Slashers As Fathers With A Child Reader.

Slashers as fathers with a child reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is less than ten years old (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART ONE.

Freddy Krueger

It felt like he had been a completely different person when he did it. Work had been stressing him out, parts of the house needed fixing, and he was a single parent. He wasn't getting enough rest. Eventually every little thing began to get to him.

Freddy hadn't been in his right mind when it happened. You loved making pictures for him, and one day you decided to nail some pictures on the wall by yourself. Not only had you nailed the pictures too low, but you had also accidentally made a large hole in the wall.

The incident had caused Freddy to explode. Not only did he yell at you for ruining the wall, but he ended up tearing one of your pictures in half. "I don't need this shit," He had shouted at you, "You think I feel like dealing with that? You ruined my wall, (y/n), and now I gotta fix it. I just- I can't... Ugh."

Freddy had avoided you for the remainder of the night- not because he was mad at you but because he was afraid he 'would' get mad at you again. It was a bad idea. He should have apologized for the way he acted. Because the next day when he woke up and went into his office, he noticed that every picture you had drawn him had been torn from the nails on the wall, shredded up and shoved in the trash.

Horror, heartache and regret immediately consumed his guilty conscience, and he rushed to find you. You were in your room playing with toys. It nearly destroyed him to see the way you flinched and scurried to hide behind a laundry basket.

"(y/n)," Freddy went to kneel in front of you, "Sweetie, what did you do? Why did you tear up daddy's pictures?"

"Because," You whimpered, keeping your teary face hidden, "You said you didn't need them. You... You tore it in half. I... I'm sorry, daddy. Hic... I-I-I'm sorry th-that I-I made a hole in the wall, an-and I'm sorry th-that you h-h-hate my pictures."

The amount of sadness, regret and complete and utter crushing guilt that fell upon Freddy was suffocating. Hearing your broken apology and seeing the way you were shaking caused him to be so disappointed with himself. He couldn't believe what he had done. Why did he do that? He would never do anything to cause you to feel this way, and he 'loved' your pictures.

And yet look what he caused. Not only did he hurt your feelings by being cruel, but he lost all of his near and dear pictures- even the ones you made when you were a toddler. They were all destroyed.

"I-I'll never color again," You swore in a loud whine.

"Oh no, sweetie, no," Freddy attempted to get closer to you, frowning heavily when you flinched at his touch, "Please don't do that. Listen- hey, look at me. I need you to look at me."

And when you did look at him, Freddy felt like punching himself in the face. You looked so scared, so sad and unbearably hurt. Oh gosh, what had he done? Why?

"Oh (y/n)..." Freddy sighed, shaking his head, "I'm so sorry. Yesterday I... I was just in such a bad mood an-and not because of you but because.... Look, (y/n), daddy didn't mean to act the way he did, and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that I yelled at you and I'm especially sorry that I did that to your picture. I regret it so much, you have no idea. Please... I'm sorry. I 'love' your pictures (y/n), please don't stop making them."

As Freddy eagerly waited for a brightened response from you, his heart sunk from his chest when you turned your back to him and quietly mumbled, "I wanna play with my toys please."

Excuses and more apologies sat on Freddy's tongue, but he denied saying them for he believed that you simply needed time to forgive him. "Ok sweetie," He got up to leave, "If you need anything, come get daddy, ok?"

"Ok, daddy."

While, over time, you did warm back up to your father, you never did say that you forgave him. And Freddy never got another picture. And he would never, ever stop regretting what he had done.

Michael Myers

Michael was overwhelmed by the frustration work caused. Due to lack of loyal employees, he was forced to work over-time and pull extra shifts. He was sore, tired and angry. It felt like he was the only person at work who ever did anything right.

And that anger built and built until it eventually brought out the worst in him and made him do something that he would regret for the rest of his life.

You loved (sport) and had been outside practicing with some of the neighbors. Michael had been inside attempting to relax when suddenly one of the living room windows shattered. He flinched and rushed to his feet, red clouding his vision when he saw a familiar ball on the floor.

On his way to the door, you ran inside breathless and gasping, "Ah! I'm sorry, daddy, it's my fault. I-I accidentally threw the ball too hard and-"

Michael, with his emotional bridge broken, raised his hand to cut you off. A seething scowl took place upon his face, and he began to lecture you out in sign language. "I don't wanna hear excuses. Why were you playing so close to the house? You should know better. Now look at what I have to fix. All I want is to relax and now I can't because of your stupid (sport). Why do you even play (sport)? You're not even good at it."

Even though his words were literally silent, the crushed look on your face explained that you knew exactly what he had said. Michael ignored your crestfallen face and quiet sobs and demanded that you help him clean up the glass before sending you to your room. Yes, your friends had watched the whole thing.

Michael's seething attitude didn't diminish until the next day after he got some good sleep. He soon realized that he felt bad for how he treated you yesterday and decided that he wanted to apologize. But when he went to your room, he was stricken to see all of your favorite sports gear sitting in a trashcan. (sport) merchandise and even pictures you drew were also in the trashcan.

