Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Depending on the situation, he starts out more angry than sad. Screaming and yelling, throwing things around and breaking whatever he can before that manic energy runs out.
• This is especially dangerous if you’re what upset him. If it’s something small, he probably won’t actually hurt you. He’ll threaten to, and you know they aren’t empty threats either, but he won’t do it without cause. If it is something serious, you’re in for it. Breaking the rules, trying to make friends, trying to leave him - any of these is going to put you in a bad spot. He wouldn’t hesitate to seriously injure you in the heat of the moment, even if he’d regret it later, but showing that you aren’t completely devoted to him would lessen any positive feelings he’s got for you.
• Once he’s tired himself out, or run out of things to break, or feels like you’ve been punished enough, depending on the situation, it’s cryin’ time. He will wrap all his limbs around you and just sob. Doesn’t matter if you’re on the floor, in the bed, wherever it goes down is where you’re gonna be for the next few hours while you become a human tissue.
• The best thing to do is just let him cry it out, hold him as tight as you can and try to reassure him. You love him, you’re going to take care of him, you’re not going to leave him - the more passionately you express these things the better he’s going to feel.
• This is probably the most honesty you’re ever going to see from him. If you can understand anything he’s saying through the tears, he’ll admit to being frightened, being lonely, being so desperate for you to stay that he’d do anything, even if it hurts.
• After it’s all over, he’s going to pass the fuck out. All that screaming and crying takes energy and he’s exhausted, so it’s your job to get him into bed and comfy. You need to clean up the mess he’s made, but that’s going to have to wait because it will just upset him all over again if you don’t get in bed with him. He will 100% never reference these outbursts afterward and will get mad if you mention them. Oh, the dining room looks like a localized tornado passed through? The living room is covered in shards of broken ceramic and glass? Shreds of expensive paintings are everywhere? Who knows how that happened, guess we’ll never know.

The slam of a door woke you, followed by hurried footsteps pounding down the hall. You sit up in bed, groggy and still half asleep, looking around your darkened room in alarm. Your half open eyes are blinded when the door is thrown open, letting in the bright hall light, followed by a tall, manic figure.

He runs to your bed but stops at the edge, doubled over with arms wrapped around his stomach like he’s been wounded. Deep, wrenching sobs come from him, body convulsing with each breath.

“Brahms, what’s going on?”

You’re more than a little scared, reaching for his arms to try and pull them away from his body, afraid to see what he’s covering. He lets you move his arms, leaning forward to grip the sheets with dirty hands instead. There is nothing that you can see, no blood on his white shirt, but he’s still gasping for air between cries and it doesn’t calm you at all to see no sign of injury.

“Honey, what is it?”

You grab his shoulders and pull him in, cold porcelain pressed against your skin as you put your arms around him. With a few gentle tugs he slides clumsily onto the bed next to you, curling in on himself instead of returning your hug. That worries you more than anything, and you grip him tighter, pulling him as close as you can. He’s shaking with the force of his sobs, tears running down his neck from under the mask. You want to take it off, to wipe his face and feel his skin, but you don’t dare let that thought show in your actions.

He’s speaking, but through his gasping and crying you can’t make out any words. You tuck his face into the crook of your neck, one hand buried in his greasy hair and the other grabbing a handful of his cardigan to keep him close. You try to soothe him, whispering his name softly into the ear of his mask and pressing shaky kisses to its cheek.

You hold him through the worst of the sobbing until finally he’s able to speak clearly, albeit in a weak, raspy voice.

“What’s wrong?” You whisper into his hair, rocking him against you chest. “What’s happened?”

“Nightmare,” he whispers back in a poor imitation of his usual child’s voice, muffled against the mask. “It hurt.”

You think again of his arms crossed over his stomach, bent over in pain and screaming. There is a scar there, you know, not one of the burns marking his face and sides, but a pink bubble of tissue. You don’t know where it came from, being obviously different from the old ones, but you wonder if that wasn’t the cause of his nightmare.

“It’s alright now,” you murmur. “I’m here, and I’ll keep you safe.” You feel his arms wrapping around you, finally returning your embrace as he usually would, so you continue to speak, hoping to reassure him.

“Nightmares can’t hurt you,” a sniffle and hiccup against your throat makes you squeeze him tighter, “not anymore.”

Michael

• For the most part they’re going to happen away from you, so you’re not likely to see any temper tantrums from Michael, but you’ll have to clean up the aftermath. They’re not very common either, mostly because it takes so much to get him that angry in the first place.
• He’d try to contain himself physically, locking himself in the bathroom or anywhere else closed in and small. It’s mostly to keep you from running in and fussing over him, but the isolation helps him focus.
• You’re going to have some broken furniture, that’s for sure. If you’re lucky it’s just the bathroom mirror, but anything he has to walk past to get there is in danger of being thrown across the room. And it’s not just little things, like end tables and vases, he will straight up smash couches and coffee tables to pieces if it’s in his path.
• The loud, violent anger doesn’t last long, just until he gets himself holed up somewhere. He doesn’t wear himself out, but just stops. He’ll stay locked in the bathroom for hours, ignoring everything else. He’s not really thinking about what he’s doing, it’s just his body on autopilot while his mind is busy, so he’s not sure where any of those cuts came from. It’s almost like being drugged, completely unable to make your body do anything or being unaware of anything but your own thoughts.
• When he does come out, you’re going to have some clean up work to do. It’s probably just his hands, sliced up from the broken mirror, but the cuts are deep. He’ll sit there completely silent and dazed as you get him fixed up. You can say whatever you want, since you’re not going to get a reaction anyways, but it’s hard to tell if he’s even listening.
• He’ll go right back to normal afterwards, like nothing happened.He will let you look after any injuries without complaint, but that’s about as cooperative as he’ll be about it.

Your bookshelf is in pieces, the big, heavy thing overturned and books heaped under it, spines bent and pages loose. It lays at the bottom of the stairs, a large gouge in the wall where a corner took out a chunk of plaster. It’s the only thing out of place when you come home from work, and you know what it means.

You drop everything you’re carrying by the door, not even removing your coat before rushing upstairs, side stepping over the mess. The door to the bathroom is open, thankfully, a big bloody smear over the door frame, and inside is exactly what you expected.

Michael is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, hands on his knees and eyes on the floor. His hands are red and soaked with blood, dripping into the fabric of his clothes and onto the floor. The mask is on, as always, but with smears around the neck that make you think he’s just recently put it back on. There is no blood around his neck or collar, so you assume his face is fine under there. You pause in the doorway, letting out a huff at the sight of your broken mirror and stained porcelain, but you don’t say anything. There would be no response, and you’re not sure you could help with whatever it is that sets him off like this anyways. The only thing you can do to help is patch him up, wash away the blood and hope that next time isn’t worse.

There is a medical kit under the sink, hidden away for just this kind of event, so you shed your coat in the hall and get to work, carefully opening sterilized packaging. He doesn’t react when you gently peel one hand from his knee, the sluggish bleeding telling you that it has been a little while at least since these wounds were opened. You know the cleaning must sting and hurt, but he lets you do it with no complaint, the only sign that he’s aware of your presence coming when you ask for the other hand and he readily holds it out for you.

You’re not sure how long it takes, but you’re exhausted at the end of it, too tired now to clean up the rest of the mess.

“Come on,” You sigh, getting up and tossing your used supplies into the sink to deal with later. “I feel like mac and cheese for dinner.”

Bubba

• Anger or sadness doesn’t matter, there’s just going to be a lot of noise. Screaming, squealing, things being knocked over, entire tables being overturned. There’s not much actual damage but it’s going to sound awful.
• It doesn’t last long before he’s in a puddle of tears. Whatever has him upset plus all the trouble he’s going to be in for making such a mess is just going to overwhelm him. He won’t know what to do with himself so he’ll just cry.
• He’ll cry until he can’t breath, hyperventilating and gasping. You’ve just got to let him ride this part out, offering small sips of water between breaths and rubbing his back gently. Don’t let him try to move or speak, that will just make his breathing harder.
• You’re going to have to pick him up and get him calmed down, otherwise he’s just going to be a mess until someone else shows up to make it worse. Nubbins doesn’t realize that his manic, jittery movements aren’t very comforting, but he will offer to pitch in cleaning up the mess. That goes a long way to getting Bubba calmed down at least.
• Help him get everything put back together and by this point he’s probably forgotten what had him so upset in the first place. He’ll be worn out after all the drama, so a quick break, or even better, a nap, is needed. Crying gives him headaches, so it will take a lot out of him.
• Once you get him upstairs and in your room, the waterworks will start right back up. A lot of time is spent convincing him that you’re not mad, no one’s mad, everything’s fine, until he finally starts believing it.

It wasn’t until you heard the wailing that you realized anything was wrong. The thuds and bangs from downstairs weren’t unusual, not with Nubbins and Bubba both left unattended. They tended to make a mess on their own, but you couldn’t keep an eye on them all the time you figured, so a quick nap upstairs wasn’t likely to hurt anything. Once you heard the cries, though, you knew you were wrong.

You rushed downstairs, still in just your shirt and underwear, turning into the living room to see Bubba on the floor, clutching a hand to his chest, big tears running over the edge of his mask. The armchair is overturned, the little table next to it wobbly with a broken leg. Nubbins was dancing around him, arms waving and shushing, like an older sibling trying to calm the younger to keep from getting in trouble.

“What’s going on down here?” You snap, hands on your hips. Nubbins turns his frantic dance in your direction, rattling off an explanation that you don’t believe for a second.

“It wasn’t my fault! He, he hurt himself, not me!”

Your eyes narrow, but you don’t push it. Instead you sit on the floor, pulling Bubba’s hands into your own and inspecting them. One finger has a few red indents, shaped suspiciously like teeth marks. It’s clearly nothing serious and the marks will fade in a few hours, but you can’t dismiss it with how upset Bubba is. You turn your glare back to his brother.

“What’d I tell you about roughhousing in the house? And what’re you bitin’ him for?”

“Ain’t my fault!” He repeats, flailing angrily. “I told ‘em, I told ‘em, but he, he knocked the table over! That’s what hurt ‘em!”

You’re sure that’s a lie, but you turn to Bubba anyway, patting his big arm and rubbing his shoulder.

“Honey, what happened to your finger, huh?”

You can’t make any sense of what his noises and pointing mean, you're not the best at understanding his speech most days, but between the squeals and crying you don’t pick up on anything. He waves his hands, pointing between himself, the furniture, and Nubbins rapidly, babbling and wailing. Whatever it means, though, seems to displease his brother.

“Aw, f-fuck you! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Alright, that’s enough!” You step in before a fight can break out. “Whatever happened is done, so let’s get this cleaned up, or Drayton will make you both sleep out on the porch tonight and I ain’t gonna stop him.”

At the mention of their older brother Nubbins scoffs, but Bubba’s eyes go wide and he scrambles up, whimpering and pulling at his hair. You take his hands again, holding them in your own to keep them still, and look around the room at what needed to be done. The chair was fine, it just needed to be put upright, but the broken leg on the table would be harder to fix. The items that had been on it, an ashtray and a few miscellaneous bones, were thankfully unbroken.

“Bubba, don’t you worry about it, we’ll get it fixed up.” You pat his arm again. “Go ahead and put that chair right. I don’t know about the table, we mighhave to switch it with one from upstairs-“

“Hey, I-I can fix it!” Nubbins hurried to gather the little table up, swinging the broken leg around as he stood. “I got some, some good bones, and I bet-“ he turned the thing over, surveying it closely, “yeah, I could f-fix it right up!”

“Great!” You gave him a thankful smile. Drayton might fuss, but he wouldn’t object to Nubbins decorating another piece of furniture. Much better than him finding something had been broken, at least.

You watch him hurry off, cackling to himself, and turn to look at Bubba. His eyes are still wet and he’s sniffling, but the crying has stopped. You give him a soft smile and tug on his hands.

“Let’s get upstairs, I was in the middle of a nap.”

Thomas

• *chainsaw revving noises*
• Honestly his go to stress relief is messing around with the saw, preferably with someone on the other end of it. If he’s just angry, Hoyt will get some poor traveler strung up in the old barn (or a feral dog if there’s no one else around) so he can take it out on someone.
• If there’s something more than just some anger issues, though, it’s harder to deal with. He tries not to break anything or hurt anyone, but he’s used to hurting himself. It’s less focused on his face now, but he’ll carve at anything he can when he’s upset.
• Most of the time you’ll know something is wrong when the basement door is locked. Hoyt will go check on him, but there’s not much to do. Being around others will just agitate him more, so waiting him out is what you have to do.
• Usually it will be best to leave him alone, but eventually he’ll wait till everyone is asleep to come wake you up and have his wounds cleaned up. Once he’s wrapped up, get him in bed and cuddle up, petting his hair. Talking about it will only make it worse, but some physical affection and well needed sleep will have him mostly back to normal when you wake up.

The creaking of springs wakes you, followed by the mattress dipping to the side and rolling you towards the center. You reach an arm out, feeling for whoever is behind you, landing on something slick and warm. With a confused grunt you pull yourself up, now tangled in the sheets, and try to focus your eyes in the dark.

You’re almost surprised to see Thomas next to you, half sitting on the edge of the bed. His head is down, avoiding your eyes, the long hair of his mask shielding his face from you. His top half is bare, mottled with old scars and quite a few new ones, arms cradled in his lap and bleeding. You hurry to get out of bed, kicking your legs to free yourself from the sheets.

“Oh, darlin’, what’d you do to yourself?” You whisper, coming around the bed and flicking on the lamp to get a better look at him. He doesn’t look at you still, hunching in on himself as if trying to hide from you. He’s covered in blood, all of it old and half dried, but for once it’s actually his own. Large gashes run down his sides and arms, skin stuck together with tacky blood, and bruises forming on his hands and knuckles. A particularly bad cut on the curve of his stomach is still bleeding freely, worsening the stains on his old pants.

“C’mon and get in the bathroom, I’ll get you cleaned up.” He wouldn’t have come upstairs if he wasn’t ready to be tended to, so you ease him up from the mattress and walk him down the hall.

The water from the sink runs brown for a few minutes, so you wait it out, taking a clean cloth and patting dry whatever blood you can. You notice now that his mask is torn, the stitched flesh coming apart at the seams, clumps of hair sliding away from the scalp. Lifting his chin, you pat the cheeks of his mask clean anyways, turning away only to wet the cloth.

“You ready for bed?” You ask as you work, careful to avoid the big cuts. Those would have to be cleaned up tomorrow, when Mama or Hoyt could stitch them closed.

Slowly, Tommy gives you a hesitant nod, finally bringing his eyes up from the floor but not looking directly at you. His hands are gripping his knees tightly, and you’re not sure if your movements hurt or he’s still tense from his time alone.

“That’s good, cause I missed you, ya know.” You rinse the cloth, flushing all the red out until it was only tinted pink. You’ve gotten as much blood off of him as you can get right now, but you still run the cool cloth over his chest and shoulders, waiting until his heavy breathing evens out.

“It ain’t the same, tryin’ to fall asleep without your snorin’,” You grin and he finally meets your eyes for a second, a tiny tilt to his mouth pulling his lips upward. “You’d think it’d be easier, huh, but I guess I’m used to it now.”

You turn off the sink, leaving the dirty cloth folded over the edge, but don’t let him stand just yet. Pulling his face against your neck, you wrap your arms around his head and shoulders, pressing kisses into the torn scalp of his mask. You haven’t seen him without it in so long that the details of his face in your memory are almost fuzzy, and you desperately want to look at him without it again, but you don’t ask. His hands settle on your thighs and he leans into the hug, nuzzling closer.

“You’re gonna have to get a new one of these,” you say, tugging at the ties on the back of his mask. “But that’ll wait till tomorrow.”

Jason

• Whatever has him upset isn’t going to be alive much longer.
• Probably the easiest to deal with, he’s not really prone to anger or sadness outside of dealing with campers, so you pretty much never see it. He’ll deal with whoever it is before he comes home, so by the time you see him it’s all over.
• So he doesn’t really get upset otherwise, but he can get a little huffy. You want to go into town? Want to visit family? Do anything that requires you stepping over the invisible property line he’s enforced? That’s gonna be a problem.
• He’ll hide things you need, lock doors and windows, stand stubbornly in front of your car, anything to inconvenience your leaving. He won’t outright force you to stay or forbid you leaving, but he can’t go with you and there’s a lot that could happen when he’s not around.
• No amount of reassurance or previous uneventful trips is going to change his mind, btw. If you’re not in the house then he’s 5 feet away or less at all times, so he’s got a bit of separation anxiety when it comes to you going anywhere. He’ll pace the road where you left like a dog waiting at the door.
• God forbid anything does happen while you’re away, because the slightest scratch will send him into overdrive. This paper cut wouldn’t have happened if you’d just stayed home, you know!

“This is very childish of you, you know,” you say loudly, head stuck in a closet as you rummage through the dusty contents. “I’m still going!”

You’re not sure if he can hear you, lumbering around outside, unpacking the car as quickly as you can fill it up. With a growl of frustration you retreat from the closet, hair full of cobwebs and dust, without the item you were looking for.

“Taking my keys won’t stop me, I’ll just walk!” You state, throwing up your hands. In moments, loud footsteps are thundering across the floor towards you, reaching you just as you step out of the hall. You meet him there, arms cross and a stern look on your face.

For his part, Jason doesn’t look intimidated by your glare at all. Hands in fists at his side, chest heaving with every breath, he blocks your way to the front door, towering over you. You frown, tapping your foot, but you know you can’t just wait him out.

“Okay, look, maybe you don’t need to eat, but I’ve got to go to the grocery store,” you’ve explained this before, but apparently ‘I need to eat or I’ll die’ isn’t a convincing enough argument. “It’s like a two hour trip at most, and I made it back just fine last time!”

Jason doesn’t move, still solidly blocking your path. You give him a few moments to comply, but when it becomes clear that he’s not going to budge you realize you’re going to have to force it. You steel yourself, knowing that it’s going to be difficult to make this work, but if you have to eat another roasted squirrel you’re going to throw up.

“Jason, I’m going.” You say it as firmly as you can, trying to put as much authority into the words as you can muster. “You can be good and let me go into town, or I’ll go anyways and I won’t bring you anything special back.”

You eye him for a moment, hoping your threat has worked. He’s always heavily resisted you leaving for any reason, but you’ve been sure to bring him back something each time as a reward. You see him sigh and a flash of victory floods you momentarily, sure that you’ve won this time, but when he falls to his knees your heart sinks.

Oh, no, you think desperately, quickly caught up in his arms. He’s tall enough that the face of his mask is pressed firmly against your chest and collar, arms around your hips bringing you closer. He huffs and groans against you, unable to speak but begging in his own way. You gently place your hands on his shoulders, knowing you need to break away before the puppy dog eyes draw you in, but unable to.

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” you mutter, but your arms are pulling his head closer rather than pushing him away. “It’s just for a little bit.”

He tilts his head to look up at you, cheek still pressed to your chest. Here it comes, you think, already knowing you’ve lost this round. Once you lock eyes with his, teary and sad, you know you’re not going to be making that trip today, no matter how much your stomach protests.

Chapter Text

Michael

• He’s not a big fan of kissing and probably won’t want to take the mask off anyways, so get used to smooching Captain Kirk. You can get away with kissing under the neck of the mask sometimes, but that’s not always allowed. Trying to do it anyways is a quick way to get yourself manhandled though.
• I mean, he’s going to throw you around anyways. If you’re not in the position he wants you in, he’ll make it happen. He doesn’t need ties to keep you in place, he’s strong enough to keep you there himself.
• Feel free to try and wiggle away though, he’ll let you struggle until you wear yourself out. He’s patient enough to outlast you, so you’re definitely going to be the one giving up first.
• Lots of hard to explain bruises in very visible places. You might think it’s a possessive/marking thing, but nah, he’s just an asshole who wants to get on your nerves and there’s nothing more annoying than a very large, very unexplainable hickey you can’t cover up.
• Speaking of hickeys - the one thing he will move his mask for is marking you up. Just enough to uncover his mouth, and always when you can’t see, he likes using his teeth on you almost more than anything else. If your thighs don’t have a handful of big purple bite marks on them at all times then he ain’t doing his job right. The squishy bits are the best for biting, but he’ll do it anywhere.
• Loves chasing you down. It can be hard to tell if he’s really trying to hurt you or not, cause he will swing that knife around to get you running. God forbid if you try to crawl out of a window, because he will materialize out of thin air when you’re halfway through and fuck you right there. Hopefully you don’t have nosy neighbors lol.
• You will either have to literally beg on hands and knees for him to let you cum, or you’ll go through so many orgasms it’s hard to remember your own name. Either way, you’re going to be one limp noodle at the end of it.
• In the rare event that he’s actually gotten some sleep overnight, in the morning you will encounter the elusive cuddle boi. One hand under your shirt and the other on your hip, holding you steady while you squeeze your thighs around his dick. He’s absolutely going to make a mess and leave you to clean it up, though.

Jason️️

• He doesn’t have much of a problem taking off the mask for you, especially once he’s been with you a while, but unless you ask he’ll leave it on. He is definitely into kisses, but depending on what’s under the mask, it may take some creativity.
• It’s going to have to be slow going at first, not because of any hang ups about sex (although yeah, that too), but mainly because big boy is big and he has no reference for touching someone else without taking a limb off them. Make sure he’s gotten that strength under control before you let him get handsy.
• He can still get a little rough though, and if he’s on top you are absolutely going to be fucked into the ground. It doesn’t matter what position you start in, you’ll end up splayed out on your back or stomach, unable to hold yourself up.
• Always ready to go, anywhere, anytime. Just about the only time he’d turn you down is when there’s some murdering to do, but even then he’d think about it for a second.
• If he’s ever reluctant to do a task or needs persuading to do something, just make sure to remind him that you only play with good boys, and good boys do what they’re told. It will be done in record time and he’ll be waiting for his reward.
• He wants to please you and do as you ask, but despite that he’s not really the submissive type. He likes taking the lead and being in control, whether he’s on bottom or top. He’ll let you boss him around, because he likely already wants to do what you’re telling him to, but try ordering him to do something he doesn’t want to and that illusion of power is going to fade real quick.
• If you want to turn the tables on him and actually be the one in charge, there is a foolproof way to do so - blowjobs. He’ll be a ruined mess in no time and do whatever you ask of him, so long as you keep your mouth on his cock. He catches on real quick to this tactic, but he’s not going to stop you from abusing it.
• Someone please sit on this boy’s lap! His favorite thing is holding you, it will blow his mind to realize that he can fuck you and hold you at the same time. It’s a double edged sword though, because once you do this he’s just going to assume it’s time to get his dick out whenever you’re on his lap.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• If he’s allowing you into the house at all, it’s because he’s already picked you out. You might not know it yet, but that doesn’t matter - it still counts as dating if you’re not aware of it, right? He would be hesitant to actually show himself, since that hasn’t gone very well historically, but he’s staking his claim anyways.
• Okay, maybe locking you up in a mansion where he is literally your only option is a bit extreme, but it’s really just making sure you make the best choice, you know. You can’t go wrong if the right one is the only one.
• He isn’t going to put up with competition. If you’re not following the rules, things will get a bit dangerous for whoever is hanging around. He’ll try scaring them off at first, but if they don’t take the hint it will get messy quick.
• He likes to mess with your things, get you looking all over the house for something, just to find it right where it’s supposed to be a few hours later. You think you’re going crazy for a while, and he finds it amusing that you’re not connecting the dots at all. It’s more of a ‘bully pulling on your pigtails cause he likes you’ sort of thing.
• Once he is out of those walls, it’s 0 - 100 real quick. You’ve hardly stopped screaming before he’s all over you, so you’ve got to adapt pretty quickly. He’s clingy right from the start, not out right feeling you up, but definitely more touchy than a murderous stranger spying on you from the walls should be.
• The bedtime kiss is obviously non-negotiable, but it’s not just going to be a kiss for long. First it’s just multiple kisses, then a quick hug, then a cuddle, until you might as well be sharing the bed anyways, because he’s wrapped around you and not letting you up. This is where he’ll start to get handsy, playing dumb every time you slap away a straying hand.
• You’re his nanny, you guess, but apparently that comes with the part time position of boy/girlfriend as well. It’s a bit confusing sometimes, so it’s best to just go along with it and not question anything.

“Kiss?”

You narrow your eyes at the request, looking over the edge of the book you’re holding with a stern face. You can’t let this start again, you think, knowing that if you give him what he wants he’ll just keep asking for more.

“You’ve already had your goodnight kiss, Brahms,” you say, looking back to the story book. “In fact, you’ve had two already.”

He shifts a little under the covers, sitting up against the pillow.

“Again?” He asks. “Please.”

Well, at least he’s using his manners now, which is a big step above the tantrum you had endured last night when the same request had been denied. You purse your lips, thinking it over, and decide that one more won’t hurt. It will reinforce being polite, hopefully, and you want to get this story finished quickly and go to bed yourself.

“Alright,” you relent, shifting forward. “Only one more, though, you’re going to get spoiled otherwise.”

He sits up further in anticipation, watching you lean forward and press a quick, chaste kiss to the cheek of his mask. You gather up the book again when it’s done, ready to continue, but a little voice stops you before you can begin to read.

“Oh,” he says, sounding as though there is a pout hiding behind the mask. “That wasn’t the right kiss. I want the right kiss.”

You let out a sigh. You should have known this was coming, he didn’t stay well behaved for long.

“What is the ‘right kiss’, Brahms? You wanted a goodnight kiss, and I gave you three.”

You’re a little frustrated now, knowing that he’s probably just trying to get a rise out of you. You watch as Brahms raises a hand, tapping the painted lips of the mask with one long finger.

“Here,” he insists, tapping his nail against the porcelain. “I want my kiss.”

Michael

• He’s going to watch you for a while beforehand, getting to know your schedule, your family, your house. Definitely going to break in and have a look around, either while you’re out or sleeping. May take a thing or two, or even leave something behind for you to find, just to let you know someone’s watching.
• It’s going to be a very sudden introduction. One day he’s just there, sitting on your couch, standing behind you on the stairs, or waiting behind a door for you to enter. He’s going to expect you to run, and would honestly be disappointed if you didn’t, but he’ll still give you a few slices even if he doesn’t want to kill you, just to keep the chase interesting.
• Oh, you called the police? That’s not going to stop him from showing up, probably in the corner of a dark room while you sleep. If anything it’s just going to motivate him even more. They probably won’t take you too seriously anyways, because since when does Michael Myers chase someone down and not brutally murder them?
• He just ?? keeps getting into your damn house??? Like how? You’re starting to realize it’s a lost cause keeping him out, since he will straight up kick down a locked door if he has to. And he hasn’t murdered you so far, although you’ve not caught on yet that this is his way of flirting, seeing as most people don’t murder anyone.
• Eventually you treat him like a stray cat that just shows up sometimes, which isn’t far off. You’re still expecting to get the shit murdered out of you one day, but you can’t keep him out so why not try and get along while you can. He’s in your house most days anyways, you should find a way to charge him rent at this point.
• Once you’ve accepted that he’s not going anywhere, he’s going to feel free to come and go as he pleases, not that he wasn’t doing that anyway. This is where you cross into ‘exclusive dating’ territory for him, because once he’s in your house without the police being called, that’s the extent of his ability to romance you. This is not at all how a normal person works and you have no idea you’ve just committed yourself to a relationship by not locking your door, but that’s not his problem.
• One night you wake up and he’s just in your bed, not even sleeping, just laying right next to you, staring. In his mind, you’re already totally dating at this point, and that’s where boyfriends sleep so ??? What are you gonna do, kick him out? Good luck. This is your life now.

You’re exhausted, piling into your bed as quickly as you can the moment you get home, not bothering to do more than take off your work clothes before crawling under the covers. You lay down with a happy groan, stretching out your arms and legs, ready to pass out and not wake up for the next few days.

You can’t have been asleep for very long when you start to wake again, slowly drifting back into consciousness. The room is still dark but you squint your half open eyes anyway, rolling around until you’re comfortable again, ready to get back to your interrupted slumber. Trying to bring the covers up over your shoulders, you find that they don’t budge when you pull, so you dig your fingers in and pull harder. A grunt has your eyes snapping wide open, heart suddenly racing, struggling to focus your vision in the dark.

Beside you is an unfortunately familiar white face, dark eyes staring at you from the pillow next to yours. You flounder for a moment, clutching the blankets to your chest in alarm as you realize that your usual unwelcome guest has gotten into your bed and you have no clothes on.

“Um, what, uh…” You scramble for anything to say but this situation doesn’t really have a quick fix. “Hi? You’re, uh, in my bed, you know.”

A blank look is all you get, but you should have expected as much. Your eyes dart around, looking for some clue as to what the hell is going on. You notice that he’s still fully dressed, mask and boots included, laying stiffly like he wasn’t used to being comfortable.

“Okay, I guess the couch isn’t good enough anymore, but, uh, this…” There isn’t a nice way to say ‘I’m half naked, please leave’, and since you’ve avoided being murdered so far you’d like it to stay that way.

Before you can start another rambling sentence, a large hand pushes your head down, roughly landing back on your own pillow. Your hands are still clinging to the sheets for dear life, face red with embarrassment, but you can’t help but feel like you’re being ignored.

The hand stays against the side of your head for a moment longer, reaching up to awkwardly pat the top of your head once before returning to the other side of the bed. You stare in disbelief, his eyes looking right back at you, and decide that you don’t feel like dying tonight.

You roll over, putting your back to him, encasing yourself in the blankets and determined to get back to sleep, despite the eyes you can feel on your back.

Bubba

• It doesn’t take much to catch his eye, really the first time you smile or give him a tiny compliment he’s going to be hooked. He’ll be a flustered, nervous wreck when you’re around and it will be very obvious that he’s got a crush.
• He’s going to want to find a way to win you over, so prepare to receive some weird gifts. Wild flowers and pretty rocks will be presented to you with a red face, but you’ll also get little trinkets made of questionable materials or things with suspicious red stains.
• Nubbins (who, btw, follows the daily romance drama like a bored housewife) will be on his brother’s side, but he’s also going to blurt out awkward things around you both. There’s nothing quite like a nice family dinner where the question “H-hey, you and Bubba fuckin’ yet?” has just been asked, loudly.
• Drayton, of course, doesn’t approve at all, but after a while he will grudgingly admit that it might be easier having someone else helping around the house, as long as you earn your keep. He’ll try to discourage Bubba, but Nubbins will just go behind his back and tell him to go for it.
• You’re going to know right away what Bubba’s up to, so just getting it over with and letting him know you like him back will save you a lot of awkwardness, at least when it comes to the other two brothers butting in. It will take Bubba a while to get used to the concept of you returning his feelings, so he’ll still be nervous at first.
• He falls pretty quick though, so by the time you’ve graduated to hand holding you might as well just get married, cause he’s ready to tie the knot. He goes from flirting to lifetime commitment in about two days.

The smell of food wakes you up, drawing you out of bed much earlier than you want to be. You dress in a hurry, still tired but wanting to make it to the table before everything was gone.

You curse as you step out into the hall, leaning on the doorframe as you lift your foot away from whatever you had stepped on. The first thing you had done this morning was hurt yourself, that didn’t bode well for your mood once you got downstairs to breakfast.

Looking down you see the offending item and carefully pick it up. A little collection of worn down teeth, a mix of human and bovine, strung together with little pieces of brightly colored plastic on a bit of wire dangling from your hand. The thing is a little gruesome, but the rest of the house is no less morbid, and you know how the family puts food on the table.

It’s another of Bubba’s gifts, usually given in person, but perhaps he had been too shy this time. You shift in place, a little smile on your face as you turn the charm over in your hand. The wire holding it together looks like clipped pieces of chicken wire, bent and uneven, but you twist the ends together carefully and hook it around your wrist. It’s clunky and bulky, a little too big on your wrist to stay put unless you keep an eye on it, but you will probably have another one offered up soon, so you don’t expect to wear this one for very long.

A voice from the kitchen catches your attention, calling you down for breakfast. It’s quickly followed by another, higher pitched voice, and from the sound of it an argument is starting up. You put the thing in your pocket, deciding to go downstairs and hope for the best, turning at the bottom of the steps into the dining room.

You find it empty, a few plates sat out with silverware piled to the side, and get to work setting the rest of the table. The argument is in full swing now, Drayton and Nubbins apparently having a dispute about something you’re sure is ridiculous anyways, so you stay out of the kitchen despite the alluring smell of food. You’ve only just finished setting the table when Bubba stumbles out of the kitchen, hurrying away from the fighting with a tray of warm biscuits in hand. The gray bun of his mask is messy this morning, apron half tied and on crooked.

“Mornin’,” you say with a smile, reaching out to take the tray from him.

He squeals in surprise at your greeting, fumbling the plate in his hands, two or three biscuits rolling away. The noise attracts unwanted attention, a harsh voice calling out, “You’d better not be causin’ a mess in there!”

“Nothin’ wrong!” You call back, hastily scooping up the fallen biscuits before Bubba can try, knowing it would only end with the rest of them on the floor as well. You take the tray on your way back up, placing it gently in the middle of the table, with the escaped rolls on top.

“We’ll give those to Drayton,” you whisper to him, smiling at the nervous laugh you get in return. “Go on and sit, I got the table put together already.”

He’s quick to follow your request, landing in his chair with a thud. You hide your hands behind your back, teeth and plastic clinking together dully.

“Bubba, did you leave somethin’ for me by my door this mornin’?”

He looks bashful, but nods eagerly, looking you over as if wanting to see if you have the gift on you. You stick your newly adorned hand out, holding it out for him to see and shaking your wrist to rattle the little teeth. He lets out delighted snort, reaching out to get a closer look at the little clasp you had made with the wire. He had made jewelry before, but they were usually done with bits of string that broke much more easily than the wire would. You let him inspect the changes you had made, grinning at how excited he seemed to be to try adding it to his next one.

“Thank you, Bubba,” you laugh, taking your hand back. “I need to give you something now, huh?”

He looks confused at this, glancing up and down as if looking for something hidden. He says something and even though you have no idea what the words were, you know he’s asking what gift you have for him. You watch his face, seeing his eyes go big and the skin under the mask flush as you lean in to press a little peck against his cheek.

“A-aw, they’re k-kissin’!”

You pull back, turning on the spot to glare at the intruder, hissing under your breath, “Don’t you have any manners at all?!”

Thomas

• He has no idea what he’s doing and all the advice he gets from his uncles is horrible. He’s awkward and shy and has never had a nice encounter with someone who wasn’t a family member, so he’s also scoring a zero for social skills. He will just avoid you to get around all this, so you’re going to think he’s got something against you at first.
• Everyone knows what’s going on, even before you do, and there’s going to be quite the gossip happening between Mama and the other ladies, reporting your every move into the phone. The men are a lot more blunt about it, so you’ll probably catch on because of their teasing or rude comments.  
• Charlie will take it upon himself to get involved, being the source of most of the absolutely awful advice Thomas gets. He’ll scheme to get you two in a room together, then just loudly comment how he’s just going to the other room real quick, wink wink, he’ll be back in a moment, wink wink, don’t get up to anything while he’s gone. He’s honestly not sure how this doesn’t work.
• Thomas is going to be painfully aware that you know after that. He’s never been brave enough to act on what his uncles have told him to do, thank god, and now that decision has just been cemented. You’re going to have to be the one to speak up, otherwise he’s just going to hide from you out of embarrassment for the rest of his life.
• You’re going to be the one doing all the flirting and courting now, and he’s going to have even less of an idea on how to return affections than he did on how to show them in the first place. Being straightforward is your best bet, because he has no ability to tell when you’re flirting with him or not. Anything that’s not “I like you romantically, let us engage in romantic dating customs, romantically, together” isn’t going to get the message across.
• After Charlie’s disastrous attempts at getting you two together, he will take full credit once it’s official. Clearly he masterminded this whole thing, and you should all listen to his advice more often because look how well it worked out for Tommy.

Thomas freezes when he realizes you’re there, hands pausing in their work. You see him tense, not turning to look at you, and sigh.

“Tommy,” you call, stepping into the barn with hands on your hips and a stern look. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all afternoon. Mama said you were supposed to be down at the trailer, helping Henrietta with that old generator.”

He grunts in response, still hunched over the worktable, head down. You can see the items on the table in front of him, old bits and pieces of an antique sewing machine, the bulk of the machine taken apart and sitting to the side. His hands fidget with the little parts nervously, but he doesn’t return to his work.

You don’t expect much of a response from him anyways, but you know his hiding away in the old barn was on purpose. You came up from the trailer on the other side of the pasture every day after breakfast, helping to take care of the old house and keep Mama company while the men were away at work. Today is Tommy’s day off from the slaughterhouse and Charlie doesn’t do much for work in the first place, but you had come up to the house anyways, hoping to find him.

“You can’t keep hidin’ from me, how am I supposed to date someone I never see?”

His hands stop fiddling with the machine pieces, head tilting towards you as though listening, but he doesn’t move otherwise. You step closer, an amused grin on your face, coming up to the side of the table.

“Well?” You ask, tapping one hand next to his against the wood. He looks at you, or at least up from the table and in your general direction, with an expression of panic. What little you can see of his face through the leather muzzle is flushed red, eyes darting back and forth.

“Tommy,” you say slowly. “You were takin’ too long, we could’ve been done and married by now for how much time you were wastin’.”

You grab his hand in yours and he finally looks at you, watching as you press a kiss to the back of his hand. This is the kind of stuff you had been waiting for him to do to win you over, but you suppose you’re the one courting him now.

“We’re datin’ now, I said so. So stop runnin’ off when I come around.”

He lets out a strained noise of agreement, eyes wide, and your grin is so big now that it hurts.

Jason

• Jason is a good boy, so he’s going to do his best to be polite and respectful. His mama raised him right and he’s going to strive to be a perfect gentleman. The various limbs left on your front porch are, of course, a gift, like any gentleman would give to the person he’s courting.
• Okay, so he’s bad at gifts and you’re probably terrified now. He’s trying. The whole romance thing doesn’t come naturally to him, you know.
• It doesn’t take too long to figure out who exactly is leaving mutilated bodies on your doorstep, considering the area you’re in, but you’re not going to see ‘romance’ as the intent behind them. You spend lots of time staying over with friends, only to come home to more signs that someone has been lurking around your cabin, muddy footprints trailing your property.
• Luckily, he tries new things once he notices that you aren’t too fond of the previous gifts. Bloody human limbs aren’t your thing, what about animals? That didn’t go over well. Okay, he’ll try something useful, knives are useful, you’ll like those. No? At this point you’re sure he’s threatening you and are scared out of your mind.
• Poor Jason is just at the end of his rope trying to find something you’ll like, but there aren’t a lot of options he hasn’t tried. He’s a little shy, preferring to offer gifts and watch from a distance, but if you want to put an end to it, you’re going to have to confront him. Of course, you think you’re about to face down someone trying to kill you, waiting out on your porch overnight with a weapon in hand, only to meet a giant man with a fistful of weeds held out to you.
• You have never been so confused in your life, but it’s a better turn out than being violently murdered, so you can’t complain. It will only take a second before you see that he’s timidly offering you the scraggly plant and slowly you’ll realize that you have been the recipient of the worlds most awkward attempts at flirting rather than death threats. It’s sort of endearing to see how nervous he is standing in front of you, so you can’t say it isn’t working once you know what’s going on.

“Alright, I can do this.”

You’re pretty sure you’re going to die tonight, but it’s good to put out positive energy, or at least that’s what your rather ditzy friend had told you.

You were parked out on your front porch, sitting on the steps and waiting. You had started the night with an old, battered rifle sitting across your knees, eyes alert and feeling prepared. But it was nearing fall and you got cold quickly and you had been out here for a long time. If you were going to die you wanted to be as comfortable as possible, so you went back in for a blanket to wrap yourself in and a big thermos of coffee. The rifle was currently propped against the steps while you nestled in your cocoon of blankets. This would admittedly make it more difficult to reach in a hurry, but if you were being honest with yourself, you’re only half sure it was loaded properly in the first place and you had never fired a gun outside of a video game, so you figured your chances weren’t too great regardless. The only reason you owned it was because it had been in the attic when you bought the place.

You stilled at the snap of something in the distance, hand struggling to untangle itself from the blankets as you fumbled for your weapon, suddenly not as concerned with how comfortable you were. You manage to grab the thing just as the dark outline of a figure comes into view, stepping out of the woods.

You weren’t wrong when you had assumed the identity of your stalker, apparently, seeing the old, scuffed mask peeking out from behind the trees. He lurked at the edge of the woods for a moment, and although you doubted you knew how to use it, you wondered if the sight of the gun had made him pause.

Standing up, you held the rifle up, pointing it towards him with trembling hands. You tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t bring anything to mind. You already knew who was approaching you, and presumably the ‘why’ as well. That was about all your frazzled brain could think up on such short notice.

He waited at the tree line for long enough that your arms began to shake, finally stepping forward through the brush and getting close enough that you could see the little red marks on the cheeks and middle of the mask, before you pulled the trigger. The noise was louder than you had anticipated from the old thing, recoil rocking back into your shoulder painfully, but you knew at once that you had hit your target.

Both of you looked down, watching the sluggish spread of a dark stain on the already dirty shirt covering his chest. You waited for a reaction, maybe for him to fall to the ground, but he did nothing but slowly lower his arm -

Wait, was he holding something? Was that a handful of grass? Looking closer you see a big fist wrapped around a strangled looking clump of grass and weeds, two wilted dandelions sticking out in the middle.

Oh, shit, you think in a panic. Was he bringing you those? Bringing you flowers? Had you just shot someone who was trying to bring you flowers?

“Oh my god,” you half shout, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry!”

Hand now at his side, you see that his whole posture has changed, shoulders drooping down like the wilted weeds in his hand, head pointed towards the ground. You weren’t sure if they’d still put you in jail for shooting Jason Voorhees, of all people, but damn if you weren’t going to feel like an asshole about it for the rest of your life.

You take a few quick steps forward, stop, and then take a few more, unsure about exactly how close you should get to him. One little gunshot wasn’t going to inconvenience him much, if any of the stories were true, but you couldn’t just shoot him and let him go off into the woods looking like a kicked puppy.

“Um, I’m sorry, really,” you repeat, holding up your hands in surrender. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t- I mean, I thought you were going to kill me, so, you know.”

He looks up at you, away from the new hole in his ratty shirt, but his eyes are hidden behind the mask so you can’t judge if he’s angry at you or not. You shift nervously in front of him, hoping this isn’t some elaborate plan to get you close enough to murder. Slowly he brings his hand back up, offering the half dead weeds to you in a shaky grip, and you realize with a pang of guilt that he’s nervous.

He was nervous about bringing you flowers and you shot him!

“Oh, please come inside, I’ll fix your shirt,” you babble, having no experience with sewing or even any idea where a needle is in your house. “I’m sorry, I really wouldn’t have shot you normally, I promise!”

He lets out a quiet huff of breath as you grab at his hand to finally take the offered gift, seeming to relax a little as he allows you to pull him inside, letting out a stream of I’m sorry’s as you go.

Chapter Text

The ride back home was nerve wracking. In the bumpy passenger seat of an old pickup you bit your nails, glancing out the window nervously as the trees went by.

“Wow,” the man next to you said under his breath, eyes following the dense trees and brush on either side of the road. At first you just thought he was taken by the scenery - you weren’t a very outdoorsy person yourself, despite your living situation, but everyone in town always mentioned how beautiful it was up here - but it was clear with his next comment that the landscape wasn’t what was on his mind.

“You must not be afraid of those urban legends about this place, then, to be livin’ so far out.”

You forced a smile on your face, shaking your head in response. This was the topic that nearly everyone wanted to bring up with you around, and it was tiring.

“Nope,” you said quietly. “Just stories.”

“Well,” he scoffed, looking like he didn’t believe you. “Those murders aren’t stories, ya know. Whoever did it, they were real. You know what I reckon happened-“

You half listened to his take on the validity of the town’s most famous story, eyes back to the window. Your own car had crapped out on you just outside the grocery store parking lot, full to bursting with weeks worth of food and fuel and no way to get it home. It was a small enough town that the local mechanic was towing it away within the hour, promising to give you a call in the morning, and sending you on your way in his brother’s truck. The brother was a nice man, friendly whenever you had seen him in town, and kind enough to wave away your offer of payment for the trip, but you just wanted to get home.

This whole thing probably wasn’t going to go over well with Jason. You’d snuck out, first of all, slipping out around noon when he was out of the cabin, intending to make the trip to the store you had been needing to make for a month or more. If that wasn’t bad enough, you were coming back in the car of a strange man, hours later than your goodbye note had stated. Anxiety tightened your stomach at the thought of how angry he was going to be. Thankfully you had enough supplies to last you for the next few months, because you’re sure he’s not going to be open to the idea of another trip into town.

“Take a right here, on the trail.” You instruct, cutting him off mid-sentence. He looks offended for half a second, then turns to look at the little dirt path you had indicated.

“That one?” He asks, hesitating to turn the truck. You see nervousness on his face, and he looks like he’s contemplating leaving you here to carry things back on your own, but after a moment he makes the turn.

“Thanks again,” you sigh, truly grateful not to be lugging all that stuff down the trail. “I owe you a coffee next time I’m in town.”

He laughs, still with a hint of anxiety, but it’s genuine. “With all that stuff in the back I don’t expect to be seein’ you for quite a while, honey!”

“Yeah, well, next time you do it’s on me.”

The cabin is looming ahead now, sticking out like a shadow against the evening sky. It will be dark in an hour or so, but you’re glad to have gotten home with some daylight to spare. He pulls up in front of the porch, turning the truck so the flat bed is closest to the steps, and turns it off.

“Go on and unlock your door, I’ll help you get all this inside.”

You step out of the truck timidly, half expecting something to happen the moment you close the door. There are no lights on inside, and the porch light is off as well, but the door is already unlocked when you go to open it. That just makes the pit in your stomach feel deeper, but a quick peek into the house shows an empty room.

Turning back, you stop the man as he comes towards the house with an armful of groceries.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, we can just get things unloaded here. It’ll be dark soon, you’ll want to be on your way back, I’m sure.”

He looks unsure, perhaps torn between helping a woman in need and getting the hell out of the woods. “It’s no trouble, now, and you got a lot to be gettin’ inside.”

You take the bags in his arms, sitting them on the porch, ignoring his fussing. “No, I’d rather have you on the road before the sun goes down. I don’t mind making a few trips inside!”

He agrees after that, helping to pile up your things on the porch, and around the stairs when the room runs out there. You thank him again once everything is unloaded, and he promises a call from his brother about your car first thing in the morning. You feel relieved as his tail lights fade away in the distance, glad at least that he made it out without running into Jason.

Speak of which, it was time for you to go inside and face him yourself. With a shaky breath, you step inside, turning on a few flickering lamps as you go, but seeing no sign of him. The living room is empty, and the little kitchen appears to be as well, from what you can see from your spot by the couch.

“Jason?” You call, not half as loudly as you’d meant to. You’re afraid of how he’s going to react, but you know it’s not going to be good, so you might as well get it over with.

“Please come out, I’m home now.”

A noise draws your attention to the hall, where Jason is lurking just beyond where the light reaches. He steps forward into the room, silent as always, but radiating anger.

You look away, head down and hands trembling. He doesn’t move, not yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time. He wouldn’t hurt you, you’re sure of that completely, but knowing how angry you’ve made him, how upset he must be, you don’t want to look up and see that hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, voice low. “I didn’t mean… there was a problem, I had to…”

You couldn’t quite find the words, knowing that none of them would soothe him. You look up slightly, hoping that the situation is a little better than you think, but his eyes are shiny with rage, hands in fists at his sides. He’s standing on the other side of the room, but you’re intimidated enough that he might as well be right in front of you.

Tears gather at the corner of your eyes as you lower your gaze again. He hated you leaving anyways, and you had betrayed his trust by leaving and by bringing a stranger here, where you had both hidden away together. You had to leave, you couldn’t survive off of whatever scraps could be found in the woods, but the guilt sat in your stomach heavily despite that.

Loud steps, banging off the walls in the small space, startle you. By the time you look up he’s already there, reaching a dirty hand towards your face, but not touching. You wonder briefly if he’s mad enough to hurt you, if that’s what has halted his movements, and feel even guiltier for thinking it.

Jason holds his hand next to you, watching you through the mask as a sweat breaks out over your face. You feel his fingers twitch, ghosting over the shell of your ear, and you struggle to stay perfectly still, afraid to break the tension. You feel a warm breath hit the side of your face, the smell like wet leaves and soil, and his hand lunges, digging fingers into your hair and pulling.

With a harsh jerk you’re pulled around, heart beating so hard you can’t hear anything else, forced up against the arm of the dingy couch. You bring a hand up to pull at his, squirming against the solid body pressing you against the armrest.

“Jason, I’m sorry,” you gasp, fear coiling in your stomach. “I didn’t-“

He leans over you, chest pressing the back of your head into the cushions, hips trapped between his own and the curve of the couch. The hand is out of your hair, now on your shoulder and pressing you down, and your struggling is nothing compared to the strength above you.

The familiar ridge pressed into your abdomen catches you off guard. His breath comes out in huffs and pants, curled around you so closely that you can look directly into his uneven eyes, usually hidden behind the mask. He still looks angry, eyes narrowed and glaring, but he’s grinding his dick against you so hard you feel like your spine is going to snap.

You’re still shaking, a little unsure, but now you’re feeling horrible that you’d ever thought he might harm you. He’s upset, but you’re more than willing to help him work off some anger after being the cause of all the trouble.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper again, pressing your hands to either side of his face and kissing the mask. “I won’t do it again, I didn’t want to make you worry.”

With a ragged groan he mashes the mask against your lips, trying to return the kiss, hips grating against you rapidly. You put your hands on his chest, pulling away from the clumsy kiss and wrapping your legs around his thighs as best you can. He sits up and you take the opportunity to scoot your ass off the armrest, laying fully on the couch, but this is apparently not what Jason wants.

He’s quick you grab you around the thigh and pull you back, hips tilted upwards, a second hand landing on your shoulder and pushing down. You wiggle away again with a noise of complaint, but he merely repositions you and presses the hand on your shoulder more firmly, signaling for you to stay. It’s uncomfortable to have your back bent at this angle, but he’s insistent, so you stay as you are. He watches for a second, waiting to see if you’ll move again, and you’re half tempted to just to tease him, but that thought is out of your mind entirely when he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your pants.

You don’t expect for him to pull, tearing the fabric halfway down to the knee in one tug. The force jerks your whole body up by the hips and you squeal in surprise and outrage at the ruined clothing, but a second pull tears the fabric free of you completely. You’re almost mad for a second, but you see him standing between your legs, chest rising and falling rapidly, and decide that an old pair of pants is an acceptable sacrifice.

Jason lets out a growl, rolling like thunder through his chest, hands gripping your thighs so tight it hurts, and looking at your exposed flesh with a hungry gaze. He removes a hand only to take off the battered mask, tossing it to the side, and you feel gooseflesh cover your arms and legs, eager now for whatever he wants to give you. The fingers around your thighs tighten, holding you in place with a squeeze, and you feel your cunt throb when he goes to his knees between your legs.

The angle of your body on the couch is hiding his face from view, but you arch towards him anyways, both hands gripping the cushions already. He waits a moment, maybe to let you suffer a bit, before his wet tongue is pressing into the skin of your leg, scraping his blunt teeth up your thigh.

You gasp, jerking your hips towards him, trying to get closer, but he only slides one hand from your thigh to hold your hip in place. You let out a needy moan, desperate and loud, and you feel him shudder in response, moving further up your leg to dig his nose into the crease where your thigh meets your hip. Another growl travels straight from his mouth to your flesh, hands and face cold on your skin in contrast to his warm, raspy breaths.

When his face is suddenly pressed fully between your legs, nose and mouth nuzzled against your panties, you feel your limbs go numb and your thighs burn, a heavy heat in your belly firing up.

His tongue reaches out from his mouth, flicking slightly against the fabric, barely enough for you to feel. His touch is gentle but his movements are hurried and eager, saliva coating his chin as he works against your flesh gently with a messy tongue. You gasp and squirm, trying to work free of his hands and clasp your legs around him, but his grip is firm.

You need more, of everything, and you tell him so, begging as loud as you can through huffs and twitches. He must listen, because his touch becomes firmer, tongue and teeth pressing against your underwear, soaking them with spit. Jason rakes his teeth against you, pricking against the flesh your panties don’t cover and you jerk again, a little sob leaving your mouth as you struggle to rock against his face. The hand on your hip moves to press against your stomach, pushing you down and keeping you still.

He’s bolder now, hissing in air between licks, the flat of his tongue dragging against the fabric covering you. He stabs his tongue against the nub of your clit, hard and swollen under the wet fabric, puffs of warm breath misting over your cunt. Fingers dig into your belly, the other hand grabbing a knee and hoisting it over his shoulder, keeping your legs spread. He scrapes his teeth harder and harder against you, more sobs leaving your mouth, breath hitching. Your hands reach out, grabbing the back of his head and attempting to push his face towards you, but he doesn’t move, only acknowledging your struggle with a grunt. You squeeze your eyes shut, struggling uselessly under his hands, desperate to get just a little more pressure, you just need a little bit more of anything.

Without warning his mouth is latched onto you, sucking harshly on the fabric over your clit, tongue flicking back and forth. Your whole body goes stiff, suddenly overwhelmed by the roughness, and his hands hold you down as you jerk and scream. Your hips roll up, muscles tightening, fingers digging into his scalp as your body twitches wildly. He lets you squirm, mouth firmly pressed against you, until your body goes limp, arms flopping over the side of the couch and legs dropping from his shoulders.

When he finally rises, mouth slick and wet, you can only gaze at him with blurry, loving eyes.

Chapter Text

You sat on the couch, TV on and book in hand, studiously pretending to be paying attention to either or both of them. You weren’t putting up a good facade, you knew, red faced and trembling, but as long as you didn’t acknowledge the man looming over you, you could pretend that you were. This was almost something of a game, ignoring him until you couldn’t, until you broke or gave in, and he always won but you still tried. It felt a little shameless to not give some token resistance, to just give him power over you without it being earned, even if he already had that power regardless.

He stood to the side of you, towering over the armrest so close that you could hear the raspy breaths he took. Your palms were sweaty and your face hot, and you struggled to hear the TV over the heartbeat stuck in your ears. The book in your hands had been open to the same page for the last fifteen minutes or longer, but you kept your eyes glued to it.

It didn’t seem to matter where you were or what you were doing, Michael hovered. It was creepy at first, then distracting, but now you were almost overwhelmed by his constant closeness. Turning to find yourself nose to chest with him, feeling the heat from his body behind you, his breath ruffling the hair on your nape when it puffed out from beneath his mask - you were sure he knew how flustered it made you, the smug asshole. Michael was bigger than you, and stronger by a large margin, and abused it constantly. Pressing you into corners, pulling you against him, throwing you over his shoulder when he was impatient. He seemed to enjoy handling you like a careless child with a doll, or at least knew you enjoyed it.

A tingle on the nape of your neck made you jerk your head towards him, heart leaping into your throat, but you stopped mid gesture to avoid actually looking at him. You didn’t want to break the facade, however flimsy, but the soft trailing of his fingers down your neck and shoulders was hard to ignore. You thought of slapping his hands or scooting away, but that wasn’t really what you wanted, even if the thought made you embarrassed. You grit your teeth and tried to calm your nerves, this wasn’t going to get to you, no matter how much the hand on your neck made you wish it was around your throat, holding you down.

You stood suddenly, slamming the book closed with a loud bang and throwing it on the table. You aren’t sure where you’re going once you stand, but you need to do something to distract yourself, and on autopilot you walk quickly to the kitchen and open the fridge door while watching the doorway from the corner of your eye. You hear his quiet footsteps following, sending a jolt of nervousness through your veins - you feel like you’re being hunted even though he’s doing nothing but casually walking towards you, steps slow and even. He’s doing it on purpose, chasing you without really chasing you, getting you wound up, making you feel like prey without doing anything but being in the same room.

With a rush of adrenaline you close the fridge and dart out of the kitchen before he can reach the doorway, heading wordlessly towards your room. Michael catches you only a few steps away from the door, grabbing your shoulder to press your back into the wall with a thud, and gripping your wrist with the other. He looks at you, eyes shrouded behind the mask, but you know how the rest of the game goes and the heat between your legs intensifies as your heart rate doubles and triples.

You can hardly hear over the rush of blood in your ears, but manage to choke out, “I’m going to bed,” pushing away from the wall. You’re pressed back against it forcefully with a hand to your chest before you can take a step and Michael moves closer, boxing you in. He pulls you against him, the hand around your wrist tightening, and the hardening outline of his dick is suddenly against your stomach. He leans down and for half a second you think he’s going to kiss you, but the arm at your waist pulls you up to meet him and in moments you’re slung over his shoulder, feet dangling. You clutch at his back and shoulder, but his arm keeps you in place as he strides down the hall, knocking open your door with a rough kick.

He flings you onto the bed, your body bouncing against the mattress hard enough to knock the air out of you. Michael wastes no time, pausing only long enough to remove your flimsy pajama bottoms and underwear, then straddling your thighs and keeping your legs pinned under his weight. Once your bottom half is uncovered he leans over you, taking your hands in his, palm to palm and fingers locked, and holds your hands up on either side of your head.

You feel trapped, stuck under him and held down by someone much stronger, knowing that you couldn’t get away had you wanted to. The way he presses against you, hard and heavy and unmovable, makes your limbs feel weak and toes tingle. You wiggle in his grasp, not trying to break his grip but to flex against the muscle and power that held you down, and he tightens his hold.

The smell of plastic surrounds you when he bends over you, crushing the fake, white lips of the mask against yours. You can taste the harsh material against your skin, but behind that is flesh, working against the mask to touch your own. His hips grind down, rutting against your stomach with sharp, snapping movements, carefully placed to ignore your own ache. This was going to be a long one, then, spent begging for your release through teary eyes and swollen lips.

When he finally breaks away from your mouth you gasp, and he watches you pant with darkened eyes that you can only barely see. You think briefly that it’s going to be hard to explain the bruises tomorrow, but really, that’s never stopped you before.

Chapter Text

When you slip behind the metal door the first thing you notice is the smell - damp, cold and rot float up the stairs and mingle with the heavy heat of the house above. You’re not sure how anyone could handle the stink, but you take a few cautious steps down anyways, hand over your mouth and nose. There is the sound of electric humming, the old freezers that hold the majority of the family’s meat, and dripping water clinking on wood and metal.

You know he’s here somewhere, but without the thudding of the cleaver you aren’t sure where. The basement is almost as big as the rest of the house and built like a maze, with piles of junk and old shelving littered around. You think of taking another few steps down, to better peek into the darkness, but a noise from below stops you.

He knows you’re in the basement. Your heart stops when you realize this, but you stay pressed against the wall of the stairwell. You hear his frustrated sigh and without warning he’s in front of you, pulling you from your hiding spot. A large hand twists into the hair at the nape of your neck, a sharp pull upwards bringing you to stand on the tips of your toes. He towers over you, even though you’re standing a few steps above him.

“Tommy,” you whine at the rough treatment, a petulant frown on your face. You’re close enough to feel his breath on you, and to see the angry glare on his face. You’re not supposed to be down here, it’s the one rule left over from the many you had adhered to when you first arrived.

“C’mon, lemme go,” you plead, “I wasn’t tryin’ to sneak around, but I’m bored!”

Thomas looks unconvinced and takes a few steps up towards the big metal door, shuffling you in front.

“No, wait!” You try again.

You might have been breaking the rules, but you weren’t lying. With Mama away at the station, you only had Hoyt and Monty for company upstairs. Sitting between the two drunk old men while they argued over what to watch on TV wasn’t your idea of fun, and even worse was the sweltering heat. The basement stank like death and rot, but it was dark and cool. Even standing at the top of the stairway behind the big door was a relief, cooling the sweat on your back.

Tommy wasn’t mean, but he wasn’t about to let you do something you weren’t supposed to - not without some convincing. You place both hands on his stomach when he hesitates before his next step forward and flash him a big smile.

“I just wanted to see you,” you say, and it’s not untrue. Getting away from the heat and relatives upstairs was your main motivation but you were a little frustrated at the amount of time he had been spending down here, where you couldn’t follow.

He huffs, not falling for your flattery and ready to haul you back upstairs, but you slide a hand down, quickly flicking his bloody apron aside and grab a handful of his cock through the rough fabric of his pants. You can feel his stomach suddenly tense under your other hand and your smile gets bigger.

He locks eyes with you, clearly surprised, and the grip on your hair tightens. You don’t speak, but the gentle rub of your palm against him is a clear enough signal. Thomas is usually the one coming to you, thick fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt, pulling you into the bedroom or, more likely, towards the nearest flat surface.

You can’t go to your knees on the staircase so you sit, Tommy leaning over you with his hand still curled into your hair, and his position on the step below puts you at the perfect height for what you want, but he’s too far away.

“C’mere,” You murmur, your free hand grabbing a handful of his apron and pulling. Hesitantly he obeys, putting one foot on the next step up and leaning towards you. With his leg on one side and the wall on the other, you’re boxed in, unable to stand now unless he lets you.

You push the apron aside, slinging it over your forearm so it can’t get in the way, fresh blood staining your skin. He groans when you pull at his zipper, exposing him to the cool air. You glance up, seeing him bent over at the waist and watching you, mouth open and lips wet. He spares a few distracted looks towards the door, perhaps fearing that his uncles might barge in or thinking of making you leave after all, but the kiss you press against the tip of his cock makes him jump, and his eyes are back on you.

You kiss him again, tongue slipping out to lick at him with long, warm strokes. You squirm in place a little, already anticipating your own turn, but you stop yourself and focus on the warm flesh in front of you. If you’re lucky, he’ll get riled up enough to forget about the old rules, and you can spend the rest of the afternoon downstairs, curled up against him in the blissfully cool air.

You lash your tongue over the slit of his cock roughly, and he leans his free arm on the wall, bracing himself against it and letting out a rumbling moan. You can’t stop a smile from forming, even as your tongue laps at his skin. You haven’t even gotten him into your mouth and he’s already a mess, panting under the thick skin of his mask, hair tousled and eyes wild.

Using the hand in your hair to hold you still he juts his hips forward, trying for your half open mouth and missing, soft, wet skin sliding over your cheek. You lean in before he can try again, burying your face against his hip and nuzzling into the crook where his thigh meets his stomach. He smells like death and old meat but you’re used to it, and this close you can almost taste the salt of his skin.

He doesn’t let you stay there for long, moving you back with a jerk of his hand, dragging your lips up the side of his cock until you reach the tip. When you lunge forward on your own, swallowing as much as you can in one go, he chokes and his nails dig into your scalp hard enough to make your eyes water.

You swirl your tongue, wrapping your free hand around what your mouth can’t reach. You take as much as you can, until your throat is bulging and it hurts to swallow, then ease up to allow yourself to breathe before going back down. His hand in your hair is too tight, but you let him pull it anyways, too busy with his cock to think of what his hands are doing.

Thomas whines and groans between gasping breaths, then hisses as you draw back up his length to plant a gentle kiss on the swollen head. He’s always loud and in the confined space of the staircase it echoes around you - you’re sure the other two can hear you and have figured out exactly where you snuck off too.

You move to take him in your mouth again, ready to get him as far down your throat as you can get, but he pulls you back by the hair when you try. You know you’re going to have a headache after all this hair pulling, but for now the sharp pain only makes you arch your back. You roll your hips back and forth desperately, wanting friction against your own ache but not wanting to let him go either.

His chest is heaving and you can feel hot, panting breaths from above your head. When you look up you can see flushed skin around his eyes and mouth, and even at his neck and collar where the mask doesn’t cover. You smile again, mouth slick and lips swollen.

“See Tommy, I wasn’t lyin’.” You’re panting yourself and you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your legs under you if you had to.

He nods in response, quickly, as if to eagerly dispel any doubts, and pulls on your hair again. He wants you up, you guess, ready to move on to the main event. You wanted to stay there, keep him in your mouth until you choked on his cum, but that wasn’t how things went. He only wanted to cum inside you now, and trying to get it any other way would only make him huff and puff until you let him.

“Let’s go downstairs,” you suggested, stroking your hand idly up and down. You knew he had a bed down there, he would sleep in the basement when there was too much fresh meat to fit in the freezer and it couldn’t wait for butchering.

He jerked his head to the side in a rough ‘no’. You had enough time to furrow your brow and open your mouth to protest before he grabbed you.

“Tommy!” You squealed, hoisted up and flipped around before you knew what was happening. Your legs wobbled for a moment under the sudden weight but they didn’t have to endure it for long - your knees hit the stairs hard. A big hand gripping the back of your neck bent you forward, pushing you down until you were splayed on the floor of the landing from the waist up, knees resting on the step below. The wooden step creaked loudly when he knelt behind you, his knees landing next to yours and squishing you between his legs. He moves the bulk of his apron to your side, hooked around your hip and keeping it out of the way, and you feel his wet cock against the curve of your ass, face flushing red.

“Thomas!” You snapped, angry at both the pain in your knees and the fact that, apparently, you weren’t going to make it down into the basement after all. You squirmed under his hand, feeling the other flipping up your skirt and starting to work your wet panties over the curve of your hip. He gives a distracted grunt in reply to your scolding and you huff. You want to be angry, at least a little, but you can’t help a grin when you feel Thomas behind you, trying stubbornly to stick himself between your closed legs. You wiggle a bit, trying to help, but with his own legs on either side of you, there just isn’t enough room.

You’re about to speak, to suggest going downstairs again, when he finds a solution - the hand on your neck leaves, dipping down between your bodies and a thick finger is suddenly inside you. With a surprised squeal you lurch forward, hips hitting the edge of the landing, but his hand follows. Curling the finger inside of you, he pulls your cunt open, just enough to allow the head of his cock inside, popping through the wet muscles.

Your eyes roll back at the suddenness and you open your mouth to moan, but it turns into a loud scream when a few short thrusts force the rest of his length inside. Your eyes bulge and your spine goes stiff, mouth hanging open while heat gathers in your stomach. You dig your fingers into the hardwood floor of the landing, trying to prepare yourself for the next one, but another harsh noise spills from your mouth just as easily as the first.

Pressed into you as far as he can go, Tommy leans over you, the curve of his stomach pressing into your back and holding you down, arms landing on either side of your head. Settled above you, he doesn’t start fucking you right away but grinds his hips against you, the pressure sending a small shock wave of discomfort through your lower belly. You let out a whine, not quite sure if it hurts too much or just enough, but your noises are drowned out by his own, loud groans that echo in the stairwell.

His first solid thrust is unexpected, and you let out another yelp that turns into a gasping moan. You try to arch into the next one, but his weight above you keeps your torso pressed firmly to the ground, so all you can do is squirm. He starts out fast, strokes uneven and patternless, hitting a different spot with each push forward. You twist your hips, trying to rock back onto him, to match his hurried pace, but an arm wrapping around your waist holds you still. He pulls you closer, yanking you down over his cock until your ass is pressed into his hips, and the sudden pressure back in your belly makes you gasp. When you try to rock your hips away from it, he only brings you back harder, the hand around your waist digging nails into your skin.

You moan and gasp, each sound drawn out of you only making him more frantic. You try to speak but your words come out as slurred whines. Already you can feel the warmth in your belly bursting, a thick, contented feeling that slides down your stomach to settle heavily between your legs. The pressure builds there until you’re nearly screaming but the sudden addition of a hand on your stomach, stroking down to cup your cunt, throws you over the edge. Your mouth is open but only weak little noises come out and you hardly notice when his pace hurries even more, hand digging into your hip and pulling you back down mercilessly. Your flesh is swollen and half numb, and you’re only still moving because of Tommy’s solid arm working your hips as he pleased.

Slowly, your weak, wet noises turn back into loud cries. You can feel your thighs trembling, muscles pulled tight and straining from the effort of clenching around him, and you’re very grateful for the scuffed floors holding up your upper half. Your whole body feels flushed and sweaty, and you can’t string a thought together except to focus on the new surge of cold heat in your belly.

“Hands,” you gasp, and Thomas quickly follows the request, hurrying to slide clumsy fingers against your clit. There is no skill to how he uses his fingers, but the rough touch is nearly overwhelming against your sensitive cunt. It’s more than enough to set you off again, that heavy weight pressing down between your legs and making you twitch around his cock.

With a deep, desperate noise Thomas leans over you, pinning you against the landing with his chest and arching against you to force his hips firmly against your ass. He slams into you a few more times, slowing with each push, before holding himself as close to you as he can. The pressure in your belly comes back, the head of his cock pressing almost too deep for comfort. You hear him whine, body tense as he tries to get closer still, and without the steps beneath you, you would be flat on your stomach under him.

You gasp and pant, trying to catch your breath while he cums, but when you feel a line of heat trailing down your thigh, you let out a halfhearted noise of complaint. You can still feel a throbbing heartbeat between your legs, swollen flesh and twitching muscles pulsing. After a few minutes of gulping down air and letting your heartbeat slow, you give a weak push against the arm around you, but he doesn’t move.

“C’mon,” you pant, patting his arm again. He grunts from above you, but makes no move to let you up. You’re too tired now to roll your eyes, but you do sigh, relaxing against the stairs in defeat. If he won’t let you up, then fine, you’ll pass out right here.

He’s content to let you do just that it seems, face nestled into the nape of your neck and one arm still tight around your waist. Normally you wouldn’t mind, but the hard line of the floor is pressed into your ribs and your knees ache against the rough steps.

“Tommy,” you whine, wiggling your hips under him. He jerks against the sensation, sending another wave of wetness sliding down your thighs. He finally sits up, cold air hitting your back, and puts both hands on your sides, slowly pulling you off his cock. You wince at the feeling of cum on your skin, knowing that’s going to be an awkward walk to the bathroom to clean up.

Before you can start to get up, Thomas digs his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling them apart and taking a moment to collect what he can on his fingers before rubbing them against your open cunt. You squeal a little, but keep your legs spread, waiting for him to finish. When he has, a big hand gently pulls your panties back up, palm sliding over the fabric to press them against your slick folds. Well, it’s better than having it run down your legs, you guess.

You wait for him to stand first, slowly getting your legs underneath you with a hand against the wall. He’s still panting, mask slightly crooked and hair in his eyes, helping to pull you up. Once up you work on getting his clothes back in order, buttoning up his pants and untangling the leather apron. With a tired smile you stand on tip toes, reaching up towards his shoulders, and he allows you to pull him down far enough to press a few pecks to his lips.

“I’m really tired now,” you start, knowing this is your last chance. “Let’s go lay down, honey, I need a nap.”

Thomas glances over his shoulder, maybe considering your suggestion, making a humming noise in his throat. You’re sure you’ve won this time, he’s a sweaty mess already, and surely the thought of relaxing in the cool air has swayed him.

When he scoops you up, half over his shoulder with an arm under your thighs, you can’t help the little grin of victory on your face.

When he steps up, though, hand reaching for the metal door, you groan. The hot air hits you once it’s thrown open, sweat forming already, followed quickly by a lot of noise. Hoyt and Monty are cheering and hollering from the sitting room, confirming your thought that they could definitely hear what was going on from upstairs.

Your face goes red and you hide against Tommy’s shoulder as you pass the doorway. Most of their praise is geared towards Thomas, but you hear a vulgar, “Good job, girlie!” called out by one of them.

“Oh, God, Thomas hurry up and get me upstairs!”

Chapter Text

• He’s seen you using your own phone often enough, it’s not hard to show him how to work one. Whether he’s listening to anything you’re saying is another subject.
• He actually does use it, which you didn’t really expect. You were pretty sure it was going to be a waste of money, so you’re glad at least that the investment was worth it. It’s something simple, not an expensive smartphone, because you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t use most of the other features.
• You’re not so pleased with how he uses it. Yeah, you’ll get quiet phone calls with nothing but heavy breathing, but that’s not really unusual considering who’s on the other line. It’s the texting that really gets on your nerves.
• You were curious to see if he’d text at all, since he doesn’t speak. It’s not exactly talking, but it would be a much easier and clearer way to communicate. Nope. Mostly you just get zoomed in pictures of yourself, taken from a distance. You’ve built up a collection of those, as well as blurry pictures of the sidewalk that you’re not completely sure he meant to send you.
• You’ve got to tone down the shorthand and emojis when you text him, just to make sure he knows what you’re trying to say. You still throw in the occasional heart or smiley face, though.
• He did use an emoji once - a little knife in response to your text asking where he was. You weren’t sure if he was serious or not, but you nearly had a heart attack.
• For the love of god, do not let him discover dick pics unless you want your messages flooded. You’re going to have to keep your phone turned off in public to avoid someone catching a glance at your screen when it lights up every three seconds.

You had gone over the instructions for the little device, which were simple enough. It was nothing compared to your phone, just capable of calls and texts, with a crappy camera and no apps, but you figured he’d appreciate something straightforward and easy to use. If he would use it at all, that is, but you supposed it wasn’t too expensive if he never picked it up.

“Alright, that’s it. Just keep it charged, you know, and don’t drop it at any murder scenes, my fingerprints are all over that thing.”

You hold out the little phone, fully charged and ready to go, your number typed in as the only contact. He looks at it, then at you, but doesn’t reach for it.

“Aw, come on, just take it. Even if you don’t use it, it’s good for emergencies. What if you’re gone and I need a jar opened, huh?” You make a face, pouting. “You gonna leave me here to open my own jars, Mikey?”

You see his eyes narrow at you, most likely annoyed at the nickname you’ve started using, but he makes no move to take the offered phone. You keep his gaze for a while, but you know there’s no way to win that game, so you sigh. With an eye roll you step forward, holding open the pocket on his jumpsuit with one finger and dropping the phone inside. Michael turns his head to watch, but doesn’t stop you.

“There you go,” you state, whipping out your own device from your pocket. “And here, I’ll send you your first text! Just reply to that when you need to, so it’s already set up for you.”

You find his number, saved under the name ‘Audrey’ because you knew he’d be annoyed if he found out, and fill the little message box with hearts and kissy faces. You press send and wait a few seconds before the little ding from his pocket lets you know the message was received. He looks surprised, hand twitching at his side, and you have to hold back from giggling, because he’d only break the thing out of spite otherwise.

“Maybe turn it to silent when you’re outside. Go on and look at it!” You urge, a little surprised when he does just that, taking it out and pressing the little button on the side to turn the screen on. You watch him for a moment, waiting in vain for a reaction.

“Well? Text me back, Mikey.”

He looks up, a real glare on his face now, and turns away, heading towards the back door and grabbing a dirty knife off the counter.

“Hey!”

You’re not surprised to see him leave with no warning, but you notice the phone being slipped back into his pocket with a grin.

