#the ghost face x black!reader

[apocalypse-shuffle]

DANNY "JED OLSEN" JOHNSON | THE GHOST FACE (dead by daylight)

—

“Try Not to Scream” (Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson | The Ghost Face x Fem!Reader)

| After you’ve been with Danny for a little while, the instance of him kidnapping you and revealing who he really was behind you but not forgotten, he decides it’s high time he start desensitizing you to what it is he does.

| NSFW, canon typical violence, murder, mature themes, moral dilemma, the reader-insert has in braids (TW: general sadism, kidnapping, unhealthy relationship) -dark!reader & goth!reader

| This fic is a continuation of sorts to the “Jed Olsen” section in this imagine post. This also doesn’t take place in the Entity’s realm. (Pic source: DbD promotional material)

| 2k+ words

EXTRA HC: The justification I’m operating on, in regards to Danny sparing anyone and/or genuinely “dating” anyone, is that Danny has to see some sense of kinship in the other person. A sense that you’re not lying to yourself like everyone else but him about your darkness, and seeing the potential for murder in you. Then he’ll allow for a little partnership action.

“Stop trembling.”

You flinch.

That low timbre travels through all the nerve endings in your spine like an electric shock, jolting you ram-rod straight out of your curled up position close as you could get to the door of his new school vehicle.

In spite of his talking to you your lips remain sealed in a thin line as you glower out the window. At the bottom level of an otherwise uninhibited parking tower where Danny figured you could make the least trouble. Staring at nothing but white lines on the asphalt lit sparsely by dull yellowing lights.

Even now his voice still has heat pooling in your gut that makes you want to grind your teeth into a fine alabaster powder. The less pleasant queasy feeling in your stomach that accompanies that warmth isn’t much consolation.

Jed— Danny was full of possibilities, and not one of them was conventional or safe.

Really the only ‘good’ thing about tonight was that he wouldn’t have time to keep all his focus on you, to weigh you down with the force of it, because he had a target he planned on killing tonight and an op-ed that would need finishing right after.

Horrible though it may be, you’re glad you're not the center of his obsession right now. Pierce, his newest victim since you guys settled into town that he’s been dragging you along to watch for weeks, firmly held that position in your stead tonight.

He clears his throat. Reluctantly, you turn your head to watch him.

Cracking his knuckles, Danny gives you a long look, full brows furrowed. You give the thicket above his eyes more attention than you do the dark orbs themselves.

“Don’t do anything dumb, yeah?” he says. He doesn’t wait for your response or stick around to try hammering in his point more, however, twitching fingers a clear sign of his being more eager for carnage than any type of lecturing.

He slips on the mask right before he leaves the car; the rest of him decked out only in civvies and hunting boots. The ghost mask is one you’ve gotten plenty familiar with in the past. Vividly, you can remember the sight of that mask hunting you down and then directly in your face as the news dubbed “Ghost Face” slit your then boyfriend’s throat and christened you in his spray of blood before Danny had done you the disservice of sparing your life.

It's hard to look away as your ex(?) makes his way from the car with the hood of his black hoodie up, leaving you sitting pretty and still struggling to hold back your trembling in the passenger seat. Left to do nothing but watch.

Or to call the cops once your sense finally daigns to come back to you.

He had seemed so certain last night that you wouldn’t, and you hate that you even have to wonder whether you’ll prove him right or if you’ll finally buck up, reactivate your stalling-like-shit morality, and call the cops on his pasty ass right now regardless of your general distrust of the police.

As Danny waltzes without a hitch across the parking lot to where Pierce’s car is bracketed by two thick concrete pillars on either side at the back corner of the lot, though, no part of you moves towards Danny’s burner phone where it rests in the cup holder beside you like a taunt.

Or an opportunity.

Your painted nails tap against the button to turn the window down, a light rhythmic clicking sounding through the silent car while your eyes stay transfixed to Danny. Danny, who might as well be invisible as he closes in on the car without incident just as Pierce is ducking down to get in.

The transition after that is well timed and impressive enough that your eyebrows raise in place of where you should be screaming your head off.

Heedless of good citizenship, your lips stay stubbornly shut as you watch Danny wait until the exact moment Pierce — still unaware of where the seasoned killer is crouched out of immediate sight by the passenger door — closes the driver’s door shut behind him to open the muscular man’s passenger door and slip inside like he belongs there too.

When your window slips down a crack you don’t even bother acting surprised, you just stop moving, hold your breath, and listen.

In the immediate seconds after Danny enters Pierce startles, his face contorting in disbelief, and then he has a knife through his sternum from one blink to the next.

A muffled scream, high and panicked and quickly cutoff, meets your ears for hardly a second before silence descends around you once again.

His expressions look stilted as they come to him, like he’s lagging, but Danny doesn’t give him the chance to do much but emote as his next three stabs come in quick succession.

Sternum, the joint of his shoulder when he tries to sit up better, somewhere besides his Adam's apple, his damn cheek; all leading up to the final blow where Danny’s blade glints against the lighting in the sports car before being buried to the hilt in Pierce’s eyeball.

Blood flies everywhere.

Danny’s just pushing out of the passenger’s seat to get more leverage, knocking the bottom of the hilt with the heel of his palm so that the knife goes even farther in, when the automated lights go out and plunge the inside of Pierce’s car into darkness.

This time you don’t hear anything.

Not a stray beep of the horn or the drag of soaked fingers over tempered class or a squeak from the slightly rocking cars’ joints.

Not even when the flash of his camera gives you a few seconds of discombobulating previews of the carnage he’s created does the silence break.

Nothing.

Not until Danny’s slipping back out of the car and closing the passenger door with a hardly notable click. In that brief moment the lights kick back on and the scene that greets you is even bloodier than when you saw it last.

Blood managed to spray a dripping arch in front of the driver’s seat window, the skin around Pierce’s eye socket protrudes as if a tiny bomb had been planted in it, and his eyeball dangles precariously from his head by whatever tendon lies behind it.

His throat is slit now too, not just stabbed. One continuous perforated mess that’s compromised the structural integrity of the muscled man’s neck so badly his head, where it’s trying its best to slip over the side of the headrest he’s propped up against, has slipped back far enough it creates the illusion of a gaping cavernous maw below his chin. Crimson and gurgling. Like he gave one last wide grin as he met his death.

You can barely imagine the amount of blood you’d be able to see up close…or the sheer force of how it would all smell. It makes your stomach clench and by the time the lights have shut back off and Danny’s easing behind the wheel beside you your eyes burn too.

Contrary to the mild sample you get of what the inside of Pierce’s car smells like, he's covered in less blood than you had expected him to be. Instead of that striking you with fear all you can think about is how much of a Danny Thing that is to manage.

Of course he’d fucking kill like he’s afraid of increasing his dry cleaning bill even when he’d been so hyped up he was trembling on the drive over; there was control behind all that strange unconventional bravado of his.

He slips off his mask.

All but a single dark smear across the stark white of the masked forehead bears no sign of his misdeeds.

“Don’t faint.”

That’s what he leads with.

No questioning the security of the contents of your stomach or how red your eyes have gotten. He just jumps directly back into conversation like you didn’t just witness him kill a man.

It unfreezes you though, and with a gasp of breath you’re talking before you can fully check yourself, “That doesn’t sound like a ‘me’ issue.”

“Oh?” Danny chuckles darkly. “I can make it a personal issue for you after the fact, I assure you.” He raises his brows in question, the quirk of his lips sharp, and you can’t help the way your saliva turns bitter in the face of it.

At your lack of comeback he lets himself pull out the camera in his pocket. That too is streaked only minimally crimson.

When it slips up and he points it at your face you’re not fast enough to give him your back. You’re gazing directly at him and probably looking utterly enamored in your shock.

The murderer — the man who seems utterly determined to drag you against your will across the country with him — heeding no mind to your displeasure, takes a few more shots before you catch yourself and shift out of the light shining in through the windshield.

Pictures already taken, though, Danny doesn’t bother with you, already flipping his camera around.

“Nice,” he murmurs, clicking through the photos. He glances up at you then, winks. “I think these might be better than the pictures I took with you the night we met.”

You're speaking before you can talk yourself out of it, tone sharp, “The night you tried to kill me?”

He pauses.

His fingers stutter for a second over silver buttons, his camera whirling, before he meets the fire in your gaze with his own inferno.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Spit too much fire and you might burn yourself.”

For a while you hold his stare regardless of his warning. He kidnapped you, he didn’t get to force you to act like this was some kind of fun outing. It didn’t matter how avidly you had stared into Pierce’s car.

The burner in the cup holder still staring back at you — still unused — didn’t mean anything.

Part of you wants to break that damn camera. Maybe then he’d finally fucking cry about something, show some actual genuine emotion for once.

Fuck.

Letting out a harsh breath through your teeth, you turn away from him, hiding your clenched fists in between your legs.

It was best you didn’t provoke him and you knew that. The good thing about Danny, though, was that while he burned hot, he didn’t burn long.

And you were determined to work that in your favor any chance you got.

From the driver's seat you hear your companion relax and your shoulders slump.

They ache with the remnants of your tension.

“Sure,” you acquiesce, licking slowly over your cracked lips and looking back at him with a little less fire in your eyes. “Why then? Why all the stabs if you were just going to slit his…you know?”

“His. Throat,” Danny stresses. Low, short.

He works his gloves over his fingers with his teeth, stuffing the leather in his waistband near where you know the sheath for his tactical knife is strapped against his thigh behind the center console.

You duck your head, braids knocking forward, force your hands to relax, then begin to fiddle with the rosary beads hung low on your neck. A dower mirth lifts your brows; as if the god you didn’t even believe in could save you now.

And for all you knew this was one of Danny’s gifts that he’d stolen off some poor person's dead body, so what good juju it could’ve had was probably tainted anyway.

“Fine,” you mutter, voice stilted and rough. “Why do all that if you were gonna slit his throat anyway?”

Hands on the wheel Danny shrugs - shrugs!

“I like to slit their throats sometimes, it makes the scene more dramatic, you know? Plus, I wanted to get you as acquainted as I could so I drew it out a bit more. But I’ll admit I went a lot faster than I would’ve if I was in a more private space, that’s why I like killing them in their houses.” He turns to you fully, lifts his hand past the partition without a care for how you flinch, and moves some of your braids interwoven with your fluff of curls out of your face so he can bore his gaze directly into yours. The pad of his fingers are dewy against your umber skin, his touch tender only because of their feel. “Sometimes it’s fun when they fight, when I get to debase them in the one place they feel safe.”

You bite back the urge to grimace.

It figures that the one time you get a straight answer out of him is tonight.

“Oh,” you breathe, fingers stumbling over the beads you’re rolling between them, “I…guess that’s good to know.”

Danny smiles, it’s not fake but now that you know the truth it doesn’t sit right on his face either, before turning back to his camera.

At least, you supposed, you now had more of an idea as to how he’d dispose of you if you stopped being entertaining.

The memory of the glint of Danny’s knife in the light, its own omen, as he closed in on his victim’s car (the victim of his stalking, of his murder) flickers through your mind. Flashes of the dead man’s gaping flesh swiftly follow.

Would you like it when The Ghost Face finally claimed your soul too? Would his being through with you grant you damnation or not?

Silent, you watch him get situated once he’s finished looking over his cache for the evening. His profile stands out starkly against the tower lights behind him, reedy defined features and that blocky nose that once regularly held up glasses he didn’t need to see. He’s almost angel-pretty like this. Makes a pang strike through your chest at the remnants of before, of poking at him while he worked until he couldn’t help but indulge you and his numbing kisses and the dorky (curated) way he’d push up his glasses after laughing at something cute you’d done.

It was ridiculous, this war within you. Everything about Jed Olsen had been a lie and yet still the phantom of him intrinsic to Danny continues to have you yearning.

Still you can’t help but wonder if the stab of his knife through your dark sensitive flesh, the feel of his masked or barren eyes stripping you to tendon as he plunged past your ribcage, would feel like divinity.

