Just discovered ur blog from the poll and read all ur outsider fics! Would be thrilled if u wrote something for scream with ur writing skills!
────۶ৎ pet project
or stu getting attached to Tatum's baby sis
warnings : murder, blood description, gore, kidnapping/abduction, stockholm syndrome (not in this part but like over the following fics), stu's chaotic side amplified.
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: someone take me these psychos away from me because im falling in love with writting them.
The world had gone red.
Not just the blood on your shirt —Tatum's blood, maybe— or the one pooling in the carpet fibers you could still smell in the suffocating dark, but the world itself. The very air. The sound. Everything was throbbing and echoing, like the beat of a war drum you couldn’t find. You couldn't breathe. Your chest kept clenching like someone was squeezing it, and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, not even when you buried them in your mouth to muffle your sobs.
The closet was small. Too small.
Your knees were jammed against your chest and your heart had long since abandoned rhythm, beating out some frantic, unfamiliar pattern.
You had seen it. All of it. You had watched your sister fall, or more like rise. Tatum. Your sun. Your anchor.
You'd seen her hanging from the garage door.
Her blood had gotten on your shoes. You’d slipped on it when you ran. Your breath was still heavy with the taste of copper and dread. You’d wedged yourself in here thinking maybe they wouldn’t find you. Maybe they’d think you had already died. Maybe—
The door creaked open.
A thin strip of light cut across your vision like a blade. Your ears rang. You couldn’t scream at first —you were too frozen, too locked into the helpless animal of prey there was. And then his face appeared in the crack, tilted at first, messy hair and blood-smeared skin.
Stu.
You screamed. Hard.
It came out ugly, broken, not even words —just a raw sound torn straight from your throat, like you were being killed. But he didn’t stab you. Didn’t gut you like he had said they would on the news. He just blinked at you, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t expecting to find you.
That big, goofy grin that used to mean he was about to tease you or snatch your snack at home when he was over to hang out with your sister now sits on his face like a mask stretched too tight.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, voice soft with something sickly sweet and wrong. “this is too good”
Your scream turned to sobs. You shook so hard it felt like your bones would rattle right out of your skin. He tilted his head, the blood-stained knife in his hand gleamed under the hallway light.
You shrank back until the coats pressed against your spine. “P-please,” you hiccupped. “Please don’t—please—I won’t tell—I swear—I didn’t—I didn’t see anything—please don’t kill me—”
His grin spread, slow and lopsided, too big for his face. Then, like someone flipped a switch, he squated in front of you and said, almost sweetly, “Dude,” he laughed. “Dude. Look at you. You're like a baby bunny. What are you even doing in here, huh?”
And then his hand—his blood-slicked, shaking hand—was reaching for you. You tried to scream again but it got trapped in your throat.
“Gotcha,” he whispered, like it was all just another one of those silly game of hide and seek he used to play with Tatum and you when he slept over.
He grabbed you. Hauled you out of the closet like a child tugging a doll out from under the bed or a grocery bag, and dragged you out into the hallway. You kicked. You bit. But you were fifteen, weak, dizzy, sick. And he was older. Stronger. Taller. So much taller.
Your legs barely worked. Your head was swimming. You could still feel the stickiness on your arms —was it yours or Tatum’s?
“Come on, silly girl,” Stu cooed, like this was all some game. “Let’s go show Billy what I found.”
The house was a maze of corpses now, slick and wet and wrong. You could see where people had fallen. Where blood had sprayed. Where the party had ended. Stu dragged you past a crumpled corpse and you choked on a sob.
Then you saw him —Billy, standing over the sink scrubbing his hands like a doctor prepping for surgery. His shirt was stained, dark and tacky. His eyes snapped up when he heard you.
“The fuck is that?” he said flatly.
Stu grinned like a child caught with a puppy behind his back. “what do you mean who is it? c'mon man, think a little.”
“What in hell are you doing with Tatum’s kid sister?” Billy turned toward you, brow twitching. “Why is she breathing?”
“She was hiding, man. Closet duty. You missed her.” Stu gave your arm a friendly tug, like the way people tug on a leash. “But it’s cool. I found her.”
Billy’s face didn’t change. “So kill her.”
Your heart stopped. You screamed again, voice cracking from overuse. You turned into Stu's body, buried your face in his chest, he was the lesser of two bads at the moment. Stu just held you tighter.
“You want me to kill her?” Billy repeated flatly. “If you’re too much of a pussy to do it yourself—”
“What the fuck, no! Are you outta your mind?!” Stu cried, turning around halfway so you were half-hidden behind him. Like a protective sibling. Like Tatum would have done.
“She’s a kid. And she’s Tatum’s sister.” Stu pulled you in front of him like a shield. “Look at her. She’s all… sad and shit. I want to keep her.”
“I beg your finest fucking pardon?” Billy blinked. “You want to what?”
“Keep her.” Stu grinned wider now, eyes bright. “Like a pet. She’s quiet. And sweet. She won’t say anything. Will you, hunny?”
His voice changed then. Turned syrupy. Cold syrup, like the kind that sticks in your throat and gives you a choke scare.
He crouched down next to you, eyes wide and unblinking. “Right, sweetheart?” he whispered. “You won’t say a word. You’re going to be good. You’re gonna stay.”
You nodded. What else could you do? Your head bobbed up and down like a puppet. Your lips were trembling so hard you couldn’t talk. Your eyes burned. The room spun.
Billy was silent for a long time.
Then he sighed. Scrubbed a hand down his bloody face with a long groan. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if she pukes on the carpet, you clean it up. And you're learning how to cook. And bathe. And deal with mood swings.”
Stu beamed like a little boy on Christmas morning. “Yesss. This is gonna be so cool.”
He ruffled your hair with the same hand that had killed your sister.
You didn’t cry anymore. You just shook.
And they didn’t notice —or worse, they did, and thought it was cute.
Summary: After over of week of being held captive in a deranged man’s basement, you finally attempt your escape. Too bad your plans get interrupted.
CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, kidnapping, dubcon, pretty much noncon, dead dove!!!, spanking/impact play, sadism, masochism, pain play, marking + bruising, sort of dacryphilia, degradation, mentions of torture, habit is a bastard but we knew this, vaginal fingering, restraints, threats, non explicit mentions of gore/bodily harm, intimidation + fear tactics, dom/sub undertones, lowkey stockholm syndrome-y towards the end, but make no mistake reader does not want to be here lmfao, DEAD DOVE!!! AGAIN!!! IM WARNING YOU!!!
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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!
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—
Ten days.
Ten days, two hundred and forty hours. Fourteen thousand minutes. Eight hundred and sixty thousand seconds.
You had kept track of every single moment since you had first met ‘Evan’. The man you had come to know as Evan, at least. The man who had charmed you. If you had known who he was truly was, and who you’d really become acquainted with if you let him into your life, you probably would’ve been a lot more wary to accept a stranger’s invitation for coffee.
But, you didn’t. Because Evan, was cute. Evan, was charming. Evan, was funny. Evan, was kind.
‘Habit’, was the exact antithesis of all of those things.
You couldn’t quite remember exactly how it had happened. Whenever you think back to it at all, the details are foggy - like looking at your memories through frosted glass. You remembered waking up that morning, and getting ready for a date. You remembered the walk there. You remembered seeing Evan standing and waiting for you as you rounded the corner.
You remembered waking up in his basement.
Everything between your first sight of him, and the coldness of concrete flooring beneath you was intangible. You had tried. Strained and sobbed as you attempted to pull thoughts from memories that had vanished into nothing, but you came up short every single time. As if they would even help you anyway. Even if you did somehow manage to remember how you had gotten yourself in a position where you were chained to the bed in a potential love interest’s home, that wouldn’t change the present and the truth you were being forced to face.
You were stuck here. You were chained to a bedpost with a pair of handcuffs that just didn’t want to budge, despite your best efforts. You were perpetually terrified, laying in wake for the next moment he walked down those stairs and set his sights on you once again.
‘Habit‘, brought nothing but pain.
Just cruel, apathetic precision. You’ve heard about people like him (if you could even call him a person at all). People who were wired different. People who wouldn’t bat an eye at other’s suffering. People who took pleasure in it.
It was one thing to read about it all, to watch people sensationalize it in documentaries and news segments. It was something else entirely, to be on the receiving end of it all.
‘Habit’ viewed suffering like the average human viewed a comedy special. Entertaining. Laughter inducing. The sound of agonized shrieks vibrating against his eardrums like a well timed one-liner would to others. The deeper his knife sunk, the more tears you spilled. The more tears you spilled, the wider his grin stretched.
The more pain you were in, the better he felt.