Chapter Text

Bubba

• Let’s get the easiest one out of the way - grandpa is half dead, I’m not sure he’s got an opinion either way, or if he does, any way to express it. Grandma is dead, but I’m sure she’d approve.
• Nubbins is a little hard to read. He’s seemingly excited 24/7, so you’re not sure if that’s him being friendly or not. But he also hasn’t waved that knife at you, so surely that’s a good sign.
• He does bring you things he finds outside, like cool rocks and shiny things, so you’re pretty sure you’re on his good side, at least. Pop can tabs are a favorite, closely followed by bits of gravel.
• You have no idea what any of his art is supposed to be, but you gratefully accept any of it that he chooses to give you. It’s clear that he decorated the rest of the house, based on the reoccurring ‘bones and skin’ theme, so it fits right in with the rest of the stuff in your room.
• Drayton is going to complain non stop at first. He doesn’t want another mouth to feed, let alone one that might make even more mouths, so he’s not your biggest fan.
• He’ll come around once you start helping out, and it is nice to have another pair of eyes on Bubba when he’s not home. Once he sees how well you can keep his brothers under control, he’s sold.

Thomas

• You’re not sticking around in the first place unless Mama approves already, so you’ve got that going for you right from the start. She’s not going to say no to whoever Tommy brings home anyways, but it helps that she does actually like you.
• She appreciates having another woman around, since she’s used to being on her own in that regard. Having someone else to help round up the men gives her a lot more time to do what needs to be done around the house and station.
• Hoyt likes you, you think. Maybe. It’s really hard to tell, honestly. He treats you just fine most of the time, but there’s always that undercurrent of something threatening just under the surface that tells you you’re not safe. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t hesitate to put you on the dinner table if it came down to it, but he’s not going to straight up murder Tommy’s girl for no reason.
• Day to day, you get along great. He can be a hardass if you try and argue with him, but usually he treats you like an adopted niece. You don’t shy away from the bloody work they do, which he likes, and he’ll keep you out of harm’s way if it’s needed.
• Monty is not a fan. You two have got a sort of bitchy back and forth where you just piss each other off until someone else steps in to shut it down. You go out of your way to inconvenience him, and he does the same to you.
• The dog hates you. You’re usually so good with animals, but this one just ain’t having it. You’re pretty sure it’s Monty’s fault, but that’s hard to prove.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Hmm. No. No, he’ll pass, thanks.
• He’s going to throw a huge fit. He’s baby, no one else. It’s going to last for a long time too, we’re talking months. He won’t stay mad for long, but he’ll be passive aggressive and bitchy.
• You’ll have to talk him into it and it might not stick. Emphasize how a baby makes you a family together, how this will tie you together forever, and he’ll get used to the idea. He’ll have moments where he goes back into brat mode and you’ve gotta reassure him all over again, but it gets easier each time.
• You’re pretty far along by the time he comes around to it, so the early months are going to be difficult, but he’ll make it up to you. He’s still going to be expecting some pampering himself, you’re here to take care of him, but he will do anything you need him to. He’s not a great cook and he has no idea how to clean or do laundry, but he’s trying.
• The closer it gets the more he’ll be open to it, so by the time you’re actually having the baby, he’s fully on board. He’s got a name picked out, and of course the baby will have his last name - have fun trying to explain that one at the hospital.
• Speaking of hospitals, that’s going to be a hard sell. Brahms knows you’ll need to leave, but he sort of ignores that issue up until the moment arrives. He does really try not to be upset about it, but there’s still going to be some tears.

Bubba

• It’s not so much an accident as something that was bound to happen. You had gone a while without getting pregnant though, so it still caught you off guard when you realized.
• Bubba’s not quite going to get it at first. Yes, he knows what pregnancy is. Yes, he knows how it happens and you have, indeed, been doing that. But how did it happen ??? He’s really confused, but he’ll catch on, he just needs a little bit to connect the dots.
• You are going to have to go over the details, though. Farm animals are one thing, but he’s not got a clear picture of what’s going to be happening in the next few months.
• Everyone in the household is pretty happy to hear the news, even Drayton, though he does have some reservations about Bubba’s ability to take care of a child, and he’ll be harder on him in an attempt to make him more responsible.
• You can’t really tell if Nubbins is excited or just acting like he usually does, but he is insistent that the baby be named after himself. You can tell him no all you like, he’s not taking that for an answer. He will steadfastly refuse to acknowledge any name you settle on.
• Your baby will have a full wardrobe months before it’s even born. Bubba gets right into hand making little socks and onesies, pillows and blankets, whatever he can think up. Drayton will drag an old crib out of the shed and it is promptly decorated in tacky knitting and vaguely bear shaped plushes.
• There’s still work to do around the house, but Bubba is on you like a mother hen at all times. You keep insisting that you don’t need this much help, but he’s not having it. It’s really more to calm his nerves than anything that you let him flap around after you, but once you’re further along the help will be greatly appreciated.
• There’s not much professional care beforehand, if any, but Drayton will take you into town for the actual birth. He’s a nervous wreck, probably more frightened than you are, so you’re actually the one comforting him on the ride there.

Jason

• It’s really going to catch him off guard, a lot. He hadn’t even given that a thought, so it’s a big surprise and it takes a while for it to sink in all the way.
• He’s a little confused, to be honest, but he’s happy. He’s going to ask quite a few times if you’re sure, because he doesn’t really know how it’s possible. Even when you’re a few months along and clearly pregnant he’ll still be amazed.
• He’s not sure what’s supposed to happen during all this, so he’s very nervous at first, fearing something will go wrong. He’ll pat your belly every so often, looking at you and waiting for an assurance that you’re still fine.
• You’re lucky he can’t talk because all he’d be saying is, “What about the baby? Is that good for the baby? Can you do that with a baby???” He has no idea what’s safe and what’s not and while he knows you’re capable of taking care of yourself, he’s used to being the protector.
• He’s not very handy around the house, but he’ll follow your instructions in child proofing the cabin. It’s going to need a good amount of repairs before you’d want to bring a child into it, but there’s plenty of time before then.
• He’s got to come to terms with you going into town on your own at this point. You aren’t going to skip doctor visits and there’s no way you’re delivering a baby in that cabin, so he’s going to have to suck it up.

Thomas

• There’s no ‘accident’ here, he’s been trying to get you pregnant since his family gave him The Talk, when you two started fooling around. He’s pretty determined, so it’s probably not too long before you’ve got a bun in the oven.
• You’d expect Mama to be the one most pleased with the news out of the rest of the family, but surprisingly it’s Hoyt. Mostly he’s proud of Thomas, but he becomes very considerate towards you immediately. He may have been nice to you before, but it’s not until now that he starts treating you like a real family member.
• Say goodbye to standing. At all. It literally doesn’t matter if you’re only weeks in, he will carry you around the house to keep you off your feet. There’s a spare chair in every room now, and he’s got the rest of the family on his side for this one.
• You’re not going anywhere without him now, even just around the house. If he can’t be around, then you’re in the company of Hoyt or Mama. If it’s absolutely necessary, then Monty is on watch, but he honestly doesn’t give a shit so he’s not very good at it. You prefer having him around, though, since he doesn’t watch you like a hawk.
• You better learn to knit or something, cause it’s going to get boring real fast. You can only watch so many old western reruns before you go crazy, and most, if not all, of your chores have been taken away so you’ve got to find alternative entertainment.
• Double portions whenever you eat, and he will make sure that plate is empty. He’s been caught sneaking food from his plate onto yours when you’re not looking. Tommy’s not really one for cooking, but he’ll make you food whenever you ask for it, and a lot of times when you don’t ask for it.
• You’re officially banned from the basement. Tommy wouldn’t have you going down all those stairs and Mama doesn’t want you around the gore. You’re not going to argue this one, mostly because of how dirty it is down there, it’s probably the one rule you don’t mind being enforced.

Chapter Text

“Hey,” you murmur, pressed into the cool sheets and head spinning. “What, uh, what’re you doing?”

Your head pounded, the aftermath of the drinks you had had the previous night, and the light coming in from the window only made it worse. You groan, feeling all the aches and pains you’d been oblivious to come into focus.

You looked up, head groggy, at the figure standing over you. Sitting on you, you realize, the weight of another body over your legs registering in your fuzzy brain. By the tingling in your toes you can guess that he’s been there a while, but your mind isn’t picking up on the red flags just yet. Eyes squinting against the light, you focus your sight and are surprised to see a pale face, scarred and half hidden under a mop of dirty hair, eyes glaring down at you.

You had rarely seen Michael without the mask and it was almost like looking at a different person. The sight jars you a little, snapping your sleepy eyes open, and putting you on edge. You still under him, locking eyes, and you’re not sure if his uncovered face bodes well for you at all.

“Uh, morning,” you say nervously, eyes shifting from side to side, looking for an escape. “You want breakfast or something?”

There’s nothing better to cure a hangover than waking up with a murderer on top of you, and your body is in overdrive trying to catch up with the situation. Despite the absence of the mask, there’s not much of an expression to go off of, but you still get the impression that he’s angry. Eyes narrowed, shoulders hunched, leaning over you and keeping you pressed against the mattress - you’re sure something is wrong.

You look down when he raises a hand, moving to press his fingers against your lips and pulling them away smeared with glittery lipstick. He holds the hand in front of you accusingly, and you can only look at him blankly.

“Yeah, let me get up and I’ll clean up, I-"

The hand is around your throat quicker than you can see, and now you can clearly see the look of rage on his face. It squeezes, silencing you but not choking you, and his eyes travel down from your face. The other hand pulls at the straps of your shirt, snapping them angrily against your skin.

Is he mad about your outfit, you wonder, upset that you went out last night? That you had been drinking? You weren’t sure what exactly had him riled up, but any of those guesses seemed just as likely as anything else. He had never done anything like this before, but you supposed you hadn’t really gone out before either.

“Okay, okay,” you gasp around his hand. “I get it, you can let me up now.”

He looks at you, seemingly no less angry for your compliance, and you realize you’re not getting out of this one that easy. You see him grit his teeth, lips pulled back in a snarl, and it’s strange to be able to see how he’s feeling for once.

He’s off of you in seconds, standing next to the bed and grabbing you by the ankle. With a rough tug your legs are dangling over the edge, a hand already halfway up your thigh pushing away the material of your skirt. You yelp in surprise, but move your legs apart to accommodate him as he kneels in front of you, two firm fingers finding their way between your legs, rubbing against the wet spot on your panties.

Okay, you think, this isn’t the worst thing to wake up to.

His hand twists, pressing harder and sliding against you, forcing weak, gasping sounds from your throat. Your fingers clench at the sheets under you, letting out a long, low moan. You arch against his hand, jolting when his fingers slide roughly against your clit, and you know you aren’t going to take long to cum with the tingling ball of heat building in your belly.

You gasp again, pleasure swelling in your abdomen and eyes rolling back, knowing you’re close. You keep your back arched against him, thighs spread and twitching against the pressure still between your legs.

The moment your body tenses, his hand is gone, pulling your sticky panties away from you and throwing them across the room. The sudden sharp pain of teeth on your skin makes you scream, sitting up on your elbows to see his mouth buried into the meat of your leg, tongue and teeth pulling at the skin. When he lets go with a wet pop you fall backwards again, panting and sweaty. Another bite is placed on the opposite leg, and this time you only whimper, expecting it.

When he pulls away this time, you feel hot huffs of breath over your cunt and you stretch towards his mouth, already moaning, but a hand on your stomach pushes you back down. You look down the length of your body, seeing him glare at you from between your legs, mouth pulled down in a frown.

Still mad, you guess, which means you’re in for a long morning.

You nearly bite your tongue when you feel the combination of teeth dug into your thigh and a thick finger being shoved into you, body tensing. You swallow heavily, catching a growl in your throat, only to cry out when both mouth and hand are taken away.

He stands, leaning over you again, and you tremble in anticipation. His breath runs down your throat and neck, making the rest of your body feel cold, and you part your lips and tilt your head to the side, not sure if he wants to kiss you or bite you, but ready for both. Something changes on his face, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at his lips, and you pant and moan under him, eager for whatever he wants to do to you.

With a rush of cold air he’s no long over you, leaving you spread and needy on the bed as he back away, smile widening at your displeased groan, before he’s gone, door open wide behind him.

“What the fuck.” You hiss under your breath, hair tousled and body slick with sweat and arousal.

Chapter Text

Michael

• He can tell right away that something is off, since you’re not where you usually are at this time of the day. He’ll go from room to room, looking for you, until the only place left to check is the bedroom.
• You’re under the covers, tucked in and with eyes closed, but it’s obvious by your heavy breathing and sniffles that you’re still awake. He waits in the doorway for a moment, seeing if you’ll give up pretending.
• Once he realizes you’re going to keep on faking sleep, he’ll slowly climb into bed with you. He’s not great at comfort, but this is probably the one time he’s not so bad at it. He’ll lay a heavy arm over your side, breathing softly into your hair, but don’t be fooled - this is not cuddling. He doesn’t cuddle.
• As long as you keep up pretending to sleep, he’ll stay curled around you, until you actually do drift off. His hold is a little awkward, but it’s sort of adorable to see him trying to do something nice.
• The moment you wake up, though, his hands are firmly back on his side of the bed. If you’re still feeling bad, he may be kind enough to pour you a sloppy bowl of cereal or bring you a blanket to lay down on the couch with, but that’s tapping out his sympathy for the rest of the year.

Brahms

• He’s gotten used to sleeping at odd times, so when he wakes up in the middle of the afternoon unable to find you, he’s furious at first. You’ll probably hear him before he finds you, stomping through the house and screaming. It doesn’t do much to calm you, so you’re more of mess by the time he gets there.
• He will feel guilty immediately. He’s watched you for a long time at this point, so it’s likely he knows if this has happened before and he’ll realize he’s just made you worse. He’s a brat, but he doesn’t want to actually cause you distress.
• He’ll approach you quietly, whispering and murmuring, kneeling down to crawl towards you. Rather than holding you, he’ll put his head in your lap, pressing the face of his mask against your thighs and stomach, letting you pet his hair.
• Wherever you happen to be, floor, bed, couch, he’ll just lay there and cling to you. It’s as much for your comfort as his own, because he will have the fear that this panic was caused by him and you will want to get away from him.

Bubba

• He rarely leaves the house, and coming back in to find you in such a mess is going to upset him a lot. It doesn’t matter where he went or how far, even stepping onto the porch is going to make him anxious now if you aren’t with him.
• If you’re crying, panicked or anxious, so is he. He’s not much help when he’s crying too, but he’ll take you upstairs where you can cuddle up and wait it out.
• It does not matter how hot or stuffy it is, you’re both in bed and under the covers immediately. He’ll kick off the blankets when you start sweating, but it feels safer to be under them.
• You’re going to wake up in the middle of the night, having missed dinner, but it’s hard not to fall asleep when you’re in bed and cuddled up. Bubba will be a little cautious afterwards, checking up on you often until he’s sure you’re no longer upset, but he’ll be extra sensitive to your moods for a while.

Thomas

• Coming back in from an outing with Hoyt, he’s going to be alarmed at the state you’re in when he returns, sitting on the back porch with your head in your hands and gasping for air. He’ll think you’re hurt at first, looking you over and whining under his breath in dismay.
• You can try to explain it all you like, you’re crying so that clearly means you’re hurt. He’ll take you to Mama, looking to get you patched up, and she’ll give him some simple instructions for taking care of you to ease his worry, like running a bath or a glass of cold tea. He’ll probably do both, just to make sure, so enjoy your lukewarm bath water and tea combo.
• He’s not going to let go of you until it’s over, whether he’s holding you in a hug or just grasping your hand. He’ll give you space if you ask for it, but otherwise he’s gonna hover over you.
• This is the one time he’ll take you downstairs to the basement rather than to your room, because the basement feels safer to him. It’s dark and cool and quiet, so it’s not a bad place to wait out a panic attack, if you don’t mind the smell.
• It’s honestly super helpful to have him around, because you focus so much on calming him down that your own panic washes away. You’ll be the one reassuring him by the end of it, pulling yourself together quicker to make sure he’s okay.

Jason

• Coming home to find you so upset is going to put him on edge, looking around for whatever or whoever has you in tears. You just want to crawl into his lap and cry, but he’s adamant about looking the place over before tending to you.
• It will take a few tries before you’re able to explain that there’s nothing physically wrong. He won’t quite understand the concept of anxiety or panic attacks, but he’ll figure that his absence was a part of the problem - you wouldn’t have been so afraid if he had been here to protect you.
• Even if he doesn’t really get it, he’s great at caring for you. Hugs, cuddles, food, whatever you need is yours. He will bundle you up in his lap, encouraging you to tell him what’s wrong, what you need him to do to feel better, and rubbing your back to help steady your breathing.
• He will still keep his weapon on hand, just in case. You can tell him that it’s unnecessary, but he’s going to be on the safe side.
• He’ll stick close to you for the next few days, and make an effort to stay out in the woods for less time in a single go. If this is a recurring problem then he will figure out a routine that keeps him at home as often as possible, maybe going out only once or twice while you’re asleep. He’s still got to guard the grounds, but he can’t leave knowing you need him around.

Chapter Text

Bubba

The house was a mess when you came back. Doors and windows thrown open, furniture overturned, and a chorus of squeals and shouts coming from the backyard. You had to roll your eyes at how quickly things descended into chaos without you.

“What the hell is goin’ on in here?!”

Drayton stepped into the house behind you, already cranky from the hot drive home, surveying the disaster.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment to calm yourself before speaking. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Just get dinner going.”

He looks at you for moment, as if he’s going to argue, but with a muttered “Damn idiots,” he goes off to the kitchen, letting out angry huffs as he passes you.

You head off to the yard, stomping out onto the porch to see what excuse the brothers are going to have for the mess this time. You know they don’t mean to cause trouble, but the state the house is in is a good bit beyond anything they’ve done before. Both of them have gotten away with a lot lately, mostly because you know they just get excited and need to let that energy out. Usually it’s chasing each other in the yard like kids or finding random things for Bubba to saw in half, but you should have seen it coming, that they’d get into something big if you didn’t keep them in line.

One of the barn doors is wide open, old bits of hay and burlap scattered just outside the doors, and you follow the noises inside. They’re half way through tearing the place apart, old equipment and spare parts on the floor, and although you’re angry, you can help but be amused. Nubbins is sat on an old workbench, camera in hand and directing Bubba, pointing at various things and having them upturned. Bubba is frantic and flapping his hands, looking under and around each object his brother points out, squealing in dismay.

“What are you two doing out here?” You ask, bringing the noise to a halt. Both brothers turn towards you in surprise, before Bubba rushes forward. You’re picked up, face crushed against his chest and feet dangling off the ground, as he screams and snorts into your ear happily. You laugh a little at his eagerness, hearing the crackling pop of the camera going off behind you.

“Alright, come on,” you say, patting his shoulders and kicking your feet to be let down. “Put me down, we gotta get the house cleaned up before Drayton has an aneurysm.”

The snorting stops, but he doesn’t set you down just yet, pulling back to give you a watery smile before bursting into tears.

“Oh, no, don’t cry honey! What’s been going on?”

“We was l-lookin’ for you!” Nubbins explains, climbing down off the workbench and fiddling with his camera. “He, he thought you’d r-run off!”

“What? And you thought I was hidin’ under the couch or somethin’?” You asked, looking in disbelief between both brothers. “I told you this mornin’ I was going down to the station to help with the truck, what do you mean you thought I was runnin’ off?”

Bubba squealed, tightening his arms around you and burying his tear stained face into your hair. You patted his back without thinking, glaring at his brother. You didn’t usually go to the station, but Drayton needed the help and so you’d headed up just after lunch, with a quick goodbye to both remaining brothers.

“Oh, oh, yeah, I guess we forgot.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” you complained, “How’d you forget that quickly?”

He gave you nothing but a lopsided grin in return, violently shaking the new picture in his hands back and forth.

“How’d it turn out?” You ask, voice muffled through Bubba’s chest.

Nubbins cackles, holding the photo in front of his face to inspect it. “Oh, it-it’s good! Real good!”

He holds it up for you both to see and you raise your eyebrows, grinning.

“Oh, yeah,” you agree, “Great job with that one.”

It’s mostly an overexposed white spot, a glare from the sun, with a shadow in the bottom corner that might be the top of Bubba’s head. Bubba gives a squeal of delight, either at the picture or your return you can’t tell, and Nubbins holds the photo out for you to take.

“You l-like it, you should trade me for it!”

“How ‘bout I trade you a ‘not letting Drayton bust your ass for all this mess’?”

Thomas

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” The snarled question catches you off guard as the cruiser pulls up next to you, trailing dust. You’re surprised, looking at Hoyt with big eyes from your place on the side of the road. The flush on his face tells you he’s already drunk, with an angry look staring you down. He’s not in his uniform, but rather the old work clothes he wears around the house, a stained shirt and tattered pair of pants.

You notice the shotgun slung over the dash of the car with more than a little bit of fear.

“Uh, I was just-“

“Get in the damn car.”

You hesitate for a moment but another shout gets you moving, sliding into the passenger seat quickly. He barely waits for the door to close before speeding off, turning sharply to take you back the way you came.

You slide around in the seat, hands clammy and trembling, wondering what in the hell he thinks you’ve done to be this angry. You’d finished your chores for the day, washing down the kitchen table and counters, cleaning up after breakfast and lunch, and tending to the laundry and scattered chickens outside. Monty was parked in front of the TV, as usual, and Thomas was out in the barn working on the dulled blade of his saw, both having already been taken a plate of food for lunch. You weren’t sure what you might have missed, but it must have been something big.

“And just where were you sneakin’ off too, huh?” He doesn’t give you time to answer, slinging the car onto the dirt road that leads to the house. “Can’t do nothin’ without someone else kickin’ up a mess, can I? Got those two assholes downstairs screamin’ and hollerin’, getting me up to go lookin’ for you.”

“Henrietta called,” you say quietly, knowing he probably wouldn’t give a shit what excuse you had. “I was goin’ down to help with the baby.”

He sneers at you, stopping the car in the dirt with the house looming in the distance. The look he gives you is pure venom, waving a finger in your face.

“Tommy likes you, and that’s reason enough to keep you around, I suppose, but it ain’t gonna save you if you go doin’ shit like this again.”

You nod your head rapidly, ready to agree with whatever he says if it will get you out of this car. You can feel your pulse beating in your wrists and ears and you hope you can keep the tears at the edge of your eyes from spilling. The last thing you need now is to start crying, that would only make his anger worse.

“Now, he might let you run around the house like a little housewife, but that ain’t what you are. You wanna step a foot off this property, you gotta ask me. You understand that?”

“Yes, sir.” You reply quickly, leaning back into the seat away from him. He looks at you a moment longer, frown in place, before turning back to the road with a muttered curse.

Your eyes are watery with unshed tears by the time you pull up to the house, Thomas standing on the porch, waiting. He hurries down as the car approaches, tearing the door open and pulling you out and into a rough hug. He whines and moans into your hair and you press tighter into his hold, relieved to be back home and out of the car.

“You keep a better watch on your little lady, Tommy,” Hoyt calls over, slamming his door closed and making his way up the steps. “Don’t wanna go losin’ her out here.”

Chapter Text

You felt like a piece of shit.

Your best friend, a kind, amazing girl you had known since you were a child, had done a lot for you over the years. She was only concerned, you knew, and you couldn’t blame her, but she had gone through a lot of trouble for you and you couldn’t even appreciate her efforts fully.

Standing awkwardly in the corner of the crowded room, you fiddled with the hem of the skirt you wore, tugging it down self consciously. It wasn’t all that short, really, but it felt like it. A Halloween party was the last place you wanted to be right now, let alone in a cheap, plasticy outfit hilariously labeled ‘sexy psycho’. It was a poor excuse for a costume, an uncomfortably tight skirt and half sized button up in bright orange, complete with fake bloodstains and a little rubber knife. You had dropped the knife almost immediately upon entering the party, but now you held your phone in one hand and a watered down drink in the other, texting rapidly with half an eye on the screen.

You didn’t want to be here, but you did want to be a good friend, for all that was worth, and she had insisted on your attendance, paying for your ticket herself, getting you into an exclusive party and not taking no for an answer. This whole event was agreed to under the pretense of ‘spending time together’, but it quickly became apparent that your friend was more concerned with who else you were spending your time with.

“Hey, he’s cute,” she yelled over the music, poking you in the ribs to draw your attention away from your phone. “Go talk to him, he’s looking at you.”

“Who?” You ask, still firing off a message as quickly as you can while typing with only your thumb.

“The guy in the big, feathery hat thing. Look, right there.”

“Uh-huh, gimme a second.”

“Who are you texting?” She sounded a little pissed, which wasn’t unreasonable considering the price she had paid to get your unsocial ass in here. She leans over your shoulder, trying to get a look at your screen, so you quickly turn it off, tucking it down the front of your ridiculously orange top.

“No one,” you say with a strained smile. “Now what hat did you want me to see?”

She frowns at you, eyeing the place where you hid your phone suspiciously. “You’re acting weird. You said you aren’t dating anyone, I thought you’d appreciate a night out. I mean, it’s been a while.” She gives you another rough nudge and a wink and you laugh nervously in response.

There wasn’t a good way to tell someone who cared about you that you had pretty much moved a serial killer into your apartment and weren’t really on the market anymore. That kind of thing tends to create worry and questions, neither of which you need anymore of.

Your phone buzzes loudly from beneath your shirt and she watches you for a moment, daring you with a glare to respond. You fidget in place, wanting to reach for it but you can’t have her seeing what’s on the screen either. You already know what the message contains, and that would probably be just as hard to explain as anything else she’s wondering about you right now.

“Alright, I’m going to get another drink and check in to see if that shitty emo band is through yet, then you’re going to enjoy this damn party if I have to make you. Get all that texting shit out of your system while I’m gone.”

You wait until you see her disappear into the crowd before finally digging your phone out of your bra, unlocking the screen to open your messages.

Yep, just like you thought.

Fuck off or that shits going on the internet, you type, message popping up under a horribly composed dick pic. Obviously he was taking these one handed, but that was no excuse for poor quality. Two more blurry pictures pop up before you can type anything else and you roll your eyes. You regretted making the joke that had started this trend of his, knowing you brought it on yourself by introducing him to it.

It’s Halloween shouldn’t you be off murdering ppl or something

You tuck your phone away again after that, taking a few sips from your drink and trying to stop a grin from spreading over your face when it buzzed rapidly with multiple new messages. It was really hilarious how easy it was to get under his skin sometimes. There were quite a few awful costumes imitating the dreaded ‘Shape’ walking around the party, and you had been quick to snap a photo of the worst one you could find.

Found a new boyfriend lol, was all you had said, along with the snap of the person wearing the misshapen mask. It was amazingly low quality, all cheap rubber and crazy, unstyled hair that was entirely the wrong color, but apparently it was still enough to set him off.

You see no sign of your friend returning yet, so you sneak another look at your phone when you realize it’s been a few minutes since the last one. Half a dozen more pictures, each looking more and more frantic and desperate, greet you once you click on your messages, but it’s the most recent one that catches your eye.

“Oh great,” you mutter under your breath, finger hovering over the screen. “He’s figured out how to take videos.”

Glancing around you can see that you’re nice and alone in your corner, but you bite your lip nervously. You can’t say you don’t want to see the video, because you can feel your stomach clenching at the thought of it, but it’s one thing to sneak peeks at pictures and another to play a video. You wait a bit, but decide that you can’t just not watch it. Another look around confirms you’re as alone as you can be with this many people in a room, so you hurry to slide down the volume, just in case, and press play.

You were right when you guessed the previous pictures looked desperate, watching him buck hurriedly into the tight grip of his hand, cock swollen and pink. His movements quickly turn jerky and rough, and you desperately want to inch up the volume to see if you can hear any groans or hisses as cum spills over his fingers. The video is only a few seconds long, just enough to make you frustrated when it ends, and you huff to yourself. This was supposed to be annoying for him, not you.

“Woah, who’s dick is that?” You turn with a scream, drowned out by the music, nearly dropping your phone.

“No wonder you were so interested in your phone, you freak.” Her tone is teasing and friendly, almost congratulatory, a big grin on her face, but you feel your face turn hot and red under her gaze.

“You weren’t supposed to see that!”

“Well, no duh, or they’d be sending that shit to me. Feel free to pass that dude my number, though.”

You don’t think you can be any more embarrassed, but your wish is granted almost immediately when your phone dings again. You lock eyes with your friend, seeing her grin widen, and you go to put your phone away before she can ask.

“Aw, c’mon, let’s see how the movie ends,” she laughs, tugging at the sleeve of your shirt playfully. “I gotta know what happens!”

“You’re so embarrassing!” You complain, pulling away.

“No, really, I wanna see round two!”

“Oh my god! You’re shameless!”

“Hey, I ain’t the one getting hit up with homemade porn here!”

Your phone buzzes again, drawing another laugh from your friend, who seems to be genuinely delighted by how embarrassed you are.

“Go on and look, I ain’t judging you. Tell him to knock it off though, I paid good money for your ticket so you’re getting drunk tonight if nothing else!”

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” You murmur, slinking off with your friend giving you a knowing grin and wink as you rush towards the nearest door.

It’s not a bathroom, just the entrance to a small hallway meant for staff members, but you’ll take what you can get right now. You sit your unfinished drink on the floor, sure that your weak nerves don’t need anymore alcohol after that. Your face is uncomfortably hot and you can feel sweat running down your back as you lean against the wall, grasping your phone in one hand but not yet looking at the screen.

Okay, things were a little out of hand here, and now you had to explain away the person sending you graphic videos and dick pics to your best friend, but it was salvageable. You could fix it! Getting naughty texts from someone doesn’t mean you’re expected to introduce them to your family or anything, you can play it off as a one time thing. No one needs to know about the serial killer in your apartment.

With a few calming breaths you finally open your phone. You feel better now, realizing how insignificant the slip up was, but that comes crashing down as you see the three new photos you’ve been sent, each one a blurry and poorly lit shot of you from just moments before, taken from a distance and slowly moving closer. Well, okay, this was honestly something you should have seen coming considering the fact that he’s snuck up on you like this before, but never somewhere so crowded or public.

And what if he killed someone? It was Halloween after all, and that was his whole thing, and while you were a little less concerned for random club goers, your best friend was out there, not knowing any of this. You went back into the packed club in a rush, swinging open the door and running straight into a solid chest.

“Oh, hi.”

Michael looks down at you from behind the mask and you just know you look flustered and guilty. You glance around nervously, concerned that he might draw attention, but he isn’t very out of place at a costume party, much less one where there are multiple other ‘Michaels’ running around.

“So, uh, just so you know, the whole murdering thing is off limits right now,” you hiss, grabbing a handful of his sleeve and pulling him behind you, heading away from where you had last seen your friend. “Nothing personal, but I just can’t have that shit happening right now.”

You find a secluded spot by the actual entrance to the bathrooms, ushering him into the bit of cover provided by a merchandise stand that had yet to be filled out.

“What are you doing in here?” You whisper, far enough away from the music that it won’t cover your voice. “Those tickets are pricey, how did you get in?”

He looks down and you follow his gaze to the very real and very bloody knife in his hands. You yelp, grabbing his wrist and pulling it between the two of you to hide the weapon.

“You can’t have that in here! And no more stabbing,” you stop, and reconsider your words. “Or anything else fatal.” You amend, giving him a firm glare that you’re sure won’t stop him at all if that’s what he wants to do.

“Yo, am I interrupting you guys? Cause I kinda hope I am!”

You look around Michael with wide eyes to see your friend standing there, a big smirk on her face and a drink in each hand. You realize with a pang of horror how things must look from her view point, a big man standing over you in a dark corner, your hands hidden between your bodies-

“No, you’re not interrupting!” You nearly scream the words in your panic, wrenching the knife from Michael’s hand and dropping it carefully behind the merch table. He lets you take the weapon, turning as you do to face your friend, who’s smile widens at the sight of his ‘costume’.

“Holy shit, great get up dude, that’s the best mask I’ve seen all night!” She looks him up and down, presumably to take in the rest of his attire, but you know her well enough to realize she’s probably gearing up a flirty one liner. “So, you two know each other then?”

You’re a little thrown off, not sure what excuse you can come up with on the spot for her question, but Michael beats you to it.

“Boyfriend.” He rasps, and you’re not sure whether his voice or his answer throws you off more. You look at him in awe, mouth open in surprise. Your friend looks stunned as well, but for a different reason.

“Ohh, really,” She says, giving you a sly look. “So is he…?”

She makes a crude pumping motion with her hand and you’re absolutely sure that if it was possible to die of embarrassment that this would be the finishing blow. Michael watches her hand, and when she looks to you both for confirmation he gives her a slow nod. She cackles loudly, clapping her hands together in glee.

“Oh, why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone?! He’s hilarious, too!” She passes one of her drinks to you to free up a hand, waving it around in her excitement. “Where have you been hiding him, girl? What’s your name?”

The last one is directed at Michael, and you give him a moment to see if he’ll speak again, but apparently that was a one time deal because he remains silent. You speak up before the silence turns awkward, an evil little smile on your face.

Grabbing his wrist with your hand, you lean against his arm and answer, “His name’s Audrey.”

Chapter Text

Brahms

• If you thought he was a brat before, get ready for Advanced Brattiness™. It doesn’t matter if he’s really, really sick or just got the sniffles, he’s a big drama queen about the whole thing. How dare you expect him to get out of bed, he’s dying!
• Easiest course of action will be to just go along with it and wait on him hand and foot, he won’t be too insufferable if you let him order you around. He’ll ease up on the bossiness once he sees that you’re willing to run around doing his bidding, he just wants to see how far he can push it at first.
• Lots of comfort food, and yes, you are expected to hand feed him. He’s sick, are you just going to let him waste away from hunger? He’ll share with you though, and offer to feed you bites of his food in return, but that’s not a good idea while he’s still sick.
• Once he’s settled in and comfortable he’s going to spend most of the time napping. He will grudgingly concede that you can’t be in bed with him all day, so you’ve got some rare Brahms-free time throughout the day. It definitely makes doing chores easier without him hanging off of you.
• NSFW Yeah, he’s sick, but he’s still horny. He’ll be even more excitable than usual, since he likes being pampered so much, and will insist that it’s part of taking care of him.

Michael

• Unexpectedly, he’s going to want to be taken care of - hot soup, comfy blankets, cool cloth on his forehead, the works. He’ll readily take off the mask for this, but it’s right back on once he starts feeling better. He’s easy to take care of because he’s so cooperative and it’s a nice surprise for once. Absolutely no medicine though, he won’t even take a Tylenol, so nasty stuff like NyQuil or cough medicine isn’t going to happen either.
• It might not be the best idea if you don’t want to get sick yourself, but this is the only opportunity to get complaint free cuddles. Just crawl right on into the blanket nest and settle in. He’ll allow you to offer up something comfier to lounge around it than the old jumpsuit, so it’s probably the only time you’ll see him in normal clothes.
• Sits on the couch all day watching shitty daytime TV. You might expect him to be easily bored by it, but he seems to be enraptured by all the sleazy drama. He tends to like the trashy talk show ones the best. Won’t let you change the channel and even afterwards he’ll be prone to watching it if you give him the remote.
• Since he’ll be home the whole time, you’re going to have to make quite a few more trips to the grocery store, cause he will eat whatever you put in front of him and just not stop eating. You’re constantly going back and forth to the stove or microwave. It’s probably not healthy for someone to eat an entire pack of microwave burritos in one sitting, but you’re not gonna be the one to stop him.
• He doesn’t want to leave the couch, so that’s where he’s sleeping too. He won’t object if you share the couch, but he’s not gonna make room so it’s laying on top of him or nothing. He won’t admit it, but it’s just his way of getting to sleep all snuggled up with you without being seen as liking it.
• NSFW That’s a big no. He’s gross and sick and coughing, he’ll just take some cuddles instead.

Bubba

• You’ll have to take over whatever chores you can so that Drayton will let him rest, but he’s good about taking whatever medicine you can offer him and getting his rest. He’ll get a bit bored sitting around all the time, so park him on the couch where you can still spend some time with him.
• He’s happy to do whatever you want him to, eat, rest, stay in bed. It’s a nice change from all the work and he enjoys being taken care of, especially all the time he can spend with you now. He’ll do any little chore you give him to still help out around the house.
• He’s going to make so many tacky little items with all this free time. He prefers sewing or knitting, so misshapen throw pillows, awkwardly short blankets, scarves no one will ever wear in this heat, he’ll make tons of stuff and everyone gets one of each thing he makes.
• Lots of time spent listening to the radio and napping on the couch. He doesn’t care what station it’s on, but he likes the background noise. It’s a bit hot for blankets, but he’ll sprawl out over the couch and kick most of the cushions off in his sleep.
• Prepare to be spending a lot of time making tea, because he’ll down gallons of it. He’ll take water if he has to, but he’s sick so he gets his way while you’re taking care of him. Might abuse how lenient you are, getting away with stuff he normally wouldn’t, especially while Drayton isn’t home, but it’s more playful than anything.
• NSFW He’s always down for fooling around, but probably won’t have the energy for actual sex. You’re going to be doing most of the work anyways, so if you really want to, you can just get on top.

Thomas

• He’ll try to power through it and just keep going like normal, so you’re going to have to put your foot down and demand that he rest instead. He’ll relent if you’re insistent enough, but still be just a tad grumpy about it.
• Once you start taking care of him, though, he loves it! Maybe he’s not quite as bad off as he’s acting, but if it means you’re cooing over him he’ll play up how sick he is. He will absolutely pretend to still be sick just to keep it going, so you’re going to have to push him out of bed at some point.
• Between you and Mama fussing over him, he’s having the time of his life. The rest is probably good for him anyways, considering how much he does around the house on a normal day. Charlie will probably be a bit cranky about having to pick up the slack, but he won’t complain too much.
• He’ll still want to get some work done, so he’s not going to stay cooped up in bed the whole time. It’s surprising how much strength he still has while sick, but you can’t let him do too much heavy lifting.
• He can usually put down plates and plates of food, but he won’t want to eat much when he’s sick. He’ll take a few bites if you fuss about it enough, and he’ll drink as much water or tea as you want him to, but it will take him a few days after recovering to get his usual appetite back.
• NSFW He won’t suggest it, being preoccupied with basking in all the attention he’s getting, but he will totally be up for it if you want. Once you do bring it up though, he’s going to want some kind of fun almost constantly. He’s got a lot more free time now, so there’s nothing to distract him.

Jason

• He really doesn’t require too much care, since he’ll just go right on doing what he needs to get done anyways, but you make him sit down and rest whenever you can manage it. He’s not going to ignore trespassers for anything, but he will let you bundle him up and tuck him into bed otherwise.
• He won’t show how bad he’s feeling, so it can be hard to tell how sick he is. It will probably drag on for longer just because he doesn’t want to stop and rest for long enough to get over it.
• He won’t let you do all the work, he’ll be up helping in the kitchen or around the house. If you’re doing something for him, then he feels like he should pitch in even if he’s sick.
• You’ve got to trick him into getting some rest. Movie nights on the couch, long naps in bed, warm baths together, just don’t mention its because he’s sick and he’ll go right along with it.
• NSFW There is no reality in which he’s not down to fuck at any given moment. Smile at him for too long and he’s hard, so a few sniffles isn’t going to keep him down. It’s a good way to wear him out and actually get him to rest a bit, and he can’t complain about your methods that way.

Chapter Text

You’ve just stepped inside, unlocking the back door of the house and entering the kitchen with nothing but a cup of coffee on your mind, when he grabs you. A hand at your throat cuts off your scream and the one around your waist pulls you close, pushing you back until your spine hits something hard. You claw at him, hands tearing the skin of his hands, before you realize who it is that’s got you trapped between his body and your kitchen counter.

“Michael, what the fuck!” You’re angry, heart still pounding and head swimming in the adrenaline left over from the spike of fear you’d felt.

Michael ignores you, leaning in to press the rubbery lips of his mask against yours, the hand at your throat tilting your head up. You don’t hesitate to bite when he kisses you, temper flaring. The rubber squeaks under your teeth, but behind that you feel his flesh, trapped in your mouth. You’re sure he must be bleeding under there but he only groans, forcing his face even harder against yours, pushing against your teeth. He pulls you in closer and the outline of his dick against your stomach lets you know that this is definitely not going where you thought it would.

You let go with a snap, alarmed at the turn this fight had taken, bringing your hands up to push his face away. His grip on your waist and throat keep you pressed into the counter and you hear his heavy breath huffing against the inside of his mask.

Instead of being upset, as you would rightly assume he would be after being bitten on the face, the strange, chemical smell of plastic surrounds you as he nuzzles his face against your cheek and presses his forehead to yours, and this close you can see his eyes looking back, unnervingly clear and focused. You feel your face flush at the unfamiliar eye contact, and you look away, suddenly embarrassed.

“Weirdo,” You mutter, hands on his arms in a weak attempt to move him away. “Fucking jumping me first thing after work, you’re lucky I don’t… I dunno, know Kung fu or some shit, like…”

Michael ignores you, shifting his arm down your side, grabbing a handful of your ass with a breathy groan down your neck. You squeal, but make no move to stop him, and his other hand leaves your throat, caressing the side of your neck down to your chest.

You try to squirm against his hand but the hard line of the counter digging into your spine keeps you still. You see the hand at your chest move, coming back to settle at your throat, you think, and are surprised to see him reach for his own neck instead. Long fingers pull the bottom of the mask up, just enough to uncover his mouth and jaw, and you’re more than a little stunned. You’ve never seen him without it on, not even when he sleeps, and even this small glimpse of the bottom half of his face feels like you’re seeing something you shouldn’t.

Your eyes dart away and then back - surely he wouldn’t reveal anything he didn’t want you to see, but it felt wrong to be looking at his bare skin. There’s light, patchy stubble on his cheeks and jaw, skin pale and pink from the lack of sunlight. His lips are thin, bitten and chapped, set in a neutral line that isn’t a smile or a frown. There is blood on them and smeared down his chin from your bite, a busted bottom lip already starting to swell. You feel a little bit of guilt now, seeing that you’ve hurt him, but if the hardness grinding against you is any indication, he didn’t mind at all.

He doesn’t let you stare for long, leaning in for the first kiss you’ve had without the mask between you. The hand on your ass is still clenched in a firm grip and he’s pressing his cock against you so hard you feel like it’s going to leave a bruise, but the kiss isn’t rough or desperate like you had been expecting. His lips aren’t soft, but he touches them to yours gently, almost unsure. You return it eagerly, pulling back slightly to press kisses to his lips over and over, and he lets you, huffing against your mouth as his hips jerk up into you. He lets you kiss him, mouth half open as he gasps out heavy breaths, apparently happy to let you take the lead with this.

He pulls away when the tip of your tongue flicks over his bruised lip, the metallic taste of blood and salt pulled into your mouth. You part with a slick, wet pop, panting as you watch him cover his face again. You’re a little disappointed that you didn’t get to taste him, to have a real kiss, but you know it’s going to be difficult going back to the mask after what you did get.

You’re still a little breathless when he lifts you, holding you on his hip like an overgrown child, stomping up the stairs in his hurry to get you to the bed.

Chapter Text

Brahms

1. Let’s be honest, he’s the reason why you lost them. He’ll swear up and down that it wasn’t him, and offer to help look for them to prove it, but you can tell he’s just trying to mess with you.

• You know he’s after something, and you’re not getting your things back until he gets it either. You can’t just come out and ask what he wants, because that’s not fun and he’ll just pout that you ruined the game.
• If he’s really being stubborn, it will be a few days before you get them back, but with something so important he’ll probably give in sooner, just so you don’t get too mad.

Michael

• You spend forever looking, checking all the normal places, then the unusual ones, then tearing cushions off the couch in desperation. You just had them and now they’re gone, it hasn’t even been ten minutes since you set them down!
• You exhaust all your options before going to Michael, because you just know what’s going to happen, and of course, it happens again.
• He walks right over to the table you normally leave them on, that you checked a hundred times, and they’re sitting right there, in plain sight. It’s so frustrating how they’re always right where he looks after you’ve spent the whole afternoon searching.

Bubba

• It’s not going to be a very productive search, to be honest. He’s really trying at first, but you keep finding him off in another room, messing with something he found under the couch and hasn’t seen in months.
• It’s not going to be an easy task either, because of the mess around the house. Not every room is covered in feathers and bones, but it’s still messy enough to make looking for a small object difficult.
• Bubba does finally find them - when he’s helping you check under the furniture and you hear an ominous crack when he stands back up.

Thomas

• You don’t bother him with it at first, there’s always so much work for him to do around the house, but when you and Mama come up empty handed, you rope him in to help.
• You had only taken them off for a few minutes and you’ve already checked everywhere obvious, but he’s a big help with moving heavy things and looking in tall places.
• You’ve looked everywhere you can think and Mama has given up to go start dinner, when you realize they’ve been in your pocket the whole time. Tommy will keep your secret and let you say you found them under a table somewhere, but you’re going to get a pat down next time before he helps you look for anything.

Jason

• There aren’t a lot of places you could leave them in the little cabin, and somehow they’re not in any of them. Jason even checks the top of cabinets and behind the fridge, and they’re nowhere to be found.
• He’s not much help when you’re crawling under furniture with your ass in the air, though. You’ll have to keep him in line if you want to actually find your glasses, because he’s more than willing to be distracted.
• You finally venture out to check the car, rooting through old receipts and fast food wrappers, when you suddenly remember exactly where you left them - the counter of the general store in town, where you had just picked up supplies and wouldn’t need to visit again for a few months. Jason isn’t too thrilled about you needing another trip into town, so you better have something good up your sleeve for a bribe.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Brahms has been watching you for months, he’s seen you in the shower and changing clothes. He’s not going to outright say that to you, because although he’s shameless about it he knows you’d be upset with him, but he’s also not going to stop doing it either.
• So if you want to stay covered up, he’ll just get his fill later when you don’t know he’s there. He’ll pout and whine when you don’t let him do what he wants, but it’s not so bad just because he knows he’s going to get his way somehow.
• Eventually it’s going to come out that he’s just getting around your shyness by spying on you. Either he lets the secret out or you realize what those weird noises are every time you take a shower, but if he’s willing to crawl around the walls like a rat to get a glimpse, you can’t be too mad at him. At least he’s working for it.

Michael

• He doesn’t have the patience, if he wants your clothes off, they’re coming off. You can squirm and complain all you like, he’s immune to scoldings. He’s just not going to put up with it at all if it gets in the way.
• It’s easier to just get over the anxiety and go with it, otherwise you’re going to end up with a lot of ruined outfits. He’s not going to be so demanding all the time, but if he happens to want something, whatever is in his way is gone.
• He’s not above creeping on you either, peeking into the house through windows or sneaking in an unlocked door. He’s not as sneaky about it as others, but he’s also not at all concerned if you catch him doing it.

Bubba

• He’ll respect your boundaries and not remove any clothing you don’t want him to, but he’s still gonna get handsy. Okay, he can’t look, but he can still grab you, right?
• He’s not always going to be great at picking up when you’re uncomfortable, especially when he’s so excited himself that he’s not focusing on anything else. You’ve got to let him know gently if he crosses a line, otherwise he’ll be so afraid of doing it again that he’ll be too timid to continue.
• He’s fine with letting you get comfortable at your own pace. Bubba might forget things sometimes, but he’s not pushy. Besides, he likes dressing you up, so if you let him get you all dolled up beforehand he’s got a good reason not to go pulling things off.

Thomas

• You’ve got to take the lead with him at first anyways, so you have time to establish anything you’re not comfortable with right away. He’s not entirely comfortable either, though it’s more about being touched in general than anything else.
• He’s very careful at first that he doesn’t do anything you don’t want him to, but he’ll relax more as time goes on. Eventually you’ll have to keep reminding him, because he’ll either forget or just get carried away.
• He’ll push your boundaries sometimes, sneaking peeks when he knows you can see him looking. He gets over his own shyness really early on, so he’s eager for you to do the same.

Jason

• Once he knows he’s allowed to touch you, he’s sort of shameless about just grabbing a handful whenever he wants, so it’s hard to be shy when someone is constantly all over you.
• He’s similar to Michael in that he’s probably going to get you naked anyways, but it’s more of a ‘oh no, I totally didn’t hear you say not to do that, oops’. He won’t do anything to upset you, but he’s going to have selective hearing when it comes to certain things.
• He’s going to pay special attention to anything you try to hide from him. Whatever reason you might have for covering up, he’s going to make sure it doesn’t get in the way again.

Chapter Text

Everyone had their own routine in the little farmhouse, certain chores that belonged to one person and needed to be completed each day. You and Bubba took care of most of the domestic chores, doing laundry and cleaning up after everyone else, looking after grandpa and the few animals you kept. Drayton had the station to run and cooked most days, while Nubbins… well, he doesn’t do much around the house but sometimes it’s better to have him running the roads than cooped up inside.

Dishes were one of the tasks that you were solely responsible for. It was only fair, since Drayton did the cooking and Bubba was a little too prone to breaking them. It was always a daunting task, mainly thanks to the amount of food the brothers put away at each meal, and you could spend hours scrubbing fat and grease from pans.

That’s what you were spending your morning doing today, elbow deep in dirty water and soap, having made little progress despite using up half of the morning already. Your hair was pulled away from your face, sleeves rolled up and Bubba’s gingham apron keeping your clothes dry.

A little noise behind you catches your attention, a stifled giggle letting you know that you aren’t alone. Muffled footsteps creep around the corner into the kitchen, and a little grin forms on your face at the thought of Bubba’s attempts to be sneaky. You don’t let him know that you’d caught on to him, that wouldn’t be fun, but continue your work as though he wasn’t there.

Two big arms wrap themselves around your rib cage, pulling you up and against a big chest, loud squeals and laughter in your ears. You hurry to hold your dripping hands over the sink, feet dangling off the ground, and let out a happy squeal of your own.

“Hi, Bubba,” you laugh, feeling his arms squeeze tighter in a crushing hug. “You got the chickens taken care of?”

An enthusiastic nod shakes you up and down, arms rocking you slightly to the side as he talks into your ear. You listen for a moment as he recites the farmyard drama, rattling off which chicken had done what that morning. You didn’t understand much of it, but there were little sounds you connected with certain feelings, noises and squeals that named different animals, and it wasn’t too hard to piece together a rough draft of what he was saying.

“Alright, then, let’s get the rest of it done,” you say. “There’s all that mess from last night to clean up out back, and I ain’t even half done with the kitchen yet.”

Last night’s dinner had been a particularly rowdy one, and you weren’t looking forward to getting to work out in the sun, but it would be worse for Drayton to show up without the day’s work completed. It wasn’t your fault that the yard was a mess, but you were still the one that had to clean it up.

Bubba hums in agreement, but doesn’t set you down. He does shuffle closer to the sink so that you can comfortably reach it, but he keeps you held up against his chest like a doll.

“Alright,” you huff. “I guess you can help for a bit.”

It’s more difficult to complete your task this way, but you don’t have the heart to chase him off just yet, so you allow him to hold you while you try and finish your chore. It’s awkward to do, not being able to move around as you normally would, but you talk as you go, going over what needs to be done before you’ll both have free time for yourselves.

“I can clean up the porch by myself, but I’ll need your help to-“

A little giggle into your neck stops you, hunching up a shoulder to push his mouth away.

“C’mon Bubba, I’m trying to get this done!” You whine, hearing him laugh louder as he pushes your shoulder away with his chin. He buries his face against your neck while you squirm, crooked teeth pecking at your skin. You kick your legs, dropping the cup in your hands to slap at his arms, yelping. You’re squealing louder than he is now, thrashing in his grip but unable to move away. The puffs of breath and loud snorts against your skin only make you wiggle harder, trying to scrunch your neck into your shoulders.

“I give up!”

He lets up a little at this, teeth moving away from your sensitive neck and pricking the shell of your ear instead. You kick your legs a little, wanting to be let down, hands trying to unlock his arms from their grip around your ribs. Your face is red from the struggle and you’re ready to kick him out of the kitchen now, if you can only get him off of you.

“Bubba Sawyer, you sit me down! I ain’t gonna have you messin’ around in here!”

Another quick swipe of teeth across the curve of your shoulder makes you jump and you swat at his arms in a panic. With a rumbling giggle he finally sits you back on your own feet, pressing his face into your hair, arms still around you and loosely holding your waist. You give him a moment before you slap away his hands, turning to shoo him out of the room. He lets you herd him out of the kitchen, making little whines of protest, but the grin on his face keeps you from relenting.

“And don’t you come back in here until you’re actually ready to help!”

Chapter Text

Brahms

• There’s not a lot you can get him that he hasn’t already got in that giant mansion. He has a lot of toys already, and really, he doesn’t even play with them, they’re just there because they match the doll. He likes books and music, but again, they’ve got a massive library already.
• Something personal and meaningful would be the best choice, especially something that might show you’re loyal to him, or trust him. But really, anything that shows you were thinking of him while away from the house is going to get you on his good side.
• He would be cautious at first, but once it’s clear that you really do have a gift to give him, he’d happily play the part of an eager child tearing away at wrapping paper. He’s happy enough with your surprise that he doesn’t even complain about how long it took you to get back home.
• He will return the favor eventually, but it’s more difficult for him to obtain an appropriate gift since he can’t leave the house. You can make it clear that he doesn’t need to, but he’s going to anyways, although it will probably be something handmade.

Michael

• He doesn’t really have any personal property, pretty much everything he owns consists of the knife, jumpsuit and mask he came in with, so there’s a wide range of things you could see him needing or wanting. Actually picking something out is going to be tough.
• You’ve bought him things before, mostly new clothes that he ignores, but finding something special is going to be hard. It might not seem like it, but he would prefer something meaningful over something useful, appreciating the thought behind it more than the thing itself.
• Whatever you go with, it’s not going to get a big reaction from him. He’ll take it, maybe even give you an affectionate head pat or allow a quick hug, but that’s about it. You can tell he appreciates it by how he treats the gift itself, either keeping it with him or putting it somewhere safe to take out later.
• He probably won’t go out of his way to gift you something himself. He might think of it, but ultimately it’s a bit out of his comfort zone. Maybe you’ll find small things around the house you don’t remember owning before, but he’s not going to present it to you.

Bubba

• It doesn’t matter what you give him, he’s going to be delighted. Cool rock? Amazing, it’s going in the windowsill! Handmade card? Immediately taped up on his bedroom mirror. Piece of jewelry? He will never take it off. Nothing is a bad gift to him, he’ll appreciate anything.
• He’s not used to getting gifts at all, not counting the things his brothers bring in from the travelers they round up. He hasn’t ever really had anything picked out just for him, and he’s probably going to cry no matter what you bring him.
• He’s going to be super proud of whatever it is, and take it around to his brothers to show it off. You stand menacingly in the background when he approaches Drayton, just to make sure he doesn’t spoil Bubba’s good mood so soon.
• He’s been giving you little gifts before this already, but he’s going to make something special in return for getting one from you. Prepare to receive the gaudiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life, because he will sew or glue things to anything he can get his hands on.

Thomas

• He’s pretty simple when it comes to things he likes, so there’s not a lot of ideas that would make a good gift. He wouldn’t use anything fancy or showy and he’s already got anything he needs for work around the house.
• The best gift would be something handmade, a little charm or piece of jewelry he could keep with him. It doesn’t matter how well made it turns out, anything he can wear to show off your affection would make him happy.
• He’s a little awkward about receiving it, but he’ll gently press kisses to the top of your head and let you put the gift on him. It’s going to get dirty if it’s something he can wear, but he’ll do his best to keep it in one piece at least.
• He’s not very good at returning the gift, he spends way too long agonizing over what to get you. He’s good with his hands and he likes using the bits the family doesn’t eat to piece together new things, so whatever he comes up with will probably be made with questionable materials.

Jason

• It’s not hard at all to find something for him. He can handle himself when it comes to anything he needs for “work” but you know how much he loves sappy, affectionate things so the cheesier the better. Overstuffed teddy bears, matching heart shaped bracelets, if it’s overbearingly sweet then he’ll love it.
• He regularly brings you home gifts (thankfully not as horrifying as the ones he used to come home with), but he’ll be surprised to see you offering him one. He’s very careful about opening it, mostly because he’s a little unsure how of to act.
• You can tell he’s pleased with the gift when he sweeps you up into a crushing hug. He’ll keep the gift in a special place where it won’t get damaged, or carry it with him if it’s small enough.
• He’s not going to be out-gifted, you’re getting one in return and he’ll work hard to make sure it’s amazing. He’ll even risk sneaking into town to find something if he has to, but he’s determined to get the best gift he can.

Chapter Text

You shouldn’t have followed him in here. It was dark and quiet, dust floating through the air in thick clouds, and if Brahms decided he didn’t want you around anymore, this was the perfect time to get rid of you. You trusted him, to a point, but you knew how capricious he could be and although he whispered little promises of love at night, you weren’t sure if he knew exactly what love was yet. He desired you, obviously, and maybe that’s what he meant when he said those sweet things, but it didn’t matter either way, because you had to go along with it. Although you played the part of the nanny, you were still firmly under his control.

The long fingers clenching your own pulled you forward, further into the space hidden behind the walls. He glances back at you over his shoulder a few times, as if to make sure you were still following, despite his grip on your hand keeping you there. You don’t really want to go any further, but trying to back out now won’t work. He’s already got you inside, there’s no way to get out now unless he wants you to.

“Where are we going?” You ask, coughing through a burst of dust in the air.

“Surprise,” he murmurs, tugging you along. “A surprise for you.”

That only makes you more nervous. Even his most harmless ‘surprises’ were still usually unpleasant or annoying.

Before you can protest again he’s stopped, shuffling you around in the cramped space. Hands on your shoulders pull your body forward, chest pressed against the walls with Brahms squeezing in behind you. There is barely enough room for you to stand together, his back and your chest flat against the walls on either side. He squirms until the bulge of his dick is firmly pressed against your ass, both of you trapped in the small crawl space, and now you’re certain what this ‘surprise’ is.

“Alright, what’s the surprise?” You sigh, waiting for the big reveal.

He reaches around you and taps the wall, drawing your attention to a small gap. A tiny speck of light is leaking through from the other side, and you narrow your eyes. You know he can watch you from in here, and there likely isn’t a room he can’t get a glimpse of if he wants to, but you’ve never known exactly what he can see. Leaning towards it, you put your eye next to the hole, tilting your head around to get a view of the room beyond. Predictably, it’s a peek into your own bedroom, giving you a limited view of the end of the bed and the doorway into the bathroom.

An arm sneaking around your middle pulls you back, drawing you away from the wall as his hips jerk up to meet you. You brace your arms on the wall in front of you, standing on tiptoes to push back. You laugh a little at how eager he seems, already half hard.

“Is that the only surprise you have for me, Brahms?”

His breathing is already heavy, but you can hear the little laugh he lets out, deeper than you’re used to hearing. You think for a moment that maybe his voice slipped in his excitement, but the cold chin of the mask settles on your shoulder, bringing the strange sound to your ear.

“I saw you,” he rasps, and the lack of any trace of his normal ‘little boy’ voice throws you off for a moment. “I saw, even though you tried to hide it.”

“What?” You ask, confused, bringing your heels back down to the floor and lowering your hips. You’ve never heard him speak in his natural voice this much, but the few times you had, it had never been under good circumstances.

“The phone.” He growls from behind you, his other hand trailing up between your breasts to wrap around your throat.

A cold, heavy weight settles in your stomach. You remember your phone, rarely used now that you spent so much time with Brahms, tucked away in a bedside drawer. You hadn’t checked your messages in months and it was no surprise that you hadn’t received any either, but you weren’t supposed to have it. It had been stashed away as a last resort, a backup in case you ever needed a way out, and he had never seen it only because you had kept it from him. You know what he’s mad about now, but you’re not sure how well you’ll be able to talk him down this time.

“Brahms, please,” you start, licking your suddenly dry lips. “It wasn’t…”

You struggle to find a way to explain yourself without sounding guilty. You hear a loud huff of breath right next to your ear, greasy curls brushing against your cheek.

“Naughty,” he whispers to you, the hand at your waist dipping just below the waistband of your pants. “Breaking the rules.”

His hand shoves it’s way into your clothing, trailing long fingers over your panties. You’re having a hard time determining if he’s really mad or just using this as an excuse to fuck, but you play along just in case.

“I’m sorry,” you whine, widening your stance so that his hand can better fit between your legs, fingers trying to squirm past your panties. “I didn’t mean it.”

He huffs again, twisting his fingers against your cunt and grinding the length of his cock against the curve of your ass. His fingers finally slide past the wet material, drawing out a surprised hiccup when he’s suddenly pressing down furiously over your clit. You nip your tongue between your teeth to keep from screaming, trying to wiggle against his hand.

“You need…” he gasps, rutting up against your ass erratically, voice trembling as he slips back into the high pitched child’s voice. “Need to…”

You can tell he’s already close, it never takes long once he gets going, but you don’t want him coming down from this arousal high just yet, not when he’s still mad.

“Oh, and who put you in charge?”

It’s gasped out between breaths as you fight to keep his hand right where you need it. The challenge catches him off guard, hips jerking to a stop and the hand on your throat tightening. You’re almost eager to see how he reacts, because at the very least you’re sure he’s going to really fuck you now. He swallows heavily, the hand cupping your cunt going still, and you tremble as you wait to see what he’ll do.

You hear a soft cry, a sad noise that sounds like it hurts him to let out, instantly making you feel guilty. The arms around you wrap themselves tighter, pulling you back flush against his chest. His hands rush down your sides to tug at your clothes, pushing your pants down to your thighs hurriedly, panting I love you’s into the air as he does.

“I love you,” he mumbles desperately into your hair, the hard nose of the mask bumping your temple. “Please don’t leave, stay here with me.”

“I’m not leaving,” you say, kicking a little to help slide the clothing down to your ankles. “I know, I’m not leaving.”

The cold air makes you shiver, but Brahms is burning hot behind you, panting like a dog and reaching a hand between you to loosen his own clothes. He makes garbled noises of frustration as he pulls at the belt around his waist, heated breath fanning over your neck and shoulders. You reach a hand behind yourself to help, quickly pulling the belt away without looking, stretching your arm back towards him. He lets you take over, hunching his shoulders together and curling around you.

“Please,” he begs, breathing ragged. “I’m good, you have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Brahms,” you assure him, but he keeps begging, voice hitching when you finally press your palm flat against his abdomen. “You want to be a good boy?”

He trembles and whines, nodding his head and squirming under your hand. It hurts to stretch your arm back further, but you press down, curling your fingers through thick hair until you can finally reach the base of his cock.

“Please,” he whispers behind the mask, and you can feel how tense he is under your hand. “Pretty please.”

You feel the mask knock into the side of your head, porcelain lips pressing against your hair in a mock kiss. The heat from both of your bodies has beaten back the cool air and you’re sweating, the back of your shirt sticking to your skin.

“Go on.” Your voice is hoarse as you give him permission, your hand knocked out of the way by his own as he hurries to line himself up with your cunt. He jerks forward roughly, and if you weren’t so ready for it the suddenness would have hurt, whining in the back of his throat as he slides in. He doesn’t wait, immediately starting a frantic pace and holding your body still with harsh fingers dug into your hips. Brahms leans forward, forehead pressed against the back of your neck with his body hunched over you, manic thrusts slapping into you. The force of it pushes you forward, face pressed against the dusty wall, fingers scrabbling for something to grip.

You know he won’t last long, already gasping and moaning, so you arch back into him, realigning his hurried movements to better grind against the spot that makes your insides clench around him. His hands on your hips hurt, but the pain ebbs away quickly as the line of his cock relentlessly runs into you. The skin of your ass stings with every push of his hips, grunting and gasping with every slap.

Brahms lays over you, chest against your back, rhythm stuttering as he reaches one hand up to grab at your breasts, the other fumbling over your belly towards your cunt. His pace is slowed but no less desperate, sliding three fingers into the sloppy mess between your legs, pinching at your clit brutally. You push and pull against his hand, throwing your hips into his.

“Not so hard!” You fight to gasp the words out, but his movements aren’t any gentler despite your request. It’s too much pressure, trapped between his hand and cock, but you’re held still with his arms wrapped around you.

“Please, please.” He hisses into your ear, throwing himself into you as hard as he can.

Your vision is blurry and spotted, bracing both hands in front of you to keep from being fucked into the wall face first, muscles tensing as sweat runs into your eyes. You can hear him speaking, but the words are a whisper compared to the blood rushing in your ears.

The rest of your body is turning numb, so the only thing you can feel is the swipe of his fingers and the drag of his cock inside you, and your knees buckle under you. He grabs you suddenly, slick hand leaving your clit to pull you back against him and grunting loudly. The combination of his suddenly slow, grinding thrusts and the wetness leaking out of you with every push tips you over the edge, whimpering and thrashing in his hold as you try and catch your breath.

Brahms slumps over you while you twitch and gasp under him, a boiling warmth flooding down to your toes. One last buck of his hips into yours and he goes still, both arms holding you up at the waist. Your arms tremble, holding your upper half up against the wall, but thankfully they don’t give out before you come back to your senses, vision still a little hazy and body going limp. You groan a little when a wet line of cum starts sliding down your inner thigh, and you know the walk back out of the walls is going to be uncomfortable.

“You’re staying.”

He doesn’t ask, but the little tremble in his voice gives away his uncertainty.

“Yes, of course I’m staying, Brahms,” you wheeze, out of breath and choking on the stirred dust in the air. “I wasn’t going anywhere in the first place.”

He makes a little hum from behind you, resting more of his weight against your back as he relaxes, and you sigh. Whatever happens now, you’re sure that phone isn’t going to be where you left it when you get out.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• It would catch him off guard. He’s already touchy about having other men around, for any reason, but I could see him being a little more lenient when it comes to women just because he doesn’t see them as a romantic threat.
• He keeps a close eye on you whenever someone else is around though, so he would notice the glances and smiles exchanged and it would make him furious - he feels stupid to think that he didn’t realize how much of a threat a woman could be.
• He’s going to overcompensate afterwards. He’s allowed other people inside before for various reasons, but now the whole place is on lockdown until his temper tantrum is over.
• He will always be a little more wary of women after, just because he’s less familiar with them. He can sort of understand or predict the actions of the few men that come around, but he’s less sure with women.

Michael

• The thought doesn’t really cross his mind at first. He’s not super possessive in terms of the people you hang out with and he’s not going to lose his mind just because you’ve got friends, even if there’s some flirting going on.
• He’s pretty confident when it comes to your loyalty to him, so he’s not bothered by any guy friends or previous boyfriends you still keep in touch with, so the same would extend to girlfriends.
• If anyone gets really persistent, though, he’ll be annoyed. For obvious reasons you can’t really let people know that you’re taken, and you’d rather he not murder your friends, so there’s not much he can do about it.
• He’s only really going to be jealous if they start taking attention away from him. Too many nights out or long, chatty phone calls and he’ll start to make trouble just to get you focused back on him. It won’t matter the gender, he’s going to be pissed if someone else is distracting you from what’s really important (it’s him).

Bubba

• It’s going to throw him off, cause it’s not something he’s ever considered before. You will probably have to spell it out and explain it to him, otherwise he’s just going to think you’ve got a lot of former “gal pals”.
• Poor Bubba has low self esteem anyway, so realizing that there is approximately 50% more of a chance for you to find someone better is going to hit him hard. He’s going to be nervous and a little defensive anytime you bring up someone from your life outside of the farm.
• He doesn’t really get jealous, but more sort of petulant. He’ll pout and whine when you bring someone else up, ignore you when you talk about them, or act out for attention if he feels like you’re being pulled away by someone else.
• He’s honestly more prone to being jealous of women than men - he can see the appeal of a cute girl more so than another man. He would tend to wear his more feminine outfits then to try and keep your attention.

Thomas

• He knows you’re also attracted to women, you’re not super open about it with the rest of the family, but you’ve told him. Even with that knowledge, though, it still jars him to see you flustered by a short conversation with a girl at the station. He’s never seen a same sex relationship before, so it’s sort of an abstract concept to him until he sees it for himself.
• So it’s a bit of a surprise when he finally notices it, but it just makes him extend his normal jealousy to everyone, rather than just men. He’s quick to get rid of anyone lingering in the basement, just in case they might catch your eye, and he tends to worry when you’re sent out to bring home dinner.
• He keeps an extra close watch on any of the women they keep around or try to assimilate into the family. You tend to be a little kinder to them, so he’ll stick close to you and make sure they don’t try anything.
• He’s always worried you’ll find someone better, and he thinks pretty much everyone is better in comparison to himself, so now he’s going to be extra paranoid. He’ll ramp up the affection anytime he’s feeling insecure, making sure to be extra gentle with you.

Jason

• It doesn’t make any difference to him, because he already doesn’t want anyone else around you, male or female. Anyone coming into the woods isn’t going to make it out, but he can’t stop you from interacting with people in town.
• He’s always working to try and be a good partner, and a part of proving that is keeping competition away. Most of the time no one comes around your little cabin anyways, but you do have neighbors no matter how distant. He can’t outright reveal himself, but there’s still quite the unwelcoming aura around your place when people visit.
• He won’t keep you from having friends, but bringing them back home is a big no-no. He’s still going to be massively jealous of any friends, though, and will probably follow you if he can. He doesn’t doubt your feelings for him, but he doesn’t like the idea that you need anyone else but him in your life.
• If he notices any crushes you have on actors or TV characters, you can bet they’re never showing up on your screen again while he’s around. Even if it’s not a crush, a simple comment about a pretty outfit or cute hairstyle will have him glaring at the screen.

Chapter Text

Bubba

• He does a lot of crafty stuff, but sewing is probably what he’s best at. Drayton taught him originally, and was happy to pass on all the sewing to Bubba once he realized that he actually liked it. He fixes up clothes and curtains and everything else, but he loves making little pillows or adding embroidery to old things. He’s surprisingly good at it, even if things do turn out a little lumpy once the stuffing is added.
• Very easy to learn from, he’s very patient and excited to be teaching you something new, instead of the other way around like usual. He’s very encouraging and will proudly display whatever abomination of thread and fabric you manage to produce on your first try. He prefers hand sewing, but he’ll show you how to use the machine once you’ve got the basics down.
• He’s not as good with other crafts, but he enjoys them just as much. He’s okay at knitting, as long as you want something vaguely square shaped with no embellishments, and he likes decorating with the usual skin and bone that’s used around the house. He has no sense of color coordination, though, so there are some strange color choices.
• It’s a little harder to follow his instructions with more complicated crafts, so he’ll show you by example. Even if you don’t pick up these things on your own, he’s always delighted if you want to help him do them, and he always prefers to use the item you helped him with, even if it didn’t turn out as good as it could have.

Thomas

• He’s honestly not that skilled at sewing. He makes his masks and he has gotten better over the years, but everything is pretty much self taught so there’s no knowledge or technique behind it. The old sewing machine doesn’t work half the time and he gets bored of doing it by hand, so he’d love for you to pitch in with that.
• He will teach you what he can, but it really just boils down to ‘tie that shit together and you’re done’. If you can thread a needle, you’re already half as knowledgeable as he is. The only really technical thing he knows is how to get the sewing machine working in the first place.
• What he’s really good at is the more artsy stuff. He likes working with the bits they don’t eat, putting organs and little pieces in jars, making displays out of bone and hair, or sticking things together that catch his eye in a pattern he likes. It’s not always human parts, he’ll throw in animal, old wood, strips of clothing, stray feathers, anything that just seems like it fits.
• There’s not a good way to actually teach that stuff, it’s just the way he feels like these things fit together, but he would be happy to make something with you. It’s what he likes to do when there’s not much work around the house, and he’ll appreciate any addition you want to make to something he’s working on.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Drama queen. Yeah, he’s uncomfortable but you’d think he’s dying of the plague for how overdramatic he’s being.
• He will very firmly blame it on you, since you’re the one who does all the cooking. It doesn’t matter that you eat the same food and you’re just fine.
• Lots of whining. It doesn’t matter how many orders you take, he’s got another one ready by the time you’re back.
• You’d better hope he doesn’t throw up, cause he’s a crier and he’ll keep you up all night.

Michael

• He usually just downs whatever food is within reach, no matter what it is, so you’re sure his weird eating habits have finally caught up with him now.
• He’s just going to curl up under a blanket and not come out. No, he is still not going to take any medicine, he’s toughing this out.
• But leave some nearby just in case, because he will probably sneak some when your back is turned.
• He’s not going to learn anything and by the next day he’ll be right back to eating handfuls of cereal and random things dipped in ranch dressing at the same time.

Bubba

• Will whine and pout for you to stay in bed with him and rub his belly, but it’s adorable so you aren’t about to say no.
• He just wants to sleep it off, so once he’s out you can sneak off to finish some chores, but he’ll come drag you back to bed if he wakes up while you’re gone.
• Still wants to listen to the old radio shows he likes, so you’ve got to carry the old thing up there and mess with the antenna until it gets a good enough signal.
• A little disappointed that he doesn’t get the usual plate of greasy dinner, you’ll have to find something that hopefully won’t make him feel worse.

Thomas

• It’s got to really bother him for him to bring any attention to it at all and he probably won’t let on to how bad he feels even then.
• Mama makes him drink hot tea, even though he hates it, and he’s a bit miffed when you don’t let him get away with trying to pour it out.
• If there’s medicine available, he’ll make a big fuss about taking it if it tastes bad, so you’ve got a fight on your hands.
• If you can get him to take it though, he’s knocked out for the rest of the night. Doesn’t even matter if there were no sleep aids in it, he’s sleeping through the night and most of the morning.

Jason

• You’re pretty sure he can’t get a stomach ache because he doesn’t eat in the first place, but you bundle him up in bed and give him some medicine anyways.
• You don’t have much to do anyways, so you plan on spending the day with him to make sure he gets better.
• 100% just trying to get you to stay in bed with him so he can get frisky, it’s pretty obvious from the beginning but you still pretend to be shocked when the truth comes out.
• If you keep insisting that he’s surely too sick to do anything but lay in bed, then he’ll drop the ruse pretty quick.

Chapter Text

Wet steam clung to the walls of the bathroom, dripping down the patterned tile like sweat. The mirrors were fogged and every surface had a slick of vapor over it, making the air wet and humid. A light scent, something floral you had added to the water, made the room smell warm and earthy.

The bath in this particular room was huge, taking twice as long to fill as any of the others in the house, but it was the one you had taken to using. Your own bedroom had an attached bath, and that was fine for yourself, but the tub wasn’t big enough to comfortably fit two people, and that was the deal you made in order to get Brahms into the bath in the first place. It honestly wasn’t as difficult as you had first anticipated, since he kept his hands to himself for the most part and seemed to simply enjoy being taken care of.

He wasn’t a child, no matter what he acted like, and you knew that he could clean himself up if he really wanted. That didn’t fit the game he liked to play, though, so it was the nanny’s job to take care of him. Being the nanny, that meant it was your job.

