#slasher!steve

[rosemaryblossomworld]

When you're writing a story and notice your characters have gone off-script, formed a rebellion, and are coming against you.

[erod-doi]

You only gotta worry about one thing.

[xgumiho]

🪓 They thought they had buried the secret along with the body. Now, the ghosts of their past have come back to haunt them. Will they make it out of this summer alive?

©xgumiho | do not repost/steal/edit/crop/sell

camp counselor Steddie slasher summer AU

[kechiwrites]

property lines

dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader

kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).

synopsis: your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

wc: 2.2k

cw: dark content, non con, oral (male receiving), femme language + afab!reader, pet names, internal victim blaming, pet names (sweetheart), a touch of misogyny

author’s note: day 2 brings us more dark!steve, i fear i may be incapable of writing him sincerely. he’s just a little too perfect. I like to take off a bit of the shine. thank you @katsukikitten u r my muse.

Your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Mostly because you can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s just overly friendly. Maybe it’s the signals you give off, bringing a plate of thick, sweet, cheesecake brownies over to the recently sold house next door, hoping to make a new connection. Suburbia can be isolating, and with all of your friends shaking ass in the city, you need to branch out. It really isn’t the kind of home you figured a single man like Steven Grant Rogers would buy, but then again, you lived in your suburban palace alone, willed to you by your late grandmother and only in need of a few renovations.

He’d been so bright, when you first met him, with a perfect white smile and twinkling blue eyes. He’d been happy to accept the desserts, even happier to return the plate a day later, extolling the praise he and his poker buddies lauded on you over the taste. You’d shrugged it off, “The least I could do for a neighbour. I’m just glad you all liked them.” 

Secretly though, the compliments had thrilled you, especially once you’d gotten a glimpse at the aforementioned “poker buddies”, the whole lot of them, handsome, built, big. All too happy to fix leaky pipes and paint fences in exchange for chocolate cream pie or a dish of homemade lasagna. But Steven  - “Steve, please”  -  was your most loyal customer, always lending a hand, pausing during his early morning jog to check up on you while you watered your flower beds, asking how your book is going, what you do in that “big old house all by yourself” when you aren’t working on “the next great American novel”, of course (his words, not yours).

It’s fine at first, a little disarming to be at the centre of his white hot attention, burning your flesh like he had you under a magnifying glass on a perfect sunny day. But eventually it’s not fine, eventually Steve Rogers takes more and more steps over the property line of overly friendly and into the front yard of wildly overbearing. Eventually, Mr. Rogers insists on weekly visits, popping into your house by using the spare key under the mat he shouldn’t even know about. Slinging his muscled arm over you during the neighbourhood block party, and your neighbour’s son’s 5th birthday party, and the Fourth of July barbeque. He fixes your car without you asking, brings in your groceries when he sees you unloading them in your driveway, brings your mail to you during his daily jog. It’s helpful sometimes, yes, but it’s also suffocating. And you were going to set him straight. You were! But it’s hard, hard to stare into the face of a suburban god, the literal king of the neighbourhood and tell him no. It’s hard to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable, that you’d like for him to stop being so goddamn friendly all the time. 

So maybe a little of it is your fault. Maybe you should’ve been clearer on your boundaries. Maybe, when handsome, strapping Mr. Rogers came to your front door to ask you to essentially cater one of his poker nights, you shouldn’t have stayed to serve the food, playing happy little housewife in front of Steve’s friends, bringing them cold beers from the fridge and sitting next to Steve, playfully making faces at his hand, then plating up dessert when he asked you to. But it felt good to have his attention. His favour. So when “the boys” start to head home, laying praise and amazement at your feet, you’re sufficiently buttered up for Steve to ask yet another favour of you. It’s not much, of course. Just a little help with cleanup. Then he’ll escort you home himself. After all, there are some real sickos out there.

So you agree. What’s the harm, right?

The harm, it just so happens, comes quickly after you finish drying the dishes Steve washes. You slide the last plate, towel dried as best you could, into his cabinets, sighing in contentment at a job well done. The harm is when Steve turns you around and presses you against the sink, water soaking into the back of your blouse, making the fabric cling to your skin. You stay there for a minute, not processing what’s happening, ready to laugh off another inappropriate joke from Steve. 

You don’t really get the chance.

Two heavy hands clap down on your shoulders, exerting pressure on you until you crumple to the floor, knees hitting the tile of Steve's kitchen painfully. You yelp, struggling against him, pressing, then beating your fist against his tree trunk legs. 

"Stev-" you choke on his name when your neighbour unzips his trousers before you, undoes the fly of the pair you helped him pick out, with him bent over your shoulder while you held his phone, his front pressed close to your back. Pulls his half hard dick out of pants starched and pressed with the iron he'd borrowed from you because his was "on the fritz" again. 

"Open up." He cajoles, and you pin him with an incredulous, confused stare. No. No. This is all wrong. He doesn’t act like that. Steve Rogers isn’t like that.

The hand he doesn't use to stroke himself grabs your jaw, squeezing until you open your mouth, squeezing til it hurts. A sharp, purposeful punch of his hips is all it takes for him to make use of the opening. All it takes to put every little joke, boundary crossing, and stray touch into startling, horrifying perspective.

“It was the baking.” He whispers above you. “Peggy never baked, which was fine.” He sighs above you like he isn’t pistoning his cock deep into your throat with reckless abandon. “But I missed it, y’know? And you, you bake how angels ought to, sweetheart.” 

Tears stream down your face while Steve uses you, dragging your dazed, crying face back and forth on his hard-on. On a particularly strong thrust, he broaches your throat. Your eyes roll up, until he can barely see the perimeter of your irises, and you warble out a miserable moan, begging, all while wrapped around his dick, for a reprieve. Your head is pinned to the counter behind you, and even though you shove against the muscle of his thighs, Steve brooks no quarter.

