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charliedawn · 30 days ago

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How would they confess to you ?

Michael Myers:

He doesn’t say it. Not out loud. But his gaze…the way he looks at you? It speaks for itself. One night, he simply tears out a page from his notebook and pushes it into your hand before walking away. It just says:

You’re the only one I never once wanted to hurt.

And in tiny letters below:

I love you. And one day, I promise you—I will be able to tell you straight from my mouth. But until then? Please. Wait for me, Y/N.

You look up—but he is already gone. You smile as you press the page to your heart. Wait? Of course you would wait. You would be patient. An eternity—if it is what he needs. Because you know Michael is worth the wait. He is the one who made the greatest effort to finally be able to get away from his bloody tendencies. He has grown so much since the time you met and you couldn’t have been prouder.

Jason Voorhees:

He tries to carve it into wood, but messes up the letters. He panics, tosses the piece aside, then quietly places his huge hand over his heart and taps twice—once for you, once for him. You smile and your eyes soften as you realize what he is trying to say.

“…Y/N and Jason…always forever?”

He nods. Slowly. Then holds your hand like it’s breakable. You never needed words to communicate. Only your hands. And the way he holds yours? It is the clearest he’s ever been. You close your fingers and smile at him with tears in your eyes. Always. Forever. You would remain by his side. He seems to understand what you want to say and tears up before embracing you tightly. You laugh and embrace him just as tightly.

Thomas Hewitt (Leatherface):

He can’t say the words. But one day when you’re crying and pushing him away, he suddenly grabs your hand, taps his chest hard, and points to you. He wants you to know that he is here, that you have him there. He wants you to feel what he feels whenever he looks at you. You’ve never seen him so desperate, so afraid. He growls low, pleading.

You whisper, “You love me?”

He nods, tearing up. He then looks up at you with more emotion you’ve ever seen in his eyes and then…He holds you. He wants you to feel his heart hammering in his chest. He wants you to understand. And you do. You hold him back and bury your face in his shoulder. Your heartbeat matches his as you both tear up. No matter how much a monster he is, you know that caring for him would never be a mistake…

Bubba Sawyer:

He blurts it out. It’s awkward, rushed, squeaky:

“I love you! I mean—I don’t, but I do—I mean—ah!”

He slaps both hands over his face and spins in a circle, squealing.

“Bubba?” You try calling him, but he starts spiralling and shakes his head. He doesn’t know why he said that. What is he supposed to say now? What is he supposed to do? What if you do not feel the same? What if he finds himself alone? What if—?

You pull him into a hug. He freezes and finally melts into it, whimpering, “Love you,” over and over again.

Bo Sinclair:

He says it in the middle of a fight. He grabs you by the collar and you close your eyes, but his next words snap them right back open.

“Damn it, Y/N! You think I’d care this much if I didn’t love you?!”

You both freeze. He stares at the floor, jaw clenched.

“…Well. Now you know.” He releases you. And when you go to walk away, he grabs your wrist and whispers it again—soft, trembling:

“I love ya, sweetheart. So even when I act like a complete asshole or a senseless pig…know that one thing’s for certain—I love ya like a damn fool.”

He then brushes your knuckles with his thumb and smiles.

“Like a goddamn fool.” He repeats and presses his forehead against yours. You stare into his eyes and sigh. Because you know there’s nothing you can do about it now. Because no matter how much of a bastard he is, you do care about Bo. And the smug bitch knows it too when he kisses your forehead and you feel the smirk on his lips. “…And ya know what else? I believe that for the first time, my heart and brain agree on somethin’. Y’are the best fuckin’ choice of my life. Because I know ya. And I know that my heart is safe with ya, darlin’.”

Vincent Sinclair:

He leads you to his studio. Points to a sculpture—it’s you, but with wings. Glowing. Beautiful. He taps his chest, then the sculpture’s heart. Then gently points to you. You blink. “For me?”

He nods. Then starts fidgeting. He won’t say it. He can’t. He decides it is best to leave before he makes a fool of himself…but then, he hears the voice of his brother in his head ‘Fuckin’ coward. JUST TELL ‘EM, YA DUMBASS PUSSY!’

That did it. In a matter of seconds, he is back in that room and grabs you before kissing you senseless. Voice Bo is right. He is a Sinclair! Time to act like it.

