#When I've been washing and masking for so long

[tozettastone]

Okay, the results of my Bleach OC character poll specified: Hollow, needs a little treat, bad eyesight, causes catastrophic plot derailment.

Here's a very rambling draft (about twice as long as it needs to be lbr) of how that might begin. I've named her Espina Espinosa, but her name doesn't come up at all in this which I guess is part of how you know it's a first cut draft lol.

---

Sometimes, you just need a little treat to get you through the day. Or, in my case, the night: in hueco mundo, it was all night, all the time.

You know, I thought when I dropped out of my university classes in a wash of shame and humiliation that my life was basically suffering. It was as if, having forsaken my higher education, I was then destined to be trapped living in my one room in a sharehouse, and working stacking shelves forever.

Spoiler: it was not forever! It was barely six months! And then I got hit by a train, crossed over to the other side — which was apparently a fucking anime, by the way, more on THAT later — and lost years and years to scrabbling around in the desert like an animal. I didn't remember who I was until I emerged from the Forest of Menos as an adjuchas, trembling like a newborn foal and panicked about my weird undead body.

And then I knew what it really meant to say 'my life is suffering.'

Suffering was being a fully grown human personality stuck inside an undead lizard, living in a lightless hellscape and eating other undead animals just to survive. Supermarket shelves seemed less dire a fate, then.

The body grew more humanoid over time. Once I finally hit vasto lorde, the hunger was less demanding and the risk of regressing and losing my personality was eliminated. Vasto lordes did not regress. They just died.

...If something could kill one.

Today's reasons as to why I deserved a little treat were as follows:

My vasto lorde body was clearly designed by Kubo Tite. I was a nightmare of spiky armour and claws, with no real face, but god forbid I get around without built-in high heels and smooth, round, pendulous boobs. My adjuchas form had been a spined lizard. I was not even a mammal. Why did I need boobs? What were they for? Why were they the size of my head? Just the demands of the story in which I found myself, I was pretty sure.

I had minimal access to goods or services of any kind, because Hueco Mundo, right? And it was hard to stay long in the human world to get anything because just showing up tended to freak the shinigami out. Like, vasto lorde-class menos were nigh mythological, we were so rare, and even if I suppressed my presence so people on the ground couldn't sense me organically, shinigami researchers had instruments for this. Ugh.

I was constantly hunted by other hollows, especially powerful adjuchas on the look out for advancement. Eating a vasto lorde basically guaranteed they'd get the power they needed to become one. Today, one of them had left a nasty bite on my spiky tail and I'd eaten him, as he deserved. But it hurt, and I cried about it, because... I was still a giant baby who cried when I got hurt.

Bored, bored, oh my god, bored. So bored.

I'd broken my glasses, AGAIN, because I had no goddamn ears to keep them on, and my mask was a... challenging surface.

Most hollows somehow didn't seem to get bored in hueco mundo. They roamed the sands, ate each other, fought a lot, made occasional uneasy alliances, and napped.

But I had a very good memory of my last life, back when I was not an unrealistically buxom masked lizard woman, and all this shit was just a daydream from a manga.

I got so bored. I wanted something to do other than running away, lying down, or smacking weaker hollows.

So every... period of time? ... well, once I presumed the shinigami had stopped worrying about it, anyway, I took a little jaunt to the human world and treated myself. And, like, what was a little shoplifting if you were already dead, am I right?

I had a sweet tooth, and I liked jewellery and books. Hueco mundo was boring and lightless, but if you could curl up in a cave with a heavy duty flashlight, a pile of candy and a novel, you could just about pretend you were somewhere else for a while.

But visiting the human world and getting stuff was a pretty full-on operation. I had to pick places where there was enough ambient reiatsu to hide what leaked through my suppression, and there were not many of them. Then, it was often better to visit in the middle of the night, because if I tried to shoplift while surrounded by people — look, a vasto lorde has a lot of reiatsu and human beings are, on average, fragile. It was better to browse a dark shop after hours. And the last thing was: there was no optometrist in hueco mundo, because it was just kind of full of cannibal demons who wanted to eat me. I just had to stop by a chemist that stocked glasses and guess my prescription based on vibes. It sucked. A lot. And then when I inevitably broke them again, I stopped being able to read my little stash of novels and got quite sad.

So on that night, with my busted glasses and six Vampire Hunter D novels waiting in my cave, I decided I deserved a little treat and I did something kiiiiiind of stupid.

Despite knowing that it was exactly where the plot of Bleach was hiding.... I went to Karakura in Tokyo.

It wasn't as stupid as it sounded, you know. Sure, I knew they monitored for every garganta, yes. But I also knew that there was so much reiatsu in Karakura. If I crushed mine down enough, I was absolutely certain I could hide beneath the suffocating blanket that was Kurosaki Ichigo.

I opened my garganta for maybe half a second and slipped through with my reiryoku squished into a tiny ball inside my belly, so scrunched up it left my claws tingling with cold. From the sky, I pinpointed two pretty obvious locations: the Urahara Shoten and the hospital. Then, because I wasn't goddamn suicidal, I picked the furthest point away from both of them that still fell within the range of Kurosaki's spiritual pressure and made that my landing point.

There was a big labyrinthine train station, a bunch of warehouses huddling miserably behind it, and a series of cramped stores all piled in on each other lining the nearby streets, poised to catch commuters as they went by. A few of the bigger ones were still lit up from the inside, bright lights glowing out. But it was very late indeed, and almost everything was closed. The local 7-eleven was apparently open from 7 AM to midnight, a rarity even on the outskirts of this twenty-four hour city.

I couldn't find a good chemist, but there was one of those travellers' shops next to the station that stocked an array of low-prescription glasses, which would do in a pinch. I looked both ways — as though there were any cars on the streets at three o'clock in the morning, and as though any could damage me if they were — and scuttled up to the darkened window.

After a quick inspection to confirm the existence of glasses inside, I tapped my claws on the reinforced glass. It cracked, one long jagged line through the glass. I tapped again, and it shattered into a multitude of glittery pieces.

I hopped inside, heedless of the glass. My skin was next-level tough, even among hollows of my class.

Very likely the cameras wouldn't catch me at all, but what they would see is floating glasses, which wasn't necessarily much better for the humans' peace of mind. Ideally, I'd get this done and nobody would be any the wiser about any mysterious activities relating to a break in. I paced the shop, squinting around for cameras.

There was an alarm system in place. It was armed, so it started wailing about thirty seconds after the glass broke, flooding the dark street with noise. A few lights went on above stores, but mostly it remained dark — this wasn't a residential district.

There were two, blinking green lights from either end of the store, so I jumped up and ripped them both out of the ceiling, sending a rain of plaster dust down upon me to get caught in my spikes. Who knew what the owners would make of that, but probably they wouldn't automatically think it was a hungry ghost.

Glasses were stored neatly on a circular stand, ordered by strength — which, of course, I couldn't read, because I needed glasses. I plucked pairs at random and crammed my mask's eye holes up against five of them in quick succession. The fifth let me read the prescription information, so I decided that was good enough to be going on with.

My mask did not come off, obviously — trying to get out off hurt like all hell, and I didn't know if I needed to be an arrancar badly enough to go through with that — and it was covered in angular, stylised spikes, and I had wide useless little horns but no fucking ears. So my new glasses were sitting kind of lopsided, but as usual when I got a pair, I was excited about how much I could see with them.

The humming of a drinks fridge attracted me, briefly, on my way out, the way a fire attracts a moth. Did I want a soft drink? I did like the ramune ones with the little marble... And I could read the labels, which was a huge novelty.

I'd spotted a 7-eleven on the way, though, and I wanted to see if they had a slurpee machine. They were pretty rare in Japan, generally, but if they didn't have one I'd still be able to get a different sugary drink there.

I hesitated for a second, thinking about the wisdom of this plan. I should get out of here, probably, but... If I'm honest with you, my spirit rebelled. Did I truly not deserve a slurpee? A single fucking slurpee?

So, anyway, I broke into the 7-eleven. No, I didn't need to. Fight me. (But, er... don't, actually. I am a delicate flower.)

I stepped outside the store and — okay, listen, in my defence, the shop's alarm was really loud and I was busy clutching my slurpee in my clawed hands and marvelling at my semi-okay vision through the only-slightly-lopsided glasses I'd swiped. I did not immediately hear him, and I wasn't actually looking for shinigami using persquisa because I'd carefully marked where the Urahara Shoten and the Hospital were, and I had avoided them so carefully.

So, from my perspective, there was no reason to worry about shinigami, until I came out of the 7-eleven squinting at the text on the side of my slurpee cup, and then almost walked straight into one.

And not, like, a little one, either. It was a lot like being surprised by the sudden introduction of a spider — like, you know, if it's a little house spider, you might twitch, but if you turn around and see a twelve inch birdeating spider on the wall, you might actually just shit yourself.

Anyway, I slunk out of the seven eleven store, ignoring the alarm, completely absorbed in my slurpee, and then almost walked face first into Hirako Shinji.

He was actually perfectly recognisable from canon. He was about an inch shorter than me, skinny, and wearing a long grey coat, presumably because it was the middle of the night and cold enough to freeze your nipples off. (Still warmer than hueco mundo.) His blond hair really did fall in a perfectly smooth pageboy down past his chin, like it was all one meticulously styled piece. It probably wasn't. It was like my lizard tits: demands of the setting. Loads of people had hair that looked styled and required no styling.

Just in case you're wondering, on the Unexpected Spider Encounter Scale, Hirako was probably, like, one of those Colombian giant tarantulas.

I froze.

He stared at me.

A vasto lorde was scary shit in her own environment, so I was probably worth a stare. However! (A huge, flashing neon 'however'!)

A veteran shinigami captain was scarier.

Especially since I was a pretty weak vasto lorde, all things considered, and Hirako was... well, if I remembered right, he was not necessarily one of the weaker shinigami captains.

I was used to fighting adjuchas who were aggressive, hungry and bestial, and I mostly got around them by being like... marginally smarter than they were. I distracted them or trapped them.

I did not highly rate my ability to trap or distract Hirako. For one, he was an actual military officer.

For the first time I realised exactly how unfair Aizen must have been to his little arrancar army. Hollows were killers, but we weren't soldiers. Our only training was in appetence and its satisfactions.

I stared, frozen, at Hirako and blinked rapidly.

In hindsight, I would eventually come to understand what this looked like from his perspective: he came to investigate the unsteady flickering of hollow reiatsu and the alarm, but discovered a surprise vasto lorde — already so vanishingly rare as to be basically mythological — wearing lopsided reading glasses and clutching a slurpee like her life depended on it, outside the broken window of a 7-eleven at three in the morning.

"...I saw that, Hollow-san," he said slowly, looking at the broken window. His eyes drifted from the window to me and back.

I squeaked. My claws dug straight through the cardboard slurpee cup. "Um," I said, slowly. "Do you... perhaps... also want a slurpee?"

With both slurpee-clutching hands, I gestured towards the store and the source of the screaming siren.

Hirako tapped his zanpakuto on his shoulder, squinting at me like I was something new and strange and he had not quite settled on his opinion of me yet. I did not like that.

"Think I'll pass," he drawled. His Kansai Japanese was actually pretty new to me; there was no need for me to ever go to the Kansai region. What was even there? Osaka? Was there a Soul Society version of Osaka? "You came to the living world for a slurpee?"

I inched sideways so maybe my back could not be to the building and I could get a clear path of retreat by which to mcfucking book it down the street.

"As you see," I hedged, holding the cup out like it would protect me from him. It would absolutely not protect me. His zanpakuto would go through it, and probably also me, like fucking pudding. "Slurpee."

His facial expression was doing something super complicated. "That... might be the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Well, it feels dumb now," I muttered.

The alarm seemed so so loud. I would have wrinkled my nose but, unfortunately, my face was covered in bone. Hollow problems.

"Look, Shinigami-san, isn't it a global chain? They'll have insurance for break-ins." Probably. "I'm just here to get my glasses and my slurpee."

"Insurance," he repeated. The sword went tap-tap-tap. I could see the tendon flexing in his wrist where the cuff of his shirt did not quite cover it. "Uh-huh. Sure. They got insurance. They're teaching you about insurance in vasto lorde school now?"

Vasto lorde school was just regular school, was the rub there: hollows were all just human souls, after all. Fucked up human souls, but just human souls. I didn't say it.

"You're giving everyone in a twenty kilometre radius nightmares," he pointed out, mouth tugging down.

In my defence, I simply couldn't prevent that, just like I couldn't prevent the yowling cats. Besides, what was one bad night's sleep? Nothing, honestly. Come on. Don't be such a coward!

"Sorry?" I offered. Obviously, I was not sorry, but his expression made it seem lke I should at least lie about it.

He opened his mouth to speak and gestured — with his sword. Seeing the zanpakuto swish in the air made me jump. My new glasses, absolutely predictably, flew right off my mask and hit the pavement with a heart-rending crack.

"No!" I gasped, and nearly dropped my slurpee on top of them. I crouched down to grasp at them but the lenses were, of course, already fucked. I couldn't see it very clearly, but I could sure feel the jagged cracks with my fingertips.

"No, no, no," I chanted. "Nooo."

In a flash, the horrible future unfolded before me: long periods of endless night, alone, unable to even pass the time with a book, stuck in a cave. It would be ages before I could creep into another human city with another garganta. My reiatsu suppression just wasn't good enough to hide from the technological sensors the shinigami used, and a vasto lorde in the human world put them on highest possible alert.

Karakura was probably the only exception, because Ichigo, but now there would be other shinigami here expecting me. If I tried to come back here, surely I'd be getting a face full of another vaizard, or maybe Urahara.

It all seemed so overwhelming. I really just wanted to have a slurpee and read my book. Didn't I deserve that much?

I made one of the more pathetic noises it's possible for a hollow to make, a sad little multitonal keen.

Whatever Hirako had been saying (to which I had naturally stopped listening, due to the tragedy that had befallen me) stopped abruptly.

"Are you crying?" His voice was unflatteringly incredulous.

I probably was, though. I patted my mask. It was kinda damp, yeah.

"No," I lied, with a highly telling warble in my voice.

[softichill]

"Gee I wonder what made this bug start going around" says the teacher who just coughed all over the white board without even bothering to shield it. "Yeah it's weird" says the student that sneezed into their hand and wiped it off on the chair

[writersdrug]

I NEED waitress!reader accidentally letting it slip that she’s got a date after her shift and so when bartender!simon overhears, he suddenly has a list of things she needs to do after work, causing her get to stay late ))): missing her date ))):

ANGST TIME

He's been watching you like a hawk for the past two hours - and rightfully so. You've been rushing through your tasks, rolling more than enough silverware, keeping your tables happy and stocked - you somehow managed to convince Soap to mop front of house for you. He doesn't like it. Why are you trying to get away?

"Got a date tonight." You tell him, skimming through your receipts as you sit at the bar and calculate your tips. You're not off the clock yet - you still have thirty minutes left. But the restaurant's empty, and all your tasks are done. Your makeup is a little nicer today, softer and less "morning after a deftones concert".

Simon's thankful for the mask, or else his frown would be impossible to miss. Is he dumb? Haven't you been flirting with him all week? Was this another one of your games, pretending to act innocent and coy, messing with him, then announcing you're going out with someone else?!

He feels his shoulders tensing as he watches you tap away at your phone's calculator. He shouldn't be so bothered by this - some things just need to be let go. But he can't. He wants to keep you in his back pocket, or in an empty whiskey bottle on his liquor shelf - not the one behind the bar, but the personal collection in his room on the third floor.

"That's nice," he grumbles, slicing through a lime. "Jus' make sure you finish your chores 'fore you head out."

"Already did!" You chirp at him with a smile. "Just need to do my tips, and I'll be done."

"Did ya clean the ice bins?" He asks.

You furrow your brow. "Huh?"

He jerks his head to the whiteboard on the wine fridge - sure enough, your name is scribbled in, right next to "drain and wash/sanitize ice bins + buckets", along with today's date.

You look back at Simon, your expression now crestfallen. Your date is in an hour, and you still have twenty minutes on your shift. "Don't you usually do it?"

Truthfully, he does. He could do it today, in fact. But his brain is acting on thoughts before he has the chance to consider the consequences. "Can't today, luv. Preppin' for a bigger crowd tomorrow."

Your shoulders slump. "How long does it take?"

"Well, you got to turn 'em off - one by one, I can't have two empty ice bins durin' a shift - then ya dump the ice, wait for 'em to warm up, then ya go in there with soap n' a rag, rinse 'em out, then-"

"God, can this please wait until tomorrow? I'll come in early and do it, I promise."

He looks at you sternly, and you suddenly feel ashamed for asking. "Wot, so I can pay you overtime?"

"Simon, please - if you do them, I'll give you half my tips for today."

"Now y' dumpin' your work on me?"

"I've got a date!"

"I've got my own shit too!"

You snap your mouth shut. He's never been this stern with you, but you know it's well deserved. It's your chore, after all. You'd been wrong to assume he would do it himself, despite that being the usual. You quickly hop out of the barstool and make your way behind the bar, unplugging the first icebin.

Simon watches as you scurry around, running to and from the ice bin into the kitchen, filling up bucket after bucket of ice and dumping it into the sink in the back. You pace as the machine warms up, glancing at your phone every few minutes, then touching the inside of the ice maker to check the temperature. After a few minutes, you're scrubbing the machine as fast as you can with a soapy rag and a bucket of sanitizer eater next to you.

Twenty minutes have gone by. You're supposed to be on your way to your date, but you're biting your lip, staring angrily at the ice machine as it cools down again. You need to wait for it to be cold before you refill it with ice, and only then can you start on the other machine.

You make another attempt towards Simon. "If I just do one tonight and do the other in the morning-"

"No." Simon snaps, his eyes angry as he drops a container of sliced fruit onto the bar. "This is part of havin' a job."

You look away from him, tears stinging your eyes now. You're so frustrated you want to snap back at him - but he's right, isn't he? Maybe you could ask him if you could just call Max and let him know you'll be running late - but the thought of asking Simon for anything right now (other than more chores) makes you queasy.

Simon doesn't know where the anger came from, but it's still simmering. He watches as you continue to run back and forth, filling up the old ice bin, unplugging the second one, dumping the ice in the back... he's refilling the bloody Mary mix and restocking the bitters. Simple things. He's got nothing to do after this besides go up to his flat and sit in front of the telly, or maybe chat with Soap before he heads home. Why didn't he just do it? Because you had a date, and that was a problem for him. Why? Now you're upset, and it's that knowledge that makes him finally feel the shame that he'd been swallowing down.

You finish dumping the last bucket of ice into the second machine. It's forty minutes after your shift ended. You still have to get to the restaurant you and Max were meeting at, which is a twenty minute walk. You were supposed to be there ten minutes early - now you're going to be an hour late. Frustration mingles with anxiety and burns in the forefront of your mind. But you can't be mad. You should've done your job.

Simon doesn't say anything when you run to the back, your phone pressed to your ear and tears in your eyes. You barely manage a wave to Soap as you grab your bag and jacket and flounder back into the restaraunt. You don't look at Simon.

"I'm leaving now, I'm so sorry- I had to finish up at work and it too longer than I-" you slowed to a walk, then a stop, standing in the middle of the floor. Simon was frozen, watching your shoulders shake.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had-... it's not an excuse, I promise I'm-... listen, we can go for a walk or something, right? Or go get fast food, someplace still open, just you and me, and we can try again another-"

His eyes burn in his skull as he watches you stand there for a few more seconds, staring at your phone as the call disappears from the screen. He wants to say something - but what can he say? He's already fucked you over. And he doesn't feel any better than when he first discovered your little date. He feels worse.

You stuff your phone in your back pocket, unable to hide the single, choked sob that escapes your throat. You shoulder your bag and stomp your way out of the restaurant, door clanging behind you. Your bike is still in the alley out back, and your unfinished tips are still on the bartop. He wouldn't be surprised if you never come back to collect them.

Soap emerges from the kitchen breaking Simon from his thoughts and wiping his hands on a rag. "Real feckin' kind of ye, Ghost. Never seen such a right cunt." He glares at Simon, before slapping the rag on the table and heading back into the kitchen. His shift was over, too.

Simon has three more hours left to deal with himself before the bar closes.

[kurokawaia]

❛ It's your first !! Gotta be soft !! ❜

Iguro Obanai X Fem!Reader

WC; 3.4k+ (somehow)| !MDNI! | TW/CW :: nervous!reader, virgin!reader, lovesick!obanai, virgin!obanai, cherry popping, soft sex, gentle sex, oba is rlly soft and love you sm, piv, smut with plot? set in season 5 but no spoilers, kaburamaru slithers away smw when it gets heated dw

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) I was wondering if you could do reader’s first time with him, and I just head cannon Iguro to be absolutely lovesick with his partner and gentle like how he is with Mitsuri in canon so could you do it with like a nervous!reader x lovesick!Iguro’s first time doing it - ANON

this ended up being over 3k words, dont ask me how

m.list | demon slayer m.list

You had to take a break from training today, so you found yourself watching Obanai beating up the children who trained under him. However, you found yourself nervously fidgeting on the sidelines, watching Obanai as he demonstrated a particularly complex technique through the wood structures.

Your heart pounded in your chest, both from the intensity of the training and the way Obanai's gaze lingered on you whenever he thought no one was watching. Despite his stern exterior and sharp words for others, he had always been different from you—gentle, kind, and unbelievably patient.

He does love you after all.

Obanai's eyes flickered to you again, his concentration momentarily broken. The sight of you, nervously playing with the hem of your haori, made his heart ache with a longing he struggled to contain. He was lovesick for you, utterly devoted, and the thought of you consumed his mind.

As he guided the other Hashira through the rigorous exercises, his thoughts drifted to the times you spent together. The quiet moments when he could hold you close, feeling the warmth of your body against his, and the soft, timid whispers of your voice that soothed his troubled soul. He yearned for more of those moments, but there was a deeper, more primal desire that had begun to take root.

His mind wandered to the idea of having you in a more intimate way, a way you had not yet explored together. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he had to force himself to focus back on the training.

He wanted you, in every sense of the word, but he was determined to be patient, knowing your timid nature. He didn't want to rush you or make you feel uncomfortable.

The day dragged on, and the training ended. Obanai immediately sought you out, his expression softening the moment he saw you waiting for him.

"How was your day?" he asked, his voice gentle as he approached you.

"It was alright," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "Watching you was... impressive, as always."

He smiled beneath his mask, he only smiled for you. "Thank you. Let's go somewhere quiet. I want to spend some time with you."

You nodded, your heart racing as he led you away from the training grounds of his estate to the room the two of you shared. Well, you weren't currently living with him yet, but you hoped to in the future.

It was peaceful as the two of you sat outside on the edge of the path that trailed around the house, your legs dangling off of the edge, accompanied by the soft rustle of trees.

Obanai sat down, pulling you gently to sit closer beside him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "I've missed you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I missed you too," you replied, leaning into his embrace. The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, and you felt a sense of peace wash over you.

He tilted your chin up, his mismatched eyes locking onto yours. "I think about you all the time," he confessed, his voice aching with longing. "I want you, in every way possible. But I don't want to rush you. I want you to be comfortable, to feel safe with me."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I... I feel safe with you, Obanai," you whispered, your cheeks flushing. "I'm just... nervous."

He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "That's okay. We can take things slow. I just want you to know how much I care about you, how much I love you."

You looked up at him, your eyes shining. "I love you too, Obanai. I'm just not used to feeling this way, but I want to be with you."

He pulled you closer, unravelling the bandages around his mouth, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. "We'll take it one step at a time," he murmured against your lips. "As long as we're together, that's all that matters."

But the kiss wasn't tender for too long. Obanai had slipped his tongue into your mouth and a gasp fell out of your lips. You dripped his haori in surprise, eyes momentarily widening before closing them in contentment.

Obanai's tongue was entangling with your own and you almost didn't know what to do. It obviously wasn't the first time that the two of you had made out but it still made you nervous under his touch. He was towering over you, his hand entangled in your hair as he tilted your face up and an arm wrapped tightly around your waist.

You felt as if you were going to faint when he was getting into it, more than usual, your heart was beating so fast you thought you were going to pass out. You didn't even know what to do, Obanai was dominating you in such a loving way it made your tummy swell with butterflies and an unfamiliar throbbing fall to your clit.

You were beginning to not be able to intake any breaths and you tense underneath Obanai's touch. You truly were getting more and more flustered by the minute. Leaning into Obanai's hold, you tapped quickly on his shoulder and he pulled away from the kiss alarmed, not even realising your flustered and breathless state causing his eyes to widen in worry.

He leaned back slightly to see if you were okay, mentally cursing himself for being too intense with you. Your forehead was leaning on his shoulder while your hands trembled, clenching his black and white striped haori.

"I'm so sorry," Obanai hastily uttered and in reply, you nodded your head against his shoulder.

"It's okay," you reassured quietly.

What Obanai didn't see was how red your cheeks were and how hot your body felt on the inside, this sensation was absolutely overwhelming and you didn't know what to do.

"Are you-"

You lifted your head up after a few seconds, hoping that you had calmed yourself down but it didn't really work.

"I am!" you replied, interrupting him.

Obanai's eyes widened when he saw the state of you. Your cheeks were flushed in a deep shade of a pinkish red and your hands were trembling on his shoulders. What he felt just then, what he is realising is that he can feel how hot your body is heating up.

You didn't know what this need was so you hesitantly asked Obanai, "could I... kiss you again?" you asked with a quiet voice, looking down, not wanting to meet his gaze in fear he said no.

Oh, how silly you were, you could kiss Obanai whenever you wanted, with or without asking and he would just fall even more in love with you.

Obanai's eyes softened, and he leaned down, brushing his lips against mine. "You don't need to ask," he whispered against your mouth, his voice filled with warmth and longing.

You hesitantly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our lips met once more. This time, the kiss was deeper, more intense. You could feel the electricity between us, a magnetic pull that made it impossible to resist each other.

your hands explored the contours of his back, feeling the strength and warmth of his muscles. Obanai's hands moved with a gentle but insistent touch, tracing the lines of your body, and making you shiver with anticipation.

