#Yandere Billy Lenz | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-toons · 2 years

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Homme du Grenier | Scenario With Billy Lenz

WARNING: yandere, home invasion, stalking, implied death, alcohol use, smoking, toxic mindset.

A.N. - This takes place before the events of the film.

“HEY, THEY NEED YOU down at 6 Belmont Street. A sorority said they're having some kind of trouble with the phone lines.” The hurried voice of a distracted boss rang in your ear, and the call went dead seconds later.

Listening to the droning dial tone was unnecessary, for the dark and windy street of which he spoke laid before you. While returning the telephone to its cradle was a simple task, taking the first step into the snowy outdoors required a hard day's worth of courage.

Most of the flora had become laden with ice and withered into a sickly brown for the winter. What survived was a measly combination of elderberries clinging to sagging branches and Black Gums struggling not to shed their final leaves.

The few conifers that bordered the snowy hills were narrow and appeared as though they would blow over in a strong wind.

Every visitor to the salted streets was bundled in a thick, fur-lined coat and hat.

The large tree in the centre of the park had branches like fingers, with curly sprouts of wood winding into the sky and then spreading apart from each other.

A Tudor-style house stood at the end of Belmont Street, surrounded by dead trees and tall bushes strewn with colourful lights. On one of the side windows on the bottom level was a blue wreath in the shape of a star, and the yellow curtains behind it were thin enough to allow you a glimpse of a fireplace.

Dangling in the middle of the front door was a round wreath aglow with red lights. It was tied to a red ribbon and sat on a hook just below the small, five-piece window on the top of the door.

A wooden fence surrounded the entire property, its pointed top reaching the stomachs of the average passers-by. The gate was hanging open and obscured beneath the scraggly branches of trees stripped of leaves by the cold of winter.

Weeds and brambles had overgrown the edges of the fence and had begun to climb it.

The sidewalk was buried so deep in snow that it was hardly distinguishable from the yard of the sorority house, with the fence acting as the sole divider. The snow ate up your winter boots like quicksand, and you raised them to shake off the white pellets after every other step.

The walkway to the house was a straight shot from the road and was paved with cobblestone. It took roughly ten seconds to walk at a leisurely pace and was bordered by two half walls of stone, both bearing a globular lamp.

Multiple pairs of footprints had disturbed the snow before yours did. Most of them were either approaching the doorway or leaving it, but there was one pair that meandered towards the east-facing wall of the house.

The wall was swamped with vines that winded like snakes, so much so that the plaster and wood underneath it would have been invisible if not for the bright lights of red and green. The impressive length of these scrawny vines led your eye to the dark window of an attic.

Perhaps the most surprising thing about it was that a part of you expected to see someone looking back; however, the shadows were too dense to give this thought any satisfaction.

A sorority girl met you at the entrance within a minute of your rat-a-tat at the front door. She introduced herself as Jess and grappled with the doorknob before jimmying it open, a grunt of frustration slipping past her lips.

“Thank goodness you're here. Barb was getting anxious about her mother calling.” The words tumbled out of her with a certain urgency that had you walking into the house as soon as she stepped back.

You gazed at the living room, noting the pattern of red and black roses in the curtains that overlooked the front of the house.

Potted plants decorated the space around each window, and their lush leaves grew tall enough to block some of the glass.

A second woman peeked over the back of a couch with a trail of smoke floating around her mouth. Barb was her name, and she had propped her boots on a coffee table littered with beer bottles of varying fullness. Upon lowering her cigarette, she snagged one of the bottles and rose from the cushion.

There was a rogue amusement in her smile as she looked you up and down. “You do a good job, and I'll let you have some of this.” Barb pointed a finger at you and nodded, extending the bottle in your direction before pulling it back.

Turning away, she inclined her head and took a swig of the beer. Her footsteps sauntered to the kitchen, and the staircase she passed on the way drew your eye to what little of the upper floor you could see.

The stairs disregarded the wood and tile of the first floor in favour of a carpet, which continued to the second floor. It had a rough texture to it and was reddish-orange like pumpkins and candy corn.

All the visible curtains on the second floor had been drawn, and their floral print contrasted with the dark brown panels jutting out of the walls and the milky white wallpaper.

“We were thinking of having the phone around here,” interjected Jess. She motioned to a pair of armchairs and the end table between them. “Would that work?” Waiting for your answer, she tilted her head and adjusted her black sweater.

You scanned the room and began knocking on the nearby walls, listening for a hollow spot behind the drywall. A subsequent knock resounded through the house every time your knuckles hit the wall.

Just as you were starting to have doubts, a deep echo sounded from the wall that was adjacent to the staircase. “That'll work. Where's your box?”

Jess tugged the sides of her coat to fold them across her torso. “The phone box is out back,” she said, ambling to you.

A curt nod was your response, so she led you to the back door and pushed it open. The old hinges squealed in a noise similar to the yowl of a cat as they were forced to bend. A gust of cold air rushed inside the house, blowing past your face with a howl like a human voice.

The land was frigid that night. There could have been anything crouched and waiting at the edge of the woods, watching you when you could not watch it back.

The blue and orange lights that were strewn about the house cast your shadow upon the snow. It reached the tree line, and a more paranoid side of you thought it would be snatched and bring you with it.

Entertaining such musings had made the wind far chillier than before, which prompted you to turn back. You unfastened the latch on the phone box and were faced with two wires tucked into a larger wire.

The smaller wires pivoted in different directions and each bore a unique colour, ranging from blue to green. The larger wire was black and encircled them like a hose.

Resting your hand on the metal cover of the phone box, you counted the wires again before turning your eye to Jess.

Jess let the door close behind her and remained in the doorway, observing you with an expression of curiosity.

“Where's your attic?”

She glanced sideways and opened her mouth a bit. At first, no reply came from her except a slow nod. Then, after a moment of contemplation, Jess grabbed the doorknob and pulled the back door open. “This way.”

You followed her to the base of the stairs, where a chocolate brown desk and a corded telephone sat together against the wall. Decorative flowers and posters were lining the walls around the desk, and it was all illuminated by a red and yellow light.

The attic was tucked into a tight corner in the middle of the staircase. It was accessible by way of a short ladder, one that was sturdy and thick.

After giving the sight a quick nod, you turned back to Jess. “I'll start downstairs.”

Jess nodded in agreement and returned to the living room while one of the several doors in the upstairs corridor opened. Barb staggered out of it, her face sour and her brown hair ruffled. She held an unlit cigarette in her right hand and was flicking it between her fingers.

The door to Barb's room was adorned with a wreath, its electric lights having been replaced by empty wine bottles.

A muffled creak groaned above your head. “I'm no exterminator, but are you sure you don't have mice?” you asked, lowering your eye from where it had been attempting to see through the ceiling.

Barb responded to the idea with a brief mix between a scoff and a cough. “We might,” she muttered, shrugging and looking towards the stairs. “You're free to check. None of us goes up there anymore.”

You crept onto the lowest rung of the ladder and gazed up at the attic door. It opened inward, you discovered, when a slight push from your hand caused it to reveal nothing but blackness for a brief moment.

Before Barb could descend the stairs, you turned to her and called out, “Why's that?”

