#he's just a mask dressed in weeds

[polygonalfish]

Toa Ignika is basically swamp thing if you think about it.

[keresnotceres]

Good, Good, Great

Ghost x Fem!Reader (And they were roommates)!

[nsfw] cw(s): Jealousy, alcohol consumption, references to smoking, strip club, rdr calls ghost ‘big boy’ several times, suggestive content, non-explicit sex (it’s mentioned), rdr is highkey a brat lol, mention of dumbification.

PART TWO

3.4k words I don’t understand how UK currency works so i guessed, ALSO! Reader is kind of a slut!! Because we don’t get enough readers that have BEEN AROUND TOWN (iykwim) and I am hellbent on fixing that :) ALSO ALSO this kinda sucks and it’s prolly OOC but I spent like four days on it so here u go <33

You’re not dating — but he’s not keen on sharing. He sees you serving another table drinks, scantily dressed, hips swaying with every step, and can’t help but watch with a glare as some other man sets a 20 between your tits.

How Laswell convinced both herself and Price that a strip club was the best place to meet and discuss information on a new mission was beyond Ghost. It wasn’t until two blocks away from the venue did he begin to recognize the surroundings, the streets, and damn it, even the people.

He forwent the skull mask and the skull-patterned balaclava for a plain black surgical mask that left him feeling bare and exposed. Only a thin piece of fabric was between him and his anonymity; two strings that held together the Ghost façade from falling into Simon.

He’d be damned if he told the others that he recognized the club — that he frequented it. Not for a certain stripper, no, not for the girls performing at all. He knew every staff member from the amount of times he’d come to pick you up after your serving shift.

You always smelled like alcohol and someone’s blueberry vape, sometimes weed; you claimed that just came with the job. He’d respond asking if he smelled like gunpowder and metal, if that was the case. He remembered how you shook your head.

“You smell like cigarettes and aftershave.”

He grimaces as they approach the shining lights of the club. Myth is a looming building; five floors, only two used for actual club affairs. The other three were offices or something equally as boring; even if you would prattle on about your outlandish suspicions of a mafia being run up there.

The first floor had the basics; a main stage that was across from the full bar, a plethora of sleek tables and uncomfortable leather chairs filling the space between the two attractions. On the far wall, a few booths with itchy velour couches separated by fake bushes. Doors sat on either side of the four booths, both led to some sort of VIP room that Ghost had never stepped foot in.

The second floor overlooked the stage section of the first, only the dancers could see the people decorating the steel railings. It was usually reserved for the rich people, the important men who had had wives and didn’t want to be seen in the public eye, the men who were desperate enough to pay extra to pretend they could get some, and the people staff liked. Ghost happens to fit into the latter category.

There was a second stage on the upper floor, it wasn’t often dancers were up there performing, they were usually lounging around with someone they knew would paid them well. The was a second, smaller bar which served the singular purpose of storing new bottles, which caused you to complain about having to go up and down the stairs every time you had to get another round for a table.

His constant presence had led to him “befriending” the bartenders (if getting a free drink counted as being friends) and getting half-hired as security (he was roughly the same size as the men they already had for the job), even the hostesses knew to assign him to your section each time he walked in.

It baffled him, to say the least. Even after he was gone for 11 months the one time, (what a god awful time that was), the Myth staff knew who he was.

Ghost didn’t even register Price trying to tell him to stop as he walked to the shiny glass doors of Myth. The thing that dragged him out of an absentminded state was Soap’s obnoxiously loud laughter, Ghost stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to face the rest of the task force.

“Yae walkin’ right in like ye own the place, eh, Lt?” He had a conniving grin on his face. “Didnae take you for that kinda guy.” Gaz looked like he was trying to picture Ghost in a club, Price only looked at him with mild amusement on his face.

Ghost glares at Soap, embarrassed. “I’m going where we were told to go.”

“Wasting no time, either.” Gaz manages to crack a smile from Price with his chide.

“Are we going in, or not?” Ghost’s eyebrows raise in questioning, his patience already running thin. He looked over his shoulder at the bouncer, who he wishes he didn’t recognize as Paul.

Gaz had already fished his ID out of his pockets, the graying white background of the Royal Air Force card reflecting the sign lights. Soap wasn’t far behind him, most people who see someone with a mohawk assume it’s a teenager who lost a bet. Anyone could look at the Captain and know he’s over the age of 18, no college student could rival the man’s facial hair.

And Ghost? All he had to do was look Paul in the eyes and he was let though without even a second glance. It was no different than if he were just coming in to pick you up, although it was considerably earlier than your usual 2 AM clock outs. Ghost forgot the club was even open at 5 PM.

He got an odd look from Soap at the lack of identification, but odd looks from Soap were a daily occurance.

The club looked the exact same as when he’d left 4 months ago, the same blue-purple lighting, same ugly silver bead curtains hanging over the walls, and the same Thursday night bartender. His name was something along the lines of Tony (Tim?); Ghost hadn’t particularly cared about him, he’s never at the club on Thursdays anyway. Your shifts are normally on the weekends, only the occasional Thursday if there was an event.

The hostess seems to be familiar, too. She’s either Camille or Angelica; he could never really remember who was who. The two have the same bleach blonde, blue eyes, and freckles; they’re practically the same person to Ghost. He really only pays attention to you when he’s at Myth.

The hostess stares at Ghost for a second, as if trying to recognize him. Before she could try to speak, Price cut in.

“We’re meeting someone here. Blonde hair, a little older.” His eyes scan the half-empty floor of the room. “She might be upstairs?”

The hostess perks up at the mention of a woman. “Right. Follow me, please.”

The blonde led the group of them upstairs, two of the 20 tables had people at them. Only one of them had a Laswell-looking woman at them. The other was a group of seven men; each in a suit, and each with a glass in their hand.

Once the hostess set a few menus on the table, she spoke a final time. “Your server will be right over.”

Ghost let the others sit down before him, eyes lingering on the group of men across from them before they slid over to Laswell. She looked as comfortable as any other person in a strip club by choice, lounging back in her chair with a cocktail in her hand.

“You look disgruntled,” she notes, eyes resting on Ghost.

“You had us meet in a strip club,” Ghost mutters. “This isn’t my usual scene.” It was quite the lie, really. He’s spent more time here than any other pub in the Manchester area at this point.

“It’s close to home.” She takes a sip of her drink, completely at peace. “And it’s unsuspecting. Who comes into a strip club to talk about top secret information?”

Ghost looks at her, unamused. “Us.”

Laswell ignores the distaste in his voice. “You don’t have to worry about that group,” her head tilts in the direction of the rowdy group of men. “They’re all drunk or too focused on the girls to even bother listening to us.”

The distant sound of heels against the floor catches his attention, his eyes fly towards the staircase. And there you are, flouncing up the stairs with three glasses in one hand and a bottle of Blue Label in the other.

You make your way to the group of men, a customer service smile plastered on your face. Ghost can’t hear your words, but he watches you set the bottle down in front of the most important-looking man, along with two of the glasses you were carrying.

He watches as your shoulders bounce when you laugh at something he says, though it looks like the fakest giggle you can muster.

He watches as the man takes a 20 pound note from his pocket and tucks it right between your tits. On instinct, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists and he glares. It’s a sharp glare, one he’d give to some idiot recruit that tried being cocky. You gasp, then smile brightly at the man, he can tell you’re saying thank you profusely from the way your mouth is moving.

You step away from the man and Ghost’s eyes fly from him to you, and his glare drops into a normal enough look, but his fists are still tight; his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands.

Ghost’s eyes roam your body, how the little black skirt you’re wearing rode up just enough that it would be considered a tease, how the black shirt you’re wearing is just a little too tight around your tits, and the 20 pound note that was stuck right between the two of them. He had to consciously unclench his fist before anyone would notice.

Then you come prancing over, hips swaying almost hypnotically as you walk, a glass of bourbon nestled in your hand.

You smile sweetly as you bend down in front of him, showing off both your tits and the note right between them, and set his glass on the table.

“I believe that’s for you, big boy.” Fuck, he missed hearing your voice, the nickname flies over his head through his stupor. Even if it was the faux, sultry version of it you used for work. “Can I get the rest of you anything? A beer? Whiskey?”

It was almost impossible for Ghost to tear his eyes away from you, rather, that damn note between your breasts. He wanted to pluck it out and throw it right back at the other man, replace it with something bigger, better.

When he notices Gaz’s disturbed stare, his eyes avert from you.

Gaz’s eyes trail from his to yours, “I’ll take a Manhattan.”

You smile at him, “of course, is Sazerzac okay?” Gaz nods shortly, glancing away from you to avoid Ghost’s stare. “Anyone else?” You pivot towards Price, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

Price angles his head to meet your gaze, squinting through the LEDs of the club. “Gin and tonic,” his eyes don’t leave yours, “Hendrick’s.” An offhand comment from Soap entertains the liquor’s Scottish origins.

You nod along with his words, then tilt your head towards Soap. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll have a Coke.”

“I hope you mean the soda,” you muse. You didn’t get any reaction out of the group, not a single smile — how disappointing. “We have the cherry kind, if you’re into that.”

Soap shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “Just normal Coke’ll do.”

You hum absentmindedly, “alright.” Your eyes flicker to Ghost, the smile on your face contorts into a little mischievous one. “Are you going to be wanting the bottle, Simon?”

You really are a vixen, aren’t you? Through grit teeth, Ghost spits out, “no.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be back with those drinks, boys.” A single wink, and you were off. Low heels clacking against the tile floor, hips swaying side to side. Ghost was all too aware of every detail of your retreating body, from the way your hair bounced with each step you took, how the skirt you wore rode up just slightly enough to make his grip on his bourbon tighten.

Ghost fights the urge to get up, grab you by the waist, and pull you onto him. Both his experiences and his logical reasoning say it’s a terrible idea, yet the idea of reminding you who you ultimately belong to is so enticing he could be drooling.

He’s seen you cockdumb; it almost always comes after you pull a stunt like this. Of course, he knows you do it just for the sake of getting him bothered and getting fucked stupid. But he also likes the idea that you do it just for him. You put on a little show.

He finally put it together years ago. Back when you would bring over some pathetic-looking hookup just to see his reaction. When you’d fake moan loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear, then look at him the next morning through your eyelashes all innocent.

At some point, the hookups ended, and you began flirting with customers right in front of him. Just like you had done a moment before.

When your head disappears from view, Soap is the first to attack him vocally, almost gawking after you. “You’re on a first name basis with the bottle girls at a strip club?” He looks incredulously at Ghost, almost jealous.

“Is that why you were in such a hurry to get inside? You knew this was where your flings worked?”

Soap leans in closer, “how often do you come here, LT?” It was question after question from the Scotsman, and despite his inclination towards him, Ghost was getting slowly more fed up.

Ghost set his glass down, “I’m going to the bathroom.” He put his hands to his knees and stood up from the plush seat, eyes scanning the other group one more time before he left his teammates at the table.

It doesn’t take long for him to find you, leaning up against the doorframe to the server’s closet while you wait for another cocktail server to put in a ticket, twiddling your coworker’s Elfbar in your hands until she reaches behind her for the vape.

You hand it off to her and turn to face Ghost, a catty smile adorning your lips. “How can I help you, sir?” Ghost stops a few inches before you and a hand darts towards your cleavage. He tugs the 20 pound note from between your tits, your hands following his to grab for it.

You give Ghost several noises of grievances as he holds the note away from you, a look of slight disgust evident in the ways his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed.

By the time you gave up trying to reach the banknote, he’d begun digging in his back pocket. “I’d like my tip back, asshole.”

Ghost says nothing in return, no noise or gesture to acknowledge he had heard you. Instead, he tugs a 20 and a 50 pound note from his pocket and tuck the two bills into the space between your breasts. The money from the other man was crumpled and shoved back into his pocket.

You don’t stop him, you’re a bit too turned on to even think of stepping away from him.

“There,” he mutters. “your tip.” He steps back from you, like he was going to leave and go back to his table. You, however, were having none of that.

“Hold on.” Your hand twitches, stopping before it could shoot out to grab his wrist (but you’re smarter than that, you know him). “You didn’t call or anything.”

Ghost frowns under the mask. “I’m not home.” It was a clipped reply, not one you wanted.

“What?” You match his frown, annoyed.

“I’m here for work. You saw the others,” his hand gestures vaguely to the upstairs, “they’re my coworkers.”

You raise an eyebrow, “you work with someone who has a mohawk?” Disappointment flickers in Ghost’s eyes, if it was from your question or just the thought of Soap’s haircut, you didn’t know. The poor man isn't even there to defend himself.

“Is it that hard to believe?” Ghost knows that, yes, it is hard to believe that he worked with a Scotsman with a terrible haircut while continuing to be the infamous Lieutenant ‘Ghost.’

The look on your face screams ‘yes.’

Ghost relents, “listen.” His voice has a certain sadness in it that makes you calm down a bit. Truthfully, you’re pretty damn pissed at him for just showing up out of the blue from God-knows-where, but your expression softens after a few seconds.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Riley.” Your coworker nudges your shoulder to let you know it was your turn to use the kiosk. “Go back to your friends,” you wave your hand in a dismissive fashion. “I’m working.”

Ghost doesn’t budge, even after you’ve ducked between the bead curtains that dangle at the top half of the doorway. You pop back out of the doorway, an unsurprised look on your face.

“Don’t flirt with him.”

Your eyebrows fly up, an incredulous tone flooding your voice. “What?”

“Don’t flirt with him,” Ghost repeats, his eyes boring into yours.

You set a hand on your hip, annoyed. “I’m making money.” The look in his eyes doesn’t change, he’s utterly serious about some random man you’re flirting with for extra cash. A thought crosses your mind, and your annoyance melts into mischief.

“You’re jealous over him?” The way his eyes widen a bit is enough to tell you that, yeah, he is. “Really, big boy?”

And fuck, if you didn’t have him wrapped around your finger by the way you walked, you had him now. All it took was one stupid nickname and Ghost is crumbling into Simon.

“Not jealous,” is his defense. You just soak it in with a grin on your face. You step towards him a little, shoulders forward and leaning down ever so slightly so that your cleavage is a little more obvious, so that the money he stuck between your tits is poking right out at him.

“You sure?” You look up at him, still grinning like your coworker once had when she got a free vape from a customer. “Seems like you’re a bit jealous.”

All he can do is stare down at you, clenching his jaw shut lest he say something he really shouldn’t. But God, does he wish he could.

Really, if it weren’t only 5 PM, he would’ve let you get to him. Let you drag him into an empty VIP room and fuck your words right out of you, leaving you a whimpering, babbling mess. But Ghost — Simon — knows better than to incapacitate you when you’re working.

All he’s left to do is watch as you give him little smirks from across the room, as you adjust your clothes to be just a bit more revealing, as you get close enough that he can smell the remnants of your perfume when you ask him aimless questions. And that’s just what he’ll do once you prance off to get his teammates drinks.

You pat him on his covered cheek patronizingly before you slink away, outstretching your hands for the three drinks cluttered at one side behind the bar. You pass him by, drinks in hand.

“If anything,” you look up to his eyes as you pass him, “it’s the guys you’re with you should be jealous of. You know I like older guys.” That’s enough for Simon to be reclaimed by Ghost.

He follows after you, glowering at your back. You don’t have to look back at him to know he’s scowling at you, but it brings you a slight bit of satisfaction.

“C’mon, big boy,” you hum, “I’ll get you another drink if you tell me his name.” You look back at him once you reach the staircase and climb a few steps ahead of him.

Ghost stares into your eyes like a dead man, you almost think you’ve gone a bit too far. “No.”

You give him an exaggerated pout and turn back to the front to see where you’re going. “If you aren’t jealous, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“No,” he huffs, irritation growing steadily. “Ask again and I’ll have your head.”

