#darkestamrailme

[bisexual-horror-fan]

the who; the grabber x fem!reader, im sorry, im self indulgent!

the where; tied to his chair. ankles to each leg, hands behind you, maybe even around the shoulders so you sit up straight

the kinks; praise and degradation, bondage, squirting, punishment and reward

song inspo, optional of course; desire meg myers im your man leonard cohen these things she wants revenge a pain that im used to depeche mode

dialouge prompts, also optional of course;

there's no need to be nervous. i want you crawling out of your skin with desire baby, i could do this all day

what can i say? congratulations doesn't do it justice. first and foremost, you deserve every one of those followers and more. im lucky to have been here since pretty early id say and seeing you grow? i can't describe it. and getting to be your friend too? i mean you can tell looking at what im thinking. im just so lucky to have you. and just everything you do.

not to mention the fandom. who really do owe you the biggest thank you! you're amazing Bex and I can't wait for a hundred thousand followers more of content

Oh Bug darling. Just, you are fucking fantastic and wonderful and I love being your friend and so much more that I just can never express enough. You are gonna make me cry. I hope that you love this, I spent a lot of time and effort on it! Not much more to say but, enjoy it. 

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.2K. The Grabber X FEM! AFAB! Reader. Warnings: Use Of Good Girl. Kidnapping. Man Handling. Belting. Punishment. Rope Play. Bondage. Praise. Degradation. Crying Reader. Punishment. Reward. Oral Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Implications Of Sex. Dirty Talk. Squirting. Begging. Dub-Con.

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Give And Take.

—

He wanted you to be bad. 

He wanted you to disobey. If you didn’t it means he couldn’t punish you, he needed probable cause, a reason that was worthy. He simply couldn’t just do it out of nowhere. He wasn’t a monster. 

There were rules and if you didn’t do something bad, if you didn’t play the game he couldn’t win after all. So maybe he pushed you just a little bit, there wasn’t anything wrong with introducing temptation to the mix. 

You were being frustrating, a tease, there is only so much he can take before drastic measures need to be taken.

So when the door was left open when you woke up from your nap, knowing it had been a long while since he had brought you food, and he was upstairs cooking, well aware the smell could reach you down there, it was only a matter of time. 

He listened hard over the sound of the frying pan, he wasn’t even by the stove, opting to stay near the door, out of sight, his body taut in anticipation. Ready. Waiting.

He heard you on that one step midway up that always creaked too loudly and he knew the time for some real fun was almost upon him. 

You had never done this before, you felt nervous as you came near the top of the stairs. Realistically he wasn’t a good cook, the plates of food he had given you were okay at best but fuck, it smelt amazing right now. The best ingredient is hunger after all, isn’t it? You look around the kitchen and he isn’t anywhere to be seen. That is odd. Something didn’t feel right, like something was wrong. This was way too easy. 

Also, him leaving a pan going on the stove top? Dangerous. Your captor was a lot of things but stupid didn’t seem like one of them. He seemed careful, thoughtful and purposeful. Maybe you were playing right into his hand.

Your stomach didn’t care. The sound it made pushed you forward, you were too fucking hungry right now to care. You took the last step up, off of the stairs and onto the kitchen tile, you didn’t stop, you got another three whole steps, making sure you were fully into the room but nowhere near the stove when he was on you. 

One foot fall is all that registered to your left, you perked up, straightened but you couldn’t even turn your head before you felt a strong hand on your shoulder and his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as you yelped in surprise. You feel the cool edge of his mask against the side of your face, you attempted to struggle but you are weak, tired, so fucking hungry and he is just so much stronger. 

“What are you doing out of your cage?” 

His tone was sharper than any knife you were sure could be found in this kitchen. You didn’t respond right away, mouth opening and closing, still in shock by how fast he was on you, he didn’t like that. He shakes you and asks, impatient, “Well?”

