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rapturously · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! Love your stuff and I've been binging it a lottt!! Saw that requests were open so I wanted to send one.

I've been having a brainrot over Eddie Gluskin meeting a virgin!reader that has always wanted to be a wife (and a mother 😳).

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — one-shot.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — eddie gluskin x afab!reader.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — SMUT/18+! abduction, dubious consent, virgin!reader, eddie is his own warning lmao, descriptions of gore, breeding kink, choking, dirty talk, slight degradation, vaginal sex/rough sex, biting. not a nice character.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 5,020.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — thank you so much for your request & I apologize that I took awhile! I actually went back and played some of whistleblower for this lmao ,, I remember when I was obsessed with this character (you have reinvigorated the outlast spark, anon !!! ❣️) if you aren’t familiar with outlast (taglist) that’s totally fine! I hope y’all enjoy! ❤️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @loraxlola ; @the-wordis-bird ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @dootys ; @mehidktbh ; @darklylucid ; @lttlegore ; @the-anxious-youth ; @callmemeelah ; @comicalrage ; @horrorstories123 ; @krakersy ; @bloodwithpeachmilk ; @suguruswife

“Did I frighten you? I’m awfully sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to.”

Pinned between a table and the splintered, dilapidated hardwood, you were biting into your palm to keep from making any noise. Perspiration built up upon your back, sending cold shivers up your spine as echoed footfalls began to stalk closer and closer, weaving their way through the numerous shelves and sewing units. You could hear your heart, hear your blood pumping, ringing within your ears.

Mount Massive Asylum had become your personal hell — your own dimension bent on tormenting you. You were only there for what seemed like less than an hour, desperately hoping to visit your brother, a patient at the facility, but the carnage began with you inside of the building.

You’d been beaten and thrown, chased and maimed, but you were far more resilient than you’d ever let on. Your brother was the only remaining family you had left, and you had a sick feeling that he might not have lived through whatever disturbed carnival this place had turned into. There was gore everywhere you turned, countless corpses, maniacs running everywhere.

If your brother was alive, you prayed that he wasn’t like them, that he hadn’t succumbed to whatever nightmares these people dreamed. You weren’t going to be allowed to see him whatsoever until you threatened to slam them with a lawsuit, but of course, something terrible always intercepted something good.

There was a stranger prowling around within this room, you were locked in with a murderer. One of the patients that had chased you down here called him Mr. Gluskin. To your complete bewilderment, he spoke with a clarity that many others in the facility lacked, a suave, debonair charm that almost coaxed you out from underneath the table, at first.

And then you saw the bloody knife and the corpses — the absolute strength of the man, dressed as if he’d come straight from a vintage bridal magazine, a groom complete with a bow tie and a patchwork vest. He was moving about the tables, humming to himself as if this were commonplace for him.

His appearance happened to remind you of your own engagement, called off a few weeks ago. You were keen on being a wife and finding your happy ending, so to speak, but after you found out about the vast amount of lies fed to you by your fiancé, you backed out. Even then, you were young — early twenties with plenty of time to try again.

It all hinged upon whether or not you would survive, of course. There was the mounting possibility that you would die here, and this would be your final resting place, some hellscape of an asylum crawling with horrors beyond your wildest imagination. Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the onslaught of anguished tears.

As the bulky man crouched down to inspect the table across the room from you, you could barely make out your disheveled, terrified expression within the reflection of his knife. Your breath hitched, and you fought hard to stay quiet, pushing any and all thoughts aside, shoving lamenting to the recesses of your brain.

“Hm, quite a recluse, aren’t we?” He sighed, exaggerated and exasperated, growing tired with your state of hiding. He knew that you were close, that you were here in the room with him. One of the shelving units happened to obscure you from sight, but not for much longer.

The man clicked his tongue, tapping the blade of his knife against the top of the table. His movements were akin to a seasoned predator, searching for his prey, eerie-blue eyes fluttering over his surroundings. You couldn’t stay hidden forever, and as much as he thought about waiting you out, he was growing impatient.

He stalked forward, standing only a few inches away from the shelving unit and table you were huddled underneath, and it allowed you a closer look at him, even if it was dark. Moonlight pooled inside of the room, pale slivers dancing across his pale skin, one side of his face marred and riddled with scars.

You almost let out a squeak of terror, shoving yourself as far back into the table as you could go, your legs beginning to shake. He was so close, and if you were to reach out, you might’ve been able to touch him with enough straining. Your teeth were sinking into the flesh of your palm to keep from making noise, no matter how much it might’ve hurt.

“Where could you be, darling?” He hummed, gaze flickering toward the shelves and tables on his left. There was something terrifying about his glower, laced with sinister intent, intermingled with a misplaced adoration. Placing the knife back into his belt for now, he walked forward, giving you the illusion that he was searching elsewhere.

With an indomitable amount of strength, he wrenched backwards, gripping the table you were hiding underneath, and practically tossed it to one side, watching it fly across the splintered floorboards. He heard you scream, paralyzed and trembling where you sat, clad in the jumpsuit of a patient.

“There you are, my love.” He purred, standing tall above you, clasping his hands together. There was nowhere for you to go — you were trapped, pinned within the jaws of this man. “Not such a recluse now, I see.” The man grabbed you by the back of the jumpsuit, hauling you forward.

“P—Please don’t kill me!” You wailed, whimpering when he jerked you forward with an inhuman amount of strength. He dragged you from the darkness and into the vast stretch of moonlight upon the floor, and it hurt to feel some of the splinters catching upon your skin. “Please!” You begged.

The man was quick to crouch down on top of you, so much bigger and much, much stronger. In such close proximity, he was more human than the rest of them in appearance, save for that tangled web of livid scars on the right side of his face. His eyes were bloodshot, a sea of red around cerulean irises. A snarl left him when you wriggled underneath him, hands tangled into the front of your jumpsuit.

You were no patient — not at all, he realized.

You were clever enough to disguise yourself as one, for whatever purpose, but he wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t stupid. There were no female patients at Mount Massive Asylum — at least, none that he hadn’t created himself. Wherever you were from, whatever you were doing in this place, he took it as a sign that you were placed here just for him.

Why else would you be here?

Grasping your chin within his hand, he inspected you, your pretty face and doe-like stare, the small cut you’d endured along your jaw — nothing that he couldn’t fix for you before the wedding. You became quiet, letting out the occasional whimper, and you didn’t struggle nearly as much as he thought you would. The pad of his thumb stroked across your skin, brows furrowing together.

“So beautiful,” He uttered, lips curling into a lovesick grin. “It seems that I won’t have to do any sort of alterations this time.” You were perfect — at last, had he found his true love? Confusion permeated your gaze, accompanied by a furrowed brow yourself as you were completely still underneath him. No use in fighting to make it worse, you figured. “Marvelous.”

Alterations? You were baffled — this man was caught within his own nightmarish fantasy, just like the rest of the patients. You shivered when he caressed your cheek, your chest rising and falling with your quick, labored breathing. He terrified you, but not nearly as much as some of the patients you’d encountered here.

“So very quiet, aren’t we?” His thumb trailed across your lower lip, head cocked to one side. “You do speak, don’t you darling? It would be a shame if I couldn’t hear you,” His sigh was exaggerated, dramatic. He clicked his tongue, reveling in your softness. You were the silkiest thing he’d touched in ages. “Especially on our wedding night.”

Trapped underneath him, you didn’t even know what to say — words coagulated within the back of your throat, unable to force themselves out. Your breathing was sporadic and panicked; you were a canary caught within the jaws of a cat. He held your face with a strong grip, one that was demanding and not entirely gentle, commanding your attention.

“Wh—What are you going to do to me?” You gushed, swallowing hard as the man released your face, gloved hand falling to your sternum. The way he towered over you and enveloped you was wholly intimidating, and you wouldn’t dare try and fight this man, no matter how he presented himself. You ogled the knife on his belt, instead.

“What you were made for,” He uttered, palm finally coming to rest across your belly. “To be my beloved bride,” He leaned in toward your face, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “To bear my children.” You couldn’t tell if he was serious, but his tone indicated that this was what he planned to do to you.

It sounded insane, but it was ultimately better than dying. Your head told you to run, to scream and flee, but you were fighting against all rationale. If you could subdue him, maybe it would be easier to get away. You couldn’t tell if he was toying with you, but it didn’t seem that way. You remembered the hand-stitched wedding dresses you saw when you’d first escaped downstairs.

You said nothing — maybe it was shock, the words coagulating within the back of your throat, or maybe you were unwilling to speak. Your chest rose and fell at a panicked pace, heart hammering so hard that it rang out within your ears. This man was glowering down upon you with a twisted smile, trapped within fantasy and not reality.

