#Mild horror elements

[aventurineswife]

Trick or treat :3

Trick-or-Treating Mishaps!

Summary: On a chilling Halloween night, you and Sebastian go trick-or-treating and discover a mysterious house offering enchanted candy. After indulging your curiosity, you unleash mischievous ghosts and a lurking specter. Together, you confront the supernatural chaos, forging a strong bond as you uncover the secrets of the night.

Tags: Halloween Special Fanfic, Human! Sebestian, Supernatural, Horror(kinda? I tried my best 😔), Adventure, Trick-or-Treating, Enchanted Candy, Ghosts(👻), Suspense, Platonic Relationship, Friendship, Human! Sebestian.

Warnings: Mild horror elements, Spooky themes, Paranormal activity, Intense situations, Human! Sebestian.

A/N: As someone who has never celebrated Halloween her whole life, I hope you enjoy this piece of fic 😇

The chill of Halloween night hung heavy in the air, the moon casting an eerie glow over the neighbour hood. Your heart raced with excitement as you adjusted your costume—a makeshift witch ensemble complete with a crooked hat. You turned to Sebastian, who was beside you, dressed in a simple black cloak. He had always had a serious demeanor, but tonight, something about the atmosphere made him appear more intense, as if he sensed the looming darkness around you.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked, his voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of anticipation.

“Absolutely! Let’s get some candy!” you replied, your voice bright against the backdrop of creaking branches and rustling leaves.

The night was cloaked in darkness as you and Sebastian set out for a night of trick-or-treating. The crisp autumn air was alive with the sounds of laughter, distant music, and the rustle of leaves as other kids darted from house to house. Dressed in your costumes, you felt the thrill of Halloween, but the atmosphere had an underlying chill that sent shivers down your spine.

As you strolled through the neighbourhood, you admired the elaborate decorations—glowing jack-o’-lanterns, cobwebs clinging to trees, and ghosts hanging from porches. But as you turned onto a quieter street, the mood shifted. The lights flickered ominously, and an unsettling silence settled around you.

“Does it feel… off to you?” you asked Sebastian, glancing sideways at him. He nodded, his expression serious.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet here.” Just as you were about to suggest turning back, you spotted a house at the end of the street, adorned with an eerie glow and a sign that read,

“Magic Candy: Trick or Treat at Your Own Risk.” Intrigued, you exchanged glances with Sebastian, and he shrugged, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Let’s check it out. It might be fun.” you said, excitement mingling with unease.

Approaching the house, you knocked on the door. It creaked open, revealing a shadowy figure in a tattered cloak. With a raspy voice, he offered you a bowl filled with strange, glittering candies.

“Take one, if you dare…” he rasped, his gaze penetrating. You hesitated, glancing at Sebastian, who stepped forward, a protective instinct flickering in his eyes.

“Do you really think we should?” he asked, his voice laced with caution. But your curiosity got the better of you, and you reached into the bowl, pulling out a shimmering piece of candy that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

As you popped the candy into your mouth, an electrifying sensation coursed through you. The world around you twisted, colors blending and morphing, and suddenly, you were surrounded by ethereal, shimmering figures—ghosts that danced in the air, laughing and swirling around you.

“Whoa!” you gasped, your eyes wide with wonder and fear. “What’s happening?”

Sebastian’s face was pale as he took a step back, his instincts kicking in. “Stay close to me! We need to get out of here!”

But before you could respond, the ghosts turned their attention to you, their laughter echoing eerily. They moved closer, their translucent hands reaching out, and you felt a cold grip on your arm.

“Help!” you cried, panic rising in your throat. Sebastian immediately stepped in front of you, eyes narrowing as he faced the spectral figures.

“Get away from them!” he shouted, a surprising fierceness in his voice. The ghosts paused, their laughter fading into a low murmur, as if they were assessing him. A moment of tense silence hung in the air, and you could see confusion flicker across Sebastian’s face.

Just then, a larger specter emerged from the shadows, its eyes hollow and mouth twisted into a menacing grin. It reached toward you, and instinct kicked in.

You grabbed Sebastian’s arm, pulling him backward as you dashed for the nearest tree, pressing your backs against the rough bark, heart racing.

“What… what just happened back there?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his brow furrowing as he peered around the tree. “That candy was definitely enchanted. I’ve never seen anything like those ghosts—or whatever was that thing.”

You shivered at the memory of the creature’s hollow eyes. “Why were they after the candy? And who was that man? He sounded… off.” Sebastian nodded, his expression serious.

“There’s a lot we don’t understand. That candy could have been a trap—something meant to lure unsuspecting trick-or-treaters into danger. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more going on in this neighbourhood than meets the eye.”

“But why now?” you asked, struggling to piece it all together. “Why do this on Halloween? Isn’t it supposed to be a fun night?”

“It might have something to do with the thinning of the veil between our world and the spirit world,” Sebastian speculated, his voice low as the specter’s form hovered dangerously close. “On Halloween, the supernatural often becomes more active, and it’s possible that the candy was some kind of conduit for those spirits to reach out.”

You frowned, the implications heavy on your mind. “So, this could happen… again?”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the specter. “We need to be careful, especially if we encounter anything strange. And we should warn others.”

A chill ran down your spine at the thought of what might lie ahead, but there was a strange comfort in knowing you weren’t alone in this. “I’m glad I have you here,” you said softly, casting a sideways glance at him. “I don’t think I could face this kind of thing on my own.”

Sebastian gave you a quick, serious glance, and for a moment, his usual stoicism cracked, revealing a flicker of warmth. “I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll figure this out together.”

As the specter finally moved away, the tension in the air began to lift. You felt your heart rate start to normalize, but the shadows still danced at the edges of your vision. The laughter of other trick-or-treaters rang hollow against the backdrop of your encounter, a reminder that not everything was as innocent as it seemed.

“Do you think this was just a random occurrence or perhaps a dream or something?” you asked quietly, still peering out from behind the tree.

“I can’t shake the feeling that it’s part of something bigger and something real,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “We need to keep our eyes open. Whatever is happening here might not be over yet.”

Together, you stepped out from behind the tree, the night still young and fraught with mysteries yet to unravel. With newfound resolve and the strength of your bond, you ventured back onto the path, ready to face whatever the Halloween night had in store.

Does anybody play DTI 😭? I NEED HELP IN CH2!! 😭

[why-yes-i-am-an-adult]

Episode 9 was so good, literally perfect. It was everything I love about wwdits, and I enjoyed every second of it.

[itmeblog]

THE JESTER AND HIS CANDY PEOPLE (Story 1 of Many)

Once upon a time there was a jester Who painted his skin the color of sun And his hair he did toy, move and pester ‘til strands lay sleeping o’er where bald begun He did a merry smile wear with teeth bared His silly hat jingled and he skipped with flair O! O! The jester comes! He used funny words and spun funny tales And those who did listen were oft regaled With stories of riches vast and frail That must be won just so, else they’d wail At the loss of what was theirs just by birth But the jewels he spoke of had no true worth O!O! The jester comes! But for all the funny things in his tales People did not laugh. Some found his jokes crass But some forgot they were tales at all, failed To see the jewels were words fragile as glass. They became seekers of treasure they claimed! The Candy people was their chosen name. O! O! The jester comes! The jester’s followers were aptly named As the world they sought was sweet as sugar They’d be rich as kings and none would be blamed When they said silly words. they’d be purer Than gold in body and soul and safer Than coins in a vault. They’d all be favored. O! O! The jester comes! The jester told the candy people tales Of brigands, thieves and monsters in the dark. He said walking to their homes along trails Tried and true would see them dead! Their life’s spark Snuffed by hidden hands only he could see. They grew scared of sun, stone, river, and tree. O! O! The jester comes! “There is just one way to be safe and free The candy people must make me their king!” The jester shouted with the utmost glee “I can protect you all from many things! I can slay dragons! I can pull such strings That you’ll never once want for anything!” O! O! The jester comes! The candy people did do as he said And a crown lay upon his balding head His bells still jangled for they’d been fed And bound to his skin where infection spread Ever the jester even as the king And to this day his silly bells still ring! O! O! The jester comes! So Welcome to the Kingdom of Silly The land of jester and candy people! Where everyone lives adventurously And no one questions anything evil Can the jester bring them the promised Land Or is it all destined to go as planned?

[twilighttrekkie]

Kazombie Teto

If you trespass on her Teto Territory, she won't hesitate to eat your brain!

or something. idk. i like zombies and i like teto so i just decided to make a zombie teto design i don't really know why

[the-sand-guardian]

Whumptober Day 6: Healed Wrong

Two weeks ago, Mariana died. Charlie had held him in his hands and wept as he squeezed out his last words. Charlie held his cold hand at the funeral and comforted Flippa as she’d watched them lower him into the ground. He could still feel his tie seemingly tightening around his throat and the way he almost choked on his breaths saying goodbye. His eyes still burned at night when he remembered fondly how their arguments would lull him to sleep. 

That was until he came back. 

You see, two days ago, Mariana had limped his way home, still covered in dirt and pale. He’d raised a greyed fist and knocked on the door pathetically. Charlie had almost screamed when he saw him. His beloved bitch wife looked exactly as corpse-like as the day they’d buried her. But at least he was back. 

Mariana’s hands were still cold. So, so cold. Charlie would watch him carefully in the few moments they weren’t together, but he never caught so much as a cold chill. Mariana had seemingly also lost any desire for bickering that he’d had before undeath. Their halls were emptier and quiet without their constant arguing. Instead, Mariana had begun to actually be sweet to him. Normally, Charlie would have to fake being asleep to receive affection, but now he could hardly shower on his own. 

Even Flippa was a little put off by it. She gave Charlie odd looks behind her Apa’s back, but all he could do was shrug. Mariana would tangle all of her limbs amongst Charlie’s, effectively pinning him to whatever surface they were cuddling on, and just hold him there. Ordinarily, Charlie might not have minded this too much, but without their usual routines of bickering and making up, being married and then divorced, he just began to find it boring. He hated thinking of his wife that way, but he’d just changed. His bitch wife had devolved into just his wife. 

He’d stuck with this Mariana for a week before he’d noticed another oddity. In the middle of the night, always around one or two am, Mariana would silently detach herself from him and creep out into their kitchen. On one such night, he climbed out of bed and tried to follow him, hoping his own escape would be as silent as his husband’s had been. He thought he’d succeeded but he’d only barely stepped foot into the kitchen and caught a glimpse of Mariana staring into a bubbling pot on the stove when she’d turned his head so quickly towards him that he was almost convinced she’d broken her neck. 

He’d then turned his body to match his head. Even in the dark, Charlie could make out Mariana’s wide and nearly delirious eyes. She took a step towards him, and Charlie took one step back. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his blood ran cold. Mariana took two steps towards him now, still at that tediously slow pace. Charlie’s stomach flipped. Mariana took three steps this time, though on the third she tottered just slightly before her foot hit the ground silently. Charlie had subconsciously given up on making any sort of escape as Mariana finished her tediously long walk towards him. She carefully raised a frigid hand to his face and caressed it, soft as a Spring breeze. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Charlie’s trembling lips before standing back up. 

“Go on back to bed, Slime. It’s too late for you here,” 

And all Charlie could do was nod and listen to him.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Thank you for reading! I've also posted this to Ao3, where I'll be cataloguing all of my works for this month! I also have 3 other WIP fics, so if you enjoy my works please go show some love over there or feel free to shoot me an ask!

[disabled-dean]

Taking testosterone is so wild because sometimes your brain will be like, "Oh no! The Make Me Look Different Potion is making me look different 😩" Like, Girl.

[caliburn-not-calculator]

A day late but RWDtober short!

For the prompt: Lost

Evrard stumbled forward, a sharp ache shooting up his leg with each step, his waistcoat damp and crusted with old blood. The cavern around him was dark despite his eyes having had ample time to adjust. Occasionally a torch, burning with false fire, would be found bracketed to the wall, sending the shadows writhing away into the crevices of rough stone. The firelight revealed the many marks that adorned the space.

Scratched words, letters, entire paragraphs, layered upon one another until almost all but the freshest and deepest were intelligible. Evrard paused precisely once to read through them.

When does it end when does it end when does it—

Let me out My Lady, let me out

I have been here before. We have all been here before.

He did not bother reading further. Turning his dead eyes away, he continued. Scanning the walls revealed nothing beyond more endless scrawling, and scouring the ground only showed it was eroded into a faint trough. Like a game trail, weathered into the rock. Hundreds of footsteps like his own. So many that it was smoothed to a shine.

The pad pad pad of his steps was the only noise. A monotonous tune. Slow and steady. Grating his ears. He tucked them against his back. It didn’t help. Nothing helped.

Pad pad pad

A pause to search around. There was nothing.

Pad pad pad

Evrard found and old coin purse tucked into the rock. Empty and damaged. It was useless.

Pad pad pad

He stopped, a flicker of movement disturbing his vision. Something glinted ahead under the firelight of the next torch. He bounded forward, it ignoring his pain. If his heart still beat it may have started to race at the sight. At the notion of there being something. Anything.

He slowed as he reached it, whole body tensing. His nose twitched, almost missing the sharp iron scent that hit the back of his throat with how accustomed to it he was. Blood. Dark and nearly dried blood crusted the floor. His ears stood tall, rotating as he listen for a threat. He kept his head low, investigating the splatter. It formed around a long thin shape, another one ahead, and then another, set in the steady pace of someone’s steps. Someone with a limping gait and non humanoid feet.

Evrard stilled, closing his eyes, a heavy dread growing in his cold inwards. He stepped his own injured leg into the prints.

A perfect fit.

He’d stumbled upon his own tracks. His own trail. He was going in circles.

An endless, unrelating, loop.

[soysaucevictim]

Oi. I need to go get some sleep here soon. Like a fuller night's sleep.

But brain wants to find a SPECIFIC selkie art post I remember enjoying years ago and having some trouble finding it.

