.ᐟ.ᐟ : my first drabble and i'm a lil nervous so i hope y'all enjoy <3
Crickets hum outside, a soothing lullaby in the night. It’s just past eleven o’clock, and your boyfriend is running late – he works quite far from the small town the two of you live in, doing some stupid job that’s under-the-table pay. Despite the under-the-table pay, it’s laborious, and most nights he comes home complaining about something: his coworkers, some bullshit he dealt with, working overtime. It was always something.
You’re half-asleep in bed, your tired frame beneath the soft sheets and blankets, a delicate nightgown draped across your frame. You’ve been tossing and turning for the last hour, trying your best to fall asleep, though the absence of your boyfriend makes it that much harder to drift off.
At last, your eyes are growing heavier and heavier, the light breeze from the cracked window bathing your sweaty skin in a soothing balm. The summers were relentless, though it seemed to get better when the sun went down, and the moonlight drooled in through the sheer curtains.
You don’t hear the door of his truck slam, or his boots on the gravel just outside of the house, and you somehow don't hear the door slamming either. He’s home, and he’s angry.
A long, hard day at work is the best way to describe it. A failed job, his boss scolding him for some shit that he didn’t do, and to piss him off even more, he worked overtime because of some douche he works with. He knows coming home to you is the best thing for him, mostly because you’re there to use as he pleases.
It's quiet, and he realizes you must be asleep. The lights are off, not even a light above the oven flickers on. He’s used to you on the couch, waiting like a puppy waiting for its owner, but you’ve fallen asleep this time, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
A few footsteps lead him into the bedroom, and his eyes find you, his everything, sound asleep in the bed, curled into the sheets, the moonlight casting a glow over your skin. If he weren't so fucking angry right now, he would think that he died and went to heaven and found an angel in his bed, but the frustration burning at his skin keeps him in reality. Not heaven, more so hell.
The bed dips with a groan, and you’re groaning too, rolling over a little at the feeling of him climbing onto the bed, though sleep is the last thing going through his mind. You’re the only thing on his mind.
His large hand finds your shoulder, a gentle nudge has your sleepy limbs moving, and you’re on your back, eyeballs moving behind sockets as you dream, and he’s smirking at your compliance, clearly.
“So good, even asleep,” he mumbles to himself, his hand finding your face, his thumb rubbing across your cheekbone, then across your closed eyes. He maneuvers himself on top of you, though he made sure to remove the blankets from you first, carefully.
“And my favourite nightgown,” he whispers, letting himself nudge between your warm thighs, and that earns another tired groan from you, his eyes gazing at the light fabric that bunches at your hips. “All for me, huh?” he comments, eyes roaming across you.
He slowly lowers his hand, running it along your thigh, calloused fingertips brushing the skin. His tired hands were used to working all damn day, and now they were as gentle as ever against your skin, purposely pushing your nightgown up higher, letting just a sliver of your stomach show.
You make a shallow noise and shift your hips, but a quick hand stops the movement, and his eyes flick up to meet your shut ones. “Relax, baby, it’s just me,” he coos, rubbing at your hipbone, a thumb focused on the soft skin.
He groans as he looks at your lower half, his tongue running across his front teeth as a free hand carefully finds his belt buckle, swiftly undoing the clasp, and letting the leather droop. He doesn’t completely pull out the belt, doesn't even bother pulling down his jeans after popping open the button and dragging down the zipper. He intends for this to be quick – just to get his fill, not too concerned over yours.
Your back arches as you feel him adjusting himself, his eyes gazing down at you, carefully watching the way you stir. He’s analyzing the facial expressions you make; eyebrows furrowing, lips parting slightly, and he’s basking in your slight sleepy confusion.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers as he reaches his hand down, carefully placing it in the front of his jeans and boxers, shakily breathing out as he takes himself out, his head tipping back for just a second. He already feels release wash over him at just the sight of you.
He doesn’t bother to touch you first, doesn’t even bother to get you ready at all, his mind mostly fixated on how relieved he’ll feel once he’s finished – he’s always been like this, a greedy bastard that takes and takes, and takes when he can, even when you’re quietly sleeping.
