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sovtwords · 1 year

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I am SHOCKED

the ghostface - matsukawa issei

pairing: matsukawa issei x reader, slight hanamaki x reader

warnings: 18+, dubcon, doggystyle, mask kink, size kink, sex while trapped, vaginal fingering, dom/sub dynamics, knives, implied threesome, edging, unprotected sex, breeding, slight dacryphila, slight yandere, mentions of alcohol and drugs, mentions of nudes, porn making/videos

w/c: 13k

a/n: welcome to chapter 7 of thirteen nights of whorror! please read the tags before proceeding - if you think i am missing anything let me know and i’ll fix it. this chapter is inspired by billy and stu, aka ghostface, from the scream series! THIS IS A LONG ASS CHAPTER I AM SORRY ASJFHDA scream is my fave horror movie and i just had a lot of fun making this, it's one of my fave chaps so far. i hope you appreciate big dick mattsun and makki as much as i did. enjoy! feedback is appreciated!

- ao3 link -

Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

Everything in the room right now is loud as hell, and it’s beginning to give you a headache.

Oikawa’s fancy house is much too big for your liking; a three-storey, pristinely white suburban house with the prettiest pink hydrangea bushes that would make your granny green with envy, rooms bigger than your entire apartment and filled with more tacky and socially deaf art pieces than a museum, and spaces this big obviously need to be filled with as many shit-faced jocks, kegs of beer and smuggled pills according to Mr Pretty Boy himself.

You feel deep concern for the antique China vase that Tanaka and Noya keep tossing back and forth between them from opposite sides of the room, Lev has suggested making a god damned blowtorch with deodorant and a lighter, and you’ve seen Bokuto ingest enough drugs to knock out a fucking horse. It’s hectic, it’s overwhelming, and it’s filling up a well of anxiety inside of you, just waiting to reach its peak and spill over as you finish your second drink of the night. Too many faces, nobody to watch your back. Oikawa seems to be having the time of his life, though – too busy shoving his tongue down the throat of every living being in this house right now to care about all the stuff that could be broken. Mommy and Daddy would probably just pay for a new one anyways.

And to top it all off, Yachi hasn’t shut up all night from her spot beside you on Oikawa’s cushioned couch about the masked killer who’s been on the loose and targeting college students. Specifically, your college, of all places.

As if you need more stress piling on top of the shitfest that is your life.

“I’m just, like, super scared, you know?” Yachi’s voice is shrill and rising in pitch with each syllable that leaves her lips. She’s apparently forgotten all about Hinata who lays slouched against her opposite side, passed out and drooling on her shoulder without care. The wet patch on her sweater makes you grimace.

“So am I,” you droll, eyeing the amber liquid in your red solo cup with disinterest and mentally counting down the hours until it reaches a socially acceptable time to leave and avoid Sugawara yelling at you for doing so. Yachi continues as though you had not spoken.

“It’s just- I’m a small woman, right? I’m an easy target! It’s dangerous for a woman like me out there!”

“I would argue it’s dangerous out there for all women no matter your height.”

Yachi blanches, shakes her head frantically.

“No, that’s- well yes, I agree completely! I just- I meant-!”

You snort and pat her leg sympathetically. “I know Yachi, I’m just teasing. No need to get worked up.” The blonde frowns.

“That’s not funny! I’m really scared about this killer! I mean it’s a serial killer. And on our campus, too! I’m afraid to leave my dorm!”

“Then why did you come to the party instead of staying in your room?”

At the blatant call out, Yachi turns a little sheepish, blushing red and pulling at the ends of her golden locks. “Well, someone I li- uhh, admire, convinced me to come.”

You raise a brow. “Who?”

“…Kiyoko.”

“Ah, of course.”

“I can’t help it, she’s just so pretty,” her voice is syrupy sweet as she thinks about the raven-haired beauty, and you can’t help but smile at her innocence. Ahh, young love. “B-But it can still be dangerous in your home, too! One guy was found sliced up in his apartment near the campus just a month ago! People said the killer wore some kind of mask, like a ghost! Did you know that? Do you think it’s actually a ghost instead?”

The alcohol in your stomach churns viciously at the reminder.

Of course, you knew about it – he lived just two doors down from you.

You never had any classes with him, and conversation between you both was saved for random encounters in hallways, but Ojiro Aran was a well-loved guy. He was always quick to help carry your grocery bags up the stairs, water the old ladies’ plants on her balcony, was the owner of several spare keys for people on the floor because he was just so trustworthy. He had a nice family, friends who loved him, and admirers from all walks of life.

So, to hear a commotion so early outside of your front door, to see violently bright police tape surrounding the edges of his door frame as men in white suits walked in and out of his apartment like the intruders they were while detectives took notes and wore grim expressions, was a shock, to say the least. But that’s an understatement. Nothing can quite compare to the dread that sank in your stomach that day, that still sits there like a dead weight in your gut, how your blood turned to ice when you saw a white tarp covering what used to be your neighbours’ body being carried out while his mother roared and screamed and bawled her eyes out when she arrived at the scene to see her baby boy’s lifeless body.

You ran back into your apartment, puked your guts up, puked some more, and sat through hours of gruelling questioning from police, wanting nothing more than to crawl underneath your covers for the remainder of your days.

You had given condolences to his classmate and friend Atsumu when you passed him in the cafeteria later that week, but his usual loudmouthed self was so dull and lifeless you had to do a double take to see if it was actually him. He barely said a word in response, just flickered his red rimmed eyes over to you in acknowledgement and went back to picking at his food.

While you understand Yachi’s fear about the masked killer all too well, you’d rather not have to sit here and listen to her talk for hours about it and have it send you spiralling into an episode of despair and anxiety. Panic attacks at parties were not ideal.

“Yeah. I know,” is your dull response as you swirl the contents of your cup, watching the liquid slosh and foam as you shift uncomfortably on the couch, pulling your skirt back down from where it’s started to curl upwards. The delicate gasp she emits informs you that she’s realised her error.

“Oh, I’m…I’m so sorry, I forgot you lived near him. That must have been so scary for you.”

Not as scary as it probably was for him.

You sigh. “Can we stop talking about this now? Please?” You place your cup onto the dark coffee table in front of you, too sober for this kind of night, but not being able to stomach another drop after such a dark conversation. The blonde nods weakly, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Yeah, no problem. I’m so sorry-“

“It’s ok,” you give her a small smile, and her shoulders sag with relief. “Tell me about the new job you’re starting.”

“Oh!” her eyes light up, and you’re glad for such an easy topic change, something you can use to tune out and just nod dumbly along with whatever she says. “Well it’s only an apprenticeship for now, but in ti-“

There’s a crash and a chorus of laughter from somewhere down the room, and your attention is brought to the source of mayhem and amusement in the form of Matsukawa Issei.

The crowd around him laugh and cheer with flushed, drunken faces and sluggish limbs, hollering like a pack of wild animals (which, to be fair, is an accurate description for frat boys at college parties) as he tells another joke with poor freshman Kindaichi trapped in a chokehold, battering his fists into Matsukawa’s side to little effect. Everyone has gravitated towards him, pulled in by his lazy smile and witty drawls, like a God adored by his worshippers. Dark tousled hair, equally dark hooded eyes, and arms that bulge and flex where they’re wrapped around Kindaichi’s throat – it’s completely unfair how good looking this man was, and gazing at him is enough to make you forget all about the tragic fate of your neighbour.