Barb stopped with her palm resting on the handrail. She glanced back at you and then took the first step down as if debating whether to ignore the question, but her eyes flickered over the attic door. “Honestly? It smells like someone died up there.”

There was a twinge of uncertainty in her voice, one that led you to peek at the darkness looming overhead again.

The sick and musty odour was as strong as a punch in the gut. You reached through the air and, with your knuckles, rapped three times on the ceiling.

A brief silence ensued, during which time you glanced at various spots on the door and started to lower your hand.

Then, there came the sound of skittering, like tiny feet scrambling for traction on a wood floor. It was followed by a series of thumps from a creature much larger than a mouse. The noises approached the door, and after a pause, three knocks were heard.

You retreated from the ladder and pulled your arm close to your chest. It took many seconds for you to yank your eye away from the door, but once you managed it, your first steps were down the stairs.

Jess was standing beside the desk with the telephone raised to her ear. The faint sounds of inane screams and nonsensical mumbles were radiating from it until you tapped her shoulder.

“Could I borrow that phone for a minute?”

Jess spun towards you with a slight jump, widening her eyes and jerking the telephone closer to her body. Upon recognising you, she glanced at the floor and shuffled her feet. “Oh, I'm sorry.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and she had yet to release the telephone.

A shakiness was present in her words, as was a tendency to peer at her surroundings while speaking. It took a few seconds of gathering her bearings for Jess to look you in the eye. The tension in her shoulders remained when her left hand, which clutched the telephone, neared the cradle.

She tilted her head and pursed her lips, peeking around with a lost and disquieted reluctance. “But yes, you can use this one.”

The telephone was pushed to your chest as if touching it had burned her hand, and Jess stepped away from the small table. “I'm done with it,” she murmured, eyeing the telephone with a deep frown.

It gave you a moment's hesitation, and you watched her march out of the room before lifting the telephone to your ear. After spinning the correct sequence into the rotary dial, a click preceded the tired hello of your boss.

You twirled the cord around your wrist and scanned the entryway for any listeners. “It's colder than a moose's hooves out here.” Finding nothing but a closed door looking back at you, you allowed your voice to rise a bit. “The job's coming along, but I'll be needing a break when this is over.”

A sigh carried on the other end of the call, the sound of a man torn between too many problems. “They'll want you at the college when you're done there.”

It was a nice way of saying that you were in for a long night, so you diverted your attention to the peals of creaks from above. “You still have the number for that exterminator?”

A quick and simple “yeah” sounded from the telephone. “You got rats chewing on the lines?” he asked, his voice garbled by static.

Untangling the cord from around your wrist, you leaned back to peer through the handrails to the top of the stairs. “Maybe. They're nesting in the attic, I think.”

* * *

THE STENCH OF ROT singed your nostrils like fire, and in it was the musky scent of mould and dust.

The attic was carried by a wood floor that creaked with each step, the joints in the boards flexing and then settling as the weight shifted from one spot to the next.

There were cobwebs draped over every piece of furniture.

Standing with a vertical pole through its belly was a white pony wearing a red saddle, the kind that children and adults with childish hearts rode for a nickel outside of convenience stores.

A rusty birdcage hung from a thin string attached to the curvature of the ceiling.

In the corner nearest to the front window sat an old rocking chair, one that had not seen use in years. A candle had been lit and placed atop the windowsill to overlook the walkway to the house.

Once you were done feeding the wire through a gap in the plywood, you stood and moved to exit the attic. It was when you were a couple of steps from reaching the door that you realised it was partially open.

The door slammed as soon as you noticed it, and a cool shade of darkness fell over the attic. Your eagerness to leave waned like a flower shrivelled. Any intention of seeing who it was became locked behind layers of sweat and clammy palms.

As bravery lost and regained its hold on you every few seconds, you closed the distance between yourself and the door as if a monstrous beast was ready to lunge through it at any moment.

You peeled back the door, crawled down the ladder and were relieved to find an empty corridor. The stillness of it was toying with your mind as though it were begging to be broken.

Nearing the stairs was a simple task until a hint of movement caught your eye and halted your next step.

The bedroom door at the opposite end of the corridor was swaying. There were no lights on in the room, which forced you to goggle into darkness once again.

Nothing came to you, and no sounds were heard. Something was there, living in the shadows and meeting your gaze with an invisible eye. Just as soon as the thought occurred, you shook your head free of it and listened to the hum of the air conditioner clicking to life.

This house was not yours to snoop, so you turned and walked down the stairs when all you wished to do was rush down them and out the front door. The chances of some creature hurtling from the darkness and jumping you were haunting for every second that your back faced the doorway.

You arrived on the first floor without suffering an attack, gaining just enough courage from this to not run when a clink echoed from beside you.

Barb was downing another bottle of beer and had discarded an empty bottle next to a full one. She hauled a radio onto the coffee table with one arm, and her hand missed the dial twice before landing on it and cranking the volume.

The clarion guitar riff and harsh-voiced singer of a rock-and-roll song swelled in the living room.

Thunder cracked like the thrash of a whip, booming and pounding in the dark skies until it collapsed into a rainstorm. The fat raindrops burst against the sidewalks, roads and homes in a volley of water. They were swept crosswise in gales of wind that howled like wolves in the night, and the rain pelted the windows as if made of stones.

The occasional bolt of lightning flashed in your eyes as you stared through the glass. To your palpitating heart, it seemed like the storm was seconds away from pouring into the living room. While any car was risking a few dents by venturing into it, any person was flirting with drowning or getting thrown by a roaring gust.

The smell of beer and rain was in the air. You peeked over your shoulder at the armchairs, where Barb lifted the bottle in her hand and tipped it at you. She then shook it as if baiting you, so you chose to take a seat on the couch and put your back to the storm.

Jess descended the stairs, her feet thumping along each step. Her hair was frazzled, and her face was strained with a familiar urgency. “Thank you for hiring that exterminator,” she shouted over the din of the music before stopping at the side of the couch. “He never sent us a bill.”

This distracted you from digging your fingernails into the cushions. “That's strange,” you murmured, relaxing your fingers a bit in thought. “He didn't get back to me yesterday.”

Jess glanced between you and the window, and her gaze focused on nothing in particular until a wave of concern washed over her countenance. She turned to Barb and leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Barb! Did he leave?”

Without looking, Barb nodded drunkenly. “He stunk up the place,” she grumbled, her voice reverberating due to the beer bottle pressed to her lips.

The ring of a telephone broke the silence of confusion. It came from the newly installed unit on the end table, which buzzed unattended until Jess approached it.

Barb cocked her head, widened her eyes and curled her lip into a bitter mockery of a smile. “Would you look at that? Our first incoming call.” It was as though she could divine that the caller was not her mother, and the fact loaded her words with a sardonic edge.

Despite this, she reached for the telephone and snatched it before Jess could do the same.

Shallow, rapid breaths rolled into her ear. The faint static warped the sound into an undulating hum.

Barb opened her mouth and produced the first syllable of a word, which was cut off when the breathing exploded into screams. It was a wild and senseless kind of screaming that had no end and, in any other situation, would have come from the lips of a dying man.

“Where's the baby?” he howled, repeating the question over and over again with all the fervour of someone whose life depended on the answer. The panting was animalistic, like a beast heaving its lungs after a hunt.