Just over a week, and you had more than enough scars to prove that fact already.
‘Evan’ had promised you a day full of smiles. ‘Habit’ delivered a week’s worth of misery.
At some point, it all had to come to a head. Not even given the option of fight or flight before the war even began, you were left with two other alternatives.
Break, or survive.
And you’d be damned if you didn’t attempt the latter first.
Despite the agony that blurred the days together, you were able to pick up on a few habits (no pun intended) that your captor had. The first being that he kept the keys to your cuffs in the pocket of his jeans. They never strayed. The second, was that you found yourself spending more time alone, than actually with him (which was a blessing you thanked the universe for). The third, was that the door at the top of the basement stairs was unlocked.
You had realized it on the fifth day of being here. He would come downstairs, bat you around like a cat playing with a mouse, then retreat back upstairs - shutting the door behind him. No click, no lock. No grind of a key against metal. Just the thump of the door slotting back into its frame, then retreating footsteps.
You suppose he assumed the cuffs were sturdy enough. Or maybe, he just didn’t think you had the guts.
Unlucky for him, you do. Lucky for you… Just barely.
You had seen what he can do. Felt what he could do. You could still vividly remember how it felt as the serrated blade of his hunting knife tore through the flesh of your inner thigh. You could still see the proof of it. Scabbed over wounds, gashes that still leaked crimson. Purpling bruises speckling your skin, a constant taste of copper permeating the inside of your mouth.
You knew that the prospect of attempting escape was a high risk, high reward situation. If you slipped up and got caught, who knew what horror was in store for you? But… If you didn’t? That was freedom. Finally feeling the sunlight hit your skin once more. Finally seeing your friends and family again. Finally knowing a day without watching your own blood spill.
Were you willing to risk it all for a reward so great?
Yes. Yes, you were.
You weren’t so torn down that you had just accepted this life as ‘the way things would be from now on’. You were holding yourself together at the seams, fuelled by willpower that could rival the intensity of his sadism.
You were pushing yourself. Fighting to not spend another night here, let alone a week.
So, you use his habits to your advantage.
With a lot of alone time, there was a lot of time to plan it all out. Oversight on his end maybe, but you were almost completely sure it was just arrogant confidence. It couldn’t be that he just didn’t suspect you of trying to escape - you had before, and had never been the type to bow down so easily.
Though, maybe he just didn’t take you seriously because your last attempts were lacklustre at best.
Trying to fight him off and break free was laughable. Attempting to sneak the key out of his back pocket only earned you a few more extra hours of misery.
This… This could work. You just had to be calm, and patient.
On the day it all happened, Habit had been easy on you. Had left you with just a few shallow scrapes and welts by the time he was retreating back up the flight of stairs once more. That was… Nice. It almost had you hopeful that today really would be a good day. That everything would work out fine.
The moment you hear the door close, you spring into action.
The basement you were kept in was less than tidy - boding the atmosphere of a converted storage room more than anything else. Boxes and bins filled with trinkets and old memorabilia, unfinished walls, clutter littering the floor. A old coffee table shoved to the side, decorated with an array of weapons you were already well acquainted with.
What you were most interested in, were the small things. The spare bits of clutter that had fallen and never gotten picked up. A crumbled up wad of paper. A spare golf ball. A paper clip. A bobby pin.
That last item was what had you believing that you had a chance at this at all.
It wasn’t too far away from you - just a few feet from the bed, nestled in a pile of dust bunnies. It probably belonged to someone who had been here before you. You couldn’t let yourself dwell on that thought for too long.
Retrieving it isn't an easy task. It wasn’t far from you by any means, but with the situation you were in it felt like miles away. Forcing you to stretch your body off of the bed and strain to drag it forwards with just the tips of your toes. It takes multiple attempts, enough to have you breaking into a nervous sweat by the time you actually do touch it.
But that was just half of the journey.
Next, you had to get it into your hands, which felt near impossible considering that they were still restrained to the bedpost above your head.
You have to take a moment to just breathe. Closing your eyes, ignoring the ache in your raw wrists, and inhaling a few slow shaky breaths. Reminding yourself that this may be hard, but the days ahead would be much harder if you didn’t follow through with this.
This was your chance. You knew that you’d never forgive yourself if you gave up so easily.
So, you keep pushing. It’s a whole ordeal, narrated by the strained grunts and frustrated huffs of breath that leave you with each failed attempt. It didn’t help either that you were exhausted, definitely dehydrated, and sore from head to toe from days upon days of abuse by his hands. You were really digging in deep to pull out the last vestiges of your strength and energy, praying to whatever god above that it’s all worth it.
For now, it is.
It might’ve been a stroke of luck, or maybe it was something out there looking out for you, but you manage to get the bobby pin in your grip.
From the floor, you managed to pick it up with your toes. From there, (on the sixth attempt) you flung it up into the air with just enough force to have it - the key to your freedom - land right on your chest. You have to curl your body over near painfully to pick it up from there with your teeth, and the strain to transfer it from your lips to your fingertips is even worse.
But, you did it. Shaking, slick with sweat, and buzzing with adrenaline - trembling fingers already working to bend the small piece of metal into the shape you needed. Its difficult, doing it all above your own head, having to just work off of feeling instead of sight.
It feels like hours before you manage to slot the bobby pin into the key hole. It feels like ages before you finally hear the locking mechanism click.
The relief you felt was instantaneous, the moment that the cuffs went loose. Your stiff, aching shoulders crying in gratitude once you finally lower your arms and allow the joints to relax. Your wrists, which had gone raw and scabby from days of the cuffs rubbing and scraping against flesh until it tore. For a moment there, it felt like that pain of the last week all hit you at once - finally fully aware of just how sore you were now that you were able to move freely.
You couldn’t dwell on that though. Not right now, not when you’ve come so far already.
Your legs feel like jelly when you finally force yourself to stand, knees wobbling unsteadily with each shaky breath you make. With one cuff still dangling from your right wrist, and breathing turning more panicked by the second, your tunnel vision hones in on the sight of the exit.
Just a staircase away. Just one flight of steps towards a door that you knew was unlocked. You could do this. This was going to work.
But maybe the universe had sensed your hope. Maybe you had jinxed it by being so optimistic.
You weren’t quite sure how long this entire endeavour had taken you up until now, but one thing was for sure - he shouldn’t be back yet. Habit usually left for hours. To do what, he'd never tell you, but you assumed it was to inflict the same kind of torment on people who were just as naive as you were.
Regardless of where he went when he was gone, he always took awhile. Usually long enough for you to doze off, then unpleasantly wake up to the sting of his palm connecting with your face.
That was why the sound of the basement door opening again was enough to nearly cripple you. You’d swear you felt your heart drop straight out of your chest to splatter against the concrete below your bare feet. All of that relief you had barely grasped onto being replaced with tension again before you could even get a breath in.
You thought you had more time. Why didn’t you have more time?
Boots thudding against the steps is enough to snap you back into focus.
This was clearly bad. You nearly feel nauseous at the idea of what might happen to you if he found you like this. Caught in the act. Stupid enough to think that you ever had a chance of escaping this hell he’d created for you.
This wasn't just a case of you being the prisoner, and him being the warden. This was you living in his world, on his time. Like a god, morphing you to fit the mould of his broken creation.
You’re too knocked off of your axis to think properly. Too busy trying not to start dry heaving to realize that if you really tried, you could quickly cuff yourself back to the bed as a way to try and rewrite your ‘wrongs’. To make him believe that you were exactly what he thought you were.
Scared, helpless, weak.
You choose the underneath of the bed instead.
You’re not even sure why, but it’s probably driven by your base instincts to just hide. To get out of his line of sight as quickly as possible in hopes of escaping his torment.
The concrete is frigid beneath your body as you curl up on the floor beneath the bed. Surrounded by dust that immediately clogs up your nose and nearly forces a sneeze out of you, you shiver. You were only dressed in a t-shirt, and a pair of panties. It had been like that from the first day you woke up here. The former was tattered, thin, and bloodstained. So, there wasn't much of a barrier between you and the ice cold ground beneath you. You have to grit your teeth so as not to let them chatter.
“Guess who’s back!” That voice only makes your jaw clench fighter. It’s a wonder how you didn’t crack a tooth. “Miss me yet?”
More footsteps, descending lower and lower - then when they meet solid ground, there's silence. That was something that was rare around him. Not a good sign.
You curl into yourself further, tucked into a fetal position as you listen to the sound of his boots locking against the floor. Not other sound in the room besides that, and the shaky breathing you were trying your best to muffle.
