How do all of the slashers sleep with their s/o’s? ( this can be headcanons or whatever I don’t mind 👍)
it depends on what you mean by sleep.... if you get any.
WARNINGS : foul language, staring (art ofc), mentions of isolation, Brahms having mommy issues, and slightly suggestive content.
CHARACTERS : Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Bubba Sawyer, Brahms, Art the clown, Doomhead (31), Pearl, Tiffany and Chucky (poly (human forms)), and Carrie White!
let's get this shit on the road 🗣️‼️
JASON VOORHEES:
- usually he's on duty making sure the camp is safe. no trespassers tonight.
- you'd have to convinced him to come to bed. he's reluctant but agrees fairly quickly. any excuse to hold you is a good excuse.
- BIG cuddler.
- doesn't mind being the little spoon despite the size difference!
- as soon and you've turned away from him after he was so comfortable in spooning position he'll turn you right back to tuck you in his side.
- hardly sleeps (he doesn't really need it) but he's content with laying with you.
- when the sun rises he's back on patrol but he leaves you with the blankets wrapped securely around you.
MICHAEL MYERS:
- sleeps like a fucking corpse...
- you don't know if this man is alive or dead with his steady shallow breathing.
- he's a light sleeper. one and subtle movements and now he's up.
- allows you to cuddle near him but he'll be stiff and a board.
- he's so awkward with cuddling. give him time. (a lot of time...)
- if you're a deep sleeper he'd secretly lay on your chest just to hear your heart beat.
- when you wake up you could have sworn he laid on top of you. it's not like he'll confirm or deny. he'll just stare at you then walk away.
BUBBA SAWYER:
- my sweet cutie patootie just wants to be held.
- he WILL be little spoon. argue with ya mama.
- he's never really experienced cuddling but if you offer he'll never turn it down.
- he's so happy you can practically feel it radiating off of him.
- don't let that big man fool you! HE IS A SWEETIE PIE.
- If you want to be held he'll most definitely indulge. for a while until he's back laying on your chest with his legs intertwined with yours.
BRAHMS HELLSHIRE:
- where yo mama at bruh 😭
- you cannot get this cling bot off of you no matter how hard you try.
- he will cling to you like Mr. Crabs to his favorite dollar.
- he's always under you in some way shape or form.
- if you're AFAB or have any sort of chest... he grabbing it.
- this stinky man is the type to never be big spoon. he will always be little spoon.
- if you refuse he will be petty and go back in the walls.
- bonus points if he's extra petty and does stuff to disturb your sleep.
ART THE CLOWN:
- who you foolin by telling me this man actually sleeps?
- he will stay up and watch you sleep. silently mocking how you slob on the pillow and snore.
- sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night to see this mf squatting over you burrowing holes into your face.
- he WILL scare you awake if he feels like you've been sleeping too long.
- on a calm night he might actually lay beside you. he won't cuddle you but at least he's not doing anything... which you should most definitely be concerned about btw.
DOOMHEAD:
- he may be a freaky lil perv but he's a great cuddler.
- you'll end up sprawled out together in the wildest positions imaginable. but it's comfortable.
- he's the type to think if you sleep half naked or come to bed in less than you usually do it means his getting some tonight. (NOT)
- has to has his hands on you in some way for him to be sane enough to sleep.
- will use your thighs, stomach, sides, ass, or breast (for the people who have them) as a stress ball.
- If he had a stressful night all he want to do is lay between your thighs to ground himself.
PEARL:
- bless this poor girl.
- she is clingy and for all good reasons. she just doesn't want you to leave her.
- after the first time you've cuddled up together she doesn't want to sleep any other way.
- she'll always seek out your warmth in her sleep even if you're at work or doing something.
- she wears your shirts. using your scent to lull herself to sleep.
- her body migrates to you when you return to bed. immediately snuggling into your side or shifting until she's laying on top of you.
TIFFANY & CHUCKY:
- these two are chaotic sleepers.
- Tiffany on one hand likes for you to lay on her chest while Charles likes to big spoon.
- before bed he's always making lewd innuendos while humping your ass. you and Tiffany did hit him. it may have stopped the humping but it doesn't detour him.
- both likes switch positions. it's never the same one every night.
- if their both up and want a little something something you're in for a rude (good) awakening.
CARRIE WHITE:
- another one of my babies who just wants to be held.
- it doesn't matter which way as long as you hold her.
- she's happy everytime physical contact is Intitated.
- when you aren't around she holds and rocks herself to sleep. she feels so lonely in her room without you there.
- when she wakes up she stays in her spot. just admiring your features from her position in your arms.
- she feels safe and loved in your embrace and she wouldn't have it any other way.