Barb yanked the telephone away from her ear and looked askance at it. Her head leaned back, her nose scrunched, and her eyes narrowed in disgust and bewilderment. “What the hell?” she muttered, debating whether to hang up or not.

Jess fixed the telephone with a wide-eyed stare. She appeared as though she were reliving a horrific memory, and you recalled the conversation that had been unfolding when you asked to use the telephone in the other room.

“No!” shrieked the caller as if racked with agonising pain. “Let me taste it! Let me taste it!” This chant continued as his pitch and speed increased with each utterance until his voice became croaky.

Barb jerked her head up and shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and folding one arm across her chest. “Listen here,” she started with a snap, only to pause once Jess motioned for the telephone.

No sooner than a second after she mumbled hello into the receiver did the voice erupt in furious shouts of “Not you! Not you!”

Both Barb and Jess turned to the last person in the room, you, with Jess glancing back and forth between the telephone and your eyes while Barb furrowed her brows.

It took the two of them exchanging looks of puzzlement before Barb shrugged and Jess handed the telephone to you.

You had half a mind to slam it on the cradle and walk out the door, but the caller talked before you could make a definitive decision.

As if he could identify you by the sound of your breathing alone, his breaths calmed in an eerie instant. “Agnes,” he whispered, “don't tell them.” He spoke like one child sharing a secret with another, unwilling to speak louder for fear of his parents hearing it.

Your breathing quickened a bit. The thuds of your heart pounded a smidge faster, and as the room seemed to stretch in front of your eyes, it was as though you could hear every noise in the house at once.

A grandfather clock ticked, the logs in a fireplace crackled, and the floorboards above your head creaked for the umpteenth time that day.

You inhaled a tad louder than you had intended, and the caller shushed you with a sound like the hiss of a snake. “It's okay, Agnes.” There was an excruciating slowness to his voice, a deliberate inflection in each syllable. “Billy's here.”

Dismay shot up your spine like a bullet. The chill that came with it was akin to a splash of icy water crashing over your head, running down your arms and dragging a shiver out of you.

Barb stepped forward, bottle twirling in her hand, and leaned her head towards you. “What's he saying?” she asked without care for her volume.

A splurge of obscenities burst out of the telephone at the interruption, and aside from calling Barb a pig in so many colourful ways, Billy focused on his descent into screeching like a banshee.

This sent Barb reeling away from you, where she gritted her teeth and threw the bottle onto the coffee table. “I've had enough of this!” She wrenched the telephone out of your hand and thrust it onto the cradle with a resounding bang.

Barb then collapsed on the couch and drew a hand to her forehead, which was slick with sweat. “Our first call, and it's some wacko,” she grumbled.

Jess stared at the telephone as though it were about to lunge at her. After a tense moment of eye contact with the cord, she crossed her arms and looked at you. “I do hope that doesn't become a habit.”

Quiet unease was rooted in her voice like a fungus, and when you offered no affirmation, she shifted and glanced at Barb.

Barb was lying supine with her legs draped over the armrest and her left hand dangling from the cushion. A half-empty bottle was pressed against her side, and a cigarette was pinched between two fingers in her right hand.

She was snoring lightly, her head rising and falling every few seconds.

The voice of Jess came from the base of the stairs, and you turned to find her with one leg on the first step. “I'm heading up to take a shower. You can let yourself out the front door.” She nodded at the door while saying this, which led your gaze to it.

As Jess arrived at the middle of the staircase, a putrid odour backhanded her across the face. The bulk of it rolled from somewhere above her head. She turned back and forth and scanned the ceiling for stains until a fresh line of stink drew her sniffs to the attic door.

Jess hovered by the handrail for many a second, observing the door with the vigilance of an animal sensing a trap. She crept toward it, and her head lifted to judge the length of the climb.

Just as you were reaching for the doorknob, the door swung open after a moment of battle with the hinges.

A pair of sorority girls strolled into the house in a merry fit of laughter, their arms draped in shopping bags and their eyes locked on each other. Clare was the name of the girl with untidy brown hair, and Phyl was the name of the girl with frizzy hair and octagonal eyeglasses.

You lurched back to avoid bumping into them as they walked forward for a couple of seconds without noticing you. During that time, you were maneuvering to their side and taking brisk steps with your arms slightly extended in an attempt to not put your foot down on top of theirs.

“Pardon me,” was all you said before you slipped past them and stumbled into the entryway.

A crash was heard from upstairs as soon as your shoes hit the outside world, and your head spun around to cast a final glance at the house. Fuelled by a surge of adrenaline, you pumped your legs and carried yourself to the edge of the property.

Clare looked between the stairs and your silhouette, which was disappearing into the heart of the storm.

Phyl looked at a passed-out Barb and then leaned forward to peer around the closing door. “Who was that?” she asked, momentarily dismissing the question when Jess came down from the staircase to greet them.

The storm battered you with fat pellets of rain and strong winds, but there was not a single moment where you considered returning to the sorority house. You held out your hand to be a thin shield for your face and stomped your way through the murky air.

Melting snow clung to everything below your waist. It was like swimming in ice water, but you persevered until the contours of a house approached your left.

Behind the window stood your next-door neighbour.

She was a little old lady who, at this particular moment, was clutching a coffee mug as if letting go of it meant unspeakable doom. The neat and dry fabric of her mustard yellow dress was in stark contrast to your rain-soaked attire, but your eye soon concentrated on her horror-stricken face.

Her eyes were stretched to their limits, her mouth was hanging open, and her forehead was creased so sharply that a vein was visible. She turned to watch you sprint past her home like someone observing their worst nightmare come to life.

What caused your gaze to linger on her was when she looked at something just behind you. In the split second that your eye caught the reflection on the glass, you saw a dark shape at your heels.

It flashed in the lightning and vanished before you could discern any details. You told yourself that it was the cruel hand of paranoia sinking its claws into your brain, but this did little to placate the way your heart jumped and banged against your ribcage.

Once you reached your house, you crammed the key into the keyhole and twisted it as if about to break it. The click of the lock disengaging brought a wave of relief that swept you into the entrance.

You doubled over, panting and throwing your hands onto your bent knees.

Many seconds passed before you spun towards the door and slammed it.

A torrent of raindrops gushed from your clothes, and the puddle accumulating at your feet was soaking into the floor. The earthy scent of wet dirt was entrenched in your nostrils like a toy stuck up a kid's nose.

When you turned to collapse on a chair, your eye was dragged across the floor to where an additional pair of footprints walked in a different direction. The shoes were outlined in rain just like yours, and they had taken shelter in the darkness of your bedroom.

You raised your head with a cautious slowness, straightening your back and clenching the fabric of your pants.

The blackness that returned your stare seemed deeper than the depths of the ocean, and you strained your ears to hear the presence that had followed you. Every shift in the house, every crack of the walls flexing became the precursor to something leaping out at you.

A thought was spared for the knives in the kitchen as well as the telephone beside the oven. An oppressive sense of nausea advised against pursuing either of those items, suggesting instead that you flee through the door from which you had entered.

Three knocks came from the bedroom.

Without the attic to muffle them, these knocks were much clearer and closer.

