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mypoisonedvine · 6 months

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𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 | ghostface!darren (pig) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | he probably wasn't even invited to this party, because who would invite him? but he came anyways... just to torment you. far more than you could've imagined, in fact.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 2.5k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | NONCON DARK SMUT 18+ ONLY!!, public sex, degradation, pain kink, knife kink, a bit of predator/prey, blood kink, smoking, unprotected sex/implied risk of pregnancy, darren is kind of an incel lmao

It was a pretty traditional high school party— overcrowded, loud and sweaty, bad music and worse liquor— but at least the sea of costumes, ranging from scary to silly to sexy, added at least some new layer of interest to the whole thing.

You hadn’t tried very hard with your devil costume— more accurately an attempt at a ‘sexy devil’ costume— but you put on horns and heels with a tight red dress and nobody can really complain. You weren’t really here to get into the ‘spooky spirit’ or whatever anyways, just an excuse to drink and maybe chat with some people you’d been missing.

The person you ended up chatting to right in that moment, though, was exactly the last person you wanted to talk to.

You didn’t even know there was someone behind you until you felt him press up to your back, suddenly hovering right by you. “Want a drink?” he asked, shoving a cup towards you, but you were too busy nearly jumping out of your skin to care— you almost knocked the drink over, actually some of it did splash onto another partygoer, but she was too drunk to notice.

“Fuck!” you yelped, turning to see the gangly boy behind you. “Christ, Darren, do you have to always sneak up on a girl like that?”

He just smiled and tried to offer the drink to you again.

“M’already holding one,” you pointed out with a frown, “didn’t ya notice?”

“O-oh yeah,” he mumbled, lowering the cup finally. “Costume looks good.”

“Thanks,” you shrugged, though you suddenly felt the urge to tug down the bottom of your dress.

“You’re not worried what the boys are gonna think with you dressed like that?” he asked, and you glared at him as you shoved his shoulder.

“Don’t you think before you open your fuckin’ mouth?” you spat. “What are you, anyway?”

The black robes didn’t really tell you anything— not until he reached behind his head and pulled a Ghostface mask over his face.

“Oh,” you snorted, “not the most original, is it?”

“Don’t like t’movie?” he wondered as he pulled the mask back again.

“I mean, it’s pretty good,” you relented, “but—”

“You wanna fuck ‘im, don’t you?” he insisted suddenly with a lascivious grin.

“What?” you squinted.

“Ghostface,” he clarified, “you’re one of the girls who thinks he’s fit, yeah?”

“Why are you always such a creep?” you asked him with a grimace, but then you decided to change the topic quickly. “Kinda thought you’d be a pig or something,” you admitted, “with the nickname and all.”

“Nah, that’s stupid,” he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms— which made you notice the prop knife in his hand. It actually looked pretty good, shinier than most plastic costume knives.

Just then, Jimmy O’Doyle sauntered up beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders. “Ay, little devil,” he greeted, flicking the red horns on your head as you smiled sheepishly.

He hardly acknowledged Darren, spare for a quick nod, but Darren was staring at Jimmy for a little too long before he looked at you again.

“Thought you said you didn’t want a boyfriend,” Darren said sharply, glowering a bit.

Jimmy scoffed and you shifted uncomfortably; Darren tended to be… what’s the word… desperate? Clingy? Overall bizarre? He certainly couldn’t take much of a hint.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said first, though that didn’t really matter— you didn’t need any reason to reject Darren, outside of your natural self-preservation instinct. He actually wasn’t bad-looking, but it was hard to tell past those leering eyes and the uncomfortable smile. He wasn’t smiling now though… he looked quietly enraged, sipping pointedly on his drink as he glanced away for a moment.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Jimmy smirked at you, hardly waiting for your nod before disappearing back into the crowd.

Suddenly, as you felt Darren’s livid gaze from awkwardly close, you decided that you needed a little fresh air. And by that, you really meant a cigarette.

Not wanting to tell Darren that you were going outside for a smoke, you instead mumbled some excuse about going to the loo— somewhere he was just sane enough not to follow you to— and bumped through the crowd until you found a door out into the neighbourhood.

There was a slight drizzle still going outside— more of a misting, really— that made everything all foggy and grey, spare for the yellow-y glow of the streetlamps dotting the way. It wasn’t a full moon, as cool as that would be, but near to one… regardless, it wasn’t visible behind low, dark clouds, leaving the night starless and dreary. There wasn’t much to look at in the alley as you lit your cigarette and took slow drags from it, so as you stared blankly forward at brick walls with chipping whitewash, your mind wandered a bit. Nothing of great merit: upcoming assignments, the possibility of an afterparty, the lingering hope you could find a steamy hook-up for the night… you didn’t just put this outfit on for the pictures.

Before you could get too far into your imagination, you were startled by a distant sound, jumping slight as your head turned towards it— but it was just the dark alley, not much to see. You squinted, trying to make out movement in the shadows, but for quite a while you couldn’t see anything.

Only when you turned your head back forward with a shrug was there any sign of what you’d heard, just a shift in the corner of your eye. You looked at it again, and you hated to admit it, but your heart froze up for a second when that white face emerged from the darkness.

Of course, you gave your best unaffected scoff when you actually processed what you were looking at.

“Quit it, Darren,” you warned, willing your voice to sound stable as you shouted down the road towards him, “you’re not gonna scare me.”

You watched him move closer, stepping into the light so you could see him better, and tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck stood up. If he knew he was getting to you, he’d just keep doing it; you rolled your eyes and took a drag through your cigarette to try to seem nonchalant… but you had to stop your hand from shaking just a bit. Only because it was chilly out, surely…

You thought it was a joke— a stupid joke, but still just a joke— until he dragged his knife along the brick wall as he stalked toward you. The sharp, high-pitched screech of metal against stone was unmistakable… and that was how you realised it was a real knife. A very sharp, very real knife; he’s going to actually kill me, you thought, just before you let out a primal and instinctive scream.

Turning on your heel, you ran as fast as you could. Each rapid pulse of your heart pumped adrenaline through your veins, and you felt so shaky that you worried the light night breeze would knock you over.

These were far from running shoes, though— they were pretty excruciating to just stand in, actually— and it was only a few blocks of a chase before you tripped. Yelping in pain, you tried to scramble up or even crawl forward… but just as you rolled over and winced from landing on your hip, you saw him stalking forward into the flickering light of a streetlamp.

He was probably just going to take the mask off and laugh at you, right? Reveal the whole thing was a silly prank and the knife was fake and that he just wanted to prove you were scared of him. Yes, that would be the most sane thing for him to do at that moment, even after being so not-sane by chasing you with a knife. Instead, as you tried to crawl back, he just tilted his masked head curiously at you, and with his free hand reached down and palmed at his groin. He was hard— you could see the outline of it through his costume, his hips rocking forward slightly into his palm as you heard a muffled hiss from his mouth.

He knelt down and grabbed your kicking legs, roughly yanking you closer and hovering above you menacingly. “C’mon and scream for me,” he ordered with a delighted purr, pulling his mask back, laughing when what came out of you was more of a wail or sob instead. “Louder, y’little whore—”

“Get off me!” you shrieked, trying to fight him away, whining as he laid down over you instead and licked your neck. You turned your head with a grimace, shuddering as his weight pinned you against the slightly-damp pavement.

“G’na show Pig how tight the little hole gets when you’re scared— aren’t ya, fuckin’ slut?”

“Be serious, Darren— s’not funny, get away from me!”

You struggled less when he flashed the knife; as little as you could, in fact you actually nearly froze as he teased you with it, running the tip down the front of your dress with just enough pressure to pop a few sequins off, making you whimper in terror. He laughed, though— a small, dark, chuckle. “Quiet now,” he noticed. “Don’t make a fuss, sweetheart.”

You had to bite your lip to hide a shout, though, when a gloved hand up slipped under your short dress, grabbing greedily at your lacy panties. He licked his teeth, bared by his grin, as he stared at you with those haunting eyes of his. “Wet, aren’tcha, girl?” he taunted— not that he’d be able to feel it through his black gloves, but past your own groaning you could almost hear it (though you tried not to).

“You’re such a creep!” you spat, though you tried to regulate your tone as you glanced at his knife again, held against you by one of his hands on your arm; maybe part of you still thought he would stop and admit it was a joke, but the darkness in his stare made you doubt that more and more. The gravity of the situation still hadn’t really set in yet— sure, you were coursing with fear and had goosebumps all over, but it didn’t totally feel real.

“Won’t take too long,” he promised with a sigh as he hastily tugged his costume out of the way, still pinning you down with one hand (if not as effectively). When he roughly yanked his cock out, proudly brandishing it between your legs as your eyes went wide… that’s when it felt real.

“Don’t,” you gasped instantly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Don’t, Darren, please— you can’t—”

“Shh,” he hissed quickly, “s’good— gonna feel good, alright?”

He gasped loudly as he pushed inside you, eyes shutting tight before he dropped his head down onto your chest. “Fuck, girl— what’s a whore cunt so tight for?”

Not wasting any time, he pulled his hips back and roughly thrusted forward into you again, making you choke on your cry.

“S’for me, isn’t it?” he decided with a sick sort of grin. “Want Pig to feel good? Like t’squeeze the thick cock, don’t ya?”

“I— I fuckin’ hate you,” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tight, in disgusted disbelief that this was happening— that it was him inside you, holding you down. But you couldn’t forget it, not with him moaning and purring above you, mumbling stuttered praises… and the feeling of it, it was impossible to ignore, as much as you hoped to somehow. It was a deep stretch, each thrust making your chest tighten out of more than just fear.

“Mmf, fuck,” he grunted, holding onto you tighter— another reminder he still had that fucking knife. “Pretty— it’s a pretty thing… it’s warm inside…”

Grimacing, you hated the way your body responded to his lewd comments about it; your walls clenched on him slightly, you could tell by the way you felt even more sore inside than before.

He pressed the knife up against your neck, growling in amusement at your wince of fear. “Think Pig’s gonna slice you?”

“I… I don’t know,” you stammered out your answer, eventually.

“Waste of a pretty face, no?” he smirked, moving the knife up and caressing the side of your face with it— not that it could really be called a caress, all rigid and cold like that… “Say please.”

“Huh?”

“Say please,” he repeated, “beg me not to hurt you.”

“Already are,” you sneered at him, but he pressed the knife to your neck with a little more intention— a little more pressure, a wild look in his eyes suddenly— as he insisted again.

“Wanna hear you beg,” he spat. “Do it or Piggy might hurt you worse.”

“Please, please,” you whispered shakily, shutting your eyes. “Please don’t, Darren…”

You gasped sharply as he pressed the knife down just enough to draw a thin line of blood, only to pull the blade away and lick hungrily at the wound. Feeling dizzy and sick, you winced at the sting of his tongue lapping at your pierced skin, lips wrapping around and suckling as teeth dug painfully into your pulse.

He thrusted faster, recklessly so, and bit down on his lip as he breathed heavier. You were too focused on how painfully deep he was going to really process anything when he started to slow down— that is, you felt that he was slowing down, and didn’t think for a minute about why he was slowing down.

His loud, low groan gave it away; you snapped back to reality and looked up at him in a new kind of fear. “Fuck, Darren, did you just—?!” you whimpered, squirming harder as you realised what he’d done.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed you sharply, hissing as he grabbed a tight hold of your hip. “Stay fuckin’ still, girl— fuck, I’m still coming—”

You yelped and tried harder to fight him off, but he kept you pinned down easily, even forcing you into a rough and sloppy kiss.

He sighed into it after a second, relaxing on top of you until it was a little hard to breathe under his weight. You whined and tried to break away, but the hand with the knife still in it held your jaw, the cold metal pressing threateningly against your face.