Matsukawa Issei is the cause for all your smiles and laughter in the classes when you should be listening to the professor and not looking at some stupid meme, the butterflies in your stomach that run rampant every time he tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ear with a wink, and many, many sleepless nights with your fingers deep in your pussy and praying that it was his instead as you look back over nudes that had been passed between their pair of you, listened to his breathless voice on the phone as he whispered all the dirty things he wanted to do to you.

It’s been a painful back and forth game for a year now of flirting, easy dates and one or two shared kisses at frat parties like this one that left you wanting so much more, but life always looked for ways to fuck the both of you over before you could get to the good bit – aka the part where he confessed is undying love for you and fucked your brains out with his massive dick. You’ve seen the pictures – he is hung like a horse.

It was the same old sad excuses – work, college, exams, etc. Life just didn’t want you to be with Matsukawa, apparently. And you were pissed. Yet with everything that has been happening lately, any sort of romantic notion has been put on the backburner and laid to rest. But tonight, you were free. You didn’t have any plans tomorrow except for nursing a possible hangover and laying in bed. Should you take your chances and make the first move? Or should you-

Matsukawa’s eyes meet yours from across the room, and all thoughts are washed clear from your mind when his lips pull into an easy smile. Fuck.

You try to fix this damned skirt that’s determined to make you flash the entire student body as Matsukawa lets Kindaichi go with a snort and a shove in Kyoutani’s direction, not bothering to look behind him at the ensuing fight about to break out as he beelines straight towards you with an easy stride, comfort and confidence lacing his steps and having your heart pulse in another place than just your chest.

A head of pink hair materialises beside him, and you laugh a little. His partner in crime is never far from his side, is he?

“What’s a couple of pretty girls like you doing just sitting on the couch? Shouldn’t you be up dancing? Fighting off boys when they get a lil handsy?”

Hanamaki meanders over with waggling brows and a lopsided grin, reaching the couch before his friend and plopping down beside you with a huff. He throws an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side while you giggle. Hanamaki feels nice and warm against you, and you sink further into his side with a smile. Matsukawa stares at the two of you for a moment as he comes to stand in front of where you sit, eying Hanamaki’s hand where it plays with the straps of your top on your shoulder, dipping beneath your bra strap cheekily while you try not to let heat crawl up your neck. God, were you that horny?

“Just enjoying the party,” is your reply, smiling up at Hanamaki. His grin is infectious, and he pulls at your ear gently.

“Liar. You look bored out of your mind.”

“Because I am, but it’s rude to say that to the friends of the guy hosting the party, isn’t it?”

Matsukawa shrugs with a smirk. “Depends on the people. But I think you’d have a better time if you stuck with me and Makki here. No offence,” he tacks on, shooting a grimace towards Yachi who had gone silent next to you.

“O-Oh! No, it’s fine – I agree! All I’m doing is babysitting Hinata. You should go have fun with them!” she urges you with a nod, one that Hanamaki copies with an overexaggerated pout that you can’t help but laugh at.

“No, you’re great company, Yachi! I’d feel too bad if I left you, and besides, I…I dunno…”

Movement in front of your face has you lifting your eyes, but not quick enough to do anything about Matsukawa bending over and moving his face so close to yours that you can feel little puffs of his breath hit your face. He’s so big that it subsequently makes you feel so small, like he’s hulking over your form as he invades your personal bubble with a fucking smirk that causes your heart to shut down and restart.

And to top it all off, where his broad hands dig into the sofa beside your legs, his thumb brushes teasingly against the skin of your bare thigh, your traitorous skirt showing more skin than you’re usually comfortable with. Mattsun’s thumb moves up and down just the slightest, so gently, caressing your leg as he maintains direct eye contact with you where his face looms in front of yours. You feel hot all over, and it’s all a bit overwhelming – Hanamaki’s fingers still play with the straps of your top, Matsukawa’s thumb rises and dips behind your knee, and all the sound in the room gets muffled, sounding so far away like pure white noise as the man before you speaks deeply.

“What’s wrong, babe?” the brunette asks with a glint in his eye. The pet name nearly makes you melt into the couch. It takes you a second to respond.

“M-My head just isn’t in it tonight, you know?”

Matsukawa hums as a sympathetic look washes over his face. He leans a little closer, until you’re forced to look over his shoulder at some random couple sucking their faces off while his lips just barely skim your ear. The touch sends shivers down your spine, makes your breath hitch in your lungs.

“Want me to help put it in, babe?” he whispers, and if you were any way coherent and not completely losing your mind at the proximity and intimate position he’s placed you in you’d feel those lips of his tug up into a mischievous smile, you’d see the way Hanamaki bites his lip to keep from laughing.

“What?”

“Your head. Want me to help get you in the party mood?”

“O-Oh. Right. Yeah of course that’s what you meant,” you fake a laugh. Hanamaki finally lets out a snort as he rests his head on your shoulder. Matsukawa pulls back a bit, but you still feel like you can’t catch a breath.

“What did you think he meant?” Hanamaki asks ‘innocently’.

“Nothing. I- I just didn’t understand at first. I must have misheard him-“

“Hmm, you sound like you’re lying. Doesn’t she, Mattsun?”

“She kinda does, Makki,” Matsukawa plays along with a playful smile. He gives a quick, exaggerated gasp. “You didn’t think I meant anything naughty, did you?”

Hanamaki looks scandalised. You want to bury your head in sand. The light buzz you feel isn’t enough for you to tolerate this kind of teasing. You’re getting flustered beneath the gazes of these two men.

“I think she did,” Hanamaki drawls.

“We’re not the kind of guys to take advantage of vulnerable girls like that,” Matsukawa says, and suddenly his eyes turn a bit more intense, nearly nose to nose with you as his whispered breaths fall against your lips.

“Is that what you think? You think I’d prey on a pretty girl like you? I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. I would never. You trust me, right?”

It’s like you’re trapped in a trance, hanging onto every single word that drips from his lips as though they were droplets of water and you were a woman dying of thirst. With each second that passes, the longer you remain under his attention you feel your panties grow wetter and wetter, and you curse yourself for being so affected by them, by him.

“I- I know you wouldn’t. I trust you. You’re my…friend.”

Matsukawa’s eyes light up with something you can’t discern, and his lips curl a little more at the edges. It isn’t until he stands up straight once more that you feel able to take a gulp of some much-needed air, feeling a cool breeze fall on your skin once the heat of his body is gone.

He shares a secretive smile with his best friend.

“’Friends’, huh? That’s nice. Do you send all your friend’s pictures of your pussy, or am I special?”

He says it so bluntly, so suddenly, that all you can do is gawp in shock, jaw dropped and struggling for something to say. Yachi squeaks in humiliation beside you, Hanamaki laughs, because of course he does, and Matsukawa stays looking at you with that damned lazy smile while your heart runs rampant.

A call of his name from somewhere behind you halts you from being able to bark out a retort, and his attention is brought somewhere else.

“Makki, Mattsun – get over here! We’re starting up a game of beer pong.”

Matsukawa’s smile dims a bit. He sighs through his nose. “I better go or else they won’t shut up. Talk later?”

You nod dumbly, still highly embarrassed. “Yeah.”

“Duty calls. See ya, sweet cheeks,” Hanamaki sighs and presses a quick kiss to your temple before he gets up. He moves around the couch to follow Matsukawa, until he stops in his tracks. The brunette stops too, and stares in question. “Oh wait – we’re kinda running out of good drink in here. It’s down to shitty warm beer and some spritzers that Tooru’s mom drinks. Mind going out back to get some more for us? You can join our beer pong team when you get back.”

From where you’re sitting, you can’t see Hanamaki’s face as he turns back around to face Mattsun. The brunette looks at his friend for a long moment, and while his face remains pretty blank, there’s a certain brightness that comes to his eyes, like he’s just realised a great plan, the answer to a problem he’s had for a while. Was he that happy about getting more alcohol?

