#thirteen nights of whorror

[sovtwords]

the ghostface - matsukawa issei

pairing: matsukawa issei x reader, slight hanamaki x reader

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

w/c: 13k

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

- ao3 link -

Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yachi blanches, shakes her head frantically.

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow. “Who?”

“…Kiyoko.”

“Ah, of course.”

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

The alcohol in your stomach churns viciously at the reminder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not as scary as it probably was for him.

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

“Yeah, no problem. I’m so sorry-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think she did,” Hanamaki drawls.

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

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

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

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

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

He shares a secretive smile with his best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Uh…”

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

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

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

“Yeah I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Again – fucking rich people.

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

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

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

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

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

Well. What a waste of time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shuffle nervously on your feet, and try again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Step.

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

That ghostly mask nods happily.

Step.

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

Step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then you hear it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s make a movie, babe.”

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

It sounds like-

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

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

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

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

“Oh, f-fuck-“

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

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

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

Maybe he was right about that one.

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

He stops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That voice! You definitely know that voice-

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

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

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

“Please…”

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

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

What the fuck am I saying?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve had a crush on him.

Your blood runs colder than ice.

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

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

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

“Well, aren’t you a clever girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

You had wanted to have sex with Matsukawa tonight.

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

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

“Surprise!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seems like tonight is the night for wish fulfilment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins.

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

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

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

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

No. Yes.

You want to crawl into a ball and die.

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

Say yes and you’ll live another day.

You don’t plan on dying here.

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

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

“Y-Yes, I do. Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-Shit, feels...so…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yes, it’s yours, it’s all yours-!”

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grow cold when he stares at the knife.

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

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

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

“I thought you would have killed her already.”

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

You feel like you might burst into tears again.

“Nah. Plan’s changed.”

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

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

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

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

You swallow roughly.

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

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

His eyes meet yours. “Bingo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh no.

Here we go.

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

“Wazzuuuup.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it is my favourite meal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hanamaki smiles in sweet delight.

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

#thirteen nights of whorror #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! #haikyuu smut #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fanfiction #hq smut #matsukawa issei #matsukawa scenarios #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa imagines #matsukawa oneshot #haikyuu matsukawa #matsukawa x you #matsukawa smut #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki scenarios #hanamaki x reader #seijoh smut

[sovtwords]

the executioner - ushijima wakatoshi

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader

warnings: 18+, slight DC, kidnapping, blowjobs, facefucking, deepthroat, restraints, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, lots of cum, squirting, sex with an audience i guess?, slight monsterfucking if you count pyramid head as a monster lol implied/referenced character death, porn making/videos

w/c: 4.1k

a/n: welcome to chapter 5 of thirteen nights of whorror! please read the tags before proceeding - if you think i am missing anything let me know and i'll fix it. this chapter is inspired by pyramid head from the silent hill series, also from dead by daylight. enjoy! feedback is appreciated!

- ao3 link -

Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

This is a joke.

This must be one big, twisted, fucking demented joke.

But the chafing of your wrists, the knicks and gashes in your skin, the hoarseness of your throat and the adrenaline bursting through your veins are absolutely nothing to laugh about.

Neither is the great hulking mass of beast that just about fools you into thinking he is a human male lurking before you where you lay tied to a rickety and worn operating table.

You don’t remember much of how you got here, or when you even entered the hospital in Silent Hill. All you know is that these sad excuses for nurses worked together to drag you into an operating room, using your fear and shock as an opportunity to strip you of your clothes and throw a hospital gown messily over your form and tie you to the table.

The room is terribly bare with faded and scratched walls, stained with stuff you'd rather not ask about. Papers and debris cover the floor, and the furniture looks ready to fall apart with a light gust of wind. The only noteworthy thing to look at was an odd picture of a house on fire, one that puts an odd weight on your chest. You look away in disgust and focus your attention on the cuffs holding you down.

You pull and tug on your restrictions but it’s futile. They’ve tied you down with absolutely no way of escape, and all you can do is lie here in a dark pit of anxiety and await whatever doom they have planned for you, watching with bloodshot eyes as they stand to the side, twitching and shuffling in their rather risqué uniforms.

In any other circumstances you’d admire their raunchy display of cleavage and thigh but as it is your brain is pumping fear through your body and telling you to ignore the questionably hot nurses and get the fuck out of here.

The operating table shakes and squeaks as you thrash against your bonds, hoping against hope that they’ll miraculously break and you’ll be sprinting out of here with your ass cheeks hanging out of the hospital gown they’ve donned you in, but no such luck.

And terror made your body seize up, deathly cold and chest squeezing suffocatingly tight once he entered the room with a violent push of the old, creaking doors.

The Executioner.

“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief.

Clad in a butcher’s smock wrapped around his waist of a faded and dirty white, decorated with grime and, of course, patches of blood to really complete the look, he walks into the room slowly and menacingly, but you’re too focused on the strange and terrifying helmet that seems to be bolted onto where his head should be. Overly large and undoubtedly a big contributor to neck pain, its rusted and black metal is forged, rather bizarrely, into the shape of a pyramid; all dangerous pointy corners that could poke your heart out if it managed to hit it. And to top it all off, rippled muscles and bulging biceps bigger than your skull work to hold a sword nearly as long as a utility pole.

You wonder, in your fear driven deliriousness, if you should ask if he’s overcompensating.

You find it hard to take in a breath of air when he comes to where you’re trapped on the table, looming over you like a tower of terror, so robotic and stiff with his movements, no doubt fixing you with a glare beneath that helm of his. He stays that way for a moment, just… staring at you, and you can almost feel the weight of his eyes – if he even has any – roving up and down your gown covered body as the time ticks by, anxiety gnawing at you and the annoying clicking of the nurses’ heels on the tiled floor echoing in the operating room as they twitch in place. You can’t spot any torturous looking surgery tools nearby, but it is of little consolation considering the size of the blade he wields, and you jolt in surprise as he suddenly lodges it into the ground with a metallic grunt, piercing through the floor with ease and sending bits of debris flying.

Hands now free, you’re surprised again when they’re quick to rip off the pathetic gown covering you with ease, throwing it behind him without even a thought. So much for that, anyway. The cold air of the room bites at your skin and makes you gasp, squirming on the table at the myriad of sensations running through you; fear at the overall situation, irritation for even getting stuck here, and a certain kind of bashfulness heating up your body as you become aware that he is staring at your naked body, at your pebbling nipples, your dips and curves, at the sweetness between your legs.

His large hand reaches out to grasp one of your tits, almost covering the flesh entirely with his broad palm, and rubs a calloused thumb over your nipple with a gentleness you hadn’t expected from a monstrous being like himself. He seems content to explore, to squeeze and pull at your chest with unbridled interest. When his other hand joins to fondle your opposite breast and tweak your nipples simultaneously you can’t stop the arch your body does, emitting a light whimper as it shoots a tingling feeling to your core.

You bite your lip when he stills completely in the middle of pushing your tits together, comically cradling them in his hands as he registers what just happened. When the Pyramid Head decides to test the waters and give another tug of your puckered buds he’s rewarded with a huff of air and a twitch of your hips. It seems he’s answered whatever question he had in his mind, and decides to be a little rougher, a little more assured in his movements, eager to draw more noises out of you.

And God was this fucking weird, but the alternative was him splitting you in half with his sword, so you’d rather endure some titty handling than dismemberment.

You can feel a slickness coating your sex, rubbing onto your thighs with every attempted squirm of your legs despite the cuffs keeping them apart. It seems to catch the Executioners attention, for he turns that big helmet of his towards your legs.

Ever so slowly he trails a hand down your chest, over your stomach and dipping a finger into your belly button quickly before it continues, tickling your abdomen with a featherlight touch before finally reaching the outer lips of your pussy, drenched in your juices and clit throbbing, practically begging to be touched and played with.

Your body is flushed and heated like pure flame, chest rising and falling faster now in anticipation of his next move. His finger runs up and down your lips for a moment, grunting in something akin to satisfaction when it dips in and feels just how soaked you are.

He tests the waters, feeling around your cunt in curiosity, yet when it brushes against your throbbing nub accidentally you keen in response, letting out an embarrassing moan over finally being touched where you wanted it most. Seeing your enthusiasm, the Pyramid Head decides to do it again, and again, and again – until he’s found himself a rhythm of brisk strokes over your clitoris, steadily pooling heat in your gut that wants to burst.

Try as you might, you can’t stop the flow of desperate moans that fall from your lips like the running water of a river, loud and overtaking what little sound there is in the room to begin with – the heels, the squeaky table, the metallic grunts of satisfaction from the terror above you toying with your clit.

It seems he has no intention of slowing down his fingers, fast little flicks over your swollen bud are enough to satisfy both you and him, and all too fast you feel your orgasm build and build until with a gasp and a loud moan you cum, clenching sadly around nothing and trapping his hand between your thighs as your body curls up in ecstasy. Your limbs twitch, your brows furrow, and as you come down from that high that had taken hold of your senses you become aware of the fact that he’s still rubbing at your clit.

The overstimulation makes you cry out, thrashing your head against the operating table.

“N-No- no more, please!”

That big helmet of his inclines the slightest in your direction, and you nearly sob in relief when he removes his fingers and stops harshly rubbing you. But it brings with it a new problem, one that you had momentarily forgotten in your strange sexcapade.

He turns his upper torso to stare at the giant sword he dug into the ground, and you spot the hand nearest to it clenching and unclenching, as if readying to pick it up and behead you.

Obviously, this isn’t an option for you. You were finally going to start getting your life on track and pay taxes like an adult, damn it! Was this why he was here? Is he here to punish you for evading the law one too many times?

Well, you’re not about to die for your country, so you do the next thing you can think of to save your skin. Time to whore yourself out of these cuffs.

You cough a little to gain his attention, and keep your orgasm dazed look on your face as best you can to avoid showing fear.

“W-What about you?” you sigh airily, and hate yourself for almost cooing at the way he slightly tilts his head to the side like a stupid, scary dog. You make a show of pointedly looking down at his crotch hidden beneath the smock, but your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when you notice the bulge he’s sporting.

It could nearly punch you in the face with how big it looks, partially lifting the fabric of his smock with how painfully erect it must be. Despite the monster it belongs to, it makes your mouth water, sends some more tingles down to your recovering pussy.

It takes only a moment of deliberation until he unbuckles the belts that hold his garment and throws it carelessly to the side to reveal what must be one of the biggest dicks you had ever seen in existence.

He definitely was not overcompensating with the sword and helmet.

You move to grasp it but forget momentarily about the straps keeping you chained to the table. You pull at it uselessly, but it doesn’t budge. The large hand that covers your wrist surprises you, the hard tug it gives to dislodge it and free your arm even more so, but you don’t have time to dwell on that right now.

You can’t wrap your hand fully around the base of his cock, but a rattly sigh emits from the helmet anyway. The Executioner juts his lower torso into your fist from where you’ve begun to stroke up and down, thumbing the pool of precum that is spilling endlessly from his slit. He seems to enjoy that, so you repeat the action, before moving downwards to cup his heavy balls, fondling and caressing his sack in a way you hope he enjoys.

You continue to jerk and tug on his hard member for a few minutes; pouring all your attention on the parts that make a moan echo in his helmet, make his sculpted abdomen tense and relax, make his fists twitch awkwardly, longing for somewhere to go before an idea comes to you. Without giving it much thought, you lift your head to the best of your ability and slip the head of his cock into your warm mouth.

You’re rewarded with a loud, gravelly growl, his hands coming to rest on the sides of the table and holding on for dear life as you attempt to take more of him in. You only reach halfway down his cock before you feel it hit the back of your throat and tears pool in your eyes.

Your tongue laves at the bulging vein on the underside of his shaft when you pull him out of your mouth, licking him up and down like a lollipop, kissing his balls like a tease, pulling out all the stops to avoid certain death. What you can’t take into your mouth your free hand does the rest, working in tandem with your mouth as you bob your head up and down his cock, daring to press it at the back of your throat before pulling out again.

A large hand winds itself through your hair and you whine over the nails that scratch lightly at your scalp. He takes control of your head, moving it up and down his cock at the pace he wants, and you try your best to breath through your nose and keep up with your hand as he picks up the pace.

You give a muffled scream around his shaft when his hand returns to your cunt; this time slipping two fingers in with ease and forgoing anymore foreplay. There’s a slight sting that comes with it, of being wholly unprepared for two thick fingers to penetrate you, and his clumsy curling and twisting of those digits doesn’t help but the cock ramming down your throat is enough to distract you for now.

He shows no mercy as both of his hands increase in speed and intensity – the left drags your head up and down his cock until he’s practically using your mouth as a hole to fuck into, and the right thrusts in and out of your walls, the crude sounds of his palm slapping against your sopping wet entrance ringing out in the room above the silenced whimpers and gags you emit with your mouth full.

His fingers graze against your G-spot so deliciously as he continues hammering away at your cunt, providing reprieve from the blunt force of his fingering. When you clench around him in delight his digits stall occasionally, squeezing him too tightly for him to move. It makes the Executioner grunt metallically through his helmet as his hips start moving of their own accord and joining the power of his hands.

Despite the orgasm you can feel rising once more deep in your belly you’re finding it hard to breathe now as he rams his dick down your throat. Everything is just so overwhelming, happening too fast for your brain to keep up with and no amount of pushing at his pelvis with your now free hand is going to stop him now that he’s been granted an outlet for his own release.

The icing on top of the proverbial cake comes in the form of a third finger being added to the chaos in your nether regions; but instead of burying itself into your gummy walls like the others, it brushes briefly through your soaked folds, gathering up your slick before poking at your asshole and pushing right in just as you register the foreign object at your rear end. It feels alien, strange, and you tighten around all of his digits reflexively, trying to accommodate how you're being filled in every hole you have available.

‘Two in the pink, one in the stink’, eh? You never expected that to be his style.

Your eyes widen in fright as you cry around the dick sliding past your lips, but it only serves to excite him, making him throw his head back with a warbled groan and jerk his hips further down your throat. You gag on reflex, feeling the horrible churning in your gut as bile threatens to make itself known, but before you can ruin the moment, he pulls out to drag the head of his member against your open lips as you gulp in air.

Your chest heaves ragged intakes of air, your mouth is sore, and tears are streaming down your cheeks, but your break for air is anything but relief as he continues the assault on your pussy and rear, thrusting his fingers in at a speed that makes you delirious and lightheaded. You can feel your juices splash everywhere – on your thighs, his hand, the table – with each slap of the heel of his palm against your core. It’s so terribly obscene, downright filthy, and it makes you scream to the high heavens in ecstasy as your release is fast approaching.

As if he can sense it, he shoves his cock back in and fucks your mouth with abandon, throwing what little care he had for your body to the wind as he chases his high with you, covering his shaft in your spit and tears. The pads of his fingers press hard onto the spongy flesh in your walls and it makes your eyes roll back into your skull.

You can feel your peak rising, building and building with each stroke of his fingers, and a strange sensation comes with it, something you don’t understand but you’ve no time to dwell on it because you feel it coming; clenching around his hand, thighs shaking, gargling dumbly around his cock. And with a curl of all of his fingers in your holes, it’s coming- you- oh!

You come hard and fast; body immobile as it seizes with white hot pleasure racing through your body from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pleasure gushes out of you, squirting all over his arm and the table without a care in the world as his hand fucks you through it, prolonging your intense orgasm for even longer.

With a rough grip on your head his own pleasure finally overcomes him, shoving his cock all the way down your throat and burying your nose in his pelvis as he shoots his hot load into you, forcing you to swallow around him as he gives a roar beneath his helmet. It’s animalistic, feral in tone and feeling, and it sends shivers down your body as you succumb to the sensations taking hold of you.

But he cums, and cums, and cums. It's an overwhelming taste: bitter, like toxic acid, and it's never ending as you attempt to swallow all of it, but you can't keep up. It's forced to spill out of the sides of your lips, dripping down onto his cock and the table, but it's still coming, and soon you feel a burning, tingling sensation in your nose as his seed is forced out of your nostrils like you're in some absurd hentai.

After what feels like hours of spilling bucket loads of his seed down your throat, he pulls back while you gasp for air, a line of spit and cum connecting you to his softening cock as he lays your exhausted head on the table. You wince wearily when his hand slips away from your aching cunt, your walls and asshole clenching around nothingness and almost begging for him to stay.

You’re a mess of all sorts of fluids on the operating table as you heave air into your screaming lungs; sweat and cum seem to cover every surface of your cooling skin and it makes you grimace, groaning with every twitch of your body, skin sticking to the fading table holding you up.

In your delirious and fucked out state you’re half tempted to ask if the Executioner knows a thing or two about after care, maybe call out to one of the nurses to set up a bath for you, but the jokes die on your lips as soon as his left hand grasps the handle of his blade, the butcher’s smock one again fitted around his muscled waist as though moments ago had never even happened.

“W-Wait, what are you d-doing?” you croak out.

Of course, he remains silent as his judgement washes over you like a bucket of ice-cold water. You start to tremble for a different reason than post-sex bliss and use your free hand to try and break your other arm free. It’s useless, though, and for all your pulling and crying, it refuses to budge. You turn around to the Pyramid Head to see that heavy sword resting on his shoulder, the hands that were once roaming over your body, bringing you to the peak of ecstasy, are wrapped around the grip of the blade, the veins in his arms bulging and muscles tensing, readying to lift it high.

“Please- no, I didn’t do anything-“

He doesn’t say a word.

“I don’t know why I’m here!” you yell in frustration, eyes blurry with pools of tears, snot beginning to run down to your upper lip. How dignified. “Why was I brought here- don’t kill me. Please! I’m begging you!”

That helmet only stares at the worn painting of the burning house, then back to you in silence.

You’re openly sobbing now, utterly helpless as you lay on the table and await death.

And still, he stares at your pathetic display of fear.

“I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I did wrong! I-“ you pause your blubbering as realisation dawns upon you. “Is- am I here because of my sister? Because I left her to…to die in the f-fire? Is this s-some sort of punishment?”

He finally inclines his head a bit further in your direction, as though answering your question, and you’re a weeping mess all over again as waves of guilt and panic wash over you.

“No, please I didn’t mean to- I couldn’t get her out in time! I had to save myself first-“

The Executioner's hands begin to lift the sword, raising it high and pointing the tip of the blade to the ceiling, ignorant to your wailing and thrashing below him.

“I’ll b-be better, please no- I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me, oh fuck, let me go- Mom! Dad! Anybody! Help me, please- I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so-!”

The Executioner brings down the sword faster than the spreading of the blaze in your old home.

And the world grows black.

.

.

.

“Ow- fuckin’- CUT!”

There’s a collective sigh from everyone in the room; from your meagre crew, the actors wearing the skimpy nurse outfits and kitten heels, and most prominently from yourself as you call CUT on another scene once again because of the only person in the room who’s not currently sighing in a mixture of fatigue and annoyance.

You scowl up at Ushijima’s towering form above you, knowing that it is absolutely not his fault for the costume he wears (in fact, that blame actually belongs to you but you’re not ready to deal with that just yet), but you’d just wish he’d realise that after the 32nd take of filming this porno that aiming his helmet too much to the left was going to cause him to poke you.

“Why are we stopping?” his deep voice asks through the helmet, and you can’t help but sigh once more at his obliviousness. You can only thank your lucky stars that this isn’t a role that requires dialogue for him – otherwise you’d be here all week doing reshoots.

“Because you poked me – again.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, not at all sounding remorseful. “Maybe we should take off the helmet.”

“The whole point of Pyramid Head is the helmet,” you deadpan, fixing unimpressed eyes on the vague location of where his own eyes would be through the prop mask.

“That’s impractical of him,” is his response. You let out a snort and accept the blanket he offers you as you tell everyone to go for a break. Slipping out of the cuffs with ease, he helps you off the table and wraps the blanket firmly around your form while you thank him.

“I don’t think he really cared,” you joke as you help him remove the helmet in question. He looks relieved to have it off, if the minor shift of his lip is anything to go by, and you feel pity for him. His handsome features come into view, and you offer him a small smile.

“He should,” Ushijima responds while taking a seat in the nearest chair with you in tow. “It’s bad for his neck. He would never be able to play good volleyball if he puts such strain on his back.”

Before he can get to it, you place your hands on his shoulders and dig in, working out any kinks and knots you find. He nearly melts into your touch, face as stoic as ever but his eyes slip shut as he lets out a pleased huff of air.

“I think the only thing on Pyramid Head’s mind was murder. Doubt he has any interest in volleyball like you.”

“He would be a fine player. He should get into volleyball.”

You sigh once more, but this one holds a tinge of affection.

“Y’know what? Maybe he should. He’s got a killer swing.”

#thirteen nights of whorror #haikyuu!! #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fanfiction #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima scenarios #ushijima imagine #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x you #ushijima smut #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #hq smut #ushijima fluff

[sovtwords]

the psycho - miya atsumu

pairing: miya atsumu x reader warnings: 18+, slight DC, dom/sub dynamics, power play, rough sex, impact play, spanking, sex toys, paddles, handcuffs, hate sex, facefucking, deepthroat, breeding kink, unprotected sex, implied/referenced character death, porn making/videos w/c: 9.8k a/n: welcome to chapter 4 of thirteen nights of whorror! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE MIYA TWINS AKA MY HUSBANDS WHOM I LOVE AND ADORE AND DEVOTE MY EXISTENCE TO!!! I wish I had the brains to post Osamu's at the same time but completely forgot so Atsumu will do for now. not completely happy with it but if I stare any longer I'll cry. please read the tags before proceeding - if you think i am missing anything let me know and i'll fix it. this chapter is inspired by patrick bateman from the movie american psycho. enjoy! feedback is appreciated! - ao3 link - Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

White wine ripples and splatters from the force of your sigh as it's brought up to your lips, downing one large gulp while the man across from you continues to smile in a way that seems borderline condescending, making your skin blister with irritation.

Miya fucking Atsumu, CEO of MiyaSports Ltd., his own little company passed down through generations of nepotism to sell fancy sports equipment to drugged up athletes, sits in front of you - blonde hair perfectly styled and coloured, a warm, grey suit that looks expensive and no doubt imported from Milan, completing the look with a fancy watch, gold rings and a killer smirk that's laced with money and succeeds in swooning every single woman (and man, if you're being honest) that he's come across. And that's just this evening alone.

His smiles grow thinner and thinner with each minute that passes as his own arrogant brand of patience wanes.

"I'm jus' askin' ya to think about this."

You have thought about it.

And your answer has been the same since day one.

"No."

Another fancy dinner in a five star restaurant to schmooze you over, another night of refusing what you would guess to be your millionth marriage proposal from him.

Miya Atsumu has been trying to propose to you for what feels like years now, ever since you had met at a charity ball by way of your parents introducing the pair of you when you had been just a teen.

First impressions were less than favourable.

The blonde had said little more than five words to you, including 'hi', "nice meeting you', and 'bye' before moving off when his parents weren't looking and drinking as much alcohol as he could until someone stopped him. Rumours say he wasn't found until much later that night, in a rather compromising position behind the kitchens with one of the older serving women who had been on duty that night. And you fully believe those rumours.

Atsumu was an arrogant, sleazy prick, and the minor, miniscule, not even noteworthy crush you had on him at some point in your life was embarrassing.

What makes it all the more strange is that his twin Osamu was actually a decent guy. He should have been the one to inherit the fortune, not Atsumu. But Osamu was busy chasing other dreams, he had told you, opening businesses in Europe with his boyfriend Suna Rintarou, and so it was to your great despair that you were left to suffer the presence of the objectively 'bad twin'.

It hadn't been until a few years after that dull first meeting, filled with years of stunted conversations and company showboating after he took over MiyaSports Ltd. that the proposals started flooding in like a dam had broken and the water was left to rush in.

