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shrieking-aristocrat · 2 years ago

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Something Is No Longer Wrong With My Stepdaughter

Word count: 4981 words.

If you like my writing BUY ME A KO-FI!

I never planned to have kids of my own. The mere topic of getting pregnant was enough to turn any conversation awkward because most people don't understand why my face twists with disgust at the idea. The idea of giving birth didn't make me feel any less disgusted. And I'd suffered enough during my years spent hopping from foster home to foster home when I was a kid and having my birth certificate altered twice so they could pass me as younger in hopes of getting me adopted off before I finally grew out of the system, to know that 'adoption' is, in many cases, just a fancier word for 'child trafficking'. So that was also not an option.

But I love kids. It was the reason why I became a teacher and studied and continue to learn as much as I can to be the best role model I can be for them. Because all kids deserve to have someone to look up to, someone to turn to when they're excited, scared, angry. Someone who will be there for them. After all, kids are what we, the adults, make of them.

Louis was a godsend. I met him during a soccer game one of my students had begged me to go to, where Louis' eleven year old niece also happened to play, and it was the closest I've ever gotten to believing in love at first sight. He was handsome, hardworking —bordering on being a workaholic— and funny. The best part, the part that made me ignore his talk about leaving on work trips that could last weeks at a times, was that he didn't mind that I had gotten my tubes tied fresh out of college, because he already had a daughter and often joked about how she was more than enough for him. The fact he'd finished the sentence with: "Either way, I wouldn't mind. That's women's choice." earned him even more points in my book. We had a relatively short period as boyfriend and girlfriend —a year—, then spent eight months engaged, two of which were spent living together, before we finally got married.

He was just perfect. The kind of perfection that makes us broken people feel like there has to be something really, deeply wrong, because such perfection just cannot exist.

His only flaw was his daughter, Katie.

Katie was a grade A bitch. Not my words. I would have never called or even thought about calling or even thinking about a preadolescent kid as a grade A bitch. At first, to me, Katie was just a shy kid- some would say too shy for a 12 year old kid. But hey, some kids are just introverted and I saw no problem with that, nor did I see any problem with her behavior. Not right away, it took a while for Katie to show her true colors, long enough that when I received warnings from Karen, Louis' sister, I believed that she must have been exaggerating because describing your own niece as a 'grade A bitch' when your brother introduces his, at the time, girlfriend at Thanksgiving dinner isn't exactly normal. Also because she'd started the sentence with "I'm warning you now that you still have a chance to get out." as if a 12 year old girl's behavior could be enough to make me break up with Louis. Honestly, I thought Karen perhaps didn't like me and wanted to scare me out of dating her brother. I even joked with friends that, maybe, she was in love with her brother and didn't want competition, fully believing Katie was just a shy, introverted kid who hadn't yet opened up to the fact her dad was dating. Her name being Karen also played a role in me believing she was being overly dramatic.

But Karen was right and I was so, so wrong.

Katie was truly a grade A bitch. I tried my best to not let that description of her cloud my ability to create an opinion of my own, but there was just no better way to put it. Katie was selfish, rude, entitled and it seemed that the only thing that brought her joy was making others miserable. I should have known. The amount of times Louis had to leave work to go have meetings with the principal should have been the warning, but he never talked about the meetings and I just assumed Katie was being bullied, not that she was the bully. But her cruel behavior didn't just stay at school, she was banned from Karen's house, was never left alone with her cousin who, despite being only a year younger and both taller and heavier than her, was terrified enough of her to apparently be manipulated and terrorized into all sorts of trouble.

I somehow managed to remain oblivious of all that, until after the wedding.

Our carefully planned honeymoon was canceled because Katie faked appendicitis. I say 'faked' and not 'had an appendicitis scare like many girls going through puberty do' because she confessed to me that she'd been faking it, right after hearing me talk to the hotel we'd booked, begging them to understand our situation and be empathetic, only for them to tell me that, no, they couldn't refund us the price of the suite with a sea-view we'd paid for in advance, because the room had been kept empty and they hadn't been able to reach Louis within the 24 hours window to cancel and get a refund, curiously enough, Katie had been playing on his phone all day because hers was 'dead' and she 'needed a distraction from the pain'. It was the first time I saw her smile.

But I didn't complain, because Louis had promised that he could make that money back in no time, that he could refund me my half or we could make up for the missed honeymoon with a family vacation. Both to celebrate our union and to celebrate that, to him, Katie's appendicitis had been 'just a false alarm'.

Of course, I picked the family vacation. Even if it meant spending even more time with Katie than I had to at the hospital.

I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, willing to understand that having to share her father with a woman who wasn't her mother —another grade A bitch, I might add, and without shame because since I'd gotten engaged to Louis eight months ago, she had only spent time with her own daughter twice, and before that, only five times in two years— was something that took time to get used to and this must have been her way of crying out for attention. Until we made it to the vacation house.

It was a nice two stories tall house —Louis called it a cabin, but I wasn't going to call it a cabin because 'cabins in the woods' just don't look like that— in some heavily forested corner of Oregon. The kind of place with windows that cover a whole area of the wall from floor to ceiling on the second floor, and make you feel like you might get Friday the 13th-ed in there. We got there on a humid summer day, a Friday, intending to stay until two Mondays from that day.

