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toxicanonymity · 11 months

Note

that scream blurb that you posting about Ghostface being unconscious and the reader testing to see if he’s hard…. you have to make the full fic now pleaseee omg it was so good

Every inch

1.4k / m!ghostface x f!reader / from blurb.

SEQUEL: EVERY INCH 2 🔪 THREEQUEL: 3

Slasher master list

Warnings/notes: I8+ noncon (ghostface unconscious) somnophilia. Based on the car scene from Scream II, but it's modern day (cell phones exist). You can HC this as anyone but he's night walks coded if you read my other stuff.

Your skirt grazes his robe as you carefully stretch your right leg over the driver’s seat, trying not to touch him, trying not to wake him up. It’s tricky crawling over Ghostface to get out of the car. He smells faintly of weed and sweat. You’ve never been close enough to smell him before. You’ve never been close to him at all for more than a few seconds, always with his knife in hand. You hear him breathing behind the mask and assume he’s knocked out from the impact of the crash, but can't know for sure.

He could be pretending for his own amusement, planning to taunt you then stab you at any moment. You’re going to have to open that car door sooner or later - it’s the only one left you haven’t tried. It'll definitely make a noise. You hover there straddling him, delaying the inevitable. Straddling Ghostface, you think to yourself. Is this a nightmare?

You slowly lower yourself into his lap, throbbing at the possibilities of what might await you. Your heart pounds in your chest. You put your hands on the edge of the seat to pull your body closer and your heart nearly stops as your inner thigh softly nudges his hand. But he doesn’t wake up – or if he does, he doesn’t show it. Emboldened, you lower yourself a little more until your damp panties arrive at a warm bulge in his robe and your breath hitches. He’s only somewhat hard, but obviously packing. He still doesn’t move. His chest is rising and falling with his breaths. You know he’s alive. Unable to resist, you lower yourself a little more. You tilt your hips and gently grind yourself against his package.

What if the nightmare became a wet dream? It’s always turned you on, at least a little, but especially lately. It’s been harder and harder to separate arousal from fear. You’ve wondered if it was a sexual thing for him, the way he pursues you. Stabbing is penetrative after all. Does the thought of killing you turn him on? Would it turn him on to wake up to you straddling him? After all, he’s only a man. Why not, you think. This could be your best chance to find out. This might be the most power you’ll ever have in the situation. You’re turned on thinking about it. If you’re mere seconds from potential death, you have nothing to lose. Plus you're curious what's under all this, and it's too risky to lift up his mask.

Fuck it feels good, and the fact that it’s Ghostface, the one who’s been stalking you, killing your friends, trying to kill you - that gives you such a rush. The tables have turned. You’re on top of him now. You look around for his knife and it’s landed on the floorboard along with his voice changer. You reach down to grab it then quickly stab it into the back of the driver’s seat at an angle so you can grab it if you need to but he won’t know where it is. Then you return your crotch to his and a bolt of arousal slices through you when his hard package swells against you. Holy shit he's hung. You slowly roll your hips against him, grinding into him, trying not to be too aggressive, but it’s hard to control yourself.

His breathing changes and your heart jumps to your throat. You wonder, Is Ghostface seduceable? It might be your best shot if you're already getting his dick wet when he wakes up. But there's always the chance he reacts violently, and now that you're up against him, it's clear you'd be no match for his strength.

Then you have a thought. You carefully lift his gloved hand, and he doesn’t react. You lift the dead weight of his heavy arm all the way above his mask, and he still just sits there, breathing. You pin both his hands above his head, between the metal pegs of the headrest. His hands are large and the two of them together barely fit through the gap. Then you slam down the headrest, pinning him there by his wrists.

His mask moves. He seems to look at you. Then a soft, low sigh. You lower your crotch again and he’s harder. You rub yourself against him slowly with your hands braced on the seat and have to stifle a moan in the shoulder of your dress as you grind against him and his cock swells even harder. A soft groan muffled by his mask makes you wetter.

You’re going to have to have him. This is your chance and you can’t resist it. Your inner thigh muscles begin to fatigue as you push yourself off his lap to hover again. You lift up his robe, exposing PJ pants. Strange and not at all imposing, but convenient. You arrange the robe behind his raging erection, then take a deep breath and pull down his waistband. His stiff member stands at attention. You cover it with your warmth before the cool air wakes him up. A stab of desire shoots through your core as your wet panties meet his hard cock. You rub yourself against him and your clit throbs. Your core aches to be filled.

You pull your panties to the side and nestle the swollen head of his cock at your entrance. Then you sink down and fail to suppress your gasp at the stretch. He moans but doesn’t move. Your body makes way for him as you slide down and sheathe him entirely with your cunt. His cock is nice and thick, it makes you feel so full. It’s crazy this cock has been under the robe the entire time. You wonder if you could just fuck from now on. If he’d agree not to kill you - that is, if the threat of it doesn't turn him on.

You rise up, then sink down on him again, his size making you grateful for your ample wetness. You lift and lower yourself and roll your hips into him. You try not to breathe too heavily as you feel it building in your lower belly. You start to ride him less restrained, unable to resist fucking yourself on his nice, hard cock.

His mask begins to move as though confused, and he grunts as he tugs at his arms, unable to free them from the headrest. He’s groggy and weak. You’re not going to stop. You're too close to coming. You greedily keep filling yourself to the brim with him.

His mask looks right at you. “Always wanted this cock,” ghostface says weakly, making your heart race. “Knew it.” Then it echoes from the voice changer on the floorboard. Always wanted this cock. Knew it. He tugs at his hands more violently, then gives up.

“Nasty girl,” he says, voice getting stronger. Nasty Girl.

He thrusts his hips up powerfully and you moan uninhibited. He thrashes his arms and stabs upward with his cock, bouncing you on his lap with the power of his hips. Your whole body tingles and tenses, then you bite your own arm as your walls clamp down around him. You come on his dick, then pull yourself off and he groans in frustration but has no way of getting you back.

You open the car door and you’re torn about whether to make him come or leave him with blue balls. You decide to jerk him off as a power move. You kneel into the open door frame of the car. You wrap your hand around his girth and fuck his fist. “All ya had to do was ask,” he says. All you had to do was ask. You grab the voice changer and throw it down the street. Now he's nothing but a man with his dick in your hand.

“Woulda given you every inch," he says. Maybe every inch of his blade. He nods down to his crotch. "Now you know." His voice is coming back to full strength, smooth and low. It's a voice you can't quite place.

You know you should stab him while you have him tied down, but you're thinking with the wrong head now, unable to bear the thought of this cock going to waste. You slow your hand way down and edge him mercilessly. His big, stiff cock twitches in your hand and you can tell he's dying for more.

You take your phone out of your bra and take a short video of him trying not to whimper, dick sprouting out of his unimposing pajama pants. Then you finish him off and take a dick pic selfie with cum all over his robe. You take the knife out of the back of the seat and leave him stuck in the car.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Even if you're reading this way later I would love to know your thoughts in a comment! Knowing what you liked helps me write more. 🖤🖤

Thanks @darkscape for helping me brainstorm his tagline.

#ghostface x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface x you #slasher smut #slasher fanfiction #cw noncon #tw noncon #cw somnophilia #night walks #ghostface #slasher fucker #billy loomis x reader #ethan landry x reader #toxicanonymity ☠️#mickey altieri #dark fic #ghostface ☠️

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4doll · 1 year

Text

Dating Stu Macher Headcanons

sfw

❤︎︎ cuddle naps after school

❤︎︎ loves to watch you put on makeup (if you do) and with enough convincing he lets you put some on him. you’re sitting in his lap while you do your makeup routine on his face, after you’re done and he looks in the mirror he’s praises your work and keeps talking about how good he looks with makeup on. eventually letting you do it often

❤︎︎ so many horror movie dates, either to watch movies at home or watch the new horror movie in theaters and talk about it for hours while eating fast food. he’ll call up billy and beg him to come over. the rare times billy does give in, you all theorize and rant about the movie for hours eventually all falling asleep

❤︎︎ matching clothes. idc what you say this man would just beg to match clothes. same with pajamas. you both wear matching pajamas during horror movie date nights.

❤︎︎ also matching halloween costumes. he would go absolutely crazy over matching halloween costumes, looking for hours for perfect ones.

❤︎︎ loves when you would sit in his lap and just watch tv or read. he loves to feel your warmth and touch. so his hands are constantly on you, not in a prevy way but in a comforting way. like holding hands, hands on your waist or stomach, etc. he comforts him to know that you’re there with him.

︎❤︎︎ always eavesdrops in your conversations with your friends in person and on the phone. he loves to hear the gossip, you eventually notice his eavesdropping and just decide to let him in on all the gossip all the time. during when you’re tell him all the gossip his reactions are: *gasps loudly* *mouth drops* “what?!” *makes the most confused face* “you’re kidding?!”

❤︎︎ gets jealous super easy. causing him to mark you with hickeys, gifts he got you (ex: a necklace with his initials) and would always have his hands on you in public. hands on your waist, arm around your shoulder, hand holding, etc etc.

❤︎︎ getting high and then going on dates. first time he asked if you would do it or not you questioned why and his reasoning being it would be funny and fun. and it was. you both were at a park at night laughing at the most unfunniest thing ever. it was a fun experience so you both kept doing it time to time.

❤︎︎ he would show you songs that reminded him of you(which was a lot), so he decided to make a mix tape, and give it to you on your anniversary. so every anniversary just before he makes mixtapes of songs that remind him of you and your favorite songs.

︎❤︎︎ time to time. you, stu and billy get high and order lots of fast food and just talk. mostly about horror movies or gossip, or just laughing together about memories or just laughing at nothing.

nsfw

❤︎︎ getting high and it eventually leading to sex no matter where you both are. stu loves to have high sex with you because it feels so good to him, and every sensation is maxed out and feels euphoric. so he cums fast💀

❤︎︎ praises tf out of you and your body in and out of bed.

❤︎︎ making eye contact with him during sex turns him on a lot weirdly. especially when you’re too fucked out to even form a sentence and you make eye contact with him, the ruined makeup, tears from overstimulation, put it all together. cums on the spot

❤︎︎ whiny when he cums. begging for you and calling out your name in a whiny voice, begging for more.

❤︎︎ making out while fucking no matter what position >>> he loves that shit. he thinks making out is so romantic and doing that while fucking makes him giggly

❤︎︎ while you ride him he praises your body. verbally and physically. groping and leaving hickeys and kisses on your chest, neck, stomach. “God your body is perfect, how did I end up with someone so perfect?” He whispers into your skin while you moan out his name.

❤︎︎ he absolutely loves to do aftercare. whispering even more praises into your ear while he cleans you up, telling you how good you did and how beautiful you looked. he loves seeing your reaction and just loves making you feel good after sex.

taglist: @strawbearyyyyysblog @starboashee @gr4veyardg1rl @hoizerslvrr

a/n: sorry the nsfw headcanons are so sort and the sfw headcanons are longer. very touched starved rn and wanted more sfw, sorry abt that. also having major soft/fluff stu brainrot <3

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6lostgirl6 · 10 months

Text

A Night To Dismember

Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem!Reader

TW: Detailed Gore, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Sexual Assault [Not by Michael], Slightly Possessive Michael, Protective Michael, Mature Audience only!

A/N: Requested by my bestie @prettywhenibleed! I really hope you enjoy this and it was an absolute pleasure to write this for you!! Love you, my favorite slasher whore! ❤️ This isn't my best work, I'm afraid, forgive me.

The Smith's Grove Sanitarium operated according to a schedule that was consistently set in motion without interruption. No authorized doctor employed by the sanitarium, however, would have foreseen this. Medical specialists thought they were completely familiar with Michael Myers' behavior. He was docile and kept to himself, despite being the most dangerous and threatening patient in the hospital.

But if you left him alone, there was a chance he would treat you in a similar fashion. The sole exception would be if touching his masks or otherwise bothered him. Even being among other patients was something he never enjoyed.

You were a new patient, recently exiled from society and your family because of your dreadful infatuation with fire and burning objects of interest. Your arrival left the building in absolute shock. On your first day, you were assigned to the recreation room. When you entered the room, your initial instinct was to walk over to the largest and most dangerous man within the sanatorium while grinning brightly. You only watched him work on a paper mache mask while standing over his hunched figure in the corner of the room, his hospital-approved supplies scattered along the table.

You thought the colors were stunning, which you happily expressed.

As a precaution against Michael harming you, guards stood by the recreation room's entrance wielding batons. Michael, on the other hand, did the exact opposite, giving you a cursory glance before grunting and slackly pointing for you to sit next to him.

It was like you and Michael had your own timetable inside the sanitarium, and this went on for the next few months without fail. As directed by his psychiatrist, Michael was permitted to create his masks in the recreation area in the mornings. You would follow not far behind and take your normal seat beside him at a table chosen at random, apart from the other patients. You would merely watch him create his masks and ramble about whatever was on your mind. Michael never responded to the conversation, but that didn't stop you from talking to him because he had his own style of doing so without words. You have grown accustomed to deciphering his thoughts from his basic grunts and gestures.

"Hey, Mikey." You said with a smile, taking a seat at your usual spot next to Michael's side, placing your tray of food onto the table.

Michael was in the middle of placing wet paper mache on the face mold for his mask, his fingers caked in colors of paint and residue from the paper mache. He paused for a moment, giving you a small grunt as acknowledgement before returning to his activity.

You smiled more, chuckling at his usual ways of communicating as you watched him craft. You've always been interested in his masks and the variety of patterns he would use for each one. Many of his masks had their own unique qualities. However, you knew to only look, not touch.

"I see you're adding bright colors this time; are those happy pills finally working?" You teased him, nudging him softly with your body.

Michael huffed through his nose, which you learned was his way of chuckling as he shook his head at you. In the past, It took a while, but you had a better understanding of Michael's gestures and emotions than the doctors.

Simply because you treated him like a person, not an experiment.

"Maybe next time then." You replied, turning towards your tray before glancing at his project once more. "You're really good at that, Mikey. You're really talented."

Once again, Michael paused his movements, his stained fingers holding the paper mache while his eyes remained downcast. His fingers twitched before he resumed, and you almost thought you said something wrong.

"I didn't mean-"

You were cut off as Michael grabbed another mold from the table, pushing it in your direction. Your eyes widened slightly as you pushed your tray out of the way as Michael's slow movements brought other materials in your direction.

Still in slight awe, you watched him turn towards you, and your eyes connected through his favorite orange mask. You couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes stared into your own, seemingly piercing into your own soul.

The doctors were wrong; his eyes weren't soulless, nor were they black, resembling a massive void of nothingness. They were blue, similar to a clear sky or the glimmering waves of the ocean.

He huffed before pointing a finger at the materials and then towards you. He wanted you to mold with him.

"Thank you, Mikey." You said softly, a bright smile on your face.

When your eyes met Michael's, he was unable to comprehend the sensation in his chest. Usually, when his sight fell on their figures, individuals would tremble or turn away. He wasn't concerned by their fear of the facility's most dangerous patient. He actually benefited from the fear he instilled in the hearts of many who came to the sanitarium.

Yet you didn't...and he liked that.

He liked that you weren't scared of him, speaking to him, or even touching him like you've been these past few months. The thought of you being scared of him made him feel...hollow.

When you started working on your own mask using the materials that were laid out on the table, Michael couldn't help but covertly place a palm on his chest to feel how his heart was refusing to settle down. He almost wanted to groan in annoyance, hating the way he liked being around you and having your attention.

He had been content with his solitude for a long time, He preferred being alone and had been for many years. However, the notion of you leaving him made the murderous itch inside him threaten to resurface.

He decided that he would keep you with him, protect you with everything he has, and extinguish anyone who threatened to ruin that. With darkened eyes, he returned to working on his mask.

On that day, you and Michael became closer.

You weren't born yesterday and you certainly weren't born stupid. Trouble was afoot in the institution and it was either happening under the doctors' noses or they simply didn't care enough to investigate. Over the past week, you would hear feminine screams down the hallway in the women's section of the institution during the late hours of the night. Last night, the screams could be heard two doors down from your room.

The screams and cries began when a new guard was appointed to the institution, supposedly replacing a well-known guard who was at the age of retirement. Due to your paranoia, you would sit on the edge of your bed, watching the door in the chance of someone entering your room when they weren't supposed to.

During the days, you would spend all you could with Michael, hoping that your association with him would make you seem off limits to mess with, or you hoped. Yet, Michael couldn't protect you when the sun went down and the men and women would return to their respective cells on opposite sides of the institution.

Tonight, you were following the same routine, sitting on the edge of your bed and watching the door. Your mind was in shambles, trying to come up with a plan in that chance, that horrid chance of the new guard coming for you. You hoped it wasn't what you were thinking, and for once, you prayed.

God never heard your prayers, and he certainly didn't now, especially when the jingling of keys were heading down the hallway, towards your room.

Michael couldn't sleep and when he couldn't sleep, he would simply pass the time by creating more masks or painting designs onto them. He was sitting at his desk, the surface covered in paper mache, markers, paint, and crayons. He was in the middle of adding a touch of red when he heard the distant sound of screaming.

His annoyance was disguised under his mask as he sighed and tightened his grip on the crayon in his hand to the point that it almost broke in half. He puffed again at the commotion and went on, indifferent to the screams. Perhaps a patient was making a scene during the nightly check-ins.

In order to block out the noises, Michael withdrew within the walls of his mind. It was a way that allowed Michael to escape freely from the confinement of his cell. He would always imagine a life outside the institution, with you. He would imagine the way he would protect you and provide for you. The thought used to sicken himn, but now he enjoyed it, the possibility. The sound of keys jingling, seemingly opening his cage, caused him to pause, though. With a loud crash, the cell door swung open, and shouting could now be heard outside of his room.

"Want some, freak?" The guard asked him in an mocking manner while Michael remained at his desk, his back to the guard. Michael immediately understood what the guard was pulling when he heard the feminine screams and intended to ignore it.

He continued to ignore his surroundings, ignoring the rage building within his chest. The sound of his bed creaking didn't deter him from continuing on with his activity. However, it all changed when the victim screamed one word.

"Michael!"

You.

Your trapped figure on his bed, with your nightgown pushed up so that only your thighs were visible, caught Michael's attention as his head whirled around. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, which streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed and struggled. His eyes quickly shifted to the guard hovering over you, and he developed tunnel vision instinctively.

A ferocious roar erupts from Michael's mouth and takes hold of the guard by the neck and collar of his shirt, throwing him off balance. In the midst, you shakily brought yourself to a sitting position, fixing the bottom of your nightgown to cover yourself. Your eyes watched as Michael picked up the guard, pinning him to the wall with eerie silence. The man in his grasp was yelling in pain and fear as Michael kept him pinned, his legs dangling in the air.

"L-Let go! Let go, you fucking punk!" The guard cried out.

Michael did not like that, not at all. Without a second thought, Michael hurled him into his desk, his art supplies falling to the ground in a cluster of clangs while the man groaned in pain. Like a predator stalking his prey, Michael's towering form stalked over to the smaller male, his eyes black as night and void of any life or mercy within. His large hand reached out to grab the same red colored pencil,

Michael's next action seemed to be a blur, he body launching onto the guard and stabbing him with the colored pencil, his resiliant strength making the pencil tear through flesh and muscle.

You watched in a sickening twist of fascination and awe, watching as Michael stabbed the guard over and over, leaving no body part untouched, the man;s screams filling the room. Your heart felt warm, knowing that Michael was willing enough to kill someone for you.

Lastly, Michael stabbed him until his chest, stomach, and face was shrouded in punctures, cuts, and wounds. With one last jab, the colored pencil stabbed into his neck, making the man gurgle on his own blood.

"Michael..." You whispered, your eyes taking in his bloodied form as he slowly turned to you, heaving himself up and moving towards you. It was as if he was a trained dog hoping he made his master proud. However, you were nothing of the sort. When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into his strong form. "Thank you..."

