I'm Tired From Packing, But I Need My Meals *slurps*

I'm tired from packing, but I need my meals *slurps*

*ugly crying* would you ever consider giving the phone sex with danny fic a part two? 👉👈 the smut was lovely but also I'm obsessed with the 'oh shit' reaction at the end. If it's not something you'd be interested in, then just take this as me singing your praises, I love your stuff sm

Thank you!!!!! I’ve left this sitting in my inbox because I definitely wanted to continue it, but I was waiting for inspiration to hit (and it did lol). A few people have asked for a continuation of this one, so I’m fine with doing that!! I almost made this more plot-heavy but decided against it because I'd rather use those ideas for another fic!

delicious: pt. II (18+)

danny johnson x reader | warnings: explicit, slight dub-con but it's standard fare for horror fic | notes: my stupid glove kink TM shows up once again. | word count: 2405

part one

You were not one to obsessively look over your shoulder. Under normal circumstances you hated to give in to paranoia. Even if there was a serial killer roaming your town, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of letting it get to you. That’s just giving him what he wants, right? He’ll never know that this was your approach to his reign of terror, but at least it made you feel better. Well, until you maybe had phone sex with him (the fact that you hadn’t really considered that maybe the person on the other end of the phone call was that serial killer astonished you but then again, you had been a bit preoccupied that night).

“See you soon.”

It was likely an empty threat, right? Just something to unnerve you, given the climate of fear that had gripped the town. Nothing more. There was no evidence that he did this with anyone else (but then again, who else would masturbate to a threatening phone call?)

You felt stuck in your mind, going in circles of ‘what-if’s and ‘why-me’s. Every day since the phone call felt like you had been going through the motions, on edge and ready to run at any sudden movement. It was maddening but in a way, you felt like you deserved it for not being hypervigilant enough.

It’s been two days since the phone call, and you sat in your car staring at your building. You were going to have to get out of the car at some point, but being alone in your apartment didn’t seem appealing to you anymore. It was no longer your safe haven. It was now a trap and every single time you opened the door you felt like you were about to spring it on you.

Like you were being toyed with.

Sighing, you yank the keys out of the ignition, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat. Making sure the other doors were locked, you slipped out of the car, locking the door behind you. The streetlamp buzzed above you as you hurried up the stairs, eager to get out of the cold but hesitant to enter your apartment. At least, you reasoned with yourself, you were safer inside than out, right?

You almost tripped over the trash bag your neighbor had put outside of their door, apparently too lazy to take it to the dumpster. Veering around it and rolling your eyes, you hurriedly unlocked your door. You tried not to breathe a sigh of relief when you discovered it was, indeed, still locked.

After entering you kicked the door to your apartment shut, wincing as it slammed harder than you had intended. Exhaling loudly, you lean against the door, eyes closed, trying to will yourself into believing you were just having a bad week. That it was just another day of doing work that you were certainly overqualified for and there was no other reason for your frayed nerves.

You were exhausted and bordering on burnt out. Add the stress of a serial killer on the prowl, possibly coming after you, and your mind was a constant hazy mess. The only thing cutting through the haze was the hope that that call had just been a prank. But you couldn’t make yourself believe it.

You lazily toss your bag onto the already cluttered kitchen table, plopping into a chair. You’d have to make food soon. But all you wanted to do was sit there until you decided it was time to sleep.

And then, like your life was a cliche filled horror movie, the phone rang.

You had moved the phone out of your bedroom following the… incident. You weren’t sure whether you moved it due to fear or embarrassment, either way it was no longer in your room and now sat on your kitchen counter, always looming ominously in your periphery as you cooked.

But now you stared at it from your chair, watching as it rang and rang and rang. You were afraid to pick it up, but you were afraid of what might happen if you didn’t. Finally, the fear built up and you lunged to the phone, practically knocking it off the hook with the force you moved to it. Placing the receiver by your ear, you did your best to sound braver than you felt. Maybe if you just pretended it was a friend, you could play off the fact that your heart was racing and you were dizzy with fear.

“Hello?”

Nothing on the other end. It was like a cruel replay of the last call you got on this phone. But you couldn’t even hear breathing on the other end, just silence. Your brave facade dissipated and you meekly whispered into the phone.