You quicken your pace on the last few steps, skirt bouncing from the motion; Ghost doesn’t bother to look away. He follows you back to the table where Laswell and the others are chatting quietly.

You lean down to set the drinks on the table, and Ghost takes his chance. His hands hover around your hips, bulge brushing against your ass as he moves behind you to sit down in his seat.

“Sorry,” he muses in the most unapologetic tone you’ve ever heard from him. It’s Simon’s eyes that look into yours, like a challenge. A really, really horny challenge. “Had to get past you.”

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 3•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

You and Johnny smoke weed.

#

Morning dawns too early for your tired eyes. Whether you have slept at all or only dozed, you can’t say. More than half the night was spent grappling with the crippling regret of having gotten off to the aftermath of your gay roommates having sex. By the time the sun is rising on your shame, you can hear the sound of someone out in the kitchen making coffee. 

Which begs the second question. How are you meant to face them after hearing what you did? Just remembering it makes your skin go hot. When you can avoid it no longer—when the smell of Folger’s is slipping beneath the crack of your bedroom door—you slip into the bathroom and splash cool water on your face. 

Your hand is on your doorknob when you remember what you’re wearing: a ratty old tank top and panties. In your old apartment, you wouldn’t have thought twice about walking around in the public space like this—but that was before. Rushing to a box, you dig through and find a pair of shorts to tug on, slipping on a shirt over your tank top while you’re at it, hoping it disguises your lack of a bra. 

Johnny is not nearly so shy. Standing by the coffee pop leaning heavily against the countertop while he scrolls on his phone, he wears nothing but a low-resting, loose pair of sweatpants. All the saliva in your mouth dries up at the sight when his head snaps up at the sound of your door. He grins at you. 

“Morning, lass. Sleep well?” 

“Great,” you lie. “I was so tired I passed out.” 

“Me too,” teases Johnny. “All the work I wasn’t allowed to do really knackered me. Coffee? There’s tea too, but I never got the taste for it like Ghost did. Simon, I mean.”

“Coffee would be great.” 

He leans up and God. For all the jokes he made last night about having a ‘bum leg’ there’s nothing else bum about his body: he’s cut, all tanned skin pulled taut over soft muscle, the terrain of his body broken up here or there by the odd scar. He has a smattering of dark hair on his chest that thickens below his navel where it trails downwards, bordered on either side by his Adonis belt. 

On his neck—more like his collarbone—there is a livid lovebite. You can still see the impression of teeth, even across the room, pretty purples and fresh reds and it makes all the blood rush to your cunt until every stumbling step you take to the kitchen emphasizes your sensitivity. 

You take the mug from Johnny trying to meet his eyes and not the hickey on his neck. You mutter: “Thanks.”

“I cook too. Regular little housewife, I am.”

A housewife perhaps, but one to Simon. Too guilty to let him cook for you, you end up elbow to elbow with him while you both cook together. You glance towards their bedroom door once or twice when Johnny grows too boisterous, sure that soon he would wake Simon. 

But both your plates are clear without a sign of the larger man. After doing your share of the dishes, you dress properly, prepared to spend the day running necessary errands for the new apartments, including buying your own share of groceries. 

With Johnny’s Be safe, hen still ringing in your ears, you slip into the elevators and—nearly bump straight into Simon. He’s dressed for running, sweat glistening on his pale arms. He had just tugged his mask down past his chin. His mouth quirks into the semblance of a smile, tugging at a little scar on his lip—

—lips that left that mark on Johnny. Suddenly you are stammering, stepping aside out of Simon’s way, greeting him with more awkwardness than you had the very first time you met. He watches all your social fumblings with quiet amusement before disappearing into the apartment, his greeting to Johnny within cutoff abruptly by the closing of the door. 

Jesus Fuck. Could you be any more awkward or obvious? 

#

The next days come easier. The three of you fall into an easy routine. Simon is usually awake late and up early, running not just to keep in shape but from PTSD related nightmares you learn from Johnny. Johnny himself has his good days and bad days, days when the pain in his leg is too much for his general good humor to overpower. Those days, he is prone to melancholy and sulking. He plants himself on the living room couch and ‘can’t be arsed’ to move. Both men are troubled, their time on active duty leaving wounds that are fresh on their bodies and their minds—but it’s only part of them. 

And there is so much good. Johnny’s cooking (“my ma taught me”) is better than good. They both clean up after themselves and don’t mind picking up your slack on days when you pick up extra shifts and come home exhausted. 

One day bleeds into another and you come to find the awkward first interactions are in the dust in the rearview mirror. You no longer feel like a guest living in their guestroom. You’re home. 

One day you come home to the apartment smelling like oil paints. Simon is nowhere to be found (typical), but Johnny is at his easel, a palette set up with Winsor Newton colors: burnt sienna and vandyke brown and lamp black and titanium white and phthalo blue. The smell of turpentine stings your nose, but you don’t say anything; it’s a little unspoken, but you get the idea that the painting on Johnny’s easel was begun before his accident, and though he periodically puts paints on the palette, he has yet to add to it after all these months. 

He turns and brightens at the sight of you. 

“There she is. A sight for these sore eyes.” 

You roll your own. You’d learned by now that Johnny was a flirt—and it didn’t matter if Simon was in the room or not. As a matter of fact, perhaps it is in your imagination, but he seems to lay his flirtation on extra thick when Simon is in the room. The larger man never says anything, though he does give the occasional long-suffering sigh.

“Painting?” you ask. His paintbrush is still clean. 

“Just giving up on it!” he says cheerfully. He sets the paintbrush and the palette down, reaching for his cane. You don’t mention how heavily he leans on it as he comes around the couch and collapses, reaching down to arrange his bad leg in a position that is comfortable for him. “Do me a favor, lass? You’ll have to go climbing. On top of the cabinets, you see that tin? Be a love and fetch it for me.” 

You do as he asks, using one of the chairs from the kitchen island to stand on. It isn’t a tin at all but a solid glass container with fasteners on each side to maintain a nice, strong seal. You deposit it on his lap and are thinking of fetching him a pain pill while you’re in the mood to play Lassie when he opens the container and the smell hits you. 

Weed. 

“Do you smoke?” he asks. 

“Not often,” you admit. You didn’t have the budget for it. 

“Can’t let our best girl go without,” Johnny says, eyes twinkling. He calls you that a lot—’our best girl’. It makes something disgustingly needy inside of you preen its feathers. If only I were yours, you think. He takes out a pre-roll. “I haven’t smoked in a while either. This will probably be enough for the both of us.” 

And God, it is. He abandons his cane inside and you both cram together on the tiny balcony, shoulder to shoulder, passing the blunt back and forth. Johnny takes these deep drags, chest practically heaving with all the smoke he struggles to take in, every inhale ending in a series of light coughs and his fist pounding at his chest. 

“Not a bad view, is it?” he asks you, watching as you hold the smoke in your lungs for as long as you can. He takes his own hit and then passes you the blunt again, careful to keep the burning ember away from you, like a gentleman. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you feel a warm combination of the weed and his proximity thrum through all the vessels in your head and chest. 

You look out over the city. This high up, a good deal of the buildings are below you. The sky is still bright and blue, wispy clouds stretched thin here and there. You look at the streets and find yourself looking for Simon. “Not bad at all.” 

“That’s why I wanted to paint it so goddamn bad,” he admits. “Something pretty like this should be on paper. Canvas, I mean.” 

“Why can’t you finish? The painting,” you add when he raises a brow at your accidental double entendre. You bump his shoulder a little, careful not to truly send him off balance. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you to him while he thinks, taking another drag that almost finishes the blunt for good. 

“Dunno, really. I guess I was a different person when I started it. Seems wrong to have a different person finish the painting.” 

“I think that’s cool,” you admit, leaning against him. Weed makes you like that; touchy feely. “We’re changing all the time. Even if you hadn’t gotten hurt, you still wouldn’t be the same person who started it. Does that make sense or is that the weed talking?” 

“Definitely the weed,” he says solemnly.

You try to stay a little clear headed, though by the time you both are stumbling back into the apartment, you are leaning heavily on each other, giggling like school children. 

You make a bowl of popcorn, eat it all, and then make another. At one point, Johnny drops his sweatpants to show you the place in his femur where three pins lie. It takes all your strength to keep your eyes on the scar running along his tan skin and not his soft package three inches up and six inches to the right.

 Simon arrives home during the second bowl of popcorn. He is sweaty—does the man run for a fucking living? With a body like his, you might be persuaded to consider it—and immediately wrinkles his nose at the scent that has permeated the apartment despite you and Johnny’s best efforts. 

“There he is!” Johnny says, sleepily. “There he is, come home from the war.” 

“It’s pronounced run.” 

“Come give me a kiss, LT,” Johnny insists. 

Stuffing his earbuds in their container, he walks around behind the couch and plants a kiss on Johnny’s temple. Johnny makes an unhappy, demanding sound. He turns his upper body, reaching up to cup Simon’s jaw (briefly getting his fingers tangled in the mask below his chin) and brings him down for a full kiss. You look away at the first flash of pink tongue, feeling the heat in your face and about two feet lower.

When they’ve finished, Johnny says: “And what, no kiss for our girl?” 

You turn, eyes wide, mouth agape. Simon’s brows are a hair raised. Even he seems to think this is somewhat bold of Johnny. Before you can open your mouth to insist otherwise (it’s the only polite thing to do when your roommate offers your husband to kiss you), Simon says: “Give her one from me.” 

And he disappears into the bedroom, shedding his shirt along the way and giving you a nice peek at his muscled back, glistening in sweat. Johnny is giving you a sly look—does he know? God, he does, doesn’t he? Everyone knows how you feel about the two of your roommates. Paranoia threatens to send you spiraling. 

Then Johnny’s arm comes down around your shoulder, and the soap bubble of paranoia around you pops. 

Belly full, high, you fall asleep against him before Simon is even out of the shower. Sometimes you have moments of lucidity: Simon’s appearance and being jostled over as the two of you make room for him on the couch. The movie ending and another starting. A third bowl of popcorn. But each time you slip back into awareness, you are tucked underneath Johnny’s arm, nose full of his scent, warm and safe. It’s hard to want to wake up from that. 

The last time you wake up, it is to darkness. 

The movie has ended. Credits have rolled. 

Voices, quiet as whispers just barely audible over the sound of the late night traffic. 

“...scare her off.” 

You struggle to tune in to the conversation, eyelids heavy. “...didn’t seem scared. She wanted it.” 

“You didn’t give it to her.” 

“She’s high,” whispers Johnny. “She can’t consent.” 

“What a good boy you are.” 

Johnny sucks in a little breath. “Don’t, Si…” 

“Hm.” 

“She’s right fucking here.” 

“Asleep.” 

“A temporary condition, in case you didn’t know.” 

“I don’t see you stopping me.” 

Stopping him…your eyes crack open, lids so heavy you can barely move them. Somehow the three of you have fit together on the loveseat, you tucked beneath Johnny’s arm, and Johnny nearly laying across Simon’s lap. One of Simon’s hands—huge, so huge even compared to Johnny’s thick thighs—rests on his husband’s sweatpants-clad leg and is creeping northward. The sight is like a punch to your lower gut. The breath goes out of you in a shaky rush that neither of them seem to notice, the electricity between them too strong for anything to interfere.

“You can do it. You could stop me.” 

“Affirm,” Johnny whispers. His fingers flex against your shoulder unconsciously, and you feel his head whirl toward you, ducking down a little to make sure you are still asleep. You let your eyes fall shut just in time, keeping the rise and fall of your chest even and slow. His exhale brushes against your face and then he is turning away, back towards Simon.

“Then why don’t you.” 

“Cause I…” 

“Hm.” 

“Cause I don’t want to…” 

“Think you’d like it if she woke up,” Simon murmurs, his hand coming to palm Johnny’s rapidly hardening cock. He maps the shape of it through the cotton sweatpants like he’s learning the shape all over again. “You want her to see how desperate you get. That’s the real you, isn’t it, Johnny? You’re only ever just a stiff wind away from turning into a slut.” 

“Your slut,” Johnny breathes. He can’t thrust his hips against Simon’s touch, not without risking waking you, but he does reach out and put a hand over Simon’s, convincing him to use a firmer touch. You risk opening your eyes more, watching as the both of them stroke along the length of his cock slow like syrup. “Your slut, LT, only yours—” 

“Don’t lie to me.” The words put you on edge, but the tone—it’s all in the tone. Simon doesn’t sound like a man who is angry. He isn’t acting like one either, his thumb finding the head of Johnny’s cock beneath the cotton and teasing it softly. It jerks beneath the fabric, and you can’t help it. A sound slips past your lips, something desperate and needy. You clench your eyes shut, feeling both of them go stiff  and silent beside you. 

“She still—?” 

“Think so,” Johnny whispers. He says something else, but it is too quiet to be heard. 

The couch springs creak as Simon stands, and then you are taken up in the larger man’s arms. He still smells like his shower gel, his shirt freshly laundered. For a moment, the change in altitude as you are lifted has your eyes fluttering open, but Simon mutters something quiet that makes your eyes feel heavy all over again, though you don’t sleep, not as he carries you into your room and lays you on the bed, not as he draws back the covers and tucks you under them. 

You are only fast asleep before the sounds begin on the other side of the wall.

[latenightdaydreams]

König x Cockwarming!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

>CW: fem/afab reader, weed smoking, cock warming, p in v, slight pee but not a major focus

1.9k word count

For more: Master list

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König walked through the front door of the house and started to take off his boots followed by his gear. He can hear coughing in the house, he knew you were smoking weed. You’re his little stoner baby. He began to walk to the stairs before climbing them and making his way to the bedroom. He saw you sitting on the bed crisscross with a pink bong in your hands. You’re taking a long hit before you look up and let out a slow stream of smoke.

“Hey Kö,” You smile at him. Your eyes red from smoking for the last twenty minutes. You were wearing only one of his shirts that fit like a dress and a pair of red cotton underwear, his favorite color. The TV playing in the background on a show you’ve already watched a hundred times before.

“Hallo Liebling,” He pulls his mask off, showing his scarred face and messy blonde hair. The black eye make-up smudged across his face as he smiles at you, his sharp k9s showing.

Your eyes follow him in the room as he goes to the bathroom and begins to wash his face. You can’t help but to smirk as you watch him, wondering how you got so lucky.

“How was your day today?”

König lets out a low groan when you mention work, “It was hell. I had a group of new recruits come into my team. All so stupid, no one listens!” He complains as he turns to dry his face off on the towel behind the door.

“I’m sorry baby,” you say with an adorable pout on your face. König can’t help but to smile when he sees you.

Leaving the bathroom, he walks towards you on the bed and kneels on the ground beside you. He reaches out and grabs one of your hands and kisses it over and over again, “How was your day Schatz?”

“I cleaned and read some. Now I’m just relaxing.” You can’t help but to giggle from the way he looks at you with such loving and intense eyes. His touch is warm and tender.

“I noticed, thank you for that baby.” He kisses your hand some more before looking up at your red eyes and smirk on your face.  König slowly reaches his hand out and begins to rub your thigh, his eyes glued to the beautiful color of your soft skin. “You always look so amazing.”

You know he is wanting something as you look down into his eyes smirking, “What are you wanting?” Your tone is playful as you eye him.

A small smirk appears across his lips, “Nothing crazy…”

“Tell me.”

He climbed on to the bed slightly as you placed your bong on the bedside table. His lips kissing your thighs, “I just want to put my cock in you. I need to feel your warmth after the day I had.”

“You want to fuck?”

He gives you a look, “We make love Schatz, such vulgar vocabulary.” König laughs while he continues to kiss your legs. “I just want to relax, just sit with you on me while I read and you can keep smoking...” He wanted you to keep smoking. It was his favorite thing. When you would cock warm and smoke, your already tight pussy would clench around his cock each time you coughed and give him a small burst of pleasure.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Königs eyes light up as he stands up off the bed and begins to undo his belt before undoing his pants. You can already see his boner through the fabric of his olive-green cargo pants. He has been thinking about coming home and doing this all day. König has his gaze locked on your panties as you reach for them and pull them off.