It’s a slow, deep thrust, and his head is tipping back, a low groan leaving his mouth as he holds you by your hips, his head suddenly bowing as he looks down at you. You’re making a face again; eyebrows knitting together, almost like you tasted something bad, and he’s practically chuckling.
“Atta girl,” he mumbles quietly, trying not to wake you up too much, but he can feel the way your thighs are clenching, and the way your eyes are fluttering more, a low, quiet whine slipping by your lips. He likes watching it.
You can feel it, that odd pressure and the hands grabbing your hips, your body lightly moving with each rock of his hips, and it has you slowly coming to, eyes fluttering open in confusion, an even more confused moan slipping by your lips.
“No, no, baby,” he hushes you the minute he notices your lips parting, and a large hand is coming up, a warm palm covering your mouth, and he’s shaking his head. “You’re okay, you feel good, so good,” he reassures, nodding slowly, and you’re nodding slowly, too, understanding, taking. You've always wanted this.
Being a proxy means your brain is never really quiet.
Even when the others are out on their own assignments, or it’s late at night and you’re all by yourself, the air still hums with a constant static, like a radio signal stuck between stations, just loud enough to crawl under your skin and make you irritable.
It’s Him. Always Him.
You can only count on one hand the amount of times you’ve heard Slenderman speak out loud, and even then you didn’t catch much of it over your own screaming. He doesn’t talk because he doesn’t need to. The orders arrive as pressure behind your eyes, flashing images and impulses that burn themselves into your brain until your obedience is the only thing that stops the ache.
There are no negotiations, no questions, no “later.” Anything that isn’t directly serving the next task—rest, food, medicine—is irrelevant and wasteful of his time.
Proxies don’t get days off, you get slivers.
You get minutes, sometimes hours, snatched between kills and jobs when the static recedes just enough that you can breathe again. Those slivers are all you have, they’re practically a currency amongst you proxies.
You learn fast not to waste them.
Toby is shoving you into the hall closet of the mansion quickly, both of you scurrying in like rats, and for half a second you both freeze, listening for footsteps, for the telltale static that means He’s close.
But there’s nothing, just the ragged symphony of your breathing and the creak of the old floorboards you’re standing on.
Toby’s mouth finds yours before you can even tell him the coast is clear.
His lips invade yours, shoving his tongue past your teeth and taking up most of the empty space in your mouth. You taste copper, either from his perpetually bitten tongue or you bit him back too hard, you can’t tell and you don’t care. One of his hands fists in your hair, yanking your head back so he can drag open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat while the other claws at his belt buckle desperately.
“Fuck—fuck, c’mon,” he hisses between bites. The metal of his buckle clinks uselessly, slipping out of his grip. “Why th-the hell d’you wear sss-so many goddamn layers—”
“You’re one to talk,” you gasp, already shoving at the waistband of your jeans. The denim is tight and stubborn, sticking to your sweat-damp skin. Your fingers shake, but you’re so wound up you can barely feel them. “You’ve got like—three shirts and that stupid hoodie—”
“I-It’s fuckin’ cold out,” he snaps. He finally gets the belt free with a triumphant grunt and yanks his zipper down so fast you’re surprised it doesn’t break. “And shut up. You’re gon-gonna get u-us caught. Fuck.”
His face jerks as one of his tics fires off, spurring the fire in him more.
You’d argue, but he’s already crowding you backward until your spine hits the wall. Coats and jackets hanging beside you brush your sides, making the already tiny space feel minuscule. The space is tiny, barely enough for both of you to stand chest-to-chest, and every movement makes fabric rustle and hangers clatter.
Toby’s hands are everywhere. Under your shirt, his calloused fingertips scrape over your ribs, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips hard enough to bruise. You manage to shove your jeans halfway down your thighs before he spins you.
Your palms slap flat against the peeling paint, cringing at the cold wall pressed against your cheek. Behind you, Toby presses in close, pushing his chest to your back, his hips slotting tight against your ass. And oh god, he’s so hard it makes your knees threaten to give out.
He grinds against your ass, letting you feel every thick inch trapped behind his boxers. A shudder rolls through you both. His forehead drops to the nape of your neck, and you can feel the way his shoulders are shaking.
