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

Drunk & Nasty - Ghostface

You walked into the garage, walking over to the mini-fridge to grab a drink. You'd already had a few too many drinks, but you know what they say.

The sky is the limit.

And you're still at ground level.

Bending over, you stick your hand in the mini-fridge, grabbing a glass bottle of Jack Daniel's. "Ooh, this'll do nicely." You mumbled to yourself.

Hearing a door clicking close, you stand up, seeing him. The guy that's been going around town killing all your peers and classmates.

But alas, you were  quiet childish, not to mention drunk, and couldn't take shit seriously, even if her life depended on it.

"Oh, no! Could it be true?! The infamous Ghostface?!" You chuckled, your laugh distorting from all the liquor you consumed. He tilted his head in confusion.

"Oh, I get it now. I'm rebellious dumb teen that drinks, so you've gotta kill me next, right?" You cackled to yourself.

"You think you're all big and scary with your firm, thick muscles, him?" She squeezed his bicep playfully. Ghostface looked down intently at his arm as you squished it, not even blinking as you touched him.

He snatched his arm back aggressively, implying that he was not here to flirt.

You frowned at him,  sitting the whiskey down.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this not what you wanted? You wanna play psycho killer? Want me to run around all helpless and vulnerable, hm?" You raise an eyebrow, visibly intoxicated.

He stood still, tilting his head once more. He had never dealt with someone like you. He was used to people running away in fear. He was used to screaming in terror, To begging for mercy, or fighting for their lives. But this was different. You were different, more than likely a result of you being inebriated.

You picked the bottle back up,  sipping from it as he stood there. You and your nonchalant behavior was somewhat irritating to the anonymous killer. You frowned as he pushed you back with a hand, making her spill the whiskey on your clothes. "Now look what you did." You complained, taking off your cardigan, leaving nothing on your upper torso but the white wife beater and your bra.

"I just washed this." You seemed genuinely upset, baffling Ghostface.

He'd killed almost half your class, and yet, a stain on your cardigan is what hurts you.

You tried to storm past him,  but he snatched you by your arm, pushing you against the wall and holding your throat, causing you to let out an "ow!" Of sudden pain.

"Jokes on you, I'm into this." You managed to joke in your dire situation. Ghostface stood there, hand still around your neck, beyond flabbergasted by your response to his actions.

There was no fear or revulsion. No anger or panic. Nothing remotely bothered. The simple fact that this turned you on made him believe you were genuinely mental.

"You're sick." He says with firm aggression, but the voice was satisfying, for a lack of better words, putting a slight smile on your face. "I should strangle you." He says in the same tone.

"But you'd like that, don't you?.."