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sagi-tori-ous · 1 month

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INVASION OF PRIVACY

It was roughly 10 at night when Poppy stumbled into her shabby apartment. The sky was pitch black — winter was approaching so daylight seemed to lessen — and a chill swirled in with the wind that seemed to pick up a bit since Poppy had first departed.

She had gone out with a few friends who didn't know how to keep time the best and always somehow got alcohol to be the main hydration system for them — despite its dehydrating qualities. Poppy wasn't drunk but even the small amount of liquor in her body set it ablaze.

Poppy threw her jacket off and keys somewhere she'd curse herself for forgetting later and staggered into her quaint kitchen, she grabbed one of her glass cups and filled it up with tap water that was probably flooded with tons of metals and chemicals that a person's body shouldn't be filled with — but who was going to stop her.

She trailed her hands absentmindedly up and down her body, grasping at the side of her neck lightly before trailing that very same hand just over her breasts and keeping it flat on her stomach.

She guzzled the water down with small droplets escaping, wandering down her chin and almost making it to her neck before she wiped it off.

It wasn't until she finished her glass of water did she hear the light murmur of her tv playing in her conjoined living room.

“Fuck.” she cursed, making her way there but the blare of her phone stopped her, she dug her hand into the back pocket of jeans pulling it out and answering without looking at the caller id.

“Yelloo!” she slightly slurred into the phone, less from intoxication and more from the fact that her energy bar was draining fast at this point.

“Hello my ass!” it was Poppy's friend on the other end, her tone was scornful. “ You said you would call first thing when you got home!”

Poppy rolled her eyes,“Calm down.” She started walking back to the TV to turn it off, not wanting to run her bill up even more “ I literally just got here, I didn't do anything besides get a drink of water mom.” she was thankful for their concern and was going to for sure call them but she wanted to get settled before anything.

Poppy stood in front of the television, a Male news anchor gazed back at her —she turned the appliance off — just barely catching the headline which said something about ‘aliens’, which made poppy scrunch her face up and shake her head. The news seemed to lose its meaning more and more everyday.

Her friend was still lecturing her through the phone but Poppy's mind just trailed, “ Okay okay, I get it Mel, I love you, I'll talk to you tomorrow, goodbye.” she rushed and hung up the phone, not letting ‘Mel’ get another word in.

She let out an agitated sigh.

Poppy shut off the minimal lights that she had turned on when she returned and traversed her way towards her bedroom. Relaxation to the highest degree was the only thing on her mind.

She grasped at the light switch and scrolled through the many colors her LED lights had and stopped on the purple color, giving her room that tranquil lavender hue that she loved. It was relaxing yet sensual, somehow — it described how Poppy was feeling in the moment.

Poppy glided over towards her dresser, going into the exact drawer that held her vibrator — it was pink, it wasn't extremely long (about 6 inches) and it obviously vibrated — it got the job done and that's all that mattered, especially now.

“Hey buddy!” she cood at it, getting even more excited at the thought of her pussy dripping all over it while she fucked herself through as many orgasm as she could.

She threw it onto her queen sized mattress and started undressing, she already unknowingly took her shoes off somewhere near the door — she peeled her snug high waisted dark wash jeans off, leaving her standing only in her subtle yellow thong that contrasted beautifully on her bronze skin.

Next was the random cropped sweater she threw on just before leaving the house, under it was a matching bralette to the thong. The sheer imagery of herself turned her on more.

Poppy loved herself, some could say in a cocky way — but wasn't that the best. She knew her body like the back of her hand, as she should, and loved pleasing herself. She loved figuring something out with her body that nobody else could. The thrill was like none else.

She slid on top of her fluffy comforter, making sure her body was positioned in the most comfortable way — she also aligned herself so she could be facing the mirror that adorned her wall.

Poppy spread her legs and pushed them towards her chest, she could just make out her figure in the mirror due to the purple lights. It added a different layer of scenery, a sight Poppy loved.

Her left hand grasped at her left breast, she kneaded it through the thin cloth. Twisting her nipple between her fingers, a small whimper left her mouth. A small pool slowly seeped through her panties, making the fabric turn a bit sheer, outlining her pussy lips.

She moved the bralette down to let her nipples free, the clothing article still grasped the cusps of her breasts — the air hit the buds making them harden all the more. The same hand came back up and dipped into her mouth, she wet the fingers enough before bringing them back down and circling the erect nipple.

Her hips had a mind of their own, moving to cause some kind of friction. She was needy.

Poppy grabbed at the vibrator with her free hand — she instantly turned it on and delicately placed it over her clothed pussy.

“Oh.” she moaned, her back faintly arching. Applying much needed pressure, the vibrator slid between her restricted folds, brushing against her pulsing clit. The action caused a bit of a tremor in her legs.

“Fuck” tucking her bottom lip into her mouth, she kept a steady teasing pace, every now and then she would skim over her clit. The pace she was going was torturous.

Poppy eventually laid the toy down — although she didn't turn it off, it laid there while it lowly buzzed — she discarded the last pieces of clothing off her body with all speed. She needed to see every inch of her body, she needed to see all of her awaiting chest and the purple light to glisten off her pussy in all its entirety. She needed the full visual.

She disregarded the clothes and with no hesitation dipped two of her fingers into her slick folds. Poppy wanted, no needed a taste of her essence, she tucked those fingers into her mouth and moaned at the taste, she swirled her tongue around the digits before releasing them with a pop. A little saliva dripped down her body but she rubbed the rest right back onto her pussy, creating an — if even possible — wetter mess.

It didn't take long for the vibrator to be right back into her good grasp.

Poppy drug the toy from her clit to her leaky entrance and then back to her clit, she repeated this process two more times before dipping the head in. Throwing her head back, “Shit!” she hissed. She didn't dare to push it in all the way, she lived for the build up.

The way her stomach clenched and legs seemed to have a mind of their own, toes curling and pleasurable sounds getting caught in her throat. It was an euphoric feeling.

A — what she thought — was a familiar sound coming through the walls. She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore her ignorant neighbors, this wasn't the first time that they've had a problem with controlling the volumes in their abode. It didn't help that the sound that had interrupted was loud and shook the walls a bit.

“Fuckers probably dropped something heavy.” Poppy seethed but nestled into her bed, pushing the vibrator in more and more. She'd be damned if she didn't get her orgasm tonight.

“Oh fuck~” she let out when it hit a certain point, if she curved it up just a tad more she was sure she could brush up against her g-spot.

‘BOOM!’ The building shook again, faint screams were heard and to anyone in their right state of mind — they would've known that those screams were not full of anger or passion but of fear, jumbles of genuine panic.

Maybe it was the few drinks she had earlier, maybe it was the orgasmic haze she was building to that clouded her better judgment — that made her think that the world was just trying to make sure she didn't reach her most high. “Please, shut the fuck up! Please!”

Poppy screamed. Her chest heaved and skin warmed with irritation, she was pissed. The buildup was gone and anger replaced it. She was so heated that she didn't notice the eerie silence … or the thunderous footsteps that sliced through it.

When she did notice the silence though, it was too late.

The same queen size bed she resided in slid forward, the wall behind it breaking with such force that it caused the piece of furniture to move like it weighed near to nothing — debris flew all over the room and a dusty cloud disturbed her vision, she wasn't able to make out anything but knew from the bottom of her heart she wasn't alone anymore. Poppy's chest heaved with a total different type of emotion, terror.

She was scared.

Her body shook but not with pleasure, not with urgency — well not with that specific urgency but the urgency to live. She knew she wanted to get out of this situation alive, she didn't know how she was going to go about that. Especially when she laid eyes on her guest. The smoke screen dispersed.

Through the mirror that still was across from her, just closer in space, she saw something. Something so tall that it bent down slightly to fully come into the makeshift door it made. Its face was covered with a mask and it had locs on its head, adorned with gold ringlets and other tribal jewelry. Its body was covered in armor and it held a spear in its hand, not like a wooden or traditional spear.

This spear looked Mechanical, it looked as if it wasn't just a spear and even if it was, Poppy didn't want to be on the bad end of it.

You could barely make out its beady eyes from the mask but it was close enough to Poppy to where she could see the light shine off the black orbs.

.”Please don't kill me.” a cry slipped from her lips, tears coming down wetting them in the process “ please, i'll do anything, please don't kill me.” she pleaded, her eyes conveying her vulnerability. It didn't matter that she and whatever stormed into her bedroom didn't remotely share any similar DNA, and the fact it most likely didn't understand a word she was saying.

She was going to beg. She was going to appease whatever sympathetic — if it even had one — bone it had in its body.

The tears continued to flow and her mind started to wander. She thought about how quickly her life had become in danger, she thought about her friend and how she so easily brushed her off. She thought about how rudely she said goodbye, not knowing how those words would literally be the last words shared between them.

The thoughts made her cry harder — the steps it took so casually towards her, made her go into hysterics.

Poppys' back was pressed against the headboard as if it could shield her, she wouldn't dare turn around and become so close within range, cutting off the mere moments of life she had left. She gazed into the mirror and watched it come closer with no worry. Why would it worry though? It knew where the superiority lied.

It was behind her, the only thing that separated them was the splintering wood of what was left of the headboard. Poppy watched it through her tears.

She watched as it gazed down at her like she was a foreign specimen, as its left appendage came and caressed her head — not as if to soothe her but to make an observation as of what she was. This didn't console her, not one bit.

She felt its rough armored covered hand trail its way down her body, tracing over her neck and coming down her chest — it grazed her nipple causing her breath to hitch. A familiar tingle making an appearance at inappropriate timing, Poppy just blamed it on how the human body worked, this is how the body functioned.

It didn't stop its journey. Only when it made its way down to the soppy mess between Poppy’s thighs did it momentarily halt. Detouring if you will.

Poppys clit throbbed as she watched through the mirror, fear entwined with need — a treacherous combination.

The rough hand came in contact with her folds, swiping through and collecting her present arousal. The action was so fast and powerful that a jolt shot through Poppy and she couldn't help the small whimper she had let out.

Tears falling sporadically now, but the full fledged sobbing stopped. She wanted to live but if she were to die, how could she save a life that wasn't hers any longer?

She was miniscule compared to this thing, even slightly bent and playing with her essence it still cast many shadows on her, staying heads above her.

She wasn't paying attention to what it had been studying as she had been studying it. So when it slid a thick, long digit into her soaking folds it had caught her by surprise — her hands shooting up to hold its armored arm and hips jutting forward to meet the calculative thrusts it gave.

“ mhm” she moaned out and rolled her hips at the sensation, her stomach clenching for numerous reasons. Its finger moved around inside, giving her the same fullness as the toy that was inside her mere moments ago.

It curled up, hitting her g-spot, “oh fuck” she cursed, her hips starting to run away on their own but the finger was never far behind and without mere moments to spare she orgasmed all over its fingers.

Her body twitching from the fresh release and her mind not really focusing on the important things. In a way she was almost relaxed.

Till her body flew forward half a foot, she was now on her stomach and face mere inches away from the same mirror that's been the only witness to tonight's ventures. It had smoothly landed on her bed, somehow without making much noise and crouched behind her. She took notice of its strong hind legs.

Poppy's mind went to the news anchor she had silenced, she thought about the headline — Alien. She mentally scoffed, of all things an alien would become the first honest thing anyone has reported in such a long time and yet because of the same deception they casted into homes, Poppy couldn't take the news seriously. She couldn't shield her life.

The alien grasped at the sheathing that adorned its abdomen and nether region, it clicked around before the armor popped off with an almost undetectable hiss.

The covering slid off its chiseled body and Poppy could not help the strangled gasp that left her — when her eyes made contact with its outwardly cock. She didn't know why it astonished her as much, seeing as its stature was much larger than hers.

Its skin was a pale-ish yellow color, and she couldn't help to compare its structure to that of a humans, the way that the muscles were accentuated became vaguely familiar. From its chest, to its abs, the only thing she could honestly differentiate — its bulbous penis — the shape was similar but the size was scary, to say the least.

The otherworldly creature grasped at her hips and tugged her lower half towards it, its cock stood at gruesome attention — its arousal crystal clear. Poppy grasped at her bed covering, she couldn't believe that something like this was happening. How much she wanted it was the craziest part.

She had yet to say a word besides her begging fit earlier and pleasurable sounds from when it had finger fucked her — she was too embarrassed to say anything, she would rather wallow in her shame and its cum quietly. Well as quietly as she could be.

Snatching her from her pitiful thoughts — it dragged its pulsing pre cum dripping head across her wet slit, mixing both of their juices together to create the best lubricant. It let out a hum of approval, the first sound it had made tonight and dare she say, Poppy loved it. How deep and guttural it was made Poppy's stomach clench in the best way.