(Including: Michael Myers, Baby Firefly, Doomhead, Gabriel May)
Michael Myers
-Michael knows what it's like to have an unstoppable urge, a subdermal itch that will not be repressed or lessened. He might not quite get the concept of OCD behaviours until you explain, but he's far smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for and he's a fast learner.
-Michael's adept at redirection...although he's usually redirecting someone's head away from their body. He'll put your hands above your head and simply tilt his own when you glare at him, smugness radiating from the gesture.
-The Shape of Haddonfield relinquishes his knife for only one purpose: to give to you. He lets you twirl it around, twist it and turn it up to the light so it reflects. The handle fits strangely comfortably in your grip, and Michael rests easy knowing he's keeping you safe...even if it's from yourself.
Baby Firefly
-Baby's not too fussed about getting to know specific mental health terms or psychological breakdowns of your condition, she's just interested in making you feel better. She's got a collection of hairbands, headscarves, hair ties, anything that she's got is yours to use!
-If you tend to pull at your eyelashes or eyebrows, Baby's quick to take your hands into hers, trilling about doing your makeup, a clever way to get you to keep your hands to yourself. If you're insecure about any hair loss there, she'll fill in your eyebrows for you or fit you with false lashes at your request!
-Baby can get stressed to the point of harming herself (although it's rare that she turns her pain onto her own body) so she's not as unfamiliar with self-destructive behaviours as you may think at first glance. She's affectionate as always and quick to reassure you that you're absolutely beautiful and she's so proud of the progress you're making.
Doomhead
-He can be kind of an asshole about getting you to focus on something else: he's a real drill sergeant about it, barking at you to stop hurting yourself. It's his way of saying he cares about you, though.
-He'll take you out when he notices your mood dropping and your hair thinning, even if it's just to a shitty dive bar where he never takes off his sunglasses. It's an excuse to make sure you're eating okay and hold your hand under the table, preventing you from searching out and grasping at your hair (he'd lie through his teeth that he does this if anyone ever asked).
Gabriel May
-Gabriel knows what it's like to push his body to the point of pain. In a way, he is well-acquainted with the kind of behaviour indicative of OCD. He's also well aware of his looks, even though you tell him he's handsome, and he wouldn't dream of ever letting anyone judge you for yours. Bald spot? Everyone better mind their business about it or Gabriel will plan a visit. Missing lashes? You're stunning, he doesn't care.
-Gabriel's scarily smart, and will do his research on your condition. He's adept at calming you down, soothing you when you've had a bad day, and he just gets you like no one else does.
-A voice will crackle through the speakers of your phone when you're tugging at your hair, TV static will startle you out of your pulling, the radio will switch to your favourite song when you're upset...Gabriel will always let you know he's there for you.
Warnings: Slightly controlling Doom-Head/dom!Doom-Head and sub!Reader (duh)
Even outside of the game, you called him “Doom-Head.” You found it kind of sexy, kind of scary. Of course you knew his real name (you’d been with him a staggering three years already, which was a record for both of you), but when you’d discovered his nickname, it had just stuck. It was so him.
You were at a haunted house, just in time for Halloween. He wasn’t working the game this year (that was what the two of you had started calling it, since it was so much easier, and safer, than calling it what it actually was), so you’d had all October to spend with him. You especially loved it when it got closer to Halloween, as his more aggressive side came out.
“It’s stupid to go to these things,” he complained as you waited in line with everyone else. Both pre-recorded and real-life screams could be heard echoing through the haunted house, which had been advertised as the scariest one in the state. “What’s the point of going if you know none of it’s real?”
“Because,” you said, nudging him in the arm, “it feels real to most people. Not everyone has the same … interests … as you, babe.”
He gave you a stony look. In private, you could call him anything you wanted. You could do anything you wanted. But when you were in public, only he was allowed to use pet names, and only he was allowed to initiate physical contact.
“Look,” he complained, nodding toward the back of the line where a woman with two kids had appeared. “This can’t be that scary if there are kids here. We oughta leave.”
“Oh, come on,” you said, lightly tapping your hand against his. You really wanted to grab it, but you knew his limits. “I read the website. No one under eighteen is allowed in. She’ll get turned away any minute now. Besides, you promised.”
“I must’ve been high if I promised to take you here.”
“You were, and you did. I’ve only ever been to one haunted house before, and you’d never let me participate in the game, so …”
“’Cause I don’t want someone to tear your guts open all over the place.”
You caught a glimpse of the group behind you, all shifting away uncomfortably. Whether they took it literally or as a euphemism, they were still visibly disturbed by his comment. Doom-Head, however, didn’t notice. Or didn’t care. Likely both.