Stepping out of his pants and boxers, he kicks them to the side. His hand instinctively goes to his cock and lightly strokes it, pulling his foreskin back and exposing his pink tip. König opens the night stand and grabs his book before getting into bed.

“Take the shirt off too Liebling.” König says as he moves pillows around so he can sit comfortably against the headboard.

Your hands grab the hem of the shirt before pulling it over your head and exposing your breast to him. His eyes instantly glued to them as he gives you a smirk and nod of approval.

“Komm her, Prinzessin,” he slaps his thick muscular thigh as his eyes glaze over your body. His cock began to twitch with anticipation.

Your eyes go to his thighs to his cock as you crawl over to him, lowering your head to kiss his cock. His eyes watching you intensely as your lips kiss the tip, watching as you open your mouth to suck his cock. Königs hand comes down to stop you, his hand on your chin.

“Not yet,” he chuckles, enjoying your enthusiasm.

You smirk as you continue to crawl to him. His hand moves to your waist as he helps guide you to him. He turns you around so that your back is facing his chest. You reach down to grab his dick and help guide it in. A soft groan leaves his mouth as he feels your warm hand grabbing at him. Every time you touch him it feels like the first time he has ever been touched.

Slowly, the tip of his dick enters your pussy. Both of you letting out a soft moan at the same time. His fingers slightly digging into your hips slightly harder as his body reacts to yours. Relaxing more, you lower yourself more on his lap.

König closes his eyes and drops his head back against the headboard as he feels the tightness of your cunt begin to squeeze him. His hands push you down until his balls hit your clit and he can hear you let out a sudden moan.

Instinctively, you want to grind back and forth. You move your hips forward slightly when Königs grip tightens, “Nien, sit still Schatz.”

König leans over to grab your bong back for you, any slight movement making you whimper softly. It brings a smile to his face.

“Here, just relax, okay Liebling?”

You grab your bong from him and agree. He grabs his book and begins to read. You lean back softly on his broad chest and continue to watch your TV show.

König takes a few deep inhales, getting a mix of weed and your natural scent. Leaning in and kissing the side of your neck once before leaning back again and opening his book to where he left off.

You light the bowl and begin to inhale a big hit. Too big.

Trying to maintain composure, you slowly begin to exhale. This doesn’t work as you begin to cough hard. Behind you, König is biting his lips together so he doesn’t let out a loud moan. His eyes slightly fluttering as every cough your sweet cunt bares down around his cock that already has no room. A slight bouncing movement your body makes too drives him wild. Once you stop coughing, he speaks up.

“You okay Maus?” His voice slightly hoarse when he asks it, his free hand lightly rubbing your back.

Giggling, you nod and let out another cough. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” his free hand leaves your back and snakes around your waist to hold you back against him. Slowly he moves his hand up to your breast where he begins to lightly tug at your hardened nipple. Gently caressing the area in a slow circle motion before pulling his hand away to turn the page.

Time passes as the episode you’re watching ends. You light your bong again to take a hit. König notices and gets excited, hoping it’s too much and you cough again.

You take a deep inhale and feel that burning sensation as you let the smoke out and begin to cough hard.

König moves his free hand to caress your thigh, feeling the warm and soft flesh. Your pussy clamping down tightly around his cock sent small shock waves of pleasure down his spine. All of the sudden, a new sensation happened. A warm strickle flows over the sensitive tight skin of his balls, exciting him even more.

Your face turns red as you realize with all the hard coughing, you’ve accidentally peed a little. You lean over and place your bong down on the bedside table as you prepare to get off of him.

“I’m sorry” you laugh half from embarrassment and half because you’re high and can see the humor in the situation.

König snakes his arm around your waist while letting out a soft chuckle, “Where do you think you’re going? Hm?” He kisses your neck softly as he pulls you to him.

“To clean up-”

“I’m not done yet.” He cuts you off with a soft tone as he continues to kiss your neck. “Don’t worry about that, it’s natural. I’ll clean up later.” He reassures you as he picks up his book again.

You relax back against his chest again, feeling very high now. The show you’re watching is entertaining you anymore. All you can feel is full. His fully erect cock stuffed deep in your pussy, twitching occasionally making you want friction. Your hands find themselves busy as one goes to one of your breasts and begins to play with your nipple and the other begins to make light circles over your clit. The sound of your wet pussy beginning to catch König’s attention.

“What are you doing Liebling?” He leans forward to catch a glimpse.

“I need more,” your voice sounding pathetic.

“More? You don’t like just relaxing with me?” He teases you as his hand goes around and pushes yours away from your clit. He pinches the little bud in between two fingers and gently begins to roll it back and forth. “Suck your juices off Maus,” he demands, “You’re so wet.”

You bring the tips of your fingers to your lips as you begin to lick them before softly sucking on your fingertips. A look of pleasure washes across your face as you start to rock your hips back and forth. König doesn’t stop you. Instead, he takes a deep breath and enjoys it.

You lean forward and grab his muscular thighs as you begin to slowly bounce. König removes his hand from your clit and leaning back to watch your ass bounce with every movement. He reaches his hand out as caresses the curve of your body.

“God you’re beautiful,” he moans.

König bends his knees slightly as he leans you back towards him. His hands moving down your legs, grasping your thighs and holding them up as your back lays flat against his chest. He begins to buck his hips upwards, rapidly.

The wet sound of your pussy and your pathetic whimpers are all he can focus on. His eyes close tightly as he rests his head back against the headboard.

“Fuck!” You moan out loudly as he begins to fuck you as you’ve been desperately wanting. “I’m so close.”

“Ja, cum on my cock.” König moans breathlessly. He keeps the same motion until he can feel you begin to clench around him and your legs begin to tremble. A white ring forms around the base of his cock as he feels you get wetter. He can’t hold on anymore.

“Oh Liebling,” König whimpers as he begins to slow his pace as his cock throbs inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

He slowly let’s go of the tight grip he has on your thighs as he lowers your legs. He kisses your head and neck softly as you both begin to relax. His big arms wrapping around your waist tightly to hold you in place, keeping his cock in you using it like a plug to keep all of his cum in.

[miupow]

𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑲𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹

𝑶𝑪𝑻. 1𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑶𝑪𝑻. 31𝒔𝒕 , 2024

to celebrate spooky season this year, i decided to do a little event i made up myself ; i wanted to do kinktober this year, but i'm far too busy to saddle myself with 31 different fics. so instead, i broke october up into four weeks ! four fics for four weeks of spooky season, each with three different kinks ! below is the masterlist for the event, which will be regularly updated as i publish the fics throughout october! the first fic will be posted on october first , and the fourth and last fic will be posted on october thirty-first , or halloween day. i hope you are all as excited for this event as i am !

a/n ⸝⸝ after thinking for a bit , i decided to take out the beomgyu fic >< i'm sorry to everyone who was excited for it , i don't think im ready to write pegging yet lol

𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑲 𝑶𝑵𝑬 ── 𝑻𝑶𝑶 𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻

seo changbin x reader | virginity loss , dry humping , breath play , marijuana , corruption kink , soft dom changbin

every halloween , you and your best friend changbin get together to watch horror movies, smoke weed and eat lots of candy; but your usual yearly plans get derailed when a conversation about your recent breakup turns into a confession that you're twenty-two and still a virgin, you're shocked to discover that your best friend who you were adament to stay just friends with seems more than willing to blur the lines and show you what you're missing.

est. release date ; oct 1st , 2024

𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑲 𝑻𝑾𝑶 ── 𝑫𝑶𝑵'𝑻 𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑳

choi yeonjun x reader x huening kai | hate sex , spitroasting , anal , frat!au , mean dom!yeonjun , soft dom!huening

you didn't want to come, but you're cheerleading team forced you to anyway; dressed in a slutty costume at a crowded, loud halloween party hosted by your least favorite fraternity on campus. you pray to any god that would listen that you don't run into them before you manage to sneak your way home, but no such luck... and a heated argument in the hallway leads to a rather compromising situation between you and two particular football players who piss you off the most out of anyone.

est. release date ; oct. 10th, 2024

𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑲 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬 ── 𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮

kim seungmin x reader | cnc , roleplay , sensory deprivation , weapons , mask kink

you and your sweet newly-wed husband are preparing for your first halloween in your new house, and he has an idea on how to help break it in while also paying homage to the season... by pretending to break in to your bedroom while you sleep.

est. release date ; oct. 22nd, 2024

𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑲 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 ── 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑫

choi soobin x reader | wolf hybrid!soobin, dubcon , impregnation , a/b/o , knotting , cumplay , heat/rut cycles , desperate soobin

this has to be a joke, you think to yourself, dressed up in a sexy little red riding hood costume and trekking through the woods. the irony of it is to much. yet when you take a dangerous shortcut through the woods to get to a halloween party, you end up clasped in the clutches of the hungry big, bad wolf... except this particular wolf doesn't seem so big or bad at all.

est. release date ; oct. 31st, 2024

[urhoneycombwitch]

you oughta know: part I

Spring Break

series masterlist

foreword: since Eddie Munson is our collective Ken doll to dress up as we please I present to you my new and improved: dirtbag!college!Eddie. now with 50% more tattoos and a splash of 90s grunge college academia aesthetic.

cw: drinking, intoxication, R has breasts, R and Eddie are slut4slut in this

___

The bass on this houseparty’s stereo pumps through the floorboards, rattling every wall of the building. Hiding out in the less-stimulating kitchen seems like a good option for tonight.

Apparently, this other guy thinks so, too, ‘cuz soon it’s just you and him across the counter from another. He’s handsome, actually. Moonlight from a window above the sink highlights strong cheekbones and a sharp cupid’s bow as he helps himself to a glass from the cupboard.

Slinking out from elbow-rolled shirtsleeves are thick, dark vine tattoos; they wind around his forearms, smattered with hair and freckles, the ink trailing to end at his wrists.

You lean forward onto the counter separating you two (well aware that you’re spilling out of your top), then tip the neck of your beer bottle at him- “Eddie?”

He spins to face you, raises a pretty brow, long lashes sweeping over auburn eyes- “Uh- maybe? Who wants to know, dollface.”

A scrunch of distaste with your nose at the nickname, you barrel through the discomfort- “Oh, I thought it might be you. I’m Robin’s roommate. She said her weed guy had cool tattoos.”

The guy’s face lights up with a lopsided smile, dimples peeking out as he preens, “So you think they’re cool?”

You roll your eyes, take an unamused sip of beer, press a bit further into your hands on the counter. A little thrill at your small victory- his eyes flicking down once, twice, to your cleavage- you ride the alcohol-gifted looseness and adrenaline. “Psst. Hey. My eyes are up here, perv.”

It’s a tease. A goad masked as chiding. Eddie sets his glass of water down, doe eyes fixed on yours, not falling for the trap of your quick inhale- “You seriously sayin’ that to me, when you’re the one with your tits out?”

He tsks, walks those big boots over, leanin’ in to your counter space, close enough to smell the spice of his cologne- “Would almost think you like the attention.”

You swallow hard. Hold your ground, looking up at him through your lashes, bust still on display- “Yeah, and you’d probably like to be the one to give it to me. In your dreams, pal.”

It’s getting harder to play hard-to-get as Eddie bumps his hip against yours. The whites of his eyes are slightly bloodshot (you can smell the heady undercurrent of weed wafting from his clothes), while the black of his pupils are already blown out with feverish lust. “C’mon, have a heart, angel. Can’t fault a boy for dreamin’.”

And goddammit if you don’t melt for that line. (He really is a rather great lyricist, as you’ll come to find out this upcoming semester.)

In retrospect, you’ll never admit it, but you did make the first move- pressed him right up against Linda Satler’s kitchen counter and kissed him, with tongue. Robin walked in on the two of you and got in a full shriek before either of you realized someone else had come in, jumping apart like two children caught arms-deep in a cookie jar.

“God, gross,” she gags, louder than the wave of sound flooding in from the open door. She crosses the room in a few swift strides and plucks at your elbow, a reproachful whisper- “I sent you to get weed, not to make out with the dealer!”

“I am getting weed, Robin,” you insist, patient but firm, pulling from her grasp to turn back to Eddie, teeth worrying at your bottom lip that shimmers with mixed saliva as you ask, sweet and simply- “Can I please have some weed?”

It wasn’t actually your plan to butter Eddie up for a better price (another fact you’d remain stoically opposed to, later), but he gave it to you, all the same- a laughably low amount for a bundle of pre-rolls.

Robin’s eyes bug out at the amount he hands it over- then she smoothly pockets the goods and pats you on the shoulder. “Okay. My mistake. I actually love that you’re both getting acquainted in this manner. You have my blessing to do it a bunch more, just- not when I’m in the room. M’kay?”

She grins cheekily at Eddie before looping her arm in yours, pulling you with her towards the door- you call out before it closes behind you both, “Robin’s number is our landline! You can call me there, if you want!”

Eddie stands still for a few moments after you’re swallowed up by the noise of the party, palm flat to the twinge in his chest. Cupid’s arrow, he can feel it sinking in.

He’s an RA, this semester. Really can’t afford to be seeing cute girls and selling them weed- at least, not at the same time. Gotta straighten up a bit over Spring Break, he thinks.

Then he cracks the window open. Lights up a joint. Smokes out into the fresh night air and tries really hard to think of anything other than your tits. (A game of mostly losses.)

[hearts-hunger]

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Under the soft glow of the purple Halloween lights, Danny is sweet to you like he always is. || Sequel to Kitkat and Honeyglow

Pairings: Danny x Reader | Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort | Word Count: 2.4k | Warnings: drinking, smoking, mentions of wacky tobaccy, me not knowing anything actually about tarot cards (sorry)

A/N: Everyone say thank you to @spark-my-nature and go look lovingly upon this Kitkat 'verse Danny fanart she made that made me cry!!! Every Danny and Kitkat fic is dedicated especially to Miranda now :) I have at least one more fic for these two sweeties up my sleeve this spooky season, and I hope you like this short little fic! ♡

“Damn, Jake, how much tequila did you put in this?”

Jake laughed when you winced after the first sip of your drink, clinking his solo cup against yours.

“Beats me, kitkat,” he said. “You know I measure liquor with my heart.”

“Should start measuring with your liver,” you said, taking another drink anyway. “Lordy. I'm gonna be slap-out drunk after one drink.”

He cackled. “Slap out? That's weird. You're funny, honey.”

You grinned at the sloppy kiss he bestowed on your cheek as he went to rejoin the party, knowing Jake was well on his way to being slap-out drunk already. Most of the partygoers were in various states of intoxication, whether from the counter littered with half-empty bottles of booze or the weed that was being “discreetly” smoked in the back yard. One of the boys' friends had planned this bash to celebrate the beginning of the season at the haunted house attraction they worked for; this was sort of their last hoorah before nights and weekends became dedicated to scaring the bejeezus out of people for the next two months. You knew your boys were looking forward to getting back to work, and even though you weren't the biggest fan of haunted houses, you were happy to come and celebrate this year's reign of terror on the folks of your small town. 

You fished a Corona out of the cooler and went in search of your boyfriend, weaving through rooms filled with people talking and laughing and singing along to the Ghostbusters theme song playing at a blinding volume. Some were dressed in their costumes for work, getting in the spirit of things, and you politely sidestepped a ghoul and an undead nurse making out in the hallway. You spotted Danny in the living room, sporting a black hoodie and a backwards ball cap that somehow managed to tame his thick head of curls. He was talking animatedly to Sam, who was giving him a vaguely drunk but comically serious look of attention and consideration.