Michael gave a small huff, hesitantly touching your head with his bloody palm, staining your strands with the bodily fluid. Without another word, Michael pushed you away and grabbed your hand, pulling you off the bed and heading towards the door.

"Where we are going?" You asked in confusion, following behind the behemoth of a man down the stark white hallway.

In response, Michael tugged on your hand and you decided to go along with whatever he had in his mind. He saved you after all; even when he didn't have to, he did. It made you feel safe and protected in his presence.

"Alright, Alright." You muttered, your figures turning a corner and out of sight.

Red and white.

Those were the colors you would never forget. The way the walls were coated in blood and bodily fluids of various nurses and guards that laid along the floor in mangled messes.

Michael was strong, very strong. You remembered the way he smashed a guard's skull in with his fingers alone. You shuddered at the thought, crossing your arms and staring at the wall in front of you as you waited for Michael to finish off his last victim. A nurse arriving at the right place at the wrong time as Michael ambushed her, his hands around her throat as he strangled her.

Michael walked over to you, his muffled huffing practically hovering over your ear as he showed you shoes and coat. You stared at the items with a blank expression, wondering what he wanted you to do with these.

He huffed before shaking the items in his hands, motioning the items towards you. You sighed before taking the items with a small smile, throwing on the shoes and coat. You felt the warmth of the fabric soothe your cold figure.

"Thank you..." You muttered softly, looking up at him as he stared down at you.

He couldn't help but think you looked...cute.

He offered you his bloodied hand, which you instantly took and followed him to the exit. You both were finally going to be free and it was all thanks to him.

After a few hours of walking, your feet were beginning to ache and the adrenaline from earlier was wearing off.

After your fifth yawn, Michael stopped in his tracks, turning towards you in the middle of the field. He simply stared at you as you bent forward to rest your hands on your knees.

Michael, I need to rest for a moment. Please my-" Your words were cut off when Michael stormed over to you, grabbing you roughly around the hips, hoisting you into his arms. His arm went around your waist, while the other held your back in a bridal style fashion.

Your eyes widened from his sudden roughness, however you couldn't complain as you basked in his warmth, nuzzling your face in the bloodied fabric of his robe.

"Thank you." You said, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to finally relax for the first time tonight. You didn't notice the way Michael was staring at you in his arms, his darkened eyes filled with something unknown, dangerous...maybe even a little bit of caring.

Silently, he turned and resumed walking through the field, making sure to keep you safe as you began to doze in his arms.

Finally, you were his.

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fernweh-writes · 1 year

Text

Brahms Heelshire x F!Reader

This is just filth, I'm sorry guys. Actually I'm not sorry, this is what y'all are here for. Enjoy!

Warnings: Somnophilia, oral f!receiving, creampie, 18+ minors dni

Brahms was pressed firmly against the wall, staring hard through the small peep hole he had created in the wall. His breathing was shallow as he palmed his aching cock through his pants, fighting back pitiful moans as he stared at your sleeping form.

Sometimes Brahms wondered if you knew he loved to peer through the walls of the old house and watch you sleep. Maybe that's why you were wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and lacy panties. Laying on your stomach with one leg bent gave him the perfect view of your ass and a teasing glance at your pussy. Your sleeping form was practically begging him to come have his way with you. Brahms was desperate to touch you in the ways he often imagined, to explore your body and show you exactly who it belonged to.

Brahms had just started to undo his belt when you let out a soft moan in your sleep. Immediately, his eyes snapped back to the small hole in the wall to peer at you once more. His nails dug into the wood on the inside of the wall as he watched you hungrily. Through the wall he heard the sheets ruffle as you rolled onto your back.

"Mmmm, Brahms."

The way you moaned his name in your sleep was pornographic. Brahms could feel any restraint he had left crumble. It was obvious you were dreaming about him, just as desperate for him as he was for you. He had to have you.

As quietly as he could, Brahms snuck his way into your room, careful to not wake you. You hadn't stirred since you had moaned so prettily for him, so he was confident you were still sound asleep. At first he just stood over you, admiring you up close, but it didn't take long for his aching cock to remind him why he was in your room.

Carefully, he traced his hand up your thigh to the swell of your ass, testing the waters. His touch was feather light as to not wake you. However, when you didn't flinch he grew more confident. This time his hand trailed lightly up your side, sneaking up under your shirt. Ever so carefully, he bunched up the thin cotton until your breasts were exposed to him. Without the thin barrier to keep them warm, your nipples hardened and so did Brahms cock. He let out a small whimper at the sight of you being exposed to him, luckily you didn't wake.

Brahms fingers continued up your sides until he reached your breasts and he began gently tracing your hard nipples. Without any restraint left, he caved and took your hard nipple into his warm mouth. He traced the hard peak with his tongue and then began gently sucking as his hand began pinching at your other.

You let out a soft moan and Brahms froze, pulling away from you. He waited until you settled once more before he continued. This time he trailed his way down to your pussy, finger gently tracing your folds through the lacy material of your panties. He could feel that you were wet and that only fueled his arousal.

Trying his best to hold back his heavy breaths, he carefully moved your panties to the side to reveal your wet pussy to him. He gently pushed a finger between your folds, collecting some of the wetness there before carefully circling your clit.

Your legs parted more as you stirred and let out another soft moan, but still you continued to sleep. Brahms kept running a finger through your folds before slowly and gently easing a single finger into you. You were so wet it sunk inside of you easily and Brahms moaned as he felt your warm walls. He no longer cared if he woke you as he added another finger and began pumping them in and out of you rapidly. The wet sounds your pussy made around his fingers caused him to let out a desperate whimper.

This time your moan was louder and Brahms could feel you tense as you woke up to the sight of him between your legs. "Brahms," you moaned out, "what are you doing?"

"Please," he begged, "please let me y/n. I promise I'll make you feel good. I promise I'll be a good boy." His voice was shrill as he begged, and you weren't awake enough to decide whether this was right or wrong. Instead you simply gave into the pleasure and let Brahms continue what he was doing.

Soon enough his tongue joined his fingers and began circling your clit as his fingers continued to pump in and out of you. He moaned as he tasted your dripping pussy, eating you out like he was a starved man. Alternating between licking and sucking, Brahms abused your clit until he had you singing his name. Looking down at him, you realized his entire face was exposed to you. He glanced up and the two of you made eye contact as he savored your pussy.

"Am I doing a good job, y/n? Am I being a good boy?"

You let out a loud moan as you felt your climax building, your hips grinding down against Brahms' face. "Fuck! Yes, Brahmsy you're doing a good job. Such a good boy for me."

Brahms ministrations didn't stop even once you had finished. His tongue continued to suck at your overstimulated clit. Grabbing his hair, you had to practically pry him away from your pussy and he whimpered as you did. His hips thrust against the bed and you noticed he was still rock hard inside of his pants.

Guiding him on top of you, you pulled his face towards yours, kissing him roughly. He kissed you back eagerly, and you could taste your release on his tongue.

Reaching down you fumbled with his pants until you could pull them down. Grasping his already hard cock in his hand you smoked him a few times. The sounds Brahms let out were whiny and desperate as he rocked his hips into your hand, desperate for any sort of friction.

Pawing his pants further down, you grasped his thick cock and guided it to your entrance. Brahms' eager eyes met yours seeking approval.

Smiling, you nodded at him. "Go ahead. Fuck me."

Brahms could no longer contain himself and he quickly thrust himself all the way into you. The slight burn from the stretch had you clenching your eyes shut and hissing. He didn't wait for you to adjust to his long size. Instead, he moved one of your legs onto his shoulder so he could thrust deeper inside of you. Brahms practically growled as he rapidly slammed his cock in and out of your pussy. The sounds of your wet pussy taking him in filled the room and urged him on.

His hands were all over you touching you any part of you that he could reach. One moment he was squeezing your ass the next he was groping your boobs. Finally his thumb found your clit again as his hips began to stutter, letting you know he was close to cumming.

"Fuck, oh fuck," the word fell from his lips repeatedly, but this time his voice was deep and it urged you towards your second orgasm. You loved the way he moaned so desperate for you. Like you were the only one in the world that could make him feel like this.

His hips stilled with his cock deep inside you and you could feel the warmth of his cum as he filled you with it. Brahms fell against you, panting, as he waited for his cock to soften before pulling out of you. He wanted to stay inside of your warm walls forever.

Collapsing beside you, Brahms watched as you drifted back off to sleep quickly. He watched you sleep for awhile, fingering his cum back inside of you while you went back to dreaming.

#the boy x reader #the boy #brahms x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x you #the boy 2016 #slasher oneshot #slasher x reader #slasher smut #slashers #slasher fic

4K notes · View notes

gardengirl222 · 10 days

Note

omg lene you should do something about a 80's slashers au with rafe and the boys that would be soooo cool!! ❤️❤️

!!! omigod yesss i'm gonna start with 80's slasher!rafe if feel like he'd be a creepy little stalkerrr, def season 2 rafe 💞

𐦍༘₊ ⊹ warnings! 18+ - non con, violence, stalking, spanking, slight breeding kink, knife play, dark!rafe - ₊˚⊹

you sat in the comfort of your bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, finishing up some homework while talking with a girlfriend of yours on the phone. you reach your hand out to your nightstand to grab the nail file when the sound of the door closing causes you to freeze, being left home alone, your heart starts to race, and you hang up the phone and walk up to your door. you pull down your pretty little white nightgown so it covers your ass as you press your ear to the door to make sure it was just your parents.

all you hear is silence so you shrug and convince yourself it was just your mind playing tricks on you, then the phone starts to ring again, thinking it was just your friend calling you back, and you pick up the phone.

"hello?" you speak with your voice lowered.

"hey babyface" you stop moving when you hear a voice you don't recognize.

"who's calling?" you try to sound assertive but end up sounding like a scared puppy.

"i've been uh- watching you for a long time, an' i figured i should introduce myself," he says, his voice all gravely. you grip on the handle of the phone and reach an arm over to close your curtains quickly.

"stop that! it's not funny, whoever this is leave me alone." you almost whine.

"nah can't do that baby, you looked too pretty in that nightgown...you wearin' panties underneath?" he continues.

"i'm gonna call my boyfriend an-and he'll find out who you are and beat you up!" you stutter.

"you're not gonna do that, cuz uh- i'm in the house, and if you hang up-"

"i'll call the police!" you cut him off.

"i need you to listen to me, if you don't wanna die, you need to walk down to the living room slowly- you try to run and i'll catch you. if you don't come down, i'll go up n'get you." he then hangs up, your chest heaving as tears start to form in your eyes, you think about climbing out the window but it is on the second floor and the man might catch you and kill you! you decide to grab a chair to put against the door to keep him coming in but it's too late, as you take one step backward trying to drag the chair you feel the blade of a knife press against your neck. you gasp, ready to scream.

"shshshsh, behave." the man shushes you, pressing himself behind you, god he must be tall. "told you to listen" he coos condescendingly.

"please, please don't..." you sob.

"hey, hey! shut up- listen to me alright?" he raises his voice causing you to shut your eyes and nod slowly in fear, tears spill down your face. "good girl. want you to lay down on your bed and stay there, don't move, scream, talk or do anything 'less i tell you." you nod again slowly and he removes the knife from your neck, you do as you are told and lay down on your bed, silently sobbing.

you look at the man, face now lit up by the soft light of your nightstand lamp, you watch him come closer and wipe some of the sweat forming on his forehead under his messy hair with the back of his hand that's holding the knife. he grins, getting up on your bed and tossing the knife next to him as he pins you down.

"r-rafe?..." you whisper, now realizing who it is.

"yeah! yeah baby it's me..." he continues to grin.

"get off! please rafe, i don't wanna do this with you!" you whine and start to squirm a little bit.

"you don't really have a choice." he mumbles as he runs his rough hands up and down your thighs, stopping to grab the hem of your lace panties. "you wear this for me?" he says pulling them down as you really start to cry, trying to get him off of you by pushing at his shoulders but he's too strong.

"i have a- my boyfriend-" you start but then he looks back into your eyes and smiles again. "nah, you don't, i got rid of 'im... cut him up, he's in the trunk of my truck. wanna see?" he asks, his eyes following yours, bringing his hand up to wipe your tears away lovingly.

"why!? why are you doing this!" you sob and try and move your face away from his touch. "i love you, i love you so much and you never talked to me or...looked at me and i need you to love me too…say it…" he demands. you shake your head no and try and push him off, pissed, rafe manhandles you. he flips you onto your stomach and lifts you up by your waist so your face is smushed against the messy sheets, ass in the air. "you fucking brat." he spits out.

he yanks your panties down and smacks your ass with his large hand, holding your wrists in the other. he forcefully spreads your legs and places a hard slap on your poor wet little cunt.

you let out a yelp as he "soothes" your throbbing pussy by rubbing your clit with the rough pads of three fingers. "are you a virgin princess?" he whispers, pressing a gross, sloppy kiss to your cheek. you whine out and try to move your face away. "what? you don't like my kisses?" he leans in again to give you a few more of those wet kisses, making taunting kissy sounds that make you scrunch up your face and mewl.

"gonna make you feel reeeally good baby, gonna make this little pussy cream all over me, yeah?" he rambles, grabbing the knife with his free hand, bringing it back to your neck. "please rafe, i've never- "

"you waited for me? huh? princess saved herself for me." you can hear his smile, he's almost relieved that he will be your first and last. he pulls himself out of his boxers and starts to line himself up. "i would'a stretched you out a bit first but this cunt is a dripping mess already so."

you scream as you feel his fat tip press against your entrance. "shhhhshh, s'just the tip." he murmurs, easing himself in slowly until he's stretching you as you've never felt, his tip kisses your cervix. "ow! it's too big, too much, too big..." you ramble, squeezing down on his cock unable to really move due to the knife.

"n'you are so tight, fuck, this is where you should'a always been..taking me like this babydoll." he grits through his teeth as he starts to thrust causing you to whine and to try and pull your hands away from his grip.

"keep cryin', it's only making me harder princess," he grunts, tears continue to stream down your face. he pounds into you now hard and fast, you wish you could grab onto his shoulders or hair as he starts to hit that sweet spot.

"stop it! rafeeee" you whine, he shushes you by tossing the knife on the bed again and covering your mouth with his hand as he continues his assault on your cunt. "i should cum in you, knock you up so you won't ever be able to leave me." he breathes out, he lets go of your face and wraps that hand around your neck to bring you up to kiss your neck. "no! no no please pull out! please rafe!" you cry.

he lets go of your neck and throws you back down you your face hits the mattress again, he lets go of your wrists so you are now gripping your sheets. "you know that's the knife i used to stab your boyfriend? he begged like a little bitch. he didn't deserve you." he reaches a hand around to grab your pussy and pull you closer to him, then rubbing your throbbing clit.

"m'na cummm" you mewl, body giving into how he's touching you so roughly yet gently.

"i know baby, give it to me, all over my cock c'mon" he encourages with that tone, and feeling him so deep in you and hitting that spot your body goes numb. shutting your eyes tightly as hot white explodes in you making you feel like you are on a roller-coaster.

he grips your waist and with the other hand, he's lovingly brushing back your messy baby hairs due to your sweaty forehead. "atta girl, thereee, see? i knew you could be good for me." he thrusts once more hard and deep, shooting his thick hot load all up in you causing you to whine at the feeling and making him groan.

he pulls out of you, sticking his two fingers into your pussy to push his cum back in, then leaning in to bite your ass. you let out a little scream, he flips you on your back and grabs the knife, gripping your thigh he brings the knife over to carve a little RC into the meat of your thigh. you try not to thrash around but you do let out another little scream at the pain.

"yer' all mine now kid." he smiles, exhaustion taking over as you let out shaky breaths and let him lean in to press icky kiss to your lips. ᥫ᭡

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nothomegal · 7 months

Text

"Flashing warnings"

Pyramid Head x GN Reader

Summary: you've been with the executioner for quite some time, enough for you to have your own special bond. You were his, and that fact alone was enough for the whole Silent Hill to avoid you, well aware of what they'll find out if they mess around. However, this little rule is unknown for any unfortunate newcomers that get trapped in this cursed town, and today you've met one of these newcomers... One would think, seeing monsters avoiding you like fire should be enough proof to do the same, but... Eh, some people are way too stubborn and blind.

Warnings: typical violence and gore, (Y/N) getting mistreated by meanies >:(

Word count: 2.9k

(Y/N) been sitting on this old matress for quite some time, they've already tried any possible sitting position yet non made the book they're reading more interesting.

Pyramid Head, or how they began to call him, 'Pyra', left to hunt and punish whatever soul putrid enough to get his attention. He's been gone a good amount of hours and they haven't heard a single sound of his in the distance, no metal scraping against the concrete at the distance or any screams of agony from his victim, nothing. How many hours it been? Three? Five? It's tough to tell, specially when this town knows no day/night cycles and it's always foggy. Even though they're not sure how long it been, they can tell it's the longest Pyra's been gone.

They switch into a laying position as they begin to think about what to do now. They could totaly go out and take a walk if they wanted, but they're concerned they'll end up bumping into the people Pyra is hunting. No, they won't get punished but they don't want to witness a literal slaughter neither, and whenever something (literaly anything) dares to interact with (Y/N), the pyramid headed beast seems to go wild of fury.

This is some very serious issolation, but (Y/N) became fine with it and Pyra is not as bad of a company as he initialy was. Feel him close to them, his big palm resting against their body as a reminder that he's there, the random noises that come out his helmet whenever he seems content or wants to get their attention... To be honest, these little things became more than enough at this point, and it's not like they've used to be the most social butterfly anyways. And even if they were... Well, arguing with Pyra is useless, he never budges, and if (Y/N) starts to get unreasonable or the argument goes nowhere, he simply brushes his togue across their face, purpously waiting for the moment their open their mouth. And ta-da! Argument solved since (Y/N) is too shocked and flustered to continue and Pyra simply let's out a deep and amused rumble.

(Y/N) chuckles to themselves at this memory, when it happened the first time the face they made was probably priceless, and the way Pyra allowed them to hide their face in his chest so the shame goes away... Sigh, they hope he returns soon.

The hairs on the back of their neck stood up when they began to hear the sound of numerous people run and hurriedly yellsomething to each other. (Y/N) of course panics a bit, and to avoid any possible interaction with the group of people they sneak into the corner of the room near the door, so if anyone of the group peeks inside they won't notice (Y/N) right away. It also seems like the people are running away from something, something that is not Pyra because of the lack of known bulky footsteps and scraping sounds.

Unfortunately, their little plan went town the drain when the group of around five man bursted through the old door and attempted to close it, while the creature outside of it was desperately slaming itself against the wooden surface. (Y/N) turned completely still as they shrunk in their place, internally hoping that due to the intense moment these people wouln't notice then and would simply brush off their form as some inanimate object.

Unfortunately, one of the men did noticed them.

—"Hey Dave, there's another one hidin' over he-"—

The man couldn't finish the sentence as the creature from the other side managed to burst through the door, throwing the men on the ground in the process. Some of them stumble back, others pull out their weapons and point at the creature, who resulted to be a monster known as ‘Slurper’, take a guess why it's called that. Not the most difficult creature to deal with but definitely the trickiest, it’s very fast and definitely can handle or dodge some shots and hits from the group.

The monster crawls inside of the room, it’s elongated face making some slurping noises as drool and blood drips from its mouth. But the beast suddenly freezes mid-step, and very slowly and subtly turns it’s head towards (Y/N), making the men look at them as well. The monster suddenly lets out a whine, similar to that of a dog, and practically runs away at high speed, completely terrified.

The group stare at the door in shock, their mouth gaping a bit. (Y/N) remains stiff, their knees pressed to their chest as they think what to do now. The answer comes when one of the man, who seems to be the leader, stands up and starts walking towards them, his expression indescifrable, but his gaze definitely holding malice.

