Slasher Simp Bible Study

by lyrical_opiate

Summary:

Just a silly little collection of headcanons and oneshots for these silly, silly men.

Requests are welcome! :)

Chapter 1: Hello~ (Request page!)

Hello, and welcome to my collection of reader-instert slasher headcanons and oneshots! 

Here is a list of characters I will be writing for:

• Thomas Hewitt
• Bubba Sawyer
• Pennywise
• Art The Clown
• Jason Voorhees
• Michael Myers (Original and RZ)
• Freddy Krueger 
• Brahms Heelshire
• Billy Loomis
• Stu Macher
• Mark Hoffman
• Norman Bates
• Carrie White

I do requests!!

If you have a oneshot or headcanon request, go ahead and put it in the comments. Even if you don't see a specific character! I'm probably forgetting a few anyways.

 As for things I won't do, anything goes, really; There's honestly very few things I won't write. 

Without further ado, please proceed, and enjoy…

 

Chapter 2: Pillow Talk -- Stu Macher +Fluff+

Summary:

In which Stu helps you with your emotional baggage.

You were his favorite person in the world.

Seriously.

You were perfect; You laughed at all of his jokes, even if they were incredibly corny. You were overall very nice to everyone you met. You didn't seem to care that he was a little off his rocker sometimes. You were pretty. All of this, bundled into one person that completely changed his life when she agreed to be his girlfriend.

It really ended up that way on accident, though he was happy with how it all turned out. He remembered it so clearly.

It was just a normal day, where you were both just hanging out in the store. You had begged Stu to drive you there because your own car had just up and decided to break down in your garage, and he relented, like he normally did when it came to you. Then he was stuck watching you as you fiddled through shelf after shelf of books, swearing that you had just seen the specific book you were looking for just yesterday in that exact spot. You looked so serious, your jaw twitching occasionally. He watched you, providing commentary, which made you smile and laugh and relax. Which was the whole point.

By now, Stu knew he had a crush on you. It was as plain as day. He just couldn't get passed the thought that you saw him as just the goofy friend who could make you laugh. And he liked making you laugh; Watching your face split into that heart melting smile, the sound of your laughter, made it worth it. He just knew he could, and wanted, to be something more to you.

Stu had (And still has, as you often reminded him nowadays) a tendency to hover over you. Be it just who he was or the fact that he liked you, we'll never know. He was doing just that as you had rounded the bookshelf to the other side, and found yourself face to face with the romance section.

Whether you intended to get there or not, Stu made a very immature "OOoOooo~" sound that had made you shake your head and scoff at him with a smile on your face. Regardless, you scanned through the books, just in case. Stu did too, but didn't find much of anything interesting. Lots of books with big muscled men in tight shirts, or even missing a shirt entirely, adorned a good few of the covers, with cheesy titles. Obviosuly geared toward the female audience.  But it was funny watching your eyes promptly skip over those ones.

"Ooh, look at this one," He said, plucking one off the self and holding it against his chest and speaking in the most dramatc, breathy, fake lovesick voice you've ever heard. "I love him. Ugh, he's so hot. Almost as hot as me-" "Stu, cut it out!" You said with a restrained giggle, trying to shove the book away from him, glancing sheepishly at two random old women who walked by and gave him the stink eye. But, in classic Stu fashion, he didn't care.

He put it back though, for your sake more than anything.

"C'mon, don't lie to me; You meant for us to wind up here." He teased you, wiggling his eyebrows. "You like these kinds of books." You scoff. "No I don't." You huff, moving a book to peek behind it. "Really? You're not fooling me. With how much of a hopeless romantic you are, don't count me surprised~" He follows you as you go to the next section, trailing you like a lost puppy.

"You know, intead of trying to set the mood by bringing me there you could have just asked me out."

The joke came out before he could stop himself.

And the way you had looked back at him, your cheeks tinged pink, it suddenly wasn't a joke anymore.

"It was an accident, I didn't mean to wind up there." You muttered. But the silence hung heavy between you. It had to have been then, he remembered thinking.

Breathe, Stu.

"… I think you'd look good on a book cover."

… Really? Thats what he came up with? That was cheesy as fuck!

He'd pretty much accepted his fate and tried to lean against the shelf in the most nonchalant way someone who just said something like that could.

To his surprise, you laughed.

"On a book like these ones?" You snicker. "Sorry, but I'd like to keep my dignity." "I think you could pull it off. Hell, I could pull it off, dontcha think?" He chuckled in that goofy way of his. You shake your head with a giggle, casting him a quick incredulous look before turning back to the books. You didn't answer.

"Weeelllll, would you pick me?" He asked casually, giving your shoulder a teasing poke. His heart thumped in his ears as he watched you closely. 

"What, are you asking?" You tease him right back, focusing on rummaging through the discount book bin at the end of the aisle, but there's a hint of uncertainty behind it. Like you sensed the sudden shift in the conversations direction too.

"Depends on your answer." He replies with a frozen smile, gauging your reaction. 

Moments had passed as you continued sifting through the books, before… 

"Sure."

Then that was that.

He couldn't even remember if you had found the book you were looking for or not.

Interactions between the two of you changed when your relationship came to be. He was a lot more casual in touching you, wrapping an arm around you, holding your hand, your arm, and poking and tickling you abruptly. You were practically attached at the hip a good majority of the time. But he did make sure to give you all the space you wanted at the same time.

Now, Stu was sitting outside your house, shutting off his car. It was nighttime; Your street was dark except for the orange streetlamps that glowed a few feet away. It had been a while since he'd seen you, and he was eager to suprise you with a visit. Even if it was like, what, 10 o'clock at night.

He knew you were a night owl. You'd be up.

Stu made sure to be as silent as he could shutting the door to his car, hurrying up to your front door. He didn't have a key, but he picked it relatively easily, and quietly slipped inside. A trick Billy had taught him. It always suprised you, how he'd suddenly appear in your house after you swear you locked your doora and windows. And always, he blamed it on you just being forgetful. The scare was sort of fun, too. At least for him.

Because then he would have you to himself for the rest of the night.

Something was wrong tonight though. He could feel it as he slowly walked through your dark halls, searching for you. It churned in his gut like a warning.

If it was a usual day, you'd contact him in some way at least once. You hadn't so much as picked up the phone in the last 4. Not even a little voicemail. It was unusual, and had worry gnawing at the edges of his mind. That was mainly why he was breaking and entering visiting you tonight.

A part of him thought that you may have dug up on his past.

And that scared him more than anything.

The thought of you discovering what he'd done, so long ago… It didn't sit right with him. He was past all of that (for the most part). The police labeled the killings at his house as a cold case; Stu and Billy were made survivors of a "freak accident". He didn't really talk to Billy as much as he used to. After they had killed Sidney and everyone else at that party, communications between them were sparse at best, and have since faded to nothing over the years. It was all in the past now. Sure, it left him a little more psychotic than he was before, but weren't we all? Even if just a little bit?

There was no reason you would need to know anything about that.

Because then you would leave him.

And he didn't know how well he could handle that.

He slipped through your living room, and found the hallway that led to your room, feeling pleased when he saw the dim yellow light coming from below the door. Thank goodness you were awake.

But then why weren't you calling him like you normally did?

When he made it to your door, he turned the handle very slowly, pulling upward on it a little to prevent your door from squeaking as he carefully cracked it open. He peered inside; your room was just how it normally looked, a little messy but in a tidy sort of way. And you were lying face down on your bed, not making a sound.

Panic gripped him.

"Y/n?" He asked, his voice flat with a slight tremor.

The relief he felt when you jumped and swung your head back to face him almpst knocked him off his feet.

"Stu… Fuck." You said with a sigh, your head flopping back down onto the bed. "You have got to stop sneaking up on me like that." He crosses the room and flops down on the bed beside you, propping his head up with his hand. "I've missed you." He says with a smarmy smile, eyes tracing what parts of your face he could see. You say nothing still, your face hidden as it rests on your folded arms in front of you, except your eyes, which looked blankly in front of you. His eyebrows knit together.

Were you mad at him? He thought back to the weeks before you stopped talking to him, but couldn't think of any reason you would be. 

"Babe?" He mumbles, scooting closer to you, reaching over to run his fingers through your hair, close enough that he could feel your body warmth radiating off of you.. He was really starting to worry; You just ignoring him like this was off putting. And just plainly not like you at all.

Not really knowing what else to do, he turned to humor. 

Without so much of a warning, he made a quick move to suddenly lick the outer shell of your ear, something he knew made you shove him away playfully in and burst into a fit of laughter as you tried to prevent the assaults that would follow.

Apparently, you weren't in the mood.

You jerked up and gave him a look of- disgust. "Stop it!" You snapped at him, promptly scooting yourself a few inches away from him and hiding your face in your arms.

Okay, that was new.

Stu was really… Not sure what to do in this situation. It would really help if he just knew why you were acting like this so suddenly. Was it that time of the month? …No, you'd already gone through that this month… And even then you didn't act like this. He didn't know of anything major that had happened in your life. He would know; He likes to keep tabs on you. 

He was at a loss.

… Time to try a new approach.

Quietly, he rose, a little hesitant. This kind of stuff didn't happen very often, and he didn't really know how to reach out to you where you would hear him. Feelings, deep ones like you were experiencing, made him kind of uncomfortable. But this was something he had to do. As your boyfriend, and as your best friend.

He walked around your bed until he was standing in front of you, and he kneels down in front of you. "…Hey." He murmurs quietly to you. "Baby, what's wrong?" You withdrawl from your arms slightly to look at him, looking so emotionally tired his heart aches. "I'm here for you; let me help you. And I'm sorry if I did something to upset you, but stop pushing me away. I can make it right. I just want my girl back." He puts both of his hands on the either side of your face, stroking the soft skin of your cheeks with his thumbs and, for once, looking dead serious in concern and empathy.

The sigh you heave is so ragged that he feels tired just by hearing it. "I'm sorry. I'm such a mess," You shake your head, your eyes going glassy. "You didn't do anything. And I didn't mean to push you away, I just…" Deep breath. "I just feel like a lot has been going on, in my head, and I feel like I need some time to get my shit together." At least you weren't mad at him. That was the biggest relief. "And you didn't think I'd help you out if you asked me for help?" He continues the soothing motions of his thumb, wiping away a small tear that escapes your eye. "I…I don't know, I just thought…" You trail off with a sigh, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch. 

Ah, he got it. He was the funny guy. Right.

He was determined to show you he could provide you with the emotional support you needed, too.

Suddenly, he stood, walking purposefully to your closet.

You perk up onto your elbows, watching him. "Um… What are you doing?" You ask flatly. "I'm," He grunts as he pulled out a few random pillows from where you stashed them. "Going to make you feel better." 

And after the next 15 minutes, without you even leaving the bed, Stu had made your bed into a half-built pillow fort.

Really, he really just built a foot tall wall around the edges of the bed, creating something of a barrier between the two of you and the world outside of it. He placed the last one while he was on the bed so that he was trapped inside along with you while you watched him with a bemused expression. Satisfied, he grinned at you and flopped down vertically, crossing his ankles, propped up by the pillows at the head of your bed.

"Alright, baby, c'mere, and tell me what's been going on with you."

And so, you crawled towards him and laid down beside him, and let the dam break.

You told him everything. Every stress, every bout of depression, anxiety, and everything else holding you back was laid out for him within the confines of your bed. The pillows seemed to be working, allowing you to disassociate with everything out there as much as you could. It was warm; comforting.  Sometimes you'd burst into tears and he'd hold you, comforting you as best as he could. Other times you'd simply appear to go numb while you talked, and he'd still hold you, even if it was just your hand.

For not being very good at this sort of stuff, he felt like he deserved a medl after this.

Thirty minutes later, you had finally got everything out, and were now lying with your head on his chest, his arms around you, one hand rubbing up and down your back slowly. He felt good, and he hoped you did too. Hopefully it took a load off of your heavy heart.

"Better?" He mumbled against your hair, placing a quick kiss on your head. He feels you nod, and he smiles to himself: Hell yeah. Boyfriend of the fucking month. 

"Thank you, Stu," You say, your voice a little hoarse. He loved the sound of it. "'S What I'm here for, babe." Another kiss on your head. "Now get some sleep; I'll be here."

