casper

must be 18 or older to order

[rabbits-bad-habit]

casper, adult, he/him, cripple. can’t promise what r when anything will be posted but do know it will be vile. using this blog to save my fav fics too. mostly rory culkin but other’s will be present let it be known. my favs r ollie, charlie, n possum. quite fond of gabe n kappa, too. feel free to psychoanalyze me.

requests r open- rules can be found under the cut.

follows from @bun-after-dark

rabbit's request rules:

please be over the age of 18 if you’re requesting, i’d rather you not interact with my blog at all if you are underage.

i write for any character i’ve written for before. also all the of age rory characters, only exceptions are those that come from his true crime pieces (euronymous, thibodeau, etc)

i do not write for children or child characters, nor will i write any form of incest, or romanticized abuse.

i will not write for emeto under any circumstance, nor will i write hard cnc, waste, or age play.

i will not write anything that romanticizes mental health difficulties, including eating disorders, self injury, or suicide. where this stands for comfort content is case-by-case, just ask.

anything else is free reign, don't be afraid to ask. if you have something in mind, let me know, the more specific the request the better!

[rabbits-bad-habit]

Really hate being on so many medications that I’m dumb- I swear I’m writing! It’s just the same pieces I’ve been writing for months :,)

[rabbits-bad-habit]

okay so.. masked scare actor charlie walker (or perhaps even our favorite smelly man, kappa) chasing/hunting prey smut? 👀

Only took me six months, but it is done! Hopefully it's what ya want.

Masked man here!

[rabbits-bad-habit]

Rehearsal - Scareactor!Charlie Walker/GN Reader

When your acting obsessed boyfriend gets antsy at the lack of fake blood on his hands during the off season, you give him a taste of the chase

TW: Smut, reader has afab anatomy but no gendered language is used, fingering, p in v, pred/prey, degradation and threats, masks and gloves (specifically spark/click gloves), Charlie is in character, Charlie's acting character is basically just Ghostface, “bitch” used for reader, author infodumping about haunting the whole time duh

A/N: The long awaited!! Can’t promise it’s worth the wait, but I hope so. I’m gonna ramble about Haunt and life since at the end of the tags if you care to listen tho :p Request here!

Off season, the time between the last October and the next. The time where your boyfriend goes stir crazy in a way that only this time of year could provide, caused by a craving for something that was locked behind the confines of what the public called “spooky season.” The first few weeks were fine, of course he missed the people and the chaos, but he was fine. Until it headed into the new year and the restlessness of being deprived finally started setting in.

Two months of building up a routine, two months of pouring nearly all of his time and energy into something he has so much pure passion for. After all the final nights and end of season parties and last minute get-togethers, it’s just done. Simply over. No easing out of it, no time to get used to it, all at once the fun ends. You might get one or two nights of a holiday event, maybe, if you’re lucky. But there’s no tapering off the nightly adrenaline fix.

Frankly, you’d gotten just as used to it as he did. Showing up to his home and finding him in full clown makeup, fake blood stains on not just his clothes but yours, picking him up at three in the morning to go to some late night diner with his actor friends. Listening to their stories about good scares and bad guests, ranting about bad management. Getting used to airbrush makeup smudged on your face and clothes. It was thrilling, even if you were experiencing it second hand.

The excitement stopping all at once was jarring for everyone involved. However it was never going to be as jarring as it was for Charlie, who put his heart and soul into haunting. Sure, technically it was all year for him but the adrenaline high of doing it every week was unlike anything else. It was something he chased no matter the day, it was what kept him coming back to his haunt year after year, through all the bullshit that acting brings. It almost made you afraid of him, and not just for the act.

You’d been through his trail, of course you had. Multiple times over. He was amazing at what he did, and you had to admit that seeing him play killer was wildly attractive. Out in the woods with a flimsy foam knife, mouth-safe blood dripping from his teeth and onto the dirt below. Thick, black airbrush paint running down his face as he sweat in his costume that was made for the cold and not the physical activity. Slinging threats and growls and lunging at everyone who passed by. It was hot.

You couldn’t help but miss seeing him like that, you knew it did something to him that he needed. He certainly missed letting himself loose like that, the haunt was all he could talk about in the weeks following, all the way through the holidays. Spouting every memory he had, recounting all the silly moments between cast, brainstorming ideas for “next year” as if the current year had yet truly concluded. He needed somewhere to get this unending energy out, and you were happy to help when he finally got a good idea.

“I was thinking of changing my costume next year.” He’d opened with, poorly concealed smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m thinking of trying a bigger coat and maybe a muzzle, but you know I’m not used to moving in something like that. I could take a run in it or whatever, but it wouldn’t be real. I need something to chase after. You game?”

There was no chance in hell you were going to say no.

In the days that followed he meticulously decided on his plan. Choosing costume pieces like it was life or death, practicing character voices under his breath. He was treating this like it was a dry run for some opening night, he wasn’t going to give you a subpar performance. It would be rude. It was less than a week later that you actually followed through on your promise and he couldn’t have been more excited.

He suited up in another room, away from where you could see what he’d chosen. Carefully snapping up his costume and putting on paint. He took this whole thing very seriously, and you weren’t surprised to find he still did even when his audience was you alone. You felt the adrenaline buzz in your chest, your head filling the anticipatory silence with ideas of what was to come as he kept you in suspense.

When he walked out you couldn’t help the way you gawked. He donned a beautifully crafted leather muzzle, straps around his ears and grommets in place as breathing holes. His hair framed it so beautifully. Usually, he wasn’t one for such a piece, as he felt it restricted his acting but he was nothing if not open to a challenge. It fit what he had in mind, and he would just have to force his skill around the clothing. The rest of the outfit consisted of a pinstripe tailcoat that lacked sleeves, and a pair of properly ripped and stained black jeans. The same ones that he’d been using for years. The coat looked too new, too intact, compared to the rest of the pieces, but you knew with time that the same fabric would be torn to bits.

He gave you a few moments to prepare, double checking that you were on board and giving you one last chance to back out. When you gave him the go ahead, you watched as he slipped into character like it was nothing. The change in his posture, the sharpening on his eyes. Like he hadn’t been unattached from the mindset for months, it was so natural for him. He could so easily become so malicious, get a certain spark in his eyes that made you feel hunted. Just as quickly as he could come out of it to pepper you in kisses at the end of the night, he became another person all together.

He hadn’t told you anything about his plans for this costume, nor given a hint of what this character of his was like. Of course, he had something in mind, he simply wasn’t telling you. The one he’d been using for years was a proper slasher, carried his knife well but not too well. Intentionally felt a bit amateur in his threats and movements. Sometimes he could be funny, even if the character would take offense to being laughed at. You knew that one, you knew who that was. This, though? There was nothing telling you what to expect.

The curiosity was thrilling, and you could only feel yourself grow more impatient to have your questions answered. The incoming threat sent chills down your spine. From the moment he said go, your blood ran cold. You could only see his eyes in the costume, narrowing in on you as he gave you a head start to your little game. You heard absent minded clicks and clacks coming from the metal bits on his costume as he reared up, watching you run off like prey.

It was silent besides your shaking breathing and the sound of your feet doing their best to support the speed at which you were going. The clunk of his heavy combat boots against the wood floor was soon added to the mix, the moment he felt you were too ahead of him. It wasn’t hard to tell how close behind he was, he was coming up on you quick. You were greatly disadvantaged by your difference of strength, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to put in a good effort. You were here for a reason, and you were going to give that new costume a good run.

You ran around the corner and down the hall, hoping to lose him but knowing in your heart that it would be a task of no success. You weren’t going to be faster than him, never could be even giving all of your effort. You couldn’t outrun him, no matter how hard you tried. So instead you decided that outsmarting him would have to be the answer, hiding instead of running. Slipping away when his eyes weren’t on you.

Swiftly ducking into a nearby closet, as quietly as you possibly could, you kept your eye on him from the crack in the door. Holding your breath as the thunk of footsteps only gained speed and got closer. He looked around, and like a big cat stalking its prey, he cautiously kept walking. He scanned every inch of the hallway looking for places you could be hiding, but he didn’t look in the closet. Did he think it was too obvious, that you wouldn’t have chosen something so cliche? More likely he just didn’t want the game to end yet, you were let go for the sake of playing with his food.

Once he was out of sight, you left your safety and headed in the opposite direction to which he went. Letting out shaky breaths, feeling the rush in your fingertips as you closed the door so slowly. So hesitant with every step you made, ears perked to every little creak of the floor boards. You slid through the hallway, back against the wall in an attempt to keep yourself unexposed, heading towards the kitchen.