“So, then, you owe me this. I never get to be scared, and I never get to scare. I just want to spend one Halloween doing something scary with you.”
“Every day’s scary with me,” he said, grabbing your butt firmly and pulling you close. “How scary do you want me to be?”
You opened your mouth to answer when your earlier prediction came true. An usher dressed as a zombified clown marched down the side of the line and stood beside the woman with two kids.
“Eighteen and up only,” he said. “You can stay but the kids have gotta go.”
“Where are they going to go?” the woman snapped back. “They’re kids!”
“Not my problem. They’re not supposed to be here in the first place. Find a place for ‘em or you all can leave.”
The woman issued a few colorful curses at the clown (which Doom-Head repeated against your ear, his breath sending pleasant shudders through your body) as she dragged her crying kids out of the line.
Once the spectacle was over, and people’s attention was no longer on the woman and kids, Doom-Head let you go. He slicked back his dark hair and rolled his eyes up to the canopy covering the long line.
“’s taking forever,” he griped.
“No, it’s not. The line’s moving fast enough.” You prodded him forward, which earned you another cold stare. He turned away and ignored you for the next few minutes.
As you got closer to the entrance, another usher (this one dressed as a scarecrow) came walking down the line, giving instructions and asking for proof of ticket purchase. He stopped at each person and checked their wristbands, then told them the rules of the house. No touching the scare actors. No breaking anything. No flash photography. No food or drinks in the house. Anything not consumed by the time they reached the entrance had to be tossed. No stopping and going back the way they came. Everyone had to move forward and keep moving. Stalling or holding up the line inside the house would result in an immediate “emergency exit,” which included a security guard dragging you through the back halls and out the side door.
When the scarecrow got to you, he grinned from ear to ear.
“Hey, cutie,” he said. “Mind if I check your wristband?”
“Go ahead.”
He grabbed your hand and pulled it up to examine the band in the limited light. He continued to smile at you. “Is this your first time here?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Just a guess. I’ve worked this house the last five years. I’d remember if you’d been here before.”
“Maybe I came a day you weren’t working.”
“That’s impossible. I’d remember if you came.” He winked at you.
In between heartbeats, Doom-Head was between you and the scarecrow. He loomed over both of you, tall and thin and intimidating. Even without his signature makeup, he was a scary man. And you could tell from the look on the scarecrow’s face that Doom-Head was smiling. He never looked scarier than when he was smiling.
“Now, what’d you go and do that for?” Doom-Head asked, looking down at the other man.
“Do what?” The scarecrow’s voice trembled as he took a step backward from the line.
“You flirted with my lady. Right in front of me. It wasn’t like you couldn’t see me. I was standing right there. Now I’m standing right here. What’d you do it for?”
The scarecrow’s eyes looked toward you for help, but you gave none. You shrugged. It didn’t matter if you wanted to help him or not. When Doom-Head got in this mood (his “I own you” mood), there was nothing you could do about it.
“I-I wasn’t flirting. I was just making conversation.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Doom-Head said, his voice starting to lighten. That was somehow a worse sign than if he’d screamed it. “I hate liars.”
“I’m not lying, mister. I was just making conversation. I didn’t know you were together.”
“So, which is it? You were just talking to her? Or you were flirting and didn’t realize she was mine?”
“I—” Scarecrow stumbled over his words while Doom-Head stared him down.
“You know, I can see it in the eyes. A thief always shows it in the eyes first. The way they look at the things they plan on taking. You got that same look. And you’re looking right at my gal. You planning on stealing her away from me?”
“N-No! Of course not!”
“Then what were you looking at her for?”
“I was just checking her wristband!”
“You checked it. Why were you still talking to her? She’s not yours. She’s mine. Why were you talking to her after you checked her wristband? Why’d you wanna know how many times she’s been here?”
The tension surrounding the three of you was so thick, it had spread clear to each end of the line. No one was comfortable. But the other ushers, and even the security guards, stood by and watched. Scarecrow was all alone in this confrontation, and Doom-Head was about to devour him.
You finally decided you had to do something. You pushed yourself between Doom-Head and Scarecrow, turning your back on Scarecrow. Placing your hands on Doom-Head’s chest, you looked up at him, but he ignored you.
“Why don’t we go home? I think you’re right. I think maybe this isn’t the place for us.”
“You want her?” Doom-Head continued, tilting his head to the side. A few strands of dark hair fell over his forehead. You wanted to reach up and push them out of the way, but you knew better than to stick your hands near his face at the moment. If you weren’t careful, you were liable to get your hand bitten off.
“Please, dude,” Scarecrow said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I promise I won’t talk to her again.”