Whimpering and blinking up at him, you met his icy gaze and he smiled proudly down at you. “Little devil, eh?” he smirked as he toyed with your horned headband, which had become quite dishevelled from all the running and struggling. “Your blood matches the outfit— poor whore, red all over…”

“Darren,” you choked, fighting a sob of disbelief as you felt him pull out of you with a hiss— a steady, sticky leak giving away how much he’d come. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Don’t be fussin’, girl, like I said,” he rolled his eyes, though he was still grinning wide. “Ready to go back to the party now? Or do you just want Pig to take y’home, sweetheart?”

#darren pig x reader #disco pigs #cillian murphy x reader #darren pig smut #darren pig dark!fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy dark!fic

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peachie-bumblebee · 9 months

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Hiii your nsfw headcanons for FNAF SB was INTENSE. IT WAS SOMETHING I WASNT READY FOR LMAO

So i was wondering can you do nsfw headcanons for Sun/Moon too?

HOLY SHIT! My first ask on this account- I LOVE receiving asks on anything and everything- from comments to requests! As for your ask- of course love <3

NSFW SUN/MOON HEADCANONS

MINORS DNI

did i kinda snap with this one?? y’all let me know :))

CW: OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, SOMNOPHILIA, MILD EXHIBITIONISM, CHOKING

SUN

FUCKING BRACE YOURSELF!

oh no. oh nonononono. if he’s set his eyes on you you’re kind of in trouble because he-

he fucks like a rabbit. he’s the type to practically crawl on top of his partner and beg to fuck them.

as for his sex style? fast. i don’t think he knows how to take it slow.

he will rut his partner into the goddamn floor, breathing heavy and endless thank-you’s spilling out of his mouth

he’s absolutely insane over it. he’d be drooling if he could.

he’s the type who can’t keep his hands off his partner. if you came to visit him and y’all were alone he’s immediately snaking his hands down your hips and pressing his erection into your ass.

he can’t give head cuz he doesn’t have a tONGUE but you best believe that if he could he’d be down like a damn dog about it.

i’m thinking about them long ass fingers YEOOOUCH

if his partner worked overnight at the pizzaplex and needed to take a shower his spidey senses would fucking go off

you’d turn around and his fingers would be curled around the door opening like

“Can I come in? Please say yes. I’ll leave you alone if you want but please please if you’re okay please let me in please. Please.”

he can’t help himself. Pussy/Bussy drunk ass motherfucker.

FASCINATED by fingering his partners. He loves watching them slide in and out with a PASSION. If they left a mess on them he’d nearly die and go to heaven. I swear to god.

let’s be so fucking fr I know for a fact he’d like to be called a Good boy. It’d kill him.

worships the ground you walk on. Fucks like he’s trying to win the gold medal of making you feel good. Please tell him you did.

he can go forever. He doesn’t seem to get satisfied at all. If it was up to him he’d fuck until he straight up absolutely had to get charged.

literally he’ll fuck until his partner either taps out or (consensually ofc)

YEAH HE WHIMPERS. WHAT ABOUT IT.

call him out on it and it gets worse. he’ll tell you that he can’t help it- he can’t.

it’s a orange to yellow gradient with a flushed pink-orange tip. long and skinny. i was solid on this before and i’m solid on it now.

for those who are wondering NO i don’t think any of the animatronics have metal genitalia. think dildo/fleshlight material that gets warm.

he definitely jerks off into some of your clothes if you left them there for him. if you caught him he would be embarrassed but ALSO- if you want him to keep going he’s willing.

more than willing, even.

MOON

ALSO BRACE YOURSELF.

if sun fucks like a rabid animal who can’t keep his mouth shut, moon fucks hard and mostly silently. it’s almost spooky.

he likes to watch. he likes to observe.

he’d fuck his partner from behind with a hand over their mouth, hard and medium paced. but fuck it’s hard.

silently watching his partner’s eyes roll back, hissing through his teeth at the feeling of them clenching down- only one or two words ever coming out.

“Slut.”

“Good.”

you get the picture.

WITH prior consent (everything, and I mean EVERYTHING I write includes consent) he’d watch you sleep.

and jerk off over your sleeping body.

he won’t leave a mess, don’t worry.

…unless you’d like that.

if he knew you wanted it, he’d push a finger slowly in while you slept and work it in and out, careful to keep you slumbering

if you woke up, he’d hush you and tell you to go back to sleep.

he won’t stop though.

both of them are jealous creatures. but moon especially so. if something makes him jealous then it’s absolute brutal thrusts down into his partner with their legs up around his shoulder. maybe choking them out.

don’t worry though. he knows his strength.

he’s 100% the type to silently overstimulate his partner. you could be begging and sobbing and covered in your own fluids and he wouldn’t stop unless you safeworded.

dick is pale blue to white gradient with a pink flushed tip

he doesn’t even make much of a sound when he cums. he just hisses through his teeth.

ooooh if he feels like you like sun more? oh no. oh no you’re done for. he’s gonna prove why he’s the best. it’s gonna be a problem.

a problem you enjoy but STILL

remember: he’s always watching.

always.

I HOPE YALL ENJOYED! please comment, reblog w comments, and request!!! it really motivates me <3

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crayons-and-glitter-glue · 11 months

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I think about Sun and Moon's original versions a LOT, and I don't get why people say they're not expressive!

Or perhaps, I do, and I just wanna ramble. Anyways! Big ol warning for lots of talking, some fursuit gifs and analyzation of body movement.

So, they have flat, immobile faceplates, right? Technically, yes!some argue that this makes them immediately inert and expressionless and opt to enhance their expressions. And this is a-okay! Do what you like!

But as someone who used to be a costumer, and wears a fursuit on occasion,

(Sorry, I love this gif so much)

BUT! When in a mascot costume, fursuit, or any other costume with a mask over one's face, the performer has to learn how to move in order to portray the emotions necessary for character engagement with the audience! Whether it's exaggerated head bobs, using your hands to talk, or making everything a bit of a spectacle, even the way you tilt your FACE can affect how you look.

Even MUPPETS do this with their limited range of expression. And we can easily draw those conclusions of how the boys were programmed to act in canon!

Take Sun's default animation in the daycare, just standing there.

It's very obvious here what he's trying to portray, and who his programmed audience is- little children! When costuming around little kids, you wanna use big gestures, and get on their level because you can seem HUGE AND SCARY to them! You wanna get down towards the ground, make big sweeping cartoon motions, and make sure all your movements are ROUNDED- not jabbing, sharp, or sudden- so that the kid isn't ever surprised, but rather delighted by your performance as a costumer. I'll show you an example by the amazing performer, Temba the Bat! (Made by Toxicoon, I believe.)

Big sweeping motions, slow without being too spooky, and generally friendly motions while swaying the head! Looks kinda similar right?

Another point is, though, these exaggerated motions don't really... turn off when feeling other things. Sun and Moon don't have a customer service mode, and that's WILD to me that their programming requires them to act like this all the time. Exhibit B: Sun's pain in the transformation scene.

He's making such exaggerated motions and movements to INDICATE he is in pain or holding something back. He's gripping his face like something is trying to come out of it, and even dramatically falls backwards to indicate a loss of control in his body. Whether the way the fall looks so cartoonist was intentionally programmed in, I couldn't tell you.

And then... there's Moon.

This is SO cartoon villain sequel, isn't it? The hands tapping delicately on the surface, the exaggerated head tilt, all of it is so wildly exaggerated in such a smooth way to let you know "Ah! I'm in danger! Great!"

And yet... he still is low to the ground. Still in that pose of going after someone SMALL. Performing for someone small. His evilness is almost completely exaggerated and, dare I say, fabricated by his programming. Of course, the virus probably had something to do with it but LIKE! Look at that range of motion!

Idk what the point of all this is, I just wanna say: it's totally understandable to make the boys super duper expressive in the artistic, flat 2d styles i see a lot!

But man I do hope someone draws them biblically accurate while expressing something else because that would be hilarious to see Sun throwing a temper tantrum by banging his fists on the ground and flailing while his face is just

#daycare attendants #dca fandom

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too-much-tma-stuff · 11 months

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No Body to Bury

This is a full dead spin off of another one shot I read about Danny being given flowers for his grave by a child.

-------

The Justice League had been working with Phantom for a while now, not consistently, but he showed up when they were dealing with something ~spooky~, and he’d given them a way to contact him. They called him in to consult, or to back them up sometimes because he was a bit of a power-house. At first they had thought the name was part of his shtick, after all his powers were ghostly enough and there was something satisfying about having a theme.

They had started to suspect something when the child citizen had given him flowers for his grave, and his delighted reaction. It could have just been a kid happy to get a gift, but it wasn’t, it was clearly more then that and Batman had had a flashback to one of Constantine’s crash course lesson’s on supernatural, the one on ghosts. Graves were very important to them, as were morning gifts like flowers and candles, whatever was culturally appropriate.

None of them knew where Phantom’s grave was, Batman had tried to find it, to find anything about the ghosts life and death, but there wasn’t much. Not before he became a hero in Amity park, so he could maybe guess that the other had died in Amity (if he had died), but there was no deaths that matched up with his appearance. The closest thing was a boy named Danny but he had gone missing years after Phantom showed up, and he’d never been declared dead officially. More was impossible to find, even after the GIW had been disbanded the information they had destroyed about the town couldn’t all be retrieved.

Since Batman didn’t know where Phantom’s grave was he couldn’t leave flowers on it directly which meant he had to actually give them to the ghost boy. It was a bit uncomfortable the first few times, and his kids made fun of him for being emotionally repressed but… it made Phantom so happy, and brought him closer and closer to Batman. He had already started to see Phantom as one of his kids, even if he knew he’d never get the ghost to come back to the manor. The gifts helped, he found that Phantom also liked to receive food, he even picked at it sometimes even though it seemed he didn’t need to eat. Sharing meals with him was a good excuse to actually talk some though, Batman would listen and eat his own food as Phantom picked at his and rambled about space, about recent fights he’d been in, and people he’d met.

Through all that Batman managed to learn more about the young hero, about what he valued, and what he did when he wasn’t being a hero. Apparently he spent a lot of time off world but exploring rather then being a hero to the galaxy. Batman had a feeling superman would be upset by that, that Phantom could be doing more good then he was and was choosing not to. But the ghost was clearly still a kid, or at least had been when he died, and he was plenty heroic, he didn’t need to be dealing with universal threats at maximum sixteen years old, Batman felt bad calling him in for the planetary threats, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

As they got closer Phantom started to let other things slip, that he’d had a sister, and a couple of close friends that he still watched over when he could. When Batman had asked if those people knew he was dead Phantom had fallen silent for a full minute and then changed the subject entirely, Batman hadn’t pushed it that time. If he had Phantom would have retreated, but as it was they kept having lunch together, and the boy let more and more slip. Including more stories about those friend he must have had while he was alive, it was during one of those that he let his name slip.

“So my sister said to me, ‘Danny you should-‘” his mind seemed to catch up with his mouth and he froze, Batman was still too but when Phantom started to fade from view he spoke up.

“Phantom, wait, why don’t we leave the tower and go somewhere private. We can talk secret identities, I’ll tell you mine too,” Batman promised, he thought it was the best way to make Danny feel better, besides he did trust Phantom.

Danny hesitated before fading back into full visibility and nodding, “Alright,” He agreed, looking very young and vulnerable. “Do you mind if I fly us down to earth? I’ll keep you safe from space,” He asked and Batman nodded, letting Danny grab his arms and phase them through the building and out. Danny flue quickly back down to the earth, the side facing away from the sun so it was the middle of the night, putting Batman down in the middle of an abandoned park, landing as well and going to sit on the swing set.

Batman followed, sitting down next to the young hero and trying hard not to think about Ace, another talented and powerful person who went through to much and died to young. Once he was sat down Bruce sighed and took off his cowl, showing his face to the other young hero. “I’m Bruce Wayne,” He said with a wry smile when he saw familiar recognition cross over Danny’s face.

