Slasher Imagines - Tumblr Posts
Yautja’s Reaction to His S/O Sexually Teasing Him...
How had he ended up here? Shackled to the bed with his little ooman atop him. He glanced up, testing the manacles. They held strong.
“Se’nok,” you purred, drawing his gaze. He stilled. Dear Paya… His mind went blank.
There you were, hovering atop him, your lips sensually toying with a dreadlock. Your hands smoothed over his chest, trailing to his neck. You inhaled his scent. His head fell back, giving you better access. “Mmm, do you like that?”
Pauk, yes. He’d never imagined you could garner such control. Oomans are clever, he remembered, making up for their inferior size. “You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured under his breath.
“What was that?”
“When did you learn to tease, mate?”
You smiled, biting your lip. Slowly, you pressed down to grind yourself against him. “You wanna know my secret?”
His breathing picked up as you leaned forward. You nibbled at his jaw before whispering in his ear, “Having you all trapped? It does things to me…”
A low growl rumbled from his chest, his mandibles twitching. You grinned. “Oh, you like that?”
“A yautja female wouldn’t be half as cruel.”
“But I’m not yautja…”
Slashers’ Reaction to Dry Humping
Anonymous: You should do slashers dry-humping!
Jason Voorhees
Sneaky Seducer. Wanting to sit on Jason’s lap? Just ask! He won’t know why you want to do it, but he’s not going to deny you. The second you rock against him, though, prepare yourself. *Hands fly to your waist in alarm* What are you doing?! *Gives you owl eyes*
Some Coaxing Required. *Kneads his thick muscles in hopes he’ll relax his death grip* Please, Jason? I just wanna try something. Darn it. How is he supposed to refuse when you’re looking at him with such longing?
Intimate. How could this feel so good? With you pressed against his chest, gripping onto him like a little barnacle, he wouldn’t know left from right. God, he couldn’t think. All he could do was feel. As you writhe together, he’d wrap his arms around you. Whatever this was, he never wanted it to end. *Face buried in your neck, holds on for dear life as you ride out the storm of pleasure*
Thomas Hewitt
Immediate sweating. *Aroused breathes puffing through his mask* W-What are you doing? Hands shakily clasping your hips, he’d be trembling with tension beneath you. Nevermind, he doesn’t care. Just don’t stop.
Muscle. Head tipped back, he’d bite his lip to keep from groaning as you slide along his clothed cock. God, he could feel your heat. At the sound of your whimpered moan, his gaze would snap to yours. Suddenly, he’d use his strength to press you harder against him, dragging you along his length as he thrusts against you.
Switch. Gazes locked, you’d beg him, “Harder.” And Thomas isn’t the type of man to refuse you, (Y/N). Standing with your wrapped around him, Thomas would stumble to the bed. Once he’s assured you’re comfortable, he’d set to work using his big body to pleasure yours. Is this what you needed, darlin’? You wanted more? *Pumps his hips into yours, eyes rolling back at the feel of your nails digging into his back*
Michael Myers
Distrust. *Narrows eyes* What do you mean you want to sit on him? This may not be the easiest task in the world. Letting him hold his knife should earn you some leeway, though. *Starts to grind against him, watches his entire body melt beneath you*
Definitely a Dom. Knife slipping, Michael would finally cast it aside, moving at lightning speed to reverse your position. *Flips you over, pins you beneath him* There, much better. Wrists held overhead, you’d be helpless as this massive entity towers above you. *Tilts his head to study you*
Prepare Yourself. Michael loves being in control. And what better way to gain control than to learn what makes your toes curl with desire? Simply put, he’d experiment with his thrusts: some slow and deep–languidly grinding into you–others fast and jarring–making you gasp at his strength. Each time he hears you moan, he’ll repeat whatever caused it until you’re literally begging him to let you come.
Brahms Heelshire
No permission needed. There will be no coaxing with this man. Climbing onto his lap? Yes. Don’t you want to know why–? No. *Pulls you closer to straddle his quickly-forming erection.*
Loss of composure. Oh, he’d be a mess–but he’s your mess. Writhing beneath you, he’d whimper and moan, begging you not to stop. You feel so good, (Y/N). *Gives guttural moan* Oh, just like that. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. *Tightens his hold*
Lots of praise. Prepare for an ego boost. Your eyes, your body, your heart, your very soul–all of them are so fucking beautiful. You’re a work of art. He doesn’t deserve you, but, dear Lord, does he love you. *Pained look as he kisses you with all the emotion he can muster*
BONUS:
Slasher kinks…
Jason Voorhees: Intimacy. Jason may not be the most romantic man in the world, yet perhaps that’s why sexual acts always feel so intimate with him. How else is he to show what you mean to him? *Loses himself in you* You could break him so easily. Yet there you were, holding onto him as though you couldn’t bear to let go. You make him belong. You make him loved. You are his gift from above, and he’ll always cherish you.
Thomas Hewitt: DDLG-esque. Tell him what you need, (Y/N), and he’ll give it to you. Always. And when you’re in bed? Hearing you beg for him… God, it hits him in all the right places. *Strokes your front* Does that feel good, darlin’? At your whimpered nod, his heart would ache. Fuck, you’re all he needs in the world. *Lays in the cradle of your thighs, covering you completely as he just loves you*
Michael Myers: Edging. Oh, he wants to come, too…yet nothing is sexier than watching you lose all sense beneath him–than feeling you desperately cling to him as though he were the only thing keeping you sane. He never wants to make you cry, but seeing your eyes leak lustful tears? In a rare moment of animalistic care, he’d kiss them away, shushing you. Not yet, (Y/N).
Brahms Heelshire. BDSM. He may be a deviant devil, but you hold the reigns, (Y/N). Seeing you there–knowing you could easily leave, yet chose to stay? Knowing you want him, too? *Cock pulses with need* And, God, that that grin. The way you smile, teasing him to the brink of release… It’s his favorite game. He’ll never get enough.
Slashers’ Reaction to Social Distancing
Jason Voorhees
Murder-Free Summer. Even if campers come to Crystal Lake, Jason’s staying far away from them. Do you know what that means, (Y/N)? *Dons coveralls* Bring on the paint! Bring on the spackle! Finally, you and Jason can renovate your cabin without distraction! You know that amazing clawfoot tub in the main lodge? *Transfers it to your cabin* (Then has celebratory bubble bath)
Note: Usually, he’s too busy checking traps and hacking campers during the warmer months. And during winter? Well, the freezing temperature means painting is a no-go and the pipes are frozen.
Renovating the Rat Cave. The tunnels. Dear lord, the tunnels! “Jason, those rats deserve a nicer home!” By the time you’re done, it would actually be an enjoyable place to visit.
Sleeping Late. After all, thanks to his homicide hiatus he’s no reason to get up at the crack of dawn. Enjoy your snuggles, you two. You’ve earned it.
Thomas Hewitt
He’d make some masks. Granted, they wouldn’t be medical-grade quality–not in the beginning, at least. After all, where is he supposed to get those kinds of supplies? Being the resourceful man you know and love, however, Thomas would start by crafting masks for the family.
He’d be the Oprah of masks. You get a mask! You get a mask! Everybody gets a mask! Luda Mae, Hoyt, and you would help Thomas in his mission to ensure every member of the Hewitt clan is protected from exposure. Some nights, you’d find Thomas asleep at his workbench. Seeing a half-finished mask in hand, your heart would ache with pride. He was such a good man.
