"It's About Damn Time." Freddy Kreuger X AFAB! Reader.
So shit has been rough as I said. I’ve been doing nothing but commissions for over a month and while it has been great I think I really needed to take a moment and do something truly for me. Something utterly self indulgent and really just all mine. This is a reader insert but it is also so very much for me/any other Freddy writer. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it. I’ve wanted to write out this fic for a long while and feel better for it.
Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.3K. Freddy Krueger X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Meta. Teasing. Mocking. Degradation. Vaginal Fingering. Knife Play. Blood Play. Praise. Dirty Talk. Mentions Of Masturbation. Use Of Good Girl. Edging. Denial.
“He was an asshole. Unrelenting and cruel as he breathed into your ear, gloved hand between your spread thighs, cool blades resting on either side of the soaked and overheated lips of your cunt, pads of his fingers circling over her throbbing and straining clit. You writhed under him, begging for him to, “-speed up, please!”
And all he did was laugh in response, tongue flicking out to lick up over your throat, his weight felt oppressively heavy on top of you. “Awe, now where is the fun in giving you everything you want right away?”
He was a total fucking son of a bitch-”
I sat back with a sigh. Stretching my arms above my head and rolling my neck. I looked over what I had so far. A couple of thousand words deep and just getting into the smut of this new fic. It was good, his characterization was on point, the set up and kinks were right, it was all hot, plus there were some great twists to come. But it was getting late, right? Tiredness was starting to overtake me. I glance to the bottom right corner of my laptop screen to catch a peek at the time as I reach for my water bottle, not even ten o’clock. What the fuck? I am off tomorrow. No way can I go to bed yet! There is so much more I can do.
The credits are rolling on the movie I had just watched. I needed something new, something that would keep the energy up. I pick up the controller and I flip through the section of comedies till a niche’ movie from the mid 90s catches my eye, something on my watch list I haven’t seen with an actor or two I loved, perfect.
I put it on and sit back, curling closer into the pillows at my side, snatching up my phone to check my socials quickly before diving back in.
My eyelids sagged and I shook my head so hard my ponytail tickled the back of my neck and I took a deep breath. My phone dropped to my side and my hands came up, pressing to the sides of my head and I tried to will myself to stay awake.
I opened my eyes after a moment and tried to focus on Mathew Lilliard on screen. My hands instinctively rest back in their home position on my laptop’s keyboard, my eyes flick between the two screens as I think about the next part that I want to write out.
I didn’t know until I felt him.
Until there was icy steel and buttery smooth leather curling around my throat, the smell of smoke and whisky, spice and heat, a smell I have only ever dreamt of-
I feel the warmth on my back, the presence of him is so clear, I don’t move a single muscle, I am so tense. I hear him finally as I feel his warm breath fan over the side of my face, “Been a long time comin’ hasn’t it?”
My breath catches, eyes so wide that it hurts, it can’t be. There is no way, it’s not true, no way, he never visited me. As much as I longed and cried and dripped and begged he never came. But I felt him. I heard him. I knew that voice almost better than I knew my own.
My hands raised off the keyboard, slowly, they came back and I hesitated for a moment before one hand touched down, and what it feels makes me nearly jump. Cold metal. I touch, I feel, fingers explore nervously and experimentally and I hear him chuckle. “Yeahhh, hard to believe isn’t it? S’ okay. Take your time, you’ve already waited this long, what’s a little more?”
It was him.
It was really and truly him.
“That’s right, it is me.” He sing-songed out and I gasped as his glove tightened on my throat. Oh God, he can read my thoughts, he knows what I just was thinking about, fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s real, this is real, HE is real.
“Holy shit-” I breathed and he laughed again, I could feel the rumble of it on my back and he teased, “I know, I know, too good to be true.”
His fucking voice. The way he practically purred that in my ear. His non-gloved hand was on me then. It found my knee, I jerked slightly in surprise and he tsk’d, “You jumped more from me touchin’ your knee than this?-”
He moved his glove, the blades clicked, they tapped lightly on my throat and I swallowed hard before he rested it back against me. “-You’re so fucking funny.”