It was so sudden, how he had invited you to an island getaway seemingly out of nowhere, and like the kind fool you were, you agreed. You had foolishly assumed he just wanted to improve what little friendship you shared under the terms of sharing a nice holiday - it was summer, after all, and you had no more business classes to attend to. You wanted to relish your freedom. So colour you surprised when he had an entire restaurant booked out just so he could propose to you with a band playing behind him and the entire waiting staff ready to clap.

You were appalled, to say the least. And you ran.

He had called your phone in a fit of fury; talking about how much you embarrassed him, how you made him look bad, and you might have felt bad were it not for your immense confusion and outrage at having this all staged without even an inkling of prior knowledge about why the hell he was suddenly proposing to you after giving you a cold shoulder for so many years.

It didn't click until after the 4th proposal why he was so insistent.

Your fathers’ health was declining rapidly, simultaneously as your time working directly with the family business and filling holes your father had left behind was increasing. Your family’s company, ProPower - specialising in energy drinks, protein powders and whatever else a gym bro would need without having to turn to the illegal side of things to get their boost, had increased in popularity in the last decade as sponsorships and advertisements from major teams drew the eyes of many. And because of that, maintaining the business and staying on this hot streak was more important than ever. But with your father unable to attend to his affairs due to his failing body, you're the next hope for the business and its success for the family name.

And what makes one successful company even better?

Two successful companies merged together, whether through a business partnership or, rather conveniently, marrying into the opposing business.

And once it all clicked into place, it was almost laughable how ‘no’ slipped out of your lips faster than any other word you’ve said in your entire life.

The marriage proposals changed like the passing of time and the turning of the seasons.

Some were outrageous and cringe-worthy; like having a plane spell out ‘will you marry me? - M.A’ with smoke trails, or stopping the finals of a football game you attended with a friend just to get down on one knee, voice blaring into the microphone while the crowd oohed and awed as every camera pointed in your direction with your face plastered on the big screen (to which you just got up and left without an answer and suffered abuse online for weeks from strangers calling you a bitch for turning down someone like Miya Astumu.)

Some were almost humble in nature; a ‘modest’ trip to his private beach house to watch the sun set behind the clouds with glasses of wine, a picnic in a suspiciously quiet park (you suspect he paid the city to close it for a day) and a stunning ring hidden in the middle of some red velvet cake, or even like tonight with a simple dinner and that cursed velvet box sitting on the table, laughing at your misfortune with every drink you finish. It’s painful, because in moments like those, Atsumu almost seems like a decent guy; one who is actually capable of being kind, romantic, trusting - a guy who seems like he would be a good husband if given the opportunity to grow out of his shell of imperious, patriarchal thinking and show that he’s capable of acknowledging someone other than himself for once.

But that’s wishful thinking.

Because if there’s one thing that ties all of those stupid fucking proposals together, one thing that will always reveal Atsumu’s true nature, is that they lack all forms of love, purely motivated by greed, greed, and more greed. It’s a shame, really. He would be a lot more bearable if he wasn’t trying to latch onto every bit of gold he can spot and feeding off of the desperation of money-grabbing whores who lick his ass for a dollar of his time.

An icon of avarice.

It’s clear that all Atsumu wants is to dip his little pampered fingers into your family’s company and bag himself a fortune for life. Piling millions upon millions doesn’t seem like a bad investment, and with your companies focusing on the same target audience it seems only logical to become partners.

Had he come to you in good faith from the very start, you might have considered joining together to elevate your companies.

Yet with every lie sprouted from smirking lips, you get further and further away from maintaining any sort of relationship with him, regardless of whether you care for his brother and family.

You stiffened when Atsumu took hold of your hand from across the table, and retracted it just as quickly. A flash of annoyance passed over his face before he smoothed it away. It got easier reading his tells over time. He can plaster a charming smile on his face and woo all the people he wants - you’re over it.

“Please - jus’ give me a chance. I really like ya, and-”

“No you don’t,” you cut him off with a loud scoff. “Stop pretending - you just want my money and shares in my company.”

“For good reason - d’ya not see the kind of cash we could be rakin’ in if yer drinks were sold with my equipment? Sports leagues would go crazy over that shit.”

He proves a good point, you think begrudgingly, but my pettiness and spite is too strong now to simply back down.

“My company is doing just fine on its own-”

“And it could be doin’ even better with mine-”

“Why a marriage proposal, then? Why not just a partnership, if you’re so adamant about joining MiyaSports with ProPower?”

Atsumu’s ever present smile shifts in a minute, near unnoticeable way that you would have missed were it not for the intense stare you pin on him. He smiles without ever truly smiling, that a smile was nothing more than another step in business than an actual thing you do when you’re happy. His face seems practically blank; cold, calculating eyes contrasting the wide curl of his lips. It unnerves you how he wears it like a well crafted mask.

“As I said before - I lika ya.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Like me? You haven’t even taken me out on a date.”

Atsumu lifts a perfectly plucked brow. “No? Then what do you call this?”

“Taking me out just to propose to me when I know barely anything about you personally - despite how long we've known each other - hardly counts as a date now, does it?”

“Depends on who ya ask.”

“I think everyone would disagree with you.”

“That’s funny,” Atsumu hums, and there’s a small spark of life in his brown orbs, a smugness only to be found with the Miya family bloodline. “Because everyone always agrees with me. I always get what I want.”

"Well," you replied with a small sneer lifting your lips. "You won't get me."

Atsumu’s smile is laced with irritation as it thins. "We'll see."

You wave at a nearby waiter, signalling for more wine. If you’re going to survive the next hour, you might as well get good and drunk. Why you even choose to entertain him for this long is beyond you. At least he's pretty to look at (in small doses, that is). “Besides, your workers must all be lying then. Or maybe they think you’ll fire or sue them if they don’t agree with everything you say. Maybe they’re afraid of you.”

If possible, that smug look on his face morphs into something even more wicked, a villainous curling of his lips, followed by a laugh that you reckon might hold more weight than you think. It unsettles you even more, how his personality can switch instantaneously that, were it not for years of experience in reading a person like Miya Atsumu, one might not notice the subtle shift at all.

From dead to alive in seconds.

“Afraid o’ me? Well, as their boss I guess they would be. S’pose everyone should be scared of me.” He takes a long sip of his wine as he ruminates on his next words. “...I kinda like the sound of that.”

You frown. “Do you not think it’s better to be fair and kind to your employees?” That makes him laugh obnoxiously loud. A woman sitting nearby looks over at the abrupt sound with a scowl.

“When has being ‘fair and kind’ ever worked for people like us? We’re the breadwinners - they’re the ants.”

“That’s a cruel and archaic way of thinking. And besides, it works for me.”

"Oh yeah?" he hums in amusement. "To each their own."

You narrow your eyes. "Get to the point, Miya."

"No point to make. Just a guy wantin' to put a ring on yer finger."

"I don't know how many times I have to say no. I'm getting really tired of dealing with this-"

Atsumu huffs with furrowed brows. "Yer bein' unreasonable. I'm a nice guy. We'd be great together."

That causes you to burst out laughing, garnering another glare from the woman nearby who looks thoroughly ticked off at her evening being tarnished.

"Unreasonable? I'm not stupid, Atsumu. If we marry, you become entitled to all of my family's assets. You'll own everything that I have. I don't want that."

You lean forward on the table, making sure he fully understands the weight of your words as they leave your lips. "I would never want to be married to a self-serving, lowlife, slimy prick like you. You are inferior to me."

There is a moment where an unbridled rage contorts his features; like a demon of fury possessed his pretty face and unleashed the beast that's been hidden underneath with flared nostrils, strained breathing and clenched fists atop the soft table cloth. It’s an ugly look for one so handsome like Miya Atsumu, and it doesn’t suit him at all.

(You had only seen this kind of expression once before, when he was furious with a stable hand who could not keep control of a wild mare during one of his many extravagant proposals when he had asked you to join him horse riding.

She was braying and whinnying like mad, stricken with unease and fright, standing on her hind legs and bucking her front ones in his direction as though she was aiming to hit him, like she could sense a danger to him that only animals could ever seem to notice.

The mare progressively grew louder and more frantic the longer he stayed in her presence, until eventually his words were drowned out by her cries. That's when Atsumu destroyed the cool mask he always donned, and what stood before you was a completely different person than the one you had known all along.

Atsumu’s face grew red and pinched with anger, and his hands would only loosen from the fists he had formed if only to point at the workers and roar obscenities at them, calling them 'fucking useless dickheads’ for not being able to keep a horse that 'smells like a shitty public restroom' under control, among some other tasteless comments. He threatened to have everyone fired, he threatened to close down the entire farm, he threatened to have the horse shot.

You hadn't stuck around to see if any of that came true. Astonishment over his change in nature and the mortification of even knowing him had you bolting from the scene and ignoring his desperate calls for weeks.)

But before you get the chance to ask what's wrong, to inquire about how terrifying he looks and how your heart has started to thud stronger in your chest, its gone just as quick and replaced with the visage of one who had just had a eureka style of moment, face brightening as though a wonderful idea just popped into his head, a new plan had been hatched.

"Fine."

"Fine?" You echo in open astonishment. There's bound to be a trick hidden here. He shrugs lazily.

"I won't ask any more. I promise I'll leave ya alone. Even though I think it would be beneficial for both of us,"' he holds up a hand to stop your oncoming tirade. "I'll respect yer wishes and finally give it up. But I won't stop pesterin' ya for a business deal."

You snort. "You are persistent. But… do you mean it? No more rings and marriage proposals and orchestras playing symphonies?"

He grins. "I kinda thought you'd like that one, but I mean it. I'm done."

Suspicion floods your senses, but a mute staring contest for minutes on end brings you to the conclusion that Miya Atsumu is, for once in his life, somewhat genuine. Your shoulders relax a tad.

"OK. I believe you. But if you try anything I will knock you out."

"You can try," he goads. "I'll get rid of the ring, too. But on one condition."

"I knew there was something up your sleeve," you spat, but he held his hands up in defense.

"It's nothing bad - actually I think it'll be fun. How's about a good fuck before we go on our way? I'll bring ya back to my place, well have some drinks, I'll rock yer world. Usual stuff."

Your eyebrows fly upwards in shock.

You're not going to lie to yourself - you have thought about what sex with Atsumu must be like on more than one occasion, and you're not proud to say it. There had been times, during the more…romantically themed proposals, in which he had invaded your space with a musky cologne you actually quite liked, where he had played with the baby hairs on the back of your neck to raise goosebumps on your flesh, and had lips pressed to your ear to whispers sweet nothings, that you thought 'maybe having sex with him wouldn't be so bad.'

But the fatigue of having to sit through another round of whatever showboating he had planned usually turned you off of ever entertaining those thoughts, and you were back to square one of being bitter and fed up. You really need to stop being nice enough to show face, say a big 'F U' to your reputation and just stay home.

But when you overheard some graphic...details by the wife of some wine company CEO attending a gala event, regaling her girlfriends with the story of how Miya Atsumu gave her the best fuck of her life, that her husband will never satisfy her like Atsumu did, that she despairs over how it was a 'one and done' deal that she'll be remembering for years - well.

Maybe you were intrigued enough to want to try it out for yourself.

"You’re bribing me for sex now?" you wear a scowl on your face, but there's no denying the buzz of excitement filtering into you. A night of crazy, emotionally detached sex and you're free of his stupid money grabbing proposals? Life was really looking up!

“Not bribin’,” he assures. “I just want a night of fun, y’know? I mean, just between you ‘n me,” he leans over to your side of the table conspiratorially with a charming smile lifting his pink lips. “I always thought you were hot. Wanted to see what you were hiding beneath all yer pretty clothes. And I always saw how ya looked at me when ya thought I didn’t see. Like you were beggin’ for me to bend ya over a desk and rail ya. Not exactly the kinda look ya give someone who’s...inferior...to you.”

You flush hot at his admission, try to hide it behind your drink, but a thick brow raised in entertainment tells you that he knows he’s hit the bullseye with that one. Shit.

“How presumptuous,” you sneer. Atsumu leans on his folded arms with a smug look, enjoying how your eyes automatically flicker to the muscles straining the fabric of his shirt. You’d heard he had a very specific training regime, and it’s clearly doing wonders for him. “...why me, exactly?”

He leans his head on his hand like an enamoured school boy gazing at you with stars in his eyes. Or is that just the lighting in the restaurant? Atsumu knows how to wear faces well.

“Uptight girls like you are always the most fun to see get wild.”

You give a weak glare. “I’m not uptight, Miya.”

“If ya say so,” he snorts.

You roll your eyes in response, but take a moment to consider his offer. It has...been a while since you’ve had sex with someone, to say the least, and the dumbass college guy who had been tailing your secretary for work experience months ago had left you direly unsatisfied. Pretty face, awful in bed.

Is this worth shoving aside your pride for?

“No more proposals?” you bite the inside of your cheek.

“No more proposals,” he echoes. Atsumu’s fingers reach across the table to play with yours; slow and methodical, intertwining, tracing the lines of your palms. Yours twitch, torn between returning to your side and letting him continue his gentle touches.

“...and just a one night stand?”

“If that’s what you want,” he taps lightly at your racing pulse.

You hate him. You really do.

But...hate sex was fun, wasn’t it?

You take a deep breath.

Fuck it.

“...then take me home, Miya. Show me what you got.”

Atsumu smiles widely, like the lion who finally caught his pathetic, squirming prey.

“I’ll take ya to heaven.”

“Now you’re just building yourself up to be knocked down,” you snicker into your glass.

“Hey, maybe we can try to be better friends after this is done. Next time we meet up, we’ll go wherever you want for a change.”

“...uhm, ok,” you mumble. “Oh! I’ve actually been looking for someone to go with me to the new exhibit opening at the museum next month. You can be my guest.”

“Alright, I’ll make a note of it, try ‘n arrange something. Text me ‘bout it later so I can write it down in my schedule,” he says in a dull tone. Confusion washes over you.

“Wouldn’t your personal assistant do that for you?”

“...I don’t have one anymore.”

“Oh? What happened?” you question.

Atsumu’s smile is fond, as though he were reminiscing on a cherished memory. “They went away. Found their callin’ somewhere else,” he explains. The corner of his lips tilts down in sudden bitterness. “That naggin’ bitch wouldn’t get off my back anyway. Hope she’s rottin’ in hell.”

Before you can say anything, Atsumu flags down the waiter for the bill with an eerily calm face despite the vicious words spoken, and your skin tingles with unease as you gather your bag and prepare to leave.

What an odd thing to say.

---

Once you step through the door of his high end apartment and into the shockingly bright white hallway, you're slapped in the face by an overwhelming smell of bleach and other cleaning materials. Who knew Miya Atsumu was such a clean freak?

“Do a little spring cleaning?” you comment, toeing off your heels to place them neatly in the little cubby beside the door while Atsumu does the same. You side eye him as he undoes the tie around his neck, shrugs off his jacket with effortless style, and quickly avert your eyes when he faces you.

“Somethin’ like that,” Atsumu replies with a lopsided grin lifting his lips. “Feel like I always hafta clean the place up after someone visits. They leave such a bad mess.”

A snort escapes you as you saunter into his living area, eyeing the tasteless art pieces and large sound system, the twinkling chandelier and the floor-to-ceiling windows that give you the best view of the city streets from the top. The decor is modern and pristinely kept, and you can practically see your reflection in every piece of silver to be found as though it was a mirror.

It lacks all sort of friendliness, though. For as lavish as it looks, the colour scheme of whites, blacks and greys feel lifeless, clinical, as if there was no trace of Atsumu as a person to be found in the entire space. The only touch of colour seems to be his expansive music collection, however, and you eye it with interest, fingers raking through a collection of vinyls and CDs while the blonde disappears somewhere.

“Guess you should stop inviting those people around, then,” you comment, scrutinising a copy of Deftones’ album ‘White Pony’. Hmm. Good taste. You place it onto the record player, and the first notes of Feiticeira bring some life to the place.

Atsumu calls out to you from what you assume is the kitchen, hearing a muted pop sound that lets you know he’s opened a bottle of wine. You still have your buzz from dinner, but another drink for courage wouldn’t hurt. “Oh don’t worry - once they’re gone, they’re gone.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you murmur, moving onto the sparse collection of movies he owns. He seems to have a thing for slasher fics.

A broad chest moulding itself to your back makes you gasp in slight surprise. Atsumu brings the glass of blood red wine around in front of your face, which you take gratefully, swallowing a large gulp while his free hand now rests on your hip. It’s warm as it rubs your hip through the material of your dress, daring to skim over your stomach, dipping lower, before moving back up to repeat the process again.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the promise of decent and emotionally detached sex looming on the horizon, maybe it’s the fact you’ve been touch starved for months now as the company took all your attention away - whatever it is, it has you sighing in bliss and melting into his touch despite normally wanting to spit in his face.

“Feel’ good?” he mumbles deeply into your ear and, oh, his voice sounds so good when it’s laced with lust like that instead of the usual grating tone he has when he’s complaining.

“Mmm,” is all you can say once he starts to drag his lips up and down the skin of your neck. A second hand joins your opposite, and the heavy petting has your muscles relaxing faster than you would have thought. Who knew you could be so affected by someone like Miya Atsumu? Maybe you were looking forward to this more than you realised.

“Then I guess we should get started,” he removes his grip on your waist to take your hand, a smirk plastered on his visage as he takes in how flushed you’ve become. You tilt your head back and down the rest of your wine with a grimace, depositing it as carefully as you could with Atsumu nearly dragging you to his room.

“Eager to get rid of me already?” you huff.

“I jus’ always like gettin’ to the good stuff.”

“You ‘always get what you want’, huh?”

He tosses you a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “Took ya long enough to learn, didn’t it?”

“That kind of arrogance is going to kill you someday,” you warn. His room is the same as all the rest - layers of white, layers of money bleeding from every surface. Atsumu scoffs with a miffed expression as he leads you backwards to his bed. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and you fall onto the plush material with a thump. Atsumu crawls over you, straddling your body while his hands skim up the sides of your body and ghost over your neck. He pretends to hold it, mimicking the action of choking you, but the fingers around your neck flex and tense every so often, pressing down onto your windpipe by accident.

“Maybe that bitchy attitude of yers will get ya killed.”

“Doubt it.”

Atsumu stares down at you with an expression as cold as ice, appraising you, trying to assess the best ways to break down your walls.

“I think brats like you need to learn how to respect their superiors - naughty whore.”

It’s degrading. It’s humiliating. It’s absolutely disgusting.

But it sends a tingle to your clit and floods your underwear with your slick.

And the devilish smirk growing on his face tells you that he knows exactly what his words did to you.

“Ah,” he sighs as he rises, unbuttoning his thousand dollar shirt slowly, button by button, as you lay there in anticipation for the unveiling of his body. “I’m gonna enjoy breakin’ you.”

That sends a tremor through you. He’s methodical in undressing both himself and you, pulling and folding your clothes so carefully so as not to ruin them, and it makes your body thrum with impatience as all you want to do is rip everything off of his body and have his hands around your throat again.

You’re barely given time to admire the toned and chiseled plains of his bare chest with your own hands once you’re both left in nothing but your underwear before he’s grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the sides of your head, face hovering over yours.

“Ready?” he asks. You nod quickly, and then you share what you realise is your first ever kiss with him.

He’s a good kisser, and you loathe to give him credit where credit is due, but you never thought you’d see the day where Atsumu knows how to use his mouth for something other than talking shit. His lips move against yours sensually, matching your every movement, sucking and tugging on the flesh of your lips. His tongue swipes your bottom lip, and your mouth opens with a gasp, allowing him every permission to devour you whole as his tongue swirls around yours with an ease that tells you he’s had years of practice.

He steals your every sigh, your every moan, like a thief of pleasure, greedy and forcing even more out of you to take. His hips grind into yours and you let out a sound of pleasant surprise when you feel his hardness drag against your clothed sex. You wriggle underneath him, writhing and whining as his cock brushes teasingly to your clit with every thrust, and it isn’t until your nails begin to bite into the skin of his hands does he finally let up for air, air that you inhale hungrily as you try to alleviate the pressure in your lungs.

His teeth mark up your cleavage as it heaves for oxygen; biting and sucking and licking it all over. You laugh giddily to yourself, unable to help it, and Atsumu stares up at you with a brow raised in questioning.

“If I knew you kissed this good, maybe I would have considered marrying you,” you joke. Atsumu’s face remains blank for a few seconds as an awkward silence stretches between you before huffing out a laugh that sounds as fake as plastic. Yikes. Maybe that was too soon.

“Trust me, doll - we haven’t even gotten to the good bit.”

He moves to sit at the end of the bed, snaps his fingers, and points to the space in front him.

“Stand here and strip.”

You bite your lip as a wave of heat goes through you at his commanding tone, but you feel like being more of a ‘brat’. Besides, he views you as one - might as well be one.

“I’m not a dog, Miya,” you turn up your nose at him. His glare is dangerous.

“Yeah? Well you sure act like a bitch who needs to be trained. Do as yer told and I might give ya a reward.”

“Oooh, is it a biscuit-!”

Your words end abruptly as Atsumu grabs hold of your hair with a speed you didn’t even know he possessed. His grip is strong, it stings, and his breath is hot as he drags you directly in front of his face, staring down at you like a God to a little, helpless, writhing bug.

His suddenness strikes a cord of fear through you, the same kind of fear you had felt that day at the stables, but you force yourself to swallow it down. Pain and pleasure often go hand in hand, don’t they?

“I don’t like it when I don’t get what I want. Now be a good lil’ girl, and strip.”

Clearly Miya Atsumu's work life bleeds into his sex life.

Your movements are slow and lined with caution once his grip on your locks loosens, and you move to place yourself directly in front of his seated form, offering yourself up for his scrutiny, letting his eyes darkened with lust and dominance look you over from top to bottom.

"Good. At least ya know how to take orders."

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from making some stupid comment, and instead begin to reach behind you in search of the strap that holds your bra together. You’re not entirely sure how to take off a bra sexily, but thankfully Atsumu says nothing as you loosen it and let it glide down your arms, dumping it lazily by his feet in a small show of defiance. Your heart starts to pound even more now that you’re half bare to his dark eyes, watching as they immediately zone in on your mounds, the nipples that harden with the cool air and arousal, and taking off your underwear is an even bigger feat. You hesitate a moment, thumbs slipping underneath the elastic, but when his eyes start to narrow you swallow down your nerves and pull them down your legs, kicking them next to your bra.

You fight with the urge to cover yourself as his gaze settles on you and feels like it’s eating you alive. Atsumu nods in approval, and your thighs clench together involuntarily when you see that he’s palming his erection through the maroon material of his Kleins.

“Good girl,” he rasps. He continues to stare for a moment, and just as it grows awkward he stands. “Stay there.”

Atsumu disappears into his nearby walk-in closet, and you focus on the music drifting through the apartment rather than the rustling of things that don’t exactly sound anything like clothing. When he comes back, he walks over to his bedside table first and deposits a set of shining, silver handcuffs on the table, and you notice belatedly he’s holding onto a leather paddle with little hearts on it. The heat between your legs grows hotter, and you’re sure the slick between your legs will shine in the light as you feel it seep down to your legs.

He sits on the bed, and pats his thigh.

“Bend over.”

You bite your lip, wary, battling with caution over the pain that is to come and wanting to obey his orders to please him.

You eventually will your feet to move, and Atsumu helps you get into position, bending you over his lap, your arms dangling with fingers scraping the floor and your ass on show, completely at his mercy.

“Since you were so testy tonight, and so rude about all my lovely proposals, I think twenty spankin’s will put ya in yer place.

That seems like a lot for a beginner. But rather than let your fear show, you stupidly decide to play it off.

“Don't go easy on me - I’m a big girl.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it,” he drawls cruelly. “Count ‘em.”

He definitely didn’t go easy on you.

The first slap of the paddle was loud, and you heard the impact first before you felt it. But the sting - the sting was sharp and horrid, and you just about gasped out ‘one!’ before the next one came.