So (Y/N) jumps to their feet as fast as they could and make a run through the doorway and down the hallway. They can hear the group yell something as they chase them, their voices angry and irritated, which only motivated them to keep running since it’s now clear that these people weren’t kind at all.

Things turn significantly worse when they get grabbed by the back of their clothes and then tackled down on the floor, the impact was rough and quite painful which made (Y/N) release a pained whine. The man above them grabs a good chunk of their hair and presses their head agains the dirty and cold floor as he looks at them.

—“The fuck was that? How did you do it?!”— he exclaims strictly, his tone demanding.

—“D-Did what?… S-Scaring the- the monster th-thing?”— you nervously reply, your voice a bit shaky. —“I-It’s not really me, it’s the being tha-that ‘owns’ me.”—

(Y/N) knew they sound like they’re crazy, like they’re out of their mind, but it’s the best way they can explain their unusual situation. It is true, the executioner practically owns them, he has the power to claim and to keep them with him, to keep anyone and anything away from something his, to keep them eternally by his side, his and no one else's.

As expected, the man on top of them only scrunched his face with confusion and disgust, definitely thinking that (Y/N) is just another crazy ex-resident of this hellish town.

—“Yeah… Right.”— he slowly says.

—“Mathew, do you still have the tape? Bring it.”—

A clear sound of a duct tape being unwrapped made them shiver, uh-oh, they’re in a big-time problem. They attempt to wiggle out and keep running, but the man above them slams their head agains the floor.

—“Keep it still bitch, we just want to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you.”— he grumbles angrily and slams your head again.

(Y/N) could feel blood start dripping from their nose. Being forced to calm down since these men clearly aren't fooling around and are not afraid to hurt them if they need, they relax and allow another one to tape their wrists together behind their back, as well as their ankles.

—“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, the executioner will not have mercy…”— you comment, not even bothering to elaborate, knowing that these people are dead meat already.

—“Pff, executioner. If you’re of his property, then why were you in that room just chillin’ all by yourself?”— another man asks.

—“Because he can allow himself to do it, and because any smart creature knows to not fuck around me because of what they’ll found out.”— you say, your tone a bit sassier by the end.

—“Any smart creature, huh?”— the man that was on top of you suddenly grabs you by the throat. —“In my understanding, a smart creature will learn to shut the fuck up, I could easily cut your tongue off right now if I wanted but not sure if that will affect whatever effect you have on the monsters, so I'll give you one last chance to remain quiet, understood? You farm animal.”—

The grip on (Y/N)‘s throat was tight and it was hard to breathe, the male’s eyes were dark and cold, no hesitation in them as he said these threats, definetely not the first time he makes them. Believing his words, (Y/N) nods hurriedly as the lack of oxygen began to affect them. The man grins and let go of them roughly, basically throwing their body on the floor.

—“Aight, who’s going to carry their ass?”—

The men discuss for a short moment, until agreeing that the biggest one of them should do it. Ones everything was sorted out and (Y/N) was being manhandled in his grasp, the group resumed their walking.

The men were shocked, some of them even got smug, at the way the creatures avoided them now. What’s that? A monster does have guts to attack? A single sound or movement from (Y/N) was enough to set the creature from fight into flight. Each time something run away, the men would laugh and cackle loudly, clearly feeling like they've beat the system and are some sort of untouchable beings.

Silly bastards, they don’t know what awaits them.

It’s unclear how long they’ve been roaming around, but it was long enough for the group to get lost, again, and decide to take a rest. The man carrying (Y/N) carelessly (throws) puts them on the ground, face first, as the rest settle down as well. Non of the five bothered to talk or acknowledge (Y/N), though sometimes they would throw some random questions at them, but of course they'd never been able to finish the answer since one of the five would end up rudly interrupting them.

At some point (Y/N) began to ignore them, aware that they're nothing but a gag to these people. The youngest of the group seemed a bit pissed at being ignored, so he stands up and walks towards (Y/N)'s lying form, who was still paying no mind, and out of nowhere kicks them hard on their stomach, making the air inside of them leave in a violent exhale.

—"You talk and look at us when we speak to you."—

They say nothing, still trying to regain their breath. The man above them sighs and rolls his eyes before crouching down and grabbing them by their hair, to posteriorly pull them to their knees.

—"Listen sugar, just because you scare away the crap that lives here, it means shit to us. You're fuckin' helpless and at our mercy, so you do and act as told and when is told, understood?"—

Before (Y/N) could do anything, a sudden deafening roar resonated through the whole building and from an unknown direction. The noise similar to some huge unknown beast fiercely howling through something metallic. A shiver of anticipation ran through (Y/N)’s spine, Pyra must’ve found their drops of blood and figured out what happened, and now he’s on his way to take them back.

The other five noticeably tensed up and frantically looked around, as if trying to locate the creature through the walls...

Walls.

(Y/N)'s gaze was already focused on one of he walls, knowing that their lover would't waste his time in searching for an entrance. The man, who's still holding them by their hair, slowly drags his gaze to the same wall.

—"Guys..."— he says uneasily.

—"Yes, we heard that too, dumbass."— one of the other four hisses back.

—"No, guys, get away from the fuckin- "—

A loud crashing sound resonated behind the mentioned surface, followed by the well known heavy footsteps and scraping of metal. The other four quickly get behind the fifth and (Y/N), who was currently having the brightest grin on their face, relieved that he came for them.

—"{The fuck was that?!}"— one of the males yells half whispers to you.

—"That?"— you let a little hum as you close your eyes and look away so the dust doesn't get directly into your face. —"That is the reason why everything in here avoids me."— you say with the calmest tone possible.

—"Wha- "—

Another loud crash and a huge wave of dust cut off his question completely. While the dust was still on the air, the previous heavy footsteps were quickly approaching, making the floor shake with each step. When the men saw the silhouette of this massive unknown creature they paniced, since it showed no hits of stopping, quite the opposite actually. The one, that been holding (Y/N), pushes them roughly forward without thinking, actin on some desperate instinct.

—"Here! Take them instead!"—

The five were ready to run, but got stopped by their own shock when the monster reached out and caught (Y/N) before they fall on the ground. It was still hard to see what exactly the beast did, due to the still thick layer of dust, but the sudden loud and deep metallic growl that the beast let out was enough for them to defrost and set into running. They don't get too far though, since their legs get suddenly caught and tangled into a bunch of rusty wires and thorns coming out of the floor, whick held them still and cut their soft flesh with the mildest movement.

A small chill jolted through (Y/N) at the sight of the mysterious thorns. They knew it was Pyra's doing, he rarely used that hability of his and they learned that he only uses it when he's trully pissed. And he wasn't just that, he was livid. The sight of bruises on (Y/N)'s neck from the previous grab really railed the monster up, just how dares that filty mortal touch and mark something his? Only he has the privilege to touch (Y/N), to hold them, to look at them, to hear their voice and all the things they say in that calm and sweet tone they always use when they're happy... Just how dare they attempt to take all of this away from him? The executioner.

The monster tears the tape off (Y/N)'s wrists and ankles before putting them down, his movements a bit rough due his agitation yet he did his best to keep it under control.

He then rises to his full height, sword in hand, and slowly walks towards the group. The closer he got, the more desperate the man acted, pulling their legs out of the sharp wire-mess just for it to tangle around their limb even tighter.

The beast's first target was the youngest one, the one who had the guts to hold (Y/N) by their hair and threaten them, Pyra really didn't like that one.

The male has no time to even inhale to start begging, as the monster simply cuts him in half with his sword. (Y/N) of course didn't want to see the gore that is about to happen, so they carefuly and quietly leave the room through the hole their beast of a man made durning his enrance. The last thing they've seen before leaving was Pyra practically tearing one of the man up apart like paper, going specially slow to inflict even more pain.

(Y/N) is unsure how long it took Pyra to finish them, they simply remained sitted on the floor with their legs pressed against their chest and covering their ears to silence the screams and the wet gory sounds of muscles and bones breaking. They let out a yelp when their body is suddenly pulled up by a pair of large arms and is pressed agains a broad torso. Pyra held (Y/N) in this posessive embrace for quite a while, the mildes movement from them would make the beast growl and press them even closer.

(Y/N) however, still attempted to soothe their lover by gently nuzzling agains his chest and rub it with their hand.

—"I am so sorry..."— you apologize, though you both knew it wasn't really your fault. —"I was just hanging out in that room we've been before, and... And these people entered there while running away from another beast, and- "—

They couldn't finish the explanation since Pyra suddenly shoved their face further into his chest, muffing the rest of their little rant. The action, which embarassed (Y/N) a bit, also made them understand that their lover doesn't need any excuses or explanations, he's content to have them back and unharmed. They sigh softly and eventually relax in his grasp and going practically rag doll, in response and after some time, Pyra's body also relaxed a bit, yet his grip on (Y/N) remained strong and firm like iron, refusing to let go.

—"Pyra."— you manage to move yout head just enough to say it.

A low grumble resonated from his helmet and chest, though it didn't sound hostile, more like his version of 'hhmm?'.

—"I love you, thank you for being around."— you say honestly, as you move just enough to reach his neck area and kiss the little skin exposed between his clothes and helmet.

The little sweet gesture was answered with a low purr as Pyra's large hands roam around their body for a bit, caressing and feeling each curve through their clothes. The touches weren't suggestive surprisingly, which meant that this affection was genuine and not the product of his monstrous lust towards them.

They both stay like this for a while longer, (Y/N) saying and whispering things in a soft tone that Pyra absolutely adored to hear, and he kept holding them against himself, pawing their body time to time just to feel them more. Their warmth, their pulse, their breathing...

To feel them.

To feel them being all H̸̫̥͙̮͍̮͋͑Ḯ̴͓̦̻͈̜͍̇̃͋͠S̴͖̘̍̓̉̑.

#nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #gn reader #slasher x reader

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heartfullofleeches · 4 months

Note

femboy creep reader would def have one of those dentist teddy bears... but with real teeth that they took found

Some boys like roses, some like plies of teeth and bones left at their doorstep to use for their special art projects.

"I've sent you flowers, meals, my credit card information, even my medical records and samples of my blood when you asked - why won't you go out with me!"

Blocked. Didn't even send a full pint like you asked. You'll never have enough blood to finish that painting tucked away in your closet at this rate. Rolling onto your side, a knock at your window weeps away the brief flicker of tranquility you felt at ridding yourself of another parasite chasing after your tail. When will they learn that sweet gestures like those just aren't enough for a boy anymore?

Crawling out of bed, you walk over to window and take a peak outside. The thick layer of glass muffles footsteps growing fainter in the distance. Unlocking the latch, you open and lean out the window in an attempt to get a better look at them - knocking over the wrapped box left on the sill in the process.

"A gift?" It's not an entirely uncommon occurrence. You're used to them being left on your doorstep, but this was new. Long as they aren't trying to break in you can't really complain. You're tempted to throw it right out, but the wrapping paper- what a gorgeous shade of red. You pick at the tape as you walk back over to your bed, intending to salvage the paper for later use. The box pops as you peel back the final piece seeming to have none taped to the cardboard itself. You look inside. A fluffy brown bear looks back. You'd like to say they were smiling, but it would be pretty hard for them to do so with that giant hole in their mouth. A note sits on its little tummy, held in place by its tiny claws. You read aloud it to yourself.

"Have fun, pretty boy~ Got more for you on the way if you're willing to keep me around.

Much Love, your secret admirer."

The box was definitely heavier than the weight of a plush bear. Lifting your new friend out of the box, another prize awaits. You run your fingers over the eggshell colored object, trailing them downwards till you reach imperfections in its smooth surface. Sockets, nostrils, teeth. You toss the bear onto the bed and pull the second object out. A pair of pliers at the bottom of the box next to a photograph builds up the excitement fluttering in your stomach. Scooping the bear up in your arms, its jaws fall slack - a second note lodged in the back of its mouth.

"Call me. ;)"

You snuggle the bear to your chest- retrieving your phone from the nightstand.

"This is more like it. Don't worry, little guy. I'll give you all your teeth back- then we'll send whoever sent you a nice thank you message."

#yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere insert #yandere #yandere blurb #tw yandere #yandere slasher #yandere drabble #Femboy reader #yandere fic #male reader

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deakyjoe · 6 months

Text

Every Breath You Take

Pairing: Michael Myers x Reader (afab but no pronouns used I don’t think)

Category: stalker romance (??), smut (!!)

Summary: It shouldn’t exhilarate you so much knowing a serial killer was stalking you. But you just can’t help yourself.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it), vaginal fingering, dry humping, biting, licking, creampie, overstimulation, motorboating, pain as pleasure, slight voyeurism/exhibitionism, choking, scent kink, multiple orgasms, nipple play, over the clothes handjob, under the clothes handjob, slight dubcon (only because Michael doesn’t talk but I tried to make it as clear as possible that they just want to fuck each other), stalking, mentions of injuries and blood, mentions of murder, breaking and entering, morally questionable reader, mask is on and off, lights stay off during sex, virgin Michael, a little dark I guess (??)

Word count: 6.4k

A/N: For those who love masked men (aka me). For those who want to fuck slashers (aka me). For those who love the quiet type (aka me). For those who love a tall man (aka me). For those who love a strong man (aka me). I wrote this for me basically. I don’t think there’s much of an audience for Michael Myers fics within my followers but hopefully it reaches the right side of Tumblr :)

Consider buying me a coffee :)

It was probably disgusting how much it excited you knowing he watched you every day.

He'd stand in your back yard each night, totally still, and just look through your windows for hours. And then, when he was satisfied you assumed, he'd leave. But he always came right back the next day at the same time.

When you'd first noticed him, you'd been terrified. Naturally. You knew exactly who he was, you watched the news and heard stories. And the white mask and blue coveralls were unmistakable. You'd seen him through your window and locked all of the doors immediately. Then you waited. Patiently.

You didn't know what you were waiting for. Him to kill you... or to defend yourself. Your chances of survival were slim, he was inhumanly strong from what you'd heard. But you clutched a knife in your hand nonetheless, mirroring him in a strange way, in case you did suddenly have to fight him off.

Luckily, it never came down to that dilemma as he left a couple of hours later without even a step closer to your back door. You blinked and he was gone.

He came back the next night and did the same thing. And then the next night. And the next. And the next. Until it became a ritual.

You went about your evening and he watched. You always wondered whether he watched you during the day as well but you'd never noticed him. You also wondered what it was about you that didn't make him murder you straight away.

You were older than his usual victims, sure. And he supposedly liked to commit most of his crimes whilst his victims were in the middle of sexual acts and you didn't tend to have many visitors over. But then what was making him fixate on you?

You just couldn't figure it out.

It got to a point where you were less scared of him and more intrigued. Having him stand and stare was getting boring, you wanted to know why. No. You craved knowing why. But you couldn't ask him. You'd heard he wasn't fond of talking.

So what were you supposed to do? Just let it carry on? That was your only choice.

But things changed one evening.

When he appeared something didn't seem quite right. For one, he was seven minutes later than usual. And his left shoulder slumped forward with all of his weight placed onto his right leg.

He was injured.

And you couldn't help but feel bad for him.

So, like an insane person, you unlocked your door and opened it for him.

As you stood in the doorway staring at him, you noticed him straighten up. As if he were surprised. But you knew the man didn't show emotions, much less any that would display him being caught off guard in any way. So you put it down as your imagination or a trick of the moonlight.

But you left your door open. An invitation. Like he needed one of those.

He didn't move so you left the doorway and went to retrieve your first aid kit from the cupboard above the sink. And by the time you'd found it and turned back around, Michael Myers was standing about a foot into your kitchen.

You stared at him for a second, unsure of the emotions turning in your stomach. "Close the door. It's cold outside."

You really didn't know if you could afford to be giving him orders but considering he hadn't murdered you in the months he'd been watching you, you thought that you were probably safe until you'd at least bandaged up whatever wounds hid beneath the blue jumpsuit.

Not sticking around to see if he did it, you walked to your lounge and put a lamp on. His footsteps were silent so you kept an eye on the archway where he'd emerge from the kitchen. Which he did a few seconds later.

"Sit on the couch."

Surprisingly, he did as he was told. But you thought you might be pushing your luck so you stopped telling him to do things.

As he sat down, not relaxed in the slightest with the best posture you'd ever seen, you realised that getting a wounded man to sit on your nice furniture was probably a bad idea. What if he got blood everywhere? Too late now. You weren't going to ask him to move.

You moved towards him slowly, trying not to spook him. He still had a knife clutched in his hand after all. It was bloodstained. You ignored it.

Michael watched you closely, his head didn't move but you could feel his gaze through the dark eyeholes of the mask. It didn't escape your notice that he was still extremely tall even when sat down.

"What's hurt?"

It was a stupid question, you could see where blood was seeping through his clothes and the slashes in the fabric was clear. But given your very recent history of poor choices, an obvious question seemed like the least of your worries.

He didn't respond anyway. No finger point, no head tilt, no shrug. Not a single inch of his body moved apart from his chest from his breathing. If you couldn't see his inhales and exhales then you'd think he was some sort of dummy or mannequin.

"Have you got a shirt on underneath the jumpsuit?"

Why were you still asking questions?

He still said nothing, which you expected, but he did raise a hand to pop the first couple buttons open to reveal a grey t-shirt under the blue coveralls.

You sighed and nodded. "Um, you're going to need to- to undo a few more buttons. So I can get to your shoulder."

The blood stain was getting bigger and staining his clothes a deep purple.

He tilted his head to the side at you, the most emotion he'd shown so far. But he did as he was told again and then pushed the suit down his arms so it lowered to his waist. You didn't fail to notice how the grey t-shirt clung to him nicely, maybe a size or two too small, and displayed every inch of rippling muscle that covered him. Explained his inhuman strength.

You took a few supplies from the kit and started cleaning up the injury on his shoulder, careful to avoid staring at how his sleeve stretched against his bicep.

When you noticed him staring at you from the corner of your eye, you cleared your throat and pulled away again to distract yourself with looking for other injuries. Which was a fine idea until you realised that blood was dripping from beneath the rubber that adorned his face.

You went to lift the edge of the mask, no intention of taking it off, but his large hands gripped your wrists before you even had the chance. The knife was suddenly forgotten on the cushion of the couch.

You gasped in pain, his hold was tight, but didn't pull away. Trying your hardest to meet his eyes as best you could, you attempted to explain. "I'm not going to take it off but I need to get to your neck. You're bleeding. Lift the mask to your chin and hold it there so I can clean your neck."

There were a few tense moments of heavy breathing from him before he let go and did as you said. He was too agreeable, very out of character from all of the stories you'd heard about him. Were people wrong? Or was he acting differently than usual? How were you supposed to know?

You shook the thoughts from your head and got on with cleaning him up. You couldn't find the source of the blood so assumed it must've been coming from higher up on his face. But you weren't going to ask him to lift the mask anymore. You were a risk taker, if the night was any indication of that, but you didn't have a death wish. Mostly.

"Done." You mumbled and stepped back a few paces, looking down to clean away all of your supplies.

By the time you looked up he was standing again fully clothed.

"You going to kill me now finally?" There was a hint of laughter in your voice. If he did you wouldn't blame him. You probably deserved it after inviting a serial killer into your home and treating him like his own personal nurse.

He didn't respond, just turned and left the room. And by the time you got to the kitchen to follow him out, he was gone and the back door was shut and locked like he'd never even been there.

"See you tomorrow night then." You grumbled to yourself, assuming he'd return as he usually did.

And he did.

Uninjured this time. To your relief and, honestly, slight disappointment. There was really something very wrong with you.

But the routine returned to normal. Michael Myers would appear in your back yard every night at the same time and watch you for hours with no sign of even attempting to enter your house to murder you. And he'd leave when he was done watching whatever he sought out from you.

The initial thrill you'd had knowing he liked watching you had disappeared quickly after you'd realised there was less danger than you'd expected. And the fact that you could get so much closer to him was more exciting than anything else.