“Use your words, darling. I would hate to pry that mouth of yours open,” His words took on some frightening edge, dark and dangerous as he squeezed your chin so hard that you whimpered, and you opened your mouth right then. “Such beauty.” He sighed, petting your side with his other hand.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you reluctantly spoke, your tone kept sickeningly sweet in an attempt to subdue him. “Marriage?” You breathed, swallowing hard as you put on some sort of facade. “Ar—Aren’t you going to propose?” You inquired, and that seemed to delight your future “husband”.

He hummed, hastily removing something from one of the breast pockets of his crudely-made vest. “Of course,” He purred, and sure enough, he presented you with a tarnished, silver ring, topped in tiny diamonds and crusted crimson. You wondered whose finger he cut off to obtain the trinket. “There we are.”

Snatching ahold of your hand, he practically jammed it onto your left ring finger, no matter how ill-fitted it happened to be. You gulped, hand trembling throughout the whole ordeal as he managed to get it onto your hand. The ring would’ve been pretty if it weren’t for the environment, the dingy blood, or the man forcing it onto your hand.

“Now it’s official.” You squeaked, your finger throbbing with pain as you let your palm settle next to you. There was a tremulous tremor within the bottom of your throat, making your voice quiver whenever you spoke. It was some conscious response to fear, to the amount of stress you were feeling in that very moment.

Sweeping you off of your feet, your newfound groom held you like a blushing bride, squeezing you against his wide chest. His countenance was contorted into a lovesick grin, glittering eyes glowering down at you, but there was some unhinged malevolence behind it, lingering beneath the surface.

He carried you through his labyrinth of sewing machines and wreckage, humming to himself as he made his way toward the torture table. You almost gasped when you saw one of the patients bound and wailing on the wooden surface, completely stripped bare. His skin was mottled and strange, like the rest of the patients here.

You looked away, breath hitching within your throat, and your new companion seemed to notice your immediate discomfort. “If his screams bother you, darling, I will get rid of the little whore.” He murmured, and you shook your head. You weren’t about to have anymore blood on your hands.

You had no idea where he was hauling you off to — you could barely remember the way out, if there was any getting out at all. This man seemed far more cunning and more intelligent than most of the patients here, just as brutal and crazed as the rest of them. You intended on playing the long game, making him as docile as possible first.

“Oh, my love,” He sighed, pressing his lips against the top of your head, “I am so fortunate to have found you. I certainly hope that none of those filthy creatures have laid their hands upon you.” It was all said with such sincerity that you knew, for him, it was completely real — but delusional, all the same. “I will take such good care of you, I swear it.”

This was insanity — you should’ve run when you had the chance, try to find your way out of this hellish labyrinth, but it was too late now, wasn’t it? Tears pricked at your eyes, but you worked swiftly to blink them away, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. You didn’t know what to say or how to respond to whatever left this man’s mouth.

Even if it all sounded outlandish and strange, you needed to keep up the facade, you needed to subdue him, get him to trust you. Playing along was the only way that you knew how. “Thank you,” Your voice seemed much steadier than you thought it would. “For taking care of me, Mr. Gluskin.” Despite the anxiousness wrought within your tone, he paid it no mind.

This was a maze — a horrible, bloody maze. The more this man winded through corridors, marked by crimson stains and the stench of decay, the more your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. You were involuntarily clutching onto him out of fear, attempting to suppress your shudder as he passed by a set of doors — you swore you saw hanging bodies.

“How formal,” He uttered, lifting an eyebrow before shaking his head. “It’s Eddie, darling.” Eddie Gluskin — the man downstairs. You nodded several times over, terrified of upsetting the man. As Gluskin took you deeper into the depraved clutches of his own personal hell, you subtly searched for exits, for windows, any shred of potential escape.

At last, he arrived at a room at the very end of a corridor — a dead-end, of course. Wherever you were, it looked like a wing for a handful of patients. Moonlight pooled within the confines of Gluskin’s quarters, windows barred by wrought-iron bars, the pounding of rain reverberating against bulletproof glass. He locked the door behind him, unceremoniously depositing you onto his unkempt bed.

Scrambling to gather yourself, your gaze tore away from the macabre scenery of his room and toward the crazed man himself, eyes glistening like pinpoints of bright light. Gluskin only stood a few feet away from you, but the distance seemed so thin, as if he were pressed against you, weighing you down with his indomitable presence.

The sinful, hungry sheen within his stare only solidified why he’d brought you here — your stomach sloshed with a turbulent worry, goosebumps collecting themselves at the base of your spine. An equivocal tension built between the both of you, marked with your mounting awareness and Eddie’s violent lust. The gleam of the knife caught upon silvery rays — you knew you needed to tread carefully.

“Irresistible you,” Eddie crooned, his voice emerging as that familiar husky lull he’d used with you upon your first encounter. “I must admit to my vulgarities, darling.” He hesitated, breathing uneven and tight with excitement as he stalked closer, akin to that of a fearsome predator. “I don’t think that I can wait until our wedding night.”

Swallowing hard, you felt the knot within your gut, words coagulating within the bottom of your throat, unable to emerge to the surface. Your digits wrenched themselves into the sheets beneath you, heart hammering so hard that it threatened to burst from your chest. You were afraid, you were nervous — but you knew better.

Rejecting Gluskin would only spell your doom, and so you played along, played right into his hand, into his maddening delusions of lust and of eternal matrimony. Your lips parted, and only a stuttering breath emerged, your eyes fluttering between his grinning visage and the bloodstained knife hanging from his hip.

“You know how a man gets when he wants a woman.”

Eddie’s voice was nothing more than some seductive purr, and admittedly, you found it alluring, deep down. It was vile to come to the conclusion that you were getting some sliver of enjoyment out of this, and you wanted to vomit, but you steeled yourself instead. The closer he stepped, the more you crumbled underneath the lascivious ogling he gave you.

You’ve never done this before — you’ve never been in this situation. It certainly wasn’t playing out how you expected it to be within your mind, but that's besides the point. “I’ve — I’ve never …” You left your sentence vague, but your implications ignited something dark and deadly within Gluskin.

“Oh?”

At last, there was nowhere left to go, the Groom looming directly in front of you, a malignant shadow that refused to depart. You caught the pearlescent sheen of his teeth through the caliginous room, feeling unnerved at the sight of his countenance. His grin was wolfish, chilling — it sank right into your bones, making you shiver.

“Saving yourself for me,” Eddie hummed, gaze raking across your form before he motioned toward your threadbare, bloodied garments. “Remove your clothes.” He stepped back enough to allow you proper room, but he wanted to watch for his own enjoyment, watch you unwrap before his very eyes.

Your hands trembled as you sheepishly unfastened the buttons at the top of the patient’s jumpsuit, attempting to suppress your nervousness. Your obedience was enthralling to Gluskin, whose hands tightened into fists in order to restrain himself, knuckles white underneath his gloves. He watched you like a predator would watch prey — obsessed, ravenous.

Sucking in a sharp breath, tears pricked at your eyes, but you fought against them, quivering as you peeled off the top of your jumpsuit, letting the tarnished fabric collect around your hips. Sheepishly, you adjusted yourself enough to wriggle the jumpsuit past your thighs, discarding it in a pile onto the splintered floorboards.

Instinct told you to shield yourself from this man’s grotesque stare, but you didn’t, sitting in your undergarments with skin so hot that you felt completely feverish. Laid bare before your newfound ‘husband’, his breath hitched, surveying your flesh, the canvas of perfection set before him.

“You must lack proper hearing, darling,” Eddie rasped, taking one step forward, “I didn’t say to stop, did I? It would be unwise to keep your beloved waiting.” He reveled in your doe-eyed stare, throat tensing, jaw tightening as you nodded, fingers clamoring toward the metal hooks at the center of your back.

Shrinking underneath his stare, you hastily removed your brassiere, terrified of the consequences if you went any slower. However, your mind bristled with an idea — your mouth began to move before you could make a rational decision. “Maybe you could remove the last piece?” You asked, bewildered by the sultriness that permeated your tone.

Christ, you were so fucked — you’ve never been looked at in the way that Gluskin stared at you, as if you were the incarnation of perfection, living and breathing, placed before him. You despised yourself, hated that you reveled in the way he worshipped you through eyes alone.

Foaming at the mouth, Eddie swarmed forward, brazenly stepping in between your legs, absentmindedly licking at his lower lip. “You’ve found your voice,” He purred, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “Such a little whore, aren’t you? I find myself unsurprised,” Those strong hands curled into the waistband of your panties. “Always the quiet ones.”

You nearly choked, hands flying toward his biceps, thick and taut underneath the dirtied fabric of his dress shirt. You hoped that you weren’t thinking straight, prepared to excuse this all away by means of fear and intimidation, but you couldn’t — desire crept into your mind, poisoning all sense of coherency.