“Oh! Uh…”

“It’s just at the back of the house,” Matsukawa supplies as he shifts his gaze from his friend back to you. That lazy smile creeps back onto his face. “In a big shed. It’s a bit of a walk to get to it and it’s nearly covered by the trees in the woods behind Tooru’s house, but just keep heading straight – you won’t miss it. There’s a key hidden in the light box.”

“Oh…” you cast a look outside the bay window. The sky was pitch black. “I mean it’s... it’s pretty dark out. Can’t you ask someone else?”

“You won’t be long. We only want a couple of good beers to keep us going, better than the ones they have left here. You know our drinks, don’t you?” Makki smiled.

“Yeah I do.”

“Good, you’ll be back here in no time,” Matsukawa replies. “Then you can sit with me all night, hmm? I’ll even let you sit on my lap.”

You blush when he gives a good-hearted snicker. Somebody calls for the boys again, and they give you one last pleading look that has you sighing in resignation.

“Alright, fine. I’ll get your stupid drinks. Yachi, you coming?”

Hanamaki cuts in before she gets the chance to answer. “She has to look after Hinata, doesn’t she? Plus, I heard Kiyoko was looking to sit and talk with her.”

The little blonde looks starry eyed at the mention of her crush, and you know it’s a lost cause to even try and recruit her into coming with you. Not that she’d be any good the second she steps foot outside the door. She scares easily.

“I think I’ll stay here,” she mumbles.

You stand up, stretch, and make your way towards the back door that’s being blocked by a group of girls laughing to themselves.

Matsukawa whispers in your ear as you pass, stopping you on the spot with a hand wrapping around your arm.

“Can’t wait to have your cute little ass on my lap. Be careful out there, don’t let anything get you~. See you in a few minutes.”

And with that said, he lets you go, and wanders over to the other side of the room with his pink haired buddy. Not without glancing at your ass before he leaves, though.

With heated cheeks you pat down your clothes and pull down your skirt. Your phone barely fits in the tiny pocket of your skirt and a split-second mental debate has you deciding to take it out in case you lose it on the way to the shed. You won’t be there for long; you don’t see a need to take it with you.

“Yachi can you keep my phone with you? I don’t want to drop it in the dark.”

“Sure – but won’t the torch on your phone be useful?” She grabs your phone and places it securely in her purse. Hinata gives a snore beside her.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure the light from the house is bright enough to light my way.”

“If you say so. Be careful out there! Don’t fall over anything- oh my god she’s coming over here.”

You snort, mumble a quick ‘good luck’ and pass by Kiyoko with a smile who takes your previous spot and brushes a lock of Yachi’s hair out of her face, much to the blonde’s delight. Smooth.

You push your way through groups of drunken college students, avoid being dragged into one of Kuroo’s endlessly long and stupid stories about the time he and Bokuto did something vaguely illegal when they were teens, and reach the door with minimum damage only to slow down your steps when the sensation of eyes on your back overtakes you.

Like a moth to a flame your eyes find Matsukawa near immediately, those hooded eyes locked on your body easily through crowds of noisy and overbearing people. His hand is covered in something bright cherry red, and it takes you a second of panic to realise that it wasn’t blood you were seeing, but instead a drink had been spilled on him by someone else.

With slow movements, his arm dripping with red juices and alcohol that runs down his forearm in thin streaks, lifts upwards, higher and higher up to his face, where he pops a finger into his mouth. It’s absurd how nobody except you notices how he licks his finger clean, how he sends a wink for you, and you specifically, as his tongue darts out to lick up droplets of the drink.

Some person stumbling into your side knocks you out of the moment, and the spell is moment for when you look up at Matsukawa again, his back is turned as he gets into the game. It’s almost like it didn’t even happen, but the tissue he’s using to dry his hand lets you know that it very much happened.

The throbbing in your cunt also lets you know that tonight hasn’t been more than just your imagination.

You are going to ride his dick tonight. You’re sick of getting blue balled by life. Whether it’s in a spare room or someone’s car or – fuck, you’ll even do it in front of everyone in the living room at this point.

You were going to fuck Matsukawa Issei tonight, one way or another.

You run out of the house, determined to get this drinks situation over with so you can sit on his lap and have his hands on your hips.

The house was definitely not bright enough to light your path to the shed, but you figured you’re already halfway there – might as well keep going instead of wasting time by going back to the house for a torch.

The sound of music and laughter is gradually replaced by the quieter, more calming sounds of nature the further you stumble your way through the dark. The hoot of owls, the chirping of bugs, the crunching of leaves beneath your feet, random snaps of twigs nearby from what you assume to be the little critters Oikawa once told you about. A frown tugs at your lips as you walk further and further still until you can barely hear or see Oikawa’s house at all in the distance, just a small blip of light in the distance despite how big the house is.

Who the fuck has a shed that far away from their house? Fucking rich people.

But just as the distance between you and the house starts to really itch at your skin, the shed finally comes into view, and you have to do a double take and ask yourself if you’ve wandered into another neighbourhood because what you’re seeing here is more like a small house than a shed.

Again – fucking rich people.

It looks almost bigger than your apartment when you finally reach the door, eying the big wooden frame with a raised brow. It even had a doggy door, for Christ’s sake. What was Oikawa’s dog's name again? Foo-foo? Fifi? Whatever.

A quick search of the light box does in fact reveal a key, and you unlock the door quickly and pop it back in the box as the night starts to feel like it’s creeping up on your back, like you’re not entirely alone right now. The faster you get the drinks, the better.

After a minute of fumbling around for a light source, you eventually find the sole switch that illuminates the entire room and casts it in a dull, yellow glow. The area is as big as you expected, and half cluttered with a bunch of things that scream ‘I holiday in Italy with my family every summer and enjoy fresh fruit by the sea.’ Bikes, umbrellas, designer suitcases, old gym equipment – but you’re not here to work on your abs right now.

You walk towards the giant freezer at the back of the room, struggle with opening the chest for a bit before finally unlocking it and lifting it to find a whole lot of…nothing.

There are frozen bags of food, some ice cubes, and a few bottles of beer, but not the ones Matsukawa or Hanamaki were looking for, and not enough to bring back to last them for the night.

Well. What a waste of time.

You slam the freezer shut with irritation buzzing in your limbs. First, you spent all that time trying to find the place to get here, and now you won’t have anything to show for it when you get back to Issei. Great. Seeing a disappointed look on his face was not on your agenda for tonight. Maybe you can find some if you look around.

A few minutes of searching proved to be worth it, however, as you spot a small box of the alcohol perched on a shelf high above some old music stuff. Balanced precariously on some boxes you reach out, edging the box closer and closer to the edge of the shelf with your fingers.

So focused were you on your task, you completely missed the click of a lock behind you.

“Yes!” you exclaim in triumph, latching onto the beers and carefully slipping back down to the ground. Patting yourself down to get rid of any dust, you turn around to leave and feel your heart leap out of your chest with the sight standing in front of you.

You almost screamed bloody murder, but your body decided to gasp suddenly as all air in your chest becomes trapped, struggling to breathe as you stare down the stranger who snuck into the shed with you.

Dressed in all black from head to toe, the mask they bore is what really steals the show right now – like a warped version of a ghost mask stuck in an eternal scream, it’s bright white and stands out when paired with the dark clothing. A quick and panicked evaluation of their body tells you that they’re tall, broad, strong, and intimidating.

You swallow, but your throat has run dry. Still, you try to play it off with a weak chuckle, assuming they’re just some college asshole in a dumb costume sent here to freak you out. You think they could be a man, but in the weak lighting you can’t be too sure just yet.