The alien dipped the head of its hungry cock into her awaiting opening, “oh fuck” Poppy's head lolled forward into the mattress, her mouth was agape and eyes closed as it slid its length inside her. She knew that it wouldn't be able to fit entirely and the thought saddened her, she wanted it all.

When it got in as much as it could it started to move in and out of her wetness, barely giving her time to adjust. Its movements were not humane, yet still calculative. It didn't look down at her with care but as if it were a Predator and she was its prey.

She could feel every groove, bump and vein as it plunged into her — her pussy clenching around it like a glove.

Poppy was so confident in her ability to know her body that it wreaked havoc on her that every time that it pushed into her awaiting pussy it touched her g spot, every time — but yet, she could just merely brush against it.

She couldn't even form coherent words as her second, more powerful orgasm washed over her. Her pussy tightened over its length — which made it growl louder — and creamed all over the resilient alien. It never let up, never gave her a break.

Her body lay limp as she took everything it gave to her, even when it decided to push more of its length inside her battered womb. She could feel her stomach expand everytime it pushed forward, she could only tiredly lay her hand over her stomach as it fucked her into oblivion.

“ Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! “ Each orgasm was more powerful than the last, each one did more and more of the impossible.

With a loud rumble, it grabbed her hips so tightly that she knew they were bruised and the skin most likely scratched and raw — ropes and ropes of cum were dumped into her. It's like they were shooting straight at her g spot, her legs shook fiercely and her pussy squirted — not only her juices but the cum that stained her walls gushed out as well.

Black spots painted her vision, her chest heaving at a worrisome rate.

She knew somewhere in her mind that it knew that she was spent — but this wasn't about her.

Its right arm came around her waist to hoist up her pliable body, it grabbed at her legs so that they sat on its muscular thighs — giving a much better access point.

Poppy was basically sitting on the alien's lap with its cock still stuffed inside, still hard and throbbing as if it didn't just fill her to the brim.

She just leaned back and shivered once her back made contact with some cold metal — her eyes barely able to stay open — she could just about make out their figures in the mirror, she could see the mixtures of cum dripping from where their bodies met. She could see how puffy her pussy was and how glossy its cock was as it maneuvered in and out of her.

Saliva slid out of her mouth and down her chin as the all too familiar feeling started to build back up within her. She knew this one would be the one to make her succumb to darkness and maybe even death, at least it was pleasurable.

She whimpered and whined, her legs planting on its steel thighs as she tried to run away from the feeling — she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

Poppy knew she lost, she knew when its arms circled around her — locking her in — and started pistoning inside her, it seemed as if its cock only knew to hit her g spot. She cried, tears sliding down her face as her pussy leaked and vision became blurry, breathing didn't come naturally and because of that she became lightheaded.

Sobs racked her body as she came, her hands grasping at the arms holding her. Her stomach cramping from her multiple orgasms and the appendage that has now claimed it as its own.

Not once did the Predator stop. It didn't stop when her legs slipped from their settled position. It didn't stop when her hands stopped squeezing its arms. It didn't stop when her head lolled to the right and eyes closed.

It just held her close to its conscious body and let her pussy envelope him with the warm welcome to its new home.

Dedications: @deunmiu-dessie

Banner/Divider: @cafekitsune @pwixi

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theghostinyourwalls · 1 month

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Run From Me

Stu Macher/Ghostface x F!Reader

Tags: dubcon, noncon, role playing, knife play, threats, stalking, happy ending, smut, glove kink, mask kink, fingering, choking, breath play, power play, fear play, unprotected sex, creampie, inappropriate use of photography, established relationships.

“Hello?” You answered the ringing phone, politely.

“Hello,” An unfamiliar, deeper voice echoed your greeting.

“Yes?” You prompted.

“Who is this?” The man inquired.

“Hm, who are you trying to reach?” You replied with a question of your own.

“What number is this?” He seemed content to ask questions back, in no rush to get off the phone.

“Well, what number are you trying to reach?” You asked again, trying to be helpful.

“I don't know,” he answered, but he didn’t sound confused or unsure.

“Well, I think you have the wrong number,” You tried wrapping up the call.

“Do I?” Again he sounded sure of himself.

“It happens, take it easy,” You excused and hung up, returning to your calm night in. Your focus returned to the horror movie on the small screen in the living room. Jamie Lee Curtis was anxiously looking out her window when the loud startling ring of the phone came again.

“Uhm, hello?” You answered again.

“I’m sorry I guess I dialed the wrong number,” The same voice filtered through the telephone.

“So why’d you dial it again?” You huffed a laugh at the oddity.

“To apologize,” he answered smoothly.

“You’re forgiven, bye now,” You moved to hang the phone up, when he called out.

“Wait--Wait, don’t hang up.” There was an almost irresistible plea in his voice that kept you on the line. He sounded cute.

“What?” you indulged.

“I wanna talk to you for a second,” he simply answered.

“They’ve got 900 numbers for that, see ya.” You hung up once again, finding his simple request not as entertaining as you had hoped.

But then the phone rang once again, and you couldn't stop yourself from picking up.

“Hello?”

“Why don’t you wanna talk to me?” He played hurt, but the theatrics in his tone gave him away.

“Who is this?” you grew curious.

“You tell you your name, I’ll tell you mine.” he said it as though it was a scandalous proposition.

“Hah, I don't think so,” you shook your head, blushing. Were you just simply imagining him flirting with you or was that a line?

“What’s that noise?” he asked, he must have heard the screaming coming from Halloween.

“A scary movie.”

“You like scary movies?”

“Uh-huh,” You nodded enthusiastically.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“I don't know,” You shrugged.

“You have to have a favorite, what comes to mind?”

“Halloween, you know the one with the guy in the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters? What’s yours?”

“Guess,” he insisted playfully.

“Um, Nightmare on Elm Street?”

“Is that the one where the guy had knives for fingers?”

“Yeah, Freddy Krueger, that’s right,” You nodded, impressed with his taste.

“I like that movie. It was scary,” he lowered his voice for effect.

“Well, the first one was but the rest sucked,” You gave your opinion.

“So, you got a boyfriend?” he asked, and then you became sure. He was definitely flirting.

“Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?” you teased, trying to stop the grin from completely overtaking your face.

“Maybe,” he answered in a sing-song note before asking again, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” you lied, enjoying the stranger's attention.

“You never told me your name,” he pointed out.

“Why do you want to know my name?”

“Because I wanna know who I’m looking at,” his voice dropped once again and a chill ran up your spine.

“What did you say?” You felt out of balance, suddenly snapping your attention to the dark windows surrounding the living room. You couldn't see anything beyond what the dim pool lights illuminated.

“I said I wanna know who I’m talking to,” he corrected himself.

“That’s not what you said,” You shook your head, a little breathless as fight or flight began to kick in your brain.

“What do you think I said?”

“Um,” You tried to think back to mere seconds ago. Had you really misheard him?

“Hello?” he tried again.

“Look, I gotta go,” you apologized, now eager to get off the phone.

“Wait, I thought we were gonna go out?” He sounded overly hurt and upset.

“Oh, no, I don't think so,” you declined, hanging up as he called his last demand.

“Don’t hang up on me!”

You turned the volume up on the television to keep your mind from jumping at every creak. He was just some creep playing a prank, you figured. you weren't going to be intimidated by a loser with nothing better to do than call random numbers and try to scare them. The ringing came again and you had half a mind to tell him off. You were going to make him regret trying to make fun of you.

“I told you not to hang up on me,” the lighter tone had disappeared from the near growl of anger that rumbled through the speaker now.

“Listen, I am two seconds away from calling the cops, and I do have a boyfriend! He's big and strong and when he comes home he’s going to kick your ass!” you tried to scare the man on the phone.

“I’m getting scared. I’m shaking in my boots,” he mocked.

“What do you want?” you asked, turning around in your living room, looking out the window.

“To see what your insides look like,” The crude statement sent shivers down your spine.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“More of a game, really, can you handle that?”

“Please– No! I can’t--”

“Run, I’ll give you five seconds,”

You dropped the phone set at your feet. Your mind was moving faster than you could as you began locking the doors around the house. As you whipped around to the back door your racing heart dropped into your stomach. It was wide open. The man was already inside your house. You doubted you could outrun him if you shot out the door, and made the life dependent decision to hide in the house where you were more familiar than him and call the police. This was your one shot at survival. You turned and started to race to your room. As you passed by the kitchen you could hear the man laughing distantly over the phone, but it sounded off. It sounded as if it were two voices. One from over the phone and the other nearby. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the entryway closet door swing open, revealing a tall figure draped in black robes with a white mask that stretched into a scream.

Your lungs burned as you sprinted to your bedroom. His boots stomped right behind you as he closed in on you. As you reached the top of the stairs you noticed your bedroom door was closed. You knew it was going to take a couple more seconds to get it open and close it behind you, successfully locking yourself in. You just had to make it in time.

You grasped the cool metal of your door handle, but before you could turn it to push the door open, the masked intruder caught you. He grabbed your wrist, tearing it away from the door handle and pushed you up against the door. Air was forced out of your lungs as he crushed your body. His body firmly pressed against yours from behind until you couldn't move at all.

“Did you really think you could get away so easily?” He let out a soft hum as he drew a knife from his sleeve. “You should know, the only reason I didn't get you earlier was because I wanted to see you run from me. It just makes it all the more fun when I catch you.” He placed the knife to your throat.

“Please you don’t have to do this," you cried out a soft plea for mercy. “I’ll do anything you say please just don’t kill me,” you begged the masked man.

“Anything?” He asked and moved the blade away from your neck.

“Yes, please, just don’t hurt me.” your voice sounded shaky and more tears began trickling down your face.

“Now, now, that wasn’t part of the deal. I won't kill you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make you suffer.” He pulls back his hand, knife tight in his grip, and thrusts it violently into the door right above your shoulder. You yelped and tried to flinch away only to find that you couldn't. The knife caught on your sweater, trapping you to the door.

Now that you couldn't escape from him he eased off of you ever so slightly, but his touch never left your body. You could feel his hands reach the hem of your sweater. His leather gloves cold on your bare skin as he began trailing them up your stomach. Goosebumps flared across your torso underneath his gloved fingertips. You gasped as he reached higher, touching the underside of your breasts.

“No, no please, you don’t have to do this!” You whimpered. He ignored your pleas as he roughly groped your breasts with his large hands. As he massaged your breasts, his fingers found your nipples. He would switch from rolling them between his fingers to harshly pulling them, creating a pulsing, twisting mixture of pleasure and pain. Your traitorous body reacted, shivering and shaking as the ache in your core craved more from your attacker. You still tried your best to hide the arousal, biting your tongue to stop any noises from spilling from your lips. The thought of him knowing you felt pleasure from this was mortifying and you were already overboiling from embarrassment. One of his hands left your breast as he moved it up to your head. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you to look at him, and you knew he would know by the look on your face.

“Oh don’t look so concerned, we’re just getting started.” His hand that was squeezing your breast began to travel down your body. He slipped past the waistband of your skirt and into your panties. The sensation of his gloved fingers brushing against your clit sent a jolt of pleasure throughout your body making you jump involuntarily. Your face burned with shame as he continued to move his hand further, sliding his fingers in between your slick folds. He circled them around gathering your arousal and bringing them back up to your clit. The obscenely wet sound it made was humiliating. you tried to hide your face from him which earned you a harsh tug on your hair. As he yanked your head back, exposing your neck to him, you let out a pitiful moan.

“You don’t have to keep lying to yourself. We both know how much you like this. I’ve barely touched you, yet you’re already soaking my fingers.” He started moving his fingers, circling your sensitive clit. You jumped at the sensation, still trying to get your body free from his touch. “What’s the matter? Are you embarrassed? Ashamed that you’re so wet for some random freak? Or maybe it’s guilt? Are you thinking about your boyfriend?”

“No! Stop it!” A violent sob ripped out of your throat. Even though you were trying to resist him, your pussy throbbed for more. As if on cue, fingers began moving further towards your entrance. His two fingers slid in with little resistance as they were coated with your arousal. A gasp left your lips as you felt his fingers sinking deeper into your cunt. Your wall’s clenched down on him as he reached a certain spot, his palm replacing the pressure on your clit.