The idea of him being inside your house again played on your mind constantly, rolling around in there as regularly as a forbidden fantasy. And maybe it was. But surely you weren't fantasising about Michael Myers... right?

Perhaps the memory of his muscles and his height, just his sheer size even, plagued your brain way more often than was considered normal. The thought that he could probably just snap you in two with his large hands and impossible strength if he chose to, how easy it would be for him to break in and end your life on his will. But he chose not to.

That set your nerves alight.

So you turned your nights into a staring contest.

He'd stand in your back yard and stare into your window. You'd stand in your kitchen and stare out of your window.

And you slowly got more daring. You began to retire to bed earlier, going upstairs to your bedroom and changing right in his direct view. It was one of the few times he moved, tilting his head up slightly to see you better through the mask.

You didn't give him a full show, knowing it probably wasn't what he wanted. He liked to kill "promiscuous" people after all. But it was enough to give him an idea, a way to tease him. It was entertaining for you at least, even if he wasn't bothered.

But then one night when you noticed that he was a few feet closer to your house, you realised it was probably working.

He was tempted.

Whether it was to kill you or to do something else, you weren't sure. But you were exhilarated either way.

When he returned obviously injured again a few nights later, you sighed to yourself in annoyance. Yes, you were excited he'd be in your house again. But out of need, not want. You still unlocked your door and left it open for him as you waited in the lounge nevertheless.

When he emerged from the dark archway between your kitchen and your lounge, you looked him up and down. His stance was better than last time but he was covered in more blood. You deduced that it probably wasn't his.

"Sit." You whispered hoarsely. "Please."

Like manners were going to affect whether he killed you or not.

It went pretty much the same as the time before, cleaning the blood from him as best you could and bandaging up what was easy to access. He didn't flinch or wince, not even at the stuff that made your toes curl just from touching.

It wasn't until you were just finishing off spreading some antibacterial lotion on a gash on his thigh that you noticed he was breathing heavier than usual. You looked up at him and frowned, confused. But when he gave you no indication as to why he was suddenly almost hyperventilating, you shrugged it off and reached for a band-aid. As you glanced towards the wound to get an idea of the size you'd need for it, you realised what was wrong.

"Oh."

He was hard.

"Oh."

The prominent bulge in his crotch wasn't shy in showing you that it was there. He was big, to say at the very least.

Your mouth opened and closed a couple of times before you settled on a reassurance. "It's okay. This happens. Especially when someone is touching you a lot."

You figured this was the most he'd been touched in over a decade.

"I'll just uh..." You stood up to step away from him but he launched his arm forward to grab you by the wrist, not letting you go any further.

"Michael..."

He answered you by tugging your body into his lap, legs straddling either side of his thighs. You made sure not to settle your weight onto him, very conscious of what that could lead to.

But he had other ideas.

He planted both of his large hands on either side of your waist and pushed you to sit fully against him. And there was a lot to sit against.

You bit your tongue to prevent any noise coming out. What now? What did he expect?

His breathing was shaky as he surveyed you through the small eyeholes of his mask, hands hovering over your sides for a second.

You couldn't deny that this position, this close proximity, was turning you on. Especially feeling how hard he was pushed up against you.

He seemed to decide what he wanted to do next as his fists gripped the fabric of your pyjama shirt, suddenly tearing it open so buttons flew everywhere and then ripping it off of you and tossing it to a darkened corner of the room. His hands didn't hesitate it exploring the new uncovered areas of skin, his rough callouses against your soft flesh. He was clearly enjoying this new adventure as he appeared to grow impossibly harder beneath you. Lots of him was impossible.

The clasp he had on your breasts was almost painful but your eyes rolled back in pleasure nevertheless. You liked that he was manhandling you, the strength you'd been fantasising about since day one finally being used on you.

His hands slid down your sides until they met your hips, fingers digging in and pulling them against his. A choked moan escaped your mouth drowning out the sound of his own grunt. When Michael decided that he seemed to like that, he did it again. Rougher this time. And quicker. Then he set a pace doing it over and over again. Your hands flew to his shoulders to give yourself something to hold onto, some grounding. Because this was more than you could handle.

How could something so simple feel so good?

The feeling of his coveralls rubbing against you through the thin material of your sleep shorts was heavenly. That, mixed with his hardness pushing against you in all the right place meant you were in pure ecstasy.

The uncontrollable noises leaving you would've been embarrassing if it weren't for the fact that this was the best you'd ever felt. And you hadn't even had sex. Yet.

Barely a sound left Michael, just the occasional short groan to go along with his heavy breathing.

You couldn't quite tell where he was looking until his head suddenly snapped down and his eyes clearly fixated on where your breasts were bouncing with the rapid movement of the two of you rocking against each other. A slightly louder noise left him then.

There was no rest for you, even if your legs did grow tired and you ran out of breath because he wouldn't let you stop moving. You knew you were probably creating a wet patch on his clothes and that would only grow bigger when he finally came. You were surprised he was lasting this long to be honest. For someone who had been locked up most of his life and hadn't had any sexual experience, he had some stamina in him. But maybe he wasn't a virgin. Was your assumption wrong?

You didn't get time to dwell on it as his arm suddenly locked around your waist and he stopped the two of you. Looking down at him, he was almost the perfect picture of composure. Just some heavy breathing indicated what the two of you had been up to. You couldn't imagine you looked quite as calm.

The arm around you stiffened as he titled the two of you to the side.

"What are you doi- woah." The room was plunged into darkness as he switched the lamp off and then pulled you tight against him again. "Why did you- oh."

Your unfinished question was answered with the sound of rubber hitting the floor penetrating your ears and the feeling of Michael's breath against your skin. You didn't get the chance to question him further as to why he did that as he immediately buried his face in the valley of your breasts and rocked your hips against his to get the friction going again, his free hand rubbing up and down your thigh as the two of you moved.

You bit your bottom lip, extremely happy that he hadn't decided to just stop and leave, that this was still going. The happiness only extended when he licked a drop of sweat off of your skin and you almost screamed. But you couldn't imagine if was the kind of screaming he was used to so you bit your tongue.

Trying to adjust to the sudden absence of light by blinking, but having little success, you looked down to where you imagined Michael's head would be. You saw nothing. Naturally, the only solution to that was to move your hands up his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair. As you curled your fingers into the locks, you were pleasantly surprised to find how soft it was.

You would've smiled or giggled to yourself if he hadn't chosen that exact moment to bite into your collarbone and thrust up underneath you. Your response of tugging on his hair seemed to go down well as he did it again.

"Fuck." You whined against the top of his head, eyes scrunching shut.

That caught Michael's attention, his head pulling back and his free hand abandoning your thigh to wrap around the front of your neck, squeezing slightly when situated there.

You knew what he was doing. Mixing what he usually found pleasurable with this new experience. You wondered whether it was getting him off even more. If the way he was practically throbbing beneath you was any indication, then yes.

This added element of danger sent a shiver down your spine and an intense pulse to your core, making you rock against him without any prompting from him at all. You could still breathe but you knew he could stop that at any second if he chose to.

A breathless moan rumbled from the back of your throat as he squeezed your neck tighter, the arm locked around your waist pushing you against him even harder.

You were so close. So, so close. You chased your high like it was running away from you, rubbing yourself against him as roughly as you could. But there was no need.

Because when Michael leaned forward again to lick a long strip up from your left breast to your neck and then bit you, hard, it was like you saw the pearly gates of heaven. Or the fiery descent to hell.

Your orgasm crashed over you in hot waves as you collapsed against him, forcing his body to hit the back of the couch as your forehead met his and you gasped into his mouth, lips almost grazing but not quite meeting. Your grasp on his hair was tight, tugging on the roots like they were your lifeline. Your naked chest pressed against his clothed one, and that combined with the slight pain of the hair pulling was enough for Michael to come underneath you.

You could feel him twitching against you, only making you shudder against him more, as the wet patch on his jumpsuit grew as you predicted. The quietest extended groan left his mouth as he tensed beneath you, arms locking around you. His hips bucked up against yours a few times weakly before he grew limp.

You rested for a moment, trying to gain some strength back in your shaking legs, before you pushed off of him and stood up. Feeling around in the air for the lamp, you covered your eyes before switching it back on.

"Find your mask and put it back on." You instructed, waiting a moment for him to do so.

He didn't make any noise as he moved, as usual, and the only indication you had that he was done was the looming feeling of his presence in front of you and the sound of his exhales rattling the rubber that adorned him.

You uncovered your eyes and squinted against the sudden light, looking up to find Michael almost chest to chest with you. Well, head to chest. He was very tall after all.

Your gaze flickered down to his left hand which was slightly extended towards you. He was holding your pyjama shirt. The one he'd ruined by ripping all of the buttons off.

"Oh, thanks." You took it from him and put it back on, holding it together at the front by crossing your arms against your chest.

Probably a bad idea considering this position made the top gape open and your breasts push together to create an exaggerated cleavage. Michael didn't seem to mind as he lifted his right hand and traced a finger across the swell of your breasts for a moment before dropping his arm back to his side again.

You dropped your eyes away in embarrassment, and slight arousal, and noticed the mess the two of you had made on his blue jumpsuit.

"You're gonna want to wash that." You said, meekly gesturing towards it. You couldn't deny that seeing the stains that you'd made together was making your skin feel hot again.

He didn't even look to see what you were talking about, just continued to stare at you through his mask.

You tried to come up with something to say but nothing sprung to mind. What were you supposed to say to a serial killer that you'd just dry humped and orgasmed on top of?

It seemed like you didn't need to come up with a one-sided conversation starter though as he suddenly turned on his heel and left the room. You hesitated before following him. Stupid really since you couldn't even keep up with him at the best of times, especially not now on weak legs.

And, as usual, by the time you'd reached the kitchen he was gone and the door was locked.

He continued to return every night as normal but didn't enter your house again. No injuries seemed to be inflicted upon him for a while. You were beginning to get bored. Sighing every time he left with no hint of coming inside again.

Which is why a few days later you were very shocked by his out of character behaviour.

You woke up cold, your blankets stripped from your bed and the feeling of someone watching you sinking a chilling freeze into your bones. It was soon clear why you felt that way.

His silhouette was partially outlined by the moonlight coming through your bedroom window as he stood over you.

You shot up in bed, giving yourself a head rush. "Michael, what the fu-" You were cut off as he grasped the hand that was reaching for your bedside lamp. "No light? Why?"

He answered your question by pressing something rubber into your palm. His mask.

"Oh. Okay..." You frowned to yourself as you dropped the mask on your nightstand. What was he expecting you to do if he was injured but you couldn't see him? "I can't clean your wounds if it's dark."

It was too dark to see his face but the natural light from outside was enough to see him shake his head no. He wasn't injured. What did he need then?

"Then what? Why are you here? At this time?" You were still slightly dazed from just waking up, trying to shake some coherent thought into your head. What was the time? He'd already been and gone earlier that evening. How had he gotten in? You were sure you'd locked the door? Maybe that made no difference?

His breathing was heavy, shoulders moving up and down with his laboured inhales and exhales.

His grip on your wrist hadn't loosened as he pulled your hand towards him, resting it on his abdomen and then slowly dragging down and down and-

"Oh."

He was hard.

Very hard.

"You want me to-"

You'd guessed by this point that he probably hated hearing you talk as he was always cutting you off. This time by pushing on your shoulders so you fell flat on your back and bounced on the mattress. And then he was on top of you in mere fractions of a second.

He was smothering.

His mere presence was enough to stop your breath in your throat and having him be this close, having all of his weight pressed against you this way, practically stole the oxygen from your bloodstream.

His breath was hot on your face, his nose barely grazing against yours before he moved to trace it along your hairline and then down your neck where he inhaled deeply, groaning lowly at your scent.

You reached up to touch him but he was too fast, clasping both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head.

"This doesn't work if I can't touch you." You mumbled frustratedly, more to yourself than to him.

It wasn't strictly true but what did he know? Last time he hadn't used any real technique, just done whatever felt best for him which luckily also felt good for you. He'd used the mere skill brought to him by innate exploration. Maybe this time he'd be more purposeful with you.

Unlikely.

The statement you'd made seemed to have some sort of influence on him though as he slowly let go of your wrists and let you dig one into his hair, where you gently pulled on it, and let the other drift to undo the top buttons of his coveralls. You popped them open cautiously, one by one, until your nails stroked the material of his grey undershirt. You assumed it was grey as usual.

Your fingers wandered to the neckline where you swooped the index to get a feel of his skin. He froze above you but didn't stop you.

"I'm going to undo more. Just stop me if you want. But gently." You clarified, not wanting bruised wrists in the morning which was guaranteed if he grabbed them with his vice-like grip again.

Each button fell open easily, like they were dying to be free from their clasps, and Michael didn't stop you once. And when the last one was undone, he leant back slightly on his knees to let you push the jumpsuit down so it bunched around his waist just like the first time he'd been in your house.

You took the opportunity to let your hands roam the muscles you'd been admiring since the first time you'd seen him up close. They were solid. He was solid.

He crowded over you again, breathing getting more rapid the more you touched him. He let out a soft sound when your hands reached his crotch, palming him over his clothes.

"Take them off and I can touch you more." You offered, attempting to sound sultry but sure you just sounded desperate instead.

He hesitated but did as you said, standing up to push the jumpsuit further down his legs but still not taking it off completely. Then he was on top of you again, pushing your hand against him before you even had the chance to realise he was so close again. You squeezed him through his underwear and he bucked his hips against your palm.

You did that for a while, moving your hand up and down the outline of him through the material and ignoring the ache between your own legs. Getting him riled up was a lot of fun, especially when he let noises slip every now and again. You just wished you could see the reactions on his face. Did he bite his lip? Did he screw his eyes shut? Was his jaw dropped open? You guessed you'd never know.

While those thoughts plagued your mind, it seemed Michael had changed his. And what was happening wasn't good enough for him anymore. So he slapped your hand away suddenly. Before you could even begin to utter a sentence, he ripped your pyjama shirt open.

Great, another one ruined.

His hands shot to your chest, away from where they'd been resting either side of your head previously, and he started to knead the flesh. Your back arched, pushing your chest closer to his and making your nipples rub against the fabric of his t-shirt. Michael must've figured out that the stimulation was good based on the gasp you let out as he moved his attention to your nipples, flicking and tweaking them with his fingers.

He didn't seem hesitant at all in what he was doing but it was also clear he wasn't experienced either. There was no rhythm to his touches, he just did whatever felt right. And that worked for you.

You grew extremely wet when he started grinding himself against your core from instinct alone. You wanted more, craved more, needed more.

Your hands flew to the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down a few inches to pull him free. You knew he was big but having the real thing in your hand, no clothing barriers at all, was a whole other story.

You could hear his teeth clicking shut when you started to stroke him, skin on skin, spreading his pre-cum up and down his length.

"Fuck, Michael. Jesus." You garbled, head wild with lust and nothing else. "Need you inside me."

He stopped moving at that, hands falling away from your chest and hips no longer bucking to pump himself into your palm.

Maybe he really was clueless.

"You know? Inside me?" You reached around to find one of his hands, pushing it down the waistband of your sleep shorts until his fingers met your wetness.

He wasn't even doing anything but the sensation alone of him touching you made you shiver. That was until he seemed to understand what he was feeling. His head tilted to the side, just about visible in the moonlight, as he let his fingers explore. As he grazed your clit, you squeaked quietly. He seemed to like that so he did it a couple more times, just to illicit a reaction out of you. But he got bored quickly and kept on feeling.

When he reached the source of the wetness, he pushed a finger in. You moaned. Loudly. He liked that a lot more, so pulled out the finger and reinserted with a second one joining in. Your eyes rolled back at this. And the sounds you made reached a new decibel. Michael did the same thing again and again, pumping his fingers just to feel you clench around him.

When he eventually pulled his fingers free, you whined in protest before the sounds of him sucking the taste of you off of his skin hit you. And you decided that maybe the loss of contact was okay if that's what he was going to do instead.

When he was satisfied with that, Michael tore your shorts off of you completely and tossed them over his shoulder somewhere. Then his underwear was pushed further down and he was spreading your legs apart, as far as they would go.

Your heart rate picked up further than it was already running, probably entering dangerous territory. But you didn't care. It was finally about to happen.

Michael crawled over you, shadowed face hanging above yours. You just nodded at him, wondering whether he was able to see you do it. Either way, he seemed to get the message that you really really wanted to do this. So, with a hand on one of your thighs to hold you in place, and the other on his cock to guide him, he pushed into you.

At that moment you decided that you were definitely seeing the devil in the afterlife.

But it was worth it for this.

He stretched you open perfectly, gliding in with ease considering how wet you already were. But that was nothing in comparison to how you felt hearing him letting out what could only be described as a mixture between a whimper and a pleasured groan against your ear.

If never hearing him talk meant that the noises he let out during sex made you tingle, then you'd take his silence any day.

The hand on your thigh moved to curl your leg around his waist, changing the angle so he moved into you deeper. And the other rested against your head to keep him propped up. Yours scraped down his back in ecstasy, probably leaving nail marks along the plains of his skin. You were sure he wouldn't mind, he'd had worse injuries.

He stayed still once he'd entered you, stiff but breathing heavily.

"Move, Michael." You whispered. "Please move."

And when he pulled out and slammed back in again, you were positive you could see the grim reaper knocking at your door ready to whisk you away to the tortuous pits of hell.

All you knew is that you certainly weren't seeing heaven after this.

Michael grunted, head hanging so his soft hair tickled against your skin. But he seemed to get the idea as he pumped in and out of you at a ruthless pace. Skin slapped together, your chests rubbing against one another as you bounced up and down the surface of the bed, which shuffled along the floor with every thrust.

You'd never known sex to be so loud. Maybe you'd just never had sex as good as this. Because the roaring of blood in your ears definitely wasn't helping.

You couldn't help the sounds that were escaping your parted lips, thankful that your neighbours' houses weren't close enough to hear you. Your other leg moved to wrap around Michael's waist, tugging him closer to you and locking him in place. You need him to be as close as possible, to be as deep inside you as possible.

The hand on your thigh dug in deep, certainly leaving bruises, before trailing up the length of your body and wrapping around the front of your neck. He pushed down this time, squeezing slightly to cut off your airway just a little. It excited you more than anything and made you clench around him.

That seemed unexpected to Michael as he faltered slightly before pounding into you harder than before, having absolutely no mercy on your body. You only clenched harder.

His pattern began to fumble, thrusts become more forceful but less regular. He was getting close. And you weren't far off either. You let one of your hands fall from his back and placed it between the two of you, starting to rub your clit. He took notice of this and pushed your hand away to replace it with his own, letting oxygen rush back into your lungs again.

The head rush combined with the pressure on your clit tipped you over the edge into oblivion. You choked out a muffled scream as your orgasm ripped through your body, tears falling from the corners of your eyes.

But Michael didn't let up for a second. This just seemed to give him a new wave of energy as his pace picked up rubbing tight circles on your clit and slamming into you with no forgiveness.

You approached the edge rapidly again, the raw feeling over overstimulation pushing you closer and closer. His sweat dripped onto you, creating a sheen that let your bodies slide against each other in erotic heat. You could feel every inch of him either against you or inside of you. And that thought made you come again. This time the scream was less muffled.

The feeling of you clenching around him again like a vice had Michael finally hitting his peak too, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he pumped you full of his cum. If you weren't so spent already, that would've made for three orgasms.

He bit down on the skin of your shoulder to prevent any noises coming out too loud, but he couldn't mask all of them. He twitched inside of you as he gave a few last lazy bucks of his hips before he pulled out completely, standing up and looking down at you.

You really wondered how good his vision must be in this light for him to be able to see you. Or maybe he couldn't. Maybe he was faking it.

Either way you didn't care, too exhausted suddenly to really think about it. You began to drift to sleep, desperately trying to keep your eyes open to see what he'd do next. You vaguely remembered seeing him get dressed again. But you don't remember him leaving. Or moving you to rest your head back on your pillow. Or him pulling your blankets over you again.

