#slasher oc x reader

[yanderu-deredere]

i think you mention that fujio is very beefy so could you do him and the other bigger yans reaction to a smaller darling and like she's wearing their clothes (alternatively their clothes and nothing else?)

a/n: awwwe i think this is so cute and also a really terrific way to die so anyway i loved this request! hope you loved the way i ended up writing it! also i only wrote for some of my taller yans + fujio (love me a short king) so if you'd like to see the other yans in a request like this, send one in!

warning: female reader as requested, size difference where reader is significantly shorter, mentioned scent kink in isamu's and mel's, thigh riding in soren's

emm fiala ★ profile

a lot of her fashion is skin tight clothing. the only thing she really owns that would be anything close to loose on her would be her biker jacket and, even then, it's still a bit on the tighter side

but, if she is that much larger than you, it would be larger than you

if you love going on bike rides with her often, she'd be the kind of sweet wife who'd always give you her biker jacket

she'd never tell you that it's becos it satisfies a possessive instinct inside of her that tells her to mark you as hers

she just likes you thinking that she's being nice and polite LOL

she's always had a problem with being taller than the average woman? and it's definitely been a problem for past lovers so she always worries that it'll be a problem for you

but then she sees what you look like naked underneath your clothes and, suddenly, she doesn't think that anymore LMAO

"Naughty girly, playin' with m'jacket like that." You saw Emm eye you up and down, that look in her eye only darkening as she walked towards you.

You just leaned further back, your face only getting hotter as the jacket fell open, revealing more of your skin and your breasts to her hungry gaze.

It was a wonder the jacket fit you so loosely. The sleeves even went past your finger tips. When it was on her, it fit her so snuggly. Then again, she was a head or so taller than you and she was so much more muscular.

She got on the bed, clicking her tongue as she opened the jacket even more, letting it fall off one of your shoulders and then the other, her mouth decending onto your neck.

You let her, of course, your head tilting one way to give her the space she wanted to mark you however she pleased.

"God, didn' kno' you were such a small li'l thing." She groaned, her crotch suddenly meeting yours, the rough of her denim against your bare pussy sending a zing up your spine "My li'l darlin', am'i'rite?"

You nodded, whimper leaving your lips as your hands scrambled to grab onto her shoulders, the sleeves of her biker's jacket bunching up at your elbows.

"Fuck." She huffed before pushing your knee down onto the bed and effectively spreading your legs apart, her other hand holding your other knee to her hip.

"Don'no why it riles me up so much, darl', but it does." She chuckled a little, all breathy and soft as she trailed her hand from your knee and up higher, fingers ghosting your thigh, admiring the way her palm looked so big against the side of your leg.

Then, her hand was on the very inside of your thigh, close enough to where you wanted her but not exactly close enough.

"You are my li'l darlin', aren't you?" She teased, her thumb brushing against your clit, rolling it under the pad of her thumb, hard enough to send sparks up your spine but not hard enough to really get you going.

So, of course, you nodded hastily, another whimper leaving your lips "O-Of course. Always your darling. Always."

She gave you a kiss on the cheek as a reward but, when your hips pathetically jerked up, she chuckled again and pressed her thumb harder down on your clit "My greedy li'l princess."

"I'll give you all ya' want an' more, I promise."

isamu lowell ★ profile

a lot of isamu's fashion is super plain. he doesn't really dwell much on what to wear. its whatever is the easiest to move around, the cheapest to buy, whatever looks good

a lot of his clothes are hoodies, sweatshirts, joggers, plain tshirts, etc. perfect things to steal, if you ask me.

if you're his mate or his darling, he'd be the type to always sneak his clothes into your clothes anyway. he likes the thought of you wearing his clothes but not for any possessive reason

he just likes his clothes smelling like you LOL after you wear his clothes, he wears them and it feels nice and comfy

if you wear his clothes with nothing underneath in a more provocative manner, however...

"Hey, I'm a little late for work, do you know where--" Isamu glanced into the room before the words he was saying immediately died on his tongue.

He stared at you, his fists clenching and unclenching.

You sat there, batting your eyelashes at him, the sweetest expression on your face. You were wearing the hoodie he had left on the bed yesterday, your smell and his smell mixing perfectly on the fabric.

It was so big on you too. You were swimming in it.

It reminded him so much of how much bigger he was than you, of how much you trusted him not to hurt you. He felt his cock twitch in his sweatpants.

"Mate." He groaned, his hands flying up to cover his face as his ears grew hot. When he heard you laugh, he growled "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." You had tittered out, enjoying his suffering all too much.

He didn't like that, didn't like how you challenged him, how you teased him.

Isamu stalked forward, frown on his face. You just giggled and spread yourself on the bed, letting him get a peak of what was underneath the hoodie of his.

Nothing.

He was never going to make it to work. But, honestly, it felt like the last thing that mattered in his mind at that very moment.

Isamu didn't even hesitate as he pinned you down on the bed, his suddenly sure hands wrapping your thighs around his waist and his lips meeting yours in a messy kiss.

As he manhandled you, his hoodie rode up in the scuffle, revealing your stomach and some of your breasts. Usually, the sight made him bashful. Instead, it made him even harder.

This was a side of Isamu you only saw when you really riled him up.

And, from the sound of the groan that left his lips, he was worked up. It was even more evident when he fished his cock out of his sweats and lined it up against your pussy.

When he pulled away from kissing you to stare down, it felt almost surreal. The way the tip of his cock almost touched your belly button. How he looked so big and thick against you like that.

You whined as you looked down too, pout playing on your lips as you ground your bare pussy against the underside of his shaft. "'Samu?"

Yeah, no, he was never going to make it to work.

mel lowell ★ profile

mel is a lot like isamu where a lot of the clothes he wears are really plain and he doesn't really care what they look like on him

unlike isamu, though, mel tends to run a bit hotter? so a lot of his clothes show off more skin. stuff like tank tops, jeans, flannel, etc. he doesn't wear things like hoodies often

he'd also be a lot like isamu where he'd love his mate or darling to wear his clothes often but he wouldn't beat around the bush about it. he'd be very upfront and just be like 'oh, you're going out? might be chilly, wanna wear a flannel of mine over your shirt?' or something LOL

i wouldn't say he's worse than isamu when he sees you wearing nothing but his clothes... he definitely becomes a bit insatiable

You grumbled as you felt someone reach into your t-shirt, broad calloused hands cupping your breasts and experienced thumb playing with your nipple.

Immediately, you knew who it was and your eyes fluttered open to see it really was Mel, smirking at you victoriously, his arm wrapped around your hips as his hand continued fondling your breast.

"Where'd you find this shirt, hmmm?" He muttered against the shell of your ear as he rutted his hips against your ass.

You just hummed, your voice a mix between a soft yawn and a whimper "The bed. I missed you."

"Figured." He grumbled "Smells like me and now it smells like you. Smells like us."

As he muttered that against your skin, you felt him lift the shirt up a bit more to reveal your breasts. The rather cold air of the room made your nipples pebble a little but Mel definitely had no complaints.

Though, the shirt definitely felt silly now that it was pulled so high on your torso. The neckline was slipping off your shoulders, pooling around your chest, trailing down your upper arm.

Mel just continued eyeing you like seeing you like that, with the shirt like that, was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

You laughed at how silly he was being but then he kept going "It's so much bigger on you than it is on me."

"Yeah, and?" You raised an eyebrow at him, your back arching when he pinched your nipple as retaliation.

"Reminds me of how much bigger I am than you." He clarified, pressing hot kisses against your skin.

You just laughed again and reached behind you to cup his growing cock "Why don't you show me exactly how much bigger you are?"

Mel definitely had no complaints as you slipped his already hard cock out of his jogging pants. Though, before you could guide him right to your pussy, he slipped it between your thighs instead.

You whined but looked down as he fucked his cock against your pussy once, twice, three times. You were surprised to see so much of the head sticking out in between your thighs.

"Fuck, darling, look at what you do to me." He groaned, grip on your breast tightening just a little bit as he pulled you tighter against him.

"Bet it'll feel better inside, hmmm?"

soren kumar ★ profile

he's a music ICON what do you EXPECT! HELLO? he needs to always be fashionable!

his outfits are definitely the more sleek type though. like button up shirts, turtle necks, leather jackets, skinny jeans, etc. a lot of expensive brands too like gucci and stuff who want him to wear their clothes

he'd be a bit ehhh about sharing his clothes. on one hand, cute! on the other hand, he'd be a bit worried becos what if they're outfits like he needs to wear for brand deals and stuff? so you're only allowed to get your hands on specific clothes of his LOL

well, maybe he'll make an exception if you're not wearing anything underneath...

"Oh, baby." Soren walked into his giant closet to see you sitting on one of the chaise lounges, sweater on your body "Is that the Chanel hoodie?"

You nodded, bashful expression on your face "Sorry! I shouldn't have--!"

"No, it's okay, it looks really good on you!" He immediately shook his head, grin overtaking his entire face as he sat next to you, his expression showing exactly how enamoured he was with you.

He pressed kiss after kiss on your face, his arms wrapping around you "You're so cute! I love how it looks on you!"

"You look like a round little lemon! Why's it so big on you?" He pressed a final kiss on your cheek before just simply pulling you onto his lap, his hands sneaking up into the hoodie.

It's when his enamoured expression turned into one of bewilderment before, finally, settling into a giant smirk.

"Oh, naughty baby." He pressed close and murmured into your ear as he positioned you to sit on his thigh, your bare pussy against the rough fabric of his denim "You're wearing nothing underneath?"

Your face simply flushed hotter, your expression shy as you held onto the ends of the sleeves.

Soren smiled and pressed a kiss under your ear and then another lower, lower, against your neck, to your collar. His finger pulled the hoodie down to expose more of your skin to his lips, so he could leave more of his marks.

"Let me show you exactly what I do to naughty babies like you." He cupped your naked hips and started nudging you forward, trying to get you to rude his thigh.

You just frowned and placed your hands on his shoulders, your thighs spread way too far to even properly hold yourself up. He didn't seem to be taking no for an answer though.

In fact, Soren was strong enough to just move you on his own, rubbing your pussy against his jean-clad thigh.

You whined out his name, half in complaint and half in pleasure.

Instead of listening, he just leaned close to mutter in your ear "As punishment, you have to cum against my thigh first, baby, then you can have my cock, okay?"

eun-jeong yoo ★ profile

eun-jeong's outfits are very cozy; a lot of oversized stuff, cardigans, turtlenecks, sweaters, etc. not a lot of casual clothes like hoodies and sweatpants. maybe a lot of jeans?

but his jeans are the only things that are tight fitting. the rest have to be very loose

he'd be very happy to share his clothes LOL it's kind of like a concept in asian culture?

like the boyfriend shirt or whatever? so he'd be happy to do it! and his heart feels especially warm when he knows that the two of you match

but then if you get a bit more seductive with it... well, his heart might not be the only thing that's warm if you know what i mean LOL

When Eun-jeong saw you, oversized knit sweatshirt on your body, a sliver of your shoulder peeking through the neckline, he felt his heart stop in his chest.

You looked so lovely in the sweater but there was something about it being his sweater that made it all the more enticing.

"Is my sweater nice?" He approached you, gloved hands tracing the outside of your thighs, wondering why you were wandering out of his room in his clothes.

You just grinned sheepishly at him and wrapped your arms around his neck, your body cozy and probably warm with sleep from a nap. He always felt so bad waking you up.