[dashiellqvverty]

i honestly think wild blue yonder might be my least favorite donna episode (its been a while since i revisted season 4 so no promises but... im pretty confident) and whats getting me is its like they pulled the scary parts from stuff like waters of mars and midnight and then took out the things that make those episodes good which is the OTHER PEOPLE

[purple-plum-petals]

Hi! Is it okay if I ask for another homicipher fic? I just got all the endings, and I'm obsessed. What about Scarletta trying to be physically affectionate with MC after seeing how protective Mr. Crawling is with them (perhaps even secretly peeking/knowing how often the crawling man hugged you, you two petting or shaking each other's heads, and using the word "cute" on each other.) I need Scarletta jealous 🫣

⊱ Blood-stained Lips ⊰ || Mr. Scarletella X Reader

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Character(s): Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (MC’s Lore and Specifically Scarletella Rain Ending), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and Horror Elements), Mild Jealousy, Slightly Suggestive. Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Light Angst (Hurt/Comfort), Pre-established Romantic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~2,140 words Request: “Hi! Is it okay if I ask for another homicipher fic? I just got all the endings, and I'm obsessed. What about Scarletta trying to be physically affectionate with MC after seeing how protective Mr. Crawling is with them (perhaps even secretly peeking/knowing how often the crawling man hugged you, you two petting or shaking each other's heads, and using the word "cute" on each other.) I need Scarletta jealous 🫣” Author’s Note: Okay so, like… Mr. Scarletella is probably one of the more nerve-wracking characters for me to write for, but I absolutely adored this ask, so I gave writing him in drabble format a shot! (It’s also pretty funny how the fandom has unanimously agreed that Mr. Crawling and Mr. Scarletella would not get along and would be actively antagonistic toward each other lmao). I think his dynamic with the MC is fascinating… the whole parasocial relationship the two of them have going on throughout the game is such a unique choice (love the simp energy he gives off, too, since I wasn’t expecting that from his character haha). This ended up being kind of suggestive at the end?? Nothing too crazy or anything, just him being very happy about being able to touch you. Anyway, I hope this isn’t too OOC – enjoy! 

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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Even though his memories had been forgotten, parts of himself and his identity erased after you successfully defeated him, Mr. Scarletella occasionally found himself thinking of moments he couldn’t even recall witnessing. 

In his mind, he sees you with another resident of the realm, their long black hair cascading down their form while their laugh echoes through an empty corridor. He sees their fingers threading through your hair, moving their hands up and down along your scalp, and tousling your locks… 

Mr. Scarletella hears your laughter fill the space, too. The sound is light and airy, and he finds his chest tightening at the hazy memory. It’s an uncomfortable feeling and certainly was not one he enjoyed experiencing. It almost felt like knives being shoved repeatedly into his torso, a stinging and aching sensation that spread throughout his entire body from a singular point.

Almost absentmindedly, his hand comes to rest on the left side of his chest, the side where a heart would be located if he possessed one like you did. Mr. Scarletella hears a gentle murmur interrupt his thoughts, a noise that cuts through the fog in his mind like a saw slicing through flesh and sinew. 

“You okay?” Your voice echoes, and his pitch-black eyes dart down to meet with yours. You’re holding a red umbrella – his very heart and soul – in your hands. Your hold isn’t painful, nor is it gentle. It was perfect, just like you, he thought to himself. 

Rain drips down the water-resistant material of the umbrella that was permanently stained a bright, bloody red, and it falls onto the clear rubber of your raincoat before sliding down your form. Both the umbrella and your coat effectively keep your body dry from the elements. Mr. Scarletella, on the other hand, was completely soaked, having no issue walking beside you while the rain clung to his clothing and chilled his skin.  

If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the heat of your body spreading throughout his chest and warming his form from the inside out. Oh, how happy he would be if the small flame within him sparked into something more, forming a fiery inferno inside his body. Even if you were to burn him, set an uncontrollable blaze within him that only left an empty husk behind, he would be content.  

Your brows are furrowed while you crane your neck back to look at him, the sound of rain around the two of you, effectively breaking up the long stretch of silence. He was acting a bit strange today, you thought to yourself. While the man dressed in red was never really normal in the conventional sense, he was much more quiet today than usual. 

Mr. Scarletella’s gaze used to be immensely nervewracking, his hollow stare once being able to cause the hair on the back of your neck to stand on edge, but you had grown used to it after spending so much time together. The two of you were in your old realm, the one you left behind to stay in the other world. You were fairly close to the haunted apartments he used to call his home and the site where you would dump the bodies of anyone unfortunate to cross your path… The start of everything that led you to where you are now. 

“You quiet… What you thinking about?” You ask him, shifting the hold of the umbrella in your hand to the other. You hadn’t brought your weapon today, wanting to give Mr. Scarletella a chance to experience a “typical” date, one that didn’t consist of violence and murder for a change. However, he had been in a daze since the two of you arrived, and that was somewhat out of character for him. 

Shifting your stance to better face him, your feet sink slightly into the mud beneath you. You look down at your boot-clad feet and frown. While you had grown used to being in a constant state of uncleanliness since the other world didn’t have showers readily or easily available, it was still quite annoying to clean mud from the soles of your shoes. This was the type of mud that threatened to pull your shoe from your foot if you were to try tugging on it, but you pushed your frustration to the side to focus on the man in front of you. 

Mr. Scarletella hums and reaches his hand out to your head, placing his palm against your hair, and you freeze. Your hair sticks to his deathly cold hand, almost as if static electricity was coursing through his fingers. 

It was soft under his skin, your hair, yet he could feel that some knots had begun to form near the base of the strands. Then, he begins to rub his hand back and forth, effectively messing your hair up even more. Your mind blanks at his sudden movement, the action reminding you of Mr. Crawling.

“Why… you touch me?” You ask, staring up at him as the rain begins to fall even harder, your grip on the umbrella in your hand tightening around the handle. The rain was so heavy that you could barely see into the distance, the horizon completely covered in a thick, gray mist. A sudden gust of wind blew Mr. Scarletella’s red hair, and within his usually hollow eyes swirled something you had never seen within them before. 

It reminded you of a storm rolling in across the ocean waves, a variety of emotions spiraling within his ashen irises. His hand never once leaves your body, instead sliding down the side of your head to cup your cheek in his palm. Whenever he touched you, it felt like TV static against your flesh, and you could see white-and-black dots begin to dance across your vision as a light hum filled your ears. 

Mr. Scarletella’s flesh is cold, and it reminds you of a corpse the chill his touch leaves in its wake. His head tilts to one side and he whispers to you, his voice barely audible above the rain crashing around you, “I want you – want to touch you.” 

Before you can even speak or formulate a response to his words, he quickly pulls his hand away from your skin. It felt like you had burnt him, yet he found himself not minding the stinging sensation that danced across his flesh. His hand dropped lifelessly to his side before he muttered an apologetic, “Sorry. Shouldn’t have touched you.”

After taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you shake your head and tell him, “...You okay,” before turning on your heel to walk away. You glance at him over your shoulder, his form becoming further soaked from the storm. It was kind of amusing, you thought, seeing such a previously powerful entity look like a stray, sopping-wet cat. 

Eventually, you gesture for him to come with one hand, the order of, “Follow me.” coming out of your lips, loud enough for him to hear.

He teleports to you before you can even finish your sentence, staring down at you with those unnerving eyes of his as he waits to see where you want to go. A huff of air forces its way out of your nose, chuckling at his obedience before you lightly graze his hand with your nails. It’s strange touching him, his form more like an illusion than a body made of flesh and blood. 

The two of you make your way across the waterlogged fields and flooded, muddy roads. Your footsteps splash in the puddles beneath you as you walk while Mr. Scarletella moves without making a single noise, merely a ghost in this world. Soon, however, the abandoned apartments come into view, and you lead him inside the old concrete structure. 

You pause as soon as your feet make contact with the cracked floor of the building, making sure that you can’t hear the sound of another living being within the hollow corridors. You close the umbrella when nothing catches your attention, making sure to shake it a few times to try and remove the raindrops that have accumulated on its surface. You watch as the water falls to the ground, making small, dark grey circles on the concrete. 

Looking over your shoulder, you watch as Mr. Scarletella watches you in return while holding the umbrella, waiting patiently for you to say something as a shiver runs down his spine. His hands that were hanging at his sides were closed, and he was clenching and unclenching his fingers almost like he was fighting the urge to place his palms against your skin once more.  

You can’t help but chuckle at his demeanor, placing the now-closed umbrella down so it was leaning against the wall. You do the same, leaning back on the wall before you hold your arms out to him, saying with a small smirk, “You can touch me.”

You jumped slightly at the speed at which he appeared in front of you. His body hunched over yours while he watched your expression intently, his black eyes partially hidden behind the thick curtain of red hair that cast shadows across his sickly complexion. Mr. Scarletella places his palm on your head, telling you smoothly, “Thank you.”

One of his hands begins to tentatively pat your skull while he enjoys the feeling of your hair against his palm. Then, his other hand soon joins, and you close your eyes while you allow him to pat you like a dog. It felt a bit demeaning in a way, but also strangely comforting, and it reminded you of one of the friendliest residents of the other world you had met. 

Your eyes flutter shut almost out of habit, allowing the man in front of you to enjoy the rare moment with you. His hands started out resting against the top and sides of your head, the movement of palms against your hair causing it to become messy and sticking up because of the static he created. 

Then, they tentatively travel to your face, cupping your cheeks before he brushes his thumbs underneath your eyes. You jolt a bit when his cold hand brushes against your neck, swallowing harshly when you feel him trace a finger down your SCM. Your breathing hitches while he explores your skin, and your teeth dig harshly into your bottom lip in response. 

Then, you feel his touch pause, and Mr. Scarletella whispers against your neck, the pad of his thumb swiping against your lips, “...blood.” 

“Oh, uh…” You open your eyes and look at him, seeing the way he’s staring up at you while his face remains close to your jugular. Your hand goes up to your lips, and you wince when you feel the soreness. When you pull your fingers away from your mouth, you see the blood that clings to them. Geez, you didn’t think you had bit your lip that hard. 

You tell Mr. Scarletella, patting his head much like how he had been doing with you, “I’m okay. Don’t stop.”

He smiles widely and lights up at your words. Suddenly, he grabs your face and hastily presses his lips to yours. Your eyes grow at the sudden act, and a strangled noise leaves your throat. It wasn’t a bad noise, per se, you just hadn’t been expecting that from him. Typically, he waited until you permitted him to do that... He must have been too excited to hold back this time around.

You were speechless when he pulled away from you, noticing your blood that was now smeared across his lips. He licks it away, his tongue peeking out from behind his lips before he asks you, “...You happy?”

You can’t help but laugh at his question, reaching up to place your hand on his head while your giggles echo throughout the empty hallways, patting him softly. Mr. Scarletella’s smile falters while he focuses on the feeling of your touch, on burning the memory of your expression and the sweet sound of your laughter into his mind. It made him feel strange knowing he was the one making you react in such a way, but it was good.

He wanted to do it more. 

“Yes, I happy. You cute.” You reply, smiling warmly at him while he stares at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“I like you.” He says, sounding almost breathless as his body hunches over more, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck while his hands explore the rest of your body, stroking and touching and petting you. Mr. Scarletella didn’t want this moment to end. 

You chuckle as his breath fans against your skin, telling him gently as you feel his fingers work out any knots in your hair, “I know.” 

“I like you, I like you, I like you…” He murmurs against your flesh, “I love you.”

[localplaguenurse]

Helmet Head

Pyramid Head Capitano x GN Reader Smut (Kinktober Week 2)

We're on week 2! This one might already be my favourite because I got to experiment with more horror writing. As a result, this one is a lot longer than Arlecchino's. I hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: Violence, body horror, blood, mild gore (honestly not really but might as well get my bases covered), other horror elements, dubcon (reader is into it but they’re also very scared and in a really fucked up situation), tenta-tongue.

Minors DNI

Your footsteps pound against the filthy tiles as you run almost blindly down the dark hallway. Screaming won’t do you any good, so you instead loudly gasp for the air your burning lungs are begging you for. You just need to create enough distance between the thing pursuing you that you can reload and take aim. 

You stumble over and drop your flashlight in the midst of the fall. You hit the ground, and you hear a crack when your flashlight does as well. Quickly you roll over and sit up, and see the flickering of your dying flashlight. 

“Fuck, fuck!” You go to reach for the light but stop at the sound of something staggering towards you from the darkness, pained croaks and garbled yelps echoing in the hospital’s hallways. You don’t know how it managed to close the distance, but you quickly snap out of your flight response when you realize this thing will be on you before you know it. 

You find your revolver still affixed to your hip, and quickly jam your hand in your pants pocket to fish out the few bullets you scrounged up. The unstable stomping of the monster echoes through the decrepit hallway, barely audible over the pounding of your heart in your ears. You pop the chamber of the revolver open and in the dark and in your terror, you struggle to load the bullets in. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” you mutter to yourself as you manage to load one, two bullets, but fumble and drop the third. You reach down and hurriedly try to find it. In your haste, you end up knocking the bullet away. It rolls into the flickering light of your flashlight, and then a bloodied, torn boot stomps down in the light. 

You shriek, quickly closing the chamber and lifting the gun into the air. You squeeze the trigger, and you see a flash of the contorted man staggering as blood bursts from his shoulder, the deafening shot rings in your ears. You pull the trigger again, and in the flash you see blood burst from the misshapen head, and that’s when it lunges forward and pins you.

You scream and thrash, pulling the trigger over and over again, but feel none of the knockback of the gun going off. You shove the heavy body off of you and keep firing. You keep pulling the trigger until your hearing returns, and you realize the only sounds you can hear are your ragged breathing and the clicking of an empty gun. You don’t hear the monster gurgling or trying to move. 

You pull yourself to your feet and stumble towards your light. You pick it up, and sigh in relief when you see it was just the lens that broke. The bulb is fine. With your light, you find the bullet you dropped in your panic. You pick it up and stick your hand in your pocket, and realize with horror that it’s empty. This is your last bullet. You have to make it last, and you have to make it count. 

You point the light at the body on the ground and cringe in revulsion at the sight of it. The doctor’s uniform is stained red and brown and black, and you don’t know how much of it is blood, or if knowing that would be any real comfort. The face is the worst part, if you can even call it that. It’s misshapen, bubbled up and swollen like a blister or cyst ready to burst. There are filthy bandages wrapped around the head, but it looks like the almost blubbery skin has meshed with or even grown over the bandages in places. Matted teal curls sprout from the top of its head. In one of its gloved hands is a large knife, caked in all sorts of filth.

You don’t remember how you got here. By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here. The last thing you remember is sitting down at the bus stop after a night out with your friends. You don’t remember getting on the bus, you don’t remember the ride, and you definitely don’t remember getting off that bus in this place. You were watching cars pass you by in the bustling city and wondering if Ajax made it home safe, and then you were waking up on a completely different bench, in a completely unfamiliar town with crumbling buildings and a perpetual fog.

You’ve been here a few days now. You’ve given up on looking for help. You don’t know what happened here, but you learned very quickly that whatever “lives” in this foggy town isn’t going to be human (at least not anymore), nor is it going to be friendly.

You’ve already encountered a few of these… fleshy bubble headed doctors, but it doesn’t make looking at this one any less horrific. They’re all over the hospital, stumbling and limping down hallways until they see something human, something living, and then they give chase. The only thing that gives you any comfort is that they’re one of the few things you can actually kill. These and those weird puppet doll things you saw in an old apartment building you checked out when you first arrived. Ironically they looked the most human compared to these doctors. Most of them had already been taken care of by the time you found them, split in half, heads crushed, short black hair torn out, absolutely brutalized. You didn’t stick around long enough to meet who or what did all of that.