Waking him up, you’d lead him upstairs and into bed. Thankfully, he’d be too tired to notice your struggle to remove his boots. *Falls to the ground as the stubborn thing finally comes off*
Michael Myers
He’d cut his hair. While he may not care about flattening the curve, you do. As a result, Michael’s going to be joining your quarantine. Still, he’s notoriously averse to feeling caged. Simply put, he’s going to get bored. He’s also going to feel confined. *Struggles against tangled hair* That’s it! There’d be no warning–only the faint sound of snipping.
Note: Because he’s Michael, this insufferably talented freak of nature would do a wonderful job. Still, when he walks into the room for movie night–acting like nothing’s different–prepare to choke on popcorn in surprise. *Proceeds to gush over his hair–much to his mortification*
Twister. You would play it…and it would end in sex. You’d also play Monopoly–Michael would be the racecar while you’d be the ever-erotic thimble. Really, (Y/N), that piece is downright scandalous! (At least, the way you use it is.)
Brahms Heelshire
Indoor paradise. So, you’re stuck inside. Well, clearly, this is your and Brahm’s chance to make the Heelshire house amazing! I’m talking makeshift slide-stairs, a newly-installed hammock in the living room, and fairy lights… EVERYWHERE.
He’d refuse to wear pants. Not much more to say. *Swings dick around for fun* Nooooooooo!
Watching you spiral into insanity. Remember, Brahms is the master of social distancing. You, on the other hand? (Y/N), why are you sprinting around the house like a dog with the zoomies? *Slides across the floor in oversized socks* Why are you wearing Brahms’ boxers? Where did you find that bottle of whiskey?
BONUS:
How social distancing would impact your sex life…
Jason Voorhees: Outdoor sex. No campers + nice weather = a lack of possible onlookers. A lack of onlookers means you’d finally be free to do the unthinkable: streak through Camp Crystal Lake. *Strolls gloriously naked past Jason only to get plowed into the dirt via animalistic fucking*
Thomas Hewitt: Inadvertent Cosplay. Masked sex? Well, you do need to test the masks’ ability to stay in place… not to mention that breathability is important.
Michael Myers: Roleplaying. Oooooh, is he a plumber come to…fix your pipes? And where did that 80′s techno music come from? *Bow-chicka-wow-wow*
Brahms Heelshire: Zero Calorie Kinkery. You know he’s going to put mirrors all over the house. Enjoy your Diet Voyeurism–it’s voyeuristic sex, but with none of the shame!
A-Z Alphabet: Michael Myers
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Much like a tamed cougar, Michael isn’t quite domesticated. (Around others, he’s downright lethal.) With you, however, he shows a begrudging, unpracticed warmth.
After making love, he’ll silently rise and leave. The first time he did this, you’d been heartbroken. He’s…just going to leave? Just like that? No sooner than your heart began to ache did he return–still gloriously naked–with a washcloth. If you’re unable to walk afterward (which is absolutely possible), he’d be surprisingly understanding. Simply put, prepare to be carried.
And yes, being carried bridal-style by Michael Myers is as amazing as it sounds. Cuddle against him, listen to his relaxed breaths. While he’s an object of terror to most; for you, he’s simply warm, strong, and deliciously protective.
B = Body part (Their favorite body part and also their partner’s)
What are you most insecure about? Your arms, stomach? Thighs, skin? Whatever you dislike the most, he’ll cherish–seeing its symbolic meaning. For imagination’s sake, let’s use stretch marks. Whenever you’re sitting together, watching a movie on Netflix, he’ll absently trace the soft zig-zags with the pads of his fingers. Soon, you’d forget why you were insecure about them in the first place.
Your favorite part of his body is his face–specifically his eyes. Michael is a difficult man to read. It’s not you–he’s simply spent his formative years being analyzed by trained professionals. If he learned to fool them, he can fool anyone. (Most of the time, he’s doing it subconsciously.) That being said, you’re likely the only person in the world that can touch–let alone see–his face and survive.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically…I’m a disgusting person)
Inside you. Michael’s an animalistic man. He wants to know that you’ll be feeling his cum slipping out of you—a clear sign to the world that you’re his. You’re already claimed and mated; thoroughly fucked by your male. (Remember, Michael is one of the more possessive slashers.)
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Praise. While he’ll deny it, Michael loves it when you praise him in bed. Knowing that he can make you come undone with his body is deeply satisfying for the man. If you’re shy, don’t worry. Being highly observant, he’ll take your moans as praise, as well.
Plus he loves watching you beg him to fuck you harder, knowing you’re at his mercy.
Keep reading
Slashers’ Reaction to Being Interrupted During Sex
(Warning: NSFW)
‘Coitus interruptus’ in the literal sense…
Jason Voorhees
Cause of Interruptus: Trespassers.
The exact opposite of saved by the bell. Whoever dared to trespass on his land at such an inopportune time should expect a brutal death.
He’ll freeze, looking to the line of bells. “Nooooo,” you’d groan. “Jason, please, I beg of you. Just–ignore it!” Trying to pull his face back around for another kiss would prove ineffective. Just as he’s about to relent the bell would ring again. Dammit! Unfortunately, Jason has a strong sense of duty. He’d pull away, quickly tugging on a pair of pants before stomping into his boots. Just before he leaves, he’d snatch the blanket from the foot of the bed and tuck it around you. After assuring himself you’re comfortable, he’d give you a gentle kiss on the forehead. Stay there, love, he’ll be right back.
5-10 Minutes Later… Yeah, he wouldn’t play around. Those campers? Dead. And with that out of the way…
He’d leave a trail of clothing in his wake–ensuring he’s naked and ready to resume lovemaking upon his return. Going straight for your core, he’ll use his tongue to warm you back up. He won’t be satisfied until you’re on the edge, and frantically begging him to fuck you. (Note: Jason tends to be rougher after prolonged arousal…Tip or Warning, you decide)
Thomas Hewitt
Cause of Interruptus: “Thomas!”
He’ll groan–but not in the way you prefer. “Thomas? What’s wrong? Why’d you stop?” Hearing the others shouting for him, you’d give a heartbroken moan. “Nooo.” His head would fall to your shoulder in mutual frustration. They really couldn’t last five minutes without him, could they? Still, you are his top priority. After a moment, he’d resume his thrusts, digging in deeper. Maybe he can hurry you both along. His hand would immediately drop to your front, stimulating you.
He’d pin you with a sinful look, maintaining eye contact as he pounds into you. He wants to watch you come for him. You’d feel yourself winding tighter…tighter… God, how could his eyes make you want to come? They were your center, the only thing anchoring you.
“THOMAS! Get down here!” Sometimes, he’s able to send you over the edge, following quickly behind. Others…? With a purely masculine growl of annoyance, he’ll force himself away. “No, Thomas, come back!” He’ll pull on his pants, then whirl back around. Grasping your head, he’d give you a scorching kiss. This is not over. Needless to say, you’d be left with a dizzied look as he exits the room. *Plops back onto bed*
Five minutes later… You’d hear him stomping up the stairs. Upon seeing you curled under the massive quilt, he’d slowly start to unbutton his shirt. Thomas’ nothing if not an effective strip-tease. By the time he’s back in your arms, it’s like he never left.