Danny brushes the choppy fringe of bangs that line his forehead back, streaks blood through brunet strands, and still your heart’s desire remains. Would it be…better like this? If you stayed with him, let yourself be content with a knife in your hand and a far more familiar devil reigning at your side?

The car turns on and Danny starts driving you guys away from his newest crime scene, flicking the radio on as he goes. The dvd in his player spins and the moody tones of The Ire fill the heavy air between you both. Despite yourself you fall into Maya Brooks’ distorted vocals, letting your body sway and shift minutely in tandem with the music.

Danny’s eyes when he glances at you are dull — you’d say they were grim if you thought he had the ability to feel remorse, but his expression is unusually open. His gaze intent on the way you’re softly mouthing along to Derelict.

“We won’t stay west too long, okay, Honey?” His voice is dry, but the curl of his tongue around the pet name is like a verbal lash. “You just hold on and I’ll have you slitting throats up north before New Years. You’re gonna love it.”

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

I seem to only be able to write Danny once every year (not necessarily for a lack of trying, I’m a slow creator), but I really love exploring the horror and moral fuckery of these slasher romances so I had a great time writing this. And, yes, I did give Danny glasses as a part of his Jed ruse.

Ignore that I included a band that isn’t 90’s, I just really wanted to include The Ire idk (they’re described as goth/post-punk, but really I just wanted to talk about them a little). Plus the setting is nebulous anyway.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

Alt. Banner (scrapped) —

[blackynsupremacy]

i want more billy loomis, stu macher, dewey riley, roman bridger, ethan landry, and randy meeks x black reader pleaseeeee!

where they at!

billy/stu:

randy:

dewey:

roman:

ethan:

gimme all of that please!!!

[leiswxrld]

𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒… “Oh yeah”…….“yeah”

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Ethan Landry x Black fem reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Smut, p in v sex, mdni, stalking, hide and seek, kidnap (kind of), phone calls, threats from killer, riding, killer tied up, finding out who the killer is, foul language.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1461 Words

𝐀/𝐍: love Ethan Landry 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾.

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒: @magicalboything & @hitobaby for line dividers ❥

It was midnight by the time you had gotten home from the party, your parents were out of town and you promised them you would be fine by yourself. Going into the kitchen, you were craving something to eat so you microwaved the leftovers that your mom cooked from earlier and left in the fridge for you to eat later.

As you heated your food, the landline began to ring. Who was calling at this time, you thought. You walk towards the phone and slowly pick it up, bringing the speaker to your ear. “Hello” you mutter, hearing nothing but breathing on the other end.

“Hello Y/N seems like it’s no one but you in the house, tonight” the husky voice said, your eyes widen at the mention of your name. “Who is this and how do you know my name”

“The question you should be asking is are you really safe in the house alone tonight” the voice reply’s sinisterly, you put down the phone in panic and look around the house, making sure every door and every window was locked shut.

Again the sounds of the landline ringing echoed throughout the house as you stormed your way back to phone picking it up.

“Who the fuck is this and what do you want” you yell into the phone, waiting for an answer. The voice chuckles before silencing themselves, “If you cut this phone again, I’ll gut you like a fucking fish” he threatened, you could hear the malice in his voice, you knew he was being serious.

“Let’s play hide and seek , if I don’t find you….you win but if you don’t it will be the end of the fucking line for you” you eyes water as your hands fly to your mouth. “I don’t want to play your stupid games…leave me alone or I’ll call the p-police” you stutter. You mentally face palm yourself, it was obvious he heard the shiver of fear in your voice, the tough act wasn’t fooling anyone.

You were scared.

“If your ever so to pick up that phone and dial 911, I’ll come in there and kill you right now” your shivering in fear, cautiously looking around outside from the window, for anyone that could be watching you.

“Ok, fine I’ll play your stupid game”

“Good girl, I’ll count to 100 and you have until then to hide”

“B-but-“

“Hide”

He begins to count as you scram to your feet. You had to act fast, going to the cabinet you grab a frying pan and stand near the outside porch door, crouching behind the couch and watching your surroundings.

“70…71” his voice become menacingly scary, as you felt the fear rise in your voice, your chest rising up and down as fast as you could make it.

You prayed that he wouldn’t find you as he neared the number hundred. “97…98…”

“Please” you whispered to yourself clutching the frying pan.

“99…100…come out, come out wherever you are little rabbit”

You brought your mouth to your hand as the handle to the porch door began to fidget, “where are you little rabbit” he sang aloud, using the handle of the knife to break the glass. He stepped inside carefully, avoiding the pieces of broken shard.

You shook in fear, hand on mouth as the sounds of his heavy boots walked around the living room. If you didn’t do something now you were going to be dead before you would see the sun.

He made his way to the kitchen, glancing around to see if he could find you, he walked with authority opening cabinets with such force it seemed as if it would break off. Seeing as you weren’t in the kitchen, he walked into the hallway carefully making his way through, you got up from your hiding place and sneaked up behind him with the frying pan.

With one swift motion, you hit the killer with the pan and he hits the floor with a huge thud, knocked out from impact.

You took a couple of breath’s before deciding you would tie him to the chair, grabbing rope from your family’s garage. You struggled, pulling the killer twice your size onto the chair and tieing his legs and feet to it, you were tempted to know who the face behind ghostface was, contemplating if you should pull the mask of his head.

Just then, the mask began to move hearing a groan emitted from their lips. He look’s up before making eye contact with you before realising he was tied up, struggling against the restrains with a huff. “Let me go you bitch, before I come over there and gut you like the whore you are”

You jerked back a bit, still keeping the pan in your hands, in case he would be able to free himself . “Brave to threaten me when your the one tied to a chair” he growls, you feel the intense glare behind the mask even though you couldn’t see his eyes clearly . “How fucking pathetic, your pratically shaking you couldn’t do shit to me even if you tried.”

“Oh yeah”

“Yeah”

Bet.

You walk towards the estranged killer and sit onto his lap. “What the fuck are you-“ you begin grinding your hips into him, the friction of your throbbing bud against his hardening cock brought a euphoric feeling. “Shit- I knew you were a fucking whore once I layed my eyes on you” he weakly says, head rolling back.

You let out a moan, increasing your speed desperately trying to get an orgasm out of it as your hands move to his shoulders, gripping the silky black material of his robe. The voice changer was clearly hiding the identity of his voice but that didn’t stop him from letting weak moans slip out under his breath as he felt himself about to release.

“Such a dirty girl- just like that shit” he degraded, his hips bucking up digging into your clit as your breath hitched and motions increased. You release into your panties, the killer following after as he came into his boxers. He looks back up at you, seeing his eyes slowly trail your face. “Didn’t take you for platonic slut , bunny”

“Hey what are you doing now-” you go to his pants, unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants and boxers along with it. You could see the wet patch of arousal you left on his robe from earlier as you bring your thumb onto his ruby tip, rubbing his seed around in circles as his hips bucked.

You bring yourself back to his lap, still holding onto his length as your itch it toward your entrance. You both gasp as you slide onto it, feeling his thick cock penetrating your core. “Ohh..fuckkk” you moan, waiting to get use to the abundant feeling, before rising up and dropping back down.

He moans, watching as you pleasure yourself on his dick. Letting out low whimpers and pleads as your hips rolled and movements never faltered, greedily letting yourself enjoy the thickness of his hard cock. “Just like that” he praised, still struggling against the restrains as he watched you ride him.

Suddenly, his hips dash up into you, bouncing you onto his cock as it stabs it’s way into your belly. You seethe, feeling the good but painful feeling of him stretching you out. “I knew you liked my cock” he muttered, hips never faltering as his thrusts became too much to handle. That usual feeling bubbles in your stomach, hands staying onto his shoulders and digging into them, letting yourself lose.

You came for the first time in months, the killer that was out to get you and had nearly tried to kill you was a better fuck than the other boys you had fucked from school previously and was able to make you cum like no other.

He managed to milk three more orgasms out of your weeping cunt as your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, vision becoming blurred and head filling up with bliss. You felt high like you were on cloud nine before the killer spilled his seed into you, the copious amounts of warm release coated your walls, you felt stuffed.

You both catch your breath, letting your eyes drift back to the killer in curiosity. That pondering question came back to mind again, who the killer was under the mask?.

Hesitatingly, your hand grasps the head of the mask which caught the fucked out killer off guard and you pull it off letting it fall to the ground. Your eyes widen in shock, it was the captain of the science robotics team…most in for most your ex boyfriend.

“Ethan…

[aswho1estuff]

Pussy Cat

Ghost face x Black Reader

Inspired by an a.i. chat I had with ghost face.

Sexually charged but not really Sexual Sexual (thinking about a pt 2 for that)

•Horror•Masterlist

"That color looks good on you" a graggly voice says on the other line. "Thanks pervert" I reply sighing, prank calls have became even more frequent around the neighborhood. "Don't flatter me, I do this because it's amusing" he chuckled.

Picking up my red nail polish I position the phone between my ear and shoulder blade "why do this, you get off to it creep". "The way they freeze up blood running cold as mine turns hot.. it's unexplainable mouse" the voice heaves out on the other line seemingly shuffling.

"Wow mouse huh...you must want to play prey and hunter?" I ask "Something like that" he replies practically purring now. What a loser, I'm gonna make this guy my bitch. "I hope you don't think you'll get to be predator, if anything you're just another little pussy to me" I giggle.

"Don't you mean pussy cat" he tries sternly correcting me "yeah that too". "You're lucky I'm in a good mood" "I could say the same pussy cat, I bet you just want attention and someone to take care of you pussy cat, I could do that".

"Well then how come this pussy cat had to let themselves in through the 2nd floor window?". "Yeah fuckin right pussy" I say getting up to grab my gun from the closet and heading up stairs. No way some anonymous loser is gonna punk me in my own home. "Oh and those braids beautiful really, they're called boho right?".

"Anyways it was raining so hard this pussy cats all wet, how about yours" he asks giggling on the other line. Walking up stairs "Come out and see for yourself? Here Kitty kitty" I whisper into the phone.

Kicking my room door open I keep the gun aimed with one hand and stuff my phone in my pocket with the other. After surveilling the room I proceeded towards the closet slamming the door open but nothing's there.

Fishing my phone out of my pocket I unmute myself "like I said-" and suddenly my ankles are being grabbed as I practically face plant the floor with my gun sliding towards the door. No one ever hides under the bed or at least you're not supposed to that's movie 101.

Looking up I find the stranger to be straddling me in a ghost face costume "I thought you weren't scared?" He says pinning me down. Mustering my strength I flip us over now residing on top and pull for his mask "I'm never scared of a pussy cat". Taking time to examine the unmasked boy in front of me, i note his flushed face and heavy breathing.

Moving my hands done until the rest on his neck "I could squash you like a bug and you'd just have to take it" I laugh "..please Miss".

[mamibaddie]

Warning: 18+ only!! SMUT

Obsessed!Charlie

- Obsessed!Charlie who saw you from afar. Your curly hair framing your face in such a way that compliments your looks. You’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. From that moment on, he was hooked.

- He took notice that you were in three of his classes, so he took full advantage of it and sat as close to you as possible.

- He enjoyed listening to you speak in class. He loved the sound of your voice.

:readmore:

- He also loved how you dressed. Cute bell bottoms, printed dresses, or high waisted shorts were his favorite.

- He thought of what it would be like to go on dates with you. What it would be like to walk you to your dorm. What it would be like to hold you. His thoughts of you were innocent, romantic even. At least at first.

- Then one day you forgot to bring a pencil. So you turned around, moved your curly hair and tucked it back behind your ear and asked, “Charlie, do you have a pencil I can borrow?” He was in awe. You know his name! Did he just dream this? Before it got weird, he was able to snap out of it. “Ye-yeah. Do you need one?” You smiled at him, “please. I’ll give it back to you at the end.” While you were speaking, he rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a pencil. “I-it’s okay. You can have it.” You take it and smile at him. “Thanks Charlie.”