You winced and said, “I-I smelt the food and the door was open, I’m so, so hungry I…I couldn’t wait.” 

He tsk’d behind the mask and shook his head, “Can’t wait five more minutes to eat?” You nod, “It’s been a long time, please?”

He laughed, “Oh no, you are gonna have to wait a while longer now.” 

You whimpered, head hanging as his grip tightened further and you asked, “How long?”

He hummed in consideration, kept you waiting, made you squirm in anticipation before saying, “I thiiiiiink…at least till you learn your lesson.” 

Well what the fuck did that mean?

You were terrified. He was tying you down to a kitchen chair after he turned the stove off, he had no problem getting you into the chair and the stern look from behind the mask made you obey and sit still and do as he wanted. He tied each ankle to one leg of the chair, your hands behind you, he even went further, he tied your shoulders, tightening the rope making your body jerk as he said, “Sit. Up. Straight.”

You swallowed hard, a short nod as he finished tying you down and testing the strength of the ropes. He was standing in front of you, looking down at you and you back up at him. 

There was a solid beat of silence, rife with tension and he started to open his belt and your eyes broke away, flicking down and watched as he took it off and slid it out of the loops with one fluid motion that made you flinch. He doubled the belt over, smacking one palm with the end of the belt as he said, “There’s no need to be nervous.” 

Somehow you don’t believe him. 

The belt comes down on your thigh and you can’t do a damn thing but cry out. Your leg attempts to jerk but you are tied too well, no hope of getting away. The message was clear without him saying it, no matter the circumstances, no matter how you felt, your hunger, what your body needed, whatever it was screaming for, was irrelevant, the open door? Inconsequential. What he wanted was paramount. He wanted you in the basement? 

You stay in the fucking basement. 

As he hit your thighs over and over with the belt, it acted like a silent conversation. Even as you yelped and cried, as the tears started to fall, brimming before spilling over several hits in, burning as they poured down your cheeks. Your breathing was erratic, shoulders shaking as much as the rope allowed, you finally spoke, a soft and broken, “Please…”

He stopped, your thighs hurt, felt like they were on fire, your legs were trembling as much as possible in their restraints. You were sweating, your body was even more tired, you looked up at him, face wet and he prompted, “Please?...Please what?” 

“Puh-please stop. I-I’m sorry I came up here. M sorry I didn’t listen…”

He tutted and got down on one knee, reaching up, wiping your tears away with his thumb on the hand that wasn’t still gripping the belt. “I dunno if I believe you-”

A sudden burst of energy as you rambled out, “Please! I-I am, I really am!” He hummed and you babbled out further, “Can I prove it to you? Some-somehow? How cah-can I fix it?”

The look in your eyes. The sheer need. You meant it. You would do anything to please him right now and get back in his good graces. It was exciting. He liked seeing that look, he wondered how he could shift that, the need and desire, mould it into something else. 

He wanted to make you feel, more than pain, more than fear. It was an interesting feeling, one he wasn’t used to, he decided to go with it, play around in this space. His hands met your hips, you jerked slightly, they moved down, sliding gently and carefully over your now severely bruised thighs. “You know…”

Your brows pinched together, looking at him, utterly confused by the sudden tenderness of his touch, “-you took it so well. No complaining. And you want to make it better, want to fix it. Maybe I can forgive you.”

You asked softly, “Yeah?”

He nodded, “If you indulge me.” 

“In what?” 

You couldn’t see his grin behind his mask but his eyes gave it away. 

He made you look up, told you not to fucking look at him, if you did he would, “-beat you way fucking worse than what you just got-”

And you believed him that time. 

So this is how you found yourself, chair tilted back, his hands on your lower back after he adjusted you, pivoted your hips, cut your clothing from you and gave himself access. You weren’t sure what he was playing at, had no idea what he would do, could hear and feel him but not see him, refusing to look away from the one water stained spot on the ceiling above your head. It was when you felt his warm breath on your thighs that you clued in what he had in mind. 

