#krueger fanfiction

[velvet-paradox]

Balance

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: Sebastian Krueger x Female reader Summary: your fuck buddy takes you in the shower. Length: Medium Tagging: @synnersaint @shyjellyfish26 @kosmokenny @butterscotch-babie @cesneo @deaddainish @allkot @jacket-slut99 @hers-area @1-fuzzy-squirrels @hailmesuckers @ella-bella-ella @spookylilbay @t6ylors @salamanderstuff @hh-spnxx @akii1833 @malyshka-3 @etoilebleue @gremlingottoosilly @talktothemoon2 Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, strong language, explicit content, established relationship, voyeurisms (ya'll are fucking in a shower so that counts), unprotected p in v, swallowing, cum eating, detailed smut.

ENJOY!!!

He wasn't a creepy by any means, he was more observant; a fly on the wall, curious in nature. Intrusive thoughts lead to intrusive visions and the more he sat and dwelled on them the more obsessed he'd become. These feelings were not on his radar. There was no expectation, no limits, no planned process. Fly by the seat of his pants, devil may care, play things but ear but then he happened to meet you. And all that flew right out the fucking window.

Uh oh.

This was new, very new territory for the man. He'd been requested, specifically by a man named captain John Price of the 141. He'd be on retainer, handsomely paid, taken care of with the highest respect. With the sum he'd been offered who was he to turn it down? A little stint, all expenses paid as well, was a dream. As he thought of where he'd vacation after you had stepped into the frame. Shattered what resolve he'd had, the walls he'd neatly laid by hand, trauma after trauma.

You touched your ear, earrings dangling in the light and handed Price a neat stack of color coded folders one early afternoon. You looked at him. Sebastian thought you'd be nervous, skittish, afraid even by his head to toe covering, sitting widely at the back of the briefing room, taking up as much space as he needed. But you didn't. He'd later found out why.

He'd heard the name König once or twice in passing, a monster, a thief in the night, the boogeyman. If you weren't scared of König then there's no way you'd be scared of him. And you weren't. You were sweet on him just as he was to you. If he wasn't careful you'd give him a toothache.

It started with casual pleasantries.

Good morning, Krueger.

Gut Morgen my dear.

Two sugars, right?

No pickles.

You fell asleep once with your head against his bicep, exhausted, wiped out. Your head was so small in comparison to his arm, he could crush you like a bug. He'd done so with enemies of the past. He just looked down at you with a smile behind his head covering, blushing a little as you shifted deeper into his side.

You were never in field. Kept safe on base or at the rendezvous point. Out of sight, out of harm and yet even though you were never with him on the battlefield, you were on his mind. Maybe you felt it. Some telekinesis going on but as he laid low, out of harms way on a rooftop in the scorching Sahara, his comms crackled to life.

"Come in Krueger, what's your location?"

"Rooftop. Ten clicks south of the point, target inbound."

"Good. Ghost and Sergeant soap are on their way, wait for my go ahead before clearing the building."

"Roger that."

"Hey Sebastian?"

The sound of his birth name, coming from your mouth made him suddenly hyper aware and stiff. You only ever called him Krueger and it was in that very moment, that dusty hot second that he realized you'd canceled everyone else out, this was a one on one channel.

Alone.

"Ja?"

"You get this job done and make it back to base in one piece," your voice paused and returned momentarily with a smile he could only imagine. "I'll let you buy me dinner."

He'd never gotten a job done quicker than that. No wasted ammo, no casualties. His black heart was full and pumping when he boarded the helo, shoving their prisoner to the wall, seatbelt maybe a little too tight but for good reason, keep him for safe travel and questioning. He had a pep in his step and a grin on his face the whole time.

No one suspected a thing.

You were too cool, too aloof and breezy to let anything unsavory exist. He wondered how did it. How you could be so vulnerable, docile and submissive behind closed doors but be this calm outside of them. Balance, he supposed.

He watched you chat with Gaz, laughing at one of his many told jokes, one he'd heard a handful of times since joining the company. He could only muse how many times you must've heard it.

Kreuger leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, listening but not paying any attention oh no. His sole attention was on you. How you smiled, the way you gently touched his Kyle's shoulder, the way your eyes glinted in the awful florescent lighting. The curve of your mouth, the tilt of your hip. The way your face changed when you caught him watching you.

You were trouble.

A brat.

The way you just so happen to let slip that you'd been needing a long hot shower after this exhausting week let him know your next move. Which meant Sebastian knew his.

It wasn't too long after departure did he venture out of his temporary quarters. A plain grey dresser and matching desk, walk in closet that was mostly bare save for a few key items and his toiletries, a decent king sized bed that he'd fucked you on all four corners of. The first of many late nights and bj's were had on those crisp sheets.

He waited until the rookies had their lights out checks before he slipped out of his room, a heavy towel around his bare shoulders, his tattoos and scars on display as he made his way down to the showers. Luckily the staff had their own private showers, no sharing or horseplay in there. There were at least stalls and cubicles for safety and privacy. Perfect. Krueger made sure the coast was clear before slipping into the room. The sound of a powerful shower head filled the space, warm steam and the scent of your body wash cloaked him in perverse glee. He double locked the door, holding onto the ends of his towel around his shoulders, Sebastian strutted through the locker room. He could hear you humming, coming around one of the corners he caught you with your face dripping with water, the palms of your hands at your eyes.

"Well what have we here?"

His thick accent made you jump and cover your not so private parts. You twisted and turned you're body to shield yourself.

"Krueger! You scared me you little perv, you're not supposed to be in here."

He laughed at your display, still soapy and slick. "I am not Krueger when we are alone, remember? Or… does my little toy need some reminding?"

"Sebastian!"

"What?"

"You can't… what if someone else is in here?"

"There isn't."

"How do you know?"

"Hallo!!??" He shouted, cupping around his mouth, he smiled in silence. "See? It's just you, me and the terrible water pressure."

You scoffed at that.

"Well… are you going to finish cleaning up or what?"

"With you watching?"

"Ja. Why not?"

"I feel like a goldfish." You admitted, still keeping some of your dignity which Krueger thought was cute.

"My dear, I have seen you much more compromising positions than simply bathing."

"That's not the point." You stuttered and looked down at your toes. "Should I perhaps join you then, schatzi? Would that be better?"

The water from your lashes streaked down your cheeks when you smiled and held out your soapy loofah. "Much."

….

He'd said it plenty of times before; you never looked better but each time it was a lie for the next time he got you alone. The suds of soap on your already soft and wet skin glistened in the low light, dripping down your arms, your legs, how the soap clung to your collarbones.

Beautiful.

Krueger removed his face covering, his belly flipped when you eyes him up and down as he stepped out of his sweats, kicking them aside along with his towel. Your traveling eyes only furthered his confidence as he came into your shower cubicle.

His wingspan was enough to block you in the tight quarters, the water rushed over your curves as you backed up, letting him into the space. His mind played tricks and thought intrusively that he could bust down these bricks like cardboard at the look you were giving him just then.

"Is this better, mein schatz?"

"Come closer." You breathed and moved around the shower, keeping your eyes locked on his as it was his turn to stand underneath the water. It splashed and dribbled down his body, his muscles warming in its delicate embrace.

Your hands looked so small whenever you touched him, going over his abdomen with the soapy loofah. He didn't mind that he'd be smelling like mango and shea. He found it pleasing, reminded him of you and suddenly the thought of having to buy a bottle of the stuff to occupy his toiletries once he left this place made him a little somber.

He didn't want to leave you.

The big killing man had a soft spot for you.

Sure, the others gave him shit for following you around like you had some invisible leash around his neck, he'd break fingers and backs of any of your enemies if given the lucky chance. He did so with ease because he was the one to warm your bed, make you laugh and hold you close.

Better to just fuck it out, his feelings could sort themselves down as they circled down the drain.

Your begging made him harder, you both knew his cock fit but to hear you beg for it, plead for him to give it to you made him feral. He grabbed your hip hard and placed your foot on the soap dish partition as he leaned forward, teasing you both as he tapped the head of his cock against your clit, slipping the shaft between your folds. He didn't press in right away, making you arch and pull him closer with a hand on the nape of his neck.

"Make it fit, Sebastian. Make it fit. Stretch me out." You whined, watching him rock his cock up against your folds, coating him with your arousal.

"That's what you want, hmm? Are you worried it won't?" Krueger teased, smiling at your focused face.

