#slash x y/n

[duffslut]

Aroused Curls

Slash x Reader

My Masterlist.

Word Count: 689

Warnings: Smut! Minors Dni.

- What are you doing? - Slash asked trying to get up from your lap.

- Nothing just be quiet. - You pulled him back by the hair and he rested his head on your lap again.

- Why you being so rough?! - Slash asked sullenly.

- I'm not! You're too sensitive with your hair. - You said, rolling your eyes. - I won't cut it don't worry.

- I'm not worried. - He replied.

- Then relax, my God. - You sighed and carefully wrapped a lock of his hair around your finger, holding it for a few seconds and then letting go, forming a perfect curl. - What do you think? - You asked showing him the hair.

- It's fine. - He said without caring much, seeming to be worried about something - But it will take hours to do the whole head, I'm out.

You were confused by his sudden mood change and watched as he got up from your lap and stood in the living room.

- Slash, what's wrong? - You asked, kind of sad because you thought you had done something wrong.

- Nothing I just need a blunt. - He said walking towards the room in a strangely suspicious manner.

A few minutes passed and Slash still hadn't come back so you decided to go after him, you found the door closed and muffled moans coming from the bedroom.

- WHAT THE FUCK? - You screamed when you opened the door and found Slash lying on the bed with his pants down to his knees, jerking himself off.

You couldn't help but stare at his dick, you had never even seen him in his underwear, the most you had ever seen of him was his member showing through the pants and shorts he was wearing, but you never thought it would be so... Big. Had he run away from you because he had a boner?

Slash shouted something you couldn't hear because you were mesmerized by his cock, hard and thick, dripping his pre-cum juice from the tip. On impulse you took off all your clothes and went to him.

- Why didn't you ask for my help? - You asked, removing his hand from around his cock and putting yours in its place. - Gosh, what made you so hard?

- You pulled my hair. - He said, and you gave a naughty smile before wrapping your lips around his cock. - Fuck! Y/n! - He groaned.

Until ten minutes ago you could never have imagined anything between you and Slash other than friendship, but seeing him so desperate horny awakened something in you, It was more than your obligation to please him for having provoked him, who would have thought...

You sucked him as if your life depended on it, never taking your eyes off his face, his mouth open, muttering curses as you sucked and kissed every inch of his cock.

Your pussy was throbbing for some attention and now that you had already started, you would go all the way. Slash settled himself on the bed, resting his back against the headboard and you climbed on top of him, adjusting your body on top of his cock, ready to ride him. As soon as you felt him entering your pussy, you grabbed Slash's hair, slowly pushing his head back and then kissing his lips, his hands held your hips firmly as you began to bounce up and down on his hard cock, feeling him fill you deeper and deeper.

- Does this turn you on? - You asked, pulling his hair harder, biting his lips waiting for his answer. His big hands felt your bare back as you bounced on top of him.

- Only when you do it. - He replied, and then in a very quick movement he turned you body on the bed, and now he was on top of you.

He continued fucking you while he buried his face between your tits, sucking them making you moan loudly, you felt your orgasm coming as his cock started hitting your soft spot again and again, making your whole body go ecstatic.

- Fuck! Slash! Don't stop! - You held his head against your chest, he continued the same rhythm and you felt his back arch as he came inside you.

[hollywoodroses]

Devil Inside (A Slash FanFiction)

A Slash x Y/N fan fiction, read it if you dare! 😌

Warnings: dark themes including religion, satanism and mentions of satanism. heavy smut, language, and a scary/horror film climax. Minors, please DO NOT interact with this story.

The alarm clock rang loudly at 6am as a hand peeked out of the bed covers to turn it off. After fifteen minutes you slowly got out of bed and put your glasses on. You left the room and went to the kitchen to get an apple as you put bread in the toaster. Your parents were away on a business trip in Florida. 

Once the toast was buttered and ready to eat, you went into the living room to wake up your kitten named jonas. You gave your baby some milk to drink, he was only a few weeks old and slept for most of the day. 

After playing with Jonas, you went to your room to get ready for school. You had to go early to meet Izzy at the skatepark so you could walk to school together. You had known Izzy since you were four years old when he and his family moved in next door to you. It was puppy love and soon a friendship bloomed. 

As you walked to the skatepark, you saw Izzy walking towards you. 

“Izzy!” You called out to him.

“Hey, Y/N.” Izzy ran up to you and as he got closer, gave you a hug.

He put his arm around you as you both continued the walk to school. 

When you got to school, Izzy went his own way as you headed to your first class. After school, Izzy would have band practice and you would end up walking home alone.

-END OF SCHOOL DAY-

You exited the school and started walking home. As you walked, you passed an occult shop that had been in the neighbourhood for over ten years. Since you had nothing to do, you decided to go inside. 

You greeted the owner and told him that you were in love with your best friend but he never noticed you. The owner suggested you buy an old looking book from a shelf that was in the restricted section of the store. It was a book of angels and demons. The shop owner explained that each angel and demon in the book represented different things like marriage and childbirth, lust and sexuality and even punishment. You agreed to buying the book and rushed home to use it. 

Later that night, you read the strange book and inside there was information about a demon of lust and sexuality. His name was Slash, the book went on to explain his origin story and what it meant to call on him for help. What you didn’t notice was that Slash was the only paranormal in the book that had a warning page. 

After a while, you lit some candles and started to call on to Slash. Suddenly your bedroom window shattered and the candles blew out. You screamed and hid under the covers of your bed.

-LATER-

The time read 4am (the devil's hour). You felt that there was someone in the room with you but you ignored it. You felt the person as they sat on your bed and pulled back the covers. The mystery person pulled you out of bed while you were still sleeping and you were suddenly sitting in their lap. Slowly the person started to rub you against themself and you started to dry hump them. You felt a moan form against your lips and you slowly opened your eyes to see the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

“More.” You whispered as your eyes rolled back and you turned your head towards the ceiling.

“Mmm, that’s it baby girl. You look so sexy in my lap.” The strange man said in a raspy voice. 

As you continued to dry hump him, he slowed you down to a stop and put his hand down your underwear to rub soft circles on your clit. You started moaning as he fingered you and he removed your underwear so you could squirt all over his jeans. 

You passed out and fell back asleep as the mysterious man waited for you in the shadows.

**********

The alarm rang at 7am and you woke up, you tried to put on your glasses but noticed you didn’t need them as your eyesight was suddenly clear.

You turned on the light and walked over to the bathroom. When you looked in the mirror, you gasped. You saw the most beautiful woman staring back at you. Your hair color was silver blonde and your eyes were purple. As you were looking at yourself, the man from the night before quietly walked into the room and stood behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“You look so beautiful, my love.” he told you with a smile. 

“My name is Slash and I am the demon of lust and sexuality. I am here to help you get the person of your dreams.”

You slowly closed your eyes and leaned into him as you moaned. You didn’t know how to get what or who you wanted. You decided to call Izzy and ask him to meet you at your house. 

Slash left you alone to put his work into action for you. You ran to your room and picked up your telephone. 

“Izzy, please come quick. I need you” You told him.

After a while your doorbell rang and you rushed to open it. 

“Y/N, what’s wrong? I’m worried about you.” Izzy asked.

“Nothing, I just want to be with you.” You replied. 

You walked Izzy to the sofa as he looked at you, awe-struck. You lightly pushed Izzy to sit on the sofa and crawled into his lap. 

As you looked at Izzy, your eyes turned into a bright shade of purple. You slowly kissed him as his eyes closed. The kissing soon turned into a heavy make-out session. As you continued to kiss Izzy, your hand found their way to his jeans. Izzy was in shock as he didn’t have the energy to make you stop, he just let you continue.

You unbuttoned and pulled down Izzy’s jeans as he moved to kiss your neck. You suddenly pulled up your skirt and rubbed yourself against Izzy as Slash watched you in the shadows. Unbeknownst to you, Slash would make you his slave in hell once you made Izzy your life-partner.

Izzy couldn’t take it much longer, he wanted to be with you in the most intimate way but you were going to slow.

Suddenly, he took control of you and the situation. He grabbed your neck as his other hand grabbed your waist and turned you both around so he was on-top of you. He lined himself and pushed himself into your clit. When Izzy started moving you couldn’t stop moaning.

You couldn’t believe your dream came true. You looked at Slash as you orgasmed and came down from your sexual high.

**********

In the morning, you woke-up to see Izzy sleeping on the sofa.

Before you could get up, Slash revealed himself to you.

“Welcome to hell” he said as his eyes turned black.

As Slash started laughing, the whole house shook and started breaking apart. You were horrified as you watched. 

“What’s happening? I don’t understand, please stop this.” You yelled at him. 

“Didn’t you read the book, slut.” He replied. “Once I help you, I OWN YOU!!”.

As the house broke apart, fire came through the floor and there was a bang as you ended up in a dark bedroom. The bed had silk-sheets and there were no windows in the room.

“That mother-fucker. He had to do it again!” screamed a voice from outside the room. The door opened and showed a demon with long red hair and tattoos all over his body. It was Axl the demon of punishment from your occult book. 

You cried as you watched Axl complain about what Slash had made you do. 

“I’m really sorry this happened to you.” He explained. 

“Please help me, I want to get out of here”. You replied.

“I’m sorry but I can’t. You will get used to this new life. It’s not so bad. Slash will give you a lot of freedom if you behave.”

As Axl continued to comfort you, a group of women came into the room. 

“Oh look, a new sister.” One of the women said as they all rushed to hug you.

After a while you realize that hell isn’t so bad and that you would grow to love it with all the people you were meeting. You just wondered what happened to Izzy and you were hoping he was safe.

**********

Back at your house, Izzy woke up to find himself alone. He started to worry about you as he grabbed his cellphone to try and call you.

“We are sorry, the number you are trying to call is disconnected.” The electronic voice said. 

When Izzy went back to school, there was a display on the main floor. The display read that you had passed away from an accident at a house party (you got drunk, slipped and drowned in a pool). Izzy didn’t understand what it meant. He decided to go to the occult shop because he remembered you talking about it last week. He spoke to the owner of the shop and learned about the mysterious angels and demons book. As Izzy read a copy of the book, he came across the pages about Slash. The book explained that Slash was originally human and was dating a girl named Rachel. While at a frat party, Rachel got hurt. This made Slash very sad and angry. While he was feeling this way, satan came to him and offered a life in hell as a demon with women who would do his dirty work for him. The devil promised revenge on the men that hurt Rachel. Slash agreed and the rest is history.