“No way, that makes so much sense,” Danny cackled, which wasn’t the reaction Bruce was expecting. He’d ask about that later, instead he just gestured for Danny to introduce himself next.

“Danny Fenton,” the kid introduced, holding out his hand with an impish little smile. Bruce chuckled and shook it as if this was the first time they’d met instead of having known each other for nearly a year.

“I know that name,” Bruce hummed thoughtfully, back peddling a little when Danny tensed. “Sorry, worlds greatest detective and all, I did a bit of research on Amity Park when you joined us to see if I could track you down. I had ruled that out because your civilian identity didn’t go missing for two years until after you showed up as Phantom. Does that mean you’re not, well, dead?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck at the awkward question.

“Oh, no, I’m very dead,” Danny said with a bitter chuckle, pushing himself to rock on the swing a little. “But I didn’t die for a couple of years after I got my powers, not fully. I don’t think most people understand what it’s like to die twice,” He said, looking down, already pale hands going white around the knuckles with how tight he was holding the chains.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Batman said softly, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. “But if you want to talk, I’ll listen, and I won’t break your confidence,” Bruce assured, they sat quietly for a few more minutes before Danny sighed and looked away.

“My parents were.. well probably best classed as mad-scientists. I loved them and they loved me but they were obsessed with ghosts and with discovery, it was always a tossup which was more important. I would join them in their lab to get their attention, and it was often my job to clean up after them. I ended up being micro-dosed on this stuff they called ectoplasm a lot which probably helped when the accident happened. My parents were trying to build a portal to the ‘ghost-zone’, what Constantine calls the infinite realms. It didn’t work at first, not till I stepped inside it, then it opened and it electrocuted me at the same time as flooding me with that weird glowing green ooze. It killed me and resurrected me simultaneously but not properly.

“Instead of actually bringing me back to life it bound my ghost back to my own body so I became the ghost possessing myself. That’s when I started working as a hero, while I was still partially alive.” He paused, swinging for a moment while Bruce stayed quiet and still, trying not to think about what Danny’s homelife must have been life, or how much it must have hurt to be killed like that.

“After a while the GIW showed up, they tried to catch me, but my parents had been trying to catch or destroy me as phantom for years. The GIW weren’t nearly as competent as the Red Huntress, so I avoided and ignored them. But I started to take it for granted and dismiss them, I didn’t pay enough attention, and they finally got the drop on me. I don’t want to talk about everything they did to me, but it was bad, and it was to much for my human half,” Danny stopped again and bit his lip, there was a hitch in his breathing that told Bruce exactly why Danny was hiding his eyes.

“Danny died, but it turned out that being half human was sort of holding back what I was capable of as a ghost,” He snickered with a little bit of bitter, vicious glee. “They couldn’t hold me anymore, all their little devices got left on my corpse when they forced me out and I destroyed the lab. After that I just… couldn’t go back to my life, it’s not natural. I died, they need to grieve me. That’s- that’s how it works.”

“And did they? Did you… get a burial?” Bruce asked, because he hadn’t seen anything about it in the news. His fear was confirmed when Danny took a deep breath and shook his head.

“No, I didn’t leave my body in the wreckage. I was worried… scratch that, I knew my parents would cremate me to try and keep me from coming back as a ghost, because they didn’t know I already was one. And that would weaken my connection to this world. I need to protect people, it’s half my purpose, I need a connection to this world.”

“Where did you hide it?” Batman asked, his breath catching when he saw Danny’s eyes flash a dangerous red.

“Why do you want to know?” He growled, bearing teeth that were sharper then they usually were. “You gonna give it back to my family for ~closure~? Destroy it yourself to curtail my power? I know Constantine is scared of me, he’d like that.”

Bruce immediately held his hands up in a placating gesture, of course Danny would be protective of his body. “No nothing like that Danny, I promise,” He said quickly. “But I just remember from what I’ve been told about ghosts, having a grave is important and, if you wanted, I would like to see you get a proper burial. It’s your body, you should get to control what happens to it but if you wanted a grave, a funeral, we have a protected graveyard for fallen heros. You’d fit right in,” He said with a uncertain smile.

Danny relaxed slowly, his eyes going back to green and his expression turning contemplative, looking back down as he thought about the offer. “Maybe… maybe,” He murmured. “It would be nice to have a grave, I’ve been leaving the flowers near my body in the ghost zone but… it would be nice to have a grave. I can feel the longing, the instinct. It feels bad to not have… have that, have something.

“But… I am scared. Would you be willing to- if you do an empty coffin funeral and burial for me, I’ll put my body in it, once the coffin is in the protected ground I can phase my body into it?” He asked, looking up at Batman worriedly and it was so obvious Danny was just a kid, a neglected boy who had been unlucky enough to die violently twice.

“Of course Danny, however you feel most comfortable,” Batman assured. Watching as Danny took a deep breath, more out of habit then anything, then nodded firmly.

“Then, I would like that. I know I am still here in a way so it feels weird having a funeral for me but, I still died, and I’d like to be remembered.” He murmured uncertainly.

“Of course, I understand. We didn’t get rid of my son’s grave when he came back because he still died. Being brought back, in any way, doesn’t really undo that,” Bruce sympathized, finally getting a small smile from Danny.

“Thank you Bruce, you’re a good guy. Now… do you need a lift back to the watchtower?”

“Yes please,” Bruce agreed with a sigh, finally standing up and pulling his hood back on. He had a funeral to plan.

"When we do have the funeral, can you ask your son to come? I'd like to meet him," Danny asked and Batman hummed, not sure how to explain the complicated relationship he had with Jason now.

"I'll try," He agreed, that was the best he could do really.

Part 2: here

#dc x dp #danny phantom #bruce wayne #batman #full dead AU #fanfiction #no shipping #Danny gets a funeral #batdad #unedited #will edit and post on AO3 later

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freedomfireflies · 6 months

Text

Tease Me*

Summary: An extra for Teach Me*

The one where you and your best friend, Harry, are invited to a Haunted House.

But ghosts aren’t the only fun thing about this party.

(For my non-spooky besties, the house isn't actually haunted! Just old and abandoned! There are no jump scares💞)

Word Count: 9.5k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, slight exhibitionism, Daddy kink, masturbation, creampie, slight breeding kink, fluff, subspace, Harry being a simp

“Holy…shit.”

The large mansion looms into view. A tall, skeletal structure that’s brightened by the soft glow of the full moon. Hidden behind tall pines and a collection of dancing shadows, it stands like a sentinel of forgotten secrets. Ivy drips from the rotting wood, and boards cover a majority of the windows. The once grand façade bearing the scars of time.

You can see a collection of breathtaking stained glass windows lining the top story of the house. You can’t exactly make out the artwork from this distance, but you know, undoubtedly, that they’re beautiful. Only imagining what those reflections might look like in the sunlight.

The car sneaks along the gravel driveway, the sound of rocks and crunching leaves following you every inch of the way. You feel your breath hitch as you glance over toward Harry, who returns your look with a cocked brow of his own.

He pulls up next to the only other car on the lot. Rather, the only other car for miles. From the passenger seat, you can see Charlie, Jackie, and Caleb all huddled around the hood, conversing in hushed voices, and waving at you both in greeting.

Harry shifts into park before leaning back in his seat to turn his attention to you. “Well?”

You suck in a quiet breath before nodding once. “It’s…spooky.”

“Mhm.”

“And…big.”

“Thanks, but I meant the house,” he replies cooly, and you can’t help but grin.

“Funny. Honestly, I don’t think this is what I was expecting.”

“No?” He considers this with a nod of his own. “I guess it’s more ugly than scary. Caleb said he used to come here all the time when he was a kid. His brother claimed it was haunted.”

“Ooo,” you tease, and Harry smirks. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

He lifts a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t ever really think about it.”

“That’s fair.”

Now his expression twists into something more mischievous as he leans closer to you. “But…if any ghosts come out and try to steal you from me, I have no problem sending ‘em back to the afterlife.”

You laugh again as you playfully swat your hand across his arm before surging forward to kiss him. “You’re an idiot, baby.”

“Yeah. But m’your idiot.”

“Unfortunately.”

He laughs.

With that, you both unbuckle your seatbelts and step out of the car, joining your friends just beside the front steps of the mansion.

“Well, well, well,” Charlie grins, nodding his chin at the two of you. “Can’t believe you actually showed. Thought Har-Bear wasn’t into Halloween.”

Harry offers another shrug; relaxed but amused. “I’m not. But I wouldn’t mind seeing you get the shit scared out of you.”

Charlie’s expression falls while the rest of you laugh. “Okay, funny. Hysterical. Caleb’s the one that pissed himself when he was here last.”

“I was ten, dipshit,” Caleb snorts. “And I didn’t piss myself, I just screamed a little.”

“Right,” Jackie teases, nudging him with her elbow. “Whatever you say, champ.”

Caleb’s eyes roll, but he’s smiling as the five of you begin to make your way up onto the porch. “You’ll see. It’s spooky.”

“I’m sure we will, bud,” Charlie replies, tossing him a wink. “And after you go running back to the car in tears, we’ll make sure to lock up for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

With a soft laugh, Harry looks over at you. “You scared, Bee?”

“Me? Scared?” you snort. “Never.”

“Good.” He tosses his arm around your shoulder and tugs you into his chest. “Nothing to be scared of while I’m here.”

The other two boys pretend to be annoyed while Jackie offers you both a cheeky grin. “You guys are sickeningly sweet.”

“Oh, we know,” Harry answers impishly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I mean, I do a majority of the heavy lifting. But Bee’s pretty cute, too, I suppose.”

“Hysterical,” you deadpan, using your elbow to shove him away as you all approach the front door.

Your little group slows to a stop, exchanging glances and deep breaths as Caleb slowly says, “…are you ready?”

The air is laced with anticipation and excitement, and the four of you nod before his hand outstretches for the door.

It opens with a shrill screech as a flock of birds fling from their spot on a nearby branch and take off into the ghostly night sky.

With a deep breath, Caleb leads you all into the house, head held high, and shoulders back. The mansion is dark and the floorboards creak beneath your sneakers. The air is musky and cobwebs drape from each corner of the doorframe.

Quicky, you all search for your cellphones and flashlights, flipping them on to illuminate the path before you. Revealing a bit more of the corridor as you make your way inside.

“Shit,” Charlie murmurs, eyes wide as his focus flicks from wall to wall. “All right, maybe you weren’t kidding.”

“Told you,” Caleb retorts, peeking his head into the first room. “It’s not exactly scary, but it is cool as hell.”

“No kidding,” Jackie chimes in while you nod. “How many rooms are there?”

“No idea. But there are at least three levels. Plus, the attic, but Zac and I could never figure out how to get up there.”

“I’ll find it,” Charlie declares confidently, and Harry shoots you a knowing smirk. “What? If anyone can, it’s me.”

“I’m sure,” Caleb huffs, slipping in to what looks to be the drawing room. “By all means, go ahead. Honestly, we can split up and check out the other rooms. There’s a lot of cool shit here.”

Charlie nods once, running the light from his phone down one of the walls. Examining the faded wallpaper and dust-covered picture frames.

With a cock of his brow, Harry leans closer, nudging his shoulder against yours. “What do you say? Wanna do some exploring?”

You grin eagerly, nodding as well. “Yeah. Maybe we’ll find the attic first.”

You catch Charlie’s frown out of the corner of your eye, but the five of you can’t help but laugh as Harry leads you toward the next hallway.

The group disperses, with Charlie and Jackie searching the kitchen, Caleb ascending the stairs to the second floor, and you and Harry beginning for some of the bedrooms.

The house is quiet. Eerily so, with only the sound of your footsteps to accompany you. And even with two flashlights, you can only see a portion of the narrow hallway at a time. From the wooden trim to the chipped paint.

You fall in line behind Harry’s taller frame, allowing him to guide you toward the furthest room as he strides with a confidence you envy. Unaffected by the sounds, and smells, and ghostly aurora.