As our bodies pressed closer, you could feel Obanai's heartbeat against mine, a steady rhythm that matched the intensity of our emotions. You wanted to memorize every sensation, every touch, knowing that this moment was a testament to the depth of our relationship.

Obanai's lips left mine, trailing a path of kisses down your neck, making you gasp with pleasure. His hands moved with a tender urgency, exploring the curves of your body with a reverence that made you feel cherished and loved.

You pulled him back up to you, our eyes locking as we paused for a breath. "I love you," You whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.

"I love you too," he replied. "{Y/n}," he asked breathless

Obanai's hand gently cupped your cheek, lifting your chin until your eyes met. His touch was reassuring, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. "Yes?" You asked softly, swallowing a lump in your throat.

"I... I want to take things further," he said, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability of your words hanging in the air.

Your body froze, your mind pausing whatever it was thinking about. "You... can," you whisper, gazing into his eyes, realising that what he wanted to engage with you was sex.

After walking over to the futon, Obanai laid you down carefully, as if you would break and you were a nervous wreck but Obanai soothed that. Obanai was straddling your lower abdomen and you could feel the large bulge in his hakama pants as he leaned down to kiss you.

Your tongues danced with each other before he pressed a kiss to the side of your lips and then trailed down slowly, the kisses reassuring you that you would be okay. He trailed down your collarbone and chest, making sure to leave soft, faint red marks in its wake. Throughout the entire procedure, you let out panting breaths and strengthened your grip on his body.

Your reactions only send continuous flushes of butterflies to Obanai's dick. The need that Obanai had for you was restless as he tried so hard to contain himself and be as soft with you, he didn't want to hurt you.

"Oba," you said breathlessly and he could've melted right there and then, the way you said his name sounded so much more intimate than how you would sound when it was just a simple make-out session.

Obanai lets out a hum of approval against your skin and tension ripples through your body at the vibrations as Obanai continues leaving the same soft red marks down your jaw and on your neck.

Obanai pulled away, giving you a soft kiss. "Can I... take your...." Obanai trailed off slowly and you nodded, knowing what he was referring to, your core uniform.

"Yes," you replied nervously.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Obanai reassured, placing a kiss on your lips. "I'm not forcing you."

"No! I want to," you replied almost too quickly that an embarrassed flush came to your cheeks.

You tensed when Obanai's hands trailed down to your waist, your body arching slightly into his touch. He hesitantly unbuttoned the rest of the buttons to the top and slid your pants off. You watched his eyes widen at the sight of the fabric slipping to the side of your chest and stomach. "Can I-?"

"You can," you say, cutting him off.

A breathless sigh leaves your mouth when his hot hand trailed up your lower stomach to experimentally squeeze the mounds of flesh. You let out a moan when Obanai's lips began to press and suck gently on the top of your breast. You covered your mouth embarrassed while you looked away from Obanai. "Sorry," you mumbled.

"You sound so pretty," he whispers in your ear, causing your cheeks to heat up. Obanai's free hand pulled the hand away from your mouth. He leaned up a bit, pulling you gently with him and slipped the black nemaki off your shoulders, placing the material somewhere near us before he lay you down on the mattress again.

Obanai's lips pressed against mine once more while a hand skimmed slowly down your body. you felt the tip of his finger tug only slightly at your underwear and you grasped his wrist, the kiss breaking.

"Do you want to stop? You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Obanai's reassures but you shake your head, signalling that I wasn't implying that.

"It's not that, I really want to," you replied breathlessly before an embarrassed flush rose onto your cheeks. "Could you take off your..."

"Huh? Oh, of course," Obanai hummed, his lips pressing the side of your jaw. you watched him slip himself out of sweats, you see the imprint of his dick press painfully against his underwear and you swallowed deeply before he straddled you once you. Obanai did that without any complaint, he must really love you all that much.

Obanai pressed a reassuring kiss on your jaw before the tips of his fingers pulled the cotton down your legs, the cool air of the room causing chills to tingle down your pale skin. "You're so pretty," Obanai says breathlessly causing butterflies to swirl in your stomach.

His fingers venture further down, tracing a path along your slick slit. The touch is electrifying, causing you to tremble in his hold, your body responding to his every movement. A helpless whimper escapes your lips, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through you.

"So wet," Obanai mumbles before looking back up to you. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," you replied quietly, opening your eyes down to Obanai. "Please, can you... touch me more."

"I'll do whatever you want me do to," Obanai replied and you let a small smile grace your lips.

At your reply, Obanai's fingers experimentally push past v slick folds, his fingers pressing past your clit, and a surge of pleasure courses through you, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. A moan left your mouth as your back arched at his touch. your reaction caused Obanai to press down slightly more and your legs squeezed around his waist, moans stringing out your mouth.

you felt his fingers slide down and he found your seeping hols, drenched with arousal. I felt a finger slowly slide inside your heat, a whimper leaving your mouth. "Does this feel good?" Obanai asked and you nodded frantically.

"So good," you whimpered as he slowly pumped in and out your soaked walls. "Making me feel so good, Obanai."

"Really?" He asked and you moaned as he inserted another finger into your walls.

"Yeah, so so good," you whimper. "So good for me, Obanai."

The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and intensity that leaves you unable to contain your moans. you press your lips against his shoulder, muffling the sounds that escape from deep within you. His fingers explore the depths of your core, igniting a fire that consumes your every thought. Each movement, each curl, sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body.

you surrender to the intoxicating rhythm of his touch, the combination of his skilled fingers and the intensity of our connection pushes you closer to the edge, teetering on the precipice of release. It's a moment of pure bliss, where time stands still, and you are consumed by the overwhelming pleasure that courses through your veins.

As Obanai fingers continued their relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of your seeping hole, there was an unfamiliar tightness growing in your lower abdomen, pleasure tightened inside your stomach. you wrap your shaky legs around him, seeking to anchor yourself to him amidst the overwhelming pleasure. your body quivers with anticipation, responding to his every touch, every movement.

you chant his name into his neck as praises leave your mouth, your voice filled with desire and need. The tears welling in your eyes are not from pain but from the overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely.

In response to your plea, sucks the skin around your neck once more, groaning against your neck, his voice laced with desire. He begins to press your clit with the pad of his thumb, adding another layer of pleasure to the already intense sensations. The touch is electrifying, causing you to arch your back in response.

"Please, Obanai," you sob. "I need to... So good, Obanai."

"I've got you," Obanai reassured, intertwining our mouths together, his mouth swallowing the moans that slipped out your mouth.

The pleasure builds, the tension mounting with each passing second until you are on the precipice of release. It's a moment of pure surrender, where pleasure reigns supreme, and you are consumed by the overwhelming ecstasy that engulfs me.

Waves of ecstasy wash over you, leaving your legs trembling and weak from the intensity of the sensations. He slips his fingers from your hole and you continue to tremble from the aftermath of the orgasm. you managed to release yourself from Obanai's neck and move away from his hold.

"How are you feeling?" Obanai asks cupping your cheeks.

"Good," you breathe out slowly while looking into his eyes. "But, I want to make you feel good too."

"You don't need-"

"Please," you beg and you watch him swallow deeply, tension showing on his body.

Obanai asked once more. "Are you sure?"

I nod. "Please."

"Alright," He smiled gently moving off you to get himself out of his underwear and your eyes widened as you saw the size of his length. Obanai moves over you, you place your hands on his chest.

He delicately bites the shell of your ear making you let out a quiet whimper. you could feel him smile against your ear at your reaction. Obanai's touch caused you to dig your nails slightly into his chest leaving light crescent marks causing more deep exhales of breaths to get caught in your ear.

Obanai moved his head and his body suddenly firmly pressed against mine and I whimpered at the feeling of his dick pressing up against your stomach. His lips mingled with mine his minty taste and smell overflowed your senses making it a complete euphoria for you. you cupped the back of his neck to create a deeper angle for him to explore deeper into your mouth with our tongues continuing to entangle with each other.

Obanai groans into your mouth, the hand that was trailing down your thigh moved swiftly back to your waist and the other intertwined with your hair at the base of your neck, pulling you closer to him. you let out breathy sighs into him as your own hand interlaced with his black and your other wrapped around behind his neck.

His other hand moved its way down to tightly lift your thigh up which made his body mould closer to mine making you feel his dick press up against your soaked core. The kiss slows down and turns soft and almost desperate it's as if he wants to take his time with you, savouring every inch of your taste, to take his sweet time to memorise you.

"You're doing so good," Obanai pants agasint your lips and I didn't have time to reply as he pressed them against you once more. "I'm going to do it now. If it hurts, please tell me, I don't want to hurt you."

"Okay," you reply.

He presses his lips against mine to take your mind off the pain that's probably soon to come. you feel a hard tip get lubricated at your entrance making your back arch into him as you let out a strangled moan of pleasure into his mouth. He continues to push further into you making your eyebrows furrow together in pain but the pleasure is still overwhelming your senses making tears prick at your eyes.

"Oh, you feel so good," Obanai whimpers into your neck. "You're so perfect."

"You feel so good," you moan. The feeling of pure ecstasy of him fully entered you, the pain gone.

you feel his dick scraping across your plush walls in all the right places as he slowly exited your cunt, but not fully. Our moans and whimpers get swallowed by each other. you feel his thrusts speed up and you moan in response, your walls clenching around him causing the grip Obanai held on your thigh and waist to tighten.

The coil in your stomach getting tighter and your moans slightly became higher. Obanai continued to groan into your neck after he pulled away from the heated kiss.

"You make- me feel so goo- d," you say moaning throughout your sentence, "Feels so good-"

"I'm close-," He groans.

"Me too," you choke out.

you felt the coil in your stomach snap as your back arched painfully into Obanai's bare chest causing Obanai to groan and his arms moved to wrap tightly around you. After a few more pumps Obanai came, letting a few more rolls of his hips into you to help ride out both our highs before he pulled out slowly, making sure not to hurt you.

Obanai slumped down beside you before he slipped the condom off his length and walked over to the bathroom with a warm, damp wash cloth to clean you up and after he did so, you did the same.

"I love you so much," you tell him as we lay down together, our legs and arms entangling, bare bodies pressed against each other.

"I love you more," Obanai replies, holding you tighter.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | demon slayer m.list

[walpu]

I've got those requests almost at the same time jsrfwwxewe also I fucked up big time and accidentally deleted them but thanks god I've made the screenshots

I've been looking forward to writing something nsfw for him lmao

nsfw headcanons w/Aventurine

characters - Aventurine notes - gn!reader, nsfw, subby!Aven. Somehow turned into a character study. Somewhat angsty but with a turn for hurt/comfort. No beta.

Okay, first of all, he's no virgin. But he's NOT a manwhore either. Like for some reason when it comes to the cunning characters it's always either he's a dickrider-pussydestroyer-900 or he's actually a fragile innocent virgin baby. Not the case with Aventurine, not on my watch at least.

I mean it's pretty much canon that the only moment he feels truly alive is when he's gambling so he won't seek sex for the purpose of filling up the hole in his heart. And I don't see him as a lustful person in general.

He has one-night stands from time to time though. Not particularly often but once in a while he feels a certain level of frustration and stress budling up in him so in order to distress without losing his cool he seeks sexual relief. For him it's a safe way to relax a bit without actually taking off the mask of a frivolous and confident man.

Also. He's very touch starved. Not even in a lustful way, he just wants to feel someone's touch. Someone on twitter pointed out that he's practically hugging himself on his e6 and I haven't been the same ever since.

And now look at his body language in almost every cutscene. He has his arms crossed and is generally pretty reversed. I think he doesn't trust people around enough to be in his personal space but when it's a part of the sexual act, it's just natural. He doesn't have to feel exposed. So yeah. This is another reason why he seeks sex.

Now do you remember what Sparkle said to him? About stripping himself naked for Sunday and all that? Yeah I feel like he gets comments like that a lot due to people's prejudice against Avgins. People are usually not this straightforward butttt the idea behind their comments is the same.

He may act unaffected as long as he wants to but I do think it messed him up quite a bit.

Due to his fucked up views on his own value and his sexuality he doesn't have a healthy set of boundaries with his partners, allowing them to be as mean and rough as they want. And I don't mean just kinky stuff, I mean genuinely uncaring partners who really don't give a shit about Aven's comfort. I think subconsciously he seeks people like this. In his eyes, it's better this way, otherwise he may crumble from a gently and caring touch.

So yeah. His sexual encounters usually leave him sore and exhausted. The initial feeling of relief washes away in the morning, leaving him more empty than before.

Okay now to the happier part because we are 466 words in and I still didn't say anything good or sexy.

If the two of you started your relationship as a fling then initially he would be surprised because of how observant and attentive you are.

"My, my, how caring you are. But don't worry about me, you're free to use me as you wish" he says in the same flirty tone as usual. And you just. Stare.

He acts like he's bored while you literally pry the information out of him and, well, he doesn't give you anything specific anyway so you have to ask questions during the whole prosses to make sure he's doing fine. Orrr you just set for something very vanilla just in case.

In reality he's a bit confused. Has mixed feeling about this. Being treated with such care makes it harder for him to hide behind his mask but it feels so nice.

And when he realizes that he has actual feelings for you he just. Stops sleeping with you lmao. If you have questions about this he'll find 2134144 excuses but in reality he just tries to figure out his own feelings.

If you started off as friends then he would not try to sleep with you until you start dating. At first he just doesn't want to mix up this dynamics. And when he catches feelings, he just tries to make sense of it. Plus since sex is not something entirely positive for him, he's just kind of... unsure how it may affect your relationship even if it's obvious that the two of you want each other.

Okay now the real talk. When the two of you are officially lovers be prepared to face his messed up views on his own sexuality. Will probably need a lot of reassurance, attention and aftercare to realize the importance of his own safety and comfort. Learns to value himself through you.

A very good lover, knows how to please you and wants to please you. His previous sex partners weren't important to him so he didn't go out of his way to make them feel good but with you it's a different story. Literally worships your body, pressing kisses everywhere. Especially likes your thighs. Kisses them, bites them, leaves marks all over them. Loooooves teasing them while keeping eye contact with you right before giving you oral.

I feel like he's a switch but leans towards being a sub. May dom if you want him to or, rarely, if he feels like it.

May look like a brat but is not actually a brat. Well, most of the time. He's a tease but still does pretty much everything you want without making you work for it. However, if he's in a playful mood, may get all cheeky with you. Says stuff like: "Oh, that's all? I know you can do better" or "My dearest, don't disappoint me, okay? You know I don't make deals that don't pay off" just to rile you up. He loves being tamed okay. He knows you won't hurt him so him being all cheeky and disobedient is actually a huge sign that he's comfortable with you and trusts you fully.

Worship his body and he'll melt. Like. He'll genuinely crumble.

Goes all worked up and needy and soft and completely submissive in your arms.

Loves loves loves edging you. And fucking hate being edged. And by "hates" I mean he will whine and sulk and beg you to let him cum already. Secretly loves it but won't admit. You know it anyway since he never tries to stop you, obeying your every command, like a good boy he is. If you tell him that you'll stop doing that if he actually wants you to he'll huff and admit that he's not actually against you being a meanie.

Loves marking your body and loves when you mark his. HOWEVER would prefer to leave/have hickeys on the parts of your bodies that are usually covered. Doesn't want to create any rumors and doesn't want to make you uncomfortable. However, if you're into this, he'll gladly cover your entire neck with hickeys.

Is actually very sensitive pretty much everywhere so it's quite easy to overstimulate him. Once again, he'll whine but would never be against it.

Has the pretties moans and is very loud as well.

Doesn't have a lot of stamina so if he tops and you're still not satisfied after he cums, he'll use toys to entertain you up until he is ready for another round. If he bottoms then please give him some time to rest. Andddd kiss all over his body so he would get worked up again as soon as possible.

Has a praise kink. And a bit of a degradation kink too actually. Don't just insult him, mix it up with a praise and boom he's ready to cum.

Loves aftercare. Both giving and receiving it. He feels extremely vulnerable after a sensual lovemaking session so please just hold him and tell him he did great.

[eclipseslayer]

TRICK-OR-TREAT

• STALKER!TOJI FUSHIGURO X F!READER

• Day 4 of Kinktober: Knifeplay.

• SUMMARY: Thinking you're just opening up the door to some kid who's trick-or-treating, you instead open it up to a fully-grown man in a Scream costume.

• CW: Stalker!Toji, DUB-CON, knifeplay, penetrative sex.

• WC: 2.1k

MDNI! 18+ ONLY!

Ding dong.

You groan, feeling annoyed while you turn your head to look at the clock.

It's eight o'clock. Trick-or-treaters are supposed to be home, now.

You hang your head, and with a pivot of your heel, you turn to head back to the front door. You grab the bowl of candy that sits on a pedestal in the entryway, and you put it on your hip while your hand grips the door handle.

You twist the knob, and, slowly, you pull the door open.

"It's eight, now, aren't you supposed to be..." Your words trail off once you're met with the sight in front of you.

Instead of a small child, or an annoyingly over-grown teenager, you're met with a hulking shadow: a man, tall and wide dressed in a Scream outfit that drapes over him like a black curtain, and the Ghostface mask hides his countenance. It's almost eerie.

"I uh..." You clear your throat, and you put the candy bowl back onto its pedestal. "...can I help you?"

Your words are meek, and as you look up at the man is front of you, you could almost tell that he was smirking underneath the mask.

"Trick-or-treat."

His voice is deep, and it makes your hair on your arms raise. He holds out a bag full of candy to you, and your eyebrows raise.

"O-Oh." You turn your back to him and you reach out to grab the bowl of candy, but, before you can think, you hear a heavy thud which makes you whip your head towards the sound. The big bag of candy had dropped to the floor, and the man had shoved his way into your home, pushing past your doorframe.

"Trick-or-treat."

Slam!

You jump, and immediately feel a shockwave of cold wash over you, entrapping your body in what feels like a block of ice as you see the door slams behind you, with the hulking man walking in.

Slowly, he approaches you, with heavy boots thudding against the wooden floors, until he pushes you up against the wall in the entryway to your home, trapping you beneath his broad body.

He leans down, and you can feel the plastic of his mask scrape against your ear, and you hear him whiff.

"Finally..." He groans, and slowly he begins to press himself against you, his lower-half meets yours and you let out a whimper.

You're shaking, practically quivering like a scared puppy in the night, abandoned and left to fend for itself under the scary shadows of the darkness.

"I've been waiting... for so, long," he moans into your ear and he presses his lower-half up against you again. You gasp when you feel a raging boner.

"P-Please... p-please, d-don't..." You stutter out, but the man rumbles a low chuckle.

"Oh, your sweet, sweet begging sounds as good as I thought it would be..." He grumbles and he leans in and pushes his mask up just barely so you can see his lips, and his strong features of his jaw.

Your legs quiver and you whimper again, and your hands grip onto the wall, searching for anything to hold onto.

"P-Please... no!" You beg louder, desperate for this man to hear you, but your pleading sounds of desperation fall onto deaf ears.

He continues his onslaught as he starts to kiss onto your neck, leaving small marks onto your skin as he begins to suck and pull with his teeth.

Whining, you try and pull your head to the side to escape his sudden marks, but, he quickly stops you by placing a large, gloved hand around your neck, preventing you from moving, making you gasp as air is suddenly swept away from you.

"Stop movin' so much, damn," he hisses under his breath, and then quickly puts his teeth back into your neck.

You go to protest, but, before you can, you suddenly see him reach into the sleeve of his robe, where he slowly digs around for something. He grunts when he finds it, and when he pulls it out, you're shocked.

A knife.

Shiny and untouched, with a heavy, thick, black, blunt handle.

"W-What—"

"Shh, shh..." the man coos, and he pulls away from your neck. He moves his head so he's facing you now, once again, and you see the scar twitch on his lips as a slow smirk creeps upon his expression.

You whimper.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, and he removes the gloved hand from around your throat. " 'M just takin' ya clothes off, see?"

He grips the knife handle firmly between a fist, and, pinning you down with his other hand, he slowly drags the edge of the blade across your stomach until it lands on the hem of your shirt.

Your breath hitches and your eyes widen as you feel something stir between your legs.

Panic rises in you when you realize that you're enjoying this.

You're enjoying being taken advantage of, and toyed with as you watch him drag the knife along the hem of your shirt.

You let out a shaky breath when you feel the cold metal meet your skin, and your legs press together out of habit, making him come to a halt.

He looks up at you; black eyes of the mask meet yours.

"You likin' this?" He asks, bluntly, and you swallow thickly. You want to answer no, and shake your head and beg for him to stop, but the sudden cool feeling of the knife brisking over your skin made you want otherwise.

"I..." You can't even bring yourself to answer the truth, so you nod your head.

Slowly, a grin crawls onto his lips, and he lets out a hearty chuckle.

"Ahh... knew ya'd like this kinky shit. I imaged ya would... always thought a good lookin' girl like you would like this..." He murmurs, and he leans back into your neck and resumes leaving marks onto your skin.

You lean your head back against the wall and finally you accept this as you let out a soft moan.

He hums against your skin, and he twists the knife, ripping the hem of your shirt. He drags it up, ripping the fabric in half, and lets it fall off of your body.

"Fuck... your moans... make me so hard..." He murmurs and he moves his face back in front of you again. Those black eyes meet yours once more.

"You gonna be good 'n still for me if I let you go?" He tilts his head, and, feeling like a puppy dog once more under his mysterious gaze, you nod.

"Y-Yes, Mr. Ghostface," you reply, meekly, and he chuckles darkly.

"Toji, sweetheart," he corrects you and he places the knife under your chin, humming with delight when he sees you squeeze your legs together again.

"R-Right... Toji..."

He nods and he removes his hands from you and then he slowly moves them to your pants. He takes his knife and puts the blade inside your jeans, and slowly begins to rip the fabric down the middle seam.

You gasp with each tear, only whimpering as you feel the cool metal brushing against your skin. It sets a fire within you, one of need, slowly kindling it's way to your heated core.

Your hands needily grasp at the wall behind you, searching, looking for something to hold onto while you shiver underneath the knife, but fail, so you resort to biting your lip to restrain the climbing anticipation.

The knife feeds the anticipation when you feel it cut through your panties, splitting them in half, just as the knife did with your jeans. The fabric of your clothes fall to the floor, leaving you bare and needy.

You whine, looking at the floor then back up at the masked man who's smirk remains untouched.

Your gaze goes back to the knife in his hand and you swallow thickly as you watch it, following it carefully as it ghosts over your skin, leaving you resorting to soft, needy whimpers.

You gasp as you feel the back of the blade glide over your skin. The coolness leaves goosebumps in their wake. It glides over your stomach, making it cave in and out as you react to the cool curve of the knife, and then it glides down to your pelvis, leaving you to your own devices as you bite your lip even more, whimpering in anticipation.

Then, it glides down, the blunt back of the blade moves between your folds, making you gasp. You grip Toji's arm in retaliation but he hushes you.

"Toji—!"

"Shh... don't worry, doll. Not gonna hurt you... I've finally got you where I want you, and you think that that's what I'm gonna do? Naw. I need this pussy all pretty 'n nice for me. Ima be careful, sweetheart."

It's thrilling, how the blade moves between your pussy. You think that any second now he's going to turn the blade over—despite his words—and cut you, but, he doesn't, which makes it so enticing.

You whine, wanting to squirm but you stay still under the blade's touch. Toji notices this, making his smirk only grow. He lets out a low chuckle and he finally removes the blade from your pussy. He brings it up to his face. You can tell he's looking at it, as it's covered in your slick, from underneath the mask. He hums and brings it to his lips and tastes it, groaning at how good it tastes.

"Fuck... just like I imagined," he grunts, and he brings his hands down and begins to unbuckle his belt. He fumbles for a minute, until he finally lets his pants fall down around his ankles, soon followed by his underwear.

When he reveals himself, you're aghast. He huge—thick and sturdy, and long—and he's dripping with precum.

You swallow thickly.

Then, slowly, he brings his cock to the entrance of your pussy. He takes one of your legs and hoists it around his waist, grunting, until finally, he presses the big tip into your pussy, where he lets out a groan.

You moan in response, feeling the tip kiss into your pussy, just barely pushing in. He huffs and, in one swift movement, he hoists up your other leg and places it around his waist, and his large meaty hands grip your thighs, and, with another quick movement, he thrusts in.

"Toji!" You shout, and your hands fly to his hair and you grip it, feeling his cock suddenly swell within you, filling you up so that your walls cling to him in a vice grip.

He grits his teeth and groans, burying his face into your neck, leaving the plastic on the mask pressing against your cheek. "Shuddup. Goddamn, holy fuck, you're so tight," he mutters quickly in a single breath, huffing. "Love it—ya feel s'good."

He pulls back his hips, and, wham!

Another single thrust that leaves his cock pressing up against your pussy. You whine loudly in response, and, then, without warning, he does it again.

And again.

And again.

Until he starts building a rhythm, where he constantly is slamming into you, roughly, stretching you out with no warnings. Only grunts, groans, and curses are expelled from Toji, and you moan loudly, clawing at his back as you feel him all around.

"Toji! Toji!" You moan, crying at this point from how good it feels to have his cock pushing in and out of you, scraping against your insides from how big he is.

"That's right, say my name, doll, say it. Say it like you're mine," he grits through his teeth, nearly growling in your ear.

"Toji!" You shout again, louder than the last few.

His cock feels so good as it bullies into you, making you dumb on his cock. You become boneless, and one with the wall as you melt into it, feeling so numb because of his good this stranger's cock is.

It continues to bully into you, hitting that oh-so delicious spot over, and over again that makes you—

"Oh, oh, oh!"

—cum.

You shake, and shiver, and your legs clamp around the stranger as you cum, and soon afterwards, you feel a familiar warmth fill you as Toji suddenly spills his seed without warning.

"Fuck, you were grippin' me so tight..." He groans into your ear, and huffs, becoming out of breath as he suddenly lets you go, dropping you to the ground.

A triumphant grin is plastered onto his face and plants his hands on his hips as he catches his breath.