“...Hi?”

The click of the phone being hung up rings through your ears. But it takes you a few more seconds to find the strength to hang up your own end, listening to the monotonous dial tone until you snapped out of it.

You really should have gotten caller ID for this phone.

Taking a shaky step back, you’re suddenly hyper aware of every window in your apartment, and how many of them don’t even have blinds. They’re just open for anyone to look into, see you at every minute of your life. As you exit the kitchen, you turn off the light, leaving the apartment dark.

Every creak of the floorboards under your feet seems deafening as you walk to your bedroom, ready for another sleepless night of tossing and turning and swearing you could feel someone’s eyes on you. But your eyes are tired and just being able to lay still might give you some semblance of rest.

Like the rest of the apartment, your room is dark, the only light coming from the yellow street lamps outside. You reach over to the lightswitch, ready to flip it on and get ready for bed as quickly as possible to get back into the comfortable darkness, but you don’t feel the lightswitch. What your hand meets, instead, is the distinct shape of a leather gloved hand covering it.

Your hand jerks away like it was burned, and even though you really don’t want to, you have to look to see just who is in your room. And even though it's dark in your room, you can clearly see the pale mask of the intruder.

And oh God, you hope this is a sick joke.

But you spot the slight glint of the knife he holds and suddenly it doesn’t matter if this is the real Ghostface because either way it seems he intends to harm- if not kill- you.

You can’t even scream, all you can do is press yourself against the wall perpendicular to the one he stands by, unwilling to turn away from him.

It’s so quiet you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear your heartbeat. But someone has to break the silence, the stalemate between you can’t last but so much longer.

“Please don’t hurt me.” Your voice shakes, meek when you needed it to be strong.

Sickeningly, mockingly, he tilts his head to the side, examining you.

“I’m not here to kill you.” You don’t- you can’t believe him. His hand drops from the wall, and you regret shutting the door behind you when you entered the room. “Not yet, at least.”

The worst part, though, about him finally speaking is that you definitely recognize his voice.

“Then why are you here? I didn’t realize you paid house calls before you...” Killed. Saying it was too much for you, too much of an acknowledgement that what was happening was indeed real. .

“The newspapers can’t get every detail, doll.”

That shouldn’t have made your heart skip a beat, should it? But maybe since he’d already made you cum once (regrettably), your body had no problem associating his voice with sexual gratification and pleasure. Even though your mind was very aware that in no universe should you be feeling that way.

“But I think I made a promise to you, didn’t I?”

See you soon.

“It’s not often I find a girl who gets wet from threatening phone calls.” He pushes himself off the wall, stalking towards you. You can’t press yourself any flatter against the wall and there’s nowhere for you to run. He’s right in front of you and you can’t look at him even though you feel entirely enveloped in his presence, in his smell. “So I wanna have a little fun.”

You swallow thickly, staring at the floor. You’re terrified but- and you hate to admit it- you’re also becoming increasingly hot and bothered with every word this man says to you.

“...Fun?”

The tip of his knife rests under your chin, tilting your face up towards his mask. It’s cold on your skin. He places the hand not holding the knife by your head, leaning right in front of your face. Once he seems certain that you aren’t going to drop your head again, he trails his knife down the front of your body, letting it catch on the fabric of your shirt.

“Tell me, are you wet right now?”

Tears spring into your eyes and it hurts you to realize that it's not from fear but rather the intensity of the moment. You can’t bring yourself to speak, so you opt to barely nod your head.

“What was that? Use your words, doll.” Again, the pet name has its desired effect and you let out a shaky exhale before finding your voice.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” Suddenly, he pushes away from you. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

Maybe you should be ashamed with how quickly you moved to comply with his demand, but you could worry about that if you survived the night. With every word that left his mouth, you felt more and more compelled to let him do whatever he wanted with you. He had a lethal amount of charisma and he knew exactly how to use it.

Standing by the bed with your shirt, bra, and pants off, you only hesitated when it came to removing your undergarments. If what you suspected about Ghostface was true then he’s probably already seen you naked. But doing it willingly with him three feet in front of you was a whole different level of intimacy that you weren’t used to. Especially not with serial killers.