- From that point on, he knew he was done for. All he ever thought of was you.

- It was bad, but it was even worse late at night. When his mind traveled down places his mind should never go.

- He entertained horrible, nasty thoughts. He wasn’t experienced in bed, but he wanted to do everything to you and with you.

- Obsessed!Charlie thinking about what it would be like for you to dominate him. It was his favorite fantasy.

- Obsessed!Charlie wanted you to tell him what a good boy he’s been. That he’s been so good, that he can cum in you, just this once.

- He goes feral at the thought of you punishing him for being too excited and cumming too quickly. He’d have to eat your pussy til you cum five times as punishment.

- He would never get too far into his fantasies before he’s cumming, moans and whines flowing from his mouth.

- That’s when he decides to take matters into his own hands. You have to be his.

[doodlenoodleboi]

Does anyone one want to see the behind-the-scenes of my writing I'll include my draft's mood boards and stuff like that. I'm working on a Sal request right now.

[wxxpingangxls]

yall i might be onto summm…

[merowkittie]

Fuck I might start writing for the ghost face characters and other scream characters if that’s what y’all want oh my god. I started rewatching all the movies and broo.. 😫🤘

[cookiepie111]

Brown bunny girl x ghost! Brown bunny girl x ghost! Brown bunny girl x ghost!

Just soft and fluffy

[spikedfearn]

Upon the Scarlet Altar

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: On a night when the moon hangs low and your body bleeds for him, he worships you the only way he knows how: on his knees, mouth between your thighs, feasting like you’re the last taste of warmth in a world gone dark. But in his arms—cold as the grave—you find a different kind of fire. One that never dies.

wc: 4.1k

a/n: AHHH you guys—I’m seriously losing my mind right now. Mercy Made Flesh hit 1.7K notes in 72 hours and I’m just sitting here clutching my pearls and screaming into the void like !!! thank you SO much for all the love, thirst, and pure unhinged energy you’ve poured into my fic!! this fic is lovingly (and hornily) dedicated to @oc3anbxbyxoxo who requested remmick eating reader out while on her period!! and, as always, thanks to my number #1 pookie Nat @kayharrisons for beta reading!!

warnings: vampirism, bloodplay, oral sex (f!receiving), period sex, vampire x human, worship kink, possessive undead love interest, overstimulation, blood drinking, body worship, monsterfucking (soft), southern gothic setting, mild dubcon tones (power imbalance), religious/sacrilegious language, explicit sexual content, knife-edge tenderness, unholy devotion, mutual obsession, sex as ritual, canon-typical vampire violence (implied)

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! please enjoy!!

The moonlight spills across the cold stone floor like spilled cream, pale and thick, stretching all the way to the foot of Remmick’s bed. You don’t knock when you enter. You never have to.

He already knows.

He’s there, seated at the edge of the mattress like he’s been waiting all night—shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his hair a soft tangle from too much pacing. There’s a gleam to his eye that hadn’t been there yesterday. Something feral. Something starved.

His nose twitches before his lips curl.

“You’re bleedin’,” he drawls, voice like bourbon left too long in the sun. “C’mere, sugar.”

You close the door behind you. You should be embarrassed. You’re not wearing anything underneath the long black slip you call a nightgown. Not tonight. The silk clings to your thighs, sticking just slightly with each step.

He’s watching. Always watching. Like he’ll die if he blinks.

By the time you reach him, he’s already reached for your hips, already dragging you between his legs. His hands are cold. They always are. But they warm quickly when they cup the back of your thighs and pull you forward until you’re straddling his lap.

“Could smell you from the hallway,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

“Then show me,” you whisper.

His eyes flick up. Crimson. Blazing.

Ravenous.

And then he lays you back.

The mattress dips under your weight, the room heavy with the scent of old wood, candle smoke, and something darker now—something copper-sweet. His breathing doesn’t hitch, doesn’t falter. But it deepens. Slows. Like he’s savoring every second before he lets the hunger off its leash.

Remmick’s palms press to the inside of your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer. His voice, low and reverent, ghosts over your skin.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, thumbing the edge of your nightgown up, baring the soft heat of your core. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world tastes as good as you do when you bleed.”

The shame you thought you might feel never comes. There’s only heat, only want, only the obscene pulse in your stomach as he lowers his mouth with something like worship painted across his face.

“Y’ain’t scared, are you?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crease of your inner thigh. “’Cause I’m real hungry, darlin’. Real fuckin’ hungry.”

You shake your head, your voice a whisper. “No.”

His grin is all teeth.

“That’s my girl.”

And then his tongue slides over you—slow, deliberate, impossibly soft. He groans like he’s been starving, the sound deep in his throat, his arms locking around your hips to hold you still as he buries his face between your legs.

You cry out.

The first lick is hot and sinful, laced with something carnal and wrong, the wet glide of his tongue tasting the blood he craves, the slick that coats you. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t build slow. He devours—growling against your cunt like it’s the only meal he’s ever needed.

“Christ,” he moans against you, lips already wet with it, tongue circling your clit with obscene precision. “You’re sweeter’n sin like this.”

Your fingers fist in his hair. You’re trembling. The sheets are damp beneath you from your own sweat, from the way your body shudders every time he moans into you like he lives for this.

And maybe he does.

Because Remmick doesn’t stop.

Not when your legs shake. Not when your thighs try to close. Not even when you gasp his name like it’s a lifeline. He keeps going, mouth locked to your cunt, tongue sliding deeper as he feeds and worships all at once.

“Gon’ give you everythin’,” he mumbles, voice thick and slurred with lust, lips slick. “Gon’ make you cum so hard you forget your damn name.”

You already have.

Your back arches, spine bowing off the bed as the wave crests—hot, thick, electric. His name spills out of your mouth in pieces, broken syllables caught between breathless moans, and he drinks it in like it’s part of the offering.

Remmick doesn’t let up.

Even as your hips buck, even as your thighs tremble violently around his head, he holds you down, strong hands keeping you spread and helpless beneath him. His tongue flicks against your clit with punishing precision now, coaxing you past the edge and straight into ruin.

Your vision whites out.

Pleasure burns—too much, too good, a drag across nerve endings that should’ve long gone numb but haven’t, not under him. Not under the mouth of a man who’s been alive for centuries and still claims you as the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

He groans again, loud this time, the sound vibrating through your cunt like a sin. You don’t realize you’re crying until he pulls back slightly, lips flushed red and glossy with blood and slick. The sight should be terrifying.

It’s fucking gorgeous.

“Look at you,” he rasps, dragging his mouth up your body, a smear of crimson trailing from your inner thigh to your hip. “So damn pretty fallin’ apart like that.”

He licks his lips, slow. Lingering.

“Could stay between these thighs all night, baby. Might just do that.”

Your breath stutters when he leans in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is thick with lust, but there’s something else now—something dark. Territorial.

“Ain’t gon’ want nobody else’s blood, y’hear me?” he whispers, one hand cupping your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than you when you bleed for me.”

You whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.

And Remmick smiles.

Because you're not scared.

You're in love. In lust. In ruin.

The room is quiet now, save for the rasp of your breath and the low hum of Remmick’s satisfaction as he lays against you, one arm heavy across your waist, his nose nuzzled into your neck like he can’t bear to be even an inch away from your pulse.

You’re boneless, ruined—your legs still trembling slightly as the aftermath rolls through you in warm, dizzy waves.

But he’s calm. Too calm.

Like a beast that’s fed and now lies curled around its prey, not because it’s lost interest—but because it’s claimed you.

His fingers trace idle circles over your belly, smearing faint streaks of blood he hasn't bothered to wipe away. He hums low in his chest, then murmurs against your throat:

“Y’don’t know what you’ve done to me, do ya?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth’s parted, your tongue dry, your body still fluttering in the places he touched and tasted.

He presses a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, lower—his lips dragging slow.

“You come to me bleedin’ like that,” he drawls, voice syrupy and warm, “an’ expect me to behave?”

You feel his smirk as he speaks against your skin.

“Darlin’, you ain’t just mine. You’re marked. Body knows it. Blood knows it. Every time you ache, every time you get that little twitch in your thighs thinkin’ ‘bout me…that’s me callin’ to you.”

You swallow hard.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, those crimson eyes soft now, almost tender—but still burning. Still dangerous.

“I ever catch somebody else smellin’ you like this…” he shakes his head slowly, almost pitying. “They won’t get the chance to learn from their mistake.”

He says it like a promise.

And then softer, almost lovingly:

“Gon’ take real good care of you. Keep you right here where it’s safe. Keep that sweet little body fed, fucked, and mine.”

You blink up at him, dazed and flushed.

He brushes a knuckle down your cheek, then presses his lips to your temple like you’re something precious. Holy, even.

“Rest now, sugar,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “We got all night.”

Steam curls like spirits from the clawfoot tub as the water runs, hot and fragrant with crushed rose petals and herbs from the garden out back. The scent is earthy, grounding—lavender, rosemary, and something darker beneath it. Something that smells like Remmick.

He’s at your side, one hand steady on the small of your back as he helps you into the water like you’re made of spun glass.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmurs, voice quiet now. Slower. “Let me fix that.”

The warmth envelopes you, and you sink into it with a sigh, limbs limp, head tipping back as your body adjusts. The blood between your thighs has already begun to dilute in the bathwater, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. If anything, his gaze softens.

Remmick kneels behind the tub and rolls his sleeves higher. He dips a cloth into the water and begins to wash you gently, reverently, careful around your thighs, your breasts, your throat.

Like he’s memorizing every inch of you again.

“Still can’t believe you walked into that church that night,” he says, the hint of a smile in his voice, low and fond. “All that fire in you, all that fury. Lord, you had no idea what you were walkin’ into.”

You remember.

You’d been eighteen. Hungry. Lost. Sleeping in the loft of the abandoned chapel on the edge of the forest because the shelter was full and the weather had turned. You hadn’t known the stories were true—not until you’d come face-to-face with the man who didn’t cast a shadow, who stood at the altar after midnight like he’d been waiting for you.

Remmick had looked at you the way God might’ve looked at Eve: not with shame, but with curiosity.

And then with hunger.

“I should’ve run,” you whisper.

He hums. “You did. I let you.”

You’d run through the woods, blood pumping so loud in your ears you could hear your own pulse. He hadn’t chased you—not right away. He’d let the fear bloom, let it take root, let you come back on your own.

You hadn’t been able to stay away.

Maybe it was the way he spoke. Or the way he looked at you. Or maybe it was the way the nights weren’t so cold when he was near.

“I didn’t want you to be afraid,” he says now, dipping the cloth to run it between your legs, slow and careful, like he’s cleaning a wound.

“I was,” you say. “But not of you.”

Remmick nods. He knows.

You’d been afraid of needing him.

And now look at you—body bare and pliant in his bath, flushed from orgasm and bleeding in his water, letting him touch you with those old, cold hands like they’ve got the right.

Because they do.

“You were too damn young,” he murmurs after a beat, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “But you looked me in the eye like you’d seen a thousand winters. Said you weren’t afraid of no man, no monster. Only the ones who pretend they ain’t.”

You smile faintly. “And you never pretended.”

His eyes darken.

“I told you what I was. What I needed. And you still chose to stay.”

You open your eyes, tilting your chin toward him.

“I still do.”

He leans in and kisses you then—not hungrily, not with possession, but reverence. Like you’re sacred. Like he’s praying with his mouth.

And in a way, he is.

Because Remmick never asked for salvation.

He found it anyway.

In you.

The water laps gently around you, soft and warm as skin, swirling faint pink around your hips. His kiss is slow—an ache, a promise, a tether. When he finally pulls back, your lips are damp, parted, breathless, and Remmick is just watching you.

Like he always does.

There’s something about the way he looks at you. Not just hunger. Not just obsession. It’s deeper than that—like he’s memorizing you, like the sight of you is the only thing anchoring him to this wretched earth. Like if he stopped looking, the centuries would catch up to him and pull him down to hell where he knows he belongs.