"Bet ya that's the only treat ya got for Halloween, huh?"

[sevikasvictim]

sevika x fem reader

Forced Attraction.

Tags : Captor!Sevika x Captive!Reader , kidnapping , dubious consent , very dubious , stalking , mindbreak , Dom!sevika , victim!reader , sevika is a creep , psycho even , reader is a freak tho , pain slut even , dark fic , violence , threats , Stockholm syndrome , manipulation , fingering.

Summary : You don’t remember how you ended up here.

Note : yeaaaah. I needed to write this one for my soul. In my defence… yeah I got nothing LOL. Enjoy degens. This is probs very ooc but ic if you squint hard enough.

Sevika followed you from a safe distance, making sure to stay hidden. Her keen eyes observed your every move. She observed the way you talked to others, the way you smiled, the way you walked. She memorized every little detail, committing it to memory so she could replay it in her mind later.

Sevika watched you with a mixture of fascination and obsession, her gaze never leaving your figure. She stalked you every day, always watching and waiting for the right moment to make her move.

The cold night air stung your face as you walked home from a late night shift, the dimly lit streets feeling eerie despite the city bustling with life. You couldn't shake off the feeling that eyes were on you, following your every move. As you quickened your pace, feeling increasingly uneasy, the sound of footsteps echoed behind you. You turned around, but there was no one there. Shrugging it off, you continued your walk, telling yourself you were being paranoid. However, the sense of being watched persisted, and you couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was actually there. As you walked, you started to notice small things out of place, a shadow darting behind a building, a sound of footsteps trailing just a few steps behind you. The feeling of being followed increased, making your pulse race. You could sense someone's presence, but whenever you turned around, there was no one there.

Fear gripped your heart as you quickened your steps, desperate to home and away from the unseen pursuer. You glanced over your shoulder once more, and this time you saw a figure disappearing around a corner. This only confirmed your suspicions. Panicked, you picked up the pace, jogging now towards your house, the fear of the unknown presence behind you outweighing the fatigue. Every step you took felt like an eternity, your heartbeat thundering in your ears as adrenaline coursed through your veins. You desperately longed for the safety and comfort of your home, away from the stalking figure lurking in the shadows.

As Sevika watched you run, excitement and anticipation coursing through her veins. She could almost feel your fear, smell it wafting through the air. She couldn't let you escape, not when she'd spent so long observing and planning. And that’s why she had a plan.

You spot Sevika in the distance ahead, a wave of relief washed over you. Her familiar face was like a beacon of safety in the darkness, and your tense shoulders softened as you jogged towards her.

"Sevika!" you called out, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps. "Thank goodness, I thought... I thought someone was following me."

Sevika feigned concern, her expression masking the fact that she was the one who had been following you. She stepped closer, her eyes scanning your face, taking in your disheveled appearance.

"Why would someone be following you?" she asked, her voice gruff but gentle. "Are you alright?" Hiding the excitement that was building up in her. She's enjoying this, the power she has over you, the trust you place in her.

"You know, I've been worried about you. You've been so distant lately, and I couldn't help but wonder what was going on in that pretty little head of yours."

Sevika's grip tightens on your shoulder as she pulls her in closer, her breath hot against her ear. Your heart races, a mix of relief and something else she can't quite place. Sevika's words are laced with concern, but there's an undercurrent of something darker, something predatory.

"You've been through so much, haven't you? All alone, trying to navigate these treacherous streets. It must be so hard, not knowing who to trust." You felt a strange mixture of relief and unease at Sevika's words. They were comforting, yet there was something in her tone that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't deny that she made you feel safe, but her possessive nature was beginning to worry you.

"You trust me, don't you? You know I would never let anything happen to you." Her thumb brushes against your cheek, and she sees the way your eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping your lips. "That's right, you can rely on me. Always."

As your eyes flutter closed, Sevika takes advantage of the moment. She slips a small vial from her pocket, the contents within glinting in the dim light. She uncorks it swiftly, the faint scent of bitter almonds filling the air.

"W-wait, what is that?" you asked, a sense of alarm rising in your chest. "I don't-"

But your protest was cut short as Sevika's hand pressed more firmly against your lips, the cold glass of the vial resting on your chin. Her gaze held yours, an unspoken command in her eyes that brooked no argument. "It'll make everything easier, trust me," Sevika coos, her free hand stroking your hair softly. You comply, lips parting to accept the liquid. Sevika watches as she swallows, your eyes still closed, completely unaware of the betrayal unfolding.

The bitter liquid slid down your throat, leaving a strange, almost metallic taste behind. A rush of dizziness washed over you, vertigo stealing your sense of balance and making you swoon. Sevika caught you, her strong arms encircling your waist, pulling you against her body as you stumbled. As the drug begins to take hold, Sevika's eyes gleam with a twisted satisfaction. She leans in, her breath hot against your ear as she whispers, "That's my good girl." Those words send a shiver down your spine, but your body is too weak to react.

Sevika's hands roam over your body, her touch lingering in places it shouldn't. She traces the line of your jaw, her thumb brushing against your lips. Her fingers slide down your neck, her grip tightening slightly as she feels your pulse fluttering beneath her touch.

"You're so beautiful when you're like this," she murmurs, her voice taking on a dark, hungry edge. "So helpless, so vulnerable."

Her hands move lower, her fingers tracing the curves of your body. She leans in, her lips brushing against your neck, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. You let out a soft moan, your body responding despite your mind screaming in protest.

"You like that, don't you?" Sevika growls, her breath hot against your neck. "You like it when I touch you like this."

Her hands move to your thighs, her fingers digging into your flesh as she spreads your legs further apart. She leans in, her lips finding yours in a harsh, demanding kiss. You can taste the bitterness of the drug on her tongue, the metallic tang of her lipstick. But you're powerless to stop her, your body betraying you as it responds to her touch.

"Mine," Sevika hisses, her eyes locked onto yours. "You belong to me now."

Sevika's grip on your thighs tightens, her nails digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. She pulls away from the kiss, her lips curling into a wicked grin as she sees the haze of confusion in your eyes.

"What's wrong, love? Don't tell me you're already missing me." Her voice drips with mock concern, her fingers trailing up your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "I'm right here, after all."

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "And I'm going to be with you every step of the way, from now until forever."

Her hands move to your wrists, her grip firm as she pins your arms above your head. She leans back, her eyes raking over your body, drinking in every curve and every inch of exposed skin.

"You're mine now," she growls, her voice low and possessive. "And I'm going to take what belongs to me."

She leans in, her lips finding yours in another bruising kiss. Her tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth, your breath, your very essence. She swallows your moans, your whimpers, your pleas for mercy. She consumes you, body and soul, until there's nothing left but her.

"Say it," she demands, her lips hovering just inches from yours. "Say you're mine."

She waits, her eyes boring into yours, her grip on your wrists tightening. She won't let you go until you give in, until you submit to her will. And you know, deep down, that you will. That you'll say anything, do anything, to make the pain stop, to make the hunger in her eyes fade away.

"Say it," she growls again, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "Say you're mine, and I'll make it all better. I'll make you forget about everything except me."

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear. "All you have to do is say the words.”

Your lips part slightly, a soft whimper escaping as Sevika's grip on your wrists tightens further. You can feel the pain radiating up your arms, but it's nothing compared to the dread and fear that consume you. Her eyes bore into yours, their intensity unyielding, demanding.

"Please..." you whisper, your voice barely audible. The drug has left you feeling groggy and disoriented, your body responding in ways that seem foreign and uncontrollable.

"Please what?" Sevika taunts, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Please make it stop? Please take you away from this place? Please...what?"

She leans in, her breath hot against your cheek. You can feel the heat radiating off her body, her scent enveloping you—a mixture of sweat, leather, and something darker, more primal.

"You know what I want to hear," she murmurs, her voice a low growl. "Say it, and I'll make everything better. I'll make the pain go away. I'll take care of you like no one else ever has."

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes, a desperate plea for mercy.

"I...I'm yours," you manage to choke out, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It's a surrender, a capitulation to her dark desires. And as the words leave your lips, you see a wicked gleam in Sevika's eyes, a triumphant smile spreading across her face.

"Good girl," she purrs, her grip on your wrists finally loosening. She leans in, her lips finding yours in a soft, almost tender kiss. But the tenderness is fleeting, replaced once again by a hungry, possessive desire.

"Now, let's get you somewhere safe," she whispers, her voice laced with a dark promise. "Somewhere where no one can ever hurt you again."

She helps you to your feet, her arm wrapped tightly around your waist as she guides you out of your old home. The world outside is a blur. Sevika keeps a firm grip on your waist, her stride quick and purposeful as she leads you through the winding alleys and shadowed streets of Zaun.

"Where...where are we going?" you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Your legs feel like lead, each step an effort as you struggle to keep up with Sevika's relentless pace. She doesn't answer, her expression hard and unreadable as she focuses on navigating the treacherous path ahead. The streets are filled with the usual sights and sounds of the undercity—shouts and laughter from nearby taverns, the distant hum of chem-works, the occasional scuttle of a chem-rat—but they all seem muted, distant, as if seen through a thick fog.

Eventually, Sevika slows her pace, guiding you towards a nondescript door set into the side of an old, crumbling building. She knocks a quick, rhythmic pattern, and the door creaks open, revealing a dimly lit staircase leading down into darkness. "Home sweet home," she murmurs, her voice echoing in the narrow space. She ushers you inside, her hand on your back pushing you forward. "Welcome to my little sanctuary."

You descend the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest as the door slams shut behind you. The air is damp and musty, the scent of mildew and chemicals filling your nostrils. Sevika leads you through a labyrinth of tunnels and corridors, the walls lined with makeshift beds, crude workstations, and stacks of crates and supplies.

"What is this place?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The drug is wearing off, the edges of reality beginning to sharpen once more. Sevika turns to face you, her eyes gleaming in the faint light cast by the flickering chem-lanterns. She reaches out, her hand cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing softly against your skin.

"This is where I bring my special gifts. And you, my dear, are my most prized possession." Her hand trails down your cheek, her fingers intertwining with yours. She pulls you deeper into the heart of the underground complex, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the narrow tunnels.

Finally, she stops in front of a heavy metal door, the kind of door that's meant to keep secrets locked away. She withdraws a key from her pocket, the metal glinting in the dim light as she unlocks the door and pushes it open. Inside, the room is bathed in a soft, eerie glow. The walls are adorned with photographs—photographs of you. Snapshots captured in various moments throughout your life, some taken without your knowledge, others seemingly staged to capture specific emotions. You gasp, your eyes widening as you take in the sight. There you are, laughing with friends at a café, lost in thought as you walk along the riverbank, asleep in your bed, completely unaware of the camera trained on you. There are dozens of them, each one a window into a different moment of your life.

Sevika stands behind you, her breath hot on your neck as she whispers, "Isn't it beautiful? A chronicle of your life, all laid out for me to admire."

You turn to face her, horror etched on your features. "How? How did you...?"

A cruel smile plays on her lips. "I have my ways. I've been watching you for a long time, my dear. Long before you ever knew I existed."She steps closer, her eyes never leaving yours. "You're mine now. Every moment, every memory, every breath...it all belongs to me."

Her hands reach up, cupping your face, her thumbs brushing away the tears that have begun to stream down your cheeks. "Don't cry, my love. This is just the beginning. We have so much time together, so many memories yet to make."

Her hands remain cupped around your face, her thumbs tracing the line of your tears, her fingers tangled in your hair.

"You're so beautiful when you cry," she whispers, her voice a low, husky purr. "So vulnerable, so weak."

Her grip on your hair tightens, her fingers digging into your scalp as she tilts your head back, forcing you to look up at her. Her eyes are wild, hungry, the predator within her unleashed.

"But I don't want you to be weak, my dear. I want you to fight. I want you to scream." Her lips curl into a cruel smile as she leans in closer, her breath hot against your skin.

She leans in, her teeth grazing your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. Her voice drops to a low growl as she whispers, "Scream for me, my love. Show me how much you want this."

Before you can respond, her hand moves from your hair to your throat, her fingers wrapping around your neck. She squeezes gently, just enough to make you gasp, to remind you of the power she holds over you.Her other hand moves down your body, her touch rough and demanding as she grabs your breast, squeezing it hard enough to make you wince. You let out a soft cry of pain, and Sevika smiles, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

*"There it is," she purrs, her voice laced with dark pleasure. "That's what I want to hear."

She tightens her grip on your throat, her fingers digging into your flesh as she leans in, her lips brushing against your ear. "Scream for me, my love. Scream until your voice is raw." Her hand on your breast twists, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out again. The pain is intense, overwhelming, and you can't help but let out another scream, your body bucking against hers.

Sevika laughs, a low, dark sound that sends a chill down your spine. "That's it, my dear. Let it all out. Let me hear your pain, your fear, your desire."

Her hand moves from your breast to your stomach, her fingers digging into your flesh as she pushes you backwards, towards the wall. She pins you against it, her body pressing against yours, her hand still wrapped around your throat.

*"Say it," she demands, her voice a low growl. "Say you're mine. Say you belong to me."

Your body presses against the cold, unyielding wall, trapped beneath Sevika's overwhelming presence. The pain and fear coursing through you mingle with a dark, perverse desire—a craving for more, for her to push you further, to break you completely. Sevika's eyes narrow, a wicked gleam dancing in their depths as she senses your silent plea. She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "You like this, don't you? You like the pain, the fear, the control."

Her hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your air supply for a moment before releasing, allowing you to gasp for breath.

"Say it," she growls, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you need this."

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat, but you manage to choke them out, a desperate plea in your voice. "Yes... I-I want this.. I need this.. I need you, Sevika."

A wicked smile tugs at the corners of Sevika's mouth. She leans in, her lips finding yours in a brutal, punishing kiss. Her tongue invades your mouth, claiming every inch of you, tasting every tear, every gasp, every whimper. Abruptly, she breaks the kiss, her hand pulling back. Before you can react, her palm connects with your cheek, the force of the slap sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. You cry out, your head snapping to the side, but you don't pull away.

Sevika's eyes blaze with a primal intensity as she watches the red handprint bloom on your cheek. She leans in, her voice a low, menacing growl.

"You like that, don't you? You like the sting, the burn. You like feeling used, abused, owned."

Her hand raises again, and this time, her palm crashes against your other cheek, the force of the blow sending you reeling. You let out a choked sob, your body trembling against the wall, but you don't turn away. Instead, you meet her gaze, a silent plea for more. There is such a pathetic needy look on your face.

Sevika's lips curl into a cruel smile, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good girl," she purrs, her voice laced with dark approval. "You take it so well. You take everything I give you and beg for more."

Sevika's hand raises again, poised to strike. The anticipation hangs heavy in the air, a tangible force that crackles between you. She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice a low, menacing whisper.

"Count them," she commands, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Count every blow, every slap, every mark I leave on your skin. Let it be a reminder of who owns you."

The first slap comes without warning, the sharp sting of her palm against your cheek making you cry out. "One," you gasp, your voice very unstable. Like your mental.

Sevika smirks, her hand raising again. "Two," you choke out as the second blow lands, the pain blossoming across your cheek.

She continues, each slap harder than the last, each one leaving a vivid red mark on your skin. You count them, your voice growing hoarse and ragged with each number. By the time she reaches ten, your face is a mess of tears and bruises, your body trembling beneath her touch. Sevika steps back, her eyes raking over your form, drinking in the sight of your battered, broken body. She leans in, her hand cupping your cheek gently, her thumb brushing away a stray tear.

"Beautiful," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "You look so fucking beautiful like this."

Her thumb traces the line of your jaw, her touch surprisingly tender despite the brutality that preceded it. You shiver, your body responding to her touch even through the haze of pain and tears.

Sevika's eyes darken, her pupils dilating as she notices the subtle shift in your body. She leans in, her breath hot against your ear as she whispers,

"You're wet, aren't you? All this pain, all this fear...it's turned you on."

Her hand moves from your cheek, trailing down your body until it reaches the dampness between your thighs. She presses her fingers against you, a low growl escaping her lips as she feels your arousal. "Filthy little slut," she murmurs, her voice laced with both contempt and desire.

She steps back, her eyes never leaving yours as she begins to unbuckle her belt. "Turn around," she commands, her voice stern. "Hands on the wall, ass out." You hesitate for a moment, a flicker of defiance in your eyes, but it quickly fades. You turn around, your body shaking slightly as you press your hands against the cold wall, your ass sticking out obediently.

Sevika watches you, her eyes gleaming with anticipation and darkness. She finishes unbuckling her belt, the sound of leather against denim echoing through the room. She steps closer, her body brushing against yours as she leans in, her lips finding your ear.

"Good girl," she whispers.

Her hand reaches around, her fingers brushing against your wetness before she plunges two fingers deep inside you. You let out a sharp gasp, your body tensing at the sudden intrusion. Sevika chuckles darkly, her other hand gripping your hip tightly.

"Relax," she commands, her fingers moving slowly, deliberately inside you. "Take what I give you."

She begins to move her fingers, her thrusts slow and steady at first, but quickly building in intensity. You can hear the wet sounds of your arousal, the slap of her hand against your flesh, and her low, dark growls of pleasure and dominance.

*Sevika leans in closer, her body pressing against yours as she whispers in your ear, "Who do you belong to, my dear? Who owns this pathetic little cunt?"

She punctuates each question with a sharp thrust of her fingers, her voice a low, menacing growl. "Answer me," she demands, her grip on your hip tightening even more.

Your mind reels with the intensity of it all—the pain, the pleasure, the overwhelming sense of Sevika's complete control over you. You know the answer she wants to hear, the words that will appease her dark desires. With a shaky breath, you manage to choke out,

"You...you own me. My body...my mind...everything belongs to you."

Sevika lets out a low, satisfied growl, her fingers still moving inside you, her palm pressing against your clit. She leans in, her teeth grazing your ear, her voice a dark, hungry whisper.

"That's right, my precious doll. You're mine, all mine. This tight little cunt, these perfect tits, this pretty face...it's all for me."

She punctuates her words with a particularly hard thrust, her fingers curling inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars. Your body bucks against hers, a desperate moan escaping your lips as you feel the pressure building inside you.

"Don't cum," she growls, her voice a commanding snarl. "Not until I say so. You don't get to cum until I'm satisfied."

She continues her relentless assault, her fingers moving faster, harder, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure and pain, your mind consumed with thoughts of her, of how badly you need her.

"Please," you beg, your voice a broken whisper. "Please, I need...I need..."

Sevika chuckles darkly, her hand coming down on your ass in a sharp slap. Need what, pet?" she taunts, her fingers stilling for a moment before resuming their relentless thrusts. "Need my cock? Need my cum? Or do you just need more pain?"

Your body tenses at her words, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. You're so close to the edge, so close to giving in to the pleasure that threatens to consume you.

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she growls, "Beg for it, my sweet victim. Beg me to let you cum. Show me how much you want it."

"Please," you beg again, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I need...I need to cum. Please, Sevika, please let me cum."

She hums in approval, her fingers moving faster, harder. You can feel the orgasm building, the tension coiling in your body like a spring ready to snap.

"Cum for me, my pet," she growls, her voice laced with dark satisfaction. "Let go, let it all out. Show me how much you belong to me."

With a final, desperate thrust of her fingers, you tumble over the edge, your body convulsing as the orgasm rips through you. You cry out, your voice echoing through the room as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you gasping and spent. Sevika holds you tightly, her body pressed against yours as she rides out the storm with you. When the last of the spasms finally subside, she leans in, her voice a low, satisfied purr in your ear.

"Good girl," she murmurs. her fingers slowly slipping out of you. "Now get on your knees and show me how grateful you are."

You comply immediately, your body still shaking as you turn around and lower yourself to the ground. You look up at Sevika, your eyes filled with a mix of gratitude, fear, and desire.

She stands before you, her pants still unzipped, her shirt partially unbuttoned, revealing glimpses of her muscular chest. She reaches down, her hand wrapping around your hair as she guides your face towards her crotch.

"Show me what a good little slut you are," she growls, her voice laced with dark hunger. "Make me cum with that pretty little mouth of yours."

You tentatively reach out, your hands trembling as you grasp the waistband of her pants. You pull them down, revealing her toned thighs and the bulge of her chemtech prosthetic. You look up at her, a silent question in your eyes.

"Don't worry about that," she says, her voice harsh. "Just focus on making me feel good. That's all you need to worry about."

You nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you lean in, your tongue darting out to taste her. You can feel her tense under your touch, her body responding to your ministrations. You redouble your efforts, determined to please her, to show her how grateful you are for the release she's given you.

As you work, you can hear Sevika's breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Her hand tightens in your hair, her hips moving in time with your movements. You can feel the pressure building, the tension coiling in her body like a spring ready to snap.

"Fuck," she growls, her voice a low, guttural sound. "You're so fucking good at this. Such a good little slut."

The words send a shiver of pleasure and shame coursing through you, spurring you on. You continue your work, determined to bring her to the edge, to make her cum just as hard as she made you.

As Sevika's body tenses and her breath hitches, you can feel the moment of her climax approaching. Her grip on your hair tightens, her hips thrusting harder, faster. You take it all, your lips and tongue working in harmony to bring her to the edge.

"Fuck, yes," she groans, her voice a low, desperate growl. "You're so good, my little slut. So fucking good."

Her body convulses, a guttural cry escaping her lips as she finds her release. Warmth fills your mouth, her essence spilling over your tongue. You swallow, your eyes watering as you continue to suck, determined to take every last drop.Sevika's breath comes in ragged gasps as she rides out the waves of her orgasm. Finally, she pulls away, her hand releasing your hair as she steps back, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her climax.

"Good girl," she whispers, her voice hoarse with satisfaction. "You did so well."

You look up at her, your eyes filled with a mix of pride and exhaustion. You've pleased her, and in this moment, that's all that matters.

Sevika extends a hand to you, helping you to your feet. She looks you over, her eyes roaming your body, taking in the bruises, the marks, the signs of your submission.

"You look beautiful," she murmurs, her voice softening. "Like a work of art."

She leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a gentle, almost tender kiss. It's a stark contrast to the rough, brutal passion that came before, and it leaves you feeling cherished, wanted, and utterly belonged to her.

"Clean yourself up," she says, stepping back and gesturing towards a nearby sink. "Then come find me. I have...other plans for you."

You nod, a shiver of anticipation and fear running through you as you move to do as she commands. Whatever she has in store for you next, you know one thing for certain— You belonged to Sevika.

❥・・ ┈┈┈┈┈‪༚༅༚˳ . ୨୧ . ˳༚༅༚┈┈┈┈ ・・❥

Wow you stayed until the end… freak. Heh I hope you enjoyed ^^ MIGHT make a continuation someday. <3 Be sure to take care of yourselves!!

[michelle-is-writing]

Unsuspecting Suspect, Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.2k~

In movies, the "pregnant women always have to go to the bathroom" is a popular joke to use. However, what most people don't realize is that the joke is highly played down. What you see in movies is nothing compared to what really occurs.

What really occurs is getting up from bed after only five minutes of getting comfortable to go to the bathroom for the fiftieth time that day. Not to mention you've become so used to the bathroom that you don't even have to turn the lights on or anything - you already know where everything is. Plus, if you're me, then that also means picking up your husbands lazily discarded pants that are crumpled up on the floor with his gun and all of his badges still hooked on there just so you can wash your hands.

"Spencer, I know you've worked long and hard," I start, picking up his wrinkled slacks from the bathroom floor. "But if your pregnant wife has to continue bending over and picking up your pants every time she has to use the bathroom because your daughter seems to think my bladder is a punching bag," I begin taking everything off of his belt. "Then I might just have to use you as a punching bag."

"I'm sorry!" I hear him apologize from the bedroom, an ounce of laughter behind his voice. "I forget and just leave them there - I'm sorry!" Spencer repeats himself, making me bite my lip from laughter. He has eidetic memory, and yet, he still 'forgets' his pants when he takes them off everyday he comes home from work.

Taking his badge off his belt and placing it on the counter, I begin dismantling everything else as well. The last thing to remove is his gun and holster, and with this clunky thing, I try as hard as I can to not let it make a sound as I put it on the countertop. Spencer has been very quiet for the past few minutes, and if he's fallen asleep, I don't want to accidentally wake him up.

I just hope he's not quiet because he's worrying himself sick. As of lately, he's had a stalker that the BAU can't seem to figure out who they are. They know they're male, going by the style of handwriting, and they know he has a pattern. Every Tuesday, a letter is sent to Spencer's desk at the BAU, and yet, there's never a return address or fingerprints to go off of. Today was Tuesday, and for some reason, Spencer didn't receive anything. It worried Spencer a lot, but I'm just hoping the stalker has given up; however, his previous letters show no sign of him doing this which makes this all more worrisome.

"No, no, please," I hear Spencer's voice from the bedroom once more, making my eyes go wide as I quickly catch onto the fright and panic in his tone. Who is he talking to? Especially when I've been in this bathroom no longer than five minutes, and I didn't hear a phone ring or anything.

"You are Spencer Reid," My ears catch a very unfamiliar voice, causing me to fully come to a halt with Spencer's revolver still in my hand. Who the hell is in my house? And how the hell did they get in?

Silently padding over to the bathroom doorway, I try as hard as I can to crack open the door enough to see who's in our house. As I do so, I feel my heart beat a mile a minute, and the little girl in my stomach still hasn't given up on her kicking assault. "Your birthday is October of nineteen-eighty-one. Your mother,"

The man pauses to laugh, appearing as if he were trying to mock Spencer; I take this chance to open the doorway as much as I can without alerting the man, and thankfully, it seems to be a success. "The poor old broad can't decipher through her own mind - never has been able to," The man continues. "Finally, you turn eighteen, you send her away, and you go on to live your own life in college and, soon enough, the BAU,"

Slowly peeking around the corner, I see the man talking to a very wide-awake Spencer with his gun raised at him, no mask concealing his face. Instead, his entire body is covered in black material spanning from a dark turtleneck all the way down to pitch black slacks and charcoal boots. Yet, his head and face are completely visible to anyone who sees him, and going by the fact that he's doing such a thing, he thinks he's going to get away with it and not get caught. Not on my watch.