He kissed you then and there, devouring your mouth with a sloppy passion, if one could call it that. It was domineering, hellbent on making you fully succumb, but to your chagrin, you were reciprocating his kiss, clutching onto him for dear life. You were cursing yourself tenfold for this — maybe it didn’t matter now.

A sonorous groan fell upon your lips, and Gluskin didn’t remain static for very long. Wandering hands wrenched your panties aside, just enough for his fingers to deftly stroke at your slit. You gasped, hips involuntarily jolting into the sensation of his hand. It ignited a fire within the pit of your belly, a fire that now demanded to be extinguished.

“Darling,” Eddie hummed, brazenly licking at the corner of your mouth, “So soft, so …” He kissed you again, famished and in desperate need of your embrace, rutting his fingers into your clit. A grunt ripped past his throat when you ground yourself into his hand again. “So very needy, aren’t we? I’d like to remedy that.”

You wanted to beg so bad — you couldn’t. It would leave you stranded with nothing but regret if you did, but he touched you with such want that it sent you spiraling. You were going to surrender your virtue to this man — this monster, this deranged killer.

So be it, then. You were tossing caution to the wind.

After he stroked at your soaked cunt, he brought his fingers to his mouth, greedily sucking on glistening digits before he let out some strangled noise. “You taste divine,” He panted, clicking his tongue. “If you behave, perhaps your husband will reward you.” Gluskin growled, pressing a palm into your chest as he pushed you down.

Squirming and writhing atop the mattress, you listened to the unbuckling of his belt, watching him wrench his vest open, buttons ripping from their sockets. He was deliciously toned, some bulky mass of musculature, some of the scarring having made its way down his collarbone. You wanted to hate him, and you couldn’t.

You couldn’t.

“You are going to make an excellent mother,” Gluskin husked, hunching over you, animalistic and tangled up within his own fervor and fantasies. He spread your legs apart, teeth gnashing together as he freed his cock, unbearably hard and slathered with precum. “Swollen with my seed,” He groaned, guiding himself to your cunt. “A gift to be savored.”

He was going to break you in half — you had no idea of what to expect, but your lovesick paramour was very well-endowed. Gluskin was cunning enough to pick up upon the momentary terror that settled within your gaze, and he grunted, callously pushing his cock inside of you without much warning at all.

You whimpered, crying out in both shock and uncertainty, but after pain, came pleasure. It was all rushed — it lacked tact, it lacked any shred of romanticism, all falsified within the twisted mind of Gluskin. He set an uneven, sporadic pace from the very beginning, pent-up and needing you.

“Let me,” Each word was enunciated with the brutal thrust of his hips, cock driving into your tight cunt with no amount of gentleness. “Let me fill you up.” Eddie snarled, growing somewhat impatient as he attempted to find some sort of rhythm. One hand settled against the swell of your hips, thumb caressing along the side of your stomach.

A wanton moan tore past your lips as you held onto him for dear life, eyes squeezed shut, your stomach flooding with a rush of relief. Warmth pooled between your thighs, and the more your arousal grew, the easier it became for Gluskin to fuck you without much hindrance. It wasn’t perfect — it was a little uncomfortable, his pace, but you didn’t care.

Grunts and snarls emerged from the man above you, voice strained with exertion as he let his other hand tangle around your throat. His grasp wasn’t exactly suffocating, but it was far from tender, thumb pressing just above your pulse point. Wisps of air were stolen from your lungs, but not enough to draw concern.

Gluskin rutted into you like a man possessed, groaning all the while, wanting to cum inside of you so very terribly. He fantasized about what you might look like, doting and full with his child, providing him with the family he’d always craved. Lacking the proper upbringing, he would replace such neglect with you — with a new life, with his aspirations.

His mind turned salacious very quickly, beginning to focus on now — on stuffing you with his seed, fucking you until every shred of energy was expended. Your cunt clenched around his cock, and you sang to him with your symphony of needy whimpers and mewls, panting his name as if it were the only word you knew.

“You like this, don’t you?” Eddie rumbled, pervious to your arousal — your subdued demeanor had only given way to the festering desire inside of you as he destroyed your walls. “Oh, you whorish madonna,” An amorous chuckle escaped him, followed by a breathy growl. He didn’t pause, no stopping him as his cock battered your poor, abused cunt. “I want to hear you say it.” He snapped.

Gluskin had flipped a switch inside of you — you wanted this so badly. The life you desired had been stolen from you when your engagement broke into a thousand pieces, and now, he was giving you everything. Albeit, he went about it in such horrible ways, but you couldn’t keep lying. You loved this.

“I—I want you so bad,” You whimpered, unable to stop yourself, now. “Please,” Doing the one thing you wouldn’t do — beg. “Eddie, please, please,” He was filling you up, cock pumping inside of you over and over again, pulsating with heat, fucking you ragged. “Cum inside of me.” The rational side of you cried out in dismay, in disappointment — you elected to ignore it entirely.

The noise that Gluskin made sent shockwaves right into the pit of your stomach, soaked slit giving way to the brutality of his thrusts. He stooped down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, biting at the thin flesh, tasting a swarm of copper during the exchange. Eddie was frenzied, face burying itself into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin, marking what now belonged to him.

With a strangled moan, you rolled your hips into his, feeling his cock pound into you until it could go no further, stretching your cunt with his size. Stinging bruises and bloodied marks were littered across both neck and collarbone, accompanying your myriad of injuries received from the rest of the Asylum. His hand held your throat, pressing underneath your jaw.

“Darling,” Eddie nearly moaned, using whatever wave of strength he had left to obliterate you, fucking you so hard that you swore you saw stars. His cock lewdly slapped into your womb, aiming to fill you up, carrying out his goal of breeding you. “Such a sin, you filthy,” He panted, sticking two fingers into your mouth, “Filthy little slut.” He rasped.

Sputtering and choking around his fingers, you felt them press toward the back of your throat, and you wanted to fly off the edge. Gluskin’s cock didn’t stop, not for a second, fucking you into oblivion, pulsating with heat, making sure each thrust reached for your insides. The tension was climbing, the coil threatening to burst for the both of you.

The sight of you gagging and sucking on his fingers was what really did it — Gluskin saw right through you like a thin, threadbare veil. You were just as desperate as he was, and his lips curled into some devilish grin, throwing you off-guard. “You’ll be perfect,” He grunted, purring next to the shell of your ear, “I am going to make you perfect.” Eddie snarled, and that’s when you came undone.

You felt weightless, floating — you made a mess all over his cock, tendrils of drool leaking from the corners of your mouth as he kept his fingers lodged into your mouth. Tears stung at your eyes, and instead of fighting them off as you had for so long, you let yourself sob from the pleasure.

Eddie’s hips finally lost their unyielding brutality, stuttering as he came inside of you, buried so deep that you thought he’d snap you into two. Rope after rope of hot, virile seed pumped inside of you, coating your insides, leaving you unbelievably full. He rasped and grunted, hunched in above you as he bred you.

He was staring at you again, slowly drawing his fingers out of your mouth before wrenching his hand around your chin. The suddenness of his gesture took you by surprise, but this hold wasn’t nearly as painful as the one he’d executed earlier.

Gluskin kept himself inside of you, ensuring that his attempt at a legacy be sealed, thumb tracing across your bloodied lower lip. His countenance contorted into one of pure delusions, an unrestrained obsession, the swell of possessiveness that threatened to swallow you whole. He wrapped an arm underneath you, pressing you close to his chest, lips lingering next to the shell of your ear.

“In sickness and in health.”

#eddie gluskin x reader #eddie gluskin x you #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x you #slasher fanfiction #eddie gluskin #outlast #outlast fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #sunkendreams masterlist

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slasherfantasy · 5 months ago

Note

You should write a full fic about the fuck-or-die sex pollen thing with Simon! It was so good!

I've already started working on it! 😊 I'm not far enough along yet to share drafts but I can't wait until I can.

People seem way more excited about the angst aspect than I expected, so I'm gonna add a little more focus on that than I originally planned to. Simon is gonna be a conflicted baby boy 😔 Might be pushing himself into something he isn't ready for in order to help his crush

I don't have a title for the fic yet, so right now I'll be tagging things for the fic as "angsty ghost sex pollen"

Thanks for sending in an ask and for the encouragement! All the positive feedback from everyone has been so helpful for me

#angsty ghost sex pollen #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #slasherfantasy answers

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slasherfantasy · 9 months ago

Text

I have a question for the COD community at large...