The sound of boots became no more and you no longer knew where he was. He was just as on top of the noise he was making as you were, light on his feet despite the heavy shoes. The silence nearly made your blood run cold, somehow more eerie than the reminder that he was behind you. It could only mean one of two things, that he was far, or that he was far too close.

You stood still in the kitchen, using the lower cabinets as a shield from whatever lay outside of them. Slowing your breathing, listening so carefully for any sign of life, catching your breath. You nearly let your guard down, it felt quiet enough, but you knew better. You knew Charlie, and you were right to be prepared.

The moment you dared to let yourself get comfortable a firm stomp came from behind the cabinets, sending a loud bang through the room. You jumped, letting out a startled yelp that made him laugh wickedly from wherever he was. A laugh you hadn’t heard in so long, but were so very pleased to be the cause of. That same proud chuckle that all recipients of his scares hear. You’d always wondered if he even realized he did it, but there it was every time.

There wasn’t much time to admire your boyfriend and your now warm cheeks, however, as he was taking the opportunity to lunge at you. Just barely, you skated his hand as it brushed the edge of your shirt. You rounded the corner of the kitchen, feeling him at your heels. You could have cried as you came down from the buzz of the initial startle, the tension was so high it could no longer be reached.

If he’d wanted to, he could have grabbed you, but you were doing so good. He almost felt bad at the idea of cutting you off. Almost. The only thing in his head was the look on your face when he did catch you. When he finally had you pinned to the floor, or the couch, or the wall. Those doe eyes you had been giving him since you started were more than enough to keep him chasing.

You escaped him earnestly more than once, he’d give you that. You may not have been faster, but you could be sly when you put your mind to it. Ducking under the stairs, hiding behind curtains, getting away from him within inches. It was cat and mouse until he couldn't stand it anymore and went in for the kill.

It wasn’t until you fully stumbled, slipping on the rug in the living room and tripping over your own feet, that he let himself win. Grabbing hold of both your wrists so you didn’t fully fall, he manhandled you upright before picking you up by the waist. Arms wrapped so tight, even though you struggled you knew there was no way out. You didn’t even know he was so close behind you. The scream you let out when he made contact was so pretty. 

He then slammed you against the wall, with just enough force to knock the wind out of you. You stared back at him stunned, being met with those sharp blue eyes that were often soft for you. Not now, however, you knew you were dealing with a whole different monster than Charlie. You didn’t even know this thing's name, and here you were looking it in the eye.

You could feel from the minute you set off that this wasn’t just some practice, you could only dream of what he had in store for you. Charlie had ulterior motives, much like he usually did when he enacted plans like this. They always had another layer. Only breaking his professionalism for you, he let his desire creep in sooner than he’d have liked. Once he grabbed hold, he didn’t just let you go. No catch and release, he kept you pinned to the wall. 

Tired from the chase, despite the adrenaline pumping through your chest, you panted. Taking in the warm feeling of being caught. The jump in your knees that told you to get away despite the deer in headlights instinct taking over and not allowing you. Your given role was delicious, you’d just wished the chase lasted a little longer.

You knew you couldn’t have gotten away if you’d tried, you knew your boyfriend. He was strong. You’d seen the muscles that rippled his back, the way his arms flexed. You’d seen him throw around grown men with ease, you’d seen him chase teen girls through whole trails. There was no denying what he was capable of, and it only felt inevitable as he stood in front of you, eyes dark and focused only on you.

Charlie’s heavy breathing filtered through the grommets on the leather muzzle, a hissing sound filling the little space between you. You hadn't even noticed that he was wearing spark gloves, but the cool metal was digging into your forearm in a way that only made you more comfortable in his grip. There was no desire to get away, not when he looked over you like that.

“Not even gonna try to get away?” He laughed, looking at you like you were nothing to him. No hint of his usual care, you were mere game. Expressive eyes saying a hundred things, reading you. He already knew why you weren’t attempting an escape, but it was far more entertaining to hear you say it.

You just shook your head, unable to form words through the soft buzz that was drowning out any thought you could have had. You could see him smile through the mask, eyes narrowing pleasantly. He huffed a short laugh, hands sliding up to your shoulders, forehead leaning in to just barely touch yours.

It was imposing, and intimidating, and you could have melted right into the floor. Bright blue eyes icy under the makeup and gaze. There was no Charlie left, only this character who you were total strangers with. You’d gotten excited watching him before, you’d gotten home from a night at the trail and let him fuck you until you couldn’t see straight. However, you’d never been so invested in what he might do next. You had never quite let one of his characters into your home before.

“No survival instinct.” He spat, shaking his head at you and the vacant look in your eyes. He took two fingers and tapped the side of your skull as he finished his sentence. Playful, just enough to make you jump a little.  “I like the dumb ones, you know. The ones with the pretty tits and nothing in their head.”

It only lended to the spacey feeling, how badly you wished to let him take you over. The urge to get away fizzled more and more with every second he kept a hand on you. He was scary, he was imposing, and the more intimidating he got the more you wanted him to tear off your clothes.

“Is it really that easy? You just give up?” He chuckled, one hand sliding down your body. Feeling every inch of you as slowly as he could manage before pawing at your waistband. “Could I get in here as easily as I got into your brain, huh?”

“Yes- yes!” You stuttered, forcing words from your mouth. The nerves overtook your ability to think properly, verbal communication was a miracle. He knew you wanted it, he knew you wanted it bad, but hearing it made his cock twitch. He just couldn't help being mean when it got such good results.

“C’mon, now, I know you can do better.” You couldn't see it, but an evil grin spread across his face. It showed in his eyes, and all you could do was whine. You felt like sobbing, luckily he had mercy to give. “I’ll take it for now. I’m lettin’ you off easy, though.”

He mumbled through his words, undoing the strap of one glove with a loud pop. He pulled it off, and shoved it in his pocket, the metal washers scraping against each other in the confines of the fabric. You hadn't paid much mind to the spark gloves,  the small clicks and clacks coming from the one he still wore were suddenly all you could hear.

He shoved his hand into your pants with no thought at all. Unreasonably warm hands causing your hips to jerk back as his fingers went for your entrance with no hesitation. He found you utterly soaked, and he just laughed. Evil and mocking, laughing right at you. It was pathetic how worked up you already were.

“Damn, babe, you get off on this?” Half joking in tone, just another way to make your cheeks warm. His eyes were wide, trained on you like a hawk. Watching as you shivered, as you struggled to stay on your feet. “All I did was chase ‘ya around a little.”

He knew exactly what that voice did to you, what this side of him did to you. There was no surprise he found you drenched. This was his plan all along. He gets to play killer, you get off. A win-win for the both of you.

His other hand moved upward, over your chest, before settling at the base of your neck. He didn’t squeeze, just gave enough pressure to remind you that he was there. The metal on his glove was so cold it nearly felt sharp and you instinctively leaned away from it. This only caused his grip to tighten.

He ran a fingertip over your clit, testing the waters, watching with satisfaction as you bucked your hips in his direction. He continued to tease you, only feeling you get slicker, until he felt you’d had enough. Cock straining against his jeans, he finally relieved himself of the confines.

For a moment, with no hands on you, you thought about darting away. Of seeing how quickly he could react, what he would do about you. How far could you push him, and how mean could he really get. You decided against it, however, when you saw the way he panted as he stroked himself over. You were reminded that this was Charlie at the end of the day, and he would give you exactly what you wanted if you just held out long enough.

His eyes stayed trained on you like he could hear your thoughts, like he could tell exactly where your brain was going. Before you could even think to make a move he reached for your shorts, pulling them down with your undergarments and letting them fall to the ground. You kicked them away out of habit, wasting no time at all. Becoming impatient after all of the build up.

The gloved hand grabbed onto your thigh, metal washers digging into your flesh as he lifted your leg to make room. He held his cock with the other, guiding the leaking tip towards your cunt. His knees nearly buckled when he made contact. Cracks forming in his character, all for you. All because of you. You braced your hands on his shoulders for balance, preparing yourself for whatever he was about to give you. Wishing he would just take you already.

He slowly slipped his cock inside of you, inch by torturous inch. His grip on your thigh only got tighter as your heat overtook him, seconds away from losing his cool entirely. By the time he had bottomed out, as deep as he could get, you were whimpering. The edge of his jacket balled into your fist.

Really, he wanted to be slow. He wanted to draw this out as long as he could. He wanted to tease you until you had desperate tears pooling, but you were far too tempting. Your sweet sobs, the look on your face that begged him to get on with it. All of the anticipation was catching up to him and there was no holding him back, you could not make him wait another moment. 