“Shit,” he breathes, his voice splintering. “Shit, I ca-can’t—I can’t ww-wait, I need—”
“Then quit whining,” you whisper-yell, shoving your hips back against him. “Just—fuck, hurry up Toby, please.”
He makes a sound that might be a laugh, but it’s hard to tell with his mouth pressed to your shoulder now.
“Please?” he echoes, mocking you with a forced high-pitch voice. “Y-You’re gonna beg now? After pr-prac-practically eye-fucking m-me the entire mission tuh-today?”
“You liked it,” you pant, reaching back awkwardly to claw at his hip, trying to drag him closer. “You were shaking the whole time—”
“‘Cause I w-was thinking about fuh-fucking the shit o-out of y-y-you on the drive ba-back here,” he growls against your ear. “Wan-Wanted to spread y-you out right there i-in the back see-seat so Tim and Brian could wa-watch.”
“Toby—”
“Say it again,” he demands, kissing your neck. His hand snakes around your front, his fingers dipping beneath the band of your underwear and pushing his digits between your legs, finding you utterly soaked. “Fuck—say my n-name like thh-that again, please, I’m losing i-it—”
“Toby,” you grit out, trying to angle your hips so he’ll push his fingers inside you. But his hips jerk forward involuntarily, knocking your hips against the wall before you. “Please. Need you in me. Now.”
The closet smells like dust and old wool and the sharp, metallic tang of your combined sweat. Toby’s still got one hand shoved between your thighs, fingers slick and trembling where they’d just barely started to press inside you—teasing, testing, not enough. Not nearly enough.
You feel the exact second he breaks.
“Toby,” you breathe again, softer, almost a question this time, like you’re checking if he’s still with you.
He groans out and yanks his hand free from your underwear. The sudden emptiness of warmth makes your hips shift and try to chase after the feeling, but before you can even whine about it, he’s fumbling at his own waistband and shoving his boxers and jeans down in one impatient jerk. His cock springs free against the small of your back, already leaking at the tip.
“Gonna b-be quick,” he warns, his voice cracking on the last word. “Gonna be sss-so fucking qui-quick, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t care,” you whine.
“Fuck—fuck—” His voice is shredded. He wraps the same hand that was just messing with you around himself, coating himself in your wetness. The wet sound of it is obscene in the cramped dark. He hisses through his teeth as he pumps his fist. “You’re so gah-goddamn wet, I can’t—shit, I can’t think—”
“Then don’t think. Just—”
He cuts you off with a rough exhale against your neck. His free hand hooks into the crotch of your panties, yanking them aside so hard the fabric bites into your skin for a second before stretching. He angles himself with fumbling urgency, his tip nudging at your entrance and slipping a couple of times before catching just enough to make you both gasp.
“H-Hold still,” he mutters. One hand plants hard on your shoulder, shoving your chest flush to the wall and pinning you there so he can shift your hips and line up properly. You feel the blunt pressure, the stretch starting, but he’s shaking so badly he can’t quite— “C’mon, c’mon, uh-open up for m-me, please—”
You tilt your hips just a fraction, arching your back more. His grip tightens on your shoulder, his fingers digging in and indenting your skin through your shirt.
“Fuck—relax already—”
There.
The head pops past the first tight ring of muscle.
Toby chokes on air, his weight shifting behind you. You’re gasping, your knuckles white against the wall as you grip down, fumbling for your balance before Toby thrusts—
Hard.
One long, relentless shove and he’s buried to the hilt, his hips slamming flush against your ass. The stretch burns in the best way, so full it steals your breath and makes your knees buckle. Toby’s hand drops from your shoulder to under your torso, hauling you up so your back presses against his heaving chest.
“Fuuuck,” he rasps, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His whole body is trembling, his cock throbbing inside you, twitching with his every erratic heartbeat. “God—fu-fuck—y-y-you feel—” He can’t finish the sentence.
You can barely speak with your lungs punched empty. “M-Move,” you manage between whines. “Toby—move, please—”
He doesn’t ease into it—he can’t. Something in him snaps and he starts moving like a dog chasing a rabbit.