You'd almost made it to them when somebody in a clown mask started razzing the crowd, hollering and getting up in their faces. They all seemed to like it — it was just another day at the office for them, after all — but you stumbled back a little when he turned to you and held his hands up as if to snatch you.

“Hey, Bri, easy on the fright night with my kitkat.”

Your boyfriend’s kind reminder from behind you had Brian backing off with an applogetic laugh.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, muffled through his mask. “Forgot you weren't into all this. My bad.”

“That’s okay,” you said with a smile, thankful for the quick response. The actors who worked at the haunted house were very good about keeping things light and fun for all thresholds of thrill-seeking, even those as low as yours. Still, Danny's hand on your waist was a welcome comfort as Brian went off to scare somebody else.

“Thanks,” you said, turning to Danny. “I guess I should be used to this sort of thing by now.”

He smiled. “No sweat, kitkat. Brian's just funning you, but it's okay if you don't like it.”

You handed him his beer, and he accepted it with a word of thanks.

“This is my last one tonight, though,” he said, looking at your cup with a wry smile. “Somebody’s gotta drive us home, and if you're drinking some shit Jake made, no way should you be behind the wheel.”

Sam held out his hand for a taste of his brother's concoction, and when you let him have some, he coughed and spluttered.

“God damn, kitkat,” he said as you and Danny laughed. “You’re gonna be on the floor after that.”

“That’s the plan, Sammy boy,” you said cheerfully. You knocked back another swig and shuddered with the acrid taste. “Goes down real smooth.”

Danny chuckled and hugged you close to his side. “Having fun, kitkat?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “Are you?”

He hummed in agreement around a sip of his beer. “It’s fun to be back with everybody. It's gonna be a good season, I think.”

The music crescendoed, almost rattling the windows with the volume of the synth.

“Do you know who you are yet?” you asked.

Danny leaned closer to hear you over the noise. “Do I know what?”

You stood on tiptoe and leaned on his arm. “Do you know what part you're playing yet? At work?”

He nodded. “Ah. Yeah. Werewolf again. It was such a big hit last year that they want to keep it around.”

You gave him a cheeky smile and a kiss. “It was a big hit for me too.”

He pinked a little, liking the compliment and the reminder of how you'd met. 

“Glad you're happy, sweetheart,” he said, a little bashful. 

Some of his friend wanted him to play a game of darts with them, and you stole one last kiss before you sent him on his way. You knew enough of his coworkers to hang out on your own, and the Kiszkas were milling around somewhere; you went to mingle and talk to some of the friends you'd made over the last year as you'd frequented the haunted house in the off season of repairs and updates.

Cindy, one of the girls who’d worked the zombie maze last year, took you by the arm and let you to where she and a couple other girls were messing around with tarot cards in the dining room.

“Your turn, kitkat,” she said, ushering you into the chair at the table laid with cards and fairy lights. “Time to seek your fortune.”

The girl telling fortunes shuffled the cards and fumbled a few with tipsy hands, and you laughed.

“Off to a good start, I see,” you teased.

“Just you wait,” she said with a grin. She laid three cards in front of you, and you watched curiously as she presented the lovers upside down, the tower, and the moon.

Your draw earned a low chorus of “oohs” from the girls around you. You didn't have the slightest idea what the cards meant and looked around at their faces to see what you could glean from their expressions.

“Bad news?” you asked.

Cindy gave you an uncertain gesture with her cup. “Dunno, kitkat. Looks like your love life is gonna get fucked up, your carefully laid plans are gonna get blown to shit, and you're in for some fear and confusion.”

“Aw, what the fuck?” you protested with a laugh. “Gimme some new ones. I don't like those.”

She waggled her fingers at you. “The cards tell all, babe. Better get with it.”

You let someone else have a turn, and though you enjoyed spending time with your friends, you couldn't help thinking about the cards you'd been given. You didn't want your love life to implode; you liked it just the way it was. 

When the girls pulled out a Ouija board, you declined being haunted and excused yourself to find Danny again. He was out on the porch, smoking a cigarette and finishing off his beer; you snuggled close to him in the chilly night air, thankful for his warmth.

“Saw you in there with Cindy,” he said. His handsome features were sharp in the purple lights strung overhead. “What were y’all getting into?”

“The future,” you said mysteriously.

He smiled. “Oh yeah? What'd you find out?”

You downed the last of your drink. “Well, we're about to break up, and then I'm gonna explode and die, probably.”

He laughed. “Well damn, honey. Is that all?”

“That’s all she wrote,” you agreed. 

He leaned his elbows on the railing, looking out at the spooky decorations in the yard, and you hugged his arm.

“Dan?”

“Hm?”

“I don't wanna break up and explode and die.”

He turned his face to yours, nudging the bridge of his nose against your cheek. “We’re not gonna break up, kitkat.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, half-serious. Maybe — certainly — it was the alcohol making your head fuzzy and your emotions wobbly, and you knew you were worried way too much about some drunken tarot reading that none of you had done correctly anyway. But you still wanted reassurance, and as he always did, Danny gave of his kindness and patience very generously.

“Kitkat,” he said gently. He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “I’m sure, sweetheart. I'd have to tear my heart out to ever live without you. You hear me?”

You blossomed under his touch, leaning close. “I hear you. I love you, Danny.”

He kissed you, and you felt his smile. “I love you, my sweet kitkat.”

You shared a cigarette under the soft violet lights, talking about the upcoming season and your plans for your anniversary that was only a few weeks away. 

“I think we should make it official and start a family,” he said.

You blushed, partly out of surprise and partly out of some insane pleasure at the idea. Of course you weren't ready for kids and he was only messing with you, but you didn't mind the thought of starting a family with him one day.

“Little Danny junior, huh?” you teased gently.

He grinned. “Later, kitkat. Let me marry you first. But maybe we could get a puppy and start practicing.”

You laughed. “Okay, honey. I like that idea. And the one about you marrying me.”

He pulled you snug against him. “I’m working on it. But, you know, rings that a haunted house actor and part time drummer can afford are kinda scarce.”

You slipped your hand under the purple lights on the railing and showed him a light resting on your ring finger.

“There,” you said. “Found a free one.”

He chuckled and kissed you. “You sure are silly, kitkat. I love you. And your free ring. It's very generous of you to find one.”

“Just doing my part,” you said, smiling up at him. You untangled your hand from the lights to brush your fingers over the curls that peeked out from his ball cap. “I love you too.”

When you ventured back to the party, you found that most everybody had settled out in the back yard for a showing of some horror movie on the projector. You and Danny found a spot on the grass to watch, and the Kiszkas joined you. You hoped it would turn out to be a slasher, since you were getting braver with that kind of scary flick, but you quickly found out it was something about ghosts or demons; you didn't watch it closely enough to find out. You hadn't quite gotten over your innate scaredy-cat nature to handle that kind of movie yet. Danny was absorbed in the movie and talking to the boys about it as they all enjoyed it, so he didn't notice that you were hiding behind your hands for a large portion of it.

Halfway through, when the movie was paused to let people refill drinks and snacks, Danny did lean over to check on you.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “This one’s not so bad, is it?”

“Um...” You didn't want to spoil something he was obviously enjoying, but you’d just about reached your limit for terror, even on a movie he thought was tame.

His expression softened with chagrin and worry. “Aw, honey. You don't like it, do you?”

His understanding made you brave enough to tell him the truth. “Not... not really,” you said apologetically. “I’m sorry, Danny.”

He shook his head. “You don't have to apologize, kitkat. I'm sorry I didn't notice earlier. We can go home if you want.”

You looked up as he stood. “Are you sure? I don't mind staying if you want to finish the movie.”

He offered you a hand up. “I don't want to stay if it's scaring you, honey. I'm happy to go home if you're ready.”

You took his hand, grateful for his kindness to you, and you said your goodbyes to the Kiszkas and the rest of your friends. The boys gave you some ribbing about still being a scaredy-cat, but you knew it was in good fun.

On the way home, you and Danny stopped to get something to eat and ended up camped out in the living room at the house he shared with the Kiszkas. You divvied up your Taco Bell orders as Danny queued something up on the tv.

“I think this one's a little more your speed, kitkat,” he said. “But you let me know if it’s too scary.”

The opening to Halloweentown started to play, and you nudged your elbow against his ribs and earned a sweet little giggle.

“Sorry, kitkat. I’m only teasing.”

He consoled you with a kiss, and as you sat together and enjoyed the movie that was indeed much more your taste, you found yourself watching him more than your were watching the movie. 

He chewed on his straw. “What?” He offered you his Baja Blast. “You want some?”

You smiled. “No, but thank you. I’m just admiring my lovely boyfriend.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I'm a real hunk eatin’ my weight in tacos and nacho fries.”

You patted his shoulder. “I like a man with a healthy appetite.”

He laughed and gave you a goofy smooch. “Good to know, baby.”

You broke out the candy after a while, grabbing a bag of the fun-sized Skittles and Hershey bars you’d been planning to save for trick or treaters in your more proactive moments. But you could buy more, and the boyish smile on Danny’s face when you tossed the bag in his lap was priceless.

“See, this is why I keep you around,” he said. He fished out a candy for you. “Your special candy, my sweetheart.”

You smiled when you took the Kit-Kat that looked impossibly small in his big hand. “Thanks, honey. I guess it is my special candy, isn't it?”

You broke off half of it and gave it back to him. 

“I didn't mean for you to share it with me,” he said, amused and kind. “But thank you.”

You gave him a quick kiss, candy-sweet and full of the easy love you shared, and he smiled as he pulled you close and deepened it.

“I love you, kitkat,” he said. “You know that, don't you?”

There was no way for you not to know. In his kindness and patience, his selflessness and sweet nature, Danny showed you he loved you until you thought your heart would burst with it.

“Yeah,” you said softly. You smiled. “I know it. I love you too.”

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[cagesofgold]

eren jaeger headcanons <3

🎵teenage fever - Drake 🎧

His favorite way to unwind is to play with your hair. Due to having longer hair himself he’s grown accustomed to the different skill sets required to craft different hair styles, and actually, is really good at it. His fingers are lithe and nimble and are able to weave through strands with ease.

He drives an all black car with tinted windows, and has a polaroid of you in a photo booth with him on your first date in a plastic case hanging from his rear view mirror.

he also always makes sure to keep your favorite snacks in the car, as he’s a guy who’s bound to text you at 2am asking bout some “you up for a drive?” 💀

in terms of tattoos despite popular belief, i personally think he’d keep it on the minimal side. He’d maybe have some on his arms - or a sleeve, but he likes to keep them tidy. Although, he is one of those guys that would have that tiktok thirst trap spider on his chest or adjacent to his v line…..

this mf smells gooooood, he’s so paranoid about smelling bad because of Jean saying he smelt like a burning pile of bodies in high school and hasn’t been able to shake the fear since.

despite not being overly adorned in tattoos he does like piercings. He’s got about five on his ears and has a nose piercing but he always forgets about it.

loves reality shows. A few months into your relationship he noticed you watching them and acted with his full chest that he had no interest, yet as the weeks rolled by he somehow got closer and closer to the couch and before you knew it he was fully shouting over Lisa Rinna. (You’ve also seen him following over 30 housewives from the different shows on instagram…)

cannot stand metal music because he spent his entire childhood covering his ears from where it bled from under Mikasa’s door. (Otherwise he’d probably enjoy it)

he’d dress quite simply, mainly with blacks and whites and would sometimes mix and match with some red or green, but i don’t think he’s as ambitious as some of his friends fashion wise, but he still looks good as hell.

his favorite holiday is with out a doubt halloween, is some of this because he spent so long as a child building the most elaborate scares for the kids on his street? maybe. but he also likes autumn as a season so that has something to do with it.

doesn’t get along with his dad too well but is a total mamas boy. He visits her at least twice a month considering they live in different cities.

is a cat person, but when he was younger he liked dogs more as according to him they were “much radder” - his own words 💀, but as he got older and became more subdued he developed a preference for cats.

has anxiety that he manages to hide, he wasn’t used to being comforted and it took a while for him to fully open up to you.

despite smoking weed with Jean and connie almost every other day he still makes a dramatic scene any time Zeke lights a cigarette around him, i’m talking coughing and clutching his chest, Zeke’s standing there like this 🧍‍♀️waiting for him to stop his fucking shenanigans.

if you want to go out with Eren Jaeger prepare to be a victim of the sassy man apocalypse, because my god, this man is relentless, and the SIDE EYE on this mf is ridiculous. He could knock down an army with his sass alone.

takes good care of his hair, oils it twice a week and does hair masks in order to keep it soft and shiny. He can’t have his gorgeous girl going out with some guy with brittle, greasy ass hair…

goes to the gym but doesn’t like it very much. he goes most days for at least an hour but never posts gym pics on his instagram or anything, he just has no interest apart from maintaining his body.

cannot sleep without you. he can try, sure, but he’ll never be successful. Before you both decided to move in together he was at your house every night, nuzzled against your body with light breaths slipping from his lips, which sparked the conversation, why not just move in, you’re here everyday anyway?

tends to bottle things up, and if something is bothering him you will have to work it out of him slowly…but he’s trying, for you he’s trying.

his lock screen is a photo of you asleep against his chest, he just thought you looked so peaceful.

gets embarrassingly competitive in just dance, threw a Wii at Connie once because he made him lose a perfect score on timber.

finally, he loves stargazing, especially with you. He’ll take you out to a deserted street, a bag full of snacks and a joint as you both lay on the hood of his car, chatting about whatever comes to mind, and it’s at those moments, when his eyes focus on the slope of your nose and the shape of your mouth, that he feels a warmth inside him he’s never felt before. <3

[redsrooftopprincess]

Could you do anymore headcannos for the tmnt 2014/2016 boys? Idc what the headcannon is but I love it hc so much

Sleeping Headcanons

Headcanons you say? Let's get into it!

Warnings: mental health, drugs/alcohol

We spend nearly half of our lives asleep, and the boys are no different! They're a little backwards, being basically nocturnal, but they sleep (and struggle to), just like anybody else.

Leo

Bed. Leo is a traditionalist and sleeps on a firm Japanese Futon. He sleeps on his plastron because that's the most practical. He's usually on his side, hugging a pillow, by morning.

Temperament. Even as always, unless he has a migraine, then he's in his room the second he gets home. Dark and quiet. If someone disturbs him, he'll get up and address whatever it is that needs seeing to, but don't expect conversation. However, he *is* a morning person! They all hate him until about 10 am.

Routine. If he has a headache he'll usually have no choice but to just lay down the second he's off the clock. If he doesn't, he has a very strict routine that is *always* adhered to, or he can't sleep (no, that's not a joke):

Tea (usually jasmine) with Dad while processing the day.

Shower.

Teeth.

Undress.

Meditate for 30 minutes.

Sleep.

The morning is much the same but in reverse:

Wake up.

Meditate for 15 minutes.

Get dressed.

Downstairs for coffee/breakfast/discussing the day with Dad.

Training.

Sleeping with a partner. Having someone around to upset his routine is ROUGH. Don't ask to sleep in his bed. Seriously, don't. Sharing *his space* is a HUGE step for him and if you push it, it'll just take longer. He'll start small, inviting you into his room for tea. Be PATIENT with the boy. Once you start sleeping in his bed it'll take him a while to get used to it. The first few times he doesn't sleep. But eventually, you worm your way into his routine, and he can't sleep without you. Until then, he will happily hold you until you fall asleep, even stay watching over you until morning. But he won't sleep.

Mikey

Bed. Pillow pile! He started collecting pillows as a kid to add to his hoard, which is now comically large and takes up 1/3 of his room. He loves the weird ones and has ones with tassles and beads and insane shapes. It's actually pretty impressive and could probably double as a modern art piece!

Temperament. It's all good! No matter what state he's in, he's always the life of the party. Always.

