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kechiwrites · 6 months

Text

property lines

dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader

kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).

synopsis: your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

wc: 2.2k

cw: dark content, non con, oral (male receiving), femme language + afab!reader, pet names, internal victim blaming, pet names (sweetheart), a touch of misogyny

author’s note: day 2 brings us more dark!steve, i fear i may be incapable of writing him sincerely. he’s just a little too perfect. I like to take off a bit of the shine. thank you @katsukikitten u r my muse.

Your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Mostly because you can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s just overly friendly. Maybe it’s the signals you give off, bringing a plate of thick, sweet, cheesecake brownies over to the recently sold house next door, hoping to make a new connection. Suburbia can be isolating, and with all of your friends shaking ass in the city, you need to branch out. It really isn’t the kind of home you figured a single man like Steven Grant Rogers would buy, but then again, you lived in your suburban palace alone, willed to you by your late grandmother and only in need of a few renovations.

He’d been so bright, when you first met him, with a perfect white smile and twinkling blue eyes. He’d been happy to accept the desserts, even happier to return the plate a day later, extolling the praise he and his poker buddies lauded on you over the taste. You’d shrugged it off, “The least I could do for a neighbour. I’m just glad you all liked them.”

Secretly though, the compliments had thrilled you, especially once you’d gotten a glimpse at the aforementioned “poker buddies”, the whole lot of them, handsome, built, big. All too happy to fix leaky pipes and paint fences in exchange for chocolate cream pie or a dish of homemade lasagna. But Steven - “Steve, please” - was your most loyal customer, always lending a hand, pausing during his early morning jog to check up on you while you watered your flower beds, asking how your book is going, what you do in that “big old house all by yourself” when you aren’t working on “the next great American novel”, of course (his words, not yours).

It’s fine at first, a little disarming to be at the centre of his white hot attention, burning your flesh like he had you under a magnifying glass on a perfect sunny day. But eventually it’s not fine, eventually Steve Rogers takes more and more steps over the property line of overly friendly and into the front yard of wildly overbearing. Eventually, Mr. Rogers insists on weekly visits, popping into your house by using the spare key under the mat he shouldn’t even know about. Slinging his muscled arm over you during the neighbourhood block party, and your neighbour’s son’s 5th birthday party, and the Fourth of July barbeque. He fixes your car without you asking, brings in your groceries when he sees you unloading them in your driveway, brings your mail to you during his daily jog. It’s helpful sometimes, yes, but it’s also suffocating. And you were going to set him straight. You were! But it’s hard, hard to stare into the face of a suburban god, the literal king of the neighbourhood and tell him no. It’s hard to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable, that you’d like for him to stop being so goddamn friendly all the time.

So maybe a little of it is your fault. Maybe you should’ve been clearer on your boundaries. Maybe, when handsome, strapping Mr. Rogers came to your front door to ask you to essentially cater one of his poker nights, you shouldn’t have stayed to serve the food, playing happy little housewife in front of Steve’s friends, bringing them cold beers from the fridge and sitting next to Steve, playfully making faces at his hand, then plating up dessert when he asked you to. But it felt good to have his attention. His favour. So when “the boys” start to head home, laying praise and amazement at your feet, you’re sufficiently buttered up for Steve to ask yet another favour of you. It’s not much, of course. Just a little help with cleanup. Then he’ll escort you home himself. After all, there are some real sickos out there.

So you agree. What’s the harm, right?

The harm, it just so happens, comes quickly after you finish drying the dishes Steve washes. You slide the last plate, towel dried as best you could, into his cabinets, sighing in contentment at a job well done. The harm is when Steve turns you around and presses you against the sink, water soaking into the back of your blouse, making the fabric cling to your skin. You stay there for a minute, not processing what’s happening, ready to laugh off another inappropriate joke from Steve.

You don’t really get the chance.

Two heavy hands clap down on your shoulders, exerting pressure on you until you crumple to the floor, knees hitting the tile of Steve's kitchen painfully. You yelp, struggling against him, pressing, then beating your fist against his tree trunk legs.

"Stev-" you choke on his name when your neighbour unzips his trousers before you, undoes the fly of the pair you helped him pick out, with him bent over your shoulder while you held his phone, his front pressed close to your back. Pulls his half hard dick out of pants starched and pressed with the iron he'd borrowed from you because his was "on the fritz" again.

"Open up." He cajoles, and you pin him with an incredulous, confused stare. No. No. This is all wrong. He doesn’t act like that. Steve Rogers isn’t like that.

The hand he doesn't use to stroke himself grabs your jaw, squeezing until you open your mouth, squeezing til it hurts. A sharp, purposeful punch of his hips is all it takes for him to make use of the opening. All it takes to put every little joke, boundary crossing, and stray touch into startling, horrifying perspective.

“It was the baking.” He whispers above you. “Peggy never baked, which was fine.” He sighs above you like he isn’t pistoning his cock deep into your throat with reckless abandon. “But I missed it, y’know? And you, you bake how angels ought to, sweetheart.”

Tears stream down your face while Steve uses you, dragging your dazed, crying face back and forth on his hard-on. On a particularly strong thrust, he broaches your throat. Your eyes roll up, until he can barely see the perimeter of your irises, and you warble out a miserable moan, begging, all while wrapped around his dick, for a reprieve. Your head is pinned to the counter behind you, and even though you shove against the muscle of his thighs, Steve brooks no quarter.

“Just take it,” he coos, like he wants you to swallow cough syrup, “it’ll be over soon.” his breath stutters when your lips brush against his balls. Steve moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible when he comes down your throat, groaning in pleasure while you struggle to swallow stream after bitter stream of his seed, lest you choke on it or fucking drown.

He finally releases you, and you pull back so fast you bang the back of your head on his pristine white counters. The pain radiates through your scalp, grounding you in the moment, cementing you to the spotless linoleum floor of Steve Rogers’ kitchen. You’re both panting, eager to fill your lungs with gulps of air.

“Whew.” He sighs, hands on his hips, like that took a lot out of him. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you, just didn’t expect the struggle.” He chuckles, patting you on the head. “But you settled down quick, didn’t ya?” His tone takes on…contentment? Happiness?

No. That’s not quite right.

It’s pride. Steve is looking down at you, your spit and cum slick mouth, the weepy, watery state of your eyes, and the disarray of the hair he’d used as a handle, with pride.

Your stomach roils.

He bends low and you flinch away from him, smacking your head on the countertop again. He cocks his head at the involuntary movement, and smiles at you. A familiar, warm thing. One that made your heart flutter with pleasure, beat fast with your own surge of pride when he accepted a pie, or offered a compliment. Now it does the same, your heart speeds up, your palms itch curiously, and your brain doesn’t know if you’re happy or sad. Doesn’t know if it craves those smiles anymore.

“Just wanna set you on your feet. C’mon.” He speaks quietly, like he’s soothing a frightened animal, and hooks his hand under your armpits, heaving you up with the same startling strength he'd used to face fuck the fight out of you.

“It’s okay.” You bleat, voice as wobbly and unstable as the pair of legs struggling to keep you upright. And it’s not, it’s far from okay, the taste of him lingers in the back of your throat and if you think about it for even a second more you’ll throw up all over his shiny floors, on those godforsaken pants.

“I admit,” he laughs, ducks his head with that small town charm he does so well, “I wanted to last longer. But you were too good.” He winks at you, like you share a secret. Like you’re in league with each other.

He staring, waiting for you to say something, arches a brow like it’s your line and you’re fucking up the show.

But there it is again, that smile, sunny and open, and so pristine.

“Let’s get you home.” He herds you towards his front door, hand glued to the small of your back, his pinky finger stroking the skin exposed by the riding up of your still wet shirt. The two of you walk into the balmy summer air, and the spaces in between the black night, punctuated with the occasional white streetlight, designate your path home. Some of your neighbours’ houses are still illuminated, their warm yellow windows denoting the presence of life. You wonder what goes on behind their doors, you wonder if someone is having a good night somewhere close to you.

You come across your door faster than you were prepared for, the cheery yellow paint job Steve and James had done for caramel apple pie, mocks you. The way he’d smiled in your face, touched you, laughed. Steve shifts next to you, holding onto your extensive tower of pyrex and tupperware, for an instant your blood runs cold at the prospect of Steve inviting himself in, like he’s done so many times before. Not to bring in groceries or put together a dresser, but to pin you prone to the carpet of your bedroom and smile at you.

“So!” He turns, “Same time next week?” You gawk at him, and when you don’t say or do anything, he stoops and slides your extra keys out from under your Garfield emblazoned doormat. The jingle of two, simple metal keys against the little bell shaped key-chain makes your head pound, your blood boil. He unlocks the door, and gestures for you to take a step indoors. You raise both hands, palms upturned so he can give the keys back, so you can hide them, or melt them, or flush them down the toilet. Instead, you get to watch him slip the key-ring into his pocket, before he places your dishes into your uplifted open palms. “I gotta say, the lemon bars were a hit.” He tweaks your nose between his thumb and forefinger, his compliment tempered by the greedy shine in his eyes. You nearly scratch your own eyes out when you get that pleased, soft tingle in your chest.

He smiles and you salivate. He compliments you and your heart responds. He’s proud and your brain tells you ‘I’m happy’.

Why hasn’t it gone away? Will it ever go away?

“Maybe those brownies again, the cream cheese ones?” His voice is hopeful, soft and pliant, like he’s worried you’ll say ‘no’.

Like there’s a world where he’d take no for an answer.

You nod, a jerky, quick gesture that rattles your brain around in your skull. “Sure. Yeah.” You answer, sweaty hands slipping against tempered glass and plastic lids. “Yes. Brownies.” Steve beams, clapping his hands together, once, loud, drawing your eyes to the brutish width of them.

“Fantastic. I can’t wait.” He jogs down your front steps, and the fist secured around your lungs loosens with every step he takes away from you. He pauses at the side walk, one foot still on your property, the other poised to leave it.

“We make a great team. Don’t we?” He turns to you, and this time, he isn’t smiling. This time, his eyes cut through the night and the streetlight and the foggy haze of misfortune clouding your brain.

And the fear finally comes.

You kick your door closed, and you lock your door, and you drop your pyrex and tupperwear and serving spoons in the sink and you lock your windows and you get into bed, still dressed for a poker night you had no business being at, and you pull the covers up and up and over your face.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

And neither will your neighbour.

god i want him so bad. tomorrow, captain soap.

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callofdudes · 6 months

Text

Don't go there.

Summary: When you and your friends take a summer trip out to the woods you are unaware of just what you've disturbed from it's slumber deep inside.

Cw: Serial Killer Simon, gore, blood, wounds, angst, death, childhood trauma. Mention of dissociation, abuse. Dark themes, animal death, Simon has a bit of a psychotic obsession over you in the end.

Word count: 6.8K+

A/N: Please don't let this flop, I spent way too much time staying up and writing this. So I do apologize for my dry-eye editing mistakes. I didn't want to super edit it all but I worked so hard on this. I was tempted to make the end kinky, but he just really, really likes chasing. Italics means a flashback/something in the past.

"How much longer until we get there??" You asked, looking out the window of the car, seeing the long road of trees. Stretching out for miles deep into the unknown where shadows lingered.

"Shouldn't be much longer." Your friend, Adam replied, checking the gas level in the truck.

You had stopped at a gas station nearly an hour ago. You had been going down this road for almost half an hour with nothing to see for miles.

Two of your other friends sat in the back, distracted by their boredom. You look in the rearview mirror, seeing them making out.

Crystal and Peter couldn't get off each other for five minutes... You had to be in the car with them. Why couldn't you have been with the others following in the car behind you?

You sigh softly in exhaustion, fixing your headphones again.

You all had taken up the opportunity for a summer job out at a camp for the extra money. Having just gotten out of school, you were looking for somewhere to start fresh, away from your parents' clings. And this felt right.

"Hey, looks like we've got something," Adam points out.

You look up, clicking off your phone to see the road split off. An old sign at the crossroads directs you down another road.

"That's the camp's name." You sit up, your whole body feeling relief that you are almost there.

"Thank goodness."

You looked at the backseat, leaning over to gently hit Peter. "Hey, stop it, there are others in the car you two."

"Sorry y/n."

Hah, you knew they weren't. At least you'd be at the camp soon...

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

You arrived at the camp, pulling up on the road to the large cabins just across from a lake spanning out into the thick forest grove.

You got out, stretching your limbs. Hands high above your head, yawning and working your legs.

"Finally."

You grabbed your bags from the car, meeting up with your other two friends Phillip and Stacy, pulling up in the car behind you.

"Geez, I'd have to make that trip every summer." Phillip fixed his hat, slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder.

"Well, hopefully, the drive back won't be as painful." You playfully glared at Peter and Crystal, taking your bags up the walk to the cabin lodge.

The warm late afternoon sun came through the trees, the breeze blowing softly across the open land. Seeing some of the other campers and counsellors wandering about.

The main office was where you met up with the head counsellor. He smiled upon seeing you. "Y/n, glad you made it."

"Thanks, it was quite the trip."

"Well, we're glad to have you here. Sign your name, and we'll get you all the keys to your cabins."

You nod, write down your name on the paper, and then take the cabin key from him, "Thanks!"

He nods, setting up your friends as well.

Taking your bags, you head down to your cabin. You walk through the main grounds, across the road and over to the thick backwooded area. You paused, looking out into the woods.

The trees were growing and darkening as you looked in, hiding the other side from what lay there.

You shook it off, heading to the cabin and unlocking it. You were sharing your room with Adam, two beds set up and a window at the back of the cabin wall as well.

"Not bad..." You muttered.

As you and Adam start to unpack, you couldn't help but feel a little excited about spending the summer here. The camp was beautiful, with its lake and surrounded by lush forest. It was going to be the perfect escape from the stress of school and family drama.

As you were unpacking, you noticed that Adam had left the cabin without saying anything. You shrugged, thinking he had gone to explore as well.

After organizing your clothes and items in the drawers, you grab your sunglasses and head out to explore the camp. The sun was setting, casting a beautiful golden hue on the entire area. You walked towards the lake, admiring the serene beauty of the water.

As you sit on the dock, dipping your feet in the water, you feel off. Feeling that weird sense that someone was watching you.

You looked out across the lake, attempting to spot anyone, but the forest looked all the same. You were startled a little when you heard footsteps approaching. You look up to see Adam walking towards you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Hey there," he says, sitting beside you on the dock. "Enjoying the view?"

You roll your eyes but can't help but laugh at his antics. "Yeah, it's beautiful."

"Well, I was talking with some others and we're setting up dinner for everyone, then it's swimsuit time~"

You scoffed, shoving him away. "We're to relax, not stick our pieces in random places."

"Oh, say you," He grinned, but you just shrugged him off.

"Meet you at the cabin then?"

You hummed in agreement, and Adam left you alone to join some of the others. You looked back out at the lake, sighing before getting up and following after him.

As you walk back towards the main grounds, you can't shake off the feeling of being watched. The shadows of the trees seemed to elongate and twist, as though they were reaching out to grab you. You shivered, feeling as though you were being watched by something lurking in the forest.

But you shook it off, reassuring yourself that it was just your imagination running wild in unfamiliar territory. You arrive at the campfire just as dinner is being served, the smell of grilled meat and vegetables making your mouth water. You grab a plate and sit down next to Philip, who was chatting animatedly with one of the other counsellors.

You laughed at the funny stories and jokes that were shared, feeling yourself relaxed for the first time in a long while.

But as the night wore on, the atmosphere changed. You noticed the people around you becoming louder, more intoxicated. The crude jokes turned into innuendos and the flirting became more aggressive.

Your typical night with a bunch of people barely older than the drinking age and taking it to their advantage to flirt with any young mind like themselves.

After dinner, you all head back to your cabins to change into your swimsuits. You grab your towel and head towards the lake, joining the others who are already swimming and playing around in the water. You dip your toes into the cool water and shiver slightly, but soon adjust to the temperature and join in the fun.

As you were swimming around, you suddenly felt someone grab your waist from behind. You gasp and turn around to see Adam, grinning cheekily at you. "Gotcha."

You continued to splash around in the water as the sunset. Across the dock, dark eyes stared into the stirring waters. Watching from behind the darkness of the tree line Peter and Crystal made out against one of the firm dock legs. Others laugh and touch too closely to not be called flirtatious.

Their laughter stung his ears. The sounds of shrill joy twisting his stomach in a way that made him angry. One more year where he'd have to do all the dirty work. Where these kids would have to learn.

He'd hear their screams and see the looks of horror on their faces. That's what he wanted.

He moved back into the shadows, slinking down the old house of a family doomed from the start...

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

"Simon! Get your ass down here right now you little shit!!"

"Hang on." The young boy looked in the mirror, whining as he fiddled with his belt, desperately pulling it and looping it back through. Shaky hands working hard when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

His father angrily pushed through the bathroom door, grabbing his wrist. "I said get over here. You're going to make us late again and I don't want your excuses."

Simon wriggled, whining again as he was pulled down the stairs.

His older brother sat with his bags on the couch, chuckling. "Hah, look who got caught with his pants down again." He smirked.

"Shut up Tommy!" Simon retorted, his father yanking him forward and slapping him across the face.

"He's right. Now you shut your mouth."

Simon looked over at his mother who remained quiet as the boys' father led them to the door, getting them into the car.

"If I hear any shit from your counsellors' I'm going to be through with you. You understand me!?"

Simon looked out the window, watching the trees blur by in a mess of green as they drove. He saw his brother look over at him and smirk.

"Don't be a pussy, Simon. You're going to love it."

Simon shook his head and looked away, thinking about all the wonderful things he could be doing if his brother was the one going away to camp.

Simon couldn't help but feel the knot of worry in his stomach. He wasn't looking forward to the summer camp, but his father threatened him with more than was needed to scare the young guy.

"Simon. Simon! What the fuck are you whining about?" His brother punched his arm, and Simon looked over at him.

"Nothing."

"Don't try to lie to me. I can hear it in your fucking voice."

"I'm just nervous is all."

"Yeah, about that..." Tommy laughed, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a small tin. "I got you something to take the edge off."

Simon looked at him, eyes wide. "What the fuck is that?" He asked, Tommy, grinning and popping open the lid, a snake popping out and making Simon jump.

"Tommy, stop!!"

Tommy laughed, tucking the fake snake away.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

The stairs of the old house creaked. He took it to the bathroom where the mirror took in his frame, eyes showing out from behind the skull mask he wore. Something he'd taken on after his brother's death.

He bent down, opening the sink drawer doors and grabbing his set of knives and his hatchet. Tracing his gloved fingers over the sharp edge, a twist of evil excitement stirred inside him.

Another year of spilling blood. All for himself.

You were back at your cabin at the end of the night, slipping into a sweater as the chill of the summer air set through the interior.

"What's up, y/n?" Adam asked as he noticed you staring out the window for the hundredth time.

"I don't know, I just have this weird feeling like we're being watched." You turn from the window to face him.

Adam let out a chuckle. "Don't tell me you believe in all those ghost stories they tell around the campfire?"

"No, it's not that. It's just a feeling. Nothing more." You tried to brush it off, but you were unconvinced.

"Yeah, but it can be fun to believe you know? Peace of mind." He offered his hand, and you took it.

Adam pulled you outside, and the two of you walked to the cabins beside yours.

"Do you believe in ghosts or spirits?" You asked, feeling a little braver around him.

"Not really. I've seen some crazy shit and it's hard to believe there's more out there. But why not? I'll believe anything if it's from you."

"You're uncontrollable."

"I know." He grinned but then stopped in his tracks. "Wait, hold up. What was that?"

You stop, cocking your head to the side to listen. "I don't hear anything."

"Shh. Listen."

You sit there for a tense moment, scanning the dark tree line, fists clenching in your pockets.

You listened closer, and what you heard was a heavy thumping from one of the cabins. You both seemed to exhale softly upon realizing it wasn't anything to be scared of.

"Whatever, I'm going to the bathroom." You kept walking, heading down the path to the bathrooms. Heading inside and flicking on the small light, locking the door.

Adam smirked, hearing you as you left down the path. He's been trying to get into your pants for months. And yet you brushed him off every time. He partly hoped that this time around, the summer camp and the alcohol will loosen you, literally.

He waits around for you to be done, looking out down toward the dock and the cool waters. Hearing footsteps behind him, he chuckled. "That was quick." He turned, facing someone who definitely wasn't you.

His eyes widened, looking up at the imposing figure.

The mask bore holes into his skin, the darkness hiding the grotesque glint in his eyes.

"Woah man, easy." Adam backed up, but it did little to save him as the large man's hand clasped tightly around his throat, his hatchet slashing into his abdomen.

He had to die first.

Adam's eyes went wide. He attempted to scream, heels digging into the dirt as the blade retracted from his stomach and he was dragged across the open grounds. Blood splattered from the torn skin and clothes onto the rocks and dirt. Dragged back into the woods, trying to scream or scramble for anything to help him.

"Help!" His words were mumbled and barely made it out as he was dragged back into the darkness behind the cabins. Thrust into a tree, the knife sinking back into his flesh. Adam choked, blood spilling from his mouth as the knife carved up through him. Blood splattered into the dirt and leaves.

His eyes stared upward; his face twisted in fright as the man began to brutal him with the knife. The blade tore into his flesh, slicing open as the man took his time to toy with the young man.

Adam's struggles weakened by the minute. Until the knife dug into his throat, and life escaped his body.

He dropped Adam, flicking the blood from his knife and tucked it back into his vest.

The man turned back to the cabin, the sound of footsteps approaching.

Adam was left slumped on the ground, blood oozing from his wounds.

The man slipped back behind the cabin, his hand grasping the hilt of his knife as he listened intently for your return.

You were coming out of the bathrooms, heading back to your cabin when you noticed Adam wasn't around. "Adam?" You looked around, watching the darkness. When you heard nothing, you shrugged. He probably just headed back to the cabin then. So, with that you headed back, but when you returned, still no Adam.

"Alright then."

You left the cabin door unlocked, just in case he'd take a while to get back. Setting up your bed and crawling in, flicking out your lamp. You lay in the darkness, snuggling into the bed and closing your eyes.

You listened to the sounds of the cricket outside and the occasional small rustle of a critter along the wilderness edge. Your breathing slows, exhaling softly as you feel yourself slipping away into sleep.

Footsteps crunch against the pebbled ground. You aren't entirely sure how long you've been asleep when you feel your eyelids fluttering open again. Not moving when you hear the heavy footfalls coming up the side of the cabin. They come around the front of the cabin, stopping at the door.

Silence.

"Adam?" You finally whisper, shifting a little in your bed, squinting into the darkness.

Still silent.

You sat up slowly, looking out the window to see if the coast was clear. You couldn't see anything. You listened for a few moments more, and when you still didn't hear anything, you laid back down.

You watched the door, your heart picking up in pace slightly. The door handle of the cabin finally twists. Your heart leaps as the door opens with an ominous creak.

The steps follow into the cabin, and in the moonlight, you can clearly see that the figure is not Adam.

Your heart spasms in your chest. Your body goes into freeze mode. You try to keep your breathing low in the darkness. The figure shifts its weight slightly, and you feel a pair of eyes on you. Whatever or whoever it was said nothing.

Boots moving across the cabin floor. You close your eyes, feeling fear overtake you when the person reaches your bedside. The glint of the moonlight revealed the sharp hatchet, yet your eyes were closed. Unaware of just what danger you were in.

The figure leans over, warm breath fanning from the mask, leaning down near your cheek, the blade caressing over the skin of your shoulder. You can't stop your whimper, feeling another hot puff of air against your skin, the tip of the blade digging into your shoulder.

You flinch, gasping. The figure stops, the blade drawing away from your skin. Your eyes finally open, wide with fear.

The figure is looming over you, and you can't make out their features in the dark, but the knife glints in the moonlight.

"Please." You whimpered. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"Shhh..." The figure shushed, bringing the knife down slowly, trailing the cold metal across your exposed stomach.

Your bottom lip quivers, shying away, whimpering. "Please- Please I won't-" Your voice dies out with another small whimper as he toys with you. Your body is a nervous wreck.

The blade drags across your skin, slowly sinking into your flesh. Your body throbbing in pain, your eyes so wide that they sting.

You try to look down to see the blade, but the figure moves away, and your eyes follow the figure. You see the glint of the moonlight upon the blade as it comes into view. Your body is trembling violently, your skin stained with a light coating of sweat.

You're going to die. You're fully prepared for whatever is happening to end you.

"Oh, Crystal, come on!" You hear Peter's voice in the darkness. The thick silence pierced like shards of glass. Their breathing pauses, blade stilling against your skin.

"No! I told you not to look!" Crystal hollered back. You could hear her coming closer, walking down toward the docks probably.