“Speaking of your poor boyfriend, isn’t he supposed to be coming home soon? You know any second he could walk up here and see his perfect little girlfriend cumming around my fingers. Wouldn’t that be something?” He thrusted his long and dexterous fingers in and out of your pussy, curling his fingers to rub against your velvet walls. You could feel the pressure of your impending climax building in your abdomen. “But, I’m thinking of something much better.” He pulled his hand from your panties and brought his slick fingers to your face, dragging them along your cheek before pressing them to your lips. You reluctantly opened your mouth out of fear of what he would do if you didn't obey him. “Be a good girl and lick them clean.” He shoved his fingers into your mouth and you tasted your arousal on his leather gloves.

As you licked and sucked on his fingers you heard him groan in approval. Pushing his erection into you, he slowly grinded into the curve of your ass. He pressed down on your tongue before removing his hand from your face and trailing it down your body. Once he reached your thighs he began moving back up, lifting up your skirt in the process. The thin lace caught his eye, making him chuckle under his breath.

“Awe, did you wear these just for him? That’s so cute.”

You yelped as he yanked them down to your knees, leaving you completely exposed. The cool air hitting your core made you shudder. Then there was the soft clink of his belt followed by a deep sigh. His hard length slapped against your ass before he positioned himself between your legs. He rocked his hips against you, his cock sliding through your slick folds. The head of his cock brushed against your clit making you whine. He continued to repeat the lewd action until his length was completely covered in your arousal.

“C’mon honey, we both know you want this just as much as I do. Just look how you're drenching my cock. All you have to do is tell me how badly you need me to fuck you.”

“Please, just make me cum. Use your fingers, your mouth, your cock I don’t care anymore. Just stop toying with me,” you moaned.

“Oh, but it's so fun,” he teased, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He pushed in slowly, still trying to push you past breaking point. The pain of his cock stretching you was oddly pleasurable. You took him inch by inch until he bottomed out. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix. The feeling of him that deep made your body feel weightless. Your thighs trembled at the sensation of being so full.

“Please, please fuck me. Make me scream,” you begged. With that he grabbed you firmly by the waist. His hips stirred as he began to slowly pull out of you before harshly slamming back into you.

“With a set of lungs like those, it would be a shame for me not to.” He kept the rhythm of his hips at a steady pace. Each thrust was harder than the last, pushing into you deeper and deeper. The blunt head of his cock rammed against your cervix, bruising it in the process. He never faltered keeping up his brutal pace. It was as if he was trying to split you open. The drag of his hard length in and out of you was animalistic. He enveloped all of your senses as you fully gave into the feel of him ravaging your body.

You didn’t notice his hand that had traveled up towards your neck until it was too late. He wrapped his large gloved hand around your throat. He rested it there, a reminder of the power he held over you. Slowly, as if to see if you would resist, he began to squeeze. It wasn’t a light squeeze, it was a possessive hold that he had on you. It made you lightheaded, but he never cut off your airflow. The lack of blood to your head heightened your sensitivity, making you distinctly aware of your throbbing clit. You tried to reach down to touch your neglected bundle of nerves, but your hand was smacked away.

“So desperate for release, but you don’t have any control here, do you sweetie?” He took his time sliding his free hand down to your core. He teasingly slapped your clit, making you cry out. “You look so pretty when you're in pain. It makes me wonder what you’d look like if I made you into a bloody mess.” His tone became darker, filled with a sick fascination. He groaned as you involuntarily clenched around him. You couldn’t lie to yourself, his perverted words only brought you closer to the edge. Finally, he brought his fingers to your needy clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud. Your stomach tightened as you felt your impending orgasm.

He was close too, you could tell by the way his cock twitched inside you. His breathing was heavy and every once in a while you could hear a small moan escape from him. He desperately rutted into you as your walls tightened around him. His cock pulsed deep inside of you as he reached his high. The sudden extra heat sent you over the edge as you came. Your pussy fluttered around his leaking cock, milking him dry. He released his hold on you allowing you to better catch your breath.

You whimpered as he pulled out of you. The sensation of his cum leaking out of your aching pussy and down your thighs made you shiver. You leaned against the door, both your mind and body exhausted.

As you began coming back to reality you noticed he wasn’t against you anymore. His touch was gone. you tried to get up and remove the knife from your sweater, but was gently pushed back against the door.

“I’m not done with you yet.” The wood floor creaked as he shuffled around behind you. Your body tensed as you anticipated his touch on your overstimulated body, but to your surprise he never made contact. You were going to try and free yourself again but froze as you heard the clicking of a camera lens. He was taking pictures of you. Then there was another click soon accompanied by more. Your face burned with shame as you squirmed, trying to at least save your dignity. He laughed at your pathetic attempt to cover yourself. “That’s cute, trying to hide.” he chuckled to himself.

He stood from where he was crouched behind you and pulled the knife out of the door, freeing you. He spun you around to face him and reached up to remove the mask hiding his identity, revealing your boyfriend, Stu Macher. His face had a warm glow from their intimate game as he grinned at you. He cupped your face and pulled you to look into his lovesick eyes. “Surprise, baby.”

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heartfullofleeches · 8 months

Note

I've only known them for a day, but is it too early to ask for nsfw headcanons for Laughingstock yan-

(Been a while since I've done one of these so sure - murder bastard gets nsfw hcs)

Laughingstock- Murder Streamer Yan Nsfw Hcs

Warnings: themes of Sadomasochism, filming, dubious consent, breathplay, fear of death, degration/light violence, victim blaming, spit kink

Laughingstock's general demeanor when it comes to sex majorly depends on their darling's personality as it does with most aspects of their relationship.

• If they are the softer, reserved or shy/quiet type Stock is far more gentle and into mutual care. Their pleasure is almost as if not more important than his, and he makes constant check ups/is sure to smothers them in affection and praise them for taking him so well. May try to make them laugh or assure them things are okay if they are too tense during the ordeal.

Laughingstock does express sadomasochistic tendencies and can't help but getting a little excited at the thought of roughing up their love just a bit - even if they feel slightly guilty deep down. Pain has always been pleasure for them and that of course carries over to the bedroom. At best he tries to ease them into the idea of running his favorite blade over their thigh or having them run it over his. Hushes them softly as he wrap his hands around their neck, kissing away their tears and reminding them to steady their breathing as he squeezes. Laughingstock may get a little too eager seeing them struggle, but immediately stops if their pulse weakens.

Ushers them off for aftercare and a night full of kisses and almost anything their heart desires as thanks and reward for everything Laughingstock had put them through.

• If their darling is mean or the type to fight back, all pleasantries are gone. Laughingstock doesn't even pretend to care about getting them off because why should an ungrateful brat get anything from them. Threatens to carve another letter of their name into darling's skin everytime they finish without permission and calls them some manner of derogatory term for doing so. Belittles and pushes them around for every rude comment they've made, shouting if they'd feel better if he just got rid of them whenever he chokes or holds a knife to their throat. He usually is just trying to scare them as they're much cuter and tolerable when they're afraid. Pulls their hair, spits down their throat and tells them it hurts him as much as it hurts them for their behavior.

Rare to little aftercare - dumps them in the tub and tells them the now cold food they refused to eat is still in their room if they're hungry.

• Big into breathplay. As someone who works with death on the daily, having their darling's life in their control or his in theirs is the most romantic thing. Laughingstock can take more than them being basically immortal and loses his mind at the thought of his darling riding him while pulling his noose until he's pale in the face

Loves choking his darling whether it's with his hands or on his cock and even more so to trail his spit into their mouth during the former as they gasp for air.

• Often films tapes with their darling, but not for their audience. Laughingstock is far too selfish to show their precious to others and doesn't see the need as their regular content draws enough attention, but enjoys lying and telling their darling to smile for the crowd anyway. Helps prevent them from dragging their darling into the room after a successful stream as their adrenaline is high and their libido is higher

If they ever were to livestream with their darling they'd make them wear a mask so nobody sees their pretty face except him which feeds into their love of dress up. Sooner or later somebody's putting on a skirt and Stock honestly doesn't care if it's them or darling

•Oral fixation goes hard. Loves receiving head, but with that long tongue of theirs and a cutie in their position giving is almost better. Has to have a part of their darling between their teeth when runting into them, favorites places to bite being their shoulders/neck, fingers or thighs.

• Flexible. The type of mf you could push their leg past their ear.

• Close notes uhh cock's about 7 inches, bit on the thicker side, the head is pierced. Their tongue is pierced too. Would probably cum harder if their darling accidentally bite their dick while giving oral. Sensitive nipples, very easy to overestimate. Tried to get those pierced, but ended up nutting whenever the needle touched their skin and wasn't able to go through with it without blacking out

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere smut #yandere slasher x reader #yandere male

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roadkillremi · 7 months

Text

Kinktober '23

9 out of 11

Body Worship/ Worship

Billy Loomis X F!Reader

MasterList. Kinktober '23

Summary : Billy goes gentle after you ask.

Warnings : MINORS DNI, Mentions rough sex, phrasing, reader is slightly insecure, p in V. Not proof read-

Billy was always rough and intense, it was his nature. When talking to him he was intense, the way he spoke sent shivers. The way he handles things, if anyone got on his nerves you'd receive a stare and a threat. So it was a no brainier he was hours and intense in bed.

You were dating Billy for about a year, you've had sex with him. You two experimented in bed, discovering desires you never knew you had.

One night Billy got carried away, his hips pushing against yours multiple times. Your inner thighs are sore from his hands praying you open. You whined softly as Billy continued to thrust into you. He has a smirk as he watches your face turn with bliss.

Billy was always rough and intense-

You laid on your bed trying to catch your breath. You closed your eyes focusing on your finding heart beat. Billy sat on the edge of your bed looking down at the floor. You glanced over at him, he ran his hand through his hair fixing it. You looked away staring at your ceiling. Your legs felt wobbly and weak, your head was spinning. You sighed before glancing at him once again.

"Billy?" You whispered. He turned towards you, his eyes traced your lifeless figure. You swallowed trying to gain the confidence to talk to him. You slowly sat up, "I like... This. But.. sometimes it's too...rough?". He just looked at you as if he was calculating the right response. He reached over caressing your cheek.

"Did I hurt you?" His voice barely was above a whisper. You shook your head, "No, sometimes you get carried away with degrading.. and I know it sounds stupid! But.. sometimes I get insecure..". Billy sighed and leaned in kissing you gently.

"That's why we have a safe word.." his eyes never left yours. You nodded, "I know... I get nervous that's all.". He nods, "Well I need to know if you can use it next time.". You nod and sit up slowly groaning at the sore stinging. You looked at Billy, "It's okay to be gentle sometimes".

You smirked at him causing him to smirk back. He leaned in kissing you, "would you like me to be gentle?". You nod leaning in to kiss him again, your hands slid up his shoulders. He laid you down crawling on top of your figure. His legs straddled your sides, his arms framed around you.

"I'll be gentle.." he whispered before continuing to kiss you. You melted against him, his lips trailed down to your neck. He glanced up at you before scooting down the bed. You leaned up on your elbows watching him. He laid on his stomach and gently held your thigh. He looked up at you as he kissed your inner thigh. A soft whimper escaped your lips, he smirked kissing it again.

"I'm sorry I'm so rough... I just love the way you feel.." he whispered against your thigh. His breath warming your flesh, he kisses again this time higher up.

" s'okay... I'm just.. sensitive sometimes.."you whispered. He nods with a small grin on his lips. He kissed your thigh again before ungripping it.

"I know, I just love that you're mine.." he kissed your hip.

"all mine.." he said against your skin. You bit your lip trying to control the warmth building up. His hands rubbed up and down your thighs. He peeked his head up checking in on you.

"Is that it? You wanna be phrased?" His tongue darted out against his pink lips. You nodded with small movements, he smiled and kissed your hip again. His hand massages the other side of your hip. You let out a sigh of relief, you rested your head fully on your pillow.

"You've done so well for me... " he licked up the side of your hip. His breath fell hot against your lower abdomen.

"Gonna take my time with you..." He let out a soft chuckle. He sat up lifting your legs to his shoulders. His hand firmly gripped your right thigh, his left rubbed small circles on your calf. He aligned himself and slowly entered.

"Take me so well..." He continued. He thrust at a slow pace as he littered your calf with kisses. He smirked, "So gorgeous..".

Billy wasn't always rough and intense.

Tag list - @hurlonsororitygirls @sanzumylovee @katie-tibo @horneybeach1 @ithinkitszeph

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deputyrook · 7 months

Text

Impressions- 4/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader (18+)

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3.

You're a reluctant psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Welcome to the point of no return.)

Word count: 4147

NOTE: I have made an executive decision. The reader has a vagina. In other news, this chapter is explicit.

The fic is now 18+ (but why are you reading a saw fic if you're under 18...?) If you don't like smut uhhh idk skip through this one, I guess. Sorry!