Routine. He's usually parked in front of the TV until everyone disperses (video games/tv/ect). Then, depending on how hard his depression is hitting that night, he'll either grab a bong (hard) or a bottle (harder). He'll drink in his room , but he'll skate down one of the south tunnels to smoke because he doesn't want to hear about it from Leo. Splinter knows about the weed, but doesn't have a problem with it, because it really does seem to help. He would, however, have a problem with the liquor. Once Mike is thoroughly gone, he tosses himself on his pillow pile and attempts to pass out. Sometimes he does. He gets hangovers from the alcohol, but the second he wakes up that mask is firmly back in place and he's good to go! 😃

Sleeping with a partner. ALL. THE. CUDDLES. Expect him not to let go. Like, pee beforehand. He may not be as big as his brothers, but he's still pretty damn heavy. You are HIS Angel. You are HIS miracle. And you aren't going ANYwhere. Lots of nuzzling/scent marking, LOTS of churring, and when he does eventually fall asleep, he snores like a diesel engine. Just poke him in the side and he'll shut up.

Don

Bed. What's a bed? You mean the cot in his lab? On the rare occasion that *someone* convinces him to actually sleep in a bed, it's pretty much whatever bed or bed-adjacent thing they bring him to. By the time he's tired enough that he can be convinced, he's too far gone to care.

Temperament. When Donnie is tired, expect to be snapped at. He'll apologize immediately, but his temper is a hair trigger when he needs sleep. And my dude goes until he stops. Don's body wakes up before he does. Expect mumbled one-word answers that may or may not make sense as he gradually comes to consciousness over the next half-hour.

Routine. Donnie doesn't make the decision to go to bed. He just wakes up and it's later. When he does wake up, his body has been conditioned to perform all the necessary morning tasks without him having to actually be fully conscious. Sit up. Grab freshly brewed espresso from desk next to cot. Shotgun espresso. Wrap joints. Stand up. Go to kitchen for second cup of coffee (because Raph has already brewed a pot, and because at some point in his teenage years, his father insisted on seeing him at least once a day). Make/drink coffee. Eat the closest edible thing. Go back to the lab. By this point, his conscious mind has usually kicked in and he can get back to work.

Sleeping with a partner. I hope you like to be lulled to sleep by computer fans! You'll get used to the phrase, "go and lie down, Dove. I'll just be a minute." It's always a lie. You know it. He knows it. The wall of computer towers behind you knows it. But he does the song and dance, anyway, because he thinks it makes you feel better. It doesn't. If he does happen to fall asleep with you, of COURSE he's the big spoon. He wraps himself around you and holds you as close as he can (he's still working on getting past all those pesky air molecules), with his beak buried in your hair so that he can breathe you in as he falls asleep (at least the air molecules are good for something).

Raph

Bed. My guy is BIG, and needs a ton of support. A traditional flat mattress is uncomfortable unless he sleeps on his plastron which he HATES doing. His carapace is HEAVY, and it feels like he's literally being crushed under his own weight. Besides, he's in enough pain when he wakes up, and as much as he loves working out, he really doesn't want to have to do pushups first thing in the morning. Instead, he has a carbon fiber hammock that he wove himself. It hangs from a reach stacker arm modified with two lifting jacks bolted to the floor, all "liberated" from the shipyard. It supports all of him with the added benefit of pressure on all sides due to his weight, which helps him sleep, especially when he's in a low.

Temperament. When he's tired he's a grump. He's not quick to anger, but expect a lot of grumbling and begrudging acquiescence to things. He doesn't usually push it too far before heading to bed, because let's face it, pain is exhausting, and if he's laying down he's not having to hold himself up. He's not a "morning person," but he's usually okay as long as he knows there's a cup of coffee in his near future.

Routine. Pretty standard. Shower, teeth, etc. Once in bed, he'll mess around on his phone for a while, watching movies/tv/anime, before eventually falling asleep. In the morning, he rolls out of his hammock and heads to the kitchen for coffee with his Dad before everyone else emerges. After that it's his morning workout and he starts the day. Honestly the mostly boring/normal out of all of them.

Sleeping with a partner. He won't sleep in your bed. He just won't. Don't ask. He'll hold you until you fall asleep, no question, but he won't stay. The only hope for a sleepover is at his place. He likes to give you a big hug around the middle and roll into the hammock with you, and it always leaves you giggling as you snuggle up against his plastron. That's when he sleeps best, with you laying on his chest, his arm wrapped around you. Not only is it added pressure, but this way he knows you're safe.

.......

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos

[wonsdoll]

𓂃 ! A STONER’S GUIDE TO GET THE GiRL ⌇ LHS

TIP 4: don’t go back to the old ways

the music was loud throughout the whole house, vibrating under heeseung’s foot as he walked inside. the air was thick of alcohol and a mix of weed, something heeseung was trying to stay away from. it was jake’s huge party, beomgyu and sunghoon knew they needed heeseung to forget you for one night and have fun. although jake was another close friend, he was also heeseung’s plug.

as heeseung tries to get through the crowd, he spots you in the corner. he took a few seconds to admire you, your short black dress, every inch of your legs visible, your curves and the way your dress hugged your body.

his heart skipped nearly a few beats when he takes note of your laughing. heeseung watches your nervous laughter, instantly making his guts twist. it wasn’t until he noticed the individuals hand meet your waist, attempting to pull you closer and get more handsy.

heeseung’s fists clench, this guy was clearly bothering you. his opportunity to forget about you was pushed away, now being faced with anger. heeseung makes his way through the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest.

“hey back off.” heeseung’s voice is firm, he steps between you and the guy. the individual is filled with confusion, he swung his beer bottle, taking a large gulp.

“i’ll be back for you just wait.” the guy mumbles, stumbling away.

you look at heeseung, full of relief and gratitude. “thank you..” your voice trembles slightly, trying to realize what happened.

heeseung nods, trying to mask his own anxiety. he was unaware of how close you were to him, the closest you’ve been since the breakup. heeseung’s nerves are on edge, and he knows he’s not in the best state of mind, emotionally. “no problem..just—just stay safe okay?”

you nod, watching him walk away and walk towards sunghoon and beomgyu. heeseung manages to catch his breath, inhaling a few times.

“woah are you okay?” beomgyu looks at you, cracking open a beer for jake.

“yeah i’m good.. y/n was getting harassed by some drunk guy..” heeseung manages to say in between inhales.

“did you save her?” sunghoon asks, offering him a beer. he takes the beer from his hand and begun chugging it.

“i did..” he mumbled, reaching out for another beer.

throughout the night, heeseung and a few of his friends consumed over 5 packages of beer, leaving them all intoxicated. this feeling of intoxicated made his memory replay from the night of his breakup.

he sat back on the couch, meanwhile everyone else was knocked out beside him. heeseung held his forehead, trying to soothe away his current headache, and a bit of his heartache.

heeseung was so lost in his thought, he didn’t realize you standing right in front of him. he jumped a bit, but calmed down quickly due to your familiar face.

“need a ride home?” you asked, a bit hopeful he’d say yes, giving you some extra time with him.

heeseung nods his head, attempting to get up on his feet. you support him with your arm as you both walked to your car.

his voice was filled with alcohol and desperation, this is what he’s wanted for a long time.

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sav’s notes 💭: sorry for the long update !! i start school this week so updates may be slower than before ^_^ thank u for the ongoing support & love !

[italiansteebie]

something you'd never expect about steve harrington is that he loves halloween.

i mean, he really gets into it.

he dresses up, decorates the house, hands out candy and even goes trick or treating with the kids as an excuse. "i'm keeping an eye on you guys!"

"you didn't have to dress up though,"

"yes i did, dustin. you don't know everything."

even after the upside down bullshit, he still loves it, and maybe he kept his scoops uniform with blood and barf stains so he could use it as a costume. and maybe that was kind of fucked, but he's coping with it.

now, steve's love for halloween is one of robins favorite things about him. especially since his house is equipped for an exceptional party, what with the size and the decorations steve is going to put up anyways? it's perfect.

so the halloween after scoops, they throw a masquerade of sorts. it's quite a rager, despite steve's expectations.

he decided to go as a masked cowboy.

he got the boots, the hat, and he wore a leather vest that ended up giving him a chill for the night since other than some chaps, it was all he was wearing on his body. he did the whole nine yards with a red bandana and some sunglasses.

"hey cowboy."

steve turned, taking in the sight in-front of him.

a guy, with long curly hair, somehow making a jason voorhees costume work.

he tipped his hat, always committed to the bit, "jason." he said simply, thanking the bandana gods for hiding his blush.

"never woulda thought king steve would throw a party like this."

"why not?"

"i dunno. it's cool though, guy seems to have changed."

"for the better?"

jason tilted his head, "yeah man. for the better." he said it as though the decision had been made, and locked in place.

so they sat.

and talked.

all night.

and the rest of the party seemed to fade away. that is until a drunk robin, dressed as micheal myers laid across his lap, "kick everyone out, im tired."

he checked his watch, it was 4 am, probably about time for them to go home. so he stood, gearing up to say his farewell to jason, maybe ask him for his number, but when he turned again, he was gone. only the smell of weed and cheap cologne remained. (and later, he'd find, a lone 36 sided die, that he'd end up asking dustin about).

it's silly to think that steve was falling in love with this guy after only just meeting him, but he'd grappled with his sexuality on a bathroom floor, appropriately, and was ready to dive back into the dating pool. or maybe the puddle, because halloween jason, seemed to be the one.

the only thing is, steve has no idea who the guy is.

that is at least until, none other than eddie munson had a broke bottle pressed against his neck. now he didn't figure it out in that moment, but when they were fleeing for their lives, eddie's hand found a way into steve's, and back at eddie's trailer, steve caught a glimpse of none other than the jason voorhees mask he'd been searching for ever since that party.

and maybe it was a sappy declaration of love, but steve was nothing if not a hopeless romantic.

"don't be heroes."

it was pleading.

steve tossed the dice eddie's way, watching fondly as he struggled to catch it.

"steve- wh?" he could see the moment it clicked in eddie's eyes. steve turned, ready to finish this mess, so he could talk to eddie, to jason, and figure out some shit.

"hey, steve?"

he turned, meeting eddie's eyes.

"make him pay, cowboy."

--

it was done.

they did it.

a few were in the hospital but, hey. they did it. eddie had been in a rough way for a little while, eventually pulling through but not before some physical therapy.

steve was there when he woke up.

had been ever since he'd explained to eddie's uncle wayne how they knew each other and what eddie meant to steve.

eddie cracked open his eyes.

"howdy, cowboy." it came out scratched, and rough.

"eddie," steve breathed, grasping his hand.

"i knew i liked those chaps."

steve rolled his eyes, smiling while tears rolled down his cheeks. "you saved my life." eddie said, reaching a hand to steve's cheek. steve shook his head, "how can i ever repay you?" eddie said, a glint in his eye.

steve laughed, "no thanks necessary," he said, tipping his imaginary hat, leaning into eddie's touch. "there must be someway," he said, southern drawl creeping into his voice. "how about a kiss?" steve asked, eyes flickering down to the metal heads lips.

wayne shook his head at the boys' antics. "will y'all just kiss already? im getting old waitin' for ya!"

eddie laughed at his uncle's testimony, before nodding, "c'mere, cowboy," he said, before closing the gap between him and steve.

"was it rootin' n tootin'?" eddie asked, a cheesy grin on his face as he pulled away. "sure was, partner."

"oh my god."

"hey robs,"

"steve, shut up. eddie's jason! jason from-" robin stumbled into the room. "from the party!" she all but squealed. steve laughed, nodding, "yeah, babe. we figured that one out ourselves."

[munsonsduchess]

Monster Smash

summary: you meet eddie at a house party and the night takes an unexpected turn warnings: underage drinking, recreational drug use (weed), face sitting, oral (f receiving), semi public sex (eddie and the reader are in a room at a frat house during a party) w/c: 977 a/n: surprise bitch! another halloween fic! honestly with the amount of ghostface content on tiktok these days it was kind of inevitable we'd end up here, i was originally just going to post the other halloween fic but this one wouldn't leave me alone

It was Halloween and you were having the worst time. You didn’t know anyone at this party your roommate had dragged you to, citing that you needed to get out more, the drinks were shit, the music was shit, honestly you were tempted to just sneak out the back door of this frat house and claim you’d met somebody if your roommate asked the next day. 

You sighed and took another drink from your lukewarm beer and pulled at the hem of the black dress you were wearing. Usually you didn’t feel self conscious in the things you picked for yourself but being, less petite, than some of your peers and wearing something your roommate had picked out so you could both wear matching costumes (you got to be the bad witch) in a room full of obnoxious frat bros made you feel slightly … less confident than normal. 

You were about to cut and run when a guy appeared in front of you wearing a Ghostface Costume,

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“The Exorcist, 1973. A masterpiece in horror cinema” you responded without thinking. You hadn’t actually expected anyone to talk to you, after being basically ignored all night

“That’s, yeah that’s a really good pick” the guy pulled his mask off and you found yourself looking into the face of the local weed guy, Eddie Munson. 

Everyone you knew, yourself included, bought their weed from Eddie. His stuff was guaranteed to be the best and not laced with anything it shouldn’t be,

“It’s the line from the homeless guy in the subway ‘can you help an old altar boy father’ and then later on when they’re in Regan’s bedroom and she says the same thing in the same voice. Chills. Literal chills” 

“Such a good movie. They don’t make movies like that anymore, y’know? Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Rosemary’s Baby” 

“Have you seen X? Or Pearl? They have the same kinda vibes but are totally modern movies” 

“I’ve seen X. Massive Texas Chainsaw vibes” 

“Right!” 

You ended up finding a quiet corner with Eddie where the two of you could talk about horror movies for the rest of the evening. You’d honestly never really found anyone who loved horror the way you did so it was amazing to be able to vibe with someone like this. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 👻 ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The party raged on into the wee hours and by now both you and Eddie were feeling the effects of the beer and few joints you’d shared. You were feeling pleasantly buzzed and enjoying the attention of an attractive man, even if it wouldn’t go anywhere. 

“It’s so cool that you’re into horror, most people get freaked out or maybe enjoy those like conjuring movies”

“Ugh. The Warrens are the absolute worst, by all accounts they just scam people and then use their stories to write books and make more money” you gestured widely around the room, “how fucked is that?”

“Totally fucked” Eddie agreed 

“You know I almost didn’t come tonight but my roommate kinda forced me to” 

“Remind me to send your roommate a fruit basket or something as thanks then” Eddie said, “cause this is definitely a way better night than I thought it was gonna be”

“It’s so cool to meet a friend tonight” you agreed, “but aren’t you like ‘working’ the party?” 

Eddie laughed and you had to admit you loved the sound. You wondered if he would want to still be friends after the party was over,

“You’re cute. I mean sure it’s great talking like this but honestly, I saw you standing on your own and seriously couldn’t understand why cause just the sight of you in that dress had all the blood in my body run south. I mean, the fact that you’re awesome on top of being drop dead hot is a bonus”

Your brain short circuited for a moment and you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing,

“So, you wanna get a room?” 

“Absolutely I do”

Eddie smirked wickedly at you before helping you off the couch and pulling you behind him to the main staircase and along a corridor to an empty room. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 👻 ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Sit on my face, come on” Eddie grinned at you, taking one of your hands and pulling you towards the bed. 

You followed the tug and threw one leg over the bed and balanced on your knees. Before you could even try to think about how much weight to bear down you felt Eddie grab your hips and pull you down onto his face forcefully. 

There was no way you could focus on anything but the way Eddie licked into you hungrily. His hands on your hips dug into the flesh there and you threw your head back with the intense feelings, moaning loudly. 

“Oh my god Eddie”

Beneath you Eddie made a muffled noise which you assumed was positive since he didn’t stop what he was doing for even a moment. 