It was as if a fist had squeezed your heart and stolen your breath.

In that frightful instant, enduring the storm was a welcome distraction from confronting whoever had invaded your house. You wrenched the front door open and hurled yourself down the street.

Rain splashed on your face as you smashed your feet into various puddles and whipped through the wind. The howls of the storm dampened any sounds from within your home, and you did not wait to see if anyone followed.

The house of your next-door neighbour came into view, its brown shingles glistening in the downpour. You crashed into the front door in a refusal to stop and began pounding on the wood. “Let me in! Let me in!” you shrieked over the claps of thunder and strikes of lightning.

A little old lady emerged from the living room and stood behind the window, her hands wrapping around a steaming mug of coffee. She eyed you with a look of shock and disbelief, and the mug slipped from her grasp.

It landed on the avocado green carpet, bounced once, and poured coffee into the fibres.

The little old lady did not give the spill the briefest of glances. A finger rose from her side and pointed at you, trembling and struggling not to fall. Her mouth opened wide in a voiceless cry, which earned another plea from you.

It was barely audible among the roars of wind, plops of rain, and booms of thunder.

A shake of the head was her response. It was rapid, so much so that it seemed instinctive. She shoved her finger at you multiple times, and her lack of care for the coffee streaming around her shoes was enough to stay your panic for an instant.

After a moment spent panting in confusion, you gestured to yourself and nodded with a frantic urgency.

She shook her head again and jabbed her finger at you with more intensity.

You dragged your breaths out of your lungs as uneven puffs, and your eyes were jerking from the window to the door. The tightness in your chest and the throb of your heartbeat swirled in you like a typhoon and cast a hazy veil over your mind.

Overcome by a light-headed spell, your vision began to blur and distort the sight in front of you. Every thought was screaming at you to beat the door open, yet you fought this impulse with as much strength as you could scrounge.

It was then that the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. A warm gust of breath had rolled against them in a steady rhythm.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

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theyanderespecialist · 4 months

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9th Day Of Christmas (Bloody Christmas) Yandere Billy Lenz X Listener (B...

#youtube #yandere #yandere billy lenz #yandere black christmas #black christmas #billy lenz #billy lenz x listener #listener #black christmas billy lenz

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ivanzplaid · 10 months

Note

Can I get yandere head canons for the Sinclair brothers, Billy Lenz and Harry Warden, thank you as always 💛

-📼

HIII HELLO YES OF COURSE YOU CAN CASSETTE ANON SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU 🫶🫶 i have had sm work and no motivation but a little yandere hcs will do, ALSO THIS IS SUCH AN OLD REQUEST ORE HIATUS IM SO SORRY💔 these are sfw so if youd like nsfw ill do that :) these are mainly set for after meeting you, and how theyd make sure you'd stay with them, and some cute little ideas for when youre theirs

this is darker than i remember writing it so please proceed with caution⁉️

requests r open, masterlist is up!!

Yandere! Slashers x Gn! Reader | Headcanons | Meeting You

Warnings: Yandere Behavior/Actions, Obsession, Kidnapped reader in every section.. my bad, Dark themes kinda-ish, Drugging mentions in Billy's & Bo's section

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Lester Sinclair

lester, love of my life, he will most likely be the one to plot your meeting. he sees you while hes out of ambrose, hes infatuated, he thinks youre the most charming person hes seen in a while. he will stalk you when he finds youre in town, its a small, but quickly growing obsession, he thinks that youre just an after thought, but the more you come in, the more he wants to have you to himself

so, he does his lester thing, and waits & waits, trying to lure you into ambrose one way or another. he'll show up more in youre life, saying hello or making small talk, then, he may slash a tire or make it so that your car just has its miles draining faster n faster, so when youre pulled over on the side if the road, hes your savior

not only does he love this because hes saving you from this, and youre just thanking him over and over, and hes becoming more excited by the minute, he loves to hear praise come from your mouth, its exciting. he also loves this because now he finslly has his excuse to bring you to ambrose, away from those friends he always sees you with that just dont value you and love you as much as he would, or care about you as much as he does

he'll bring your car in, and say in such an exasperated voice that it just wont be done for the next few days, would you like to stay for coffee?

he explicitly tells his brothers that you are not to be made a sculpture, hes serious, but if they see you trying to leave, they have the job to bring you back to him

hes just too thoughtful of you to let you go, do you really wanna go back to your family? who let this happen to you? look him in the eyes snd tell yourself he doesnt care, because he wants to know all about you if you gave him the chance

touchy, touchy touchy touchy, arm around your waist, a smiling kiss on the cheek, you on his lap, he wishes for it to happen

he thinks of physical touch as wondrous, how can he hold the epitome of perfection in his hands? hes in awe

he will 100% sweet-talk-manipulate you into staying with him, hes too desperate to let you go, its unfair, why would you leave the man who loves you the most?

hes also very delusional, he truly believes what hes doing is justified and fine, and it pushes him to be much more emotional in this 'relationship'

will be absolutely distraught if you outwardly insult him / say rude things, but hes convinced you dont know what its like, and this is for the greater good of your existence

caretaker!! loves to treat and pamper you, he almost needs to take care of you because he thinks its cute, but dont let this trick you, he will take these privileges away because he loves to see you beg for basic things

be a good little pet and stay with him, hes the only one who knows how to treat you

not the violent type, wont hit or hurt you because it would pain him as well, you deserve so much more than that and he stands by it

but is not afraid to tie you down if that means youll stop trying to leave ( if you do try )

he loves sharing time with you, he will bring you everywhere to do everything, you deserve the same fun as him!

he loves to talk about you, allll you you you, please tell him about your hobbies, he'll do his best to indulge in them more! or about your day, or who you are as a person, or aomething that makes you laugh, anything, literally anything please

not as into killing as his brothers, but he will be the most protective man over you, he is not a fan of flirtation and will be passive aggressive if visitors flirt with you, but dont worry your pretty little head, they'll just go on over to bo or vincent and you two wont need to worry

loves loves loves to give you gifts, but has a stigma where only he can give you gifts. if he sees anyone else trying to give you them, it leads to his temper shorten

id be happy to exaggerate if youd like! but these are the main ones :)