The spanks alternate in speed, but never intensity - no, they maintained their strength throughout the session. He evens the pain out by switching between both cheeks, and sometimes even your thighs, and the oddest sensation of your skin growing simultaneously numb yet still able to feel the shock of pain has you gasping and squirming on his thick thighs.

“S-Seven!” Smack. “Eight-” Smack. “Nine, nn...f-fuck-!”

“Like I said - brats need to learn respect. Keep countin’.”

By the tenth spank, tears start to roll down your face. By the fifteenth, you’re a blubbering mess of drool, tears and broken whimpers, barely coherent enough to remember the numbers but thanking your sensible brain for managing it, and you nearly scream out ‘twenty!’ when it finally comes, collapsing onto his legs like a lifeless doll, relishing in the broad hand that smooths itself over your stinging, heated skin.

It feels like his palm barely ghosts over the swell of your rear, but in a way you’re grateful as the sensitive skin sizzles with pain. Atsumu lets you collect yourself for a few moments, holding your trembling form on his legs.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” he finally says after minutes of relative silence save for your gasping breaths and sniffling tears. You think you’re imagining it, but it sounds like there’s almost a hint of admiration in his tone. You laugh, but it’s weak.

“I-I told y-you. I’m a big g-girl.”

Atsumu snorts. You lift your head meekly to stare into the mirror across the room to see your ass and legs littered in little swollen hearts, like a fucked up BDSM art piece. Atsumu’s thumb idly traces one found on the dip between your rear and thigh, a quiet look on his face as he stares at it. As your mouth opens to say something about how soft he’s gotten, his thumb presses suddenly onto your still sensitive flesh, and you bite your lip to muffle your wails of pain.

He lifts your body to lay it on his bed (more like throw you on his bed as you bounce against the pillows). A spark of pain shoots through your legs, but otherwise it has dimmed down to a dull throbbing, beating in time with your clit and your heart. Atsumu grabs the cuffs, and crawls over your prone form.

The metallic clicking of the cuffs is loud in your ears - trepidation begins to settle in your bones as he fiddles with them. It must show on your face, because Atsumu suddenly leans into your space, hands planted by either side of your head and nose barely grazing your own as his eyes never leave yours.

“Ya good?” he asks with a murmur. You swallow hard, and nod in silence. Atsumu closes the distance between your lips, planting kiss after kiss after kiss, teasing you with his tongue only to withdraw and have you chase him, much to his amusement. It proves to be a great distraction, as when you move to weave your fingers through his messy blonde tresses, you find them already cuffed to the headboard and restricting your movement.

You tug on them in surprise, but they don’t budge. Huh. No escaping from those, anyway. You look at the blonde in question. He simply shrugs.

“I like the high grade stuff. Not that pink, fluffy shit. They break too easy.”

“You like keeping people tied up mercilessly?” you snort.

Your mouth salivates as you watch him roll down his briefs over his bulging thighs, letting his hard cock spring free and slap his belly. It’s soaked at the tip with precum, an angry red colour, clearly aching for relief, and intimidating in length.

He straddles your chest, slaps his tip off of your opened mouth a couple of times, before answering.

“I like to be in control.”

Without warning he pushes into the warmth of your mouth, and Atsumu’s chest deflates in relief with the sigh he lets out. He hasn’t even pushed in all the way but it already feels overwhelmingly big for you, sitting heavy on your tongue and forcing your jaw to open wider than it should be. But you do what you can; moving your tongue around the best you’re able to, massaging the vein on the underside of his cock, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking.

Atsumu lets you continue like that for a moment, grunting in satisfaction with every lick of your tongue, with every bob of your head. Dark eyes close and his jaw clenches when you lave at his leaking tip, tasting the precum gathered there, licking smoothly over it. You can feel the drool start to leak out of the corners of your lips, and Atsumu slips out of your mouth.

He stares at your mouth for a long time. “Yer not half bad,” a hand comes down to pump his member gently. “But ya still have a shit mouth that needs cleanin’. Yer punishment ain’t over yet, baby. Open up.”

You do. And with that non verbal assent, he grabs a fistful of your hair, pushes his dick past your lips, and begins fucking into your mouth with abandon. Your head is pinned to the pillows underneath it as he hammers into your warmth relentlessly, thrusting his hips at a fast, steady pace and using your face like a useless cocksleeve.

But god, if it doesn’t turn you on to be used and abused like this, and your thighs rubbing together can only create the tiniest bit of friction, the slightest bit of relief on your neglected pussy.

“Hnngh- shit, feels so good-” he grunts

You feel his tip hit the back of your throat with every thrust, feel balls slap your chin with every jerk of his hips, feel spit leak and fall all over your cheeks and neck as you gag around his length as it feels like he’s trying to hit the bottom of your throat with his cock. Eyes roll into the back of your skull as you let yourself be used, moaning and mewling and pouring all your focus into breathing through your nose and not gagging too much, or else the whole night will be ruined if you vomit up the expensive dinner he paid for.

It’s sweet to see him let go a bit, to hear the little whines he can’t stop escaping from his lips as he approaches his orgasm, the way his eyebrows scrunch together in concentration as he stares at your messy and fucked out face. His hips lose pace, and he thrusts all the way in and down your throat before stilling, fighting to get his breathing under control. Your nose is pressed up to his abdomen; the small, trimmed hairs at the base of his cock tickling your nose, the invasive and thick shaft in your mouth making your jaw ache and your eyes sting with tears that fall in little streams. He wipes one away with his thumb and brings it up to his mouth for a taste with a smirk.

“Look so fuckin’ good when you keep yer mouth shut.”

You moan around his length, and relish the shiver of pleasure it sends down his spine.

“Can’t believe that turns ya on. Who knew you were just a filthy hole to be used, huh? My pretty lil’ cumslut ruinin’ herself for me.”

His words make your eyelids flutter and your body fill with shame. He pulls out slowly and allows you to choke for air.

“I want you to cum in me!” you gasp out, half surprised with your words as much as he is. Atsumu grins deviously, pats your cheek patronisingly.

“Was gonna fill up that cunt anyway, doll. But thanks for the invite.”

He shuffles down the bed and shifts you onto your side. Before you can question him he lifts your leg up onto his shoulder, and you can feel his silky blonde hair tickle your toes. He lines up his shaft with your entrance, cock already lubed up with your spit, and finds no resistance as he pushes into your sopping wet hole. Groans fill the air as your cunt is finally stretched out and filled, as he feels your tight heat clench wantonly around him, craving him, begging to be filled.

Just like he had done with your mouth, he shows you no mercy in the force and speed of his cock driving into your awaiting hole. His hips slap into yours with brute strength, his hands grip your raised, welted thigh with a deathly tightness to them, and with your arms held captive you can do no more than be at the complete mercy of his fierce fucking.

But, God, does he know how to fuck.

Your tongue practically hangs out of your open mouth like a panting dog, spit running down your chin and onto the satin sheets as you moan and whine unfiltered. Each thrust of his hips earns him a new moan, a new scream for him to eat up like a starved beast, hungry to hear your helpless cries for more.

“Such a f-fuckin’ bitch,” he grits his teeth as he slows his pace, grinding sensually into your heat. It has your eyes rolling, clenching them shut when he delivers a few hard slaps to your tits while they jiggle with the abuse. “Couldn’t ever keep yer fuckin’ mouth shut and jus’ do what yer told, huh? Couldn’t just fuckin’ marry me, ya whore.”

You bury your face into the sheets, lamenting the tightening of your walls around his length as his vicious words cut into you, cut down deep into that sick and depraved part of you that loves being talked down to. Being on top was great and all, but sometimes you just want someone to handle things for once. Maybe you’ll push your pride away and ask Atsumu for another fuck sometime.

“A-Atsumu…”

He pulls cruelly on your nipple as though it were a stretchy toy, and you cry out in pain. Your mascara has no doubt painted your eyes and cheeks black with your tears by now, but it seems as though he adores the mess in front of him. “Pathetic lil’ princess, ruinin’ my expensive bed with tears and snot. Ya want me to fill ya up with all the babies we coulda had, huh? Take all my cum until yer belly is big with my baby? Maybe that way you'll be, shit- hah, you'll be forced to marry me-”

Your toes curl in unrestrained pleasure as his words wash over you, and you clench hard around him. He's pulling out kinks you didn't even know you had.

"Oh, oh please."

His smooth grinding stops, and he returns to his rough and erratic pace from earlier, biting into your calf and holding on when you attempt to jerk away.

“Dumb slut, thinkin’ yer better than me. Ha! Me? I’ll make sure my cock is the last thing you’ll ever feel and crave. I’ll show ya who’s inferior.”

Moans, deep rumbling from his chest and airy wisps from yours, create a strange sort of symphony to replace the record that has long since finished spinning. You’re tight, squeezing around him in your last act of defiance though it lacks any true sense of control as his dick is just that euphoric as he pounds into you.

“Takin’ me so well. ‘S ‘bout all yer good for,” he grunts with a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. His chest is flushed and he huffs with exertion, clearly meeting his end once again, but eager to have you come undone before he does as he brings a pair of fingers to flick over your swollen clit.

“O-Oh, oh shit, Atsumu, just like that, yes yes yes-!”

You’re openly screaming now as your peak rushes forth with haste, a coil of pleasure in your gut appearing and tightening in seconds, threatening to rip the bedsheets where you grip it and bounce with every plunge of his member in your hole.

“You close?” he exhales with a groan, his pistoning hips beginning to stagger and lose their rhythm.

You nod frantically and stare at him through loose strands of hair covering your eyes, hoping he was near his end too. “Yes, fuck, cum in me please! Fill me up with your cum, I wanna be so full-”

“S-Shit, you-!”

With a loud cry of your name, he shoots his load into your warmth, locking his hips flush with yours so that you savour every drop he has to give. It sends you over the edge as you cum hard, heat travelling to every part of your body as your ogasm crashes through you, and your cunt milks him dry, squeezing greedily, making him curse loudly at the overstimulation. Atsumu’s nails pierce your flesh, and he rests his head against your leg as the bliss of his orgasm starts to fade, leaving only two heated bodies tangled together in sin, letting the hatred seep back in.

You stare up at Atsumu with a fucked out, lazy smile, no doubt a hot mess with smudged makeup and a sheen of sweat, but you don’t care. Good sex makes you dumb like that.

Atsumu stares down at you with a cold, blank expression, and you feel a little iced out.

You suppose now is when the awkward ‘kicking you out’ part begins. And here you were hoping for some pancakes in the morning.

“That w-was damn good, Miya. You really know how to put your skills to good use.”

He emits a huff through his nose, and pulls his softening penis out of you. Brown eyes stare disinterestedly at the cum gushing out of you, and you start to feel a little off.

“No hard feelings, r-right?”

His eyes flicker to yours. After a pregnant pause, he plasters his award winning salesman smile on once again, the one that rakes in the money and bodies to warm his bed. You’d like it too if it didn’t look so fake like a Ken doll.

“No hard feelin’s, dollface. All’s fair in love and war, right?” Atsumu stands to his full height, cracks his neck side to side, and bores his heavy gaze down on you once more. He sighs, a sigh that ends with an amazed chuckle, a joke you sense only he would get. “I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.”

You shoot him a bewildered look, moving to sit up but the cuffs remaining on your wrists permit you from doing so.

“Didn’t expect such weird pillow talk from you,” you joke weakly, tugging on the cuffs. He makes no move to remove them. You make a show of staring between his face and the handcuffs. “Are you going to let me out or what? I need to go home and shower.”

Atsumu nods with a closed eye smile.

“Sure! Lemme jus’ find the keys.”

Instead of walking into his closet, you watch on in suspicion as he leaves the room entirely, his sculpted ass cheeks and toned back the last thing you see as he disappears into the brightness of his apartment. Shortly afterwards you hear his soundsystem come to life and begin to play music at what sounds like the highest volume, bass shaking the walls with every beat drop. Weirdo.

You start to feel sticky and sore, a horrible combination topped off with what you assume to be the beginnings of post-sex shame settling into your bones the longer he’s gone, wondering if you should have went through with this night to begin with.

“Hey Atsumu? Did you find the keys? I really need to go-”

Your words are cut off, drowned out by a loud, screeching sound that echoes through the apartment and assaults all of your senses. What the fuck? The shock of it has you reeling in confusion, battling to make sense of whatever you’re hearing, and as it grows louder, comes closer to the door of Atsumu’s bedroom, it hits you like a train speeding down the tracks.

It sounds like a fucking chainsaw.

You curse aloud, wondering why he would resort to using a chainsaw to cut you out of the handcuffs like a deranged madman, but as it comes into view in all its metal glory, you suddenly realise the man holding it is a deranged madman, a psychopath in designer clothing.

His eyes are alight with a wicked glee, the most genuine grin you’ve seen on his face in all your years stretching his lips from ear to ear. The end of the chainsaw is pointed directly at you, and you begin to panic, scrambling to get off of the bed, to tear your limbs from the cuffs and get away, to do anything to save yourself.

“Sorry to cut this date night short, sweetheart, but I’ve got more important things to deal with.”

“No- no! Please! LET ME GO!”

He stalks forwards, revs the chainsaw as it growls like a barbarous beast hungry for flesh. You’re openly screaming, begging for your life, tears and snot dripping down your face as all bravado and pride dissolves into the sheets underneath you. You might have even pissed yourself, but that’s to be expected when a chainsaw is hovering over your torso.

But it doesn’t matter how hoarse your voice grows with your screams of terror. Between the music and the chainsaw, Atsumu has made sure that nobody except him will ever hear from you again.

He laughs happily, and all you can do is cry.

“It goes my way, or no way at all. Looks like ya made the wrong business move.”

He lowers the chainsaw to your stomach.

And your blood paints the walls like the rain that has begun to fall outside the windows, as though weeping for the loss of your short and promising life.

.

.

.

Editing can be so ridiculously tedious.

Review clips. Choose the best one. Add to timeline. Cut to fit scene. Add audio and SFX where appropriate. Start again when you are inevitably unsatisfied. Rinse, repeat.

It can be relaxing in a way, but not when it takes you hours into the dead of night, hunched over with burning eyes as you promise yourself you’ll go to bed after one more scene.

Atsumu thought that was bullshit.

So now Atsumu has his head perched on your shoulder where he sits beside you at your computer, ready to drag your ass back to bed as soon as the clock strikes at a respectable hour.

You just wish he would shut up and actually let you focus on your work.

“Damn, I look good in that suit.”

You let out a weary sigh. This is the fifth time he’s complemented himself within the last hour.

“I could have killed you for nearly ripping that shirt,” you say instead, not rising to the bait of agreeing with him that, yeah, he did look good in that suit. “That suit was a rental - I’m not loaded with money, you know!”

He raises his head to splutter with indignance. “I woulda paid for it if that happened, but I was being careful! I even folded the clothes!”

“That was the fit with the orderly nature of your character…”

“W-Well I- I was still careful!”

Another sigh. Atsumu plops his head back onto your shoulder with a huff. A bout of silence as you carry on with your work, engrossed in the screen, until Atsumu ultimately breaks it once more.

“Can I ask ya a question?”

“You just did.”

“Very funny,” he drawls, delivering a pinch to your thigh. He rolls his tongue in his mouth as he contemplates his words. Your fingers slow on instinct, knowing that something was playing on his mind. And while Atsumu loves to complain, it isn't often he let’s loose what’s bothering him inside. You keep an attentive ear out. He eventually speaks up in a quiet voice, like a small boy who doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Why did….why did ya ask me to be in this video?”

“Because I needed a good looking actor, and I thought you’d find it fun.” You glance down at his thoughtful face, admiring the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips. A smile tugs at your lips. The Miya twins really were a pretty pair, weren’t they? “Do you...do you regret doing it?”

“No!” his eyes are wide as he looks up. “Not at all - it was fun. I mean it was great sex and I got to feel all fancy and important, I was jus’ wonderin’....why did ya want me to play that guy? I mean ya picked a bunch of scary monster dudes for the others but…”

Your fingers move away from your keyboard as you bring all your attention to Atsumu now. Your hand idly lifts to thread through his blonde hair, and his own covers it, holds it there.

“D’you think I’m kinda like that asshole?”

Ah. There it is.

Without hesitation, you answer. “Absolutely not.”

He scoffs bitterly, holds onto your hand a little tighter. “I bet you’d be the first.”

With a frown you shift in your seat, pulling him into your chest where he snuggles into your warmth almost immediately. It must be a rare ‘off’ day for Miya Atsumu.

“I don’t think you’re like him at all. And nobody else does either. Sure you can be an conceited prick sometimes-”

“Oi!”

“But I guess that’s part of your charm, isn’t it? You’re just a big headed fool, but your heart is in the right place, and that’s what’s most important. Your friends wouldn’t have stuck around for as long as they did if you really acted like that guy.”

You can physically feel him melt into your chest, and you roll your eyes with mirth. He really is just a sweet, uncertain fool when it comes to these things. Deciding to humour him, you add: “Besides - maybe I just wanted to see you in a suit.”

“Knew it~,” Atsumu says in a sing-song style of voice, making you snort as you return to your work and his head returns to its place on your shoulder.

Another round of quiet, save only for the clacking of your keyboard, clicking of your mouse, and steady breathing from the man-baby beside you.

Of course, he breaks it again.

“Ya think I’d ever get a place like that?” he nods to the screen, smirking at the way the video is paused with his dick in your mouth. Good times.

“Hmm...when you become rich and famous with volleyball after you get signed to a team, I think you will.”

You see him blushing with a dopey grin in the little mirror you keep on your desk, and your heart skips a beat.

“Just don’t forget me when you’re a world famous sports star. Remember your humble porn beginnings,” you joke good naturedly. He snorts, wraps an arm around your waist.

“Bold of ya to assume ya won’t be living there too. Yer sticking with me, girly.” He checks the digital clock. “Almost bedtime. I’ll get yer stuff ready.”

He stands and makes his way across your room, laying out your pyjamas and making a spot for himself on the bed. Your fingers stall, the clip on the screen paused: a frame of the pair of you looking into each other's eyes, noses brushing against each other with rosy cheeks. You’ll have to put that one aside. Too tender for the characters. Too much...longing.

You hover it over the ‘BIN’ folder, before moving it to the ‘EXTRAS’ folder after a second of thinking.

“.... thank you, Atsumu.”

He pauses from his position near the end of your bed, not looking up from the pair of fluffy socks he snagged from your drawer.

“...no problem, beautiful.”

#thirteen nights of whorror #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fanfiction #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #atsumu smut #hq crack #hq smut #smut #atsumu scenarios #atsumu imagines #atsumu fanfic #miya osamu

[sovtwords]

the cannibal - miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x reader

warnings: 18+, slight DC, implied pseudo-cannibalism, oral sex, cunnilingus, marking, food kink, food play, oral fixation, spitting, spit kink, table sex, light choking, light degradation, implied/referenced character death, porn making/videos

w/c: 6K

a/n: welcome to chapter 2 of thirteen nights of whorror! please read the tags before proceeding - if you think i am missing anything let me know and i'll fix it. this chapter is inspired by the character hannibal lector. enjoy!

- ao3 link -

Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

The moan you make is obscene, long and drawn out as your eyes close in bliss, but you can’t help it.

Sure, it may not be proper dinnertime etiquette to sound like a wanton whore, but Osamu doesn’t seem to mind as he grins widely across the table at you, drink in hand and eagerly awaiting your opinion on his supposedly famous filet mignon. As soon as the steak hits your tongue it bursts with flavour, a dance of delightful herbs and spices on your tongue and all washed down with the perfect glass of red wine. So classy.

If Osamu had told you much earlier how good of a chef he really was, you would have skipped all those cautious first dates and ran straight to his house. How you even lasted these past few weeks with this meal of a man without getting up to anything more than heavy petting and drunken kisses is beyond you. In fact, that sort of patience should be rewarded because you’ve been wanting to jump his bones since that night he chatted you up at the bar.

Yet your gut told you to wait it out, take your time getting to know him and form a relationship that wasn’t just a single night of meaningless sex, and you’d give your past self a high five if you could because you were absolutely right for doing so – Miya Osamu is endlessly charming, sharp as a tack and oozing with the sex appeal of a successful entrepreneur who has more than earned his cash, and you’re more than ready to eat your dessert and let him have you any way he likes.

“Oh…my… gosh,” you speak rather embarrassingly with a mouthful of food, but Osamu only laughs. “This is… bloody fantastic! This is the best steak I think I’ve ever had in my life! The flavours, the texture- it’s incredible!”

The chef lets out a bashful laugh, hiding his gorgeous smile behind his glass of wine. He is the very image of modest – small but breath-taking smile, cheeks dusted pink because of your praise, shrugging off your words like he doesn’t deserve them.

“Thanks,” he responds, and his low voice is the cherry on top of all of this. “Glad ya like it.”

“’Like it?’ I love it! I can understand why you’ve been dying to cook a meal for me instead of going to a restaurant! I would have come a lot sooner if I knew you could cook like this.”

At that, he snorts good naturedly, and takes a gulp of wine before speaking.

“Well, I tried askin’ but you wanted to take yer time with the whole datin’ thing. Which is fine,” he adds quickly when he spies your shoulders drooping at what you thought was a snide remark. “I was jus’ impatient. I really like ya, and I…I wanted to cook ya a meal from home.”

That’s just about strong enough to melt you right on the spot. Your heart beats erratically inside your rib cage, threatening to break free from your skin and land in Osamu’s lap when he smiles at you so sweetly – hooded, but bright eyes, a gentle curl to his lips. If you had went to school with him, you have no doubt he would’ve been your school crush.

You shove another forkful of delicious food into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully as an excuse to buy you some time and rein in your wild emotions because you are seconds away from jumping into his lap.

And judging by the dark and inviting look he’s had plastered on his face for the entire evening he wouldn’t stop you if you tried. It sends sparks straight to your groin, and your thighs rub together subconsciously at the thought.

“I would have thought with your busy schedule as a psychiatrist you’d have loved the opportunity to go out,” is what you settle on saying after swallowing another mouthful. Osamu shrugs and pops some food into his mouth.

“I don’t mind either way. But I think cookin’ for someone is a good way to impress somebody ya like, y’know?”

Your cheeks flare with heat at his words. Dark eyes stare at you as he chews methodically.

“Well – consider me impressed, Miya. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“I loved watchin’ my mother work in the kitchen when I was younger. I used to help her cook the dinners and make lunches for my brother and I. Guess I picked it up from her. Her food was always the best,” he cuts another chunk of his steak. You spot rivulets of bloody juices streaking on the white ceramic of his plate, and watch as he coats his pink piece of steak with a generous dollop. He smiles when he notices you staring.

“I like my meat rare.”

“To each their own. I prefer mine a little more cooked,” you laugh. Osamu holds his smile in response, and you can’t discern the meaning of it. It seems as though Miya Osamu has a million different smiles, and you’re determined to know each one.

“That’s fair. I jus’ think there’s some sorta beauty in raw, bloody steak. Tastes nice ‘n pure,” he pauses as a sinfully perfect demure sort of look crosses his face, and it hooks you in. “Forgive me if this is too early to say but…I often wondered how you’d taste.”

You nearly choke on your wine as your body flushes with heat and your core begins to pulse in excitement. You can’t make sense of this man – he’s both a calming ocean and the unknown storm laying just beyond it. He keeps you on your toes, leaves you wanting more.

And the bulge you spotted in his slacks tonight definitely has you craving more of Miya Osamu.

“P-Play your cards right and maybe you will,” you stutter out in a faux show of confidence, and secretly hope Osamu will just finish eating and whisk you away to bed. Your legs are already spread for him as it is.

To distract yourself from his less than subtle comments, you gaze about the collection of artefacts in his dining room. Pictures of his family - a blonde version of him that must be his twin - some artsy statues. Normal things, for a wonderfully normal guy. Not like the asshole that was your ex. You get the feeling that Osamu wouldn’t take your money and run out on you like he did.

One thing in particular, poised haphazardly on a shelf, takes your interest.