It’s messy and sloppy and holds no finesse, just raw, frantic thrusts that knock the breath out of you every time he bottoms out because he’s punching your cervix. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes too loud in the tiny space and you both flinch at it, knowing how thin these walls are, how close the others are, how close He might be.
“Shh—fuck, Toby—” you gasp, biting your lip so hard you taste blood, trying to muffle the moans that want to claw out of your throat.
He’s already shaking his head against your neck, his words coming from grit teeth. “I’m s-sorry—shit, I’m so so-sorry, I can’t—I’m al-already—” Another sharp snap of his hips, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. “G-Gonna come, I’m—fu-fuck, you feel too good—”
“It’s okay,” you breathe, reaching back awkwardly to grab at his hip and urge him deeper. “It’s okay Toby, just—don’t stop. Want you to. Want you to co-come inside me, please—”
His arms snake around your middle, locking you tight against his body and pushing you harder against the closet wall. One hand splays low on your stomach, the other higher, his fingers digging into your ribs as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and starts sucking hard, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.
You arch into it, your head tipping back against his shoulder. “Yeah—like that—fuck, Toby, just like that. You’re so deep, I can feel you so deep—”
He whimpers—actually whimpers—hips stuttering for a second before picking up faster, harder, chasing the praise like it’s oxygen. “Keep—keep talking,” he pants against the fresh bruise he’s worrying into your skin. “Please, fuck, tell me—”
“You’re doing so good,” you whisper, each word punched out in a heave of air every time he thrusts. “Gonna make me come—”
His rhythm falters, then surges in wild, uneven slams. With the movement, your panties start slipping back down, the fabric catching on the base of him and tugging uncomfortably, throwing off his angle just enough to make him growl in frustration.
“Goddamn it—” He yanks one hand free from around your waist and hooks his fingers into the damp cotton, and snags it back to the side hard. The motion jerks your hips backward onto him, forces another inch deeper, and you both choke on disgusting moans.
He doesn’t let go. He keeps the fabric pinned out of the way with white-knuckled fingers while his other arm bands tighter around you, holding you still so he can fuck you even harder—faster.
He keeps those fingers hooked viciously in the crotch of your panties, yanking the fabric so taut it digs into the crease of your thigh, holding everything out of the way while he starts yanking your hips back to meet him. Every pull drags you onto his cock harder, the blunt head slamming right up against your cervix with brutal, punishing force.
A sharp cry rips out of you before you can stop it.
Toby’s hand flies up instantly, clamping over your mouth so hard your head snaps back against his shoulder. His palm tastes like salt. Your moan vibrates against his skin, muffled but still too loud to be safe.
He freezes, his cock buried to the hilt and throbbing angrily inside you.
The closet is suddenly deafening in its silence. Just your ragged panting into his hand, the roar in your ears, and Toby’s labored breathing behind you. Out of your peripheral, you can see him staring at the closet door, waiting for any sign of someone approaching, but it never comes.
He exhales shakily against your ear. “Quiet,” he whispers. “P-Please—fuck, we go-gotta be quiet, I ca-can’t—if He hears—”
You nod frantically under his palm, trying to say I know, I’m sorry, but all that comes out is a pathetic, muffled whimper.
He pulls back just an inch and punches forward, hard enough to knock your chest against the wall. Then again. And again. Short, shallow thrusts ramming right against that spot that makes your vision white out at the edges. He grinds between thrusts, making your insides ache with the press of him.
Your legs shake. Your nails scrape uselessly at the wall. You’re babbling against his hand now, trying to convey information that is barely heard.
“Toby—gonna—fu-fuck, I’m gonna cuh-come—please—”
His other arm bands around your shoulders, locking you tight against his chest to shield you from hitting the wall—or maybe just holding on so he doesn’t fall. Either way, his fingers dig into your collarbones hard enough to make tears well in your eyes.
“Shit—shh-shit, I’m—” His hips stutter, losing what little rhythm he had. “I’m sorry—fuck, I’m s-so sorry, I can’t—I c-ca-can’t hold it—”
One more hard slam. Then another. Then he buries himself as deep as he can go and breaks.
