Sunny Day Jack One-Shots; 🔞

A Gamble With The Reaper

Slasher!Jack x fem!Reader

CW: Dubcon, makeout, slasher au, murder mention, predator/prey, slight plot-ish? more like context provided.

WC: 743

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The branches scraping at your calves did little to deter you from trying to run from your assailant, not even a few steps behind. He'd already murdered your friend in cold blood. There was no telling what he'd do if...no -- when he caught you.

He was massive and - judging by the heavy footsteps behind you - fast; running was just preserving the inevitable. You sobbed dryly as you come into contact with a tree, and all you can do is slump against it.

The man's snicker elicited a sharp gasp from you as you quickly turned around to see him towering over you. Pushing yourself onto the tree, you covered your mouth to fruitlessly stifle your whimpers.

Around the studio, you knew him as Mr. Haberdae. He was The Sunnytime Crew Show's for all of three years running before they'd decided to change actors and the lead role was passed down to Ian, who was his understudy.

Safe to say he was... more than a little pissed off.

The image of the blood spraying from his sliced throat was still clear in your mind.

And currently the knife used to slice it open was being brandished in front of your eyes.

"O-oh, God," You whispered.

"No honey, just me."

Goosebumps trailed up on your skin. You'd only seen him in character so much that it was hard to remember he had this low, southern twang he could turn off at will.

"So, you're my understudy's... little Sunshine." The knife was brought to your chin, forcing you to tilt it head up.

Up close, you noticed he'd grown a bit of scruff at the edges of his chin. He'd dyed his hair a bright blue, likely to match his character, and ironically enough it looked almost synthetic as the wig under the shining moonlight.

Stupidly, you blurted, "Don't kill me, oh please, God..!"

He chuckled, "Aw, don't think your little tears are gonna butter me up, Sunshine." He brushed the hair out your eyes with the blade, "When the predator catches the prey there's only one outcome after all."

"I'll do anything!"

Tears marred your vision as they welled up. You couldn't even see the look of mild intrigue he'd given. A subtle brow was raised while he titled his head.

"Anything." He repeated it like it were a new gadget being advertised. Voice laced with muse and curiosity. Leaning down and finally lowering the knife as well he asked, "Would you give me a kiss?'

You sniffed, blinking the tears away to see his expression. Unreadable, but almost soft.

Gnawing on your lip, you glanced between his eyes and lips before nodding. Not really willing, but there was panicked compliance behind your actions.

Like that, his lips crashed into yours. He swallowed a subtle gasp by almost enveloping your lips. There was nowhere to run, and you had no choice but to comply. The bark of the tree began to dig into your clavicle. The discomfort everywhere else had you resist the urge to fidget.

The scruff on his face itched in a weirdly pleasant way, and when his kisses became mouthier you tried not to moan. And he could tell, judging by the twitch of his lips against yours.

"Did he ever get you like this?" He said between kisses.

Something about that had you pause, and he watched your expression carefully as it went through stages of shock, bewilderment, and embarrassment. The heat coming off your face as you realized you actually enjoyed kissing the man who killed your ex.

"I-I..."

Suddenly he raised his knife high, causing your words to be caught in your throat, before he brought it down to rip at your shirt. The action caused you to scream.

He grinned, the freak. Ripping the last of your shirt off and leaving you in your bra, he immediately went for your neck, kissing and sucking on it.

You found your voice in a high octave, "O-Oh geez! Oh-"

"Hey!"

His movements stopped, and he turned in the direction of a policeman's flashlight shining in the distance. "Shit!" He raised off you and looked around before dashing away. Hearing his footsteps fade in the crushed leaves you slumped down against the tree, damn near hyperventilating until the cops found you.

It seemed someone had reported the disturbance in your house earlier and got the police department down in the nick of time. Though grateful, you hadn't said anything while at the station beyond the violent occurences of that night.

They, however, drew their own conclusions from the hickeys on your neck.