“You’ll have to kill me to get her. Do you want her that badly?” Doom-Head’s hand slid down toward his jean pocket where you knew he kept a knife.
You’d had enough. You grabbed Doom-Head’s wrist and he finally looked at you, fury written across his face.
“Don’t interrupt me when I’m working.”
“You’re not working,” you snapped back. “You’re scaring someone who made an honest mistake.”
“I haven’t even tried to be scary yet.”
“Well, it doesn’t take much, does it? We’re going home.”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
“Any other night, you’d be right. But tonight, you’re wrong. We’re leaving before you do something stupid.” With your own wave of fury washing over you, you grabbed Doom-Head’s arm and dragged him out of the line, back toward the dark road where you’d parked.
He shook himself free of you and spun you around, wrapping his large hand around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, even though he could have.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” he repeated slowly, emphasizing every word. “Especially not in public.”
You stared up at him, your mouth set in a hard line. His fingers slowly flexed against the flesh of your neck.
“You don’t scare me,” you said.
“No?”
“No. You don’t scare me at all.”
“Well, then,” he said, finally applying pressure to your throat. He leaned down to look you in the eye, his breath hot over your skin. “I guess I’m doing something wrong. I better fix that.”
In seemingly one motion, he released your throat and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you to the van. Instead of putting you in the passenger seat, Doom-Head tossed you into the back and slammed the doors. Then he climbed into the front and drove off. You wondered if anyone heard your laughter as Doom-Head spewed curses out the window at Scarecrow before speeding off back home.
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 :(
This masterlist along with my others will be updated any time a new fic is dropped on in the process of being worked on.
"he's evil" no he's not. he's just my baby. ok, maybe a little, but he's still just my lil baby. "he's killed people" okay, and?? he's just quirky that's all. but he's also got great style, and i think he'd give really good hugs :)
- Doomhead is never really…nice. He can be not as mean but never really nice.
- He doesn’t usually care if you finish when you guys have sex. Unless he’s feeling particularly generous. I don’t think he’d want to eat you out either.
- You guys don’t go on dates. You’ll go to the closest bar every week but it’s never really a date. He drinks, you listen to him go off on some rant, maybe eat peanuts but that’s about it.
- I do think he’d be loyal. If he really likes you. I don’t think he’d ever let you get the idea your dating unless he genuinely liked you.
- You cook, clean and other stuff like that. He’s painfully old fashioned when it comes to that.
- Would kill a man for looking at you the wrong way.
- Wouldn’t tell you about 31 he wants you left out of it.
- Pet names he calls you are baby, babe, doll and mama.
- If you piss him off he’ll hit you. Straight up. If you make him mad enough he’ll kick the shit out of you.
Author's note: So, due to life circumstances, Nano didn't go the way I wanted it. My final word count for the month ended up 12,666. I'm not disappointed with that by any means. This fic ended up being mostly written within the month. I added the last 600 words today. My first shot at writing Doom. I purposely left his lovely, wordy, wanting to seem educated way of speaking out for the time being due to the circumstances. There will be a continuation, and he gets to show off there ;)
The ache and pains that plagued your body were all shoved in the back of your mind, not present as the beat of your heart seemed to keep time with the slam of your feet against the concrete. Your own personal hell. Words had never been more true than when they had been spoken by whoever the hell was running this sick and twisted game. They weren't the focus though either. If you survived, then maybe you would dedicate some time to figuring out who the hell these people were and why they did what they did. If there was a why. But now, when you were trying to find a place to make your last stand, was not the time to narrow down your focus to those that didn't matter.
After a while, the makeshift prison started to look all the same. Something that you knew wasn't true given the few places that you had moved through. It was the panic speaking. And panic was a surefire pathway straight to death. Calming yourself down was easier said than done, of course, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive, you had to force it.
Finding a small space to squeeze that seemed like it would serve as a decent hiding spot for the few moments that you would need it, you forced your body into the space. As quietly as you could, slow, deep breaths were taken in an attempt to slow down the way that you were sucking down air. Think. You had to think.
Without weapons, you were at a bigger disadvantage. Already, you lacked knowledge of your location compared to whoever it was that they had coming after you. Lacking a weapon just left you far more vulnerable than if you could at least defend yourself with something. If you could manage to get an attack in. A big if. This newest guy? The one that you hadn't seen yet? He moved real god damn quiet. Unlike the other Heads that had hunted you down, it didn't seem like he liked to play by taunting and building anticipation and terror. It was far more methodical and controlled. The three people that had made it with you through to the final three hours had been picked off one by one. Without warning and without the pomp and show that you had encountered up until then. Which made it that much more terrifying. You only knew it was a man when your friend had taken the chance to shout out loudly as he had died.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you murmured gently to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. "Think…" A sneak attack would give you the best advantage but how did you sneak attack someone that was practically a ghost? And what were you going to use? A pipe? Could you get something off of the wall without making a lot of sound? It was a thought, one that you might have to seriously entertain and take the risk of with such limited options. There wasn't any scrap metal laying around that you could use. For likely being an abandoned area, it was surprisingly well maintained. Likely for the very reason you were looking around if the people running this game were as smart as they had seemed so far.