Overcome with concern, Michael wandered to your bed where you were hiding underneath your blanket. When he tapped on you, you twitched but otherwise kept pretending to be asleep. So he tried again.

You caved and lowered the blanket. Michael didn't like the way you winced at him, your eyes squinted as if you were expecting the worst out of him. He quickly used sign language to ask, "What is going on? Why are you throwing all your (sport) stuff away?"

"I..." Your voice was hesitant and quiet as you gazed away, "I don't like (sport) anymore. I... I-I'm not good at it, an-and you h-hate me playing it, an-and I'm sorry that I broke the window... I'm sorry, daddy. I promise-huh... I-I-I'll never play (sport) again."

What? Michael's eyes nearly popped out, regret, guilt and fear clouding his soul. Oh no. What had he done? You didn't like (sport) anymore? And all because he had overreacted and told you that you weren't any good at it. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. It couldn't be like this. You couldn't stop doing what you loved all because he was stupid and having a bad day.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, Michael quickly explained with sign language, "But you are good at (sport). Don't quit. I was having a bad day, I didn't mean to say that stuff. You don't have to quit. I'm sorry that I said that. Don't quit playing (sport), you love it."

Your lips wobbled and you turned your head away, your voice a broken whisper, "Ca-an I sleep some more before school. Please?"

Your lack of an answer both irritated Michael and broke his heart. He became angry at himself and regretful about what he had done. He wanted to talk to you more about it, but decided not to. Hopefully you would think about his apology and take all of your (sport) stuff out of the trash.

But, unfortunately for Michael, you never did get back into (sport), and he never got to stop feeling guilty about it.

Bo Sinclair + Uncle Vincent and Lester

Bo could admit that, on the surface, he had a very fragile temper. Ever since he had you he had tried his hardest to hide all the ugly parts of himself, especially his anger. Any time he began to lose his temper, he usually stomped off somewhere by himself to maybe punch something and take a moment to breathe.

So far he had done a fairly decent job.

Up until today that was.

It had been a long week. It was summer. Tourists were pouring in at random needing fast work done to their vehicles. The gas station and church needed extra attention. It was hot outside. And, once again, Bo had a very fragile temper.

It happened when he was elbow deep in truck externals. Ever since you could walk you had always been his little helper. Already at your age your dream was to be an engineer, but you still had a lot to learn. And the fact that you had a lot to learn is what caused Bo to snap.

With the impatience of the person waiting on their vehicle to be fixed, Bo also became impatient. You had been trying to help him, bringing him tools he needed.

Whenever you brought him one too many of the wrong tools, he ended up throwing a wrench and his hat to the ground. "What is your fuckin' problem?" He shouted at you, "Are ya stupid? If ya can't bring me what I need then get the fuck outta here."

You had flinched, tears immediately filling your eyes as you carefully backed up. Bo continued to give you a serious, livid glare that scared you, his words ringing in your head and shattering your heart. He watched you run away, his chest pounding with guilt he ignored as he finished his work.

Bo didn't see you for the remainder of the day, but he did check in with Vincent to make sure that you were alright. As night fell, he became more calm and relaxed, and soon he felt absolutely horrible for how he treated you. He sat on his bench rubbing his forehead in distress for almost an hour wishing he could take it all back.

He had shown you one of his worst sides. And it had hurt you. Now what was he supposed to do? He called you 'stupid'.

Unfortunately for Bo, he didn't get a chance to apologize that night for Vincent soon brought him a note explaining that Lester had taken you home with him for the weekend. Gosh darn it. He really wanted to apologize.

But his apology had to wait for- not one week or two weeks- but a whole month. That's how badly you were trying to avoid him. It was more than enough time for Bo to sit and think about his mistakes.

When Lester finally brought you home, Bo was grateful that you didn't appear to be angry or sad. You rushed to him and gave him a big, welcoming hug that soothed his core, "Daddy!"

"Hey, critter bug," Bo chuckled, ruffling your hair, "Missed you. Guess what? Some ol' couple brought in a beat up station wagon. Needs fixin'. Wanna help?"

"No thank ya," You said casually, leaning away from him, "I don't wanna be a engineer anymore."

Bo's world stopped rotating. "What?" He gave you a stabbed look, "But ya love doin' that stuff?"

"Not anymore," Your voice turned into a lightly disappointed mumble.

Bo's mouth went completely dry. He didn't know what to do or say. All of this time apart he thought that you would have gotten over his temper tantrum, but apparently you 'really' got over it. He had been the boulder that crushed your dreams. And it...

It almost made him wanna cry.

Bo swallowed, trying not to seem too beaten down, "But... Who's gonna be my helper?"

You smiled and pointed to the man standing beside the truck, "Uncle Lester will."

"Right..." Bo nodded, his chest aching with guilt, self-hatred, regret and sadness, "Right."

You never helped him with another car again.

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal liked to believe that he was the ultimate best at keeping his temper under control. He never got mad at you or expressed any negative emotions towards you. If you needed to be taught a lesson, then he would sit with you and have a firm, constructive conversation about how you needed to improve.