"I just…I just want it in me," you batted your lashes then, inching your pussy forward, begging for a little more friction, something only his cock could seem to reach. "I need you."

"Ah, and not just five minutes ago you were shooing me out of here, no? Now look at you, looking to get fucked in the showers by a visiting war criminal."

"Are you trying to turn me on even more?" Your giggle melted into a satisfied moan when he stuffed himself inside you. Thick, rock hard pulsing muscle sinking in deeper. You rested your head on his shoulder the closer he got.

"Oh fuck. That's it."

"This what you wanted, my dear? How quickly you fold for me, ja? How quickly your resolve leaves your body once you are full of me."

Krueger taunted, circling his hips as he held your ankle on the soap dish. His other hand came up to cup your breast as he really started to move and fuck you.

It was so hot and dirty, soap slick skin, sloppy wet kisses caught in between. You licked inside his mouth, your nails scratching down his back. You matched his enthusiasm, moving in unison.

Krueger planted his feet along the slick floor, grunting your name, panting out little phrases.

"Good girl."

"Keep it coming, baby. That's it."

"Good job baby, good job taking it all in."

"Ohhh you are really trying to milk my cock, hmmm? Go on then, squeeze me, squeeze it all out."

You sunk your teeth into his shoulder, keening and begging for more. The grey cloud of leaving you, this moment, this kind of sex crept around his shoulders. He hated it, shaking his head, wetting his face under the water.

"It's so good. You're so good," you cooed, petting his face and staring blissfully into his eyes. "So so good to me."

Krueger would be lying if your admittance didn't steal his breath. How you looked, in general and the way you looked at him like he was everything. Some precious jewel, a forbidden item. He licked his lips and kissed you hard, holding you somehow closer as his cock brushed up deep, nudging a spot inside your cunt that drove you wild. You bit his tongue.

"Oh shit, do that again! Fuck that's good."

"Ja, you like that? Like how I fit so perfectly in your perfect little cunt," Sebastian chuckled as you nodded frantically. "Wish I could take you with me. Keep you like trinket. Fuck, clench around me."

"I am." You moaned.

Sebastian paused, lifting your chin from his shoulder, cupping your cheek. He blinked rapidly.

"I put in a transfer."

"What? Why?"

"Why not? I'm not even from here!"

He gave you sideways look, brows coming together, broken pieces of him were being molded together, weaved together with whatever witchcraft you had. He would never get enough.

"Fuck yes." Krueger kissed you again, sweeter than the last but there was more feeling behind it. "You're mine. All mine now."

Your sobs for more boosted his already incredibly high ego, making him fuck you faster, made him feral with desire as he pinched your nipples, bit the side of your neck, groaned almost pathetically into your ear, licked the shell of it. He called you every beautiful word he knew, huffing when you sang his name.

"Fuck I'm… it's coming, I'm coming, Make me cum, please! I need it, I need it so badly. I'm gonna' cum so fucking hard, don't stop don't stop don't--"

"Atta' girl, there's my girl, Moan it out baby, let me hear it. Let me know how good you feel right now." Krueger sighed when you responded in kind, whining and throbbing your release around him. He wasn't going to last much longer either, everything felt so decadent and warm and safe.

Sebastian pulled out, fucking his fist instead but lost his balance as you suddenly dropped down to your knees, your hot mouth on his cock, tasting yourself along with his pre-cum made him groan. His breath hiccupped the deeper you took him down your throat.

"Fuck… that's it baby, good God you're so good at taking cock. Doesn't matter which hole. Swallow it down, that's it. Be a good girl, fuck… swallow it all down. It's coming baby, get that pretty mouth ready for me. I can't---I'm coming. Here it comes baby."

You looked like a goddess down there, swallowing his load, gulping it down. You barely showed him your empty mouth before he hauled your ass back up to your feet, crushing you into a sudsy embrace. He kissed you again, tasting everything.

"You are everything to me." He confessed.

"That's why I'm coming with you. Where you go, I go."

He'd figure something out, he thought as the water began to chill. Mixing business with pleasure was always a toss up, could make for a shaky foundation but that's the thing with balance.

[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

Next

Masterlist

[opossum-that-serves-cunt]

stockholm syndrome being a "rare psychological disorder" is some bullshit because I feel like it's very natural to watch a horror film and want to fuck him.

[sold2vlaykz]

YOU

What kind of partners I think each slasher would have!

Michael Myers

Someone mature yet naive. Michael only kills people who pose as threats, or that could potentially get in his way.

I think he’d likely go for someone who’s mature enough to be a natural adult but naive enough to believe that they could change him.

Jason Voorhees

Christian nature lover, it just seems to be in his character. Especially with his background, a soft person who has a soft spot for natures creatures.

He’d love a sympathetic person, someone who’s emotionally mature enough to understand why he does what he does but has enough morals to know it’s wrong despite.

He’d love someone who he thinks would’ve saved him when he was drowning or at least tried to be his friend.

Gabriel may

An outcast, someone’s who’s likely been abused or neglected, in wards etc. Gabriel seems like the type of man to want someone he can relate too.

Someone who understands his shaky view of life, someone who has morals but doesn’t try to discourage what he does it try to get him to stop because they understand.

Jacob Goodnight

A christian woman, someone who dresses modest and reads books. Respectful and kind someone that his mother would’ve been at least decently fond of.

Bubba sawyer

A farmer or a gardener. Or just someone sweet in general. Someone who manages to befriend his family and doesn’t seem to pose a threat or want to harm him.

Someone who doesn’t look down on his deformity or cannibalistic family.

Art the clown

Someone completely deranged, mentally unstable and psychotic. Gothic, satanic or atheist. Someone who helps him in his crime, or kills.

The Babadook

A soft mother figure almost, an insect enthusiast.

Chucky

A psychopath or sociopath, he’d date crazy but not someone who’s totally batshit insane. Someone with attachment issues based on how he deals with people who want to leave him.

Vincent Sinclair

Artist, or an art enthusiast. Someone with a traumatic past or a slight psychical deformity. More of a trauma bonding relationship.

Bo Sinclair

City girl, someone who tends to wear revealing clothes with a snarky attitude. A fighter, or just a rough handed/strong woman.

Lester Sinclair

A hunter or a foodie. He’d likely just go line up at a food truck and fall in love with the person working there.

Freddy Krueger

A tough snarky woman, someone who has a short attitude and doesn’t know how to lucid dream. Someone shorter than him.

Patrick Bateman

Someone slightly innocent, an airhead. Someone with a sense of humor who interest defer from his.

Dominic

Someone feminine, someone who’s empathetic and helps others often. Likely someone who volunteers at shelters of just a genuine kind person who has made mistakes.

Hannibal

Someone highly intellectual. Understanding and knows kinesics (Body language.)

Billy Loomis

Someone who has the same aesthetic as him, a horror fanatic, a true crime fan.

Billy Lenz

Someone who’s very hyper sexual and can deal with his sex depravity.

Harry warden

Someone who’s self reserved, respects rules, doesn’t wear too much revealing clothing, introverted.

Norman bates

Someone bold or not shy to speak their mind, someone who’s outgoing and very friendly. Typically someone with a flirtatious demeanor.

Pyramid head

Someone with a lot of unresolved trauma, someone who’s introverted, self reserved, and delusional.

ROB ZOMBIE Michael Myers

Introvert, someone strong or takes on the same personality as his mother. Independent, and younger than him.

[konigsblog]

cw: kidnapping/yandere, dark content, dead dove: do not eat.

thinking about how envious kidnapper-krueger is because you favour your other kidnapper, könig.

könig is so gentle and tender with you, knowing this is new to you, fresh to this environment. when you're crying hysterically after krueger decided to scare you with graphic images, telling you to behave, otherwise you'd be slapped around, you fled from office, begging könig to hold you while you sobbed.

of course, könig and krueger are friends, lifelong friends. but, he can't help but feel ashamed of krueger's cruel taunting; making you sob to break you down, so he can build you back up to fit his ideal standards of obedience, respect and behaviour.

oh, engel, your poor cheeks, shining with your tears while you shake and tremble against könig, krueger coming down and grinning from afar, while könig tries to convince you to tell him what's got you all upset.

könig knows him all too well, yelling and cursing at him in german while cupping the back of your head, kissing your forehead and offering to make you something to eat to cheer you up. :(

[theghostinyourwalls]

Me and my slasher boyfriends

[semiweirdshipper]

Slashers as fathers with a (teenage) reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is a young teenager (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART TWO. Hurt/comfort addition.

