Summary: Little blurbs on how various horror characters act during the winter holidays
Author’s note: Happy holidays everyone! I wanted to write a little something for this time of the year. This was originally going to be a oneshot about all the slashers in the same household during the holidays…but I decided to save that concept for the future. So instead this is just a small collection of headcanons for the time being. I hope you enjoy!
Warnings/tags: gender neutral reader, no physical description of the reader, no use of y/n, just lots of silly holiday fluff
Characters included: Hannibal Lecter, Tiffany Valentine, Charles “Chucky” Lee Ray, Patrick Bateman, Valak, Malthus, Pennywise, Billy Lenz, John Kramer, Art the Clown, Freddy Krueger, Daniel “Candyman” Robitaille, Brahms Heelshire, Vincent Sinclair, Ash Williams, Captain Spaulding, Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair
HANNIBAL LECTER who does a majority of the holiday cooking because of course he does. Winter in general is one of his favorite times of the year. It’s the perfect opportunity to cook some hearty meals to warm everyone up. He loves it when you join him in the kitchen and he always enjoys teaching you new recipes or cooking methods.
TIFFANY VALENTINE who loves, loves, loves to decorate. If there’s an opportunity for her to make the house look pretty she’s going to take it. Just don’t get in her way when she’s in the zone, she needs her space for her creativity to thrive and oh boy does it ever. If you live in one of those towns that have holiday decor competitions, you’re sure to win thanks to her.
CHARLES “CHUCKY” LEE RAY who only likes this time of the year because of presents, most of which he steals. Why buy a present when it’s so easy to just take all the pretty, expensive things from people who have too much shit anyway? He prides himself on his gift-stealing and giving skills. You better believe you’re going to get something good from him.
PATRICK BATEMAN who views the holidays as one big competition, especially with gift giving. He feels like he has something to prove and that he has to be the one to buy you the most ridiculously expensive item there is. It’s not about whether or not you actually like it unfortunately. It’s about him feeding his ego.
VALAK & MALTHUS who don’t really care about the holidays especially if there are deities involved. No matter what you celebrate they still linger in the shadows, watching the holiday cheer. They’re indifferent to it, as they are with most human celebrations. It’s not their cup of tea to say the least.
PENNYWISE who just doesn’t get it. Why are you decorating a tree? Why are you hanging an oversized sock on the wall? Why are you lighting candles? Why are there so many desserts? Why are you putting a red and white hat on his head? Take it off. Now. Humans and their celebrations…it never fails to annoy him.
BILLY LENZ who is bouncing off the walls in joy. Something about this time of the year gets him all riled up and giddy. It’s not even the holidays themselves, he’s just odd during the winter. You can hear him in the attic scuttling around doing god knows what. He’s just an untamed ball of energy throughout the winter.
JOHN KRAMER who hasn’t really celebrated any holidays since his cancer diagnosis. He just never saw the point nor did he have anyone to celebrate with. But being around you (and his apprentices) changed things. There’s a sprinkle of joy in him that he hasn’t felt in years and the only gift he needs is you by his side, keeping him company.
ART THE CLOWN who is having way too much fun in all the worst ways imaginable. He’s like Santa if Santa were from hell. Trying to talk him down from doing something reckless and horrible is damn near impossible. He comes home in a blood-soaked Santa costume with a red bag full of “gifts” that you just know are going to be horrifying.
FREDDY KRUEGER who’s going to lose it if one more person cracks a joke about his sweater. During the winter everyone seems to focus on his choice of clothing a little bit more than usual. Is it really that bad? Yeah, it’s a Christmas sweater. So what? It’s not like he has a closet full of clothes, he’s a dream demon after all.
DANIEL “CANDYMAN” ROBITAILLE who is very concerned about you catching a cold. You’re in and out constantly shopping for presents and running errands. He insists you take his coat, claiming yours just isn’t enough. He even cleaned off all the blood stains. He just doesn’t want you to spend your holidays sick.
BRAHMS HEELSHIRE who is exceptionally needy for some reason during the holidays. You’re busy focusing on decorating, volunteering, helping with the food, buying gifts, and not paying attention to him as much as he’d like. So Brahms unfortunately follows you around constantly during this time of the year, fishing for your attention which is the only gift he really cares about.
VINCENT SINCLAIR who sculpts the most intricate decoration you’ve ever seen. He works quickly, carving little snowmen and reindeer out of wax to sit around the house. He loves this time of year. There’s a spark in his creativity during the holidays and he loves using his art and skills to spread a little joy.
BABY FIREFLY who hides gifts so well she forgets where she put them. There have been several times when you’ve found a Christmas present months after December. It’ll be well into February and she’s pulling out boxes from the trunk of her car that she completely forgot about. She loves it because in a way it’s like the holidays aren’t over.
ASH WILLIAMS who has mastered making spiked eggnog and gets a little too drunk during the holidays. You’ve got to confiscate it from him at some point and replace it with a non alcoholic version of it from the store (he actually can’t tell the difference). He ends up having the best sleep of his life after he passes out.
CAPTAIN SPAULDING who is roped into dressing as Santa. Baby convinces him to grow out his beard and even dresses him up in a white wig. He’s not the most cheerful Santa but you know that deep down it makes him happy to see everyone smiling because of him.
MICHAEL MYERS who prefers to be left alone during the holidays. He’s already extremely introverted and tends to isolate himself most of the year. You give him his space and check in on him when he emerges from whatever closed-off space he’s been hiding in. He’s not the type to give gifts but sometimes you’ll find something small and surprisingly thoughtful left on your nightstand.
BO SINCLAIR who hangs way too much mistletoe in the most random of places. He is determined to catch you under each and every one. By the end of December, your lips are raw and chapped and it’s all his fault. When you go hunting around the property to take down all of the mistletoe he pouts like you’ve taken away his favorite toy.
michael myers (halloween), jason voorhees (friday the 13th), thomas hewitt (texas chainsaw massacre), brahms heelshire (the boy), pyramid head (silent hill), chris walker (outlast), daniel robitaille (candyman), harry warden (my bloody valentine), bo sinclair (house of wax), bubba sawyer (texas chainsaw massacre), kazan yamaoka ('the oni' dead by daylight), philip ojomo ('the wraith' dead by daylight), quentin shermer ('the blissfield butcher' freaky)
preferences
not healthy not condoned
Michael Myers
Michael sleeps like a fucking plank. Back flat to the mattress, facing straight up, arms stiff at his side, like he doesn't know how to sleep like a normal human being. If you're lucky, sometimes he'll close his eyes, but for the most part he just stares up at the ceiling, breathing heavy throughout the night. He won't take off his mask either, so that doesn't help at all.
