeing/touching/tasting blood that comes from you is special to Art. It’s the only time he gets to play in blood without it being the result of him hurting someone, so that makes the experience unique for him. He saves your used pads for ‘alone time,’ using them later as a ‘sleeve,’ to masturbate with.🩸

🔪 Art sometimes fucks you with unconventional objects, like the handle of one of his weapons (knife, axe) or the neck of a bottle. If you’ve displeased him but he still wants to fuck you, he might deny you his cock and instead use something else, like the handle of one of his knives or the barrel of an (empty!) gun, to make you come instead of his cock, as a degrading ‘punishment.’🩸

🔪 Art loves bondage. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to tying knots, as evidenced by the multiple victims you’ve watched him restrain. He enjoys the power dynamic of being in absolute control of another person. When that crosses over into sex, you both get off on him tying you up and doing whatever the fuck he wants with your body.🩸

🔪 Art’s methods can border on sadistic at times (I mean how could they not??) but because he wants to keep you around to play with for the long haul, he never pushes you beyond the limits of safety, no matter how many new ways he comes up with to plug every hole in your body. If we know anything about Art, it’s that he’s perceptive. He studies the way your body responds to different forms of stimulation and mentally catalogs the information for later. All of his skill in crafting tools of torture means he’s able to create customized ‘toys,’ to fuck you with. But the thing is, they’re never normal, or sweet; they always contain something fucked-up and sick. Art once surprised you with a whip he’d put together for you. Its strands were soft and felt so good gliding over your clit. You came so hard when Art whipped your pussy till it was puffy and leaking. It would have been a wonderful gift, if you hadn’t realized later, upon closer inspection, that the strands now wet with your cum were in fact strands of human hair. And the custom dildo Art made for you, the one that was so smooth and colored beige/white? You later found out Art had chiseled and smoothed down a human bone to make it for you. The information almost made you sick on the spot. Art found your horrified reaction hilarious, of course, and it didn’t stop him from laying you down and fucking you with it all the same…🩸

🔪 ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL …

He loves to fuck you in the ass. Art’s a nasty little motherfucker when it comes to the stuff that comes out of butts, and I’m not gonna elaborate here, but you can use your imagination to follow where I’m going with this…🩸

🔪 Art has zero inhibitions: he kills anyone, anywhere. Imagine that relating to sex; of course he’s going to fuck you wherever he wants, including places where you might get caught. Sex in public/risky spaces feels natural to Art, because he literally does not give a single fuck. Remember the first time you ever saw him? When you stumbled out the back door of that sleazy little bar in your home town, so drunk off your ass you thought you were leaving through the front? Art was in the alleyway behind the bar, black garbage bag hoisted over his shoulder, not even looking for anyone to fuck up but when he saw you, he knew he’d found a victim for the night. He’d planned to stalk you home and do unspeakable things to you-but as you took the lead and approached him, there in the alleyway, he was caught off guard, his whole plan upended the moment you slid your arms around his waist, stood up on your tiptoes, and placed a soft, sloppy kiss on his cheek. He was awestruck, and even if he could speak, Art would still have been at a loss for words. You walked him backward a few steps, lining him up against a dumpster in the alleyway. You began fondling him through his costume, grinning when you realized his body had already begun to respond. One thing led to another, and within minutes, Art had you bent over that dumpster, with a fresh hole torn in the front of his costume where your bodies were joined…🩸

🔪 No one would associate The Miles County Clown with tenderness, but if they knew Art, they would see a softer side of him only you do. He’s still fucking deranged, don’t get me wrong. But Art also has moments of vulnerability, when there’s nothing he wants more than to hold you. Sitting in Art’s lap, he wraps his arms around you and stays still, so still, just enjoying the soft thump of your heartbeat against his, and the low hum of your breath on his chest. Your nearness calms the monster inside Art so well that sometimes, he forgets he is the monster itself…🩸

🔪 Another benefit of having you in his lap? Art realized he could use his strength to make you stay in his lap no matter how badly you had to get up and take a piss, forcing you to wet yourself all over him. You felt him gradually getting hard under you as you began to wriggle on his lap. Art could see your discomfort, and when you told him you needed to get up and take a piss, he refused to release you. You’d expect him to be smiling at you at a time like this, silently mocking you; but the look in his eyes was deathly serious, pitch black and full of a demented lust that would have had you locked you in place even if his arms hadn’t. Blushing into his shoulder, you accepted the fact that Art wasn’t letting go of you any time soon, and that he really was into this. He wanted this to happen. You allowed your bladder to empty, a soft trickle saturating your panties, followed by a steady stream of hot piss that spread over Art’s lap. His clothes were soaked through below the waist, your piss running down between his thighs and dampening the couch cushion beneath you. Art was rock hard by this point, his wet cock throbbing against your pussy. He lifted you off his lap just enough to reach between your bodies and position his tip against your entrance, then used your piss as a lube to slide inside you…🩸

ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴏᴏʀ

͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝖲𝗍𝗎 𝖬𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋 x fem!reader

╔═ A/N ═╗ Based on this request. I apologize if I got the characterization wrong. I just feel like the darker side to his character is never properly explored. As goofy as he was, he was also a serial killer lmao

✬ Summary ✬ Stu's your best friend, you know him as well as you know yourself. At least you thought so. A snoop through his closet leads to a terrifying discovery. Now, everywhere you turn, that haunting mask is right there waiting.

“God,” you toss the remote on the cushion beside you. It bounces off the oversized couch and flops to the floor. “There’s nothing on TV,” you lament, draping yourself dramatically over the cushions. 

Stu snickers and kicks his legs over the arms of his chair, shrugging with a smug look. “I told you we should have stopped by the video store.” His gaze drifts back toward the TV, grimacing at the obnoxiously loud MTV episode you stopped on. 

“Hell no, Randy’s working tonight,” you scold, sharp gaze snapping toward him. He’s got a stupid grin on his face, clearly having decided that his form of entertainment tonight is going to be pissing you off. “I don’t feel like having him critique me for an hour on my poor taste in movies.”

He snorts and reaches to take a large handful out of the popcorn on the coffee table between you. “Maybe if you didn’t just rent stupid chick flicks all the time, he wouldn’t.” 

Stu doesn’t have time to duck as you chuck one of his mom’s overpriced throw pillows at him. “Don’t act like you don’t love Pretty in Pink.” The pillow knocks the popcorn out of his hand, scattering it across the ornate rug Mrs. Macher bought last week. If she saw the state you’d gotten the house in this weekend, that ever-pulsing vein in her head would burst. As it is, they’re never actually at the house, it’s an oasis for practically half the school during the weekends Stu decides to throw a party. 

For the first time in a while, though, it’s just you and Stu. No one else is here to rile him up or force him to put on a show. He’s at his calmest when it’s just the two of you. Which, honestly, doesn’t mean much for him, but still. 

“I do not,” he objects, stretching out his lanky body and getting to his feet. 

You roll your head lazily to face him, giving him a knowing smirk. “Billy isn’t here, Stu. You don’t have to lie,” you assure him, holding out your arms as he stops in front of you. You already know what he wants, he’s got that specific gleam in his eye as he smiles down at you. 

“I mean,” he shrugs, “it’s not bad,” he concedes. Without another word, he throws himself on top of you, even prepared for it, you still feel the breath rush out in one hefty wheeze. Another thing you don’t see as much when others are around, just how goddamn clingy he is. 

Sure, with his multitude of girlfriends, he’s touchy. But this is something different entirely. He clings to you like he would burrow into your skin if he could. He’s been that way since you guys were kids. While the feeling of others touching you might set you on edge, Stu fits against you like your missing piece. 

Hands drifting up to play with his hair, you settle yourself against the cushions while he goes back to channel surfing, pleased to have you as his pillow. 

The TV drones on, a dull buzz in the background now that Stu has the volume down. With his head practically buried between your boobs and your legs wrapped around his waist, you snicker. 

Frowning, he props his chin on your chest, staring up at you. “What?” He demands, hating to be left out of a joke. 

“Nothing,” you shrug as much as you can with him steadily pancaking you. “Just wondering what your girlfriend would think of us like this.”

“Oh,” he sets his head back down and places your hands back on his head to continue playing with his hair. “We broke up,” he tells you, like it means absolutely nothing. 

