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SFW alphabet template

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Jonathan has a unique way of showing affection to say the least. He will never be the type to be all lovey-dovey with you. Instead he would say something like “Yours is the only light in the world that holds a candle to the magnificence of fear.” He’s clearly trying, and you can tell you mean a lot to him so you appreciate his interesting ways of showing affection.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Jonathan never had a friend before much less a best friend so this all a very new experience for him. The two of you met when you moved into the apartment next to his. You went out of your way to be friendly to him, something that was a first for Jon. You slowly but surely managed to bring down his walls with kindness and love and soon you became best friends, which eventually escalated to something more.Jonathan would try his best to be worthy of these new titles .He will always try to comfort you when your sad, either by promising to harm who ever hurt you, or if it was no one in particular who hurt you/ your against violence, he would try to distract you from the pain by talking about how similar fear is to sadness in the brain and going into the intricate biological details. He would try to create inside jokes with you, although he never could stick the landing. He always got embarrassed when he messed it up, but you found the attempt adorable.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

While Jonathan was apprehensive about trying cuddling with you at first, once you managed to convince him to try it he would never want to do anything else. The feeling of holding you is incredible, like he can actually hold all that’s perfect and good in the world in his arms. The only thing that feels better is you holding him. It’s the first time in his life he’s ever been shown any kind of comfort. He’s genuinely worshipful of you when you do this, treating you like a perfect angel protecting him from all the harm in the world.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

For years if Jonathan Crane was asked the question of if he would like to settle down, he would scoff and say no. That was for lesser men, men without purpose in their life. All of that changed when he met you. Now his hearts greatest desire along with figuring out the secrets of fear is to get married to you. He wants to spend the rest of his life coming home to you, sleeping in together during weekends, making each other laugh during hard times. He’s never been the best cook but he’s been trying to get better for you. You derserve to have homemade meals and he’ll learn even if it kills him.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If you had gotten to the point of dating Jonathan Crane, it would take a lot for Crane to break up with you. The only way I can honestly see Crane breaking up with you is if being with him puts you in danger. Like if Falcone tries to assert leverage over him by subtlety threatening to go after you if Crane steps out of line. Jonathan was enraged by Falcone doing this, but he also knew Falcone wouldn’t be the last person to try something like this. So that night when he went home instead of happily greeting you like he usually did, he instead just gave a few curt words saying he wasn’t in love with you anymore and that he would be taking all of his stuff and leaving. You broke down crying having no idea why Jonathan was treating you this way. Jonathan just tried to ignore you and the pain your tears caused him. He didn’t even try to pretend that he never cared about you. He would be obsessed with you for the rest of his life, constantly keeping tabs on you.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

While it would take a long time for Crane to get to the point of caring about you enough to propose to you, the second he dose get to that point he’s buying a ring. Jonathan is not the type to wait and see if the feeling lasts once he knows he’s in love. He’s never felt any kind of love in his life before romantic or otherwise, he knows that if he feels this way it’s going to last, and that he needs to lock you down now.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Jonathan, well he tries he really dose. He’s absolutely gentle with you physically ,making sure to never be aggressive with any of his touches or hugs, even thought these are new sensations to him. However when it comes to being emotionally gentle he’s a real work in progress. He wants to shower you with the all love in the world, but he never received any as a child so he’s not exactly sure how to do it. Every day is a new learning processes for him, and he’s getting there.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Similar to cuddling above Jonathan was apprehensive about hugs at first simply because he had never gotten them. However once you had introduced it to him after he had a tough day at Arkham and you thought a hug might help him feel better, he wasn’t sure how he survived without them for so long. Whenever you gave him a hug it felt like the highlight of his day. He tried to give hugs back to you, but he knows he’s not the best at it. He’s to bony for it to fully feel comfortable, but you appreciate the attempt.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes Jonathan awhile to say to l-word both because it takes a very long time for him to fall in love, and when he finally dose fall in love he literally dose not know what the feeling is. It took a lot of emotional soul searching on Jonathan’s part to realize oh shit, this is love. This is what everyone is always talking about. The way any bad day gets immediately rectified by just talking to you ? Love. The way he would do anything for you just to see your smile? Love. The way he dosed anyone who hurt you with fear toxin? Supervillain shit, but also love. The minute Jonathan realizes this he can’t help but blurt it out the next time he talks to you. He’s afraid you won’t reciprocate his feelings or even worse, mock him for it. But instead you give him the biggest smile in the world and said you feel the same way.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Jonathan Crane gets immensely jealous incredibly quickly. He doesn’t even feel all that much guilt about it , thinking he’s just making it clear to other people who you belong to. The few times Jon will do large amounts of pda is when he sees someone is flirting with you. When that happens he starts literally making out with you in public, just to show who ever is flirting with you that your happily taken. And if they don’t take the hint? Well there’s a reason Jonathan caries fear gas with him at all times. He can’t help himself, he’s never had a relationship before and he’ll be damned if he loses you to anyone else.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Jonathan’s kisses are always shy and awkward, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. You were his first kiss, a fact he is deeply embarrassed by. When you asked if you could kiss him, he said yes excited not only at the chance to kiss someone but that you would be his first kiss. However it quickly became apparent that he had never kissed anyone before. You went for a light first kiss and he literally stuck his tongue in your mouth. Hey go big or go home right? After that incident you’ve been trying to help him become a better kisser to mixed success. On a different note, he adores forehead kisses both giving and receiving. It’s just a quick way of showing love. If you ever want something from him give him a forehead kiss, he’s amiable to anything you have to say after that.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Jonathan wouldn’t say he hates children, more that he sees them the same way he views every other person alive who isn’t you. That is to say he sees them as useless insects who only exist for his benefit.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Crane has to wake up early for his job at Arkham, a fact that bemuses him to no end. He loves his job, he really does. But also he was literally cuddling with the love of his life and now he has to go to work. Anyone would be grumpy after that. He begrudgingly leaves your embrace, giving you a quick kiss on the head and whispering his love for you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