A choked, ugly sob tears out of him as he cums, spilling inside you in thick, hot spurts. His whole body jerks with it, his hips grinding erratically like he’s trying to push even deeper, like he wants to stay here forever. His hand over your mouth trembles wildly, and his forehead drops against the back of your neck.
He keeps twitching inside you long after the last pulse of cum has poured into you, his breath coming in short, shuddering bursts. “I’m so-sorry… I’m sorry… fu-fuck, I’m sorry…”
You let him ride it out. His cock is still half-hard inside you, pulsing weakly with aftershocks, and you clench around him absently as he regains his balance.
But you haven’t come yet. The ache between your legs is sharp and insistent, coiled so tight it hurts.
When he starts to ease out of you slowly, you can’t help the restless little whine that slips out. Your hips jerk back instinctively, trying to keep him buried.
Toby freezes, then lets out a breathless laugh against your shoulder. “Shit—sorry, so-sorry, I got y-you, I got you—”
He doesn’t pull out all the way, but he rocks forward again, sliding back into the slick mess he’s already made. You feel his cum leaking out around him, warm and thick, trickling down your inner thighs. The sensation sends a shiver racing up your spine, making your fingers curl into fists.
“Fuck,” you gasp, your forehead dropping forward against the wall. “Toby—”
“I know, I know,” he murmurs. One arm snakes around your waist again, holding you steady while his other hand slips between your thighs. His fingers find your sensitive clit and start rubbing in tight, firm circles that match the slow grind of his hips.
He buries himself deep again, right up against your cervix, staying there while he works you with those clever, rough fingers. The pressure inside and out is overwhelming, and you can’t help but whine as angle your hips to help him.
“O-Oh, damn—shit, that’s hot,” he whispers right against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. “Let go for me, swee-sweetheart. I’ve got you. J-Just—fuck, just come on my cock, pl-please. Wanna ff-feel you—”
His slurred words are what tip you over.
Your orgasm hits hard and sudden, ripping through you like static. You pulse around him in frantic waves, walls fluttering and squeezing so tight he hisses through his teeth. Your hand flies down, gripping his hand where it’s pushed between your legs, your nails digging in to stop the relentless circling of his fingers because it’s too much all too quickly.
He doesn’t stop rubbing until your whimpers turn shrill and you start twitching away from him. Only then does he ease off, slowing to gentle strokes while you come down in shuddering gasps.
You’re both panting like you’ve run miles. The closet air feels thicker now, heavy with sweat and sex and the coppery scent of you two.
Toby finally slips out and you feel another warm gush follow, dripping down your legs. You both make the same groaning sound at the same time.
He turns you gently and presses his forehead to yours. His mouth finds yours and you kiss him back just as hard, your hands fumbling between you to drag clothes back into place. You yank your jeans up, your zipper half-done. His belt is still dangling open. Your shirt tugged back down, your panties snapped back over the mess between your thighs.
You’re still catching your breath, still tasting each other, when it hits.
A sharp, searing spike behind your eyes like a needle driven straight through your skull. Static floods your head, loud and angry, drowning out everything else.
You both flinch at the same time, hands flying to your temples. Toby’s grip on your waist tightens painfully and you clutch the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. It affects you a lot worse than it does Toby, but it’s still painful nonetheless.
He’s looking for you.
Toby exhales a shaky curse. “Fuck. Fuck.”
You nod and swallow hard.
He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, and kisses you one last time.
Then he pulls back, straightens his hoodie with shaking hands, and reaches for the doorknob.
You both step out into the mansion hallway together. Your clothes are rumpled, your skin is flushed, and the scent of each other is all over you two.
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you’re just an up-and-comer, he’s a star. he might have a bit of an ego, but he measures up to match his reputation.
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: a bit over 10k (YEAH… let’s not worry about it)
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: smut (public sex [cause the film crew is watching ofc], a bit of pain kink, dacryphilia/crying during sex, oral sex m and f receiving, throatfucking, brief spanking, creampie, overstimulation/multiple orgasms, squirting), niki both being and having a massive dick, fake infidelity (nobody’s actually getting cheated on but they’re roleplaying it for the porno), housewife kink, a bit of innocence kink, some degradation and praise, safewording (but like everybody’s okay!), verrryy light choking (more just neck holding…), mentions of drug use, mention of blood, needlessly fluffy ending cause I’m the worst (including the L word [sadly not lesbians this time])
Word spreads fast in an industry like this, and it can make or break your career.