Billy Lenz

he most likely meets you in the sorority/fraternity, and is immediately interested, youre a sophmore trying to get through your classes, youre like every other person, but he cant get his eyes off of you

unlike lester, he acts on his thoughts quickly, hes impulsive and foggyheaded, he has not a care in the world, and most dont know he even exists, so the moment he takes a liking to you is the moment he sets out to talk to you

he'll call you nonstop, sometimes just to listen to your voice, or to say obscene things, or even to pretend hes really with you, he wants to have the interactions you have with your friends and hes jealous, he should be getting that treatment, its just unfair

i have yet to mention hes possessive, even before he has you, he gets upset at the slightest of things because he focus's completely on you, its hard to get his eyes off you, so your every move will be noted

one night, its before winter vacation of course, the holiday lights are up and youre packing your things to go back home, youre the last one left besides a friend whose waiting on you outside, but in the house its quiet, your own breathing is too loud for you

billy is upset, hes been upset, why dont you answer the phone anymore? why havent you been responding to the notes hes been leaving you? why why why

he doesnt like to see you leave either, he prefers if youd stay because youre the only thing keeping him from having the realization that he will be alone once you leave, he will have no one to talk to or see or be with

hes spiraling, his impulsiveness and intrusive thoughts get the best of him and he decides you arent leaving, you cant and you wont

he doesnt mind having to do a bit of killing if it means you'll stay, he needed to get rid of the people taking away your attention from him. you should only be focusing on him, spending time with him, all about him

he is desperate for attention, he needs you to acknowledge him, will create disturbances just so youll look around and think of him

he eventually kidnaps you, treating you in the most delicate nature as to not harm you ( hes already slipped sleeping pills into your drink before bed, the easiest method so that you'll be compliant )

he wont understand if youre mad at him, and will genuinely be hurt by anything you say or do. why wouldnt you enjoy being with billy? billy loves you, thats all that matters

his warped perception of love & infatuation causes him to be awkward and have a harder time in a relationship (especially now)

loves to have express his love for you in all ways, he wants to stroke/hold your hair and give you gifts and play board games with you because he loves you so much that it physically hurts to not be with you

if youre thinking about it, theres little chance for escape, hes always with you, whether hes lurking or just hanging out, he likes to see you

will steal someones camera to take photos of you two together, its perfect since he can always remember you and your face

loves to take you around and show you all the secrets he knows of the fraternities/sororities, as well as the campus himself, hes your certified tour guide

will jump on you if hes scared, like full on hide behind you while clawing at your shoulders, hes quite literally a little feral

if you want to, he will allow you to style his hair, he thinks you work wonders with whatever you do to it, even if it looks bad, because as long as his love did it, hes happy

Bo Sinclair

i want him.

you'll stumble upon him out of town, accidentally shouldering him, which will make you get his attention. at first he'll want to give you a charming "watch it.", but when he sees you, he physically stops in his tracks, he just stares at you for a long amount of time before you awkwardly laugh and walk away

he gets hooked faster, hes interested in the absolute beaut that just walked out of his life as fast as they came in. hes not used to social interaction so being bo, he tries to plot out an official meeting (after stalking you from a distance and trying to put on a charming stranger face)

he'll bribe lester to mess with your car so that he can bring you into ambrose, sealing your fate as soon as you've entered

hes talked to his brothers, instructing thst youre not to leave, and to not be *too* hurt in the process, he understands if you have to be roughed up a bit, just so that you'll listen to him next time

when you come in to meet him, he'll act so shocked to see you, chuckling and saying what a coincidence it is, and how fate brought you two together

the entire time hes taking in your figure and your body language, trying to control himself from drugging you right then and there, to have you all to himself

he uses his social skills to talk you into staying a night, claiming that your car has been meanin for a checkup, and the damage is bad.. but he wont charge you the full price, since youve been so kind. He'll offer you a room snd a nice homemade breakfast, saying that hell work on it so you can be out of here in no time, all of these promises just for you, because he wants to take you home

hes extremely possessive, he believes that youre property, and youre owed to him. which is the exact reason he thinks its ok to toss you around if it means youll behave better (he'll comfort you after, stroking your head.... while saying 'thisll be easier if you just listen to me darlin')

he likes to take the shorter, yet harsher route, so that stockholm syndrome sets in quicker. he just wants to live his best life with a docile partner.

his delusions cannot take you arguing or insulting him, it will cause him to have outbursts of anger, because this is your new life with him. it is real, he is the one for you, so why cant you see it? hes been so nice, so caring, and yet youre unappreciative.

dont worry, a few more hours of isolation will have you thinking better than before. he uses this to emphasize his care and touch, because thats all you need to know now, how his fingers feel when they cup your cheek and delicately hold you

he would love to have a quiet morning with you, him working on something in the shop and you accompanying him, talking while sharing a cup of coffee

he wants to have a life like his fathers, living up to what he did, and to be better. in short, if he feels like hes not achieving that, he will also lose it. he has a short temper, and while youre one of the only people who can ease him out of it, he cant always control himself

he has such a strong emotional attachment that he feels like he needs you to live. not like billy, where he was not as emotionally intelligent and was just clingy, but bo feels that without you he is incomplete, and to live his life he needs you in it, or else he isnt really living

he loves to see you smile and be happy, it warms his heart to know that you enjoy his company

bo can be a genuinely compassionate man, who will take you for rides or out somewhere to eat, be a romantic and loving husband, and thats what he wants to be, but he truly thinks it all relies on your behavior and how loving/into the relationship you are, because either way youre not heading home

quick note before we end this he will gaslight you, bro is the gaslighting king, he will convince you that ambrose is the place for you, and that your old friends and family cant do what he can

he'll try his hardest to impress you (shows you his muscles) and make you love him, he just wants to show off all his great qualities since you're so amazing in his eyes

Harry Warden

you stumbled into him while your friends and you were drinking in the mines, partying on valentines day night. Harry could feel his anger rise because he never got a day off, always having to be disturbed or intruded on, never having anyone to give him any pity when he deserves it all

his pickaxe dragged behind him, and as he approached your group, he eyed everyone in it. seeing as you were the closest, he'd begin the chase with you. Raising his pickaxe snd bringing it down right next to you, your head swiveled to his direction, and the look of fear on your face stunned him

truth be told he hadn't had a human interaction longer than 5 seconds without him killing them, he felt that you were somehow different. The way you were paralyzed with fear as you begged for your life made him feel something close to love that he hadn't felt for a lifetime

it wasn't like his previous killings, the rush he got when he towered over you, tilting his head down to get a better look at his newest interest

maybe you could be his reparations for valentines day all those years ago, finally getting a proper gift for being left to die

he'll let you go.. for now, until he can make a proper place for the two of you and make sure you'll be comfortable and safe. hes concerned about you having a good living and a nice place for the both of you to share the rest of your lives

really wants you to come with him willingly, dowsnt want to scare you or anything like that, so he'll drop off gifts, or disguise himself and go into town to stalk you find out what you like, and charm you better

hes typically a semi-romantic man, wanting to convince you to be with him, then cut off all contact with the outside world so that you can be in the perfect relationship hes imagined, but if push comes to shove he will drag you to youre new haven with him, literally

will see who you hangout with, who your family is, maybe he'll even research your name in any ancestry books/records, because he would just be a bad boyfriend if he knew nothing about you right?

may or may not replicate your room in the mines... just so that the transition is easier <3

eventually, you'll find out hes the one thats been making you feel like youre being watched, and was the one giving you all those gifts

so when he gets down and proposes the idea of dating, and you (presumably..) say what the fuck? he knows what he has to do, quality time in the mines!!! (forever)

once he brings you to his humble abode, he'll explain everything, he has to let you know how much he loved and needs you for his own well being, and how in time youll feel the same because youll see how great of a partner he is!