You always try to stay up late, waiting for him to get back from his extracurricular activities. Sometimes you fall asleep and Jonathan can’t help but feel his heart warm when he sees that you tried to stay up for him. He carries you to bed and holds you close to him. Other times you do actually manage to stay up for him, and you help patch up whatever wounds he received throughout the night. Neither of you directly comment on what he did that night or why he needed first aid. He just says thank you and kisses you on the forehead.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It takes a long time for Jon to open up to you. For him to reveal his biggest secret to you, that he’s scarcrow would take months if not years of getting to know you to make sure he can trust you. Even after he trusts you enough to share that nugget of information with you, he still won’t reveal some of his more personal parts at least not without some gentle coaxing on your part. However sometimes he surprises you by revealing deeply personal part of himself out of the blue. Like one night the two of you were cuddling and he causally said “ I was supposed to be killed as a baby. My grandmother wanted me dead but my great grandmother saved me. My great grandmother called it the worst mistake she ever made.” You didn’t know how to respond to that, so just held him closer and promised him you would make sure no one would ever hurt him again.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Jonathan isn’t someone that gets angry easily , he’s more the type to let his emotions simmer underneath. Still there are certain things that can cause him to get mad quickly such as someone interfering with his experiments. However he would never lose it at you no matter what happens. You mean far too much to him, he would never allow himself to lose control in a way that harmed you.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Jon has an incredibly good memory and is also amazing at cataloging information. He puts these skills to good use when it comes to information about you. Every thing you mention your opinion on, what you like and don’t like is information that is stored by him. He doesn’t even necessarily plan to do anything with this information, it’s just that he loves you so much that he wants to collect every scrap he can about you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite memory with you was when you helped calm him down from a panic attack. He had accidentally inhaled some of his own fear toxin while tinkering with the formula in his home lab and he was left in an awful state. The toxin caused him relive several memories of his great grandmother sending crowes out to attack him. He was screaming about the crowes when you entered this apartment . You immediately noticed that Jonathan was in distress writhing about on the floor and screaming about claws scraping him. You went over to him, and instead of mocking him or leaving him to rot in his fear you pulled him close to your chest. You then tried to help him clam down by getting him to breath easier and by whispering sweet nothings in his ear. You did this for the rest of the night. When he woke up in the morning, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out a thank you, even thought he wanted to just move on from the incident and never talk about it again. As embarrassing and terrifying as that event was for Jon, he will never forget how you took care of him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Jonathan is incredibly protective over you. You’re the first person he’s ever truly cared for, he could never risk losing you. Not to mention the fact that he’s literally a supervillain in his free time puts a huge target on any of his loved ones backs. He will gas anyone who’s even remotely suspicious around you. He just can’t take the risk.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Jonathan goes all out for dates and anniversary’s . He’s literally never done them before so to overcompensate for his lack of experience, he goes completely overboard. He gives you the largest bouquet of flowers you have ever seen, takes you to one of the most expensive restaurants in Gotham and even gives you expensive jewelry as a parting gift from dates. While you find all the effort he puts into your date adorable, you explain to Jonathan that he doesn’t have to go so big on dates to impress you and that you like him just for who he is, awkward romantic stumbles and all.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Jonathan has trouble always being emotionally honest with you. He spent so long guarding his emotions from others and focusing on getting emotional reactions from other people, that he wasn’t sure how to be open with someone. He’s trying to get better, he knows you love him and are just trying to be there for him, and that you’re not going to mock him for his feelings. Still, old habits die hard and he often finds himself bottling up how he feels around you. You try to work with him on this, telling him that’s it okay to be sad about shitty things that happened to him in the past, or to be happy to hang out with you.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Jonathan isn’t the least bit concerned with his looks. He finds his mind the most valuable part of him and thinks looks, like the rest of the body are just extensions of what truly matters. He also doesn’t think his are anything to write home about and is a little insecure about them from years of childhood bullying, and the glasses aren’t exactly doing him any favors.You can’t help but laugh when he tells you that last part. He was literally the most attractive man you’d ever met. Honestly, you felt ugly next to him sometimes. Also the glasses were the fucking hottest thing you’d ever seen, something you made very clear to him the next time you got intimate.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Once Jonathan lets you into to his heart, there’s no way for you to leave it. It’s no longer him in his mind but us. If you ever died Jonathan would never be the same. Honestly the man might kill himself if you died. Even if he doesn’t go that far, he will be irrevocably changed. Whatever small amounts of empathy that existed in his heart will be destroyed. He was cruel before, but that was nothing compared to how he acts now that your dead. The world took you from him, it didn’t deserve a drop of kindness. He would spend the rest of his life grieving you with him waking up everyday feeling just as hurt about your death as he was the first day he found out.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Since he grew up on a farm, he’s a very good horseback rider. He took you riding one time and you both had a great time. You were a little scared of doing so at first but he assured you that he knew what he was doing. You held on tight to his back the whole time, but your laughter told Crane that you were clearly enjoying yourself. It was also the must wonderful sound he had ever heard in life, but he didn’t feel like that was relevant information to share with you.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Jon would never want to date someone who mocked him or his interests. He already received far too much of that from the world at large, he didn’t need it from his partner. Also you can’t be to against his supervillain side. He’s okay with some pushback, which is why you’re still together despite the arguments you’ve had about his treatment of Arkham patients. Still , his partner needs to be able to tolerate some of his criminal activities, or the relationship won’t last long.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Y/N doesn’t know exactly when Billy Loomis and Stu Macher snuck their way into his life.

At first, they were just two guys in his classes. Billy sat a few rows ahead, quiet, calculating, eyes always sharp. Stu was louder, mischievous, always half-turned in his seat, whispering commentary and jokes like school itself was a shared game. Then they became the people he talked to when the clock above the whiteboard ticked too slowly, and the teacher’s voice blurred into static.

It was easy. Comfortable. Distant.

Things didn’t change all at once. They never do.