"You've spent- no, wasted! Wasted nearly eleven years of your life on a job that prevents you from actually having a life!" At the mans words, I squint my eyes while readying Spencer's gun in my hands. "Face it, doctor Reid - you are nothing! I am smart - we are smart! But you have married yourself to your job that doesn't need you; it needs me," with that, the man pauses once again, but this time, he begins to pant, obviously worked up over what he's been saying. This guy has to be one of the most conceited guys to walk the earth.

"Now," The man states, leveling his eyesight with the gun once again. "Was there anything I missed?"

At this point, I come around the bathroom corner with Spencer's gun raised at the man. Through the sights, I see the two small pieces of metal lining up with the mans head, and in my peripherals, I see Spencer warily nod his head as he glances over me with extreme and utter nervousness.

"Uh, y-yes, actually," my husband answers, swallowing down his worry as the fate of his life rests at the tip of my fingers. Now that I think about it, if it weren't for Spencer's bad habit of leaving his pants in the middle of the bathroom floor, I wouldn't have the ability to save him right now.

Just as the man turns around, I line up the sights with his head once again as I pull the hammer back, the trigger following soon after. Watching as the man quickly goes down with no life left in him, only slight convulsions surging through him now, I slowly let my hands fall back to my side as the realization of what just occurred passes through me. I just shot someone... someone who was threatening my husband's life, but still! I've never done that before, and I never want to have to do it ever again!

Within a few moments of my eyes widening in shock, I feel Spencer take me into his arms while slowly taking the gun out of my hand and tossing it onto our bed. "You did so well, love," Spencer assures me in my ear, making me slowly sit on the ground with him as shock runs through me. I'm so stunned by what just happened that I can barely breathe. "You did good, baby, you did so good. I'm so proud of you."

Despite Spencer's words running through my head, I find myself suddenly gasping as I realize something. "Baby! The baby!" I almost shout, turning my head toward Spencer as my now free hand falls to my thirty-week old bump. "Spence, the-the noise, the noise! Could the noise have hurt her ears?"

Immediately, Spencer shakes his head before moving to place his hand on top of mine, his other hand raising at the same time to wipe away the sudden rush of tears falling down my face. "No, no, she's fine, (Y/n), she's fine," Spencer assures me, gently rubbing his thumb against my clothed belly. "The muscles and amniotic fluid protect her, so when the noise does reach her ears, it's extremely muffled," he further explains, gently taking my face into his hands to turn me toward him. "But I am going to have a medic look over you and the baby when they get here, okay?"

Keeping my eyes on his, I nod before laying my head against his chest, a small sigh falling from my lips. "He was the stalker, right?" I ask Spencer, my eyes flickering up to his face as his hand reaches down to gently card through my hair.

Spencer simply nods. "Yeah, he was," he tells me, making me shake my head. "The way he spoke, it's how he wrote his letters," Spencer further explains, "He was an obvious narcissist with a superiority complex - just like his letters."

That would explain the man's words from earlier and how selfish they all were. Although, what if the cops don't believe us and arrest me in spite of what's been going on? I know Spencer wouldn't have gotten in trouble shooting him as a BAU agent, but what about me?

"Spencer, am I going to jail?" I immediately ask, my eyes growing wide as panic sets in my chest.

"No, no, you aren't, and you need to calm down," Spencer tells me, holding my head to his chest as he kisses my temple. He's trying to comfort me while also preventing me from looking over at the dead man currently lying on our bedroom floor. "You did nothing wrong, that was self-defense, and you protected me as well as save me from the man who was going to kill me, no doubt," he points out, his voice growing softer with every word. "You're awesome, love."

In response to his comment, I find myself lightly laughing with tears rising to my eyes again. That's what I usually tell Spencer when he gets back from a case and they successfully stopped a killer. Even if the case goes awry and Spencer returns home sad or disappointed in himself, I still remind him of my usual compliment. Now, much to my disbelief, the roles have reversed and now it is me who has stopped the bad guy.

Once my breathing is slowed and my panic has settled down, Spencer helps me go back to our bathroom where he makes me stay. Without wasting anymore time, Spencer grabs his phone from his side table and dials the police before walking through the house with his gun in hand to make sure there are no other intruders. Thankfully, there isn't, and Spencer soon returns to the bathroom to take me out to the living room, getting me as far away from the dead body as he can all the while making sure I remain comfortable.

Sitting behind me on the couch, Spencer makes me lie between his legs as I rest my back against his chest, his right hand rubbing soothing circles against my bump while he uses his other to dial up his team. Thankfully, soon of them are still at the office working late when Spencer calls.

"(Y/n) shot the stalker?" I hear Derek's familiar tone over the phone as Spencer explains the situation. As he goes on, the sound of sirens in the distance slowly grow closer, and the only thing I can do is hold a hand to my swollen tummy as our little girl gives the occasional kick to my ribs.

"Yes, directly in the head," Spencer answers Derek with a quick glance over to our bedroom where the dead body remains, the spilled blood from his wound no doubt soaking into floor. I never would have listed 'blood is easier to clean up' as a pro when choosing hardwood over carpet. "She shot like a trained officer."

Spencer's comment warrants a rare chuckle from their boss. "Too bad she wasn't able to help you when you failed your shooting test and needed to retake it," Hotch's voice pipes up from the background, causing Spencer to let out a little 'hey!' in response. In light of the situation, I laugh a little at that. I can remember him calling me after failing it and I had to tell him it was okay. Of course, in his mind, it wasn't.

"I don't fail tests." I remember him telling me, making me laugh. No matter what I said, he still continued on about failing the test, unable to let it go.

"The team will be here in a few minutes, okay?" I hear him tell me, bringing me out of my thoughts and back to the moment. I hadn't even realized he ended the call with his team.

Still, I nod back at him, only a few seconds passing before he's leaning over and pressing his lips against my cheek. "It'll all be okay," He assures me, making me slightly nod with another small shuddered breath. "I promise," He further assures me, sensing my anxiety. "I'd never let anything happen to my hero~"

[xoluvx]

lunch; b.eilish .˚₊✩ part five ✩₊˚.

i don't wanna break it, just want it to bend

part four

The warm water felt heavenly on your skin. The thought of her touching you, tasting you, teasing you clung to you like algae on an abandoned ship. You wanted to wash it all away. Scrub it off of your skin, out of your brain. It was stupid. You’d been stupid to agree to this. Now you couldn’t stop thinking of her and you missed her even though she was only a few feet away.

And it was because of all this that her words hit you hard.

The corners of your eyes were pooling with tears, masked by the water dripping from the shower head. Your chest felt tight. The emotions were caught in your throat and it hurt. It hurt so much.

You scrubbed your thighs harder letting the tears stream down your face, hot on your cheeks. Unable to control your sobs, you dropped to the floor crouching and holding your knees, burying your face in the nest you’d created as the water hit your back. It felt like you were drowning in the shallow end. Drowning in your sorrow.

But you’d allow yourself this only once. One time to let it out before erasing it from your brain and moving on. It was just a blip.

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing she could do to change your mind.

“I worked on that song,” she said when you walked into the room, your shirt clung to your back clumped by your poorly dried skin, your shorts barely visible under the oversized shirt.

“Yeah?” You asked trying to feign happiness.

“That’s why I came. I wanted to show you,” she smiled sitting up on the bed tapping the spot next to her. You couldn’t look at your bed the same way. Not when she’d made you cum twice in the span of a few minutes. Not when you’d willingly touched yourself to the thought of her, violating all sorts of rules in the contract.

“Come,” she said patting the spot again. The word was triggering. Yeah, you wanted to come. Fuck, you were so weak. Did crying in the shower mean nothing?

You inhaled pushing aside your inner battle and sat next to her as she scrolled through her files.

“It’s just a draft,” she said playing the file.

I've said it all before, but I'll say it again. I'm interested in more than just being your friend

You could humming in the recording. Her voice humming. It wasn't completely audible, but you could picture her tapping her hand on her knee as she let the melody flow.

Don't wanna break, just want to bend

Then she squealed into the mic and the voice recording ended abruptly.

"I'm still struggling with the exact lyrics. I think I'm keeping the first part. Don't know about the end-" she was rambling scrolling through her phone. The files flooded the screen. She was completely oblivious to your unresponsiveness. You stared at the screen, not looking at anything in particular. Your hands cupped your thighs. Then she locked her phone and turned to you, snapping you out of your trance.

"What did you think?" her voice was almost a whisper. She tugged at her shirt, pulling it down nervously. Tossing her hair to the side leaning into you instructively waiting for your answer. Her eyes searched your face, lingering on your lips for a second too long.

"It's good," you nodded giving her a small smile. Good? Just good? Your best friend was figuring out her sexuality and it was just 'good'?

But the lyrics were rushing through your brain like an endless figure eight. Was she interested in more than just being your friend? Or is that what just made sense for the song? Was there someone else she was thinking of? That annoying ache in your chest was back.

You dug your fingernails in the palm of your hand trying to push it all aside. Bury it as deep as you could.

"I think I might need a little more help," she cleared her throat, body scooting closer. The proximity of her body made your own fill with heat. Her hand touched your thigh and you tensed.

"Are you okay?" she asked searching your face. You were staring off into space again. You weren't breathing. Air was nonexistent. No air in your lungs, no oxygen in your veins. You felt numb.

"Hey," she whispered cupping your face. Blinking, you inhaled and the sudden influx of air caused physical pain. You coughed and clutched your chest getting up from the bed allowing yourself the commodity of distance.

"Woah," she sounded concerned. One leg was folded on the bed, the other planted on the floor as she touched the space where you previously sat leaning her body forward. "Seriously, are you okay?" she asked, confusion laced in her voice.

You nodded wrapping your arms around your body. You felt physically sick. You wanted to crawl out of your skin. You'd started sobbing and hadn't realized it until Billie was scrambling to her feet, wrapping her arms around your body.

She cradled your head with one hand, the other held your back. You were shaking, hot tears streaming down your face. You were distraught, but she was so close and she was holding you and you were allowing it and you didn't care.

You pried your hands free cupping her face and crashing your lips on hers. Billie stood still as she held you, but her lips moved matching the desperation in the kiss. Your fingers dug gently into her cheeks pulling her closer, her hands holding your head. Lips salty from your tears and touching sloppily as your bodies moved towards the bed.

She sat and you straddled her body never breaking contact with her lips. Her hands came down to your hips, gripping like she wasn't ready to let go. Like this was the last time you were going to kiss her and she wasn't ready for the end.

You pulled away breathing heavily, hands pulling at your shirt. She helped you removed it hastily and inhaled deeply when she saw you weren't wearing something underneath. She looked at your tear-struck face. Eyes red, lips pouting. Her fingers caressing your cheek, sticky as the tears dried. Then she cupped the back of your neck and brought you down for another kiss. Equally as hot, but more desperate. More hungry.

"Fuck me," you breathed against her mouth, your hips moving wanting to feel something that wasn't hurt or pain. Wanting to forget it all as if she wasn't the reason you'd broken down in the first place. You wanted to use her; to make it feel not personal.

Billie swallowed your words, hand traveling between your bodies, disappearing between your thighs. She cupped your pussy, hand pressed firmly on your core. You ground your hips, moving on her palm with urgency. Billie watched as you tossed your head back. She watched the way your throat moved as you gasped for air.

Gaining some confidence, she moved her hand pushing your shorts to the side. She felt your raw flesh on her fingertips and something lit within her. Without warning she pushed her fingers in your pussy, two at first and then three as you bounced on her digits holding her shoulders. She was amazed by your certainty. By your ability to hold yourself together as she barely held on by a single thread. Just like you were certain you loved girls before you knew what love was. Something she was still struggling with.

"Oh my god, Billie" you moaned fucking yourself on her fingers. The sounds coming out of your mouth were pornographic. She almost had a hard time deciphering if they were real. But when you held the back of her neck, forcing your eyes to meet. She knew. She knew they were real and raw.

You bit your bottom lip, whimpering as your eyes sent signals. Right there, right there. Harder. Please. They spoke volumes as she pushed another finger in. She was four fingers deep and you were clenching around her so gloriously. She was going to make you cum. Again.

"Fuck yes, baby" you hummed tossing your head back as you slurred your words. Billie's fingers faltered. Did you-

Did you just call her baby?

Her hips raised instinctively causing her fingers to abruptly push deeper. You bit your lip, legs shaking. She wanted to hear it again. She wanted you to chant it, to whisper it in her ear. To stuff her mouth with it. She moved her hand from your hip where she'd held you in place and to your jaw capturing your lips in a desperate battle. Tongues were wet, lips were messy.

You couldn't process her new found confidence and self-assurance. The way she moved her wrist burying deeper and deeper, pushing on your g spot when she heard the shift in moans. High pitched and yearning. She knew she had you wrapped around her fingers. Literally.

"Baby," your voice was whiny and hot against her ear as you clung to her shoulders, head falling in the nook of her neck. You were lost in pleasure. Blinded by lust. Shattered by disappointment, but put a bandaid on it and you'd survive. If only to live long enough to reach the third orgasm of the night.

"Cum for me," Billie's voice was hoarse. She felt your walls clenching around her fingers.

"Please," she begged and you moaned uncontrollably, tears fogging your vision, lip tucked under your teeth stifling your cries. You shuddered as she held your body, fingers still deep in your pussy. Your bodies remained linked for a couple of minutes, lips pressed on your cheek. Until you were raising yourself, fingers slowly gliding out of your pussy.

Your body fell on the bed, chest rising and falling trying to catch your breath.

When the air settled, you finally spoke.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. Your voice weak. God, you were pathetic. Apologizing when she was the reason-

"Don't," she replied laying next to you, hand resting on your neck feeling your pulse. It was rapid. Active under her fingertips. Her thumb ran along your skin and under your jaw as she stared at your lips.

Pulling her face forward, thumb caressing the corner of your mouth, she kissed you purely. Pure and soft and sweet. So sweet, the sugar was going to your head as you lids fluttered and your mouth opened inviting her tongue. They tussled for a moment, her body pressing on yours, leg wrapping around your thigh urging you to turn to her. To hold her the same way. To kiss her just as tenderly and eagerly.

You held her face pushing your body close, limbs tangled, hands getting lost in hair. You were breathing her air she held the back of your neck. Lips moving so sloppy on yours, eyelids fluttering and lost in the heat of the moment.

Thoughts discarded. Just you and her and your bed and her lips and her hands and your whimpers and your bodies floating through space. Intoxicatingly high off the kiss.

"Stay," you whispered. Permanently. You wanted her to stay forever. Just you and her and your bed forever. But for now, just the night would do.

"I will," Billie whispered back, nose clashing, tongues sloppy, hands gripping your back. Her body so close it felt like an extension of yours.

part six

.˚₊✩ masterlist ✩₊˚.

.˚₊✩ taglist ✩₊˚. @rockyourworldcc @be3flow3r @crazyoffher @lulukings92 @iknowhowtobend @ash198458 @delusional-4-fake-people @dandelions4us @jollyreginaldrancher @chrissv4mp

[whateverloomis]

Dilf!Billy Loomis who kidnaps the sweet lil reader that works at the local Spirit Halloween?

I've always wondered how Billy would kidnap someone because he 100% would lmao. This is basically a drabble, it's all I've been able to put out lately. Anyways, here it is! Hope y'all enjoy babes 🫶🏼

Warnings: FEM READER, kidnapping (honestly it was a willing situation but the intention was there lmao,) spiked drink, alcohol consumption, flirting, fingering, stranger danger (lol,) Stu Macher feature, unedited

Finally, your favorite season has arrived and you couldn't be happier. Fall. Halloween. Gloomy nights and a full moon. Ghost stories and pumpkin spice in the air.

It also means night shifts at Spirit Halloween. It isn't exactly the funnest job, but being surrounded by all kinds of decorations and costumes is worth doing it.

Tonight the store isn't as full as it usually is and you're almost grateful. The week has been chaotic so far and you definitely need a slow day, especially since you're at the register.

A few people came in and browsed the costumes but nobody bought anything, except for one. A man.

He's wearing a white tee with an oversized navy blue jacket along with light wash jeans. As you scan his body with your eyes you land on his black doc marten boots. It looks like they've been used quite a bit but they're still in great shape. You fixate your gaze a little too long on them, boots are one of your weaknesses and the man wearing them sure make them look extra hot. He must be in his 50s, but fuck does he look delicious. It's odd for you to find older men attractive but when it happen you're practically weak at the knees.

You continue looking at him as you suck on a lollipop you stole from a random aisle. With the view of the attractive man studying and touching the Halloween masks your brain got creative, and you definitely wouldn't mind having his cock in your mouth instead. Gosh, what a slut. Thinking that way about a complete stranger? Who does that?

It doesn't stop you from entertaining yourself with the thought as you feel the sugary bulb against your tongue.

"Do you have another one of these available?" the man asks and snaps you back to reality. He's holding a ghost face mask and you can't help but imagine him wearing the damn thing.

You nod and search for another mask from the pile of items people decide not to buy last minute, and luckily you find another one.

After handing it to him, you pull the lollipop out of your mouth, "Anything else I can help with?"

You noticed how he looked at your lips when you removed the candy from your mouth and smirked, "Mm, no, I have everything," he responded and you instantly got flustered.

"So, are you new in town? I haven't seen you around before," he asks, making small talk.

"Yes, I moved here a few months ago. It's pretty nice, I didn't think I'd like Woodsboro much..." you trailed off and Billy looked at you with a questioning look,

"Is it that boring here?" he continued and you laugh shily, "No, I just don't really have friends to hang out with..." you say and the man frowns.

"Well, I can show you around if you'd like. I know a nice deck with a mini bar down by the Woodsboro lake. It's really nice at night when there's a clear sky." he said and you mentally curse yourself for being tempted to go hang out with him. A stranger. But you couldn't help it, it's been a while since you hung out with someone and this guy is incredibly hot.

Your mind is racing but before you reason with yourself, you accept his invite... Billy Loomis' invite.

•

After a brief walk and a few drinks at the mini bar you were already letting loose and getting flirty with Billy.

"Wait, so he fell in the water with his suit on?" you asked, giggling at Billy's story of Stu falling into the hotel pool where their prom was hosted in '96. You were sitting rather close to the man, your thigh touching his while you faced each other.

"He really did, the idiot" he responded and took a swing of his beer. "We should all hang out sometime, I'm sure he'd like you." Billy continued and you blushed at his words. "Really? You think so?" you asked, shyness taking over. "Of course, anyone would like a cutie like you," he said, no shame in being straightforward.

You bit your lip and let out a breathy laugh. "I've never thought that way about myself..."

"Well, you should, I mean look at you" he continued and placed his hand on your thigh, running it up your skin slowly until it rested right under the hem of your short dress.

Silence fell upon you in an instant and the tension that was building went up a notch. Naturally, both of you leaned in and gave each other a few lingering kisses.

Billy pulled back and hissed, looking down at his hand on your thigh, squeezing slightly. "Bars about to close... You wanna go back to my place?" he asked and you nodded slowly, following him to his car.

Once you reached the vehicle Billy leaned against the hood and pulled you towards him by your hips. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck and continued kissing and it quickly got heated.

You might be a shy person, but when it comes to getting what you want? You don't hesitate one but, and at that moment you wanted him. This stranger that you met a few days ago.

It's reckless but you didn't care. The way that man was using his tongue to tease your lips and mouth was incredible and you could've stayed there all night but you needed more.

"Mm, let's go" you broke the kiss. Billy smirked and opened the door for you, looking at your ass when you walked past him to get in the car.

•

You found yourself straddling Billy's lap on the couch of his living room. The cabin he owns is relatively small but extremely cozy and charming in every way, just like him.

The sound of your soft moans mix with the crackling of the fire place. The make out session had been going on for a while and you were already grinding against his growing length. He feels big, and you can't wait to see what he's hiding in his pants.

Billy was careful with what he chose to do, he didn't want to scare you away after all, so he slowly slipped his hands under your dress and pulled it up and over your ass. You moved your hips quicker in response to his actions and he exhaled at the feeling of your pussy against his clothed cock.

He squeezed your ass and dug his fingers in your flesh before sneaking one of his hands between your legs. He rubbed your clit over your underwear, encouraging you to grind against them, and that you did. Slowly.

"Fuck... You soaked through these." Billy said while snapping the band of your underwear with his free hand, "I've barely touched you baby..." he continued and nipped your neck.

"Mm, please..." you said and grab his hand. "Need to feel..." you continued while you pulled your underwear to the side, moving his fingers inside your throbbing cunt.

"Fuck..." Billy moaned and finger fucked you from below imagining his cock buried inside you.

After a while his impatience took over and he stood up. You wrapped your legs around his torso along with your arms around his neck and into his room you went...

•

After Gods know how much time of fucking and playing with each other Billy offered you a drink, which you gladly accepted. After a few sips you went to the bathroom to clean up, and while you were away he took the opportunity to spike your drink. Of course he had alternate motives, and you were an easy target. Too easy.

Once you came back and took a few more sips of that drink you never thought you'd end up passing out... much less end up with your hands tied behind your back on a chair in the middle of a living room. A room that was comforting a few hours prior, but there you were. Confused out of your mind.

"Look who's up" you heard Billy whisper. His hand softly brushed against your cheek.

"Where... What?" you said while moving your arms around, feeling the restraints.

"Shh sh sh, we're at my place, remember?" Billy said softly. Why was he being so gentle in a situation like this? You had no clue, and it made the situation all the more confusing and frightening.

"What's goin- What the fuck?!" You lost it.

"Hm... Well, you see... It's a very interesting story, really. I used to study with your aunty Prescott."

No way.

"And I tried to kill her, but the bitch got away from me, so I thought... Hm, how can I get her attention again?"

"Billy... Don't" You started.

"Why not kidnap her sweet nephew. The one she loves like a daughter..."

"Billy..."

"Why not use these? Terrorize the town again... Terrorize Sidney again." He continued, holding the ghostface masks up. The ones you sold him a few days ago.

But why two?

"Am I late?" You heard another voice behind you. Turning around was useless so you closed your eyes hoping it was all a dream.

"Nah, I'm just getting started" Billy replied and the other man came to view. He handed Billy a knife and took his mask afterwards.

"YN, meet Stu." Billy said and Stu waved as if this were a normal everyday interaction.

"You. You're the ghostface killers..." you put it together quickly, all the memories of Sid warning you about moving to that damn town. How she wouldn't trust the silence.

She was right.

[hyukascampfire]

𝔎𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑃𝑈𝑆ℵ𝐴𝐶𝐻𝑇 ⼎˒ c.yj & c.bg

݁ ˖ 𝔎r⍺mpus𝔫⍺cht

[ 𝔡.] krampus, creatures of european folklore, come one winter’s night every year with exactly one duty: to punish the naughty, who they are said to either eat or drag down to the hell from which they came. assigned to you this year are two of krampus' most revered helpers. they adore their purpose. come december 5th, they make their march through the snow and toward the sweetest treat that they might ever have the opportunity to crack. ˖ ݁

˒˓ ﹐ ⧼ 🐾 ⧽ ･ 6.6k

𝔭airings ˒ krampus!yeonjun & krampus!beomgyu 𝓍 reader

𝔤 ; smut

𝔴arnings ˒ smut, pwp, fingering, cunnilingus, threesome, punishment, objectifying language and degradation, choking on fingers, bondage, overstimulation, orgasm denial, oral (fem receiving), a healthy dose of fear, mean dom! beomgyu & teasing soft(er?) dom yeonjun, it’s really just generally nasty, hair pulling, dacryphilia, clit overstim…, demeaning usage of the words slut and whore, the boys don’t cum or even try to, masks for just the littlest of time, no mxm, really there's so much so tell me if i missed anything!

✎୭ ashlynn’s note request by anon & the sexy sexy @thetxtdevil , thank you for blessing me with this. this is by far the filthiest thing i've written. 6k of pure smut from start to finish. i'm so nervous oh my gosh, i feel like the characterization was new for me. regardless, enjoy my yeonjun much agenda!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

From a light and easy sleep, your eyes flicker open to a tap at your window. Shifting against your warmed blankets, you push up off the bed. With your knuckles, you rub sleep from your eyes. 

Outside, there’s nothing but night sky. Moonlight beams in, all still. It washes your room in a slight, silvery haze. All is how it should be. 

Except for the window. Your curtains dance and billow in a breeze that should not be there. You frown, blinking at it with heavy eyes and a sleep-addled mind. 

You’re sure that’d been closed when you fell asleep. Sleeping with windows open during the summer? Sure. But in deep winter, where even the branches have frozen over and snap off under its weight? No; you hadn’t left the windows open. You hadn’t even opened them at all. Dragging heavy limbs up from where the mattress had formed to their shape, you slip from bed. 

At the window, pulled open to one side, you poke your head outside. Nothing but snow blankets and soft flurries greets you. An ice-cold breeze howls and comes through the open window, bitterly cold against your toasty skin. You run your hands up and down the bare expanse of your skin, hoping for friction to keep the chill at bay. 

You close the window with a firm hand. The lock twists under your fingers with a sure click. Tugging on the window, you make sure that it’s closed once more. And then twice more. 

The bed, still warmed, greets you lovingly. It’s not long before the fog of sleep falls back over you. You tug your blanket closer, and give in to it. 

Tap. Fog receding, you push up from the mattress and strain your ear. 

Tap. Tap.  

Blood running cold, you freeze. It sounds something like a stray tree branch, scraping claws for branches down the glass. Something in it sounds intentional, though.  

The tapping continues for a few more long moments. You can hear your blood roaring through your veins. Maybe a bird’s perched on the ledge? Or perhaps the tree beside your window’s gone awry. 

Behind you, there’s a scrape, or maybe a rustle. You whip your head around. In the center of your chest, your heart stops cold. 

There, a shadowy figure in your doorway, stands a man. He’s tall, only a few inches from brushing up against the door frame, with a broad set of shoulders and long, long legs that seem to continue down from him infinitely. Silken fabric dangles down from his hand, and on his face— 

A mask. Toothy and wood carved and shining in the moonlight with some glazes, it’s terrifying. Especially over the face of an intruder in your home. 