“What kind of mask is that?”

A strange shape and colour, seemingly crafted to only fit the lower half of a person's face with a small opening for the mouth, grated lines just about able to let a person breathe.

Osamu pauses before taking a sip of his wine and follows your line of sight. He snorts. “’S a muzzle.”

You blink. “A muzzle?”

“Yeah. It…it wasn’t meant to be down here. A friend took it outta my bedroom closet as a joke the other night ‘n I forgot to put it back.”

He almost looks bashful as he says it. Almost. But the way his hooded eyes keep flickering in your direction means he’s looking for some sort of reaction. Once a psychiatrist, always a psychiatrist you suppose.

“Why would you keep a muzzle in your closet?”

“Well, why would anyone keep a muzzle in their closet?”

“You mean to tell me you actually wear it?”

“Only if asked,” he answers slyly. “But usually, I prefer to put it on someone else.”

You’re about to ask what the hell he means when his small smirk causes realisation to hit in. Oh, he uses it during sex you think rather stupidly to yourself as your mouth falls open in surprise.

And for as odd as it seems, for as out of your comfort zone it is, the thoughts of Osamu putting this on you as he has his wicked way with you, or even wearing it himself as he opens himself up to be at your complete mercy has your underwear soaking wet as if Niagara Falls just appeared between your legs.

You’re antsy, you’re blushing, and Osamu won’t stop fucking smirking at you, enjoying your reaction a little too much.

“We don’t have to go there tonight,” he says eventually after watching you squirm and rub your thighs together while downing the last of your wine. God, this man is too much. He’s going to be the death of you.

You pop open a button on your blouse to cool yourself down. The grey-haired man in front of you licks his lips at the sight of your exposed flesh.

“Implying you want something to happen tonight?” you murmur shyly.

At that, Osamu chuckles; a deep, rumbling sound emitting from his chest and making you shiver with delight.

“I’ve been tryin’ to let ya know for weeks now how much I wanna fuck ya. I guess bein’ direct is the only option left.”

The room is silent as you process his words while he simply smiles at you, as though he hadn’t said anything incriminating at all.

“Uhm...ok,” you say lamely and mentally curse yourself for not saying something sexier. He raises a brow.

“Ok?”

“Yeah. I… I w-want you to fuck me.”

It’s about as eloquent a verbal affirmation that you can muster in your shocked and flustered state, but Osamu doesn’t mind. Instead, his smile grew even wider, and his eyes darkened with lust. His index and middle finger swipe up the remainder of his steak's red juices, and those thick fingers are held out in front of your face.

“One last taste, then?”

You hesitate for only a moment before wrapping your lips around his fingers and sucking in a way you hope is turning him on. His white teeth bite down on plush pink lips, and you stop yourself from moaning around the digits that poke and prod your tongue and spread the delicious flavour of his bloodied steak around your mouth.

His fingers leave your mouth with a ‘pop!’ sound, and with quick and precise movements the plates, glasses and cutlery are shoved down to the other side of the long dining table. You barely have time to register the space cleared on the table before he comes around to where you sit and lifts you onto the dark mahogany table with ease to stand between your open legs.

Your skirt strains from where your legs are trying to spread wider, and Osamu addresses the problem by rolling the fabric up your thighs, bunching it just below your ass and exposing your panties a little bit.

He stares at the lacy red fabric of your underwear with a quiet smirk for a moment before those dark eyes meet yours again. His fingers tickle the skin of your bare thighs, making your eyelids flutter.

“Can I kiss ya?” he whispers, and it almost seems like a stupid question to ask because you’re already nodding frantically before he can even finish, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

He breathes in your sigh as your lips make contact, kissing you in a carnal mess of teeth and tongue as the fingers on your thighs grip your flesh tightly. You whimper into his mouth as he sucks on your tongue, massaging the muscle with his own sensuously as he angles his head and presses you further onto the table with his body.

When your fingers thread through his ashy locks and tug, his teeth bite down lightly on your tongue with a groan, the sound vibrating through your body from where his chest presses to yours. As he pulls back with a chest heaving for air he wastes no time in diving into the crook of your neck, licking a path up and down your skin to taste the saltiness of your flesh.

Your moan of pleasure is cut off with a gasp of pain when he bites down hard.

Pulling back with wide eyes you crane your neck to see droplets of blood spilling from a bite mark on your shoulder. “O-Osamu!”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he coos in apology, but the ravenous smile on his face says he isn’t sorry in the least. He leans down again and runs his tongue over your wound, lapping up the blood like a hound and humming in pleasure. It stings a bit, especially with the way the tip of his tongue tries to worm its way into the little incisions made, but the fingers that creep inwards and start to play with your drenched underwear are enough of a distraction from the oddity of his actions.

Hips grind upwards in search of more friction, and he rewards you with fingers pulling your ruined panties to the side to run thick, calloused fingers over your sopping wet folds while he continues to nip, suck and lick little marks and bruises into your skin, albeit a lot lighter this time and more careful with his teeth.

“Mmm, such a needy bitch, aren’t ya,” he hums in approval when he feels how wet you are, hears your broken mewls and pleas for more. His fingers graze your clit, and the keening moan you let out is equally as loud as the one you gave earlier. It throbs and begs to be touched, but Osamu seems to enjoy your desperate cries. “You want t’fuck me as bad as I wanted ya?”

“Fuck yes, Osamu,” you whimper when he delivers a bite to your collarbone, soothing it with his tongue just like all the others. “I want you so fucking bad, please!”

He pulls back and looks down at you with a feral grin that contradicts his lidded and sleepy looking eyes. It sends waves of heat through your veins, and tingles deep in your gut. His fingers leave your folds, and you bite your lip to stop from crying out in disappointment.

“Ya want my cock? Want me to fuck ya hard, make ya scream my name?”

“Y-Yes!”

Hands rip open your blouse abruptly, and buttons go flying everywhere like droplets of rain from the sky. You give a surprised shriek, mourning the loss of the shirt you just bought for your date tonight, but your bra is quick to join the discarded material of your top sadly on the floor. You elect to keep quiet about Osamu ruining your clothes when broad hands cup your tits to tweak and toy at your puckered nipples.

He tugs, rubs, and squeezes your buds, and licks a stripe up between the valley of your breasts, kissing his way up your chest to reach your mouth again and invade your senses with that skilful tongue of his once more.

Your hands move from his hair to his own dress shirt, but you don’t quite have the strength or patience to rip it open like he did with yours. Instead, he gives you space as he steps back to pull it over his head and throw it somewhere behind him.

He’s big, a broad chest and thick muscles cruelly hidden behind designer shirts and suit jackets. Quite frankly, you think his dress code should involve a lot less shirts and pants, but the greedy side of you is screaming in delight that only you might get to see his naked form from now on.

Your hands feel small as they explore the expanse of his torso, as they squeeze his pecs and nails scrape over his nipples. He gives a slight shudder when you do it, so you do it again and drink up every groan he’s gifting you. You move to kiss and bite at his own skin, to return in kind what he’s done to you and paint his skin in beautiful shades of purple, but he pushes you back as soon as he feels the graze of your teeth on his body.

“No, baby. I’m the one that wants to mark ya up - so you can show everyone what kinda slut ya are. I’m the only one that gets to taste ya.”

Osamu’s words make you shiver in pleasure, and your mouth pulls into a grin to match his own. Your skirt is the next item of clothing to join the pile of fabrics on the floor, quickly followed by your red laced panties that he takes a second to admire before pocketing them in his pants, much to your humiliation.

“Oh!” you squeal in surprise when he pulls you closer to the edge of the table, your legs hanging precariously off the edge and struggling to find purchase.

Osamu bends down and oh so generously offers your legs a place to rest on his shoulders as he lines his face up directly in front of your sex. You’re close to covering your face in embarrassment when he leans in with eyes closed and inhales deeply, smelling the musk of your juices and giving an animalistic groan of satisfaction, of pure pleasure, of hunger.

It’s hard to think when his grey eyes peek up at you from between your legs, when his nose brushes against your mound, when the heat of his breath touches your soaked pussy with each exhale, when his entire aura just vibrates with the feeling that he just wants to devour you, and it makes you even wetter and clench pathetically around nothing.

“I could just eat ya up,” Osamu grins, before the flat of his tongue licks from bottom all the way to the top of your folds to touch your clit.

You wail out in pleasure as he repeats the motion with his eyes rolling into the back of his skull at the taste, eager to lap up your juices and not waste a single drop. His movements are fast and animalistic, and you can’t stop the twitching of your hips as you buck into his awaiting mouth in search of the feeling of his tongue flicking against your bud.

“Fuck Osamu! Oh god, oh fuck that feels so fucking good-“

He’s like a hungry bloodhound the way he licks away at your pussy, slobbering into your folds and grunting and making one big wet mess down below. His tongue teases your entrance, and you whine his name, moving your hands to weave fingers into his hair and grip on.

“Yer cunt is so yummy, baby - I jus’ wanna ruin ya,” his voice sounds muffled and you almost miss it with all the moaning you’re doing. His words are so different from the collected and reserved Osamu you were just talking to earlier – like he’s lost control, like the beast that he keeps hidden inside is edging his way out. “Mmm this pretty lil hole is all mine.”

Your scream is loud and lewd when he finally pushes in, and his wet muscle thrusts carefully in and out of your fleshy walls and wiggles its way around like it is trying to reach the deepest parts of you. It feels fucking unbelievable and makes your back arch so you can shove your pussy even further into his face, thighs clenching around his head and holding him in place.

A pair of hands grab onto your hips to keep your wild movements to a minimum, but it’s difficult to keep still when that damned tongue of his is alternating between thrusting into your hole and moving upwards to flick over your sensitive bud. A light sheen of sweat starts to coat your body as you feel a heat begin to build in your gut - the tell-tale sign of your orgasm rising with each stroke of this tongue on your folds.

Osamu burrows deeper into the heat of your sex, and when he shakes his face side to side with his tongue moving wildly around your pussy you scream to the ceiling in ecstasy, nearly blinded by the bright, expensive light hanging above the both of you.

Moans and yelps are unstoppable as you approach your peak, feeling the heat in your gut bubbling and building, higher and higher and higher with each brush to your clit, until-

“Fuckin’ cum for me, slut. Scream my name.”

And so you do.

His name is broken as it spills from your lips in babbles as you fall over the edge and cum, gushing all over his face while he continues to drink your essence, slurping and humming appreciatively as you grind on his face. Every brush of his nose to your clit makes you twitch with the beginnings of overstimulation, and it isn’t until you continuously push at his face does he finally let up.

When he moves to sit back you gasp as a rush of cold air hits your soaking pussy, a mixture of your slick and his spit covering the entirety of your privates. That was one thing you noticed about his house – it’s cold. Colder than a house as expensive as this should be. But you think nothing of it right now, instead sighing as the cool air starts to bring you back down to reality from your high.

Osamu leans over your quivering form and it’s only then do you realise how messy he looks – cheeks flushed, hair tousled and out of place, and the lower half of his face shining bright with a lewd mixture of your cum and his saliva.

But you accept the rough kiss he plants on your lips, tasting your essence on his lips and tongue as he makes your savour the taste.

“You taste amazin’, darlin’,” he rasps, licking off what he can from his face and gathering up what he can’t with his fingers, moving to hold open your mouth with his free hand. You’re unprepared for the harsh and quick way he spits into your awaiting mouth, still dazed from your earth-shattering orgasm only minutes ago, and the glob of spit sits on your tongue, threatening to trickle backwards and down your throat. His slick coated fingers come next, placing themselves in your mouth, directly on your tongue, and it’s only then does he close your mouth. “Suck. You deserve a taste too.”

You try your best to swirl your tongue around his digits, to bob your head and suck his fingers off as pornographically as possible, even better than earlier. But his fingers shift, moving from holding down your tongue to rubbing the pads over your gums, your teeth, the inside of your cheeks. It feels strange, invasive almost, but it seems to turn him on, given that he’s starting to rut against the table for friction.

His bulge feels fucking huge when you grasp it to help him, and it makes your cunt feel achingly empty, begging to be stretched open by what feels like probably the biggest dick you’ll have in your life. Osamu sighs in pleasure and bucks into your hand before removing his fingers.

“Shit that feels good,” he sighs.

“Fucking me will feel even better,” is your bold response. He smirks, and the hand that wraps itself lightly around your throat makes your breath hitch in your chest.

“Once you get a taste of my dick, there’s no goin’ back. This’ll be the end for ya,” he says cryptically, but it only sends tremors of excitement through you.

“I just want your cock so bad, daddy.”

He raises his brow at the usage of the word ‘daddy’, no doubt analysing the potential causes for this kink, but you tug his face towards your neck to avoid whatever comment he’ll make. Teeth once again mark up your neck, nibble on your earlobes, while you give a sigh of contentment and rub his dick through his pants. The quiet groans floating in the air is like music to your ears.

Osamu allows you to unbutton his slacks, helps you shimmy them down his thighs and free him from the confines of his boxers - and you were right. His cock is huge, and thick, and veiny, and enough to put your biggest dildo to shame. Warm to touch, both of your hands wrap around it and start to pump him, using the precum spilling from the tip as lube.

It’s quite a sight to see Osamu’s shoulder slump as he lifts his head to the heavens, as his hips softly grind into your hands, to hear the muted sigh through his nose as you play with his balls.

But before you can even think about leaning down to close your mouth around him he’s pushing you back to lie down on the table, taking his cock in his fist and lining it up with your entrance.

“W-Wait,” you stutter when you feel the fat head of his member pressing against your hole. “What about protection-“

“’S fine,” he says rather impatiently, and you suppose it is. You’re too far drowning in lust to argue with him as you spread your legs wider for him, as he uses his hands to pin your thighs to the hard table underneath you.

And in one smooth and wet thrust he enters your cunt, with your whimper falling in time with his sigh. He’s big, and you feel like maybe he should have prepared you a little bit and used his fingers first, but Osamu has already started pumping in and out of you regardless of whether you feel discomfort. Any bit of pain you had soon turns to pleasure, however, as he fills you up so fucking perfectly.

“I knew you were a whore,” he grits his teeth. “Knew ya wanted my cock since day one. Did you touch yerself thinkin’ about me?”

“Yes, fuck. Every night-“

“Mmm, stuff yerself with those pretty fingers? Naughty girl.”

His hips snap into yours as he tries to get deeper, and you’re almost certain he’s going to hit your cervix if he continues hammering into you like this. You cry out in ecstasy when Osamu’s abdomen rubs against your already sensitive nub when he leans down, nails raking down his back uncontrollably while he hisses in pleasure in your ear.

“S-Shit, that feels good. Yer cunt feels nice and tight, jus’ for me- you didn’t let any other man touch you, did ya?”

You shake your head frantically, unable to say anything as his thrusts pick up speed. The hands on your thighs grow tighter.

“Good, can’t have yer body ruined. I need it perfect, need… the meat…”

You don’t bother asking what he means as you feel a second orgasm creeping up on you, his fat balls slapping against your ass so loudly over the random music playlist playing faintly in the dining room, lost to the moaning and sounds of crude sex.

Osamu eyes the other half of the table, and lets go of a thigh to reach above your head, where the sound of a plate dragging against the table catches your attention.

“Ya still hungry, baby?”

“W-Wha-“

Osame grabs a piece of leftover meat off the plate, and holds it right in front of your lips with a smile. The juices drip down onto your lips, and without much thought you open up to accept the food, finding this weird food kink of his to be arousing in this moment. Maybe next time he’ll pour chocolate sauce on you and lick it up.

You do your best to chew and swallow the meat that he presses on your tongue with his thumb, but with his cock plunging into your tight hole makes it hard to do so, half afraid you’ll start choking to death. All you know is the heated look he gives you, the excitement in his eyes that has you clenching hard around him as your orgasm takes both of you by surprise.

“Fuck, yer so tight- I’m-“

His thrusts are erratic as he rails you. The table is shaking, your body feels like it’s on fire as your orgasm washes through you, and you close your eyes to the feeling of Osamu’s lips on yours, his tongue finding half chewed meat and finishing it off in his own mouth. With his body pressed to yours you can feel it when he swallows, can feel how his whole body tremors with delight.

In your dazed state, he roughly manoeuvres your legs as if you weighed no more than a doll, pinning your legs by your chest and seeking out his own release. You just about muster up enough energy to babble mindlessly in his ear like a siren, fingers threading through his hair and holding him close.

“Cum, want your cum so bad, please please please fill me up, I want it, cum in me-“

Osamu groans out your name loudly as he meets his own peak. Your cunt squeezes his shaft like a vice as he shoots his load into your walls, warm and filling you up with his seed as you milk him through it. He ruts limply into you as he comes down from his high, both of your chests heaving for much needed oxygen, rubbing his hair and back subconsciously.

You lay there for a few minutes gathering your thoughts after one of the best fucks of your life, feeling the blissful come down of your orgasm like a warm blanket during a winter storm, the wonderful weighted heat of his body on yours, the drip of his seed where it spills past his shaft and onto the table.

“That was…” you can’t even finish, breaking out into happy laughter and holding Osamu close. You feel tired in the best way, but you know you’ll need to wash the sweat and cum off of your body before leaving this house.

And almost like he read your thoughts, Osamu raises his head to flash you a lazy smile, and a peck to your lips.

“Want me to carry ya to the shower?”

“Please,” you giggle.

You giggle some more when he lifts you off the table and up the stairs to his ensuite, peppering kisses all over his face and neck in beautiful post-coitus bliss, but Osamu is too focused on bringing you upstairs, it seems, to reciprocate them. That’s fine, there’ll be plenty more kisses later, you think, as the warm spray of water hits you and Osamu leaves the bathroom for a minute with a barely there smile.

The water feels perfect on your skin, soothes the bruises painted on your body like art. The click of the door alerts you to Osamu’s presence again, and you’re about to ask if he wants to go for round two when you stop short to take him in.

Your smile drops in confusion as you stare at Osamu. He’s wearing a strange pair of clinical looking overalls like some sort of worker in a powerplant, and he’s holding a giant tub that he places on the ground carefully.

“Osamu…what are you doing? What is that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts something tied to a belt around his waist. It takes you only a second to realise what it is.

A hatchet.

Your blood runs cold despite the warm stream of water falling over you.

“O-Osamu, please- tell me what’s going on. Why do you have a h-hatchet?”

You attempt to leave the shower, but Osamu stands in your way, and you jerk backwards until your back hits the white tiled wall of the shower.

“This isn’t funny! I’m…I’m scared, Osamu. Please- tell me what’s going on!” Your voice is shaking, your eyes begin to burn with an onset of tears, and the confusion and fear you feel is so overwhelming it threatens to put you in a chokehold, especially since Osamu’s face has lost all traces of warmth and is replaced by a cold, calculating look.

You wonder if this is how he looks to his patients.

He sighs sympathetically, but it sounds fake,

“I hate to do this. I really do. You were such a good girl for me, one of the best. But you jus’ tasted too good. It’d be a sin to waste such good meat.”

“M-Meat? What the fuck? I want to get out of here- let me through-“

This time, Osamu backs you into the corner, and looms over your shaking body with the hatchet gripped tightly in his hand. Your heart plummets to your feet, and the frightened tears fall freely now.

“I wanna taste ya again. There’s a new curry I’ve been meaning to make. I think you’d be perfect for it.”

You’re going to be sick. Your legs are too weak to lift your body and run when he lifts his weapon. You mentally scream and beg for them to move, to do anything, but you fall back to the shower floor like Bambi on his newborn legs.

You’re just the deer caught in the hunters’ trap now.

“Now just stay still. This’ll be all over in a second.”

Miya Osamu smiles, but the shadows reveal it for the wicked nature it truly holds.

“And then I can have ya to myself all over again.”

.

.

.

“Osamu! Stop eating all the fucking food!”

“But ’s in the script!”

You bury your face in your hands and let out a long weary groan.

It’s only the fourth take and his plate is already nearly cleared of food. Again. That’s twice you’ve had to refill it! But he can’t seem to hold his hand away from his fork as he toys with another loose vegetable sitting on his plate and avoids making eye contact with you. He falters from lifting that piece of carrot to his mouth when you send him the coldest look you can muster.

“I know, but you’re only supposed to take small bites – or even fake ones! I’m gonna run out of food to put on the plates and the continuity in my shots will be messed up.”

“…that sounds like a problem for you, the director, ‘n not me, the actor .”

“I’m going to kill you. You’re unbelievable”

He sets his fork down with an exaggerated sigh and reaches out to hold your hand. Despite your ire with him, you allow him to link fingers anyway. Osamu rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, and the motion is enough to soothe you momentarily.

“Look,” he starts, and stares directly into your eyes with sincerity. “I’ll buy more food to use for yer film if I end up eatin’ it all. I promise. Hell, I’ll even make some burgers or somethin’ for you and the crew after we’re done today to say sorry. You jus’ did a great job with cookin’ it – I can’t stop myself. It’s amazin’.”

You level him with a dull stare. Osamu bites the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

“I’ll throw in dessert too.”

You sigh through your nose. You want to be annoyed, and you are, but you know it’s mainly just stress and deadlines getting the better of your nerves. Osamu can sense that.

So you just grumble out a small “ok, thanks” in response, yet it’s enough to have him grinning again.

Osamu presses a kiss to the back of your hand and your face burns, grows hotter still with the smirk he sends you after seeing your reaction.

“Ok, I’m ready for another take,” you breathe. “ Don’t eat all the food this time. Please.”

“I promised, didn’t I? But ya need to make it for me some other time. Like… like on a date.”

What is this? Miya Osamu being bashful? Miya Osamu is asking you out on a date?

“U-Uhm…I mean…I guess I could make it for you next weekend when I’m free. If- If you want-”

Your heart gives a leap at the fond smile Osamu wears just as the lights turn on again and the clapper board is positioned. Time to get back in character.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll bring that dessert. Somethin’ nice for you to suck on.”

“Wow, flirting on a porn set, who would have- put down that fork!”

“I need it for the scene that you wrote!”

#thirteen nights of whorror #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #hq smut #miya osamu #osamu x reader #osamu scenarios #osamu imagine #osamu smut #hq crack #osamu fic #osamu x you

[sovtwords]

the priest - kita shinsuke

pairing: kita shinsuke x reader warnings: 18+, priest kink, religious imagery, religious kink, demons, impact play, anal fingering, cunnilingus, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, yandere, porn making/videos w/c: 7.5k a/n: welcome to chapter 8 of thirteen nights of whorror! please read the tags before proceeding - if you think i am missing anything let me know and i’ll fix it. this chapter isn't necessarily inspired by any character or movie, just your regular good old fashioned catholic trauma and some demons to fit the series. this was actually a story i had months ago, but i'm glad i could finally write it. enjoy! feedback is appreciated! - ao3 link - Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

Kita Shinsuke was a holy man.

He was a man of purity, a deliverer of the good word, the righteous servant of the Lord.

He was the divine Left Hand of God.

Devotion came as easy as breathing, giving his everything in servitude to the powers that guide him. He is a Shepherd, sent by the Lord above to watch over his flock, to tend to the good people of the village who come to his mass every Sunday without fail, who look to him with innocence and praise, knowing that should the world around them fall, crumble into ruins and burn in flames of the hottest fires, Fr Kita will always be there with a steady and gentle hand.

So ready is he to lead his flock to salvation, to the open and inviting arms of the Lord, from the failings and errs of humanity to a place of safety and love. So ready is he to bear the weight of their confessions no matter how grievous, to carry it heavy on his Holy shoulders so that he may hold their hand and guide them to redemption.

So ready is Fr Kita to defend these pure and fragile minds from the truest form of sin to ever crawl on God’s green earth, rising from the depths below to lead these honest beings to ruin and depravity.

Demons.

Grotesquely cunning, soul stealing and deceitful icons of the darkest sins possible. The ones born and cast out of God’s pure and warm light. The ones who prey on the kind-spirited with no remorse for the terror they bring.