Using the wall at your back for leverage, he lifted you with ease. You cried out, cursed at how intense the feeling was. Almost painful, so much to take at one time. Gravity took the brunt of the labour, his cock hitting as deep as it could possibly get. That’s when he finally cracked, an out of character whimper slipping through grit teeth. Just barely heard past the middle of the muzzle.

Your grip on his jacket only got tighter. You couldn’t control the sweet sound that escaped you at the feeling of being split open, the way your legs wrapped so tightly around his waist. He gave you time to adjust, huffing in your ear as he regretted giving you such graces. Short hisses passing through the grommets of the leather, the smooth fabric just barely tickling the side of your neck as he dropped his head.

It was hard to be present, let alone coherent. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as you sat there, Charlie stretching you from the inside. Making an attempt to get used to the feeling of every button being pressed. You were shaking, and he hadn't even gotten started.

“Ready for me, pretty thing?” Not in character, yet still not quite Charlie. Full of control and condescension. There was nothing left in your head but his cock, his hands holding you up. He knew he wasn't getting a response. “Yeah- you can take it.”

With a muffled groan, he thrusted up into you. Hard, firm. Enough to make you cry out and throw your head against the wall behind you. You couldn’t care about the dull thunk your skull made against the drywall. His full weight, as deep inside of you as he could possibly get.

“Oh god- fuck!” You choked, only giving him more the reason to draw his hips right back. Your pretty sounds, the pressure of your legs around him, he was barely keeping it together. He needed more of it, all of it that you could give.

All at once he buried himself inside of you again, and then again, and again. Not thrusts, rather brutal sheathing. It left you breathless, unable to form words well enough to curse. Reduced to whimpers and cries, grabbing at every inch of him that you could reach.

“There you fuckin’ go-“ Charlie’s usual babbles hadn’t yet set in, but his voice was quickly slipping to his usual whine. The cool metal on his glove felt like the only thing grounding you to reality amongst the waves of pleasure. Every time he moved, you couldn't help but make noise. “Good pet.”

It was hard to keep your eyes open, but all you could see was the way his muscles flexed with the lack of sleeved. Strong, keeping you up and steady like it was nothing at all. He was finding he couldn't quite get what he wanted the way he was holding you, though. He had to change that.

He pushed off the wall with you in hand, causing you to throw your arms around his neck. It somehow only added to the intense pressure as he took the few steps over to the couch. Next thing you knew, you were being thrown onto its soft cushions.

“Just take it.” Low voice in plea, not a command but a desperate ask. His hands ran up your sides, making you shiver. Before you had time to miss him, his cock sunk right back inside you. Nestled where it belonged, stretching the deepest parts of your cunt.

Quickly, he gained a more consistent pace. He couldn't hold himself back any longer than he had, couldn't do anything but rut into you. The feeling of you wrapped around his cock nearly had him falling apart. The prettiest groans, loud enough for you to hear. His face nestled into your neck, the leather of the mask smooth against your skin. Immediately your hands found his hair, and your tugging only encouraged his pace. Each thrust rocking you back into the couch.

You could feel yourself quickly approaching release. Charlie could tell, the way you pulsed around his cock. Your cut off moans and whines getting higher in pitch, more frequent. The way you just couldn't sit still, your back arched into him.

“Touch yourself.” It didn’t register at first, the direct command. More time wasted than he'd have liked. He grabbed hold of your wrist, prying it from its spot in his hair and forcing it downward. From there, it wasn’t hard to understand what he wanted from you.

You were hesitant, your whole body already so sensitive. Still, you ran your fingers over your clit, feeling every swipe at your core. You tried timing it with his hips but that was no use, you could feel yourself approaching that edge and you were beyond desperate to get there.

“Good bitch. Gonna cum for me?” He was breathless, panting. Anticipating your release with baited breath.  “Gonna fuckin’ cum?”

Once he’d taken care of you, he had permission to take care of himself. He wanted it bad, he wasn’t sure he could handle the waiting. This wasn’t a fantasy he even knew he had, getting into costume, chasing you until he could have his way with you, but now that he was in it, he was completely obsessed.

“C’mon, don’t be shy. You can do it.” Taunting, yes. Encouraging, more so. He needed it, to feel it so badly, and he was lucky that he didn’t have to wait much longer.

It crashed over you hard, as you chanted his name under your breath. He could feel every twitch, every grab, and every little shake as you came around him. He continued pounding into you, not letting up despite the twitches and spasms that each thrust caused. He knew you could hold out, you were going to, at the least. 

“So good.” He growled, so quietly you could barely hear. Hips faltering, stuttering, until finally he stilled as deep as he could get. “So fuckin’ good.”

Charlie kept inside of you for a few moments before pulling out. Savoring the last of the warmth, and the aftershocks. Before anything else, he removed his glove and mask, and let them fall to the floor. 

He adjusted the both of you, fitting you both on the couch comfortably. He ran his hand over your face and neck, watching your heavy breaths. You sat for a few moments, recovering. Chest heaving, eyes fluttered closed. You could have fallen asleep, but the sound of Charlie’s laughter caught you too off guard. Genuine laughter. No longer in character, no hint of condescension. “That was too fucking good.” He said softly, you could hear the smile in his voice. “Next time I gotta bring you out into the woods.”

[rabbits-bad-habit]

maybe something with fluff for habit? :3

Short and sweet and late as hell, but I hope u like it!

Fluff here!

[rabbits-bad-habit]

Guarded - Habit/GN Reader

When something breaks into your room, Habit comforts you in whatever way he knows how

TW: Brief gore descriptions, Habit being Mankind's Worst lol

A/N: Out of character, but it's for the greater good of the world so YAY. Request here!

The thing was scary; horrifying frankly. Warm, fleshy breath fanning over your face, daybreak blinding you from behind your curtains. You were in shock, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare into the deep sockets it had in place of eyes. It was so fast, so quick on its spindly legs. One second it was pushing open your door, and before you had a moment to acknowledge its presence in the room, its boney hands were pressing into your chest.

It was some sort of creature, certainly not human. There was no describing it, not really. It was human in silhouette. A person, up until it wasn’t. The skin was pale except for where it was sunken and shadowed, it had hands with claws attached. Though, it didn’t quite matter what it looked like, what it was, after its blood was dripping onto the floor through a slice straight through its neck. Limp body draped over your boyfriend’s arm, dead weight picked up like it was nothing.

Boyfriend may have been a strong word. Captor may have been better, considering it was technically your house that you were sitting in, which he had taken over. He looked after you, though. A keeper- guard. No matter how you described it, you were something with him. With it, the Habit. Enough of something that he felt the need to keep you from dying. He sprinted down the hall, and found himself lunging at the thing, pinning it to your bedroom floor. Right at your feet, jumping to your protection.

Within five minutes the body was disposed of, thrown somewhere in the backyard, as far away from you as it could be. The large machete used to deal the killing blow still sat on the ground, blood congealing to the wood floor beneath it. Was it even blood, the substance oozing into your belongings? Where was Habit now, what was he doing? Why did he seem so nonchalant about handling such a thing? Your brain was running a million miles a minute, a hundred questions passing through faster than you could get answers.

Your heart hit your ribcage so hard you were sure it would leave bruises. Your blood, slowly warming from the ice cold it had run to. It was far too much to process in such a short period of time. Safe and sound in sleep, but faced with what seemed like certain death upon waking. One of the scariest moments of your life, there was no way you were winning against that thing, no matter how hard you struggled. Your fight would have fallen on deaf ears, and the thought made you shiver.

You knew you weren’t getting back to sleep, not with your room a mess. Not with Habit out of sight. The thing was dead, that was clear, but a part of you still worried. It’s large claws and unnatural gurgled hisses indicated zero chance of survival if you tried to fight it yourself. You wanted- simply needed -to know where he was. Just in case there were more, in case the death of one invited others. Just in case, of course.

“Habit?” You called out with a shaky tone, your words falling into the warm walls of the house. Now sitting atop the sheets, no desire to step down for fear of anything getting you. Afraid of anything getting on you, for that matter. Touching that stuff was the last thing on your mind.

There was no response, just heavy boot clunks from downstairs that didn’t seem to get any closer or further. The sound of running water, small clangs and locks being latched. Rustling on the floor below, he was dealing with the aftermath which had splattered onto himself. He was inside, that was a comfort to cling to if nothing else.