“Alright,” you say, taking your hand out of the bath water and reaching to turn the faucet off. “It’s ready, Brahms.”

“No.”

The petulant tone didn’t surprise you. He was feeling difficult today, apparently, and everything you had tried to do with him met resistance. You couldn’t think of anything that would have upset him, so you assumed he was just trying to stir up some trouble after a few days of relative peace. He’s lurking in the corner of the room, the oversized sleeves of his cardigan dangling over his hands. He’s always dirty due to running around inside the walls, despite your best efforts, dust stuck to his clothes and hair, hands black with old dirt.

You put your hands on your bare hips, turning to give him a firm look. You had undressed before running the water, hoping it might encourage him to go along with the usual routine.

“You said you wanted a bath,” you see his eyes follow your hand, so you dig your fingers into the skin a little harder to entice him, “Don’t you-“

“Not anymore,” he snaps, crossing his arms. “I changed my mind.”

You send him a glare at the interruption. You know he’s only trying to get under your skin, but it doesn’t help that it’s working.

“Alright,” you snap back. “Go on, then. I’m going to have a bath on my own for once!”

You turn away, hearing him huff from behind you, and the slap of bare feet on the tile floor. The threat of leaving him out had been enough, apparently. You smirk to yourself, basking in the feeling of having beaten him at his own game for once.

You turn, unable to keep a hint of satisfaction from showing in the little smile you give him.  Brahms stops just in front of you, big hands settling gently on your shoulders.

“No,” he murmurs, sounding like a pouting child. “You don’t need one yet.”

You sigh in frustration.

“Brahms, please just get in. The bath is already made up, I don’t want to argue about it anymore.”

“Get down.”

The command catches you off guard. Your mind is blank for a moment, not sure what he means, but the hands on your shoulders are suddenly heavy, pushing you gently towards the floor. You give him a questioning look, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not in the mood for anymore games.”

“Down.”

You let him push until your knees are on the floor, crossing your arms impatiently under your breasts as you settle on the floor. He pats your head, almost as if rewarding an obedient dog, and you roll your eyes.

“Alright, now what?”

“Shh!” He shushes you harshly, grabbing a handful of hair in a tight fist, but not pulling. You can see his eyes narrowed at you, glaring from behind the mask, sweeping over your kneeling form. You’re pretty sure where this is going, but you wait for him to make the decision.

He hums under his breath, tilting his head as he looks at you, tugging on your hair to turn your face side to side. You put up with it, allowing him to twist your head on your shoulders without complaint. The bulge in his pants would be obvious from across the room, let alone a foot away at eye level, so you expect to soon hear the familiar request for a kiss.

“I want you to be good,” he says, bringing his other hand down to cup your cheek. “Be a good girl for me.”

You’re more than a little surprised by the request - it sounds an awful lot like the phrasing you use with him, soft praise to keep him cooperative. Your shocked silence isn’t what he wants, and the hand on your cheek gives you a light slap, not enough to sting but it does urge you into speech.

“You want me to behave?” You ask, watching as Brahms nods in affirmation. “What if I don’t want to? I might feel like being a brat.”

“I’ll punish you.”

He doesn’t stop to think of a reply, the words already there from the countless times you’ve spoken them yourself. You can’t say if he’s actually given any thought to this scenario, maybe this is a spur of the moment thing and he’s only repeating what he’s heard you say before. But you also wouldn’t put it past him to have a few ideas on hand if you decided to test him.

“Okay,” you say sweetly, bringing a hand up to grab his thigh. “I’ll be good for you, Brahmsy.”

His breath hitches, eyes going wide behind the mask, but his hand swats yours away with a sharp sting.

“Not allowed,” he scolds you, letting go of your face and taking a few steps back. “Only what I tell you to.”

“What do you want me to do, then?”

He’s quiet, and you kneel next to the tub patiently, waiting to see what command he’ll give. His gaze flicks around the room, shifting in place as he thinks. Finally, he seems to have settled on an idea, looking back at you with what you can tell is a smile by the lines around his eyes.

“Close your eyes.”

You do so immediately, your own smile pulling the corners of your lips up. You can hear shuffling as he moves around, presumably pulling off his clothes, and you would bet any amount of money that you’re about to have the tip of his cock pressed against your lips.

“Keep them closed,” he orders, light footsteps coming closer. “Until I say.”

“I will.”

You can hear him in front of you, feel the heat from his body if you really focus, making the air around you even more humid. More shuffling, a few nervous mutters under his breath, and then a little clink that sounds out of place. Your brow furrows, wondering what exactly he’s doing.

“Eyes closed.” He says again, sounding much closer than you had thought.

You don’t have time to reply, feeling smooth palms sliding over the sides of your face and holding you still. His fingers tap nervously against your skin and you can hear how labored his breathing is. Something soft presses against your forehead, shaky and wet, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that it’s his lips. You let out a little gasp of surprise and he pulls back, a sound of panic leaving him.

“I’m not opening my eyes.” You assure him. You want to bring your hands up and hold onto his arms or shoulders, but don’t, remembering the slap to your hand on his thigh.

Brahms licks his lips, a quiet, wet noise, before they return to your skin, pressing firmly against your mouth. You push back, apparently too eager, because he pulls away again with a pop.

“You’re not being good,” he whines, warm breath fanning over your face. “You said you would!”

“I’m sorry,” you reply, running your tongue over your bottom lip. “I just like kissing you, a lot.”

He huffs, sounding a little pleased despite his annoyance, sliding one hand up and back into your hair. The other still cups your cheek, pulling at the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“Then I’m not going to do it anymore,” he says, sounding like a child delighting in taking away another’s favorite toy. “You’re not being good.”

“Please,” you say desperately, leaning into the touch of his hand and flicking your tongue over his thumb. “I’ll be really, really good.”

You’re not quite as desperate as you sound, playing up your enthusiasm a bit to please him more, but you do want to kiss him, without the mask in the way. He’s never so much as hinted at the possibility of removing it and you’ve never asked, for fear of upsetting him.

A little groan leaves him as you lick at his thumb, and a quiet whisper of “Okay” follows, before his mouth meets yours again. It’s still timid and unsure, but you return it more gently this time, letting him tilt your head back with the hand still buried in your hair. He’s messy, biting at your lips too hard and making needy noises into your mouth, fingers curling harshly against your scalp. You have to coax his lips apart with your own, pressing your tongue to his own gently, but he’s slow to return the movements. The hair on his face pricks at your skin, and you have to fight the urge to drag your fingers through it, scraping at the sensitive skin beneath.

You can feel Brahms squirming in front of you, the rocking and wiggling making it difficult to keep your lips where they need to be. You want to peek, knowing that he’s jerking his hips in useless motions into the air, but you squeeze your eyes shut against that thought. He would be beyond furious if he caught you, and you wouldn’t want to betray the trust he’s giving you now.

“Brahms, please,” you plead, voice muffled against his lips. “Let me touch you.”

He doesn’t reply with words, but a high pitched whine in the back of his throat, the hand on your cheek leaving to grab your wrist. He moves to pull your hand into his lap, but you’re ahead of him, lunging forward to grab him tightly. His mouth opens in a loud groan against yours, body going stiff.

You lean further towards him to keep from breaking the kiss, licking at his wet mouth, sitting up on your knees to better grasp the hot, swollen cock in your hand. You’re almost surprised by how hard he is after only kissing, but you realize this has to be his first kiss, without the mask in the way.

You hold onto him at the base, slowly pulling your hand up his length in a bruising grip. He trembles, the tremors intensifying as your hand stops over the flared head, squeezing it roughly in your palm. He’s making no attempt to return your kisses now, whining and moaning open mouthed while you kiss and bite at his lips. Your free hand moves to tangle in his hair, keeping him still enough to continue your messy kiss.

You drag your thumb over the slit of his cock, pressing hard over the wet head and he bucks up into your hand. He’s making little strangled noises, choking sounds that are deeper and clearer than you’ve ever heard them without the porcelain muffling them. You force your hand down, dragging over his cock until the back of your hand is pressed against his abdomen and he’s jerking uncontrollably into your tight grip. You keep your hand there, letting him rock against it as he pleases, pulling on his hair until his face is pointing up at the ceiling and you’re pressing your teeth into his throat. He tastes like sweat and dust, thick hair trailing down his neck, but you lick and bite at him anyways, feeling his own hand pulling at your hair when you scratch your teeth back up to his jaw.

Brahms struggles to string words together, the fast rocking of his hips into your hand becoming more frantic, and all he can manage is a few gasping stutters. Your hand aches a little with the force of your hold, but you keep it tight around him as his movements become choppy and uneven, hot bursts of cum slicking your palm and arm. You can feel him twitching and pulsing under your hand, his hips finally going still as he arches against you, pressed as close as he can get. His body is tense, breathing ragged and labored, choking on the noises trying to work their way out.

You press sloppy kisses to his throat and collar bones, tugging his hair to keep his head bent back, waiting until his body goes limp to loosen your hand around him. He whines when you give him a few more soft strokes, wiggling but not slapping your hand away. You relent, pulling your hands and mouth from him, panting yourself in the overwhelming heat of the room.

“Good girl.”

It’s faint, almost whispered, and he sounds both pleased and exhausted. A lazy peck is placed on the corner of your mouth and you smile at his praise.

“Can I open my eyes now, please?”

There’s a quick huff of breath and the slide of porcelain over tile as he pulls the mask back towards him, but you keep your eyes closed until he gives you a quiet ‘yes’.

He looks disheveled, hair sweaty and sticking up over the edge of the mask, the skin of his neck flushed red and littered with raised marks. You put your hands on his thighs, leaning forward to press one last kiss against the painted lips on the mask, and he must be done with his display of dominance, because he doesn’t scold you this time.

“I want my bath now.”

Chapter Text

Brahms

• He still watches you through the walls, so he will notice when you start looking at yourself more harshly, making faces in the mirror after a shower.
• Not in this house. He thinks it’s silly of you to be unhappy when he’s obviously very happy with your body. Of course, that’s not how it works, but the thought behind it is supportive, at least.
• He knows what makes himself feel better, so he’ll try to do the same for you, holding you more and petting your hair or helping out with things around the house. He’ll ease up on the brattiness for a bit, but he can’t hold it back for long.

Michael

• His usual solution to any problem you have isn’t going to work here, since it’s not a person upsetting you. You can vent to him, though, and even though he isn’t going to have much to say about it right then, it’s nice to have someone listen.
• But he’s not going to just let you be unhappy about something. It won’t seem like he’s acting on what you’ve told him at first, but he’ll direct his attention towards whatever area you’re most insecure about, leaving bites on your thighs and scratches down the curve of your sides.
• He’s subtle about it for the most part, so you won’t realize he’s actively praising those parts of you, but it still has the effect of boosting your confidence when you see the attention he gives you.

Bubba

• He’s going to work extra hard to make you feel pretty. Fancy clothes, makeup, he’ll even lend you some of the bits of jewelry he’s accumulated over the years. He always enjoys dressing you up anyways, so what better way to make you feel better.
• The outfit doesn’t match at all, clashing colors and styles, but he’s so enthusiastic about it you can’t help but perk up at least a little. He’s got almost no skill at applying makeup either, and most of it is old and dried out, but you can see how much he’s trying.
• It’s more his effort that cheers you up than anything. He puts a lot of work into dolling you up, even if it doesn’t quite look the way you thought it would. Makeovers aren’t just for you though, so he expects to be prettied up too.

Thomas

• He will pick up on your change in mood almost immediately, feeling you squirm away from his hands on your stomach or thighs. It doesn’t take him long to recognize the nervousness you show when someone’s watching you.
• He goes out of his way to be more affectionate, pulling you into his lap whenever he can or sneaking a hand up your leg under the dinner table. He wants you to feel appreciated and loved.
• Lots of cuddling. He will stay in bed a little longer in the mornings, taking the opportunity to hold you and squeeze wherever his hands can reach.

Jason

• He’s very touchy-feely, so when you don’t react like normal to his playful touches his first thought is that he’s done something wrong. You’ll have to spell it out for him that it’s nothing he’s done, otherwise he’ll just go in circles trying to figure out how to fix it.
• There is one surefire way to take care of whatever is upsetting you - lots and lots of kisses. He will sit you down and just not let go until he feels like you’re appropriately cheered up, and even then, he’s likely to keep you there anyways.
• He knows that’s just a temporary fix for your gloomy mood, so he’ll be keeping an eye out for any opportunity to show how much he appreciates the parts of you that you don’t like.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Every day is a game of hide and seek with him, trying to figure out where he is and if he’s watching (he is). If you want to actually play the real game, he doesn’t mind playing either role, but he’s going to cheat. It’s best to just let him win, because he’s a sore loser.
• You think he would have a harder time finding you when you’re the one hiding out, but he’s very familiar with the house and he knows just where to look for you every time. He’s also cheating by following you through the walls when you think he’s downstairs, counting to 100.
• Every game you play with Brahms has some kind of stakes, this isn’t any different. If you somehow manage to come out on top, he’ll twist the rules at the last second or just throw a big enough fit that you’ve got to give in anyways.

Michael

• It’s not really hide and seek, so much as ‘I have a knife and now I’m going to chase you with it’. He’s always doing the chasing, of course. You don’t get to decide when these little games happen, you just get surprised by them.
• He’s not trying to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to get a few cuts if you don’t get moving. He wants you to run from him, panicked and desperate.
• He lets you get away long enough to hide before he comes looking. He’ll catch you a few times before the game is over, either pulling you out of your hiding spot or chasing you out, letting you get far enough away that you think you’ve gotten away just so he can surprise you again.

Bubba

• You’ve got to go easy on him, he’s so excited to be playing a game with you that he’s not the best when it comes to sitting still and quiet. He is very obviously hiding behind the couch, but look everywhere else first just so he doesn’t get discouraged.
• On the other hand, he is amazing at finding you. Part of it is knowing the farmhouse so well, but sometimes you don’t even hear him before he yanks you out of your hiding spot. Even when you’re really trying to give him a hard time, he still manages to track you down in just a few minutes.
• You start out just playing the standard version, but it quickly turns into a game of tag when one of you is found. You might be able to see where he’s hiding straight away, but good luck chasing him down once you’ve spotted him.

Thomas

• He’s not going to be into it. Might not actually say no, but he’s not going to put much effort into it. He just doesn’t see the point in playing games.
• If you’re insistent, he’ll sort of halfheartedly go along with it. It’s more to make you happy than anything else, so don’t expect a big effort. Probably won’t hide, but he’ll look for you.
• Very easily frustrated when he can’t find you. Not likely to participate in another round after that, and he’ll be a bit grumpy for the rest of the day.

Jason

• He thinks it’s a little strange, but he’ll play along if you ask him to. He’s never played before, so you’ll have to break down the rules for him.
• Unnervingly good at both roles. You figured he would be good at finding you, that’s pretty much his job description, but he’s impossible to find unless he’s going easy on you. More than once you’ve given up, only to find him standing right behind you.
• He’s got limitless patience, so if you do happen to find a really good spot and he doesn’t find you right away, he’s not giving up. You will have to come out and throw the game, otherwise he’s just going to keep looking until he finds you.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• It really depends on the situation - if he thinks he can get away with having two nannies, he’s going to be very happy. Yeah, you’re BFFs, whatever, as long as your focus is still on him, he wouldn’t mind. The circumstances would have to be right for this, though, because another person is also another potential threat.
• Choosing whether or not to explain who exactly you’re living with would be difficult because if it goes wrong, you know it will get messy. But, assuming this friend is fine with Brahms and you caring for him, he’s content to let them hang around, even if they don’t end up becoming Nanny #2.
• There are rules, though. They can’t be taking any more of your time than he allows them to, no showing up uninvited, and absolutely no interfering with his schedule. They would also have to put up with his temper and inability to share, because he’s a petty brat who will have a meltdown if he thinks he’s not your favorite.

Michael

• You can choose whether or not to reveal your relationship with him, because he doesn’t care either way. If you don’t want them to know, good luck getting him off your couch when they’re on their way over, because he ain’t moving. But he isn’t going to put up with a nosy friend getting involved with you two, either.
• Definitely going to stalk them. He’s going to do this to anyone you have in your life, so it goes double for someone you’re so close to. He’s not subtle about the intent behind it either, because he wants them to know that the only thing keeping them safe from him is you.
• Going to get huffy if they take up too much of your time. He’s not usually needy or anything, but there is a point where he feels like you’re not paying him enough attention and he’ll just take it if you won’t give it.

Bubba

• He’s very happy to hear you talk about them, even if he’s a little jealous that you have such a close friend. He’s not jealous of them, but the closest thing he’s had to something like that is his brothers, and they’re not nearly as nice as the friend you have.
• Not the best idea to try and bring them home, unless they’re up for getting their hands dirty and helping put food on the table. Drayton wouldn’t allow it either way, but if they’re willing to help out, then he might not be too mad if you do it anyways. Otherwise, stick to phone calls only.
• If they do come around, Bubba is a nervous wreck. He doesn’t ever meet new people, but their similarities with you help to put him at ease a little. He’s a little surprised when there are two people being so nice to him, he’s going to be very excited about seeing them in the future.

Thomas

• There’s no way around it - either you deal with not seeing your friend anymore, or they get real comfortable eating mystery meat and never leaving the house. The friend might be willing to keep the family’s secrets, but they aren’t taking the chance.
• Tommy is busy a lot during the day, so he would feel better knowing you’ve got someone to keep you company while he’s working. He isn’t very fond of new people in general, and probably wouldn’t really warm up to them, but he would relax a little once it’s been a while.
• He doesn’t go out of his way to be friendly towards them, but he’s not outright rude. He’ll nod or grunt in greeting, but that’s about all they’ll get out of him. He’s a little more shy when they’re around when it comes to being affectionate towards you, but he’ll still butt into a conversation to get his goodbye kiss before leaving the house.

Jason

• Super, super jealous. He’s not going to stop you from having friends, even if he sort of wants to, but this one friend gets on his nerves in particular. Anytime you’re on the phone with them, or even just texting, he’s trying to draw your attention away.
• He wouldn’t want anyone around you to know about him, so you’ll have to keep that secret. Maybe the friend would be cool with your zombie boyfriend, but he isn’t taking chances.
• Bringing them home is not going to happen. Call, video chat, meet up in town, but he isn’t going to allow anyone else in his home. This is a hard no that he’s not going to change his mind on.

Chapter Text

Michael

• Don’t get anything expensive, because it’s not going to last. If you do manage to get out of the house before he sees you, the first thing he’s doing when you get back is cutting it off.
• He likes them, obviously, but that doesn’t stop him from ruining them. It’s more fun to tear something up and see you get angry about it than to just see the outfit.
• This goes for anything nice you might want to wear, really, but at least with swimsuits he does sometimes leave them intact, just because they’re stretchy/small enough to get out of the way without tearing.

Bubba

• Very, very distracted once you decide to start wearing swimwear to escape the heat. You don’t even have to be in the same room, he’ll peek around corners if he hears you nearby.
• Yeah, he’s seen skimpier outfits on some of the victims, but they weren’t you. You could probably get him to agree to anything, just because he’s obviously not paying attention to a word you’re saying.
• Absolutely no work will get done, he’s just a mess the whole time, hoping you won’t notice how flustered he is every time you speak to him. He can’t even make eye contact.

Thomas

• Is this allowed???
• The family is very much a ‘women in dresses, men in pants’ kinda group, so he’s probably never seen you in something so revealing. Don’t let anyone else see it, otherwise he’s gonna be scandalized.
• Really, it’s just Mama being a little uptight, so as long as she doesn’t see it, you’re fine. Tommy will insist you wear one of his shirts over it if you’re walking down to the creek, though.
• He’s never gone swimming with you before, and while he still won’t want to get in the water, he’ll volunteer to walk you down the short path to the nearby creek and keep watch. Just in case, you know.

Jason

• He’s fine with it, as long as you’re inside. No stepping foot out the door in anything so revealing, it doesn’t matter if it’s actually going to be used for swimming or not.
• He doesn’t have the same harsh standards for you as he does others, but he’s not comfortable thinking that someone else may see you like that. As it is, he’s going to be standing on the dock watching over you the whole time.
• If you go out in it, it’s not without one of his (very dirty) over sized shirts covering you up, and yes, you’re expected to keep it on in the water, too. If you really want to make trouble, take off the shirt after you’ve gotten in so that he has to chase you down.

Chapter Text

You found him in the barn, bent over a work table with hands covered in grease, large portions of a big metal part spread over the table in front of him. You weren’t sure if it was something from his saw, or perhaps a piece from one of the old cars that he liked to mess with, but it looked to be half taken apart and filthy.

He looks up when you squeeze through the rusty barn doors, pausing his work. He’s quick to wipe his hands on the old leather apron, but it doesn’t do much but spread the grease over his skin. He greets you with a quick pat on the head and a nuzzle of his mask to the side of your face. It leaves you with streaks of dirt in your hair, but you don’t mind, grinning up at him.

“Look, Tommy,” you hold up the object in your hands. “Charlie got it for me while we were in town today.”

He looks the little thing over, watching with surprise as you press a button and the front pops open. It’s dull and worn, the shine scratched away years ago, but you’re clearly excited about it so he nods, pleased that you like it.

“It plays music,” you explain, taking out the little cassette tape and showing it to him. “So I can listen to those tapes we got outta the cars last month!”

There were a lot of things to find in the cars that came through, although most of them were junk, but he remembers your fondness for collecting some of the little things. Most you threw away to be burned in the pit where they disposed of other useless items, but there were a handful you had kept, even though you had no way of listening to them. Once Hoyt siphoned all the gas out of them, the old cars couldn’t play them anymore.

“You wanna listen with me?”

There is no chair, so Thomas sits on the dirt floor of the barn, pulling you down and into his lap. The size difference is big enough that he has to hunch over to rest his chin on the top of your head, watching as you fiddle with the cassette player. Once you’ve gotten the tape back in, your finger hovers over the play button.

“I know you don’t really care about music much,” you start, shifting as his hands come around to settle in your lap. “And this probably won’t be your kinda stuff anyways.”

He grunts in response. He might not like music one way or the other, but he likes you, so if you want to listen to it, then he’s happy to as well.

With a grin you slap the button, hearing a click as the tape starts to spin. You haven’t listened to the tapes before, but you’re familiar with the music they contain, recognizing the blurry cover art on the outside of the cases they came in.

You hold back a laugh when you feel Tommy tense behind you, jumping a little at the loud noise. You figured he probably wouldn’t like the sound, but it’s a nice change for you after so long of listening to the droning country that seemed to be all you could find on the radio. It’s a little fuzzy sounding, the harsh vocals distorting a little, but it was the best you were going to get out of the little tape player.

“You like it?”

One of the hands in your lap reaches up, grabbing the player and pressing the same button you had showed him earlier. The front pops open, stopping the music and ejecting the tape.

“Guess not.”

Chapter Text

For the second time in the same week, you found yourself at the grocery store. It was a little annoying, because you had already made the trip once and tried to stock up enough supplies to avoid doing it again so soon. Michael, however, didn’t care about the cooking schedule you had made up to plan out meals, and simply ate whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It didn’t help that he was always ready to eat and wasn’t picky at all.

“No!” You hiss under your breath, slapping the large bag of marshmallows out of Michael’s hands. “We’re getting real food this time, not snacks.”

He gives you a look, but doesn’t reach for the bag again. You keep your eye on him as you trail down the aisle - you wouldn’t put it past him to try to sneak the damn things into the cart when you aren’t looking.

It wasn’t unusual for him to go with you when you ran errands, which had surprised you at first. There was no hesitation to remove the mask, although it was a little more work to convince him to wear something other than the old jumpsuit. You compromised on that, letting him keep it on so long as the top was pulled down, sleeves tied at the waist and an old tee or sweatshirt underneath. You were a little worried that he would be recognized, since there was no lack of mugshots littering every shop window and his wounded eye stood out, so it was necessary to drive a few towns over to do your shopping.

Your cart was already half full, and you had barely gone down a handful of aisles. You let him pick out what he wanted, for the most part, although it was clear that he favored sweet foods like cereal and snack cakes.

“If you get that, then you can’t have a candy bar at the register.”

Michael pauses, holding the box of cakes over the cart, and glares at you. He’s much older than you and it feels a little ridiculous to be speaking to him like this, but you’re the one paying for it, so you return his glare. After a few moments he drops them in, huffing a little as he looks away.

“Alright, we’re leaving now. This is already more money than I was planning on spending this month.”

He doesn’t argue, following you up to the front of the store, but he does grab a few more things quickly as you pass displays. You roll your eyes, but don’t say anything as he continues adding to the cart, although you do turn away a second attempt at throwing in the marshmallows. There’s a line for the only register open, so you queue up, taking your keys from your pocket and holding them out.

“Want to wait in the car?”

You see him glance at the little rack of overpriced candy, probably weighing the possibility of trying to convince you to get him one anyways, but apparently he doesn’t figure the odds are very good. With a short nod he takes the keys from you, but a voice calling out stops him as he steps away.

“Hey!”

You’re horrified to see a familiar face, a co-worker that you’re friendly with, rapidly approaching with her own cart. She pulls into line behind you, glancing between you and Michael as she greets you.

“Hi,” you say, hoping that you don’t look as panicked as you feel. “What’re you doing here, bit far away from home, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I live out here! The commute is horrible, but it’s safer than being right in town, you know.”

You nod, fully aware that the reason it isn’t safe in town is standing right next to you. Michael is standing at your side, silently staring down your co-worker, keys still in hand. You nudge him in the side with your elbow.

“Go on, I can get the bags.”

You’re eager for him to leave, hoping to avoid any unwanted questions, but this only draws her attention to him.

“Oh, is this your father? I thought you said he lived out of state, is he here for a visit?”

Your heart nearly stops at the question, cheeks turning red. Your co-worker seems to have realized that this wasn’t a very tactful question by the look on your face, and you can only imagine the glare that Michael is giving her.

“Oh, uh, no,” you sputter, seeing embarrassment flood her face. “Boyfriend, actually.”

She seems at a loss for words at that, face red and mouth open in surprise.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

You wave off her apology, assuring her that you’re not offended, but you’re a little grateful that the awkward question has ended the conversation. She waits in line behind you without speaking, avoiding your gaze as you pay and quickly march out of the store with your groceries. Michael leads the way, still holding the keys, and takes the driver’s seat once you reach the car.

“Okay, don’t help or anything, that’s fine.”

You throw the bags in the trunk as quickly as you can, hoping to avoid seeing your co-worker as she exits. You slide into the passenger seat after dumping the cart in an empty parking space, wanting to leave as quickly as possible, but Michael makes no move to start the car.

“C’mon, lets go.”

You’re not looking forward to the ride home, as Michael has a very loose concept of the rules of the road, but you’re not going to argue with him now.

He turns to look at you, and you can see he’s angry by the snarl on his face. A hand lashes out, grabbing a fistful of your shirt as he hauls you across the car, pulling you out of your own seat and into his. You yelp, foot catching on the hand brake momentarily before he yanks your leg away, squishing you into his lap, held between himself and the wheel.

You’re going to protest, awkwardly crammed into the tight space, head almost hitting the roof of the car, but he doesn’t give you time to open your mouth. A harsh jerk upward and his hips are grinding into yours, hands on your waist and shoulder pressing your body down onto him. Your hands go to his shoulders and neck, gripping onto the collar of his shirt to steady yourself. Even sitting on him like this, he’s still taller than you, his head dipping down to force a rough kiss to your mouth.

You dig your fingers into him, feeling his body tense under you as your nails scrape his skin, unable to stop your own hips from rocking against him. The hand on your hip moves to take a handful of your ass, pulling you closer. You squirm in surprise, letting out a squeak against his lips, but you don’t shy away from the fingers kneading at your flesh. You weren’t expecting this, but you’re not going to complain now that you’re in his lap with his hard dick pressing between your legs.

His other hand creeps up from your shoulder to your neck, gripping under your jaw and keeping your mouth pressed to his as you try to pull away and gasp for air. With a needy moan you rock your hips roughly, tilting forward and spreading your knees to press fully against his bulge, his nails digging into the curve of your ass at the sudden movement. With short, jerky thrusts you grind against him, a deep rumble building in his throat.

A loud noise startles you, jerking your head away from Michael and looking around. He lets you break the kiss, breathing heavily into your ear and keeping your hips pinned to his as he rolls you against his cock. With wide eyes, you find the source of the noise, looking over his shoulder to see a familiar figure hastily loading up bags into the back of a car parked behind you, pointedly not looking in your direction.

“Oh my god,” you whine, burying your face into his shoulder, knowing there was no way she didn’t see. “You realize that everyone I work with is going to know about this in about twenty minutes, right?”

Michael lets out a little grunt, sounding like that was exactly what he wanted in the first place, nipping at the side of your throat. He doesn’t stop pushing and pulling you in his lap, even as you feel your own arousal being suffocated by embarrassment.

His hand reaches between you, trying to pull at the zipper of his pants, the other leaving your throat to tug at the waistband of your own clothing. You think of stopping him, crawling off of him in a huff and demanding to go home, but that thought stays with you for only a second. Your co-worker is pulling out of the parking lot at top speed, so there’s no reason not to keep going now, and you realize with a burst of heat that you’ve never done it in the car before.

“You’re a horrible boyfriend,” you huff, slapping his hand away and pulling down the zipper in one go. “Such a troublemaker.”

You catch the roll of his eyes from the corner of your vision, but a firm hand around his cock takes the smug look off of his face. This little incident was most likely going to create quite the awkward atmosphere at work tomorrow, and you’re going to make sure that Michael makes it up to you.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• He pays attention to any contact you have with the outside world, but unless it’s happening through messages or phone calls, he might not even notice for a while unless you start acting strange at home.
• It’s better if you come out and tell him, because he’ll feel like you’re trying to hide things from him otherwise. He’s always worried about your leaving the house, so knowing there’s something you haven’t told him would only make him angry.
• He wouldn’t stay angry at you for long, especially once he sees how upset you are. Unless you’re prepared to lure them home for him, he can’t do much to prevent it, but he does what he can to make you feel better once you’re home.
• In the end, he would find a way to deal with this person on his own. He might not leave the house, but he could probably find a way to get things in order if he really tried.

Michael

• You don’t have to tell him at all, he already knows. He keeps an eye on you when you’re out, even if you don’t know he’s there, and pays special attention to your interactions with others. Normally it’s just to be close to you while you’re gone, but he will definitely pick up on anything bothering you.
• It doesn’t matter if you’ve had the ‘don’t kill people I know’ talk or not, this person is going to come up missing, and soon. He wouldn’t tell you about it, but you can connect the dots once you hear about it.
• Normally, that would be it. They would disappear and you wouldn’t be bothered anymore, he’s done it before with people who were minor nuisances to you. But for someone who was so cruel to you, he’d make sure they were found and that it was clear who had gotten to them.
• He doesn’t care if you’re mad at him for it or not, he just sees it as defending you. Of course, he would gladly accept any praise you want to give him if you are happy about it, but he’s also not going to be bothered if you’re not.

Bubba

• He takes a lot of abuse of his own from his family, but they’re not likely to be the cause of your bullying. They only pick on Bubba because they know he won’t turn on them for it. While they’re not going to be the nicest people, they aren’t going to treat you the same as him.
• It doesn’t matter who it is, he’d be a little surprised at how angry he gets hearing about it. He’s never felt that way about his own circumstances, and he’s never been prone to anger about anything before.
• Likely it would be someone in town, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to go killing the townsfolk and drawing attention to themselves. He can’t really show up to defend you himself either, so he’ll try to limit the time you spend away.
• Other than the farmhouse, the gas station is the only other place you spend any time at. He wouldn’t admit to it, but Drayton would keep an eye on you while you’re there, because he knows Bubba can’t do it himself.

Thomas

• You’re never very far from each other, so he’s probably there when it first starts. He’s been taught for years to ignore people, because it would only lead to trouble if he tried fighting back, but that’s hard to do when he’s not the only one being targeted.
• He’s heard just about every mean thing a person could think up, so it doesn’t rile him up as much as it did when he was a kid. He’s not going to let it slide when it starts happening to you, though.
• He’s a lot bigger and stronger, but he’s never pushed back before. Once he shows that he’s willing to fight if you’re involved, they’ll back down pretty quick. Most likely he won’t have to follow through with it, but he’s ready to.
• Everyone knows he could snap them in half, they’ve just never thought of it before, since he’s never shown a willingness to defend himself. They’ll be more inclined to leave the both of you alone once they see that he’s not going to let it go anymore.

Jason

• The only way it’s going to happen more than once is if it’s going on outside of the camp, where he doesn’t go. He wouldn’t let anyone get far enough in the woods to find you in the first place, let alone be so mean.
• He can tell right away that something is wrong, even if you try to hide it. If you don’t spill the beans right away, he’ll just follow you the next time you go out and see for himself what’s going on. He doesn’t like leaving home, but he will if he needs to.
• It doesn’t matter how mild or severe the bullying is, he’s got a no tolerance policy so they’re already dead once he hears about it. Doesn’t matter if they’re in the camp or not, he’s quick to deal with the problem.
• It’s going to be super obvious that he was involved, especially to anyone in town, so hopefully no one connects the dots between their death and the bullying. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the woods, so he has no problem leaving to get the job done.

Chapter Text

You flash a grin at the truck pulling up through the dust, getting up from your seat on a stack of boxes. You’ve been sitting in the heat for the better part of an hour, barn doors open and waiting. Usually you would be more upset at the lack of a timely arrival, but you were looking forward to this visitor. He hadn’t been by for a couple of months, even though his brother regularly made the trip out, and you were hopeful he’d be along this time.

Your hopes were dashed when only one figure stepped out of the truck, much smaller than the one you were wanting to see.

“Hey there, Drayton,” you greet him, a little disappointed. “What’ve you got for me this month?”

He gives you a grin of his own, coming around the truck to open the flatbed. You follow, stepping around the rusty vehicle and looking over the supplies inside. Two big crates are stuffed full of tightly wrapped white packages, tied up with twine and covered with brown smudges.

“Dried beef,” he says proudly, leaning forward to pull one of the crates over. “Got almost fifteen pounds of it in these two crates, and one of ‘em is yours.”

“Well, shit,” you mutter, glancing back at the open barn where your own supplies waited. “I’ve got some extra corn I can throw in, but nothin’ I can trade is worth all this.”

You’re more than a little surprised at the friendly smile and laugh he gives you, reaching a hand out to slap your shoulder. You aren’t close with the Sawyers, they keep to themselves, but you know enough to realize that this good natured side of the oldest brother is out of the ordinary.

“Don’t worry about that, I got plenty to spare! We’ll just say you owe me.”

You hesitate, a little concerned by this sudden friendliness, but that’s a lot of food that you can’t afford to turn away, even if it puts you in his debt.

“Alright,” you agree, reaching out to lift the crate he had pulled forward. “I guess that’s fine.”

You didn’t want to know how he had gotten this much meat, enough that he was handing out favors to you with it. Thieving most likely, knowing that the family had worked at the slaughterhouse before all the layoffs. You wouldn’t put it past the squirrelly looking one to sneak in after hours, but you’re not complaining now.

Drayton seems pleased with the supplies you’ve got for trade, picking up two of the lightest bags and throwing them into the back of the truck. You follow with a bag of your own, thinking idly that the process would be much quicker if he had brought someone to help.

“Where’s that brother of yours? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

You see his face flush red at the mention of his sibling, mouth turning down in a scowl. The question seems to have soured his mood rather quickly, and you regret asking it.

“That idiot,” he mutters under his breath, stopping to give you a suspicious look. “What’re you askin’ after him for? Boy ain’t got no sense in him, runnin’ around like he does.”

You raise your eyebrows. He hadn’t seemed like the type to go ‘running around’, but you supposed you didn’t really know him all that well. You had only ever seen him when Drayton came around to trade, and he had kept his distance even then.

“Oh, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, just wonderin’.”

You turn back to the open barn doors, bending over to pick up another burlap bag. You walk it over to the truck, hoisting it up to stack on top of the others. Drayton comes around the vehicle, giving you a glare.

“‘Don’t mean nothin’ by it’,” he says, crossing his arms. “He only ever gets up to trouble, even when he ain’t home, so don’t you be involving yourself with him. That scrawny fool don’t need no encouragement.”

“Oh!” You laugh, smoothing out the rough canvas apron covering your clothes. “Oh, no, I ain’t talkin’ about him!”

Drayton never seems to have anything good to say about his brothers, but scrawny isn’t an insult you could see him using for the one you have in mind. He gives you a dumbfounded look, the corners of his mouth turning even further down.

“I mean the other one,” you give him a grin, watching his expression turn into a strange mix of anger and shock. “You know, the cute one.”

Indignant sputtering is your only reply for a while, his face reddening even more.  You keep the smile on your face, seeing him try to wrap his mind around what you had said.

“You got even less damn sense than either of those two idiots!” He shouts, waving a finger in your face.

“Hey, I was just askin’. Noticed he wasn’t around, is all.”

He gives you a mean stare as he climbs into the cab of the truck, cursing under his breath. You’re not sure if he’s angry or just flustered, but you do regret chasing away his good mood from before. The next time he shows up, he’s not likely to be in as good of spirits as he was today.

“Bring him down next time you come over!” You call, unable to hear his rude reply as the little truck speeds away.

Chapter Text

You haven’t seen any of the Sawyers in months. That wasn’t too unusual, they weren’t much for socializing, but you had a good trade going up until three months ago. You didn’t have much, and they had even less, but both sides had always come out with enough to get by on. There wasn’t a way to survive out here without relying on neighbors for help or trade, which made it all the stranger that Drayton hadn’t come around again. No one else had seen him either, outside of stops at the station, after he had gone around town bartering stacks of dried meat like it was cash. You had since found out that the amount he had brought over to you was only a fraction of what he had taken around town, which made you think there was no way it had been stolen from the slaughterhouse. That amount of meat gone missing would have been noticed, regardless of how they would have managed to get it out without being seen. Something was definitely going on with the reclusive family, and although you didn’t want to get mixed up in whatever it was, you were about to do just that anyways.

It had taken you almost two months to get together enough scrap to fix up your old generator, although usually you wouldn’t have bothered. It was loud and old, and you had a newer one already hooked up to the house, so it was mostly kept around for spare parts. But you hadn’t repaired it for yourself. Things like that were always needed around here, where most people didn’t have connections to the city lines, and you knew Drayton wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to pick one up. Besides, it was too big and clunky for you to move on your own, so he’d have to bring help, which is just what you were hoping for. 

You were out just after dawn, trying to beat the summer heat even though it was already well into the 80s. The old generator had been halfway pulled towards the barn doors, but you couldn’t get it much farther than that. Even that had sweat pouring down your face, and you were in the middle of trying to cool down when the rattling of an old truck came from outside. Quickly, you straighten your clothes and run a hand through your sweaty hair, hoping you don’t look too bad, before stepping out to greet them. 

You’re surprised to see that Drayton isn’t the one behind the wheel, but rather his scrawny younger brother. The other sibling is there as well, the big one you had been hoping to see in the first place, but you’re a little concerned to see that Drayton isn’t here. 

“How’re you doin’ today?”

The brother gives you a wild eyed look, a big grin on his face. It’s an off putting expression on his already strange face, but you smile back politely. 

“W-we’re good!”

The answer is loud and enthusiastic, and you’re just a little bit baffled at how high spirited he seems already. 

“Well… Alright.”

The truck door pops open with a rusty squeak and he steps out, glancing around your yard. 

“Barn’s over here,” you say, pointing towards the run down shed. “Generator is already half out, I just couldn’t get it the rest of the way. You need any help getting it-“

He shakes his head, waving long, stringy hair around his face. 

“Gotta look, uh, l-look at it first.”

You watch him wander into the barn, a frown on your face. He’s definitely… stranger than you remembered, it was no wonder the Sawyers had been some of the first to get laid off at the slaughterhouse. You couldn’t imagine working in a place like that with him running around. 

You leave him to look the old machine over, though you don’t see the point. It’s a piece of junk barely holding together, but it works, and that’s all that matters. Drayton had offered you a stubbornly small amount of credit at the station in return for it, and usually you would have argued over it, but it probably wasn’t worth what he was giving you anyways. 

His brother is lingering in the truck, door still closed and seemingly hiding behind it. His shoulders are hunched and he’s looking down at his lap, a mop of dark curls in his eyes. The sight brings a grin to your face, and you step up to the truck. He hears you coming, his quick glance up showing you a worried expression. 

“Hey, there,” you say with a smile, leaning on the truck door and propping yourself up on the open window. “You ain’t been around here in awhile, huh.”

You get a nervous titter in response, seeing the hands gripping his knees turning white. He had always been a shy one, avoiding your attempts at conversation and hiding behind Drayton. A quick look over your shoulder confirms that the scrawny brother is still in the barn, fussing over something from the sound of it. 

“You’re name’s Bubba, isn’t it?” 

You already know the answer, but you ask it anyways, watching him give you a hesitant nod. You give him your name, reaching a hand through for a shake, but he doesn’t take it. His eyes dart from his lap to your hand, looking a little bit afraid, so you withdraw it, not wanting to be rude. 

“I like your tie,” you say after a moment of silence, watching his fingers twitch up towards it before settling back in his lap. “It’s real cute, you know.”

He mumbles something, and you’re not sure what the words are, but they sound almost flustered, the corner of his mouth tipping up just slightly. Your smile gets bigger, leaning in through the window a bit. 

“You’re cute, too.”

He chokes, looking at you from the corners of his eyes with a red face, fingers twisting together. His mouth twitches up, then back down, then up again, as if he’s not sure how to react. 

“Hey!”

The sudden shout makes you jump, turning to find the brother just a few feet behind you. You aren’t sure how he’d managed to sneak up on you so quickly, but you take a few steps back to put some distance between the two of you. 

“C’mon, Bubba,” he says, reaching forward to pull the door open. “G-get it in the truck!”

Bubba is quick to do as he’s told, lumbering towards the barn with heavy strides. He seems even more nervous to be out of the truck, so you don’t follow when he goes through the doors, standing at the side of the truck with his brother.  

“You, you sh-shouldn’t bother my brother like that.”

“What?”

The look on his face is still just as strange, but his eager grin has turned into a frown, wide eyes watching you. It’s hard to tell from his unusual demeanor, but there’s something threatening about the way he grits his teeth at you, lips curled back. 

“Teasin’ h-him,” he says, waving his hands in jerky motions towards the barn. “He don’t, don’t know when people a-are jokin’ with him.”

It takes you a few seconds to catch on to what he’s saying, but once you do, you let out a laugh. It sounds like you’ve just been given the Sawyer version of a warning off, like a father trying to scare away his daughter’s suitor. 

“Oh, no, you ain’t gettin’ it either, huh,” you say with a smile, remembering Drayton’s confusion. “I ain’t teasin’ him, or being mean. I’m flirting.”

He looks just as surprised as his brother was, his whole body going still and the short, jerky twitches of his fingers stopping. He’s silent, and you would bet this is the most quiet anyone’s ever gotten out of him before, looking like he’s frozen in place. 

“You, uh, might wanna see if he needs any help with that thing.”

You don’t doubt that Bubba can lift the thing on his own, but he hasn’t come out yet. His brother shuffles in place for a moment, jerking his head around before giving you another grin and running off. You can’t help but feel a bit more positively about the guy now, having heard the sharp edge to his voice when he told you off. They’re weirdos, but it was nice to see him being protective of his little brother. 

The bang of the barn doors being thrown open draws your attention, turning to see the brother scurrying back over with a manic look on his face. After a few seconds, Bubba steps out with the old generator held up to his chest, seemingly not affected by the weight at all. You’d have taken a second to admire how much strength that had to take, but his brother beats him to the truck. 

“Y-you oughta come over, f-for dinner!”

You raise your eyebrows at the offer, hands on your hips as you watch him open the flatbed of the truck. 

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, a little suspicious of this sudden friendly offer. “Don’t think Drayton would like that much.”

“He don’t t-tell us what to do!” He sidesteps around Bubba as the machine is dropped into the back of the truck, rattling the whole thing on its wheels. “Ain’t t-that right, Bubba?”

His brother looks much more hesitant, but gives a slow, unsure nod of agreement, eyes on the ground. His face is bright pink, either from the heavy lifting or your previous conversation - and judging by the way his fingers reach up to tug at his tie, you can make a guess at which one it is. 

“Alright,” you say slowly, turning over the idea in your mind. “I guess that’d be okay, I got some free time comin’ up next week. Run it by your brother first though, don’t want him blowin’ up at me when I show up.”

You hear a cackle, watching as the scrawny brother digs a hand into his dirty pocket. Bubba is shifting nervously behind him, and although he’s been on edge ever since they showed up, this time it gives you an unsettling feeling. That feeling proves right when a filthy pocket knife is swung in your face, barely missing your nose as you step back. 

“What the fuck?”

“Y-you’re comin’ with us,” he laughs, stepping around to trap you in between him and the truck. “Can’t leave B-Bubba’s little, little friend behind!”

You glance at the knife in his hand, big enough to do some serious damage if you get stuck with it, and you’re not sure if you’re fast enough to get past him without that happening. He jabs it towards you in a mocking way, laughing when you jump away from the blade. Stuck between the knife and the truck, you know you’re not going to be able to get out of this one.

Well, shit, you think.

Chapter Text

“Is this really necessary?”

Your words are muffled through the sweaty shirt that had been forced over your head, sleeves tied around your eyes to form a makeshift blindfold. The heat of the day at its height was already torturous on its own, but the smelly shirt was just a small addition to the list of bad things happening to you right now. The whole house seemed to have a musty, sour odor that even the old shirt didn’t filter out. You only get a loud cackle in response, and you’re not even entirely sure that it’s meant for you. 

“You realize that I already know where you live, right? Like, I’ve been here before,” you explain further, tilting in your seat to follow the noises around you. “So you don’t really need to cover my eyes.”

“D-don’t make no, no difference to me!”

He sounds almost excited about the kidnapping in progress, and you’re sure he’s got a big grin on his face right now. You want to argue the point, but it doesn’t seem worth it when the other party is clearly insane. 

“Where’s Bubba?”

The other brother had been less enthusiastic about your kidnapping, but had followed orders to get you into the truck nonetheless. And, okay, maybe you hadn’t exactly put up a fight when the big guy had scooped you up into his arms, but this was still a hostage situation. You couldn’t tell once the shirt had been put over your head, but you thought he seemed a little nervous about the whole thing, whining under his breath during the ride here. If you could get a moment alone, you had no doubt he’d be willing to untie you from the chair you had been dumped into. 

“Aw, y-you missin’ him already?” He laughs, and the noises stop for a moment before picking up again, louder than before. “He’ll be back soon!”

You frown under the shirt, but keep quiet. Admittedly, it was your silly crush on Bubba that had gotten you here, but this wasn’t exactly an expected outcome when you’d only been flirting a little. Maybe you had been a little forward, and he clearly wasn’t used to the attention, but you couldn’t stop yourself once he had actually shown up. You put this all down to whatever was very clearly wrong with the skinny one - when Drayton got back, you’d tell him off for sending the weirdo to your house instead of coming himself, and demand a ride home. You’d kick up a little bit of a fuss - he had waved a knife in your face, after all - but you figured the eldest brother’s wrath would be enough of a punishment without you adding to it. He had a bad temper on good days, so you were sure the anger was going to be biblical this time. 

Loud footsteps from across the house signal the arrival of someone else, probably Bubba, but you wait for some kind of sign before you get your hopes up. The sounds travel down the stairs, getting closer until you hear them enter the room, a high pitched whine letting you know that your guess was right. 

“D-don’t fuss!”

You hear shuffling, the sounds of shoes scraping the floor and something like fabric being ruffled. You have hope for a moment that they’re going to remove the old shirt covering your face, but the noises stay on the other side of the room and don’t get any closer. 

“Leave it alone,” the brother instructs, sounding the closest to normal that you’ve heard so far. “It l-looks fine.”

Bubba replies in a quiet whisper, the words not quite reaching you. You had never heard him say so much as a word before, and neither had anyone else so far as you knew, but this was definitely him speaking. 

“I, I said your face l-looks fine! Now, h-help pull that table over!”

You frown a little, wondering what in the hell they’re doing. You’re not sure what room of the house you’re in, but they didn’t take you up any steps after the porch so it was still on the first floor. Even though you’d come around once or twice, you had still never been inside the old farmhouse, so you couldn’t make a guess as to where you were. All the noise he’s been making so far hasn’t given you any idea about what’s happening either, other than the sound of furniture being pushed around and the small, clattering sounds of wood and metal. You listen to them moving things around for a moment, trying to figure out what’s going on. 

“Okay, go and g-get grandpa, we’re almost ready!”

Bubba seems eager to do this task, rushing off with loud, thudding footsteps back up the stairs. 

“Hey, uh,” you start, shifting a little in your uncomfortable seat. “If this is going to take much longer, can I get some water or something? It’s really hot in here.”

“Hush up!”

The snippy tone reminds you of Drayton, and you’re a little taken aback by how much they sound alike when they’re angry. A sudden pull on the back of your chair throws you off balance, the legs skidding over the floor as you’re dragged across the room. He turns you around and you rock in your seat, desperately trying to stay in it and not get dumped onto the floor. 

“You’d b-better behave when grandpa shows up, or he’ll get u-upset!”

You wonder briefly how they had managed to hide an entire member of the family, you had never heard of an old man living here with them, but you give him an agreeable nod. The sweat on your face is making the dirty shirt stick to your skin and you really can’t wait for Drayton to get home and put a stop to this. 

“Yeah, okay, best behavior, I got it.”

It’s not long before you hear Bubba returning, walking quickly and making soft noises under his breath. There’s the shuffling of something being moved around, both brothers across the room and fussing over whatever it is, before you hear another loud cackle. A hand on the back of your seat pulls you around again, this time not as far away but just as roughly, and you let out a loud, indignant squeal in surprise, drawing another laugh from the brother. 

“Aw, a-are you flirtin’ w-with my brother again?”

He makes a few pig-like squeals of his own, snorting into your ear. You’re grateful that they can’t see your red face, but you keep quiet despite the taunt. You’re definitely going to throw a fit about this when Drayton gets home now. You can hear Bubba making a drawn out huff, perhaps embarrassed by his brother’s teasing, and the thud of his boot on the floor as he stomps his feet. 

“L-let’s get this started, t-then!”

A rough tug on the shirt gets it halfway off your head, and you gulp down your first taste of air that hasn’t been filtered through the dirty fabric. It’s still hot and dusty, but you’re amazingly happy not to have the smell of sweat in your nose and mouth. A few more pulls and it’s finally free, your mussed hair now dirty and sticking to your face. You blink through the late evening sun, looking around quickly to take in where you are. 

You’re in the dining room by the looks of it, and it’s absolutely filthy. Dirt and dust are everywhere, stains on the baseboards and walls that stand out against the pale, chipping paint. The table has been pushed against the wall to make room for a handful of different chairs, all placed in disorganized rows facing one side of the room, where you sit tied to your chair. The one closest to you is piled with what looks like old clothes, a ratty floral dress sitting on top. It’s all very disconcerting, but you turn to look at the brothers with a scowl on your face nonetheless, ready to express your displeasure. Before you can start in on them, though, the brother steps in front of you, sliding up close and blocking your view of the rest of the room. 

“Hey!” He barks into your face, and you lean back even as he leans forward. “Y-you ain’t supposed to s-see the groom before the wedding!”

“The what?” 

You’re sure you’ve heard him wrong, but the big grin spreading across his face makes him look all too happy to see your confusion. Leaning to the side, you try to look around him, but he pulls your head back by a handful of hair. 

“I-, you can’t just… the what?”

“I heard you,” he starts, reaching into his pocket to bring out the knife. “You, you l-like him, I h-heard it.”

“Well, I mean-“

“S-so we’re makin’ a w-wedding!”

You hear Bubba chime in from behind him, a loud, howling cheer that his brother takes up as well, practically screaming into your face. He waves the knife around his head wildly, tugging on your hair and laughing. This has gotten out of hand real fast. Keeping your head pulled back by the hair, he turns to shout some directions at Bubba, shuffling in place as waits for them to be carried out. 

“Get g-grandpa in his seat, we’re a-almost ready! Put him n-next to grandma!”

“Okay, you can’t do this,” you hear Bubba hurry to follow his orders, moving things around somewhere on the other side of the room, then coming closer. “You can’t marry people if they’re not willing.”

The hard edge of the knife is against your cheek before you finish speaking, the hand holding it trembling with excitement. You jerk away, but there isn’t anywhere else to go, and the sting of it tells you it’s broken the skin. A warm line trickles down the side of your face and you have to stop yourself from hissing in pain when he grinds the flat of the blade over the wound. 

“Y-you like him,” he repeats, mouth twisting into a snarl. “You d-don’t, don’t wanna hurt h-his feelin’s, huh?”

“He’s cute, that doesn’t mean I want to marry him!”

“Y-you hear that, Bubba?” He calls over his shoulder loudly. “T-thinks you’re cute!”

Your face flushes red, half out of anger and half embarrassment, and you show your teeth in a snarl of your own. With a laugh he steps back, letting go of your hair and turning to survey the rest of the room. You finally catch a glimpse of Bubba, now changed into an ill-fitting suit that looks as dusty as the rest of the house, sleeves riding up his arms and clearly something that was passed down to him. His back is to you, bent over and messing with something, but when he steps away you can see what is apparently ‘grandpa’ - you’re not sure if he’s even alive, curled into an old wheelchair with his eyes closed and head on his shoulder. Bubba pats his chest and shoulders softly, straightening the wrinkled clothing and cooing. He moves him closer, parking the chair next to the one closest to you, and spares a few pats and mumbles for the old floral dress on it. You watch as he straightens the old garment, reaching up to brush away a tuft of wiry material at the top. With a mumbled whisper, he moves it aside, leaning down to place a quick kiss on the dry cheek of what you can now see is ‘grandma’. You’re a little horrified, mouth open in shock, but Bubba looks over his shoulder at you and you realize that this is all a lot weirder than you had first thought. 

His face is a mess, smeared with brightly colored makeup that is only vaguely where it should be, and very generously applied. The mouth is a big slash of red that covers part of his cheeks, drawn into a messy shape that doesn’t look much like lips at all. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re not looking at him, though, but something covering his face. Someone else’s face. You can see his mouth and eyes, cut out shapes in the mask letting his real face peek through, smiling at you from across the room. 

“What the fuck are you two idiots doing?!”

You’ve never been so happy to hear that voice, turning eagerly towards the noise. Drayton stomps his way into the house and you can hear the slam of the screen door behind him. You open your mouth to scream, to call him in so he can get his brothers in line, but Bubba sees you and rushes forward with a yelp. His hand covers your mouth just in time, muffling your words, and he keeps his grip firm despite your struggling. His brother runs out of the room with a loud swear, throwing his knife to the floor in frustration.

“Why’s that piece of shit generator in my truck? I told you boys not to go down there, didn’t I?”

You had completely forgotten about the generator, presumably still sitting in the flatbed of the truck that they’d parked outside. He must have met the brother in the hall outside the door, because you can hear them clearly as they argue. 

“A-ain’t my fault, he w-wanted to go!”

“I told you both, we don’t need to be messin’ around with anyone else, gettin’ people snooping around. And I know that fool didn’t talk you into nothin’, you’re just stirring up trouble!”

Bubba whines as the shouting continues, shifting back and forth, eyes flicking between your face and the door. He seems to want to step up and defend his brother, but also to not want to give you the opportunity to draw attention. The noise only gets louder as they fight, until the door is flung open with a kick. 

“Well then, y-you’re gonna be pissed when you s-see this!”

“Don’t you kick my damn doors, you-”

He stops short, face going slack as he looks into the room. It must be quite the sight, with you tied to a chair and bleeding from your face, Bubba keeping your mouth shut and squealing nervously next to you, and the rearranged furniture haphazardly scattered around. You’re sure that you look the worse for wear, sweaty and bloody, face red and desperate as you try to convey ‘help me!’ with your eyes. The secret is out now, so Bubba lets you go, stepping forward with slumped shoulders and hands out in surrender, babbling in a worried, high pitched tone. 

“What is this?! I leave for a few damn hours and you’ve got the whole house torn up!”

“It’s a w-wedding!”

That response seems to throw him off, mouth opening and closing a few times. Drayton looks at you, then back and forth between his brothers, then back at you. You see the anger return in a flash, finger pointed at you as he scowls. He bypasses Bubba completely, coming towards you with a furious look on his face. 

“Is that what you’re up to? You think you can just weasel your way into this family, like a-” He sputters for a second, trying to think up a suitable insult, “- like some kind of harlot?”

You’re almost in shock at his reaction, pulling at the ties around you for emphasis as you glare at him. 

“I’m tied to a fucking chair, do you really think this was my idea?”

“There’s no call for that kind of language!” 

He scolds you, nearly drowned out by the laughter behind him. He turns to the other two, Bubba still hunched over and trembling, the other looking positively delighted with a big smile on his face. 

“And what in the hell were you thinkin’, lettin’ this go on? What’re we gonna do now, people will miss ‘em and they’ve seen your fool asses runnin’ around like that.”

He gestures violently towards Bubba’s face, the bigger man flinching back so hard that he nearly stumbles. He lets out a quiet noise, mumbling and pointing between him and yourself, then looking up at his older brother with a plaintive expression. You couldn’t make anything out of what he had said, but apparently the others had no problem understanding him. 

“Yeah,” the middle brother adds, waving his arms around in a whirlwind. “S-see, Bubba agrees with m-me, we need a wedding! A-and, I already got everything set up!”

“Uh, no,” you cut in, leaning forward as far as the ties will let you and raising your voice. “Here’s what’s gonna happen - you’re gonna untie me right now-”

“Well,” Drayton says slowly, ignoring your input completely. “I guess it might solve our problem, if they was family they wouldn’t have no reason to go tellin’ secrets and such.”

“A-and they like him, too! I h-heard, they were flirtin’ when we w-went down this mornin’!”

He looks thoughtful for a moment, glancing at you but ignoring your protests. You huff and complain as he thinks it over, but it doesn’t seem like any of it reaches him. 

“You know, it ain’t a bad idea. If they got shit enough taste to be flirtin’ with him in the first place, ain’t my fault if it leads to trouble.”

You’re astounded by this leap in logic, staring at him in shock. You had expected him to be the voice of reason, to tame his brothers and get you back home with a promise that it wouldn’t happen again, even if he acted grumpy about it. He should have come in and put a stop to this mess, not encouraged it. 

The younger two brothers let out happy whoops and yelps, scurrying eagerly back into place next to you. Once he’s close enough, Bubba beams at you happily, patting the top of your head. You realize with a jolt that he’s probably the most sane, reasonable person in the room, and he’s the one wearing a skin mask. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. “This is not how I thought today would go down.”

Chapter Text

Looking down at the cards splayed out before you, you frowned. The deck was old and worn, and now that you were halfway through a game of solitaire, you were starting to suspect that a few of the cards were also missing from the pack. There were scribbles on some of them, little messy circles and lines that looked like a child had gotten ahold of them at some point. It wasn’t your first choice of entertainment, but there wasn’t much else to do around the farmhouse.

A whine interrupts your game, jostling the cards as Bubba squirms under you. You turn your frown in his direction, and move to scoop up the ones that had fallen.

“No movin’,” you remind him, trying to set your game back up. “You keep knockin’ these over, and I’ll get up and go sit somewhere else.”

You bounce a little in your seat to drive the point home, slapping your hips against his. He whines again, but quieter this time, fingers digging into the sheets. You wait a moment to see if he’ll obey, before resuming your card game. The game is spread out over his chest and stomach, your hips slotted over his own while you play. He makes a comfortable seat, but you can feel every twitch of his cock as you slowly go about playing your game.

You didn’t intend to let him suffer much longer, but you couldn’t resist teasing him like this. Bubba was always impatient, so making him lay down and stay still with his cock inside you was the worst torture you could come up with. He hadn’t wanted to cooperate at first, but a few stern words had gotten him under control, and now he was mostly docile underneath you, the occasional groan or hiss drifting up as you moved around.

You shuffle the deck again, deciding to just start a new game, and begin laying them out. Leaning forward to place the first few over his chest, you slowly sink back down as you set up the game on top of him. His hands tear at the sheets again, and you see a thick tongue darting out to wet his lips, but he doesn’t move, even though you can feel his thighs trembling under your legs.

“Good boy, Bubba.” You praise, sinking back down fully and arching into him.

You grind down, still fully seated on him, until the head of his cock has bottomed out. He groans and jerks up to meet you, but stills when you reach back to grip his thigh. He’s panting so badly now that your new game is already ruined, cards misplaced and sticky with sweat, but you don’t chastise him for it. You’re just as much of a mess as he is, skin slick with sweat both from the heat in the room and between your legs. You can feel your own wetness leaking down your thighs, and you’re almost ready to end the game for your own sake.

A little noise catches your attention, and at first you mistake it for a moan, but after a few repetitions you realize it’s a word. Bubba’s speech is hard to understand most days, let alone half slurred and breathy, but listening closer you hear the unmistakable words, ‘good boy’. You laugh, patting both hands over his stomach.

“Yeah, Bubba, you’re a good boy.”

He grins up at you, but shakes his head. He babbles the words clumsily a few more times, reaching up to poke you in the chest.

“Oh,” you realize, smiling back at him with a flushed face. “I’m the good boy?”

Bubba gives you an enthusiastic nod, big hands coming up to grip your thighs. You lean forward to lay over his chest, stretching up to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

“Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere, Bubba.”

He whimpers when you pull away, rocking your hips from side to side as you settle back down over his cock. With a shaky breath, you gather the cards back up, shuffling them between your hands. You almost give in when he lets out a desperate squeal, body flexing up into you, but a firm slap to his side stops him.

“Behave yourself, or I’m gettin’ up.”

He fights to settle himself, fingers curling and uncurling into fists, and you wait until he’s mostly still before continuing. You run a hand over his chest and stomach, rewarding him for his efforts, before starting to lay out the cards again.

Chapter Text

Michael

You couldn’t help the silly grin on your face as you tapped away at your phone, holding it in your lap. You hadn’t had much luck with relationships in the past, but you had somehow managed to get into a flirty conversation with the crush you had been pining over for the last few months. They were honestly amazing, and you were sure you didn’t have a chance, but here they were replying in earnest to your cheesy texts. Your smile widens as their next reply comes in, reading it over quickly and feeling your face turn red at the abundance of heart emojis included. That was good, right? They were actually flirting back, and you somehow hadn’t messed it up yet!

“Hey!”

A big hand comes down from behind the couch, slapping the device out of your grip. It clatters to the floor and you swear loudly, afraid that your already damaged screen is going to be ruined.

“What the fuck, Michael!”

He looks at you impassively, face blank. You weren’t sure how long he had been standing behind you, but you didn’t doubt that he had been there long enough to spy on your whole embarrassing conversation. You half lean off the couch, reaching for your phone, but the collar around your neck is suddenly tight as you’re yanked back into the cushions.

“Oh my god, you’re being such a cockblock right now!” You yell furiously, trying to twist away from his hand. “C’mon, they’re finally talking to me, don’t be a dick.”

He lets you go and you’re quick to swipe the phone up from the floor, hastily starting to type your reply. There was a new crack in your screen, but thankfully it wasn’t too bad, so you settled for giving him a glare from the corner of your eyes. You’re halfway through your message when the phone is taken again, lifted up above your head as Michael inspects it, swiping up through your conversation.

“Hey, I’m being serious, give that back!”

You sit up on your knees, throwing yourself towards him over the back of the couch, but you’re nowhere near tall enough to reach. He puts one hand on top of your head to keep you at bay, and lazily scrolls through your messages with the other. It was just like him to start getting involved right as something good came along.

“Michael, please,” you beg, reaching up to grab a handful of his dirty jumpsuit. “They’re so cool and they’re actually flirting with me!”

He looks at you from the corner of his eye, face still turned towards you phone, and the neutral line of his mouth turns down.

“Mine.”

You’re more shocked at the sound of his voice than the actual words, eyes going wide. Your eyes go back and forth between the serious look on his face and the phone in his hand.

“What? Uh, that’s my phone, give it back.”

Michael’s frown deepens, lip pulling back to show a slight gleam of teeth. He lets the phone drop out of his hand, turning to face you over the back of the couch. You shout, watching your phone hit the floor and just knowing the screen is beyond repair now. When you look up at him, eyes full of anger, you’re surprised to see the same look on his face. Long fingers wrap around your jaw, digging into your cheeks and pulling your face up to look at him.

“Mine.”

It’s nearly a whisper, but you’re close enough to hear it clearly. He looks you in the eyes, expression serious, and makes you meet his gaze. You’re not sure what he means by that, but the short statement feels definite and final. Heat floods your face and you squirm under his hand, but he doesn’t let you pull away.

“Okay, okay, I got it, stop smushing my face.”

He tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes like he doesn’t believe you. He shakes your head a little, and you struggle to keep from knocking your teeth together.

“Yours, I get it! C’mon, my face hurts.”

A quiet buzz from the floor lets you know that your crush has noticed your late reply. Michael looks down, and you know what he’s about to do, but your hand reaching up for his sleeve is too late to stop him. A heavy boot crunches your phone into splinters, grinding down until the screen detaches completely.

“Really?! That’s a shitty start to a relationship, Michael, I just finished paying for that!”

Jason

You were a mess.

You hadn’t slept well for the past few days, and the lack of rest showed. Tired eyes, messy hair and a grumpy attitude were clear signs of your unrest, and the friends you spoke to everyday were starting to notice as well.

The reason you hadn’t been sleeping was sitting across from you, a hulking body balanced precariously on the edge of one of your kitchen chairs, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to sit on it. Big hands were folded in his lap, masked face pointed down and keeping his eyes on the floor. He looked almost like a child being scolded, even though all you had done was offer him a seat.

You weren’t sure what to do about him. Each day only brought more little gifts, thankfully less morbid than the ones he had been leaving before, and he was always waiting when you came home from work. Tonight had been no different, arriving home to find him standing on your porch with another handful of weeds ready to be presented to you. It was a little endearing, you couldn’t deny that, but you had to put a stop to it.

“Thank you for the, uh, flowers. Again.”

You had placed today’s bundle of weeds in the same jar of water that held the ones you had received for the past week, but they didn’t look anything like a bouquet. Mostly made up of grass with clumps of dirt still attached and a few stray dandelions, you were a little amazed that he had managed to pick everything except for flowers. Especially when you considered the abundant amount of wildflowers surrounding your house.

He doesn’t reply, but you can tell he’s uncomfortable. This is the first time he’s been inside your home, and you usually would never have allowed him in despite the awkward presents, but you thought it would be polite, considering you were about to turn him down. It was sweet, you supposed, the little gifts he gave you, but you couldn’t let it go on.

“Do you want food?” You’re a little nervous to actually get to the point, so you flit around the kitchen trying to find something to do with your hands. “Or something to drink?”

He gives you a short shake of his head, eyes still on the ground. You close the cabinet doors you had been looking through, standing nervously with your back to the counter. There wasn’t a good way to let someone down normally, let alone a murderous urban legend.

“Okay, well. I appreciate the flowers, you know, like I said. It’s sweet, but, uh…”

You trail off, shifting on your feet and glancing away. This was much harder than you had anticipated, and he wasn’t helping things with the downcast look and slumped shoulders.

“Jason.”

He looks up at that, finally meeting your eyes. You’re a little surprised at the sudden eye contact, and the words you had been preparing vanish. It was hard to tell with the mask covering so much of his face, but you thought he almost looked happy at the mention of his name.

“C-can, can you talk?”

You stutter out the question with a flush creeping up your face. He shakes his head again, making low gurgling noises in the back of his throat. You look away, mostly to avoid the strangely affectionate look on his face, and spot your grocery list on the counter next to you. You pick it up, turning it around to the blank side, and pull a stubby pencil from your junk drawer.

“Okay, we can use this.”

You slide the paper and pencil in front of him, stepping back to put the little table in between you. He looks down at the pencil, but doesn’t move to pick it up.

“Just write your answers,” you explain, reaching over to nudge the paper closer. “Can you do that?”

Jason cocks his head to the side like a curious dog, pulling the items closer. The stubby pencil is minuscule in his big hands, but he takes it and presses it roughly against the paper. He doesn’t wait to see what questions you have, but starts writing immediately, big, loopy shapes scratched out in a clumsy manner. When he’s done, the whole paper taken up with his work, he holds it back out for you to take.

There are dark smudges from his dirty hands, but the writing is surprisingly legible, only because it’s not words at all. Big hearts cover the page, like the kind little girls draw in their notebooks at school, lines wobbly and uneven. You feel your face go red, trying to find some kind of reply. Looking up, you see the corners of his eyes crinkled up, clearly smiling under the mask.

Okay, change of plans, you decide. You can’t let him down easy now, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to wait a little longer.

Chapter Text

Michael

• Likes to push the limits of your caring and kindness. He’ll do things to irritate or frustrate you, just to see if you’ll ever drop the perfect housewife persona. Quickly decides that you’re the nicest, most naive person he’s ever seen and he must protect you from everything.
• He might not be into the classic housewife stereotype, but he’s not going to complain if you’ve always got warm food on the table when he shows up. 
• Not very happy about your habit of feeding the local strays. He doesn’t like dogs, and cats are only barely tolerated, so don’t be surprised if a few of the regulars go missing.
• A good 90% of the time he just walks in covered in blood, so you do have to suffer through mopping up a bloody floor a few times a week. The jumpsuit is also horribly stained and he’s not washing it, so you have to get used to it.

Bubba

• He’s used to doing most of the domestic chores, so he’ll be very happy if you want to put on a matching apron and help out! You insist that you can do the work yourself, and he refuses to not pitch in, so it’s a race to see who can complete everything first, while letting the other do as little as possible.
• You cannot convince me that he wouldn’t get you a frilly gingham apron to match his own. You can’t do housework if you ain’t cute.
• He can try and give you a heads up whenever he’s got work to do with the saw, but sometimes it’s on short notice. He’s very good about cleaning up though, so you won’t have to deal with any of the mess it makes.
• Obviously you’ve still got limited choices when it comes to dinner, but as long as you don’t mind eating it, you can get away with skipping over the gory bits. You might get some complaints from the brothers about not pulling your weight, but just stop doing their laundry and see how long it takes to get an apology after that.

Thomas

• You mean his perfect match??? Tommy is all about being doted on by his little housewife s/o, like you have no idea. They’re not exactly a normal family, but he loves having a stereotypical loving relationship, like the kind you see on TV.
• He has no manners whatsoever, and you’re not likely to change that now if his mana couldn’t. He’s messy and dirty, eats with his hands and puts his elbows on the table. If you’re really, really persistent and lucky, you can get him to take his plate to the sink, but it’s going to be a lot of work for that one thing.
• If you don’t want blood and gore in the house, you’re going to have to be the one to clean it up. Mama takes care of the station all day, and the men aren’t likely to want to pitch in, so it’s up to you to keep up with it.
• There is no completely escaping the bloody way they keep food on the table, but Tommy will make an effort to clean himself up before seeing you. Unfortunately that pretty much just means washing his hands, so it’s not perfect.

Jason

• He has no idea what to do with you, tbh. You’re so nice and sweet to him and all you want to do is cook him food and patch up his old jacket, he doesn’t know how to react at first.
• Very quickly decides that he really likes this arrangement. He goes out and spends the day keeping people away from the camp, then gets to come back home to kisses and home cooked food.
• You’re in the middle of the woods, so there’s no lack of wildlife around the cabin. He has run into the house more than once, weapon ready, only to find you being terrorized by a harmless spider. He’s the designated bug killer, so he’ll take care of it, but he’ll never understand why you’re so afraid of them.
• He’s not used to cleaning up, normally if he gets bloody it just stays that way unless he happens to go out in the rain. You’ve got to be proactive with making him wash up if you don’t want to have him tracking bits of gore in the house.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Please stop dragging those dirty things inside, the carpet is expensive! A little annoyed at how much time you spend outside, so he’s a bit huffy whenever you bring anything home.
• Very against it when you suggest planting some flowers that attract bees, he doesn’t want them getting into the walls. Do it anyways, because he’s not about to go out there and dig them up if you do.
• Somehow, he’s the reasonable one out of you both. No, you can’t remodel the garden, or trim the hedges into animal shapes, or bring those weird pinned bug displays anywhere near him.

Michael

• Technically, it’s your house, so he can’t complain when you bring home baskets of flowers from a clearance sale, but he’s gonna. Nope, he’s not helping you carry anything in or moving those heavy pots either.
• Not a fan of all the foliage you keep around, he’s low key got a grudge against your houseplants. Maybe it’s all the attention you give them, like they’re pets, but he will find ways to slip unhealthy things into the soil, then pretend like he has no idea why one of them is soaking in laundry detergent.
• He’ll keep his murderous hands off the ones most important to you, he doesn’t want you too upset. But there’s no way he’s watering anything if you have to be away for any amount of time.

Bubba

• Very excited that you’re excited! There’s a lot of open space to roam around in near the farmhouse, he will be very happy to have someone else to bring to all the little spots he likes to visit.
• Hopefully you like sunflowers, because they’ve got a lot of them. They attract a lot of bees and ladybugs, and he will be overjoyed if you show him how to catch lightning bugs at sunset. It takes him a while to learn not to smash them, but he gets it eventually.
• It’s farther away from home than he likes to go, but if you ask he will take you down to the creek. There’s a lot of little fish and a few turtles in the spring and summer, but he’s too afraid to pick them up.

Thomas

• It might not be what he’s interested in, but he will sit patiently and let you explain, in detail, the social workings of that beehive he knocked off the shed that morning. He doesn’t absorb any of it, but that’s alright, because that just means you get to explain to him again next time.
• Whatever you want to show to him or talk about, he takes it very seriously. He has no idea what any of it means, but it sounds important and you’re very excited about it, so he will be very attentive regardless of how much he actually understands.
• He will go with you whenever you want to run around the fields, and probably end up carrying you back when you get tired. Mama has learned to check both yours and Tommy’s pockets for creepy crawlies when you come back, and she’s adamant about not letting you bring any animals or insects inside. But he’ll let you sneak things into the basement if you really want to keep them.

