I wanna fuck ghostface so hard that he blacks out or passed out from the sheer feeling of pleasure and pain. 😭😭😭
Hell yeah. Same thoughts. 18+ TOP READER
Ghostface’s knees buckled, his legs consistently trembling while his hands scrambled around the mattress for purchase. The cheek of his mask was firmly planted against the sheets, finding himself unable to look back at you without interrupting himself.
“Oh God! Oh God—hnngh, right there!”
He punched out a moan, relishing in the way your thick cock ruthlessly carves an imprint on his slick-graced walls. His feet were on the ground, his upper half on the bed, and his ass raised to you. Your hands gripped his hips, forcibly prompting him to fuck himself back on your dick in time with your thrusts.
“Yeah? Right here?” You ask, pulling out enough to allow him to feel the threat of you leaving his entrance before you roughly bottom out and hit his sweet spot, earning yourself a high whine. One of your hands reach up, grasping his nape and pushing him down. Making him take it.
Ghostface can barely breathe, weak gasps barely managing to leave his agape mouth. You were fucking him like you hated him, his obscured face uncomfortably digging harder into the soft bedspread.
It hurt. Hurt so good.
Your hips were meeting with his backside with audible smacks, accompanied by a force that’ll surely cause him to become terribly sore. He clenches around your cock with a whimper, heat rushing to his gut, a climax rapidly approaching him.
It was dizzying. It was electrifying, and he was so horny. The killer groans out, long and broken, his mind momentarily numbing. He’s so close, his wet dick beginning to throb, and he can feel himself right—
Ghostface suddenly becomes limp, his hips subconsciously bucking forward as his pretty slit spits out his messy release.
. ✦⫘⫘⫘ˎˊ˗ ꒰ when asked during "spin the bottle", ben reveals that he wants to fuck you.
"guys! i'm good! i— i was just dropping off some of your cheerleaders—" the thumping bass and overlapping conversations curbed your protests. it wouldn't have mattered if the varsity team heard you anyway. their hands were dead set on bringing you to the middle of their party.
"relax, kiddo. it's just a game. stay a while, would you?" lucas bowden sat you the right side of the circle, made up of other jocks and their girls. in the middle, an empty dom pérignon laid horizontally. but your breath caught when you saw a blond man laughing at his friend on the couch, holding up a beer cup with practiced confidence. his blue eyes were sharp enough to slice through your own esteem.
you didn't even realize that he caught you staring, his an eyebrow cocked up. embarrassment widen your eyes before looking down on the persian rug, heat rushing through your veins. "that's ben brown. our striker. hot, isn't he?" lucas chuckled into your ear before smacking your back. someone in the room reached forward to spin the bottle, earning howls from the crowd that formed around the circle.
the first few victims were standard: someone revealed they made out with the history TA, one chugged one beer bottle in one go, and another gave the goalie a lapdance in front of everyone. it wasn't when the neck pointed to ben that the unsaid words on your tongue stuttered. "truth." he spoke with lazy mastery, taking one long sip from his cup that made your toes curl in your shoes.
"alright," some blonde cheerleader leaned forward. "how about you tell us why you asked the team to drag someone into this game?"
"yeah who do you want to fuck tonight brown?" another jock boomed out. the crowd erupted in collective laughter. lucas elbowed you in his joy, and you just tried to mirror him. something about that question didn't sink in with you just yet, but you knew it was there.
"you." everyone turned to ben, and your breathing completely stopped when his pointer and middle finger forming a gun was pointed in your direction. he probably pointed at lucas, he had to be, but lucas was also smirking in your direction. "not lucas. you, boy in the black sweater." ben jerked his fingers upward, eyes locked into yours.
the crowd's collective oohs was muffled to the edges by the bullets that hit your body all at once. shame and unease burnt the flesh of your skin, but a bittersweet arousal and honor emerged from all those feelings. you didn't even know who ben was personally, but apparently, he wanted to see you bent for his pleasure to take. you were so focused on your thoughts and pulling the hem of your sweater that you didn't even hear them call your name.
they met your surprised face with amused looks. you find the bottle pointed towards you, making you grip your legs. "new rule! you're not allowed to choose truth anymore!" someone yelled in the crowd.