WARNINGS: Explicit sex, degradation (minor), manipulation, corruption, stockholm syndrome, general saw levels of horror.

When you wake up again, you do so suddenly, with a gasp. It's like you're taking your first deep breath of fresh air after being trapped underwater.

"You're awake!" Kerry says with a gasp of her own, the sound of her voice coming from the right of where you're lying. Cushioned in blankets and bandages, you feel a little restrained, and have to fight the desire to rip yourself out of bed.

It takes another moment for your awareness to fully kick in. The world remains dark. Your ability to see is simply gone, snuffed out like a candle.

Instead, you can feel. You can tell Kerry is there, to your right, but also that Mark Hoffman is sitting somewhere off to your left. You feel his presence like a beacon- roiling aggression under a composed front, with a deep sense of pride. His concern is sharper than a knife point.

But is it concern for you, or concern for what you might say, now that you've woken up?

Stretching out from your point of origin, you can feel pinpricks of presence, almost overwhelming in number. Fleeting emotions of loss, panic, sorrow, hope, and anger flit past you, but you're able to keep your distance from them, without getting sucked in to the whirlpool of other people's feelings.

That's new.

"Hey Ally," you croak, your voice hoarse, "How about that, huh? Looks like I made it onto Jigsaw's radar."

You feel Kerry's guilt before she speaks, pouring out of her. Gently, she reaches forward and takes your right hand into hers. My fault, my only friend, first Eric and now this. And I wasn't even the first to notice-

"Um, where's Prawn?" You ask, touching your wrist gingerly with your free hand. It's itchy, and you can feel thick gauze wrapped around your wounds. By the smell of disinfectant and the sound of distant beeping, you're fairly certain you're in a hospital bed.

"He's fine," Kerry says, her voice wavering and watery, "I've been watching him. He's been worried sick, you know."

"I guess that makes three people, at least," you say, nodding your head over toward you guess Mark Hoffman is sitting. Off in that direction, you hear the rustle of clothing, like someone is sitting up.

"You can see me?" You hear him ask, groggy and confused.

"No," You reply softly, "Lucky guess."

"There was no tape left behind," Kerry murmurs, brushing her thumb over your knuckles, "We don't know why you were taken. Usually, there's a tape. Were there any instructions left for you? Any clues that you can remember?"

"Christ Kerry, they've just woken up," Mark mutters. With a creek of his chair, you hear him stand, and then a slow sound of heavy footsteps indicate to you that he's walking over to your bedside.

He's been sleeping by your bed, you note. Probably because he's worried you're going to break down and tell Kerry- Mark Hoffman is working with Jigsaw and he burned out my fucking eyes!

"You know how he likes to play with the detectives hunting him, Ally," You say instead, dodging the question about the tape. You have no idea how to answer that. "I'm your best friend. And..."

You pause, mid-sentence. Frustrated, angry, and more than a little hysterical, it's dawning on you now that you're never going to see again. It's at least partially the fault of the man to your left.

But when Mark reaches out and takes your other hand into his, turning it over to trace a spiral shape into your palm, your stomach still flips. The mounting attraction and sexual tension between you hasn't vanished just because you're pissed off and hurt.

Unfortunately.

"And we're seeing each other," Mark adds, simply, "Makes sense he'd go after you."

"Sorry?" Kerry sputters. She actually lets go of your hand, she's so shocked, "What the hell happened to not interested?"

"I knew you'd make a big deal about it," you mumble, going with the lie as your cheeks burn. You hate lying to Kerry, and not just because you hate lying in general.

"You told her you weren't interested?" Mark asks, and you think you can hear a hint of real amusement in his tone.

"Well, I could tell it was a lie," Kerry replies, "but-"

"HELLO?" You raise your voice, cutting her off, "Jigsaw victim? Serial killer targeted me? Deep, deep trauma? Not allowed to make fun of me right now!"

Kerry laughs, and you think you can hear a note of relief in it.

"This is why I love you," She says fondly. "Jigsaw would never be able to kill you. You're the most resilient motherfucker I've ever met. Who jokes at a time like this?"

"Yes, rub in how weird I am right now," You reply, wrinkling your nose. You let go of Mark's hand and push yourself up to a seated position, and then throw off your blankets. Sliding over to the right side of the bed, you sit on the edge of the mattress, suddenly unsure of yourself.

The entire world is still out there.

"Hey, that was a compliment," Kerry says, "You might want to take it easy, though. For real, you've been through a lot."

Heavy footsteps walk around to the edge of the bed you're sitting on, and you can feel Mark Hoffman, standing in front of you. As you reach out, you feel an arm to steady you, and you grab hold of it as you pull yourself up. Beside you, you hear Kerry stand as well.

"Why are two of the three lead detectives on the Jigsaw-Investigations-Unit hanging out by my hospital bed, anyway?" You ask, brushing her worry off, "Shouldn't you be out there casing the s- wherever I was found?"

"Consider it cased," Kerry replies with a sigh, missing your slip-up, "You're our main lead right now. We're going to need to take your statement at the station, once you feel well enough to go."

Mark Hoffman is a stable anchor to lean on. Looping your hand through the crook of his arm, you consider the endless, vast sea of darkness surrounding you. In the far-off distance, various abstractions graze against your awareness, different from the more localized flares of feeling.

You focus and reach out to one of them, with a slight tilt of your head.

A flash, in your mind, of a man and a woman you've never seen before, side-by-side. Her, with dark tightly curled hair, full lips, and decisiveness like an arrow. Him, with a strong jaw, dark eyes, and a barely contained mania that threatens to leak out from the seams. He knows the water just as you do. Neither of you will drown.

You don't know who they are, but you know they will be important.

"Did you... sense anything?" Kerry asks hesitatingly, as though worried asking the question will offend you, "When Jigsaw took you, or when you were in the trap?"

"Too much," You answer cagily, "But I didn't have time to make sense of it. I was a little distracted by the looming threat of death, in my defence."

"Fair enough," Kerry replies wearily. Something beeps, off by where she's standing, and she curses.

"I have to run," She says, "Our tech guy just got in and I have to brief him on the investigation. Hoffman, are you able to take them to the police station for the statement?"

"Sure thing," He responds, "I was hoping we could talk, anyway."

"Right," Kerry remarks. There's a long pause, and she adds with a grumble, "So weird. I don't know how to feel about this."

You fake a grin, and wave her off. As soon as you sense her presence fading, along with the sound of her footsteps clicking down the hall, you turn to Mark Hoffman, let go of his arm, and whack him on his broad chest.

"You son of a bitch," you hiss, whacking him again.

"Hey, hey-" He snaps back, grabbing your hands and holding them firmly in place before you can hit him again, "Stop it."

"I should tell everyone," you whisper angrily, "You took my fucking eyes, Mark."

"John Kramer took your eyes. You think I wanted to put you in that thing?" You try to break free of his grip on your wrists, without success.

"And you just do everything he says, is that right? Two hundred and fifty pounds between him and Amanda both, and you were helpless?" You say, yanking your arms free. Your brain buzzes with the desire to hurt him the way he's hurt you, and you conclude that it's not by hitting him again.

"You think Angela would approve of that?" You whisper to him, "Do you think she-"

Strong hands reach out and shove you backward. You hit the wall, hard. It's disorienting, and with no way to anticipate it or brace yourself, pain blossoms across your back. You feel Hoffman press you against the wall, one of his hands grabbing you by the jaw.

"Watch your fucking mouth," he snarls, keeping his voice low. It's a dangerous tone, and you can't help but feel satisfied, knowing that you're managed to get under his skin. Once again, you've caught a glimpse of the predator hiding under his cool exterior.

Pressing in so close to you, you can smell him, a light scent of amber and cedar cologne. Trying to catch the breath that's been knocked out of you, you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, panting, so close that it's brushing against yours.

A different sensation floods you, your anger melting into molten arousal. The tension between you feels wound to a snapping point, your blood flushing to your cheeks and causing your skin to tingle. His grip on your jaw is tight, almost painful, but you tilt up your chin ever-so-slightly, baring your neck.

You feel like you're going a little bit insane, frankly. Who could blame you, after what you've been through recently? Your body shouldn't be reacting like this, not when you should be furious with him.

But fuck it.

"Or what?" You whisper, "You going to teach me a lesson, Detective?"

Your taunt seem to hang in the air, and although you can't see Mark's reaction, you hear a noise of frustration escape from him. The hand holding your jaw moves to tilt your chin up.

"You've got a smart mouth," He mutters angrily, the pad of his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. Mark leans his face in close, and you can feel his breath on your neck. One of his thighs presses forward, between your legs. Pinned against the wall, you couldn't wiggle out of this if you wanted to- and you don't want to.

"You really sure you want to test me?" He murmurs in your ear, both a threat and a promise. With your heart beating so wildly that you're sure he can hear it, you try to shift, but his weight against yours keeps you pressed firmly in place. The friction from his thigh, and the heat of his breath on your ear, causes you to let out an embarrassing little groan of pleasure.

"Mark-"

"Not your smartest idea," Mark lets out an irritated huff of breath, and another beat passes between you before he continues, voice rough. "You know, I've wanted to fuck you since the moment I met you, sweetheart."

Fuck. Heat and need crawl up your spine.

"When you were threatening me in your car?" You ask a little too breathlessly, with a raise of your eyebrow. Gathering your bearings, you slip your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him.

"Yeah," Mark answers, lips and teeth grazing your neck, and you shiver. You need more of his mouth on you, now.

Mark freezes, seeming to be momentarily distracted by something.

"Door's open," He mutters to you.

"It is?" You whisper back in worry, grabbing the fabric of his jacket and squirming in his hold, "Can you...close it?"

"You don't want anyone else to see you like this?" He asks with a smirk in his voice, pulling back. You can almost feel his eyes running over you, looking you up and down, "Only me, huh?"

He pulls back not a moment too soon. You can feel another presence approaching your room, and you tap his shoulder hurriedly.

"Someone's coming." Regrettably, and with a grunt of annoyance, Mark lets go of you, taking a step back. You miss the warmth of his body immediately, but you hear someone enter the room not long after.

"Oh, you're up!" A male voice calls out, alarmed, "Detective, please save your questions for later," Footsteps walk over to where the two of you stand, and the voice adds, "I need to check your eyes. Assuming everything looks...stable, there will be some paperwork to go through, and then you should be cleared for discharge."

You hear Mark sigh. An alarm rings out- from his phone, if you had to guess- and he quickly turns it off. Something about the noise nags at your awareness, like you know innately that something is off about it.

"We can do the statement at the station tomorrow. But let me know when you get home," Mark remarks, before adding, "I'll see you later."

And then he's gone too, leaving you with the doctor in a darkened world.

"There's a lot we should go over," The doctor tells you sheepishly, "Things are going to be very different for you, now."

You have a feeling he's right.

---

You are supposed to have a long, cold shower when you get home. You are supposed to come to your senses, re-evaluate your choices, and examine what the hell you thought you were doing earlier.

After thinking it over, you are supposed to realize you're acting rashly, being ridiculous, and playing with fire- you can't want Detective Mark Hoffman, knowing what you know about him. What he does to people, and what he did you.

That... does not happen.

By the time you've fumbled your way through your apartment door, cane in hand and sunglasses on, your desire for him has increased tenfold. It only increases further when you realize you're alone in the apartment, with not even your cat to greet you- Kerry must still have Prawn at her place.

It all seems horribly lonely, all of a sudden. You'll never again see your cat's sleepy expression, or the soft fur on his belly when he rolls over. You won't get to look at the art pieces hung up on your walls, or curl up on your couch to watch a movie in the same way as before. As you stand in your entryway, it dawns on you that you're not even sure how you'll make dinner tonight.

Right now you're feeling helpless.

Hmm. Had you thought those words before?

You may be Kerry's only real friend. But she is also yours. And you could use someone to help you adapt to your new circumstances. You could call her, and she would come over to help you. Make you dinner, clean up your place.

But if you're being honest with yourself, Kerry isn't the person you want in your apartment right now, and you don't want to work on adjusting your life. You want Mark here, to fuck you within an inch of your life and make you forget, paradoxical as it is.

Carefully, you make your way over to your couch. It takes a couple of tries with your cell phone, but with the accessibility features turned on, you eventually find Mark's number.

You hesitate.

If you sleep with Mark Hoffman tonight, that's crossing a line that you're not going to be able to uncross. What would Kerry think, to know that all along, not only have you known who the secret Jigsaw accomplice is, but that you chose to fuck him after you found out?