You were starving. 

You thought you were hungry for food, and on some level, you still were but that need was pushed so far back in your mind, no longer a main concern. His mouth made contact between your thighs, you were all too aware of this other hunger that had gone unsatisfied for so long. You were so concerned with other stuff ever since he took you and hid you in his basement but now you were reminded of indulgences of your life before, of pleasure, of what it was like to feel good. 

The way he went about it could be described as curious, eager, and that one word that kept popping up, hunger. 

His tongue flicked up through your folds, started low, tasting at the source, probing your leaking hole before dragging up and over your clit. Then starting his descent, his head dipping back down, hot breath fanning over soaked flesh and he began the motion again. It didn’t last long before he was changing it up. Next, seeing how deep he can get his tongue inside you, making your breathing pick up yet again until he was tired of that, and once he started to focus more on your clit? Circling and teasing, tracing and sucking, his pace soon became fervent as you reacted bigger and bigger. You squirmed as much as you could, moaning, panting, your eyes soon weren’t able to focus on that spot on the ceiling any longer. 

He did something that nearly made you scream, sucking that most sensitive part of you through his teeth, into his mouth, tongue lathing over it, totally assaulting it from all sides, encased in the warm, wet, heat of him. You were shivering, almost overstimulated, it felt overwhelming, you were leaking obscenely and had no clue what to do with yourself.

What happened this afternoon?

You came upstairs for food and then all of this happened. You were whimpering, whining, you started to beg, incoherent and he pulled back, a laugh as he said, “Baby, I could do this all day.” 

His mouth latched back on and you released a choked gasp. He didn’t let up, he practically forced your orgasm from you with sheer force and determination. Not like it took much. All in all he wasn’t down there that long until you were cumming on his tongue. 

Your head was spinning. Exhausted, you couldn’t take more, soaked with sweat, between your thighs on the chair was a mess of your own juice and his spit and you just wanted to eat and nap. Even though your mind was tired, your body was still buzzing, craving, wanting more still and as if he sensed that, the chair was flat on the ground again. “Keep looking up.”

You nodded, and then you felt his hands again, one between your legs, two fingers inside of you in an instant and your body jolted. You clenched around his fingers and your mouth fell open, a loud moan spilling out. “You’re awful.”

You wanted to look at him, wanted to question him with your gaze, instead with your mouth still hanging open you made a sound to prompt him to elaborate and he did so. “You come up here, looking for food, trying to survive and now look at you. Writhing on my fingers. What a good girl you’ve turned out to be.” 

He practically purred it, you feel his wet mouth on your neck as his fingers moved, fucked in and out of you. “I wanted you to be bad but you right now? Trying to be good?”

You listened, tried to as pleasure was overtaking, he had found that spot inside that made your toes curl, “Trying to listen? It’s-” 

A heavy shuddering breath left him. “It’s intoxicating. I want more. I want you crawling out of your skin with desire.” 

You sure felt like you were. You couldn’t stay silent, more moans leaving your chapped and dry lips, he curled his fingers into that sweet spot over and over and you felt that familiar build. You were so turned on and from that previous orgasm you were a goner, totally done in with the pace he had, him so close, what he was saying. You were helpless, choking out, “I-I’m gonna-”

Is all you manage to get out before your walls squeezed and fluttered around his fingers and you came, more than that, you gushed. You squirted into the palm of his hand and the seat of the chair, eyes squeezed shut and it was his turn to make a sound of surprise at that. He didn’t stop, he went harder, until you were shuddering and begging him to, “Please-please-please, stop, I can’t, no more-”

He didn’t let up until he was satisfied. It was only then he pulled his fingers out, he sucked them clean, your neck hurt from staring up at the ceiling.

You wanted to drop your head but you weren’t about to risk another beating. “Oh sweet thing, you are too fun to play with.”

He praised you. “This is a really fun game. I wanna keep playing.” 