He huffed in annoyance at your obvious hesitation, jabbing towards your bed with his knife. “Lay down.” Startled, you look at him. “Do it before I make you.”

Clambering onto the bed, you lay back and watch as he approaches you. If he weren’t holding a knife and moving like a predator, it might have been romantic. But instead of his hand trailing down your body, it was once again his knife, leaving cold ghosts of threats on your skin. You shiver under the cool metal, breathing erratically.

Tired of standing above your body, Ghostface climbs in between your legs, spreading your thighs to accommodate him. With how you’re positioned, you can feel his hot length through his pants and the front of his leather get-up.

He cuts your underwear off, knife blade grazing your hip, and you pretend not to notice him slipping the fabric into his pocket. You doubt he’d do anything if you pointed it out, anyway. He takes a moment to look at you, now properly disheveled. Placing his knife to the side where it was out of your reach, he takes both of your breasts in his gloved hands, massaging the skin.

Hands moving from your breasts down your body, he runs two fingers up and down your wet cunt. He doesn’t linger anywhere, only giving you whispers of pleasure.

With his other hand, he reaches to where you can’t see him, and it’s only when you feel the head of his cock pressing into you that you realize he’d pulled himself out. Inch by inch he slides into your pussy, barely giving you enough time to accustom yourself to the intrusion.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

Once you’ve adjusted to his size, he immediately pulls out and trusts back in, setting a painful pace. But soon the pain turns to pleasure and your whimpers turn to pleas for more.

“So wet, so tight and all for me, huh?” He huffs out a laugh and you’re astonished he’s even able to talk when you feel like the wind has been knocked out of you.

He leans forward, catching your parted lips with his fingers. His middle and ring finger slip into your mouth, opening it wide, fingers pressing into your tongue. Saliva collects in your mouth, and a tiny bit of drool spills out of the corner of your mouth. The tip of your tongue runs under the gloves fingers, relishing in its taste.

You start to suck on his fingers, adding a new obscene sound to the room filled with the wet slaps of your fucking and your breathing and moaning.

“Oh fuck, babygirl,” He grits out, the vocoder in his mask crackling with his heavy breathing. You moan around his fingers, closing your eyes as each trust sends jolts of pleasure through your body. He removes his hand from your mouth, placing it on your hips instead to use as leverage as he continues fucking.

“Harder, God, harder.” You pant and he complies. He’s slamming into you, and your mouth opens in a silent scream as his cock tips you over into your orgasm. Body shuddering, gasping for breath, your pussy squeezes tight around him.

He fucks you right through it, grunting. His hips stutter, but he only slightly slows his pace as he cums deep inside of you. He thrusts once or twice more, fucking his cum further into your cunt before fully stopping. He doesn’t pull out immediately and you feel his cock twitch inside you, all while you are incredibly, blissfully full.

He finally pulls out, looking at your pussy. You grimace at the feeling of the aftermath of your coupling starting to trail out of you.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s hot in his getup in a mask, but decide you’re much too tired to care about his well being.

“Hey, doll, look at me,” You open your eyes, too tired to do anything else. “Think I’ll keep you around.”

*quietly sips on tea*

Imagine Dead by Daylight’s Shape/Myers getting jealous and having to reinforce that the survivor is his. Maybe Ghostface got a little too flirty with them or another killer let them go during a trial and it drove Michael mad, reading into things too much, every little detail leading him to doubt himself. So, he seeks them out during a trial of their own. He doesn’t care if any of the other survivors hear or if they escape, he just needs to leave his mark on his survivor and hear them call his name. Rough stuff, ego boosting, marking etc.

Aw man, y'all know I love me a good possessive slasher. I've been stroking this prompt lovingly and waiting for the day I knew I could nail it, so let's fucking gooo!

!!!This post contains adult content for an adult audience, minors and ageless blogs dni with this post!!!

Reblogs > Likes! Make sure ya Reblog it if ya hit the heart to support future content for the pleasure of your peepers!