Michael Myers
Cause of Interruptus: Intruders.
When Michael’s taking you fast and rough, you’re pretty much lost to the world. Meaning? He’s always the first to sense danger. Turning toward the noise, he’d slow his thrusts, distractedly grinding into you with a sinful curl of his hips. When you moan (which is inevitable), he’d shoot forward to cover your mouth. Shush! Honestly, (Y/N), there were people in the house!
This won’t stop your moan, however, as having all that finely-toned musculature against your very willing self is what dreams are made of–at least, yours are. He’d neither lift his hand nor end his thrusts. By the point of orgasm, you’d be deliriously groaning into his hand, writhing as much as possible in askance for more.
Once finished, he’d need a moment to catch his breath. (This is your chance to smother him in kisses, stroke his hair, etc.) After he finally stops shaking, Michael would stand and silently leave the room. As screams fill the air, you’d remain in place, wearing a goofy well-pleasured smile. (Oh, and be able to feel his cum oozing out of you…Cause you know such a sight always makes him want another round.)
Brahms Heelshire
Cause of Interruptus: Don’t know don’t care.
No, no, no, no, no! You’re not stopping–he won’t allow it. The moment you still, he’d simply grip your ass, moving you along his length as he thrusts into you from below. “Brahms!” you’d say, nearly falling against his chest, “I-I have to pay for the groceries!” See this is why he’d wanted to just leave a check out.
Still, the thought of being caught? Let them find you, he doesn’t care. The feel of you wrapped around his cock is too good. He can’t pull away now! At least this way, that damned grocery boy would finally get the message and stop his infuriating attempts to flirt. Actually…the more he thinks about it, the better his idea sounds.
Tensing with determination, he’d flip you over. “Brahms? What–!” Cue the harsh sound of skin slapping skin. It’ll echo through the mansion–as will your involuntary moans. Say his name, (Y/N), his! Tell that boy who you belong to. Brahms is very skilled with his voice. He’ll use it to growl the dirtiest filth in your ear, telling you exactly how it feels inside your tight heat.
BONUS:
Their sex face…
Jason Voorhees: Heavy-lidded eyes train on your every movement. Oh god…what are you doing to him? He’ll try to be a good boy, he really will–letting you take what you need–but sometimes he can’t help but thrust against you.
Thomas Hewitt: Those eyes. He doesn’t need to speak; you know exactly what he’s feeling. When he starts getting closer, his brows will furrow into a pained expression. God, it feels too good.
Michael Myers: Jaw clenched because he’s trying to stay silent. He tends to hold his breath during sex, resulting in sexy growls and huffs. Pretty sweaty, but it just makes his muscles gleam in the moonlight.
Brahms Heelshire: Eyes rolled back in his head, he gives zero f*cks about his expression. You just feel so good. Can he stay inside you forever? He doesn’t mind carrying you around!
Getting Your Slasher to Ditch the Mask...
Warning: semi-passive-aggressive. (But let’s be honest, aggressive tactics won’t work with a stubborn slasher s/o.)
● Wear your own mask. That’s right. Your own mask. Show them what it feels like to cuddle, converse with, make love to, etc. your s/o when they’re wearing a mask. It’s guaranteed to annoy them. They’d hate not being able to see your facial expressions. All you have to do is say, “See! This is what it feels like. Every day.” Keep wearing that thing until they realize the mask needs to go.
● Reward them. Show them just how much you like seeing their face. Sex is probably the most enjoyable reward. If they’re extra self-conscious, give them lots of kisses. Also, treats are great. Brownies, apple pie, lasagna? What is their favorite food? Just make sure they know this isn’t an every-time-they-take-off-their-mask event. (Cough, cough, BRAHMS…)
● It’s a process. They wear the mask for a reason–a deeply rooted one, at that. Still, if they start sliding back to their 24/7-mask-on ways, you can always dangle the threat of your own mask. Needless to say, they’ll get the message. Maybe not the first time, but if they see you weren’t bluffing, they won’t ignore said threat again.
BONUS:
First to cave… Leatherface. Please stop hiding your beautiful face! *Whips off his mask* There, it’s gone. Now give me back my (Y/N)!
Second to cave… Jason. Oh, his heart hurts from not being able to see your smile. He’d last about an hour tops before reluctantly taking off his mask. Once you show your face, he’d chuck your mask aside and nuzzle your face.
Third to cave… Brahms. Oh, but you’re so cute in your own little mask. It’s like a game! *Two days later* Damnit, I can’t take it anymore. I miss being able to mess with you! Show me your easily-readable face, and all its expressiveness! You show me, right now, you!
Last to cave… Michael. Don’t you try and mind-game him! He’ll hold out simply because he refuses to give you the satisfaction. When he does show his face, it’s in the middle of sex. He’d just growl in frustration and rip off both of your masks. You wouldn’t have time to be surprised, he’d make sure of it.
Headcanons for Vincent, Thomas, Brahms, Michael Myers with an s/o who is really good at riding them, like riding them to oblivion till they can’t think right
Vincent Sinclair
Loves when his darling is on top, he gets to watch his beautiful work of art use him like a toy.
His hands grip their hips, and he rolls his own in rhythm with their movements.
Dark hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, his mouth hangs open. His mask was discarded long ago, he looks immaculate in the low light of his workshop.
His breathing is heavy and his moans are strangled. He's trying to keep quiet so he can hear his lover, their groans and sighs.
Vincent loves the way they feel when they bounce on his cock, he thinks he's died and gone to heaven.
Brahms Heelshire
He's such a sub it's not even funny. He begged his lover to make him feel good before bed and they happily obliged.
He doesn't regret asking for this, but he knows he's gonna get fucked stupid.
They're bouncing on his cock, tight little hole squeezing around him deliciously.
Brahms moans loudly, and his hands wander their body. Groping and grabbing the soft skin. He begs for more, tears forming in his eyes.
His beloved smirks down at him, his mind melting the more they rock their hips. He doesn't want it to stop, yet at the same time he needs to cum.
Thomas Hewitt
He's very much a giver. Whatever his lover wants they will get.
He protested being laid on his back only because he wants to make sure his beloved is getting as much pleasure as he is.
Tommy is convinced that they're enjoying themselves as well when he sees the way they look down at him.
Their hips rolling, their tight hole squeezing his fat cock just right. His mask was discarded, and he was flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears.
Low grunts rumbled in his chest, his cock throbbed as his darling bounced. They looked like a work of art above him.
Michael Myers
Selfish. That's the best word to describe him in bed. When his beloved climbed over him he remained completely still.
If they wanted to fuck themselves on his cock, they can have at it. He's tired, he won't help, not unless they cum before he does.
His nonchalant attitude melts away within minutes, his lover bounced along his shaft. The tip of his cock hit something delicious inside them and he nearly lost it.
Heavy pants emanated from behind his mask. He was losing himself, watching as they use him like a fuck toy. Their tight hole milking him for all he's worth.
Imagine # 983
Gif NOT mine.
If this gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me, so I can give you/them credit.
Gif credit goes to - @godzillawillsaveus (Unless told otherwise.)