Folks who wanted to be tagged. @hope4rain19, @minaxcarter, @brooke-stinson, @urminebutidontwantyou, @gaipplrhot, @gyarukitti, @raphydude, @thelxapeia, @ant1d3pre55ant5add1ct, @decentsoupperson, @kawaistrawberry21.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy sighed as he stomped to your room in search of his laptop. You had been in such a rush this morning to get to school that you had accidentally left it in there. And while he always respected your wishes for him to never enter your room, he really needed his laptop. Sacrifices need be made some times.

However, as Freddy wandered into your room, he was met with a sight that literally stole his breath. Your bed was completely littered with folders and painted canvas boards. There was a large portfolio bag laying on the ground with its contents scattered everywhere. Painting and drawing utensils alike sat scattered over a table with a still wet painting taped atop.

Eyes ridiculously wide, Freddy looked around and deeply observed the area. He didn't know you owned any of this stuff. Paintings, oil canvases, drawings and sketches, and all of them were yours. And each piece looked really, really good. Freddy couldn't believe what was happening right now.

He thought you gave up on art.

Delicately picking up multiple art pieces, a happiness and sense of pride rushed through Freddy's heart, and he found himself grinning big in a mixture of relief and utter joy. You still loved art, and you were so good at it. He hadn't destroyed your passion after all. That being said though... Why would you hide this from him?

Later that day when you came home, Freddy asked you to go to the kitchen. When you went inside, you froze right on the spot. There, scattered all across the kitchen table, were multiple art projects of yours.

"Dad..." You choked, your heart racing in fear, your words stolen from you, "I..."

"I needed my laptop and uh... Accidentally found these," Freddy explained, a happy smile covering his face as he went to grab your shoulders, "Sweetie, why would you hide this from-"

"I told you not to go in there." You almost shouted, tears blurring your eyes as you pulled away from him.

"Sweetie," Freddy took a step back, hurt by your defensive attitude.

You went to the table and quickly began to gather up your art work. Freddy chased after you to try and get you to stop, "No, stop it. Don't do that- just-just wait a sec, I-"

"I get it, dad, you hate it. You've always hated my art. You-just... J-just leave me alone. Don't touch it, ok," You avoided eye contact while scurrying to protect your work, "I'll put it away."

"No, that's not what I want. (y/n). (y/n), will you please look at me. Hey," Freddy placed a hand on your shoulder and kept you from stomping off, "(y/n), look at me."

With a tense body and watery eyes, you looked at him, art work clutched to your chest and a glare covering your face.

Freddy sighed and said in earnest, "That's not what I want. Your art, I love it. I think it's beautiful an-and amazing! I-I mean, all this time? Really? I thought you gave up on it, I... I thought that I..."

Relaxing, you lowered your arms and looked him straight in the eyes. It felt like your heart had just done a summersault in your chest. "You... You mean it? You... You really like my art?"

"I love it!" Freddy exclaimed almost too quickly, "I love it so much, you have no idea. You have no idea how happy this makes me, (y/n). I thought that I ruined art for you. I... I never stopped feeling guilty about what I did. And I always hoped that one day you would start again, but..."

"Dad," You bit your lip hard in an attempt not to cry. He cared. He actually cared, and he loved your art. He was happy for you.

"Here," Freddy went to grab an old folder off the table.

Suspicious, you set down your art and went to take the folder. When you opened it, you saw dozens of old, un-crumpled papers with very distinct, familiar drawings on them. It took a minute, but you soon realized that these were the very drawings you had thrown away when you were little.

"You... Kept them?" You gaped at your dad, your heart aching in a happy/sad way.

"Of course I did," Freddy's smile wobbled a bit, "I love you and I love everything you do, and I'm so, so sorry for making you feel bad, f-for making you feel like you had to hide this from me."

Lowering the folder, you felt your lips wobble as your heart clenched in great happiness and relief. All this time you believed your dad hated your passion. He had hurt you so badly, but he regretted it. He had always regretted it, and he loved your work.

In a desperate attempt to hide your tears, you rush up to your dad and give him a big hug. Freddy held you as tightly as he could, his arms fierce and protective as he said, "Don't ever give up on your art, (y/n). No matter what, please. I love you so much."

Michael Myers

Michael had wandered out of the garage a few minutes after your friend's dad dropped you off. "Me and (friend's name) are gonna grab a snack real quick, k dad?" You had hollered while rushing into the house.

Rolling his eyes a bit, Michael approached the other man who casually got out of the car. He was grinning big at you and his own kid, seemingly proud and full of joy. "My god, man," He said mindlessly, smiling at Michael, "I tell ya, that was one hell of a game today. Whoo, and (y/n)? My god, they were great."

Puzzled and confused, Michael could only tilt his head in wonder. Game? What game?

The man shook his head and gave Michael an even more puzzled look than he himself sported, "Hey, how come I never see you at any of their games? Rough job or something?"

Michael's silence and confused expression urged the man to explain more.

"You know, the (sport) game? Just had one today- what a show I tell ya. But, I just- I never see you there, you know?"

At that, Michael's eyes went unspeakably wide. (sport)? You were playing (sport)? What? For how long? Why didn't he know about this? He thought you quit playing that when you were little. What was going on?

A week later and Michael was sitting amongst the crowd that was watching your (sport) game. You didn't know he was there. You didn't even know that he knew all your secrets like the fact that you had been playing (sport) for years, how you had won two trophies, the fact that this is where you spent most of your time at, and so on and so forth.

While watching the game, Michael couldn't help but to feel a deep sense of pride, relief and great joy at seeing how passionately you played and how much fun you were having. And you were so talented at it. The other team didn't stand a chance. You had grown so much since you were little. To this day his own actions still haunted him.

He hurt you. He 'scarred' you. And, although you continued doing what you loved, you had still felt the need to hide it from him, for years. He did that. He had made you feel so anxious and insecure that you felt the need to hide your greatest passion from him.

What kind of father does that to their child?

Unsurprisingly, your team won the game, and Michael couldn't be more proud or excited. Once the crowd and commotion calmed down, he patiently waited on you to exit the changing rooms. The way you hid yourself...

Michael gazed around at all the happy families congratulating and/or comforting their kids. It crushed his heart thinking about the sheer loneliness you expressed after the game ended and you had no one to celebrate with aside from your team mates.

When you came out of the changing room, Michael straightened his posture and faced you. It took you a minute, but eventually you looked up, saw him, and froze. A gasp escaped your mouth while your backpack fell from your shoulder to your shaken hand.

Michael's chest ached at the sight of your frightened, horrified face as you frantically looked around as if for an escape. Quickly he approached you and said in sign language, "That was a good game."

"Dad," You stepped away from him, panicked, "I-it's not what you think-I... I-I was just-I'm..."

You were scared, Michael realized, guilt beating on him like a hundred hammers. He waved his hand at you to get your attention, "Why didn't you tell me you were playing (sport)?"

"I..." You stare at him in great panic that melted into sadness and fear. You dropped your backpack and covered your face, saying brokenly, "I'm sorry, dad. I... I didn't mean to. Don't be mad, please, I-I... I'll stop playing it."

What? Micheal rushed to you and went to gently pull your hands away from your flushed face. What had he done? "No, I'm not mad. Please stop panicking. I'm not mad. Not at all."

Confused, you look at him through tear colored vision.

"I just found out you were playing (sport). You even have trophies. (y/n), why did you keep this from me?"

"Because," You winced, "You said I wasn't good at it. You... You hate me for it. I... I just wanted to be happy. I... I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't believe how upset you were, and all because he found out that you were doing what you loved. Marching up to you, Michael pulled you into a big hug that lasted for several minutes. When he noticed you calm down, he moved back a bit and explained.

"I was an idiot back then. I never should have said those things to you, (y/n). I've always felt bad for how I made you feel. You're not bad at (sport) and I never wanted you to stop playing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way."

You were shocked speechless, so Michael pulled you into another hug. You hugged back, relieved. He wasn't mad at you. He apologized. Everything was going to be alright.

Bo Sinclair

Bo lived in a very, very small town. Everyone knew each other and every piece of information that existed on the surface. Rumors spread and gossip filled the air like pollen. So it didn't take very long for Bo to learn that you had been practicing engineering with the car shop just down the road.

At first Bo had been ecstatic. You were still interested in engineering? He thought you didn't want to do that anymore; you said so yourself. Ever since the incident when you were little, you hadn't helped him with anything physically constructive- not even stuff as simple as hanging a picture on the wall.