“Stu!” You slap his shoulder, and he winces dramatically. As if you could ever do real damage to him. 

“Ow!” He whines, bracketing himself up on his elbows so he can look down at you. “What’s your problem tonight?”

His hips are still lazily pressed against you, pressure increasing the longer he hovers above you. Swallowing thickly, you try to ignore the flush spreading through you. “You didn’t tell me you guys broke up.”

He rolls his eyes, glaring down at you. “I just did,” he points out sarcastically. You swat at his shoulder again, but this time, he catches your hand in his, lacing your fingers together with a smug grin as he keeps you trapped. 

“You’re collecting these girls like they’re trading cards.” Despite his tight grip, you manage to slip out slightly from under him and prop yourself against the arm of the couch. “I don’t even remember the last one’s name.”

His face goes slack, lips parting as you see the cogs in his brain turning. He laughs and glances back at you with a dismissive shrug. “Neither do I. I just remember the tits.”

“Ugh,” you yank your hand out of his, ignoring his petulant frown. “You’re absolutely disgusting. What’s the point of even dating them?”

He slinks back against the other end of the couch. “I just said why,” he points to your chest with a grin, and you reflexively cross your arms. Stu tips his head back, dangling it over the edge as he stares up at the ceiling with a forlorn sigh. “I don’t get it,” he tosses his hands up, and you already know where this is going. 

Head tipped back up, he narrows his eyes at you, “I don’t know why we don’t just date.”

You give him a deadpan look, arms still tight around your chest. “Dude,” you chide, “after what you just told me. Seriously?” When you were younger, him saying this used to set you alight. You’d get all dreamy-eyed, imagining what it would be like to be Stu’s girlfriend. Of course, you’d taken too long thinking about it, and by then, he’d already found a different girl to set his sights on. It had broken your heart, and their relationship had barely even lasted a week. 

By now, you know better than to take anything he says seriously. Everything’s just one big joke to him. He’s so fickle you can’t trust that he would actually put effort into anything more blooming between you. You seem to be the only girl in his life that he actually thinks of as a person, going on a few dates with him isn’t worth screwing that up. Besides that, you’re not going to ruin the only friendship you’ve ever had that’s lasted more than two months. 

Stu opens his mouth like he wants to say anything, but it snaps shut a moment later. His face sets into a glower, and you worry for a moment that you might have actually hurt his feelings. You’ve always thought the suggestion was just a sort of inside joke between the two of you. Though, he has been bringing it up more and more lately. 

Your stomach flips unpleasantly, heart aching with guilt. It doesn’t last long, the feeling always remains fleeting. You’ve conditioned yourself for years to dismiss anything that might actually encourage you to pursue something with Stu. You love him, but you two would just be a spark waiting to light up. 

“You’re staying the night, right?” Stu changes the subject, picking up the remote once more and not meeting your eye. Your lips part, and he cuts a glare toward you, “No girlfriend,” he stops you before you can even say anything. Your brows furrow, and he looks back to the TV. “No sleepovers if I’m dating,” he mocks the pitch of your voice, reminding you of the rule you'd enforced so long ago. Your lips fall in a flat, irritated line at his imitation of you. 

“No girlfriend,” he reminds you, feigning indifference even though you can see right through him. Your plan was to go home, but you know him well enough by now. The set of his jaw, the stubborn way he won’t look at you, there’s no actual choice. You’re staying.

“Yeah,” you acquiesce with a low huff. “I’ll need to borrow some clothes.”

“You know where they are,” he tells you, still not meeting your eye. He’s never been this sensitive after you’ve rejected him before. What’s his problem? Eyes narrowed, you get to your feet, glaring at him the whole way up the stairs. He never loses the indifferent look, passive-aggressively turning the TV up. 

Usually, you just grab some pants from the guest room. But with Autumn descending, it’s been getting colder, especially in Stu’s drafty old house. There’s a soft yellow sweater that you’ve always tried to steal from him, and he’s never let you get away with it. 

Nabbing it would probably ease up the weird tension. He is a freak, he does love seeing you in his clothes. You figure it’s a solid plan and slip across the hallway, quietly opening his bedroom door. 

As always, his room is a hot damn mess. The bed’s unmade, sheets completely untucked, and half of them sprawled across the floor. There’s a clearly well-loved nudie mag lying open on his nightstand, boobs bared boldly to the world. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and turn toward his closet. 

Your brows furrow, head tilting at the closed door. As odd as it is, Stu never closes his closet. It’s just another tedious task to him. Besides, he likes to just ball all his clothes up and toss them in wildly. You know his family’s old maid threatened to quit if she had to clean his room ever again. But you wouldn’t believe that looking into the closet now. 

It’s not just clean, it’s pristine. Clothes hung up, sorted by color and sleeve length. Jeans all neatly folded away. The box of old books and junk he had just lying about are tucked up on the top shelf. “What the hell?” You whisper, looking around like you just stepped into Narnia. 

Hell, maybe it’s a portal to a bizarro dimension, it would make more sense than him cleaning up after himself. Whatever, you don’t have time to dwell on Stu’s oddities, you’d just be standing here forever if you did. 

You start in the yellow section of his closet, then drift toward the sweaters. And, of course, the only one you want isn’t anywhere to be found. It has to be buried somewhere in here, and you’re not giving up until that sweater is yours. You dig through his folded pile of jeans recklessly, hoping for a bright spot of yellow to be buried somewhere within them. 

Tugging a little too hard on one of the stacks, something hard clatters against the wooden floor of his closet. “Ah, shit,” you hiss, shoving the jeans back and kneeling to try and spot whatever fell. Lowering your head to the ground, you peer under the hems of his shirts on the lower rack and squint into the shadows. 

There’s a vague shape of something, and you reach toward it. Head tilted the other way, your arm stretches under the sweaters, blindly groping for whatever you sent tumbling. Your fingers snag on fabric, and you grin, thinking it’s the sweater you’ve been coveting. 

Pulling it out, your smile stills, heart rapidly increasing speed until it feels like it’s going to beat out of your ribs. There’s a twisting pain in your stomach, anguish and immediate denial flooding through you as you stare down at the mask in your hands. 

It’s just a cheap drugstore mask. Around Halloween, you could find it anywhere. You could easily dismiss it as something Stu bought as a fucked up joke. Were it not for the flaking copper on the chin of the howling mask. Your fingers tighten around it until you think it might crack. 

Slowly, you tilt your head back toward the shirts. This wasn’t what fell. A part of you screams to just chuck the mask back and pretend you never saw it. You could go downstairs, continue your movie night with Stu, and pass out beside him on the couch. Lying to yourself would be so damn easy. It’s just a mask, half the guys in school bought one because they thought it was a fucking joke. 

But your body isn’t interested in weak excuses. Bowing over, your hand swipes across the wood once more, wrapping around the object that fell. Before you even drag it out, you already know what you’re going to see. A pulsing pain spreads through your chest, eyes watering as you stare down at the knife in your hand. 

A serrated hunting knife, to be exact. The same one Dewey said was used to kill Casey only a week ago. God, how had you not seen this? How could you have been so blind?

Stu had been the number one suspect, but Billy had been his alibi, no one could place him at the scene of the crime.

There has always been something twisted about Billy. It only got worse when his mom left. Maybe this was all his idea, maybe Stu was just dragged into this, but he doesn’t really want-

Your thoughts fade into a dull silence in the back of your mind. There’s no excuse. Stu has always been different, just slightly off. His jokes nearing the wrong side of dark. But you never would have thought him capable of something so brutal. 

Footsteps sound up the stairs, and your brain shocks itself awake. Quickly, you toss the mask back under the clothes and shove the knife into the jeans. Wiping your eyes, you leap to your feet and rush out of the closet just as Stu barrels into his room. 

The both of you pause, staring blankly at each other. You, a deer caught in a hunter’s snare. He, the drooling wolf, waiting to pounce. 

Slowly, his eyes drift toward the closet, the light you left on, and the door you hadn’t had time to close. He turns back to you, and something twisted curls at the edges of his lips. Adrenaline shoots so fast through you it nearly knocks you off your feet. 

“Looking for something?” His tone is light, barely audible, as he takes a step closer. It takes every ounce of self-control not to back away from him. 