But then, as his hands got higher and higher, slipping into the sweater, he realised that there wasn't anything else there.

His cheeks grew hot and he felt his ears turn bright red. He buried his face into the crook of your exposed neck, nose nuzzling into your collar bones.

"Now, what are you doing with nothing under this sweater, hmmm, puppy?" He muttered against your skin, breath hot and gloved grip only growing tighter.

You laughed and just pulled him closer, your lips brushing against the apples of his red cheeks "I missed you."

Eun-jeong didn't even hesitate as he hiked your legs up, his gloved hands holding you from behind the knees as he wrapped your legs around his waist and hauled you back into his bedroom.

Though, distantly, he couldn't help but notice that your legs sat a bit higher than his waist when he carried you like this. You were so small in his arms, so cuddly. Had it always been like this?

He sat down on the bed with you on his lap and, before you could say anything, his lips were on yours, his kiss soft and gentle as his hands traced your body, making sure that he didn't disturb the sweater.

"Oh, puppy, you should welcome me home like this more often."

fujio watanabe ★ profile

beefy beefy boy, built like a linebacker (whatever that means lol person who knows sports? could not be me?)

he'd prefer not to wear loose clothes but his proportions are kinda weird? so like clothes that would fit right around his torso would be too tight around his arms and clothes that would fight right around his arms would be too lose around the torso

people with big guns problems amirite

so all his clothes are REAL big for him. they have to be really loose around his arms which means they're really loose around his torso

either that or he just goes sleeveless with tank tops, vests, etc

his clothes are all like hoodies (with and without sleeves), sweatshirts, sweatpants, jeans, etc. really does not give a shit about fashion

when he wears tshirts tho, he rolls the shirt sleeves up LOL

neway, he's also doesn't realise that he has a thing for you being smaller but it's becos he's not that tall so he doesn't take note of people's heights unless they're super tall (so he can bust their kneecaps LOL)

definitely isn't surprised at this point though because everything about his darling turns him on

"What the fuck? Is that my tank top?" Fujio squinted at you from the couch as you passed by, his ever present scowl apparent on his face.

You stopped mid-step and turned your head to look at him, confused expression on your face "What? I always wear your clothes, baby."

As he tried to look back and remember if he'd ever seen you wear his clothes before, Fujio couldn't help but stare at how you looked now, with his tank top so loose over your torso.

First of all, he could feel himself chub in his boxers just seeing your side boob. The way the arm holes barely covered any of it, how the straps kept looking like they were about to fall of your cute little shoulders and-- wait, why is that tank top so long on you?

"Come here." He pat his leg and you trotted over, sigh escaping your lips.

When you perched yourself on his lap, that's when it really hit him.

You were small. So so small. He was used to being thick and muscly, used to always being the buffest guy he knew. But he'd never been that big. He was average height.

Yet, compared to you, he was so big.

"Fuck, baby, what the fuck." He moved you a bit so you faced him, your legs on either side of his hips "Dunno why but this shit's making me hard."

"Fujio!" You felt your cheeks heat up but Fujio just chuckled at you, admiring the way his palms looked so large against your waist when he held it.

Without any hesitation, he was pulling his cock out and pressing it against your stomach, watching with a renewed appreciation when he saw how deep it probably got inside you.

The tip didn't touch your belly button but, fuck, did it get close.

"Do I always hit so deep inside you, baby?" His hips lifted a little, his cock grinding against your lower stomach and smearing pre-cum against your skin.

You just pouted and blushed, your hands settling on his upper arms as you ground your hips down "Maybe."

He grinned at your answer before groaning and shifting again to push you down so you were laying beside him on the couch "Okay, fuck, I need to get inside you like yesterday."

[morvantmortuary]

paint the town red --

(Maxi Morvant x non-binary/genderqueer plus-sized Reader, 18+)

(summary: Maxi returns to you after some night work. You don't hate the result.

warnings: smut, minors dni. dead dove do not eat for the following: blood kink, minor descriptions of gore, Maxi goes down on Reader after some light cannibalism. oral (afab receiving, some anatomy mentioned), oral wound fucking (reader giving), pain kink, handjob. some possessiveness, mentions of stalking. some allusions towards a homophobic/transphobic politician who gets got. serial killers are serial killing, don't act surprised. needless to say: don't fucking try this at home, for all sorts of health reasons.

general: Reader is, as always, non-binary/genderqueer, fat/plus-sized, and also just plain Queer. afab anatomy is referenced for reader, so just be advised. otherwise, everything else is meant to be relatively neutral to let people have a more seamless experience, and suggested tweaks to that language are always appreciated.

general: well. this was meant to be part of @jmathesonandsiblings's Spooky Season in the Barrens (for 'covered in blood' and 'gore', in case you couldn't guess!) but life was Not Cooperating. :'D so! here's this, better late than never!!

'...hey rae wtf is with that warning section' buddy, your guess is as good as mine, honest to god.)

Standing on the back porch in the dark always reminded you just how far the House was from anywhere else in Greymoon.

The autumn chill was still nowhere to be found, the last crickets of the warm weather singing uneasily around you. The cicadas had fallen silent weeks ago, leaving the evening air feeling almost… too big. Too capacious.

Like something else would ooze into where the familiar bayou lullabies should have been, concealing itself in the silence until it jumped out to surprise you.

But tonight, you couldn’t bring yourself to worry as usual. The moon was full, pendulous, threatening to drip harvest honey all down the dangling strands of spanish moss and throwing your world into soft, gauzy focus.

You, however - your mind, your sight, the sense of certainty in the center of your ribs - had never felt clearer.

Your senses felt like the scalpel’s cold edge; the sussurrus of every breeze sounded like a chorus of whispers. The shadowy shapes in your peripheral vision, in the darkened corners of the porch and near the waiting light of the kitchen door, couldn’t draw your attention like they would have before. Like they wanted.

It was impossible to even think of those late shades when you were too busy listening to the sheer life all around you. Pulsing just beneath the night and your own skin was your heartbeat, calm and dependable and steady —

And one more besides, providing a counterpoint to the rhythm you could swear was filling the air around you.

You glanced down at your wrist again, the scarlet mark as fresh and vibrant as an open wound, glowing to rival the moon in your own tiny universe.

You hadn’t put much stock in any kind of invisible string when you were younger, red or otherwise. But when you brushed the sigil with two of your fingers, you almost swore you felt an answering tug from some distant spot.

A tug that you swore was growing stronger, more insistent, with the passing minutes. Something in the vast night was pulling you towards it, or itself towards you, already on course for an inevitable collision.

It must have gone well, you thought. Maxi had told you that the full moons always had more magic in them, even for that as necrotic as the Morvants’.

But the seasonal moons, the ones the world quietly turned around without anyone noticing anymore? Those were best of all.

All three of them had crept out tonight with some mysterious errand or another, each of them notably distracted during the daylight hours. You knew Hex and Rora wouldn’t be coming back before daybreak — they had their own people to visit, after whatever terrible deeds they’d done in the dark.

Maxi - or the Reaper - one of them - had promised they would come back for you, though.

They had even asked you, all sweetness and kisses, to wait for them, right at this spot.

So of course, there you stood. The unseasonably warm autumn caused your nightclothes to cling to your skin and every passing breeze to ghost a finger down your spine, somehow leaving you chilled and sweating all at once.

But he was near. He was so close, you were certain of it.

You had no idea how you knew — you’d barely seen him leave, already asleep in his bed when he’d kissed you goodbye and slipped near-seamlessly into the pitch black. But somewhere in the last hour, you had awakened instantaneously, as though you’d never even dreamed. You’d been walking down the stairs before you fully knew why, with not even a phone or a flashlight to guide you.

You had, however, at least paused to light the lone backyard jack-o-lantern to keep you company. You knew - again, no idea how - that he wouldn’t need it to guide him back to you. But you thought he might at least enjoy the welcome when he did arrive. A cheerful diabolical little smile he could see even from far away.

Your body sang, heady without so much as a single glass of wine. You wondered if your heartbeat always filled the world around you like this, consistent and assertive, and you’d just never bothered to really listen.

And there, again, just underneath - what had to be his, slightly slower, slightly harder. The reverb to yours, solid and deep.

Something dark to it, though you couldn’t say what or why.

Inhaling felt like drinking the warm, perfumed air, and you closed your eyes to let it wash more completely through your lungs. Your nerves twisted agreeably in anticipation of something, everything in you straining against the shroud-like black to catch every rustle, every ghostly step —

The taste of copper hit your tongue, heavy and brash, even before something took your hand.

You didn’t even realize you’d been extending it to the empty dark, only seeing when you finally opened your eyes that you’d been standing on the edge of the top step, your palm facing out as if expecting something.

And in answer, Maxi’s chilled hand clutched yours in his long fingers, the whole of it awash in clotting burgundy.

He was staring up at you from the bottom of the porch steps, eyes fully black behind his blood-spattered glasses. The usual red of his iris was everywhere else tonight - all over his face, clinging in his damp hair, utterly soaking his clothes. You knew immediately there would be no saving any of the fabric, even with hours of soaking. The knees of his trousers in particular were blooms of something near-black — stomach or arterial blood, you were willing to bet.

If you had been anyone else - if he had been anyone else - this would have been a vision that took away every chance you’d ever get at sleeping soundly again, until you finally breathed your last.

But instead, you found yourself smiling.

You stepped back, gently tugging him to follow you.

He walked up the steps as if asleep himself, almost immediately leaning down to be eye-to-eye with you as soon as he stepped onto the porch. For his perfect silence, his gaze felt searching, his face close to yours but still careful to leave you just enough room to lean away. To choose to remain clean of this, whatever new stain he’d brought home with him.

When he had you backed against the wall, his hands came to rest slowly at either side of your head as he continued to stare unblinkingly, his gaze an inescapable void. You knew from the way his palms were light as gossamer against the wall that you could break his stance and turn away if you really wanted. You could go back upstairs, leave him to come to and clean himself up. Pretend this whole thing wasn’t the life you had decided you wanted after all. He would understand when he was… sober, to speak. He really would. You knew that with absolute certainty.

With the slightest stuttering tilt of his head, there was an unspoken question he let hang between the two of you, as pendulous as the moon.

You reached up to his face, his skin sticking slightly against your palms as the blood continued to cool, and fully licked the waiting red from his lips.

The space between you was sealed by this. He was ravenous at your mouth, claiming yours with tongue and nipping teeth and a hunger that felt like the edge of a bottomless dark pit. You were caged between the sticky warmth of him and the solid wall behind you, his hands clutching at your waist, your stomach, his hips pressed impatiently to yours.

You shivered as his mouth moved lower, down your throat that you willingly exposed to him, at your clavicles, leaving bites sharp enough to bruise like they were jewelry. His knees dropped to the wood of the porch with a thud that would’ve made you wince if you hadn’t been so distracted, and you felt him mouthing, needy, at your chest and your stomach through your shirt.

You could only curl your fingers through his hair in response, your hands having to force their way through the tissue and heavy clots of blood that had tangled in it somehow. You would’ve worried about pulling if you knew he didn’t enjoy the pain, and when you broke through a lock plastered to his scalp, you felt him shiver lightly.

The hiss through your teeth was unbidden as his mouth dropped to the underwear you were wearing under your borrowed nightshirt, his tongue pressing a curious lick to the thin layer of fabric between your sex and his heat. When you pulled on his hair a little harder reflexively, he looked up at you, resting his chin on the softest part of your stomach under your navel.