Who, of the 141, do you think can ride a horse? And not just like, the skill level of "I can ride a horse for a paid wilderness hike where the horse has walked the trail a million times before", but actually knows how to ride a horse? And from there, who do you think actually knows how to care for a horse beyond riding it? You're welcome to include non-141 members if you think none of the 141 can ride a horse

Personally, I think Ghost and Price can both ride horses well (both English and western) but only Ghost knows how to actually care for them. Price has always just handed his mount off to someone else, where as Ghost has been sent to multiple therapy camps where they pair you with a horse for your therapy

Also, I think horses actively hate Soap (he's too excitable for them and he spooks them) and they love Gaz, but Gaz finds them terrifying because they're just too big! Why is their head the length of his torso?!

#cod #cod x reader #cod ghost #cod gaz #cod price #cod soap #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #john soap mactavish #For the record #I'm torn between “all of the vaqueros can ride a horse”#And “it's much funnier if none of the vaqueros can ride a horse”#slasherfantasy ideas

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slasherfantasy · 9 months ago

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Okay, just thought of an ATLA/Benders!AU for COD, and I'm really pondering everyone's element... Soap and Gaz came easy, Soap is a Firebender and Gaz is an Airbender. But Ghost and Price are giving me trouble.

Price feels like he would be an Earthbender, right off the bat, that solid, steady presence. But it also doesn't quite feel right for the rest of his personality, you know? Like, he's got some fire to him! Plus I feel like if he had Metalbending, he would just be too powerful (just snatching weapons out of the enemy's hands lmao). Also, maybe he's the one non-bender of the group? A Sokka-type.

For Ghost, I kinda want him to be a Waterbender, because frankly they have so much scary shit, but also because I feel like all his enemies would expect the big scary skull man to be a Firebender and I like to subvert that kind of expectation. If he was a Firebender, he would be that guy who has a tattoo on his forehead and blows things up with his mind. I do also think he could work as an Earthbender too. I can just see him hurling spikes of rock/ice at his opponents like throwing knives. And there would maybe be a cool angle where he had never Earthbended before until he was so desperate to dig his way out of his grave. And he's not the strongest bender so he can't lift huge rocks, but he refined the skill he does have so much that he can now Metalbend small amounts of metal, which is the real reason he has so many knives on him.

If Ghost was a Waterbender, I think he would mostly work with ice. He would almost never use Waterbending's healing powers. He does know how to Bloodbend (it would be what helped him escape Roba, who was a waterbender and used Bloodbending to help torture Ghost) but he truly loathes doing it. It reminds him of some of the worst times of his life and it makes him feel like Roba when he uses it. Bloodbending tends to happen involuntarily for Ghost, when he's at his most panicked. The first time was right after he came home from Roba, and a doc tried to touch him during a physical. The most recent time was when he saw Makarov lift a gun to Soap's head.

What do you guys think?

Soap - Firebender

Gaz - Airbender

Price - Earthbender, Firebender, or non-bender?

Ghost - weak Earthbender + metalbending, or strong Waterbender + bloodbending?

#cod #COD Bender!Au #cod soap #cod gaz #cod aus #cod price #cod ghost #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #simon ghost riley #slasherfantasy ideas

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slasherfantasy · 8 months ago

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Listen, I'm rewatching Mad Max: Fury Road...

And boy, it's got me thinking... mmm, Tom Hardy in a muzzle with a chain attached to his head... Got me thinking about Ghost in the same muzzle oooh

Mad Max!COD AU?? Is that anything??

MadMax!Ghost?? WarBoy/Nux!Soap??

Actually, no, after reading the Mad Max wiki, Ghost would be Nux/a War Boy. They decorate themselves with that white powder and gray clay specifically to look like skeletons bc they don't expect to live long. That's Ghost as hell

(Honestly Soap would still look fantastic in Tom Hardy's muzzle)

Furiosa!Gaz and Breeder!Reader??? Or maybe Furiosa!Reader and Breeder!Trans!Gaz???

Hmmm I don't want Price to be Immortan Joe... I think instead he's one of the people Furiosa!Gaz is trying to get back to. Roba is Immortan Joe

Obviously in this AU Nux!Ghost or Nux!Soap would live (as would all of the breeders)

#cod x reader #cod au #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #141 x reader #SlasherFantasy's open prompts #AKA #this prompt is free to a good home!!#Or as many homes as have ideas for it!!#I don't have the time to write anything for it

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slasherfantasy · 2 months ago

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are you still working on that angsty sex pollen fic? :c

I am! It's all outlined, I just haven't had much time lately to actually work on writing. But I'm still hoping to get it out!

#slasherfantasy answers #angsty ghost sex pollen

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slasherfantasy · 11 months ago

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Blog Navigation for Slashers

To help me find fics I’ve reblogged, and to remind me of the tagging system I settled on! This post is for slasher characters from various horror movies.

Reblogged Writing

General

■ Slasher headcanons - for multiple slashers in a post, short blurbs about each, etc.

■ Slasher fic - for a full fic / oneshot / drabble about a single character or characters from the same franchise

Pairings - Tags to filter by a certain slasher x reader

■ Thomas Hewitt x Reader

■ Bubba Sawyer x Reader

■ Michael Myers x Reader

■ Bo Sinclair x Reader

■ Vincent Sinclair x Reader

■ Lester Sinclair x Reader

■ Brahms Heelshire x Reader

■ Jason Voorhees x Reader

■ Asa Emory (The Collector) x Reader

■ Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) x Reader

■ Billy Lenz x Reader

■ Slashers x Reader (aka multiple slashers, as in headcanons, etc)

Characters - posts about the character that may or may not involve the reader

To Be Completed

#slasherfantasy blog #blog navigation #slasher nav

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slasherfantasy · 4 months ago

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What a little lioness I have ❤️

#cats #cats of tumblr #slasherfantasy personal

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slasherfantasy · 11 months ago

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I desperately need to tag all of my reblogs from the past month. Both for navigation/categorization purposes, and with all my thoughts about the various amazing fics. And since now I'm in multiple fandoms on this blog, I reckon I need to redo my navigation post too. (I think I'm gonna make a nav post for each fandom and link to them in the main)

So anyway expect a series of nonsensical posts and a sudden influx of tags and rambling in said tags

#slasherfantasy blog #That “reblog now” button enables me way too much #Makes it way too easy to forget to tag

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slasherfantasy · 3 years ago

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Navigation for my blog

To help me find fics I’ve reblogged, and to remind me of the tagging system I settled on!

My Writing

None so far! Have some ideas I’m playing around with though.

Fandoms

Slashers/Horror Tags

Call of Duty tags (Post to be made)

Open Prompts

Ideas that I had that I like, but don't have the time to dedicate to, so they're thrown into the ether and are free to a good home. I don't require credit, but I would love a tag or a PM'd link so that I can see what you did with the idea!

Tag/Post to be made

#blog navigation #slasherfantasy blog

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rapturously · 3 years ago

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Ok hear me our jealous Thomas Hewit with under the skin S/o where Luda miraculously allowed the reader to go visit Thomas at the meat packing plant taking him some lunch or something and his coworkers suddenly start teasing Thomas about how his s/o belongs with anyone else besides Tommy which leads to passionate smut with heavy emphasis on breeding kink and heavy creampie 😍

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙤𝙣𝙚-𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙩 ( 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚 ) 𝙭 𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙗!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏/18+! 𝙥𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙘 𝙨𝙚𝙭 (𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮), 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚!𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙨, 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙮!𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙨, 𝙨𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙨𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠, 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠 (𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨), 𝙫𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙚.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝟱,𝟱𝟭𝟮.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙟𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙮 ,,, 🥴 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜! 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙪𝙣 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚. 𝙃𝙚’𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙢𝙖𝙣, 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙖𝙬 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙. 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮’𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮! ❤️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @loraxlola ; @the-wordis-bird ; @suguruswife ; @lttlegore ; @darklylucid ; @mehidktbh ;

The acrid heat of a Texas summer clung to midday as tightly as it could, sweltering as waves rolled off of the bright, blistering sun. You kept your window open, as wide as it would go, letting any shred of a breeze come fluttering through. The rest of the Hewitt homestead had done the same, all windows open to allow a coolness to flow through the house.

Fuller was going through a dry spell — no rainfall for weeks, the air dry and hot. The only upside happened to be the occasional gust of a cool wind, but even that was a rarity. Monty kept talking about a thunderstorm on the way, but you’ve yet to see it happen. You’d lived in Texas your whole life, but out here in the middle of nowhere? The heat seemed worse.

You’d been helping Luda Mae with chores all morning — laundry, especially. She wasn’t the most talkative woman, not to you, a cigarette hanging from her lips. After all the time you’d spent with the Hewitts, they were difficult people to crack. You never pushed your luck, though.

You were a step or two away from being a Hewitt completely. The assimilation into the family was only made stronger by your bond with Thomas, something not easily broken. Your freedoms were plenty, and you did as much as you could to help, to earn your place amongst them. They were taking care of you, after all.