“What’s with the costume? I didn’t realise it was Halloween already.”

You’re met with silence, and a small shrug.

You shuffle nervously on your feet, and try again.

“A-Are you looking for some beer, too? There’s not much here – I think most of it is back up at the house. So… you should go back and look for some.”

The stranger still says nothing but nods sagely, as though agreeing, yet makes no move to leave, and you feel dread start to knot at your stomach.

“Who are you?” Silence. “No, seriously – who are you? Were you sent here to scare me?” Nothing. “Look, this isn’t funny. Like at all. You need to be more mindful of stupid jokes and trying to scare people, especially with all the killings lately.”

The only response you get is a tilt of their head, as if they’re amused. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you start wondering if you could make it to the door fast enough and get away from this loser.

“And s-seriously? A mask? You’re sick, making jokes like this. Y’know, people said they saw the killer wearing a mask too, some lame ghost-“

You stop mid-sentence as realisation hits you like an oncoming truck.

‘People said the killer wore some kind of mask, like a ghost!’

You can feel the blood drain from your face, and it seems as if the psycho in front of you has sensed that you’ve finally put 2 and 2 together.

Fuck fuck fuck, you think you’re going to be fucking sick.

The stranger- killer, straightens, and puts one foot forward as you take four steps back.

Step.

“I-It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the k-killer. You’re the one who…w-who killed Aran.”

That ghostly mask nods happily.

Step.

“Holy shit, no. No no no,” your legs are shaking, your arms are shaking, every part of you is shaking with unbridled fear, feeling like a little mouse caught in a trap and awaiting the vicious jaws of the hunter. The beer bottles jingle and clank together with every tremor coursing through you, feeling like dead weight in your arms but you stupidly don’t have the mind to let go of them. “P-Please, please don’t kill me!”

Step.

They’re getting much closer now, but you have nowhere to back up anymore. You’ve run all out of holes to bury yourself in as a fucking keyboard digs into your lower back and obstructs you from gaining any deceitful safety from distance.

Your nerve begins to break, and the tears that have been stinging your eyes fall and drop onto the floor beneath you. You beg, pathetically, but with the mask it’s hard to see if you’re getting through to your potential killer to search for even an ounce of empathy. You inhale a shaky breath.

“Please don’t do t-this. Please don’t kill me. I’ll do a-anything you want; I swear – I won’t tell the police about you just- let me go, I’m begging you!”

The killer stops a few feet away. Not close enough to touch you, but still too close, too close.

They begin to spread their arms wide like a ring leader at a circus, and a sob escapes you as you see a knife held in their hand, shiny and bright and making you feel like you’re about to pass out. They make a comical motion with their hands, as if signalling you to ‘go on’ talking, but to be fair in your very frightened and emotional state you hadn’t thought that far on what ‘I’ll do anything you want’ meant.

It shows on your face, a fearful confusion, a furrow of your brow. You can hear an exasperated sigh come from behind the mask, a droop of their shoulders and a shake of their head, and they begin to move forward once again, knife gripped tightly in their hand and pointed in your direction.

But quick thinking has you hurling the case of beer right at their head before they can get too close.

Clearly not expecting it they stumble backwards in shock, emitting muttered swears and nursing the impact but you’re not about to sit around and play doctor. You lunge for the door and twist the doorknob to find it locked, letting out an anguished yell as you try to bash it open with your shoulder to no avail. The killer groans in pain, in annoyance, standing up and staggering in your direction with the knife, determined to kill you for good.

With nothing to lose you fall to your knees and lunge for the doggy door, scrambling to squeeze your head and torso out of the small frame. Just as the doggy door reaches your hips, just as freedom is within your grasp so you can run back to the safety of the party and warn everyone, the worst thing that could possibly happen in that moment does happen.

You get stuck. You can’t get your fucking ass out the door. It’s too small to fit through.

You’re hyperventilating, openly sobbing into the night air, screaming for help, knowing that no one will hear you this far away from the party. Your fingers dig into the grass below you, struggling to drag yourself out of this doggy door, legs kicking behind you in search of a boost that’s futile anyway – you’re never going to fit.

And you screech when a big pair of hands grab your legs.

You flail and kick, you squirm and you fight, clawing your hands into the dirt with all your might to try and escape but you can’t fool yourself any more – the only hope you have of escaping is by going back into the house and through the door.

You know it’s useless. This is undoubtedly the end for you. The killer’s grip on your ankles is deathly tight. They don’t intend on letting you go.

And with that in mind, your limbs turn weak with exhaustion, with misery, and you let your tears fall onto the blades of grass like dew drops in the morning mist. Your head thuds on the ground pathetically, and the owls mimic your sobs of fear, almost mockingly.

You’re expecting to be dragged back inside at any moment, to have that knife plunged deep into your heart and left to die here – alone and afraid. You can only hope that Matsukawa doesn’t come looking for you; you wouldn’t want anyone else to suffer the same fate, or to have him see your body mutilated and destroyed.

But minutes pass by at an agonisingly slow pace, and you’re left untouched from where you lay halfway out the doggy door. You’d almost wish the killer would get it over with instead of torturing you like this.

The grip on your legs disappears, and you’re left stewing in a pool of confusion and terror, until the touch of long fingers ghosting over the skin of your thighs brings you back to reality and makes you jolt. It tickles as it runs over your flesh, dipping inwards and outwards like a slithering snake, and it only occurs to you just now how your skirt may have risen during the altercation.

And that’s just great, isn’t it? You’re going to die with your ass on show. Typical.

You try to clench your thighs shut to escape those awful touches, but the killer is only encouraged to grip your legs and pull them apart roughly. The concrete scrapes the skin of your knees but you hardly register it as those fingers play with the ends of your skirt, gently running their fingers under the fabric, moving back and forth across your rear. You try to jerk away from their touch, but the door stops your hips from budging. All you can do is endure it as they flip the material up and a cool breeze sweeps over your ass and thong.

You’re utterly humiliated now, burying your face in the dirt as the killer gets an eyeful of your panty clad privates. You’re imagining all sorts of terrible things as you’re left waiting in terrible anticipation once again, but the slash of a knife never comes. What comes is the delicate press of fingers on your sex over the thin material of your thong.

They run up and down your slit steadily, daring to press more firmly every time it nears your clit and getting lighter, more teasing, as it moves all the up to your ass, toying with your back hole before starting the process again. It makes you gasp and writhe, feeling disgusted, violated, but even more disgusted with your body that you know is responding to their touch, soaking your thong in a way that must obviously show on the fabric. You cry out, hoping against hope that someone will hear you, but you’re met with silence. Such dreadful silence.

In a surprise display of strength, the hand not toying with your sex suddenly grips the straps of your underwear and rips it off fast and clean, and now you’re completely bare for the stranger behind you, wet and puffy slit on show and practically asking to be touched despite the way your mind screams that this is so wrong, wrong, wrong.

The killers’ gloves feel strange when they touch your pussy again, this time going straight for your throbbing clit and rubbing slow circles, alternating between rough strokes and teasing swipes. You stifle a moan into the earth, refusing to let out a single sound, to let the killer know you are, in some way, enjoying the petting. Your body is equal parts hot and cold, at war with itself as a familiar coil of pleasure starts to tighten in your gut the longer they toy with your nub.

Your thighs attempt to clench together once again, but it seems as though the killer has placed your legs on either side of theirs to stop you. All you can feel when you try to close your legs is the rough material of cargo pants and thick muscled thighs that are as hard as steel. Before you can stop it your mind floods with intrusive thoughts of sitting on those thighs, and you bury your face in shame as your clit starts to throb even harder, beating in time with the erratic thudding of your heart.