Something about the embodiment of pure evil laying motionless at your side just keeps you up and you can't sleep unless he's sleeping. You absolutely refuse to let your guard down when he's awake near you on the off chance he decides he's tired of you and wants you dead.
It kept you awake for the first few nights and you considered asking him to go sleep on the couch a couple of times. You know now he's lying there awake for no other reason than to keep you awake as well. He's a spiteful fucking bitch like that. If something bothers you, he actually goes out of his way to continue doing it. Just his sense of humor apparently. Making you miserable seems to be a kink of his.
Trying to leave doesn't work either. If you get up to go sleep on the couch instead, you probably won't even make it to the living room. He'll grab you by your arm as your leaving the bedroom and yank you back onto the mattress and then not let go of your wrist for the rest of the night. And if by some chance you do actually make it to the couch, he'll just pick you up off of it (doesn't matter if you're actually asleep or not) and carry you back to bed. If you're somehow still asleep, it wakes you up most of the time. There's been very few times where his manhandling hasn't woken you up.
You notice you have significantly more nightmares with him around. Often, you wake up shaking or gasping for breath, even though you hate looking weak or vulnerable around him. You pull it together as quickly as you can and hope the dark circles don't show as obviously in the morning. Concealer is becoming your best friend realll quickly.
Michael knows he's the cause of them and obviously is fine with it. He might even be pleased with it. You're not actually sure, he's fucking impossible to read. You don't really want to be able to read him anyways because it means you've gone out of your way to be close to him which you never want to happen.
Still, there's occasional night terrors that he knows he doesn't cause. He can tell which ones they are based on whether or not you reach over to check if he's still in bed next to you. You're not the cuddly sort, at least not with Michael, so he knows it has to be somehow worse than him for you to want to willingly touch him or seek out any sort of comfort from him being there. He allows you to hold onto his arm--maybe his hand if you're lucky during those nights. And the two of you just lay in silence as you blink back tears and try not to sniffle too loud.
Sometimes like once a week he actually does seem to sleep. You're normally not awake to notice this, but a couple of times you've caught him.
Michael isn't one to have nightmares because he's usually the one causing them, but there are nights where he dreams and wakes up not remembering. And he's left with an awful feeling that is very very different from his usual black numbness. It's gone quicker than it comes, but the fact that it's able to happen at all is...odd.
He'll put a hand over your neck and feel your pulse increase if you're awake. It's a familiar feeling. A way to remind himself of what he's capable of and it makes the feeling in his chest go away. It makes him feel powerful again. You don't like it, but some part of you knows it comforts him in some sick way. It's not like you can just swat his hand away anyways unless you want the knife in your throat instead.
All you can do is lay still as his grip tightens slightly every now and then and your heart rate spikes. His thumb rubs slowly under your jaw, against the skin of your neck.
Jason Voorhees
Jason doesn't really need to sleep, but he does like to rest sometimes after rough nights when he's aching and hurting. Mostly, he just lays there, staring at the ceiling, breathing raggedly. Originally, this concerned you, but eventually you just realized after decades of being drowned or choked or killed in various ways he just...sounded like that.
He used to hold his machete when he rested, but now he holds you too. The machete can go in the other hand because he's not letting go of it while he has his guard down. Usually, it's rested over your side or overtop your back. It used to make you nervous, but now it's basically like a weighted blanket to you.
Normally, you sleep with your face to his chest, head bowed, fingers gripping loosely at his torn shirt. He thinks it's cute, but can't really tell you that, so his palm usually just rests overtop the hand clenching at the fabric.
Ever since you came around, he definitely takes the opportunity to rest more. Especially if he's lucky enough to walk in on you napping somewhere already. It's sort of a bonding activity since he's often too busy tending to the rotting camp or the tunnels or hunting or murdering and such. Sleeping with you is always an option, of course, but he tends to be the one to shy away from this and simple stick to cuddling.
Sometimes you have pretty rough nightmares that wake you up in an icy sweat. They're never about him. About something else that you definitely can remember every time you wake up, but you don't dare to explain. It's something you don't have to tell Jason, because a part of you believes he already knows the reasons behind your night terrors.
Luckily, Jason is usually always there and so is his machete so you're quick to calm yourself and press closer into his chest, trying to forget the nightmare as quickly as you can and fill your nose with the smell of earth that clings to him.
Jason doesn't actually sleep, so there's not much of an opportunity for him to dream. He sees things sometimes, though. Hallucinations maybe. Of his mother obviously. Of water in places where water shouldn't be. He loses himself in old thoughts and memories when nothing else is going on.
There's not ever much to indicate this happening. He sits quietly at your side most of the time. If you're awake, however, you can usually sense the change in his energy and his demeanor. Tentatively, you'll wrap an arm around him and offer him some comforting whispers, even if you know he won't respond.
"You're okay, Jason."
"I'm here, Jason."
It's everything to him.
Thomas Hewitt
Between the coldness of the basement and the fact that Thomas is a giant heat generator, you can't think of a better sleeping arrangement than with him in that basement. He's only down there on nights when he doesn't come up to the main house to sleep in his actual room, so you have to play your cards right to catch him down there at the right time. He's unpredictable and comes and goes with little to no plans so there's not much of a schedule to memorize. During the summer, though, he tends to sleep down there more so you can always look forwards to that.
You think he might enjoy your company too. Especially during those summers because there's hardly ever a night where it's not sweltering hot and everyone is miserable. The flimsy fans just aren't enough. So when there's no dinner in the basement or anything alive inside of it, you and Thomas utilize it often. The rest of his family tends to keep away from it, so it's even nicer. It's like a little private blood stained suite that Charlie can't burst into unannounced.
Thomas seems to notice that your mood improves when you can sleep in the basement with him, so he actively works harder in the summer to make sure the basement is always cleared out of intruders or whoever's next on the plate. He wants to keep the basement to himself and you as much as he possibly can.
While he may not be overly touchy when he's awake, that all changes when he's sleeping or getting comfortable alone with you. He's constantly got his arms wrapped around you tight or your body pulled into the curve of his while his soft breath stirs at your hair. Sometimes, he strokes over your soft skin or pulls his fingers through your hair--something you become increasingly attached to and appreciative of.
You learn quickly to get comfy when he gets his arms around you because you're not going to be able to break out of his grip until he's awake.