He still said nothing, his eyes blacker than space itself, but the tiny exhale through his nose was all you needed to know what he was asking.

He stayed still as a statue as you bit your lip, pondering, scanning the backyard. There was no one here, you knew that. The nearest living neighbors were miles away. The dead ones — well. There’s nothing to say they wouldn’t watch.

But between the elemental contrast of his eyes and the moon above, you’d already made your decision.

When you looked back down at him and nodded, one hand left your thigh to yank your underwear down your legs with a force that nearly ripped it. You had barely enough time to see him lick his own lips in anticipation before there was a searing heat against your slit, and you gasped aloud to the now-silent yard.

There was the distinct smell of blood warming as he voraciously devoured you, sucking at your clit in a way that made your head fall back against the wall. He kissed your entrance like a man condemned receiving a reprieve a minute to his execution, like he thought he’d never get to taste you again. His hands clutched at your thighs, and every so often he would turn his attentions to one of them, kissing and nipping at the inside with a fervor that would’ve seared your face if the blood wasn’t already elsewhere.

Whenever you tried to move, your body shuddering and writhing at white hot electricity racing down your nerves, he would force your hips back against the wall with an iron certainty, pinning you there as he laved your clit and pushed his tongue into you the best he could.

As you gazed upward, unfocused, struck speechless and your breath elusive, you swore your vision was flickering.

Snippets of scarlet flashed in and out, your senses overwhelmed briefly with the impressions of somewhere else entirely: a ribbon of red that followed the sleek, precise strike of something silver.

Flesh opening itself to the impatient ripping of hands and steel, a rib cage being revealed like a boudoir.

A heart that still trembled in its home of muscle and bone even as an echoing scream died away, as the bespoke-suited man ( you recognized him, distantly - a state senator?) trapped and pinned between your (his - your?) thighs started to convulse from shock.

When the hands that now clutched your hips tore the heart from its proper place, holding it aloft as it ceased to clumsily twitch and spurt, the sound you made was something unholy.

You remembered faintly why you usually avoided wearing white, even to bed — the borrowed undershirt of his was now blooming with rust-colored stains, handprints overlapping over where the cloth covered your hips and stomach, swipes of red where his head had rested as he dipped the hard bridge of his nose just so to make you gasp, or grazed his cheek against the fabric as he circled your clit intensely enough to make your leg begin to shake.

You were barely aware of the world around you, but just enough to feel an insistent grinding against your shin, your surroundings coming into focus just enough for you to put together that he was already aching for attention from this alone. When you moved your leg just a fraction of an inch closer to his hips, he groaned gratefully while he still had the tip of his tongue in you, which in turn had you seizing his hair again just for the sake of having something to anchor you to earth.

You were trying your best not to double over him or fall, but your thighs were traitorous, too-warm and shaking slightly as you felt your juices already dripping down them - from your own cunt or Maxi’s panting mouth, you weren’t entirely sure, but it was all the same. Distantly, you were still aware of him rutting lightly against your ankle, and just the faintest sensation of something slick through the fabric of his pants.

You heard a sound that it took you a moment to realize was a word, and then a repetition to realize what was being said —

“Please,” a voice with an echo like something frigid rasped between lingering strokes of his tongue. Against your leg, you could feel the slightest shaking of his own thighs, the muscles taught with need.

Your hand clenched in the hair at the back of his neck as you finally let out a groan from the shadowed parts of you, shoving your clit roughly against his waiting tongue as you rode out the storm that felt like it had been building in you all night. He moaned low in his throat, holding admirably still so you could grind against his mouth with abandon until every last drop of your orgasm had pooled like liquid fire onto his tongue.

When your knees finally gave out, sending you sliding down the wall, he wordlessly moved his body further between your legs so he could catch you against him.

The two of you sat like that for a while, you straddling his lap, your chests heaving against one another as the smell of blood and sex permeated the air with every gasp and pant.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling almost blindly down the fabric of his vest, then his arms and his mussed rolled sleeves, as if to make sure he would stay solid under your touch. He pressed his forehead against yours in response, and you felt a mixture of blood and sweat transferring to your own skin with a heat that was near-searing.

His eyes were still pitch black as he gazed at you, mouth still slightly slack as he tried to catch his breath.

You couldn’t help but smile once more, your hands catching at his shoulders to pull him closer. Planting kisses to either side of his mouth, you hummed, soft in your throat. “What’d you do with the heart, lover boy?” He had to have known you’d seen. There was no way he hadn’t felt the memories, visions, whatever they were, passing from him to you as if he’d licked them into your skin.

The demon behind your beloved’s face leaned back slightly to give you a slow grin that exposed almost every tooth, tell-tale pieces of thin red tissue caught between a few towards the back.

“Oh yeah?” You were still checking him over, palpating flesh and bone gently in your palms to search for any sign of something wrong, something that might have been missed in the adrenaline of the chase and the subsequent catch. “You could’ve brought it home. I would’ve at least seared it with some seasoning for you.”

He made a sound from somewhere deep in his chest, pushing his face into the side of your neck to lave his tongue lovingly over the marks he’d left in his frenzy.

You giggled at this blatant affection — until a feeling under your palm made you suddenly still. A spot on his side was too warm, the blood too fresh even after his journey back. When you pressed cautiously, another warm wave covered your skin.

“Baby,” you said, leaning back to inspect the spot more thoroughly. “This is yours.”

Maxi followed your gaze even as his hands remained clawed at your hips, his still-pitch eyes looking more distractedly curious than concerned.

Your fingers discovered a rip in the fabric before you could tell it apart from any other bloodstain, parting the damp cloth to discover a wound that made you hiss through your teeth again.

“Maxi,” you whispered, even though being overheard had hardly been a concern mere minutes ago. “What happened?”

Your lover’s ribs had been grazed by something — experience you couldn’t imagine having years ago now told you, based on the angle and the specific marks of damage, that it was something close-range but not too sharp. An attempted defensive wound from the quarry, you guessed, remembering the brief scarlet flashes of Maxi pinning the man down for the prize between his ribs.

His own flesh was torn: too deep for some hydrogen peroxide and a bandaid, but hopefully able to fix itself relatively quickly with his own magic and a couple of sutures to hold it closed through the night.

“Come on,” you coaxed, trying to force yourself to your feet despite your body’s exhausted protests. “Let’s go get that clean.”

Maxi - or the Reaper, or the combination of them that had made enough peace to share his flesh for now - made a sound that was somewhere between a protesting groan and a sullen whine, caging you more insistently in a hug and nestling his ear over your own heart. You knew this now for the tell it was.

“I’m not saying we won’t still cuddle,” you said, unable to help a smile at his peculiar priorities. He was always clingy, but especially so when he wasn’t… entirely his human self. “But you can’t have an open wound in our bed, babe. You’ll drive yourself crazy with the bleach in the morning trying to get it clean before we open. Not to mention, you just changed the sheets yesterday, remember?”

Your demon was quiet, and though it was harder to tell when his eyes were monochrome, you got the distinct impression he was glancing off to the side as he always did when trying to recall something.

“Please?” You angled your head to kiss the end of his nose, causing him to blink in an owlish way that was almost entirely human. “You said I needed the practice, after all.”

He sat there, seeming to consider this, and for the briefest moment, a tongue that was slightly pointier than it usually presented probed absently at his teeth, as if searching for remnants of the evening’s ritual.

Before you could entreat him again, though, his eyes locked back on yours - and for an instant, you wondered just how that snide little grandstander, one who’d whipped his constituents into a frenzy about the ungodly corruption lurking in schools and public libraries, had felt when he realized just what kind of “demonic influence” he’d failed to take into account.

A secret part of you, one you would’ve refused to acknowledge not too long ago, hoped he’d felt every second of it.

But before you could linger too long on this thought, Maxi gave a small sigh through his nose - assent, you guessed, combined with a sleepily satisfied urge to return to closeness quickly.

“That’s my good boy.” Your smile grew to a grin. Demon scion of an ancient line of necromancers or not, he was still quite agreeable when it counted.

The grin stretched his features again, eager and weirdly sweet despite the deep red stains on his teeth.

As you tried to stand again, he lifted you to your feet as though you weighed next to nothing, taking a touch too long to gaze at your exposed thighs at his eye level before he drew himself up to his full height.

“Come on, you.” You rolled your eyes, taking his cold fingers in your own and leading him back inside.

He followed, a deeper, darker version of his familiar laugh echoing as the door closed behind you both.

The jack o lantern snuffed itself, though neither of you had bothered to check.

—

The bright lights of the embalming room activated as you walked through the drop-off door together. The tools needed were already carefully laid out on the embalming table, pre-sterilized and arranged in order of procedure as always. You hardly ever needed them - thankfully - but it was still a ritual he performed before every solo trip out of habit.

Too many years of having to fix himself alone made him overly prepared, you’d realized. There was still some part of him - you didn’t know how much - that always quietly expected the worst.

“Up,” you said as you washed your hands at the sink, too light to be a real order. You were already glancing nervously at the curved needle — it was new, fresh out of the wrapping, but the severity of the tools for the dead always made you a little gun shy when applying them to your still-mostly-alive soulmate.

Maxi hopped up on the table, his feet kicking just slightly as he watched you with keen interest. He could do this in his sleep — hell, he could probably still do it now, not entirely in his own mind. But you doing it seemed to delight him in some strange way.

“Shirt off.” You’d crossed to the table, now focused solely on trying to thread the thing, your hands shaking just a little as you were watched. You knew he would only ever offer gentle correction or guidance, but still. There were studies about how people were worse at things if they knew someone was looking at them, right?

There was motion in your peripheral vision as he wriggled free of the sticky dress shirt and the thin undershirt, the two of them tangled together as they were soaked all the way through. He tossed them lightly towards the crematory, as if also having come to the conclusion they were unsalvageable. His skin still had a rust-ish tinge even bare, small crystalline red clots occasionally dotting his dark chest hair.

“I’ll get your glasses next,” you added, glancing up at him as you set the needle down to pick up a sterilizing solution for the wound itself. “It’s a wonder you could see at all on the way home, handsome.”

Something laughed, too deep to be human. As used to the sound as you were now, it still set off goosebumps as some deep primal part of your brain tried to warn your body.

Run for your life, it whispered, generations of your ancestors echoing in your ears. Death is here, and it won’t leave until it has you.

He already did, though, you thought. Body and soul.

“I say something funny, love?” You looked back to him, the eerie grin, the empty eyes. You could tell the difference by now between a threat display and genuine amusement - this really did seem to be the latter. “This might sting,” you warned, reaching towards him with the cotton pad and stopping short so he could give you permission.

He nodded, and when you dabbed at the wound, you heard the sluice of air between his teeth. It wasn’t a pain reflex, though — at least, not all of it. It sounded too close to when he had his hair pulled.

“Didn’t need to see,” he hissed softly, his voice still double-layered. He closed his eyes, shuddering lightly as if enjoying you tending to the raw wound.

“No?” You trapped the tip of your tongue between your teeth as you cleaned, making sure you could tell where his prey’s blood stopped and his own continued to run and start to clot. “So why’d you need your glasses, then?”