Your bond was strong and healthy and it made Hannibal proud. You even took after him by wanting to be a professional cook. And Hannibal was ecstatic to help you carry that dream into reality.

But one day all of his pride, arrogance and content came to an end.

You had woken up before him that morning and had snuck to the kitchen to make him breakfast. However, things went south and you accidentally ended up breaking one of his rarest, most treasured dishes- a dish that was literally one of it's only kind on the whole planet. And it upset him.

"I-I'm sorry, daddy," You had apologized desperately, "I-I just thought since you liked the plate so much you would also like eating off of it. I didn't mean to break it!"

Hannibal, his heart racing and his nerves burning with anger, had said almost too vastly, "And what lead you to believe that I would enjoy such horrible cooking on my most treasured dish? You knew these pieces were not meant to be eaten off of, yet you disrespected me anyway."

"Horrible cooking?" You murmured.

Because Hannibal was hurt, he couldn't resist the urge to make you hurt as well. "Yes. You are an awful cook. Your presence in this kitchen has always been a waste of time."

The way your eyes widened with hurt and how your hands immediately flew to your chest would be a sight that haunted Hannibal for the rest of his life. Slowly your eyes closed and you began to cry, your hands going to cover your face as you ran away, a sobbed "I'm sorry" echoing through the hall.

Instead of feeling satisfied that he hurt your feelings as intended, Hannibal immediately felt remorseful and guilty. Goodness. He knew that you were young and didn't mean to break his plate. He just... He just treasured the dish so much and now it was ruined forever. He let his emotions get to him, and he hurt you in the process. While it was your fault, he didn't blame you. You were innocent and you just wanted to make him happy.

After he cleaned up his broken dish, Hannibal searched for you and found you snuggled up on the couch. He sat in front of you and spoke calmly, "I'm sorry for getting angry at you. It wasn't my intention. You were just trying to make me breakfast and wound up making a mistake. It happens to all of us."

"I'm sorry..." You whimpered, obviously still upset.

"It is alright," Hannibal reached out and gently squeezed your shoulder. "I'll get started on breakfast."

"Can I help?" You asked hopefully.

Hannibal gave you a hesitant grimace, "I think it would be best if you skipped helping me in the kitchen for today."

Instantly your eyes puffed red and turned watery. Hannibal left you alone to exhale your emotions. He knew that you would be upset for a while, but he too was also upset. He just needed some time is all.

But apparently he was wrong yet again.

After that day, you never helped Hannibal in the kitchen again. For weeks after the incident, you didn't even eat the food that he cooked. It was like you banned yourself from the kitchen entirely. He had tried to coax you into helping him, but you always found excuses not to.

Soon Hannibal learned that he had destroyed your passion for cooking by making you believe that you were a terrible chef. And he regretted it so much that it was nearly unbearable. Hannibal couldn't handle mistakes he couldn't fix.

And no matter how hard he tried, he knew that he could never mend your feelings that he severed.

-

In part two I planned to age up the reader and have them secretly doing their passion behind their dad's back. And the slasher will find out and be like "what, I thought you gave up on that! Holy sh*t, I'm so happy". And the reader will be pleasantly surprised.

Killers' with a reader during bath time. Non-binary reader.

Warnings: Nudity. Non-sexual romance. Implied kissing and touching.

...

Jason

Most of the time Jason hates baths or anything to do with water. But if you're in it with him? Then he can compromise.

He always sits up straight and still in the warm tub, his mask off and body bare before you, completely vulnerable. He doesn't like to move because the water scares him, so he settles for watching you as you go about creating bubbles and adding scented oils to the tub. It's pleasant and he enjoys it.

Jason likes to touch you for reassurance that you won't let him drown. A hand on your shoulder, knee, arm or waist; he just likes knowing that you're there for him. Some times he might even pull you into his lap and just hold you for a while, bask in your safe and loving presence.

He loves it when you wash him. During bath time, Jason gives you all the wheels while he sits back and watches. When you use the soft, suddy loofah to scrub his body, it's utter bliss and makes him feel good. Your praise is an added bonus too, making him gladly submit his body in any way you wanted.

He gets transfixed on your bath products. Is that a glitter bath bomb? Whoa. Colored bath beads? Can you use purple? He loves purple. Seeing the water turn purple and glittery will have his adorable eyes going wide in awe. Just look at the water, (y/n), it's magical. You're amazing.

He's a good boy and he'll want to return the favor by washing you. His big hands will scrub every inch of you, making sure that you're nice and clean. Seeing your blissed out expression when he scrubs your back and head makes him happy. He's glad you're enjoying yourself.

The best way to end is by holding you close for a while, feeling your body pressed against his as he held you in his arms. With you around, Jason loved the water.

Wesker

Wesker's preference when it comes to baths is strictly to lay back, submerge himself into the hot water and relax. After a long day at work, relaxing is all he wants to do.

Most of the time Wesker lays back and watches you in your place between his legs as you pour in muscle relaxing Epsom salt and night-time bubble bath. So considerate. You were always thinking about his well-being, and he loved it.

