You wish this was you, huh? ( slasher headcanons & oneshots )

survivor - yandere Ghostface angst?

[You can imagine anybody as Ghostface in this oneshot]

It's August of 2000.

Exactly four years since the Woodsboro massacre.

You are now at the ripe age of 21, and is the only survivor of the murders, bringing you quite the mental battle.

You lay tiredly in bed, only wearing a spaghetti strap croptop and some  boyshort panties. You stared up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. Something was on your mind. Someone was on your mind.

The events of 1996 lingered in your memory. The way all of your classmates were brutally murdered one by one, tortured endlessly by phone calls until they met their demise.

They way you watched the police roll their sheet covered bodies on a stretcher into the ambulance as their parents cried in pain and loss.

They way you watched her boyfriend get stabbed to death by a masked man, just barely escaping out of a window.

You could never forget. You could never forget the smell of of blood, the sight of bodies, the sound of a sharp blade being repeatedly jabbed through layers of skin and meat, before hitting vital organs. The screams and final cries before death. It made your fingers weak with every flashback.

And what haunted you the most, was the man. The six foot cloaked figure. Oh, he was burned into your memory.

His black leather gloves and the way they wrapped around his hands so tightly. His jet-black cloak and how dark it was. How the color made it so easy for him to blend into the dark night. The glossy black combat boots and how they sounded.

All you could think about was the faint memory of you hiding in a closet, and the sound of those damn boots clicking against the ground as he searched for you. The way you prayed he wouldn't find you as the footsteps got louder, closer, eager.

That mask. That white latex mask. They way it looked. The way it held a shrieking expression, as if the ghost was sad, or in despair. The way the mask had a ridiculously good jawline despite the dragged out expression.

And that voice. That raspy voice. It sounded so thirsty, as if his throat wasn't clear, like he was recovering from a cough. The deepness of it. It wasn't too deep like some sort of demon, but a somewhat cartoonist voice, as if it solely existed as the female sex appeal.

The sound of ringing snapped you out of your trance, causing you to look at the phone on the nightstand. An unknown number. Hell no.

You quickly declined, shaking the thought. The phone rang again, and you declined once more, blocking it. After a minute or so, the phone rang again, except it was from a different number. A hidden number.

"What the hell..." you uttered, your voice sounding tired since you hadn't said a word in hours.

You answered the phone, purely annoyed, and somewhat nervous.

"Surprise, [Name]." You shot up, feeling your heartbeat speed up,  almost giving the sensation of loud, intense, eerie music. No fucking way. It couldn't be. It can't be. It's not! So many thought rushed through your head. You prayed to whatever God there was that it was just a prank. Or a dream.

"Took your sorry ass long enough to answer." He spoke, gaining no response. You were too shocked. You couldn't say a damn word. What can you say in this situation? Who can you call? Ghostbusters? It's not like their fancy ectoplasmic machines can catch this guy.

"Wow, hun. It's been four years, and you don't have a word to say to me? I'm hurt.  I thought I'd at least get a warm welcome home." He pouted playfully.

"What do you want?!" She stood to her feet.

"Cmon, baby face. I want the same thing I wanted when we were in high school. I want you, Sugartits." You winced at the nicknames he gave you. He could never stick to just one.

"You're disgusting." Is what your fumbled brain managed to come up with.

"Disgusting? Doll, I'm dedicated. You oughtta be great full. That little schoolboy crush of yours wouldn't give you more than two minutes of his attention, and here I am, four years later, still chasing after your love. Don't you miss me? Don't you remember? The way I hugged you so tightly with affection?" You remembered clearly. It was NOT a hug of affection. He was holding you hostage, and had you trapped in his arms.

"You're delusional."

"I'm in love. Is that so wrong to want to feel your body pressed against mine again to hold you like the precious little baby you are? I could do so much to you that Eric isn't even capable of."

"BECAUSE YOU KILLED HIM!"

"Don't be so aggressive, Love. Eric was in the way. He was a lego in my path of walking. A simple obstacle in the way of our bond."

"HE WAS MY BOYFRIEND!"

"HE WAS A SLUT!" seconds of silence passed, and it grew more painful with each one.

"He was fucking around with every other girl in sight and you know it. Don't try and act like he was a gift from God. He was a MANWHORE and you were nothing more to him than a dog that could do tricks. And don't even get me started on those fake ass friends who pushed you around and bullied you to your face. You were a goddamn PUSHOVER! Your best friend SLEPT with Eric and you FORGAVE her! I did your sorry ass a favor and yet you still act as if I'm the monster. it hurts me, [Name]."

Your silence followed his rant, questioning your own guilt

He sounded genuinely hurt. It hadn't been the first time you two bickered, but he was always so cocky and nonchalant during this fights, whilst you were scared and angry. It didn't feel right.

"...don't you appreciate me?" He asked. No response.