Jason

• Everything he knows is self taught, so if you happen to know the real names for certain things, or how to use something he’s found, he’ll be very impressed. Absolutely amazed when you start explaining how different plants are pollinated or spread their seeds, you’re definitely the smartest person he’s ever met.
• Show him how to set up a little watering station for the bees in the summer! He doesn’t care about bugs one way or the other, but he thinks it’s cute how worried you are about their safety, adding pebbles to make sure the water dish isn’t too deep.
• He’s pretty loose with the rules when it comes to where you can wander around, but the first time you get a bug bite or accidentally walk through some poison ivy, he starts keeping a much closer eye on you. Sometimes you’re so eager to get to something in the distance that he has to slow you down so you don’t get hurt on the way there.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Probably needs someone around who doesn’t have to put up with his shit tbh. If he gets loud and whiny, just hoist that brat over your shoulder and refuse to put him down until he’s apologized.
• He’s still manipulative and sneaky, he just can’t outright force you to do anything physically. Still going to throw a huge tantrum when he realizes you’re letting him hold you down so he doesn’t feel bad.
• Once he gets used to it, he’s definitely going to play up being the ‘weaker’ one to get out of doing things he doesn’t like. How can you expect him to lift a finger when you’re clearly much more capable than he is?

Michael

• Pretty much all of the power he holds over you is physical, but even without that advantage in strength he’s still the one in control. You might be able to match or even exceed him, but he’s usually got the element of surprise.
• A little miffed that he can’t just hold you down when you’re being annoying. Still, trying to do it anyways at least keeps you from doing whatever is irritating him.
• Holding hands is a dangerous game now. It’s more like a very quiet arm wrestling contest, both of you trying to squeeze harder than the other. You’ve got to throw the game if you want it to end, cause he will sit there until his fingers fall off otherwise.

Bubba

• He’s used to being the one everyone comes to for the heavy lifting, so he’s happy to have someone to split that chore with. Even better if you don’t need his help at all, so he can get a break from some of the rougher work around the house.
• Always amazed by how strong you are, especially if you’re stronger than he is. Constantly wants you to pick up big, heavy things just so he can see you do it, cheering you on every time.
• Please pick him up! Even if you can only get him off the ground a few inches, he’s ecstatic to be the one getting carried around, even if it’s only for a few seconds.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Always laughs when you knock something over or stub your toe, it’s an easy way to figure out where he is. He can try to cover it up, but it’s an automatic reaction.
• Definitely going to make fun of you, he can’t stop himself from teasing you. He’s always got a sassy comeback whenever you try to scold him for something, even if it just gets him in even more trouble.
• Makes it much easier for him when he wants to be a brat. All he has to do is leave a toy where it shouldn’t be, and it’s pretty much guaranteed that you’re going to step on it eventually.

Michael

• Thinks it’s hilarious that you can’t manage to walk across a room without bumping into something. He’s not going to let you get seriously injured, but he’s still going to take a moment to silently laugh at you before he comes to help you get up.
• He’s used to hearing thuds and cursing when you’re around, so if you really need him it’s going to take a few tries to get his attention. At this point it’s mostly background noise to him.
• You haven’t seriously injured yourself so far, so he’s not too concerned with it for the most part. He’ll help you patch up any scrapes or bruises if you need it, but you can tell he’s got a smug look on his face under the mask when he does.

Bubba

• He’s not the most graceful person himself, so he can understand your clumsiness. Still a little surprised at just how clumsy you are though, he’s never seen someone unable to walk up stairs without getting hurt.
• There is a loooong list of things you aren’t allowed to touch, and the saw is at the very top of that list. You’re also forbidden from doing dishes or trying to work the stove, for obvious reasons.
• Any bruise or red mark is promptly taken care of, no matter how minor the injury. You’re regularly covered in bandaids, each one topped with a kiss to make you feel better.

Thomas

• There is a lot of junk around the old house, so there’s a lot of things for you to hurt yourself with. You’ve got to be extra careful, because knocking one thing over just starts a chain reaction.
• He’s naturally very protective, but he’s got no idea how to protect you from yourself. It makes him worry a lot about you when he can’t be around, even if your scrapes aren’t serious.
• He’s learned to keep an eye on you, so a lot of the time he catches you before you have an accident. Always trying to get you to slow down or sit still, and if you don’t, he’ll just pick you up until you’re ready to listen.

Jason

• You are going to give him a heart attack! He can’t understand how you keep getting bumps and bruises no matter how vigilantly he watches you. Please just sit down and don’t move for a little bit.
• He will stand over you, unblinking, 24/7 if that’s what it takes to keep you safe. It’s almost as much work keeping you in one piece as it is keeping people away from the camp.
• Going to be more overbearing when it comes to you going anywhere, alone or not. Very happy when the day is over and you can both just lay in bed, where you can’t trip over anything.

Chapter Text

Brahms

Wet hair was stuck to your face, cold rain running into your eyes and blinding you. You couldn’t hear anything over the rumble of the storm above you, but you screamed as loud as you could anyways, hoping someone would hear.

Running should have worked. Brahms had the upper hand in the house, knowing all the twists and turns, the shortcuts inside the walls, but he wouldn’t - couldn’t - leave the house. You couldn’t take him on inside, he was stronger by far, but if you could make it outside, that was all the advantage you’d need to finally make a break for it. You wouldn’t need to worry about being hunted down, ambushed in the corridors of the old house, you’d have the whole expanse of the massive lawn between you and him.

But Brahms had left, flying out the door after you, running out into the storm and catching you only a few moments into your escape. His feet were bare, slipping in the wet, muddy grass, but his hands caught hold of you and didn’t let go, long fingers snarled into your hair and the collar of your shirt. You fought against him, screaming loud enough to be heard over the thunder, but his grip didn’t loosen despite your struggles.

“Let me go!” You spat, twisting furiously in his hands. “I hate you, let me go!”

Brahms pulls you inside, through the still open door and into the hall, letting the wind and rain soak the entry carpet. He’s silent, but his chest is heaving, red knuckled hands dug into your hair and dragging you across the floor. You don’t care what he does to you, what cruel punishments he might think up, you’re tired and angry and scared, and this failed escape is only one in a long line of things that have drained your resolve.

He half drags you up the stairs, throwing you against them and untangling his hand from your hair with harsh pulls. You lunge forward, knowing you aren’t going to make it past him, but kicking and flailing anyways, hoping that one of your strikes hits him hard enough to make him hurt.

He drops down over you, knees on either side of your waist pinning you against the hard edge of the stairs, grabbing your wild hands and holding them against your chest. You glare up at him, his red rimmed eyes glaring right back, both of you gasping. Your chest hurts with the force of the anger building inside, you’ve never felt such loathing for someone before. The greasy curls stuck to porcelain, the soggy cardigan falling off his shoulders, the cracked and painted face he wears, it all infuriates you, and you’ve never wanted to see someone hurt so badly before.

“I hate you,” you repeat, trying to get as much vitriol into the short sentence as you can manage. “I’m not your nanny, I’m not taking care of you. You’re a horrible, ugly person and I hate you!”

The words seem to have an effect, his shoulders hunching up and head tilting down, and you feel a burning sense of satisfaction at his reaction. You hear his breath hitch, feel the trembling of the hands that hold your wrists, and with a loud wail he falls over you. His whole body shakes with sobs, his covered face digging into the crook of your neck, and you jerk away from him. The sounds are pitiful, broken little noises that make your stomach hurt and twist, but you feel the grip on your wrists stay firm, the body above you still tense and ready. There are no tears, just cold rain pressing into your skin, and you hate him all the more for trying this trick.

“I know you’re faking, you’re not even crying.”

The sobs slow down, trailing off into silence until he’s simply laying over you, breathing loudly into your ear. You turn your face away from him, but he’s too close to get away from the heat and smell of him. Finally he sits up, pulling away and staring down at you with dry eyes.

“You’re no fun,”  he snaps at you, and though he only sounds a little put out, you can see his own rage burning in his eyes. “You’re not fun anymore.”

“Get rid of me then,” you say bluntly, writhing under his hands. “I don’t want to be here, just kill me and get it over with.”

He looks surprised at your request, leaning back a little. You try to put all the hate you can into the look you give him, narrowing your eyes. You don’t want to die, not really, but you can’t stay in this horrible house for another moment, and if this is the only way out, you’re ready to take it.

“You killed the others, didn’t you, you told me so. Just kill me.”

Brahms looks down at you, silent for a moment, before you see real tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. You’re not surprised, he might have faked it before, but he’s lured you into a false sense of security with tears more than once. A little whimper leaves him, and when his hands release your own, you’re quick to fling yourself at him, pounding your fists against his chest. He lets you, arms around your back pulling you in until you’re too close to hit him, arms trapped between your bodies. The sobs start up again, but they sound real now, hiccups and gasping breaths breaking up his words as he cries into your hair.

“But I love you,” he whines, stuttering the confession out. “I love you, I want you to stay here with me.”

A cold drop of fear settles into the pit of your stomach. Brahms is a liar, he’ll say whatever you need to hear so that he can have his way, but this isn’t something he’s saying to lull you into calmness. He’s not telling you this so that your compassion and empathy will keep you here, he knows that you’re done with that. You feel your throat tighten and your eyes start to tear up as you think that he might truly mean what he says, a deep repulsion bubbling in your veins at the thought that he might really be stupid enough to think that his desperate, lonely obsession with you is real love.

Michael

He doesn’t smell bad, you think, pushing your face against the curve of his shoulder, heavy arms coming up to hold you there. The house is cold and drafty, but huddled together on a piece of long unused furniture you wait out the night, hoping that the day ahead will be a little warmer.

There is always the tangy undertone of metal and blood in everything that he wears, but it’s not a dirty smell. Mostly it smells like crisp, cold air and the faint hint of sweat on skin, and a sharp, chemical scent the closer you get to the mask. You’re a little surprised that the scent of the old jumpsuit is almost pleasant, but not as surprised as he is when the knife is buried into his side.

Michael screams, the first real sound you’ve gotten out of him, and the arms around you throw you across the room before you have time to bolt away. You hit something hard, you’re not sure what in the gloom and confusion, but your head spins as you squirm on the ground in pain. You’re able to stand just long enough to take a handful of wobbly steps towards the door, but your escape attempt doesn’t last long.

A hand on the back of your neck stops you, throwing you backwards and onto the floor again, where you curl inward. The pain is coming in fast now, your brain finally catching up to your body, and you feel it when a heavy boot lands on your stomach.

“Okay,” you start, gasping in air around the weight compressing your abdomen. “Alright, that was a mistake. I’m sorry -“

You don’t get a chance to continue, the slight pressure he puts on your unprotected stomach knocking the air out of you. You open your mouth, trying to suck in air, but all you get is a few red faced sputters. You must have injured your ribs at some point, because your whole torso burns now, your heaving gasps only worsening the pain.

You can’t even be mad with him, really, not when the handle of that knife is still stuck into the bloody mess you had made in his side. It doesn’t seem to phase him now, although you’re glad that at least you’ve left your mark. You had fought back before but never actually managed to harm him, aside from scratches with your dull nails.

Michael watches you, the dark eyes behind the mask glinting in the dim light filtering in through the grimy windows. You can see dust floating through the air between you, illuminated in the day’s first rays of early morning sunshine, but the black spots in your vision grow bigger and bigger, until your eyes roll back and you can’t see anything at all. You’re sure that he’s going to kill you this time, but the weight is off you just as your frantic thoughts start to fade, body convulsing as you choke down air.

You writhe on the ground, rolling onto your side and curling your arms around your injured torso, but you can still hear the quiet sigh that drifts down from above you. You see the bloodied knife, discarded on the floor behind his feet, but you don’t even think of going for it. You aren’t sure when he removed it, maybe you were out for longer than it felt like, or maybe you were too busy trying not to suffocate to notice, but there’s not a lot of hope that the wound will keep him down at all. He’s come back with worse than that, half bled out and full of more bullet holes than you would think a human could take. It was stupid to think you could do anything more than inconvenience him, but you couldn’t resist the opportunity to try.

“S-sorry.”

You’re not sure why you’re apologizing to him, but now that you’ve gotten your breath back you feel the need to break the silence. You flinch away when he takes a step towards you, but he only crouches down, arms on his knees, and watches you. The red stain on his side continues to spread, but he shows no sign of it bothering him. It makes you feel more than a little hopeless to realize that you’re not going to be able to force your way out of this, that he’s not something that you can fight against and win.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• There’s not a second of the day where he’s not wrapped around you, leaning over your shoulders or tucking you against his chest. It doesn’t matter if you’ve got something you need to get up and do, he’s got a cuddle quota to meet. 
• Will be absolutely smug about it if you want to cuddle him. He’s going to make you beg for it if you want to curl up next to him, even though he would be whining for the same thing if you didn’t ask first. 
• If he can’t drape himself over you like a bony blanket, he’ll settle for hand holding, but he’s gonna huff about it. And he needs both hands, so there’s no using it as a way to try and get stuff done at the same time. 
• Very happy to have his hair played with, and if you don’t do it on your own, he’ll ask for it. Anything that makes him feel pampered or spoiled is his favorite, so the more effort you put into it, the more he’ll enjoy it. But do not pull on a tangle, accident or not, he will have a meltdown. 
• He’s not too big on returning this kind of affection, he wants to be the center of your attention. But he does have moments where he’ll suck up to you, probably trying to get something he’s not allowed to have, and he’ll kiss and pet you. 

Bubba

• Bubba is a master of Extreme Cuddling™, it doesn’t matter what you’re doing when he feels the need to scoop you up. Very giggly and red faced about it, but he’ll carry you around forever if you let him. 
• Please come to him for cuddles, he would die of happiness to have you ask without him needing to offer. He loves seeing that you want him around, so cuddle breaks are available whenever you need one. 
• Can’t hold hands without bursting into nervous giggles, but he still likes it. He’ll swing your hands around, or squeeze your fingers, because he’s too excited about it to stay still. 
• Loves to touch your hair, twirling it around his fingers or running his nails against your scalp. Always kisses the top of your head when he does, and if he gets really carried away, you’ll end up with messy braids and sloppy ponytails. 
• It’s not much fun if you pet his hair with the masks on, but he’s still very shy about taking it off. You’ll have to compromise and let him hide his face against your neck while you play with his hair, but it’s worth it because soft. It’s always sweaty after being under the mask all day in the heat, and he can’t help but laugh into your skin when you run your fingers over the nape of his neck. 

Thomas

• He’s shy about touching, especially in front of his family, so he might not approach you, but he’s very pleased about it if you want to sit in his lap or wrap yourself around his arm on the couch. Secretly sort of relieved when you make the first move and crawl into his lap, because he’s always afraid you’ll say no if he tries something first. 
• Most comfortable when you’re both downstairs in the basement, he’s less shy and will hug you or return small kisses without even thinking of it. One of the only times that he’ll start a cuddle session, sprawling out on a makeshift bed where no one can interrupt you. 
• He loves hand holding like you can’t even imagine. You’ve usually got to make the first move for affectionate stuff like that, but he’ll get impatient if you aren’t picking up the hints and just grab your hand himself. He can’t look you in the eyes, and you can tell his face is red, but he’ll tag along behind you all day if you let him. 
• A little nervous about you getting anywhere near his face if you want to touch his hair, but after a few minutes he’ll sort of relax. It’s more for your enjoyment, because he’s on edge the whole time, but he’ll let you. If he’s wearing a mask that covers it, you can get away with reaching under to pet the back of his head, but it makes him more jumpy. 
• He likes touching your hair, giving it a gentle tug to get your attention or combing his fingers through it in the mornings when you first wake up. He’s not great at it, but he enjoys helping you clip it up or tie it back to cool down in the heat. 

Jason

• Honestly, if it wasn’t too dangerous he’d just let you cling to his back like a baby possum all day long. The only time he puts you down is when he’s got to leave the cabin, otherwise he’s following you around with a hand on your waist or cuddling up on the couch. If he really doesn’t want to let go, he’ll just let you point him in the right direction and carry you wherever you need to be. 
• You don’t usually get the chance to come to him and ask for a cuddle, because nine times out of ten, you wake up and he’s already there, arms around you and ready to cart you around the house. When he comes back home though, you can sometimes surprise him with a hug if you’re quick enough. 
• He’s not super big on hand holding at first, it’s fine but just not his favorite. But he’s a sucker for sappy things, so once he sees how common it is in all the cliche romance movies you watch, he’ll get into it. 
• Poor baby doesn’t really have any hair for you to play with :( But he won’t complain if you want to pat his head anyways, it still feels nice to have your nails gently glide over his skin. 
• Likes to pet your hair when you’re sleepy, laying against his chest where he can press kisses to your hair. You’ve been woken up more than once when he’s accidentally gotten his fingers tangled and had to help get him unstuck.

Chapter Text

Sitting at the kitchen table and watching a serial killer eat the dinner you had made, you’re a little worried that you’re getting used to having him around. It was a little surreal how normal it had become to see Michael every day. You’ve started making bigger dinners (you didn’t see him do it, but after having your fridge demolished a few times you took the hint), leaving plates of food out on the counter or wrapped up in the fridge for later. You picked up some spare clothes at the thrift store, although he hasn’t touched them despite leaving them out. You haven’t bothered to lock the doors in months, not that it would stop him, and there was now a dedicated knife drawer containing nothing but sharp objects he had carried home. 

That was really what the problem was - this pretty much was his home now. He hasn’t killed you, and you can’t say you aren’t grateful for that, but you didn’t realize that it was going to get you a new roommate. He had broken into your house, stalked you, chased you down with a knife, and then just moved into your house. Normally you would be fuming, but you weren’t. Instead, you felt a strange mix of scared and angry that cancelled each other out, leaving you just confused. None of it made any sense. You were just along for the ride and, hopefully, you’d stay alive long enough to get an answer.

“Hey, uh,” you see him tense, back turned to you as he eats hunched over the kitchen counter, mask pulled up just enough to get food in his mouth. “There’s some mac and cheese in the fridge, if you’re still hungry.”

You get a grunt and a nod, watching as he throws open the fridge door and pulls out the pan of homemade pasta. He’s careful to keep his back to you, but this is the first time he’s eaten while you were in the room. Your own plate was half finished, abandoned in favor of the display going on in front of you. He had already had two full helpings of an already large dinner, and now it looked like he was going to eat even more, not bothering to heat it up as he dug a dirty spoon into the pan. 

What exactly had happened to bring you to the point where you were sharing meals with your serial killer roommate, you weren’t sure. This was definitely putting a big dent into your free money, though, seeing as he ate three times as much as you did. 

You waited until he was done, mask pulled back into place and dishes left on the counter, before quickly finishing your own meal. It was late, so you didn’t bother cleaning up once you were done, piling everything into the sink for tomorrow. The sleeping arrangements were a bit difficult to manage with an extra person, since you only had the one bed, but the couch was comfy and you made sure each night to pointedly direct him to it. You even left out blankets and pillows, although they were just as ignored as your instructions to stay out of your room.

Which was another reason why you felt uneasy - most nights for the last week you had woken up to find that you weren’t the only occupant in your bed. You had learned from the first time, making sure that you are fully dressed in pajamas before you go to sleep, although he stayed on his side and made no move to do anything but lay there. You were pretty sure he wasn’t even sleeping, either, because he was always looking right at you every time you opened your eyes. 

Tonight was no different, the door clicking open and muffled footsteps approaching the bed. You keep your gaze on the wall in front of you, back turned to him. You ignore the dip of the bed behind you, and the loud sound of the springs creaking under new weight. 

Well, it seemed he was keeping up the new tradition of ignoring the blanket and pillow you had very prominently left on the couch. This couldn’t be any more comfortable for him, judging from how stiffly he lay down, still fully dressed. It wasn’t ideal, but you supposed this was just another thing you were going to have to get used to now. The thought of buying a couch with a pullout mattress was very tempting now, and you made a mental note to start shopping around since it seemed he was going to be staying for a while.

You close your eyes, ready to hurry up and get the night over with. It was a little awkward to share a bed with someone in the first place, let alone a murderer that just wouldn’t leave you alone, but it seems like sleep isn’t going to come easily to you. You can’t tell if he’s asleep or not, but he hasn’t moved since he laid down. Without crawling over him to look at the clock, you can’t say how much time passes before your eyes finally start to close, but you’re sure you’re going to be exhausted when you wake up. 

The rustle of movement behind you snaps your mind out of its hazy, pre-sleep thoughts, and you focus very hard on staying still and listening. He had laid down on top of the blanket like usual, but you feel a cold burst of air as the covers are lifted, and the weight of a body sliding in behind you. 

“Uh, what are you doing?”

You don’t keep up the facade of sleep, not that you think he’d be fooled anyways, turning half way to glance over your shoulder. He’s watching you, like always, now much closer than you’re used to, with blank eyes. You can feel the heat coming off of him, muffled breaths audible from behind the mask, and you feel your face heating up, pulse thrumming with alarm. Before you can do anything else, a big arm falls over your side, hand tucking in under you and pulling you back. You go stiff, pressed back against an equally tense chest, and stare in panic up at the ceiling. It’s not pleasant, awkwardly turned on your side and trying to stay as still as possible, and from Michael’s own rigid posture you couldn’t imagine he was any more comfortable. You stay that way for a while, trying to figure out what exactly is going on, but he doesn’t do anything but breathe quietly into your ear.

You’re really going to have to get that sleeper sofa now.

Chapter Text

Holding the phone between your ear and shoulder, you rushed around the kitchen, picking things up as you went. The stove was on, topped with as many pots and pans as it could hold, and you hurried to tend to them all. A window was open over the sink, but the small kitchen stayed stuffy and hot regardless.

“Yeah, I dunno, I already got dinner going, so I don’t think I’m going out tonight.”

A loud whine pierces your ear from the other side of the phone and you wince, reaching over to adjust the heat on one of the burners.

“Really, again?” You hear your friend complain. “It’s been forever since you’ve come over!”

“Yeah, I know,” you admit, moving the phone to your other ear. “I’m just feeling lazy, we can plan something out for this weekend.”

Quiet footsteps draw your attention, and you glance over your shoulder to see Michael waiting in the doorway. He’s dirty, but maskless, a chipped knife held loosely in one hand.

“Almost done!” You whisper to him, waving your hands as if to shoo him out of the room.

You turn back to your conversation, trying to make your friend feel better about your absence. It’s clear that Michael isn’t leaving, though, heavy footsteps coming up from behind you. You roll your eyes, focusing on the cooking food and letting him hover over you, reaching over your head to drop the knife into the sink with a loud clatter. He doesn’t move away once he’s done, standing with his chest against your back and breathing quietly into your hair.

“Are you even listening to me?”

The whiny voice of your friend snaps you back to your conversation, jerking forward and away from the warm body behind you.

“Uh, yeah,” you stumble over your words, quickly stirring the closest thing you can reach in your haste to get back on task, “‘Course I am, go on.”

You get halfway through the first sentence before your mind wanders once more, feeling Michael scoot forward to close the gap again. You can’t get any closer to the stove without getting burned, so you’ve got to try your best to ignore his presence behind you. He leans forward, chest bumping the back of your head and hands coming up to hold your waist. You suddenly feel very warm, a choking stutter coming from your mouth when one hand slides up and down over the curve of your hip, the tips of his fingers barely slipping under the waistband of your clothes with each slide downward.

“Oh, um, I gotta go,” you mumble into the phone, letting him pull you back by the hip until you’re pressed against him. “Food’s done.”

You hang up without further explanation, knowing you’re going to have a few upset text messages coming your way, but you know better than to think that Michael will behave himself at this point. You drop the phone onto the counter, bracing yourself against the handle of the oven door as his hand trails away from your hip and presses his palm flat over your abdomen. The scruff on his jaw scrapes over your skin when he leans down to kiss your neck, making you jump, but he holds you still with both hands, pressing a handful of slow kisses to your skin. The heat is overwhelming trapped between him and the boiling stove, but you’ve already forgotten about the food in front of you, tilting your head to the side and groaning when he takes advantage of your exposed neck. With a huff of hot breath into your ear, his mouth leaves you, stepping away. You whine at the cold against your back, but a nudge against your shoulder draws your attention to the food in front of you, most of it boiling over and sticking to the pans while you were distracted.

“Shit!” You hiss, grabbing at whatever you can and lifting it off the heat. You hear an amused hum from behind you, so you make sure to catch him in the ribs with your elbow as you turn, glaring.

“Out of the kitchen,” you snap, face red. “I can’t work with you in here!”

Chapter Text

Michael

“Michael!”

You can’t help the shrillness of your scream, the jolt of fear in your stomach making you panic. You aren’t sure if he’s even home, he comes and goes as he pleases even during the day, so there was the terrifying chance that you were calling out to no one. When you hear a door slam open from somewhere upstairs, you feel almost weak with relief. Thudding footsteps echo through the normally silent house and Michael is in the doorway only seconds later, half dressed and hair ruffled. You don’t have time to feel bad about possibly having woken him, running over to put him in between you and the thing you’re so afraid of.

“Oh, thank god you’re home!” You slide behind him, holding onto his back for support. “You’ve got to get it out of here!”

Michael lets you hide behind him, holding an arm out to keep you tucked away, and looks around for the threat. He doesn’t have a knife, but he doesn’t need a weapon to get rid of an intruder. Looking around, though, he sees nothing out of place, and certainly no one else in the house.

“The cabinet,” you say, pointing a shaky hand at the large piece of furniture sitting in the hall, “Under there!”

You feel him tense under your hands, and you wait for a moment, expecting him to go towards it. Instead, his arm falls to his side, body slouching a little into a tired posture, and he turns to glare at you.

“I’m not kidding,” you hiss, seeing the look he’s giving you. “There’s a rat under there and it’s fucking huge!”

You’re nearly sure he’s going to leave you, stomp back upstairs and let you deal with the creature yourself, and you grip him tighter. Pressing your forehead against his side, you let out a whine, circling your arms around him.

“Please, Michael, it’s so gross and huge and I don’t want it’s weird, little feet to touch me.”

He seems unmoved by your plea, standing still in your arms with no sign of rescuing you from the rodent. You don’t even know how you would manage to get the thing out from under the cabinet, let alone the house, so you need him to help.

“Please, please, please, I promise I’ll owe you real big. Whatever you want, just get it out.”

Michael sighs, and you know you’ve won him over when you feel him press a hand to the back of your head, pulling you in closer. You whisper a few quick thank you’s before stepping away, shuffling nervously in anticipation. The look he gives you is stern, a slight frown on his face, and you know your promise of ‘whatever you want’ is going to be taken seriously after dragging him out of bed for this.

You’re not sure how you expect him to deal with the problem, exactly, since it’s hidden under such a big and heavy piece of furniture. Watching with wide eyes, you see him slip one hand under the edge of the cabinet, the other held ready to strike.

“Oh, you can’t -“

The cabinet tilts to the side, wood groaning from the sudden change in direction, and you stop mid sentence. It’s only a few inches, just enough for him to reach in and pull out a squirming rodent, but you know how heavy that thing is and there’s no way someone should be able to move it like that, let alone with one hand. It drops back in place with a slam, contents rattling, but you don’t scold him for being so rough with your things. He stands back up and you can’t help the red tint to your face, scrambling to pull yourself together before he notices how distracted you are. The sight of the rat, just as large as you had claimed and held tightly in his fist, pulls you out of it.

“Bleh, that’s so gross,” you shudder, making a face, and take a few steps back. “Get it out.”

He holds it out in your direction and you shriek, flailing your arms in front of you. The rat squeals back, tail and legs kicking furiously in Michael’s grip.

“No! Put it outside or something! Just get rid of it.”

Michael stares at you for a moment, and you tense up, not sure what that look is supposed to mean. He looks down at the creature in his hand, watching it wiggle, and you suddenly know what’s about to happen, but the thought doesn’t come to you quick enough to stop him.

“Michael!” You gasp, hands covering your mouth. “What the fuck, you weren’t supposed to kill it!”

He gives you an irritated look, holding the now limp animal in a loose grip. It was a dirty, gross little thing that you didn’t want in your house, but you hadn’t meant for it to die. You had expected him to throw it outside or something, maybe stick a towel under the back door to keep it from getting back in.

“Okay, just get it out,” you huff, knowing he’s not going to understand the concept of catch and release. “And next time don’t hurt the poor things.”

Jason

The ground was muddy and wet, your feet slipping over slick grass as you jogged down the trail. It was midday, but the sun was hidden and the slow trickle of rain that had started as last night’s storm still fell from the sky. You had a coat, at least, and your hands were tucked into its pockets to escape the chill, but you shouldn’t have had to face the weather anyways.

You had driven down one of the overgrown trails that led further away from the campgrounds, a path you had taken many times, to go check on some of the traps you had set. Eating the wildlife wasn’t your first choice, but you had a limited amount of money and fuel was more important, so long as you had other alternatives for food. The little cabin ran off an old generator, and with the weather turning cold you couldn’t afford to run out of gas.

The traps were empty, which partly annoyed you because it meant no meat, but you also weren’t looking forward to actually eating it anyways. Jason took care of the preparation, which you were grateful for, but that didn’t make it taste any better. You had been on your way back home when the car had gotten stuck in a dense mat of brush and mud, one wheel sinking a good few inches into the wet ground. It wasn’t too far from home, but the combination of empty traps and a walk in the rain wasn’t doing anything good for your mood.

“I’m home!” You call, stomping up the steps and throwing open the door. You’re not sure if Jason will be there or not, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him waiting for you in the little sitting room, a fire started and blankets on the couch.

“Oh,” you say, looking at the little nest he had set up. “You’re perfect, you know.”

He shuffles towards you, a pleased look on his maskless face, and leans down to put his arms around you in a hug. He huffs out happy noises into your hair, squeezing you closer. You’re very tempted to stay here, curl up in front of the fire and cuddle for the rest of the night, but you can’t leave the car out there. With your luck, the ground will freeze overnight and you’ll have to dig it out.

“We got a problem though,” you explain, voice muffled into his chest. “Car got stuck outside, I can’t get it out.”

A little sound of concern leaves him, rearing back from your embrace to look you over, worried hands grabbing at your face. He tugs at your coat, trying to look for any signs of injury.

“No, I’m fine, it’s just stuck,” you explain, gently catching his hands and pulling them away. “There wasn’t an accident, it just stopped moving. Can you help get it out?”

Jason tilts his head, eyes still darting over you in search of anything wrong, but he finally nods his head once he’s satisfied that there’s nothing amiss.

You take the opportunity to warm yourself quickly at the fire while he grabs what he needs, not looking forward to going back out into the wet, chilly woods. You hear scraping and rustling as he goes around the house, gathering his mask and jacket, with more than a few weapons hidden in the pockets. You’re pretty sure it’s overkill to leave the house with a machete, axe and various small knives for what should be a twenty minute trip at most, but you know there’s no use arguing with him, since he’s not going to leave otherwise.

“You ready?”

Jason gives you a nod, waiting by the door for you to lead the way out of the house. You don’t bother locking the door, no one ever makes it this deep into the woods, but you slow your walk as Jason goes to glance over the scattered traps at the tree line. They’ve only ever caught stray animals before, but they’re big enough to catch the leg or foot of a person, situated at the base of trees and behind fallen trunks. You have a hard time spotting them, well hidden in the undergrowth, so you stick to the trails and rutted roads where it’s safe.

The mud slows you down, and the cold is unpleasant, but it isn’t long before your car is coming into view, front end noticeably lower where the wheel had sunk. The old trails aren’t quite wide enough to accommodate a car, so the sides of the vehicle are scratched and dented from various encounters with tree limbs, and a big wad of vines and roots are tangled around the sunken wheel.

“It’s pretty stuck,” you start, hearing heavy footfalls approaching from behind. “So maybe we could use a branch or something to wedge it out? I dunno, I’d hate to have to call a tow truck out here, that would be pricey.”

You wander back and forth in front of the car, looking it over with a worried eye. Jason was big, but this was a car. Maybe you could manage it between the two of you? Jason wastes no time, stepping up to the car and leaning down to hook his fingers under the frame.

“Be careful!”

You swear you can see him roll his eyes, and you’re about to scold him for it - there’s plenty of reason to be concerned, you’re not being silly - but when he stands back up, the front end of the car comes with him. You watch with wide eyes as he takes a few steps forward, pushing the car to the side and carefully setting it back down a good foot away from the divot the wheel had dug into the mud.

“Oh,” you say quietly, feeling your face heat up. “Well… thanks.”

You supposed you shouldn’t be that surprised, considering the things you’ve seen him do that clearly showed off how much stronger he is. Nothing quite close to effortlessly lifting half a vehicle off the ground, but still. Jason turns to you, hands on his hips and chest puffed out proudly, waiting for praise.

“Wow, good job,” you say, the flustered tremble in your voice hopefully not as noticeable as it sounds. “Didn’t know you were so strong!”

He seems very pleased by your compliments, leaning down to nuzzle the nose of the mask against the top of your head, both hands on your shoulders to steady you. You tilt your head up to face him, pecking the chin of the mask quickly.

“Let’s get home quick,” you whisper up to him. “I can’t wait to get in front of that fire.”

Chapter Text

“Tommy, I ain’t hungry.”

The plate stayed in front of you despite your protest, gently sliding across the table towards you. It was sloppily put together, food in one big pile and still cold, but the portions were generous, much more than you could finish even if you had been hungry.

You keep your eyes on the fabric in your hands, trying to focus as you worked the thread through. Sewing wasn’t your preferred way to spend your time, but there wasn’t much else you could do with yourself now. Standing wasn’t something you could do for long, feet stiff and swollen, so you sat in the kitchen most of the morning. The little table was stacked with torn shirts and pants, mostly Tommy’s, that had been in need of repair for a while and you were steadily working your way through the pile.

A heavy fist raps on the table, drawing your attention. Looking up with a sigh, you abandon the shirt you had been fixing, tossing it to the side. Thomas is across from you, standing hunched over the table and looking at you expectantly.

“I just ate, Thomas,” you insist, pushing the full plate back towards him. “It hasn’t even been two hours since breakfast.”

He frowns, lips turned down behind the old mask. They part only to let out a quiet whine, watching you with big, concerned eyes. You frown back, crossing your arms.

“Now, I know Charlie said I’m eatin’ for two,” you start, smoothing a hand over your rounding belly. “But babies don’t need that much food. It ain’t even that big yet.”

His eyes follow your hand as it moves, before he glances back down to the full plate on the table. You appreciate his concern, and for the most part his efforts to keep you fed and comfortable have been sweet, but after a few months it’s become a little overbearing. The rest of the family only encouraged him, especially Charlie, who was full of an amazing amount of advice for someone who had never cared for a pregnant woman before.

“I know you’re just helpin’, Tommy, but I really can’t eat anymore. Why don’t you help me with these clothes instead, you’re better at sewing than I am.”

Thomas huffs, looking back and forth as if he’s thinking of trying again, but he finally sits, scooting up to the table next to you. The frown is still there, but you smile at him, pulling the old shirt back into your hands. You get back to work, resuming your previous task, but Thomas makes no move to join you in your efforts. He watches you sew, brow furrowed and clearly looking past your hands at the curve of your stomach. Thanks to the actions of the rest of the family, you were pretty certain that he had no idea that you weren’t something extremely fragile now, that being pregnant didn’t suddenly mean you couldn’t take care of yourself. Hopefully by the time the next one came around, he’d realize you didn’t need constant supervision - because you were quite sure that this wasn’t going to be the only baby in your future.

The clatter of porcelain brings your eyes up, sighing loudly when you see him stubbornly dragging the plate back over the table. Thomas grabs a piece of dark meat from the pile, scooping up the food with his fingers and holding it out to you with a determined look on his face. You grimace, turning away from the offered bite of food.

“Tommy, c’mon!” You whine, swinging your head around as he attempts to bring it to your lips. You’re about to protest further, to scold him for ignoring your refusal from earlier, but you stop when you look up at him. He looks almost hurt, concern in his eyes and a quiet moan bubbling up from his throat as he presses the meat to your lips. You know you shouldn’t give in, he’s only going to keep doing it if you do, but there’s a worried desperation in the noises he’s making, and you don’t want to see him upset.

You open your mouth, taking the meat from his fingers and giving him a stern look as you mumble around your food, “One bite, that’s it.”

The look on his face is worth losing the battle, a crooked smile twisting his mouth upwards and crinkling the corners of his eyes. You can’t help but smile back, feeling your face heat up a little. Looking away, you ruffle the shirt in your hands, pretending to get back to work while you attempt to get the grin off of your face.

Chapter Text

Brahms

Things had always happened in the mansion, objects moving and belongings going missing, but you had dismissed the strange occurrences at first. It was an old house, big and empty, so it was no wonder you were a little uneasy, seeing strange things that weren’t really there and working yourself up over nothing. You had always been a little prone to getting creeped out anyways, and your environment didn’t help with those fears when you started feeling eyes on your back as you walked around the house. It was most likely just your imagination, your mind making things up to scare yourself because you were in a strange, new place. 

When the doll started moving, though, you were done. The paycheck more than made up for the remote location and lack of wifi, but coming into your bedroom to see the little thing waiting on your bed, a folded note on its lap and glass eyes pointed towards you, was too much. 

“Oh, fuck this.”

You had halfheartedly taken care of the creepy thing, mostly out of pity for the parents that were clearly still not over their child’s death, but you couldn’t bring yourself to keep up the ruse for long once they were gone. Over the months, you had drifted into your own schedule, doing what you pleased around the big house and letting the doll sit in the little bedroom, tucked into bed and forgotten. You hadn’t touched the thing in weeks, preferring not to have it around, and you had most certainly not put it in your bedroom. 

Turning back down the hall, you head for the kitchen, knowing that your wallet and keys are waiting for you on the counter. You have quickly decided that this night would be better spent in town, away from the creepy house. You’d rent a room, sleep on a bench, whatever you could pull together on such short notice, then come back tomorrow, get in contact with whoever you could, and quit. No amount of money was going to make up for whatever was going on here. 

Going down the stairs as quickly as you can, a loud thud right next to your head catches you off guard, causing you to flinch away and nearly trip over your own feet. When you pause, another thud follows, echoing from the other side of the stairwell. You don’t stop to look around, but run the rest of the way until you reach the kitchen, sliding across the polished floor. Fuck whatever that was, you’re not even going to bother coming back tomorrow. With desperate hands you reach for your things, snatching up your wallet and nearly dropping it in your haste, but your keys aren’t where you left them. You look up at the small key rack by the kitchen door, but they’re not there either, and you feel a heavy weight of fear growing in your stomach. 

“Where are you going?”

You jump, turning around, then around again, but there is no one you can see. A door slams, the heavy, wooden panelled one in the dining room one room over, you can see the wall shake with the force of it. It rattles everything on the walls between you and the door, and you hear a few things fall and shatter on the floor. 

“Are you leaving me?”

It’s a child’s voice, high pitched and eerie, and you instantly think of the little doll. You had left it on the bed, and you didn’t see it now, but it matched the voice you were hearing. 

“Brahms?”

You call out the name quietly, almost afraid to be wrong and anger whatever is doing this, but the noises stop when you do. The doll wasn’t him, but it’s who it was made to be and you couldn’t make sense of this any other way. 

The voice speaks again, closer sounding although you still can’t see anyone, a giggly whisper of your name called out in return. You glance around you, but the kitchen is empty and even the voice seems to come from different places each time it speaks. Edging around the island counter, you take a few steps closer to the door leading out, hoping to make a run for it once you have the opportunity. Whatever is going on, you don’t believe the stupid doll is behind it, but there’s not much else to come up with at the moment. 

If you can get outside, it doesn’t matter if you have your keys or not, you’ll walk into town if it will get you away from here. Keeping your eyes on the doorway, the only entrance to the kitchen from inside the house, you trail backwards towards the side door, following the counter as you go. The noises have stopped and the voice hasn’t called out again, so you move slowly and watch the hall - once you get close enough to the door, you’re going to sprint for it and never look back. 

“You can’t leave yet.”

The sound spurs you into action, turning away and running blindly for the door, but in your panic you don’t realize how close the voice had been. You make it only a few steps before you’re knocked to the ground, falling backwards and sliding over the slick floor. The breath leaves your lungs, half from the harsh landing and half from the pain shooting up from your wrist to your elbow. You don’t think about it for long though, looking up to see the very solid person that had blocked your escape.

Tall and lanky, he hovered over you, somehow managing to get between you and the door even though you were sure there was no way he could have gotten around without you noticing. You try to take everything in at once, but the mask stood out, stark white against the darkness of his clothing. It was a childish face, painted and shiny, and the dark hair curling up over the edge of the porcelain was a shocking contrast to it’s innocent look. 

“Don’t you want to stay with me?”

Michael

You knew someone was watching you long before you found out who. You had no proof, nothing you could show to someone else to validate your claims, but you knew it all the same. If you were honest, you wouldn’t have believed yourself if you were anyone else, with nothing on your side except a strange feeling of unease and half seen shadows from the corner of your vision. It was just a feeling that you had, the unmistakable tingle of some extra sense telling you that something else was nearby, something that made you feel like prey. It was strong enough that you didn’t doubt it, and nothing seemed to ease the feeling. The gun in your drawer, the spray in your bag, the alarm on your door, even the walls of your house didn’t feel like enough to keep whatever was out there at bay. And none of it was enough. Your precautions hadn’t even slowed him down once he had decided that he wanted in, and you were no more prepared for it despite your warning instincts. 

Your house isn’t big, your mind picks up on all the silent cues that tell you someone else is nearby, but it doesn’t form into a conscious thought until it’s too late. The anxiety is so constant now that you hardly notice it, so there’s no warning when you’re suddenly being pulled over the back of the couch, scalp stinging as something tangles into your hair. You twist and kick, but with a harsh pull you land on the floor, hip smacking into the ground with a thud. It almost knocks the air out of you, pain shooting up your side, and your shoulder and head land just as painfully when the grip on your hair is loosened. You know immediately that this is the culmination of your unease, that whatever was out there is now in here, but you still don’t expect to see the familiar white face staring down at you that you’ve seen on the local news every year.

You don’t have time to be surprised, seeing the sharp glint of a knife in one hand, but the pain slows you down. You slip and crawl over the floor, unhurried footsteps following from behind, clearly not worried about keeping pace with your clumsy escape. There’s nowhere to go that he can’t get to first, but you try for the front door anyways, pulling yourself up as you go and finally managing to get your feet under you. Your hip burns and you can’t stop from limping, but you pick up enough speed that for a fleeting moment you’re nearly sure that you have a chance. 

The moment your hands touch the door, bracing against it as you fumble at the lock, a bigger hand slamming against the wood keeps it closed. You scream, feeling the cold sting of something sharp tracing the outline of your arm, but he doesn’t stop you when you turn back down the hall. He had been right on top of you, close enough that the knife had drawn blood, but he only follows your panicked flight with slow, purposeful steps. The blade catches you again when you stumble against the wall, feet tripping over a rug, a deep tear in your back that feels worse than the first, but again he lets you lurch away. 

You’ve gone the wrong way in your panic, turned down the hall and away from any means of leaving the house, but the slice to your back sends you surging forward in fear, making it to the door of your bathroom and slamming it behind you before he can stop you. The room is dark, but the glow from under the door shows you that he’s waiting, standing on the other side patiently. You don’t bother to hide your cries as you lean back against the sink, watching the unmoving shadow. He already knows where you are, so there’s no need to try and hide now. Your breathing is heavy and quick, chest heaving as you fight to calm yourself, but the rattle of the doorknob brings another scream from your mouth. 

“Go away!”

You don’t know what else to say, or what to do, other than back up as far away from the door as you can. There’s nothing in here you can use to defend yourself, but you search through the drawers anyway, throwing handfuls of clutter into the floor. Your gun is upstairs, but even if it wasn’t locked in the bottom drawer of your dresser, you wouldn’t be able to reach it in time. There’s nothing between you and him except the rattling door, but as long as it holds, you’re not leaving. 

The doorknob stills, and you turn from the sink to look, but the shadow is still there, silent on the other side of the door. You watch it for a moment, hoping he might give up now, but a loud bang shakes the entire wall in front of you and you shriek. The door bends inwards under the force, but doesn’t break yet, and another slam brings with it the splintering sound of the hinges coming out of the wood. You can’t do anything but scream and watch as the door comes down, half torn from the wall and flinging splinters and dust onto you. 

You jerk to the side, but the room is too small to get past him and a hand catches your throat as you try to dart away. The air leaves your lungs in sputtering gasps as you’re picked up, back pressed against the wall and feet dangling. You struggle to touch the floor, to relieve some of the pressure around your neck, clawing desperately at the hand in front of you. Deep red welts spring up on the skin under your nails, but he shows no reaction, eyes hidden in the shadows of the mask. It’s only seconds, barely long enough for you to lose your breath, before you’re slowly lowered to the ground, back sliding against the wall. The hand is still tight on your throat, but it only keeps you in place now, and although you keep your hands around his wrist, you stop tearing at him. You pant, face hot and wet with tears, and look up at him. The mask is blank, and you can’t see his eyes, but he must be looking right back at you. The other hand is his limp at his side, still holding the knife, but making no move to raise it. 

“Please, don’t,” you sob, his fingers twitching over your throat as you speak. “Please.”

He tilts his head to the side, perhaps to get a better look at you in the dark room, but doesn’t tighten his grip or raise the knife. Instead, the hand at your throat loosens its grip, sliding from your neck to the back of your head, until his fingers are knotted into your hair. His hand cups your skull, pulling you forward, nails pressing against your scalp when you resist. With a few jerking pulls, he brings you closer, until your face is buried in the rough, stained fabric of his overalls, wet cheeks sticking to it. You can’t stop from crying, even though the blade is still at his side, choking back the scream that you can feel building in your chest. 

You can hear his soft, steady breathing even over your own noises, muffled behind the mask. The sound grows closer and you stiffen, until the face of the mask is pressed to the top of your head, the fingers in your hair sliding gently against your skin. It’s almost affectionate, one arm holding you close to his chest, face buried in your hair, and as you stand there waiting for the finishing blow, you realize with a surge of cold terror that it isn’t going to come.

Thomas

Getting into the cruiser was a mistake - you felt stupid now for trusting the man who was now obviously not a cop - but you needed the help and had overlooked the warning signs that were all too clear now. It was a mistake, but it didn’t dawn on you just how bad that mistake was until you got to the house. The smell hit you first, wafting out of the open door and turning sour in the heat, the musty, molded scent of old things and dust. You couldn’t say why, but that smell put you more on edge than the gun nuzzling the back of your head, and you half thought of trying to make a break for it before he could force you through the door. It was a bad idea, you had a black eye and a few probably broken fingers to tell you that this man had no qualms about hurting you, so you didn’t doubt he’d pull the trigger if you so much as sneezed. You didn’t get the chance to follow through on that thought, the rough hand on your shoulder pulling you back as you neared the steps leading up to the porch. 

“Thomas, get your ass out here!”

There’s a distant shuffling sound from inside the house, but you can’t see through the gloomy doorway. You can hear heavy footsteps, but whoever he’s called over stops just short of where you can see, the vague shape of something huge lurking in front of you. 

“Got somethin’ for you,” the sheriff calls, nudging you with the gun until you take a few hesitant steps forward. “Come on out and get her.”

You’re almost not sure what it is at first - a man, you guess, but bigger than anyone you’ve ever seen even with hunched shoulders and a downturned head. The posture doesn’t quite hide the horrible face, gray skinned and mottled, stiff hair sticking up at odd angles and covering what looks like huge, black stitches over the scalp. You lean away before he even approaches, pressing hard against the gun and not sure which you’d rather have to deal with. 

“Look at this,” the sheriff says, fingers digging in to hold you steady. “Saw how you were lookin’ at her when she came into the station, boy. Thought you might like to bring her home!”

The station. You hadn’t seen this huge man there, a dusty shack with no gas to sell and an old woman behind the counter, but apparently he had seen you. If you hadn’t stopped in at the ugly little place you never would have run into the man currently holding a gun to your head, wouldn’t be out in the heat about to be killed or worse. 

Behind you the sheriff leans in, stale beer on his breath as he speaks, quiet and low so only you can hear. 

“Smile real pretty now,” he orders, the grip on your shoulder tight. “And don’t scream, ‘else Tommy won’t take a likin’ to ya.”

You don’t know what that means, but he doesn’t stop to explain it - a harsh shove sends you sprawling in the dirt at the bottom of the porch steps, choking on dust. The bent fingers on your wounded hand throb and sting with a strange, hot-cold pain, and you curl that arm up against your chest, gasping. You start to struggle up, but the appearance of two mud caked boots in front of you slows you down, cautiously raising your head from your place on the ground. He’s even bigger from this angle, and heavy enough that he could probably crush your head with one dirty boot. He’s holding his hands awkwardly in front of him, twisting the fingers together in a way that makes you think he’s unsure, but the narrowed eyes and snarling mouth look decidedly unfriendly. 

Smile, the sheriff had said to smile, so you did, looking up through the dust with watery eyes and a forced half grin. He looks surprised, the sharp look leaving his eyes, and he glances back and forth between you and the man behind you. 

“Go on,” the sheriff calls, “Get her inside, I’m sure she don’t wanna be crawlin’ around in the dirt all day.”

The hand that reaches for you is filthy, covered in dark, greasy stains, and he grabs a handful of your shirt and pulls you up. He holds you at a distance, allowing you to get your feet under you but not letting go. Your shirt rides up and you use the thumb on your wounded hand to pull at the hem, sliding the other into your pocket. When he pulls you forward it nearly takes your feet out from under you, but you manage to keep steady enough, taking a few stumbling steps towards him. 

Looking up, you get a closer view of his face, the twisted, stitched flesh that is now obviously not his own - you see the jagged edges cut around the eyes, the curl of rotten lips curving away from his own mouth and sweaty strands of his real hair sticking out at the neck of the gruesome mask. Your expression must betray the horrible realization you’ve come to, because you see him flinch away and it’s the only thing that saves him from losing an eye when you swipe at him with your pocket knife. It still cuts him, scraping over his cheek and brow, cutting free a few loose bits of flesh from the mask, and he roars in pain. But it’s not nearly as bad of a wound as you had meant for it to be, and the thick hand on your collar doesn’t let go despite your attack, throwing you back to the ground roughly and pinning you down with a heavy boot. It lands on your ribs with a crack and you don’t have enough air left in you to scream, but you open your mouth and try anyways. You push at the boot but it doesn’t move, and soon it’s joined by the dusty shoe of the sheriff, leaning over you with a scowl. 

“Well, that was fuckin’ stupid.”

You hated the almost gleeful look on his face as he said it, but laying in the dirt with more than a few possibly broken ribs, you had to agree.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Not very happy to have the tables turned on him like this, but he’ll keep the complaints to a minimum. Give him a little bit to get used to it, and he’ll start to enjoy being the one to make the rules and take care of you - but he’s going to be insufferably smug about it.
• His cooking skills are pretty basic, so it’s microwaved leftovers for dinner when he’s in charge of meals. He makes a big show of helping you eat, even if you don’t need it, cooing and praising you like a child. 
• It’s hard to talk him out or cuddles, but if whatever you have is contagious, then he’ll reluctantly sleep in his own bed for once. Enjoy having free reign to move your limbs for once, because he’s extra clingy once you’re well again and he can sneak back into your bed at night. 

Michael

• If you need anything more than some blankets and a bottle of medicine sat on a table, maybe get someone else to fill in, cause Nurse Mikey has no bedside manner whatsoever. He’s going to keep doing his own thing too, so if you need him to stick around, it’s not likely to happen. 
• If you’re really, really miserable, he might manage to get some food microwaved, but don’t expect anything fancier. He has no standards, so it’s going to be half cold and probably something that shouldn’t have been microwaved in the first place. 
• It’s not that he doesn’t want to care for you, it’s more that he doesn’t really know how to do nice things for others. So he might be doing the bare minimum, but it’s more effort just because it’s coming from him. 

Bubba

• He’s a mama hen anyways, always keeping an eye on you. So when you actually do get sick, he’s prepared - you’re getting in bed, some homemade food, and a cool cloth on your forehead before you finish telling him you’re feeling bad. 
• If you do want to get out of bed, you’re not going anywhere without a blanket and him following close behind. Maybe it is 90 degrees outside, but you’re sick and you’ve gotta have your blankie when you’re sick. 
• You’ll probably be waiting it out without much medicine available, but Bubba is on hand to keep you comfy the whole time you’re sick. Even if it’s only a minor cold prepare to get the full treatment, cut up food, hand fed, cuddles and lots of smooching to make you feel better.

Thomas

• Convinced you’re dying. Maybe you only have a little cough, or you sneezed once, but this is clearly an emergency and you are getting into bed right now. 
• It takes a lot of convincing from the whole family for him to believe that you’re not deathly ill. He’s still a little on edge and constantly worried, though, so you can’t move a muscle without him noticing. 
• Very alarmed if you can’t keep food down, even for a little bit. This will freak him out more than anything, and he’ll be very insistent that you try smaller and smaller bites of different food until you can finally eat something. 

Jason

• You’re in bed the moment you show signs of not feeling well, smothered in blankets and pillows. He’s not leaving either, he’ll stand over the bed and just watch, waiting for you to need him for something.
• He’ll let you tell him what you need and how to take care of you, so if you need to get up or don’t want to stay in bed all day, he’ll let you. He keeps a careful watch on you, though, and he’s always nearby just in case. 
• No going outside, not even to sit on the porch. Open windows are iffy, no matter how much you complain that the house smells like medicine and sick people. 

Chapter Text

Brahms

• He listens in to every call you get and reads all your mail and messages, so he knows the moment it starts to happen. Pissed doesn’t even begin to describe how angry he is, but not at you - he’s very much not okay with competition, and he’s the only one allowed to rifle through your things!
• Clinginess turned up to 11. You don’t go anywhere in the house without him attached to you, and anything that can get messages is turned off, no matter how much you need to use your phone for other things. He’s very, very jealous, even though you’ve made it clear that you’re not interested in this other person. 
• Once he realizes that someone is creeping around at night, he knows he can finally take care of the problem. You may or may not find out about it, depending on the situation, but they’re definitely gonna die the next time they come sneaking around. 

You’re a little suspicious when you realize just how long Brahms has been gone. The past few weeks he’s been practically glued to you, draped over your shoulders or trailing after you no matter what you were doing. He tended to want to stay close anyways, never very far behind even if you couldn’t see him, but he had taken it to the extreme lately. You knew why that was, hearing him huffing with jealousy every time your phone rang or another message came in, still upset despite your reassurances. 

“Brahms?”

You listen for a reply, but the house stays silent, no sound except the light rain from outside against the windows. You frown, getting up from the couch and peeking down the hall, but the rest of the house is dark and there’s no sign of him. Wherever he is, you can’t imagine he’s doing anything good, not after how frustrated and upset he’s been lately. You don’t hear the sounds of a tantrum, though, and nothing looks out of place as you wander through the rooms. If he was getting into trouble, you would have found some proof of it by now. 

You head back to the couch, pulling a knitted blanket over your lap and looking back down at your book. Reading wasn’t your first choice of entertainment, but Brahms loved it, so you were steadily working your way through a pile of material that he had demanded you read. This particular story was very dull, in your opinion, but you slogged through it anyways. It was long and wordy, and you couldn’t pronounce half the names, so you didn’t expect to retain much from it. 

“Have you gotten to the part where he stabs her yet?”

The question makes you jump, book and blanket falling from your lap. Two hands on either arm keep you from falling off the couch yourself, and you look up at him with a glare, clutching the armrest. 

“Where have you been? And don’t spoil things, it’s already a boring enough book without you telling me all the good bits.”

Brahms slides easily over the back of the couch, scooting over the cushions until he’s pressed against you. His clothes are damp, droplets of water sticking to his curls, and you push at him to keep from getting wet yourself, but he only leans closer. You make a face, feeling the water soaking into your own clothes, but he’s already here so you allow him to half crawl into your lap, legs dangling over the couch. 

“Well,” he says slowly, porcelain cheek on your shoulder. “He doesn’t really stab her. He stabs the soldier.”

“Brahms!” You snap, tugging off his wet cardigan and dropping it to the floor. “I said no more spoilers! Now, where have you been and why are you wet?”

He huffs, arms circling your waist as he pulls you closer. He gives you enough leeway that you can bend down to pick up your things, throwing the blanket over him and rustling through the pages of your book, but quickly settles himself over you in an inescapable grip. 

“It’s not a spoiler, the book is over 150 years old,” he complains. “You should have read it by now.”

He’s being unusually talkative, which isn’t uncommon when the subject is something he likes, even more so when it’s something you know nothing about. But he’s avoiding your questions, and you know there’s got to be something going on if he’s trying to steer you away from the topic. 

“Where did you go?” You say firmly. “You’re wet, have you been outside? You’ll get sick in the rain, Brahms.”

He’s silent, arms tense around you, and you wait for the answer patiently. You can’t imagine why he would go outside in the rain, he had always hated your suggestions of quick walks in the garden or even sitting next to the big library windows. 

“There was a rat,” he says finally. “A big one. Trying to get in. I killed it.”

You relax a little, sighing in relief. It was better than whatever trouble you could have imagined him getting into, though you wondered why he bothered when the traps outside seemed to work just fine. 

“Did you wash your hands after? I don’t want rat germs.”

Michael

• He can tell immediately when someone starts following you, mainly because he’s already following you. The messages and notes wouldn’t concern him too much, but actually stalking you would push him over the edge - that’s his thing. 
• He’s not really the possessive type, at least not in an overbearing way, but he’s very much not okay with anyone else making a move on you, whether you reciprocate or not. Even if this stalker doesn’t have romantic intentions, he’s going to take it that way. After all, that’s how he started out. 
• If they last long enough that they’re snooping around your house, that’s the last straw. He’s not going to put up with someone else following you around in the first place, coming to your home is just the thing that gives him the perfect opportunity to kill them. 

You wake up to loud, ringing bangs. Still half asleep, you raise your head, trying to process what’s happening. The noise is loud and rumbling, reverberating through the walls from somewhere nearby but you can’t place the sound. Opening your eyes, you can see that it’s still pitch dark, maybe only a few hours after you had gotten into bed. Michael isn’t in the room, but that’s not unusual and you assume he’s either roaming the streets or lurking elsewhere in the dark house, unable to sleep as easily as you. 

Another series of bangs rattle the walls and you sigh, throwing the covers away to slide out of bed. You grimace at the cold air, wanting nothing more than to ignore the strange sounds and keep sleeping, but you know you can’t. Whatever is going on, you’re sure Michael’s involved, and he’s probably breaking something valuable. 

“You better not be getting into trouble!”

You shout the warning as you clumsily slip on some shorts, but the noises don’t stop. Coming out of the hall, you enter the living room and switch on the lights with an angry flick, but two steps into the room you stop. Glass is spread over the floor, and you narrowly avoid stepping in it at the last second, jerking back and stumbling into the wall. Scattered amongst the glass is the shattered frame of a coffee table in pieces, large pieces of wood splintered off. A loud bang from just on the other side of the wall startles you, and you turn to glare at it. 

“What did you do to the table?!”

The noises stop suddenly, mid thud, and you wait in silence for Michael to show himself. It doesn’t take long, the familiar dark shape of him slowly stepping out from the kitchen doorway. 

“Michael,” you say irritability. “What’s going on? You-“

You stop, finally getting a good look at him as he comes towards you. His clothes are stained, which is their normal condition, but the big, wet splotches are fresh, and a rough smear of red over the jaw and neck of his mask is still dripping into his chest. Taking a few steps back, you’re only annoyed at first - you’ll have to make him clean up so he doesn’t track blood everywhere, but you quickly notice a bigger problem. 

A man, Michael’s hand on his throat keeping him in place even as he struggles, face turning purple and still clawing violently at Michael’s shoulders. Your eyes go wide, mouth open in shock, and you’re about to say something - or scream, you’re not sure which - when you realize that you recognize the man he’s holding. You didn’t know him, but you had seen him before, hanging around your work and the places you went with your friends. He had spoken to you once or twice, but you couldn’t recall about what or for how long, only that you knew his face. Looking at him now, eyes rolling back and limbs already going weak, you know there’s no saving him, even if Michael didn’t have a death grip on his throat. His clothes are dark, but you know the blood had to have come from somewhere, and it wasn’t Michael’s. 

Michael doesn’t seem to struggle at all to keep the man under control, one hand on his neck and the other limp at his side. He doesn’t look down as a hand slaps weakly at his chest, and the only tension in him at all seems to be in the grip of his hand. With a slow, calm movement he raises his free hand, pointing across the room. You keep still, but turn your head slightly, almost afraid to look away from him. 

The curtains sway gently, the wind ruffling them through the broken panes of glass in your window. You pause for a moment, looking at the broken in window and the mess of glass it had left on the floor. Michael wasn’t above breaking in to your house if you somehow locked him out, but you could tell this wasn’t him, it was obvious and clumsy, and whoever had come in that way had cut themselves and left red streaks on the walls. 

“Oh,” you say quietly, looking back at the now limp man. “Well.”

Admittedly, you’d always felt safe from break ins and similar crimes, and Michael’s presence was just an added bonus, but you had never expected him to actually catch someone trying to break in. 

“I guess… I probably shouldn’t call the police, then, huh?”

Jason

• He’s got a sixth sense for trespassers, especially ones that get too close to the cabin. Anyone that tries to follow you home is going to get caught well before they make it to the house. 
• Letters aren’t exactly going to make it to the cabin, and phone reception is spotty at best, so you might not even realize there’s someone trying to harass you at first. And if they try to follow you home, that’s the last anyone will see of them, so there’s a good chance you’ll never know you had a stalker in the first place. 
• So, it’s going to be difficult for anyone to actually stalk you effectively, you’ve pretty much got a personal guard dog 24/7. Unless something is obviously unusual about them, neither of you will probably realize they’re anything but a normal hiker or explorer. 

Jason is already waiting for you when you return home from work, the couch piled with blankets, coffee ready and the low hum of the TV providing quiet, droning white noise. Kicking off your shoes, you collapse gratefully into the soft blankets and bury yourself into them. The weather hasn’t gotten as bad as it will be, but the cold wind and rain is unpleasant nonetheless and you’re ready to warm up and fall asleep on the couch. The soft noise and blankets has already half lulled you to sleep before you’re nudged awake by a big hand, opening bleary eyes to see a large, warm cup of coffee held out for you. 

“Thanks,” you rasp, leaning up just enough to take a few sips of the hot drink. “I’m awake, just give me a second.”

You know there’s no rush, Jason would be just as happy to sit with you while you were dead asleep, but you wanted to enjoy at least a few minutes of cuddling before you drifted off. With only a little bit of a struggle, you pull yourself up, making enough room on the couch that he can nestle into the blankets beside you, and take the cup from him. It’s much hotter than you usually like, and with enough creamer that all you can taste is sugar, but you drink it as quickly as you can manage. Jason hasn’t quite gotten down the process of making any kind of food, but coffee is simple enough that you can generally still drink it when he’s done. 

“Alright, what’s the movie for tonight?”

He hands you a battered cardboard case, the sleeve of an old VHS tape that had once belonged to a library judging from the stickers on the sides. It’s torn and ripped, but you can still see the cover clearly enough.

“We watched this last night, though, didn’t we?”

He taps the cover insistently, and you roll your eyes and sigh, but you don’t mind really. It’s an old black and white movie, title written in big loopy letters and the woman on the front gazing off into the distance with big, dark eyes. It’s obvious from the cover alone that it’s a sappy romance movie, but you expect to be out cold within the first thirty minutes anyways. You barely remembered anything about it from last night, but you don’t expect to get invested enough to stay up for it. 

You grab the remote, starting the movie and listening to the old VCR player whir to life, and press yourself as close to his side as you can get. You don’t bother to pretend to be interested in the movie, closing your eyes and burying your face into his shirt, feeling the curve of his arm cradling your back. The overbearingly sweet music that plays over the opening credits is already fading away and you’re two seconds away from a comfortable, contented sleep, when you feel Jason tense under you. It’s a small enough change that it wouldn’t have woken you normally, but you know what it means. Eyes fluttering open with a groan, you hold onto him tighter. 

“Noooo,” you whine. “C’mon, I just got comfy!”

Jason whines back, tilting his head in an apologetic way. You frown, clinging to him stubbornly, and give him the best puppy dog eyes you can manage with sleep ruffled hair and half open eyes. 

“Just this once,” you beg, feeling him try to get up only to sink back into the couch when you don’t let go. “Please, they’ll probably leave on their own anyways, it’s like two in the morning.”

There’s no way for him to communicate the details, but you can see from his tensed shoulders and narrowed eyes that something about this particular trespasser is bothering him. They all bothered him really, but something had to be different this time. Maybe it was a large group, or someone drifting closer to the cabin than he liked, but whatever it was had him on edge. No one was stupid enough to sneak around much this time of year, let alone at night, so it wasn’t often now that he had to leave suddenly. You had gotten used to having him here whenever you wanted, but you knew it was unfair to try and stop him from going. Reluctantly, you took your hands away, sitting back with a pout. 

“Well, hurry up then, I don’t want to have to watch this lame movie by myself.”

Chapter Text

You blink away tears of pain, holding back the little cries that want to escape, biting your lip to keep your mouth closed. The stitching is already done, the worst part is over, but the cold stinging was still there, the unfamiliar pull of skin being held together. It was bad, worse than they were letting on, but you weren’t bleeding anymore so most of the tension had drained out of your body.

“Where’s Tommy?”

Your voice is hoarse, throat dry from screaming, and Mama rushes to push a cold glass into your hands.

“Drink up,” she commands gently, tilting the glass towards your lips. “You sound thirsty, honey.”

You sound half dead, voice scratchy and tired, but the cold tea feels good when you finally take a sip, and you drain the cup on the next go.

“There,” she soothes, raking her fingers through your sweat matted hair. “You’re fine now, just need some rest is all.”

“Thomas?” You ask again, blinking slow and heavy as the last of the adrenaline wears off.

Mama glances behind you, and you feel the hands on your wounds pause when she meets Hoyt’s gaze. Something is wrong.

“Where -“

“You know,” Hoyt cuts you off, hastily returning to his task, winding the thick bandages over your still bloody skin. “I think you oughta get us another glass of tea, Mama.”

She hesitates for a moment, but leaves without saying anything, closing the door behind her. You feel nervousness start to trickle down your spine, wanting to turn around but too weak to move.

“Tommy’s downstairs,” he begins, smoothing down the last layer of white gauze. “Don’t wanna come up.”

You aren’t sure what to say to that, mind blank as he slowly helps you lean back until you’re laying down in bed. When you look up at him, his expression is neutral, and you struggle to think of anything to say.

“Is he hurt too?”

You can’t think of why Thomas wouldn’t want to be here, except that he can’t. You couldn’t remember much of what happened, it’s mostly a blur in your memory, but he might have been harmed trying to help you.

“No,” he sighs. “He ain’t hurt, but I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Can’t get nothin’ out of him, just whinin’.”

“Well, send him up,” you say, voice hitching a little. “He listens to you.”

Hoyt doesn’t answer that, sitting on the edge of the mattress and not meeting your eyes. The tinny sound of the TV drifts up the stairs, faint enough that you can only barely make out voices, but you know it must be playing one of the old westerns that the men of the house were always watching.

“I think it might be best to let him sit for a while,” he finally says, and you feel a hot ball of frustration and anger start boiling in your stomach. “He ain’t dealin’ well with… you know he don’t like seein’ you hurt, and, well…”

“Did something happen?”

You know they’re not telling you something, and the way he avoids your gaze as you speak is all you need to see to know it. You blink away hot tears at the thought of Thomas, hurt and without you, somewhere downstairs in the dark basement and maybe thinking the same thoughts about you. Hoyt isn’t a reserved, quiet person but he’s silent now, face unusually somber and it only makes you more frightened to see him not acting like himself.

“Please just tell me if he’s hurt, I wanna know.”

“He ain’t hurt, I already told you.”

His voice is gruff, and he looks at you now with a frown, your teary eyes threatening to overflow. His face softens a little and that’s all it takes, and quiet little wail escaping you as you start to cry.

“Hush,” he soothes you, patting your arms. “Thomas is fine, he’s just upset, you know how he gets when he’s like that. I mean it, ain’t nothin’ wrong with him - ‘sides the usual, I guess.”

Your sobs slow into hiccups, gasping a little to catch your breath. Everything aches, the stitches stretching painfully around your ribs with every breath, and you just want to see Thomas.

“You don’t remember what happened, then, do you?”

You look up at him with a wet, flushed face, and have to shake your head ‘no’ when you can’t get enough air to speak the words. Maybe you had hit your head at some point, or perhaps your mind was just blocking it out, but everything that had happened once the basement door slid open was only a hazy memory. The woman had been tied up, sat at the table like a guest over for dinner - and then she wasn’t. They had gotten out before, and she was still half bound to the chair, standing but with one hand still tied down, so you had screamed for Thomas, calling him up to get her back in place.

“How do you think you got torn up so bad?” He asks. “You know how he gets when there’s trouble, swingin’ shit around like he does. Lucky it wasn’t the saw, or we’d be puttin’ you back together bit by bit.”

Sniffling, you reach up to rub stray tears from your eyes. You don’t remember that at all, nothing solid comes to mind when you try to think of it, but you know Hoyt has no reason to lie here. He might do it for his own gain, but he wouldn’t do anything that would harm Thomas, and you trust his explanation.

“Bring him here,” you say, voice trembling but still firm. “I don’t care if he’s upset, I wanna see him.”

“He’s hidin’ down there, I told you. Expect he’s thinkin’ you’re mad at him, he did get you pretty good.”

Hoyt sounds exasperated now at having to repeat himself, but you don’t care who you’ve got to inconvenience, so long as you get what you want. With a whine of frustration you beat your fists against the bed, shaking your head. You don’t know what to say to make him understand that he’s just going to have to get him upstairs somehow - you’re hurt and tired, and you’re not going to feel better until you’ve seen Thomas.

There’s a quick knock at the door and Mama enters without waiting to be let in, finally returning with a fresh glass of tea. She must have been waiting outside and listening, because she gives Hoyt a glare as she passes him, going to the other side of the bed.

“Both of you hush up now, it’s too soon to be talkin’ about such things,” she announces, looking pointedly at Hoyt and pausing to let her disapproval sink in. “You get downstairs and start cleanin’ up that mess, do somethin’ useful.”

“Well, sure, Mama,” Hoyt drawls, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get right to it.”

He stands, clearly with no intention of following her orders, but you grab at his wrist when he turns to leave. He looks surprised, reaching down to place your hand back on the bed with a gentle pat.

“Bring him up here, or I’m goin’ down there myself.”

You feel more weak and tired than you’ve ever been, but there’s determination there too, and even if you wouldn’t make it down the stairs, you’d still try. He only gives you a dismissive wave and a quick, “Yeah, we’ll see,” from over his shoulder as he leaves, but you feel like he’s finally understood that you’re not going to drop the subject. You knew he wouldn’t be able to do it, not tonight at least, if Thomas has locked himself up downstairs to be alone, but you want him to try. You don’t want Thomas to think you’re angry, to be down there hurting himself because of you, and there’s a desperate desire to get to him as soon as possible. There’s nothing you can do from up here, but the feeling that you have to do something now makes your heart race.

“All this fuss,” Mama mutters to herself, holding the cup up for you to drink. “Can’t have no peace and quiet in this house, can I.”

Chapter Text

Brahms

• He’s a little gremlin, so you know he’s gonna pull it if he’s in a bratty mood (and when isn’t he). Sneaks up behind you and just yanks on it like a child if you’ve managed to get on his bad side. 
• But also really, really loves long hair on you. It’s a bit much if you just leave it alone, so he prefers it in a ponytail or pretty braid, or even just with the front clipped back. Even if you have it up, he likes loose pieces around your face so he can keep tucking them behind your ear while you’re distracted. 
• He’s not much for helping you brush or style it, but he likes to just get handfuls and hold on while you’re cuddling. He might tug a little to get your attention or just to feel it, but he doesn’t pet it, just curls his fingers into it and keeps them there. 

Michael

• The first time you rolled over in bed and accidentally smacked him in the face with your hair, he nearly strangled you in your sleep. Always makes sure you’ve got that stuff properly tied up now before he gets too close. 
• He’s not the type to enjoy playing with your hair really, but he might pet it sometimes when you’re asleep. If you’re lucky enough to be awake when he does this, don’t point it out or it will never happen again. 
• He doesn’t have a preference for how you style it, but he’s easily frustrated by how much time you can spend doing it. He’s good at waiting, but it’s been three hours please come out of the bathroom. 

Bubba

• He will sit there and mess with your hair until it’s a horrible rats nest, then help you brush it all back out. He’s surprisingly good at braiding, and can even make some cute hairstyles out of it when he’s focused, but mostly he just likes touching it. 
• It doesn’t matter if it’s dirty, sweaty and tangled from a day spent in the heat, his hands are all over it. Sleeping, on the couch, doing chores, it really doesn’t matter what the situation is because he will find a way to get his hands on you. 
• He already likes to get you dressed up fancy for dinner sometimes, so of course that means he’s going to do your hair too! Sometimes all he wants to do is brush it out, but he can get pretty creative if he’s got enough time. 

Thomas

• He can’t sit still very easily, so if he’s ever restless before bed he’ll end up twirling your hair around his fingers, or even tracing the soft ends over his skin. You often fall asleep with him playing with your hair, and it helps relax him enough that he can finally fall asleep. 
• His own hair is a tangled mess, and you’ve had to cut away whole chunks that have just gotten too matted to brush out, but he’s surprisingly good at maintaining yours despite that. He likes to help you put it up in the mornings, piling it up to keep it off of your face and neck during the hot days.
• His favorite thing to do is wash your hair for you, and he’ll use way too much shampoo if you don’t keep an eye on him while he does it. He’s not very fond of baths himself, but he’ll sit next to the tub and lean over to soap up your hair. He takes forever to finish, because he just doesn’t want to stop, but you’ve got the cleanest, softest hair in the whole state now. 

Jason

• He doesn’t have a preference between long, short or in between, but there are advantages to long hair that he likes. It’s easier to play with and he gets to wind it around his hand and fingers. 
• He’s all about helping you get ready for the day, or settling into bed for the night, so he’ll brush and comb your hair for you. He can really only manage a sloppy ponytail, but if you’re really patient with teaching him then he can get the hang of a simple braid eventually. He’s so proud of his first braid, even if it’s a little crooked and not completely held together. 
• You spend a lot of time cuddled up and he’s not going to miss the opportunity to play with your hair while you’re so close. Mostly he just gets it horribly tangled, and his fingers have gotten stuck more than once, but he loves sliding his fingers through it and fluffing it up.

Chapter Text

• It makes him a little nervous at first, he’s shy about being touched there, but he gets over it quick when he sees how delighted you are. It still makes him red faced and giggly when you pat his stomach, but now he’s just as happy about it as you are. 
• He really likes when you seek him out yourself, crawling into his lap or tugging him away from the worktable to cuddle up somewhere. It’s easiest to just lay on top of him, and there’s plenty of room to spread out. 
• Even though it gets so hot outside, he still tends to keep a shirt on while working to keep the sun off his skin. If he knows you’re watching him, though, he might show off a little and unbutton it - and if he’s really feeling confident, he’ll take the whole shirt off. 
• It’s a big ego boost to see you sitting on the porch watching him, and realizing that you’re admiring him. He’s so flustered about it that he can hardly keep his mind on his work and he instantly becomes very clumsy while you’re around. 