Year posted - 2022
"EDDIE SAWYER!" (Y/n)'s voice rang out throughout the house, making Tex freeze in his tracks. "Shit." He cursed under his breath when she stormed into the living room, her arms crossed and an annoyed scowl on her face. "How many times do I have to tell you?" She hissed at him. "Tell me what Darlin'?" He questioned innocently, flashing her his best puppy dog eyes. "Stop tracking mud and blood into the main house! That shit stays in the mudroom and kitchen!" She remained him, making him subconsciously glance down at his messy boots on the living room rug. "Awe I'm sorry Darlin'." He frowned softly, having forgotten altogether how dirty his boots had gotten. "I'm tired of having to scrub these damn rugs, do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out of these things?" (Y/n) huffed as her arms fell to her sides, an almost defeated look in her eyes. "I know, I'm sorry baby. I'll clean up my mess." He offered as he took her into his arms, kissing the crown of her head when she leaned into his touch. "You better." She hummed before leaning up to kiss him properly, a smile ghosting her lips as she did so.
Short and sweet! Hope y'all liked it! Reblogs/Likes/Comments are all greatly appreciated!
jealous slashers~!✧
With Michael, Brahms, Jason, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Thomas Sawyer, Sal Fisher, & Patrick Bateman
tags: gn!reader, jealousy, creepy men, unwanted attention/touching, uggestive and mature themes, gore/blood, violence, canon typical behavior, billy x reader x stu poly, rob zombie!mikey, I know Sal isn't exactly a slasher but he's my baby and needs to be included
Alexa, play Love to Die by the Slashstreet Boys
Michael
Rest in Peace to the poor, stupid man who thought it'd be a good idea to mess with the Shape's partner, and Michael had witnessed it all. How this man shoves you into an empty alleyway, the clatter of your groceries falling. The guy doesn't get much more than a few bruises and claw marks when Michael's knife slices through the back of the man's throat, protruding from the other end in a splash of blood. The Shape watches you wipe your bloody face off, not doing much but picking up three of your four fallen bags and tugging you into his side.
Brahms
Absolutely not. Brahms is fuckin' seething from his safe space sheltered behind the walls. Heavy breathing muffled by the porcelain mask, he watches with wild eyes as some idiot decides to break into the mansion whilst you were sleeping, and proceeds to hold you at knifepoint, effectively pinning you to the bed in what little nightclothes you wore. The unwanted guest and you are certainly going to know when Brahms is upset. There's banging on the walls coming from every direction that leaves the would-be burglar panicked and you slightly more comfortable.
"You're not allowed to be here," comes the eerily childlike voice Brahms has perfected. He crawls his way out from behind the large antique mirror. "I'll make sure you never come near them again." With a sudden slam, Brahms downs the intruder with a lead pipe repeatedly bashing the object until all that remains was brain matter and gooey blood. He drops the pipe with a huff and collects you into his arms, the cool porcelain biting onto the heat of your chest.
Jason
As the protector of the surrounding forest, Jason is always watching. He's omnipotent, he sees all. He seems to know where people are at all times and he can sense when you're in distress. Your shared cabin door left ajar sends his blood boiling and his heavy footfall increasing as he approaches your home. Barging in, Jason's pale eyes lock onto you and your assailant holding you by the throat. His thunderous steps are quick, slicing through the man with his machete and proceeds to lift him up while still pierced with the blade. The man gurgles, arms weakly reaching behind him in attempts to claw at Jason. All attempts were futile. He tossed the body to the side before he gently frets over you, his large hands soothing the fingerprints tarnishing your throat.
Billy & Stu
Rather snake-like the two will wrap themselves around you (they adore your personal space) and stare down whoever else demands your attention. Billy's arm hooks around your waist and Stu wraps himself around your shoulder, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "Is this guy bothering you, baby?" Looking like a shark that's tasted blood in the water, Billy's eyes grow more wild. He's already making a mental note of who and where this guy lives. The guy raised his hands in defense backing down the more the two stared at him, walking off completely.
"We're gonna take care of him, doll," Billy promises, kissing your cheek. Stu cackles lightly, tongue sticking out. They would strike tonight.
Vincent
There's no one Vincent trusts more to watch over you when he can't than his own two brothers. He had his hands full, turning Dalton and Wade into wax people. Nick and Carly were proving to be hard to get a hold of and there was still another tourist that needed to be taken care of.
But then Bo is telling him that the person escaped and he doesn't know where you were. His two worst fears confirmed. Vincent is soon on a wild hunt, trying to find you anywhere with Bo hot on his heels. He soon locates you, passed out with a bit of blood on your head. Your eyes slowly open as he touches your cheek, catching you as you wobble into his warm embrace. He shares a look with Bo who nods.
"I've got you, brother. Keep them here with ya. Wait til I'm back, ya hear?"
Bo
Out in public, he's all cordial and kind smiles. Especially if this is an intended victim. Some random person putting the moves on his partner is a huge no-no and one Bo doesn't take lightly. That person just warranted themselves a for sure death sentence and Bo isn't feeling too kind, so perhaps he'll drag things out, yeah? Touch what's his and you got what's comin' to ya.
"Can I see, baby? That bastard leave any marks on ya?" Bo strokes your shoulders, blue eyes drifting over your frame like water. He has every intention of marking every place that person touched, no matter if you tell Bo the guy only grabbed your arm. Once he has his mind set on something, he's gonna do it.
Lester
Unlike his older twin brothers, Lester is actually pretty chill. Especially in comparison to Bo. He doesn't think much of the people he's helping get into Ambrose knowing full well it's their final destination and Vincent and Bo will take care of things as they always have. What he doesn't like is some dude making a pass at you right in front of him. Can't he see the engagement ring on your finger? It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, watching with narrowed eyes as the small group heads towards the mechanic shop in search of a fan belt.
A familiar hand on his arm calms him down instantly. He turns to you and musters a weak smile as your hands slide around his torso from behind, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. "Y'alright?" Lester nods too quickly and unconvincingly, giving you a quick kiss. "Yeah, darl', always."
Thomas
Your partner is not unlike a bear, watching with wild eyes as one of Hoyt's new catches clasps onto you, their nails digging into your arms, and pinning you to the barbed fence. The cry of pain you let out has Tommy barreling towards you, chainsaw revving to life. A deep snarl echoes behind his mask and he wastes no time cutting down the poor soul with a single swipe of his motorized saw. Tommy turns it off and picks you up in his large arms as gently as he can. With his masked cheek leaning against yours, he carries you back towards the house. Mama Luda Mae will take a good look at you.
Sal Fisher
Honestly Sal isn't one to get jealous. He's pretty level-headed and understanding in most situations. He respects your choices and he's not gonna step on any toes or do anything drastic; Sal isn't a monster. However, if he sees some guy make a creepy pass at you and clearly overstep your boundaries, he won't hesitate to swoop in, looping his arm around your shoulders. His sharp blue eyes staring at the man from behind his prosthetic mask.
"Do we have a problem here?" His voice is cold, lacking any interest in what excuse the man finds. Sal's main focus will be on you, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. His main priority is to get you away from this sicko and would totally call in reinforcements from his brother Larry if need be.