Monty was down in Fuller, and Charles was out in the fields, Thomas at work at the meat packing plant. This was commonplace, with you left to help Luda Mae around the house, not that you minded. It gave you something to do, at the very least, and the more you did it, the better you got.

“Need you to do something for me.” Luda Mae lifted her head, looking you right in the eye. There was a stern look about her, but her voice was a touch gentler than usual. After you and Thomas had gotten together, for lack of a better word, she definitely softened up around you.

“Of course, anything.” You didn’t stop scrubbing at the shirt on the washboard, offering the older woman a faint smile. You weren’t happy-go-lucky around her like you were with Thomas, mostly out of respect for her tougher, ‘hard-as-nails’ demeanor.

There was a slight skepticism in Luda Mae’s stare, but she found you trustworthy enough. It was a sudden request to make of you, but you were the only one around — she didn’t trust you to be here alone, or she would’ve gone in your place. Puffing upon her cigarette, she removed it from her mouth, exhaling pillars of smoke.

“Need you to take Thomas his lunch. Boy forgot it this mornin’, always in a rush. I’ll let you take my truck,” She hesitated, jaw tightening just slightly. “You come right back, you know the rules.” There was an insinuation of foul consequences, but you were always one to listen.

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” The last thing you wanted was to cause any animosity between you and the family, not after you’d worked tirelessly to gain their trust in the first place. You had no idea where the meat packing plant was to begin with — you assumed you’d find it easily. Fuller wasn’t difficult to navigate.

As you cleaned up the rest of your laundry, you dried your hands off onto the front of your overalls, heading for the back door, where most of the keys were hanging. Thomas’s lunch was sitting on the wooden shelf to your right, which you plucked off of the splintered surface before opening the screen door.

“You be careful with my truck.” Luda Mae warned, prompting you to nod several times over. “Go easy on the accelerator.” She murmured, returning to washing the heap of laundry still left over. Granted, the older woman was much faster at getting the job done than you were — you wondered if that was why she sent you to see Thomas, instead.

“Yes ma’am.” Cordial and respectful, you made sure to nod, indicating that you understood. Luda Mae waved you off, and you went, moving past the screen door and to the back of the house. The barn was all the way to your left, a clutch of trees ahead. Sitting inside of some dilapidated, crumbling shack was Luda Mae’s truck, a 1967 Chevrolet, the bright blue paint having been tarnished and faded out.

The cab was pretty big on its own, spots of rust embedded into certain parts of the truck, all over the doors and bed of the vehicle. You hadn’t driven a truck in ages, but you remembered how it all worked. Hopping into the driver’s side, you stuck the keys into the ignition, giving it a twist as the truck started up. For not getting used very often, it was in decent shape. Shifting gears was the hard part, but you managed, pulling out of the shed.

You made sure to roll your window down, driving down the stretch of a dirt pathway, leading out onto the main road. The afternoon sun was blazing, smoldering as you went easy on the accelerator, just as Luda Mae instructed. Driving was a little foreign, like learning to ride a bike all over again, but once instinct kicked in, you were cruising down the empty highway.

Fields of golden wheatgrass rustled all around you, farmland stretching as far as the eye could see, a few pockets of trees here and there, some abandoned farms. The Hewitts were the only family for miles. You wondered how Thomas managed walking to the meat packing plant all this time, especially in this weather, but it did yield some explanation to his impressive stamina. A warm breeze drifted throughout the truck, rustling your hair in the process.

It was a relatively easy drive, a straight path from the Hewitt homestead to the meat packing plant, which sat on a massive acreage of land, strewn with plenty of animals. There were sections, one for the hogs and cows, another building meant for chickens. Even the sight of the place made your stomach turn — there was nothing friendly-looking about it, and nothing clean.

There were a few other vehicles scattered in the gravelly lot, if one could even call it that. Like everything else in Fuller, it was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a massive expanse of field and untouched land, right in the heart of Texas.

As you parked the truck, you stuck the keys into the front pocket of your overalls, grabbing Thomas’s lunch from the passenger seat. You had no idea what to expect from this place, but you considered it a privilege, getting to see Thomas while he was at work. To you, it was special.

If it weren’t for the man smoking outside and the herd of cows, you would’ve thought this place was abandoned. Granted, this was Fuller — everything looked older, more dilapidated than supposed to. You stuck beside the truck for a moment longer, a little nervous due to the unfamiliarity of the environment, but Thomas was just inside, or so you hoped.

The smoking man ogled you as you wandered toward the front doors, you were a new face, and there weren’t many of those in Fuller whatsoever. It was an immediate curiosity as you skipped up into the entrance of the plant, pushing past the creaky door. There were ‘help wanted’ signs posted all over the dusty glass, but you paid it no mind, standing in a dimly-lit lobby, if one could even call it that.

You could hear sounds from the packing room itself, but as for the front entrance, it was a ghost town. No front desk worker, not a single soul. There was one door on the right of the corridor that led straight ahead, along with a set of double doors that led down into the plant. You figured that’s where Thomas would be, but you didn’t want to go waltzing in without asking somebody first.

“Hello?” You called out, cautiously moving down the corridor toward the door on the right. There were large window panes closed off by blinds, prompting you to knock on the door. You were a stranger in strange territory, more or less, but you hoped whoever was supervising this place would be kind enough to let you see Thomas for a few minutes.

There was light commotion from inside of the office, but the door swung open moments later. The supervisor looked skeptical, if not a little bewildered by your intrusion. He adjusted his glasses, puffing upon a cigarette as he glanced from your face to the bag in your hands. “No solicitors.” He grumbled, brows furrowing together.

“I’m not,” You cleared your throat. “Is Thomas Hewitt around?” This was the right place, wasn’t it? Part of you got a little nervous, thinking you’d rolled up to the wrong establishment, but the man seemed surprised that you asked.

“... Hewitt?” He asked incredulously. Admittedly, a young, pretty woman like you showing up and inquiring about that ugly, beast of a man was shocking to him, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Thomas was terrifying to him, but he was a very hard worker — it was difficult to come across men like Thomas willing to put in the effort.

You blinked, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Yes, Thomas Hewitt. He forgot this,” You held up the bag, lips twitching into a friendly smile. “I wanted to give it to him, that's all. If he’s busy, I can wait.” Your tone was cordial, somewhat cheerful and content, which struck him as beyond strange. He hadn’t seen you before, but he’d seen the rest of the Hewitts.

“Right,” He hesitated, still in disbelief that you were here for Thomas, of all people. Nonetheless, he went about his duties, motioning toward the sets of doors. “Hewitt’s through there. Let me take you.” He escorted you toward the entryway of the packing room, and as soon as the door swung open, a handful of workers stopped to see what it was all about.

There were only seven, including Thomas — one of them was an older woman, the rest were men of varying ages. It was almost comedical how massive Thomas was compared to the lot he was working with, heart swelling tenfold when he spotted you on the pavilion. He’d forgotten about his lunch, and it was simultaneously pushed back to the recesses of his mind. He was delighted to see you. He didn’t think they’d ever let you off the property, truthfully.

“Hewitt, you’ve got a visitor. Make it quick.” The supervisor was less than enthusiastic, his demeanor somewhat stern. As he continued to smoke, leaning against the banister, he motioned for you to go down the small set of steps to his left.

Thomas was moving before you could even reach the last step, letting out a soft grunt, nearly bumping into you. He wasn’t too touchy, especially not at work and with the state of his messy hands, but he did stoop down, pressing his masked mouth to the top of your pretty head. The rest of the workers were gawking — none of them really expected Thomas to have a girlfriend.

“Fuckin’ hell, Terry. Hewitt’s actually got a woman?” One of the men whispered, not exactly the most discreet, but he was dumbfounded. Most of them were, including their supervisor, who had strolled back behind the set of doors to finish his cigarette.

“Brought you this,” You smiled, placing the sack into Thomas’s big hand. “At your mother’s request.” Your nose wrinkled into amusement, and there was a tender look in Thomas’s eyes, one that made you melt. He seemed appreciative, whether one could detect that through body language or not. “I can’t stay too long, I don’t want to disrupt work.”

There wasn’t much to disrupt, really.

“Guy’s uglier than a pig. She’s gotta be leadin’ him on or something. No way Hewitt’s got a girl like that, no way.” Terry uttered, shaking his head back and forth. “Hey, Hewitt!” He called out, his friend discouraging him from prodding the bear. None of this was going to end well.

Both you and Thomas happened to look in the man’s direction at the same time, but Thomas’s posture screamed protective, hunched in beside you, brows furrowing together. This wasn’t the first time his coworker had something foul to say about him.

“That your bitch?” Terry called, sneering at Thomas. You had a horrible feeling in your stomach, brushing off the heckler’s insults, but you knew that Thomas wasn’t going to let it go. “How ‘bout you send her my way when you’re finished with her, show ‘er a real man.” It didn’t really affect you in the slightest. Before you could attempt to dissuade Thomas from going over there, he was already moving.