"t—that's illegal!" you tried to protest, but everyone just cooed in your words. lucas pinches your cheeks like you just mispronounced your first words. just then, the party host hannah yells: "i dare you to kiss ben brown!"
a full decalescent wave revered your body. you shook your head, but the way you met ben's gaze told a different story. it was a lie if you said the thought of the taste of his narrow lips didn't fill you at the moment. would he move like a prayer, with grace and regard? or would he treat like a war where he'll bite and draw blood?
"jesus," ben made his way towards you in three big strides. your breath tangled into the threads of his lemony musk overwhelming your senses. there's an amused look in his electric gaze, a sly smirk playing on his face. "relax." he smashed his lips onto yours.
no sympathy was found in the movement of mouth, fully engulfing you in a distinct heat that you never felt in your entire life. your hands fisted his shirt- pushing him away, pulling him close- as your legs bucked into itself. ben held you up, groaning into the kiss and slipping his large tongue to explore the crevices of your mouth. he tasted like heaven and hell, life and death, sobriety and addiction all at once. and when he pressed your head further, you might've lost a piece of yourself into him.
ben pulled away. you bring your fingertips to your lips, the ghost of ben's roughness still branded to your senses. ben bites his lower lip slightly upon your actions, and that's when a whimper leaves your swollen lip.
"damn brown's down bad." lucas howls with the crowd. ben chuckles to himself, turning around like nothing happened. you're left in your daze, the addictive sweetness playing on your lips, drowning in shallow water. "who's next?" ben crashed back onto the couch, his gaze fully aware of his sins.
a few more rounds ensued before the crowd fully dispersed. still dizzy, you followed the tall jock into the hallway. the drink hasn't left his veined hands, the moonlight drawing lines on the perfect edges of his face and hair. "missed me?" ben asked, turning to face you. "wanna go further? i know a bedroom here."
"y-you stole my first kiss!" the words tumble out your lips like an accusation. the fire in your chest was confusing- anger and invigoration colliding.
ben chuckled darkly, sending waves into your system. he stepped forward until he fully crowded you against the wall with one casual arm. you had to tilt your head up in order to meet his look. "stole? you were leaning into me, boy. pretty sure that was consensual." he leaned down to graze your ear with his teeth. "now i would pretty much would like to fuck you right now, but i'm pretty sure i'm gonna collapse in a few minutes. and i would like to tear your ass up sober anyway. i'm wilder that way."
he stands as straight as he could. "goodnight, pretty boy. i'll find you again. and you better be ready for me." ben squeezed your cheek before stumbling down the hallway. "and you better not hide from me!"
you watched ben disappear into a bedroom. he's taken everything from you: your once untouched lips, the ability to breathe properly, and your heart, which you knew he would play around in his hands to his own satisfaction. and you were willing to drown in his presence as long as it was his oceans you were sinking in.
billy loomis x ftm reader reader smut if possible... waves hi
emo reader. Perhaps. Ok. thumbs!up emoji
feel free to make him as mean as you want trust me i would #Love this
you don't have to do this obvi but it would be awesome sauce if you did okay bye
billy had you sprawled out on his bed, fingers working your folds while he slid in and out of you with a achingly long push and pull process, pulling all the way out of your, just the tip left in leaving you clenching around nothing until he thrusts it all back into your with a sharp snap of his hips
your hands were firmly planted on his thighs where he made you keep them, one of his hands having your legs hiked up to your chest, wanting to get a nice full view of the pleasure he's giving your sweet sweet hole while the other stayed torturing your clit
your moans were choking in your throat with each thrust, one thrust shooting shocks through your whole body, your hands quickly moving your press against his lower abdomen to stop him but he doesn't even break a beat before saying to you in a low growl tone "better move those hands baby" but it must have feel on deaf ears
"please billy just give me a br-" he doesn't even let you finish your sentence before he's folding you into the bed, both hands bringing your knees right up to the sides of your head giving you the perfect view of him above you and his messy cock making an even bigger mess of your glistening folds
"I said move your hands, I didn't ask for your opinion" he growls before he's abusing his cock into you, hips slamming downwards so hard he was fucking the noises out of your, luckily no one was home to hear you getting fucked into the mattress "bi- fuck billy I'm s-s-s-sorry" you struggled to even make the simple of sentences seem coherent "mm mm I don't wanna hear anything but you cumming on this cock baby" he grins
and by the looks of it you weren't to far off from cumming, eyes rolling back and brows furrowing as you let out a broken moan mixed with whimpers, legs violently shaking as billy didn't even think to stop and kept fucking into you until your moans suddenly fell silent "good job baby" he coos releasing his grip from your legs and pulling out of your stuffed cunt, letting his loads flow out of your onto the sweat soaked covers
and don't think its over just because he stopped fucking you, his tongue is still eager to make you cum just like that.