It was late when you finally reached the bedroom door, the sun having already gone down hours ago. It wouldn’t be much longer before it would rise again and you’d have to get up with it - there was too much work to do to sleep in, despite your late night. 

Dinner had been particularly… messy. There was a lot to do to get the house back in order, and you couldn’t get out of it no matter how much you complained about the time. It wasn’t how you wanted to spend your evening, scrubbing the floors and putting furniture back in place, but you couldn’t pitch in with the other, more violent, tasks around the house, so this was what was left for you to do. All the work around the farmhouse was hard work, and this was no exception. 

Bubba was already asleep, he had gone to bed and been there for hours while you worked downstairs. You didn’t hold it against him, he had done his part already and his work was arguably more effort than anything you did, so you knew he deserved the rest. It didn’t stop you from being more than a little jealous though, realizing as the hours went on how little time you would have left when you were finally able to join him. If there wasn’t such a mess to clean, you could have been in bed and wrapped around him, face buried into his chest or shoulder, kept warm only by his body next to yours. Like most things in the house, the mattress you shared was worn and lumpy, certainly not the most comfortable thing you’d ever slept on, but cuddling with Bubba more than made up for it, and you were eager to take your place next to him. 

His loud snores were audible even before you reached the top of the stairs, and the sound brought a tired smile to your face. You opened the door as quietly as you could, creeping inside with soft steps and approaching the bed. It was just big enough for one person, but it made a tight squeeze for two, let alone someone as large as Bubba. You weren’t surprised to find him splayed over the whole bed, on his back with limbs tangled in the sheets, with no room left for you. When you went to bed together he would always wait for you to get comfortable before climbing in himself, squishing you against his chest and holding you there. Tonight, it seemed as though he had taken advantage of your absence to take over the entire bed. 

The soft starlight from outside is just enough to see by, and you notice with a little bit of satisfaction that the mask is off, a sight that was getting more frequent as the nighttime heat got worse. It wasn’t often that you caught him without one on, and you took in the sight of his messy hair and stubbly face with a smile. There was a light sheen of sweat over his skin, the little ceiling fan too old and slow to provide much relief, but the heat didn’t seem to keep him from sleeping well. 

With a sigh, you move closer and peer around for any spot that you might be able to get comfortable on. Bubba is stretched across the bed almost diagonally, arms spread out as far as they can go and mouth wide open to let out rumbling snores. He hated being woken up, and was such a heavy sleeper that it probably wouldn’t work anyways, so you didn’t bother trying to wake him. One leg dangled off the side of the bed, clearing just enough space for you to curl up on, so you crawled up from the bottom, pulling yourself up until you were pressed against his thigh to avoid slipping off the edge. Your eyes were more and more heavy each time you blinked, already half asleep as you let yourself lay over him. You stretched your arms out, wrapping yourself around his waist even though you still couldn’t quite hold him this way, and let yourself gently rest against his stomach. 

The heat was apparently too much to bother with a shirt either, so you pressed your cheek against his bare skin, nuzzling closer as you relaxed against him. You closed your eyes, feeling the slow up and down of his stomach as he breathed, and letting yourself rest your full weight on him. You would likely be pulled up at some point in the night, when he realized that you weren’t in your usual place wrapped in his arms or he when tried to roll over and found his lower body trapped under you. At this point you doubted it would wake you at all, so you contented yourself with your place over his stomach and thighs, the heat of his body enough to keep you warm for the night.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• To be honest, he wasn’t expecting a male nanny. He’s not happy at all, and he’s already got plans to get rid of you so that his parents will have to find someone else. 
• He’s upset at first that he’s not getting what he wants, and his tricks will be a little meaner than simply hiding some of your belongings, but he’s quickly very interested by you. He watches you for days and eventually realizes that he’s just as attracted to you as was any of the female nannies he’d had before. 
• Still going to pout a little because he’s a brat, but you get his seal of approval and you’re finally left alone to commence your doll-sitting duties. He ramps up the mischief immediately, eagerly watching as you become more and more suspicious of the doll. 
• Very pleased with how well you take care of the doll, seeing you as just as, or even more, caring and maternal with it as the others had been. It doesn’t matter the gender, he wants someone to take care of him and he’s happy to see how well you fill that role. 
• NSFW It’s an extra ego boost being so much stronger than another male, and he loves showing off how easily he can handle you. You might be the one on top, but he’s the one letting you. 
• NSFW He might be more familiar with male anatomy, but he’s more nervous than he would be with a female. He hasn’t considered doing anything like this before, so he has no idea how it works, and it makes him more cautious. 
• NSFW He’s the one being fucked most of the time, but he’s very happy to be on top if that’s where you want him. He’s very impatient, though, so he hates having to wait while you get ready. 

Michael

• Steals your clothing, which would be fine normally, but it does not fit him and you always find your new shirts stretched out and ruined. You’ve never seen him actually wearing them either, so you’re almost positive he’s only doing it to be a dick. 
• On the other hand, he owns exactly one (1) piece of clothing and you are not allowed to touch it on the rare occasion that he’s not currently wearing it. No folding, no washing, and absolutely no wearing it. 
• He absolutely hates the smell of men’s cologne so any that you own or bring home goes straight into the trash. He’ll stay a good three feet away at all times if you have it on already, it’s a natural Michael repellent. 
• He’s already not the biggest fan of kisses, but you can bet he will not allow them if you’ve got even the slightest amount of stubble going on. That rule doesn’t apply to him, obviously, and if you don’t like it you’ve just got to put up with it anyways. 
• NSFW He likes to be mean and just completely ignore your dick the whole time, until you’re desperate and begging - then he keeps ignoring it. If he’s being especially mean, the only friction you’ll get is when he lays on top of you while he’s fucking you. 
• NSFW Absolutely not going to be the bottom, in any sense. He’s the one who gets to fuck you, and it’s not getting turned around any time soon. 
• NSFW Despite having one of his own, he doesn’t seem to realize that he can’t just pull at your dick as hard as he wants. The first few times are pretty rough before he finally decides to let up a little. 

Jason

• It doesn’t matter if you’re three feet shorter than him or a big, muscled up lumberjack, you’re baby and he’s taking care of you. No complaints allowed, he will coddle you against your will if he has to. 
• He has no hesitation about going into a relationship with another man, he never really thought about it one way or the other, so there’s no preconceived ideas about it. He still has some stereotypical ideas about providing and caring for his partner though, so he’s going to want to be the one to do that for you. 
• His clothes are all dirty and way too big for you, but you can tell he’s pleased when you ask to borrow a jacket or shirt. Even better if you wear something of his to bed. 
• You might be just as tall as he is, but he’s still going to pull you onto his lap and hold you. Maybe you don’t really fit, but he’ll make it work. 
• NSFW No matter how big your dick is, his is probably still bigger, and he thinks yours is adorable. No amount of protests that ‘adorable’ isn’t what you want people to think when they see your junk is going to change his mind either. 
• NSFW Prefers to be on top, but he’ll try out being on the bottom if you ask. It’s not his favorite, but he likes it well enough that he doesn’t mind complying whenever you want. 
• NSFW It might get hot during the summers, but walking around without your shirt on is a quick way to get yourself pulled into the bedroom with no notice. It doesn’t matter if you’ve got work to do outside, you’re over his shoulder and halfway into the house before you can protest.

Chapter Text

Sometimes it was a little scary how easy it was to bring people home. Maybe it’s just because of the knowledge you have now, but you couldn’t imagine picking a lonely hitchhiker up off the side of the road, much less letting them direct you down old dirt roads and through abandoned fields. 

“You sure it’s this way?” 

The boy behind the wheel is squinting in the sharp afternoon light, looking hot and tired. You give an easy smile, a quick laugh, and nod your head. 

“Of course I’m sure, I know where my house is!”

You laugh again and the other boy, scrunched up in the backseat behind you, laughs with you. They can’t be much older than 18 or 19, you think, with scrawny arms and baby faces. It might have made you feel guilty once, but not anymore. Younger than them had come through town before, and not made it out. Meat’s meat, is what Charlie had told you, and the family has to eat. 

They had stopped for you because you were small, unthreatening and pretty. The promise of a place to rest up and a sweet smile had won them over, though the glances they gave you let you know they were hoping for more. 

“Look, it’s right there.” 

You lean over the driver’s shoulder, closer than you need to be but still trying to sell the ruse, and point out the shadow of the house in the distance. A shaky grin appears on his face and the other boy lets out a happy shout. You keep smiling.

“What’d I tell you?” The other boy asked. “And you thought we were gonna run outta gas and get stranded!”

“We were gonna run outta gas, asshole,” the driver snapped - they had introduced themselves, but you were quick to forget names now - swerving onto the worn path leading up to the house. “You’re lucky she came along and saved our asses.”

As their truck came up to the house, stopping to idle in the front yard, both boys frowned. 

“Hey, why’re the cops here?”

You laugh again, this time genuinely. 

“Oh, that’s my daddy’s car. He’s the sheriff ‘round here, but don’t worry, he don’t do much but get drunk and tell old war stories.”

There was a role for everyone to play when the meat was brought in. More often than not it was either you or Charlie bringing them home, so together you played the parts of stern sheriff and his daughter. Mama and Monty would fill in where it was needed, and when Charlie has had his fun poking and prodding, it was time for dinner. 

They walked into the house with no more motivation than the big smile you’d thrown them, following you into the dimly lit hall. You led them to the kitchen, finding a large pot already on the stove and boiling. 

“Go on and sit, I’ll go get my daddy and he can see about gettin’ your car filled up.” 

Your part was coming to an end now, and you hurried into the hall, heading towards the little room behind the kitchen where you could hear the TV. Once they figured out that all wasn’t as it seemed in the big country house, people tended to get violent, so you didn’t intend on following Charlie when he took over in the kitchen. Tommy would soon have work to do, so you’d sneak upstairs and wait for the sound of the saw to cut off. 

You saw the big metal door, a remnant of the old slaughterhouse, looming at the end of the hall. The peephole moved to follow you as you turned into the sitting room and you threw it a quick wink and a wave before heading in. 

Unsurprisingly, both men were slumped on the couch, warm cans of beer in hand. 

“We got company,” you announce, moving to turn off the old TV. “And someone left the stove on again.”

“Who’s that?” Monty asks. “Hey, leave it!”

You flicked the TV off anyways, giving him a firm look. 

“There’s two boys in the kitchen, truck’s outside and nearly outta gas.”

“Big?” Charlie asks, quickly draining the rest of his can. 

“Nah, they’re skinny things, can’t hardly be old enough to be out on their own. I told ‘em they could stay here for the night.”

“They sure can,” Charlie grinned, standing from the couch. “Let me get my things-”

“You don’t need to wear that damn uniform every time someone comes around,” you scowled. “They saw the car anyways, I told ‘em you were the sheriff.”

“Now, you know first impressions are important -” You rolled your eyes, tuning him out, and waving him out of the room. 

“Turn the damn TV back on!” Monty called after you. 

“Do it yourself!” You called back, ignoring the swears he threw at you. 

You ducked into the kitchen to quickly reassure the two boys that Charlie was on his way, noticing that they seemed on edge. Perhaps it was just the cussing coming from the sitting room, or that you had left them alone for so long in a strange house. 

“Oh, uh, you’re not staying, then?” One of the two spoke up as you turned to leave the kitchen. 

“Work to do!” You answered, eager to make it out of the room as you heard Charlie’s footsteps coming back down the stairs. You were hoping he would take the fun outside this time, you weren’t looking forward to scrubbing down the floors again otherwise. 

You met Charlie at the bottom of the stairs, throwing him a quick grin, but he grabbed your arm as you went to pass him. 

“Where’re you goin’?” 

You huffed. 

“To get some sleep before all the noise starts up.”

“Nah, you ain’t done yet. We got a little while before Mama gets back from the station, no need to be rushing things.”

“I don’t wanna mess with ‘em,” you insisted. “I spent all afternoon out by the crossroads, I’m tired.”

You knew by the look on his face that this was the wrong thing to say, and although you really didn’t want to hang around, you wouldn’t put it past Charlie to make things horribly inconvenient for you if you didn’t do as he wanted. 

“Alright,” you give in before he could speak. “Let’s get goin’ then.”

The boys were still in the kitchen, huddled together by the back door and having a rushed conversation under their breath. They were probably regretting following you inside, but it was too late for that now that they were here. 

They stopped talking the moment you came in, glancing nervously between themselves. One of them opened his mouth to speak, but Charlie got there first. 

“Well then,” he drawled, putting on a friendly smile. “One of you boys come on out and help me bring around some gas cans, and we’ll get you on your way after dinner.”

Both boys looked unsure, exchanging a few more glances, before the driver spoke up. 

“Yeah, okay. We gotta get going though, we’re on a schedule.”

Charlie’s smile tightened, turning from easy going to forced in a matter of seconds. 

“Then hurry the fuck up, that shit ain’t gonna move itself.”

You almost grinned, but managed to keep it hidden, turning your back to them and busying yourself with the boiling pot still on the stove. Someone had been attempting to reheat last night’s leftovers, but hadn’t added enough extra water to keep the broth from boiling down. 

“Honey, you keep an eye on this one, and go ahead and get dinner cookin’.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

You had already started scraping the overcooked meat from the bottom of the pot, dumping it into a small container. Mama fussed about it, but you felt bad for the mangy dogs that hung around the empty pastures, and you figured no one would miss a few scraps every now and then. 

A glance over your shoulder showed the other boy, nervous looking and standing in place like he didn’t know what to do with himself. You sighed, figuring you might as well get some use out of him while he was still standing. 

“Sorry ‘bout Daddy, he’s just a little strict sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem!” he says hurriedly, waving off your apology. “I’m sure he don’t mean nothing by it.”

Setting the pot to soak in the sink, you turn to him. 

“You mind helping me with dinner for a bit?” You make sure to pair the question with a bright smile. “Just gotta get some meat from the freezer, I could use some help.”

His face turns bright red but he gives you an eager nod. 

“No problem.”

“Good!” 

You lead the way, ignoring the fussing coming from the sitting room as you pass the doorway, stopping at the big metal door. Either Tommy’s behind it, ready to pull the boy downstairs kicking and screaming, or he’s waiting in the basement and you’ll have to lure him down there. You’re hoping for the former, but pulling open the heavy door reveals nothing but the little landing at the top of the stairs. 

“Oh, wow, that stinks.” Tensing, he gives you an apologetic look. “Shit, that was rude, I’m sorry-“

“Nah, that’s fine,” your amused grin is genuine and it puts him at ease to see you aren’t offended. “We do our own butcherin’ down here. Smells like a slaughterhouse, don’t it?”

You leave the lights off until you reach the bottom of the stairs, partially to avoid him catching sight of the grooves scratched into the walls of the stairwell, partially to keep him from backing out at the sight of the bloody basement. The big door is locked behind you, so at least he won’t be able to open it without struggling with the bolt. 

Perhaps your explanation eased him more than you thought it would, because once the lights are on, casting dim shadows around the crowded room, he doesn’t seem alarmed. The hooks are empty, as is the butchering board, but there are enough bloodstains on both to be concerning. The boy, though, doesn’t spare them much of a glance, before eyeing the two big chest freezers in the corner. 

Once you reach the freezers, you hesitate to open them. You’re both well into the basement now, far enough from the stairs that he couldn’t make a run for it through the equipment and furniture that crowded around you, but there’s no sign of Thomas. He wouldn’t have gone outside - Charlie has likely got the other boy ground into the dirt on his own by now - but he hasn’t stepped up to hook the boy following you either. 

Seeing you hesitate, the boy moves closer, wringing his hands, and for a moment you think that maybe the environment has gotten to him and he’s about to start freaking out. 

“You’re really hot,” he blurts, taking you off guard. “I mean, pretty, ya know, not-“ 

Your eyebrows raise. This is the opposite of what you were expecting - did he really think you’d brought him into the basement to fool around?

“Uh…” 

You can’t manage to bring any words to mind in this situation. Perhaps taking your red face and speechlessness for shyness, he places a clammy hand on your forearm, rethinks it, and moves it to your shoulder. He’s still fumbling with his words, but you’re almost too surprised to make sense of what he’s saying.

You’re at a loss for what to do, staring at the clumsy teenager in front of you with wide eyes. You’re about to open your mouth, not sure what words might come out, when the boy screams. You jump, startled by his outburst, backing up out of reach, and he falls without your shoulder for support. 

It doesn’t take long to realize what had happened. He’s writhing on the muddy floor, one arm twisting behind his body to feel for the big cleaver that rests in the flesh over his shoulder blade. A boot, caked in mud and debris, settles on his lower back, pinning him to the floor, while a big hand tugs at the blade. It comes free with a wet sucking noise and the boy screams all the louder. 

“Thomas,” you start, relieved but still jumpy. “Where’d you go, I thought you were gonna-”

You stop when he looks at you, still holding the squirming boy down with one foot. He looks furious, eyes narrowed at you and hand gripping the cleaver tightly. You’re confused at first when you realize that his anger is directed towards you, and you spend a few seconds of panicked thought trying to figure out why. He’s never liked you being around the meat, no matter who brings them in, but everyone has to pitch in, even when it comes to the more unsavory chores. He’s never been mad about it before though, so what was different now?

Thomas leans to the side, putting more of his weight on the foot holding down the boy, fingers twitching around the handle of his weapon when the whimpers turn back into screams. He watches you, still glaring, grinding the heel of his boot against flesh and bone. 

“What the fuck?!” 

The boy is spitting blood and saliva with every word, arching into the ground in an attempt to get away from the pain in his back. The noise is distracting but you don’t dare to look down, not with Thomas snarling like a dog over him. 

“C’mon, Charlie’s gonna need help with the other one soon…” 

You trail off, unsure. You had hoped the mention of Charlie would snap him out of it, remind him of the work to be done upstairs, but he ignores your words. You’ve never seen him this angry before, not at anyone, let alone you. 

Your eyes flick to the boy against your will when he cries out again, cussing and begging, flinging one hand out towards you as though for help. This draws Thomas’ attention as well, and the act seems to only enrage him further. He lets the boy out from under his boot only to bring it down hard on the crook of his arm and you flinch and look away too late to avoid seeing it snap. 

“Tommy, lets go outside, we got more to do!” You’re scared now, desperate to calm him somehow. Despite the horrors that regularly take place in the house, you’ve never stuck around when they happen, preferring to wait it out upstairs. You know what goes on down here, but you’ve never seen him hurt anyone like this before.

He turns to you again with a huff, stepping away from the boy and towards you. Your instinct is to back away but you stand your ground, arms wrapped around your middle protectively, trying not to be afraid of him. He’s angry, but he wouldn’t hurt you, no matter how intimidating it is to have him looming over you. 

Thomas stands in front of you, chest heaving and hands trembling. You meet his eyes for a moment but can’t keep them there, looking instead at the old, torn collar of his shirt and the black threads that hang from his mask. 

“Tommy, put him up and let’s go,” you insist, trying to sound more in control than you feel. “Charlie’s gonna be upset-”

A hand grips your shoulder, big fingers digging into your skin, and you quickly cover it with your own, hoping that the gentle touch will calm him. His hand flexes under yours, tightening his hold on you, and he bends down to press the bloody nose of his mask to the top of your head. His heavy breaths ruffle your hair, the sour smell of dead flesh and stale air drifting down to you. You can feel the nose of the mask bend and turn inwards when he presses his face closer, nothing underneath to keep it from crumpling. 

“C’mon,” you murmur quietly, reaching up to grab a handful of his sleeve. “Lets go, Tommy.”

He’s trembling, eyes glaring angrily, but he pulls away, looking over his shoulder at the boy squirming in the mud. He’s crawled a bit away, but only closer to the butcher block, probably trying to find a dark place to hide in. You almost feel sorry for him, but you can’t start pitying them now. 

Thomas is still snarling, lips pulled down and teeth gleaming. He doesn’t shy away from the killing or cutting, or any part of the preparation for butchering and skinning, but he’s never enjoyed hurting them, not like Charlie does. To be so violent now, he must have a grudge against this one in particular. You’re almost surprised when the thought finally hits you, feeling his hand on your shoulder where the boy had touched you, remembering the anger when he had reached out in fear. With a jolt of warmth you realize that he was jealous of the boy, angry to see that someone else had put their hands on you. 

“I love you.”

His head snaps around to look at you, and you hear him let out a low whine. You smile, tilting your head to brush your cheek against the top of his hand, stroking his fingers with your own. All of the tension and fear has melted away at this revelation, and you’re almost excited to realize that he could get so worked up over something so small. 

“Don’t you worry about that boy,” you say, watching his eyes following the slow movements of your lips. “He’s meat now, ain’t he.”

Slowly, Thomas nods in agreement, letting out a heavy sigh. He watches as you press a half kiss to the side of his hand, and you can see by the eager way his eyes watch your mouth that the adrenaline in his veins hasn’t stopped flowing. 

“You know how much I love you,” you murmur, seeing him give another slow nod, eyes still focused on your lips as you keep them against his skin. “Let me show you.”

Thomas stills, even the heavy rise and fall of his chest stopping momentarily as he takes in your words. You know the rush of capturing the boy has riled him up, he always seeks you out after the meat has been hung up to wait for butchering, and the heat of anger would have only made it worse. The gentle flick of your tongue against his hand is what spurs him into action, moving suddenly to get you in place. 

The weight on your shoulder pushes down, fingers curling into your flesh until your knees hit the floor. The ground is wet with mud, filthy water soaking into your clothes and dirt caking your legs, but you don’t mind at all. You keep the gentle smile on your face, placing your hands on either side of his thighs and leaning to the side to press your face against his arm. He keeps his hand on your shoulder, leaning forward to hunch over you as the other fumbles with his belt. 

Somewhere further into the basement you can hear the boy, crying and wailing, too damaged to crawl away. It didn’t matter where he was, the only way out of the basement was behind you, and he wasn’t getting out now. You know he can see you, only a few paces away from where he had fallen in the mud, but it doesn’t matter when you know he won’t be alive much longer. 

Thomas slides his hand up to grab a rough handful of hair, pulling you close but not close enough to take him in, despite your open mouth. You can smell the sweat and musk on his skin, stretching your mouth wider and sticking your pink tongue out towards him, but he doesn’t let you close the distance. He holds his cock just out of your reach, and when his wrist rolls, pulling his thick fingers up and down, you let out an eager moan. His grip tightens, squeezing the flesh harder and you watch the slow strokes get rougher and more uneven. He’s not gentle, pulling harshly until hazy precum drips over his fingers. 

You strain a little, trying to pull forward and flick your tongue over the slick head, but the hand in your hair keeps you back, a sharp tug bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. 

“Please, Thomas, let me-”

You can’t even finish your sentence, pulling against his hold as far as your aching scalp will let you. Your jaw hurts, mouth open as wide as you can get it and tongue lolling out, and you see his own slip out to lick at his lips as he watches you.

He lets up only a little, but it’s enough for the tip of his cock to bump against your tongue, and the groan he lets out at the contact makes your stomach clench so hard that it’s painful. He does it again, slapping his cock hard against the flat of your tongue and you hurry to lick at it while you’re close enough. He tastes like salt and sour sweat but you lap at whatever you can reach eagerly, whining when a pull on your hair jerks you away. 

You don’t care about the mud under you when he shoves you down, falling backwards onto the wet ground, or the rough nails scratching at your skin. Letting out a half-moan, you let him hold you against the muddy floor, the rest of your noises catching in your throat when you feel him wedge his knee between your legs. You can feel the heat coming off of him, made warmer by the cold air of the basement around you, and you wiggle your hips to get closer to the heat and the pressure of his leg between yours. He flips the skirt of your dress up, bunching it at your waist and hooking a finger hurriedly over the messy crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side rather than down your legs. You feel blood rushing to your face at that, somehow feeling more exposed than if he had taken them off, and have to fight the urge to snap your legs closed and cover yourself. He doesn’t let you remain on the floor once he’s gotten your clothing out of the way, jerking your hips up and into his lap before pulling the rest of you upright. The wet slick of your hair and clothing, soaked through and dirty, sticks to your skin but you hardly care as Thomas holds you against his chest. 

“Hurry up, please.”

You mumble the words desperately as he lines himself up under you, rocking your hips in an attempt to help him find the right angle. You hold onto his shoulders, face buried into his neck and let him hold your bottom half up with one hand, a firm grip on your ass keeping you hovering over his lap. The head of his cock, swollen and nearly purple, nudges against you for a few seconds and you huff out a frustrated groan when it doesn’t slide home. 

“Tommy, c’mon, please!”

With a heavy grunt he shifts his hand to hold you by the hip instead, stilling your movements. You think for a moment that it’s finally going to happen, but the moan already building in your throat turns into a high pitched whine when his sticky cock slides over your cunt completely, the head bumping against the underside of your ass. You whine again when he ignores your persistent pleas to let you move your hips - if he would only let you go, then you could easily fit yourself over him, he’s already so close. He lets you squirm, panting above you while you fight his grasp, but making no move to enter you, only a slow back and forth of his hips that drags his cock against you. You roll yourself around desperately, whimpering into his ear and begging, pressing quick kisses to the side of his neck. 

Finally he relents, letting you wiggle just enough that the next tilt of his hips upwards forces the blunt head into you, surging forward in one thrust until he’s as deep as he can get. You hear a loud sob leave you, the slight twinge of pain as he bottoms out barely even felt over the satisfaction of finally getting what you want. Thomas pulls you down further, pushing until you’re completely seated on top of him and almost more full of him than you can handle. You jerk away a little, but a rough hand stops you from going further and works you right back down his length until you’re back where you started. You want to hook your legs around his middle, but he’s too big for you to lock your ankles behind him, so you squeeze your thighs around his sides instead. It hurts a little, having him so deep, but you know it won’t stay that way for long. 

“Tommy, I love you so much,” you half whisper, the words rushing out of you without any thought. “So much.”

His cock jumps inside you, arms coming around to wrap you up as he leans down and moans loudly into your hair. Both arms crush you to him, pushing you down while his hips grind upwards, and you hear him return your affections with muffled grunts and gasps. You wince a little when he rubs against the depths of you, a dull ache already forming in your stomach, but the short, jerking movements also make your abdomen go tight with small ripples of pleasure. 

“Ah, Tommy,” you hiss into his ear, reaching up to slide your hand under the back of the mask and grab a handful of his sweaty hair. “Move…”

You don’t finish your words, trailing off into a stuttered gasp as he lifts you up, dragging your clenching muscles over his cock until he’s nearly slid all the way out. Eyes rolling back, you brace yourself with one hand on his shoulder, wrapping the other into his hair until your fingers are stuck. Your entire body jumps in his lap when he finally drops you again, lurching upwards to meet you halfway and bouncing you on his thighs. A sob slips out when he continues with the same harsh thrusts, but after a few moments of pushing and pulling you in his lap, the slick between your legs eases the friction enough that you can ignore the bulging pressure in your belly. A soft moan escapes you as it recedes, overtaken by the hot thrum of pleasure that drowns out anything else. 

His pace isn’t gentle, but you know that even this is him trying not to be too rough, keeping you seated on his cock as he forces his way up and into you. The position keeps him deep, face pressed against the top of your head and arms around your torso, and each push of his hips only forces you more firmly into his chest. You pant against the edge of the mask, bucking down against him wildly and pull hard on the hair wrapped around your fingers. You want to speak, to cry out more I love you’s, but the rough pace is pushing all the air from your lungs and you’re already gasping, so all you can manage is weak, labored breathing. Grabbing at his shoulder with your free hand, your thighs tremble around his waist as you struggle to hold on.

You get a small reprieve when his movements finally stutter, pausing to dig his fingers into the meat of your ass and hike you further up his thighs, moving your weight effortlessly. The cold air rushing in against your wet back makes you shiver when his arms leave you, slipping under your legs to hook them over his forearms and leaving your feet dangling. Once he starts again, lifting you with both hands on your ass, you can feel how wet and swollen the folds between your legs are, stretched open further by your spread legs. Thomas snarls above you, holding you down as he pushes up, and a hot trail of pleasure shoots up your spine, burning all the way down to your toes. You kick your feet uselessly, flailing against him and fighting you keep your hold on his shoulder without his arms to support you. A loud whine escapes you, muscles contracting around him, and it feels like each dragging thrust of his cock into you is getting more and more difficult as your body tightens. You’re sure that the big hands holding you are going to leave their mark, but you don’t feel any pain now, bouncing like a rag doll in his lap. 

“Please, Thomas!”

You’re not sure what you’re asking for, but you beg anyways and lock your arms around his neck, every muscle in your body trembling as you jerk and whimper. Thomas huffs and groans into your hair, forcing himself upwards even more harshly as you start to cum, and you’re clenched so tightly around him that you’re nearly overwhelmed by how much of him you can feel. His thrusts change into slow, hard jerks of his hips against you, each one rocking your head on your shoulders and drawing out wet gasps. You close your eyes and bury your face against his shoulder and neck, arching into him until your body seizes up and all you can feel is the throbbing nerves between your legs. 

You’re almost numb once it starts to recede, going limp and slumping weakly into his hold. An arm around your back keeps you from falling too far back, but the new wetness leaking down your thighs has only made it easier for his hurried, rutting thrusts to ram home. A hard, sharp push goes too far, hitting the deep spot in your belly that almost hurts, and you squeal in protest, clutching at him with renewed motivation. The next thrusts lands in the same spot, and the next, and the thick, strange feeling isn’t quite pain or pleasure, but enough of both that you aren’t sure if you like it or not. Each bump of his cock against it floods you with a sense of pressure, an overwhelming sensation of fullness that only comes to an end when you’re slammed down into his bucking hips and held there. A broken moan and the abrupt change to slow, grinding thrusts are the only warnings you get before the sudden, hot gush of his cum fills you, and almost immediately you can feel it trailing out of your cunt, smearing against your thighs. You squirm in his lap, but he keeps you firmly seated as he cums, the twitching cock inside of you steadily pouring more warmth into your belly.

Gasping down as much cold basement air as you can, you try to catch your breath. The heat and lust is slowly fading from your mind, replaced with the dull ache between your legs that you know will soon get worse, and the soft, tired feeling of being truly worn out. Thomas finally stills underneath you, grip loosening as he allows your sore legs to slip back down around his waist, huffing heavy breaths against the crown of your head. You can feel the sticky mess where he’s still connected to you, but you ignore the thought of the unpleasant clean up in favor of pressing a few trembling kisses to the underside of his chin. Your body is slowly cooling off as the heat between you dissipates, but Thomas is enough to keep you warm for the moment, cradling you against his chest and making soft noises. Any thought of the boy still in the basement, or the one upstairs, or even of the work you both still have to complete, hasn’t come back to you yet. 

“You two done fuckin’ yet, or do I gotta wait some more?”

You jolt up, hands hurriedly reaching out to hold onto Thomas and pull at the hem of your skirt, flipping it down over your thighs. A flush of embarrassment is already burning your face, and although you want to hide, you glance over your shoulder anyways. Charlie is at the end of the steps, hands on his hips and a big grin on his face, looking all too pleased to have caught you in the act. You can’t keep his gaze for long, turning back around to avoid the smug look on his face, and wondering just how long he’s been standing there. Thomas isn’t bothered by his presence at all, but you figured that’s only because he doesn’t realize this kind of thing is usually private, and no one but Mama has ever discouraged him from trying to get his hands under your skirt in the middle of the kitchen. 

“…done,” you mumble quietly, hoping that he’ll hurry up and leave. “The boy is taken care of, too.”

“Well, that’s great, but I got the one upstairs ready to go, so if you can spare Tommy for just a moment,” the false politeness in his voice grates on your nerves, but you know he’s relishing the moment. “‘Sides, I don’t expect you’ll have need of him for a while now. If that shit didn’t put a baby in you, I don’t know what will.”

You want to shut him up with a smart comment of your own, he’s in a good enough mood that you could get away with mouthing off a little, but you’re in no position to try anything now. Still firmly perched on top of Tommy’s cock and with a lukewarm mess of cum between you, you don’t have the guts to start up anything. 

“Okay, just gimme a minute! He’ll be there in a bit.”

“Don’t be too long, that fucker isn’t going to stay down forever and Mama’s home and makin’ a fuss about all the mess.”

You hear him take a few steps back up towards the door, relief flooding you when you realize he’s finally leaving. This has happened more regularly than you’d like, and he’s always eager to provide some snarky commentary and let you wallow in the shame of being caught, but you suppose it wasn’t a bright idea to start this up when Thomas was supposed to be working anyway. 

“C’mon,” you sigh, a little reluctant to part but not wanting Charlie to come looking again. “Guess we still got work to do.”

Chapter Text

Brahms

• You are expected to follow the schedule he already has set up, but as much as he will whine and pout about not staying on track, he really doesn’t care much about most of it. He likes sleeping in, so you usually get up and have breakfast ready before he’s even crawled out of bed. 
• He prefers when you stay in bed so he can wake up with you there, and most days it’s so hard to get untangled from his limbs that you give in and stay in bed anyways. But then he’s impatient and grumpy when food doesn’t magically appear on the table and he has to wait for it to be made like some kind of peasant. 
• How he wakes up pretty much sets the mood for the rest of the day, so you try extra hard to make sure he’s happy first thing in the morning so you don’t have to deal with a brat later on. Sometimes he’s just difficult regardless, but usually you can coax him into a calmer attitude by indulging in some long morning snuggles. 
• Of course, when he goes to bed the goodnight kiss is the most important part, and it is non negotiable. Don’t try to withhold it for any reason, no matter how badly he’s behaved, otherwise you’re not getting any sleep until he’s been smooched.
• He will usually let himself be tucked in and kissed goodnight in the old child’s bed, even though it’s a bit too small now. Once you’re out of the room, he goes into the walls to sleep in his real bed, and will wake up at some point in the early morning to come crawl into bed with you. 
• Rarely, he’ll go straight to your bed to sleep, and it’s usually because he’s feeling really lonely or jealous. Either way, he clings to you the whole night and once you’re in bed, you’re not getting out until he’s awake and ready to let you go. 

Michael

• Most of the time he’s already awake by the time you get up, or he hasn’t gone to sleep at all. He won’t leave the bed until you do though, waiting until you’ve crawled over him to struggle out of bed before he gets up himself. 
• If he’s taking a shower at all, this is usually when it would happen. He doesn’t do it on his own, but waits for you to start one and scares the shit out of you by jerking the curtain open when you least expect it. 
• If you have to leave in the morning, he probably will too, usually to follow you around. Otherwise he’s pretty lazy, and will just sit around most of the morning, watching you. 
• You’re never really sure when he gets home or into bed, you just go to sleep alone and some time in the night you awake to find that you have no blankets and your pillow has been stolen. He might not fall asleep, but he’s gonna get comfy while he’s there. 
• If a miracle occurs and he is asleep, you cannot risk waking him for any reason - stay home from work, silence your phone and get comfortable, because you’re going to be laying completely still in absolute silence for the foreseeable future. He doesn’t sleep for long, but it’s rare enough for him to get more than a half hour at a time that you can’t bring yourself to possibly do something that could wake him. 
• Very, very groggy when he wakes up and has no idea where he is or what’s going on for the next fifteen minutes, so he just lays there for a while. Probably the most relaxed you’ll ever see him, and this is a prime opportunity to sneak some cuddles and kisses while he’s off guard. 

Bubba

• He always wakes up before you, ready to get his chores started before the sun is even up. Breakfast won’t be ready for hours, so he’ll be outside the whole time, getting as much done as he can before the sun comes up. 
• If there’s a rare opportunity to sleep in for once, he still wakes up first, used to being up much earlier, but he just lays in bed and enjoys being cuddled up and warm while you sleep. You’ll probably be woken up by his enthusiastic snuggling, he can’t stay still for long. 
• Usually ready for a nap after breakfast, but since you’ve just gotten up he either takes it on the couch or just falls asleep in a comfortable chair on the porch. The house is probably empty by this point, so he can get away with a quick snooze while no one is watching. 
• His bed is rather small, even for just him, so he’s a gentleman and allows you to get in first and scoots in once you’re settled. Always sleeps on the edge of the bed closest to the door, so that you can’t accidentally fall off if he takes up too much room. 
• You can go to sleep in the most comfortable, cozy position imaginable, but you’re going to end up laying over his chest no matter what. He likes to spread out and there’s not much room, so he’ll just scoop you up, take over the bed, and let you use him as a mattress. 
• He’s always throwing his limbs around, smacking you in the face with an arm or trapping you with a leg thrown over both of yours. If you can get him to lay still at all, his arm makes a great pillow after he inevitably throws the real ones to the floor. 

Thomas

• His sleeping patterns are all over the place, and it usually depends on how much meat needs to be taken care of in the basement. He tries to keep it sort of lined up with yours, but he can work the whole day before he needs to stop, so he loses track of time easily. 
• Doesn’t like getting up early, he’d prefer to sleep until noon, but he’ll get himself up if there’s work to do. If he is asleep when you have to wake up, it’s a hard task to get out of his arms because he will sleep right through your struggling and he’s impossible to move. 
• Do not wake him up when he’s sleeping, he’s super grumpy and annoyed when he isn’t left to wake up on his own. Unless there’s an emergency going on, you’re just going to have to wait. 
• It’s a miracle you get any sleep at all, because he snores impossibly loud and always right next to your ear. He likes to lay half over you, face against your neck, so you can’t escape the noise. 
• He has a bedroom upstairs, which you promptly take over, but he usually sleeps in the basement just because it’s convenient. He’ll want to bring you downstairs, but if you don’t want to sleep five feet away from a crime scene, it’s easy enough to coax him upstairs. 
• He’s a big cuddler, and he’s warm. If you’re sleeping upstairs, then you’re going to overheat quickly, but he’s not letting you out of his grasp no matter how sweaty you get. It’s nice in the basement where it’s cooler, and you can stick your hands under his shirt to keep your fingers warm. 

Jason

• He doesn’t really sleep, just sort of goes still for a little while, closing his eyes and breathing so slowly he might not be breathing at all. You’re not sure if he actually needs to do it, or if he just does it to match you. 
• Since he’s not really sleeping, he’s pretty much always immediately ready to get up and start the day. He’ll bring you coffee, brush out your hair, start the shower, and have your clothes picked out and ready by the time you get out. 
• He would love to bring you breakfast in bed, but he’s only barely got the hang of using the coffee maker, so he’s limited to granola bars and cereal, which just doesn’t feel special enough. He will very enthusiastically help you make something though, and even if he doesn’t need to eat either, he’ll still take a few bites if you offer him some. 
• There is a very strict curfew enforced in this household, so you’ve got to be back at the cabin at a certain time or he’ll come looking for you. There’s no bedtime, really, but you’ll get some disapproving looks if you try and turn him away when he offers to tuck you in at the late, late hour of 10PM. 
• He likes to be the one holding you, preferably with your face buried into his chest and his legs tangled with yours. The closer the better, but if you toss and turn he’ll let you wiggle around and then just wrap around you again. 
• He’s on the cooler side when it comes to body heat, so when it gets cold out you’re covered with at least two blankets to make up for it. It’s nice in the summer to have someone who is the human version of the cool side of the pillow though.

Chapter Text

Bubba

• He is trying to keep his hands to himself, but if you expect him to sit back and let you do all the work, it’s just not gonna happen. One hand is on your hip, helping you slide up and down his thigh, and the other is grabbing at any part of you he can reach. 
• Loud, noisy boy who isn’t going to be able to keep quiet, even if he’s not the one getting all the attention. Every time your knee brushes against his dick, his eyes roll back and he squeals loud enough to hurt your ears. 
• By the end of it, he’s trying to trap your leg between his own, impatiently pushing up against your thigh. It’s more of a wrestling match at this point, as you both fight over who gets to hump who, but there are no losers in this game.

Thomas

• He’ll take charge and work you over his thigh himself if you want, he can keep you going even after your own legs give out on you. He is all about doing anything that gets you off, he probably enjoys focusing on you more than the other way around. 
• If you don’t want him to rush you along, make him lean back on his elbows so his hands have to stay off you. He almost hates not being able to touch you, but seeing you use him like this more than makes up for it. 
• Even if he’s not allowed to help you out with his hands, he’ll tense his leg and bounce it underneath you to make you squeal. You can lay over his stomach with your legs wrapped around his thigh and take as long as you want, he’ll patiently wait for his turn. 

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Even though he’s likely done a lot of it, killing isn’t something he’s driven to do. So long as the two of you are left alone, there’s not much to provoke him, so you can go quite a while without realizing how violent he can be.

• However it happens, it’s sudden and unexpected, and when he finally shows up to get rid of whoever is overstaying their welcome, it’s going to be over quickly. He wastes no time chasing or hunting, just a few quick blows to bring the number of occupants of the house back down to two.

• He doesn’t want you to be scared, it’s easier to keep you if you want to be there, so he’ll coax and coo at you to put you at ease. Anything he can say to calm you down will be said, any promise you need to hear, regardless of if he means it or not.

Michael

• He doesn’t care enough to hide any killing from you, but he doesn’t exactly do it in the house either, so it’s not something you have to think about. And outside of the fall season, he’s much more prone to the stalking side of things.

• If you’re seeing it happen, it’s probably not something he meant to do - maybe someone broke in, or he just happened to be in a bad mood when the delivery guy rang the doorbell. Either way it’s going to leave you with a hell of a mess to clean up.

• He isn’t too concerned with how you feel about it, he figures it’s something you should have expected at some point. If you’re angry, he’ll stay away for a few days, but don’t count on anything like an apology.

Bubba

• It’s more due to chance and coincidence that you’ve never seen the bloodier side of things, since it tends to happen in the house rather than out of it. You know where dinner comes from, but it’s easier to not think about it when you don’t know who it came from.

• It can’t stay that way forever, though, and you’re not going to be excused from the dinner table just because there’s a little bit of murdering going on. Bubba is just as nervous about it as you are, but he can’t say no when it comes time to finish things.

• He’s probably more upset about it than you are, anything that distresses you is twice as hard on him, especially when he’s the cause of it. He spends a lot of time trying to apologize in his own way, giving you gifts and treating you extra gently.

Thomas

• It’s hard not to have seen something - they’re not shy about roughing up the dinner guests - but most of the actual mess happens downstairs. So long as you pitch in elsewhere, there’s not too much complaint when you shy away from the dirty work.

• Hoyt might not like it, but Thomas has kept you away from the violence on purpose, but he can’t keep it that way forever. Meat gets loose, or guests turn unpredictable, and he has to take care of it whether you’re there or not.

• He doesn’t have time to think about it in the moment, but once he realizes that you’re scared now, he’ll hide away to avoid you. You have to be the one to come to him first, and it’s more of you reassuring him than the other way around.

Jason

• Most of his killing takes place far away from the little cabin you live in, and he’s careful to keep it that way. If he sees that it upsets you, he’ll clean up before coming home as well, so that he doesn’t track anything home.

• You can’t stay home all the time, and eventually you’re going to run across someone other than Jason in the woods. Once he realizes that the trespassers are with you, he’s going to be extra eager to get rid of them and get you away from them.

• He doesn’t think of anything other than getting rid of the threat, not until it’s over and goes to take you home. Seeing you afraid of him is going to be a big blow, and it’s always going to be in the back of his mind, even afterwards.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• He might pretend to be a little boy, but he’s an adult and he knows how to wash himself, even if you can’t tell by looking at him. Despite that, he’s going to continue playing the bratty boy and refuse any and all attempts to clean him up.

• If you want to get him into any water at all, you’re going to have to compromise, and it’s not going to come out in your favor. He’ll accept a shower, or even better, a bath, so long as you join him - and most importantly, do all the work.

• Once you get him for the first time, it’s easier to talk him into it again because he loves being taken care of. He’s still going to kick up a little bit of a fuss, but he’s perfectly happy about it once you get him in.

• You can’t get away with just a quick rinse down either, if you’re doing this he expects the full treatment. He won’t lift a finger to do anything himself either, so you’re going to be the one cleaning him up.

• He’ll cooperate as long as you’re willing to put up with doing everything for him, so it’s really up to you when he takes a shower. It’s a little frustrating to have all your hard work ruined when he sneaks back into the dirty walls, but at least he was clean for a few moments.

• He isn’t about to leave you alone to let you have a bath or shower on your own either, so anytime you try such a thing he’ll find a way inside and invite himself in. It’s the only time he’ll do it without being told to, but it means you get absolutely no privacy or time to yourself.

Huddled under the warm spray of water, you close your eyes and let yourself enjoy the heat, soaking up as much as you can. The day had been another dreary, cold mess of rain and wind, rattling the windows and chilling the air. You weren’t ready for summer to leave so quickly, but the weather was changing all the same, and the warm water was the easiest way to get some feeling back into your limbs. A bath would have been preferred, but Brahms had inevitably caught wind of your plans for an afternoon spa day, promptly inviting himself in and vetoing the idea of a bath. He wanted a shower instead, pouting and whining until you relented, and although you were annoyed at the interruption, it was nice not having to drag him into the water like a yowling cat.

You let yourself enjoy the warmth for a moment longer before finally stepping away, pushing wet hair and water out of your eyes. While this had originally been meant for you, now that Brahms was here you knew he’d get impatient if you didn’t get to work. Glancing around, you pick up a bottle and snap it open, upturning it over your open palm.

“I don’t like that one.”

You pause, tilting the bottle to stop the liquid pouring out, and frown at him. Brahms is lurking at the opposite end of the shower, still untouched by the water and leaving dark smudges on the wet tile at his feet. The mask is very firmly still in place, and you know better than to ask for it’s removal despite the itching desire to rinse the damn thing off and clean his face up for once.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “It’s the apple one, I thought you liked that one?”

You turn the bottle to show him the label, but he shakes his head without even looking at it. You sigh, realizing that this isn’t going to be as easy as you thought.

“Alright, which one do you want me to use?”

Brahms shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms and huffing. You pick up the next bottle, offering it to him until he snubs that one as well, and the next, and you start to think that nothing you suggest is going to be up to his standards.

“Well, if you can’t pick one, then I’m using the first one,” you insist, watching him tense when you don’t continue to try and appease him. “I like it when you smell like apples.”

You see him go still, watching as you pour a handful of the scented liquid into your palm and look up at him expectantly. The small compliment seems to be enough to win him over, thankfully, and he shuffles over the tile until he’s half under the water, head turned away to avoid the spray. You give him a smile, genuinely glad that you’ve managed to bypass the first bump in the road without incident.

“Thank you, Brahms.”

You use your empty hand to help soak the water over his skin first, running your fingers over his shoulders and the thick hair on his chest. He tenses a little under your touch, head tilted down to watch your face as you work, but doesn’t protest further. The water runs dark for a moment, the dust and sweat of the last week finally washing away as you smooth your hand over his skin.

“Stay out of the walls tonight,” you request, spreading the soap over both hands and running them over his shoulders. “You’re not getting into my bed with dusty clothes otherwise.”

It’s a prime opportunity for a tantrum, and in any other situation he would probably protest and whine, but he only gives you a short nod, leaning down to press the nose of the mask against the top of your head. You don’t know what has made him suddenly decide to be cooperative, but you’re glad for it anyways, feeling his stomach tighten when your hands drag lower over his abdomen. Absently, you run your hands up and down, working at your task without really thinking about it - you had done it enough times that it was nearly automatic now.

Michael

• You’ve never caught him doing it, but you know he’s used your shower before because he always leaves a big mess. It’s a rare occurrence, though, and he mostly just stays dirty - get used to finding suspiciously dark stains everywhere.

• Normally, there’s nothing you could do to tempt him into taking a shower with you if he really didn’t want to, but the only thing that would really tip the scale is the mask. If he doesn’t want to take it off in front of you, you’re just going to have to deal with him leaving bloodstains on everything he touches.

• If he’s comfortable enough to remove the mask, then he’ll take advantage of any shower you decide to take and simply slip in and take over. You were trying to wash your hair, but Michael is here now so you get to stand in the cold corner and wait for him to finish using all the hot water.

• If you want any soap to touch his skin, you’ve got to be the one putting it there because he’ll just stand under the water for a while and call it good. It’s easy enough to do while he’s just standing there, and you find it amusing to use the most overbearingly awful scented soap you can find.

• You’ve got to fuss a little, but most of the time he’ll allow you to wash his hair if you really want to. No help is going to be given though, so if you’re not tall enough to reach without him bending down then he’s just going to let you struggle.

• If you’re really persistent, he’ll let you quickly towel dry his hair, but you’re not getting anything like a hairdryer or styling product near him. His hair will be horribly tangled and messy, but he won’t let you do anything about it.

Pressed against the cold tile, you shiver. Wet hair sticks to your neck and back, arms crossed over your chest to try and retain what little heat you can. Goosebumps run up and down your arms and you glare with jealousy at the thick steam pouring off of Michael in waves. He was stood directly under the shower head, wet hair in his face and skin pink from the heat and pressure, and you were ready for him to finish up and move. The hot water falling so close to you only makes you feel the cold even more, and you think of simply getting out and leaving, but you don’t want to be chased out of your own shower.

“Hurry up!” You whine, shifting as close as you dare. You know that any attempts to sneak in and soak up some of his warmth with only get you a sharp elbow in the ribs, so you lurk on the edge of the water and wait impatiently for him to decide if you’re going to be allowed to actually finish the shower you had started.

You shuffle from foot to foot, a scowl on your face. Why couldn’t he simply do this on his own time, which he had plenty of, instead of interrupting your showers? It seemed like that was the only time he bothered with it now, and you were almost certain that it was only because he knew it annoyed you. You didn’t mind sharing a shower with him, you actually relished the chance to freely touch his face and hair, but that wasn’t how he did things.

“Finally,” you mutter to yourself, slipping in next to him when he turns to the side, half facing you. “I thought you were going to let me freeze to death!”

Michael pauses to push the hair from his eyes, but you ignore him in favor of trying to fit as much of your body under the warm spray as you can manage. It almost stings against your chilled skin, but you’re so glad for the warmth that you don’t care. When you feel a sharp tap on the side of your arm, you know what he wants and you sigh.

“You can do that yourself.”

Your tone is snippy, but the words are barely out of your mouth before a hand is on your arm, wrenching it away from you. A thrum of panic flows through you for a moment, eyes snapping to him, but he only pulls your arm away from your chest, firmly pressing a little bottle of soap into your captive hand. Michael looks at you expectantly.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, pulling your hand away from him and snapping open the bottle. “Not like you’re the one who interrupted my shower or anything.”

You might complain, but there is no hesitation to follow his wordless command. Eagerly, you slip your hands over his sides, leaving a trail of frothing soap over his skin. It’s rare enough for him to allow you so much contact, let alone ask for it himself, that you aren’t going to push your luck and risk him not letting you do it.

Michael shows no sign that he cares one way or the other, but you think he must enjoy it somehow to request it from you in the first place. You don’t hide your own enthusiasm, smiling up at him and being maybe a little more thorough than you strictly had to be. Reaching up as far as you can only barely puts your hands over his shoulders, but you press flush against his chest and stand on tiptoes to swipe your hands over them anyways. You tug at the ends of his hair, tilting his head a little as you pull, but he’s too tall to reach and you have to give up on any thoughts of combing your fingers through his wet hair, knowing he won’t lean down to help you.

“You’re lucky I’m so nice to you.” You huff, ignoring the fact that you have run out of soap and continuing to work your hands down his chest.

Bubba

• He can shower all he likes, two seconds in the summer heat will ruin any efforts you’ve made to keep him clean. Still, he isn’t going to pass up the offer if you invite him to join you.

• There’s no such thing as hot water here, so it’s cold showers only. It’s not too awful for the most part, but it’s not quite as relaxing as a nice warm shower can be.

• He insists on being the one to pamper you instead of the other way around, and won’t let you even consider doing anything for yourself. Once he has you soaped up and clean, he’ll bask in the attention when you return the favor.

• He might want to take care of you first, but he really relishes having you fuss over him so much. He’s as cooperative as possible, letting you turn him around or leaning down to reach wherever you need to.

• He’s never ready for it to end, and he’ll beg for just five more minutes as long as you’ll let him. It’s the only time he really asks for anything, so you usually give in until you’ve been standing under cold water for half an hour.

• He’s a perfect gentleman and will keep his hands to himself no matter how excited he gets. Once you’re out, however, it’s free game.

“Okay, all done,” you announce, fumbling with the faucet. “Time to get out.”

A whine, high pitched and loud, echoes from behind you, a grabby hand on your hip pulling you back gently. Another hand covers yours, patting it in a mock slap to stop you from turning off the water. You can’t help but roll your eyes a little - this is the second time you’ve attempted to bring bathtime to an end, and you had been thwarted the first time in a similar manner.

“It’s late, don’t you wanna go to bed?”

Apparently not, you think, feeling him reach for you. Arms around your waist tug you further backwards, into the lukewarm spray of water, until your back is firmly pressed against the chest behind you. Bubba hunches down over you, resting his chin on the top of your head, making contented little noises into your hair. He rocks slowly from side to side, and you’re sure he’d stand here all night if you let him, cooing into your ear and soaking up the refreshing, cool water. It was nice, but you had spent most of the last fifteen minutes doing exactly this, and you were ready to get into bed as soon as you could. It didn’t escape you that this was something he could do just as comfortably laying in bed either, where you desperately wanted to be right now.

“It’s late,” you repeat, feeling him tighten his hold when you try to squirm away. “You want your brother bangin’ on the door, screamin’ about using up all the water?”

You get your hand on the faucet again, but this time Bubba simply picks you up, lifting you by the waist and turning around so that you can’t get to the faucet without going through him. It’s your turn to whine now, slapping lightly at the arms around you in protest. You hear him giggle in response, kissing quickly at your wet hair as you wiggle in his grasp.

“Bubba Sawyer!” You scold him, but you can tell by his laughter that nothing you say now is going to be taken seriously. There’s a smile on your face even as you fuss at him, and once you’ve exhausted your protests, you sigh.

“Alright, just ten more minutes - then we’re gettin’ out, you hear me?”

Thomas

• Not a big fan of showers at all. He washes his hands before dinner, and that’s about the best you can expect from him. He’s just going to get dirty again anyways, so he doesn’t really bother with it.

• Going to need a lot of convincing to get in himself, mostly because he has to take off the masks - you want him clean and that includes his face. He’ll whine and moan, standing next to the tub and watching you, but eventually he’ll give in.

• There’s a lot of cleaning to do. Nearly every inch of him is coated in dirt and sweat, and not a small amount of blood, under his nails and in his hair. He’s very tense at first, but he’ll slowly relax as you focus on getting him clean.

• Most of the supplies you’re working with are travel sized bottles from stolen luggage, so you go through quite a lot of them in the process. He’s always loved you playing with his hair, so washing it for him is the highlight of the event for him.

• He’s twitchy and impatient, but he’ll sit still long enough for you to do what you need to. He’s ready to bolt the moment you declare him clean, but you can convince him to stay by asking nicely for him to do the same for you.

• He learns to love it once you get to work, but he’s like a dog fresh out of the bath afterwards - never going back in there, no matter how good it felt, and he’s probably going to go straight back to rolling in dirt. It will be a while before you’re able to get him to do that again, and it’s never any easier to talk him into it.

It had taken longer than you would have liked, with plenty of pleading and whispered promises, but you had finally gotten what you wanted. The small bathroom was crowded with just the two of you occupying it, the old claw foot tub taking up most of the space. The pipes rattled as the brown water started up, matching the tone of the whines coming from behind you. Letting the water run to wait out the murky tint, you half turned to look at him over your shoulder, a little uncertain if he would actually follow through with the tentative agreement this time.

“You promised, Tommy,” you remind him, voice soft and low. “It ain’t gonna hurt, I just wanna take care of you.”

Your words don’t seem to calm him at all, his shoulders hunched and head downturned, eyes darting over the floor nervously. He’s already naked, clothes in a bloody pile on the floor along with your own, but you know that isn’t what has him on edge. He glances up when you turn to face him, but looks away again when he sees you start to approach, a worried moan echoing in the small room.

“You remember last time, you liked it once you got in. And it’s only for a little bit.”

He’s tense under your hand when you reach up to stroke his shoulder, but you don’t let that deter you from sliding your hand up to tug lightly at the ties of the mask. He jerks away a little, then stops himself, forcing his hands back down to his sides.

“You gonna let me take it off?”

He doesn’t give an answer, but rocks slightly in place as though he’s waiting for an opportunity to bolt. Whispering words of comfort, you keep your hand on the mask and slowly work your fingers through the ties that dangle over his shoulder. Your first few pulls at the laces are unchallenged, but when you move to the side, reaching up to follow the ties up the back of the mask, Thomas flinches away, pulling his head back.

“It’s alright,” you say soothingly, letting go. “Why don’t you take it off instead? I’m gonna go ahead and get in, you just come join me when you’re ready.”

You hope that giving him space will work, but you’re not expecting much this time. It had been a fight to get him washed up last time, and everyone else had long since given up making him do anything he didn’t want to, so you were on your own when it came to this. You knew most of his reluctance was due to the removal of his mask, but it was necessary - you had tried letting him keep them on, but the water only ruined the already rotten flesh, and it had been worse to have him realize that his face was beyond repair than to go through the struggle of just taking it off.

When you finally step into the lukewarm water, listening to the pipes groan and heave under the stress, you don’t pull the curtain closed. There’s still hope that he’ll follow through, so you leave it half open, a gentle invitation to join you if he wants to. You wait for a few moments, wetting your hair and enjoying the brief respite from the heat of the house, but when there is no sign that Thomas is going to give in, you stop waiting. It’s not the first time you’ve failed in this particular task, reaching for the soap with a sigh.

You go through the motions quickly, wanting to hurry up and get out so that you can let Thomas get back to work. You could get him changed into clean clothes, at least, and you knew he wouldn’t complain if you tried to simply wipe off the worst of the dirt and blood. It was better than nothing, you decide, stepping back under the water to rinse yourself, but the little ‘I told you so’ gleam in Hoyt’s eyes was going to sting all the same.

A nervous moan, low and deep, startles you. You bring a hand up to wipe at your eyes, hurrying to dry them, and hold the other out for him. He had sounded close and you didn’t want to miss the opportunity to coax him in. Rubbing at your eyes, you finally open them just as he’s reaching out for your hand, leaving dirty streaks on your clean skin.

You want to speak, but you’re afraid it will scare him off, so you keep your mouth closed and eyes away from his face. The mask is gone, and you’re thankful that he had actually taken it off, but you know better than to look up at him. What you can see just from the edge of your vision looks awful, and you hope that most of the flakey redness is only from the fresh mask. When he finally steps in, looming over you and trembling, the rush of relief that hits you makes your own limbs shake as well.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you murmur, leaning in to press your cheek against his chest in a half hug. “I promise I’ll take care of you.”

Jason

• Left to his own devices, anything the rain didn’t wash off would just stay there. That would be bad enough for anyone else, but a lot of the mess he tracks home is significantly more bloody than most, so he’s pretty dirty.

• There’s no coaxing needed so long as you’re involved, he’s happy to get in the shower with you if you ask. He’s probably not going to do it on his own, but he doesn’t mind if you want to clean him up every so often.

• Honestly, other than washing away the blood, there’s not much you can do for him. He’s already on the soggy side without being in the shower, and the strange, earthy smell can’t be covered up by any body wash you’ve tried.

• It might not be necessary, but he’ll still enjoy it if you scrub him down anyways. He’ll even sit so you can reach his shoulders, and it’s probably a good idea to give the mask a little rinse while he’s there.

• He isn’t going to let you do all the work, though, and he makes sure you get the same treatment once you’ve finished with him. It takes him a few times to catch on to which product is used for what purpose, and he always uses way too much, but he’s adamant that you be taken care of too.

• If you’re standing in front of him, naked and dripping wet, he’s not going to be able to keep his hands to himself. You can make him be patient and wait till you’re both cleaned up, but he’s going to be very thorough when it comes to drying you off.

When you wake up, tucked into a warm bed with the gray light of predawn filtering through the windows, you blink sleepily for a moment, then wiggle back down into the blankets and close your eyes again. Maybe something had woken you, or perhaps your body was so used to waking early for work that even the lack of an alarm hadn’t stopped your brain from getting you up. But there was nothing better than waking up only to realize you could go back to sleep with no consequences. If the sun isn’t up yet then you know it’s too early by far for you to be awake, so you drift back off, happy in the knowledge that you had nowhere to be today other than home.

You jolt awake again only a few moments later, the gentle shaking of your shoulder tearing you back out of a comfortable sleep. Looking around with half closed eyes, you immediately spot the problem - Jason is leaning over you, mask inches from your face and a big hand on your shoulder. He gives you another shake when you relax back into the pillows, groaning.

“It’s my day off,” you complain, trying to dislodge his hand. “Let me sleep in!”

The next shake is firmer, a warning that you had better get up on your own before he has to intervene. This kind of persistence was great on days when you were slow to wake, keeping you from being late to work and still getting in the morning routine you needed to be ready for the day before you left. It was not so great when you had the rare chance to sleep through the morning, which was apparently not allowed even on days off.

“C’mon, let me sleep,” you whine, rolling around and gripping as much of the blankets as you could hold. “We can do this later.”

Perhaps this trick had worked when it was only a stern parent trying to get a lazy child out of bed, but it didn’t matter how tightly you wrapped yourself around the blankets. You know what happens next, but that doesn’t stop Jason from scooping you up, tugging the blankets from your hands in one swift movement despite your attempts to hold on. The cold arms around you now are no substitute for the warm bed you’re leaving behind, and you glare at him as best you can with messy hair in your face and eyes still droopy with sleep. He seems unaffected by your ire, holding you against his chest and walking quickly to the bathroom, one hand coming up to cup your cheek and press you closer.

You can see he’s already prepared, two towels and a change of clothes for each of you laid over the little counter, shower curtains pulled open and ready. Your brush is laid out next to the clothes, a small assortment of hair bands and clips set out for you to pick from. It’s hard to stay grumpy when you see how much effort he’s put into it, noticing the line of bottles and products neatly arranged in the shower. When he sets you down, carefully lowering you until your feet are firmly under you, you can’t help but smile.

“You get a pass this time ‘cause you’re cute,” you say, waving a finger as if warning him. “But I’m going right back to sleep after this, okay?”

Jason doesn’t protest against your statement, but there’s no slow nod or huff of agreement. He tilts his head to the side, looking amused, and you know you’re going to have another fuss about that when the shower is over. At the very least you were going to have an in depth talk about the merits of sleeping in and not waking up before noon unless you have to.

Chapter Text

It was only mid morning and you were already sweating, the dusty house building up heat like an oven. No else seemed too bothered by it, and Drayton had stubbornly insisted that the rattling ceiling fans weren’t needed despite your protests, so you had been left to suffer. Even though you hadn’t left the shade of the house, you had still managed to sweat through your clothes, pulling at the sticky fabric to keep it off of your skin. Once you heard the rumbling of the old truck leaving the house, you were turning those damn fans on no matter what anyone said.

But it was worse outside, in the hot sun where you knew Bubba was working, pinning up a new fence to keep the chickens in and coyotes out. He didn’t complain about the heat, or anything really, but you knew it had to be unbearable out there. There was no shade away from the shadow of the barn, and the rough work done under the sun was going to tire him out quickly. He was used to it, you knew, and had certainly gone his entire life without you around to worry and still done just fine, but you slipped on your shoes and headed out into the heat anyways. With a heavy pitcher of freshly made tea cradled in your arms, you picked your way across the hard, dead grass, following the noise until you came around the side of the house. A small group of hens scratching in the dirt next to the barn let you know you had found the right place - they had the whole yard to roam in, but they gravitated to Bubba, trotting after him like ducklings.

Coming around the side, you could see the damaged fencing, a big piece of chicken wire torn down from a splintering post. It wasn’t hard to spot Bubba either, but when you did an unexpected warmth flooded you. You stop in place, standing in the baking sun and getting warmer by the second, although this time you couldn’t place the blame on the weather.

Bubba was on his knees, bent forward to nail the wire onto the bottom of the wooden posts, hens clucking loudly around him. Sweat clung to him, trailing in thick lines down his back and sides, shirt abandoned in a dusty pile a few feet away. Although his arms were tanned, the pale skin of his shoulders and back were tinted pink, his own dark curls sticking out between the mask’s messy laces. Your eyes followed the plump curve of his belly as he turned, sitting up to grab another nail, thinking with a flushed face about how good it would feel to have that weight on top of you, pushing you down and into the dirt -

You clear your throat, stepping forward with a red face and clumsy feet, sloshing liquid over the rim and onto the grass. It was too hot and too early to be getting so excited already, and you knew there were plenty of chores waiting inside to take your mind off of it. Besides, Drayton was still home and you would rather not be caught red handed.

Bubba looks up as you approach, getting up with a delighted squeal to press a sweaty kiss to your hot cheek. You know your face is red, but hopefully he doesn’t think too much of it, because you can’t stop yourself from grabbing a handful of his side once he’s close enough. The flesh is slick and hot under your hand, and you know it’s not doing anything to calm you, but you dig your fingers in anyways. He smiles, putting an arm around you as well to bring you into a half hug, the full pitcher in your arms keeping him from embracing you fully.

Fumbling a little, you offer the plastic pitcher, pleased to see that you didn’t spill too much of it in your clumsiness.

“Thought you could use a break. Drayton just made it and I know how hot it is out here,” He reaches for it, but you pull it away at the last second, looking at him with a grin. “Let’s go sit in the barn for a bit.”

Bubba pauses for a moment, looking back at the still half mended fence, then back at you. He lets out a quiet mumble, questioning.

“It’ll only be a second, just to get out of the sun.”

You step away, heading towards the barn and knowing that he’ll follow. This is also something you shouldn’t be doing, but you tell yourself that a quick sit down in the shade won’t hurt.

The inside of the old building is only marginally cooler than outside, thick dust gathered around the edges of the room where piles of old junk lay, untouched for years. Most of the big equipment in here hasn’t been used for a long time, but there is a sturdy work table and an assortment of tools to one side, which you have seen each of the brothers use from time to time. It was a waste of space, in your opinion, but the Sawyers weren’t the kind of family that ever threw anything away.

“We should have a picnic once it cools down,” you say, settling in the tall stool by the table. “If it ever does.”

Bubba nods in agreement, eagerly taking the pitcher from you and popping open the plastic lid. The tea is half gone in the first two gulps, and he only stops then to offer you some.

“It’s for you,” you insist with a smile. “I’ll make more once I’m back in the house.”

You watch with eager eyes as he downs the rest of the tea, sweat rolling down his neck and chest, head thrown back. The mask he uses for working is thin and worn, sticking to his wet skin, throat bobbing heavily as he drinks. With a glance towards the doors, you wonder just how likely it is that Drayton will come out here looking for you before he leaves.

Another kiss lands on your forehead, soft words of thanks murmured into your hair. You can’t resist reaching out for him again, hooking a finger into one of the belt loops at his waist and tugging lightly. Your hands twitch, wanting to pull at the button instead, but you keep them still, tilting your head up to accept the next thankful kiss on your lips.

“Why don’t you sit down for a second, Bubba?” You suggest, sliding down from the stool. “You’ve been working all morning.”

You have to nearly push him to take the seat, ignoring his confused protests, patting his leg as he finally sits. Leaving your hand on his thigh, you give him a reassuring smile, standing on tiptoe to quickly peck him on the lips. Your smile widens as your hand slides up, squeezing at the meat of his thigh and drawing out a loud squeal, stopping just short of the hardening mound between his legs.

“You gotta be quiet,” you say lowly, massaging your fingers into his leg. “Don’t want no one to hear you.”

Eyes wide, Bubba nods quickly, hands gripping the sides of his seat with white knuckles. Despite your warning, the noises don’t die down much, even though you haven’t even done anything more than feel him up a little bit. The rumble of the truck leaving the house hasn’t sounded yet, but you’re willing to bet a potentially embarrassing interruption that no one will come snooping out here.

“Help me up,” you ask, holding your hands up towards his shoulders. He grabs at you eagerly, pulling you up into his lap and sitting you over one thick leg, leaning down immediately to press sloppy kisses to your mouth. You giggle against his lips, a hand on the back of your head bringing you in closer, the other grabbing handfuls of your skirt to hike it up to your waist. You help to pull your clothes out of the way, lifting your hips to slide the fabric out from under you, but he struggles against your attempts to pull away when you try to leave his mouth. A hungry whine leaves him, face nuzzling into the side of your neck when you finally break away from the kiss, licking the salt from your skin with a wet tongue.

The heat between your bodies only makes you warmer, sweat slicking your skin, but the damp spot between your legs has nothing to do with the heat. You go to pull at the waistband of your panties, eager to get the soaking fabric off, but Bubba stops you. He redirects your hand instead to his own waist, moaning and begging for you to undo the straining buttons. You pull at them lightly, bringing your other hand over to palm him through the rough fabric, but you don’t tease him for long, his desperate noises making you just as eager as he is to bring your flesh together.

You gasp when you feel the hot press of his cock against the side of your thigh and hands, matching his own groan of relief. With hurried hands you move to get rid of your panties, desperate now to have your cunt uncovered, but you’re stopped again, big hands turning you in his lap until your back is against his chest. Sweat soaks through the flimsy material on your back instantly, his wet chest pressed against you and arms around your middle keeping you there. Bubba makes no move to press his cock between your legs or help you finally disrobe, only pulling you back to sit more fully in his lap. You hold yourself steady by bracing your hands on his knees, legs pressed together and the almost uncomfortable bulge of him digging into your ass. Bubba huffs and groans behind you, arms around your waist to hold you down, huffing hot breath against your neck as he moves you in his lap, rocking back and forth.

“Bubba, please!” You whine, trying to get around the mass of his arms to remove the last bit of fabric covering you. He lifts you, tilting your whole body to the side with one arm, the other hand sliding under your ass to hook a finger around the crotch of your panties, and you let out a preemptive groan of satisfaction, anticipating the hot stretch of him entering you.

The groan turns to a half shriek of surprise, his cock sliding through your wet folds instead of into them, nudging forward until the dark pink head pops out from between your thighs, nestled into the groove of your cunt. As he presses up his cockhead strains against the front of your panties and tents them out, away from your hips. You squirm in his lap, feeling him draw back slightly and the flared head bumping against your clit when he thrusts against you. There is a thrum of panic alongside the pleasure that twists in your stomach, a needy feeling that isn’t quite satisfied by the light friction you’re getting now. You have to fight against his hold, wiggling until your hips are angled down enough that the length of his cock is dragged over your hard nub with every thrust, but it’s worth the heavy, full feeling that starts to build in your abdomen.

Bubba kisses at your neck, mouth worrying at your skin with pointed teeth, half screaming into your ear with each hard push against you. The stool creaked ominously under you both as he bucked his hips, but neither of you even think of stopping. You watch with a parted mouth and eager eyes each time he pushes through the meat of your thighs, leaking precum and spreading your own wetness between your legs, until the push and pull is almost effortless, slick and hot.

“Does that feel good, Bubba?” You pant, knowing that it must, judging by the way his cock twitches and drools, a wet mess sliding down your legs and staining your panties further. He gives you a muffled stream of nonsense in response, arms lifting and bouncing you in his lap to meet his frantic rutting from below. It felt strange almost, to have the heavy weight of him slamming into you, skin meeting with loud slaps, but your cunt clenched around nothing.

The hard pressure against your clit was good, but you tense your thighs, tightening around him in an effort to make it better. You cross your ankles, flexing the muscles in your legs, making a smaller space for him to try and fuck up into. Bubba squeals behind you, snorting and gasping, spit and sweat trailing down your neck and back. He kisses and licks at your neck, throwing himself wildly into you, and you feel the first throbbing pulses that signal his release, flesh twitching against your own.

“Go on, Bubba,” you moan, bringing a hand down to rub your thumb over the slit in his pink head through your own panties. “You’ve been a good boy, go on.”

His thrusting stops, the muscles under you trembling as he holds himself up, whole body still and rigid. You jolt when the first hot pulse of cum leaves him, a sticky mess trailing down to pool at the apex of your thighs. His arms around you are suffocating, holding you too tight, but you don’t scold him. Squeals and howling cries echo from behind you and a brief feeling of jealousy hits you. Your own unfulfilled sex throbs against him, displeased with the sudden lack of friction and pressure, but you wait it out, letting him spill as much as he wants over your thighs and cunt.

Bubba slowly goes limp, arms loosening and head dipping down to rest on your shoulder. His breathing is heavy, warm huffs and pants against your skin, and you want to let him rest, but you’re too impatient.

“Bubba,” you cry out, wiggling in his lap and stroking your thighs over his softening dick. “It’s my turn now.”

Chapter Text

Michael

“Um,” you glance from side to side, not quite wanting to make eye contact. “You know I’ve got a couch, right?”

To be fair, he’s completely ignored that particular piece of furniture up until now, so you suppose there’s no reason for him to suddenly start using it. You don’t get a reply, just steady breathing and silence. The noise from the TV is barely heard over the awkward tension as you squirm in your seat.

“Like, this is a chair. It only fits one person.”

Your explanation falls on deaf ears, as you continue to be smushed against the armrest. The chair was usually comfortable, but the addition of another person twice your size made it less so, especially considering who you were being squished against. Your side was digging into the edge of the armrest, but you couldn’t lean away from it without pressing into Michael, who did not seem at all uncomfortable with the new seating arrangements.

This was only the latest in a long line of strangely… ‘friendly’ things he had taken to doing, if that was even the right word for it. Inconvenient, unsettling, weird, however you described it, you somehow got the feeling that it was some sort of attempt at getting along with you. He was around more often, which wasn’t too odd, considering there probably wasn’t anywhere else he could go for free food and a place to sleep. Speaking of which, the previously neglected couch was looking pretty comfortable at the moment, so you wiggle out from between Michael and the armrest, intending to take advantage of the unoccupied space. Maybe you were wrong and this wasn’t him trying to be friendly, maybe he was just a jerk with no sense of personal space.

Your bid for freedom doesn’t last long, though. The moment you squeeze yourself out of your seat Michael makes his opinion known, jerking you backwards with a rough hand on the collar of your shirt. It catches at your throat uncomfortably, choking you for a moment, pulling until you’re half pressed against his side. Your legs kick out and he grabs them with the other hand, pulling them up and over his knee so that you’re forced to tilt to the side, turned towards him.

Alarms blare in your head, but you go still, freezing in the position he’s left you in. His hands leave once you’re properly in place, the arm closest to you stretching over your head to take up the armrest behind you. Your face is so warm that you can feel sweat trailing down your temples and the beating of your heart is the only thing you can hear now. The tension in your body is almost painful as you try to avoid touching him while simultaneously being half on top of him.

If this was anyone else, you’d call it cuddling - his arm curled behind your shoulders, your legs draped over his - but you were hesitant to give that name to it. He didn’t hold you, or keep you in place physically at all, both arms loose at his sides. You didn’t doubt, though, that another try at getting up would end much the same way.