You take a deep breath, and steady yourself. You’ve spent long enough in this fucking hospital. You cautiously reach down and pick up the knife the doctor is still gripping even in death, and having to touch this foul thing makes your stomach twist. Still, if you want to make it out of wherever the hell you are, you’re going to need whatever protection you can get. You doubt this knife will help you much, but it’ll better your odds.

The halls are unsettlingly quiet now on the trek back. You cautiously poke your head into open doors, seeing if there’s anything worth taking or avoiding. There’s not much as far as useful medicine or bandages go. A lot of it is either expired, or contaminated, or you’re not even really sure what the hell it is to begin with. No bullets either.

Your light begins to flicker again, before going out. Swearing, you stop to try and fix it. Fixing it, of course, being smacking against your thigh. You end up knocking the rest of the glass out as you do, but after a couple hearty hits, the light flickers and comes back to life.

You sigh, and lift your light up to look right into the malformed face of another doctor.

You do not have the opportunity to scream before the rusty pipe slams hard into your side. You cry out, toppling over on the floor. You clutch your side, and through the tears welling up in your eyes you see the shadow lift its arm back up to swing at you again. You fight through the pain and manage to crawl back enough that the pipe slams down into the cracked tile between your legs. You orient yourself and raise your flashlight. The doctor struggles to stand up straight again, but it still has a vice’s grip on the pipe. It painfully winds its arm back and steps closer to your terrified form. 

You quickly feel for your revolver, having lost track of the knife when the doctor first attacked you. You whip it out and pull the trigger, assuming that at this proximity, there’s no fucking way you would miss. Dead fucking wrong you are when this thing lunges forward to swing the pipe at your head, missing your face by millimetres while your bullet misses what would have been a perfect headshot. The flash of the gun going off lights up the hallway, and for a brief second you see a spark of ricochet just behind the doctor. Panicked, you pull the trigger again and only get an empty click. As the doctor prepares for another swing, the only thing you can hear are your thoughts.

Should have saved it for myself.

You brace yourself and hope that it’s a nice, quick swing to the head, and lights out for you.

The hit never comes. You watch the doctor stop dead in its tracks and let out a horrid, garbled scream as blood bursts from its chest. Warm droplets hit your face, and you see a large protrusion jutting out from the blood soaked coat. A blade. A sword?

The blade is pulled back out, and the doctor crumples to the floor, twitching and gurgling before finally going still and silent. That’s not what your focus is on, though.

It’s humanoid, and unfathomably massive in height and build. The skin of its arms is discoloured like a days old corpse, littered with scars and almost stained with blood. They’re also huge, the veins bulging from the biceps as if to tell you this thing could very well crush your skull with one hand if it so chose to. Considering the large, almost claymore-like blade it’s dragging around, you’re not surprised. It appears to be wearing an all black butcher’s smock, and you can see the fresh blood on the leather reflecting the beam of your flashlight. Your eyes continue moving up to its face, and find nothing. It dons a helmet that obscures the entirety of its head, save for its long, inky black hair. It almost looks like a knight’s helmet, with a metal jaw piece and a small chain dangling on each side of its head. Where the visor would be, there is none. Where the face would be, there is none. It’s a void, a maw of never ending darkness, and you can feel the abyss staring down at you.

Frozen, you stare back. You don’t know what else to do. You don’t have any ammo, you don’t know where the knife is, and you doubt the pipe would do anything to this thing. Hell, it might even just kill you if it sees you move. 

You feel sick to your stomach with fear as it slowly raises its free hand up to the helmet. There’s a sort of star shaped cross on the very front of the mask, and it gingerly touches one of the points. You look right at it, and see that while three out of four points are sharp, this one is missing the tip. You wonder what it’s doing, then recall the scene that just transpired. When you shot at the doctor, you were going for a headshot, and it missed and the bullet ricocheted off something. It hit the helmet and broke the little star tip. 

“S-Sorry…” you mumble, and you don’t think your voice has ever sounded so small.

The monster… thing… man lets out a noise. A sort of grunt of what you think is affirmation, but you only think that because this thing isn’t trying to kill you. Its staring is not comforting at all, but the fact it’s only staring gives you enough assurance to slowly and methodically stand up. The thing lifts its (his?) head as you do so, still watching. 

On your feet, you find that he still towers over you. You put your gun away and just stare back. He stands statue still, this helmet headed figure, though you can see his fingers twitch around his blade. You’re scared and torn on what your next move should be. He’s blocking your only way out of the hospital, and you hate the idea of getting closer to him to try and shimmy past, but you fear the thought of taking your eyes off of him for even a moment to backtrack and look for another way out. 

… Well, he still hasn’t killed you yet. Maybe you could talk to him?

You clear your throat, and force yourself to meet where you think his gaze is. “Th… Thank you,” you tell him, voice still a little shaky with looming anxiety. “You saved me.”

His hand twitches at the sound of your voice, and you feel a shiver run up your spine. Still, he doesn’t try anything, just continues staring at you. You take a step forward to test the waters, to see if he’ll do anything. The only thing he does is turn his head slightly to keep you in his line of sight. You feel weird for thinking it, but the hulking, helmeted figure is kind of...

You take another step forward. “Can… Can I m-move past? I’m just trying to get out of here, I-I don’t wanna bother you.”

A groan echoes out of the helmet when you get closer, freezing you in place. After a moment of quiet, you take another step, and this time it sounds more like a growl.

“Okay, I-I’ll take that as a no…” You step back, mindful of the doctor’s body. “Are you unable to let me through?”

He tilts his head.

“Like… do you need something from me? Is there something I can do or get for you to let me through?”

The man straightens his posture and sort of grumbles, but you can’t make out any words. It’s hard not to shrink under his gaze as he seemingly sizes you up head to toe. It’s very nice how he’s not killing you or chasing you down the dark halls, but you’re already regretting your offer to help him. What could you do that this hulking behemoth can’t, but also, you know doing a favour for anything or anyone in this place is bound to be a traumatizing endeavor.

You jump when you hear the screech of metal scraping on the floor. You’re immediately reminded of the actual fucking danger you’re in when the beast begins to approach with heavy footsteps you can barely hear over the scraping of his blade dragging on the floor. Fear seizes you and you immediately turn to run, but you’re not given the chance to do so before a strong hand grabs your arm. You try to pull free, but his grip is unrelenting. You’re pulled towards him with more strength than you could imagine, which sends you stumbling into his chest. 

You hear the clatter of his blade dropping to the floor, and his other hand grabs your other arm. You try to move, but he squeezes your arms tight, quietly telling you to knock it off. Your heart pounding, you look up at his helmet, wondering what he’s thinking and how the hell you’re going to get out of this.

“W-What do you want?” you ask.

After a moment of holding you and staring, you see something writhe in the darkness of his helmet. Confusion and fear twist in your stomach as you watch it slip out from within the helmet. It’s some sort of tendril tongue, you think, blackened and slimy. You watch as it traces along the metal jaws of the helmet before slipping back into the darkness.

What?

You have no idea what compels you to do this, but you find your eyes drifting down his body. To your shock, you see something poking out from under the smock—

OH.

Your jaw drops, face going pale yet also burning up. What the fuck. What the fuck. Is this thing asking for you to take care of that?! 

You tear your eyes away from the prominent tent in his crotch and look up at him. You point at it. “Y-You want me to help with that?”

He groans deeply, his tongue flicking out for a brief moment. 

You swallow, and you weigh your options. Is refusing even an option, or would he just kill you? Hell, with his strength and the size of his bulge, that alone might kill you. It’s probably something weird, too, knowing what you’ve been dealing with since arriving. That said, your other option of trying to look for another exit while there are still monsters roaming isn’t much better. You’d walk (or crawl, more likely) away from this alive, at least. Probably. 

There’s also a little voice in the back of your head telling you you’re probably going to die in this town anyways. If you’re going to die, it’s not like this is going to make your fate that much worse. Might as well get laid before you kick the bucket. 

“...” You swallow. “Just go easy on me, please?”

You shriek when the ground beneath you disappears, and you’re swung over his shoulder effortlessly. Looking behind him, you see the full glow of the exit sign, and then he starts to walk away, back in the direction you came from. The scraping of his blade on the ground is grating on your ears. 

The man, Helmet Head as you’ve decided to call him, turns into what you think is an empty exam room. He lifts the blade, and with a loud clang, stabs it down into the ground. You hardly have the chance to process what’s going on before you’re more or less dropped on the floor. You try to sit up, but Helmet Head plants his hand against your chest and firmly pushes you back down. So much for going easy, you think, but can’t deny the bizarre thrill you feel. You vaguely recall making fun of Ajax for his weird and dangerous tastes, but he might have been onto something now that you’re in the weirdest and deadliest situation you think you’ve ever been in. 

Wasting no time, his large gloved hands grasp your waist and digs his fingers under the waistband of your pants. You yelp when he yanks them down, and you hear the unmistakable sound of ripping denim. He tosses them aside, and goes to grab onto your underwear, but you throw your hands up in defense. “Hold it, I-I got it.”

Helmet Head watches you awkwardly pull your underwear down. He doesn’t even wait for you to toss them aside before his hands are on you again. He grabs hold of your legs and shoves them against your chest, folding you in half. You can feel his gaze focused on your sex, your heart pounding in your chest.

You watch as his tongue slips out from the darkness of his helmet. With his hands still hooked under your knees, he lowers his massive body with a groan. You can feel and hear his hot, heavy breathing echo from his helmet and fan over your chilled skin. Goosebumps raise up on your skin as you realize what he’s about to do.

You think you open your mouth to protest, to tell him to slow down, but the thought is gone the moment you feel his thick tongue slip into your hole. You gasp and jolt, whining as you feel it twist and writhe deeper inside you. Shocks of pleasure shoot up your spine at the feeling, making you moan with every movement. You scrape your nails against the tile in an effort to steady yourself. 

He grunts and groans as he slowly pumps his tongue in and out of you, the debauched sounds sending heat through your whole body. The only reason you’re not writhing uncontrollably is the death grip Helmet Head has on your legs. You almost want to grab his head to pull him closer, but there’s still that somewhat logical side of your brain that tells you it’s not worth the risk of provoking him. That voice is mostly drowned out by your own cries of pleasure as his tongue sinks deeper inside you, pressing into your sweet spots with ease.

Abruptly, his tongue slithers out of you and disappears into the helmet again. You whine at the empty feeling, lamenting how good it was starting to get. The lamenting is cut short when you are unceremoniously flipped over onto your stomach. You go to sit up on your hands and knees, only to be shoved back against the floor, cheek pressed against the cold, dirty tiles.

You hear the click of buckles, the shifting of leather rubbing on leather. You hear the echoey rasping of Helmet Head, and then you feel something nudging against you. Your eyes widen. You’re actually doing this. You’re actually going to fuck this thing. You take a deep breath and attempt to relax your body as much as you can. You didn’t get a good look at his cock, only the outline of it from under his smock, but you know it’s gonna be huge.

He nudges the tip against your whole, pressing into it. You whine at the stretch, and gasp when it finally slips inside. You feel your stomach flutter and your face go pale. This is only the tip, and yet it feels so much thicker than his tongue. Still, you try to control your breathing and relax yourself.

The agonizing stretch as he slowly inches deeper and deeper inside you is absolutely maddening. You’re forever thankful that he at least listened to your request about going easy, but that only helps you so much. You’re not in pain, but the feeling is so overwhelming that it feels like with every inch that manages to sink further inside your hole, the less air you’re able to breathe.

You shudder in relief when you feel his hips finally press up against your ass. Warmth fills your body at how full you feel with him down to the hilt inside you. The little air you have in your lungs is immediately knocked out when Helmet Head begins to draw back. He slips out about halfway before he abruptly pushes back into you, making you shriek in shock and pleasure. 

His pace is by no means brutally fast or hard, but he sure as shit isn’t soft and gentle with you. Every breath is knocked out of you in some vulgar moan or profane sob whenever his fat cock is thrust into your sensitive spots. You feel shame, you should feel shame. You should feel shame and disgust for letting such a creature defile you, and yet you don’t. In fact, it somehow makes the pleasure more intense, knowing how wrong this all is, knowing the danger you’re in right now.

“More,” you choke out between moans, “f-fuck me, I need it, I want it!”

You shriek when he draws back all the way only to immediately slam back down to the hilt. You feel your eyes rolling back, drool running down your chin as he repeatedly slams back into you at full force and full speed. Your chest burns as you try to breathe, but the suffocating feeling of his fat cock stretching and filling you only makes your head lighter and your body hotter.

Your whole body shakes and your teary eyed vision goes white as you feel your orgasm hit you full force. You clamp down on Helmet Head’s cock, but neither that nor your climax slows him down. He doesn’t stop, even when you start clawing at the tiles, shrieking that it’s too much, he’s too much. He doesn’t stop when his unrelenting pounding forces you into a second orgasm, or when he brings you to overstimulated tears. 

It’s when you’re somewhere between your third or fourth climax, or while you’re still experiencing your third, that Helmet Head roars and slams into you so hard that he pins your hips down into the ground. His body goes rigid, his panting just as loud as yours, and you let out a pathetic little sob of relief that the pleasure has come to an end. That’s when you feel him swell inside you, and warm floods your insides and spills out at the edges. You whine and try to move away, but his weight is holding you in place against the floor, forcing you to take every drop he has to give you. 

It feels like an eternity before the heavy weight of his imposing figure finally lifts. You’re so exhausted and your throat is so raw that you hardly have the strength or voice to whine when he finally pulls out. You weakly reach down between your legs, feeling his seed pour out of your stretched hole.

Despite the ringing and pounding in your ears, and the dizzying pleasure clouding your mind, you’re just cognizant enough to hear the outside world. At first, you think the sound is just the ringing of your ears, until it starts to get louder. It’s an awful, wailing noise, and it takes you a moment to realize you know what that sound is. It’s a siren, it’s the siren, the siren that goes off when everything is either about to go to shit, or it’s about to be less shit.

You heard Helmet Head groaning again, and you just barely have the strength to roll over and look. You watch as he gets to his feet, adjusting the straps on his smock. He reaches over and wraps his gloved hand around the handle of his weapon. Effortlessly, he yanks it free, and for a second you wonder if he’s going to impale you right here.

Instead, you watch as he completely turns around and heads for the door, dragging his weapon behind him. He turns in the direction of the building’s exit, and soon disappears from view. You can still hear the screeches of metal on tile echo down the hall, slowly growing quieter before disappearing altogether.