Izzy finally saw the warning page that you missed in the book. It had the following statement.

Beware: Once you call onto the demon of lust and sexuality, you cannot turn back. When he does your dirty work, he owns you. Be careful what you wish for.

Izzy couldn’t believe what he read, when he realized you were gone he broke down in tears. He promised himself he would find out the real truth to understand why you took such a dark path in life.

end

[ghoulsbounty]

Hi! I wanted to request a TH/fem reader and RZMM/fem reader

Maybe like a how would they show possessiveness over someone? A little angsty bc they're big guys and they would definitely manhandle their so in the heat of the moment

How Thomas Hewitt and RZ!Michael Myers Show Possessiveness Over You

Warnings: smut (18+), aggressive sex, slight mention of dumbification, manhandling, bruising/mark making, angst, obsession, stripping, stalking, slight yandere i guess?, possessiveness, canon-typical violence, control.

Words: 2.7K

A/N: Anon, thank you so much for my first slasher request! I love these boys so much and wanted to delve into their intentions behind their protectiveness a little, cause I think it would be very different for both. This is my first time writing a headcanon, I hope I've done you proud. I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

Thomas Hewitt

→ Thomas's struggle with social norms makes his possessiveness glaringly apparent. He perceives everyone outside the family as a potential threat to his happiness, particularly when it concerns you. His demeanour shifts abruptly at the slightest hint of danger; his typically measured movements become swift and aggressive. Despite his efforts to restrain his emotions in public, such as at the Cele Community Centre where you and his mother work, Thomas often finds himself instinctively drawn to your side. His hand firmly grasps the fabric of your shirt, his protective stance evident to anyone who dares to look at you. His gaze sweeps the surroundings with a discerning eye, meticulously assessing each customer until you gently remove his grip and convince him to wait in the back.

→ Thomas's overprotectiveness occasionally acts as a double-edged sword, simultaneously shielding you from harm while subtly restricting your freedom. As a man of few words, he struggles to articulate the depth of his need to keep you safe, resulting in actions that may be misinterpreted as possessiveness rather than genuine concern or fear of losing you. He means well, but it can feel suffocating.

→ Preferring to keep you within his line of sight whenever possible, Thomas's protective instincts often clash with the demands of daily life, leading to occasional conflicts with Charlie over the use of his time. The older man's frustration with what he perceives as your bad influence over Thomas' attention to his work further exacerbates tensions within the household. 

→ Certain areas of the house are off limits to you. The basement serves as a sanctuary for Thomas's work, and he is adamant that you are shielded from the horrors that happen inside. However, he still insists on your presence nearby, perched on the steps that lead down to the space or listening to the radio in the dining room upstairs. Your proximity seems to offer him a sense of security and focus, enabling him to delve into his his task with unwavering concentration and produce some of his best work.

→ Thomas finds solace in words of affirmation and constantly seeks reassurance from you. Despite the intimacy you share and the countless times you've assured him otherwise, he harbours an unshakeable fear that if he loosens his grip even for a moment, you might slip away from him. This nagging insecurity gnaws at him, overshadowing moments of connection, leaving him perpetually haunted by the possibility of losing you.

→ Physical gestures become one your languages of reassurance. You hold his hand tightly, intertwining your fingers as a silent promise that you're there for him. Running your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you becomes a comforting ritual, soothing both him and you. Your touch on his chest, just over his heart, keeps his anxieties at bay.

→ Words also become a source of comfort for Thomas. You express your pride in him, highlighting his strengths and the ways he makes your life better. You tell him how happy you are to have him by your side, emphasizing that he's not just your protector but also your partner. Sometimes, the simplest affirmations have the greatest impact on Thomas. Hearing you call him "yours" fills him with a sense of belonging and purpose, and when you tell him that he's been good, he can't help but prove just how good he can be by filling you with his fingers, tongue or cock.

→ Thomas feels most valued when you grant him your undivided attention and allow him to reciprocate. He revels in spending hours between your legs, skilfully coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your willing body until you're left a whimpering, trembling mess beneath him. Despite his efforts to maintain control in your relationship, you always seem to hold the upper hand, which is why he finds solace in reducing you to a thoroughly fucked-out state on his bed. In those moments, with your mind blissfully empty and your body consumed by a primal hunger for his touch, he feels a sense of power and satisfaction unlike any other.

→ Despite this, the mounting tensions within the household, particularly with Charlie, often leave Thomas grappling with pent-up aggression. As the demands on his time intensify, with Charlie clamouring for more of Thomas's attention and you taking on additional shifts at the community centre to assist his mother, Thomas finds it increasingly challenging to maintain his composure.

→ You've become attuned to the subtle shifts in his demeanour, recognizing the tell-tale signs when he's received a stern tongue lashing from his uncle or had a particularly taxing session in the basement. Thomas' simmering rage begins to permeate his interactions with you. His touch, once tender and reassuring, now carries an undercurrent of tension. The few words he mutters in your presence are laced with frustration and discontent, rather than devotion.

→ Despite your best efforts to sooth him, there are moments when Thomas's volatile emotions threaten to overwhelm him. In those instances, you find yourself walking on eggshells, navigating the precarious balance between offering solace and inadvertently stoking the flames of his anger. You are never fearful of Thomas, but these are the times when you remove yourself from his presence when possible. That is, until you learn that the best way to calm him during these storms is with your body.

→ Thomas's heavy-handed nature becomes even more pronounced during these moments of heightened emotion. He handles you with a forcefulness that borders on brutality, moulding and contorting your body into painful positions that elicit tears of discomfort. While he typically refrains from spanking you unless requested, in these instances, his large hand comes crashing down upon your flesh with punishing force, leaving behind welts and bruises that you carry for days. Unlike his usual attentiveness to your pleasure, Thomas's focus shifts solely towards finding an outlet for his frustration, using your body as a means to an end in his quest for release. He bites, scratches, and fucks every inch of you with an almost desperate intensity, seeking solace in the physical connection between you.

→ Yet, there are fleeting moments of clarity when the clouds in his eyes dissipate, and the gentle giant you know and love re-emerges. It's in these moments of vulnerability that you offer him comfort, reassuring him that he can take what he needs from you, and that you will still love him.

→ After the intensity of the moment subsides, Thomas retreats into the solitude of the basement, locking himself away as a form of self-imposed punishment for his mistreatment of you. Despite your efforts to coax him out, reassuring him of your well-being and offering comfort, he remains secluded until he feels ready to face you once more. When Thomas finally does emerge, you're quick to envelop him in the warmth of your affection and reassurance. With a soft kiss to his leather-clad cheek, you convey your unwavering support and understanding, letting him know that you harbour no resentment towards him.

→ In the aftermath of the encounter, Thomas's protective instincts kick into overdrive as he tends to any wounds that adorn your body, his touch gentle yet purposeful. It's in these moments that his true nature shines through—he may be heavy-handed and prone to bouts of aggression, but above all else, he possesses a deep-seated desire to care for and protect you, to make amends for any harm he may have caused.

RZ!Michael Myers

→ Michael's possessive nature over you begins with an intense and inexplicable fixation. From the moment his eyes land on you, something primal within him snaps, and he becomes singularly obsessed with making you his own.

→ He can't quite explain what draws him to the Red Rabbit Lounge that evening, but as he leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath after a harrowing escape from Smith's Grove, he is immediately captivated when you emerge from the back door. Unlike others who shrink away from him in fear, you meet his gaze with a calm demeanour, lighting your cigarette and casually pointing out his papier-mâché mask. Your nonchalant remark about liking the orange because it reminds you of your favourite holiday only adds to the intrigue, sparking something deep within Michael's psyche.

→ Following that initial encounter, Michael becomes an omnipresent presence in your life, a shadow that lingers at the edges of your awareness. You sense him in the periphery of your vision, catch glimpses of his shadow darting past windows, and hear the faintest rustle of his breath in the stillness of the night. He becomes your unseen companion, meticulously observing your every move. He studies your routines and habits, committing them to memory with an almost obsessive attention to detail. Always one step ahead, he waits patiently until the opportune moment presents itself to make his presence truly known.

→ Michael finds immense pleasure in the exhilarating pursuit of you, convinced that you share in his enjoyment of the chase. He keenly observes the subtle signs of your awareness, noticing the wry smirk that graces your lips when you sense his presence nearby. In those moments, he imagines feeling the same giddiness that surges through you when he lightly brushes your hair, a fleeting touch that leaves you yearning for more, even as it vanishes before you can turn around. The first time you called out to him, he battled against every instinct urging him to step out from the shadows and claim you as his own. Despite the overwhelming desire possess you, he restrains himself, savouring the anticipation of the inevitable moment when he would finally make his move.

→ In Michael's twisted psyche, you are more than just a person; you are a coveted prize that he will protect at all costs. He perceives himself as the sole rightful owner of your being, and he harbours an intense fixation on claiming you as his own.

→ As the regular patrons of the lounge mysteriously vanish one by one, leaving a bewildered community in their wake, Michael remains a silent observer, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon you. He knows all too well the allure of your presence, the captivating dance you perform for these men, reminiscent of the performances his late mother once gave. Yet, while others may see you as an entertainer, Michael sees something far deeper—a connection, a possession, a symbol of his ultimate dominance that he must preserve.

→ From the shadows, he watches as you bare your body to these patrons. To Michael, it doesn't matter whether you are aware of his claim over you; what matters is that he sees you as his, and he will go to any lengths to ensure that no one dares to challenge him. In his mind, you are his alone, and he will stop at nothing to secure what he believes is rightfully his.

→ When Michael finally decides to collect his prize, it's in the eerie stillness of the night. He patiently waits in the shadows of your home, a silent sentinel standing rigidly in the corner of your bedroom as he observes your every move. You can feel his presence, an unspoken acknowledgment that he has come to stake his claim on his property.

→ As you undress, acutely aware of his watchful gaze, a shiver runs down your spine. There's a palpable tension in the air, a sense of anticipation mingled with apprehension. Yet, despite the unease that courses through you, there's also a strange allure, a primal instinct drawing you inexorably towards him. When you finally coax him from the shadows, he engulfs you in his arms with a ferocity that takes your breath away. The force of his embrace is suffocating, his touch demanding as he grasps and claws at every part of your body. In that moment, there's no denying the intensity of his desire, the need to make you his own consuming him entirely.