“Just take it,” he coos, like he wants you to swallow cough syrup, “it’ll be over soon.” his breath stutters when your lips brush against his balls. Steve moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible when he comes down your throat, groaning in pleasure while you struggle to swallow stream after bitter stream of his seed, lest you choke on it or fucking drown. 

He finally releases you, and you pull back so fast you bang the back of your head on his pristine white counters. The pain radiates through your scalp, grounding you in the moment, cementing you to the spotless linoleum floor of Steve Rogers’ kitchen. You’re both panting, eager to fill your lungs with gulps of air. 

“Whew.” He sighs, hands on his hips, like that took a lot out of him. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you, just didn’t expect the struggle.” He chuckles, patting you on the head. “But you settled down quick, didn’t ya?” His tone takes on…contentment? Happiness? 

No. That’s not quite right. 

It’s pride. Steve is looking down at you, your spit and cum slick mouth, the weepy, watery state of your eyes, and the disarray of the hair he’d used as a handle, with pride.

Your stomach roils.

He bends low and you flinch away from him, smacking your head on the countertop again. He cocks his head at the involuntary movement, and smiles at you. A familiar, warm thing. One that made your heart flutter with pleasure, beat fast with your own surge of pride when he accepted a pie, or offered a compliment. Now it does the same, your heart speeds up, your palms itch curiously, and your brain doesn’t know if you’re happy or sad. Doesn’t know if it craves those smiles anymore. 

“Just wanna set you on your feet. C’mon.” He speaks quietly, like he’s soothing a frightened animal, and hooks his hand under your armpits, heaving you up with the same startling strength he'd used to face fuck the fight out of you.

“It’s okay.” You bleat, voice as wobbly and unstable as the pair of legs struggling to keep you upright. And it’s not, it’s far from okay, the taste of him lingers in the back of your throat and if you think about it for even a second more you’ll throw up all over his shiny floors, on those godforsaken pants.

“I admit,” he laughs, ducks his head with that small town charm he does so well, “I wanted to last longer. But you were too good.” He winks at you, like you share a secret. Like you’re in league with each other.

He staring, waiting for you to say something, arches a brow like it’s your line and you’re fucking up the show.

But there it is again, that smile, sunny and open, and so pristine.

“Let’s get you home.” He herds you towards his front door, hand glued to the small of your back, his pinky finger stroking the skin exposed by the riding up of your still wet shirt. The two of you walk into the balmy summer air, and the spaces in between the black night, punctuated with the occasional white streetlight, designate your path home. Some of your neighbours’ houses are still illuminated, their warm yellow windows denoting the presence of life. You wonder what goes on behind their doors, you wonder if someone is having a good night somewhere close to you.

You come across your door faster than you were prepared for, the cheery yellow paint job Steve and James had done for caramel apple pie, mocks you. The way he’d smiled in your face, touched you, laughed. Steve shifts next to you, holding onto your extensive tower of pyrex and tupperware, for an instant your blood runs cold at the prospect of Steve inviting himself in, like he’s done so many times before. Not to bring in groceries or put together a dresser, but to pin you prone to the carpet of your bedroom and smile at you.

“So!” He turns, “Same time next week?” You gawk at him, and when you don’t say or do anything, he stoops and slides your extra keys out from under your Garfield emblazoned doormat. The jingle of two, simple metal keys against the little bell shaped key-chain makes your head pound, your blood boil. He unlocks the door, and gestures for you to take a step indoors. You raise both hands, palms upturned so he can give the keys back, so you can hide them, or melt them, or flush them down the toilet. Instead, you get to watch him slip the key-ring into his pocket, before he places your dishes into your uplifted open palms. “I gotta say, the lemon bars were a hit.” He tweaks your nose between his thumb and forefinger, his compliment tempered by the greedy shine in his eyes. You nearly scratch your own eyes out when you get that pleased, soft tingle in your chest.

He smiles and you salivate. He compliments you and your heart responds. He’s proud and your brain tells you ‘I’m happy’.

Why hasn’t it gone away? Will it ever go away?

“Maybe those brownies again, the cream cheese ones?” His voice is hopeful, soft and pliant, like he’s worried you’ll say ‘no’.

Like there’s a world where he’d take no for an answer.

You nod, a jerky, quick gesture that rattles your brain around in your skull. “Sure. Yeah.” You answer, sweaty hands slipping against tempered glass and plastic lids. “Yes. Brownies.” Steve beams, clapping his hands together, once, loud, drawing your eyes to the brutish width of them.

“Fantastic. I can’t wait.” He jogs down your front steps, and the fist secured around your lungs loosens with every step he takes away from you. He pauses at the side walk, one foot still on your property, the other poised to leave it.

“We make a great team. Don’t we?” He turns to you, and this time, he isn’t smiling. This time, his eyes cut through the night and the streetlight and the foggy haze of misfortune clouding your brain.

And the fear finally comes.

You kick your door closed, and you lock your door, and you drop your pyrex and tupperwear and serving spoons in the sink and you lock your windows and you get into bed, still dressed for a poker night you had no business being at, and you pull the covers up and up and over your face.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

And neither will your neighbour.

god i want him so bad. tomorrow, captain soap.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

support city girls who bought $50 of baked cheesecake today, reblog what you like.