It happened in pieces. Sitting by the water fountain between periods turned into a standing appointment. Walking to the video store after school became routine—arguing over whether Halloween or Friday the 13th deserved their legendary reputations. Sometimes Stu would loudly insist sequels were better, just to rile Billy up, and Billy would roll his eyes but play along anyway. VHS nights became the norm: cheap popcorn, blankets on the floor, rewinding tapes for the tenth time, sitting close enough that shoulders brushed accidentally—but intentionally sometimes.

Somewhere along the way, Billy’s cologne and Stu’s cheap aftershave lingered in Y/N’s room long after they left, settling into his sheets like they belonged there.

Before he could really name it, Billy and Stu were always beside him—inside school, outside of it, orbiting him like something steady.

Maybe it was when he started automatically scanning rooms for them.

Maybe it was when their touches lingered—Billy’s hand at his elbow when guiding him through crowded hallways, Stu’s arm draped over his shoulders when nobody was looking.

Maybe it was when it became a nightly occurrence for them to knock on his bedroom window instead of using the front door.

✁.

He learns the sound of their knocks long before he realizes that might be a problem.

Billy’s knock is controlled—two taps, a pause, then one more, like he’s weighing consequences even as he ignores them. Stu’s is chaos: knuckles too loud, rhythm abandoned halfway through because he’s already laughing at something Billy said.

Y/N tells himself it’s just familiarity.

Just repetition.

That things are still comfortable.

Still distant.

He tells himself a lot of things.

By the time he pulls the curtain aside and sees them standing there—jackets damp from Woodsboro’s early fall drizzle, sneakers scuffed, eyes bright with leftover adrenaline—his chest loosens in a way it shouldn’t.

Relief comes first.

Fear follows close behind.

“You’re late,” he says, unlatching the window.

Stu grins, already halfway inside. “You missed us.”

“I worried,” Y/N corrects automatically. “There’s a difference.”

Billy ducks in next, close enough that their shoulders brush. It’s brief. Accidental. Still, it leaves Y/N painfully aware of how much space Billy occupies—and how easily.

“You always worry,” Billy says, not unkindly.

“Yes,” Y/N snaps, then exhales, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater. A nervous habit. “Because I care.”

The words land heavier than he expects.

Stu flops onto the bed like tension is optional. Billy stays standing, eyes moving methodically around the room—checking the window latch, the door, the lock—like he’s cataloguing exits. Y/N notices. He always notices.

“You don’t have to care,” Billy says.

“I know,” Y/N replies. God, how he wishes he didn’t. “But you make it hard not to.”

Stu laughs, loud and careless, but there’s something uneasy beneath it. “Wow. We’re exhausting you? Don’t get tired of us yet—we’ve still got surprises.”

“You are exhausting,” Y/N says softly. “You’re reckless. You’re loud. You don’t think before you act, and—”

He stops himself, breath hitching.

“And if something happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Stu’s grin wobbles. Just a little.

Billy’s expression sharpens, something dark and almost reverent flickering through it.

“You won’t lose us,” Stu says quickly, like he needs it to be true.

Billy nods. “Promise.”

The word settles wrong in Y/N’s chest.

He ignores it.

He always does.

It hadn’t started like this.

The first time Billy came over, it was after a fight with his dad. He hadn’t knocked—just stood on the porch, jaw tight, eyes distant. Something about his mom that cut deeper than Billy ever explained. Stu followed because he hated being alone, and because he knew Y/N would insist on letting him in.

That night blurred into another. Then another.

Late nights became early mornings. Someone always fell asleep first. No one ever wanted to be the first to leave.

Somewhere along the way, Y/N’s room became neutral ground.

Safe.

Stu’s hoodie lived permanently on the back of his chair. Billy’s lighter stayed on the windowsill. Three toothbrushes crowded the cup in the bathroom like an accident no one corrected.

“You’re basically our safe house,” Stu said once, sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan. “No chance of getting gutted by Ghostface here.”

Billy went very still.

“You don’t have to come over every night,” Y/N told them, already unlocking the window.

They always did anyway.

✁.

Billy noticed things. Billy noticed things before Y/N realized he was being watched.

Not openly. Not in the way Y/N assumed. Quiet observations. Calculated. Like he was cataloguing every gesture, every tremor, every distracted movement—not to correct them, but to map them. Y/N mistook it for care.

When Y/N’s hands shook while pouring coffee, Billy would brush his wrist lightly, a touch that lingered longer than it should have.

When Y/N laughed nervously at Stu reenacting the opening scene from Halloween, Billy tilted his head, eyebrows drawn, like he was studying Y/N’s reactions.

When Y/N’s voice rose nervously over Woodsboro gossip about a student found attacked on the outskirts of town, Billy listened. Intensely. And Y/N told himself it was concern.

“You okay?” Billy asked, quiet, steady.

Y/N answered honestly.

That was the mistake.

Because honesty made him predictable. And predictability made Billy and Stu… too easy to read.

Billy became the one Y/N checked in with before bed. The one whose opinion mattered more than it should have. Billy never discouraged it. He just accepted it—calmly, patiently—like Y/N’s worry was a gift he didn’t have to earn.

“You care too much,” Billy said one night, voice low and careful, as Y/N fussed over a bruise Stu got after tripping on the stairs while trying to act like Freddy Krueger, chasing Y/N around the house.

“Someone has to,” Y/N replied.

Billy smiled. Small. Private. And Y/N thought it meant understanding.

Stu was different. Stu let Y/N fuss.

He let him shove his hoodie on properly after a trip to the video store. He let him fuss with his hair, brush off dust from the floor after late-night wrestling matches inspired by classic horror, and remind him to eat, because “mom’s worried” was a label Stu didn’t argue with.

Stu complained loudly—but he didn’t pull away. He leaned into Y/N’s touches, lingered in proximity, teased Billy subtly just to make Y/N tense. And Y/N hovered. Too long. Heart pounding.

Billy lingered in the kitchen once, leaning against the counter, watching Y/N as he fussed over Stu, and Y/N felt that familiar sharp pull in his chest—the one that always said too close, too late, too much.

