Haunt Me Harder, Daddy
The hallway stretched long behind her. Red light flickered against the peeling walls. Somewhere in the fog, a chainsaw snarled low—closer now. Harry's breath caught.
Bootsteps followed.
Slow. Measured.
Then he appeared—face paint smeared, leather jacket dark and ripped, chainsaw dragging behind him like a threat.
Harry pressed back against the wall, lips parted. “If you’re gonna kill me,” she whispered, voice shaking, “can I at least get a kiss first?”
He dropped the chainsaw.
Stepped into her space.
And kissed her like he'd waited a hundred lifetimes to find her in the dark.
—
Harry hates haunted houses. Her friends drag her to the scariest one in town, where a chainsaw-wielding menace corners her in the dark. So she kisses him.
And then she runs.
She doesn't expect him to find her. Or kiss her back. Or stay. But chainsaw boy turns out to be warm hands, syrupy kisses, and a hoodie that smells like forever.
Prompt: 3940 from larryffprompts on X
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