“You all right back there, Bee?” he calls after a moment more of your silence. Seeming to catch your strained inhales and lack of commentary. “Still with me?”

“Yes,” you whisper, but it’s airy. As though your voice has been swept away by the hands of a ghost. “Just…trying not to trip.”

Even without seeing the full of his face, you can tell he’s smiling. “Come on, lovey, you know I’d catch you.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, lashes fluttering as you glance up toward the old chandelier dangling from the tall ceiling.

Suddenly, Harry stops, forcing you to catch yourself against him before he glances at you. “Hop on.”

Confused, you blink. “What?”

“Hop on,” he repeats, placing his cellphone between his teeth while crouching down. Allowing you access to his back in an invitation to climb up.

And once you finally understand, you can’t help but smile. Slipping your arms around his shoulders before hoisting yourself onto his body. Legs curling around his hips while his hands reach back to keep you sturdy.

Once you’re settled, you gently pull the phone from between his lips and aim the fluorescent gleam across the room. Providing him a bit more light to see as he straightens up.

“Thank you, baby,” he hums. “You all right?”

“Mhm. Are you?”

“Very. Just make sure to hold on, yeah?”

You grin a bit wider and tuck your chin over his shoulder. “Promise.”

With that, he begins down the hall, keeping his fingers tight around your ankles. “All right, baby dove, where do you wanna go first?”

Vaguely, you gesture toward the closest room. From the small sliver your light catches, you can see that it’s filled with large curtains and furniture draped in cloth. It looks…reminiscent. Calling to you and inviting you to step inside a lost era, a forgotten memory.

He carries you closer, and as he strides through the murky corridor, you use the height advantage to look around. Taking in the more subtle details of the old house.

The hand railing beside the staircase. The broken floor beneath you. The cracked light fixtures and dusty bookshelves.

You can’t imagine the life that was lived. The parties they threw, the elegance that sang from every corner, the memories that were created.

You wonder about the people who built it. Wonder what they were like, what made them leave. If they ever reminisce about the old house they used to call home.

“It’s beautiful,” you find yourself saying, exhaling the sentiment almost fondly.

Harry hums again, eyes trailing across the expanse of the carpet underneath his shoes. “Shame nobody ever bought it and fixed it up.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “Maybe we should.”

He smiles at this, squeezing your legs a bit tighter. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. Wouldn’t it be fun? A little passion project?”

“Maybe. Don’t know what we’d do with all this space, though.”

You shrug. “Well, we’d have plenty of room to storm off if we got into a fight.”

He laughs. “Yeah?”

“And we’d have plenty of places for…you know, other things.”

“Other things,” he repeats knowingly, glancing back with a smirk. “I do love our other things.”

You snuggle closer. “And if we ever wanted to start a family…we’d have room for that, too.”

He’s quiet now, his tongue slowly sweeping across his bottom lip in thought. “D’you think about our family, Bee?”

“I do,” you admit, almost sheepishly. “Sometimes. Not, like…right away, or anything. But…I just wonder, I guess. What you’d be like. What we’d be like.”

“Yeah? And how are we?”

“We’re good,” you tell him. “You’re the fun parent. Of course. And I’m the one that makes them do their homework and eat their veggies.”

He grins. “Of course.”

“And they have your hair. Lots of curls, very wild.”

“Mm.”

“And they love to sing. They aren’t good at it…but they love it.”

He laughs a bit louder this time, head shaking as he brushes his thumbs across the exposed skin of your ankles. “Sounds about right.”

“And we’re really happy,” you finish tenderly. “And we have two dogs, and one cat. And nothing changes between us. We’re still us, and we still love each other a lot, and we still go on tons of adventures and have really good, wild sex.”

He’s smiling so hard, you can see his dimples. “I wouldn’t want anything less.”

“Me, either.”

You fall silent as Harry finally brings you both into the large room, ducking beneath the frame to make sure you don’t hit your head. You kiss the side of his jaw gratefully before he sets you down with a gentle plop, allowing you both to straighten up and take a look around.

Sizable paintings hang from each wall. Encased behind gold, elegant frames that are layered with a light film of dust. Even still, the artwork is breathtaking. Portraits of what look to be great men and women. Soft brush strokes that are wildly vivid, despite the many years stuck in this dark room.

Harry takes his flashlight from you and aims it toward the green, velvet sofa in the middle of the vast space. Eyes wide as he studies it. “A lot of this stuff is in better shape than I thought it’d be.”

You make a noise of agreement as you gingerly run your fingers along the faded wallpaper. “I wonder what made them leave this all behind?”

“I don’t know. S’probably worth a fortune.”

“And it’s still here? Nobody came and looted it?”

He sports a rather charmed grin at your choice of wording. “Guess not. Kind of strange, honestly. City never reclaimed it, either.”

“Yeah…”

He glances over, a mischievous glint behind the soft green. “Maybe there’s a reason.”

“What?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Maybe…the ghosts won’t let it go.”

Finally understanding his joke, you roll your eyes with a snort before striding toward the giant bookshelf. “Ha, ha.”

“Maybe the owners died in the fifties,” he continues, dropping his voice to a lower drawl. Attempting to add a bit of mystique and suspicion. “Maybe they were murdered in cold blood. And they never found out who killed them, so they haunt the grounds of their old house. Until the day their killer dares to come back.”

You pretend to be intrigued, nodding along with faux fascination. “Uh-huh. Which makes us…what? Ghost bait?”

“Mmm…perhaps,” he murmurs, stalking toward you. “Perhaps that’s why Caleb really brought us here. To feed us to his ancestors. Appease the Halloween Gods.”

“Right.”

He closes the distance between you, angling the beam of his light up toward his face as dark shadows dance across his features. “Or maybe Caleb isn’t Caleb at all. Maybe…he’s a ghost—”

Suddenly, he jolts forward, making you gasp as you steel yourself from the sudden movement. Eyes wide and heart racing.

But once you realize he’s merely messing with you, you begin to glare. Scoffing, “God, you’re an ass.”

He drops his cellphone and beams at you. Much too smug with his victory. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I won’t resist drop kicking your ass out that window.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles, peering down at you with a delicate look of adoration before he’s pressing his lips to yours. “Forgive me?”

You try to pout into the kiss, but he’s too good. Warm and soft and the definition of comfort. “Hm. Fine. Just this once.”

He offers one final peck before returning to his search. Hands sweeping along the grimy bookshelves, fingers trailing down the broken spines. He seems lost in thought, and you watch almost fondly as he reaches out for one particular title.

“Frankenstein,” he reads aloud, tilting it back with a smile. “Used to be my favorite growing up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My mom used to read it to me all the time.”

And you feel this undeniable tug on your heartstrings as you settle behind him, arms slipping around his middle. “What did you like about it?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I liked the idea of something so…broken being so beautiful. Or maybe it was just the idea of how he was built. And why. You know?”

“Yeah. I think it’s sweet you liked it so much. You never told me.”

“I mean, I stopped reading it as I got older. I think I just liked the way my mom read it to me. She’d do all these voices, try to freak me out.”

You laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

“It was great. I loved it. S’probably one of my favorite memories growing up.”

And there’s that yanking in your chest again. “You’re cute, you know that?”

He smirks. “Thanks.”

With that, he releases the book, allowing it to fall back into place on the shelf beside the other novels.

But, the moment it lands, a startling and rather jarring rumble explodes from somewhere behind you. Compelling a jump as you both spin around in search for the offending sound.

And there, just beside the old grandfather clock that sits near the door, hangs one of the large paintings. This one of a beautiful woman wearing a stunning, purple grown and a coy smile. Yet, her portrait is moving. Sliding across the wall as if by magic until you’re able to see what lies behind.

A passageway.

You suck in a gasp as you and Harry both shine your lights into the dark opening. Finding nothing more than a narrow stairway that disappears into somewhere else in the house.

You look to Harry.

Harry looks to you.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, but you can see the excitement weaving through his dimple. “That’s…the coolest shit I’ve ever seen.”

You can’t help but agree, feet drawing you closer, as if compelled by the mesmeric introduction and inviting shadows. “Yeah…”

Footsteps follow you. “Bee, hold on. We don’t know where it goes or if we can get back out.”

Now, you hesitate, considering the rather valid point. “It probably leads to the attic. Caleb said he couldn’t figure out how to get up there, but I’m sure there’s a way back down. There’d have to be.”

“Maybe. Or maybe…that’s where the ghosts are waiting to lure us in—”

“All right,” you hiss, shoving on his arm before continuing for the door. “I will slap that dimple right off your face, I’m serious.”

“Well, you know I like it when you do.”

And even despite his teasing, you feel your stomach flip. Memories calling back to the forefront of your mind as you remember his pink skin and arrogant smirk. The way he’d beg you to keep going – give him more.

“Can you please be serious?” you choose to say, reaching back for his hand as you approach the entrance. “Because if we die in here, I don’t want one of the last things we said to be one of your shitty jokes.”

He laughs, but intertwines his fingers with yours willingly. Squeezing your palm for comfort. “Sorry, lovey. By all means, please do lead us into the deathtrap. You’ll hear no more jokes from me. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Good boy.”

He squishes your hand again knowingly before you take a deep breath and begin up the stairs.

The walls are about five feet apart in width, providing a rather narrow space for the two of you to slip between as you ascend up into the rest of the house. The path curves like a spiral, up and up until you’re almost sure there’s nowhere else to go. And your head pops right out of the roof.

Then, you come to the last one, and see that it opens up and leads into something else. A vast, empty floor with more light that you’ve seen anywhere else in the house.

Curious, you move a bit faster, eager to see what awaits. And once you step into the room…your breath catches.

Stained glass windows decorate each wall, the full moon projecting the most beautiful colors and imagery across the entire space. From the floor to the ceiling and every inch in between. It’s like walking into a rainbow. Or heaven. Such a stark contrast from the eerie journey up the stairs in nothing but darkness.

Harry’s shoulder brushes against yours as he steps up beside you. Eyes fluttering as he pockets his phone and glances about the room admiringly. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” you agree in a quiet whisper. Walking toward the first window as your fingers outstretch for the tempered glass. “It’s…it’s beautiful.”

“It is.” He follows you. “They must have loved it up here.”

You feel yourself smile. “I bet it was the perfect hideaway.” You motion toward the furthest wall where a dainty (but somewhat tattered) window seat lies. “Bet they came up here and just read or painted all day. Watched the sun rise and set.”

You feel him staring at you. Observing your profile as you continue to glance around, trying to soak in every little detail.

Then, you feel him. His touch sweeping across your cheek before he’s brushing a bit of hair from your shoulder. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You glance over.

“About us. Having kids, starting a family.” His expression is void of any of his previous taunting. Instead, solely focused on the soft skin of your jaw as he ghosts his thumb beneath your chin. “Is that what you really want? With me?”

And a part of your heart aches because…yes. You’d live a million lifetimes with him. With kids, without kids. Here, there. Fast-paced or easy-going. You’d do it all. You’d do everything with him.

Everything.

You reach up and slip your fingers around his wrist. Keeping him close as you nuzzle into his palm. “Of course I would, Har. Just want you.”

He steps closer, taking both sides of your face in his hands now as he keeps you in his strong hold. Gazing at you lovingly until you feel your insides twist.

“I will give you anything you want, Bee,” he murmurs, and you can feel his promise dance across your lips. “Give you kids. Give you a big, beautiful home. Give you the life you deserve.”

You inhale quietly, desperately grasping onto his arms.

“Anything you want, baby,” he breathes, and you know how much he means it. “Give you fucking everything.”

Tears spring to your eyes, dancing along your waterline until one jumps down your cheek. Right into Harry’s waiting thumb where he quickly soothes it away. “You know I would,” you tell him in a timid whisper. “I promise, I would, I just…I can’t…”

His eyes soften when he understands, yet his head shakes as he brings your chest to his. “It doesn’t matter how or why. If we want to start a family, we can. Any way we want to. Any way you want to. Nothing else matters, lovey. Just wanna do it together.”