He enjoys listening to you as you blab about your day- shows you had watched, things you had cleaned, ideas you had hatched, ect... Your innocence is a refreshment to him and it makes him feel a type of happiness that his job just can't mimic.

When it comes to you washing your own body, Wesker absolutely loved to watch. Seeing your wet body move around as you covered it with glistening suds was beyond enamoring to him. Some times he would even ask you to stand up and wash yourself, give him the full view so that he could admire every inch of you.

He's not really one to care for childish bath products but he does get a kick out of how much you enjoy them. Seeing you get excited over a new box of assorted bath bombs- which he totally didn't order for you by the way!- he just adores how excited you get. And that same excitement transfers to the bath whenever you happily go to try out your new water toys.

Bath massages. Oh, there's nothing better. Feeling your wet hands press against his tense, sore muscles was utter ecstacy. Expect lots of groans because he was a very knotted up man, and he tends to make loud noises when you work out those knots with your expert, caring hands. God, you had no idea how much he loved you.

To settle the end, Wesker likes to pull your body on top of his and have you lay against him for a while. Submerged wet cuddles? Yes please.

Frank

Oh God... Frank is an absolute child when it comes to the bathtub. Because he was deprived of such innocent luxuries throughout his childhood years, he can't help but to enjoy the opportunity to have fun in the bathtub with you.

Expect everything that was Satan's equivalent of a bathroom mess nightmare pack. Bath bombs, water guns, water crayons, colored bath beads, bubble bath. Everything! He had it all- it's actually kind of cute going to the store with him because he always wanted to check out the bath stuff. Don't tease him though or he'll get frumpy.

Frank loves playing games, so get out those fucking water crayons, baby. If you weren't ever scared of him before, then you should be now, because you are his human canvas. Come on, scoot closer, he wants to draw a heart on your cheek- news flash! It's actually a miniature penis. Let's not forget a colored beard to match!

You can't escape him.

Ever heard of bathtub roulette? Of course you have. It's where you fill the gun with soapy water, play a game of tic-tac-toe, and whoever loses gets a shot of soapy water in the face. Ouch if your eyes get hit.

Despite his childishness, Frank does love relaxing and holding you close. Your legs intertwined as he held your face and kissed your lips? Oh, he could do it for hours, even after the water was freezing cold. You're his gorgeous, beloved angel, and he was never letting you go.

Ending a bath with Frank is less romantic than you probably want to believe because there's a lot of cleaning up to do. And yes, he is childish enough to run away naked so that he doesn't have to take responsibility. Lucky you.

Michael

Talk about a statue. During bath time, this man is a brick wall. Like always, he sits at his end of the tub with that very neutral, monotonous look on his face.

Michael isn't against baths. Not at all. In fact he finds them very interesting and fun- except for that time he accidentally ate a "bath treat". Yeah, he knew it was a miniature bar of soap, but why in the hell was it shaped exactly like a gummy bear!?

He finds himself fixated on whatever you're doing. Michael and you have a deep understanding of each other, and he appreciates how you show and explain to him what all kinds of new products you had bought. A double loofah with a rainbow handle? Cute. Colored foam soap? Expect a beard.

Michael loves, loves, loves his rubber ducky collection. Every time he takes a bath with you, he carefully sets each of his duckies in the water one at a time. He may not show it, but every time you gifted him a new rubber ducky, he mentally flies over the roof.

And he feels the same kind of excitement with surprise bath bombs that have little toys hidden inside. Those were his favorite. So far he had some sharks, some dinosaurs, a pearl ring, and a bunny. It was just so fun watching the bath bombs dissolve and reveal an adorable item from all the magical colors within.

He gets frumpy when you try to wash yourself. Michael is very protective and caring of you and he likes to take care of you himself, and that means scrubbing and washing your body. You can't deny... It feels really, really nice.

Seeing your relaxed, sleepy face is the perfect end to a perfect bath for him.

Jeffrey

Lazy. Completely and utterly lazy. Depending on the day, baths with Jeffrey could either be very lively or very boring.

Prepare to find yourself squished between his legs at the front of the tub by the faucet, because Jeffrey practically prides himself in taking up most of the space. He chuckles a lot, teasing you and squeezing you between his legs, tickling you with his toes. He loves it when you get all frustrated and defensive, and yet you're still helplessly squished/trapped.

He thinks it's cute when you get on your knees and lean against his belly, your faces closer together so that you can talk, hold hands and caress each other's faces. Your so damn adorable, he could just eat you up.

One of his favorite things, though, is when you slather yourself up with oil. Oh yes. There's nothing Jeffrey loves more than seeing your gorgeous body glistening smooth and slippery. He enjoyed sitting back, licking his lips while watching you languidly touch yourself. It drove him mad.

After enjoying the show you put on, Jeffrey would sit up and touch you himself, squeezing and rubbing different parts of your body for as long as he pleased. Remember, he's obsessed with soft things, and when your body is oiled up it becomes prominent that he worshipped you for hours.