"Pipe it is." You glanced up and cocked your head. Could you manage to get up that high? A drop down point would be an even better sneak attack. He would be less prepared to anticipate it. At least you hoped that would be the case. And a reaction to that sort of attack might be a little slower, giving you a proper chance to actually cause a little damage. Maybe enough to incapacitate him enough to get away and get out. A fresh wave of determination came over you, washing away the doubt and the worry. It was your best chance, and if it worked out, you would be able to get out of here. It was all you wanted. Plan in mind. You just had to figure out how it was that you were getting up there and quickly. There was no telling where he was. If he was watching, well, your entire element of surprise would be ruined.
It was a struggle, but you managed to find a small perch that was relatively inaccessible from any sort of high walkway or ladder. It had taken far more time than you would have liked, but the drop down was directly below. Your arms were screaming, muscles burning with the effort that you had needed to exert to get to your spot. Enough so that you were worried about being able to swing the pipe that you had pried off of the wall. Given that it was likely your only chance to get a whack in and escape, you were going to have to make due and give it your all. Survival demanded it.
Again, you had to work on slowing your breathing. Every sound made seemed to echo in your ears, and the exertion had caused you to all but pant again. It felt like each sound you made was a bright, neon beacon hanging over your head, telling him exactly where to find you.
Straining to see anything in the dark or hear anything above your own breathing and beating heart, now it was a game of patience. Something that was incredibly difficult with the sense of anticipation that kept adrenaline pumping through your veins. The creaking and movement of the building in general was enough to send a shiver down your spine, spiking that adrenaline thinking that it was him who had found you. It was a horrid way to exist, ready to jump out of your skin at the slight sound, but you were going to make it through this. If not for anything other than to try and prove these fuckers wrong, to be able to shove it in their face. And maybe, just maybe, figure out how to get a little revenge for the friends that had died for their amusement.
Steps. Careful, measured steps were coming down the hallway from your right. It was all wrong. He hadn't made that much noise up until now. It was almost as if he was purposeful in how he was walking to make sure that you were alerted to your presence. Set on edge, your hands tightened around the cool metal, eyes darting in both directions to see if it was some sort of trick. While things had been straightforward up until now, it didn't mean that they would stay that way. Maybe this was some method to get you to come out of hiding to play. You were sure that they didn't want anyone winning. Heaven forbid. That would cause an issue for their game. You were going to be that exception, though. You were going to survive this.
Nothing. Just the sounds of the careful steps. No man. The hair on the back of your neck stood. What was going on? There was still no appearance after a couple of moments, and it was all wrong. The pipe nearly slipped from your hand as you adjusted your grip, trying to keep your breathing as slow and steady as you possibly could. The steps faded away, but the feeling of urgency and danger did not go away. It heightened instead, the overwhelming feeling of dread just seeping in deeper and deeper. Eyes were on you. You could swear that you felt them, but it would be impossible. Shit. Stay still. You had to stay still. Movement would alert him to where you were. It had to be what he wanted, to draw you out, make you panic, get you running around without a game plan. That would just make you easier prey.
So, you waited. As difficult as it was. Seconds passed in long, drawn out ticks of the clock, making it feel more like minutes for every second. But finally, finally, the lanky frame came into view. Just barely silhouetted against the light, the footsteps were near silent. That let you know the initial thought you had about the audible steps before had likely been right. They had been a purposeful decision meant to draw you out. He hadn't found you. There was a chance that staying would let you win. A slim chance. Which was one that you weren't willing to take. These people couldn't let you live if you did manage to make it through the time limit that had been placed on the game.
Timing was just off as you dropped down onto the man, catching his back and shoulder rather than knocking him completely off of his feet. You grunted as you swung the pipe with as much might as you possibly could before you stopped midswing. Blinking, you tried again but found the same result. You couldn't bring the pipe against his flesh. Frustration mounted, and the fact nearly made you cry. This couldn't be happening. The man turned and went to swing at you in retaliation during that second swing, but he seemed to have the same problem, the punch missing you by a mile.