Maybe he didn't do any of that. Maybe you did in your sleepy state.

It didn't matter. He was still gone before you even had the chance to register what happened.

But you were pleased when the next night, you glanced out of your kitchen window and found him stood there as usual, watching you. From now on, you were just going to leave your door unlocked to make it easier for him.

A/N: To celebrate my Halloween, I watched Halloween (1978) home alone whilst my housemates all went to a party. It inspired me to write this.

#michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #halloween #halloween 1978 #slashers #slasher #michael myers fic #michael myers fanfiction #michael myers smut #slasher fic #slasher x reading #slasher x you #ej’s fics #ej’s writing #deakyjoe’s fics #deakyjoe’s writing

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nackrosor · 3 months

Text

~Your Wish~

(Part 3/3)

Part 1 - Part 2

Brahms Heelshire x nanny!Reader

warnings/tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con (with very dubious p in v), power dynamics, mommy issues, Brahms is a perv through and through

word count: 2,9k.

author's notes: this is the filthiest thing I've ever written, I swear. I tried to imbue this with all my naughtiness lmao I hope it was enough! Also, here's some art I made 'cause I'm that generoussss. I hope you enjoy the food! Bon appétit! 🤤🌹

"Did I scare you, Y/N? I didn't mean to..."

He grimaced at the way his child voice came out broken and less convincing than usual, but in his state, even simply speaking was a feat.

You had been sluggishly fighting against his persistent grip on you, yet once you heard him speak, a loud gasp of shock escaped you, and your body stiffened under his. The way you tensed up made your back arch and your ass stick out even more. His focus shifted to your half-clad bottom, which was hovering only inches from his face. The drenched fabric of your panties had somehow stuck to the side, teasing him - torturing him - with that mouthwavering sight of you.

Oh, what a struggle it was for him to refrain from seeking your heat again and then shoving himself inside you, once and for all. He was shivering with restraint while proceeding to keep you pinned to the mattress. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold himself back, though.

He wanted you to know who he was before he finally and thoroughly claimed you as his. His pride somehow exceeded his yearning.

"B-Brahms...?" You hesitantly whispered his name, hoping to catch a glimpse of him behind your shoulder. You could only make out a dark silhouette in your peripheral vision, for both the darkness of the room and his tight clasp prevented you from seeing anything else. "How-? W-what?"

Your voice was a little louder this time, and you sounded sharper. He also noticed with satisfaction that you were now remaining still under his hold. That was good. It would make things easier. He'd prefer not to fight you, not to force you... But if you were to refuse him... He would not hold back... He couldn't...

"You don't have to be alone anymore in this big, scary house."

He made sure to stress out the last words, the same ones you used when you had confided your wish to the doll. He wanted you to understand… That wicked side of him wanted you to realise that he had always been there, watching you, listening in on you... That you have never truly been alone.

"Aren't you happy?"

He couldn't hide the impatience in his voice. His palm pressed harder onto your spine, imperceptibly rubbing up and down, seeking your touch. He found himself edging closer to you, his mask nearly touching your asscheek, his other hand ready to commit another despicable sin, the worst one yet.

“Let me see you? Please?"

He stopped in his tracks, momentarily stunned by your words.

You had asked so sweetly, your voice such a gentle caress to his ears, how could he have declined your request? After all, he had longed to have those gorgeous eyes of yours fall on him, finally seeing him, since the first day. And what would have been better than having you looking at him as he ravished you? Watching lust twist your features, the pleasure - he was igniting in you - flooding your lovely eyes. A shuddering breath escaped his lips as the vivid image arose in his mind, aggravating the torture.

Brahms loosened his grip, allowing you to turn around and lie on your back. As soon as your eyes met his, you let out another loud gasp. His gut flipped at the way your wide eyes flitted across his mask, chest, thighs, taking him all in.

You saw him. You were looking at him. Ah, what a dream... What a dream come true...

He wondered what was going through your pretty little head. How did it make you feel to know that the kid's voice you've occasionally heard reverberating through the mansion over the past few weeks hadn't come from a possessed doll or an imprisoned spirit... But from him. Your Brahms, in flesh and blood.

“B-Brahms…”

The way you tentatively called his name while looking up at him like a deer in the headlights was pure bliss.

He nodded enthusiastically in response and drew closer to you. His gaze flickered from your face to your hand, which he noticed slowly reaching up in his direction. He jerked back instantly out of reflex, frightened like a beaten dog meeting a loving hand for the first time, but as soon as he realized there was no threat in your intentions, he leaned back in and allowed you to touch his mask. Oh, how he yearned to feel your soft palm caressing his wounded cheek... to feel your gentle touch skin on skin… But that would have to be enough for the moment.

Now that he had your full attention. Now that you knew who he was and that no harm would come from him… with your eyes staring up at him with such awe and wonder…

He couldn't wait any longer.

His hand eagerly slipped between your thighs, fingers greedily seeking your heat. He caught with utmost satisfaction the way your eyes widened again, your lips parting to let out a shocked cry; you looked so adorable… so desirable… so vulnerable…

He kept his ever-attentive gaze fixed on you, desperate to catch your every reaction, as he stroked your wet folds and teased your entrance.

“W-what are you… Ah!~”

A tremor pierced him as he felt your body tremble so sharply when he easily entered you, triggering a loud whine from you as he drove his fingers deep into your walls.

His breathing was extremely shallow, and he could see your chest raise and fall as you began panting as well; the sight only served to add fuel to his burning desire, leaving him eager to make you cry and shiver just like that over and over again.

His movement against you was firm but frantic, fueled by his long-repressed need, which was causing him to shudder and whimper as he fingered you. He had no idea what he was doing, but your moans and squeals were guiding and urging him to keep hitting that spongy spot deep inside you which seemed to make you scream the loudest.

“N-no… W-w-wait…”

Your hands shakily reached down to seize his and halt his actions, but he quickly grasped your wrists and pinned them both on your belly, holding them down with one palm while continuining on driving his fingers back and forth, unrelentingly, into you. He could tell you liked it, the lewd sounds you were making told him as much. He knew his actions were pleasing you. Your cunt was so wet, and your walls welcomed his long fingers with such hunger, swallowing them fully with each push.

How would it feel to sink inside you? To have your tight, spongy walls suck and squeeze his cock dry? Would his cum leak back out? It always did when he used his doll, the one he had turned to look just like you… He constantly had to push his fluids back inside the hole…

“Brahms... S-stop… Ah!”

Your broken whimpers sounded so cute. You were so cute. What were you asking of him? Certainly not to stop. Not that he would or could. The feeling of making you squirm under his touch was intoxicating, a feeling he had just discovered and yet couldn't get enough of. He had already grown addicted. The sight of you laying there completely vulnerable, completely his, was filling him with such a rush of euphoria.

He released your wrists, disregarding the way you immediately but weakly started tugging at his hand again in protest. Instead, he reached down to his trousers, letting out a deep guttural grunt when he felt the dampness of the material, soaked with his seed. Leaked precum? Or did he burst into his pants without even realising? It didn't matter. His cock was hard and throbbing when he grabbed it, ready to slip out of the restraining cloth and finally sink inside you… He couldn’t wait, oh no, he couldn’t wait anymore-

“I said stop!”

His entire body shuddered violently, and his senses suddenly sharpened as if he had just awoken from a trance. Both his hands abruptly came to a halt.

He wasn't sure if he was shaking more from the thrill your imposing tone caused in him or the excruciating hunger that was gnawing at him, demanding to be satiated. Possibly both combined given the intensity of the tension that had taken hold of his body.

Brahms stared at you with bated breath and childish fear, like a misbhehaving boy caught in the act of some deplorable deeds by his strict mother. He didn't dare to make a sound nor move an inch as he waited to be scolded.

A strange glint passed your eyes, one that he could barely catch, let alone decipher. However, your entire demeanour seemed to alter abruptly in response to his reaction.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He gasped. A flood of dread shook his entire being and made his stomach churn upon hearing your stern tone. Did he upset you? Were you angry at him? He couldn't bear it. Oh no… He only wished to please you... Only ever wished to please you...

"What were you doing, mh?"

Brahms vehemently shook his head, his panicked gaze glued on your hard look.

“Brahms.”

Your commanding tone made him shudder again. He cowered, crouching down and dropping his head on your lap. He didn't dare admit what he was about to do, what he had been doing long before you woke up.

"Brahms!"

He felt your hands pull on his arms, but he only pressed his head further against you, burying his face in your womb, his whimpers muffled by your skin. His hands reached to your sides, holding you vehemently but not threateningly. He wanted to show you how good he was. How good he could be for you. He was sorry. Yes. He was terribly sorry. He would never upset you again.

"Please…" He pleaded in his childish voice, nuzzling his forehead into your belly.

"Please, what?"

He tightened his grip on your sides and cried again, "Pleaseee… I need you…"

His meekness only increased as you delayed to answer. His hands cradled your body, fingers clutching desperately at your nightgown and creasing the material. His head anxiously swayed back and forth as he rubbed his mask against you.

"Use your real voice."

Another tremor shook his body and he quickly obeyed your command.

"I need you."

His voice came out low and hoarse, such a stark contrast to his childish tone. It caused a vibration in your tummy. He could feel how your body shivered in reaction.

Raising his head to meet your gaze, he noticed that your eyes had widened significantly. Was it because of his voice? The way he begged? Did you like it? He could beg you again and again in his real voice, if it pleased you so. If that meant you’d let him have you.

"I need you, please…"

His fingers travelled slowly along your sides, gingerly getting closer to your panties again, quivering with impatience and constraint. He kept his imploring look on you as he stroked his fingertips on the damp fabric before slipping them inside to rub against your folds once more.

He saw your eyelids flutter and your chest rise harshly as you took a deep breath.

He whimpered as he felt your fingers weave into his curls and then capture them abruptly in a tight clasp.

"Lay down, Brahms."

He merely lingered for a moment to process what you had requested of him. Then he did it. He lay down on the mattress without question. Eager to please you. Desperate to be in your good graces. He would do anything for you.

His entire body was trembling with anticipation, a deep-seated urge to be touched threatening to overtake him as you climbed on top of him, claiming his former position. His body craved your touch so badly, yet he had to wait until you decided to put him out of his misery.

“You’re such a naughty boy. You know that?”

When he felt your weight on him and your groin sitting directly on his bulge, he felt his breath catch in his throat and his hips buck up instinctively. Only his unbuttoned pants separated his arousal from your heat.

He was losing his mind…

"Nobody ever taught you that's not how good boys are supposed to behave, mh?"

More whimpers flowed from his parted lips as you began to grind against him, painfully slowly but with force. He struggled to keep his eyes open and locked in yours; his quivering hands went up to hold your hips, seeking to control your movements, but you intercepted them and forced them down on the pillow on either side of his face. He let you keep them still.

"Please…"

"I will teach you… Yes, yes... I will teach you. Bad boys never get their way, no matter how much or how long they beg."

Brahms had always obtained whatever he wanted since he was a little boy. If he couldn't have it, he'd take it himself. But he wasn't going to admit it to you. He merely groaned and twitched in response, every inch of his body ignited by your leisurely and frustrating movement against him.

He craved being inside you... To spill his load deep within your core... but he was so worked up… he had been holding back for so long, too long… and the way you moved was so rousing, provoking him just enough to…

His body abruptly convulsed underneath you, a deep sigh of relief escaping from his lips as a dark and large wet stain appeared on the material of his trousers. All of the desire coursing through him reached a fever pitch that consumed every inch of his body.

He had never experienced such an intense and violent orgasm before. He had jerked off numerous times, but cumming never felt so good...

Brahms was still trembling and panting when his eyes opened again to meet yours. You had stopped moving when he started spasming. Even in the dark, he could see the blush on your cheeks, the way your eyes were wide and glazed as they stared down at him, your own breath coming in short.

"F-Fuck-"

His eyes were fixed on you, watching you as you gulped and shivered, clearly shaken by what had just happened. Your gaze kept darting back and forth between his pants and mask. When he felt your hands release his wrists, he pulled yours back, drawing you forward and causing you to fall on top of him with a yelp.

Brahms buried his face into the crook of your neck. Your scent was stronger than before, his nostrils filled with your natural aroma. His fingers trailed over your skin, feeling how clammy it was and relishing the way you shivered at the touch. He moved on along the curve of your neck until he reached the edge of your nightgown and peeled it down without hesitation, this time dragging it low enough to prevent it from rolling back up. The sight of your breasts made his stomach flip, just like it had done the first time. His body started to become stiffer once more.

“Again…” he whispered breathlessly as he lifted your torso so you could sit on his lap just like before, straddling his groin. He could feel himself getting harder all over again. He could not possibly resist you.

"B-Brahms?"

His hands greedily mapped your body, groping every curve and dip they found. His touch soon became frantic and urgent.

"Again, again, again!"

He hastily freed his growing erection from his pants and without giving you time to register what was happening, he seized your waist and pulled you down onto him.

At last, you had become one.

The quiet room filled with both his and your moans of pleasure, which only grew louder as Brahms started guiding your hips up and down, each time with greater force, allowing him to fully sink into you. You were so warm, and the way your tight walls clenched around his cock was more intoxicating than he could have anticipated. It was maddening. The sound of your cunt slapping against his groin was the the best sound he had ever heard. He mentally added it to the list of pleasures he had so quickly become addicted to and sought to experience again and again and again...

He was a mess of sweat and whimpers and tremors, and so were you.

Ah, to finally have you! To finally take you as his! This was everything he had ever dreamed and yearned for. You would never be alone or feel lonely again, and neither would he!

Please you night and day, whenever and wherever! That's what he intended to do.

Oh, yes.

He will be such a good boy for you.

MORE STORIES 🥀

[Also consider leaving a tip here on Tumblr or BUYING ME A ☕, if you particularly like what you read. Thank you! 🥀]

[Should I make a nsfw version of my fanart? 🤔 I'd like to try my hand at nsfw art. Let me know if you'd be interested in seeing it.]

✨ Tag list:

@mellsfern @420-hun @murder-hobo @somethingthatsaysbubbles @b4ptiz3d @clownfishstix @blackqueengold @baileebear @oudhbsyyb @dij-ology

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dragonnarrative-writes · 4 months

Text

Slasher Handler

Description from the discord:

My next (first fanfic) project is going to be an AU for charmed!slasher!Simon where reader knows he's dangerous, finds out he's literally a killer, and decides to provide him with ✨enrichment✨ to help him… I dunno? Control his urges? Channel them into good? Meet the need before the distressing behavior starts? They're way over their head.

Part 1 - Meeting Your New Neighbor (SFW)

Part 2 - Grocery Shopping (SFW)

Part 3 - Meeting Kyle For Coffee (Time skip) (SFW)

Part 4 - Consequences (To Meeting Kyle For Coffee) (NSFW)

Part 5 - Reward (For Being So Considerate) (NSFW)

Part 5.5 - After the Reward (From Simon's POV) (NSFW)

Part 6 - Simon's Been Restless (NSFW)

Part 7 - Date Activities (NSFW)(Not Spicy!)

Part 8 - Romance Isn't Dead (NSFW)(Not Spicy!)

Part 9 - Pneumothorax (NSFW)

Gaz Interlude - A look into the medical side of things (SFW)

Gaz Interlude Part 2 - The other side of the medical side of things (SFW)

#cod #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #dark fic #simon riley x you #slasher handler #reader is in over their head #so am i #manic pixie dream ghost #gaz appreciation nation #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction

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scvrmqueen · 1 year

Text

Tag, You’re It - Danny Johnson

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — one-shot.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — Danny Johnson x afab!reader.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — SMUT! dubious consent, descriptions of gore, vaginal sex, use of knife handle for penetration, dirty talk, unprotected sex, no aftercare, Danny is literally his own warning.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 2,982.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ I got this idea after listening to Tag, You’re It by Melanie Martinez. Takes place during Dead by Daylight. I don’t own the rights to Danny or DBD. You’re just trying to survive another trial when Danny proposes a little game.

“Oh, you were so close, kitten!” A mirthless chuckle slipped from the macabre figure perched above you, his hips pinning you to the frigid earth. Your struggles had promptly ceased once his steel blade found purchase against your throat.

“And to think, one more step and you would have been home free,” he tsked, blade digging further into your sensitive flesh to reveal a crimson stream. “Didn’t know you could be so cruel, kitten, trying to leave me on my lonesome without so much as a goodbye kiss.”

“Fuck you, Danny,” you spat, glaring into the shadowy abyss of black fabric that concealed his eyes. “Kill me and be done with it, I’m sick of playing your fucked up games.”

An audible gasp sounded beneath the foreboding mask, a gloved hand - the one not preoccupied with mutilating you - covering his heart in feigned shock. “Y/n you wound me! Where’s your fighting spirit, huh? C’mon, I know you have that ‘I’ll go out kicking and screaming’ final girl mentality.”

You were mere feet from a successful trial, sparing a glance toward the cement hatch. What anger bubbled in your chest was steadily replaced with fatigue, an overwhelming sense of feebleness rendering your fight or flight instinct futile. You pressed your scorched fingertips into the dirt beneath you. A shaky breath pierced through pursed lips, frustrated tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as you realized just how close you had been to besting the Ghost Face.

“Aw, doll. You’re so pretty when you cry for me,” Danny cooed, his blade smearing blood on your cheek as it moved to collect the pearly drops. “Tell you what, I’m feeling generous. Play one last little game with yours truly, and I’ll let you have the hatch.”

Mouth agape, you waited for the inevitable ‘ha, gotcha’ moment. When Danny remained silent - a phenomena in itself, you finally responded, “what game?”

“Atta girl.” He lowered his head until cheap plastic scraped your cheek, his faux mouth resting by your ear. Leather and copper flooded your senses, head reeling at the intimacy of his proximity. “You’re familiar with tag, aren’t you, doll?”

You scoffed, “tag?”

“That’s what I said, Y/n.” You could feel the deep chuckle rumble through his chest. “Try to keep up, sweet thing, you’re smarter than that. Now, if I catch you - and we both know I will - I get to do whatever I want with you.”

“But you won’t kill me?” The question was more breathless than you intended. Whatever he wanted? Your cooperation was founded on the promise of making it out alive. Still, you couldn’t help but hesitate. If Danny’s intention wasn’t to give you to the entity, what did he want?

“Cross my heart hope to die, kitten.” His words dripped with deranged glee, the rough edge to his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll even give you a ten second head start, being the generous fella I am.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Get the hell off me so we can get this over with.”

“There’s the Y/n I know and love.” A leather clad hand wrapped around your throat, using the leverage to drag you to your feet. You reluctantly complied, attempting to ignore the traitorous heat that pooled in your abdomen.

You sprinted in the opposite direction the moment he released you.

Aside from a guaranteed win, this game hardly differed from the demented reality of every trial. You were perpetually haunted by that damned mask - led to slaughter each time the sanctity of the campfire was torn away. Unlike your counterparts, your penchant for fighting back had earned Danny’s favor from day one. His insatiable obsession blossomed during your first trial, when you drove a jagged plank through his abdomen.

Had you predicted he would save you for last each trial, you wouldn’t have been so damn heroic.

Your lungs burned, legs aching as your pace gradually relented. You spared a glance over your shoulder to determine Danny’s proximity. Though momentarily relieved to be greeted by empty darkness, his absence ultimately proved equally troubling. Ghost Face was synonymous with stealth, often remaining undetected until his signature hunting blade was buried deep in your gut. It was impossible to determine where he prowled now.

Haddonfield offered little room to be chased. Eventually, you would have to loop back to the hatch in order to escape, a feat which would require you to pass through the decrepit homes. Though entering structures always proved to be a precarious gamble, remaining on the street much longer practically ensured your capture.