It was the same gait he’d had before, like a bull who’d burst from the pen, angry and terrifying. With his bulk and stature, he was like a mountain hurtling in their direction. You’d even called his name, but Thomas didn’t hear anything, not in the slightest. He was picking Terry up by the collar of his shirt, thrusting him into the concrete floor. The sound of fist connecting to flesh made you cringe, and you could hear bones breaking.

“Fuck! Fuck, Hewitt, stop it! You’re gonna break his face!” The other man tried grappling onto Thomas’s shoulder, but he swatted him away as if he were a measly fly. Thomas kept punching Terry with the force of a battering ram, shattering his nose, bloodying his knuckles, sending a few teeth careening in all directions.

Thomas only stopped when the shout of his supervisor ended the fight prematurely. He was hellbent on continuing until Terry was nothing more than a bloody pulp, but he ceased, dropping the sputtering man onto the ground. He was coughing up blood, letting out a low, agonizing groan.

“Jesus, Hewitt!” The supervisor came clamoring down the steps, watching Thomas stand up with a husky grunt, the fury still prevalent within his gaze. His attention snapped to you, standing there at the base of the steps, wide-eyed and bewildered. “You get him out of here before I call the police.” He snapped, shaking his head back and forth.

It was calamitous, it was a wreck. Thomas appeared completely unbothered, save for his aggressive, frustrated body language as he lumbered towards you. Of course, you did exactly as instructed, taking the crook of Thomas’s elbow, hauling him up the steps and through the corridor. There were murmurs behind the both of you, but you didn’t care.

Outside, you watched Thomas wash his hands underneath a spout on the side of the building, brushing past you as he climbed into the bed of the truck. He slammed the door so hard that the glass of the window shuddered, and so did you. It’d been a long time since you’d seen him so angry, so rageful. You couldn’t help but feel bad all around. If you hadn’t shown up, none of this would’ve happened.

As you settled into the driver’s side, Thomas took up most of the space, the top of his head brushing the top of the cab, his hands folded within his lap. He didn’t acknowledge you whatsoever, which might’ve been the most concerning part of all. His eyes were bristling with fury, glowering straight ahead as you started up the truck, quickly whipping out of the lot.

The drive was quiet — too quiet.

The only sound was the rustling of wheatgrass, the breeze that whistled through the open window, and Thomas’s unnaturally heavy breathing. He still hadn’t looked at you whatsoever, hooded gaze trained upon the endless stretch of highway ahead. You hadn’t seen a single soul driving on the road — maybe Fuller really was that desolate. Your hands trembled on the steering wheel, and you couldn’t handle the silence.

“Thomas,” You murmured, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. As much as you disliked whatever that man was saying, you didn’t want Thomas to lose his job or get into trouble. It was easy for you to empathize with him, take his side. His self-imposed silence rattled you to your core, and you tried again. “Could you look at me?” You whispered, voice tender and as gentle as possible.

The lack of acknowledgement was killing you. Part of you wondered if this was purposeful, or if he was too ashamed and frustrated to look you in the eye.

“I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you think.” No matter how genuine you were or how much you pleaded, he wouldn’t look at you. Your heart sank, and you wondered if you were the one he was furious with. It would make sense — you showed up unannounced, your presence instigated it. “I just don’t want you to get into trouble, I …” You trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t fathom why you were apologizing.

Thomas had to hold himself back from killing Terry, and that rage, that white-hot adrenaline was still at a boiling point. He wanted to crush his skull onto the concrete for saying anything to you, but it was his inferiority that had kicked itself into his mind. The mere thought of not being enough for you, too boorish or too ugly, it destroyed him. He wasn’t mad at you whatsoever, and in fact, he was more melancholy now than vengeful.

It was jealousy that made him this way, brought him right to his knees. There was nothing attractive about it in his eyes, but he was envious — he wished he didn’t have that horrible face, a face only a mother could love. Admittedly, Thomas was jealous of his coworkers for their sense of normalcy, but not for anything else. He dragged his palm across his face, exasperated and attempting to quell that vehement concoction of emotions.

He barely lurched forward when you whipped the truck into a stretch of dirt that led toward one of the many abandoned farms scattered across Fuller’s countryside. You turned the truck off, unbuckling yourself from the seat as you swiveled around to face him, even if there wasn’t plenty of space to do so. Your hand reached for his thick, marred forearm, caressing across the scars etched into his flesh.

You didn’t say anything this time, willing to sit in silence if that would help him. He felt warm underneath your fingertips, calloused and rough, ripped at all edges, but he would never be anything less than perfect in your eyes. Thomas’s head lagged forward slightly, his heap of dark curls framing his face. He was slowly beginning to crack, moving his arm until he held your dainty hand within his, squeezing you as if you were an anchor, a tether back to reality.

The serenity of the moment was unmatched, with the abandoned, empty highway behind you, a clutch of trees providing some shade for the truck, sitting several feet in front of some dilapidated, old mill. The sun’s bright rays hit the sea of wheatgrass just right, turning it into some ocean of golden strands, billowing with the slight breeze. It was an atmosphere that you could sink right into, quiet enough to where you could hear with an extreme clarity.

Thomas finally turned to look at you, smushing his forehead against yours, massive hand coming to cup your hip. He was hulking, swallowing whatever space he was in, snug within the cab of the truck. You didn’t mind it — the shade and the gentle breeze made everything a little cooler, and heat was no longer an issue.

“You know I love you, right? Nothing will change that.” You mumbled, listening to that thunderous, pleasant rumble that resonated within his chest. He released your hand, letting it grip the unattended side of your hip, hauling you right into his lap. You had to hunch a little bit to avoid hitting your head on the ceiling, and the space was slim to none, but you cherished every second of it.

His lap was large, and you always had some difficulty straddling him, but you were getting used to it. Thomas kissed you with a bruising passion, grunting into your mouth as he petted your sides, feeling along your curves, digging into the jean-clad swell of your rump. Your hands splayed themselves out against his chest, fingers curling into his shirt and apron, reciprocating his kiss with one of your own.

A sliver of you wondered if he had intentions of fucking you here and now, of all places — right in Luda Mae’s truck. It felt wrong, considering you told her you’d be back as quickly as possible, and as you recoiled for air, Thomas looked a little disgruntled. His head cocked to one side, and he squeezed you again, pressing a kiss into the curve of your jaw, his breath hot and sonorous, like a wave of heat across your skin.

“Told Luda Mae I’d be back really soon,” You whispered, involuntarily rolling your head to one side as Thomas’s mouth ravaged your neck with needy kisses. It was loaded with passion, charged with something wistful and amorous. He was thoroughly unabashed about wanting to do it here in the truck — to him, space wasn’t an issue whatsoever. “We should …” You trailed off, moaning when he began to kiss with a little more force. “Should go home.”

Thomas grunted, a gentler sign of protest, and he tugged at your overalls. It was code for, ‘now’. If his Momma got upset with your lack of punctuality, he’d cover for you somehow. He wanted you so terribly, practically itching for you as one of his hands flew to the straps on your overalls, wanting them off with a husky, heavy groan of desire.

Granted, the idea of letting Thomas obliterate you on the side of the road was too tantalizing, and after the constant beratement of his peers, you wanted him to blow off some steam — and so did you, admittedly. You abandoned all inhibitions and thoughts of being back soon, your hands fumbling toward the straps of your overalls, unbuckling them from bronzed buttons. The lack of space in the cab made it awkward to remove clothing, but thankfully, Thomas was good about helping you.

Kicking off your boots, the overalls came flying next, landing in a heap on the driver’s side. Thomas didn’t care much for the snug white blouse you wore — there was always a time and a place to see you naked entirely. With a pleasant growl, he kneaded those big hands into your bare legs, squeezing into the pliant flesh of your haunches, fingers pressing into your rump. He wasn’t very shy, wanting what was his.

You coaxed him in for another kiss, letting your digits grapple into his hair, tugging on those wavy curls as he let out another satisfied rumble. His cock was hard, straining against his pants, prodding into your core, but only slightly. Part of you was nervous about someone driving by, but in Fuller, it seemed highly unlikely.

To him, your kiss was like fire, blazing and incendiary, searing right through him. You were Thomas’s first for many things, and it got him all riled up as he groped at your ass, feeling your hips grind into his growing erection. He reciprocated with a flurry of passion, the leather of his mask biting into your mouth, but it didn’t phase you in the slightest.

There was a sensual allure in the way you kissed him, using tongue and teeth, feeling him grunt into your lips as his cock dug into your clothed cunt. You playfully rolled your hips into his pelvis, shamelessly dry humping him to get him all hot and bothered, and you were more than successful. The noises he made sent shivers up your spine, precum slathering his groin. He was holding you so tightly, lazily bucking back into you.