Maxi made a soft, exasperated huff and nudged you gently with his elbow. The Reaper, as familiar as the two of you had gotten with each other — as intertwined as it was with the man you loved, as much as you didn’t quite understand where it ended and he began — was at least becoming more willing to joke around with you about its dark agenda.

“S’different,” he rasped again, his voice submerged in the otherworldly presence that still possessed him.

“Yeah?” You were stalling a little bit, the needle clutched in your dominant hand as you stared down the wound. For your relative lack of squeamishness with everything else about this arrangement… you still hated this part. The actual piercing of flesh.

He was already hurt, and you knew at his rate, it would be a mere flowering bruise by morning. But you were still somehow scared of hurting him more, despite everything. Despite the violence that had engendered it, the life that had already been taken.

A bloody hand covered your wrist, and you turned your attention back to the thing sitting in your partner’s body.

The fathomless eyes were somehow gentle, watching you, and you realized they were just beginning to lighten: the voids were sliding slowly from black to deepest maroon, the iris starting to somewhat distinguish itself from the sclera. The Reaper was giving the reins back, at least a little.

“I saw you,” their voices spoke again, and the ominous timbre had given way ever so slightly, like someone was fiddling with knobs on a speaker for balance. “Through the darkest parts of the night, I saw you there, bright as fire.”

You tilted your head, trying to figure out the metaphor, but he only nodded at the wrist he was covering.

“You think you don’t call to me like I call to you? I can always find you,” he said, and there was more of Maxi there. “Anywhere. In the pitchest black of this world or the next, you are mine.”

That would be utterly terrifying, if those teeth and eyes and that voice were coming from anywhere else.

But it was Maxi that tapped the back of your hand softy with his index finger - twice. Two squeezes, two taps, two knocks: your universal signal for ‘are you okay?’.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, trying to force your heart rate to slow so you could think clearly. “I’m fine,” you said, trying to sound more certain than you felt. “I do want to do it,” you added, looking at him so he could see you were genuine. “…Unless you rather would.”

You looked back to the wound again, frowning. You didn’t blame him; he’d been doing this so long, he could probably stitch up a whole body with his eyes closed when he needed to.

…Okay, maybe not quite, but you bet he could get pretty close.

“Try,” the thing said, and there was a stronger undercurrent of your partner in there than there had been yet. The smile was less tooth-y, but still a touch manic. “You can’t hurt me, pretty baby.”

“I wish I was that sure,” you mumbled. Even just looking at the wound again made your mouth automatically tug downwards at the corners.

But you took another deep breath, and the thing in your boyfriend’s lean frame sat up straighter, giving you better access to the angry red gash that split his pale skin.

You reached forward with the needle… before your hand stopped itself mid-air, second guessing yourself.

Glancing (what you thought was) surreptitiously to him, you startled ever so slightly when you realized he was still watching you, unblinking.

“All you have to do is look first,” he said. “Just look. See the shape of it.”

Nodding, you set the needle down on the steel surface, grateful for any excuse to get it out of your faintly trembling hand.

You stared at the wound instead, just as he said. You winced automatically at the angry red edges - you supposed you should be grateful whatever swiped him hadn’t been more serrated. But even if it wasn’t as deep as it could have been —

You didn’t realize what you were doing until your fingers rested, feather light and unsteady, at the very border of the torn flesh.

The Reaper inhaled sharply through his teeth, reminding you exactly what you were touching, what it was, and you went to withdraw your hand like it had been scalded…

Until you heard the tiniest little sound at the end of that hiss that made you pause.

A small, punctuating groan from deep in his chest, rich and dark — But one you recognized from another context entirely.

…No, you had to be getting some wires crossed somewhere. You leaned back in the chair, searching his face while your hand still hovered anxiously in place.

Once again, his gaze was riveted on you — but this time, rather than finding the void of space waiting in the sockets of his skull, you recognized the color of a deep wine.

No pupils still, so Maxi wasn’t alone. But he was definitely in there. No words passed between the pair of you, but the twitching, jerky tilt of his head was a question.

When you didn’t immediately voice the logical response - ‘no,’ obviously, there’s no way, not to mention the sanitary concerns… the response any other person would have given by now - the frozen, toothy smile somehow spread even wider.

Your brow furrowed. This was… not something the two of you had discussed before, as extensive as your discussions of desire often were.

And yet. Your eyes drifted to the wound again, scarlet and dark and… inviting. A split pomegranate, red with promise.

…Well. This was… new.

The Reaper shifted ever so slightly where he sat, and you clocked the way his thighs were pressed together, hopeful. The way the dress trousers seemed tighter than they had when you’d walked down here.

You sat all the way back in the chair, taking him in, nervously wetting your lips with your tongue. Even with the feeling of a double pulse racing now under your skin, you had to be totally sure.

“…Use your words,” you prompted, your voice hushed even in the sterile silence of the embalming room.

His head tilted the other way. “Kiss it better?” the layered voice asked, higher than usual, a note of pleading. He knew what he was asking, then.

Your eyes moved between those of the thing sitting in front of you, to the wound in its side, and back again.

You recognized a point of no return when you saw one.

A distant facet of you reasoned from the depths of your mind, as if in a dream: Did Thomas the Apostle not inquire of the wounds of his returned Lord, after all? Did he not part the flesh with his own to find his own proof of divinity, to alleviate his fear?

Was this really any different? Another form of worship, without the doubt?

Did that not make your love all the stronger, that you already knew you had nothing to be afraid of?

You got to your feet, resting your hands on the embalming table on either side of Maxi’s knees.

“Come here,” you whispered, but it was somehow less tentative than your earlier hush.

Maxi moved to the edge of the table, taller than you again when he was this close, and you leaned up to kiss the questioning smile.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, still, and more besides. Just the faintest trace of blood, not yours, not his.

Blood from too deep down to taste like a surface wound.

Maxi’s hand curled possessively around the back of your skull, and you wondered what it would feel like for your teeth to pop the thin membrane around the human heart.

Your hands were steady now in their purpose, moving between the two of you to free his cock. It was already hard again and leaking, and when your thumb slid the pre-cum along his slit, his hips bucked into your hand.

“Please, pretty?” he rasped against your lips, the need returned in full force.

As your hand moved lazily along his shaft, causing him to shiver and sigh, you looked again at the wound, leaning down as best you could without giving up your grasp on your prize.

The scarlet mouth waited in his flesh, hopeful, expectant.

With a bit of careful angling, you leaned closer. Your breath shook just slightly before you probed it with the very tip of your tongue.

Maxi was abruptly racked with a full-body shudder, his hissed curse somehow ethereal and unholy.

In your hand, you felt him spasm and flex, warm and heavy against your palm.

You swallowed the first mouthful of your lover’s blood like communion wine, searching inside yourself again first. Making sure.

Anything given in less than total faith in your love - in him, in you, the life you were building amidst the bones of those before - would be sacrilege.

The way he moaned when your tongue pushed further in relieved you of all doubt, however.

You weren’t entirely sure what to make of the feeling of blood flooding over your teeth and tongue as you kissed the gash in his side, lapping at the edges with the same greed he’d shown you. But you could feel the way his cock was achingly hard in your hand, the way his thighs began to shake as you could feel your mouth being coated with a red in a mirror of his when he’d arrived here. When he’d found you.

You used your free hand to hold his hip firmly in place when he tried to thrust against the hand gripping him, his fingers curling in your hair possessively.

“More,” he growled from somewhere down deep, and it was hard to tell which of them you were hearing speak. “Please, pretty, more, that’s perfect, that’s exactly…” He lost his words to something between a keen and a groan as you deepened the kiss, the warmth slicking your cheeks, your lips, dripping hotly down your chin.

You picked up your pace, your strokes faster and harder now as his mouth fell open and he outright panted, unable to hide just how much he was enjoying this. You sucked delicately at one edge of the wound, laving the place where the skin parted, and his head fell back with a moan.

“There, just there, that’s—” Maxi did his best to restrain a whine, his hips nearly arching off the table to meet your hand as your face was smeared in his blood.

You ran your tongue along the length of the injury, a bit dazed yourself in just how warm it was. How soft and willing the flesh was to part, even when it shouldn’t.

You heard his breathing hitch and felt him shift under your attention, turning slightly.

When your eyes flicked upwards to see what had changed, they locked with his, and his hips spasmed hard as his now-visible pupils ballooned black again to swallow the lingering red.

With a strangled guttural shout, he came over your hand messily, warm, coating your palm and fingers almost as much as you’d coated your face at his side.

You stroked him through his orgasm as he shook and whined desperately, wanting everything he had to give just as you’d given him.

You only stopped when he seized the front of your ruined night shirt and pulled you upright, seeming just as eager to taste his own blood in your mouth as you’d been to taste your orgasm.

There was an instant where the change from your tongue in him to his tongue in your mouth felt seamless, where you weren’t sure whom was gently probing at the delicate insides of the other, and the shiver down your spine was electric even as your stomach flipped dizzily.

“Thank you, sugar,” he whispered, peppering your face with kisses after the initial claiming. His hands were everywhere again, on your hips, in your hair, his arms encircling your back to keep you close. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you damned beautiful creature.”

You laughed, half-breathless, one hand tangling in his hair to kiss him fiercely again. “What,” you whispered, your lips brushing his as the two of you half-swayed together. “The fuck?”

Maxi giggled, high and manic, and he tucked his face against the side of your neck - his favorite place. “I don’t know,” he whispered back, and there was a shake to his nervous giggle. “I don’t know. But god, did I like it.”

“I’ve - I’ve never done that before,” you turned, your lips against his cheek now as he pressed needy, open-mouthed kisses to your throat. “I’ve never thought to… I don’t know.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Maxi’s arms tightened their embrace slightly on your back, and you caught the scarlet gleam of his eyes through his hair and his glasses, his tell for ‘mine.’ You knew the Reaper was still there — if it had been just him, he would’ve been less concerned with that than other logistics.

“It’s just you, Maxi,” you soothed, kissing the corner of his mouth. You stood between his thighs as he sat on the embalming table’s edge, and he tilted his head to catch your mouth again, the two of you still out of breath even as you couldn’t let each other go.

When you went to clean the mess off your hand, still waiting for you, he leaned over, his tongue brushing against and even caressing yours as you licked your palm clear together.

Maxi continued to suck hard on your index finger after, his eyes never leaving yours, until you pulled ever so slightly on the hair at the back of his neck. He shivered agreeably, and you kissed the other corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know what possessed me,” you said quietly, resting your forehead against his. “I’ve never done… anything like that. You’re just the only person I’ve wanted to let under my skin like this.” You nodded dreamily at your wrist with your mark, the obvious thing, but your other hand rested just at the edge of the open gash you’d just tongue-fucked.

Maxi chuckled, the sound still layered underneath by something demonic, and he tilted his head without separating from you. “You’re the only one I’d trust enough to undo me, darlin’.” He kissed the end of your nose, weirdly gentle even as both of your faces were still thoroughly coated in drying blood. “It’s not a wound when I’m with you. It’s just… opportunity.”

You actually laughed - a real, genuine sound, both your arms wrapping around his neck as he kissed your cheek with all the sweetness in the world.

The two of you lingered like that for a bit in the silence of the surrounding dead, your hearts beating confidently in sync despite the separation flesh between them.

If this was your forever, you thought to yourself, captivated by the hush of your shared breath, then you were fine with that. More than fine.