You lay back on the floor, your head flopping to the side. You find yourself peering under one of the medicine cabinets, when you notice something odd. There’s something underneath it. With little strength and aching legs, you manage to crawl over to the cabinet, You slide your hand underneath and are just barely able to reach the strange item.

You pull it out, and your eyes widen. It’s a full, albeit small, box of revolver ammunition. You feel a smile curl onto your lips, and let out an exhausted laugh. Looks like you’re not dying that soon.

Maybe you’ll live long enough to see him again.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

141 Movie Night of TERROR

Pairing: Poly!Task Force 141 x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, jump scares, mild horror elements, affectionate teasing, cuddling, soft domestic moments

Author's Note: A continuation of the Game Night. I’m making this a series BECAUSE THIS IS BECOMING MY FAVORITE SERIES NOW HAHA

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Movie night with Task Force 141 was supposed to be a simple, relaxing evening. Supposed to be.

It had started off peacefully enough. You were curled up on the couch between Gaz and Soap, with Price sitting on the recliner nursing a drink, and Ghost looming in the corner like some kind of movie-watching gargoyle. It was your turn to pick the film—a rare privilege since Soap and Gaz usually hijacked the remote. You had chosen a classic horror flick, something eerie and suspenseful, just enough to keep things interesting.

The moment the ominous music started, though, things quickly descended into chaos.

Soap had taken it upon himself to narrate. “Oh, this is the one where there’s two ki—”

“Shut it.” Ghost’s voice was low, edged with a warning. He was perched on the arm of the couch, arms crossed, looking entirely unbothered. But you knew better. You saw the way his fingers flexed every time the tension built.

Gaz, ever the analyst, was muttering beside you. “See, that’s stupid. Why would you ever go upstairs? There’s literally a front door.”

“Because it’s a horror film, Garrick,” Price sighed, swirling his drink. “They have to make dumb choices, or there’s no film.”

Then came the first jump scare, and Soap practically launched his popcorn into the air. “JESUS FUCKIN’ CHRIST! THERES THE BLOOD AND-”

You barely held back a laugh as Gaz startled beside you, gripping your knee before realizing what he’d done and pulling away sheepishly. “Nope. I’m out. That’s enough of that.”

“You can’t just leave! We’re not even half way through! Let alone done!” you teased, tugging him back down, tucking yourself further against his side. He huffed but didn’t resist when you intertwined your fingers.

Ghost scoffed, arms still crossed. “Pathetic.”

“Oh, like you didn’t jump,” Soap shot back, reaching over you to shove Ghost’s arm.

Ghost barely reacted. “Didn’t.”

You smirked and nudged Soap. “He totally jumped.”

“Absolutely,” Gaz agreed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Ghost just shook his head, unimpressed. But when you shifted against him, subtly tucking your feet beneath his legs, he didn’t move them away. Instead, he placed a hand on your knee, warm and grounding.

As the movie progressed, the tension built. You found yourself curled against Soap now, his arm slung lazily around your shoulders. Gaz was practically tucked against your other side, his hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles absentmindedly. Price, still the most composed, simply stretched, resting his arm on the back of the recliner, watching you all with a small, knowing smirk.

Then came the climax—a perfectly timed scare, a horrifying face in the shadows, and Soap damn near leaped out of his skin.

“FUCKIN’ HELL!”

Gaz nearly toppled off the couch, grabbing onto you to keep himself upright. You gasped, heart hammering, and instinctively buried your face into Soap’s shoulder. He let out a nervous laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Aye, love, wasn’t expectin’ that one.”

Ghost exhaled through his nose. “Called that scare an hour ago.”

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure you did, mate.”

The movie finally ended, the eerie music fading into silence. You stretched, releasing a satisfied sigh. “That was amazing.”

Soap groaned. “Could’ve used fewer near heart attacks.”

Gaz, still gripping your hand, nudged you. “Alright, you picked this one. Next time, we’re doin’ something not terrifying.”

Ghost, ever the brooding one, muttered, “Not watchin’ any of your horror films again.”

You smiled up at him, shifting so you were nearly in his lap. “Aw, big guy, did it spook you?”

He grunted, but the way his hand tightened on your waist gave him away. “Nah, jus’ a bit borin’ is all.”   

Price stood, stretching with a smirk. “Right, next time, I’m pickin’. We’re watchin’ something good.”

Soap scoffed. “Oh, aye? What’s ‘good’ to you? Documentaries?”

You grinned as the playful debate continued, shifting to lie across Soap and Gaz, while Ghost remained at your back, and Price, ever the protective one, ruffled your hair on his way past. No matter what movie was chosen, it was never really about the film. It was about this—the warmth, the love, the constant teasing.

And that? That was better than any horror movie could ever be. 

“I’m still picking the movie next time, there’s a part two after all!” You say in excitement as the boys all groan with protests as you were dragged into one of their bedrooms for the night after they rose from the couch.   

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[jincapableoflove]

House of Cards | one-shot (TEASER)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Releasing on: March 3rd, 2025

Genre/Tags: yandere! jungkook, psychological thriller, dark romance, unreliable narrator, toxic relationships, angst, slight fluff

Summary: Your life with Jungkook is perfect—until the cracks begin to show. A photo with the wrong date. A diary filled with memories you don’t recall. A door that vanishes overnight. And Jungkook—always there, always watching, always pulling you back when you start to question too much. You know something is wrong. But the real question is: Have you forgotten… or were you made to?

Word count: tbd (currently at 6k)

Teaser word count: 233

Warnings: memory manipulation, gaslighting, psychological abuse, dark themes, obsessive love, paranoia, identity crisis, emotional distress, forced dependency, thriller elements, unsettling atmosphere, toxic relationships, mild horror undertones (unsettling imagery, eerie reflections, distorted reality), death/loss of a loved one.

A/N: oops this got a bit dark while writing. ive been obsessed with this genre for a while! lmk if u have any bts fanfic suggestions of this same theme (not yandere jungkook im talking about psychological thrillers) taglist is openn! if ur interested to be a part of it then drop a message below this post or send me an ask!

Loving hands, a silver tongue, A story twisted, memories undone. A door appears, then fades away, Were you lost, or made to stay? He swears it’s love, whispers sweet, But chains wrapped soft still bind your feet.

The coffee is smooth, comforting. Jungkook leans against the counter, watching you sip from the mug he made for you. The morning hums around you—soft music, the rustle of the wind outside, the distant murmur of the city waking up.

Everything feels normal.

But the feeling from earlier still lingers.

Your eyes wander absently as you take another sip, landing on the fridge. A small Polaroid is pinned to the surface with a cat-shaped magnet. You and Jungkook, standing in front of what looks like a park, his arm curled around your waist, your head tilted against his shoulder. The two of you are smiling—wide, happy, in love.

Your fingers tighten around the mug. Something isn’t right.

You step closer, peeling the photo off the fridge. On the back, in your own handwriting, a date is scrawled: Three years ago.

You frown. That’s not possible.

You and Jungkook have been together for a year. You remember it so clearly—your first date, the way he kissed you under flickering streetlights, the way he whispered he loved you for the first time last winter.

Three years ago, you didn’t even know him.

A chill creeps up your spine.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! if you are interested in being a part of it please drop a message below this post or send me an ask!

[gotham-daydreams]

Writhing

Day 4 {Challenge Masterlist}

A day away. The end is near, but they get closer. Too close.

[Yandere Batfam x Gender Neutral! Cop Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of suicide (only mentioned in dialog), cult, occult like activities, rituals, implied human sacrifice (in dialog), sort of implied gore?, body horror, violence, blood (minor), bodily fluids (minor), flesh, general mild gore, gross description (?).] (Note: Unless otherwise specified, it's to be believed that actions involved with harming, hurting, or heavily injuring the self are not talking about the Batfamily or the reader. Still, you have been warned.)

Oops! A little late on this one, my bad! Body horror elements come in at the end of the chapter, when Selina says something to Bruce. It's over when Jason says "Thank god, he finally shut up-"

If there is such things as 'partial'/'soft' dead dove, that's how I would describe the end of this day.

-------------------------------

The day is hotter than it’s ever been for fall in Gotham, and nearly everyone could feel it. Yet, strangely enough, a noticeable amount of people seem perfectly fine with it – even if some are practically sweating in their clothes, they still go about their lives almost scarily unbothered.

Most would think that Duke would be complaining, or at the very least breaking a sweat with how long he’s been in his suit, but strangely enough, he feels comfortable like this. Almost content, but he couldn’t be – not while being so far away from you. A window was the only thing truly separating you from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it and slip in. Almost like something deep inside of him was telling him you wouldn’t like it if he did, and Duke couldn’t understand why. You’ve been so nice to him up until this point, so welcoming – so you wouldn’t mind if he popped in extra early, would you? Sure you wouldn’t, Duke couldn’t imagine if you did, but he’s sure you’d understand anyway. If only he could explain it to you. Explain how he’s been feeling and that he had to be inside. Then you’d understand, forgive him, and everything would be okay.

Yet, something was still keeping him out, and it was honestly getting on his last nerve.

How Duke managed to slip out of the Batcave didn’t matter – not like he remembered, anyway. What mattered was figuring what was keeping him out so he could get in-

The young vigilante watches as you slowly, almost painstakingly begin to rise from your bed to sit up. For a moment, he holds his breath, hoping and nearly pleading with all his heart that you’re awake – only to see that your eyes are still closed, and it’s still hours away from when you’d usually be up. The only difference being is that your body moved in accordance to the sun, and you rose as it did. Almost as if you two were in sync somehow, and Duke couldn’t help but find that endlessly interesting instead of strange.

Even so, he had hoped you would have actually been awake – but he could be polite, so he waited. It wasn’t very comfortable being perched on the fire escape like this, but for something like this? Duke didn’t mind, especially not when he got to spend so much time with you. When it was just the two of you, alone, together.

Duke couldn’t even feel himself sweating in his suit, but even if he could – he didn’t care. He couldn’t. Not with you in his sights.

Time passed by like sand slipping through his hands, with only the smallest bits remaining under Duke’s nails and in the lines of his palm. Since he could feel it pass, albeit faintly, and could acknowledge its passing as well, but the actual length was lost on him – as if only minutes or seconds had flown by in the place of the few hours that escaped his memory.

Not that it mattered, as once Duke saw you begin to stir and wake up, he couldn’t help but feel all giddy as he practically jumped to your window sill, and tapped on the window despite the nagging feeling that tried to stop him. He watches as you rub your eyes before glancing over to him.

Another feeling washes over Duke, one of denial – and he finds himself panicking. You had to let him in. You would, right? You wouldn’t turn him away, would you? You couldn’t leave him out in the heat like this, you had come here for you. You can’t turn him away. No. No Duke can’t accept this – who are you? Where did you go? Did someone replace you? Was this a fake? Just what was going on-

The young vigilante’s thoughts are cut off as you open the window. “What’re you doing here, kid? I don’t remember making a call… unless there’s some trouble nearby?” Duke almost forgot he was in the suit, and he almost wanted to rip it off now, but he managed to keep it on… even if he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe despite how his own cowl was designed. Thank god, you were fine. Normal.

“I was just on patrol and, uh, decided to swing by? See how things are going, especially with all the activity around in the city as of late–” Duke is quick to reply, clearing his throat before admitting. “And I just wanted to see how you’re doing, y’know? Can’t imagine that things have been exactly easy these past few nights.”

You raise a brow, but just sigh and shake your head at his words. “Well, I appreciate the thought, but I got to get on with my morning, Signal.”

“I- I know! I just wanted to… do a search.”

“A… search?”

“Yeah, like- do you have any plants or anything around here?”

“Well, yes-”

“Perfect! Gotta check them and make sure they’re all good and healthy. It shouldn’t take long, and I won’t get in the way of anything, I promise!”

You can only raise a brow, but eventually relent and give a tired but amused, “Fine, do what you have to, then.”

So, you go on with your morning. Just getting ready, and keeping an eye on Duke – especially as he tries to make conversation. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but considering where you’re supposed to be standing, it is odd. Though, it only made you feel better as you decided to entertain him a little. Answering his questions, holding the position you’ve managed to maintain for the past few days, and keeping up appearances. It was easier during the day for countless reasons, a good night’s rest being one of them. Staying up was really taking a toll, and you needed your energy for what’s to come.

Nevertheless, it quickly comes to a point where Duke is obviously trying to stay, and you can’t figure out why. You feel like you’ve dropped enough hints at this rate, and so you try to confront him about it gently… only for him to stumble over his words and struggle to speak for whatever reason. It’s honestly a little frustrating, but you can work with this. You’ve dealt with worse than a clingy kid in a costume.

So, putting on a more natural smile as you remember to compose yourself, you make the same offer that’s always worked for you time and time again.

“Say, why don’t we have a bit of breakfast?”

— — — – — – — — — — — —

Barbara was beginning to regret taking Dick’s advice on getting some air, especially now that she was a few ways away from the only useful computer they could use at the moment. She appreciated the effort, but given the countdown and the list of questions they still have to answer – well, they didn’t exactly have a lot of time for a break.

Still, it was nice getting out of the clock tower for a bit. That much Barbara could agree with, even if it was strangely hot for fall… it couldn’t be the work of another villain, could it? They had their hands full enough as it is, and this cult wasn’t helping with that – not to mention the fact they didn’t know if it was just that.

“Ugh, why’s it so warm? I don’t remember fall being this hot.. did the news even mention something like this?”

Dick hums for a moment, and gives a shrug as they continue down the street, “Hm, I don’t think so! Just said something about today being nice?” He snickers slightly, “A little ironic, huh? It’s almost like they’re trying to downplay it! But who knows? Maybe they don’t even notice!”

Barbara can only huff in response, “How can they not? It’s almost like spring out here, or even summer, honestly-”

[“Oracle, focus.” Bruce’s voice so rudely pierces through the moment.]

“I would be if someone hadn’t taken me out.”

“Hey! It’s not a crime to get some fresh air every once in a while! Especially when on a tough, grueling case like this… you know that if we keep going at it with no breaks, we’ll all drop before that countdown even finishes.” Dick tries to defend himself, and Bruce at least acknowledges his point by staying silent – the only sign of him still being on the line being a gruff exhale he lets out.

Barbara just shakes her head and rolls her eyes, not bothering with a response as she waves off Dick’s words and usual antics. Though, it was a nice change of pace compared to how the last few nights have been – even if they somehow managed to avoid any more deaths last night. Tragedy was to be expected in their line of work, and Gotham’s reputation only made that more apparent, but this was… something else. It didn’t feel like they were any closer to figuring out the answers to questions they had even at the start of all this, or only had half of a possible answer. Like how they knew the other groups Clark was able to track are heading towards major cities, but they still didn’t know why aside from the Red Dawn you had mentioned.

