#them tomorrow is breeding with kai and chrono

[plush-rabbit]

Picture Perfect

Warnings: Non-Con, Somnophilia Word Count: 3.5K A/N: Help, I’ve fallen in love with Ghostface (you can have all the flavor you want, somno is god tier for me(っ´Ι`)っ)

He knows your schedule. He knows what you wear and what time you go to sleep. He’s broken in enough times to test just how much of a deep sleeper you are. He’s called your name, grabbed at a limp arm and held it above your sleeping body only to watch as it fell back onto the mattress with a thump. He learned long ago that he doesn’t need to be careful with you. As long as he didn’t shout, you’d sleep, you wouldn’t wake up if hands reached out to touch your face, if the plastic, rubbery feel of the mask pressed against your face and gave you a mock kiss. There’s still hesitation in him, however. He still stills when you whimper in your sleep, when your brows pinch and you shirt in bed, your body curling into itself, as you clutch the blanket in your hands. And now, when you sleep, cradled on your side, he frowns. You’ve been sleeping on your back for such a long time, why had you decided to change your patterns? Could you have known that he was coming tonight? That you could have felt that something bad was going to happen? No, you couldn’t have known. You’re sure that something has been different in your life- he’s seen how you check that everything is secured, how you make sure that not a single thing is moved out of place when you come back from a day out- but you’re not as smart as he is. He knows what to do. He’s stalked and preyed upon countless people. You may be different from the rest- a sweet, innocent thing that must be protected- but you are still prey. You don’t know that the danger is inside your home, watching you in your most intimate moments.

He stands beside your bed, head tilted and there’s a knife on your nightstand. He’s made sure that it’s new, free from anyone else’s blood. He might not want to use it, but if you happen to awaken, he knows that you’ll comply at the stare of his weapon. His face burns when he finds himself salivating at the thought of you covered in blood- your body shaking, blood dripping from your mouth and dripping onto your chest, a scared look in your eyes as he stands above you. The inside of his mask grows hot, he can feel his face grow slick with sweat as his hands, grab the edge of your blanket and pull it off your body. He is clothed in black, the only color against him is the white of his mask. Danny Johnson, the renowned Ghostface, wears boots that have been meticulously cleaned, any stray blood or dirt removed long ago, the white of his mask, clean and pristine, smelling of disinfectant and the eyes that lay underneath look down at you in a love that is sickening.

The leather gloves run over your exposed arm, and immediately your skin bumps underneath, you shake and curl deeper into yourself and he clicks his tongue. He looks over to the nightstand, blinking at it slowly, wanting to make every moment that he has with you last, and he turns on the lamp, the yellow glow brightens your room and your reaction is to furrow your brows, slowly easing them when his thumb rubs circles over your bicep. The fan turns off, coming to a slow stop as he lowers his hand to come back to his side.

He doesn’t want to rush this. He wants everything committed to memory. He knows that after this, you’ll be on edge and it won’t be as easy to invade your life as it once was. He removes his boots and places them in a straight line, and there’s a soft shudder that grows through his body when you turn to lay on your back, your shirt rising and exposing the skin on your stomach, underwear clinging to your skin, black, with a teasing dip, like you really are trying to seduce him. Even in your sleep, you still manage to capture his heart. He reaches behind him and a white camera is held in his hands. There are a few scratches on it, small dents and nicks that he laughs off telling others how he is so clumsy and with a press of his finger, a picture has been taken of you. His clothes spill off of his body, laying on the floor in a black, messy crumpled pile. Messy, auburn hair falls and frames his face, strands sticking up and he removes his gloves slowly, running a hand and fixing his hair. He has to be picture perfect as well. His eyes, dark with lust, scan over your body and rest where your chest rises and falls. The bed creaks under his weight as he is nothing short than excited,  his erection bobbing as a pearl of arousal begins to bead.