You breathed out in relief when the bells rung for lunch break, three hours of math always felt like a death sentence and tedious to listen to they were as well—making your brain feel like mush.
Someone had placed an arm over your shoulder and you don't even need to look who it is, because Stu is the only person who do this whenever you're on your way outside—always finding his way through the crowd to accompany you to the usual spot, where the rest of your little group would meet up for lunch.
Today, as Stu leads you in another direction, it seemed to be a different place though, trying to remember if you had been ever at the fountain at all in your school history of breaks—probably not and you don't care enough to question it.
Topic of today was the death of Casey and her boyfriend, with Stu making a terrible joke about it—but that's Stu being himself—and you shrugging your shoulders, in almost nonchalantly, when Tatum had asked you how you feel about it—and in honesty it's a feeling of zero, because you don't know Casey personally to feel sad about her death, sure it's tragic—deaths are always tragic—but that's all.
Sidney, you know how such things affects her, wanted to disagree with you about this—raised her brow in question though, when the new transfer girl came walking over and sitting down next to you without a greeting.
Lori, you believed her name was, had moved from Santa Ana to Woodsboro and she's already a big talk through school and that's only because she had not only annoyed Heather Westcoast—Cheerleader Captain and a good friend of yours—on the first school day, setting her off in seething resentment, but Lori also had upset the whole Sports teams of Woodboro high in one go.
Even so, with her negative reputation she had gotten—and her high arrogant attitude, which even Heather (who could be quite arrogant herself when wanted) and most popular girls hated—a bit, really just a bit, uncomfortable close to you.
You're fine with specific people, like your closed friends, siblings or boyfriends, sitting so skin touching close to you, but strangers is where you drew a line—where you getting goosebumps of unease.
And Lori sitting so close was not enough, no, she cages your arm with her own—interwoven her fingers with you—pressing her boobs against you and getting even more close than before—starting to talk like a waterfall, long manicured finger sometimes tracing over your face or she touches you on places you definitely don't want to be touched by a girl at all—like your thighs or stomach—but Lori doesn't seemed to care.
While you still tried to tell her off—your voice a bit too soft to be heard over Lori's rambling—there's various perplexities among your friends faces, because how dare the girl to do such pesky gestures when it's widely known that you're in a relationship (although of who your boyfriend is, is still a secret to be discovered) and Lori should be glad that Heather nor Percy (two of four people who are quite protective over you) are here to see this, but Tatum for sure will them later, otherwise Lori is bound to get some nasty bruises and a much more worse reputation.
»Oi, Bimbo! Make some space.« spat Stu, placing himself—oh you could definitely tell that Stu Macher was jealous—between Lori and you, which you were so thankful though, breathing out in relief.
»Excuse me?! I was in the middle of a conversation!« not only did you, but also Sidney and Tatum, cringed at the high screeching sound of Lori's voice and god knows she could reach such vocal heights.
»What conversation? You were the only one talking!« interjects Tatum, red lips going into a scowl and there's a minimal narrow of her eyes.
Bill was glaring as well, having gotten up from his spot and standing now in front of Lori and you, arms crossed.
»That's a conversation isn't it? I'm talking is the whole point of a conversation.« claims Lori, about to grab your hand again—but Stu was quicker, much quicker, draping his arm around your shoulders—just like he had done before—and pulling you close, sticking his tongue out at Lori in triumphing smugness.
»You bother [Name].«
»I do not! He would have told me, wouldn't he?«
»[Name] did asked you to leave him alone, like three times already. So I'm gonna say it again and for once and final, fuck off.« with the way how Billy said it, demand it even, you could tell he's a bit pissed off.
Lori seemed to understand the message, getting up, scoffing—flipping her long hair from her face and behind—she walks away.
~~~•~~~
It's way over midnight when you had fallen asleep during the movie session, laying back to chest against Stu, who holds you close in his arms.
You normally don't fall asleep easily throughout movies, but with what happened today it did have taken some energy out of you, making you unfocused and doing things you shouldn't do—like wanting to shower with your clothes on or drinking a weird mix of Coffee, orange juice and soda or waking up minutes after falling asleep, just to shout about late for school.