The first day, Katie was just too exhausted from the road trip and having to unpack to start anything. Or so I thought.

The whole day had passed so easily, I ended up letting my guard down. We were sitting down for dinner later than usual, and I was putting down the plates with steak. Mine first, because my chair was the one closest to the kitchen door, then, I intended to walk behind Katie to get between her and Louis, and put both their plates down at the same time like in some fancy restaurant. I was planning to fake a french accent and everything, just to see if I could make them both laugh. But my plan was foiled by Katie planting both her hands against the edge of the table and pushing herself, chair and all, away from the table and into me.

Both glass plates crashed to the ground as I stumbled for balance, one hand gripping the back of her chair, accidentally catching her hair between my fingers and the wood, pulling enough that she shrieked.

It should have felt cathartic. But I apologized to her, profusely, right before I got down on my knees and started picking up the shards of glass and the steak. Louis joined me on the floor, smiling at me before he looked up at Katie, his expression hardening and, for once, I thought he was going to actually do something.

"Go get the mop and a bucket, young lady."

That was it. Katie huffed but obliged, and returned with both things, dropping the bucket an inch away from the floor and causing it to splash some water out. Clearly intended for me, though it mostly reached her father. I could tell she noticed because, unlike if more water had reached me, she looked regretful.

"You cooked mine wrong anyway so, no loss," she said, smiling at me.

As Katie made her way back to the kitchen, a smile of satisfaction on her face that I couldn't see but I could feel was there, Louis gave me an apologetic look. Another flaw of his, he just didn't know how to discipline his daughter despite being the adult and her being the child. But I didn't count it as a flaw back then, because I didn't know how to do so either.

Our second day there was better.

I was stuck taking care of Molly, the chocolate-colored toy poodle that Katie often, even that morning, made sure to remind me was not mine, but who I fed, played with, cleaned up after and walked. Even before this vacation. While Katie only picked her up after her grooming appointments to take selfies with and, very rarely, played fetch with when she had friends over at the apartment I'd been sharing with them for two months prior to the wedding.

"I'm tired of this fucking house." at first, I was caught off guard by the fact Katie was speaking to me. It shocked me enough to make me forget Louis had left to go to the store around forty minutes ago, and that the closest town was fifty minutes away. "I'm gonna go outside."

It took me a minute to react. I watched her walk out the back door and left Molly to her food before I moved to the kitchen window that had a great view of the backyard. I opened it.

"Stay in the backyard, you don't know the area!" I told her.

Katie showed me the middle finger over her shoulder.

I deflated a little. But Molly butting my leg, demanding more food and greeting me with that cute little face of hers fixed my mood some. I played fetch with her, throwing the ball from the kitchen to the living room, watching her run after it and bring it back only to make me wrestle her for it. I wasn't really paying attention to the passage of time. I got the ball from Molly again and I threw it across the house again, Molly ran after it, but stopped right in front of the wooden back door, every hair in her little body standing on end as her ears pressed back against her head, teeth bared as she growled. Then, she ran and hid under the couch.

The door opened.

I felt my heart drop to my stomach and my world spin when I laid my eyes on Katie. Her jeans and blouse were dirty and torn, she looked like she'd rolled around in the mud and at the same time, like someone or something had tried to rip her clothes off her. But her body seemed pristine, not a scratch or bruise or even a speck of dirt on her skin, the high ponytail her long blond hair was pulled into was a bit crooked but, other than that, it looked the same as when she'd left. She stared at me, but looked as if she was staring right through me.

"I fell," Katie spoke, realizing I needed some sort of explanation, fast. But only giving me the most emotionless and short explanation.

She fell? She just fell?

I scrambled to my feet and stepped forward, not daring to touch her at first. Then, I dropped to my knees in front of her, my hands moved to feel the inside of her thighs for any wetness, any blood, as she just stared down at me with that thousand yards look in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, her eyes finally focused on me, moving slowly as if she was studying my face carefully.

"What happened?" I asked her, my voice more of a plea for her to tell me than a question.

"I told you," she said, just as emotionless as the first time. "I fell."

I stood up and reached for her shoulder. Without really meaning to, but needing proof that she was actually there and wasn't just an apparition while the real Katie was lying dead in some tree, having been attacked by an animal or taken advantage of by some sick bastard because I had too little of a spine to make her listen to me, I squeezed. She just stared at me. Then, as if she realized she was supposed to feel pain because she'd just told me she'd fallen, she winced.

"That hurts," there was just barely a hint of emotion in her tone. The kind of 'that hurts' that you voice when you get a drop of hot water on your hand while cooking, not the kind you voice when you've fallen in the woods hard enough to walk back home with torn clothes.

I didn't know what to do. I called Louis, I called the rangers. They both arrived at around the same time, with the park rangers car parking in our driveway just before Louis did. He must have broken some kind of record, and all speed laws known to man, considering the park rangers building was way closer than the town the store he'd driven to was located in.

The rangers came prepared. One of them had medical training while the other kept asking me questions. I insisted that something more than a fall had to have happened, and they agreed, but with no injuries, no signs that she'd been hurt other than the state of her clothes, and no word from Katie other than that she'd fallen while taking a walk through the woods and come back home right after, there wasn't really anything they could do other than go outside with Louis and check the surroundings for a little over two hours, before concluding that there was no sign of people nor any animal that could have caused that, only Katie's footprints going to and from the woods.