But not yet.

Not while you’re here. Not while your blood is still warm and your body still pliant and your soul still just out of reach.

He brushes the edge of the cloth over your collarbone next, then your shoulder, dragging it across your chest with trembling restraint. There’s a smear of blood on the side of your breast—his doing—and he wipes it away with the gentleness of a man afraid to break the thing he worships.

“You’re somethin’ holy to me,” he murmurs, low enough it sounds like it’s more for him than you. “Somethin’ sacred.”

You swallow, your throat tight, heart tripping over itself in your chest.

“No I’m not.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe not to the world. But to me? You’re a goddamn miracle.”

You can’t speak. Can’t move. All you can do is feel as he pours warm water over your shoulders, cupping the back of your head like he’s baptizing you in blood and roses.

“First time I saw you,” he says, “I thought I’d finally gone mad. Thought I was seein’ a ghost. You walked right through that broken door, moonlight at your back, lookin’ like vengeance and salvation in one breath.”

He sets the cloth aside.

“You didn’t flinch when you saw my teeth. Didn’t cry when I told you what I was. You just looked at me with those big, tired eyes and asked if I was gonna kill you.”

You remember that night. You remember the way your voice hadn’t shaken, even though your knees did. The way his eyes had gone wide—startled, not by your fear, but by your lack of it.

He laughs softly now. “And I told you, didn’t I? Told you I don’t kill what I’m fixin’ to keep.”

Your breath catches.

“Remmick…”

“I meant it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your temple, to the crown of your head. “Meant it then. Mean it now. You’re mine. And I ain’t ever lettin’ you go.”

Your fingers curl in the water. His arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his chest, the sound of his dead heart silent beneath your ear.

But it feels like it’s beating.

Only for you.

Only here.

The water’s gone tepid by the time he speaks again.

“Time to get you outta there, sugar,” he drawls, voice velvet-thick. “Before I end up joinin’ you.”

He stands, boots echoing soft on the old tiles, and leans over the tub to scoop you into his arms. It’s effortless—like you weigh nothing at all. Your wet skin presses to his chest, and the chill of him—cold, corpse-cold—sinks straight into your bones.

But you don’t flinch.

You never do.

Because even if he doesn’t have blood that pumps or a heart that beats, there’s warmth in him still. In the way his arms hold you like you’re breakable. In the way his mouth brushes your temple like a promise. In the way he carries you through this crumbling house like you’re something he’d go to war for.

You cling to him out of instinct, arms curling around his neck as your cheek rests against the hollow of his throat. It’s icy. Still. But it’s home.

“I got you,” he murmurs, “Always do.”

He steps out of the bathroom and into the dark hallway of the house you’ve come to know like a second skin—your house now, though no one but the ghosts know it. The floorboards creak beneath his slow steps, the wallpaper is peeling, the chandeliers are draped in cobwebs like mourning veils. The wind outside presses against the windows like a lonely thing begging to be let in.

But here, in his arms, even cold, you feel untouchable.

You bleed against his skin.

It’s not until you reach the bedroom—your shared bedroom, with the worn four-poster bed and the rotting wainscoting and the lace curtains yellowed with time—that he speaks on it.

You feel the pause in his chest before the low, filthy rasp leaves his lips.

“Leakin’ all over me, sweet thing,” he mutters with a smirk, voice dipped in reverence and filth. “Leavin’ a trail like you want the whole damn forest to follow your scent home.”

You suck in a breath. The heat in your belly curls tight again.

He sets you down on the edge of the bed, your thighs parting on instinct, your slick skin sticking to his shirt, to the old quilt beneath you. The blood between your legs is thicker now, heavy. He watches it, eyes dark as pitch.

“Lord have mercy,” he whispers, dragging the back of his hand up your inner thigh just enough to catch the wet. His fingers are cool—unnaturally so—but they don’t make you recoil. They make you burn.

“You’re drippin’ for me. Bleedin’ like you want me to taste you again.”

He leans in, teeth grazing your ear.

“You know what that does to a man like me? That warm, dark sweetness runnin’ down your thighs? Ain’t nothin’ on God’s green earth tastes more like heaven than that.”

You shiver.

Not from fear.

From need.

He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, then another to your shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, baby,” he murmurs, voice so low it sinks into your skin like wine. “I’ll get you cleaned up again. Real slow. Real good. Might just make you bleed a little more while I’m at it.”

You tremble under his touch.

And Remmick smiles.

Because he knows you’re already his.

He kneels.

Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to. You can feel it—what’s coming. The weight of his stare between your legs, the way his cold hands slip beneath your thighs and spread them wider, wider, until you’re completely exposed to him in the dim, flickering candlelight.

His fingers drag slow along the inner swell of your thighs, smearing blood and slick across skin like paint. His mouth parts.

“Christ almighty,” he breathes, voice reverent, his accent rougher now, more ragged. “Look at this mess. Look what you do to me, girl.”

He kisses the inside of one thigh—cold lips on burning skin—then the other. He doesn’t go for your pussy yet. He lingers. Worships. Drags his tongue along the seam of your thigh where the blood’s heaviest, groaning low and obscene as he tastes it.

He licks it up like it’s the finest thing he’s ever touched.

“Could spend hours down here,” he rasps, voice already wrecked. “Feastin’ like you’re my last goddamn meal.”

You whimper, hips twitching, your legs threatening to close—but he doesn’t let you.

“Uh-uh,” he warns, using his strength with ease to keep you open. “Don’t hide from me now. Not when you’re bleedin’ for me like this.”

His mouth finally descends on your cunt.

And this time, he takes his time.

The first pass of his tongue is so slow, so deep, it makes your eyes roll back. He licks a long, deliberate stripe from your soaked entrance to your clit, tasting everything—blood, arousal, need—and moaning like it’s divine.

His tongue flicks against your clit, again and again, featherlight but maddening. Then he shifts—mouth flattening, sucking, lapping at you with wide strokes of his tongue like he’s trying to ruin you.

And god, he is.

You fist the sheets, back arching, mouth open in a silent cry as he moans against your cunt, the vibrations shooting straight through your core. Your blood coats his mouth, his chin, his lips—but he doesn’t care. He relishes it. His hands grip your thighs tighter as he buries himself deeper, tongue fucking into you like he’s trying to crawl up inside and live there.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans between strokes, pulling back just long enough to pant against your slit. “You taste like heaven and sin all at once. Never gonna get tired of this. Never gonna stop wantin’ it.”

He slides a cold finger inside you—then another. Your body clenches hard, the contrast of his freezing hand and warm tongue almost too much to bear. But he knows your body now. Knows exactly how to curl his fingers, how to suck your clit while his tongue and hand move in tandem.

You start to shake.

Your vision blurs.

You cry out, your orgasm building harder than the last, pressure curling, snapping, about to break—

And he doesn’t stop.

Not when you start to sob his name.

Not when your thighs tremble and spasm against his shoulders.

Not even when you cum, shattering hard enough to see white behind your eyelids, your body jerking beneath his mouth like you’re being ripped open.

He keeps going.

Sucks your clit through it. Licks up every drop of blood and slick. Fingers you slower now, more gently, like he’s helping you ride it out instead of trying to end it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your swollen cunt. “Gave it all to me, just like you’re meant to.”

You’re ruined.

Your chest is heaving, your limbs loose, soaked through and aching, and he’s still between your thighs, still worshiping, still tasting like he’ll never get enough.

And maybe he won’t.

Because you’re bleeding.

And he’s starving.

Your breath hitches—caught somewhere between a sob and a moan—as your legs twitch from the aftershocks, thighs sticky with blood and saliva. But Remmick’s still there.

Still devouring.

Still worshipping.

His tongue moves with aching tenderness now, lazy, slow—almost teasing if it weren’t so reverent. He licks through the mess he’s made, lips parting to mouth at your folds like he’s kissing your mouth, not your cunt. Like every inch of you is sacred.

And even as your hips jerk, trying to pull away—too much, too sensitive—he doesn’t let you go.

“No,” he murmurs, voice low, steady, commanding. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

He pins your hips with those cold, strong hands, mouth descending again.

You cry out, thighs shaking violently, the sensitivity blooming into a new kind of agony—pleasure twisted at the edges, electric and sharp, making your toes curl and your spine bow. The room is spinning. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

But he’s soothing you as he ruins you.

“Shhh,” he breathes against you. “I got you. Just take it. Lemme taste every last drop you’re willin’ to give me.”

You feel your body trembling apart for him again, your stomach clenching, heat pooling low and impossibly fast.

Remmick’s voice is almost gentle now, slurred with arousal and reverence as his tongue drags across your clit.

“Don’t you go hidin’ from me, baby. You know I’ll chase you down.”

He kisses your cunt again, tongue flattening and lapping, nosing against your entrance where your blood is still fresh, still dripping slow. He moans deep in his throat like it’s a vintage he’s been saving for decades, like this moment—this mess between your thighs—is a gift he doesn’t deserve.

And god, the way he sounds when he speaks between strokes—

“Your blood’s hotter’n the devil’s breath tonight.”

Another lick.

“Tastes like lust. Like pain. Like home.”

Another.

“You were made for me, girl. Built to bleed for me.”

Your body coils tighter and tighter, the pleasure sharper now, no longer soft or slow—it’s demanding, relentless, fire at the base of your spine.

And he feels it.

He moans against you as you cum again—louder this time, messier, your entire body going rigid under him as you fall apart a second time, writhing as he holds you open and takes it all.

You’re crying now, softly, not from pain but from being so thoroughly undone.

From how deeply he sees you.

How completely he wants you.

When he finally pulls back, he’s soaked. Lips red, chin slick, eyes glowing like coals. He kisses your inner thigh, then your knee, then the scar on your ankle he once asked about and never brought up again.

You’re limp beneath him, panting, ruined.

And he looks so fucking proud.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, crawling up your body. “My perfect, filthy little thing.”

He settles beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms, curling your spent body against his cold one—and somehow, you feel warmer for it.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your hairline, then your shoulder.

“Sleep now,” he breathes. “Ain’t no one ever gon’ touch you but me.”

And as your eyelids flutter closed, muscles aching, pulse slow and full, you realize this is what he’s given you—what no one else ever could.

Not warmth.

But safety.

Not love.

But devotion.

And in a house filled with ghosts, buried in a forest that forgot its name, you fall asleep knowing you’ll never be alone again.

Not as long as Remmick walks the earth.

Not as long as he’s hungry—and you’re his.

[madamechrissy]

Apparition! Toji

Pairings - Ghost! Toji x F! reader

Warnings- MDNI- lowkey a little somnophilia, Toji being a perv and watching you when you can't see him, jealous Toji, masturbation (m and f) fingering, oral (f receiving) him just being a whole fucking menace tbh lol, explicit sex, even Ghost Toji calls you doll, say hi to Gojo, some stuff in my brain that needed to come out lmao

Apparition! Toji who hates his existence until one day, trapped in this godforsaken old home, he sees that a gorgeous girl has moved in. Not just that, but you just happen to walk around naked half the fucking time or close to it, and that's when the after life gets a little more interesting, as he realizes - his cock gets hard still!?

Apparition! Toji loved fucking when he was alive, before he well... died... and it left him here for some reason, his old home. Vacant and boring, he couldn't leave the premises, aside from just around the yard, cursing and cussing his fate. But god you were something to watch, as you bounce around in just panties and your bra, singing poorly in the mirror- and that's when Ghost Toji realizes... he still leaks pre cum?

Apparition! Toji tests this, as he sits in the corner watching you in the room, slipping down the slutty grey sweats he died in, yep what you die in you're stuck in. His thick cock slaps his stomach, coating his black gym shirt in sticky precum coating it, and he can't stop the lewd moan that escapes his lips, staring at your ass. He strokes it up and down slowly, base to the tip, you pause your dance, as he tilts his head, looking at you - but then, you turn around.