You nod again and get comfy, shifting to wrap your arms around him too, still on top of him. He does the same, holding you just a bit closer. Before you even close your eyes, you angle your head up to give him a quick, soft kiss on the lips, one he returns with gentle eagerness. He still knows you wouldn't want to go further than that tonight, so he lets you pull away and rest your head back against his chest.

Minutes pass. Stu is still awake when you finally drift off.

He wonders again, for the thousandth time, how he got so lucky. That you, could love someone like him. You, in all of your lovely imperfections. Although, you didn't know the full extent of his history, and he was adamant on keeping it that way, it was still clear that it was unlikely you would. Yet, here you are, in his arms. A perfect mess, who thinks she has to be the only one to carry her troubles. But he would help, now that he knew. Anything for you.

Because there were, after all, worse burdens to carry.

Notes:

Comments & Kudos are always greatly appreciated :)

Chapter 3: Never again - Thomas Hewitt *Angst* (Request!)

Summary:

In which Thomas gets jealous of a victim who has too much to offer.

Notes:

Requested by: Nameless Boy

Even through the old truck's windsheild, the sweltering Texas heat still made it through into the cab; it smelled disgustingly of sweat and blood. Thomas was just thankful Hoyt had let him throw the crates of meat in the bed with a few ponds of ice bags. They would have made the truck smell rancid. Especially with this kind of heat.

It was one of those rare days that you and Thomas rode with Hoyt to restock and help out at the gas station that they had taken to using to lure in more victims. Monty had lent him his ancient pickup truck to take the ride up there, so there was more room for the three of you since you could just toss the crates in the back. He rode beside his uncle, while you sat in the backseat.

Mama was bed-ridden with some sort of sickness, so it was up to you and him to take over most of her chores, not that any of you minded much. No one knew what she had; she herself blamed it on old age, but Thomas felt something else was off. She said she'd been having frequent migraines and fatigue and aches in her joints, which may have been a result of aging, yeah, but not the fact that she could barely keep down anything she ate. Or that the family had to force her to eat most nights, otherwise she would just not, claiming she wasn't hungry. Hoyt didn't seem too worried over it (he often said to Thomas that it would pass), but he had a nagging feeling that something just wasn't right. Even worse, she refused to have a doctor come by to check her out. For obvious reasons. And the nearest hospital was a whole county over since the one in town shut down, so driving wasn't an option.

Thankfully, you had this gut feeling too. You've been busy pouring over an old book on herbal remedies and another more scientific one on different major illnesses and their causes and cures. Furthermore, you were planning to look for any medicine that would be helpful at the gas station.

God, he loved you.

He caught a glimpse of you through the side mirror close to him. You had unrolled your window and had your head leaning toward it, your eyes shut, the wind that had generated feom their speed whipping the flyaways of your hair all around you. Trying to get some form of escape from the heat. He admired the sweet flush on your cheeks, and the small smile that drew up the corners of your mouth.

You had arrived here about 2 years ago, all by yourself, lost and in need of directions and gas for your car. Hoyt got to chatting with you, said his usual spiel of offering you a ride to his house to rest for a spell, you know the drill. But there was a different intention that brought him to bring you in as if you were actually a normal visitor. He'd said something about companionship, and then suddenly you started living there with the Hewitt family. Against your will.

And you grew into your new role perfectly.

Apparently, your life had been so dull that you didn't try to escape, which made everything a lot easier for everybody. Thomas was still confused on why Hoyt brought you here, but he liked steeling glances at you from a healthy distance. You were very nice to look at.

The only problem was that you never adjusted to eating the way they did; other than that, you fit in seamlessly. The food problem was an issue, though. You couldn't live off of the vegetables Luda Mae would give you. Which was when you approached him and asked him for his help, the first time you ever directly spoke to him. You wanted to try and hunt what sparse game was around the property. And he agreed. And this is also, when he fell.

Not long after, you two became nearly inseperable, save for the times he spent in the basement. He even found the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend (having Luda Mae help him write it doen on paper), his heart close to bursting when you accepted. You became his everything ever since.

He didn't know how he got to be so lucky.

The truck lurched under all of you as it pulled into the gas station, the engine groaning as Hoyt parked it and turned it off. Thomas noticed that there was already someone there, waiting outside the closed building, flagging them down with a wave and a smile. A man with short brown hair and the starting scruff of a beard, smiling at them as they pulled up.

He didn't need the sidelong glance that Hoyt gave him to know that there was a change of plans.

"Y'all start getting the meat unloaded." Hoyt muttered to the both of you as he got out of the car, putting on a friendly smile and greeting the man with a wave.

Thomas hopped out just as you were opening your door and, ever the gentleman, he held out his hand to help you out. You smiled, and took his hand, sliding out of the backseat with a small thump. He grunted quietly and ran his thumb over your fingers once before letting go and making his way to the bed of the truck with you close behind.

Just like when you both were loading up the truck, you both used a system that worked well for both of you. He opened upthe bed and helped you up, while you passed him the rusty metal dolly cart that he would use to wheel the meat in. The crates were heavy, so you began pushing the crates to the edge of the truck, where Thomas would pick them up with ease, and stack them upon the foot of the dolly. When the stack got too high, you'd wait as he wheeled them into the store, stack them beside the freezer to be put away when you were done, and then return to you, and the cycle would start again. It was simple, and it worked.

Meanwhile, Hoyt was chatting up the man. Thomas would hear snippets of their conversation as he passed, but he didn't care enough to really pay attention. He did still learn that the man was from all the way up in Monatana, where he lived alone off the grid, but he was taking a little trip through the states for a bit of soul searching and sight seeing. Thomas didn't know why he would want to come here; nothing to see here but miles and miles of dirt with a few dehydrated trees and a guarantee of sweat.

Once the last crate was brought in and he helped you heave the dolly back into the truck, he helped you down, this time keeping a hold of your hand after your feet reached the earth. You wiped the sweat from your forehead with your arm, and looked up to him with a smile. "Sure hope those freezers are runnin' good today," You comment. He smiled under his mask; he knew one of the only reasons you liked to help him stock the freezers was because it gave you a chance to cool off. You had admitted before that the sight of the meat, knowing what it was, made you a little queasy, but the cold of the freezer made a little bearable. It didn't matter to him, though - time spent with you was time well spent.

He led you up toward the stations doors, not missing the way the strange mans eyes catch on you both as yu walk by; specifically on you.

It didn't sit right with him.

He tried to pretend that he didn't feel the twisting feeling that was writhed within him as he started cracking open the crates. That man was just looking. Yes, that's all. You were very pretty after all, he couldn't blame the guy. But it still didn't make the feeling go away.

You both started taking the packages (you pointedly averting your eyes from the packs as much as you could), and loading them onto the wire racks of the freezer to be cooked later. The freezer was blissfully and unusually cold, immediately wiping the sweat away from your skins. So cold that he could feel his fingers begin to go numb as he continued. He didn't mind the pain much, but you obviously did; every few seconds, you would draw your hands close to your body and rub them together or blow into them before you keep going. Your cheeks were also starting to flush again, this time from the cold.

This went on for about minute before Thomas abruptly grabbed your wrist while you were reaching into the crate, stopping you. Your eyes flickered up to him, confused, and a little alarmed. "Tommy…?" You asked, searching his face. His other hand reached up to trace over your cheek, even though his hands were cold too, he could still feel the frigid feel of your skin. He gestured toward the door, for you to leave and let him finish up. You sigh.

"Thomas, I'm okay," you give him other sweet smile. "Besides, who knows when I'll have something to cool me down like this." Now you were just being silly. You were obviously freezing. He gestured again to the door, a little more exaggerating than before, keeping your wrist in a gentle hold as he carefully gives you a little push toward it. He wouldn't have you dying just because you wanted to stay cold. 

"Okay, okay, I'm going; but I promise I'll be back to help you when I'm warmed up." He lets go and you rise on your tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek before walking out. His face felt warm as he watched you leave, the butterflies that only you could awaken fluttering inside his chest. And he got back to work.

10 minutes pass. Then 15. Then he finished.

You never came back in.

If Thomas didn't know any better, he'd have thought that something was wrong. But Hoyt was outside, and wouldn't he yell for him if something had happened to you? Or was he too busy trying to talk their new victim into going to their house that he never even noticed that you had walked out? 

He was incredibly anxious as he quickly stacked the crates in the storage room to be used later, damn near running as he walked briskly out of the station. His eyes quickly scanned the are, looking for you; he sighed with relief when he saw you. You looked fine. You were smiling, and laughing, and talking to - His hidden smile dropped when he saw you were talking to that stranger.

Worse still, you were laughing with him.

Why were you talking to him? And where was Hoyt?

Thomas walked over toward you slowly, watching you talk with the stranger. He didn't like the way he was looking at you. Something about the mans bright blue eyes looking at you made anger flare in his stomach. Especially when he had the audacity to do a onceover on you, his smile pleased as he listened to you talking. It didn't help that you kept smiling at him, laughing quietly at whatever he said to you.

"- Lived in Texas for a while, so I'm pretty used to it." He heard you say as he got closer behind you. "What's Montana like?" "It's nice, for the most part. Gets pretty chilly in the winter, 'specialy near the mountains. Lots o' wildlife too. Real nice.." The man drawled, smiling at you and leaning against his admittedly nice looking truck he came in. "I think you'd like it there." No she wouldn't. "Maybe, but I can't really see myself leaving Texas." Thank you. "Can't imagine why you would want to come down here when you live in a place like that." He laughs quietly and looks down at the dirt not yet noticing Thomas as he stops behind you. Neither do you. "Ah, well, just wanted to see what else this world had to offer, an' I believe -" It was obvious that he was gonna throw a cheesy pickup line at you when he looked up; but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Thomas looming over you, his eyes widening.

You notice how the mans attention seemed to be shifted to something above you, you turn, your face brightening when you see Thomas. "Hey! Done already? Sorry, I got a little caught up out here. Oh, Klaus-" The man looks back at you. "This is my boyfriend, Thomas. Thomas, this is Klaus- He comes all the way from Montana. Quite a drive."

No one says anything as the two men eye each other.

'Klaus' looks at Thomas, eyeing his height and looking just a little intimidated by his sheer size. He took in the mask, the hair, his clothes, before looking back into his intense eyes, looking mainly disinterested. Thomas was sizing him up too; the stranger was shorter than him, only a little taller than you, with a rougish handsome face. He looked like an outdoorsman, what with his outfit down to his muscular,lean build. His skin was pale, which accentuated his dark hair and bright eyes the color of water on a cloudless day; if he looked close enough, he could see faint flecks of freckles along his cheeks and nose. 

Klaus was everything Thomas wished he could be for you.

"… Nice to meet you." Klaus finally says, his voice strained. Thomas gave a small grunt of acknowledgement. "He doesn't talk much." You say with a small, loving pat on his arm. Klaus looled thoroughly uncomfortable; good. "O-kay…" He said slowly before looking back to you with a grin. "So, uh, Y/n. You seem like a nice little lady, and your boyfriend is… Great. I was wondering if maybe I could tempt you to come visit my cabin in Montana for a small retreat? I could show you all the wildlife around the mountains, it's really beautiful up there… Oh, and of course, Thomas is more than welcome to come too." Klaus adds on quickly, an add-on.

If he wasn't too busy trying to keep his cool, his jaw would have dropped to the floor.

Was he flirting with you? While Thomas was literally standing right behind you? His shameless flirting was really getting on his nerves; and an inane part of him was actually worried that you'd want to agree. Because, this man (Klaus) had everything he didn't, and would obviously be the better match for you. You would never have to worry about him coming home later than usual, worrying over if he was alive. He would never come home with gashes and cuts and bruises from the victims who liked to fight back. He'd be able to share and enjoy a meal with you, the same meal (Thomas could eat actual food of course, but eating people was just a habit that he couldn't seem to break). Plus, he could show his face without people staring in horror or surprise, he could kiss your lips any time he wanted to.