Pretty much everyone praised you and said that you were doing a tremendous job. Your skill towards fixing vehicles was a natural, golden talent. You were an impressive, fast learner and everyone loved and appreciated you.

But when Bo tried to approach you about this exciting news, he was confused to hear you deny all of it. You shut his exclamations off and said that the towns people were lying. You claimed to have nothing to do with engineering. Yes, you hung around the car shop, but nothing was going on, you were just bored.

Bo didn't understand it. Why would you lie to him about this? He knew that the towns people weren't making this up- just ask the guy who took a picture of you and your buddies covered in grease while working on a truck engine. You looked so happy. Why was that something to lie about?

For the life of him, Bo could not figure out what was going on with you. Obviously you were lying to him, but he couldn't get you to explain why. It was as if you were completely and utterly avoiding him now, and it was driving him crazy.

So Bo reached out for help.

"Well," Your engineering teacher said in a tense tone, "I talked to em an' they said it's 'cause they don't wanna make ya mad."

"Huh?" Bo shook his head in exaggeration. What did that even mean?

Your teacher gave him a wearisome look, "I think they're afraid you're gonna blow a gasket on em if they do somethin' wrong. I take it that... you got a short temp?"

At that question, Bo was immediately rushed with memories of the past, and he found himself feeling overwhelmed with guilt and dread. That time he got mad at you when you were little, you didn't just give up on engineering. You gave up on everything that had to do with him. Was this why? Because you were afraid that he would get mad at you if you messed up or made a mistake?

You were afraid of his temper.

Coming to realization, Bo spent quite a while trying to figure out how he should approach you. He wasn't the best at emotions or having deep conversations. If he tried to explain himself he feared he would just say something stupid and cause you to be more upset with him.

So he waited for the perfect moment.

A couple weeks later, Bo dragged you to his shop to show you something that caused your mouth to fall open in awe. "Ram 3500, 2018. An' look at'er license plate."

Gasping the name of the state the enormous truck was from, you faced your dad with absolute excitement and disbelief, "Why's it here?"

"Ah, a little transmission trouble on the road," Bo smiled and slung an arm around your shoulder, "Nice huh? She's a beauty. Needs lotta' work, fast, an' I want 'you' to help me."

"What?" Your behavior changed drastically, "Dad-"

"Look, I've already heard all the gossip. I've seen ya work at the shop. I know you know what you're doin', (y/n)," Bo went to stand in front of you. "But what I don't understand is why ya don't wanna work with me."

"It's not... I just..." You sighed and looked at the ground, lost on what to say. A pain filled your chest as you admitted quietly, "I ain't perfect, dad, I... I make mistakes."

"And?" Bo pushed for a better answer.

His impatience and lack of understanding made you snap, "An' you can't handle that. Every time I mess up even the tiniest bit, you get mad at me. What do you expect me to do, huh? I'm only (age)."

Going silent, Bo relaxed upon learning what exactly your insecurity was. You were avoiding him because you were afraid of him getting mad at you for making mistakes. He did this. He put this fear in you, made you this way. And because of that, you were both teetering on the edge of complete life separation.

"(y/n)," Bo reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Your entire body froze.

"I... never meant to make ya feel this way. I know ya ain't perfect. You're still learnin' an' you've got a long ways to go, but... I wanna be there for you, (y/n). I wanna help you. I wanna watch ya grow, an' I can't do that if ya ain't around... I'm better than I used to be. So if you mess up, I ain't gettin' mad. I'm helping you, because that's what fathers do."

Shot by your dad's moving words, you find yourself staring at him for a long moment before a large smile bloomed across your face. "Right dad," You say, "Let's take a look at her."

With his heart skipping over the moon, Bo grinned and thanked the very stars themselves for this moment, and he lead you to your first shared project since you were a mere, little kid.

Hannibal Lecter

One night Hannibal got bored and lonely and decided to go to Will's house which was where you liked to spend lots of time at. He didn't mind you staying with Will, but some times he himself felt a little bit left out.

When he arrived at Will's house, he quietly made way up the stairs of the porch and temporarily paused just outside of the window. Casually peeking in, Hannibal spotted Will sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper while you stood in front of the stove in the kitchen. Your sleeves were clumsily rolled up and you had a apron on.

The motions of your arms and the state of the kitchen did not lie. You were cooking. You were quite literally cooking food right in front of him. Hannibal couldn't help but to release a small shudder of mixed emotions. It had been years since he last saw you cook- years since he demolished your feelings and forced you away from the passion you both once shared.

To see you cooking now? It made Hannibal erupt with questions and emotions. How long had this been going on? What were you cooking? Why were you cooking? How come he didn't know? Were you happy? Was this why you always spent so much time with Will?

Speaking oh whom, Hannibal watched as you handed out a spoon to which Will stood up to receive. Taking a taste of the spoon, Will made a bright face and reached out for a container of spice. You smiled, laughed and nodded, happily going to add some of the recommended spice to your dish.

Grinning, Hannibal couldn't help but to feel great pride. So, you could handle personal opinions and constructive criticism? What an astounding chef you turned out to be, and you looked so happy too.

Regaining his composure, Hannibal straightened his hair and went to knock on the door.

It took over five minutes for Will to answer.

By that time, things had grown to be rather chaotic. Now only did Will claim that you had gone to bed, but that he also was the one responsible for the late night meal.

Hannibal knew better though.

Whilst you pretended to sleep in the guest bedroom, Will and Hannibal stood in the kitchen gazing around at all your hard work.

"They told me what happened when they were little," Will said, a disappointed look on his face, "How could you say that to them, doc?"

Hannibal stared down at your unfinished dish, his heart clenching in memory of the past. "I spoke out of impulse. I didn't mean to cause them this much insecurity." To think you would go out of your way to lie to him. "How long has this affair been going on?"

"I don't know. Few years?" Will shrugged, "I was cooking macaroni one day, they asked to help and... The ship set sail, I guess."

"You reignited their flame," Hannibal huffed and smiled, "I'm grateful."

"Ever thought about apologizing?" Will asked.

"I have," Hannibal said softly, "However, they refuse to have anything to do with cooking."

"You told them that they were a horrible cook and a waste of time in the kitchen. What did you expect would happen?"

Hannibal bowed his head in shame. He hurt you, more than he had ever imagined. After all these years he believed that you had moved on and found different passions, but instead you clung to cooking and desperately sought hiding it from him because of fear. What kind of father was he to do that to you?

The next morning after the drive home, Hannibal kept you in the car to say, "(y/n). I know it was you who cooked at Wills the other night. I saw."

Having been dreading this exact conversation, you flushed darkly and turned your head away in great shame, sadness and fear. "I'm sorry."

"Please do not apologize," Hannibal cursed at himself for how anxious he made you feel, "I am more grateful than you could ever know."

That stirred a confused reaction from you.

"(y/n), you do not have to accept my apology, but I want you to promise me that you will continue to do what you enjoy, especially if it is cooking." Hannibal looked to you hopefully. "Seeing how happy you were... You have no idea how much joy it brought me. I thought I had destroyed your passion, but..."

Now completely facing your dad, your mouth was agape and your heart pounding furiously with emotions.

"I've always regretted what I said to you that day. It was rude and improper, and most certainly untrue. You are an astounding cook and I'm proud of you. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but, even if you do not wish to forgive me, I hope that you will always continue to do what you love."

Looking at your dad with watery eyes, you blinked and fought for the right words to respond with. All these years you had been terrified of your dad's wrath and disapproval when it came to cooking. He was right, he did hurt you, and the pain was still lingering inside you.

Even though what he said now brought you some form of relief and comfort, you couldn't help but to still feel a little bit of lingering hurt. "I... I need time." You reply quietly.

Hannibal nodded in understanding, "And time you shall have. I will always be here to support you."

-

If I made a part three, it could be about the reader still suffering some anxiety while doing their passion around their dad. And the slasher dads' will be nothing but happy, supportive and proud. You know, just casual comfort and fluff.