[theghostinyourwalls]

Me and my slasher boyfriends

[cece693]

Absolutely love your works💗

Could you please do some Hannibal Lecter x Steve Kemp? Mads and Sebastian are literally the hottest. Two cannibalistic serial killers in a room, they might kiss (or maybe fall in love)? ( ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°)💞

So, I didn't really know who Steve was, but a quick google search put me up to date. And from what I'm gathering, he's just a more sadistic (is that the word?) man compared to Hannibal. Like, don't get me wrong, Hannibal isn't innocent, but he doesn't indulge people's pain if it isn't necessary (everything he does serves a greater purpose) but for Steve he thrives off it. I'm intrigued by his character (not ashamed to admit it, he might become a regular if the movie's good.) I don't know if your request only wanted to feature these two characters, but I couldn't help myself to include a male reader. Hope you enjoy it still!

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader x steve kemp tags: you're also a cannibalistic killer, pre-relationship, monsters love too, or whatever they consider love at least, can we even call it that if you're at the first stages of your relationship?, au in a way

You didn’t expect this. Of all the places your macabre interests could lead you, you never thought you’d end up in a dimly lit dining room with two men whose reputations precede them in the darkest corners of rumor and legend. Yet here you are, stepping carefully across the polished floor—every tap of your heel against the marble echoing in your chest.

Hannibal Lecter stands beside a candlelit table as though hosting a dinner party for the most discerning of guests. He wears a tailored suit that hangs perfectly off his slim frame, his dark eyes never leaving you. His posture is regal, almost too poised, like a cat preparing to pounce. Across from him, leaning against a wall with an air of cool dismissal, is Steve Kemp. Where Lecter is refined, Kemp is rough around the edges—swagger in his stance, a slight smirk curving his lips. You can almost sense their energies clash in the room’s heavy air, or perhaps they harmonize, each man possessing that brand of charisma only monsters can wear so effortlessly.

It’s a meeting of twisted minds, a singularly dangerous gathering, and you…You’re the third seat at this table, the new confidant in their circle of secrets. They’ve invited you here because—like them—you walk the fine line between polite society and your appetite for its darker aspects. Maybe they want to see if you can keep up. Maybe they want to see if you’re worthy to indulge in their most prized pleasures.

“Please,” Hannibal says, voice smooth as silk, gesturing to the empty chair. The flickering candles give his expression a strangely tender glow. “Join us, won’t you?”

You settle onto the chair, heart pounding yet oddly thrilled. Kemp eyes you with guarded curiosity, as if he’s deciding whether you’re truly made of the same raw stuff as they are. He lifts a corner of his mouth in an almost friendly greeting before lifting a wine glass to his lips.

Hannibal’s sharp gaze flicks between you and Kemp, faint amusement dancing across his face. “I must say, it’s an intriguing opportunity to break bread”—his tone curls around that phrase knowingly—“with someone of equal taste.”

Kemp snorts a laugh, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “Taste. That’s one way to put it.”

Silence settles over you three for a moment. You feel your pulse drum in your ears as you realize that, in this hush, none of you are exactly concerned with covering up who or what you are. Not anymore. The three of you are cannibals—each in different stages of mastery, each with unique philosophies of the “art.” There’s a thrill in acknowledging it openly.

“Shall we toast?” you suggest, forcing your voice to remain steady as you raise your glass. They both follow your lead, though each with a different glint in his eye. Kemp’s is mischievous—like a child about to break a rule just for the fun of it. Hannibal’s is calculating and darkly pleased, as though everything is going exactly as he’d planned. Glasses clink lightly, crystal against crystal, and you all drink. The wine is robust, luxurious, and red as blood.

Conversation flows with surprising ease. You trade stories of near misses—close calls with the authorities, how you lured a target that one time when the moonlight was just right, how Hannibal managed to remain undetected for so many years. Kemp leans forward, describing a particularly brutal hunt out in some isolated countryside. You can’t help noticing how intently Hannibal listens, how his lips curve whenever Kemp’s story peaks in violence.

In turn, Hannibal recounts one of his finer “culinary experiences,” discussing it with the flair of a man describing a Michelin-star dish. There’s something entrancing about how he moves his hands in emphasis, voice hushed but warm. Each word holds a promise of something new and forbidden. And, on Kemp’s face, you catch a flicker of fascination and something deeper—a grudging admiration, perhaps.

Hours seem to pass without any of you noticing, the candles burning low, the wine dwindling. Every so often, your gaze flickers to the door, but there’s a compulsion in you to stay. They’re dangerous, yes—but so are you. And there’s something heady about being in a room with people who truly understand that side of you, who won’t flinch at your confessions or grimace at your appetites.

When Lecter rises to pick out another bottle of wine from a discreet sideboard, Kemp edges closer, regarding you with a tilt of his head. “He likes to make it all elegant,” he says quietly, casting a glance at Hannibal’s back. “Me? I prefer the chase. But I’ve got to admit, there’s something about the way he does it that gets under your skin. Under mine.”

You’re about to reply when Hannibal’s voice floats over, smooth and cool. “If you have something to say, Steve, please share with the group.”

Kemp’s eyes widen fractionally in annoyance, then he snorts. “Just telling our friend here how you’re a man of unique refinement.”

A faint smile ghosts across Hannibal’s lips. “I take that as a compliment.”

It’s not long before you notice the way Hannibal’s gaze drifts across Kemp’s features—no longer just polite or calculating. There’s a curious softness there, tinged with hunger that extends beyond the culinary. It’s in the long glances, the brush of fingers as Hannibal offers Kemp the fresh glass. It’s in the whisper of breath between them as they stand too close for a moment. Kemp, at first, seems unsure how to respond, but he doesn’t pull away.

You sense it too: a sharp tension thickening in the air, a shift from cautious rivalry to something that resonates dangerously between them. You’ve heard stories about Hannibal’s affections—rare, but potent. And clearly, Steve Kemp isn’t immune to that magnetism.