You felt him, hot and velvety nudging against your still clenching hole, “All afternoon long.”

[bisexual-horror-fan]

i heard spite!

let's go different way. reader getting under the grabber's skin. authors choice for what that means or how you wanna play it. I wanna see that man squirm one way or another

Well I hear a certain Bug needed some cheering up so here! I figured why not some Grabber! This is very different from my last few Grabber pieces. Hope you love it all the same though! Let’s go!

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Rating. NSFW. Dark fic! Length. 2K. Grabber And GN! Reader. No Pronouns Or Parts Specified. Warnings: Kidnapping. Anger. Name Calling. Verbal Abuse. Physical Abuse. Blood. Gore. Angst.

—

A Bad Call.

—

You hated him.

A deep and burning kind of hate that had settled into your bones and refused to move, the kind that made it hard to sleep, sitting up and stewing as opposed to resting. You hated how he stole you away, hated he took you and stuffed you into his basement like some kind of animal, no less than an animal, less than a dog, like a fucking insect. A little thing shoved into a jar with far too few holes poked in the lid and torn and dying grass for a bed and expected to just take it. Treated like you were just meant to be gawked at, for him to pick up the glass container and shake you around for his amusement before setting you back down and forgetting you for however long until he was bored enough to come bother you once more. 

He made you feel so fucking small.

Every time he came down the stairs to see you, that hatred you had been feeling grew. Like a seedling that was being watered, a sprout that steadily climbed upwards, that’s roots twisted deeper under the ground creating a mass as complex and tangled as your thoughts were since arriving here, wherever the fuck here was. 

Every grating word he uttered, that stupid fucking mask he wore, the way too wet and under seasoned scrambled eggs he would bring you for sustenance would solidify that feeling further. As you chewed the food hurriedly, sucking it down along with the soda he provided at a pace so rapid it makes you hate yourself, all under his watchful eye, all too amused at your current desperate state you were sure. 

You were so hungry, he was practically starving you and so when he did bring the weak mockery of breakfast food you would eat it with such rushed enthusiasm it could be mistaken to the outside observer that he presented you with your favourite food. 

You despised all of this, the lumpy mattress, the lack of sleep, the clothes you had been stuck in for days, the fact you couldn’t clean up properly or shower yourself. It was all fucking terrible, every single last thing.

There was nothing but time on your hands, time meant you could think on and on about your current station and how bullshit it all was and how you couldn’t fucking take it. 

It took a week.

A week of all this shit and more for you to break. 

You had been pacing the small space of the basement, had been thinking in circles, working yourself up so when you hear the heavy door opening you look over your shoulder to see the door slowly swinging open. He was in that mask, as always, and that stupid fucking blue sweater and his hands were empty, no food for you, again. 

It was a massive piss off because even though you hated what came from his limited cooking ability you needed to eat. You are sure he is doing it to keep control, keep you not at full strength and you think some big part of him gets off on the control. You don’t say anything to him, eyes turned forward, staring at the wall, not wanting to acknowledge his presence, not sure if you can handle it, handle him.

He greeted you, even though you weren’t looking at him, you could imagine how he said it, hands at his side, a small wave without even fully raising his hand, a cock of his head, torso slightly turned to you but feet forward. You hate that after a week you can know just how he is approaches you, that you can predict the stupid lilt of his voice when he said, “Hello.”

You didn’t respond, you didn’t want to deal with him at all, you wanted to be anywhere else, pretend you weren’t stuck in this God Awful basement with him. 

The silence between you and him was oppressive, it stretched on for nearly a half a minute though it felt much longer before he spoke again, his tone still surprisingly light,  “I said hello.”

He gets no response from you.

That doesn’t stop him, next he asked, “Not feeling talkative?”

A heavy sigh, your shoulders sagging, head hanging, you know that he isn’t going to leave you alone until he gets whatever he wants out of this interaction. You respond after another healthy beat of quiet, “No I’m not.”