Apparition! Toji pauses his movements, as you come close, far too close, murmuring to yourself - 'did I just hear a moan?' and he wonders- fuck, could you see him, stroking his cock while watching you, knowing you don't know? The thrill makes him realize his heart still beats, no it races, when you're so close he can feel you, before you turn your gaze to the window, it's storming again, Toji feels so much stronger when it does, he can't explain it. He continues stroking his cock as he looks at you, wishing he could fuck your pretty face, your cunt he's sure is as perfect as you.

Apparition! Toji grows to love watching you, especially since he can cum right with you, and he frequently does - you love to play with your pussy. 'Slutty brat, all f'me huh?' he whispers, and he swears you whine out a 'yes' at the perfect fucking time. But you tend to do it under those blankets, eyes shut in concentration, Toji wishes so badly he can touch you, but when he tries, it's like he can't actually feel you. However, one night, everything changes, as he's sitting there watching you once more.

Apparition! Toji strokes his cock a little slower, breath catching as he watches you rub your pussy then, moaning out loud. 'Fuck doll, take off the blankets' as if you hear him, you kick them off, slipping down your panties and giving him a hell of a view of your pretty pussy. He's spitting on his cock now, watching ass you sink two little fingers in your cunt, gasping and arching your hips off the bed, whining out. 'Mmh!'

Apparition! Toji sees you need some help, but he's sure he can't touch anything, he's tried many fucking times, only being able to alter some electric signals. But he's standing now, a big hand brushing your bare thigh, when he males contact. You're lost in pleasure, your eyes shut as he hovers over you, whispering in your ear. 'Fuck I'd love to fill your pretty cunt up' but you just feel the wind tickling your ear, opening your lips in a gasp as you cum. You're pulsing around your fingers, whining out while Toji busts all over his own hand, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

Apparition! Toji gets more energy, he gets more powerful, he thinks you can feel him at times, when you get a brush on your neck, on your breasts, when he grabs at that ass. He delights in driving you so insane, delights in watching you sleep, murmuring about ghosts. One night in your sleep, you're tossing and turning. You've gone and kicked off the blankets fully, thighs spread, and he can't stop himself from at least licking you off your inner thigh. When he does just that, licking a trail up to your panties, which are getting dark from your pooling arousal, he moans at your taste. You wake up then, see this dark haired man between your thighs, and scream.

Apparition! Toji covers your mouth with his big hand and somehow it works, you're panting as he disappears, you can't see him any more, but you feel him still, oh fuck you feel him. You watch in a mix of horror and desire as seemingly nothing is pulling your panties off, down your thighs, and you panic then. 'I'm losing my fucking mind I... ah!' You scream out when you feel it. A phantom tongue up your slit, your hands go to grab at something, but it's nothing but cold, unlike the hot wet tastebuds flicking your clit, you swear you feel teeth grinning against you. 'Oh god... fuck it, don't stop!'

Apparition! Toji smirks against your cunt, who knew the afterlife would be this fun? You're literally touching inside of his goddamn head, which only makes him leak against his sweats - luckily, the perk of being a ghost was they miraculously are clean soon after - and he's dying to bury himself inside you. You're losing your mind, surely, in some fucking dream, as the best oral of your life is from some... 'ghost!?' he chuckles, breath hot, you watch as your thighs are squished, fingerprints forming in bruises, gasping now. 'What the... ah!' you can't focus when the ghost or whatever this is laps at your cunt like a starved man, however.

Apparition! Toji has you cumming all over his face, sucking on your little clit and humming, and fuck if he can't still taste, because your sweetness sinks into his ghostly form. He presses a kiss, letting your thighs go and looking up at a girl who can't see him, as the thunder claps outside, the rain starting to pour, and you're gathering your sanity, while your cunt oozes out more wetness. If you told anyone this, you'd go straight to a padded room, so you try to shut your eyes, hoping it's a dream - despite you never wanting to wake from it, when the blanket is slid up your body with care, and you feel someone brush your hair off your forehead.

Apparition! Toji is too terrified after that night, what he felt was more than getting off to a pretty girl. He dreams of shit he can't have with you- can he still feel things!? And he knows it would be unfair to you, he's fucking dead after all, so he avoids you, completely, and for weeks you try to summon him back, hoping to tempt this ghost, to no avail. Finally going out one night with your friends, you stumble in the house as Toji waits, he loves to see you every single day, even if he's making his presence unknown, only for you to drag some fucking white haired man inside. Toji glares as he kisses on you, lifts you up, your thighs straddling his hips, your giggles echoing as you show him where your room is.

Apparition! Toji stomps behind you all, as you press the man down on the bed, long and lanky, and you're straddling him. His hands clench into fists when you start to undress him, ass arched in the air in a mini skirt, kissing down the pale man's body, as he whines out, and you're unbuckling him. His hands entangle in your hair, and Toji can't take it anymore, he shoves up your mini dress, finding your slutty soaked panties, and pulls them to the side, shoving two fingers inside you so deep you cry out at it. Head falling back, the man looks at you curiously with bright blue eyes. 'I'm not even touching you yet, how are you...' you shut your eyes, smiling, as Toji curls his fingers, smacking the fuck out of your ass now, stinging so good.

Apparition! Toji feels your gummy walls grip his fingers, and you have the audacity to say - 'I just get really into things' - you little fucking brat. He shoves his fingers even deeper when you're yanking down the man's pants, pressing kisses down his toned abdomen, but Toji does not let you get that far. 'you're so hot' the man's murmuring, when Toji yanks your ass off the bed. 'Oh! Are you okay?' The man sits up, frowning with worry, and your psycho ass laughs, pissing Toji off even more, when he yanks on your hair, but of course no one can see, only you know, he's still here. 'Just a moment, Gojo, okay?' he nods then, and you rush to the bathroom, smiling in the mirror, when he appears right behind you.

Apparition! Toji wraps his arms around you now, and you get a good look at his strong body, at a face you keep seeing in dreams, but it's in a deep fucking scowl now. 'The fuck you think you're doing?' when you hear him though, your surprise grips you, shaking as your eyes meet his in the mirror, but when you turn around, he's not even there, only in the reflection. 'You don't come see me anymore...' he sighs now, shaking his head, before lifting you in the fucking air like it's nothing, as you dangle off the ground. 'I was trying to be considerate, shit, but I see you wanna get fucked, don't you?'

Apparition! Toji chokes your pretty little throat as he sinks his fingers into your mouth, and you taste him for the first time, sweet and cool on your tongue. You manage a weak nod, when he's sunk his thick cock inside of you, holding you ascended while he fucks into your much smaller body, you're screaming out, likely scaring the shit out of poor Gojo, while he pumps in and out, you hear the squelching wetness of your cunt as you stare at his handsome features, and you're shuddering, pouring arousal all down his length. 'S-so big!' you're whining out, as he feels you, so tight, flipping you then so you can't see him and sitting you on the counter, sinking back into your perfect cunt.

Apparition! Toji mutters in your ear now - 'you're mine, doll, can't have you sucking some fucking man, can I?' - and you can still hear him, while he's pounding your cunt, but you can't see him, you just feel him, nodding desperately. 'threesome?' you tease, smirking, and he chokes that throat, pounding your cunt mercilessly, oxygen being sucked away while your ghostly lover wrecks your inner walls. 'That's enough, doll, fuck you s'good you forget anything' Toji finds out then, that when he busts inside you, you can see him - for just a moment, your eyes locking feels surreal, as he moans out, kissing your lips for the first time.

Apparition! Toji leaves your cunt leaking his cum, disappearing suddenly, and you curse, as Gojo knocks on your bathroom door - 'are you all right!?' - shit, shit, shit. You're looking around glaring - 'where did you go, what's your name!?' - your whispers are just met with Toji chuckling like the ass of a man he is. He thinks next time he'll tell you his name, but he needs to make sure you send this man home first, so he has you all to himself.

This was from a dream in my nap I took today aha, I know this is random as fuckk hehe if you want more of him lmkk <3

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @raendarkfaerie @shokosbunny

[apocalypse-shuffle]

DANNY "JED OLSEN" JOHNSON | THE GHOST FACE (dead by daylight)

—

“Strike a Pose” (Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson | The Ghost Face & Fem!Reader)

| You’re almost one of The Ghost Face’s victims, until you realize you’re the current object of his curiosity of course.

| NSFW, canon typical violence, psychological trauma (TW: general sadism, forced blood consumption, knife licking, no Smut - implied or otherwise - but Danny's dialogue is suggestive enough that it could be triggering.) - Doesn’t have to be read as slash like at all, but you can read it however you like.

| Also I used Danny for this but it doesn’t take place in the Entity’s realm or anything. His Ghostface just fit. Also, over the course of researching for this fic, I realized that a lot of the fics I’ve read with Danny’s Ghostface didn’t technically have his “canon” personality - and honestly in those fics he read more like Mickey almost. I mention it because I had to switch up my original concept once I realized his personality in the game was different than what I’d previously seen and I blame you people. (pic source: DbD promotional material)

| 1k+ words

It takes a crash and blurred movement out of the corner of your eye for the scene in front of you to clarify and then a scream tears its way up your throat.

The reverberation into the still air seemed to be the kick in the ass everyone needed because then you’re all moving. Not sticking around to watch the man in the mask finish climbing through the window, or to bear witness to how he instantly rushes to gut one of your friends. You lose track of damn near everyone except Alyssa, who you’re following to the back door - it was her house if anyone knew how to escape it’d be her. Leaving the image of Tiny’s mangled face and contorted body behind.

Fuck. You’d told your friends somebody was following y’all earlier.

An even worse problem occurs when a burst of ruckus sounds from way too close behind you for comfort and a high pitched wail of a scream starts up from another one of your friends; Cayla. That means there’s only two of you left now. The thump of a body and squelch of metal through flesh feels close enough to be at your feet.

It startles you bad, your vision blurring for a second. Then you make a hard left and run headlong into a wall. You collide with it hard enough to force a wheeze past your lips and for more tears to sprout from your eyes due the pressure on your nose. Even your hearing fails you for a couple seconds after impact, the sounds of your friends being slaughtered around you muted to nothing.

You have to take a moment to reorient yourself; your nose wasn’t bleeding but it was pounding something serious and you have to force yourself to wait until you can hear again to start back up looking for a way to escape. It doesn’t take long after you’ve reorganized your game plan for you to realize the now missing variable to your original plan.

“Shit,” you whimper, you lost Alyssa.

Once you're able, you turn around to see where she would have run off to only to be met with a dark smudge of movement before you’re face to face with black robes and a stark white mask. Even him just barely managing to stop himself from crashing into the adjacent wall doesn’t bring your situation any levity.

You give a muffled cry but even before you’ve turned to run you know he’s going to catch you. So said so done too, because not four steps in does a body slam into you from behind. The force sends your head bouncing off yet another fucking wall but this time you really do cry as your nose gives way beneath the pressure with a dull crunch and your body trips over itself to get away.

Without your say so you’re turned around, back slammed up against the wall that’d just been intimately acquainted with your nose, and your eyes assaulted by an emotionless ghost mask all up in your face.

The whimper that falls past your lips is downright pathetic and in any other situation you’d be embarrassed. Admittedly though, you’d like to afford yourself some grace in your last few moments alive.

The man in front of you gives a low hum, bloody knife in hand making tiny absentminded cuts into the air, while he inspects you. Face soiled with blood, snot and tears as you tremble with the force of held in sobs you know you must make quite the picture. Out of all the places you could’ve died young in, it was going to be goddamn “always safe” suburbia.

Life was funny like that.

When the man pulls away a bit more and brandishes the sleek bloody hunters knife to you though, you can’t muster up the desire to laugh.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, voice monotone. Even so he sounds - terrifyingly - like he’s mocking you. “Lick it clean…indulge a recurring fantasy of mine…and maybe you’ll survive to see daylight.”