The figure leans away from you. You feel your heart throbbing inside your chest. The blade leaves your skin, boots heavily walking back across the floorboards. You remain there, hearing the stride stop, eyes back on you. Then the door creaks shut, and the steps are moving away.

You exhale shakily, opening your eyes, half expecting him to still be there.

You thought he was going to kill you. And then it hit you. Crystal... He must have been going after one of them. You were about to rush out of bed on adrenaline, but the fear immediately had you lying back down. You couldn't move, pulling your blankets back up.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

It was morning when you got up, finding Adam not at the cabin. You were surprised. You thought he'd come back eventually, but it seems he'd disappeared. You tried to clear your head. Getting dressed and stepping outside to brush your teeth. You looked around, trying to see any signs of what had happened last night. But it seemed all was still. You spat into the dirt, shrugging on your camp sweater and headed over to the main cabin.

There you saw everyone, Peter sitting alone and looking a little bummed out. "Hey." You walked over, getting his attention. "Hey... sleep ok?"

"Yeah, you? Heard a scuffle last night."

Peter sighed, looking into his half-full cup of iced tea. "Found some old photos in a bag she brought with her... Her and her ex."

You cringed a little, but nodded, hearing him out.

"She stormed off and didn't come back last night."

"She did seem the type to be dramatic." You shrugged but gave him a side hug. "Look, it'll be alright. I'm sure she'll come back, and you can sort this out."

Breakfast was passed around and you slowly got to thinking about Crystal. She had no ride back unless she were to take Adam's car or Phil's truck... And where was Adam? Oh well... She was probably off brooding about how she would have to come back and apologize. She was always a tad dramatic for your type.

But the day shifted on, afternoon setting and you all headed to get changed into your swimsuits.

Grabbing your towel you headed outside to meet up with Phil who was chatting up one of the other male counsellors. He had that sly look in his eyes. You patted his arm, motioning him to go get it somewhere else and you headed for the dock.

Some others were already talking and breaking out the kayaks to take on the lake.

You once again sat down, dipping your toes into the water. You looked down into the water, noticing it seemed slightly darker than you remember. Playing it off to be the sunlight and you continued to gently swish your toes through.

One of the girls waved off as she pushed her kayak out into the lake. Rowing out a small bit enough that she comfortably floated along. Until her paddle hit something in the water, rippling up the lake.

You raised an eyebrow, looking down, noticing a chain tied to the leg of the dock. That hadn't been there the other day. The girl seemed to come to the same conclusion, pulling on the chain, something scraping along the bottom floor of the lake bed.

She grunted, pulling a little harder, one of the guys swimming out to steady the kayak.

You all watched as she pulled the chain up, struggling with it until finally. She screamed. You were startled, immediately pulling your feet out of the water. The girl dropped the chain and started desperately attempting to get out of the water and out of the kayak. There wasn't any mistaking her blonde hair, Crystal's body tied by the neck around the chain, her body gutted and hollowed so she'd sink.

You were horrified. Everyone was horrified. Peter and Phillip grab the chain and tug it, dragging her back to shore. They pulled her body onto the dock, seeing her lifeless eyes. The chain digging into her throat, stomach and chest completely hollowed out, her rib cage sticking up like fangs from her peeling, mutilated skin.

You backed up, hitting Phillip's arms. Covering your mouth as you saw what it was. Someone had murdered Crystal. And he was in your cabin last night. You hadn't imagined it.

Someone was hunting you...

"What do we do??" Phillip asked.

"We call the police!" Stacy cried.

"No! They'll shut us down. We'll be responsible."

"What if he comes after the rest of us?"

Your heart pounded a million miles an hour. What were you going to do!?

Some of the boys simply pushed her body back into the water. Vouching that they should just keep a lookout for anything that comes up. They wanted to make the rescue that it was probably just animals. Yeah, because animals were the ones to skillfully skin the organs and carve out around the sharp bone of her ribcage.

But no one could convince them otherwise, so you let it go. It still terrifies you, keeping an eye out as you walk the grounds. Every noise around you sounds like aggression.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

Dark eyes watched from the cabin door as Crystal stalked across the camp. Muttering angrily to herself, pulling her shirt fully on, and heading for the docks to get some fresh air. He watched her head down, footsteps following after her once she was far enough away.

The twisted sense of hunting prey filled his mind. Smelling the blood before it was spilt and the delicious scream he'd tear from her lungs.

She sat on the dock, huddled against the small sloshes of the lake against the dock legs. Staring out into the starry night. Footfalls make her brow wrinkle. "Peter, I told you to leave me alone."

He stared down at her, his hatchet glinting in the light, hand tightening on the blade in anticipation. He could almost get off to it. Grabbing her by the throat, hearing her gasp and choke, feet scraping against the wood of the dock. She tried to scream, grabbing his forearm, and looking up at him.

He stared down at her, eyes glimmering with excitement as he watched her thrash. A predator toying with its prey. She squirmed desperately, attempting to kick or bite her way out. Her nails dug into his forearm, drawing a light trickle of blood from his skin.

He frowned, gripping the hatchet and piercing it up through her back, the blade squelching through organs and blood, spilling across the dock and flicking into the cool water.

Her face was frozen in an endless scream, bloodletting out across the wood, falling limp after a moment.

He dropped her body, walked back up the dock and grabbed one of the boat chains from the grass. Unthreading it from the post, he came back over. He tied the chain around her throat, making sure it stayed.

The blade tore into her stomach and gutted her before picking up her organless body and throwing her into the lake. Blood seeps into the water like a bleeding-out animal. Like she'd just been mauled by a shark and was left as scraps.

Seeing blood flood and bubble along her flesh as she sank down to the bottom, the current moving her slightly, throat tugging on the chain that kept her secure to the dock.

He flicked out his blade, looking down at his forearm, wiping the blood from the scratches away. And he left silently.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

Simon stood at the edge of the tree line. His brother sneered from the porch, watching him investigate the noise that had rustled the bushes. He stood there, looking down at the small fox, blood splattered across the leaves, stomach torn open, caught in the barbed wire fence of the property and ultimately caught by whatever it had been running from.

Simon reached out to touch it but quickly pulled away and backed up. He walked back over to the porch, nose scrunching when he smelled the putrid smell of cigarette smoke from his brother.

"Go tell Dad, he'll want someone to pick the guts out of the fence." He sneers.

Simon kept his head down, heading inside where his father was muttering away angrily about his mother again, another bottle in his hand. Drinking it back while he went on and on over the phone.

Simon hesitantly went over to him, standing there patiently and waiting. His father noticed him and frowned angrily. "What do you want, boy!?"

Simon gulped, finding his voice. "There's a fox in the fence..."

"Is it dead?"

Simon nodded. "It's dead."

His father huffed, chugging back more alcohol. "Get the tools and go clean it then. You know what to do."

Simon felt his stomach twist painfully, digging under the sink in the kitchen to grab the gloves and cleaner, heading back outside onto the porch.

As he worked to remove the fox from the fence, Simon couldn't help but think about how much death he had been exposed to lately.

He finished cleaning the fence, but his mind was elsewhere.

As he buries the fox gently, Simon can't help but feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knows that there are cruel people out there who are capable of senseless violence, and it makes him angry. He wants to do something, to make a difference, but he doesn't know how.

As he walked back towards the house, he heard his father's voice. "You know, Simon, you can't be a sissy your whole life. You gotta learn to face things head-on. That's what real men do."

Simon felt his blood boil with anger. His father had no idea what he had gone through, the trauma he had endured. And yet, he was still expected to be a "man". He was only twelve by that point.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

You sat around the fire with a blanket over your shoulders. The warm afternoon was rather quiet as you all attempted to get over what you'd seen earlier. Why the hell were you sitting here instead of calling the cops? Someone was murdered and you just had to be stuck with the people worried about the camp's reputation.

The boys continued to work, trying to forget about the corpse in the lake and the ramifications that would come with it. The girls all sat in the cabin, trying to distract the younger campers from the grim day.

Phillips came over, handing you a flask of scotch. "Drink this. It'll help."

You took it from him, looking away. "Why'd she have to die?"

"I don't know."

"Where's Peter?"

"He's outside, making s'mores with the other kids."

You nodded, taking a sip of the liquor. It warmed you up and you sighed in relief.

Phillips sat down beside you, looking like his mind was miles away. "You seen that prick, Adam?"

You shake your head. "Nope. Disappeared last night hasn't come back." Saying it out loud really solidifies it for you and Phil. Looking at each other, simultaneously coming to one conclusion.

He was probably dead too...

"We need to get the fuck out of here. We can take his car, leave and go get help."

You agreed, nodding your head. "Yeah, yeah. We should leave now."

Phil wasn't gonna fight it. He may like to do his own thing but the idea of getting killed wasn't on his MO. Not this pretty boy face, no, no.

So, you packed back up, Phil convincing Stacy to go back with you. With your bags, you loaded into Phil's truck. Some of the counsellors seemed a little upset at the idea of you leaving so early. Or going to the cops at all.

But you weren't going to sit there and wait to be next.

Within another hour or so you were all packed up and getting in the truck. Phil pulled you out of the road, clicking his tongue as he turned the truck around.

You stared out the window, looking at the trees and the stretch of empty road as if they were watching back. Mocking you, laughing.

It was silent for a large portion of the drive, your foot tapping along the car.

"What of the others?" Stacy asked from the backseat. "Their fault for being stupid. Although that one counsellor was pretty cute..."

You remain quiet, watching the road as you drive. Tires picking up down the road. You looked down at your phone, distracting yourself with one of your games, Phil eventually filling the silence with the sound of the radio.

The thick tension in the air was palpable through the drive.

There was a thunk under the truck. You looked up, eyes widening as Phil brought the truck to a stop.

"What was that?" You looked out the side mirror but couldn't see anything.

"It's probably some dumb rocks." Phil takes off his seatbelt and opens the door. "Phil-" You reached out for him, and he shrugged it off. "I'm just gonna check it."

He left the door open, heading back around the truck, seeing something lying in the road. A clump of fur stuck on the tread of his tire, a fox in the road.

Phil approached it, looking around. "Geez... talk about dumb." He mutters, spitting into the dirt and scuffing his shoe. Looked like there wasn't any damage done to his truck though. That's what mattered.

He bent down to look at the fox again, hearing footsteps. Just as he looked up the sharp glint of a blade glared into his eyes. His heart lurched, backing up as the blade retracted, swinging again.

Phil gasped, continuing to dodge and trying to move, the large skull-masked figure intending to strike good with the hatchet.

You heard the scrape and thunk when the blade hit the side of the truck, seeing the large figure.

"Phil!" You cried, Stacy getting out of the car before you could stop her.

Your eyes widened, seeing the figure. He dwarfed both Stacy and Phil.

How did he get out here!?

The figure turns towards Stacy, raising the hatchet. She screams, but before he can strike, Phil tackles the figure from behind, knocking him down onto the ground.

You quickly get out of the car, running towards them. "Phil, are you okay?!"

"I'm alright, but we need to get out of here!" Phil grabs your arm, pulling you back to the truck.

The figure stands up, body looming in the dim light. You get a good look at him now. He was wearing a skull mask, with the rest of his face hidden in shadow. He was wearing a black jacket with a hood, and black gloves. You couldn't see anything else.

He starts coming towards you, but Phil quickly gets back into the truck, starting its engine. You all drive away quickly, leaving the figure behind.

You're breathing heavily, heart pounding as you look out the back window. The figure is standing in the same spot, watching as you drive away.

"We're getting the police..." You whisper, unable to take your eyes off the man as he gets smaller in the mirror.

"Agreed," Phil says, continuing down the open road.

Ghost lifts his mask, putting a lit cigarette between his scarred lips, exhaling smoke out into the open road. Turning back toward the camp. He'd gone too far anyway, back to his stomping grounds.

He takes another drag of smoke, dropping the cigarette and shoving his heel into it.

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

Tommy smeared the dirt with his shoe, exhaling the last of the smoke from his lungs, spitting into the freshly shuffled dirt.

Simon watched him, holding the shotgun his father had shoved in his arms. "Tommy-"

"Shut it. You'll scare 'em off." He looks around, scanning the forest grounds, into the darker parts of the trees and across the bushes.

"They always run back to where they think they're safe." Tommy picks up a rock and throws it at the lake. Birds stir in the water, flicking and scattering, some rushing back toward the trees.

Simon gulps, raising the shotgun, and aiming upward at one of the birds. He shot, missing the thing by a mile.

Tommy scoffs, shaking his head. "You're not gonna hit anything like that, kid."

Simon lowers the gun, feeling embarrassed. He had never shot a gun before, let alone at a moving target. "Sorry, I-I didn't mean to-"

Simon can feel his cheeks flushing. He hates it when Tommy treats him like a little kid. But he knows better than to argue. Tommy's been doing this for years, and Simon's only been brought into this recently.

"What are we even doing out here?" Simon asks, shifting the gun in his hands.

Tommy turns to him, squinting in the sunlight. "We're hunting, Simon. Hunting for something that's been bothering the camp for too damn long."

🩸🔪💀🔪🩸

A couple days later you and the others returned. It was only you and Phil this time, along with a couple officers and a K9 unit. You'd been nervous about returning for the entire time up until finally going back.

Getting there you open the door, looking around. The camp was quiet, the trees still, bushes bristling as the breeze flowed steadily.

Some officers looked around, the K9 sniffing along the ground as you headed into the camp.

It was completely dead. Abandoned beer cans, a filled pool, and Kayaks still down at the beach unchained.

You latched onto Phil nervously as you followed the officers. Searching everywhere. The main office was empty, and cabins were abandoned. You gulped, the officers scratching their heads, but you knew it was too late. He had gotten to them.

"And what did you say he looked like again?"

"Tall- over six feet, skull mask, wore all black?"

The officer nodded, looking around. The K9's ears perked up, staring into the bushes. Barking into the darkness.

Your insides tensed up, watching the officer with the K9 move forward, others readying their guns in case.

You were shaking and your knees felt weak. the officer moved the K9 forward, waving it further in.

The K9 stopped, barking as it tugged on its leash. The officer stepped forward, pointing his gun into the woods.

The noise quieted, and the dog calmed down. The officer sighed, walking back over. "It's a deer. Want us to keep searching?"

You look around, sighing. "No, nobody's here. Nobody was here."

"Alright, well, we're going to be here for a while still. You can head back to town, we'll keep searching." The officer shrugged. You pocketed your hands, heading back to the car with Phil.

You get into the passenger seat; Phil leans forward and turns on the radio. You look in the rearview mirror and your body freezes. You look back, going cold in horror, a silent scream building in your throat. The hatchet reached up between the seats, grabbing Phil and choking him.

You attempt to tear the man off but he's too strong, blood slashing through Phil's throat as he angrily fights.

You finally manage to scream, getting the door open quickly getting out of the truck, your heart hammering in your chest. The figure turned towards you, his mask hiding any emotion he may have felt. You couldn't make out any details in the darkness, but you could tell that he was tall, muscular, and had a menacing aura about him.

Your feet carry you, thudding across the ground, the back door of the car opening and heavier footsteps following.

You try to call for help, bloody glove wrapping around your mouth, pulling you back, back pressed to the strong chest of a bloody killer.

You wanted to thrash but thought better, remaining still. His hand tightened over your mouth, leaning in so his warm breath fanned over your face. You whimpered, feeling weak, shaking as the edge of his weapon grazed your stomach. Tracing up your sternum, across your chest. Edge of the blade nipping your clothes.

You breathe in heavily through your nose, hands clasping on his forearm, wriggling around.

He enjoyed it. Seeing the pure fear in your eyes, watching you struggle and shake.

Your eyes water, looking into the bushes, knowing the officers were just right there...

He leaned closer to you, whispering into your ear, "Now, now." He was right up against your ear, breath hot and damp.

You try to kick him in the knee, but he's too strong. He grabs your leg, squeezing, bruising as he pulls it up, causing you to fall to your knees.

He moans in your ear, lips pulling into a smirk against the shell of your ear.

You gag, struggling, hearing the heavy thunk of his hatchet against the ground.

His hands were big enough to cover your face. One wrapped around your throat, the other on your mouth, thumb and fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks, squeezing.

Your hands scrambled against his arm, nails digging into his flesh as you desperately tried to claw him away.

There's barking and a sharp whine of the K9. You struggle, attempting to wriggle away as you hear the officers yelling. There's another loud bark, claws digging into the ground, the man letting you go.

You don't have a moment to think longer, taking off down the old road. The canine returns to Simon's side, a tussle of fur in her mouth, and he gives her the signal to wait. He smirks under the mask, watching you run as fast as you can. His stomach twisted in excitement. He couldn't wait to watch your blood spill…

He wants to watch the anguish before the pain. He wants to see your insides. Do they look as good as you do? He swings the blade wiping some of the blood off, running it along the white truck stopped along the road.

Tears fill your eyes, your heart pounding. Your legs shake as you run with everything you have in you. He could have just killed you, but you couldn’t give up. You had to get out. You had to run. You had to survive. This twisted game of cat and mouse, feeling the cats claws ready to sink into your tail and drag you back for a meal.

For now, you were prey, and he was predator.

(Please do let me know what you thought if you read this. I worked hard and haven't a true slasher fic before. I tried my best and want to give you guys more of this.)

401 notes · View notes

cobwebbedcat · 22 days

Text

Nothing That a Little Gatorade and Expired Aspirin Can't Fix

MINORS DNI

warnings: soft dom top amab gender neutral reader, sub bottom trans male sick! Vincent Sinclair, emetophilia, piss, dirty talking, Vincent is mute, just a hint of odontophilia

Terms used for vincent: cunt, pussy, clit, dick, t-dick

There are not many things that will get you out of your bed and home past midnight, but two texts coming from Bo have you wiping sleep from your eyes and pulling on whatever clothes are closest to you.

After reading Vincent threw up. Then: Asking for you. Bring meds, you text back a quick omw! Before rushing to the 24/7 CVS and making the drive to the Sinclair’s house, which is of course, obnoxiously far away from Ambrose, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

When you enter the Sinclair house, forgoing knocking or announcing yourself considering they’re expecting you, you find Bo in the kitchen halfway through a cigarette and staring at a bottle of Aspirin.

“Expired two years ago,” he grumbles, still staring at the bottle, refusing to look at you.

“That’s fine, brought some stuff,” Bo finally looks up when you raise the two bags full of things for Vincent for him to see. It doesn’t show much on his face, but even in the dim light you can see the tension release from his shoulders.

“Good. Better go see him then,” he huffs, tossing the bottle of expired Aspirin in the trash. You take that as your cue to leave, and hustle down to Vincent’s room.

He’s curled up in a fetal position on his bed, trying to make himself as small as possible. You gently place your bags at his bedside, and sit on the edge of the bed, running your fingers through his long hair to let him know you’re here.

Vincent lets out a soft whine and reaches out to hold onto you, looking up at you from behind his mask.

“Bo said you threw up,” you say softly. Vincent cringes, then nods. “Think you could sit up for me? I brought some stuff for you,” he uncurls himself, and with your help, he props himself up against a mountain of pillows.

“Should probably take off your mask,” you hum, wondering how and why he’s even wearing it right now. Vincent huffs, but when you give him a stern look, he crumbles, and takes it off.

With his face revealed to you, you can see how flushed he is. Gently, you place the back of your hand against his forehead. He nearly flinches away from you, but once your skin touches his he leans into you, starved for your touch. He’s not worryingly hot, but definitely has a fever.

“Poor thing,” you coo, reaching into your bags and getting him medicated. You brought Gatorade as well, and make him drink as much as he can manage (which isn’t a lot before he gags).

“Alright, well the meds are going to take a bit before they start making you feel much better. Is there something I could do to help?”

Vincent stares at you for so long you wonder if he heard you. Just when you’re about to repeat yourself, he looks away from you and signs

“Lay down with me?” And oh, isn’t that sweet. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

“Of course, darling,” you lift the blankets and slide into bed next to him. Vincent slowly inches towards you until he’s nestled against your body, humming softly and inhaling your scent. You brush your fingers through his hair until his breathing evens out and he falls asleep.

You’re brought out of slumber for a second time during the night to the sound of Vincent getting sick in the bathroom.

Dragging yourself out of the comfort of his bed you make your way to him. He’s crouched over the toilet, catching his breath from the work his body is putting him through. He whimpers softly when you sit yourself next to him, and tenderly move his hair from his face and gather it into a ponytail.

You kiss the back of his neck which is now exposed, and Vincent groans as he lazily lifts a hand up to fingerspell,

“Leave.”

“Absolutely not, sweetheart,” you muse softly, bringing the hand that’s not holding his hair back to rub comforting circles into his stomach, “couldn’t possibly go when you're in such a state,” you decide not to add how you think he looks cute like this, all helpless. Vincent is either too tired or too sick to protest more. Even if he wanted to, another wave of nausea hits him, and he’s puking again.

You can feel the way his stomach clenches and pulses under your touch. He’s sick for a while, working up a sweat as he empties his stomach over and over again. Softly you whisper praise and apologies, sorry for the discomfort and pain he’s going through, even if it does make you a bit flustered.

As soon as he’s done, you’re kissing him all over, gentle pecks which remind him that you’re here and you’ve got him. Vincent slumps into your hold, his hands coming up to cover his face. You know he appreciates you being there, even if he’s somewhat embarrassed.

You hold him close, kissing him, and gently rubbing at his stomach until Vincent rises on shaky legs. You follow his lead, and once you’re on your feet he leans his body weight on you in front of the sink, letting you get his toothbrush ready for him.

When it comes to brushing his teeth, ridding his mouth of any leftover bile, Vincent doesn’t take the brush from you, rather he closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

Cooing you take his face into one of your hands and brush his teeth for him. You’re especially gentle with him, taking care not to activate his gag reflex. He moans as the soft bristles brush their way across each tooth and along his tongue. He’d normally never let you baby him so much. You’re eating up how easily he submits to your coddling.

“Sorry, I was gross,” Vincent signs as soon as he lifts his head from spitting into the sink. You hold back a laugh; it’s funny that he’s more embarrassed by puking in front of you than admitting the heinous and cruel murders he’s committed.

“You were never gross,” you assure him, cupping his scarred face and bringing him into a sweet kiss now that his mouth is clean. You wrap an arm around his waist, “back to bed?” he lets out an affirmative hum and lets himself be led by you.

“Think you could eat a little something before you fall back asleep?” he doesn’t seem all that tired anyways, and despite the grimace he makes at the prospect of eating, Vincent nods all the same.

From the bags you’d brought with you, you pull some inoffensive snacks, and more Gatorade. Vincent does the best he can before grimacing and pushing the food away. Pleased that he was able to stomach anything at all, you make him take another dose of medication before laying down again.

“I am hot,” he complains as he snuggles up under the covers with you. You bring the back of your hand to his forehead and Vincent’s eyelashes flutter shut.

“You are hot,” you hum, “I think your fever’s back. The meds should kick in again soon,” you state, attempting to be reassuring. Vincent sighs and goes so still and so quiet that you think he’s maybe fallen asleep.

“Hot here,” he finally signs clumsily, avoiding eye contact as he takes your hand and brings it to his clothed crotch.

“Oh?” You can’t tell if the flush on Vincent’s cheeks is from fever or fluster, but it makes him look adorable all the same. “I can help out with that,” you purr, feeling desire stir in you as he lets out the softest moan and nods.

“You’ve been so cute tonight,” you hum, pulling the blankets back and stationing a leg over either side of him, caging him in, as you rub your thumb on his clit through his sleep pants.

Vincent whines, turning the scarred half of his face to hide it in the pillow. “I mean it, letting me take care of you, and being so helpless makes you really cute,” you hum. His thighs clench around your hand, and he jerks his hips, wanting more.

You’ll give him more when he asks for it, but for the moment you lean in and kiss him as you tease him through his pants.

Vincent loves your kisses, moaning softly when he feels your tongue lick against his lips. He opens his mouth easily for you, desperate to deepen the kiss. You lick deep into his mouth, forgetting how sensitive he is right now.

He pushes you away quick, turning to dry heave and gag. He swallows, and the two of you wait a moment, adrenaline coursing through you as you wait to see if he’ll be sick or not. The nausea seems to pass because he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you into another kiss, grinding his cunt into your hand.

You deepen the kiss once again, this time being careful of just how deep you tongue fuck his mouth, instead sucking on his lip, and letting his tongue into your mouth.

Vincent continues to weakly hump your hand, sighing and moaning at the feeling of your finger circling his clit. It’s not long before you can feel a hot, damp wetness on the outside of his pants. Your cock aches imagining how wet he is.

Finally, Vincent pushes you back to sign “please,” looking up at you with pleading eyes.