At this point, it almost felt like a goose chase! And if they didn’t get anything concrete fast, who knows what could happen-?

“... Hey, what’s with all the people in front of that book store?” Barbara points out as she taps Dick’s shoulder, grabbing the officer’s attention.

Humming, he looks over to where Barbara was gesturing towards, and shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe there’s a sale or something? Some famous person released a new volume?” The very idea nearly makes her laugh, and as much as Barbara wants to – she’s getting a weird feeling about it. Like something important was going on over there, and that she had to check it out now.

“Well, it couldn’t hurt to check it out, right?” She suggests, only for Dick to remain where he was, which only now she realizes that they’ve stopped moving all together. Huh, when did that happen?

Nevertheless, Dick gives the shop a once over, his eyes narrowing slightly at the crowd that’s formed in front of it, and is continuing to grow as the seconds pass. Some still walk past, and seem to mind their own business – but for some reason, others seem drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and there could be only one explanation for it.

“Nah, I think we’ll be fine right here.” He says, sounding almost a little too sure of himself.

Barbara raises a brow and looks over to Dick, curious but also a bit annoyed for reasons even she can’t place. “Why do you think that-?”

Before she can even finish, you come strolling out from the alley just a few inches ahead of them, and Barbara blinks in slight surprise. What were you doing awake-?

“Hey, [Last Name]!” Dick greets without missing a beat, an odd sort of smile making its way across his face. “Where were you last night?”

You look over to him, blinking as well before straightening yourself out. “Oh! Officer Grayson, what a surprise… and Ms. Gordon? What are you both doing out?”

Barbara’s brows furrow, but before she could speak up, Dick spoke up again. “I asked you first, [Last Name]. Where have you been? I can’t imagine you’d take the night off in the middle of a serious situation.”

“I’m… sorry, but something had come up- and I apologize, but I don’t remember anyone mentioning you looking for me?”

“So you were on duty last night-?”

Barbara nudges Dick’s arm, “I’m sorry for my friend here, you’re one of the officers that came in from Metropolis, right?" She interrupts, surprising you a little more. Though, you take the opportunity and give a nod, offering a hand - one that Dick eyes before looking back at you.

Not once does he even attempt to glance at his supposed ally.

"Yes! Officer [Last Name] at your service, ma'am. It's been an honor working with your father."

Barbara nods, taking your hand... which gives her an oddly tingly feeling. One that makes the hairs on her arm stand, but she hardly notices. "Really? Well, I wouldn't get too used to that - wouldn't want to stay in Gotham for longer then you'd have to, right?" She laughs lightly, "I hope the city hasn't been too much of a handful, Officer."

"Oh, there's no need for that, Gordon! Everything's gone... well, as good as it can. We're doing all we can to resolve things as quickly as possible- I assure you." You try to reassure, and while Barbara appreciates the effort - she was still getting the funniest feeling that you were down playing the situation too much. To say you were calm felt like an understatement, you're more laid-back then anything, and for a case like this? That didn't feel like a good thing.

Still, she plays along as well. "Is that so? Then is there anything you know about the case?"

"Well, I don't think we know more then the commissioner's friend per say, but the detective's coming in later and-"

"Wait, the detective-?"

It's only then that you notice something, and already try to take your leave.

"I really wish we had more time to discuss! But I must be going now, please forgive me, Gordon- ah, and of course you, Grayson."

"[Last Name]-!"

Dick's plea is swallowed by the sizable crowd that passes them, and almost seems to go in the direction you were headed in. Yet, when trying to catch a glimpse of you - you're nowhere to be found.

Folding his hands into fists, Dick's nails dig into his palms - something he doesn't even seem to notice or feel. "Damn it." He curses under his breath. So much for that, now he'll have to-

"What was that about?" Barbara can't help but ask out loud, looking at the crowd that was already disappearing before glancing up at Dick. The expression he wore making her worried, and she reached out a hand. "Hey, you okay?"

He shakes it off, and just gives a nod, smile strained. "Just peachy, Babs."

Again, before Barbara could another word out - her phone buzzes, and it's only then that she realizes her commlink was disconnected for... whatever reason? Nevertheless, she picks it up, and tries to gesture to Dick that they should go, which... takes a while. Almost too long, considering how they've got less then twenty-four hours left on that countdown.

Selina's on the line, and she and Barbara try to figure out what they can - and Barbara can't exactly place it, but it feels like only her and Selina are even somewhat level headed. It makes no sense, and she doesn't have time to dwell on it, so Barbara just pushes it to the side for now.

Somehow, they're still having trouble getting the Batcomputer up and running, so Tim and the samples are going to be at the clock tower for the time being so they can continue to work despite the 'hiccup'. Until nightfall comes, Bruce is looking into what he can while trying to get the Batcomputer even semi-functional, and is talking with everyone he can, sharing all the information they have at the moment - trying to see if anyone else knows something they don't.

Meanwhile the other's seem to be doing... something. What exactly? No one's totally sure, but considering the time they've got left? Well, they can only assume it's something useful.

Which... made Barbara remember something just as the call ended. Sighing, she just sits back as her wheelchair continues down the sidewalk. "Where even is Duke, anyway? I can't believe he managed to slip past everyone before his patrol... and before we could come up with a plan too." She can't help but grumble, but really only hoped the kid was okay.

Dick, who had been quiet even since they turned back around - let his silence linger for a moment longer, as if thinking before responding. "Something tells me he's on patrol."

Barbara glances at Dick once more, "Oh yeah? And how can you figure that out when he left without his phone and commlink somehow?" 

Dick only gives a smile, one that Barbara had never seen before that gives her... mixed emotions at best. His eyes closed, and though the rays of sun only made him look better, Barbara couldn't deny the way his heart paused at the sight. What kind of smile even is that-?

"I've just got a really good feeling. So let's go back to the tower, m'kay?"

For once, the chirp in Dick's tone did little to ease Barbara's sudden feeling of dread. One that all too quickly turned into something similar to comfort, and she couldn't even fathom why.

— — — — — — — — — —

Before the moon even has the chance to fully rise, a certain mishmash family of vigilantes is still hard at work. Whatever a few of the others were working on in the batcave, Duke joined them the moment he got home - but after his suit was put aside, and practically put on quarantine with how much of the red stuff it had on it. It was like sand and had gotten into every small crevasse it could - and not just in the suit.

When asked about it, Duke just didn't know. Claiming he didn't remember even losing the suit, but knew he had it on this morning because - well, why wouldn't he? The questioning seemed to confuse him as much as everyone else, and Dick eventually put a stop to it... strangely enough.

Nevertheless, Tim was able to find a bit more information, and when asked he simply said, "Well, I don't think it'll help us right now but... these guys- the group, at least- has been around for a while now. Not like Ancient Egyptians or anything, but they've definitely been around longer than just a few months. It's hard to pinpoint when they were exactly formed or founded, but I'll give it a few years. Maybe even decades."

Chipping in, Barbara adds, "They've got their hands in just about anything you can imagine. It's hard to tie them to politics, but they've got banks, industries, and so on that have supported various churches that are around some of the areas Clark marked before... well, the black out last night. Thank god a backup was sent to the Clock Tower's database."

Tim hums in agreement, "Exactly. And, to add on to that- but even some businesses have given to a few of these churches or groups, but most seem to have their own way of spreading... whatever this is. Though, if only certain banks from these companies support the 'cause', or the company itself supports it is harder to figure out."

"Again, not super helpful, but definitely gives a better idea of who these guys are. Wouldn't be surprised if for most, this is a legitimate religion disguised as another."

Well, Tim was right - it didn't help them immediately, but it gave a bit of insight. These guys have been around for a while, but now the question is why they're popping up now, and if it's because of this 'Red Dawn', then they absolutely have to find out what that means before time is up. However, amongst the investigation, another question eventually pops up, and one that almost feels foolish to skip over.

Where are the bodies from the people who were involved with this cult, but ended up killing themselves when caught-?

Then, Bruce's phone rings just as he's about to contact Gordon. It's not a number he recognizes, but something, for some reason not even he can explain, compels him to pick it up.

Before Bruce himself can even try to resist, the button is already pressed.

[The person on the other end clears their throat before speaking. “Hello? This is Detective Greenwood, and to my understanding, this is Batman’s number?”]

Of course, naturally, Bruce doesn’t say anything. More or less just… confused. Was this even real? How could anyone expect him to believe that the detective that’s been absent for nearly four days, maybe even longer, is only now trying to show up? Talk about convenience. Not to mention priorities and dedication.

[The man on the other end sighs. “Well, if this is the right number or not, I’ll find out soon enough. I’ve heard you're not exactly a patient man, so I’ll keep this short- just for you. Meet me at the diner on fifth. It’s getting late, I know. Place is about to close, but I’ll be here until it does. If it’s closed when you decide to come by? I’ll be at the station, cleaning up the mess.” A beat of silence passes, and a small clinking sound could be heard before he adds, “I’m sure you’re aware we don’t have much time, but hey. The choice is yours.”]

With that, the call ends, and Bruce is momentarily left in silence. Everyone else is doing their own thing and trying to figure out a plan of action they all agree upon but this… this could change things – but that all depends on what this detective knows. The timing itself is a little more than suspicious, and while you had apparently mentioned the detective’s arrival earlier, being gone for so long, and during a time like this no less… almost nothing could make Bruce any less trusting of this. While he trusted your credibility somewhat – and that’s mostly due to Clark being able to back up the information you’ve been able to provide thus far – there’s no telling if this detective had any new information they haven’t figured out already.

… Yet with the time they have, and their lack of knowledge of what it even means, they didn’t exactly have the time to be nitpicky – and though it was highly unlikely, having someone explain or give a clue as to what this ‘Red Dawn’ even is would also be useful.

A rough sigh escapes Bruce, and from that alone, the room goes quiet. Glancing at the timer on the holographic screen of the Batcomputer, he takes a second or so before getting to work. “Dick, you’re coming with me to see this… detective. Selina, go with Damian to see where the bodies are. Jason and Cassandra? …Don’t follow too close behind.” They didn’t exactly have time to argue, and with Duke, Stephanie, and Tim doing something else? This’ll have to do.

Regardless, even if some disagreements and such are made, they all set out, and into the unforgiving city once again.

Knowing the area like the back of your hand certainly had its perks, and finding the diner itself isn’t very hard. Though before they can even think about stepping inside, the sheer emptiness inside the establishment is… not one any of them are familiar with. Not during a time like this, and especially not when there’s a bar inside the establishment. To say they’d stand out would be putting it nicely, but the invitation is already given once the single patron in the diner notices the only two visible figures outside and for them to come in.

Playing along never feels good, but what choice do they have? Besides, as if knowing something, Dick is the one that takes the first step forward. Bruce slides into the booth last.

Conversation sparks up, and it goes about as well as one would expect. The obvious questions are asked, but nothing notable or of any real importance is given. Greenwood only apologizes for his absence, gives little reasoning for it aside from ‘being caught up with something’ – as that’s something noteworthy, and yet not even Bruce has been informed of it. So, things are off to a great start.

Almost seemingly out of habit, Greenwood offers anything he can, only to be declined – something he just shrugs off before taking a stip of his coffee, or what looks to be something like it, as despite the hint of color Bruce swears he can see in the mug, it’s too dark to be much else. Still, all too aware of the time limit they’re working on, Bruce gets straight to the point, and Greenwood follows right along. As if to ease things, he even offers for the pair to call him John. Hm. That’s the first name he’s gotten out of the new batch without looking through records.

Strangely enough, Greenwood takes the time to even reassure them, saying of the waiter – the only employee visible at the moment, is blind. So they won’t have to worry about anyone spreading any rumors about seeing the Big Bat and Nightwing themselves in a diner late at night. When Dick remarks about passerbys, Greenwood only says, “A friend of mine’s got that handled.”

When Bruce understandably asks, “And who is this ‘friend’ of yours.”

Greenwood strangely responds with, “Well, I can’t say much for a list of reasons. But they’ve got a way with people, and even got me your number. That’s all you’ve got to know.” Pushing up the shades he wore all the while. There was no need for him, but the detective never made a move to take them off. Like they were a part of him.

To say the conversation got any more useful from there would be a lie. Greenwood treats it too casually, almost infuriatingly so considering the situation they’re in, but Bruce is able to remain patient despite it all, and Dick looks like he’s biting his tongue. Though, as if catching wind of this, the detective decides to finally move things in a meaningful direction, and offers for them to head to the station – which is conveniently when the diner was about a minute or so away from closing. Which, Bruce takes notice of how Greenwood pays as they move to stand. A Rose Bank card, huh? That’s… new.

Even as both vigilantes readily take the opportunity to meet the detective at the station, and in his office, the quietness at the city gnaws at Bruce.

Of course it bothers him more than he’ll ever let on, but it gets to him all the same. It doesn’t help that Bruce can’t explain it, but the silence itself feels like a taunt of sorts. Like a jab at him specifically – a show of how in all his years of being Batman and trying to look after this city for as long as he has, it’s only now, under mysterious circumstances and in the midst of this disaster of a situation, is the city finally quiet. Even if it’s not in the way Bruce wants it to be. Especially since it’s not the way Bruce would have wanted it to be.

Whoever’s behind this has got a real funny sense of humor, Bruce will give them that.

… Eventually, Greenwood reappears and greets the pair – seemingly unfazed by the fact that they’re already in his office, even if he does make a show of acting a little shocked. Hm.

“I assume you’ve gone through the files I’ve had out already?” It’s a promising start, at least. Especially when compared to being offered coffee just moments before.

Still, Bruce just narrows his eyes, and Dick remains… oddly quiet – something that’s starting to make Bruce question if he made the right choice with bringing him along. Though, there’s no time for regrets now, is there? “Among other things. Your investigation has been…”

“Confusing? Nonsensical? Well… I can’t really blame you there. Everything dealing with them seems odd at best. Alien, perhaps, at worst.”

Bruce raises a brow under the cowl, only for them to furrow a second after. “Alien?”

Greenwood nods, “Put simply, yes. Some of the rituals performed by this group in the past have made little to no sense, and can vary in… well, intensity, so to speak. I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened the other day? It’s unfortunate and upsetting, yes- but it does tie into a theme this group seems to exhibit with everything they do.” Opening a file, he lays it out on the table, and the pictures shown are not for the faint of heart. To even say they were grotesque is putting it lightly. “Sacrifice.”

“... The human sacrifice kind?” Dick asks, but for a strange reason, Bruce already gets the feeling his son knows the answer – something that only makes him more unsure of all this, even if, strangely enough, a part of him is starting to almost accept it?