Thomas could see it now. You, sick of Texas, sick of him, seeing how Klaus was the better option, riding away in Klaus' fancy truck to Montana. You'd have your own family with him in a fancy cabin in the middle of the woods, where you were happy. You'd sit on the porch swing out front, the cool breeze from the mountains ghosting across your perfect skin, Thomas a distant memory that you rarely thought about. Until his memory faded from your mind in all entirety.

The mere thought of this becoming a reality made his stomach sour.

"Oh, Montana might be cool." You muse, looking to Thomas with a smile to see what he thought. He looked at you blankly, still trying to supress his anger. "Yeah, I could show you all around the mountain; even the best spots for finding wild berries. You. He means to only take you, He says internally to you, willing you to understand through his eyes. Apparently, you don't, because you turn back to Klaus. "There's wild berries where you live?" Your tone borders on wonder. Klaus smirks, his ego inflated. "Lots, actually. Most of them get eaten by the critters, but I like to save a few for myself." He winks. He actually winks at you. This was going too far. And you just kept egging him on, whether you knew it or not.

"Woah, that's awesome!"

"It really is. I like to hunt elk up there, sometimes even bear."

"Bears?!"

Shut up. Stop talking to her.

"Bears. Mostly grizzlies, but I see the occasional black bear."

I said shut up.

"Sounds dangerous. But don't know if I could leave here, Klaus. As nice as Montana sounds, I like it right where I'm at." Thomas felt a surge of warmth at your refusal, his heart swelling with love for you.

"It would just be for a weekend." His mood shifts again as Klaus keeps trying to persuade you. She said no.

"Um…"

"C'mon, it would be fun. Get you away from this god awful weather, too."

Stop it. She already said no; leave her alone.

"I really think I'm needed right here." 

"Like I said. It's just a weekend. A mini vacation if you will."

Stop trying to take her from me.

"Besides," Klaus continues, cocking his head. "Maybe up with all that fresh air, you might find that your tastes will change-"

Without warning, Thomas's arm reeled back and extended foreward to punch that stupid, stupid man in the face with such force, he lauched back and hit the side of his truck before falling limp onto the asphalt. There was a dent in it's shiny exterior now.

Thomas breathed heavily, staring at the unconscious body.

You weren't going to Montana. Nobody was. Not even Klaus.

"Thomas!" You gasped in surprise. He turned around to face you; your eyes were wide with surprise, frozen, staring at Klaus. Those gorgeous eyes flickered to him. "… Y'know, I found him annoying too, but you don't see me body slamming people." … You found that guy annoying? That meant you weren't attracted to him, right? Well then. Knowing that now, he felt that his actions were a little… Silly. How could he have doubted you like that.? He felt a little ashamed of himself as he ducked his eyes  away from your gaze.

The sound of a slamming door pulled both of your attentions to it, Thomas instinctively moving closer to you protectively. But it was just Hoyt coming out of the outhouse, still in the process of pulling his belt tight as he stepped out. "Sorry, had to take a piss," He grumbled, fumbling with the latch before looking up."So, as I was- Holy shit!" He took the scene in; Klaus laying in a heap by his truck, your surprised expression, Thomas still breathing heavily with a dark look in his eyes. He could only imagine what it looked like to outside eyes. "What in Gods name…?" Hoyt began, before just shaking his head and waving the thought away. "You know what, forget it. Just help me load him up, Tommy boy." 

And so he did, hauling Klaus's body into the bed of the truck, thinking about how he would secretly relish butchering him. Not that he'd ever admit such a thing. Afterwards, Thomas decided to ride home in the back with you, holding your hand while your head leaned against his shoulder. He didn't know why he got so worked up in the first place. You loved him and he loved you, and that was that.

Long story short, you and Thomas weren't allowed to come help at the gas station anymore.

Notes:

If you enjoyed this take on Thomas, you should consider checking out my ongoing work titled 'The House Up On The Hill', which is another Thomas Hewitt x reader fic. Just putting that out there.

Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated :)

Chapter 4: Daisies - Brahms Heelshire +Fluff+ (Request!)

Summary:

In which you and Brahms head out on a little vacation.

Notes:

Requested by: CrabCantWrite

"… Almost there?" 

You held in a sigh as you felt him poke you in the shoulder from the passenger seat. Something he's done about once every five minutes for the last hour that you'd been driving for. You loved him to pieces, but sometimes… Ugh.

"We still have a little ways to go, Brahms." You say gently, for the hundreth time, trying to keep your patience. Which proved very difficult when you had him in the passenger seat. But you didn't have the heart to kick him to the back, either. 

The both of you were going on a road trip.

Not far from the manor, but far enough that it made Brahms want to come.

It was originally going to be only you; You booked a few nights in a cozy little cottage near a quaint little village, where there was going to be a festival you've been dying to go to for years. It was all planned out- Until you informed Brahms of your plans. He just sort of stared at you, heavily breathing as he stared daggers into you, and stomping off to disappear ike he was so fond of doing. He thought you were leaving him for good. Weeks before your little vacation, he was on top of you, all day, every day, and all night, begging you quietly not to go. Brahms didn't stop until you finally relented and said that he could come too, if being away from you for four days was too unbearable for him.

It was. And so, you gained a tagalog.

You compiled his necessities and some clean clothes into another suitcase, still feeling excited for the trip. Yes, the Heelshire house was gorgeous and all, but ever since you got stuck with Brahms, you missed going out. Brahms made the whole experience there better, though.

The day came; you loaded the car, and buckled Brahms' doll in the backseat neatly, propping it up with blankets so it wouldn't topple over (he had insisted it come too)… Then came the part you didn't think would be an issue. But it was. 

Brahms was having cold feet. But he was still adamant that you would not leave without him.

You, quite literally, had to drag him from the house and push him into the car, while he either tried to fight back or grab onto something, or just going limp and becoming deadweight in your arms. It probably took you a good twenty five minutes just getting him out of the house and into the car.

A little over an hour has passed since then, and you could tell Brahms was restless. His leg bounced ceaselessly, and you caught him multiple times fidgeting with the air vents. He would randomly fiddle with the radio dial, or his head would suddenly snap to the side to look at a car that they passed, giving you a mini heart attack everytime he did. Now that you thought about it, he had never told you how often he got away from the house. This could be the first time in a decade.

You cast a quick glance his way. He appeared to be looking out the window, his expression hidden by the cracked porcelain mask he wore. His fingers were bunching and releasing the edge of his cardigan, his leg twitching. It was obvious that he was a nervous wreck.

"Hey," You said softly, and you see his face jerk to you in your peripheral. "The GPS says we'll be ther in thirty minutes. Okay? Almost there." You offer you hand to him out of sympathy, and he takes it without hesitation, his hand swallowing yours. He holds it like a lifeline. You smiled, left to wonder if he actually felt any better.

Brahms was oddly quiet as you drove, something you weren't sure whether you were thankful for or not. He still kept a vice like hold on your hand, which was a good sign, at least; hopefully, he felt a little better. You wonder if it had been the right decision in bringing him. Maybe you shouldn't have come.

No. You did. You did deserve this! You've worked hard managing that mammoth of a house, and it's garden, and Brahms himself (though the last, you didn't really see it as a chore). You deserved some time to do something you wanted to do, and you wouldn't let yourself talk you out of it. And, in truth, you were happy Brahms was coming too. It would be good for him to get out and do something new for a change.  And it would be a good time to share some quality time, not that you were lacking it in the first place; but being cozied up next to Brahms in a homey cottage sound nice. But, you would not let him feel like you made the wrong decision.

A little while later, you turned onto a dirt driveway, that led straight into the woods. The road was empty but framed with gorgeous trees, that offered shade, but still let in some light, creating little columns of sunlight. It was beautiful, and the sight made you breathe a little easier. This was gonna be a good time.

Brahms was silent beside you, but his face was frozen foreword, like he was taking in the view too.

You were driving up the road for another good five minutes, and then you saw it; The cottage. And it was the most darling thing you'd ever seen. Framed with large oak trees, crowding the little house like it was a crowned jewel. It was built with a patchwork of white and light, sandy stones bigger than your tires, with a little white door and a slanted roof, a silver chimney poking up from the top. In front of it was a garden of flowers, mostly white, and a concrete angel sat by the enterance door. You felt excitement swell in your chest at the sight as you pull up in the dirt paved driveway. You parked the car, and turned to Brahms.

"What do you think, Brahms?" You ask him, slightly breathless with the rush of excitement you felt. He stares at you blankly, just… Staring at you without saying a word. Sigh. You wish he would tell you what was on his mind. Whatever. You hoped he was a little happy, in any case.

You step out of your nice, warm car and immediately shiver from the chill of the brisk autumn air. God, you wished you brought a sweater or something. You had meant to take your favorite, but you got too wrapped up trying to get Brahms out the door. It was currently drped over the chair by the kitchen table, where you left it.

Rubbing the goosebumps that rose on your arms, you took another look at the house. It looked like something out of a fairy tale- and you'd be living in it. Okay, only for a few days but still.

Before you could reach in your pocket for the key to the house, you felt something wrap around you, something warm and soft. Like cotton. You saw Brahms' hands as they wrapped one of his cardigans you had packed him, the pale green one with tortishell buttons, tugging the sleeves up your arms. You smiled and helped, shrugging them up onto your shoulders; the torso was long and the sleeves hung past your wrists, so you bunched them in your hands. "Thank you, Brahms," You say softly, turning to look at him. It was so rare that he does something to care for you rather than the other way around, and you savored every moment he did. 

Brahms responded by puling the cardigan straight on you meticulously. When he was satisfied, he gently rubbed your upper arms a few times while looking at you warmly, but still strangely blank, before grabbing your face and pulling you closer, pressing the cold lips of his mask to your forehead. You smile wistfully, wishing it was his own.

There have been instances where he has taken off his mask in front of you, but mostly only during the dim hours of nighttime, when you could barely see anything. He's kissed you without it, too, and you wished it would happen more often. You wished he would let you kiss his lips again, instead of the cold porcelain against your own. Maybe one day.

"Thank you." You say again, smiling up at him. "I'm gonna go unlock the house, 'kay? Then we can settle in." Brahms says nothing but lets go of you and meanders off toward the little garden.

You unlock the house, holding your breath as it swings open, and letting it out when you see the interior. It was just as cozy as you thought it'd be; the furniture of what you could see and the decor were all in shades of cream and white and dark brown, various fake plants placed artfully around the dark wooden walls. You were surprised that Brahms didn't come in to see the house.

What didn't surprise you, however, was the fact that it was up to you to bring in all the bags. You mostly just piled what you could in your hands and around your arms and shoulders, all with the exception of Brahms' doll; he got his own special treatment, being carried in by himself, and being sat in one of the cushiony chairs in the bedroom. While lugging in the bags and such, you caught sight of Brahms every now and then, at the garden peering at the flowers, wandering around, looking around like he was lost, or even disappearing for a few minutes at a time. You wondered again, what was going on through his head.

You put everything in their respective rooms, sighing gratefully when you let the final bag drop from your shoulder and fall to the floor with a thud. Finally. Time to actually enjoy this majestic cottage you'd be staying in.

But where was Brahms?

You walked out the door, looking for him in the front yard, feeling your heart spike in panic when you couldn't see him. Your hands went clammy and you could physically feel your face pale. Brahms was no where to be seen. Oh no, please no…

He wasn't by the car. Or on the sidesof the house. You even got so desperate as to look up the trees, even though you could never imagine him climbing a tree. He couldn't actually have gotten lost, right? I mean, you barely walked into the house for two minutes… Still, his tall figure was not anywhere.

"Brahms?" You called hoarsely, wandering a little into the woods on the left side of the house.

You almost literally jump out of your skin when you feel the heavy feeling of a hand on your shoulder, nearly giving yourself whiplash when you turn around to face him. Brahms stands behind you, looking straight down at you. You almost have a heart attack just by seeing him standing there. "Brahms! You can't just wander away like that, you made me worried," You scold him, but in a gentle way that reminded you of the same way a mother would scold her child who wandered too far and worried her.

He ducks his eyes and looks back up at you, and you could read the apology in his eyes. Then he suddenly holds out his hand to you, curled into a fist around… A bunch of white daisies, their long stems still peppered with dirt. It looked like he was presenting them to you. Your heart melts.