→ Michael is not gentle with you; he doesn't hold back his deep urges to possess you completely. He revels in your whimpers and the screams of his name as he stretches you open and takes what he deems rightfully his. His touch is rough, unyielding, as if trying to merge your bodies into one. Each movement is driven by a fierce need to mark you, to ensure you understand that you belong to him and no one else. Every night with Michael is filled with a mix of pain and pleasure. His eyes intense and unwavering, remain locked on you, drinking in every reaction, every cry. To him, this is the final step in owning you, the ultimate act of protecting what is his.

→  Removing the mask takes time. It's one evening, after the intensity of your shared orgasms have ebbed, and Michael lies heavy on top of you. Your fingers tentatively trace the edges of the white rubber mask, sensing his body tense beneath your touch. His hand instinctively reaches out, grasping your wrist to halt your movement, but your lips find solace in the warmth of his knuckles as you plant a gentle kiss, your breath whispering a desire to see him. For a fleeting moment, there's resistance, a hesitancy borne from years of concealing his true self, before he lets you unmask him. His long hair cascades over your face as the mask falls away, revealing the man beneath. In that vulnerable moment, you stroke his sweat-glistened cheek, your fingers tracing the contours of his features as you call him "handsome", perhaps the first time he's heard the word since his mother.

→ Despite Michael's disapproval of your continued work at the lounge, you are unwilling to relinquish your independence completely. He grumbles and fumes when things don't go his way, but deep down, he appreciates your defiance, feels a strange allure in your willingness to challenge him. Although his overly protective nature remains, he secretly enjoys the way you push back against his control, finding a strange sense of satisfaction in the game of give and take between you. A hand on his chest or a kiss along his strong jawline is all it takes for him to soften, his resolve melting under the warmth of your affection. You eventually compromise, only working certain shifts and allowing him to escort you home. As if you really have a choice on the matter. Michael finds your attempts at negotiation endearing.

→ If anyone dares to come between Michael and what is his, he reacts with violent outbursts of rage. His attacks are brutal and merciless, driven by a primal need to assert his dominance and protect you. Unfortunately, you are also not exempt from his aggression, and when he catches sight of you one night, engaged in conversation with a stranger outside the back of the lounge during your smoke break, he snaps. In a frenzy of fury, he swiftly disposes of the man, his actions marked by a sickening crunch of bones as his body is hurled against the brick wall. Then, turning his attention to you, Michael's muscles coil with tension and his chest heaves with barely-contained anger. Gripping your arms so fiercely that bruises bloom in their wake, he shoves you against the wall, once, then again, as if attempting to jolt some some sense into you.

→ With swift determination, Michael hoists you over his shoulder and retreats into the shadows, his purposeful strides carrying you home. But the journey doesn't lead to the bedroom; instead, he deposits you onto the stairs with a roughness that steals your breath. There, in the dim light, he strips away the remnants of your clothing, his actions forceful and unyielding. Again and again, he fucks into you with a ferocity that leaves you screaming his name, your pleas mingling with the echoes of both passion and pain. In those moments, as his protectiveness gives way to possession and consumes you, you find yourself uttering the words he craves to hear—that you are his, and his alone.

→ Yet, even amidst the ecstasy, a shadow of uncertainty looms. You can never be certain that Michael wouldn't cross that final line, that his compulsion wouldn't drive him to take everything from you, including your life. For Michael, protection is not just about control—it's about ownership to the point of obsession. If he can't have you, no one else can either.

[gulnarsultan]

‼Warning: Yandere, stalker, kidnapping.‼

》 Yandere Jasoon Voorhees and female reader. 《

You were going to work as a camp counselor at Crystal Lake for the summer. You actually loved being outdoors. And you had great skills when it came to dealing with children. After a few hours of driving, you reached Crystal Lake. They gave you information about what to do and the campground. In the afternoon, the bus carrying your group of children arrived at the camp. You were going to be counseling a group of six children, three boys and three girls.

In fact, after the first few days, the children got used to you and that made it easier to deal with them. You didn’t leave the children alone, you made sure they had enough food and water, were healthy, safe and happy.

There was a group of young people at the camp. In fact, even if they invited you to have fun, you didn’t accept their invitations so as not to leave the children alone.

In the meantime, you were doing your daily chores, unaware that there was someone watching you from a distance. Every now and then, you got the feeling that you were being watched. However, you tried to ignore this feeling.

"See Jason? What a good and well-mannered girl."

His mother's voice echoed in Jason's mind. It was true, he thought. He had been following and watching you for days. You hadn't been drinking, you hadn't been doing anything sexual, and you were doing a great job with your camp counselor responsibilities.

"She'd make a perfect wife. You liked her too, didn't you?"

Jason's cheeks flushed under his mask. He nodded. In Jason's mind, you were a true Princess. He had to protect you and keep you safe, because he had chosen to be your loyal guardian. Nothing strange had happened during the camp, except for the fact that the other group of teens had gone missing.

During this time, the male duties that the other assistant counselor was supposed to do were done on their own. You were actually grateful for that. You couldn't imagine chopping and carrying heavy wood, carrying supplies, and doing other heavy work.

On the last day of the camp, all the students in your group had been taken away by their parents by noon. After organizing the camp, you started to pack your things. After packing everything, you drank a glass of juice. However, you soon felt very tired. You lay down on your bed and closed your eyes. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself in another cabin, in a bed, and one of your feet was chained to the bed. When you looked around in fear, you noticed Jason sitting in a chair on the side. You buried your face in the pillow in fear. Jason approached you with heavy steps, left a few daisies next to you, and gently stroked your head. Then he left his cabin. A voice inside you told you that you were stuck here forever.

[m1d-45]

snapshot

summary: short, soft moments with your lover, featuring tighnari and neuvillette (separately) in that order.

word count: ~1k composite

-> warnings: big mention of bugs in tighnari's ! none shown but theyre discussed, as are bug bites. none for neuvi.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

bug bites were common among forest rangers. a special bug repellent was included in every pack, a black bottle with plain instructions. tighnari put effort into making it easy to apply and easier to understand, constantly finding new ways to promote its usage. if gone untreated, even small beestings can become serious. add onto it the fact that he was the one that inevitably had to treat them, and he had every motivation to ensure it was used. he made sure that spares were easily accessible, included demonstrations in training, and emphasized the importance of proper application before every patrol.

so why in teyvat did you keep getting bit?

every time, without fail, you returned from patrol scratching your wrist or ankle or wherever you inevitably got bit. and every time, he had to be the one to drag you to the medical hut. at least if you acknowledged the severity of the situation and brought your injuries to him on your own, that’d be understandable. he understood that the feeling of lotion wan’t bearable for everyone—he was in the process of transforming it into a mist to make it even easier—and he’d be happy to find ways to keep you inside if that was the case. there was no shortage of small chores to be done, and with collei now in full recovery, you could easily take her place.

but no. of course not. that would be too easy. his partner happened to be the most stubborn ranger on the squad, with the worst affinity for bugs he’d ever seen.

“how does this always happen to you?”

you shrug, pulling his mint plant off the shelf and beginning to tear off a few leaves. part of him is proud you at least know the proper treatment, though it’s quickly overshadowed by the angry swelling on your hand. he takes the leaves and nudges you toward the chair, searching his drawers for the rest of the poultice.

“how long ago did you get bit?”

“maybe half an hour.”

“half an-” he twisted open the tin with too much force, sighing. “and you didn’t come back immediately why?”

he can hear the smile in your voice. “it wasn’t that serious.”

“…what color was it?”

“yellow.”

“really?”

“and striped. probably a wasp.”

he didn’t know how you had the energy to be sassy, tearing the leaves into shreds and mixing it into the tin. your eyes were red with tears and you hissed when he spread the medicine over your wrist, clearly in pain. the area around your bite was hot to the touch, and he could feel his ears pull back in worry.

“why do you insist on going on patrol?” why do you insist on getting hurt?

“it’s not a big deal.” i don’t care about my pain.

“it is.” i do.

he wiped off his hands and grabbed a roll of bandages, wrapping your hand. your fingers flinched whenever he pulled it too tight. how could you insist on putting yourself at risk like this?

he taped down the end, holding your hand in his. “if it gets too itchy, come back to me, okay?” will you let me care for you?

“of course i will.” i’ll try.

he brought your hand to his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

maybe this time, you’d mean it.

rain was common in fontaine. gutters lined every road and fountains sprayed wherever there was enough room to put one. carved bricks channeled water out of the plazas, every inch of the city designed with rainfall in mind. steep roofs fell over wide awnings, thick greeting rugs in front of every building. when it rained, it poured, though no puddles lay in the streets. sharp lights cut through the dense fog hanging over ivory walls, lighting up the city even when the clouds blocked out the sun.

but the world did not come to a standstill merely because the weather asked it to. boots were sold covered in waterproof wax, many-layered skirts designed to flick off water in a single twirl. fashion was as beautiful as it was untouchable, the very idea of something being vulnerable to waterlog appalling and confusing. who would create such a thing? who would wear it without an umbrella? and, entirely separate from that: who would ever consider leaving the house without an umbrella?

umbrellas were as vital to fashion as they were to the ever-changing weather. they came in every color and shape, made to match every conceivable outfit one could wear. and if, by some miracle, you couldn’t find one that did, there were a plethora of boutiques offering custom embroidery. the steambird was eager to comment on the shifting designs across officials’ umbrellas, trends flowing in and out of their fashion column like the tide. everyone who worked in the court that had stepped outside on a rainy day—which was about as common as the sun rising—had their appearance meticulously documented; unless they refused being in the paper, of course, in which case other less-reputable sources picked up the story instead.

all were reported on, making the front page if not the headline. all, but one.

the iudex did not carry an umbrella. he also declined to entertain any questions as to why, merely stating that simple fact and moving on with his day. his hair clung to his face, even his suit darker with water. he walked down the less crowded roads so he wouldn’t bump into anybody, seeming entirely unbothered by the rain. sometimes he’d turn a palm toward the sky, as if checking that it was still there, and then continue on his way.

you always hated this habit of his. no matter how many times he insisted that he wouldn’t get sick, it was always worrying to open your door and find your lover soaked from head to toe. no water slips from him to your floors, not even from the soles of his boots, the click of his heels and your worried tone the only sound in the house. it was already late as it was, and there was no point to fuss about details at this hour.