Regardless, Greenwood shakes his head. “Not quite, even if I don’t blame you for jumping to that straight away. Their version of sacrifice seems more… personal, or at least to differ greatly depending on the ritual. It’s hard to say what people are making these sacrifices for- but if you’ve talked with anyone who may be in this group, their reasons tend to differ. Like they were all promised something that caters to them specifically, and thus whatever it is, through these rituals- they are making the necessary sacrifice for it. Such as their eyes, legs, arms, heart, soul-”

“Life.” Bruce finishes, and Greenwood nods. Though, with all of this, only one question seems obvious. “How does the head of the group even know what someone would be willing to make such big sacrifices for? Especially if they’re all personalized.”

“That’s where the weird part comes in, since… well, in all my time as a detective working on this case- I haven’t been able to figure that out. At a certain point, they seem to just know.”

Bruce’s brows further knit together, and his eyes narrow further, “That doesn’t make any sense-”

[“Hey~ Bats? Yeah… you know those bodies you had me and the kid snoop around for-? Which, you owe me big time for this, just fyi.” Selina’s voice rings through the commlink.]

Bruce pauses, left staring at Greenwood while Dick glances at him. The detective raises a brow.

[“Well, we’ve only got a couple of empty caskets from the couple of thugs that were from Gotham, just a bunch of that weird powder you’ve been obsessing over.” There’s a brief pause before she adds, “Kid thinks this is how they make the stuff. If so, with all the followers they have, and assuming they’re just as ‘devoted’ as the one’s we’re looking for? I think we’re way in over our heads here, B.”]

The vigilante didn’t even get a chance to respond, as an odd smirk grew on Greenwood’s face. “That’s the signal, huh? Damn, and here I thought I’d get a few more minutes in. Such a shame, you folk are really on top of things. Reminds me a bit of myself in my earlier days, honestly.” A sickening pop sounds, followed by the sickening echo of cracks and grinding bones as John’s arm extends unnaturally long.

His fingers become as thin as pencil tips, only to get filled as some sort of mass builds from the inside, and grows so large it strains the skin until it pops. Strings of nerves try to reconnect where they shouldn’t, muscle moves to almost reconstruct a stronger, larger arm - with bits of left over skin and flesh moving with it. Nothing ever stops moving, like it can’t ever settle in one spot, and the sheer mass of it all can be seen moving and writhing under John’s skin. Trying to spread itself over parts of his body with its gift.

Finally, he removes his shades, and reveals irises with a pale star pattern that shouldn’t be possible. Something that flickers and moves, with the sclera pulsating with prominent, red veins that only seem to be itching their way closer to the iris with each growth of flesh his body manages to create and sustain. Like a parasite itching to feed, and having been left to starve, it latches onto the side of his face, and practically devours his eye lid - revealing the muscle underneath, and using the mass of the skin to add to the muscular arm – which can hardly hold itself at the end, and comes undone in a pile of fleshy, squelching tendrils that wiggle and inch towards the heroes.

“Well, it’s as they say.” John chuckles, voice already breaking apart, and already beginning to sound wrong in every way. “It’s parents who make the ultimate sacrifice for their children.”

With that, the amalgamation of flesh in human form vaults over the desk, and grins as it launches itself forward, ”IT'S TIME FOR ME TO SEE MY LITTLE GIRL! You surely understand, don’t you, Man of BATS?!” A giggle in too high of a pitch escapes it, and more teeth could be seen peeking out from its gums.

Bruce and Dick are quick to dodge out of the way, and Cassandra is quick to use her cloak to cut all the lights in the station, but the office itself is left in a darkness only the blackness of space could replicate. Jason quickly jumps in, and the four get to work to subdue the creature.

The fight itself is a gross sight for numerous reasons. Acid is spit from the bellows of the organism's stomach, and yet sticks to any surface like a thick layer of pus. The flesh that makes up its arm travels along the body it now puppets, and tries to grab and become a part of all who come into contact with it. Even as shots and countless blows are done to it, all it does is laugh as it continuously launches itself forward haphazardly – as if chasing some sort of high. The fat of the torso is taken for tendrils that shoot out of its back and more flesh to enhance its own combat ability. The muscle and bone of the legs is consumed to enlarge the ribs and spine - making a whole other mouth that’s all bone and made vertically come out of it, and where the organs have moved to? Who’s to say.

Even as it’s thrown through the glass of the office, and the scratches make the thing bleed, it moves to stand and continue the fight – as if it can’t feel anything else, or, rather, it’s so focused on chasing that it’s able to ignore the pain? It’s hard to say, but laughs begin to mix with shrieking screams that ripped its throat and ruptured the stomach.

It was all messy, sloppy, and at some point, most were rushing to find a means to light it on fire – and when the opportunity came in the boiler room, and the most unlikely of them flicked the match as he tried to catch his breath? The nightmare refused to go down without the last say, despite never being given such a luxury.

“IT’S TOO LATE! THE NEW DAWN IS BOUND TO RISE, AND ONCE IT DOES WE WILL ALL BE REWARDED!! THE SUN, DRESSED IN RED SEES ALL, AND NOTHING CAN STOP IT! ALL PREPARATIONS HAVE ALREADY BEEN MADE! THE WATERS ARE BOILING! THOSE NOT AWAKENED WILL SEE! THE CHILDREN WILL SING ONCE AGAIN! AHAHA! THE EARTH COULD STOP ON ITS AXIS AND IT WOULDN’T STOP THE RE-”

Only for its violating, cries of praise to its lord and religion to swiftly be cut off by nothing but a bullet to its melting head that's flesh was tearing away at the skull of the human that once remained underneath.

“Thank god, he finally shut up-” Jason scoffed, only to cough as the smoke began to rise and he rushed out – following the others.

Outside of the station, they all tried to catch their breath. Beaten one way or another, but alive, and untouched. Still human, in spite of everything, and breathing through their own healthy lungs that weren’t nearly pulsating out of their chests.

The quiet streets remain, leaving only them. Yet, it didn’t seem to bother them now. They almost don’t notice it, and despite no words being spoken, they all come to a collective understanding.

When the commlink crackles to life, Bruce hardly reacts, and when he hears his youngest son’s voice – he feels like he knows everything just before he speaks.

[“Father?”]

“Yes… we understand now, too.” So, with this new information, and more being fed to them, they all head back home together. Now knowing what must be done, even without all the pieces put together. Almost as if, in a way, they just know now. Like something is telling them, and the more it gives. The more they need it.

The waters of the Earth begin to boil as it prepares to cry, one last time.

[akamitrani]

— Backstage Pass —

David Howard Thornton x Fem!Reader (Pt.1?)

Warnings: Mild suggestive, flirting (and the massive amount of tension that comes with it), release of the tension, slow burn.

Summary: You manage to get backstage access to a Terrifier panel where David is present, you end up striking a conversation with him and one thing leads to another.

[A/N: Hi guys, this is my first ever published fanfic – Be kind ☠️ – Sorry if anything lol. Btw, I hope y'all like to read fr cuz this fanfic surely is for readers]

[ · · · ]

The low hum of the convention floor buzzed around you, but for the moment, it felt as though the world had quieted down. You stood backstage, just outside the makeshift white room where David was preparing for a panel at the horror convention. Your excitement of meeting the actor behind Art the Clown was palpable, it was the man himself – the warm, approachable, and genuine David

You had spent the better part of the day anxiously navigating your way through autograph lines, fan meet-and-greets and photo ops, but now, standing backstage, you had a rare chance to speak with him outside the chaos. You never expected an encounter like this but here you were, a quiet moment with the very man who had terrified and fascinated you all at once

David’s head peeked from behind the curtains, his bright blue eyes meeting yours – “Hey! You’re the one who was talking about makeup techniques earlier, right?” – his voice had a casual charm, free of any of the sinister vibes Art was known for

You nodded, a bit stunned that he’d even remembered you from earlier in the day – “I'm Y/N by the way... And yeah, I’m just starting to get into prosthetics, but I love how the horror community brings so many elements together”

He smiled, a grin that reached his eyes and softened the sharpness of his features – “Y/N. And oh I totally get that. There’s something about horror that feels like a puzzle, you know? Acting, makeup, lighting… everything needs to come together for the whole thing to work”

It felt like a small moment of mutual understanding, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to his enthusiasm. Here was David, the man behind the terrifying clown, speaking with such openness.

“So...” – David said after a beat, his tone playful – “what’s your favorite kind of horror?”

“It’s a toss-up but I’d say psychological horror, something that messes with your mind, makes you question what’s real” – You said

He nodded thoughtfully, his expression turning serious for a moment – “Yeah, that kind of horror is powerful. But I have to admit, sometimes I miss just making people jump... It’s a bit of a guilty pleasure for me”

You laughed loud, the sound echoing through the quiet backstage space – “I bet! It’s a great feeling though, knowing you can make people react like that”

David’s eyes lit up, a mischievous glint appearing – “Well... I think we’ve got some time for a little more talking, but it’s not going to be quieter once the panel starts, I'll eventually get busy... You’re sticking around, right?”

You hesitated, the pull of curiosity and excitement making you eager to continue the conversation – “Of course! After the panel, would you like to talk more? What about... Grabbing a drink?”

David raised an eyebrow, the playful smile tugging at his lips again – “Perfect, was just thinking the same thing. And I could definitely use a quiet moment away from the crowd... There's a nice café nearby, just behind the building”

You felt a jolt of anticipation. This was no longer just a fan encounter. The conversation had shifted from polite exchanges to something more personal, a subtle invitation hanging in the air

“Perfect!” – You replied, feeling your nerves melt away – “See you there then”

“I'll be there as soon as the panel is finished" – He replied

[ · · · ]

sorry but I don't have the patience

to write a 'in between' lol

You entered the café David mentioned about earlier, the ambiance was calm as expected. Dave was already there tucked in a corner booth, his eyes eventually meet yours and he sweetly waves at you. Walking in his direction you sat down, wasting no time to start chatting. David had his hands wrapped around his coffee mug, leaning slightly forward, completely engrossed in the story you were telling him

“And that’s when I realized..." – you laughed, glancing down in embarrassment – “I’d been talking to the director with fake blood still smeared all across my cheek!”

David chuckled – “You’d fit right in on a horror set with a story like that” – he said, tilting his head with that trademark playful smile – “Sounds like you were born for the genre”

You felt a warmth rise in your cheeks, not just from the flattery but from the way he looked at you — as if you two were the only people in the room. For someone who could be so chillingly silent in his role as Art, David had an openness and kindness that made you feel immediately at ease

Both of you shared another laugh, you noticed his fingers drumming gently against the ceramic cup, a little habit he seemed unaware of. The small, endearing detail felt so far removed from the menacing persona he played on screen. In that moment, you wondered how many people really got to see him this way, relaxed and unguarded

“So” – David said, breaking the silence – “I have to ask... why horror? Why would you willingly choose a field that involves blood, guts, and a thousand ways to terrify an audience?”

You took a sip of your coffee, considering an answer – “I think it’s the honesty of it... Horror doesn’t hide from what people fear. It embraces it. And creating that… It’s almost like a dance between knowing what scares people and making them feel safe enough to face it. It’s–”

“Powerful” David finished for you, a look of understanding in his eyes – “Yeah. I think I know what you mean” – he paused – “That’s exactly what draws me to it. There’s something about the way people’s walls come down when they’re scared. You can see who they really are”

Your eyes met with his, a silence settled between you and him, charged with something unspoken. You felt a flutter of nervous excitement, this was David Howard Thornton, a master of horror, sharing his personal thoughts with you as if you were an old friend

“Hey-” – David’s voice softened, breaking the tension – “I just realized how late it’s getting. But honestly…” – He glanced down, almost shyly, before looking back up with a small grin – “I don't want this conversation to end just yet”

You hadn't realized how much time had passed, you feel your heart skip – “Me neither...”

He hesitated, then gave a casual shrug – “I have a bottle of wine back at my hotel...” – he said with a hint of playful mischief – “If you’re up for it, we could keep talking there... No pressure though — I promise I’m far less terrifying off the set”

You both laughed, but you felt a thrill run through your body. You weren’t entirely sure what to expect, but the invitation in his eyes, the warmth in his smile, left little room for doubt

“Well...” – you said, mirroring his grin – “as long as you leave the clown mask behind”

David let out a low, warm chuckle and reached out, his hand brushing against yours just briefly – “Deal.”

[ · · · ]

at the hotel

The elevator doors slid open, then shut with a soft thud – the hum of the machine filled the otherwise quiet space between you both. David stood closer, his presence palpable as the two of you ascended to the upper floors. You could feel the heat of his body next to yours, the subtle hint of his musky cologne, the faint rustle of his clothes as he shifted slightly

The tension from the café was still there – unspoken, but thick. You could both feel it in the air, like an electric charge that had been building ever since the moment you'd first exchanged words. But now, in this small quiet space, it was almost impossible to ignore

David caught your eye, a soft smirk playing at the corner of his mouth – “I’m glad you agreed to come. It’s nice to get away from the madness for a bit you know”

You nodded but you could feel your heart rate picking up, the proximity between you and him making your thoughts scatter – “Yeah, it’s… really nice” – your voice sounded quieter than usual, and you couldn’t help but notice how close he is standing, how his shoulder brushed against yours every so often

The elevator dinged, signaling the arrival at David’s floor, you both stepped out. David led the way to his room, his long strides confident, though there was a subtle energy about him – something different than the actor you’d seen on stage. The man before them now seemed grounded, a little more vulnerable, but still just as captivating

As you two reached the door, David turned to you with a quiet smile – “Make yourself at home” – he said, pushing the door open and holding it for you to enter. The room was cozy, warmly lit

You stepped in, the scent of fresh linen and something faintly musky lingering in the air, his cologne you thought. You took a moment to glance around but David was already moving toward the small bar area by the window, pouring two glasses of wine

“Care for something?” – he asked, glancing over his shoulder with a playful glint in his eyes

“Sure, why not?” – You replied, voice a little breathless. It was hard to focus on anything other than the man before you, the way he moved, how effortlessly he carried himself. It was a strange mix of charm and allure, the kind of presence that seemed to draw people in without effort

David handed you the glass, his fingers brushing for just a second longer than necessary. His touch lingered, and you both looked up at the same time, locking eyes. There was something in his gaze – soft yet intense.

“Cheers” – he murmured lifting his own glass, clinking your drinks together

The conversation flowed easily at first, light and casual, but the air felt heavier now. David shifted slightly, moving a little closer as he leaned against the back of a chair, eyes never leaving yours. It wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was the opposite.

You set your drink down on the table, feeling a quiet tension building – “You know... I never thought I’d end up in a hotel room with someone like you”

David raised an eyebrow – “Someone like me?”