Your chest is tight. He stands there—an imposing presence—in the doorway. Watching. Observing. 

No matter how you will it, you can pull no words up from your throat. They’re all jammed in there tight—constricted by a clawed hand of terror. Your lips tremble around your open-mouthed drags for breath.  

The man steps into your room. Every last drop of blood and rationality you’ve got in you screams. It tells you to run; to dart. Toward or away from him, either would be better than this. 

You can’t. Right where you are, lifted from the bed and weight leaned back into your palms, you are utterly frozen. You swallow dry and blink fast, scared to succumb to the darkness of a blink for even a moment. 

“Who are you?” Your voice comes out hoarse. It takes everything in you. Every trembling ounce of energy, every last reserve of bravery you have stashed away for moments like these. But you said it, and that’s better than shaking here as if it’ll do anything for you. 

“Naughty fox,” he says, littered with taunt and bad intent. His voice muffles against the wood mask, but it comes out younger than you might have thought. “Don’t you recognize me? Or do I not look how you expected?” 

Recognize him? No, of course you don’t. Certainly not with that mask on, but you don’t recognize that build or voice, either. You stare at him bug-eyed. 

Beneath the veneered wood, he lets out a puffed laugh. “Hmm,” he says. He reaches up and pulls the mask from his face. “Perhaps you don’t. It doesn’t matter. What are you going to do when my friend gets here? Tremble like a leaf, like you are now? I think he will like your fear much more than I do.” 

His voice is syrupy and sing-songy, and he’s got the face to match. Dullness hangs heavy and dark beneath his sharp eyes. His skin is sullen beneath the pale moonlight, but you think it might look that way even under the sun’s gaze. And, on his mouth, he wears a smile like cracks in a porcelain vase. It gets under your skin, walking a shiver up your spine. 

Your stomach does flips and rolls. What does he mean, his friend? Finding your fear enjoyable? You open and close your mouth a few times. You are so, utterly screwed. From his head, brownish horns stand proud. You don’t even know how to begin to rationalize that. Quite frankly, the look he pins you with is equally terrifying and hard to swallow. 

“Look at you. You can’t even move,” he hums, voice like knives. “I might believe the scared little lamb act, if I didn’t know exactly how you acted this year; if it wasn’t exactly why I am here.” 

Fingers and toes gone numb, you look him over once more. Down to the hollow eyes and angles of his face, he is beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful; the kind of presence that might enchant you for all its unease, and stick with you for much longer than you suffered it. “Why are you here?” you say. You hate how your voice comes out: mousey. Pitiful. You sound every last bit the terrified thing he accuses you of being. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re in my house.” Around the words, your jaw trembles. Just like the rest of you. 

In the darkness of his eyes, something akin to wicked interest twinkles. Or, perhaps moonlight. His long legs eat up the distance between the door and your bed with only a few languid steps. The only sound in your room is the thuds of his heavy boots against the wood paneling. 

Looking down at you with eyes that eat and eat, he scoffs. “Well, you don’t know me because good people don’t know me. But you weren’t good this year, were you? So, you will know me,” he says. “We all have to atone for our actions.” 

Utterly still. He’s so still that he absolutely cannot be human. Not if he has to breathe or... anything. But he doesn’t. He just looks down at you with that bone-chilling taunt. Those horns look beyond real up close, too. And, that smile... that isn’t human, either.  

“But, isn’t it so fun that you can answer for it like this?” he says. “In the same way you treated those poor men. You can take what you give, can’t you?” 

You blink up at him. He breaks into your home, into your room, talking about something you’ve done? “I don’t...” you begin, the words both unsure and twisted with fright for his closeness. “I don’t know what you mean. Who are you?” 

“Maybe you think putting up a ridiculous act like this might save you, but it will not.” He runs his tongue over the razor edge of a pointed incisor. “I think I’ll humor you. I am Yeonjun, and my friend is Beomgyu. We are Krampus’ creatures. We come to exact his will onto any stupid little human that’s forgotten themselves this year,” he says. “And you; you haven’t been so good this year, have you? Leaving men like victims, playing with their hearts like toys. From a sweet thing like you, I am quite amused. Really.” 

All the way from the back of your jaw to your chin, he drags his knuckles. As he takes your chin, you allow the chill to seize your body. It’s no use fighting the shudder; you think you might even enjoy the thrill of it. It’s a strange thought. You try and snuff it out, but to rational thought’s dismay, it only fans the flames of the fire set in your core. Your cheeks radiate with that heat, painted a flushed pink that you don’t know how to swallow, either. 

Though that awful, corrosive grin has dropped from off his mouth, a different smile tugs the corns of his lips. It’s loose, much less intense than the consuming of his eyes. “Look at you. I see it. I see that look in your eyes,” he hums. “How would you like to repent, sweet thing? Like this?” 

Slowly, you nod. Looking into those deep, voracious eyes, you should feel scared. And you are. But, in this way—like this, you are not. Maybe it’s the hungry gnashing between your thighs, or maybe you’ve gone and lost your mind.  

He tilts his head up in a quick gesture. “Lay back.” 

The breath in your throat catches. Looking up at him all dumbfounded, you open your mouth to speak. 

Raising his brows in a patronizing lift, he challenges you with dark eyes. “This is not a good foot to start your punishment off on, now, is it? Can’t listen... You’d better get listening, before Beomgyu arrives. He won’t be so kind,” he says, tilting his head to one side something like an animal watching a meal squirm just before they sink their teeth into it. “Lay down on the bed.” 

You kick your legs out from the tangle of the bed and settle down onto your back. Tingling, you press your knees together until there is hardly a seam. In their place, your bones buzz with a self-destructive sort of excitement. Between your mind and body, there’s a lag. Where your body stays here, idling a thousand miles per minute, your mind has floated off somewhere out of touch. Clear thought has gone with it. 

Whoever this friend he continues to mention is, you’re not sure you want to meet him. Maybe that’s exactly what Yeonjun wants: a strange fear like anticipation, placing obedience over you like a collar.  

All breathy-like, you say, “When is he coming? Your friend?” 

He runs his thumb over the inner side of your knee, narrowing his eyes down on you. “Are you excited to see him?” he asks. “You don’t get to think about that. Rotten whores don’t get to be excited about their punishments.” Unravelling that silken fabric from his hand, he circles the bed until he’s at your side. 

The name puffs smoke into your mind like a beekeeper might do to a rowdy hive—it renders you affable. “I’m not a whore,” you say, conviction weak. 

“Aren’t you?” he sneers through a curled lip. Taking your wrists, he raises them up to the headboard above you. The silk is soft enough against your skin as he secures you to it. Maybe a little tight. 

Tight, and restrictive. You try and wiggle yourself free to no avail. Here, with your hands up and bound so that you couldn’t undo them no matter how you try, there’s a twinge in your stomach. 

Yeonjun likes that. He reaches down and places his hand flat over your torso and says, “You get it now, don’t you?” 

Licking your dry lips, you look up at him round-eyed. “I don’t know what I did,” you say. The sheets beneath you rustle against your shifting. “Why are you... punishing me? I’m not a bad person.” 

“I don’t think it’s up to you to decide what kind of person you are,” he says, slow and accompanied by a false smile. “Do you want to know what kind of person I think you are?” Fingers dancing along the waist of your flimsy pajama bottoms, he flirts with the promise of undressing you. But he does not tug. Breaths fall shakily past your parted lips. 

You shake your head. No, you do not. You know you won’t like whatever he has to say about you, if the look in his eyes and the fact that he’s even here has anything to say of it. 

His fingers brush against the soft skin of your belly as he hooks them under the waistband. “That’s why we’ve come. Don’t worry; I’ll show you exactly what I think of you,” he tells you. Your bottoms loosen around your skin as he drags them down. “Lift your hips.” 

Digging your feet into the mattress, you oblige him. The slipping of your bottoms down your thighs, and then past your feet, brings a wave of reality crashing down over you. Your breaths quicken. 

You’d dampened your panties; a little wet patch over grey cotton announces your arousal to whoever might catch a glimpse. His eyes latch onto the sight. 

He brings his gaze back up to you, black eyes amused. “Look at that,” he coos. “What a sweet slut you are. So dirty that she can’t help but soak her panties at the thought of being punished. That’s fucking pathetic.” The words slither out like venom, burning through your delicate skin. 

The entirety of your body jumps at a slap in the shape of his hand against your outer thigh. A chesty yelp crashes out from your throat. The skin there raises in a welt and prickles like tiny, little fires as he runs a hand over it. You might think that it’s meant to soothe, if the smoothing touch didn’t exalt the dazzling bite. He doesn’t mean to soothe.  

Blinking away twinkling tears, you say, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did...” 

Brushes of his fingers over that damp smear send electricity bolting up your lower back. “You’re not sorry yet. Sorry would look a lot different from this. I think there’s still a great deal of straightening up to do, and you’re going to take every last bit of it. And you’ll enjoy it, won’t you?” he says. “I mean, you’ve soaked your panties. You’re excited to be used, like you use men in your bed. Used like a whore. The heavens are looking, darling.” 

You shift your wrists against their binds, hot under his words like red-hot knives along your skin. Anticipation shoots up your spin as he tugs your panties down now, too. “I’m not a whore,” you shudder out. 

The slickness of the sounds from between your thighs as he parts you with two fingers has your ears burning. His middle finger prods at your hole, and it flutters against it. Collecting some of your slick arousal right from its source, he dips his finger just in and brings it up to display the sticky mess over his fingers. It glistens in the night’s lowlight, catching light in a lewd, humiliating display. He furrows his brows. “Are you sure?” 

You’re not sure how to answer that. Even you know that you’re beyond wet. So, you just watch open-mouthed as he slips his to middle fingers into you. You rustle against the bed with the intrusion, and then again as he begins pumping them in and out of you, pressing against your walls during some and spreading your walls during others. Capturing your lip, you sigh. 

The slight sparks in your belly, and the slick sounds of his fingers working you open—it’s maybe absurd, but nothing you can’t handle. Why he thinks that fingering you might be a punishment, you’re not sure. You just bask in the ebbing rays of twitching muscles, letting soft sounds fall out when he brushes up against a delicate spot. 

His eyes drink you in, working his giving arm diligently. Looking down at you from his nose, he says, “You like that? Of course you do. You’re a filthy slut that’ll take anything she can get. You’re making a mess of my fingers. You’ll clean that up, won’t you?” 

Face burning, you let your eyes flutter shut. Your lashes dust against your shame-reddened cheeks. You know you’re not who he’s painting you to be—you don’t go around like that. It’s not fair. Especially not when this is what he does; coming to exact some sort of flimsy justice in the price of flesh. “D—you do this to everybody you punish?” you say through gritted teeth. “Have sex with them? I don’t think you can... judge me.” 

It’s as if he can feel the sputtering in your belly himself. His fingers, glistening in a thick smearing of you, turn from tantalizing pumps to punctual curls. Your moth falls open into a silent gasp, brows knitted and furrowed. You can hear yourself. So can he—if the twitching of his narrowed eyes says anything. He plays with one of his pointed teeth, something almost vampiric, again. “Not everybody,” he coos. “Just pretty toys like you. Pretty things we can use, and then throw away when they break, without feeling too bad.” 

The silk digs into your wrists, holding you without remorse. You try and rebel against it, hands itching furiously with the need to dig your fingers into his arm, or curl into the sheets, or just grab. Push. You don’t know—all you know is that he beckons a razor-sharp orgasm toward you, and all the hair on your body prickles at its rushing presence. Hoarse groans, filtered through your tense throat and tight jaw, mingle with the wetness of his fingers in your cunt. “W—hah—I don’t—” 

“Stupid,” he mocks. God, his fingers. He knows just where to play; how to turn you even more the fool he claims you are. “You can’t even fucking talk. Your brain’s gone all dumb, huh? On what, just my fingers? I wonder how you’ll handle me. The both of us.” he says. His voice is utterly even despite his fingering. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” 

Eyes and nose and throat burning, it’s like lifting the weight of the sky to open them. But you do. The image of him is bleary, smudged by the nearness of release like heat waves. Like a mirage. And, if you weren’t able to confirm him by the fluttering of your hole around his fingers, or the thickness of them inside you, you might be able to convince yourself that he was just that: a mirage. But, he is real.  

And you’re made to feel how real he is as he tugs his fingers from you, ripping everything away in an excruciating blink of an eye. Just like that, he’d stolen your orgasm. A long, complaining sound comes from your chest. Your blood jumps to the surface, whip-lashed. Between your thighs, all that excitement and pure electricity, it all pulls back like ocean tide.  

You know why he’d done it, and you know why he wanted you to watch as he did. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “You don’t get to cum. Not until we break down that mind of yours, and built it back up. Into something better. Worse.” 

Heavy boots thud against the floor in front of your window. Whipping your head toward the sound, you find a second man, or... whatever they are, broken in to your room. Your heart thuds in your chest, maybe with the sharp claws of fear around it, or maybe with the loss of ecstasy. You tug against the restraints again as he stands there. A mask, no different from Yeonjun’s, obscures his face. This time, you know that the horns curving from his head are real. He’s not so tall as Yeonjun, but he’s broader. And, something about the way he’s stood there, taking you in... it’s also different. It brushes up against something deep and primal inside you, preserved inside you as instinct to protect against moments like this. 

And, it tells you that tied up is a terrible thing to be, when a creature is looking at you like that. You press your thighs together. 

“Oh, look who’s come,” Yeonjun purrs. 

The air is tense for a moment. The new figure, Beomgyu, reaches up for his mask. It clatters against the ground. 

Seeing his face revealed is the same as it was with Yeonjun. Your eyes dart over each feature. Beautiful and put together in such a perfect way, but tainted by a guttural eeriness. His eyes are heavy and mousey brown, just like his mess of hair. 

And, if Yeonjun’s snark and smiles had been offsetting, then Beomgyu’s serenity is beyond that. Hair-rising. Rotten.  

Yeonjun, beside you now, runs his fingers through the hair on the top of your hair. He curls them into it and tugs as he says, “Aren’t you excited now, dove?” 

Whimpering at the sting, you breathe out, “Yes.” 

Rough fingers joining Yeonjun on your body, Beomgyu brushes his fingers over your outer calf almost captivated. Almost. His touch is different from Yeonjun’s, and that’s all it takes to show you why Yeonjun had spoken of him how he had. He is different.

The both of them roam their hands over you, here and there—featherlight touches everywhere. 

The bed dips and accepts Beomgyu’s weight as he climbs up onto his knees. Hard fingers biting into the plush of your thighs, he takes them into his hands and pries you open. Those deep, odd eyes inspect your cunt. His tongue darts out to wet his snow-chapped lips. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says. The tenor of his voice is both the type of cold that could freeze right through you, and the type of blistering hot that will eat you down to ash. “Keep them open for me.” 

“She does have a pretty pussy,” Yeonjun hums from beside you. His gaze lights up your face. 

It’s hard to breath around the thick knot in the center of your chest. Though your thighs go to snap closed as he splays his hand over your lower belly, lightning twisting your insides, you don’t allow them to. You’re not quite sure you want to see what disobeying this pair would mean. 

God, you’re wet. It dribbles down into the sheets beneath you. You know he sees it, too. His eyes are hungry at it. 

Beomgyu tugs you further down the bed toward him; as far as your restraints will let him before going taut. They tighten around your skin. “Are you scared?” he says. It’s clinical, in a strange sort of sinister way. “You’re shaking.” 

You go to answer him, but can’t speak around the thumb Yeonjun dips into your mouth. He speaks instead. “She’s excited. So excited; you should’ve seen her earlier. Crying over my fingers, just ‘cause she couldn’t cum.” Spikes of his raven hair hang over his eyes as he looks down at you. His eyes narrow. 

The two share a look. It’s enough to get you nervous. Breaking into a scoff, Beomgyu works on his bottoms. 

“You’re gonna be good and take it, right, baby?” Yeonjun says, talking at you more than to you. “It’s only what you deserve.” 

Taking one of your thighs up and lifting it over a broad shoulder, Beomgyu cuts in, “Keep her straight for me, won’t you?” He runs his length up and down your slit, collecting your arousal. Each bump at your clit has you sighing and jumping. 

“You already get her first.” Yeonjun glares daggers.  

Beomgyu’s answering grin tells plenty of what the two think of each other. You’re not really certain they’re true friends. Maybe that’s just the nature of whatever they are, though.

Letting his cockhead tap against your throbbing clit a few times, he feeds off your struggling sounds. Pleased, he pushes into you without ceremony. Your walls are eager to accept every solid inch of him. More than length, though, it’s the thickness of his cock that you have to stretch around. You puff out a whiny sigh and tug on your bottom lip with your teeth. 

Once he’s into you down to the hilt, he pushes off his heels and climbs over you. Coming face-to-face with him, shaggy locks brushing over his eyes, you realize how pretty he is. Is that a ridiculous thing to consider in this circumstance? With him balls-deep in you? Maybe. 

“It’s a shame Yeonjun likes them tied up,” he muses, bracing one hand in the bed at your side and the other pressing your one thigh now to your front. “I’d like to feel your nails on me as you try and handle your punishment.” 

You swallow hard. He’s still nestled and dormant inside of you. The thought alone has your muscles fluttering around him. 

A knowing light passes over his eyes. He pulls his length from you, all the way to where his thick tip pops free from you, and then he fucks himself back into you. “You’re so fucking shameless,” he spits. 

Yeonjun’s fingers through your hair is the only thing you can register as Beomgyu sets a thundering pace. You squirm and arch your back from the mattress to try and catch up, to breathe. None of it makes the slide of his cock or the nudging of him against your sweet spot any less wholly overwhelming. Whining and mewling through gritted teeth, you say, “Oh—fuck, yes! Beomgyu, right there, feels so good right there...” The words twist and slur, your voice breaking under his thrusts.  

“It does? Should I keep fucking you like this?” he says. His hips slow, and he says, “Or should I slow down? Just because I can?” 

Your chest burns. The need to cling to him has the bindings tightening around your wrists impossibly more. All your tugging does is make things worse for yourself. Speaking, the words come out in a fumbling plead. “No—Please, please don’t stop. I wanna cum. Do anything, but please, don’t stop.” 

Piping up from beside you, Yeonjun sneers, “Ask him correctly. No whining.” 

Fighting the desire to wiggle your hips enticingly just for an inch of friction against his cock still nestled inside your cunt, you say, “Please, fuck me.” It’s hard not to mumble the words for shame, but you know that’s not what they want. They want you ashamed; to peel down the layers of societal decorum and turn you into some animal. 

“That’s more like it,” Beomgyu says. He rewards you with those same mouth-watering, tear-inducing strokes once more. “You don’t get to keep your modesty. We know what you’ve done; you can’t pretend to us.” 

So fast, right in your center, that knot begins tightening once more. You writhe and whimper. Where his cock digs into you, the muscles turn each time. 

Yeonjun watches every last bit of your struggling. His eyes dance over your screwed up face, and he listens with intent to your crackling cries. Stroking his fingers over your neck and face and through your hair, you’re not sure if he means to soothe or wind you up. “You’re doing fine,” he coos. “Still breathing?” 

You’re hot and clammy all over. “Mhm!” you mewl. Beomgyu reaches down and pinches hard on your clit. It draws a broken cry out from you, arching off the bed so that your front melds into his. The headboard groans and crackles against your violent tugging. You curl and splay your fingers frantically to try and itch the overflowing urge to grab or claw.  

Beomgyu’s wild eyes get a wry look, and his hips take a new angle. It’s like blinding white on your brain. The drags of his cock, fucking you into the bed, Yeonjun’s dusted touches and Beomgyu’s touches like claws, the delirious spasming of your inner muscles, and the weight of their combined looking, it’s all compiled and too much. You cum blisteringly with a cry. And, with your hands tied up, you’ve got no choice but to suffer its wrath.

It’s a suffering that makes you feel infinitely more alive. 

Floating down, your chest heaves for scarce breath. Ecstasy drips through your veins slow like honey. Past it, you can hear nothing more than a shuffling. That doesn’t matter right now, though. The sweetness of it clogs your senses and has you content. All you can really taste is the sugary goodness of pleasure pulsing through you. 

In the midst of the blur, you think you hear a sly, foxy voice right in your ear. He whispers something along the lines of, “Now that the brute’s done.” 

The weight of Beomgyu hovering over your chest and a puff of cool air over your sloppy cunt are enough to drag your mind toward clarity. Enough to realize that they are by no means done with you yet. 

Clearing thick syrup from your thoughts, you say, “What are you doing?”

You can’t see past him, but you know Yeonjun’s settled between your legs. He holds your thighs wide open like a silver platter. And your cunt, the delicacy. He doesn’t even bother pinning you—Beomgyu does the job for him. Without fanfare, plump lips press an open-mouthed kiss right over your begging clit. The little wet pressure is electrically charged, sending bolts of jagged lightning spiraling up your spine. Your hips jump against it. It’s no use, though. Between the two of them, you’ve got nowhere to go. You are right where they want you. A breath of a laugh falls onto your cunt.  

Beomgyu lifts himself enough to drag your shirt up your torso and bunch it over the swell of your chest. “Don’t ask questions,” he says, pinching your rosy nipple. You choke a gasp. At the attention, both of them tighten into stiff little peaks, prickling hard. “Just fucking take it. You’ll take what you get.” He spits the words out like venom that’s burning his tongue. 

Yeonjun peppers little kisses over the entirety of your cunt, lingering over your hole and right over your clit. You gasp and quake as it reawakens the aftershocks of your all-too-recent orgasm. Beomgyu, not one for dainty touch, palms your tits like dough. He leaves red in the wake of his touch, pinching here and there. Their touches blend; Yeonjun’s intentionally placed brushes, and Beomgyu’s unapologetic play. The tang of blood is heavy on your tongue—you’d bitten your lip raw trying to filter your sounds.  

When Yeonjun flattens his tongue and flicks it up the underside of your clit, though, none of your efforts stifle the guttural cry that it beckons from you. Each of his touches after that, the suckling of it in his puckered lips, the grazing of teeth, and the occasional dips to collect your arousal like sticky sweetener straight from the source, have your body wracked with tingles and flesh-deep shudders. He’s tying that knot right back up in your gut as though somebody might tie the stem of a cherry with their tongue. Each pitiful, pitchy sound you make, he answers with a sound muffled into your pussy.  

Hair dangling down in his eyes and obscuring the rotten look in his eyes, Beomgyu runs a splayed hand up the plane of your chest. The smoothing over skin is a much more innocuous sound in the air than the sloppy sounds of Yeonjun drinking you up. When he reaches the fragile column of your throat, your heart skips a few beats, laying down like a frightened animal in your chest. It comes back to life when he doesn’t stop there. He reaches your mouth and drags your bottom lip down with the rough pad of his thumb, tilting his head back to get a good look at you. 

“Open your mouth.” Beomgyu reaches up for the headboard, where your wrists are secured. He fumbles with it for a moment before the silk flutters down. The release from the strain—from the cutting of the fabric into your skin—is enough to send a chill down you. Your nipples tighten impossibly further with it. Soothing over the indented skin, you bask in the freedom to move. If only you could reach past Beomgyu to dig your fingers through Yeonjun’s hair. 

Hips twitching both into and away from Yeonjun’s suckling mouth, it takes you a moment to get to it. He splays you open further, licks up the sensitive underbelly of your nub harder. Competing to hold your attention. 

 Open your mouth? Whatever his intention is, you both itch for it and dread it. You let him slip his two middle fingers past your lips and over your tongue. The sensation of him pressing down on it is foreign. You furrow your brows up at him with your mouth split over his digits, saliva pooling at the floor of your mouth. Your limbs and stomach tighten, frame going rigid. If he were to just slide them a little further, you know you’ll be fighting for breath. 

And, of course he does. Eyes narrowing and twitching with wicked delight, he pushes them right for your gag reflex. “Let’s see deep you can take it,” he coos. 

Your belly jumps. He’d found your limit. For a moment, he holds it there, even as you squirm. Even as you dig your crescents into his wrist. When he finally pulls them free from your throat, you sputter and swim for breath. Your nose burns, and tears cling like dew in your lashes as you look up at him with round eyes. He scoffs a laugh, his fingers a glistening mess of your mouth. 

Holy shit.  

“Since Yeonjun’s got a soft heart,” he says, pressing his fingers back over the path he’d made the first time. He pushes and pulls them in and out of your mouth the same as he might your cunt, making sure to push down on your tongue with each drag out. “He’s going to let you cum. So, I’ll have to keep you quiet somehow. Don’t want the neighborhood to know what a filthy, rotten girl you are, do you?” Capricious him—a moment ago, he’d wanted you screaming. He just wanted to see you gag on his fingers. 

 You claw for your life, dizzied just enough to feel like it’s heaven’s gates you see behind your closed eyes, rather than the fiery iron gates you fear you’ll be seeing instead. Especially after this; especially as you feel them eroding down your virtue with their poisonous touch. 

Like his words had summoned it, the bumps of Yeonjun’s strong and tall nose against your waiting clit as he laps at your hole pushes you right over the ledge. You’d been dangling there for so long, the fall is almost rapturous. And, when you hit the ground, stars dapple your vision like you’ve really been hit. You go tight like a calm before a crashing, thunderous storm. Releasing, you explode in lightning and shaking limbs. Through it, you dig your heels into the mattress and buck into Yeonjun’s mouth, you rake lines down Beomgyu’s skin and wail around his fingers. You seethe like a storm. 

Rumbled breath goes right into your throbbing, aching core. Yeonjun doesn’t stop on your cunt. If anything, the fluttering of your hole and the twitching of your clit eggs him on. He feasts and feasts like your pussy is the first meal he’s had since arriving here through the snow-fallen woods. Your insides protest the overstimulation, wringing you out almost painfully. Tears fall molten down your temples, wetting the hair that frames your face. Beomgyu, and his weight above you, might act as a grounding presence, if not for the way he watches in cruel delight as you choke and drool over him. 