He sits with his knees straddling your sides, he stands above you, and looks down at your face. You sleep soundly, undisturbed by the man who sits above you, scars littering his body, some shallow and others deep, varying lengths that circle around his arms and legs. He grabs your arms, hands sliding upwards until he reaches your palm, holding your hand with both of his. He lets your hand rest on his chest, his heart pumping erratically under your touch, and slowly, he slides your hands down. He has a lean, attractive body, muscles the hide underneath, your hand tracing and brushing along a scar, the skin smooth and he lets it rest. He wonders how you’d react to him, how you would look with your eyes open, touching him with your own accord, wanting to touch him. Your hand wraps around his erection, a weak grasp that he has to tighten by wrapping his hand around yours and he pumps himself using your hand to get off. He closes his eyes, pumping a slow, steady motion where he tries to build it up, to focus on the different feel of your hand, how soft it is around him. When he opens his eyes, a thick, clear arousal has dripped from his cock and onto your navel.

Danny needs it to be picture perfect. He’s planned this for too long to have second thoughts. He thought about just letting you wear your shirt, having it stuffed into your mouth so if you do awake and scream, it’s muffled. But if he were to take pictures, it would look too forced, too unnatural to have your eyes closed while something is stuffed. You’d look too dead for his liking. Slender fingers come to touch your slit, finding a pair of unsoiled underwear. He needs a memento from today;s activities. One that differs from his usual photography. So, he removes your shirt, it’s a struggle, but it comes off, your breasts exposed to him and he reaches blindly for the camera, eyes never removing themselves from you. He places a knee between your thighs, pressed against your covered heat and he snaps a photo of your bare chest and his knee against you.  

He places the camera beside him and lowers himself. You smell of vanilla and spice, a sweet, milky undertone and a shiver runs down his spine. His nose grazes against the valley of your chest, brushing up and down in a mock nuzzling motion, a smile of his lips as he curves over the swell of a breast. His breath is warm against you, his touch peeking out to wet his lips and it brushes along the areola. He holds himself up by a hand while the other comes to hold the other breast. His knee pushes further against you, thrusting and moving against your folds. He’s eager, too eager to wait, his mouth latching onto a breast as he hollows his cheeks, tongue circling around the soft nipple until it hardens. The other hand massages the breast, fingers twirling around the nipple, tugging and pinching on the bud as he nurses against your chest. Your supple breast is coated in his spit when he pulls away, shining under the light, the area puffy and gleaming. He wants nothing more than to continue to use you, to have you ride on his cock while he sucks on your breasts, to grab you by the hair and move his cock inside of you as your claw and pinch at his shoulders and sides. He drools onto your valley, it’s done deliberately, to have you coated in as much fluids as he can. He wants to see you marked. His mouth wraps around the other breast and he nurses, moaning into you, eyes closed and face flushed as he imagines what you would taste like. He’s spent too long going through your dirty laundry, wrapping your slick coated underwear around his cock while you out or at times asleep in the bed, he’s stuffed his face with your lace while cotton was around his cock, the thick scent of you filling his lungs while he remembered what you looked like while you slid your fingers between your fingers between your legs. He’s watched and jerked off above you, pulling up your shirt and letting his seed spill onto your tits. He’s humped your limp body, held a leg bent and imagined the sweet noises that you would make, how you’d shake and tear up, saying his name like it was prayer, repeating it under your breath until all that you could remember was him and him alone.

He reaches for the camera and takes a picture with your breast in his mouth. His face is flushed and your gleam in the camera, spittle sliding down the curve of your body and spilling onto the body. You still remain motionless. There’s a part of him that’s upset, angry that you could sleep through the pleasure that he’s giving you but he knows that if you were to wake up, you’d fight back. He can deal with you awake when the time comes, when he has more time but for now, he needs to be selfish. He deserves it. Day and night is nothing but constant work, constant stress that will turn him gray early and you playing with yourself does nothing to remove that certain edge, it just adds onto it until he’s fisting at his cock and biting his bottom lip as he watches you. He pulls away from you and looks at the picture. His lips are pursed and his spit has slidden between the same gaps and curved around your breast, pooling together into a thicker strand.  He tilts his head to look back at you and snaps another quick image.