Maybe you could wait it out. Maybe, if the cards were in your favour, then he’d just assume you escaped and go look for you elsewhere. That would give you a chance to bolt. “Good ol’ disappearing act, huh?” You hear him chuckle, accompanied by the sound of things rustling around. Looking for you, no doubt. “Cute, but way too predictable.”
A soft clatter from across the room nearly makes you flinch - your hands clasped into fists as tears prick at your wide, frantic eyes. “You think I’m stupid? That I thought you wouldn’t try this shit?”
You watch his feet move around the room. How he checks behind piles of boxes, an old bookshelf, searching for you even hidden within piles of junk stashed in the corner. Like he already knew you were still here. Not even entertaining the idea that you could already be long gone. “You think I don’t know exactly how scared little rabbits like you act?” You watch with wide eyes as his feet turn, the toes of his boots pointed directly at where you currently lay huddled. “You never just break - not this quick at least. You delude yourself into thinking that you can wriggle out of the cage I locked you in.”
A slow step forwards, and you have to clamp your palm over your mouth to keep a mortified squeak from slipping out. “You think that if you just play along, I’ll let my guard down, right?” That was exactly what you had thought. “That I won’t expect it? You’ll just pull the rug out from under me while my back is turned?”
You’re trembling like a leaf in the wind, tears breaking free and rolling down your cheeks - slipping off the slope of your nose and onto your knuckles. Each step closer to you has your lungs squeezing, your breaths coming out short and strained. “What you don’t know, is that I’ve been doing this shit. Long enough that I know exactly how your dumb little brains work. If you had gotten a little more creative, maybe you would’ve gotten the upper hand…”
The moment you see his feet stop right in front of the bed you squeeze you eyes closed, as if you could make the entire situation disappear into smoke if you just shut it all out. “But, as I said,” Without warning he crouches down, and before you can even register what’s happening a hand darts beneath the bed and closes around your wrist. Your eyes shoot open, right at the same moment that a startled cry rips out of your lungs as he full on drags you out from your hiding spot. “You’re predictable.”
The look on his face when your eyes dart up to look up at him only makes the tears build faster. He looks like the cat that got the canary - that sick self-satisfaction radiating off of him in waves. Grip firm, smile devilish, and a look of near deranged glee in his eyes that had your blood freezing in your veins. “Under the bed? Really? What, are we playing fuckin’ hide and seek?”
“Evan-“
“Ah- Try again.” Habit cuts you off immediately, before he’s roughly yanking you to your feet - the movement so sudden it makes your shoulder pop. The sight of you wincing is like a straight shot of adrenaline straight into his veins. “I’ve already told you; there’s no ‘Evan’ here, there's never been an ‘Evan’ here. How long have you been here? And you still don’t get it?”
“I don’t know.” You sniffle, flicking your gaze downwards. You couldn’t stomach looking into his eyes for longer than a few moments. You could just tell that whoever was looking back at you was anything but human.
“Yeah, you do.” Habit snorts, before lifting his free hand and using it to nudge your chin upwards. He could tell that keeping your eyes on him was a struggle. He wouldn’t give you the comfort of shutting him out in any way. “You think I haven’t heard you muttering to yourself like a damn lunatic? Always counting. Keeping track.” He pinches your chin between his fingers, squeezing just hard enough to make your bottom lip wobble. “So? How long? Tell me.”
You have to take in a quivering breath to stop yourself from choking out a sob. Was this some way to wriggle into your brain? To really make you acknowledge just how long you’ve laid here and let him slice you into little pieces.
“Ten.” You whimper out. “Ten days.” You were half confident that was the right answer. It was difficult to know for sure, time spent sleeping leaving a gap in time you could never know the length of without clocks or windows. But this number you had kept track of in your head was one of the only things keeping you sane and grounded.
Of course he’d want to shatter that.
“Ten?” Habit barks out a laugh so sudden that it startled you. “Ten days? That’s it? Oh fuck, you’re hilarious.”
He tugs you in closer, his fingers purposefully digging into the bruises forming a bracelet around your wrist. “Try twenty-one.” He can see it the moment that the dread floods your eyes, so potent it nearly forms a haze over your irises. “Yeah. Heard that? Three whole weeks. You’re either shit at counting…” He releases your chin to reach forwards - knocking his knuckles against the side of your head. “…Or I’ve already started frying that brain of yours. Hate me so much you’re trying to black me out.”
Habit lets out a little hum before sinking down to sit on the bed you were already well acquainted with. Another tug has you tumbling right down with him. “Coping mechanism, maybe? Kinda pathetic.” His hands don’t leave you for even a second as he maneuvers you into the position he saw fit, never once giving you the chance to wriggle free. Not that you even had the energy to. “I’ll make you remember, though. Make sure you remember this shit next time you come up with another grand plan.”
You find yourself draped over his lap, your torso suspended on his thighs as your limbs dangled off the sides. One hand stays pinned to your back, keeping you in place. The other one, reaches for your hand - the one that the handcuffs still hung from. “Hopefully next time you think of something better than to hide under the bed. That shit was stupid. You’re lucky I don’t have a short temper, because I was almost offended.”
“You don’t have a short temper?” You choke out as he jerks your wrists behind your back. With a harrowing click, they’re locked back in place. Like you hadn’t done a thing at all. Like your struggle meant nothing. Maybe it didn’t. “Is that a joke?”
“Nope.” Habit snorts. “You think I do this shit because I’m mad at you? Using you as some kind of punching bag?” He leans down a little, his fingers curled around the chain binding your cuffs together. “News flash; I just think it’s fun.”
And maybe that’s the worst part of it all. There was no motive with him. No weak spot you could prod at to gain sympathy. You didn’t even think he was capable of feeling that for you.
He seems to sense that - the silent resignation that settles over you as you soak those words in. Acceptance. “Now we’re getting it.” His hands move, lingering on your lower back for just a split second before he tugs the hem of your shirt up with no warning. Hiking it over your hips, making your eyes snap wide open as your near bare ass comes to be on full display.
“W-What the fuck are you doing?” You yelp, immediately trying to jerk yourself off of his lap. It’s fruitless, just as you should’ve known it would be.
“Told you. Gonna make sure you’re gonna remember this.” Habit’s voice is calm and composed, like this is just a normal, civil conversation. “And you’re starting to expect my little arsenal. Met all my knives.” His palm comes to rest on your ass while the other one keeps a firm grip on your hip - locking you in place for when you inevitably try to jerk away again. “I want this shit to stick. Wake that brain up.”
You’re starting to clue in, more so when his hand gives your ass cheek a light tap. Your stomach sinks. “Tell me again, how many days have you been here?”
You nearly say ten, your body trying to cling onto your marginally better fantasy world. You force yourself to choke out the truth.
“Twenty-one.”
“Bingo.” Habit grins. “So I’m gonna give you a couple of these,” Without hesitation he draws his hand back, before snapping it forwards again to deliver a harsh slap right onto your ass. The sound of it makes your ears ring. The sting of it makes your vision go fuzzy. The shock has a fresh wave of tears springing to your eyes. “I’m thinking twenty-one of ‘em. That one didn’t count.”
You let out a broken yelp, straining against his grip and kicking your legs pitifully to try and squirm free. When you keep at it, he lets out a snort before grabbing the chain of your handcuffs and yanking it backwards - forcing your torso to bend back. “Twenty-one, got it? Gonna count each one, and if you fuck up we’re gonna start all the way back at the beginning. Sounds fun, huh?”
“Ev- Habit, come on- I’m sorry, alright?” You sniffle, trying to blink back your tears in an attempt to clear the blur from your vision. “I was being s-stupid- Wasn’t thinking-“
“I know you were.” Habit hums, his eyes drifting down to lock on the red handprint already beginning to smart against your soft flesh. “None of that really matters though. Regardless of if it was well thought out or not, if you were being smart about it or stupid..” Another harsh tug has your shoulders bowing backwards near painfully. “I just really wanna do this. I think it’ll be quite the show.”
Whatever rebuttal you had after that leaves completely when his palm suddenly cracks against your skin once more, aimed right at the same spot he had just hit moments before. Your voice cracks on a cry and your legs jerk, near choking on your own saliva when you take in a sharp inhale. “C’mon.” Habit prompts, patting the reddened area of skin that had starting blooming beneath his touch. “Count.”
“Habit-“
Another one, harder than the last two before it. It’s not just a sting when the impact hits - it burns. It makes your entire body seize up as your nerve signals go into a frenzy.
“I said count. Come on, we haven’t even started yet. You aren’t even at one.” That’s enough to pull another sob out of you, tears rolling down your cheeks and dribbling off your skin to splatter against the floor below you. You knew him by now. He really could do this all night if you chose to be stubborn. It felt almost stupid not to give in. Wouldn’t it just be making it harder on yourself?