Patrick
A jealous Patrick Bateman isn't a good scenario for anyone. Especially not with his deteriorating mental state. He trusts you explicitly, with his thoughts, ideas, and recreational hobbies that most would find distasteful. So when a colleague of his gets too big for his britches and unabashedly begins to flirt with you in his presence, Patrick finds it difficult to keep his boiling bloodlust at bay. The heat of his anger is getting to his head, the fierce emotions only swelling well it's clear how uncomfortable you look in that man's company. He must see to put an end to him quickly.
|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024
"Are you alright, my darling? That man surely didn't know his place, did he?" Patrick places a hand at your back, guiding you out of the office party. "Let's get you home and into a nice hot bath, hmm? I'd rather not taste that swine on your lovely skin."
Slashers w/ a S/O that looses consciousness throughout the day
Jason Voorhees:
This boi will loose his shit when he hears a thump next doors. He rushes over to your side in an instant and when he sees you laying on the floor, he immediately reacts. He will carry you to your shared bed and watch over you until you wake up.
Please wake up soon, this precious boy can't handle too much stress.
Though his mother tells him to calm down and check up on you, he still is hella nervous and scared that you maybe won't wake up.
When you do, he brings you into a bear hug, nearly crushing the life out of you.
After that, he demands an explanation of what happened. And you explain that you've had it for the past 3 years, but didn't dare to tell Jason. (Or just forgot cause thats something that would happen to me with my flamingo brain:'))
He will constantly hover over you, making sure that you're okay. And if you need something, he'll get it for you. No exception. Even if you tell him that it isn't necessary, he will do it anyways. Because he loves you and doesn't want you to faint and then accidentally hit your head.
Michael Myers
Michael hears the low thud from the kitchen, and looks over. You were cleaning dishes from breakfast when you lost consciousness.
He walks over to the kitchen, just to see you passed out on the floor, with a bleeding nose.
Without a second thought he lifts you up in his strong arms and turns the water off, cause bills n stuff. He carries you over towards the couch in the living room and puts a cold flannel on your forehead and a tissue on your nose to whipe away the blood.
When you wake up, Michael checks you over again, looking for injuries, then he'll take your hand in his large one and look at you with a stern look, demanding an explanation.
After you explain to him, he, like Jason, won't leave your side. He'll watch over you and make sure he can catch you when you faint before you hit the ground.
His possessiveness and overprotectiveness would just grow towards you. And good luck with that cause now you ain't going anywhere alone anymore.
Bubba
You were with him in the basement, watching him craft new masks when you suddenly sacked together and nearly fell off the high bench.
Bubba managed to catch you just in time and whined when you didn't react. He carries you upstairs to your room and lay you down. He'll watch over you and wait till you wake up.
Once you do, he nearly strangles you in a bear hug, holding you close to his chest and not letting go for solid 5 minutes.
You tell him that it's alright and that you're fine. Then you explain to him.
After that, he won't let you go out alone. Afraid that you could faint in the texan heat and maybe some travelers will pick you up and take you with them away from him.
So you got your own Guardian with you all times.
Thomas Hewitt
You and Thomas were checking the traps when you suddenly fainted. He immediately picked you up and brought you back to the house.
Luda Mae took care of you, while Thomas hovered in the back, stressing himself with the possibilities of what could happen. Maybe you were dying, maybe you were already dead. Poor boy.
But after Luda Mae reassured him that you were alright, he calmed down. So, he waited for you to wake up. After about half an hour you stirred and fluttered your eyes open.
As soon as he saw that, he tackled you into a bear hug, burrying his face into your neck.
After that he looks you dead in the eye, demanding an explanation. So you do.
He will NOT let you out alone anymore. Even the others still keep an eye on you when Thomas is out.
Be ready for cuddles when you faint and wake up again. Cause the boi needs love, so give him all the love you have.
Freddy Krueger
He hears the thump from your room and goes to investigate it. Then he sees you. At first hes amused, then he realizes that you aren't playing with him.
He picks you up and brings you to your bed, waiting and wondering why the frick you fainted.
When you woke up, he immediately started "What the fuck was that?"
(He's pissed cause he cares about you;))
After you explain to him, he'll keep a close eye on you, checking if you're okay, if you need something or if you are hydrated.
It's sorta cute how much he cares about you. And you tell him. But he waves it off, hiding his bright blush under his hat.
The boi is so blushy
I'm in the need of a slashy boi to hug me, hold me all night and keep me safe.
Because I'm sad.
Again.
All the time.
Thomas could never kill any of us. We'd hear those ass cheeks clapping over kilometers. Same goes for Michael honestly.
I saw a post a while ago (on twitter or somewhere else idk) where someone hated on the Slasher Community for liking serial Killers. So I thought why not try to get a few things straight here.
Most of us like Slashers from MOVIES. Not from real life, thats why we call killers like Jason Vorhees, Michael Myers or Ghostface Slashers. They exist, as I mentioned before, in movies, not real life. Of course you can call them fictional serial killers, but thats a longer word and just no.
Killers from real life are Serial Killers like Ted Bundy and so on.
When we say we like Slashers we mean FICTIONAL BEINGS. Not real ones, even tho a lot of us wish they were real. I mean, who doesn't want to get a bear hug from Jason or a selfmade gift from Vincent Sinclair where he painted you something nice.
Everyone has their own reason to simp over Slashers, may it be trauma, mental health issues or just a coping mechanism. In the end of the day, we're all just touch-starved and need someone to help us through rough times. Then we reach out to Slashers.
Having Michael stalk and kill people who are giving you a hard time, Billy and Stu making sure you come home safely (works for both male and female) or have Bubba kiss you and love you because you're special, you go Queen/King/Roalty. It all gives us a sense of comfort and someone taking care of you.
So please, before you judge and shame on a person for actually enjoying some premium time in their emotional support fandom, just think about keeping quiet and let them have peace and enjoy their daydreaming.
A lot of people will probably come for me but idc, it's all just my opinion.
Also sorry if my english is off, it's late and I should be asleep.
Thats what I'm trying to say, people need to learn the difference. And not just immediately assume that we like actual murderers. They need to do better.
I saw a post a while ago (on twitter or somewhere else idk) where someone hated on the Slasher Community for liking serial Killers. So I thought why not try to get a few things straight here.
Most of us like Slashers from MOVIES. Not from real life, thats why we call killers like Jason Vorhees, Michael Myers or Ghostface Slashers. They exist, as I mentioned before, in movies, not real life. Of course you can call them fictional serial killers, but thats a longer word and just no.
Killers from real life are Serial Killers like Ted Bundy and so on.
When we say we like Slashers we mean FICTIONAL BEINGS. Not real ones, even tho a lot of us wish they were real. I mean, who doesn't want to get a bear hug from Jason or a selfmade gift from Vincent Sinclair where he painted you something nice.
Everyone has their own reason to simp over Slashers, may it be trauma, mental health issues or just a coping mechanism. In the end of the day, we're all just touch-starved and need someone to help us through rough times. Then we reach out to Slashers.
Having Michael stalk and kill people who are giving you a hard time, Billy and Stu making sure you come home safely (works for both male and female) or have Bubba kiss you and love you because you're special, you go Queen/King/Roalty. It all gives us a sense of comfort and someone taking care of you.
So please, before you judge and shame on a person for actually enjoying some premium time in their emotional support fandom, just think about keeping quiet and let them have peace and enjoy their daydreaming.
A lot of people will probably come for me but idc, it's all just my opinion.
Also sorry if my english is off, it's late and I should be asleep.