You wondered briefly how he could breathe but the thought left your mind as quickly as it had arrived when Eddie’s nose brushed against your clit and you saw stars. 

Eddie continued to suck and lick you through your orgasm and the aftershocks, the oversensitivity made you want to pull away but Eddie held you firm coaxing yet another orgasm from you until your legs began to shake. Only then did he allow you to pull away and catch your breath,

“Holy shit” you panted, trying to regain some of your self control,

“That’s only the warm up act baby. It’s just you and me and no one is gonna hear you when you scream my name as loud as you want to” 

This was definitely a way better night than you’d thought it would be when your roommate forced you out tonight. 

After all what was Halloween without a few screams?

[bullet-prooflove]

Listen: Dean Archer x Reader (feat: Sean Archer)

Tagging: @kmc1989@helsinkibaby@hufflepuffgirl@mimi-8793

When Dean sees his son Sean for the first time in fifteen years, he’s dressed in a beige prison XL prison uniform and there’s a pane of glass between the two of them with fingerprints streaked across the surface.

Surely he thinks, they should be able to do better especially after COVID. They could at least wipe the damn thing down or something. His hands are shaking when he picks up the phone but he masks it by gripping the receiver so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

It’s been a couple of weeks since Sean called him from Cook County, that’s how long it’s taken him to get visitation. He hadn’t realised it was such a process. In the meantime he’s been in contact with Sean’s lawyer, an over encumbered public defender in an attempt to understand the charges against him. The woman had barely even remembered his name.

He tries to explain the detriment of this to Sean as he sits across from him but it starts a fight. All hell breaks loose between the two of them because Dean, he’s never really understood Sean, not since he hit fourteen and came home from Sea Cadets that summer a withdrawn, sullen teenager. It’s six moths later when his grades started to drop that they found the weed and the pills.

Sean ends up hanging up the phone and terminating the visit and Dean is left with this weird feeling of purgatory because he’s back where he was fifteen years ago, with a son that doesn’t want to talk to him.

“I don’t know how to get through to him.” Dean tells you later that night when you’re cooking dinner together. He’s tired, overwhelmed, exasperated. He wants to fix this, truly he does, he just doesn’t know how to. “I don’t know why there’s such a disconnect.”

“Have you tried listening to him?” You ask as you chop peppers on the cutting board for the salad. “I mean actually sitting down and hearing what he has to say.”

“Of course…” He replies with an edge of annoyance and you give him that look, the one that tells him he’s being an ass. He falls silent after that, mulling it over in his head as he cooks steak on the stove.

Dean has always parented the way his father parented him. His father was an admiral, he had a strict military upbringing, bouncing around from base to base, never sticking around long enough to make too many friends. It’s the reason he’s found it hard to make connections in the past, if you build a barrier between you and the rest of the world it’s less likely you’ll get hurt when it’s time to move on. He carried that into his first marriage and into every job he’s ever worked.

His father had always insisted on things being tidy, ordered and Dean he’s lived with that mantra his entire life. He thinks that’s why he was so hard on Sean, he’s used to a chain of command, a hierarchy. He was the parent and Sean was the kid. It should have been as simple as that but the truth is people are messy. It’s only through his therapy sessions with Daniel that he’s realising how much his father’s version of parenting affected him. He was always distant, emotionally cold. When he was present it was about earning his time, not enjoying it. He wonders if he brought that to the table with Sean, if he taught him that love was conditional, dependant on good behaviour.

“I think you’re right.” He tells you when the two of you settle into bed that night. You’re curled up against his side, your head resting through on his chest as his fingers comb through your hair. “Maybe I haven’t been listening.”

He’s lucky that Sean agrees to see him the second time, he could refuse, he could take him off the visitor’s list but he doesn’t. Dean thinks that means there’s hope for the two of them, that he’s committed to mending fences, after all it was Sean that reached out, Sean that called Dean wanting nothing more than to talk to his dad.

“My wife…” Dean as he sits down across from his son. “She says I’ve got a tendency to override everything but the sound of my own voice and she’s right. I just… if there’s anything you want to say to me after all this time I’ll try my best to listen.”

“You got remarried?” Sean says finally, his elbow resting on the ledge as he leans forward. “I thought the way things ended with you and mom would have put you off.”

Dean doesn’t look back on that time fondly, they’d tried to shield Sean away from the majority of it but there were nights when Leanne’s addiction was out of control and his patience had stretched to breaking point. He’s not proud of the way he handled things back then, his first marriage left him mistrustful and with a sense of worthlessness, that he still feels to this very day.

“It did.” Dean admits as he cups the phone under his chin. “I was alone for a long time before I met Isobel…”

He trails off then because he’s not sure if this is the kind of thing that Sean wants to hear. The life he has now is so different from the one he had before. He’s happy these days, relaxed. He understands that things aren’t so black and white, they don’t fit neatly into little boxes the way that he was taught they should.

It occurs to him that Sean doesn’t know this version of him. Dean preached a lot of tough love back then and not a whole lot of empathy, he had been taught addiction and mental health were character flaws, a sign of weakness. He knows different these days, from his own experiences, from yours. He’s not the same person he was fifteen years ago, he’s much more free with heart, more understanding, more compassionate. He hopes he can show Sean that in the future, that he’s changed, that he’s willing to rebuild this relationship.

“Does she know about me?” Sean asks him quietly, his voice a little rough. “Your wife Isobel? Did you tell her about me?”

There’s a slight pinkness in his cheeks and his gaze slips down the chipped table, his thumb running over a deep indentation. It takes Dean a second to realise what he’s seeing in his son and it feels like a knife plunging straight into his chest.

Shame.

Sean thinks that Dean’s ashamed of him. That he’s hidden his son away like he’s some horrible secret. He’s never wanted to reach out so badly before, he wishes the glass wasn’t there, that he could touch Sean, hug him but he can’t no matter how much he wants to.

“She does.” He tells his son, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile. “She wants to meet you when you’re ready.”

“We should probably wait until I’m out.” Sean says gesturing at their surroundings. “I don’t think prison’s the best place to meet my dad’s new wife. I’d prefer to put my best foot forward and all that.”

“She’s an M.E.” Dean laughs as he looks around the room. “She’s worked out of far worse surroundings than this.”

Sean smiles then and something in Dean’s chest just lifts.

“It’s not your fault you know?” Sean says suddenly, surprising Dean. “That I’m fucked up. I know you blame yourself but it was nothing you did or didn’t do. I just… I need you to know that.”

There’s an ache in Dean’s chest, it feels so visceral, like someone’s reached in and torn his heart right out of his rib cage.

“Don’t do that.” Dean tells him, his voice breaking. “Don’t let me off the hook that easy. I messed up I know I did…”

“And so did I.” Sean tells him, his eyes burning with sincerity. “I just want you to know  that I’m trying to own the shit I did, to making amends for it.”

“Sean…” Dean begins but Sean shakes his head cutting him off.

“Dad.” Sean reminds him gently. “You promised to listen.”

“I did.” Dean concedes as he adjusts the handset under his chin. “Alright son, I’m listening.”

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[indigoflorals]

teenage fever (18+)

JJ Maybank x Reader

You meet a stranger at a costume party.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, hair pulling, costumes, masks, crying, mentions of drugs and alcohol,

꧁༺ ༻꧂

“C’mon girl, you look so hot let’s just have fun!”

You still could not believe your friends had talked you into this. Loud music, alcohol, and so many people.

It was safe to say parties like this weren’t your regular scene. Especially one of this nature.

Your fishnets clung tightly to your thighs, and you adjusted them frequently. You felt like a dressed up doll in too much makeup.

Your friends had convinced you that every girl wore sexy costumes to these kinds of parties. You would have been happy wearing a onesie, but here you stood, breasts pushing out of your corset.

A bunny.

Red solo cup in hand, you tried your best to mingle as your friends wandered off without you. You felt stiff, every movement daring to expose parts of you that had never been so public before.

“Do you want my jacket?”

A voice pulled you out of your own thoughts, and you turned to meet a stranger dressed as a pirate. His outfit was clearly homemade, pulled together with things he had owned for years. And yet, you found it charming. His eyes and nose were covered by a masquerade style mask, and you didn’t recognize him.

“You look like you wanna cover up. That’s not to say you don’t look great! I just—" The blond pirate laughed at his own flustered response, and you giggled quietly into your solo cup. “You just look uncomfortable.”

You nodded, reassuring him that you understood what he had really meant. “No, you’re right. Parties like this aren’t really my thing and,” You gestured to your outfit, “neither is dressing quite like this.”

He flashed a smile at your response, shrugging off his jacket. Your eyes fixated on the toned arms that were hidden underneath. Only in a cutoff shirt now, you could see every flex.

“My eyes are up here.”

A blush crept across your face as you realized you had been caught staring.

The party raged on all sides of you, but you were only focused on the masked stranger in front of you.

He placed his jacket over your shoulders, and it was very clearly oversized on you. You snuggled into it, embracing your new found feeling of warmth and no longer feeling so nude.

“Thank you.” You smiled, noticing his eyes now were on you intently.

“Think you look even better like this, y’know,” His eyes scanned you up and down, now dressed in his jacket. “In my clothes.”

You giggled again, face now definitely red. “I don’t even know you.”

“Do you want to get to know me?”

———

So if your friends were to ask, that was how you ended up underneath a pirate in the back of his van.

You followed him excitedly outside, deciding that tonight was the night that you’d finally take some risks.

“This is my friends van. He’d kill me if he knew what we’re about to do in it.” The blond laughed, sliding the door open and helping you inside.

You recognized the van, definitely, but couldn’t put your finger on who it belonged to.

In an instant the door was closed and his lips were on yours. His lips were soft, and he tasted like hints of weed and the alcohol you had shared previously.

You pulled away, tapping on the mask that still covered the upper part of his face.

“Oh shit, yeah, forgot I even had this on.”

He untied the string in the back, and the mask fell from his face. You now could take in his facial features, bright blue eyes much more visible.

Wait.

“Aren’t you John B’s friend?”

He half snorted at your question, and you swatted his arm.

“Well, this is his van.”

That’s where you knew it from. You had seen John B and the rest of his friends plenty of times, but had never really taken the time to introduce yourself.

“I’m JJ,” He shook your hand with a small smile, “But maybe I should’ve said that before I tried to hook up with you in the back of this van.”

You both laughed, lips meeting each other yet again. His hands explored the expanse of your body. You were only in your tiny tight corset top and shorts, having shed the jacket he had loaned you.

“I almost don’t want to take any of this off you look so good.”

You shushed him, finding the confidence to pull your shorts down.

He leaned back into the car seat, and you were straddling him now. Only in your panties from the waist down, bunny ears still atop your head.

“Jesus. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

You shushed him again by pulling him into a sloppy kiss, your tongue meeting his.

He moaned into your mouth, hands gripping your ass. You could feel his hard on underneath you, straining against his jeans.

You pulled away, a trail of saliva in your wake. His eyes met yours, blown wide with lust at your figure in front of him.

“This is torture,” He groaned, bucking his hips up into you. “I gotta take my jeans off.”

“Let me.”

You slid off of his lap, now knelt between his legs. The blond let out a guttural groan at the site of you there, breasts protruding from your top and your fiddled with the zipper of his jeans.

He lifted his hips to aid you in sliding his jeans down, and you pulled them off of each ankle.

Now only in his boxers, you could see the evident wet spot at the tip. “Fuck, don’t just stare.”

You locked eyes with him as you palmed his still clothed cock. He melted into the seat at the feeling of your small hands on him.

“I cant do the teasing. I hate teasing.” He begged.

You giggled, pulling his cock out of his boxers in one swift motion. He breathed out heavily through his nose, attempted to ground himself.

You leaned forward, applying soft kitten licks to the tip before taking it in your mouth.

“Holy fuck.” His knuckles were white from gripping the car seat, desperate not to push forward into your mouth.

Your swirled your tongue around his tip while jerking him off, cupping his balls with your free hand. You relished in the sounds he made. Moans free and unabashed for you to hear.

JJ fisted your hair, pulling you off in an instant with a quiet ‘pop’ sound.

Your eyes met his, face flooded with confusion. “Was I bad?”

“Oh my god, no” He sighed, cock now throbbing at the loss of contact, “Way too good.”

You mouth an ‘Oh’, and you both proceeded to laugh.

“Now get up here, I want you to feel good too.”

Your slid your panties down, and he groaned at the site of your pussy in front of him. You climbed back into his lap, and could feel his tip poking at your entrance.

He gave you a questioning look to see if you were ready, but you were already one step ahead, sinking yourself down onto him.

You moaned in unison. His hips bucking up into you. Fingers sinking into his biceps, you were sure you would leave marks.

He was whining now at the feeling of you bouncing up and down on his cock, too blissed out to even talk.

“Not so talkative now, huh?” You grinned, dropping yourself down onto him hard. You moaned involuntarily, but his reaction was better.

The blond was completely fucked out. Hair disheveled, cheeks dusted pink and lips formed into an ‘o’ shape.

“So good, so fucking good.” He moaned eagerly, taking a handful of your ass and assisting you in your bouncing.

He was thick, and you knew you wouldn’t last long. His cock rubbed all the places inside of you that you could never reach on your own. Pleased you in a way no one had before.

You leaned forward into his shoulder, and he took this as a cue to take more control. One hand on your lower back, the other snaked around your waist for support.

He had you in his grasp now, and he bounced you like you were weightless.

Your moans reached a new loud, wanton and needing. His grunting was practically feral in your ear as he fucked you with fervor.

“Close, so close, JJ.” You cried out to him, nails digging into his shoulders.

He slid a hand to your clit, thumbing it, and that was it for you. You sobbed into his shoulder, clenching around him.

He held on for the length of your orgasm, but not a second longer. Pulling you off of him, he came with a groan, painting both of your stomachs with his cum.

You slumped into him, stickiness apparent, but it didn’t bother you.

“Do you have anywhere else to be tonight? Wanna take you out like I should’ve before we did this.”

“Trust me, my friends are long gone at this point. I need something to do.” You smiled, placing a light kiss on his neck.

He mumbled soft words into your ear, rubbing the back of your head. Soon you would have to get cleaned up, but for right now you would enjoy the company of your new favorite stranger.

[creepswrites]

SMOKING SESH | Stu x Billy

this is an old one i was working on but i've been in a stuilly mood so i've decided to return to it :]

BILLY LOOMIS X STU MACHER

SUMMARY: A few months ago, the first time the two of them messed around, Stu had actually been the one to suggest "lending a hand," so to speak. They'd been watching Friday the 13th when Billy ranted about Sidney not putting out. So Stu offered. At first, Billy assumed he'd been joking. Right up until he got on his knees and made Billy see stars.

WARNING: 18+ (MINORS DNI) , smut, smoking weed, mentions of cheating on Tatum and Sidney

Honestly, Stu had seen Halloween so many times it wasn't even funny.

Between him and Billy, they could probably quote the movie word for word at this point, bouncing back and forth to voice all the characters. Even Myers. Billy had practically perfected the creepy head tilt that was popularized by the Boogeyman himself. One evening while perfecting their costumes for Halloween, Billy had tackled Stu to the bed as Myers in an attempt to "get into character" as he'd said. Stu tried to not analyze how much he'd blushed when Billy had done said head tilt while staring down at him while straddling his waist.

He and Billy could quote the movie word for word at this point, effortlessly bouncing back and fourth between characters - complete with voices and gestures. Billy in particular had a knack for mimicking Myers. Stu recalled last Halloween when the two had dressed up as different slashers and, while his memory of how they got into position escaped him, he could clearly recall Billy straddling his waist clad in Myers' classic mask and blue jumpsuit. The headtilt was uncanny and Stu could remember his nervous laugh at the sight.

Thinking about it for too long made his face feel hot and got his dick hard in equal measure. He tried to not think about why that was, deciding it was something he'd tackle later.

