Horror Movie Slashers One-Shots and Headcanons (UNDER EDITING)

Loud Spaces (Bubba Sawyer/Phonophobic! Reader)

I looked up from my place at the table to see Bubba watching me from the doorway. He pointed up and I could tell that he was trying to say, "Go upstairs. This will get louder."

Bubba knew about my phonophobia, as did the rest of my family. They couldn't do much about it but keep me in a quiet room when things like this happened. The house was old, so every sound could be heard throughout the house. I had somewhat soundproofed my bedroom by hanging up old blankets on the wall. The screams were still audible but muffled.

When I first moved to the abandoned Texas town, a girl had run up to me screaming for help. It had startled me so much that I had a panic attack, which only worsened when Bubba had run up behind her, impaling her with his yellow chainsaw.

My mother had been friends with Drayton Sawyer, and the family recognized me almost instantly. Soon after, I found myself moving in with the deranged cannibals. I was scared, of course. But I didn't have much of a choice. There was nowhere else for me to go.

It's been a couple of years since I first showed up here. The rush of anxiety and fear I got whenever a scream or a whirring chainsaw would echo through the house still came at a constant pace. The men of the house knew it bothered me, but there wasn't anything to be done about it.

I nodded my head, standing from my seat at the table. I made my way over to Bubba, whose tall frame lumbered over me. I looked up at him and his eyes met mine, peering from behind his mask. He simply patted my shoulder gently before passing me, walking down the hallway where he slid open the metal door. I made my way upstairs quickly, not wanting to hear what would come next. The old wooden floor creaked under my feet as I entered my room, closing the door behind me. I looked around at the comforting space before plopping down on my bed.

My room was decorated to my liking, with colorful blankets nailed to the walls to make makeshift acoustic sound panels. I had a small desk where I'd spend a lot of my time writing.

On it were a couple of books and one vinyl record. My bed, although small, was surprisingly comfortable. My room deeply contrasted the horrors that went on in the Sawyer house, and many nights I would spend lying awake in the room questioning why I stayed here. And then I remembered.

Bubba.

I stayed because of him.

I couldn't just leave him to deal with his brothers alone. I laid back on the bed as I listened to the muffled screams of the girl. A couple of hours ago I had sat beside her during dinner. Images of her terrified face flashed in my mind, reminding me of the other reason I had to stay. If I even tried to leave, I would more than likely be in her shoes. Strapped to a table, getting sawed apart, becoming the main course at the next meal.

I squinted my eyes shut as I turned on the bed, laying away from the door. The sounds of the screams and the chainsaw ceased. She was either dead or too weak to make another sound. Either way, the sound of silence made me let out a deep breath. My body relaxed as I slowly opened my eyes.

Footsteps creaked from downstairs and made their way upstairs. My door creaked open slowly. I didn't bother turning around to check who it was. I knew it was Bubba. I could hear him breathing from across the room.

"Are you guys done for the day?" I asked as I sat up.

He entered my room slowly, pushing the door back with his foot. He nodded and stood there silently. My eyes grazed over him. His yellow apron was covered in blood almost to where it no longer looked yellow. His work shirt underneath also had speckles of blood on it. His arms were covered with sweat and much like the rest of him had blood on it.

"Sit down," I said as I pointed to my desk chair.

He tilted his head at me for a second before hesitantly making his way to the chair. He sat down slowly, not wanting his weight to break the chair underneath him.

"Wait here a second," I said as I got up and walked out of my room.

After a few seconds, I came back into my room with a clean shirt and a washrag. I put the shirt on the end of my bed and turned back to him. "May I see your arm?" I asked.

I could tell that he was somewhat confused as he looked at me through his mask. He let out a deep sigh as he realized what I was trying to do. He stuck out his arm, and I took it to my hand, washing off the blood with the washrag. I took his other arm and did the same.

Setting aside the now red rag, I looked down at his apron. "May you take that off, please?" I asked kindly.

He stood up and untied the apron, all while staring at me. I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or confused. I could only imagine what he was thinking.

"That too, please," I pointed to his shirt as he laid the apron in my hand. He paused for a second, processing the request. I tossed the dirty apron aside and picked up the clean shirt from my bed. He still stood there in the bloodied shirt, watching me.

"Bubba, come on. You can't walk around in bloody clothes for the rest of the night," I said as I unfolded the shirt.

Bubba still stood there, unmoved. "I can turn around if that would make you more comfortable," I said. He nodded in response.

"Okay," I said as I handed him the clean shirt before turning around.

I stood there quietly, shifting from side to side. He tossed the bloody shirt past me and I could hear him behind to put on the clean one. After a few seconds, he tapped my shoulder and I turned around. He tilted his head as he looked at me through his mask. "What?" I asked. He looked down at my hands and I followed his stare.

My hands were trembling at my sides. I hadn't noticed it at all. I took a deep breath and looked back up at him. "I'm fine. Don't worry," I reassured.

Reassuring Bubba was a common occurrence. Ever since I started living with the Sawyer we've kept a similar routine. Some stranger would wander too close to where we live. One of the Sawyer men would find said person and then kill them. I'd have an anxiety attack because of the noise. Bubba would get worried. I'd say I'm okay.

It was a never-ending cycle, and it definitely wasn't the best way to live. My mental health was not in the best shape and had deteriorated over the past couple of years. If it was up to me, I'd take Bubba and leave. Without the influence of Drayton, Nubbins, or Chop Top I think both of our lives would be better. But it wasn't that easy. It'll never be that easy.

"It's getting late," I said, walking over to the head of my bed. Bubba turned and began to exit my room. "Wait," I said, stopping him. He turned back towards me slowly.

"May you please stay in here tonight?" I questioned. He nodded his head. "Thank you," I said, "I just don't feel like sleeping alone tonight."

I laid down on the bed and Bubba did the same. I rested my head on his chest and put my leg over his. I listened to his heartbeat slow as we both began to relax. It felt good to finally have a quiet moment in the loud space that is the Sawyer house.

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Author's Note: And that's it! More chapters are coming soon. I apologize if I've left any of you waiting. Senior year is exhausting...

If you enjoyed this by all means let me know. Constructive criticism is always accepted because I know my writing isn't perfect. I love to grow from my mistakes.

Until the next chapter. 🖤