Something too strained to be a smile curls your lips up. “Um,” you lick your lips, swallowing down the dryness coating your tongue. You laugh nervously and take a step toward his bed. “Just that sweater I love. 

He stalks towards you, and your eyes widen, heart fluttering in your chest. Just when you think he might run you over, he steps around you and heads toward his dresser. You turn, afraid to take your eyes off of him. 

Peeking above the corner of a drawer is a yellow sleeve. He slips it out easily, holding it out to you with a grin that shows off all his teeth. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking around the words as you snatch the sweater out of his hands. 

“I made more popcorn,” he tells you, eyes wild as he stares down at you. “Halloween’s on.” It’s a simple invitation to a movie, but it feels like there’s a knife to your back. You have no choice but to step out of the room and head down the stairs. Every bit of you screams to act natural, to pretend that there’s nothing wrong. 

How could you be? Your best friend, the boy you’re practically in love with, is slaughtering your friends. He’s running rampant through your town and killing girls just because they broke up with him. 

Risking a glance over your shoulder, you see him already looking at you. The smile is gone, now he’s just watching you with this bemused expression, like he’s waiting for you to break and make a run for it. 

You take a seat on the couch, lean against the pillows, and glue your eyes to the screen. Suddenly, Jamie Lee Curtis babysitting is the most interesting thing in the world to you. Stu takes his seat beside you, sinking into your side and wrapping his arms around your waist. Stiff as a board, you can’t find it in you to return the touch, too petrified by the thought of all the blood on his hands. 

He doesn’t care for your trepidation, taking your arms and wrapping them around himself. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing against the sensitive skin as he speaks. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Avoiding Stu has been easier than you thought it would. Usually, he’s more persistent in making you hang out with him. Especially when your parents are both out of town at the same time. But he’s been suspiciously quiet since you prematurely ended your weekend stay last week. 

You managed to make it through the night. Though, while Stu dozed on top of you, you had been wide awake. Limbs stiff, eyes unblinking, the whole night had been spent on high alert. You’re not sure if he knows you know, or just suspects it. Either way, you should have turned him in by now. 

The second you left his house, you should have gone straight to the sheriff. You know who's behind the Woodsboro murders. You know who the infamous Ghostface is, and have a suspicion who his other half might be. You could have stopped all this. 

Casey and Steve would be avenged. If you had something, another person wouldn’t have been killed two days ago. You didn’t know him personally, you’d never even seen Stu or Billy interact with him. But this felt less like an attack on him and more like a threat for you. 

Keep quiet, or you’ll be strung up by your intestines. 

Triple checking all your doors and windows are locked, you head upstairs to your room. Prepared to camp out for another sleepless night. If you turned him in, you wouldn’t have to live with this paranoia anymore. Every corner you turn wouldn’t be prefaced with the idea that he might be waiting behind it. No matter how hard you try, you can’t pick up the phone and call the cops. 

You lay back on your bed, listening to the radio in the hopes it might lull you to sleep. It never works, but you hold out hope. The shrill ring of your home phone echoes throughout your empty home. Sitting up on your elbows, you glare at your closed door like it might shut the damn thing up. 

Abruptly, it cuts off. The empty halls of your home fall silent once more, the low droning of your radio barely audible above the blood rushing through your head. You hold your breath, eyes peeled on the door in front of you, waiting for… something. 

The phone goes off again, and you jump, shooting off your bed and grabbing the bat by your nightstand. Slowly, you open your door, peeking your head out before you attempt to cross the hall to your parent’s room. There’s a phone in there, and you’re more comfortable up here than you are beside your glass patio doors downstairs. 

You practically kick the door open, jumping inside the room like you’re prepared to bludgeon someone with your bat. The shadows are thick inside, but you don’t see a cloaked figure waiting for you within one. Feeling confident enough, you run toward your parent’s nightstand and grab the phone. Running back to your room as fast as you can and slamming the door closed behind you, you sink to the floor. 

Thumb hovering over the button, you let out a shaky breath and answer. “Hello?” You try and instill confidence in your voice, but you can’t hide the tremor. 

“Hey,” Billy’s voice croons on the other end, he says your name, and a shudder rolls down your spine. 

“Billy?” His name is a hoarse croak as you feel your heart thud dully inside your chest. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to tell you something.” He pauses, and you bite your lip, nails digging into your palms as you wait for him to speak. “I’ve always wondered,” there’s a click, and then a raspier, unfamiliar voice speaks, “what do your insides look like?”

Something slams against your front door, and you drop the phone with a shrill scream, jumping to your feet and whirling around. You hear Billy’s distorted cackle echo through the speaker before abruptly cutting off. On the floor, three low beeps sound out. Bending down, you pick up the bulky phone and press it to your ear. Nothing but white noise. You toss the phone on your bed and swallow down another scream. No service. 

You’re all alone. 

The startling realization of silence rushes over you, gooseflesh rises along your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The banging downstairs has quieted and your house is once more silent. But it’s no longer the same vacant stillness it was before. There’s someone here, it’s an instinctive feeling. Long buried prey instincts warning you of a predator sniffing you out.  

Creeping quietly across the floor, you avoid the creaky wood that would give your movements away and once more open the door. It seems foolish to put yourself so boldly out in the open. Being cornered in that room is no better. No matter what, it’s just you and him all alone out here. 

You wonder, as you peek your head around the banister, if this is just Stu stalking you. Is Billy getting rid of a liability? Is it both of them?

One, you could handle on your own. But if it was the both of them, the only thing you could do was go down swinging. If you were going to die tonight, you weren’t going to let it be easy for either of them. 

Your front door is wide open, an easy escape. There was no point in running. Either one of them is waiting outside for you, or they’ve cut the brakes on your car. You crouch, peering through the railings and silently making your way down the stairs. Try as you might, you don’t see signs that anyone has come inside. 

Besides the door, there are no clues to give away where they might have gone. You don’t want to play the role of the bimbo in their sick fantasy. Despite the instinct to call out for someone, you swallow it down and continue through your home. 

Beyond the stark terror of facing your own mortality, there is also the pain of being so thoroughly betrayed by Stu. You know the truth of what he is, of what Billy is. And you kept it quiet. You buried his dark secret like it was your own, protected him. This is how he repays you?

This is his answer after years of you loving him. How could he?

You stand in the middle of your living room, bat hanging limp by your side. The aching pain of grief and fear stills your body. The fight wanes inside you, debating whether or not prolonging this is worth it. The others all fought back, and they died bloody. Maybe if you just gave in, it would be quick, painless. Stu could at least grant you that. 

There’s a brief flash of movement in the reflection of your patio door. It’s slight, like a shifting shadow. Only one thing gives him away, the white, howling mask. Instinct overrides sensitivities, you whip around, bat flying. There’s a low groan as it smashes over his head. 

Reaching up, he snatches it in his hand, using it to jerk you forward. You’re quick to let it go. Instead, you aim for his throat. Hands outstretched as you reach up, gripping his neck as tight as you can. There’s shock in his stuttered breaths, like he hadn’t thought you would fight back. You were beginning to doubt yourself, too. 

Turns out you’re too stubborn to die. 

The bat clacks loudly against the wood as he stumbles back into your mother’s glass coffee table. His legs kick up, tripping you and sending you stumbling into his chest. The both of you go plummeting backward, glass shattering around him and the wood crumpling like a tower of cards. 

Jagged shards cut at your arms and bare legs, but you know he takes the brunt of it. Your grip on his throat is unrelenting, you pick his head up and slam it against the wood. He lets out a dazed groan, and you would laugh were you not trying to stop your best friend from killing you. He seems ridiculous, wearing this stupid cheap mask and moaning like a cartoon character with a bump on their head. 

He bucks under you, hips pressing up against yours as he flips you both over. Pain rips through your back as the glass digs into your skin. Letting out a low whine, your hands slack on him for just a moment. It’s still long enough for him to get the upper hand. 

He straddles your waist, pinning you below him with his weight as he kneels on your swinging arms. You’re utterly paralyzed, with no other choice but to stare up at him as tears stream, hot and slick, down your cheeks. 