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader is gn and ambiguous (Though v brief mention of reader in a skirt one time), Possessive behavior, Primal play, Knife play + Marking with said knife

_____

Simply put: You were his favorite obsession. Michael had taken quite the shining to you since your first run in, where you had a...unique style of distraction. Where you would wolf whistle his way and holler at him from across the street of his very own domain. Or where you'd lift up your shirt and flash him and tauntingly yell that he could have a piece of you-- IF he could catch you.

Curiosity had hit him. Such a strange being you were. And from what he heard through the grapevine that was the Entity's spidery-like arms- you didn't do it with other killers. In fact, you liked to trip them up, but not in such a loud way.

He'd caught you only a handful of times before then since your first encounter. The first time he'd caught you, you'd laughed, clutching at the slash across the front of your chest where you were bleeding. You had your back to the wall, panting as you crooned out, "So what piece will it be, big guy? Arm? Leg?"

When he'd roughly tugged at your shirt, you'd only laughed even as he exposed you. Testing you even as your hands came up and you'd smiled so gleefully. "Oh! And here I was starting to wonder I wasn't your type!" Even with your wound still bleeding.

Yes, you were indeed his favorite obsession.

~Rest under the cut~

When this relationship began and where it ended was up to anyone. During the full moons when the Entity let you all mingle, you'd always end up in his domain. Under him or above him, panting with your head thrown back and moaning his name.

Michael had gotten quite the taste for it now. Hearing you whine his name like that, tossing and turning and squirming beneath his very touch. Didn't matter how rough he handled you, you ate it up with gleeful sounds.

You were his. And only he could get this rise out of you. Only you would treat him the way you do.

So imagine his surprise when word through the grapevine is that Ghostface is getting to toy with you. Where he flaunts pictures of you and laughs about how he'd like to tap that. How enraged you'd been when you found those pictures of you and he'd gotten to see up your skirt you'd had on that day. And how turned on Ghostface had been when you'd gotten up in his face.

Michael feels that itch in his fingertips to stab him, so he follows that itch. Stabbing straight through Ghostface's hand and nailing it to the table full of your pictures.

The hunt begins upon next trial.

You know it's him right away, but you feel something's off. You believe it to be a game near immediately, cautiously making your way through his domain. The flashing lights of the police car blinding you briefly as you take in your surroundings after finishing a generator.

When your eyes meet a white mask, you fight a smile as you take off quickly. Playing the game of 'prey' as you run from him with Michael in hot pursuit.

When he catches you, you're slammed onto the nearest surface. In your case, it ends up being an old bed, your body bouncing on it before you gasp as he gets on top of you. You play victim, kicking and squirming and trying to get out of his grasp before his rough hand grabs your chin and forces your eyes on him. Your wrists pinned by his other hand above your head.

"O-oh come on, I don't wanna get hooked today-" You whine out, arching your back into him and grumbling. Your heart races, your eyes meeting the holes of his mask and briefly seeing his own through them. One baby blue, one blinded. His breathing is heavy, off somehow.

And he's not moving from between your legs either.

"Michael-" You huff, rolling your hips up to try and press him up and off you. It doesn't work, of course, but it does work in making him press down further on top of you. "Come on- during a trial? Really? Won't the Entity be pissed?"

His response is silence, as it always is. But you swear- you swear you hear a growl.

Fuck-

--

It winds up with your clothes half off and his fingers buried inside of you as you lay on your side. You keep your mouth covered, or at least try to before he's ripping your hand from your mouth. Desperate to hear the way you whine his name, the way you look at him through your wet lashes as your body quivers with another orgasm.

Taken apart by his hand.

You cry out when his fingers keep pounding into you, knowing now to keep your eyes on his. You whimper when you see his other hand come up, holding his knife and pressing to your hip. But you mumble, "Yes, yes, yes, fuck yes, Michael, mark me, come on, baby. Yes, yes, yes-" Your mouth running so quickly, eagerly.

--

By the end of the trial, you gain a new scar. A sharp 'M' carved into your right hip. Not to mention how sore you feel after.

At least Michael will know you're not thinking of anyone else anytime soon.

____________

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I am multi fandom- my friend made a mistake dragging me into this mess

rhysand x reader with wing play and rhys being a sub?

sub!rhys is an inexperienced baby.

You coo softly in the high lord’s ear, whispering gentle praises for taking you so well. His body covers yours, skin pressed against skin, joining in the way only lovers do.