Slashers who I think are most likely to listen to the Rock's song "Face off":
Bo Sinclair
Jason Vorhees
Asa Emory
Michael Myers
Lester Sinclair
Thomas Hewitt
I feel like Jason, Michael and Thomas would have this song playing in their heads while brutally killing people. Like Thomas with his chainsaw, Jason while placing the traps and swinging his machete and Michael power walking down a street all like:
ITS ABOUT DRIVE😤
ITS ABOUT POWER 🔥
WE STAY HUNGRY😈
WE DEVOUR 👹
PUT IN THE WORK 💪
PUT IN THE HOURS ⌚
AND TAKE WHATS OURS🥶😳
So I saw your " Slashers w/ a S/O that looses consciousness throughout the day " post and I was wondering if you could maybe make another one with more Slashers? You don't have to if you don't want to
Ask and you shall receive😌
(Sorry it's not that good, I'm sick☹️)
Slashers w/ a S/O that looses consciousness throughout the day II
Yautja
You're cuddling, enjoying each others presence, when he feels your head slump on his shoulder. He thought you fell asleep, but when he tried to wake you up again, you didn't react.
He shakes you, not too harshly but enough to make you wake up. At least he thought you would.
Worried for your well being, he brings you to the ooman doctor, who tells him that you just fainted. He, of course, gets even more worried and wants to help you in every way possible.
After a while, you wake up in the bed you shared with your lover. As soon as you sat up, said lover tackled you into a hug, knocking the air out of your lungs. He purrs, gliding his mouth-things (srry idk what they're called:)) along your cheeks.
Happily he showed you a box with everything he collected, to help you with your fainting problems.
The box was full with water bottles, pillows, a fan and much more.
He purred happily when you hugged him again, thanking him.
Hannibal Lecter
He knows about your fainting problem, he experienced it with some patients of his.
When you fainted while he was reading a book, he was able to put his hand on your forehead so you wouldn't hit the table.
He laid you down, letting your head rest on his lap.
After a while you wake up again, Hannibal helps you sit up. Ha asks how you feel, if you are in any pain.
You tell him you're fine, and he gives you a warm smile and a kiss on your cheek.
He offers you some tea and something to eat, and you happily accepts, he always makes sure that you're healthy and safe.
Will Graham
Just like Hannibal, he knows about your little problem. So, when you fall over, his dogs are quick to bark for him to help.
He rushes over, making sure you're not hurt.
Will laid you on his couch, putting a blanket over you before heading to the kitchen to prepare a glass of water for you.
His dogs stay around the couch, making sure that no one disturbs you in your sleep.
At the time you woke up, Will was by your side, handing you the glass of water.
His dogs are also happy that you're back to conciousness, they start to lick your hands, barking happily.
Brahms Heelshire
He hears the thump through the walls, wondering what heavy thing you might have dropped.
The hairy male made it to the location where the loud noise came from.
As soon as he saw you laying there, he quickly made his way over to you. He noticed the bloody wound on your forehead.
Slightly panicking, he brought you to your bedroom, laying you on your bed.
He got a wet cloth, wiping the blood on your forehead away.
Patiently, he waited by your side for you to wake up again. Eventually, you did.
Brahms was immediately crushing the life out of you with a tight hug. Even after all the times you fainted, he did get worried for you. He always loved to see your eyes when you woke up again.
saw your depictions on brahms and i love them !! Was wondering about brahms with a reader who talks to themself out loud a lot? like the most weirdest thoughts just running from their mouth : " just remembered that the ocean is probably filled with buckets of whale sperm -- oh, wonder what to cook for dinner 🤭 " or smth like that. thank you and take your time 💐
Ask and you shall receive.
Brahms with a reader who talks with/to themself
At first he thinks you're talking to someone in the mansion, which did throw him off because he never heard anyone enter through the old door. He sneaks to your location, and checks who might be with you through a peephole he made in the wall.
When he sees that there's no one there, he wonders what you were even talking about. So he decides to get closer.
You were talking about weird things like whale sperm? People saying "heads up" when you should duck? What?????
The moment you turn around, he's right there making you jump out of your skin. He tilts his head slightly at your reaction. After you scold him for scaring the life out of you, you ask him what he needs.
"You were talking, I thought someone was here."
"Oh, no. I just talk to myself rather often."
That answer made Brahms think. He never heard you talking to yourself before, even though you've already been taking care living with him for quite a while.
A few weeks later he has already listened to a few of your self talks he also thinks about the stuff you say.
"If you start counting from zero your lips won't touch until you reach 1 million."
What?? Maybe he actually tried it. Maybe he didn't. You will never know.
"Taking off your glasses to focus on thinking is the human version of lowering graphics to increase speed."
You shouldn't have said that, now he will annoy you for the next few days.
If you have glasses, he'll ask you a stupid/hard question just to see you take off your glasses and see you submit to his either stupid/heart question.
"If someone else has an awkward moment, I'll forget about it almost immediately. But if I have an awkward moment, I think about it constantly for years."
Okay, this one has a rather cuddly or naughty outcome.
Either he'll make sure that you only think about him by cuddling with you, talking to you etc.
Or he'll bring you to the bedroom, and make you think of something completely else.
Hi! I saw your slasher imagines post and I was wondering if I could make a request of a NSFW of either OG!Michael or peepaw Michael with a transman reader (top surgery done but not bottom)? First time or established I don't have a particular preference. Would love to see some bloodplay and knifeplay and just have Michael absolutely have his way with him. He can just have his mask on most of the time, and when they kiss Michael can just pull it up enough for his lips to show. Would also be great if there was some form of aftercare when they're done, in however Mikey would do it. If he decides he will take his mask off at some point I would not be opposed to that at all. Thanks!!! ;v;
Hey anon! I chose peepaw, though it doesn’t come up much in the story. Also sorry this got a little out of control. Oops.
Peepaw!Michael Myers x trans!male!reader (NSFW) 2.4k words
You were a liability. Every second Michael spent with you, he risked getting caught. Even being as good at blending into the shadows as he was, there was still a chance of him being spotted every time he made the trek from the sewers to your apartment. You were just glad your roommate had moved out.
Explaining why there was a serial killer in your bed wasn’t high on your to-do list.
He’d shown up a half-hour ago, letting himself in the door you never kept locked—why worry when the Boogeyman was your kind of, sort of, maybe boyfriend? You’d immediately pointed him to the shower, a request he was used to by this point in your relationship. You loved him and all, but not so much the smell of rats and dirt and garbage. You could hear the shower running now, the door not closed fully because Michael didn’t care much about privacy. You walked by the door, ducking inside to grab his boilersuit and throw it in the wash. His mask and rusty knife sat on the counter by the sink, also needing a good cleaning, but you were sure he wouldn’t let you near them. There were some lines you didn’t even try crossing.
You left the bathroom without looking at his silhouette behind the shower curtain, feeling like it was an invasion even though you’d barely see his outline. You were basically just killing time until he got out of the shower. You checked on dinner—spaghetti, garlic bread, and a salad, wondering if Michael would sneak out of bed in the middle of the night to eat like he normally did. The sauce was simmering, fragrant with spices. You wondered if you should eat now to shore up your strength, especially for whatever Michael had planned for you.
Down the hall, the shower cut off. Too late to eat a full meal, you realized, and grabbed a piece of garlic bread. Moments later, Michael was walking out of the bathroom, fully nude, mask in place and knife in hand.