I am glad he thinks I’m hilarious. But he does make a good point. He’s been here .5 seconds and his glove on my throat was shockingly welcome. Was I really this invested, this willing?
His non-gloved hand didn’t stop there, dragged up, dipping down, cupping my inner thigh, I feel extremely distracted. What was he going to do with me? His chin rested on my shoulder as he leaned forward. “Whatcha working on?”
My eyes darted up from where his hand was and to my laptop screen and it came rushing back, the massive fic commission I had been working on. It was a really intense piece about the very man who was curled so close to me that was loaded with kinks. Fingering, knife and blood play, spitting and spanking, extremely rough and degrading with a healthy dose of praise too, the makings of a truly great and depraved bit of smut.
I usually never felt embarrassed. I was an extremely unashamed person, certainly not over my writing or overt sexuality but to have him, the subject of a few hundred thousands of words of porn I had written is a little different. My hands reached out to close my laptop as I said, “Oh no, it’s uh, it’s nothing-”
But my hands didn’t make it very far. I felt something grip my wrists, something I could not see but was there all the same and that some strange and invisible force prevented me from moving my hands from the task I wanted them to accomplish.
His non-gloved hand moved off of me, reached out, his fingers touched the track pad and he scrolled up the nearly five thousand words I read written out so far, pages and pages flying by my gaze and surely his too. “Sure doesn’t look like nothing to me.”
I bit my tongue, I could feel myself sweating, my fists did the only thing they could and clenched, still frozen in mid-air in front of me.
“Looks like you’re writing somethin’.” He hummed. “Wonder what or who-” He breathed that last word right in my ear and I fought back a shiver. “-it could be about.”
He knew. He totally had to fucking know about me, about all the shit I have done and written about him. What did he think about that? Did he like it? Was he flattered? Did he think I was some perverted and obsessed fucking creep?
“Are you gonna read an excerpt or should I?” He asked and my heart practically stopped in my chest. Could I do that? I have read my smut aloud many a time but to the subject it is about? To the monster and dream demon himself who I wasn’t even aware was really real until two minutes ago?
“I-I uhm, I don’t know-” I stammered and he leaned on me, his head resting on me, his cheek resting on mine, I felt the blazing hot and rough skin. I did shiver this time even in spite of the heat he was giving off. “This is a lot for you to handle, s’ okay. I got a gooood compromise.”
He reached the top of the page and scrolled a little before finding a good place, “Ah here we go.”
He cleared his throat and started to speak. “The way he spoke worsened your need significantly, you were leaking, could feel yourself soaking the thin and barely there lace you wore-”
I was going to die. I was squirming and he pulled me closer still as he continued to read, narrating the filth I had laid out, but the worst thing, something I never would have expected. Something that was even worse than what I was initially anticipating, he wasn’t reading it in his all too arousing voice.
He was doing a pitch perfect impression of my voice, reading out my own smut all about him. Hearing my voice coming from him, saying all those things the way I would, the inflections, the patter of it.
It was one of the most flustering things I had ever heard. It was so awful, so mocking, so much to take.
He paused his recitation of my work to ask, in his own voice again, “Oh can the smut peddler supreme not take what she dishes out?”
Bastard, he is a total bastard. The worst.of the worst-
“Real original thought there sweetheart.” He hummed. Ah yes that’s right. He can hear my thoughts. Fuck.
His hand lifted and with a small gesture my hands still bound by whatever he was doing slammed down onto the table in front of me, resting right in front of my laptop. The force hurt, I made a small pained sound and he said, “You should be much more grateful to me. You’ve been wanting me to come by for how long now?”
The silence hung in the air. He expected an answer. One of the blades of his glove tapped impatiently on my throat, “Well?”
I rushed to respond. “Years. Over ten years, closer to uh twelve-”
“Such a long time.” He sighed. “You’ve been so patient too. Other than the whining and begging of course.”
He heard all of that?