Afterwards, Katie had been… strange.

I blamed it on the shock of whatever had happened to her, but deep down I knew there was something else going on. Katie hadn't ever come in contact with me, aside from that first time we'd been introduced to each other and we shook hands. Any other time I tried to initiate any kind of physical attention: a gentle squeeze, a playful poke, or even as much as brushing my hand against her by accident, she moved away as if my touch burned her. If Louis wasn't looking, she'd pair her actions with a look of disgust that would indicate I'd touched her with a shit-stained stick instead of my very clean hand. Now, she became my shadow.

She sat by my side on the couch, cuddling against my side. She followed me into the kitchen and insisted on helping me cook dinner, which I had to guide her through like she had never done or before, which didn't surprise me because- well, she was spoiled and I wouldn't have put it past Louis to never teach his daughter how to cook. Since the night before's dinner had been impossible to enjoy and Louis hadn't been able to get more groceries with his quickly he'd returned in his panic of something happening to his daughter, I just decided to recycle the idea of making steak, which Katie seemed really happy with. She watched me open another package of four steaks, and put it in the microwave so that they would unstick from each other. I could have sworn I watched her mouth water when I pulled them out after five minutes and there were droplets of blood dripping from them when I got them with the fork to get them off the plastic container.

When it came time to turn them around in the oven, Katie was hovering behind me, staring over my shoulder.

"Can we eat them like that?" she asked me.

Her tone was gentle, hesitant and polite in a way that made me flinch because I fully expected this to be some sort of trap. I even looked down at her hands to make sure she wasn't folding anything that could be used to prank me or hurt me. That was the level of paranoia this child's behavior had reduced me to. But her hands were empty aside from a cloth I'd been using to clean some blood off the counter and I'd asked her to hold it for me while I checked our food. She was squeezing and twisting it almost nervously.

"You like your steak rare?" I asked her. Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted in confusion. "That's when it's juicy and red on the inside."

"Oh," she said, her tone suddenly monotonous. "Yeah, I like it like that."

I nodded, thinking to myself that, well, that was weird. But I would take this kind of weird behavior ten times over her usual angry-at-the-world behavior.

The next day, we all went to town. Even Molly came along, because Katie insisted on bringing her with us. It'd been an odd night, but slowly, Molly seemed to begin warming up to Katie again, enough to let her be the one holding the leash. I blamed the previous growling and hiding on the fact seeing Katie the way she'd returned from the woods had probably scared the soul out of Molly, or that perhaps she could smell some wild animal on Katie that made her wary of her. But that didn't matter. How could it matter when Katie walked ahead of Louis and I, trotting to make Molly run and bark, her fluffy tail wagging a mile per second.

We made it to the store and each of us went their own way, agreeing to meet back at the front to pay in fifteen minutes, while Molly stayed outside, tied to the bicycles rack.

As I made my way from hall to hall, I noticed Katie in the hall with all the hair products. She was holding a box of hair dye. It didn't surprise me, since I'd already seen her dye her hair different colors a few times. She had the hair for that, honey blond and healthy from her five products routine. What made me let out a punched-out gasp as I approached, however, was the fact that she was holding a brunette dye box, staring intensely at it and, upon realizing I was there with her, holding it up beside my hair.

"Do you think it's the same color?" she asked me.

Hesitantly, I took the box from her hand while grabbing a strand of my own hair with the other, comparing the color shown on the box with my own. Then, I looked up at Katie.

"I think mine is just a shade darker," I said, handing the box back.

Katie nodded, returned the box to its previous spot, even made sure that it was perfectly straight. Then, she looked for a darker shade and grabbed it. She looked at it, then at me, and she smiled a smile I could only describe as tense and unused.

"It's this one," she said. "Can you dye my hair when we get back?"

This time, I managed to hold back the punched-out gasp that threatened to leave me. I smiled a crooked smile, torn between shock and joy that this was actually happening, Katie wanted to spend time with me. "Of course I can!" I said, wincing at me own excitement because this felt unreal, felt like any moment now she was going to start cackling, mock me for falling for her prank. But, instead, Katie hooked her arm with mine, and walked with me around the store grabbing things, holding onto her hair dye box until it was time to pay and I had to tell her to hand it back.

I never heard so many compliments about how pretty my curls were and how shiny my hair was as I did on the ride back to the house. Katie complimented me enough to make Louis feel like he had to, too, but his "I love when you have it loose like today." didn't compare with Katie's "Your hair is soft like cotton."

It was nice. But I still sort of expected the other shoe to drop. I made sure that Katie told me she wanted me to dye her hair the same color as mine and that it'd been her idea out of nowhere to do so, twice, in front of her father once we made it to the house, before I even made my way with her to the bathroom to actually do it, because I wasn't going to risk her claiming that I'd forced her or anything of that sort once it was done and there was no turning back. Once it was done, she stared at herself in the mirror, awestruck, and made me stand beside her, her expression growing even more joyful as we stood side by side with our now identically-colored hair. I even offered to get a curler and try my hand at giving her curls that looked like mine, but Katie very politely told me she just loved the color.

