What about a final girl s/o? The slashers decided that they don’t want to kill them and want to keep them instead!
I love this ask so much! I might make a second version with other slashers in it. For now I’m doing Bubba, Thomas, Michael, and Asa
The Slashers Meeting Their Final Girl
You were nice to him. When you’d been lured to the house, you’d smiled at him and asked him about his mask. You hadn’t known at the time what it was made of but the little squawks of excitement he’d made when you’d brought it up had made you smile more.
Bubba was sad when he realized he had to kill you. You’d been talking to him the entire time you and your friends had been at the house. But it was for the good of the family so he’d do it. It was a shame, you seemed sweet.
What no one in the house expected was for you to be a fighter. You were kicking, screaming, locking horns with Drayton. They usually excepted a little bit of fight but you’d already given Drayton a black eye and then some. Nubbins ain’t much better. You never attacked Bubba though and he was a little reluctant to attack you too.
By the time you make it out of the house and down the road, Bubba is chasing you, chainsaw revved and right behind you. The moment you trip, you both know you’re done for. But as he closes in, he pauses.
You’re pretty. You’re sweet. There isn’t a lot of people like that left in these parts. If he doesn’t kill you, you get to stay. The family could always use one more.
It’s not actually Thomas who decides to keep you, it’s Luda May. She takes one look at you and decides that the family needs one more.
The rest of your group isn’t so lucky. But you’re kept away from them, lured into the house by Luda May to get some lemonade. By the time the rest of your group is gone, you’re sipping lemonade in the living room and falling asleep from the pills laced in it.
You’re not much of a fighter for the most part but that gives you an advantage. Luda May prefers sweeter kinder people like her Tommy anyway.
When Thomas finally meets you, he’s a little weary. You’re really beautiful asleep but he’s not so sure how you’ll be when you wake up. His mama reassures him and he relaxes.
For the next few weeks, he’s the only one you interact with. He brings your meals, leads you around the house, sits and listens to you talk. The more time he spends with you, the more he grows to like you. The looks his mama keeps throwing him always make him blush.
Like always, Thomas knows his mama is right. He’d very much like to keep you around. The family is so small and they could use another member. He wants to keep you.
Michael’s specialty is getting the drop on people. One minute they think their alone, the next, they’re not but they’re already dead by then so it doesn’t really matter. The first time it does is when you get the drop on Michael.
You’d found the bodies of your friends and you’d been careful. He’d been silent as a morgue when he’d approached you but when it came down to it, you stabbed him not the other way around.
He followed you for a while. Ducking police cars and officers made the chase more exhilarating. The Shape wanted you and his blood sang with every stride as he followed your frantic form down the road.
Every time he thought he caught you, you slipped away. He’d never had such a hard time getting his kill before. Even Laurie wasn’t as feisty as you.
By the time he actually catches you, you’ve stabbed him more time than he can count and he finds that he respects your bloodlust. You want him dead as much as he wants you dead. That alone makes you unique to him.
While he stands over your thrashing body, still fighting him, he makes a decision. He’ll have to kill someone else to keep The Shape happy but you get to live. Not because he has mercy but because Michael despite everything else, prefers not to break his things.
You’re his now. The second he decided it, the statement becomes fact. There isn’t anywhere you can go he won’t find you.
Asa Emory (The Collector)
You were lasting longer than Asa expected. He’s not the type of underestimate a person but you’d reached above and beyond his expectations in the hotel. He likes that in a person.
The longer you fight, the longer he watches you. The others he’d tossed in with you are all already dead or dying. While that’s usually entertaining enough, here you were, trying to survive and going well.
With every new obstacle you overcome, he’s more intrigued by you. He finds himself growing fond of you as you continue forward. He’ll let you free once he’s decided your worth keeping around. The others failed but you’ve got more to you and he wants to see it. He’ll begin to plan just how he can get close to you.
If he introduces himself as your savior, someone who helps pull you out of the hotel, maybe you’ll grow attached to him. His life as a well meaning and distinguished professor might lend to that. People always turn to those with confidence and authority during their moments of weakness. He won’t admit it to himself but he’s excited to see how you respond to him.
He plans to keep you one way or the other but your willingness to stay by his side plays a factor in his plans. The moment you were placed in the hotel, he decided you were his. Now he just needs to collect you.
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the night he came home (sfw, very light suggestive)
RZ Michael Myers x GN Reader
AN: oh baby the michael brainrot grabbed me and now i am Trapped. pretend the guards let michael walk around sometimes ok - warnings for feelings of despair and terror, along with a healthy amount of blood talk and descriptions of gore
summary: your slow trudge towards death is quickly halted and changed into a trembling sprint towards life by a power outage, a baton, and an individual named michael myers.
Something is happening tonight.
You have been marching towards a quiet and lonely death within the walls of Smith’s Grove for about eight years. Each day is a slightly darker shade of grey, and each night is the same inky blackness you expect to claim you sooner or later. Nothing changes. You get up, you eat, you mill around listlessly, you eat again, you lay in the grass outside, you go back to your room, you sleep. Rinse, repeat.