Lester Sinclair:

Sweet, twitchy, uncertain Lester. He doesn’t think he deserves love—but he falls anyway. Hard. He builds you a gift—handmade from found scraps: a little wooden animal that somehow looks exactly like you. He stammers when he gives it to you.

“I ain’t real good with words or…or people. But I like ya. A lot.”

He scratches the back of his neck, face red.

“I think ‘bout ya all the time, Y/N. You’re the only person that don’t make me feel like garbage. I love ya, Y/N. I know I ain’t the smartest or the cleanest, but…I’d treat ya right.”

His voice is trembling. He won’t look at you.

“You don’t gotta say it back. Just…just know it, alright?”

If you hug him, he melts. Absolutely just collapses into your arms. He was never anyone’s favourite. But knowing that he is somewhere in your heart? That makes everything right. He doesn’t care if he is not the favourite, as long as he has a place in your heart—no matter the size. As long as he matters…

Norman Bates:

The first time he realized he loved you, Norman felt sick. Because he didn’t know what to say or do. But with time, he learned to accept it. But when he actually tells you? It slips out while he’s brushing your hair.

“You’re so beautiful…” He stops, heart racing. “I—Y/N—I love you. I—I’ve loved you since you walked through the door.”

He grabs your hand, eyes desperate.

“Please say you feel it too.”

He sits across from you, hands in his lap, shaking like leaves. Then—

“Mother doesn’t like this. She says I shouldn’t. That no one ever stays.”

You gently reach for his hand. He flinches, but lets you hold it.

“But I love you. I know I do. I feel it. I see it when you smile.”

His voice lowers, soft and scared:

“I don’t want to lose you. I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll protect you from her. From me.”

He’s shaking when he tells you. Palms sweating, eyes flicking side to side like Mother might appear at any second.

“She won’t like this…but I don’t care anymore.” He looks up, desperate, broken.“You make me feel safe. You make her go quiet. And even when I’m at my worst, you don’t run.”

He grips your hands tightly—almost too tightly.

“I love you. And I don’t want to hide it anymore. If that makes me a bad son, then fine.”

Your eyes widen and you smile before hugging him tightly. He is shaking, but finally hugs you back. And for once, he doesn’t hear Mother anymore…Everything is quiet—peaceful.

Freddy Krueger:

He leans against a wall, arms crossed, smirking like it’s all a joke.

“So, let me get this straight—me, Freddy freakin’ Krueger, in love?” He scoffs. “Ridiculous, right? Absolutely deranged.”

Then his smirk fades just a bit. His voice softens.

“But when you talk to me like I matter…when you laugh at my stupid jokes…” He glances at the floor, foot twitching. “I haven’t felt like a person in a long time. But around you? I kinda want to be better.”

He tries to joke about it first. “I mean, I guess you’ve got me wrapped around that pretty little finger of yours.”

You just stare. He finally groans.

“Ugh, fine. I love you, alright? There. I said it. Happy now?” He then mutters something about “being doomed” before looking up at you. He then smiles. “Ya know what’s even more fucked up? I don’t give a damn if ya don’t feel the same. Because knowing ya? Shit. It changed my life. So…Thank ya, gorgeous. No matter if I got a shot or nah.”

You stand up. He is waiting for the slap—he expect it. What he doesn’t expect is your arms around him and the soft press of lips against his cheek. He takes a few steps back and seems dumbfounded before his hand slowly lifts to his cheek—the one you kissed. He then stares at you and a smile replace the dread he felt. And for a moment, Freddy is speechless.

Pennywise:

He says it like a game. “You taste different. Sweeter. Makes me wonder…”

He circles you. “Maybe it’s ‘cause I love you.”

You laugh. “Is that real or a joke?”

He stops, serious for once. “Real. Very real.”

He watches you silently for a long time—his form flickering between monstrous and man. Then, his voice—so old and deep it echoes inside your bones—rumbles:

“I have existed for eons. I’ve consumed joy and sorrow alike. But I’ve never…known this.” He kneels before you, head bowed, claws retracted. He raises his golden eyes to meet yours. “I love you, little light. And it terrifies me.”

Then back to teasing in a flicker as he starts laughing:

“But don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.”

You smile and he vanished in a poof. You do not know if he was serious. You only smile and go about your day. Pennywise is an odd and rather lonely creature and for him to tell you that? It must have taken a lot of courage. You won’t try to emotionally confuse him by telling him that you love him too. The poor dear would go ‘giant spider’ in the living room.