You weren’t sure who moved, who decided it was time, but at some point, the two of you wordlessly took your original places. In a comfortable, sleepy silence, you thoroughly cleaned the wound like you would have cleaned him off in your bedroom. Like he’d cleaned you countless times, lovingly and with ardent attention.

You were halfway through closing it, your stitches surprisingly even and measured, when he spoke again.

“There was a part of me,” Maxi said quietly, and it was all him. The Reaper had fully abated now. “That was convinced I could only ruin you.”

You glanced up at him, automatically skeptical as you continued your work. “Yeah?”

Maxi laughed, and it was low, with only a sliver of nervousness still. “I was convinced you were too good for all this. That you should have somethin’ else. Somethin’ better than… well.” He gestured around at the embalming room, at you working on his side. “A nice house in some suburb. Someone who loved you who was… safe. Who would never come home to you with so much dark at their heels. Who would never dream of — of contaminatin’ you with it.”

He looked away from you, and when he spoke again after a time, his voice was small. “I guess that part was right about me, huh.”

You snorted audibly, pausing what you were doing to meet his gaze. “Maxi. Look at me, baby.” When he complied, you spread your arms wide. “Do I look I’m here against my will?” You gestured to handiwork as you picked up the needle again. “Do I look like I’d be content to just sit and twiddle my thumbs in someone’s dollhouse, somewhere?”

He gazed at you, and you saw his eyes were just his again, a rich brown bordering on burgundy and looking vaguely dreamy as he studied your face.

Slowly, tentatively, he shook his head.

A part of you melted inwardly at how, even after all this time, a small smile crept over his face the longer he drank you in. Like he was always pleasantly surprised to recall just who had his heart, and vice versa.

“Really look, now,” you urged softly, leaning close to him again so you filled his vision. You gestured with a hand to the blood that thoroughly covered the lower half of your face. “Do I look like I think I’m ruined?”

Maxi’s eyes moved from yours down your face, lingering briefly on your lips before they met your gaze once more.

You leaned your forehead against his again, closing the gap between you. “All I see in this is a mirror of the person I love more than anything,” you whispered. With the hand that wasn’t hold the needle, you smeared some of the blood from your face on your fingers, then added it to the blood coating his skin. “That’s all.” You repeated the gesture in reverse, adding some of the blood from his skin to yours - even though you were sure it had transferred in your original acts, as well. The important thing was that he needed to see you choose it.

“I love you,” you reminded him softly. “And everything that comes with you.”

You returned your attention to the wound, tying off your stitches before opening a fresh bandage. “So what if that looks different on us?”

You smoothed the bandage and some clean gauze over the incision, sealing it off behind its protective barrier. You knew by morning, it would have no need of any of those things, already miraculously closed.

Your eyes returned to his, your hand lingering over your work nonetheless. “I already told you, there’s no one else I’d let under my skin,” you said, your lips barely an inch apart. “And you’re the only person I’d want to be with when I do something that scares me. When I might even scare myself.”

You didn’t think your eyes glowed like his, but for just an instant, you swore this is what it would feel like. This certainty. This resolve.

You let him see it on your face. “I chose you,” you said quietly. “And I chose this too. Whatever shape it takes. Or I take.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re the only person I’d trust with whatever I become, love.”

Maxi’s arms encircled your waist, and the way his eyes sparked with light again, you could swear the two of you would burn if you stayed this close.

“The dark is so much better with you in it,” he whispered. “If you’re happy, then I’d spend an eternity here with you.”

“Good.” You smiled, reveling in his closeness. “Because I’m happy.”

The moon outside was the only thing that came close to how bright you felt against that endless night when he kissed you again.

— If the mortuary opened an hour later the next morning, no one complained.

It couldn’t be helped — it had been a hell of a time getting all that blood out of your bed sheets.

Even then, with all the remaining tinges of rust, you’d both eventually conceded to relegate them to being for “fun” rather than for regular sleep.

They wouldn’t be the last set you ruined, by far.

(so uh. a very dear friend of mine mentioned they'd sent this blog to someone they liked irl. and I would just like to say, on the offchance they're still reading this at all -

sup ig. [waves]

anyway! if you've read this far, as always, you're a saint and also wow what are you doing a the devil's sacrament buddy :'D

this might be the last long-ish piece I post for a while bc I have to make a mad dash on my dissertation before the end of the semester, but I will still be here, circling, reading every word directed my way, thinking deeply on them, appreciating them, taking forever to respond as always

Ilu all <3 happy belated halloween, cheers to spooky season year-round for the believers)

[the-faceless-bride]

To anyone who liked Valerie which do you want to see first?

[multific]

Motherhood

Yautja x Reader

Summary: After you gave birth to your son, it took you some time to get used to having a half-Yautja and half-human. 

You felt sore all over. 

You moved against the fur but your whole body felt sore.

You could hear your mate’s soft breathing, it immediately made you feel at ease.

Yet, something felt out of place.

As you stirred from your sleep, you sat up in your bed and looked around. Everything looked normal, except for one thing.

The little child who used to be under your heart was now in a crib beside you. 

You looked at your mate, sleeping soundly beside you.

He got used to sleeping with you to the point where he didn’t even care anymore if you moved or woke up. 

It wasn’t always like that.

He often woke up with you when he took you into his home, but he got gradually used to you being with him.

You moved over to the crib, leaving the warmth of your bed, you stood up and got your son out of his crib.

It was a little strange to call him your son, after all, he looked nothing like you.

He looked like a pure Yautja, except for his eyes, his eyes were yours.

He wasn’t sleeping when you lifted him out of his crib, instead, he was watching, learning.

You ignored all the pain in your body as you moved out of the bedroom and into what you would call a kitchen.

You got yourself a glass of water as you sat down on one of the chairs. With your child in your arms, you moved him so you could see his face.

He laid in your lap.

“Will you never cry?” But your Baby had no reply. Of course, he didn’t he wasn’t even a day old. You watched him as his eyes wandered from your eyes to your chest and hands. 

You held a finger out to him, which caught his attention and he immediately grabbed it.

He continued to watch your finger as you smiled.

This little moment reminded you that even if he looked like a Yautja, he was still a baby.

Your baby.

This little boy in your lap was not so long ago in your stomach.

It was crazy to think about.

Your house felt a little too quiet, usually you were never up without your mate. So, this felt a little strange. 

You looked at your son.

“How am I supposed to feed you?” You said as you lifted him, trying to see if he was hungry or not. He was, you didn’t know how, but you could tell.

You pulled your nightgown down and you didn’t know how, but he was a natural.

You watched as he fed. 

He truly didn’t feel like your son. You looked after so many Yautja babies when you joined their tribe, this felt almost like one of those moments.

Except for the feeding part. Only a mother can feed their child.

And your son was no exception.

While he was born into a very high place in the hunting tribe, he was still your son. 

A highly anticipated member.

Your Mate was the right had of the tribe leader, a high position with lots of responsibilities.

One of which was to bring a son into the world.

Which you just managed to do.

You had a pregnancy which left your body sore and your mate feared the worst, but thankfully, you were able to give birth without any major issues.

And now, here you were, holding him and feeding him.

Your thumb ran down his little cheek, right next to where his mandibles were.

“You are beautiful.” You smiled and the child just kept looking at you.

Once he finished eating you pulled your gown back and pulled him to your chest, laying him down.

Did Yautja babies even burp?

Guess you will find out soon.

He did burp.

A small little burp.

And soon, he was off again.

You got up from the chair and headed back to the bedroom.

You got in, the fire was still going, but now, your mate was up.

He looked at you then at your son in your arms.

“He was hungry.” You said as you put him back into his crib before climbing back on the furs.

You let out a long yawn before getting under the covers. 

Your mate made a sound before laying back down himself. You lay down closer to him as he pulled you closer.

Maybe it was a difficult thing to give birth to a Yautja baby. Maybe it was difficult being married to one as well.

But you loved them both with all of your heart and that was enough, more than enough.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[sleep-0-deprived]

Bottom Yandere slasher x final boy male reader head cannons~! ૮ ོ≧ ⩊ ≦ ོ𑁬

blowjobs, knife play, degrading, large bottom, small top ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You were out and about camping on a little trip with your friends when he first had seen you, staring and blinking over at you like a frog. Something inside his cold body came back to life like a zombie breathing air once again. He had to have you and he would have you no matter what he had to do or who he had to clear. Taking you in the middle of the night after dealing with your friends, he’d have you dragged back to his cabin and just stare at your sleeping form for hours.

He’d blink over at you blushing under his mask obsessing over your every muscle and your short frame, you woke up screaming shouting any sort of insult just trying to escape only to fail each time with him frowning and locking you back up in his bedroom. “I’m not your fucking pet you big idiot! You can’t keep me!” You’d shout at him angrily but he’d only tilt his head as though he didn’t understand what you were speaking to him but he did understand you were upset by the tone you were using.

The slasher would keep you for months, he’d feed you and cling to you leaving you never alone because he was by your side each and every hour of the day. His arms held you in a bone crushingly tight spooning position in bed leaving you conflicted on how you could fall for a man like him? Maybe you were in live or maybe it was all the stressful hormones combined with the built up Stockholm syndrome that had you all over him by the end of the second month.

The first time you had sex with him was during your most recent escape, you found his knife, you tried to attack him from behind but with his tall stature you failed only having him on top of you pinning you to the ground. not before you shoved the knife against him threatening him going feral in anger. The hard feeling beneath you is what brought your mind to a clearer thinking. He was hard, how could he possibly be hard in a situation like this? You just tried to kill him and make your escape “are you seriously fucking hard right now? You’re a horny gain arent’cha!” You’d mock him feeling a smile creeping on your face.

Not even thirty minutes later you’re completely stripped holding him up on top of you with your hand shakily holding the knife to his thigh only grunting when he lifts himself up and down on your cock “o-oh shit, wasn’t expecting this” the slasher is even more infatuated with you at this point, the size of your cock had him intimidated at first when he seen a proud seven and a half— eight inches when hard cock looking at him for the first time since this was his first sexual encounter, shockingly sex wasn’t common for a crazed serial killer.

After that moment on the kitchen floor of his cabin this man’s silent and cold demeanor shifts into more, you fucked him into being domestic, wanting to make you happy trying to get you to want to willingly stay with him even if it means he had to please you. His face in your balls with his knife thrown to the ground while he attempts to give you a blow job “c’mon you can take a little more right, you’re a big man so shove it a little down that throat” you couldn’t help but be cruel to him with your hand gripping the rubber backing of his mask and forcing his face down on your crotch reminding him that while he kidnapped you, he lacked all his control when you were in the mix.

When you finally come around to the slasher, you’re grueling with him in sex, your arms would wrap around his body jerking your hips harshly between his thighs fucking him like a manic and pulling his mask back making him groan feeling more exposed and vulnerable before you, “are all serial killers preening sluts?” You couldn’t help but just egg him, not when you felt his walls gripping you back every time you spoke them making you a mess burying your face into his chest heaving and moaning on top of him fucking him like you need it.

[nobitchs-world]

Me: I love horror movie slashers

My scary ass if I ever saw them:

[heartfullofleeches]

[Slasher Reader loses victim Yan in the woods]

Slasher Reader: Damn it...You always make me do this.... [Lifts up their mask slightly] Put your head on my shoulder~

[Nearby] "Hold me in your arms~... Shit"

[Slasher Reader, pulls their mask back down]

Victim Yan, leaping from the bushes: Oh fuck, oh fuck-

Slasher Reader: Squeeze me oh-so tight~ Wouldn't what you'd like me to do to you, sweetheart?