It's not the heat of the moment, anymore. You are here, alone, with a clear head and the time to reconsider and back out of this. You can even just visit Kerry, grab your cat, and skip town. If you keep messing around, you're going to end up actually helping a serial killer- if you're not already.

The notion doesn't bother you. Not as much as it should.

"Hey. I'm at home," You say into the phone, trying and failing to sound casual, "You remember my address, right? I could... use some help. If you're free." You pause, and add in for good measure, "It's the least you can do. You know, considering."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there soon," Mark Hoffman replies curtly, before he hangs up the phone.

You try to tidy up before he arrives, kicking the clothes you can find into your closet and gently putting away some dishes. What use are psychic powers if you keep nailing yourself on your kitchen island every time you walk past?

It isn't long before you feel Mark's presence entering the edge of your awareness. You can sense him, and the electric feeling up pent up energy as he approaches. What's the radius on that? You'll need to experiment, later. The thought of him approaching makes you nervous, your heart fluttering in anticipation and early arousal.

You open the door for him just before he goes to knock on it.

"Hey," You say, "I know, the glasses are a new look, I-"

He is shoving you back into the apartment, mouth pressing against you before you can react. Walking you backward, he is kissing you insistently, aggressively. A hand on your waist squeezes, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Heat seems to radiate from everywhere he touches, sending a heady need coursing through your body.

Mark leaves you momentarily. You hear your apartment door closing and latching shut, and the click of a lock. Then he's back, his mouth on yours again, hard, unrelenting kisses leaving you dizzy.

Every movement is dominant, unyielding. Mark Hoffman leaves no quarter as he groans into your mouth, a low and hungry noise.

"You want me to take care of you?" He groans, low and rough against your mouth, "You need me to fuck you until you go dumb, baby?"

You let out a needy whine in the affirmative, nodding your head as you clench your thighs together. His hands grip your hips, holding you tight in a way that makes your entire body tremble. You know that your face is burning, and it's embarrassing, how quickly you're falling apart under his attention- and he's barely even touched you yet.

Suddenly his hands have left your hips, and you feel a palm flat on your chest, pushing you back. Your lower back stings as it smacks against the kitchen island, and once again, you're pinned. Exactly where he wants you.

"Mark," you gasp out. You can feel the warmth of his body, so close to yours, but he doesn't touch you yet. You reach out your hands to touch his broad chest, running them across the fabric of his shirt, but he doesn't reciprocate.

"What do you want? Use your words," He murmurs into your ear, condescending and teasing. Shame makes your cunt clench.

"Touch me, please-"

"That it? You just want me to touch you?" He mocks. You can hear the wolfish grin in his voice. His hands trail up your body and under your shirt, sliding across your smooth skin. Surprisingly deft fingers pinch one of your nipples, rolling it in a way that makes you cry out and grind your hips forward, frustratingly, against nothing.

"Jesus, Mark," You snap, desperation straining your voice, "You're a dick. I want you to fuck me until I forget my name, is that better?"

He actually laughs, before sliding a hand down the front of your pants. Another gasp falls from your lips, followed by a ragged moan as his fingers slip past your underwear to find you soaked. Calloused fingers tease you as you lean forward, your forehead resting on his shoulder.

Bliss electrifies your body, and you can't stop the whimpers and gasps that escape from you as you as Mark harshly encircles your clit. The pace is merciless, and you squirm under his touch, the pleasure mounting quickly.

God, but you can't even think. You hold onto his arm and moan his name, a sound broken by lust.

"Fuck," He hisses with a groan of his own, "Can't wait any longer."

With a yank, your pants and underwear are around your ankles. You barely have time to step out of them before Mark has flipped you around, bending your body over the kitchen island. His movements are forceful, almost brutal in their execution.

Mark's body leans over yours, and you can feel the press of his hard cock through his pants as he lays his body over yours to speak in your ear.

"You're so fucking needy. You're going to take me so well, aren't you sweetheart?"

It only takes a moment for him to pull back and undo his pants. A jagged, filthy moan is torn from you as he presses his cock inside of you, and with a snap of his hips, he fills you completely. His hands grip your hips so tightly that you're sure they're going to leave bruises across your skin.

His cock feels perfect inside of you, so thick and full that you're sure it's going to drive you insane. It's going to ruin you.

Gripping onto the edges of the kitchen island for purchase, you whimper as he begins to move.

His weight bears down on you, the hard edge of the counter nearly cutting into your stomach. You can't find it in you to care, not with the way that Mark starts to thrust into you, setting a ruthless pace.

He fucks you hard.

"Mark," you eke out, barely able to hold onto the counter. Your entire body jolts with each snap of his hips, slammed again and again against the surface. Heat is building in your stomach, burning through your core.

"Come on baby," He says, voice almost hoarse with lust, "You're making me feel so good. Come on, come on, come on my cock."

A hand reaches around your body, and his fingers find your clit again. They rub harsh, hot circles into your skin. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure taking you to the edge of your release and then kicking you over it. You feel utterly helpless, utterly undone.

You writhe under Mark Hoffman, coming with a cry.

And your reality seems to crack apart. A million futures narrow to a thousand, and as you breathe, you feel the world breathe with you. You feel Mark behind you, inside of you, his cruelty and his oppression, the hunter, the killer, the lover, the sinner-

It's going to rain blood down upon him. Upon you both.

With a few more brutal thrusts inside of you, Mark grunts as he reaches his own climax, slowing to hard, deliberate strokes as he spills inside of you. You moan weakly, already sore, as he continues to move until he's fully spent. Eventually, his movements stop, and you can feel as his cock finishes pulsing inside of you.

Slowly, Mark's hands let go of your waist. He pulls back, off of you, and steps away.

You peel yourself off of the counter and stumble over to your couch, laying down as you catch your breath. After a few minutes, you hear Mark sit down beside you. A hand grazes your leg, touching it almost affectionately.

"We should have used a condom," you mumble.

"Yeah," He agrees, "Doubt you regret it, though," and you have to admit, he's right about that.

You sit in a comfortable silence together for a while. His hand strokes your calf, his fingers running up and down the bare skin of your shin in a soothing motion. It feels good. Calm, after the ferocity of the sex you just experienced.

"I think... I've got to go to the bathroom," you say suddenly, sitting up and surprising yourself with your words.

"I'm not stopping you," Mark replies, and you shake your head.

"No- no, the underground one. The Jigsaw one," You shuffle on the couch, turning fully to him, "I think... I don't know why, but I think I'll be able to find answers there. About the third apprentice."

Mark hums in thought.

"John doesn't know that you know about that," he says, "He and Amanda will be gone pretty soon. And I sure as hell want to know about any secrets waiting for us."

"Then we'll go," You say decisively. You think of your vision of the two other mysterious figures later, and the rainfall of blood. Suddenly, you feel exhausted. And hungry.

"...We'll go tomorrow."

---

A/N- I'm thinking there are one, maybe two more parts left in this story. I had a tricky time writing this chapter, so please leave a comment if you enjoyed! <3

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff

---

NEXT CHAPTER

#mark hoffman #sawposting #slasher fic #costas mandylor #my writing #slasher x reader #detective hoffman #mark hoffman x oc #mark hoffman x reader #smut #psychicverse

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makeyoumine69 · 1 month

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My Lovely Detective III

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Detective!OC

— CO-WRITER: @iron-flavored-lipgloss

— CONTAINS: Unprotected non-con sex, fingering, thigh riding (kinda), rough body play & kissing, cloth ripping, manhandling, swearing, degradation, cum shot.

— WORDS: 2.7k

— A/N: Thank you for your support! 💗😍😘

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

The Fall

Bateman’s shameless touch on her mound caused her legs to shake a bit, but Andrea managed to pull herself together, just like she was trained in the police academy.

"Mm-mmhm," the detective's low moan echoed off the walls of his fashionable living room. "Jus-st," she managed to say through the gag. "Kill m-me...already."

Closing her eyes, she tilted her head to the side, trying to hide from his piercing gaze and hot breath. The firmness of his palm on her pussy was the last thing she needed to worry about, but the way her body was reacting insisted on doing something. With deliberate but gentle movements, the brunette arched her back like a cat about to slip from his grip.

Patrick knitted his eyebrows in concentration. Why didn't he just kill her like he had originally planned? Even Paul Allen, that smug bastard, hadn't suffered for long...

"Sassy girls just don't understand this luxury. I'm a 'narcissistic liar'?" Patrick suddenly remembered the personal verdict she'd written along her notes, and added with a very soft voice, as if he regretted having to tell her this: "Wrong. I'm a fucking psychopath, darling."

So close to her exposed neck, her scent was overwhelmingly intense, not a perfume he could name, but something that drove him crazy. And disguised as mockery, he couldn't help but kiss her neck.

An electric shock coursed through Andrea's nerves at his unexpected move, the warmth of his lips making her small body tremble, and she could swear to God that she tried to pull away from him, but she was stuck.

"A-awwwww," she squealed, twitching under his massive frame. "S-stop...mmh-stop...mmphp-please!"

‘Yeah, yeah, you think I'm so scared and vulnerable… c'mon, enjoy my weakness…’

The woman tried to close her legs just to provoke him, to make him think she was scared and didn't want him to continue. The moment he lost his attention, she would stun him with the bottle of wine that lay on the coffee table next to the large knife. No, she would not die today. Noticing the detective's attempts to back away, Patrick replaced his hand between her legs with a knee, forcing them apart with more force. Her back was half bent over the short back of the couch, and through the sheer proximity of their bodies, Patrick could feel her small frame trembling beneath him. The gag was pretty much undone by this point, but he didn't care. The sense of power her reaction had given him was dangerous for both of them - he found himself trapped in a tunnel vision of desire and suddenly obsessed with the idea of leaving his mark on her… He bit down on the sensitive flesh of her neck.

Only now did the woman realize that her hands were free, and for a moment she tried to claw at his biceps through the expensive fabric of his jacket, but it only seemed to spur him on as she heard his low growl close to her ear.

Twitching, Andrea managed to spit out the gag. "Leave me alone, you fucking ... you fucking asshole!"

With a loud grunt, the detective began to struggle, trying to kick him off and reach the bottle on the coffee table, his knee between her legs pressed against her mound and it was quite painful, but she didn't care.

"Fucking bitch!" Patrick snapped, and as the detective struggled violently against him, he reached a breaking point. "I'm done with this!"

In one swift movement, he grabbed the woman by her curls and brutally forced her face down on the couch. It was a humiliating position - Patrick pressed against Andrea while her ass was half in the air, the muscular thighs trapping her. With his free hand he reached effortlessly for the knife, his arm much longer than hers. He held the hair out of her face, enjoying the look of fear on her face.

As the woman felt the sharp, cold steel against her throat, her whole life flashed before her eyes, but in the next moment she was in control of her emotions.

"Why did you stop?" Andrea taunted him without any visible anxiety. "Or haven't you decided yet what you want to do with me—fuck me or kill me? Or maybe both?"

The detective spat out her words in his face. She knew that if Patrick would kill her, the police would get his ass, since she had informed her boyfriend before going to dinner with Bateman. But the prospect of being killed didn't seem appealing.

"They're going to get you, Bateman," the woman suddenly hissed through clenched teeth. "They know I had dinner with you... you know what I mean? The police will barbecue your fucking ass even if you kill me!"

Patrick couldn't help but laugh at her words. Not because she was completely wrong (statistically, he should have been found out long ago), but because she had misjudged his nature.

"It doesn't matter. None of it does. I just can't stop."

He stared at her absently, not entirely pleased with the idea that this woman might be his last victim, and yet not feeling the usual panic attack rising within him. If there had ever been a point of no return, this wasn't it.

"...but either way, you are about to pay the price for your insufferable curiosity…” And with a very quick and calculated move, he drew the blade of his knife down Andrea's body.

From the neckline to the hem, Patrick had sliced open her dress precisely, leaving her skin almost completely intact - except for a razor-thin cut on her thigh. He roughly pushed the fabric aside, exposing her body, which was devastatingly tanned all over. No tan lines. Even though Bateman hadn't intended to cut Andrea's skin—not now, he had done so by accident, and now her soft skin was cracked in places, the cuts itch and hurt, but she still didn't dare to be weak and pathetic. With several long cuts, he slashed her clothes, leaving her completely naked from head to toe.

As the man traced her thin trail of pubic hair, the detective couldn't help but bite her lower lip. "Why...why are you acting like you're seeing a woman's body for the first time?" No matter how hard she tried to hide her growing arousal, her voice betrayed her.

"I see your boyfriend didn't pay much attention to you." Patrick tried to sound dismissive at the sight of her pubic hair—both the prostitutes and the hard bodies from the club were always clean shaven.