Penny:

He pops up beside you in a flash of white and grey, a balloon tied to your wrist. He’s smiling wide, but his eyes are glassy. “Do you feel it too? That twisty thing in your belly when you look at me?”

He twirls, stopping suddenly. “I thought it was hunger at first. But it’s not. It’s…it’s YOU.”

He leans in, breathless with excitement. He sings it. Badly. Like a lovesick idiot. “Y/N, Y/N, you’re better than any human in the WORLD~!”

You gasp, laughing. “Penny—”

“I love you!” he yells dramatically, arms open.

Then whispers, “Don’t leave. Ever.”

It’s the most serious he’s ever been.

“I used to eat love. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t want it.” He leans forward, whispering like a secret. “But now I want to protect it. And I think…I love you. Is that what this burning in my chest is? I don’t know. I don’t…”

He starts stammering and his eyes are unfocused. You know what that means and immediately tap his cheeks. “Penny. Stay with me, yes? I…cannot answer you for I have no idea if your feeling is the same as mine. But I do care about you. A lot. Now stay focused on me and do not let your mind wander, yes ?”

Instead of answering, he pounces on you and kisses you messily. Your eyes widen and you know that pushing him away would make him either angry or upset—so you decide to stay as still as possible. Once he is done, Penny pulls away and grins widely.

“I LOVE YA! NO DOUBT NOW!”

You blink twice in astonishment before laughing. He laughs with you.

Brahms Heelshire:

He doesn’t say it with words at first.

He brings you his favorite book. He leaves notes in his handwriting next to your bed. He starts humming near your door at night, not to scare you—but to remind you he’s there.

One evening, you find him sitting cross-legged in the hallway, mask in his lap, looking lost.

“You…you don’t go away,” he says quietly. “Everyone else does, but you don’t.”

He crawls closer, tugging at your sleeve like a child. “I want you here. Forever. With me. In the walls, in the house, in the hospital, in the dark, I don’t care.”

A whisper:

“I love you.”

Then louder, braver:

“I love you so much it hurts when you leave. Y/N…I need you. I love you. I do. Please don’t leave me.”

You are taken aback before smiling and wordlessly kneeling to be eye-to-eye with him. You then gently kiss his forehead.

“No matter what, Brahms. I will NEVER abandon you.”

His eyes widen and he tears up before tackling you into a hug. You chuckle and hug him back.

Jack Torrance:

It comes after a breakdown. He’s pacing, manic, muttering. Then he grabs you. “You—you steady me, Y/N. No one else ever has. No one else ever could.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you.” He almost sounds afraid as he suddenly pulls away and shakes his head. “Don’t let me ruin this. Don’t let me ruin you.”

And then, he starts laughing and backs away.

“Kidding. Yeah, it was a joke. Can’t believe you fell for that. Ahah. Got you good.”

He then walks away and his smile falters. He blew it. Welp, back to whiskey. But then, he feels a pair of arms embrace him from behind and he stops dead in his tracks.

He doesn’t react at first. But then…he slowly raises his hands to yours and smiles.

“…I said it was a joke, darling.”

You do not answer. You only tighten your grip around him and he takes a shaky breath before chuckling.

You always could see right through his lies.

Chucky:

Chucky’s confession is pure chaos and fire.

He flirts nonstop, cracks dirty jokes, annoys the hell out of you—but one day, you get hurt. And he loses it. After making sure you’re okay (with many curse words and threats), he corners you in private, pacing.

“Listen—I ain’t good with this sappy crap, alright? I’m not Romeo, I’m not soft, I don’t write fuckin’ poetry.”

He kicks the wall.

“But when you got hurt, I wanted to burn the world. And when you smile at me, I forget how to breathe. So yeah…I’m in love with you, you little shit. You happy now?”

Then he flicks your forehead and mutters, “Say it back or I’ll cry, and no one wants to see that.”

You are taken aback before smiling and crossing your arms over your chest. “Not unless you apologise for calling me a little shit.”

He is dumbfounded and huffs a laugh. “Seriously? I just told ya I loved ya.”

You arch an eyebrow at him and he rolls his eyes.

“Fine! Fine. M’sorry. Now just say it back…m’kay?”

You smile and take him in your arms. “Good doll.”

He blinks before burying his face in your neck and smiling. He never liked anyone calling him that…but he would allow you. Just this once.