Stu rips his mask off, eyes wild as he grins down at you. “Damn, sweetheart,” he laughs, and it only makes you fight harder against him. Screaming through your teeth as you try to buck him off of you. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

He tosses the mask to the side and motions to the knife in his hand, “Surprise,” he practically sings the word, watching for your reaction. You bite your tongue, hiccuping on a sob as you stare up at him through blurry eyes. “Right,” he concedes, tilting his head, “you already knew.”

You can feel the blood pooling beneath you, the glass digging further into your shredded skin. It only makes this all the more unbearable. “Stop,” you beg, voice breaking as you struggle to hold back the tears. “I didn’t tell,” you shout at him. “Why are you doing this?” The tears break around the rage slipping through your voice as you glare up at him. 

“What are you talking about?” He snaps, his amusement waning the harder you cry. 

“Billy!” you shout the name out, just barely managing to wiggle one wrist free. He snatches it up instantly, the knife falling beside you as he leans over you, digging your hand into the glass above your head. “He said you wanted to see my insides,” there’s no controlling the sobs now. You don’t want to die. You don’t want Stu to be the one to kill you. Somehow, though, you think this would have hurt worse if it was Billy holding the knife. 

Stu’s face falls before quickly twisting up into something angry. He backs off, easing his weight just enough for the press of glass to sting a little less. “No,” he utters, shaking his head. “No, that’s not the plan.” 

Stu looks nearly manic as he stares down at you. Something unfurls inside you, years of friendship have you reaching up with your free hand. You don’t know what your plan is until he’s leaning into your touch, eyes never leaving yours. 

His hand grips your waist, easing you into a sitting position. You want to curl up into a ball and go hide in a dark corner. You want to shove glass down his throat and run. The knife looks particularly appealing beside you. 

But you do none of that. You let him tug you closer, hand tightening to the point of pain around your waist, but you don’t think he realizes, and you’re too afraid to point it out. “You’re our final girl, baby,” he practically fucking giggles, and you struggle not to flinch from the sound. “He was just fucking with you.”

“Yeah?” You snap, fingers trailing toward his hair and yanking until his face crinkles with pain. “Then what the fuck,” venom coats your tongue, voice low and deadly, “are you doing right now?”

He smiles, leaning into the way you rip at his hair. “Screwing around,” he laughs, and he sounds like a goddamn idiot. Scoffing, you release him, jerking out of his grip and ignoring the way it pulls at the wounds on your back. 

“God,” you crumple into yourself, shoulders hunching forward as you hide your face behind your hands. “I can’t believe I ever thought you could love me. You’re sick, Stu,” you snap, holding back more tears. 

Blood and glass surround you both, the shattered fragments of your friendship. Stu looks more hurt than when you strangled him. He reaches for you, and you jump back, shaking your head. ‘I was never going to kill you,” he swears. But what does the promise of a murderer mean to you?

“I don’t believe you,” voice a whisper, the tears spill over once more. He looks between you and the knife like he can’t decide what to do. You wait for it, for the snap before he just plunges the knife into your gut. Twisting it and dragging your death on. 

Instead, he lunges forward, wrapping his arms around yours and forcing you into his embrace. “Stop,” you claw weakly at his shoulders, snagging your nails in the cheap cloak. You shake your head, but the fight is over before it even begins. Your arms curl around his neck, and you sink into his familiar embrace. 

His gloved hand skates over the wounds on your back, and you whine, arching away from his touch. He offers a whispered apology, but you don’t believe it. “Billy’s not going to touch you,” he swears. “I’m never going to hurt you.”

“You already have.”

His arms only tighten around you, pulling you into his lap as you cry. You might not believe him, but he knows the truth of it. You’re his best friend. The only person besides Billy he’s ever actually cared about. 

You are his perfect final girl, and he’s never going to let you go. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie Scream, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

One More Spring

One-shot

Tagging: @dumblittlebunbun bc you’d commented on a previous slasher post

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader A/N: This was a strange little Drabble I came up with when I was experimenting with a different writing style. Summary: You only have one wish, to make it to one more spring in Ambrose. You know that the women don’t last long, used and tossed aside, you don’t have big hopes. Just one last prayer.

You could always tell what kind of day it would be by how the door closed. Maybe it was because you’d grown up with strict parents, but you could read a mood based off their footsteps. 

For now, you felt comfortable and remained lounged on your crappy lawn chair, trying to get some sun back on your legs after winter. The screen door closed lightly behind Bo as his heavy boots made their way to you. 

You didn’t bother lifting your sunglasses as you felt him hovering over you. “What’re you doing?” His voice was gruff and he sounded like he was panting. 

“Trying to get some color back.”

You could hear him scoff and glanced to the side to see him stealing a swig from your beer. “Don’t have better things to be doing?”

“Like what?” You snarked, rolling over and huffing when his eyes immediately went to your ass. Probably a good thing you chose a skimpy pair of bottoms, he was always more agreeable when he was horny. “Playing housewife?”

He chuckled under his breath, kneeling down beside you and flicking your sunglasses up. “Yeah, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hands away. You propped your head up on your arms and glared at him. “I’ll put on an apron for you later, for now, buzz off.”

He shook his head and stood up. “Don’t know where all this attitude came from.” You yelped as his hand came down on your ass. He laughed loudly, walking away much too smug for your liking. “Better not be a damn thing under that apron later!” He shouted as he went back into the house. 

You looked up to tell him off and finally caught a glimpse of his coveralls. Blood coated the bottom of his pants and you shrank back into your chair. You put your head back down on your arms, closing your eyes and ignoring the way your stomach twinged in anxiety. 

As requested, you’d made dinner in an apron and nothing else. Bo had subsequently banished Vincent from the kitchen. You’d felt bad when you’d woken up in the morning, you hadn’t gotten a chance to slip him any food. You’d passed out pretty much the second Bo was done with you. 

Your eyes darted to the bloody coveralls on your bathroom floor. You sighed, legs aching as you got off the bed. You collected his dirtied uniform and the laundry basket and made your way downstairs. 

You got started on the laundry, kicking the old washing machine a few times to get it going. It had been on its last leg for a decade, it was a matter of months before it finally conked out. You threw the clothes in, fingers snagging on a lacy number at the bottom. 

You frowned, tugging it out and holding it up to the light. You’d never seen this before. It certainly hadn’t come from your bag. “You like it?”

You jumped, whirling around with the shirt clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bo, you scared me.”

He chuckled, face still slightly mussed from sleep. He was only in a white t-shirt and pajama pants, rare to see him in anything other than working clothes. “Snagged that off a tourist yesterday, thought you’d look good in it.”

I thought you would like it. 

I know you’ve got a few shirts like that in your closet.

You always look pretty in this color, baby.

You’d heard it all a thousand different ways. The same sentence over and over and over again. You were haunted by the women of Ambrose. The ones who came before you, who’d tried and failed to play house with him. The ones who were yet to come. 

And the woman who would inevitably replace you when you messed up for the final time. 

Your nails dug into the lace, feeling it give beneath them as you smiled at Bo. “I love it, thank you.”

He hugged you, lips lingering against your forehead before he wandered off to start some coffee. You turned around, eyes going back to the shirt. You’d burn it if you could. Rip it apart and scream, instead you tossed it in the wash with the rest of your clothes. You let the lid slam shut, the noise jarring you out of your stupor. 

You forced on a happy face and walked into the kitchen. Vincent was lingering near the entrance and you offered him a gentle smile. “Sorry about dinner,” you whispered as you passed him. He shook his head and took a seat at the table. 

You grabbed the ingredients you needed, rustling through Bo’s ancient cookbook for the French toast recipe you’d found the other day. One day, you’d run out, you wouldn’t have any more delicacies to surprise them both with. 

Bo would tire of the same repetitive food. The same face every morning. The same sounds and movements in the bedroom. You’d become used up, lose the new shine everyone loved on their toys. 

You clenched the spatula in your hand, gritting your teeth as you cooked some eggs for the both of them. You brought it over to the table, scooping it onto their plates, Bo got the bigger serving. Bo always got what he wanted.

Your mind flashed to the garage, the straps there waiting for you. “Hey!”

You jumped, pan nearly dropping out of your hands as you stared at the dropped eggs on his lap. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” You rushed to the counter, grabbing a towel and kneeling down, frantically trying to get them off his pants. 