»How did it went?« asks Stu, when Billy had come back into the living room—carefully moving you a bit, to sit more upwards.
»I gave the bitch a good scare. She think about bothering [Name] anymore.« it would have been way to obvious to kill Lori right away, but a good scare tactic was just as effective.
Billy takes your sleeping form out of Stu's arms, carrying you upstairs to the bedroom—laying you down in the middle before Billy himself and Stu joined in and caging you in between them.
Maybe if Billy agreed to make their relationship public known, Lori wouldn't have tried to get so damn close to you, but Billy back then didn't wanted that and ever since it's a bit hard for them both not to touch you too much without making it obvious.
Summary: It was a rare occurrence for it to snow in Woodsboro, CA, and you were not going to let the opportunity pass to mess with your boyfriend.
Content Warnings: Winter-Themed Fic❄️ | Hot Cocoa Trope | Snowball Fight Trope | Non-Horror Scream AU | Fluff and More Fluff | Established Relationship | Randy and Reader are Both 18+ | Allusions to College | Reader Jokes about Homophobia (it's the '90's) | Randy's Rants | Martha Meeks Mentioned! | (tiniest bit of) Randy Being Insecure | Small Shenanigan (Randy receiving) | Randy Calls Reader "Sweetheart" and "Luv" | Use of the Pet Name "Baby" By Both | References to Scream 1 & 2 | Horror Movie Classics Mentioned | (some) Kissing | Cuddling
Word Count: 2.84k | (one-shot)
Author's Note: I couldn't find any more appropriate Randy Meeks gifs, so I had to incorporate him freaking out into the fic😭. But that's my valid crash out king right there💛💛 and I will support him in any and all rants!!!! Btw, I used hot cocoa and hot chocolate interchangeably, which I know is wrong, but please don't come at me😭.
| FEMALES DNI PAST THIS POINT |
Your breath fogged against the clear pane, a blotch of white blurring the glass. Wiping it away with the sleeve of your hoodie, the scene in front of you still remained the same. Outside, in the front yard of Randy's home, the tall palm trees swayed in a slow dance with the falling puffy snow. The ground had a thin, minimal blanket of white that draped over the still-vibrant Californian grass. "It's still so strange," you mumble to yourself.
"Sweetheart," Randy's voice called from his kitchen, "the cocoa is almost done. Did you start up the movie?"
"No, not yet," you answer back. From across the room, you could hear the chocolate mixture begin to simmer, a murmuring, popping, bubbling that sounds similar to the snow scraping against the house's panels. "The VHS is still sheathed away on the coffee table where you last left it."
Randy shuts off the stove; a click emits, and the blue flame retreats into the burner. Rich, fragrant chocolate cooking with milk, combining into a delicious, familiar smell that reminded you of the many mornings from snow days off. "Well, why didn't ya? The Thing is an-"
"An underrated cinematic horror that will become a classic in the future. Just give it five more years..." you quote back at him, tapering off before your dorky boyfriend could continue with one of his many rants. You take one last look outside and turn away from the serene snowfall.
You lean forward against the marble countertop, cradling your head in your palms as your elbows hold your stance up. A small, sweet smile edges out as you let your eyes wander over your boyfriend's figure. He's wearing worn-out brown loafers, gray and black pajama pants with stripes that cleanly crisscross, and a fuzzy, ugly Christmas sweater in the shade of light evergreen fur. It was the first present you had bought for him a few weeks ago, having spent your first Christmas shared together while his parents were away on a perfectly timed cruise to the Bahamas. You know that behind you, tucked in the left corner of the living room, next to the overused, boxy Sony Trinitron CRT, was still the fake, messily adorned Christmas tree of the Meeks' residence. There were still a few wrapped presents from both you and Randy that were left for Martha when she got back from her trip to Lake Tahoe with her best friend's family.
Randy pushed up the warm sleeves as he began to spin the chocolate mixture, faint dark lines etching and swirling into the scalding brown liquid. "Am I doing this right?" the brunette asked as he took the long wooden spoon, held the stem between his two palms, and pushed and pulled the utensil like he wanted to create enough friction to start a fire. He edged himself to the right so you could see the pot filled with cocoa, making sure not to drop the spoon as he looked over his shoulder. Cool, glacial blue eyes widen as he quickly scans you over as if he still expected you to be staring out his window. "Since when have you been standing there, sweetheart?" Randy's voice pitches up, surprised and breathless when the last word lands.
