#I’m having flashbacks to sorority rush also?

[slashiest-slasher]

since you've watched black christmas could you do a poly billy lenz and brahms ficlet???

I’m just going to go under the assumption that the reader hopped across the pond to be Brahms nanny and an obsessed Billy followed for whatever reason

also i just found this new emoticon and it’s 100% Brahms when you don’t give him enough attention or try to leave: (´༎ຶ۝༎ຶ). i’m still trying to characterize Billy so pls forgive for any discrepancies.

Read more bc i ramble for waaay to long lmao. Warnings for classic Billy dirty talk

Billy/Brahms/s/o polyship

All you wanted was to leave behind that entire fucking mess that happened over at your college. All the murders at the sorority you were 100% not supposed to be crashing at, the creepy crank calls that left shivers up your spine, and the distinct feeling there was someone up in your attic.

You thought, hell, I just graduated! Why not take up a job in an entirely different country? If it’ll get you away from the nightmares of all the dead bodies and heavy breathing voices and squeals from the phone.

The instructions you were left were more than cryptic, and the following days when you couldn’t contact the Heelshire’s at their hotel room was even more puzzling. the whole mystery surrounding the doll left your head spinning, but it was the creaking from the walls that sent shivers up your spine.

When a grown, and very hairy man wearing a mask crawled out when you tried leaving just for a walk through town. He had grabbed you shyly by your sleeve and asked you in a small and babyish voice to stay.

For a moment, you were going to run. It was the same, someone hiding within the unseen part of the house, watching you, but the demure way he was presenting himself was nothing like you imagined the Moaner to act like. Then that baby voice clicked, and you knew that this must be Brahms, somehow alive after all those years.

Things were different and the same since then. He was more obvious with crawling through the walls, and you saw more of this man who easily and regularly overpowered you. But he had the temperment of a child and that was easy to deal with, as long as you spoke to him like one.

Yeah, sometimes when you gave him his goodnight kiss he would try pushing things further, and you would have to scold him and tell him that was a very rude thing to do. But in all honestly, it was an easy life to be lulled into, and aside from the occasional nightmare or flashback, that whole mess at the sorority was nearly completely forgotten.

You were pushed into a full relapse when the hallway phone rang while you were preparing. You managed to get Brahms to stir the pot of soup, despite him being barely able to stand from the cold he caught, with him whining about it the entire time.

“Heelshire residence,” yous chirped, leaning against the wall. But all you got in response was dead air. “Hello?” You repeated several times, each time more and more dread rising in your gut.

Eventually, there was a shrill giggle on the other end. “Agnes, it’s me Billy!” he says in a moment of composure. “Don’t tell them Agnes, don’t tell them where you are. It’s just us.” He lets out a heavy, shaking sigh before snorting and snuffling. “I- I’ll fuh- fuck your piggy ass, lick you aaallll up. G-g-give you my f-fat juicy cock!”

Your legs give out underneath you, but you clutch the receiver to your ear. “This isn’t fucking funny! How’d you get this number?” He couldn’t be here, didn’t Jess kill him? And how does some sick fuck like him even get a plane ticket, let alone make it through an airport?

Brahms peers into the hallway, but you shoot him a look and wave him away.

“You wa-want me stick m-my tongue up your pretty pinky ass? Filthy, filthy Billy, I’ll fuck y-y-y-you all good. Know you wants it, seen y-you piggy, seen you all pink and bothered when Billy calls,” he lets out another choking laugh. “I’m going to get you,” he says, before the line goes dead.

The receiver smacks into the wall when you finally let it out of your grasp. You expected there to be tears, for there to be something but heat and dread and anxious excitement roiling deep within, but there isn’t and it makes you sick.

You can hear the gas stove click off, and Brahms walks into the hallway. His eyes bug momentarily when they catch yours and see how blank they are. He scoops you up into his arms and sets you down on a nearby chair. His hands grab your face. “Who was that? Is everything okay?”

You plop your face into his shoulder, and even though you have been increasing the amount of hug you give him the past few weeks, he still flinches. “Just some creep crank calling. Nothing to worry about Brahmsy.”

You have to push yourself up, and lead him back to the kitchen where you finish up dinner, and manage to get him to eat an entire bowl before the heat made him too drowsy to sit upright.

It was quite the task to get up the stairs and into the master bedroom to tuck him in. You go through the entire routine even though there was still light in the sky. He promises to stay in bed the entire night if you kiss him under his mask, and your mind is too far away to clearly deny him.

He covers your eyes with a large, overheated hand when he takes off his mask, and leads you down to press his lips to yours. He, of course, presses more urgently and runs his tongue along your lips, and tries to pull you into bed with him, like he does every night.

“Brahmsy, not tonight sweetie,” is all you can muster up.

“But some night?” How hopeful he sounds makes a weak smile come to your face.

“Lets get you over this cold first, then we’ll see. But if you’re a bad boy and get out of bed in the night, then it’ll be longer.”