"…Are these for me?" You ask, forgetting all about how he had abruptly left and practically appeared out of thin air. He nods carefully, still holding them out for you. You take them, looking at the small flowers. Their petals were as white as the clouds, the golden center a bright yellow. There had to be at least fifty of them. They would look gret in one of the empty vases you had seen in the kitchen, you realize. "Brahms, they're beautiful." You look at him with a tender smile. "Thank you. Again." He nods and you see his eyes soften behind the mask. He looks back at the cottage.

Brahms spends a good few minutes looking at the cottage, while you just stand there in awkward silence beside him, admiring your flowers. You jumped when his head turned suddenly to you. "… I like it." He mutters simply, not saying another word as he takes your hand and starts to lead you up to the house. Well, guess it was time to go inside.

You smiled to yourself as you stared at his back, holding the daisies in your hand, thinking that maybe bringing him with you was the right thing to do.

And you were glad you did.

Notes:

Comments & Kudos are always appreciated :)

Chapter 5: Hc + Scenario: Happy Birthday, Jason Voorhees!

Summary:

In which you celebrate his birthday.

Notes:

y'all it is FRIDAY THE 13TH. You know what that means. ^^
Also, it's my birthday too, so… ¢_¢

But fuck me, right, we are here for Jason ÙwÚ

• Is honestly surprised you remembered 

 

• So much that it will scare the shit out of him if you decided to surprise him when he got home that day

 

• He's really bashful and awkward about any festivities you do for him, especially if you give him gifts

 

• Like, he doesn't hate that you did, but the poor guy just wasn't used to his birthday getting celebrated this way

 

• Loves every gift you give him, no matter what it is. Even if it is the most random thing in the world (like something from the nearly deserted gas station just outside the woods, or even something you found in said woods), he would cherish it lile it were the greatest treasure (If you get him any kind of jewelry like a necklace or bracelet, he'd wear it always)

 

• The gifts that really get him though are the ones you make yourself. Those will be showcased somewhere in the house where it was clearly visible, so he could look at it all the time

 

• He'd really be happy with anything you cook/bake even if it doesn't turn out how you wanted it too (like how my stuff always does)

 

• Would not say no to some birthday kisses <3

 

• Even if you didn't do any of these things for him, he wouldn't mind one bit

 

• Really, the only thing he wants for his birthday is to feel loved, and quiet time to cuddle with you

---

The moonlight reflected off the lake, giving it an soft, eerie blue glow in the nighttime. Crickets chirped quietly from somewhere within the woods, mingling with the quiet sounds of the water lapping onto the shore and rolling in miniscule waves. Stars shimmered overhead, peeking in through the trees, but on full display over the lake, visible from where the two of you sat on the shoreline. 

Alone with you; now that was a birthday worth taking the time to spend. 

Jason had origionally thought the day would pass unnoticed, uncelebrated, like it did every single year since his childhood. Just another day of doing the exact same thing he does everyday. Every once in a while he'd try and go out of his way to do something special for himself on his birthday, but most of the time he just let the day pass without a trace. Just another day.

And then you came along, and made it a day he actually wanted to celebrate.

Because that meant more time spent with you, which was always time well spent in his book.

Just like now.

You were both sitting up on one of the small shores of Crystal Lake, looking up at the stars. Sure, a little cliche, but it suited the both of you just fine. He was leaning against the trunk of a tree, with you sitting between his legs and laying against him, your body tilted to the side so that the side of your head rested on his chest. His arms were around you, and yours around him. It was a little chilly, so he had taken off his jacket to drape over you; he didn't mind the cold anyway. He had to signal this to you multiple times until you would take it without shoving it back to him.

It was nice. As quiet as the woods could be. Your breathing was coming slower, like you were on the verge of sleep, but he made no move to wake you. He was tired too, but he didn't want to fall asleep. Not yet. The scene felt too beautiful to pass over.

Too perfect not to take the time to commit it to memory.

The scenery was nice, yes, but you… Holding you like this was the only thing he wanted to do and feel for the rest of his life. The one person who fit completely with him like the other half to his broken soul. Who showed him kindness when others did not, and who saw a person rather than a monster when they looked at him. Who was just so utterly amazing and kind that he caught himself trying to wake himself from what felt like a dream.

He wanted to spend an eternity loving you.

And now was a great time to start.

Notes:

Comment & Kudos are always greatly appreciated :)

Chapter 6: HC: Slumber Party! (Request!)

Summary:

In which you have a sleepover with them

… And then all of them. At once.

Notes:

Requested by: GrapeWhite

I wrote them individually for the first part, and then all of them together at the end. Hope you enjoy! :]

Thomas Hewitt

• Even though he loves spending time with you, it'd take a lot of convincing just to take an afternoon and night just for the two of you. No interruptions 
• But after LOTS of begging, he finally agrees
• He'd feel a little guilty being away from his family for a whole afternoon when he could be doing things to help out, but you pull him out of his slump
• I feel like he'd wear a very old shirt (like I'm talking raggedy old) and plaid sweatpants. Idk it just feels right
• You two would probably make a cozy little settup on his bed upstairs, just piles of blankets and pillows to make it extra comfy
• Or you could just lay on Thomas
• I guarantee he won't stop you
• Would love for you to teach him some card/board games 
• If you like to read/write, he'd love for you to read whatever struck your fancy to him
• He'd go to sleep fairly quickly
• Is the ultimate cuddler. You cannot change my mind on that one

Bubba Sawyer

• Ohh, he has just been waiting for this opportunity 
• Lowkey excited
• Makes all the preparations; snacks, games, a PILLOW FORT (okay it looks like it's going to collapse in on itself, and probably will when your inside of it, but give the boy some credit)
• Repeatedly gets it through to his brothers to leave the two of you alone tonight
• Wears an old pajama set
• Probably has some goofy looking slippers too
• His favorite board game is Trouble, and you can bet your buttons he WILL mess with the dice popper multiple times
• Being the sweetheart he is, he always lets you win
• He's willing to stay up as long as you want to
• Will die if he doesn't get to cuddle you to sleep

Pennywise

• Pennywise? A sleepover? 
• He doesn't even need to sleep essentially, but he knew humans needed sleep to survive, so why did you want to stay awake and "hang out" with him at night…?
• He thinks it is very peculiar, but agrees to it anyway
• Feels like he will never understand human customs
• Feeds before he gets there
• You honestly have barely any time to get ready, and suddenly you open a closet or cupboard and he's just THERE
• He just wears his clown costume 
• If your lucky, he'll wear a ridiculous looking nightcap to humor you 
• Movies all night
• Preferably a comedy (horror movies just make him hungry, even though he says the acting is dry and doesn't compare to the real thing)
• Feeding off of you isn't an option so he staves off of some popcorn (ah, but othing compares to fear, unfortunately…)
• He doesn't sleep. So he stays up as long as you are able
• You fall asleep in the middle of one of the movies, and he dutifully stays beside you through the night 
• He's gone by morning, but there's a little bowl of candy next to the couch, with a smiley face on a note next to it; it appears he liked it

Art The Clown

• First of all, you have a mandatory rule that he must shower before he steps foot in your house
• Always; not just for the sleepover
• You will not up with his messes on your precious floors
• And he begrudgingly agrees, though sometimes he tests your limits
• Claps his hands and bounces on his toes when you invite him for a sleepover
• You make his pinky promise not to do anything funny while at your house
• And you make the mistake of trusting him
• Everything seemed fine when he arrived, in his normal costume, still, but clean
• Will probably try and convince you to pirate some illegal horror movie like Cannibal Holocaust or Traces Of Death or A Serbian Film  (I'm not promoting these movies at all, don't come for me, they are illegal for a good reason, and I recommend no one try and watch them. I only looked them up, and never watched them. But Art would totally want to, the little psychotic sadomasochist.)
• … He brought snacks
• Spoiler alert: There's a dead cat inside the chip bag
• He gives you an innocent and appalled look as you shoo him angrily out of the house
• But he stands outside your window looking ever inch like a sad, wet dog that you give him one last chance
• Surprisingly behaves the rest of the night
• You end up playing uno, which is even more entertaining with his facial expressions (this is actually really funny to think about for some reason)
• He sidles up close as you start to drift off

Jason Voorhees

• I mean, every night is a sleepover with him
• You literally live together in his cabin 
• But he'll do it for you
• He waits for you at the camp while you make your way up to the nearest store with a portion of money he's collected off his victims
• While your gone, he rumages through all the clothes hs compiles over the years and finds a relatively new shirt that has that slick feel of a sports shirt, and some ratty pajama pants in some kind of plaid
• You come back with an armful of snacks, games, and, suprise, a TV and some old movies
• He'd probably appreciate some kind of calmer movie
• Cuddlleeesss
• Is able to stay up as long as you want
• You bet you are underneath a blanket snuggling up to him

Michael Myers (Original)

• He comes to your house unannounced most of the time
• And one time, you were ready and equipped with everything you needed for a sleepover
• He just kind of went with it
• Either wears the jumper, or nothing but his underwear; take your pick
• That being said, he doesn't eat anything, and you just kind of have to pull him through everything 
• The only thing he will engage in even the tiniest bit is a movie
• He doesn't even care what you watch
• If he feels nice, he'll play a game with you
• His favorite is Clue, and hes pretty good at it, too
• He doesn't get tired
• Just lays there stoically if you fall asleep holding onto him

Michael Myers (RZ!)

• Contrary to his original counterpart, he shows as much enthusiasm as Michael Myers can when you mention a sleepover 
• Really, he sleeps in your house anyway, but this was special
• Strikes me as just a sweatpants and no shirt kind of guy
• Really doesn't care what you do
• Actually somewhat likes sleepovers, because it reminds him of a time in his life when things were easier 
• He'd rather do something with his hands than watch a movie
• If you have the materials, he'd like to make a paper mache mask for you and teach you how to make one
• If not, he likes Jenga
• And he wouldn't mind if you wanted to bake something! I think he'd enjoy that
• Goes to sleep only when you start showing signs that you're tired
• Holds you while you drift off, while he uses you as an anchor against the pull the past has at his mind

Freddy Krueger 

• He's down for it. So fucking down.
• It almost scares you how down he is
• Doesn't really wear any nightclothes for the occasion, but fully expects you to
• Will make dirty comments toward you at one point or another regarding said nightclothes
• Would love watching scary movies with you and likes to make fun of you if you jump
• Things get freaky if there's a sex scene; that's all up to your interpretation, folks
• Oh, you fell asleep? Not a problem for him
• Continues the party in your dreams
• And things get WEIRD real fast

Brahms Heelshire

• It was actually Brahms who wanted the sleepover
• And who were you to say no?
• He wears a fluffy robe that he takes off before bed, a pinstripe pajama set, and some ratty slippers
• Oh, can't forget the eye mask
• Wants to do everythig and everything; I'm talking movies, baking, snacking, board games, and whatever else crosses his mind
• But Gods help you if you don't let him win
• He will pout for the rest of the night
• But keep him happy and it'll be all smooth sailing
• Doing all of this proves very difficult when he gets sleepy at 12AM
• You MUST read the special boy a story and give him a kiss before bed
• And then he would hold you hostage in his arms until you both fell asleep

Billy Loomis

• Sleepover? Oh, haha, you meant Horror Movie Marathon With My S/O
• Fr, y'all just watch horror movies
• T shirt and shorts/ pajama pants
• And he will whisper facts about the movie while you're all cuddled up on the couch
• Granted, he does provide you with all of your favorite snacks
• Occasionally you will be able to pull him away for some other kind of quality time that you would rather do, and he enjoys it just the same
• Can stay up relatively late, but starts getting a little drowsy around 3:30 AM
• Cuddles all night *+
• Will whisper sweet nothings to you until one of you falls asleep

Stu Macher

• Arguably the most fun slasher to have a sleepover with 
• Sleepovers happen pretty often with him
• Wears a tank top with sweatpants and calls it good (robe occasionally?)
• Bought the both of you a cheesy pajama set (that you never wear)
• He's only got you to wear them with you once
• Baking with you is one of his favorite things to do at sleepovers with you
• The kitchen is an absolute MESS by the time you're through with how much the two of you mess around while baking
• Not only the room, but yourselves too
• Also, Karaoke night?!
• Definitely 
• And let me tell you, even if you think you're bad, Stu purposely does silly voices to the point that its even worse
• (does have an actual decent singing voice if he really tried)
• Hyped up on the excitment, he could run til 5 AM 
• When you do fall asleep, he will make sure you have enough blanket before he comes in and cuddles you

Mark Hoffman

• Oh, Mark.
• You have to beg for this to even be an idea in his head
• Like, more than you would with Thomas 
• Between work and his "side gig", he's always extremely stressed, and just feels like he doesn't have the time to just kick back
• He says yes more to stop you begging rather than having an actual desire to go
• Although he can admit that it would be a nice destressor
• Cancels all of his nights plans, and silences his cell phone; tonight is just for you and him, after all
• Will die before admitting he's been wanting alone time like this with you for a while
• Shirt and sweatpants for him
• Movies and board games (his favorite is Monopoly)
• ( if you whip out clue, he will kill you)
• If you watch a movie, he will dote on you while still paying attention to the movie
• Running his fingers through your hair, soft kisses on your neck as he holds you with your back against his chest
• You both fall asleep on the couch together

Norman Bates

• Took literal months to have his Mother agree to him sleeping in the same room as you
• And when he asked you, he was a nervous wreck
• You said yes
• He is still a nervous wreck
• The sleepover is held in one of the larger rooms the motel has a long ways from where Mothers room is
• Makes sure everything is extra clean and perfect before you come
• He wears something modest to bed, idk, like just a decent looking shirt and comfy pants, and some slippers
• You spend most of the night baking with him
• Poor thing jumps everytime you touch him
• He decides that at 12 AM, you are both going to bed
• Really adamant about sleeping in seperate beds, but if you crawl into his after a little while, he will roll over to face you and hold you as you both drift off

---

ALL TOGETHER NOW!