Still, he found it hard to pull his hands away from her, finding himself embarrassingly curious about what it would feel like to put his mouth on her. Shaking off such crazy thoughts, Patrick instead let his fingers wander lower and spread her lower lips, well aware of how her core trembled under his touch and how she tried not to make a sound.

"Is that why you're so wet for a psychopath?" And though he said it with his usual arrogance, his voice dropped a little lower.

Andrea couldn't help but arch her back towards him, and she didn't even know if she was doing it to stop him from killing her, or if it was her physical need that confirmed his previous statement about her boyfriend. "Bateman," she gasped as his fingers dove into her heat. "Bateman...mmhm-mmm, fuck me," the woman moaned suddenly, grinding against his body. "I know you want it... I know you crave dominance...so take what you want..." Her seductive whisper was designed to make him lose his mind, which would give her opportunities to play around. "Ruin me…"

Never before had a woman offered herself to Patrick with such blatant desperation, let alone one so aware of his dark nature. And even though the detective was probably hoping to save her life, he could tell that her body wanted him at the same time. His fingers had slipped into her too easily, the wet sound so obscene and the way she urged him to go deeper... Still holding her with one hand, Patrick loosened his tie and tore open his pants, pulling off his suspenders as he did so. He didn't bother to strip completely for the moment; part of him wanted her to admire his toned body, but the other part enjoyed the contrast of her vulnerable nakedness and his formal clothing.

"Oh, you don't even know what you're asking for, little detective," Patrick groaned hoarsely, grabbing her by the hips and pulling Andrea effortlessly onto his lap, where she was now pressed flush against his length. Without even giving her a chance to answer, Patrick kissed Andrea hard on the lips. With a muffled gulp, the detective wrapped her arms around his neck and responded to his kiss with no less passion, tangling her fingers in his soft hair, now so messy and curly.

"Mmhmm...you're so needy, Mr. Bateman," Andrea whispered into his ear after breaking the kiss, leaving a trail of split between their mouths. "I thought I was not your type," the woman nipped at his neck and sucked on the mark. "But your erection says otherwise." Slowly, she began to hump on him, pressing against his hard groin. With every thrust of her hips against his, Andrea moaned loudly, her face flushed and sweaty.

"I could say the same about you - first I get bratty insults, now you hump my lap like a bitch in heat. Where does that come from?" Patrick murmured in a low voice, less threatening but still expressing his arousal.

Unable to suppress the twitch of his cock at her words, he only pressed her closer to his hot flesh, brushing against her entrance. His hands had found their way to Andrea's ass, greedily cupping and massaging the soft skin, a kind of silent and far more honest response. ‘I just feel sorry for this woman who never had a really good fuck.’

Andrea's disheveled hair seemed to have doubled in volume, her tits pressed teasingly against his chest with every movement, and Patrick felt so overwhelmed for a moment; as if he could eat and consume her, but somehow not in the literal sense as he had done with others before.

Gasping, Andrea mentally begged her boyfriend for forgiveness before wrapping her hand around the base of Bateman's fat cock, then pumping the full length. "You're... so pathetic..." she uttered into the crook of his neck before she lowered herself onto his dick and the moment its tip slipped into her heat, the woman screamed in pain. "F-fuck, why are...why are you so fucking big," she stopped halfway, grabbing his shoulder and trying to adjust to his size. "So pathetic...but big…”

Patrick watched Andrea's struggle with undisguised satisfaction, the way she desperately tried to get somewhere, making her insults seem like projection. "You can't wait to have me, and it makes you act like a virgin. You think this will work without preparation?" He took his length and pressed it flush against Andrea's stomach, showing how easily it reached from her entrance past her belly button. "You're either a lot more masochistic than you admit, or you're used to small dicks," Patrick murmured in her ear with barely controlled temper. "Am I right? Your boyfriend is so small that he can do it without lube?"

He let go of her trembling thighs and suddenly pushed Andrea to the floor, forcing her to lie on her back - her soft flesh was so warm to the touch - a startling contrast to the cold wooden floor. 'She had probably never been tied up before. Plush handcuffs at most, I'd say,' Patrick thought with a mixture of contempt and raw excitement. 'I'm going to show her a whole new spectrum of pain and pleasure, and this pathetic little body is so unprepared for it, it might as well have never been fucked before.'

"Well, this is all you get either way for being such an insufferable little cunt." Patrick spat crudely on her pussy and watched in fascination as it clenched around nothing.

As soon as Andrea tried to move away from him, he pinned her hips down with one hand and used the other to roughly spread his salvia all over her. Experimentally, he pumped two of his fingers inside her. It would not help, Patrick knew very well. A final slap on her sensitive mound that made Andrea tremble before Patrick spread her legs apart and drove his cock into her tightness with a sharp trust of his hips. The woman's legs shook from the pain of Bateman's fat girth tearing her apart from the inside out, and the worst part was that this bastard was right - her boyfriend was nothing compared to him, absolutely nothing.

'But... but I love him anyway… I'm just doing this to get back to him alive.' This thought made Andrea whimper and swallow her tears from the physical and mental pain. "Bateman, Bateman..." she hiccupped as his cockhead poked at her cervix. "F-fuck, it's so deep..." she had to close her eyes because she couldn't see Patrick's smug face as he had her sing for him like a siren. "It won't fit!" At some point, the woman was afraid that his dick, with its size, would fucking tear her apart, she could feel her soft inner walls desperately trying to accommodate what he was giving her, even though it was too fucking painful. One raw stroke after another, her body was nothing but a canvas for his wicked paintings and she couldn't do anything but let him have his way with her. 'I'm so sorry.'

Andrea was dying of shame, especially when she felt her orgasm building in her core from the fullness Bateman was giving her, not to mention when this jerk trapped her hard nipple between his expert fingers, twisting it like a radio volume control. "Ahh-hhhhh, you're gonna...you're gonna fucking split me in a half…!" The woman screamed, clawing at her own skin to stifle her cries.

"Look at that, I'm holding back but you already can't take it," Patrick spat out, not angry but grasping for control at the sight of his base still unable to fit inside.

She was so tight - so much tighter than Patrick had expected, tighter than any he had ever had and God yes, he wanted to fuck her apart, even if it would kill them both. He wouldn't have been able to stop with a gun to his head, let alone care about her crying and pleading, which only served to intensify his destructive frenzy. Holding Andrea by the hips, a grip so hard it would leave bruises, Patrick forced her body into his power, pressing her harder against him like a cheap doll. And as if her weight meant nothing, he thrusted her brutally, the friction he gained with every movement washing over him in hot pleasure. The sound of skin against skin echoed off the walls and her increasingly mindless babbling and moaning challenged the soundproofing, but Patrick had never cared less.

"Did you know that Tom Cruise lives in this complex? Tom fucking Cruise can hear you whining like a whore!" He laughed breathlessly at the sight of Andrea writhing underneath him and how little it had taken for her pride to crumble.

But his punishment came only seconds later.

As her orgasm approached, Andrea squeezed him even tighter, something that seemed impossible but almost caused Patrick to lose it on the spot, forcing a raw moan from his throat. But he couldn't have that, couldn't allow himself the humiliation of cumming right in front of her eyes, so he gritted his teeth and cursed and fucked Andrea through her first climax, fucked her until the overstimulation hurt him and it became impossible to delay the inevitable any longer. Patrick had barely enough time to pull out before a violent shudder ran through his body and he exploded all over her, spilling even her face with stray drops of his thick cum. And as Bateman looked down at her, breathing heavily and meeting Andrea's glazed eyes, Patrick knew that it was not nearly enough for him… that he needed her more…

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and my amazing co-writer @iron-flavored-lipgloss and turn on notifications to know when we update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x oc #patrick bateman x fem!oc #slasher x oc #patrick bateman fanfiction

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jurassicass · 2 years

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A self indulgent Lady Dimitrescu x Dahlia...

#I just know they would do the craziest nastiest things to each other #this was prompted because I was reading lady d x reader smut fanfics LOL #my art #wlw art #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #slasher oc #horror oc #dahlia #resident evil village #re8 #re8 village #lady dimitrescu fanart #resident evil fanart

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yourlocalcryingcryptid · 1 year

Text

I have to draw a yaujta for the bracket sheet

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imaslutforwritingshit · 7 months

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Things Ethan Landry would text- (Fem Friend Reader) PART 3

Warnings- mentions of smut, knifeplay, sexting, fearplay, confessions to murder.

If you guys like this, I’ll make an extended version, where I write a story in Y/n’s pov that happens after this texting story:)

The Ballad Of Terror

Y/n: hey loser

Ethan: Loser? that’s new.

Y/n: but true

Ethan: no good night text, bunny?

Y/n: ugh stop calling me that. I promise I don’t jump that weird.

Ethan: in PE class you look like a rodent

Y/n: shut up

Y/n: I want something else first before you get your good night text

Ethan: let me guess. You need homework answers?

Y/n: I don’t get anything in science. I don’t even know what a molecule is.

Ethan: luckily I’m smart.

Y/n: luckily.

Ethan: click to view

Y/n: thank u <3

Ethan: np.

Ethan: hey, how are you and David doing together?

Y/n: why?

Ethan: I’m just curious

Y/n: maybe being curious isn’t always the right thing to be

Ethan: I’m your friend who wants you to be happy.

Y/n: I am happy

Ethan: with David?

Y/n: why are you asking that like david can’t make me happy?

Ethan: because I don’t think he could

Y/n: he does.

Ethan: oh, yeah?

Y/n: yes.

Ethan: as in, present tense?

Y/n omg yes

Y/n: why do you care so much?

Ethan: you broke up with him last night.

Y/n: how did you know that?

Y/n: Ethan??

Y/n: who told you

Ethan: no one told me.

Y/n: then why the fuck do you know?

Ethan: I watched you get that text. You cried over your bedside table.

Ethan: don’t leave me on read

Ethan: cmon

Y/n: how do you know

Ethan: I watched you through the window.

Y/n: you’re my friend

Y/n: this is scaring me

Ethan: Don’t be scared. Remember when you told me that you loved the real me?

Y/n: yes.

Ethan: this is the real me.

Y/n: a stalker?

Ethan: For you,

Ethan: Yes.

Y/n: if you were watching me, what was I wearing?

Ethan: That Ivy League shirt I bought for you in 2018.

Y/n: what pants, then ??

Ethan: oh, that’s the best part.

Y/n: please

Ethan: you weren’t wearing any

Ethan: you hiked your thighs to your chest

Ethan: you were wearing black panties

Y/n: you’re a fucking creep

Ethan: don’t be like that.

Y/n: how long has this been going on?

Ethan: How long have I been in love with you?

Ethan: or watching you sleep

Ethan: ?

Y/n: i should call the police. do you stalk other girls?

Ethan: you’re the only one for me

Ethan: nobody makes me feel the way you make me feel

Ethan: All those girls meant nothing to me. They couldn’t replace you.

Y/n: what girls?

Y/n: you’re a manwhore now?

Ethan: don’t be stupid. I didn’t fuck anyone

Ethan: I killed them

Y/n: im calling the police

Ethan: I disconnected the system from your number

Ethan: you can’t call anyone for help

Y/n: what do you want from me?

Ethan: Don’t you want to know?

Ethan: Why I did it?

Y/n: no

Ethan: I want to hurt you. Is that bad?

Ethan: it just turns me on so much

Ethan: to imagine you begging for me

Ethan: begging me not to slice you open

Ethan: fuck your brains out until your screaming my name

Ethan: i want to use you

Ethan: and you and I both know you would enjoy it

Y/n: you’re ghostface

Ethan: oh

Ethan: what gave it away ?

Y/n: you piece of shit.

Ethan: I don’t think you should insult me right now

Y/n: why? you gonna kill me??

Ethan: don’t tempt me.

Y/n: but apparently I already am. I’m basically asking for a knife to my throat, aren’t I?

Y/n: to watch your cock enter me as you choke me

Y/n: god, it would turn me on so much!!!

Ethan: I don’t take sarcasm too well

Ethan: if your asking for it, I’ll give it to you.

Y/n: im blocking you

Ethan: you can’t hide

Y/n: I’ll lock my doors. Get my parents to call the cops when they come back.

Ethan: your parents aren’t home?

Ethan: That changes things.

Y/n: I locked everything

Y/n: leave me alone

Ethan: why did you assume I was outside your house?

Y/n: please leave me alone

Ethan: let’s play a game of hide and seek, y/n.

Ethan: you run

Ethan: you hide

Ethan: and we’ll see if I can catch you.

Ethan: and if I do…

Ethan: god, I love making you my victim.