Five Hargreeves:

Five would act like it’s nothing. Like he’s too old, too experienced, too tired for feelings. But one day you catch him staring. His voice cracks a little when he finally lets it out. “I’ve lived over a hundred lives, and none of them have felt real until you walked in.”

He turns away. Pretends it didn’t hurt to say it. “I’d kill for you. I’d burn time itself for you. That should tell you everything.”

If you try to hug him, he’ll freeze. Then—very slowly—wrap his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder. “Don’t ever leave me. You’re the only constant I’ve ever had.”

He then stops and pulls away to start pacing around. He runs a hand down his face.

“I’ve never cared this much about anything. Or anyone. Not since my family. You—” He exhales. Looks you dead in the eye. “You are the only person who makes me believe all this might be worth it. I love you. And I’m not losing you.”

Then he hugs you again tightly, burying his face in your shoulder before anyone sees him cry. He loves you. And he knows you love him too. Just by the way you hold him…he knows.

Arthur Fleck (Joker):

It builds up like pressure in a bottle. He talks about you to his imaginary friends. He writes your name on walls. He dances after talking to you.

One night, after a long silence, he looks at you like you’re the only person left in the world.

“When the whole world laughs at me, you laugh with me. You see me. You don’t look away.”

He starts crying—then laughing—then smiling through the pain.

“I didn’t know what love felt like until you smiled at me. I think I love you. No…I know I do.”

He is shaking and you do not hesitate before taking him in your arms. He smells like cigarettes and paint and misery…but you still hug him. You hug him and he clings to you. Because after years of having nobody to trust or love…Arthur Fleck finally does.

Patrick Bateman:

He doesn’t confess like a man in love—he confesses like a man losing control. He takes you out to dinner. Expensive, cold, sterile. You look perfect. He looks like a magazine cover.

Then, back in the apartment.

He doesn’t look at you. He stares at the wall.

“Do you know what it’s like…to not be sure if anything you’re feeling is real?” He breathes hard. Unsteady. “I’ve lied to everyone. Every single person. I don’t even know who I am. But when I’m with you…”

He pause and his hand twitches.

“You know, I had everything. Money. Sex. Power. But none of it ever made me feel… anything. Until you.”

His jaw clenches.

“I would kill for you. I would die for you. That’s not normal, is it?” His eyes are empty, but his voice shakes just slightly. “But you make me feel real. And I do not know how to…handle that. That feeling.”

You stay immobile and smile. You then shrug.

“Your feelings are yours, Patrick. It is new. But that doesn’t mean it is bad.”

He stares at you for a moment before the urge takes hold of him and he faces you for a moment before suddenly pulling you into his arms. You do not try to pull away and Patrick closes his eyes.

“…Stupid feeling. Stupid and unnecessary.”

You chuckle and hug him back.

Eddie Munson (Ghostface):

It doesn’t happen when he’s masked.

That version of him? The Ghostface persona? That’s for the fear, the fun, the power. But you? You’re not part of the game. You’re not a victim. You’re his. And he doesn’t want to scare you…not really.

It happens one night after he almost loses you. Maybe it’s a close call—someone else comes after you, or you’re nearly caught in one of his traps, and he hadn’t meant for that. You’re yelling, he’s pacing, and the mask is off. He’s sweating, trembling, panicking.

“You think I’d ever let anything happen to you?” he snaps. “You think I could?”

You tell him he’s being reckless. That he’s scaring you. He stops. And he whispers—almost like a confession slipping out before he can stop it:

“…I love you.”

Your heart stops.

His eyes go wide, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. He starts to fidget, rings clinking on his fingers, nervously laughing under his breath.

“Shit…okay. Alright. I didn’t—didn’t plan to say it like that. I had a whole speech.” He pulls a crumpled note from his back pocket. “I was gonna say something about stars and knives and mixtapes…”

He looks at you again.

“…But that’s the truth. You’re it for me, sweetheart. You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted more than the kill.”

Then he leans close. Tilts his head. Smirks.

“So. What’s it gonna be? You gonna break my twisted little heart? Or kiss me so hard I forget where the knives are?”

You smile and wordlessly open your arms.

He scoffs, but hugs you nonetheless. “…I said kiss, but that’s okay too. I guess.”

Bonus

The common room is dimly lit, the storm outside tapping against the windows in soft warning. Rain streaks the glass, but inside, there’s warmth—flickering lamplight, the soft hum of the old heater, and the presence of them.