• I don't know how you got these guys under one roof without them killing each other or planning a killing spree, but here we are, ya little miracle worker you!
• Not knowing where to have the party, you ask Mark Hoffman if you could borrow one of the abandoned warehouses he and John use for traps
• Stu and Pennywise supply most of the snacks 
• If anybody forgot a sleeping bag (because this is a fucking warehouse, not a B&B), fear not, Jason Voorhees brought extra
• You're delulu if you think none of them would bring their weapons, so BE CAREFUL and DON'T LET CONFLICTS HAPPEN
• Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, and RZ! Michael Myers are looking at each others masks
• Leave it to Norman Bates to inspect and note all the warehouses imperfections and say we should have just stayed at some rental house
• Billy Loomis tries to talk to all the slashers and take mental notes, especially the more popular classic ones
• Brahms Heelshire just kind of hovers over you wherever you choose to go
• Freddy Krueger convinces Michael Myers and Jason to a game of Monopoly (will deal you in if you wanna play too)
• Mark is that kid who just wants to go home; he just sits there watching Billy and Stu examine Bubba's, Thomas's and RZ! Michael's masks.
• Art The Clown just sits there like a weirdo; Sometimes finding dead rats in the dark corners of the warehouse and trying to scare the others with it
• Everyone eventually joins in on Monopoly 
• Stu provides commentary, Norman is the banker, and You are tasked on making sure nobody cheats
• … Everybody tries to cheat at least once
• The game ends abruptly when Art drops a pile of dismembered rats onto the board, the blood and gore ruining the board itself and the cards, and proceeds to laugh silently on the floor
• He gets kicked out; everybody's been through enough of his shit tonight
• Everyone there is a little fucked up but jeez, Art, WTF
• After a few hours, everyone is ready for sleep
• The sleeping bags are all placed in their own areas on the floor, all a little closer for more heat 
• Brahms falls asleep first, Thomas falls asleep last
• Everybody survives the night :)

Notes:

I had waayyyy too much fun with this lol

If you have any oneshot/headcanon ideas, please leave a comment!

Comments & Kudos are always appreciated :)

Chapter 7: HC: Picnic! (Request!)

Summary:

In which you and all the slashers go on a picnic.

Notes:

Requested by: GrapeWhite

What they bring:

Thomas Hewitt- Orange juice that he got from the gas station near his house, and some jerky (Y'ALL DON'T EAT THE JERKY-)

Bubba Sawyer- Very crunched up bags of chips (also from the gas station)

Pennywise- Your favorite kind of pie! (…That looks suspiciously like the one you bought from the store… That also went missing a few days ago…)

Art The Clown- … Who told Art he could bring food?? Nah, don't, guys, he's gonna bring something dead to the picnic

Jason Voorhees- Whatever he can find off campers. Probably stuff like (actual) jerky, chips, candy, maybe some sodas and energy drinks. Brings a variety of that sort of stuff

Michael Myers (Original)- Nothing. Literally nothing.

Michael Myers (RZ)- One of those fruit palates you got him once but he never ate

Freddy Kruger- Brings, like, a singular apple or something small like that

Brahms Heelshire- PB&J Sandwiches that you made

 Billy Loomis- Some kind of odd named salad bowl (I had a 'pizza' salad once that was actually pretty good, ngl)

Stu Macher- Candy. Soda. Anything with sugar. (for some reason I think his favorite would be sour gummy worms?)

Mark Hoffman- A few coldcut subs

Norman Bates- Made a whole ass chicken and brought bread and some fixin's for chicken sandwhiches

 

The Picnic

• Everyone brings stuff, but Norman is really the only one okay sharing with everybody
• Everyone else just kinda deals out what they brought into the center of the picnic blanket begrudgingly 
• Brahms only eats the sandwiches he brought
• Pennywise is always trying to steal your food, like, bitch back UP
• All goes to shit when Art throws a slice of pie at (Original) Michael Myers
• (He's always starting something istg)
• Michael then proceeds to try and kill Art
• Everyone else just keeps eating
• Freddy thinks it is hilarious
• Stu makes a bet with Pennywise that Art will get away
• He does; Pennywise owes Stu a dollar, but we all know he ain't gonna fess up (he's a fucking alien, he's broke af)
• Everybody lives to tell the tale. This time.
• Michael has it out for Art, tho…

Notes:

I wrote this at like 3 AM yesterday, but I hope it's good anyway lol

Comments & Kudos are always appreciated :)

Chapter 8: Resourceful - Jason Voorhees +Fluff+ (Request!)

Summary:

In which you are very resourceful when certain tools you need disappear around Jasons cabin.

Notes:

Requested by: CrabCantWrite

This kinda just turned into crack ngl

It was a regular occurance, for you to be left alone for long periods of time in the cabin you shared with Jason. You never really minded; he always brought stuff home for you that he'd get from his victims. Books, drawing utensils, he even found a book of crossword puzzles last week. But even those got boring sometimes. And you knew that he would blow a fuse if he came home to find you missing. So, in times like this, it was up to you to find a way to entertain yourself.

Today, it was making lunch.

The radio you had bought was crackling with static on the counter of the kitchen, and you tried to adjust the antenna to catch the frequency of some radio station. Any kind would do right about now; it was too quiet. After a little bit of fiddling, you got a semi-clear connection to what sounded like a classic country station. Well, better than nothing.

You turn around and head toward the pantry, opening up the door and surveying the items on the shelves. You realized you would have to go shopping soon; the shelves were almost empty. But behind a box of instant rice, you see a loaf of bread, practically calling your name. And you swear if you turn your head to the other side, you should see… Yes! You grab the jar of peanut butter and the bread with a smile - Now, you were just hoping there was some jelly in the fridge, so you could make yourself a good ol' fashion PB&J.

Upon looking in the fridge, you find a half empty jar of strawberry jelly, and set it on the counter next to the peanut butter and the bag of bread. You hum a quiet tune as you make your way over to thr silverware drawer, only to stop and frown when you notice the butter knife slot waas completely empty. There wasn't even a stray on that found itself in with the forks or spoons. No matter; there was probably some in the dishwasher.

The dishwasher Jason had ordered for the house when you complained about handwashing dishes looked like something prehistoric compared to the sleek, shiny models you'd see on the show floor at the store. This hulking beast wasn't even built into the counter, despite having a slab of the counter on top; it rolled around on wheels so you could make sure the hose in the back could connect to the faucet to provide the water when it ran. Plus, when it was running, it was loud.

Right now it was pushed back next to the rest of the counter, the little green light in front indicated it was clean. Jason must have disconnected it and rolled it back into place this morning before you woke up. You open the bulky door (One good thing about this dishwasher? It was heavy duty. You could tumble boulders in it and not even make dents), and rolled out the bottom rack. The wheels squeak as it rolls foreward, and you start sifting through the plastic side pocket where the silverware was when it came to a stop.

Not a single butter knife was to be seen.

To make matters worse, despite you distinctly remembered hooking it up and running it, the dishes inside were still dirty. Frustrated, you slammed the dishwasher with a little more force than you had meant to. Damn you, dishwasher.

You wheel the cart-like dishwasher over to the sink, hook it to thr faucet and turn on the water, put the soap in the little soap cubby and latch the lid, and then close it and run it (again). Afterwards, you sigh, looking around the kitchen… Now what?

The butter knives had disappeared to god knows where; you've come to terms with that. So you weighed the alternatives. A fork was a obvious no. You could use a spoon, but it wasn't the same, and you always somehow got more peanut butter on the spoon than the actual bread. You also considered just using the handle of any of the utensils, but immediately cringed from the idea; that just felt plainly wrong.

There seemed to be nothing you could do. By now, you were even just considering having a sandwhich that consisted solely of bread. Hope was lost to you.

Until you saw Jason's machete placed so conveniently on a towel next to the kitchen sink.

---

It was a nice, sunny day outside, but Jason couldn't really bring himself to enjoy it as much as he usually did.

He wasn't upset, per se, just a little bothered.

Why, you ask? Becausehe was stuck with a  measly kitchen knife instead of his trusty machete.

It all started yesterday when he came home from slaughtering the fresh batch of campers, admittedly very bloody. You, as always, worried over him as soon as he walked in the door, and after you made sure none of the blood was his, you glanced down at his weapon; also covered in blood. "You should really clean that." You said as you brought him fresh clothes. And you were right. Not only was the blade itself a macabre mess, but the handle was crusted with years and years of gore. At first he said no, but you eventually talked him into it.

What a mistake that had been. Because this morning when he went to get it, the handle was still wet. And because there was a clearly written sign beside it that you had left the night before informing him that you had "sanitized" it, and he wouldn't be able to take it out today. The smell of bleach was strong when he got closer.

Now he was stuck with this puny kitchen knife. It wasn't even a long one; the butcher knife had been used last night on the deer he caught. The blade was short. It was too small for his large hand. And thus, it was completely and utterly inferior to his beloved weapon back home.

Good news, though. There were no new campers at the campsite today and wouldn't be any tonight, he guessed, so he didn't even need to use the por excuse of a knife. 

Also good news - He was heading back home to you. He was even early coming home today. Totally not in disdain for his new weapon.

He went through the woods silently, toward the direction the cabin was. As he walked, he wondered what you'd gotten up to today. Jason always felt guilty for leaving you cooped up in the cabin while he disappeared for hours on end, and he knew the little gifts he brought you didn't suffice as an apology. But he also hoped you'd understand that it was his way of prioritizing your safety. You always seemed to find something to do, though. From cleaning, to engaging with things he brought you, to… Napping…? Ugh, even listing them out sounds boring. 

It wasn't long before he caught sight of the cabin in the sea of trees, with some of the lamps you bought shining a warm soft glow in the windows. He couldn't see you in any of them.

Jason trudged foreward, tucking the knife into one of his belt loops. The old wooden floorboards whined in protest as he shambled up the steps and porch, but the door swung open silently on the recently oiled hinges. He wiped his muddy shoes off on the doormat outside the door before stepping in. In true Jason fashion, his enterance into the house was nothing short of completely silent, as he listened for any sound to where you could be. He heard the sound of the radio playing softly in the kitchen.

So, that's where he headed.

Silently, he made his way through the cabin into the kitchen, where he immediately saw you, your back turned to him. He couldn't tell what you were doing at first, but you sure were moving your arms a great deal. It was only when you turned slightly to the side did he see what you were doing - He takes a deep breath in shock.