Beomgyu sneers down at you, “Look at you: slobbering all over my hand. You don’t disappoint, do you? Is this where you thought you’d end up when you screwed others over?” 

It’s not like you can answer him. You just squeeze your eyes shut to brave the roiling in your stomach as they work in tandem to force you right from one orgasm into another without respite. You’re wound up so tight—so, so tight. Sobbing and thrashing; you’re not sure you can handle another. Where the first had been smooth like syrup, and the next even sweeter, this third one feels destructive. This one feels like destruction. 

Freeing his fingers, he wipes them down your cheek. You choke and sputter, lungs burning. He must’ve seen something in your eyes. 

“Too—to much! I can’t... take it,” you mewl. It’s hoarse, but you don’t care. Right now, all that exists is Yeonjun’s hot tongue and the terrifying climax he intends to bring you with it. He indulges in a cocky grin against your pussy for just a moment before brushing his teeth over your clit. 

Speaking for the first time since he’d gotten his mouth on you, Yeonjun’s voice is husky. “Hmm? Even if I...” He flicks his tongue up your clit. Your voice catches in your throat, along with your breath. He’d been torturing the poor bud all night—it throbs hard and twitches at just the slightest attention. “Do that?” 

“Yeonjun,” you cry, warbled around a knot in your throat. It’s half plead for mercy, half plead for more. He continues, keeping his touch cruelly light. Not enough to give you that mercy, but enough to keep you needing it. “Go—d, please!” You don’t know if you’re asking for him to let up, or for more. Either would be better than this. Your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“Ask for something if you want it,” Beomgyu spits. “If you wanna fucking cum, ask properly. How many times do you have to be told this?” 

You have no shame. Not like this. Shame was something you let them crush up to dust the moment they put their hands on you. Poor voice shot and whiny, you rush out, “Yeonjun, please. I want to cum so bad, I’ll do anything. Just please—ah!—let me.” 

“That’s it,” he says. The corners of his lips twitch. “That’s all I want to hear from your mouth. Words befitting of a slut. But you’ll take what we give you, and that’s that. You don’t get to pick—you just take it.” 

You don’t even hear any of it. Yeonjun pinches your clit one final time. It’s such a slight touch; it’s absurd how your body crumbles at it. Thighs snapping shut around Yeonjun’s ears, you shake violently. It’s nothing to deter him—he works you through it anyway. You don’t even have anything more than slurred, nonsensical whines. 

When Beomgyu pushes off your chest, you blink slowly at the sight of Yeonjun there. His mouth comes off you an utter, obscene mess. Your essence glistens in the moonlight, smeared down his chin and his cheeks and over his swollen lips. He looks absolutely drunk.  

Finally, you for the first time since they’d come, you slump. Your bones and muscles creak. Dragging in quick, panted breaths, the only thing you worry about is feeding your starved brain oxygen and letting the liquid sun still hung heavy in your veins dissipate. 

Beomgyu doesn’t even leave you with any parting words. Tugging his clothes on, he’s slipping out the window, just as he’d arrived here. He’d gotten his fill. 

They’d drained everything from you. You can’t even press yourself from the bed to catch your breath. Yeonjun swipes his tongue over his mouth and cleans the rest of his face off with the back of his hand. 

 Bent over and his mouth so near your ear that you feel each word, he tells you, “Next year, I think I’d like to have you all to myself. Do you think you can do that for me? Allow me that?” 

The fanned words over your cheek—it makes you think that those words he’d whispered in your earlier were not just a figment of your post-orgasmic imagination.

Shuddering, you hope as he follows Beomgyu out the window that he saw in your eyes that you have no intentions of playing saint this next year. 

Not now, anyway.  

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn’s note so now that we’re all furiously turned on,, how was it? omg i’m nervous for real.

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[lookingforuravity]

the man who can't be moved

shoto todoroki x gn!reader

word count: 914

IN WHICH you and shoto's unspoken feelings come to light.

it seemed to always be the same story for you. no matter how many times you tried at love, you always seemed to fail. it was a repetitive cycle whenever you thought you had interest in somebody. there was a small moment of ecstasy at first, but then as it progressed, you felt repulsed, like you were meant to be with someone else rather than the person who was actually in front of you.

maybe it was your head messing with you. maybe you just weren't cut out for love. or maybe it was the effect that shoto had on you. your best friend that you'd be in love with for years and the same boy who was seated right next to you.

the two of you were engulfed in silence as the moonlight dazed upon you at U.A’s rooftop. it wasn't an awkward silence, surprisingly no, it was comforting. no words needed to be shared, but the way you and shoto's legs pressed against each other without the other pulling away was enough said. the clock currently struck midnight, way past the curfew aizawa had set for the students, but it didn’t matter to the both of you.

you don't know when you fell for him, or how, all you knew was that you fell and fell hard. it was the type of love that made your brain fuzzy and made you blank out whenever you're near him. the dangerous kind of love.

moving on would be easier than confessing, you always thought to yourself. but you never realized how his gaze would stay on you for seconds too long.

“are you… okay?” his voice cut through the silence. shoto has never been one for comforting, but if it was for the one that he loved, he'd do it a thousand times and more. you turned to face him as his eyes searched yours for any sign of pain. but for some reason, you didn't feel any pain, which is weird for someone who just got stood up. you didn't feel anything about it. you couldn't tell if it was relief, disappointment, or a mixture of both.

you shrugged carelessly as you turned back to gaze up at the sky. “just another failed date. i'm okay though, i swear.” you replied, failing to mask the uncertainty. for once, you just wanted at least *one* date to work out. one date where you could detach from the small amount of hope you held that shoto could possibly reciprocate your feelings.

“they have no idea what they're missing,” he muttered, his eyes leaving yours and facing his hands as he fiddled with his fingers. he felt your eyes stuck on the side of his face as he nervously attempted to avoid eye contact. “you're too good for them.”

you chucked awkwardly at his words, thinking that you were misinterpreting what he was trying to say. “maybe i'm just not cut out for this whole… dating thing.” you desperately wanted him to mean what you were thinking. you started to feel that same flicker of hope you got every time you'd get asked out on a date, but this time it was like an unstoppable wildfire.

“… i like you.”

his confession hung cold in the air, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“what?"

he turned his head to finally face you. his face playing a rare display of expressions, contrasting his usual stoic demeanor. “i can't be just friends with you anymore. seeing you go out with all these people frustrates me.”

all the ‘what ifs’ you stacked in your brain for years washed away. it made you feel euphoric, it had your mind spinning like a ballerina. you took your hands and pressed them against his slightly rosy cheeks. “you're serious?” you asked. he nodded, his eyes searching in yours trying to find any sign of reciprocation.

“i've liked you too… for so long,” you finally admitted. getting it off your chest felt like a breath of fresh air, all of the tension escaped from your body. “i didn't want to go on a date with all of those other people. i just wanted to get over you.”

shoto sighed and shook his head. “i couldn't tell you how much i hated it. i'm tired of sitting here and watching other people have you.”

he caressed your hair, your heart swelled at his words and actions. “let's start again,” he proposed. “no more hiding.”

you nodded as you agreed with him, gently clasping your hand on his. “i'd love that.

his lips slightly curved up, his fingers gently brushed against your cheek as he lost himself in your eyes. the shine of the moonlight and the stars was only making it harder for him to peep his eyes off of you. it made you ten times more beautiful than he already thought you were.

“can i kiss you now?” shoto asked, his tone unwavering.

you laughed at his blunt statement before nodding. “please.”

his kiss was tender, filled with all of the unspoken both of you never said. a shiver ran down both of your spines at the softness of each other's lips. his hands slowly traced down from your face to your waist, pulling you closer to his body. shoto waited for so long to have you. even if today wasn't the day, he'd wait a thousand more just to call you his.

©lookingforuravity 2024 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other

[splatashahowlett]

outcasts

logan howlett x reader

you've always been on your own wavelength. always on another planet; in your own little world. you couldn't help it, what you could create in your head was far more interesting than whatever people around you could say or do.

your favorite hobby was to try and find poetry in everything you could see: a willow tree? Do you mean the reincarnation of zeus's nurse? the same one ophelia died under when she realized hamlet could never give her the love she needed?

seeing life this way was way more fun, and if being made fun of was the price to pay to keep your internal peace intact then it was worth it. kids weren't really kind or comprehensive toward your unique mindset. now that you were a grown-up; nothing really changed. you were still enjoying what life gave you with your own approach and people still made fun of you.

except for one person: logan.

which was quite paradoxical because he was known for his judgmental stares and mocking scoffs. he never grew any soft spot for anybody and then you came around, and he fell down the rabbit hole quicker than ever. he was completely mesmerized by you and threatened anybody who dared to even think about mocking your... behavior. at first, you didn't even notice him but you started enjoying his presence more and more. and you finally joined him in the love spiral he was a prisoner of.

logan was standing on the school's porch, cigar in his mouth, watching the students run inside as the rain came pouring down.

the storm was near.

but you didn't care; you stayed still.

"come inside," he called over his shoulder. "get outta the rain." logan called out.

you stayed silent, not even paying attention to him. you were looking at the sky.

"you're gettin' soaked." he grunted. everybody else could have heard a flicker of annoyance in his voice but you knew it was concern and care.

logan glared at you, the annoyance on his face growing. he knew you could be stubborn, which he loved about you, but he didn't want you to catch a cold.

"stop bein' so damn stubborn and get yer ass inside." he growled, his voice commanding but still gentle.

you finally turned around and acknowledged his presence. "I like the rain" you simply answered.

logan frowned, his brow furrowing. he didn't like the fact that you were willingly getting drenched in the downpour.

"you're gonna catch a cold." he grumbled, the gruffness in his voice masked his worry.

"I'll heal"

logan couldn't help but smile softly; he fell harder for you each day. "come with me" you added

the wolverine sighed, his annoyance faded slightly at your request. he can never say no to you, despite his gruff demeanor.

"fine. but we ain't gonna be out here long." he grumbled, stubbing out his cigar on the porch before walking over to you.

he walked down the steps and stopped beside you, his broad frame blocked part of the rain. his arms folded over his chest, and his yellow eyes surveyed the storm.

"I thought you'd be inside, dry and warm." he commented; knowing you liked to stay under the covers, safe from the harsh reality of a world against mutants.

"Isn't it soothing? standing under the rain. knowing you cannot escape it; feeling like it washes you clean?" you said, still in your own bubble.

"guess I hadn't thought of it like that." he admits gruffly. he listens to your words, actually pausing to consider what you say. his eyes roam over your face, studying your expression as you speak. his thoughts wander, remembering how he found your ability to detach from reality strangely comforting. It made you seem almost ethereal.

"you're different from anyone I've ever met before." he spoke up, his deep voice barely above a whisper, almost lost in the howling of the wind.

"you're different from anyone I've ever met before" you said back, looking at him lovingly. he smiled, a rare sight if anybody asked him but something quite common if they asked you. he was still struggling to get used to the softer side of himself that you seemed to bring out, even after all this time.

the storm was raging around you but seemed to fade into the background as he looked into your eyes.

his heart quickened, the gruff exterior faltering as he held your gaze.

"thank you for not making fun of me"

his expression softened even further, his rough exterior crumbling even more. He knew that you've been ridiculed for who you are, and he hated that.

"of course, I won't make fun of ya." he replied "I like you the way you are."

you wrap your hands around his middle; burying your face in his chest.

caught off guard by your unexpected embrace, it took logan a moment to reciprocate. hesitantly, he wraped his arms around you, holding you against him.

he could feel your head resting on his chest, his heart rate increased as he realized how intimate this moment was. the rain continued to fall around you, each drop adding to the surreal atmosphere of the moment. It created a strange sense of intimacy, the cool water running over your bodies while you held each other. he tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer to him.

"could you stay with me?" you pleaded

he hesitated for a moment, not because he didn't want to, but because he wasn't used to being asked to stay.

"Yeah." He said gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. "I'll stay."

"no, I mean, forever." you raised your head, looking at him. "I don't think I can live without you anymore" you confessed.

logan's heart thunders in his chest, the unexpected declaration taking him completely by surprise. his eyes widened slightly, revealing the depth of his emotions.

"forever...?" he repeated, his voice soft and almost unsure. he never thought you would ask that, but hearing those words from you, it ignited something deep within him. he looked down at you, his hand moving to gently cup your cheek.

you slowly nodded. "now that I know what it's like to be loved by you and to love you in return I don't think I can manage not to"

your words hit logan like a ton of bricks. he's never heard anyone say something so raw and heartfelt, and it hit him right in the chest. he went speechless, his heart hammered in his chest. but then, his expression softened, and he pulled you even closer against him.

"I feel the same way, darlin'," he muttered. "can't imagine not havin' you in my life anymore."

and you just smiled, because in your world, words weren't required to translate a soul. and logan wanted more than anything to be part of it, so he stayed silent and held you tightly against him, his fingers gently tracing small patterns on your back. the storm continued to rage around the both of you, but it felt right: being in his arms felt right.

logan honestly had no idea if what you just said meant that you two were an official thing but he couldn't bring himself to care over such a foolish detail. as long as he could hold you as much as he wanted, he was a happy man.

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE | Michael x Reader

a long awaited rewrite of my favorite fanfic i've written... i've come far since my first time writing it and i'm so so happy to be able to recreate my pride and joy!! if you want to see the original, here it is! but i'm thrilled to rewrite it and i hope you all like it :)

MICHAEL MYERS X FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: The jumpsuit he wore made you think that maybe there'd been an accident with a car or something? You weren't sure. It wasn't likely he'd gotten himself out this far with a wound that bad but you couldn't really think straight to work out logistics. A man was injured and he needed help and that's all you could focus on at the moment.

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence & injuries

NEXT

The smell of wet earth enveloped you as you made your way back home. The earlier afternoon rain had let up long enough for you to walk home from work, a long day spent at the farmers market and plant nursery. It was rewarding work and one of the few jobs you'd actually wanted to be hired at. Your family had moved here a few years ago and you'd fallen in love with the town instantly. You and your father lived on the edge of town, more in the woods than the city itself, but not too far that you had to go out of your way to go to work. Even after you graduated, you still hadn't moved out. Why would you? You helped pay rent, shopped for groceries, and could tend to your garden.

It was, as far as you were concerned, the perfect location. A lovely little house surrounded by trees and bushes of flowers, overgrown with vines, and a stepping stone path that led to the front door. The house itself was covered in a dark brick with the inside a beautiful white with dark wooden floors that smelt of books and fresh fruits and vegetables. And sometimes the smell of rain leaked in when you left the windows open.

So no, you had no intention of moving.

Today was one of those days where you'd get the house to yourself. As the current chief of police, your dad was known for working late nights and leaving you to your own devices for a few days. With Halloween coming up, the police were on edge. Rumors were circling in the station that Michael had escaped again but couldn't confirm yet. They were avoiding telling the public until they were sure.

You always enjoyed walking home more than you enjoyed driving. It gave you a chance to think while enjoying music in your headphones, hopping along to the beat. You were weighing your options for dinner in your mind as you got closer to home when you felt a sense of wrongness wash over you. When your song came to an end, you lowered your headphones to hang around your neck as you scanned the nearby area with scrutiny.

The smell of iron reached you in a soft breeze that brushed your clothes and skin. Coyotes weren't unheard of but you didn't exactly have a way to defend yourself if they got any closer. Not to mention there was the chance your cat had gotten out.

You picked up the pace, grimacing when the smell grew stronger and stronger. Had your head not been on a swivel, you would have missed the way the bushes shook. You froze, swallowing hard as a man stumbled out of the treeline and onto the paved street towards you. He was tall, dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit and a white Halloween mask that rang a bell in the dark recesses of your mind. But you were too prioritized by the gunshot wound in his side that bled copiously, staining the jumpsuit in dark blotches.

"Are you okay?" You gasped, watching the man stumble for balance. He just made a grunting sound so you rushed forward to catch him by the shoulders. "Oh fuck, okay, uh, I might have a first aid kit at home. It's not far, c'mon." You said, trying not to panic. God knows how this dude was even standing with how much blood he'd already lost. But you slung his arm around your shoulders to practically drag him along. He was silent, which unsettled you slightly, but you didn't have the time to be unsettled. This man was possibly dying and that was far more important to you.

Did you need to talk to him to keep him awake? You were worried that if he did collapse on you, you wouldn't be able to move him. "How'd you even get an injury like that?" You tried, jostling him a little. The size difference was glaringly apparent like this but you did your best to move him. "You're lucky I live near here. Don't want to imagine you bleeding to death out here in the woods alone."

The jumpsuit he wore made you think that maybe there'd been an accident with a car or something? You weren't sure. It wasn't likely he'd gotten himself out this far with a wound that bad but you couldn't really think straight to work out logistics. A man was injured and he needed help and that's all you could focus on at the moment.

The walk home felt like hours but you finally pulled him up to the back door, kicked the rickety old screen door open with your foot, and practically dropped the man on the floor against the counters. No way were you carrying him up the stairs, especially not when he could track blood all over the carpet. You threw your bags aside and ran upstairs to the bathroom, hurrying past your cat Mayhem who cried in hunger. "Later." You said quietly as you began rifling through the cabinet under the sink. "I should clean this out later."

First aid kit in hand, you tore down the stairs again and came to a stop in the awning of the kitchen. The man was slumped over where you'd left him and you took the brief moment to get a better look at him. Dirty, brown work boots that were covered in grass stains and wet mud had left a small trail of dirt alongside the blood drops. The jumpsuit was mostly clean except for what looked like oil stains and the blood on his side. As you approached him, you noticed blood staining his sleeves in streaks too. Odd. You made a mental note to check his arms when you were done.

You knelt down in front of him, close enough that you could hear his frantic breathing. Like he was attempting to stay awake. "Can you tell me what happened?" You asked softly, clicking open the first aid kit and reaching for the zipper of his jumpsuit. When he flinched away, you froze. "I'll need to unzip you in order to take care of your wound."

He stared at you. Or you assumed he did. The black voids of the eyeholes left much to be desired.

"Just give me a nod." You sighed.

A moment passed but he finally nodded. A small little motion that you would've missed if you hadn't been looking. You gave him a little smile and unzipped the jumpsuit to his waist, careful to avoid brushing against the wound as much as possible. The black tank top underneath had ridden up slightly which made your cheeks warm. Stuffing that down, you helped him carefully shrug his sleeves down so you could better see the damage.

It was hard to see what had happened with how much blood covered his skin. So you reached into the kit, using one of the little sanitizing wipes on your hands before grabbing the disposable gloves. "Okay, uh, I'm not exactly a doctor so just let me know if the pain is too much, okay?" You gave him a nervous smile before hiking the tank top up more around his chest to let you wipe down the skin with a clean wet wipe.

The amount of blood was almost ridiculous. But you were eventually able to make out what was undeniably a gunshot wound. "Who the hell shot at you?" You mumbled more to yourself than to him. But he still gave you a tilt of his head as though answering. "At least the bullet went all the way through," You sighed, looking between him and your supplies as you tried to figure out what to do. "Okay. Let's… see what I can do."

You didn't know anything about gunshot wounds, much less how to clean them. But you'd helped patch your dad up when he stuck himself with a fishing hook so you figured it couldn't be that much more difficult. Anything was better than letting it get infected. "Sorry," you said softly before giving his hand a squeeze, "This is gonna suck."

And you poured the hydrogen peroxide on both ends of the wound, wincing at the pained grunt he let out. You kept apologizing as you fumbled around for the needle and thread, also dousing that in the peroxide before you tried to stitch him up. Sewing had never been a skill of yours but it was the best you could offer him. At least until you could get him to a hospital. You pressed gauze at either end of the wound before wrapping him tightly in bandages. "I think the wound is supposed to drain? I think I remember hearing stuff about that. We'll have to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn't get infected." You tried to give him a reassuring smile and sat back to view your handiwork. It was probably sloppy, yeah, but at least it was cleaned and covered.

It could've been much worse.

"Can you pass me one of the wipes?" You asked, holding up your bloodstained hands and giving him a toothy grin. "I don't wanna stain everything with blood."

He offered you a blank stare before reaching slowly into the kit and handing you one of the little packages. You tore it open and got to scrubbing. "I'd give you a sucker for being a good patient if I had any. Would you take dinner and a shower instead?" You scooted back to clean up more, letting him stand on shaking legs. "My dad shouldn't be back till late. But he should be able to drive you to a hospital once I explain-"

At that, he shook his head violently no. "No, what?" You paused, brow furrowing. "No hospital?" He gave you a nod. "I'm not exactly a doctor. Your injury probably needs more than my below average sewing skills and half a bottle of peroxide." But still, he shook his head. "Fine. Okay. No hospital." You sighed loudly, giving him a quick once-over. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He tried to pull away but you finally saw it: a spot on his opposite shoulder where he'd been just grazed by a bullet. More a flesh wound than anything, but you'd missed it in your stitching him up. "Alright, c'mere mister," your tone was light as you raided the kit for more gauze and bandages. "Got anything else you're hiding from me?" You gave him a playful smile as you wrapped and cleaned his wound. "It doesn't look too bad. I'm way more worried about the gunshot wound." You trailed off. "I wasn't kidding about dinner and a shower though. My dad's got clothes I bet could fit you. Though the pants may be a bit short." He gave you a calculating look as you shrugged. "At least until I get your jumpsuit washed."

The two of you just stared at each other for a while. His head tilted slowly in confusion and you couldn't help but snort. "What, you think I'll just patch you up and throw you out? Not a chance. C'mon," you took his hand and led him towards the stairs. Mayhem had ventured downstairs and began to sniff you both over, hissing at your guest despite your soft scolding.

Once inside the bathroom, you tossed the first aid kit back in as the man took a look around the small space. White tiled floors and faint, floral wallpaper framed a huge mirror, spanning the distance of the smooth countertops. You pride yourself on keeping the bathroom clean, so you only winced slightly at the dirt on the work boots that left a small trail of dirt behind. "I'll get you some clothes if you want to get undressed. I don't mind washing your clothes for you." You gave him a smile, sidestepping him to slip back out into the hall. "A shower might help you feel better. Just try to avoid getting your bandages too wet."

You left him in the bathroom and slipped down the hallway to your dad's room. A rifling through his dresser earned you some plain sweatpants and an old, black shirt you knew he wouldn't miss. Worst case scenario, your guest bled all over the shirt and you'd have to throw it out.

Heading back towards the bathroom, a realization came to you. "Hey, I'm sorry, I don't think I introduced mys-" You froze in the doorway, words dying on your lips. The man had his back to you and had shrugged the jumpsuit off the rest of the way, his boots laying near the doorway by your feet and the blue material like a puddle around his ankles. His shoulders were broad and you could make out tiny scars that littered his forearms and shoulders. His mask had remained but that wasn't what surprised you.

He didn't have underwear on.

Your face felt like it was on fire as you slammed fresh clothes down on the counter, pointedly not looking at him. "Alright, here's your clothes, bye!" It felt like your words slurred together as you slammed the door behind you, leaning against it with an embarrassed sigh.

Once you heard the water turn on, you went downstairs to clean up the kitchen floor, grateful the blood hadn't dried too much yet.

Mayhem, having decided you'd spent long enough fussing over your guest, began to complain and shout for his dinner. "Alright, you needy thing, c'mere." You scooped him up and pressed a kiss to his fuzzy head. "Let's get you fed and then see about feeding our guest, yeah?"

Mayhem meowed, as though enthused only about the coming tuna.

The man took his time showering but you didn't really mind. He certainly needed it. Plus, you could empathize there - showers always made you feel much better too. In the meantime, you'd snuck back upstairs to grab his clothes and toss them into the washing machine. When you'd gotten a good look at his clothes, you recognized the auto mechanic company logo on the jumpsuit. "L. Smith?" You'd wondered aloud, frowning to yourself. "Pretty sure I'd tutored his kids when I was a junior…" But he didn't look anything like Lawrence Smith. "Maybe it's just a common name," you had mumbled. Something about this whole situation felt off but you couldn't exactly place why.

You shook your head slightly and sighed, trying to dismiss a nagging feeling you had in the back of your mind. Sparing a glance down at Mayhem, who brushed against your leg insistently, you frowned. "You don't think this is Michael Myers, right?"

Big yellow eyes blinked up at you and you sighed, chewing on your lower lip. Not much about the Myers case was made public beyond his crimes and his mugshot. Your dad had refused to divulge anything to you about the case and you'd only managed a quick peek at crime scene photos. Nothing about the way the man had been dressed or anything like that. Besides, it had been so long since that night that any details you could have seen have been lost to time.

"Impossible." You decided with a shaking sigh as you opened the can of tuna, not even believing your own words despite their conviction. "There's simply no way."

The sound of thunder outside was a welcome distraction from your thoughts. The rain had always been peaceful to you, the smell of wet earth and the chill breeze from the window had you relaxing. You smiled, whistling for Mayhem to come get his dinner and slipped past your hungry cat into the kitchen once again.

Cutting the vegetables and boiling pasta was peaceful, a wonderfully monotonous task you could just get lost in with the soft white noise of the rain. You would have missed the sounds of the shower turning off if you'd been any more zoned out. You had just taken the tomatoes out to cut them up when you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder and took him in. The sweatpants had stopped just above his ankles, which you had expected. What you hadn't expected was the way his broad chest filled out the shirt, struggling to hug around his biceps. You turned back around to hide your swooning, biting your lip hard to keep yourself from smiling like a fool. He'd put the mask back on but you couldn't even bother to give it a thought.

Swallowing, you cleared your throat. "Are the bandages alright?" You asked, turning your attention back to the tomatoes. He didn't say anything but, then again, you hadn't really expected him to. "Pasta's boiling right now so dinner should be ready in a few minutes if you want to sit down." You gestured to the nearby dining room table with only a few chairs pulled up. But you didn't hear him move. The feeling of eyes on the back of your neck made you tense for a moment but you brushed it off. If he needed something, he'd let you know, right?

As you reached for a knife, his hand shot out and covered yours. You weren't even aware he'd gotten that close and you jumped in surprise. The eyeholes of the mask bore into you as you turned to look at him once again. "Do you… want to help?"