he knows these mines like the back of his hands, and would be overjoyed if you even took interest in him or asked to be toured, because in his head hes shocked about the quality time you're initiating

will let you hold his pickaxe, maybe show off how strong he is & talk about his suit

he talks and talks, finally after being left alone for years without any sorry's or nothing from the town, you come in and show him what life is all about, so of course he wants to listen and talk to you, youre the most entertaining person in the world

not only can bro not cook, but he genuinely cannot cook, he doesnt have anything to make anything with, so he uses this as an excuse to steal your favorite food and drinks to cater towards your feelings

wants to hold you and see how delicate you are, he admires you like a god(dess)

he doesnt like to be violent, he tries to avoid it, he may accidentally leave bruises from holding you too tight, but he thoroughly apologizes and tries to make it up. he doesn't wanna screw up the one 'relationship' hes ever cared about/recently had

Vincent Sinclair

you were definitely a victim brought in by lester who caught vincents eye, something about you stood out from the rest of his victims. maybe it was because of your respectful nature and not intruding on ambrose, maybe you admired the detailed wax work and complimented it, or maybe it was with your looks or social skills. either way, vincent wants to know all about you

he immediately tells his brothers that youre off limits, and states that he wants to see you better. while bo and lester dont really care, they say that they'll assist him in making sure you cant leave (as they always would)

he likes to draw/sculpt what you look like and leave it around for you to find, he thinks your beauty is on another level snd that you are a piece of art

he may be seen lurking from a distance, scared to show his face since hes nervous of rejection from someone as perfect as you are. he'll make it known that hes there, and one of his brother may tell you about him, but other than that (unless you ask) you wont see much (.... until he takes you)

leaves you gifts alot. flowers, sculptures, even some jewelry from other victims that youd like, he wants to flatter you and put out the image that hes a genuine guy, and that he pays attention to you

he pays attention to your style and what you like, adding it to his room to make it feel more like youre with him

if you have friends with you, hes most likely been plotting their deaths since the start, theyre skeptical about ambrose and are beginning to panic

he thinks they're a bad influence and could possibly get the cops called, so he tag teams with bo to take care of the problems

by this time youve most likely figured out whats been happening, so he takes his chances in knocking you out (and tenderly caring for you afterwards), and then carrying you back to his room, making sure youre nice and comfortable

he does care about you, and even now is a semi-gentle giant to you. he doesnt want to spook you more than whats already happened, he just wants you to be adjusted and not afraid

to some extent he wants to live a free-er life with you, going outside and acting 'normal', but his fear of ridicule because of his scars snd his pre-built of walls from years of bullying cause him to even be reclusive with you, the person hes infatuated with

he likes quality time, sitting with you or having you watch him as he sculpts, he likes when youre interested in his work so he can show you the process and maybe do it together

he'll sometimes slip into a mode where his feelings are amplified, and if you decide to insult him or work him up, he'll go mute and angrily pace around. sometimes grabbing your face and forcing you to look him in the eyes so he can convince himself you dont mean it

shares his clothes with you quite a lot, he thinks the value and meaning with you in his clothes is special

he'll sit with you all day, trying to make it so that you like his company more and more

this took so damn long im sorry vincents section is so small but i needed to get this out😭 i swear i love him but dawg

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untitled-writer-013 · 1 year

Note

hey ~ I Love your writing so much! Could I make a request where the slashers witnessing their shy s/o losing their temper because someone hurt or insulted them (the slashers) please?

Slashers x Fem!Shy!Reader, Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Shy!Reader x Will Graham, Henry Creel x Fem!Shy!Reader loses temper HCs

warning(s): slight hurt/comfort, mentions of murder, reader being angry

Thomas Hewitt:

Thomas had always seen (Y/n) as his sweet, shy darling. She had never lost her temper since they met. If she ever did get upset, she would excuse herself and let herself calm down before resolving the problem. That being said, when he heard his darling yelling at someone, he was ready to kill someone on the spot. He was worried that someone was hurting her, so when he ran outside and saw his darling telling off one of the victims, he was more than surprised. He watched in silence as she lectured them for insulting Thomas, letting out a frustrated breath once she was done.

Nevertheless, Thomas was very impressed with his darling but would make sure she was alright. He knew that they must have said something really bad to make her so upset, so he’d reassure her that he was alright before offering to make her favorite for dinner. This would help her calm down, and Thomas would have the bonus of spoiling his darling.

Billy Lenz:

On one of the rare occasions that (Y/n) convinced Billy to go out on a date with her, a few people made fun of Billy for how he behaved and his frequent fidgeting. (Y/n) did her best to ignore them, usually steering Billy’s attention to taking pictures with his camera, which quickly distracted him from the disgusted glares and snickers from behind the couple. (Y/n) asked Billy to keep taking pictures while she took care of something, watching him leave before she turned to the nasty group of teens.

By the time Billy became bored and came back in, he watched as the teens cried while (Y/n) demanded to be left alone. They all either apologized or let out the last of their insults before leaving. Billy accidentally took a photo as everything played out, making (Y/n) turn to Billy in slight surprise. She let herself take a few deep breaths before going over to Billy, a small smile on her face as she reassured him that everything was alright before they went back to eating, Billy making sure to tell (Y/n) that he was just fine.

Brahms Heelshire:

Brahms had always adored how shy his darling could be at times. She was always so loving and patient with him, which was perfect since that was exactly what he needed. One day, the grocery boy came by to deliver the groceries that (Y/n) had asked for. As they were talking, Malcolm had made a degrading comment about Brahms, making her quickly slap him before she quickly asked him to get out. He sputtered and tried to apologize, but she was having none of it, telling him that she was fed up with how demeaning he was every time he visited.

She was about to go on another lecture when Brahms entered the room, making both Malcolm and (Y/n) go quiet as he stepped in front of (Y/n), staring down Malcolm with a deadly look in his eyes. Malcolm soon took the hint, letting out a pathetic apology before he left. Brahms turned his attention to his darling, making sure she was alright before he asked her to make him something to eat, earning a small nod from (Y/n) as she let herself focus on Brahms.

Bo Sinclair:

Bo always took pleasure in teasing his darling. She was shy and polite, which only made teasing her all the more enjoyable for him. One day, when they had a group of victims passing through Ambrose, (Y/n) began to lose her patience. She remained polite for the most part, but Bo could tell that she was talking through gritted teeth. As the day went on, it seemed that (Y/n)’s patience wore thinner and thinner, not even capable of faking a smile as she told them not to mess with the wax figures yet again. Bo was more than confident that (Y/n) could handle herself, but just in case he stood nearby so she could get him if needed. However, she soon proved herself when one of the teens commented on Bo’s scars.

She immediately turned around, slapping him as hard as she could before she firmly told him to never talk about his scars ever again, otherwise she would do more than just slap him. This earned a smirk from Bo, a mix of pride and anger in his face as he looked over at the teen, knowing he would enjoy murdering him later.

Vincent Sinclair:

Vincent had fallen head over heels for his darling. He was just as shy as she was, so they were practically perfect for each other. Vincent would always take time out of his day to check up on his darling. Whether it was to bring (Y/n) something to eat, or to simply spend some time with her, he always looked forward to his short visits with her throughout the day. During one of these short visits, he noticed that she was arguing with Bo. He quickly made his way order, ready to apologize to his brother when (Y/n) lost it, yelling that not everything revolved around his brother, while his brother seemed slightly taken aback.

He quickly took (Y/n)’s hand, stopping her from escalating the argument before he took her to the basement. He helped her calm down, tracing her hands with his own as he reassured her that everything would be alright, promising to be there when things became too much for her.