A separate set of leather covered digits circle your hole, and before you have time to jerk away, a single finger slips into your walls with complete ease given how reluctantly wet you’ve become. You try to stop the sigh from escaping your chest by biting your lip, but it still comes out anyway, strangled and surprised and lined with relief.

It sits there for a second, feeling the way you involuntarily clench around it, your walls squeezing and desperate for friction along with the fingers that haven’t ceased rubbing at your clitoris, until it moves; it wiggles around, curls, and pumps into you with a relaxed pace. When a second digit joins the first and you get the stretch of your walls that you’d been secretly craving you can’t stop the moans tumbling out of your lips, the tightening of the coil of pleasure inside of you, your face flushed in spite of the colder night air around you.

They thrust deeper and deeper until their knuckle is flush with your soaked cunt, and they go through a myriad of movements - they crook in a come hither motion, the move apart and scissor, they twist and fuck into you at different speeds. Each one serves to make you come undone that bit faster, the heat in your tummy growing more intense with each touch of your nub.

You bite into your forearm as you feel your orgasm coming, mewling and groaning and twitching as the killer fucks you with their fingers. But just as you feel like you’re about to tip over the edge, their fingers leave your core and withdraw from your clit, and the burning in your abdomen begins to sizzle out rather disappointingly. You voice your frustrations through whimpers and whines, the lower half of your legs lifting only to flop back down on the floor like a child throwing a tantrum.

If you live to remember this night (which you highly doubt is likely to happen), you’re going to laugh hysterically until you cry about the fact that you’re acting like a little brat because some psycho killer edged you.

A hand taps your calf in an almost soothing, comforting way, and you’re about to scream with hysteria at how much of a fucking joke this entire situation was.

The fear hasn’t quite been shrouded behind a layer of lust, and it rears its head as the killer refrains from touching you while you wait in tense silence.

But then you hear it.

“Such a cute pussy. Can’t wait to put my cock in it.”

The voice startles you. Your eyes widen, and your head lifts from the ground as you strain to hear more. The voice sounds deep, a lazy, almost cocky drawl that confirms your suspicions that the killer is a man. His voice, those muffled behind the door, is clear enough for you to make out what he’s saying.

“Been waiting too damn long for this cunt. You’re dripping all over my fingers like a whore. Do you get off on this? Is that what you want? Never took you as the kind of girl who’s into snuff.”

Been waiting for your cunt? Who the fuck is this guy?

“Well,” the killer says just as something large and thick starts to move through your folds. “I guess I’ll make your dreams come true.”

Your eyeballs nearly pop out of your skull as what you can only assume is his dick begins to push through your tight walls, bit by bit, as you cry out – in pain or pleasure, you aren’t sure anymore.

“Let’s make a movie, babe.”

That voice…it sounds so familiar, like one you know so well. But it couldn’t be, could it?

It sounds like-

One powerful thrust has your voice growing hoarse from the scream you let out. Tears dot your lashes as your walls fight to accommodate the stretch of the killer’s cock, and boy is it a stretch. You’ve never felt so full in your life, like his dick could reach your throat if he keeps pushing in.

It’s as amazing as it is painful; it makes you grit your teeth and breathe heavily, but damn was it the sort of stretch your body had been craving. God, you were so fucked up for wanting this, for even entertaining this for so long instead of trying to fight for your life like you should have been.

But you’re too far gone to think about that anymore – might as well cum before you die.

The killer doesn’t wait to start pumping his cock into you, each smack of his hips against your ass causes yours to slam into the doggy door. Maybe if he keeps fucking you hard enough you’ll eventually pop out of the little door and break free. What makes your stomach churn with shame is at this point you aren’t sure if you’ll willingly take off running to safety because his cock feels too damn good.

“Oh, f-fuck-“

He shows no mercy on your poor pussy, and his hands grab handfuls of your ass, squeezing them roughly like he was kneading dough before spanking them hard. You yelp at the impact, and at the next one, and the one after that, until your cries of pain turn into moans of ecstasy as you are used and abused by the one thing standing between you and life or death.

His cock is so long it kisses your cervix with each thrust, is so thick it massages that sweet spot you could never find with your own fingers before, and your chest constricts tightly as your breathing becomes laboured the longer his cock stays buried inside of your heat.

Your orgasm is fast approaching once again without the need for his fingers on your swollen bud. Through the door you can faintly hear filthy words of praise leave the killer's lips, calling you his good little slut, commenting on how wet you are all for him, about how sick and twisted you were in the head for liking this.

Maybe he was right about that one.

But even with the war of morality waging in your mind right now you still bring a hand up to your chest to slip beneath your shirt and your bra to play with your already hardened nipples, your toes still curl in bliss as a delightful heat spreads to every corner of your body. The killers’ balls slap against your clit with every pump of his hips, and you can feel it again, you’re going to cum, nearly there, just a little more-

He stops.

He stops mid thrust, as if frozen in time, and your high is ripped away from you once more. You give a shout of anguish, disappointment burning through your body like a bitter drink swallowed, a sense of overwhelming frustration making your limbs feel restless as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Leather gloves skim the globe of your ass cheeks, over the dip of your hips, moving slowly up to your waist that hangs halfway out of the doggy door. Without warning he grips your body tight and begins to pull you back into the shed with him. The ground scraps at the skin your top can’t cover, blades of grass tickling your stomach as your shirt bunches up under your chest. You’re starting to panic again, because being pulled in means you’re back inside a locked space with a killer, it means the delusion of being able to eventually fit your body through that tiny flap is gone, it means being forced to look into that white mask as he raises the tip of the knife to your throat and slashes right through the skin.

“N-No, please,” you groan as you try to crawl out again but the hands on your waist are strong like steel. You wince when you feel the edges of the doggy door scratch the skin of your arms until suddenly a dull yellow fluorescent glow shining on grey concrete floors is all you see as you’re successfully pulled back inside.

A leather hand plants itself on the ground beside your head, and a solid chest leans over your back.

You stop breathing for a moment as fear seizes your limbs once more, shaking fingertips grasping at the concrete with little else to do. His chest moves up and down behind you as he huffs lightly for air behind the mask. It touches your shoulder, trailing a path on your skin teasingly and raising goosebumps on your flesh. The killer hums beneath the plastic.

“Mmm, you look even better in the light. Your ass is so pretty, kitten.”

A whimper escapes your mouth, and the chuckle he lets out vibrates against your back.

“What d-do you want w-with me?” you stutter. The hand that was on your waist suddenly smacks your rear hard. You gasp loudly but fail to stop the broken moan that escapes you at the end. You cover your face in shame as the killer massages the sting on your cheek with a mocking laugh that grates on your nerves.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the killer says with clear amusement in his voice, as if you had just asked him a silly question like if wizards were actually real. If they were, you’re hoping one will magically appear and bippity, boppity boo you out of this god forsaken shed and away from this fucker.

Cock still hard inside of you, he pushes your hips flush to the floor with ease, lying nearly completely on top of you and throbbing in your cunt. It’s like his whole body covers you, swallowing you up like a monster, encasing you in black. The heat emanating from his dark clothes feels so different to the bitter air outside.

“I want to fuck your little hole raw, sweetie. It’s all mine now. I’ve done my waiting,” he growls, and the sound makes you shiver.

That voice! You definitely know that voice-

He starts grinding into your heat, body moving sensually on top of yours, grunting at the way your walls suck him in, the way they try to hold onto his massive cock for dear life. You’re ashamed to admit his groans of pleasure flowing into your ear spark excitement straight through you, and with how your clit brushes the floor with each languid thrust of his hips you’re well on your way to finally reaching your orgasm again.