Brahms doesn’t even care about you catching a glimpse of his face when he rushes to snuggle underneath the covers you pulled up tight around him, partially hiding his face.

You can see the smile in his eyes when you lean down to place a kiss to his forehead and ruffle his hair. “Call me if you need anything, alright?”

He nods and clutches the blankets tighter, pulling them up higher when you leave the room.

You don’t go back to your own bedroom, and instead head to the main foyer and sit down with a book in your lap, keeping a fixed stare at the main entrance, and Brahms’ hidden ones out of the corner of your eyes. If Billy was going to try and pull something, then let him. He was going to be in for a world of hurt if he disturbed Brahms, or something else entirely if he beelined straight for your.

-

The only reason you never picked up on Brahms crawling through the walls as keenly was, according to him, he knew how avoid making noise. Everything else echoed through the house like a gunshot. Every time Brahms tossed himself to his other side in his sleep, or when the heater clicked on, or the rats (friends, assured Brahms) in the walls scurried around.

So you heard as soon as the unlocked backdoor creaked open and softly shut, and someone padded through the house. You ensured that every window and door, sans that one was shut and locked tightly, and all the lights in that part of the house were turned off.

You didn’t know how he got into the sorority the first time, but you knew the girls there chronically forgot to lock the doors and windows.

Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so you could easily see a thin form go by the doorway of the foyer. “Billy,” you called out, loud enough for him to hear, but not enough for Brahms to pick up on.

Unlike his phone calls, he was deathly silent as he backtracked and entered the room. You could see an outline, a lithe man in a turtleneck and shoulder length hair. But the only thing you could see clearly was an eye illuminated by the moon coming a crack in the curtain.

He stood there in the middle of the room, staring you down. In a jerky movement, he lunges for you.

If you hadn’t been dealing with the living Brahms for the better part of a month, you likely would have tried to run, maybe scream, but you sat perfectly still, and gripped his wrist tight when he wrapped a hand around your throat.

He didn’t squeeze, maybe because of how surely and firmly you grabbed him, but let it rest there. Loose, but there was no way you were going to pry his hand off.

“What is it that you want from me Billy?” you asked, grabbing his other wrist, much tighter than the other one. “Do you want to kill me?” Your voice is soft.

He tries stuttering something out, but he can’t get the words to form, and his body shakes too much to keep his gaze on your face.

You can see his eye drift down to look at the rest of your body. “Do you want to fuck me Billy? You followed me all the way here for that?”

“Sick fuck!” he finally manages to get out, his voice not sounding like any you remember hearing over the phone. “Sick fuck! Sick fuck! Need help, Billy needs help. Need to find Billy, need to get Billy the help he needs. Want to give Billy a hug, a good hug, a tight hug. Billy needs a hug.”

It clicks when he rambles. You. That was you. You remember speaking with Claude after a call, because none of the sorority sisters wanted to hear about how the Moaner needed some serious psychiatric care. You held Claude in your your and sat right underneath the attic while you told that silly old cat in a hushed whisper what you really thought about Billy.

You’re just glad he has the hindsight to not bring up what you said right before, about how Billy’s ramblings turned you on, and how you’d probably let him go down on you if the mad lad just asked.

Billy suddenly collapsed into your lap, letting go of your neck. His legs bracketed yours on either side, clutched his hands tightly into the front of your shirt, and hid his face in your neck. Between the snuffles and snorts, you could make out him saying, “Billy wants help, if you give it to Billy. Give soft fuzzies and hugs and kissies.”

You wrap your arms around him, tight and sturdy to keep him pressed to your chest. He quiets down to barely audible muttering, but presses his face closer to your neck, taking in deep breaths of your scent. “I’ll help Billy, as long as Billy wants it.” Your assure him, rubbing his back.

He nods, and for a brief moment, everything is still and calm until the lights of the foyer are flipped on. You’re blinded for a moment until you can make sense of Brahms pulling Billy off of your and onto the floor.

You can see the rage and heat pulsing behind his eyes, a snarl on his unmasked face as he advances on Billy’s stunned and trembling form with a knife he must have snatched from the kitchen.

You don’t really think before launching yourself off the sofa. “Brahms, don’t you dare!” you shout at him, gripping the blade before he can swing it down.

Brahms drops it the instant he sees your blood spilling into the floor, but redoubles when Billy hides behinds your legs and grabs onto them. “You can’t have someone else! I’m the only one you’re allowed to love.” He grabs you by your wounded hand, squeezing tight, but you refuse to falter. He voice drops to his deep, adult voice. “You aren’t leaving me.”

There’s only one way you know how to deal with Brahms when he’s like this, so you square your shoulder and look him in the eyes, squeezing his hand back even tighter, no matter how much it hurt. “Brahmsy you are being an extremely naughty boy. You go back to your room right now and we will talk about this in the morning.”

Something vicious flashes in his eyes, flickering between adult and child. “No!” he stomps his foot. “I’m not letting him take you away from me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Billy reaching for the fallen knife, so you stand on the blade. “You’re already not getting goodnight kisses for a week because of this, if you want that to be a month, you better get your ass up the bed!”