That day had been so perfect, I didn't even have it in me to get mad at Louis when he got a call early in the morning the next day telling him he had to go back home because something at work had gone wrong and nobody but him could sort the problem out. I just smiled and told him we'd be waiting for him, even after he told me that he'd be gone until Thursday night.

Louis left after lunch. I just resigned myself to having Katie go back to her old self the moment his car sped away from the driveway. I even walked back to the living room with fearful, hesitant steps, only to find her sitting on the carpet in front of the couch, Molly curled up on her lap, her tail wagging lazily as Katie petted her. Katie turned her eyes from the weather broadcast to me, smiling.

"It's going to rain tonight," she told me. "We could watch a movie."

That's how we ended up cuddling- yes, cuddling on the couch, a blanket over both of us, Molly lying over the blanket on Katie's lap, and a now empty bowl of popcorn on mine. Rain poured outside, but there was no thunder, just the howling of the wind and the crashing of water against glass and the wood of the porches.

Then, there was a much heavier, louder crash on the back porch.

We both tensed. Molly whined and shifted in Katie's lap, even barked, and Molly rarely barked. Something was wrong. I moved to stand and Katie's hand seized my arm, her features twisted into a fearful expression.

"Don't go," she whined.

I rested my hand over hers. It took me a minute to pry her fingers from my arm, the feeling of her grip lingered even as I brought her hand to my lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

"Stay here," I told her.

I moved the blanket off myself and petted Molly to try and calm her, before I slowly made my way towards the door. I peeked out through the peephole just as something heavy and human slammed against the door.

Katie stood outside, soaked to the bone. Her hair was a mess, knotty and dirty like she hadn't combed or washed it in days, her arms and legs were covered in scratches and bruises, some deep enough to bleed, she had a wild look in her eyes, looking back over her shoulder towards the woods with frantic glances, never ceasing her knocking on the door, her clothes were different from what she'd worn that day when she left the house to go for a walk, it looked like some kind of leather I couldn't recognize if I didn't open the door.

I pressed my forehead to the door and closed my eyes, feeling each vibration all the way to the bone as her fists frantically banged against the outside of the wooden surface.

"Dad, are you there?!" she cried out. "Let me in. They're going to find me! Dad!"

"I told you to stay in the backyard."

A couple seconds of shocked silence passed, then. "Teresa?" she asked. The little shit sounded almost surprised I was there, when this is my house too. "Teresa, what the hell are you waiting for?! Open the fucking door!"

"You should have fucking listened to me, you disrespectful little brat!" I spoke, louder, harsher than I'd ever dared speak to her before. I was tired of being the enabler and receiving only disrespect in return. "Now you're going to learn!"

Then came the insults. Being called an envious cunt, among many other nasty words that no twelve year old should be using with anyone, but much less with her father's spouse who had up until now been trying her best. It made it easier to turn my back to the door, eyes still shut as I took a deep breath, reminding myself it wouldn't be right to tell a child that this 'envious cunt' made her daddy's toes curl at night.

I looked towards the living room and there was Katie on the couch, where I'd left her. Her body remained facing towards the paused television, but her head was tilted as far as she could to the side, staring directly at me through the corner of her eye. Her face seemed to have paled, shoulders tense and eye wide like she'd been caught looking through my closet, but also like an animal ready to attack. Like a cornered rat, the thought popped in my head and, honestly, it was fitting. This was the most genuine emotion I'd seen on her face since she'd walked in with her clothes torn and dirty, but otherwise unscathed.

The microwave went off. The popcorn was ready.

I walked towards the kitchen slowly, holding my hands behind my back to let the Katie on the couch see them at all times. I poured all the popcorn into two bowls and added butter and salt to mine, ketchup and sugar to Katie's. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on end and, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder, I glanced towards the microwave door and saw the reflection of Katie peeking into the kitchen, staring right at me with that same 'busted child and cornered rat hybrid' look on her face. When I turned to face that direction, losing sight of her for perhaps half a second, she wasn't there. I walked back into the living room with one bowl in each hand, ignoring the banging on the door and the voice that had changed her strategy from insults to desperate pleas, and found Katie on the couch again, in the exact same position as when I'd left her.

"Remind me to add ketchup to the list of things I need your dad to buy on his way back," I hummed as I sat back by her side, resting the bowls on my lap, hers in front of mine, closer to my knees. "We don't want to run out or we'll have to find you a different snack for movie nights."

I grabbed the remote, swung one arm over the back of the couch and watched her flinch at my closeness. I didn't touch her, choosing to instead give her time to initiate contact on her own. After all, some kids are fidgety when they feel like they might be in trouble, especially kids like my Katie, always trying so hard to be the perfect child and make me happy, but not socially aware enough to tell that my previous upset had been directed at the rude little shit at the door, not at her.

It took a minute, but she finally returned to her previous position leaning against my side, and I wrapped my arm around her, tracing gentle shapes against the smooth, hairless flesh of her arm. There was hair growing there, I could feel it now.

The screams got loud and more desperate before they finally stopped and I was able to unpause the movie.

"I love you, mama," Katie said from where her head rested against my chest, one of her hands pressed flat over my belly, fingers sprawled out as if she wanted to feel as much of me as possible, as if she loved me so much she couldn't get enough of me.

"I love you too sweetie."

#my writing #my other blog #not slashers #horror

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shrieking-aristocrat · 3 years ago

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I posted 150 times in 2021

11 posts created (7%)

139 posts reblogged (93%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 12.6 posts.