Pulling away, you’re quick to help him out of his pants, revealing his glistening wet pussy to your hungry eyes.

“Let me eat you out?” you ask, using two fingers to spread his lips apart and look at his hole.

Vincent makes a strangled noise and nods his head quickly. He regrets that immediately, bringing a hand to his head at the ache that comes from the action. You laugh softly, rubbing gentle circles into his thighs,

“Careful with yourself baby, you’re not feeling well,” you remind him as you make yourself comfortable between his legs. You kiss his hip bone, then kiss along his skin until your lips reach his erect clit. Vincent sighs and melts into the bed, weakly wrapping his legs around your head, and pushing you further against his pussy.

You both moan as you take Vincent into your mouth, circling around his t-dick with your tongue, then sucking gently. Bringing your fingers to his wet hole, you gently press two fingers inside of him. He’s hot and practically gushing self-lubricant, opening easily for you. You suck his dick for a minute longer, then move onto the main event.

Sliding your fingers out of Vincent, you quickly replace them with your tongue, and groan at the taste of him. He makes sweet little sounds as you curl your tongue, pressing it as deep as possible into his hole. His thighs tremble and clench around your head, his hands holding weakly onto your head, pushing you further into his cunt.

You pull back to return to his clit, sucking hard then swirling your tongue around it. Vincent gasps, his thighs shaking and twitching. You look up at him, and one of his hands has left your head to try and finger-spell something to you. Whatever he’s saying is incomprehensible to you, because the letters get scrambled and lost as his head gets more and more muddled with lust.

While still looking up at him, you pull of his clit and return to burying your tongue inside of him. Vincent’s hole clenches around you, and then he's shaking his head and mouthing something to you. You figure he must be close to cumming, and double down on your efforts. His breathing hitches and quickens, and then a hot liquid spurts from his cunt and into your mouth.

Vincent’s not a squirter, and the two of you know that. You open your mouth further as you realize that Vincent is pissing into your mouth. You can hear him whining and squeaking noises of objection, yet his legs tighten around you, keeping you closer.

You’ll apologize to him later for making him drink all that Gatorade, but for now you moan and slurp hungrily at his cunt as you drink down his piss. Your cock throbs in your pants, and if you weren’t leaking pre before, you are now.

Even after his stream dies down you lick and lave your tongue along his cunt, making sure he’s all clean, and that you haven’t missed a drop.

“Sorry,” Vincent signs.

“Don’t start with that,” you groan, pulling away from his pussy (despite wanting to back in for another bite, so to speak), your voice rough and deep with want, “that was so fucking hot.” He covers his face with his hands, but you can still see him grinning underneath them.

“Can I fuck you, darling?” you ask, bordering on pleading. Vincent nods, still hiding behind his hands.

With his permission, you fumble for the lube on his bedside table, nearly vibrating with excitement and arousal. “God, can’t wait to fuck your dirty pussy,” you mutter to yourself, slicking your cock up with lube. “Letting me stick my cock in your piss and spit slicked cunt, christ,” Vincent whines softly at that, tugging on his own hair to find something to occupy his hands.

“You good on your back?” you ask, knowing that he loves getting fucked on his hands and knees more than anything. Vincent nods, likely far too tired to hold himself up. Even if he prefers doggystyle, you like having him like this, being able to see and hear every reaction he has to your cock stirring up his insides.

“Perfect,” you purr, holding onto his hips as you press your cockhead against his hole. Vincent hiccups, reaching up to wrap his arms around your neck. Shyly he pulls your head towards his, leaning up and trying to capture your lips in a kiss.

“Sure you wanna kiss me, baby?” you tease, pressing yourself into him. He whines and you continue, “gonna taste your own piss—hah— on my mouth.” Vincent squeezes around your cock at your words, his mouth dropping open.

“Please,” he brings a hand down to sign. Always being one to spoil your lover rotten, you lean down and kiss him deeply. Vincent moans, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you pressing yourself further into him, or because he can taste himself in your mouth.

He’s nice and relaxed around you, opening up so sweetly for your cock. You wonder if he’d been tighter if you’d fucked him before eating him out, if he would have squeezed tighter around you as he tried to stop himself from pissing all over your cock.

“Fuck,” you sigh, bottoming out inside of him. He’s as hot and flushed inside as his skin is, burning up around your length. You know you shouldn't be happy that he's got a fever, but it feels so fucking good.

Vincent lets out an appreciative sigh, his lashes fluttering shut. “Feelin’ good?” in your haze of lust you’d nearly forgotten how sick he is right now. Vincent nods lazily, but he’s sweating, his long hair sticking to his body. You hum, feeling his forehead again.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re overheating,” you muse, hoping he’s really feeling alright. Vincent whines,

“Good, good, more,” he signs in a rush, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Despite him telling you he’s alright, you fuck him nice and slow, being so tender and fragile with him. You rub circles into his hips as you drag your hips back and forth. Your kisses match the pace, as filthy as ever, but slow and drawn out. You’re in no rush, and you will savor him.

Vincent accepts the sweet treatment for longer than you’d anticipated, if you’re honest. It doesn’t surprise you when he finally pushes you back to frown at you, cutely demanding "more," his hands sharp and determined as they sign.

“Just let me know if it’s too much,” you remind him, picking up the pace ever so slightly. The slightest shift has him slightly arching his back off the bed, gasping softly as your cock hits drags along his insides, going deeper and fucking him faster than before. Refusing to get carried away, you keep the pace consistent, even if all you want to do is pound him into the mattress.

“Once you’re all better I’m gonna ruin you,” you promise. Vincent moans at that, nodding and twitching around you. You bring a hand down to circle your thumb around his clit. He clenches like a vice, letting out a spurt of piss, and wetting your cock.

“Fuck baby,” you moan, feeling your orgasm quickly approaching.

“More, say more,” Vincent signs. It takes you a second to remember what you were talking about.

“Oh, sweetheart, once you’re all better I’ll make your pussy a mess. Fuck, want that? I'll fill your fucking tummy with my cum, make you eat any that drips out of your pussy. Want me cumming in you, dropping load after load into you?" you don’t wait for a response, the words tumbling uncontrollably out of your mouth now that he’s got you started.

“Want you to piss all over my cock, let me do the same to you, hah, I’ll cover you in my piss, from here,” you bring a hand from his hips to touch his collarbone, peaking out from under his shirt, “down to here,” you quickly move that same hand down to circle his clit. Vincent spasms around you, “shit, I’ll fill you up with it, let it mix with my cum. Hah I know you want that, want to be covered in my piss, to be messy with me, don’t you darling?”

This time you wait for a response, slowing the movement of your hips, rubbing agonizingly slow circles on his sensitive clit until Vincent nods his head, moving his hips back clumsily against yours. You reward him, speeding up your pace once again.

“Good boy,” you groan, “gonna cum soon, y’close baby?”

Vincent doesn’t answer verbally or with his hands, he just lets out a broken keen, and tugs you close as he cums around your cock. You fuck him through it, jackhammering your hips into him, working him over the edge and through the waves of pleasure that coarse through his body.

You’re so close, but you hold off until he whimpers softly, letting you know he needs you out of him. You pull out, and your hand flies to your cock, jerking yourself off roughly.

“Fuck, fuck baby, gonna cum all over your cunt, make it mine,” you groan, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder, nuzzling your way through his long black locks until your teeth graze against Vincent’s neck. When your balls finally tighten and your orgasm crescendos, you paint his pussy white, and suck a hickey into his neck.

Vincent hums, looking down at the mess you’ve made with indifference. You know he prefers it when you cum inside, but it would have been much more messy and time consuming if you had. You may have really wanted to go in and eat him out again, and Vincent is well past his limit.

“Lets get you cleaned up, huh?” you hum once your limbs stop feeling like jello.

He's much too tired now to be anything but dead weight. There’s no shame nor shyness found as you carry Vincent into the bathroom and lay him down in the bathtub. He lazily signs your name again and again, meditatively going through the motions as the water rises and submerges his body.

“Thank you,” he signs as you join him in the bath.

“Love you,” is your response, largely muffled as you sleepily lean your head on his shoulder.

He hums softly, and your eyes have drifted shut, so you don’t see him tell you that he loves you back, but you already know he does.

Taglist: @dead-end-stuff

#hey remember when i said i needed to write some freaky stuff for my health <3 here we go #cw piss #cw emetophilia #emeto tw #spice #sub slasher #sub vincent sinclair #first fic on the new account lets gooo

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frenchfrywrites · 1 year

Text

Under the coveralls

MINORS DNI

Warnings: dom top amab gn reader, sub bottom Michael Myers, feminization, breeding kink, lil size kink maybe?

“Where did you get this?” you ask upon unbuttoning Michael Myers’ coveralls.

He’s laying under you, and after a lot of heavy petting and grinding, you both felt the need to see more skin. To your surprise, underneath he’s wearing the nicest black, lacy, lingerie set you’ve ever seen.

No doubt he snatched it out of someone's house, or at least you hope he did that and this didn’t come off a corpse. As an answer, Michael just does that stupid head tilt that tells you absolutely nothing (but, you must admit, he does look adorable when he does it).

You pull the coveralls further apart revealing more of the set. In the back of your mind you take a second to wonder how he must have looked putting them on. You wonder what made him choose this color and set. You’re glad he chose the lingerie that he did, as the bralette cups his scarred chest so perfectly, making it look like he’s got a nice pair of tits. You squeeze his pecs, hearing a soft exhale from behind the mask.

“God, you are so pretty,” you murmur honestly, your excitement to see (and touch) more of him generating a hot, tingly sensation within your loins.

Unbuttoning the coveralls more your cock twitches when you see he’s got a matching pair of panties that are beautifully bulged with his hard cock. You groan softly, running your finger along the length of the dick, finding his tip has made the panties slightly damp already.

“Oh Michael,” you coo, “look at you.” He takes your words literally and does as he’s told, looking down to where you’re rubbing his tip. “Gonna let me fuck you with these on?” you ask, and he nods in a way that could only be described as excited for him.

“Okay, let me go get the lube, can you get your coveralls off for me?” it pains you to pull yourself from him but you swiftly get off the bed, grabbing the lube and hastily removing your clothes.

When you return you make yourself comfortable between his now nude spread legs, setting the lube next to him. Michael reaches out, touching your arm. He’s developed a little code- it took you a little bit to figure it out- but you know what that means.

“Good girl,” you praise, delighting in the way that he very quietly moans and leans back against the pillows. “Yeah, good girl, you just lay back and let me take care of you tonight, how’s that sound?” Michael signs good which is one of the few, but very helpful, signed words he’s learned.

Taking your time you run your hands along his chest again, paying special attention to his nipples. You squeeze and tug on them through the fabric of the lingerie, then cup his chest. “You’ve got the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, y’know that, right baby?” Michael shudders under you, arching into your touch. You lean down to kiss the skin of his that’s exposed, still groping him over the fabric of the bralette.

“I gotta see if you’ve got a pretty pussy to match,” you grin up at him, biting into the meat of his chest. Michael makes a muffled noise under his mask, his hands coming from where they’d been fisting the sheets to grab at your arms. Clearly, he likes the sound of that.

You kiss your way down his muscled body, nipping every so often. Once you reach his panties you pull the hem down just enough to give his sticky tip a kiss, then cover his cock back up and back off. Michael jerks his hips up, desperate for more attention on his dick.

Ignoring him, you pull the panties to the side, only enough to reveal his hole to you. Letting out an appreciative moan, you trace his rim and feel him twitch under you.

“Such a pretty cunt,” you praise, fumbling around for the lube while still mesmerized by his hole. You coat your fingers and press them against his entrance, relishing in the way he jolts at how cold they are with the lube. “Sorry,” you say, not feeling sorry at all. And Michael knows it.

Before he can do anything to get back at you, you press your fingers into him. Michael gasps softly behind his mask, squeezing involuntarily around you. Slowly, you inch your fingers into him, stretching them open and closed to get him ready to take you.

“You’re so tight,” you hum, leaning in to kiss and nuzzle his exposed chest. He’s so quiet you feel it more than you hear the soft groan that comes from him when you curl your fingers up towards his bladder. “Not sure if you’ll be able to take all of me,” you tease, “might only be able to stick my tip in.”

Michael grunts angrily, reaching out to grab your arm in a nearly bone crushingly tight grip. You laugh off his outburst,

“I’m only kidding Mikey,” you coo, and his grip loosens by a fraction. “I don’t think I could manage just fucking you with my tip,” you confess, sliding your fingers out slowly, because he’s more than ready. “Your pussy feels so good I can’t help but wanna feel you all around my cock,” you kiss his chest. Michael’s cock twitches in his panties, but if you weren’t looking you’d miss it.

“Condom, or-” Michael cuts you off, shaking his head swiftly. At this point the condom only serves as a method of easy clean up, because you’ve been tested and Michael has only ever had sex with you.

With how needy you both are you don’t waste time lubing yourself up.

You readjust just a bit, moving Michael by his hips- causing him to squirm and pant at being manhandled around. Holding him steady by his hip with one hand, you pull his panties further to the side so you can rub your tip against his hole.

Michael wraps his arms around your neck, a subtle signal that he’s ready. You lean down to kiss the cheek of his mask before you press yourself into him.

There’s a little resistance, because Michael has a tendency to get excited and clench up, but he soon relaxes. In little to no time you’re able to thrust yourself fully into him. He lets out a muffled, choked moan, tightening his hold on you.

Knowing exactly what he needs and wants you jump right into fucking him at a quick pace. “Ungh, you look so pretty baby girl,” you ramble to yourself, letting one of your hands come down to squeeze his dick that's confined within the panties, “the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Michael’s chest rises and falls dramatically as he takes deep wheezing breaths, his hips grinding back against yours every so often.

His legs come around your waist, trying to pull you deeper. He easily becomes frustrated when he doesn’t have you as deep as he’d like, and lets out a loud- the loudest he’s been all night- grunt to express it.

“You want to feel me in your womb huh baby?” he can’t nod fast enough to answer your question. You slow down, “unhook your legs for a second,” you tell him softly. Michael does as he’s told quickly, staring at you curiously from behind his mask. “I want to try a new position,” you tell him, pulling out much to his dismay, and gently pushing his legs forward towards his chest. “Hold onto your legs for me,” again he does as he’s told, wrapping his arms around his legs.

You get him into the position for a mating press, and once again align yourself with his hole. This time when you thrust yourself in Michael lets out a pleased sound. Your thighs rest against his strong ones, and in this position you tower over him.

Within the first few hard, quick thrusts Michael’s cock begins leaking pre, a wet spot forming on his panties.

“Hah, feels better having me like this, yeah?” you ask breathlessly, pounding him into the mattress. Michael lets out a series of soft moans and groans as an answer to your question.

He brings his hands up, shakily signing “good” over and over again. You groan loudly, uncontrollably increasing the pace of your thrusts as your orgasm steadily approaches. The force at which you fuck Michael generates a lewd slapping sound as your balls hit his ass with each thrust.

“My pretty- ungh- fucking girl,” you’re feeling so very close to cumming now, feeling him squeeze and clench around you, “I’m gonna pump you fuh-full’ve my cum,” you tell him, “and- ah- you’re gonna make a mess of your panties,” Michael nods enthusiastically to that.

All it takes for Michael to cum is you leaning down to kiss the exposed skin between both of his pecs. His breath hitching dramatically is the only warning you get before he clenches like a vice around you. You follow soon after, fucking him rabidly through his orgasm and your own.

Your promise is kept as you fuck his hole full of your cum, and Michael completely ruins his panties.

As soon as you’re able to you gently pull out of him, releasing him from the mating press. Indulging yourself, you take a moment to watch your cum seep from his pretty, pink, puffy, ruined hole. It takes a lot of resistance to not lean down and clean him up with your mouth, because Michael is needing your attention elsewhere.

He weakly takes your hands in his, and pulls them to his panties. “Ah,” you exclaim sleepily, “bet these feel gross now, huh?” Michael doesn’t even give you the courtesy of a nod, just tugs on your hands, meaning he wants them off now. Quickly you comply and help him out of them.

You let out a low whistle when his groin is revealed to you. The excess amount that he came makes his soft dick shine in the low light of the room, and again it takes a lot of resistance not to take him right into your mouth to clean him up. Instead you then help him out of his bralette.

“Bath time?” you offer softly. Michael seems to consider this, and then without warning he’s trying to get out of your bed.

You can’t help but laugh when his legs shake and wobble as he attempts to stand. Despite it happening before your very eyes, no one would ever believe you if you said you saw the Haddonfield Boogeyman stumble.

Rushing to his side, you offer yourself as support to him. Michael pushes you away, and you can feel him glaring at you from behind the mask,

“You’re not going to make it on your own princess,” you tell him confidently, “might as well get over yourself and accept my help,” Michael lets out an annoyed huff, but leans into you all the same.

You make it to the bathtub, where Michael sits awkwardly as the water rises. “I’m gonna go get the bed ready,” you tell him quietly, “and maybe clean up along the way, because I’m almost certain my cum leaked out of you on our way here,” you joke. Michael splashes water at you, but you can see his eyes crinkling from behind the mask, telling you he’s grinning.

Getting up to do that, you stop at the doorway and turn back to him. “Hey,” you tell him softly, “you really are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Michael stares at you for a minute before moving to haul himself out of the tub (seemingly a threat, that he’ll come and get you). Unperturbed you laugh, closing the door behind you and smiling when you hear the water splash as he sits back down a moment later.

As you go about cleaning and readying the bed for sleep, you think about how you hope he was blushing under his mask. You also think quite a lot about how you could fluster him more when he gets back.

#happy halloween here is a lil treat #thank u to gabe for the idea for this fic #it took me ages and ages to write but ofc I had to post it on halloween #spice #sub michael myers #sub slashers #cw feminization

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nocturnal-milk-dud · 2 years

Note

Emily! I am so glad that you're bringing back Spooky requests 😩

Can I pls request baby boy Ossie and Scream?

I feel the need to apologize in advance. I am (quite) rusty. I also love love love that you're so excited for this, it made me even more excited for this! I'm also full on ready to pick a fight with tumblr because I made a bunch of edits and it didn't save any of them. P.S. if you notice any mistakes no you didn't.

Hidden In His Coat Is a Red Right Hand

Pairing: Ossie Mejía x Reader

Warnings/notes: blood; alcohol mention; death; a little gore; vomit (sorry); hanging (sort of); violence in general; there's a Stranger Things reference just for you Alex, even though I don't watch the show

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2077

The music is too loud, the whole room vibrating with it, and the party lights swirling on the floor and across peoples’ faces is starting to make you feel nauseous. The partygoers are getting on the wrong side of drunk, men putting hands where they shouldn’t, and women laughing too loud. It’s time to go home, peel yourself out of your costume, and get into bed. You say your goodbyes to your friends, not even sure they heard you. As you’re making your way to the door, bodies beating you back a step or two like heavy waves, a guy dressed like Ghostface bumps into you, his drink spilling all over the front of your costume. You had so nearly made it out. He’s in the middle of apologizing profusely when he really stops to look at you and lifts the mask off his face, leering as he looks you up and down.

“If you want we can go back to my place, throw it in the wash, find a way to pass the time?”

“Thanks but I can do my own laundry,” you say, shoving past him and making a beeline for the door. Pausing in the lobby, you take a moment to really look at yourself. Ghostface had the signature cocktail, something Halloween-themed, with too much sugar, and a candy eyeball floating in the bright red liquid. Bright red liquid that was all over your Hellfire Club shirt. Yeah, okay, you’d kinda phoned it in for Halloween this year, but you didn’t have a lot of time, the invite to the party so last minute.

The lobby is quiet–the only sound the persistent thump of the music in the other room–and strangely vacant. The coat check girl is gone too.

“Hello?” There’s no answer and you look around helplessly. This night has gone on too long and you’ll be damned if it lasts one more minute. The coat check room is stuffed despite it being only fall, racks standing at head height in the center of the room and brass closet rods sitting higher on either side along the wall, all holding some form of outerwear. This October has been unusually cold, the wind strong and biting through everything. The labels are obvious though and you find your coat quickly. You find something else too. At first you think she’s just standing there, the coat check girl, maybe checking her phone, and you want to be angry at her for not hearing you before. But she didn’t look up when you came in, and she’s not looking up now. Your stomach pinches, your feet going heavy, but you inch toward her. It’s just the alcohol, just the atmosphere making you feel this way. Silly, really.

“Are you okay?” you ask. As you get closer you realize she’s standing in between the coats hung on one of the closet rods, one of them wrapped around her shoulders. No, she’s not standing. She’s not standing at all. The closet rod is too tall for that.

The collar of the coat hid it. The coat hid a lot.

A rope is knotted around her neck, cinched tight to the rod.

Your first thought is to take the weight off her neck. Maybe this was recent, maybe there’s still time. You rush to her, wrapping your arms around her legs, hoisting her. All easier said than done really, you quickly come to find. None of it matters because the coat opens up, and you see everything else. Everything that was meant to stay inside. The vomit bubbles up into your mouth before you can do anything about it.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” You keep repeating the words, hands shaking and covered in blood as you reach for your phone. “911 please 911.” The phone is ringing before you can even dial and the vibration in your hand almost causes you to send it flying across the room. It’s not a number you recognize so you hit decline and try again. The phone is ringing before you can even hit nine.

The process repeats.

“What?!” you scream the word into the phone before anything else can happen.

“That’s no way to answer your phone.” The voice is creepy and sinister, far too confident.

“I have more important things to do than talk to you,” you say.

“How do you know? You don’t even know who I am.”

“I don’t need to know who you are, I need you to shut up and let me make a fucking phone call!”

“Wait!” You pause, finger over the end call button. You don’t know why but you put the phone back to your ear.

“What?”

“I hope you weren’t calling the police.” Everything goes cold and you look back at the coat check girl, wondering if she is actually dead, or if some sick prank is going on around you.

“Why?” you ask.

“Because then I’ll have to gut you, same as her. And hang you with the rest of my decorations.” You hang up the phone, suddenly feeling very alone and turn around, looking out at the lobby. Still very empty, very quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you want to hold your breath and listen as hard as you can. You glance back down at your screen, typing in the numbers uninterrupted this time, heart hammering in your chest as you hesitate over the call button. Maybe it’s just a joke. A fucked-up, twisted idea of a prank. Everybody will be laughing at the end. Yeah.

Something moves. In the corner of your eye a flash of black. Probably just another partygoer, coming to get their coat from the maybe-not-really-dead coat check girl. She’ll strip herself of the fake intestines and wash off the sticky corn syrup blood. Everyone will laugh. Everyone will go home.

Happy Halloween.

Something in your brain told you to move, and you have been, eyes glued to the entryway, one foot at a time, further into the room, past the really-truly-dead coat check girl. Your jaw is clenched uncomfortably tight, fingers clamped around your phone, the screen still waiting for you to hit call.

They lurch out from the left. The two of you have been moving through the room together, both watching different things. They dive at you, something glinting in their right hand and you scream, the sound lost in all the fabric around you and throw yourself forward.

You sprint toward the lobby, weaving through the coat racks, not looking back, certain they’re right behind you.

You’re not looking ahead of you either, apparently. Racing toward the exit you crash into a body–living, breathing, real–the two of you landing hard on the floor.

“Sorry,” you gasp, forgetting for a moment what you were running from.

“It’s okay, I needed something to wake me up.” The man beneath you isn’t in costume, and thankfully not a Ghostface mask either. He’s wearing a blue jacket with a nametag: Ossie.

Security.

You scramble to your feet and try to help him up, all the while trying to explain to him what had just happened, the words tumbling from your mouth in one giant mess.

“Slow down,” he says, but you’re becoming frustrated and scared all over again.

“No, he killed the coat check girl, I found her body, and he tried to kill me! We need to call the police, we need to get everybody out of here–”

The party. All of those people, drunk and stupid fish in a barrel.

On top of that, what was to stop the killer from walking right out with the guests? You had seen several people dressed up as that fucking slasher from the Stab movies.

Ossie is looking at you skeptically, eyeing the giant red stain that had blossomed over your shirt. You probably smelled like puke too.

“Listen, this wasn’t me, it was some idiot in there,” you say, gesturing to the closed doors. “I’m not drunk, either, if I was I would probably still be in there. Okay, I know what you’re thinking, it’s Halloween, it’s a party, and I’m fucking with you, but I know what I saw. Please.”

You watch as he seems to mull it over, his face going through all the motions, eyebrows pinching, lips pursing.

“Show me what you saw,” he says finally, and your throat constricts at the thought of going back in that room.

You’re going crazy. You must be going crazy.

The coat check girl is gone. Her body is gone, anyway.