With Thomas’s size, the truck rattled and jolted a little bit underneath him, and you had to bite back laughter. You shouldn’t have been surprised, but feeling the vehicle shift was somewhat amusing, almost as if it were ripped from an obscene film. One of his big hands slithered underneath your blouse, grabbing at your breast as you continued to grind against him, hands tangled into his hair, lips meshing together.

It filled your stomach with butterflies, only furthering your delirious sense of lust. Thomas made your head spin in circles, so big and so strong, but oh so passionate. The pit of your stomach pooled with a familiar wash of heat, making its way between your legs. You were rutting into his clothed cock, whimpering into his mouth each time his erection brushed up against your core. Your thighs attempted to squeeze together, but with his massive frame in between, it was pointless.

As he dutifully groped at your supple breasts, his hand left your hip, moving like a heat-seeking missile between your legs, brazenly slipping across your soaked cunt. It made you moan, the volume out of your control, and you were careening into him, crashing into his hand instead of his lap. Thomas let out a softer rumble, feeling how wet and tight you were around his digits, enough to make him very, very aroused.

“I want you to cum in me,” You were treading on thin ice, knowing just how feral he got whenever you said that, especially now, in your breathy whimper as you rocked into his hand. “I want you inside of me so bad.” Your whines were definitely resonating with Thomas, because he was tearing his hand away and yanking your panties aside so fast that it was almost blinding. The sound that ripped from his throat was terrifying, permeated with salacious intent.

The thought of knocking you up was always somewhere within his mind, but whenever the both of you were intimate, it went right to the forefront. Thomas hastily clamored with his belt, ripping his apron off as he jerked it over his head, shoving it toward the driver’s side as he maneuvered with a frantic need. You were straining around his lap, clutching onto his lap, shirt hiked up around your midsection.

Thomas wrangled with the slim amount of space available, fishing his cock out, impossibly thick and glistening with a sheen of precum. He was practically hauling you to wherever he pleased, plopping you down onto his girth, watching you gasp and sputter. You didn’t have to do much of the work — Thomas was powerful enough to ease you up and down atop his lap, pushing himself inside of you, letting your cunt clench around him.

He was breathing so very heavily, husky and lascivious, bringing you forward as your head buried itself into his broad shoulder. Thomas set a quick, brutal pace right off the bat, fucking into you with the force of an angry bull, cock hammering away into your cunt, making you writhe and wail as you lazily ground your hips forward, meeting his thrusts as he bounced you within his lap. It was passionate, and it was perfect.

The truck was suffering a cruel fate, creaking and shuddering underneath the weight of Thomas fucking you there in the cab, your back pressed into the dashboard. You felt horrible about the potential ruin Luda Mae’s vehicle might face, but Thomas was making you forget all about it, coaxing you in for a needy, consuming kiss. As your lips meshed together, you held onto him for dear life, being fucked along to the hasty motions of his hips.

His mindset was all abhorrently sinful — breed you, fill you up, make you sob his name. It was primarily the first thought, and he wasn’t shrewd about fulfilling both of your needs, rutting into you like a man possessed. He was so big, and it always felt like the first time all over again whenever he fucked you, cock brutally battering your insides, pumping pulses of heat right into your core.

“Tommy,” You moaned against his mouth, one hand tugging and pulling at his hair, only serving to further his lust, chest tightening as he used his grip on you to bring you down onto his cock. You felt like mush, legs shaking and trembling around his hips, finding some sliver of relief whenever he lifted you up, cock nearly pulling out before he slammed you back down again with a lewd clash. “Thomas.” You mewled, feeling his mouth nestle against your neck.

You were so wet, your cunt being brutally assaulted by Thomas’s cock. He was absolutely relentless, pounding into you with a reckless haste, groaning and growling whenever you rocked your hips forward with each time he tugged you downward. He was barely fitting completely as it stood, thick and throbbing inside of you, unhinged and animalistic as seconds ticked by. You were convinced that you wouldn’t be able to walk later.

Thomas’s mouth was all over your neck, sucking and biting, marking you in an untold number of hickeys and potential bruises. Whether or not they would be visible remained to be seen, but it drove you crazy. You kept one hand tangled into his tresses, the other spreading out across the top of his massive, leathery hand. His dark, salacious glower bored into you, fluttering up and meeting your own stare.

It was an instantaneous wave of heat that consumed you, sending shockwaves right into your gut, cunt clenching pathetically around his cock as he railed into you, fucking your tight slit until he couldn’t go any further. He dragged himself back out, only to pound right back in, making you squeal and squirm within his lap. Your inner thighs felt sticky, and so did his groin, the two of you practically colliding each time he brought you down.

His mouth graced the shell of your ear, snarling and grunting, sending prickling goosebumps all along your spine. The noises were beyond salacious, a den of vulgarities as he pushed you back into the dashboard, using a good portion of his strength to obliterate your cunt, cock pulsating inside of you, inklings of cum already painting your insides. Thomas’s desperation for you was getting ahead, and he was barely holding himself together.

“Cum in me,” You whimpered, biting down upon your lower lip. Thomas’s leathery mask was biting into your neck, his eyes filled with a blazing desire. As his cock continued to batter away at you, hammer into your cunt with an unyielding ferocity, he only stuttered and slowed when you came, tight around his girth, moaning into his ear. “Christ, Thomas, please!” You were almost wailing, clutching onto him like a drowning woman. “Please cum in me.” You begged.

Thomas had to restrain himself from thrusting you down onto the seat and fucking you until you cried, but there was a curfew — you still needed to bring the truck back in a (relatively) unscathed state. His deep, thunderous sounds always made you jump, shivering in delight as he unleashed a horrifying noise, some long-dormant snarl that sent you panting and mewling. He fucked you hard until he couldn’t anymore.

It was sticky, and it was filthy — Thomas really had let himself go. He was cumming into you with what would be considered an obscene amount, leaving you full and stuffed with his seed. It was the desire he had to breed you that really made him this way, but for you, it was entirely worthwhile. He kept you on his cock for a few moments, but even that wasn’t enough to keep it all at bay.

Your thighs were hot and sticky with cum, even after he pulled out, which made things worse. Between your thighs and his groin were equally as messy as the other, but you didn’t care. Your skin was slick with perspiration, and so was his, but it was a blissful aftermath as he gently placed you back into the driver’s side.

Fortunately, you had overalls and he had an apron, enough to hide the raunchy stains and the general mess the both of you had made. He was kissing your face, pressing his forehead into your hair even as you shrugged your overalls back on to start up the truck for the ride home.

“I’m going to get into trouble for this,” You mused, keeping the mood sweet and lighthearted. “I think you owe me, Thomas.” You teased, but Thomas took it seriously. He planted a passionate kiss on the corner of your mouth, and then your lips when you turned your head.

Thomas squeezed your thigh, and he had that look in his eyes — your repayment would be worth it.

#thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #thomas hewitt #tcm the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre #leatherface x reader #leatherface x you #sunkendreams masterlist

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rapturously · 3 years ago

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Can you write for an obsessive RZ!Myers with a Nurse love interest? I just like the idea of bonding with him over time as his caretaker. Fuck it I'm gonna encourage the man to make his masks if he likes it so much, they look cool anyway

(Ps. I love your writing ... the way you write for Vincent is so sweet❤

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 + 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡 𝙢𝙮𝙚𝙧𝙨 ( 𝙧𝙯 ) 𝙭 𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙗!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙚, 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙤𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 & 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 & 𝙄’𝙢 𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠! 𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙨/𝙤 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙧𝙯!𝙢𝙮𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙜𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙖 𝙗𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 !! :) 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮’𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮! ❤️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @the-wordis-bird ; @suguruswife ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @lttlegore ; @darklylucid ; @mehidktbh ; @the-anxious-youth ; @bloodwithpeachmilk ; @callmemeelah ; @dootys

*ೃ༄ ⠀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒. (𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐙𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐄.)

Smith’s Grove isn’t the easiest job — it’s mentally weighing and taxing, and when you’re initially hired on, you struggle to become acclimated to your peers. Some are despicable individuals, and some aren’t, but the atmosphere is dour, overall. Not every nurse and doctor at the facility really aimed to treat patients and offer the proper rehabilitation they needed. Sometimes, it felt more similar to a prison than it did a sanatorium. For you, you find happiness in helping other people, but the longer you stay, the more Michael becomes the only one tethering you there.

You’re one of Michael’s caretakers, between Dr. Loomis and another older woman who’s much more fearful and spiteful of Michael than she is kind and courteous. You have a feeling that she won’t last very long, or at the very least, retire soon from Smith’s Grove. Being the youngest out of the trio, much closer to Michael’s age, Dr. Loomis is keen on having you interact with Michael as much as possible, as if that might spark something. You’re apprehensive of the doctor’s weird experiments and suggestions, but you try to go along with it.