He just tilted his head, as though bewildered by your offer.

You move your hand aside to let him grab the knife, stepping to the side to give him room at the cutting board. "You just have to make them into small chunks. Try and get them around the same size, I'll get the garlic going." You hummed, your fingertips barely grazing the extra knife before he grabbed your wrist tight, jerking your hand back. A surprised yelp left you as you stared wide-eyed up at him, noticing the way he white knuckled his own knife.

Something about this was very wrong.

Swallowing back your terror, you held eye contact with him, the two of you locked in a standstill. The room was silent except for his heavy breathing, barely audible over the pounding storm outside. Soft bluish grey light cast shadows on his face, making the eyes of the mask seem like bottomless pits. Everything felt frozen in time as the two of you stared at each other.

You were the one who broke the tension, reaching over with your free hand to uncurl his fingers from your wrist as casually as you could. Anxiety pounded through you when you heard his breathing hitch. "Don't worry," you gave him a weak smile once you were freed, "I have every confidence in you." You said, giving a weak gesture to the tomatoes laying on the cutting board. You slowly moved towards the stove to set about roasting the garlic cloves, trying to appear as calm as possible while he continued to stare you down.

You only let your shoulders drop when you heard him start slicing.

Making the rest of dinner didn't take long, especially with your guest's help. He seemed unwilling to leave you alone now, hovering around you as you finished cooking and plating dinner - pasta with garlic sauce and dried tomatoes - and only retreated to the living room when you'd reassured that you were right behind him. He took a seat on the couch and you caught him staring at Mayhem comfortably sprawled out on his favorite chair.

"His name is Mayhem," you told him as you sat beside him, setting two water glasses down before digging in. "He won't bug you, he knows he's not allowed on the couch."

The man's head turned slowly to look at you, letting you get a brief sight of one of his eyes: a blue-green color that looked almost hazel in the darkness of the mask. You held in a soft gasp and turned away, trying to push the idea that the man was pretty from your mind. You hadn't even seen his face for crying out loud! Much less gotten his name.

Instead, you just clicked the television on. "Anything in particular you wanna see?" You asked around a mouthful of food. "We've got movies too but I dunno if you like horror." You hummed, setting your plate down briefly to shuffle over to the drawers in the tv stand, leafing through VHS tapes. "It's almost Halloween though," you smirked, "But, judging by your mask, you knew that."

His eyes were boring holes into you again but you just chuckled to yourself. While you pride yourself on being good at reading body language, his ramrod straight posture and silent staring was like gazing at a white canvas. But maybe that's one of the reasons you liked him so much: he wasn't complicated to understand, when he needed to be heard.

You pulled out a particular VHS and flashed it to him. "Do you like cartoons?" You asked, dangling 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown' for him to see.

He nodded then - so clear and obvious that you didn't waste any time popping the tape in and sitting back down alongside him. You kept your eyes glued to the screen as you ate, hoping that would be enough privacy for him to comfortably eat. He'd have to give you his name later, at the very least, but you felt the urge to give him some semblance of privacy as he ate. So you kept your eyes off him and the two of you ate in amicable silence, both your attentions rapt on the little cartoon. He ate like he was starving for it and practically chugged the glass of water when he was done, which made your heart hurt a little.

How long had this guy gone without eating or drinking anything?

"There's more in the pot if you want. Help yourself." You said softly, bumping his knee gently with yours to get his attention. He'd tensed up slightly at the contact and you momentarily scolded yourself for that. He was clearly not good with touch, but it had just felt natural to do for him.

But he didn't seem to hold it against you and just stood up, retreating into the kitchen with his plate. You watched him with a slight smile on your face. He was, no doubt, intriguing. His mysteries had you utterly fascinated and there was so much you wanted to ask. But a part of you feared the answers, paranoid your suspicions would be proven correct.

He would have killed you if that were the case, right?

The two of you continued watching movies once you'd learnt he hadn't, in fact, seen most horror films. "Well obviously I'm going to show you 'The Thing,'" you'd said as Charlie Brown came to an end. "It's one of my favorites, I think you'll like it." His staring didn't bother you anymore so you took his silence as agreement when the movie began playing. The night continued like that, the two of you watching movies together. Horror films seemed to intrigue him and you swore he jumped a little at some of the visceral body horror moments. But the two of you had cozied up just a little. He'd finally sunken back into the couch and had tolerated you scooting closer to him.

You were halfway through Frankenstein when you heard the phone ring in the kitchen. "Be right back," you whispered to him, feeling his eyes on you as you walked away. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was nearly midnight and you frowned. Your dad should've been home by now and your guest didn't seem in any hurry to go home. Didn't he have somewhere to go?

Regardless, you stepped into the kitchen on socked feet and plucked the phone off the receiver. "Hello?

"Kiddo? Oh thank god you're alright!" Your dads voice sounded monetarily relieved, letting out a sigh as he spoke. "You should've called me after you saw the news." He said, once again becoming frantic. "Lock all the doors, keep Mayhem inside tonight, and-"

"Calm down," you cut him off, "What's going on? I haven't even seen the news, I've been watching movies with-"

Your dad wasted no time cutting you off as well. "Just stay inside, okay? Keep your eyes on the news and just- just stay safe. My pistol is in my room in the bedside table if you need it."

A sinking dread began to settle in the pit of your stomach as you twirled the phone cord. "Just tell me what's going on!" You became equally frantic, running your hand through your hair in frustration.

He was silent for a moment before sighing. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you. This is strictly police business. But the last thing I want is you digging into this yourself-"

"That was one time-!" You protested.

But he ignored you. "There's a killer on the loose." His words were like a gunshot to your chest. "We nearly caught him this afternoon but he managed to escape. We're- we're not sure where he'd gotten off to so I want you to stay inside and call me if you hear or- or see anything strange."

A lapse of silence passed and you can tell your dad was about to hang up but you quickly squeaked out. "What's his name?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you." His voice had a finality to it. He didn't plan on telling you.

You knew how to play him though. You faked a sniffle and a sob. "Dad, please, I- I need to know what I'm up against! W-what if he gets inside?"

Despite his voice being barely a whisper, it was deafening to you. "Michael Myers."

Instantly, you sobered up. Your fears were confirmed and you felt your blood run cold. Michael Myers was sitting in your living room in your dads clothes after you'd had dinner together. He'd been fascinated by Charlie Brown and had jumped a little at the chest defibrillation scene in The Thing. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield had helped you cut tomatoes and let you tend to his wounds.

You were still alive. As terrifying as this revelation was, you were curious why he hadn't killed you. You didn't know Michael Myers to be very forgiving or benevolent…

Wrapping up the call with your dad, you practically slammed the phone back into the receiver, your back still to the living room. You steadied your resolve and forced your hands to still when you turned back around. You nearly slammed into him when you did. He'd been eavesdropping and the idea that his mercifulness would end made you talk before he could move. "Seems we're locked in tonight." You managed a smile and a shrug. "Dad says it's too dangerous to go out tonight so at least it'll just be us two. If you want, I can set you up on the couch to sleep when you're ready."

He continued to stare at you and you swore he almost seemed…surprised.

You sidestepped him to head back into the living room and he let you, though he was hot on your heels. "Means you and I get more movie time though." Grinning up at him, you sat back down with a soft "oomf" and looked up at him expectantly. If you just acted like everything was fine, maybe he wouldn't kill you?

It seemed as good an idea as any.

Eventually he rejoined you on the couch after staring at you for a few good minutes.

You knew. And you had a feeling he knew that you knew. But what could you even do? It wasn't like you stood a chance against him if he decided to attack you. In fact, a part of you felt almost guilty for withholding your newfound information from him. He was literally a serial killer and you didn't want to make him think you were against him.

Which bewildered you. Why would you feel bad? You knew, logically, you should call your dad back and tell him Michael was here and let him and the rest of the force come try and catch Michael before he ran you through with a knife.

He'd extended trust to you though. You recognized that. You didn't want to betray that, especially since you didn't know who the last person he trusted could have been.

As the movie came to an end, you decided to take a risk. "Want me to make popcorn, Michael?" You kept your tone light and casual as you stood and stretched.

You didn't even get two steps in before he was up, grabbing your wrist tight and spinning you to face him. You kept your smile light and tilted your head the way he liked doing. "I think I have M&Ms if you want me to mix those in too." He continued to stare and you finally sighed. "I already knew. I, uh, had my suspicions before we made dinner. But dad called and confirmed it, basically." His grip tightened but you brushed it off. "I'm not going to tell anyone." You finally admitted.

His posture remained rigid, like he expected a fight. You felt your heart break a little. Has he ever had anyone be kind to him ever since that night? "Do you know about doctor-patient confidentiality?" His blank stare was an answer in itself. "When a doctor treats a patient, that patient has the right to keep their information private. Including their name." You placed your free hand atop his in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. "So, since you're technically my patient, I don't have to tell anyone anything." He still seemed confused and you just let out a soft sigh. "I'm not gonna rat on you, is what I'm saying."

He seemed to consider this before giving you a slow nod.

A part of you was relieved. A fair trade, you thought as you went into the kitchen to make popcorn. You patched him up and fed him and, in exchange, he didn't kill you.

The two of you wound up watching movies late into the night, with you adding soft commentary as you munched on popcorn and M&Ms. By 2AM you were fading, your head lolling to the side and bumping against Michael's shoulder in your attempts to fight off sleep. He was warm and, despite knowing who he was, you felt safe.

So you'd nodded off.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were being shaken awake by your father. "Get up," he whisper-yelled as he turned off the tv, a quick flash of the movie menu disappearing as soon as you saw it. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

You hummed, yawning and rubbing your eyes. "Early." A glance at the clock confirmed it was nearly 6AM. "Sorry, guess I was up watchin' movies." You sat up and looked around a little before your sleep-addled brain immediately recalled that Michael Myers had been sitting on your couch last night and you looked around.

As your dad herded you upstairs and past the kitchen, you noticed Michael's boots were gone. The dishes had been left atop the table but yours had been placed in the sink as though to hide the fact there had been two people here. Once of the knives from the block was missing too, but that didn't surprise you.

If your dad's weary expression was anything to go by, Michael had escaped before he'd gotten home. "'m headin' to bed," he grumbled, "You should too." He said before shuffling into his bedroom, closing the door with more force than intended. You nodded to empty air before retreating into your bedroom, noticing Mayhem lazily dozing on top of your messy bedsheets.

Your bedroom was dim and cool, the morning light just starting to shift the pitch black sky into a dark tealish blue color. Raindrops still covered the window, indicative of the storm that must be still going. You frowned and went to close your curtains to avoid being blinded by the sun once it rose but you paused just before you could yank the fabric closed.

There, across the street, only visible thanks to the streetlight he stood under, you could see Michael Myers staring up at you.

Dumbfounded, you smiled and gave him a little wave, swaying on your feet as you tried not to swoon. You wanted to believe he wouldn't hurt you, seeing as he had ample opportunity to do so and had instead laid you gently down on the couch to sleep when he'd decided to leave. But the realistic part of your brain reminded you, as you closed your blackout curtains, that it should be more concerning that you'd become a fixation of his.

You'd heard of Laurie Strode and how she was assumedly his previous fixation, seeing as he'd stalked her for a while before deciding to take action against her friends. She'd been terrified of him for years and continued to lock herself in her house for the past two years to protect herself against him. Despite her fear of him, she'd yet to move out of Haddonfield.

There wasn't any point in trying to figure her out though. She was of no help to you. You couldn't tell anyone about what was going on or risk yourself or Michael.

You were far too tired to think about any of that for now and just flopped down into bed, freezing when your hands brushed an unfamiliar texture. After scrambling around under your stomach, you held up Michael's tank top. He must have left it for you when he'd gone to change into his jumpsuit. You felt your face heat up at the implications of him leaving his shirt for you, opting instead to shove it under your pillow with your cheeks burning.

The memories of him in the tshirt filled your head as you fell back asleep.

Crunching dry, brittle leaves beneath your boots, you made your way into town for work. You always liked the walk, especially with how beautiful Haddonfield got in the fall. A gorgeous watercolor painting of oranges, browns, and reds, touches of yellow and green giving pops of color. Despite the tragedies that had happened two years ago, Halloween decorations were still up in full swing, the town determined to celebrate no matter what. There was even a small festival at the farm nearby, complete with haunted houses, hayrides, and pumpkin patches. Halloween spirit was everywhere and you loved it. It'd always been your favorite holiday, even before a certain man fell into your life.

As you approached the plant nursery you worked at, you mulled that over. The police hadn't caught Michael yet but were working round the clock. And although you hadn't seen him in person since he'd stayed over a few days ago, you'd seen glimpses of him. Enough to know he was definitely stalking you. While you should logically feel afraid, you instead felt… oddly comforted.

You stopped beating yourself up over why. You knew why. Michael Myers was the most dangerous person alive and he was looking out for you, in a way. You felt safe with him watching you. So you played the game and pretended not to see him. It was easier to play along anyways and, as far as you knew, he hadn't killed anyone since he found you. No one your dad talked about at least.

So you'd been spending more time in town or out in the woods, hoping that entertaining him would keep him from killing. At least, you hoped so.

It didn't help that you still found yourself fascinated by him.

You'd stopped beating yourself up for that too. Most people you knew were predictable, bland, or boring. They had routines and patterns that were easy to predict. But Michael wasn't like that. You never knew what he was thinking or how he'd behave. He was interesting, unique, and unpredictable.

You liked that. Maybe that was sick or twisted of you, but it was true.

"Helloooo?" Your co-worker's soft voice pulls you from your thoughts. "Did those blackberries do something to you?" Kalei snorted, nudging you gently. "You've been staring at them for, like, ten minutes now."

You responded with a yawn, rubbing your eyes. Despite having only been at work for a few hours, you were ready for it to be over. "Sorry, jus' haven't been sleepin' well." You slurred as you tried to give her a smile.

"Bad dreams?" Kalei asked, frowning slightly as she set her own blackberry plant aside. Working at the plant nursery had been your idea, more interested in working with plants than people. But Kalei was a good friend and always looked out for you. It was nice to have company while taking care of the plants.

You chewed on your fingernail and gave her a little shrug. "Just been… thinking about a guy, I guess."

They let out a shocked gasp. "A GUY?!" Kalei squealed, ignoring your desperate attempts to shush them. "Tell me everything RIGHT NOW, oh my god!" 

You blushed, trying to get them to quiet down, flustered at the idea of Michael listening in. "It's not anything serious! Just, um, met this guy and he's… interesting. I like him." You blushed at the childishness of your own words, focusing on your plants to avoid meeting Kalei's eyes.

They gave you a nod. "Well, as your workplace bestie, I am obligated to give him The Talk."

You chose to not mention the fact there were only five total employees counting you both. "Kay, it's Illinois. I doubt he'd be interested in me, available or not." Which wasn't untrue. Even if Michael was interested in you, it likely wasn't anything beyond obsession. At least the obsession went both ways, you thought to yourself with a private smile.

"Well, regardless, I have a duty to fulfill." They beamed at you, hands on their hips. "You're a cute guy and, if I didn't have a partner, I'd take you out sometime." They ignored your snort and continued. "If this guy screws you over, I'll kick his ass for you."

If only they knew, you chuckled to yourself as you left Kalei to attend to a customer. Michael wasn't exactly great "bring-home-to-the-parents" boyfriend material. Much less introduce to your co-worker. When you'd finished helping the customer, you froze at the sight of movement in the tree line across the road. Standing in the tall grass and brush, you swore you saw Michael standing there…

As far as you were aware, he stayed close by to watch as you finished your shift. You hoped that as long as he was watching you, he wasn't out killing someone. Hopefully. For all you knew, he could be supernatural.

But you'd let him watch you. The whole rest of your shift, the walk home, and as you got in the car to go shopping. While you usually got vegetables and fruits from the plants at your work, you still needed to get normal groceries at the store. So you parked around back to be a little more secluded and went inside.

It was a cute little supermarket, clean linoleum floors and shelves lined with food. You didn't need much but you definitely needed to refill your medkit and find a proper first aid book, just in case. Thankfully, it was relatively empty that day, meaning you had free reign of the aisles to explore and take your time shopping.

You knew Michael wouldn't come in the store but you didn't doubt he was waiting for you outside.

So when you finished loading your grocery bags into the trunk of your car, you didn't feel surprised when you heard footsteps approaching you. Michael was definitely taking a risk being out with you in public but you hadn't exactly spoken to him in a few days and you were itching for the chance.

Turning around, however, you were met face to face with an unfamiliar black ski mask. Definitely not Michael. The stranger grabbed you by the arm before pulling out a knife, his head on a swivel. "G-gimme all your cash! Now!" He hissed, jerking you aggressively.

"I don't have anything on me." You said calmly. Your dad had always prepared you for situations like this so you didn't worry too much, even with the glint of his knife in the corner of your eye.

"D-don't bullshit me! I know you j-just got outta there. G-gimme what you've got and I'll b-be on my way!" He spat at you, pulling you closer to press the knife against your neck.

You caught the faintest of movement in the shadows of the alleyway behind him but you kept your eyes on him to prevent the guy freaking out. "Okay. Let's just calm down," you said, keeping your movements slow as you reached for your hip, pretending to go for your wallet. The guy kept looking around frantically as though expecting something to jump out at him. Police, most likely. But when you saw the white face of a familiar mask over his shoulder, you felt a sense of calm settle over you.

"C-c'mon!" He hurried you, jerking the knife again to threaten slicing your throat.

At that moment, you jerked back as hot blood splashed across your face. Michael had effortlessly slashed the guy's neck open from behind, bright red falling like rain against the concrete below. You closed your eyes as the choked gurgles of the mugger's voice faded to silence and his body hit the ground. It was like you were frozen in place, unable to make your muscles move as you listened to the sounds of Michael killing the man. The vicious stabbing sounds made your skin crawl and you turned away from the scene entirely to check yourself over.

You hadn't gotten blood anywhere besides on your face, which was good. Easier to clean.

This was inevitable, you reminded yourself. That man wanted to hurt you and Michael was doing you a favor. Still, you tried to steady your breathing, bracing on the trunk of your car as he dragged the body away, presumably to hide it.

You heard Michael start to approach you and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. His footsteps could be silent, almost supernaturally quiet, so if he was making an effort to be loud, you knew it was his attempt to make you feel better. To let you know he was coming.

He stood in front of you now, covered in fresh blood and gripping his knife tightly. You were thankful for the setting sun that cast dark shadows over you two, obscuring the bloodsoaked Michael from view on the streets. You noticed the body slumped against the wall a little ways away and you swallowed back bile. "T-thanks." Your voice was soft and you cleared your throat. "For saving me."

It was only an assumption that he'd killed that guy to protect you. He didn't have to. He could have just let you die or at least be robbed. You were confident in that assumption though. He wouldn't risk your game ending so soon. 

On some level, he wanted you alive.

The blood on your face was beginning to dry uncomfortably and you desperately wanted to go home. You gestured to your car and gave Michael a tilt of your head. "You coming?" He seemed to weigh his options in his head before casually making his way for the passenger seat after a brief deliberation. "What's the plan if we're caught?" You asked him with a raised eyebrow and climbed into your own seat.

Turns out, once the cops got wind of the body, they were very easy to avoid. Predictable, you thought as you gripped your steering wheel tighter, careful to not draw attention to your car as you drove through the windy roads that led to your house.

You got Michael inside, shoving the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter as Mayhem came around the corner, meowing for attention and approaching Michael to give him a curious sniff.

It was then that you remembered stories your father would tell you about how Michael would kill animals for fun as a boy. How he'd leave the dead bodies of cats and birds in his locker at school to terrify the other kids. You weren't sure how truthful the stories were but you felt a heavy pit of anxiety when Michael looked down to acknowledge Mayhem.

"If you hurt Mayhem, I will turn you in." Your voice was steady despite the way you trembled. His head snapped up to look at you and you could feel the glare behind it. "I mean it. T-this is one thing I'm not bending on. He's my kitty and I won't let you hurt him."

Michael was still for a moment, letting Mayhem rub against his boots and yowl as though expecting the man to feed him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he bent over and let his fingers brush against soft black fur. The motion was gentle, like either you or the cat would lash out should he make a mistake. Mayhem loved the attention, purring and rubbing against his fingers more, which made you smile.

He was usually an anxious cat so seeing him this comfortable with Michael made you smile. You set about making up Mayhem's dinner while Michael tried to navigate petting him. He was shockingly gentle despite clearly never having pet an animal. "Did you have pets as a kid?" You asked as you scraped food into the bowl.

He didn't answer but you didn't really expect him to. His hand was still, just letting Mayhem rub all over it and meow at him. It was endearing, you thought as you set the bowl down and let Mayhem go to town on it. Michael's head tilted curiously as he watched and gently stroked his back once before standing back up.

"I think he likes you," you giggled, scritching the cat behind the ear.

Michael just watched the cat before slowly standing back up and heading back into the living room. You followed him, tugging on his sleeve gently. "Want me to wash your clothes?"

Your words trailed off when you noticed Michael was looking at a photo of you with your dad at your graduation party. A tired sigh left you when the man tilted his head. "I don't… want to talk about that." You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's not like it's easy to plan for your own dad's murder." The words were heavy in your mouth and you forced yourself to look away from the photo.

Ever since your mom had died, you knew your dad had been different. She'd died in childbirth with you and all your dad's friends would whisper about how that changed him drastically. He'd always been distant with you, especially as you'd grown up. When you'd hear stories about him before your mom died, he sounded like an entirely different man: happy, enthusiastic about life, and excited to be a father.

But then your mom died and he retreated inward. As though the whole thing was entirely your fault. He didn't want to parent you on his own and therefore you had to grow up taking care of yourself instead. 

"Whatever you have to do," you swallowed, turning away from Michael entirely and your voice hollow, "Just make it as painless as you can."

It wasn't like there was an easy way to ask him to kill your dad painlessly. You tried not to dwell on how easy it would be to let him go. It wasn't exactly like he'd ever been there for you anyways.

"So. Your clothes. I, um, still have your shirt and the sweats you borrowed are clean, if you want to change." You changed the topic quickly, ignoring the way he stared at you. The last thing you possibly wanted was pity from the Boogeyman. "Either way, I'm going to go wash my face before someone sees me."

You went upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Michael to his own devices downstairs. You opened drawers at random until you found the wet wipes you kept stashed for when you wore makeup. Some good hard scrubbing and scented lotion and it's like you were never there, all evidence flushed down the toilet and out of sight. You sighed, staring at yourself in the mirror as the events of the day hit you, leaving you feeling winded and exhausted all at once. You were complacent in a crime now. It wasn't just you hiding Michael from the cops, you'd let him kill a man in front of you.

Trying to argue with yourself that it was self defense was pointless. No use in lying to yourself.

When you opened your eyes, unsure of when you'd closed them, you met Michael's eyes where he stood in the doorway of the bathroom. "Oh, sorry, do you want to shower?" Before you could even move to leave, he unzipped the jumpsuit, leaving you speechless.

You gasped in horror at the state of his chest. The black shirt was gone and left his bandages on display, dirty and stained with reddish-brown blood that mixed with ugly yellow pus from the drainage of the wound. It reeked of infection even a few feet from him. "Michael!" You hurried to him to get a better look, feeling sick for the second time today. "Christ, you should have come to me before it got this bad! With how wet it's been… Take these off and sit down on the edge of the tub. God, this looks awful."

Michael sat, watching you with amusement. At least you assumed it was amusement. Though you couldn't find anything funny about this. "I should have stitched you," you mumbled as you reached for your first aid kit and began sterilizing a pair of scissors, "Or at least looked up what to do."

Swallowing back your squeamishness, you cut him free of the bandages, practically retching when you got a better look at his wound. It had somehow gotten worse, a painful red and oozing pus. "Oh my god, Michael." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

He tilted his head and you almost wanted to smack him. How he wasn't in any noticeable pain was bewildering to you.

You began to undress him, uncaring of any potential nakedness, and he grabbed your wrists tight when you reached forward to take off his mask. "Michael, this infection could kill you. I need to see if you're running a fever. So either let me touch your forehead or I'm touching your neck." 

He stood quickly, stumbling slightly as he grabbed the bloodstained knife from where he'd apparently set it down on the counter. But you didn't back down. "Be mad all you want, this is really fucking infected and I'm not letting you get worse." You sighed, racking your brain to come up with an idea to placate him. "If I close my eyes, will you let me take your temperature?" 

Slowly, his shoulders fell. Which confused you. You'd seen his mugshots, you knew he wasn't disfigured or anything like that. So his insistence at not being looked at confused you but now was not the time to be worrying about that.

Prettiness aside, you needed to help him.

So you shut your eyes and held out your hand. A minute passed without Michael moving and you briefly worried he'd left the room entirely. Before you could open your eyes, you felt his fingers encircle your wrist and press it to his neck. You felt him swallow and you tried your best to focus on how hot his skin felt and not how this was an incredible show of trust. Goosebumps erupted across your arms as you cupped his neck gently.

His skin was soft and feverish and you felt your heart clench.

"You're definitely running a fever," you sighed. "I'll look for a sewing kit or something to stitch you up but I want you to shower and get all that gross off first. Don't scrub too hard, okay?" Before you could retract your hand, his grip on your wrist tightened. "Are you-?"

He lifted your hand, letting your fingers graze his bare cheek. You felt Michael lean into the touch momentarily and you reacted quickly, holding his face gently. He was burning up so hot you weren't sure how he was even standing in this condition. When was the last time anyone had taken care of him? Or the last time he was even sick?

Judging by his height, he was likely slumped against the bathroom counter. The idea made your heart clench. Despite every instinct in your body telling you to pull away, you ran your hand up the side of his face in a gentle, soothing motion. Your fingers ran through tangled hair, soft and curly, before sliding down behind his ear to rest back on his neck. "You'll be okay," you said softly. "The fever will break and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

Having had enough of being touched, he took you by the shoulders and moved you aside, careful to not let you stumble and fall. You kept your eyes closed when you heard the shower turn on and the curtain shift as he stepped inside. Only then did you open your eyes.