“No, no, no no no no, no! She was here, she was right here!” You point at the section of coats, the one she was shrouded in also missing, looking at Ossie like he has to believe you, he has to because it was real, all of it.

“It’s Halloween, maybe someone was just–”

“Don’t you dare,” you snap, cutting him off before he can say it was a prank. “Besides if it were a joke, where is she? This is the part where people jump out and say ‘gotcha!’ Where’s the fucking ‘gotcha!’?” You’re handling this well. And Ossie is smiling at you softly. Not like you’re an idiot, but, well, something else.

A glass-shattering scream stops everything. A no-joke, scream to end all screams, over the music, over the crowd, out into the lobby. The two of you are running for it, but are met by a tidal wave of costumed partiers running away from it. The music has stopped and the lights are on in the ballroom, illuminating everything. Two people are left in the room: Ghostface, the one who had too much to drink. His mask is up over his head, but he might as well still be wearing it. His mouth is hanging open and his face is white as, well–as the mask. A woman wearing a shirt that says “Final Girl” is lying on the floor in an ever-growing pool of blood. Apparently the killer appreciates irony.

“Fuck,” Ossie whispers. You don't know how long the two of you stand there, but when Ossie starts to move you go with him, the two of you looking down to see your hand in his. You don't even remember taking it, or had he? Ossie gives you a reassuring smile and lets go. You let him, watching as he guides the man away from the body and out into the lobby, the man mumbling all the way that he didn’t do it. You start to follow when something wet hits your cheek, making you flinch. You wipe at it and your fingers come away dark and red. Up above you is one of the fake corpses, wrapped in black plastic. One of the many Halloween decorations rigged from the ceiling. Another drop lands on your forehead. Hand trembling, you swipe it away, smearing your fingers over your jeans, trying to get rid of it.

“Hey, c’mon, it’s time to go,” Ossie says, appearing at the door. You nod, but notice a quick shift in his expression. He’s not looking at you anymore. “Behind you!” You turn and the first thing you see is the mask, next is the sharp, shining blade. Ossie grabs you by the arm, hauling you out of the way, putting himself between you and the killer. As they grapple, you run to grab a chair, turning just in time to see the knife sink into Ossie’s stomach. With a rage pure and white hot you crack the chair over the killer’s back and they both go down. It’s a race to see who will make it to their feet first, Ossie’s arm across your shoulders, blood leaking out over his fingers as the two of you try to get him to his feet. The killer is slow, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s angry.

“C’mon,” you urge, not taking your eyes off the killer, “c’mon, Ossie, c’mon!” The two of you stumble your way through the doors, slamming them closed behind you. There’s no way for you to lock them so you use your weight until the killer gives up. There’s always another way.

“The cops are on their way right?” you ask Ossie, and he chuckles, shakes his head.

“No signal,” he says, and you look at your phone, which you had only used a short while ago. He’s right. Nothing. “Doors are locked too, and I can’t reach any of my guys.” You think of the other corpses hanging in the ballroom. Were they all bodies, or were some still just decorations? Ossie groans, looking down at the stab wound, and a renewed sense of urgency sprouts in your chest.

“It’ll be okay,” you promise, willing yourself to believe it, as you spring to your feet. The fact remains that you’re trapped, with no help on the way, and a killer determined to pick everyone off, one by one.

#spooky season 2022 #spooky season requests 2022 #spooky season requests #ossie mejía x reader #scream #scream franchise #ghostface #acrossthesestars #blood cw #narcos: mexico #slasher fic #crossover fic #halloween #spooky season

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omgeto · 7 months

Text

☆ THRILL (h)ER! — SATOSUGU X READER

summary: when watching a scary movie with your two best friends, you cant help but hold onto them tight every time you get jumpscared. but as the night goes on and your fingers roam... wait, what movie were you watching again?

wc: 3.3k (its alll smut guys so give me a medal)

cw: double penetration, praising, slight degradation, gojo and geto bickering, fingering, dirty talk (?) and some fun loving you're their pretty little princess. afab!reader, MDNI

an: guys look I finally posted a fic for kinktober, yay me, I hope you like it since Id say the smut on this one hits different sooo give it a chance. also only big brains will understand the fic title.

KINKTOBER M.LIST.

your best friends, gojo and geto always have a way of making you feel right at home, especially when you find yourself in your favourite spot on the couch – sandwiched between them. geto's embrace is a gentle yet possessive one, his arms wrapped around you in a tender hold that radiates warmth, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your lower back.

to your side, gojo's long limbs seamlessly entwine with yours. your legs stretch over to meet him, creating an intimate tangle of limbs. his fingers trail leisurely up and down your thighs, their teasing caresses sending delightful shivers through your body. it's a familiar and electric sensation that's become an unspoken language among the three of you—one that hasn’t fully been enacted upon… yet.

"i don't know why you insist we watch this movie every year," geto complains, his gaze locked onto his b est friend, a playful frustration in his tone. "you're so predictable."

"oh, don't be a bore," gojo retorts, matching geto's glare before shifting his attention down to you. his voice is laced with mischief as he speaks to you. "you find it fun, don't you?"

“what? do i like crappy slashers from the 80s with big titted damsels running from a shitly costumed killer?” you deadpan, your sarcasm evident. you could feel the vibration from geto as he lowly chuckles. gojo’s face forms a pout that prompts you to quickly add, “but i love them.”

gojo’s pout transforms into a triumphant grin as your admission earns you a playful nudge from him. “that’s my girl,” he exclaims, giving your thigh an excited rub as he turns on the movie.

geto, still chuckling softly, leans in closer. “well, i suppose if toru enjoys it, we can endure it one more time.” his words carry a hint of tenderness, his arm around you tightening ever so slightly, puling you closer into his embrace.

you watch the movie in a comfortable silence, the only noise coming from the tv and gojo's oddly placed screams that you've come to expect every year. his over-the-top reactions to jump scares and gruesome scenes never fail to amuse you, and it's a source of endless entertainment for both you and geto.

geto, on the other hand, watches the movie with a more stoic expression, occasionally shaking his head at the implausible plot twists and unrealistic gore. His hand continues to rest on your thigh, his fingers now tracing soothing patterns as if to counterbalance the tension on the screen.

as the movie progresses, you notice how both gojo and geto steal glances at you when they think you're not looking, as their innocent touches progress into heavy petting. but there's a moment where you all pause, their movements stop, and you all look at each other as the loud sounds of exaggerated moans blare from the screen.

“i always forget this scene is in there,” gojo lies, with a snicker, an appreciative smile forming on his face as he watches the scene.gojo's arm remains draped around your shoulders, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm, while geto's touch has grown increasingly intimate, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb making slow, deliberate circles.

“oh don’t bullshit satoru,” geto accuses, taking his hand off of you for a second to send a jab into gojo’s side, “i know you’re getting off on watching this ditzy blonde getting laid.”

“not true,” gojo retorts childishly, “i think there’s better sights to get off on, isn’t that right?” he finishes casting his eyes, not so subtly, over to you.

“well i can’t lie and say the sights aren’t… appealing,” geto grins his hands coming back on you, toying with the hem of your shirt.

“you two are such guys,” you laugh, trying to remain nonchalant even though on the inside the pace of your heart was quickening, and every touch of their fingers sends jolts straight to your core. “you’re focusing on the wrong things here.”

“and what should we be focusing on here?” geto murmurs at you, you couldn’t see his face but you knew a smirk was plastered across it. his challenge hangs in the air as you pause, hesitating as you scan the room, your eyes meeting gojo’s trying to gauge if they are thinking what you are. geto can sense your hesitation as he feels your breathing still as you lean against him, so he pulls his finger under your chin turning your head to face him. “let us focus on you, come here.”

you lean in, his lips enclosing on yours in a deep kiss, you turn your body almost straddling him so you could get better access. his tongue enters your mouth, as his hands work down your body, and as the kiss intensifies, you’re aware of gojo’s gaze on you. you extend an inviting hand toward him, flashing him a smile as you pull away from geto and set your lips on your other friend.

gojo groans as your lips work with his, and his hands go straight into his pants, fisting his dick that has been hard all night just at the sight of you. geto cascades kisses down your neck as he starts to pull your shirt up off of you, you gasp at the feeling of both of their hands and lips all over you.

“h-how long have you two been planning this one then, huh?” you grin, a laugh escaping through your moans, as you let geto get rid of your shirt, assisting gojo with taking off your pants.

“how long have we known you?” geto responds rhetorically, and gojo nod in agreement, as they both take off their jogging bottoms, leaving you all sitting on the couch in your underwear. there is no more hesitation, or uncertainty between you three—you all know exactly what you want.

“so who gets to have me first?” you joke, your eyes darting between the two of them, their lustful eyes are unmistakable as they stare at your body, their dicks straining against their boxers ready to be suffocated by your tight pussy.

“i get to!” gojo sputters out quickly, but he’s not as swift as geto who’s already pulled you back onto him, his fingers pushing into you without any warning. your mouth parts, as you let out a whine, as his long digits give your pussy fast, relentless strokes, he adds another finger, smirking as your body buckles against his. “hey no fair!” gojo pouts, side eyeing geto, but he can’t help biting his lip as he hears your cunt squelch everytime his best friend shoves his fingers into it.

“don’t worry, ‘toru,” geto reassures, his fingers curling up into you before he pulls it out swiftly, spreading your pussy apart and giving gojo a knowing look, “there’s room for the both of us.”

gojo eagerly drives his fingers into you from behind, his body pressing against yours as he charges your fingers into you. your moans increase as you feel a flurry of digits explore your pussy, gojo’s hand grips on his shoulder and geto hand holds your waist as they both tug your body back and forth in an attempt to get you closer to them.

“s-shit” you cry out, as you clench around their fingers, trying to keep them inside of you. you grind down against both of their fingers, your whimpers encouraging them to twist and push their fingers deeper into you.

“you see how much of a mess she gets for us?” geto asks gojo with a low chuckle, and gojo nods, smiling as the wetness of your pussy allows for his fingers to slide into you with ease, “press down on her clit. hard.”

“don’t tell me what to do,” gojo mutters, but he does it anyway. his thumb going straight to your clit, pushing down on it, smirking as you groan your back arching right into him.

“see i told you,” geto chimes, laughing as gojo glares at him. geto’s focus shifts to you, as he pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to your mouth, he holds your chin, placing his thumb on your bottom lip as he raises his eyebrows at you for permission. you nod lazily, opening your mouth, accepting two of his fingers —which are drenched in your juices. “‘toru, you gonna finish her off for me.”

gojo smirks, his fingers working in overdrive, as he adds another digit inside of you and you could feel yourself about to release. geto can tell you're close from the way you bite down on his fingers. “you close? you gonna cum on satoru’s fingers as you taste yourself?”

you couldn’t even respond, as your cum sprays all over gojo’s fingers and geto’s stomach. the boys both smirk at each other, as they hear your high pitched moans and see heaps of your cum spilling out of your pussy running down your thighs. gojo is in awe, his fingers still remain in you and he pushes them up lazily, trying to keep you plugged with your cum. you relax onto his fingers, letting him do as he pleases, as you try and catch your breath your body slumping onto geto’s.

“you did so well,” geto praises in his air, lifting up your head off your chest, pecking your lips softly. “you took both of our fingers letting us stretch your tight pussy, it felt good didn’t it?”

“y-yeah it felt so good sugu,” you sigh, turning your head to face gojo, as you pull him closer into you, “you both felt so good.”

“you wanna let us stuff you further?” gojo questions eagerly, his hard dick resting on your ass, as rocks against you.

“satoru,” geto reprimands, shaking his head at his friends over excitement. but gojo shoots him a look shrugging as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, practically inhaling you.

“but suguru, she wants us both to stuff her,” he argues, as fingers already go back to your sobbing cunt. “you want that dont you?” he whispers, directly in your ear, slowly coaxing your pussy with soft strokes as he murmurs in your ear. “you want me and sugu to shove our dicks right up your pussy, together.”

“i don’t know if i can…” you hesitate, your voice faltering, but you pull your lip between your teeth, closing your eyes as you think about taking both of them.

“c’mon pretty girl,” geto persuades you, forcing you to open your eyes and look at the teasing smirk on your face, “don’t think we don’t know how slutty you can be. you know your greedy little cunt take both of us with ease, and you want it to, don't you?” you nod your head slowly in agreement, but geto shakes his, “no, we need to hear you say it. use your words. tell us what you want.”

“i want your dicks to stuff my pussy,” you admit, feeling your confidence grow as the smirk on geto’s face widens and you can hear gojo lowly growl in your ear. “i need it.”

“well we have to give our girl what she wants, right sugu?” gojo taunts, pulling you off of gojo and onto his lap, his dick slaps against your pussy. “suguru got to see your pretty face, before, so this time you’re all mine, okay?” gojo says to you, and you could hear geto kiss his teeth, but he obliges letting gojo have his way this time.

“you ready for me?” gojo asks, waiting for your approval as he lifts you up slightly over his dick, he even looks over to geto he leans back against the couch, with his dick in his hand. you don’t even answer gojo, sliding down onto gojo as you moan together.

geto fists his dick at the sight, “go on satoru, fuck her,” he orders, his strokes increasing as he watches as gojo begin to thrust into you. your hands press down on gojo’s shoulder’s as you start to bounce on him, you lean forward whining straight in his ear, causing him fuck you harder.

gojo plays with your bra strap, pulling it and letting it release against your shoulder, “i don’t know why you’ve still got this on,” he complains, as brings his hands to the clasp of your bra, undoing it. your tits bounce as he pulls off your bra, and both boys smile at the sight. gojo’s fingers pull against both of your nipples, twisting and pulling at them causing you to cry at every tug. “so sensitive,” he mutters to himself, touching your tits inquisitively as he continues to toy with them, loving how with every touch your cries grow louder.

“it’s crazy how we stretched you so well earlier, but your pussy is still tight as fuck,” gojo comments, his words punctuated with every thrust. “i had all my fingers inside of you already, but your cock hungry cunt just can’t seem to get enough.”

“is he fucking you good?” geto calls, feeling himself about to cum, as he rubs against his dick hard. you look over to him and smile, nodding quickly as you wrap your hands around gojos neck, clinging to him as his dick drives into you. geto stands up, coming up behind you pressing a kiss on your neck, “you need me to help get you off?”

“she doesn’t need anything from you, i’m doing just fine,” gojo mumbles, but he lets you slightly raise up off of his dick and he smirks as he feels geto join him, geto’s dick presses against gojo in excitement as they wait in anticipation for you to enclose them with your pussy.

“don’t be nervous,” geto coos from behind you, nipping at your ear. you look at gojo and he gives you an encouraging nod, and you slide back down onto them hissing in slight pain as you feel them both enter you. “it’s okay pretty, you’re doing so so well,” geto continues to reassure you, pressing soothing kisses down your neck, his lips sucking at your flesh. you all pause as you fully take them both in, and you feel the pain subside smiling at gojo giving him permission to move.

geto follows suit, and you all move in tandem, fucking against each other. gojo places his hands on your ass, pushing your cheeks in pace with his movements whereas geto’s hands cup your tits, holding them firmly as he spreads his fingers over your nipples, rolling them.

“fu-fuck you two are too big, you can’t” you whine, clawing against gojo’s chest. they were both drilling into you relentlessly, you couldn’t catch your breath as every second you were being double stuffed with dick. tears spring to your eyes, as you cry out in pleasure, grinding down against them trying to get as much as them as possible.

“if only you could see how slutty our girl looks,” gojo says to geto, as he watches your head fall back, another moan escaping your lips. “her eyes are all glossed over, she’s fucking crying, all slutted out on our dicks right now.”

“is that so?” geto mutters, he forces himself into you deeper, his back hitching up against yours, his clench on your tits tightening as he inches himself in your pussy, his hips slapping against you. “she’s such a good slut, i knew she’d be able to take us well, and look she’s loving it, already creaming all over us, isn’t that baby?”

you nod, your hand coming up to hold geto’s head as he nestles into your neck. you were losing your train of thought, you wanted to tell them how good they felt, how their dicks rubbing against each other in you was all you needed for the rest of you life, but when you open your mouth all that can leave your lips is incoherent words and moans.

both of them smile, watching as you come undone on their dicks. gojo gives geto a nod, and their hands trade places. gojos fingers coming back to your tits, rubbing and pushing them apart before lowering his head to your chest, nuzzling your boobs. gojo and geto were so close that some things between them didn’t need to be spoken, and they were so close to you that they knew your body in and out. they knew when to push and pull, and where to suck just to get you cumming their lap.

“i’m s-so close, i’m gonna cu—” you try and speak out, but your mind is too far gone for you to finish. their dicks slip out of you as your bounces become sloppy, the pleasure too much for you but geto forces you back muttering reassurance in your neck. and the sudden contact causes you to cum, you release all over both them, but they don’t stop their movements, their dicks driving into you still, pushing back in all the cum you were letting out.

“satoru, we gonna give our girl one final stuffing?” geto prompts, and gojo nods, they both give you one final push and you could feel your pussy stretch as their cum sprays your walls. you wail out, the tears streaming your face as your body jerks forward, feeling their dicks go limp inside of you as you all pant in pleasure.

“that was fucking amazing,” gojo praises, a blissful smile on his face as he leans back his head resting on his arms. you return his smile, your lips meeting his in a quick kiss, that he groans at as you pull away. you come off his dick slowly, all of your eyes staring at the ropes of cum that immediately spill out of your pussy as he unplugs you.

geto turns your head to face him, his dick still lodged deeply inside of you, he pulls you into a long kiss, his mouth smothering yours. he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, roughly biting down on it before releasing you, his hand cupping your chin, forcing you to stare up at him “you’re mine, my pretty slutty mess.”

“um she’s ours,” gojo chimes in, but geto shrugs, not caring to listen to your other friend. geto, finally pulls you off his dick, and your pussy clenches around nothing, already missing the feeling of their dicks.

“you too always know to take good care of me,” you exhale, exhausted your pussy sore about being stretched open by the two of them. geto pulls you back into his original hold, leaning back against his chest, and your legs stretch over gojo’s lap. but this time instead of innocent gentle touches, geto’s hands lazily tug at your nipples, and gojo caresses your naked thighs, his fingers flicking at your clit every now and again.

“that’s what friends are for,” geto muses, pressing his lips against your cheek before saying, “now satoru, are you gonna press play on this shitty movie or what?”

AN: ight so there you have it my FIRST FIC of kinktober, what do you guys think I need to hear all your thoughts since Ooooof this took me so long to write. so I hope it is worth it. also if you see my bias towards geto during this then LOOK AWAY, im sorry gojo stans but im a geto lover foreverrr. but yeahhh lmk ur thoughts stay tuned for my other kink tober fics which WILL be on time I promise smooches.

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #gojo smut #geto smut #jjk fic #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo and geto #geto suguru smut #gojo satoru smut

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angelbarelywrites · 1 month

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♡ slashers scenarios | your first time together is…your first time

♡ fandoms; The Boy, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2006), slashers (general)

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral - i tried to be ambiguous but where i couldn’t be, i gave an option for both sets of parts uwu

♡ cw; sex (this is smut my friend), a little bit of implied breeding kink, possessiveness

♡ notes; what it says on the tin; you lose your virginity the first time you have sex with your stabby bf. i can only dream 😔

also, probably the last fic with a random selection of characters , i have the poll results n everything. vincent was the winner and brahms three percent behind him, so they’re being added to a-team permanently

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire

> he’s relieved when you tell him you haven’t gone that far before

> because he’s a virgin too, and probably more nervous than you are

> he’s eager though- he’s always eager when it comes to you

> he pulls you on top, grabbing your hips and grinding up on you as you kiss

> and then he urges you to use his face- fuck it or sit on it, depending on what you’re working with

> and while your hesitant, not wanting to overwhelm him for his first time

> but god, he’s a good little sub, and he loves every second of it

> after he’s made you cum, he pulls away- practically still drooling, and begs for you to touch him

> he bucks up into your hand immediately, already so hard he’s twitching

> if he lasts more than a few pumps, he flips you, seeming shy to pin you, but trying his best

> and he has to take a breather to make sure he doesn’t immediately cum inside you

> he’s slow at first, literally shaking

> and for your first time, it’s all missionary- he needs to watch your face, making sure he’s doing a good job

> and making sure he tells you how pretty you are

> he cums first, he just can’t help it- but he’s not at all hesitant to replace his cock with his fingers

> and he makes sure you cum at least twice more, using his mouth again if he needs to

> by the time you finally catch your breath, he’s already more than ready for round 2

Micheal Myers

> he’s already pushing you to your knees in front of him when you manage to tell him

> he pauses- he’s not sure what to do

> he’s always rough.

> and he’d been rough with you thus far

> he rubs your cheek softly and huffs- and at first you think he’s going to put a stop to things for the day

> until he throws you over his shoulder, giving your ass a playful squeeze in the process

> of course he’s not going to fuck you on the porch like an animal

> not for your very first time at least

> he drops you on the bed and takes his mask off

> it’s not the first time you’ve seen him without it, but it’s still special

> he teases you, hands all over your body as he carefully watches your reactions

> he has you in your undies when he finally gets impatient and goes back to his usual selfishness

> he had you get on your knees again- this time more gently coaxing, and guides you through taking him

> and for the record, there’s a lot to take

> before you have him too needy he lays you down

> you can tell this is going to be a once in a while thing, so you savor the sight of him between your thighs

> he eats you out/rims you like it’s his goddamn job, staring up at you all the while

> it’d be creepy if he wasn’t so good at what he was doing

> if you insist on missionary, he’ll let you this time

> but he wants you doggy so he can watch you take him inch by inch

> this boy has so much stamina

> you cum three times before he finally pulls out, painting your back

> you try to sit up but he doesn’t let you- he’s not done with you

> not even close

Thomas Hewitt

> something about his eyes darken when you tell him you’re a virgin

> he’d never be the one to initiate something first - he’s far too scared of crossing your boundaries to lead like that

> so if you’re telling him, it’s probably because you’re telling him you want him to take your virginity

> and even though he never believed in the Bible, or the sexist shit Hoyt always spouted

> he’s possessive, and if something about being your first is exciting. it was another part of you that’d be all his

> before you know it the man is ripping your clothes off. like literally ripping.

> he manhandles you- unintentionally, but it’s hard for him not to with your size difference

>he spreads your thighs wide apart and goes to town

> he goes down on you again, and again, and again and—

> by the time he sits up you’re already overstimulated

> but it’s his turn, and he’s eager to take it

> you can feel how huge he is through his pants, and your jaw drops when you see him

> “Tommy, that won’t fit”

> he huffs, amused through his mask and nuzzles you reassuringly

> he starts in missionary, but then he pushes your legs up into a full mating press

> he fucks into you deep and hard, going faster until you’re babbling nonsense

> he pulls your hair and makes you look him in the eye as he cums inside

> and when he does pull out, you can feel it dripping from you

> he looks at it and then up at you excitedly, and you know what he wants

> again

#slashers #micheal myers #thomas hewitt #micheal myers x reader #slashers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers x you #tcm #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016 #texas chainsaw the beginning #halloween #cw: smut #cw suggestive

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toxicanonymity · 6 months

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Midnight Snack.

3.4k slasher!Joel x f!reader

slasher Joel master list | spotify slaylist SUMMARY: Joel has dinner at his Mom’s house, then pays you a visit. A/N: Shoutout to @iamasaddie for the master list mood board magnets, @gasolinerainbowpuddles for the.edit, fridge magnet anon ask, @thesummerpetrichor , anyone I'm forgetting? WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon unsafe p in v, creampie, light somnophilia, choking, degradation, home intrusion, manual restraint, spitting, toxic parental issues, angst/insecurity, changes POV, NO Y/N.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. .He doesn’t answer, just breathes heavily. He’s scowling down at you with a fine mist of perspiration along his hairline. . . Over a long moment of silence, a charge passes between your eyes and his. He tilts his head, wets his lips, and looks at your mouth. You reach for the back of his neck and feel the cold sweat under your palm. . .

============================

midnight snack

============================

“I said I’m good, Ma,” Joel grumbles as his mom puts another heaping spatula of casserole on his plate anyway. He sighs and pushes it around with his fork.

“What’s got ya down, hun?”

“Nothin’.”

“It’s a girl, ain’t it?” She smiles. “Knew it. Last time you were here, ya had that glow," she nods, then registers his sullen face again. "It's okay, hun. Whatever it is, you'll work it out.".

He hasn't stopped thinking about you since he was there. When he drives, when he showers, when he goes to bed, when he jacks off—he sees the desire in your eyes when you’re pinned against the counter. He sees your dripping hole stretched around his fist. He thinks about you every time he uses his wrench. Still smells like your filthy cunt.

"Tell me 'bout her,” his mom urges.