He pulls his knee back and hooks his fingers around the waistband of your underwear. It’s a struggle to get it off of your limp body but he’s pleasantly surprised when the crotch area is coated in your arousal, a blotch of slick that has spread and makes it appear white. He brings the fabric close to his face and inhales the scent, your slick coating his nose and his tongue laps at the area, heat pooling in his lower stomach at the taste of you.

Rough hands grab at your thighs and pull them apart, spreading your legs and bending them at the knee as he watches your exposed cunt leak in a relaxed tempo, oozing out of you and sliding past your lips. With the camera in hand, he snaps another photo of your bare cunt. What he’s doing now, is both for him and you. He wants you to be prepared, to be wet and open, to let his cock slide inside of you without resistance, without the painful pinch that will surely wake you up. He needs you to be asleep throughout so he can take you how he wants to, he needs you to be asleep so he can press his cock deep inside of you and use you like the doll that you are to him. He doesn’t want the painful, too tight fit, he needs you to be ready so he can use you to his advantage.

You groan when he hooks your legs over his shoulders and slides you close to his face until your heat is in front of him. He shushes you, calling out your name in a gentle whisper and placing a kiss against each thighs. It’s sweet at first, soft kisses that are peppered and don’t linger until he’s pressing his face close and nipping at your thighs, sucking on them until they leave a mark that burns against your skin. It’s feverish, deeply placed kisses where he licks and covers your skin in bites, his tongue already out as it laps at your slit and he moans, deep and guttural, fingers pressing deep in your thighs until they’re sure to leave bruises.

“Sweet,” he mutters against you. Sweet and heavy like honey, dripping and sliding to the back of his throat. He kisses at your sex, moves his mouth and lets his tongue scoop your arousal into his mouth, pressing himself close to you until his nose is buried against you, lapping and moaning. He begs for more, for you to do nothing but continue to weep against him until his stomach is filled with your essence. His cock throbs, pulsing and hot as he urges himself to control the burning feeling that has started to ache. But as always, Danny is selfish. Caring, but selfish. He pulls away, gasping and watching your cunt flutter against nothing. Another picture is taken.

His eyes dart to your mouth. Surely, you’d wake up. You’d wake up with a mouth full of cock and he analyzes the risk- would you fight back or could he scare you enough for him to let him continue? He has no doubt that you’d choke around him, that you’d gag and cry, that your mouth would fill with acid and you’d tap against his thighs as tears fell. He’s inching closer, his cock trailing with discharge as he rests it above your stomach. You whine in your sleep and he stills.

Your body goes rigid, brows furrowing with a high whine that sounds in your throat. And then slowly, you relax. Your body goes limp and you breathe, your chest moving as it always has and he’s cursing at himself.

“Close to waking up,” he murmurs. He clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe next time,” he leans down and pecks at your lips and he stills. He didn’t even think about kissing you beforehand. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. He can truly do what he pleases to you because you are asleep and you can’t deny him. You would never deny him. He smiles and hums to himself. He scuttles above you and holds his cock in one hand, your legs still split as he rests between you. He slides himself between your slit, circling around your clit and he goes tense, muscles pulled taut and he slowly lowers himself, his tip teasingly pressed against your entrance in a kiss. He leaks against you, heavy and hot and you leak against him, sweet and welcoming.

His arms come underneath, sliding and placing themselves flat against your back, fingers slowly curling as he places himself deep inside of you, his cock cushioned by your plush walls. He sucks in a harsh breath, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You’re mutter softer than he imagined, much softer than any of the toys that he’s used and he stays still against you, your cunt molding against his shape and he pulls away, raising his hips and he scrunches his face in pleasure, panting against you and a flush taking over his skin as heat rises and spreads throughout his body.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “you’re really tight.” He chuckles, it’s breathless and his lips flutter against your skin. “Guess you really are a virgin.” His words fill the room and he moves to kiss at your lips, moving against your unresponsive ones that can only sit there as he pushes his tongue through.