You hear a sound, an annoying one that could be potentially read as a hum of sympathy from his throat, which makes you want to clench your fists. How dare he even pretend to have sympathy when he is the cause of your current suffering?

“Well why is that?” The mirth, the lilt of his voice right now, it makes you want to scream. This was all so fucking funny to him, some sick game he was enjoying way too much. You bite your tongue, a deep breath as you consider what would be best to say to him. What kind of satisfying answer could you even give him right now?

You do what you had been doing for days, think. You think and as you think the anger comes back in full force, it turns your empty stomach, you actually clench your fists now. You have so much you want to say, you try to swallow back the harsh words, bitter and acrid like bile but this time, this attempt? It fails. 

“Why is that?” You repeated. Head raising, a small nod, repeating again, quieter, “Why is that?” 

You turn to look at him, seeing him, just like you thought he would be, head cocked, watching you with so much interest, it makes the fury mount further that you were right. 

“Well fuck me, why could I not be in a talkative mood?” You asked, faux innocence bleeding through every word, a wide gesture of your hands. “I mean I have everything I need here, right?!”

A few steps forward, his eyes followed you but his stance still had that strange mix of tense and ease as he always had when down here with you. 

“I’ve got stagnant, musty, mildewy basement air with no sunlight!” Another move of your hands, up by your head, eyes raised as you reference the open space, sarcasm clear as you speak loudly.

A few more steps and you point down, “I’ve got the worlds shittiest, lumpiest fucking mattress to toss and turn on-” 

You point to the hallway, staring him in the eyes now as you expound further, “-a toilet that flushes one out of every five times! It’s like a fun fucking game I get to play to pass the time.”

A deep breath before your rant goes onwards, “I get the distinct pleasure of sucking down a soda and a plate of disgusting scrambled eggs that make a greasy spoon look like The Ritz-” 

And in a very bold move, you take a step forward, your eyes locked on his behind the mask, refusing to look away or even blink, “-and best of all, I get to put up with you.”

The look was unreadable in his eyes as you pressed onward, unwavering, unafraid, “You are so right, I’ve got it made, it’s like staying in the fucking goddamned four seasons! I’ve hit the jackpot!”

You let the fake smile fall from your face, saying much more seriously, much more honestly, “What would I have to be upset about? What excuse do I possibly have for not being a scintillating conversationalist right now?”

There was that silence again. 

Even thicker than before. 

His eyes narrow, gaze still fixed on you as his arms cross as he says,a misguided attempt at humour to hide his true feelings.  “Tell me how you really feel.”

You laugh. For the first time since you have been taken to this basement. You laugh. Long and it steals some of your breath. When you finally do stop laughing, even as you see how hard he is gripping his own arms, see the tenseness of his muscles, you don’t back down. 

It was a bad call but you were in too deep to stop now, starving and running on no sleep, you weren’t in a head space to be making good decisions. What did you have to lose honestly? The chance of you being found and saved before he did whatever he was planning on was slim to none. 

So fuck it.

“You want me to tell you how I really feel? Sure, sure I can do that.” You clear your throat, another step, another risk, you settle in, it flows so easily because you had been thinking all of it for days on end.

“I think that you are sick and sad. I think you are lonely and pathetic. I think you have no control in your life so you do this shit, you kidnap people weaker than you and bring them here so you can feel big and important for once in your miserable life.”

You know logically words cannot have a physical impact but you swear it is like you see it, that when the sentences leave you and hit his eardrums it causes a move, a subtle one but him taking a quarter of a step back. His mask doesn’t show much, but with you squinting, his eyes tell a deeper story, one that said he wasn’t expecting you to say this.

Surely the others he had done this to had choice words for him but you had been very quiet ever since he brought you here. It was like he wasn’t prepared for you in particular to verbally tear into him. The small bit of power, the slight shift, it pushes you. 