Oh, how they disgust him, how they make Kita want to tear the flesh from his bones piece by piece and beg God to cleanse him again with just the thought of them, so vile and putrid like maggots squirming their way into his brain.

The sight of those monsters ignites a fury in his veins like no other - anger searing through his body so strongly that it overtakes him momentarily and blinds him with violent rage, clenching fists and jaws, ready to rule out divine punishment on these heathens until the sight of the crucifix hung on the wall and bearing down judgement for all stills his footsteps, makes him halt and calms him down before he can leave the wonderful confines of his church and deal with the menaces that linger on the edges of the village. Taunting and evil, but few daring to pass the threshold that they know belongs to Fr Kita, whose hold over the village is stronger than that of the town council.

The imps hiss and cry at him, baring fanged teeth and devilish tails whipping with unease when Kita confronts them, a bible and a crucifix in hand and a face of barely restrained contempt and fury. They’re afraid of him. All the demons were. He takes sick pride in it, knowing he’s exorcised enough of their numbers to gain a reputation. They may try to take him down, but God is always on his side, and as long as he walks in the path of the light he will not fall to sin, into the clutches of hell spawn.

His goal is, and always will be, the destruction and defeat of Demons and Hell.

But you?

You were a different one. You were becoming the exception.

The Miya twins knocking on his church doors one dark night was a bit of a surprise to him. They were faithful boys, yes, but never had they gone out of their way to step foot on sacred grounds any more than weekly mass. So to see them on their doorstep with matching grins that were lined with something mischievous, something devious, the good priest didn’t know what to think - especially when they stepped to the side and showed the gift they had brought to Fr Kita.

As divine as a rose, silky and smooth as satin, hair shining like a jewel - this woman that they brought for judgement was the stuff of every man's dreams. As pretty as the peaches that grow on the trees in summer and as sweet as them too, he had nothing to suspect from her, no reason to narrow his eyes or raise a questioning brow at this beauty.

But her aura was unmistakable - she was one of them.

A filthy demon. A succubus, to be exact. The seducer of hearts and souls, the ones who wear fake smiles and bare their flesh for weak men.

His blood curdled with disgust.

‘We didn’t mean to summon her,’ the twins had explained. A simple drunken joke, some chalk, and suddenly there was a demon in their living room, staring up at them with innocent eyes, apparently. Kita argued that no demon could ever be described as innocent, but the twins insisted, and Fr Kita is nothing if not patient when listening to his flock.

A succubus you may be, but a terrible one at that, to the point where even the other demons cast you out of their hellish circles and mock you for your inability to collect and devour souls.

Because that’s the very root of the problem for you; you don’t want - no, you refuse to harm living creatures for as long as you live. The very thought of doing so makes you weak kneed, sick to your stomach, positively repulsed by hurting these humans that had done nothing to deserve such cruelty.

Kita called you a terrible liar, a heathen just crafting another elaborate trick to destroy the good village, but maybe Kita Shinsuke was lying to himself at that point. He has always been amazing at reading people - he is a priest, after all - and in your eyes he could sense no hint of deceit, which is why anger flooded his system. The twins were quick to back you up, saying they had witnessed your kindness firsthand when they let you stay with them for a few weeks to fulfil their own sexual desires out on this little succubus who couldn’t seduce a man to save her life - too subservient, too innocent and doe-eyed to lure men to their deaths, only fit for opening your legs and awaiting the pleasure from the men who wish to devour you, gaining power from the high of sex and the weight of their lust.

He was close to turning you away, to grabbing his bible and shouting the words that would banish you from this world forever, but he hesitated.

Maybe he should have followed through with banishing you to save his heart all this turmoil down the line.

The twins brought you to the church that night as a joke; a cruel jest of sexual pleasure, to rile you up and have you begging for them to not end your life, so that you’ll do whatever they want. They weren’t really going to have you exorcised like that. Those boys are fond of you, like you’re their favourite little toy. They didn’t expect Fr Kita to be quite the demon killer either. And the priest forgave them for their little mishap, because they brought you into his holy embrace. Kita saw this as an opportunity; to destroy the evil inside of you through his own brand of punishment and kindness.

A joke turned into an opportunity. But now, months down the line, Fr Kita finds he wants to covet you for himself. And perhaps that is one of the greatest jokes of all.

A priest feeling something akin to affection for a demon? Maybe even more?

God was testing him.

“I think there’s a different kind of punishment set for this child,” he spat. “She should not be sent back to those vile creatures just yet. She shall be healed by my hand.”

He had taken her that night, in front of the twins, in front of the Holy Cross that sits above all else. He dipped his toes into sin and fucked this demon, all in the name of the Lord, so that he may bestow upon this wretched succubus divine discipline, so that she may feel the wrath of God through the hardworking hands of Fr Kita, his most loyal.

But for all the roughness of his movements, for the crosses that burned marks into your skin, the heat that tingles at the back of your neck in the church, the heat that burns through you and leaves you breathless as he whispers prayers and drives his cock into your tight hole, you stay. For all the fear in the twins’ eyes as they realise it may have been a mistake to bring you here, worried their precious little succubus will be stolen from them, for all the tears that stream down your face as you cry out in equal bouts of pain and pleasure, you endure it all without question, without doubt despite the hatred seeping from Fr Kita’s eyes. When you lay a shaking, panting mess atop the bench of a pew while he fixed his robes, not allowing the Miya’s to care for you just yet, he asked you a simple question, one that will make or break you, one that will either lead you to redemption, or the road to perdition.

“What do you want, demon?” Fr Kita looked down at you in contempt. But beautiful, teary eyes blinked up at him in wonder.

In adoration.

“I want to be good,” you said. “I want to be pure.”

Oh, how he had fallen like the angels of old.

And just like that, a little lamb had entered his flock.

It started with attending his weekly masses, sitting with discomfort making your face twitch and lips pull into a grimace as stepping on holy ground battles with the sin that was born inside of you. But over time you adjust, looking forward to his honeyed voice as he says his prayers, as he blesses everyone in the crowd, as he places the holy bread on your tongue and presses down, fingers lingering a tad too long and breath hitching when your mouth innocently closes around his digits. He had punished you later that day for the semi he had suffered with for the entirety of the service, hands pinning you to the marbled floor and cursing you for daring to tempt him into sin.

But he really can’t lie to himself any more.

When his tongue licks and sucks up the sweet nectar of your core, pressing kisses to your throbbing clit with such reverence to have you singing to the high heavens with tears like dew drops on flowers lining your lashes, he claims it’s because you hadn’t sinned that day; you said your prayers, you got on your knees when asked, you behaved like the good little lamb he expected you to be. He wanted to reward you. But he knows that even if you had decided to act like the demon you were expected to be he still would have shoved his face between your thighs like a man drunk on your juices, addicted to the pureness of your cunt.

That’s what he was, though, wasn’t he? Addicted - so terribly obsessed with his little lamb who so desperately wants to be good for the Lord. Good for Kita. You wear the cross that sits deliciously between the valley of your breasts, you bear the pain of holy water as it sears into your skin without complaint, you hide your horns and your tail and keep to a human form. You do all of that for him, so that he may look at you with pride, see you for the good person you really are.

There is not a thing you wouldn’t do for him. And he, you.

Which is why he was so afraid, so conflicted, when you came to him alone one night, tears in your eyes and fear seizing your bones. Fr Kita takes you into his arms immediately and you collapse into his embrace, allowing him to carry you deeper into his church and rest on one of the cushioned chairs behind the altar.

“Oh, Father,” you wailed as streaks ran down your cheeks. “Shinsuke, it’s awful! Not even the twins can help!”

Things must be grave for you to address him by his first name - a privilege he only grants late at night in his bed when he’s in the mood to hear it.

“What troubles you, my little lamb?” he questions, keeping his face level to hide the worry and suspicion bubbling inside of him. You shake your head.

“They call on me - they want me to return. But I don’t want to go back!”

His blood runs cold.

“Who calls upon you?” he asks, foolishly hoping that you’ll answer with ‘God’, but knowing you mean the complete opposite instead. The grip around your waist grows a tad tighter, but you don’t seem to notice.

“Hell. That wretched place! They await my presence once more. Another succubus came to me; she told me that my time in the human world was up - that I’ve wasted too much time up here and have no souls to show for it. They’re…”

You grow quiet, sniffling into the fabric of his cassock and melting into his body when he lightly brushes down your hair with his hand.

“What are you hiding from me, little lamb?”

“...they’re going to punish me. For not being a decent demon. Like they always do. I just don’t want to take the soul of one of God’s creatures, they don’t deserve it!” You gaze into his eyes with great veneration; it's enough to make one sick. “I’ll only accept punishment if it’s from you. You know what’s best for me, don’t you?”

He manages a small smile for you, mind still reeling with the information you just poured on him. They were going to take you away? No. This can’t happen.

“Of course I know what is best for you. You are my lost little lamb. I need to keep you nearby so I can guide you on the path to salvation.”

But his words just make you cry even more, pitiful whimpers echoing through the church.

“I have to go back, but I really want to stay. Maybe - after I have suffered punishment, the twins can try to summon me again, and I can-”

“...you would truly go back to that foul realm?” Kita whispers coldly. He can feel your body freeze up, and he winds his arms even tighter around your form, as if to trap you in his embrace for eternity. “Back to a life of sin? Of evil, and immorality?”

“F-Father, I-”

“No,” says Kita resolutely. He stares distractedly at the altar. “That won’t do. I won’t allow all the progress I’ve made to have been for naught.”

“W-What do you mean?” you begin to struggle in his hold, unable to catch your breath with the tightness of his grip. “Father Kita, you’re hurting me…”

With a suddenness that leaves you gasping he stands abruptly, footsteps loud and rough in your ears as he makes his way over to the large, pristinely white marble altar that faces the pews, laying your body down on it with little regard to how rough he is starting to be right now. The frigid coldness of the altar seeps into your eternally heated body through the fabrics of your clothes until you’re grimacing at the sensation.

“I will not have you taken from me,” he says with venom dripping from his words. Dark eyes flicker over the items covering the altar, as his fingers fumble distractedly with the buttons of your dress, the straps of your sleeves, the waistband of the useless pair of underwear you insist on wearing. His muttered words are growing frantic in their airiness as he removes the garments from your body in rushed movements, barely giving you time to cooperate and help him remove them, because as always, you are so good and willing to bare your body for his holy hands. “No no no, Hell will freeze over before I let them have you, my lost little lamb.”

“F-Father…” you whisper, and the sweet lull of your voice sends shivers down his spine. He can see it in your eyes - the truth you try to hide for his sake, the truth that you will have to return to the depths of Hell and allow them to lay their filthy fucking claws on your sacred body, the body he worked so hard to cleanse of sin. It makes his hand trail a path up to your neck and squeeze, gripping tighter by the second, watching your eyes widen and hearing your breath stall in your chest.

He leans his face down to hover over yours, dark eyes roaming over every single one of your pretty features, so perfect that he almost would have thought they had been sculpted for his viewing pleasure alone. His hot breath fans over your face in puffs as he speaks.

“You are mine.”

He says it with such finality; like the dropping of a guillotine on the neck of a heathen, the tolling of a bell at a funeral, it makes your heart stop and stall in equal parts happiness and dread. Your priest, the one man who saw your struggles and helped you with a guiding hand, who saw how hard you tried to be kind - he wanted you. He wants you to stay, to be his, to forsake all that you know and trust in only him

The twins had told you to run, once. That Fr Kita was not as good a man as you thought, that he had ulterior motives when his hands touched your body so wonderfully. But there is only one decision you could make - with such loving possession, how could you possibly turn away?

Your hands cup his face, smooth the pinch of his brows and the downturn of his lips until his hand loosens around your neck enough for you to talk.

“I am yours,” you smile. “Only yours.”

It is sheer blasphemy of the highest order to even think this, but with such gorgeous words falling from your lips, with the sweetest smile curling them at the edges, he feels like a god mad with power.

A god of his own right, one who held power of his own design, who forged it with hands that bled in servitude.

Heresy. Blasphemy. A sin.

For once, it seems, he doesn’t care.

With quick speed he maneuvers your legs to fall off the edge on the altar and kneels down between the silkiness of your thighs like a man ready to pray, staring at your beautiful cunt with reverence and diving in with a mouth attaching itself to your throbbing clit.

As ever he’s pleased to see you’re as wet as a peach, juices sweeter than the sacramental wine and practically overflowing into his mouth as his tongue navigates your flesh as it’s done so many times before. It makes his eyes roll into his skull at the addictive taste, quietly groaning into the heat of your sex as he coaxes the most beautiful songs from your mouth, hymns that only he will know. Wet and needy and whining for him; he doesn’t care if it’s a trick ingrained into demons to entice their prey, it’s the closest to heaven he’ll get.

“Father, oh please,” you cry out. You grip his hair tightly but never enough to hurt him (you wouldn’t dare), and the sensation of nails scratching his scalp sends wonderful tremors through his being. With great vigour his tongue plunges into your warmth, thrusting in and out with a speed that makes you throw your head back and beg for mercy from the Lord above.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing a calloused thumb to stroke your sensitive bud as the flat of his tongue licks up and down your soft folds. “My little lamb, cry for me - show me how much you love this.” How much you love me.

“S-so good, Kita! Your t-tongue is so...so- oh!”

The added pressure of his thumb joining with his tongue entering you again has your legs shaking, thighs clenching around his head and keeping him trapped there.

“Don’t hide your words.” Kita can feel your already heated skin grow even hotter, and he knows your body enough to realise that means your peak is building fast.

“Oh Kita, your tongue f-feels amazing. Please- please please please, I feel it coming, I’m about to cum! K-Keep going, oh God above, fuck me-”

He loathes to do it, to pull away from the drug that is your dripping pussy, but he pulls back from your twitching form abruptly, leaves you gasping and whining pitifully on the sacred altar.

“N-No! That’s cruel, why did you-”

“Do you think it’s right to swear in the house of God?” Kita rises to his full height slowly, that ever present stoic look on his face staring down at you, your flushed skin he wishes to lick and bite and bruise, your pert nipples he longs to take into his mouth and suck, your spread legs his heart and cock begs for him to fuck into. The hazy and lustful look on your face begins to fade into confusion, and then to a look of dread and guilt.

You shake your head rapidly side to side. Good. At least you understand where you’ve gone wrong again. This, on top of even daring to think you could leave him? Punishment is due.

Kita hums, and his knuckles have turned white where they grip the edge of the marble. “Do you think it’s right to take our Holy God’s name in vain?”

When you shake your head in disagreement again, his hand whips out quick as lightning to slap the flesh of your thigh. You emit a squeak of surprise, and he stops his lips from curling and showing his amusement.

“Answer me, or have you forgotten how to speak?”

“N...No, Father Kita.”

“Clearly not, since you think to come into my church and use such vulgar language. Have I taught you nothing?”

“I’m sorry, Father! I-I lost myself, I just felt so good and I - I couldn’t help it!”

He delivers another slap, this time to your sex. Droplets of your slick splash over his cassock, and you give a moan of surprise and a jerk of your hips.

“That’s not an excuse for sin,” Kita elaborates, grabbing your thighs forcefully and dragging them around his waist. Another slap, this time to your breast, eyeing the jiggle it makes.

“...I understand,” you murmur shamefully, and the shame in your eyes fills him with joy. Oh how good you are, feeling guilt for your sins, wanting to do better.

His broad hand cradles your jaw with the last bit of kindness you’ll see from him tonight, at least for now.

It’s time for you to atone for all your sins once more.

“Do you accept atonement so that you may walk in the light once more?”

You swallow, but nod earnestly. “Of course, Father. I am ready to suffer for my sins, to know your love and guidance once more. I am ready to atone for the demon that I am.”

His cock, already hard and straining against his robes, twitches violently in delight. Oh, how you were just a gift sent from God to him.

The slap he gives you across your face is sudden and harsh, and knocks your head to the side easily with the force of it. You gasp loudly and your eyes widen in fright - it makes Kita’s head delirious with lust. Your cheek is tender and you grimace in pain when he holds your jaw but he pays it no mind as he bends down to capture your lips in his, invading your mouth with his strong tongue and swallowing up every whine you emit, letting you taste your divine juices lingering in his mouth.

It’s overwhelming, steals the air out of your lungs and makes your head dizzy but you reciprocate the best you can. There’s a stinging on your cheek and his fingers prodding into the skin don’t help to soothe the pain. Kita’s cassock brushes occasionally against your bare and neglected cunt, aching for his touch to bring you release so that you can feel the rush of power in your veins, to feel his beautiful touch sending you to heaven and showing you exactly why you belong by his side in all things holy.

Kita’s chest heaves for air when he pulls back and yours does the same, rising and falling in sync as his lips start a frantic assault on your neck, all gentleness in his touches gone as teeth as sharp as gluttonous demons bite at your neck with abandon and painting your skin in purple and red blooms. They sting, they hurt, but you stay your lips. This is what you deserve.

“Get up, and bend over.” Kita removes himself from your space, and you bite your lip to keep from complaining about the loss of contact. The feeling of your nipples rubbing against the fabric of his cassock had felt too good. But, you do as you are told, easing your feet onto the ground once more and leaning a bit over the altar, back arched and ass on show for your sweet priest while he watches with a hunger burning in his brown eyes.

Kita feels a wildness in his chest as seeing your submissive obedience, like an animal trying to break loose and ravage you, paint your insides white with his seed. You drive him wild, drive him to sin, and he loathes you as much as he loves you.

You make his head spin, his heart burn, and his soul cry.

“Hands behind your back,” he chokes out. Your arms dutifully reach behind you to cross above your rear, and you lean your weight into the table. You hear an odd sound, a jingling of things that knock together, and it takes only a moment for your memory to kick in and realise what you are hearing - Kita’s rosary beads. A single hand covers both of your wrists and in quick and practiced movements he ties the beads around your wrists like a rope, keeping them held together tightly enough that you can barely move them. And of course, such blessed items burn your sinful skin, and you feel the sting searing into the flesh of your wrists. Where the sizzling of your flesh upon entering the church had become bearable, this brings about a new pain to contend with.

“Good, little lamb,” the priest praises, and you quiet your hisses of pain to hear his voice. “Yer taking yer punishment so well.”

“Thank you, Father…”

Broad palms trail a path up the expanse of your back, fingers tracing the same paths he’s done many a time before, and he urges you to lean even further down. The marble feels icy on your chest and you give a little gasp as your bare skin touches it. With this new angle your sex is completely at his mercy (not that it wasn’t already), and you can’t quite turn your head to look behind you when you hear the shuffling of clothes and the buckle of a belt being removed.

It’s a shame that you can’t stare and drool at his cock; the red tip that you know is weeping precum that you love to lap up like a trained pup, the heavy balls you fondle with such care if only to see his eyelids flutter and his jaw tense. This man has ruined you and captivated you in ways beyond explanation.

You jolt and clench around nothing when he steps forward again and his member brushes your folds lightly, unable to hold the sob that escapes you. It earns you another hard slap to the swell of your ass that makes your toes curl.

“You are to recite Psalm 23 for me, little lamb,” his grip is deathly tight on your hips as he speaks. “If it is not said perfectly, I will spank you until you do. Understood?”

“Yes, Father.” It seems like an odd choice given the Act of Contrition is more suited for sinners, but you don’t question it.

He makes a pleased sound. “Begin,” he orders.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.”

Rather cruelly, as if to distract you, he purposefully strokes the head of his cock through the wetness of your core, and your breath stalls in your lungs while Kita lets out his own sigh of pleasure. You lick your lips before continuing with a voice that’s beginning to wobble on the edges.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me...”

Words escape you once he dares to ease the tip past your walls, just barely breaching your heat and pulling out just as quickly. Another slap on the opposite cheek jolts you out of your reverie. “Continue,” Kita warns. His hard member continues to tease you, and the heartbeat in your clit jumps every time he kisses it with the tip of his dick.

“Your rod and your staff, they comfort me-”

You really should have seen this coming. Kita Shinsuke never likes to make your punishments fair or easy. But still, he catches you off guard when, in one swift thrust, he plunges deep into your hole without warning, and your words end in a loud, keening wail that echoes through the empty halls and bounces back to cry mockingly in your own ears. Your nails bite into your skin where your hands are clenched into fists and rosary beads continue to burn your skin as everything grows a little more intense and a little more sinister.

“Oh, my-!”

Kita seemingly waits for you to slip up again, but you caught the words at the last second. He still spanks your ass twice in quick succession though, and the growing force of his hands begins to make your rear feel uncomfortable.

Before he can even ask, you begin to stutter out the next line of the prayer. Your voice is higher than it was a moment ago, body hypersensitive and fighting to accommodate Kita’s impressive length as he sets a steady pace with brutal force, hips practically doing the spanking for him as they smack into your ass.

With each snap of his hips your clit hits the cold marble of the altar, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep some semblance of composure and say the prayer as tears gather in your eyes. Kita bares his teeth when your gummy walls clench and suck him in, so perfect and hot, but he must hold back from destroying your cervix with his prick. He has other plans, and you must beg for forgiveness first.

You get most of the way through the prayer with minimal spanks from silly mistakes when movement to your right draws your attention. Kita reaches out to grasp an elegant glass jug filled with liquid of near gold, slowing down his forceful thrusts momentarily as he pops open the glass top.

The smell hits you immediately, a sickeningly pungent fragrance that invades your sensitive nostrils and makes your eyes sting. The anointing oil, you realise. But what Fr Kita intends to do with that, you aren't sure.

You're about to start the last line of the prayer when Kita suddenly tilts the bottle and pours the oil over your back. With it comes the burn of blessings on your demonic skin, and it trails a burning path of fire as you feel the slick substance flow down your skin in messy streaks, flowing down past your hips and dripping down to where you are connected with Fr Kita. Still, he continues to pour it all out until it feels like your entire back is slick with oil.

"Wha- Father-!"

"Continue, little lamb. Yer almost done."

You're almost hesitant to start again, too anxious about what he has in store, but when his languid thrusts still entirely, the loss of friction makes your hands clench in frustration and the most pathetic whimpers leave your mouth. And so you begin to say the final line and get one step closer to forgiveness.

"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies-"

Your yelp of surprise is loud and intrusive in the relative silence of the church but you had no way of stopping the sounds that leave your mouth - not when Kita has decided to put the anointing oil to use and prod two fingers into your ass without warning. With all the oil it's easy for him to slip in, curling two fingers teasingly while his hips start to move again at a steady pace. You moan aloud and sing his name like a hymn, and he feels his control slowly begin to break down with how hard you're gripping his cock and fingers.

"Finish the prayer," he grits through clenched teeth. When he looks down to where you are joined he sees a white ring of your juices coating the base of his shaft, and he withholds the urge to wipe it up and lick it.

As his fingers pick up speed, you claw against your burning restraints with keening groans, wanting nothing more than to turn around and face your loving priest. But you need to prove how willing you are to be forgiven.

"Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

Kita's chest gives a rumble of approval and with barely restrained excitement he wraps an arm around your waist to lift you up, cradling you close to his torso. Your head rests against his shoulder, and the tears lining your lashes almost make you look starry eyed. Your undying devotion to him, to wanting to be good - it's too much for his heart to bear. He steals a kiss from your swollen lips.

"Good girl," he whispers against your mouth. "God has forgiven you. And so have I."

You don't get a chance to say anything, for Kita rears his hips back and starts fucking into you with such speed and force you immediately shut your eyes and wail out a moan. His index and middle fingers in your hole try to keep in time with his cock pistoning into your core, and you feel so wonderfully full as he fucks you blind.

He licks at the drool escaping from the corner of your mouth that hangs open, his hands feel around your chest and tug at your nipples, and his teeth bite and mark you with every intention of letting the world know who you belong to.

"Father K-Kita, you feel...so good. Filling me up so well- I'm so close."

Kita hums into the place between your shoulder and neck.

"Well then, I think it's time for your reward."