Brahms Heelshire
He's been practically begging to sleep in the same bed as you for weeks. You hadn't been the biggest fan of this idea, not even when you were letting him sleep with you. Your own bed had been special to you when it came to Brahms' clinginess. Sharing it with him felt like you were going to give up the very last stronghold against him you had. You knew that when you were sleeping, he often spied on you through the walls anyways, but at least you'd had a few hours where he wasn't constantly all over you.
Reluctantly, however, you'd soon agreed to this after getting annoyed with his antics. He'd gone quickly from simply staring at you from behind cracks and keyholes in the walls to just straight up hovering over you. At one point, you caught him lifting the sheet off of you in what you assumed was an attempt to sneak into bed with you. You figured that he was eventually going to succeed, so the least you could do was have a little bit of control over this and act like it's all on your own terms. It's stupid, but it makes you feel better.
Holy fuck, he is a snuggler for sure. If you think he's touch starved and needy when he's awake and on his feet he's on a whole other level when he's sharing a bed with you. He's always got a leg hooked over yours and often he presses his face into the crook of your neck or your hair. His hands seem to constantly be moving over your arm or down your side, like he can't actually believe you're real and laying in bed with him.
Brahms doesn't really hide his "excitement" to be in bed with you for the first few nights, and it makes it awkward to fall asleep with his cock usually pressed to your back. Lucky for you, he soon realizes that being in the same bed as you is not an automatic invitation to fuck you.
Obviously it still happens, you have your needs too and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't getting good at pleasuring you. But at least he has a bare minimum understanding of the importance of your consent.
You will admit he's a really good cuddler, though. He makes you feel...loved. For a lack of better words. Wanted. And needed by the way his fingers pressed into your skin and the porcelain perfect lips of his mask grazed softly over your neck.
When he sleeps, however, he's not as gentle. He has nightmares, often, seemingly violent ones that often wake you up before he wakes up. The first thing he does when he finally wakes up his sit up and wrap his arms back around you, pulling you back under the sheets with him. You can hear his quick, shallow breaths from behind the mask and sometimes you feel him trembling against you.
Once you asked him what it was he dreams of. He responds with one word, softly in the darkness, the child-like tone completely missing from his voice.
"Fire."
Pyramid Head
You don't think he sleeps.
Sometimes he'll stand still for awhile, like he's listening for something, but you've never actually see him lay down or give off any semblance of sleep. It makes sense after all--he's an otherworldly monster why would he have to sleep anyways? It does always give you a bit of a giggle though, trying to picture him laying down with that big ass helmet.
You're not sure what his deal is, but once again, him not ever getting tired or being plagued by exhaustion familiar to human isn't a downside for you whatsoever. It honeslty makes you feel safer.
You're not immune to this human exhaustion however. You'd think being stuck in purgatory hell town would have just some benefits like maybe excusing you from basic human functions, but apparently not. Either way, when you do have to take a break to sleep or nap somewhere, he'll usually stand over you or at least patrol nearby.
There's this...need in him to just. Make his rounds and punish. Like a shark needs to move in order to live, kinda.
For most, it'd be harder to fall asleep with a giant menacing monster with a giant knife standing watchfully over you or dragging said giant knife around obnoxiously on the hunt for the damned...but not for you. He's looming and terrifying and possibly hell personified, but his presence is comforting considering the other monstrous shit lurking nearby.
Chris Walker
You're not actually sure if Chris sleeps but sometimes he lays down on flimsy beds or in whatever pathetic, bloodstained cot is nearby and just kinda breathes in and out raggedly while he stares up at the ceiling.
He doesn't exactly pull you onto the mattress with him (can those springs even take your combined weights?) so you're never sure what to do during these moments. You do find out rather quickly, however, that when his guard is down like this, the safest place to be is probably on top of him, head nestled into his chest. Even being at his side is too far away from him, too risky--anything could grab you.
You're somewhat of an insomniac yourself, and between that and the uneven, raspy breathing and the rise and fall of his chest, you don't often sleep well. Normally just a power nap here or there or dozing off.
Sometimes one of his clawed hands will find its place over the small of your back. It stays there until he's ready to be on the move again. At first, you think it's to keep you firmly there--to keep you from escaping. But he knows better than that. He knows you'd have to be really stupid to try running away from him for real. It's more of a precaution to keep any variants from trying to kill you or steal you from him. He's very sure that anything that isn't him is out to get you for themselves and he's not even wrong about it--that's probably the worst part. But the point is, nothing is taking you away from him while his guard is down without moving his massive, weighty hand off you first.
He's a very light sleeper, so something like that would no doubt wake him. Even you can't move without making him stir. He'll give a low, warning growl and you'll instantly go still again, not wanting to disturb him once more.
As stressful as the sleeping situation might be for you, it's way less stressful than any other idea you have. Things could be worse, you often tell yourself as you lay with your head pressed to his chest, listening to the thump of his great heart.
You don't know how either of you manage to get any amount of rest between all the screaming and moans echoing through the asylum.
Daniel Robitaille
Where he resides seems to permanently be cold. Even when the sun beat down during the summers, it was icy and your fingertips and toes seemed to go numb every time. He warms them in his hands, often, when he greets you.
It's strange that although Daniel met his end in a funeral pyre, a supernatural chill still seemed to follow after him.
At first, you were scared to sleep near him. With long work hours, spending time with him only added onto the exhaustion and the temptation to shut your eyes when he held you in his arms grew stronger and stronger. You didn't think it was cold enough to kill you if you happened to fall asleep, but your paranoia still held you tight in its clawed hand.
At first, Daniel's insulted, thinking you're too scared or wary of him to let sleep take you when you're around him. You're his one and only, he'd never hurt you, you know that don't you? He asks you this and you only give him a shivering nod. He glances down at your trembling fingers and suddenly wraps his coat around you.
You're relieved that he doesn't attempt to keep you warm with his own body. You still haven't gotten completely use to the gentle hum of the bees that have made their home in his chest. You don't think he produces any sort of body heat either. But at least his coat smells like him and that's enough for you when you snuggle into it and finally get some shut eye.
Sometimes he sleeps besides you. At least, you think he does. You're not actually sure, but from the way his breathing seems to slow and the way his eyes stay peacefully shut you feel like he does. It's a convincing show, if he's faking.