“O-Okay-“ You grit out, your arms so tense that they were trembling. “One.”
“Catching on fast.” Habit snickers. “Nice.” That’s all the acknowledgement you get before he’s setting your nerves back on fire. Each hit feels harder than the last, mostly because he was aiming each one at the exact same patch of swelling flesh. Painting it redder and redder, getting it more and more raw and irritated.
“T-Two-“ Drool spills from your lips as you whimper the number out, joining the small spot of wetness on the ground your tears had already begun to form. You had given up on seeing at this point. The tears just kept flowing, and you didn’t have the hands to wipe them away. Combined with the spit and snot dribbling down your face, you knew that you had to looking like a horribly pitiful sight.
Not to Habit, though. To him, you just looked laughable. A mess so pathetic he couldn’t help but snort out a soft chuckle. So easy.
“And another…” He murmurs, this time aiming for the cheek that hadn’t been touched thus far. The blow he hands against it is near nauseating, the sound of it so loud that it makes your stomach twist. Your body jerks off of his thighs for a moment before he pins you back down, paying no mind to the gargled wail that spills out of you.
Your ass was burning already, your entire body reaching a fever pitch as the flames of pain licked at your whole body. You could feel yourself break into a sweat, droplets of it beading up at your hairline to join the rest of the mess on your face.
“Three-“
As always, he didn’t hold back - not even a little bit. Each blow was just as stomach turning as the last, if not worse. Not caring that even his own palm had started to sting as he landed the fourth one, then the fifth, sixth, seventh. Your skin was growing redder by the second, swelling beneath his hand and hot to the touch. Both cheeks painted in an angry pink flush.
He wondered if it would bruise by tomorrow. He hoped that it would.
By the fifteenth, he’s positive that it would. He could already see the speckles of purple starting to peek through all the red. Bruises that would stick. Marks that would linger and bloom with pain every time you put pressure against them. “F-Fifteen-“ Habit had to admit that he was actually quite impressed. You hadn’t slipped up in your counting once, even when the number could barely even be deciphered.
“Aw, you fucked up.” He lies, his voice a condescending croon. “Looks like we’re going back to one…”
Your head immediately jerks up from where it had been hanging dejectedly over the side of his lap, watery eyes snapping to his with a look of absolute dread wrinkling your expression. He laughs right in your face, cruel and unfeeling. “Ha! I’m just kidding. Shoulda seen your face though.”
Straight back to it, another sharp slap meets the throbbing skin of your ass before you can even register the emotional whiplash he was forcing you into. Your eyes squeeze shut as a wobbling hiss slips through your gritted teeth.
“S-Sixteen.”
Then seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. You don’t know how long he had you over his lap like that. It’s probably no more than an hour, but it felt like it had been multiple by the time you’re choking out the word ‘twenty’.
You could barely even move your legs, even the slightest twitch sending bolts of pain through your muscles.
“Last one.” Habit hums down to you in a grating singsong voice. He hadn’t been lying, he really did just find this entertaining. “Want you to say this one with your chest. Let me hear it.”
You feel near delirious, your breathing coming out in uneven choppy bursts - just a hair widths away from full on hyperventilation. You can barely even feel your own ass anymore, the blistering sting so intense it almost felt numb. But, with every last ounce of strength still clinging on inside your body, you choke out;
“Twenty-one!” And it feels like you’ve won. Like you’ve survived a trial.
“There we go.” Habit grins, smoothing his palm over the warm, bruised flesh he had created. “Real enthusiastic, I like it. And look,” He pinches the swollen flesh between his fingers, just to watch you jolt. “You’re already going purple. Gonna bruise bad. Probably won’t sit right for a week.”
You can barely even hear him. Everything around you feels foggy and disorienting, like he had dunked you underwater - hellbent on drowning you. “But, you took is surprisingly well.” Habit hums. “I’d almost be impressed, if I didn’t know why.”
His fingers suddenly pressing against your core through your panties is something you definitely feel. A gasp catches in your lungs, coming out instead as a choked out whimper. And you almost want to just break down even further right then and there, because the moment he makes contact you catch onto exactly what he’s talking about.
You were wet. “Had a feeling I had a painslut on my hands.” The laugh he lets out only pours salt in the wound. “The way you always just lie back and take it? Had me wondering if there was a little part of you that actually liked it.” His fingers press down firmer, sending a jolt of sickening pleasure through you when they find your clit. It was so confusing, the way your body was responding. Still trembling in pain, and yet craving his touch for the first time since you had stumbled into this situation. “This, though? This takes the cake. Soaking your panties just from me batting you around a little.”
His touch leaves you for just a second before it returns to yank your underwear down you legs. Exposing your cunt, bare and glistening - an absolutely humiliating sight. “Bet you’ve gotten like this before, without me knowing.” He hums lowly, using two fingers to spread you wide open - his lips curling into a smirk as he takes in the sight. “You rub your thighs together like a bitch in heat after I leave?”
“No-“ Even if it was the truth (which it was), you sounded too broken for the word to hold any merit.
“I don’t believe you.” Is the only warning you get before those two fingers are sinking right into you. You’re almost mortified by how easy they glide into your heat, a testament to how embarrassingly wet you were for him. For him. The man who spent most hours of his day making your life a living hell. It was degrading in the worst way imaginable.
The tears spill over again before you can even try to stop them, even as the ecstasy of him fingers curling against your g-spot has you choking out a gasp. It’s humiliating, demoralizing the way your hips jerked in response to his movements. How you just got wetter. Tightened up around the digits. “Yeah, see? This greedy cunt’s been waiting for this. Dying for it.”
His fingers press into you over and over, sinking in deeper on every mind-numbing swipe. Curling in just right, reducing you to even more of a broken down mess as you twitch and writhe on his lap. The muscles of his forearms flex with each curl inwards, his eyes trained solely on your face as your eyebrows pinch together.
You looked so torn. Like you just couldn’t decide if you hated this, or needed it. He’d bet it was a little bit of both. “Such a fuckin’ slut.” He snickers. “Can’t even tell pain from pleasure anymore, can you? All feels the same?”
That much was true. You really couldn’t differentiate the two anymore. Everything just felt so intense it all blended together, all melting into a white hot ball of something indescribable. You can’t even force out words anymore, mindless slurred babble slipping from your lips as you gasped for breath. More so sobs than coherent speech, but Habit actually quite preferred that over the latter. “This has gotta be a new low for you, huh?”
The pads of his fingers rub against that sweet spot within you, stirring up a concoction of pleasure that just brings another wave of ecstasy to accompany the ringing in your ears. “Just earlier today you were trying to escape from me.” Quick jerks of his wrist steal the air from your lungs, pumping the digits into you at a pace that melted your brain. Plunging them into the gummy warmth of your core, and bringing back more slick on each pull out. He could feel it, how you just kept getting tighter. How your walls twitched around his fingers and your hips bucked. He wondered if you were dreading it or anticipating it. “And now you’re gonna cum on my lap like a whore.”
Dreading it, or anticipating it? It was a heady mix of both, but that’s not something you have time to unpack before you’re thrown right into the fire.
You don’t have the opportunity to try and decide how you feel about it, when the wave of pleasure that crashed over you was enough to make your vision fully white out for a moment. Your body jerks on his lap, a broken sob ripping from your lungs as you completely soak his fingers - slick gushing out of you, like physically conformation of just how fucked you were.
You can just barely hear Habit chuckling down at you, his gaze sharp as his fingers keep pumping into you - pulling out more and more ecstasy until your cries of pleasure gained a pained twinge to them. Even then, he doesn’t relent. Pushing you right over the edge and then straight past it, through the fields of pleasure and into the weeds of overstimulation.
Only once you look like you’re about to pass out on him, does he finally draw back.
His fingers withdraw, then he wipes them off on the back of your thigh - smearing your own release onto your skin like some kind of humiliation ritual. Something to seal the deal.
You barely even register it. You couldn’t form a thought right now if you tried.
So when he hauls you back upwards again, you barely register that either. Just barely noticing the persistent ache shooting down your legs.
So gone. So broken, it’s a dream to handle you right now. So easy. Near limp. Like a marionette with its strings cut.
He’s grinning to himself as he tugs your panties back up your hips, watching you with amused fascination as he lays you back on the bed with not even an ounce of struggle. Your eyes are clouded over, expression hollow, your skin glistening under the low light of the basement with a combination of all the fluids that had leaked out of you. “Pathetic.” He snickers as he reaches down to unlock one of your cuffs again. You don’t even flinch. “So fuckin’ weak.”