Michael is somewhat mistrustful of you at the beginning. You’re an unfamiliar face in the ever-evolving cast of doctors and nurses who attend to him, and he expects you to be shuffled out of the rotation soon enough. He never expects longevity with any of his caretakers — he knows that they won’t be staying after they’re around him enough. The longer they stay at Smith’s Grove, the more they deteriorate, the more disinterested they become. He expects it of you, Michael assumes you’ll be just another face to fade away into the recesses of his memory.

Of course, you do stick around — you don’t let Smith’s Grove pull you down into its bleak, melancholy environment. You’re a hard worker, determined and extremely driven to make sure everyone gets proper care and whatever it is that they need. Michael gets used to you, he gets used to seeing you everyday, and you become familiar to him, a commonality. Dr. Loomis is quick to observe Michael’s growing attachment to you, and the more you stick around, the more comfortable you become with him. You make valiant efforts to try and understand Michael, form your own opinions instead of relying on others.

You are convinced that Michael isn’t as evil and soulless as Loomis claims. There’s a spark of humanity to him, a sliver of emotion that’s been buried upon years and years of turmoil and a self-imposed silence. It’s been dormant for ages, which is the conclusion you happen to come to. Many of your peers at Smith’s Grove aren’t convinced by your ‘crazy’ theories, but it doesn’t exactly bother you. You’re content to continue your bond with Michael, but you aren’t pushy — you never prod or dig for answers like so many others have before, nurses, doctors, other employees alike.

Oddly enough, he starts to form some obsession with you that emerges into the creation of his masks, crafted with softer colors in mind, things of beauty, things of kindness. He likes showing you whatever he’s made, and you’re always more than enthusiastic to take a look and applaud the work he’s done. Michael’s behavior begins to resemble the antics of someone who’s infatuated, but he keeps it hidden, especially around Dr. Loomis. If there is anything that Michael is talented at, it’s suppressing things, hiding secrets.

Michael gets extremely protective and possessive over you, to the point where you’re the only one who can administer any medication to him or give him food. The guards start circulating rumors that you subdued Michael through sexual means, which isn’t true (yet ,,,), but the guard who started that rumor ended up with a plastic spork lodged into his left eye. Any tools were promptly taken away from Michael, and he could only be given meals that were all edible by hand — no utensils required.

Night shifts are usually the best for you — it’s silent during the night, and Michael is nocturnal, so you typically go in and check on him once every hour. Sometimes, the both of you will stand or sit in silence, and other times, you start rambling on about your day or something that you enjoy. Either way, Michael is content. Overnights are where you seem to bond the most, even if Michael doesn’t say a single word, you know that he’s listening. He shows more attentiveness toward you than he does anyone else, aside from Dr. Loomis, but he doesn’t care about the old man in the way that he cares for you. He wants you to be protected and safe.

You enjoy taking care of Michael — it brings you a sense of comfort and purpose, being able to help him physically and emotionally. Michael’s obsessive, possessive attachment to you is what drives him to find you after his escape, his drive to be with you, always. Each and every time, you are there to mend his wounds and clean him up, provide him with the best care and support that you can. Deep down, Michael likes it — he likes having someone to protect and love, and he likes having you to mend him and love him. Of course, his own twisted version of love, but love and an unhealthy infatuation nonetheless.

You feel drained and devoid of energy, your conditions worsening the more time you spend at Smith’s Grove. It’s inevitable, many warned you of such feelings when you were first hired on, but you wade through all of the negativity and hostile atmosphere with as much dignity as you can muster.

Night shifts come easy, though — most patients are asleep or sedated, perhaps both, and the folks on your rotation are relatively easy to get along with. Your daytime shifts are a monster themselves, with so many patients and an environment so hectic and chaotic that you feel like you might burst sometimes.

It’s almost peaceful at night, and your unit is as silent as the grave, save for one patient who's about as close to nocturnal as one can get. You’ve taken care of Michael Myers ever since you were hired on, one of the nurses under Dr. Loomis and perhaps the only one who showed no fear of Michael himself.

Groggy and drowsy, you decide to go for a walk, going toward the one cell that many are terrified to go near. Not you, though — Michael Myers is hopelessly infatuated with you, unbeknownst to you but known to Dr. Loomis, who’s often curious about Michael's antics. He’s attempted to dig into his feelings, why he might’ve latched onto you in particular, but he never offers up information. He never speaks.

The walk to Michael’s cell is relatively short, and you yawn as you creep across sterile, sparkling floors. The air is stale and smells like sanitizing products, a wet floor sign positioned somewhere within the corridor. A guard sits in a small substation, headphones lodged into his ears, his attention somewhere else entirely, and you can’t blame him.

Michael’s cell often fills other workers with a sense of dread, but not you. Sometimes, his presence is the only thing that keeps you sane at this facility, which sounds horribly ironic. You step in front of massive, wrought iron doors, incredibly thick with a singular window of bulletproof glass.

Your keys jingle within your pocket as you open up the door, and it’s as thick as your forearm, almost. You look a touch disheveled, dark circles underneath your eyes, uniform wrinkled, but Michael thinks nothing of it. To the behemoth, you’re beautiful — he will never see you as anything less.

He’s hunched at his desk, his breathing heavy and husky as he shreds at pieces of paper, adding the finishing touches onto a mask that he’s made you. The colors are all vibrant and cheerful, everything cut and crafted to try and capture your proportions. It’s more than flawed, but that’s what makes it perfect.

With his back angled toward you, the mountain of a man stuffed atop a tiny chair, Michael’s head perks slightly when his cell door comes creaking open. You linger at the fringes of the doorway, shutting it behind you as you wander around his quarters. Masks line every inch of cold brick, some far more terrifying than others.

“Michael,” Your voice is akin to the crooning of a dove, soft and tender. It commands his attention, and he shifts within his seat, prepared to present you with yet another mask he’s fashioned for you. You’ve taken some of them home, a handful adorn your desk at work. “You need anything?” You yawn.

His grunt is akin to the roll of thunder, but he does abruptly move from his chair. Any normal person might’ve flinched away, but you stand still, having to crane your neck just slightly in order to look up at him. Michael wanders in your direction, and to your shock, he looks astoundingly clean.

They must’ve made him take a shower, you think.

Those big, calloused hands fumble with the mask, glued and pressed together with bright shades of purples, pinks, and oranges. Michael reluctantly offers you another mask to add to your growing collection, and your lips curl into an exuberant smile.

“I like this one,” You muse, cocking your head to one side. You enjoy the patchwork pattern of the mask, the series of irregular chunks of paper that make up the whole. “Very pretty.” Your encouragement is always enough to make Michael feel content.

Michael lingers next to you, face concealed by the papery, orange veil, flaxen-blonde tresses hanging all around his head like a curtain. You keep the mask close, your smile still present, the keys jingling against your hips. There’s a stirring of foreign emotions within his chest whenever he glimpses your reaction at his masks.

“I think I’ll put this one up at home.” You chime, and even if Michael never answers you, it doesn’t phase you whatsoever. He’s listening — that much is clear. Michael often hangs upon every word that leaves your mouth as it is.

You remember the candy bar sitting in the pocket of your uniform, and you promptly unveil it. Everybody knows about you sneaking candy to Michael, and it’s happened so often that no one seems to tell you differently anymore.

“I brought you something, too.” It’s a giant slab of crunchy chocolate all wrapped in colored plastic, but you know Michael’s adoration of anything sweet. You’ve seen him eat much of the treats that Smith’s Grove offers — whenever they offer, at least. “Just our secret.” You muse, offering the candy to Michael.

He favors your company more than any other member of staff here — you wonder if they only keep you around for that very purpose, aware that you can subdue the man if needed. Michael’s grunt is relatively pleasant, and he sheds the wrapper immediately, sticking the candy bar through the gap in his mask.

Clutching the mask within your left hand, your brows furrow together when your name is called over the announcement system. It’s difficult for you to mask your disappointment, your gaze drifting toward Michael.

He’s used to you scrambling around, needed anywhere and everywhere. Michael grunts, wandering back toward his chair, sinking down atop the smooth surface as he continues to fly through his candy bar. He doesn’t want you to leave, but he’s powerless — for now, at the very least.

“I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.” You nod, and your countenance is both exasperated and exhausted, but you try your hardest to seem happy. You leave through the cell door, pushing it closed and locking it behind you.

Michael watches you leave each and every time, but whatever strange melancholy he feels is off-putting to him. It happens after you go, but he knows that it’ll dissipate as soon as you come back for your hourly rounds.

#michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #michael myers #michael myers fanfic #rz halloween #rob zombie halloween #halloween 2007 #sunkendreams masterlist

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