“You don’t have to worry,” Billy whispered, voice softer than Y/N had ever heard. “I do,” Y/N admitted, stomach twisting. The touch lingered, a silent confession neither of them said aloud.

✁.

After the brutal slaughter of Casey Becker and her boyfriend rules emerged naturally:

No going out alone.

Check in every time.

Don’t linger outside after dark.

Billy agreed. Too easily. Stu argued only to follow anyway. “You act like we’re made of glass,” Stu teased.

“I act like I’d rather you alive,” Y/N shot back.

Billy smiled, dark and calculating—but there was softness too. Just enough to make Y/N’s stomach flip.

The imbalance grew.

Y/N worried more.

They worried less.

Y/N lost sleep.

They slept fine.

Y/N started to feel like the only one afraid. That should have been the warning. Instead, it became the realization waiting to happen. Because monsters don’t need protecting. They need invitations. And Y/N—kind, careful, endlessly worried—kept opening the window.

Movie night starts the way it always does: with Y/N insisting on preparations that Billy and Stu claim are unnecessary.

“You don’t need to lock every door,” Stu says, kicking off his shoes and immediately flopping onto the floor like he owns the place.

“Yes, I do,” Y/N replies, already checking the deadbolt again. “You don’t know who’s out there.”

Billy watches him from the couch, unreadable. “You know it’s just Halloween, right?”

“That doesn’t make it less creepy,” Y/N mutters, tugging the curtains shut. “Michael Myers didn’t need a motive either.”

Stu lights up. “Ooooh, see? He gets it. Faceless killers are scarier.”

Billy hums softly. “Some people need motives.”

The TV flickers as the VHS starts whirring. Y/N dims the lights and hands out bowls of popcorn like a ritual. He sits on the edge of the bed at first—alert, upright, watching the window more than the screen.

Stu notices immediately.

“Come on,” he says, patting the floor between his legs. “You’re ruining the vibe.”

“I’m fine here.”

“You’re hovering,” Stu grins. “Again.”

Billy cuts in, calm. “Just sit down.”

Y/N hesitates, then settles onto the floor, back pressed against the bed. Stu’s knee brushes his shoulder almost instantly. Billy’s presence looms just behind him on the mattress, close enough that Y/N can feel the heat through the blanket.

The movie plays.

Michael stalks. Laurie breathes too loud. The tension builds.

Y/N flinches at a sudden sting of violins.

Stu notices—and leans closer, shoulder bumping his. “Wow. Didn’t peg you as the jumpy type.”

“I’m not jumpy,” Y/N says defensively. “I’m aware.”

Billy’s hand shifts behind him. Not touching—just close enough that Y/N becomes acutely conscious of it.

“Awareness is good,” Billy murmurs.

Y/N swallows.

Halfway through the movie, Stu sprawls fully against Y/N’s side, dramatic and heavy.

“This is the part where she should run,” Stu announces. “Bad decisions. Classic.”

“Stop narrating,” Y/N says, but he doesn’t move away.

Stu grins, chin resting dangerously close to Y/N’s shoulder. “You like having us here. Admit it.”

Y/N’s instinct is to deflect. Joke. Redirect. Instead, he says quietly, “I like knowing where you are.”

Stu stills just a little. Billy shifts behind him.

“That sounds like control,” Stu teases, but it’s softer now.

“That sounds like worry,” Y/N corrects.

Billy’s hand finally rests against Y/N’s shoulder—light, grounding, deliberate. “You worry like it’s your job,” Billy says.

“Someone has to,” Y/N replies, breath tight.

Stu glances back at Billy, something unspoken passing between them. Then he grins again, wide and careless, and bumps his forehead gently into Y/N’s arm.

“Well, lucky us.”

Later, when the curfew announcement interrupts the movie—local sheriff’s voice crackling through the TV—Y/N tenses instantly.

“There it is,” he mutters. “See? I told you.”

Stu rolls his eyes. “It’s just precautionary.”

“People are getting attacked,” Y/N snaps. “That’s not nothing.”

Billy leans forward, elbows on his knees, gaze sharp on the screen. “You think they’ll catch him?”

“They better,” Y/N says. “Before anyone else gets hurt.”

The silence stretches.

Stu fills it, too fast. “If someone wanted to hurt us, they’d have tried already.”

Y/N turns on him immediately. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s tempting fate,” Y/N says. “And because I don’t like thinking about it.”

Billy studies Y/N closely.

“You really think you can keep us safe?” Billy asks.

Y/N meets his eyes without hesitation. “I’ll try.”

Something flickers across Billy’s face. Pride. Amusement. Something darker.

Stu breaks the moment by shifting again, settling fully against Y/N’s side. This time, Y/N doesn’t protest.

Instead, he adjusts the blanket around all three of them without thinking.

Domestic. Automatic.

Billy notices.

The movie ends. The tape rewinds with a mechanical whine. None of them move.

Stu’s head rests lightly against Y/N’s shoulder now, breathing slow and even. Billy’s knee presses against Y/N’s back, close enough to be intimate, far enough to pretend it’s accidental.

Y/N exhales carefully.

“You can stay,” he says, already knowing they will. “Just—don’t leave tonight. Please.”

Stu smiles into his shoulder. “Bossy.”

Billy answers instead. “We weren’t planning on it.”

Y/N relaxes, just a fraction.

That’s the dangerous part.

Because this— the closeness, the warmth, the illusion of safety— is exactly what they want. And Y/N, sweet and careful and endlessly worried, keeps mistaking proximity for protection. He reaches for the window lock one last time before bed. Neither Billy nor Stu stops him.

They just watch.

Morning comes too gently for a town on edge.

The house smells like burnt coffee and microwave popcorn. Pale light slips through the blinds in thin lines, cutting across the floor, across Stu’s abandoned shoes, across Billy’s jacket draped over the back of the chair like it belongs there.

Y/N wakes first. He always does.

For half a second, he forgets why his chest feels tight—then he remembers where he is, what night it is, who stayed.

Stu is sprawled half on the mattress, half off, mouth open, arm flung across Y/N’s waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Billy is seated on the edge of the bed, awake, elbows on his knees, staring at the window like it might stare back.