You laughed softly, a little nervous – “Yeah, someone so… different from Art”

David’s smile deepened, and he moved a fraction closer – “I think I’m a little more like Art than you realize” – he teased, there was a softness in his voice and a hint of something else, something that wasn’t just playful

“I don’t know…” – your voice faltering for a moment – “M-maybe you’re right”

David didn’t say anything for a moment, but his gaze darkened just slightly, his focus never wavering. He stepped a little closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the best way

“You know Y/N” he said quietly, almost a whisper – “I’m glad you stayed”

[···]

The silence between you both thickened, hanging in the air. David's gaze softened, his lips parting slightly as though he was considering something. Drawn to the warmth of his presence, you got closer. David didn't move away. Instead, he stood perfectly still, giving you space to decide what to do next. A quiet hunger in the way he looked at you.

“I dont want to rush this” – David said softly, voice low and deliberate – “But, I can't pretend I'm not completely drawn to you”

You reached up, fingers brushing against his arm, the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt. David inhaled sharply, his body tensing just a bit at the contact.

“Are you sure?” – he whispered, his hand reached out, fingers barely grazing the edge of your wrist. You nodded, voice barely above a breath – “Yeah, I'm sure.”

David's hand gently cupped the side of your face, thumb grazing the curve of your jaw – savoring every second. David's face was so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin.

His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first. His hands slid down, pulling you closer. He grabs your waist hard and you accidentally let out a small moan... That's when he finally kisses you, letting out a low whimper himself. The kiss gets deeper, sucking and biting. You respond instinctively, fingers threading through his gray hair, drawing him in as the kiss became more urgent, more desperate.

You break the kiss for a moment to catch your breath, foreheads resting against each other and trying to collect yourselves. This had been building all night, ready to break.

“You're incredible” – David murmured, his voice thick with desire

You met his gaze – “I can say the same about you”

“I've wanted this all night” – He confessed

David's hands slid down your back, guiding you firmly towards him, towards his thighs. Now straddling him, your fingers tightened in his hair as his hands moved, exploring the curves of your waist, savoring every detail about it. His hands slid down your dress, up your thighs and finally resting on the hem of your panties... His eyes pledged for yours, for assurance – You nodded

“You're not going to regret this” he whispered

[carolmunson]

because you were home.

the first entry of my fall frenzy extravaganza

this request comes in from @sweetsweetjellybean: "i would like to request watching a scary movie with steve and eddie that ends with 2 dicks one hole." summary: mildly inspired by 'the strangers' movie. steddie x reader. you and your two boyfriends watch a scary movie even though you hate them. a scary dream wakes you up to more than you bargained for, but they're happy to make up for it. (aka, carol tries some subtle horror/suspense writing for the first time ever!) cw: 18+, established throuple, dvp (double vaginal penetration), oral (f and m receiving), mmf threesome, pet names: angel, babydoll, sweetheart, etc., reader refers to eddie and steve as daddy/sir once or twice but its not like -- their dynamic -- not a dom/sub scenario (justice for steve being sir for once!), swearing, mild horror elements

“Ooh, shiii-hi-hit. Fuck that.” “What’s happening?” you ask, your voice muffled by Steve’s shoulder where your face had been planted for the last four minutes. “No matter how many scary movies I see, nothing creeps me out like this scene, man,” Eddie shakes his head, another handful of popcorn crunching into his mouth.  “What. Is. Happening?” you ask again, frustrated at your own inability to just look – but you didn’t wanna miss out on the scare-factor.

“Nothing, baby,” Steve chuckles, warm and sweet. His big hand gives your bicep a comforting squeeze, running his palm slowly over the skin before he pulls you closer, “One of the weirdos is just standing there, nothing’s happening.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say nothing’s happening – it’s one of the most quietly suspenseful and unsettling scenes in modern horror,” Eddie argues while your head pops up. As soon as your eyes meet his, shining from the light of the TV in the living room, he grins – the one he always does when he’s about to be an asshole.

“Let me rewind it for you,” his smirk lingers when he reaches for the remote, “You can’t miss it – it’s like, niche horror iconography.”

“C’mon Ed, you know she doesn’t like it,” Steve’s defense almost feels patronizing, sinking in your chest even while his arm tightens around you, “She never wants to do movie night when it’s scary.” 

“C’mon Ed, you know she doesn’t like it,” Steve’s defense almost feels patronizing, sinking in your chest even while his arm tightens around you, “She never wants to do movie night when it’s scary.” “No, it’s fine – I’ll just, I’ll watch it,” you sigh, eyes reaching the ceiling with a faux annoyed huff, “For the iconography.” “Atta girl,” Eddie rewinds while you climb over Steve to get between them. If the room hadn’t been so dark, you’d see Ed’s flush while you make yourself comfortable. Always a sucker for affection, he leans in close, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Bein’ so brave.” He starts the scene over again, a few minutes before, both of them scooching in next to you. You’re used to the heat now, the warmth of them near you, tied up between them. At first it was hard to balance it – who touches where, who holds what – but having them both became a waltz you danced well. The both of them easily knowing the rhythms of you and each other in healthy and decadent symbiosis.  “Will you just – stay on the phone with me?” Liv Tyler’s voice booms through Steve’s surround sound, the dial tone humming loudly afterwards, “James? … James?” You let a breath out through your nose, watching her walk through the house on the screen, settling on lighting a cigarette before walking into the kitchen. She stands there for a moment before the screen cuts to a wide, you already feel sick. There’s no music, no sound, just Liv in the kitchen with darkness back behind her. With no warning, he appears, the man in the mask, in complete silence. 

Your stomach drops, throat feeling tight when you watch him stand there watching her. You hardly feel soothed when he disappears, knowing it can only get worse from here. The killers are in the house. 

Steve and Eddie see your face, the way your brows pull in, the way you shrink in on yourself. “Poor baby,” Steve soothes rubbing his hand on your back, “C’mere, I’ll protect you.” “You couldn’t outsmart these guys,” Eddie’s matter-of-fact tone makes Steve tense up, “Sorry. They’re in it for the thrill, man. They don’t care about your macho shit.” “That’s not reassuring,” you laugh, snuggling into Steve while Eddie lets his hand smooth over your thigh, “I need you both to protect me.” “Of course,” Eddie smiles, “We’d both keep you safe, for sure.” “For sure,” Steve nods, kissing the top of your head. Your hand creeps forward to lace your fingers with Eddie’s, still resting on your leg while the movie continues. 

“James?” Liv says again on screen, heading to the drawer for a kitchen knife when a bang is heard somewhere off screen. You can’t help it, your face buries itself in Steve’s shoulder when the action picks up, doing your best to be brave and failing miserably. It’s not for nothing, your failure – they both have a great time laughing at you. 

You’re pouty when the movie is over,  the kisses aren’t helping for the first time in a while. There’s a general unease in your stomach – some horror was fine, but horror that could happen just didn’t compartmentalize as well. Your stomach sinks more when you see Eddie put his jacket on. “You’re not staying over with us?” you ask. Eddie’s shoulders sink while he shrugs on the leather, “Sorry baby, I have an early shift tomorrow. Gotta sleep at mine to be close to the garage. Why, you scared?” You nod, “Is that stupid?” “No,” he grins, “But you have Steve, he can protect you, too.” “You literally said he couldn’t outsmart them,” you try to laugh but it sounds more like a desperate plea, heart rate rising. “It’s a movie, honey,” Steve’s balmy voice soothing you while he comes back in the living room from cleaning up, “Just relax.” “You want the number one tension goblin to relax?” Eddie scoffs, “Good luck with that.” A kiss to both of your cheeks is Eddie’s last parting gift to you and Steve before he goes, the rev of his motorcycle being the only signal that he’s gone for the night. Steve’ burly tan arm wraps around your shoulder to lead you both back to the couch. “How about this,” he starts, pulling your legs over his lap, “We can watch something funny and then go to bed, s’that sound good for you?” You nod eagerly, shoulders loosening up while he flicks through the channel listings. “They have Austin Powers on TBS, you wanna watch that? It looks like they’re playing all of ‘em,” his amber eyes fall on you with a smile, rubbing your shin up to your knee. He changes the channel when you give him the okay, watching you snuggle in on the couch with tired eyes. It’s not long into the first movie that Steve’s nudging you to wake up so you can both go upstairs to bed. 

You wake from a dream that makes your heart race in the bad way, losing the plot completely when your eyes open. The room is dark, only some light from Steve’s security cameras outside leaving shadows against the wall from the curtains.You turn and reach your arm out to shake Steve awake but you’re met with nothing but empty sheets, cooled down from the lack of a body there to warm them. You pout while your heart pounds, taking a few deep breaths to try to steady yourself to go back to sleep. He’s probably in the bathroom – but that thought makes you have to pee. With a sigh you get up, gingerly getting out of bed and scanning the room. Even though you fell asleep laughing to Mike Meyers the uneasy feeling in your chest never quite shook away. You pad down the hall to the bathroom, confused when you see that it’s empty. Maybe he went to get a drink or something in the kitchen. You do your business, leaving the bathroom and listening for Steve downstairs from the top of the staircase, peering down into the dark living room. It’s quiet. “Steve?” you call out. 

Nothing. 

The blue black of the dark house stares back at you, you swallow thickly. The pin pricks of fear that you woke up with creep down your neck and the top of your back, they sting up from the balls of your feet. You try to muster up the courage to call out again. “St-steve? You there?” you call out, your voice weak. 

Nothing. 

You take another breath, shakier than before. Maybe he’s using the half bath down stairs. You shake your head, rolling your shoulders and taking a step away from the staircase to go back to bed. Two steps in and your body is jolted by the blast of the stereo in the living room, the lights from the machine whirring on while music blares through the speakers. ‘My first lover, My first lover, He was tall and breezy with his long hair down. But it gets a little hazy when I think of it now…’

You run down the stairs to shut it off, certain the neighbors heard it, Your heart hammers in your chest, blood pounding in your ears while you slam the buttons and hold your hands to the cool machinery. You feel sick, bile creeping up your throat while you breathe in and out again.

“STEVE?!” you shout out, tears welling in your eyes, “Steve! This – this isn’t funny…”

But again.

With the music off.

Nothing. 

You grab a heavy trophy from one of the shelves, a nationals first place from when Steve won the freestyle stroke in college – no one’s ever beat his PR. You inch through the living room, clicking on a lamp so the room illuminates in a hazy yellow glow. You grip the trophy, base upwards with the points of it at your eye level, arm at the ready. You creep slowly through the kitchen, clicking on the light over the oven, peering into the living room again and over your shoulder. No one. Nothing. You walk forward into the dining room, turning on the light, peering out from the sliding doors to the back yard. Nothing. You take a final breath. It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s just a movie. 

Right?

CLANG!  

You jump, attention toward the door to the garage in the back of the dining room. You raise the trophy again, mustering up the courage to go to the door. Through the small crack in the bottom you see the lights are on, you swallow again. With a final breath through the nose you clutch the door handle, wrenching it open – ready to swing. 

“Woah there, champ,” Steve laughs, looking up from the side of his truck. He pulls off his over ear headphones and cocks his head, “Is that my swim trophy?” “Uh, yeah…” you respond sheepishly, lowering it down to your thigh. Your heart starts to steady, cheeks burning with embarrassed heat while he comes around from behind his truck. “Did I wake you up, honey? I’m sorry,” he says softly, wiping his hands off on a rag. He’s in his sleep shirt but back in his jeans, sneakers unlaced on his feet.

“No I –” you falter, feeling stupid and silly, “I had a bad dream and you weren’t there so like – I don’t know. Then the stereo turned on downstairs and I heard a bang so – why’re you in the garage?”  “I forgot about my break pads – they’re swamped at the shop so I told Ed not to worry and I’d just do it myself,” he shrugs with a laugh, “Little harder than it looks but – can’t put her back on the road until she’s all set. Woke up in a cold sweat about it.” 

“You um, didn’t hear me calling you?” you ask warily. “Had my headphones on, baby, my bad.” “And the stereo?” you urge, “It was like…really fucking loud.” “That was probably me by accident,” he assures, taking a tiny remote out of his back pocket, “I got the remote for the speakers in here too, so, must’ve sat on it. Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to.” “Just a lil’,” your shoulders droop, heat pricking your cheeks and chest. “Aw, I’m sorry,” he coos, coming toward you to put a sloppy kiss on your cheek, “I’m almost done, I’ll be back upstairs in a minute. Would you get me some water?” “Okay,” you chirp, taking a big breath before heading back into the house. You pad through the dining room and back into the kitchen, reaching over the sink to grab a glass from the cabinet. You let the cool water run over your fingers for a moment, chuckling at yourself for being so stupid while you place the trophy on the counter with a thud. 

You fill the glass for yourself first, letting the chill of the water bring you back to center. You take a few sips, leaning against the counter and looking through the archways to the other rooms – sleepy looking with their warm low lights on. You always forget how cozy Steve’s house looks, especially in the fall. You snort, hearing Steve’s soft ‘Shit! Come on!’ from the garage after something else clangs to the ground. You down the rest of the water and turn again to refill it for Steve, humming the song from the stereo. You shut off the water when you feel like someone is watching you, unease brewing in your chest again. You turn around quickly, but no one is there, just the sound of Steve working in the background. Back to the sink you finish filling up the glass, looking up at the window above the counter. Your reflection looks back. You drop the glass, hitting the stainless steel with a shattering fall. Behind you, in the dark of the dining room, is exactly what you’d feared you’d see. Standing there. Idle. Watching you. A man in a mask.  You freeze, sharp breaths puffing out of your nose, heart rattling in your chest. You shut your eyes tight and count to three, opening them again only to let out a blood curdling shriek at the reflection – he’s still there, just closer. You grab the trophy and turn around with abandon while Steve bursts in through the side door. “What’s happening, what’s going on?!” he asks, running in. “There’s – there’s there’s, there’s someone in the – in the house – in the house!” You gasp out in stuttering breaths, tears pouring down your face. “Who?! Whose in the house?!” he asks, brows raised, frazzled. “A man!” you screech, “The man! The man in the mask!” “Fuck, fuck,” Steve huffs, rifling into the drawer for a kitchen knife, “Stay here – stay right here and call the police.” You watch him walk toward the living room, “Steve don’t! Don’t! We have to g-get out!” “Baby – just call. The. Pol–” 

“My first lover, My first lover, He was always talking tryin to bring me down, But I was not waiting for a white wedding gown...”