“Habit, what are you doing?” You called again, louder this time. Using all the energy you had through the spike of horribly sharp adrenaline that still sat in your chest. You didn’t realize how panicked you still were until you heard your own voice, unsteady. Your hands gripping your sheets like you would be taken away if you didn’t

“Hold your damn horses, I’ll be up!” Habit’s usual low, gravely voice hit your ears and you instantly felt so much more secure. Sat back on your heels, still not quite able to get comfortable in your own bedroom. Still processing what you had just seen, what you had narrowly escaped.

You weren’t unaware of the existence of these things. Of course you knew, there was no avoiding it when you’re tangled up with who you found yourself involved with. You knew of them. They had never made it inside, however, you didnt know they were even getting on your property. It was always something he dealt with on his own, away from your eyes and ears. You could only know as much as he told you, and when it came to this topic, he rarely said much.

He could only do so much to shelter your eyes from such grotesque sights when they brought themselves to you. Breaking into your room, threatening your life. He felt lucky he got to it before you could even get a good look at it. He could smell the creature. He just assumed it was in the woods, off on the outskirts of the property. It wasn’t until he heard its claws on the wood that he realized it had made its way inside.

It didn’t take much effort to get rid of, the cleanup would be worse than the murder. All the same, you were grateful to him, he was always getting you out of the situations you were too weak to get out of on your own. Always stepping between you and danger, even if he reiterated that he was only doing so for his own amusements, that he was keeping you around for his entertainment.

You heard his boots on the stairs- one stomp after another. After all these years of taking human bodies, he never seemed to learn how to maneuver them quite right. Maybe he didn’t care to, the uncanny nature of his movement wasn’t his problem to worry about, after all. He paid it no mind, and he knew what to do with those who pointed it out. 

Upon walking up to your doorway, he scowled at the sight at the foot of your bed. No corpse but there was no question that there had been one there at one point in time. Staining the nice rug, the wood furniture, the substance thickening and becoming hard. It didn’t smell like blood, whatever it was. Did Habit even know what it was?

“What’s wrong?” He asked blankly, looking at your shaken state with confusion. Not intentional condescension, genuine confusion. He didn’t see the problem, there was no reason for you to be scared. “It’s gone, pinky promise. Beheaded the bitch and everything. Just didn’t wanna do that in here, too much of a mess.”

“That thing could have killed me.” You reminded him, finally coming down from your balled up posture. Relaxing to the best of your ability now that Habit was in the room, giving you a visual sign of safety. A bulky, loud, persistent visual.

“And so could I? Don’t know what your point is.” Habit shrugged, a laugh behind his words. He wasn’t trying to belittle you, really he wasn’t, he just genuinely couldn’t see the problem. The threat was gone, what was the issue? It was over, you knew you were okay. You knew he wouldn’t let you die at the hands of another, that was for him only. What was there to worry about now?

“You wouldn’t, though. That thing wanted my blood.” You glanced at the puddles lining your floor, eyes wide. Processing in real time as you spoke. “Do you even know what it’s like to feel scared to die?” The question wasn’t accusatory, no, it was entirely genuine. You weren’t sure if he had experienced fear- let alone that sort of earth shattering existential terror. 

“You were scared to die back there? Ah, fuck, I get it.” He sighed, readjusting his cap. Facial features softening like they always did when he was doing his absolute hardest to try and understand the human experience. Which was a lot, he did his very best to understand personhood. Though, it was more for his sake than the worlds. “The adrenaline gives ‘ya anxiety, huh. Shakes ‘ya up like a soda pop!”

For once, he wasn’t making fun of you. He wasn’t trying to be mean, or annoying, or controlling. Truly doing his best just to put the pieces together. Whether it was for you, or to better know how to manipulate for the future, was unclear. It wasn’t something you were quite used to, Habit attempting to understand before reacting. Most times, he jumped before he ever looked down.

Without a word, he maneuvered his way over to your bedside. Stepping over the blood on the floor, doing his best not to get it on his shoes. You watched him closely. There was no way of telling what his next move was, but his big hand on your shoulder felt comforting and it quickly slid down your arm. “Here we go!” He said, more to himself than to you. Tone far too proud of himself for the situation you were in and what he was planning on doing. 

Hooking his hands under your knees and behind your back, he picked you up with ease, carrying you over the muck. He walked you into what he had designated as “his” bedroom, where he carelessly dropped you onto the bed. The give of the mattress made you bounce, and you couldn't help but laugh. You could have died moments ago, but here you were being put on a bed you weren't usually allowed to be in the same room as. Like a kid who had a nightmare being permitted to sleep in their parents room.

You werent entirely sure why Habit was showing you such grace. Most times, your human emotions and reactions were a burden to him. Something he put up with, helped you get through if it came down to it, but he was never affectionate as a response to pain. That was always reserved for if and when he felt like it, not when it suited you best.

Truth was, when he saw you so shaken, he thought about you dying. He imagined your insides spraying the walls, and your blood soaking through his ill-fitting jeans. It didnt excite him, however. It didnt give him the temptation to jump you in the way it did for others. He could not figure it out, but the mental image made him uneasy, wrong. Something about that angered him, the fact that he had an opinion on whether you lived.

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that, it was so rarely that he felt anything but  blood lust for a person. Why were you any different? It pained him trying to figure it out, so he instead focused on you and ignored whatever that feeling was. ‘This would look good to them’ he thought. That was all, just another tactic of getting into your head.

Realizing that he’d made even more mess with his grand gesture, he removed his now soaked-through shoes, as well as his cap for . He hopped into the bed next to you, he did not get under the covers, instead he opted to lay on top of them. Did he usually lay in bed this way? It wouldnt have surprised you, he always seemed to have his own quirks about these sorts of things.

“Get comfortable! You’re staying here for the night.” Habit reassured, tone almost vulgar despite nothing out of line being said. He knew he was going to leave the moment you fell asleep, so he didn’t shed any unnecessary clothing, nor did he get too used to the luxuries, but you didnt need to know that yet. 

He was here to watch, to check in. Not unlike most nights, standing in your doorway, admiring the way you breathe. Tonight he was watching over you. Giving you that extra bar of security that may help you drift off, standing guard like a dog. He had to do something with himself, give himself a task. It was not often that he felt any sort of way about a person, he was nearly angry at you for it but he wasnt acknowledging that either.

“I’m sleeping in your bed?” You asked, flabbergasted, almost teasing in your tone. You didn’t mean for it to come off that way, but you were in disbelief. Most of the time you weren’t permitted into this room, let alone in his bed. You weren’t sure what you were expecting when he’d brought you in here but it wasn’t that. The big scary Habit cared, your heart was simply melting.

“No shit, what else would I drag you in here for!” He was offended, at what he saw as your stupidity or his own vulnerabilities that were coming through was unknown. The deep growl to his voice only gained volume. “Your room is all fucked up, and you’re all fucked up. Common sense.”

“Habit, I’m not quite sure what you’re ever doing. How was I supposed to know that was the intention?” You chuckled, looking away from him, you knew youd start laughing if you saw his pissed off face and you knew that would only piss him off more. You allowed yourself to hop under the covers, finding them surprisingly fresh. There was nothing saying Habit knew how to do his own laundry as you did all of your own. He seemed to like a clean and organized space, that evidently included his bed.

“Alright, cool guy. I’m doing you a favor here, watchin’ over you and shit. Don’t get smart with me.” The words were brash, but he was smiling. He’d never admit it, but he loved when you returned his bite. You were the only one who did, the only one who dared to talk back to him. It was all part of the game he was always enjoying.

“Once you’re out, I’m cleaning up that mess so I don’t have’ta look at it. You’re on your own after that, got it?” He said it like a threat, a retort to the annoyance of your previous jab. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, he hoped you’d take the affection and be asleep before you knew it. With his other hand, he picked up a book that you hadn’t even noticed on his nightstand.

You savored that feeling. His unnatural muscles holding you so tightly, knowing that whatever threat entered those walls could be taken care of by him. Total safety. Something unfamiliar to feel from him- such a creature. You fell into the trap so easily and willingly, he would have thought it was pathetic had it not been for the circumstances.

The night's debacles had you exhausted. Even more so than you were when you’d originally gotten to sleep in the hours earlier. The exceptionally warm body next to you was tempting you into sleep like nothing else. You weren’t paying attention to anything he was saying anyway.

“Mhm, got it.” You nodded, appreciating how your face felt against the worn t-shirt across his chest. Letting yourself fall into sleep, knowing you have a monster at your side to fight off things bigger than you. 

