Chapter Text
Michael Myers 🏠🎃
The living room is silent except for the audio of Scream playing on the TV. You're lounging on the couch, mindlessly watching -until Michael, standing by the wall like a shadow, suddenly pauses the screen.
You blink. "Uh… what?"
Michael remains completely still as he observes the paused frame. A frame of you mid-sprint in the background of the classic horror movie, being chased by Ghostface. Anyone else would argue about whether that's really you, but Michael already knows. He's seen you move like this before. Maybe he's even chased you this way.
Without a word, he switches discs. He presses forward on the console.
And there you are -blurry in the background of a trick-or-treating scene in some other horror media, dressed as a generic babysitter, chatting with another actress. It's barely a second of screen time.
Michael turns his masked face toward you, his posture unreadable.
You shrug. "I needed money. It was just background gigs."
He keeps staring.
Stalker mode: activated.
Jason Voorhees ⛺🪓
You're leaning against his shoulder, a throw blanket draped over both of you.
Jason tilts his head, then turns to you, then back at the screen, then to you again.
If he could speak, he'd be asking "When was this?"
If he cared about emotions, he'd be offended.
You've been in so many slasher movies and never once did you mention it... Are you okay? Have you been running from psychos your whole life? He's almost worried about you.
Expect some extra protective hovering and a machete presented as a gift of comfort.
Freddy Krueger 🔥🌙
"Oh-ho-ho! Look at you, Hollywood! Running for your life again! What's your IMBD looking like, sweetheart? Professional Screamer?"
Freddy cackles, pausing and rewinding just to enjoy your panicked face.
"Damn, you're good. Ever considered coming to MY movies?" He waggles his claws at you. "Bet I could give you some real nightmare material." He's joking. Mostly. But you might want to lock your bedroom door tonight.
Just in case.
Ghostface (in general) 📞🔪
The moment your familiar figure flashes across the screen, Ghostface pauses the movie so fast the remote nearly cracks in his grip.
"Well, well, well… what do we have here?" His voice drips with amusement, though there's a sharp edge of something else... Interest? Possessiveness? A touch of jealousy? Hard to say.
He leans forward, taking in every detail. "You didn't tell me you were in Scream, getting killed by other Ghostfaces -or Halloween, or Friday the 13th, or literally every horror movie ever made.... Even in Child's Play?!"
He clicks his tongue, pretending to be offended. "And here I thought we had something special."
His gloved fingers tap against your thigh as he considers. "So, do you always run from killers, or are you just playing hard to get?"
A chuckle follows, dark and playful. "You know, I could give you a much more… hands-on experience than any of these amateurs."
He lets the movie roll again, but now he's watching you, not the film. "Final girl, background character, victim... Doesn't matter. You'll always be my favorite scream queen."
Leatherface 🪚🌾
Leatherface watches in silence. A chainsaw in his lap, forgotten.
He doesn't understand movies too well, but he does understand that's you being chased by someone who isn't him.
Excuse me?
You let someone else do the chasing? And you never told him?
Next thing you know, he's pacing, huffing under his breath. Expect extra possessiveness and a LOT of lingering looks.
Also, if that actor playing Ghostface suddenly goes missing… you know nothing.
The Grabber (Albert Shaw) 🎩🎭
The room is dimly lit, the glow of the TV flickering against the walls as A Nightmare on Elm Street plays. He turns to you, eyes glinting behind the sockets of his signature mask. A low chuckle rumbles from his throat. "Look at that."
His voice is smooth, almost teasing. "You're so good at being scared."
He fixates on the screen, watching the way your body moves, the way you fight to survive. Something about it simply delights him.
"You know, you'd look even better in my basement" he muses, his tone almost affectionate. "No cameras. No audience. Just you and me."
His gloved fingers tap against the armrest. "I wonder if you'd last as long as they let you in the movies…"
Then, suddenly, he laughs -light, breathy, as if the thought genuinely amuses him. "Maybe, you'd last even longer... If I want you to."
Pennywise (1990) 🎈🍿
Bob Gray is having the time of his life watching you in all these horror movies. He's laughing, cackling, absolutely thriving.
"Y'know, I could've given you real horrors to perform, kiddo!" His grin stretches wide. "And that running? Pfft! Amateur work! You should see how kids run from me!"
"Oh-ho! There you are again, kiddo! Look at you run! And run! And run some more! Boy, you really know how to make a monster work for it!"
But then, he sees him. His replacement. His knock-off.
The smile fades. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, squinting at the screen like a father seeing his daughter bring home the wrong guy.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Look at this guy. Thinks he's scary." He flicks a dismissive palm at the screen. "Ooooh, I'm tall! Ooooh, I drool all over myself! Ooooh, I wear frilly clown pants like I just crawled out of a Victorian nightmare!"
He turns to you, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You fought this guy?"
A wheezing laugh escapes him. "Honey, you downgraded! Big time!"
"He tastes fear? Kiddo, I invented that shit. He's just doing a cheap impression of yours truly. And let's not even talk about that goofy-ass head-tilt he does."
He jerks his head side to side in an exaggerated impression. "What's the matter, buddy? Need a chiropractor?"
With a smirk, he throws an arm around you, pulling you close like some sleazy salesman. "Listen, sweetheart, if you really wanna be haunted by a clown, why not go with the original? Hmm?"
His sharp teeth flash you a smile. "I'm funnier. I'm nastier. And I won't just stand there like some awkward mime in oversized shoes."