“Don’t even know how many times you’ve cum over me. It’s sweet how devoted you are.” He praised me and I nearly melted against him. “Really?”
I breathed and he hummed, a small nod, his face almost nuzzling mine in a manner that was undeniable and impossible to read as anything but affectionate. “Yeah, real sweet. In a pathetic slutty kinda way.”
His voice dripped venom and sickeningly sweet condensation and I felt myself throb over it. I wanted to press my thighs together but his ankles had hooked in mine, keeping my legs spread for him. “Freddy…”
“Ooh hearing you say my name in person like this, it’s good. I think I need to hear it some more.” His glove moved, dragging down, cool metal teased through thin fabric and I tried to arch away when it reached its destination between my legs.
His glove moved, one blade sliced open the seam of the plaid pyjama pants I was wearing. I made a sound of protest and he laughed. “I love a little fight but c’mon, don’t pretend like you haven’t creamed your fuckin’ panties over the thought of this shit.”
“Wha-what are you gonna do with me?” I asked, equal amounts arousal and fear sitting heavy in my chest and stomach.
His mouth moved, lips dragged until they reached my ear, a graze of his teeth before he told me, “Gonna make all your dreams come true.”
Did I die and go to heaven?
He cut open my pants, one blade split the damp crotch of my panties, his non-gloved hand was between my legs, he had wasted no time. I didn’t need much warm up. I was embarrassingly wet and ready.
Glove was gripping the bottom of my jaw, my mouth was open, I was panting, my eyes were half lidded and my head had tipped back, resting against his shoulder. I could see his face like this, looking at him was hard, got me too hot but I can’t look away. He is really here. He is really touching me. My A Nightmare on Elm Street hoodie I loved to wear was open, off of one of my shoulders, barely clinging to me, just like my shirt he had also slashed open. I hadn’t worn a bra, my chest was heaving, tits out and on display. I felt obscene with my chest and cunt out in the open, exposed from how he ruined my clothing. Felt even more obscene with the wet squelching sound of him fingering me.
He had two fingers buried in my clenching hole, his rough palm was grinding against my sensitive clit and I was unable to stop the litany of sounds that spilled from my lips from the pleasure he gave me. It felt better than I could have ever conceived or dreamt of.
I looked forward, my laptop had gone into sleep mode, the screen black, allowing me to see the reflection of him and myself. Us tangled up and what he was doing to me. I looked wrecked like this. I looked dirty and honestly, perfect. Beautiful. Correct. Like I should.
The feeling was all consuming, the situation and mental stimulation too was adding to all this, the build up was accumulating so fast, it wouldn’t take long. Not like it usually did but this was ridiculous, might be a new record for me.
“Surprisingly tight for such a whore.” A harder thrust of his fingers, another delicious grind before he curled his fingers just so, I clenched hard around him and gasped. “Ahhn! Freddy!”
“Yeah, let it all out.” He prompted and I moaned again, louder. The edge was coming up fast, climbing up, up, up and my mind flashes to all those stories I wrote. He has seen, he has watched, he knows me. Which means he knows what I like.
I beg, it leaves me so quickly, frantic as I pant out, “Fr-Freddy I-ah! M’ close, shit, please! Please, please don’t stop, don’t stop-”
He laughed and my eyes squeezed shut, a shaky inhale, no, please, I need this. After everything that has happened lately, all the hardship, how much life has dumped on my plate, I need some good. I need some relief, what I need is to fucking cum.
I don’t stop begging, it becomes more and more broken the closer to the edge I get, the stronger the pleasure, the more out of breath I get, my sentence becomes an incoherent mess as a result. The only words that can be made out are, “-Freddy-” and “-Please-” and “-Close-” interspersed with moans and whines. Attempts to further beg him to not stop are lost in translation.
And then I am right there. On the razor’s edge of oblivion, about to tip over, so close and I suck in a deep breath, expecting him to pull away, to edge me so harshly I nearly ruin.
I am ready for it.