[theunfortunate-author]

my daily affirmation as an author

[rabbits-bad-habit]

Michael Afton Headcanons - SFW & NSFW

TW: Pain play, mention of blood and murder, general Afton gross-ness

A/N: The rabbit returns and with this. Sorry. Also unedited lol.

SFW-

Michael is a strange man. He is an unstable, sensitive man. As much as he may not like to admit, he is perpetually unwell and would be quite unhealthy to be in a relationship with. However, that’s the fun part, isn’t it? He’s got that superiority/inferiority complex double whammy and never quite knows what to do with it. He knows he’s not above most people, but he knows he has his usage, which is more than he can say for a lot of people. The only person he feels he is truly below is his father. He sees himself beneath you, but only in the way a worshipper sits at the feet of a god.

Experiences rejection sensitive dysphoria and to an insane degree. Quick jokes will do it, a change in tone will do it, he spirals. He can easily convince himself that he is nothing, an annoyance, a burden. It’s what happens when you are so frequently compared to other people, and criticized so heavily. It causes him to isolate, and sometimes you’ll have to drag him out of it, sometimes he needs to be chased.

He is possessive of you, and with good reason. Nothing in his life has ever truly been his. Everything has been shared, or taken from him, or if it was something that belonged to him he still felt guilty over having it. But not you. You are his, and willing, and he knows that if you leave that it will be on your terms and under the influence of someone else. He is quite clingy as well, always wanting to know where you are, and desperately waiting for calls when you’re not together. Rarely physically attached, but always on your tail. Watching from a distance, keeping track of you and your life and your interests. He would never leave your side if that was ethical, frankly.

You’re his little secret. For him to know about only. He knows his family, he knows his history, he is fully aware what could happen if he involved you in his life. He cannot help himself, though. You are too good, too tempting, he can’t just let you go. So he keeps you to himself, letting you receive all of his emotion while keeping you as far from the danger of his family as he possibly can.

He will break down when shown affection. He wasn’t shown anything of the sort growing up and always feels it’s his responsibility as a man. He can’t take it. The moment you reach for his hand or lean in to kiss him or allow him any real softness, he gets that puppy dog look to his eyes. He always tries to flip it around to you, or distance himself from it so he doesn’t show too much emotion. It is important that you keep doing it because eventually he will let you dote on him.

You will never hear him say “I love you” out loud. He says “be careful” and “don’t he stupid” and “remember you belong to me” more than he does anything traditionally caring. In the same sense, he will rarely walk beside you when you’re out, he’ll be behind you. Trailing along like a dog, scoping everyone who even glances at you. 

Enjoys being your savior, even if it means putting you in danger to do so. He feeds off knowing he’s improved your life, of knowing he’s in control of whether you have a life at all. If he’s in need of that reassurance that he’s needed, in need of that hit, he might just be the danger he gets to save you from. Carelessly taking you into the pizzeria knowing what lurks inside and forcing the bots to back off when they inevitably jump at you. Bringing you around people that he knows aren’t the greatest so he can defend you when they say something rude or crude. Letting you get hurt or sick so he can be there to help you through it. He’s not ashamed of it, after all he was there to catch you in the end, wasn’t he? Why should it matter why you fell in the first place?

Unlike his sister, who has always been attached to the characters and charm of Freddy’s, Michael much more enjoys the history and preservation of it all. Once he got a PC and access to that sweet dialup, he was all over niche forum sites. You’re gonna have to listen to him talk about bot wardrobe changes at franchise stores, and attractions that came and went. How the technology progressed and miraculous it all really was when it was operational. He talks about it like it’s his job, like it hasn’t been his whole life. Something about learning just how far his father’s creation evolved just opens endless curiosity for him.

In the same vein, he likes hobbies that are documentary. Photography, writing, a bit of art here and there. He takes after his father in that way, he is quite creative when he doesn’t have the weight of his actions on his shoulders. He enjoys photography the most. As a kid, he always found it fun to fill film rolls with blurry shots of the animatronics, especially if they were being maintenanced. He got pretty good at it, choosing to focus more on shooting environments and people. He likes having documentation of the varying decor and set dressings that the restaurant had over the years, he likes having photos of his sister, and friends, and the old regulars of the pizzeria even more. He will take pictures of you, and he keeps them all in their own album. Now as an adult, he develops his own film, so he can take as much as he wants with no judgement. Whether you’re aware he’s taking them or not- and by that I mean candids. Of course.

If you’re someone who likes obsessive lovers, this is him. You may not come before his blood, but you are the front of his brain. He latches on to things that make him feel truly good like a leech latched onto any living thing with blood. You make him feel like a good person, his existence feels justified if you love him. He’s quite avoidant in how he goes about these feelings, but it goes right to his soul. You are on his mind more than anything else, he makes his decisions with you in mind. He would crawl into your skin if he could. 

NSFW-

Michael’s sexual habits are just as fucked up as every other aspect of his life. Much like everything with him, intimacy is intense. It’s all encompassing, it will take you over. He doesn’t do casual well, but if he likes you enough he will take it if it’s what he can get. He does not do things halfway, it’s all or nothing. With sex, he gives one hundred percent, he’s not going to do it if it won’t be done right. He doesn’t have any opinion on if you reciprocate that effort, though. He will go along with whatever allows him to be close to you.

Prefers to do it in the dark. Not because he doesn’t like looking at you, no he could do that all day, rather he knows you’re looking at him. You’re looking at a face that he knows looks like his fathers. He’s been told his whole life how much he looks like his dad, and in some ways that enrages him. You don’t look at him and see anyone but Michael, but how can he be sure? Not to mention, he’s just desperately insecure. He does not think he’s handsome, as much as you tell him. There’s a part of him that thinks you’d rather have the lights dimmed, too. Little does he know.

You could not beg him enough to be submissive for you. You could not pay him to sub. You are the one thing he has control over, the one thing he knows he can feel a sense of power over. Even if it’s simply in play. It’s the one time he gets to call the shots without the voice of his father in the back of his mind directing him. In bed with you is his time to be selfish, to give himself in the ways he wants. He likes that feeling, maybe a bit too much. But if you’re enjoying yourself, who is he to deny himself the pleasure, too?

He won’t sub, but he will engage in typical “sub” behavior. He has a masochist side for sure, not just incidental pain either. He will order you to hurt him if he’s feeling it, he’s mostly an impact play guy. Not that he won’t take incidental pain, scratches and bites drive him crazy. He won’t hesitate to beg or get on his knees, either. You’re worthy of it, he thinks.

Scratches, rips, and tears. When he hurts, he hurts. He adores seeing marks from his hands or a toy, dried blood on your skin after biting you just hard enough to break skin. Leftover tear stains when he overstimulates and deprives. The amount of your clothes that he’s put holes in or just straight up torn from your body. He isn’t afraid to do damage.

I wouldn’t say he’s a very traditionally kinky person, he’s not what you think of when you think of someone who participates in kink. Nothing he does is exactly negotiated or organized, he works on emotion and what feels right. If you’re not feeling it, he stops. There’s never a conversation about it, you’ll end up developing your own ways of communicating naturally. I’m not sure he even knows there’s a community or usual rules for this kind of thing, he came to these conclusions and experimented on his own. He’s good at it, he has knowledge, but it’s not “proper” if you get me.

Not afraid of exposure, by any means. He’ll fuck you just about anywhere if he’s in enough need. This does include the pizzeria, knowing who and what lurks there. He is a desperate man when it comes down to it, and that is where he knows best. He gets gross with it, he doesn’t care one bit if it's somewhere someone could see, or even less than sanitary. If you’re in, then he by all means will not hesitate. He’s into fucking in alleyways or semi public places. Leaving the door open just enough for someone walking by to see, but only if they were looking. That sort of thing. 

Loud, whiny. He mumbles and rambles, he gets utterly poetic about it. A lot of “you are mine and mine alone” and “your body was made for me” type dialogue out of him. You cannot get him to shut up if you tried. He teases and mocks, right up until he’s inside you, then you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. He always ends up getting so sappy and grotesquelly romantic; in his way. If you're looking for loud guys, that's Michael.

When he feels, he feels. Intimacy is a full body experience for him, mental and all. He isn’t the type to skimp out on mental stimulation, because it’s just as important to him. In a lot of cases, the mental manipulation is far more enjoyable than the physical pleasure. Seeing you hang on to every word he says, the look on your face when you realize what he plans to do with you, it gives him a rush that only causing the loss of life can.