His eyes widen and he falters. “Y- you’re not leaving?” he asks, letting your injured hand drop.

“Shhh Agnes, don’t tell them we did. Naughty, filthy Billy, they get mad,” Billy whispers, looking up at Brahms. “Billy, Billy where’s the baby? What did you do to the baby?” his voice turns shrill, completely unlike himself.

“Shut up,” Brahms snaps, glaring at him. “He’s not staying here.”

“Yes, he is, because I’m in charge and I say so,” you snip right back, kneeling down to wrap your arms around Billy’s shoulders. “Billy, this is Brahms. We don’t hurt Brahms okay?”

In a voice eerily similar to yours, Billy speaks up again. “Brahms, naughty naughty Brahmsy. Do you know Agnes, Brahmsy?”

#billy lenz #brahms heelshire #billy lenz x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms x reader #black christmas #billy lenz hc #brahms hc #Anonymous #bb polyship

[geneticpawn]

@ask-alicelockwood​  sent :

Dear Nate,

I hope you’re doing well. (Well, not good. Proper grammar is proof that I’m actually paying attention in lectures, right?)  I also hope that the food’s at least marginally better where you are now than it was before.  If not, I will happily send a care package, though I don’t know if it’ll get to you before any chocolate I put into it melts or spoils…

Whitmore’s not terrible. I don’t really like living in dorm, but maybe it’s just because it’s such a change from living in the house by myself.  At least I’ve got a single, so I don’t have to worry about a roommate, even if there’s this weird smell I can’t get rid of.  (I think it might be the ghosts of dorm occupiers past, but who knows.  Maybe it’s just old building funk.)  Sorry if complaining is kind of insensitive.  I’m sure that being crammed in a barracks with a bunch of people probably also doesn’t smell great.

I like some of my classes more than others, but most of the professors are okay.  Also, I don’t actually have to show up if I don’t feel like it?  (Don’t give me that face, I DO go to class, even though nobody’s taking attendance.)  I think occult studies might be my favorite, even if the fact it was an option at all is ridiculous.  Well, more ridiculous, because Bonnie’s Grams used to teach it and I would never, ever dream of telling Mrs. Bennett anything about her was ridiculous, God rest her.

It’s kind of lonely, though.  You wouldn’t expect it, with how many people there are on campus, but it is.  I haven’t really met anybody I connect with, so I mostly just go home on the weekends, because my only other option right now is acting as Amelia Fell’s wingman (wingwoman? wing person? I don’t know.)  I’m definitely not interested in pretending to listen to the friend of whatever fratboy jerk she’s into this week talk about his major. Ugh.

She actually dragged me out to Rush Week and tried to get me to join a sorority, if you can believe that.  I didn’t join, but I jumped through all the hoops with her.  I’m not sure if she feels bad for me or if she needed to have someone she knew there too, but she was like “I’m invoking the Miss Mystic Court solidarity clause” which sounded fake to me, even though it’s supposedly a real, recognized thing?  She’s all settled in with her new sisters now, so I doubt she’s going to play that card again.

Anyway, we should try for a call sometime soon, if/when you’re allowed.  I miss you.

Stay safe.

Yours, Alice

Dear Alice,

Are you having flashbacks of when you were a kid and the schools forced you to write to a pen pal? Because I am and it’s bringing up a lot of embarrassing memories. Mostly the fact that my pen pal was Chinese and I had no idea what their letters said. I think if you sent me chocolate I’d be the envy of all the guys here but if you send some AA batteries through too I think that’ll make up for it (We’re running low and some of the guys night goggles are cutting out).

I hope you’re not just hanging out in your dorm all alone! Don’t forget to go out and have some fun for the both of us, we can’t both be miserable. Not that I’m miserable, it’s just hot and we haven’t gotten to leave base yet so we’re all kind of going out of our minds right now. You can complain all you want about the smell of your dorm though, it helps paint a clearer picture when I imagine what you’re up to.

And I didn’t pull a face. Okay, I did but seriously, I’m glad you’re going to class even if the attendance doesn’t really matter. Just think of the cash you’re spending whether you show up or not, might as well make it worth it. Occult studies is about magic, right? Or, pagan ritualism or something? Sounds fun and spooky, just like Mrs. Bennett (haha I’m kidding, tell her not to haunt me).

Okay yeah, hanging out with Amelia Fell sounds like a nightmare but it’s cool that you were there for her anyway, even if you hated it. How about checking out the clubs? The college ones, not the night ones though I guess those could be fun too. There’s got to be something cool there, puppysitter’s club? I bet there’s a club there just for foodies and now I’m jealous of all the food I’m missing out on.

I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to write back again but your letter was great. I’ve got it tucked into my helmet so I can read it when I’m bored, pretty sure I have it memorized now. Post is coming so I’ll finish quick.

Go out! Have fun!

Thinking of you always.

Nate.

#askalicelockwood #♟ –– how to trap the hunt within the blood. 「 tvd / to au. 」 #noice #submission