“You didn’t sleep,” Y/N murmurs.

Billy glances over. “I slept.”

Y/N doesn’t argue. He just carefully shifts Stu’s arm, easing out of the bed so slowly it borders on reverent. Stu grumbles but doesn’t wake.

In the kitchen, Y/N moves quietly. He pours coffee, adds too much sugar to Stu’s without thinking, sets a mug aside for Billy even though Billy never asked.

Mom friend. Habitual. Automatic.

Billy watches from the doorway.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Billy says.

Y/N shrugs. “I want to.”

Billy’s gaze lingers—on the careful way Y/N avoids noise, on the way he checks the window lock again, on the extra mug waiting on the counter.

“You take care of people like it’s instinct,” Billy says.

Y/N laughs softly. “Someone has to.”

Billy smiles. Small. Private.

That smile should unsettle him.

Stu wakes up loud.

“What time is it?” he groans, stumbling into the kitchen and immediately bumping into Y/N’s shoulder. “Ugh. My back is killing me.”

“You slept crooked,” Y/N says, already nudging him toward a chair. “Sit.”

Stu blinks. “Wow. Bossy in the mornings too?”

“Sit,” Y/N repeats.

Stu does. He lets Y/N fuss—lets him push the coffee toward him, lets him fix his collar, lets him hover. Billy watches it all with an expression Y/N can’t quite read.

“You guys hear the news?” Stu asks between sips.

Y/N stiffens. “What news?”

“Another curfew thing,” Stu says lightly. “Sheriff’s freaking out again.”

Y/N’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t funny.”

Stu lifts his hands. “Didn’t say it was.”

Billy cuts in smoothly. “You should stay home today.”

Y/N looks at him, surprised. “What?”

Billy shrugs. “Just… feels safer.”

The word safer echoes wrong.

Y/N nods anyway. “Okay.”

Stu grins. “Look at that. Team effort.”

They share a look over Y/N’s head.

Y/N doesn’t see it.

The realization doesn’t arrive all at once. It comes in moments that don’t add up. Billy never looking tired. Stu never seeming shaken. The way they talk about fear like it’s theoretical.

It comes when Y/N insists—again—on walking Billy home, and Billy lets him. Lets him fuss. Lets him hover. Lets him put himself in danger without protest.

“You don’t have to do this,” Billy says, almost gently.

“I know,” Y/N replies. “But I will.”

Billy stops walking.

“You really think you’re protecting us,” he says.

Y/N hesitates. “Aren’t I?”

Billy smiles. Not unkindly.

“That’s… sweet.”

The word lands wrong.

Later, when Stu shows up alone that night—too cheerful, too calm—Y/N finally notices what’s missing.

Fear.

“You’re not scared,” Y/N says quietly.

Stu tilts his head. “Should I be?”

“Yes,” Y/N whispers. “Everyone else is.”

Stu doesn’t answer.

The air shifts.

It happens late. Quiet. No mask. No knife.

Just Y/N sitting on his bed, staring at the window lock he’s checked a hundred times.

Patterns click into place.

The timing. The confidence. The way Billy watches exits. The way Stu jokes to redirect.

“Oh,” Y/N breathes.

Love doesn’t make you blind. It makes you generous with explanations.

Billy knocks first. Two taps. Pause. One more. Stu laughs outside the window. Y/N doesn’t open it right away. Billy notices immediately. “You okay?” Billy asks.

Y/N opens the window anyway.

“I spent weeks terrified of losing you,” Y/N says calmly. “And you were never afraid.”

Silence.

Stu’s grin falters.

Billy steps closer. “You figured it out.”

“Did you ever mean it?” Y/N asks, voice breaking despite himself. Billy doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“That’s worse,” Y/N whispers.

Billy reaches out—gentle, devastating.

“You loved us,” Billy says.

Y/N swallows. “I still do.”

Billy smiles. Real. Sad.

Y/N unlocks the window. Not because he trusts them. But because love taught him how not to look away.

It isn’t fear that breaks Y/N.

It’s the realization that his moral center—the thing he trusted more than anything—has been used against him.

“I kept you safe,” Y/N says quietly.

Billy stills.

Stu’s mouth opens, then closes.

“I walked you home,” Y/N continues. “I stayed up waiting. I checked your hands for blood like I was scared it would be there and it never was. I trusted you.”

His voice doesn’t rise. That’s worse.

“You let me believe I was doing the right thing.”

Billy steps forward instinctively. “You were.”

Y/N laughs once. It sounds wrong. “No. I was helping monsters.”

Stu flinches. “Hey—”

“No,” Y/N cuts in, sharper now. “Don’t soften it. Don’t joke it away. You knew what you were doing.”

Silence presses in.

Billy swallows. For the first time, he looks unsure. “We didn’t plan on you getting hurt.”

“That’s not the same as caring,” Y/N says. “You let me love you thinking it meant something good.”

Stu moves first as he always does hands up like surrender. “It did mean something. It still does.”

Y/N’s hands shake. He doesn’t hide it this time.

“My whole life, I believed that caring for people was… enough,” he says. “That if I stayed kind, stayed careful, I’d be on the right side of things.”

Billy’s voice drops. “You are.”

Y/N looks at him. Really looks.

“I don’t know how to be good anymore,” Y/N whispers. “Not after this.”

That’s when panic finally cracks through them.

Billy reaches out, then stops himself, like he’s afraid to touch something fragile. “Tell us what to do.”

Stu nods too fast. “Yeah—yeah. We’ll fix it. We can fix it.”

“You can’t,” Y/N says. “You don’t fix what you broke. You live with it.”

Billy’s jaw tightens. “We don’t want to live without you.”

The words aren’t a threat.

That’s what scares him.

They don’t try to justify it after that.

Billy talks instead about them. About how Y/N made things quieter. How the world felt more controlled when Y/N was watching. How it felt like being chosen.

Stu admits it uglier. “You made us feel… normal.”

Y/N closes his eyes.