The hand wrapped around your waist snakes down to your hot and swollen clit, neglected for too long, and wastes no time in rubbing it hard and fast. Your mouth forms a perfect 'O' shape as you fall silent in pleasure, your orgasm winding up almost too fast for you to keep up with.

It's so intense, so blindingly overwhelming, that you don't even notice the bumps growing at the top of your skull, too busy chasing your high while the horns that you usually keep hidden from view pop out at the height of your pleasure.

Kita watches in morbid curiosity at the horns sprouting from your skin, moving upwards to shape two delicate curves, so pretty and soft, much like yourself. He feels disgust at looking at the very thing that signifies what a demon is, and feels even more violently ill when he realises he likes them in a way, finds them to be a strange and taboo sort of beauty like you had been to him since the first day you were dropped off at his church.

But you're clenching around him so fucking amazingly, and he's rutting into you fast and deep that he feels the tell tale squeeze of his balls alerting him to his oncoming orgasm, he forces thoughts of horns out of his mind as he aims his thrusts perfectly, hitting all the right spots and pulling your orgasm from you.

"Kita I'm- right there, right there! Shinsuke, I'm gonna-!"

Fuck. Saying his name makes him all sorts of crazy, and his hips stutter in surprise as he cums abruptly, not expecting the force of it to hit him so hard as he clings to your form and pumps fingers into your ass and rubs your clit one final time before you're reaching your peak with him, cumming together in a sort of beautiful, blissful way that would make the poets envious.

Your name spills from his lips in delirious babbles as he paints your insides white, filling up your cunt with ropes of his seed. Your walls clenching and releasing around his member makes him twitch in overstimulation, but you both collapse onto the altar together: breathless and flushed, a layer of sweat sticking to your bodies and still dripping in holy oil.

You mewl when Kita runs his hands over your body, massaging the globes of your ass and finally removing the rosary beads from your wrists. In an instant your hands are reaching up to twist into his hair, and he lets you guide his lips to yours, kissing you once more with a gentleness that you had grown used to the longer he had you in his clutches.

"That was…"

He hums in agreement when you can't voice any more. His dark eyes drift up to your horns, and fingers scratch at their dark base before he has a moment to think about what he's doing in his post sex haze. You gasp and shiver when you feel him touching your sensitive horns, a full body tremor coursing through you, and he locks away that information for another time.

"My horns! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine. We'll address it later."

Kita bemoans the loss of your heat around his softening cock when he pulls out, but the sight of fat globs of his cum spilling from your pussy and dripping down to your thighs and to the floor is so heavenly, so divine, that his member gives a renewed twitch of arousal.

Smelling the spike of lust in the air, you look back at your dear priest in surprise.

"Would...would you like to go again?"

Kita says nothing. He instead fixes his clothing and turns you around to lift you into his arms bridal style, and begins making his way to the back room below the church where a meagre bed rests in a small sleeping area. His steps are loud in the relative quiet, and your breathing is even once more as you curl into his embrace, one he willingly accepts with the tightening of his arms around you.

"Stay with me," he says finally as he enters the room and kicks the door shut behind him. It's less of a question, and more of a direct order. Your eyes are wide and doe like as you stare up at his face.

"Do you mean it?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I meant otherwise."

"Oh, I would love that. I want to stay with you! But… if I don't go back, they'll come for me - for you! I don't want you to get hurt."

His eyes dull with thinly veiled disapproval at your insistence at going back to Hell. At leaving his side.

Were you still so...so stupid about this? So simple and innocent in your view of the world, that everything must be so black and white? That to be good you must follow every rule given to you, even by those demonic monsters?

It's endearing, as it is disgustingly ignorant.

You toy with his heart too much, because you just don't understand, do you?

You aren't leaving Kita Shinsuke - from now until the end of time. He'll keep you chained up in the basement of his church if he has to, just to get the message across.

Kita lays you down on the bed, and looms over your form. The lights cast dark shadows on his face, and it feels a bit intimidating to look at as you fall silent.

"I don't fear them. I'll be ready," he answers, and before you can retort a hand creeps its way over your mouth to silence you. His eyes are intense as they meet yours. “You are destined for greater things, little lamb. You must stay by my side."

You failed to notice the ropes that had been resting on the bedside table until they were wrapped and chafing around the skin of your wrists. Your eyes widen - feeling both fear and a sick sort of lust, completely in the hands of Father Kita, completely at his mercy. You give an experimental tug of your restraints, as if to break free, but you're unable to. His expert hands had tied them too fast, too tight.

But even then, you wouldn't do anything to upset your dear priest anymore, would you?

"It's like I said," Kita pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "You are mine. I'm not letting you go."

As he takes you for a second time that night, just one of many rounds, he thinks back on his words, his original goal in all of this.

Was it possible to make a being that was the epitome of the sin of lust, something greater than itself?

Was it possible to make you, a demon so desperate to do good, an icon of purity?

Could you, a demon, become an Angel through hard work and his righteous, guiding left hand?

He’s not sure. It seems a fanciful idea.

But he’s willing to find out through any means possible.

Oh, God would only be too delighted with his efforts.

.

.

.

The credits roll on screen in slim white text, detailing the names of those whose blood, sweat, tears, and cum were poured into this piece, and you look over excitedly to the holy man of the hour beside you for his reaction. But all you’re met with is his usual stoic face, this time with a slight pinch to his brow.

“Well? What d’you think?” you ask. There’s a moment of silence before he answers.

“It’s amazingly put together, and yer skill in film makin’ is evident.”

You beam and nearly melt on the spot. Such high praise, from Kita Shinsuke no less! The Academy could approach you right now and offer you an award, but it still wouldn’t compare to the kind words of Kita. They make you feel so warm, so accomplished, so-

“But this still doesn’t feel right. Priests and demons, in such a...lewd manner. It’s crude, and seems a lil’...disrespectful.”

You deflate immediately.

You flop dramatically into his side with a wail, and use the opportunity to cop another feel of his bicep. Was he flexing? It feels so amazingly strong!

“Kita, you wound me!”

“I’m sorry. Ya really did a great job with the video. But the topic of the movie feels morally wrong.”

“It’s porn. Was it really that morally right to begin with if we’re gonna go down that road?” you counter. Kita offers no comment, and still stares at the blank screen.

You sigh sadly. “Alright; if you didn’t have fun and you don’t feel ok with it, I won’t publish it-”

“I never said I didn’t have fun.” Kita is directly looking at you now, and his looks always felt intense, loaded. Like he’s looking right through you. You fight the urge to blush. “And I don’t want all yer hard work to go to waste like that. Publish it. I guess I’m just old fashioned in thinking these things are untouchable in that way.”

“You aren’t old fashioned. You’re a good guy and view these things in high regard, unlike the degenerate I am. Mama wouldn’t be proud of me, I fear.”

That gets a smile out of him.

“I suppose this will be the end of us working together this way? Back to being friendly neighbours?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Kita says quietly, keeping his eyes trained on his hands in his lap. Crazy to think those hands had been spanking your ass in the film you both had watched only minutes ago. You bite your lip. “I...enjoyed working with you. And on set. It was a new experience for me. I wouldn’t mind joining you again if you needed someone for another piece.”

He sounds casual as he says it, but the dusting of pink says he’s not quite as unaffected as he seems.

And you?

You bury your face into his shoulder with an embarrassed laugh, and Kita gives his own little chuckle as you move to link pinky fingers with him.

“I’d like that very much, Shin.”

#thirteen nights of whorror #hq smut #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fanfiction #kita shinsuke #kita smut #kita scenarios #kita imagines #kita x you #kita x reader #kita fic #smut

[sovtwords]

the shape - sawamura daichi

pairing: sawamura daichi x reader warnings: 18+, dubcon, loss of virginity, stalking, hunter/prey dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, referenced abstinence, public sex , rough sex, knives, unprotected sex, implied/referenced character death, porn making/videos w/c: 6.8k a/n: welcome to chapter 6 of thirteen nights of whorror! please read the tags before proceeding - if you think i am missing anything let me know and i'll fix it. this chapter is inspired by michael myers from the halloween series, though i changed it up a bit - instead of stalking solely on halloween night, he has been stalking reader for around a month. enjoy! feedback is appreciated! - ao3 link - Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

Somebody is following you. Of this, you have no doubt in your mind.

You can’t pinpoint when exactly it started, or how long it has been going on for, but you know exactly when you came to this realisation, and with it came the sinking of your stomach like a stone in the water.

Maybe the pinpricks of paranoia had always played at the back of your mind when you were out and about; buying groceries, shopping in boutiques, taking your dog for a walk in the local park. You had put it down to just the internal conditioning a woman possesses when being cautious outside, always alert for the dangers that lurk. But it had never been so apparent to you until a month ago after taking on a babysitting job for some extra college cash.

Every night you spend with the kids is pretty routine - you arrive in the evening while the parents go out doing whatever, you cook their dinner, you get their teeth brushed and you dress them for bed, where they’ll eventually fall asleep while you stay on the couch reading the latest book and wait for the parents to stumble in the door, hand you a wad of cash and send you on your way.

It’s easy money and exactly why you took the job. Routine was welcome.

But one hitch in the routine was enough to make it fall apart at the seams, one little thread at a time.

When one of the younger ones vomited all over your pretty blue blouse, arguably your Sunday Best if you’re being honest, you had no intention of sitting in a sour smelling shirt until you could go home. That meant sneaking your blouse into the washing machine while the kids were asleep and you could afford to walk around in just your bra for a bit until it was dry.

But as if fate had willed it, as if the gods themselves had graced you with a sign, you tilted your head upwards at just the right moment to look out of the window and into the darkness of the night as you tossed your top into the dryer.

And it was then, you saw him.

You hadn’t thought anything of it at first glance, eyes barely flickering over the shroud of night in the backyard. Yet as your eyes kept returning to that one spot like a magnet, a few seconds of staring revealed that no, that was not garden decorations you were staring at right now, but it was in fact a face, or better yet, a mask, staring back at you from just beyond the garden fence.

It was a dull white, and just about the only thing that stood out in the dim lighting the garden lights could provide. But it unsettled you greatly, made all the hairs on your body stand up in fright, made you physically recoil away from the window, made you sweat all over despite the chill that had coursed through you.

Yet as you grabbed the closest knife you could to defend yourself as you planned a way to get to the phone and call the police as fast as you could, it was gone when your eyes returned to the spot you had seen it, and a further hour of standing there, peering at the dark, sick to your stomach with anxiety and fear, wondering if he’ll come back and hurt you or the kids, proved that he had in fact disappeared, and he never came back that night.

You weren’t sure at the time whether that was a good or bad thing.

And with just one chance meeting, your entire life was turned upside down as you were doused in fear like it was gasoline and that stranger was the one with the lit match, ready to set you alight and watch you burn with the stoicism befitting the evil of his kind.

You couldn’t relax while babysitting the kids on any other day, almost considering leaving the job and focusing on your mental health after everyone brushed your concerns aside and treated them as the hallucinations of a college girl who had one too many all nighters recently. No matter how many times you’d talked to them, even showing them reports on the news of a man who had escaped a nearby sanitarium and was on the loose for weeks, unable to be found, they just wouldn’t hear you out. It was just a lack of sleep, they said. You were furious, ready to walk out the door forever, but two fat stacks shoved into your trembling hands and a pay increase had you staying with great reluctance.

But you cannot ever shake the feeling that you are being watched, that the white mask has come for you, to chop you up into tiny pieces and eat you for breakfast.

You feel it when you change in the morning, hastily running to close every blind and window in your room but still feeling an itch on your skin. You feel it on your commute to college, walking with hunched shoulders and eying the bushes in the sweet neighbourhoods as though he was lying in wait, eyes zoned in on your skirt through the green bushel and red azalea flowers that every seems to have nowadays, littering the sidewalk with petals that remind you of little droplets of blood. You feel it even when you’re surrounded by crowds, feeling the pinprick of a singular set of eyes tingling at the back of your neck and making you want to curl up into a ball and fade away into the noise.

You’re losing sleep, you’re losing your sanity.

And no one will believe you.

You’ve tried telling everyone you could, even going so far as bringing it to the police, but they brushed away your concerns like it was dirt on their shoulders. ‘You’re just imagining things, miss. This is a nice town - nobody does that kind of stuff here! Ain’t no boogeyman out to get ya!’

It made you want to tear your hair out in frustration. And it even made you question your own mind. It was the month of October - lots of spooky things happen around now, right? It wouldn’t be uncommon to see people getting into the spirit of things early and wearing costumes, or even just supernatural things happening out of the blue. Maybe you were just going crazy, sipped too many Cokes, balanced too much work on your shoulders, stayed up reading too many magazines or sneaking in reruns of Charlie’s Angels and wishing you were as beautiful as Farrah Fawcett.

That was until Halloween night, and all of your fears were confirmed exactly as you had thought.

Falling asleep in a public library while studying was not ideal, having to walk home late and alone was even less so. It was nearing twelve, and the streets were mostly clear of any trick or treaters or crowds, save for a few drunken stragglers coming back from parties or rowdy teens smoking behind sheds. You were, more or less, on your own until you made it back home.

Every mask made you jump, every noise made you twitch, until you were nearly sprinting down the road in an effort to make it to your home faster, before someone just up ahead walked out from behind a tall hedge to stand directly in your path like a road block.

Someone tall and well built, wearing dark mechanics overalls, and an expressionless white mask.

There was no mistaking it. This wasn’t some random person dressing up.

It was him.

The chill sent up your spine is proof enough.

You’re frozen in fear, locked in a standstill as he stares you down, not moving an inch, like he was a statue, a man made of pure stone (he certainly looks it, you think stupidly, he’s nearly bursting through those overalls), and notice rather belatedly the knife he grips in a white knuckled fist.

It was as though someone slapped some sense into you, for you took off into the nearby woods hidden just behind the suburbs after seeing the knife like an idiot, thinking you were safer in a dark and dense forest rather than knocking on some nearby houses for help.

Adrenaline makes you do dumb things, apparently.

You don't dare look back to see if he is following. You just run and run and run, deeper into the woods, away from civilisation, until your legs burn from exertion and your chest fights for air, and then you run some more. You can only hope that he has no interest in chasing some girl into the woods, preferring to target the drunkard dressed as a cat lying in some bushes.

After what seems like hours you finally stumble to a stop and collapse against a tree, legs weak and like jelly, hands struggling to grip onto the wood as you inhale as much oxygen as you can yet still feeling like it'll never be enough.

You hazard a look at your surroundings. The trees look dark and wicked, nearly stripped of all their leaves and reaching out to you like inky black fingers, hoping to snatch you up and keep you trapped here forever. You can't even see any lights from the town - you're too far away and the forest is much too dense now.

After a few minutes of frantically looking out for the man in the mask, you take a deep, stuttering breath, and begin to cry.

It's cold, you're lost, and you're afraid. You are torn between deciding whether to try and head back, thinking he might have found interest somewhere else, and staying here until it gets brighter, hoping you can find your way back home with the light of dawn guiding your way.

Both are arguably terrible options, and so you just sit here and cry, scrambling to gather your thoughts and think more clearly despite the fear pumping through your body.

Your temporary safety was short lived, however.

Over the sounds of your cries, you hear, rather closely, the sound of something snapping. A branch, perhaps, breaking under the weight of something stepping on it. Anyone would argue that it was a wild animal trekking through the woods, and you might be inclined to believe them, were it not for the combat boot standing directly on top of said twig, crushing it to pieces in the mud.

Your eyes trail slowly and reluctantly up his frame, from a pair of black boots, up long thick legs that you spot despite the baggy overalls he wears, a bulky chest that rises and falls steadily and makes the top button strain with his size, and finally that damned mask that has stained your dreams for the past few weeks, like a ghost haunting you.

You whimper like a pathetic dog as he stares you down, unfeeling, daunting, like a statue, staring down at you with eyes that hide a myriad of thoughts or none at all. You can’t tell. Because he just stares, knife poised in his thick hand, unmoving with his horrible judgement.

"Help! Somebody, please - help me!"

The only answer you receive is the hum of nature, laughing at the silly little rabbit who allowed herself to be caught in the maws of a wolf.

“W-What do y-you want from me?” you stutter through sobs.

He does nothing.

“P-Please! Why did you follow me?! Why me?!”

He says nothing.

“Don’t h-hurt me, I’m begging you!”

Nothing.

The terribly long silence, awaiting your doom, makes you feel as though you are about to vomit your heart out onto the grass, beating sadly as he’ll crush it with his boot until it explodes in an array of blood and gore. It drives you mad, steals the air from your lungs, and the longer it goes on the less you can take it.

Your eyes zip around his broad frame, looking for an escape, and your feet seem to move before you even will them into action as you bolt up from your crouched position and dodge underneath a branch poking out of a tree, sprinting past him in a craze without looking back.

That is until your foot gets lodged underneath the roots of another tree, and with a shrill cry of pain and panic you fall to the ground as your ankle twists, a sickening crunch sound followed by a hot bloom of pain swelling in your leg letting you know that it’s definitely broken.

He’s already standing over you when you look up with blurry, frightened eyes, neck craned all the way back to view your tormentor who stands above you, evil incarnate.

“Please,” you sob woefully, shaking into the wet grass. “D-Don’t kill me.”

A pregnant pause as you wait for the knife to tear into your flesh.

He bends down and you flinch, only to feel the roots trapping your foot lift and tear from the ground, and you’re stupefied at this man's strength as he breaks them away to free your foot. There’s a pulsing ache in your ankle, and you know running away is useless - you won’t get very far. How cruel of him to dangle freedom in your face, knowing you’ll never get it. Another moment of quiet staring. You break first.

“What are you going to d-do to m-me?”

You can feel the eyes that hide the mask burning into your skin. He tilts his head upwards only once, and it takes you a moment to realise that he wants you to stand. It’s sad, really, how you fumble in your attempts to stand like a newborn fawn, using the tree for stability, hugging it like those hippies from the communes you’d seen on the news. He doesn’t help at all. Only watches like he’s always done.

The man in the mask stares at you. You stare back.

He lifts the hand wielding his knife, and a scream gets caught in your throat as he points it at your chest. You can’t bear to look at it for long, shutting your eyes tightly to push away the sight of the blood splatters painting the knife in crimson, away from staring into nothingness as he steals your life away from you.

This is it. This is where you’ll die. And nobody will ever find your body. You are going to fade into the earth, buried beneath twigs only to become little flowers that will wither and be forgotten.

There is the sound of something tearing, but it isn’t your skin.

Your shirt is roughly ripped asunder, a flick of the knife shredding the silky fabric of your blouse to bits as he shreds it from your body. You can barely move in your shock as he destroys your clothing, skirt joining your top on the forest floor, and soon your bra and underwear too, until you are completely naked before him, except for the frilly white socks you wear with your Mary Janes.

The cold nips at your skin, and any attempts at covering yourself up are futile, because whatever you hide with your hands just isn’t enough as he openly stares at the flesh laid bare, a wolf to a rabbit. You tremble, both from the cold and the mask, and the rough hand slapping your arm away where it’s pressed over your chest makes you yelp.

You try to fight back, preserve your modesty, but he grabs your wrists in a tight grip and pins them above your head, effectively pushing out your chest for his scrutiny. His hand is big as it covers a breast, squeezing awkwardly, tweaking your nipples with interest, as though he isn’t sure exactly what it is he should be doing with them. He’s rough as he experiments with your chest, and you grimace with every rough tug of your buds, with every second he simply holds your tit in his palm like he’s weighing it.

His hand suddenly drifts lower, palming and playing with the flesh of your stomach, and you hold your breath as it goes lower still. His hand feels surprisingly warm as it cups your mound, as his fingers press directly to your slit and rub so lightly. You make a noise of surprise and jerk your hips, but accidentally move too hard as your clit grazes the heel of his hand. You bite your lip to hide the whine building in your chest, but it’s too late, as the white mask looks up from where he was openly staring at your cunt to stare into your face. Shame floods every corner of your body as much as fear has - this man has been stalking you for days! You can’t get off to this!

But apparently, he wants you to.

The man’s hand grinds against your clit in a steady rhythm, and while you fight it as hard as you can, the cold air doesn’t bother you as much as your body grows warmer with each clumsy touch to your nub, as something builds up in your gut the longer he pays attention to your sex.

Calloused fingers spread the lips of your pussy, and you’re embarrassed at a lot of things in that moment - at the whimper you emit when he lifts his hand to eye level in curiosity, at your slick sticking to his fingers and connected by little strings when his spreads his fingers, at the fact that you’re still terrified for your life right now and expecting to be stabbed at any moment in time, but your inexperienced body, so pure and virginal and saving yourself for marriage, is reacting so positively to the attention despite your mind screaming at you to get a grip and run at the first opportunity.

But God, does it feel so good when he brings thick fingers back to your sex, teasing your entrance to gather your juices and rubbing them in circles around your clitoris. You gasp, loathing the way you buck into his hand, at war with yourself internally as he brings you closer and closer to something you’ve only experienced once in your life with your doors closed and your own dainty fingers.

This feels so good...

He’s going to kill me!

Might as well enjoy it before I die, right?

This is insane, why am I even thinking this way?!

“F-Faster!” you grit.

You feel like you’re lacking something, though, as you’re brought higher and higher to heaven, feeling it rise when his fingers press more firmly, move even quicker. You clench around nothing, juices leaking out onto your thighs, craving and preparing for something to move inside of you, and the thought of the man in the mask, the menace hovering over you and hiding you from the world, putting his cock inside of your weeping hole both excites you and frightens you. You’ve been raised on the idea that you should savour it for your wedding night, not have your purity stolen by college boys and older men.

To possibly be ruined by this man…

You hate the moan that falls from your lips at the thought.

You are certainly tainted by madness, it seems.

"Don't stop, please! I don't- what's happening-"

His fingers move even faster now, flicking from side to side with a speed that has you gasping. You can feel it, you can feel it coming, that special feeling that seemed like a myth only told in forbidden romance novels, it’s-

Your moan of pleasure is trapped in your chest as you fall over the edge of ecstasy, cumming hard on his hand, wishing you had something to hold onto for balance but he still keeps a bruising, painful grip on your wrists. You writhe in his hold, blind to the bark of the tree cutting the skin of your back as you ride out your high; shaking, moaning, sighing through waves of pleasure, head falling against the trunk of the tree.

Your breathing sounds loud in the silence that follows, drowning out the sounds of nature with each inhale of chilly, October air. He’s staring into your face once more, so silent, solemn, and you can’t possibly even begin to guess what kind of thoughts he has right now.

You shift uncomfortably, wanting to go home to safety, yet also letting a sick, demented part of you enjoy the attention and pleasure he’s giving you, and that’s when you brush against something hard, poking at your belly.

Your heart stills, assuming it’s a hammer he’s brandishing to deliver blows to your skull, but it doesn’t seem to be coming from his pockets at all when you squirm again. Instead it’s between his legs, and it isn’t until you hear a noise so faint, so alien, do you realise that the mask emitted a small grunt as you touched that hard thing again. And then it clicks.

You blush furiously as the weight of arousal bores down on you, the heaviness of realisation that someone wants you so badly.

You test the waters, try another press to his bulge. It earns you another strangled moan, and so you do it over and over until he’s rutting into your abdomen, the slacks of his overalls chafing the skin of your belly as he gets progressively rougher. He lets go of your wrists suddenly and you let them fall limply to your sides with a dull ache, unsure of what to do now that they’re free.

He regards you silently, as always, and try as you might to see into the eyes behind the mask, you just can’t. They’re hidden, lost. Dead.

There is a glint in the moonlight, a flash of silver as your attention is brought back to the knife on his waist, and it seems as though you only have one option if you had any hope of surviving tonight.

With shaking hands you reach up to the top button of his overalls, fiddling with the button, struggling to will your hands to stop their trembling before it pops open. You can see bare skin underneath, tanned, a dusting of chest hair, and it almost seems odd; to see such normal features on the monster that has haunted you for weeks. You look at him with uncertainty, unsure if you should continue or if the knife will zip across your neck. He makes no move to stop you. So you keep going.