Together.

You stumble over a choked sob, burying yourself in his embrace while he dips down to kiss you. Harder than he has all night and filled with a kind of love that can’t be explained. Only felt through the synchronistic brushing of his lips against yours.

“My girl,” he exhales, nudging his nose along your cheek before bringing his kisses back. “My fucking girl. Know I love you, yeah? Know you’re my only?”

You whimper, nodding pitifully as you allow him to take the reins. Deciding how far and how deep this kiss goes.

“Good.” He drops his hands to your hips, squeezing once. “Because you are, Bee. Never loved anybody the way I love you.”

And you know – you know he means it.

Something clicks in your brain. Something lustful and needy. You’re overcome with this anxious desire to have him. To be with him wholly. You want to crawl into his skin and live there. Be as close to him as possible.

Show him exactly how much he means to you.

The kisses become hungrier. Sloppier. Rushed and borderline animalistic as you reach down and lace your fingers with his. Guiding him away from the wall and toward the carpet in the center of the room.

He seems to understand your intent. Smiling against your mouth as you move him where you want him.

“Sneaky girl,” he breathes, pressing his mouth to your neck. Nipping below your ear until you sigh contently. “S’that why you really wanted to come up here, hm? Wanted to get me alone? Have your way with me?”

And even though he’s effortlessly putting the power in your hands, you can’t help but feel swayed by him. Drawn in by his suggestion and prowess while your stomach flips in on itself.

“Maybe,” you admit quietly, grinning when he chuckles darkly. “Because maybe I know…you want me to have my way with you. Don’t you?”

He nods quickly, groaning almost to himself before he gropes at your waist and moves his kisses to your exposed collarbone. “Do anything you want, Bee. I meant it.”

Pleased, you take yourself away from him. “Good. Because I want you on your knees.”

And he almost looks disappointed that he’s had to stop kissing you, but the starvation behind his eyes is unmistakable.

He drops so quickly, your head spins. Head tilted back and hands obediently landing on his thighs in wait.

“Good boy,” you can’t help but mutter, reaching down to press your palm to his cheek in gratitude. “Always obey me so well.”

“Always,” he repeats reverently. Voice thick as though drunk with longing.

“Can’t take too long, okay? They might come looking for us, and I don’t think we’d ever be able to live that down,” you add, softening your tone some to ease the charged tension.

“I know,” he replies quickly. Almost pitifully, as if desperate to agree and make you happy. “Be quick, I swear.”

A grin splits your face. “Want you to take off your jeans, baby,” you instruct now, nodding toward his hips. “Just your jeans. Don’t want you to get cold.”

So, he does. Fumbling with his belt and button before dragging the dark fabric down his beautiful thighs, revealing his new tattoo. It catches the moonlight and the reflection of the red glass across the room. Drawing in your attention while your mouth nearly waters.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead working quickly to rid himself of the material before returning to his knees.

“Good. My jeans next,” you tell him, and he extends his hands toward your waist.

Just as quickly as before, he slips, pulls, and tugs until you can step out of your pants and toss them aside. Making sure to hold your hand as you do so you don’t lose your balance.

It’s these little things that endear you to him. The way he doesn’t even realize he’s done something thoughtful. Instead offering such a gesture out of reflex and love.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper, squeezing his chin once. “Now…I want you to lie back for me, okay? Don’t want you to do anything else. Just wanna take care of you.”

His Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow, and you can nearly see his heart thumping against his chest. He’s on his back in seconds, obediently lying on the carpet with his focus trained on you. Eager to see what you have in mind.

Truth be told, you’re rather eager, too. Crouching down near his ankles until you can straddle his legs.

He lifts his head off the floor in order to see you, glued to your every move while his breath hitches.

You begin to make your way up his body. Bringing your lips to the beautiful, warm skin of his thighs as you travel toward his hips. Allowing your kisses to guide you.

You hear him release a strained curse. Catching the way his chest rises and falls a bit more rapidly, as if in tune with his racing heart. And you’re going so slow, you think you might kill him. Dragging your tongue along the tattoo before flicking your eyes to his. Making sure you truly have his undivided attention.

His lashes flutter, leg twitching beneath you. “Bee…”

“Yes, baby?” Your coy innocence makes another groan reverberate from his chest. “What do you want, hm?”

“Please,” is all he has the strength to mumble, fingers twitching beside him. Desperate to weave through your hair and tug. “Lovey, please…”

“I know. But I wanna play with you a bit first, okay?” You straighten up and crawl toward the tops of his thighs, just above his dark boxers. “Gonna let me play with you, Daddy?”

Another quick nod before he drops his head back to the floor. Overcome with desire.

And you imagine you know what he thinks you’re going to do. That he’s confident in his guess as he awaits for you to confirm his suspicion.

But there’s something much more thrilling about catching him off guard. Torturing him just a little.

Because you know he loves it.

Once you feel comfortable in your new position, you allow your hand to travel between your legs. Dancing beneath the hem of your sweater before settling atop your baby blue underwear.

Your light grazes are innocent at first. Soft strokes along the cotton fabric. Enough to earn a shiver while Harry’s eyes cement to your hand. Mesmerized by the way you touch yourself.

You hum at the faint but teasing touches. Feeling almost giddy to quench this flame. Create pleasure for yourself and allow him to watch you. See exactly how good it feels.

Then, you hook the fabric to the side, and allow him the perfect visual of your cunt.

You notice a sharp chill as the cold air nips at you, but it only aids in encouraging you further. Making you grin to yourself while you use your other hand to drag your fingers through your pussy. Slipping between your folds and up to your clit.

“Shit,” he murmurs, eyelids growing heavier. “Shit, Bee—”

You circle the sensitive nerves a few times to work yourself up. Indulging in the feel and the unexplainable relief it provides. It’s like a drug. Addicting and somehow not nearly enough.

“Baby, please—” he tries again, palms finally reaching for your thighs in an effort to touch you. At least somehow. “Fuck—”

“Thought you wanted to be good,” you say, pinching your clit until you gasp. “Thought…thought you wanted to give me anything—”

“I do,” he answers through a rushed breath. “Bee, I do. I do, please—”

“Then, I want you to watch. Want you to watch what you do to me.”

He groans again, and you can see the slight pink in his cheeks from the frigid air and the way he’s so entranced with you. “Lovey, please…”

You slip down, teasing the tip of your finger around your fluttering hole until you can feel the arousal beginning to gather. Humming while you roll your hips in tune with your hand. Riding your own fingers before you’re moving back to your clit.

“Har…” His name slips out before you can stop it. Sighing from your tongue without pause. As if it’s instinct to associate him with your pleasure. To say his name in a desperate plea for more.

You feel him squeeze your legs. Tighter than he ever has. “M’here,” he calls. “M’right here, baby. What do you need?”

Too much. “You, Har. You, always.”

He’s pulling on you now. Palms smoothing up the globes of your ass until he can practically yank you closer. “Just ask. Ask me, Bee, and I’ll give it to you.”

And you’re torturing yourself. Perhaps more than him, and you nearly whimper when you realize how badly you miss him.

So, you remove your hands from between your legs in order to reach for his boxers. Slipping inside and pulling his cock out until he lands against his stomach. Beautiful, and flushed, and leaking pearlescent drops that glisten beneath the light of the moon.

And once it’s free, you grind down. Dragging your once more covered cunt along his shaft. Close, but not close enough. Just to provide a bit of friction and make him moan as you brace yourself against his chest.

Your nails curl into the dark material of his shirt, scraping down his stomach as you reel. It’s so much and yet not even close to satiating you. Merely taunting you with the idea of what you really want. A type of release that will never be truly satisfactory like this.

“Fuck—” A lewd moan scrapes from the back of his throat. Hands pressing hard into your hips to help roll you over his cock faster and quicker. “Gonna fucking kill me, Bee.”

You’d like to be smug, but you’re too far gone to feel anything but need. “Har—”

“Gonna cum like this, baby? S’this all it takes?”

“I’m…I…”

“Look so cute, lovey. So fucking cute, using my cock to get off. Feels so good, doesn’t it? Rubbing your pretty little pussy all over me?”

Your eyes roll back, head feeling heavy as your chin drops to your chest.

Then, you feel his thumb against the only part of your clit he can reach. Pressing into it just enough to make you whimper. “Shh. It’s okay, I’ve got you. Wanna cum? Go ahead, you can cum, Bee. Make me so happy…just wanna feel you—”

And you hate how quickly it hits you. Hate that you truly thought you’d be able to edge yourself until you made him break.

But it consumes you from the inside out. Blindsiding your dominance until it sweeps you under his current. You become a trembling, shaking, moaning mess above him.

“There you go. Good fucking girl. So good…s’perfect,” he murmurs, continuing to guide you through it until you nearly collapse. “Feel better, baby?”

You nod weakly, cracking your eyes open just enough to catch his look of approval.

“Good,” he replies before a dark look seems to take hold. Hungrier than you’ve ever seen him.

Suddenly, he’s sitting up. Forcing you to lean back as his arms loop around your waist and he’s hoisting you both into the air. Straightening back onto his feet while carrying you in his arms toward the furthest wall.

You barely get the chance to glance around before he’s dropping you onto the small window seat, right against the painted glass.

With a gasp, you collide with the cushion (which is admittedly much more comfortable than the floor), gazing up at him with surprise and wonder.

He says nothing. He can’t. He’s lost in his need for you – for your pleasure. Crouching down near your legs in order to reach for your panties and rip them from ankles. And once they’ve been tossed aside, he settles his body between your thighs, and surges forward.

His mouth is the closest to heaven you imagine you’ll ever get. Warm and wet and so expertly kind as he drags his tongue between your soaked, sensitive folds. Flicking at your clit before sucking it into his mouth with the kind of sound that makes your chest cave in.

“Har—” you whine, writhing a bit from the overstimulation and intensified pleasure. He’s chasing after your next orgasm before your first has even subsided, and it nearly wrecks you. “Shit, Harry—”

Still, he has no response. There’s no time or room to speak with the way he nips at your cunt before lowering. Letting his tongue slide inside you before pulling it back. Just enough to leave you squirming.

“Harry,” you try again, reaching out to card your fingers through his hair. Tugging with fervor until he does it again. “Fuck…please—”

His hands find your thighs. Pushing them open even further until you can feel the strain on your muscles from such a stretch.

He’s suffocating himself. Buried in your pussy, he takes whatever he wants. Greedily swallowing you down with lascivious groans and exhales of contentment. Fingers curling around your legs, leaving bruises along your sensitive skin.

He’s insatiable. Ignoring your cries and whimpers for mercy, instead pushing you back to the brink. Making you see stars before you can prepare yourself.

You’re all over his face. Can see yourself glisten off his chin and swollen lips, the stunning stained glass windows painting ethereal pictures of him on his knees. Taking you on his tongue as though his life depends on it.

He captures your clit between his teeth and tugs. Eliciting another wounded, pitiful noise as you slump against the glass.

The second orgasm is just as powerful as the first, if not more. Because this time, he’s actually touching you. Blowing on your clit the moment he sees you begin to unravel, effortlessly dragging you into more pleasure.

You scratch his scalp so hard, you’re surprised you don’t draw blood. Practically pulling him through you while you ride his tongue and the wave of euphoria until you come crashing back down to Earth.

“Oh, my god,” you whimper, features contorting with bliss. “Shit, H…please…please—”

But he’s far from through. Already licking the remnants of your orgasm from your quivering hole while you attempt to writhe away. The overstimulation almost painful as tears spring back to your eyes.

“Wait…wait, please,” you whisper, trying to recapture his attention by yanking on his curls and pushing your legs against his hands. “Baby, please…I need you. Need more, H…please.”

He looks up, and you see a glimmer of the moon in his eye. “What do you need more of? Hm? Tell me.”