There you were, looking at a plate on the counter, open jars of peanut butter and strawberry jelly beside it… using HIS MACHETE to put PEANUT BUTTER on yoUR BREAD. The horror registers in his very soul as he sees smears of jelly below the thick goop of the peanut butter. You moved the coated tip of HIS WEAPON over thr bread like an artist putting the final touches on their latest masterpiece.

Here he was with a steak knife that felt like a Barbie doll by size in his hand, while you were using his machete to MAKE A SANDWHICH.

Although, it wouldn't be the first time he's caught you using his machete for things other than murder.

Like the time you were trying to get loose nails out of the wall. His machete was used to pry them out. The soil outside was too littered with thick roots to dig a hole and plant the vegetable seeds you had got on sale. The machete did the job. Branches jammed in the chimney? Use the machete and try and scoop them out. Oh, you accidently swept something under the stove? Golly, would ya look at that, Jason's machete again!

But this. This was a new low.

He threw the knife down onto the table, the loud clatter of it skidding a few centimeters across its surface making you jump, and turn to face him. He stares at you. You stare at him… And you have the audacity to look innocent, the pointy tip smothered in peanut butter still hovering over the bread. "… What?" You ask when he doesn't come over and greet you like he normally did when he got home. He watched your eyes examine him for injuries,and warmth runs through him for you - No. He was supposed to be mad at you.

Jason points to the machete in your hands sharply. Your eyes snap to the weapon, and then back at him, a little guiltily. "There weren't any butter knives left! Did you move them?" You ask, setting the machete in the sink and closing the sandwich. He shakes his head. "Well than, where are they?" He shrugs, in a how should I know? way. 

Who cares about the butter knives, we're here about the abuses to his poor blade…

He gestures to the knife - that stupid, stupid knife that was meant for tiny hands - to show what he had suffered through today. "… Oh." You say; and you were holding back giggles? The nerve!

You sigh, calming down. "It's fine, Jason, I'll clean it." You reassure him and take a bite of the sandwich. That better be the best sandwich you've ever tasted, for having to use MY machete. That's used for murdering. People. Gods, it's gonna take weeks for the smell of PB&J to fade from it.

"You want a sandwich?" You ask him as you hold yours in your hand. You knew he didn't really need to eat, but he occasionally did eat with you.

He shakes his head. 

You shrug and take another bite and set it back down on the plate, and come closer to him, giving him a one armed hug. "I missed you today." You mutter as you kiss the side of his mask where his cheek was, your breath smelling sweet with the strawberry jelly. He grumbled a bit before looping his arms around you and resting his head atop of yours.

He loved you, very much, but don't make sandwiches with his murder weapon, damn it.

Notes:

Hope I gave you some smiles today :]

Comments & Kudos are always appreciated :)

Chapter 9: Never Again, pt.2 - Thomas Hewitt (Request!)

Summary:

Requested by: CrabCantWrite

He honestly couldn't believe he let you convince him to bring you out here.

He had vowed to himself that no one - no one - Was going to Montana.

Look where he was now.

In a car, with you in the drivers seat, the Welcome To Montana! sign leering at him as the car drove past it.

How did this happen? To put it plainly, he caved. Because ever since they brought back that Klaus fella (Thomas found great pleasure chopping him up), you'd bring it up every so often. About how beautiful it sounds there. Saying how it's such a shame that the man's cabin is just sitting there unoccupied. Imagining out loud how high and beautiful the mountains were. 'Sigh, I wish we could go to Montana' type stuff. And who was he to refuse you?

So three days ago, you bothed packed your bags and hit the road; You drove, while he sat silently in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio when the signal cut out as they moved from county to county, and eventually, state to state. You both slept in the back of the spare truck that Monty lent you, and ate takeout from random restaurants along the way. He felt a little homesick; he'd never really been apart from his home for so long, and he's never let Texas. At least his Mama was finally feeling better. One thing less to worry about.

The drive was quiet; you'd make a few comments here and there, and he would grunt in acknowledgement, but other than that, the radio filled the silence.

Honestly, he was sulking.

This state was just a reminder of that idiot Klaus, and all of the things he had that Thomas didn't. And by coming here, and to the final destination (Klaus's cabin), it felt just as bad as if Klaus was waiting for them there. Everything here was just… A reminder of Klaus.

Yes, he knew very well that Klaus was dead. He was pretty sure he and his family had him for dinner the other night. Not very tasty.

And, yes. He knew he was being a little petty. He couldn't help it.

An hour later, you drove into the more rural part of Montana, in a small, no where town called Novice, that was literally halfway up a mountain. He could practically feel the excitement radiating off of you; they were getting close to the cabin.

Klaus's cabin.

Ugh.

But, you were excited, so he'd take a chance.

You drove up long, windy roads that overlooked a high cliff on one side and hugged the mountain they were scaling on the other. You were… Really high up. It kinda made him a little queasy, seeing how far away from the ground they were, but he'd never admit to it. It felt like they were completely at the top when you finally turned off the twisting roads, even though the road you had been on went further up. Hewas glad to be off it.

The road was calmer now, and less all over the place, thank god. He knew from the map that they were nearing the cabin. Supposedly, the man owned this entire road; which seemed likely, because there wasn't a house or building in sight as they drove deeper on the path. He had to admit, he was impressed by the land. He wasn't used to so much… green. It wasn't even a dry, dead green that the grass back home was. This was a bright, lush green that screamed thriving.

Soon, you started to go slower, and he looked over to you in confusion. "We're almost at the cabin," You say in explanation, not even looking his way. Your eyes were focused on the road, and you occasionally leaned foreword to peer at the trees, squinted, and he assumed you were looking for the cabin. Meanwhile, he continued his sulking, only haf-heartedly helping keep an eye out for the house.

Then finally - There it was. Oh joy.

Sticking out like a sore thumb against the trees was a cabin, with a slanted tin roof that sparkled in the sun, made with thick oak logs. The shutters on the windows were cherry red, matching the door. There was a porch in front of the door, made with the same wood as the house. 

It was nice. But the door and shutters were a bit of an eyesore, he had to admit.

You, on the other hand, found it charming; it was obvious inthe way your eyes lit up as you caugt sight of it. He sighed. 

You pulled into an indentation in the grass that looked like a designated parking spot - Probably made by Klaus's truck - and you shut off the engine.

"Thomas, isn't it just beautiful!" You say, looking over to him with wide eyes and a smile. "And the forest looks so nice…" He nods to you, spurred on a little by your enthusiasm. Only a little.

You both get out of the car, and he stops for a second. The air was a little cold… But a little humid at the same time? How…? He looked around, and noticed thin wisps of white passing through the trees like silk on a weave. Oh - Mist. He forgot that they were so high up, and that there was a lake near the base of the mountain. "Land clouds", as Mama would call them when he was a child. 

Thomas snapped out of it when you opened the trunk, starting to gather your bags. He had only brought one, so he carried one of yours for you, leaving you with just the one on your back. You closed the trunk and grabbed his hand, smiling excitedly at him as you both started walking toward the cabin.

He wished your excitement wasn't so infectious.

The boards of the porch creaked under his weight as he stepped up the stairs, making him move a bit tentatively over the porch with you. He watched you fish out a tiny silver key from his pocket (with a few flecks of blood on it), and put it in the keyhole. You turned it - But it didn't unlock. You tried again. No luck.

As you keep trying, his eyes wonder off to scan the forest slowly. He'd never seen so many trees in one place before. There were a few trees scattered around Texas, and a few small, dry forests, but nothing like this. Nothing so… Green. It seemed to go on forever, an endless maze of green and brown.

"C'mon…" He heard you mutter as you keep toying with the lock, shoving the key in aggressively and turning it sharply - Clink! "Hah! Finally," You sigh, after they key successfully unlocks the door. You turn the brass handle and let the door sweep open before the two of you. You both peer into the room from the outside.

The front door leads into what looks like to be a small living room, with a black leather couch facing towards a stone fireplace; there was a plaid throw blanket folded neatly over the back, as well as matching pillows. A cream colored rectangular rug covered almost the whole room, leaving only a little bit of the polished redwood floors showing. There was various art on the walls, the type you'd expect to see in a cabin in the middle of nowhere - Bears, wolves, trees. Even one of those weird taxidermy fish on a board sat above the fireplace.

You were the first to step in, and he followed reluctantly. He mainly just watched you take it all in, especially the kitchen with shiny silver appliances and black slate counters. Thomas looked up and saw a little indoor balcony that overlooked the living room, where he assumed was the bedroom; there were, after all, no hallways. Just the living room and an attached kitchen, and a set of stairs on the far wall that led up into the loft/bedroom.

Thomas was the first to start up the stairs, and moments later, he heard the soft pitter-patter of your feet following him up. He barely looked at the room before setting his and your bag on the black bed, sighing. What did you pack in that thing? Bricks?

You set your other bag next to his, sighing too. "Thomas, this is so great." You say, sitting on the bed. "Thank you for coming with me here." … Why did you have to be so sweet when he was trying to be in a slump abouht coming here? Oh well, it was gone for now. He was just happy you were happy.

Smiling under his mask, he took your hand in his, giving it a little squeeze. This was going to happen, whether he liked it or not, he supposed. They were stuck here for the next few days. Might as well make the most of it. He just had to make sure you kept your focus off of… He wasn't even going to let Klaus bother him anymore, he decided with a deep breath. 

That man was dead. Right now, this was all about you and him.

And he would enjoy his time alone with you here.

"We should go check out the property before the sun sets!" You say, keeping a hold on his hand as you slide off the bed with a grin. "And we can see if we can find some berries. I just hope we don't run into any bears." Thomas grunts, gripping your hand tighter; bears would be an issue. If he didn't have a few knives on him. Which you knew he did. He would protect you.

You laugh. "Joking, joking… Alright, come on!" You exclaim, guiding him toward the stairs. He follows.

He'd follow you anywhere.

Notes:

Comments & Kudos are always appreciated :)

Chapter 10: HC: Hanahaki pt 1(ok HEAR ME OUT THO-)

Summary:

So, in like, 6th grade, I was obsessed with the hanahaki stuff, but I got to thinking… This would actually be a viable reason why a slasher wouldn't kill an individul.

Thus, this chapter was born. Enjoy.

(Flower types and meanings included bc flower language is so +*~)

Thomas Hewitt: Violet Rose (Love at first sight, admiration)

It was love when Thomas first saw you, when you came to the gas station. You were some kind of delivery driver that was tasked with making sure the decrepit little gas station had ice every week; some sort of humanitarian effort by some big corporation to help with the record high temperatures that you volunteered for.

And Thomas was tasked with waiting for you each week, making sure you didn't do no poking around while you were here. 

You didn't. Your weekly visits were actually becoming somewhat enjoyable; you weren't afraid to joke with him, and your smile was something he always liked to see. You didn't shy away from him like most people did when they first see his hulking build.

That may have been the first sign that he was getting attached.

The second was that he waited eagerly for the day when he would wait at the station for you.

And then, one day while he was waiting for you, it happened.

He had a horrible sensation in his throat, like there was something alive, draging feather light fingers across the inside of his throat. He coughed and coughed, the mask taken off and cast to the side as he bent at the waist, stabilizing himself with a hand on the counter. The feeling crept up his throat with each cough, blood splattering the ground, and soon… Deep violet petals landing in the crimson.

… There was no way that came from him. Those were flower petals.

It was shocking. Strange. He felt a little afraid too; what in the world did this mean? How was it even possible?

He barely got his mask back on by the time your truck pulled up. He was still adjusting the straps as you walked in, holding a crate full of ice, pushing the door open with a grunt. As usual, you gave him a smile, either ignoring or not even seeing the red smears on the floor from when Thomas tried to shove the petals underneath the shelf beside the counter with his foot. 

"Hey, Thomas," You say, heading to the freezers. " it's mighty hot today - Hope you're finding some way to keep cool." 

Thomas only nodded, still a little shaken, following you like he normally did, so you would keep talking with him as you loaded the ice in the freezers.

Whatever that was, with those strange petals, they scared him. Was he dying? He vowed to ask Mama about it when he went home; she knew all kinds of stuff. Hopefully she could explain this.

For now, he was just content to hear you prattle on about your day, your voice a soothing distraction.