You shoulder a laugh, enter the kitchen, and lean against Randy's side. He still hasn't stopped spinning the wooden spoon, even as you kiss the side of his lips and he releases an ounce of pressure. Wrong place, baby, he thinks, though doesn't have the courage to speak into existence. And it's like the world around you two stops, outside the world freezes with the snow ceasing, and your bodies in tandem comfortably pressed against each other as the blooming chocolate fills both your senses. But the warmth you too felt wasn't from the lingering heat emitted by the stove; it was from the blossoming love that swelled your hearts in beautiful synchronism. "Young love," Martha had mentioned in passing before she faked a gag after seeing her brother's gaze entranced at your figure on the floor, leaning over a large, wrinkly textbook on their coffee table.
You reach out and cover his hands, tightening your grip as you hear Randy softly gasp. It's awkward, and it would have been much easier if only one set of hands had completed the simple action, but you couldn't miss the opportunity to make your cute, dorky boyfriend squirm a bit. Still between both of your clenched hands, you guide the wooden spoon out and tap the head a few times against the pot's edge. A few drops of the warm chocolate mixture fall back within the rest, place the spoon to the side, and look up to find your boyfriend already staring back at you. Randy's in awe, lips parted and thoughts swirling and mixing like how the cocoa was a few minutes ago - this time, he was the cocoa, and you were the one stirring him up inside. The essence of blush marks his cheeks. Don't say it, genius, he scolds himself.
"Randy, the cocoa is done," you hear yourself say, still focused on figuring out how to dive into your boyfriend's blue eyes. He feels the same, not wanting to pull away, so he could analyze and re-analyze again and again how handsome your eyes look.
The lock unlatches, and Randy finally looks away when he feels you pull your hand away from his. The spoon rattles momentarily, mimicking the swaying, jumping of his heart. "Yeah, luv, I knew that," Randy says, falling back into his mock British accent. He usually used it when he was berating one of the other classmates who thought they knew better than your film-expert boyfriend. But it had slowly transformed into a habit that webbed its way whenever you were around. Even before you two began to date, you had picked up on this signifier of his nerves. You thought it was cute back then, still do, making the nerd even more charming than the stereotype wanted him to be.
"You're cute," you tell him, caressing the back of his neck. You scratch at the tufts of growing hair, wanting him to get closer. He does so slowly. Under this light, you can't help but compare the color of his dark brown hair to the rich chocolate beside you. When your lips touch, Randy braces himself before he falls victim to the soft, sweet kiss. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, turning your figure so he can pull you in closer. Eyes closed, but he feels like he can still see all of you. His hands help him, grip tightening on your shoulder to ground him while his other sprawling against your waist before rushing to move between your shoulder blades. There's too much of you to analyze, he thinks.
When he breaks away, the blush blossoms bigger and hotter. Catching his breath, he wants to make a quip, to cut through the moment with one of his many remarks, but he's at a loss for words. He knows you are dating, but even then, he still wants to charm you. To prove to himself that he's still got it, still has you. Quiet echoes of being relegated as one of the rejects.
You notice the developing storm behind his eyes and drag your thumb against his soft flesh. And you notice he's back, eyes steeling back into the cool blue you love. You pocket that distinction and save your worries for another day. He smiles, small but genuine, and you allow yourself to, as well.
Randy turns away, looking out into his backyard. "The snow stopped," he notes aloud.
"Yeah," you answer without turning your head away from your boyfriend.
He chuckles and squeezes your hip, "Luv, you aren't even looking."
"I don't need to. I trust you," you respond instantly. But you still turn, a half-baked idea brewing. When you do finally catch the outside's view, snowfall is nowhere to be found, and the grass is covered in a slightly thicker layer of snow. You needed to act quickly. Much to Randy's dismay, and dodging his reaching arm, you pull away and jog out of his kitchen.
"Where are you-"
"Just fill up my mug and set it down on the coffee table. Maybe even sprinkle some cinnamon. I'll be right back," you emphasize the last line as you are well aware of Randy's rules of horror movies. Sometimes you tease him about it just so you can hear him rant to you.