“what happened?”

he shed his coat, suspended droplets hovering in the air around him. “the marechaussee phantom were called to mount automnequi; a melusine was badly injured by a rogue mek, and a fisherman had to pull her from the sea. i paid her a visit after work.”

that would explain things. he lets you wipe off his face, careful not to smudge the eyeliner that never seems to fade. already, the rain was beginning to let up, lightening from a downpour. rain in fontaine was as fickle as it was frequent…

“is she alright?”

“of course. the gardiennage provides excellent doctors.”

“then there’s no need to worry.” cupping his now-dry face in your hands, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “she’ll be back in her feet in no time.”

the slightest of smiles crossed his face, his hands keeping yours on him. outside, the skies were clearing, pale blue quickly streaming through the clouds.

perhaps umbrellas would fall out of fashion soon, if rains could cease before they truly had the chance to begin.

[theghostinyourwalls]

Run From Me

Stu Macher/Ghostface x F!Reader

Tags: dubcon, noncon, role playing, knife play, threats, stalking, happy ending, smut, glove kink, mask kink, fingering, choking, breath play, power play, fear play, unprotected sex, creampie, inappropriate use of photography, established relationships.

“Hello?” You answered the ringing phone, politely.

“Hello,” An unfamiliar, deeper voice echoed your greeting.

“Yes?” You prompted.

“Who is this?” The man inquired.

“Hm, who are you trying to reach?” You replied with a question of your own.

“What number is this?” He seemed content to ask questions back, in no rush to get off the phone.

“Well, what number are you trying to reach?” You asked again, trying to be helpful.

“I don't know,” he answered, but he didn’t sound confused or unsure.

“Well, I think you have the wrong number,” You tried wrapping up the call.

“Do I?” Again he sounded sure of himself.

“It happens, take it easy,” You excused and hung up, returning to your calm night in. Your focus returned to the horror movie on the small screen in the living room. Jamie Lee Curtis was anxiously looking out her window when the loud startling ring of the phone came again.

“Uhm, hello?” You answered again.

“I’m sorry I guess I dialed the wrong number,” The same voice filtered through the telephone.

“So why’d you dial it again?” You huffed a laugh at the oddity.

“To apologize,” he answered smoothly.

“You’re forgiven, bye now,” You moved to hang the phone up, when he called out.

“Wait--Wait, don’t hang up.” There was an almost irresistible plea in his voice that kept you on the line. He sounded cute.

“What?” you indulged.

“I wanna talk to you for a second,” he simply answered.

“They’ve got 900 numbers for that, see ya.” You hung up once again, finding his simple request not as entertaining as you had hoped.

But then the phone rang once again, and you couldn't stop yourself from picking up.

“Hello?”

“Why don’t you wanna talk to me?” He played hurt, but the theatrics in his tone gave him away.

“Who is this?” you grew curious.

“You tell you your name, I’ll tell you mine.” he said it as though it was a scandalous proposition.

“Hah, I don't think so,” you shook your head, blushing. Were you just simply imagining him flirting with you or was that a line?

“What’s that noise?” he asked, he must have heard the screaming coming from Halloween.

“A scary movie.”

“You like scary movies?”

“Uh-huh,” You nodded enthusiastically.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“I don't know,” You shrugged.

“You have to have a favorite, what comes to mind?”

“Halloween, you know the one with the guy in the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters? What’s yours?”

“Guess,” he insisted playfully.

“Um, Nightmare on Elm Street?”

“Is that the one where the guy had knives for fingers?”

“Yeah, Freddy Krueger, that’s right,” You nodded, impressed with his taste.

“I like that movie. It was scary,” he lowered his voice for effect.

“Well, the first one was but the rest sucked,” You gave your opinion.

“So, you got a boyfriend?” he asked, and then you became sure. He was definitely flirting.

“Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?” you teased, trying to stop the grin from completely overtaking your face.

“Maybe,” he answered in a sing-song note before asking again, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” you lied, enjoying the stranger's attention.

“You never told me your name,” he pointed out.

“Why do you want to know my name?”

“Because I wanna know who I’m looking at,” his voice dropped once again and a chill ran up your spine.

“What did you say?” You felt out of balance, suddenly snapping your attention to the dark windows surrounding the living room. You couldn't see anything beyond what the dim pool lights illuminated.

“I said I wanna know who I’m talking to,” he corrected himself.

“That’s not what you said,” You shook your head, a little breathless as fight or flight began to kick in your brain.

“What do you think I said?”

“Um,” You tried to think back to mere seconds ago. Had you really misheard him?

“Hello?” he tried again.

“Look, I gotta go,” you apologized, now eager to get off the phone.

“Wait, I thought we were gonna go out?” He sounded overly hurt and upset.

“Oh, no, I don't think so,” you declined, hanging up as he called his last demand.

“Don’t hang up on me!”

You turned the volume up on the television to keep your mind from jumping at every creak. He was just some creep playing a prank, you figured. you weren't going to be intimidated by a loser with nothing better to do than call random numbers and try to scare them. The ringing came again and you had half a mind to tell him off. You were going to make him regret trying to make fun of you.

“I told you not to hang up on me,” the lighter tone had disappeared from the near growl of anger that rumbled through the speaker now.

“Listen, I am two seconds away from calling the cops, and I do have a boyfriend! He's big and strong and when he comes home he’s going to kick your ass!” you tried to scare the man on the phone.

“I’m getting scared. I’m shaking in my boots,” he mocked.

“What do you want?” you asked, turning around in your living room, looking out the window.

“To see what your insides look like,” The crude statement sent shivers down your spine.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“More of a game, really, can you handle that?”

“Please– No! I can’t--”

“Run, I’ll give you five seconds,”

You dropped the phone set at your feet. Your mind was moving faster than you could as you began locking the doors around the house. As you whipped around to the back door your racing heart dropped into your stomach. It was wide open. The man was already inside your house. You doubted you could outrun him if you shot out the door, and made the life dependent decision to hide in the house where you were more familiar than him and call the police. This was your one shot at survival. You turned and started to race to your room. As you passed by the kitchen you could hear the man laughing distantly over the phone, but it sounded off. It sounded as if it were two voices. One from over the phone and the other nearby. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the entryway closet door swing open, revealing a tall figure draped in black robes with a white mask that stretched into a scream.

Your lungs burned as you sprinted to your bedroom. His boots stomped right behind you as he closed in on you. As you reached the top of the stairs you noticed your bedroom door was closed. You knew it was going to take a couple more seconds to get it open and close it behind you, successfully locking yourself in. You just had to make it in time.

You grasped the cool metal of your door handle, but before you could turn it to push the door open, the masked intruder caught you. He grabbed your wrist, tearing it away from the door handle and pushed you up against the door. Air was forced out of your lungs as he crushed your body. His body firmly pressed against yours from behind until you couldn't move at all.

“Did you really think you could get away so easily?” He let out a soft hum as he drew a knife from his sleeve. “You should know, the only reason I didn't get you earlier was because I wanted to see you run from me. It just makes it all the more fun when I catch you.” He placed the knife to your throat.

“Please you don’t have to do this," you cried out a soft plea for mercy. “I’ll do anything you say please just don’t kill me,” you begged the masked man.

“Anything?” He asked and moved the blade away from your neck.

“Yes, please, just don’t hurt me.” your voice sounded shaky and more tears began trickling down your face.

“Now, now, that wasn’t part of the deal. I won't kill you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make you suffer.” He pulls back his hand, knife tight in his grip, and thrusts it violently into the door right above your shoulder. You yelped and tried to flinch away only to find that you couldn't. The knife caught on your sweater, trapping you to the door.

Now that you couldn't escape from him he eased off of you ever so slightly, but his touch never left your body. You could feel his hands reach the hem of your sweater. His leather gloves cold on your bare skin as he began trailing them up your stomach. Goosebumps flared across your torso underneath his gloved fingertips. You gasped as he reached higher, touching the underside of your breasts.

“No, no please, you don’t have to do this!” You whimpered. He ignored your pleas as he roughly groped your breasts with his large hands. As he massaged your breasts, his fingers found your nipples. He would switch from rolling them between his fingers to harshly pulling them, creating a pulsing, twisting mixture of pleasure and pain. Your traitorous body reacted, shivering and shaking as the ache in your core craved more from your attacker. You still tried your best to hide the arousal, biting your tongue to stop any noises from spilling from your lips. The thought of him knowing you felt pleasure from this was mortifying and you were already overboiling from embarrassment. One of his hands left your breast as he moved it up to your head. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you to look at him, and you knew he would know by the look on your face.

“Oh don’t look so concerned, we’re just getting started.” His hand that was squeezing your breast began to travel down your body. He slipped past the waistband of your skirt and into your panties. The sensation of his gloved fingers brushing against your clit sent a jolt of pleasure throughout your body making you jump involuntarily. Your face burned with shame as he continued to move his hand further, sliding his fingers in between your slick folds. He circled them around gathering your arousal and bringing them back up to your clit. The obscenely wet sound it made was humiliating. you tried to hide your face from him which earned you a harsh tug on your hair. As he yanked your head back, exposing your neck to him, you let out a pitiful moan.

“You don’t have to keep lying to yourself. We both know how much you like this. I’ve barely touched you, yet you’re already soaking my fingers.” He started moving his fingers, circling your sensitive clit. You jumped at the sensation, still trying to get your body free from his touch. “What’s the matter? Are you embarrassed? Ashamed that you’re so wet for some random freak? Or maybe it’s guilt? Are you thinking about your boyfriend?”

“No! Stop it!” A violent sob ripped out of your throat. Even though you were trying to resist him, your pussy throbbed for more. As if on cue, fingers began moving further towards your entrance. His two fingers slid in with little resistance as they were coated with your arousal. A gasp left your lips as you felt his fingers sinking deeper into your cunt. Your wall’s clenched down on him as he reached a certain spot, his palm replacing the pressure on your clit.