Can ghosts sleep? Do they need to sleep? Apparently. Sometimes you wonder if he's getting irritated that all you do when you come to see him now most of the time is snooze. But honestly, he didn't mind. He knows you're either working two jobs or one overly demanding one in an attempt to scrape by. If he could, he'd sweep you off your feet and take you away to some manor--you and him could live luxuriously off his inheritance. But unfortunately, he was a very dead man and there was little he could do to help you. Other than maybeee taking out a few annoying workplace friends of yours that seemed a little too close to you.
The point is, no matter what it is you're doing, as long as you're in his line of sight or touching him he's fine with it. When you sleep you look cute all bundled up in his oversized coat anyways...
Harry Warden
Although they were dark and scary at first, the caves became oddly soothing to you. It became pretty easy for you to sleep and it became one of the biggest ways you passed the time. Something about the drip of moisture from distant stalagmites to the ground dragged you into a sweet, unconscious bliss without fail.
However, they are cold. Even without the drafts from the long gone outside, where the sunlight you'd never touch again lived, it was freezing. You'd been too nervous to complain at first, simply happy with being alive in the first place, grateful that Harry had the sense to even spare you. But eventually, your shivering became obvious and you worked up the nerve to say something.
You'd complained to Harry just once, softly as he rubbed at your shaking arms with gloved, sooty hands, streaking black down your skin. He left and came back with what you thought might have been shock blankets or some type of sheet meant to cover cargo being transported. Not the most comfortable in the world, but neither was living like an actual fucking bat and you managed that just fine.
Sometimes when you fade in and out of consciousness, you'll feel him against you, hands traveling all over your body under the blankets, as if he really can't believe your still here, that there's still breath in your body. What choice do you have? But you're so touch starved you lean into his touch, you let him do whatever he wants to you because at least you're not alone.
He's warm.
You don't ever actually see Harry sleep (not that you see much all in the dimly lit cave you stay in). He's constantly on the move, patrolling the mines, pickaxe swinging loyally at his side, searching for his next kill and (let's be real) his next meal.
Bo Sinclair
Bo's bitter and malicious and all things wrong but all that seems to fade away when he's in bed with you. It's like his mean streak is on break until he's up again in the morning ready to cause problems for the sake of causing problems. You savor those hours.
For once, that permanent scowl and furrow in his brow seems to leave his face when he's sleeping. There's very few times when you've been able to observe this, considering you often fall asleep before he does. You think he might stay awake longer than you on purpose--some weird dominance thing or some trust issue. Either way, it's hard to keep your eyes open for long with his fingers working steadily into the muscles of your shoulder and back, with his lips ghosting over the soft skin of your neck.
And when you're actually asleep? He's still all over you. He's 24/7. The mean streak may have an off button but he sure doesn't. Sometimes, when you're partially awake, slipping into unconsciousness, you can feel his lips on your cheek and murmurings that you can never quite understand because they feel so distant. His voice sends you into a comfortable sleep as easy as it can send shivers down your spine and wake you up.
Bo's hand will always be on you in some way, shape, or form. There is absolutely no leaving the bed without having to move his hand off your body and waking him as a result moments later. You know it started out as an indication of his wariness and distrust towards your own loyalties, thinking you'd attempt to run off in the cover of night when the opportunity presented itself. But after months of your...surprising cooperativeness and obedience, it became more of an affectionate gesture.
Often nights you sleep fine. Others? Not so much. The nightmares you have are few and far in between, forgotten memories of a long gone past. But when you do actually have them? Oh. It's anything but fun. They wake you up in tears. He's always awake before you, usually because of your thrashing and whimpering. He'll be there to shush you and pull you into his chest as he sits up against the headboard. The first few times he did this, all you'd wanted to do was escape to be alone, to be anywhere else, to not be touched. But now...it calms you down. Struggling doesn't help anyways, it just makes him grip you tighter.
It's not just you that gets nightmares either. As tough and macho and callous as Bo tried to be (usually successfully to the point where it actually intimidated you), he wasn't immune to his past--to the horror stored in subconscious away from his waking mind.
He's a killer and a monster and he's evil, you tell yourself again and again late in the night as you watch his face contort. But he's still human.
You have a decent idea as to what his nightmares may be about, judging by how quickly his fingers fly to the scars on his wrists when he wakes up. You don't really know what to say to him when he settles back into the mattress, trying to act like his chest isn't heaving in fear. You don't want to say anything either. There's nothing to be said that can make him better.
All you can do is reach back and pull his hand over your shoulder gently, and press your lips to his scarred wrist--a strange little gesture that he's completely in love with.
Bubba Sawyer
It's always hot as all hell. It's worse during the daytime, but the night offers little relief still. Sweat still runs down your back uncomfortably and the fan seems to do nothing to help. Sleeping with the sheets (or God forbid) a comforter is a death sentence so either you or Bubba tend to kick off the sheets every time. It also doesn't help that Bubba absolutely has to be next to you or touching you at all times.
Weirdly enough, you sleep a thousand times better when he's got a massive, scarred hand on the small of your back or chin in the crook of your neck. He sleeps better too, and he's always been a pretty lousy sleeper. He thinks you're the reason he can actually sleep through the nights and that's the reason that under no circumstances will he let you sleep in a separate one. You prefer him close to you anyways on the off chance one of his brothers decides to make an attempt on your life.
Waking up in the morning, he's usually star-fished out across the bed and you've usually somehow ended up on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest. He's a heavy sleeper and only ever seems to suddenly wake up when you try to get up and off of him and leave. Normally, one of his hands will come down on your back, pushing you back down before his fingers reach up to sleepily curl through your hair. You can only sigh and wait for him to get up because if he's not up, you're not up, period. His fingers do feel pretty good against your head though and it starts to become your favorite part of waking up.
Bubba doesn't seem to have dreams. If he does, he doesn't remember them and they're never enough to really wake him up. You, however, experience the opposite, especially after the traumatizing chainsaw incident. It's never him you see in your nightmares, just the fucking chainsaw. You'll wake up often gasping or in a cold sweat, and your hand goes to your scarred arm. It's hard to go back to sleep snuggled up against him after those nights.
There's times when you can't sleep at all and you'll just lay there, fingers tracing lazily over Bubba's chest, your eyes half shut with exhaustion.
You often catch quick naps during the day due to your newly erratic sleep pattern. You try to keep out of sight. Last time Drayton caught you napping you never heard the end of it and ended up catching hell over it because it was an apparent testament to your "laziness". As if your hands aren't raw from the hours you spend cleaning dishes under scalding water. As if your fingers aren't constantly aching from constantly being pricked from all the times you've had to sew up holes in clothes or...God forbid. Damage to the mask Bubba was so fond of.