It takes far longer than you would have liked to reveal the built chest underneath the overalls as the top half of the suit dangles over his waist, torso left only in a white vest that looks ready to tear at the seams over all of his muscles. He’s big, bigger than you could have imagined with the suit in the way, and on top of a new layer of fear, images of him snapping your neck with no effort at all, it comes with a wave of arousal that floods your senses as you trail delicate fingers over his biceps, his collarbones, to the edge of the mask he wears.

Before you can even think about pulling off the mask to look at the beast underneath, he’s stepping back to lower his overalls down his hips, enough so that his erection springs free. Your walls flutter at the sight - a cock nearly as thick as your fist, with throbbing veins decorating the flushed shaft leading down to his balls. You suddenly think to yourself how you want it inside you, how you want it to fill you up, the missing link that you were craving, to take your purity away with a single push.

The man in the mask grabs your hips abruptly. He lifts you up with an ease that could rival Hercules, and pins you against the tree with his broad chest, wrapping your legs around his waist. On instinct you lock your ankles regardless of the flare of pain and scramble to find purchase on his wide shoulders, digging into his skin, but he voices no complaint. It dawns on you that this is a very big moment, as the tip of his cock teases the lips of your sex. This is the moment where you become a woman, according to your mother - who had enforced years of abstinence on you to fit in with good, traditional family values and to avoid staining the family name. Oh if only she could see you now, about to lose all virtue in the arms of a man that terrifies you to no end. Your mind screams at you to stun him, run while you can, protect your life and your innocence, but your body tells you to allow yourself to fall into ruin, for how bad could it be if it feels this good?

There is no saving you after tonight. You can only pray that you see the morning rise.

He enters without warning, and you screech to the night sky above like a banshee.

Your vision is blurred with tears, staring at the starry sky as though they were flashing lights, trails of white zooming across the night sky as you move your head around weakly, trying to comprehend the breach of your walls, the loss of your virginity to the boogeyman.

"S-Stop! Be gentle, ah-"

It's useless. He isn't listening.

The stretch is painful, and you think that no amount of preparation could have ever prepared you for him. He sits thick and hot inside of you, stretching well past the point of comfort, a stinging in your groin growing more prominent as he pushes himself all the way in until your hips are pressed flush to his. You often wondered how it would feel with your future husband; if he would treat you kindly, if he would prepare you like your friend said her boyfriend had done when she lost her virginity, if he would take it slow and steady for you so it could feel just as good for you as it would for him.

But you suppose it is pointless pondering on such thoughts, on what could have been, as the man in the mask barely gives you a moment to adjust before he starts pounding into your tight hole. You had every opportunity to make a run for it, to risk your life and get away from him. But you stayed and let him touch you, desecrate your body, bring you a taste of sinful pleasure so that you hunger for it some more like the greedy soul you were. Now you just have to deal with it.

Your teeth bruise your lips, biting harshly on the plump flesh as he fucks into you without care, slapping his hips into yours, crude and loud. Whimpering and crying in his arms, his grip on your ass tight as he kneads the flesh and spreads you apart for him, you fight to find some pleasure in the entire ordeal, the same kind he had shown you moments ago when he rubbed your clit ferociously. You feel something, the occasional brush of his toned abdomen against your bud, his warm body pressed to your chest and grazing your nipples with every jerk of his body, but you crave more.

You sneak a hand downwards with a grimace of discomfort, trying to slip in between how close your bodies are, and sigh with relief when the first touch of your fingers immediately scratch at the itch, begin to soothe the pain and switch it out for pleasure as you circle it lightly. Arm wrapped around the man's neck you focus on the pleasure you’re gaining from touching yourself paired with the pistoning of his cock inside of you, getting lost in the fire spreading in your limbs. You don’t even realise how loud and frequent your moans have become as you screw your eyes shut, but he certainly noticed. He feels it in the sporadic tightening of your cunt, the pretty gasps and whines in his ear, the ones that still hold an edge of fear, whether it be from the ecstasy building or the man himself.

You thought you were imagining it at first, mistook it for a sound from the world around the bubble you’ve inadvertently created with this killer, but you’re suddenly aware of the heady grunts from behind the white, lifeless face. They sound broken, desperate, as his pace gets more and more erratic and wild. It shouldn’t surprise you considering he’s getting his dick wet with a purpose, but it does. You suppose it adds some sort of humanity to him - that he’s just as affected as you are. But you’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

Without giving it much thought, through the haze of pleasure that’s now overtaking your every sense, you use this moment of weakness to reach up with your free hand, trusting him to still hold onto your body as he is (using it more like a hole to fuck than treating you like a human being), and rip off the sinister mask in one quick movement, throwing it carelessly to the ground next to your tattered clothes.

Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets.

You expected a monster; an unsightly beast from the depths of hell who preys on pretty girls when they’re alone. You may have even expected an older man, given his large, terrifying build, paired with the reports of the escapee from the sanitarium that you now assume to be him. But neither of those theories were true.

Instead you’re faced with a young man; tanned skin, thick brown hair, dark eyes. He is, by most definitions, a very handsome man, one whose smiles you reckon could steal hearts and whose eyes could turn heads. You even think, with a certain level of trauma induced insanity, that you may have fallen head over heels for him if you had met him in one of your college classes, or may have even gotten married to him if the circumstances were different, more opportune than they were now.

He looks like a normal guy.

But his face - his face is so terribly cold, impersonal, like his soul had never been there inside of him at all. It feels as though you had not even ripped the mask off to begin with, like you’re still staring at the same faceless, white mask as he looks directly into your eyes while his thrusting turns almost violent, moving with pure animal instinct.

You're looking at him, but all you see is pure evil.

"O-Oh my…"

You feel like you can't catch your breath, the force of his cock stealing it away, thoughts swimming to the surface of how this was a terrible idea, that you should scream and kick and run now that you've seen the face of the man who wants to ruin you.

But you feel it building again, orgasm steadily rising, heat pooling in your gut, it makes you lock your legs around his waist even tighter, the dainty frills on your socks tickling his muscled back. Sweat builds at your brow, you're on fire, fighting to stay grounded but everything just feels so good.

The man angles his hips and you whimper at the feeling as he fills you up even more, rutting into you like a sex driven demon. You don't know what to do anymore except let him do as he pleases, trying to figure out where to put your hands, what to do with them as you now feel like it might be impossible to start touching yourself again with how tightly pressed his body is to yours, like he was trying to merge his entire being with you.

But he seems to know what to do with his hands. He grabs a fistful of your hair, cranes your neck back to look you dead in the eyes, and holds you there. Try as you might to look away you just can't - caught in a twisted trance, falling deeper into pools of malevolence.

Baby blue painted nails bite into the tough skin of his shoulders, his neck, his hair, hoping that you could give him a taste of the agony he’s bringing you, but he makes no sound of pain - only pleasured grunts and groans, mute but crystal clear to your ears from the close proximity. Your scalps stings and there’s a muscle pulling in your neck, but it all fades away with your orgasm fast approaching.

“Please, I-I’m so close! Keep...keep going-”

You’re not even sure why you’re begging for him to keep going. Something tells you he was going to do that anyway. But it gives your voice something to do, other than let loose unfiltered, pathetic moaning and panting, high pitched innocent whimpers that would make you cringe if you had heard it when passing one of those adult movie theatres.

The man’s hips begin to lose what little pace they already had. His thrusts are unpredictable, fast and even crueler than before, and now you’re really at breaking point, knowing he is about to reach his end too. There’s no point in crying about pregnancy and abstinence, not when you’ve already fallen this far.You are pretty sure he isn’t going to stick around to pay child support anyhow. It strikes a new cord of fear in you, but you have no time to dwell on it as you come to the edge of your orgasm.

“Oh! Oh God, I’m gonna...hmm, I’m there!”

Feeling like there’s one thing missing before you succumb to ecstasy, you boldly take his stoic face in your hands, let madness control your limbs, and plant your lips in top of his, letting him swallow up your screams as you cum around his member, clenching and unclenching, reaching a boiling point and feeling damnably hot.

He doesn’t kiss you back. The man behind the mask just groans quietly against your lips, lets you move and lick at his lips all you want, but doesn’t show you an inkling of affection that you had deluded yourself into thinking he would grant you. His hands on your rear tighten, and you feel hot spurts of his cum shoot into your cunt and filling you up endlessly, cumming and cumming until finally he stops, leaning his weight on top of you with a chest moving up and down quickly as his forehead rests on the tree behind you.

As the bliss from your orgasm fades, clarity rushes in like an unwanted guest, and you’re all too aware of the world around you and the man in front of you; the torn clothes on the ground, the fingers pulling at your hair, the distance between you and the safety of the busy neighbourhoods. A shiver runs through you, and you aren’t sure if it’s because of the cold air settling back onto your cooling skin.

“Are you g-going to...k-kill me now?” you stutter lamely, afraid to even breathe now that his time with your body is up, he got what he wanted. As expected, he says nothing as he raises his head to look at you again, a miniscule furrow to his brow telling you that he thinks of you as nothing more than a mere bug he’s toying with before he’ll grow bored and crush it in a splatter of body chunks and blood.

“What do you want from me?” you question in despair. He stares. “I don’t want you to h-hurt me. L-Let me go home, I won't tell anyone I saw you, I s-swear!”

When you attempt to move your body, squirm out of his hold and take off naked into the city with globs of his cum running down your thighs like you can feel already happening, he leans even more heavily into your body until it feels like your lungs are being crushed.

And then you feel it - he’s still hard inside of you.

The man removes his hand from your hair to grab the knife dangling at his waist, pressing the sharp side of the blade to the smooth skin of your neck. You swallow harshly, and it pierces the skin, causing rivulets of blood to make their way down to your heaving chest, over your nipples, staining the white vest he wears like blooms of red flowers. Silly you for thinking you could get out of this alive. He’s going to have his wicked way with you and leave you here to rot for eternity.

His hips pull back, and then forwards, repeating that motion again and building to a faster rhythm as he begins round two, this time with the knife touching your neck for good, threatening to slice and stab if you misbehave. Something tells you he might even continue if he kills you this way by accident.

It’s only then do you allow yourself to start crying again, no longer feeling any sort of pleasure in this.

You are going to die tonight.

Of this, you have no doubt.

.

.

.

-

“Stop, please be gentle,” you give an exaggerated whine, finding it hard to concentrate on what little dialogue you had written in your script over how good fucking Daichi feels, when suddenly his movement stops, and you no longer feeling the delicious brushing of his dick in your walls, lightly teasing your g-spot with every thrust.

“Oh- oh fuck!” Daichi swears as he tears off his mask, and a broad palm is brought up to cradle the side of your face with such gentleness it could make you cry if you were a lesser woman. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you, shit.”

You blink. “Wha- no. Daichi, it’s part of the script! You don’t have to keep apologising when I say something like that.”

Daichi’s eyebrows raise to his hairline, and then an embarrassed look scrunches up his face, flushing a bright pink as realisation dawns on him.

“A-Ahh, yeah I...I forgot for a second,” he winces, still holding onto your body tightly, determined not to let you fall. “...I’m sorry for messing up another take.”

You smile kindly. Daichi was such a sweetheart, putting others above himself. “It’s ok, we can still use some of that footage and just try again.”

“I feel like you probably picked the wrong guy for this,” he laughs, but it sounds uneasy, lacking confidence that you usually know he possesses - a sturdy, reliable confidence that brings up the people around him. Like a leader. “I’m not very good at this. It’s my first time filming anything related to...sex.”

“Could have fooled me. I think you’re a natural in front of the camera. And a great fit for Myers.”

You pause when Daichi narrows his eyes a tad. “Well, you know. A great fit but without all the murder and creepiness, of course. You’re both tall, muscly and handsome!”

Daichi shifts you higher in his arms so you can sit comfortably on his forearms while the crew get ready to shoot another take. “How do you know he’s handsome?” he scoffs. “He wears a creepy mask all the time.”

You shake your head resolutely, delivering a few tsk’s and a kiss to his nose. It makes him smile, and your chest flutters at how pretty it looks on him. Damn. you should have written his character smiling at least once in the script. It’s too good not to share.

“Ah - ahh. Beauty comes from within, after all. I think the scariness and hot bod overpower the ugly mask anyway. So does having a mask kink.”

A thick bow is arched in bemusement. “...You’re strange,” he settles for saying as your crew calls for the actors to get back into position. His words make you laugh cheekily.

“I know. But it’s why you like me and agreed to do this. Congrats on your porn debut, hotshot!”

Daichi rolls his eyes, but there’s affection in his actions, in the thumb that rubs soothing circles into your scratched up body. Note to self; avoid filming sex in public - bark is not good for skin.

“Gee. Thanks.” He laughs deeply, and his grin turns soft. “...really. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, Muscles.”

Daichi pushes his cock back into your entrance in preparation for the next take, and you both sigh pleasantly at the sensations on both ends. He licks his lips, gazes at you shyly.

“....Please don’t tell Suga I keep messing up. He’s going to use that as fuel to make fun of me.”

“I’m sorry Daichi but I can guarantee you he already knows about this and is making a powerpoint presentation about it to show the rest of the house so they can tease you, too.”

Daichi sighs, a sound too old for his young body.

“My suffering is never ending.”

#thirteen nights of whorror #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! #haikyuu smut #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fanfiction #hq smut #sawamura daichi #daichi x reader #daichi hcs #daichi imagine #daichi x y/n #daichi x you #daichi scenario #daichi smut #daichi fluff #daichi sawamura

[sovtwords]

the nightmare - tendou satori

pairing: tendou satori x reader warnings: 18+, slight DC, somnnophilia, dubious consent, fingering, bath sex, implied/referenced character death, porn making/videos, mentions of blood w/c: 3.4k a/n: welcome to the first chapter of thirteen nights of whorror! please read the tags before proceeding - if you thing i am missing anything let me know and i'll fix it. this chapter is inspired by freddy krueger. enjoy! - ao3 link - Thirteen Nights Of Whorror MASTERLIST

The water is warm like an inviting fire during winter, and the steam carries the scent of lavender bath oils up into your face as you lean back against the tub, body desperately craving rest after so many sleepless and fretful nights.

Always the same, God damn dream.

A gaudy red and green sweater, a head of shockingly bright crimson hair that almost seems like it was dyed with blood, and long fingers that toy with lips stretched into a bone chilling grin.

You haven't gotten a full night's sleep in days. And you are exhausted. But you are so fucking afraid of seeing that same man in your dreams; not just for fear of what he'll do to you, but also the fear that you'll like it.

He's followed you, he's taunted you, he's hurt you. He enjoys the chase, your cries and screams of terror, the fear you exude in waves that he could nearly bottle up and drink. It's what keeps him coming back, like a hound that can't stay away from the juicy, bloodied meat being offered up. He laughs in such sinister delight as you scramble to wake yourself up before he does any real damage with gloves that hold shining blades at the ends in place of his fingers.

Usually you can, with a struggle of your limbs or a well timed alarm clock, but there are other times when your body just can't drag itself to reality. Too deep in a dream of a different kind.

Sometimes you don't even see him, but you know he's there, waiting to pounce and catch you unawares. Yet while you stand there panicking and wondering when he'll strike, you don't notice the buttons of your blouse popping open, or the drag of the zipper on your pants. But you do hear the sultry and frightening lilt of his voice whispering in your ear as ghostly hands you can't see touch and paw at your chest, the faint memory of a mouth trailing down your body to your sex.

It's foreign, it's unnerving, but you can't deny the way your underwear is drenched with your slick once you wake up, how your body feels needy and craves release after being edged by this mysterious figure and waking up just before anything good happens.

As you said, you were so fucking tired.

You want him to leave you the fuck alone, but your body argues with the need to be fucked within an inch of your life and left feeling satisfied by the psycho plaguing your dreams.

God you needed therapy.

A knock on the door of the bathroom makes you jolt out of your thoughts, eyes wide and water threatening to spill out of the sides of the bath.

"Honey, I'm just going to run to the store for a minute, OK?" your mother's voice calls through the wood. Your body sags in relief, and you return to your original position, laying back and bending your knees to rest on the walls of the tub. "Are you going to be OK by yourself?"

"I'll be fine, mom," you answer curtly. Maybe a moment's peace will do you some good. You can tell she's hesitating behind the door, and you give a sigh of annoyance. "It's OK. You can go."

"...alright. I won't be long. Be careful in the bath - don't want you to fall asleep and drown!"

If only you’d be so lucky.

You don't bother to answer back as you listen to her footsteps grow faint, followed by the slam of the front door signalling newfound peace and quiet in your home.

You sink lower into the water and force your mind to go blank as the warm water relaxes your muscles, as your eyelids droop and your eyes grow hazy with the calming oils invading your senses.

As you dream about devilishly long and wandering fingers.

You’ve only had your eyes closed for a second but your head is already filled with strange thoughts of this man, of his smile stretching ear to ear and eyes as sharp as knives. It’s a heavy gaze, one that hides a myriad of secrets, yet openly conveys the hunger he has for you, your heart, your flesh, your fear. And it fills you with pure shame how you have to clench your thighs to satisfy the burning feeling growing there, how your nipples harden with every laugh he emits, the goosebumps that rise on your skin as a phantom tongue licks its way up the shell of your ear.

Even now you feel a steadily growing throbbing in your clit as it practically screams to be touched, but you’re stubborn and afraid to submit to the dangerous affections of this odd being. So your arms stay by your sides like glue as you hope that whatever you’re feeling goes away and you can catch a bit of rest before getting out.

Yet as you see visions of red hair dance before closed lids, you miss the ripples on the surface of the once still water, the strange movement of the water that licks at your legs where they’re propped up and spread by the sides of the bath. Maybe if you had seen it, you would have been able to escape his clutches much earlier, but his next moves were so subtle and delightful that even if you could escape it, you’re not sure you would.

It’s unnoticeable at first. You’re too focused on willing your body not to give into the urge to rub yourself to realise somebody else is already doing it for you. Featherlight in its touch, what feels like a single finger trails a slow path from calf to thigh, tickling your skin, dipping behind your knee and moving up and up and up to the innermost part of your thigh, stopping just before it reaches the place you want it the most.

You can feel the way your breath stills even in your sleep, body anticipating something before your mind can catch up. There’s a brief moment where that sensation on your leg disappears, and brows furrow in frustration only to fly upwards as that calloused digit rubs gently on the outer folds of your sex. It runs up and down your lips so softly, shortly followed by a second finger to massage the other side of your cunt and have you sighing in relief, to finally have your imagination run wild and allow your horny brain to take over.

As they continue their gentle caressing of your sex, your body naturally responds to the pleasure, growing even warmer in the bath water and nipples hardening with every second that passes. Of course your treacherous mind would conjure such images to get your body worked up while you were stuck in your dreams, and you can only pray that this wet dream will end well and have you cumming peacefully in your sleep.

After a while of avoiding the spot that throbs with need and attention, both fingers hone in on it suddenly with precision, pressing down on it hard in a way that makes your hips twitch in surprise. It toys with your clitoris for a moment, stroking it with the calloused pads of two fingers but it isn’t nearly as satisfying as you’d wanted. Biting your lip with impatience you jut your hips forward, hoping those phantom fingers would take the hint and get to work but they only pinch your clit harshly in response and back away, allowing you time to recover from the shock and recuperate.

Fuck, how you crave more after so many sleepness nights, to feel something other than anxiety and fear for once, and the irony that the only thing getting you off are dreams of the fingers that have once pulled you by the hair in an attempt to drag you into a barrel of acid is not lost on you, not at all. It’s so fucking laughable you almost choke on it.

Your patience is rewarded once again by the return of those fingers, one that feels wider than before. A thumb, you realise, one that taps steadily on your nub while two other digits brush back and forth over swollen folds that you’re sure would be dripping with your slick by now were it not for the water. Your moans are breathy, any cries of help you might have thought to make lost with the steam that rises from bathwater, and it seems that mysterious hand enjoys the sounds you make as it switches from tapping to rubbing circles.

The heat in the bathroom is dizzying, and the slowly building tension in your gut doesn’t help the lightheadedness you’re feeling. Everything feels airy, unreal, but you suppose that’s a given considering this is a dream, one that you should allow yourself to indulge in only once. This man has tried to kill you, for crying out loud, and now you’re practically begging for his fingers to fill up your cunt and have you creaming around them. But God, do they feel so fucking good when they press a little harder on your clit, when they circle your opening teasingly and dare to dip in and back out just as quick.

When you shift your legs, you feel nothing between your thighs. The hand stays playing with your pussy, but the lack of a physical body has your mind reeling just in time for what you guess to be his index finger slipping into your core, burying itself knuckle deep inside your walls with ease, your hole wet from more than just the water. It takes you off guard and you stutter out a gasp as it wiggles around like it’s searching for something, a feeling so foreign and alien that you can’t help the grimace that starts to grow on your lips.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as that damned finger finds the treasure it was searching for, curling and stroking at spongy flesh that makes your legs shake and your moans stagger. Even in the haze of a dream you’re thankful that your mother is out of the house, because the sounds you’re making are positively pornographic, bringing an embarrassed flush to your own face but too lost in pleasure to stop.

It continues to massage your walls in a ‘come hither’ motion, and the second finger that enters you has no trouble sliding in and working in tandem with the other. Water begins to slosh over the edge of the tub and fall onto the floor with a loud splat as your hips grind and jerk onto invisible fingers that expertly play with your pussy, moaning to the high heavens as that thumb applies more pressure onto your swollen nub. It flicks back and forth with increasing speed, alternating between circling and stroking, adding fuel to the burning in your gut, the tingling taking control of your body from your head to the tips of your toes.

“O-Oh, fuck! Right there!” you cry out to no one, but maybe it's wrong to say that, because clearly someone is here in your dreams, teasing you and bringing you to the edge of your orgasm. “M-More please fuck- I want more more more-”

Your groans of ecstasy are obscene and long when a third digit is inserted into your cunt, stretching you open and filling you up so fucking good. They scissor and squirm, trying to find space in your tight little hole, and all three press directly on your sweet spot, beginning to thrust in and out of your core hard and fast and making sure to hit it every time while the thumb on your clit opts for harsh circles.

You can’t contain yourself anymore, on the brink of losing your sanity and feeling like your entire body is on fire, bringing your hands up to play with your tits. You pull on your pebbled nipples, squeezing the flesh with delight and whimpering up at the ceiling over your head, eyes remaining shut as you finally feel it, you’re about to come, you’re so close, you’re-

With a skillfully timed swipe across your clitoris and a final curling of his fingers, your gasp is loud as your legs seize up, splayed on the edges of the tub and dripping water onto the ground as your orgasm washes over you fast, a tidal wave of heat and bliss as you finally get the release you’ve longed for. Limbs twitch and lungs heave for air, trying to regain focus and wade out of the fog of your orgasm, feeling like it’s too long yet too short all at once.

You’re brought back to reality by the sudden loss of any fingers in your core, happening so quickly that you barely had any time to register whether it was real or not.

But the aching between your legs is no mistake; that was one hell of a dream you had.

You open your eyes slowly, whining lightly at the come down and waking up, bemoaning the drip drip of the water from your bath falling onto the floor. Your body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and your post-orgasm euphoria, and it takes everything in you to lift your head up from where it rested on the wall behind you. Baby steps, you think to yourself, mentally working up the strength to lift an arm, when a strange swishing noise brings your attention away from your thoughts.

When you’re only met with silence, you try calling out. “Mom? Is that you?”

No response indicates that your mother is still at the store, and panic begins to settle in your system when the now lukewarm water starts to swirl and swish by itself. Your body is still in a near catatonic state, unable to move as it locks up in fright, cursing your inability to take action and get the fuck out of here and instead watch as the water begins to sort of rise in between your legs.