[machveil]

Collective Writings Navigation Page - MachVeil

the navigation hub for my works

thank you all for the support! this post will act as a hub for all my fics<3 the collection will update as I post and can be viewed from my pinned post here🎀✨ for fics 18+ please read content warnings (CW) - you come first! check the fic before you read it

Simon “Ghost” Riley

John “Soap” MacTavish

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Captain John Price

Keegan Russ

König

Kim “Horangi” Hong-jin

Sebastian Krueger

Phillip Graves

Group Fics

18+ Fics - mdni

Fic Recommendations

thanks again to followers and friends for keeping up with my writing! CoD requests are always welcomed, please review this post before requesting🎀✨ giving you guys a big, fat kiss for being wonderful and I hope to see you around - either in my inbox or notifications<3 CoD themed dividers are free to use curtesy of @gild-ui, please give them some love

[sweetiecutie]

Part ten: breast worship~ 🩷 Kinktober Masterlist 🩷

Pairing: Sebastian Krueger x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, tiddy sucking, breast worship, thigh humping, love🥺

A/n: yes, October is over and so is Kinktober so WHAT??? Try fucking stopping me duh

It was a fun little quirk of Krueger’s, the one you’ve discovered a whole while after starting your relationship. His oral fixation. A rather huge one.

Sebastian had something in his mouth pretty much all of the time - nibbling onto the straw long time after he finished his juice, numerous chewing gums and marmalade candies which could be found in the pocket of his every jacket, his own fucking nails for the lack of anything else, which you oftentimes scolded him for.

That’s why most of the nights you or Sebastian spent over at the other’s place ended up pretty much the same - both of you cuddled up under heavy layers of blankets, all warm and snuggly, Krueger’s head hidden under your (his) shirt, mouth full of your soft tits. The tip of his tongue traced circles around your erected nipple, head dizzy from your sweet and oh so dear scent, making him cuddle even closer into you. His hand was busy with your other breast, making sure that both of his girls were getting enough attention, nimble fingers tweaking and pinching your nipple softly, eventually causing slick to pool in your panties.

Small whine escaped Sebastian as you felt his hips humping against your thigh, his hard cock poking your leg, some of the precum was soaking through the cotton of his boxers, wetting your skin. Your hand came to rub wide circles onto his back, a simple and casual gesture making Krueger melt into a soft puddle in your loving arms, softening his bones and filling his stomach with butterflies.

Releasing your breast with a loud ‘pop’ his wet lips stared scattering small kisses all over your sternum, slowly making their way to your other tit.

- Ich liebe dich, - he whispered, those words never failing to make your heart skip a beat. You wrapped yourself further around his bulky form, sleep heavy on your eyelids, exhaustion of the day thrumming in your very bones.

- I love you too, - you mumbled, placing a kiss on the top of Sebastian’s head through the fabric of the t-shirt he was under. Closing your eyes it was no surprise you were fast asleep in a few minutes, and so was your lover.

And, of course, it was no surprise to wake up with Krueger’s mouth suckling gently onto your tits once again, his big glossy eyes gazing up at you adorably as you peeked under the neckline of your t-shirt. The best fucking way to start your day<3

[lostintransist]

Death is Not Always Kind | Part 2

Find part one here.

A/N: Not gonna lie, more angsty shit because vile feelings popped up after therapy.

CW: Requests to be killed, manhandling, forced feeding. Russian via Google Translate (Please if it is wrong hit me up and we can fix it.)

AO3 | Death Masterlist

You listen as your mind comes back online. Staying awake for longer than an hour at a time had been hard since the white coats reduced your food intake. Sleep must have stolen you away as you lost tears under the cover on your head. Hearing wasn’t what it used to be, the scar tissue prevented you from hearing some of the softer sounds.

“Проснулась, хорошо.”

The voice, rough and disused, abuses you of the notion that you could feign sleep.

Peeling your tear-crusted eyelids apart you take in the drab space. Harsh lighting illuminates a mattress, sheets tucked tight enough to be flat, and a man sitting on the floor back leaning against the metal frame. His knees are bent, giving his elbows a resting place. The only skin visible is that of his hands. Webbing of scars works over, between, around his fingers. Some of the scars look angry, even from the distance between you. Those couldn’t have all been made on the same day.

Drifting back to his face you stare at the eye holes in his full head covering. Darkness looks out at you. He doesn’t have brown eyes, but you can’t decide what color they might be from here.

“Kill me,” you push the broken words past cracked lips.

“Het.”

Finality had no language barrier.

You shut your eyes.

Nikto watches you. When your request was denied again you retreat, eyes going distant before closing. Familiar with the concept of hiding within one’s mind he texts Krueger.

<Bring soup, and water.

No acknowledgment beyond a thumbs up. He takes less than five minutes. Krueger opens the cardboard-coated wood that they called a door and passes both the water bottle and the mug of steaming broth. He lowers himself to one knee, head tilting to hover level with yours. Pinching an eyelid between two gloved fingers he waits until your body fights to close the lid before speaking.

“Sit. Time for fluids.”

Krueger lets your lid drop into place, resting both forearms atop his knee. His patience lasts no longer than a sparkler.

“Nikto, onto the bed.”

Following orders came easier than breath. Settling the bottle and mug on the small bedside table he shifts from floor to bed. Nikto leans against the wall, boots hanging over the end of the mattress. Krueger decided to spoon-feed. Mores the pity for you.

You are lifted, none too gently, from the cot where you rest. Marionettes have more structure and support to their movements than you do when you land in Nikto’s lap. The two men maneuver you until your head lolls against Nikto’s shoulder and the rest of you is supported by his strong body. You weigh almost nothing. He curls one arm around your center.

The spoon now in Krueger’s hand must have come from a pocket. Nikto hadn’t experienced empathy in too many years to count, but looking at the pocket spoon he could feel the stirrings of it in his chest. Krueger would often carry dead rodents in his pockets on jobs to serve as distractions for animals they passed on their ways.

A firm hand takes hold of your chin, pulling you up. Nikto settles a hand behind your head to keep it upright. Only the flutter of a pulse at your neck confirms that they are not trying to feed a corpse.

You give no response when the spoon taps against your lips, requesting entry. In the space of one blink, Krueger is digging his fingers into the hinge of your jaw, thumb prying your chin down. Nikto watches as his other hand crosses under the other to spoon up an offering. When it is ladled across your tongue you shift, powering up like a solar turbine in full daylight.

Clawing at his arm and hand you shake in his hold. Nikto can’t decide if your scarred hand on his is pleasure or pain.

“Kill me,” you demand.

Krueger responds, surprising everyone in the room.

“Get strong enough to do it yourself.”

He puts another spoon of broth into your mouth.

Likes are amazing! Reblogs are better (that lets your followers see what you like.)

@meinemauschen

Translation via Google:

Просыпайся, хорошо - Awake, good.

Het - No.

Masterlist

[kaytheday]

Little Sister - Ace's Perspective on when Darry nearly went soc

This fic is inspired by some tags left on my post by @specific-dreamer! I have grown to love Ace so much! I also have no idea how old Ace is in comparison to everyone else. Alas! Enjoy!

The first time Ace had been to the Curtis house she had limped inside, leaning heavily on her half-brother Steve with blood dripping down her face. He had set her gently on the couch, the others around her saying things she couldn’t hear through the buzzing in her ears. 

Things were getting bad around town again, so bad that Steve and her had been jumped just trying to get home.While they were walking a soc’s mustang had rolled down the window and started yelling terrible things. Things Ace didn’t even want to repeat, the kind of stuff that nobody would say to those soc girls. When Steve had dared to yell back, four soc’s had poured out of the car and started running towards them. She’d barely had time to fumble her blade out of her back pocket before one of them had tackled her to the pavement. She’d taken about four punches before she’d screamed. 

“You want to be a boy so bad? Why don’t you start by taking your punches like one, huh?” The soc had sneered before hitting her again. 

She doesn’t remember much after that, too many hits to the head will do that to you. The next thing she does remember is Two-Bit touching her face after they’d chased off the last of those socs. 

“You look okay kid, let’s get out of here.” 

Then she was at the Curtis home. It was like she had never known comfort before that house. Mr. Curtis and Mrs. Curtis had been gone that night, but everyone else was there. That’s the first time she met the gang, except for Two-Bit of course. 

It was Darrel Curtis that had set right to cleaning up this random kid on his couch. Darry always had to be doing something and right now the only thing to do was fix her up. It was at that moment she was sure he’d delegated himself to be her additional older brother. Soda had fallen in love with her immediately, something Ace liked to tease him for but Darry… Darry had taken it upon himself to be her protector. And he had, since then, Darry always protected Ace. In fights, from mean boys at school, even from unsuspecting comments made by the gang. One time Dallas had made a comment about her making him a sandwich and Darry had nearly clocked him into next week. 