Just like he had on the first day he brought you here, he tugs your arms upwards - looping the chain of the cuffs around the bedpost again, before locking them in place once more. Effectively erasing any, and all progress you had made today.
You let out a shaky, defeated exhale and squeeze your eyes shut - excess tears dripping off of your eyelashes to join the rest of the mess on your cheeks. “You can sleep now, if you want.” Habit hums as he stands up, pocketing the key once more before crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve had enough fun for today.”
Was that a blessing, or a curse? “Besides, there's always tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that…”
A curse. Definitely a curse.
—
hi lol :) habit’s here :)
it’s physically impossible to not write him as a bastard so yes this is very icky but my brain just always goes the kidnapping route whenever I think about writing an xreader fic with him oopsies
𐙚 ⋮ TW !! — Habit is its own warning, mentions of vomit, mentions of murder, Mentions of past abuse.
𐙚 ⋮ Synopsis — Habit finally got what he wanted. You. In his arms, without your stupid fucking boyfriend in the way. But he forgot one key detail. You were grieving. Of course, that was normal when someone close to you dies. So, Habit has decided to become your anchor throughout the process and keep you by his side forever.
𐙚 ⋮ Pairing — Femme!Reader x Habit
𐙚 ⋮ Word count — 2,197 words
𐙚 ⋮ Requests — Open!
𐙚 ⋮ A/N — This is a pt. 2 to my first story, ‘My sweet bunny.’! There is a bit of a time-skip in this story, but not by much. Maybe like a night or less. But anyways, I hope you enjoy! And constructive criticism always welcome! <3
𐙚 ⋮ Credits — The header images were edited by me. | @/diviniyae for the heart dividers. | The psd is Galaxy Blue by @/peachcoloring on deviantart.
Grief was a weird thing.
It can keep you paralyzed for days, weeks even.
Habit partially expected it when he first showed up, pretending to be a friend of your ex boyfriends. He wasn’t even remotely guilty or remorseful for what he had done.
He was a piece of shit, and Habit took care of him the only way he knew how to. But now he was facing a completely different problem.
You.
Habit stayed on the couch that first night. Saying it was just so he could be there for you if/when you needed him.
You had crawled into his lap, bawling your eyes out over the death of your bitchy ex boyfriend. And Habit was ecstatic about that. Not the part about you crying, of course.
But actually having you in his arms, letting him protect you. That was an amazing feeling. He gritted his teeth throughout the night.
Refusing the urge to barge into your room to comfort you when you sniffled and sobbed. He wasn’t really one for comfort.
I mean, really. How does mankind's manifestation of its bad habits, a parasitic entity, comfort somebody? He wasn’t made for that kind of thing. He was built for chaos, destruction.
He was responsible for the deaths of so many human lives that he had lost count. Your ex boyfriend wasn’t special. Nothing to write home about. In fact, he tasted awful. Sour, like rotted meat.
Even his blood was tainted by his atrociously hateful personality and mindset. But it was all for you. He bared his teeth and sank them into someone rotten from the inside out to make a smile appear on your face.
Of course Habit knew grief wasn’t linear. He’d been around long enough on this world to understand the five stages of grief, therapy, yadda yadda, that went into healing from a loss like this.
You had been so conditioned by this guy that you actually felt heartbroken by this loss. So trauma bonded, that you were sick to your stomach. Vomiting after crying so hard.
Even if you were relieved deep down that he was gone and not around to lay his hands on you anymore.
Habit didn’t need sleep. Or any kind of rest, for that matter. But his host body required it, so he’d fall asleep every now and again.
Last night was not one of those nights. He refused any kind of rest, only laying down on the couch because you insisted upon it. Which he didn’t understand fully, but whatever.
He at least partially understood that he needed to keep a friendly distance at first. You weren’t going to magically fall all over him overnight. These things took time, is what he kept telling himself.
When you fell asleep in his lap that night, it was like a dream come true. But he still had to play it safe, not spook you within the first few weeks.
He took you to your room, laying you down on your bed, begrudgingly. He absolutely would have stayed as still as a statue that night, keep you in his arms while you slept.
But he was playing it safe. Had to. You were in too much of a fragile state of mind for him to make any big moves.
And still, he laid on that stupid couch. Clicking his lighter in one hand, whilst the other hung off the side of the couch.
What if he just.. Killed you? Make it fast and sweet. That would surely get him out of this situation. He could go back to his daily routine, stop worrying about you entirely.
But for some reason, that thought made his hosts’ stomach hurt. Twisting and churning like he was about to vomit. He couldn’t even picture it in his mind.
This was so stupid. Absolutely ridiculous. It made the hosts’ head hurt just thinking about the time this would take. If there were any way to make it go by faster, he’d take it.
But he couldn’t. He had to let this all play out naturally.
He would become your anchor in all of this. Help you work through it, even if he had to bite his tongue every time you brought up that bastard.
The soft blue glow of morning seeped through your living room curtains. Habit sat up, blinking a few times. Craning his neck to look at your bedroom door.
Still shut. Right. Because of course it was. It was the asscrack of dawn, you probably wouldn’t be up for another few hours. Maybe getting out of bed around noon.
But Habit knew better, he knew you needed to get up, eat something, shower. All the normal things. He hadn’t even packed an overnight bag, it completely slipped his mind.
Well shit. He didn’t want to leave you alone right now. Not when you were grieving a limp-dicked bastard who lived off energy drinks and cigarettes. At least that’s what he tasted like to Habit.
He carefully pushed himself off of the couch, tossing his hat onto the coffee table. Lucky for him, you had a pretty okay coffee machine. Nothing fancy or expensive.
But it made coffee, and that’s all that mattered. He didn’t need it, coffee had no effects on him. But it might help the hosts’ body a little bit.
He carefully opened the top, slipping in a coffee filter. He listened closely for any signs that you were awake and alive in your bedroom. Shuffling, sniffing, maybe even the softest whimper.
But nothing. Habit tried to stay quiet during this whole process. Pouring the water in the back, turning it on. The machine sounded loud in the small apartment.
Habit cringed, loud noises didn’t bother him. In the slightest, he actually loved loud noises. Screams, cries, wails, all of them. But he didn’t want to prematurely wake you up from your deep slumber.
He knew from the weeks of watching you and learning your schedule that you got cranky when woken up. The way you would nap over the course of your day. He thought it was adorable.
Like a kitten, or a bunny. Just napping whenever you were tired. And he knew that habit would crank up to ten now.
Habit sipped on his coffee in one of the more normal mugs you had. It had ribbons in an array of colors around it, but that was fine.
Habit didn’t have much of a ‘macho alpha male’ personality. I mean, he was a cold-blooded killer for Christ's sake. He didn’t need to drink out of a mug that said that.
Habits head immediately snapped up when he heard your bedroom door open. He carefully set the mug on the counter, rounding the corner.
You stood there, same outfit as yesterday. Hair messed up, rubbing at one bleary eye. Trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.
“Mornin’ sunshine.” Habit smiled, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He leaned against the wall next to him, eyes scanning over your frame.
“Morning.” you yawned, walking past him on wobbly legs, still partially asleep.
“What’re ya doin’ up s’early?” Habit asked, not making a move to walk away from the wall right away. Instead focusing on the faint smell of your perfume and shampoo as you walked by.
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, reaching up to grab a mug from your cabinet to pour yourself some coffee.
“I just couldn’t stay asleep.” You responded flatly, mixing in your favorite coffee creamer. You weren’t mad at Habit. No, far from it. You were actually a little surprised that he didn’t leave in the middle of the night.
“You didn’t leave.” You muttered, not taking your eyes off of the counter. Your chest felt hollow, eyes red and puffy from waking up just to cry.
“Yeah. Y’looked like you needed some company. Somethin’ like this ain’t easy to get through alone.” Habit responded, reaching around you to grab his mug. His hand gently brushing against your side.
You flinched at the touch, making Habit take a step back immediately.
“Easy there, sweets. I ain’t gonna hurt'cha.” Habit held both hands up, the nickname slipping out before he could stop it.
Your shoulders loosened a bit at that. Still guarded, but not so much. In fact, you looked more confused about the fact that he wasn’t going to hurt you than the pet name.
“You… aren’t?” You asked, brows knitting up in confusion. You turned to face him, seeing the bewildered expression on his face at the question.
Of course Habit was faking it. He knew he had to play it real good if he wanted you to be like putty in his hands. So he was pulling out all the stops to this. Laying the sweetness on extra thick.
“Course not. I know your boyfriend. I knew what he was like. Only stuck around ‘cus o’the others.” He shrugged, now carefully removing the mug from its spot on the counter next to yours.
The implication of Habit only sticking around the friend group because of other people and not your boyfriend specifically made your shoulders finally drop. So not all of his friends were pieces of shit. That was good to know.