“Can't,” Joel mumbles. “Don’t got a girl.”

His mom looks at him knowingly. She always sees right through him. He doesn’t like how close they are, but in a way, she’s his only friend. He fails to suppress a little smile, then looks down shyly at his plate and finally takes a bite.

She asks, “How’d ya meet?”

Joel gives her a half-serious cautionary look and keeps chewing.

“Work?” his mom prods.

Joel swallows, nods, and takes a sip of milk. “Gave'r a ride.” Two rides, really. Although you took the second one all on your own. And damn, it was good. He shifts in his seat.

“Well, great,” his mom lights up. “When ya gonna see her again?” She dabs her mouth with a cloth napkin and stands up.

“I dunno, Ma. . .She’s too good for me.”

She huffs, adjusts her glasses, then walks over. She playfully whips him on the shoulder with the fabric napkin, then puts her finger in his face. “Don’t you ever say that. No one’s too good for my boy.” She takes his glass to the kitchen and pours him some more milk, then sits back down at the table.

“already left me once,” Joel grumbles.

His Mom’s face falls, then sours.

“Then she’s not worth your time." She scoffs. Or anyone else’s."

“She’s different, Ma," he mutters deadpan, then quieter, he adds, "Sometimes I think she likes me," with the slightest lift of his brow.

Mrs. Miller's eyebrows shoot all the way up. "Well, she should!"

"'mixed signals." He’s saying too much, but he can’t stop. It’s not like he has anyone else to talk to.

"Bring'er for dinner," she suggests.

"Ain't like that," he sulks. "We don't-" He cuts himself off and sighs, sitting back in his chair. He puts his napkin on his plate. "Shouldn't'a mentioned it," he mumbles.

His mom reaches across the table for his hand, and he gives it to her. He looks at the delicate, paper-thin skin covering the veins on her hand. It makes him sad. He wants to bring a girl home. He wants to make his Mom happy. He doesn't come by enough. She must be so lonely. And he's the one who. . .no, his father deserved it, he reminds himself for the millionth time in his life. He didn’t love them, his mom said. Resentment begins to overtake his guilt. He doesn’t want to feel sorry for her. He steels himself and decides to feel nothing.

"Look at me, Joel." She looks him in the eye. "You're not gonna get a wife like this, honey." Joel swallows and looks down. She continues, "Don't be a quitter. She's yours if you want her." Don’t be a quitter.

The buzzer for the laundry goes off. Mrs. Miller starts to head to the laundry room, but Joel stops her. "Feel like a loser when ya do my laundry."

She shakes her head in disapproval and starts clearing the table instead. "My son. . .” she picks up both their plates. ". . .Is not a loser."

Joel finishes his laundry, watches some tv with her while she knits, then pulls himself away. His Mom sends him on his way with an old tupperware of casserole. "Go get her," she tells him with a wink.

—-

He wants to make a move. He wants to fuck you again, but he isn’t sure how. How do people do it? He doesn't know how to ask you out, or what you'd do together. Every time he thinks about it, he feels stupid, but he does wanna see you. He wants to be inside you. He wants to make you purr, little sex kitten.

At this hour, you’re probably out whoring, but he might as well drive by while he’s close. All your lights are off, but your car is there. Hmm. He can't bring himself to go home. Don’t be a quitter. He sits in his car at the end of your street. Last time he came over, it went pretty well. You wanted him to fuck you, and he did. You wanted more, and he gave you more. Then he left before you could leave him.

He feels like you’re special, but he really only knows a few things about you. Most importantly, you like the danger, you want the thrill, you want his dick, and you sure can take a cock.

The only thing he can think to do is give you more of what he knows you want. Even if you're asleep, you'll be purring for it as soon as he drags you out of bed and pins you on the floor. He pictures a knife at your throat. Not a big one, just his switchblade.

He gets out of his car and adjusts his balls, spreading his feet for a moment. Then he starts walking to your house. After a few seconds, he goes back to his car for the casserole. Maybe you'll have a midnight snack after he stuffs you full of his cock. He rolls his eyes at himself. That’s stupid.

—-

There's a lamp with a dying bulb barely flickering on your back patio with a couple of moths fluttering wildly around it. Joel looks into your dark kitchen and scowls at his reflection in the glass. He holds the Tupperware under his elbow and picks the lock with ease. After stepping into your kitchen, he quietly slides the door shut behind him. His boots thud stickily as he takes his first steps on the linoleum. Do you ever mop? He holds his switchblade open in the air. He’s headed toward the hall where he expects your bedroom is. He inches through the kitchen--between the counter on his left and the stove on his right, until he gets to your fridge.

The surface of the fridge is peppered with magnets--souvenirs, letters of the alphabet, bottle openers. It's silly. But a piece of paper catches his eye and he stops dead in his tracks. It's pinned to the fridge by a "J," and an "X" and an "O." He blinks and squints, but his eyes don't deceive him. It's his drawing of you, legs spread wide open. His chest flutters looking at his sketch of your cunt hung proudly on your fridge. His dick twitches, and he inhales sharply. His mouth is watering. He dips the tip of his thick pinky between his lips and dribbles a string of saliva on the paper, right between your legs. He tilts his head and admires the way your graphite cunt glistens.

You want him. You really want him. His body relaxes. He closes and pockets his switchblade. He opens the fridge as quietly as possible and puts the casserole on the top shelf, pausing to survey the scant contents. Mostly condiments. Takeout containers. Beer. Expired orange juice. He closes the fridge.

The microwave is hanging down from a cabinet to his left. He steps in front of it and bends his knees enough to push back his hair in the reflection. He stands up again, squares his shoulders, then prowls in silence to your bedroom.

---

The door is open. Of course it is. You want him. His boots are quieter on your carpet. He approaches the foot of your bed but doesn't get closer. You're occupying less than half the bed. You're just as pretty in your sleep. All bundled up. He knew that already. He gets harder, recalling the time he woke you up with his cock inside you. God, you're sexy. How'd he get so lucky that a hot little slut like you wants him so bad?

He goes to the other side of your bed. His side. There’s a chair full of dirty clothes. He sits down on them and takes off his boots. He stands up again and lowers the zipper of his jumpsuit, pressing down on his bulge to get the zipper over it without snagging. Then he peels the sleeves off and brings it down over his ass and meaty thighs. He lets it pool at his feet and steps out of it.

He's left wearing a blue soft wash t-shirt, lighter blue striped boxers, and white socks with holes. He takes those socks off too. He approaches your bed, lifts the covers with care, and sees what you're wearing. You're wearing the shirt–he recognizes its condition. God damn, you really do want him.

Joel gradually lets his weight onto your mattress as he slips under the covers. His heart races and his forehead is damp. His cock is so hard just from being close to you. He lies there perfectly still on his side for a moment, watching your back as you breathe. Then he scoots forward, inch by inch, until his leg hair brushes your bare legs and you jerk in your sleep.

"Shhh. It's just me," he whispers as he wraps his hulking arm over you. He spoons you and lightly presses his hard cock against your ass. You moan in your sleep and push back, then he moans.

You jerk in your sleep again, but this time you don't relax. You startle awake. You gasp and whimper. Your limbs thrash, and his arm tightens around you. You squeal, and his massive hand covers your mouth. He wasn't expecting your feisty side, kitten. He came to give you what you want.

Why don’t you want him anymore?

-----you-----

Pure instinct kicks in when you wake up with someone in your bed. Your heart is pounding, you thrash and kick with all your might trying to get away. He covers your mouth and repeats “It’s me, sweetheart. God damn.” He sounds confused and irritated at your reaction. His voice is familiar, but it takes you a moment to place it, despite thinking about him all the time in waking life. It's like your subconscious hasn't caught up with reality, and can you blame it?

"Would you stop? Damn," he pants, getting more irritated as you continue to struggle and his arm tightens more, compressing your chest. What did he expect breaking into your house and getting into your bed?

You feel his hard dick press against your loose sleep shorts and get butterflies in your core, even as you continue struggling. He backs up for a moment and the pull of his arm forces you onto your back. He pins you with his left forearm on your chest and aggressively yanks down your shorts then kicks them all the way off before getting between your legs. His hard cock lays against your clit, separated only by his boxers, and you're throbbing. Your efforts to free yourself get weaker and weaker until you’re just lying there, staring up at him, your chest getting sore under his arm.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. He doesn’t answer, just breathes heavily.

He’s scowling down at you with a fine mist of perspiration along his hairline. He presses his cock against your mound again. Over a long moment of silence, an electric charge passes between your eyes and his. He slightly tilts his head and looks at your mouth. You reach for the back of his neck and feel the cold sweat under your palm as you pull him down, drawing his face to yours.

Your mouths meet but don't seal, and you find your lips reaching for his, wanting something to hold, something to suck–but he devours you without granting you any bit of control. You whimper as he kisses you hungrily, hard cock throbbing against your aching clit. He kisses you sloppily, biting your lower lip, dragging his tongue across it to the corner where he pauses and presses his teeth into your cheek and grunts with a slow thrust against you. Then he drags his lips and tongue down your jaw as you tilt your chin up.

He latches onto your neck with an "mm" and his hips begin to grind his thick erection against you at a slow rhythm. He grunts and his breath is humid with a moan against your neck before he latches onto it again. You feel the delicate skin bruising under his mouth while your pussy is gushing wet. You tilt your hips and wrap a leg around him. He groans at your slick, throbbing cunt against his cock.

He murmurs into your neck, “God damn, you’re a slut for my cock,” then chuckles. “Aren’t ya, kitten?”

He lifts his pelvis off you to massage your cunt aggressively with his hand. You whine and he gives a low whistle. Then he urgently takes his boxers down and you help him, curling a toe into the waistband once his boxers get down to his thighs. You drag your foot down between his legs to his feet, taking his boxers with you. . He kicks them off the rest of the way. Before he lays his hips back into you, you reach for his balls, longing to feel the heft of them. It sends a bolt of desire through you. Fuck.

"What's wrong with you?" You ask, but you're really asking yourself. You’re asking yourself why you've got this sicko in your bed, someone unhinged enough to break into your house not once but twice and all you want is his cock.

"Me?" He asks. "the fuck is wrong with you?" He wraps a hand around your throat. “Playin’ games with me,” he growls bitterly. “Ya want it, ya don't, ya want it–” you cough under his grip as he reads your eyes, then he whispers, "want it" with a small nod, and takes his hand away.

He notches his tip at your entrance then breathes, "don't ya?--uggghh" As he shoves into you. “Want it, you’ll get it,” he pants as his cock parts your walls. His cock spreads you wide open as he gives you his full length, and you gasp as he bottoms out. He withdraws a few inches and hangs his head to watch you swallow him back up.

"God damn," he murmurs. "Forgot how tight ya were before." Your clit twitches at the thought of the wrench.

Then his eyes come to your chest and the ripped shirt he gave you. He moans at the sight of your nipple poking through one of the slashes and he covers it with his mouth as he fucks you. His wide tongue drags under your nipple and wets the curled edges of the slash in the shirt before his lips seal around your nipple. He brings his hips back and pushes into you again, sucking and moaning into your tit. Your eyes fixate on his triceps nearly bursting out of his sleeves and that’s the first time it hits you that he was already in sleepwear. He undressed and got in bed with you. God, he’s weird. And you. You're. . . You don't know, but your hands are gliding on their own over his muscular back, feeling him flex as he pounds you.

You find your fingers curling under the bottom hem of his shirt and he reaches one hand behind his back to help you remove it. You can't see much, but when the angle shifts, the moonlight catches enough to tell you his body has really been through it. When his head dips to your neck again you watch his hulking back muscles and see lines whiter than his skin. At least a dozen, overlapping lashes. You run your hand over it and the slight change in texture makes you wince with the confirmation. No telling how old they are.

On his front, there’s a short straight line near his shoulder and a longer, thinner one on his side, curving around near his v muscle. Your thumb drifts to that one. Joel shivers at the touch, then slams his hips into you harder. You quickly abandon it, sliding your hand up his side, then to his pec. A wicked smile spreads across half his face as your hand runs across his chest. "Y'ain't scared, are ya?" He asks, breathing heavily with his cock dragging heavily in your dripping wet cunt.

“No.” You thumb his nipple.

He lowers himself and lets the weight of his middle onto you with a sigh, still railing his length into you. You wrap both legs around him, and he breathes "yeah, mmmgg baby, yeah" as he fucks you deeper.

Your nipples go fully erect. "Fuck," he breathes when he feels them. He grinds against your clit as he fucks you, and you feel a climax looming. The thought crosses your mind whether he's going to kill you one of these days and your chest erupts in goosebumps. Your face feels cold.

As though reading your mind, he says, “don’t whore around on me” He reads your eyes then adds, "n' you'll be fine," with a small nod, a brief smile, and harsh thrust.

You can't help but crack a smile at the absurdity of it. The implied monogamy–on your side, at least. When he registers your amusement, his smile fades into a scowl and his eyes turn black. He grabs your jaw, squeezes it open, and spits in your mouth. He grabs your hand off his chest and pins both your wrists harshly above you, holding them there with one massive hand as he fucks you harder, angrier. He looks down where your bodies meet, and he watches you take his cock again, breathing heavily, sighing and moaning.

Eventually his sour mood subsides, replaced by renewed marvel at your body. "Sure can take a dick." Your hips lift into him, seeking more pressure for your clit, near the edge. "Didn't bring my wrench." He glances around your bedroom. You moan at the thought of him shoving something inside you. Your walls twitch, and the deep groan that leaves his mouth is too much. You grab his ass and pull him deeper using your hands and your legs.

"Fuck, Joel," you breathe, and a new softness spreads across his face.

His mouth falls open and he whispers, "yeah, sweetheart." You bite your lip and groan as a huge orgasm seizes you. "Yeah," he whispers and his eyes map your face as your walls clench around him. "oh fuck," he pants as you cum on his cock. "Fuck," he breathes again, "fuckin love this cunt," he looks you in the eye. "Ohhhh," he groans and begins to pulse inside you. He lowers his face to your neck again and you keep cumming, your body jerking into his. "Yeah, fuck," he manages into your neck as his balls empty into you. "Mmmmm" he thrusts slowly one more time like he can hardly stand the pleasure.

He pushes himself back up to look at you and shudders as you squeeze him with an aftershock.

"'s'okay," he whispers and brushes your temple with his thumb. “ruin ya in the mornin'” In the morning? He wants to stay over? "God you're hot," he chuckles, cock still inside you. After a long moment of silence, he slides his cock out of you and you wince at the void. He lays on his stomach and drapes his arm over you. Your heart races and you can only hope he doesn’t feel it. You don’t want him in your bed right now. He's a novelty and he has to stay that way. Yeah it was fun, it’s been fun. It’s fun. You have his stupid drawing on your fridge, like a wild memory, a souvenir. But this. . . this is unsettling.

You can't get attached to this sicko. But you know better than to try to make him leave. He gets that look in his eye sometimes, and you just don’t know. You take deep breaths and try to plot how you’ll get out of this in the morning. You can say you have to work. Yeah, you’ll say you have to work. Eventually, you drift off under the weight of his arm.

------

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Love you guys.

@toxicfics for notifications.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #dark!joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #slasher!joel ☠️#slasher!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#slasher!joel miller #serial killer!joel miller #tw dubcon #cw dubcon #dark!joel #mama slasher

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kechiwrites · 2 years

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| kinktober week two | ♱ final girl ♱ | slasher!steve rogers x reader |

synopsis: “for steve, you are a very special victim.”

wc: 1k

cw: dark content, fem reader, noncon, creampies, unprotected sex, biting, bruising, violence, minor character death, stalking, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart), dacryphilia. I am not responsible for your consumption babes. NO MINORS.

author’s note: first dark fic i’ve ever shared, and for my day one fixation, captain america. there’s something wrong with him. i just know it.

♱ find the rest of my kinktober masterlist here ♱

Your head is spinning, the light from your neighbour’s halloween decorations cast your room in sickly orange and yellow light. Everything about it is making you ill, and you screw your eyes closed to keep your stomach from expelling its contents everywhere.

“Open your eyes, pretty girl. Please.” You can feel him shift over you, and when he pats your face, you open your eyes, glassy with tears, to stare at him. There’s sticky, drying blood covering the lower half of his face, and the dirty penny smell of it threatens to make you sick all over again. He smiles at you, perfect white teeth and pink lips, blonde hair and blue, blue eyes.

“Go on, you can cry.”

How magnanimous.

You’re covered in bite marks, some are shallow, some lightly bleed out of tender and broken skin. Where you aren’t bitten, there are hickeys, pockmarking his journey exploring your body, staking his claim on your throat and chest and hips and thighs. The bruises aren’t so bad, in the grand scheme of things, you can almost forget they exist when he isn’t pushing his thumb into them to watch you squirm.

Hell, they’re practically bug bites compared to the state of your boyfriend’s dead body downstairs.

He looms above you and he is so goddamn big, blocking out the hazy stream of your bedroom lights while he fucks you desperately. Hands roaming mindlessly, without purpose but with so much pleasure over the rise and curve of your stomach, your tits, your face.

You choke out, "Please don't hurt me." and his hips stutter, balls slapping against your ass and staying there, like he's trying not to come. You bear down on him, and a fresh wave of tears spills over your cheeks as you’re pushed over the edge, mind swimming in pain and sorrow and hot, hot heat.

“Steve, please. I don’t want to d-”

"Shut up. Shut up. Please, shut the fuck up.” He groans, closing his hand around your tit and squeezing hard. He’s getting off on it, you realize. You want to live through this so badly, and that turns him on. “Can't -, I don't want to" he trails off when he starts pounding you again, the squelching, wet sounds of you taking him, letting him burrow deep within you filling the cramped, cluttered room, bouncing off your childhood toys and boy band posters. Your pink princess sheets are soaked with slick and sweat and two of his loads soaking your back that'd been displaced by the brutal thickness of his cock carving into you.

You grip at his arms as they hold you down, your nails digging into his skin, and he stops again, anchoring up and off you to peer at your face.

"Be good, like I know you can be and it'll all be over soon. I promise."

Impossible.

You choke on your own sob, and bite down on your tongue to stop yourself from lashing out. He’s clearly sick in the head, and when this is all over, when he lets you go like he promised he would, you swear to god in heaven and the devil below that you’d wipe this all from your mind. You’d burn the sheets and maybe even your bed too. And a little voice in your head whispers over the sound of him messily, greedily fucking you open, that you’d need evidence, some way of proving that it was local hero, universally adored firefighter, Steven Grant Rogers that’d been killing people for the past year and a half. Steven Grant Rogers who had been stalking you for weeks in an unfamiliar brown sedan before he’d made his move. Steven Grant Rogers who’d taken his sweet time cutting your boyfriend to ribbons before he’d chased you up the stairs, two steps at a time and locked the bedroom door behind him, as if he was worried someone would interrupt.

You didn’t need evidence. Because no one would believe you. If you even got the chance to tell them.

Your body shudders, fear and pleasure tangling together and burrowing deep in the pit of your stomach, snagging on your insides like hooked burrs, only tearing free when he rips another orgasm from your overstimulated, woefully overworked body.

“Good, so good sweetheart. There you are.” You can tell he loves it, the involuntary show of ecstasy, the way you’re too far gone to resist anymore, the way your legs wrap around his middle and push you ever closer without your permission.

But your permission doesn’t matter much, apparently.

His hands sink into your flesh so deeply you cry out, but what’s more bruises on top of the ones he’s already given you? What’s one more round of his seed fucked into you, soaking the walls of your cunt? What’s one more scream into the apathetic, inky black night?

Steve’s teeth dig into the flesh of your chest, then he laves the stinging spots with his tongue. A particularly rough thrust pushes you up the bed, and without missing a beat he follows your aching body, forcing your pussy to part around him, to welcome yet another rush of his cum within you. He tugs at your nipples with roughened fingers, calloused by the fireman’s axe he used to obliterate your front door. His lips cover your pulse, sucking hard at the skin, like he was trying to taste your heartbeat, erratic and sugar sweet. Your clit thrums, untouched and begging for attention, but Steve pulls out, rubbing the slick skin of his cock over the insides of your thighs.

“You know, I was so sure I was going to have to slit your throat after this. And I didn’t want to, not when I knew you’d be tight, so sweet.” His voice is broken glass and black velvet, it cuts and soothes, wrings everything out of you before it forces you to swallow it all down, only restart the process all over again.

“But now,” He sighs dreamily, whispering like he’s sharing a inside joke between two friends, “I have to keep you.”

when my husband proofread this he said i was sick. :)

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve smut #dark!steve x reader #dark steve x reader #dark steve rogers #dark!captain america #dark!fic #mcu smut #mcu x reader #slasher!au #slasher!steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #kinktober 2022 #kechiwriteskinktober #kechiwrites #cw: dark content #cw: noncon

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star-suh · 5 months

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🎃SCREAM (my name)🎃

choi san x male reader

cw: college au, movie au(?), killer top san, y/n is trapped in a hole in the wall, dub-con, rimjob, degradation, spanking, creampie, breaking the 4th wall(?).

an: i was thinking about a way to porn-ify the scream movie then i remembered that scene from scary movie with the girl in the garage 😭 and i merge it with that stuck in the wall trope and boom this fic was born lmao.

—

despite the murders that have recently occurred, the students of the kq university decide to have a party just because why not?.

“how the fuck are they so happy dancing and getting high on a party when there's a literal murderer on the campus?” wondered y/n in a low voice.

“the real question is how the fuck are you complaining about it while literally being in the party drinking a cup of vodka with fruit juice?” seonghwa stated.

“i don't know dude, slasher movie logic i guess?” he spoke while drinking the remaining liquid on his cup, “gonna go for more” he then walks away while seonghwa starts rubbing himself on someone.

“umm excuse me.. uh, isn't there more of this?” y/n signals the bowl that was filled with vodka before. “yes there are more but… it's in the basement. if you want more go down there and take all you want dude” the man pats y/n's shoulder and walks away. “are you fucking kidding me? this is giving scream for fuck's sake i'm gonna die” he screams internally, preparing to go and seek more of that delicious cocktail of vodka with fruits.

with each step down the stairs y/n plans a ton of ways to escape if the murderer happens to be there.. “helloo?. umm is someone down there?” his voice echoes in the dark room and not a single response “where is the light switch” he spoke while he illuminates the place with the flashlight of his cell phone.

finally he found the light switch and turn on the lights, showing that there was no one in there “i should stop being so paranoid”. y/n opens the refrigerator taking out the cans of his favorite liquor, he was entertained reading the flavors of each can that he didn't notice the basement door being closed by someone.

"what do we have here?" a deep and seductive voice echoes in y/n's ears, he turns around quickly, dropping all the cans. there he was, face to face with the masked killer. “i fucking knew it” he whispered grabbing all the cans and throwing them at the killer. “leave me alone you psycho, i haven't done anything bad in my life” y/n begs for his life as he looks for a way out.

he suddenly remembers that this was mingi's house and there was a hole in one of the walls that they used to when they were in high school to sneak into the basement and drink mingi's father's liquor “good times” he murmurs running towards the hole.

“where is it” he shouts scattering the objects around trying to find the hole, “why is he doing nothing” anxious, y/n pushed a large shelf finally found his way to salvation "see you in hell motherfucker" giving the middle finger to the murderer and immediately going through the hole squirming around. everything looked so good until y/n got trapped, only half of his body made it through the hole. “shit this can't be happening. fuck!... please don't harm me please” his prayers being silenced by the loud music of the party above.

he was already preparing to die when he felt a hand groping his ass "what the hell? don't touch me pervert". he began to discard y/n's pants and underwear, "perverted son of a bitch" could be heard on the other side of the wall, y/n started to move his legs trying to kick the murderer but the only thing he received was a hard spank that made his eyes water.

the masked murderer started to rub his big bulge between y/n's ass cheeks, on the other side of the wall the guy was biting his lower lip so the other man can't hear his moans. “i shouldn't have put the cell phone in my pants pocke—hngh” suddenly he felt something wet on his rim making his eyes widen and his face turn red. on the other side the masked man was inserting his wet tongue in and out “what a tasty hole. gonna eat it until it's all gaping and gushy with my saliva”.

y/n's legs were trembling, the pleasure was immense something he haven't feel in months, “so goodd~”...

the ring of muscles was dripping with saliva “i can't get enough of this” says the masked pervert still eating y/n's ass out. on the other side y/n was a blushing, panting mess with hooded eyes and drool coming out of the corners of his mouth “please stop, i can't take it anymore..”