“Speaking of your poor boyfriend, isn’t he supposed to be coming home soon? You know any second he could walk up here and see his perfect little girlfriend cumming around my fingers. Wouldn’t that be something?” He thrusted his long and dexterous fingers in and out of your pussy, curling his fingers to rub against your velvet walls. You could feel the pressure of your impending climax building in your abdomen. “But, I’m thinking of something much better.” He pulled his hand from your panties and brought his slick fingers to your face, dragging them along your cheek before pressing them to your lips. You reluctantly opened your mouth out of fear of what he would do if you didn't obey him. “Be a good girl and lick them clean.” He shoved his fingers into your mouth and you tasted your arousal on his leather gloves.

As you licked and sucked on his fingers you heard him groan in approval. Pushing his erection into you, he slowly grinded into the curve of your ass. He pressed down on your tongue before removing his hand from your face and trailing it down your body. Once he reached your thighs he began moving back up, lifting up your skirt in the process. The thin lace caught his eye, making him chuckle under his breath.

“Awe, did you wear these just for him? That’s so cute.”

You yelped as he yanked them down to your knees, leaving you completely exposed. The cool air hitting your core made you shudder. Then there was the soft clink of his belt followed by a deep sigh. His hard length slapped against your ass before he positioned himself between your legs. He rocked his hips against you, his cock sliding through your slick folds. The head of his cock brushed against your clit making you whine. He continued to repeat the lewd action until his length was completely covered in your arousal.

“C’mon honey, we both know you want this just as much as I do. Just look how you're drenching my cock. All you have to do is tell me how badly you need me to fuck you.”

“Please, just make me cum. Use your fingers, your mouth, your cock I don’t care anymore. Just stop toying with me,” you moaned.

“Oh, but it's so fun,” he teased, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He pushed in slowly, still trying to push you past breaking point. The pain of his cock stretching you was oddly pleasurable. You took him inch by inch until he bottomed out. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix. The feeling of him that deep made your body feel weightless. Your thighs trembled at the sensation of being so full.

“Please, please fuck me. Make me scream,” you begged. With that he grabbed you firmly by the waist. His hips stirred as he began to slowly pull out of you before harshly slamming back into you.

“With a set of lungs like those, it would be a shame for me not to.” He kept the rhythm of his hips at a steady pace. Each thrust was harder than the last, pushing into you deeper and deeper. The blunt head of his cock rammed against your cervix, bruising it in the process. He never faltered keeping up his brutal pace. It was as if he was trying to split you open. The drag of his hard length in and out of you was animalistic. He enveloped all of your senses as you fully gave into the feel of him ravaging your body.

You didn’t notice his hand that had traveled up towards your neck until it was too late. He wrapped his large gloved hand around your throat. He rested it there, a reminder of the power he held over you. Slowly, as if to see if you would resist, he began to squeeze. It wasn’t a light squeeze, it was a possessive hold that he had on you. It made you lightheaded, but he never cut off your airflow. The lack of blood to your head heightened your sensitivity, making you distinctly aware of your throbbing clit. You tried to reach down to touch your neglected bundle of nerves, but your hand was smacked away.

“So desperate for release, but you don’t have any control here, do you sweetie?” He took his time sliding his free hand down to your core. He teasingly slapped your clit, making you cry out. “You look so pretty when you're in pain. It makes me wonder what you’d look like if I made you into a bloody mess.” His tone became darker, filled with a sick fascination. He groaned as you involuntarily clenched around him. You couldn’t lie to yourself, his perverted words only brought you closer to the edge. Finally, he brought his fingers to your needy clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud. Your stomach tightened as you felt your impending orgasm.

He was close too, you could tell by the way his cock twitched inside you. His breathing was heavy and every once in a while you could hear a small moan escape from him. He desperately rutted into you as your walls tightened around him. His cock pulsed deep inside of you as he reached his high. The sudden extra heat sent you over the edge as you came. Your pussy fluttered around his leaking cock, milking him dry. He released his hold on you allowing you to better catch your breath.

You whimpered as he pulled out of you. The sensation of his cum leaking out of your aching pussy and down your thighs made you shiver. You leaned against the door, both your mind and body exhausted.

As you began coming back to reality you noticed he wasn’t against you anymore. His touch was gone. you tried to get up and remove the knife from your sweater, but was gently pushed back against the door.

“I’m not done with you yet.” The wood floor creaked as he shuffled around behind you. Your body tensed as you anticipated his touch on your overstimulated body, but to your surprise he never made contact. You were going to try and free yourself again but froze as you heard the clicking of a camera lens. He was taking pictures of you. Then there was another click soon accompanied by more. Your face burned with shame as you squirmed, trying to at least save your dignity. He laughed at your pathetic attempt to cover yourself. “That’s cute, trying to hide.” he chuckled to himself.

He stood from where he was crouched behind you and pulled the knife out of the door, freeing you. He spun you around to face him and reached up to remove the mask hiding his identity, revealing your boyfriend, Stu Macher. His face had a warm glow from their intimate game as he grinned at you. He cupped your face and pulled you to look into his lovesick eyes. “Surprise, baby.”

[zapreportsblog]

You know the “opposites attract” relationships?

How about do one with Brahms?

Brahms - clingy, protective, stiff

Reader - calm, trusting, soft

Brahms X calm! Reader

Thank youuuuu :)

❝clingy❞

✭ pairing : brahms heelshire x reader

✭ fandom : slashers

✭ summary : brahms is one hell of a touch starved man and when (y/n) came into his life he expected her to be just like all the others, but she isn’t. In fact she embraces him with welcome arms so does that mean all those people who left him are because it’s his fault?

✭ slashers masterlist

The wind whispered through the ancient trees that surrounded Heelshire Manor, casting eerie shadows on its aged façade. (Y/N) had applied for a simple job months ago, never imagining how peculiar her new role would become. The advertisement had called for a caretaker, someone to oversee the estate's unique collection of antiques and curiosities. Little did she know, her main charge would be a doll of all things.

The first time she laid eyes on the doll, she was taken aback. It was an exquisitely crafted replica of a man, dressed in aristocratic attire from a bygone era. The porcelain face bore an uncanny resemblance to the owner of the manor, Brahms Heelshire, whose family had owned the estate for generations. The locals whispered tales of the Hellshire curse, and their peculiar fascination only fueled the sense of mystery that hung over the manor.

As (Y/N) settled into her role, her days were filled with dusting ancient furniture, polishing silverware, and, most importantly, attending to the doll. The instructions were simple: ensure the doll's clothing remained impeccable, the porcelain visage remained pristine, and its position on the mantel stayed undisturbed. The task was mundane, yet it carried an air of reverence, as if the doll held some deeper significance that transcended its appearance.

Days turned into weeks, and (Y/N) gradually grew accustomed to her routine. The mansion's interior was an amalgamation of faded opulence and eerie silence. The walls seemed to whisper secrets, and the portraits of long-departed Heelshire ancestors stared down with solemn gazes. Every creak and rustle echoed through the hallways, keeping her senses on high alert.

One evening, as she carefully adjusted the doll's coat collar, she felt an inexplicable shiver run down her spine. A feeling of being watched settled over her, but she brushed it off as her imagination running wild. That night, though, as she lay in bed, she could have sworn she heard faint whispers carried on the breeze.

The following days brought a series of odd occurrences: a book left open to a specific page she hadn't touched, a teacup shifted slightly on its saucer. She couldn't shake the feeling that someone was playing tricks on her, but each time she looked around, the empty rooms offered no answers.

It was on the night of a thunderstorm that everything changed. Lightning illuminated the mansion's darkened interior, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. (Y/N) found herself drawn to the doll, her fingers tracing its delicate features in the dim light.

And then, as the thunder roared and rain beat against the windows, she heard a whisper so faint it might have been her own imagination. "(Y/N)…" The voice seemed to emanate from within the doll itself.

Startled, she stumbled back, her heart racing. But then, as if responding to an unseen presence, the doll's eyes blinked. A shock of realization coursed through her: the doll was no mere doll; it was a conduit to something more.

"(Y/N)…" The voice was clearer this time, resonating through the room. She watched in awe as the doll's porcelain skin began to soften, its limbs shifting, as if a dormant life was awakening.

And then, from the doll's heart, a figure emerged. A man, dressed in period clothing, stood before her, his eyes fixed upon her with a mix of curiosity and caution. It was Brahms Heelshire himself, or a spectral semblance of him.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other in silence. (Y/N) was taken aback by the unexpected turn of events, her heart pounding in her chest. But amidst the shock and fear, an unspoken understanding passed between them.

The man, or whatever he was, spoke softly, his voice tinged with both melancholy and yearning. "You did not flee, as others before you have. Why?"

With a steady breath, (Y/N) met his gaze. "I believe that even the most peculiar of situations deserve a chance to be understood. And, in all honesty, I've grown fond of the company, even if it's a doll or a spectral form."

A ghostly smile touched his lips, and for the first time, she saw a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. "You’re courageous , (Y/N)."

And so, an unusual connection was forged within the walls of Heelshire Manor — a connection that transcended the boundaries between the living and the spectral. As (Y/N) continued her role as caretaker, the enigmatic Brahms Heelshire ventured forth from his hidden existence within the doll, revealing himself to her in a way no one else had dared to witness.

Over the course of the next few months and then two years, an unexpected bond blossomed between (Y/N) and Brahms. As the seasons changed, so did their relationship, evolving into something far beyond what (Y/N) could have ever anticipated. She had become accustomed to Brahms' spectral presence, his masked face a constant companion. Despite his initial mysterious aura, she found comfort in his company and the intriguing conversations they shared.

Brahms, for his part, reveled in the connection he had forged with (Y/N). No longer confined to the doll's form, he wandered the mansion's halls and rooms, always keeping a respectful distance from her. Yet, he was undeniably clingy, often hovering nearby, his presence an unspoken reassurance. His touch starvation, accumulated over years of isolation, drove him to seek her proximity. Whether it was watching her read in the library or tending to the mansion's gardens, he was there, his masked face silently observing.

Their bond deepened, and with time, their relationship took an unexpected turn. The unspoken attraction that had simmered between them evolved into a romantic connection. Their feelings grew steadily, and one evening, as the sun set over the mansion's sprawling gardens, Brahms removed his mask, revealing his disfigured face to (Y/N). She met his gaze without flinching, accepting him just as he was.