The reason he’s so confident in doing what he does behind closed doors is because he knows he’s good at cleaning up. He can dress wounds and get stains out of fabric like it’s nothing. Unlike in his daily life, he’s good at de-escalating situations and pulling people out of emotional holes. He knows the technical part of taking care of a person, even if he isn't always the greatest with the feelings part. It isn't the most amazing aftercare in terms of comfort or closeness, but he is weirdly good at simply concluding the session. It's a neutral thing for him, he can make sure you recover just fine- no matter what he throws at you.

[rabbit-bf]

The canonical AftBun height difference btw

[rabbits-bad-habit]

So anyway if I start writing for Afton, know there is a reason

[rabbits-bad-habit]

Vinny fucks hard. He doesn’t mean to, swear. But once he’s deep inside you, hands on your body, warmth overtaking him, he simply can’t help it. He tries to be soft and slow, he truly does make an effort, but that’s a large ask when you’re just so good for him.

He’ll apologize for being so rough, tears in the corners of his eyes, yet he doesn’t let up. It feels too good, and you’re making such pretty sounds, and it would be such a shame to let this energy go to waste.

[rabbits-bad-habit]

I’m so sorry I’m that blog that you find a good fic from only to find out they don’t post anymore 💀

[rabbits-bad-habit]

The way I wanted so bad to get scareactor Charlie out before Halloween but like. It’s hard to write porn in the zones when the guy you like is also there and actively trying to fluster you so. Yknow. And that’s gen my only real time to write is when I’m killing time resting at my local haunt 💀

I’ll get something out just give me until after the season ends. Haunting never stops for me anyway, even if it is a seasonal kink for some :p

[rabbits-bad-habit]

Sorry for jumping off the face of the earth I swear I am alive and writing. Just slowly.

[lucydixon]

Mirror Sex with Ollie Sway

Kinktober 2025 Masterlist | Ollie Sway Masterlist | Rory Culkin Masterlist | Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist

Summary: Ollie finds you scrutinizing your appearance in the mirror while you're getting ready for date night, and decides to show you exactly what you're not seeing. You find yourself on the floor with him, staring back at your nude reflection as he shows you just how beautiful you really are Warning: NSFW, Mirror Sex, Hand stuff, Unprotected P in V, Reader is insecure, Soft dom!Ollie, Praise.

This piece is day 12 of Kinktober 2025, where I post a one-shot/blurb/drabble based on a list of prompts every day. Todays kinky prompt: Mirror Sex WC: 1.2k Words

"Look at yourself." Ollie held your jaw and forced you to look in the mirror, gentle but firm.

The two of you were on the floor. Ollie behind you, his chest pressed flush against your back. Bare skin warm against yours.

You were both fully nude after Ollie had unwrapped you like a delicate present, kissing you stupid until you stopped thinking about how much you hated your clothes and how they looked on you. You were glad that they were gone.

He had you spread wide open for him, legs hooked over his knees to keep you from getting shy and closing them.

It was a little weird, seeing yourself like that.

You could see the slick in between your legs glistening in the dim lighting, already embarrassingly wet just from the kissing. Ollie was the only man you'd ever been with who actually knew how to make you drench your panties. Who understood the importance of getting you warmed up before the main event.

Your eyes traveled upwards slowly, fixating on the way your stomach rolled, nowhere near flat from the way you were sitting, and the way your tits looked in Ollie's hands.

Your breath hitched when he gently kneaded them, pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder.

"My beautiful, beautiful girl." He muttered into the skin, kissing his way up the side of your neck, delicately sweeping your hair out of his way. "What do you see?"

"Us." You breathed shakily, arching into his touch.

You could feel his hard cock digging into your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, and wondering if he was aching to feel it sliding into you as badly as you were.

"Tell me all the things you like about yourself" He whispered, reminding you how you'd ended up in this position, peppering kissed along the slope of your throat.

You thought about lying. Brushing him off and pretending that he'd misinterpreted this whole thing. As if he could read your mind, one of Ollie's hands dipped between your thighs, running through your folds.

You could never lie when he was touching you like this. It didn't take much to turn you into a rambling mess with just his fingers. He knew it just as well as you did.

"Tell me," The command was soft as he circled your clit slowly. Teasing, almost.

"Olliiieee" You whined, pouting at him in the mirror.

"C'mon, pretty girl." His fingers stopped. "You start talking, I keep going. Got it?"

You huffed softly, but nodded.

"I guess I have a nice nose." You admitted begrudgingly, cheeks tinged pink.

"Good girl." Ollie went back to circling your clit. "That's right. You've got the cutest nose I've ever seen."

"Keep going." He slowed.

"Uh," You moaned lowly, desperate for him to keep going.

"Freckles!" you gasped, melting into him when he slid a finger into your throbbing cunt "Shit-"

"What about them." he pumped his finger into you painfully slowly.

"They're kind of cool?" You shuddered, trying to grind your hips down on his finger.

"Kind of?" he scoffed into your neck, working another finger into you "Baby, they're like constellations in the night sky. Your freckles aren't just cool, they're gorgeous."

"Ollie-" You panted, rocking your hips into his hand.

"That good pretty girl?" he cooed, "Gonna have to give me another one if you want more."

"I like my earrings," you rambled, "Like having so many of them"

"They do suit you really well." Ollie chuckled softly, nudging you up slightly so he could line himself up pull you back down on his cock.

You both gasped, wrapped up in the feeling of him being inside you.

"Feel so fucking good." Ollie groaned, resting his forehead on the back of your shoulder. "Jesus, baby. You have no idea what you do to me."

"You still looking?" He nuzzled your neck once he'd composed himself, not missing that your eyes had fluttered shut.

You hummed, eyelids still closed.

He reached for your jaw again, aiming your gaze towards his hips.

You opened your eyes and your breath hitched inside your throat.

"You see that?" He muttered, leaving hot, open mouthed kissed along your neck. "See yourself wrapped around me?"

And god, you did.

It was so fucking hot being able to see just the base of his cock, knowing that the rest of it was wedged tightly inside you. you pulled yourself up, just an inch, and just about let your eyes roll back in your head at the sight of your pussy gripping him like she didn't want to let go.

You went to sink back down, but Ollie held onto your hips, keeping you where you were.

"Gotta keep going if you want to move" he panted, struggling to keep his cool "Two more, sweet girl, and I'll let you take what you need."

"Ummm" You were struggling to form a thought "I- uh-"

"my hair?" You breathed, groaning when he let you sink back down onto him while you got a front row seat to watch. "I like my hair."

"Good," Ollie let you bounce on his cock a couple times, reveling in the way you squeezed around him.

He kept you from moving again and drew another pouty whine.

"One more." He shuddered "being so good for me, pretty girl, just one more."

"Neck?" You tried, very much aware that it was a bit of an unconventional answer, but it wasn't a lie. You could admire the slope of it, especially when Ollie had his mouth on you.

"That's it." he breathed a sigh of relied and circled your clit with two fingers, "Go ahead, baby, Take what you need."

Before he could change his mind, you started rocking your rips and bouncing in his lap, far too worked up to mind the lewd sounds falling from your lips.

Ollie clumsily followed with his hand, working your clit while you bucked into him, chanting his name like a prayer.

You were close, he could feel it. Could see it on your face in the mirror.

"Gonna watch yourself cum?" He panted in your ear, looping an arm around your wast so he could rut into you from below, chasing your release just as frantically as you were "Finally get to see for yourself how fucking pretty you look when you're coming undone."

"I've got you," He breathed "Doing so good baby. So good for me. Go on and let go. Cum for me-"

It was as overwhelming as it was beautiful, watching you, watch yourself pitch over the edge, dragging him right along with you, gasping for breath as he emptied himself into you, slowing to a stop after a few more sloppy thrusts.

You tore your eyes away from the sight of Ollie's cock still buried inside you and glanced up at yourself.

Your hair was tousled, cheeks flushed and chest still heaving. You could just barely make out the fucked out look on your face, clenching around Ollie without realizing it.

"That's right." Ollie chuckled softly, kissing your cheek sweetly "Prettiest girl in the goddamn world, right there."

"Tell me she's pretty." He urged in a hushed whisper, nuzzling the spot behind your ear gently.

"She's-" You started, but paused, warmth blooming inside your chest "I'm pretty."

"Damn right you are."