You bypassed the first few houses you passed with the intention of throwing Danny off your trail. Zig-zagging through abandoned vehicles, you staggered toward the Myers residence in hopes of a momentary reprieve. Hiding in the abandoned building was futile - Danny had prompted a game of tag after-all. The moment you ceased moving he would be there, his merciless shadows ensnaring you. You prayed slipping through the rooms undetected would buy you some time.

Pausing briefly upon entering, you attempted to regulate your rapid breathing in order to detect his presence. Satisfied, you darted into the kitchen to grab a butcher’s knife from the familiar wooden block. Danny hadn’t specified rules regarding self defense - his mistake. Should the occasion arise, you fully intended on making grabbing you a hellish feat.

No sooner had you grabbed the knife did a familiar dark chuckle sound from the doorway to the porch. You turned slowly towards the culprit, as if minor movements would shroud you from his gaze.

“Really, bunny? The Myer’s house? Tsk, never knew you were so cliché.” Well, at least you knew where he was now. Spinning on your feet, you sprinted back toward the main entrance. Knowing Danny, the moment you stepped out onto the porch he would be there to grab you, blade against your throat and arms encircling your waist. Hesitation would cost you precious seconds, leaving you to scamper up the stairway on shaky legs.

“Annndd going up the stairs?” His distant voice only caused you to increase your pace. “Y/n, haven’t I taught you to be better than those horror movie bimbos?”

As you reached the room with a large opening to the roof, you couldn’t resist screaming a hearse, “Fuck you, asshole!” Once on the roof, you would slip into the backyard and make a swift exit back to the hatch. You could taste victory on your tongue, beyond pleased to have outwitted Ghost Face.

Or at least that was the plan.

You hadn’t planned on Danny tackling you mere feet from the roof, his imposing figure weighing heavy on your back. Thrashing beneath him proved futile. He grabbed your wrists with little resistance, pinning your arms by your head. The cold hardwood was pressed roughly against your cheek, and from the awkward angle you watched as his mask lowered to your ear.

“Tag, you’re it.” His deep chuckle reverberated through your spine.

“Let me up, Danny, and I’ll gladly come get you.” Clutching the butcher knife tighter, you wriggled your ass slightly in hopes of providing a momentary distraction. A throaty groan sounded above you, his hips digging further into your own. His grasp loosened, and you used your remaining strength to twist on your back. You were quick to extend the blade toward him in a punishing stab. But Danny was always quicker.

“Feisty,” he growled, his hand encircling your wrist and slamming it to the ground with excessive force. A small yelp escaped you as the knife flew from your grasp.

“But I think you’re forgetting the rules, kitten. Naughty girl.” You were pinned beneath him once more, glare burning through his black mesh. “Let me remind you what happens when you don’t. fucking. listen.”

Danny shifted, capturing both your wrists in one hand, his knife skimming your waist. The cool steel scraped against your stomach as it lifted your shirt. Before you could even comprehend struggling, your hip burned with a familiar intensity. Searing pain crept up your side as Danny sliced into your sensitive flesh - a hiss escaping through clenched teeth in a poor attempt not to scream. The blade curved against you, shallow in its path but agonizing enough to demonstrate his wrath.

“Ah, perfect!” Danny leaned back on his heels to observe his work. Your eyes drifted down to observe a jagged “D” carved into the left side of your hip.

“You sick fuck!” You shouted, all thoughts of self preservation having dissipated. The wound would heal upon returning to the campfire, but it didn’t stop the blinding rage that permeated your senses.

“Oh, Y/n,” he snarled, using the blade to slice through the middle of your tank-top. “You have no idea just how sick I really am.” He traced the steel around the top of your exposed breasts, humming his approval as your breath hitched. The knife slipped beneath the thin fabric in the middle of your bra, exposing your chest to his ravenous gaze. A traitorous moan slipped from your lips - a wanton sound that you attempted to disguise as disgust by struggling beneath him.

“Danny-” his name tumbled from your throat with unintended reverence. Your voice trembled with thinly veiled desire, leaving you to pinch your lips together. You desperately hoped Danny hadn’t recognized your slip.

“Fuck, kitten, I love it when you say my name.” His hips bore into your own with bruising pressure, forcing a haphazard squeal from you in response. Admittedly, this wasn’t the first time that you had been in a compromising position beneath the killer. While the previous instances had ended in your untimely demise, this moment whispered promises of something more - something deep-seated that you could never come back from.

“You know, I can’t count how many times I’ve heard your screams of pain,” he muttered, the deep, guttural sound going straight to your core. “I can’t wait to hear what you sound like screaming for more.” Without further warning, his chilled, leather fingertips pushed past your denim shorts, briefly grazing the hem of your panties.

You didn’t recognize the sound that emitted from the depths of your chest as he slid into you - facing little resistance much to your dismay. His finger curled, stimulating a part of you that hadn’t been unearthed for far too long. Dragging in and out, hitting a spot that made your vision dance with speckles of white, you couldn’t find the strength to resist his ministrations.

“You like this, don’t you? What a dirty little girl you are, bunny.” His voice fractured your lust-fueled haze, attempting to slip your hands from his grasp as you bucked beneath him. Your resistance hardly fazed Danny, earning no more than an amused tsk as he tightened his hold.

“Now, now, bunny. If you’re going to be naughty and not play by the rules, I’m going to have to punish you.” A wisp of fear at the promise of discipline caused your core to clench. Danny groaned as he removed his fingers completely, the sudden emptiness sobering your senses. The reprieve was short-lived, the leather previously working you replaced with the blunt handle of a familiar knife.

“What the fuck -” Your words slipped into an unexpected cry of pleasure as the handle brushed your center with expert precision. Discomfort melded into bliss, your will to fight a distant echo in the recesses of your mind. His concept of ‘punishment’ seemed skewed, particularly as a skilled finger danced along your clit in tandem with the blade’s thrusts. Your eyes fluttered close, walls clenching with bruising force as you reached the precipice - nearly pushed over that delicious edge -

And just as soon as sweet release had been promised, it was stolen.

A pitiful whine escaped you as his attention ceased, robbing you of the peak you so desperately craved. Ah, punishment, indeed.

“Ah, ah, Y/n. Only good girls get to cum.” Danny adjusted his position so his hips were once again pressed firmly between your legs. Much to your dismay, the coarse fabric of his pants caused you to grind against him - desperately searching for friction.

“I might consider being merciful and letting you cum on my cock if you beg me for it.” His deep rasp trailed into a lilting tone, teasing you - humiliating you. Even in all your torturous deaths dealt by Danny’s blade, you had never begged him to spare you. Though your hips chased his, desperate to ease the ache between your legs, you would sooner die than plead for him to fuck you.

“You call that merciful?” You scoffed, attempting to ease the tremble in your voice. “You’re even more fucked up than I thought if you think I want you.”

“Oh, I think you’re pretty fucked in the head yourself, kitten.” Those fingers slid between your thighs once more, gliding up your center to collect evidence of your arousal. “You can lie to yourself all you want. But see this?” He pressed the glistening leather to your lips, forcing your mouth open to taste your body’s betrayal. “This doesn’t lie.��

“So, you’re going to be a good girl, and you’re going to take everything I have to offer. Every. Last. Goddamn. Inch,” he growled, each word only fueling your thinly veiled desire. You wanted to protest - wanted to kick and scream like a good little survivor. But something within you, some deep, animalistic urge only satiated by the thrill of danger, wouldn’t permit it. Maybe Danny was right. Maybe the endless torment of fighting to survive fueled something savage - a ruinous need to be ravaged by the enemy.

Saving you from the false pretenses of your moral obligation to resist, Danny flipped you onto your stomach in a swift motion. One firm arm wrapped around your waist, using the leverage to lift your hips up. With your face and arms planted to the floor, the harsh arch of your figure placed your bare ass on display for Danny.

Without warning, two fingers were buried deep within you, setting a brutal pace that set your body ablaze with burning embers. Just as your walls began to flutter, Danny removed his fingers before delivering a sharp slap to your sensitive flesh. He waited a moment, allowing you to drift further from the promise of release, before claiming you once more. You lost track of time as he continued to edge you - cooing dirty words in your ear and chuckling at your growing frustration.

“You know how to make this stop, kitten.” Your body ached, core pulsing as his touch parted once more. Danny trailed his blade down your thighs, collecting the slick of your arousal. You had been so determined not to beg. But now as you burned with stifled desire, begging for release seemed preferable to continuing this torture.

“Danny,” you whined, aghast at how difficult stringing together a sentence had become. “Please, please, just fuck me already you fucking psychotic -”

You were cut off by your own hoarse scream as Danny pushed into you, forcing you to take his entire length in one fatal thrust. You arched further into the ground, allowing him to reach impossibly deeper as he brushed your cervix. He was so big, feeling as though he would split you apart as he snapped his hips against yours.

“That’s it, Y/n - fuck, you’re so tight. Bet you haven’t had anybody fuck this sweet cunt like this, have you?” You could only moan in response, clenching around him.

A gloved hand fisted your hair, pulling your head back roughly so his mask rested by your ear. “I asked you a fucking question, bunny. Nobody fucks you like this, do they?”

“No!” You squealed. “Only you, Danny - Danny.” His pace increased as you whimpered his name, thrusts intensifying until your looming orgasm was forced upon you. Your body trembled as your release washed over you, waves of fierce pleasure threatening to consume your very existence.

“Yes - yes, that’s my girl.” He didn’t slow down, allowing you no reprieve from the overstimulation that wracked your core. You attempted to pull away, to form a coherent thought that would save you from the onslaught of fervent sensations.

“Danny s’too much,” you slurred. A venomous laugh sounded in turn as he flipped you over again, hands gripping the undersides of your thighs to press your knees to your chest. He resumed his brutal pace, brushing the pad of his thumb against your clit as you writhed helplessly beneath him.

“C’mon, Y/n, you can take one more can’t you?” That familiar pressure was already building. You forced your fluttering eyes to gaze upon his mask, the mere sight of his looming presence causing you to tumble over the edge once more. You screamed his name, overwhelmed by the earth-shattering intensity of your climax.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” he groaned. Danny’s pace became frenzied, each thrust forcing brutally past your fluttering walls. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you? You want to be dripping with my cum when you sit around that campfire with your pathetic little friends.”

“Fuck. You,” You managed, the breathy words lacking their usual bite. Your fire only spurred him on as he buried himself to the hilt within you, hot ropes of his cum coating your insides.

As he slipped from you, allowing you to come down from your orgasmic high, the weight of your actions settled in your chest with crushing realization. Danny placed a finger under your chin to return your gaze to him - an uncharacteristically gentle gesture.

Whatever insults you prepared to spew were quickly lost as he moved his mask - revealing a finely sculpted jaw covered in dark stubble. He leaned in close, pouty lips hovering above your own and stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Until next time, kitten. And there will be a next time.”

#danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #Danny Johnson x you #jed olsen x reader #Jed Olsen x you #jed olsen #danny jed olsen johnson #DBD #DBD Ghostface #ghostface #ghostface smut #danny johnson smut #dbd smut #slasher x you #slasher fic #slasher smut #slasher fandom

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toxicanonymity · 1 month

Text

The Spread

PAIR: Thomas Hewitt x f!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.5k | MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: You hide and don't get slaughtered. Tommy secretly keeps you. He's kinda sweet if you're good.

WARNINGS: I8+ Canon-typical violence (implied) & setting, captivity, dark caretaking, manhandling, sleeper hold, oral f receiving, noncon unsafe piv, finger gagging, dark fluff, tommy has a praise kink, stockholm syndrome vibes. NO human skin mask: leather partial mask shown in photo. He is feral and naive due to his family. No use of Y/N. Divider by gasolinerainbowpuddles.

SIZE KINK - Reader is much smaller than Leatherface, can be carried and maneuvered. He is 6’5”, thicc and STRONG.

You barely escaped the so-called law man, and your friends weren’t so lucky. They got chased right into the lair of a chainsaw-wielding giant.

“C’mon, Tommy,” the Sheriff encouraged the giant, “Just like the slaughterhouse.”

Heavy chains thrashed, and one of your friends groaned.

“Attaboy,” the Sheriff praised.

While they were distracted, you ducked into a nearby woodshed. You didn't dare go far – you had encountered too many hazards on the property to trust your footing, and couldn't risk calling attention. Instead, you sat there in the shed, paralyzed, listening to your friends get butchered. One by one, their squeals turned animalistic until a wet thwack or rev of a motor cut them off.

Finally, there were no more screams.

Huddled in a corner of the woodshed, you tried to keep your wits about you. The shed was about the size of a small dorm room. There were stacks of wood all around–some freshly cut, some rotted–and hay covered the floor.

You were in a tank top and Daisy dukes with cowboy boots that made you feel like an idiot. You had sap on your knees from crawling over the wood. Taking deep breaths did nothing but fill your nose with cedar - it was only a matter of time before you’d meet your fate. You picked splinters out of your hands as you replayed the chase in your mind. You began to feel sure “Tommy” had seen you run into the shed. If that was the case, you didn't know why he let you go. You could only guess he already had his hands full.

“Think we got’em all, son?” The Sheriff asked.

Tommy grunted.

“That’s my boy,” the Sheriff concluded.

Dusk was approaching. Not long after the Sheriff left, heavy footsteps crunched louder and louder toward the woodshed. Your heart pounded harder with each step. The rickety door busted open with a plume of dust. Tommy’s silhouette consumed almost all the daylight that remained.

The door frame would’ve been tall enough for most men, but Tommy had to duck on his way in. He carried an ax. Each step he took shook the entire structure. His breathing was loud, his mouth hanging open below the leather that covered his nose. The partial mask covered his chin too, but not his mouth. It was fastened with two straps behind his head nestled in thick, chestnut hair that came down around his shoulders.

He approached you cautiously and paused when he was an arm’s length away. You whimpered, knees held to your chest. He sniffed around like an animal. Then he brushed a stray section of hair out of his eyes, and you saw a glint of uncertainty in his gaze. You tried to compose yourself, wondering if your fear could trigger him.

He knelt down to get a better look at you. He reached for you, and you jumped. He grumbled and held up a massive finger less than an inch from your mouth, telling you to be quiet.

Something possessed you to reach for his hand. He let you move it.

You put his palm on your cheek and watched his chest heave in confusion.

He tilted his head and stayed crouched there for a moment, staring at you with his brown eyes softening above the leather.

“Attaboy,” you whispered, repurposing the Sheriff’s words.

Tommy huffed, then abruptly stood. He left the shed, ax slung over his shoulder. He ducked again on his way out.

He didn't return for a while. You finally dared to open the door just enough to look out, but not for long, startled by an older woman’s voice calling, “Tommy!!! Time for supper.” You shrunk back into your corner, afraid you had been spotted.

You sat there frozen, afraid to run.

Sometime later, you heard a squeaky wheel approach the shed. The door opened more quietly than it had the first time. The hulking silhouette was backlit by a buzzing floodlight in the yard. The man seemed to be more careful and quiet this time. He had brought a few blankets. One of them was tattered, pale yellow bordering what used to be white, and it had Care Bears on it. He put the blanket over your body, coming all the way up to your neck, and patted your head. Then he took a bundle of newspaper out from under his arm and handed it to you like an offering. It smelled like barbecue.

As he turned to leave, you whispered, “Tommy.”

He dropped his head and looked back.

“Thank you,” you said.

Looking at the wall, Tommy offered a short nod before leaving. Then he locked the door from the outside.

After he left, you opened the newspaper. It was too dark to see, but the contents felt like a charred bone with bits of flesh hanging to it. You weren't hungry anyway.

You wrapped yourself tight in the blanket, and to your discomfort, your heart fluttered at the man’s softness with you. You replayed the day’s harrowing events in your mind’s eye and saw him differently than you had at first. Maybe he was nothing but an attack dog. You began to doubt he would've hurt your friends at all if not for the older, more wicked man in uniform.

Maybe Tommy was as much of a prisoner as you were. You wondered if he could talk. You felt sure he could listen.

After sunrise, you awoke to some commotion and heard a vehicle drive away. After a period of silence, you tried to open the door to the shed, but it was securely locked.

Soon, Tommy came back and unlocked it. He moved swiftly toward you with purpose in each heavy step, crouching slightly. The mass of his body strained his shirt. You'd never seen forearms like his. He could surely snap you like a twig, but something told you he wouldn't. Still, your heart raced when he lunged toward you. He reached over a wood pile and used both massive hands to force you onto your feet. He wrapped you in the blanket, then put you over his shoulder like a potato sack.

He put you into his wheelbarrow, then nestled some firewood around you. He looked around furtively as he did it. Then he covered you with another blanket and wheeled you across the bumpy ground, onto a smoother surface. He rolled a garage door down behind you and left you covered in the wheelbarrow as he rummaged around the garage.

You peeked out from the blanket and saw him placing shackles on a table. Your heart raced. You glanced behind you. The garage door was still lifted by a small margin. Maybe big enough to fit through.

You watched in terror as he brought out a mallet. Finally, your body unfroze.

You lowered yourself out of the wheelbarrow as carefully and quietly as you could and crawled toward the narrow opening. As you began to wriggle under it, your ass hit the door, making a noise far too loud to go unnoticed.

Within a split second, his massive hands were firm around your ankles, pulling you toward him, dragging you roughly across the concrete.

He manhandled you like a doll. He forced you onto your back and shook you, then wrapped a massive hand around your neck. Your life flashed before your eyes, and you kicked him. He grunted and grabbed you roughly by the shirt, then sat back on his knees. He held you with your back against his enormous thigh. Your Daisy dukes did nothing to protect your ass from the cold concrete. You thrashed, and he put the crook of his elbow around your neck, then everything faded.

When you woke up, you were chained to the table, with cold, metal shackles on your wrists and one ankle. You were bottomless, and the air was cool between your legs. Your feet were bare. All you had left was your tank top, which you wore without a bra.

You didn't dare move. A foul dust in the air made you sneeze, then Tommy came into view. He was wearing a butcher’s apron, and the sleeves of his dingy, button-up shirt were rolled up to expose those big, hairy forearms. He held the mallet. His eyes were industrious.

“Please don't hurt me,” you begged.

He laid a heavy hand on your shin, and you flinched. He gently placed your free ankle in a shackle, then nailed it shut.

“Please,” you begged.

He laid a hand on your thigh and looked you in the eyes.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked.

He huffed and put the mallet away.

You were relieved until he returned with a meat cleaver. You tensed and squirmed. He laid a hand on your stomach and his searing eyes told you to stay still. He slid the cleaver under your tank top, and you held your breath and looked at the ceiling. Your nipples hardened at the feeling of his knuckles between your breasts.

He violently sliced upward through the fabric, turning your wifebeater into a vest which burst open, freeing your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight and discarded the meat cleaver with a metallic clatter on a nearby shelf.

“Please,” you begged again, then he stuck his fingers in your mouth and peered in. His thick digits tasted like charcoal and salt. Three fingers were enough to stuff the orifice completely. When you stopped whining, he abandoned your mouth.

He cupped a breast, then cupped both of them. He hummed a curious “mm,” Then dragged his thumb down your sternum before stepping away to survey your body.

You felt like a cadaver sliced open for examination. As he slowly stalked around the table, it dawned on you that's what he was doing. He was studying you.

He stopped at a long side of the table – your left side. He brought his face–his leather mask–to your skin, just below your ribs. His hair fell onto your body, and the light brush of it tickled. He paused to loosen the strap at the back of his head. Then he dipped his face to your abdomen again. He turned his head and dragged his cheek, and the leather, over your bare stomach, to your breast. You could hear him desperately sniffing and wondered why he didn't take that thing off.

Lips, hair, and smooth leather dragged across your skin as he wiped his face along your chest. Then his face made its way into your armpit, where a dart of his tongue made you flinch and shiver. His tongue darted out again. He sucked the delicate skin slightly into his mouth before releasing it with a soft grunt.

He paused and pulled away. He pivoted to stand behind your head, then brought his hands to your breasts. Helowered his mouth to your neck and licked you. His hair fell on your nose and smelled like smoke and metal.