For a beat all you can give him is this wide eyed stare - he wants you to do what? - but when he tsks some greater energy has you rushing to lurch forward. Scared he’ll change his mind in one quick swoop you run the tip of your tongue up the flat side of the hunting knife. The blood is fresh enough that you easily cut a clear line through it to the metal underneath. Could you get malaria from this? Syphilis?

There’s a sharp exhale then, like you’d genuinely caught him off guard.

“Atta girl,” he says, lowly. “I knew you’d be good for me.”

You only make a small wounded noise in response.

The next thing that pings into your mind is the taste. You almost yoke from it right then and there before another thought, that this blood was your friends’ (who were now dead as hell) pervades and you remind yourself that you didn’t want to add to the next layer of crimson.

So you keep licking in spite of the twinge of copper in your mouth and this weird man’s reactions to you. His eyes that you can’t see but damn sure can feel across the exposed planes of your dark skin. It’s a near physical thing crawling across your body and making you shiver. You snivel, blinking away the tears in your eyes, and swallow down another gulp of blood in the name of survival.

What feels like an eternity of this goes by till the motions of you slowly - determinedly - getting through the majority of the blood on the first side become a background action.

Passingly you find yourself hoping that Alyssa got help, that someone will be here soon to save you. You just had to stall long enough. You could do it, come on—

“Look at you,” he says, almost lively enough to be crooning. “Look at how low you’ll go to survive.”

The break in the silence, being forced back into the moment, makes your trembling start anew.

He chuckles lowly when the speed of your tears starts to pick back up.

“This feels better though doesn’t it?” He gestures lazily at your head and then the greater expanse of the house. “Not having to lie to yourself all the time?”

The knife gets tilted away mid lap and the way he points the tip of the blade more predominantly towards himself subconsciously forces you to look straight at him.

“It’s rude not to answer a question, Y/n.”

Now your eyes snap fully to attention, attempting to meet the killer's gaze beneath the mask even as the blood freezes in your veins so succinctly your body shivers.

Even so you do your best to convey with your eyes just how much you disagree with his reading of the situation. Fuck him, you’re not- you’re not enjoying this.

“How- my name? How do you—?”

“Hn,” he replies, cutting through your blubbering. It’d be a scoff if he’d put any inflection behind it. “I’ll be nice, since I took most of my energy out on your friends, and take that as a yes.”

“No,” you gasp. You shake your head, swinging side to side so fast his form blurs before you stop.

“Alyssa got away.” You’re sure she did. It couldn’t possibly have taken you that long to recover, and she was ahead of you. No way she didn’t make it to the door! “She got away,” you say again, voice fainter.

She had to have, you didn’t know what—

“Did she?”

You shudder, eyes fluttering around him in a daze before focusing quick on the knife as it swings back to your mouth.

“Here. Keep licking,” he says, the blade waves lazily. “Maybe you’ll pick up on the notes of bitterness from all that smoking she did.”

All you do is stare up at him. Your eyes are starting to sting from all the salt and have long gone red with irritation.

His grip on the handle tightens, leather gloves creaking.

“Now.”

You start back up on autopilot and actually - to your utmost shock - start trying to taste for any hint of bitterness under the metallic twang. You hiccup roughly, body trying and failing to regulate itself, when you find it. Nose wrinkling in disgust another wave of bile threatens to crash over you.

The knife is snatched away.

You wouldn’t dare say you were grateful for the reprieve, but you do take full advantage of the opportunity to desperately take in a few gulps of air. Being in this situation was embarrassing enough without you puking all over your tormentor; whatever satisfaction you gained from it would surely be extinguished by the absolutely feral way he’d kill you.

You’d seen what he did to Tiny, heard just how awful his attack on Cayla had been. For a man you didn’t at all recognize the voice of he’d went in on Tiny like a rabid animal, except there’d been no hope of her escaping. He’d been brutal but fast, your friend had wailed all the way to her grisly death. There was zero mercy in this man’s speed and just thinking about it makes one horrible sob shake loose from your throat.

He lets you get a few more tentative swipes in. Let’s you finish shining the first side of the knife, before seeming to fully deem you not worthy of stabbing - at least immediately - and tilting the knife smoothly away. His breaths are as shaky as yours before he clears his throat.

“Now close your eyes.” He chuckles at how long it takes for you to blink up at him. Your eyebrows furrow.

The broad side of the knife taps at your upper lip in chastisement. He tsks again. It’s an exaggerated sound, overly harsh.

“Come on, you’re so close. Just shut your eyes. I’ll make sure you get it all.”

Once again you can’t help but to search for his gaze. Whether looking for reassurance, or something else, you don’t know. The black eye holes of the gaunt mask reveal nothing either way but, abdomen tight and hands shaking, you do as requested.

A low pleased sound and then the knife is back at your mouth, moving along with your tongue like promised. Making sure you lap up all the blood. After that all you really have to focus on is doing your best to behave while avoiding this jackass cutting you up.

A rough voice drags you back to yourself.

“Say cheese.”

He sounds like he’s smiling, the dark chuckle he lets out only confirming your suspicions, and just as you look up in confusion there’s a flash of bright light that has you blinking back spots.

When you finally regain your vision the knife is so clean it glints in the moonlight and its wielder is staring down at a digital camera.

“Sweet,” he murmurs quietly before his attention is suddenly back on you.

You suck in a sharp breath and he sounds a helluva lot like he’s not holding you at knifepoint when he speaks next. He boops your nose with the flat of the blade, laughing at how you jump.

“I’ll find you,” he says, casual as anything. “Make it fun for me.”

Your heart seizes in your chest as he walks off; the sobs you’d been barely holding back break free, instantly rubbing your throat raw with their force.

Death would’ve been a kinder faith.

NOTES: Well…Hope you enjoyed!!!

First Halloween fic of the month!

Logistically, I knew this fic was fucked up but it wasn’t until I had to post it and started tagging it that I realized just how fucked up. I was clearly reliving some stuff here, that was not on purpose.

This was the only Halloween fic I had ready to go though, and I was not missing out on posting on the first day of the month. Also, I know Danny probably isn’t supposed to be a Ghostface who’s clumsy enough to be stumbling into shit, but it’s a staple! I couldn’t help myself!

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

[blackynsupremacy]

why the hell haven’t i seen ghostface!nac fics yet? ya’ll can’t tell me he wouldn’t kill it as a modern version of billy loomis or just a sexy psycho killer in general. hell, nick could be a reimagined 1978 michael myers ifykyk

if there’s any, please tag me.

[screampied]

‘ THIS AIN’T FICTION, BABY! (it is kinda..) ★

☆ sum. jjk men finding out you write jaw dropping smut. boo you whore. can you even do half the things you write about? well . .

warnings. fem! reader, feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, breaking the forth wall kekw, smut writer reader, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, squırting, manhandling, cuńnilingus, whiny men, cockwarming, daddy kink, overstim, spıt, impact play, breaking the bed, bréeding, size kinks.

GOJO ☆

“oooooh,” a husky low voice coos right next to your ear. hot breath ghosts against the tiny hairs that stand tall near the back of your neck. you bit your lip whilst you’re in the midst of being stuffed full of cock. just plain evil . . satoru’s got you cockwarming him while a fat thumb of his skims down your phone. “let’s see. gojo smut, gojo satoru x reader, hey that’s me, heh,” and he pauses, a snowy brow raising up in daze once he sees your user displayed in bold near the very top of the search bar. “cockwarming gojo, how fitting, angel.”

“toru, fuck,” you whine, making a cute attempt at trying to snatch your phone away. weakly pawing at his wrist, he holds it up even higher. you gasp, feeling his swollen tip swivel its way deeper inside your cunt. “don’t read it,” you fall back into his chest, moaning once he starts to purposely bounce his thigh. embarrassment had you hot, you could practically feel your heartbeat accelerating by the minute. “ ‘s embarrassing.”

satoru squints, resuming to scroll down the glowing screen before a free hand of his trails toward your pussy. he hums, “aw, pretty girl’s got a hobby i didn’t even know of, hm. here, you say ‘he’s got you right on his lap, suppressing a moan with your teeth dug into the bottom of your lip as you’re taking him fully. .’ such nasty literature,” and the edges of your nails pierce into his pants leg. the half on long black slacks that satoru wore were merely all ruffled and ragged thanks to your pretty fingernails tugging at it with all its might. as he continues to read, you’re whining, desperate to move, desperate for at least some kind of friction. as you’re squirming on his lap, satoru’s eye then twitches. “ ‘gojo satoru also would whine in bed?’ this has to be a typo. .”

and of course, his ego gets bruised.

the pout on satoru’s face was adorable. as you’re trying to sturdy your hips, he buries his face into your chest. “mmph,” he’s shoved right between the softness of your tits, his personal happy place.

although—he had to admit, he was flattered that you wrote such lewd compositions about him. you moan as you’re grinding against him, feeling his achy cock slam into you deep within each wet bounce. satoru makes a mess as he’s buried between your plush mounds, remnants of stringy saliva dribbling down the valley of your chest. pretty, his white lashes flutter as you’re quickening your hip movements and he gasps. “oh, f- fuck, angel. ‘s no fair when you ride me like thaaat.”

and you can’t help but giggle—despite your cock drunken state, he’s still got that little glower of a pout on his lips as you’re rutting into him.

satoru’s clenched abs flex more the second you run a finger down the sharp outline of his pecs, watching him immediately fold at your touch. “but you always whine, ‘toru,” you argue in a shivering voice, your cunt tightly squeezing around his length. his wide girth makes your mouth water, such thickness was just insane. you bury your unstable knees into the center of his thighs before his broad big arms wrap around you.

he’s holding you—almost squishing you.

but just like you wrote, satoru whines the second he ends up cumming early. with the way you ride him and the crazed speed of your hips, he never ever lasted long.

it was cute,

he was always confident until he’s buried deep inside your pussy, whining and sobbing pathetic cacophonies of your name at how good you feel clamping around him. it’s merry lukewarm, as he snaps, a puddle of thick syrupy cum shoots into you deep and he’s an entire frantic mess. pants of airy breath slip out of his pink lips as he’s giving you a fill, biting into your neck to hide his slutty whimpers. “god, ‘m gonna die,” he sniffles, squeezing pressure against your bare ass. you hold onto him tight as he’s pouring such slippery wads of seed into you at once—velvety hot amounts spit inside your pussy and you’re matching heavy gasps for air right with him, entirely in sync. “fuck, fuck baby, mommy.”

“what?”

“s- shut up,” he back tracks, and he sees the smug expression growing on your face. satoru lightly smacks a hand over his face before groaning, his cock all milked and flaccid. “i said baby.”

NANAMI ☆

tender mahongy eyes stare deep into your eyes as your fingers happily intertwine with his. tangled and curled, he’s got a soft grip as his body hovers completely over yours.

with ruffled blond strands running down the front of his forehead, nanami brings a kiss toward your cheek as he’s not just fucking you, but making love to you in missionary. “sweetheart, you left your laptop open you know,” and you moan once you feel his plump tip circle its way inside of your gummy inviting walls. already, you’re coating his entire dick with your slimy slick to the hilt. your eyes widen at his words before the left side of your twitching lip is met with another gentle kiss. “i didn’t mean to be nosy, but i saw a little ‘headcanon’ about me, is that what you call it?”

you glance into his eyes with abashed intent as a burning wave of heat sprays over your face. fuck, the pulse of your thumping heart only grew louder as your first response was utter silence.

“i—” you mutter out, and he chuckles at your lack of words, digging his head into your neck. nanami’s scent was strong, it goes through each of your nostrils and you felt yourself throbbing from his touch alone.

his strokes were tender and precise. he’s swaying back and forth as his bare body continues to rut straight into you. pent up muscles of his that were merely perfectly sculptured—identical to the physique of a greek god, you couldn’t help but stare. you just couldn’t help but ogle at how he’s so pretty, how fat tears of sweat race down both sides of his bulky arms. no one could blame you for writing about nanami, although—the things you wrote about him, they were pretty risqué to say the least. with a growing pout, your arms throw over his shoulders as he’s presenting your cunt blissful deep thrusts. “okay, i write about you sometimes, ‘ken. ‘m sorry.”