Banners and dividers made by me. For more graphics, check out my side blog @dividers-are-us

Taglist: @maxxiemoa @electrifiedphylacterysaga @lofied @iith1um @somegirl29 @shokihomin @cheesesandwichsanto @zroberts13

[rabbits-bad-habit]

Blowing Off Steam - Clyde/GN Reader

Clyde comes home pissed off and decides to take it out in a way that’s mutually beneficial

TW: Smut, gun play, oral sex (ch receiving), dehumanization, degradation, “dog” used for reader

A/N: Was staring at him and that shotgun and all I could think about was how badly I wanted it against my temple the writing potential

“You want me that bad, dog?” He asked, full of the anger that had been building since he woke up. The same anger he was burning off. Not at you, not at your actions. Never you, and all the same you were willing to take it. Obedient and faithful, of course you would take all that you could from him and take it well.

You were on your knees, you’d been shoved there the moment you agreed to such intimacy. Sensitive, bare bone hitting the empty wood floor in front of his mattress. You weren’t granted the luxuries of anything he hadn't felt like giving you. A comfortable place to present yourself wasn’t something he felt you’d yet deserved. You looked prettier like this, anyway, forced to straighten your back as you stared up at him.

“Answer me.” His tired eyes were dark. Their usual half lidded nature wasn't playful, you didn’t look up into them and see the mischief you’d come to expect. Instead, all you saw was the control he had over you. It only made you take him all the more seriously, urged you to listen.

“I want you so bad.” You replied, voice shaky even through sure words. You were nearly panting, and you’d had yet to be touched. Not a single bit of contact had been made besides his hand which forced you to the ground. The adrenaline of being treated with such little care was catching up, and it was hard to hide. Everything was hard to hide when he was so laser focused on your body and every move you made.

“Good dog, hands behind your back.” He smirked before walking away from you. He put his hand up as though he was dealing with an actual animal, double checking that you would stay put. Of course you would stay, you were good. You sat so pretty for him. There was no reason to do anything but what he ordered you to. “You’re not fuckin’ getting me, though.”

Clyde had grabbed his shotgun. Always propped up in the corner of the room against the wall behind his mattress, it was now between his hands, its barrel pointing right at you. He held it like he used it every day, like he had any right handling a weapon so haphazardly. You eyed the prop, watching his every move as he got closer.

He pushed the end of the gun against your forehead and then kept going, making you sit up even taller. Arching your back with your hands crossed behind you. Pretty, poised just for him. Forcing your neck to crane upward to look at him, focusing on his piercing blues on either side of the gun as he looked down it.

“What have you even done to deserve me? Why do you think I’m gonna give you anything?” He spat, eyebrow raising as he made the most painful eye contact. Never breaking, not even as much as a blink. He was doing everything in his power to appear big, to intimidate. The results were enough to keep your eyes on him.

He ran through ideas in his head like clicking through television channels. He could drop the act and release his gripes in a way that was likely more healthy, but fucking you into the wood floor until you had bruises running down your spine sounded much more appealing. He could fuck your throat with his shotgun, or maybe make you hump his shoes until you came pathetically and desperately; begging for any sort of attention.

Frankly, after the day he’d had, he was tired. No matter how his cock twitched at the idea of truly ruining you, he would need a moment to himself. A second of acting as though you weren’t even there, before he could even think about throwing you around the way he’d have liked. He sighed, shifting hold of the gun to one hand. There was no threat of it going off the way he held it now, not that there really was any to begin with. Not that you knew this. He could never afford to keep ammo in it, if it wasn’t him that found some way to run it through someone else would. He never told you where he’d gotten the gun, but he’d always had it. You were a little too preoccupied to worry about it at the time, though.

With his unused hand, he undid the belt of his jeans and let them droop around his knees. Your eyes wandered from his face and down to his bright blue boxers that sported a heavy bulge and a visible dark spot. He was so pretty, he was always just so pretty. It was hard not to feel your mouth water when faced with that site.

“C’mere, slut.” He mumbled, a hint of his usual playful smile poking through the serious expression. Rough hand gripping into your hair, yanking you towards him before pushing his boxers down enough to let his cock free. Leaking, frustratingly hard just from seeing you brought to your knees. This forced your hands onto the floor before you could regain composure.

You leaned forward to put your mouth on him but you quickly hit the barrel of the gun that was still pointed in your direction. Your pathetic puppydog eyes, looking up at him through your lashes which he knew would likely be wet soon enough. He knew what you wanted, he knew how badly you wanted your mouth on him, but he wasn’t letting you have it. Not yet, not like that.

“Let me, I don’t think you have enough of a brain for that.” His words were mean but his voice was full of so much affection. He couldn’t be cruel, not really. Not to you. Even when he tried, even when he was treating you like a doll, and less a real live being. “Open up.”

Blindly, you listened to his orders. Waiting patiently for him, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him, knowing what you had coming. He smirked at your obedience and how quickly you were inclined to listen. How idly you obeyed him. His hand moved from your hair, and instead went to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open wider. The edge of your lips stung with the stretch he gave it, overdoing it on purpose.

The shotgun clicked satisfyingly as he set its barrel against the ground and leaned the rear of it against the wall. He didn’t need it anymore. He didn’t really ever need it, you were listening just fine. With his now free hand, he guided his leaking cock into your mouth, barely letting its head rest on your tongue. You nearly started panting.

Despite his demeanor and current mood, he carefully pushed into your mouth. Swiftly and firmly, but still as gentle as he could be. The taste of precum hit the back of your throat as he did. You breathed deeply, choking over a gag, feeling him groan above you.

“Fuucckk, babe.” His hand returned to your hair, gripping it tightly and grinning lazily when you whined at the tug. He couldn’t get enough of you like this, obedient, willing. Finding your own haze of pleasure just from serving him, losing yourself in his taste.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you kept your hands politely in your lap. Trying your best to stay steady as Clyde’s cock slid smoothly down your throat. A stray whimper sending vibrations over his cock. Only spurring him on, your short muffled sounds mixed with his groans and hisses in a way that was utterly sinful.

When he first bucked his hips, you nearly gagged. The surprised cry that came from your chest made him do it again. And again. And again. Wanting nothing more than to hear more of the strangled echoes that tempted him in further. As he fucked your face, all the frustration he held simply melted away. All of his stored anger, dampened by your body. You clawed at your thighs, allowing yourself to become nothing but a tool. Nothing but a hole for him, a toy.

It was mutually beneficial, even if at a glance he was simply using you. That's exactly what you wanted, to be used. To be nothing else but of use. Just as he got lost in your warmth, you found every thought fizzled away from your brain with every thrust of his cock into your mouth. You were there to help him, but it was just as much a pleasure to you.

You wanted to touch him, badly. To grasp onto his wrists which were attached to your hair and the back of your head. You didn’t dare, however, as you feared that not being in his plans for the time. You weren’t afraid of him treating you rougher, you would do anything if it meant he didn’t stop. So you continued making crescent shaped marks in your thighs, taking every inch he shoved down your throat.

“Doing so good- shit.” He near whispered through grit teeth, barely loud enough for you to hear. As if it was more for him than you. His firm, intimidating voice disappeared for a moment, but quickly returned when you hollowed out your cheeks in an attempt to give him more than just your compliance. “Damn you’re really likin’ this, aren’t you?”

His head fell back as did his jaw and his thrusts became heavier. His lucidity was wavering, it was easy when you just felt this damn good. He may have been in control, but you had him melting. You had him wrapped around your finger. If you hadn’t wordlessly let him do as he pleased, he would have begged to touch you. To be close. He’d be the one on his knees.

As he got close, he took his other hand off the back of your head and instead returned the gun to your temple. It sent a wave of shameful arousal through you. He watched as your eyes watered, and it only shoved him closer to coming undone. It wasn’t until those tears streamed over and he felt a sob shake your chest that he let himself fall over that edge.

“Oh fuck, so good- you’re so fucking good!” He whined, spilling down your throat. Groans and growls followed, grip on the shotgun faltering. He did his best to set it on the ground without simply letting it fall, still it hit the wood floor with a thunk. Halting all movement as he caught his breath, riding out the tail end of his orgasm.

Very soon after, he pulled away from you and watched your pretty dazed face as you adjusted to the lack. 

He slowly dropped to his knees, setting the gun down to his side. He took your face in both of his hands and looked at you with such love. Lazy, comfortable, warm love. He’d get you both cleaned up in a moment but for the moment, he would just admire his pretty baby. Thankful that he had you and the relationship you upkept.

[lucydixon]

Hate Fucking with Euronymous

Kinktober 2025 Masterlist | Euro Masterlist 𐴱 LOC ML | Rory Culkin Masterlist | Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist

Summary: You and Oystein have been broken up for over a year, but still run in the same circles. Your breakup was messy and explosive, leaving you both incredibly hostile with one another whenever you found yourselves in the same room. On this particular evening, for the first time since you've broken up, you find yourselves alone in the kitchen at a party, both reaching for the same beer in the fridge. Warning: NSFW, Rough Sex, Hate Fucking, Dirty talk, Degradation, Unprotected P in V, You get fucked with a beer bottle.