Then Hannibal’s hand comes up gently to rest along Kemp’s cheek, his thumb grazing across the man’s jawline. You hear a whispered breath escape Kemp’s lips, though you can’t tell if it’s a sigh or a growl. It’s a moment suspended in time: two apex predators testing a new type of closeness. You meet Hannibal’s dark gaze. He inclines his head, as though letting you witness the moment or inviting you closer—perhaps both. There’s a flutter in your stomach, an odd blend of fear and excitement. After all, there is no guarantee they wouldn’t turn on you and yet you inch forward, transfixed.

Kemp’s mouth curves into a half-smile as he leans ever so slightly toward Hannibal’s touch. “Not exactly what I expected,” he murmurs, his voice unsteady but laced with a rough undercurrent of desire.

Hannibal’s response is quiet and almost tender: “Life rarely meets our expectations, Steve. Sometimes, it surpasses them.”

Their lips brush, a hesitant meeting that holds a thousand questions in the space of a heartbeat. You wonder if you’re meant to see this, but neither man hides it. And then, in a breath, Hannibal presses just a bit closer, tasting Kemp’s mouth with the careful precision of a connoisseur sampling a forbidden delicacy.

The flickering candlelight catches the reflection of something like acceptance—maybe even longing—in Kemp’s eyes. When they part, the air is thick with the echo of that moment. You realize your breathing has become ragged, goosebumps prickling your arms.

Silence stretches. Your heart feels like it could burst from the tension. Then Kemp speaks, his voice low, directed to you. “So, what do you say?” He glances from you to Hannibal. “Think you can handle being part of…this?”

There’s an unspoken meaning behind his words: not just the partnership in their dark proclivities, but the melding of your shared hungers, your deviance, and the possibility of more. In a way, they’re asking if you can stand in this circle—equal, accepted, involved. You swallow hard, your throat dry, but manage to nod.

A small smile graces Hannibal’s lips as he arches one brow, pleased by your answer. He takes a step toward you, bridging the distance. Behind him, Kemp watches, his smile both relaxed and knowing. You tense for an instant, uncertain if this nearness is safe, but deep down, you’ve never wanted safety. Not really. Hannibal lowers his voice. “Fear can be so exhilarating when shared in the right company, don’t you think?”

You nod, though you can’t quite find words. Even if you could, you’re not sure they’d convey the cocktail of emotions surging through you. Hunger, fear, curiosity, desire—all laced with an electric undercurrent that only these two can bring out in you.

Kemp steps up beside Lecter, and the three of you stand there, locked in a moment that feels as though it could spiral into either violence or intimacy—or both—at any second. There’s a shared understanding in your eyes: that you’re each too far gone into your own darkness for any illusions of normalcy. And strangely enough, that’s the one thing that binds you together.

When Hannibal and Kemp exchange another glance, you feel the tension mount again, as though they’re both inviting you to lean in, to let go of any last scraps of hesitation and join them in something that’s equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

And so you do.

[teacupfullofstars]

I saw this on pintrest but had to respond

Babes, he hasn't gone ANYWHERE!

Prettiest slasher king 🤴 💖

[i-heart-slashers]

hi!! can i please request yandere! steve harrington with prompts "my perfect little doll is what you are.”

+ "you look so pretty tied up like this"? thank you so much! your writing is exquisite 💋

Hi! Thank you for reading and requesting. Sorry it took so long but I hope you like it!

"my perfect little doll is what you are.” + "you look so pretty tied up like this"

Pairings: Yandere!Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Warning(s): yandere, stalker, violence, death, obsession, blood mentioned, abduction.

He'd seen you. He'd fallen for you, and now he wanted you.

You think to yourself that you should have seen this coming, but honestly, there were no signs that Steve Harrington, or King Steve, as you remember him before his downfall, was anything other than a good guy.

He waved to you in the halls and helped you if you were doing something outside of school. Once, he even helped your mom into the house with groceries.

Maybe that's how he got a key to the house.

All those times that he'd randomly popped up out of nowhere didn't seem so innocent now. The amount of times you'd go home to find him helping out one of your parents with some chore they just happened to need help with.

Groceries, lawn mowing, cleaning the pool out… He was always there and somehow always knew that they needed a helping hand.

It was that first moment of his helpfulness that your parents were taken by his charm and nudged you with a wink as they nodded in his direction, clearly thinking about some kind of relationship setup.

You, however, didn't reciprocate the same admiration for Steve. His fall from King was swift and brutal, but you still remember how he had been—a jerk and a cruel one.

Nevertheless, you gave him the benefit of the doubt, knowing people could change. Steve had changed; he took in the younger kids and made a best friend in Robin. They were a group of social outcasts compared to the one pristine pedestal Steve had been used to.

Maybe it was the polite smiles you had given him or the way you allowed him to linger after he had struck up a conversation. You had a feeling Steve had gotten the wrong idea.

Waving it off in lieu of hanging out with your friends, you could help but notice something niggled at you whenever you caught him glancing in your direction.

You should have listened to your gut instinct.

"my perfect little doll is what you are," Steve whispers in your ear as he adjusts the clothing that he had forced you to change into in front of him shortly after entering your home.

All you could do was sob behind the tape over your mouth, knowing that just a floor under your bedroom, your parents were taking their last breaths from the brutal onslaught Steve had inflicted on them.

His good neighborly act ensured they never saw it coming; he even whistled as he attacked them. Seeing him walk back into your room with a calm smile while covered in blood was something you never thought you would witness.

"you look so pretty tied up like this," He whispered, kissing your cheek as he tugged on the rope that bound your arms and legs before he picked you up and forced you out of your home.

He'd stalked you. He loves you, and now… he has you.

[keaganz]

Steve trips and falls as he runs away from the axe wielding killer that he just witnessed hacking up Nancy's body.