You feel better than you have in days as you tell him, attacking his physical appearance, “It’s funny though because you are for sure the weakest looking man I have ever seen, like what is this fucking outfit, huh? Cute sweater.”

You mocked him, “The rings? And your hair? More grease than a burger and what is with that length? Have you heard of a haircut? And don’t get me started on that mask. Are you so fucking ugly that this mask is a better alternative?”

You laughed again, louder, right in his face as he was cringing away from you, "You know, I think I was wrong. I called you a man before, but you aren't a man, you aren't even a boy, I dunno what the fuck you are but you make me sick-"

That was the last straw. You went on and on and he was simply too stunned, too in shock to do anything but that last insult, it was as if it woke him up and his hand connected with your face. The hit is brutal, particularly because of those rings you had just been poking fun at it.

You are knocked onto the ground from it but your body isn’t exactly in peak condition at the moment. You can’t even look at him, his hand is in your hair and his other hand is meeting your face again, closed fist and you taste blood, the pain knocks the breath from your lungs and shocks your system. Another strong hit and you feel something on your tongue, something you shouldn’t, you spit, blood and drool and a clatter.

Through hazy vision you see white stained pink, he knocked one of your teeth out from three hits. You looked up at him, you registered the rage in his eyes and again, another bad call. 

You force a weak smile, blood and spit run down your chin as you ask, “That all you got? You tryna hurt me or not you fucking freak-”

His fist comes down again and the last two words you hear, shouted in your face, before it goes black are, “Stop talking.”

First he complains that you aren’t talkative, then complains you talk too much. What a funny guy.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"A First Time For Everything." Freddy Krueger X Amber Cottrell.

Two fics in one day?! It’s the power of No Snatch November! I was in the mood for some Freddy and Amber so here it is! This time around you get anal orgasm, praise and ATM, let’s not wait too long eh? Big shout out again to @darkestamrailme, let’s go!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 1K. Freddy Krueger X Amber Cottrell. Warnings: Mention Loss Of Anal Virginity. Corruption Kink. Anal Fingering. Cunnlingus. Anal Sex. Multiple Orgasms. Anal Orgasm. Squirting. Praise. Thigh Riding. ATM.  

—

This isn’t the first time they have done anal, not by a long shot, hell it isn’t even the first time this has happened during the act, but this is the first time it happens solely because of it. Tonight didn’t seem any more unusual than any other night they fucked around. She fell asleep, found herself in the playroom, plenty of making out, grinding, touching and the rest until he made the suggestion and with a coy smile she agreed with gusto. 

She loved it just about as much as he did, there was something that really scratched the depraved itch in her, the fact she hadn’t done it with anyone but him was an aspect they both got off on immensely. She wasn’t a virgin when they met but one hole she had was and she gladly gave that up for him without an inkling of a fight, no she was almost too enthusiastic to try it for his sake only to find that it felt much better than anticipated. I am sure we can all guess how fucking happy he was for the chance to be the first to have her in that way and the dirty talk that filled her ears during the whole ordeal. He made it so enjoyable for her and she revelled in the uncomfortability and soreness that lingered the next day as well as the reminder it gave her of him. 

So it entered their usual rotation of favoured debauched acts, when he asked she was down nine out of ten times. 

Now why was she ready to do it so frequently? Naturally because he spoiled her thoroughly whenever they did. He was between her thighs, supernatural tongue playing her like a fiddle while his slick fingers worked in and out of her, curling, twisting and scissoring to make sure she was going to be more than ready. 

She was practically begging for it when he was lubing himself up to take her but all those pretty words ceased when he breached her, a shared moan leaving them both. He had her on her back, holding her own legs up, hands under her knees, moaning out his name and that empty, pink cunt leaking obscenely as he had her at a steady pace. 

“You’re making such a mess.” He sounded annoyingly composed as he teased her, she spoke up over the sound of skin on skin, voice wavering, “Fuh-fuck you-”

It only made him laugh, bottoming out once again, a hard grind and he taunted over her choked off moan, “M’ pretty sure I’m the one fucking you.”