They became a couple, their connection forged in the quiet moments they shared, the lingering glances, and the touch of their hands. (Y/N) found herself drawn to his vulnerability and complexity, and he was captivated by her acceptance and compassion.

However, even as their relationship thrived, an undercurrent of unease began to surface. Brahms, though no longer confined to the doll, remained deeply afraid of losing (Y/N). His history of people fleeing from his presence had left scars that ran deep. His clinginess intensified, a silent plea for her to stay by his side.

As the months turned into years, Brahms' fear only grew. He watched as (Y/N) went about her daily routines, her calm demeanor seemingly unfazed by his constant presence. Yet, he couldn't shake the thought that his clinginess might drive her away. The fear of rejection gnawed at him, an invisible specter that haunted his every interaction with her.

One evening, as they sat by the fireplace, the crackling flames casting shadows on the walls, Brahms hesitated before speaking. "I fear that my need for your presence might become unbearable," he confessed, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

(Y/N) turned to him, her eyes soft and understanding. "Brahms, you're not driving me away. I'm here because I choose to be. Your presence doesn't suffocate me; it's become a comfort."

He looked at her with a mix of hope and trepidation, struggling to believe her words. "But I'm constantly clinging to you, fearing that you might vanish like the others."

Gently, she reached out and took his hand. "Brahms, you're not alone anymore. I'm not going anywhere. We'll face your fears together."

A fragile smile graced his lips as he intertwined his fingers with hers, the weight of his vulnerability lessening, if only by a fraction. With her steady presence by his side, he dared to hope that he could overcome his past and embrace the happiness that had entered his life.

Their journey was far from easy, but with time, patience, and unwavering support, (Y/N) and Brahms forged a love that transcended the boundaries of the living and the spectral. And through it all, they learned that sometimes, the most profound connections are born from the places where fear and acceptance collide.

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Things Ethan Landry Would Do! (But it progressively gets more specific)

1. Enjoy hot wings and spicy food

1.5. Grab you by your shirt when you walk too fast

2. Start giggling when someone cries, then stops laughing when he realizes no one else is

3. Would say “breakfast is the most important meal of the day” and defend breakfast for the rest of his life

4. Would accidentally be too skilled with a knife, making it twirl and throw it around, then realize he’s with his family, and they could suspect him.

5. Would go to a movie theatre, and after opening the first door, accidentally slam into the second door which is glass, and be upset, but then laugh it off

6. Would eat something, and spit it out when he tastes a giant piece of black pepper, then start sticking out his tongue and trying to get it off, and then eventually going to the bathroom and wiping it off with a towel.

7. Would go to class late, with rain in his hair, and then sit down, already in a bad mood, but then his wet hair would drop on his journal, and mess up his handwriting, and he would bang his fists on the table in the awkwardly silent classroom, and cover his face while breathing hard and looking down to his pants.

This was so stupid lemme know if you want more but with a more romantic Ethan LMAO

[small-sinclair]

“My ex-boyfriend is here, please scent me before he tries to do something.”

Sinclair Brothers x fem!y/n

Enjoy @katerinaval

Tw: PTSD shown, anxiety filled reader, mention of marking, throwing up, confronting abuser, fighting, biting, not proofread

Welcomed readers: @sketchy-rosewitch, @fluffy-little-demon, @lovely-cryptid, @pori0t-houck, @ninakuli

Don’t Own Me

She was able to run this far, and it was a great time, too. Finding her new life in Ambrose with the Sinclairs to share her felt like a dream, and y/n knew that dream would come to an end. She couldn’t run forever, but she tried and tried until her legs caved in and she went under the cracks in the hour glass. Shame, she liked her new family, new pack that she called her own.

All three claimed her as soon as she came to town. After Bo bit her shoulder, claiming her first, his brothers soon followed, each taking turns with her until she felt safe enough to allow it though she never had a word to who gets to claim her, these three took time to make sure she felt safe with it. Vincent took her left shoulder, biting just hard enough to make his mark, but he made sure her scars were taken care of. Lester, however, didn’t mark her like Bo or Vincent. Instead, he made her a necklace, a wooden butterfly charm with his initials carved on the wings. Besides, having one Alpha was good, but her mind raced when she was claimed by two Alphas and a goofy Beta. What a lucky girl you are, y/n.

The perks? Y/n never felt alone or was never truly alone. There was always someone there to hold her hand, to comfort her, check on her… to feel and be loved.

The mornings were always the same: Lester, the Beta, wakes her with gentle kisses and nudges. When she wakes, y/n is with him in the kitchen cooking breakfast for the other two, Bo and Vincent.

Strong coffee in Snoopy mugs. Morning news on. Jonesy feed and let out (sometimes she returns with a rock in her jaws as a gift for y/n). Morning kisses from Bo and Vincent. Eggs and hot dogs. The day’s plan. Vincent leaves, followed by Lester (who has a thermest of coffee and a sack lunch), and Bo stays behind to help you with dishes. As always, he dried while she washes. Small talk or no talk, it didn’t matter; she was safe. He takes his cap off the hook. He hugs and kisses her goodbye until lunch.

Throughout the day, y/n keeps busy in the house cleaning or getting dinner ready. On full moon days, she makes sure there’s enough food, and her headphones have to be fully charged or she’s not running through the brush (y/n has to put her foot down somewhere, right?). But it’s not a full moon night; it’s Thursday, Laundry Day. And it’ll be a warm enough day to hang clothes on the line earlier in the morning, giving her time in the afternoon to hang out with all three if she’s lucky.

She hummed happily as she put up Vincent’s shirt and sweater on the line as the morning sun turned the grass from gold to green. The radio played softly from the steps, Jonesy laying at the steps with her new rock.

“What a clever girl,” y/n hummed as she patted her head. “Always bright and happy. Such a good girl—“

A good girl, indeed.

Her head perked up and she looked at the trees and the marsh. Scared eyes scanned over the willows and morning glories. His voice carried over the trees and gators floating in the marsh. Y/n hesitantly took steps back as the honeydew and marsh water smell drifted over her skin and hair, feeling his fingers in his hair again.

Y/n doesn’t hesitate to run into the house, Jonesy on her heels. He’s not here, she kept telling herself. He’s not… he can’t be!

She took her red and black plaid off the hook and started out the house towards the shop. It’s 10:30am, which means Vincent and Bo are taking their smoke break while Lester finishes up his last bit of coffee. If he has anymore for the day, his heart might explode. Still, she ran towards the shop, her feet digging into the lose gravel. She just wants to run, to be near them. They promised to keep you safe from everyone and everything, and they didn't want to go back on it even if she thought she heard him.

But time is limited in a town like this and to the Sinclairs. It was only a matter of time before she was founded by him, and she wasn't looking forward to it. Bo knows his scent. Vincent knows what he looks like. Lester knows what he sounds like. All three knew the plan if he ever stepped foot in this town, and that should make her feel safe, right? So, why isn't it? Why is she seeing his shadow over the windows and locked doors? Why is she hearing his laughter in the trees and flowers? Why does she hear his truck gunning behind her as she runs towards the garage? The engine roaring to life on the heat of her neck and her thoughts turning--why? Why?

Panic swelled in her chest as she rounded to corner with Jonesy on her heels, no truck behind her. The closer she was to her Alphas and Beta, the better she'll feel. The better she'll think. It's not on the schedule, but she wanted to feel that safety net around her shoulders and hair again. It'll be for the best if she's with them, and it didn't matter how. Riding in Lester's truck, downstairs with Vincent, or sitting on the counter in the main office of the shop while Bo works; all sounded amazing to her. Y/n just wanted the buzzing feeling in her skull.

***************

Bo's head jerked up suddenly from the truck, his body stiffing at the new smell. It hit him like a wall of bricks, and he recoiled at it. It smelled worse than Lester's kill pit, and it was worse than the smell of burning human flesh melting under wax. He covered his nose with his sleeve, wiping his nose over the cloth. It was terrible, and it tore his stomach apart. The smell of sulfur, churned milk, and decaying alligator meat baking in the sun all mixed together in one; that's how he would describe it to anyone who listens. He threw his rag and hurried to the trash can in the corner, his stomach finally giving up, as the smell grew stronger.

"Shit," he managed to breath out before throwing up again. This was a new scent, and he hated it. He wanted to find that smell and kill it with fire or with his hands. One way or another, it was going to die. "I swear to God, if Lester killed something close here--"

But he knew it wasn't that. He knew better.

"Y/n?' He breathed as he looked at the door, thinking she was there.

Something's wrong.

*******************

Vincent threw his mask off in time to throw-up in the trash can in the basement. The smell was faint, yes, but it was too much all at once. He was just trying to finish the guy, who came in biker shorts last week, when the smell hit him. He couldn't find the words to describe it; all he wanted to do was find the smell and stomp it out.

"Fuck," he hisses lowly as he slowly sat up. He took his mask and was about to put it on when he thought of y/n... something wasn't right.

He took his pack of cigarettes and started towards the shop. It is 10:30am, and she'll be there. She has to be there.

*******************

As much as Lester would like to throw up, he couldn't. He was driving with a new victim, and he didn't want the man to think he knows who he is. He didn't want to give himself away too early. Not yet. Will Bo forgive him? No. Will y/n forgive him?

"Hey, buddy," Lester jolted as the man talked. "Did you here me?"

What? He was talking? "Oh, nah. No," Lester answered as he looked back at the road. "Sorry 'bout 'at. Sometimes I jus' get lost in my head. 'At's all."

"Damn hick," the man murmured. "I asked how close we were. Just want to get back on the road, you know?"

Lester faked a smile. "We're almost close. Just ov'a the bridge an' we're there." Goodness, Bo's going to kill him. "You're comin' at a good time. Normally, Bo'll be busy in the afternoon wit' all them bus engines." He looked back at the road and gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white. The man smelled horrible. After this is over, he wants to wash the inside and outside of his truck until the smell is gone. "He works on 'em for the school uptown."

The man looked back at Lester then at the road. "Always wanted kids, but," he shook his head, "my girl had different plans."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah," he hummed, leaning back in the seat. "The bitch ran off in the middle of the night. Never found her."

Don't call her 'bitch', mate.