He scrambles trying to get back up but, in the fall, he twisted his ankle. He turns around, feeling the ground for anything he could use as a weapon to defend himself with his heart stops beating for a second before kicking into overdrive as a shadow falls over him.

Panicked he looks up, his breath hitches as his eyes lock with Billy's blown out dark orbs. He licks his lips and swallows trying to find his voice, a whine involuntarily leaving his throat. His eyes get drawn to Billy’s hand as it squeezes and palms his dick.

He makes a split-second decision, and he bares his neck. Letting his knees fall open, as an invitation. He bites his lower lip and lets out a whine.

"Billy ....”

His fingers dig into the ground, to hide their trembling. He tries to lean into the trembling of his body, hoping, praying that Billy will see it as a sign of lust and not the fear paralysing him.

------ pov shift ---------

Billy grunted as he tried pulling his axe free from Nancy's smashed skull. He placed his left foot on her neck, digging his heel down into a deep laceration for extra leverage. His mind was finally blissfully still.

He didn't remember what finally pushed him over the edge, but the outcome of the snap was glorious. For the first time he felt like he was truly in control and free. As his axe finally comes free, splattering his face in blood and brain matter, movement catches his eyes. There in the periphery of his sight stands Steve Harrington, the object that haunts his every thought and dream.

He angles his head down to look at the body at his feet, a smirk gracing his lips as he squeezes his forming chub. He can't believe his luck. He must be dreaming, it's the only explanation for his pretty boy watching him butcher the bitch that broke him.

His body screams at him as he gives chase. His muscles feel heavy and start cramping, but his desire to catch his pretty boy keeps pushing him forward, past the stabbing pain in his legs, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth as he pulls in air.

Billy's luck holds true as he watches Steve trip and fall. He uses those precious moments to catch his breath and center himself. He can't help himself as he ogles Steve scrambling to get up. He reaches down, gripping himself as he watches Steve realise who was chasing him down.

His lips part in a groan as he hears Steve's involuntary whine. He rubs the heel of his palm against his quickly hardening dick. He can feel his shorts growing damp under his ministrations.

He smirks as their eyes lock, his grip on the axe behind his back tightens. He briefly mourns at the thought of having to kill Steve. His breath hitches, and his eyes widen as he watches Steve, baring his neck in submission and spreading his legs open. His eyes are glued to Steve's mouth as he whines his name and bites his lips.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Heat Wave William Afton x Reader

Hello everyone! This is my comeback to writing softly once more now that school has slowed down a bit, I hope you all enjoy my next few drabbles and bits and pieces <3

Notes: Minors DNI, Domestic fluffiness with an unsettling twist, No specific descriptions of reader or pronouns are used. Reader doesn't know the truth about the animatronics.

"Will it's so fuckin' hot"

"Language Bunny"

You groaned and rolled your eyes as you laid on the sticky feeling leather couch in William's office at the pizzeria.

"William, It is so very hot" William snorted at this but nevertheless continued to leaf through the paper work strewn about his desk.

"There fans out there with the animatronics Bunny, go steal one and sit in front of it"

"I'm not sure the animatronics will like that" You joke, Missing the dark look wash over William's face for a split second.

"They won't mind Bunny. They know better"

You nod and rise from the chair. You make your way out into the main room of the pizzeria, the three animatronics standing in their places looming over the room almost like guards to ensure everything is alright.

Your eyes make their way over all three of them one by one. In all the time you had known William you never could quite say why these robots were so important to him. A "Passion project" he would call it when you asked him, he had invested too much into it to just let it go and sell it.

Your eyes leave the animatronics and quickly scan the room, landing on what your looking for you head over and unplug the fan from the wall outlet. You pick it up and before you leave for some reason you are compelled to turn around and look back at the animatronics.

"I'm uh, just gonna take this for awhile, while we're here" You don't know why you felt compelled to say anything to a bunch of animatronics but you were, just to be safe.

You returned to William's office fan in hand. He looks up from his paper as you enter the room.

"I see you found what you were looking for Bunny, I take it they didn't give you too much trouble?" You looked at him confused.

"Who?"

"The animatronics" He states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh. Uhh no they were fine. I told them I'd bring it back before we leave"

"Good, they can get a bit restless in the summer without proper ventilation."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Talk about the animatronics as if their like, actual people" William's head snaps up to look at you. He has an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at you a moment before smiling.

"It just sometimes feels like they are Bunny, They've been a part of my life for so long ya know?"

"oh yeah, I- I get that" You nod in understanding, William smiles.

"Good, That's my Bunny. Just be sure to put it back like you said before we leave. The animatronics don't like when promises are broken."

"Yeah I'll put it back for them, no worries."

William smiles once more before once again returning to his paperwork. You sit back down on the couch with the fan pointed on you making it much more pleasant. Sitting there though you can't help but shake the feeling that maybe the animatronics we're more than meets the eye.

Maybe there was a bigger reason why William talked about them as if they were living people. Though for now, your biggest worry was staying cool and not biting William's head off for not investing in central air conditioning.

[recordswithgooglyeyes]

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre - “Original Motion Picture Score - Composed and Performed by Tobe Hooper and Wayne Bell”

artwork by @stevereevesart

submitted by @discogs_shakes

[homiesexual-or-homosexual]

Pairing: Slasher! Steddie x reader

Genre: maybe a little angst, some fluff, and leading up to smut

Warnings: some creepy basketball players, Steddie beat the crap out of these creeps, implied mœrder, spiking of the drinks, kissing, a threesome

——

You were being followed.

You had to be.

Theres no other way to describe the crawling up your spine and the faux burning sensation you feel digging it’s way into the vertebrae of your neck.