Never understood the fanfic smut trope where a reader will be insecure about her appearance and the character’s solution is to make them look in the mirror while they fuck and call themselves pretty.
I’ve struggled with insecurity around my appearance for my entire life, and I can confidently say, I would rather die. That would not not make me see myself as sexy, it would just make me 100x more insecure. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the sex at all because my mind would be focusing on every flaw, I’d honestly just start sobbing.
Also, making someone say that they’re pretty, doesn’t actually make them feel pretty. I could say, “the sky is purple and made of hedgehogs,” over and over, that doesn’t make me believe it.
✦ Has a Crush on you Headcanons
Headcanons for how Faust would act if he had a crush on you
Faust x Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ General Dating Headcanons
General headcanons for what it would be like dating Faust
Faust x Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Witchy GF Headcanons
Headcanons for Faust with a witchy GF
Faust x Witchy GF!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Goth Partner Headcanons
Headcanons for Faust with a goth partner
Faust x Goth Partner!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Pink Girly GF Headcanons
Headcanons for Faust with a hyper-fem pink-loving GF
Faust x Pink Girly!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Reader with Chronic Migraines
Comfort Headcanons for Faust taking care of his partner with chronic migraines
Faust x Chronic Migraine!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Period comfort
Comfort headcanons for Faust taking care of you while you're on your period
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ NSFW Headcanons
Headcanons for everything NSFW with Faust
Faust x Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ MORE NSFW Headcanons
Continuation of Faust's NSFW Headcanons
Faust x Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Losing his Virginity Headcanons
Headcanons for Faust losing his virginity
Virgin!Faust x Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ NSFW Alphabet
✦ Girl Dad!Faust headcanons
Headcanons for Faust being a girl Dad
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Faust x Soft dom!Reader Headcanons
Headcanons for Faust having a soft dom partner
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Drunk Dial
Faust calls, you from a party, shitfaced, and gets all sappy with you.
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Just Breathe
When you don't show up to hang out at Helvete as planned, Faust goes looking for you and finds you in bed, looking like you'd been dragged to hell and back, and tries to comfort you.
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪
✦ Coming home after the Murder
Faust comes home covered in blood and you freak the fuck out.
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪
✦ The Cost of Complicity
You're grappling with what Faust has done, and it's keeping you up at night. Things only get more complicated when you find out he's been celebrating the worst night of your life with his idiot friends.
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪
✦ Mine
You're at a bar with the rest of the group, having a good time, when a stranger hits on you. Faust rushes over and stakes a claim. When you get home, he's desperate to make sure everyone knows that you're taken.
Post-murder!Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Late Night Snack
You and Faust stumble into your apartment after a night of partying. He helps you get your boots off and catches a glimpse of your panties under your skirt. Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ We can keep our Clothes on
You get off early and surprise Faust at the shop after thinking about him all day.
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Plug and Play
After begging Faust for months to try anal, and continuously being told that he doesn't want to hurt you, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You understood the concern, you really did. He was huge and afraid of hurting you, but you didn’t care. Hell, you needed wanted him to hurt you.
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Plug and Play pt.2
Faust can't stop thinking about the pretty plug you surprised him with at his gig.
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Lost Control
Faust gets a little rough with you without realizing it after a few beers.
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ When Friends Become Spectators
Faust talks you into letting Occultus watch you fuck after he stumbles across the two of you in the midst of an intimate moment.
Faust x Occultus x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Just a little longer?
Cute, fluffy little period comfort scene
Faust x Pre-established Relationship!Reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩✿𓆪
✦ Size Kink with Faust
After multiple failed attempts, you're determined to take all of Faust's length. He doesn't think you can take it, but you insist. He makes sure you feel him in your throat.
Faust x Pre-established Relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
(Kinktober 2025 Day 2)
✦ Toys with Faust
You're home alone while Faust is on a short tour and just can't stop thinking about him. After unbearable want for days, you make the trip to the unmarked store down the street and get caught red handed when you get carried away.