“God, you feel so f-fucking tight, shit. So goddamn good, been dreaming about your sweet cunt for months now.”

You’re panting like a bitch in heat – face flushed, mewling like a little kitten for this psychopath, and it feels as though with each second that passes, holding onto your sanity becomes an impossible task as you let yourself be split open by his cock.

“Please…”

“’Please’ what?” The hand groping your ass moves to cup the back of your neck. “Please…stop? You want me to stop?”

His hips begin to slow. Without thinking, you reach behind you to grasp at his side. “N-No! Don’t stop, no no-“

What the fuck am I saying?!

You know he’s smirking behind the mask. The thumb on your neck rubs circles in faux comfort.

“I would never have thought such a good girl like you had a thing for this sort of shit. You freak,” his hips quicken, and you let out an airy sigh of relief. “If I had known how wet you would be I would’ve come to see you a lot earlier.”

You can’t say anything in response with your cheek pressed to the floor. Instead you close your eyes in disgrace as your walls squeeze his member hard. He falters and curses in surprise.

“Holy shit, you’re the tightest I’ve ever fucked. Be honest babe, have you been saving yourself for me?” His laugh is raspy. He laughs and laughs, like it’s an inside joke you’ll never be privy to.

And you just can’t shake the familiarity of his voice. You know you’ve heard it before, and it makes you all the sicker to realise that the killer might be someone you know, have been near, have talked to.

He grunts, resting his mask-covered face on your shoulder. “God I could get used to this. Maybe I’ll keep you around, yeah? Lock you up in my house like a lil’ sex dolly, just for me. You like that?” You shake your head ‘no’ rapidly, but the clenching of your walls says otherwise.

“Can’t fool me babe. I can feel how much you want me.”

The hand lifts from your neck, and you strain to raise it off the floor. The shed is a symphony of sounds from where you’re joined with the killer, wet squelching that betrays how turned on you are. You’re gushing around his cock, coating his pelvis in your sweet juices, and it’s impossible to deny how much this is getting to you when the evidence is leaking out of you.

“I bet you’re into all kinds of stuff,” he says distractedly. You bite your lip as you keep your eyes trained on that traitorous doggy door. “Like anal stuff! You wanna try something right now?”

Your eyes widen.

Something solid presses against the rim of your ass and you jolt in shock, whipping your heading around frantically only to nearly die on the spot as you see what’s touching you.

The handle of the killer’s knife circles your opening, daring to press in just the slightest and breach your hole. Your heart thuds in your chest like a hammer as you try to squirm out of his hold, while he just playfully tilts his head at you in amusement.

“No, not that, please not that! I don’t want it, stop it, stop-“

He lifts the knife away from your ass but the relief is short lived as he places the tip of the blade on your back. It feels sharp, with a bite as cold as winter, and you try to hold as still as possible despite his continued thrusting as he pretends to draw shapes into your skin.

“Don’t worry,” he soothes. “I won’t do it. Not now, at least. If you play your cards right, we’ll get to do it next time.”

If you play your cards right, huh? You don’t like how that sounds. Sure, you avoid death, but you live to experience another hellish day. It’s a double-edged sword, but it’s your only hope.

The killer pierces your skin suddenly as you’re lost in your thoughts, and the pain frightens you so much you jump away from him and feel his cock slip out of you. It’s ridiculous how empty you feel now that he’s not inside of you, and it makes the killer groan to see your walls flutter and squeeze around thin air.

“Whoops!” He snorts. He takes hold of his shaft and aims it at your slit once more. “Want me to help put it in again, babe?”

And just like that, with a few simple words, it clicks.

Like two puzzle pieces joining together to finally complete and reveal the bigger picture, it dawns on you just where exactly you’ve heard that voice before, why everything about the killer just seems so oddly familiar.

You’ve sat next to the killer in class. You’ve laughed with him, sat close to him, opened your heart to him while he listened with an attentive ear and a patient, lazy smile. You’ve sent him pictures of your body and he’s responded in kind. You’ve played with yourself on so many nights to the thought of him, and hoped he’d done the same with yours.

You’ve shared barely there kisses, words full of sin and excitement.

You’ve had a crush on him.

Your blood runs colder than ice.

“Matsukawa Issei,” you say as firmly as you can, but the words wobble on the edges, telling of how unstable your grip on reality is at this moment.

He grows very still. Deathly still. The shed turns quiet. All you can hear is the buzzing of the light overhead and the beating of your heart in your ribcage, the rushing of blood in your ears as a terrifying pressure weighs you down.

After a long moment, one that feels like forever, he speaks, and his voice isn’t as playful as it was before. It sounds darker, like he’s disappointed you’ve caught him before the game was over, like you’ve spotted his winning hand before he could place them on the table.

“Well, aren’t you a clever girl.”

Words that would have made you melt into a puddle just an hour ago now fill you with complete dread.

You can barely move as your fears were confirmed, can barely see past the tears that are falling faster now. It feels like everything you’ve ever known is burning and crashing to the ground, and you’ve lit the match while Matsukawa poured the gasoline.

You don’t fight it as the killer - no, as Matsukawa turns your body around to face him, limp like a ragdoll, legs still lamely spread for the man in the ghost mask before you.

With a tilt of his head, there’s a pregnant pause in which you’re trying not to hyperventilate and pass out beneath him as you await his next move. There’s a million thoughts screaming in your head but you can focus on none of them as Matsukawa raises a gloved hand to his mask, gripping onto the end of it, and ever so slowly lifting it up inch by inch, revealing tanned skin, a feral grin that forces you to bring your hand to your mouth to suppress a whimper because of how evil it looked, and hooded eyes that follow your every move with a bright intensity that only someone as like Matsukawa Issei could possess.

The face of the killer is revealed to you, in all his wicked glory, and the tears that have shed non stop fall faster down the sides of your face in mute terror.

You had wanted to have sex with Matsukawa tonight.

Well, you got your fucking wish, didn’t you?

Matsukawa grins lopsidedly, with a boyish charm that makes you feel sick.

“Surprise!”

“Oh, God…” you whimper, and close your eyes shut in misery.

“Hey now, where’s that spirit from a few minutes ago, huh? Is it the mask? Want me to put it back on again? I can do that - whatever will get the juices flowing.”

He laughs at his own stupid joke. Because this is just all one big comedy to him, isn’t it? You’re nothing but the punchline to a bad, fucked up gag. You’re amazed at how your body still manages to feel a deep sense of mortification over all of this.

“It’s not the fucking mask,” you whisper. Matsukawa hums.

“Seems like it kinda is about the mask. Was I really any different with the mask on-”

“Yes! You were!” you blurt out, bubbling in anger and betrayal.

He regarded you with a cool, blank look. “How?”

“It’s because you’re...you! Because you...you-”

“Because I’m just ‘a normal guy’ without the mask?” He raises his brow as his face gets closer to yours, like looking at a bug through a lens. “Because I’m the nice guy who made you laugh and listened to all your problems and gave you a shoulder to cry on?”

His nose brushed the tip of yours, and you held your breath as you stared into his dark eyes in a twisted sort of entrancement.

“Because I’m the guy you have a crush on? The one who kissed you at parties, who you sent nudes to?” He laughs lightly at that. A smirk creeps onto his plump lips. “Because I’m the guy who jerked it to every single picture and video you sent, wishing it was my fingers making you cream instead of your pretty little ones? I got my wish there, didn’t I?”

Seems like tonight is the night for wish fulfilment.