“Okay, well,” you choke out, folding your hands together awkwardly in your lap. “That’s… I guess I can share.”

Jason

Okay, your previous attempt at turning away Jason’s affections hadn’t worked - you weren’t heartless, there was no way to go through with it after such an admittedly sweet display - and the next few attempts were just as unsuccessful, becoming more and more half hearted as time went on. You couldn’t just not say anything, the longer this awkward courtship went on the harder it would be to break it to him, but the right time never seemed to come up. He was just always so excited to see you, eyes crinkling as he smiled under the mask, and you didn’t have the willpower to do it.

Today was no different, returning from work to find him waiting patiently on the porch. He never went inside while you were gone, not that you could tell at least, even though you didn’t lock the door. When you were home he would follow you around, staying at a distance and watching as you went about your day.

He comes down the steps as you get out of the car, one hand hidden behind his back and clearly eager to see you.

“Hi,” you greet him, reaching back into the car to pull out your bag. “You got something for me again?”

The gifts hadn’t stopped despite these now daily visits, and he nearly always had something to give you when you arrived home too. Handfuls of messy flowers and grass, river rocks and old, worn animal bones were the most common, but you also had a small collection of broken camping gear gathered in the back of your shed.

“Wait till we get inside, then,” you say before he can present today’s gift, stepping around him and heading towards the door. “I’ve got something for you, too.”

Alright, so this wasn’t exactly the best way to start off a conversation about boundaries and relationships, but you had spotted the thing on your way home and just couldn’t leave without getting it. Besides, you wouldn’t mind keeping up a quiet friendship, so maybe this would soften the blow.

Jason follows you inside, copying your movements when you wipe your muddy shoes on the welcome mat, and into your little kitchen. The previous week’s ‘flowers’ were still sitting in their glass of water on the windowsill, although they were pretty much already dead, wilted and brown. You’d change them out later, when Jason wasn’t around - you couldn’t say why, but you felt bad throwing out the old ones when he was watching.

“Okay,” you say with a grin, setting your bag on the table. “You go first.”

He looks curiously at your bag, tilting his head this way and that, but you firmly hold the top shut, preventing him from peeking.

“Go on.”

You look at him expectantly, waiting for the big reveal. He shuffles in place for a moment, maybe a little nervous, but he brings it out from behind his back, sitting it gently on your kitchen table. Most of the gifts he brings you are organic, natural things that he finds in the woods, but this is clearly not something he came across outside. A plush toy sits on your table, torn limbs with yellowed stuffing leaking out, both button eyes missing and a matted, moldy look to its fur.

“Oh, it’s cute,” you say, not quite sure how to react. A plush animal, probably a bear but it’s so old that it could have been anything at one point, is not what you expected. It looks dirty and you don’t want to touch it, but you brush a hand over one worn ear anyways, not wanting to seem displeased. “Where did you find it?”

Jason brings up a hand, tapping the center of his chest with one big finger. You stare at him for a second, trying to make sense of it, then looking back down at the toy.

“Oh!” You nearly jump at the sudden realization, feeling a little stupid that it had taken you so long to catch on. “It was yours? You don’t have to give it to me, Jason.”

He shakes his head, picking the thing up and pushing it into your arms. You want to cringe at the feel of the moldy thing against your skin, but you accept it gratefully instead. Jason adjusts it in your arms, laying it against your chest and bringing your hands up gently to cradle it, a pat to the back of your hand signaling that you are now holding it correctly.

“Well, thank you,” you say, keeping your touch on the toy as light as possible. The smell is going to stick to your clothes, you’re sure, but you can’t bring yourself to put it down now. “You can open your gift now. It’s not as good as this, but I hope you like it.”

You watch him peek into the bag, pulling out the single item inside and looking it over. It was more of a joke gift than anything else, not nearly as heartfelt as the stinky bear, but it had made you think of him.

“You see, it’s got a heart, like the ones you drew for me,” you gesture to the fridge, where his little note had been pinned up. “And, I mean, I did put a few holes in your shirt the first time we met, so I thought I should get you a new one.”

It was a white shirt, the largest you had been able to find in the store, with big red letters spelling out ‘I ♡ Crystal Lake’. You couldn’t help the grin on your face at the thought of the lake’s fearsome guardian in such a thing, and hadn’t been able to resist purchasing it. Even if he never actually wore it, you felt it was every bit worth the overpriced tourist rate you had paid just to see him holding it.

Chapter Text

The smell was overwhelming, like dead leaves – something wet and dirty and rotting. Your eyes watered and you breathed heavily through your mouth, trying to keep the scent out.

“Please,” you whimpered, repeating a plea you had voiced many times already. The figure towering over you made no movement or sign that it had heard. Hands at it’s side clenched and shook, one of them holding a large blade that you already knew was as deadly as it looked. It’s breath, a rattling in it’s throat, was like a hiss through the mask. The scent of decay drifted down to you. It’s entire body reeked of it, but you knew the source lay behind the mask, it’s uneven breathing huffing out stale air.

You weren’t sure what you had done to set it off, you had done nothing out of the ordinary. It usually wasn’t even home during the day, returning only for a few horrible hours every night. You should have had another few hours, at least, before it came back. You didn’t know if it was even something you had done. It had burst into the small house suddenly, quickly cornering you against the wood pile as it shook and heaved in anger. You had no idea what it did when it was outside - maybe you weren’t the cause but a convenient thing to vent it’s anger on.

A shuddering groan broke you from your pleas and you looked up warily. There was no expression to read through the dirty mask, but the shaking hands and brandished weapon weren’t reassuring. Another groan escaped, quieter and gurgling, as it bent at the waist to slowly lean over you.

You had spent quite a lot of time bitterly wishing for the thing to finally finish you off, but now that it was a real possibility you clung to the hope that you would benefit from it’s strange form of mercy for a little while longer. No matter how you longed to be done with this, you weren’t ready to die yet.

The thing brought the blade up from it’s side, slowly tilting the sharpened edge towards you. You cowered, bringing your hands up between you and the weapon, but it did not raise it to strike. It’s hand still shook but the blade itself was steady as it tapped with barely restrained force against your shoulder.

The thing, whatever it was, did not speak. You had rarely had a need to communicate with it, since it did as it pleased regardless of your input. You had no idea what it might be trying to tell you with this action, but when there was no response after a few seconds the blade tapped again, ending with a sharp dig into your flesh, harsh enough to bring blood.

“I don’t-” you choked in fear, mind blank. Whatever reasoning you may have possessed before was beyond you now.

With a huff of foul air the thing jerked it’s hand, bringing the metal dug into your skin up over the curve of your shoulder. You twitched away, at first thinking it meant to drive forward towards your neck. But the blade caught, tugging at the loose bra strap that had been draped over your shoulder. It emphasized this motion with another angry jerk of it’s hand, pulling on the clothing. Automatically, from years of doing the same thing without thinking, you pulled the strap over your shoulder, tucking it properly under the cover of your shirt.

This seemed to instantly appease it. The blade returned quickly to it’s side, held in a loose, casual grip. There was a line of red on it, the twin to the one on your upper arm, but you didn’t feel the pain of it yet. It pulled away, standing straight, gave you a look you couldn’t see through the mask, then turned and left as suddenly as it had arrived.

Wide eyed, you crouched there for a while after it had gone, still pressed desperately against the wood pile. You wanted to cry, but didn’t have the energy to after the tense standoff you had just endured.

Was that what had upset it? It didn’t seem to make sense, but you could think of no other way to interpret what had happened. The clothes you wore were scavenged from the various things left lying around and not many of them fit properly. Most of these things were men’s clothing, so the fact that you had found female underwear at all was extremely fortunate. You couldn’t afford to be picky about your fashion choices when the nicest item of clothing you had was an old flannel shirt that only had a few bloodstains on one sleeve.

Chapter Text

It had been a bad idea to leave the house that day, you could tell from the moment you stepped out the door. Usually you would have taken the warning, stayed at home and sat in front of the TV for the rest of the night, but it had been so long since you had seen any of your friends. Despite the feeling of unease, you had gone out for the night, determined to have a good time and catch up with everyone you had been too busy to talk to recently. Unfortunately, it hadn’t gone down that way.

You moved quickly, rushing down the sidewalk as fast as you could go. Your face was hot and you avoided making eye contact with anyone you passed, even though you were already a good distance away from the incident. A warm mess of anger and embarrassment in the pit of your stomach fueled you, and you grit your teeth to keep from yelling. 

“I can’t believe you,” you hiss under your breath, giving a sharp tug to the sleeve bunched in your hand. “I told you to behave tonight, that’s the only reason I let you come!”

Michael walked behind you, allowing himself to be pulled along. He didn’t pick up his pace from a steady walk so you pulled at his sleeve to try and speed him up, but the effect was more like a small dog impatiently pulling on a leash. The streets were crowded, everyone out on a weekend night and standing right in your way. You take a sharp turn, stepping off of the main street and onto a smaller, more secluded path that cut behind several convenience stores. The concrete was dirty and broken glass crunched under your heels, but you needed to get away from prying eyes.

“Nothing was even happening, we’re friends! I’ve known him since the second grade, how am I going to explain this to everyone?”

Michael doesn’t seem concerned at all by your distress, letting you ramble without interruption. You come to a stop between a chain link fence and a row of dirty hedges, hidden away in the dark alley. You glare at him, but his own disinterested expression just makes you even more furious. He always followed you whenever you left the house, whether you could see him there or not, and you knew tonight would be no different. If he had been anyone else you would have been happy to bring him along, but you couldn’t exactly introduce your friends to a serial killer so casually. You had laid down some rules before leaving, knowing that this was the first time he would see you with your friends, and your group tended to get more than a little rowdy when brought together. No one could see him, no interacting with your friends, and no killing anyone. You had gotten a grunt out of him when laying down the rules, so you had assumed that had meant agreement, but two of those rules had been broken almost immediately. 

“You understand the concept of friends, right? Like, people who are allowed to touch you?” 

It hadn’t been more than a particularly vigorous hug, lifting you up in a tight grip and planting a drunken kiss on your cheek. Your feet were barely back on the ground before the chaos started, your friend pulled away so quickly you didn’t even see it happen. The only saving grace was that he hadn’t been wearing the stupid mask, and you wouldn’t have the cops swarming the streets over it. Michael doesn’t acknowledge your question, looking down at you with a blank face. That only makes you angrier, seeing him so uninterested in all the trouble he’s caused you, and if you weren’t trying to avoid attention, you would scream in frustration. 

“Okay, whatever, I can see this is going nowhere,” you complain, glancing around just to avoid looking at him. “I’m going home, I guess. Going to have to call everyone and let them know I wasn’t kidnapped or something.”

You reach into a pocket to take out your phone, intending to call someone up for a ride home. Michael can walk for all you care, and you turn your back to him as you swipe through your apps. There’s not much you can do to satisfy the anger you feel, you know he doesn’t care either way if you’re upset at him, and that only makes it worse. 

A sharp, ripping pain in your scalp pulls you off balance, phone clattering to the ground. You fall backwards, gravel and chunks of asphalt scraping over your legs as a heavy handed pull wrenches you over the ground. You don’t have time to call out, hair caught in a tight fist and wrapped around his knuckles, dragging you further away from the busy sidewalk on the other side of the hedges. 

You kick and squirm, a cry of pain slipping between your teeth as you scratch at his wrist, but the struggle doesn’t slow him down at all, his breathing barely picking up as he hauls you away. Small pieces of gravel and dirt kicks up under your heels as you fight, but when you finally break the skin and feel hot, red blood under your nails it still does nothing to slow him down. 

“Fuck!” You scream, raking your nails back through the already sliced flesh of his arm. “Let go!”

The lights get further away as he pulls you down the alley, and although you’re shrieking now, you don’t see anyone passing by, no one on the street to find you and help. The ground under you turns to dirt and loose rock as the broken asphalt stops, and you hiss with pain at the small, sharp cuts it leaves on your skin. 

Apparently deciding that you’re far enough away from the dimly lit street, Michael stops and allows you to twist under his grip, pulling yourself up onto your knees. You keep one hand on his, trying to soften the stinging pain his hold on your hair is causing, and slap at his arm furiously with the other. 

“Fuck you,” you yell, flinching when he jerks your head to the side. “Let me go, right fucking now!”

The next pull nearly silences you, a high pitched gasp catching in your throat and tears burning your eyes as he lifts you by the hair until you’re standing upright, legs shaking. You arch your back, trying to pull away and only making the tension worse, but once you’re standing you give up, taking your hands from his and grabbing onto the front of his coveralls. You pant heavily, holding back the sobs you want to let loose, and look up to see him watching you with narrowed eyes. 

“Please, Michael,” you whisper, trembling under his gaze. “I wanna go home.”

Michael doesn’t answer and you don’t expect him to, the hand in your hair tilting your head this way and that as he observes you. Your heart is racing, ribs too tight for your lungs to get enough air, and you see the neutral line of his mouth tip ever so slightly into a frown. It’s almost strange being able to look so freely at his face like this when you usually only get to steal glances while he sleeps, which was almost as rare a thing as the removal of the mask itself. 

Looking down at you, Michael lets out a quiet grunt, frown deepening as the sound turns into a low rumble in his chest. Slowly, the hold on your hair goes slack, and you catch your breath as the pain sinks into your skin and begins to subside, but you know better than to think that he’s done with this. This whole night has just been a display of ownership and you know how it’s going to end. 

You push your hands up his chest, letting go of the coveralls to slide them up to his shoulders, pulling slightly in the hopes that he will lean down even the slightest bit and make this easier on you. He doesn’t, of course, standing firm despite your pulling and tugging, and finally you stretch yourself up, standing on the tips of your toes to press an open mouthed kiss to the hollow of his throat, as high as you can reach without his cooperation. Maybe he was actually jealous, or maybe he only wanted to remind you who was in charge here, but either way you knew how to show him that the message had been understood.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Surprisingly, he is not very picky at all. If he’s feeling like making some trouble, then he will definitely find something to complain about, but you don’t have to be a gourmet chef to get his seal of approval. 
• He does have a few no-no’s though - no cheap frozen or boxed meals and nothing spicy. You don’t have to have a lot of skill in the kitchen, but he doesn’t eat cheap either. 
• Don’t expect much if you dare to ask for his help in the kitchen. His version of “helping” is just clinging to your shoulders and getting in the way, and he’s really only useful for occasionally reaching something on a tall shelf. 
• Desert is a must for every meal. Cakes or cookies, it doesn’t matter what kind, so long as you’ve got something sweet. He also loves sweet things for breakfast and you go through a crazy amount of blueberry muffins each week. 

Michael

• 100% hands down the easiest to please when it comes to food. Most of the time you don’t even need to cook anything, he will just grab whatever he can get his hands on. Absolutely drinks straight out of juice and milk cartons and puts them back in the fridge. 
• If you do cook, prepare to be appalled at his lack of manners. He will eat straight from the pots and pans if you don’t watch him and silverware is always optional. 
• You’re not getting any help from him with preparation - if you don’t make something, he’s fine with eating frozen burritos directly from the package. You’re the only one who’s going to go hungry in this situation. 
• Dessert isn’t an addition to dinner, it’s an entire meal of its own for him. He doesn’t care how long you spent making that three course meal, he’s only here for the cake, and yes he wants all of it. 

Bubba

• You don’t just cook for one person in this house - if you want to cook, you’re doing it for the whole family. Drayton is either pleased that someone else is finally doing some damn work around here, or snippy and a little pissed that you’re taking over the kitchen (probably both).
• Bubba isn’t exactly picky, but he’s really only used to eating certain things. He’s up to try new food, but the meat and potatoes staples are what he likes best. You’ve really only got one kind of meat to work with, too, so you’re a little limited on what you can do with it. 
• He would love to help you in the kitchen, but he’s not the most confident about it. He can’t follow the directions on the boxes very well and he’s quick to get overwhelmed and nervous, so maybe just let him focus on setting the table. 
• Most days you get the house to yourselves after the others leave, so lunch is the only meal you really get to have together. This is when you make his favorites, so he doesn’t have to share with his brothers. 

Thomas

• There’s a long list of things he won’t eat, and most of them are vegetables. He might pick at them if you fuss, but mostly he ignores anything that looks even vaguely healthy. If you want him to get anything other than meat in his diet, you’ve got to be sneaky about it. 
• If you’re making food for Thomas, you’d better make a lot of it. Dinner is always an ‘every man for himself’ situation, so if you want anything, you’ve got to get in there and fight for it. 
• He’s very resistant to the idea of using silverware, despite Mama’s attempts to force him. He eats with his hands and it gets pretty messy, but everyone else has just about given up trying to teach him manners.
• He likes to share food with you, pulling you into his lap and feeding you bites from his plate. It’s one of his favorite ways to show affection, so you always get a few bites whenever you bring him lunch. 

Jason

• He doesn’t really need to eat, but he’ll accept any food you offer him. He understands the intent behind it, doing something to care for someone and provide for them, so it’s more the act itself that he appreciates rather than the actual food.
• Things don’t taste the same as they did before and he doesn’t often get much pleasure from eating, other than seeing you happy. He does still have favorite foods, but it’s usually things he remembers liking before rather than anything that stands out now. 
• He hasn’t really gotten the hang of cooking himself, even though he has tried numerous times to surprise you with a nice meal. He does okay if you keep a very careful eye on him, but you’ve got to take over once it gets more difficult than cutting the vegetables. 
• Most of the time he doesn’t want his own plate and will just take a little from yours. You’ve got to get pushy if you want him to eat any more than that - maybe he doesn’t need to eat, but you can’t shake the instinct that makes you worry he’s hungry anyways. 

Vincent

• Please. There hasn’t been anything remotely close to a homemade meal in forever, so you’ve got everyone’s attention when you casually mention making a meal that doesn’t come from the microwave. 
• He’s going to eat whatever you put in front of him, so you don’t have to worry about what foods he does or doesn’t like. He’s just grateful to be eating something that didn’t come out of the freezer two minutes ago. 
• His appearances upstairs might be rare, but if you’re cooking, he’ll show up without being told. There is no physical way to stop him from helping in the kitchen, no matter how many times you insist that it doesn’t take two people to make hamburger helper. 
• There are no such things as leftovers in this house, especially not if you get all three of the brothers in the same room. Scuffles have broken out over the last piece of lasagna, so you’ve had to take charge of making plates to assure that everyone gets an even amount.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Definitely a dog. One of the fancy breeds, something like a poodle or bichon that you have to groom (good luck with that). Just big enough that he’s not the size to be a little lapdog, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. 
• One of those dogs that cannot be left alone, even for a moment. He knows the rules, but the second your back is turned, your shoes are being chewed up and he’s rolling all over that antique sofa you trained him not to jump on. 
• There is a lot of separation anxiety here, and it doesn’t just manifest in some barking and waiting at the door for your return. You are abandoning him and he’s going to bring the whole house down in revenge. 
• This is a one pet household and he’ll make sure it stays that way. Even human visitors are met with hostility, so you have to lock him up in baby jail if you want to have anyone over, or risk getting sued when he bites someone. 

Michael

• Hatred for dogs. Stalking. Quiet. Senseless murder. One hundred percent a cat. No specific breed, just a shorthair stray that lurks around the neighborhood and no one is quite sure if he has an owner or not. 
• You go downstairs in the morning to see him lounging on your counter, waiting for breakfast, but you don’t have a cat. He regularly breaks in to make himself at home anyways, so get used to it. 
• Not into being petted, but he loves to trick you into trying it anyways to get you close enough to scratch. He’s perfected the ‘please pet my belly so I can trap your hand’ routine, but you fall for it every time. 
• Anything you leave on a table, counter or mantle is getting pushed right off. You can never catch him at it, but the sound of something expensive shattering as it lands on the ground, followed by him streaking out of the room at top speed, always lets you know who is responsible. 

Bubba

• One of those tiny, trembly little chihuahuas that hides under tables and barks non stop when someone comes over. Everything is big and scary, please pick him up!
• He’s a barker (or yapper) and it’s the most deafening, high pitched sound you’ve ever heard. Anything is enough to get him started and he doesn’t stop until you scoop him up. 
• He might be a chihuahua, but he’s a chonker, waddling around like a fat little potato with big eyes. You’d never know that he was the runt of the litter, because now he’s three times as big as any of the others. 
• He’s a little too short to properly jump onto furniture by himself, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. He’ll get a running start only to smack into the side of the couch, so you have to be the one to get him up. 

Thomas

• Big feral barn cat that looks like he’s been in quite a few fights. You can always tell when you’ve entered the room he’s in, because you hear an ominous yowl from wherever he’s hiding. It takes a long time for him to warm up to you, but he’s amazingly cuddly once he decides he likes you. 
• Hides behind corners and ambushes your ankles at every opportunity, and if you happen to move your feet under any kind of blanket, he’ll attack that too. It would be cute if he wasn’t so vicious about it, clawing up your legs every time you try to leave the couch. 
• He can tolerate people as long as they leave him alone, and cats are sometimes okay, but he hates dogs. There’s no hesitation to launch himself at the nearest canine, spitting and hissing, but at least he’s big enough that he’ll probably win any fight he starts. 
• Strictly an indoor cat, he picks one area that he likes the best, usually one with a good hiding spot, and stays there. His preferred spot is under the bed, so he tends to keep to your room, occasionally wandering out to come keep you company. 

Jason

• One of those big, tubby cats with the smooshed in faces. The biggest cat you’ve ever seen, with patchy fur and crooked teeth that make him look a little rough. 
• You can’t stand up without him twisting around your legs, chirping and meowing at you. He’s always in the same room as you, so don’t you dare try to close the bathroom door on him. 
• Single handedly responsible for the eradication of most of the small animals within a certain radius of your house. Anything from birds, rodents and even other cats are in danger when they step on your property. 
• He’s an indoor-outdoor cat, no matter how hard you try to keep him inside. He’ll bust through window screens, dart out any door left open too long, and wedge himself into any opening he can find in his bid to escape. Also has a classic case of ‘let me outside - no wait, I want back in’, so you’re kept busy listening for his cries for the door to be opened. 

Vincent 

• Doggo! He’s big, but it’s mostly height rather than weight, and he will make use of that to get into places he shouldn’t, putting his paws on counters and tables to reach forbidden snacks. 
• Try to stop him all you want, he’s sleeping in the bed with you. No curling up by your feet either, he’s half on top of you and slowly scooting closer and closer the entire night. 
• He does alright around other animals, but you are not allowed to pet another dog. Every time you return home, he’s on you instantly, sniffing around to make sure you haven’t been out there giving someone else head pats. 
• Loses his mind when he sees another animal outside the window, and barks at every dog that appears on TV. Whenever you turn it on, he’s right next to you on the couch, vigilantly watching the screen. 

Chapter Text

“Eat.”

You hear the murmur, a quiet plea that he has repeated multiple times now, but you ignore it, pressing your lips into a firm line. The prongs of the fork tap your bottom lip, pushing at your flesh in an attempt to open your mouth, but you jerk your head away. He sighs, sounding frustrated, and drops the fork back onto the plate with a loud clatter. You keep your head turned away, mouth closed, just in case he tries again.

The skin of your wrists burns as you shift in your seat, rubbed raw by the thin, stretchy cord that binds you to the kitchen chair. You had fought, kicking and screaming, but this was well into the first week of your little ‘hunger strike’, and you couldn’t keep it up for long. He hadn’t seemed all that troubled by your struggles anyways, hoisting you over one shoulder and walking up the stairs like you weren’t even there.

The harsh light in the kitchen hurts your eyes, now so used to the warm, flickering glow downstairs that you could barely keep them open under the bright lights. You squint your eyes, watching through your lashes as he picks over the food on your plate, trying to find something you will eat. It’s a waste of time, you think, because you’re not going to eat anything. Your stomach is empty, clenching painfully with hunger, but you aren’t giving in yet. You will, eventually - you’ve played this game before, so you’re not expecting to starve yourself to death, but you won’t let him keep you like a pet, either.

He thinks he’s taking care of you. You’re not sure why you, out of everyone, elicited such sympathy, but there’s no mistaking his intentions. He brings you food and water, feeding you by hand like a child, and softly pats your head when you accept the food. He brushes your hair, brings you clothes, keeps you tucked away in a quiet corner with a stack of old books to entertain yourself with. You had tried being obedient, but that hadn’t improved things or earned you more freedom that you might use to your advantage. If he was going to treat you like a captive either way, you might as well make it difficult for him.

When he brings another bite of food to your lips, offering it with a hopeful tilt of his head, you have to shake your head back and forth to avoid it. You’re not sure what, exactly, he’s trying to feed you, something from a half cooked frozen meal that looked unappetizing even before he cut it up. You know that there is going to come a point when even the mess in front of you will look edible, but you’re not quite that desperate yet.

“Please.” He begs, a note of exasperation in his strained voice. You still refuse, letting out a frustrated cry of your own, muffled by your tightly closed lips. He brings his free hand to your chin to keep your head still, but you don’t give in to the insistent prodding.

The mask covering his face does nothing to disguise his frustration, eye narrowed and glaring at you. The grip on your face tightens for a moment, bordering on uncomfortable as he squeezes, making you squirm under his hand. He watches you, anger visible in his gaze, the only part of his face that you can see, but it doesn’t last long. You whimper, a pitiful noise that catches his attention, and he relents, fingers loosening back into a gentle hold. He lowers the fork, sighing again, and looks down at you with slumped shoulders.

You have successfully made it through another meal, it seems, with nothing more than spite and stubbornness fueling you. His hand stays on your chin, thumb reaching up to tap at your bottom lip, but there is no move to try to feed you again, or to force your mouth open. You wait for him to let you go, to drag you back downstairs to wait for this to happen again, but he doesn’t. A moment passes and you frown, growing irritated by the gentle press of his thumb against your mouth, when he leans towards you. It’s only slightly, a half step forward bringing him closer, but it sends a pulse of alarm through you.

“What the hell is goin’ on in here?”

He startles, flinging the fork back onto the table and tearing his hand away from you. You can’t stop from jumping in your seat, narrowly avoiding a smack in the face as he steps away from you, and the tug against your bonds makes your wrists sting again. You hadn’t noticed the second brother, didn’t know how long he had been standing in the doorway, but he was red faced and glaring.

“Well, Vincent?” He barks, stepping into the kitchen. “Am I interrupting something?”

You forget sometimes that he has a name. You never hear it spoken other than these occasions when you’re unlucky enough to be in the same room as both of them.

Vincent shakes his head, gesturing vaguely between you and the uneaten food. Stepping back towards you cautiously, he gently pats your cheek and shrugs. The brother turns his gaze to you, looking between the two of you with irritation.

“Still not eating, then?”

He picks up the discarded fork from the table, scraping it through the mess of food still on the plate. Looking down at you, there’s no mistaking the plain threat in his voice when he says, “You oughta eat something. Vincent’s gone through a lot of trouble to keep you around.”

“Not hungry.” You whisper, knowing that it’s not the answer he’s looking for.

“Really.”

You watch his hand tighten around the utensil and it suddenly strikes you that you might have just done something very stupid. His whole arm tenses, fingers wrapped around the fork like it’s a knife, and you feel sick with the certain knowledge that you’re probably about to be stabbed.

“You heard her,” he directs this at his brother, but doesn’t look away from you. “‘Not hungry’. Don’t know why you bother.”

He drops the fork, picking up the plate and stepping away to dump the whole thing in the sink. A rush of relief floods you, making your limbs feel shaky and numb, but you’re glad to finally have his eyes off of you.

Vincent stays next to you, looking down with worry. You’re not sure why he bothers either, but you do know that you aren’t going to be able to refuse food for much longer.

Chapter Text

The sound of the door opening wakes you, a high pitched creak echoing through the empty house. You stir but keep your eyes closed, too tired to do more than listen, but you already know who it is anyways. Heavy footsteps follow, muffled as though he is trying to be quiet, but a wet squeak over the floorboards gives him away.

Water, you think, imagining the soaked through clothes and mask dappled with drops of rain. He’s never minded the weather no matter how bad it gets, staying out in the storms and gales until his work is finished. He can’t get sick, at least you don’t think he can, but the thought still makes you worry.

You sigh, settling back in and preparing to sleep again, listening to the shuffling sound of him making his way across the room. Jason would join you in bed no matter how wet he was, which wasn’t ideal, but you weren’t going to make a fuss over some water. The sheets could be washed, but you would deal with that and the rest of the mess in the morning. No doubt the hall and living room were marked with big, muddy footprints and -

You open your eyes, seeing nothing in the dark room, and listen to the wet, squeaky steps. You don’t hear any rain.

“Jason,” you call out, sitting up halfway and pulling yourself out of your dazed half sleep. “Wait a sec, turn on the light, please.”

You can only see the vague shape of him, a big outline of black in the darkness close to the bed. The shape pauses and you watch as it shuffles back towards the door. The light momentarily blinds you when the switch is flipped, but you hold a hand up to block the worst of the glare.

Jason is absolutely filthy. To anyone else the sight would probably be horrifying, a big man dripping crimson and soaked to the bone with what can only be blood, but you only narrow your eyes in annoyance.

He’s wet from head to toe, a red trail following him into the room from the hallway, the mask dark with gore. Dark streaks mark the floor under him, growing steadily bigger, and the wet smell of fresh blood permeates the room. You can’t see his expression, but his shoulders are hunched together, head tilted down in what looks like guilt.

“You are not getting into this bed looking like that.”

He tenses, hands curling in at his sides, but he remains stubbornly still. Jason wasn’t going to be kept out of bed, not when you were in it, he was always very insistent about that. You weren’t about to cuddle up to a crime scene, though, so there was going to be no sleeping for either of you until something was done about it.

You kick away the blankets with a frustrated groan, cold air hitting your legs and making you shiver. Scooting to the edge of the bed, you look at him with sleepy eyes, and point firmly towards the hall.

“Start the water, I’ll get the towels.”

You think for a moment that he isn’t going to obey, standing completely still in the doorway with his head still tilted down. Whatever control you seem to have over him is tenuous at best - he allows you to be in charge for the most part, but if there is ever something he doesn’t want to do, it doesn’t happen. Most of the time there are no issues, but you have run into problems before, places where your expectations don’t line up, and you aren’t usually the one who comes out on top when push comes to shove. If this is something he doesn’t feel like doing, you’re going to have to deal with it. Luckily, you know just what to say.

“C’mon,” you add, sliding out of bed and heading towards him. “I’ll get sick being around all that blood.”

Jason’s head pops up, finally looking up at you, and you can tell immediately that you picked the right choice of words. There is a moment of silence as he watches you, and you stare right back, face neutral, waiting for him to make a move. You can’t help the grin on your face when he turns around, stomping back out into the hall with a huff.

The floor is cold under your bare feet now that you are out of bed, but it doesn’t dampen your sense of victory at all. You grab a small stack of towels from the closet in the hall, already hearing the rumbling of the water running as you make your way towards the bathroom. It’s not what you wanted to be doing at two in the morning, but you’ll do anything that will get you into a warm, clean bed as quickly as possible.

Chapter Text

You had been worried - panicked - when Michael hadn’t come home. It wasn’t strange for him to spend days at a time out on the streets, but this was different. A knot of anxiety had been building in your stomach for the last two weeks, watching the news every night and expecting to see him captured or dead, but finding no trace of him. It didn’t help that the fall season was long past, the cold, harsh weather of winter fully settled in, and you couldn’t imagine him fending for himself in the wind and storms that came. There was nowhere else for him to go, but still he hadn’t shown up. He had come back after surviving worse, you knew, but it was the length of the absence that bothered you.

When he had finally come home, Michael was freezing. His clothes had a slight dusting of frost and snow, stiff and crunchy when he moved, and you could see the raw, red skin on his hands, burned from the wind. He didn’t shiver, but the shifting of weight so that he more fully leaned against your warm body was enough to let you know he was still affected by the chill.

You were worried, but there was also anger, and you steered him to the table with a firm grip on his arm, frowning. He collapsed into the chair with only the smallest push from you, slumping his shoulders and putting up no protest when you tugged the mask from his head. You throw a small blanket over his shoulders, the one you had been sitting with moments before, tucking it around his arms. His face was red from the cold, and you pressed a warm hand to his cheek, quickly looking him over. He didn’t appear to be hurt, at least, which already put him in better shape than most times that he had returned to you.

“Where have you been?”

You mutter the question under your breath, knowing there isn’t going to be an answer, but wanting your displeasure to be voiced nonetheless. As you expected, he doesn’t reply, but you don’t push for one. There are new stains on the already dirty coveralls so, despite the absence of a knife in his cold hands, you can make a decent guess as to what he was up to while he was gone.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

You weren’t sure if he was capable of getting far on his own now, but you warn him off trying anyways, rushing to the other side of the kitchen. The coffee pot was still half full from the last time you had used it, long cold by now, but you dug around the cabinets for the biggest cup you owned nonetheless. It would be boiling hot again after two minutes in the microwave, so you hurry to fill the cup.

It’s not until you start the timer, watching impatiently as the mug spins inside the machine, that you realize that Michael most likely won’t drink it anyways. You wonder if he’s ever even had coffee before, but living most of his life locked up, you doubted it. It was an acquired taste for most people and you knew it wasn’t likely that he’d appreciate the hot, bitter flavor.

When you approach Michael again, warm cup in hand, he doesn’t seem to have moved at all, still sitting half limp against the back of the chair. His eyes roll towards you, settling on the cup, and you’re surprised to see him reaching for it, long fingers curling around the porcelain and taking it from you. You almost expect him to drink it after that, but he only holds it, soaking up the heat into his fingers.

“Just take a sip,” you urge, wrapping your fingers around the handle and trying to pull it upwards. “It’s warm, you’ll feel better.”

Michael isn’t interested, still strong enough despite his chill to keep the cup pressed firmly to the table. You frown, but take your hand away. There’s no way to make him do something by force, you know that well enough, but Michael did have a weakness.

“It’ll taste good, I promise,” you insist. “I used creamer, it tastes like chocolate.”

The coffee is a milky brown, loaded up with as much of the sweet creamer as you could get into the cup without spilling it. You can see that it’s got his attention now, blank eyes glaring down at the drink curiously, but he doesn’t lift the cup. You wait a moment, still holding out hope that he’ll be tempted, but you have to give up when time keeps ticking by and he’s done nothing more than stare at it.

“Okay, stay here. I’ll find you something to eat, then.”

It looked like he was warming up, at least, but he had to be hungry, and eating something warm would help him feel better. Your problem, though, was finding something he would eat. Looking over your supplies, you don’t see anything suitable - the stuff he does eat is all sugar and you need something more than that.

A hand on your arm makes you jump, but you manage to hold back a scream. You’re always startled at how easily he can surprise you and apparently his weakened condition hasn’t impacted his stealth at all. Michael tugs your arm, bringing your hand up and pressing the cup against your palm. You’re surprised to see that it’s empty, a dark swirl of chocolate all that remains at the bottom of the cup.

“You want more?”

He doesn’t give you a yes, but the slow glance between you and the cup is as clear an answer as you’ll get from him.

Michael watches as you make another cup of sickeningly sweet coffee, eyes following every slight movement of your hands. You have to go back to the fridge for the bottle of creamer - you didn’t think he’d drink the first one, let alone request a second - but the moment you stop pouring, a quiet grunt draws your attention.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you hesitate. “More?”

He nods.

In any other situation, you would put up more of a fuss about it. But he’s cold, blanket still around his shoulders and looking sort of miserable, and you’re still a little excited that he’s willing to try coffee in the first place, so you let it go. Maybe eventually, probably a long way down the road, you can bargain him down to a normal amount of creamer.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Lots of really uncomfortable mask kisses. No, he’s not taking it off and yes, you are expected to smooch it. You get a lot of bruised, and possibly bloody, lips as a result. Way, way in the future, once he’s as certain about your loyalty as he can be, maybe he’ll take it off if you promise not to peek. 
• Let’s be honest here - he busts outta that wall with his dick hard. He is the human embodiment of DTF, so the literal moment you’re ready for it, he’s already taking his pants off. 
• He thinks he knows what to do, but once there is a real chance at getting laid, his mind is blank. Probably just ends up sort of awkwardly humping you until you put a stop to it, but don’t laugh otherwise he’s going to have a tantrum like you’ve never seen before. 
• Anyone who tells you that he wouldn’t nut before the clothes even come off is lying. And he’s not super concerned with your lack of release, either, so you have to somehow get off before he does or wait for him to stop being a brat, neither of which are very likely. 
• Speaking of that, he’s going to make a mess and yes, you are expected to clean him up afterwards. No, he’s not getting out of bed to take a shower, it doesn’t matter if that would be easier. 
• Absolutely no technique. He grabs everything too hard, bites where he  shouldn’t, and is overall just clueless about what to do and when. Way too eager, so he tends to just try and blow past foreplay completely. 
• He’s fine with you teaching him or showing him what to do, but don’t expect him to catch on to the parts that aren’t about him very quickly. The goal is for him to get what he wants, and if he’s feeling generous then you won’t be left hanging. 
• Eventually he’ll come around to the idea that pleasing a partner is just as much fun as being pleased. He’s still going to be selfish and bratty about it, and more often than not he’s still going to be the one who cums first, but he’ll quickly learn to enjoy it once he sees how desperate it makes you. 
• Unbelievably smug afterwards. Somehow very, very proud of himself and the ego boost is just insufferable. On the upside, you’ve got a few days with him as well behaved as he’s ever going to get, so enjoy the calm while you can. 
• You’re not going to have a second alone though, because he’s going to be feeling that clingy, cuddly afterglow for a while. Wants lots of affection and attention, so you’d better be ready to drop everything and coo over him on command. 

Michael

• He’s got the general idea down, but not really any of the details. He’s not about to let you sit him down and teach him though, he’s just going to do what he wants. He may not understand exactly how it works, but he’s not going to take it slow either. 
• You can try and direct him, but he’s just going to ignore you. He’s pretty much ready to get right to it straight away, and he doesn’t take suggestions. There’s no romance or affection to it when he approaches you. 
• The mask stays on. He’s probably never going to be comfortable taking it off during something so intimate, maybe pulling it up just enough so he can bite. He won’t go in for a kiss on his own, but he won’t complain if you kiss him, just so long as you realize that the mask is going to be more involved in it than he is. 
• Way, way too rough. He digs his nails into you everywhere he squeezes and he’s got no idea how to be gentle with someone else. He doesn’t pin your wrists, but rather holds you to the bed by your hair, so you can still squirm around without being able to go anywhere. 
• If you’ve got a dick of your own there is a special danger that comes with this experience - he’s masturbated before and it’s not a slow, gentle process when he does it. The first time he gets his hands on you, his grip is bruisingly firm and not at all pleasurable. 
• He’s very physically dominant and he’s going to pretty much do what he wants, putting you where he wants you and deciding what’s going to happen. His goal the first time is simple, so he’s not going to try out anything too complicated. 
• There’s a lot of build up and expectations going into it, mostly on your side, but it’s over quicker than you had anticipated. To be fair, it’s likely his first time with another person involved, and he isn’t entirely comfortable being around people, or you, yet. 
• He’s probably not going to stick around for cuddles afterwards. If he doesn’t just get up and leave, you can get away with curling up against his side, maybe putting an arm or leg over him, but don’t expect him to stay there for long. 
• Prepare to be woken up in the middle of the night, because he isn’t going to wait until morning for round two. After the first few times he’s more open to suggestions, but you’re going to have to outright ask for anything you want, there’s no room to be shy about it when he probably has no idea what you’re subtly hinting at. 
• It might not be noticeable to you, but he’s much more possessive afterwards, following you around and keeping a closer eye on the people you spend time with. This is the point of no return, and after this you pretty much straight out belong to him in his mind. 

Bubba

• He’s got a little bit of an idea about what’s expected of him, but it’s vague and only what he’s picked up from being on the farm and hearing his brothers talk. He’s seen the animals in the pastures, so that’s about his only reference for how sex works. 
• He falls in love pretty quick and he’s ready for sex just as quickly. He might not really know what he wants exactly, but if you happen to ever share a bed at some point, it’s pretty easy to figure out for yourself. 
• You can set the pace, because he doesn’t really have any idea on how to start things, and he wouldn’t want to push you anyways. He isn’t going to pick up on anything subtle though, so you’ve pretty much got to just come out and say it. 
• Later on down the line, you can maybe talk him into removing the mask when you’re alone, but he’s not comfortable with it just yet. He’s happy to switch to whichever face you like the best, though. 
• You’re going to have to guide him through everything, but so long as you provide a lot of praise, he’s happy to let you take charge. It’s a big relief to have you making the decisions with this, because he would just be a worried mess otherwise. 
• He’s very, very eager and that makes him more than a little clumsy even though he’s trying so hard to be gentle. It’s more awkward than painful, but as long as you gently correct him, he’ll figure it out. 
• He wants you to tell him what to do, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely submissive about it. He’ll still pick you up and hold you down if he’s on top, or use his size to keep you still when you start squirming. 
• It’s going to take a few tries before you actually get to penetrative sex, because he is a big fan of foreplay. He likes being the one to make you feel good and having you call out for him, so he’ll spend the whole time focusing on you if you let him. 
• He will stay in bed for cuddles as long as he can, but you both probably have work to get back to. If there’s time, he wants a snack because all that work has made him hungry. 
• Good luck handling him after, because anything as simple as prolonged eye contact is going to get him going. Now that you’ve shown him what to do, he’s going to be more confident seeking you out. 

Thomas

• He’s rather shy when it comes to affection or romantic things in general, but that does not extend to this. You might think you’re safe to tease him and then act innocent, but that’s probably what pushes him over the edge. He might be a little hesitant to start with, but once you get him riled up any nervousness goes away real fast. 
• The family never really thought he’d find anyone in the first place, so there’s not much education when it comes to this. He’s heard the men talk and picked some things up from that, and once you come around they go into overdrive catching him up on what he ‘needs to know’, but he’s given a lot of information all at once about things he’s never heard about before. Please take a moment to explain that anything that Hoyt has ever told him about this subject should not be trusted. 
• This is a no smooching zone, but feel free to put your lips anywhere other than his face. As he gets more comfortable, small kisses will be allowed, but never without the mask on. 
• He’s not used to having to be gentle with people, so even though he doesn’t mean to, he’s more than a little rough. Even if you happen to like being manhandled, you’ve got to be careful that he doesn’t go too far, and there will most likely be some bruises at the least. 
• Probably going to happen in the basement, because although he doesn’t really know enough to be shy about it, that’s just where he’s most comfortable. In the future you will have to try and get him to understand that, no, he cannot just bend you over the nearest piece of furniture whenever he feels like it. 
• You need to slow him down unless you just wanna skip straight to the main event, because he has no idea what foreplay is at all. He’s not going to want to slow it down either, so he’ll be eager to hurry up and get to it. 
• He’ll do whatever you tell him you want, but if you don’t speak up, he’s just going on instinct. He’s impatient when you stop to explain things to him, he’d rather just figure it out as he goes. 
• Falls asleep almost immediately afterwards, and good luck getting out of bed when he’s holding you down. Everyone else has a pretty decent idea of what’s going down, so you have to endure a lot of raised eyebrows and vulgar jokes, as well as some not so subtle encouragement to get started on grandbabies. 
• He has a pretty loose concept of marriage, but this definitely counts as something similar in his mind. He was territorial before, but he’s much more possessive afterwards. 
• He’s a little bossier afterwards, stepping in more to help you around the house and keeping a closer eye on you in general. You’re his now, and that means he’s responsible for you. 

Jason

• You might think that you’ll have a lot of issues about sex to help him get over, but good news! He’s already got a loophole - Jason is a good boy, and good boys get to do whatever they want. He’s special, so it’s not bad when he does it. 
• Despite catching more than a few people going at it, he’s got no idea what to do. Besides the lack of knowledge, you’ve also got to get that strength under control because he can get carried away really quickly when he’s excited. 
• He’s not shy about it at all, and is open to whatever you want to try with him. There’s no hesitation when you want him to get undressed, and he’s more than eager to get your clothes off as well. 
• Absolutely wants the first time to be with you sitting on his lap. Even if he didn’t make that preference known, it was probably going to happen that way regardless, because it’s where you are most of the time anyways. 
• Big boy is big, and you’re going to feel like you deserve a medal once you’re fully seated. There’s got to be some kind of award for perseverance that you qualify for now. 
• Kisses are a must. He’ll take the mask off, or leave it on depending on what you prefer, but one way or another, he’s getting his mouth on you. 
• You’re going to have to teach him pretty much everything, but he catches on easily and is quick to let you know what he likes the best. 
• He really tries to be gentle with you, but he can’t always stop himself from getting rough. He tends to move you around himself if you’re not where he wants you, picking you up and tossing you around. 
• You’re getting cuddles, whether you actually want them or not. Maybe you’re sweaty and dirty, but you’re not getting out of his arms until he’s satisfied that you’ve been properly snuggled for as long as he can get away with. 
• He was always physically affectionate, but it goes through the roof now. You’re constantly being followed, one hand in his, as you go around the house, and frequent stops for kisses are required. 

Chapter Text

Breakfast had left a mess, jumbles of plates and half eaten food strewn over the rickety kitchen table, left behind for you to clean up. You did so with only minor grumbling, knowing that no one was around to hear you really complain. The men of the house were getting too used to having you pick up after them, you thought, stacking up dishes with a clatter. They were still a few decades behind everyone else when it came to most things, not least of all concerning how a household should be run. It didn’t help that cleaning was one of your most hated chores - you’d rather be out in the sun, sweating in the dirt than inside, sweeping the floor.

Heavy footsteps from the hall draw your attention, and you know that with the other two gone, Bubba is the only one home. You still felt a little bit of irritation, but you couldn’t really blame him for the chores you were dealt.

“Your brothers are pigs,” you start, hearing the kitchen door creak open, but remaining focused on your task. “Can you believe the mess they leave behind? I’m not their mother, you know.”

It’s a little bit of relief to have someone to vent to, at least, and you frown as you slide more uneaten food off a plate.

“All this food goin’ to waste, too, like we got money to spare for -”

A rush of cool air sweeps over your legs, and you let out a startled noise. You’re not completely aware of what has happened until you feel the skirt of your sundress, already a size too big and trailing the ground, thrown up over your back. You hurriedly brace yourself against the table, more out of instinct than anything else.

“Bubba!”

You scold him lightly, lurching forward and knocking into the table when he pushes at you. You reach for the hem of your dress, bunched up at your waist, but a forearm over the back of your shoulders presses you down, pinning your top half to the table. Cheek flat against the wood, you slap at it in protest, opening your mouth to scold him more harshly, but you don’t get a chance. A small gasp, breathless and quiet, is all you get out, the feeling of a big, warm hand squeezing the flesh of your ass silencing you. Surprised, your body jerks against his hand, the hard bulge of his cock brushing against the outside of your thigh. Your face is suddenly hot, and the thought of someone walking in and finding you like this puts a string of panic into your voice.

“Let me up,” you huff, squirming under his heavy arm. “I ain’t - oh!”

The hand sliding between your legs is more surprising than his disobedience, his other arm still keeping you pinned to the table as he pulls at the wet fabric covering you. Your legs snap together on reflex, but his hand is already there, cupping your mound and digging the heel of his palm into you. One thick finger slides underneath your panties, wiggling back and forth as he struggles to fit his hand between your clenched thighs. Panting, Bubba gives a few impatient tugs, moaning lowly above you. When he doesn’t manage to uncover you in the first few tries, he gives up, pulling his hand free and jerking you to the side. A sharp push of his hips against the curve of your ass jolts you into the table, rocking back and forth quickly.

You can feel the throbbing length of him even through his clothes, and judging by his eagerness to bend you over, it wasn’t going to be long before he came. You didn’t know what had gotten him so riled up in the short amount of time between breakfast and now, but his motions were desperate. The rough hands on you are a big change from his usual gentle touches, and he had never held you down before. Although you had gotten used to being the one ‘in charge’ between the two of you, the heat that burned between your legs now was making you wish that you hadn’t closed them over his hand. The frantic rutting made your stomach clench with every snap of his hips, but you weren’t going to be able to cum like this.

“Bubba,” you snap, voice more firm than before. “I’m serious now, let me up.”

He falters, slowing down as he thinks it over, trying to judge whether you really meant it or not. You push up against his arm, and it gives a little, letting you sit up on your elbows. Bubba peeks down at you, face flushed under the mask and sweat darkening his shirt, and he looks as if you’ve just told him off for doing something bad.

“Let me turn over, this table ain’t comfortable.”

He backs up, giving you enough space to stand up and face him, but still close enough that you’re stuck between him and the table. You look up at him, a little embarrassed by the hot flush you can feel darkening your cheeks.

“That’s no way to treat a lady, Bubba,” you complain, but the throbbing between your legs takes all the bite out of your words. He doesn’t look chastened at all despite your lecturing, grabbing at your hand to press it against the bulge in his pants. You let out a squeak, wondering what exactly had caused him to be so bold today.

“Oh, no,” you say, but you give him a rough squeeze anyways, ignoring the breathy whine you get in response. “I ain’t rewarding you for acting up!”

Bubba leans in, a flurry of kisses pressed to your cheeks and lips between high pitched noises of apology. He reaches up to pet your hair, patting your head and babbling into your ear, an edge of desperation in his voice as he mumbles. You’re not mad, and you have no intention to leave him so needy, but a slow smile comes to your face as you watch him.

“Bubba,” you interrupt, tugging up the skirt of your dress until you held the loose fabric in both hands. “It’s alright. Don’t worry, you’re gonna make it up to me, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly, watching you gather up your skirt, then going still when you pull the rest of the dress up and over your head. You drop it to the floor in a pile, and Bubba’s desperate whining picks up again, big hands landing on your waist and breast. A sharp tug to your nipple makes you hiss, but he soothes the sting with his thumb, rolling it over the peak of your flesh. His tongue flicks out over his teeth and lower lip, eyes following his hand as he palms your breast and squeezes, fingers digging into your side.

“Get down,” you command, gently covering his wandering hand with your own to get his attention. When he looks at you questioningly, head tilted to the side, you point down, motioning to the floor. “Down.”

It takes him only a second to catch on, and Bubba is more than eager to comply, dropping down to his knees heavily. He’s panting, tongue hanging over his lip and wetting his chin, looking up at you as if waiting for another command. You wiggle up and back, seating yourself on the edge of the table, and he follows, half crawling after you. Hot puffs of breath hit your skin, trailing over your thighs and hips as he leans forward, but you put a heel on his shoulder to stop him. Bubba looks up at you for a moment, a little whine building in the back of his throat at your denial.

“You stop when I say, alright?”

He’s quick to agree, nodding enthusiastically and gripping your thighs in preparation. You know he’ll do his best to obey, but he tended to get carried away when it came to this particular act, and you didn’t want to have to fight to get his mouth off of you when you became too sensitive.

Throwing the other leg onto his shoulder, you let him slide forward, his hands pulling your legs apart as far as they can go. A few token kisses are pressed to your inner thighs, but he doesn’t stop to tease you at all.

You’ve only just settled back on your elbows, looking down the slope of your torso at his eager expression, before his mouth is on you. A harsh suck against your clit is the first thing you feel, your whole body going tense and legs locking around the back of his neck. Mouth dropping open with a groan, you hear his own noises drowning yours out, muffled squeals and snorts that sound more like a pig being gutted than anything else. Reaching down, you grab a fistful of his hair, jutting your hips out and pulling him in, rocking against his mouth. Bubba lets out a shrill, pleased sound, pushing in more forcefully and straining to get closer. His mouth doesn’t leave the pink nub despite your bucking hips, lips suctioned over it and tongue lashing.

“Slow down!” You gasp, but he doesn’t, and you feel the building weight and tension in your abdomen suddenly close to tipping over. There’s too much of everything, the fingers digging into the flesh of your hip, the hot tongue that laps at your slick cunt, and you don’t want to cum so quickly, but it’s happening anyway. Your back goes stiff, legs tightening around his head, and the loud, wet noises from between your thighs only become louder as you twist and jerk against his face. His mouth doesn’t ease up at all, instead nuzzling deeper and squealing so loudly that the vibrations of his voice feel almost as good as his mouth.

You let yourself fall back, completely flat on the table, arms too weak to hold you up now. Bubba’s enthusiasm hadn’t faded at all despite your release, his thick tongue still wiggling between your legs. Each kiss he placed there was harsh and deep, turning into long, rough sucks against your clit, pulling away from your flesh with a wet pop. It was almost too much, but you let him continue, ready to start building up to the next orgasm immediately. Your chest heaved and sweat dampened your skin, but there was still the heavy pull low in your stomach that hadn’t been satisfied yet.

Legs trembling, you start up the rocking of your hips again, bucking up slowly. A hand reaches up, slapping at your sides and stomach as it searches, until his fingers firmly grip the soft weight of one breast. You arch into the clumsy touch, spine curving upwards, holding onto his wrist with one hand and tugging his hair with the other.

His fingers were rough, pulling and squeezing, and you yelp when you feel the probing digits of his other hand trying to find their way between your thighs. A thick finger finally pushes its way into you, slipping in between licks and pants, quickly followed by another. You’re already arched up, but you throw yourself towards him even more, the stretch of his fingers giving you a pleasant burn that only intensifies the heat in your belly.

The table wobbles underneath you, but this isn’t the first time you’ve had to make use of it in this way, so you’re sure it will hold up despite the creaking. You could honestly care less if the whole thing falls apart under you at this point.

“Almost!” You gasp out, but you can’t tell if he even hears you, your thighs pressed tightly to either side of his head.

Hand still buried into the hair of his mask, you feel Bubba straining to get closer, to push his face even deeper between your spread legs. You jerk upwards to meet him, sitting half upright to angle yourself better, grinding over his mouth. The muscles of your stomach and thighs clamp down, both of Bubba’s fingers fighting to move against the tight grip around them.

You’re on the edge for what feels like forever, getting more and more tense until your whole body aches with the pressure, before a heavy, shuddering weight slams into you. A loud wail slips out of you, unable to do anything more than push against his face with all the strength you have left, legs burning with the effort, thrashing against the table under you. Bubba doesn’t let up, lapping at your cunt faster now and burying his fingers as deep as they will go. Your muscles finally give out, legs dropping from his shoulders and chest heaving as you fight to catch your breath.

A hot wetness trails down your thighs in rivulets, mixing with the mess already there and quickly licked up as he slowly works his way away from your twitching, sensitive flesh. Bubba’s teeth are sharp against the meat of your thigh, pricking the skin until it stings and soothing it with a wet kiss. You want to praise him for that, for pulling away without having to be told, but you can only focus on breathing now, a numb, sluggish feeling washing over you.

“Love you.” You mutter, a limp hand reaching for him but failing halfway through the gesture. He snorts and squeals in delight, happy sounds that you know mean ‘I love you, too’.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• He doesn’t even have it in him to play this up to his advantage, so that’s how you know he’s really ill. Usually he would be bossing you around from the bed or couch, but now he’s quiet and just wants to sleep. He doesn’t even have the energy to cry, which is how he would normally react to being sick. 
• Lots of sleeping, and you’ve got to wake him up every so often to try and get some food and medicine in him. After the first time he throws up, he’s not going to want to try eating again, but might take small sips of soup or have a few crackers. 
• It gives you a lot of rare time alone, really alone, where you know he can’t be watching you from inside the walls. It makes you feel lonely more than free, so you stay in the bedroom and quietly keep yourself busy, ready to be there when he wakes again. 
• He’ll take medicine with no complaint, he wants this to be over as soon as possible. Even if you have to leave the house to get some, he won’t protest. 
• He doesn’t want to, but you can take the mask off to put cold cloths on his forehead. He’ll whine a little bit the first time, but it’s so nice against his hot skin that he doesn’t mention it when you don’t replace the mask afterwards. 

Michael

• He feels weak and hot and tired, but he is a human ball of spite and this isn’t going to be easy for you. The worse he feels, the less he’ll put up with, and he’s not going to let you baby him no matter how bad off he is. 
• He won’t let you, but he’s a mess of tissues and blankets, he can’t stop you from taking care of him. Any resistance is so half hearted that you can just swat him away. 
• The moment he starts feeling even the tiniest bit better, he acts like he’s cured and ends up getting worse again. Stays sick much longer than he should because he’s so restless and eager to be up again. 
• Anything you try to do is going to be difficult - he’ll kick away blankets, refuse medicine and food, and slap away any gentle touch. If he wasn’t so weak, he would just get up and leave, but since he can’t, he’s got to put up with it. 
• You can practically feel the anger radiating from him, and while it’s funny to pet his hair and coo over him while he’s down, you’re going to pay for these good deeds once it’s over. Expect to be ignored for a while, or even left alone to think over your cruel actions for a few days. 

Bubba

• It’s going to take a lot of effort to keep him comfortable with a fever in the Texas heat, so you do a lot of running around. If you can manage to get it working, there’s an old fan you can haul up the stairs, but other than an open window, there’s no way to make it much better. 
• With the others usually gone during the day, you’ve got the whole responsibility of taking care of him. You can corral them together and force them to do something useful later on, but for the most part, you’re the one in charge. 
• He doesn’t want you to leave the room, and will whine and fuss when you need to, but he can’t exactly get up and stop you. You try to make the trips quick, but even if he’s asleep when you leave, he always seems to wake up right as you’re going for the door. 
• There isn’t much of an option when it comes to medicine, but Drayton could probably get his hands on something if it was really needed. Bubba will try to take it without complaint, but he can’t help making a face if it tastes gross. 
• He’ll keep the masks off until he’s feeling better, and he’s mostly too tired to feel shy about being uncovered. You can tell he’s getting better when he starts wearing them again, despite the heat. 

Thomas

• He doesn’t tend to get sick often, but when he does, the whole household grinds to a stop. A lot of the daily chores depend on him, so everyone has to work twice as hard to try and keep things going without him. 
• You have to pitch in too, so you can’t spend the whole day looking after him. Everyone helps out, both with the chores and with Thomas, though you’re usually the one on nurse duty at night. 
• He’s tired and grumpy, but too sick to sleep for long, so he spends most of the time in a bad mood. He’s not the most cooperative, especially if he can’t keep food down, and it’s usually a fight to try and help him with anything. 
• He just wants to curl up and be miserable for a while, so he isn’t going to appreciate your attempts to take care of him at first. As he wears down, he’ll give in and stop putting up such a fight, but you still get a few huffs and glares. 
• He needs to get back to work, so he will try to get out of bed before he should. You can’t really move him around, even with help, so if he gets past the stairs, you aren’t getting him back up them. 

Jason

• If the situation were reversed, he would have you on lockdown, wrapped up in blankets and forbidden from doing anything for yourself. He’s used to being the one who takes care of you so it’s a new experience having it turned around. 
• He really tries to behave and do what you say, but at the same time, he still has work to do. You have to stop him from trying to shuffle away out the door multiple times and all the effort just makes him even more tired. 
• Anything else you might have needed to do is thrown out the window, because this is now your full time job. He’s not really demanding, but you know that trying to leave him alone is only going to end up with him stubbornly following you anyways. 
• You’ve got to put in some work if you want him to eat anything. He’ll refuse whatever you bring him, pulling the blankets over his head to avoid your offers. 
• His refusal to eat extends to any medicine you might want him to take, even if it’s just a little pill and a sip of water. If you really work at guilt tripping him, you can eventually manage it, but it’s a long process. 

Vincent 

• Usually he’s left to take care of himself, or if he’s really bad off, he can crawl upstairs to his old room and Bo will eventually check in to make sure he’s still alive. Having someone actively looking after him is a strange experience, but it’s so much nicer to know he can just rest now. 
• He’s miserable, tired and coughing and unable to sleep, but he still gets some satisfaction out of being fussed over. Having you doting on him so much is almost worth being sick for. 
• He gets bored of just laying in bed pretty quickly, though. You have to make a few long trips back and forth to carry up some supplies, but he’ll be happy with a few empty notebooks to doodle in. 
• It doesn’t matter if you’ve ever seen him without it or not, he isn’t taking off the mask while you’re in the room. You’ve got to give him breaks to eat or take medicine, and ignore the desire to just go in and help him anyways. 
• He enjoys having the opportunity to just sit down and rest for once, but he still worries the entire time about whatever work he has left to do in the basement. When he’s able to get back to it, you know he’s going to spend a few days doing nothing but work, trying to catch up.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• He likes to keep a close eye on you, even when you don’t know that he’s watching, so this is going to interfere with his spying on you. He tries to keep up, but he can’t stay awake all night without sleeping through the next day completely. 
• Maybe you can’t go to sleep, but he doesn’t have that problem. You’re going to have to suck it up and lay there regardless, because someone has to be the little spoon. 
• Oh, you’re not sleepy? Not tired?? He can help with that ;)))) Gets a little huffy when you keep turning him down because it’s two in the morning and you’re still exhausted, even if you aren’t asleep. 
• When you do finally fall asleep, it’s usually during the day, and he gets upset to find you passed out on the couch without him. He’s torn between waking you up just to be petty, or curling up with you to enjoy snuggling. 

Michael

• Same hat!! Prepare for a lot of uncomfortable nights spent laying side by side, both wide awake at 4am. If you happen to toss and turn, keep that shit on your side of the bed, because Michael isn’t going to have you flopping all over him. 
• You can give up and just get out bed, wandering off to find something to do, but he’s staying in bed. Even if he’s not really sleeping, it’s still sort of resting. 
• You both have an unspoken rule to do your absolute best to never wake the other, if either of you do happen to fall asleep. Maybe you’ve wrapped yourself around his arm, or he has a death grip on you, but you just have to suffer through it. 
• You’re still going to end up getting more sleep than him, and seeing him asleep at all is going to be a rare occurrence. Just when you start to wonder how long he’s gone without rest, you catch him sprawled out over the bed, tangled in the sheets and snoring. 

Bubba

• He’s knocked out the moment he lays down, so he isn’t going to notice that you’re still awake at all. It’s not until the next morning that he realizes you’re still tired, waking up to find you drowsy and exhausted. 
• It doesn’t matter how hot it gets, bedtime is cuddling time. Once you lay down, you’re not getting up, so you get to spend your restless nights squished against his chest, sweating in his arms.
• You can get in some quick naps during the day, but even if you’re finally ready to fall asleep, the heat makes it hard to get comfortable. He’ll do his best to help out, making you up a cozy spot on the couch and dragging out an old fan to make the heat bearable. 
• Sometimes you just fall asleep where you are, spread out on the couch or slumped over in a kitchen chair, and he’s very careful to make sure you stay asleep. It’s the only time he’ll get fussy with his brothers, chasing them off to give you the opportunity to rest. 

Thomas

• He often comes to bed in the early morning hours, after everyone else is already asleep. It’s not unusual for you to wait up for him, unable to sleep and getting restless, only getting into bed after he finally comes upstairs. 
• After spending the whole day working, he has no issue going right to bed, but he’ll try to stay awake with you at first. He makes sure your comfortable, pets your hair, and fights off sleep, but he’s always out well before you are. 
• He would probably keep you up anyways, regardless of any insomnia. He snores, loud enough to keep you awake on its own, and it takes a few months to adjust to the noise when you’re trying to sleep.
• He notices immediately if you leave the bed, even if you don’t wake him when you get up. You can only make it so far before you hear him following, coming to drag you back to the bedroom. 

Jason

• He doesn’t need sleep himself, but he’s very concerned when you start having trouble getting rest. You can tell he’s worried, but your explanations don’t do much to reassure him that you’re still feeling well. 
• Usually, he’ll lay in bed with you anyways, staying with you while you sleep. It’s very awkward to have him staring at you, waiting for you to fall asleep, and then it just not happening. 
• He still very gently enforces a bed time, whether you actually sleep or not. It’s late, you’re supposed to be in bed, so that’s where he’s putting you. 
• When you do manage it, you don’t have to worry about accidentally being woken up. He’s capable of being insanely quite, so you can pass out in the living room at two in the afternoon and be completely unaware that he’s stalking around the house. 

Vincent

• He doesn’t have the most regular sleep schedule himself, so you spend a lot of late nights downstairs. He’s used to going a long time without sleeping, so he won’t think it’s unusual for you to stay up so much. 
• When you do get into bed, he makes a valiant attempt to stay awake with you, but once he gets comfy, he’s out. He’s a light sleeper, so you’ve got to be sneaky if you want to get up without waking him up. 
• You can try to leave the bed, but good luck getting away from him without waking him up. There is one limb on top of you at all times, so you usually don’t make it. 
• With no routine to stick to, you can curl up for naps pretty much whenever you want. If he’s not busy then he’ll join you, otherwise you wake up a few hours later with a jacket or old blanket tucked around you. 

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Lowkey offended the first time you offer to make tea, it doesn’t even matter how it tastes, you can’t just do that. He treats every cup of tea you hand him with suspicion after that, even if you ‘make it right’.

• He is very much the opposite of an outdoorsy type, so he does not appreciate you disappearing to run around outside. He is clingy, too, so good luck getting out the door with him weighing you down.

• Nearly every other word out of your mouth just baffles him. He has no idea what you’re talking about most of the time and he’s going to tease you about it.

Michael

• He tends to just let you do what you want, so long as it doesn’t interfere with what he wants, or annoys him. Not much is going to get a reaction out of him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have Opinions™.

• He’s not a big fan of animals, and that doesn’t just mean dogs. Whether they’re pets or farm animals, you’re probably going to have some casualties with him around, and no amount of chicken wire will keep him out.

• He’s not really an ‘outdoorsy’ kind of person. Yes, he spends a lot of time outside, but standing in the bushes behind a suburban cul-de-sac is a bit different from the brush and brambles in the rural country.

Bubba

• Might not stand out too much for him, but he’s glad you fit in so well with the family! There’s a lot of work to be done around the farm and everybody has to pitch in, so it’s an extra relief to know there won’t be any problems there.

• There’s plenty of outdoor space to explore and run around in, although he’d still prefer that you not go too far from the house. You can usually tempt him into following along as you walk around the property, and he’ll enjoy showing you all the little hideaway spots he knows of.

• It makes it much easier for him to warm up to you in the first place. Most people he encounters are strange and unusual, but you’re familiar and don’t feel out of place at all.

Thomas

• He doesn’t care much either way, but the rest of the family is almost relieved that you’re not a clumsy girl from out of town who needs to be taught how to do simple chores. It makes adjusting to their lifestyle much easier, and cuts out a lot of teasing that you’d otherwise have to endure.

• There is a lot of room to roam with the whole town basically abandoned. He’s more than happy to take you along when he goes wandering through the big, empty pastures.

• You’re not exempt from the dirty work either, whether you’re helping with the killing, butchering or clean up afterwards. Big bonus points if you already have some kind of knowledge about it, and Tommy will take any excuse he can to keep you downstairs, working with him.

Jason

• He’s got his work cut out trying to keep you cooped up inside the old cabin. He knows you can handle yourself outside, but it doesn’t matter how capable you are - if he isn’t home, you’re not going outside.

• He doesn’t really need to eat, but you insist on making big dinners anyways. These recipes are meant to feed a family, not two people, but you can’t make a meal without going all out.

• There isn’t really a lot of work to be done around the cabin, but if you want to fix the place up a bit, he’ll help out. He would love to help you start a little garden outside or possibly get a few small animals to keep around.

Chapter Text

Leaning over the counter, you stared out at the dusty yard, watching the oncoming clouds darken and swirl. There had been a small storm last night, and it looked like a second was coming in now, which made you a little irritated. The heat was bad enough, but the hot, humid stickiness that came after the rains was unbearable and you weren’t looking forward to sweating through your clothing all day.

“Sit down and eat, I didn’t make all this food for nothin’.”

You sigh, but turn to face the little kitchen table, which was piled high with biscuits, bacon and gravy. Drayton is the only one at the table this morning, the other brothers still outside finishing morning chores. Really, you doubted that Nubbins was doing much of anything besides standing behind the barn and waiting for enough time to pass so he could come back inside to eat.

“I’ll wait for Bubba,” you say, fiddling with the torn hem of your shirt. “Get started on these dishes while I got some time.”

You don’t move to start cleaning though, arms crossed and still frowning at the weather outside.

“Suit yourself,” he snaps back. “Don’t expect anything to be left once those pigs get to it, though.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not really wrong. It’s first come, first served at meal times and you won’t get much if you’re not willing to fight for it. Still, you doubt you’re going to go hungry judging by the amount of food he had made. Summer was a particularly prosperous time for the Sawyers, so there was no lack of meat on the table.

The slam of a door a few rooms over startles you, but the squeals and shouts that follow bring a grin to your face. Both brothers stumble into the room, clearly riled up and howling, shoving and jumping over each other on their way into the kitchen. They’re both dirty, covered in a layer of dust from the wind outside, sweat dampened shirts stuck to their skin.

“Alright, shut the hell up!” Drayton yells, but the noise doesn’t die down. “You two idiots sit down!”

They quiet a little at that, enough that the eldest only glares at them, but they continue to bump into each other, grabbing at the food with greedy hands. You can’t help but grin, watching as they down full plates of food in minutes. With the already oppressive heat this early into the day, you can’t imagine eating so much heavy food, but clearly no one else is bothered by it.

Nothing else is said while they eat, so you turn back to the sink. You’ll pick over what’s left to find something light enough to get you through the morning, once the brothers have dispersed.

Once the meal is over, everyone is quick to go their own ways, with only a minor argument breaking out in the hall before Drayton leaves. You listen to the rattling old truck pull away, quickly followed by the slam of the front door as Nubbins sneaks off now that he’s not being watched. Most days end up with just you and Bubba in the farmhouse, which you can’t say you’re not grateful for.

“You have chores to be finishing, don’t you?” You call out, eyes still focused on your task.

Bubba had left when his brothers had, but now that they were gone, you heard the unmistakable sound of his heavy steps coming back through the hall. The door creaks and you glance to the side, finding him peeking around the corner at you.

“Forget something?”

He mumbles under his breath, eyes on the floor. You feel the corners of your mouth twitch up into a smile, watching him shuffle around nervously.

“Want something?

He hesitates a moment before nodding, making his way a little closer, wandering vaguely in your direction. Setting the dish you were holding back into the sink, you turn to face him, crossing your arms. You already knew what he wanted, but you liked the flushed face and shy expression he had while he worked up the courage to ask for it.

“‘C’mere,” you say, opening your arms and waving him forward. “I know what you’re lookin’ for.”

Bubba moves towards you, a pleased look on his red face. He leans down, eyes still avoiding yours and hands wringing his yellow apron, and you grab at his shoulders to pull him down further. You have to stand on tiptoe, but you press a few quick kisses to his cheek, the dry mask crinkling under your lips.

“We got to get back to work soon,” you murmur into his ear, hearing his own whine of protest at your words. “So it’s got to be quick this time.”

Hands pulling at his shoulders, you drag him further down, pushing Bubba onto his knees. Even then, he’s still level with your chest, sitting back on his heels and already grabbing at your clothing, your shirt pushed out of the way and a hand fumbling with your buttons. You take a handful of his hair, wrenching his head back until his neck is bent backwards to look up at you. His fingers dig themselves into the space between your pants and waist, still working clumsily at the buttons.

He liked your forceful touches, although you try not to be too rough. You suspected that your gentleness wasn’t needed either way - Bubba was still twice your size and it would probably take more than a few rough tugs of his hair to hurt him.

He looks up at you with soft eyes, a trusting expression that makes you feel powerful - you were in charge here, leaning over the much stronger man and knowing that he was ready to do whatever you asked of him.

“Stay right there.” You command, knowing that he would obey. Bubba was the larger of the two of you, but he greatly preferred it when you took control, making the decisions and telling him what to do.

He nods, quick and eager, moving his hands to grasp at the loose fabric of your pants over your thighs. They’re a hand-me-down pair that don’t quite fit, his big fingers bunching into the fabric and pulling impatiently. You have them undone in seconds, your own impatience growing as you push the material away.

You don’t have the time to really draw it out, to make him wait and whine until you can finally give in, but you can’t resist teasing him a little. When you press the head of your cock to his lips, you hiss a little as his tongue flicks out against your sensitive skin. Bubba whines when you give him a stern look, but he keeps his mouth closed nonetheless. He knows to wait, to let you give the command before he acts, but sometimes he pushes things. He knew better, but he was excitable, and couldn’t always stick to the rules.

“Are you going to behave, or not?” You ask, pulling away from his mouth.

Bubba squeals, loud, insistent noises paired with vigorous nodding. He pouts, pressing his lips together and tilting his head up, waiting. You can’t help but smile at him, watching him wiggle in place as he attempts to contain his eagerness.

“Alright,” you huff, bringing your cock back to his lips. “But only because you’re so cute.”

When you press against his lips again you do so harder than before, tapping your head against his wet bottom lip and watching him fight the urge to disobey you once more. You can’t tease him too much, but you enjoy the look of slight frustration and want on his face. Bubba always wants to be good for you, although the temptation will win out eventually, but seeing him struggle to keep himself in line was almost as much as fun as letting him give in.

“Go on,” you mutter under your breath, leaning back against the counter. “Open up.”

His lips are parted before you finish speaking, tongue poking out to lick at his wet mouth. His hands tremble against your thighs, fingers white, and chest heaving. Your hand is still in his hair, fingers wrapped around the dry curls of the mask. Gently, you comb your fingers through it, settling your hand against the back of his head and pushing him forward.

Bubba needs only the slightest urging, diving forward with an excited whine. You’re expecting it, but the sudden lunge pushes your cock to the back of his throat in one swift movement, and you gasp. You lean further back, resting most of your weight against the counter, and widening your stance to give him more room.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, struggling to keep yourself upright against the counter. “Slow down!”

Bubba pauses a little, backing up just enough to look up at you with a slightly chastened expression. You huff and pant above him, patting his head and relaxing as he starts again, this time with more restraint. Thighs flexing under his big hands, you push up gently, meeting his eager mouth with slow strokes.

Little puffs of breath warm your stomach as you rock forward, but apparently too slowly for Bubba’s liking. He whines and hums around you, hands pulling you forward and urging you to move faster. You suck in a shuddering breath, feeling him lean into your next thrust with an open mouth, pressing down until the head of your cock is at the back of his throat again.

You go still, back arched to keep yourself buried into him, hands grasping at his hair and shoulders desperately. Bubba lets out low moans and wet little noises that make your stomach clench, your hands holding him back the only thing stopping him from swallowing you down.

“Gimme a second,” you pant. “I know I said quick, but not that quick.”

He gives you another impatient tug forward and you jolt, hissing out a sharp reprimand. You’re surprised when he ignores it, frustrated squeals and insistent hands trying to urge you forward despite your warnings.

“Okay, okay, just -”

Your grip on him slips and that’s all the leeway he needs, a startled moan slipping from your lips. The pressure of his throat, tight and wet, is around you in seconds, mouth fully wrapped around the base of your cock. Bubba swallows around you and you swear, hands dug into his shoulders for support as you lean over him.