You keep your naps to Bubba's room when you can. You pretend you don't notice whenever he locks the door from the outside. Probably better that way anyways at least no one but him can come in.
Kazan Yamaoka
As far as you know, Kazan doesn't...like...sleep. You're actually not sure if any of the killers do. You've tried to figure it out before, between trials. Sometimes you sneak onto his estate, into his realm, hoping to catch him in a moment where he's free of his usual murderous rage. You figure that might include him sleeping. Unfortunately, those moments don't seem to exist because the most that ever happens every time you do this is you run into him being very much awake, and he either has another go at...er...continuing his bloodline or he just straight up drives his katana through your chest.
Once or twice though, you think you've seen him low on energy when he hasn't had the chance to feed on blood. Sometimes, his head will dip slightly when he leans against a wall. With his mask, it's honestly impossible to tell whether or not his eyes are shut. When he smells nearby blood though, he's alert once more and on the hunt like nothing had happened.
So maybe he doesn't need to sleep because he gets all his energy from blood. And honestly? With you around, constantly scraped up by your own folly or his claws, Kazan's got a steady flowing supply.
His new affinity for draining you, however, results in your own exhaustion.
Sometimes it gets so bad, you fall asleep at the start of trials. It makes any runs with the Nightmare extra difficult and you usually don't make it through his trials anymore. Even though Kazan causes much more problems for you, there are some benefits. You know the Nightmare is one of the vulgar killers--the ones that say the most uncomfortable shit possible just to see their victim squirm in their grasp. Once you saw him open his scarred mouth to say something nasty, but he recognized the marks of Kazan's katana and claws in your skin, and quickly shut it. A strange, sick sort of pride flushes your system with smug endorphins. He knows not to fuck with what's Kazan's. With each passing trial and each new killer, you find that they all know as well. Not even the Ghost Face had shit to say to you.
Are they scared of Kazan too?
During his rounds, if one of your teammates doesn't find you and wake you first, Kazan usually will. When he picks you up, it's enough to stir you from your sleep. You recognize the pinprick of his claws at your ass almost instantly and know not to struggle. You don't dare. A soft sigh simply slips from your lips as your hands drift absentmindedly over the hard, scarred muscle in his back. Honestly, you're just relieved that he took mercy on you and didn't decide to stab you first.
You think you might imagine it, but sometimes he rubs gentle circles in your back and you can hear a gravelly hum, muffled behind the mask. It's enough to put you asleep again, his touch is so needed.
Then he hooks you and you're wide awake as pain floods through every one of your systems and the moment's over and ruined but it was nice while it lasted.
Philip Ojomo
There isn't much of a reason nor a need to sleep in the Entity's realm. It's like there's permanent adrenaline in the air. It's not like you can't--you're obviously not the only survivor that naps around. It's just unnecessary. The most it does is pass "time" between trials, if that's even a thing in this realm. There's no clocks and it's always permanently night so you don't think time passes.
You used to regularly try to nap after trials. You soon stopped when one of your teammates warned you of the dangers and brought up the possibility of being transported to a trial in the middle of sleeping. You thought it was stupid--there's no way to sleep through getting summoned for a trial. This awful chill always sweep through your body maybe thirty seconds before a round starts...
Sometimes you sneak out of the survivor camp when no one's paying attention. You try to make it a regular, normal thing for you, these little fake walks. Saying that you "need some air" or you need to "clear your mind" normally works well as an excuse. No one really cares. You've never made much of an effort to get too attached to any of your teammates and they're all too rugged and used to the way this world works too care. Being attached to someone is the worst pain. Having to see them die over and over again and writhe in pain and watch their blood soak the ground? Not ideal, to say the least.
So maybe that's why it's not as bad when it's with a killer. You don't have to see Philip's blood spill or his bones break. You don't have to see him with a hook through his shoulder like everyone else. You imagine that it still might be a little painful for him to have to do these things to you, but he's one of the oldest killers in this realm and at the end of the day he has a job to do. Even before you became closer with him, he never seemed to take pleasure in this job, however.
That makes you feel less terrible about being in the arms of a monster that murders people constantly for the favor of a cruel god that has ultimate dominion over him.
Philip tends to lay with you between trials. You don't ever actively try to find him. Doing that just makes it less likely he'll show up. You just walk with a sort of dazed, unfocused energy and he seems to show up on his own. He finds you before you ever find him.
You don't realize until later, but the reason behind this is because he actively cloaks himself and follows you around before uncloaking. You think it might be his way of warming up for a trial, but eventually come to realize it's just a habit that makes him comfortable. Philip does not like to be seen. Simple as that. You know you could just get better at spotting the shimmering trail he leaves when cloaked or listen a little harder for his sighs--but you don't want to.
The two of you have a favorite area--just some ruins in between the realms of different killers where it's just dark forest and shrubbery. There's a fire going in a barrel in the middle of the ruins and it never seems to burn out.
There you settle with him, pressed into his side. He usually keeps an arm wrapped around your shoulders and your head will fall into the crook of his neck as you begin to doze off. You fall asleep faster around him, because as much as he shouldn't, he makes you comfortable and feel safe.
You don't dream in this realm. It's strange. Laurie dreams--nightmares of the Shape. So do most of the other survivors. Sometimes good dreams. You've heard Yui often groan and talk of how she misses her bike and the road. But it's just black nothingness for you. Maybe it's a blessing.
You don't know if Philip dreams at all, but when he does close his eyes and lean his head back, he seems very peaceful. If only you knew the fire and machinery, vibrant and loud and terrifying, in his unconscious mind. It doesn't show on his face whenever he wakes up, though, so how could you? He knows you can't read his face very well. It's not your fault--he can't move it that well.
When Philip does wake up, it's normally because of a calling to trial. You think he gets the same chill as you do--just earlier and more intensely because he's deeper connected with the Entity. When he starts awake, normally waking you up as well, the first thing he does is pull you closer, long fingers biting into your arms, and his other hand goes for the spinal cord at his side.
It makes you feel somewhat protected as you push your face into his chest, wishing it didn't have to end all so soon. You always know him waking up is a telltale sign of the next trial starting. And before you know it, the Entity's swept you from his arms and back into the cold. Ready to face new hell.
Quentin Shermer
Weirdly enough, if he happens to be sleeping in a bed with you, he's so close to your body that there's barely a centimeter of space between you and him.