Victim Yan: Yes!-wait- No! Fuckfuckfuck - Why do you have to have the voice of an angel?!

[yanderu-deredere]

hook.

★ your friends decide to do a road trip across a few states, to the coast! what's better than the beautiful boardwalk of lovelock after all? and they need a fifth person to come with them! so, of course, they drag you along. what could go wrong?

a/n: okay so ill be honest, i was kinda nervous to post this cus this is like way longer than my usual shit TBH but i really wanted to write this out and i felt like the usual bulletted thing wouldn't do my idea justice i guess? so have this word vomit LOL cus this baby has more parts (i think)

also these yanderes are very much inspired by all my favourite slashers (think hannibal meets chainsaw massacre meets house of wax) so the themes will be a bit more graphic

part one (here) ★ part two (line.) ★ part three (sinker.) ★ part four (?)

pairing: casimir fiala x reader x emmaline fiala word count: 3236

warning: gender neutral reader, reader is attacted to male and female yandere, readers friends are lowkey pieces of shit LOL, final ship is poly

"This doesn't look like Lovelock." Chloe muttered in that tone that just slightly grated against your nerves.

You, half asleep and kind of buried in bags, jolted at the sound of her voice. You glanced around, eyes blurry and your brain pounding just a little bit. The price of sleeping on a road trip, you supposed.

You looked over to the side to see what your friends were up to.

Chloe, the resident bottle-blonde of the group, had her entire body leaning a bit too heavily against her boyfriend Dirk as she tried to shove her torso out the window.

Dirk, too preoccupied with her body to really pay attention to anything else, only hummed and held her by the hip to prevent her from falling entirely out the side of the van.

You sighed and turned to your other side, trying to make out what your friend was so desperate to see outside.

All you could see, however, was what looked like an abandoned town. There was a little play ground, a parking lot beside that, some apartment buildings too--

Suddenly, the van skid to a halt, making everyone almost fall forward.

"Bran, you fucking bastard!" Dirk cursed before cradling Chloe's head to his chest "You okay, baby?"

Chloe, of course, played the whole thing up, whining up a storm. You just rubbed your neck, ignoring everyone else as you tried to figure out why the sudden stop.

In front of the car was a man much too well dressed for his surroundings. I mean, what business did he have in this place that he needed to wear a button down for? Plus he had what looked like a medical mask on?

What did you guys drive into, Chernobyl?

Anyway, you couldn't see the rest of his face very well because he had long hair with white side pieces and they were covering his face a bit too much but he was waving the van down.

Suddenly, as you were peering out the side of the van, your eyes met his sharp green ones and you felt a jolt of electricity down your spine.

You had a bad feeling about this place and about this man.

Still, not like you could say much. Who'd listen to you? Certainly not anyone else inside the van.

The man walked up to the driver's side, probably to talk to your friend Bran and give him directions. Thankfully, you were on the same side so you could do a little bit of eavesdropping on your own from your open window.

Observing him, you couldn't help but think that he was especially tall. He looked like he could almost be as tall as the van itself! You'd estimate his height at 6ft at least.

You couldn't even imagine how small you were compared to him if the two of you stood side by side.

"You're not supposed to be here. This is private property." The stranger explained and, though he was talking to Bran, you couldn't help but feel like he kept glancing at you from the corners of his eyes "You have to turn back and leave."

Now that he spoke, you also noted how deep his voice was. Though, you supposed, not surprising considering his height.

Big man, deep voice, you noted to yourself before mentally laughing at your own idiocy.

"What? There's no other way?" Bran's indignant tone pulled you out of your thoughts "I was so sure there was a way through here, up to Lovelock."

The stranger solemnly nodded as if completely understanding "There used to be but, after they shut down the factory, the Pharmaceutical company prevents people from passing through here."

Bran seemed to open his mouth to say something inflammatory. After all, he was known in your group to be a bit hot-headed. Even now, you couldn't see his face but you could imagine how red it was.

Kathy, Bran's girlfriend and your best friend, thankfully leaned over from the front passenger seat, her hand rubbing her boyfriend's thigh "It's all good! Sorry for the trouble and thanks for letting us know."

The man gave a curt nod "Just didn't want you all to incur the fines. The company still has the cameras up and there was a sign at the entrance saying something about trespassers."

"What are you, a glorified security guard?" Bran managed at least one quip and you saw Kathy hit him especially hard on the knee for that one.

You couldn't see the man's mouth from under the mask but you definitely felt like you could see his lips shift into a grin from under the cotton "Something like that."

Bran just scoffed and started backing the van up. The man backed away, giving a curt nod.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see Kathy conspiratorially whisper 'crazy weirdo' to you, Dirk and Chloe. Of course, you elected to ignore her.

Instead, you kept your eyes trained on the stranger, still curious as to why he was there.

When his eyes landed on you, you gave him a curt wave. A good-bye. Silently, you mouthed an apology for your rude friend. He gave another curt nod, and you left it at that.

Something about his green eyes unnerved you though--

There was a loud pop and the van jolted, making almost everyone inside scream. Bran himself let out a rather loud fuck!

"What the fuck was that?" He slammed his palm against the steering wheel, that explosive temper getting the best of him.

You watched as the stranger came over and looked at the car, observing it a bit before letting out a rather tired sigh "You popped a tire."

Bran's head swiveled to him and, if looks could kill, that man would've been dead "A tire?"

"This place is abandoned, they don't exactly up-keep the roads." The man explained, crouching to try and see what was wrong with said tire "You must have run over a rusty nail or an especially bad pothole."

Then there was a thumping sound, like he was ripping something out of the rubber "Or a giant copper hook."

Bran slammed his door open and marched over, getting to the tire just as the man stood up.

You watched it all happen and you've known Bran for a while. The two of you were taking the same undergraduate major, after all. You knew Bran was the sporty type, confident and cocky. He was maybe 5'8 on a good day.

This man dwarfed Bran when he stood. Definitely taller than 6ft then. Maybe 6'5?

He placed the hook he took out of the tire into Bran's hand and, though it looked rather hefty in Bran's hand, it seemed a bit smaller in his.

Any bravado Bran had vanished like the wind. Of course, Bran was still Bran so he grumbled, complaining as he dropped the rusty thing before he squatted down to figure out what was wrong with the tire.

You saw Kathy from the corner of your eye dialing a number. You figured it was probably triple-A or some other towing service that could help the group out.

For some reason, you didn't want to look away from the stranger.

He seemed to have the same idea because, as he took out a walkie-talkie from his belt, his green eyes were trained on you again.

Without taking his eyes off you, he took a slender finger and lowered his mask, tucking it under his chin. He had a crooked smile on his face, something like a mixture between a grimace and forced pleasantry.

Near the corner of his face, there was an indent of a diagonal scar. It stretched from above his lip to the center of his chin. You let yourself wonder why he had it. It split his lips a little, made him look kind of devilish.

"Another car needs help." He spoke into the little device, holding it in the palm of his hand and jostling it a little, making the antenna of it wiggle back and forth.

"Miscreants?" The static of it answered back, crackling and almost indecipherable.

The man laughed and you felt your heart skip just a little bit of a beat "No, just people who took a wrong turn. They seem very nice."

You tried to ignore the flash of sharp teeth in his mouth and chalked it off to genetics. Sometimes people just had especially sharp canines, right? Though something felt predatory about his. Not vampiric, maybe, but definitely wolfish.

"What's wrong with their car?" The longer sentence was easier to understand but it was filled with just as much static.

"Popped a tire on the main road." The man answered as he put his free hand in his pocket "They were trying to take the short-cut to Lovelock."

The sentence came out as a drawl, like there was a funny joke about it that you weren't privy to. Your head cocked a little, trying to figure out what it could mean.

He returned your look of curiosity with a small little smirk and a shrug, cocking his hip a little as he shifted his weight from one foot to another

Someone hissed out your name and you turned, finally breaking the staring game in between you and the stranger.

You turned to Kathy with a confused expression on your face, your eyebrow cocked "What's up?"

"I have like no signal like at all." She whispered to you as if it was the end of the world and she wanted only you to know.

Of course, since the two of you were sitting in a cramped van, the other two people in the van heard loud and clear.

"What!" Chloe shouted, scrambling for her own marble-cased phone "There's no signal?"

"No, 'fraid not."

You flinched, head quickly turning when you felt a breath against your ear. Suddenly, the stranger was leaning into the window of the van, crossed arms resting against the lip of the window.

Your wide eyes met his green ones again and he grinned, all wolfish and devilish and all your observations about him seemed to flash warning signs in your head.

"Something about the old factory leaking radiation or something." He answered easily enough just as you scooted a little so he wasn't talking right into your now rather hot ear

You nodded slowly but the tone of his voice as he spoke was that same tone he used when he mentioned the city; like he was telling half-truths and it was on a need to know basis and you didn't need to know.

You had been on the receiving end of that bullshit for so long, with the same exact friends you were with in the van, that you could detect it from a mile away.

"Plus, they've shut down the cell towers near here already." He gestured flimsily in some direction, probably to said cell towers.

Then, there was silence in the van. Chloe kept fiddling with her phone. Dirk, as always, looked distrustfully at the stranger, like a toddler who'd get his toy snatched away the moment he dropped his guard. The toy of course, being Chloe. Kathy just looked panicked and anxious.

You were anxious too. You were never good with silence.

As a way to make conversation, you fiddled with your fingers and decided to introduce yourself before asking the stranger who he was and what he was doing there.

You really didn't think he'd answer.

"Casimir Fiala." His name flipped off of his tongue with a fascinating smoothness "I'm just here to... research... the abandoned buildings."

There it was again, that need-to-know-only tone. This time, you waved away the blaring alarms in your head, tucking them away to note later. Instead, you decided to joke with him "Guess you're not a glorified security guard."

"Sometimes it feels like it." He flashed you a snide half smirk and there was a part of you that felt satisfied that, this time, it felt like you were in on the joke.

It definitely made you grin, that was for sure. Before you could respond, though, the sound of a motorcycle suddenly filled the area, getting closer and closer till it was accompanied by the crunch of gravel.

"That will be my wife." Casimir yelled above the noise as he backed away from the window and tucked his arms behind his back in one fluid motion.

When he did, you couldn't help but curiously peer out.

Just as he said, a woman appeared on a motorcycle, dust cloud surrounding her. If Casimir was overdressed, this woman was underdressed.

She was wearing skin-tight clothes, cargo pants, the works. She looked like she was dressed for an action movie.

Hell, she looked she herself walked out of an action movie. She was buff, tanned, tattooed all over, almost as tall as her husband. She looked like she could take a steel bar and bend it in half.

With fingerless gloves, she removed her motorcycle helmet and her hair fell fluttering out. She had one lock of hair at the very front braided, some of it pulled back, but the rest of it cascaded rather messily, covering most of the right side of her face.

It looked like a bad blue dye job that was already growing back out but, somehow, she made it look ruggedly sexy.

That wasn't what was surprising. What was surprising was the eye patch and the burn scars.

"Oh my god." Kathy gasped out and you could see her and Chloe pull out their phones as if trying to film some circus freak.

Immediately, you were pushing their phones away, scowling at them as you tried to keep your voice down "What the fuck, dude, are you guys serious?"