I added 157 tags in 2021

#house of wax - 21 posts

#bo sinclair - 19 posts

#echoes of the outsiders - 18 posts

#mary mason - 16 posts

#american mary - 16 posts

#vincent sinclair - 15 posts

#leatherface - 14 posts

#michael myers - 13 posts

#house of a thousand corpses - 13 posts

#bubba sawyer - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 54 characters

#the only manga i've read from beginning to last update

My Top Posts in 2021

Love the blog name…

So, requests.

A reader getting the upper hand on bo and boutta beat the shit outta him before deciding to teach this dumbass how to life instead

- Lily

Thanks I wanted scream-queen but it's taken 😂 I like this one better now though

Reader gets the upper hand on Bo

Bo Sinclair x Fem reader

TW: light torture, threats, Bo is a bit of a masochist.

Things had gone sour quite fast. Whoever that Bo Sinclair guy was, he was more than the shamelessly flirty but respectful persona he put up when they arrived to the town. Being a hitchhiker meant taking quite a few risks, but she hadn't been expecting a serial killer, no, those were the kind of risks people who hitchhiked joked and told exaggerated stories about, stories people claimed were real but were actually just an urban legend at most, vaguely based on events that took place decades ago on the other end of the country.

This wasn't an urban legend. This was very very real.

The hitchhiker, that's what the folk she came with'd called her when Bo asked. Besides her, there were two ladies and two guys, none of them seemed to know much about her other than she needed a ride to some place that was close to where they were headed. He caught her looking his way once, and shot her one of his most charming smiles, being faced with a look that was almost judgemental before she turned back to looking around.

Her indifference got his attention more than the other two's flirty attempts at getting him to stop glancing her way and their boyfriends's glares could. It was why he'd decided to go after her first, lock her away and save her for last. That was his first mistake.

Catching them off guard was easy, people's first mistake when they arrived to Ambrose was not thinking much of Bo, and he made them regret that. The hitchhiker followed him into the basement with annoyed resignation, and by the time she realized just in how much trouble she was, he'd used the moment of realization to tackle her and get her cuffed to his chair. He left her there, going after the others so that Vincent wouldn't have all the fun.

Two kills and two unsuccessful chases later, Bo retuned to the basement, finding the door open and the chair empty.

"Damn that bitch," he cursed through gritted teeth. Something hard collided with the back of his head before he could turn around and realize he'd fallen into a trap.

When he opened his eyes, Bo's head was throbbing, it took him a minute to realize he was strapped down to his own chair, and as soon as he did, he began to trash and scream, much like he used to do when he was a child with parents who didn't know nor care to learn how to properly deal with his bursts of emotion. His chest heaved as he glared to the side, spotting the hitchhiker leaning against the wall, watching him as she held onto her own thumb in a way that confused him until a snap noise made him realize that's how she'd broken free: she dislocated her thumb and was now putting it back in place.

"That look tells me this hasn't happened to you before," she hummed, pushing herself away from the wall and stepping towards him. "Rookie mistake, should have at least knocked me out."

"I don't hit ladies," Bo spoke, making another attempt at breaking free. "But I'll make an exception just for you."

She snorted, the noise only made Bo's blood boil. He considered dislocating his own thumb to break free, but didn't quite dare to do it, he'd dislocated it once as a child, while his father was trying to place him on the high chair, and he still remembered how much it'd hurt despite how young he'd been. It wasn't something he wished to repeat anytime soon.

He straight up tried to bite her hand when it moved towards his face, but her fingers went to a spot over his ear, fingers digging into an injury made when she hit him, making him curse through gritted teeth and struggle against the straps.

"Look at me," she demanded, grabbing a handful of his hair and making Bo tilt his head back to meet her eyes. "How many of you are out there?"

"Fuck you," Bo growled and once again cursed when her knuckles pressed hard against the injury on his scalp. "Just me, damn it!"

"Bullshit," she spoke, her tone calm yet stern in a way that made Bo's heart race. "You wouldn't be so confident about taking out five people if it was just you." her hand once again dug onto his injury before she let go of his hair, the now bloody bands sticking to his head.

"What are you, an expert?" he questioned, struggling and being met only with the chair's rattling as he watched her move to where his tools were.

It was as she reached for the pliers that he saw something familiar on her arm, a tattoo of a geometric butterfly in different shades of blue. He remembered finding a newspaper in one of their previous victims' car showing that exact same tattoo as an identifying mark for a criminal that'd escaped prison. It then clicked in Bo's mind that he might have met his match.

"Well shit, darlin'," he snorted. "and here I thought you were just some chick."

"Oh, I am," she hummed, moving over and taking a hold of his hand, placing the pliers over the first knuckle. "Just some chick that will start cutting fingers unless you start being honest."

Bo glared at her, the look in his eyes almost challenging him to try. He would kill her if she did– hell, he didn't even believe she would dare; he was the deranged one, the one that made people scared. But now, as he stared into the eyes of someone who looked at him with the same look of superiority he often looked down at his victims with, he wondered if this is what they felt. There was panic as the pliers began squeezing down on his knuckle, harder and harder each passing moment; and there was something else, something stirring in his lower belly.