“sorry for what exactly? being talented, silly girl?” he whispers in a raspy tone.

nanami cups your chin so you could look right at him, naturally leaning into his touch. he focuses on the way your eyes soften and he’s plummeting girthy inches into you raw. your toes curl, running down his back and tickling the scratch marks that paint against his flushed skin. “don’t be sorry,” he adds, pressing a wet kiss near the crook of your neck. “i’m flattered. although, dirty talk isn’t exactly my forte. you know this, my love,” and you moan, feeling the edges of his teeth playfully nibble at your exposed flesh. as pounds of skin resume to smack against each other loudly, nanami slowly lifts up your leg, tossing it over your shoulder. “my favorite part had to be when you said i pulled on your hair ‘n called you a ‘messy whore’ .”

“y- you weren’t supposed to see that,” you nervously grin . . trying to avoid how you were so close to finishing. just a few more thrusts and that was it, you’d be finished, done for. you’ve felt embarrassed before—but never to this extent. he was teasing you, nanami kento was teasing you. and pathetically enough, your pussy twitched as he recited your exact filthy written words. the bed continues to creak and groan as jolting bodies move and move together, amongst each other, and on top of each other.

with kind eyes, nanami watches as you bring both of your hands up to your face, hoping to shield yourself from any more embarrassment.

“oh, honey,” he coos in a melodically low tone. his cock reached so deep that strangled moans flew out from your lips left and right. his tempo was always just right. he never wanted to lose control, but after reading your work, he knew you’d probably like that. crimson damp lips press under your chin before he grunts, preparing himself to be milked dry.

“hngh, don’t hide that pretty face from me,” he huffs, in a soft alluring voice. everything felt abnormally tender, nanami’s softly swerving his body against yours in irregular addictive arcs in such impassioned ardent. the more you stare into your eyes—the more your blown pupils dilate.

once he cup both sides of your face, you lean into his touch. his base was thick, swollen and full. you craved him more than anything, and it’s as if your words were actually coming to life.

“there she is, that’s my girl,” he grits in a raspy voice, prying your hands away from your face. his touch was forevermore gentle. with a soft smile, nanami presses his twitching ruby lips onto yours as you both prepare to cum in euphoric torrent. bedaubing a plump thumb over your bottom quivering lip, he slows his thrusts down a few beats—hearing you vocal pussy’s squelches before a wrinkle of a smile curls against his lips. “now, now. make a mess on your husband’s cock jus how you write them in your little stories, my love.”

GETO ☆

“oh, boo. looks like someone’s innocent all of a sudden when she’s not writing ‘bout dick, hm? wonder why that is,” geto hums, propped right up between your trembly legs. he’s staring at you with a sly smirk that refuses to wipe off his lips. two of his hands spread your thighs apart more before kissing near your slobbering exposed pussy.

with a cunning grin, he gives your drooling folds a few friendly taps as if it was a little mic test. “finish that paragraph. c’mon, wanna make sure ‘m doin’ it right.”

a salty taste of shame fills and salivates inside of your mouth as you watch him with heart shaped pupils. he’s got the most hungry gaze, a bit of spit already dribbling from the thin corners of his lips.

“um, okay,” you moan, picking up your phone again, leisurely dragging a thumb down the neatly typed paragraphs. “it says, ‘you whine, taking s-suguru’s thick fingers happily into your slippery cunt. long digits of his rummage their way inside before curling all around. once suguru spits on your p- pussy, he pats it and calls it a good girl.’ ”

“like this?” geto snickers—copying your exact words, using the flat palm of his hand to rub against your bare clit. you whimper, entirely sensitive as his thick digits toy with your soddened folds. your thighs continue to jostle and shake and he found it so adorable at how you just couldn’t stay still. so cute, he’s got darkened irises focused on you and only you the entire time. these seconds felt like hours, and as he gathers a nice amount of saliva, he spits right on your cunt. just like you wrote it . . you gasp at the sloppy cold saliva cascading down your pussy. the cobwebby strands that pour from his lips had such a pretty glimmer to it. the warm breath of geto that fans against your entrance makes you twitch in elated pleasure.

he’s so sloppy, unapologetically. just like your drabble said—he then pats your cunt with an open palm before leaning right up close, pulling a thumb down your pulsating uvula before licking it passionately. “good fuckin’ girl.”

you whine, your knees practically buckling and he’s just eating your expressions up. “y- yes— like that, fuck,” you move a few long black strands away from his face. geto dips two fingers inside and he stretches you out so easily with his digits. your lips form into a cute ‘o’ shape as you mewl out a desperate cry for more. as he’s watching you succumb into such bliss, he’s got such a pretty face. it makes his dick twitch in his sweats at the thought of you writing about how he goes down on you. the specifics, how sloppy he is, even how he spanks your cunt only to then shamelessly lick the slick mess right up with his tongue.

the thought that probably hundreds of your horny little readers read about this, about him, about his tongue . .

geto’s tongue was ruthless.

he lays it flat against your cunt before fluttering his long black lashes closed. he huskily groans, not even caring that you weren’t reading anymore. as his brows arch into a contorting furrow, he slides in two fat fingers. you whimper at the sudden big yet deliciously enthralling stretch, yanking roughly on his hair. “s . . sugu,” he pulls his slick covered fingers out, licking them clean whilst staring you right in the eyes. you tremor within his hold, feeling his palms tighten its grasp on both of your thighs. you couldn’t lie, this felt a lot better than fiction. so much better . .

he’s making out with your pussy, swirling his tongue around and spelling out all of the letters of his name. creating such a mess, your slick then starts to stream down his chin to which he happily licks it up. groaning, geto then slurps at your drenched hole before giving it yet another kiss. his chin had such luminescent shine to it. you cup his face with shaky hands as he’s eating you out through another orgasm and he jibes.

“mhm, your writing could use a bit more dirty talk though,” he critiques, swiping a thumb against his lips before he spanks your cunt for the umpteenth time.

with your legs sporadically quivering, he playfully bites on your clit, watching you squeal as you’re riding orgasm out on his tongue. “oh, and make sure you add in your little fics that i bite pretty clits too.”

CHOSO ☆

“bottom? w- what’s a bottom?”

choso quirks a brow in cute confusion, slouching back as you’re still getting over your most recent orgasm.

both pounds of sweltering skin melt into each other, sticking together like glue as your hips grow unsteady. choso was reading one of your published works and he can’t help but grow curious. the way you wrote about him, how you portrayed him as whiny and submissive, it does something to him—he personally always thought he was dominant. cute. .

“oh, don’t worry about that, baby,” you timidly utter, trying to conceal an incoming moan once his cock buries its way deep in yet again. he’s nice and snug everyone and it drives him crazy. choso’s got a pout—but it quickly turns into a lewd expression once your sopping pussy swallows him right up again. two jittery hands creep their way onto your rickety hips and he moans once he feels himself already bottoming out. “f- fuck, cho.”

his eyebrows were still all furrowed and he’s got a cute scrunched up expression. “ ‘m not a bottom,” choso grumps, leaning in to sneak a kiss near the corner of your mouth. despite the raspiness lingering underneath his tone—you could hear the incoming whine desperately trying to escape. choso’s black ponytails had cute ribbons in them—by you, and he’s biting his lip at the feeling of your hips starting to grind. “i- i can be dominant too.”

“prove it,” you whisper, a bratty impish glint forming in your eyes. choso scoffs, narrowing his eyes at you but it doesn’t last at all because he’s already pussy drunk to the max.

those two words. . those two words was all it took for him to manhandle you like a rag doll, politely and respectfully tossing you into the springy soft mattress.

it bounces from the abrupt weight crashing down and you gasp once choso backs up his words, and oh, he’s fucking you stupid. you let off a gargled three second moan once choso spanks your ass, using one hand to repeatedly drag you back into his chiseled hips. sharp thrusts plow into you with such speed that you’re left with a dumbfounded expression. your eyes were rolling back and your tongue was lolled out as choso was fucking you in doggy.

as much as you write about him, he doesn’t like doggy, mainly because he can’t see your pretty face. it kills him—but he can’t deny that the view of you like this was so pretty, so enticing. your buckling knees lock as you’re cupping a hand over your mouth, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

choso’s cock was so weighty and thick that it’s got a lazy curve, a mean curve that makes itself known in every part of your insides. he’s no stranger to your body, he knows the exact layout. such stamina—you didn’t expect him to be so feral, it’s as if he was an entire different person. “fuck, fuuuck,” he throws his head back, giving your ass more and more hard spanks. the recoil was his favorite. it was just the way your pretty shaped ass would bounce back onto him. he’s in love with love, in love with your pussy, in love with you. “ngh, gotta show you ‘m not a bottom, baby.”

“c- choso,” you whimper, and his fat base swings against your ass, almost shocking you from the electric friction. you’re drooling—he’s got you stupid as your swollen chaste clit bumps up against his pelvis every single time. the bed hollers out a plethora of cries as he’s jerking more and more into you. your cunt’s drooling dewy slick all down the undersides of your thighs. you even make an attempt at trying to touch yourself. with slickness though, choso snatches your wrist away.

“no baby. ‘s my pussy,” he grumbles, pinning an arm behind your back. you’re babbling—squatting forward as he’s feeding your needy pussy with such inches. choso hisses at the brief twinges of pleasure all due to your sloppy grip. you’re brutal, wetting up his base with your dewy slick. he can’t help but stare and gawk at the way your ass presses up against him. choso’s bottom lip quivers at how good it feels and how good you feel. no matter how much of a front he puts up, he’s gonna whine. “f- fuck. teasin’ me with your hips, baby. so mean.”

yet as he’s dragging you back and forth, watching as your chest heaving and your thighs try to clamp inward—you abruptly cum, gushing all over choso’s cock. he huffs at how sudden it was, and he knew you didn’t expect it in the slightest. so pretty, your final orgasmic cries sounded like a sweet candied harmony and he could feel your quavering body breaking down with his shaft still shoved deeply inside. your mess soaks up the entirety of the dark sheet, now being drenched in a damp grey color. “fuck, fuck,” you whimper, shaking as your head slumps into the pillow. choso whines at your own pleasure, and he doesn’t even care if he doesn’t finish. he pulls out, crawling toward you before burying his face into the nook of your neck. “c- choso, oh my g- god.”

as your flimsy arms hold him close, accepting his embrace, he goes back to his clingy needy self again, speaking in a shivering soft voice. “h- have you ever wrote about squirting yet?”

with droopy eye lids, you were longing for a kiss. as if he read your mind, he leans in—planting a sultry balmy kiss right onto your lips. “no,” you mumble, moving a few strands out of his face.

choso licks near your neck, one of his hands sprawling your sticky legs apart and he brushes a finger against your slick wet cunt. “w- well, you can always write about that,” and you gasp once he lifts your leg up, easily tossing it over his shoulder. with pleading eyes, choso sighs. “but, can we do that again, baby? i- i think i like when you squirt on me.”

SUKUNA ☆

“breeding kink, interesting,” the demon gruffs, hearing you whine after he swipes his phone from your hand, wondering what in the actual hell could be so important.

he’s reading a strange explicit story of himself that’s apparently called a ‘one shot,’ according to you. how stupid, he thinks. sukuna’s irked vermillion-shot eyes skim through the many paragraphs of filth before he spanks your ass, making you keep your most recent arch.

“ah, seems like y’r even more nasty than i thought,” and your breath hitches once he circles a palm over your stinging rear cheek— an attempt at soothing the sudden pang. hearing your cute muffled whimpers, he mocks your noises. “aw, if you wanted me to ‘breed’ you princess, you could have just asked.”