“I hope you aren’t planning on going out like that,” you joked, watching him walk down the hallway toward you. You chuckled at your lame comment as he stopped in front of you, putting you chest-level with his naked body. Despite the uncountable badly healed scars, he was still in pretty good shape for a man of his age. His muscles were firm, legs strong. Your eyes slid down his body, taking in the line of his half-hard cock. “Thinking about me in the shower?” you asked, waggling your brows.
Michael, as usual, didn’t respond or acknowledge you in any way. You’d never heard him speak, never really heard anything but heavy breathing, and once, a groan, from the man. He was a good listener, though, letting you ramble on about whatever silly thing popped into your head, still and silent.
“Want to eat now?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Michael didn’t shake his head like he normally did, instead grabbing your wrist to pull you in the direction of your bedroom. His hand on you was firm, maybe even skirting the edge of harsh, and he tugged you along after him as he walked back to your room. You were glad he decided to drag you back there—you’d never tell him this, but he didn’t exactly have the knees or back for a fuck against the wall or on the couch, he was almost three times your age.
He pushed you back against the bed and you went willingly, tugging off your shirt and kicking off your pants and boxers as you did. He followed you up onto the bed, slotting himself between your legs with an ease borne of practice. “Hi,” you said awkwardly, staring up at him from your mound of pillows. He discarded his knife somewhere off to the side, both of his hands coming to your sides to squeeze the flesh there. They ran up your chest, lingering over the scars from your double mastectomy—he was fascinated by the thick scars, often stroking or toying with them. You wondered if he understood what they were from. It didn’t matter, anyway. With Michael, you never had to worry that you didn’t exactly look like your average man. He didn’t seem to mind. You’d explained it to him once, when he’d been petting your scars in the afterglow of some mindblowing sex, so you knew that he knew, in theory, that you were transgender.
You were pulled from your thoughts as the lips of his mask brushed your lips, eyes widening. It was rare for Michael to initiate affection of any kind. Slowly, as not to startle him, you raised your hands to the edge of his mask and started rolling it up. He allowed you to, stopping just above his nose. His face, what was visible, at least, was just as scared as the rest of him. Your hands on either side of his face, he leaned in for a kiss. It was surprisingly slow, for him, and tasted like mint from the toothbrush you left out for him. His teeth dragged over your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and you granted it with a little groan, locking your legs around his hips. He rutted against you, his hardening cock slipping past your heated core. You were more focused on his tongue in your mouth, silencing your little noises and playing with your own. It was as responsive as you could get him to be. He supported himself with one arm over you, the other straying back to his knife.
You startled as the cold metal pressed into your side, but you weren’t afraid of him. It ghosted over your ribs, pressing in and drawing a raised, red line in its wake. “Michael,” you began sternly, “you can’t use that knife. I’ll get tetanus.” You wracked your brain, trying to think of the last time you’d gotten a tetanus booster. It was probably recent enough.
That was a good thing, because Michael didn’t seem to be listening to your complaints about possible diseases. The knife dragged over your hipbone, scoring a line of red that had blood welling up in its wake. It stung, the blade dull, more of a tearing sensation than a smooth cut. You sucked in a breath, pulling him close for another desperate kiss as he pressed the flat of his blade against your core, cold pressure on your engorged clit.
The threat was enough to make your rolling hips still. The knife wasn’t sharp enough to accidentally cut you, not really, but you wouldn’t put it past Michael to try it anyway. The blade pressed harder, spreading your folds, the tip of it a sharp pressure against your entrance. What little slick you produced after years of hormone therapy coated the knife. “Michael,” you warned against his lips, not quite telling him off, but not fully supportive. In theory, Michael Myers fucking you with his knife was hot, enough to send a pang of curling heat to your gut. In practice, it sounded messy—not to mention painful. The knife withdrew, dragging back up your stomach and he was rutting against you again, thick cock sliding against your core, wet with precome and your slick.
He traced a path up your chest with the knife, cutting in enough to send rivulets of blood down your sternum. The blade reached your neck, traced almost lovingly over your jugular, and then he was pulling back slightly, running the flat of the blade over the seam of your lips. His single eye stared down at you as you opened your mouth obediently, cleaning slick and blood off of the knife. It dipped into your mouth, a gruesome imitation of a blowjob, and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking on the rusty metal. It tasted like dirt and copper, unpleasant but heady. He slid it deeper, and tears welled in your eyes as it scraped against the back of your throat. If he forced it any deeper, he’d truly be stabbing you. You took it as the threat you knew he knew it was. Your tongue laved against the blade, mouth lolling open to show him the twist of your tongue against the metal. His breathing turned harsher, lips opening just the slightest amount. For a second, you felt the pressure increase against your throat, and you fought not to gag. You knew he was thinking about it, about killing you. You rutted harder against him in response, tears welling in your eyes as you fought off your gag reflex. The taste of copper flooded your mouth before the knife withdrew and he was surging forward to kiss you, licking up the taste of life, threatening to tongue fuck your throat for another taste of your sweet blood.
Michael dropped the knife off to the side, forgotten, and his hands were back on you, sliding down your body, fingers dragging over stinging cuts, smearing blood along your torso with a touch that was bruisingly hard. Your heels dug into his back, pushing his body against yours with a moan as you arched your back, pressing into the pain. His lips left yours, trailing down your throat to trace the cuts with his tongue, cleaning up your blood. His mouth was a balm against the dozens of nipping wounds, but you wanted more from him.
“Michael,” you whispered, throat sore and stinging from the cut that bled down your esophagus, “fuck me.” His eye flicked up to meet yours in the darkness of your room, black and reflective like an animal’s. Tapetum lucidum, it was called, and it was impossible in humans. Another thing that set him apart from a normal man.
For once, he obeyed you, straightening up to grab the bottle of lube off your bedside table. Besides making him shower, this was probably the only thing you’d taught him to do. Years on testosterone had essentially stopped your body’s natural lubrication, making penetrative sex painful without a little outside help. He slicked up his cock, his fingers, wet with lube, slipping over your folds, two fingers roughly nudging inside to coat you with lube. A gentle lover Michael was not, but you were into the perfunctory motions, the disinterest he seemed to have in foreplay that wasn’t violent.
The only warning you got before he pushed into you was the slip of his fat cockhead against your slick opening and then he was tearing you apart, friction enough to make white sparks dance behind your eyes. It hurt like it always did, but you moaned anyway, pushing into the sensation as he slid all the way to the root, not pausing until he was fully seated within you. You bit your lip, hand coming down to rub at your swollen clit until the pain started fading int a tight, white-hot pleasure. You could feel your body clenching around him, instinctively trying to force him out, or maybe draw him deeper. Either way, it wasn’t working, he held himself perfectly still, and the only way you could tell he was feeling anything at all was his heavy breaths that puffed next to your ear.
You dug your heels into his back, urging him to start fucking you as your fingers teased tight circles around your clit, your other hand drawing his face back to yours. Your lips dragged over his scratchy white beard, mashing your lips against his in a panting, open-mouthed kiss as he began fucking you with deep, hard thrusts. He was unforgiving, the angle of his hips sparking a painful pressure in your guts as he probably got a little too close to your cervix. It made your body cramp and clench reflexively, and you rolled your hips along with his thrusts, forcing your body down hard onto his cock. It hurt in the best way, it was almost euphoric, a heady mix of pain-pleasure-pressure against your insides that lit up your brain like an electric shock.
