#f1nalboys works

[f1nalboys]

Could you do a Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x Reader oneshot that's just super kinky I'm just fienin for some billy and stu smut 🙏

MY RETURN TO POLY GHOSTFACEEEEEEEE!!!! anon thank u very much for this request (and dont worry, i got the other one!!!) and i super duper hope u like it!!! it did make me realize i havent written a praise focused fic in FOREVER so sorry if im a little rusty D:

Poly!Ghostface x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1132

WARNINGS: nsfw, hair pulling, praise, creampie, begging, reader isn't gendered but does get called pretty and beautiful, billy likes to watch <3, established relationship, kinda proofread

Billy and Stu knew how to make you tick in every way. Stu was great at aggravating you just enough to get you to pay attention to him, easily earning your affection back in just a few words. Billy could break you down, build you up, and do it over and over again until it made your head swim. Being with them meant you were on edge, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But then there were times, like now, where you didn’t have to worry about anything other than cumming.

“There you go, baby,” Stu’s voice is muffled despite him being right behind you, his lips at your ear, his breath hot against your sweaty skin. He’s moving so slowly, cock pushing deep inside you and dragging out at an agonizing pace. You want to yell at him, tell him to move faster, go harder, something, but the only thing that comes out is a weak whine. He laughs and you feel it vibrate against your back. “Aw, sweet little thing is tryin’ to tell us something, Billy.”

Your eyes open and you do your best to blink away the haze. Billy is in front of you on the bed, his hand slowly stroking his cock as he watches Stu fuck you. Your hands are on Stu’s knees, your own legs bent uncomfortably backwards so you were sitting in his lap. “You gotta use your words, Y/N.” Billy says smoothly, tilting his head, voice smug. “You want him to stop?”

“No!” You say quickly, nails digging into Stu’s skin, your eyes widening enough to earn a laugh from Billy. Your voice is hoarse, raw from your constant babbles of pleasure over the last hour. “More,” you say, wiggling your hips slightly, your head tilting forwards as a sharp gasp rips through you. “Please, need it.” Billy watches with a pleased smirk as you begin to take over for Stu, using your hands on his knees as leverage to push yourself up and down, sinking down onto his cock.

Stu groans at the feeling, his hips flexing slightly. “Fuck, Billy, man… they’re so fuckin’ tight.” His hands rest on your hips, mouth agape as he pants, watching his cock disappear inside you. “So sexy like this, so fucked out, aren’t you, baby?” He asks, his usual laugh cut off by a moan. “Y/N?” You don’t answer. Your eyes are closed, your breaths coming quick, focused solely on the building pleasure in your gut. You barely even register the bed shifting before you feel thick fingers tangle into your hair, tugging your head back up roughly. 

“Hey,” Billy says sharply, fingers still tugging at your hair. Your eyes are open now, head bent back enough to force you to look him in the eyes, and he watches you with a pleased grin. “Stu asked you a question. You better answer unless you want him to stop. And you don’t want that, do you?” He tsks, shaking his head mockingly, his free hand leaving his cock to touch you between your legs. You gasp sharply, tightening around Stu, causing him to dig into your hips to push you down onto his cock even more. Billy’s gaze is unwavering. “Feels like you don’t want that.”

“Way they’re tightening around me, fuck, they better not want me to stop. Not even sure I could pull out.” Stu teases, placing sloppy kisses against your jaw and down your neck to your shoulder. Your head was beginning to throb from where Billy was still gripping your hair but the thought of him letting go, replacing the pain and his fingers with a dull thud, seemed unbearable. “Too tight, you know that, Y/N? Too fuckin’ pretty, too. Fuck, I love you like this, you know that? So sweet.” 

“You’re gettin’ ‘em excited, Stu,” Billy grins, his hand moving in tangent with Stu’s thrusts. “Baby, you better tell Stu you don’t want him to stop or you won’t get to cum.” Billy’s voice is soft and he’s leaning in, pressing his forehead against yours. His cock is aching, untouched, but you know better than to do so without his go ahead. “C’mon, baby, you can do it. Beg Stu not to pull out so you can cum. God, you’re fucking perfect, you know that? I mean, shit, Stu; you ever met someone like ‘em? So perfect?” Stu answers with a grunt and a quick shake of his head, going harder. Billy hisses as his cock twitches. “Fuck, you can touch me after you cum, baby, doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yes-”

“Always trying to get your hand on my dick,” Billy grins, his hand speeding up, the pleasure building in your stomach tripling in less than a second. “So fuckin’ cute, so dirty, aren’t you? Sexy fuckin’ thing, God, c’mon, start begging so we can reward you.” 