"Sweetheart," he drags out in a near whine, "you can't just say 'you'll be right back.' That's the third and most important rule-"
"Randy, this isn't a horror movie," you stop him. "Unless you want to discuss the horrors of two young queer men living in the state of the country post the Stonewall Riots, then you aren't going to stop my surprise."
He sighs, agreeing with you, opening the above cabinet to bring down two mugs. One was a sleek black mug that had messy painted-on renditions of some of Randy's favorite horror movies - such as Fright Night, Friday the 13th, Halloween, Evil Dead, Children of the Corn, and A Nightmare on Elm Street. The side profiles of their respective VHS tapes were stacked side-by-side with ample room left around the mug to paint on more movies. The other was a clean white mug that had one of Ash Williams' famous quotes - "Gimme some sugar, baby" - in red, blocked letters. Under the handle was the start of a chainsaw that was nowhere near distinguishable with its barely visible edges.
It was a date night activity that you had shared a few months ago after discussing with him that you two needed to do something other than watch movies together. He hadn't been the most excited at first, but he would later admit that he enjoyed the change of pace. He chuckled to himself, remembering how he spent nearly two hours ranting to you about what horror movie quote he thought was best for you, only to end up with the cheesy line. You sat with him through it all, looking back and forth at his collection of VHS tapes while still paying him enough attention to keep him going.
Stepping out of Randy's room, you zip up your windbreaker, tuck on a beanie to cover your ears, and spit out the black wool gloves that your mouth carried to keep your hands from freezing. Your boots stomp, and you briefly stop as you catch your boyfriend's gaze. In both hands, he carries your two artistic mugs, filled to the brim with still-steaming hot cocoa. He's careful not to spill any as he leans over and kisses your cheek.
"You gonna tell me what you're planning?" Randy whispers, his voice dropping into that intimate tone that he only shares when it's just the two of you. He didn't want to breach the closeness, pop the domestic intimacy.
"Nope," you answer him with a Cheshire cat wide grin. That's never a good sign, Randy tells himself.
"I should go with you," he says more to himself, like he was trying to get himself to agree with the sprouting thought. "Let me just put on my coat-"
"No, Randy," you respond, placing your hands on his shoulders to get him to look back at you. "Randy, it's fine. I'll be fine. I will just be outside in your front yard. No more than 5 minutes. Promise."
He re-picks up the two mugs from the countertop, before agreeing, "I'm holding you to the millisecond that the opening credits to the movie stops. I'm not gonna watch more without you."
"Deal," you emphasize your agreement with another kiss to his cheek.
It had been more than five minutes. Randy was growing impatient; the opening credits to The Thing had already been long completed a while ago, with the movie waiting to be unpaused. The quiet was gnawing away at his sanity. What was taking you so long? The first thought racked his brain until- What were you even doing out? voiced louder from his cautious, horror-filled brain.
Ash Williams' quote stared back at him from the coffee table, his own mug of hot chocolate weighed heavily in his hands. Luckily, they were still warm, but with his second hand on the mug's body, it was increasingly losing its delicious heat. He knew your drink was in a similar state. For the sixth time in the last minute, Randy re-scanned his collection of VHS tapes. Anything to distract himself from the cold, empty spot next to him on the couch.
"Alright," he declared to the audience of his dead living room. He had had enough, pushing his feet back into the loafers and half marching over to his open front door. The last barrier between him and the outside was the glass screen door. When he peered past the melting ice, all he found was his street, the sidewalk, and the front yard. A thin blanket of snow covering the ground, lying under the ceiling of still grey clouds. There was only a small wrinkle near the stone steps that led to the front door, not a single footprint that he could spot. Shit-
He shoves his mug of hot cocoa into his other hand before he pushes down the golden knob to open the screen door. He goes to break the eerier silence by calling out your name before- Whack. Randy's face reels from the force of the snowball. The cold seeps past his skin as it refuses to fall. He can't see you, eyes blocked behind a layer of ice, but he hears your laugh.
You stand tall, your figure unhidden behind the mini pine tree to Randy's right. "Sorry, Randy," you apologize through snickers you are trying to calm. "I can't believe that spot worked! I thought for sure you would've seen me."
You take the steps two at a time, closer to re-managing your breathing. Standing in front of him, he's rigid, and you notice the pile of snow still hasn't fallen off his face. The sight nearly makes you double over again. "Here, baby, let me get that off for you."