“nuh-uh dude we are halfway done” the man spoke, spanking the ass 10 times, 5 to each ass cheek. he pulls out his cock and starts slapping it in the already wet hole making sinful noises that he loves to hear, watching how much pre-cum y/n's cock is leaking he puts his big cock under y/n's tip and smear it around his own to use it as lube “you tell me to stop but you're body says otherwise.. look how much you're leaking slutty boy” he says that while shaking y/n's hard cock.

he slowly introduced his big dick, that delicious burning sensation of the stretch making y/n moan loudly lowkey enjoying it “so big~”.

“you're clenching so hard boy, do you love my cock that much?.just say you're my plaything and i give you more of this”. “no” cockdrunk y/n managed to say “i'm no one's..”. another hard spank landed on his ass “you're being a bad boy, i think you need to be punished”. the taller grabbed him by the legs locking them in his waist and started to rail the boy into oblivion, the thrusts were so hard producing a notorious recoil on y/n's ass.

“i'm gonna wreck you up, you hear me?. i'm gonna drenched you with my cum and pump you full like the useless cumdump you are”.

“yes, just use me to please your big cock i'm just a hole for you~” his fear completely gone and now being replaced by just horny thoughts of being fucked by that big dick.

wet, gushy sounds echoing throughout the basement while moans were doing the same on the other side of the wall, “look how much you're clenching on me, what a desperate whore”. the masked man feeling that sensation on his stomach started to stroke y/n's cock “let's cum together”, being stimulated by both sides it only made y/n cum quickly muttering a small “sorry” as he caught his breath. “bad boy, i told you to cum together with me” he does a last hard thrust and then pulls out his cock to jerk himself off on top of y/n's ruined hole.

lots of thick gooey sperm coming out of the masked man's tip, creaming y/n's hole “fuck you make me cum so much.. you're a really good milker” he expressed collecting all the cum with the tip of his cock and then inserting it into the dirty hole as deep as he can “would love if we repeat this again soon” the masked man snickers, while on the other side of the wall y/n fell asleep.

the next morning y/n woke up laying on the basement floor, the masked killer pulled him out of the hole without him realizing it, "what the hell happened last night" the boy wondered while touching his head because of the hangover he was feeling. he stood up and walked towards the basement door to get out of there without noticing the wet patch forming on the back of his pants.

#san x male reader #choi san x male reader #choi san x male reader smut #san x male reader smut #ateez x male reader #ateez x male reader smut #male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #smut #male reader smut #ateez smut

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theragethatisdesire · 7 months

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cabin in the woods - eren x reader x jean - 18+!!!

part three of our polyverse woo! i wanted to write something intense for spooky season, but not like, a slasher fic, and you know eren would have the biggest primal play kink ever so here we are. the besties have been in their little poly relationship for a year and this is their anniversary trip <3 (and they're just so cute i need to put them in my pocket). enjoy what @fictional-d-supremacy and i came up with and....i don't even know what else to say. i love this one, prob in my top 3 of all time, i just love poly!erejean <3

pairing: eren jaeger x reader x jean kirschstein

wc: 9.5k (good lord)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

*deep breath* CWs: primal play (for some people, it may read as dubcon, so please familiarize yourself with what this means, you are responsible for your triggers!), consensual sex, established relationship, use of names (pet, baby, angel, princess, slut, bitch), breeding kink, biting, fingering, oral sex (fem and male receiving), anal play, anal sex, double penetration, mlm (eren and jean are in an established relationship and kiss at one point), degradation, objectification, multiple orgasm, threesome, bi!eren, bi!jean, dirty talk, creampie, polyamory

OKAY now that that's out of the way.....have fun babies!

There’s something about the crisp autumn breeze drifting in through the open windows, twisting through Jean’s Jeep with the same rhythm as the car itself winding up the side of the mountain, that sends a vicious shudder down your spine. You try to roll your window up to fight the chill, but Eren whines from behind you and thuds a heavy boot against your seat in protest.

“You said if I let you have shotgun, we could keep the windows down the whole time.”

“It’s freezing!”

“But I get carsick,” Eren grumbles, glaring at you in the rearview mirror. Jean sighs in a tone that sounds a lot like exasperation, reaching over to turn your heated seat on.

“Better?”

“A little,” you smile softly at him, laying your palm over the warm hand he rests on your knee, “are we almost there?”

“It’s just around this corner,” Jean assures you, hazel eyes flitting back over to the gravelly, curving road. You take a moment to admire him: strong brow, regal, elegant nose, pouty lips that you know to be soft from experience. The simple knowledge that Jean is yours, yours to kiss and touch whenever you want, is enough to send a thrill through you. Your moment of adoration is cut short by Eren throwing his arms over the seat, digging his hands into your shoulders in a rough massage.

“You’re going to love this place, babe,” Eren says behind your ear. The buzzy excitement thrumming through his voice makes a small grin tug at the corner of your mouth; Eren’s moods are contagious more often than not, and he’s been miraculously cheerful all day. “Mama Kirschstein’s got the hook-up.”

“You’re still calling her that?” Jean rolls his eyes, “she’s been telling you to call her Jane for the last eight years.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t mind us coming up?” You eye Jean nervously, reaching up to squeeze one of Eren’s larger hands for reassurance. “I know she had a bit of trouble, y’know…”

“When I told her it was our anniversary, she offered us the house for the weekend. I didn’t even ask,” Jean veers left onto a narrow dirt path, “I know it took her a minute to come around, but she adores you now. I promise.”

“She’s always adored me,” Eren adds unhelpfully, ruffling your beanie and consequently wrecking your hair, “but I guess she was able to find room in her heart for the both of us.”

“Eren, stop it– ugh, thank you. What has got you in such a good mood?” You turn over your shoulder to look at him, practically brimming with energy. Eren’s always despised road trips, yet he’s been the picture of eagerness all day.

“Just excited to spend some time alone in the woods with my two favorite people, what’s so wrong with that?” Eren grins widely at you, sharp canines glinting in the early afternoon light. Something about his smile seems…not insincere, more like overly sincere. It’s not at all out of the realm of possibility for Eren to have some grandiose, ridiculous surprise waiting for you in his suitcase, or for him to simply be bouncing out of his seat in anticipation of all the weekend away, anniversary sex you’re about to have. You chalk it up to one or the other, ignoring the strangely stern look Jean shoots him.

“Oh my god!” You cover your mouth to muffle the excited squeal that comes creeping up your throat upon sight of the cabin. The “cabin” turns out to be an isolated, sprawling home with several wings, beautiful beyond your wildest dreams. Massive slabs of stone make up the columns supporting an overhang that covers a ten-foot-tall door, the garden beds on either side of the walkway have been manicured to perfection, and there’s a winding stone path that leads to the back of the house through a covered walkway that connects the main house to the garage. It’s practically been ripped out of Architectural Digest. “It’s like it’s not even real.”

“Kirschstein money always gets the panties dropping,” Eren scoffs, practically kicking his door open the moment the car rolls to a stop, “I forgot how nice this place was.”

“Shut up,” Jean grumbles, rolling his eyes at Eren before setting his adoring gaze on you, “you like it, princess?”

“I love it,” you gush, jumping out of the car to get a better look, bag forgotten in the trunk. You can hear the boys bickering about luggage somewhere behind you, but all you can focus on is the vast nothingness around you, the sleepy chirping of cicadas in the trees, and the warmly lit home that belongs to you and your two gorgeous boyfriends for the weekend. Who says no one ever had it all?

“Are you excited?” Eren comes charging up behind you, arms encircling your waist and lips pecking every square inch of your neck he can reach.

“I’m so excited,” you giggle, shoving him off so that you can run to Jean and throw your arms around his shoulders, “thank you both so much—oh, we have to call your mom and thank her! Can we? Please?”

“In a bit,” Jean chuckles, scooping you up into his arms so you can wrap your legs around his waist, “don’t you want to see the inside first?”

“Yes–”

“I don’t know, Jean,” Eren saunters over, something mischievous flitting over his face that, if you were any less drunk on raw excitement, you would know immediately not to trust, “she may want to get a look at the woods before the sun goes down. What do you say, baby? Wanna go for a hike?”

“Eren,” Jean says, a very thin note of hesitation in his tone that you, in your giddiness, stampede right over.

“Just a quick one, Jean? Is that alright?”

“However long you want, angel,” Eren answers for Jean and smiles at you charmingly, entirely ignoring Jean’s widened eyes.

“Let’s do that,” you whip your wide, happy eyes back to Jean, a pleading grin on your face, “and then you can give me a tour of the inside. I just want to get a few Instagram pictures before we end up not putting clothes on again for the entire weekend.”

Jean smiles at you, some odd combination of endearment and something darker that you can’t quite make out—pity?—crossing his face. “Anything you want. Drop the bags on the porch, Eren? I’ll take her out back.”

Eren’s grin grows impossibly wider, a little glint in his eye. “Be right there.”

After your awkward, giggle-filled struggle to monkey-climb from Jean’s front onto his back without dropping to the ground, Jean, arms hooked firmly under your legs, walks you around the house, identifying little points of interest as he goes. He points out his childhood rope swing, tattered and still dangling from one of the massive oaks in the front yard, a few flower bushes that he remembers helping his mom plant. You can feel the swell of your heart in your chest as Jean walks you through his memories, snorting to himself when he recounts the tale of Eren nearly choking to death trying to hold his breath in the hot tub and growing misty-eyed when he points out his grandparents’ initials carved into a wooden bench in the garden.

You reach a point of the property where the meticulously groomed grass gives way to fallen leaves and patches of barren earth, a visible line between civilization and nature. A small wriggle from you lets Jean know you’re ready to hop down, and he bends at the knee slightly so you can slide off of his back.

“It really is a beautiful property,” you tell him earnestly, “I can’t thank you enough for bringing us here.”

“What’s mine is yours,” Jean, in that heartbreaking way of his, looks down at you like you’re the only thing he could ever want for, “you know that.”

“Still. Thank you.” You have to consciously focus on your breathing; you wonder if Jean knows he has this effect on people, if he knows that the way raw love lays itself bare in his eyes chokes whoever’s in his line of sight.

“It’s as much a gift for me as it is for you,” Jean leans down to nip at your ear, two large hands finding their way around your waist, “I’ve got you both away from work, out in the middle of nowhere, all to myself…”

“Jean!” It comes out as a clunky, airy giggle, half of the letters still jumbled in your throat where the breath is caught. He smirks against your neck, sinking his teeth in here, licking over a sore patch of skin there. The mountain breeze follows in his wake, kissing over the wet spots he leaves behind and raising goosebumps on the back of your neck.

“Getting started without me?” Eren’s voice startles you, makes you jump in Jean’s grip. Jean responds to your flightiness by spinning you on your heels and pressing your back to his chest, arms locked firmly under your breasts and head tucked onto your shoulder.

“We were waiting for you,” you answer, letting your eyes graze over Eren appreciatively as he approaches. As long as you’ve known him, autumn has always looked good on Eren. Something about the decaying colors around him makes his eyes that much more vibrant, the glow of them in the late afternoon sun almost reminding you of a predator at night, tucked behind bushes. Big cozy flannels only make his frame look broader, and the curl of his grown-out bangs around his pink ears makes you want to pinch his cheeks.

“Didn’t look like you were waiting,” Eren eyes Jean in annoyance, but the curl of his lip gives him away.

“She’s still here, isn’t she?” Jean counters, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“Where else would I be?” You laugh, shoving him back from you. Eren and Jean’s eyes meet, some dangerous, tangible glimmer passing between them. “What?”

“Nothing, angel,” Eren whistles, spinning you around yet again and locking your shoulders underneath his arm, beginning to walk you into the woods, “don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

“I’m not worried,” you roll your eyes, letting him drag you further into the forest, “you guys are just being weird.”

“Are we?” Jean’s arm comes sneaking around your waist, “I don’t think we are. Do you, Eren?”

“Not at all,” Eren shrugs, pulling out his phone, “looks like we still have two hours til sunset. That seems like enough time for a hike, don’t you think, Jean?”

“Oh, that’s definitely enough time.”

You tilt your head up, a slight scowl indenting your forehead, flitting your eyes between the two of them. They’re hardly paying attention to you, staring at each other in a way that you’re not unfamiliar with. That explains the oddities of their behavior today; typical boys, just excited to jump into bed later. You barely contain another eye roll, instead opting to let them have their teasing fun and focus on the grandiosity of the forest around you.

The canopy is tall, taller than you would have expected; it feels like the dwindling population of leaves above your head is in a different world than the crunch of their fallen comrades under your feet. That pesky breeze is still there, keeping your nerve endings jumpy with the ever-present chill, but the warmth of the colors around you almost makes up for it. Everywhere you look seems to be on fire, yellows and oranges and reds blending the landscape together into a closer approximation to an abstract painting than a scene out of nature.

Easily half an hour ticks by as you stroll, all three of you having fallen into a comfortable, contemplative silence. You don’t miss the way Eren’s hand will occasionally drift from your shoulder to the back of your neck, ghosting over the skin and running through the baby hairs there, making you shiver. Jean follows suit, his arm around your waist slipping a bit low once in a while, palm cupping your ass and squeezing appreciatively. You ignore them both in favor of taking advantage of the beautiful scenery, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t affecting you. That familiar warmth curls in your stomach, molten and hungry, and the tips of your fingers twitch in your pockets, aching to replace the fabric that surrounds them with skin.

Eventually, you all reach a picturesque clearing with a gorgeous overhang, and you see your opportunity.

“Wait, stop right here,” you finally break the silence, squirming in the boys’ arms to snag your phone out of your back pocket, “this is perfect.”

“Instagram time?” Jean tries and fails to keep the bored tone out of his voice.

“We only have, like, five pictures together, and we’ve been together for over a year.”

“That’s not true,” Eren protests, “I have an album full–”

“How many of those pictures are share-able?” You cock a knowing eyebrow at him.

“Um, probably like…two.”

“My point exactly.”

Through a bit of manhandling and arguing over who should hold the phone, you make out with at least three usable selfies (the boys refused to entertain your self-timer idea), which far exceeds the amount of photos you expected to leave this trip with.

“Why don’t you let us take a few of just you?” Jean suggests, reaching for your phone with an honest smile and giving Eren a subtle nudge.

“Really?”

“Sure,” Eren jumps in, nodding and smiling along, “a few pictures of our pretty girl out in the woods on our special trip.”

“And it would be cute for your Instagram, right?” Jean adds, patting you lightly on the bottom.

“Okay,” you agree, too thrilled at their sudden interest in your quest for a nice Instagram post to think too much into the way Eren’s tongue swipes along his bottom lip, the way Jean’s holding your phone so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

“Just walk out that way, there you go.” You can hear Jean’s voice, with a strange little tremor to it, growing quieter behind you when Eren ushers you off in the opposite direction. You leave your phone with Jean, alternating between a little jog and a walk away from them, moving further into the clearing and keeping your back to the boys.

“Was that cute, or stupid?”

Your nervous giggle echoes in the clearing, the rustling of leaves the only answer you receive. You make a few different poses, feeling a little silly but willing to endure it in the interest of getting a couple of nice photos. You notice the distinct lack of sound around you, how for just a moment, it feels like the universe consists of just you, Eren, and Jean, alone in these woods and miles from any other human. It hits you that that’s not entirely untrue; the last house you’d seen had to have been fifteen minutes before you’d gotten to Jean’s driveway.

You call back to them, wanting at least a little feedback and, honestly, beginning to feel a bit creeped out by the uncharacteristic silence ringing in your ears. “Are they turning out good?”

Nothing.

“What the hell?” you finally whip back around to face them, stomping your foot petulantly, “are you two like, messing with me?”

When you turn to meet them, however, all the fire in your throat dies out as quickly as if a bucket of ice water had been tossed on it.

Jean and Eren are smiling at you, which wouldn’t be too odd of a sight, if it weren’t for the threatening glitter in their eyes, the way Eren’s tilting his head ever so slightly to the right. You’ve never seen an expression like this on either one of them, never seen something so…dangerous cross their faces.

“Run.”

“I’m sorry?” You scrunch your nose at Eren, confused. His smile only grows wider.

“Run.”

“Run?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” Jean shakes his head disapprovingly, eyeing you down through the streaks of sunlight bleeding into the clearing.

“Forgot what?” Your words tremble as they make their way out into the still air. They’re your boyfriends, the men that wake you up with feather-light kisses and hoist you onto their shoulders at concerts, so why are your fingers beginning to shake?

“About that little book of yours we found,” Jean answers, cocking his head. “Surely you didn’t think we’d forget, did you?”

“No, I know she remembers,” Eren grits out through a clenched jaw, bristling under the soothing palm Jean runs over the back of his neck.

The memory hits you like a train. Coming home to find Jean and Eren hunched over a smutty novel of yours, blushing furiously and frowning in concentration. Confronting them only to find out they’d stumbled across the primal play chapter, that they’d noticed that these pages in particular looked a little well-worn. Jean had asked you if you would ever try it, Eren had raised his eyebrows when you admitted that yes, you would absolutely live that fantasy out if given the chance. Your face had burned as you nervously giggled, brushing the idea off in the sense that it was unrealistic to act out such a scenario in the middle of the city.

But you’re not in the city now. You’re in the forest, alone with your two boyfriends who are looking at you like they might rip you to shreds.

“No,” you murmur, so quietly that if the woods weren’t so still and silent, it wouldn’t have reached their ears, “I–I didn’t…I remember.”

“There it is,” Eren says, eyes glinting at you and arousal practically dripping off of his words as they make their way to your ears, “knew you did.”

“Weren’t lying, right? You wouldn’t lie to us, would you, pet?” Jean’s voice is steely and sharp with the implication that you had better not lie to him.

Words are lost on you amidst the thundering of your pulse in your ears, and you simply shake your head back and forth slowly. Some survival instinct from deep in the recesses of your brain tells you not to take your eyes off of them for a second, has every muscle in your body twitching. Despite the uneasy adrenaline coursing through your veins, a firm knot of arousal has taken hold in your lower stomach, simmering and spitting in excitement from the hungry looks on Eren and Jean’s faces.

“We’ll give you a ten second head start,” Eren says, dragging his eyes over your frame and licking at his bottom lip, “just to give you a fighting chance.”

“Sound good?” Jean tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. You know this is your moment to laugh this whole thing off, to return to the cozy interior of the cabin and put your feet up, have some hot chocolate, be kissed softly and held gently between their two strong bodies. This is Jean giving you an out, if you want it.

“Okay,” you agree, fingers fluttering nervously by your side.

“Good girl,” Jean nods approvingly, clenching and unclenching his fist, “ready?”

You nod back to him, knees shaking under your frame and a cold sweat breaking out over the back of your neck.

“Then fucking run,” Eren growls, grinning feral and wicked in the afternoon sun.

To your own surprise, you turn on your heel almost instantaneously, tearing off into the woods as fast as you can. The boots you’ve decided to wear are certainly not built for speed, but the thick soles are perfect for carrying you over the rough terrain, supporting your ankles and keeping them from twisting as you sprint through the woods.

You veer left, suddenly realizing that everything around you looks…the same. There’s no identifying markers, no path back to the cabin, no way to tell one tree full of decaying leaves from another. It brings you pause, your feet coming to a halt. It strikes you that you hadn’t been paying very close attention during your initial hike through the woods, and that even if you tried, you aren’t sure what direction will lead you back to the cabin. Eren and Jean have actually trapped you out here.

The crushing realization nearly makes your heart stop. You’re unable to suspend your disbelief enough to remember that these are your boyfriends chasing you; the only thought your brain can hold onto is that you’re being chased, and that you need to run.

The thudding of footsteps approaching shakes you out of your realization, has your feet moving at lightning speed the second you hear it. You don’t slow to look over your shoulder to see which one of them it is, just let your feet carry you far away as fast as you can manage. It dawns on you that the feeling coursing through you, bringing warmth to your face, is some unbelievable mixture of fear and arousal.

You can’t tell the color of either feeling apart, can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Maybe they’re bleeding into each other, a symphony of passions ripping their way through every cord of muscle in your body, through every electrified nerve ending as you run away from what you want more than anything in this moment.

The footsteps behind you begin to fade, and as your breathing gets heavier and harsher, you realize you won’t be able to keep this pace; your best shot is running hard in short bursts and stopping to rest in between. You reach another clearing, much smaller than the one you had started out in, and lined with an assortment of bushes and a fallen tree. Just as you hunch over to catch your breath, you hear the return of those stomping footsteps, far behind you, but there all the same. The sharp pain ricocheting through your chest is warning enough to stop you from running again, and your eyes dart around in a panic, finally honing in on an area of the brush that looks thick enough to conceal you in your dark clothing, if you strip out of your light purple flannel.

As the footsteps draw closer, you hurriedly dive into the tangle of leaves and branches of the brush, ripping your flannel off of your arms as you go. You wince at the scrape of thorns and sticks on the soft, bare skin of your arms, but claw your way deeper, crouching down to conceal your body and twirling on your tippy-toes to peer through the leaves into the clearing.

It’s Jean, tall and imposing as he marches into the clearing. His chest is heaving under his shirt, hair mussed from running through the autumn wind. You marvel at him, so large and threatening, eyes blown wide and flicking from one area to another suspiciously, looking. Looking for you.

“Pet?” Jean whirls around, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you hiding from me?”

You don’t dare make a sound, positive that your heart is pounding so hard that if someone looked at your neck, they’d be able to see the frantic push and pull of your pulse through the skin. Jean surveys the area, narrowing his eyes at the brush where you’re hiding, but miraculously, turning his head the other way. You need to keep moving, especially considering that you’re so close to Jean, but with the increasingly small distance between you, there’s no way that you’ll be able to quietly sneak out of the brush. Just as you’re formulating a plan to wait and see which way he runs next, so you can run in the opposite direction, Jean’s eyes catch on something that makes your breath hitch.

“Uh-oh,” Jean exhales, stepping closer to you and crouching, his grin growing darker. When his hand comes back into your line of sight, you nearly gasp, one hand flying to the naked top of your head. He’s holding your beanie, grinning down at it. Hardly another moment passes before Jean’s eyes flicker to you, darkening as soon as you make eye contact through the leaves.

“Shit,” you breathe, scrambling back onto your hands and crawling desperately through the branches and leaves behind you, grimacing as a particularly sharp thorn scratches deep into your cheek.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jean laughs cruelly, jumping over the fallen tree trunk and towering over you as soon as you’ve escaped the brush. You stumble to your feet, but Jean’s quick, snagging you by the elbow before you can run off.

“Jean, please,” you gasp, looking up at him with wide, panicked eyes. It occurs to you that now that you’ve been caught, you’re not begging to be let go of– you’re begging to be held. Now that you’re so close to him, face to face with the shine of sweat on his collarbones, the rise and fall of his broad chest, your arousal is tangible, pumping through your veins thick like honey. You wet your lips, feeling the source of your panting move from your lungs to your core.

“Oh,” Jean’s bottom lip pushes out, “what’s the matter? Want to be my little princess again, is that it?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod frantically, looking over your shoulder and then Jean’s to see if Eren’s approaching to spoil your plan, “please Jean. Want to be your princess.”

“Aw,” Jean hums thoughtfully, cocking his head and looking down on you with pitying eyes for just long enough that you smile softly in relief, feel a rush of anticipation shoot through you. Unconsciously, you tilt your chin up, expectant and ready for him to catch you in a kiss. In the next instant, he’s gripping your arm even harder, with a jerk that makes your eyes water. “Too bad. You’re not my little princess out here.”

Your heart drops to your stomach, a clammy sweat breaking over your skin. Just as you’re about to plead one last time, Jean gives you a cruel smile.

“Eren! I’ve got her!” Jean shouts into the woods, turning his head over his shoulder to help the sound carry.

“Jean!” Your betrayal and frustration make your voice hoarse. Jean leans in to you, grinning wickedly.

“If I were you, I’d run. He’s not going to be nearly as nice as me.”

You wrench your arm out of his grasp, turning on your heel and darting further into the woods, grimacing at the feel of your wetness soaking through your panties. Jean’s footsteps are quick to catch up with you; or, at least, you think they’re Jean’s. You’re not going to break your stride to chance a look. You can’t outpace him, but you’re small and nimble enough that you think you may be able to outmaneuver him. You zigzag wildly through the trees, and it seems to be working, as Jean’s footsteps grow softer and softer behind you. Your lungs burn and your eyes water viciously, but you don’t dare relinquish the small distance you’ve managed to put between yourself and Jean, forcing your aching muscles to push harder and harder.

Suddenly, you spot it: a treehouse, with a little wooden ladder dangling from the bottom. It sounds like Jean’s footsteps are far enough behind you to afford you plenty of time to scramble up the ladder, at the very least to plan your next move. It wouldn’t be so bad if he saw you, either; the treehouse, as derelict as it may look, affords a nice sheltered spot for Jean to corner you in…

Your feet make the decision before your mind has the chance to catch up, and you’re beelining towards the treehouse, approaching it quickly. When you step on the first rung of the ladder, you feel the porous, rotten wood give a little underneath your weight, but the pounding of footsteps approaching urges you on. You make it two more steps up when one of the treacherous wooden rungs snaps under the pressure.