You writhed against him as he fucked you harder, obscene squelching echoing in your ears, almost drowned out by the moans that spilled out from between your desperately locked lips. Your toes curled, hands shooting to Michael’s back, nails dragging against his skin, drawing blood in their wake. You held on for dear life as he plowed into you, barely faltering as he kept his pace. The only sign that he was working hard at all was present in the harsh pants that bled into your mouth. The hand that wasn’t occupied propping him up strayed to your throat, pressing down enough to restrict airflow without entirely blocking it off.
Lightheaded, your hips bucked against him as your orgasm caught you by surprise. You bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed as you came, back arching while fireworks bloomed behind your eyes, a gasping, drawn-out moan slipping free of your lips. He swallowed down your noises with a groan, fucking hard into your convulsing, vice-tight cunt. He didn’t make a noise when he spilled his seed into you, the only indicator of his own orgasm was the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly. He fucked into you slowly, forcing his seed deeper in an animalistic display of ownership.
You were both left breathing hard in the afterglow, his masked forehead pressed to yours. It was… surprisingly peaceful. Your fingers came off his shoulders stained with blood from where they’d bitten into his back. You grinned at him, lopsided and dopey, and kissed his bleeding lower lip. He was still against you, not returning the kiss. You were used to his stoicism post-orgasm, pulling him down and against you until he was laying on his side, your back to his front. You tangled your legs with his, and his arms came around you slowly, a parody of a lover’s embrace—but was it really parody? Michael’s nose buried itself in your hair as his breathing slowed back to its normal, steady pace. It was almost hypnotic, lulling you into a half-asleep state in the wake of your lovemaking.
There was a laundry list of things you needed to do, but all of those things paled in comparison to a little one-on-one snuggling with Michael Myers, which was rare enough to begin with. He was usually the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, disappearing in much the same way he appeared. Maybe he was getting sentimental in his old age.
Ha. Probably not.
So a while ago you made headcanons about kitty-slasher (which were super adorable) and recently I was thinking... what would Yautja (is that spelled right?) be like as cats? I imagine they would be the like my cousin's cat; always getting into fights outside the house but extremely cuddly and loveable inside the house. What do you think?
I agree. Yautja already share many behavioral traits with felines. After all, they love to hunt and purr; their society is also centered around strength and survival.
Yautja as a Cat…
● Hierarchy of strength. The alpha gets the best spots–that’s just how it goes. Of course, there are always your other cats trying to test the boundaries. Simply put, your lil’ mate is probably kicking butt on a daily basis. Did another cat lay in their spot? *Sniff sniff, opens jaw* Uh-oh, someone’s getting paw-slapped.
Note: Being a master tactician, they won’t attack right away. Instead, they’ll lull your other cat into a false sense of security before exacting justice.
● Really weird gifts. A dead bird? But of course! Your cat is a master of the hunt–unparalleled in their cunning and stealth. Chest lifted in pride, you’ll get to see some extra smug strutting. I see you’ve found my gift, (Y/N). Indeed, you’re in the presence of the ultimate bringer of death.
● Super Tough but Secretly Snuggly. Oh, you know your lil’ mate would purr just for you. Fresh from a fight (which you may or may not have broken up), they’ll prance on inside, hopping onto your lap for snuggles.
● Protective. Are you carrying them upstairs? If anyone–human or cat–threatens you, prepare for low growls. Translation: Don’t even think about messing with us!
● Lots of scars. Anyone who looks at your cat is immediately intimidated. Lumber across the room like a miniature puma, their energy screams ‘badass’.
BONUS:
How they act on catnip…
Run away! Eyes as round as saucers, your yautja will attack anything that moves. *Looks at inanimate object* IT MOVED!!! *Launches self at the soon-to-be-destroyed item*
Cloaking practice. “Yautja, I can see you!” No, yautja is hidden–invisible to ooman detection. Yautja is master of hiding. Poke their exposed lower half and enjoy the chaotic death rolls.
Their favorite toy…
Ping pong balls. After all, your little destroyer needs a challenge–something that won’t just submit to death. *Bats ball with paw* Where are you going? You cannot escape your doom!
Their favorite place to sleep…
On your bed. After the introduction of a heated blanket, it’d be their spot. Habitually kneading their claws into the soft fabric, it would quickly become a mess of random tufts.
In trees. Your fluffy tyrant is a skilled climber. “You want outside?” Once you open the door, they’ll make a bee-line for their tree. (Note: They have a specific branch. If any feline uses it, your cat will chase them off.)
Sleep sensitivity…
It depends on the location. In your room with the door closed? They’ll be dead to the world. In a tree? Sleep-balancing. Honestly, they’re a little ninja.
What bothers them…
PDA. Are you outside? No, get away from me! Don’t let the other cats see us together! What if they lost respect for your cat? What if they stopped fearing the claws? The harder you try, the faster your cat will be to dart away. Turn to them? *Leaves* “I was looking for the other cat!”
Level of Clinginess…
Words aren’t needed. You have a silent understanding. While your cat isn’t lap-cat friendly, they’re loyal to you and you alone. Whenever you’re in private, that’s when the snuggling occurs. They also only listen to you. Simply put, your cat is a wild animal that cannot be tamed–unless they hear your voice. Puuuuuuurrrrr.
How they beg for food…
There will be no begging. Your yautja is a master of survival. Food? You mean their prey? Of course, they’d be more than willing to accept treats. But begging? No. They’re just too mighty for that.
I want one 🥺🥺
Having a Yautja Hunting Hound Would Include:
● They are incredibly protective. Your hound would literally lay down its life for you if it comes to that. Yours will follow you everywhere. And if it thinks you’re approaching something dangerous? Tug! You’d be startled to find them latched on to the back of your robe, gently tugging you to a safer area.
● They are loyal to the end. Nothing, I repeat, nothing is stopping this thing. They are dedicated thick-skinned troopers. Even hurt, your hound will faithfully stand beside you, no matter what may come.
● Training them is so much fun! Did you know that adult lions will exaggerate pain when a cub attacks them? Indeed, they do! It’s to encourage the little lions. This same principle applies to yautja hounds. You’ll be surprised the first time your tiny pup launches itself at your mate–only for him to collapse and roar with feigned terror.
● They take themselves way too seriously. Even as a puppy, yautja hounds think they are the scariest beasts to ever walk the universe. They’ll strut about, looking majestic, only to be startled by your sneeze.
● You can ride them. Yes, the day has finally come: your own ridable pet! While yautja are far too large, you (a tiny ooman) can easily ride a fully-grown hunting hound. In fact, your mate would surprise you one day with a saddle. Remember: once full-grown, a yautja hound is closer in size to a massive bear. That, plus their extreme strength makes carrying you an easy task.
● They are a hardy species. The first time your hound was severely injured, you’d been heartbroken. As you’d sobbed over the whimpering pup, you’d begged your mate not to put them down. He’d cocked his had, utterly baffled by your words. “Why would I do that?” You were sure it’d at least have a limp–and you knew the Yautja didn’t tolerate weakness. To your disbelief, however, the next morning saw your little troublemaker up and about, ready for another walk.