The music blares again, so loud it’s disorienting. You scream, eyes blurry with tears while you walk backward to the corner of the kitchen by the fridge where a house phone sits on the wall. Shaking you reach for it, watching as it clatters clumsily to the floor. “Are you calling?!” Steve asks, fear lacing his own voice while he slams the stereo off, “What the fuck is happening?!” “I’m c-calling!” you yell back, seeing him come back into the kitchen with his chest heaving. You reach down for the phone only to realize, to your horror, that the cord is cut, “I – baby I…” “Shit,” Steve huffs, “M-my phone, where’s my cell?” “Upstairs I – oh my fucking god,” you freeze, eyes big and glassy when you see him, the man in the mask. “Wh-what?” Steve asks, slowly turning around, “Oh fuck, fuck. L-look man, hey – I – I don’t want any trouble.” The man stands there, masked head tilting when he takes a step forward. “D-do you want money? Something? My car? Anything man – I swear.” The slow step becomes a full steam ahead, another screech pouring out of you while you see his gloved hand reach for Steve. You cover your head in your hands, shaking, wondering how you can make it from here to the garage unscathed – you brace for Steve’s broken scream. 

But instead. A laugh. Two. Two laughs. Two very familiar laughs. “Why would I want your car when you can’t even fix the fuckin’ break pads?” Eddie’s muffled voice echos from behind the mask. He pulls it off, taking a breath, “Fuck, that things hot.” “I fixed them just fine,” Steve hisses in faux annoyance. “H-huh?” you look up with tear streaked cheeks, “Wh-what is this?” “Oh honey, we didn’t mean to scare you that bad,” Steve coos. “It’s just me, babydoll,” Eddie smiles, voice gentle, “It’s me.” “What the fuck?” you ask, still against the wall by the fridge with your heart hammering. “S’just a prank honey, we were just fucking with you,” Eddie says softly, taking a step toward you that makes you flinch, “Hey…you okay?” “No Ed, I’m not fucking okay,” you bark, “What is wrong with you? With both of you?” “We didn’t think you were gonna get so freaked out, angel,” Steve sighs, “I’m sorry. We’re sorry.” 

“Are you mad?” Eddie pouts, putting the mask on the counter. “Yeah,” you nod, standing up, “I’m fucking mad. And I’m sure the neighbors are gonna call the fucking cops from all the screaming and yelling.” “Babe, hey, c’mon it was a joke,” Steve’s shoulder slump when you brush past him, “Let’s just get cozy upstairs, okay? We can all go to bed.” “Fuck you,” you huff, stomping up the stairs, “Both of you.” 

They follow you like puppies up the stairs, closing in on you when you make it back into the bedroom. Soft apologies and kisses to your cheeks, surrounded by them – their hands, their hair, their scent. Slipping around you like snakes, but sweet – anything to hypnotize you out of how mad you are. “Don’t be so pouty,” Steve coos, peeling off his shirt, “You’re okay, we won’t do it again.” “We’ll never do it again, I promise,” Eddie mumbles into a kiss by your ear, already down to his boxers, “We’re awful, we’re so awful.” Your knitted brows and sour pout stick while they do their best to get you to break, but it’s not until Eddie’s lips catch on that spot just below the hinge of your jaw that you let out a soft gasp. “There she is,” Eddie smirks into the next flick of his tongue and graze of his teeth, teasing the spot until your face relaxes. “C’mon,” Steve whispers, tugging your t-shirt over your head, “Let us make it all better, hm?”

“Lay down, sweetheart,” Eddie encourages while you get to the edge of the mattress. The comforter was still in the mess you left it in when you woke up from your dream. Despite your anger you do as he asks, not protesting while he slips your shorts and panties off without a second of hesitation.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he smirks, “Just how you like it.”

Your thighs part for him on their own accord, barely waiting a second before his mouth makes contact with your already slick center. You whimper and Eddie smiles into your cunt, slurping around your clit to get you stimulated quickly. Can’t be mad if you can’t think straight.

“Mmm, Ed like that,” you whine out, hips rolling up against his mouth.

“Already so wet for us, sweet thing,” he brags in a low voice, “Maybe you like bein’ scared.”

“No I – uhn…mmm…” 

Eddie’s first two fingers slip in with little resistance, coaxing soft needy moans out of you with each pump, each soft tease of his tongue. He lets out a dreamy sigh while your legs pull up to your chest, revealing more of yourself to him. He busies his mouth while looking over the expanse of your body, watching Steve lean in to kiss you. Your hand entwines in Eddie’s hair, scratching at his scalp softly while he wraps his arms around your thighs. He could eat you all night. “I know you’re not kneeling closer to me so I’ll suck you off,” you stare up at Steve in disbelief. “I uh…well,” Steve bites his lip, redness building on his cheeks. He looks down at you, kneeling by your face on the mattress with his cock in his hand, stroking slowly. His chain glints in the low light from the sconces above the bed, catching in his chestnut hair – too handsome, it was unfair. “You want me to suck your dick after all that? You think you deserve it?” you ask, eyes rolling when Eddie’s fingers curl up against you – letting out a sinful moan.

“Well when your mouth hangs open like that,” Steve chuckles coolly. He leans down again to capture you in a kiss, stroking himself while he does. He nuzzles your nose when he breaks away, “You wanna sit on my face?”  Your breath catches, nodding eagerly. “M’kinda in the middle of something,” Eddie says from between your thighs. “Well you can be in the middle of somethin’ else, Munson,” Steve grins while you change positions to him lying on his back. Your legs straddle over him, ass in his face while you look down the rest of his body. Steve pulls you down firmly, tongue gliding between your folds in a slow back and forth at first, pushing his face in it. You yelp when he flicks his tongue over your swollen, sensitive clit; thighs twitching while he finds his rhythm.  “Hmm, you’re close, aren’t you?” Steve teases while pulling away for air.

“Y-yes sir,” you sigh back, hips bouncing gently against his mouth for more friction.

Eddie pulls his boxers off, tossing them on the floor and reaching for a forgotten scrunchy on Steve’s dresser to pull his hair back. He crawls back onto the bed, giving you a soft kiss, “You look so pretty right now.”

“Thank you,” you whisper against his full pink lips, kissing him back. You lean down with him, watching as he kisses Steve’s stomach, right by his happy trail, taking his cock in his ringed hand. A glob of spit falls from his mouth, working Steve’s shaft with a precision only another person with one could have. 

Steve groans into your pussy, louder when Eddie takes the tip in his mouth. Your mouth waters against your better judgment, body betraying you when you lean forward onto your hands to meet Eddie at Steve’s cock. You kiss again, both tongues flicking together over Steve’s swollen head making him whimper between your legs. You both let your lips graze his length, leaving wet kisses in their wake before Eddie takes over again. You gather his curls so you can watch him, the visual sending you right over the edge when he starts to touch himself in time.

“Good girl,” Steve coos softly, evidence of your orgasm on his chin while you shimmy off his face.

Eddie comes back up with a breathy smile, hazily letting them direct you while Steve pushes up to sit against the pillows propped up on the head board.

“Think you should get filled up, pretty girl,” Steve says softly, “You wanna?” 

You nod, straddling Steve, letting his hands skate over the tops of your thighs while you let yourself sink down onto him. His head thuds back against the headboard, eyes closing when your walls snuggly fit around him – warm and wet.

“Think you can do both?” he asks, pulling you in so you’re chest to chest. 

Your brow quirks, “We do that all the time.” “No, no, baby,” Eddie smirks, coming up behind you, “Both of us in the same place.” Your head turns around, looking down at Eddie’s length in his hand, thinking about how thick Steve is inside you already while he thrusts up lazily. “S’not gonna fit,” you hesitate. Eddie kisses your shoulder, “I think we can fit, just keep bouncin’ on Steve for me.” “You like to watch?” you wink while looking back at him, finding a cadence that makes the fat of your ass shake.

“You know I do,” he replies, voice low and gravely – it hits the pit of your stomach. Steve signals Eddie to come forward, crawling up over one of his thighs. “You can do it, babe,” Steve encourages, holding you in place, “You’re already soaked.” 

You feel him push in, one hand on your lower back while the other guides his length to aid in pressing over Steve. You let out a low groan, sweat beading at your hairline while your eyes nearly cross from the stretch. Your brows pinch together, mouth hanging open in that desperate way that makes Steve primal with need. “Ooh, does that feel good, baby? Does it feel good?” he asks, voices light and sing-songy. “Y-yeah, oh – oh fuck -” you huff when Eddie does a slow practice thrust, to see where you’re both at. Eddie moans once he finds the pace, unforgiving fingers clutching you for balance. Steve chuckles at your face, forefinger and thumb reaching under your chin to press into your cheeks. “F-fuck I’m so…I’m so, sssooo…” “Sssoooo full. That’s right, so full, aren’t you honey?” he grins, mocking you now with a little shake to your face, “Look at you. You like that? You like gettin’ filled up like this?”  “Yeah,” you whine while Eddie starts a steady pace, both men grunting at the pleasure of you tightening around them. The slide of themselves against each other makes Steve’s breath hitch when his hips cant upward in time. 

“Shit, Ed,” Steve grunts, fingertips sinking into your hips. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head while he presses a wet kiss to your neck, “Fuck.” “Yeah? S’my dick nice, pretty boy?” Ed winks down, hand entwining in your hair at the root while the other cruelly grips you at the waist. You’ll feel that grip tomorrow, both of them – party favors for the pleasure you’re feeling now. Steve nips at your neck, listening to your panting, your whines – at this rate you look like you don’t even know your own name. You start to falter, leaning down into him while your arms give out, face finding home in the crook of his neck and the dying scent of his cologne. “Hey, you still mad at me?” Eddie asks breathily. Your scalp screams in a delicious sting when he pulls you up by your hair, back arching deep to make you face him. You struggle against it at first, tilting your head down to look at Steve whose tongue has flicked out to tease one of your nipples. “Look at daddy, honey,” he chastises in a low heated tone, teeth grazing the hardened bud, “Look up at daddy.” Eddie’s laugh is low, bubbling from his tummy when you finally relent, leaning your neck back to look at him. Even upside down he’s pretty – hair falling mostly out of the scrunchy he stole, leaving messy curls wild around his face. “You still mad at me, babydoll?” he grunts out, “You still mad?” His free hand reaches around to cup your jaw, leaning in to give you a hungry kiss. He growls into it, pumping deeper in short thrusts. A choked moan pours out of you when they move in tandem, Steve sliding out while Eddie slides in. “Aw, you don’t look mad,” he taunts. Another kiss before his face hovers over yours, grinning, pleased with himself, “You look so gone, holy shit.”

“M’n-not m-mad anymore, daddy,” you nearly cry, voice tight, “Fuck – harder.” “Harder?” his brow quirks, “You hear that Steve? She wants it harder.” “Yeah, I heard her,” he grunts, “Give her back to me.” Eddie lets go of your hair without a thought, dropping you into Steve’s chest like a rag doll. He props you up above him, his big hand around your jaw this time while Eddie keeps both his tight on your waist for leverage. With as much strength as you can muster you hold yourself up on your forearms, limply bouncing forward with each thrust. “You want it harder, pretty girl?” Steve asks, looking up at you – his own eyes are blown, completely flushed from double the pleasure. “Pl-please,” you huff, “Please, sir.” “Hmm, you know I like when you say that,” he grins, “Ask again.” “Please fuck me harder, sir,” your eyes roll when you feel Eddie’s chest against your back, both of them closing in on you. “So good,” Steve breathes, “That’s a good girl.” You feel the tickle of Eddie’s curls on your shoulder while he leans over you to get to Steve, wrapping a hand in his auburn hair to pull him up for a deep kiss. You listen to them, watching while their eyes flutter closed, pace picking up inside you while their tongues fight each other for dominance – ending in heated smiles, always a draw. Nose to nose they watch each other, your face to the side on Steve’s chest. 

“Spread her open for me, Harrington,” Eddie mumbles against his lips, leaning in for another greedy kiss before making the move to push up off your back. Steve pulls him back down eagerly, bicep flexing while he holds Eddie by the back of the head for another searing kiss, “Spread her open, huh? Like you do for me?” “Shut up,” Ed flushes, biting his lower lip while he looks down at him before pressing his lips to your cheek and pushing up. He holds you in place with one hand on the dip between your neck and shoulder, the other grazing down to your upper back. Steve hands slide down to your ass, gripping hard to spread you open from the bottom. With a little more space, Eddie’s pace quickens, your breaths punching in scattered rhythm when Steve plants his feet on the mattress to fuck up into you. “Ohmygod, oh my god fuck,” you cry out, “I c-can’t I’m gonna…oh fuck, I’m so – I’m so close don’...don’stop please.” “That’s it angel,” Steve encourages, “You’re doin’ so good.” “So good, baby,” Eddie adds on gruffly, “Really t-takin’ it.” Steve let’s go of one ass cheek to cup your face, thumb tracing over the supple skin in welcome gentleness. You lean down in a tired slump, lips marrying his – the mint of his mouthwash still on his tongue when it slides into your mouth. He groans through it, hips stuttering – adding more rigid stimulation against his cock while they both thrust deep inside you. You nearly go dumb when they both hit the same spot, clamping down over both of them while you see white. Tears well in your eyes while they fuck you through it, babbling like you’re possessed when the pleasure teeters on becoming too much past your orgasm. “Sh-shit oh, angel that’s it – fuck that pussy’s so..mmm -fuck,” he grunts, pressing his hips up against you while you feel him spill inside. 

“Oh god,” Eddie whimpers out, the warmth from Steve’s release coating over his cock, making it slicker. Steve eases out, kissing you passionately while you suddenly feel empty without them both stretching you to the brim. “Get on your back for me, sweetheart,” Eddie instructs, soft and needy, “Wanna see you.” They gently get you on your back, back to soft kisses and touches like before. Eddie can tell you’re already two deep, not wanting to get you past the point of feeling good – and you’re close. “Can you take some more?” he asks, running his knuckles over your cheek, “It’s okay if you can’t.” “I can do it,” you rasp out, chuckling a little, “I’m very brave.” Eddie laughs, caging you in under him with Steve pressed to your side, “So brave, babydoll.” “I’ll go slow,” he nuzzles into your neck, bangs brushing against your ear, “M’still sorry.”

The three of you lay there under the sheets, collecting your breaths on the come down. Steve’s fingers are laced with yours while he lays on his stomach, Eddie’s hand rests on your waist while he lays on his side. “I have to pee,” you frown into the quiet. “Go pee,” Steve murmurs, half asleep into the pillow. “I can’t.” “Why?” Steve’s eyes open. “I’m too scared,” you whine, “I don’t wanna go by myself in the dark.” Steve lets out a famous Harrington sigh, “Do you need me to come with you?” “And do what? Yell at me to call the police if something bad happens?” Eddie giggles, stretching out on the bed, “She’s got a point Harrington.” “Eddie’s right, they’d outsmart you so fast,” you shrug, “Will you both come with me?” “Yeah,” they huff in unison, shuffling out of the covers and lazily finding their bottoms on the floor. They lead you down the hallway, feeling much better with both of them flanking your sides. And it helps of course, that they turned all the lights on. 

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi