Burnt CDs and Lemon Drops

by absolutehivemind

Summary:

A growing one-shot collection of various slashers/horror icons with a masculine reader. All stories are inspired by/named after a different song, though this is not a song fic. I accept requests (as long as I've seen the movie).

Chapter 1: Stu Macher - Stolen Dance

Notes:

Content Warning:
Drug use (Marijuana)
Sexual content

This chapter's muse was Stolen Dance by Milky Chance

"I don't know, man. I just don't think it's smart to be fucking with a knife right now," You leaned against Stu's arm as he continued twirling the dull pocket knife, watching carefully how the tip left an indent on his finger tip. A dumb grin spread across his face, seemingly not actually acknowledging what you actually said. The knife couldn't hurt without a bit of force, but with how fuzzy you two were, it wasn't smart to chance it.

"It's fine, see?" He suddenly, without much warning, flicked the blade back before practically chopping at the hand of his hand. It didn't leave as much as a mark, even with the force behind it. Fuck, he was insane.

All you could do was shake your head, grumbling at the texture of Stu's sweater, before letting your mind unfocus again. While the movements of the knife stopped, with the knife in fact disappearing somewhere outside your immediate gaze, you could still imagine the twisting and twirling, the way it glinted in what little sun actually reached in the room.

"Fuck, you're high," A laugh brought you out of your brain as you strained your eyes to look at Stu again. He was already lighting up another joint, despite the fact you guys just finished one. Or at least, you thought so, not exactly sure how long you had been staring at Stu attempting to flourish his blade and nearly cutting his skin. Long enough to feel yourself becoming aware again.

There was a glint in Stu's eyes as he stared at you staring at him. Then came that stupid smile as he took another hit, before lightly blowing smoke in your face. The sheer audacity this man had to do something like. You coughed into your fist while turning away, taking a moment to try to clear your breathing as if there was such thing as airflow in this room. As if it didn't already stink of weed before, it definitely would now.

You could already imagine your parents' reactions if you came home stinking like that. Oh well, you've had to shower and clean your clothes here before, not like it would be anything new.

"Quit blowing your damn smoke at me," You grumbled, reaching for the joint in Stu's grasp. To no one's surprise, he pulled it away and held it outside of your reach all while giggling like it was the funniest thing ever. Maybe to him it was, but to you, it was just another thing preventing your continued high. "Dude, if you're gonna light another one, you're gonna share."

That same glint returned in Stu's eyes, you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. A blank look replaced his grin for just a few moments, before he got that same devilish smirk on his face. "Yea yea, but I got an idea," That didn't sound too promising.

With a huff, you rose from leaning against his arm, "And what exactly are you thinking?" Usually, Stu's ideas were a little out of line, a little more risky than you were used to. Maybe it was the smoke swirling around your head, but part of you didn't exactly care what he had in mind. As long as it lead to the desired destination.

"Sit on my lap and let me show you," The shift in his tone took you by surprise, even though there was no change and physical expression. Maybe it was just the words that seemed a little more sultry, maybe it was just the fact you were over analysing again. Whatever Stu had planned seemed harmless enough though, you figured, just a little odd if anything.

Not a bit of hesitation held you back as you immediately sat up and climbed onto Stu's lap. It took a moment to get comfortable before you were straddling his lap, watching lazily as Stu's free hand slowly trailed up and grabbed at your hip. Though Stu flashed a typical grin, you could see the darkness behind his eyes, something more cynical laced with desire. 

It was starting to excite you, whatever was going on. You watched carefully as Stu, joint still snug between knuckles, lightly pulled at your lips with his thumb. Smoke licked at your skin as he continued feeling up your face, pulling at the corners of your mouth, dragging against your chin. He seemed to be trying to pull you apart, looking for the seam that kept your skin together, all while smoke danced from his fingers.

"Fuck, this is gonna be so hot," Stu quickly took a long drag from the joint, nearly losing smoke from his shoulder shaking laughter as you looked so intently as the dull glow. There was no exhale though, as he pulled the joint from his lips and almost immediately smashed your lips against his. Shock nearly forced you away, though Stu's hands kept you firm.

It was almost instinctual, the way you opened your mouth against his, suppressing a groan as Stu breathed thick smoke down your throat. Tingles spread through your skin, you pressed harder into the rough kiss as the hand on your hip pinched and squeezed. A nip to your bottom lip had you groaning again, before Stu took the opportunity to plunge his tongue in.

The sensation was like nothing else, the lose of control, the burning of fingers digging into your skin. Your hands quickly found themselves gripping to Stu's shoulders as he pulled back to bite your lip again. Warmth fled from your lips as he fully pulled back, head thrown back as he panted lightly and laughed. "Holy shit, thought I was gonna pass out," Stu looked you in the eye again, drool lightly covering his lips, a lick of excitement lighting up the darkness in his eyes.

"You got anymore moves like that?" A small smirk danced across your lips as you pressed closer to him, watching as his eyes widened with a shocked perversion. You didn't get much of an answer, at least, not a verbal one, as Stu had you pinned to his bed in one quick movement. The dulling light of the sun left him looking almost beast-like, he looked wild and starved above you.

Another rough kiss practically attacked you, Stu's lips insuring you would not be moving. Maybe it was the lack of filtered air, maybe it was the crushing intimacy, but your head felt like it was spinning, the hands dancing around your skin dragging your mind further. More, just a little bit more.

Everything stopped so quickly, too quickly, as Stu once again pulled away, staring down at you. His shoulders heaved with laughter and breathlessness while his hands carefully continued wandering. It took a moment too long before the words finally came, "you're staying the night, right?" 

Chapter 2: Billy Lenz - Numb Little Bug

Notes:

Content Warnings:
Death of family member

This chapter's muse was Numb Little Bug by Em Beihold

"Alright, thank you for calling to tell me. I'll see when I can come back up sometime, ok?" Your fingers felt raw from how tight you were holding the handset, little crescents in your palm threatening to spill blood. A breath you had been unknowingly holding onto finally released as your mother's tears slowly calmed down. You gave a short goodbye, and I love you, a few more promises, before you could finally set the handset back on the base.

That little click snapped you out of it, reminding you where you were. Too much time passed by during that call, the aching pain from your legs making it that much more obvious. But damn, how were you supposed to relax after another call from your mother, telling you that another family member was lost.

You needed a drink, at the very least, your throat dry and sore from talking and fighting back tears. Be a man while your mother is mourning, you couldn't help but think, all while you wiped any possible tears away from your eyes. She needed your support more than ever, it felt a bit selfish to cry now when she was taking it so hard. You'd get your time, it'd just have to wait.

Shuffling from behind you took your thoughts and gaze away from the phone, and almost immediately, you found the source. Patiently waiting with baited breath, Billy stood, hiding behind the door frame. He looked frightened, his wide eyes being one of the only things you could see behind his hair and the shadows. It made you wonder exactly how long he had actually been standing there, along with feeling a little impressed that he had stayed that quiet, considering how vocal he usually is.

It was that effort that put a slight smile on your face, knowing how it was harder for him to give you the space you needed sometimes. "Hey buddy," You spoke softly, waving him to come over. Billy didn't even hesitate, quickly throwing his arms around you and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. All you could hear was his heavy, shaky breathing as he nearly smothered himself against you. It felt like you were the only one not showing any grief at this point.

A moment too long passed before you could finally bring your arms up to wrap them around him, a moment too late before Billy pulled back from the hug. Dammit, you needed more than that. You couldn't bring yourself to get upset, as much as you about to, seeing how Billy looked like he was going to crumble at any second. With his fingers digging hard into your shoulders, you couldn't help but feel he was taking this much harder than you were. 

"Just breathe, ok buddy? It'll be alright, let's just sit down for a moment." There was suspicion behind his eyes, as if he was contemplating why you were doing so well. Not a word left Billy's lips, all while his grip tightened and loosened. It almost helped numb the sadness, but you could still feel it biting at you.

His mouth opened slightly before closing tight a few times. Only when he found your eyes after staring anywhere else did he find the words. "How can.. c..can I.. help?" Billy finally stuttered out, his brows deeply knitted with worry. You'd be lying if it didn't hurt your heart a little bit, but you didn't exactly have an answer for that either, considering how much you were taking on alone.

You could feel the tears start welling up again at his question. It stung, knowing you didn't have an answer for him, knowing that you wouldn't have an answer. You couldn't even utter out an "I don't know" before you were hanging your head. There was no reason you should be crying when others were taking it harder, you were the man after all.

Billy's hands squeezed again, drawing your gaze back to him. Once again, he stuttered out, "H..How can I..can I help?" You could almost hear the crack in your heart as the hands on your shoulders loosened. The walls you had so carefully built up were crumbling under the weight of all your held back tears and silenced words.

A lump in your throat kept you from speaking for a moment, then another moment. No, you needed to stay strong just a little bit longer. But as you shook your head, what little you had holding everything back started to fall apart in front of you. The opportunity was within your damn grasp.

You took a shaky breath in, watching as Billy's face, still mostly hidden by hair, contorted in what you could only describe as displeasure. He might not be the best option, but you had no one else.

"I just.. promise not to judge me for c..crying?" The last word was choked out as the tears once again found their way back to the corners of your eyes. Shock suddenly washed over Billy's face as he nodded vigourously, taking a moment to bring you closer so that now you were the one being smothered. All walls came crashing down finally, the tears of one too many lost family members finally spilling out.

You felt like a child again in that moment, overwhelmed by the weight of the world that you forced on yourself. All you could do was let it all out, listening to your gibberish and allowing Billy to squeeze the life from you. He rubbed your back almost fearfully, little shushes just barely reaching your ears, just like you had done during his episodes before.

It felt nice, being held close, finally being able to break down. You knew that this moment was long overdue, but feeling Billy draw little pictures in your back as he continued giving you soft shushes, it was better now than never.

Chapter 3: Michael Myers - I Hold Your Hand In Mine

Notes:

Content Warning:
Implied Blood Kink
Implied Blood Consumption

This chapter's muse was I Hold Your Hand In Mine by Tom Lehrer

Calloused lips brushed lightly against your knuckles, ghosting over them just enough to leave chills. In front of you was a rare sight, Michael without his mask, sitting on the ground. His hands seemed to dwarf yours, thumbs brushing against the back of your fingers, ghosting against the goosebumps they left. Gentleness was not something Michael willingly, or at least easily, showed you. It felt suspicious, being able to nearly tower over him from your seated position on the couch. He was simply too tall to truly lean over, but you could get close from the position.

Chills suddenly erupted through your skin and down your spine the moment his surprisingly cold lips pressed against your flesh. You dare not look at his face during this moment, unsure still if there was a catch or not, and definitely not wanting to set him off and get the moment cut short. Instead, your eyes followed Michael's free hand, the way it seemed almost unsure of where it belonged.

First, it was wrapped around your wrist, occasionally giving little experimental squeezes right where the veins were more visible. Then, it slowly ran up the length of your forearm, stopping just at the elbow, before dragging down again. Gentle movements that nearly made you forget who the man was at your feet, nearly forget how easily he could rip into you with his teeth. You were just waiting, knowing how rough he was, knowing how rough he liked to be, especially with you.

Michael's hand once again stopped at your wrist, squeezing a little harder, a little longer, before releasing again. He continued this motion a few more times, not letting up on your wrist. There was only a small amount of discomfort at first, with how Michael was seemingly trying to cut off blood flow to your hand, before the feeling of pins and needles began to spread. It felt almost similar to the setup of getting your blood drawn.

Suspicion quickly turned to concern as you sat up from your lax state, your voice caught in your throat as you finally looked to his face. With gazes finally meeting, you finally noticed how Michael had seemed to be staring at you the entire time. The eyes of the Devil boring into you, focused solely on you. There was nothing in his eyes, not a bit of warmth or even light, all while he continued pressing soft kisses to your knuckles.

In a slow and steady motion, he turned your hand, guiding your palm to face the ceiling. "M..Michael..." You groaned out, wincing a little at the way his thumb dug into the soft skin shielding your veins. The way his eyes narrowed at you left your blood cold, sending shivers through you once again. You tried to tug your hand away from Michael's grasp, only for him to hold on tighter, his thumb pressing down much harder. Sensations of pins and needles spread through your hand once again, this time much quicker.

"Michael, p..please let.. let go, Michael." More worryingly soft kisses pressed now to your palm had left your tongue feeling heavy. There probably wouldn't be any words that would help free your hand, and the tugging was only making things worse it seemed. Slowly, in an attempt to make your situation better, you stopping struggling, letting Michael continue with his mixture of gentleness and tingling pain.

It took that sign of submission before he followed your words and let up a bit, now soothing his thumb over your pulse. He could feel your anxiety and fear, probably taste it too from how delicately he was kissing the pads of your fingers. While you didn't feel completely safe, still not used to this kind of attention from Michael, you found yourself able to relax again, unclenching your unoccupied fist that  you had previously forgotten about.

The odd tenderness of Michael's touch gave you the courage to let your eyes flutter shut, taking in what you could only describe as some sort of worship. It was oddly empowering, feeling what many considered a being of pure, raw evil being so delicate with you. It was nice, compared to how you were more commonly treated, almost refreshing. You almost didn't notice his hand pull away from your wrist, almost didn't notice him picking something up.

Too late did you actually register the difference of his actions, your eyes springing open just as you watched Michael make a clean cut through your wrist. A horrified cry ripped from your throat as you tried to pull away from his hold, only to be pulled closer, now on the edge of your seat. "Let go! Fucking.. Michael, let me go!" You pleaded, kicking and jerking and trying to punch, all in attempt to get your hand released.

Michael seemed to not be in the mood to deal with your sudden lack of submission as he scowled, grabbing your other hand and pinning you back to the couch. Once again, he towered over you, staring into your eyes with such hatred and rage, all because you wouldn't just sit still. Maybe it was just his way of showing whatever he could possibly count as affection, maybe it was just him keeping you in line, despite your efforts to do so already.

Your mind fell flat when it came to trying to reason with a being of pure evil, all while you became acutely aware of the blood dribbling down from your wrist. With how Michael continued to hold your hand, the blood was slowly making a small pool in your palm. It felt almost searing, as if the liquid were branding your skin as it flowed and trailed down your finger tips.

A lump formed in your throat as your gaze followed Michael's lips. They were parted ever so slightly, barely floating above your skin, breath ghosting it just enough to bring discomfort. You didn't have the chance to pull away before his lips were attached to your wrist and hand, forcing another yelp from you as Michael left blood stained kisses all over your skin. The sensation of your hand feeling like static mixed with the burning hot pain that was you slowly bleeding out.

Swears caught themselves in your throat at every kiss, the urge to kick and scream growing as each peck got rougher and rougher. The hungry grunts vibrated against your flesh, almost in approval, as if you had any other choice. Michael had gotten you softened up and submissive, only to harm you once again in what seemed to be his sick sense of worship. It was painful, this twisted thing that you could only guess was his definition of love.

Chapter 4: Ghostface - C'est la vie

Notes:

Content Warning:
Intrusive Thoughts
Toxic Dynamic
Implied Stockholm Syndrome

This chapter's muse was C'est la vie by Weathers

He should be coming back any moment now. The overwhelming silence kept you from fully relaxing as you once again glanced over your shoulder, eyeing the doorway. Since you were in the kitchen, he'd most likely sneak up from the living room, but you had been wrong before. Sometimes it was annoying waiting around for him when there was so much else to be done. But when the phone call came, anything time consuming was dropped.

It seemed like he was taking his sweet time to get back today, which gave you the chance to boil water for dinner. The box of noodles lay not too far from you, though even as the bubbles rose and the steam started to hurt your skin, you didn't make any movements. Overwhelmingly, you almost craved to reach your hand in the water, feel something else besides nothingness when he wasn't around to torment you. Maybe you could even...

Whatever thought you were hanging onto quickly vanished as you looked out the window in front of you. The tired reflection of what was supposed to be you stared back, burning into you even as the steam coated the glass. So much for taking a gander at the scenery, if you could look past yourself to even do so.

"Did you forget you were boiling something?" His voice came out in that static purr that was practically etched into the folds of your brain. Your ears almost hurt to hear it as you continued to stare at the pulsating and frothing of the water. For just a moment, you imagined throwing the pot at him and making a run for it, maybe making it a few blocks before you were caught. But that'd be stupid, you reminded yourself as you finally grabbed the box of pasta.

A scratchy chuckle practically violated your hearing as two arms slowly wrapped around your waist. You could see the white of his yawning mask from the peripheral of your vision as a warmth consumed your back. "Miss me?" He asked, quite expectantly as he squeezed tighter. Like a python with a rat, as if he were trying to suffocate you. Maybe he was, especially on days where you were deemed more unruly.

Not a word left your lips as you just barely turned your head to acknowledge him. Of course, he never was fazed when you kept up your silence, it was all part of the game for it. Break you in, break you down, keep you under his thumb even if it meant countless one-sided conversations. He always did say he was a glutton for punishment, just never specified whose punishment.

Slowly, but not so subtly, his hands began to move. One drew away from your waist, dancing against your stomach, your chest, your neck, before tightly gripping your cheeks. The other completely left your body entirely, the light rustle of fabric being the only indicator of its position, reaching for that all too familiar knife.

"I love it when your difficult, pretty boy. But I really need you to work with me, especially after today, k?" The fingers digging into your skin were making your cheeks sore, the threat of more bruises becoming much more real by the second. But you didn't wince, you didn't pull away, you didn't even flinch when that ever familiar knife, stained in fresh blood from tonight's activities, appeared in front of you. He was practically showing off his handiwork to you, humming in approval at the way the blood seemed to almost shine in the light.

In one quick motion, the tip of the knife was pressed against the underside of your jaw, a small nick causing you to lose your composure for just a moment. "Come on," He murmured, the feel of static crawling into your ear as he swayed with you, "Work with me a little, doll. You know I don't like hurting you." You knew that was a lie, like the other times he said it. You also knew he wouldn't get bored of this and would ultimately continue till you caved.

Not wanting any worse damages, namely the cut in your jaw that was being pried open wider, you attempted a short nod. His hand never left your cheeks, but the knife did slowly lower, finding its new home pressed against your collarbone. The gloves digging into your skin did loosen slightly, just enough for your to be able to speak coherently. You already knew what he wanted you to say.

"Thank you, Ghostface," Your voice sounded hoarse from lack of use, but was clear enough to be considered satisfactory. Of course, any mention of his name was good enough for him, which earned you a purr and an exaggerated kiss to the side of your neck. The mask staying on made you fall even more disconnected from his affections, your mind only focusing on the hard plastic digging into your skin before you were released entirely.

A hard pat on your head and some sort of promise to be right back were all he gave before leaving you in solitude again. It was just you, the pot of boiling water, and the aggressive presence of your own personal Devil. You would've hated the fact that this had become your normal, if you could bring yourself to care about anything at this point.

Notes:

Updates will be slow still as I lost a few finished pieces due to computer errors

Chapter 5: Jason Voorhees - Swimming Pool

Notes:

Content Warning:
Implied Murder
Attempted Drowning
Implied Trauma

This chapter’s muse was Swimming Pool by Marie Madeleine.

The low groans of old, waterlogged wood had filled your little area as you took careful steps on the small lakeside dock. It had been dark for a few hours, the only light guiding you being the moon and the twinkling of firebugs above the water surface and in the grass. Nighttime was always the best in terms of watching the lake, but you didn’t mind the occasional dip in the water either.

 

Like usual, you didn’t bother bringing a towel to your swims, knowing that you’d be showering away the freezing lake water soon. You glanced up at the land, noting that the showers weren’t too terribly far from your position, just an awkward speed walk away. Of course, the walk always felt longer when your clothes were soaked through.

 

With that thought aside, a burning excitement filled your chest as you got a little braver towards the end of the dock, before taking a well practiced dive into the water. It was horribly dark under the surface, not much of the light being able to pierce through. You were practically blind until you swam back up, followed by the muffled sound of water splashing soon as you broke the surface. The burning excitement you felt seemed to make the freezing of your limbs all that much more apparent.

 

You quickly wiped what water you could from your face, scanning the horizon for nothing in particular. The lights in the main cabin you stayed at were still off since you left, which meant your cabin-mates hadn’t gotten back yet. Still. One could only guess what was going on, not like you had to, when two would slip away, only to eventually comeback looking slightly disheveled and giddy. Though there wasn’t any guessing when it came to that one brunette who tried getting you to play strip poker with her and some other girl.

 

A sour expression crossed over your face before you shook away the annoyance and dipped back under the water. No need to think on them any longer. You weren’t exactly here for them, cause driving way outside of city limits for mediocre sex was below you, so there didn’t seem like a point to even think about how they were acting. As long as they got it out of their systems before the camp opened.

 

Time seemed to pass by much quicker as you swam, getting decently far out, swimming back, noticing no one back at the main cabin, before doing it again. Part of you felt a little worried, maybe something was wrong? But another part of you just wrote it off, assuming the most likely scenario that they weren’t done being horndogs.

 

You couldn’t help but snort as you went to dive again to get back to the dock, before a muffled scream rippled through the air. The water in your ears hadn’t fully drained, so you couldn’t be fully sure where it came from or who it even was. But you definitely knew you heard it. And you were in the middle of the damn lake.

 

How could you let this happen? It took all your energy to force your aching bones to move, the exhaustion of your swim finally catching up. You cursed your body as you were forced to slow your pace, the dock seeming like nothing but a smudge against the dark land. No other screams had reached you, but you couldn’t help but wonder if that was the first scream. What if the people you had previously been insulting were screaming out for you?

 

That thought didn’t sit well with you as the dock became clearer. Along with something, or someone, on the dock. You couldn’t exactly tell, it looked vaguely like one of the guys that signed up to be here for the summer, but taller, and eerily still. Maybe this was all just some dumb prank, you couldn’t help but think, as you swam closer and closer. The aching in your body made it hard to swim, the air feeling ice cold on your wet skin.

 

Despite all common sense, you plunged under the water, opting to exert yourself one last time. The chill quickly left your bones as you kicked for what felt like a last ditch effort. Dull, aching pain nearly lost you your breath as you finally reared up and broke the surface again, right near the dock.

 

You couldn’t help but choke as you stared up at the person on the dock. It seemed like a man from the build and sheer height. His clothes appeared to be heavily damaged, though the hockey mask on his face appeared much more pristine. You barely got a glimpse of his eyes before he was reaching down for you.

 

That’s when you saw it, ruby red blood, glistening against his almost rot-like skin in the moonlight. While you couldn’t be sure, he seemed like the only option as to what that screaming lead to. Is that why the main cabin seemed so dead? Guilt immediately wracked your body at that particular thought.

 

Suddenly, his face was near yours, his hand on your shoulder. You screamed as the blood coated your skin. It was the wrong choice. You were shoved under the water without a moment’s notice, the horrible stinging on water filling your throat.

 

For just a moment, you managed to fight and get your head above the surface long enough to take a breath, before you were under the water again. Agonising pain had you fighting with what little energy you retained. The effort was a waste. The hand on your shoulder gripped tighter, nails digging into flesh. The world felt so heavy.

 

And then you were out of the water. You heard your body hit the dock before you felt it, the ache of nearly drowning taking hold. There was an odd noise above you, your eyes not exactly catching up with everything. Next, a hand began shaking you, trying to get you to wake up. Were you asleep? It didn’t seem like it.

 

The hand moved to your stomach, oddly cold despite your condition, and pressed hard. You heard yourself wince as the hand pressed again, before you managed to turn. Water fled from your throat, burning your senses as you coughed and sputtered. That same hand gripped your shoulder again as you coughed up more and more water. Just how long were you under?

 

Everything slowly got clearer as you blinked rapidly a few times. It was still dark, but you could make out the now wet dock underneath you, along with the shadow of whoever just helped you. No way in hell did you want to look back, knowing that it was probably the same man that nearly killed you.

 

There wasn’t much choice, you soon realised, as you were practically flipped around, met face-to-face with the man in the hockey mask. His eyes were much easier to see this time, wide and dilated as his entire body shook. Was he crying, or just breathing really hard?

 

Before you knew it, the man pulled you into a horribly crushing hug, gripping onto the soaked material that was your shirt. His grip only tightened as you attempted to push or pull away, the ache in your body making his actions damn near unbearable.

 

What seemed to be a hum of some sort of lullaby barely reached your ears as you were rocked side to side. Maybe his actions finally caught up to him. You could practically smell the blood and rot radiating off of him, but that didn’t seem to matter. He seemed regretful, and you were oh so tired.

Notes:

First time writing Jason (fun), also had to write this on my phone (double fun) so apologies for any shortcomings.