"Fuck me…" He grunted as he tried swinging again before reaching for a blade. The blade swung by your face but didn't come close to catching any skin. Realization sunk in as you both seemed entirely incapable of harming the other. This had to be some part of the sick joke that was being played on you. There was only one reason that someone couldn't harm another. Soulmates. This fucked up nightmare had just become worse. Maybe having him kill you would have been the better sort of end game.
The pipe dropped from your hand, and you took a step back, but it was the furthest distance that you could manage. Something stopped another movement backward. He was simply staring at you, an unreadable look overtaking his features. An emotion that you couldn't place. Did you even want to? Christ, what did you do with this situation? It wasn't like the two of you could sit down and talk about this like normal people. He had been just ready to run you through with his switchblades, and you had been ready to bash his head, or really any part of his body that you could reach.
"Don't move," he growled out and lifted the blade in his hand, using it to simply point at you this time. "You fucking understand?" You were torn between listening and ignoring the demand that had been made. Just because he couldn't harm you didn't mean that there wasn't others and that he wouldn't be going to get them. Another step back resulted in a rather aggressive sound being released from the man.
"You think I'm going to listen to you?" Your voice came out stronger than you thought it would, giving yourself a mental pat on the back for that. If your voice had come out shaky, you would have felt even worse than you were right now.
"Yeah, you fucking are." He moved closer, that distance that you had established vanished with two quick strides by the man. There was no stopping the wince that came. Logically, now you knew he couldn't hurt you. That didn't stop the emotional and a primal part of your brain reacting to the very real threat that was still perceived. Distance would help you feel more comfortable, as comfortable as one could get in such a situation. That also led to better observations, better decisions, and better outcomes. Swallowing hard, you found yourself nodding in agreement. Just because you agreed didn't mean that you would do it. Figuring that your best course of action would be to follow behind him, hopefully unseen, you had to appear obedient before making the attempt.
"Good. Now, stay fucking put and I'll be right back." One last inspection was given to you before he turned heel and began back down the hallway. You waited just a few moments, listening closely as the steps just began to fade away before you.made your move. The entire maze was disorienting but he made enough sound by the slimmest of margins for you to be able to follow. Was it a safe assumption to think that he would be moving to some sort of exit? Maybe and maybe not. Time would be the only way to tell.
Ahead, the sound of a door being opened echoed out. Well, that spoiled a lot, but it didn't exactly signal a complete end to the spying idea. If you got lucky and the door stayed open. Given how the night had gone, maybe you had used up all of the luck that a person was allowed in a lifetime. But, the risk was well worth the reward.
There was a sliver of light guiding the way, hinting where the almost invisible door was. If you weren't trying to stay quiet, you would have cursed, violently and loudly. That was how these fuckers were slipping around unnoticed. Of course. Nothing to be done with that information now. Rather pointless to focus on it when the important bit was the murmured voice on the other side of the door. For a moment, you thought that there might have been more than one. Straining to hear, eyes closed and leaned as far forward as you cod be without giving yourself away, you realized it was only one. His. Low enough that it was nearly impossible to fully make out each word but the timber of the voice that had just sent shivers down your spine was now unmistakable. Only every second or third word was caught.
He most certainly was talking about you. But was he talking to anyone? Those sick fucks running the thing were clearly watching so he could have some way to communicate without their voices being heard by others. Right? Maybe. Your fingers, weak and injured from the long night, couldn't keep their grasp on the wall, causing you to loudly stumble forward, actually falling right to your knees by the door. Well, that certainly would alert him that you hadn't stayed put like demanded and promised.
The door ripped open, and there he stood, eyes wide and alight with anger.
“Told you to stay the fuck put!” The words came out in a growl as he swiftly reached down and grasped your arm, yanking you upward. “Dumb fucking bitch.” Off balance, the pull that he gave towards rhe room that he was in had you stumbling again, barely able to keep to your feet. You didn't know what was going through his head but he was leading you somewhere and you were far too exhausted at this point to give much more of a fight. If this was the end, so be it.
After a few minutes, you noticed that you didn't hear any other sounds. No voices, no pipes banging, no hissing of steam. It was far more quiet than any other section of the hell maze had been. That piqued your interest just a little bit. Either he was taking you somewhere private to kill you or…
The possibility sparked that survival instinct once more, and your eyes moved to the tall man that was just ahead of you, jerking you around by the ironclad grip he had on your wrist. Could he possibly be getting you out of here?