Faust x Pre-established Relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
(Kinktober 2025 Day 11)
✦ DP with Euronymous and Faust
Months of tension boil over during a night of debauchery in the basement of Helvete with your two Favourite metalheads.
Euronymous x Faust x Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
(Kinktober 2025 Day 20)
✦ Throat Fucking with Faust
You finally talk Faust into using your throat. He gets a little carried away, which is exactly what you'd hoped would happen. Faust x Pre-established Relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
(Kinktober 2025 Day 23)
✦ Exhibitionism with Faust
You and Faust have the store to yourselves for the day and take full advantage of the opportunity you've been presented with before Oystein gets back from band practice.
Faust x Pre-established relationship!Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ
(Kinktober 2025 Day 30)
✦ First Date Miniseries (Complete)
You go on a date with Faust after meeting him at a party, and you both find yourselves not wanting it to end
Faust x Reader 𓆩✿𓆪 ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Casual Miniseries
You discover that your two, not-so-casual fuck buddies not only know each other, but live and work together.
Euronymous x Faust x Reader ཐི♡ཋྀ 𓆩♱𓆪
✦ Faust being obsessed with your hair 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Giving Faust Handmade Gifts 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Faust Fighting on your Behalf 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Faust Comforting you after a Nightmare 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Saying I love you for the first time 𓆩♡𓆪
✦ Faust and Dirty Talk ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Is Faust Loud or quiet in bed? ཐི♡ཋྀ
✦ Faust Being a Drummer ཐི♡ཋྀ
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Kinktober 2025 Masterlist | Faust Masterlist 𐴱 Lords of Chaos Masterlist | Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist
Summary: After multiple failed attempts, you're determined to take all of Faust's length. He doesn't think you can take it, but you insist. He makes sure you feel him in your throat.
Warning: NSFW, Size!Kink, Making it fit, Unprotected P in V, Praise
This piece is day 2 of Kinktober 2025, where I post a one-shot/blurb/drabble based on a list of prompts every day.
Todays kinky prompt: Size!Kink
WC: 1.2k Words
Faust nestled himself between your thighs and let his cock rest on your belly, heavy and leaking against your skin.
You were writhing beneath him, still shaking from the last orgasm he'd brought fourth with that wonderful tongue of his.
"Look" Faust gave your hair a soft tug, tilting your head down.
"You see that angel?" He traced his fingertips over the tip of his dick, and the spot on your skin just below. A barely an inch below your belly button. "That's how deep I'm gonna be if you can take all of me."
"I can do it" You huffed stubbornly, mouth practically watering at the sight.
"You said that last time." He smirked softly
"Yeah, well I mean it this time." You squirmed, trying to urge him to fuck you. "Please, Faust. Need to feel you."
"Gotta tell me if it's too much." His voice shook as he lined himself up, rock hard and desperate to feel your walls stretching around him. "Don't wanna hurt you too bad, Angel."
"I will," You mewled, already panting when the fat tip of his cock popped inside you "Just please don't stop until I tell you too."
"You push yourself." He pushed forward, sinking in a few more inches, moving slowly to give you some time to adjust "You like it when I hurt you, don't you?"
"Maybe" You gasped, arching into him and allowing him to slip deeper. "Don't you wanna know how it feels to make me take all of it?"
"So fucking tight, Angel." Faust groaned, nipping at your neck lightly. "Doing okay?"
"Yeah." You whimpered, eyes squeezed shut and hands gripping the roots of his hair tightly
"Don't lie to me." He stopped moving, able to hear it in your voice without even looking at you "Am I hurting you?"
"Yeah, but in a good way" You panted, trying to pull him closer "We have a safe word for a reason, baby Please!"
You could tell he was still hesitant. Never one to hurt you, even when you asked for it.
There was still a good three inches before he'd be buried to the hilt, and he wasn't sure you could take it.
Your legs wrapped around his hips, trying to convey just how badly you wanted this.
"Please, Faust." You whined. "Just let go. It'll fit. You can make it fit."
"You swear you'll use the safe word if it's too much?" His resolve was crumbling.