"Okay, wait," he breathed out, his gasp turning into a sigh of relief when she paused. The pressure of the pliers was so far enough to make him thing there'd be a bruise. "It's me and my brothers. Two of 'em."

She stared at him like she could read him mind, or was trying to, and that stirring in his lower belly turned into a tightness in his pants that he hoped she wouldn't notice.

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61 notes • Posted 2021-09-26 04:03:51 GMT

Vincent and a soulmate au holy sheeeeeit

Soulmate AU

Vincent Sinclair x Reader (GN pronouns)

You were alone when you got to Ambrose, a long walk after a falling out with the group of people you'd hitchhiked with. Coincidentally, their car was parked just outside the mechanic shop, with none of them in sight. You figured they'd had some issue and they were off doing whatever it was they were doing, after how they'd left you to walk, you didn't really care.

All the stores in town were closed, it didn't surprise you because it was the afternoon and small towns tend to be really vacant when it's nap time. This town was certainly small, to the point you questioned if it could really be called a town or if it was more of a village. While walking around, you ended up deciding to check out the Wax House.

The door was open so you let yourself in. After all, it's an attraction, people are supposed to go in and check it out otherwise it isn't profitable for whoever was showing their art there. The sculptures were uncanny, but you had to admit this Vincent guy had talent, you couldn't help but feel watched, but you blamed it on all the way-too-realistic statues. Little did you know that you were actually being watched.

Vincent knew the moment his eyes landed on you, and he hated it. He hated you, he hated himself, he hated the sudden throbbing and tightness inside his chest. He didn't want a soulmate, he didn't need one. Who could possibly want him when his face looked the way it did? Surely not someone who looked like you, no one normal could love him. That's why only his brothers loved him.

He cut the chase short, going straight to making an attempt on your life. Before you could even fully process what was going on, he was on you, a calloused hand to your throat and a knife hovering over your heart, but he couldn't do it, his knuckles were white from his grip on the knife and his hand was shaking, his pulse never failed him like this when it came to killing, wielding a knife was as natural as wielding any of his sculpting tools. He'd just met you and you were already ruining him.

You apologized, thinking you were trespassing, and he moved off you like just touching you hurt him. You moved away from him until your back touched the back of the wax couch, and he stated —or more like glared— at you, while you stared at him in a mix of fear and realization.

He couldn't kill you, but he also couldn't bear the thought of letting his brother do it or letting you go, of losing the person that he was made for and who was made for him.

Looks like you're stuck together now. Shit, what would he do with you?

67 notes • Posted 2021-10-13 23:11:56 GMT

yautja x reader. sfw/soft!! maybe some cuddles that involve a dreaming yautja and getting kicked off the bed. 🤣 thank youuuuuu 💕💕💕❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Yautja dreams are made of this

Jungle Hunter x reader (GN pronouns)

There were a lot of things you learned about the yautja you'd once known as Jungle Hunter. For starters, his real name was impossible for a human mouth to pronounce, but he liked being called Wiin: a name given to him by the locals, referencing a once human now monstrous creature known for its chaotic behavior. He'd spent decades in the Guatemalan jungle, hunting whoever was brave or stupid enough to not only enter his territory, but challenge him; but he was nowhere near old, and he liked to leave that clear with displays of his strength and youthfulness.

One thing you never expected to learn about Wiin was that he had quite vivid dreams.

It was one of those nights where he'd appeared in your room, tired but content in a way that left it clear he'd been successful in a hunt– in case the spine the dropped on your bathroom's sink wasn't enough proof of that. He hadn't said much, just pulled you to the bed and nuzzled you until, sooner than later, he was snoring. It was not at all a cute snore, but you'd already gotten used to the noise, and you weren't tired yet, so you didn't mind continuing with what you'd been doing before his arrival on a now horizontal position.

That is until the snoring turned to rumbling, and the rumbling into growling. His legs moved, his knees bumping against your ass in a quite insistent way, for a moment, you considered the possibility that he was awake and playing some kind of prank on you, but upon turning in his arms to lie on your back, you saw that he was fast asleep, his eyes squeezed shut and mandibles tight but twitching against each other.

Then he threw his left knee back, body tensing in a way that gave you just enough of a warning on what was about to happen for you to shake your way out of his grasp and avoid the knee that kicked in your direction full force by a mere inch, hitting the air where your ribs had just been.

"Wiin!" you called out, and he startled awake, holding his arm up and then staring down at his forearm, caught off guard by the sight of himself unarmed. "You almost kicked the shit out of me!"

He stared up at you. Wiin couldn't speak any human language without his mask, he'd been trying to learn, but had only managed a few words so far. But the look in his eyes was a clearly apologetic one as he shifted, holding himself up with one hand while holding the other out to you.

You hesitated only for a moment before taking his hand, but instead of letting him pull you back to bed, you pulled him to get up.

"How about we clean your trophy and you tell me about your hunt?" you offered, and he seemed thrilled by the idea, pulling you by the hand the rest of the way to the bathroom like a child with something to show to someone they admired.

You hoped having something to do and talking about his day would calm him down enough for you to not end up getting kicked into next week in your sleep. Though you had to admit, up until that point, the growling and clicking had been quite adorable. You doubted he'd appreciate you calling him anything other than fierce, but hey, he couldn't be offended by your thoughts if you didn't share them with him.