Some times Jeffrey's insecurities got to him, however, and he would refuse taking a bath with you. It took lots of lovin, gentle coaxing and praise, but you always won him over with your caring words and amazing acceptance. How could he ever ask for anyone better?

Ending a bath with Jeffrey usually involved lots of loving touches and cuddles, for you are his and he is yours.

Herman

The ultimate God of baths? Look no further than Herman Carter.

This man is unbelievably romantic and will have you wait in your bedroom until he has the perfect set-up created. Like a king/queen walking the red carpet, you would be presented with everything abundantly cheesy and romantic.

Dim lights, scented candles, freakin rose petals- all of it you would follow until you arrived at the bathroom where Herman lay beautifully naked and submerged in the bubbly tub, waiting for you.

Herman smiles at you and beckons you closer, enjoying the sight of you getting undressed right before his eyes. You're clumsiness while getting into the tub with him amuses him and fills him with fondness and joy. He loves spoiling you like this.

During bath time, Herman loves pulling you close and cradling you against him, his lips kissing whatever happened to be in reach- your lips, your face, the back of your neck, or your shoulders. He loved worshipping your body for every second that it was touching him.

Lots and lots of touching. Herman treats your body like it's made out of gold. Constantly he touches you, fondles you and massages you. Praise drips from his lips as he pulls you back against him and rubs his big, calloused hands up and down your chest. You're so beautiful, (y/n), and you're his.

Herman loves taking baths with you because it gives him the opportunity to be intimate under a new light. He got to spoil you, wash you, worship your body and make you feel good. Your happiness was all he needed to make himself happy.

Even though he doesn't want the bath to end, when it does, Herman rinses you off, helps you out and dries you off. Oh, don't think that just because the bath is over he still doesn't have a lot left to give.

So I kind of just wanted to explain my situation to ya'll if that's alright. Disclaimer: this post is mainly of me just yapping and it includes some personal topics. Sorry...

Some of you are aware that I was in the process of moving across the country. Well I'm grateful to announce that the move was a success! I'm so grateful!!! I've only been in my new home less than a week, and it's the longest I've gone without being verbally abused in over thirteen years. Here in a few months- if something bad doesn't happen that is- it'll be the longest I've gone without being physically abused. And I can't tell you how good it feels. Like I'm soooooooo happy right now. Today I went walking around town and I got to do it without fearing for my life. My apartment is safe, this city is safe and the people are amazing. I kind of just feel like I'm living a dream (I'm freakin crying while I write this, lol). I've spent so long doing nothing but survive and now I feel like I can finally live.

I used to have to worry about every little thing; arson, breaking & entering, tire slashing, getting attacked, death threats. Terrific family, huh? The state I'm from (Arkansas) is one of the poorest, most violent states in all of America- please be extremely careful if you ever go there. So many bad things happened over the course of those thirteen years, I... I just don't know what to say. It was awful. I honestly don't know how I'm still here.

Unlike Arkanzans, the state I moved to glady accepts my Irish ethnicity and are positive towards my accent. I've never felt this peaceful and calm before. And I know bad things can happen at any moment- I could very well lose my life tomorrow or something, but I just can't deny how happy I am. I spent the last five years of my life working to achieve this goal, and I have. I ran away from all my abusers to my favorite state of all time, and I'm happy.

Right now I'm kind of just soaking up this new environment I live in. I'm not answering asks or writing updates or drabbles yet because I need just a little bit more time, (don't worry @breadboyye I haven't forgotten about your drabble! I will get it complete!) Many of you have been so supportive and patient with me and I'm so grateful for that. Thank you.

Oh, and the best part about all this? Not having to deal with bad people all the time might help me to make faster updates 👀🤞 let's hope for the best, me loves 💚 (Yes, I am going to start using my Irish slang. Get used to it).

It's a pretty difficult question, isn't it? Like you have to think about it really hard because, honestly, most of these readers' are past the point of recovery. But I'm curious and I wanted to see what would happen if I made one of these question thingies. You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I hope you all are doing well!

Altering Wesker's personality to make him an emotional supporter.

Usually I write this process on paper when I need to work on a slashers personality, but I wanted to share it with you guys so you could get an idea on how I turn the bad guys into emotional supporters.

So when it comes to working on the slashers' personalities, I always try to find a way to make them each more kind, sympathetic, supportive and likable while still somewhat staying true to their unique personality traits. Normally this process comes easy. I've never really struggled much with altering a slashers personality....

Until prince blondy bitch came into the picture that is.

Yes, this rip-off Corey Hart makes me wanna hit the snooze button in my brain every time I think about him. He's just so DIFFICULT and his personality is extremely unattractive to me. But I have him put down for future roles in billions of my fics and drabbles, so mentally I can't ignore him. I've gotta work on his personality and turn him into a proper emotional supporter.

Let's break down those traits, shall we?

Prince blondy is-

- narcissistic

- controlling

- manipulative

- dishonest

- powerful

- sadistic

- cunning

- polite only when he wants to be or if he's trying to manipulate someone

- disloyal

- teases and taunts people.

- gets jealous and loses his temper.