Billy almost sounds desperate, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it before, and his grip in your hair loosens as he kisses you. Stu’s pace increases, barely pulling you up off his cock before slamming up into you. He’s grunting with the force but he’s holding back and you can tell; he’s waiting for you to beg. 

“Please, fuck, please don’t stop,” you cry out inbetween messy kisses, your face growing hot as your stomach tightens. “F-fuck, I wanna cum, I swear, please let me cum! I need it, I need to touch you,” you say to Billy and he nips at your bottom lip, pleased, “And I need you to cum in me. Please!” You cry, tears burning at your eyes from holding onto the edge of your orgasm. You watch as Billy’s eyes flick back towards Stu, darkening slightly, before he meets your eyes again and nods. 

You cum hard, vision growing blurry at the edges as you let out a strangled cry. Billy and Stu don’t stop their movements, working together to make your orgasm last as long as it could. “H-holy fuck!” Stu grunts, your tight hole finally sending him over the edge. He cums, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you seated fully on his cock. “So fuckin’ perfect, there you go… take every drop, baby…” he coos softly, head resting on your shoulder as his hips flex, pumping everything he could into you. You let out a shaky breath, a weak hand pushing at Billy’s. He listens for once, grinning at how out of it you seem, and he dips his head towards you to give you a few kisses. “Happy anniversary, baby,” Billy whispers, brushing his nose along your cheek. You grin, worn out but pleased, your hand moving to rub against Billy’s cock. He sucks in a breath, looking down at his lap, before grinning. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

[msookyspooky]

OMG YOU WATCHED LISA FRANKENSTIEN AND LOVED IT?! <33

I've been waiting for that especially since you've posted Gomez and Morticia (The goal of all goals) on your blog! It's an odd request but I still read and love your Set Up series so can we get a crossover with YN as Lisa Swallow's and the boys as The Creature? ( Cole Sprouse lowkey reminds me of young Skeet Ulrich which considering Riverdale it's no wonder)

Wait cause no this is such a good idea I cannot pass it up I got so much work to do but I REALLY wanna write for this! (I got so many request I'm trying to do in my inbox but uh...This is my current hyperfixation srry)

I wish I could draw better to make zombies of them fhjaafg ♡♡♡ If anyone wants to add onto this or request other characters please do (And anyone seeing this; watch Lisa Frankenstein I loved it)

🔪 Scream / Lisa Frankenstein Crossover 🧟‍♂️

Iⁿᶜˡᵘᵈᵉᵈ﹕ ʳᵃⁿᵈʸ ᵐᵉᵉᵏˢ, ˢᵗᵘ ᵐᵃᶜʰᵉʳ, ᵇⁱˡˡʸ ˡᵒᵒᵐⁱˢ, ᵐⁱᶜᵏᵉʸ ᵃˡᵗᵉʳⁱ

(Everyone is buried in this despite canon and set in the present. Fem!Reader TW: Corpse/Dead Body, Talk of Rot and Decay, Zombie BF)

🪦 Randy Meeks: Died 1998

♡ You loved his character in Stab. After you did some deep diving studying who the actual Randy was outside of the movie; you found his tombstone. (who would do this? Me and @f1nalboys Might do what Lisa did and write your name over his etched name *Meeks* on a piece of paper. Bc of course YN Meeks just has a nice ring to it)

♡ Heard you venting about life and fell in love in his restless but lucid slumber 6ft underground. Someone actually likes his character for more than comic relief? Someone understood him? They didn't think he was just the geek?

♡ After a terrible lightning storm...Guess who fumbled and broke through your window drenched in mud and decay?

♡ Is a little hurt you aren't head over heels for him in his current state. He accidentally cried even if his pride hates that he quite literally cried his own eyes out. He's used to not getting who he wants and...Well, he may not smell himself with his nostrils rotted out but considering his eye popped out; still attached to the retina and had to be pushed back in while you're covering your nose gagging; he understands even if it hurts.

♡ Takes a shower (I'd use Dawn. Bar soap or Dove ain't gonna cut it.) and wears your clothes or robe. He still smells like a dead body and has worms but he's trying. He's got a LOT of old stab wounds from dying in that van at Windsor...Holes...Things seep out so you might wanna get tape or something idk.

♡ Do not stress this undead man out if you mischaracterize a film; he cannot talk with a missing tongue to argue; it decayed decades ago.