Matsukawa plants a gentle kiss on your trembling lips. You hate yourself for loving it.

His next words are whispered against your lips. “News flash babe - there are killers all around you. Always have been. Whether it’s me, or the neighbor you see watering the flowers, or the guy who’s been working at the corner shop for too long. They’re just waiting to come to their senses. Waiting to understand the thrill of the kill.”

That makes whatever resolve you had built up crumble like sand in the wind.

“No, no no no- w-why? Why are you doing this? Why me?!”

Matsukawa wipes away your tears with a tsk tsk tsk, one that reminds you of a parent soothing you after you’ve scraped your knee. “It’s because I like you, silly.”

All you feel is confusion, a mess of mixed emotions clouding your thinking abilities. “You l-like me? But then-,” you start to become a sobbing mess, and Mattsun comforts you all the way through your crying fit, peppering sweet little kisses all over your tear stained cheeks in ways you would have adored in other circumstances. It messes with your heart and mind too much, at war with being terrified of who he has become, at ease with such a familiar face.

“Why do you want to k-kill me? What did I do?” you manage to say. Matsukawa wears a serious expression as he contemplates your words.

“It’s not that I wanna kill you, per se. I just think there’s a certain...art to it, you know? It’s symbolic. Killing the girl you like, a final leap into villainy. That sort of thing. Like in the movies!”

He grins.

“I wanted to go out with a bang. Literally. Finally get to sink my cock into you, fuck you nice and deep. Get a taste of you before I let you go. I’m not into that necro shit. That’s psychotic,” he comments. You have half a mind to tell him that no matter what his fucked up sense of morals are, everything he’s doing right now makes him no better than a corpse fucker, but you hold your tongue.

“But now that I actually have you...I might keep you around. You just feel too good to go to waste.”

His words are accentuated with a grind of his hips, his member slipping through your warm and puffy folds with a grunt of pleasure. It’s one thing to get fucked by someone you can’t see, it’s another to see the way his long dark lashes flutter as the sensation of your wet heat overcomes him, to see vivid expressions of pleasure flash across his face like a movie reel.

“What do you think? Want me to fuck you this good every day, every hour? Make you cum over and over and over again on my dick?”

No. Yes.

You want to crawl into a ball and die.

But through the black murky tar that is your mind right now, one thought stands out above the rest.

Say yes and you’ll live another day.

You don’t plan on dying here.

You beg your trembling hands to cooperate as you move to cup his face. There’s a flash of surprise in his eyes, so quick you’d almost miss it, but it gives you an inkling of hope you so desperately needed for your plan of escape. You need him to trust you.

Your eyes plead, beg for mercy, as you start the greatest test of your strength.

“Y-Yes, I do. Please.”

It’s all you can muster. But it’s enough.

Matsukawa Issei grins in delight. In fact, he looks even more excited than before. Hook, line, and sinker.

You can only hope this isn’t a cruel trick you’ve accidentally fallen into.

The kiss he gives you is a lot rougher than the ones before - this is animalistic, hungry, as his mouth and tongue invade every one of your senses, trying to drown you in his entire being. Your hands wander into his thick hair and tug, receiving a guttural moan into your mouth as he ruts against your sex like a wild dog.

“So you are a freak,” he grunts into your neck as he bites and nips at your skin. He laps at your collarbone, licking up the sweat clinging to your skin. “We’re gonna be the most fucked up couple ever, babe. Our own little version of Bonnie and Clyde. Killing together and drilling into your ass every night. Sounds like fucking heaven.”

It makes you want to gag as much as his words make your body burn with desire, a messed up want for his undivided attention, just as you always dreamed. Your mind says ‘get the fuck away from him’ while your eight month long dry spell says ‘yes, please ruin me and fill me with cum!’

Matsukawa grips his cock, slaps the head against your sensitive bud a few times before slipping back in. The burn of your walls from the sheer size of his dick is still there, but not nearly as painful as earlier. You emit a sound of slight discomfort but nothing more, too distracted by the tongue licking at whatever cleavage your shirt is showing. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you delirious, the delicate brush of his pelvis to your clit helping to build your orgasm for what you desperately hope is the final build up tonight.

Your fingers stay locked in his hair as he paints your chest in bruises and marks with his teeth, curling around silky soft locks that make you whimper for what could have been if Matsukawa hadn’t gone down such a dark path. You wonder if anyone else knows, if his family have any inkling as to how terrifying their baby boy is.

You blush when his eyes make contact with yours. He makes a show of pulling your shirt down as far as he can, and one side of your bra subsequently follows. Pink lips wrap around your pebbled nipple, and you inhale sharply.

“S-Shit, feels...so…”

“Does that feel good, baby? I can make you feel like this every day,” his voice is muffled as he takes your nipple into his mouth and sucks, grazing his teeth over the flesh to make you jump.

“It’s so good,” you sigh, eyelids fluttering as he shows the same devotion to your other breast after moving the clothes blocking his way. “I w-want…”

“Hmm?” Matsukawa hums around your breast. He releases it from his mouth with a loud pop. The smirk on his face is lackadaisical in nature, but the shine in his eyes betrays how much he is enjoying this. “What do you want?”

He gives a harsh thrust, so abruptly, and you keen as you try to hold him as close as possible, wrapping your legs around his waist. It makes him hit a new angle that has your eyes rolling into the back of your skull with blinding pleasure, but Matsukawa brings you back to reality with his gloved fingers gripping your face and giving it a shake.

“C’mon, beautiful. Use your words. I can’t give you what you want unless you tell me.”

Your voice is needy and whiny, like you were the poster girl for all things horny and pornographic, but if it makes him fall deeply in love with you long enough for you to tuck tail and run when the opportunity arises, you’ll push aside your pride and play the role.

“Please, I want you to fuck me and give me all your cum, Issei.”

The brunette gives a subtle shiver - his eyes clenched shut, like he’s fighting to regain composure, but a grin breaks out on his face regardless.

“Damn, that sounded so fucking good. Want me to fill you up? Breed this slutty hole, make it all mine?”

“Y-yes, it’s yours, it’s all yours-!”

“Fuck.”

He growls, and the lazy pace he had before vanishes as he starts pounding into your cunt with abandon, lifting your hips onto his thighs to reach even deeper inside of you.

The musty, old air of the shed from before is overpowered by the strong scent of sex in the air - a heady musk of your juices, of sweat and tears and overwhelming pleasure. The sounds of skin slapping on skin is loud and crude but nothing compared to the words Mattsun groans into your ears, calling you his filthy girl, his princess, his sweet little fucked up wife. They are as disgusting as they are hot, and your whole body thrums with your impending orgasm you feel burning in your gut.

“I’m- I’m so close,” you whimper. Matsukawa captures your lips in a bruising kiss, and you’re left gasping for air when he pulls back. You feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest, are sure that he can feel how hard it beats through the layers of his clothes.

“Ah, good girl,” your walls squeeze him in a tight grip, and his hips falter as he swears, before picking up at a speed even faster than before. You can’t catch your breath as he starts jackhammering into your cunt, every gasp for air feels unsatisfactory as he fucks you at a brutal pace. All you can do is be a victim to his sweet words and his thick cock. “You’re sucking me in so well - want you to cum all over my dick babe, fucking take all my cum and keep it there-”

“F-Fuck, you’re so big-,” he steals the words from your chest when his leather clad thumb rubs quick and unmerciful strokes to your clit.

“R-Right there! There...I’m gon- I’m coming!”

A strangled, drawn out moan echoes in the room as your orgasm crashes into you hard. You see white, feel an intense heat grow from the top of your head to the tips of your curling toes as you writhe in ecstasy beneath Matsukawa, nails biting into his neck and scalp as you grip on without meaning to.