You completely missed the implication that Habit knew what your ex-boyfriend was like. It wasn’t surprising to anyone that he acted the same way around his friends. Probably hitting on other girls when they went out, talking about how he got his girl in order. Blah blah blah.
“So.. you knew what he was like, huh?” You asked, gingerly taking a sip of the hot coffee in your mug. Habit probably hung out with your ex and his friends all the time. He probably got to see a side of your ex even you didn’t get to see.
“So you.. know. Know how good he was to me?” Habits eyebrows shot up damn near to his hairline. His whole body frozen. Had he got the wrong guy? Had all of his research and work all been for nothing? Or were you so deep in the trenches, you believed he was actually good?
“Don’t like talkin’ bad on dead people. But he was a piece o’shit.” He replied, sipping on his coffee again. And you spun around, jaw slack. Eyebrows knitting together in confusion. That was not how you remembered. Maybe your memory was screwed, whatever. You couldn’t believe his friend would talk about him like that.
“No..? He was sweet and- and he was-” You were trying to think of all of his good qualities, but you were coming up short for some reason. Staring blankly at the wall, brain buffering. Habit stepped forward, gently grabbing your coffee mug from your hand.
Habit set it on the counter, his hand splaying across your lower back. Guiding you to the couch before you could pass out.
“Gonna be real with you, dollface. He wasn’t all that.” Habit let you use his arm to balance and sit down on the soft cushions. You knew that his friends saw a completely different side to him, but you weren’t aware how much they saw of him.
Did you even want to know? Taint the image of your shitty ex boyfriend? He was already a piece of shit, he hit you, cursed at you, drank way too much. He wasn’t good for you. Maybe him dying was the best thing, because now you couldn’t run back to him.
Couldn’t restart the cycle over and over again. But that sounded awful to say. Nobody deserves to die. Habit definitely disagreed with that sentiment, considering he literally ate him like yesterday's leftovers.
“What.. Did he do?” Your voice cracked a little on that, tears bubbling at your lashes yet again. Habit was trying to decide if it was even safe enough to tell you. Should he get it all out now or wait?
Now would probably be best, so you could grieve that piece of shit properly. But still, it felt wrong.
“Went home with girls from bars, talked shit about you, called you dumb, and naive." Habit hated saying those lies to your face, watching you crumple and heave on the couch. He maneuvered himself to sit next to you on the couch.
Sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. He could feel your shoulders shaking; tears soaking through his shirt as you buried your face into his shoulder.
“Hey, hey. Easy, I got’cha. Won’t let him hurt you no more, promise.” Habit cooed, pulling you onto his lap. That promise was an easy one to make for him, mainly because he killed the guy already. But also because he actually meant it.
He’d help you through the grief, and keep you by his side the entire time. After all, you were his sweet bunny. And he protects what’s his.
Habit definitely is into knife play and in the bloodiest way possible. Mean while Evan is extremely vanilla and just the thought of hurting you make him feel guilty. Habit will carve your thighs, back, ass, etc. He'll lick the blood from your skin drinking from the deep wounds as if they were fountains. Habit enjoys smearing the crimson liquid across your body or when its on his hands and visibly leaves hand prints on you. Though Evan will pepper you gentle kisses and caress you like your made of porcelain as if pressing to hard would make you break.
𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 / 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 → yandere themes, dubcon, light blood play, strangulation, ghostface chokes reader until they pass out, praise, full nelson position, unhealthy dynamic, ghostface prevents the reader from saying their safe word
𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 → ghostface punishes you for being a brat.
𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 → aftercare route unlocking soon after I complete the other chapters! also the master list for this series will be slowly updated, currently working on a new master list <<3
You chose to make Ghostface jealous.
That was a mistake.
One big mistake. You knew you were going to regret that, but the thought of your lovesick stalker being jealous excited you—maybe just a little too much. So before you could even think it through, you sweetly thanked your favorite fan, bringing your hand to your lips and blowing him a kiss. “Thank you, perverted daddy, for the large donation. You're so sweet; you've always been my favorite.”
As soon as those words left your mouth in that sweet, provoking tone of yours, Ghostface immediately stopped in his tracks, and his grip on your thigh became deadly.
You should have stuck to the script.
The tension in the air thickened as the sudden silence became deafening. You had expected a response from him—perhaps a jealous remark or a punishment—but received nothing. Only cold silence. It sent a chilling shudder down your body. He felt you shrink beneath him and sensed your sudden regret. The chat watched you immediately fall back into terror. Some were worried for you, while others were eager to see you punished.
Then suddenly, he stood up from his chair and turned the camera off.
You were completely helpless now, with you out of sight from your viewers, he could do anything he wanted to you.
The thought of a punishment excites you. The thought of him fucking you stupid and taking his anger out on you in front of thousands made you want to open your legs wide already.
“Favorite?” He slowly tilted his head and let out a soft laugh. A very strange, low, and soft chuckle. He pouted beneath the mask, “I thought I was your favorite fan.”
♡── WARNING ──♡
╰┈➤ You made a mistake!
His hand suddenly gripped your throat, his gloved fingers dug into your skin, making you gasp and pathetically wince at the pain. Your lovesick stalker stared at your soft, trembling skin; he loved scaring you like this. He knew you were just trying to make him jealous, trying to provoke a reaction out of him, but he's really, really, really sensitive, and you were becoming too daring.
“I'm sorry—” You immediately blurted out, clawing at his huge hands that had you trapped in his grasp. “I was just playing around.”
His grip was dangerously firm; he was not in the mood to accept that as an apology. You were sensitive as well, though, tears forming already as he took your breath away. Yet, your apologies didn't mean anything to him; he was already determined to punish you.
Delicate tears formed and fell from your eyes as you continued to sob, the glitter from your eyeshadow mixed with your tear drops which were a beautiful sight, and your breathless, pathetic whimpers only made his cock harder.
“Do I have to remind you of who you belong to?” He pulled you closer to him, gently wiping your tears while the other hand strangled you. It felt so intoxicating, one hand comforts you while the other takes your breath away.
You frantically shook your head, but your eyes told a different story. You didn't need a reminder of who you belonged to; you knew that every inch of your body belonged to him and always had since that day. But a small part of you, or maybe a rather large part, wanted to be reminded. The tone of his voice and the tightening grip around your throat are already making you feel wet, even as you gasp for air and struggle to remain conscious; you only wish for more.
He realized it. The lovesick look on your face. You wanted more. “I see,” Ghostface chuckled, “you want this.”
He tilted his head and sadistically laughed at the dumb look on your face, “You want to be punished. Well, it's your lucky day, sweetheart. I would love nothing more than to give you what you want.”
Suddenly, just as you were about to pass out, he released your throat, and you collapsed into your chair. He watched you catch your breath and fix your hair as he stood over you. He then helped you move the hair from your face, softly moving the loose strands and wiping the tears from your flushed cheeks.
He then lifted his mask slightly, took your mask off, and softly tilted your chin with his gloved fingers and gave you a violent, bloody, and loving kiss. The kiss overwhelmed you, his teeth and mouth devoured you while you struggled to remain still.
His teeth stung as they ripped your delicate skin off your lips, the cold blood trickling down your aching mouth.
“It's okay, baby.” He gently caressed your bloody lips, admiring the mess he made on his pretty doll. “I'll clean you up.”
He leaned in closer and licked the wine colored blood off your face, and your heart couldn't help but throb. He spread the remaining droplets of blood on your chest with a slow drag of his tongue, all while staring up at you like you were his favorite meal. You watched as his tongue explored your stained chest while it rose and fell at a fast pace.
“When I'm done, we'll continue the stream,” he mutters as he licks your hard nipples, “then I'll give you what you want and punish you sweetly, okay?”
“Do you understand, angel?”
He waited for your response, but you were distracted by the pleasure of his tongue. With a sudden twist of your nipples, he quickly got the response he wanted. You winced and nodded, “Yes, Mr Lovesick.”
Your words and soft gasps that fell from your mouth satisfied your stalker's ears, and he gave you a few more kisses on your breasts before putting his mask back in place.
He placed you in the position he wanted you in, putting your mask back on, and moving your limbs like a doll as he got you ready for the camera. He then pressed the button to resume the stream.
You were visibly shaken up; the blood from your bottom lip had now appeared faint on your face, yet your lips were now flushed and swollen. Yet you wanted to continue the stream for Ghostface; you wanted to see what he had planned for you next.