Y/n: Ethan please

Ethan: 3

Ethan: 2

Ethan: 1

Ethan: time to run, bunny.

🩷

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blueberryarchive · 1 month

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𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧

more 80's slasher!jk

previously on steph's bathroom... // later on brew house...

Dazed and Confused echoed on the walls of the garage, the heat slowly dissipated with the canned beer that you swallowed in long gulps, the air polluted with the smell of pot. You were wearing high-waisted pants and a colorful blouse, bare feet. Robert Plant moaned in your ears as you drank another beer and damn, how good the hippies had it before, you thought.

A greased hand snaked up to your waist, squeezing so hard that you felt the beer return to your esophagus, the calloused fingers decorated with thick silver rings that ruminated over your breasts until connecting his fingers and nose with your neck, an indecent exhale taking in all the air in the room and with it your coherence.

"No, wait."

“Shh, for once in your life, fuck. Shut your stupid mouth." Rings covered your lips, a wet tongue trailing your jugular and the boiling smell of weed in his mouth.

You wanted to say his name, over and over again in that guitar solo. Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

And zaz! The garage was torn from your ears, the sun covered your body lying on the stands and you were no longer dressed like you were going to Woodstock, the backlight made your boyfriend's blonde hair and his red uniform shine.

“What the hell are you listening to? I have like fifteen minutes calling you.” His ethereal smile searched inside your backpack finding the small plastic box. “Led Zeppelin. That's new.” This time the laughter disappeared, putting on the headphones.

Your body sat up looking for a coherent explanation, Jimin laughed after listening for a few seconds.

“I didn't know you liked to hear men moan, you would have told me and I'd make you a whole album.” Your hand hit his chest and he laughed again.

"Shut up."

You both looked at each other when the laughter began to die with the summer wind, practice was over, the cheerleaders were leaving and the players were dissipating, going to look for their girlfriends or in groups to go to the bar near college. It was Friday and the vacations were approaching, you could see it in the smile of each student, in their quick walks, in the circles under your exhausted boyfriend's eyes.

"Hi, beautiful."

"Hi, handsome."

God was the only one who knew how you came to be with the Maroon Warriors' quarterback, with his sweaty hair stuck to his temple, his lips swollen from biting them, and the two small black spots on his cheek, singed against his laugh lines. Defined arms and thighs wide and hard like a horse's back.

"You like what you see?"

“If I could kneel in front of you right now, I would.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows at you, where did his silent little girl and infinitely aware of every word that came from her beloved lips go? But he couldn't lie that your words made him hard under his white pants.

His hand rose to the back of your head and brought your mouth to his. There was something so inherently bestial and delicious about the smell of sweat emanating from Jimin's uniform that he made you exhale sharply and stick your tongue into the equation.

“Mm.” Jimin frowned, opening his eyes a little to confirm that he was still kissing his girlfriend. “Are you hungry, doll?”

“I haven't seen you in two weeks, Minnie. What you' think?”

“I left you with your friends so you wouldn't get bored.”

“That sleepover was so long ago, I'm bored with them.” You moaned softly, your neck burning, someone was watching you.

“Do you want to have a sleepover with your boyfriend?” Jimin scoffed and you nodded, ignoring the joke.

Your hand removed the headphones from his ears and you chained your arms around his neck, your body throbbing with a brute force that wanted to move fast and careless, that looked for a way to drag your boyfriend to the bathrooms and strip him naked, fog the walls of the bath with your promiscuity, yours of something more viscous and thick.

“Park!” a voice shouted for the third time and Jimin broke your grotesque beatitude again.

“Fuck, I'm sick of this old man.” Jimin mumbled looking at his coach. “Sir, practice is over. Let me enjoy my girlfriend for a second.” He yelled but old Grant didn't care how much you both wanted each other.

Jimin looked into your eyes with frustration and then looked at his pants, the silhouette marked thickly along the zipper to his thigh. You smiled and gave another small kiss to his neck.

“Up up, champion.” You cheered, fluttering his hair. Jimin took your coat and covered his erection, the look on his teammates' faces when they saw him stand up was indescribable, laughter while Jimin cursed them all while he went down the steps in a funny way. "Call me." You screamed. Please, you murmured.

You took your cassette player and your headphones to put it in your backpack, you watched your boyfriend listening attentively to Mr. Grant until a furry, red mass took your attention. You still didn't know what was the team mascot supposed to be with a metal sword and eyes big and open like two billiard balls, like a hunter.

One of the players patted the big red monster's back and the man inside him took off his heavy head, his dark sweaty hair, a silver hoop hanging from his right ear. Your heart was pounding, you told yourself that you were here to watch your boyfriend practice, to support him. Of course you looked at the other players from time to time trying to find Jungkook.

Things would be easier if you just asked your friends and they pointed with their manicured finger at the headless man in your fantasies. But you didn't want them to think you liked him, specially Bobby Joe who would tell Jimin in a heartbeat, the bitch. It was just curiosity, of course. You could find out yourself.

Besides, where's the fun in that?

Two weeks had passed since the sleepover and you could feel his gaze on the flesh of your thighs, the saliva of a predator with each man that passed by you, the fangs of a hyena cruelly tempting with its tips against your skull.

Two weeks searching through familiar faces and unfamiliar ones, like playing Guess Who.

Guess who listens to Led Zeppelin to sleep.

Guess who would dare to respond with such confidence to a stranger.

Guess who would smile while he promises to rape you if he finds you?

Guess who left you with his laugh tattooed on your stomach.

And your hands sweated as you felt his gaze again. There, yes. It was him again. The mascot. Between the dark strands of his hair, under his thick eyebrows and in the middle of his sly smile. It was only a second but that's enough for you. A quick, indiscreet look.

You tried to maintain your composure, to keep your balance as he walked away inside the costume lighting a cigarette with his gloved hands. You walked down the steps as normally as you could without them realizing that your heart was being strangled, you were so close.

You walked across the grass to the back of the stadium, you looked around but it was gone, like a hallucination, like the air in the garage of your dreams.

You bit your nails thinking, you only had to wait for the stadium to be alone. Enter the locker room, find that costume and... then what?. It sickened you to think that you were so desperate. You hadn't traveled from your small town to New York for this, you hadn't earned a reputation or your scholarship to chase a loser through college.

Your cheeks were burning, you could feel your mother's gaze upon seeing you in such a state. But this time you agreed with her judgment. You stood up with your head down, you don't know how long you had spent looking at the grass, but the sunset was already bathing the empty stadium in a dusty pink.

“Nice shorts.” The deep voice said from afar.

“Fuck off.” You said without thinking before turning around.

And there it was, with the cigarette dangling from his lips, a Slayer t-shirt pressed against his arms, so short that it showed the soft line of hair from his navel to hidden in his jeans. His elbows rested on his knees as he waited for you to insult him again.

You didn't even dare to do that. Could it be him?

You clear your throat and fix your hair. “Do you know where the archery club is?”

His eyebrows unravel in surprise.

“Do you like archers?”

“Why don't you assume I'm in the club?” You interrupted, stepping closer.

His smile spread across his face again, a puff before he stood, tall and careless in front of you. He looked down and you could feel the fangs salivating, just the tip entering the parietal part of your head.

“Because I’ve never seen you there.”

And Dazed and Confused started playing, the drums pounding fast in your chest. Your lips dried as you watched him walk away.

“Are you Jungkook Jeon?”

The stranger stopped in his footsteps, his head snapped up before turning to look at you. And there was the smile you have imagined so many times.

"Then it's you." He hummed, tilting his head. “Oh, the quarterback's sweet little thing, of course.” His eyes scanned your trembling body.

And now what? Everything was so quiet, there was no one around, if you screamed no one would hear you. If you moaned, no one would hear you. If you were dying, no one would heard you.

“This heat must be killing you, lil' thing. Let’s go to the Brew House, I’ll introduce you to the president of the club there.”

"Don't call me little thing." Your brain wasn't working, is this an option? He brushed off your anger with the rolling of his eyes.

"You said you wanted to go to the archery club, isn't it to sign up?" Mockingly he took some keys out of his jeans.

"Yes, of course." You stuttered walking behind him, his broad back and walk intimidating you.

“You can put your bike in the back of the truck” His brown eyes looked at you sideways. “In case you suddenly want to escape or something.” He laughed.

#❗slasher! jk thoughts #bts imagines #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #jimin bts

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

Text

Rock Bottom Ch 2 - The Prey

3.2k Words (20k overall): Corey observes Michael from a distance, then strikes out on his own to make a kill, only for Michael to take all the action in more than one way, while Corey watches. Reader gets railed.

Michael Myers x Reader; Corey thirsting for Michael

She manages to free her legs to either side of Michael. They're spread wide. Her feet are even farther from reaching the floor now. Michael closes the small gap between them with a thrust, and she groans. Corey can't see the knife, but he waits for the life to leave her eyes. It doesn't yet. It doesn't seem to at all. Michael is playing with his prey again, Corey thinks.

Rock Bottom Index / Other Chapters

EXPLICIT 18+ MINORS DNI variety of depravity including possible r*pe

Corey pulls up the hood of his sweatshirt and tries not to make a splash as he crosses a creek bed. It’s dusk, and he’s in a neighborhood not far from where he first encountered Michael earlier this week. Corey had emerged from the sewer changed and wanting more. He found a small amount of relief in the shower afterwards, and with Allyson later that night, but a different need remains unmet. A deeper void needs filling.

Michael’s lair is close to Prevo Auto Yard where Corey works. He doesn’t know it, but Ronald used to give leftover takeout to the vagabond Corey killed. That’s how close Michael’s lair is. After work, Corey watched from the overpass as Michael left the drain, then Corey followed him on foot. He’s been tracking Michael for an hour now. The darker it gets, the more trouble Corey has keeping up, and it’s not because Michael is fast.

Michael is like a cat. He slinks, he stalks, he watches, he seems to teleport small distances, making no noise at all. He’s solitary. He feeds. He plays with his prey. He naps, for years at a time. He seems to be drawn to people who don’t show interest in him at all, people who don’t see him coming.

Michael hasn't attacked anyone tonight, but he may be casing houses for new victims. Corey isn’t sure yet how Michael chooses his prey. He feels like he knows Michael intimately, but that’s only in a cosmic, metaphysical way. Most of Corey’s practical knowledge about Michael is based on news reports and rumors, just like everyone else. Based on that, most of the victims don’t seem to deserve it. There must be something to learn from watching Michael in his element.

Corey looks around 360° and sees Michael nowhere. He spends another few minutes trying to locate him then resigns himself to calling it a night. If Michael has noticed Corey on his tail, he may be getting ready to kill him, but the prospect of Michael popping out from behind a bush and attacking him excites Corey more than it scares him. Nothing scares Corey now.

A crash comes from the one-story house closest to Corey, and a light turns on inside. Corey ducks behind a tree to watch. He expects to see Michael bringing his knife down on an unsuspecting stranger. What he sees is a man and woman arguing. It's a huge window. Michael is nowhere in sight. The man wears a t-shirt that was once white, ripped jeans, and an unfastened belt. The woman is in a button shirt and underwear. She throws something at the man. Another crash. When the man turns around, he’s holding a pistol.

The man corners the woman in the kitchen and puts the barrel of the gun against her throat where it meets her jaw. She grabs a bottle from the stove, smashes it on his head, and expertly disarms him. She's pointing the pistol at him now. Corey recognizes her - It’s her. She picks up a pair of jeans from the floor and pulls them on with one hand. She leaves, slamming the door behind her. A thick, dark liquid trickles down one side of the man's head and he winces.

She's a Haddonfield Sheriff’s Deputy, or at least she used to be. Squad cars could be on their way right now. Corey disappears into the night.

2019

The first time Corey met her, it was Summer 2019. Corey was working at Prevo saving up for college. It wasn’t unusual for a law enforcement officer to stop by Prevo. Criminals use scrap yards for unsavory purposes, like ditching a getaway car, or worse, disappearing someone’s ride after disappearing them . She came into Prevo that day tracking a warrant.

While Ronald fetched something in the office, she wandered into the garage where Corey was working. She leaned against the truck he was fixing. He was getting ready to weld, so he warned her, “Uh, you should probably go back in the office. It’s not safe.” He gave her a shy, apologetic smile, and put his welder helmet down.

She moved closer instead of moving away. Uncomfortably close. Corey relented and pulled the welder’s helmet back up over his curls and waited.

“I like your jumpsuit,” she said as she sized him up. Corey was built solid. His unassuming posture made it easy to miss sometimes, but not to her.