You let your head drop back against the window, chest heaving beneath your thick sweater. “Har…can’t…I can’t, I need…need—”

“What?” he pushes. And you can hear the smug undertones as well as the reemergence of his cocky dimple. “What, baby? Tell Daddy what you need.”

And he knows what you need. He always knows, even before you do. But he wants to hear you say it. Wants to force the words from your mouth. Wants you to beg him for his cock.

With a heavy sigh, you answer, “You.”

“You already have me.”

You whine and toss your leg over his shoulder. Digging your heel into his spine to encourage him closer. “Need you to fuck me, H. Please…please, fuck me.”

His grin grows. “Well, well, well. Look at that. My sweet girl knows how to use her words after all.”

He crawls up to you, hands settling beside your hips as he leans forward.

“Doesn’t she?” he whispers, allowing his lips to ghost across yours. Teasing you with a taste of yourself.

You feel as though you’re drowning. Unable to capture enough air in your lungs to survive, and you throw your hands around his neck to yank him the remaining two inches.

His tongue feels like heaven against yours. A mix of you and him that you swallow greedily. Wanting more than he’s seeming to give you.

“Please,” you try again. Releasing the ask against his cheek before nuzzling your nose under his jaw. Intoxicated by the scent of him. “Harry…”

He doesn’t have much strength to refuse you. His willpower long forgotten as he quickly obliges and grabs onto your waist to yank you to the edge of the seat.

He then lifts your leg and sets it onto the cushion, bending it at the knee to create the angle he wants. Allowing him enough room to work while he grabs onto his cock and removes his boxers the rest of the way.

Hard and heavy in his hand, he guides the tip between your thighs. Dragging it down your clit almost tauntingly before slipping in. And it’s far too easy. He disappears into our pussy almost unintentionally. Allowing your warmth to draw him in and keep him inside you.

You can’t help the smile that stretches across your face.

“Shit,” he whispers when he feels the way your walls squeeze around his length. You might be used to his size, but those first few seconds are always euphoric. “There you go…you all right, Bee?”

You nod wordlessly, reaching out for his shoulders for something to hold onto.

“I know,” is all he says in response. Able to read your tells better than anyone ever has. “S’all right. I’ve got you.”

Once he’s fully inside of you, he offers a moment of relief. Settling there while his hands return to your hips to lift you up ever-so-slightly in order to use you the way he wants.

“Go,” you beg, nails drawing patterns down his back. “M’okay, go. Wanna feel you. Need to feel you cum.”

“Yeah?” He draws back before driving in. Hard enough to knock a gasp from your chest. “That’s what you want? Want Daddy’s cum in this pretty pussy?”

A blissful haze begins to cloud your vision. His sinfully sweet taunt ringing between your ears. Inciting an idea and a need you hadn’t thought possible.

“Oh…” When he realizes, that wicked look returns. “Oh, baby. You do, don’t you? Wanna be full of me. Want me to fill this sweet, little cunt until you’re dripping. Till I’m spilling out of you. All down your thighs. Down to the floor.”

You make another incoherent noise before succumbing to his hard thrusts. Falling mute and limp.

“Want me to lick it up…just to spit it down your throat,” he continues. “Want me everywhere. In your pussy…in your tummy. Just wanna be so fucking full of me.”

Every word from his mouth is crude and delicious. Designed to torture you and it works.

Because he’s right. You do want him everywhere. Want to feel him across every inch of your skin, inside every pore, dripping from every part of your body. Want to be stuffed with him. His tongue, his cock, his cum. There’s no part of this man you aren’t infatuated by.

“Say it,” he hisses, tugging your body up higher until he can slam into you from a different position. Finding that beautiful spot that makes your toes curl while you cry out and grab onto the seat beneath you for support. “Say how much you want my cum. Beg me for it.”

You can feel the sweat dripping down your back. Can feel the exhaustion in your limbs from having to contain so much pleasure.

And he’s careless yet practiced. Still gentle, even when he’s ramming his hips into yours. Nearly tearing you in half with the force of his cock, but with a sort of devotion you can’t explain. Even with such force, you feel relaxed.

Almost as if this is how you were always meant to be.

And then…something faint. Distant and familiar. The sound of voices – your friend’s voices, coming from somewhere inside the house.

For a moment, you worry you’ve been caught. That they’ve found you and are ready to run screaming from the house.

But you catch pieces of their conversation. Vague and somewhat confusing.

“—well, then, you check. I already tried—”

“—probably just looking around. Maybe they went back to their car—”

“—I’ll text her. They could be lost. This place is huge—”

They haven’t found you. In fact, it seems they’re still searching. Unaware that the two of you found the attic, and perhaps even unaware of the passageway, too.

Harry seems rather relaxed as he pauses just long enough to glance up. A look of understanding forming as he nods toward the ceiling.

You look, too.

The voices are coming from the vent. Echoing the conversation from somewhere else in the house as they walk through.

Your heart races. Because if you can hear them, that means…

He seems to consider this at the same time you do, head cocking deviously as he pulls back. “Shh,” he murmurs, thumb stroking your waist. “Gonna have to be extra quiet for me, okay?”

You take in another deep breath, another whine already bubbling up the back of your throat.

But he realizes this almost instantly. Hand coming up to press against your mouth and muffle your pathetic cry before you can make it. “Uh-uh,” he hisses, attempting to chastise but you can tell he’s amused. “Said no, Bee. Need you quiet or I stop.”

But he can’t stop. You can’t let him stop. You think if he stops, you might die. That you’ll disappear into nothing and spend the rest of your life chasing something only he can offer.

Instead, you grab onto his wrist, and keep it against your lips. Using it as an excuse to whimper against his palm and promise your attempt at silence.

And maybe he’s unconvinced. But he’s just as desperate as you are. To finish and find that serenity. To feel each other in every sense of the word.

So he takes your vow of obedience and continues. Resuming his thrusts as the sounds of voices slowly begin to fade away.

You’re brought right back to the precipice of pleasure. Reminded yet again of why you’d do anything for him. Why he’s so addicting. Not just because of his body…but because his heart.

Shades of blue, red, yellow, and purple explode across the walls and across your eyelids. The colors rich and vibrant, accentuated by the bright glow of the moon.

And you can see him perfectly. Can see his stunningly structured face. The ridge of his nose, the sharp edge of his jaw. The damp curls that lay across his forehead and the rosy skin of his cheeks.

You know he’s always been handsome. Not just to you, but to everyone.

But now…he’s ethereal. Because he’s not just some guy. He’s not just Harry. He’s the man you love. The only true home for your soul. Your comfort place, your future.

Your everything.

And that’s what makes him so beautiful.

When he notices your stare, something shifts. He drops his hand, and surges forward to kiss you. Throwing a stutter in his rhythm as he laces his tongue with yours.

“Shit,” is all you manage to make out of his hushed moans. “Gonna give you everything, Bee. Gonna fill you. Keep my cum inside you forever. Fucking forever, baby. M’yours. Always.”

You can feel yourself clenching down on him. Already approaching your third before he’s even allowed himself a first. It’s a trait of his you’ve noticed he exhibits quite often. Perhaps it’s a masochistic practice or perhaps it’s his nature to want your orgasms over his own. Waiting until he’s sure you’re taken care of before he allows himself to find relief.

Yet another one of these little things you’d be lost without.

When he realizes just how close you are, he leans back and brings his lips together. Spitting directly onto your clit before bringing his fingers into play.

“There,” he grits, inflicting quick circles against the tender, swollen nerves that make you whine. “That’s all it takes, isn’t it?”

Your body answers for you. You’re nothing but a string of noises and twitching muscles. Dissolving into your orgasm until that’s all you are. Just his victory. His perfect prize to be claimed.

You feel him watch you. Infatuated with the way you tense and squirm before you finally settle back against the glass to catch your breath.

And perhaps that’s what does it for him. Not just feeling you cum but seeing it. The physical proof of your passion written so visibly across your face. The way you soak his cock, the way you drip down onto the seat below, the way you cling to him.

He chases that sensation. Chases the way it makes him feel and the release it promises him.

It doesn’t take long for him to finish now that he’s not holding himself back. A few quick but hard thrusts and he’s spilling himself into your pussy with a low groan, face burying into your neck.

He holds you still through every second. As close as he possibly can, even after you’re sure he’s finished.

The emotional orgasm feels just as overwhelming as the physical one. You can’t help but wrap your arms around his body to hold him against your heart. Listening to the sounds of his strained breaths before they slowly even out.

And he’s so happy. You know he is. Refusing to move as his cum sits inside of you. Wanting to keep it there like he promised.

You want to keep him the same way.

“Fuck,” you hear him whisper. It seems unintelligible curse words are about all the two of you have to offer in moments like this. It makes you smile. “Think I came so hard, I blacked out.”

You giggle at this, moving to hook your leg around his middle. “I’m glad you came. Feels good.”

He turns his head so his cheek can rest on your shoulder. “Yeah? S’my cum feel nice? All warm inside you?”

And there’s something about the way he says it. Soft but secure. Teasing you and caring for you all in the same breath.

You hum.

“Got it all snug inside your little pussy, baby?” He presses a kiss to your neck. A reassuring gesture meant to reward you. “Gonna keep it for me?”

You nod fervently before clinging onto his body a bit tighter. Feeling a shiver roll down your spine – either from the cold or his response. Truthfully, you aren’t sure.

“Hmm. That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, slipping an arm around your waist in order to hold you closer. Hugging you, almost, as he settles in your embrace. “Guess we better get going, hm?”

But you don’t like this idea. Already feeling your expression fall into a desolate pout as you suck in a sharp inhale and cement yourself to his larger frame.

He senses this shift – this refusal – and stills. “What? What’s wrong?”

You don’t have an answer. You suppose nothing is wrong, per se…as long as he doesn’t leave.

“Bee,” he tries again, a bit firmer. The singular nickname laced with apprehension. “Lovey, what happened, what's wrong? You know you have to talk to me, okay? Have to communicate with me—”

“Nothing,” you whisper, cutting his bargaining short. “Nothing, I just…don’t want you to go, Daddy.”

A brief pause. Silent and filled with an unspoken tension that melts into something tender. “Bee, I’m not going anywhere. Just wanna clean you up and hold you a bit. Like we always do. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

You consider this. You do love when he holds you. Especially when he runs his hands down your sore limbs. Massaging the aches away while keeping you safe in his arms.

The mere thought makes you sigh. “Promise?”

He squeezes your hip. “Always, baby.”

With that, you unhook yourself from his body, and allow him to move back. Taking himself from you almost painfully before he’s putting himself away and moving for your clothes.

He finds your underwear and both pairs of jeans, bringing them back to you almost respectfully.

He helps you step into them, securing your panties around your waist with an impish wink and a soft, “Gonna save it for later, yeah?”

Once you’re both dressed again, he fits himself between you and the window, and places you in the middle of his lap. Your back against his chest while his palms sweep up and down your arms, easing the pains away.

“Was that okay?” he asks after a quiet moment of reflection. “Did you like what we did?”

You drop your focus down to his hands. To the way they look on your body. You hum. Say nothing.

In turn, he shifts, attempting to sneak a glimpse of the side of your face. “Bee, d’you hear me?”

Still, you’re silent. Trailing your finger along his knuckles and over his wrist. Entranced by him. Hypnotized.

He uses this very hand to reach for your jaw. Squeezing it just hard enough to capture your attention and turn your face to his. “Baby, you’re scaring me. Are you all right?”

You feel your frown return, chest tightening with the implication. “Scared? Why are you scared? What…what did I do?”

There’s a subtle pull in his eyebrows. Almost imperceptible but you manage to catch it before it smooths away. “Nothing, sweet girl. But I want to make sure you’re okay. That I didn’t hurt you or take things too far. And if I did, I want to know. I need to know.”

“Daddy, you never hurt me. Ever.” The frown intensifies, nearly taking control of your whole face. “Don’t say that, it makes me sad.”