As soon as the welcome sign came into view and he was driving over the bridge, he knew Hell would be raised as soon as he they step out of the truck. He knew that everything would crash and burn, and he was willing to watch it happen and take part. He just wants to protect y/n. He promised her as a man and as a Sinclair. He won't go back on his word now, not while he's in the truck entering Bo's territory.

Let the games begin.

***************

When y/n rounded the corner, she let out a scream when she bumped into Bo's chest. He pulls her into his arms and hugs her, hushing her gently in her hair.

"Calm down, darlin," he hummed. "It'll be right." He heard Lester's truck humming down the road, and it was out of view. "Get inside. Vincent's there-"

"Bo?"

He kisses her knuckles, his lips dry and cracked. It was his way of marking her. "We'll come up with a plan, honeycomb. Promise." He turns and usher's her inside. "Go to the back. I'll grab Les and meet you there."

"But-"

He didn't have time for this. "Go, now, y/n." He kisses her hand. "Vincent'll keep you safe if something happens. We'll be there." With that, he pushes her in and fixes his hat. he can't let that son-of-a-bitch know she's here. He can't risk it.

Lester parked in front of the station by the gas pumps and stepped out. He looked pale, and his cheeks were flushed and turning green. He was trying so hard for his brothers, for y/n, to keep it together.

Bo wanted to slit his throat right then and there, but he turned on the charm. "Howdy," he greeted with a smile. "What can do fer ya?"

"Need a 16 spark plug." The man answered for Lester. "I think it's a double blue liner."

"Need the can," Lester breathed as he sped past Bo, making towards the restroom. Unfortunately, when he was out of view of the two and made eye contact with Vincent and y/n, he shot his head away and threw-up in the the same trash can Bo used. “Hate it,” he breathed as he sat up, whipping his mouth. “Hate it all.”

Y/n held out her hands and he joined her side, Lester kissing her cheek. She held on to him with one arm as another squeezed Vincent’s hand. She just wanted this to end, to be brave and have her life—

But y/n already had that. All of that! She was loved and scared for! She was protected and safe here. Right here with three of the strongest people she’s ever been around. And they love her.

Y/n is tired of running.

“Scent me.”

The order startled Lester as he pulled away from her arms. His hands slipped over her cheeks. “What? Sweet pea, no—“

“I’m tired, Les,” she sighed. “I’m tired of running. I’m tired if Mick.”

“Y/n—“

“My ex-boyfriend is here, please scent me before he tries to do something.” Then a tired grin crossed her lips. “I want it to stop.” Then she glanced over her shoulder at Vincent. “You, too, Vincent. Mark me. Both of you.”

Lester’s thumbed her cheeks and kissed her. “Okay, sweet pea,” he hummed in a whisper. “Promise it won’t hurt.” From behind, y/n felt Vincent’s mask lift slightly up. “We promise.”

************

Bo was slammed against the side of Lester’s truck, a wicked grin crossing his lips, and he wiped the blood away from his noise. He hasn’t had a good fight in a long-ass time. He pushed himself off the truck and swung again, hitting Mick square under the jaw, then tackled him to the ground.

Mick held up his arms to shield his face as Bo put blow after blow over his skin. He’s been waiting for this prick to come against him and his brothers (but mainly him), and he just wanted to savor this moment of pain. For every hit and smack, for all the pain and bruises, for ever cigarette burns across y/n’s back— Bo was going to have his share of blood before noon. He’ll make sure he pays.

But when her shadow casts over them, Bo froze. He took a step back and let go of Mick. He joined your side as he saw the fresh bite mark on your neck from Vincent, and a bruised kiss on your shoulder from Lester. With his scent over your hands, Bo smiled. All three smells mixed over y/n like a sweet candle burning in a cozy cottage. No placed a hand on her hip as he leaned down and kissed her lips.

“Leave,” she said in a strong voice. “You don’t own me anymore.”

Mick slowly stood, his eyes in shock. “You… you’re a whore—“

“At least I know I’m loved,” she snapped. “I’m loved by three amazing wolves. Two alphas who will kill for me. A beta who would gut you alive. All three love me.” Her voice was strong as she held Bo’s hand tightly. Behind, she felt Vincent’s hand on her shoulder and Lester pulling out his Bowie to show Mick he was ready for the hunt. ��You don’t own me, Mick. You’ll never have me. Ever again.”

Mick looked at you with disbelief, shaking his head. “Y/n, you can’t be for real—“

“I mean it, Mick.” Her voice stayed strong.

“But… but I still love you.”

She shakes her head. “And I don’t love you.” She looked up at Bo, strong and confident. “Get what he needs so he can leave. I don’t want to see him again.”

“We could kill him,” Lester suggested. “Say the word and—“

“No,” she shakes her head, her eyes snapping back at Mick. “Death is too great for him. Let him live.”

He doesn’t owe her anymore. No one owns her.

No one.

[demon-lover-669]

Slasher: *growling at Y/n while their cleaning*

Y/n: No! I don’t know if she misses you!

Slasher: *small growl*

Y/n: YOU BIT OFF HER LEG SO MY GUESS IS NO!

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

stalker ghostface

[duffslut]

Best dad in the world

Slash x Reader

My Masterlist.

Word Count: 643

Warnings: Fluff!

You were helping Slash write a new song, he was gliding his fingers across his guitar, trying to play at a low volume while the kids were sleeping.

- That sounds good. - You said as your husband played a new riff.

- Yeah I think I can use that. - Slash said and jotted down some notes in his notebook.

You watched him silently so as not to disturb him, but the silence soon ended when the door opened and Cash and London ran into the room.

- Boys! - You exclaimed as the kids jumped into Slash's lap, who immediately placed his guitar on the floor next to him, directing his attention to his children.

- What? You guys slept for like five minutes? - Slash said laughing.

- I want to play, Dad! - London said, and Cash nodded frantically, sitting next to him.

- Me too. - Cash said raising his small hand to Slash.

You got up and went over to them, giving the kids a kiss on the forehead and a peck on Slash's lips, leaning in to his ear.

- Are you okay? - You asked just to make sure he didn't mind the boys in his studio room.

- We'll be fine, Mom. - He said, winking at you. - I have to teach these boys how to hold a guitar.

You smiled, touching Slash's curls in an affectionate gesture before leaving the room.

- I'll make you guys a snack. - You said and closed the door as you left, hearing the children's laughter as you walked towards the kitchen.

You found yourself thinking, as you cut into some bread, about how Slash was such a good dad to his kids, how he had gotten along with them from the moment they were born, they were obsessed with Slash too, and you still get surprised every now and then by how much they looked like their father.

As you assembled the mini sandwiches on a plate, you began to consider whether having another child with Slash would be a good idea, It wasn't the first time that idea had crossed your mind, and with each interaction Slash had with the children, whether it was playing, scolding, helping them eat, get dressed... your desire to get pregnant with him again increased.

- Yay! Mommy! - London and Cash shouted and ran to grab your legs when you entered the studio carrying their snacks and juice.

- Are my little boys hungry? - You asked, picking up Cash and ruffling London's hair before lightly squeezing his cheek.

You placed the snack on the small table in the center of the room and sat down next to Slash, unable to hide your bright and passionate gaze at him.

- What babe? - He asked, and you pressed your body closer to his, touching your thigh against his.

- I was thinking... - You started to say but were interrupted by London, touching your leg and calling you.

- Mom! Dad taught me how to play guitar! He said I can play in a band when I grow up a little bit! - He said excitedly, and you pretended to be shocked.

- No way, Daddy said that? - He nodded. - Then we have to buy you more instruments, right? - You said.

London nodded and then walked back to his brother's side, sitting on the floor eating his sandwich.

- I want to have a baby with you. - You said at once, looking straight into Slash's eyes, trying to decipher his reaction. - Another baby, I wanna get pregnant.

He looked surprised, and then incredibly happy, intertwining his hands in yours.

- Are you sure? - He asked, moving your hair and kissing your forehead.

- Absolutely certain. - You said. - You are the best dad in the world.

His hands touched your face, lightly cupping your cheeks, his cold rings touching your skin as you waited for his answer.

- Then I'll give you a baby. - He said, and then pressed his lips to yours.

[hollywoodroses]

@their80smichelle @duffslut @unknownperson246 😓

😭

[necromaniackat]

Cruel Summer

Chapter 12: The Great British Horror Show

Word Count: 2.3k

Cw/tw: heavy voyeurism, p in v, praise!kink, incest, military!kink, uniform!kink, size!kink, belly bulge, breeding!kink, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), mommy!kink/daddy!kink implied, sub!Brahms, sub!reader, dom!oc

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brahms seethed with rage; hands balled up into tight fists and face red with anger. It wasn’t fair. He was supposed to be the one to pull those delicious sounds from you as the scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the hot summer night air. But there you were, folded in half with your knees touching your shoulders. Felix’s large hands pinning you down by your knees as he slammed himself into you over and over; earning the sweet moans and gasps and cries that were coming from you.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look away. Brahms was addicted to you in every sense of the word. You were his first thought in the morning and last thought at night. Even when he was mad at you for breaking his rules, he couldn’t get enough of you. Always close behind. Always observing. One day he will show himself to you – you deserved to know of his presence. Even though you already knew he was there; he was just a ghost in a lonely mansion with only his niece to keep him company.

His niece. You were his niece. You were blood.

The mere thought of you being his niece excited him. His mother would never allow him to date anyone; even now that she’s gone. He didn’t want just anyone. He thought he wanted Greta, he really did. But when you stepped foot in Heelshire mansion five days ago, Brahms knew that you were the one he’d been waiting for. You were perfect. And to find out you were his long lost Evie; his heart couldn’t take it. He’d essentially moulded himself a place in your life from a young age. So maybe showing himself to you wouldn’t be that much of a shock because you already knew he was there.

Brahms’ icy gaze couldn’t be pried from the scene unfolding in front of him as he peered through the peephole. He couldn’t believe how bendy and durable you were. Felix was in no way small, or even average. No, he sported a long girthy dick that stretched you in ways Charlie could only dream of. You were taking Felix’s cock like a champ. And judging by the cock drunk expression that read pure untainted ecstasy and bliss that flushed your usually pale face, you loved every moment his cock was inside you.

Jealousy coursed through Brahms’ veins – he so desperately wanted to be the one mounted on top of you, pumping his own cock in and out of your gushing cunt like a man possessed. He laid claim to you the moment you stepped foot in the mansion five days ago. Felix is just a pest that needed to be gotten rid of.