She groaned over his awful joke with a roll of her eye, “You’re sooo, God, so fuck-ing corny-ah!” Her back arched as he changed the angle, his hands on her hips moving her a different way, a gasp escaping her, effectively silencing her. 

“What was that?” He asked, holding to the hilt inside of her and she shook her head before letting it fall back onto the couch cushion, begging, “Don’t stop!”

“That’s what I thought. There’s my good girl.” He said with an overly cocky grin that suited him perfectly. 

He picked up the pace once more and she found herself lost in the act and the moment with him. She didn’t even notice. It felt intense, very fucking intense and she was used to that when they did this, it being almost overwhelming but not something to get her off unless he put a toy in her hand to use on herself or his or her clever fingers worked as he had her. Sex can feel fucking incredible without it resulting in getting off, something she was all too aware of, extreme pleasure can be achieved without it necessary building to that.

But for some reason tonight was different. 

Maybe it was the build up, maybe it was the orgasms he ripped out of her before he even got inside or perhaps it was the angle change but she realized that fuck, she was getting close. Her breathing was totally uneven, body tense and her nails were biting into the back of her knees so hard she feared she might draw blood. Her eyes were totally unfocused, she was in disbelief honestly, she wasn’t sure at first but the sensation grew, the string threatened to snap and her teeth released her bottom lip and she said, “Fr-Freddy! I think M’-”

Was about all she was able to get out before she tipped over, incoherent moan tumbling out, rhythmic squeezes of her hole wrapped around him, clit throbbing and an ample splash of wetness between their bodies. 

He was in shock, he had to remind himself to not stop at least until she was done. He knew she was stupidly sensitive, she came from making out and grinding on his thigh more than once but her cumming just from a dick in her ass was something he never thought would actually happen. 

He slowed to a stop on her come down, looking down at her breathing deeply, eyes closed as a few tremors still wracked her body. He couldn’t resist, one of his hands came down, fingers scooped some of the mess off of one of her inner thighs and he brought it up, sucked it clean. “Well that’s new.”

She let out a breathless laugh with a nod, hands releasing her legs as she stretched with a smile, “Mmm, yeah.” 

“I mean squirting from anal alone…” He trailed off and a rock of his hips made her suck a harsh inhale through her teeth, brows knitting together. She winced, “Careful. Sensitive.” 

“Awe, can’t take anymore?” He asked as he repeated the action and she whined, a small pout as she admitted, “No, M’ sorry, I-I don’t think I can.”

“Hey, hey, princess it’s okay, no need to apologise.” His hands squeezed her hips reassuringly as he slowly pulled out and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He let it hang for a moment before he said, “Besides you do have other holes.”

Eyes wide, one of her hands immediately went between her legs and covered herself, “Freddy you wouldn’t!”

“Of course I wouldn’t! But you seem to be forgetting about another hole you have higher up.” He reached out and tapped the blade on his index finger against her bottom lip. Another thing she hadn’t considered but he treated her so well and he still needed to cum and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

AY! THANK YOU BUG! Amazing gif choice, truly top notch, love you so much dude!

[bisexual-horror-fan]

oh that's the fic writer who was entire ao3 iread before delving hard into the horror and slasher genre. oh that's the fic writer who is always insanely supportive and amazing. there's that fic writer that write smut scenes that just can't be quantified into words. oh that that's the fic writer i will always love with my whole fucking chest!

Awwwwe BUG! BABY! Sweet mutual and all around great person, you are the best!

I didn't realize you read my ENTIRE ao3 before getting into the horror Fandom?! My God, I write a lot so that is mad impressive! I'm touched.

And I'm always gonna love and support you cuz you deserve it!

Also so sweet, can't quantify how my smut into words, you might just make a bitch blush. I'll love you with my whole chest right back!