Randy feels your wool hand press flatly against his forehead, your fingers smooth against his skin as you wipe down and away the snow from his face. You try to be careful and get it all at once; however, a small thumb-sized pile of snow falls into Randy's cocoa. The splash of warm chocolate bounces and some lands on your cheek, beside your nose. It feels like deserved retaliation.
"Sweetheart," he begins, voice sounding loud against the backdrop of winter's silence, but you recognize there wasn't any bite to his words. "You had me wait for more than five minutes, stewing with the thoughts of not having you nearby. Wishing for you to come back inside, settle back against my side so we can watch The Thing. A cinematic horror classic!"
You try to explain yourself, but Randy continues, "You got snowball in my hot cocoa! It's ruined now. I mean, the ratio is now all wrong. I've got more water than chocolate to drink!"
"You done?" you ask. He nods, and with his free hand, he immediately tries to smudge out the chocolate drink blots that are rapidly drying against your skin. He licks his thumb and wipes away at you with such delicate care; you might as well be one of Randy's VHS tapes. You internally snicker and hold back that comment for later.
"Sorry, Randy. I wanted to surprise you. Take your mind off of things... And, I couldn't let the opportunity of this little bit of snow go to waste."
"Yeah, well... we could come back out after we finish the movie," he negotiates, lifting his pinky finger. Your smile widens as you shake his pinky with yours, and he nearly relents from ignoring the movie. Nearly. He does allow you to pull him back inside, shutting the door behind himself as you settle in your spot, white mug full of cocoa in your hands. Like it should've been more than five minutes ago.
Randy sighs as he finally takes the first sip of his chocolate-y drink, sitting down beside you. His free arm lies on top of the couch, a soft, comfortable, familiar weight behind your head. You take the hint from your boyfriend's hand nudging against your bicep, and you get comfortable against the soft fuzz that covers his chest. Randy unpauses the screen as Jed's barks filled the room, the Alaskan Malamute and wolf hybrid sprinting against the backdrop of thick white snow and ice as the chopper failed to chase him. You could feel the brunette's heart skip a beat, and it wasn't out of fear for the dog's fate. His eyes were watching your face - one final analysis. He only turns away to give the horror movie his full attention after pressing a kiss against your forehead.
Author's Note 2: Not to give away any future fics any more than I already am, but I might make a Part 2 of sorts that tackles Randy's insecurities that were briefly explored from this fic🫣.
Remember to like, comment, and reblog :D! Any and all support is much appreciated!
can we get some more of ghostface x top!male reader pleaseeeeeee 🥺🙏🙏
“Fuck, come on, put it in already!”
Ghostface whines in pure frustration, the little slit of his cock uselessly weeping, desperate for your attention. His gloved hands clench around the sheets underneath his tensed body, his head thrown back against the pillow as he gasps out.
You had two slick fingers rubbing against his walls, the digits gradually pumping in and out and effectively loosening his tight hole. “You’re going to bleed out if I do,” you warn, ignoring his sobbing protests as the pad of your index finger brush against a sensitive spot within him. Ghostface’s lean back arches off the bed, which has your free hand moving to weigh on his stomach to ensure he held still.
“Don’t be such a—mngh, oh God—stupid pussy. Fuck your cock into me, I know you want it,” Ghostface babbles mindlessly, his hips straining as they roll forward, trying to take your fingers in deeper.
To his disappointment and eventual anger, you pull them out and leave his wet hole pathetically gaping from the abrupt emptiness. Before his complaints burst from his chest, however, you align the head of your cock to his entrance and gently push it inside.
Ghostface’s thighs twitch, his legs automatically spreading wider as he squeezes around your tip. Though, to his surprise, that’s all he receives from you. His breathing grew ragged, puffs of air hitting his mask and causing the material to cling to his nose.
“What are you—?”
“Just the tip tonight,” You quickly hush, your palm soothing the tense muscles of his abdomen.
In complaint, he grumbled incoherently, beginning to slightly squirm in his place. This was basically the equivalent of you killing him. He wanted to feel your dumb, insufferable big dick inside of his tight, drooling hole; yet, you seemed to have no plans on giving what he wants. He whimpers shakily while he tilts his head to stare down at you, watching how you start to stroke yourself with only your leaky cockhead inside of him.
It’ll have to do. For now. Ghostface can only let out faint, pretty moans as he waits for you to cum inside of him.