Your boys.

One by one, over weeks…months…they’d confessed. In their own ways. Some in whispers. Others in shouts. A few in the language of protection, gifts, or long, aching stares.

And now—they’re all here. Waiting. Watching you.

Jason, his head slightly bowed.

Michael, standing like a statue but watching so closely.

Bo with his arms crossed, tense.

Brahms sitting on the floor by your legs, clutching the hem of your scrubs.

Eddie—the Ghostface mask clutched in his hands like a shield he forgot how to use.

Even Freddy’s unusually quiet. Penny’s not laughing.

Chucky paces.

Patrick just stares.

Vincent’s fingers twitch near his sketchpad.

Five doesn’t blink.

They’re waiting for something. For you.

You take a shaky breath. Your heart pounds so hard you swear they can all hear it. You step forward—just enough that they feel the shift. You look at each of them, one by one. And your voice trembles.

Your lips part, but your voice trembles.

“I never expected this.” You step forward, gaze sweeping over the room. “I came here thinking I’d just help. Just be a nurse. Just do my job. I told myself I wouldn’t get attached… that I’d stay professional.”

Your voice catches. You shake your head and laugh, breathless.

“But you all ruined that plan.”

Chucky smirks. Bubba shifts. Thomas clutches the edge of a chair like it’s the only thing keeping him steady. Five’s jaw tightens.

“You’ve all given me more love than I ever thought I’d deserve. You scare me sometimes—God, do you scare me. But...” You try to stay calm, but your voice cracks as you continue. “I love you. I love all of you. More than I thought I’d ever be capable of loving anyone. I…I never thought I’d love anyone like this. Certainly not my patients.”

Silence. A few of them flinch. Eddie bites his lip. Jason lifts his head. You continue.

“But I do. I love you all. So much more than I thought I was capable of. You’ve broken every rule I made to protect myself, and I—”

Your throat tightens.

You try to breathe.

You can’t stop the tears.

“I will always love you. Even if I’m gone. Even if this place disappears. Even if the world forgets your names. I won’t.”

A sob escapes before you can swallow it. You raise a hand to your mouth. Tears trail freely now.

That’s when some of them move.

Jason, first. He steps forward and gently places a hand on your shoulder—huge and trembling. Then Bo grabs your other hand and squeezes it, tight. Eddie sinks to his knees, mask forgotten, and wraps his arms around your waist like he can anchor you. Brahms leans into your hip, clinging. Michael gently places his forehead to the back of your head.

Freddy mutters, voice hoarse, “…You sappy cunts.” But he turns away, wiping his eyes.

Chucky grumbles, “I ain’t cryin’. You’re cryin’.”

Five sighs, quietly stepping closer and whispering, “That was really stupid…and beautiful.”

Vincent simply touches your arm—gentle, like glass.

And Penny? Penny laughs through the tears in his eyes. “You really do love us. Your mind. It is clear as day.”

You’re wrapped in a dozen forms of love. Broken, violent, misunderstood souls who’d clawed their way into your heart. And tonight, you finally admitted what they already knew:

They’re not just your patients.

They’re your family.

And you? You’re their everything.

Arthur smiles, trembling. Lester’s lip wobbles.

And when you cry, really sob with all the tears in your body, they all move at once. They don’t rush you—they circle you. Arms. Warmth. Gloved hands. Large shoulders. Soft apologies. Grins. Gentle shushes. Someone wipes your tears. Someone else places their forehead to yours. They don’t speak much.

But you know. They heard you. Your knees buckle, and you collapse onto the floor—laughing, crying, breathless. The laughter spills out like a shaky, joyous song, tears streaming down your face. And then — almost as if they can’t bear to be anywhere else — they fall too. One by one, they tumble towards you.

Jason lands beside you with a heavy, protective thud.

Brahms slides down, his porcelain mask clattering softly.

Freddy grins, falling with a careless, teasing laugh.

Vincent and Bo collapse on either side like twin shadows.

Chucky scrambles over, small but fierce.

Arthur sinks down, his tears mixing with yours.

Five drops beside you, arms wrapped around you like a shield.

Eddie lands last, mask off, smiling wide but gentle.

You’re buried under their weight—literal, figurative—crushed beneath their love and their presence.

And you don’t care. Because this is home.

You laugh through the tears, breath catching in your throat, heart so full it might burst.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper. “Not ever.”