“Shit!” You squeal, clutching the ladder harder in an attempt not to tumble to the forest floor. You persevere, looking forward to whatever could await you if the boys were to follow you up to the treehouse. Two more steps up and you’re halfway there, but a pair of strong arms lock around your waist and pull you towards the ground with a harsh yank, ripping a yelp from your throat.

“Not a bad try,” you instantly recognize Eren’s voice, but what you don’t recognize is the rasp to it, the gravelly, dark tone, “but you didn’t really think you could run from me, did you?”

You thrash so violently that you think you must have hit him, because he drops you suddenly with a hiss. As soon as your feet hit the ground you take a few blind, wobbly steps in the opposite direction, only to run smack into Jean’s chest. You look up, wide, watery eyes blinking at Jean as your dizzied brain tries to grasp onto what’s at hand. You’re caught. They caught you.

“Going somewhere?” Jean sneers, grabbing you by your wrists and whipping you around to face Eren. The sight you’re greeted with has you squeezing your thighs together, a thick swallow sliding down your throat.

Eren’s eyes are blown wide, the bottomless black of his pupils nearly eclipsing the beautiful green you’re used to admiring. There’s a little sheen of sweat covering him, making him almost glow in the late afternoon light, and the veins in his neck are prominent with his heavy breathing. He runs his tongue over the now-split portion of his lip, courtesy of you, smearing a bit of blood over his mouth, and drags his eyes along every inch of you like he isn’t quite sure where he wants to start.

“I thought I told you to run,” Jean says, hot and taunting against the shell of your ear, “but it didn’t look like you tried very hard. Almost makes me think you wanted to be caught.”

“Of course she did,” Eren answers for you, stepping forward to run a thoughtful thumb across your cheek, making you flinch when he brushes over a cut on your face, “you want to get fucked, don’t you?”

You’re not sure what to do, whether you should nod your head enthusiastically or choke out a stuttered word of confirmation or maybe bite back; you feel frozen, overwhelmed by their looming figures and the fiery hot adrenaline still pumping through your veins. Eren decides for you, rubbing his thumb over your lips, and shoving it into your mouth. A coppery taste washes over your tongue, and you realize it’s your blood, fresh from the cut on your face. You suck his thumb in obediently, let him fishhook his thumb in your cheek, tugging your mouth this way and the other. Eren spits right in your mouth, nearly missing and splattering it all over your chin and cheeks.

“Nasty little bitch,” Eren snarls, shoving his mouth to yours.

What he does to you can barely be described as a kiss; it’s more like Eren devouring you. Teeth clack together, his tongue shoves into your mouth so violently you nearly bite down in your surprise. Eren sucks your tongue into his mouth, groaning low and hungry when you whimper.

“You taste good,” Eren murmurs hurriedly into your mouth, biting harshly on your lip and grinning against you when it makes you whine, “can taste the blood from that cut on your cheek.”

Jean stutters out a groan from behind you, his restraining grip on your wrists tightening. You feel his mouth begin to venture down your neck much like it had before, but his teeth are more demanding as they sink into your soft skin this time, more intent on taking, on marking you. One of Eren’s hands finds its way to your chest, grabbing harshly at your breast through your shirt. The ache of his strong fingers makes your back arch towards him, a breathless gasp leaving your lips.

“Show me,” Eren pants, finally backing away from you and ripping at your tank top, yanking it towards your head. There’s a shiny mixture of saliva and your blood staining his chin pink; shamefully, it makes a fresh rush of heat fly through your body, makes the wetness collecting between your thighs that much more prominent.

“We’re outside–” you try to protest, but a corrective slap to your ass from Jean shuts you up.

“No one’s around,” Jean says, mouth back on your shoulder as soon as Eren’s removed the offending garment from you, “it’s just us.”

“No one’s going to hear you scream,” Eren voices what you’re thinking with a nasty grin, bringing a hand to each of the cups of your bra and gripping the plush fabric hard enough to turn his knuckles white, tearing the connective fabric with a loud rip.

“Eren!” You squeal in surprise, practically jumping in Jean’s arms.

“That’s it,” Eren groans, leaning down and lathing his tongue across a deep cut above your right breast, something you hadn’t noticed in your fearful escape from the bush earlier, “let me fucking hear you.”

Jean’s got your wrists contained in one of his large hands, not minding the swing of your ruined bra around each of your arms, reaching his other hand around your waist to fiddle desperately with the clasp of your jeans.

“Eren,” he says sharply, drawing Eren’s attention to the fact that your pants are still on. Eren smirks.

“Pick her up,” he answers, voice gravelly. Jean lifts you off the ground, your back pressed to his chest, feet dangling in the air. Eren rips both of your boots off, tossing them to the forest floor. Still pissed about your bra, truthfully, you jerk a foot out harsh enough to hurt him if it should make contact, trying to keep your movement spastic enough to make it look like an accident. Eren dodges and looks at you murderously, returning to his full height to grab your chin harshly.

“Did you just try to fucking kick me?” His forehead is pressed nearly to yours, voice low. Busted.

“You tore my bra.” Your voice has none of the conviction you were trying to find in the depths of your chest, coming out breathy and weak. A sound that can only be described as a snarl rips from Eren’s chest.

“Yeah, I fucking did,” Eren smacks your cheek just hard enough to stun you, make sure you’re really listening to him, “we caught you. Understand that? We’re going to do what we want with you because you’re ours. Keep smarting off, and I’ll rip your panties off next and shove ‘em in that bratty mouth of yours. Got it?”

Speechless, you nod desperately, squirming as the heat between your legs begins to grow unbearable, that tacky, sticky arousal surely beginning to leak down your thighs at this point. Eren makes quick work of your jeans and your underwear, hissing appreciatively as your panties stick to the wetness between your thighs.

“You’re so wet, pet,” Jean reaches around to swipe his hand through your folds. That alone is enough to make your knees buckle, make a wanton moan slip out from your lips.

“I–I want– oh.” You try and fail to articulate a sentence, cut off entirely by a loud groan when Eren’s teeth sink into the supple skin of your breast. Eren grins around the mouthful of flesh he holds between his teeth, raising his eyebrows at how riled up you already are.

“Pitiful little thing,” Jean chuckles, voice husky, “look how bad she wants it.”

Jean reaches down and shoves two fingers straight into your slick cunt, ripping a strangled moan out of your throat. Your hips buck into his hand of their own accord, desperate, tinny whines and whimpers leaving your mouth in quick succession. The stretch of Jean’s fingers is so welcome after all the build-up, that you don’t think you could put it into words if you tried. On behalf of your useless mouth, your body makes a great show of trying to show them just how good their attention feels, rolling and rocking into their touch, no matter how harsh.

Eren digs his fingers into the fat of your hips, your thighs, your ass, gripping you close to him and biting into whatever flesh of your upper body that he can reach as hard as he can, surely coming close to drawing blood. They aren’t the type of bites that require suction and the lathing of a tongue to soothe and leave hickeys; no, these are the type of bites that bruise on impact, little purple half-moons of teeth marks decorating your arms, shoulders, and breasts.

Jean coos in your ear approvingly each time your hips cant towards his hand, seeking more and more friction as the knot in your stomach tightens with each curl of his fingers. You can feel him pressing into your lower back, hard and promising, and your pussy flutters around his fingers at the thought of being split open by him, by Eren, by anything more that they’re willing to give you.

“Want to fuck her,” Eren huffs, “she close?”

“She’ll cum soon,” Jean affirms, licking through the shell of your ear delicately. You revel in the way they talk about you as if you’re not here, as if you possess no consciousness worthy of interacting with. You feel stripped of your higher thought processes, reduced into some pathetic, pliant creature only in search of pleasure– and you love it.

“Please,” you attempt to beg, only to be silenced by Eren’s long fingers wrenching their way down your throat.

“Stop talking,” Eren grumbles around a mouthful of your flesh, “pets don’t talk, do they?”

That draws a heady whine from you, your hips twitching forwards into Jean’s hand eagerly, a blatant attempt to pull forth the orgasm that’s been brewing between your hip bones for the last five minutes. Jean chuckles at your struggles, works his fingers just a bit faster.

“Go on,” Jean whispers, “it’s just us out here. Be as loud as you want, pet. We’re going to need you good and wet, so go ahead, cum hard for us.”

“C’mon, what are you waiting for? Fucking cum already.” Eren echoes Jean’s sentiment from your breasts, licking at another smear of blood just under your nipple.

Your body thrashes in their grip, begging for and yet resistant to the overwhelming waves of pleasure wracking through it. Loud squeals escape from your full mouth, even from where Eren’s got your lips stretched wide around three of his bulky fingers.

“Let us see what you can do, pet,” Jean murmurs, thick and warm against your ear, “just for us, come on.”

With one more vicious curl of Jean’s fingers, your back is arching violently, a muffled scream echoing into the canopy of trees around you as your release hits you hard. You can feel the wetness smearing between your thighs, feel the effort Jean’s exerting into keeping you still and in one place as you buck against him. Eren growls in approval and sinks to his knees, biting harshly into your thigh before sucking your clit into his mouth. That only serves to make you fight harder, the overstimulation getting the better of you.

Eren’s only able to lap at the sensitive folds between your legs for a moment before your twitching thighs threaten to knock him in the head, jerking closed of their own accord. Eren chuckles and smacks the inside of your leg a few times, rising to his feet and smirking at you.

“You squirming? Too much?” Eren sneers, gripping your jaw in his hand and forcing you to keep your half-lidded eyes on him. You push against his grip as hard as you can to shake your head no, earning yourself a pleased glimmer amongst the darkened green of his eyes. “More? You want more?”

When you nod frantically, Eren grins so wide his canines wink at you in the setting sun, flits his gaze over your shoulder to meet Jean’s eye.

“Get her on the ground.”

Jean complies, forcing you to your hands and knees in the dirt. Something about being so exposed, bare and open for them in the ground like this, has your blood running hot in an entirely new way. Neither of them have taken so much as their outer layer off, pinning you between them like…like their little pet. You can feel yourself grow even wetter; it may as well be dripping down your thighs at this point. You hear one of them kneeling behind you, can feel the head of a cock swiping through the mess between your legs.

“So fucking wet,” Eren hisses from over your shoulder, grabbing at your hips and kneading the skin. A hand comes to your chin, tilts your head up.

“Open up, pet,” Jean says, biting into his bottom lip. Obediently, you drop your jaw, tongue out, and blink up at him invitingly, more than eager for the weight of him in your mouth. Jean groans at the sight, slipping the tip of his drooling cock onto your tongue. You swipe your tongue over the tip, eyes rolling back at the taste of salt and sweat and Jean. Jean wastes no time in pushing to the back of your throat, tapping your gag reflex.

Any hope you had of suppressing the cough that threatens you when Jean pushes into your throat is ripped away by Eren shoving himself into you from behind, pushing you an inch too far down Jean’s cock and making you retch.

“All stuffed full of cock, aren’t you?” Eren grunts, driving into you and setting a brutal pace off the bat. You’re powerless to do much else besides squeal and whine around Jean’s cock, punctuating your muffled moans with the occasional gag when Jean taps the back of your throat.

Jean spits several times into the palm of his hand, never losing his pace thrusting into your mouth. If you had any more presence of mind, you’d frown up at him questioningly, but any doubts about his intentions are resolved when he leans over you, spreading his spit over your asshole.

“I want to take her too,” Jean says to Eren, who leans down to spit directly on your only unoccupied hole, lubing you up, “get her ready.”

Eren only offers an affirmative grunt, circling your hole a few times before pushing his thumb in up to the hilt; you’d taken them both only last night, so you don’t require all that much prep, but Eren’s thick fingers are a shock all the same. You squeal around Jean, who shushes you and runs his fingers soothingly along the crown of your head. You lean into his gentle touch, only for him to tighten his grip around the tangled wreck of your hair and shove you down onto his cock harder.

“Told you you’re not my princess anymore,” Jean chuckles darkly above you, driving his hips forward to the same rhythm Eren pounds into you from behind, “not out here.”

Eren’s been busying himself preparing your asshole, up to what feels like three fingers, but with the girth of Eren’s hands, you can never be sure. To have every bit of you full and used is an out of body experience; it’s not something you don’t experience regularly with the both of them, but to be taken so brutally out in the open, to be fucked in such an animalistic way, nearly shuts your brain off.

Eren gives you a few final thrusts before pulling himself entirely from you, causing Jean to follow suit and leaving you empty and whining. You’re tugged to your feet before you can even begin to form a sentence to beg for them back, stumbling in the crunchy leaves under your feet. Eren scoops you into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep you firmly pressed to him.

His cock drags along the folds between your legs, and he presses his forehead to yours, short, heavy breaths leaving him in huffs.

“Ready, pet?” Eren mutters into your open, waiting mouth, “ready to take what you were made for?”

Before you can offer anything more than a half-hearted plea, Jean is pressing into you, the all-consuming stretch of him rendering you mute. Eren never stops boring his gaze into yours, something sparking and spitting and wanting in his eyes, demanding more from you. He drinks down your squeal of surprise, spreads your ass cheeks open so Jean can get at you deeper, digging into depths you rarely find yourself aware of.

“She’s still so tight,” Jean growls, sinking his teeth into your neck, smiling around the mouthful when you moan wantonly.

“Give him some more, hm?” Eren, forehead still tacky and stuck to yours, grabs for Jean’s hand, angling it under your mouth. Through your desperate little hiccups of pleasure, you understand; you spit into Jean’s hand, opening your mouth so that a thick line of drool can slick his fingers up further. Eren grins, evil and satisfied. “Good job, pet.”

Jean uses the saliva you’ve given him to wet the last few inches of himself, pushing in to the base with a loud groan. You can almost feel the tangible eye contact they exchange; they love to look at each other unraveling when they’re inside you. “Your turn.”

Eren—no, Jean?—digs his fingers into your hips, making you whimper at the thought of the bruises sure to follow his grip, slides his cock into you slowly and forcefully, like he’s proving a point. The stretch of him– no, of both of them inside you, isn’t anything new, but in this setting, after all the build-up? You’re wailing, openly, your cries echoing off the trees as you thrash in their firm hold, overstimulated and overwhelmed and overpleasured all at once.

“Sh, sh,” Jean shushes you sternly, pinning your head back against his shoulder with a firm fist to the nape of your neck, “take it, don’t fight it.”

“Feel so fucking good, pet,” Eren says gruffly, giving a tentative half-thrust and making all of you moan, “like you’re fucking made for taking cock.”

“She is,” Jean coos, beginning to rock into you in the same easy rhythm as Eren, “just look at her. Not one thought behind those pretty eyes.”

He’s right; your eyes have glazed over entirely, mouth hanging ajar as they take and take and take from you. You can feel an orgasm quickly taking shape in the pit of your stomach, wrapping around itself and squeezing, threatening to pull you under. You’re so blissed out you can’t even be sure of what you’re feeling. Full, exposed, primal, half-conscious; all of those words surely would make the list if you could pull any of them to the front of your mind at the moment.

Your thighs are quivering around Eren’s waist, tightening viciously around his hips as they drive into you, suspending you between two walls of hard muscle. You know your cunt follows suit when Eren groans loudly, jaw dropping slightly.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Slutty little thing,” Eren grunts against you, eyes flicking back and forth between you and Jean, “begging to get your cunt filled like a bitch in heat.”

“That is what you want, isn’t it?” Jean practically whispers into your ear, words wrapping around the knot in your stomach and holding it together, “want to get bred, don’t you, pet?”

Eren’s eyes go wide for just a moment, his gaze fixated on Jean. You can feel him pause briefly, twitch inside of you, and then before even a full second has passed, Eren’s determined scowl has twisted his face again, and he’s hammering into you like his life depends on it.

“Is that what you want?” Eren demands of you, eyeing you.

“Tell him,” Jean says to you, like the devil on your shoulder, “tell him how badly you want it. Go on.”

“I–I–” The tears running down your face collect in your mouth, making you hiccup and spit and choke on your words. Eren grabs your face fiercely, forcing you to look at him.

“Say it,” Eren snarls, “tell me you want this slutty pussy stuffed full of cum, our cum.”

“I want your cum,” you whimper pathetically, words stuttering and tripping as they spill from your swollen lips, “want to be full of it, want to get bred.”

“Fuck,” Eren nearly throws his head back, somehow moving his hips faster. Your legs dangle uselessly beside him; every muscle in your body contracts and relaxes wildly as your orgasm sinks its claws into you, threatens to pull you under. The only things tethering you to your body at this point are Eren’s eyes on you, bright and feral, and Jean’s hands around your hips, keeping you in place for them to pound into. You can feel the tidal wave coming up in your throat, your moans and whines growing more and more frantic, your head feeling lighter with each passing moment.

“Such a good girl– good little pet for us,” Jean slurs, hips beginning to falter in their rhythm, “show us how bad you want our cum, let us feel you–fuck–”

“So fucking good,” Eren laughs almost hysterically as you finally snap and cum around them, slapping your face lightly and egging you on, “there she goes.”

Every nerve ending in your body feels like it’s on fire, little shocks of electricity flying down your limbs and making you jerk and flail and contract. You can feel your fingers digging into the skin of Eren’s biceps until they meet something wet and warm, and you know you’ve drawn blood, but you’re spiraling through rapturous pleasure so intensely that you couldn’t release your grip if you tried.

The way you tighten viciously around them has Jean falling over the edge right after you, his hips stuttering and coming to a still pressed against you. He tugs your face to the side, pulling you in for a sloppy, honestly disgusting, kiss, panting heavily into your mouth and mouthing around praises that he’s too spent to fully pronounce. You can feel Eren’s eyes on you both, feel the way his thrusts are starting to grow more frantic. Jean turns your face to meet Eren’s gaze, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Look at her, Eren,” Jean shakes your face a little for emphasis, “needs cum in both her holes, not just one.”

As if to emphasize his statement, Jean pulls out of you, a gush of his cum joining the mess between your legs. Eren throws his head back and groans, nods urgently.

“Said we’d stuff her full, right? Breed her? That’s what she wants, isn’t it, pet?” Jean sneers, landing a smack to your cheek.

“Uh-huh,” you babble mindlessly, body trembling with the force of the aftershocks of your orgasm, “p-please Eren, breed me, I need it–”

“Gonna cum in you,” Eren pants, grabbing your hair so hard you wince, “can you take it? Take all of it ‘til you’re bred and full of me?”

“Yes,” you whimper, nodding against him, “yes, please, I–”

“Give it to her,” Jean’s fisted his hand at the nape of Eren’s neck now, pulling all of you so close that you’re drinking down each other’s breaths, “she’s worked so hard for it, give her what she needs.”

That’s all it takes; Jean’s encouragement has Eren spilling inside you with a lengthy, choked groan. With what little energy you have left, you pepper soft kisses along his neck, knowing how his muscles must be burning with how they’re twitching under his skin. Eren’s fingers are digging into you so hard it hurts, already aching, but you let him cling to you, ride out his orgasm as Jean threads his fingers through the hairs at the base of Eren’s neck soothingly.

You all stay this way for a moment, Jean supporting the majority of your body weight as Eren begins to sag into you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The breeze swirls by, leaving cold kisses on every inch of your bare skin, reminding you that you’re out in the open, making you miss your sweater.

“Guys?” You speak feebly into the crisp air, blinking sleepily.

“Holy shit,” Eren laughs breathlessly into the crook of your shoulder, pulling you close to him in a sticky hug, “that was–”

“Crazy,” Jean agrees with a disbelieving chuckle, helping you down onto your shaky legs.

“I am…very naked.” You point out weakly, swaying on your sore thighs. Jean’s quick to slide an arm around your shoulders and tug you to him, while Eren wrangles his hoodie over his head to offer you.

“There’s not another house for five miles in either direction,” Jean assures you, lifting your arms so that Eren can pull his hoodie over you, “wouldn’t ever let anybody see you like this, you know that.”

“Better?” Eren, still a little winded, tugs the hoodie down around your thighs, looking you over. He swipes a thumb across the cut on your cheek, an impish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We really roughed you up, didn’t we? I’m sorry, angel.”

“I liked it.” Your eyes are already falling shut; you barely have the energy for a sleepy smile when Eren presses his lips to your hairline. Jean scoops you up into his arms; all the cardio that he does at the gym is making itself known.

“Was it good, princess? Have fun?” Jean murmurs against your forehead.

“So much fun.” You open one eye to see Jean and Eren glance at each other, see the spark of love between them. It comforts you; even amongst the near-constant shivers wracking through your body, the warmth of their presence and the steady rocking of Jean’s steps lull your eyes shut.

“Thank god she ended up running just about to the backyard,” Eren huffs from somewhere to your right, still sounding very much like he hasn’t caught his breath, “I’m fuckin’ beat.”

“It’s because you don’t do enough cardio, bro.” You can hear Jean’s insistent eyebrow raise and visualize Eren’s answering eye roll, chuckling to yourself in Jean’s arms.

“Cardio’s for bitches, I’m bulking right now–”

“Did you listen to anything the team trainer said in college? Honestly–”

“That was three years ago–”

Somewhere amongst their arguing you doze off, letting yourself go limp in Jean’s arms. When you wake again, Jean’s walking you up a flight of stairs, angling you this way and the other to avoid hitting your head on the railing. Jean flits his eyes down towards you and acknowledges your consciousness with a soft smile, carrying you into a bedroom and sitting you on the bed. Wordlessly, Jean and Eren go about their usual routine of cleaning up after a particularly rough session: Jean runs a bath while Eren fetches some antiseptic for the scratches on your face and arms, Eren nearly gets distracted when you start running your fingernails through his hair but Jean gets you both back on track, somehow fitting all three of you in the largest bathtub you’ve ever seen.

Before you know it, you’ve been scrubbed clean, all the grime gone from your skin and the twigs pulled from your hair, and sandwiched between Eren and Jean under a heavy duvet.

“All better, right?” Eren murmurs against your forehead, pressing a kiss to it.

“All better,” you hum, nuzzling into his chest, “but I don’t want to waste the weekend. We’re only here until Sunday– do we really need to nap?”

“I threw dinner into the smoker while Eren was drying you off,” Jean says, words floating over your shoulder from where he’s curled up behind you, “we have at least two hours ‘til it’s cooked through properly.”

“And you need a nap,” Eren grins mischievously, “you had a big afternoon.”

“I’m not the only one,” you giggle up at him, “I heard you wheezing on the walk back.”

Eren scowls, only to have the furrow in his brow smoothed over by Jean’s thumb. You watch in awe as he instantly melts into Jean’s palm, such a volatile man so easily soothed by a gentle touch. As Eren’s mood begins to settle, you feel the atmosphere in the room change; the blankets feel just a bit heavier, the rise and fall of Jean’s chest against your back quells your breathing into the same rhythm, and the circles Eren’s thumb is rubbing into your hip have your eyes beginning to flutter.

“Naps for all three of us,” Jean says, leaving no room for argument, "I set an alarm. I won’t let you sleep through the weekend, I promise."

Something about the warmth and familiarity tucked under the covers with the three of you has your mind ambling on towards sleep, even after your weak attempts to protest. As you drift off, you can hear the quiet, wet noises of Jean and Eren exchanging a goodnight kiss above your head, feel the reassuring squeeze of their arms around your waist, the brush of lips against the nape of your neck, the tip of your nose. There’s a little murmured “I love you” from each of them, and though your mouth wants to form the words to respond, all you’re able to manage is a soft, contented smile as you drift off.

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bratphilia · 5 months

Text

── ★ ˙ strawberry charm ̟ !!

note ✧.*‎ hello hello hello welcome to scream meets fnaf. randomly got this idea after rewatching scream, like, why don't i combine one both franchises in the only way i know how? william afton as ghostface coming into your house and fucking the shit out of you!! and here we are. i spent a lot more time on this than i usually do writing fics so i seriously hope ppl enjoy it. i'm also on break starting today so i'll be pumping out more content from now on going into the new year!

pairing ✧.*‎‎ steve raglan / william afton x reader

cw ✧.*‎‎ college au and scream au, reader is college aged, william is her robotics professor, ghostface!william afton, reader is girly, vibrators, multiple orgasms, perversion, mentions of stalking, descriptions of gore, choking, consensual non consent, break-in, approximately one lick to the pussy, rough sex, dumbification, glove kink, slapping, slight daddy kink, cockwarming

taglist ✧.*‎‎ @dilfity @kissingrhi @iikyutee @ghoulsgraveyard @cemeteryry @gh0stsp1d3r

synopsis ✧.*‎ a man calls you up wondering what your favorite scary movie is.

you hold back a deep sigh at the low-quality horror movie being showed on the big screen in front of you. no, it's not the most important thing in the world, to see something "cinematically excellent" every time you go to the theater, but shit, wouldn't that be nice? anyways, that's not what you're here for. you're here for a date with this guy in your robotics class, specifically.

he's handsy, but so are you. one arm is slung around your shoulder, you're cuddled against his chest, knees drawn upwards, and his other hand coming around to rub circles on your thigh. yes, it's your first date together, after weeks of study "dates." yes, you were cuddling, very heavy emphasis on pda. what about it? it made up for this movie being fucking terrible, so why not.

you have to laugh. nico, your date, had promised chills and shivers up your spine and hoped for your head pushed into his shoulder at the scary parts of the movie. rotten luck for him. you want to laugh at that. and you accidentally snicker, causing him to look towards you. "what?"