A calloused hand landed on your head, you jumped and looked up at Bo. Your heart raced, expecting malice or a sneer that meant the last nail had fallen and your time was up. Instead he was smiling gently down at you, hand smoothing the hair from your face. “Just a spill, darlin’, get the bacon ‘fore it burns.”

You backed away instantly, taking the egg filled rag with you as you went back to the stove. You flipped the bacon, turning off the burner and risking a glance over your shoulder at Bo. 

He was sipping his coffee peacefully, not a worry in the world. But you could see how tightly Vincent had his fork gripped, the way it shook slightly as he placed it back on his plate. Seems you weren’t the only one who’d thought your time was up. 

When would it happen?

When spring returned and the birds started chirping their early morning song again?

You wouldn’t mind if that was when it ended. If you got to make it to another birthday, that would be even better. You’d like to experience another holiday, or Halloween. Perhaps that was too much to ask for. 

You’d settle for just seeing the buds return to the trees in Ambrose once more. Pink blooming in the absence of death. That would be lovely. 

Alright, you’ll take that. 

Make it through one more spring and you can happily let go. 

You could hear the women screaming as you walked down the stairs of the house. See glimpses of who they used to be. Hair clips you knew weren’t yours, underwear buried in the back of drawers that you’d never touched. Necklaces and jewelry that didn’t match yours. 

You could hear their voices, disorienting and panicked as you hung the laundry on the line. Felt like the birds echoed their mourning cries in their melody. 

You saw the red lines around your wrist as you pulled off the dry sheets. You tried not to look at them too much. Bo liked to touch them, rub his fingers along your wrist and admire them. He thought it brought you closer, linked you together somehow. 

You hated looking at them. Hated the sight of the worn skin. All it reminded you of was the time below. Your pictures that were tacked above the others. 

You heard a scream further away from the house, bloodcurdling and echoing through the air of Ambrose. It would never make it out. Never travel past the forest bordering the ghost town. You wondered if it was a product of your own fractured psyche or another masterpiece in the works. 

Your question was answered when you sat on your knees in the bathroom that night, trying to scrub the crimson out of Bo’s coveralls. 

You liked your time with Vincent. You like the candles he kept scattered around his studio, nails dug into them to help him keep time. He’d sit you down on the couch and would position you like a doll. You’d let him, mind going numb as you lost time for as long as he wanted to draw you. 

You knew he liked you the most out of the other girls. You learned sign language for him, communicating with him when Bo got sick of both of you. He enjoyed your face the most. It wasn’t model perfect or the type of beauty people wrote songs about. 

He liked the normalcy of it, the slightly blandness. He’d told you once, on a nice night, that it was your eyes that gave you life. Not the color of them, but the light behind them. 

You wondered if he would draw you again when Bo snubbed them out. 

You folded Bo’s clothes, tucking them neatly into his drawers and tossing the basket back into the hall. You moved towards the bed, straightening the sheets and tucking them in tight. You liked it tight, he hated it. 

Your one act of rebellion. 

It honestly wasn’t hard to fall into this role with Bo. You’d known if you’d wanted to survive the only chance you had was to make him happy. In a way it was peaceful here. It was quiet and you never had to worry about anything.

You cleaned the house, cooked the food, were the perfect housewife and he’d be content and so would you. He let you have your own time, surprising you with journals to write in. Or he’d dig through tourists bags and bring you back books he’d thought you’d like. 

You didn’t get to go into the city with him, doubted you ever would, but you were okay with this. 

You picked up his watch, opening up his night table’s drawer to tuck it away. Your eyes landed on a bright splash of red and your fingers froze from where they hovered above the handle. You glanced over your shoulder, heart thrumming. 

You turned back towards the drawer and carefully slid the Polaroid out. 

A picture, a woman with gorgeous red hair splayed along her pillow. She looked beautiful. 

Or she would. 

If it wasn’t for the gash across the neck, so deep it showed you the inside of her throat. Crimson dripped from the wound, pooling around her and onto the bed below her. 

Your eyes darted to the bed to your left, hands wrinkling the pristinely kept picture. Without thinking your hand dove further into the drawer, probing, digging, searching for something. 

You didn’t know what until you hissed, hand jerking back as blood blistered out of the gash on your finger. You placed the picture back, popping your finger into your mouth and licking up the metallic taste of your blood. 

You used your other hand to wrap around the handle of the blade, tugging out the large kitchen knife and staring down at it blankly. 

One more spring.

You put the knife back, straightening out his drawer and leaving the haunted bedroom to clean your wound. 

You woke to the sound of birds chirping. To your left was the window, pink buds blooming across the branch of the tree across from the house. Above you was Bo, straddling your waist, a knife held tightly in his hand. 

“Well,” you wrapped a hand around his, calmly pulling the knife down to your throat. You’d thought you’d be more upset. Fight, beg, plead for one last winter, or just another day. One last good day. But you were tired, you’d been slipping since summer. Bits and pieces of yourself floating along the wind, joining the cacophony of lost women. “Aren’t you going to do it?”

Bo stared down at you, his brows furrowed. The whites of his eyes were red and you knew he’s been struggling with this for a while. You weren’t sure how long he’d been sitting above you, but you knew it had been before you’d woken. 

You were thankful, at least, that he had let you see the spring morning before he did this. 

He yanked his hand out of yours, “Crazy bitch,” he muttered. He scoffed and shook his head, jumping off of you. Your head lolled to the left, you opened up the window, inhaling the fresh smell of new life. 

You made it another winter and another spring. Your face was plastered along Vincent’s wall. Statues of you adorned Ambrose but you didn’t occupy a single one of them. 

On the outside MISSING flyers with your face faded and fell from lamp posts. Your name was forgotten from the minds of those who’d been alive to mourn you. You became another statistic, another lost soul. An old news story that would be used in classrooms. 

What happened to her?

Is she still alive?

Was she the first?

Will we ever know?

No. They wouldn’t. You were the girl on the paper trampled beneath frantic feet as they rushed to work. Tossed aside in the garbage when they were done with the morning paper. To the rest of them, you were forgotten. 

To Ambrose, you were their muse. Inspiration behind their every move. 

Every morning you’d wake up to a blade pressed against your throat. And every morning Bo would leap away from you and shake his head. He’d never do it, you knew that now, and it provided you with a careless freedom that freed you from the shackles you’d placed upon yourself. 

You didn’t spread your legs and let him take what he wanted anymore. You didn’t submit under his temper, you fought back, raised your voice and threw glass bottles right back at him. You didn’t let him bend Vincent under his thumb or scream at him just because he could. 

You pushed, every day, that invisible line that separated you from the other ghosts in town. Yet, somehow, you never breached it, only managed to extend it. 

“I want to go with you.”

Bo froze, after a moment he fixed his cap and grabbed his keys from the tray. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, “Well, come on then.”

You followed him through the front door, hopping in the truck when he opened it up to you. The engine rumbled, vibrating the seat below you and his hand slid from the keys to your thigh. He squeezed, as if reminding himself you were there, he was really doing this. 

You could hardly believe it yourself. 

Bo rounded the bend from the gas station and you felt your heart racing. A hummingbird flitting through your chest, frantically trying to break from the cage of your ribs. He pulled through the old campground, the one you’d been on before your car had mysteriously broken down. 

You couldn’t remember who it was you were with. What their names were.

You’re halfway certain one of them had been a lover. His name lost to the past. 

Bo pulls onto the highway and you brace yourself. You’re not sure for what. Perhaps for him to change his mind, a blade buried in your gut. To start pouring blood down the front of your shirt. Or maybe the car will wreck, divine intervention deciding that neither of you get another day. 

Nothing happens. Bo slams his hand against the truck’s stereo and rock crackles through the speakers. His hand returns to your thigh and he hums along to the music. After a moment you relax, rolling the window down and letting the breeze cool you down. 

He makes it to the city, smaller than where you used to live, but a mammoth compared to Ambrose. You buy groceries, marveling over products you’d forgotten even existed. You finally manage to buy the tampons you like instead of getting lucky that another woman has them in her bag. 

You harass him into letting you go to a secondhand store, buying a shirt for you. Yours and yours alone. It’s simple, long sleeved and white, nothing special, but it means everything to you. When you make it back to Ambrose, the familiar stifling air and aged walls, you bury the shirt in your dresser. 