“You say a word, I'll change my mind about it all. One fucking word and I'll happily give you to to those two clown brothers.” The words were final and for once, you decided that it was best to listen to what you were being told. It seemed that maybe, your luck hadn't run out entirely. You didn't know what this meant or what his ultimate plans were for you. Maybe you were better off dying but it was an unknown and one that you weren't willing to chance. “Rich old fucks are gonna end up taking half my fucking pay for this shit…” Getting outside served better for you to have the chance to escape anyway. Following your twisted, psychotic soulmate was the only path forward that you saw. Hopefully it would work out.
I feel like he would notice your scalp picking pretty quick but not really say much at first; not because he didn’t care but more of the fact he picks at his scalp a lot [because of his plate] so he assumes it’s normal and nothing to worry about, he’ll just assume your head has been particularly itchy lately like his plate from time to time.
However one rare evening where no one had any pressing matters to attend to you sat with the Sawyer’s to have dinner and afterwards you all sat and watched the television.
Drayton had absolutely no interest in the television because “tv isn’t as good as it once was" so he just kind of looked around the room aimlessly and it just so happened that his eyes landed on you as you were picking at your already damaged scalp.
Drayton goes in a partly joking tone "fuck y/n has chop-top been rubbing off on you that much, you’ve been picking at that darn head more than him lately.”
You just awkwardly laugh trying not to bring more attention to the matter and move your hands away from your head, feeling yourself grow more anxious about the fact attention was brought to the matter.
After a few minutes you make up an excuse along the lines of “I’m tired I’m going to head upstairs” and quickly rush to the bedroom which you share with Chop-Top.
Chop-Top would notice you left when he went to place his arm around you and he couldn’t feel you there.
He would be confused as to where you were because he wasn’t paying attention because he was focused on the tv after it caught his attention, however when Drayton explained in a slightly annoyed tone that he made a, slightly, joking comment and you upped sticks and went to what he assumed was sleep for the night Chop-Top was puzzled to say the least.
He decided to make his way to the bedroom which he shared with you to see if you were ok, however when he walked in on you close to tears, struggling to breathe as you was trying to hold in your tears, he could tell you wasn’t holding up too well.
He isn’t too familiar with people expressing feelings around him as due to his nature and the whole family business he never really formed bonds with anyone, let alone him comforting them.
It’s safe to say his first thought would be to freak out, threatening to kill whoever upset you [very aggressively.]
I feel like he’d also just kind of stand in the door way while he tried to work out what to do, he hates seeing you like this but he also hates knowing that he doesn’t know how to help.
He’d eventually land on just holding you, still freaking out inside.
When you finally calm down and regulate your breathing he would 100% try and break the silence with a joke.
”We all bored you to tears down there y/n?” He anxiously jokes.
“No it’s not that” you trail off and take a deep breathe; you then explain everything to him from how anxious you’ve been feeling to how you’ve been stress picking at your scalp.
He feels immediately guilty because he noticed it happening but said nothing about it.
It’s safe to say after that you both lay in each other’s arms for a long time.
As he is also prone to picking at his scalp Chop-Top knows how you feel better than anyone and in turn has a long list of ways to try and help you stop, or at least reduce how frequently you pick at your scalp.
Chop-Top would definitely be one to advocate getting high whenever you were stressed {and he certainly wouldn’t be opposed to getting high with you, apparently it’s "good couple bonding.”
Despite his best efforts, he shows his support in the most round about, ‘Chop-Top’ way possible, for example he’d tell you that “your scalp is far too pretty to hurt” [he thought it was endearing.]
Most importantly he’d want you to know you can talk to him, even if he’s not the best with his words.
I also feel like he’d pat your head a lot to try and comfort you whenever you were stressed so you would be less inclined to pick at your scalp.
Bubba Swayer:
He wouldn’t notice the scalp picking but he’d notice the cuts on your head; basically he’d just start seeing more cuts and marks through your hair and royally freak out.
Immediately wants to, violently, kill whoever kept hurting your head.
This idea was very quickly put on the back burner once you explained that you did it yourself.
I don’t think he’d fully understand it, like he finds hurting others, when deserved, very therapeutic because it’s what he’s always done but he can’t wrap his head around the idea of self-inflicted pain.
Although he doesn’t understand it he wants to listen to you talk about it to try and understand it better so he can support you the best he can.
Would most likely end up hugging you so tight that you thought you was going to die after you explained everything in detail.
If he ever saw you picking at your scalp or looking anxious he would just place his hand on your head and kind of just leave it there? You found it very comforting all be it confusing at first.
Luigi Largo:
Luigi isn’t the world’s most observant man so don’t be surprised if he doesn’t notice your nervous habit straight away.
I feel like he would find out in the most unconventional way, not because he’s oblivious, he’s just so focused on work that he pushes everything aside.