“ ‘kuna, ‘s embarrassing,” you moan, gasping once he smears his leaky tip against your entrance. he was right - you could’ve ask, you could have asked him to do all the little dirty things you wrote about, you could have . .

swallowing the invisible lump that resides at the roof of your mouth, you imagine yourself being stuffed full of sukuna’s cum. so much to where he ends up getting you all swollen—you’d be nothing but sitting pretty with a cute plump tummy, wads and wads of glossy runny cum just slickly dribbling down the sides of your ass and thighs.

“write like a slut ‘n you even act like one too,” he hums, using a thumb to slide down your pussy. sukuna’s staring openly at how you’re already so soaked, so drenched and he looks like he’s ready to feast. your puffy folds glisten with your own arousal and it’s so so cute. “wonder if you write while havin’ a pussy this sloppy too,” and he smacks it raw, feeling your entire body jolt from the sudden impact. you fall into the soft padded mattress and he darkly chuckles at your weakly spot-on reaction time, aligning himself. “poor baby. spendin’ all this time writing when you could’ve been getting . . ah, what’s the word? oh, right. bred, heh.”

and sukuna does more than just breed you—he quite literally overflows your cunt. he’s a demon, and demons cum a lot.

you’re an entire puddled mess that was filled to the brim.

the sheets were all damp and stained and you’re glistening with droplets of perspiration—radiating from his heat entirely. “s- sukuna, fuck,” you weep out his name, hearing the sloppy spurts of cum still dribbling out of you. such a mess, your mouth waters as you realize just how full you are. you always wrote about this sort of thing but never knew that your silly fiction could turn into mere reality. both of your thighs stick together as you’re left trembling with an arch in your back. he’s cackling at your state, watching as globs of creamy ropes leak out of your slobbering pussy.

“how cute, jus might mess around ‘n get you pregnant, yeah,” the demon jibes, a sharp fang poking underneath his bottom lip. you’re haplessly quivering. your panties that were lazily dragged to the side were all torn and ripped, coated in a ivory white color also. as you’re trying to collect breaths—you then let off a moan once he presses himself deep against you.

your womb was completely flooded, you’re drowning with his stringy cum and with his hot burly body right up against you, you feel him right there. you couldn’t miss it, he’s so long and thick that he’s practically tickling your goopy insides. sukuna wraps a hand around your throat whilst another hand sneaks toward your pussy. “bet you’d like that, fuckin’ freak,” and he’s smearing circles against your folds. you twitch at his cursed hand, his cock still tucked inside of you before he laughs against your ear. “you want a baby, huh. wanna carry my demon babies, don’t ya princess?”

you nod and he lets off a snicker of amusement. “keh. bet you do,” and his voice lowly pitches. you moan, feeling him pull out of your dripping cunt, plugging his spilling cum back in with a single thumb. “fuck, better write about this too, princess. let all your pathetic readers know how much of a sloppy pussy their favorite author has,” and you gasp once he quickly flips you over. sukuna suddenly dives head first between your legs, lapping his flick tongue against your folds. “mmph, now watch me clean you up,” and he spits on your pussy only to then look at it with disgust. “messy girl.”

TOJI ☆

“nuh uh, get the fuck back here babygirl,” he grabs you by the hip, and you let off a moan once his fingers trail up your skirt. a wavering crinkle prods near the edge of his left twitching eye as he’s processing such raunchy words about him. a dry chortle leaves from toji’s mouth as he makes you lie on your tummy, multitasking by slapping his swollen cockhead on your dribbling folds. “ya always told me you were a writer but i didn’t think you write ‘bout this,” he purrs, and your toes curl once he’s aligning himself against your slick heat. but fuck was your cunt just was drooling for him. both folds were weeping for him to just go in already, and yet here he was - teasing you. “really? what’s with the whole ‘toji daddy kink’ thing? i look like the kinda guy that’s into that?”

you feel embarrassment creep up your shoulder. he was reading that part, the part where reader calls him ‘daddy.’

sheepishly trying to crawl away from his grasp, you swallow ignominy. “ ‘s not real, i just made it up toji,” you try to explain through gritted teeth. but as he’s reeling you back into his keen structed hips, you lewdly mewl. he’s just so fucking big, happily massaging your walls freely with just a few inches. your mouth widens as you hear him lowly snickering in the background. a snickering laugh that never failed to make your pussy throb.

toji grabs at the fat of your ass, stubby fingertips poking through your skin. with a mean spank, it’s a non-verbal sign for you to stay still. “y’er a fuckin’ slut with your writing, baby. i bet ya haven’t even tried these kinks,” he teases, and you moan again once his cock delves deeper into your walls. with such ease, you back raises up into an even sluttier arch. “hm, lets see if y’er as nasty as you write,” and you hear him grunt briefly, one of his hands gently wrapping around your neck. toji gets right up close to your ear, flicking his tongue against your soft earlobe. “go on, say it.”

“s- say what?” you squeak, but you knew exactly what he wanted. never in a million years would you have thought toji would discover your little erotic hobby. by now, he’s balls deep—you whine, feeling yet another sharp swat smack against your left ass cheek at the lack of response. you’re chewing on the inside of your cheek in guilt before you hear toji smack his lips in sheer vex.

“c’mon, don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs in a hoarse tone, salacious timbre pouring on his entire voice. toji feels your pussy dripping around him and he hums, giving you just one single tease of a thrust. your body jerks forward and you whimper sweetly. he’s so close up to you, hard washboard abs of his that were proudly flexing grinds against your back. he’s pressing his muscular weight onto you, careful not to crush you but just enough to. inching his lips back toward your ear, he kisses near your neck. “call me daddy. jus like how you write me, little girl.”

as you’re feeling a few throbbing pangs between your thighs, you shiver underneath him. burying your head in shame between your arms, you whine. “ngh, daddy,” and a weird feeling pools around the insides of your stomach. butterflies and a mixture of flutters swarm inside of you and you moan. once those words slip past your lips so prettily, toji raspily groans. he pistons his hips before not even seconds later, he’s fucking you stupid. babbles of babbles leave from you, and you’re acting just like the main character you write for. ironic, you’re clinging onto the silky cream-colored sheets, bawling up the thinly-made fabric with your clammy fists before squealing. “fuck, daddy ‘m not gonna last.”

“should hear how stupid you fuckin’ sound, baby,” he growls, merciless hips snapping into you at full throttle. you were gonna break, you just knew it. toji’s thrusts were so powerful that you’re left squeaking out pathetic whimpers—his cock stretching you out as if you were elastic. “fuck,” he runs a hand through his messy dark tresses. his shaggy strands were unkempt, overgrown a bit and running down his eyes. he’s got to cock his head up a bit just to see your pretty face and your even prettier ass. “c’monnn, do that cute arch you describe in y’r slutty fics.”

“t- tojiii,” you whimper, the weight of the bed dipping after each continuous stroke. he’s thorough. toji’s maddened fat tip has your legs becoming more and more unstable before he smacks your ass. the powerful hit against your rear rings through each of your ears—and you pout, gnawing on your lip, knowing he wants you to correct yourself. “ngh, i- i mean daddy. ‘m gonna cum, fuck.”

but right when you’re about to finish, you’re interrupted by the ear-splitting sound of wood. you’re moaning—feeling your pussy continue to squeeze around his throbbing length that’s coated with veins all the way down to the tan swollen base. it’s loud, you gasp once the weight of the springy bed suddenly drops and you both collapse—toji falling on top of you. he doesn’t even say anything, and he pulls you up to continue fucking you but you let off a whiny whimper. “you just broke my b-bed.”

“yeah, so.”

“so..? you’re gonna have to buy me a new one.”

“right. about that . .”

[mamibaddie]

Warning: SMUT 18+ only!!

Obsessed!Charlie Walker (from Scream 4)

Obsessed!charlie who sees you and instantly becomes obsessed. He’s infatuated with everything about you. From your hair, to your skin that glistens in the sun, to the way you laugh.

Obsessed!Charlie who befriends you in class. You think he’s such a great guy, despite what others have said about him.

Obsessed!Charlie who has a favorite pair of jeans and shorts that you wear because it makes your ass look so good. He has to try hard to keep his composure.

Obsessed!Charlie who always sneaks into your window on most nights. It weirdly happens around the time you start changing into your PJs for the night.

Obsessed!Charlie whose imagination is so strong, it feels as if it’s real. Which comes in handy for his dreams. No pun intended.

Obsessed!Charlie who has the most raunchiest dreams about you being naked in his bed, fucked out, and covered in his cum.

Obsessed!Charlie who can’t help but rub one out after meeting up with you between classes.

Your friends see right through him. They think he’s a creep who always stares at you and your ass. But you disregard them. Charlie is thankful for that.

Obsessed!Charlie who watches horror movies and fantasizes about him dressed up as the killer and you playing as the helpless victim.

Obsessed!Charlie who has an entire favorite folder on his laptop of porn links of videos of couples who look similar to you both. There’s even categories to them.

[luvbabydoll]

more to love — simon “ghost” riley

simon “ghost” riley x chubby!fem!reader

the gym had never been your favorite place.

it was hot, crowded, and full of people who made it look easy—like lifting weights and running on treadmills was second nature. meanwhile, you were here, struggling with a machine that looked like it was built for torture rather than exercise.

you adjusted the seat, tried to grab the handles, then frowned when they felt too far away.

frustration bubbled up in your chest. maybe you were just doing it wrong. maybe you shouldn’t even be here.

“need a hand, love?”

the deep, accented voice startled you. you turned—and immediately regretted it.

because holy shit.

the man standing behind you was massive. tall, broad-shouldered, built like he could snap the machine in half with one hand. he was dressed in all black, a hoodie pulled up over his head, a skull mask covering the lower half of his face. and yet, even with all that, his presence alone made heat crawl up your neck.

“i—uh—” words? gone. brain? empty.

his eyes flicked down to the machine, then back to you.

“you’re set too far back.” his voice was gruff, like he wasn’t used to talking much. “lemme show you.”

before you could protest, he reached past you, adjusting the seat effortlessly. his arm barely grazed yours, but it was enough to make you hyper-aware of how close he was.

“try now.”

you swallowed hard, nodding, trying to ignore how warm your face felt as you reached for the handles again. this time, it fit better.

“better?”

you nodded again. “y-yeah, thanks.”

he huffed, stepping back, arms crossing over his chest. “good. no point in doin’ it if you’re just gonna hurt yourself.”

at first, that was all it was. he’d spot you now and then, offering the occasional correction, always watching with that unreadable gaze. sometimes, if you did something right, he’d murmur a quiet "good girl," and it sent a shiver down your spine every time.

but then, he started noticing things.

the way your shirt rode up when you stretched, the peek of soft skin at your waist. the way your thighs pressed together when you sat down to catch your breath. the way you avoided looking in the mirror, adjusting your clothes like you were trying to hide yourself.

and it pissed him off.

because, fuck, how did you not see what he saw?

one day, you were tugging at your shirt again, mumbling something under your breath as you glared at your reflection.

ghost heard it.

“quit that.”

you froze, looking up at him, wide-eyed.

he stepped closer, his voice dropping low. dangerous. “ain’t gonna stand here and watch you tear yourself apart. not when you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever laid eyes on.”

your breath hitched. “i—”

but he didn’t let you finish. he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the locker room—empty, because it was late—and backed you against the wall.

“y’know what i see when i look at you?” his gloved hand trailed down, fingers brushing over your belly, gripping at the soft flesh with something close to reverence. “i see somethin’ perfect.”

then his mask was up just enough for you to see his mouth, and before you could process it, he was biting.

your belly. your thighs. your love handles. he had his hands on you, all over you, pressing you against the wall as he nipped, kissed, worshiped every inch of soft skin he could reach. he growled between bites, “so fuckin’ soft,” and, ‘could spend all night right here.”

and when you tried to protest, tried to tell him you weren’t—

he growled. actually growled, sinking his teeth into your thigh before pulling back, lips curling into something almost smug.

“don’t wanna hear another word about it,” he muttered. then, hoisted you up—like it was nothing—and carried you over to the bench.

“now. y’gonna let me sit you on my lap, or you gonna make me take you home first?”