You could see Casimir walk over to his wife, probably to talk to her about fixing your wheel. How kind of them. All the while, your friends were spitting on that kindness by mocking his wife.

"But like, did you see her?" Chloe tittered, looking through her gallery to try and see if she got a good photo but then pouting when she didn't.

"You're disgusting, Chloe." You spat out, hoping the absolute vitriol in your voice could snap her out of this weird Mean Girls trance she was in "They're trying to fucking help us and this is the thanks you're giving them?"

Kathy just scoffed and flipped her hair. "They're the ones who stopped us and got our tires popped."

"We're the ones that trespassed on private property." You snapped back and, suddenly, you felt too suffocated in the van. You knew who your friends were, of course, and you knew them to be the type of people to make small mean jokes but this was way too much.

You got out of the van, your arms crossed and wrapped around yourself, anything to give yourself any ounce of comfort.

This entire trip was a bad idea to begin with. You hadn't wanted to go but your friends insisted over and over that they wanted you around. You thought 'why not?' but, in the end, you turned out more of a fifth wheel than anything else.

"Oh, hey." Bran greeted you as you stepped up to the trio who were discussing how to fix the car "What's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to stretch my legs." You lied easily enough since you didn't really want to tell Bran about how bitch-y his girlfriend was being.

Bran believed you, of course. He was too focused on being annoyed by the entire situation anyway. He seemed at least placated by the fact that he wouldn't have to pay for a new tire.

"Thank you so much, by the way, for like helping us out and shelling out cash for a tire." You decided to say since Bran definitely wouldn't say it. The smile on Casimir's wife's face was definitely worth it.

Casimir seemed to realise something because he looked at you in shock before gesturing to you and introducing you by name to his wife "And this is my wife Emm, she's the muscle of this entire operation."

"Nice to meet you." She put her hand out and you were about to take it only for her to quickly pull it back and wipe it on her pants "Sorry, I've been fixing machines all day. I'm dirty as all hell."

"No worries! Not like I'm all showered! We've been on the road for like three days now!" You waved off her concern and held out your hand.

Hesitantly, she took it and the two of you shook hands.

You noted that the burns she had on one side of her face seemed to spread down her body because her entire arm from shoulder to wrist (or what wasn't covered by her gloves) were covered in wrinkly scar tissue.

You tried not to stare. She probably got enough of that in her day-to-day, she didn't need it from you too.

You hoped she didn't get it from Bram already. He could be so insensitive without even thinking about it.

"Anyway, I was just sayin' that I'd love t' ride over to the gate, the one leadin' to Lovelock and send out a call, try to get triple-A over." Emm cupped the side of her neck, looking rather thoughtful "Boss won't be happy since we ain't suppos't have people over but."

Then she shrugged as if she was trying to say 'what can you do' before continuing "I got to go soon, though, 'cus I saw that the weather was suppos't to be terrible later today and--"

As if on que, thunder rumbled above, almost as loudly as Emm's motorcycle. You groaned because of course the weather would turn this horrible so rapidly and just when you needed it not to.

"Fuck." Bran put it so eloquently just as the rain started pouring as if the heavens above ripped open the clouds "Why can't you go while it's raining?"

"She only has a motorcycle." Casimir reminded him, his tone implying that fact in and of itself should've been explanation enough, his expression challenging Bran to say otherwise.

Emm looked much more apologetic but only by a bit "Plus, the road to Lovelock is 30 minutes and it's known to landslide when it's rainin'. I'm willin' to help ya'll but not that willin'."

Bran let out another expletive while you gave them an apologetic smile and a thank you.

"I'll be happy to invite ya'll over to our house. We live only a minute or two from here." Emm continued as Casimir shielded her with his lab coat, ducking her head a little as she walked closre to you so you could hear her over the hiss of the rain "It'll be better than that cramped van."

"I'll let everyone know!" You yelled, smiling gratefully at the couple.

Part of your brain registered the warning signs in your head. After all, though you'd tried your best to be polite to them, you did remember how odd Casimir seemed when you first encountered him.

Still, they were trying their hardest to accommodate your group. And, after how rude your friends were, you felt an odd obligation to make up for how mean your friends had been.

After all, what was the worst that could happen from just being nice?

[morvantmortuary]

and now, because I’m always fashionably late and it’s been stuck in my head all day —

least to most likely to dance to “Hot to Go”in public

Maxi - does not dance in public unless he has the very specific context of being tipsy enough and crowd cover or you’re being threatened into ballroom dancing by They Who Decide. definitely breaking it down in the embalming room when he thinks no one is watching though, is somehow pretty good at body-rolling in layers of PPE. occasionally accidentally compels a decedent or two on his prep table to lift their arms in vague letter-shapes when he gets too into it. sometimes they get stuck that way and he has to massage their limbs so they’ll actually fit in the casket.

Rora - absolutely snapping clapping and touching her toes in your kitchen with you in the middle of the night, or your bedroom when the two of you are getting ready for an evening out. doesn’t so much in public, but you swear a couple of times you see her miming the letters close to her shoulders when someone’s playing it near her taxidermy booth at the Greymoon farmer’s market. is already working on a little tableaux of mice in some of Chappell Roan’s previous outfits. might be training her army of tiny rodent skeleton spies to surprise you with a flash mob for your birthday. people still like flash mobs, right?

Hex - man is doing the letters while he’s driving with both hands off the wheel, much to your laughing terror. he’s bodyrolling on the street corner while you’re both waiting for the light to change. he’s touching his toes while the two of you are shopping for groceries. where is this man not dancing to Hot to Go? he will take you to the cemetery one night when the fireflies are still everywhere, just to show you he taught a few over-enthusiastic ghosts to do it too. they don’t quite get all the steps, but they’ve got the spir—[gunshot]

Tie: Seth and Leon - The song comes on in a crowded bar on a Friday night (very possibly his own bar, in Leon’s case), and they’re the first one on the floor. Their enthusiasm is downright infectious some might even say… compulsory, and whether people were dancing before or not, they definitely are now. soon everyone in the room is joining in, and they’re still right there at the front, leading the charge. their moves are smooth, their smile is electric (and… suspiciously pointy, just in different places), and you can’t help but dance along. they’re both positively magnetic. even when the playlist rolls into the next song, people stay on the floor and dance along to the new beat, and the next, until the night disappears in a fog of constant motion and an undercurrent of distant, manic laughter. you don’t remember much when you wake up in the morning next to one or the other, except that you had fun… you think. maybe a little too much fun, based on how tired you still feel.

(if you’re with Leon, he’ll guiltily kiss the bite on your neck before he slides from your bed, tiptoeing around the sunbeam splashed across the floor to go turn on your coffee pot. you can’t be too mad about how flushed his skin looks, you think as you watch him go. it makes you happy to see him well-fed. if he got some bonus sips off the crowd, then they just got what they paid for, going to a vampire bar. you two have discussed this part of your relationship in depth, it’s fine. there’s feeding, and then there’s Feeding, and you nourish his soul more than anything else. as much as he argues he doesn’t have one.)

(if you’re with Seth, he’ll coo at you about how tired you look and kiss your temple, mumbling something about how he’s keeping you up too late. you wave him off even as you’re yawning still, and you cuddle him as you start to doze off again. you don’t really notice that his hair somehow seems darker, his eyes brighter, than when he picked you up to go out last night. he does, though, and takes his time admiring himself in your mirror as he absently strokes your hair. he’d feel a little bad taking it out of you like this, if it didn’t make him look so good.)

[the-faceless-bride]

Hello! And I'm finally putting out official Yandere oc characters!! I am taking requests for them, I have lots to do and write but I'm just so excited to be finally letting you all interact with these guys!! Be warned they are yandere and have dark themes and dark content!!

If you aren't comfortable with that you can either ask me to write them without the dark content when requesting or just don't interact with them at all. Please not rudness or anger.

So here they are!! 4 yandere characters just for you ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹🔪

(template isn't mine!!! I found it and has credit at the bottom of the template!!! And click for better and clear photo)

[solmints-messyocdiary]

Do you have any nsfw headcanons for the Patron? 👀👀👀 ~Artist Anon

Do I? 👀

Of course I do.

Just for you, Artist anon!

Some The Patron NSFW headcanons

He is more on the dominant side (top and SOMETIMES a service top but don't count on it too much) as he loves having control over the littlest things, more if it concerns his person. Not to mention, he lives for pleasing his partner and watching them unravel in front of him. However, he won't complain if you wish to pay him back the favor.

-

Sex with him is him always clothed, and his muse naked. No buts or ifs. He doesn't feel comfortable in taking his clothes off and also to keep his identity hidden. You'll only be seeing his penis lmao. 😭

Perhaps he'll strip a little if his dear is blindfolded first.

You can feel all you want though.

-

Like any slasher, he has voyeuristic tendencies. He'll do his best to control them, but he tends to indulge in them too much. If you ask him, he'll reply with a little flustered "yes," but he'll probably continue doing it.

-

Really into phone sex... maybe too into phone sex. Won't say anything crude unless you give him the okay and he is really horny.

-

If you want flowery erotica, you'll receive flowery erotica.

So, considering he is a little more... "modest" and old-fashioned, he won't use cock or cunt on his writing. You'll cringe a little at how hard he tries to find a more "soft" word for genitalia.

It's an act tbh, he can totally write super dirty stuff if he wanted to. He just wants to be seen as a gentleman.

-

Never swears but only on two occasions: 1) He is EXTREMELY pissed, 2) He is really turned on.

-

Likes bondage and can make beautiful and intricate knots with it.

[multific]

His Wife

At'Roh x Reader

Summary: Nothing is scarier than a Yautja who's protecting their mate. And At'Roh is no different, he is worse.

A/N: Another Yautja I made up for all of your pleasure. The above photo is not mine! Credit goes to its owner. Enjoy.

You looked up at him. 

You were smiling as you walked by his side, proud. 

The wedding ceremony was held yesterday, now you are officially his.

His mate.

You have come a long way, from running away from home, getting picked up by an alien and now being a part of their tribe.

You were proud of the long journey you had.

Now, it was time for a different one.

Marriage.

It has been almost 10 years since they took you from Earth. You understood their language, their traditions and their behaviour.

You fell in love with the new tribe leader almost immediately.

He was still young, losing his father to old age, and At'Roh became a young leader.

Young yet fierce.

Many claimed that he was crazy, even with Yautja standards.

One proof of this was the way he got you.

He wanted you, a little human, At'Roh craved something different, something exotic, taking a human as a wife was just that.

But as time passed, and you two grew closer and closer, he couldn't deny the facts.

The facts were that he not only wanted you as a wife due to you being a human.

A fierce human who kept him on his toes, who was not afraid to say no to him.

You rejected his marriage proposal at least five times.

You hoped At'Roh would give up, but he didn't.

Your little play of cat and mouse ended in a way no one expected. 

Everyone thought you two would bring a war within the tribe.

Instead, you two fell in love.

---

It was late at night, you were sleeping in his arms, and everything was perfect until it wasn't.

It all happened so fast.

You knew your mate would immediately go and fight to protect his tribe.

All you need to do is find the other females and go with them.

You have done this before when your tribe was attacked by a group of bad-blood yautja.

At'Roh looked at you one last time before heading out, you gave him a nod. 

You knew what you needed to do.

But it wasn't so easy this time.

The bad-bloods this time had a plan, and you played right into their hand.

They got you way too easy, but they didn't kill you.