“Heh, it’s just, uh, the uniform. We all have it,” Corey nervously chuckled. He took his glasses from his jumpsuit pocket and put them on, pressing them up into place with a brief little smile, then blinking. He looked down at her nametag. She must have thought he was looking at her chest. She seemed excited.

“Mmm,” she reacted. “Same here. Our uniforms aren’t as practical though,” and unbuttoned her top two buttons. She was wearing a thin undershirt, so the gesture wasn't completely obscene. “Not a lot of room to stretch.” She clasped her arms behind her butt and jutted her chest out, tossing her head to the ceiling. She met Corey's eyes again. “You look like you could do just about anything in yours.”

“Heh,” Corey blushed, looked around, and adjusted his glasses. She glanced at his crotch and he reflexively covered himself with the dirty rag in his hand. She didn’t see his growing bulge, but she knew. She winked.

Ronald returned from the office and cleared his throat judgmentally, "Deputy." Corey didn't have any business getting mixed up with a woman like that. Joan would have Ronald’s head.

She rolled her eyes, then smiled at Corey one last time. " Corey . Bye, Corey." She turned to Ronald, noticed the security tape in his hand, and squealed. "You're the best, Ron!"

"Heh, bye," Corey mumbled to no one, smiling. She was smoking hot and had a nice ass. He wiped his hands with the oil rag. Corey sensed she would forget about him by the end of the day, whereas he would think about this for weeks.

A few months later, around the time of Jeremy Allen's accident, she was stationed at the courthouse in pre-trial security screening. When Corey was arrested, he spent a week in jail. Two deputies, Hawkins and Mulaney, escorted him to the courthouse in the back of a squad car for his arraignment. Hawkins seemed to feel for Corey and treated him nice. "Shackles, Mulaney? He's just a kid."

Mulaney was a prick. "Protocol. Take it up with the Sheriff, old man."

They entered the courthouse through the inmate tunnel and approached the high-security screening station. Hawkins put his hand on Corey's back. "It's okay, son," nudging him toward the metal detector and body scanner. It was heavy duty enough to scan body cavities, but they still did pat downs.

She and a male deputy were both standing behind the body scanner wearing latex gloves. They always make sure there's a woman available in case a female inmate needs a pat down. Corey recognized her and blushed. "Aggravated Manslaughter," Mulaney proudly informed her. She raised her eyebrows and motioned come hither to Corey with both hands. "I know you," she said softly. "Arms out, hands facing down."

She started with his fingers, dragging her hands along the tops of his arms, in toward his neck. She gave his biceps a little squeeze and whispered, "Oh, hello." Corey gulped. Then the underside of his arms, starting with his broad palms. It was uncomfortably intimate, but Corey savored what might have been the last time he'd feel a woman's touch for years. She rounded the corners of his armpits and ran her hands down his sides. Corey shuddered. She stepped closer and said "I like this one even better," giving his prison garb jumpsuit a tug. She did remember.

She popped a squat as she ran her hands down Corey's hefty thighs all the way to his ankles. She hooked her hands around his ankles and did the backs of his calves and hamstrings on the way back up. Corey was getting hard, but she was blocking anyone else's view with her head, then body, as she stood up.

Her hands approached the apex of Corey's back legs. Her male counterpart smirked and looked the other way, clasping his gloved hands behind his back like a soldier and adjusting his posture. She gave Corey's ass a quick squeeze with both hands. The chub in his groin thickened. She looked down and kicked his foot lightly, "Spread 'em."

"Alright, we're on a schedule," Hawkins said, shaking his head.

"Tell you what lady," Mulaney piped in. "I've been bad . You've got my number. Heh heh."

"Dream on, Doug." She squatted down again and finished up by frisking Corey's inner and outer legs, bottom to top. When she got to his crotch, she seemed to like what she saw. She stood up, leaned a thigh into his hardness, and brought her lips to his ear. "Good luck." She rotated his shoulders and Corey shuffled his feet to face the courtroom. She sent him out with a pat on the butt.

Her male counterpart glanced down at Corey's jumpsuit. He said, "hey man, no sharp objects," and laughed with Mulaney as they high-fived. Corey was beet red. A boner joke, how original.

Behind Mulaney and Hawkins, another pair of deputies escorted an inmate through security. The inmate eagerly approached her and extended his arms. The deputy laughed, "Shopliftng? Ha, fat chance." She stood with her arms crossed and nodded toward the male deputy. Shoplifters didn't interest her.

Present Day

It's been two days since Corey met Michael. He wakes up with clarity: The man who was roughing her up would be the perfect victim if he's not already dead. Corey thinks about it while he works on a station wagon. Knives are kind of Michael's thing. He considers taking a wrench from the shop. Corey doesn't stop by the sewer after work. He wants to do this on his own and prove himself. He puts the wrench in his backpack with his scarecrow mask and rides his motorcycle back to the neighborhood. He turns off his headlight and idles. There’s an old red truck in the driveway. No patrol car.

Corey parks his bike on the next street and creeps through the woods. It’s dusk. He sets his backpack down against a tree and watches through the window. The scene is illuminated by a brass floor lamp that stands between the den and modest kitchen. There's a hall behind the lamp. The man is wearing an A-line tank, sitting in a recliner that has seen better days. He's eating a TV dinner. The glow of the television illuminates the stains on his shirt. No one’s going to miss this guy.

Corey leans down, without taking his eyes off the window. He removes the scarecrow mask from his bag. He stands up. “Pull a gun on a woman?” Corey thinks under his breath. “Do it again. Fuckin' coward.” It sounds tough in his Northern accent. There’s something about guns Corey doesn’t respect. He and Michael have that in common.

Corey uses one hand to place the mask on his face and the other to position the elastic in his curly hair. Next, he removes a hefty, two-foot wrench from his bag and stands up straight, enjoying the weight of it in his hand. He lets it drop to his side and the wrench extends itself with a satisfying clink.

Corey strides slightly uphill toward the house. He doesn't make much of an effort to hide, but there's no light in the yard, and the idiot is absorbed in the tv. The man is laughing with a shitfaced grin, chewing with his mouth open, until he seems to see something in the yard. The douchebag puts down his fork and slowly finishes chewing, squinting out the window. Corey ducks out of his line of vision, still making his way up the hill with his eye on the kitchen door.

The douchebag begins to stand. Crumbs fall off his shirt. Behind him, a shape emerges in the hall. The imposing silhouette could only be Michael Myers. The man doesn't see Michael. He's still squinting into the yard, and standing not quite upright. Michael steps forward. His mechanic suit is like Corey's, but the collar is upturned and his arm muscles are visible through the fabric. Corey's jaw drops and his briefs tighten. Michael stands with his arms to his sides, not holding a weapon. His fingers twitch.

Corey is torn between walking faster to claim his kill and just watching Michael work. Michael doesn’t give him much of a choice. He grabs the brass floor lamp with both hands and disassembles it in one swift motion. The lampshade rips against the wall with a crash and its light flickers out. The man sees Michael's reflection and looks around like a helpless animal. His eyes bulge.

The lamp rod is in two hollow parts with a wire in between, like long, brass nunchucks. Michael wraps the middle cord around the guy's neck, brings the rods together and twists them like a tourniquet with one massive hand, holding the man up by his belt with the other as he flails. Corey drops the wrench into the grass and rushes closer to the window.

The man is grasping at the cord with both hands and tries to make eye contact with Corey, as if the grown man in a scarecrow mask will save him. The TV continues to illuminate his dirty shirt in pale colors. Michael releases the man's belt and wraps his arm like an anaconda around the man's torso to stop his flailing. The man's movements slow down. He's not dead, but he's weakened. Michael loosens his grip and discards the lamp. Playing with his prey. The man gags and coughs, trying to catch his breath.

Michael stands still again, feet spread. He wiggles his fingers almost imperceptibly, then stops. His physique is one to behold. His lower jumpsuit is tight on his thigh muscles and crotch. Does the thrill of the kill turn him on, or is Michael just packing ? Corey feels movement in his own jumpsuit and adjusts the crotch.

Michael seems to see Corey out the window. Corey wonders if Michael would let him kill the guy, and bangs the window. He side-skips toward the kitchen door to let himself in, curls bouncing. Michael crosses the kitchen in two long strides, his boots heavy on the linoleum. He locks the kitchen door without looking at Corey, opens a drawer by the sink, and removes a knife. He returns to the living room in no hurry at all.

"Hey!" Corey protests. He jumps back over to the window and bangs on it. Michael ignores him and stands there with the knife. The man has grabbed a shotgun from the wall. Michael push-kicks it away, unphased. His work boots break the man's fingers and send the shotgun crashing into the TV. Sparks shoot from the TV as it dies. The man holds his limp fingers in his good hand and sobs as smoke comes from the TV. He's drooling.

With an effortless swing of the knife, Michael finishes him off from arm's length. The douchebag raises both hands to his throat and gurgles. Blood trickles over his mangled fingers. He drops to his knees. As life leaves his eyes, he looks at Corey, then falls forward onto his face, out of view.

Corey's disappointment at being locked out of the house quickly turns to elation and arousal. Watching Michael kill was more satisfying than he could have imagined. He had a front row seat to an apex predator in its natural habitat. That was worth more than killing the guy himself. Michael killed him so much better than Corey could dream to. It was art. Michael is so much bigger, more powerful, more equipped . Corey is turned on by his own inferiority, but also wants to learn.

Michael stands there breathing and waits. Corey bangs again on the window. Now that it's over, he wants in. Even if Michael chokes him. Especially if Michael chokes him. Below the window, Corey palms himself through his jumpsuit. A wet spot appears. His brow furrows and he breathes heavily, and looks back up at Michael. Corey's breath fogs the window. Corey is painfully engorged, the wet spot growing at the front of his jumpsuit. He must relieve himself. He fumbles frantically with his zipper and reaches inside. He begins to stroke himself. Michael's mask tilts, watching him.

A shadow moves behind Michael. Michael side-steps out of the way and turns his head toward the hall, waiting. His fingers twitch. There's someone else in the house.

The female deputy emerges from the shadows. Her eyes fall on Corey's mask and she screams. Michael whips around and grabs her by the throat, slamming her against the wall. Her scream turns into a whimpering cough. Michael effortlessly lifts her off the ground, dragging her up the wall. She kicks and thrashes, and her arms disappear behind his chest.

Michael reaches between her and himself. A knife clatters to the ground with barely any blood on it. She groans loudly. Her strength doesn’t seem to fade. Michael is so much bigger than her. He seems to take up the whole hall. He jabs his body into her again. And again. She screams, and Michael covers her mouth. A picture frame falls off the wall behind her.

With a single step and pivot, Michael flips her to the other wall, her legs wrapping around him. Michael presses his body into her. Corey removes his mask and takes in the view. Michael's sculpted ass flexes rhythmically. Around his waist, the jumpsuit looks looser than Corey expects.

Michael's jumpsuit is unzipped . He's not killing her. He's fucking her. Michael Myers fucks, and Corey has a front seat view. Corey pumps himself furiously. Michael continues thrusting into her, faster and faster. His upper back muscles flex intricately under his jumpsuit.

She moans and squirms. Michael pins both her arms above her head and quickens his pace. The screams and groans run together into one long cry. Corey breathes heavily, desperately milking his engorged cock. His eyelids are heavy. He blinks hard and forces his them open, not wanting to miss a second.

Michael finally slows down. He thrusts her into the wall three more times, much harder and slower, then holds perfectly still, his monster cock still pinning her to the wall. He steps back and she slides down unceremoniously into a heap on the ground. Corey climaxes with a groan, and Michael's head whips to the window. Michael slowly zips his jumpsuit and stands there breathing.

Michael looks down at her and tilts his head. She's wearing a button-up shirt, which is open. Threads stick out where buttons are missing. The bottom of her skirt is up at her belly button. Her underwear is in tatters. Her chest is heaving. She doesn't try to escape.

Michael leaves her alive and slams the door on his way out. Corey catches his breath and zips up his suit in a daze. It's unclear if Michael is a rapist or if she is a conspirator, but the scene gives Corey an idea. He'll bring Michael his prey.

If you like it, drop me a comment or kudos (you don't have to log in) on AO3 - the dopamine makes me write more lol. You can also subscribe to get alerted about new chapters.

#halloween ends #michael myers fanfic #michael myers x reader #michael myers smut #corey cunningham smut #corey cunningham x michael myers #corey cunningham x reader #slasher fucker #micheal myers #ao3 works #ao3 fanfic #rock bottom fic #rock bottom ch 2 #toxicanonymity oc #toxicanonymity ☠️#love2cuck #tw rape #tw noncon #rock bottom fic ☠️

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