Again, a flash of confusion and subtle recognition streaks behind his soft gaze. “Daddy just wants to make sure you’re feeling all right. That you feel safe and comfortable with me. Now…and before.”

“Of course I do. Always feel comfortable with you.”

You imagine he should feel relieved to hear this, and yet he sighs as he releases your jaw. “Oh, baby.”

It’s heavy the way he speaks. Akin to disappointment, but there’s a touch of sadness. Perhaps even understanding.

It breeds a constriction in your chest that feels like a snake coiling around your lungs. “What…what did I do? Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he’s quick to whisper, tightening his hold on you. “God, no, sweet girl. Just realized something, that’s all.”

A tad reassured, you straighten up. “Oh? What?”

He nuzzles his cheek against your temple and pulls you even further into his chest. “Nothing bad, I promise. Just that I need to take extra good care of you right now.”

“Really?

He nods. “Mhm. So, what do you think, lovey, hm? Should we go home? Think we’ve done enough exploring for one day.”

Your lashes flutter, a bit startled by the switch. “We…you wanna leave?”

“I do. I wanna take you home and hold you. Properly,” he says gently, laying a chaste kiss to your forehead. “We can take a bath, get all nice and warm again. Know it’s getting cold, isn’t it?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t realized the drastic drop in temperature. But with this mention, you feel a noticeable chill dancing across the room. Can feel your breath grow icier as it leaves your lips.

“And once we’re warm again, we can crawl into bed, and just stay,” he continues. “Watch a movie, eat some snacks. Do whatever you wanna do, baby. S’that sound good?”

And it does. It sounds like heaven. Anything with him always does. “Can we please?”

He grins again before kissing your temple again. “Of course. We’ll head out now. Think you can walk or do you need my help?”

Your legs do feel a bit wobbly, but in all honesty, the idea of having him hold you all the way down is what you really want. To make sure he doesn’t take himself from you, even if you’re merely walking to the car.

Your innocent pout is answer enough, and he chuckles. “Want my help, don’t you?”

Nodding eagerly, you sit up, allowing him to slip back out from behind you and stand. Once he has, he takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, making sure to steady you when you feel a bit rocky before leading you toward the stairs.

You leave the heavenly room behind, bidding the stunning shadows adieu as you disappear down the dark stairwell.

And you hope, if there are ghosts, that they enjoyed the show.

After you’ve returned to the spare room on the first floor, Harry strides over to the bookshelf, and tilts the Frankenstein book back just like he had before. Prompting the portrait to slide closed in the same manner as it had when it opened. Hiding the secret staircase away for the next wandering couple.

Then, he turns to you. “All right, baby, let’s go.”

He crouches down, signaling that he’d like you to climb onto his back again, and you do rather giddily. Cementing yourself to his spine as you cling to him like a koala bear, allowing him to lead you back out into the main part of the house.

You find your friends already waiting by the door, talking casually until they see you coming out from the shadows.

You feel Harry squeeze your ankles as a sign of encouragement and you sigh to yourself while cuddling closer.

“Where the hell have you been, we’ve been looking everywhere,” Jackie calls. “You just left me with these dipshits.”

Harry chuckles. “Sorry. Got a bit lost and then we started talking. Did you find the attic?”

“No,” Charlie huffs, and he sounds rather offended. “I don’t think there is an attic. Think Caleb’s just full of shit.”

“I’m telling you, it’s there,” Caleb argues. “Other people have gone up, I just don’t know how they found it.”

“Huh. Weird,” Harry muses, and you have to turn your face away to hide your smirk. “Well, listen, I think we’re gonna head out. But this was fun. Thanks for the invite.”

“Aw, really? Already? We thought maybe we’d head over to Waffle House or something,” Jackie tells you. “You know, eat a shit ton of whipped cream and syrup in the spirit of Halloween.”

To this, Harry smiles, glancing back at you as if to check for permission and see if you’re interested. But you can’t really offer him much else except a shy grin, which he seems to understand.

“I think we’re just gonna turn in for the night,” he says instead. “But you guys have fun. We’ll have to do this again for Christmas.”

The other three laugh as you call your goodbyes and allow Harry to carry you to the car.

He sets you down by the passenger door in order to unlock it and swing it open. And once it is, he’s still ever the gentleman, helping you sit and making sure you’re buckled in before shutting the door and jogging over to his side.

As he fumbles with his keys and gets the engine started, your eyes trail up toward the top of the large mansion before you. Finding those beautiful windows once more as you bid them goodbye as well.

You feel Harry’s hand slip around yours, recapturing your attention as you look over and catch his grin. “You ready?”

You nod and squeeze his palm three times. “Mhm. Always.”

Pleased, he brings your knuckles to his lips. Leaving a lingering kiss that nearly takes your breath away. “Happy Halloween, Bee.”

And your heart has never felt so full.

“Happy Halloween, Harry.”

HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🧡🧡🧡 (or just regular old Tuesday)!!! Thank you so much for joining me for Freaky Fun and for being so kind and supportive!!! You all have my heart!! Have a safe, wonderful night filled with laughs and amazing treats!! 😭♥️

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Full Freak Fun Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @onlystylesss28 @winterrays @jessitpwk @aslugforharry @allthelovehes @straightnogayhs @adoringhrry @harrysxcarolina @lillefroe @avasversion @littlelunamoon @harrysgf01 @lexiecamposv @spinningoutwaiting4ya @hs-tpwkrry @vyctorya @b-reads-things @thiyaabs @buckybarnessimpp @whoreforjamesbuckybarnes @cherryluvhobi @mybabyh @xellybellyx @reneemunson @juliatpwk @wolfmoonmusic @buckyssbestgirl @wandasbae616 @imavirginhoe @nuggetdean @chubby-cheek-calum @itsmytimetoodream @scndsofsummer @theofficialprongs

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arminsumi · 7 months

Text

🕯️♱🕯️~ 𝔦'𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩 𝔳𝔦𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔫

GETO すぐる x fem reader

he's a cult leader. you're a virgin. and he's gotta "sacrifice" you. but not for the purpose of purifying something else... no, it's to purify you. 'cause you're a "filthy monkey", whatever that means...?

1.6k = 5 - 10 min. read

note : wellwellwell! first kinda spooky post for october. i hope i delivered. this is the very anticipated cult leader geto suguru post... but HAH!! there's actually... more in the drafts that i'm working on 😈💗 oh also... requests are open!! lmk if you want more cult leader geto or anything else :)

content : smut, cult leader Geto Suguru, virginity loss, collegeboy Sugu (but yk... he's secretly a cult leader lol)

warnings : 🔞 minors do not read/interact, cult themes, dripping hot wax on body (brief), sex on an altar, light corruption kink, some praise, slightly toxic dynamic, mean!Geto + soft!geto, dom!Geto, sub!reader, virginity loss, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, dirty talk, names (good girl, baby, angel), begging, playing with your breasts, +++

🎃 ~ more from jay : geto content // jjk content // library

hot wax drips onto your bare skin. there's symmetrically aligned candles dimly lighting around you in a circle, it's oddly symbolic of how geto suguru has entrapped you in this moment.

he'd laid you down on a stone-cold altar, right underneath a glowering statue, with an odd gentleness and carefulness; as if he were a lover laying his woman in bed.

how the hell did you get into this situation? being some cult leader's sacrificial virgin? that's some crazy shit. real fucked up shit. even more so because you consented to it.

he said;

"you know, baby, i could love you if you were ...pure.."

with a sensual, sadistic smile, mind you.

so you replied;

"i'll be your sacrificial virgin, so purify me."

with dumb, lovesick hearts in your eyes and a humorous tone of voice.

he loved how you could joke like that. maybe it was because you didn't wholly believe he was a cult leader.

after all, you'd known him as the heart throb mystery boy at college for a long time now. he used to eye you out, a beady eye staring at you with a bang curtaining it, with a fascination he thought was strange for him to have.

you were a monkey, after all, and why should you catch his eye? as if you were deserving of his love... you were filthy.

and he said;

"alright, i'll purify you."

with a deep voice. deep. very deep. it chilled you, with just how damn deep and erotic those words were. they teased a hidden meaning.

what meaning?

he just wanted to fuck your brains out. that was what he meant.

the ritual makes your stomach knotty. he smirks down at you.

he comments;

"you're shaking."

you let out a raspy moan as his cold hands trace up your forearm.

"you always secretly knew, didn't you?"

he looks you in the eyes, hand continuing to slowly caress your body.

you squeaked when he suddenly squeezed your breast. his eyes became lidded with infatuation at the sight and sensation of your plush flesh molding under his big manly hands

did he mean... that he knows you always knew he was a cult leader? no. damn his enigmatic words, you thought.

he continued;

"... you always knew that i wanted to touch you like this... and have your body all to myself. right?"

he's watching your body tense up with your growing arousal. it delights him. he's hovering over your body — then he's disrobing himself and letting his kimono sloppily slip off his shoulders not bothering to fully take it off. he wants you to see just a teasing strip of his toned physique, a glimpse of his muscular torso, a hint of his subtly curving dipping abs and...

he smirks;

"it's rude to stare."

"...sorry, suguru."

he clutches your jaw.

"what did you call me?"

he asks with a sweet tone that sends shivers down your spine.

"...i-i said i'm sorry, suguru."

"using my first name as if we're in college, huh? that won't do. that won't do at all, sweet baby. when we're in this sacred place of mine, you will refer to me as geto."

you're staying still, and that pleases him. but he knows when he slips his cock inside you, then you'll start squirming.

his hands squeeze and knead your breasts harder, rougher, he pinches and plays with your nipples and then lowers his lips on them to suckle and nip his teeth at the sensitive nub. he smirks when he feels your goosebumps on his warm lips.

one hand slides down your body, grazing your shivering skin so lightly that it makes you shiver even worse, and he dips a finger into your pussy's entrance.

he smirks and lowers his face to yours, noses touching, abyssal black eyes searing you.

he taunts;

"you're so wet... you really are a virgin, huh? i'll change that. now... angel baby... look at me... yes, look at me like that, cute little lamb expression i like that. let me hear you give me permission again. let me hear it."

and it's besides the obvious reason he's asking you for consent; he just wants to hear it from you. hear your voice say it. hear that permission come out of your mouth and no one else's. not ever.

"t-touch me, please, geto."

"mmm...?"

he hums to encourage you to say more. so you scramble your brain.

"...pleasure me, geto."

that makes his heart beat harder, makes his blood rush around his body at higher pressure.

"that's what i wanted to hear..."

he says before sliding his fingers past your entrance.

your ring of muscle contracts around him tight, but there's hardly resistance to his fingers entering you because you're dripping with juices.

he teases;

"so fucking wet... but i bet you'll still have difficulty taking my cock, huh? you're just a pretty tight little virgin, after all."

he's murmuring, lips hovering over your lips and just daring to kiss you. but he refrains. because you're still impure.

his fingers pump quick, hard. they hit your sweet spots, deep spots, gummy spots. he's mapping out your body with his hand, absorbing its reactions to his touch. he smiles when you moan for the first time. it sounds so purely erotic.

"enjoying this? need me to go faster, don't you? oh... beg for it."

"please! pleasepleaseplease! g-go faster..."

"not good enough. come on, you're not that innocent, are you?" "i-i don't know what you want me to say..."

he hums in mock contemplation. then he orders;

"tell me you want me to fucking ruin you... corrupt you... can you be that dirty for me?"

"i-i-i — ahhh~ i want you to ruin me, geto. c-corrupt me."

you repeat back for him.

he can feel his pulse in his dick at your pathetic dirty talk.

"you want my cock, don't you? say it."

"i want your cock, geto!"

"yeah? you want me to fuck you good, right here on a fucking altar? say it, say it. be a slutty little virgin for me."

"i-i want you to fuck me right here, geto!"

he's fingering faster and faster each time you obediently speak back, the base of his palm rubs up against your clit and his big hand engulfs your tiny pussy.