Stu blinked lazily at the small, grainy television, watching with an air of boredom as Laurie Strode's friend made out in the bed with her boyfriend. He let out a soft sigh as he nudged Billy with his socked foot to get his attention. The two were lounging on Stu's bed, comfortable in the warm sanctuary of the attic bedroom. While Stu was propped against the headboard, Billy sat cross-legged at the end of the bed. His attention was glued to the screen.

Billy lay with Stu up against the headboard, pillows piled around them to make for comfortable chairs as they watched the old sticker-covered tv. They'd watched many horror films on it and surely more would come. It sat atop the dresser like a crown jewel, the cleanest spot in the entire room.

Stu glanced over at Billy and nudged him insistently with his elbow. "C'mon," he practically whined as he watched Billy blow smoke up at his cracked ceiling.

"Hm?" Billy asked with a slight tilt in Stu's direction.

"Share." Stu whined as he bumped their shoulders together.

Billy blew residual smoke out his nose with a playful smirk, looking at Stu in a way that made the other shudder just slightly. "Why?"

Stu rolled his eyes. "Cuz it's my weed man." He nudged Billy again petulantly. "And my room."

Dark eyes bore into him and gave him a quick once-over. Billy then tilted his head - like Myers, Stu's brain unhelpfully reminded him - before nodding once. "C'mere then." Billy sighed, exasperation evident in his tone.

Before Stu could reach for the blunt held loosely between Billy's fingers, the other just straddled him without a second thought. His mouth ran dry as he watched with wide eyes. "Uh... Billy?" He choked out, trying to hide his shock with a nervous laugh.

"You're the only person who understands me." Billy ignored Stu's shock, taking a slow drag from the blunt before blowing the smoke to the side as a thoughtful look passed over his face. "Why?" He looked troubled, staring at his friends face like he was searching for the reason. Billy had always struggled to connect with other people ever since he was young. Everyone felt distant, far away, like he was the only real thing in this world.

Stu, however, had become an exception to that.

It was like the closer the two became, the realer he felt. Stu had never shown fear at Billy's darkness and instead thrived off it. His own darkness had an overlap with Billy's but it was still different. It kept things interesting between them. Stu would listen with rapt attention as Billy detailed vicious murders he'd fantasized about and it gave him a headrush. It was equal part delightful and terrifying to be seen this deeply.

Stu swallowed hard, saliva cloying in his mouth as he swiped the blunt back. "I- I dunno," he said softly. "'m not in your head." His voice was quiet against the television, the sounds of screaming coming from the tinny speakers of the tv.

"Feels like it though." Billy shot back, flopping back down on the bed with a huff, his white shirt riding up slightly and drawing Stu's eye. "Sometimes I just fuckin' look at ya and you know exactly what I'm thinkin'. Freaks me out." He glared up at the ceiling like it had slighted him somehow.

Stu blinked, a shy smile growing on his face as he took a drag. "You're... welcome?" His words highlighted by the smoke of his exhale.

Billy glared at him but the slight smile on his face kept Stu from squirming under his gaze. "I don't have to fucking... pretend with you," he said softly. "You're not freaked out by me." Which in itself was a rarity for Billy. He was used to wearing a person-suit - masking emotions and feelings to appear normal. He hid away his dark thoughts deep into untouched recesses of his mind. But with Stu, he didn't have to. The other boy didn't shy away from Billy's violence and blank, emotionless stares. He treated Billy, real Billy, like a friend. It felt like he could take off his person suit around Stu. He didn't need a mask to hide behind. The feeling of being seen so real and true was terrifying.

"You're one of the only real people to me." Billy said casually, watching as Stu blew a ring of smoke. He sat up on his hands, watching the lanky boy with a strange look in his eyes. "It's weird. You're weird."

"You're weird," Stu shot back with a laugh. "It's why we get along so well."

Billy blinked at him slowly, similar to how cats did when they trusted you. "Give it." He said, swiping the blunt back without waiting for a response. "C'mere, I wanna try something."

"Try what?" Stu asked curiously.

Smirking, Billy made himself comfortable in Stu's lap yet again. "Open your mouth," he said slowly. "Don't close it till I tell you." He watched Stu with a curious tilt of his head like watching and waiting for a puppy to perform a trick.

Stu's mouth immediately fell open. Obedient, Billy smiled to himself. That was another reason he liked Stu so much: he obeyed. Without question or protest. If Billy wanted something, Stu would do it no matter what. For someone with a god complex, it made Billy dizzy with the power trip.

He took a slow drag from the blunt before leaning closer, his wrists resting on Stu's sweater-clad shoulders and his fingers dangling the blunt aside to avoid burning holes in the pillowcases. Stu's eyebrows shot up but he relaxed as Billy blew smoke into his open mouth, eyes half-lidded as he watched for his reaction.

Stu's eyes fluttered closed as he took a slow, deep breath to inhale the smoke. Billy held gently onto the neckline of his sweater for support and his free hand slid around to hold the back of Stu's head, his fingers grazing the soft, warm skin of his neck. They'd shotgunned before - because of course they had - but this felt different. More intimate.

And, just like with most things Billy did, Stu didn't even flinch when he felt their lips gently connect. He responded almost immediately by sliding his hands along his friends back and holding his waist. They'd gotten high and made out before, they knew this song and dance. Smoke billowed out in soft clouds between their connected lips.

Billy bit back a soft groan as he ran his tongue along Stu's bottom lip. As soon as he was granted access to his mouth, he wasted no time sliding his tongue inside. He explored enthusiastically, running his tongue along sharp teeth and pressing closer against Stu's chest. They kissed like they were dying for it and it made their heads spin in equal measure. Stu held Billy close, subconsciously rocking their hips together and letting out a moan into their sloppy, wet kiss.

When they finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected their lips before falling away, spurring Stu to press a chaste kiss to Billy's lips to brush it away. They both panted from the heavy makeout session and let their foreheads bump together, breathing in the same space.

It gave Billy an idea.

He took a slow drag from the blunt again before passing it to Stu, blowing smoke out with a harsh breath. When Stu took the blunt and blew smoke up at the ceiling to avoid blowing it in Billy's face, he leant forward to bite the side of Stu's neck. Teeth dug into soft skin making Stu hiss but he didn't dare stop Billy, who began biting and sucking red marks, bright and standing out on pale skin.

And Stu really tried to keep quiet. Honest, he did. But his attempts at biting his lip or trying to hide soft moans behind drags of the blunt only resulted in him coughing. When Billy broke skin, he couldn't help the whine he let out at the feeling of the warm bead of blood trailing down the side of his neck.

Billy slapped a hand over Stu's mouth quickly, his eyes glinting with a darkness that was comfortable and familiar for them both. "You're gonna get us caught," he whispered as he licked up the blood, leaving a wet trail behind.

"Then d-don't do shit you know I like, man!" Stu huffed indignantly, squeezing his eyes shut when Billy bit at a soft spot under his ear. "You're not playin' fair."

Billy just rolled his eyes and snorted fondly. He tossed the burnt-down stub aside and gripped the collar of Stu's sweater and pulled him down, letting Stu leer over him with a surprised look on his face. In the soft light of the dimly lit bedroom, shadows danced on Billy's face in a way that made it look like he was wearing a mask on half his face - one part darkness and the other light. And only Stu knew the truth of the masks. He kissed his cheek gently, his chest overflowing with... something. He didn't want to address it right now.

Stu knew Billy hated to give up control like this. He wanted to prove to him that he could be trusted.

He descended upon him like a starving animal, biting at Billy's neck and shoulder viciously as soon as shirt fabric was moved aside just enough for access. Billy had always been more into pain then Stu was, though he was usually into whatever Billy did to him regardless of preference. But listening to him groan at a particularly harsh bite made Stu smirk a little.

As he pressed his knee up between Billy's legs, Stu descended upon his neck once again, biting at the spot where neck met shoulder and feeling the other shudder. Unlike Stu, Billy was completely incapable of keeping his voice down, moans mostly drowned out by the tv. Mostly. Frantic hands fumbled for purchase on Stu's arms as Billy's back bowed up, pressing into the other boys chest with a moan. "Fuck-!" He cried out when Stu ground down, pressing their hips together, and lamenting how too much clothing was in the way.

Stu laughed breathlessly, enchanted by the sight. "Thought you were scared we'd get caught?" He teased, sliding his fingertips under his friends soft white shirt to brush against warmed skin. "Or are ya hopin' we get caught?" His words made Billy shudder, his mouth right by his ear as he spoke. "Want everyone to see the real you?" Stu teased, kissing softly at whatever skin he could reach.

Billy hummed and gave a soft chuckle. "The 'real me,' huh? And what would that be?" He asked with a quirk of his eyebrow, studying Stu with such a smug look it made him want to bite Billy even harder.

Instead of giving a direct answer, Stu just ground against Billy's hips with a soft moan of his own. Billy stammered out a surprised moan, his hands jerking up to grip Stu's houlders, and rocking up helplessly to meet the grinding. "Like this," Stu panted before kissing him deeply. "Jus' like this."

If Stu weren't as close and observant as he was, he'd have missed the soft blush on Billy's cheeks. "I only let you do this to me because you don't question what I want."

"Yeah. But also 'cuz you like me." Stu giggled impishly and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Billy shrugged, tilting his head back to catch his breath. Stu admired his handiwork - light blooms of hickies freckled across shoulders with dark bite marks already growing purple. Billy might scold him for leaving such large marks later but, for now, Stu was pleased at his claim on Billy. Billy, whose hair was ruffled, his clothing askew, and his pupils blown wide. Trusting. Trusting Stu, of all people.

God, he was everything.

"You're so pretty." Stu said gently, as though the words were too precious to even be said aloud. Despite the softness to his tone, it felt like they echoed loudly in the space of his bedroom, even louder than Laurie Strode's screams still coming from the tv.

Billy's eyes widened in surprise and Stu felt a sharp jolt shoot down his spine as he heard his own words hang heavy in the air. Fuck, he thought. God. Fucking. Damnit.

"What did you say?" Billy asked, mouth agape.

"Nothing!" Stu said quickly, his heart pounding as he slid down his friends body. They'd fooled around before - just two guys getting off, they'd insisted - so he knew the general itinerary of their fooling around. He slid the soft fabric of Billy's shirt up more, bunching around his waist more to work on unbuttoning his jeans. He shoved the offending garment down and let Billy sit up just long enough to pull his jeans all the way off, tossing them to the floor to join the piles.

"Shit-!" Billy gasped with relief when Stu finally freed his cock from the confines of his boxers, clenching his teeth as though hoping to literally bite back his moans. "Stu," he panted desperately.

Stu liked this part the best. Loved being able to just turn his brain off and give Billy whatever he wanted. Because that was also what he wanted. He liked getting Billy off more than he liked getting off himself, which was far different from girlfriends he'd previously had.

Billy was different. More important.

"You- you said I was pretty," Billy chuckled, cutting himself off with a surprised moan when Stu took his cock in his mouth effortlessly. Hands quickly found their way into messy hair as Billy tried to resist the urge to fuck his mouth. Which he was very prone to doing.

Stu hummed noncommittally, too focused on taking Billy up to the base, letting his cock hit the back of his throat. He'd gotten good at this. They did this often enough that it wasn't exactly hard to practice. He relished in the soft sounds he managed to pull from Billy, feeling the way his muscles spasmed under his gentle touches as he began to bob his head.

He knew what he liked and could play Billy beautifully, running his tongue along the underside of his cock with expertise. Smugly, Stu felt a surge of confidence that Sidney couldn't do this the way he did. She didn't get this, didn't get to listen to Billy clamp his hand over his mouth to muffle noises, hoping to mask them under the sounds of a slasher movie. She didn't get to kiss Billy the way he did, didn't see him the way he did.

He felt pride at that. That he could be that safe person.

"You think," Billy panted as he rocked his hips up slightly into the soft wet heat of his best friends mouth, "You think I'm pretty." His tone was almost accusatory though Stu could hear the underlying surprise in his words.

There wasn't any point in lying. Stu made an affirming nod as he pulled off, stroking his cock lazily with his hand. "Thought you knew that," he said, almost shy.

A few months ago, the first time the two of them messed around, Stu had actually been the one to suggest "lending a hand," so to speak. They'd been watching Friday the 13th when Billy ranted about Sidney not putting out. So Stu offered. At first, Billy assumed he'd been joking. Right up until he got on his knees and made Billy see stars.

Thus began their bad habit of fooling around behind their girlfriend's backs.

Truthfully, Stu didn't really love Tatum anyways. She was nice, playful, and a great girl. Their synergy had people looking enviously at them, like they had it made. Plus she was gorgeous, objectively speaking. He liked Tatum but exclusively as a friend. And, unlike Billy, he had no interest in seeing his own soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend dead.

But he liked Billy. Way more than he ought to.

They didn't stop fooling around though. Not when they'd almost been caught by Stu's dad, not when Billy had pulled him into the locker room at school to make out in the showers, and certainly not when they'd snuck away at a baseball game to get handsy under the bleachers with their girlfriends seated just overhead.

It was risky. That was part of the fun for them both - the thrill of almost being caught, the adrenaline of it. But Stu felt it was slowly turning into just secretly dating versus two guys just having sex. They hung out alone more, even if they didn't fool around, and it started feeling more like dates. It felt like there was an attachment there. At least, Stu felt there was.

And wasn't that just sad.

Billy's eyes softened slightly and Stu's heart pounded in his chest. He quickly stuffed it down and refocused on the task at hand, deepthroating his boyfriend partner friends cock again, zoning out as he bobbed his head again.

"Fuck, lemme fuck your face, please." Billy begged, which made Stu freeze. Billy didn't beg. Ever. But, of course, he obliged, nodding quickly and letting him set the pace. He liked this part especially. Giving Billy what he wanted was intoxicating and something Stu had grown addicted to.

"Fuck, Stu," Billy panted as he took him to the back of his throat, "You're too fuckin' good at this. Feels-!"

Stu just hummed around him, hollowing his cheeks as he let himself be used. Truth be told, he liked doing this. He liked being the reason Billy felt good. It felt liberating. Like, in some way, he was telling the truth about himself.

That he liked guys. Always had.

Billy didn't seem aware of any of the internal battle Stu was having, too focused on fucking his friend's face with increasing need. Finally, he let out an embarrassingly loud moan, tensing as he came hard. Stu focused on swallowing, holding Billy's hips to keep him from squirming too much. When he finally pulled off - uncaring of his own painfully hard problem in his jeans - he stumbled at the wide smile Billy gave him.

"You're not so bad yourself," he chuckled, sitting up with that cocky smirk on his face that never failed to make Stu blush like a schoolgirl. "You want a hand?" Billy asked, fingers already going for the button of his jeans.

Stu swallowed hard and nodded, trying to not seem too excited as he let Billy push him backwards onto the bed, straddling him. It was almost embarrassing, how badly he wanted his friend.

Maybe, when their plan succeeds, there was a chance they could work it out...

[hystixia]

SHAMEFUL ACTIVITY.

FEATURING 、JEFF THE KILLER X F!READER

WARNINGS 、NONCON, DRUGGING, PUBLIC SEX, ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION, MENTIONS OF WEED, PARTYING, BLOOD, SLIGHT CUTTING, DEGRADATION, KNIFEPLAY, CHOKING, SLIGHT BREATHPLAY, CREAMPIE, THREATS OF KILLING, KIDNAPPING

You knew it was a bad idea to come to this damn party before even getting dressed up for it and yet here you were, in a cramped hallway just trying to find somewhere you could actually breathe and not inhale the scent of weed or alcohol on someone’s breath. Your heels pained your poor feet as you took steps down the hall, lightly shoving drunken fools out of the way with quiet huffs before the sight of the backdoor to this damn house came into view. If you could go back in time and not come here alone or at all, you would in a heartbeat.