The look of confusion on his face as he watched you grin at the memory was just as adorable.

142 notes • Posted 2021-10-06 00:59:02 GMT

Something with our humble provider man?

Maybe the reader is with a group of victims and runs to him for protection from Hoyt even though Tommy is the one with the chainsaw because something about big chainsaw man protecting me does things

Running to Thomas for protection

Thomas Hewitt x Reader (GN pronouns)

Tw: Hoyt.

They say that there's nothing better than a roadtrip to solidify friendships. You were doubting the truthfulness of that statement even before you and your group ran into the family of cannibals. It all started innocent enough, a tire giving in to the scorching heat of the Texan road and popping in the middle of nowhere, hours spent sweating in the car or walking around nearby until a sheriff's department car pulled up and the Sheriff inside offered to take you and your friends to his home to spend the night because nothing was open that late in the evening.

The car was left behind, because no one had driven past besides the sheriff in those hours you and your friends spent stranded, so what were the chances someone would drive and would want anything to do with the car? That had been the sheriff's reasoning, and it'd been pretty convincing to a group of young folk on the brink of heat stroke.

It was an about twenty minutes long drove to the rundown farm that you wouldn't have guessed was inhabited if it wasn't for the man driving you calling it his "home sweet home". You and two of your friends had travelled in the back of the police car while your friend Ethan rode shotgun. Ethan didn't make it far. Almost as soon as he got off the car and went to open the door for you and your friends, a gunshot broke the silence and blood —Ethan's blood— splattered the window.

Everything went to hell after that. Your memory a haze from the rush after rush of adrenaline that coursed through you. Your body aching from each moment of struggling to break free of one of the family members's hold and of being chased around as soon as you'd succeed at that.

Sheriff Hoyt had it out for you, you weren't exactly sure what it was that you'd done or said during the drive there that made him single you out, but one thing was for sure: he had it out for you and wouldn't stop at anything.

Or well, perhaps someone could stop him.

You'd once again narrowly escaped the sheriff impersonator, rushing down a hall only to stop halfway because at the other end was the man you'd heard the family call Tommy, a tall, hulking man wearing a mask made of some previous victim's face, holding a chainsaw like it weighed nothing and revving it once, twice, grunting in frustration at how it wouldn't turn on while glaring at you.

"Get back 'ere you piece of shit!" Hoyt called out behind you.

The anger in his voice was enough to trigger your legs into motion again, desperation winning over logic as you ran towards the man with the chainsaw, not with the intention of attacking, but with a brewing plan that might as well be the death of you– not like you had much choice anyway, considering the other option was dying by Hout's hand. At least this Tommy guy wanted to kill you and not other disgusting things.

You ducked under his arms when he stopped revving the chainsaw to try and get a hold of you. But instead of continuing your way down the hallway, you stood behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your self against his side when his hand grabbed your shirt and tried to pull you away.

"Help me," you begged, looking up at the masked man with teary, desperate eyes as you clung to him like a scared child to someone they trusted. "Please, help me."

Thomas's eyes were wide under the mask he wore, lips parted into a surprised exhale as he tried to make sense of this situation, make sense of you. Pretty little things like you didn't go to him for protection, they went and hid behind the conventionally attractive guys that had also been unlucky enough to end up falling into the Hewitt's trap. But you– you'd chosen him.

"Atta boy!" Hoyt exclaimed, staring at you like a wold eyeing its next meal. "Hand 'em over, Tommy, I'll teach this bastard some fuckin' respect."

His hand on your back tensed, grabbing a fistful of your shirt, and for a moment you thought he was going to yank you away and push you towards Hoyt, but instead, Thomas pushed you back, further away from the fake cop, with a growl that came from somewhere deep in his chest.

It felt unreal, you were certain that this was an hallucination and you would wake up still tied in that hellish butchery with your friends being bled out like pigs and the only reason why you hadn't joined them yet being that the Hewitts didn't have enough hooks. It felt even more unreal when Thomas got a hold of the back of your neck, making you walk in the opposite direction while Hoyt stomped after the both of you, being called off by Luda.

"Leave my boy alone, Charlie!" the woman called out. "Y'all never let 'im pick first. Go do somethin' useful!"

You didn't get to hear Hoyt —or Charlie, whatever his name was—'s response to that because you were led through a heavy metal door and down to a basement that somehow looked even more terrifying than the butchery. Thomas's hand didn't leave the back of your neck until he forced you to sit on a chair, his hands coming to your face and touching it all over, two fingers forcing your mouth open and checking inside like a veterinarian inspecting the health of cattle.

"Tommy," you spoke when his fingers left your mouth, your heart hammering inside your chest as you tried to think of a way to not end up as this people's next meal. "Tommy, please."

Once again, you caught him off guard. He pushed you just hard enough to have you stumbling off the chair, and you stepped away the rest of the way until your back touched the wall. Thomas stared at you with an intensity that made you want to run and at the same time made your legs feel weak, then he turned to his work table, beginning the process of getting things ready for his next craft.

His gaze suddenly snapped back towards you over his shoulder. Staring at you then at a vinyl player closer to you than it was to him, you didn't need to be told twice, moving slowly towards the device and playing one of the records on, setting the needle on a random song because, truth be told, it was hard to see what you were doing. Your shoulders sagged with relief when it began to play an old tune and he let out a content hum.