You knew it was stupid to go outside. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But you didn’t feel safe at home, not with you being home alone for two weeks now and hearing too many weird noises outside your house late at night. So you’re only option was to take your non-driving self and walk all the way to your friend, Steve Harrington’s, house a couple blocks away. But there seemed to be more blocks at night than there are during the day, and that was one of the other things that unnerved you that night.

A snap of a twig caused an animalistic, fight or flight response of whipping your body around. You flit your eyes around, seeing nothing in the distant dark past the streetlights lining the neighborhood. You turn around and bump into a body that wasn’t there before. Taking one step back, you’re eye meet a white and green letterman, a basketball player. By the name of the shiny green leather, Jake Turner was in front of you.

You step back two more, apologies building in your throat only for you to bump into another body. It’s Tanner Johnson, also on the basketball team.

“Oh I’m sorry,” You speak out around the dryness in your throat.

You step forward away from Tanner, but not too close to Jake. You look to the sides to see four more basketball players have joined the duo, Jason not among them. You remember the news from the day before that Jason had fallen victim to the flu, but that didn’t stop the basketball’s team reign of terror on the unpopular of the Hawkins High’s hallways.

You swallow, nervous. You’re already clammy hands grow clammier, and a nervous heat gathers in your palms and climbs up your arms.

“Where are you off too so late at night?” Jake asked, taking half a step forward.

“Umm- uh.. Steve’s..,” You tell him, glancing at the taller boys around you.

“Harrington’s?” He asks.

You nod.

He only hums, making eye contact with the boy behind you. You feel hands on your hips and the foreign feeling shoots painful jabs of shock from the area of contact out to the rest of your body, overloading your nervous system. You look around again, noting that you’d stopped just at the end of Steve’s block. But how are you going to get away from all the boys and get to safety, you’re greatly outnumbered and outmuscled.

“It’s cold out,” Jake mutters only loud enough for you and the other boys to hear. “No jacket. You wanna stop by and warm up?”

“No-no thank you,” You stutter. “Steve’s just a few houses up.”

“You sure, even with a killer stalking his way around Hawkins?” It sounds almost like the threat.

But the killer. Your stupid, afraid lizard brain completely forgot of a killer roaming Hawkins as you speak, killing a few non-important people of Hawkins that were on the news for three days max, only to be forgotten when that 72 hour timer was up. Only two of your classmates had been killed, but no one of note.

“I’m sure i’ll be fine. Steve’s is just a few houses up,” You say again, a little louder this time.

“C’mon,” Tanner purrs, pushing your hips forward causing you to stumble forward. “Let’s just get your warmed up.”

Jake falls in beside you, a hand coming up to grip the nape of your neck to push your forward.

“No-no!” You struggle, trying to elbow the body behind you. “I don’t wanna go! Let me go!!”

The boys only surge your body forward and you fall into the grass of a nearby yard, it’s cold and wet. You do your best to scramble away but your hands slip on the wet grass.

“This wouldn’t be so hard if you didn’t struggle,” You feel a weight on your body and it only overloads your senses even more.

You decided to take a chance and take advantage of the quiet night and yell.

“STEVE!! STEVE!!”

“Shush,” One of the boys says, shoving you down and your face pressed against the grass. Tears, that’d flooded your eyes, spilled over your lash line.

You claw and kick, trying to dislodge whoever was holding you down.

It works, or so you think. You barely hear a hard kick, an “oof”, and the the weight is no longer there.

“Shit-“ You hear a voice.

Another hard thud against a body and a groan of pain.

“Guys, it’s-“

You turn around, sitting up. Your met with a tall, black clothed figure. No distinct features other than the knife in their hand and the paper white mask that features a sad scream.

“Oh shit-“ Tanner backs away, only to be shoved forward by another dark clothes figure, identical to the first one, but they hold a blood stained bat, nails dotted the fat part of the bat.

The first figure with the knife pulls Jake, who was laid on the ground, up by his hair. He’s placed in a sloppy downward dog position and his face is twisted in pain.

“There’s two of them??” One of the basketball guys mutters.

“C’mon man, we gotta go.”

Theres a shuffling of feet and you watch as the four unnamed basketball players sloppily panic sprint away, leaving behind Tanner and Jake.

The figure with the bat swings and you advert your eyes as a sickening thud and a yell of pain is ripped from Tanner’s body.

“I’m only gonna hurt you a little bit,” The ghost with the knife mutters. “Not enough to kill you, but enough for you to remember.”

You’re to scared to back away, but you want to think the knife ghost is mindful. They’re positioned in a way of blocking your view of both his victim and the bat ghost’s victim.

It’s a painful few minutes of whatever happens to both the basketball players, your eyes screwed shut and hands over your ears. And it’s a hand that shocks you out of the barely safe haven. It’s gentle, and you scramble back when you make eye contact with the white mask. You can’t tell which one it is, but whichever one it is, they make no move to hurt you.

They stand to their full height, there’s a knife in their hand. It’s bloody. But they reach their opposite hand towards you.

“C’mon,” The ghost speaks. “Up.”

Despite your mind saying no, you take their hand and the ghost hoists you up. They’re tall, intimidating.

“Let’s get you home.”

The ghost blocks your view of the basketball boys, walking you to the sidewalk and up towards Steve’s house.

The other ghost, the one with the bat, joins on your other side. Both lead you up the way to Steve’s house. It’s silent until you speak up.

“Did you kill them?” You don’t look at either of them.

The ghost on your left, the one with the bat, speaks up, “Only the one that touched you.”

Tanner. Tanner touched you.

And now he’s dead. Because he touched you.

It’s silent again. And they walk you all the way up to Steve’s lit up porch. But you grow confused when the ghost with the bat opens the door, waits for you and the other ghost to walk in, which you do cautiously. But it’s Steve’s house, nothing bad ever happens in Steve’s house.