- gets bored of his friends and romantic partners

- views most people as insignificant and lesser than him.

- backstabbing attitude

- merciless

- gets bored easily and abandons people and/or projects.

- rude.

- does not value people for who they are but rather the benefits they can provide him with. Once someone is no longer valuable to him, he either runs away or kills them.

Yeah.... He's a real tough one. There's not a lot of positivity going on with this one. He's got every unattractive trait from A to Z. Imagining him as a supporter is like trying to walk on needles.

So what do I do during hard times like these? I make the positivity myself. I alter his bitch traits and give him some positive ones.

Altered Wesker

- Let's make him narcissistic still but with the ability to accept competition and rivalry without getting jealous or murderous.

- let's make him honest. Brutal honesty or keeping his mouth shut is better than lying.

- He hates unfinished business and will not abandon anyone or anything without explaining himself first.

- he can be manipulative but only during serious situations.

- He owns up to his failures, mistakes and misunderstandings. (There's nothing more attractive than a person who can admit they're wrong).

- he is still very intelligent, strong and powerful.

- He's still obsessed with uroboros and will murder, but he's more empathetic and less sadistic. He won't murder people he cares about.

- uses his honesty to defend his loyalty.

- has a high standard for people he considers worthy of his time. These worthy people will receive his kindness, consideration and attention.

- Likes independence, trust and dependability. These are traits he seeks in a partner.

- still egotistical and holds himself in high regard.

That's just some of the traits I'm giving him to make him more supportive. Now for a little bit of writing. Albert Wesker x reader headcanons. These help me get an even deeper understanding of his personality.

Original/unaltered: Wesker x reader.

Wesker enters the breakroom and notices you sitting at a table. You looked horrible; your hair messy, your eyes dark and your outfit wrinkled. What a ghastly sight for him to walk in on. You should do a better job keeping yourself in proper shape.

Focused on ignoring you, Wesker made his way to the coffee machine on the other side of the room. His brow twitched in frustration at the sound of your pitiful "morning sir". Of course he couldn't go without drawing your worthless attention.

"(y/n)," He answered flatly, his back facing you, "Don't you have morning patrol?"

"Leon switched me," You answered, "I had a really long night last night. It was rough..."

"Excuses, excuses," Wesker glared at the bitter taste of his coffee. Why couldn't things just be the way he wanted them to be? "Allowing your personal life to get in the way of your job is insubstantial. Do better next time."

You remained silent, soon finishing your beverage and rising up to leave.

Wesker didn't notice nor did he care.

Altered/my version: Wesker x reader. (same situation)

Wesker entered the breakroom and immediately noticed you sitting in your lonesome at a table. You looked exhausted and unkempt, the expression on your face tired and miserable. Hm, he wondered what was wrong. Normally you were well dressed and always upbeat.

"(y/n)," He addressed as he slowly walked past you, turning his head to meet your eyes.

Despite your situation, you still managed a smile at him, your body lifting and your voice kind, "Oh, morning sir. How're you doing today?"

He always respected how considerate and proper you were even during difficult times. "I'm doing well. And you?" He continued to give glances to you as he fixed himself some coffee.

"I'm fine," You say softly, "Just a rough night."

Ah, so it was something personal most likely. "I see you swapped positions with Kennedy. I'd rather not have short notices like this in the future. After you're finished here, meet me in my office and we will discuss what you are going through."

You smiled weakly and blushed. Wesker always knew when something was wrong, and he was always so quick to provide any care he possibly could. He really was a good boss.

That morning, Wesker sat with you in the breakroom.

Aaaannnnnndddd.... Emotional support slasher born. BOOM!

The reason why I have so much trouble writing prince blondy is because I really don't like him. His personality is like a smelly trashcan to me and if I ever met him in real life I'd kick him in the balls so hard his motherless grandkids would feel it. But creating these writing templates helps me to view him underneath a different light. It's how I build personalities and familiarize them.

I've done this process on paper for multiple killers. I just thought it would be fun to share with you how I altered personalities to write my stories.

Slashers' as fathers with a child/reader. (Comfort drabbles for anyone like me who has daddy issues).

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is less than ten years old (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

I'm a little embarrassed that I made this but I can't deny that it does comfort me and make me feel better. If it makes you happy as well, then I'm glad. Thank you for reading. I hope you have a nice day.

...

Freddy

He was sleeping in his bed when he felt something nudge his arm, the soft callings of your voice quickly rousing him from his slumber. "Daddy? Daddy, please wake up."

Paternal instincts demanding that he instantly wake to check and see if you were okay, Freddy sat up and opened his eyes. Immediately the sight of you standing beside the bed in your pajamas with a sad, frightened look on your face greeted him, and he reached out to gently brush a hand through your messy hair.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Is everything okay?" He asked, gazing around for potential danger.

You whimpered, your little hands anxiously fiddling together as you say sadly, "I... I had a nightmare and I... I got scared."

Relaxing a bit, Freddy sat up all the way in bed and lifted his arms out towards you, "Oh sweetie, come here."