Rhys hasn’t felt this level of intimacy for another in a long while. He began trembling the moment he entered you, hiding his face into your neck and breathing hard, getting used to the feeling of your warm, silky walls wrapped around him. “Just like that, baby,” You had sighed contently when Rhys found the strength to move his hips, rutting against your own in slow, gentle thrusts. “Take what you need.” His cock slides nicely over your inner walls, occasionally finding spots which make you tighten around him. It wouldn’t be enough to send you over the edge. That didn’t matter. Being honest, you took more pleasure in turning Rhys into a whimpering, cunt drunk mess.

Your arms are wrapped around him, holding him as close to you as possible. You explore his body, fingers burying in silky locks, palms sliding and squeezing muscled shoulders, nails gently scraping over warm skin. Rhys purrs, sloppily grinding his hips against yours. You let your fingers wander, trailing down his back, between those large, dark wings draping over you both. Intrigued, your fingertips skim dangerously close. Rhys shudders, muffling a moan into your skin.

“Can I touch you?” Your ask, your voice a soft whisper as you kiss Rhys’s neck. The male curses beneath his breath, bracing himself, allowing him to force more strength into his thrusts. You release a pleasured laugh as his cock hits deeper than before. “Yes,” Rhys groans, “Please. Touch me.”

You do. Your touch explores Rhys’s wings. Learning what spots cause his breath to hitch and hips to stutter. The poor male practically sobbed when you lightly dragged your nails along the membrane. You want to know him better than he does, you want to know how to please him like he deserves.

Rhys reached his climax mere minutes after you began caressing his beautiful wings. His teeth dug into your skin, suppressing the sounds of his high. “There you go, that’s it,” You praised him throughout his climax, contrasting with the way your fingers still skated across his sensitive wings, driving Rhys into overstimulation.

You’re addicted. In need of seeing him lose control a few more times.

I may be masc, but I would allow them

How would they be in marshmallow hell? It's funny to imagine😂 and reader just does it alot especially when they get back and they miss them

Omg I never knew about this term until you mentioned it hahaha, this was very fun to make 😂

Here we go! ✨✨✨

Nothing is better for Mikey than having a good "bath" 😏 and snuggling with you before sleep, after a long killing spring ☺️💕

Brahms loves to bury his face in you chest, whenever you go out of the house, he do this in any occasion actually 😆, Brahms is baby and needs all you attention 😂

Tommy was in the basement all day, the only thing he was thinking is in hugging you and cuddle with you, don't make him wait Y/N 🥺💕💕

Bubba gets all tired from working all day, the only he wants is to cuddle with you buried in you soft chest 🥰, the best thing in the world!... meanwhile it last 😆

Jason is always ready to watch movies with you when he came from "working" on the forest, hug him tight because you two gonna watch scary movies all night🤣

Brahms always has a soft spot in my heart

Brahms x Gender Neutral Reader - Will You Stay With Me?

A lil something I wanted to write after seeing a prompt on this site where the OP wondered what would have happened if Brahms showed himself by accident because he was so sick (if you know the post, pls tag the OP cause I can’t seem to find it, 

title from the song  Jordy Chandra - Will You Stay With Me ?

Hope you enjoy! 

You have been babysitting Brahms the Doll for around three months now. Of course, in the beginning it was strange to treat the doll like a human child, but the sad eyes of the Heelshires pulled at your heart strings. Not wanting to take advantage of the grieving couple, you swore to treat Brahms like your own. 

 It was a rough start admittedly, with his cold dead eyes creeping you out. You didn’t really try very hard to stick to the schedule the Heelshires left for you, but when your things started going missing and the doll started moving on its own, you began to suspect that maybe you weren’t alone in the house. 

 The temperature dropped significantly in the winter months, and due to not being allowed to light the fireplace, the entire manor was freezing. Luckily you packed some warmer clothes since you knew the UK got very cold in the winter. There weren’t any issues with plumbing or anything thankfully, but you did spend most of your time wrapped in as many layers as you possibly could. 

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Trans thought:

You know how in House of 1000 Corpses, Baby threatens to cut the one girls tits off. I would have let Baby do it. Like top surgery is expensive man.