You’ll never wear it and never part with it. This shirt will never be anyone else’s but yours. You’ll never allow another woman to get her hands on it. Even when you’re gone you’ll protect it. 

“What do you think?”

Bo shrugged, taking another swig of his beer as his eyes roved over the journal in his hand. You sat on the edge of your seat, eagerly watching him read. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, he sensed it, pouncing on the chance to make you vulnerable. 

“You know I don’t read much, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to sit next to him. “I’m aware, it’s real sad, Bo. Now,” you nudged his shoulder with your own. “What do you think?”

He chuckled, marking the page and tossing it on the coffee table. His legs spread and you took the invitation, slotting yourself in his lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He grinned up at you, “It was good. Real fuckin’ good.”

You smiled, cheeks puffing out with the force of it. “Really?”

He nodded his head, “Mhm.” He leaned forward, taking you with him, and placed his beer on the table. You reached behind yourself, blindly readjusting it onto a coaster. He rolled his eyes, but you saw the fondness in them. 

His hands moved down your back, squeezing your ass before they landed on your thighs. Rough calluses spread along smooth skin and goosebumps prickled under his touch. You don’t know why you let him read the strange disjointed novel you’d been writing. 

Maybe because you knew no one would ever see it. Maybe you wanted some part of yourself permanently embedded into his brain. Either way, you enjoyed the way his face changed as he took it in. The expressions shifting with each new sentence. 

“You got a fucked up little mind, you know that?”

You hummed, nodding your head and leaning forward to slot your lips against his own. It was his own fault you were like this. He’d bent you, broke you down, used you until you were a shadow of the woman who used to exist within your body. 

Maybe he had won. 

There was a part of you, a spirit, floating somewhere beneath his garage, that had once belonged to you. 

You ground your hips down against his, biting down on his lip until copper flooded your mouth. He didn’t get angry, just gripped your hair and moved you both to the cushions. He groaned into your open mouth, pinning your body below his and manipulating you how he wanted. 

Then again, maybe you’d ruined him too. 

You shouldn’t be alive. You shouldn’t still have a throat to drag air down, but here you were. Shoving against him and forcing him to submit to your whims. You weren’t the only one who’d changed, and you both knew it. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

"Oh Micheal..."

notes: I'm back and for real this time, school kicked my ass and I'll going to try to answer all the requests and publish all of them, sorry guys for not uploading xx.

PTS: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, MIGHT BE LATE OR EARLY.

warning: smut, p in the v, creampie, readers a virgin, non-con to semi-con, penetration, and BJ.

pairing: micheal myers x fem!reader

word counter: 2.2k

The old rusty clock, the arms of the clock moving to what you think is taking its sweet time. Laying down your head on your desk, looking at your friend who was sitting to the right of you, Laurie Strode. You guys knew it each other since middle school, and your moms are parents too which put some relations between you guys.

Finally, the bell rang as you got up took your books, and walked to Laurie who was just packing up like you, "Laurie, what are you doing on Halloween night?" I asked, putting my back on the side of my shoulder, and leaning down on her desk. "Im going to babysit Tommy today, he's my neighboorhood' kid, and they're going to be busy this Halloween," Laurie muttered before you guys started walking out of the classroom to the the hallway. It was usually loud during between periods, but it was the end of the day. -And it was Halloween, "So, what are you going to do this Halloween?" I heard Laurie mention, turning my head towards her realizing I virtually didn't have any plans this year, I was too old for trick or treating and I wasn't going to some dumb Halloween party being hosted.

"Hm, never thought about it before.." I said, looking down the hallway, it was pretty packed with people getting their stuff out of their locker. "Maybe I'll just hang out with you while you babysit, don't wanna be alone on Halloween" I exclaimed, "So.. you're just going to watch some Halloween movie with the kid and give him snacks and shit like that," I asked.

"Probably" She giggled, "maybe some jack o' lanterns if he's lucky," she said, we walked out of the school building, hearing Lynda screaming out names, as she got to us. She was heaving, leaning back, "Where the hell were you guys going?" She exclaimed, "Home" I looked at Laurie and we laughed together, "Come on guys" She groaned, and we walked down the pavement, to the street crossing to our high school.

Haddonfield was a quiet place until 1963, with a kid named Micheal who murdered his own sister, i heard of it everywhere. Different stories and various, it was cruel. I learned from it with my dad's old newspapers, with the letter bold of what the young elementary kid did. "HEY," We heard some yelling again, before Lynda lit her cigarette, smoking it. She turned her head, "It's Annie" She said, "You guys didn't wait for me at all" She yelled, "We did, like 15 minutes and you totally did show" Before we started walking again, Lynda and Annie sharing a cigarettes, as she shared what happen.

"Paul really dragged you to the locker room" I giggled, "Yeah, and he got grounded so he won't be coming over to mine tonight" She blew out the smoke from her lips. "Laurie whatcha thinking about?" I asked, "I forgot my chemistry book!" she groaned, rubbing her head. "So what! I forgot all my books, like my math book, chemistry, English, and more" Lynda started ranting, "Even my French book" She giggled. Before a car started driving across the road, grabbing Laurie's attention, I noticed looking at the direction she was looking at, "Isn't that Van Grahm?" Lynda said, "I don't think so.." Laurie whispered.

"I think he's cute" She smiled out, as we all watched the car drive before Annie said something, "Hey jerk! Speed kills!" She yelled before we noticed the car stopping in its tracks. My heart was beating fast against my chest, waiting for something to happen before it started driving.

"Phew" I muttered, "Sometimes Annie you're going to get us in some deep trouble," Laurie said.

"Totally," Lynda said. Before we all started walking down the pavement.

I was at Laurie's house sitting down on the couch, she was babysitting a kid named Tommy Doyle, and he was glued to the TV screen watching some kid Halloween movie, i was bored so I watched some of it.

I heard the doorbell ringing as I got up from the couch walking to the door, "I'll get it, Laurie!" Looking into the peephole, it was Annie and her little sister. I opened the door, "It's Annie and her sister" I yelled out, "I didn't know you were going to be here Annie" I said, "Yeah, just need my sister to be here, so I can go to Paul's place" She said, "I thought he was grounded?" I questioned, "he is but his parents are going to be out" She gave me a sneaky smile.

I and Annie were in the middle of a conversation after that Annie left to go back to her house, I put on some different Halloween movies as I walked to the kitchen with Laurie preparing the jack o' lanterns, "Those are so good jack o' later" I pointed at the pumpkins, "Thanks" she said, "Could you make some popcorn for Tommy and Lindsay?" She asked, "Sure" I took some of the microwave popcorn popping it into the microwave setting the timer, before leaning back on the counter.

"So this is how you're going to spend your whole Halloween" I asked, "Yeah, but it's a little fun" She confessed, "How is taking care of two brats fun?"

"I don't know maybe because I have something to do" She shrugged

We spoke until we heard yelling from Tommy, Me and Laurie ran to the living room, "Boogeyman!" He screamed before he grabbed our attention, I rushed to him, "Where?" I said, looking at the window he was pointing to, "Y/N, did you add anything?" she asked, as she held Lindsay, "Nope, nothing there Tommy" I said, "Oh, stop Tommy stop that, there no one there" Laurie said,

"Nobody believes me" Tommy muttered, "I do Tommy," Lindsay said, as they sat down on the couch. Some part of me believed what Tommy said, especially with all the mysterious things that were happening around Haddonfield, "Is there a boogeyman" I whispered looking through the blinds, before I stepped back and sat down on the sofa. A few minutes passed and I got stuck watching some random movie with the kids. The phone started ringing and Laurie got up to answer it, "Are you fooling around again?" she put her hand on her hips before her eye faltered, "I'll kill if this is a joke" I turned my head, "Annie" she repeated to the phone before she quickly put the phone back on the charge.

"Who called?" I asked, "Annie" she said, looking at the window before trying to call her again. "Hold on, could you watch them for me?"

"Sure," I said. A few minutes passed before I looked at the time, "Okay, guys it's time to go to bed" I said, "But it's so early" Tommy groaned, "Well, you guys should be up to date, now bed, now" I watched them as they got up the stairs going to a room, "Now, where the hell is Laurie" I whispered.