It's somewhat of a welcome change compared to how cold he normally is towards you when he's awake. You figure maybe it's his way of letting his guard down around you. Or just another freaky way he likes to exert power over you. Maybe it's to keep you from wanting to run from him. Maybe it's a way to get you to let your own guard down. You could have fucking chained yourself to him and he'd still think you'd try to finally leave him.
Either way you're not going to read too into it. You'd rather just enjoy it while it lasts. Because these are the moments you think of when you lay alone at night without him. You'd rather his suffocating grasp on you than nothing at all.
It used to be practically heart attack inducing to suddenly feel his arms wrap around you--especially when it's at your place. He's always just...shown up unannounced in your house before but it had taken you awhile to get used to it. You noticed it became a lot more common after you'd started fucking him.
Still, he was unpredictable. As creepy as his place was, it was obvious to you that there was oddly a lot of care put into all the little ritualistic pieces strewn about the room he'd laid claim to. It would take a lot more to get him to abandon something like that. Having two places to switch between also seemed to keep any potential police investigations off his ass if he had a sloppy night.
Sometimes you find yourself going to sleep alone in your bed and then waking up in his. It'd been terrifying the first couple of times, but eventually you learned that he just...did that to you sometimes. It's almost flattering--especially because you've never once woken up when he's been stealing you out of your own house. It means there's some part of him that's capable of being gentle enough to pull that off.
It's all a matter of possessiveness. It's fucked up. Plain and simple. It's worse that you're just...fine with it. But why fight it when you could fuck it, right? Because what the hell else is there other than him?
Sometimes you wondered if you should get some fucking therapy. But how were you supposed to explain all of this to a professional? Chances were you'd end up in the same fucking asylum the Butcher had broken out of. And you didn't want the police to catch him through your weakness. You wouldn't let them take him from you.
It's not harming anyone if you wake up next to him in the morning right? Just you. Only you. And that's fine.
It's all fine.
Sometimes it's like the not-so subtle guilt of being with him creeps up on you in your sleep. You can't remember the nightmares. You can just recall the hopeless sort of feeling that follows when you finally wake up. It feels like you're slowly rotting and tearing inside. There should be a 'but'. Like 'but then he's there, he's there and it makes you feel better and it makes it all go away'. But it doesn't. Sometimes you'll feel his fingers through your hair and his breath on your skin.
The feeling of complete emptiness doesn't go away.
How do you think slashers would react if they got reader pregnant??
A/N: FINALLY, ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE IVE GOTTEN AN ACTUAL ASK
Now, onto the request, I hope you like it, and I apologize in advance if you dont lol (WARNING: THESE MAY BE OOC AND VERY SHORT)
Includes: Michael Myers(1978), Jason Voorhees, Bubba Sawyer, Daniel Robitaille, and Stu Macher | yall can request more characters for this scenario if you'd like to (and ill write for them as long as I actually have seen the movies/media for it)
Slashers reacting to getting reader pregnant (gn reader)
Michael Myers (1978): Honestly would probably APPEAR to not have any reaction at first but under the mask Id like to imagine hes silently rethinking like everything. I doubt he would actually want to have a kid though, so, while he wouldn't necessarily do anything to hurt you.. he'd probably prefer if you chose to not keep the pregnancy (let's be honest, I do not think this guy would ever want to be a parent) But if you decided to keep it? Oh boy. I sure hope youre ready for Michael to just, not show up a lot to take care of the baby. Like, hes probably gone a lot as is but if you actually have the baby hes most likely not going to want to be around them a lot.
Jason Voorhees: Probably at first has a similar reaction to Michael, but instead of rethinking his life choices hes probably just genuinely blankly staring at you. After hes done staring and reality sets in, I feel like he'd want to keep a closer eye on you JUST IN CASE. He might have a bit of shame at first but if you have a nice talk (probably a one sided talk), then he could HOPEFULLY come around to being at least a little okay with knowing you're pregnant (and that hes at fault for it). Would he want to keep the baby? Depends on the circumstances of...basically everything. Raising a child in a shack in the woods isnt exactly....ideal. But if you decide to have the baby but allow them to live in an actual house then theres more of a chance that he'll want you to keep the pregnancy. (However he probably won't move into said house with you)
Bubba Sawyer: [Head tilt] What. Anyways, jokes aside, I dont really think hes innocent BUT he'd probably be like..a mixture of confused, surprised, and just [blank stare]. I generally dont think he'd mind if you chose to have the baby, i do think his siblings (if you lived with all of them) would help you raise them if you did. However it wouldn't be the most, ideal help, like dont be surprised if youre kid suddenly know how to use a knife (or worse, but i think a knife would be a start). I mean, what can you really expect from a bunch of cannibals? Good parenting? As if!
Daniel Robitaille: Probably the best reaction you'll get out of, literally any of them. He's the one I think would most likely want to keep the baby. However.....how did HE get you pregnant? More than likely hes surprised because yknow, the whole being dead thing. I imagine he would some what take care of you during your pregnancy and make sure you're taking care of yourself(aside from disappearing from time to time because...yknow.) If you decide to have the baby he will help you take care of it, but probably in ways that you might consider a bit unconventional. If you decide not to have the baby, I think he'd be fine with that since I believe he'd understand its your decision to make.
Stu Macher: Honestly might laugh at first, but wait. Youre being serious-? I don't think hes the type to really freak out but hes definitely unprepared for you telling him he got you pregnant. Might go into a bit of panic mode if you say you want to keep the baby, but if you dont then there probably won't be much of an issue. But if you were to keep it, he'd probably at least attempt to help you during your pregnancy (key word: attempt). As well as helping take care of the baby, but to the best of his ability. (like duh).
You said 'Candyman' five times in the mirror for shits and giggles, and he's been haunting you ever since!