You watch as the bat ghost shuts the front door, locks both locks, and set the bloodied bat against the wall. They bring their hands up to the mask, pull it up, and they reveal their face.

You can barely believe it. It’s..

It’s Steve.

Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington just murdered a classmate, all because he harassed you and touched you.

You turn around and the other ghost is shaking his hair out, black curls flying about. And then you catch his face. It’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.

Steve and Eddie are the ghosts that have been terrorizing your town for a few weeks now. Murdering town folk and classmates, and they’ve just added another to their list. And these ghosts are also your best friends.

“But why?” You asks, not caring which one answers.

“Why?” Steve starts, pulling the dirtied robe from his body. “Why do we kill or why did we kill Tanner?”

You pause, “Why do you kill?”

“For you,” Steve answers, he pulls the long sleeved shirt that he had on under the robe off, blood had soaked through and gotten it messy as well.

You blinked, mind blank with shock. For you? But why?? Why would someone kill for you? What reasoning could they possibly have?

"Why?" You ask.

"Because, we care about you," Eddie's come up behind you, his mask and robe tossed aside but he still has on a tight fitting long, black sleeved shirt, the sleeved are pushed up to just above his elbows. "Anyone that cares about you enough would kill for you."

"You care about me?" You pause. "That much?"

"Of course," Steve answers.

Eddie gently turns you around with his hands on your shoulders, and you see the same, dark chocolate eyes you've always seen. They look at you with adoration. These don't look like the eyes of a killer, they're just the eyes of one of your closest friends.

"You remember Cody Durrington?" Eddie asks.

Cody Durrington. You'd met him at a party you went to with Steve, Robin, and Eddie. You don't remember much, only that you'd separated from the group and Cody Durrington had been nice and offered you a drink. The next thing you remember is drinking a bottle of blue gatorade through a straw in Steve's bathroom. Robin stood in the doorway and Steve was holding your drink. The next morning, the news had reported Durrington dead, just a block away from the house where the party was at.

"You came crying to me cause you didn't feel good. I figured you drank too much until a little bird told me that Cody Durrington had spiked that drink that he gave you," Eddie told you, still holding you by the shoulders and making strong eye contact. "Apparently he had planned on bringing you home with him that night, but couldn't after you came wobbling over to Steve and I. Obviously, I just couldn't let all that slide, not when it came to you. So I had Steve and Robin bring you home to sober you up and I dragged Cody away and killed him."

"That was you?"

"Of course," Eddie seemed to have a bit of pride swimming in his eyes at his declaration. "I tell you all the time, sweetheart, I won't let anything happen to you."

"It's cause we care about you, baby. But you know that, right?" Steve is still behind you. He's so close that you can feel the heat radiating from his bare chest. Though you're sure that the thin shirt you threw on before you left your house isn't much of a barrier anyway.

You nod. Words aren't forming in your brain because of the close proximity of the taller men, and also probably because of the shock of the current situation. But it's most definitely because of your two very tall, very handsome best friends that are sandwiching you in the living room right now.

You'd always found your two best friends attractive, ever since you met them. But now? That you know that they'd do anything for you? You can't help but see your boys even more attractive. They always told you that they wouldn't let anything happen to you and that you're always safe with them, but now you know positively mean it. You know that they'd do anything for you, and more.

"You okay?" Eddie asks, his hands are on your upper arms, rubbing up and down in a small motion.

"I uh- Yeah," You stutter, smiling. It's not a confident smile, but you're very nervous all of the sudden.

"You sure?"

You move your hands up to grip onto Eddie's arms and nod, "Yeah."

It's almost like a staring contest between you and Eddie. You breathe, barely, but it fully stops when Eddie's hands move to your face. They're warm against your cheeks, and big. His palms hold pretty much the entirety of your cheeks and his fingers place themselves comfortably around your ears, his pointer resting above your ear while the rest slot themselves underneath your lobe. You blush and Eddie can feel it cause you see the small smile grow on his face. You've never been this close with Eddie, and you're extremely nervous. You can feel your heartbeat pick up and the hint of sweat glossing your cheeks.

Then, Eddie starts leaning in. For what? Is he going to kiss you? Oh you so dearly hoping that the hands on your cheeks and him leaning in are strong telltale signs of a kiss from Eddie Munson. And he only leans closer and closer until your lips meet, and he's kissing you! Eddie fucking Munson is kissing you!! The only thing you can do is kiss him back. Your heart feels like it's beating 100 miles per minutes and you pray to whatever higher power there is in this moment that you don't go into cardiac arrest cause that would be super embarrassing.

Eddie kisses you and kisses you, holding your face so gently in his hands. He keeps pulling back, but you push forward in eagerness. Eddie's happy to be just as eagered as he starts kissing you a little more harshly. But before you get too eagered into kissing, Steve speaks up.

"Hey, can I have a turn now?"

You and Eddie separate, and you turn. Your vision is blurry and your legs feel like jello. You blink a few times and smile up at the older man.

"Of course," You tell him and grab his cheeks to pull him down to your height.

Steve places his hands on the junction where your neck and jaw meet and your lips meet his. You feel the same feeling as you felt when you were kissing Eddie, nervous and like you were about to pass out but oh so excited. Steve is softer, he's eagered to meet your lips but you can tell he likes to take things slow. He places one last, slightly wet kiss to your lips before fully pulling back. You take a moment to realize that you little kissing session with Steve has ended, hopefully temporarily.

"Eagered, are we?" Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You nod.

"Words, baby. You know I like hearing you talk," Steve gently orders, rubbing your jaw with his thumb.

"Yeah," You breathed out.

Steve nodded, satisfied with your answer.