You draw back slowly, despite the desperate urging of the hands on your hips trying to speed you up. His tongue, thick and heavy, drags along the underside of your shaft and you choke, gripping his hair in a tight fist. Bubba is eager, pulling at your hips and whining around your cock, fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs so hard that you’re sure it will bruise. If he wants it that badly, you decide, then why not give it to him?

You jerk forward with a harsh roll of your hips, hands on the back of his head forcing him down, and Bubba lets out a loud, grunting squeal. He holds your thighs more tightly, nose against your abdomen and a hot mess of drool beading from his bottom lip, holding himself down and keeping you completely hilted in his mouth. Pressed between him and the counter, you only have enough room for quick, shallow ruts up into him.

“Good boy,” you grunt, forcing the words out through your clenched jaw. “Stay there.”

More words of praise spill from your mouth in a rush, only half aware of what you’re saying to him through the rush of adrenaline beating in your ears. You’re already as far down his throat as you can go, deep enough to feel every suck and swallow around your cock, but you strain forward anyways, hand mashed against Bubba’s skull to keep him still while you fuck his mouth. Your legs are tensing, upper body curving to lean over him, wanting to make sure you’re as close as you can get.

Your thrusting stops suddenly, a garbled moan leaving you. Bubba makes loud noises of protest from below you, but the first taste of cum in his mouth turns his complaints into high pitched squeals. His throat tightens around you when he swallows, forcing another stuttered gasp from you, as Bubba nuzzles his face against your stomach.

You feel weak now, slumping against the counter and holding yourself up on your elbows, face red and panting. Bubba is reluctant to let go, flicking his tongue over your sensitive cock as he slowly pulls away, and you have to squirm away from his mouth. His face is flushed too, with a wetness around his mouth and chin that he makes no effort to wipe away, instead looking up at you with a pleased, if slightly embarrassed, expression.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• We know the little boy voice he uses isn’t what he actually sounds like, but you aren’t going to hear him speaking without it very often. He’s normally very quiet, giving only a word or two in response if he has to, and he only becomes more talkative when he’s upset. 
• If you do hear him using his real voice, that’s how you know you’re in trouble. He keeps up the nanny/child dynamic pretty much all the time, so if he’s dropping the act, it’s not going to be a good time. 
• Sometimes he forgets to use the child’s voice, usually when he’s sleepy, or startled. If you prefer that he not use it at all, you could probably coax him into speaking normally more often, but it will be quiet and low, unused to using it. 
• His natural voice is slightly timid sounding, probably from not speaking with it for so long, but it will get deep and rumbling if he’s upset or angry. You don’t hear him using it in a normal tone very often, so most of the time it’s deeper than it would be if he wasn’t upset. 

Michael

• His silence is a choice, so he’s very capable of talking if he wanted to. But for the most part, you’re never going to hear much more than breathing from him, and even other forms of communication like writing are out of the question - if he wanted to communicate, he wouldn’t have stopped speaking. 
• He does make noise sometimes though, mainly low growls and grunts that you’ve got to be close to even hear. They aren’t usually made on purpose, but rather are reactions to things around him. 
• You could probably get a few words out of him in certain situations, usually when he’s not completely on guard. If he’s injured badly enough to be disoriented, or waking up after finally getting some sleep, you might be able to get him to answer simple questions, or hear him muttering to himself. 
• When he does speak, his voice is very low and quiet, and a little unsteady. Some of his words are pronounced a little strangely and there are a few common sounds that he struggles with, simply because he’s not used to making them. 

Bubba

• He can absolutely speak, and does so a lot, but it’s just not understandable. His brothers seem to understand him well enough, but it’s mostly just squealing and hand waving to you. 
• When he does speak, it’s higher pitched than you would expect from someone as big as he is, and very loud. He’s nearly always making some kind of noise, whether it’s squealing or talking. 
• He tends to be rather quiet during the day, only mumbling or occasionally whining, but when there’s something exciting going on, he’s at top volume. He’s very talkative at dinner time, especially if there is a ‘guest’ at the table. 
• He talks to you a lot, even though you can’t really understand the details of what he’s saying. He likes whispering to you when his brothers aren’t looking, like he’s telling secrets behind their backs. 

Thomas

• He can’t speak exactly, but he can make noises and grunts that the family has learned mean certain things. Actual words aren’t possible, and his way of talking is much more simple than Bubba’s, but it’s enough to be understood when he needs to be. 
• He tends to be on the quiet side, replying only with grunts or vague gestures and ignoring anything that would require a more complicated answer. He does make an effort to communicate with you though, and you can usually work out what he means without words.
• The only time he’s really loud is when he’s using the saw, screaming and whining loud enough to be heard over the machine. His voice then is higher pitched, different from the deep growls you’re used to. 
• If you really push him to say something, he could probably get some simple sounds out, but not enough to put together a sentence. Even if he could, though, he’s not a chatty person in the first place. 

Jason

• Probably the quietest out of everyone, being limited to harsh breathing and low, wet noises in the back of his throat. You have to rely mainly on body language when speaking to him, and even that can be hard to read. 
• He usually has to make noise on purpose to keep from startling you. You can’t hear him until he’s right behind you, so he’ll step on the floorboards that creak or close doors loud enough for you to hear. 
• When it’s quiet enough, he’ll speak to you as best he can, making soft, throaty sounds in response to you. It’s more like gurgles and humming than words, but it’s easy to fall asleep listening to. 
• Most of the noise you hear from him is breathing, usually steady and slow unless he’s just returning home. He is capable of conveying a surprising amount of meanings with only a huff of air from behind the dirty plastic mask. 

Vincent

• When he really focuses on it, he can speak mostly fine, with only the slightest bit of slurring in his words. But he can only manage a few words before his throat catches, so he doesn’t usually bother to try. 
• He doesn’t speak often, or for very long, because it’s painful to do so. There’s a lot of starting and stopping and he can get frustrated easily when he can’t get the words out quickly enough. 
• He likes to speak to you, even if it’s uncomfortable, because he doesn’t get to interact with people very much. He doesn’t use full sentences, but shortens things to get his point across with as little talking as possible. 
• His voice is raspy and choked, and you can tell how much effort he has to go through to get the words out sometimes. He doesn’t speak in front of anyone else, and especially not in front of his twin, so it only happens when you’re alone. 

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Good luck trying. There’s a lot of steep stairways and uneven flooring in the old house, you’re going to fall over before you can even get started. You’ll have to do a lot of begging before he’ll help you up after that.
• He doesn’t like that you’re hurt, so doing anything that might impact your recovery is going to get you on his bad side. If you keep insisting, he’ll actually get mad, and it’s not worth risking his temper just to limp around on your own. 
• You’re usually ‘in charge’, but he can be very convincing if there’s something he wants you to do. And if he can’t talk you into sitting down, he’s not above just laying on top of you and refusing to move. 

Michael

• Usually, he wouldn’t really intervene, so if you want to do something stupid, he’s not going to stand in your way. He is, however, going to get real tired, real fast, of picking your ass up off the floor. 
• You’re stuck on the couch until further notice, where you can’t get into anymore trouble. You might think the coast is clear to try sneaking off, but he’s just waiting for you to make a run for it so he can drag you back.  
• He will grudgingly allow you to lean on him to help you get around the house, but expect to be dumped onto the nearest surface when he gets tired of it. There’s only so much he can put up with in a single day. 

Bubba

• He’s easily persuaded, so you can get around him with some puppy dog eyes and a few pleases. He’ll worry at first, but once he sees you’re getting around just fine, he’ll let you move around when you want. 
• Until he notices your injuries getting worse instead of better. That’s when he’ll finally put his foot down and make you rest, even if he’s got to tuck you in himself. 
• He’s a little huffy with you, patting your head and shoulders very firmly so that you know to stay put. He’ll check in frequently and no amount of pouting is going to work on him now. 

Thomas

• If you’re hurt in the first place, you don’t get a chance to do anything but sit down and get better. He’s on top of you constantly, watching and worrying, so if you want to get up you’re going to risk upsetting him. 
• He’s keeping watch over you, which means you get to spend a good portion of your days in the grimy basement, so he can get his work done and still make sure you’re resting. He can easily haul you up and down the stairs, so you aren’t stuck downstairs all day. 
• You might think he’d feel better the more you recover, but it’s the opposite. He’s never sure that you’re really better, so he’s anxious for a while afterwards that you shouldn’t be moving around so much. 

Jason

• There’s no issue here, so if you want to get up and move around, he’s got no problem with it - so long as he gets to carry you around. If not, then get real comfy on that couch, because he’ll sit right next to you 24/7 to make sure you’re not doing something you shouldn’t be. 
• He’s probably going to need to leave the cabin at some point and that’s the only opportunity you’ll have to sneak around on your own. You risk getting a very stern glare if you’re caught, but that’s the price you pay for freedom. 
• When you do start getting better enough to try walking again, it’s more difficult getting him to actually let you. You go around with him hovering over you for a while before he’s fully convinced that you’re no longer injured. 

Vincent

• Complete mama hen that will be very worried. It’s worse when you’re first injured, and no matter how minor it is, he’s going to act like it’s a big deal. 
• He goes way overboard trying to patch you up. Maybe it’s only a little scratch that just needs to be propped up for a few days, but it’s wrapped in bandages anyway, and there’s definitely some crutches he can dig out of a closet somewhere. 
• You can’t make it more than a few feet away without getting caught, and no amount of begging is going to stop him from gently guiding you right back to bed. All of your protests are ignored and you’re tucked right back in before you realize it.

Chapter Text

You had spent months waiting, biding your time and scraping together what little trust you had managed to earn. You had been so careful, planning every move, passing over opportunities for escape until the perfect moment came along. Every horror and torture they could think up was taken without any complaint, obeying the twisted rules they had set up and playing along with the quiet, obedient persona they had chosen for you. 

You knew the house wasn’t safe. You knew which floorboards creaked and which didn’t, which doors stuck in their frames and which windows were painted shut. You had spent so much time inside that there wasn’t much you didn’t know about the crumbling farmhouse. Outside, however, was unknown to you. It had been months, more than you could think of, since you had been brought through those doors and you hadn’t left once. So when you finally made it out, crawling out of one of the small basement windows, pulling yourself over the baking ground on hands and knees until you were far enough to stand without fear of being seen, you ran. 

You hadn’t gotten far, just to the other side of the barn, trying frantically to climb over the half destroyed fencing blocking your path to the road. The first foot you managed to get around the wire was immediately snapped up, crushed between metal teeth. You screamed, loud enough and long enough that anyone inside should have heard you. Your body went cold but your ankle burned, and it seemed like the blood would never stop coming. It was too much to even try opening the trap yourself, the slightest twitch of muscle sending sharp cramps up your leg until all you could do was lay in the sun and wait. 

You felt like you were burning. Skin slick with sweat and flies buzzing in your ears, you could feel your skin boiling. Even breathing hurt, drawing more heat into your lungs, cooking you from the inside out. The grass under your body was dead and stiff, and the sun cast the long shadow of the barn away from you, giving you no reprieve from the heat. The old chicken wire fencing that caught your clothes and skin stung to touch, burning you even more when you tried to untangle yourself. 

It had been too long since you had left, someone would have noticed by now, but no one had come looking. No one called your name or answered your screams, and that scared you more than the rusted teeth embedded in your ankle. You wanted them to find you now, even knowing the cruel punishment you would likely face. Anything was better than wilting under the sun. 

They didn’t come for you until the sun was nearly gone. You heard the footsteps coming but couldn’t manage to lift your head. At first, you felt relieved. You couldn’t have been more grateful at the thought of being pulled back into the house you had tried to run from, of being anywhere other than the hot ground. Your mouth was so dry and your tears exhausted, but you would crawl back inside yourself if you had to. 

“Well, darlin’, looks like you got yourself into some kind of mess.”

You let out a little sob, ready to go through the pain of whatever punishment they would give you, if only they would take you inside. 

“This is what happens when you go runnin’ about on your own, you know,” Dry grass crunched under his feet, bringing him closer. “Shoulda just stayed inside, huh? Well, we’ll just make sure it don’t happen again.”

He stepped in front of you, wearing a big grin, and crouched down. 

“Tommy’s been awful upset, you know,” His eyes glanced up, somewhere behind you, where you assume Thomas waited. “Of course, I can’t blame him. He put a lot of work into that little setup of yours.”

You thought of the basement, the little ‘room’ that had been made for you between shelves of trash and rusted metal. Most of the time a thick leather collar held you to the wall, a generous loop of chain allowing you to crawl just far enough to make it to an old mattress. Today had been the first day that you had not been chained up, the first time you had been trusted enough to wander around your little section of the dirty basement on your own, without someone watching. You had been too overwhelmed by the sudden opportunity of escape, but you had failed in your efforts and now there wouldn’t be a second chance.

Chapter Text

The screaming was the first sign that something had gone wrong. You had assumed, at first, that it was the normal kind of screaming that occurred at the big house - some poor traveler doomed to end up on the dinner table finally coming to the realization that the friendly sheriff was anything but. Hoyt took a special pleasure in drawing out this revelation, so the slamming of car doors followed by his bellowing voice wasn’t an alarming sound.

“Godamnit, where’s that girl at?!”

The heavy slam of feet on the porch bring his voice closer and you dart into the hall, already on your way towards the door. You don’t have to second guess who ‘that girl’ is and you don’t want to keep Hoyt waiting when he’s in a foul mood.

“Here,” you call, hurrying towards the figure in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

Once you’re close enough to get a good look at him, you almost regret asking. His lined face is drawn into a heavy scowl, eyes gleaming furiously underneath the brim of his hat. A sizable splash of red stains the left side of his uniform, but you have no doubt that the blood isn’t his.

“Just what the fuck were you doin’, takin’ so long?” He demands, but giving you no time to answer. “Tommy’s out here bleedin’ half to death while you stand around!”

Your eyes widen in alarm, a tight feeling in your chest catching your breath. Hoyt must see the panic on your face because he’s quick to backtrack his last statement, the fury in his gaze turning to annoyance.

“Hell, girl, it’s just a figure of speech,” he says, stepping past you and into the house. “I’m going to fetch the sewin’ kit, you go keep him still. Gonna need you to keep a handle on him while I work, anyways.”

“Is it bad?” You ask, but you’re already out the door and unable to hear his reply.

Thomas looks just as furious as his uncle had, teeth clenched in pain and anger, body curled inward defensively. His large form is sat on the steps, one hand clutching a wounded arm, and he greets you with a low growl and a glare.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” you mutter, but the obvious tension in his body keeps you on edge. “You know I’m only trying to help.”

Blood runs freely down his arm, red leaking from between his fingers where he held it, leaving a small puddle to soak into the dry wood. The shirtsleeve is half torn off, exposing the pale flesh of his arm, already littered with multiple smaller scars. You could only imagine how painful such a thing was and the thought makes you wince.

Thomas hisses out a grunt when you step closer, straightening up and looking ready to bolt if you kept up your approach. His grip tightens over the wound, nails digging into the meat of his arm, but you know just how to deal with him in this situation.

“Tommy,” you call, making your voice as gentle as you can. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

None of the tension leaves him, but you can see the way he goes still, eyes focusing on you. Slowly, you lower yourself to your knees, kneeling down and scooting closer.

“Come here, I just wanna hold you,” you say, holding your arms out to him. “You’re hurt, I wanna make you feel better.”

You feel like you’re being watched by a cornered animal, and it’s not far from the truth. Arms out and sat on the floor, you’re vulnerable and small, but also something familiar and comforting that has never hurt him before. Thomas stays still, staring you down from behind the ragged face of another man.

He doesn’t come to you, as you had asked, but takes his hand away from his bleeding arm and pats his knee. You shuffle forward eagerly, crawling into his lap once you’re close enough, sitting sideways over one leg.

“How’d you get hurt this time?” You ask, patting the stiff hair of the mask with one hand and gently stroking the shoulder of his injured arm with the other. “Mama’s gonna have a fit about this, you know.”

Thomas doesn’t reply, but you don’t expect him to, and he simply leans back against the railing and lets out a rough sigh.

“Took you long enough.”

Hoyt kicks the screen door with one boot, shouldering it open the rest of the way. You give him a nasty look, but turn your attention back to Thomas.

“You got him under control, then?”

“Yes, sir, he’s gonna behave,” you keep your gaze on Thomas as you add, “Aren’t you, Tommy?”

He gives you a slight nod, both arms limp and eyes half lidded. You smile up at him, pressing a few quick kisses to the chin of his mask.

The shirt is already torn from shoulder to elbow, wet and sticking to the skin underneath. Thomas doesn’t flinch when Hoyt peels it away, revealing the gaping cut that still leaked blood in sluggish bursts.

You look back and forth between his face and arm, looking for any sign that he might suddenly try to resist, but also curious to see the extent of his injuries. It was bloody, but you could already see that it wasn’t half as bad as you had feared after Hoyt’s overdramatic explanation. It was deepest at the top, tapering down to a pink slice that was hardly even bleeding, but it would leave a scar.

Thomas jumps under you when an alcohol soaked bandage is pressed against the cut, jostling you in his lap. You’re quick to soothe him, reaching up to pet his hair, whispering quiet words under your breath. His hand balls into a first, knuckles turning white, but he doesn’t fight against the hands that hold the stinging pain to his wound.

“Good job, Thomas,” Hoyt praises him, working quickly to thread a needle while the calm lasted. “You just stay still now, don’t want to upset your girl, do you?”

Chapter Text

You weren’t sure what had led up to it - you had only just arrived home, tired from the long trip into town - but clearly, you had just interrupted some sort of party. There didn’t need to be much of an occasion to bring out a bottle or two, but this seemed to be more than just having a few drinks. There was no shortage of booze around the house, half full bottles in every cabinet in the kitchen like it was a staple food. Although that wasn’t exactly untrue - you had never seen Bo sit down for dinner without a glass of amber liquor next to his plate. Now, though, nearly all of those bottles had been brought out and emptied, joined by a small collection of cheap beer cans that you were sure belonged to Lester.

You stand in the kitchen doorway, watching from a distance as the twins have a heated discussion from either side of the little table. Bo is loud, red faced but smiling, clearly drunk and teasing his brother about something. Vincent is always soft spoken, so you can’t hear his side of the conversation, but it doesn’t seem as though they’re arguing.

The small kitchen was crowded and noisy, but you smiled at the thought of finally seeing them all together without a fight breaking out. It was a simple thing, but it was rare enough to get the twins into the same room for any length of time, let alone all three brothers at once.

“There you are,” Lester says, slipping up from behind. “Thought maybe you’d finally run off on us!”

“No, some asshole parked his truck right in the middle of the driveway,” you returned, glaring daggers at the youngest brother. “Sideways. I had to park at the bottom of the hill and walk up here.”

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that.”

Lester doesn’t give you an excuse, although you would have loved to hear what bullshit he would have come up with this time. He shrugs, grinning at you in the loose, easy way of someone who is far too drunk to care. It’s annoying, but you can’t stay mad at him, so you roll your eyes and drop the subject.

“What’s going on?” You question, looking around at the cans and bottles.

“Vincent’s wasted,” Lester says with a grin, looking far too happy to be ratting out his older brother. “He can’t drink for shit. Makes him get all chatty, then he and Bo end up picking on each other until someone gives up.”

You already know the answer, but the question still makes your face twist into a grin that isn’t entirely a happy one. “Bet it ain’t ever Bo that gives up, huh?”

He doesn’t reply, instead sliding past you and back into the kitchen. You elect not to join them, listening to the noise as you watch from the doorway. It’s strange to see, but there is no mistaking the relaxed, dazed look on Vincent’s face - and for once, it actually is his face. He was standing, holding onto the kitchen table like it was the only thing keeping him upright, face bare and unmasked. It was still nearby, sitting on the table with finger marks pressed into the chin and jaw as though it had been handled roughly when it was removed. He didn’t seem at all concerned by his bare face, wobbling on his feet as he stood. His already quiet voice was slurred and incoherent, too low to hear from where you stood, but clearly whatever he was saying was amusing.

“Shut up,” Bo says, but he’s grinning up at his twin from his seat across the table. “You’re gonna be embarrassed in the morning, sayin’ all this shit.”

“‘S not embarrassing,” Lester interrupts, stepping past you with a wink and coming to his brother’s defense. “I think it’s sweet.”

Bo scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Both of you are drunk idiots.”

You listen to their bickering for a moment longer, happy to see that they are capable of getting along, even if it takes alcohol to make it happen.

“What are you all talking about?”

Your interruption causes them all to pause for a moment, radically different expressions on each face. Bo looks only vaguely irritated, a small frown on his face as he squints at you. Behind him, Lester is struggling to keep from laughing, holding onto the counter for support as he giggles.

Vincent is the most surprising, turning towards you clumsily, a little more unsteady without the table to keep him balanced. It takes him a moment to catch up with what is going on before he finally greets you with a happy, but incoherent, mumble. He’s a mess, jacket sliding off one shoulder and a tangle of hair in his face, but seemingly very pleased to see you.

“You’re home,” he rasps, reaching forward and tugging at your shirt sleeve. “Missed you.”

You hear Bo hiss, “Oh, here we fuckin’ go,” but ignore him in favor of grinning back at Vincent. He was always quiet, and this was more talkative than you’d ever heard him before, but the admission that he’d noticed your absence from the house tugged on your heartstrings a little. Out of the three, you had spent the least amount of time with Vincent, and you often wondered if your occasional visits downstairs were even wanted - he seemed just as standoffish and uninterested no matter what you tried.

“Aw, that’s nice,” you reply, patting the hand that reached out to grip your sleeve. “I just -”

“Missed you,” he repeats, a heavy rasp in his words. “A lot.”

“Good luck getting him to shut up now.”

Bo sounds irritated, crossing his arms and frowning, but there’s still a look of amusement on his face.

“He always this friendly when he’s been drinking?” You ask with a laugh, holding Vincent steady as he sways in place next to you.

“‘Course not,” his twin answers. “He just likes you.”

Vincent nods in agreement, but his reply is lost in a haze of slurred words. The other two share a glance, something you notice with suspicion, but suddenly the subject seems to be dropped.

“Vincent, go on downstairs,” Bo says, waving towards the doorway. “Got lots of work to get done tomorrow, and you’re gonna feel like shit when you wake up.”

You give him a look, wondering at the sudden dismissal, but neither of the two brothers meets your eyes. You have the distinct impression that Bo is shutting things down to avoid something.

Vincent is unsteady, tilting side to side as he tries to make his way down the hall. It makes you worry, the way he shuffles and swerves, one hand outstretched to catch himself against the wall. One of his brothers should help him, you think, make sure he gets to bed safely without stumbling down the stairs. But you know how well that suggestion would go over, so you trail after him instead.

“Hey, Vincent.”

You greet him quietly and his head swivels towards you, a crooked smile visible on the good side of his face. He says something, but between his naturally low voice and the alcohol, you don’t pick up any of it.

“You trying to go to bed?” You question. “‘Cause you’re going the wrong way.”

You had caught him in the back of the house, nowhere near the door to the basement. Leaning his shoulder against the wall, Vincent simply beams down at you, and you return it with an amused look of your own.

“Ok, come on,” you say, grabbing at his arm and gently tugging him towards you. “You can take my room tonight. If you fall down the stairs and break your neck, I’ll be stuck here with Bo by myself.”

You keep a hold of his arm, pulling him in the right direction and trying to steady his uneven steps. It’s a good thing you decided to intervene, you think, because you just know he would have managed to get himself turned around in the dark basement - assuming he even made it down the stairs to begin with.

Even with your grip on his arm guiding him, Vincent is easily distracted. He turns towards you, slurring words into your hair that you can’t understand, but the tone sounds happy enough so you let him mumble.

“Hey, hey,” you mutter, stopping your slow progress to gently pull him back on track. “Bed is this way, Vincent.”

It was a struggle to get him to walk in a straight line, which made the trip take longer than necessary. Finally dragging him through your doorway felt like a victory after the handful of minutes you had spent guiding his stumbling feet down the hallway. You pull him inside, tilting him towards the bed and letting him drop onto the mattress like dead weight, legs dangling off the edge.

Vincent huffs out a laugh into the crumpled sheets, hair in his face but too clumsy to swipe it away. You let him try for a bit, hands smacking at his face, before reaching over to do it yourself. His hair is lank, tangled and messy from his struggle, but you push it back with a few quick rakes of your fingers over his scalp.

“That better?” You ask, smiling down at his dazed expression, hand still petting his hair.

Vincent smiles back, eye focusing on your face, and you don’t look away. You’re sure there’s never going to be another chance to see him with such a genuine smile, so you take in the sight while you can. His lips are crooked, and so is his smile, pulled harshly to the side by his deformity, but his gaze is bright and warm, looking up at you through a haze of happiness.

“I love you.”

The confession catches you off guard for a moment. With a quiet laugh, you pat his shoulder, looking down at him with a grin.

“Bo was right, huh,” you say, watching his good eye flutter closed. “You do start getting real friendly when you’re drunk.”

He’s asleep before you make it to the door, still half off the bed, but tucked in and as comfortable as you could make him. You don’t think much of his words and if he’s anything like his brothers, then that’s probably not the wildest thing he’s said tonight.

You close the door behind you as you leave, starting back down the hall. The other two were still in the kitchen, making noise and clinking bottles, but you didn’t feel like joining them now.

Chapter Text

Your eyes open slowly, still heavy with sleep and fatigue, but there’s not much to see once you do. The room is dimly lit, only vague shapes somewhere in the distance that you can’t make out, and what you can see is blurry, filtered through your unfocused eyes. The rest of your body is still numb with sleep and so far all you can feel is the heavy weight of your eyelids, drooping back down as you contemplate closing them and drifting off again.

Each time you woke up, groggy and confused, you didn’t stay that way for long. These brief glimpses of consciousness were dizzying and your head already hurt, so you allowed your eyes to close again. You didn’t know what you had been hit with, but the pain hadn’t gone away yet, a deep, swollen throbbing over your temple and behind your eyes. There is a tender spot there and you suspect that it’s covered in a nasty bruise, but there is no way to see if you’re correct.

You’ve been here for days. Maybe even weeks, but the first few days were a blur, and even now you have no reliable way to know what time of day it is. There are no windows here, no natural light, but you can guess that it has been around two weeks spent on a little cot in the corner of a dark basement. They feed you once a day, or at least you think so, and you have counted eleven meals, plus however long it was before you woke up for the first time. Thinking of food only reminds you of the dry weight of your tongue, heavy in your mouth - it has been hours since your last taste of water, perhaps longer.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you try to focus your vision. Even with clear eyes, the room is dark, but it looks empty, flickering light showing you only shelves and tables, a worn chair pushed up next to a pile of loose papers. That’s where your captor had been before, but the glimpses you took now didn’t show him anywhere. He was lingering nearby, he always was, so you breathe carefully, stealing short peeks through your lashes. The room is dim enough that you can’t see clearly to the other side, so you remain still, waiting.

You are getting tired, though. The small amount of food and water you’ve been given hasn’t been enough to sate you - they’re just keeping you alive, giving you the bare minimum and each day only makes you weaker. There were no solid memories of your first few hours here, but you must have fought, the aches and bruises you had woken to told you that much. You wanted to keep fighting, but the tremble in your arms and spinning of your head when you sat up made you think that submission was the best option for now. Not forever, you told yourself, you were just going to bide your time, and one day you would have the opportunity you needed to get out.

There is a noise, a quiet shuffling from somewhere across the room. You stiffen in place, closing your eyes to keep up the facade of sleep even as the sounds grow closer. His steps are heavy, muffled in a way that makes you think he’s trying to be quiet, trying to step softly. A throbbing pulse starts up in your veins, heart beating faster in apprehension, and you hope he won’t notice the tension in your body. It’s probably meal time, the hunger in your stomach tells you, and you waver between fear and need. You’re afraid of him, of both of them, but they’re your only source of food and water.

You nearly jump when you risk the next peek through your lashes. The dim golden light of the room is behind him, a figure looming over the little corner you occupy made into a silhouette by the flickering candles. The darkness hides his features, but you know which one it is - only one of them ever comes down here, tending to you in between long vigils spent hunched over the tables, working at some task that you hadn’t yet figured out.

A hand hovers over you, as if he’s thinking of shaking you awake, but it never descends. Instead, he pulls it back, curling long fingers into the fabric over his chest.

“Wake up.”

His voice is quiet, raspy and unused, and you’ve never heard him say more than a word or two at a time. It sounds labored, like it takes some effort to get out the words he does say, but they’re perfectly clear despite the shortness.

You don’t try to keep pretending. The pain in your stomach can’t be ignored, you desperately want something to eat, so you open your eyes fully, looking straight ahead rather than up at the man standing over you. Your arms still shake when you push yourself up, and his hand is back, hovering over your shoulder as if to help, but you make it up on your own with only a little trouble.

A thick chain pools in your lap as you sit up, the padlock at your neck bouncing against the protruding bones at your collar. You wince and the weight of it is uncomfortable, but your hands are tied at your waist, so you can’t adjust the makeshift leash and collar. The length of it follows your legs down to the end of the cot, the metal cold against your skin, wrapping around the leg of the bed.

You wobble a little bit but stay upright, looking up expectantly, but a swoop of fear rolls through your stomach when you notice that there is no food. He’s holding a bottle, the same one he’s always brought you water in, but this change in the routine unsettles you. You’ve never been offered water outside of mealtimes, and unless they’re going to start withholding food now, you’ve never had a meal that was only water.

He holds up the bottle, shaking it back and forth, and although you’re uneasy, the slosh of liquid makes your dry mouth ache. You watch him unscrew the plastic lid, but you don’t open your mouth when he tries to press the bottle to your lips. Something is going on and you don’t want to be caught off guard.

“Thirsty?”

Your heart skips at the unexpected question and you look up, away from the water, meeting his gaze for half a second. You don’t hold it for long, forcing your eyes back to the floor and shaking your head. You’re dehydrated and tired, but you aren’t drinking that water no matter how much you want it.

He presses it to your mouth again, prying your bottom lip open with the rim of the bottle, but you jerk away. A small splash of water hits your chin, dripping into your lap, but you fight against the urge to lick the wetness from your lips.

“Drink.”

“I don’t want it.”

Your own voice is nearly as broken as his, dry and coarse. It hurts to speak, your throat seizing up and a cough builds, but you choke it back down.

He seems confused by your refusal. You’ve never turned down water before, and clearly you need it, but you keep your mouth shut and eyes down. He prods you with the mouth of the bottle a few more times, making insistent little noises, but you turn your head away.

A big hand grasps your face and you jolt, fighting to pull out of his grasp. Strong fingers dig into the flesh of your jaw, biting into you, and the bruised side of your face throbs again. He pulls at your bottom lip with a thumb, held still while he tilts the bottle to your mouth again. Soft noises, coos and shushes, come from him in an attempt to calm you, but the hard grip on your face makes you panic. Your hands, tied at your waist and unable to reach out of your lap, twist and pull at their bonds, rattling the chain.

“I’ll drink,” you gasp out, twisting your neck to get away. “Let me go, I’ll drink it, just don’t make me.”

You’re surprised when he does let go, and your head tilts and turns for a moment longer to escape the hand that isn’t there anymore. It throws you off balance, your chained hands too slow, and you go down, laying on your side and propped up on a wobbly elbow. You breathe heavily for a moment, watching him loom over you, but he makes no move to force the bottle back to your mouth.

You look at the bottle, and the brief taste of water you had gotten earlier makes you crave it all the more. The taste is always strange, more earthy and metallic than you expected, but it was a natural taste, not something tampered with. Maybe he’s trying to drug you, maybe not, but either way you know you’ve got to get it over with.

“I’ll drink it.” You repeat.

You’re too tired to sit back up so you stay where you are, watching with half lidded eyes as he offers the water again. Despite your protests earlier, you drink eagerly, gulping down the metallic taste and relishing the feeling of it soothing your throat. It drips down your chin, sliding down your neck and soaking into the dirty collar of your shirt, but you don’t care.

You watch the bottle in front of you empty, much faster than you want it to, but it feels so good to finally get something to drink. Food would have been good too, something heavier to push away the hunger in your belly, but you’re not going to complain.

Your eyes open when the bottle is pulled away from you, though you don’t remember closing them. Maybe it was drugged after all, because you’re feeling the exhaustion hit you now, making your limbs heavy. A hand on the back of your head pushes you gently down until your head lays on the mattress, long fingers digging into your hair and staying there. He doesn’t move even once you’ve settled down, bent at the waist to keep his palm pressed to your skull.

Your eyes are heavy again, but you keep them half open, peeking at him from the corners. You aren’t sure what he looks like, besides the long hair and messy clothes, but you supposed there was probably a reason he wore the ugly mask. It was just lifelike enough to give you an uncanny feeling of unease, and the right eye was always ominously dark and blank. He was tall, much taller than you, and bulky. You wouldn’t have been able to stand up to him even if you weren’t half starved.

“Better? Good?”

“Yeah,” you mutter in reply, feeling the weight of his hand shift as he slowly strokes your hair. “Good.”

Chapter Text

It was hot - it was always hot - but the presence of a strong breeze made the weather just bearable enough that you could keep working despite the heat. There was no shade to hide in, out in the middle of the yard between the big house and the rundown barn, and the sun stood over it all day, scorching the brittle grass. You could feel the heat of the ground even through your shoes, but the wind cooled the sweat on your skin, whipping the long, dry grass against your ankles. 

You went about your task methodically, careful to keep your gaze pointed straight ahead and avoiding the temptation to glance behind. You already knew he was there, you had heard his heavy footsteps on the wooden porch, and you didn’t want to give away the game by peeking. Thomas was shy, and if he knew you were trying to play with him, he’d run off. 

Reaching upwards, you stretched out an arm, standing on tiptoe as your fingers fumble to pinch open the little wooden pegs on the laundry line. You let your back arch, arms above you and legs tense, and you can’t see him, but you know he’s looking. The wind flutters the skirt of your dress, drawing it further up your thigh than you would have normally allowed it to go, but you pretend not to notice. You could imagine his expression, even without seeing it - eyes narrowed in concentration, face and neck red where it showed from under the mask, body tense and ready to flee at the slightest hint that his attentions had been noticed.  

Once the clothing is unpinned, you fold it quickly. The basket sits at your feet, nestled in the overgrown grass, and when you lean down to place the clothing inside, perhaps you take a little longer than necessary. Skirt still flowing around your thighs in the breeze, you take your time with this chore, repeating the slow process a few more times before you risk a quick glance over your shoulder.

Thomas is sitting on the steps that lead into the yard, shaded by the long shadow of the house. It’s far enough away that you can’t see his eyes, but his head is unmistakably turned in your direction. You look away, hoping he didn’t notice you peeking, but when you don’t hear the stomp of his boots over the porch, you smile. 

Chapter Text

• He sneaks out of the house a lot more often than his brother realizes, and he’s happy to take you on these excursions so long as you don’t rat him out. It’s usually just walks around town or short ventures into the woods on old trails, but he does know the location of a spare set of keys to the truck, so nighttime drives are more common once it starts getting cold outside. 
• He doesn’t like to speak in front of others, especially not in front of Bo. It takes a while before he’s confident enough to say anything when you’re alone, but so long as you carry the conversation, he’ll chime in every so often with a quiet word or two. 
• Because of his limited vision, it’s very easy to sneak up on him by accident, especially when he’s focused on working. You learn to make extra noise on your way downstairs so that he isn’t caught off guard by your sudden appearance.  
• He cannot stand being cold and will very rarely leave the warm basement once the temperature drops below 70. Likes to annoy you by putting his cold hands on your face or neck when you least expect it. 
• Pretends to be asleep when you watch movies on the couch, just so that you’ll shush Bo when he tries to talk during the movie. He’s gotten very good as using you as a roundabout way of getting his brother to do things, without Bo knowing he’s doing it.

NSFW 

• He will absolutely melt if you bite at or mark up his neck, although he goes to great lengths to hide the marks afterwards. Now you try to leave them where it’s harder to hide, just to see him flustered when someone else notices. 
• He tends to be a little rough, but gentle at the same time. He’ll pin you down with a hand in your hair, or force his fingers into your mouth to muffle your noises, only to softly run the other hand up and down your leg and whisper sweet things to you. 
• Very willing to let you take control, but he will want to change it up every so often. He will be sweet and submissive, right up until that switch is flipped and he’ll take the time to make sure you know that he’s the one in charge now. 
• He really can’t take any teasing at all. Even something so much as a wink from across the room has him red faced and running to hide downstairs.
• Even though he’s terrified of actually being caught, he’ll come find you upstairs when the rest of the house is empty if the mood happens to strike him. It’s usually just fooling around on the couch before he drags you downstairs, because he’ll bolt at the slightest noise that might mean someone else is home. 

Chapter Text

“Are you alright?”

His voice is quiet, a whisper so timid that you can’t quite place his location in the room. You had given him very clear instructions to stay out, but you weren’t surprised in the least to find that Brahms was ignoring more of the rules you had been desperately trying to set down.

“Yes, Brahms, I’m fine.”

Curled up on your side, face buried into the crook of your arm, you can’t see him, but the soft shuffle of feet across the carpeted floor tells you that he’s getting closer. The bed shifts, dipping under his weight, and you sigh, eyes scrunching closed in frustration.

“Are you mad at me?”

You don’t want to answer that question. After a long day of catering to his wants, the answer is yes, you’re very mad at him, but even that anger doesn’t make you brave enough to say it out loud. Anyone else would have picked up on your short words and snippy tone, but you got the impression that Brahms wasn’t very good at reading those kinds of things.

“No, I’m not mad,” you grunt into your pillow. “Just tired. I’m going to take a quick nap, okay?”

There is no reply, so you keep your eyes closed and try to ignore the prickling feeling of being watched. You didn’t have your hopes up that he would leave, finally giving you some space, so you resigned yourself to sleeping with the looming presence of Brahms behind you.

It hadn’t been this difficult at the beginning. Even after you had finally met the real Brahms, he still kept to himself, waiting in the walls and sneaking around when you weren’t looking. You could go weeks without seeing or hearing anything from him, and perhaps that is how you should have left it. Now that he was comfortable showing himself, you almost wished that you hadn’t been so eager to see him, to help him.

Brahms scared you, more often than not. He wasn’t violent, not really, but there was no doubt that he had the potential to be. You had tested his temper before, wandering too far from the house on your walks or speaking too long to someone on the phone. It wasn’t threatening, exactly, the way he scolded you for such things, but the cut phone line and locked doors certainly sent a message.

Adding to that, you were living with a man, no matter how childish he pretended to be, that seemed to have no concept of personal space. Brahms was next to you constantly, from the moment he had left the walls. A large hand slipped into yours, fingers gripping your sleeve, a porcelain cheek resting on your shoulder - he seemed to require some form of contact at all times. The touches were all innocent, but you hadn’t missed the way his hands reached for you or the glare in his eyes when you found some excuse to shake him off. That was a problem for another day, you had decided, ignoring the soft, possessive looks he gave you, and it had worked so far.

The bed shifts again and you can feel the press of heat against your back, long legs sliding down to tangle with your own. Brahms presses the hard nose of the mask into the back of your head, gently nuzzling your hair, his fingers wrapping themselves into the loose material of your top where it covers your hip.

“You’re not a very good liar,” he mutters, wiggling closer. “I don’t like it when you lie.”

You’re the silent one now, stiff and tense as he makes himself comfortable behind you. His presence has been a constant for months, and you’ve indulged his need for attention far more than you should have, but the press of his chest against your back is more intimate than the childlike affection you had allowed before. You wonder, briefly, if he realizes how inappropriate his closeness is, but the thought doesn’t linger.

He knows, you think, heart beating a little faster. He knows and he’s doing it on purpose.

The press of his chest against your back makes your head spin, but it’s the nudging pressure against your ass that takes the words from your mouth.

“Oh,” you choke out in a panic, scooting away. “Okay, uhm -”

Brahms doesn’t let you get far, a heavy arm around your middle pulling you back into place. He huffs out a muffled moan, mouth next to your ear, when your hips line back up with his.

“I love you,” his voice is low and strained, nowhere near the innocent, childish sound you’re used to hearing. “You’re the only one who wanted to stay with me.”

You go still again, listening to his heavy breathing. A moment ago you were hurrying to get out of his arms, but the sudden confession had made you pause. You were sure that whatever the strong attachment Brahms had to you was, it wasn’t a romantic love, but more a mix of loneliness and desire. It was the desperation in his words that caught your attention.

“Brahms.”

You murmur his name, reaching down to curl your hand around his wrist. His arm twitches under your touch, fingers tightening their hold on your hip. You hesitate a moment, knowing that the wrong step here can go very badly for you.

“If you behave,” you stress the word, trying to use the most authoritative voice you can manage. “Then maybe we can… play?”

You’re not sure how to word it, but ‘playing’ seems as good a euphemism as anything else.

Brahms is silent behind you and for a moment you think that you’ve said something wrong. You’re surprised at the wavering in his voice when he finally speaks, a shaky whisper barely heard over the beating of your heart.

“I’ll be good.”

Chapter Text

The grainy noise of the old TV filters through the air from behind you, a mostly static chatter from whatever movie you had left playing. A breeze comes in from the open windows, cooling the sweltering heat inside the cabin and the rustle of wind through the trees in the distance is a soothing, pleasant sound. Today had been meant for relaxing, escaping the summer heat as well as the usual chores you were used to completing around the house. It was proving to be relaxing alright, but the cling of sweat against your skin meant you weren’t getting away from the heat just yet.

Cold fingers grab at the meat of your thigh, kneading their way up your legs until each hand was firmly gripping your ass. Fingers slip under the already short hem of your shorts, digging into the flesh with cracked fingernails biting at your skin. You smile down at him from your place on Jason’s lap, straddling one thigh with both of yours as his hands tug impatiently at your waist. His mismatched eyes are locked on yours, the rest of his face hidden behind the battered mask.

Jason was sat on the worn couch that made up the entirety of your little living room, legs spread to make room for you and both giant hands on your body. He was twice your size, at least, and to anyone else it might have seemed as though he was in control of the situation, rocking you slowly over his thigh and up to the curve of his hip. It was you, though, who had trapped him against the couch, crawling into his lap with an innocent smile and wrapping your legs around him.

“Where’d this come from?”

Your hands pluck at the small length of chain that hangs around his neck, dull metal flecked with rust and rot. Jason makes no attempt to give an answer, but you aren’t too bothered by it. He had come back dripping and covered in worse things than an old piece of metal.

The metal is cold under your hand from the time spent against Jason’s unnaturally cool skin. You tangle your fingers into the links, wrapping it around your hand with a quick spin of your wrist. The chain is looped around his neck like a scarf, so your first pull tightens it around his throat. He lets you pull it close, watching as you fix it neatly around his neck like a collar.

“You’re so sweet, aren’t you,” you ask, seeing his eyes brighten at the soft praise. “You always mind so well.”

You pull the chain, hard. It’s not going to hurt him no matter how rough you get, but the force startles him. You do it again, metal clinking together as the links slide over one another, and this time he catches on to your silent command.

Jason lets you pull him forward by the neck, eyes wide as you lean down to meet him halfway. You press your mouth eagerly against the dirty mask and hear him sigh behind it, nuzzling closer to your face.

The cold press of his palm slides up your stomach, towards the thin material of the swim top covering your breasts. The coolness of his skin makes you shiver and you sigh against the mask. His hands stop there, cupping your ribs and not daring to cross the line of your clothing without given permission.

“Such a sweetheart.”

You murmur against the plastic, reaching between you to hook a finger under the hem of the stretchy material. You lift it away from your skin, not removing it but clearly inviting him to go further. Your back arches into the touch of his palm against your breast when he grabs at you, squeezing lightly. Jason is always careful with you, using light touches and gentle pressure, but you press into his hand harder, wanting to feel the roughness of his strength.

The hand on your ass grips tighter, pulling you forward with a harsh jerk. Your cunt nestles into the sharp curve of his hip, drawing out a surprised moan at the sudden contact. The material of his pants is rough and worn, the jolting friction on your clit making you go tense.

“Oh, wait, wait,” you gasp, hurrying to pull again at the chain. “No you don’t, hands to yourself.”

Your voice is shaky and not authoritative at all, so you aren’t surprised when Jason drags you back up and down his thigh with no regard for your command. A hard pull to the chain stills him momentarily, tilting his head up awkwardly to meet your eyes.

“I said no.”

His hands twitch on your skin, the one on your ass flexing as though he meant to continue anyways. You stare him down with a glare, face red and sweaty, but you know you’ve won when he huffs, relaxing back into the cushions.

“Good boy.”

You cup the cheek of his mask with your free hand, peppering it with quick kisses. This submission wouldn’t last forever, you knew, but praise and rewards certainly extended how much he was willing to put up with.

With a slow roll of your hips you grind against him, a shaky sound escaping your throat. The hard bulge of his cock is pressed against your leg, rubbing against the top of your thigh as you pull yourself over his. Jason huffs and sighs under you, rutting upwards against your leg shamelessly.

A loud grunt, breathy and uneven, leaves his throat when you lean forward, bearing your weight on one leg and pressing it against him. Both of his hands scramble to grab your waist, holding you in place so he can thrust against your flesh harder. Your cunt is hot and swollen between your legs, begging for the pressure of his thigh to return, but you hold back for the moment, watching him snap his hips back and forth over your leg.

“Good boy,” you repeat, whispering the words into his shoulder. “Keep going.”

You kiss at the collar of his ragged shirt, up and over the cool skin of his neck and throat. Blunt teeth leave dark purple marks behind as you make your way up, sucking at the hard flesh under your mouth. His throat bobs under your lips as you bite at him, hard enough to hurt but not to break the skin, and your body jerks in his hands as he rolls his clothed cock against your thigh.

The slick between your legs is unbearable, a wet spot sticking the fabric of your panties to the lips of your cunt, and you have to fight to ignore the pressure there. Jason’s movements are frantic now, a hurried rush to get as much as he can before he cums, and you tell yourself that you can wait for his release.

He whines in your ear, mask bumping the side of your face. The noise is pitiful, like a wounded animal, but you understand the meaning immediately.

“Go on,” you say, remembering the chain in your hand and giving it a hard pull. “Be a good boy.”

The metal closes around his throat, stifling the noises he’s struggling to get out. His eyes focus on your own, sending a jolt of heat into the pit of your stomach and making your desperate cunt clench around nothing.

The hands on you are holding on too tightly now, but you don’t reprimand him, feeling his entire body go stiff under you. Jason’s hips stutter, the rough fabric of his pants scraping against your thigh one final time as he presses himself against you with as much force as he can manage. You can feel the hot, wet patch forming even through the layers as he cums, a drawn out moan rumbling up from his chest.

You shake in his lap, still straddling one big thigh, and pet his shoulders and chest as he slowly relaxes. The bulk of his cock twitches against your leg and you moan, ready for your own release now that Jason has been taken care of.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• A big, cool bed, dark room and some quiet is all you need to help soothe the pain, and luckily that’s not hard to come by in the mansion. Brahms is a troublemaker, but he’s quiet at least, so anything he gets up to while you’re out of it won’t disturb you.
• You’re in bed without him??? Not for long. Even if you just need a dark place to hide out for a while, he wants in, so you’ve got to make room. He’ll be satisfied with wrapping his limbs around you and just laying there.
• You’ve got a personal caretaker for the rest of the day, and he’ll take over doing things like making meals and pause any mischief he may have been planning. Even once the headache has passed, he’ll still treat you more gently for a few days.

Michael

• You’re not going to get much reaction out of him. If it happens to inconvenience him, he might do a little something to help out, but it’s only to get things back to normal as quickly as possible.
• If you happen to go down before you can get somewhere to lay down, he’ll be nice enough to carry you to the nearest piece of furniture. Dumping you onto the couch isn’t the gentlest way he could have done it, but you’re not on the floor anymore.
• He’s quiet at least, so you don’t have to worry about him making it worse. He won’t hesitate to drag you out of bed if he wants something, but you can likely get a few hours of undisturbed rest before that happens.

Bubba

• The hot, noisy, dirty house is probably not the best place to find comfort from the headaches. But Bubba is used to doing the housework on his own, so if you need a break he can more than take care of things while you rest.
• You can’t hide your discomfort from him, and once he picks up on it he’ll be anxious to try and help you feel better. He’s not a cook, but he can make some cold tea and pet your hair while you sip from your glass.
• He absolutely loves taking care of his family, so he’ll relish the chance to get you comfortable and baby you. The quiet little ‘thank you’s’ he gets in return are enough to make his entire day.

Thomas

• He’s always a little frustrated when you’re not feeling well, no matter how mild. He doesn’t like not being able to take care of the problem right away, so he’s always impatiently waiting for you to get better.
• If you tell him what you need, he’ll do his best to take care of you in between chores. You can tell how much effort he puts into being gentle and quiet, careful not to disturb your rest.
• You also have Mama looking after you when Thomas can’t, mainly working to keep everyone else from bothering you. You’ll have a few complaints about slacking off from Hoyt, but between the two of them you can at least take a quick break.

Jason

• He’s used to getting things done on his own, so you can afford to curl up and rest for as long as you need. You set your own routines in such an isolated life, so there’s no rush to get back to work.
• He’ll stay close, pulling you into his lap on the couch or onto his chest in bed. Quiet breathing and a cool hand petting your hair is the perfect thing to soothe your headache.
• Once it’s happened a few times, he’ll have the routine down and be ready when it happens again. The first sign of discomfort will have him checking up on you, ready to bundle you up until the pain passes.

Chapter Text

With soft, slow sweeps of your hand, you thread your fingers through his hair. It’s dirty, the curls almost lank with old sweat and dust, but you bury your fingers into it anyways, one hand in his hair and the other cupping the back of his head, keeping him close. He holds you just as close, body over yours and one long arm curled around your back, the other at your hip.

Brahms hadn’t done anything to deserve such gentle treatment, not after the way he had behaved just a few hours earlier. You should have ignored him when he slunk into your bed, but you had allowed him to crawl into your arms instead, masked face nestled into the crook of your neck. It was clear, though, that he wasn’t going to be content with just this for long.

“Stop,” you hiss, pushing a wandering hand away from the hem of your shirt. “Go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.” Brahms whines back at you. He pushes his face into your neck, the hard edge of the porcelain bumping awkwardly against your collar bones.

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten into bed,” you snap back. “It’s bedtime.”

Your words are firm, but it doesn’t stop his roaming hands from trying anyways. One cool palm wiggles it’s way under the hem of your shirt and you sigh in exasperation, but you simply tug at his hair and let him.

“Please,” he mutters into your ear. “Please, please. I’ve been good.”

He most definitely had not been good, but you can’t find it in yourself to deny him now. You huff out another sigh, rolling your eyes, but press a quick kiss to the forehead of his mask.

“Go on, then,” you agree, ruffling your fingers through his hair. “Brat.”

Brahms ignores your remark, hurrying to roll up the hem of your shirt until it is bunched around your neck. There is no bra under the sleep shirt, nothing else between him and your flesh. Your eyes flick away when he tilts the mask up, just enough to uncover his mouth, but you know he prefers that you don’t look.

The lash of his tongue over your nipple surprises you, even though you had been expecting it, drawing out a gasp. Your eyes dart back to him, laying over your chest and nestled against the curve of one breast, pink mouth sucking at your skin. You bury your hands into his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth latches on.

Brahms is quick to relax against you, curling up in your arms with a contented sigh. You watch him with half lidded eyes, petting his hair and stealing glances at the small part of his face he had revealed to you.

He had tilted the mask up, but only enough to uncover his mouth, which you could see now was set in a smug smirk around the flesh of your breast. He had misbehaved and still gotten what he wanted, and he knew it. You knew it too, but couldn’t bring yourself to do anything about it now. You were tired, and the soft, warm suction of his mouth was almost relaxing.

Brahms hums against your nipple, keeping a slow, repetitive rhythm as he sucks. The rest of his face is still covered by the mask, but you can imagine his expression under it, his eyes closed and dark lashes fanned out against flushed cheeks. He was still careful to make sure the rest of his face stayed hidden, but even this small glimpse showed you some of the bright pink scars that trailed towards his jaw.

Leaning back into a nest of pillows you stretch out under him, legs spread out on either side of his body. Brahms lets out a muffled noise of complaint as you get comfortable, twisting his lower body to capture one of your legs between his own and keep you still. His cock is hard, dug into the fat of your thigh, but he makes no move to relieve his ache, so you ignore it. Eventually he will either want his release, or fall asleep still sucking at your breast. With sleep already pulling your tired eyes closed, you hope that it will be the latter, but either way, you’re going to enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.

When he finally unlatches his mouth, letting go with a slick pop, you take a hand from his hair to swipe your thumb over his bottom lip, wet and swollen from working at your flesh.

“Are you sleepy?” You ask in a whisper, watching him through hazy eyes. It was late, but you knew that he was more accustomed to staying up at odd hours than you were.

His tongue slips out to flick over your thumb before turning away to nuzzle at the space between your breasts.

“No.” Brahms mutters, but you can hear the husk of sleep in his voice already.

He huffs warm breaths into your skin, dragging his lips up and over to your other nipple. He pulls at it with his teeth for a moment before his lips part and he takes it into his mouth. You hiss a little at his sudden roughness, but he quickly settles back into the slow, gentle suckling from before.

The breast he had left is pink and tender, and you can already feel the sting that will be much more irritating tomorrow. Brahms would do the same to both, sucking until you squirmed from the discomfort, laving his tongue and teeth over your skin until you were sore and swollen.

You would likely regret being so indulgent once morning came, but you don’t doubt that the next night would probably be spent in much the same way.

Chapter Text

Thomas

• At the very beginning Thomas isn’t shy at all - he’s angry. He’s very distrustful of new people, even if the rest of the family wants you to stick around for some reason, so you’re working your way up from nothing with him.
• It takes a lot of persistence to get anywhere with him, even if you’re only trying to get on neutral ground. He isn’t mean, exactly, it’s more just him actively avoiding you, but you get some pretty aggressive glares at the dinner table too.
• You’ll wear him down over time and eventually it will get easier and easier to approach him, until he’s just sort of used to you being around. It’s not until then that he will start picking up on all the nice little things you’ve been doing for him around the house.

You had spent the afternoon in the kitchen, doing your part to help get dinner on the table. The cooking wasn’t as hard now that you were used to it, but you had been distracted while you worked. Luda Mae had noticed, scolding you once or twice to keep your mind on your work, but you couldn’t help but look up whenever someone came into the kitchen.

Dinner was a mandatory event in the old house and participation was strictly enforced. You had to have a very good excuse to get out of family dinners, and it wasn’t very often that you could convince both Luda Mae and Hoyt that you needed to be absent. Thomas, though, seemed to be the only exception to this rule, and the last few days he hadn’t shown up. Dinner was about the only time you saw him lately, and it was frustrating to be kept waiting while he lurked downstairs.

“C’mon, Mama,” Hoyt complained, hands on his hips as he watched her work at the stove. “It’s fine. Just this once can’t hurt.”

Luda Mae doesn’t turn to look at him, but you see her glaring down at the pot of simmering gravy she’s stirring. Nervously, you knit your fingers together, looking back and forth between the two as the argument plays out. You hadn’t meant to cause such a fuss, but you didn’t expect Hoyt to be the one agreeing with you.

“Don’t argue with me, Charlie,” she snaps back, whipping the wooden spoon through the mixture with a white knuckled hand. “Tommy’s in a mood tonight, you know how he gets. Let him alone.”

That much was true, it had been impossible not to notice his sudden absence in the rest of the house. You would usually assume that he was busy downstairs, cutting the meat and working with the saw like always, but it had been nearly a month since the last person had gone down there and not come back up.

“He’s been in a mood,” Hoyt replies, a scowl on his face. “Maybe some company is what he needs to cheer the fuck up.”

She finally turns to him, a nasty look on her face. You can see that Hoyt has his usual cocky grin in place, which you know from experience is more infuriating than anything he can say to you.

“Alright, fine,” Luda Mae unexpectedly fixes her glare on you, and you freeze under her gaze. “Go take him his dinner, but don’t come runnin’ to me when he ain’t happy about you being down there.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

She ignores your thanks, focusing back on the stove and muttering about her ‘poor boy’ under her breath.

You step around her, quietly gathering up a sizable plate of food as quickly as you can. Hoyt refrains from saying anything about her sudden agreement, but he gives you a smug smile and a wink as you hurry out of the kitchen.

Vincent

• Just a horribly, horribly awkward experience altogether. He’s had exactly two examples in his life of successful flirting - Bo, who’s methods aren’t quite the foundation for any kind of relationship outside of a one night stand, and shitty romance novels picked up from travelers.
• He switches back and forth between aggressively creepy overtures and completely ignoring your existence for days at a time. Anything he tries that isn’t an immediate success sets back his confidence a lot, so it’s slow going.
• It takes you all of two seconds to see what his motives are, but you might be a little reluctant at the beginning simply because he comes off very strong at first. He absolutely melts at the slightest positive interaction with you though, even something as neutral as a ‘good morning’ or a smile.

It was a surprise to hear a knock on your bedroom door, and even more shocking to see who, exactly, had come to visit. You could count on one hand the amount of times Vincent had been the one to come to you, so when you turn to face the doorway, your eyes are narrowed in annoyance, ready to scold Bo for intruding.

“Oh!”

The door is open, Vincent lurking just beyond, still in the hall. His shoulders are hunched, long hair in his face and head turned down to make himself look smaller, and it works - you often forget that he’s just as tall as his twin.

“Sorry,” you say, quick to apologize when you see him shuffle back into the hall. “I thought Bo was looking for another argument, I didn’t realize it was you.”

He’s skittish, almost cautious, when he steps closer, edging towards you like he isn’t sure that he’s welcome in your room. You step forward, brushing hair from your face as you approach him, wrapping your fingers gently around his wrist and pulling him in.

“He left.”

You aren’t surprised to hear that Vincent’s twin had left the house, not after the screaming match you had with him downstairs. Most likely gone down to the shop to work out his anger on whatever beat up machine he had in the garage this week.

“Sleep?”

You’re dressed for bed in an oversized tee and shorts, but that hadn’t been your plan for the night. It was true that the fighting had drained most of your energy, but it was still early and the sun hadn’t even fully gone down yet.

“No, not yet,” you admit, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m tired, but I’m not sleepy.”

Vincent sits next to you, his weight on the mattress tilting you closer, but you simply lean into it, resting your cheek against his shoulder with a sigh. His hand sneaks it’s way into your lap, gripping your knee, but you don’t mention it. He had moments where affectionate gestures came naturally, but most of the time he stumbled his way through things. It was endearing more than anything else, but pointing it out only flustered him even more, so you tried not to bring any attention to it when it happened.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” You murmur into his shoulder, feeling too exhausted to do much else. “I’m sure there’s one around here somewhere that we haven’t watched to death.”

“No.”

You raise your eyebrows, turning your head upwards to look up at him. It was rare for him to say no, especially to you.

“Go for a drive then? I have the spare key hidden in the kitchen.”

Vincent turns his head, leaning down to awkwardly bump the chin of his mask against your forehead, the hand on your knee going tense. You’re caught off guard by the sudden contact, but you quickly catch on to what he’s doing, turning your body to face him and pulling yourself up until your lips are on the mask’s.

It’s not the most romantic thing, kissing an unmoving wax face, but Vincent seems to think so, letting out an airy sigh and relaxing against you. You smile against the mask, feeling one big hand come up to brush softly against your cheek.

When he pulls away, it seems that whatever confidence he had scraped together has dissipated. His eye darts around the room to keep from looking at your face, a nervous twitch jolting the fingers of the hand still on your knee.

You ignore this sudden change in attitude, pushing forward to bury your face into his sweater. He tenses, but you know that it’s out of surprise - convincing him that you returned the affection he had for you was a slow task, and he seemed endlessly surprised whenever it happened.

“Well, you sure know how to turn someone’s day around.”

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Implying that any partner you have is going to get more than a few steps through the door in the first place. No matter the situation, step number one is to get you single as soon as possible. 
• He has little to no idea what an actual relationship is supposed to look like, so he might not pick up on any warning signs at first. Unless someone is being physically violent, more subtle things might not register. 
• It might take a while, but he will manipulate things to set you against each other. Ideally, this would lead to a break up and he’d get you all to himself, but if things turned violent he would step in to put a permanent end to things. 

Michael

• You have no idea that you’ve gained his attention, and it stays that way for a long time. Any relationship you might already be in isn’t even a factor for him - if they’re still present when he decides to make a move, he can easily get them out of the picture. 
• Whether or not the person you’re with is abusive or not doesn’t make much of a difference for him. He’s getting them out of the way eventually, but might be encouraged to do it sooner if he feels like they’re a threat to you. 
• Once he does get rid of them, you’re definitely going to start noticing that someone is hanging around. He doesn’t start with the best introduction, because realizing that you’re being stalked soon after the murder of your partner is more than a little off putting. 

Bubba

• He doesn’t get the opportunity to watch people very often, since he’s usually only meeting them once it’s time to break out the sledge. Even then, he can recognize when someone is being treated poorly and he’ll show what sympathy he can while his brothers aren’t looking. 
• It makes him feel a little guilty about having to restrain you, because he doesn’t want you to think that he’s being mean. He would normally get you straight on a hook, but instead he’s frantically patting your head and trying to calm you down. 
• He wants to show you that he’s nice, but he also knows that he can’t keep you like this forever. It’s probably the similarities between your situations that has him get up the courage to suggest that you shouldn’t become dinner. 

Jason

• Normally, he wouldn’t take notice of it and if you were close enough to be on his radar at all, you’d get the same treatment as everyone else. He doesn’t have enough sympathy for anyone else to think of sparing them. 
• But something catches his eye, and he quickly goes from protecting his territory to protecting you. He isn’t going to hesitate to step in the next time someone even looks at you funny. 
• Depending on the situation, having someone bust down the door to slaughter your partner isn’t the best start, and it will take some time to realize that he isn’t going to do the same to you. He’s pretty determined, though, to be the one keeping you safe from now on. 

Vincent

• He hasn’t had any experience with relationships himself, but he’s very familiar with being mistreated by others. It won’t take him long to recognize that you’re in the same situation. 
• He wouldn’t normally interfere, and he’s certainly seen similar couples come into town before. But a combination of jealousy and loneliness convinces him that, if he plans it right, he could take the place of the partner that doesn’t deserve you. 
• He’s a little bit of a hopeless romantic, so he’s almost instantly got thoughts of sweeping in to save the day. He doesn’t have the looks, but surely he could make up for that by getting rid of someone who’s hurting you?

Chapter Text

Michael

• Low key annoyed by it, especially if you’re the kind of person to be very physically affectionate. He keeps his distance until he feels like it, so you can’t just touch him whenever you want. 
• More than a little amused by the ‘protective’ part. You always worried when he was gone, and it didn’t seem to matter how many times he came back, unharmed and bloody after a successful kill. 
• He’s more than a little ungrateful when it comes to accepting kindness from you. You might be doing things to be helpful, or to please him, but he’s only going to expect these things to keep happening. 

Bubba 

• He’s used to being the caretaker in the family, so he isn’t used to someone else trying to take care of him. Absolutely loves getting your attention, though, so he’s happy to sit down and let you fuss over him. 
• Any amount of kindness you show him is returned tenfold, and it can become almost like a competition to see who can do the sweetest thing for the other. You’re always one upping each other with little favors and gifts. 
• Getting between him and his brothers takes up a good portion of your daily routine. He appreciates having someone to stand up for him, and he tries to do the same for you, but most of the time he can’t quite muster up the courage to go through with it all the way.

Jason

• He will let you fuss over him, patiently sitting there while you make a plate of food he doesn’t need to eat, dressed in new clothes to keep out a cold he can’t feel. It might not be something he needs but he enjoys knowing that you have a desire to care for him. 
• Caught off guard when he realizes that you’re worried about him when he leaves the cabin. Your safety is always in the back of his mind when he’s gone, but he didn’t expect it to be the same for you. 
• He always finds interesting things to bring home to you, but he’s delighted when you thank him for little gifts he gives you. A smile or quick kiss is all the reward he needs. 

Chapter Text

“What are we gonna do?”

The man’s boots kick up dirt as he paces in front of the truck, gravel crunching under his feet. The headlights are dimmed, but they light up his figure against the dark sky, clouds of dust filtering through the beams as he moves.

“Wait for someone to come by, I suppose.”

The other one is calm, almost relaxed, leaning against the side of the broken down truck with no sign of panic on his face. He’s keeping his cool, but you can hear the light tap, tap, tap of his fingers against the side of the vehicle, a nervous sound that puts you on edge.

“This is the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. Anyone ‘coming by’ is only going to be more of those freaks.”

You want to be offended by his words, but he’s not wrong. They had only made it a few miles down the road from the farmhouse and it wasn’t going to be long before someone noticed that the three of you were absent.

That was the thought that made you worry.

Curled up in the passenger seat of the truck, you huddle against the door, pushing yourself as far away from the two men as possible. They haven’t tried to hurt you - you’re only in this mess in the first place because they had wanted to help - but you don’t want to be near either of them when you’re found.

“Fuck this!”

The sudden exclamation startles you and you look up, peeking out of the opposite window. The angry man is pacing away from the truck, apparently meaning to follow the cracked asphalt on foot.

Both men are old, but the angry man is the younger of the two, his thick beard streaked with gray but still mostly brown. They’re rough looking, the kind that Hoyt interchangeably calls both ‘bikers’ and ‘hippies’, made all the more rough by the gashes and wounds they’d collected over the last few hours at the house.

The older man glances at you through the half broken window on the drivers side. His face is bare, but the hair on his head is long and white.

“C’mon out, girlie, ain’t a bad idea to get movin’.”

“No, thank you.”

The door behind you is jammed shut, or you would have slipped out during the argument. The only way out now is the driver’s door, but you aren’t going to risk being snatched up again.

“What, you wanna go back to those monsters? I’m no gentleman, but we ain’t gonna hurt you. Took you outta that hellhole, didn’t we?”

You shake your head, half afraid to tell him the truth, wishing he would just leave so you could dart out of the truck and run back home. Tears blur your eyes and you bury your head into your arms, wondering if he would be so nice if he knew that you were one of the monsters too.

“I’m fine here,” you stutter out, pressing harder against the broken door. “Please go away.”

There’s quiet for a moment, but you know he isn’t gone, not when you haven’t heard any footsteps.

“Look, now,” you hear him say, a soft, low voice that only makes the tears come faster. “We’re gonna keep you safe, you don’t need to cry. Whatever those bad people did to you, it ain’t gonna happen again.”

You shake your head again, smearing tears into your skin as you try to wipe them away. He didn’t understand and you couldn’t make him understand, not without risking your own safety. They had thought they were rescuing you, dragging you out of the bloody house and away from the animals who kept you there. If they had simply left, sneaking out at night when the family was at rest, perhaps no one would have noticed until the morning, but stopping to take you with them had almost certainly ruined any chance they had of getting away.

Rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands, you sniffle and pant, looking at him with red rimmed eyes. His expression matches his voice, a gentle look on his lined face, and you struggle to meet his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you hiccup, holding your knees to your chest. “I really am.”

You see the confusion on his face, but can’t bring yourself to say anything more. He tries again, urging you gently to leave the truck, but you hide your face and stay quiet.

A rumble, distant and low, edges into your hearing. You jump, suddenly sitting up straight and looking out the window, over the flat pastures to where you knew the house was. The man startles too, quieting as he watches you.

The saw is your first thought, heart beating wildly, but it takes you only a second to realize that this droning hum is not the faint roar of the chainsaw. A flash of light, brief but unmistakable, shines from somewhere further down the road, filtering through the trees. Both you and the man seem to come to the same conclusion at once, eyes meeting through the broken window.

“Get out!”

The man screams the command now, throwing open the door and half crawling in to reach you. You flail under his hand, kicking your legs as he grabs for you, but a blinding flash of light hits the cab of the truck and you know it’s too late.

A hand locks around your ankle, dragging you over the seats and out the door, landing in a heap on the asphalt. You feel the gravel and dirt dig into your knees and palms when you land, coughing in the cloud of dust that had been stirred up. The collar of your dress rips when he tries to pull you up by the shoulders, but you’re too breathless to fight him as he struggles to pull you away.

The cruiser is already coming to a harsh stop in front of you, headlights blinding in the darkness, but the man still tries, one hand gripping your ruined collar and the other picking you up at the waist. You’re dead weight, stunned and gasping, halfheartedly trying to block the light in front of you with your hands.

A door opens, slamming closed just a moment later and two sets of footsteps come towards you. The man gives up on his retreat, letting you slump back to the ground at his feet, panting as he slows to a stop. Your legs shake under you, too wobbly to keep yourself upright.

“Let the girl go!”

You hear Hoyt’s voice, but it’s Thomas that you see, stepping between the headlights with something heavy in his hands - not the saw, but something big and blunt, one of the tools he kept in the basement or something grabbed quickly from the barn. He’s only a towering outline against the light, but you can see the anger in him, shoulders tensed and heaving with rage, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of his weapon.

“Tommy!”

Your voice is hoarse, but you push the words out anyways, stretching your arms out towards him. The headlights blur your vision, but you hear him, closing the distance in only a few steps, until one big hand is closed around your arm. He yanks you up, pulling you roughly to your feet and then into his chest. An arm around your shoulders keeps you close, his face pressed into the mess of your hair as he whines and grunts, and you have to cling to the front of his shirt to keep on your feet.

“Honey, you alright?”

You nod fervently, hoping that Hoyt can see you because you don’t think you could manage a spoken answer. A few gasping breaths steady you, but it’s not enough to calm the beating of your heart.

“You better not have touched a hair on her head,” Hoyt calls to the man. “‘Cause I don’t think Tommy is too happy with you tryin’ to run off with his girl like you did.”

Thomas jerks his head up at that, snarling from behind the mask, and you can see the man’s whole body flinch backwards.

“Fuck you.”

His words are defiant, but they’re said with a tired sigh, coming out in a deflated huff. Hoyt laughs and you hear the metallic click of a gun being readied.

“Make you a deal,” he offers, coming around the car to stand in the light. “You tell me where that other fucker went and I’ll make it quick, alright?”

The gun shines in the headlights, held outstretched in his hand, and you feel your stomach drop.

“I promise you, it’s a better deal than you’ll get from Tommy.”

Chapter Text

Brahms

• Absolutely going to abuse your goodwill for his own needs. You’re kind, helpful and almost naive, and all of these things will make it that much easier for him to worm his way into your affections, through whatever means necessary. He is not concerned with you actually loving him and staying to care for him out of that love - he’s perfectly happy to play pretend, keeping you in line with a combination of threats and petulant whining.
• He wants affection. He’ll crawl into your bed at night, quietly insisting that you pet his hair and hold him until he falls asleep. Over time you start to do these things without him asking, knowing just from the way he approaches you that he’s come looking for your gentle touch. 
• He knows how easy it is for you to befriend someone, which is why he limits your time away from home as much as he can. Whatever needs to be done can be accomplished with phone calls and home deliveries, where he can pull the cord if he thinks you’re enjoying yourself too much. Any unfortunate visitors that so much as say hello in too friendly of a tone run the risk of not making it off the property.
• Because he’s very much aware that you’re staying there against your will, attempts at escape are almost expected. He’s still going to be furious, but he will have plans ready ahead of time to make sure that you don’t make it too far.
• The most effective thing he can use against you is any hope you might have of helping him. He’ll push you to the end of your rope, when you’re ready to give up and make a break for it, then lure you back in with a not so heartfelt plea for you to stay. 

Michael

• He keeps an eye on you for a long time before making a move. Maybe he’s just tired of waiting or maybe you’re getting too close to someone else, but he goes pretty quickly from ‘peeking through your windows’ to ‘in your house, waiting at the end of your bed for you to wake up and scream’.
• But just because he has some sort of twisted interest in you doesn’t mean you can get out of it unscathed. He treats you like any other hunt at first, which means you have a good few hours of being chased down before you realize that his intentions aren’t to murder you.
• You can scream and kick all you like, but once he’s decided that he owns you, that’s pretty much the end of it. He expects you to fall in line quickly though, and he’ll be as mean as he needs to for you to realize that you’re not getting away. 
• Even once he’s got you firmly under his control, he doesn’t stop reminding you of it. He watches you from a distance when you leave the house, a looming reminder that one small misstep will have everyone around you killed in retaliation.
• He can show some affection, though it’s usually more than a little brutal. Things taken from the homes, or bodies, of his victims, are common gifts presented to you after a kill. 

Bubba

• You start out as a sort of pet, something he’s allowed to keep only because no one thinks he’ll manage to keep you alive for more than a few weeks. He’s a sucker for the timid way you look at him, interpreting your fear as a cute, but shy, demeanor. 
• He isn’t allowed to care for you until the rest of his chores are completed, but sometimes when the house is empty, he’ll sneak into your room. It’s more of a treat for him to feed and dress you than a task. 
• You aren’t allowed out of your room, but that’s another rule that he’ll break if given the opportunity. He’ll sneak you downstairs to eat in the kitchen or outside to sit in the sun, always happy to see how grateful you are to be allowed these small freedoms. He loves having you rely on him to provide the things that make you happy. 
• If you use these excursions as an escape route, though, they’ll end immediately. He’s more worried than anything when he discovers that you’re gone, but once you’re back where you belong, he’ll be angry. Tighter restraints and a closer watch kept on you during the day will prevent you from trying it again. 
• He likes to spoil you, giving you extra food when no ones around to notice, and dressing you up in the pretty clothes he finds on victims. A lot of time is spent being dressed up, hair brushed out and face smudged with sloppy makeup, and you always get a little treat for behaving well. 

Thomas

• Thomas craves kindness from others, but he isn’t used to actually receiving it, which will instantly upgrade you from dinner to potential family member. He doesn’t trust it at first, but so long as you continue to provide soft, kind words and shaky smiles, he’ll keep you separated from the less fortunate catches as long he can.
• When it comes down to it, he’ll make an effort to keep you off the dinner table, and to your surprise the family is very happy about his sudden interest in you. You find yourself being made to choose between being killed or becoming Tommy’s responsibility, and it’s not as easy a choice as it seems.
• He doesn’t like it when you’re obviously frightened, trembling and crying even after the saw has cut off, and he’ll do his best to comfort you. He treats you almost like a skittish animal at first, approaching you slowly and sliding a dirty hand through your hair. He never seems to catch on to the fact that he is the thing that frightens you, not the noise.
• He spends most of his time downstairs, so that’s where you end up as well. Occasionally you stay upstairs, helping with other housework, but most often you get carried downstairs right after meals, set up on a little makeshift bed where he can keep an eye on you. He sits with you between his chores, pulling you up against his side with one big arm and keeping you in place against him.
• You might not warm up to the cooking right away, but he isn’t going to let you skip meals. If you don’t eat on your own, he’ll insist, forcing small bites of meat into your mouth until you successfully keep them down. He brings you food as often as he can, usually letting you eat whatever you want from his plate before he eats himself and he’s careful to make sure that you actually swallow all the food you take.