It was a slow burn relationship
He is a gentleman, and is very respectful of your boundaries
You will often find random bees in your home, watching over you
Candyman is very careful with his hook around you
He will often gift you bouquets of wildflowers, paintings, and various baked honey treats (and human skulls, randomly)
He thinks you look beautiful/handsome/good-looking in whatever you wear
If you're having a nightmare, Daniel will turn it into a good dream
He's highly intelligent, but not good with empathy and emotions, so he is very blunt when offering advice or therapy
He doesn't have a favorite cuddling position, so he's fine with being either the big spoon or the small spoon (expect bees to crawl on you though)
Daniel is very charismatic, and incredibly articulate with his words, and uses these skills to fluster you with flirting (he doesn't know he's flirting; he's very clueless)
He sees you as a trophy he managed to claim (Although deep down he is scared of losing you)
If anyone ever insulted you, or is racist towards you, he will brutally kill them
Daniel's primary nicknames for you include: magnolia, ma cher, ma fleurs, honeysuckle, Mouche à miel, darling, dear, sweet praline, beignet, butterfly, sweetheart, my muse, sunflower, honey, and, occasionally, babe
Your nicknames for him include Danny, my rhapsody, honey, dear, Picasso, Da Vinci, looking-glass, and Narcissus
CREDIT FOR DIVIDER: @thecutestgrotto
I love this guy, there needs to be more fics of him ngl
Also while researching New Orleans Cajun foods for nicknames, I found out about the existence of Pralines, and they look SO GOOD
Reader is depicted as female, tooth rotting fluff.
When you first found out, Daniel was absolutely enchanted by you, he was perfect, so damn sweet constantly to you. He was worried about you and the baby. Anything you needed he was there.
As soon as the embryo had developed enough to hear Daniel was constantly talking to your stomach.
"I know your mother is so beautiful, even when she looks ready to murder me."
You give him a half hearted glare your body was aching, stomach hurting either the weight of your child.
I feel like he would have a blast helping make the nursery, he's got one hand however he does have friends and so do you.
"My darling look I made the baby a bee mobile." Daniel would say while holding it up all proud.
He is ready for hormones, he's read the books and is absolutely fascinated by how much Science has found out about the body.
Cravings? On it.
Youre sad? He has tissues.
Then in labor, the man is a mess. He knows you should be alright, but he cant help but worry. Pacing, wanting the doctors to take away all of your pain. He let's you damn near break his hand, all he can do to help you.
Then a cry breaks through everything, all the worry, all the anger he's ever held. A cry breaks through it all.
He sobs first time holding your child, almost doesnt want to give them back to the nurse so they can check the baby out.
He knows you need to recover so absolutely is ready to take over as much as he can.
"My darling I will have the bees sting you if you get out of bed one more time."
"Dani, I need to shower."
"I'll come with you 🥰." He means it in a sweet way.
He doesnt need sleep and loves being up late with your baby. It's just them, he sings to them, tells them stories.
Sometimes you walk in on them, and just watch the scene, the soft glow of a nightlight filling the room, Daniel in a rocker singing to your baby.
The hook? He baby proofed it. Bubble wrap, pillows, he's got it on lock down.
Post pregnancy body? He's there, giving you space, helping you in any way he can. If you dont feel beautiful he'll kiss every inch of you, help you find your spark again.
➥ (a/n): hello everyone, i have a confession to make!! :D my stupid ass didn't research enough and didn't know that quarterfinals came before semifinals, so i'm just gonna do "top 8" for the next grouping. i apologize!! 😭😭 anyways lol, as always, the poll will be at the bottom of this post, and please remember to like, comment, and reblog to support this series. let's go, round #3!!!!! :))
─────────ೋღ★ღೋ─────────
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷... ➥ SEMIFINALS ROUND #2 RESULTS:
➥ coming in at 70.5%, the winner is... 🥁🥁🥁
➥ THOMAS HEWITT!!!!
➥ lemme tell you, i had a hard time choosing for multiple reasons. i'm all for the size difference (which both are Huge), but i'm a huge fan of silent men, so tommy got my vote this time. 🥰🥰 thank you for voting, time for round #3!!!
hi, i’m a big fan of your writing, thank you sm for sharing it w us !! since requests are open, could i please ask for something with daniel robitaille? maybe something obsessive and sweet-intentioned but really pushing the line of creepy? thanks :)
yes!!! this is definitely more of a set-up but I would be super willing to write more parts to this eventually because I do like this premise a lot! if I do write future parts, I would really try to hone in more on the sweet but creepy vibes.
(dis)belief | daniel robitaille x reader
notes: descriptions of slightly obsessive behavior | word count: 1389
character list + rules | accepted prompt lists
The shadow has been dogging your steps since Halloween. Not that any of your friends believe you— one of them had the audacity to suggest that you were just having an extended trip, ignoring the fact that you hadn’t taken anything that night. Frankly, if it wasn’t happening to you, you probably wouldn’t believe it either.
It wasn’t even an actual shadow. There was nothing concrete for you to point to, nothing for you to catch. But there was the inkling of a feeling, that tingle at the back of your neck that told you something was watching you.
Maybe you were just paranoid. But every time you felt a touch of an invisible hand against your skin, or the shifting of air that told you something was moving past you without you seeing, you knew that you weren’t just making it up.
The moment you decided that, maybe, you needed help with this problem was when you walked into your apartment after work only to walk into a room bathed in golden light. Every candle in your apartment was lit, flames flickering in the darkness. You dropped your bag at your side, mouth agape. Scented candles, taper candles, sculptural candles— all were lit (you never realized just how many candles you owned until this moment.)
There was no way you had done this. And your door had been locked when you’d arrived home.
It had no explanation, at least not one that you wanted to admit to yourself.
Grabbing your bag, you quickly called the only friend who wouldn’t immediately think you had lost your mind.
“Hey, Tab, can you meet me at the coffee shop near my place? Something… weird is going on.”
Thirty minutes later, you were sitting in a cafe with Tabitha, who was listening to the story of your week since this all began with a stony face that indicated she was trying not to convey just how worried she was about your situation.
“What happened at that Halloween party?” She asked, her ringed fingers curling around her cup.
“I didn’t take anything that night, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not.” She frowned. “I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what you guys got up to.”
“Listen, all we did at the party was get drunk and play stupid slumber party games. I don’t think whatever is happening is because of the party.”
“What kinds of games did you play?”
“Like…” You groaned, exasperated that you were even entertaining the idea that the games had anything to do with what was going on. Even with all of the evidence you had that something strange was happening, tying it to literal children’s games felt silly. “Like Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board or Bloody Mary. The shit you do when you’re ten and want to scare your friends.”
When you had suggested going out to an actual club that night, they told you that the cover charges for all the clubs in the area were too much. Which, to be fair, they totally were. But being in an actual club with actual music was better than standing in a dark bathroom with a candle and chanting for a ghost that most people stopped being afraid of when they were ten to appear.
Tabitha gave you a look, pursing her lips like she was debating actually saying it.
“Maybe… you actually summoned something.”
You wanted to laugh.
But you had specifically reached out to this friend, your one friend who owned more crystals than she had money in her savings and who regularly offered to read tarot for you. The only friend who knew enough about this kind of shit to give you the advice you so desperately needed but were unwilling to vocalize.