Your concentration on Steve is interrupted by a pair of hands on your upper waist. You jump, not expecting the touch.

"Sorry," You hear Eddie mutter as he noses your neck, pressing his body into yours from behind.

Both of these boys are so warm, and oh so tall. It makes you extremely flustered and nervous for whatever is going to come out of the current situation.

“You wanna lock up and I’ll bring our pretty girl upstairs? Get her started?” Steve suggests, looking past you at Eddie.

“Sure. I’ll bring up a water or two as well,” Eddie presses a soft kiss to your neck and pulls away.

The action spreads head throughout your body, but it’s centered at the area between your legs. Your legs are a little wobbly as you follow Steve up the stairs, your hand in his. You can’t help but admire his back. It’s muscly and you like how his shoulder blade has adjusted to the way his arm his pulled back to keep contact with you. Your eyes glide down the dip where his spine is located and along the symmetrical lines that located the tops of his hip bones that disappear under Steve’s denim jeans.

You barely register the blank walls of the hallway and the semi-empty room that Steve calls his bedroom. You sit obediently on the soft unmade bed. It smells like Steve; woody, a little bit of expensive cologne, a hint of hairspray, and an underlying smell of musk. There’s also a lingering smell of weed and cigarettes, and you make a mental note that Eddie must frequent here as well.

“Arm’s up,” Steve tells you, standing in front of you.

You do as your told and Steve pulls your t-shirt up over your head and drops it onto the floor beside you. Steve brings his hands to your face and leans down to kiss you again, letting his hands roam down your neck, over your shoulders, and down to the middle of your back to unhook the clasps of your bra. He pulls the straps of the material down your shoulders and you help him get your arms out of the loops so Steve can drop your bra on the ground with your shirt.

Steve pulls away from you. You watch as Steve stalks around the bed and goes to settle on the left side of the bed. He adjusts so he’s sitting up against a couple pillows on the headboard, his legs parted and only a few strands of hair falling over his forehead.

“C’mere, baby. You wanna come sit on my lap?” He asks, watching you.

You nod, getting up from your spot and making your way to the man. You’re hesitant as you swing your legs up over Steve and you hover, not sure where to sit.

Steve puts his hands on your hips and pulls you forward and down. As he pulls you down, the boy pushes his hips upwards. He groans a little at the feeling. He slides his hands up your abdomen to your cheeks, cradling them.

“Kiss me?” Steve asks, still holding your face.

You nod.

Steve pulls you down gently. Your hair gets in your face a little and Steve adjusts his hands so your hair stays out of both of your ways. You kiss and kiss, using only a little tongue. You’re letting Steve guide you and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to push you too much, which you’re thankful for.

You’re interrupted by a knock on the doorframe of the bedroom.

“Knock knock, lovebirds,” It’s Eddie. “Water delivery.”

You sit up from kissing Steve, shyly brushing some hair behind your ear. You watch as Eddie sets the two glasses of water on the bedside table. He plops down on the bed, still in his black long sleeve shirt.

“Dude,” Steve deadpans, looking at his male companion.

“What?” Eddie looks back him.

“Your shirt,” Steve points out.

“These sheets need washed anyway,” Eddie waves him off. “You’ll be fine.”

Steve scoffs and turns his head to you. He give you a “this guy” look.

You only smile.

“Sooo…,” Eddie trails. “My turn?”

He looks at you, awaiting your answer.

“Sure,” You shrug, still smiling.

You carefully make your way over to Eddie, being mindful of your knees. You settle on Eddie’s lap just like you did Steve’s but you actually sit down this time.

Eddie pulls you down. He’s a little more aggressive than Steve, you note, but still caring. Eddie dives right into the kiss, using tongue and only a hint of teeth.

After what feels like forever and seconds at the same time, you’re pulled away from Eddie by your hair. You groan, not really in pain but not in too much pleasure either. Steve gently maneuvers you between them, laying you on your back on the bed.

“Off?” Steve asks, sitting up on his haunches beside you. He gently pulls on the pj shorts you have on.

“Uhmm..,” You hesitate for a moment, nervous. “Sure.”

“You sure?” Steve senses your nervousness.

You nod, “No time like the present.”

Steve nods, checking one more time before he pulls your shorts off.

You’re left there in your thin pj shirt and panties. The cold air of the room makes goosebumps erupt on your skin.

In light of exposed skin, Eddie pulls off his own shirt. He shakes out his hair, fluffing it up. You’d only seen Eddie shirt a handful of times, but now was the only time you were only really paying attention. He had a slightly toned chest and a soft tummy. Below his belly button, you followed his thatch of hair that disappeared into his black jeans. Back up to his chest, there was the demon head and the black widow. On the right forearm were his bat tattoos. On his bicep, was the puppet master and on his left bicep was the serpent.

“You like what you see?” Eddie asked, a smug expression on his face.

You averted your gaze in embarrassment.

“There’s no need to get embarrassed,” Eddie told you, turning your head back towards him. “Now let’s get this party started.”

———

A/N: Hello! This has been in my drafts for forever and it’s been getting a little long so I decided to end it where it was. If yall want more eye-pœrn then please please please beg for it cause I honestly have no motivation to write smut for Eddie anymore. But if yall beg for a part 2, I will give yall a part 2

[theghostinyourwalls]

Love my men bloody and insane with a dash of cutie patootie babygirlism

[v-is-for-vore]

“William. Take the mask off and get out of the water, you’re scaring me.”

Why the fuck Willy in the lake

[lullqbys]

ghost face!steve harrington 🍂,, ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

[wyervan]

slasher au romance is just "it's finally me and you, and you and me, Just us, and your friend Steve Moon!"

Literally the song that was running through my head when I saw @/moon-buggg ‘s comic🤣🤣