And, eight years of this would ordinarily be enough to break down any patient’s psyche, but not you. You remain as mentally sound as possible. Though you don’t smile, you still talk and respond intelligently and you don’t let yourself fall into oblivion. You do it out of spite. You’re not going to become a zombie. Every day might be the same, but you’re going to die here. Death will be your next adventure. You might as well be lucid when it happens.
But something is happening tonight.
Perhaps saying that your days are all exactly the same is unfair. Twice a week, you shower. Every Saturday, you are visited by Doctor Garcia, your long-term psychologist (though he’s about as interesting as a brick wall). And, sometimes, you are in the vicinity of a man named Michael Myers.
Of everything in Smith’s Grove, you are frightened by little. But, when you pass by the lumbering beast in the hall, your stomach clenches at the sight of his chains. Your heart quickens at the dark expression his mask implies.
Security guards and doctors alike treat him as though he might be an actual monster, as opposed to all of the other timid and largely unassuming patients they pretend are monsters. You only know so much about Michael, but you’re familiar with a couple of indications. Silent observance will do that.
Being chained while out of his room means that not only is he violent, but he’s violent consistently. He has a private room, which means that he has acted out that violence on patients or staff. He’s been totally silent for fifteen years (something you heard from one of his attending guards). Michael was admitted way before you- you remember hearing about a young boy butchering his family on Halloween on the news. Michael Myers.
You’re right to be frightened of him in that regard. He can and has killed people. Evidently, he would probably do it again, given the opportunity. But, despite the dread he inspires in you, you have always been too curious for your own good.
He might be scary as all hell, but he’s more interesting than Doctor Garcia.
When given the chance, you act on your curiosity. Once, you approached him in the recreational quarters. He always sits and does nothing, when given free time.
“Hi,” you whispered. He did not move an inch, but you saw two piercing blue eyes flicker up to stare squarely into your own. His attending guard reacted more noticeably. His head jerked up and he stood up from leaning on the rec-room wall.
You continued. “I like your mask.” Your voice is quiet- rasped with lack of use. “Did you make it?”
Michael did not make any attempt to respond, but you remained. You sat down next to him. You didn’t say a word, but you observed him with rapt attention.
He was big. Everything about him. Tall, broad shoulders, muscular beyond belief. You wondered where he exercised. Michael was never allowed outside. His hair was sorely in need of a wash. but you could tell that, once, it was blonde. It hung in front of his face and laid over his back and shoulders, gnarled and tangled.
You’d always liked hair. Touching was (and still isn’t) permitted in the rec-room, but you leaned in and just barely whispered “I like your hair, too.”
It was as though you’d flicked him. Michael’s body tensed all at once. Your blood ran cold. Witnessing the abrupt reaction, Michael’s attending decided that was quite enough. The stout guard darted to Michael’s side and grabbed the chain connecting his wrists, jerking him to his feet.
“That’s enough. You leave them alone, killer,” the guard all but spat. He turned, and regarded you directly. “Don’t talk to Michael anymore, kid. You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”
Yeah, whatever, you remember thinking. Still more interesting than the month-old magazines in here.
After that, you made it a little bit of a goal to learn more about Michael straight from the source. It certainly gave you something to do- something to think about. That’s always better than nothing, especially in this living graveyard.
Your next opportunity was a juicy one. Michael was sitting alone in the cafeteria, and his attending (a new one! Some tall, skinny guy) was being distracted by a lady attending. He was staring at you.
You sat with him. He sat up straight, quite abruptly. This time, you said nothing at all, but you could feel those sharp eyes all over you.
You inched a little closer to him. His eyes narrowed- he must have thought you had some ulterior motive or another. But, that simply wasn’t the case. Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you extended one hand and turned it over, palm-up. An offering.
Michael looked right into your eyes. You felt like you were having your soul stared at. But, you didn’t look away, nor did you rescind your offer. You emphasized with your hand, jerking it just slightly. Take it.
Your eyes widened when Michael moved. He slowly raised both hands above the table. He inched closer to you - you were now entirely within his range. It seemed as though he was going to accept your hand, but-
The thick, calloused flesh of his palm found your neck instead.
Your blood ran cold. He put his thumb and forefinger on your jaw, and slowly turned your head. Those eyes, sharp as a tack, inspected you. Scrutinized you. You felt terribly, terribly exposed, and even more vulnerable now that you were at his total mercy. You shifted uncomfortably- you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was thinking. What he was seeing when he looked at you like that.
He felt your throat pulse as you swallowed. You were scared, he could tell that much. But, you weren’t screaming or pulling away. You were allowing this, you were allowing him to grab you. His eyes narrowed again. His fingers twitched dangerously against your skin.
You licked your lips - a nervous habit. Without having meant to, however, it seemed to attract Michael’s rapt attention. His hand tightened, just slightly, drawing a malcontent whine from you. “Gently, Michael,” you whispered.