Bubba Sawyer: Lilac (Innocent love, purity of emotion)

When you were first brought into the house, he knew you had to be spared. You had to. He didn't know why, but thats the way it needed to be.

And by sheer chance, he got to keep you; all under the conditions that he would have to take care of you and make sure you were fed and had water, basically everything a wary parent would tell their child the duties they must take care of if they wanted the stray dog they smuggled in.

He took the task on with pride. He'd look foreward to coming home and taking care of you, no matter how much you resisted, and it was something he found joy in. His brothers would call you his "Pet" around the house - and you were mostly treated like one where they were concerned. Bubba tried to treat you with as much respect as he could in the situation, though. Because you were, in fact, a lady, and ladies should get treated nice. Thats what he grew up with.

And then the strangest thing happened.

He started coughing excessively, and out came little light purple petals. You noticed from the other night that he'd came to tend to you; he was hacking up a storm, the little petals falling out of the mask, and he looked a little panicked. Was this normal? None of his brothers ever coughed up petals. And he could already hear how they would laugh if he showed them. He didn't know what to do, so he suffered in silence, still being careful to take proper care of you.

You saw it, though. You didn't know what it was either, but it made you pity him, and whatever was wrong, you found yourself hoping he would be alright. He was so kind to you, despite the fact that you were being held hostage.

Pennywise: Arbutus (Eternal love, perseverance)

Never being one to get attached to something as temporary as humans, a hobby of affection towards one was entirely unthinkable. Far fetched. Alien, if you will.

That was, until you strolled into Derry; A tourist who stopped in the small town to recuperate before heading home for in a week. And weren't you just a sight, with your cute little camera, snapping shots of things he found normally boring and mundane. You were curious. So he began to follow you.

You were oblivious to him as he trailed you, watching the oddity that was you. You were very skilled with photography whether it was a profession of your or not, he noted, making anything look great in any shot. Not only that, but he found that you were kind. Gracious. A little quiet. All things he would have normally found weak and pathetic in a mortal, but he found himself liking them in you. A little bit too much, looking back.

So much that he'd developed… Ugh… Feelings for you.

It was hard to admit. But you made him feel a strange way, a way he's heard love described as, so that must be the case. You reminded him of everything warm in the world, everything sweet. He couldn't get enough.

But he stayed far away.

Until he one day, he started feeling sick. Now, aliens don't get sick. Normally. So naturally, this made him panic a little. Then, the intense coughing fits, and out tumbled the little red flowers, like little splayed marbles. He stared at them for a long time.

Pennywise knew what this meant. He's lived long enough to see a few cases, however rare, however people called it a myth - Hanahaki disease. The Love Sickness. Though, back when he first saw it, people called it something different, in a different tongue. He used to find it morbidly fascinating and a little amusing, but now that it was happening to him, there was nothing funny about it. Because, proble was, when his kind took on a partner, they mated for life - No matter the race. He would be in it for the long haul. But, he couldn't just waltz around with a flower system seeded in his lungs, waiting to kill him. He had to fix that.

And he knew exactly who he needed to cure this.

A certain little mortal with a camera.

Should be simple enough.

 Art The Clown: Black Rose (Deep connection, intense obsession)

He hated you. He didn't even know why.

There he was, just a few weeks ago, stalking you to be his next victim. A little different, to prepare so much for a kill, but hey, change can be good. Especially when you seemed so much fun compared to others; it was exciting to think of all the ways he could mutilate you while he watched through your windows at night.

Art memorized it all; your schedule, recent whereabouts, things you liked, things that scared you… And he'd be lying if hw said he didn't just watch you just because.

Yes, there was something different about you, but he couldn't put his finger on it…

And then out of no where, the cough began. Heavy, albeit silent (in true Art fashion) hacking coughs, ending with blood and a handful of black flower petals. Okay, he's seen and done some weird shit, but this takes the cake.

The coughs became more painful over time, and more bloody. He couldn't control them, nor did he know what they meant. But he had a nagging feeling that you had something to do with it.

Now he'd watch you with a scowl, trying to figure out why, why, this creature had such a hold on him. Why he was suddenly throwing up rose petals ever since he started stalking you. Why you were so fascinating to him alive rather than dead.

Whatever you had inflicted on him was getting worse; there was more blood and more petals, even whole flowers, stalks and all. Gory, damp roses with deep black petals, tinged with his blood from where the thorns scraped his throat.

He would confront you soon. He didn't know whether he'd kill you or not - Something that was strange for him to even contemplate. He normally just killed people and thought later. But you…

Either way, he'd get to the bottom of it. And you would pay for what you've done, one way or another.

Jason Voorhees: Allyssum ("Worth Beyond Beauty", protection)

You came to camp just a week ago. Another counselor. Jason watched you arrive in disdain, watching from his place behind the trees as the rest of the counselors greeted you and started to show you around.

But as time went on, he began to notice you more often, not in a bad light.

To put it plainly, you were different than the other counselors. You still laughed a little too loud, still drank alcohol sometimes, and he was pretty sure you were getting mighty friendly with one of the others. But you were kind. You didn't litter. Attentive to the children. Focused on them, rather get distracted with what your friends were doing, or making excuses to join them. He couldn't help but think that if you had been around when he was a child, he might never have drowned.

You never noticed, but he shadowed you nearly everywhere you went, especially when you ventured into the woods, and he'd make sure nothing happened to you. There, he could even get a closer look at you; Notice the little things about you that were invisible to him before. You were beautiful. He found his peace walking with you through his woods, even if you never saw him.

And he fell for you, from a distance.

Then he started to fall harder.

Until eventully, he got sick, choking on little white flowers that were the size of metal nails in his hand.

He didn't know what it meant, but it scared him. He was pretty sure you weren't supposed to throw up flower petals, or whole entire little blooms, either.

If it really was his time, he thought, he would show you that he cared for you. Somehow. Jason didn't really know why it felt so important. Maybe he felt a little guilty for pretty much stalking you since you came to camp? Yeah, probably a little.

But also just because you needed to know how much he's loved you in silence for so, so long; even if it's just been a few weeks.

To him, it's felt like he's waited an eternity.

Michael Myers: White Chrysanthemum (Honesty, loyalty)

His favorite pastime was watching you. He'd station himself near one of your windows, hiding in the shadows as he watched you go about the motions of your life. He didn't even stop when you showed signs of noticing him.

At first, you were creeped out - I mean, there's a behemoth of  masked killer standing outside your window just watching you so, yeah, it was unsettling. But you slowly started to become fine with it, waving at him when you did catch him. You even left out a piece of a cake you made one day out for him. It was an unusual act of kindness, but it was something; you never came outside and looked for him though. Part of his mind thought you may still be afraid, even though he strangely had no motivation to kill you.

That was just it. He didn't want to kill you. He just liked observing you.

He would take it so far as to say he felt an air of protectiveness when he stood outsude your window, looking in.

Then it happened.

He was standing outside your window one night, watching you, per the usual; you were sitting on the couch, swaddled in a blanket, watching a movie, a barely touched popcorn bucket tucked beside you. The movie must be good. The room was dark, so he only got glimpses of you from the TV when it was bright. He was still, silently appreciating the view. Then he felt it.

It felt like there was something in his throat, stuck, yet creeping slowly up his throat. He coughed sharply, and he saw your eyes in the blue-ish light flicker to him before returning back to the screen. He kept coughing, feeling the thing rise in his throat, a feeling that was foreign and a little frightening. But he remained stoic as he coughed quietly, until it rose high enough that he could just slightly pull up the masl, and reach  into his mouth that he could just manually pluck it out.

It was a cluster of white flower petals.

… He stood there with the petals on his palm for a long moment, just looking at them. Maybe they weren't actually flower petals…? Oh, but they were. He rolled them around in his palm, they felt like slips of velvet against his calloused hands. The petals reminded him of something he'd seen in his mothers garden all those years ago.

Michael released them, letting them flutter down to the ground at his feet, where they shine like pearls in the moonlight. It was very concerning, sure, but he didn't know what they meant. Maybe it was a common thing. He wouldn't know, and probably never would.

So he went back to watching you, and solely on you, deciding to put it in the back of his mind, for now.

RZ! Michael Myers: Pink Camelia (Admiration, appreciation)

To put it simply, he's known that he liked you when you first became his personal care nurse at Smiths Grove. He realized hs loved you when you offered to take him back to your house to get him somewhat acquainted with a normal, functioning home and homely routine. There was enough displays of upheld trust between the two of you that Dr. Loomis relented, saying it would be good for him. He's been having higher hopes about Michael's recovery since you came to the sanitarium.

Every one that knew Michael in the ward and knew his story was hopeful. With you, he seemed so different, so unlike his usual stoic, heartless self. He was softer with you, more pliant, his gueard lowered when you were around. He didn't even recognize himself with you. For everything you did for him, he was grateful.

And when you took him home, he felt like his life was complete. He would be more than happy living here for the rest of his life, with you at his side. The both of you just fit so seamlessly together, easily falling in step with a routine just after the first week; You did the cooking, sweeping and mopping, while Michael did the dishes, set and cleared the dinner table, and picked up whatever miscellaneous messes appeared throughout the day. It was a rhythm both of you were comfortable with, and, it was a great way to introduce Michael back into a somewhat normal life.

The only time he was alone was when you went to work; where he could finally let loose.

There was a secret he's been keeping. One he wasn't sure what to do with, but one he knew he didn't want you finding out about. 

He had The Love Sickness.

Michael only knew what it was because of the prattlings of a woman back at the asylum who claimed her son had it. He had thought she was just having an episode at the time, but now it seemed like all of his symptoms were aligning with what she'd described…

There were cameras all around your house that were there to keep an eye on him (a mandatory installment demanded by the asylum), but he found that if he sat at the desk you'd given him in the living room, angling his body slightly to the left, his face could be mostly hidden from it's view.

It was in this spot that he first observed the flowers; They were a pale pink, the couple petals weightless in his hands. So pretty for something that would soon kill him. He mulled over them, touching their silky surface with his fingers, before shoving them in the drawer under the desk.

Now, everyday has been a game of cat and mouse, trying to keep the truth from you. You were always so busy, keeping up with him as well as your job; this was not your burden to carry. It was his. 

But could he keep it up for forever? No. He'd die eventually. Suffocate on flowers; it was almost poetic. Then again, he could live… But that involved a confession on his part. A confession of his absolute adoration of you. And he just wasn't sure he wanted to take that leap of faith.

He decided to wait it out, hoping silently that it would just disappear, even though it was only getting worse day by day, that he may wake up from this nightmare.

The worse it got, the more he started to really look at you, memorize your every feature, the sound and texture of your voice, committing it to memory so that he could take it to whatever afterlife he was headed for. It felt like his final days.

And the more he looked at you, the more he thought about just coming clean and laying his feelings bare to you.

But no. Not yet.

Notes:

Left the endings open for your imaginations ;)

Pt. 2 will have the rest of the characters!

Comments & Kudos are always appreciated :)

Chapter 11: Hanahaki pt.2

Summary:

Character added! : Carrie White

(Kinda au where she didn't die after prom, but she escaped town in the aftermath of what she did)

Notes:

Sorry for the small hiatus. I just started a new job and Writers Block decided to show her bitch ass face again

Freddy Kruger - Red carnation (Deep love, affection)

Fuck, he didn't mean to fall in love. That just wasn't his thing, yet here we are.

Freddy watched you from the shadows in your dream. He often came into your dreams, whether you knew he was there or not - Right now, you weren't. He first started stalking your drems because you would dream up the oddest things sometimes. Like now, for instance; you were in a giant claw machine, watching blurry faced people around you get picked off looking ridiculously unbothered by the commotion. It was amusing. But the more he got to know you, the more he came just to see you.

That first time he came to you, he had given you a good scare - So much that you punched him right in the face. And fuck, did he feel it. You were stronger than you look, that's for sure. You both yelled at each other which, he had to give you credit, not a lot of people have the balls to do. But you looked right into his ravaged face and yelled at him for scaring you, jabbing your finger aggressively at him like you weren't even fazed by his off putting visage.

Oh, he liked you.