I watched some TV, waiting for her, almost falling asleep, I heard banging from the door, and Laurie screaming from behind, I quickly opened it as she shut the door behind her locking it and turning off the lights. Running the phone, putting in the policy number. Her clothes were ripped and she was scared, "Laurie, what happened?" I asked worriedly. She put down the phone, becoming more frantic. "Where's Tommy and Lindsay?"

"There sleeping, right now" I said, stretching my arms, "Laurie what the hell to you?" I pointed to her clothing. "Tommy was right, something is outside" she heaved pushing me down as she was down hiding behind the couch, before she saw a figure. There were armed with a bloody knife, I screamed, backing up before Laurie stabbed the intruder with a large crochet needle. "What the fuck" my eye widen, my heart pounding.

"Come" Laurie grabbed my hand, and we ran some else to the house, hiding from the intruder, "W-what is going on.." I whispered, "Be quiet" she whispered back. Hearing footsteps creeping, the hit didn't affect him. "I'll going to be right back," she said, quietly getting away from where you were, I was scared my heart to my chest.

I held my breath as he got closer, before I saw his knife beside me, I screamed before running up the stairs, my legs had never gone that fast before, I ran upstairs locking the door behind me, before I leaned back, a knife was inserted. As I screamed, crawling back further down. The shadow broke the door as I saw up and personal, he had a white mask with hair and was in a coverall.

"Please," I said, feeling tears on my cheeks, as I crawled back, "please, I won't tell anyone," I said, as he got closer to me his knife in hand, before stopping. I looked up at him, I couldn't see anything but the window did something showing his big shadow.

I felt my body trembling, as I breathed in. I didn't know what to do, looking at him. "What do you want.." I yelled, he didn't respond to me, blankly staring at me.

An idea came into my head and made me feel shameful for doing it but I crawled towards him and looked at him, he didn't lower his knife it seemed like he was frozen in the same position he had before.

My hands were on the waist part of his pants before I felt his hand grabbing mine, I was scared but he released them. Maybe what I had in my head was right, pulling his pants fully down. There was an evident bulge poking out. I held my breath, my thighs rubbing against each other, it was huge.

I had second thoughts of doing it but it looked like he wanted it.

Taking off his boxer revealing his cock sprang out, and the tip was red. I bit my lip, looking up at him, there wasn't a response just silence. Licked the pre-cum oozing out, looking up, he was just staring at me. I started taking him into my mouth, my jaw got tired, felt it hitting the back of my mouth, and it wasn't fully in. Tears on my waterline, before I felt some hands on the back of my head, shoving his dick into my mouth.

Some saliva dripped out of my mouth, breathing through my mouth. I heard his groans, as he kept face fucking me. I put my hands on his thighs, trying to stabilize before I felt hot loads going down my throat before he released his hands over me. I gasped, breathing. My salvia connects to the pink tip of his dick.

Rubbing my legs, feeling my cunt getting wetter, looking up at the intruder. It felt shameless that I was getting horny off of this, rubbing myself. Feeling his hands on me, he forcefully took off my panties underneath my skirt, flipping my skirt up and revealing my cunt. The cold air hitting it made me feel tense. I propped my elbows on the floor, "Wait, please!" I cried out, feeling a sharp pain inside of me, making my body jolt up.

I whimpered out in pain, feeling his large hands on my hips. Thrusting up into my g-stop, making me moan, turning my head. My walls spasming around his cock, his hips smacking into my pelvis, making my moans tremor. "F-fuck" I groaned.

My body jolted with every rhythmic smack to my pelvis. I didn't know why I enjoyed it, I should be in fear by now, but I'm just savoring every moment. Feeling a hot sensation in my lower core, feeling his cock hitting my stop, making me bend my back.

Before I saw a white flash in my eyes, a loud moan ripped out of my throat, I gripped the sheets beneath me. "P-please" I whispered, my eyes feeling heavy. He didn't stop, thrusting into me, making me bend in a sort of way. My skin felt sticky with sweat on my body, I breathed out and in. His rhythm getting sloppier, feeling his hand on my legs.

Lifting them, as he plunges into me, his groans getting louder. feeling him inside of me in parts I didn't know existed. Bending over in ecstasy. Before I felt hot loads inside of me, making me hot.

My chest rose slowly, my eyes looking at him lazily. "Please.." I whispered, his grip still on me. I felt his dick soften inside of me.

Feeling his grasp coming off me, I put my head down. My body feeling tired, and before I felt myself closing my eyes. The last thing I saw was the intruder leaving, I tried to get him but he disappeared.

the only thing I saw when I woke up was Laurie, she had a towel wrapped around my body, the police checking the house and a doctor, I think his name was Mr. Loomis was with us.

"What did he do to you" I heard Laurie whisper to me, I didn't say anything just look at the house, which soon filled with police officers. I felt something dripping down my leg, squeezing my leg. I remember the shameful thing I did with him, biting my lip.

𝜗 sweet 𝜚

My name is Nora. This is the only Tumblr page I have. I like to write for various types of fandoms.

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊

𝐊𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐔 𝐍𝐎 𝐘𝐀𝐈𝐁𝐀

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

𝑮𝑬𝑵 𝑽

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒

𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐍𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍

"When you scream, it drives me nuts If you hang up, I'll spill your guts"

n.o.t.e.s - Tbh the original is always better.

w.a.r.n - non-con to dub-con, NSFW (ofc) penetration, blood kink, creampie, fingering, just plain nasty.

p.a.i.r.i.n.g - Stu macher x fem!reader

w.c. - 1.9k

"Creak~"

There was a strange noise that was coming from downstairs of your house. You woke up from the strange noise, and your breath hitched as you heard the noise coming closer.

You got up from your bed slowly as you inched closer to your door, as you look outside your chamber's door. Nobody was there, your parents left on business. They left you alone, alone with your maid, alone with your butler, and alone with your bodyguards.

As you look at the big ben clock perched on the hallway's wall.

2:00 am

The window was glaring in moonlight, making the hallway more daunting. You were born in rich family, your parents barely being there as they were almost all on business, either with each other or away. Most of your house help was gone, and your guards already sleeping, as you heard soft snoring.

Your thought was interrupted with soon fear covering your whole body, as you heard a loud thump, it didn't alert your guard as they kept on snoring.

You walked back into your chambers, as your window was open, you quickly peered out and closed in, covering the window with silk purple curtains. You sighed, realizing it was a broken tee branch, it was odd, the tree wasn't dying just for the branch to fall off.

There was another noise, your phone rang. It was 2:00 am in the morning, there was no way it could be your parents or your friends, maybe it was Tatum and couldn't sleep.

You ignored the thoughts running through your mind, as you sat down on your bed in the dark look g at yourself in the mirror, before covering yourself with a blanket, ready to back to your slumber.

You gingerly got up from your bed and answered the phone that was propped near your vanity. You answered with a quiet but audible, "Hello" you mumbled from out your sleepy lips.

"Hello beautiful" an almost sounding rough voice, deeply satisfying, dare you say sexy voice spoke from the phone, maybe it was Tatum pulling a prank on you, "What do you want?"

"Can't a stranger have a conversation with a pretty girl" the voice ranged out, you couldn't lie the little pet name and compliment were making your heart flutter.

"At 2:00 am at night, buddy?"

"Sure why not, I mean your still on the phone with me, a stranger"

" I got to go, I have school tomorrow"

"That sucks, doesn't it"

"Ya, that's why I gotta go now"

"Wait-" the stranger said quickly before you could place the phone back.

"Yea?"

"Wanna play a game?"

"No, thank you" before you hang up the phone, "Hang up on me, I'll fucking spill your guts" the once calm voice turned ominous, as it said the threat on the landline.

Your heart started pounding from the threat, and your eyes started to water up as well, and you heard noises from the stairs.

"So, do you want to play the game now?" the ominous spoke out.

You didn't respond, the sound of your hitched breathing was being heard through the telephone to the stranger that was calling you, you muttered a small yes, still audible to be heard.

"I'm glad you came to your sense, darling" the voice cooed at you, you felt sick to your stomach, as fear covered your body, plaguing your mind.

"Mmm, let's say Horror as the category of the questions"

"First, who was the first victim of Freddy Krueger?"

You weren't a fan of horror, but know some of the horror characters from all the movies your friends watch on opening night, especially Billy and Stu, "T-tina Gray!" you yelled out, "It was her", you answered as you cautiously exited your room looking around your surrounding, walking down the stairs.