“Mine,” Brahms hissed through gritted teeth as he watched you get plowed on his recently deceased parents’ bed. If that didn’t stir up so emotions for Brahms then nothing would faze him.

“That’s right, take this cock like a good girl,” Felix purred in your ear but loud enough Brahms could hear it from across the room. His brows furrowed in confusion; why did Felix just call you a good girl? He wasn’t wrong but Brahms had never heard someone say that during sex. Then again the only people he’s seen have sex were his parents a couple of times. Brahms learned real quick not to invade their bedroom.

Brahms’ jaw dropped when in return for calling you a good girl you let out a long, shaky moan. He took note that you liked that. He also took note of how your body reacted to every movement and purr of encouragement.

God you looked beautiful. You looked like an angel in his eyes. You always have. Which was why he nicknamed you Eve when you were little. Brahms had a lot of time to read; his mother suggested he read the Bible. Brahms plowed through the book in a week. That’s why he nicknamed you Eve. You were so pure and delicate. Even now, as you were getting railed in your dead grandparents‘ bed, Brahms thought you looked so pure and innocent.

Your dark hair was sprawled across the bed wildly. Your porcelain skin almost glowed in the dim light of the nightstand lamp. Besides the moth tattoo on your lower back, not a mark could be found on you. Your breasts bounced with every thrust as you clung onto Felix’s arms for dear life. Your knees were pinned against your shoulders, opening you up for his assault. The expression on your flushed face told him you had little to no brain function; you were cock drunk.

‘I should be the one to make her like this. It should be me,’ Brahms bitterly thought. His anger turned to rage. His entire body felt like it was set ablaze. Brahms couldn’t stop himself from raising his fists and slamming them against the wall as hard as he could without breaking the wall, causing a loud bang to sound through the house.

The choir of moans and praises, as well as the sound of skin slapping stopped. Brahms felt ice run through his veins when he realized what he’d done. He lowered his head in defeat, listening closely.

“What was that?” Felix’s voice broke the silence.

“Don’t know, don’t care. Keep going,” you ordered breathlessly. With that, Brahms lifted his head in disbelief and peered through the hole once again. No, he couldn’t have just heard you say that. You knew Brahms was there and you choose to ignore him? No one’s ever dared do that before. He couldn’t believe it.

Without a second thought, you and Felix went back to it. Brahms could only stare in awe. He didn’t know what else to do. He’s made himself known to you and you voted against his protest with that knowing. Only one person’s ever done that; Haydn. During one of your visits with your grandparents your dad figured out that Brahms was still lurking in the mansion as a spirit. But one day when you were two your dad cut Brahms’ music time short because you were getting fussy and tired. Brahms retaliated not letting your dad sleep that night.

But there you were, defying his rules and protests. Brahms was furious as he plotted revenge.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pry his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him. You and Felix had swapped positions; you were now on top, bouncing on his cock like a pro.

Mindlessly, Brahms’ hand snaked down the wall to the hem of his trousers. Fingers dancing over the hem until they unfastened the button effortlessly. He dragged the zipper down to the end of its track before fishing into his trousers – freeing his erect cock. Brahms shivered at the contact despite his skin feeling like it was on fire. A quivering whimper escaped his lips as he began to stroke his shaft.

Not once did Brahms’ gaze waiver from you. You looked so determined but at the same time so cock drunk. You appeared to be barely conscious as you rode Felix. Brahms tried to keep in time with you as you bounced and rode him – imagining it was him who was under you getting the best fuck of his life.

Brahms’ hand worked his shaft as his imagination ran wild with aid from the scene in front of him. His heart felt like it was about to explode out of his chest as a wonderful electric sensation radiated from his crotch.

“Fuck, Ev. Good girl,” Felix moaned unevenly with his hands on your hips, guiding you up and down his length. His words pulled a high pitch moan from you. Your beautiful blue eyes rolled in pleasure; sometimes crisscrossing.

“Good girl,” Brahms repeated in a raspy whisper.

Then something caught his eye. He couldn’t help but notice the disappearing and reappearing bulge in your lower stomach. Brahms examined it closely, trying to figure out what it was. He’s never seen you with a bump in your lower belly that magically disappears and reappears.

That’s when it struck him; he knew what that bulge was. It was Felix’s cock inside you. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He’s never seen such a provocative sight in his life; he swore his soul left his body for a moment and he got to experience pure, unaltered heavenly bliss for a fraction of a second.

Brahms’ hip stuttered into his fist as a shaky moan passed his lips. His eyes fluttered as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through his body; radiating from his groin. Brahms was roughly the same size, maybe a little more girthy, as Felix which meant that when Brahms has you on top of him he’ll be able to see his own cock poke through your belly.

His hips stuttered again at the thought; his grip tightening slightly and his hand working his shaft in time with your thrusts. In his doped out mind he believed he was actually fucking you. His steel blue eyes never leaving your form.

“I’m gonna cum,” you declared between pants. Brahms staggered back a bit in awe. He knew boys climaxed but he didn’t know girls could too. Why didn’t his dad tell him this when they had the puberty talk? His dad told him that in order to make a baby or just wants to get off, a guy needs to orgasm; said absolutely nothing about women being able to orgasm too.

After a split second to recover, Brahms was back to peeking through the five pence sized hole.

You were still rhythmically riding him; your moans came out as high pitch squeals. Felix had his hands on your hips, guiding you up and down and singing you praises such as:

“You’re such a good girl.”

“Such a good little cum slut.”

“Be a good girl and cum on daddy’s cock. I know you want to.”

Brahms studied what got you off; he noticed you liked to be called nice names, and mean names as well. You wanted roughness to complement your sweetness. You were quite the paradox. Unlike Greta or any of the other nannies before you. You were very vocal about your wants and needs, and desires. He’s never met someone quite like you before. You puzzled him greatly.

“I’m cumming!” You cried before a loud squeal passed your lips; followed by a slurry of curses. You lifted yourself off of Felix as you gushed all over his lower half. Felix’s hand left your twitching hip to rub your cunt as the clear fluid gushed out of you.

Brahms’ eyes were wide as he watched you. He just learned that woman can orgasm too and now he’s getting to see it in person. You made him want you even more now. He wanted you to squirt all over him as you came.

Brahms’ eyes rolled mindlessly as his own climax began to creep up on him. His hand went even faster; pumping his cock at a mind dizzying pace. He heard you instruct Felix to put it back in – it was followed by sloshing sound. His eyes snapped onto your form once again.

You had switched positions once again. This time you were laying on your front, facing Brahms’ direction. Your legs were closed and Felix was straddling your ass; thrusting his hips into yours.

Brahms watched as Felix reached down and wrapped his hand in your hair – pulling by the base of your hair. You were forced to look directly at Brahms; or at least that’s what he believed. You hazy blue eyes stared in his direction – he felt like you could see him instead of a blank space on the wall.

“Fill me with your cum.” Your voice came out in a high pitched, breathless way. Brahms’ heart palpitated and his hips jerked and twitched into his hand. He had to look away from you so he could keep it together – he didn’t want to orgasm yet. He wanted to relish in the sight of you getting fucked from behind.

You were barely conscious; not in the least bit coherent. Blush gathered in your cheeks, dusting them a dusty rose colour. Your swollen red lips were parted slightly as your icy blue eyes were half closed. You were a moaning and squealing mess.

The sounds of sloshing skin hitting skin and the smell of sex hung heavy in the night air. Brahms was finding it hard to focus – his body so desperately craved a release but he wanted to savor this.

The jealousy, the rage, the horniness; it all pulsed through his veins like magma in a volcano. The heat from the day almost felt cool against his ablaze skin. Sweat seeped through his white wife beater as it made many rivers down his body. His breath was fast and shallow – barely getting any oxygen to his hazy brain.

He could feel his climax building; egging him to go faster than he already was. It was creeping up on him quickly. He was so desperate for release – especially after watching you get yours. There were a few things Brahms was; the main thing is needy. Brahms was very needy and greedy. He was a spoiled little boy with a silver spoon in his mouth. He couldn’t get enough of a good thing. And right now you were the centre of his focus. He needed you. He wanted nothing but for you to touch him forever.

Brahms’ mind couldn’t help but wander; imagining how you must feel. Soft. Warm. Wet. You must feel like heaven.

That was the final string holding Brahms back from his climax snapped. His entire body shook violently as thick, white ropes of cum coated his hand and the wall directly in front of him. He had to bite his knuckles to prevent the loud moan from gaining your attention. Brahms didn’t even notice that Felix was currently filling you with his cum as he reached his orgasm.

Brahms’ mind completely blacked out. It was overrun with chemicals that sent him into a tizzy. Brahms’ body went limp; plummeting him to the floor between the walls with a loud thump.

“What was that?”

[blueparadis]

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[strikersexhaver]

Hi, hope I’m not bothering you, but if you maybe had any free time could I get some fluff with Freddy Krueger and a depressed and insomniac reader? Like what he would say to comfort them, how he might try and help, or how he might try and cheer them up? Words of affirmation are a big plus also, but not required, hope I’m not bothering you ok sorry bye

With him it’s more likely it’ll be through actions and comedy, he’s not a romantic-lovey dovey talking guy- never was.

Hell he probably despised listening to Romeo and Juliet in ELA class- anyways-

It doesn’t mean he won’t try- even he as a demon of dreams needs communication. The only sentient being he doesn’t want to kill is upset? Fuck no.

He possess someone on melatonin pills, makes em’ drop em’ off at your place then off’s them off-screen.

The pill bottle had a ‘from freddy’ with a sliced up heart next to it.

How sweet.

After then, he expected you to sleep and be fine- which you did.

When you came to his dreams, seeming sad and disinterested, he tried making you feel better with his charms.

He tried joking with you but you didn’t seem in the mood, he put his hat on you but you seemed annoyed.

He sighed, resorting to the last thing he can do- which is “✨comfort✨”

He asked you what’s wrong, and if it was something relating to a person- he’d tell you ‘fuck em’ don’t expect them to be there tomorrow babes’

If it wasn’t, he’d offer straight up bringing you to the dream world somehow. Live your dream life, literally, be his Tiffany.

How you react is up to you- but, that’s how I imagine he’d try to respond.