➢ [◉°] LIVE | ꧁ᬊᬁ ᴀɴɢᴇʟᬊ᭄꧂ ANGELSOFTPORN.COM
[ ▸ 246.7k LIVE VIEWERS ]
LIVE CHAT ▶ WE'RE BACK
♡ waynecc » welcome back
♡ glittergloss » uh oh what happened
♡ ghostfacefangirl » I want to be you sooo bad
♡ demonlusts » punish her please
♡ obnoxi » fuck her cunt pleasee
♡ angelickisses » you're so pretty bruised up
♡ adrienanon » fuck her!
♡ chaseeer » you're back!!
The chat flooded in, and you leaned in to see how many people waited, but before you could read the numbers, Ghostface gripped your hair and pulled you back in the blink of an eye.
He dragged you around like a rag doll, he quickly sat in your chair, forcing you to stay on his lap, and he spread your legs wide open, revealing your wet cunt to thousands of people.
You were extremely flustered, trying to cover your body with your knees and squirming in his lap. He saw how shy you were; he watched you through the camera as you tried your best to hide your face. He thought it was adorable.
“Don't be shy,” he whispers into your ear, “I want to see you.”
He firmly grabbed your legs as you couldn't stop moving, digging his fingers into your thighs too harshly, “Your fans want to see you; don't deprive them of what they want.”
He grabbed your legs and held them roughly as he positioned his dripping tip against your wet hole. As soon as he thrusted into your wet needy cunt, he placed your legs into a v shape, and wrapped his arms around your own so you couldn't escape.
“What are you doing, sir?” You asked in an adorable tone. You've never been in this position before. It felt so strange. It felt so violating.
“It's okay, baby; give up your control. Let me make you feel good.”
It was hard to surrender your control to him, and not only that, the position made his cock feel so much deeper, and so much bigger. You felt every inch of his thick cock, and you felt every thin trace of a vein.
Your cunt throbbed in a way it never did before, and the sticky tip of his dick was hitting you in a way that made your toes curl. You were letting out embarrassing noises you'd never made before, and it overwhelmed you.
You started to squirm and whimper uncontrollably, your whole body shaking as he continued to thrust frantically into your dripping pussy. He held you tighter, ignoring the way you pathetically cried—his eyes were glued to the screen, practically hypnotized as he zoomed the camera onto your cunt.
You could feel his cock growing harder inside of you, his cock twitching and his thrusts becoming sloppy. He was completely lost at the sight of his cock claiming your pussy over and over again, he was in love with the way your cunt stretched around his dick like it was its first time. He was practically drooling over the sight. He was obsessed with it.
He was obsessed with you.
Then he noticed you struggling to take his cock, your legs trembling in the air as your chest rose and fell at a faster pace than his thrusts. He listened to your sweet whimpers and cries just for a moment before reassuring you, wanting to savour the sweet noises before offering any comfort.
“Relax, doll.”
He softly held your hand with his gloved hand, which made your heart beat so fast against your chest. It was a gentle gesture you needed, a moment of reassurance, but then it was quickly taken away when he moved his hand. His hands then firmly guided yours and placed them on top of your head, forcing you to look at the screen, “Just keep your pretty eyes on the screen.”
“I want you to watch, angel.”
Just as you thought he would reassure you, he only forced you to watch as he ruined you and completely unraveled you.
He forced you to watch the screen as his cock plunged deeper and deeper into your tight hole. It looked so lewd, you could see your cunt throb from watching yourself being fucked like this. It was so filthy, yet it felt so fucking amazing.
“Mmmfh…”
The sweet whimpers and moans that fell from your lips pleasured him a little too much—he gripped your legs and started to fuck you harder, his already frantic thrusts becoming more brutal and manic—turning you into a melting, trembling, whimpering mess.
The filthy juices that dripped along your cunt splattered all over your desk and floor, each frantic and violent thrust making you so wet, you couldn't stop dripping and dripping. The wet and loud sounds filled the room while he repeatedly bucked his hips, loving the way the tip of his cock kissed the insides. It was almost as if he were unable to stop.
➢ [◉°] LIVE | ꧁ᬊᬁ ᴀɴɢᴇʟᬊ᭄꧂ ANGELSOFTPORN.COM
[ ▸ 255.2k LIVE VIEWERS ]
LIVE CHAT ▶ SLOWED
♡ elliotnope » I love this position
♡ angelnumbers » spread her legs wider
♡ riddlergirl340 » this is so so hott
♡ stonerfreak » loving this
♡ iamtxed » such a pretty sight
♡ perverteddaddy » I'm loving this, angel
♡ n3ssabarrett » baby, you're a star
He continued to thrust into you, holding you tight and listening to your sweet whimpers and moans. He watched the tears cling to your pretty lashes, loving the way your tears mixed with the glitter and stained your mask. He stared at the lewd expression on your face, the way your mouth hung wide open and cute moans spilled out. It was like a dream to him. A very wet and filthy dream.
He began to kiss the back of your neck so lovingly, yet so violently. His kisses were rough as he placed them on your neck, his teeth grazed upon your skin, and his tongue was determined to leave harsh and deep marks.
You felt as if you were being eaten alive.
With each deep thrust and each rough kiss on your skin, you felt yourself melting in your lovesick stalker's arms, completely surrendering as he violated you. Your arms were starting to ache as he held them roughly against his own. Your breasts bounced freely as he held you in place and made sure your legs were as wide as they could go, letting the audience get a better view of your dripping cunt, letting himself get a better view as well. More importantly, he wanted you to watch. He wanted you to watch as he repeatedly forced his cock into you and drove you to your limits.
Your legs shook as they were growing tired, and you felt your stomach begin to ache as he used your body for his pleasure. Defeated and tired whimpers slipped from your mouth; it was becoming too much for you—the filthy sounds, the overwhelming feeling of his cock filling your body, the thousands of people watching your defilement—you were at your limit.
But he didn't care. His hooded head is buried in the crook of your neck, his breath a freezing mist against your heated skin. He held you tighter and tighter, lost in the pleasure of your cunt, ignoring your pleas and only listening to the rhythmic slap, slap, slap of his cock hitting your soaking wet pussy.
Your cunt is a pulsing, swollen mess, clenching desperately around him with each lovesick thrust. The constant squelch, squelch, squelch sound drove you sick as he continued to drill into your overstimulated parts.
"It's... too much... I want to stop soon… hnnn!”
But he didn't want to stop — he couldn't stop; he was lost in his own pleasure, whimpering pathetically in the crook of your neck as he made love to you in such a violent, obsessive, and filthy way.
You continued to cry out, your eyes rolling back as your body was slowly giving up, shaking and crying in his arms as you felt yourself melting into a puddle.
“It's too much, sir. please..mmmf!”
“No, it's not.” He growled.
You were a squirming mess, legs trembling, cunt fluttering with each frantic thrust. His cold, sticky, and filthy precum dripped along your parts, making your pussy look so creamy. He loved the sight; it only wanted him to keep going.
“Mr—” you moaned loudly, which was music to his ears, “Mr. Ghostface—I can't keep going. End the stream, please!”
“You can't leave yet, soft angel. We're not done yet,” he continued his rough thrusts as he moved closer to your computer screen, “I need you to read the rest of the donations; you have so many—you can't leave now!”
“After all, they spent so much money on you. It would be quite rude to end the stream so early when you haven't read what they paid to send to you.”
His rough thrusts became more rapid, making you whine uncontrollably. You couldn't keep going, but you knew he wasn't going to stop until you read those donations. But the moment your pretty eyes looked upon the screen, your heart stopped; there were way too many donations to go through.
You immediately shook your head, trying to speak, but it was hard to hear your shaky voice with the constant squelching and slapping noises, “please, I can't.."
“I can't read all of them—I'm sorry, but I can't—”
He leaned in closer, his mouth close to your ear, “You wanted this. Didn't you?”
“You chose to be a brat. You earned yourself this, baby.”
His harsh words made your heart break, but he was right; you chose this. You chose to be a brat, and you've earned this sweet punishment. So you stopped whining and tried to catch your breath, sniffling, and tried to stop any more tears from falling.
“That's my good girl.”
Fuck. His praise made you feel so happy.
Your eyes looked at the screen, and you almost laughed. God, you looked like a mess—strands of hair stuck to your heated, flushed cheeks, tears still clung to your lashes, you looked as if you just ran a marathon, and it did feel like it as well. Despite your exhausted state, you tried to be good for him, moving your bruised lips and reading the rest of the donations.
As soon as you moved your pretty lips, he resumed his rough thrusts, thrusting into you and making it harder for you to read the donations. Soft whimpers and pathetic moans uncontrollably fell from your mouth as you tried to read the first donation, causing Ghostface to smirk behind the mask. He loved fucking with you.