For a night of awful and painful denial where there is a good chance I might not cum and if I have any hope I will need to debase myself terribly and do God knows what to satiate him and earn his favour. If I am good, if I listen and do all he asks than just maybe I might be able to cu-
And then something truly shocking.
He didn’t stop.
He didn’t edge me or deny me.
His fingers didn’t slow, didn’t break stride, the pressure and pace kept the same perfect rhythm.
He kissed my neck too, his tongue licked up my pulse point and I throbbed, my legs trembled, back arching and his glove gripped harder on my jaw to help keep me as close as possible to him. The blades broke the skin, blood dripped down into his palm, the shock of pain is what did it, what made me break apart in his hands and finally spill over and cum. Tears well up involuntarily, overwhelmed by pleasure and pain both as I bleed and orgasm. I gush and leak around his fingers both above and below. He managed to keep curling his fingers in and out of my spasming cunt as I rode out the waves of my climax, panting out his name over and over until I felt I had no more breath left.
Every ounce of ecstasy dragged out through the dripping slit between my legs he slowed and eventually, finally, stopped, just when overstimulation was setting in and I had begun to whimper and squirm.
I fell slack against him.
I had no words, I was in shock, my mind was blissfully blank. More so than it had been in weeks.
My eyes open to look up and see him sucking on the fingers that had just been inside of me.
Finally one word entered my mind, one question, I asked, “Why?”
He looked down at me. He pulled his fingers out, I could see my slick and his spit on his fingers and my lips shining in the low light of the basement.
“You’ve been having a hard time. Seems like you needed it.”
Oh my God. I must have looked shocked, he laughed, a shake of his head, “Yeah, uncharacteristically nice of me ain’t it?”
I nodded with a short laugh of my own, “Yeah to say the least.”
“More people think and talk about me the better and you’ve really done a lot for me there.” He admitted and I grinned. My gross little porn writings helped with his power? Helped give him more attention and benefited him? I preened under his praise upon hearing that.
“So I earned it?” I asked and he nodded, “Mmhmm. Felt like you deserved it. And I dunno why I waited so long, you are real fuckin’ fun.”
Fun. He likes me and I’m fun. This is amazing.
“Hope you keep writing so I can come back real soon.” He dragged his fingers over my lips and I tasted myself lingering there. Is that what it took? I write and he comes and then I get to come? Fuck, I can do that.
“Maybe next time if you beg hard enough we can have some real fun.” He teased, a forward push of his hips, reminding me of his hard cock that had been pressing into my ass the entire time he had been finger fucking me stupid. Oh God did I want that.
“Till then kitten. Be a good girl for ol Freddy.” And his non-gloved hand came down hard, a solid slap to my soaked cunt, perfectly placed to hit me from hole to clit and the burst of pain to my oversensitive pussy made me jolt awake. I sat up with a gasp, eyes wide, the movie had been paused, my laptop screen was black and I was still in my basement.
I sat back, taking a deep breath, a dream, just a very, very fucking vivid dream. My hand went to my chest to help steady my heart and my palm touched bare skin. I looked down, tossing aside my throw blanket. I was half naked. Shirt split open, hoodie barely on, pyjama pants and panties ruined, very clear wet spot made on my couch and my legs were still slightly shaking and I was dripping wet. My hand touched my jaw gently, it stung, I pulled my hand away, looking down, my fingers were stained scarlet with tacky blood.
Was it real? Was he real?
No way I did this to myself in my sleep.
I reached out and my fingers brushed the track pad to check the time. I had been asleep for around a half hour since I last checked the time. It was then my eyes moved to the doc I had been writing in, wondering if I should keep on writing or call it a night and I see a new sentence I hadn’t written.
“Do me proud. -F.K.”
A grin broke out on my face. I snatched some tissues and wiped my face and neck, crumbling it and tossing the bloodied ball of paper aside. I rolled my shoulders and my hands went back to my keyboard with one clear thought on my mind. I breathed it out as my hands began to type again, fully inspired and reinvigorated. “You’re on.”