Instead, they dragged you to their leader. 

No matter what you tried, you couldn't escape. 

"He's going to get me, you know!" you told him as soon as they tossed you to his legs. "And he will kill you all!!!" you knew they understood, even if they didn't speak your language. 

"At'Roh is dead." the leader replied before they chained you. Your face fell.

He wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

"Liar." was the last thing you said before the collar clicked around your neck.

The long chain connecting to your neck was given to their leader and you were dragged along as they all ran.

They had no ships. 

It was good, there was a chance At'Roh could find you before they got you to a ship and flew away.

You just needed to hold out and slow them down somehow.

---

At'Roh's heavy breathing was the only thing in the house.

He couldn't even see due to his anger.

You were gone.

His wife was gone.

He knew the way this attack played out was too easy. They had a plan. And the plan wasn't to kill him, the plan was to take you.

At'Roh took a deep breath before putting all of his gear on.

If these bad bloods wanted to play, he was going to destroy them.

Hunting was his speciality. At'Roh loved to hunt maybe a bit too much. While other Yautja excelled at it, he became a monster. A crazed hunter who knew nothing else.

Finding you will be a simple task. His blood was boiling because you were taken.

He wanted to save his tribe only to play right into their hands and help them take you.

It was all a trap to kidnap you. It was a level of disrespect he could not forgive.

At'Roh received information that a female saw a group taking you into the forest, they saw no ships.

At'Roh figured they were taking you to a ship to take you away.

And so, the hunt was on.

---

You have not stopped walking since they got you.

A group of four soldiers and a leader.

They have been dragging you along for hours.

You were beginning to get tired.

You felt like you needed to sit down, but they refused. No matter how you begged.

Looks like their perfect plan had a huge flaw.

They didn't take your refusal and unwillingness to cooperate into much consideration.

They honestly thought they could just drag you along and leave with you.

And this gives time for At'Roh to find you.

You managed to find a sharp stone and cut your hand, hoping to give a trail to At'Roh so he could find you more easily.

You hoped it was enough.

---

At'Roh's anger didn't lessen as he continued his hunt. 

It only grew as he noticed blood on the ground.

He only needed the smallest whiff to tell that it was indeed your blood.

He rubbed the wet material on his finger, watching as it almost coated his fingertip.

He hated that.

He didn't want to see you hurt.

It only fueled his anger and he marched forward, angrier than ever.

He will definitely make sure to kill every last one of them.

It was now morning when he finally caught up with the bad bloods. 

Now he just needed a plan to save you from them.

Thankfully his mind was on autopilot almost since the moment he realized you were taken. 

He moved with such ease, killing everyone that came his way.

At'Roh left no survivors.

Due to the chaos, your scent started to mix with others but he managed to find you.

With a knife to your neck as the leader of the bad bloods had you in front of him.

"Let her go." At'Roh demanded with a dangerously low voice. "If you hurt her, I will kill you."

"You will kill me either way. Why not give you some trouble in the meantime?" you understood everything they were saying and you understood what was happening, what you needed to do. You prepared yourself.

"At'Roh," you said his name, hoping to survive this mess.

His eyes moved to you only for a second, the Yautja behind you took this as an opportunity but you also moved. Moving back towards the alien behind you, using all of your body weight, causing his knife only to gaze at your skin, minimalizing the damage. 

Your movement caused the Yautja behind you to fall giving At'Roh enough time to catch up and move you behind himself before he pounced on the bad blood.

You didn't move, watching your mate defending you as he killed the bad blood.

With a loud scream, he killed the other and stood victorious.

But soon, he turned to you and hugged you.

You didn't even care for the bright green blood on his hands or body. You knew it wasn't his.

Soon, he pulled back and looked at your neck, leaning down to lick along the small cut, helping it heal.

"Take me home," you said, and he understood.

Picking you up with one hand he carried you back towards your tribe.

You were so exhausted, that you fell asleep in his arms as he carried you.

You slept almost the entire day away, exhausted from the way you were dragged along, you only woke up when it was almost night again.

At'Roh was, of course, by your side.

You didn't know but you could guess that he never left your side not once.

You looked into his eyes and you felt safe. You felt at home.

"I will not let this happen ever again."

"It's okay, you killed them and saved me." you placed your forehead against his.

You felt his finger trace your neck, where your cut used to be.

At'Roh will make sure this won't happen ever again, you were way too important for him.

You were his wife after all.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @darlingmira @stygianoir @snowtargaryen

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[yanderefarm]

slasher!reader x fanboy!yandere

cw;; gore, blood, cannibalism, murder, animal violence mentioned

can u tell i love slashers... i wanna be a hot slasher monster thats the gender goal.

you're a local legend in the area, a modern myth to scare people away from the old slaughter house. most people don't actually believe you exist but there isn't an insignificant amount of people who never make it back from that "haunted" location.

you're no ghost, no you're very real. you live in the slaughter house where you do your "work". you actually ship out a decent amount of actual meat but only to specific customers who don't ask questions. some of them buy your premium meats but mostly you're just butchering cows and pigs. it's tedious work, nothing is as satisfying as cutting into a screaming crying human body.

you're so excited when another group of young adults come to visit. they're doing a test of courage. you're gonna make them really prove themselves tonight. there's only about 6 of them and from that you can only see 3 who's meat will actually sell. you silently plan to keep two as livestock to plump up and leave the 6th to go back and spread your myth farther.

it's a long night. humans don't like dying, they fight and scratch every step of the process. you've gotten two of the ones with the best meat and you've put them in your meat locker. one of the worthless ones is bleeding out with your hand in their hair. the remaining meats have given you a pretty nasty wound in your side and the pain is pissing you off. you don't even get to throw this worthless meat in the freezer before it's dead. annoying. you let go of its hair, your foot crushing it's arm as you drag yourself further.

you smell gasoline when your body finally gives against one of the walls. you can guess that those stupid meat bags are going to set fire to all your hard work. if only they hadn't gotten the drop on you. you hold your hand over the cut as you accept your fiery fate. but it doesn't come.

you hear footsteps, timid footsteps. you lull your head in the direction of them and you see the last premium meat standing there in front of you.

"...you... you're hurt." he drops next to you and tepidly reaches his hand towards your wound. you remove your hand letting it fall limp next to you. he immediately pulls out a small sewing kit.

"this is going to be uncomfortable but please bear with it." he threaded a needle and began the painful process of sewing up the gash.

you watched his hands move in silence, only flinching a few times from the pain. the boy in front of you had his brows furrowed and his tongue slightly out as he focused intensely on patching you up. it was so curious you couldn't stop staring at him. he tied it off and cut the excess string.

"i should kill you now." you picked your weapon off the ground next to you. the meat swallowed hard.

"if.. if you want... but can I make a request?" his face was red.

"i don't usually take requests.. but i suppose since you helped me out."

he swallowed again before looking up into your eyes. "i.. i don't want you to sell me. please eat me yourself!"

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Things Ethan Landry would text you if you were his s/o- charismatic killer trope.

1. SUNRISE SCARE

Ethan: Wake up, baby. I can see you sleeping in.

Y/n: i am awake. im already brushing my teeth.

Ethan: no, you aren’t. I’m watching you right now.

Y/n: how

Ethan: The window. You’re so vulnerable when you’re asleep.

Y/n: I can’t see you.

Ethan: But that’s the point, love.

Ethan: please get out of that nightgown, before I take it off for you.

Y/n: why? what is it doing to you?

Ethan: I’ll show you later.

Y/n: oh ?

Ethan: good morning by the way ❤️

2. TEASER

Y/n: hey. you get the answer for #12?

Ethan: Oh, dear. My girlfriend is cheating on the math homework.

Y/n: im not cheating, dummy. im asking an educational question.

Ethan: If you can cheat so easily on calculus, how do I know you’re loyal to me?

Y/n: because we both know what would happen to me if I would cheat on you, ethan.

Ethan: and what’s that?

Y/n: …

Ethan: you think I would kill you?

Y/n: don’t lie to me. we both know you can’t control yourself around me. i know you touched yourself while stalking me when we weren’t dating.

Ethan: such disgusting thoughts. I might need to fuck your brains out to get rid of them, don’t you think?

Y/n: in what way would you take my brains out? With a knife? Or with your cock?

Ethan: we’re in class

Y/n: are you hard right now?

Y/n: hello? it’s just a question.

Y/n: if you don’t answer me, i’ll ask Chad to fuck me instead. i’ll enjoy letting him bend me over.

Ethan: I can’t wait to see his blood on my hands. what day should I do it? today? kill him tonight?

Y/n: it was a joke. i just didn’t realize i turned you on that fast, ethan.

Ethan: don’t act dumb with me. you know what you’re fucking doing.

Y/n: no, i don’t. you should really answer my question.

Ethan: don’t act like you aren’t aware that I’m throbbing in my jeans

Ethan: stop acting like this

Ethan: i’m gonna fucking punish you so hard tonight

Y/n: lol because of giving you an erection?

Ethan: i can’t wait to see how much you’ll laughing when I’ll have a knife to your throat.

Ethan: making you scream with my dick.

Ethan: you want that?

Y/n: yes

Ethan: fucking whore.

Y/n: you love it.

Ethan: I do.

[kachowden]

Thinking about Farmer being the type who doesn’t want to “ruin your innocence”. Not till your married of course.

So instead he’ll ask you to stand still for him while he slots his cock between your thighs. Squeeze extra tight please! He’ll hold your hips and rock himself into you from behind, coating your thighs with sticky pre, groaning and whining in your ear.

Don’t worry he’ll focus on you too! That freaky monster has no problems aiding in your pleasure. Slimey claw like hands that slither across your body cooly. A familiar sticky feeling being left in its wake. It buzzes against your skin, spreading your thighs apart when the farmer isn’t paying attention and suddenly he’s slipped in and his massive hands that were gently rubbing your hips are now squeezing your thighs like his life depends on it and he wants to pull out but he can’t, not just because the entity is now wrapped around you two like a belt and keeping you connected but because you feel so good and when was the last time he felt this alive and ah shit he really really should pull out but-

Yeah. Anyway

[heartfullofleeches]

[Monster Reader walls a frightened human trespassing on their territory against a tree - staring down as the human tremble in fear, reaching for the pocket knife attached to their belt]

Monster Reader: Lea.....ve...

[The monster grabs the humans arm. Gripping their blade tight, the human jabs it into the Monster Reader's ribcage. They barely flinch, thick blood dripping from their torso]

Monster Reader: ah... ahh....

Monster Reader: Agh!- what the hell is wrong with you? I'm trying to get you out of here alive. Haven't you seen the signs I put up?? You know what - nevermind, at this point I don't care if that thing kills you. It's always the same with you people. Assholes.

[Monster Reader limps off as the human breathes a sigh of relief. Their body tenses right back up as the bushes russle nearby - a lone park ranger stepping out of the bushes]

Park Ranger: Whoa there! Easy, I'm here to help you. Just give me that knife and everything will be alright. :)

[Later]

"HELP ME!"

Monster Reader: Now you film them too. Do you get off on hurting people?

Slasher Yan, bandaging their wounds: I get off on doing what's right for my partner. There's a difference. Leave without telling me again and it's the muzzle for an entire week. You had me so worried...

Monster Reader: Can you at least not get blood all over the carpet?

Slasher Yan: I can say the same for you, sweetheart~

Monster Reader: I was stabbed - I am the victim here!