You stumble through the crowded kitchen with a groan, stepping over half filled and spilled cups of all sorts of drinks before pushing the backdoor open and taking a breath of fresh air. The cool air and light breeze that passes by leaves goosebumps rising along your exposed arms and legs as you wrap your arms around your waist in a feeble attempt at staying warm and sigh contently. It was quiet, as quiet as it was going to get with the muffled sounds of the bass in songs playing inside of the house booming and making the house practically vibrate as people cheered and hollered inside. You close your eyes and relax your shoulders, taking in each moment you had to yourself with a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You don’t even notice anyone’s there until a chuckle rings out and your eyes shoot open at the sheer deepness of the voice and you become increasingly aware of your surroundings as your heart skips a beat momentarily.

“Enjoying yourself?” A rough voice speaks out and you turn to look off to your side only to realize you’re practically face to face with a hooded male. A really tall and well built male at that. A mask hides the lower half of his face as he gives you a teasing look, his hands rest in the pockets of his black jeans and he faces the dark woods ahead of you both. “Shouldn’t you be inside partying like the rest of ‘em?”

Where the hell did this guy come from?

You shake your head, your lips turning down into a small frown at the mere mention of joining in on that disaster occurring inside. “Not really, I don’t go to these sort of things that often.”

“You don’t say?” There’s a hint of playfulness in his tone as he raises a brow at you before shrugging. “Partying ‘til you’re drunk out of your mind isn’t everyone’s type’ve thing.”

You hum in response, not really keen on keeping a conversation with the stranger. Your hands squeeze at your sides as nervousness bubbles in your stomach and leaves you feeling rather paranoid about the man’s intentions. You didn’t like this guy one bit, something about him was unnerving and you knew you didn’t want to be here too long or alone with some guy you didn’t know. Anxious thoughts about the worse situations happening if you stayed here any longer flooded your mind but his voice is quick to pull you out of that blackhole of panicky ideas and speculations.

“Wanna drink?” He suggests, hands coming out of his pockets as he crosses his arms over his chest and tucks his hands into his armpits as he leans against the side of the house. He’s really fucking tall and practically looms over you even if he’s a few steps away but the way he’s looking at you is almost unsettling and makes you feel small and vulnerable under his gaze. “‘s not alcohol if that’s what you’re thinking.”

You try to gulp down your worry. Surely he wasn’t so bad right? You’re just anxious from being overwhelmed by so many things at once. He hasn’t even advanced onto you like a majority of the dickheads inside, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give the mysterious man with an attractive voice a chance, right? Who were you kidding, it wasn’t even a chance it was just a drink offer before you finally dipped from this party and went home for the night. You might as well try to enjoy the night while it lasts.

You breathe out a small laugh, offering a nervous smile, “As long as it isn’t alcohol.”

He smirks but it’s hard to notice due to that mask being in the way. The only signs that he is making an expression is the way his eyes seem to crinkle slightly as he narrows them a bit as if teasing you somehow. You wonder what he looks like under the mask for a moment. The dark lighting of the night sky isn’t much help at even seeing his eyes or the dark hair that peeks out from under his white hood. Even the pale moonlight above doesn’t help you learn more about this man’s appearance but the mystery behind him seems to make you even more curious.

He steps inside after saying he’d be back and shortly afterwards he comes back out with two plastic cups in his hands, handing one to you that’s holding a transparent drink inside with a few ice cubes swirling in the liquid as the cup shifts in your hold.

“Water.” He says, gesturing towards the cup in your hand before turning away from you and looking off to the side as he tugs the mask down and takes a sip from his own cup. A part of you wanted to sneak a peek of his face but the other part of you wanted to respect his privacy and so you refrained from trying to get a good look at him. Maybe he was insecure about his face so he hid it from view of others including himself? It wasn’t rare to see someone wearing a mask nowadays anyways and part of you could understand if that were the reason behind him wearing the mask.

You look down at your own cup and think about it for a moment, lips resting against the rim of the plastic cup before you ultimately think ‘fuck it, it’s water.’ and take a sip. You’re greeted by the cold liquid that holds little to no taste to it. He didn’t lie about it being water.. maybe you really were just paranoid after all.

He’s watching you when you aren’t aware, cold ice blue eyes staring intensely at your face as you take generous sips from the red plastic cup in your hands. You’re warming up to him whether it was a conscious effort on your part or not. He can tell you’ve grown more comfortable by how much more relaxed you’re behaving now than when he had first spoken to you. You’re so blind to his advances on you it’s laughable. Perhaps the other dumbasses in the house were too straightforward and didn’t plan their advances on you beforehand. He’s used to this though. He knows how to get someone to warm up and feel drawn to him without realizing what they’re truly getting themselves into.

Your thoughts become a blur shortly after finishing the drink. When did you exactly finish it? You don’t remember. It’s so foggy all of a sudden as you lean against the wall for support while your knees buckle beneath you and your eyes fail to focus on anything around you.

What was happening right now? Where even are you?

“Aw, too strong?” A voice coos lowly by your ear, warm breath fanning over your face and you hear a chuckle ring out and echo into the woods in front of you as you struggle to stand against the wall. Who was talking to you? Your head feels too fuzzy. “Poor thing, can’t even think straight, can you?”

Strong arms grab you by the waist, your nose scrunching up as your brows furrow. Your small hands fail to push against the broad chest of whoever is grabbing you, an upset sound falling past your lips as your head lolls forward against the stranger’s torso. Another laugh greets your ears but it sends a chill down your spine when you hear the manic edge to it.

Your vision is almost cross eyed and everything seems so slow but fast at the same time. Struggling is pointless, your body feels so fucking tired you just want to sleep. Being pressed against rough bark on a tree pulls you out of your nearing unconsciousness though. When were you moved? Where is the house you were just at?

“Don’t pass out on me,” A voice speaks behind you, cold hands pulling your arms behind your back and keeping them there while one hand slips down to pull your hips back as you struggle to stand correctly. “haven’t even played with you yet.”

Large and cold hands grab at the fabric of the skirt you had on, flipping it up as the male stares right at your ass making you squirm uncomfortably yet still in that foggy haze.

Your face goes slack against the tree and your arms relax against his tight grip that’s sure to leave bruises but you’re too disoriented to say anything about the pain tingling where his hold stays.

His free hand slides over the round of your ass, squeezing wherever he chooses and likes before grabbing at the hem of your panties and beginning to tug them down with growing impatience. That’s when your eyes widen and your body stiffens while alarms go off in your head.

You pull away from him, his loosening grip on your arms growing tighter than before and it’s enough to have you reacting to the pain as a yelp leaves your throat and you try to pull away from him again. Your fingers balling into fists as you try to get out of his grip but he simply cackles maniacally at your attempts and it’s a sound you don’t want to hear ever again for the rest of your lifetime.

“Think you can run away now, sweetheart?” You recognize his voice now, the fucker that gave you the drink! He fucking drugged you! And just as quickly as you had felt that surge of energy it’s gone again and your mind slows down and you’re pulled back tight against his chest. Something cold rests against your throat now and it feels uncomfortable but you can’t form words only a small huff leaves you before you’re being pressed against the tree again with that object tight against your throat.

“If you move again, I won’t hesitate to cut that pretty throat open.” He hisses by your ear, the anger radiating off this man is terrifying now and if you were coherent you’d be begging for your life but you’re not so with half lidded eyes you turn your head and stare back at him as he hastily rips your underwear off your legs. A whine of protest bubbles in your throat but you don’t make a sound as he spreads your legs and makes sure you’re secure in his grip before pulling down the dark mask covering his lower face.

You wished he had kept it on before violating you.

You take back the thoughts of him being attractive under that mask, it was the only thing making him look attractive to begin with. The nasty scars adorning his cheeks make you feel nauseous and the crazed look he gives you is a silent warning. You swallow and feel that cold object against your throat again when it clicks.

He’s got a knife to your throat. He’s going to kill you after this.

Tears cloud your already unfocused vision as pain tears through your lower body up to your chest that tightens as you fight back a scream at the excruciating pain. He hadn’t even warmed you up to it? That was cruel but how could you think so logically about a guy that’s willing to drug you to get what he wants.

“Shit, you’re tight. Relax f’me, yeah?” He groans by your ear, leaning down to rest his forehead against your shoulder as he struggles to push his length into your tight and hot pussy. He should’ve slipped something else in that drink, it would’ve help way more than putting you on the brink of passing out.

His hand comes around to flick at your clit and that gets a sound from you that he likes to hear. No more uncomfortable noises or whines of protest. Only the soft sound of you warming up to his touch as your walls flutter around him struggling to accommodate to the intrusion of his thick cock.

“There you go, doll,” He breathes in your scent, intoxicating as he sighs and moves to stand back straight and stares down at where your needy cunt tightly sucks him in before thrusting forward hard leaving all his length to be stuffed completely inside you. “Wasn’t so hard, right?”

You whimper against the rough bark of the tree, fingers digging into the palms of your hand as the knife presses dangerously into your throat with each experimental thrust he does and you hate how it makes heat pool in your lower belly, how when his blunt head presses against your cervix it makes your mouth water and your knees buckle beneath you.

He builds up a pace, rough and almost too fast for you to keep up. A moan that you tried to swallow down slipping past your lips when he rubs against a gummy spot that has stars clouding your vision and tingles rolling down your body in waves.

“Right there? Is that your spot, doll?” He’s teasing, nudging the knife against your neck with a wide grin you can’t see before he’s ramming his dick into that spot only and it’s good he did it, the sounds that leave you repeatedly are addicting to listen to he can’t get enough of you.

“You’re best like this,” He releases the grip he had on your arms, enjoying the way he sees red marks against the poor skin as he grabs at your hip. “Just obediently taking my cock like the dirty whore you are.”

Your eyes roll back into your head as he pounds into your gummy walls, you can feel the sticky coat of your arousal smeared against your thighs and the base of his cock as you rock against the tree trying to muffle your loud whimpers and moans the best you could.

“You like that don’t you? When I call you a whore,” Your walls squeeze him tight and he laughs as he grabs your plush hip tighter. “Such a slut f’my cock, hm? Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

A mumble of what he can only assume is the closes thing to a needy ‘yes’ turns his grin into a smirk. Your velvety walls spasm around him and usually by this point he’s already cumming and killing off whatever is left of the poor drugged out victim, but the way your pussy has him in a trance keeps him from doing so to you and leaves him dragging this out longer than he would any other time.

“It’s like you were fucking made for me, doll.” He hisses out between gritted teeth. Something warm trickles down your neck with a sting and you realize his knife has dug into your skin, cutting it just enough to draw blood. You whimper at the intense wave of nausea overwhelming you as he digs his fingers into your soft skin and his cock drills into your soppy cunt.

“Fuck! haah, ‘s too much..” You slur, eyes dropping close as you let all your weight lean into the tree, too weak to hold yourself up and it feels like the world is spinning and churning just like your insides. His pace hurts and you swear you’re gonna bleed down there and be left raw soon if he doesn’t slow down but you’re choking on your own moans and can’t protest against him.

“Too much?” He echos, fake concern laced in his voice before he’s moving his blade from your throat finally seeing the fresh red color that’s staining the newly cleaned metal and he lets out a low growl as he wraps his hand around your throat and presses the knife to your arched back. “You’ll take what I give you, slut.”

The knife digs into your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt but it’s not enough to cause alarming pain, it’s merely a prick that occurs with each thrust into you.

His large hand around your throat squeezes tight enough to close off your airway completely, silent gasps for air leaving you as your trembling hands grab at his forearm and wrist. Tears cling to your lashes and your lungs scream at you to take a breath right before he loosens his grip a few seconds afterwards. He lifts you back and forces your head to turn and face into a different direction with tears threatening to fall down your face.

“Look at ‘em,” He whispers by your ear, never stopping his brutal thrusts that bump your sensitive cervix. Your eyes struggle to not roll back as you train your gaze on whatever was in the distance, eventually seeing the blurry outline of a house a little ways away from you.

The house that damn party was being hosted at.

Desperation clashes with the warm feeling of being stuffed full repeatedly in your stomach and tears freely roll down your cheeks at the sight of four people looking around for something or someone. You hope they’re looking for you, even though you don’t recognize them. The idea makes your chest tighten at the sight of potential help being just out of your reach.

The male laughs above you, squeezing at your neck again as your hands still cling to his wrist more for support than to pull him away now.

“They’re lookin’ for you.. Such a pretty little thing you are. S’shame you’ll never see them again, y’know.” He lets a sinister chuckle rumble through his chest and a growing knot in your lower belly begins to feel overwhelmingly tight.

“Gonna cum? Really?” He’s mocking with a smirk on his scarred face, gripping your pretty throat just a little tighter as he feels your pulse thump wildly against his finger. “You’re a real whore, getting turned on by this.”

You whine out a choked protest that’s half a sobbing beg but you don’t know what you’re begging for at this point as your mind clouds over with just him and his thick length that rams into your sticky walls.

He releases your neck and reaches down to rub at your puffy clit, rolling rough circles onto the poor thing causing a half silent yelp to escape you. It’s so much, too much at once and you can feel his dick twitch inside of you when your walls flutter around him.

“Gonna ruin this pussy, g’na fill you up an’ keep you full so everyone knows who ya belong to,” His thrusts have grown a bit out of rhythm and he groans from above you, your hands grabbing at the tree in front of you for support as he uses you like a fucking fleshlight.

“Don’t cum cuz of this, doll.” He laughs at the way your moans raise in pitch and how breathy you just got as he continues to circle your sensitive bundle of nerves, your climax growing closer by the second and you want to stop him so you don’t reach that heavenly peak but it’s just too good. You don’t want it to stop, you don’t want any of it to end and you’re disgusted with yourself.

He leans down over your shoulder, hot breath fanning over the shell your ear. “If you fuckin’ cum you’ll never make it outta here.” He whispers lowly, breathing ragged as his hips stutter. He’s close. “If you— ngh, cum around my cock you’ll never see the light of day again, doll.”

You whisper out ‘no’s in protest, sobbing against the rough bark that irritates and pokes at your skin. His threats scare the logical part of your brain that screams at you to start fighting back but the incoherent and aroused part of you is begging for more, more, more.

Your walls spasm and flutter as you cream around him, his hips stilling as warmth fills you up and he dumps his load into your cunt. A soft whine leaves your hoarse throat while he pants over your trembling form that struggles to stay upright even with his hands holding you by your hips.

One thing was for certain in the front of his mind; He was never going to let you go after this.

“Good little slut.” He pants, leaning back until he’s pulling out and staring down at the mess he left behind, his claim of your body. He smirks and slides two digits up and down your drooling slit as you bite the inside of your cheek over the sting of overstimulation. He pushes the mixture that leaked out back into your quivering hole with a satisfied hum before pulling your skirt back down and over your ass before fixing his jeans.

He grabs your arm and pulls you into his chest before lifting you up and over his shoulder like a sack with little to no effort needed. He grins sinisterly to himself as his mind races with all the plans he has in store for a pretty little doll like you to keep all for himself. Well, until he grows bored of you at least.

The sight of the house grows farther as he walks deeper into the woods, you lift your head and you raise a shaky hand up reaching for the house and the very distant people still searching around the backyard, the flashlight of their phone waving around but never coming anywhere near you. They probably never assumed you’d go out into the woods at a time like this. Oh if only they’d just check in case of that possibility and then save you.

“I told you, you’d never see them again.” Your head falls limp against his shoulder blade and there’s no longer a sparkle in your eyes as you stare past the barely visible trees and accept your fate with one last tear that falls to the ground covered in leaves.

“You’re going to be such a good toy for me aren’t you, doll?” It isn’t a question, it’s an expectance that you obey him or bad things would come.

He squeezes your thigh as the leaves crunch under his boots. “‘m Jeff by the way. Don’t bother telling me your name, I don’t care to know it.”