A shout from Michael’s attending ended the tense moment. Both of the guards grabbed Michael and yanked him away from you- a well-meaning nurse all but scampered up to you and asked if you were alright.
You didn’t respond. You watched Michael get hauled away. He didn’t even look back at you.
You’re thinking about it now, a few weeks later. You haven’t seen Michael since that day- maybe they’re punishing him for getting so... handsy. You put your hand on your throat, fingers ghosting over where Michael’s used to be. He could have killed you. He had you right there, with everyone distracted at the perfect time. He could have curled his fingers inward, could have ripped out your jugular.
He did not.
It’s night. Your room is dark, but the sterile white lights in the hall are still on. Outside, lightning cracks. Rain drums against your tiny plastic window. Now, all that’s left to do is sleep.
But something is happening tonight.
All of the lights in the halls suddenly fizzle out. The lock on your door clicks, and it swings slightly ajar. Then, the emergency lights turn on. A harsh, bright red.
You get to your feet and peek. Other patients have also left their cells- they mill around, curious. Suddenly, a piercing scream erupts from somewhere else in the building. Most of the patients retreat back into the safety of their rooms. Maybe you should, too. If the violent patients have gotten out and begun acting violently, you could be in danger.
Three guards run down the hallway. Two of them break off to beat inmates back into their cells and lock the doors. Unable to react in time, one of them sharply whacks you in the center of the nose with their baton, sending you reeling right back into your cell.
“Stay put, mongrel,” the guard grunts. He shuts the door heavily, but- you don’t hear the click of a lock. He.. he forgot.
Staggering to your feet, you slowly open the door and peek again. Empty hall. Pain blooms like an ugly flower across your face, but- you’re not going to give up that easy. You swipe your thumb under your nose. It comes back dripping with blood. Urgh.
You shuffle out of your room, this time for good.
In these bright red lights, you feel as though you’re in a dream. More screaming attacks your senses- your pulse quickens, and your hands get all clammy. The echo of it is so.. horrifying.
But, you realize exceedingly quickly that you don’t have a destination. You wander up and down halls that all look exactly the same for what feels like hours. It’s become deathly silent. You find that more frightening than the screams.
You turn a corner and run right into someone who is very tall and very muscular. The blood from your nose gets on his shirt. He grabs you by the shoulders before you can fall - his grip is like iron - and you look up at him. Michael Myers.
The red lighting makes it difficult to distinguish color, but you can tell something dark and thick stains his mask and shirt. Daring to pull your eyes from him, you can see his arms are also liberally coated in the stuff, almost reaching his elbows. Jesus Christ.
You shudder heavily, knees threatening to give way entirely. He’s unchained. He smells like coins. There’s nowhere for you to run. You can hear Michael breathing. Caught.
You tense when he raises his hand. Now is when you expect him to choke the daylights out of you, as though what happened in the cafeteria was just a teaser. You expect him to crush the life right out of you, as he’d done with whoever’s blood was on his hands, and then move right along. Get out of this wretched place.
He does not.
Michael’s hand finds your wrist, and pulls you in petrifyingly close. Your hand is placed firmly in his thick, unwashed hair. When you don’t respond, not understanding, he puts his hand around yours and closes it into a fist. Then, he pulls away.
His hair. You said you liked his hair.
He gently touches your chin. You remember your nose is bleeding when you see the fresh stuff mix with the old, dried-up stuff. You immediately have the instinct to apologize, but you only manage to croak out an “I..” before faltering entirely.
Michael doesn’t seem to react. Blood certainly doesn’t bother him of all people. Upon absorbing his stillness, you muster the strength to stroke his hair. You all but massage it in your fingers, halfway trying to release the knots that decorate it. Then, you just pet it. It really is very pretty hair. There’s lots of it, and, with some attention, could have been as elegant as a model’s.
Michael leans into your hand, a deep and resonant rumble coming from deep within him. You shiver like a wet dog. This is insane, you think. A hulking, bloodstained beast of a man, leaning down and having his hair pet by the likes of you. It’s almost comical to imagine what you must look like. He’s massive compared to you.
A noise breaks the spell. You remember it as the harsh thwack of a baton against someone’s face. Michael jerks up, looking in the direction that the sound had come from. Then, back down at you. You look scared, but Michael is no longer the source of that fear.
You don’t want to wait for them to find you. You don’t want to stay here. You don’t want to die lonely and quiet. You want to live.
So does Michael.
Abruptly, he lifts you right off the ground, one strong arm supporting your back and gripping your bicep, the other tucked beneath your knees. He walks briskly away. He seems like he knows where he’s going.
You huddle into him, wide-eyed. You get the sense Michael had always planned to escape, but you were never meant to join him. Now though, as you are held tightly to his rather abundant chest, you put a hand on his heart. He glances down at you, feet stuttering for a moment before he continues onward.
Things are about to get weird. Things are already weird. You’re being carried bridal-style by a killer. You’re not resisting. You’re escaping the asylum meant to host you permanently. You don’t think this is going to be the end of the killing.
Things are weird, but they’re about to get weirder.
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