It’s lost on Matsukawa, however, as his thrusts turn erratic and wild until he too cums with a shout of your name, spilling his cum into your clenching hole in warm spurts, giving a few final lazy thrusts before pushing all the way in, pelvis to pelvis, and plugging you up. He collapses on your body with a grunt and a sigh, holding your wrists by your head, moving upwards to link fingers in a gesture almost akin to affection.

You’re a babbling mess underneath his heavy body, unable to say anything coherent other than ‘Issei’ and a few scattered moans as your body comes down from the world shifting orgasm you were finally granted.

The fog from your orgasm eventually clears, and that dead weight of dread returns to your chest as you await the judgement of Matsukawa - on whether you live tonight, or if he had a change of heart with post-nut clarity and you die by his hand.

He speaks as you’re eying his knife that lays idly on the floor from over his broad shoulder, mentally calculating how fast you could move to grab it if he decides to finish you off after all.

“Been waiting to do that for a long time.” Matsukawa lifts his head, presses a small kiss to your lips.

“...me too,” you say eventually, not knowing what was safe territory anymore now that the barrier of sex was taken down. You reciprocate every kiss he gives you, wince with every shift of his hips as his flaccid member in your core becomes more apparent and more uncomfortable. He raises his body slightly when he lets go of your hands to plant them on the ground and look around the room.

You grow cold when he stares at the knife.

The door to the shed clicks open before either of you can do anything, and your heart leaps to your throat as your salvation walks through the door.

A head of dull, pink coloured hair walks into the shed, pocketing the key before freezing, eyes wide and staring at the lewd position the two of you are tangled in. Matsukawa looks like he couldn’t care less at the intrusion, in fact he snorts and smiles lopsidedly at his best friend.

Yet just as you’re about to call out to Hanamaki, to scream for help once more tonight, to risk your chances and find safety in Makki because two can take on one much better than you alone could ever hope to with Matsukawa’s strength, Hanamaki speaks up.

“I thought you would have killed her already.”

And just like that, that spark of hope is doused in pisswater.

You feel like you might burst into tears again.

“Nah. Plan’s changed.”

Hanamaki looks perplexed, but laughs with manic glee eventually. “Should have known you were going to drag it out.”

Matsukawa slips out of your walls, and it makes you whimper to feel so empty, so sensitive. He sits you down on his lap and looks at his friend over your shoulder. With this new position, you realise belatedly that your legs are spread and everything is on show for Hanamaki. You burn in embarrassment and move to cover yourself, but two strong gloved hands on your knees stop you from doing so.

Hanamaki takes one look at your raw, cum soaked pussy, and feels his cock twitch in his pants. “Is there some extra time to play with her before you get rid of her?” he asks with a sly smirk. His words make your stomach twist - either in terror or anticipation, you aren’t sure anymore.

“I’m not getting rid of her,” Mattsun says, nuzzling your hair. “She’s joining us. Aren’t you babe?”

You swallow roughly.

“She’s going to be our little fuck toy, whenever we want,” he continues. “You’d do that for me and Makki, right?”

You stare wide eyed at Hanamaki, whose eyes are trained on the globs of cum dripping out of your hole. “You...y-you’re the killer, too.”

His eyes meet yours. “Bingo.”

“Two heads are better than one, right?” Matsukawa laughs.

“Which heads are we talking about here?” Jokes Hanamaki. You don’t have energy to fake a laugh. Just how many more people you knew were in on this? Oikawa? Iwaizumi?

“But now with three heads, maybe things will get a little more interesting.” Matsukawa holds you painfully tight as Hanamaki stalks over to kneel in front of you. You feel too exposed with both sets of eyes watching you like a hawk, like they’re trying to find your flaws. “You wouldn’t dare tell anyone about this. Would you?”

You understand the weight of that question; with a pleading look you don’t have to fake, your head shakes rapidly side to side. “N-No! I wouldn’t tell a soul! I’m serious.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa stare at each other, like they’re having a silent conversation in their heads. A psychotic connection, a pair of sick minds that are so in sync with mania that they don’t even need words.

Eventually, Makki’s eyes swivel back to yours, and his dry smile shifts to a heated smirk.

“Well then,” his voice is dark as he unbuckles his pants, and his cocks slaps against his lower abdomen. It’s already leaking with precum when he rubs the head, and you bite your lip when he shudders at the feeling. “I guess you’ll just have to prove your loyalty to us.”

The slurping sounds from between your legs are loud and obnoxious, but the man behind them certainly knows how to use his tongue as he eats you out with fervour, groaning into the wet mess of your pussy with eyes rolling back into his skull as you grip onto his pink head of hair.

Matsukuwa keeps you on his lap as he rolls your nipples around with his thumbs, squeezing your mounds every so often to elicit sighs from your lips.

You almost forget about the crew filming you, the lights and cameras that stay trained on your writhing body as you get lost in the euphoria of being between Hanamaki and Matsukawa, letting pleasure take over you completely, falling into your own blissful world.

Until you hear Matsukawa snort out a laugh into your ear behind you, and says, in a quiet voice that rings too loudly on the set, “wazzup?”

Oh.

Oh no.

Here we go.

Hanamaki stops sucking at your clit suddenly, and the sensation of him laughing into the folds of your sex makes your eyes pop open.

“Wazzuuuup.”

“Uhm, please don’t-” you try to stop them as the cameras are still rolling, but like an avalanche, it keeps getting progressively worse. Your crew sends you helpless looks - you’re the director, you have to get this under control.

“Wazzuuuuuuuuup!” Matsukawa bursts out laughing while Hanamaki follows as they continue to throw that stupid fucking word back and forth, as if one doesn’t have his hands on your tits and the other doesn’t have half of his face shoved into your pussy right now.

“You know what?” you say loudly, breaking out of character and making both of them stop with their dumb reference. “This scene isn’t going to work. I’m taking it out. Let’s stop filming.”

Both men whine in disappointment, but you shrug indifferently and pout at a nearby forgotten painting of dogs playing poker. You’ll have to ask Oikawa if you can keep that after all of this is done. You’d hate to let that sit here, gathering dust. It’s pretty cool.

Hanamaki puts his chin on your abdomen and juts his glistening lower lip outwards. “Aww, what? You’re ending the scene? But I really liked this scene!”

Matsukawa laughs. “Yeah, because you get to be in it and eat her out.”

“Well, it is my favourite meal.”

Both of them grin cheesily at each other. You want to bury your face in your hands. Men.

“...can we still fuck right now, though?”

Hanamaki looks pleading as he says it. There’s no mistaking the glint of arousal in his eyes, or the way his hips grind onto the floor for some sort of friction. You bite your lip in contemplation.

“Please?” Matsukawa asks. He kisses his way up your neck, to suck on the space below your ear. How they were so bold with your little crew watching, you’ll never know. “We’ll show you an even better time now that all the cameras are off.”

You shiver, and the raised brow coupled with the smirk from Hanamaki seals the deal for you. You look up at your meagre crew.

“Go get something to eat and come back in a few hours to go over footage and reshoots. Maybe we can do some pick up shots.”

They say nothing, but flash you knowing looks as they gather their bags and close the door behind them until the shed is silent once more.

Hanamaki smiles in sweet delight.

“Aww, hell yeah,” he cheers, and goes right back to where he left off with a drag of his tongue along your folds.

#I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS REACHED OVER 1K #OMG #THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO LIKED AND REBLOGGED IT #IT MEANS SO MUCH #ILY ALL #reblogged

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