It falls to the sides in steady streams as something begins to emerge, loud splashing filling the small bathroom and your ears. But as this mysterious thing begins to break the water's surface, you feel as though you have been dunked into a bath of pure ice. Dread floods your veins as your breath stills in your chest - deathly still, deathly silent.

Hair; spiky and miraculously dry even though it had just emerged from water, blood red and sinister in colour, slowly edges its way up and out of the bathwater. A cocked brow and crimson eyes narrowed in contempt are next to appear, followed by that fucking smirk that makes your heart pound in equal parts fear and arousal, and then that same, horrendous green and red sweater littered with grime and patches that hurts your eyes to look at.

This man, the orchestrator of your nightmares, of your terror, stares up at you from between your spread legs like it’s nothing to him. You shake in horror while he continues to smirk, as if this is the best joke he’s ever taken part in, and it probably is. The girl he’s been terrorising practically fucked herself on his fingers. You’re pretty sure that’s a rule in things you’re not supposed to do when someone wants to kill you. But more overwhelming than the shame of knowing you’ve just cum on those long fingers of his is the sheer confusion, wondering why the fuck he was here even after you’ve woken up.

Because you...you’ve woken up, right?

“My, my,” he drawls, and his voice sends shivers crawling up your spine. “That was interesting. Enjoy yourself, kitten?”

He dares to lean closer, moving well past your personal bubble and practically popping it, breath hot on your face as he laughs to himself. “I certainly did! Mmm, your cunt was squeezing me so well. Nearly sucking me up - maybe I should have shoved my whole fist up there! You were begging for more.”

A whimper escapes your mouth when he licks a long stripe up your face, from your chin to just below your eye. He hums, appreciative of that taste of your skin, and it brings hot tears to your eyes.

“But now I think it’s my turn to feel good, wouldn’t you agree?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer as his right hand comes to wrap itself around your throat, light enough for you not to choke but strong enough that any chances of fleeing are gone in a cloud of pitiful smoke. His hand feels wet, different in a way the water does, and you sluggishly come to the realisation that that was the hand he had used to finger you with. It makes your head spin, too many emotions flooding you at once, and your lips move uselessly as you struggle to form words, pleading for him to let you go.

The cackle he lets out tells you that you won’t be getting out of this dream.

“Aww, my cute pet! Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing.”

His left hand rises from the water, and a flash in the bathroom light alerts you to the bladed glove he’s wearing. He trails the index blade up your trembling form, cooing with every little knick in your skin he makes and watching in wonder as the water turns pink with droplets of your blood. That same blade caresses your face in faux affection, and you can do nothing more than succumb to your tears as your nightmare has finally taken control.

“I’m going to take good care of you, hmm?”

He plants a kiss on your quivering lips, licks away the salt of your tears. You can feel the quirk of his lips on your own.

“You’re gonna have the sweetest dreams with me.”

.

.

.

“Man, I really hate soggy clothes!”

Tendou pouts childishly as your friends on set end the scene, working to remove the equipment to another room to avoid the water that spilled onto the ground during the take. He helps you out of the bath carefully, tossing you a towel to wrap yourself up in while he works on shedding his own soaking clothes.

You can’t help the snort that escapes you when you see the boner he’s sporting; long, viciously red at the tip and bobbing with every move he makes. Tendou sneers in response, waving it angrily in your direction like it’s a weapon. You roll your eyes.

“Sorry for popping a stiffy, Miss ‘I’m the only one who gets to cum today’. We can’t all get fingered for the sake of a college level porno.”

“Keep talking like that and I won’t help you with it,” you warn as you lay down some towels on the wet floor. Tendou immediately bends over to get in your face, batting eyelashes and curling his fists underneath his chin.

“Oh, pretty please can I get a blowie? Please please please plea-”

“Fine! Jeez, c’mere,” your knees complain when you get to the ground and urge him to lean against the edge of the bath. You check the clock on the wall - your crew have afforded you a few moments of peace after filming before you have to leave to review the shots. That’s fine, you’ll get him to cum in a few minutes.

The sigh Tendou lets out when you wrap your hand around his shaft has you rubbing your thighs together, and you're eager to put your mouth to his tip before the redhead stops you.

“How was I though?”

You raise a brow, fondle his balls with your opposite hand and enjoy the fluttering of his lashes, the tensing of his abdomen.

“The fingering, obviously! I’m better than Semi, right?”

It was amazing.

“You were good,” you reply nonchalantly. Best to keep an air of professionalism and not inflate his ego.

Tendou looks unimpressed, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. He’s such a kid, honestly.

“Better than Semi,” you sigh, and move your hand up and down his length again. He laughs loudly.

“Ha! I can’t wait to tell hi-...f-fuck,” he groans when you fit his tip in your warm mouth, tongue swirling around his head. This time you’re the one to smirk as you release him with a pop.

“Shut up, Tendou.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n!”

#thirteen nights of whorror #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu crack #hq tendou #tendou satori #tendou x reader #tendou scenario #tendou smut #tendou fic #tendou imagine #tendou x you

[sovtwords]

the doctor and the monster - futakuchi kenji and aone takanobu

pairing: futakuchi kenji x reader x aone takanobu

warnings: 18+, slight DC, dubious consent, dom/sub dynamics, power play/dynamics, size kink, doggystyle, orgasm denial, barebacking, creampie, orgasm delay/denial, belly bulge, masturbating, cum swallowing, squirting, emotional manipulation, porn making/videos

w/c: 3.1k

a/n: welcome to chapter 3 of thirteen nights of whorror! please read the tags before proceeding - if you think i am missing anything let me know and i'll fix it. this chapter is inspired by frankenstein and his monster. enjoy! feedback is appreciated!

- ao3 link -

Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

If there was a fine line between what was ethically right and wrong from your perspective as an assistant to Dr. Futakuchi Kenji, you’re almost certain that you’ve barrelled over the latter side months ago, and this was not helping your case.

Futakuchi’s greatest creation – a mass pile of dead limbs brought back to life, a man of solid muscle, daunting height and lips that stay sealed, only to emit grunts from a face that seems forever etched in a scowl. Aone, he calls him.

He is terrifying, as he is heart-breaking.

It was always going to be an unethical experiment, you knew that, but your arrogance, your wild pursuit of knowledge and legendary status as a scientist was enough to have you running blindly into the arms of Dr. Futakuchi Kenji, a man who toyed with your mind and body as much as he did with his special project.

And after a gruelling three years of trial and error, of late nights pouring over notes and destroying vials, Futakuchi finally got his wish of bringing the dead back to life. This creature - Aone - stood tall and menacing, a tower of terror, looking to his creators for guidance like a lost soul wandering in the dark.

Makes you wonder if he even had one in this form.

Which is exactly what Futakuchi intends to find out.

You can’t say you were an entirely willing party to the new onslaught of experiments the Doctor had lined up. Some were basic – lift a hand here, walk over there, pick up the ball and balance it on your head. Some were outright cruel.

Stick your hand into the flames, Aone.

Stop breathing, Aone.

Kill that bird, Aone.

One command, right after the other. All in the name of science.

But this one seems like a step too far, and you should never have agreed to it.

You lay panting on the leather chaise, a mess of sweat and shaking limbs, a body so hot it almost feels feverish, yet the hands gripping your hips are cold. So very cold. Almost lifeless. But you know Aone better than that. His heart may not beat, but it’s bigger and purer than anyone’s, especially your own blackened heart.

Your walls fight to accommodate his length, a size so huge and long just like the man it belongs to. It’s rock hard in your core, sitting like a stone in your pussy and waiting for the command from his creator to come so it can plunge itself in and out and destroy you once more. You’re dripping wet, cum as thick as treacle oozing out of your cunt and sticking to your thighs in clumps, with a milky ring found at the bottom of his cock.

Your arms are weak and struggling to lift your body off the couch, but you find the last remaining bit of strength you have in you to raise yourself up the slightest and lock eyes with your superior.

Doctor Futakuchi sits before you both with a critical eye, soaking up every expression, every sound, every movement like a sponge and recording them into mental notes to look back on later. His toned legs are spread wide, his trousers pushed down his hips and shirt lifted to show off his abs, and a calloused hand holds his cock up with gentle strokes, the tip a glaring red and weeping with precum that you always adored licking up like the good kitten he always called you.

It’s enough to have you shivering in place, and those big hands on your hips grow tighter as you involuntarily clench around Aone’s dick.

“Mm,” Futakuchi hums. Slender fingers squeeze the base of his cock. “I think this position is much better. Easier on the little doctor, hmm?”

His smirk is twisted and sinful but it makes your cunt burn in pleasure. Oh, how he’s teased you for so long, brought you close and touched you in ways that made you scream only to keep you at arm’s length the whole time, and you fell for his fleeting smiles and his empty promises.

But maybe you were just part of this elaborate plan all along. Another tool to be used for his greatest joy and pride in life – the gentle monster forged by his own hands.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” the brunette asks with a coo that sounds as genuine as the someone telling you the grass was blue. You can only give a croak in response, a weak groan as you involuntarily shift your weight and take Aone’s cock further inside of you. Futakuchi snorts. “Use your words. What about you, big guy?”

Aone remains as silent as ever, yet the deathly tight grip on your waist gives him away; fingers pressing deep into the flesh of your skin, nails just shy of biting into your skin as the subtle rise and fall of a chest hovering over your back keeps you warm. It’s almost like he’s fighting to keep his composure, holding back an unknown energy that’s no doubt been building up for the last few hours as Futakuchi has ordered him to take you in any position he demands.

For science, he says, to see if every part of him is truly alive. For his own sick pleasure, more like.

The Doctors’ laugh cuts through your thoughts like a scalpel.

“Should have known better than to expect an answer from you.”

Aone emits a grunt, a sound that voices his displeasure at being mocked in such a way. You glare at Futakuchi through the haze of lust clouding your senses, but he only smirks at you, finding his own joke endlessly amusing. Trust him to bring a man back from the dead and try to start a fight with it.

“Aww, you think I’m being mean?”

“Y-Yes. You are,” you snap, feeling your legs tingle with restlessness and your knees hurt from the awkward friction of the leather couch. “You are cruel to him. He doesn’t deserve t-that! This whole thing is one big joke. This is wrong.”

Dr Futakuchi’s eyes darken; a darkness you had only seen on nights when his experiments failed him, when his work was torn to tatters and violent storms brewed behind his eyes. He was angry. Betrayal and disobedience from his most trusted, his beloved little assistant, must taste so bitter. He snorts without a hint of amusement, curling his lips up into a feral sneer.

“I’ll show you just how cruel I can be, doctor.” Brown eyes lock with Aone’s. “Fuck her. Hard. And keep your hands away from her clit. If you even remember where it is.”

There’s a beat of silence as the weight of his words descend upon you, but it’s a moment too short to fully prepare for what’s to come as Aone dutifully acquiesces with his creator’s request. Just as he has been made to do.

His cock pulls out at an agonisingly slow pace, and with the sheer size of it you can feel your walls retracting to their original state, clenching around a glaring emptiness that has you whining until the air is ripped from your chest as Aone gives his first, hard thrust and doesn't stop.

It's difficult to gain your bearings when his pace and strength are relentless, hips slapping against yours so heavily you're convinced they'll turn black with the bruising but he doesn't stop. He can't. Forever doomed to do his Master’s bidding, and the assault on your already aching cunt has tears springing to your eyes, unable to blink them away fast enough and avoid having Dr Futakuchi witness the droplets streaming down your face. But he laughs. He laughs at your tears.

You’re scrambling to find purchase on the leather, nails scraping and digging into fabric frantically, but you just can’t do anything but collapse onto the chaise as Aone pounds into you at a brutal pace, one that feels so fucking good despite the roughness of it. And when he adjusts, when he moves his hips ever so slightly, you scream out loud for everyone to hear as his cock brushes repeatedly over your G-spot until you’re seeing stars dance behind closed eyelids and a weird sense of dizziness takes over you.

Aone grunts into your shoulder when you tighten like a vice around him, squeezing hard and not letting up so long as he continues to assault the spongy flesh inside your walls. His cock is so big that when he reaches a hand around your waist to cradle your belly, he feels his member bulging through your flesh, and it drives you insane as you feel your peak build again for what feels like the millionth time that night. Your sex is twitching, it aches, it’s begging for rest, but Futakuchi doesn’t care.

You can tell Aone is getting close by the way his thrusts grow harsher, more abrupt, until you’re nearly falling off the couch, held up only by his strong grip on your body. Through your haze you just about manage to see Futakuchi rubbing himself faster, pumping furiously at his length while your cries and screams get louder as you approach your high.

And he knows you’re close. He’s been with you long enough to know all your tells; the way your eyes roll back into your skull, how your moans come sporadically rather than constantly as they break off in euphoria, the furrow of your brows and the clench of your fingers.

Which is exactly why he uses this moment to speak up again.

“Aone – stop.”

Like a switch that was just pulled Aone’s hips stop immediately. There was no gradual stop, no twitch of his hips – just dead stillness while his shaft pulsed in time with the sad fluttering of your walls that are fighting to find release, to resume the delicious thrusting so you can finally come. The frustrated cry you let out is pathetic, and Dr Futakuchi seems to agree.

“Aww, do you not like that? Did I stop you from cumming?”

“Y-You bastard!” you wail into the seat beneath you, trying and failing to grind your hips and finish the job yourself, but with exhaustion slowing your movements and Aone gripping your hips hard it’s hard to fall over the edge even though you’re right fucking there.

Aone doesn’t seem to be faring any better. Were it not for his face shoved into the crook of your neck, you would have missed the little whines of displeasure that rumble out of his chest, and your heart aches for the torture he must be feeling as well.

“Do you want to cum?” Dr Futakuchi asks, and the speed you nod your head is embarrassing. He doesn’t seem satisfied, though. “Say it.”

“I want to cum so bad, please please just- let me cum!” You’ve been through this song and dance for the past few hours now – you’re not about to let your pride get in the way now. Anything to shut him up and let you find satisfaction. But he shakes his head no as the thumbs the tip of his dick, hips jerking and teeth gritting.

“As much as I like to hear you beg, that’s not what I was looking for.”

You look at him in confusion. He narrows his eyes in contempt.

“Say that this is the right thing to do. That I was right all along. This is for science, after all. My- our breakthrough is going to change the world.”

He sneers down at you as he rises to his full height, wandering over to wave his cock in your face tauntingly. You bite your lip, shake your head.

“N-No…”

Dr Futakuchi shrugs.

“Then you don’t get to cum. I’ll order Aone to exit the room, and I’ll leave you here alone. But admit that I was right, and you’ll get what you want.”

Thoughts of having to lay here all night, body spent but unsatisfied, has you panicking, and though the words are like acid on your tongue, you know in the end that these are only words to appease the monster before you.

“You…” swallowing hard, you avoid his gaze, staring at the science award you won years ago that he hung on the wall for you. It almost laughs at your misfortune. A top scientist brought down to her knees, so weak, so compliant. “Y-you were…right…”

Silence. Those three words are all he will get from you. All is quiet for a moment, until the doctor laughs again.

“Good girl,” he sighs, and moves to pat your face condescendingly, and it’s cruel how it sends a beat to your core. “Was that so hard?” Eyes move from yours to Aone’s.

“Resume. And this time play with her clitoris until she tells you to stop.”

Aone doesn’t need to be told twice. Maintaining the same angle and speed, your orgasm begins to build much faster now, especially when thick fingers rub over your bud with great speed. You scream above the obscene sound of your wet pussy gushing around Aone’s cock, above the hisses and grunts of Dr Futakuchi as he jerks himself off right in front of your face.

All it takes is two more thrust to have you squirting around Aone’s member, mouth dropping open and drool spilling out the corners of your lips as you finally orgasm, a rush of heat spreading from your head to your curling toes. It’s heavenly as it is painful to reach your peak once more, body so terribly overstimulated that tears fall down your cheeks in streams. The suddenness of your orgasm cause Aone to cum with you, shooting more and more loads of useless cum into your womb and filling you up. It’s just as well – he can’t get you pregnant with that kind of semen.

Futakuchi takes advantage of your open mouth and surprises you by pressing his cock into your mouth and spilling his seed down your throat while you fight to swallow it down without choking.

He sighs in satisfaction, thrusting lightly into the warmth of your mouth and smiling down at you with such sweetness you’re almost inclined to believe it was genuine in your post-orgasm haze.

“See how easy things are when everybody just does what I tell them to?”

He tuts as he crouches down to be eye level with you. His kiss is firm and as mind-blowing as the first he gave you many months ago, and you hate yourself for being so terribly in love with this monster of a man.

“Aone, go back to your room. You’re done here.”

Futakuchi kisses away your tears and silences your whimpers as Aone finally exits you, walls clenching around air and caught between wanting to be full again and enjoying reprieve. But it seems as though you don’t get to relish this moment for long.

Aone doesn’t make a sound as he leaves the room, only eyes the way your fingers stretch out to him with a sadness in his dark orbs, but unable to do anything than listen to his Master, closing the door behind him with a finality that makes your heart sink, especially when you look back to see Futakuchi removing his shirt and shimmying his pants down his lithe legs.

“Now, I think it’s my turn to do some experiments up close and personal. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You say nothing, and bury your head in your arms as cum pours out of your awaiting pussy.

.

.

.

You gulp down your bottle of water as if it was the first drop you’d received while lost in a desert, the bottle nearly crushing under your grip as you keep chugging until you hit the very last drop, swallowing it down with haste and relishing the coolness of it running through your body.

Your whole body aches; your legs are cramping, your back is arched awkwardly, not to mention the massive dick that’s been hammering into you for the past few hours, only stopping if the script demands it or if it’s time for a break like now. You’re grateful for the breather, for the fan placed directly in front of you to cool you down, for Aone’s gentle hands that massage your sore hips and thighs as he slips out of you for the duration of the break.

But you loathe Futakuchi for messing up his lines nearly every take so far and prolonging this entire affair. Sex was good, great even, depending on the person you’re with, but sex for four hours while filming fancy porn was not. You hate yourself even more for demanding the perfect shot to be taken, for using the most artistic lighting that make you sweat out of every crevice with the heat they emit, for writing this damned script to begin with and casting Futakuchi Kenji of all fucking people.

The man was hot as fuck and had a good dick but good grief were you so over this already, and you haven’t even begun to feel satisfied with any of the takes you’ve filmed.

The brunette in question gasps loudly as he finishes his own bottle of water, tossing it over carelessly to your sound tech who looks ready to throttle him for the disrespect. You don’t blame her.

“Damn, this is so tiring. Who knew porn would be hard work?”

Aone’s hands still from their soothing motions on your aching muscles, shock evident in all of his minor movements, and you match his bewilderment with a lot more anger than him. The audacity of Kenji to complain about how hard this is when all he had to do was memorise his fucking lines and jerk off.

He narrows his eyes at you. “What?”

“How do you think I feel, asshole?! Or how Aone feels?”

“Uhh, pretty good? You’re getting fucked and he gets to do it. Dunno what the problem is,” he snorts, but blanches at the sight of two dark glares pinning him down, feeling the weight of the judging eyes of the crew boring down on him as well.

He stutters, before falling silent and sitting on the couch like a chagrined lap dog.

“I’ll remember that,” you say threateningly as your makeup is touched up before the cameras are rolling again. “I’ll remember those exact words the next time we have sex. We’ll see how you like it when I bring out the strap and fuck you for four hours straight.”

“H-Huh?!”

“You heard me. Now get back into position for Scene 5 - and please, for God's sake, remember your lines!”

#thirteen nights of whorror #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu!! #futakuchi kenji #aone takanobu #futakuchi x reader #aone x reader #aone x y/n #aone smut #aone scenarios #aone imagine #futakuchi smut #futakuchi x you #futakuchi imagine #futakuchi scenario #smut #hq smut

[sovtwords]

I hope people are liking the whorror series

#thirteen nights of whorror

[sovtwords]

As a film student by day and a renowned porn creator by night, you've hit a creative block on the road of artistic vision.

You're looking to create a masterpiece; the magnum opus of your creative career, the gem that will set you on the road to becoming a visionary in the world of movies and porn alike.

Welcome to your Thirteen Nights of Horror.

(Or alternatively, your Thirteen Nights of Whorror, with the help of some of your lovely college friends.)

NOTE: THIS SERIES IS 18+ - Minors DNI - WILL CONTAIN SOME DARK CONTENT - VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

- AO3 LINK -

CHOOSE YOUR MOVIE:

The Nightmare - Tendou Satori

The Cannibal - Miya Osamu

The Doctor and The Monster - Futakuchi Kenji and Aone Takanobu

The Psycho - Miya Atsumu

The Executioner - Ushijima Wakatoshi

The Shape - Sawamura Daichi

The Ghostface - Matsukawa Issei

The Priest - Kita Shinsuke

A/N: Hello! Welcome to my horror inspired HQ smut series for Halloween! I hope you enjoy them, feedback is always appreciated! As stated before, despite these fics giving the impression that they are being filmed as a porno and are not 'real acts', they will still contain some dark or settling content, so please read the tags at the beginning of each chapter before proceeding. This series will also be cross-posted to my AO3. A huge thank you to a lovely group of friends who gave me inspiration and motivation to start this series. Let's hope I finish it lol.

#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu masterlist #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! #hq smut #hq crack #tendou scenario #tendou x reader #osamu scenarios #osamu x reader #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa scenarios #ushijima x reader #ushijima scenarios #kuroo x reader #kuroo scenarios #kinktober #hq kinktober

[sovtwords]

Hii!! I've just finished reading all the fics in thirteen nights of whorror and wow 😳 girl the talent you have is amazing and I'm just???? ANYWAYS- i just came here to rant abt my tumblr links being a bitch fr 😔 i went to ur masterlist to read more masterpieces and when i clicked on one it lead me to a site that said href. li like ???? JWHSHA MOVING ON. I hope you've had an amazing day! Drink some water and get some rest<3 i hope to see more from you from now on 💗💗

SJDKKSJA THANK YOU SO MUUUUCH!!! I'm so glad you're enjoying the series!!

Also both myself and my friend checked my masterlist links and they're all working! I don't post every story to Tumblr, some are on my AO3 and instead of moving the stories over here I just linked them to the other site! They seem to work on my end, try again and let me know if anything isn't working and I'll try fix it.

Thank you again for dropping by with such lovely words 💜 I hope YOU are drinking water and resting plenty. I have writers block atm but I'm working on a fic rn as best I can, wish me luck LOL

#answered #anon ask #thanks again my love!!

[sovtwords]

haikyuu!! masterlist

all of my haikyuu writing is posted on my ao3 account! any haikyuu writing’s that happen to be written on tumblr will also be posted to my ao3!

Karasuno

Hinata

↦ sweet like candy (m)

Tanaka

↦ drabble: “i just...adore you”

Aoba Johsai

Iwaizumi

↦ the garden of eden (m)

↦ freefalling (m)

Nekoma

Kuroo

↦ crossroads // drift king: redemption (m)

Fukurodani

Akaashi

↦ love-stricken

Shiratorizawa

Ushijima

↦ electric love

Kawanishi

↦ the brightest star

Inarizaki

Atsumu

↦ you found me (m)

↦ the world has ended (so dance with me) (m)

↦ late nights (m)

↦ to love, and to be loved (is the greatest happiness of existence)

↦ gauze (m) (multi)

↦ a king and his pawns (m) (ao3)

↦ drabble: “i know i told you i wasn’t looking for love but then i kinda fell in love”

Osamu

↦ i should have found you

↦ gauze (m) (multi)

Kita

↦  gauze (m) (multi)

↦ a king and his pawns (m) (ao3)

Aran

↦ gauze (m) (multi)

Suna

↦ gauze (m) (multi)

Series

↦ thirteen nights of whorror (m) (ao3)

#haikyuu masterlist #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu!! #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu smut #haikyuu imagines #iwaizumi fanfic #ushijima fic #kawanishi x reader #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu scenarios #atsumu smut #ushijima x reader #iwaizumi x reader #osamu x reader #osamu scenarios #atsumu imagines #osamu imagine