"Good, really good" the voice spoke,

"Second, who was the original slasher of Friday the 13th?"

Fuck.

"Um, JASON!" you yelled out, The sound of the stranger clicking their tongue was heard, "Damn, and I really thought you were smarter than that Y/N" your heart dropped when the stranger mention your name.

"H-how did you know my name" you whimpered, as you dashed down the flight of stairs, "It was fucking Pamela, everyone knows that poor Y/N,... but since I'm nice, I'll let you redeem yourself, but it not looking good for your dear bodyguard" As the stranger uttered his words, you stopped to see a shattered window, and a dead body of one of your bodyguard, the body had stab wounds, bleeding out from his mouth.

You released a blood-curdling scream, as you ran away from the body to the kitchen. Tears started running down your face, as you grab one of the chef knives from the rack, arming yourself.

"Y/N, you know better than that, everyone knows when there's a killer in the house you should be quiet, but for now let try a game of hide n go seek"

Your breath was shaky, "P-please no" you whimpered.

"Well you have to know, not everyone in the fucking world get to have everything when your born, your parent should taught you better, than spoliing you with riches, Y/N, your just the girl that dies in the end nothing more and nothing less.

"What did I do to you" you cried in the phone, slouched down near the counters, your face wet with tears.

"It's too late to beg for mercy, just try to live through the night~" the voice ranged out as the stranger cut off the phone call.

The house was silent, it was eerily silent. The one you couldn't dare to breathe in.

You started crawling to find shelter, before you saw a figure in your house, holding a knife and wear a black robe, wearing a white ghost mask.

Your breath hitched, as you pressed your hands to your face. The figure's footsteps were silent, barely even heard. You crawled near your garage before you even got to the knob. Your heart dropped straight to your stomach as your face came to contact with the ghost mask.

You screamed and ran, as the hooded figure chased after you, you clutched your knife to safety, still managing to hide behind one of the doors, you peered out, seeing the ghost figure swinging its head.

Clutching your hand to your mouth to make less noise, the steps of the figure came near you as you heard the creak of the wooden flooring.

"Hah..haah" you breathed, your breath hitched as you heard the figure stopping near you.

You felt the figure near you, their murderous intent radiating onto you. You heard the figure walking toward you, and you sighed quietly, as soon you did, the figure came from behind you, knocking.

'AHHHHH!' you screamed running upstairs, as the figure chased you with a hunting knife. You ran up, as you slammed the door at the figure moving your closet to your door, you tripped landing onto your bed.

The sound of your door rattling, as you heard the slamming of the door, and your whimpering was heard.

"Come on, Y/N, don't be a bad girl for me now" the figure spoke from the door, as you were scared by the figure smashing your door, their arm becoming visible, as you backed up from your bed to your closet.

"P-please...PLEASE!" you cried, as the figure finally got out and opened the door, walking slowly toward you, their hunter knife in hand.

Your salty tears dried onto your face, and you held onto your closet. The Ghostface figure grabbed you by your hair, and you scream out. The figure throws you onto your bed, as you squirm.

"Y/N, you have been a very bad girl" the figure holding your face, as the figure brought their head near you, their mask touching your face. The figure touching your thighs, "I'll let you live if you grant me a favor" the figure's hand slowly inching underneath your nightgown.

Your intimate parts slowly become arousal, as their hand inches towards your underwear, "Let me...have my way with you, and be a good girl, and you'll live" the figure whispered in your ear before retracting back.

"O-okay" you muttered, as you threw your head to the side, avoiding the mask, your breath hitched when the figure slowly took off your panties.

Placed it in one of their pockets, the cold air hitting your arousal, as you gave a silent moan, as tears were building up from your lashes, and you whimpered out.

The figure took off one of their gloves, and their hand got inserted into your plushy wall, as you squeeze their fingers. "F-fuck your so tight, it's wonderful how it feels when my cock is inside" your wall squeezing his fingers tighter, "haah~" you moaned out, as he thrust into you.

His fingers thrust into you, as you arched your back, moaning out, the warmth from his hand being withdrawn, as you looked at the figure taking off his pants, teasingly at you as you threw your head to the side, full of embarrassment.

"Your so eager aren't you"

"You gotta beg for it baby~"

"P-please"

"You have to do more than that, haha"

"P-please, just fuck me already" you rubbed your thighs together, as you spread your pussy lips for the murder. You felt disgusted with yourself, you're giving yourself to a murderer that killed, not even 20 mins after"

"P-please" you gently touch the tip of his cock.

You swore you saw the figures dick getting harder, as the tip started dripping precum.

"I cant wait to fuck the shit of ya" as the figure lined up to your pussy, not even a moment you felt the sharp pain inside of you, as the figure started thrusting into like a animal.

"Haah~" you moaned, your back watched as your eyes crossed between each other, lolling your tongue out.

"Shit, I was right. You're so fucking tight" he groaned out, as the figure gripped your thighs. Their thrusts were getting sloppy by the second, as they grabbed their hunting knife slitting the top of your nightgown, your breast jiggling from the animalistic thrust.

Relief came down on your body, as you moaned out.

"Your skin is so soft, isn't I wanna the mark the shit out of you" the figure soon carved your skin as blood pricked up. The cut soon appears throughout your body. You looked messy, like a porn model, and your nightgown was turned into rags.

"Do you want me to cum inside of you baby~" the figure grunted, "P-please" you moaned out, your eyes half lidded.

As the thrust got sloppy, as soon you felt warmness filling up your pussy, as you heard groaning from the masked killer.

Panting was heard throughout your room, your ripped clothes sticking onto your sweaty body, feeling your body growing tired, as the last thing you saw was the masked killer getting redressed.

The phone ranged, as Stu picked the phone, as the caller was Billy, one of his best friends.

"So did you kill her"

"No not yet, just saving her for something special" as Stu place a blunt between his lips, lighting it up, as he started at the window of your home.

"You got to be fucking serious, Stu, I swear to god if your plan doesn'work I'm going to-"

"Chill dude, it's gonna work, just trust me Billy" as stu blew out the smoke.

"-Just trust me"

POV: you called the slasher a munch.

n.o.t.e.s - the slashers reacting to you calling them a munch >3, I just wanted to write something and it's still February.

+ Drabbles

w.a.r.n - Ice spice fan (?)

w.c - 347

featuring - Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Billy Loomis, and Stu Macher.

Michael Myers

∙ He would be lowkey kinda confused about what a munch is.

∙ Imagine him standing there menacingly, and you're literally crawling on your back, spitting profanities.

∙ You called him a munch when you were running away from him, trying to at least distract him.

∙ Probably scratched his head when he heard the word and cocked his head.

∙ He would just stand there, looking at you confusedly.

Jason Voorhees

∙ This baby would be so confused when said it.

∙ Cocked his head to the side, just standing there, breathing.

∙ I just imagine him just muttering a little "what?".

∙ He would just lower his knife cutely, so confused about what you said.

Freddy Krueger

∙ Probably would tell you to shut the hell up and stop the accusations.

∙ I feel like Freddy would deadass know the meaning of it since he literally kills children, and teenagers have probably heard the term before.

∙ His eyebrows just twitched as he just looked at you.

∙ Probably mad and pissed, just makes him want to kill you more.

Billy Loomis

∙ Similarly, like Freddy, stop the accusation and looks away from you with his face full of red.

∙ He would probably be in disbelief. Probably play it off and ignores you for the whole day.

∙ Your probably gonna be his first victim after you said, 🙏

∙ Imagine your running away from the killer and he just stabs you in the chest, and mutters: "I'm never eater, just a killer".

Stu Macher

∙ Stu would definitely, and I mean definitely prove how he munch and would say it proudly.

∙ Would literally be confident, of this guy an eater just look at him 💀.

∙ Imagine hanging out with him and the whole group, at the water fountain like in the scene from the movie. -And you called him a munch and he like "Are you telling me, that I eat you out so well"

∙ And you're like just standing there blushing.

Lmfao this is so canon 😭💯

Pov: Billy and Stu went to go kill Y/n

Honestly I’ve been laughing at this for a while. I was thinking about Billy Stu and Y/n got together after Billy and Stu went to go and try Y/n just to get beat up……They really tried