Stepping forward and lifting your arms, you whimper whenever your dad pulled you sideways onto his lap and held you close. He kissed the top of your head and gently patted your back. "Thought I told you not to be having those?" He mumbled.

"I know, but... It was so scary and I-I didn't like it," You whined, burying yourself into the divine safety of his chest, his scent familiar and comforting.

"Shh, shh," Freddy rubbed soothing circles against your back while hugging you securely against him, always prepared to fight all of your demons away- even if your demons were as simple as nightmares. "It's okay, sweetie. You're alright. Daddy's got ya. Everything's gonna be okay."

"Ok..." You whisper, still snuggled against him. He was so comforting and safe. "Daddy? I'm thirsty. Will you get me some juice, please?"

"You want juice?" Freddy tickled your nose causing you to giggle, "Hm?"

"And a story?" You smile at him hopefully.

"And a story? Well, aren't you spoiled," Freddy smiled back and leaned down to nuzzle your forehead, "Sure, sweetie, let's get you some juice."

Grinning at his compliance, you lean forward and give him a big hug. He hugs you back, and it feels so nice and comforting that you feel as if you could go to sleep right then and there.

Freddy holds your hand as he takes you to the kitchen to get you some juice. Then he grabs a book from a shelf and sits down in his arm chair with you sitting in his lap with your blanket and juice in clutch. He reads to you the short story as many times as you want until you've finished your beverage and declared that you were tired again.

"Can I sleep with you, daddy? Please," You ask, fidgeting in the hopes that you wouldn't have to sleep in the dark alone by yourself again tonight.

Freddy doesn't have the heart to tell you "no", so he nods and ruffles your hair, "As long as you promise not to have anymore nightmares. Promise?"

"I promise, daddy," You say happily, crawling into bed with him and immediately going to snuggle into his chest, "I love you."

Freddy kisses your head and tucks you both in with a blanket, one arm wrapping around you to hold you against him. Warm, safe, and comfortable. "Love you too, sweetie. Now get some sleep and, this time, have 'good' dreams."

Bo Sinclair + Uncle Vincent and Lester

"Hey Les, you seen (y/n) around?" Bo asked as he approached Lester's truck.

Lester gave him a look that he came to dread. "Yeah, they're on back with Vincent. Why?"

Relieved by your assured safety, Bo placed his hands on his hips and stared hard at the ground. Guilt chewed on him like a hungry wolf, and shame became a permanent dark cloud hanging all around him. "I-I messed up, Les," He admitted, shaking his head.

Lester raised his eyebrows in suspicion, "What'a ya mean?"

"Yesterday, I... I messed up," Bo huffed, dragging a rough hand through his hair, "An' now they ain't talkin' to me, and I... I just... Uh."

"Oh, so that's why the little critter wanted to spend the night," Lester chuckled and petted his dog's head fondly, "An' here I was hopin' I was the new favorite uncle. Guess I ain't, huh?"

Bo ignored him as he thought about what happened yesterday. He had been angry for reasons unrelated to you, and when you had tried to get his attention he snapped and yelled at you. Even though "what" was all he yelled, he could still tell how much he scared you and hurt your feelings. Now you wouldn't go around him. Gosh, he didn't mean to do it, he just... He was just an idiot.

Lester frowned at him as if noticing his distress, "Well hell, if it's botherin' ya to the pits then why don't ya go talk to them? You are their daddy after all, ain't ya?"

Yes. Yes he was your dad. And no child should ever have to be afraid of their dad.

Making his ultimate decision, Bo adjusted his hat and began stomping away, "Gotta go."

He found you in the house eating snacks with Vincent. When you noticed he was there, you looked at him and then quickly bowed your head like... like you were afraid of him. And it broke Bo's heart. Good grief, what had he done?

Pulsing with regret, guilt and shame, Bo slowly approached you and knelt down beside your chair, "Hey there, little critter bug. What'cha eating?"

You were hesitant, keeping your face averted as you timidly mumble, "Grapes."

"Ooh, yummy, can I have some?" He lifted his hands out, uncertain of where and when he should start explaining himself.

Sadness and uncertainty decorated your face as you lifted out the bowl to him. Vincent seemed to understand what his brother was doing, and he stood up to leave and give you some privacy.

As he ate some grapes, Bo was surprised to hear you quietly ask, "Daddy... Are... Are you still mad at me?"

"Oh..." He straightened his posture, set the bowl aside and reached out to gently grasp your shoulder, "Oh, (y/n), I was never mad at ya, I just... I was just havin' a bad day and I..."

Bo sighed, his hand squeezing your shoulder gently in reassurance, "Look, critter bug, I didn't mean to yell at ya, and I definitely ain't mad at ya. I just... Daddy made a mistake, and I'm so, so sorry, (y/n). I promise... I'll never yell at you again. I promise."

Your eyes glistened as you looked at him as if in debate. Bo's throat was dry as he waited for your reaction, the negativity and guilt nearly driving him insane.

Instead of saying anything, you spread your arms and lift them upwards. Bo sighed quietly in relief and went to scoop you into his arms, his aching chest slowly beginning to calm down. He still felt guilty for how he made you feel, and he wasn't lying when he promised that he would never ever make you feel that way again.