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis:

Stu and Billy had never seen their shy darling blow up at someone ever since they started dating. They never thought they’d see (Y/n) yell at someone, but they watched as she chastised Randy for making jokes about the Woodsboro murders. She told him that they weren’t in one of his stereotypical horror movies, to which Randy shook his head as he tried to argue with her. It wasn’t until he made a joke about Sidney’s mother that she slapped him, causing him to flinch when she yelled at him to get lost.

Stu and Billy had to hide their knowing looks, going over to their darling to make sure that she was alright before they offered to take her out, wanting to get something to eat before taking her out to the arcade. This seemed to satisfy her, making her smile as the three of them left to have a night out.

Jason Vorhees:

Jason had always adored his darling for her personality, she was always so caring and loving when it came to him. However, that never meant that she wouldn’t stand up for Jason when she needed to. Jason and (Y/n) had kept Camp Crystal Lake open, and usually worked on keeping the camp grounds clean. (Y/n) had been helping Jason with cleaning up the lake when a few of the kids staying there began to make fun of Jason. (Y/n) did her best to help Jason ignore them, but one kid joked about Jason’s looks, and that’s when (Y/n)’s patience ran out. She turned to them, beginning to yell at them for demeaning Jason while Jason watched in slight surprise.

He tried to get her to calm down, reassuring her that he was alright, but she refused to let them go unpunished for what they had said. After she felt like they had learned their lesson, she let herself calm down before turning back to Jason, a gentle smile on her face before she asked him what he wanted for lunch, making him swoon for her all over again. She had taken the time to defend him and in the same breath make sure that he was taken care of. He made sure to show his appreciation for her, making her a flower crown with some of her favorite flowers so she knew that he would be there for her too.

Michael Myers:

Michael had never been good when it came to people. He killed people that he wanted to kill, which was usually everyone. All except his darling (Y/n), she was the one exception. She had intrigued him when he had made an attempt on her life, only for her to offer him something to eat. Since then, Michael had been staying with his darling, leaving every now and then to let out some of his frustration. While coming back from one of these outings, Michael overheard (Y/n) yelling at something, and he couldn’t help but become curious. He walked into the home, gripping his knife in hand as he approached the room she was in before he noticed his darling.

She was yelling at one of her friends, clearly fed up with their comments on their relationship as she scolded them. Michael never understood why she was still friends with this person, but he found it entertaining that (Y/n) wanted to stand up to them. He waited for them to finish up, watching her friend leave as he placed his knife down, making sure he was mostly clean of blood before he pressed a kiss to her cheek, gently massaging her shoulders as he offered to fix her something to eat.

Hannibal Lecter & Will Graham:

The two men had known their darling for quite a while, and in all of the time they knew her, she had never had a major blow up. They assumed that she was just more quiet natured, and for the most part that was correct. She never raised her voice out of anger, and while she could stand her ground, she never really liked confrontation. But Hannibal and Will absolutely loved (Y/n), and as long as she wasn’t letting anyone use her for her kindness, they trusted that she could take care of herself. Hannibal and Will were picking up their darling from work when they overheard her yelling at someone. They exchanged a look between each other before walking over to see what had happened, watching as their darling told off one of their coworkers. Hannibal watched with slight amusement as (Y/n) continued to lecture the man, while Will watched with concern, hoping everything would turn out alright as she finished the conversation, heading over to the men when she was done.

“Is everything alright, cara mia?” Hannibal asked, making sure his darling was alright before she nodded, asking to be taken home since she was tired. They happily did so, just glad to have her home.

Henry Creel:

Henry had always loved his shy little darling. She was sweet and more precious to him than anything else in the world. One day, he had come back shopping when he overheard (Y/n) yelling at someone. He quickly made his way inside, prepared to confront whoever it was that had the audacity to enter his home and make (Y/n) upset, but he quickly paused when he noticed that she was on the phone, currently yelling at someone over the phone. She was talking to one of her friends, fussing at them for insulting her relationship.

Henry let her wrap up the conversation, finally joining her once she had hung up. (Y/n) was surprised to see Henry there, apologizing for her outburst only for him to shake his head, smirking lightly as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He was glad to know that she was proud to be in a relationship with him, planning on rewarding her for remaining loyal to him later.

~fin~ author's note: these boys love their shy little darling, but they love the flare that she has when she gets angry! <33

3K notes · View notes

shalotttower · 4 months

Text

Sweetcheeks

Title: Sweetcheeks

Fandom: Black Christmas (1974)

Summary: You've been getting these odd calls for several months now.

Word count: 2000+

Characters: Billy Lenz x Reader (female)

Notes: Yandere!Billy (I'm not sure if there's a point to specify it, seems like his normal state), stalking, voyeurism, explicit and degrading vocabulary, some regular Billy perversions, NSFW, noncon touching, implied noncon by the end.

You've been getting these calls from a stranger for several months, ever since you moved into the sorority house. When the phone rings, what you might hear is easy to predict: creepy panting accompanied by lewd remarks. There's a breathy, slightly raspy voice on the other end; Hello, sweetcheeks, whatcha got down them pants?

He calls you that, "sweetcheeks". Says your name as if it were the loveliest word ever. "Naughty girl," he croons, "let me lick your hot cunt". Nasty bitch. Angel. He has an extensive collection of nicknames, and keeps expanding it with every passing day. Some of them are quite creative, others made your skin crawl at first, but eventually you got used to his bizarre expressions.

He never gets tired of these calls.

The sorority girls named him the Moaner, because he does it quite a lot - moans. Moans and says obscene things, which make your face flush in a hot wave of pink.

"Did you think of me?" he asks.

Do you ever think of me?

"I could-" he groans those filthy words, and you want to wash your ears with soap, "fuck your brains out. Dirty whore. Your... mmm."

You slam the receiver down. It always happens when least expected. In the middle of a conversation with other girls, during study hours, when you're cooking or getting ready for bed, he calls. There's no pattern, so it's impossible to anticipate; normally you just answer the phone when there's no one else around or let others tell him to fuck off.

Today is almost the same as usual, with the only exception that you don't pick up.

What follows can't be described: the unbearable, insane trilling of the phone ringing without a pause. You don't want to go downstairs, there're finals, tests and assignments weighing heavily on you and no time to indulge the ever-breathing presence behind the line. So you don't. Luckily, a set of ear plugs from the local pharmacy helps a lot.

***

You don't bother answering for the whole week, yet despite your neglect he still calls as if desperate for something you can't place.

***

If only Billy could tell you how sweet you look when getting ready for bed. Through the attic floor cracks he sees every small detail of your routine, the room which is nice and smells of a woman - clean, soft with the hints of perfume, it makes him want to bury his face in your sheets.

If only Billy could tell you how exhilarating everything about you is. From the way you move through the day to the sound of your bare feet padding on the wooden floors in the evening. His favourite part is when you shake off your jeans; it's a clumsy movement which makes your ass wiggle.

Billy has a small box where he stores the pieces of your life. There's a receipt from the bakery, two pencils, a silver chain that broke off from your neck and he grabbed it like a treasure, a lip balm. You are all his, every bit of you in those little things you leave behind, even if you don't know it yet.