“You don’t get to say that shit to her, ya hear Dallas? Not in this house, not anywhere.” Dallas had rubbed his jaw glaring at Darry before storming out of the house angrily. He hadn’t said sorry but he hadn’t done anything like it since. It was the closest she would ever get to an apology from Dallas Winston. 

All of this was before Darry had gotten his new soc friends. To be fair, he’d always had to be closer to the socs than the rest of them. He was in the smarter classes at school and he was on the football team. Both areas in which there are typically more socs than greasers. 

The only difference was this year, he had actually become friends with them instead of just tolerating them like he used to. It had gone so far that he was spending the night at their houses, going to their parties, and sometimes even wearing their clothes. 

Ace knew it hurt every member of the gang to see Darry buddying around with the enemy, but for some reason it had cut her deeper. Now he was friends with those same boys he used to protect her from. The same boys that still found time to beat her up and call her slurs. It just hurt to be betrayed by one of the people she never thought would betray her. She carried that anger right at the bottom of her throat, as if waiting for a moment to yell and release it all.  

The worst was when Paul Holden and some of his friends had gotten ahold of her after school one day. Soda, Steve and Two-Bit had skipped, probably to get some lunch with their girlfriends. Johnny and Ponyboy weren’t in high school yet, still at the middle school. Ace was barely older, young and small for a freshman. She’d started the walk home to her grandparents house when she was passing the corner store. Paul Holden and his friends had strolled out of the store. 

She’d barely had time to count them all before they attacked her. Two of them dragged her by the arms to the ground. She’d gone down kicking and screaming, trying in vain to get herself free. It hadn’t been enough though.

“Have we found ourselves a little boy fellas?” Paul sneered. 

“Naw, I don’t know what this thing is, Paul.” Another one had answered, punctuating his statement by kicking her ribs in. 

They left her there once they had finished. Ace laid there for a minute, still seeing stars before she’d all but dragged herself to the Curtis household. Nobody was home and so she’d gotten out the first aid kit and started cleaning up before collapsing on the couch. 

Later, everyone had filed in and Ace told them what had happened. She’d left out the part that it was Darry’s friends but Dallas was still fuming. Darry still wasn’t home. He was the only one Ace dreaded seeing anyway. How could she tell him that his brand new buddies had beat the shit out of her? They had nearly killed her outside the corner store after school! How would she tell him the horrible things they had said? The names they had called her and nasty comments that still made her sick to her stomach? She found herself hating him. Darry hadn’t been the one to beat her up but he might as well have. He had betrayed her with the company he kept. 

When Darry had walked through the door that night, finishing out his long day of school and work at his part time job, Ace had been fuming, shaking with a mix of fear and fury. She had been so distraught that she could hardly look in his direction. 

“Let's go.” She had whispered to Steve sitting next to her. Soda gave her a confused, almost concerned look. He had always been good at reading people and Ace was no exception. She had to look away, fearing her face would betray her true feelings. Then Steve helped her up and they started home. 

Ace heard later from Steve who heard from Two-Bit who heard from Ponyboy that Dallas had really laid into Darry about the company he was keeping. Apparently Ace getting jumped had really gotten to Dallas. So much so he started yelling at Darry. He hadn’t said anything about what happened to her but he had said more than enough about Darry wanting to be a soc. Darry hadn’t taken nicely to that and Mr. and Mrs. Curtis had walked in on the two boys fighting. 

The next Monday at school Ace had seen Darry with Paul and the rest of those boys and that had hurt her more than anything. More than the busted ribs and the black eyes she was still carrying. Seeing Darry look at her and look back at Paul acting as if he hadn’t even seen her cut deeper than any knife. 

The person that was supposed to be her friend had become an enemy. Indistinguishable from those who had jumped her and called her names a day earlier. 

She’d skipped school the rest of her classes that day, having half a mind to drive to light his football jersey on fire. But she didn’t. 

Usually when Ace was this frustrated, she would find Soda and talk to him. He could always help her, but she was scared he would defend Darry and she didn’t want to hear any of that. This was the first time she had been jumped this bad in a while and it had left her terrified out of her mind, constantly looking over her shoulder, and nervous. In the past, after she had gotten jumped, she would try to stay as close to Darry as possible, any of the guys really but mostly Darry. She had always known he wouldn't let anything happen to her with those tree trunk arms, but now… now she wasn’t sure what he would do. She was lost, she didn’t know who to go to. 

So, she just stuck close to Steve and tried to stay out of the Curtis home. Staying away as much as possible. 

Despite it all, the gang seemed to notice. 

“Staying away kid?” Dallas found her smoking on her porch one day. “We ain’t seen you around much.”

“Yeah.” She’d said shortly, taking another drag.

���You know, I really don’t blame you. I’ve been staying away myself actually. Damn Darrel and those socs, all the way to hell.” He lit his own cigarette and sat down next to her. The two didn’t say anything else, just finishing their cigarettes and going their separate ways. 

That was one thing she had to love about Dallas Winston. He came off cold but he had a level of understanding to him that was deep in a different way than anyone she’d ever known. 

Soda had tried to talk to her too. 

“You okay Ace?” They were skipping school and had gone to a gas station for lunch. She had popped a piece of her stolen bubble gum. 

“Sure Soda.” She tried to sound confused but one look from Soda told her that he wasn’t falling for it. 

“It’s just… You haven’t really been around the house much and when you are…” You don’t stay long. That part went unfinished. She didn’t want to see Darry, she thought that if she saw him she’d start yelling and if she started yelling things would get bad again. Like they had before Ace had been welcomed into the gang. Back when she and Steve were alone. She didn’t want to be alone again but she didn’t know if betrayal was much better.

“You ever think I have other friends? Things to do that don’t involve you? You’re so self-centered Soda, it’s all those good looks, they get in your head.” She tried to say it with a smile, even pinching his ear like they used to do as kids. But it seemed Soda didn’t want to play this game anymore. He quickly turned serious. 

“You can always talk to me, you know?” He said, knocking his shoulder against hers. “If there is anything that’s troublin’ you, I’m always here.”

“I know.” He smiled then, stealing a piece of her gum and running off before she could kick him. 

So that's how it went for a couple more weeks. Ace stayed away from the Curtis home and tried to stay invisible at school, but those boys had singled her out and seemed hell-bent on seeing her dead. They called her slurs and said nasty things to her. Things that would turn her dead momma in her grave. So she tried her best to fade into the background. Don’t get her wrong, Ace was never one to run from a fight but there was a difference between being brave and being plain stupid and Ace had never been stupid. She wasn’t going to run head-first into a fight she couldn’t win and she definitely wasn’t going to run to someone who wouldn’t even bother to protect her anymore. 

Soda had definitely noticed something was wrong between her and Darry. Whether or not he had said anything to Darry? She didn’t know and she didn’t intend to find out. 

It all happened late on a Friday night. Ace had gone to the drive-in with Steve, Soda, and Two-Bit, she had left by herself. Some of those soc girls had shown up and started making fun of her, calling her ugly and boyish, pretty much the usual. Ace grew frustrated and told Steve she was going to the bathroom, opting instead to start the run home. In hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest decision she had ever made. 

She had been a block away from the Curtis house before she had realized where her feet were taking her. Just as she started to turn around, a mustang began flashing its lights at her. She started to run but didn’t get far before Paul and his friends got ahold of her. She had yelled something awful, knowing full well that nobody in their neighborhood would do a thing about it. Maybe that was why the socs chose to jump her on greaser turf, they knew no one would call the cops. 

Paul shut her up with a punch to the mouth, she felt her lip split. Two soc boys held back her arms. 

“Well well well, what do we have he-,” She spat blood at him before he could finish his growling sentiment. They all stopped, holding their breath as if waiting for Paul's next move. Then they erupted into howling laughter, like a pack of nasty hyenas.  

“Do you think that scares me? You greaser scum.” He delivered a blow to her stomach. She lost her breath and would have doubled over if not for the boys holding her up. 

“Oh… I think there's a lot that scares you.” She said with a wince. “You soc scum!” Paul hit her several more times, managing to split her eyebrow open, blood pouring into her face. Then they drop her to the ground. 

“Say that again you little dyke! Say that shit again!” 

“I don’t need to!” She spits back. “You heard me the first time, you know what you are!” She starts to say more but they begin kicking her. 

It’s getting to the point where she doesn’t even register how many times they’re hitting her anymore. Her whole body is pulsating in pain with her heartbeat. She tries again to scream or move or do something but she's pinned. Right as Ace is about to pass out she hears someone shout. 