Michael + Aunt Laurie

You were both trick-or-treating and having a good evening on Halloween. Michael alternated between carrying you on his back, on his hip, or simply holding your hand while walking. It warmed his heart to see how happy and excited you were, your candy-bag becoming overloaded with sweet treats.

He decided to stop at Lauries for a quick break and some refreshment. You ran back out while he was still inside. It only felt like a minute before he followed your footsteps and soon came to a scene that made his blood boil and his eyes widen.

You were laying on your back against the sidewalk, small, frightened cries spilling from your lips. In the direction you were staring, Michael caught a glimpse of a group of teenagers quickly running away. They must have done something to you. But what?

"D-daddy," You cried as he quickly walked over to you, and you skittered to get to your feet.

Michael barely got to check you over for damage before you were wrapping your arms around his waist and crying into his belly. "They pushed me and stole my candy," You whined loudly against him, "I-I just wanted to be friends, b-b-but they stole my candy. Ehh, daddy, daddy, what do I do? They stole my candy."

Anger invaded every nerve within Michael's body as he held you close protectively. How dare anyone treat you this way. How could they? You were the nicest, sweetest little angel. What was their problem? Michael's eyes burned with the memory of those teenage scum and the direction they fled.

Hearing your loud sniffles, Michael gently coaxed you back and knelt down. Slipping off his mask, he reached out, cupped your cheek and used his jumpsuit sleeve to wipe away your tears and snot. Then he used sign-language to ask if you were okay.

You nodded and cried in great sadness, "But they stole my candy. Wh-why did they do that, daddy? I-I just wanted to be friends."

Michael quickly explained to you how those teenagers were obviously bullies. This same experience happened to him too when he was your age. Everything was going to be alright. They would get you more candy. Calm down. Everything was going to be alright.

Slowly you began to calm down, your sobs and whines diminishing. Michael pulled you into his arms and hauled you against his hip so that he could take you into the house. You stayed attached to him the whole time, and he refused to let you go. Frustration still burned inside him, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to protect and comfort you/his child.

Laurie was there to save the day, thankfully, offering you all of the candy she hadn't yet given out and putting on a fun movie for you to watch.

You were snuggled up against your dad on the couch, your mood significantly eased as he rubbed your head and back and offered you pieces of candy. For the most part you forgot about the incident, but Michael certainly hadn't.

Let's just say that, by tomorrow, you would have your stolen candy back.

Hannibal

He had taken a leave of absence from work so that he could better take care of you while you were sick. It wasn't anything serious; just a small cold. The nurse from your school had sent you home earlier due to a sore throat and a fever. Hannibal had rushed to get you as quickly as he could.

Once he got you home, he had you take a bath and get dressed into your pajamas. You complained of throat and stomach pain, and you had irritated sinuses. He gave you some medication and told you to lie down while he made you some special soup that would soothe your tummy.

As he was cooking, he heard your tiny footsteps echoing from the hallway, and he turned to see your sleepy figure approaching, "Daddy?"

"Yes, my child, what is it?" He asked, setting his cutting knife aside.

"My tummy hurts so bad," You pouted, your voice beginning to sound scratchy, "And I don't feel good. I wanna be with you."

Hannibal grabbed a kleenex from the counter and knelt down to gently clean your messy nose, "I know. And that is precisely why you should be sleeping."

"But I can't sleep," You whimper, looking at him with sad, tired owl eyes, "I wanna be with you. Please, daddy? Let me stay with you."

Hannibal tilted his head at you, his brows lifting in debate. While he would rather you be getting some decent rest, he knew that you were young and still filled with energy even whilst you were sick. He didn't have much left to do cooking wise either, so he figured that having you stay around wouldn't harm anything.

"Alright then," Hannibal leaned forward and picked you up, swiftly positioning you on his hip and supporting you with one arm so that he could use the other to cook with.

You held onto his neck while resting your head against his shoulder, your eyes mostly shut as you listened to the sound of his heart beat. Safety and warmth enveloped you making you feel much, much better than what you had before. Your dad was always so cozy and comforting.

Hannibal was able to finish cooking dinner with you on his hip the entire time. Once it was time to eat, he set you down on a chair and made you a drink and a bowl of soup. You ate quietly which worried him a little, but he knew it was just because you weren't feeling good.

"Feeling better?" He asked when you were finished.

You smiled and nodded at him, "Mhm, it was real yummy. Thank you, daddy."

"You're welcome, my child," He reached out and gently squeezed your cheek before taking your bowl and cleaning it, "I don't suppose telling you to get back in bed will do any good, will it?"

Your pitiful whimper was enough of an answer. Hannibal chuckled, dried his hands and went to pick you up again, holding you close as he carried you to the living room. "A movie it is then."

"Can Will come over?" You asked, grinning.

Hannibal gave you a look, "I'm beginning to believe that you're not sick at all."

...

All good fathers' should fight their child's nightmares away, not be the reason why they have them.