"oh, nothing," you say, nodding back towards the movie.

he says nothing, thank god.

finally, there's a good part of the movie. the main character, a ditzy blonde with big tits is tied to a tree while the film's slasher rips her boyfriend's head from his body with a chainsaw. your muscles clench, not in fear, but in delight. you've always been a sucker for gore. and fuck, it gets something else clenching too. you seriously wonder if nico can feel you throbbing when he rests his hand under your chin, gently forcing you to look at him. he leans in for a kiss. no tongue, just lips to lips. it's nice. you notice he put on chapstick and you can taste the buttery popcorn on his mouth.

however, you're interrupted by the creaking of a chair behind you. the sound of someone getting up and leaving. you didn't pull away in time to catch their face, but the noise frankly startled you than any other part of the movie.

the film ended shortly after that. no, the person who left never did end up returning to their seat behind you, but that had long since left your mind anyways. nico drove you home in his silver convertible, the top down creating a nice breeze through your hair. the car ride was silent but content. date successful, in your opinion, shitty movie aside.

"well, goodnight," he says when your door is barely cracked open and you're halfway inside. you silently leaned up on your tippy toes and pecking his lips once more. you ignore the crackle of twigs in the foliage surrounding your house, blaming it on the wind.

the door shut behinds you. you live in a campus house, but your roommates just so happen to be out of the house for the weekend. this has meant nothing but trouble for you — meaning you snuck your friend lacey's vibrator out of its drawer and had yourself some fun. over and over and over. pastel pink with a pretty bow on the hot glued on the end for decoration (the two of you might have done that together). but don't worry about how you know where her vibrator is, that's none of your business!

while you're washing off the facial cleanser from your face in the shower as conditioner sits patiently in your hair, you think about nico. specifically whether or not you're actually interested in him. sure, he's a nice guy, romantic. bad taste in movies but clearly cares about what you like since he picked out a horror film to take you on a date to. and yet, that nagging thing in the back of your head, the one that told you not to commit to a relationship for fear of being stuck in one, had you snap back to the reality of relationships. you'll never be free to just date who you want, whenever you want. it made you frown.

you get out of the shower eventually, still undecided about the future of your dating life, and you decide to put the topic to rest and relax with a classic: nightmare on elm street. or maybe something else? suspiria, the thing, or evil dead? you browse your collection, and stop at freddy vs. jason. speaking of shitty horror movies and sticking to the freddy theme, you think with a smirk.

you slip the cd into the player. super retro, i know right?

you're popcorn'd out, to say the least, so you skip on making a bowl. your movie is interrupted shortly by the buzzing of your phone. the caller id just lists a phone number in your area. usually, you wouldn't pick these up, but you do it anyways. stupidly.

"hello?" you call out into your phone.

"hello." comes a man's deep voice.

you scratch your head, careful not to chip your manicure. "who is this?"

"who is this?" he mimics you, emphasis on this.

you scoff, already annoyed. probably a prank call. "i asked you first."

"look," he mediates, probably sensing your forming annoyance, "all i have is a question to ask."

"alright..." you say. nothing wrong with that. "shoot."

"what's your favorite scary movie?"

you pretend to contemplate. "hereditary," you say finally. of course it's your favorite. it's had your heart since you first saw it in theaters. anyone who knows you knows not to bring it up if they don't want to hear you go on a tangent about it. "it's the right amount of atmosphere with the right amount of gore."

"isn't that the one where the little girl gets decapitated after slamming into a telephone from sticking her head out of a car window?" the man on the phone drawls, testing you.

"yes!" you practically exclaim. you hope you found another fan. not many other people shared your enthusiasm for the movie as you did.

he hums. "that's an interesting choice. i don't hear it enough. a little depressing, though."

"you mean you call other girls asking them what their favorite horror movie is? that's a new level of game i've never seen before," you tease, abandoning the movie to get up mindlessly and head to the bathroom to put your hair up.

"not just any girl," he says with a chuckle.

"oh?" you say, "so i'm special?"

"you could say that."

you smile, staring back at your reflection. you get it now. "you know, you could've just come inside earlier, nico. no need to put on the act."

"i'm not nico," he corrects you sternly.

you scoff and roll your eyes, putting your device down and switching it to speaker phone so you can multitask. "right," you say, unconvinced.

you sort through your collection of hair clips, picking out the right one — "the one with the strawberry charm, huh? that one's my favorite. 's sweet like you."

you nearly drop the accessory. how the fuck? a shiver shoots up through your spine. your head snaps towards the direction of the bathroom window. searching desperately for an answer, anyone that could've just been watching. but no one's there, of course!

"that's not funny, nico," you snap. you're pretty sure you've worn this hair clip to a study date over at his apartment, right? and he might've even complimented you on it. yeah, you try to convince yourself, he's seen it before.

but that doesn't explain how he knew —

"i told you already," the man on the phone's voice is agitated, "i'm not nico."

"then who the fuck are you?!" you ask in a shrill voice, ready to hang up on this motherfucker. you steadily twist your hair upwards and secure the claw around it, letting your remaining hair fall in a ponytail.

"i'll prove it to you," he tells you as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "check the backyard."

you shockingly decide not to hang up for your sake. you would rather keep a close eye on the situation rather than just let something happen to you. you creep towards the sliding glass doors, gulp, then switch on the light, only to be met with monstrosity.

nico's on his knees; you can hear him whimpering from inside, scrambling for his amputated arm that lies in between him and the sliding door. you open your mouth but you can't scream; the only thing you can feel is a shudder that shakes you to your very core. you feel almost weak in the knees, desperate to keep yourself standing on your two feet. there's blood, so much blood. all the backyard porch, your roommates will be so mad and concerned about what happened? how can you even begin to explain this?

you try to do the only sane thing you can think of: hang up and call the police. the thought of this being one big prank pulled on you crossed your mind, but you were too scared not to act. a beat passes after you pressed that little red button on your phone, and the door bursts open. this time you scream.

in a dark blur, you're pressed roughly against a mirror that frames the wall behind the dining table. a gloved hand wraps around your throat. "you stupid bitch, hanging up on me."

you meet the mask of your captor: the damn mask from that slasher movie stab. you were never particularly fond of the franchise. "lame movie reference," you manage to choke out, and you instantly eat your words. he slaps you across the face and loosens his grip at the same time, watching you fall to your side on the hard ground.

you can barely gather your thoughts — your head is fucking swimming — before he's dragging you by your ankle with a strong grip in the direction of your bedroom. you hate how you slide so easily across the smooth floor. you try your best to break free, to run, wriggling your leg violently to shake him away to no avail. when he's dragged you successfully inside the bedroom he closes it behind you, bends down and manhandles onto lacey's bed.

tears spill down your cheeks. this is it. you're going to die. but he doesn't take out a knife, or any weapon, actually, to fatally harm you with. instead, he's rummaging through the drawers in front of the bed. and then it dawns on you and you sit up. that's the drawer where lacey's —

"ah, found it," the man says triumphantly, turning back towards you, pastel pink vibrator in hand, toying with the ribbon. "what a cute little thing. do you know how many times i've watched you get off to this little device? what a fucking sight you make."

your eyes narrow. "who are you?"

he chuckles, then uses a hand to remove his mask, revealing the face of your robotics professor. him? how is it possible you've managed to capture his attention? when throughout the entire course he's done nothing but ignore you, treating you like you didn't exist. always ignoring your questions. shit, he's the reason why you started going to nico in the first place for help in his class: because nico was like his golden-star-student.

"i don't get it," you say, lip trembling as tears well in your eyes. "why me? what did i do—"

"to captivate me?" he finishes your sentence, turning on the vibrator. you gulp like it's your impending doom. professor raglan kneels onto the bed and you wish you could back up but you only hit the headboard behind you. "well, for starters: you were always so eager for my attention. and it hurt me not to give it to you. couldn't blow my cover, sweetheart."

you still didn't understand, but you didn't have anymore time to contemplate or question him. he was spreading your legs, splitting open a space under your short, pink skirt for him to gain access to the area between your legs. you fumble with the sheets, holding them in a death grip. you definitely ruined your manicure. once your skirt bunches up around your hips, it reveals your panty-less mound. of course. you didn't think to wear anything after your shower because it wasn't like you were going out.

your professor whistles lowly, pupils dilating in desire. it's perverted, the way he puts down the vibe, and grabs your hips upwards so he can get a closer look at your pussy. you throb subconsciously, making him look back up at you with a quirked brow. he leans forward to blow air on you, eyes still steady to gage your reaction. you whimper and wriggle in his grasp, face heating up in embarrassment. "you just have the cutest little cunt," he comments when he pulls away, then sticks his tongue out to lick a stripe up your pussy. "mmm, even sweeter, too. sweeter than the little strawberry in your hair."

"ohh," you coo. you hate to admit how good it feels, but here you were, arching your back in his touch and moaning.

"yeah?" he asks, taking his mouth off of you for a moment. "my baby like it when i eat her dripping pussy?"

you sniffle, not answering. you can't find it within you to be able to. "no? maybe i'll stop and move on then." you want to cry, fuck. a feeling of relief settles back in when he takes the vibrator back in his hand. the low hum grabs your attention — not like you could zone out at a time like this anyways.

when the device meets your needly clit you groan, flex your fingers at the sheets. "oh, fuck," you whisper. his eyes never leave your face, and every time you regrettably look at him, he's breathing heavily, open mouthed, like he just can't get enough of you. so you avoid looking at him, going through stages of keeping your eyes closed or looking up at the ceiling, praying for sweet release to whatever cruel deity is looking upon you getting fucked by this old man.

the vibrations against your clit are a little too good to be true. you can't help but feel like there's a price, one you'll specifically have to pay with his dick inside you. you wonder if it'll be lame like the other guys you've had, but honestly? you could get off to the thought of this situation, and you'll definitely remember this for future masterbation-sake. you're a freak like that.

raglan presses down on your stomach, iliciting a hiss from you through your teeth. "want you to come all over my arms," he tells you, "coat my gloves, you'll make me so happy."

fuck, then you get an idea. the gloves inside of you. you throb once more at the thought. "i-inside," you murmur, hoping he'd get the message.

"huh? what's that, baby?" he asks mockingly, but you know damn well he heard you. please don't make me said it, you think.

you reach down to touch his free hand, guiding it towards your entrance. "want my fingers inside you, hmm? baby needs something inside her to feel satisfied?"

"mhm," you hum with a nod of your head. he slowly slips a gloved finger inside you, the fabric deliciously creating friction that makes you grind on his hand. he looks up at you with a dirty smile, then reaches forward to kiss you as he pumps his fingers in and out of you ever so slowly. it's perfect. the stimulation of the vibrator combined with the feeling of his clothed hand is enough to make you burst.

and you do gracefully. so much that he pecks your cheek, tells you how much of a good girl you are for him, as lewd 'ah's tumble from your lips uncontrollably. you buck against his hand until he pulls is out of you, whining at his removal.

"i know, sweetheart, i know," he sympathizes after you, "daddy's cock's gonna be inside you soon, though. then you'll have something else to play with."

you're already exhausted from your first orgasm, somewhat unsure of how you're going to take the next, but you can hardly think about that now. you're drunk off the atmosphere between you two, nico's amputation is far forgotten. you can't even remember what you were doing before this. your hair is tussled in a way that has your hair clip drooping down the side of your shoulder loosely, but you don't have any energy to fix it. all you can think about is daddy's — wait, when did he become daddy? — cock inside you, and that's all that matters.

raglan begins to grind his bare cock against your entrance, having discarded his black slacks moments ago. he rubs the tip against you, purposefully bumping against your click, drawing out a symphony of noises — babbles along the lines of "please, just put it in, i can't take it anymore" — as your face contorts in a sob and tears fall down your cheeks again.

"my girl is such a crybaby," he chuckles, then slowly guides your hips to slide down on his cock. he fills you up by the inch, making you feel every ridge and vein. the stinging sensation of not being adjusted to his length washes over you in a surprisingly pleasurable wave. "so fucking tight," he gasps. he lets out his respective groans once he's fully sheathed inside of you.

then he starts moving; then things start to get good. you're not fully adjusted to his length, but the way you're leaking around him makes for perfect lube. what's a little pleasure without pain? it could be worse, you could be on the floor writhing in pain with multiple stab wounds, but instead you were being stabbed by his dick inside of you, so you weren't in a position to complain.

raglan leans down so his body is on top of yours, keeps himself steady by planting one hand to the side of your head as he aggressively snaps his hips into yours. you realize, in this moment, just how desperate he's probably been for this. not like you could do much thinking, but the way he was pistoning inside you said enough about how he felt. and god you felt good, clenching and unclenching around him, making the prettiest noises he's ever heard.

one particularly hard thrust has your head swimming, like it did when he slapped you. you want him to slap you again, so you initiate it in the only way you know how; reaching forward to land a weak hit across his face. he stops moving for a second, shocked. then with a swift whack across the face, he's back to thrusting inside of you, even harder this time around. "wanted me to hit you so bad, you could've just asked you dumb little slut," he growls into your ear.

"''m sorry," you have the audacity to giggle, "couldn't tell you."

"yeah? am i fucking you that stupid?" he asks, "'course, i don't expect you to able to answer that."

he flips you over suddenly so you land on your stomach, putting himself back in, fucking you with reckless abandon. the way his cock is hitting your g-spot right now has you plummeting over the edge. you wriggle your hips backwards to help him get off too, which he does right inside of you, filling you up to the brim.

he doesn't pull out. he's waited too damn long for this to do so. he's gonna enjoy a nice, long time inside of you, whether you like it or not. he collapses on his side, pulling you close to him so that he's spooning you. the most important thing to him in that moment, is your half-awake form rising and falling with each breath against him with his cock buried deep inside of you, strawberry charmed hair clip discarded somewhere by the pillows.

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf smut #william afton #steve raglan #william afton x reader #william afton smut #🎀 — diary entry

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frenchfrywrites · 2 years

Text

Lurking and Lusting

MINORS DNI

warnings: dom amab reader, sub Michael Myers, voyeurism, exhibitionism, handjobs, virgin michael, written with '78 mikey in mind

Michael loves lurking around the house.

He stands in doorways of the rooms you hang out in, he watches you through windows and through cracked doors, and even if you close and lock a door you can see his feet under the door frame- giving away how he’s looming outside and waiting for you. He’s like a particularly evasive and aloof cat, except instead of leaving you dead mice you sometimes stumble upon a decapitated head.

You've heightened your senses to pick up on his presence better, first as a way of survival, yet now due to an interest in the large, quiet, distant man.

He really is like a cat, with the way you feed and house him. You'd never call him a roommate considering he doesn’t pay rent like a roommate would. Though you wish he would, because feeding and covering for him should be a bit financially rewarding. You’d broached the topic once and Michael had just stared at you until you’d awkwardly laughed and left it at that, knowing you were getting nowhere (but sometimes you find random people’s wallets on the bedside table. You take the money and forget you saw anything).

A lot of “conversations” end like that, with him staring at you, like maybe you’re stupid for getting this comfortable with a killer in your home. Maybe you are, because you are getting really comfortable with a killer in your home.

You’ve gotten him to sit with you- instead of him standing for sometimes hours- more and more, every once in a while you hear him grunt when you talk to- or rather, at- him, and you know he’s getting comfortable with you too. So comfortable that he likes to stand outside the door and watch when you masturbate.

You don't mind it, obviously, otherwise you would've told him off, but it is a bit disappointing. He never enters, nor does anything to make himself known to you. The tension grows between the two of you as you continue to touch yourself to the thought of him, and he continues to watch.

It occurs to you one night, laying on your back propped against your pillows with your lubed hand fisting your cock, that maybe Mikey- he’d kill you (maybe actually, really kill you) if you called him that to his face- is waiting for permission. It wouldn’t be the first time that his lack of communication has led to you needing to call all the shots in your arrangement.

You've called out his name before, of course to no answer, but tonight you try again.

"Michael," you groan, and of course, no answer. "You can, ah, come in," it's worth a try, but you doubt he'll make any moves.

You squeeze your dick in shock as the door creaks open. The light from the window illuminates his mask, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but you think you can see how he eyes you up hungrily. It makes a shiver go down your back, and your cock twitches in your hand.

He steps forward just enough to close the door behind him, and stares at you, just watching. You slow down your pace, staring back at him. The two of you look at each other for a moment, the slick sound of the lube and heavy breathing being the only noises in the room.

“You can take a closer look,” you finally suggest playfully, quickly adding, “if you want.” Michael shifts from one heavy boot-clad foot to another, then steps closer.

He stands, tall and stiff, at the edge of your bed. His thighs touch the bed but he makes no move to get onto it. With him hovering over you like this, watching you so intently, you briefly wonder if maybe this isn’t a good idea.

Michael's hands are empty, but there’s no saying that he couldn’t have a knife in his pocket. He might just be waiting for the very last second to stab you to death- killing you for your hubris and sinful nature- as he’s done to so many before you. Strangely enough, the thought of that doesn’t make you any less turned on. In fact, you think, if it’s even possible, maybe more blood rushed down to your cock at the idea of him straddling you with a knife.

Despite your grim fantasies, you can tell Michael is at least a little interested in the scene before him. With him so close to you, you can easily see how his coveralls are tented by his erection. And if he hasn’t killed you yet, maybe he never will.

“Do-” Michael, who’s been staring at your dick, watching you stroke yourself, snaps his head up to look at your face at the sound of your voice. “Do you want to touch me?” you ask carefully, knowing that you look as flustered as you feel. Michael waits for a moment and you can’t tell if he’s really thinking about your question or just teasing you. Then he nods.

You let out a breath you didn’t know that you were holding, spreading your legs. “Come sit,” Michael follows orders surprisingly well (and you wonder if it’s just because it’s you who’s doing the ordering), getting between your legs slowly.

As soon as you remove your hand Michael goes to touch your cock, “wait-” he pauses, looking up at you expectantly. You grab the lube, pouring some onto his hand. Michael flexes it, grunting softly at the feel of it coating his fingers and palm.

“Do you ever touch yourself, Michael?” you ask as he wraps his hand around you. He nods, slowly jerking you off in a similar fashion to how you were stroking yourself not minutes ago. You fist your hands into the bed sheets, trying to ground yourself as Michael Myers, the shape that’s been haunting Haddonfield for years, strokes your cock.

“Do you- yeah, just like that- do you touch yourself when you watch me?” Michael nods again, staring at your cock as he plays with the tip of it in a way that could best be described as curious.

You let him mess around with you for a bit, let him get used to touching another person, let him learn what you like and don’t like, before you start talking again.

“Can I- ah- touch you?” Michael freezes, slowly looking up at you. “I wouldn’t touch the mask, promise,” he seems relieved hearing that, so he continues jerking you off and nods. You slowly start unzipping his coveralls, revealing the black t-shirt he has on underneath. Getting it opened up a bit more you slip your hands under his shirt and run your hands along his chest, feeling him up and not missing the way his breath hitches as your fingers come in contact with his nipples.

You’re starting to get a little fuzzy headed as he continues stroking you, like your climax is steadily approaching. You don’t want him to stop touching you, but you also want this to last for as long as possible.

“Michael,” he looks up at you, squeezing your dick at the sound of his name falling from your lips. “I want to see you with your clothes off,” you tell him honestly. He seems to consider this for a moment, and then he’s removing his hand from you backing up off of you. He gets off the bed, and you’re a bit scared for a second that you may have scared him away. Those thoughts dissipate when he starts to undress for you.

You’re salivating by the time he’s naked. Of course the mask is still on, you would have been shocked if he took it off. His body is littered in scars, fresh and old, and they remind you of who he is and what he's done. You brush off the reminder that he's a murderer easily, so easily it should be beyond concerning. Instead of worrying about all that you let your eyes wander more. Seeing his pretty pink nipples makes you want to suck on his chest and kiss your way down his happy trail to his cock.

Speaking of his dick, he's uncut and currently so hard and red it looks like it hurts. You coo softly and pat your lap, “c’mere baby,” with him undressed you can see the way the pet name makes his chest flush.

He plops himself down in your lap like he’s meant to be there. His thick thighs, which are stationed at either side of you, have you drooling. You have to hold his hand to stop him from touching you again. Michael cutely cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“Can I touch you more?” you ask, adjusting so your dicks are touching one another. Michael nods quickly, like he’s eager for it. You hum, quickly lubing up your hand again, and then slowly you wrap your hand around both his and your dick.

Though it’s muffled by the mask, you can hear Michael gasp at the feeling of your hand on his skin. He makes a noise that’s somewhere between a whine and a grunt, squeezing your hand that’s been holding his, hard. You get the message he’s trying to send, and begin stroking the two of you off.

“Has anyone touched you like- nngh- this?” you ask, picking up the pace, because you don’t think either of you will last long. Michael shakes his head no, jerking his hips against yours. His breathing is heavy behind the mask, and every so often you hear a quiet moan or whimper come from him. You feel yourself throb at the fact that Michael is a virgin.

“I wanna- ah- I wanna make you cum Michael,” you tell him, leaning in to kiss his now sweaty chest. Michael arches slightly into your kisses, starved for any touches you give him. “Been such a good boy waiting for permission,” you murmur against his chest. You notice the way his breath hitches when you call him a good boy. Michael’s cock is leaking pre, and with the way he’s jerking into your hand, frotting his dick against yours, you can tell he’s close.

“Cum for me baby boy, cum- oh,” it catches you off guard, because he’s so quiet, but just like that he’s cumming. He again squeezes your hand- and for a brief moment you worry he’s going to break it. He shakes and twitches atop of you, cum shooting from him and dirtying your hand and his chest. You watch spurt after spurt shoot out, and come to the realization that though he may touch himself when watching you, he’s been pent up for a while now.

“Good boy, fuck lookit you,” you groan, feeling your orgasm quickly approaching. You up your pace, working him through his climax while you bring yourself closer with each second. “Michael,” you cum with his name on your lips, as you have so many times before. The difference being that he’s right here with you and not 15ft away, watching through a crack.

You’re still catching your breath when Michael leans his entire weight on you, painfully smushing his plastic mask into your skin. You make a noise of discomfort, but he’s too far gone to do anything.

Once you regain your strength you carefully ease him off of you, and help him get comfortable in the bed next to you. You’re about to go grab a washcloth and a glass of water, but Michael's hand, rough and steady (and a bit moist with lube) around your arm stops you. “I’ll be right back,” you smile, “I promise. Just lay back, I’ll get you cleaned up, baby.”

Michael blinks a few times, still holding you tight in his grip, before letting you go. You fulfill your promise, returning with the items necessary for a decent aftercare.

He’s observing your every move, like if you make a wrong one it’s over for you. Despite his watchful gaze you clean yourself and him up, then offer the glass of water to him. Michael shakes his head and you shrug before gulping it down. Then, you make yourself comfortable in the bed next to him, pulling up the covers.

Though it feels entirely awkward you press a kiss to the cheek of the plastic mask, wrapping an arm around Michael. He snorts, likely amused by your attempt at affection.

“I’m glad you came in this time,” you tell him honestly, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “I’m gonna want to touch you a whole lot more, is that okay? Would you want that?” Michael is nodding before you even fully get the question out. You laugh, delighted by the strange, spontaneous, and exciting turn of events that occurred tonight.

“Okay, we can… talk more in the morning,” you yawn, the adrenaline from getting off with the Michael Myers finally wearing you down.

You turn off your light and pull him a little closer, smiling to yourself when you feel him cuddle up to you. The mask pressed against you is uncomfortable, but you don’t mind it if it means Michael is close to you.

“Goodnight,” you mumble, and receive a hum from him that you could get very used to hearing.

#spice #slashers #sub michael myers #cw exhibitionism #cw voyeurism #idk if this is an au or not lmao #i have a bunch of fics to post but im starting w this one bc im the most excited abt it

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