The more he came to you, the more he started to take a liking to you. Rather than try and scare you, he would much rather get a rise out of you. The way you would roll your eyes and shake your head was just too much. If it was his lucky day, you would tell him off. But you both had a mutual friendship, even though you both acted like you hated each other.

Normally, he would come to you. Tonight, however, he stood in the shadows, watching you with narrowed eyes, and he had no intention of showing himself tonight.

Something was happening to him. Something bad. Never before had he coughed up flowers before. He thought at first that maybe it was some kind of weird effect of being in the dream world, maybe a nightmare that clung to him; but then, it started to hurt, and that's when he knew shit was serious.

He didn't know what the fuck was happening to him, but he guessed that you had something to do with it; You were the cause of all of his problems lately. He just didn't know how to fix it.

Maybe he'd eventually ask you what was wrong with him, but right now, his pride wouldn't let him. He'd have to be dying to bring himself to ask you for help.

 Brahms Heelshire - Bellflower (Humility, constant heart/ unwavering love)

After the whole situation with Greta, he was worried he'd never find someone to take her place. How would he get food? Or have his clothes washed, or tend to the garden? It made him panic so much that with many tries, he finally figured out how to make a help wanted ad on some websites. But for the weeks that had followed, he had to take care of himself - Something he wasn't really used to or particularly good at (or liked at all), but he got done to the best of his abilities. So, things were a little bit of a mess.

He about cried in relief when someone finally applied for the nanny job. A Y/n L/n… Your name was pretty. Brahms was very excited for you to get to the manor.

When you did, he didn't hide, like he did when Greta came. Maybe that was where he went wrong the first time around. He could tell you were a little put off by his presence at first, what with how he often hovered over you like a helicopter parent while you did your duties around the house, and the way he'd constantly try to make you give him attention, even if you always did.

You were so nice. And kind. And so sweet to him, taking care of him like you did; he couldn't even fathom letting you escape from the Manor like Greta did. Brahms felt even more attatched to you than he did to her in the last month you've been here. You were so like her and yet so different, in all of the best ways. When he wasn't with you, he'd hide in the walls and watch you quietly.

And when he started coughing up those little pale blue flowers, of course he came straight to you. What else was there to do when such a distressing thing occurs? He ran to you, stopped you from doing whatever you were in the middle of by roughly grabbing your arms and turning you towards him. He whimpers and thrusts his handful of bellflowers at you, and then to his mouth. You stare at him, your eyes wide as you put two and two together.

Billy Loomis - Orange rose (Desire, fascination, hope)

After Sydney, Billy didn't even try to find a steady girlfriend. He hooked up with lots of people, some he regretted, some that he wished he'd asked to stay a little longer, but never anything too serious. When he met you, he had assumed it would be no different. A one night stand, a fling… But you stuck around his headspace like a parasite. 

That one night stand turned into two nights, then three, four, five, until it eventually just became something that would happen at least once every week. He'd come over to your house and get tangled up with you in the sheets, hold you for a little while, then leave come early morning. But he'd find himself wanting to stay in your bed until you woke, and even spend breakfast with you, maybe even go about your day by your side… Did you even know the chokehold you had on him? How deeply he wanted to trust you? How much hope he had that you might be the one to change him for the better?

The day he started to cough up little orange rose petals, his heart stilled for a moment. There was no way this was happening. He wasn't in love with you. But wasn't he? He was, even if he'd never say it. But how would he tell you.

Billy kept his condition a secret, one he made sure there was no scrap of evidence of when he came over. He'd cough into his fist, blame it on allergies with the petals trapped in his fist, where he'd stuff them in his pocket until he could wander casually past a window and toss them outside. It was a tedious thing, but there was no way in hell he would let you find out.

And at night, he layed with you like nothing was wrong. There was no hanahaki, no flowers rooted in his lungs; there was only you. 

If he was really going to die from this, he could at least spend his last days with the only thing that felt right in the world.

Stu Macher - Yellow iris (Commitment, passion, positive change)

If Stu had to sum you up in one word, it'd be kind. Maybe that was a little cliche or cheesy even, but it was the truth. You were one of the few people who actually took him seriously. And that was something he appreciated very much, after being considered just the class clown to mostly everyone else.

His appreciation for you only grew into a crush, especially after the incident at his house that night. Billy wanted no survivors, but Stu just couldn't bring himself to do it; he knocked you out, and locked you in a closet. After they killed Sydney and everyone else,he just pretended to find you, and the three of you stumbled out of there, viewed as lucky survivors by the town and the media.

Fast foreward three months, the two of you were still friends. You had actually made the decision to move in with him in one of the spare rooms at his house, because you were too afraid to live alone. Stu felt bad for the trauma he gave you, but a selfish part of him was sort of glad everything went the way it did. If not, you wouldn't be living with him, seeking solace in him when things got to be too much.

Honestly, he wasn't very surprised when he coughed up the irises- Yeah, it was a shock, but at the same time, it felt right. Like a sign from the universe: Hey, Stu, stop being a pussy and ask this person out already. 

He didn't have to suffer with it for long; less then twenty four hours later, he confessed. It was just a casual thing. You were both just sitting on the couch together, his arm draped over the back of the couch behind you head, your knees propped up next to you and your body tilted toward him, waiting for the movie you picked to start. Stu looked over at you with a grin, looking down at you. 

"I like you."

Mark Hoffman - Red rose (Devotion, desire, strong bonds)

Mark hated his job at the detective agency. He was well respected, sure, and it paid well, but it was a little exhausting trying to find ways to keep them off of his and Johns tail. The only thing that made things bearable was you, the big bosses secretary.

You had your desk in a little box of an office near his, where you'd file paperwork on cases and such, and do whatever else they had you do in there. Mark actually enjoyed when he had to go and give you some papers or collect some - You were nice to talk to. You laughed when he started calling you sweet little nicknames like "Sweetheart" and "Dollface", but it was like second nature. You took it as harmless flirty banter, but it was anything but that.

And when you were assigned to help the Jigsaw case, he was both happy and yet deeply troubled. Being on the case meant he would get to see you more often, but on the other hand, therewas a high risk of you finding out everything. Not only would that destroy his reputation and mutilate his public appearance, but you would also draw away from him if you knew what he was roped up in.

It was mainly a very annoying complication when he got hanahaki, the red rose petals leaving past his lips like a violent crimson snowfall. It was painful, and he knew what he needed to do to get rid of it, but was he ready to confess to you and dedicate some time for you? With his work and his little side hustle, and tried to keep his job off of his side hustles ass, there just wasn't room for a relationship. I mean, there was, but it sure as hell won't be a healthy one. Besides, dating you would mean getting you all tangled in with his double life - You could be used as a liability for either side. One he knew he would crumble for. Was he willing to risk that?

Mark just hoped he would live long enough to put all of this messed up shit behind him and lead a quiet life, long enough to confess to you and save himself without putting you in harms way.

Norman Bates - Red dahlia (Ability to overcome, romance, commitment)

Norman was pretty sure that he was going to spend the rest of his life alone. Between the motel and his mother, he just couldn't find any room for anyone special in his life anyways. It didn't help that Mother loved to criticize most of the costumers; He would only be with someone if his mother approved. Not like anyone ever really tried hard to hit on him - sure, he's gotten the occasional compliment from people, but it wasn't ever anything serious. His mother tried to keep his hopes up, saying that he was a nice young man and one day someone would see that - But people didn't seem to want a nice gentleman anymore. They wanted the 'bad boys', rough, adventurous fellas who were unpredictable and mysterious in a dark, 'handsome' way. Norman wasn't any of these things.

Yes, it was lonely, but he convinced himself that that was the life he lived. It was probably better this way anyhow. Then you came along.

Snowed in by the awful snowstorm, you booked a room; you were so polite and nice, and so forgiving when he gave you the wrong room key. He was so focused on you. The nice and proper way you spoke, how quiet and soft spoken you were with him, and that smile… Good golly, he was in love. Even better, his mother approved of you. 

The only downside? He didn't know the first thing about flirting. The poor man would try and talk to you and end up just asking if you needed anything, then walk away, kicking himself in his head. Why couldn't he talk to you? He'd give anything to be able to, to say the right thing.

When you extended your stay for another few weeks due to the horrid snowstorms, it felt like he was being given a chance to man up. But just when he bucked up enough courage to ask you if you wanted to have hot chocolate in front of the fireplace with him that night, he started coughing up flower petals - bright red petals that fell onto the counter by his hands. All of his courage was gone,and he began to panic.

Was this a punishment for his sins? He's never been an overly religious person, but this felt like the wrath of God; especialy when entire flowers started emerging, occassionally getting stuck in his throat, where he'd choke until he either reached down his throat and pulled them out or coughed hard enough.

He didn't know what he had, but to get it when something as beautiful and perfect as you walks into his life was a crime. It'd be a crying shame not to ask you out before his fate catches up with him, though. So he'll give it a shot.

Carrie White - Purple Hydrangea (Desire to deeply understand someone) [Alternate flower for females: Purple violet (lesbian, daydreaming)]

She thought she knew what love felt like before she met you; but boy, was she wrong. With Tommy (it still hurt to think about him sometimes) it felt light and almost fluffy, like a soft blanket, her heart beating in a frenzy everytime he so much as looked her way. Puppy love, she realized now, only amplified because he thought he actually liked her - Because he was the only person to ever show any kind of interest in her.

A few weeks after the prom incident, she fled, winding up in a small town a few states over, where she had decided to settle in. She found a cheap apartment, and got a decent paying job at a bookstore. It was hard to make ends meet at first, but after being there for almost a year, things were a lot more steady in her life.

One early August afternoon, she was doing some bookeeping at the front desk, bent over the papers as she wrote. They weren't very busy right now, and if someone needed any help she'd just send them to Sasha, who was at the counter on the other end of the building. The sharp ting of the bell over the door rang out, momentarily jerking her from her task. "Hello, welcome to Books & Crannies." She chimes, still looking at the checking book. "Hi, can you tell me where the (favorite genre) section is…?" Carrie looked up.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked into your face, the words stuck in her throat. Damn it, Carrie, talk! "Oh, um, yeah, they're right over there." She says, trying to keep her voice steady as she points to the right section. She smiles at you when you nod and thank her, shuffling off in that direction.

As much as she tried to focus on her work, her eyes kept drifting from the papers to you thumbing through the books, looking for the right one. Something about it made her heart catch in her throat. You were so pretty/handsome… Carrie was so lost in the thought of you, she didn't even notice you had came back o the counter. "Oh! - Hey, sorry," She said, perking up from her daydreaming and looking into your eyes. "Did you find everything you needed alright?" "Yes, I think I did." You said with an awkward smile she recognized from seeing on herself. Maybe you were shy too?

She rang you up and said goodbye, but you stayed on her mind long after you left the bookstore. And for the next three months, she learned a lot about you, especially when you became a regular. You lived in an apartment complex near her own, worked a boring but steady job, and you always tried to get one book per paycheck, if all of your bills and such allowed it. You came in at around 3:00 PM where you would sit and read in their little lounge area, and then you'd go home at 4:00 - Or you tried to. You often got lost in a good book, and Carrie got used to letting you know what time it was so you didn't get home late. She never minded.

About a couple months after meeting you, it happened; she started coughing up purple petals. Carrie immediately started to panic, looking up what it meant and scouring every book that could possibly contain a reasonable solution. It wasn't long before she knew what it was… And it's implications. She'd have to confess to you? Oh, boy.

She'd watch you carefully when you came in from then on, trying to find the right time to pull you aside. But it was always something - either she was busy working, or you looked too cozied up with a book to bother you. She would just bite her lip and promise herself that she'd do it tomorrow, but really, it was just her nerves eating at her. She just hoped you liked her too.

Female specific details: All of her life she grew up knowing that for a woman to love another woman ws a sin… Now look at her, pining after you. She understood it the first time she coughed up the violets - Carrie remembered reading about how violets were used to symbolize love between two women. But she was past all of that religious stuff, at least for the most part. She didn't have her psychotic mother to punish her for her so called sins. Loving you didn't feel like a sin; On the contrary, you made it feel like heaven, and you didn't even know it.

Notes:

Again, open ending so you can let your imagination come up with an outcome.

Comments & Kudos are always appreciated :)