He thrusts against you, cock pushing deep inside of you, and there’s a pinch of your face, brows furrowing and he nuzzles his nose against the side of your cheek in a bunny kiss. He quiets you, whispers praise against you and brings a hand out from underneath and brushes your hair away from your face, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone and he’s rutting against you, cock delightfully filling you out.

“You know,” he chokes out, hair sticking to his forehead, “I’ve noticed that you always pull away when you’re close. Heh, your face scrunches up and you go all tense and it’s cute but it’s also frustrating when you can’t get yourself off.” He speaks to you like you’d respond and groans in placement where your answer would have been. “Too nervous to even slip a finger inside, huh?”

He can feel his high edge closer and closer. He keeps himself close to you, feeling the way that you shift under him, groaning and kicking your legs out. Pride swells in his chest at the thought of being your first, the knowledge that the closest thing that has ever touched you was yourself. He takes pleasure in knowing that no one who touches you afterwards will touch something so innocent and sweet. You’re being fucked by a killer’s cock. Your virginity has been taken by Ghostface in your sleep, pictures taken to commemorate the memory, your cunt hugging him tight. He wishes to be buried inside of you at all times, to use your body like a doll, to have you gasp and call his name, to mewl under him and claw against his chest as you sob from the pleasure, crying his name and welcoming him with open arms. His pacing grows faster, teeth clamping around your neck, trying to find the spot where your body will react and shift, where you’ll clench around his cock, the muscles flexing and moving around him. He wants to see you cry, to have you be a snivelling mess where you’re tear stained with puffy eyes and lips, pleading and whimpering, calling out to him and hiding your face. Danny needs it with all  his being- he needs to hear you cry and beg, to shake and curl up into a ball and into him because who else will you turn to when he comes into your life? You’re always so needy, pulling objects close to you and clinging to them, sleeping with stuffed animals and a multitude of blankets and pillows, you’ll cling to him and he’ll hold you back, promising to never hurt you as long as you behave and he knows that you’ll be a good girl.

“You’re my good-” a moan breaks his words and he sucks in a sharp breath- “my good girl,” he whines. He presses his lips against yours, his thrusts growing sloppy until he finally stills and pulls away, grabbing at your shirt and muffling his cry with the cotton. His seed is spilled inside of you, flooding against your walls and pulsing with every inch of him being pulled further and further into you. Your cunt is clenched, keeping him inside, suckling him for all the seed that he has. He keeps himself close, twitching and leaking onto you, tears blurring his vision until he’s lying inside of you, squishy and warm. He pulls away with a groan, seed spilling from your entrance and coating you in white, thickness. It’s thick and creamy white, covering your sex in his own seed, the image of you being tainted by someone like him makes him salivate. Another picture is taken of your cunt.

He’s been inside of your home long enough to know where you keep your clothes and grabs a same colored underwear and slides it on. He pats your cunt, hand cupping around your sex and his smile grows when he feels the ejaculation wet the crotch. He pulls away and snaps another picture of you, and he stares at the image in adoration. You lay on your bed with a blissed face, a ghost of a smile tugging on the corner of your lips as your neck is decorated with bites and marks. He dresses himself and places his camera and your underwear in his pocket, fingers flexing in his gloves and mask snug around him, and he wishes he could see your reaction in the morning- to see the horror and the frantic touches that you’ll give yourself or if you’d rather play ignorant, trying so desperately to keep the thought of violation pushed away from your mind and you’d tell yourself that you had a wet dream. Danny would kill to see your reaction but as the sky turns blue, he leaves through the window and walks away leaving you filled with his semen.