Then, you felt a gentle tickle on your hand. Looking down, you startled at the sight of a bee gently making its way across your skin. You furrowed your brow, confused at the sight. Wasn’t it too late in the year for bees?
You tried to shake the bee off of your hand, your frown deepening when it stayed stubbornly put.
Tabitha followed your gaze to your hand, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the bee meandering across your skin. Slowly, she looked back up at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.
“What, exactly, did you summon that night?”
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
Tabitha had provided you with a list of tips for getting rid of the spirit that seemed attached to you, right after she was done berating you for trying to summon anything in the first place. (“Especially on Halloween. I don’t care what you believe, that’s just common sense!”)
Her first tip was, coincidentally, also the scariest: talk to it. Tell it that it wasn’t welcome around you and that it needed to leave your house. Be firm, but not cruel in your delivery.
You stood in your living room, holding an unlit bundle of leaves that Tabitha told you was good for clearing out negative energies from your space. Of course, she had intended for you to light them on fire but you weren’t so sure that it wasn’t going to just set your smoke alarm off.
“Um. Hi?” God, you felt stupid. He was just an urban legend— you hadn’t actually summoned anything that night, and certainly not the fucking Candyman. You were just tired, and imagining things, and now you were talking to the air in your empty apartment. Maybe you had actually lit all of those candles yourself and forgotten. Maybe you just had a gas leak and were slowly losing your mind. “Is anyone there?”
Then— a gentle brush against your shoulder. Quick and feather light. You whipped around, heart racing. There was nothing, no one standing there. But you had felt it.
“I–” You cleared your throat. Assert your dominance, Tabitha had said. You held the bundle of leaves in front of you like it was a crucifix in a vampire film. “I’m sorry if I offended you by bringing you here. But I need you to leave. You can’t stay here.”
Much like you had expected, nothing happened. You lowered your hands, starting to think that maybe you did need to check yourself into a hospital (or have your home checked for gas leaks or mold).
“That–” The voice, deep and soft, came from right above your head, seeming to echo in your mind. Your ears rang, a low buzzing thrumming in your bones. You spun around again, trying to catch sight of the person speaking but no matter where you turned you saw nothing. “-is not how this works.”
“What do you mean? How what works?” Somehow you were able to speak through the shock coursing through your veins.
“You summoned me.” The voice curled around you, caressing your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. A gasp, sharp and scraping against your throat, wrenched itself out of your mouth. When he spoke again, his voice was right next to your ear, every syllable in his gravelly voice intentionally placed. “The Can-dy-man.”
“I–” You swallowed, your saliva thick in your mouth. “You aren’t real.” You can’t be real.
“You were brave– foolish. You didn’t believe in me. But I believe that your screams would taste… delicious.”
The air grew thick around you, the buzzing vibrating in your teeth and before you realized it you were running without thinking, pulling your door open and bolting down the hallway of your apartment building not caring how loud you were being. You still clutched the sage bundle in your hands, the leaves crumbling in your tight, sweaty grip.
Before you reached the stairwell, you glanced over your shoulder to your apartment. You fully expected to see nothing, to have yet another realization that you were slowly going insane but instead you saw something that made you shudder in fear and something else you were quite able to identify.
You saw him, looking exactly like he had always been described to you when your friends exchanged urban legends with each other. Almost impossible tall, with a long coat and a hook for a hand. And he was standing in your doorway, watching you run away with dark eyes that told you he wasn’t going to give up the chase so easily.
Candyman x Male Reader — Healing Over Time (Continuation)
The first night, Candyman stayed.
Not looming. Not watching.
Just present.
You sat on the bathroom floor with your back against the tub while he leaned nearby, long legs stretched out, coat pooling around him like shadows at dusk. The bees had settled completely—only a faint hum remained, like a lullaby meant just for you.
“You don’t have to speak,” he told you quietly. “Grief tires the soul.”
So you didn’t.
You simply breathed, and for the first time in months, the weight on your chest loosened just a little.
Week One
Candyman began appearing without being summoned.
Not through mirrors—he said that was “unnecessarily theatrical” when you were still fragile—but softly, as if stepping in from another room.
You’d find him sitting at your kitchen table while you made tea, his voice low as he asked about your day.
He listened.
When you talked about your former lover, he never flinched. Never rushed you.
“They mattered,” he said once, resting his chin in his palm. “I would never ask you to forget.”
That alone helped more than he could know.
Week Three
Some nights were harder.
You’d wake gasping, heart racing, the echo of hospital machines still ringing in your ears.
Those were the nights Candyman sat on the edge of your bed, his large hand resting over your heartbeat—steady, grounding.
“Stay with me,” he murmured. “You are here. You are alive.”
You learned that his bees responded to your emotions—when you cried, they’d gather softly around you like a warm blanket. Never stinging. Just there.
One night, exhausted, you leaned into his chest.
He froze for a moment.
Then slowly, carefully, wrapped his arm around you.
“You may rest,” he whispered.
And you did.
Month Two
Laughter returned in small pieces.
It surprised you the first time—an actual laugh—when Candyman attempted to use your phone and frowned at the screen.
“Why does it keep asking me to update?” he grumbled.
You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt.
Healing didn’t feel like betrayal anymore. It felt like breathing.
He began walking with you in the evenings, unseen by others, his presence warm at your side.
“You do not walk alone anymore,” he said.
You believed him.
Month Four
You finally said it aloud one quiet night:
“I think I’m ready to love again.”
Candyman didn’t look jealous.
He didn’t look sad.
He looked… proud.
“Love does not erase love,” he replied gently. “It expands.”
You reached for his hand this time—no hesitation.
His thumb brushed your knuckles, tender and reverent.
“And if that love,” he added softly, “finds its way to me…”
You leaned in, resting your forehead against his.
“…I would cherish it,” you finished.
The kiss was slow. Careful. Not desperate.
Just two souls choosing warmth over emptiness.
One Year Later
October came again.
You stood before the mirror—not to summon him, but out of habit.
Candyman appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.
“You are smiling,” he observed.
“I am,” you replied.
The past still lived with you—but it no longer hurt the way it once did.
Candyman pressed a kiss to your temple.
“You healed,” he said.
You shook your head gently.
“No,” you corrected. “We did.”
And in the quiet hum of bees and the soft glow of October light, you realized something important:
Some legends don’t come to haunt.
They come to help you survive… and then teach you how to love again. 🍯🖤