Pennywise (2017) 🎪🩸
Pennywise watches, slowly tilting his head. Then tilting it more. And more.
"You run so well" he purrs, voice thick with amusement. "You know… I could chase you better."
He grins, showing sharp teeth. "Would you like to practice?"
Is he joking? Is he serious? It doesn't matter.
The moment he spots you in IT -in a grainy, VHS quality shot of Derry- his entire body stiffens. Then, his gloved fingers start twitching against his knees. His lips part in something between a sneer and a pout.
"You… you were in his movie?" His voice drops into a guttural growl. His yellow eyes flick between you and the screen, utterly insulted. "That knockoff? That circus reject?"
For a moment, he says nothing. Just stares.
Then, suddenly, he bursts into shrill, mocking laughter. "Ahaha! Oh, I get it! You were doing charity work!"
He claps his hands together, the sound unnerving.
"Helping the less fortunate! That's just so sweet of you!"
He stops laughing a little too abruptly. He looms closer now, voice dipping into something almost sultry, eyes gleaming in the flickering light.
"Tell me, little star…" His grin is wide, impossibly sharp.
"Did he taste you, too?" His head jerks to the side with a sickening crack. "Or were you saving yourself for someone better?"
Before you can answer, his arms snap around you, yanking you into his lap. His breath, hot and damp, ghosts over your throat.
"You're mine now" he coos, teeth just barely grazing your skin.
"My movie. My horror. My little leading lady." His grip tightens possessively.
William Afton (Book Version) 🐰🔦
Book Afton doesn't just watch the screen.
He studies it.
Cold, calculating eyes track every movement you make, every scream, every desperate attempt to escape. The slight twitch of his lips is the only sign of amusement -well, that and the way his fingers tighten around his armrest just a little too hard.
"All those killers" he murmurs, voice as smooth as velvet. "And yet, you always slip through their fingers. Fascinating."
His smile is thin, mirthless. "I wonder… is it luck that keeps you alive, dear girl?"
His fingers reach out, slow, deliberate, tracing a ghost of a touch on your wrist.
"Or instinct?"
His eyes glint dangerously. "I'd like to find out."
And then, he moves.
One second, he's across the couch. The next? You're caged against the armrest, his breath chilling your skin.
"You scream so pretty for them." His voice dips lower, like he's enjoying the chase. "Let's see how pretty you scream for me."
William Afton (Game Version) 👾📺
"We do love a good game of chase in this establishment." He smirks tiredly, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Perhaps you'd like a private audition?"
That's a yes whether you like it or not.
"Hah" he exhales, voice deep, rich and unmistakably British. "Now, that's just precious."
His pale eyes dilate as he watches you on his computer screen, just another background character in a slasher film. "You're terrified, aren't you?" His smirk grows. "And yet, you survived. Brave, little thing."
He clicks his tongue, straightening.
"You know…" he begins, casual, like talking about the weather. "Slashers today are so messy. Bloody, predictable, boring…"
His fingers flex, like he's imagining them wrapped around something. "But me? I was crafted for this. A mind sharper than any knife, a body that refuses to die…"
His smirk sharpens, dark amusement flickering in his irises. "And of course... I don't just chase, darling. I build my nightmares."
He watches your reaction, drinking it in. "Animatronics, trap rooms, hidden passageways… There's no running when the entire building is designed to keep you in."
A low chuckle escapes him. "Now… wouldn't that be fun?
"Oh? No, no, darling! I'm not going to hurt you... I thought you'd be impressed by... this. By my brilliance. Can we at least have a drink later?"
William Afton (Movie Version) 🍕🗃️
Afton watches in eerie silence.
"Hmm."
His expression is unreadable, but you can feel the gears turning in his head. "You have a habit of escaping things, don't you?"
A pause. Then, a half smirk.
"How interesting." He doesn't say more, but from that day on, you swear he watches you just a little too closely. Maybe you shouldn't have let him see that.
"Ohh, now we're talking!" William practically purrs, leaning back on the couch with an easy grin.
"Look at you! Little horror darling. Final girl energy, but still gets caught. Mmm, chef's kiss."
He actually makes the gesture, grinning at the screen like a director admiring his finest work.
Then, his expression shifts. Turns sharper. Hungrier
"But you know, sweetheart… these guys? Hack jobs." He gestures lazily at the killers on-screen.
"Me? I play for keeps."
His fingers trail down your arm, slow, teasing. "Never made you wonder if the monster really wanted to hurt you… or just wanted to keep you?"
He laughs, the sound warm, playful -dangerous.
bonus~
Slender Man 🌲🚫
The static hums through the speakers before the screen distorts. The lights flicker. Something in the air shifts... and you know before even turning your head -he's watching.
Slender Man stands in the shadows, unmoving, unreadable. He has no eyes, no expression, no face -and yet, the pressure of his gaze coils around you like an unseen force. A protecting one, to your relief.
You appear on the screen, a fleeting glimpse -a background figure, passing through some darkened corridor in a forgotten horror film. His head tilts, impossibly slow, almost… curious.
A long limb raises, fingers tapering into nothingness. He reaches -not toward the screen, but toward you.
The images on the television distort again. The signal is lost, replaced by static.
A silent message. A warning.
Or an invitation.
Then, the shadows stretch. The dark pools at the edges of the room, deepening, swallowing the corners. The walls feel further away than they should be.
A whisper brushes the nape of your neck, though no words are spoken.