“That’s the worst part,” he says. “I didn’t see you because I wanted to believe you were worth saving.”

Billy exhales slowly. “You still are.”

Y/N looks at them both, at the boys he loved, at the killers they are, and feels something inside him split cleanly in two.

“I don’t trust you,” he says.

Stu nods, tears bright and furious. “I know.”

“I don’t know who I am with you,” Y/N adds.

Billy answers quietly. “Then we’ll wait.”

Y/N opens the window wider, not as an invitation, not as surrender. As acknowledgment.

Woodsboro never really goes back to normal.

Neither does Y/N.

Trust doesn’t return. Not fully. Morality doesn’t settle cleanly again. There are nights when Y/N still checks locks out of habit. Days when kindness feels heavier than it used to.

Billy and Stu don’t disappear.

They linger careful now. Watching. Waiting. Desperate not to lose the one person who saw them as something other than what they are.

Y/N doesn’t forgive them. But he doesn’t pretend he never loved them either.

Sometimes, love doesn’t save you.

Sometimes, it just teaches you how to live with the truth.

And Y/N does.

Quietly. Carefully.

With the window closed.

note : well I’m back..! hopefully this makes up for my long long long absence

©️ sethcertified 2026. all rights reserved to me. please don't copy my work or reshare without my explicit permission and credit

The first to go was Casey Becker.

Your next door neighbor.

They’d found her hanging from a tree in her front yard, gutted like a deer.

You, of course, had been the first person questioned by the police. Shaken and disturbed, you’d quickly found solace in your best friends, Billy and Stu.

~~~

The glass of Stu’s bedroom window was cold against your knuckles as you rapped on it. You only had to wait a moment in the freezing cold before the window slid open, a sleepy Billy rubbing his eyes as he let you inside.

“You forgot to put the spare key back under the doormat, you asshole,” you grumble to Stu as you clamber into his massive rich-boy bed. The taller boy giggles, wrapping his arms around you.

The two of them had always been touchy with you. Always with a hand on your hip or your lower back, an arm slung over your shoulders, interlaced fingers…

(You had your own suspicions that Billy and Stu might be…together, but you’d never say it aloud.)

It was totally normal for guys to share a bed at a sleepover, right? Girls do it all the time.

Totally normal.

~~~

Next to go was your girlfriend, Heather.

You didn’t feel sad. You felt…numb. You felt nothing.

I’m just so sad that I can’t even feel anything, you reasoned with yourself, trying not to think too much about Billy’s hand wandering a little closer to your ass than usual as he wrapped you up in a sympathetic hug. That’s it. Of course. Boys always feel relieved when their girlfriends die. That’s totally normal. Everything’s fine.

~~~

One by one, your friend group was shrinking. People were being killed off left and right. You’d gotten the news about Janis right you and Billy left the movie theater. Sadie had been found in the pool by her big brother while you were busy beating Stu ass at Chutes and Ladders. When Wyatt turned up dead, you’d been taking a joyride with Billy in his dad’s Viper. When Teddy died, you’d been getting ice cream with Stu.

All four were found gutted.

Like deer.

Despite how much they’d been hanging out with you as of late, you’d declined Billy and Stu’s invitation to come hunting with them that weekend.

~~~

“You wanna come over after school? My dad’s outta town, so we can watch whatever the hell we want.”

“Can’t. I’ve got, uh, homework,” you lie, refusing to meet Billy’s eyes as you slammed your locker shut and hurried away.

~~~

“You’ve been avoiding us all week,” Billy accuses, stepping in front of the door to block your exit as you try to leave the cafeteria

“Did we do something wrong?” Stu asks anxiously, fluttering around by Billy’s side.

“No! No. Of course not.”

“Then why are you avoiding us?”

You bite your lip, nervous to tell them the truth.

“I’m afraid you two will be next.”

~~~

Absently, you wonder how Stu’s going to get all of that blood out of his nice beige sweater. You’d bought him that sweater last year for Christmas.

Stu kneels in front of you, resting his bloody hands on your hips as he looks up at you imploringly. “Please forgive us?”

How do you get blood out of clothes? Cold water? Or— is it warm water? Sidney would know. You ought to ask her.

“Baby?” Stu begs, his fingers curling in your shirt as he grips you tightly.

Oh. Right. You can’t ask Sidney.

She’s dead.

Billy is skillfully using his body to block your view of the carnage on the floor, doing his best to keep you from freaking out.

His hands are on you, running through your hair, lightly touching your cheek. He’s sticky, with your sister’s blood, your father’s blood, Stu’s blood, his own blood, and fucking corn syrup.

“Sweetheart?” Stu questions, hooking a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugging on it lightly. “See? We love you.”

You’re horrified. They murdered thirteen people to show their love.

(You would’ve been fine with just a box of chocolates and some flowers, but y’know. Billy refuses to half-ass things.)

“Do you need us to prove it to you?”

Stu’s got a crazed look in his eye that makes you shrink back. But Billy’s grip on you is tight enough that you can barely move at all, forced to watch as Stu yanks off his ruined sweater, unabashedly moaning like a slut when the fabric catches on his fresh stab wounds, ripping back open the flesh that was so desperately trying to knit itself back together.

Billy hands Stu his buck knife, watching with rapt attention as the man holds it over his chest. Stu doesn’t even flinch, watching in a trance as the tip of the blade sinks into his flesh, droplets of red already welling to the surface. He drags the blade along his skin, carving your initials into his chest, right above his heart.

When he’s finished, he hands the knife back to Billy, who reverently takes it, studying the fresh red sheen on the metal before pressing his tongue flat against the side of the blade and licking off Stu’s blood.

You look away, disgusted and somehow turned on at the same time.

(You can’t help but sneak a look when the two boys share a messy, blood- and spit-soaked kiss. Fuck.)

Billy yanks off his corn syrup-stained white shirt, tossing it carelessly on the floor, where it hits your dead father in the face. He steadies the knife, holding it over his chest and doing the same thing as Stu just did.

You choke out a sob, unable to rectify this image of your boys as psychotic murderers with the image of them just last night, cuddling up with you in bed and leeching off of your warmth and rambling about horror movies.