What... was that?

You looked down at your hand like it offended you before shaking your head in bewilderment. He'd never fail to surprise you.

You figured out pretty quickly that that instance of seeking your touch was the extent that Michael wanted you to touch him. He barely tolerated you checking him over for fever symptoms, opting instead to lounge in your bed like he'd been exorcised of a demon.

For the past few days, you'd done your best to keep Michael's presence in your house a secret. With your workaholic dad's late hours, he usually just came back home, ate a frozen dinner, and passed out in his bedroom before waking around 9AM to stumble to work and repeat the process all over again. So, provided Michael kept quiet, there wasn't any worry. You'd taken a few days of sick leave from work to take care of him, citing a head cold. Now you just had to hope that the police would continue their dedicated search even if people weren't dying.

You wondered, as you sat on your bed with a feverish serial killer half naked and asleep beside you, if hoping he recovered soon made you a bad person.

Probably.

But god he was a bitch when he was sick.

He kept the godforsaken mask on, which you had expected. But when his fever rose to 102 you had kind of hoped he'd take it off for the sake of wanting to cool down. He was persistent, you'd give him that.

You were getting the hang of his body language too. It was subtle but you'd begun to notice the slight shifts in his stance or the way his hands would twitch without a knife in them. At first you'd assumed it was just you projecting but you'd grown confident you could understand him now. Being sick definitely made him more expressive too.

Though, right now, you wanted to strangle him. "Michael, it's chicken noodle soup." You sighed, rubbing your temples. Trying to feed him was like dealing with a picky toddler sometimes. "It's chicken, noodles, carrots, and broth. All things I've fed you before." You could feel his glare at you and you were half tempted to get your own knife to speak his language better.

The infection was running its course, which was the only reason you had so much patience with him. His bitchiness was a byproduct of his fever and you had to keep reminding yourself that he probably hadn't been sick before.

That didn’t make you want to clobber him any less.

"If you eat the fucking soup I'll go buy you pumpkin pie when you feel better." You tried, glaring him down. "Because the sooner you eat this, the sooner you'll get better. And then you can go back to slaughtering the town."

He seemed placated by that. You turned your back to him so he could eat and you let out a silent sigh. You knew him well enough to know he liked that soup, he just wanted to be a jackass about it.

Later that afternoon you yet again threatened him with violence when he refused taking medicine. You weren't surprised he wasn't interested, seeing as he grew up in a hospital. But you were outgrowing your patience with him. You did smirk a little when you realized he absolutely wanted to throw you across the room for all but forcing the antibiotics down his throat. But once it was down, you softened. "C'mere, sleep will do you some good."

Michael glared at you but let you sit next to him against the headboard of the bed as he laid down. You'd learnt he was definitely a stomach sleeper and you could tell by his huffing that the heat underneath the mask was beginning to frustrate him. You jerked your head away when he ripped the mask off, throwing it with a growl and face planting onto the pillow.

"It's okay," you said softly, keeping your gaze straight ahead and fighting the urge to look down at him. "You don't feel as feverish today, you should be back on your feet in a day or two." You heard him grumble and you giggled. "Want me to rub your back? Might help you sleep."

He was silent. But he didn't immediately lash out so you kept your movements slow and purposeful. Like approaching an anxious, abused cat. He didn't know touch that wasn't associated with pain and you had to be careful to avoid startling him or overstepping. Your fingers made contact with his back and you slid your palm over his upper back, rubbing in slow, soothing motions.

Maybe it was exhaustion, the fever, or resignation to your touch but you swore you felt him relax.

Michael's skin was tacky to the touch and incredibly warm but that didn't deter you. You hummed a soft lullaby, keeping your movements slow and gentle. He looked painfully human and you were choking on the urge to care for this man. This strange, silent Boogeyman who'd fallen into your lap and sought you for care and food and attention and it made you want to cry.

If it weren't for his murderous hobby, you'd be infatuated with the sleeping man. The slow rise and fall of his chest made something in your own clench painfully as you continued to rub his back. You'd only known each other for a short time and yet you both had extended a lot of trust to each other. Most people met him with hostility or violence but you'd met him with kindness. A kindness he was unfamiliar with and must have been a welcome change. Either that or he just liked your cooking and bedside manner enough not to kill you. You weren't too picky about his motives.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't fond of him regardless.

The sound of the front door opening was like a bucket of ice down your back. You crept from the bed, carefully shutting the door behind you and heading downstairs, meeting your father's tired face. "You're back early."

"I'm only on my lunch break," he sighed as he shrugged his coat off, "Didn't feel like packing one so I figured I'd come check on you." He was giving you a strange look. "Are you okay?"

You watched him go into the kitchen as you loitered on the stairs, watching him through the awning closest to the steps. "Yeah, just been a little under the weather." You feigned a cough and sniffed. "Getting better though."

Your dad hummed as he opened the fridge. "Michael Myers killed a man at the store the other day." He reached in to pull out a sandwich you'd made for yourself at lunch and hadn't gotten around to eating. Trying to feed Michael was a laborious task.

"Really?" You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest. "I didn't hear about it in the news."

He watched you with a painfully blank expression. "Correct me if I'm wrong but… I think you were out shopping before you fell ill, am I right?" Your dad took a slow bite of his sandwich, poorly trying to act casual. "The store clerk said a man was following you outside the store."

Fortunately, you were a better actor than your father. "I didn't see anyone."

But, of course, he didn't believe you. He never did. "Son, a man was killed by Michael Myers the day you went out and now you've been hiding away since then." His cop voice grated on your nerves. It felt like he never stopped being a cop, even with you. Every conversation with him felt like navigating a maze to try and hide yourself from him. You hated it.

"The weather has been getting colder and I work outside. It's really not that surprising."

"Have you seen Myers?" He got sick of beating around the bush, his hands on his hips as he leveled you with an unimpressed look. "Is that why you've been hiding out here?"

The word "hiding" made your hackles raise. Like this wasn't the same man who'd told you to lock the doors and windows when he first informed you of Michael. "Nope." Your smile was fake and bitter and you could see the way he flinched. "Hard to miss a man walking around in a Halloween costume." 

"Kid-" He tried to placate you.

But you weren't interested. "I'll be back to work in a day or so, don't worry."

He seemed remorseful now. "If Myers is stalking you, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"

An awkward silence hung in the air. Your dad seemed to deflate and he ate in silence, pretending to not see you. "Have you talked to Laurie Strode yet?" You asked as you picked at a stray string on your sweater sleeve.

He swallowed and shook his head. "We're hesitant to let her know what's going on until we're certain he's still after her. Dr Loomis has been working with us to try and find him as soon as we can." He scratched his chin in thought. "Maybe I should make a statement soon, what with Halloween approaching."

You gave him another acidic smile. "You'll find him, I'm sure. You're very dedicated."

Your dad gave you a helpless look. If you were five years younger, you might have apologized for being so curt with him. But you weren't sixteen and craving your father's approval anymore. You knew that the family charade you both put up was only because you helped around the house. He wasn't home enough to give a shit who lived there anyways.

He didn't even know the killer he was hunting was asleep in your bed, stitched up with your string and your soup in his stomach. You had no intention of telling him, partially out of spite at this point.

You hoped Michael got better soon.

Lucky for you - and unlucky for Haddonfield - Michael was back on his feet a day later. He was still a bit warm but you knew it was fruitless to try and keep him inside any longer. He had to make another appearance in town anyways or else he'd risk you both. If people paid too close to timelines, your sick leave corresponding with his disappearance would be too suspicious.

But his stitches came out easily and his wound had healed decently. "Next time, come back before your bandages get too dirty." You'd smirked at him as you zipped his jumpsuit up. It felt too close to a wife sending her husband off to work for the day and the thought made your face warm.

You managed to get a few days of relative peace, especially once your father was occupied by Michael killing again. It had also been a few days since you saw Michael and you hoped that was just because his bandages were holding up well. The last thing either of you needed was another sick week.

Currently you were heading home after spending the afternoon reading at the park. Your little bag bumped against your hip as you hopped along to the music coming out of your tinny headphones. It was unlikely Michael had been watching you, since you didn't feel his eyes on you, but you still felt like taking a break from the house for a minute.

The sight of a cop car parked haphazardly along the sidewalk made you freeze. It had hit the curb slightly and looked like the driver had been in a hurry to get out. The door was wide open and you lowered your headphones slowly, the frantic voice over the radio better. The voice was staticy and it sounded like whoever it was was running but their words were crystal clear. "All units respond. Multiple fatalities reported on Orange Grove Ave. Suspect has been identified as one Michael Myers. He is armed and extremely dangerous. Shoot to kill, I repeat, shoot to kill. Over."

You felt your stomach drop and your head whipped around. Orange Grove Ave was just ahead so you took off like a shotgun, sprinting down the street. The only sound was that of your shoes hitting the pavement as you tried to come up with a plan. If they hadn't seen him yet, you just needed to get an opening for him to escape. You knew of Michael's unnatural ability to vanish if your eyes weren't on him.

Desperately, you didn't want him to get shot again.

You rounded the corner onto Orange Grove with a sharp turn, your eyes immediately spotting a second cop car. "Fuck!" You hissed to yourself as you picked up the pace. You should have gone looking for Michael sooner. Should have left for the park earlier in hopes of catching his attention. Anything, anything to have avoided him getting caught.

When you got closer to the car, you noticed a cop hanging halfway out of the car. His head had been smashed in, a puddle of gore, blood, and brain matter leaking steadily down the side of the car door. You felt like throwing up but you held it in when you spotted his partner. A young man, likely fresh on the force, clutching his gun as he pointed it down the alleyway. His trembling told you all you needed to know.

The officer gave you a quick glance, fear obvious on his face. "Get back!" He called to you.

You ignored him and looked down the alleyway. Michael stood there calmly, hanging back in the shadows between the two buildings. Another cop lay before him and you watched with horror as Michael's boot made heavy contact with the cop's skull, a wet, sickening crunch echoing out in the small space.

"Get down and put your hands in the air!" The rookie said, hands on the gun shaking as he kept his eyes on Michael. An idea came to you. It was stupid, reckless, and dangerous.

You lunged for the cop, knocking his gun from his hands and sending him stumbling.

He didn't even have time to do anything but look at you with horrified eyes before Michael descended on him. He grabbed the rookie by his collar and lifted him effortlessly before running him through with his knife, spilling his guts on the sidewalk in warm waterfalls of blood. You scrambled backwards to avoid being caught in the spray but Michael gladly covered himself in the fresh gore. The rookie's lifeless body hit the floor with a heavy, empty sound and Michael turned his attention on you.

You scanned the nearby area and spotted a little path between two houses overrun with grass and brush. Without a second thought, you took off towards it and just hoped Michael was behind you. Other members of the force would be on their way and you both needed to disappear. You ignored the scratching of sharp branches against your arms and hands, only wincing when a particularly sharp one sliced a thin cut across your calf.

But you didn't falter. You kept running through the town, your heart pounding hard and pumping pure fumes through you as you ran. As soon as you broke into the treeline of the forest, you collapsed to your knees and let yourself catch your breath.

A hand gripped the back of your shirt and for a brief second you feared you'd been caught. But Michael dragged you towards a tree, pinning you to it and holding his bloody knife close under your throat, the blade digging into your skin. "Wait!" You struggled against his grip, kicking out at him with your heavy boots. "What did I do?! I got you out of there without getting shot!"

You could see his eyes this close. Hazel, like you'd suspected. His eyes were narrow with hate and anger as he glared you down. But you stopped struggling and that only seemed to make him madder. "I wasn't just going to let you get hurt!" You hissed, reaching up to grab the hand that held your collar tightly, keeping you rooted in place. "I don't see what you're so angry about."

He didn't like that answer. The knife pressed in and you gasped when you felt a stream of your own blood run down, wetting his fingers. "Stop," you pleaded, clawing at him frantically. "Stop, please, I'm sorry."

That wasn't good enough for him and held you tighter. Tears welled up in your eyes and fell, mixing with the blood. Pain shot through you when Michael yanked his knife away, taking a few steps back and letting you slide down the tree as you gasped for breath. Your hands gripped at your neck, slightly relieved it wasn't more than a surface cut. Blood started to stain your hands, falling in rivulets down your arm and leaking over your elbows only to stain the grass beneath you a muddy red color.

His head tilted as he watched and you wanted to spit at him. "Y'know, I kinda thought we had a partnership going on." Your words were choked as you glared up at him. "Was I wrong?"

That seemed to get to him. He straightened up and stared you down. You got up on shaking legs and stumbled away from him and towards the forest. His footsteps were loud as he followed behind you and that only served to make you angrier. The walk home was silent and he stayed a few feet behind you the whole time, never getting closer nor straying. The only sounds were the twigs crackling under your shoes and you were too rattled to feel or think much of anything. Your only goal was getting home.

You kicked the back door open and stormed inside and upstairs to the bathroom. You stared at yourself in the mirror and wanted to smack yourself for your infatuation with a killer who didn't care about you. The cut was, thankfully, small. And hopefully the amount on your arms could convince your dad you were just handling a blackberry bush at work or something. The one on your leg could be hidden under pants until it healed. So you began rooting around for bandages and ignored Michael standing in the doorway.

"I help you get away and you try to kill me?" You growled, glaring at him in the mirror. "I could have let that cop shoot you and I didn't because I fucking care, Michael." Tears threatened to fall again and you swallowed them back when he gave you a tilt of his head. "I get you aren't good with feelings and- and maybe this is just you needing me to clean and feed you but I wanted to help you." You dabbled your neck with a cotton ball soaked in hydrogen peroxide and hissed at the sting. "If that's all you want me for then fine but I need to know where we stand."

He watched you bandage your neck, his shoulders set tight as he waited for you to finish. He set the knife down on the counter and reached for you but you flinched back. "Wash your hands." You mumbled and stepped back more to give him access to the sink.

The water ran for some time as the two of you watched the blood swirl down the drain and out of sight. Once the water ran clear, he pulled his hands out and reached for you again. You wanted to run but were backed up into a corner with no way out.

He covered your eyes with one and you frowned in confusion. "What are you-?" He took your wrist with his free hand and held it to his face again, silencing you. His face felt wet and that concerned you. "Are you bleeding somewhere?" You tried feeling around for any cuts but he shook his head no. "Was it raining?" Another no.

So an idea came to you. A dangerous one if you were wrong. "Were you… crying?"

He nodded. Your heart broke.

You pulled him in for a hug, keeping your eyes closed as you just held him. He dropped the hand from your eyes to hold your hip, leaning into your touch like he did when he was ill a few weeks ago. "What happened?" You tried, holding his face with both hands.

Michael just shook his head helplessly and bumped your foreheads together. Oh. Oh. "Were you… worried I was turning you in?" No. "Was it because I was there while you were, uh, hunting?" No. You chewed on your lip as another dangerous thought came to you. "You were worried I was going to get hurt."

His jaw clenched as his throat worked around a growl. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield couldn't afford to feel anything. He doesn't. As far as anyone is concerned at least. Yet here you were, defying all odds and earning Michael's favor. His protection. His care. And the idea of losing you had terrified him, causing him to lash out at you for willingly putting yourself in danger. Emotions had run high and he'd acted out. He hadn't known what else to do but scare you back. 

"I'm sorry I worried you," you said softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks and wiping the moisture away as you kept your eyes closed. "I was worried about you too. I heard the police radio mention shooting you on sight so I went looking for you." His grip on you tightened slightly and you sighed. "I know that you're used to people shooting at you or- or attacking you. But I'm not used to hearing about it."

You finally admitted to yourself and him: "I don't want you to die."

After a moment of silence, he pressed your foreheads together. You felt his breath ghost over your skin and your noses bumped together awkwardly. You hooked a hand behind his neck to just hold him and he squeezed your hips tight. "I don't want you to die," you gasped into your shared air. He made a muffled sound and this felt so much more intimate than any kind of kissing you'd done in the past. You just stood there in each other's spaces, sharing air and warmth and closeness that you hadn't had with someone else in a long time. You couldn't imagine how it felt for him.

"We're in this together now, okay?" You said softly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. Pretty, you thought absently. But you already knew that. Brown ringlet curls, one eye injured from his fight with Laurie Strode, and a light dusting of freckles across his nose. His face looked damp and you brushed under his eyes with the hem of your sleeve. Despite that, his face was expressionless even though you could see conflict swirling in his eyes. You couldn't imagine how he was feeling. "We'll look out for each other, yeah?"

He gave you a slow nod and you smiled. Your foreheads pressed together again and you felt his shoulders relax as his eyes closed. Trust. You both trusted each other and were partners in this now. You accepted you'd be complacent in his crimes going forward and he'd learn to accept your care in time.

Just you and your Boogeyman against the world...

[walpu]

hii, first of all, sorry for my bad english

this may sound weird, but lately i've been thinking of aventurine turning in a cat. like, for some strange reason (maybe during a mission), he turned in a cute little cat. and since reader doesn't know he's a cat, he feels free to enjoy all reader's affection, and maybe to let his emotions win and cry while being caressed. and then he turns human and he's crying enough to fill a swimming pool. idk if i explained well :(

tysm, i love love love your works!! ❤︎

AWWW THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST and don't worry your English is perfectly fine! It's not my native language as well so I get the struggle tho

I love making my faves cry so there's a possibility that I've got a bit carried away lol

taking care of cat!Aventurine

edits by @keisieudeptry on twitter

characters - Aventurine notes - gn!reader, a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, a lot of cuddles, n̷̳͙͊͛õ̵̩͓ ̸̧͉̓b̶̳́̎e̵̖͋͊ṭ̴̩̔ȧ̵̪͚̕

Aventurine

Listen, he's always on alert okay. This man rarely allows himself to relax, especially when he's on another one of his business trips.

And he knows what to expect. Lies, attempts on his life, threats etc. He has seen it all.

But this. This. This is something new. Of course anything can happen when you're dealing with The Masked fools but this? Being turned into a cat? In what place this is even funny? It is kinda funny tho just not for Aven

He knows better than to panic. Yes, being turned into a tiny orange cat was not a part of his plans. Yes, this is probably the most defenseless and vulnerable state he's been in since his childhood. Yes, this sucks. But hey not like panicking will change anything.

Instead he just sits in the corner, feeling incredibly anxious and dreadful. His only hope is that this shapeshifting trick won't last for long.

A huge wave of relief washes over him when he sees a familiar person. And not just any person but you. The only person who can put his restless mind at ease, at least for a short time. He wouldn't mind seeing Topaz or Ratio too but it's much better when it's you.

He quickly realizes, however, that his joy was premature. He can't communicate with you! And you don't know that this is him! So the only thing poor Aven can do is follow you around and... meow. It's almost humiliating. Too bad he doesn't have time to care.

Soon enough you give up at finally pick up the oddly familiar cat. Every time you try to put the cat down it starts meowing and running after you so the only thing you can do is pick it up and carry around like a potato.

And you know how it is with cats, once you put your hands on one you can't stop petting it. You run your fingers through the cat's fur absently, while checking you phone for any messages from Aventurine. Hugging the cat, pressing your face to it's soft fur. Something about it surely reminds you of Aven. The thought, no matter how childish it is, brings a small smile on your face.

And poor, poor Aven. For so long he's been longing for your touch while laying awake at night, his poor heart flattered every time your fingers brushed against his. He wants wants wants to melt into your embrace yet this is not allowed for him.

How can he ask for it without exposing the deepest and darkest parts of his soul. How can he open his heart to you without reveling all the ugly, fragile parts.

He wants to be open with you, he really does. Yet it's so unreasonably hard. Would you kiss his head like you do now if you would know how empty he is inside? Would he be able to press his forehead into you palm, asking for more more more without feeling exposed?

In a way, it's good that right now he's in this form. He doesn't really have to think about anything, doesn't have to feel anxious about revealing too much. He can just enjoy in.

You two fall asleep just like that and he doesn't have to overthink, he can just crawl to you side, nuzzling up to you.

You can't help but notice that the kitten in your arms is trembling slightly. And when you pull it closer in order to provide some warmth and comfort it just purrs and meows pitifully. Almost like it's… crying.

Now listen. I'm 100% sure Aven is a light sleeper. So there's no way he won't wake up from a loud gasp and a lot of movements near him.

Well. Seems like the shapeshifting trick the masked fool pulled on him lasted only for 12 hours. And now he lays on the couch in his human form while you look at him with the wide eyes.

Awkward.

His initial reaction is to laugh it off. "Surprised, dear? It's a shame you can't see your own face right now ha ha". Would explain the whole situation, trying to make it seem like it was not a big deal. No mention of you cuddling session tho. Max he would say is "my, my, didn't know you where such a cat person".

However, his smile freezes immediately when you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Well. Here goes all of his feigned confidence.

Here is this feeling again. Your warmth, you scent, the comfort your touch brings. You telling how you started to get worried and how relieved you are that he didn't get hurt. It cuts so deep, makes him feel so exposed yet so needed. Loved even.

At first he doesn't even get it why your eyes get even wider, why a look so lost and worried all of the sudden. Only when your hands hesitantly cup his cheeks and you ask him what's wrong he realizes that there are tears in his eyes.

You know those tears when they just drop from your eyes and it's not like you're hysterical or crying uncontrollably but the tears just keep coming and coming and the more you try to calm down , the worse it gets? Yeah, him.

Would almost automatically tell you that everything is fine. When you confront him, pointing out that he's literally crying, will get even more confused than you. "Hah, seems like you're right, dear" he says with a small smile, giving up on the idea of hiding it from you. After all, it's too late for that anyway.

It feels... not even humiliating, no. It's weird, scary even, to be so open around someone. To be stripped of his mask so suddenly.

And yet he doesn't have time to care when your hands hold him oh so tenderly, when you cup his face and ask him what's wrong.

"Nothing, nothing, really. Just getting a bit sentimental here. Just... hold me like that for a bit more, 'kay?" he manages to whisper with a faint smile before pressing his face in the crook of your neck.

God feeling his tears on your skin feels so surreal. And heartbreaking too.

With each tender touch he gets even more emotional, to the point when he literally chokes on his own tears. Please hold him, run your fingers through his hair, kiss the top of his head.

He just doesn't get it, it feels so good to be held by you, why does his stupid heart hurts so much then?

Honestly he didn't cry for so long and there are so many repressed feelings, just let him let it all out.

He'll probably fall asleep in your arms, feeling very exhausted after the sudden emotional outburst. In the morning would act like nothing has happened, making some dismissing comments about him being a bit overdramatic last night. Don't let him withdraw into himself but don't push him to open up too much as well.

Just touch him more often from now on, especially when he looks like he had a bad day. And eventually he'll turn into your lap cat, reaching out for your warmth himself with or without reason.

"You're being clingy again" "Am not <З" all while sitting on your lap.

You've domesticated him so good luck.

[zsupika]

Obey me! Sleeping headcanons

A/N: I've been meaning to write this for so long and I finally did it. It kinda turned more into nighttime headcanons instead of sleeping headcanons but whatever. Enjoy nonetheless!

Featuring: Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Lucifer and Belphie

Mammon

Mammon is such an easy sleeper

Literally one minute and he's asleep

He loves to sleep with you by his side

It just relaxes him to see you next to him, to know that you're okay

He cuddles up to your side and snuggles his face into your neck

You notice that he fell asleep when his breath becomes a little heavier

He snores slightly but only very quietly

He feels warm and smells like cologne and freshly washed sheets

In the middle of the night he sometimes start to groan while turning around or changing his sleep position

Whenever you get up, to go to the bathroom or to drink something, he starts to cling to you and mumbles that you should stay

He's so silly

Leviathan

He stays up until late at night, gaming

When youre in his room, he usually puts some blankets and pillows on the floor for you two to lay in and relax while gaming together

Like a little pillowfort

When he notices that you're getting sleepier, he turns some of the bigger lights off and pulls the softest blanket over your shoulder

After a while you falls asleep and basically fall into his lap

This makes him panic slightly, since he's not sure if he should move or not

He decided to carefully carry you into his bathtub-bed

He lays you down and puts some pillows and blankets back

He shuts down most of the remaining lights and crawls next to you, careful not to wake you

He lays on his side and is face to face with you

You're breathing is a little heavier so he knows that you're asleep

He gives you a light forehead kiss and takes your hands into his

And he falls asleep by your side

Asmodeus

Before bed he always takes a shower or a bath

He does his skincare together with you

You two share face masks and take selfies while you're at it

He likes to massage your neck to help you relax and lose any tention

After you're finished with everything you lay down on his bed and he joins you

His favorite position is just anything where you two are somehow intertwined

He makes sure that you're comfortable and have all the space that you need nonetheless

The scent of freshness and parfum stays in the air

He doesn't snore or anything but he does like to lightly hum you to sleep

Once you're asleep he start to feel tired as well and falls asleep shortly after you

Lucifer

He also goes to sleep rather late

Being busy with paperwork or something like that, causes him to come to his room later than usual

You're still awake since you couldn't sleep without him

He noticed you being awake and started some smalltalk with you

After he changed clothes, he layed down next to you and sighed heavily

He was so relieved that the day was finally over and he was so lucky to have you by his side

You brushed your hand through his hair, thus relaxing him a lot

He thanked you and kissed your temple

You snuggled to his side and rested your hand on his chest

He relaxed more and more into your touch and fell asleep after a couple of minutes

You smiled softly as you pressed a kiss onto his cheek

You were glad he was here, with you

He felt warm and smelled like paper

You were happy to have him by your side

Belphie

His bed is FILLED with pillows of all sizes and shapes

He sleeps a lot

Sadly your urge to sleep isn't as strong as his is so you can't lay by his side all the time

It makes him whine whenever you leave to get up and actually do something

But when you do sleep next to him, he always hugs you like a pillow

He wraps his arms totally around you and breathes in your natural scent

He loves the way you smell, even if it may sound weird, he finds it so comfortable to have you by his side

Those are always his favorite sleeps

When you wake up, you pepper him with kisses on his face, making him groan and causing you to giggle

He does always blush a little at your action but he obviously tries to hide it