God, what did you get yourself into?

180 notes • Posted 2021-10-10 06:46:14 GMT

Thomas hewitt eating you out a little different than normal ;)

I mean, his normal is cannibalism so I'll assume this means in a sexy way.

Leatherface eating you out

Thomas Hewitt x AFAB reader

You'd learned many things from your time with the Hewitts: like not to question anything about Luda Mae's cooking unless you want to be told a limb of yours will end up in her next dish —an empty threat because Thomas would never allow it, but a thread nonetheless—, and to never go anywhere near Charlie for way too many reasons to count, but the one thing that stuck was that Thomas stressed very easily; and the one thing he learned while with you was that he had the perfect way of de-stressing right between your legs.

It wasn't hard to tell when he's stressed, he'd walk into the room you two shared and stare at you, switching glances from you to the bed if you weren't on it already. This time around, he caught you reading some book Luda Mae gave you, the title something along the lines of "Cooking for your family", her not-so-subtle way of telling you that she wanted grandchildren. Yet another thing that stressed Thomas out, the constant pressure to make the family bigger. But he didn't have to worry about that with you, you'd both agreed it was not the time for that.

"Everything alright?" you asked, watching him as his shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh, his feet dragging as he walked in and closed the door behind himself. There was a light click that told you he'd locked it too. Which he only did when he didn't want anyone to interrupt whatever he was planning to do.

You left the book aside, it wasn't an engaging read anyway, and watched him get one knee on the bed, towering over you and placing a hand on your chest before he slowly, gently, began pushing you down to lie down. This was his way of asking if you were in the mood, leaving his intentions clear but giving you time to tell him no before your back touched the mattress. You shifted to lie down faster, and that was all the permission he needed before he rested a hand over your neck, keeping you pinned to the bed as he dragged his masked face down your clothed torso, pushing your shirt out of the way with his free hand to nuzzle his forehead against the softness of your belly. Gentleness was put on hold as he took your pants off, your underwear soon to follow.

He stared down at your sex, dragging one thick finger between your folds and letting out a heated groan when he felt the dampness gathering there.

His hand on your neck left you with no choice but to stare at the ceiling, Thomas didn't like you seeing his face without the mask, no matter how much you reassured him that he was perfect just the way he was. But he couldn't do what he wanted to do with his mask on, so he'd found another way, his hulking size allowing him to hold you by the throat while his mouth was busy down south. You only knew his mask came off when you head it hit the mattress beside you. Thomas's free hand held your right thigh, his head coming to rest on your left thigh as he began lazily licking, sending small jolts of electricity up your spine.

Thomas always started slow, but it never lasted long, once the scent and taste of you overwhelmed his senses, it was like a switch was flipped.

"Tommy," you moaned when his tongue went deeper, his nose pressed right against the hard bud of nerves, breathing you in like he wanted to memorize your scent– as if he hadn't already.

His ministrations were always thorough, but this time it was like a man starving, like he thought he'd never get to taste you again and wanted to make the last time the most memorable of all. He was a man on death row and you were his carefully picked last meal. His grip on your neck tightened when your chin touched the back of his palm in an attempt to look at him, the growl he let out making you throw your head back and cry out in pleasure, back arching off the bed as your toes curled.

The mattress sank when he shifted, lying on his chest between your legs as your legs were placed over his shoulders, framing his face, and his free hand joined his tongue in pleasuring you. Two thick fingers massaged you before slipping in, speeding your thighs, soaked walls for his tongue to further explore.

Your heels dug onto his shoulder blades as you tried to grind your hips against his eager mouth, but he was not that eager for this to end. Thomas growled, going back to slowly licking at your folds until it was left clear that you had to stay still and let him do the work if you wanted to come. So your strategy changed, your hand went to his hair, stroking his scalp as you moaned.

"You're so good to me, Tommy," you praised, a smile pulling at your lips as you heard the way his breath caught in his throat. "So damn good for me."

The springs of the mattress creaked when he began to move his hips against them, seeking a friction that went in tandem with the way he stimulated you. It didn't take much praising before he was back to eating you out like a man starved, your thighs shaking as they squeezed his head to keep him there. He didn't seem to mind, if anything, the louder creaking of the old springs told you he liked it.

The family'll hear, you thought in a brief moment of clarity as you felt the cooling pleasure in your lower belly tighten, threatening to unravel any moment now. But it was a short lived thought, followed by a careless: fuck it, as Thomas's tongue drove you to climax.

You moaned his name as you came. But his licking didn't stop, or course not, he wasn't done yet. Eating you out was a means to an end, this was his reward. He licked you clean, didn't stop until your hand came to push his face away due to the overstimulation becoming too much. Your chest rose and fell as you panted, hearing his own labored breaths before he licked his fingers in a way that sounded so obscene you almost looked, but you'd promised him to respect his one boundary, and you wouldn't break his trust.

It wasn't until you heard him strap his leather mask back into place that you stopped pretending the humidity stains on the ceiling were interesting and looked at him, watching the way he knelt at the bed's feet, adjusting himself in his pants to try and be comfortable.

"Come here," you breathed, voice still hoarse from your orgasm. "It's my turn."

280 notes • Posted 2021-09-26 20:04:31 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review

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