“Sweetheart?” Billy murmurs, cupping your face in his hand. “Look. Look, see? We love you. We love you.”

They love you. They love you.

You keep mentally repeating that mantra to yourself. Even as you are forced to scrunch your eyes through the pain of the knife carving two sets of initials into your chest. Even as you look at the bodies of your sister and father one last time. Even as Billy scoops you up to carry you to Stu’s van in a way that’s supposed to be playful but just comes across as a final doomed death sentence, the clang! of a prison door slamming shut. You repeat your mantra even as you pass by the bodies of Randy and Dewey; even the mutilated body of that obnoxious bitch from Top Story makes you have to look away.

They love you. They love you.

Stu drives, on the lamb. Billy lays in the back with you, curled up with you on the bed in Stu’s stupid “shaggin’ wagon”.

Your eyes are glued to the smiley-face shaped air freshener dangling from Stu’s rear view mirror. You can’t look at Billy right now.

They love you. They love you.

You can almost trick yourself into believing it, at least for a little while.

But the sight of the dead deer on the side of the road, visible through the front windshield, its chest smashed and broken like a piñata, sends you spiraling.

When you look back at the stupid air freshener hanging from the mirror, its bright yellow face smiling at you only feels mocking and cruel. All you can see is Casey’s body hanging from that damned tree.

You felt like pure shit. You didn't know which was worse, the cramps or the sinking feeling you felt when you had realised what was going on. By now you had already showered and changed and now you were just laying in your little fortress of pillows and blankets in pain trying to sleep off your period, even though you knew it wasn't going to just disappear like that - you wish it were as easy as that but it wasn't. You barely got a second of peace before you heard familiar whispers coming from outside your bedroom window.

'Shut up, Stu. We're trying to surprise him-'

'I can hear you!' Groaning in pain, you turned to face the window to see your two boyfriends trying and failing to quietly sneak in.

'You woke him. Nice going, dumbass.' Billy smacked him and looked back at you. 'We got you some things.' He held up two bags and Stu held up two more bags behind him, a smile plastered on his face which was enough to make you smile even though you were in pain. You slowly sat up and watched them climb in and throw the bags onto the end of your bed.

'How did you know?'

'Same as last time.' Stu muttered as he began digging through one of the bags before pulling out three movies. 'Alright so we got some movies, food, products, pain killers and- Billy where's the other thing.' Stu starting going through the bags again and pulled out a teddy bear. 'It reminds me of you because you give the best cuddles-' Stu went in for a hug but stopped when he remembered what was happening and quickly apologised.

'You guys didn't have to do all this. It's not like I'm dying, just feels like it.' You said as you felt a cramp coming up and clutched your stomach. 'Fuck.' You waited until the pain was beginning to die down and looked up at your boyfriends who both looked sad but were trying to hide it. They hate seeing you in pain and they hate not being able to do anything apart from . 'It's fine. I think I need that cuddle, Stu.'

Stu's face lit up as he almost dived in for a hug followed by Billy who looked like he wanted to say something as he leaned out of the hug. 'Hey Stu, go put these in the bathroom.' Stu shook his head and held onto you until Billy made a face at him, to which Stu took the products and walked off before Billy turned to you. 'Hey Y/N?'

'Yeah, Billy?'

'You know that me and Stu don't see you any different, right? You're not any less of a man for bleeding.'

'Billy-'

'No, I know this makes you feel like crap and I know I remind you every month but it's true.' You smiled and he scooted closer and pulled your head onto his chest. 'Do you feel better?'

'Yeah. The pain's still there but I can handle it.' Billy kissed the back of your head and the two of you stayed like that for the brief moment that you two were alone until Stu returned and jumped cross legged onto the end of your bed - nearly falling off in the process - and grabbing one of the movies. 'Are we gonna watch Evil Dead?'

'Dude we were having a moment.' Billy groaned and threw a pillow at him.

For your first month as coworkers, he rarely spoke to you beyond a quick, artificial greeting at the beginning of your shift and cryptic statements that he wouldn't elaborate on. Sometimes, he'd sneak up on you, wordlessly watching you work from a distance. No flashlight, no warnings, just standing in a darkened hallway or behind a corner. At first, you'd look back and jump when he appeared behind you as a dark silhouette. With time though, you learned to listen for his near-silent footsteps and gave him a warm smile whenever he came to visit you. You saw it as a sign that he had become more comfortable being around you and that he was warming up to your presence, as creepy as his behavior was.

Eventually, he started talking to you. At first, they were short conversations, if you could even call them that. He asked some intrusive question about yourself, you answered, and he wouldn't follow up or share his own answers. Michael Afton was a secretive man, he couldn't trust you with anything that you could end up using against him. You never pressed him further, figuring that he was simply socially inept or untrusting. With a little time, you became more daring and started asking seemingly innocuous questions of your own.

Truthfully, you were trying to gather information on the mysterious man you worked with, because you really didn't know anything about him except his name. Of course, he could see right through you but he found it almost charming that you were interested enough in him to speak to him. He'd started to share details about his life. His favorite animatronic was Foxy, he grew up around Freddy's, he lived in his family home on his own (and refused to elaborate further when asked about it).

You still didn't know much about the night guard, but you could tell he became overly cautious whenever you asked about his family. Did he have a family member involved in one of those freak accidents at Freddy's you had heard about? Were his parents absent? What if he never had a family in the first place? You didn't want to ask such personal questions, but you were intrigued by the way his expression changed to something more somber whenever the topic of his family came up. You mentally wrote down that it was a sensitive topic for him; you didn't want to mention your own family and accidentally make him uncomfortable or upset.

Your schedule shifted around weekly to different tasks to "keep you entertained," as Michael had put it. To you, it seemed like he just didn't like spending all his time monitoring the old, barely working cameras in that humid, stuffy office. It made sense, you didn't like it much either. Being in that office always felt like something could jump out at you at any moment. This week, you had been put on animatronic repair duty while your coworker roamed around the pizzeria, checking for any break-ins or break-outs.