"now that's a good fuckin' girl... obedient, just how i like."

he pulls his fingers out with a languid drag, making sure you miss the friction when it's gone. he looks at how his fingers are glistening with your juices as he brings them to his lips. and he begins sucking your slick right off his fingers, because he wants to. it's dirty. you're dirty. but his care slips for a second.

he takes himself so seriously, fulfilling the cult leader role to his best ability, but it's funny how when he sinks his cock inside you he becomes a typical sex-thirsted college boy for a moment. he groans. loses his composition. throws his head back, rolls it to the side. he feels your pussy choking his dick.

"fuck that's... good. don't squirm, baby, don't squirm... does it hurt?"

"a little bit..."

you whimper cutely, innocent eyes batting at him.

"i'm sorry... i'm a little big. don't worry. it'll feel better soon... just trust me. hold my hand. and trust me."

so you hold his hand — or more like he pins your hand in a romantic clutch. nasty squelching sounds come from the place you two connect, and a pungent scent of yours and his arousal wafts up. he inhales deeply.

you moan. and he speaks again.

"oh, there we go... now it feels good, doesn't it?"

you nod and close your thighs around him tightly.

"that's a good girl... just give into pleasure... let me purify you. isn't that what you want?"

you nod again, moaning.

"my girl's so good for me... you really are different, aren't you? i could tell ever since we first met... i'm so glad — you — ahhh fuck — you're letting me purify you. now we can be together forever after this. you won't be all filthy like those other monkeys anymore. my cock's gonna purify that lil' pussy... don't worry."

you've never heard him use the term monkey before, and by now you're too blissed out on his dick to notice its usage. your head's so full, there's just pure electric pleasure running through your body as he pounds into you.

"gonna cum? that's okay. cum all you need. moan all you need. let it out."

he purposefully angles his cock so that it beats into a better sweet spot, and he relishes in your reaction.

"there... cum, cum for me just like that."

he rubs at your clit, helping you cum. watching your body shake and freak out makes him let out a low chuckle.

feeling your contractions and pulsations around his cock brings him closer.

"fuck... 'm gonna cum."

and that's his idea of "purifying" you; cumming inside your tiny pussy.

so he lets out a long, chesty groan and cums deep inside, there's a primal shift in his demeanor when he orgasms and it just makes you cum again.

"oh... that's it... hah, look at you... you're glowing. you did so good for me, angel."

his voice is so saccharine, his eyes sparkle with more affection for you.

"took it all like a goddess..."

he admires your body for a moment, observing the glistening sweat. his eyes trail down between your thighs, where his cock is nuzzled deep inside and his shaft is messy with his cream and your cream.

and he kisses you for the first time, because now you're "pure" enough to deserve his lips.

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

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whoopsyeahokay · 1 month

Text

October Sun

summary: your mother had warned you. Don't let them know, she'd said, her nails digging angry crescents into the flesh of your upper arms, eyes wild and imploring, don't let them know you can see. you'd listened, all these years, you'd lived your life by that rule. until you couldn't.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.1

Like most things, it started with a look.

A boy. A girl. A crowded place; a friend talking—their voice muted as if heard through a motel wall. Time slows. People filter in and out of the space between, chatting, laughing, in frame just long enough to emphasize the weight behind something that, in any other context, would be utterly unimportant.

Simon had urged you outside at lunch, pulled you away from your table, tone frayed in desperation as he interrogated you about things you're certain you'd made seem the expression of a morbidly quirky imagination.

"Well," He said, like jabbing the eraser-end of a pencil into your sternum, "Can you?"

You hesitated, gaze lifting away from his to skirt the middle-distance behind him.

And then—

It happened molasses-slow. Your eyes caught his; lingered a beat too long to be played off as anything other than what it was. Acknowledgment.

Those sweet-sultry cow eyes widened a fraction.

Oh no.

Then time rushed back in and snapped into the correct rhythm. You didn't have a chance to process what had just happened because Simon sighed with the weight of the world, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling. Quickly, you arranged your expression into something slightly put-off.

"Si, what are you talking about?"

Simon groaned and took a few steps back then forward again. He reminded you of a caged animal being forced to perform. Lately, his mannerisms had been erratic, a little unhinged. You'd caught him talking to himself a couple of times, in classrooms or the cafeteria. The last couple of days he'd been glued to his phone, taking spontaneous calls that he'd never received before. Initially, you'd assumed he was in touch with Maddie; the only one she'd trusted enough to keep in the loop. However, the more you'd observed, the more you'd doubted the assumption.

You'd watched him unravel from a distance, of course. Nicole had turned inward, Simon was bursting at the seams, and you, as the casual friend with a life separate to theirs, stayed away out of a sense of insecurity.

You and Maddie hadn't been as close as she and Simon and Nicole. You shared interests in the macabre and spooky, but that's where it ended. Event Buddies who became familiar through exposure, lacking that profound connection that would give you a reason to call about something other than the next horror film release date.

You didn't feel right about asking to share their grief. It felt intrusive.

Simon paced the length of the bus shelter once more before stopping in front of you. He was clearly nervous, frustrated, avoiding your gaze for a second while he collected his thoughts.

Finally, he took a deep breath, glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot, and said, low and secret, "You talked about the ghosts here—" You folded your arms and tilted your head in what you hoped came across as confused. "—Last year," Simon grabbed your arm and pulled you in closer when a group of younger girls walked by, "Last year, you told us about the crush you had on your mom's dead boyfriend, remember? The guy who died during the '83 homecoming game?"

"They never dated." You corrected, fighting the urge to chew your lip. A giveaway that you were about to choose your words very carefully. "But, look, Simon, I talked about that stuff because I thought it was fun. Not because I can commune with the dead."

"But your mom—"

"Is a fraud and you know it." Then you frowned, genuinely intrigued, "What's going on?"

Simon shot you a dazed look, "Huh?"

"Why are you suddenly into this Sixth Sense shit? You've never believed in it before. A stance you've made very clear you take." Every time you joked about reaching out to the Other Side, Simon would scoff and roast you endlessly. Something that you found endearing. Like a prickly inside joke. It was your thing.

Suddenly, Simon got that look on his face, the one he got in class when your teachers outlined your homework. As if he were listening to someone. Except there was no one else close enough to hear.

The silence stretched into a thin static between you until, at last, Simon said, "Never mind." He sounded equal parts defeated and aggravated.

Taking a cautious step forward, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about Maddie, Si, I—" Have no idea how to put into words how fucked up it all is, "—I wish there was something, anything, I could do to help."

Simon pressed his lips together and nodded. From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching the bus shelter. Tall, broad, donning the unmistakable colors of the Split River Bandits, née Devils. You had to get out of there before you irrevocably fucked up and found yourself at the center of what your mother warned you would be a swarm.

"Look," You dropped your hand to Simon's, squeezing supportively. You might not have been able to tell the whole truth but you could try to offer some comfort. Whether or not he believed you was up to him. "Maddie's okay, Simon. Wherever she is. Whatever happened to her..." You paused, considering your next words, "She can't be so far gone that we won't get her back."

You said it with all the conviction you had in you, believed it to your core.

You'd seen the beatnik with her lollipops, the shy boy with the glasses; you'd seen the young man in the outdated suit, and the modest, Sally Olsson lookalike, and the girl with the daydream eyes. You'd seen the myspace emo punk, the lanky autoshop geek, the dark-skinned disco queen; the marching band, and the theater kid...and him. The charming, high-on-life football star currently stood outside the bus shelter, his hands cupped around his eyes as he peeked through the glass against the glare of the sun.

You hadn't seen Maddie. Not a glimmer or a shadow or the impression that she'd been and gone. Nothing. And you'd done your due diligence as soon as you'd heard about the blood in the boiler room. You'd scoured the town after dark, before school, whenever you could get away without raising suspicion. Her old haunts and favorite places had been empty.

Minus a couple of exceptions, but they hadn't been Maddie, so you didn't see the harm in continuing to keep the truth from Simon.

"Yeah." Simon said. He didn't sound convinced. "Thanks. For that."

You deflated, released his hand with an affirming squeeze, and made your excuse, "I gotta get ready for next period."

He didn't meet your eyes, simply pulled his phone out and put it to his ear. "See you later." The smile he gave you was tight, quick, insincere.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you turned and exited the bus shelter, tall dark 'n' handsome keeping pace as you made your way back into the school, his gaze a warm weight on the side of your face.

All you had to do was pretend he wasn't there. You'd done it countless times in the past, were well-versed in how to cover your mistakes.

You stopped briefly, reached out to open the door, and in that second, you felt a tingle up your spine and the closeness of a body behind you. His voice, low and teasing, spoke directly into your ear, the parody of soft breath tickling the hairs on your neck.

"I know you can see me."

You forced yourself not to react, perhaps stood a second too long before yanking the door open and marching inside, but you kept your eyes forward, and relaxed your jaw and shoulders. To the students milling about the hall, you were the picture of normal.

"Do what you want but I'm not going anywhere until you admit it." He said lightly, a step behind you as you maneuvered toward your locker.

Once again, you had to stop, twisting in the combination to open your lock. You fumbled, missing a number, had to start again. He leaned his shoulder against the locker beside yours, watched you through his lashes, a smirk pulling one side of his mouth upward.

You'd always been attracted to him. Had to suppress the urge to stare at him when he appeared in the same classroom or hallway you happened to be in. Having him interact with you, intentionally, made your heart quicken and the ability to think critically dissolve.

Oh God, not again...

Your brain fired a thousand synapses in every direction as you willed yourself to hurry before you accidentally did something stupid; steadied your hand to input the combination correctly. You tugged the lock. It stayed stubbornly latched. And then he leaned in, too close, the tip of his nose practically grazing your temple.

"You missed the 3."

The air was syrupy thick, fuzzy. In an effort to concentrate, you closed your eyes, repeating a mantra your mother had taught you to center yourself.

You sensed his body shift, tilted further toward you like a bracket, then the sensation of blunt nails traveling up up up your back, catching in the material of your shirt as if the touch were real. Goosebumps erupted over your arms, your breath hitched, and you found your head slanting in his direction.

Fuck. You needed to—BANG—Jesus Christ!

Your eyes snapped open at the abrupt noise, your friend cackling wickedly as she took in your shock.

"Hey, silly." Mathilda Grace—of The Split River Graces, not that she'd ever say it like that—grinned proudly at the reaction she'd gotten out of you. "You ready to fail this test with me?"

You could still feel him hovering, but it seemed he'd put an appropriate amount of distance between you. Shaking your head to clear the last of the muzziness from a moment ago, you plastered on your most natural smile and responded, "Let's go disappoint our parents."

You managed to undo the lock and grab the right textbooks, transferring what you didn't need from your bag into your locker while Mathilda regaled you with what you'd missed after Simon had dragged you outside.

"What did he want, anyway?" Mathilda asked, more concerned than curious.

"To talk about Maddie." You replied as close to the truth as you dared. It had the added benefit of making Mathilda feel awkward enough to change the subject immediately.

"K, c'mon, bell's about to go and I need to grab my book, too."

Shutting and locking your locker, you chanced a sideways glance and were relieved to find that it was just you and Mathilda and the regular stream of other alive-and-well students making their way to their next class.

Still, as you and Mathilda walked toward Ms. Fields' class, you felt the tingle of his gaze on the back of your neck.

The next couple of days would be white-knuckle hard, but you'd dealt with it before and could do it again. Had to do it again.

What you didn't anticipate—and probably should've, given what you knew about him—was Wally Clark's steadfast determination and his refusal to let sleeping dogs lie for a second time.

💀___________________________

PART TWO

note: i'll just leave this here for now :) i have a whole idea, fully fleshed out, but am also developing an actual Series Compliant fic that uses some of the same elements as this story 😅

if you'd like to be kept up-to-date, please join the tag list!

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits

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