“Hey! What the hell…” The voice fades after that and she feels like her head is underwater. 

When she finally comes around, she’s lying on her back. Blood drips from her eye and onto the cracked sidewalk below her. She’s suddenly hyper aware of Darry patting her cheek softly, looking more scared than she’s seen him in a long time. 

“...an you hear me? Ace baby… come on…. Can you hear me? Ace?” She blinks dumbly and tries to say something but her mouth won't work properly. Isn’t she supposed to be mad at Darry? It’s his friends who just beat her up. She can’t think straight.  “Okay, Let’s just get you home Ace.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before sliding his hands under her head and knees, picking her up as gently as he can and carrying her down the rest of the block and into the house. 

She doesn’t even register the walk… or being set down on the couch. Her head is still swimming and she can only feel pain and anger. Darry wasn’t supposed to save her! He was supposed to jump in and help his friends beat her up! She couldn’t believe he’d saved her. Not after everything. 

Darry came out of the kitchen with an ice pack and the first aid kit. 

“What’s goin’ on Ace? I ain’t seen you around anymore kid. What were you doing walkin’ home alone?” Ace could have answered him kindly, but she had weeks of pent up anger towards Darrel Curtis. He wasn’t going to get off this easy. 

“What do you care?” She spat. “Not like you’re around much anyway.” The way his eyebrows rose clear to his hairline told Ace that he had no idea what she was talking about. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked. 

“Don’t give me that!” She said, flecks of blood spraying from her lips. “With the company you keep, you should’ve helped Paul and your buddies jump me. You damn soc!” She spits out the last part with a conviction that only comes out of weeks of bottled-up anger. 

“What? Are you serious?” To his credit, he looks genuinely hurt, not that it soothes Ace’s temper any.

“You know what? I’m leaving, you asshole.” She goes to stand but is overcome with a wave of nausea, suddenly dry heaving while Darry runs for a bowl. 

Darry rubs her back as she empties her stomach. Which is mostly popcorn and soda from the drive in. 

“You probably have a concussion. Just take it easy Ace.” She wants to relax but Ace is still fired up, she has so many things to say to her once friend and surrogate older brother. 

“Yeah, thanks to your friends, real nice company you keep Darrel.” She doesn’t know if it’s the concussion making her honest or the angry bitterness running through her veins but she says it. 

“What are you talking about, my friends?” He moves for the first aid kit and starts fixing the cut on her eyebrow. 

“You’re tellin me you chased em off and didn’t see who they were? Paul and all your buddies were the ones that jumped me!” 

“That can’t be right.” Darry looks almost stricken. 

“It is. You think I’m stupid? That I couldn’t see the guys that jumped me? It was all those soc royalty guys you like to buddy around with.” 

“You’re making it sound like I have a choice in all of this Ace. They’re the people I’m around every day, they’re on the football team, I have to be friendly.” 

“Of course you have a choice in all of this. I just don’t understand how you could betray us.” 

“I’m not betraying anyone. I’m just doing what I have to.” Darry says through gritted teeth, he’s starting to get frustrated which is exactly what Ace is going for. 

“You hanging out with those socs is betraying all of us. You’d really trade the gang? Your flesh and blood? For what? Some jackals in letterman jackets and nice shoes? You think they give a damn about you? They don’t! You’re betraying us for nothing!.” She scoffs, flinching a little as he adds a butterfly stitch to her eye. 

“If you think I’m betraying my brothers or any of you, you’re stupider than you look! I’m doing what I have to do. To live my life right! To get out of Tulsa!” Darry finishes with the stitches and stands up, he’s openly yelling now. 

“Being a soc is living your life right?” Ace stands too, nearly two heads shorter than Darry but that doesn’t matter. She’s all spitfire and raw emotion. Darry needs a wake up call anyway. “I don’t understand how you can buddy around them when you protected me! When you stood up for me! You don’t know half the things those boys did to me, half the things they say to me! They’re terrible people and they’re gonna make you terrible too!” The last part comes out like a choked sob, but she swallows it. Ace doesn’t cry. Not in front of anyone. 

“What?” He looks like someone has slapped him and Ace is a little scared she pushed him too far. “What did they do to you?” His voice is icy, Ace didn’t expect that response. Ace doesn’t answer, she’s blinking back tears and is still in pain from the fight. “Ace. What did they do?” He emphasizes every syllable in that protective way, the same way that reminds her of how things used to be. 

“They… They…” She’s struggling for words and rightly so, but once the words start, they don’t stop. Coming out like a flood of terror. “They say terrible things to me at school every day, they call me names and slurs. Everytime I pass them in the hall they make fun of my hair and my clothes and my dead momma. Sometimes they pull my hair and they’ve jumped me twice now. I’m scared, Darry.” She sounds younger than she is and immediately Darry softens, taking a step towards his little sister. “I’m scared they’ll make good on their threats, or hurt me, or even kill me! I’m just scared all the time and I’m scared that you won’t help me because you’re friends with them now too.” 

Ace sits down on the couch, the fight knocked out of her. There it is, out in the open. She closes her eyes, ready to hear Darry start yelling again or worse tell her she deserves it but she doesn’t hear anything. Instead she opens her eyes to see Darry pale faced and visibly trembling. His cold blue eyes looking at her with something… pity? Fear? Annoyance? Something. 

“Ace… god…” He’s at a loss for words. “I didn’t know it was that bad.” 

“But you knew it was bad?” She’s exhausted, she’s suddenly so tired and ready to go to sleep. 

“Yeah, I mean, I know that they always have it out for greasers but… I’m gonna kill them for this. I didn’t know they were saying all that, I’m so sorry.” Ace doesn’t say it’s okay because it’s not. What they did will never be made okay. Darry looks up at her again. “Ace… I would never help them hurt you. I would never do anything to hurt you.” Surprisingly enough, Ace can feel a tear slide down her cheek. “You have to know that, okay? I would die before I let them do anything to my baby sister.”

 It’s the first thing he’s said all night that Ace truly believes. Darry would always protect her, of course he would. That never went away. He would never do anything to hurt her intentionally. 

Darry pulls her into his chest in a hug, his knees on the ground. Ace hugs him back, her quiet tears soaking his shirt as she clutches her arms to him. Then he pulls away and she wipes her eyes, sniffing a little and trying to laugh. 

“Don’t go turning soc on us Darry. I couldn’t take it.” But Darry isn’t laughing. 

“I’m going to kill Paul and Chet and all the rest of them for this Ace. I swear to god I’m gonna kill them.” He softens when he looks at her. “I’m going to stop Ace, I’m going to stop trying to be something I’m not. For the gang and for you.” She smiles easily, accepting that.  

“Thanks greaser.” She says good naturally, Darry grins.

“You sure you’re okay?” He says looking her over as if he missed something. 

“Yeah, it just hurts.”

“It’ll be okay, I’ll get you some aspirin. Stay here tonight and try to get some sleep. I’m going to see if I can find my brothers.” 

“Okay greaser.” She had a sneaky feeling that he might run into Paul as well but she didn't say anything. 

“Good night little sister. Call if you need anything.” She just nodded, sleeping well for the first time in weeks.

[angel-sweets666]

teach me German

Krueger cod x reader

Krueger teaches his partner German, since Krueger is a Austrian

A/N KRUEGER IS SO UNDERRATED LIKE WHAT? (let me suck his dick)

warning: no warning, pure fluff

Krueger buried his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. He loved your scent. "You smell so good, Meine Liebe," he murmured.

"What does that mean?" you asked, rolling over in his arms to place his head onto your chest.

"It’s, uh, it means 'my love'," he replied, looking up at you with his chin resting on your chest.

"Can you teach me German? Austrian? German?" You went back and forth, unsure of the correct term.

"It’s Austrian German, close enough, hun," he chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Krueger sat up and placed you in his lap, guiding your legs to wrap around his muscular waist. "Okay… how much German do you know?" he asked as he began to rock your body gently, like a parent rocking their child.

"Not much," you admitted, resting your head on his broad chest.

"Ah, okay," he nodded, falling into deep thought for a moment. He then looked back down at you. "Let's learn the basics, huh?" He patted your thigh with his left hand.

"Okay, can you say… uh… 'Meine Liebe'? What I just called you?"

"Me-Meine Liebe?" you repeated hesitantly.

"Ja, that’s it. Good job," he nodded in approval. "Now, can you say… 'Mein Hübscher'?" He gave you something a bit harder.