"Don't I always?"
You did.
Every other time, you'd tapped out when you couldn't take it anymore. He could trust you to do it.
"Fuck, fine." He all but growled, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck before snapping his hips forward, forcing another inch into your stuffed cunt.
You yelped, grateful for the sting in your neck. It was enough of a distraction not to completely overwhelm you with the sharp stretch of your walls.
He worked his way deeper, slowly pressing further with every thrust while you mewled and cried out his name, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.
Every thrust inched you further up the mattress until he grabbed a hold of your shoulders and pulled you back down to meet his hips, cramming the last little bit of his length into your stretched hole.
You both froze, a little stunned by the feeling of his balls resting hot and heavy against your ass.
He'd bottomed out.
Holy shit. He'd actually done it.
You'd done it.
"You okay, Angel?" He looked down at your pained expression and probably would've pulled out at least a little if your eyes weren't staring back at him, completely fucked out, pupils blown with need.
"Yeah." Your voice was strained. watery. But, your nails dug into his biceps, legs tight around his ass. A clear please don't stop. "so fucking full."
"Doing so good for me." He muttered, slowly working his hips, shallow thrusts deep inside you. "That's it, pretty girl."
His palm rested on your stomach, fingers splayed, long enough that they brushed up again your ribs on both sides.
He could feel the bulge in your stomach shifting with every thrust.
"Fuck, Angel" He groaned loudly, keeping the pace slow and deep. He gabbed your hand and trapped it under his, dwarfing it with his big paw. "Feel how deep I am? Shit-"
"Taking me so well," he ducked down to kiss the tears from your cheeks "my good girl, fuck-"
He pressed down on your stomach, drawing a low, wounded sound from your throat.
You could barely think, completely overwhelmed by it all. The stretch of your walls around Faust's cock, the way his tip bullied your cervix, bruising without any real effort at all. The feeling of his hand pressing down on your stomach, somehow making it feel like he'd nudged his way inside your womb despite knowing that he couldn't have.
The hand on your stomach moved lower, thumb circling your clit like it only then occurred to him that he could make this a little easier for you.
Your hips bucked and a loud cry hell from your lips, hands wrapping around his wrist, unsure if you wanted him to stop or keep going.
You knew what to say to stop him. To have him unsheathe himself from you immediately and scoop you up into his arms, but you didn't.
You didn't want him to stop.
You wanted him to ruin you.
Faust had been teetering the edge of bliss since the second he'd buried himself all the way down to the hilt in your warmth, but was determined to make sure you came first.
"That's it, Angel." He coaxed your orgasm out of you, using one hand to work your sensitive bud while the other pressed down on the bottom of your stomach. "Can you cum for me, baby?"
"Faust" his name tore it's way out of you in a shaky moan. "Don't stop- fuck"
"Not gonna stop." He grunted, trying like hell to hold himself together, movements getting jerkier "not till you cum. You gonna be good for me angel? Cum for me?"
You nodded frantically, able to feel your rapidly approaching release.
Faust could feel it coming and slammed his hips into you, fucking you through it until you were convulsing around him, back arching off the mattress like you could somehow let him slide in further.
"That's my girl." He gasped, crashing over the edge right along with you "Fuck, fuck- Oh, Angel"
"Fuck, I love you. I fucking love you." He fell forward, keeping himself propped up on his forearms while he buried is face in the crook of your neck, gasping and groaning into your skin while he pumped you full of cum.
You were twitching beneath him, completely cock dumb from it all, just mewling and clinging to him like he was your lifeline.
"I've got you." He breathed shakily, rolling onto his back, arms wrapped around you while his cock slowly softened inside you. "Did so good for me Angel."
You were still shaking with the aftershocks, barely able to formulate a thought beyond the desire to stay there in his arms. Warm and safe, still filled to the brim.
Faust held you until he was slipping out of your gaping hole, shuddering at the rush of liquid spilling out of you. If you weren't so overwhelmed still, he might've rushed down to the end of the bed to watch it drip out of you.
Instead, he kept you wrapped up in his arms and carried you into the bathroom so he could get you cleaned up, pressing his lips to every inch of your skin while you sat in the bath together.
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