You approached the Toy animatronics with a groan, already seeing what needed repair. Chica's beak was missing, again. She had the habit of losing her beak every time she moved around the old pizzeria. And of course, it was always left in the most inconvenient, hard to see places. It was almost like she did it on purpose.

You had never actually seen any of the animatronics move, but Michael had informed you that they sometimes liked to move at night, and that they apparently "didn't like adults." Whatever that meant. He had warned you to stay away from them if you ever saw them move. You remembered the way he said it, almost like he was trying to protect you.

You searched every nook and cranny of the abandoned pizzeria for nearly an hour before finding the lost beak. You had found it on a small box among a pile of boxes. You had walked past it three times before seeing its signature plastic shine with your flashlight. You grabbed it carefully, not wanting to break it, and you returned to Chica. You looked for a way to re-attach the beak to her face, preferably in a permanent way. Every time you tried sticking it back, it would fall right off. That terrifying mouth of hers got revealed every time the beak came off. It almost felt like she was mocking you.

"You're doing it wrong."

You jumped. You were too focused on getting Chica's stupid beak back on that you didn't hear Michael practically breathing down your neck.

"Let me do it," he stated plainly, grabbing the animatronic beak from your hands.

He put down the toolkit he had brought. He seemed to know his way around animatronics and machines. Maybe he really cared about them, you thought. He seemed to open up to you more whenever you brought up the animatronics and the way they functioned. His movements were smooth, unlike his usual robotic, artificial demeanor. He pouted slightly as he focused, brows furrowed. You found it cute.

Michael made quick work of Chica's beak and started working on maintenance for her other parts, opening up her plastic casing to gain access to her endoskeleton. You stared in awe at his repair skills, leaning forwards to get a closer look at his precise movements.

"You're really good at this!," you exclaimed.

A pause.

Not long enough for you to say anything or look back at him, but a few seconds, enough to notice it. He kept working silently, this time more shakily. Did he have some sort of performance anxiety?

Eventually, he finished working on Chica and closed her animatronic chest back in place, its shiny surface now had faint fingerprint marks from where Michael touched it.

You looked back, into his blue eyes. They used to creep you out, now you found comfort in them, "Great job Michael! I don't think I would've been able to do this on my own," you smiled. "Your parents must be so proud to have raised someone as intelligent as y—," you stopped yourself. It was too late.

His eyes widened. His lip twitched. You knew you had messed up. In your excitement over his work, you had completely forgotten that family was a sensitive subject. You froze, trying to come up with some sort of apology that would defuse the situation.

Michael looked away, his features shrouded in the darkness of the old pizzeria. You winced, half-expecting him to hurt you in some way. Maybe a punch, maybe a pocket knife to your throat. He mumbled something, to you or maybe just to himself. You couldn't make it out, you asked him to repeat himself.

A small, whispered, "They weren't proud of me."

His voice was shaky, you could tell he was holding back tears. Out of all the reactions you expected, it wasn't this. He seemed small, weak. You almost wished he got angry instead. You wanted to come up with some sort of elaborate response, something like don't let other people's judgement bring you down that you'd see in those overly optimistic and tone-deaf motivational quotes.

"Well...," you paused, unsure of yourself. "I'm proud of you."

You tried your best to sound confident. You didn't know if it was the right way to answer, if answering was a good idea at all.

Michael looked back at you, tears threatening to spill out of his eyes, the sight made your heart shatter into pieces. You had grown to care deeply about your coworker. Hundreds of hours had been spent by his side, and you had learned to like his quirks. You didn't want to see him like this.

"You don't mean that," his voice broke on the last syllable.

He couldn't accept the idea of anyone being impressed by him, or proud of him, or just content with him. You didn't know the kind of childhood he had experienced, but this alone told you that he had been deeply hurt. He kept it all concealed behind a mask of confidence and indifference with his creepy, off-putting smile and you were fooled by it.

You leaned forward, looking into his glassy eyes for permission. He hesitated for a moment, debating whether he was allowed to feel this comfort, before giving a small, approving nod. 

You tentatively wrapped your arms around his neck, making sure to be slow and gentle with your movements, predictable for him. He was stiff, frozen like a statue. He was afraid of moving, as if you'd disappear if he did. But you didn't, you stayed there, arms around him, waiting for him to reciprocate, to allow himself to be vulnerable.

You held him slightly tighter, a silent promise that you wouldn't leave him. That made him break down. You couldn't see his face from this angle, but you could hear his erratic breathing and sniffling. He was desperately trying to stay silent but he couldn't help the small whimpers that escaped him.

He awkwardly wrapped his arms around your waist. The movement was uncertain, shy, like it was his first time receiving a hug. Something about that pained you to think about. Unlike you, his hold wasn't gentle; he buried his face into your neck and grabbed at your shirt, scrunching it in his fists.

A broken sob, "Please, don't leave me."

"It's okay, you're okay," you whispered to him as you brought a hand to the nape of his neck, playing with his hair. You didn't miss how he stopped breathing when you moved, like he thought you were going to let go.

You held each other for what could've been 10 minutes or 45. You listened to his irregular breath until it became more stable, whimpers dying down into small sniffles, but he was still shaking. He had been through some traumatic things, that much was obvious. You wanted to show him safety and warmth. You wanted to hold him until everything stopped hurting.

Eventually, you heard Michael sigh in relief while still gripping your shirt tightly. He was getting more comfortable. His breathing evened out. You were still playing with his hair, still holding him. He felt safe.

By this point, you assumed he had fallen asleep. He was still holding onto you for dear life, but he had stopped shaking and you felt his muscles relax further. You smiled, an embarrassing blunder had turned into something unexpectedly raw and vulnerable. You still felt bad, but you knew you'd find a way to make up for it.

For now, you wanted to live in the moment with this Michael. The Michael behind the facade, the Michael who yearned for acknowledgement and safety, the real Michael. You focused on his slow breathing, warm against your neck.

You held him closer, "I'm not leaving you, I promise.”

—✧✧✧