He seemed to savor the taste of your skin. He licked longer, harder, the strong slippery muscle of his tongue nudging your jugular. You felt a rush of arousal and shame. He tasted the other side of your neck and hummed in satisfaction. The throbbing between your legs made you wince.

He dragged his tongue down over your chest to lap at your breast. He flattened his tongue to lick your nipple, then began to suckle at it. One thing was clear - this was not for your enjoyment. He was entirely absorbed in what he was doing. He didn't even glance at your face. Whether it was for his pleasure or curiosity, you couldn't be sure. He moaned into your nipple and you knew you must have been gushing onto the table.

After a few seconds, he pulled away from your tit and began to sniff the air. He stalked around the table some more and paused at your shackled feet, staring up between your spread legs. He found the source. His hands dwarfed your thighs as he pushed them further apart. Then he dabbed a thick finger, only grazing your folds as he picked up just a taste of you from the table and brought it to his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed quietly, staring between your legs. He licked his finger again and his eyes searched the air curiously. Then he grabbed your upper thighs and anchored his thumbs on your outer lips, spreading you open. His heavy gut rested on the table between your feet as he leaned forward. As he lowered his mouth to your cunt, you twitched and felt another rush of shame.

His breath was hot on your cunt, then he dipped his tongue, and you tensed.

He lapped at your entrance, and the physical pleasure made you exhale and relax, while your fear remained. He licked and sucked, and your moan echoed before you could try to cut it short. Your chest was hot with embarrassment, but if he heard the sound, he ignored it.

He fed on your juices like a starved animal. He sucked and slurped, and dug his lips and tongue in, searching for more. The squelching and gurgling sounds were obscene between your legs. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into your hips as he feasted.

The leather mask nudged your clit and made your hips lift into his mouth. He brought a hand to your lower belly to hold you still. Then his tongue plunged into you. You whispered, “good boy,” and your whole body felt weak with shame.

He paused and glanced up, then repeated the action. It was true, some part of you welcomed this, as afraid as you were. In any case, the heat and pressure building in your gut would have to release at some point.

He fucked you with his tongue, nudging your clit with the smooth leather, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You'd never been eaten so voraciously. He moaned into your cunt and the tension was too much to hold. You whimpered as you began to pulse and twitch. His tongue paused as you clenched around it. Then he continued. Your back arched as he sucked it all out of you, swallowing every drop he could find. As your climax waned, you took slow, deep breaths.

Finally, he slowed down. He looked flustered for a moment, then his hand disappeared from your thigh. He pulled his face away, and the leather mask was soaked and shiny. Then he took his apron off. When he stood to put the apron aside, the protrusion in his pants made your breath hitch and your asshole flutter.

Your cunt spasmed once around nothing, and your insides churned as though making room for a massive guest.

You couldn't peel your eyes away. He adjusted himself, then palmed the bulge. His shirt had come untucked. The bottom button wasn't fastened, and his midsection strained the other buttons as his whole torso heaved. He eyed the mess between your legs as he palmed himself.

He seemed to be considering the possibility of stuffing your cunt with whatever monstrosity hid in his pants. He could take anything he wanted, but he didn't look proud of it. This didn't feel like something he did every day.

You decided not to fight back. You told yourself it was for survival, but you also twitched at the thought of him wrecking you. You looked at his crotch, then down between your legs, still gushing at the sight of him barely contained by his pants. The way his whole body wanted to bust out of his clothes made you weak in the knees. He was so solid and strong. You looked again from his crotch to your own, as though your eyes were instructing where to put it in defiance of your better judgment.

He grumbled as he picked up a hammer and approached you, making your heart nearly stop.

He pried the nails out of the shackles, and you cursed yourself for the way your heart fell. Your disappointment was quickly replaced by relief. A man this size, with these capabilities – he could have done serious damage to your body.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You laid on the table patiently looking at the ceiling as he went down to your feet and unshackled your ankles.

Then he grabbed you by the thighs and yanked you toward the end of the table, making you yelp. Your naked crotch came to rest flush against the bulge in his pants, making you ache with arousal. Your thighs trembled in fear.

You looked down toward him and he forced your chin upward, making you look at the ceiling. You pinched your eyes shut. You were at war with your body’s desire. He might kill you. He might actually split you in two. The dying squeals of your friends echoed in your mind. But his hardness swelled against you, and oh, fuck.

His hips backed up and you twitched at the loss of his warm package against you.

With your eyes still pinched shut, you heard his clothes jostling, then he spread your lips apart while he notched his tip against you. It was too big. He held your thighs again and pulled you toward him with a forward thrust and a grunt.

Being impaled with his cock felt like being split open. The girth burned as it stretched you, and you whimpered as your body tried to accommodate him. He stayed inside, and he sighed. You'd never felt so stuffed. He leaned forward, and the contact with your clit provided some relief as your body spread itself more. But still, your heart raced at the prospect of him moving. You prayed he would be gentle.

When you didn't stop whimpering, he stuck his fat, smokey fingers in your mouth again. He placed his other hand on your chest to hold you still, with the crook of his thumb close to your throat. You gagged on his fingers and he removed them. He wiped your saliva onto your nipple before kneading your breast.

Thankfully, you were wet and getting wetter. He held you down and slammed into you. The fullness pushed your thoughts out of the way along with your guts. You kept your eyes shut as he speared into you again.

His breathing and grunting seemed to echo through the room with every snap of his hips. His unholy girth twitched against your walls. He grabbed onto your hips and brutally pounded you. He used you like a sleeve until his moans were drawn out and his breath became ragged. He pulled you back hard and leaned forward, the weight of him resting on your lower abdomen. Your cunt fluttered in anticipation of his climax, but he paused. Your hips lifted, seeking friction for your front.

He pulsed once, making your chest flutter with pleasure, but then he swiftly slid out. He left you twitching for more as he finished coming outside. His cum painted your folds and inner thigh, and he grumbled and turned around. You lowered your chin to look just in time for him to release onto the wheelbarrow and floor. Then he stood there with his broad back heaving as he looked around.

You closed your eyes again and opened them when you felt fabric on your inner thigh. He was wiping you off with the bottom of his shirt. His face and neck were blotched pink, and he had fixed his pants. He was looking at you, chest still heaving when his ears perked up at the distant sound of tires on gravel.

He quicky put your shorts back on and gathered you off the table, nestling you in the wheelbarrow once more. He swaddled you in the old blanket, now wet with his cum, and opened the garage before quickly wheeling you back to the shed.

He placed you in the corner where you had been, just in time for the truck to park. As he turned to leave the shed, you said “Tommy. Can you bring me some water?”

He hesitated then gave a short nod before locking the shed again behind him.

He came back later with a jar of water and a metal bucket. You were shivering in the corner when he came in. He set the bucket down next to you, then placed his hand on the crown of your head and gently moved his fingers as he looked around. Then he abruptly began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled you up from the corner to put the shirt on you. His chest was hairy and broad, and his entire torso was thick, just massive.

“Good Tommy,” you said as he finished putting the shirt on you.

He paused and left it unbuttoned. His eyes were big. He held you by the sides, looking you up and down in the oversized shirt and Daisy dukes. Then he put you back where you were and locked the shed behind him.

The shirt was filthy, cumstained, and reeked of sweat, but it didn’t smell as bad as it should've. It didn't make you sick like it should've. When he left, you wrapped it tight around yourself, then looked in the bucket. There were apples.

Thank you for reading and engaging! Love you guys 🖤 please consider commenting even if this is old. It helps to know what you liked.

If you want more, good news - I have more thots! Feel free to send yours, too.

#leatherface x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface smut #thomas hewitt smut #slasher smut #slasher fucker #tommy hewitt #leatherface x you #thomas hewitt x you #slasher x you #slasher x reader #tw noncon #dark fic #toxicanonymity ☠️#slasher fandom #tw rape #texas chainsaw massacre #leatherface

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slashersidewhore · 5 months

Text

Slashers! HC how you first meet them pt.2

Slashers x f!reader

Includes Bubba Sawyer, Bo Sinclair, Art The Clown, Stu Macher

Warnings: mentions of murder/violence, some stalking/harassment (not by slashers), ill intentions, pre-relationships, reader is a bit self deprecating, shitty friends

Bubba Sawyer

Of course you’d been dragged on a girls trip, and of course the minute the engine blew in you were shoved from the back seat onto the side of the dusty, gravel road, laughed at and told, “go find a mechanic”

God forbid your so called friends, which now you were rethinking the decision to even be here and with them, chose somewhere to travel where there was actual cell service

So here you now were, standing on an old porch that you weren’t even sure was properly attached to the house barely kept upright and covered in chipped paint

“Hello?”

A few more knocks on the creaky front door echoed out before your patience ran out, turning the handle and finding it to be unlocked

“Uh, hello? If I’m breaking and entering just let me know but this place seems abandoned”

You cupped your mouth and spoke, just to cover all your bases in case you were actually entering someone’s home, although the cobwebbed walls and moth bitten carpet spoke otherwise

“This isn’t creepy at all…”

Wandering aimlessly through the houses threshold, you searched for something that you help back on the road where all your friends were waiting

Or maybe you were just hoping this would buy you time before you had to walk 4 miles back to tell them you came up with nothing, no mechanic, no help

Your eyes glanced across the room, taking in all the items scattered about, some miscellaneous and some meticulously placed

Then your curious gaze landed on an ash tray sitting beside a moldy plate of what looked like some kind of meat

Although the fluffy possibly-poultry wasn’t what alarmed you, the smoke filtering from the end of a half smoked cigarette resting on it did

“Boys, we’ve got a fresh one”

A deep voice hollered, a rough palmed and smelly hand slapping over your mouth to muffle the hale scream that had popped from your lungs due to shock

Before you could even think to fight against the obviously strong body pinned to yours, you were being dragged towards an open basement door and thrown down the narrow, wooden staircase like a rag doll

“Take care of er’ will ya?”

The voice of your captor yelled down from the top step, slamming the door behind himself and surely locking it in the process

Disoriented and nurses a now slight headache, you mustered the energy to prop yourself up, hazy eyes bouncing about the room before they landed on what could only be described as a large, terrifying figure standing a few yards away

He wore a stained and tattered apron, brown stains you were hoping were dirt and not dried old blood

One hand gripped a cleaver, whatever he was chopping up before you entered the basement sat mutilated on a work bench, the stench of iron heavy in the air

Despite all that, the man seemed frozen, staring back at you through the eye holes in a poorly sew together mask

“I didn’t even wanna be here,”

You started before you I could stop yourself

“My so called friends dragged me out of my room a few days ago for a last minute road trip, and of course when one of them decided to bring their fuck ass car without checking it out first, it literally gave up on itself and then I get sent out to look for help but guess what! We’re in the middle of nowhere so I found this house and well it’s your house so that’s just my luck”

The man only blinked, body language clearly taken aback that you weren’t screaming bloody murder

“Just, if you’re gonna kill me, can you at least knock me out first so it doesn’t hurt?”

A loud knock at the door startled the two of you, followed by the man from earlier noisily coming down the stairs

“Why haven’t you taken care of er’ yet bubba?”

The man didn’t yell but he definitely sounded upset by this turn of events

The other man, who you now knew was called Bubba, shuffled awkwardly in his spot, rubbing the back of his head before robotically motioning to you, still sat on the floor

“You like er’ huh?

You watched the exchange quietly, although unable to contain the confusion set on you’d features

“Fine, but she’s yours to deal with, you remember what happened last time we took in a stray”

At that you pointedly turned around, staring up at the man that regarded you in terms like you were a dog

“Well I’m not a stray, technically you kidnapped me-“

Bo Sinclair

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up in this seemingly abandoned town, one minute you were checking the map for your exit and then you missed it

Now you were here, coming to a stop as you realized you needed gas and weren’t anywhere near the hotel you had booked for the night

You definitely weren’t getting the rooms deposit back

Pulling into an empty parking lot, you pulled your phone from the passenger seat only to come up dry when the cell service was next to nothing

Then, before you could warn your heart not to jump out of your chest, a knock on your side window pulled a startled yelp from your throat

A man, not too old but not young either, stood on the other side of the car door, neutral expression morphing into a cheesy smile when your gaze met his and exchanged a few seconds of awkward, panicked staring

Brows raising in realization that the stranger, while sketchy and probably holstering a gun, could maybe help you figure out where you were and where to go

Opening the creaking door to your vehicle you pocketed your pepper spray just in case before hoping out of your seat and into the chilly night air

“You lost?”

“No, I intentionally ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere”

The man chuckled, albeit seeming taken aback by the brash sarcasm about your current situation

“Well good thing you ran into me, little lady”

The man who still carried about like this predicament was the most normal in the world smiled wider when your face pinched up in confusion, placing an open palm out to you

“I’m Bo, and you are, darlin?”

“Someone who knows not to shake hands with a complete stranger”

“Feisty”

“Oh, I’m getting there”

Despite the night breeze tickling the hairs on the back of your neck, you couldn’t help but enjoy the slight banter you were getting into

Although probably dangerous and wildly crazy to be out so late just walking around, this Bo character as charming, and something about his stare was growing increasingly comforting

“You know people don’t usually show up here, especially at night, all alone”

“But do they at least have gas in their tank? Because that’s already one up on me”

Bo threw his head back, whipping his hat off to push back the hair that fell towards his forehead in the fit of deep chuckles

“I’m normally not too inclined towards outsiders, but if you’d like a room for the night, I’d be happy to oblige little lady”

Art the clown

You strode through an alleyway, hands in your jacket pockets as you made your way back home

It was just your luck that the last night plans your friends picked for Halloween happened to be a party at the house of a guy you don’t even know

Especially your luck when only 20 minutes in you were all already abandoned, you’d ride gone and with it your phone charger

Thus, you nursed a bruised ego in a pirate costume, clutching your phone with one hand even though the battery was lost past dead

“Hey you!”

A distinctly male baritone called out from behind, you sped up not bothering to turn and face whatever stranger wanted a late night chat in the middle of an empty, dark alley

“Well that’s not very nice!”

The man responded to himself, deep chuckle furrowing worry lines between your brows

Just your luck, just your damn luck

Turning the corner to what could be described as more favorable to due the abundance of street lights and open space, the lack of people still has your nerves on overdrive

That was until you nearly ran smack into a body around the corner

Although expecting a gasp in surprise or shout in anger, all you received was a shocked expression, one such as a mime would use

Whoever this man was, was clearly wearing a very intricate costume, clown makeup done to the 9’s and a fully tailored suit to match, with a hefty, tan bag slung over one shoulder

All of your courage of wanting to leave this awful situation, and fear of what would happen if you didn’t took hold, before you knew it you were panicked and leaning forward, watching with just as much curiosity as the clown eyed you

“Listen you don’t know me, but there’s this guy following me and if you could just pretend to be, I don’t know, a friend, I would appreciate it”

The clown seemed to understand immediately, bright grin tossed on his features as the stranger that had previously had your full attention came to a stuttering halt

“Lady, I was talking to you back there”

“Oh! Sorry I just was meeting with someone and well, here they are!”

You laughed nervously, awkwardly leaning into the clown and patting at his shoulder, gazing at the stranger, you saw a look of terror cross his face right as he stumbled back a bit

“Yeah, got it”

And then he was high tailing it back the way he came

Glancing back at the costumed man you stood alone with, you caught how his face held a look of something utterly terrifying before he caught your eye, cheesy grin returning

“Thanks..”

You questioned for his name, grinning softly at the way realization of your ask spread across his face

Hand motions went left and up, down and right, then he paused, pulling the bag from his shoulder to rummage through it, pulling out what could only be described as junk, metal and rusty and junk none the less

Although the way he motioned to the item, placed it in your open palms and played a scene before you, you took to guessing

“Metal?”

“Sculpture…?”

He moved his fingers like a painter would stroke a canvas

“Art?”

That single word had the clown clapping his hands, tucking his body with a faux bow like you’d discovered something only a genius could

Laughing something genuine for the first time that night, you pondered if you should just take your chances and leave for home, or stick around a bit more with this concerning but most definitely interesting person

“So.. what else do you have in that bag?”

Stu Macher

Being the new student in a town where everyone already had friends, or at least those they only socialized with, was difficult

You’d only been here a week or so and you already wanted to move again, alas, that wasn’t exactly up to you

All you could do was hold your head high, and suck up the annoying situation you’d been tossed into

Now, a new school was bad enough, imagine your surprise would you found out there had recently been a string of grisly murders, unsolved and rampaging

Which is why you’d been an outcast since you’d appeared, like they all assumed it must be you, the murders starting, you arriving, it all was too much of a coincidence, despite the fact that it was

“Look at her, I’m telling you that girl gives off crazy”

Off handed comments like those weren’t unusual, yet today, after switching to a new class because of this exact issue, you’d had enough

“I bet she’s the killer”

“Oh yeah? And what’s your evidence?”

The girl gossiping with her friend abruptly stopped her ‘private’ conversation when she heard your quip

“Excuse me?”

You stood, in fact you stood so fast it made the chair screech across the floor, catching the attention of the rest of class

Luckily the teacher had stepped out and you could finally say what you needed without worry of authority looming over

“You know, if I’m supposedly killing students, like you say I am, why so proudly speak about it around me?”

You strode up to her desk, arms crossed with a look of disdain

She seemed taken aback, lips moving like a fish and head bobbing as she glanced between you and her friend

“Well, I-“

“If you really think I’m doing all this, why would you piss me off?”

The girl was at a loss, face paling as you simply said what you needed, before turning and grabbing your bag right as the bell went off, students funneling out behind you

Opening your locker, you startled when a body came crashing into the locker beside yours, arms crossed and looking at you with squinted eyes yet a wide grin

“So you’re the new girl?”

He wasn’t half bad looking, in fact, you found yourself heating up the longer he gazed down at you

He had this odd air about him, like someone holding too many secrets and hiding them far too out in the open, something that only seemed to allure you further

“And a murderer, haven’t you heard?”

You joked, taking out your next classes books before shutting the locker, the look on this guys face was utter curiosity, something you hadn’t received yet while being here

“Of course, just let me know what days you spree so I can avoid staying in”

Not gonna lie to y’all, I was so focused on getting this posted I haven’t spell checked or done a once over, there will and most likely are errors!

#slasher #slasher x reader #art the clown #art the clown x reader #stu macher #stu macher x reader #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #Bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x you #slashersidewhore #slashersidewhore fics

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phefics · 6 months

Note

An idea: poly!ghostface- the boys are out about to go after a victim when they find they’re missing something/something broken (the phone isn’t working or their voice changer doesn’t have batteries whatever you want is totally cool!)

They realize- afab!reader the needy little whore did it on purpose so they’d have to come home to her and give her attention like they don’t give her attention 99% of the time.

Which of course they do and they are very very grumpy angy bois. All like “oh you missed us you wanted our attention you know you’d get it when we came home but you had to ruin our game and now we gotta take our energy and anger out somehow”

Followed by some smutty degradation, spanking/punishment, good ole fashion filth lol

Side note i think you have one of the easiest to understand request rules idk some people just make them complicated but yours is great!

needy little whore

ship: billy loomis x fem!reader x stu macher summary: exactly what the ask above says!! :) warnings: degradtion, spanking, a bit of knifeplay, rough/unprotected sex, face-fucking word count: 1.3k

You knew that you were asking for trouble, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

It wasn’t that Billy and Stu weren’t giving you enough attention. In fact, to the average person, they would be considered abnormally clingy. It didn’t bother you, though, because you were the same way.

You would have survived one night without them, but you were feeling mischievous that night. You wanted to piss them off so that they’d take it out on you, because angry sex with Billy and Stu was a whole new level of adrenaline.

So, you stole the batteries out of their voice changer, and then hid all the other batteries in the house. You weren’t stupid: You knew the reason they wouldn’t be hanging at Stu’s tonight, and you didn’t mind that as much as you minded their attention being elsewhere.