Jason

• He has a big protective instinct anyways and with someone who plays up to the urge to care for and protect them, he’ll be unstoppable. But what might start out as a desire to keep you safe will quickly become an overwhelming need to just keep you. He sees how soft you are, how gentle, and he wants it all for himself.
• He isn’t mean on purpose, but he isn’t used to caring for anyone else, let alone a normal human who is more delicate than he is. His hands are rough when they touch you and leave bruises even when he tries to be gentle. You flinch away from him sometimes and even though he understands why, he can’t help but be angry when it happens.
• Right from the beginning, it’s established that you have to ask for what you want. He does his best to allow you as much freedom as he can, letting you out onto the porch to sit in the sun or following behind as you walk a short path around the cabin. But he can’t always let you do as you please, often denying you access to anything out of a certain distance from the cabin, and never when he isn’t with you.
• Any attempt to leave is met with a frightening amount of rage. He doesn’t hurt you, but you can’t help but be afraid that he might when you get caught sliding open an unlocked window. He’ll lock the bedroom door if he has to and you don’t get another chance to sneak out of a window after he nails them all shut.
• He’s very affectionate, pulling you into his lap and just sitting with you, on the couch or outside in the grass. He’s content to do all the work, petting your hair and pressing the mask against your cheek in a half kiss, but he’ll be overjoyed if you so much as settle against his chest or sigh while he strokes your hair.

Vincent

• Someone who’s too polite/nervous/naive to tell him he’s being creepy? Perfect match. He’s a romantic, or what he thinks is romantic, which really just comes across as passive aggressive and unsettling. Any sort of rejection will make him cold and angry, so you’ve got to play along if you want to keep him happy.
• He sort of just skips over the whole beginning portion of the relationship and jumps straight to ‘we’re a couple and you’re mine’, even though it’s only been a week. He likes to stay close to you as much as he can, keeping you in the room while he works and curling up in the same bed when he sleeps.
• Very jealous of anything that manages to catch your attention for any amount of time. You rely on him to bring you things, mainly books, to keep yourself entertained in the house, but he’ll refuse to if he’d rather you spent the time with him. He’ll whittle down your options until you have to pay attention to him - ideally, you’ll sit around all day waiting for him to show up and keep you company.
• He might give up eventually if you were loud and angry, fighting him every step of the way, but your quiet, resigned attitude keeps him hoping that you’re not as disinterested as it sometimes seems. He does his best to keep you happy, to show you how well he can care for you, and he knows that one day his efforts will be rewarded. 
• He takes any attempt to leave very personally. It’s one of the only times you’ll see him truly angry, a firm grip on your arm as he drags you back into the house. The anger only lasts as long as it takes for him to wear himself out, breaking things in the basement and throwing supplies around the room, but afterwards he’s very depressed. He’ll crawl over to you, forcing his head into your lap and begging you to tell him what he’s done wrong.

Chapter Text

• Head pats. It’s the most common gesture he uses to communicate - goodbye head pat, hello head pat, pay attention to me head pat. Sometimes it doesn’t even mean anything, he just uses it as an excuse to ruffle your hair. 
• Loves to lounge around doing nothing. When there’s something he wants to do, he’s unstoppable, but otherwise he’s content to stretch out on the couch and just lay around. If you want to sit on the couch as well, you’ve got to find a place around his limbs, or just give up and lay over him. 
• He isn’t exactly a cuddly person, but he wants a lot of contact with you. Sitting close enough that your thighs touch, laying your legs over his lap, or just leaning against his shoulder is fine, so long as he can feel your touch. 
• When he’s asleep, he’s a kicker. Hand touches his side when you roll over? Kick. Too many blankets? Kick. Not enough blankets? Kick. He doesn’t do it on purpose, but you have to get very good at anticipating his moves in your sleep. 
• NSFW He’s a biter, and not always in the nice, sexy way. No gentle love bites or playful nips, you get full, open mouthed presses of sharp teeth into your flesh. The bruise will stay clearly outlined on your skin for a long time, always followed by new, fresh marks. 
• NSFW Very heavy handed, almost to the point of being too rough. He doesn’t just push you into the bed, but grabs your neck and holds you against the mattress by your hair. He isn’t being rough on purpose, but he doesn’t do the slow, teasing approach. 
• NSFW Unlike OG Mikey, he’s actually got some manners and won’t jump you the moment you walk in the door. He’s still not exactly subtle about it though, and he’ll simply come up behind you and start undoing buttons or pulling clothing off.
• NSFW Very much the possessive type, and the most noticeable way he shows it is by kissing. He isn’t usually much of a kisser, unless you start it he doesn’t bother, but when he’s feeling jealous you can hardly keep his mouth off of you.

Chapter Text

The door to the basement is half open, the warm flickering light from the room beyond guiding you down the dark hall. The familiar, steady sound of work being done is audible from the other side, a rhythmic scraping noise that you know means that Vincent is here. Standing by the table, probably, bending over the still malleable form of the museum’s newest addition, molding the wax back into shape to resemble the features that it covers.

Slipping past the door, you find that your imagination wasn’t far off. Vincent’s back is to you, but he is clearly working on a new figure, hands and clothes coated with half dried wax. He doesn’t know you’re there yet, and you can see the difference in how he moves when he thinks no one is there to see, hands quick and sure as they pick and choose tools.

“Hey,” you greet him quietly, trying not to interrupt. “Glad to see you’re back.”

Vincent doesn’t jump, but you can see him go tense, turning to look at you over his shoulder. You have no idea what expression he wears under the mask, but you hope that he isn’t angry that you had come to visit in the middle of his work.

“Hope they didn’t give you much trouble. Bo said it was only two of them, wasn’t it?”

He lets you approach and you come to stand next to him, looking a little nervously at the figure on the table. You had looked through the museum before, but it was different to see the half formed sculpture.

“Everything go well, then? You were gone for a while.”

Turning away from the table, you look up at him, slightly unnerved at his silence.

You stumble under the sudden weight of his arms around your shoulders, pressed back against the edge of the old table as he leans on you. The lips of the mask brush your own in a soft kiss and you smile, curling your fingers into the worn material of his shirt.

Vincent pulls away from you, suddenly timid, eyes low and not meeting yours.

“I missed you.”

The words are mumbled, the rasp of his voice making it harder to understand, but you hear the quiet confession anyways. Your smile turns into a smirk as you look up at him, trying to meet his shy gaze.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Sorry.”

Vincent huffs, sounding embarrassed, and puts a little more distance between the two of you with a half step back. You hadn’t minded being trapped against the table, pressed against his warm chest, but you don’t mention his sudden desire for space. It takes two of your steps to close the gap between you now, but you move closer, nuzzling your face gently against his shoulder.

“Bo said you needed patching up?”

Vincent is stiff under your touch, but he doesn’t move away as you cling to his arm.

“Where are you hurt?”

His reply is a strange grunt, a mess of words and sounds that come out incomprehensible. You almost want to laugh at how nervous he is to receive any affection from you, but you know he wouldn’t appreciate it.

You pull away, hand still in his, and tug him away from the work table. He follows obediently, allowing you to gently push him into an old armchair.

“Alright, let me see.”

Vincent readily holds out his arm for your inspection, gingerly rolling up one sleeve. His limbs have more scars than you’d like, thin pink lines and raised, white bubbles of tissue. Most of them were the result of some traveler or another catching him off guard, but others were from simple nicks and scrapes obtained during his work. However they came to be, you don’t like the reminders that he had ever been in pain.

A new mark is present now, a painful looking scrape on his forearm, just below the bend of his elbow. It isn’t bad, bruised and raw but only barely bleeding, specks of red dotting the surface of his skin.

You touch his arm, one hand on his wrist and the other holding up his sleeve, turning his arm to get a better look. He’s still dirty from whatever had gone on while you were out, dust and debris stuck to the wound, but nothing to stitch or bandage. It isn’t bad, but you’re still going to fuss over him.

There are first aid supplies tucked into an old tackle box, half hidden on a low shelf littered with cans of paint. You only know it’s there because this isn’t the first time you’ve had to use it. There are plenty of clean bandages inside, but the can of saline wash is nearly empty. You pour what’s left onto the corner of a gauze pad, making a mental note to buy more the next time you go into town.

“You’re lucky it’s not that serious,” you start, dabbing lightly at the wound. “Just a little scrape. Don’t even need me to fix you up, really.”

“Like when you do it.”

Your hands falter a little, looking at Vincent with surprise. He meets your eyes, staring at you for a few seconds with an unusually confident gaze, before he looks away. You can feel your heart beating faster, a twinge of heat spreading over your cheeks.

“You know you don’t have to be hurt to get my attention, right?”

Vincent mutters something quiet in reply, but you don’t catch any of the words.

The scratch on his arm didn’t need much attention, already taken care of with a few wipes of the bandage, and he’s quick to take back his arm, pulling down the sleeve of his sweater to cover it. You frown as he fidgets nervously under your scrutiny, purposely keeping yourself in front of him so that he can’t leave the chair.

Bracing your hands on his knees, you lean over him, suddenly at eye level and staring him down. Vincent freezes under your hands, too surprised to look away when his gaze meets yours. When you lift a hand, sliding it over the curve of his shoulder, you see his attention shift and the muscle under your hand goes stiff. He stutters out a hushed cry as your palm cups his throat, but you ignore him, pressing up until the tip of your thumb brushes his jaw.

The edge of the mask barely touches your fingers, but he’s quick to grab at your wrist, fingers digging into your skin. This close to him, you can hear the harsh huffs of breath behind the mask and feel the slight tremble in the hand around your wrist. You don’t press it, letting your fingers brush against the mask but going no further.

You’ve kissed Vincent before, or rather, you’ve kissed the mask. Pressing your lips against it now, you find it warm and solid, smiling when you feel him lean ever so slightly into you. There was no way he could feel your touch through the wax, but you knew he wanted to.

Chapter Text

When you left your bedroom, you weren’t surprised to find the rest of the house empty. It was late, well into early morning, and you knew that everyone else was still asleep at this hour. It was odd to walk through the normally noisy home and hear nothing but the rustling of wind beyond the windows, but you were restless. Your eyes were heavy and tired, but sleep hadn’t come no matter how long you had stayed in bed.

A noise makes you jump, a hoarse sound from somewhere behind you in the dark hall. With a hand over your heart, you whip around, looking into the shadows for the source. There is a moment of alarm when you spot it, a huge figure lurking at the end of the hall.

“Bubba,” you hiss, letting out a breath of relief. “You scared me!”

Bubba shuffles forward, quiet whines of apology on his lips. His shoulders are hunched, head bowed towards the ground, and you recognize the groveling posture as one he frequently uses around his brothers.

Your face softens, reaching out to pat his forearm reassuringly. “It’s alright,” you say. “Just surprised me, is all.”

He looks relieved to hear that you’re not angry, meeting your eyes for half a second to give you a shaky smile. You smile back, watching his eyes flick away and then back again nervously.

“What are you doing up so late? You should be asleep.”

Bubba couldn’t answer you, you knew, but his reply wasn’t terribly hard to understand. He shrugs his shoulders, eyes back on the floor again, mumbling something incomprehensible under his breath.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He’s dressed in an oversized sleeveless shirt and loose pants, bare feet on the worn wooden floors, so it’s not hard to guess that he had gotten out of bed to wander the house. Bubba nods quickly, pleased that you had understood.

“I was going to make something to eat, do you want to help out?”

He seems very eager to accept your offer, following close behind as you make your way into the kitchen.

The door of the fridge squeals when you open it, dingy light flooding the dark room. You don’t have much to choose from when it comes to late night snacks, and a quick look into the pantry doesn’t prove any more successful.

“Well,” you start, biting at your lip. “Not much, huh? What about this?”

Among the various canned vegetables you find a single, dented can of sliced peaches. Who knows how long it had been there, but you had never noticed it before, so hopefully no one else would miss it either.

“Can you open the can for me? I’ll get us a bowl.”

You turn away, reaching for the cabinet door, but a loud crash freezes you in place. The sound echoes off the walls and you stay still even after the noise has stopped, expecting to hear the rest of the family rushing downstairs. You wait a few seconds, but hear nothing other than the beat of your heart in your ears.

Glancing back to Bubba, you’re horrified to see the smashed remains of a big, glass pitcher scattered over the floor. That would definitely be missed in the morning, even if the noise hadn’t woken anyone. You knew immediately that you would have to take the blame, and whatever punishment Drayton came up with, to keep Bubba from getting the worst of it.

Bubba startles when you turn to him, shrinking in on himself under your worried gaze.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

You say the words louder than you had meant to and you pause when he flinches away from you, a nervous look in his eyes. He stoops over, both to make himself look smaller and to start picking up the broken glass, glancing up at you warily and whining. A streak of red, standing out brightly over his fingers, leaks droplets onto the floor as he picks at the mess.

“No,” you say softly, gesturing for him to stop. “Come here, let me clean your hand up. I’ll get the glass in a minute.”

Bubba looks unsure, but allows you to put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him up and towards the sink. He avoids looking up and his steps are hesitant, but he doesn’t pull back when you gently turn his hand over to look at the wound.

Your gaze travels over each thick finger, trying to determine how bad the damage is. His hands shake in your grasp, but you think it’s probably due to his nerves rather than from pain. The biggest cut is on his palm, right below his fingers, and it’s welled up with blood but not deep enough to be concerning.

Keeping your touch light on his wounded hand, you grab a clean dishcloth from the counter and hold it over the cut, pressing your own palm against his to add pressure. Linking your fingers with his, you smile up at him.

“There, that should stop it bleeding. Does it still hurt?”

Your attention turning to him seems to catch Bubba off guard. He makes a startled noise, jolting a little under your hands, and you see him wince when his hand bumps against yours.

“Shh, it’s fine,” you murmur, keeping your eyes on his. “Gimme a second and it’ll feel better.”

With your fingers still laced between his, you tug until you’re close enough to bring his hand up to your lips, firmly pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. Even with the mask on, you can see his face bloom with color, spreading down his neck and past the collar of his shirt.

“Better?” You ask with a teasing smile.

His mouth is slack, eyes wide open and staring down at you. Bubba whines, looking almost confused, and you see his eyes glance to the side nervously. He turns, fingers untangling with your own, and you know that he means to hide from you now. Before he can retreat you reach for him, grabbing his arms and gently pulling him back. When your soft lips touch his own you feel him gasp, almost stumbling backwards in surprise. He reels away from your sudden affection, or tries to - you catch him again, pressing a harder kiss to his lips.

You have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach him, but he’s suddenly eager, bending over you to force his mouth harder against yours. Whatever shyness he had before is gone in seconds, loud squeals muffled against your lips.

Even leaning down, Bubba towers over you, but you manage to latch one hand on his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt and tugging him closer. You can feel him shudder when you dig in your nails, the bulk of him blocking out everything else. He doesn’t stop squealing even with your mouth covering his, teeth clicking against yours in his eagerness.

Bubba’s hands clutch at your shoulders tightly, the almost painful grip keeping you in place when a sudden jerk of his hips pushes your back against the sink. Your eyes go wide, surprised by the forceful action - you hadn’t expected more than a few wet, clumsy kisses from the man who was usually too shy to even look you in the eyes.

His focus seems to change, mouth drifting away from yours as he concentrates on grinding his cock into the soft flesh on your abdomen. Hot, heavy breaths puff against your cheek, and you’re close enough now to more clearly see his expression under the mask - face flushed a bright red that crept down his neck, mouth slack with the tip of a pink tongue flicking at his lower lip.

You stretch up, reaching to press more soft kisses against his trembling mouth, while he pushes his cock clumsily against you. Bubba’s hands hold onto your shoulders, as much for his own support as to keep you in place, and you think eagerly of how easy it would be for him to lift you. He could sit you on the edge of the counter and your loose clothing could be quickly pulled aside, just enough to let him fit between your legs. If the hard rutting against your stomach was any indication, he’d be more than eager to do so.

“Bubba,” you moan against his mouth. “Up, please.”

You pull at his hands, urging him to lift you up so that you can get your legs around his waist, but he only tightens his hold on you. His hips move against you in a slow, inexperienced rhythm, and you burn with the need to have him bucking into your cunt instead.

“Oh, Bubba, please -”

A sudden, hard thrust rocks into you and he stays there, back arched and body tense. A loud squeal echoes in your ear, his face buried into your neck. Both of his hands fly down to your hips, pulling you against him in abrupt, jerking movements that nearly lift your feet from the ground. With a gasp you hold onto his arms, feeling the wet pulse against your abdomen that you knew was his release.

Your breathing is still heavy, a weight between your legs full and unsatisfied, but you ignore it for the moment. Instead, you pat his arms and shoulders as he slowly relaxes, breathlessly muttering soft words in his ear. Bubba pants against your neck, the hands still on your hips shaking, the both of you only kept upright by the hard press of the counter behind you.

The insistent heat between your own legs would have to wait, you knew, seeing the first hint of dawn starting to lighten the sky outside. It wouldn’t be long before the rest of the family woke up, and you still had a mess on the floor to clean up - but you would show Bubba how to make it up to you later.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was a mess. Bloody footprints were pressed into floor, the back door still swung open and letting in the humid summer air. The counter closest to the door was streaked with red, everything on its surface swept to the ground when Michael had stumbled inside. He had barely made it into the house, dripping blood and holding his arm over a rough, wet patch on his chest. You had to bite back the panic that flooded through you, ignoring the suffocating feeling in the back of your throat as you rushed to help him.

Supplies were gathered around the sink, a messy pile of all of the medicine and gauze you could find in the house, but you still weren’t sure that it would be enough. Michael had never come back this badly injured before and you didn’t have anything more complex than aspirin and bandages on hand.

You had tried to bring him to the bathroom, hoping to make the process easier on the both of you, but it was no use. Despite your support, the two of you had nearly toppled over just a few steps into your journey. Michael had let out a frustrated growl, leaning heavily against you and struggling to keep his feet on the floor. He was too big for you to move without help, so you had to reluctantly shuffle him back towards the table.

Pausing to catch your breath, you glanced with worried eyes between your meager supplies and the wounded killer sitting at your kitchen table. You could only hope he wasn’t as bad off as he looked.

Peeling away the stained coveralls, you winced at the mess of flesh underneath. The material was soaked through, sticky and dark with blood, and for once it wasn’t someone else’s. It was hard to tell exactly how bad the wound was through all the blood, but you knew this wasn’t the only one you would be patching up tonight. Just the small glimpse of him you had now was going to take a lot of work to put back together, and you haven’t even approached the topic of removing the mask yet.

Michael’s neck was streaked with red, clearly a sign that his face was injured, but he hadn’t taken the mask off himself and you were reluctant to try it on your own. The mask itself had stains of pink and red, but there was no other damage to it that you could see. He seemed to be better at keeping that thing in one piece than he was himself.

“Okay,” you start, hands trembling as you pull away a few inches more of the material over his chest. “Just tell me if it hurts, alright?”

You say it more to comfort yourself than Michael, knowing that he likely won’t object to whatever you need to do. This wasn’t the first time you had needed to play nurse, but you still weren’t used to it, and the sight of so much blood and pink flesh still made your skin crawl.

With a gentle hand, you wipe at the blood as best you can, but the more you pull at the wound, the more it bleeds. Wincing, you give up on any attempt at cleaning for the moment, pressing a thick bandage over it instead. Michael grunts quietly when you press against it, drawing in a few ragged breaths and hissing them back out. You want to offer medicine, something to help with the pain, but he’s vehemently turned that down in the past.

Looking up, you catch his gaze, eyes slightly unfocused but not unaware. Michael blinks back at you slowly, and this close you can see flakes of dried blood stuck to the skin around his eyes.

“You gonna let me take that thing off?” You sigh, not quite brave enough to reach for the mask on your own. “I know you’re hurt under there too.”

Michael doesn’t move, slumped against the chair and staring back at you with blank eyes and hands still limp in his lap. His breathing is shaky, but much steadier than it had been before, and you can feel your own panic starting to fade.

“Alright,” you say, looking back at the bloody gauze still stuck to his chest. “I guess not.”

Your fingers tug lightly at the edge of the bandage, beginning to pull it away from the sticky wound underneath. The bleeding is mostly stopped, small trickles welling up as the pressure is removed, but it’s enough for you to properly clean it now.

You feel Michael tense under your hand, fingers curling into fists and a half stifled groan rumbling up from his chest.

“Sorry,” you mutter, trying to be more gentle. “It’s almost off.”

Another few inches of gauze, wet and red, is pulled free, and you let out a shaky breath of your own. You tug again, ready to pull the last of it off in one quick go, but Michael pulls away, slapping at your hands. He’s panting now, leaning back in the chair to put some distance between you, a trembling hand hovering over the wound as though guarding it. The bandage hangs from his skin, the bottom half of it still stuck.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, patting his arm and jerking back when he half heartedly swipes at you. “I told you to tell me if it hurt.”

Michael hunches over, hiding the wound and glaring at you. You huff, but there’s no going forward if he doesn’t want you to.

“You can’t just leave it like that,” you insist, picking up a clean bandage. “Let me get the blood off, at least.”

He doesn’t budge, but tenses when you inch closer, starting to reach for him. You pause, watching him for a moment and knowing that you’re not likely to get much further now. Lowering your hands, you scoot away, pulling yourself up with one hand on the table. Michael watches, but you already know better than to keep trying. He had put up with your clumsy attempts for longer than you had expected, really. You can’t do anything more for Michael, but there is still the mess he’s left in his wake, blood and dirt already drying on the floors.

With a sigh, you look around, wondering where to start. You’ll need a mop for sure, and the rugs will have to be washed again, or thrown away if the stains don’t come out. The blood trailed half into the hallway, a result of your attempt to walk him to the bathroom, and that meant cleaning the carpets as well.

You start to step away from the table, but a soft grunt catches your attention. Glancing back to Michael, you watch him for a moment, still sitting in place with a hand pressed against his chest. He’s slow to move, but a hand trails across the table, grabbing at the clean bandage you had abandoned. The blood on his hands rubs off on the white gauze as he clutches it and you think for a moment that he means to clean his own wounds. He must have done so before he had you to look after him, you supposed.

When his other hand reaches for the mask, tugging the thing over his head in a clumsy rush and dropping it to the floor, you don’t even have time to be surprised. Michael’s face is bruised, a busted lip coating his mouth and teeth with blood, and you can feel the pity welling up in your chest. Whoever he had been after had certainly put up a good fight, but you can only think that he looks miserable and tired, staring at you with half lidded eyes.

Michael holds out the bandage to you, clearly an invitation.

“Poor thing,” you mutter under your breath, turning back to him. “Will you let me clean up your face, then?”

Michael doesn’t resist when you take the bandage from his hand, closing his eyes with a tired sigh.

Chapter Text

Brahms wasn’t stupid. Curled up on the couch, his head resting on your thigh while you patiently read aloud, he could tell that you were up to something. You had been the one to suggest a story, coaxing him to sit next to you and listen, begging with pouty lips that promised a reward if he obeyed. Fingers stroking through his hair, your voice was quiet and soft as you spoke, but he saw the little glances you stole over the pages of your book - you were waiting for him to fall asleep.

He was only curious at first, closing his eyes as you read and letting himself relax under your gentle hand. He wanted to follow, to see what secrets you might be hiding when you slipped away, tracking you through the walls until he realized you were heading towards a familiar destination.

A sharp thrill ran through him when he saw you carefully sneaking through the bedroom door. It had been months since he had needed to spy on you there, now able to take you aside and tug away whatever clothing he desired without waiting. He could still do that now if he wanted, follow you through the door and catch you by surprise, and it would certainly be much more satisfying that way. But he would wait, he decided, find out why you were sneaking and hiding before reminding you that you were his.

-

The door closes with a small click, a quiet sound that still echoes down the halls of the big house. You wince, waiting and listening, but the familiar sound of approaching footsteps doesn’t come. Hand on the doorknob, you stay still, barely breathing, and listen harder. No footsteps, no creaking floor boards, no odd sounds from inside the walls. Brahms hadn’t heard you.

You can count the amount of times you’ve had a moment to yourself this month on one hand. Privacy was something that Brahms, apparently, didn’t value very much, because he was two steps behind you, constantly. You woke up with his long limbs wrapped around you, made breakfast while he clung to your waist, and spent the day being tugged around the house with one big hand over yours. It had been sweet at first, and you had gladly let him attach himself to you, but it had become overbearing very quickly.

The lock of the door clicks into place, thankfully much quieter than before, and you hurry to get everything started. You had left Brahms downstairs, asleep on the big leather couch in the study, but you didn’t know how long he would nap for, now that you had left. He seemed to have a sixth sense for when you were around and you weren’t certain that you could finish up before he woke.

The noise of the running water is loud, a deafening roar that you can only pray doesn’t reach the downstairs. The luxury of a bath, alone, was something that you hadn’t experienced at all since coming here. The house had multiple bathrooms, many with tubs big enough to accommodate two people, but you were a little tired of having to spend your relaxation time pampering Brahms instead.

You don’t bother adding anything to the water, simply filling the tub and slipping in. Just having the ability to freely move your limbs was amazing, stretching out your legs without having to make room for another, much bigger, person. Brahms would be upset that you had slipped away, but you would just have to deal with the aftermath later.

The rare moment of privacy is enough to relax you on its own, sinking down into the warm water as far as you can go. You close your eyes, trying to make the moment last as long as you can, and listen to the gentle dripping of water from the faucet.

-

The space behind the walls is dark, almost black, but Brahms knows his way around the secret paths too well to get lost now. He has to go the long way, slipping inside from several rooms away so that you don’t hear him, and a flutter of panic builds in his stomach at the time it takes him to reach the bedroom - whatever you’re doing, he’s missing it!

The pipes between the walls hum and groan, alerting him to your location even before he hears the running water. It takes him a few seconds to find the right spot to see you from, flitting back and forth until your form comes into view. It’s an odd angle, glimpsing your reflection in the corner of the mirror rather than directly, but it’s enough to let him know what you’re doing. You lift one leg, dipping your foot into the water to test its warmth, and he lets out a frustrated huff when he realizes that this was what you had abandoned him for.

The first thing Brahms thinks of is how angry he is. You wanted to be alone? He could leave you alone, if that’s what you wanted, stay in the walls and ignore your calls and pleas for him to come out, no matter how worried you sounded. The thought of you missing him sounded very good right now and he could imagine how upset you would be when you realized he was the one ignoring you. But he wouldn’t come out, not until you were desperate for him -

A noise echoes off the walls of the bathroom, a quiet little whine that makes his cock jolt between his legs. Brahms knows that noise, he’s heard you make it before, and he focuses back on the little window into the room beyond. You’ve moved and he can’t see much of anything from this position now, but the sound comes again, louder. He lets out his own whine, frustrated and needy, crawling around behind the walls as he rushes to find another vantage point. He knows where you are now, and when Brahms finally sees you, body submerged in the bath water and eyes closed, the anger comes back. He’s seen you do this before, fingers buried in your cunt and a pink flush over your skin, but not for a long time. Not now that you had him to do it for you, and he has to choke back a mad, needy groan at the thought of you doing this to yourself.

Brahms watches your leg lift out of the water, foot planted against the tile as you angle your hips, biting at your lip to stifle the moan he knows must be working it’s way up your throat. He doesn’t think about being angry anymore, hands flying to his waist to draw his cock out. A noise of relief escapes him, hands jerking roughly around the aching flesh, setting a hurried pace.

He watches you, eyes half lidded and lips parted, letting out quiet, muffled noises that you’re quick to stifle with your free hand. You didn’t do that when he was with you - were you trying to be quiet? To keep him from hearing you moan?

Brahms presses his cheek against the inside of the wall, leaning forward to rut his hips forward eagerly. He has to slow himself to try and match his pace with your own, changing from hurried thrusts to slow, lingering pushes into his fist.

The water in the tub moves in waves, lapping at your body as you writhe, and Brahms is suddenly not satisfied with just the touch of his hands. His eyes follow the line of your arm, stretched across your body, to the hidden spot between your legs where he knew your fingers were buried. That’s what he wants, he knows, watching with a furious jealousy as you whimper in the bath, slowly rocking yourself through a quiet orgasm.

-

You let yourself sink into the water, limbs feeling pleasantly limp as they float in the bath. Quick huffs of breath bring in the scent of warm water and you let yourself do nothing but lay there, relaxed and content. There isn’t much time, you know, before Brahms will wake up and come looking, but right now you don’t have enough energy to think about it.

Closing your eyes, you get a few seconds longer to idle in the water, before you realize with a rush of panic that Brahms is on the other side of the door. You can hear him, bare feet shuffling over the floor, stomping up to the door and fumbling with the doorknob. A few muffled, wailing calls of your name echo into the bathroom and you roll your eyes at his overdramatic cries. Not even enough time to enjoy the afterglow.

“I’ll be out in a little bit, Brahms,” you call back, a frustrated groan building when you hear him continue to pull at the door. “Just give me, like, ten minutes. I’ll be out soon.”

“I woke up and you were gone.”

A particularly hard pull at the door rattles it in the frame and you wonder for a moment if he’s actually going to bust down the door to get to you.

“Come out!”

“I’m not done yet,” you reply, but you sit up anyways, knowing you’re not going to be able to stay now that Brahms has found you. “Can’t you wait for a little bit?”

The quiet that follows your question is ominous, a resonating silence that makes you pause. You lean over the edge of the tub, trying to see if his shadow is still on the other side of the door, but a sudden thud makes you jump. A pitiful noise comes from him, fists banging heavily on the door in time with his whines.

“I need you to come out.”

You freeze in place, half out of the water and staring at the door with wide eyes. The deep rumble of his natural voice isn’t something you’re used to hearing, but you recognize immediately that it means you’re in trouble.

You need to get up, to rush out and placate him before his temper gets worse. The tile floor is slick under your wet feet, water sloshing as you dart out of the bath, reaching for the towel you had left on the counter. He must hear you because the pounding on the door gets more insistent, a growing beat that makes you panic, hastily picking up the towel as you slide over the tile.

“I’m coming,” you hiss, holding the towel over the front of your body, but too rushed to wrap it around yourself. “Hold on!”

You reach the door, sliding over the tile, but hesitate to unlock the door. Brahms whines and growls on the other side of it, and while you aren’t afraid he’ll hurt you, you know what’s going to happen once there’s nothing between you. You can already feel the harsh grip of his hands, holding and squeezing, pulling you to the bed if you’re lucky, but more likely to push you to the floor in his haste to claim you.

“Brahms.”

You lean away from the door when he thuds a fist against it in response, but you don’t give in just yet.

“Brahms,” you repeat, voice firmer now. “Were you watching me?”

Silence. There is a muffled huff from the other side, the clink of the porcelain mask as he leans against the door.

“That’s against the rules, isn’t it?” You say, the tone of your voice becoming accusing. “You’re not allowed to spy on me, we agreed.”

“No,” he mutters, rattling the door handle. “You were gone, I was just looking.”

“You were spying,” you say, unable to hold back the delight you feel at catching him up in the rules he’s been so quick to trap you with. “That means you get punished, doesn’t it?”

His breathing is shaky, but you don’t hear any more protests or demands from him. You knew it was the ‘threat’ of punishment that had caught his attention - he would still get what he wanted, just not how he wanted, and you knew the anticipation of what exactly you would do was tempting.

“I was bad,” Brahms agrees slowly. “I’m sorry.”

You step away from the door, dropping your towel on the wet floor as you go. The water is lukewarm when you dip a foot back into the tub, but you don’t mind.

“Brahms, I’m going to finish my bath -”, he whines, a petulant noise that echoes through the door, “- that you interrupted. I’ll come out when I’m done.”

You settle back into the water, looking up at the ceiling with a smile.

Chapter Text

• First thing’s first - they do not get along. They both absolutely ignore anyone else’s boundaries/preferences/personal space, so of course this does not go over well when it happens to them. Despite this, they don’t just go their separate ways - for whatever reason, they’re a package deal and you’re stuck with both of them.
• Fighting is common. They both seem to realize that a full on throwdown would probably kill them both at worst or turn into a draw at best, so they stick to the occasional brawl or menacing stare off. You’re frequently patching up stab wounds and neither of them are free of bruises or other marks for very long.
• They don’t really compete with each other outright, but there is definitely a rivalry going on. One upping whatever the other does is constant, whether it’s getting more kills, more food, or more of your attention. RZ Mikey is more aggressive about it, whereas H18 Michael will bide his time instead of jumping at the first opportunity.
• Neither of them is good at sharing, let alone sharing a person. Everything you do is closely watched by both of them, looking for any sign of favoritism. You can do your best to split everything down the middle, but they’re both still trying to get more than the other, so you’re often used as a tie breaker. There’s only one of you, but they are both trying to keep you to themselves.

You had no idea what had started it. That was how it was most of the time, to be honest, since neither of them spoke and you were usually only clued in to what was going on once it had already happened. They played out whatever passive aggressive arguments they had while you were none the wiser, not until it came time to pick up the pieces and sew up the stab wounds.

This time was much the same, although it was one of the not so rare occasions that you were needed as more of a tie breaker than a nurse.

A rough shove is what brings your attention to them, your face pressed down into the couch by a heavy hand on your back. It knocks the breath out of you momentarily and you can feel your heartbeat jumping into your throat.

“Ow,” you huff, struggling to pull in enough air with your face buried in the cushions. “Mikey, ow!”

You aren’t sure that it’s him in particular, they both tended towards the rougher side, but you hoped it was him - he was the bigger of the two, but slightly more gentle than Michael, who wasn’t likely to let up at all even if you made your discomfort known. You soon found that it didn’t matter, though. The hand on your back was quickly joined by one on your hip, and then another in your hair, and a fourth gripping the nape of your neck. Both of them.

The hand in your hair jerks up, your head pulled back painfully until it can’t go any further. You wince, hands grasping at the cushions and trying to push yourself up to relieve the pressure, but the heavy weight on your back doesn’t let up.

It is definitely Michael in front of you pulling at your hair, the worn mask looking down at you with black eyes. The dark material of his coveralls has been unbuttoned and pushed down to his hips, the zipper undone and a hard, flushed cock only a few inches away from your face.

Behind you, Mikey pulls hurriedly at your clothes until your shorts slide down your legs, and you feel your whole body heat up as you realize they both mean to fuck you.

That seems to be the signal to proceed, because they move in unison to pull you onto all fours until you’re resting on your elbows and knees. Michael takes his spot in front of you, the hand in your hair tugging you forward to crawl over his lap until you’re resting over his thighs. It’s clear enough what he wants, so you open your mouth before he can force it open with his fingers, and he’s quick to guide you over his cock.

You get most of him fit into your mouth before Mikey makes his presence known, lifting you by the hips so that you have to scramble to support yourself at this new angle. When his cock slides into you from behind it catches you off guard, the noise of surprise you let out muffled by the flesh already in your mouth.

You pause for a moment, gasping for breath around the cock in your mouth while trying to adjust to the new one between your legs. A few wet breaths are all you get before a hand on the back of your head slams you forward, your throat suddenly full. You choke, struggling to breath through your nose, and only just manage to squeeze your hand around the base of Michael’s cock to stop yourself from gagging. A low, quiet noise of pleasure is heard from above you, hips rising to bury his cock deeper down your throat.

Mikey’s hands stay on your hips, nails digging into your sides and the violent pace he sets rocks you back and forth. Each thrust pushes you further and further down the cock in front of you, but you don’t have enough time to get used to the rhythm they set. You moan, but neither of them seem to pay any attention to the other, both of them rough and fast but pulling you in opposite directions with every thrust.

A hand on your inner thigh startles you, two of Mikey’s fingers dragging themselves through the slick that drips down your legs. You gag and whine, suffering another harsh tug on your hair in response. Both fingers trace up your leg, wiggling between the folds of your cunt until they’re pressed firmly against your clit, and you jerk against his hand. The force of his hips slamming into yours isn’t slowed at all, but the sudden attention paid to you after a quick start is almost overwhelming.

A high pitched sound, desperate and unsure, leaves your full mouth, legs beginning to shake. The pressure is too much too soon, a relentless press against your sensitive flesh that you can’t escape, even though you thrash under him. Tears prick at your eyes and you squirm uncomfortably, so focused on the overstimulation that you almost forget how hard it is to breath with Michael’s cock pumping half down your throat.

The climax almost hurts when it finally hits you, your body going stiff and tense until your muscles ache, but Mikey doesn’t let up even as you shake under him. He presses, harder and harder, against your clit but when the pressure is suddenly gone you let out a muffled sob of relief.

You’re already exhausted and the wet hand between your legs returning to grip your hip is the only thing keeping you up. Both of them keep up the hurried pace despite this and you feel a sharp pull at your hair, scalp burning and eyes watering, when your teeth press too firmly against Michael.

You force your jaw to relax, opening your mouth as wide as you can manage and letting him buck against your face. His other hand joins the first, fingers tangling into your hair on either side, holding you in place. You feel your throat spasm, breathing desperately through your nose and hoping that it would be enough to last you until he cums.

A hard pull brings you flush against his abdomen, lips parted around his cock and unable to do anything but swallow. Your eyes water, tears threatening to spill as your muscles fight to push him out, but the iron grip on your head is immovable. It was only a few moments, but it felt like forever before he finally let up and you were allowed to gasp for air.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• The first time he tries to sneak into your bed at night, you’re not even surprised - he’s clingy and needy all day, no reason for him to stop once the sun sets. He’ll listen to you the first few times you insist that he return to his own bed, but he loses patience quickly and will suddenly become incapable of hearing the word ‘no’.
• Once you let it slide for the first time, he figures he’s always going to get away with it, and considers himself permanently invited whenever you decide to go to bed. Even if he’s not there when you fall asleep, you’re going to notice halfway through the night when you’re suddenly unable to move out of his grasp.
• He can try to play it off with an excuse - he got lonely, he had a nightmare, etc. - but you’re not fooled at all. This is just another chance for him to keep himself the center of your attention, but you don’t have the heart to call him out on it.

Michael

• Throughout the night, you’re very much unaware that he’s even there at all. He keeps to his side of the bed and expects you to stay on yours, so as long as you aren’t used to spreading out, it’s not that different from sleeping alone.
• Once he’s fallen asleep, though, he tends to end up taking up much more than half the bed. You’ll wake up with no blankets, a missing pillow and your entire body slowly being pushed off the mattress.
• You are under no circumstances allowed to initiate cuddling, however if he happens to throw an arm over you, or not shove you away when you curl up into his side, then you are not to bring it up. Any mention of it will just ensure that he never lets it happen again, just to spite you.

Bubba

• Like most things, getting to share a bed with you is exciting. He’s very cuddly anyways, so getting to spend even more time holding you is just perfect. You might mistake his eagerness to get you into bed for something more flirty, but he just appreciates being close to you.
• Yes, it’s still ninety degrees at three in the morning. No, this is not going to stop him from holding you as close as he possibly can. Yes, you are going to wake up covered in sweat. Cuddling, hugging, or anything that lets him be physically close to you is always a top priority for him. Sleeping in the same bed is just the perfect combination of his favorite things.
• His bed is on the smaller side, even for one person, so two is a little cramped. You end up half on top of him to keep from falling off the bed, but he’s happy to let you use him as a giant pillow.

Thomas

• He doesn’t have a regular sleeping pattern, so you’re more likely to take a quick nap with him in the middle of the day than to get into bed for the night. He’s a deep sleeper, so when you crawl into bed beside him, he doesn’t even notice.
• You curl up behind him, face pressed against his back and clinging to him. It doesn’t take long before he realizes you’re nearby, even without waking up, and he rolls over to throw an arm over you and keep you close.
• He isn’t used to being so close to someone, so it can take him a while to get the hang of it. You’ll often get bumped or shoved accidentally before he remembers that you’re there, waking just long enough to tuck you back against his side before going back to sleep.

Jason

• He lets you take the lead when it comes to the less familiar parts of a relationship like this, so he’ll only join you if you ask him to. He’s used to spending time together on the couch, but this is different, and he’s a little unsure about what he should or shouldn’t do, so he just copies what you do.
• His body temperature is considerably cooler than a normal person, so you may have to add some extra blankets to make up for it. During the summer, though, sleeping with your face buried in his cool neck is a good way to escape the heat.
• He doesn’t actually sleep, but he’s happy to stay with you while you rest anyways. No matter how much you toss and turn, he’s always got an arm over you or a hand over yours.

Vincent

• You’ve slept in his bed quite a few times before you actually end up sharing it. No matter how much he insists that he’s nearly done, ‘ten more minutes’ really means ‘three hours’ and you’re usually awake again before he’s even considered going to bed.
• You can tell that he’s nervous, awkwardly waiting for you to invite him into his own bed after you get comfortable, but you don’t point it out. He doesn’t remove the mask, and you don’t mention that either.
• He has absolutely no idea what to do with himself when it does happen. He just sort of awkwardly lays there and lets you get comfortable however you like, even if that means suffering through the night in an uncomfortable position.

Chapter Text

Brahms

• He doesn’t wear the mask all the time, only when he’s expecting to be seen, so he’s perfectly comfortable without it. But it’s been so long since he’s been face to face with someone without it that he is definitely going to resist taking it off. It’s not really anything to do with his face or how he looks - you’re here because he wants you to be and he’ll find a way to make sure that’s how it stays, even if his appearance under the mask was somehow a dealbreaker.
• He’s reluctant to take it off, uncomfortable with you seeing him without it. You can’t outright ask him for something, because that will only make him all the more delighted to say no. If he figures out that it’s something that you want, he’ll only hold it over your head and tease you with the possibility without actually giving you what you want. The best way to get him to comply is the same way you get him to do anything else - get him horny enough and he’ll agree. Beg to be allowed to kiss him, or for him to put his mouth between your legs, and he’ll be too distracted to realize he’s giving in. 
• It won’t become a regular thing, even after he’s comfortable taking it off without bribery. Sometimes you can coerce him into spending a few hours without it, sitting on the couch together or having a proper meal at the table, and he’ll occasionally take it off before bed, but he still prefers to have it on more often than not. It’s become a comfort and a habit that he doesn’t want to break.

Michael

• For a long time, you’re not going to see anything except the mask. He’ll lift it up enough to eat if you’re in the room, but that’s as much as you see of him. You can ask, or try to pull it off yourself if you don’t mind getting stabbed, but you’re not going to get any kind of reply to your begging. He isn’t really trying to hide his face from you, because he doesn’t care to be seen without it, but he isn’t going to let his guard down around you either. 
• He doesn’t necessarily mind if you touch it, though, so long as he doesn’t think you’re trying to pull it off. You can touch it pretty freely, until he gets tired of your hands all over his face, and any kisses you get are done with the mask still in place - he just squishes his mouth against you like the mask isn’t there. It can be amusing to watch him huff and pant under the thing when it gets hot and he’s still too stubborn to actually take it off. 
• When you finally catch him without it, there is no big reveal. You just come home one day and he’s there, sitting around without the mask and completely ignoring your stare. Whether it was a chance encounter where you caught him off guard or he just got tired of wearing it 24/7, you aren’t sure. He’s less tolerant of his face being touched without it, but kissing is a lot easier. 

Bubba

• Taking the masks off for anything other than a quick change isn’t something he does often. He only has a few of them, but they each have their own place in his routine, which he sticks to stubbornly. 
• He’s very trusting of you, and even his brothers have never tried to forcefully remove one of his masks, so he has no fears about letting you touch his face at all. You can pet the hair, kiss the cheeks and even straighten the laces that keep it in place, he’ll be more than happy to let you fuss over him. He wouldn’t even mind you slipping a few fingers under the mask to tug at his own hair. 
• He’s very anxious about taking it off, but he doesn’t like to sleep in them, so if you’re sharing a bed he has to remove it eventually. It doesn’t come off until the lights are out and he’s quick to bury his face into the pillows or the side of your neck, but you can catch a few quick glances at him as he sleeps. Over time he won’t be as nervous, even letting you give him gentle kisses goodnight without the mask on. 

Thomas

• On his own, he would never remove it voluntarily. The masks are his face, and while he would do anything for his family, it would be selfish to ask him to do something so distressing, knowing that he wouldn’t want to. The whole thing is a sensitive subject and sometimes even mentioning the mask in general will put him in a foul mood. He has a temper, but usually turns it against himself, so you have to be careful to avoid pushing him too far. You can explain all you like that his appearance doesn’t matter and you won’t want to leave after seeing his face - he just outright won’t believe it, no matter how sweet, kind or caring you are. 
• Even with the mask on he doesn’t like his face being touched. You can get away with a few quick kisses to his mouth or chin if you’re fast enough, and over time he’ll allow you one or two without protest, but it’s not very often that you’re the one receiving a kiss from him. Touching the hair or cheek of the mask is fine, but once your hand finds his jaw, he’s nervous and ready to pull away. Getting anywhere near the neck or laces is not going to go well, even if it was an accident, and he’ll bolt away from you at the slightest hint that you might try to. 
• It would take a lot of begging, but you could talk him into removing it for a short time. He definitely wouldn’t be happy about it, so your time is limited to a handful of minutes at best, but it can still go wrong very quickly. He’s very willing to be obedient and do whatever you ask of him, but there’s still a limit to his tolerance, and any wrong move will get him angry and barging out of the room. Looking directly at his face is a sure way to have him upset, so even without the mask you aren’t going to get a good look at him anyways. 

Jason

• Right from the beginning, he doesn’t care much about taking the mask off. It usually stays on anyways, but it’s more out of convenience than a desire to hide behind it. He just doesn’t need to remove it and it’s already on, so why take it off? There is still a noticeable pause when the subject is first brought up, though. He isn’t exactly reluctant, but he remembers how others had reacted in the past. 
• He’s a little shy about having you close once the mask is off. It feels much more vulnerable than he had expected and he’s a little surprised that you’re still so affectionate even with his face uncovered. He quickly gets over any anxiety he had about it, though, eager to feel your lips and hands on his face. 
• It almost immediately becomes the routine for him to remove the mask when he’s inside the house. It’s always back on once he’s out the door, even if it’s just to join you on a walk, but the moment you’re back home, he’s nuzzling into your hair to encourage you to lift the mask up for kisses. 

Vincent

• He is not going to volunteer to take it off on his own, or even hint in any way that it might happen. The first time you bring it up, he’ll be angry. He’s either been dreading the possibility of you asking or it’s something that catches him off guard, but either way, he isn’t happy about it. You get the cold shoulder for the rest of the day, getting ignored or brushed off whenever you try to speak to him, but he doesn’t stay upset for long. Within the day he’ll seek you out, doing nothing to bring up the cause of the dispute but very clearly apologizing.
• Mostly he just wants to avoid the situation and pretend that you never brought it up in the first place, so if you play along, he’ll act like you never asked and everything will continue as it was. The more you bring it up, the more upset it makes him. His periods of coldness will get longer and he’ll get visibly angry at you. If you continue anyways, he’ll eventually try to distance himself completely - he would rather be alone again than have to see the way you’d look at him after seeing his face. 
• Removing the mask isn’t going to happen. But he could be convinced, after a long time and lots of promises, to lift it up enough for something quick like a kiss so long as you agree to keep your eyes closed. It takes a lot of promises and compromise to get even that, but if he feels like he can trust you not to peek, he’ll give in. It still only happens on rare occasions, but more often than not you can coerce a little kiss out of him by closing your eyes and pouting. 

Chapter Text

• Baking is the perfect way to spend the cold fall and winter days, sitting in the warm kitchen and watching the oven. Jason is always ready to help you around the house, but cooking isn’t something that he’s been able to pick up so far. You have to go slowly, walking him through the directions and keeping a close eye on every move he makes.
• Most of your supplies are pilfered items from the old campgrounds, so you have to get creative when it comes to bakeware. A big loaf of banana bread was what you had envisioned, but you suppose little cupcakes are just as good. 
• It’s more of a cooking lesson than anything else, showing him how to properly measure ingredients and watching as he instead dumps a handful of everything into one bowl. What should take about twenty minutes is going to take longer when you have to pick eggshell out of every mixture you make, but he’s very enthusiastic about it. 
• He doesn’t need to eat, but that doesn’t mean he can’t. Every time you make a meal, he gets his own plate and you just ignore any attempt he makes to explain to you that it’s not necessary. He learns very quickly to just take the plate and nod thank you. 
• You’re pretty sure the end result would have turned out better if you hadn’t had his help, but he doesn’t complain at all when it’s time to taste it. You’re sure to praise his efforts anyway and he’s eager to assist the next time you’re in the kitchen. 

“It’s good!” You exclaim, smiling around a mouthful of the worst baked goods you’ve ever tasted. “You should help me cook more often.”

When the cold fall air had started to creep into the cabin, you knew exactly what you needed to do to knock the chill out of the air. Baking had always seemed so cozy before, warming the house and scenting everything with a sweet, sugary smell. The actual food was just a bonus. 

However, the small muffin in your hand is a far cry from the soft, fluffy loaf of banana bread you had expected to end up with when you started. It was dry, unevenly baked, and tasted more like warm cardboard than anything else. But you take a second bite anyways, beaming up at Jason as he chews a mouthful of his own food. He smiles back at you, a shy curve of his lips that you always see when he’s being praised, and that smile is the only thing that gets you through the next three bites of your muffin. 

You reach for your glass of water, hoping that you don’t seem too eager to drink it down, desperate to get the taste of burnt bread out of your mouth. They had definitely been made with love, but that hadn’t done anything for the flavor. 

You had always wondered at Jason’s apparent lack of a need for food, even though he insisted in his own way that it wasn’t necessary when you made him a plate at dinner. You couldn’t help but worry, though, seeing him go so long without a meal, and he had long since learned to just take the plate and nod ‘thank you’. Maybe he didn’t need to eat, even if you doubted that, but surely he could still enjoy it. 

That theory was being disproven right in front of you. Jason has already eaten two of the horrible muffins, each consumed in only a few bites, and he was already reaching for a third. Sitting your glass down, you grab a hold of his wrist and pull his big hand into both of yours. 

“Don’t eat too many,” you say, fully intending to toss the rest of them once he was out of the house. “They’re a treat.”

Chapter Text

Bubba

• There’s not really a ceremony at all, but after a while it becomes clear that everyone else considers you a part of the family now. No one will really bring it up outright, but you slowly find yourself being referred to as Bubba’s spouse regardless of the lack of an official wedding.
• If you do bring it up, the family will quickly come around to the idea of having some kind of ceremony, even if it won’t exactly be a legal one. It’s the proper thing to do and besides, who needs some piece of paper from the government anyways?
• In reality it’s not much more than an extra nice dinner, maybe with a little more time spent dressing up. The celebrations put everyone in a better mood than usual, though that doesn’t mean a few arguments won’t break out at the table. 
• The wedding night likely isn’t different from any other, curling up together in Bubba’s too-small bed. You’ve spent all day preparing for the dinner and herding the brothers around the house in an attempt to get everything done on time, so Bubba has no problem with going straight to sleep after such a busy day.
• The early morning is when the traditional ‘wedding night’ fun will happen, once you’ve both had a chance to rest. Bubba is usually up before the sun rises to start working outside, but he’s very easily convinced to stay in bed a little longer. 
• Someone is going to have something snarky or sarcastic to say in the morning and the general peace you managed to pull together the previous afternoon is gone by breakfast. Things are mostly the same afterwards, though now you’re usually the one left ‘in charge’ when the eldest brother leaves. 

Thomas

• You won’t have a chance to bring up the idea of having a wedding - Mama isn’t about to let you so much as hold her boy’s hand without some kind of ring on your finger. The moment she suspects any kind of affection on your part, you’re made aware of her expectations. 
• It may not be a legal wedding, since you can’t exactly bring Thomas down to the courthouse, but it’s treated just as seriously. The rest of the family is just as eager as Luda Mae to have Thomas ‘settle down’. 
• Thomas isn’t a big fan of the noise and extra people in the house, so you can get him to hang around just long enough to sit through Hoyt’s attempt at a wedding service before heading for the basement. You sit at the dinner table for just long enough to seem polite before following after him. 
• While he probably doesn’t know what’s expected of a wedding night anyways, it’s no trouble to coax him to bed if you want to. He’s more than eager to occupy himself with whatever you ask for, so long as he doesn’t have to go back upstairs. 
• No matter what you get up to, you’re not likely to tire him out easily, so once you’ve drifted off to sleep he’s back up and working despite the late hour. He’ll wander back into bed at some point before the sun comes up, curling his arms around you. 
• The rest of the family is kind enough not to wake you in the morning, letting you both sleep as long as you like for once. Even though he went to sleep later, you still wake up to find Thomas already up and starting chores before breakfast is even finished.

Chapter Text

• He’s been left to care for himself for the majority of his life, with little to no direct human contact, and that’s really the reason he sticks so firmly to the roles of nanny and child. A nanny is obligated to care for him and so he keeps playing pretend, even if he doesn’t really need to anymore. 
• But he still remembers being little and staying in bed with a warm forehead or sore throat, too sick to have his lessons. He won’t let you go around the house feeling miserable and still trying to stick to the schedule. 
• He can’t cook most foods, but anything that doesn’t involve the stove is probably okay and he’s perfected the art of microwaving leftovers, so you aren’t going to go hungry. Even if you don’t ask for it, he’s going to have food ready to offer, leaving a sleeve of crackers by the bed just in case. 
• All you can really do is load up on medicine and wait it out, but he’s almost anxious for you to need something from him. He goes back and forth to get you water, a cool cloth, more blankets, and having him so eager to please is almost unsettling. 
• He won’t offer to do chores himself, but if you ask him to then they’ll get done with no complaints. There isn’t much that can’t wait anyways, but you can use this unusual circumstance to get out of doing the dishes for a few days. 
• As you get better, things slowly go back to normal, with Brahms stepping in to help with certain chores until you’re able to take over again. Afterwards he will absolutely bring up, over and over again, that he did laundry for two whole days in a row and so how can you expect him to lift a finger ever again?

The flick of the light switch is what wakes you up. You don’t open your eyes, already closed tightly against the light, but let out a tired groan of inquiry. There was no need to guess who had woken you, or why - your alarm had gone off twice already and each time you had ignored it. 

“You’re not up.”

You manage a quiet murmur in reply, but even you aren’t sure what the noise means. 

“It’s time to make breakfast.”

The bed creaks, his weight dipping into the mattress as he crawls onto the bed. You feel a hand tugging at the blankets around you and the sudden cold makes your eyes flutter open with a groan. The room is bright and you struggle to keep them open, but you can still see the outline of the blurry shape sitting next to you. 

“Sorry,” you rasp, finding it unusually difficult to get the words out of your throat. “Be up in a sec.”

You really do mean to get up, but the willpower to actually do so doesn’t come to you. The air is too cool on your flushed skin, but you don’t have the strength to reach for the blankets either, so you stay still, half asleep and trying to gather enough energy to do something other than lay there. 

A warm hand pulls you back out of the almost sleep you had fallen into, patting your cheek and tucking your messy hair behind your ear. 

“Are you sick? Your face is hot.”

“No, no,” you reply, pulling yourself back into consciousness. “I’m just sleepy. Give me a few minutes and I’ll start breakfast.”

Brahms takes his hand from your face, watching you slowly sit up and rake a shaky hand through your hair. Your head throbs as you sit upright and the low grunt of pain you let out catches in your dry throat. The room was cold and you weren’t looking forward to leaving the nest of warm blankets gathered around you, but you were already running behind schedule now. You were surprised that Brahms had waited as long as he did before waking you. 

“No.”

You protest quietly when he pulls you back, grabbing your shoulders and gently forcing you down into the pillows. With hazy eyes you blink up at him in confusion, but your body sinks back into the comfort of the bed without you meaning to. You know that you’re not going to be able to rouse yourself out of bed now, but the dull ache in your head eases a little as you lay back down so you don’t fight it. 

“I want to cook breakfast for you today,” Brahms says, bringing the blankets up to your chin and leaning down to nuzzle at your cheek. “Breakfast in bed.”

Chapter Text

• First thing’s first - they do not get along. They both absolutely ignore anyone else’s boundaries/preferences/personal space, so of course this does not go over well when it happens to them. Despite this, they don’t just go their separate ways - for whatever reason, they’re a package deal and you’re stuck with both of them.
• Fighting is common. They both seem to realize that a full on throwdown would probably kill them both at worst or turn into a draw at best, so they stick to the occasional brawl or menacing stare off. You’re frequently patching up stab wounds and neither of them are free of bruises or other marks for very long.
• They don’t really compete with each other outright, but there is definitely a rivalry going on. One upping whatever the other does is constant, whether it’s getting more kills, more food, or more of your attention. RZ Mikey is more aggressive about it, whereas H18 Michael will bide his time instead of jumping at the first opportunity.
• Neither of them is good at sharing, let alone sharing a person. Everything you do is closely watched by both of them, looking for any sign of favoritism. You can do your best to split everything down the middle, but they’re both still trying to get more than the other, so you’re often used as a tie breaker. There’s only one of you, but they are both trying to keep you to themselves.

You had no idea what had started it. That was how it was most of the time, to be honest, since neither of them spoke and you were usually only clued in to what was going on once it had already happened. They played out whatever passive aggressive arguments they had while you were none the wiser, not until it came time to pick up the pieces and sew up the stab wounds.

This time was much the same, although it was one of the not so rare occasions that you were needed as more of a tie breaker than a nurse.

A rough shove is what brings your attention to them, your face pressed down into the couch by a heavy hand on your back. It knocks the breath out of you momentarily and you can feel your heartbeat jumping into your throat.

“Ow,” you huff, struggling to pull in enough air with your face buried in the cushions. “Mikey, ow!”

You aren’t sure that it’s him in particular, they both tended towards the rougher side, but you hoped it was him - he was the bigger of the two, but slightly more gentle than Michael, who wasn’t likely to let up at all even if you made your discomfort known. You soon found that it didn’t matter, though. The hand on your back was quickly joined by one on your hip, and then another in your hair, and a fourth gripping the nape of your neck. Both of them.

The hand in your hair jerks up, your head pulled back painfully until it can’t go any further. You wince, hands grasping at the cushions and trying to push yourself up to relieve the pressure, but the heavy weight on your back doesn’t let up.

It is definitely Michael in front of you pulling at your hair, the worn mask looking down at you with black eyes. The dark material of his coveralls has been unbuttoned and pushed down to his hips, the zipper undone and a hard, flushed cock only a few inches away from your face.

Behind you, Mikey pulls hurriedly at your clothes until your shorts slide down your legs, and you feel your whole body heat up as you realize they both mean to fuck you.

That seems to be the signal to proceed, because they move in unison to pull you onto all fours until you’re resting on your elbows and knees. Michael takes his spot in front of you, the hand in your hair tugging you forward to crawl over his lap until you’re resting over his thighs. It’s clear enough what he wants, so you open your mouth before he can force it open with his fingers, and he’s quick to guide you over his cock.

You get most of him fit into your mouth before Mikey makes his presence known, lifting you by the hips so that you have to scramble to support yourself at this new angle. When his cock slides into you from behind it catches you off guard, the noise of surprise you let out muffled by the flesh already in your mouth.

You pause for a moment, gasping for breath around the cock in your mouth while trying to adjust to the new one between your legs. A few wet breaths are all you get before a hand on the back of your head slams you forward, your throat suddenly full. You choke, struggling to breath through your nose, and only just manage to squeeze your hand around the base of Michael’s cock to stop yourself from gagging. A low, quiet noise of pleasure is heard from above you, hips rising to bury his cock deeper down your throat.

Mikey’s hands stay on your hips, nails digging into your sides and the violent pace he sets rocks you back and forth. Each thrust pushes you further and further down the cock in front of you, but you don’t have enough time to get used to the rhythm they set. You moan, but neither of them seem to pay any attention to the other, both of them rough and fast but pulling you in opposite directions with every thrust.

A hand on your inner thigh startles you, two of Mikey’s fingers dragging themselves through the slick that drips down your legs. You gag and whine, suffering another harsh tug on your hair in response. Both fingers trace up your leg, wiggling between the folds of your cunt until they’re pressed firmly against your clit, and you jerk against his hand. The force of his hips slamming into yours isn’t slowed at all, but the sudden attention paid to you after a quick start is almost overwhelming.

A high pitched sound, desperate and unsure, leaves your full mouth, legs beginning to shake. The pressure is too much too soon, a relentless press against your sensitive flesh that you can’t escape, even though you thrash under him. Tears prick at your eyes and you squirm uncomfortably, so focused on the overstimulation that you almost forget how hard it is to breath with Michael’s cock pumping half down your throat.

The climax almost hurts when it finally hits you, your body going stiff and tense until your muscles ache, but Mikey doesn’t let up even as you shake under him. He presses, harder and harder, against your clit but when the pressure is suddenly gone you let out a muffled sob of relief.

You’re already exhausted and the wet hand between your legs returning to grip your hip is the only thing keeping you up. Both of them keep up the hurried pace despite this and you feel a sharp pull at your hair, scalp burning and eyes watering, when your teeth press too firmly against Michael.

You force your jaw to relax, opening your mouth as wide as you can manage and letting him buck against your face. His other hand joins the first, fingers tangling into your hair on either side, holding you in place. You feel your throat spasm, breathing desperately through your nose and hoping that it would be enough to last you until he cums.

A hard pull brings you flush against his abdomen, lips parted around his cock and unable to do anything but swallow. Your eyes water, tears threatening to spill as your muscles fight to push him out, but the iron grip on your head is immovable. It was only a few moments, but it felt like forever before he finally let up and you were allowed to gasp for air.

Chapter Text

“Vincent?”

He had been slumped in his seat, hands in his lap and staring down at the desk in front of him, but your words startle him out of his thoughts. You watch him snap to attention, head jerking around to look at you.

The table in front of him is stacked neatly with papers and books, a few photos and an old silver mirror. Things that you had never looked through, but you knew who this room had belonged to. Whatever the papers said, Vincent had been staring at them, completely still and quiet in the dimly lit bedroom. You couldn’t see his expression through the wax mask, but you didn’t think that it would be a happy one if you could.

Vincent is quick to stand, shoving the papers aside and walking towards you. He is suddenly animated and energetic, greeting you with a muffled noise and ushering you out of the doorway. You let yourself be gently pushed out of the room and into the hall, but you don’t step away when the door is closed behind him.

Vincent was tired, he always was, and you couldn’t remember the last time you had both gone to bed at the same time.

“I’m tired. Come downstairs and lets go to bed.”

He nods absently, shooing you further into the hall, and you know he isn’t really paying attention.

You reach out for him, tucking yourself against his chest and under his arms. Burying your face into his shirt, you sigh, feeling a little more content at being this close and hoping that he felt the same. It was sometimes hard to know if you were really making him happy and you couldn’t help but want to replace the sadness you could sometimes see in him.

The mask bumps against your forehead, a not so subtle interpretation of a kiss. You return it, lips ghosting over his collar.

“C’mon,” you urge him. “Let’s go to sleep.”

For a moment you thought that he was going to refuse. When it happened he did so gently, insisting that there were still things to finish, work to be completed, and he would sleep when he was done. He was never done, though.

Instead of a protest, Vincent only sighs, a deep, heavy breath that makes his shoulders slump.

“Ok.”

You pull away enough to wrap your hands around his wrist, turning around so that his arm is draped over your shoulders. Tucking yourself into his side, you lead the way to the stairs and down the dark hall into your room. Vincent follows, slow and patient, letting you drag him towards the bed.

Throwing yourself onto the bed, you bring Vincent with you with your hand still around his wrist. The sheets are messy from waking that morning and you have to rearrange the scattered blankets before you can get comfortable.

When you were finally situated, a heavy arm draped over your side and warm breath fanning the back of your neck, you closed your eyes. The warmth from Vincent’s body curled around you and you pressed a few soft kisses to his hand before you let him go. There was a soft exhale, a little puff of breath that you would have missed if you weren’t so close, the first sign of relaxing that Vincent had shown in days.

“I love you.”

He mumbles his confession, nuzzling your neck. You smile, surprised to hear him say it first.

“Love you too.”

Chapter Text

• When you get a sudden invitation to visit the Heelshires at their home, you’re very surprised. Even though the invitation feels strange, you can’t resist going back to see the place where you had spent a small, but happy, portion of your childhood. It had been many years since you’d last been there and you were pretty sure the couple hadn’t even known your name, so you couldn’t imagine why they’d want to see you again.
• You’re even more surprised when you find out that the visit is just an excuse to offer you a place at the house - as a nanny. You don’t know whether to be sad or horrified at the little porcelain doll they dote on, styled to look like the little boy you had played with as a child.
• Once you accept the position, reluctantly and after a lot of convincing, you’re sure that you’ve made a mistake. The house was beautiful and nostalgic, but the presence of the little doll unnerves you just enough that any happy memories about the place are hard to recall.
• For his part, Brahms is ecstatic that you had actually shown up - he wasn’t sure that you would, and it had taken a lot to convince his parents to extend the offer in the first place. Once you entered the house, he was determined that you would stay.
• He can tell from the way you treat the little doll, gently but clearly unnerved by it, that you remember him and he’s very eager to show himself. He is constantly going through your things, moving objects, taking them, leaving them in areas of the house that you frequented as children, hoping that maybe you will pick up on the truth by yourself.
• When you do find out about him, it’s a big shock to discover that he’s still alive and to understand why. Figuring out how you feel about it has to wait, because now you have to rethink the entire situation since you’re no longer caring for just a doll.
• To your surprise, Brahms is immediately attached to you, despite the years between now and when you had last seen him. You definitely had fond memories of him yourself, but you didn’t expect him to be so seemingly devoted straight away.
• It’s a big change to get used to, but you notice that Brahms is obviously going out of his way to please you, at your side at all times and stepping in to do any little task that he can. He’s obedient and affectionate, always working to get some form of praise from you.

Chapter Text

You had been gone a long time. Vincent wasn’t sure how long it had been - not quite a year, but more than a few months - and he honestly hadn’t expected to see you come back again. There was nothing in Ambrose anymore, or at least not anything that anyone wanted.

The little car that brings you back into town is on its last leg when you arrive, but it’s lasted long enough to get you here, from wherever you had been. He’s excited, in a dreadful kind of way, when he sees you exit the car, but he wishes more than anything that you had stayed away. What would happen when you went inside the house? Or wanted to look around? They couldn’t keep you ignorant of everything for long and he didn’t want to think about what might have to be done to keep their secrets.

The door to the house creaks open, the screen door landing against the frame with a bang. The soft step of the dog’s paws on the porch follow the thudding of his brother’s boots, and Vincent scoots out of his way, making room for him at the top of the steps. He glances at Bo and feels almost relieved at the stern, displeased frown he sees on his face.

Bo won’t let you stay. He’ll make you leave, turn your beaten up little car around and send you back out of town. He’ll take care of things and they can go back to work without having to worry about you seeing something you shouldn’t.

Vincent hopes that there is nothing to worry about as he watches his brother walk almost casually towards you. Bo waves to catch your attention, but it’s the crunch of gravel under his feet that pulls your thoughts away from your rundown car. You perk up at the noise, face blossoming into a grin as you see him approach, and the warm, friendly look in your eyes as you speak with him is visible even from Vincent’s spot on the porch.

His hands clench, so tightly that he almost expects it to hurt.

The two of you are too far away for him to hear whatever is being said, but it doesn’t matter. He watches his brother speaking to you and the ease with which you return his words is calm and natural - friendly. He allows the jealousy in his chest burn for a moment, knowing that the feeling will fade once you’re gone.

Still, he finds himself turning away, leaning down to pick up the scattered papers he had put to the side when you arrived. Yellowed pages filled with sketches pile up in his hands, but even when he’s gathered them all up, Vincent keeps his back to the scene going on in the yard. It’s a little easier, not having to see you, even if the sounds of your indistinct conversation make his heart beat a little faster.

Vincent allows himself a quick glance towards you, peeking over his shoulder in the direction he had last heard your voice. A hot stab of fear runs through him for half a second, turning to find that you’re already there, at his side and peeking curiously at the paper in his hands. You look up at him, eyes and smile sweet, even when he recoils from your sudden presence.

“Sorry,” you say, looking a little embarrassed at having surprised him. “Didn’t mean to scare you! I just wanted to see what you’re working on - it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

Vincent didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t been prepared to speak to you just yet, and certainly not when you were so close, hovering just within arm’s reach. Looking down at you, your face scrunched into a worried frown, his mind was blank.

“Leave him alone,” Bo barks, coming up the porch steps behind you. “He ain’t used to bein’ around women. Spooks easy, don’t you, Vincent?”

Vincent sees the way his brother looks at him, eyes glinting with warning, and he knows that the correct thing to do here is to get out of the way. Tucking his limbs in close to avoid bumping into you, he gathers up his papers in one hand and hurries back into the house.

The door closes behind him, but he doesn’t go far. Whatever conversation you had been having with Bo in the yard picks back up again, and he pauses halfway across the living room.

“Well, I guess neither of you have changed much.”

Your steps, lighter and less angry than his brother’s, scuff along the porch for a moment before you sigh.

“Sorta sad, isn’t it, how empty it is now,” you say, and Vincent can feel the wistful tone in your voice twisting something in his stomach. “Hard to believe that everyone just left.”

Vincent doesn’t mourn the town the way that you do, doesn’t have the same nostalgia for it as his brother. When he had left, the only thing he had missed was his family, not the little buildings or the people who lived in them. He wonders what you would think of their work around town, if you would approve.

“We’re still here,” Bo replies. “So it’s not empty yet.”

You hum in agreement. “Guess not.”

There’s silence and Vincent strains to hear anything that might tell him what’s happening outside.

“Why’d you come back, then? It’s been a while.”

Finally. You were already too close - they couldn’t hide it forever, couldn’t explain the lights, the empty cars, the luggage stacked around the house - and he desperately wants Bo to send you on your way before things get complicated.

“I live here, don’t I?”

There’s a laugh and Vincent knows you’re smiling, probably shy and eager, happy to be back home. The little house you had grown up in is overrun with weeds and decay, but it’s still there.

“Yeah, I guess you do.”

His heart pounds in his chest, ears ringing but not quite understanding the rest of the conversation you’re having with Bo out on the porch. Vincent knows that this won’t end well, a sour taste in the back of his throat at the thought of what’s to come, but even though he wants to object, he can’t bring himself to do so.

You’re staying.

Chapter Text

Michael

• While he isn’t exactly a great listener, because you just know he’s tuning you out, he’s a great silent wall to infodump to. Explaining an incorrect fact in a show or movie for thirty minutes doesn’t bother him much, so you can get it out of your system. 
• Has no respect for your books and papers, and extra disregard for any time you try to set aside for studying. Maybe you want to read, but he’s decided it’s pay attention to Michael time, so put the book down if you want it kept in one piece. 
• Quiet time is easy enough to get from him when he does let you read, but you spend every moment feeling his eyes on the back of your head. Eventually, you get really good at ignoring the tingle of knowing that you’re being watched by someone you can’t see. 

Brahms

• He already had access to an education that was far better than most and since it mostly took place at home, you’ll have all the same materials available if you want to use them. It’s almost entirely books, but there are a large variety to choose from. 
• Loves when you change up his lessons, adding new information or subjects to the things he’d already gone over for years. He doesn’t realize how little he was actually learning before this, and he’s a little irritated when he can’t immediately jump into the same level of study that you’re already doing. 
• Often acts like he needs help, particularly with whatever your favorite subject is, so that you’ll get so involved talking about it that you won’t realize how long you’ve spent explaining it. Absolutely lives to be praised for doing well when he pretends to have finally understood it, whether he actually knows what you’re talking about or not. 

Vincent

• No matter the subject, he would definitely be interested in whatever it is you’re studying. He isn’t as proficient at things outside of art, but he’ll just be even more impressed when he peeks at some of your books and realizes that you actually understand whatever it’s about. 
• If you are studying art, he’s practically reading over your shoulder every time you open a book. He’s skilled, but even he didn’t have the best education in that area - most of what he knows is practical, home taught techniques and a little bit about whatever artists were famous enough to be common knowledge. 
• Even better if your preferred subject happens to be a trade skill, since it could be more useful day to day with all the work they do around the town. Vincent would find it easier to pick up some of the same skills alongside you, helping you do your work, and he understands doing things with his hands better than he does reading things in books.

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Brahms

• He’s the kind of sub that wants to be taken care of and pampered. Gift him with a collar or a piece of clothing to wear for you and he’s more than happy to accept, loving the attention and praise he receives when he lets you dress him up.

• The moment he feels your attention beginning to focus on something else, he starts to act up. He knows that you’re going to be upset when you discover whatever act of vandalism he’s committed, but if you spend the next few hours grinding his face into the carpet like a naughty dog and spanking the backs of his thighs, he’s still getting what he wants.

• He loves to have you on top, riding him as hard as you can while he struggles not to cum without your permission. He likes to beg for you, whining and growling, fighting to roll his hips up into yours despite the restraints keeping him held down.

• If he’s been thoroughly worked over, he’s going to let you do whatever you want for aftercare, too exhausted to be bossy. Pet his hair, offer a few sips of water, then let him fall asleep with his head on your chest.

Bubba

• He has a strong need to please you and make you happy, combined with an already subservient attitude towards authority - just start bossing him around and he’ll jump to follow your orders without a second thought. You can push him too far, especially when he’s feeling impatient, but if you learn to hand out rewards at the right times, he’ll be a generally well behaved sub.

• He doesn’t like outright pain, but punishments involving bondage, orgasm denial or light scolding always have him back in line quickly. He can sometimes take the idea of punishment too seriously, so you have to keep it gentle and pepper in generous amounts of reassurance.

• Being ordered to carry you around, you using his lap as your seat and having him do menial tasks for you, like brushing your hair, is his favorite thing. He jumps at the slightest sign that you might need something, incredibly eager to run across the room for that magazine you absolutely need but can’t be bothered to reach for, and soaks up the praise you give him for it.

• He doesn’t want much aftercare, preferring to simply sleep off any sore spots he might have. He doesn’t have much of a concept of separating play and real life, so you sometimes have to encourage him to let you do things for him.

Vincent

• Surprisingly, he’s a bit of a brat and you’re going to have to work for it if you want him to sub. If you want him in restraints, you’re going to have to pin him down first, while he bucks and thrashes under you. He’s not following any orders until you make him.

• Because he’s so disobedient, you’re often forced to be rough with him, which is just what he wants. Once you win the fight to get him into position, slap and bite at his inner thighs and stomach for being so difficult.

• On the rare occasion that he’s behaved himself well enough to earn a reward, you can let him help you wet your cock/strap by drooling on it while you praise him for being so helpful. He likes you to be physically rough, but no harsh degradation.

• Afterwards, he just wants to sleep. You can rub his bruises or brush his hair if you like, so long as it doesn’t wake him up.