This piece is day 4 of Kinktober 2025, where I post a one-shot/blurb/drabble based on a list of prompts every day. Todays kinky prompt: Hate Fucking WC: 1.7k Words

Your eyes traveled up the leather sleeve wrapped around the arm reaching for your beer and found yourself scowling.

Of course, it had to be him.

Oystein had a way of appearing at the worst possible moments like he was born to annoy the living shit out of you.

You thought about letting him have the beer. Just walking away like you knew you should. But, the lazy smirk he shot your way as his fingers wrapped around the glass bottle had your upper lip twitching into a snarl.

Without having to think, you snatched it out of his hand and jumped back a step

"It's always you." He huffed, raking a hand through his long hair "You're just fucking everywhere, aren't you?"

"You sure you're not stalking me or something?" You scoffed, hopping up on the counter, beer in hand, looking smug.

"Why the fuck would I do that?" Oystein sneered, slowly taking menacing steps forward. "You think I want to be in the same room as you? I can't stand you."

"Well, asshole. The feeling's mutual." You rolled your eyes, fumbling with the bottle opener.

You didn't expect him to nestle himself in between your legs, one hand on each side of the counter as he caged you in with a hateful look.

Without looking away from you, He got the bottle cap off the rest of the way and snatched it out of your hand.

You cursed your traitorous cunt for clenching around nothing, watching him take a slow, long sip of your beer.

You swiped at the air, but missed and somehow ended up with his hand clutching your jaw, forcing your mouth open.

You glared at him, but didn't struggle, a little curious as to what he was up to.

"You wanted it so fucking bad." He poured the beer down your throat until the bottle was empty. "Should be thanking me."

"Fuck you." You gasped for air, beer spilling down the sides of your mouth as you tried to swallow the last sip.

"You know." His eyes darkened, bouncing from you to the beer bottle "That's not a bad idea."

Your brows pulled together, not understanding until his fingers were suddenly pulling your panties to the side and the cool glass top of the beer bottle was being rubbed down your slit.

"What are you doing?" Your eyes widened.

"I think you know." He smirked, slow and cocky, like he was enjoying every second of your squirming.

"Oystein," Your tone was warning, but your voice wavered at the end, like you couldn't decide if you were serious.

"I'm not hearing a no." He taunted, circling your entrance with the bottle. "Last chance to say something. But you won't will you?"

You bit your tongue, pissed that he was right.

"That's what I thought." he pushed it into you, just an inch or so, and reveled in the low, broken moan that escaped your throat "You're just a filthy little whore, aren't you?"

Before you could answer, he rammed it into you abruptly until the swell of the tapered bottle was flush with your swollen lips and you gasped for breath.

"You'd probably let me fuck you with anything, wouldn't you, princess?" he cooed condescendingly.

You hated that this was working. That your cunt was gushing around that damned beer bottle and his words were making your insides flex.

"Bet I could make you beg for it like a good little slut."

"Shut up." You spat through gritted teeth, finger nails digging into his biceps as they flexed with every thrust of the bottle.

"Should make you take the whole thing." He groaned, swatting your hands away so he could crouch down in front of the counter to watch the neck of the bottle disappear inside your greedy pussy, easing it in just a little further with every harsh jab. "What do I care if your hole's all stretched out for the next asshole? I'm not gonna use it again after tonight? might as well ruin that tight little snatch of yours."

The bottle withdrew so suddenly that you whined from the empty feeling.

You looked down at him with narrowed eyes, tracking him as he stood over you, gazing down with dark lust in his eyes. Like you were prey and he was about to devour you.

Oystein smacked the bottle down on the counter next to you so hard that you were surprised it didn't break, undoing his belt the second his hand was free.

"Gonna split you open on my cock first." He freed himself from his jeans and yanked your hips to the edge of the counter roughly. "Need to see you crying on my dick one last time."

"God, you're such an asshole." You snapped, but it came out too breathy "I've never cried on your dick, you cocky little shit."

"You sure about that, Princess?" He cooed, hooking your knees over his arms, lifting you off the counter by the waist so he could line himself up.

oh god.

You knew exactly what was coming because, yes, you were full of shit. He'd fucked you so hard that you'd had tears streaming down your cheeks more times than you could count and every time started just like this.

You braced your forearms on his shoulders in a last ditch effort to slow him down, but you knew that it was no use.

"Oystein, I swear to god." You whimpered, squirming in his grip when you felt his ruddy tip notch into your entrance.

"oops." You could hear the smirk in his voice when he let you go, allowing your body weight to drive you right onto his waiting cock as hard as possible.

"Fuck!" You yelped, arms and legs wrapped around him, trying to pull yourself up. to get some kind of relief from the overwhelming pressure against your cervix.

Tears were prickling behind your eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry." he pouted teasingly "Did that hurt?"

"Fuck you." you growled into his shoulder, biting down hard enough to hurt.

"You crying yet, sweetheart?"

"no." You lied, but your voice came out strained.

"Sure about that?" He bounced you, driving his cock back into you just as hard as the first time.

You just whimpered, clinging to his shoulders.

"could stop if you wanted to." He bounced you again, working up a brutal rhythm this time while you made pretty little sounds next to his ear "But you don't, do you, princess? You like it when I hurt you. When I treat you like the little worthless slut that you are."

You didn't dignify him with a response, because yes. You got off on this kind of thing and you both knew it too well to even bother.

He was only being slightly rougher than he was when the two of you were still together, obviously driven by his underlying hatred for you.

You didn't mind. If anything, it was better this way. Knowing that he truly meant every degrading word made your cunt clench around his glistening length.

Your nails were drawing blood on his back, tearing into the skin purposefully in an effort to get back at him in some way. To make sure that he'd feel it for days after, just like you would while you nursed your bruised cervix when this was all over.

He pulled back, just enough to see your brows pinched together in pain and the warm tears spilling from your eyes.

"Lying, stubborn, little bitch," He panted in between thrusts, licking the tears off your cheeks with a feral look in his eye.

Your whines increased in pitch, high and mewling as your walls fluttered around him despite your attempt at starving it off.

"Oh-ho!" Oystein chuckled breathily, driving into you even harder "You gonna cum? You getting off on the pain, sweetheart?"

You shook your head, but buried your face into the crook of his neck, muffling your cries when you finally shattered in his arms.

Without pulling out of you, Oystein lowered you both to the floor, holding you down so that he was still bullying your poor hole as deep as possible.

"What was that about never crying on my dick?" He cocked his head to the side, smug as ever while he shifted so that he was on top of you, hips pressed flush against your ass.

"Fuck you." You spat, attempting a glare, but unable to manage it in your fucked out state.

You weren't expecting him to spit on your face.

You flinched when you felt it on your cheek, rapidly cooling as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

"You fucking asshole!" You shrieked, slapping his chest as hard as you could manage.

Oystein just smirked at you, eyes full of something dark and predatory.

"Don't worry princess, I'm almost done with you." He sneered, manhandling you into turning around, face down, ass up on the kitchen tile for him, before plunging back into you in one hard stroke.

"Fuck, that's it." he slammed into you at a brutal, punishing pace, bruising your cervix with every long, hard stroke while you writhed beneath him, caught between the troves of pain and pleasure, still reeling from your orgasm. "Just a fucking hole."

"You're gonna take my load like a good little cum whore and I'm gonna make sure you don't waste a goddamn drop." He snapped his hips forward, teetering over the edge, fingers digging into your hips roughly.

"Fuck!" He groaned loudly, hoarse and drawn out as he pumped you full of cum, sure to make sure he was deep inside your twitching cunt as humanly possible.

You could barely think while he caught his breath, slumped over on the tile, hips only being supported by his bruising grip.

Oystein looped an arm around your waist and held you there while he slipped out of you, sure to keep your hips angle high enough not to allow his seed to spill out of you.

You didn't see him reach for the beer bottle, but you certainly felt it when he slid it into your cunt as far as he could get it, forcing it in past the tapered swell of the bottle, effectively plugging his cum deep inside you and leaving two inches of the bottle's base protruding from your spent hole before walking out of the kitchen without a word.

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[rabbits-bad-habit]

Literally sat in a scare zone and wrote tonight. I know how my HHN friends feel now. They’re always doing that but I’ve never felt comfortable at home.