Since Stu’s family was rarely home, you would often hang out there even when Stu wasn’t around. He didn’t care, and had even given you a spare key.

You watched the two boys head out the door, black backpacks surely stuffed with everything they’d need to carry out a brutal crime.

You popped in a VHS of Nightmare on Elm Street, then made yourself comfortable on the couch, wearing the most revealing pajamas you had. You had seen the way the boys looked at you before they left, and smirked to yourself.

You only made it about twenty minutes into the movie before you heard a car pull into the driveway outside. Anticipation built inside you, but you stayed put, looking innocent as ever as Billy and Stu burst through the front door, both looking absolutely pissed.

“What did you do?” Billy demanded.

You looked up at him with your sweetest expression. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid, Y/N,” Stu said. “You’re fuckin’ lucky we tested the thing first.”

“You trying to get us caught?” Billy asked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up from the couch. “You know we can’t fuck you if we’re in jail, right? Is that what you want?”

You shook your head. “No, of course not—”

“Ruining our game just cause you wanna get fucked, huh?” Stu said, closing in behind you. You were trapped between them now, Billy still holding your wrist as Stu pressed himself against your ass; he was already hard, and you bit back a moan at the realization.

“I just—”

“Couldn’t wait til we got home?” Billy smirked, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You would have gotten what you wanted later, but the needy whole just couldn’t wait.”

Stu gripped your hips from behind, breathing against your ear. “Well, we gotta get our energy out somehow. But now it’s all gonna be focused on you, baby. We’re gonna fuckin’ destroy you.”

You whimpered as they manhandled you back onto the couch, the film still playing in the background.

“Look at these slutty clothes,” Billy practically purred. “Barely covering anything…”

Stu pulled a knife from the bag he’d been carrying, the blade glinting in the light. “Bet you won’t mind if we take ‘em off,” he said, using the sharp blade to cut the strap of your top, then doing the same to the other side.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Billy stroked your hair and whispered, “We’ll buy you somethin’ even prettier, m’kay?”

Before you could offer a response, he shoved his fingers into your mouth, and you sucked on them reflexively, making him chuckle.

“Such a fucking slut,” he said.

Stu pulled the remnants of your tattered clothes off, leaving you naked as Billy pulled his hand back, admiring the strings of spit on his fingers before licking it off. He and Stu were completely fucking depraved, and it turned you on more than you could handle.

You were quickly pushed onto all fours on the couch, and you could barely contain your excitement at the idea of them fucking you. But that was wishful thinking. Instead, a hand came down on your ass with a hard slap! making you yelp.

You turned your head to see that it was Stu who had hit you, and you pouted at him.

“Oh, don’t give me that pathetic face,” he said. “You thought we were just gonna give you what you wanted after that? Not a chance, baby. We gotta punish you first.”

He laughed as you whined in response, clearly enjoying your frustration.

They took turns spanking you, slapping your ass without mercy.

“Count them,” Billy had ordered.

Each number left your mouth between pained groans and squeaks, stuttering over nine and eleven and thirteen, but when they hit twenty, they stopped, apparently satisfied with your teary face and marked-up ass.

“Think we should give the whore what she wants?” Stu asked.

Billy hummed, considering it. “I doubt she learned her lesson, but I wanna fuck her too bad to care right now.”

“Agreed,” Stu said, and you stayed on your knees as the two of them stripped out of their clothes hurriedly, bickering about who was going to take what place.

“You always get to fuck her, let me—”

“Her mouth is just as good—”

“Do I get a say in this?” you asked.

“No,” the boys replied, grinning at their synchronized speech.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched them play a rigorous game of rock-paper-scissors for who got to fuck you, and your laugh only grew when Stu won, and Billy flipped him off.

Some nights they would take turns, but after the spanking that they’d given you, they were gracious enough to not push your limits too far.

You were already wet, but Stu took some time playing with your pussy, fingers fumbling through your folds to rub at your clit, and you bucked your hips uselessly, moaning at his touch.

Billy walked to the other end of the couch, grabbing you by your hair and smirking down at you. “You gonna let me fuck your throat, slut?” he asked.

You nodded, opening your mouth for him without needing to be asked. He chuckled at your obedience, and wasted no time in pushing his cock between your lips.

As he did so, Stu was lining himself up with your entrance, his grip impossibly tight on your hips and he entered you, slow at first, before immediately picking up the pace, snapping his hips rhythmically. Every time he thrust forward, it made Billy’s dick go further into your mouth, and the sounds of their moaning filled your ears as they used you like the needy whore you were.

Your eyes teared as you focused on breathing through your nose amidst the pleasure of Stu’s cock inside you. Before you met them, you could never cum from penetration, but both Billy and Stu had a way of fucking you so good, rough just like you wanted, that it had become more common for you to orgasm from it.

“So fuckin’ hot,” Billy murmured, almost to himself. “Perfect fuckin’ mouth.”

“Such a slut,” Stu added. “Taking us both at once. Gettin’ off on it, too.”

You whined at their words, floating from the mixture of praise and degradation.

Stu came first, and Billy followed shortly after, and the three of you collapsed onto the couch together, sweaty and tired.

Stu leaned over to you and kissed you, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You had a suspicion it was partly so that he could taste Billy’s cum, but you kissed him back anyway.

“Get a room,” Billy joked, making Stu giggle.

Nightmare on Elm Street was almost over, and you were sticky and exhausted.

“You wanna get cleaned up, baby?” Stu asked.

You nodded, and before you could say anything, he was carefully leading you to the bathroom, his arms supporting the majority of your weight.

Billy went upstairs to grab you some clothes to borrow—a pair of his pajama pants, and one of Stu’s t-shirts. It was all too big on you, but it was comfortable and smelt like them.

You fell asleep to the sound of Billy and Stu planning another night to carry out the plan that you’d ruined. Maybe next time you’d take the burner phones off their chargers.

#poly!ghostface #billy x reader x stu #stuilly #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #ghostface x reader #billy x stu x reader #poly!ghostface x reader #slasher smut #slasher fic #ophelia's fics

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f1nalboys · 2 months

Text

Gotcha Something - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!GN!Reader

something short and sweet! happy valentines day guys! enjoy this thing ive been cooking up for a bit and failed at the execution <3

WORD COUNT: 1513

WARNINGS: nice gift gone sexual fr, bo is a perv but hes OUR perv, photos of reader in sexual situations, brief descriptions of wounds and past abuse from bo, stockholm syndrome is our readers defualt setting now, reader has the same scars as bo, bo calls reader his 'girl' but no genitals are mentioned. some nsfw photos and a hint of recorded sex but nothing actually graphic. slight somno mention in one photo. mostly proofread but hey im just a guy

“Happy Valentine's Day, darlin.” Bo places the package onto your lap, sinking down onto the couch beside you. You glance at him with a cocked eyebrow and he grins, something sinister hidden underneath the charming exterior. “What? You ain’t expect me to getcha something?” He asks, placing a large hand over his heart, tsking at you. “You’re my girl, remember?”

He purrs into your ear, the springs of the couch creaking with his shifting weight. He taps the package with his fingers and sits back, waiting. You pick the gift up carefully, letting out a hum at the weight of it. “You wrapped it in newspaper?” You ask, a hint of teasing in your voice, and he snorts, shrugging. “Did a pretty good job, honestly.”

He watches you with an amused expression as you carefully untape the package, pulling the leatherbound photo album out with an awe-filled gasp. “I do good?” He asks you smugly as you fawn over the barely-decorated cover, fingers brushing over the black sharpie. ‘You and I through pictures’ was written in his familiar scrawl, all capital. “Fixed up that old camera I had, been taking photos. Figured I should put it to use.”

“I love it already.” You say and you mean it, you do. You can’t quite remember the time before him, before Ambrose and the suffocating walls of the garage and his house. Leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, you look back down at the photobook with a small smile. Flipping it open to the first page you gasp, the smile falling as you stare down at the first photo.

It was a polaroid of you. Taken from behind in the garage, you look at yourself looking at the wall of fan belts, one hand down by your thigh, the other reaching upwards to grab one of them. Whoever had taken this photo, Bo you assume, had been hiding from you, the camera taken at a lower angle, the corner of the counter in the bottom left of the frame. Your eyes drag down to the scrawled message just below the photo.

“July 17 ‘20. First Time Meeting.”

“You looked so fuckin’ sexy that day.” Bo whispers, his arm sliding across your shoulder to bring you a little closer to him. You keep looking at the photo. “Knew I had to have you. You remember that?”

You nod your head slightly. “Mostly. It’s hard to remember anything before the garage.” You admit, looking at him. His smile falters, his jaw setting, and you’re quick to continue talking, a flash of panic in your chest. “But I remember meeting you! Your smile, your charm, you know?” You say, forcing a smile, eyes searching his. “I thought you were so cute, I just needed your help to make a move, right?”

“That’s right.” He says, and your shoulders dip as you breathe out in relief. You look back at the photo album, letting your finger trail down your frame in the photo. “Glad you broke when you did,” he purrs into your ear, his hand on your upper arm squeezing tightly for a moment. “That way I got to keep ‘ya. Would’ve been such a waste otherwise.” You hum, agreeing with him. Of course you agreed. Before Bo, you had too many opinions, too many thoughts in your head. He helped you realize your place wasn’t out there in the world, dealing with the headaches of everyday bullshit, it wasn’t here by Bo’s side, helping him get through the day and letting him put up with you. “Keep goin’.”

He sounds excited, leaning forwards to grab his pack of cigs and lighter from the coffee table, lighting one and taking a puff as he watches you flip to the next page. This photo is dated a day later, but the photo makes you wince. You were strapped to the chair in the garage, your face cut to hell, duct tape over your mouth, your eyes filled with tears and fear. You can barely make out the red and raw skin on your wrists and ankles due to the grain and you let out a shaky breath when Bo’s fingers lovingly run along your wrists, the warped skin warm to his touch.

You glance up at him and see his eyes transfixed onto your wrists, a pleased smile on his lips. “You used to cry for so long,” He whispers, pressing his thumb against the scar, the cigarette dangling from his lip. “In the beginning. Used to piss me off, kinda like a dog whinin’.” He chuckles, finally letting go of your wrist. “Kinda turned me on, though. Hearin’ you beggin’ me to let you go, to undo your wrists…”

“Yeah, I know it turned you on,” you say with a slight laugh, tapping the next photo, dated a month and a half later. “See? You even wrote ‘Our First Time’ on it.” This photo does bring a smile to your face. Your face is covered by your hands, dried blood on your wrists, your legs spread wide for him. Your shirt hung off your shoulders and if you think hard enough you can hear the sound of his knife cutting through the fabric. Bo’s jean clad legs could be seen in the bottom of the frame where he was positioned in between your legs. They were unbuttoned and showed off his freckled stomach and the thick line of hair that disappeared under his boxers.

He had been surprisingly gentle that night, lighting the melted down candles and playing jazz on the stereo upstairs. Bo had laid you down on the dirty mattress, his eyes taking in every single inch of your body, his grip only tightening when you attempted to cover yourself. It had been the turning point for you in some strange way, seeing that side of him. It made you realize that he had been telling the truth; you did love him.

“Still just as tight,” he says, his attempt at a compliment as he takes control of flipping through the album. Each photo causes you to blush harder, squirm in your seat. A photo of his cock inside you, bruise marks on your thighs. Another showed you on your stomach, wrists held back by his belt, hand prints on your ass. You strapped to the chair with a smile on your face and a fresh cut on your cheek. You looking up at the camera through your eyelashes and a pleading look. A photo of you sleeping and his cock pressed between your lips.

And those were just the photos where you were mostly aware of the camera.

The end of the photo album had three photos to a page, a quickly scrawled date and word next to each one. The photo of you in the kitchen wearing Bo’s button up shirt at the stove was captioned ‘10/13/21. Cooking.’ The one of you asleep in Bo’s bed was captioned ‘11/08/21. Sleeping.’ You fixing up Bo’s mechanics uniform, 12/23/21. Sewing. You reading a book on the couch, 1/02/22. Relaxing. You with Vincent and Lester at the kitchen playing a boardgame surrounded with pizza and beer, 5/28/22. Game Night. You hunched over a cake with your tongue poking out and a piping bag in hand taken from the hallway, 9/18/22. My Birthday.

“You really took all these?” You ask, glancing at him. He seems a little bashful now, his cigarette smoked down to a stub for once. He shrugs, putting the cigarette out onto the ashtray and settling back against the couch. “I love it, Bo.” You say, your voice cracking slightly. “This was sweet.”

“Yeah, well… figured you deserved it.” He says with a roll of his eyes, eyeing you carefully. Sure, some of the photos were perverted, and it chronicled exactly what he put you through in the very beginning, but it showed that he had planned to keep you from the very beginning. You give him a quick kiss, deepening it by placing your hand on his chest. “Really loved it, huh?” Bo teases, kissing you back. He gives you a sideways smirk when you move to straddle him, his hands instantly resting on your hips.

You fiddle with the top button of his shirt, biting back your own pleased grin. “For your gift, I was thinking…” Bo cocks an eyebrow at you as you trail off before you lean in, whispering in his ear. “Maybe you can get that camcorder from Vinny and use it tonight? Whatever you want?”

“Whatever I want?” He asks, amused, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. His eyes are dark. “Guess I need to do sappy shit for ‘ya more often then if it gets ‘ya like this for me.” He grabs your hand, bringing your wrist to his lips quickly before he’s gently pushing you off of him. “Get on to the bedroom. Don’t think about takin’ those clothes off; I want the camera to see it all, darlin’.”

#f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys works #bo sinclair #house of wax #slashers #slasher x reader #bo sinclair x reader #valentines day fic #bo sinclair x y/n #slasher x y/n #house of wax 2005

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nothomegal · 7 months

Text

"Safe and sound"

(Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: after being caught and claimed by the executioner, Silent Hill became a rather tranquil for you. However, a one particular entity, or rather entities, of this town kept bugging you anyways... Pun no intended.

Warning: mention of bugs and/or insects crawl on (Y/N)(?)

World count: 1.2k (kinda short ik hshalsdha)

(sorry if this is freaky, but I literaly dreamed about something similar and I just had to write it down hahdajkdha)

Waking up in this place is a bittersweet experience, on one hand, it's nice to wake up with some extra energy to tolerate the surrounding nonsense, but on the other one, it hurts and sucks to realize that one is still trapped in this hellhole. And today, (Y/N) woke up with the negative thought, but the sight of the broad muscular chest of their lover made their 'morning' a bit better, and also more flustering.

The shift from sleepy and grumpy to shy and akward seemed to amuse the beast, as he let out an low rumble, which resembled a purr.

—"Y-Yeah yeah... Good morning to you too."— you say a bit shy, looking away and gripping his clothes.

Though they don't look away for too long, because soon a large hand grabs their jaw and moves their head just enough for Pyra to see their face. Oh how much he adored that flustered and innocent expression of theirs, a great contrast from the faces of pain and horror he've seen on his daily basis before meeting (and then pursuing) (Y/N).

The mentioned person simply stares back at his massive metal helmet, slowly and involuntarily melting into his warm touch.

—"Do you really like to stare at my face so much?"—

As an answer, Pyra gives them a little squeeze on their cheeks and let out another low amused purr when (Y/N) tries to pull away.

—"He-Hey! Nyo, shtop!"—

Pyra messes with them for a bit longer, clearly enjoying to see them getting upset as they speak funny. This little playfight ends up with the beast wrapping his arms around his little human and pulling them back against his torso, letting them know that he's not ready to let them go, not just yet.

(Y/N) simply sighs and accepts their fate, this is still better than having their face licked and end up with saliva all over it. They start to get comfortable but...

—"Ah...- Aah-!"— you yelp suddenly as your body shivers violently.

Pyra instantly let go of them, allowing (Y/N) to sit up and put their hand underneath their shirt to then pull it out, holding...

A creeper.

That goddamn stupid roach-

—"AGH! For fuck's sake!"— you exclaim as you throw the insect against a wall.

Call this animal cruelty or whatever, but when these little shits keep crawling under your clothes and shirt every damn time you lay down and doze off for a moment, one kinda becomes annoyed with it. And feel their insect limbs and scaly body cling and brush against your soft skin or make the low hissing noises whenever you try to pull them away is straight up disgusting! Ew!

(Y/N) then lift their shirt, to make sure they spot any sneaky ones, and of course there is another one because life sucks. Yet this one resulted to be more stubborn.

—"Ugh, just get off! Is there really no other creature whose warmth you could leach on?!"— you grumble angrily as you try to shake the insect away, yet it kept clinging to your sleeve tightly.

Thankfully their struggles didn't last long, a single growl from the massive beast was enough to set the little roach-like thing into flee, quickly crawling away from them and disappearing into a random crack on the wall.

After a second check and coming out clean, (Y/N) let out a relieved sigh as they fix their clothes a bit.

—"Thanks... Sorry for the yelling, but I'm just tired of waking up with these little shits on me."— you admit tiredly. —"I mean, I'm no snowflake and definetely can handle them crawling on me, but when they go under my shirt..."— you instinctively shiver after mentioning that.

Pyra does nothing at first, not even a movement or a sound. (Y/N) knows that sometimes he goes into this stiff position, and it never fails to kinda freak them out because it's impossible to tell if he's thinking or holding back his anger.

He eventually moves, which caused them to flinch a bit because it was way too sudden. Pyra then began to slowly uncover his torso by opening the upper part of his vest while (Y/N) simply stares at him with a confused and kinda concerned expression, oh god don't tell his possesion over them made him feel lustful again-.

Luckly, Pyra seems not interested in any heated activities (for now). He remains completely still again with his vest opened, revealing his torso all the way down to his toned and scarred abdomen as he 'stares' back at (Y/N), like expecting them to do something.

They remain quiet and hesitant, eyes flickering between his torso and his helmet until it finally clicks.

—"Hold up... You want me to get in there?"— you raise your brow.

A metallic clank resonated from Pyra as he tilts his helmet slightly, movement resembling a nod. (Y/N) blinks a couple of times before doing as told, they're not sure what Pyra's plan is but they won't question it, and if he wanted to take them he'd ripped off their clothes a while ago-.

They slowly slide inside of his vest, their body getting a little spine chill at the sudden warmth of the beast's bare skin, it feels even warmer when exposed. They settle down, their head resting on his chest and their body slightly curled in a ball. The monster then closes his vest, wrapping the clothes around (Y/N) and keeping it closed with his arms wrapped around their smaller form.

Do you know how an owner sometimes let their cat hand out inside of their shirt? Well this is basically the same, but instead of the owner and a cat, it's a giant piramid headed beast and his little lovely human (Y/N).

Despite how weird of an idea it may seem, this is incredibly comfortable and cozy, (Y/N) just can't help but to nuzzle into Pyra's chest as they let out a content hum.

—"Not gonna lie, that's a very clever idea."— you momentarily stop nuzzling, then give a small kiss on one of his pecs before comfortably settling in place again. —"Thank you, really."—

A pleased rumble resonated from Pyra's helmet, making his chest and (Y/N) vibrate a bit. They slowly start to doze off again, and the little gentle nuzzling from the beast against their back isn't making their task to stay awake any easier. The sound of his breathing also resulted incredibly soothing, the way his chest raise and fall with each large breath he takes only lulls them further into sleep.

They feel one large hand slide up and rest in the back of their head, pressing them further against him in a protective manner. They involuntarely smile, childishly grin at the though of them being the only living thing to ever witness and experience this side of the fearsome executioner, who will do anything to keep other creatures away from them, him being the one and only allowed to be this close to (Y/N).

A sane mind would tell that such obsession and posessiveness is absolutely awful, but who said (Y/N) is sane? They lost it the moment they accepted to be taken away by the monster, or maybe they never even had any sanity in the first place! Who knows? Who cares? They surely not, not when they can enjoy being in the beast's arms, bathing in his warmth, listening his heartbeat...

Being kept truly safe and sound.

#nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #gn reader #slasher x reader

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