I feel like him finding out would be something along the lines of Pavi bringing it up, like casually asking Luigi how you was doing with the whole thing [because let’s face it, pretty much everyone else has noticed you picking at your head once or twice when you was stressed because you’re too overwhelmed to try and be discreet about it.]
This would cause Luigi to become, even more, short-tempered declaring “if something was going on he’d know.”
On the outside he’d become much more hostile but he would be internally freaking out because he’d feel awful for not noticing if this was happening and convince himself that you’re going to leave him for ‘not caring enough’ or something like that.
He’d eventually psyche himself up enough to go find you and try to talk to you about it, however he’d do it in his own round about way.
"I’m going to kill Pavi” he shouts as he enters the room.
”It’s nice to see you too Luigi” you’d chuckle.
Part way through his rant he’d explain that he was mad because Pavi had essentially made him feel like a bad boyfriend for not noticing that you’d be struggling.
You’d have to get him to backtrack for a moment because he’d miss a few key points such as what Pavi had meant by “you’re struggling” as he apparently put it.
After he explained everything you’d probably have to reassure him that he isn’t a bad boyfriend; despite his demeanour he’s really insecure because of the lack of affection from his dad growing up.
Now he is aware of your problem he’s really observant, like scarily observant.
Your hands move? He’s looking to make sure you’re not stress picking your skin, he’s been busy and hasn’t seen you all day? When he sees you he checks to make sure you have no cuts on your skin from picking.
If you have been picking at your skin he would be concerned; he isn’t the best at talking about feelings but he’ll listen to you and try his best to understand.
If he noticed you were getting anxious and picking at your skin he would definitely be the type to just grab your hand and keep hold of it to comfort you and stop you picking at yourself.
He’s very protective of you as it is but he would probably get more protective; like if he even thinks someone or something might be stressing you out he’s resort to violent means instantly [which isn’t anything new.]
Otis Driftwood:
I feel like he’d either be exactly like Luigi Largo in the sense he’s oblivious and wouldn’t notice without someone bringing it up or he’d notice straight away, I feel like he’d be in a bad mood and notice you picking at yourself and it would annoy him so he’d tell you to stop [which would in turn make it worse.]
When you didn’t stop he’d go to question it but when he noticed you were stressed he’d be confused; “what the fuck is up with you?”
I don’t think he’d completely understand what was the matter when you explained how you felt but he’d understand enough to know that he should probably keep an eye on you.
I don’t care if you agree with this, I will die on this hill, if you were really stressed and started picking at your skin, he would just swat your hand away from your head.
However, I feel like Otis would also kiss your head, when no one was looking, and I will not take arguments on this one.
Freddy Kreuger:
Freddy would be surprisingly observant of you, so when you start picking at your head when you’re stressed or anxious, he will notice.
He wouldn’t try and be gentle and ‘walk around the topic’ he’d just ask you about it straight up.
I feel like he’d be really sympathetic and understanding of the whole situation.
After you spoke about it he would probably try and cheer you up afterwards and take your mind off of it to cheer you up by telling really shitty jokes.
I feel like if he saw you getting really anxious and start picking at your skin his first thought would be to kind of prompt you to stop by gently pushing your hand away from your head and try to take your mind off whatever is making you anxious by completely removing either you or whatever is making you stressed or anxious from the situation.
If that failed to work he would take matters into his own hands, quite literally, by keeping hold of your hands until you’ve calmed down.
He would probably just talk to you until you felt better, whether it be about the situation or talking about something completely random to try and take your mind off of it; he’s definitely a talker.
Doomhead:
He would without a doubt notice your habit straight away, he seems like the kind of person to notice *everything* for no other reason than paranoia; he needs every element of his surroundings to be in his control all of the time so he himself doesn’t become stressed so in turn he pays attention to everything all of the time.
He would try and make you feel better and, at first, make you feel worse.
"Can you stop doing that, there’s better things to be doing” was meant to be endearing and meant to show you that you don’t have to hurt yourself but it came across as him calling your habit stupid.
When you started crying at his comment it’s safe to say he’d be confused as fuck; “what the fuck are you crying at now.”
Once you explained it he’d fee quite bad but he wouldn’t want you to know that; he’d just explain that that’s not what he meant.
If he ever saw you getting anxious or stressed I don’t think he’d try and physically stop you he’d just shoot you a look or say something to you.
If you didn’t stop picking at your skin after he brought it up he would then physically move your hands and give you a long ass talking to about why you shouldn’t do it.
TLDR; if he sees you picking at your skin he will give you a lecture.
He cares about you, he just doesn’t really know how to show it so it manifests in him acting like a pissed off parent or teacher.
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A/N >> God I wrote this so long ago, drop writing requests in my inbox!