"Huh? Say it again?" you asked, looking up at him.

"Mein Hübscher," he repeated slowly.

"Mein Hübscher," you said, though a bit sloppily.

"Good enough," he sighed, leaning back against the headboard of the bed you shared.

"Alright, let’s learn some sentences, shall we?" He grinned at you.

"Yeah… yeah, okay," you said, finding the confidence to try and learn more.

"Ready? Can you say 'Ich liebe dich, mein Schatz'?" he prompted, tilting his head slightly.

You hesitated. "What does that mean?"

"It’s what I think about you when I see you. It means 'I love you,'" he smiled, leaning his forehead against yours.

"Okay… Ich liebe dich, mein Schatz," you said, almost perfectly but not quite.

Krueger blushed deeply and nuzzled his face into your cheek. "That’s so sweet to hear, Schatz," he patted your back. "I’m proud of you."

He continued to hold you close, your bodies swaying gently together. "Do you want to learn more?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with affection.

You nodded eagerly. "Yes, I want to learn everything."

He chuckled. "Alright, let's start with some simple phrases. 'Guten Morgen' means 'Good morning.' Can you say that?"

"Guten Morgen," you repeated, your pronunciation improving with his guidance.

"Perfect. And 'Gute Nacht' means 'Good night.'"

"Gute Nacht," you said, smiling.

Krueger's smile widened. "You're a fast learner. Soon you'll be speaking like a native."

You laughed softly, feeling a warmth spread through you at his praise. "Thank you for teaching me."

"It's my pleasure, Meine Liebe," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "Now, let's rest. Tomorrow we'll continue our lessons."

You snuggled closer to him, feeling safe and loved in his arms. "G’night , Krueger."

"Gute Nacht, Schatz," he replied, kissing the top of your head.

a/n I’m pretty proud of this! I obviously used grammarly so I could make it better but I’m happy w it!

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Phayvanh 'Nak' Sotsvahn belongs to @vasyandii , who I love dearly. He's an amazing artist so please, PLEASE go over there because he's awesome and so talented. And hilarious too! And a fantastic writer (pls more of Nak x Krueger pls pls)

Krueger is... Krueger

''Heh heh you're so smol''

''Do you want a kick on the nuts?''

''I'll shut up''

[sold2vlaykz]

Widows point guide

(How would each slasher react being a widow and they’re SCORE.)

(Is your favorite slasher a red flag? Good, bad? Or both! Maybe better!)

Michael Myers

When you didn’t show up for one day he looked around, maybe you tried to run away. Sirens swooshed by in the distance.

He went back home, a little focused wondering if you went there. He was strict, so he knew you wouldn’t have disobeyed him.

Weeks and months flew by, maybe you did get away. He didn’t really care he just went back on his spree.

One night, whilst stalking some wretched old woman to kill, the news had been on. An identification, you.

He didn’t know how to feel, so he ignored it and did what he knew how to, kill.

+2

There is this pit of longing that he has, it’s just as strong as the feeling to kill.

+1

He knows you’re not there is a way to put it, he can feel your absence. But he continues to do what he does.

TOTAL SCORE- HE KNOWS🚩

-

Jason Voorhees

You died by a survivor, you were trying to find Jason and got shot because you accidentally startled the girl with the gun.

He raged, slaughtering everyone. Anything nearby, he grabbed your limp body and took you into the shed, trying to manage as much as he could.

He finally came to an understanding that you were gone, he kept your body in a cradle on the wall.

Where his mothers used to be before turned to ash.

+2

Was more angry, more irrational.

+1

No more stalking or waiting. Just slaughtering who he could so no one could even come close to your bodies proximity.

+3

More hostile, uncoordinated.

-2

He suffered from PTSD the most, randomly hearing your voice when that was impossible. Seeing your things scattered in the little home.

+3

He kept any girl that looked like you, just to stare.

+1

TOTAL SCORE- WILL NEVER BE THE SAME! ✔️

-

Pretzel Jack

He was distraught, completely destroyed. He was so sad that he went into the room and slept forever.

+10

TOTAL SCORE- WILL NEVER BE THE SAME ✔️

-

Jacob goodnight

Would be sad, have his own internal mourning. He cried, got sad and became more aggressive and judgmental.

+1

You were helping him in clean up the place but you had tried and fell on a rusty out of place steal bar. It collapsed on your head and you passed away slowly.

He cried at seeing your body limp, throwing the metal bar as far as he could. He sat down cradling your body whilst wailing.

+2

He kept your body until it was nothing but ash and bone.

+3

Like Jason he was infatuated with girls who looked like you, caging them up and masturbating to them if they bear resemblance.

-3

Sometimes he’d have dreams of you, he’d kill them later on as a post-nutt clarity.

+1

But genuinely forever distraught, PTSD.

TOTAL SCORE- WILL NEVER BE THE SAME! ✔️

-

Freddy Krueger

You died in a car accident. Didn’t care at all!

-1

Until he realized no one else would fuck him

-1

And love him or whatever.

+2

TOTAL SCORE- HE KNOWS 🚩

-

BUBBA SAWYER

You were outside picking berries and accidentally slipped, your back landing in a nearby bear trap caused you to bleed out on the way back for help.

You didn’t come home from picking fruits so he immediately when out to look for you.

Once he found your body he roared hysterically, he carried your body home whilst crying to give you a proper burial.

Despite Hoyt telling him to cook you before you rot.

+1

Picks flowers for your burial spot everyday.

+3

Whenever there’s a holiday he still gets you flowers and keeps them in the room that still has all your stuff.

+3

Doesn’t let them throw away your things.

+2

Randomly remembers and cries

+3

TOTAL POINTS- PRECIOUS ANGEL! 🎀☑️

-

STU MACHER

You died after a fall down the stairs. Oh that sucks.

+1

Kinda wishes you didn’t die

+2

TOTAL SCORE- EMOTIONALLY CHALLENGED🚩

-

THE BABADOOK

You were outside and mugged, you had been pistol whipped and died from brain damage.

Awh who’ll feed him worms now?!

+3

No one to cuddle with!?

+3

He’s hungry

+3

TOTAL SCORE - AUTHORS FAVORITISM!! 🎀☑️

-

CHUCKY

Oh shit.

-1

Converts your soul into a doll.

+5

TOTAL SCORE- HE KNOWS, AND CARES! ❎

-

Hannibal lecter

You died by police crossfire. He grieved silently. He still has a picture of you in a locked.

+3

He slowly begins to move on.

-2

Your a sensitive topic to bring up

+1

TOTAL SCORE- HE KNOWS, AND CARES! ❎

-

ART THE CLOWN

Oh you’re dead?

-1

Okay.

-5

TOTAL SCORE- WHY DO I CARE AGAIN? ❌🚩

-

SCORE BOARD

TERRIBLE =❌🚩

BAD= 🚩

OKAY= ❎

GOOD= ✔️

AMAZING = 🎀☑️

[konigsblog]

having two pervy, sleazy boyfriends... könig and krueger

tw: rape/noncon, mentions of drugs and alcohol, somno, armpit huffing, gross könig and krueger

könig and krueger stay up all night, smoking weed and getting drunk. they don't even register eachothers scent as bad because they're both used to it by now. it's only you that notices. forcing them into the shower and promising them a blowjob when they're finally clean.

after waking up in the middle of the night, you'll stumble downstairs to them. rubbing your eyes and watching the way they chat and take hits from a glass bong, the football on the TV ignored. they're so obviously drunk and high, and you can't help but walk over, with the hopes at convincing them to come back to bed. yet, they don't want to — infact, they want you to stay with them, to hopefully suck them off while the other fucks that ass. :3

but they're so musky and gross, you can't help but push your boyfriends away and roll your eyes. you hate how krueger always forces your face into his neck or armpit while you're riding him, bucking into your tight hole repetitively for hours on end while you whine and slap him across the face. only encouraging him to go faster and harder. “don’t cry to me, taube...”

and könig will wake you up, begging for sex! he's musky, but too big and strong to push away. you don't have the confidence to say no, allowing him to slide inside and fuck you roughly and restlessly! each thrust hard, deep, and leaving you breathless and panting. crying softly as he fucks hard into you, his meaty cock stretching you out painfully. :( he's so perverse, so greedy when he pushes your panties to the side and takes you whenever and however he likes...

[theghostinyourwalls]

Sure he’s a scary psychopathic monster, but he’s MY scary psychopathic monster <3