He knows so many things by now. What time you usually go to shower (late at night when all other girls are asleep), what you are going to wear in the morning (he saw you ironing a blue fluffy sweater and a checked skirt). He knows what's in each of your drawers, from cosmetics to panties, soft cotton that smells like laundry detergent.

The box is hidden carefully in the dusty corner of the attic. Sometimes he opens it, caressing the items you left so carelessly on the desk or bathroom counter - they burn his fingers.

You have a mole under your left breast, a beauty mark on your inner thigh. He also knows that you haven't been answering his calls for a week.

Engrossed in your books with sticky notes, you don't even pay attention to the ringing when he's trying so hard. Too bad Billy can't read, letters dance before his eyes, mocking him with their squiggly shapes; maybe he'd know what exactly is keeping you so occupied if he could. He heard some girls talking about upcoming finals but didn't understand what that meant.

Billy knows how to handle a girl who doesn't answer the phone, a naughty, mean girl who ignores him and gets under his skin like the itch he can't scratch, irritating, driving him crazy.

Patience is a virtue - that's what they told him in the looney house, but it must've been a lie. Patience won't bring you closer, he thinks, sitting cross-legged on the attic floor with a phone clutched in his palm. Patience won't help him touch you, lick your soft skin and hear you moan for him. In the cramped space smelling of old wood, dust and cobwebs, patience only leads to days crawling by like sluggish worms.

He knows how to handle the girl who doesn't answer his calls, but you do look tired, the shadows under your eyes are too heavy and prominent. Billy watches you rub your temples for the fourth time in an hour, yawning. He's seen this gesture before, saw you massaging the back of your head after reading for too long.

He likes watching you when you think no one's looking, because then you're most honest. Just you.

Maybe Billy will let you rest. Yes, maybe...But his hands itch so much. Itchy-itchy-itchy when he holds the phone. He wants to dial your number again, listen to your breathing and tell you something that will make your voice waver in confusion, just like that time when he asked what sounds you make when touching yourself.

He strokes the cord and imagines when you'll finally start picking up again. You'll say your name and ask, "Who's this?" and Billy will laugh, because you're silly, so silly and should've known it's him all along.

***

When did it begin to snow?

You remember the sun peeking from behind the clouds a few days ago and now there's nothing but whiteness outside. White paths, white street lights and white flakes melting on the glass windows. The kitchen feels quiet today, walls drip with the evening chill which crawls inside your veins; it's a week before Christmas and the radio is playing jolly songs about sleigh bells and presents.

Something's been off lately.

Another pair of your favorite socks is gone; you bought five, but three vanished without a trace. Maybe you lost them, maybe they got mixed up with others' laundry. Yet you distinctly remember washing the two and putting them away in the drawer. Usually you're not that forgetful, but perhaps it's finals stress shows.

You glance at the clock - past six - the sorority house is mostly empty, everyone's either in the library or went home for Christmas. The last few hours passed in decorating the living room area with tinsel and ornaments, you even put a wreath on the door. A festive mood is slowly seeping in, and all that's missing is a tree. You know that one should be in the attic, Allison told you there's a lot of stuff up there. The house is old, and whoever owned it in the past had a lot of things, from clothes and books to trinkets, all stored away in cardboard boxes and plastic containers.

Sturdy and narrow, the attic ladder is hanging down to the hallway, beckoning with its crooked wooden rungs. Allison mentioned some odd noises coming from there sometimes. Probably rodents. "Go take a look, girl," she laughed and made spooky sounds, wiggling her fingers. "But don't tell me if you find something nasty, I don't wanna know about it."

Your eyes wander over the ceiling and stop at a small trapdoor. There are rusty hooks holding it closed, and you wonder if it's safe to go up alone. It's probably dirty, a real mess, but the living room looks empty and unfinished without a Christmas tree.

Just a quick look. As long as there aren't spiders swarming the corners it'll be alright.

Everything's dark up there, nothing moves and the sound of your quiet breath is the only thing breaking the silence. You pull a flashlight out of your pocket. Flick. Nothing. Stacks of boxes crowd the space, pressing together, on the side of a particularly large container is scribbled: BOX 23. You look through the labels - toys, photographs, china, books - dozens and dozens of them, some haven't been opened for years.

Dirty. Stuffy-dusty, Billy's saliva gets sticky, leaving wet stains on his sleeves as he wipes his mouth. He can see you from where he's hiding. It's hard to breathe. Harder when you bend over to open a box with Christmas decorations; you've got nice thighs. Nice legs. It's so good to have you here, sweetcheeks, you won't leave soon, pretty kitty. Dumb bitch. Sweet angel. You really should've stayed downstairs, in the warmth and light of the fireplace, instead of crawling up here into the darkness.

Into him.

You go through the attic space looking for something, and Billy thinks that your soft slippers will be covered in dust after you're done poking around, all filthy, so messy. But it doesn't matter, Billy will clean you up later with his tongue, and you can sit on his blanket while he licks your hot cunt till you scream.

Billy knows exactly what kind of sounds you'll make.

He's heard them countless times already.

A sudden clank makes you jump. Your heart flutters, but there's nothing except for shadows dancing on the walls under the ray of your flashlight. Maybe a rat? Oh, there it is. A green plastic branch of a fake Christmas tree is sticking out from the nearest pile, just what you were looking for. You tug at it, trying to free it from the clutches of old furniture and junk, but the thing is stuck tight.

Billy wants to grab you. Wrap his arms around your waist, press his face to yours and whisper in your ear that you shouldn't worry about the Christmas tree anymore, because now you're going to stay forever and ever with him. He'll let you stroke his cheek and kiss him softly on the lips before carrying you down the ladder to celebrate together. Billy will take care of it, he's always liked Christmas; there was a time when everything was different, a man dressed up as Santa brought gifts, he even remembers what he got - a shiny red truck and a candy cane.

The flashlight slips from your grasp and rolls over the dusty floorboards. You curse, crouch down and reach for it though the hole between the boxes.

The trapdoor shuts close with a loud thud.

Your hand freezes.

There's a breath. Not yours, it tickles your fingertips and the skin of your palm like a feather; it shouldn't be there - you scramble away from the darkness. Or try to. Something warm catches your wrist in a vice grip, pulls and next you're tumbling forward, right through the hole with Christmas ornaments spilling everywhere.

"Nasty piggy," says someone's raspy voice, "why don'tcha pick up my calls anymore?"

In the dim yellow of your flashlight too far out of reach, you can barely see anything, only glimpses of dirty auburn hair, brown eyes and a green stretched jumper.

It's not a rat in the attic, you think. It's not a rat, he smells like a wet dog and has hot lips which press into your throat. His hands shake as they travel up your sides, touch your breasts through the sweater, squeeze, and then he moans.

You've been getting these calls for several months now, from a stranger who pants on the other end of the line and makes obscene remarks. And you know him by voice, the one who likes talking filth and making you blush every damn day.

"Santa brought presents," he whispers in your ear. A hand slides down between your legs and cups your mound through the fabric. "Merry Christmas, sweetcheeks."

#black christmas (1974)#billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #shalott fanfiction #fanfic #slashers #slasher fanfiction #yandere #I'm late and I don't care #it's Christmas

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