♡──corpse-x Has Donated $150!!──♡
╰┈➤ I'm enjoying the stream so much!! You should do this position more please!! <3
You struggle to thank the fan for their generous donation, whimpering and moaning with each attempt to thank them. This was so much harder than you thought it would be.
“T..thank you, corpse..x.. for the generous donation! I really, r..really appreciate your love and..mfmm!.. support.”
Ghostface chuckled at the way you stumbled over your words as you continued to read more donations and messages, which made you even more flustered. You were trying your best, but even then, you were doing a terrible job at reading the messages, stumbling over your words, whimpering too much, not talking loud enough, moaning too loud—it was a humiliation ritual, and Ghostface was enjoying every minute of it.
♡──babysbreathbabes Has Donated $666!!──♡
╰┈➤ been a fan for a while, in love with your new content! you deserve this sweet gift.
Holy shit, that's a lot of money.
“Oh my! Thank you for the amazing donation! What a generous amo..amount! Mmmfh!”
The more donations poured in, the more money your fans were giving you. It sent a thrill through your body, but the more donations people sent, the more frantic and rough his thrusts became.
He was jealous of each sweet word you uttered towards a fan, especially to the fans that have been there for you for so long, and he knew which ones they were. He mesmerized their names and always made sure he spent more money on you than on them. But with each donation becoming larger and larger, he became bitter and jealous, the tip of his cock doing more damage than a kiss.
It was becoming too much for you; his love was becoming too obsessive and violent.
♡──tooloudarts Has Donated $444!!──♡
╰┈➤ Thank you for providing us with so much delicious content recently! I'm obsessed with it! Keep making this type of content, and I'll give you all of my money.
Suddenly, you heard another ping coming from your computer; it was another large donation. You felt Ghostface’s pace becoming harsher and deeper. He wanted to harm you; he wanted everyone to know that they could send all the money they wanted, because you belonged to him.
More donations kept coming in before you could properly thank the others, and it was completely overwhelming to you.
♡──love-me-satoru Has Donated $350!!──♡
╰┈➤ I'm excited for more videos with you two, the best porn I've ever watched.
You tried to thank your lovely fan, but the words failed to come out from your mouth, and your eyes couldn't stop staring at the way his cock was so deep inside of you, it looked as if you two were connected, always one. He kept his head in the crook of your sweaty neck, groaning and whimpering like a helpless animal in heat.
He was uncontrollable.
He wanted more.
He needed more. He always needed more.
Then suddenly, you heard another soft ping coming from your computer.
♡──Perverted Daddy Has Donated $888!!──♡
╰┈➤ I'm glad to know I'm your favorite fan, angel.
It was him, your ‘favorite fan’, and he just donated a huge amount. Not only just a huge amount, the biggest donation you've ever received from someone in a stream, and the most perverted daddy has ever sent you.
Ghostface was livid.
Just as you were about to say the safeword, trying to avoid his rage of jealousy, he quickly gripped your throat, forcefully turned your head towards him, and sweetly shushed your terrified whimpers with a deep and passionate kiss, “It's okay, babydoll, just rest.”
You felt the light going out of your eyes, the breath slowly leaving your body as he squeezed harder and harder. “I know you're tired; just rest, baby. I'll continue the stream without you.”
You didn't want to surrender to his grip, squirming on his lap as his thrusts only grew more frantic and obsessive. Your hands try to hit his thick, veiny arms, scratching his gloves and failing to stop him. Only faint whimpers and begging could be heard from your lips before you completely passed out, and all you saw was black.
As you awaken, filthy wet sounds fill your ears, and you struggle to open your eyes. You don't remember anything, but you feel your body restrained and filled. You sense the weight of something heavy on top of you, towering over you. Then you feel a fastening movement above you, him positioned between your legs, and the sensation of something very, very sticky. Finally, you manage to open your eyes; your vision is blurry, but you recognize that mask. It was his mask.
He was looking down on you, one hand was holding the rope around your chest, while the other was holding your shaky leg in the air. You felt his cock plunging deep into your cum filled cunt, over and over again, and it felt so so good. You couldn't move or talk; your mouth was gagged, and you were completely helpless before him. Unable to say the safeword, unable to resist.
You heard his manic laughs, laughing at you as you were reduced to a sex doll for him to enjoy. A pretty toy for him to fuck and broadcast whenever he wanted.
It was humiliating, yet you felt yourself accepting it, and even loving it. Such a filthy angel.
You were loving this.
He continued to thrust as he left bloody kisses all over your body; he never wanted you to forget who you belonged to. He never wanted you to think you could defy him and play with his heart whenever you wished. He had a delicate heart, and you needed to learn this lesson.
The more you play with his heartstrings, the easier it is for you to get hurt.
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (MINORS DNI) JASON TODD who has a fixation for fishnets! especially on you!
he’s not sure why, but it’s been something he’s been loving since he was a teenager with porn magazines and accidentally seeing strippers in the streets during his youth.
it got worse in his adult years when his small mechanic shop that only the downtown locals knew of were visited by hookers and strippers that frequented his shop— not for any car fixing of course, but he wasn’t into all that casual shit.
he’s obsessed with how fishnets look on a woman, how they’re almost calling for him to rip them and watch the material stretch thin until they give out, the different colors and the stretch they have on different types of bodies.
so when you begin to date the man, you weren’t shocked in the slightest that he wanted you to wear fishnets.
when you two went out shopping and found your selves in a sex shop, he’d always ignore the toys or the fancy oils and lubes and went straight to the fishnet and tight sections. he knew your size— of course he did, and he picked out one too many bags of them that the cashier thought he was crazy, but it was just feeding his addiction more and more.
at home it was always worse. god forbid you wear them around him, those damn stripper fishnets that wrap around your thighs perfectly, covering your cunt like something he needs to get to.
a pair never ever remains in tact.
his fingers always end up tearing them open, ripping them apart so damn easily. you’ve gotten use to the sound of them and the sight of huge sections of skin showing after he tore through them.
“look at you…” he mutters as your feet sit on his shoulder blades, his right fingers digging into the torn section he had just created. “walking ‘round here… in these fucking things, expecting me to not rip ‘em…” he rasps.
you shudder as his fingers found themselves to your core, stretching and pulling apart the fishnet lines that covered your sobbing fold. “well jay, i didn’t tell you to not rip them…” you challenge.
the whimper he let out at your words was heavenly… and you weren’t shocked when they were on the floor and his hands were the only thing covering your body.
when you wore them, you thought about him as well.
his fingers wrapping around the material, yanking on them and flicking them to watch it snap back into place on your thigh. you never worse them too often— because it was something only you wanted him to see… but also the fishnets never lasted long enough for triple wearing, you were lucky if it got a second time around!
masterlist is here! click here for more!
ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!
Hiii angel I hope everything is going well with you💋💋 for some reason the link for glitter and violence is not working hopefully it’s just me but just check xoxo
hii angel! thank you I'm doing well, I'm currently editing glitter & violence and it will be posted soon! 💞 I had posted it earlier but messed up on something so I'm currently editing the fic, it'll probably be posted tomorrow or the next day. thank you for your patience angel xoxo
Hey just wanted to let you know your blog gave me more happiness than any other website Ive been to. Thank you for the hard work writing and curating your blog experience. I wish I had that much attention to detail in anything lol. Everythings so cute <333 Its so early 2000s and makes me want to look up other neocities blogs. I swear ur works professional. Not to mention the hottest works I've ever read. Your writing sent me into a fugue state of drawing and once its good enough quality I'll send it to you if you like. Ghostface has his stupid gloves on my heart and soul and u channel his character to a T
Also I want to thank you for being brave enough to post true dark kinks and bring such a Queen at it. I hope to post similar art and you really inspire me <3
If I may give a recommendation of similar tastes. You might like the ao3 fic "You get me closer to god" by shatteredcassiopeia 👌
Heyyy angel!! thank you for the sweetest message I've ever received 😭💞 I really really appreciate your words and thank you for appreciating my work!! I'm happy that my blog gives you happiness and I'm really glad you love the early 2000s theme I have going on with my blog right now and the interactive style for my ghostface series. It's a new style for me and I just fell in love with it once I kept working on the series. the interactive webcore theme in each chapter can be so hard to do but it's so much fun and I want to keep doing it for as long as I can! Recently I've been having trouble with my writing style and I have been feeling bad about it but your words just comforted me <<<3
I checked out the fic you recommended and I've only read a bit so far but it's definitely my type of fic! I'll definitely finish reading later. Also I would love to receive any of your artwork!! My inbox is always open and I would love to see your art. Inspiring anyone's work warms my heart and if you ever post anything similar I would love to see it. Expect to see more ghostface content soon <<3