♡ His dead, dull eyes actually have some spark of life to them when he sees streaming for the first time. So many movies he's missed out on! Give him the remote and you never gotta worry about him leaving your room while you're gone.

♡ He accidentally kills someone you definitely did not want killed after they smelled something awful in your room, went up there, screamed, Randy went to knock them out in a panic and accidentally kills them

♡ He feels awful about it and you both decide to hide the body and use their hand to replace his missing one (Fell off lol just dead things) and shock him back to circulation somehow

♡ If you do what Lisa did and let him do...Other things with a 'back massager'. He's so madly in love and yearning for you it's insane. But if you got a crush you're yearning for; he is rolling his eyes with a grunt at this being Sid and Billy or Sid and Derek allllll over again.

♡ Less corpsey he gets with each shock session; more he can't help his feelings for you. YOU have to be the one to admit your feelings to him though because what would you want with an undead geek like him? At least in his mind.

♡ Would cry his eyes out (Not literally this time) if you were killed and 100% would resurrect your body and take care of you like you did him

♡ Is as loyal as they come. Will worship you accepting him at his geekiest, dead, grossest versions of himself and you're still here

🪦 Stu Macher: Died 1996

♡ You found his tombstone as a dare to 'bring him back' like bloody mary....No duh, it didn't work. But Stu was still aware of it in a dream like state sorta way. You didn't believe in that stuff rolling your eyes at people badgering you on where you lived.

♡ A car hits a power line and the line of electricity zaps his grave and he goes home just to see...Holy shit, you own his house!

♡ He thinks he's still the playboy man slut he was in life that can get anyone he wants so he's really offended you aren't wanting him to kiss you. Why!? Cause he has worms and his lips are a little dry from sinking into rot, he's a little bit dirty with body fluid stained clothes and he smells like a dead body? Picky!

♡ Is even more offended you're gagging and covering your nose demanding he bathe. Begrudgingly takes your dumb shower and your entire tub smells like dead bird and covered in dirt.

♡ When he comes out you see his face is very scarred under all that mud he had on him. Maybe the rumor he died via a tv crashing on his head and shocking him was true?

♡ If you piss him off...Well he can't kill you cause he needs you. But he WILL hack up a worm like a hairball just to gross you out out of pure pettiness.

♡ Just steals your clothes without asking. Lounging in your best clothes that can fit while he's leaking fluids. If not, he's stealing some guys clothes in your home. Catch him lounging in your Dad/Step Dad/Brothers/Friends best fit.

♡ Tries to steal your bed till you yell at him to get in the closet before someone sees. He guards your clothes and forces you to wear the sluttiest sexiest clothes you have...What? He's helping!

♡ He is soooooooo elated they made Stab! A whole movie with him portrayed in it by a good looking actor? He is over the moon watching it on repeat.

♡ Gets lonely easily...And bored! He's sighing to himself when you're gone and thinking how Billy is dead now and all the people he once knew, knew him as a murderer and were in their 40's. In fact, don't leave him alone long; its disastrous.

♡ Not able to yap HURTS HIM. Expect a lot of hand gestures and getting him a note pad to write on because he can't handle this

♡ Kills someone after you have an issue with them not even second guessing it. What? Problem solved! AND he gets a new body part to replace the one that rotted. Win win.

♡ He is very aware and depressed his manhood rotted off decades ago and that's probably the first body part he's going for. Especially a crush/boyfriend of yours. He can handle no ear or hand or even a tongue but his dick!? No.

♡ Sits in bed painting your nails while you rant about boys. He nods at everything when it comes to guys having their mind on one thing because well...Yeah. Especially in his case

♡ HE is the one smirking if he finds any massager and even if you want a back rub that thing is going lower. Just cause he doesn't have a peen rn doesn't mean his mind isn't in the gutter still

♡ He thinks your a girlfriend of his right away so casually without even asking you so; of course any guy coming near you is dead. Of course he's resurrecting you if you die because...Well he's starting to realize you're the only girl that doesn't scream when you see him so he's gonna hang up his player towel.

♡ Even fully restored he still has scars on his face and feels indebted to you that you don't care about his murderous ways or his face now. He takes care of you if you're dead and the roles reverse...Hell, he finds it hot you need him now.

Billy Loomis: Died 1996

♡ You were a bit odd yourself and found yourself studying the murders. Feeling conflicted about Billy because yeah he was an awful incel but researching his background you felt a bit bad he felt so alone and abandoned even with people around him. You clean off vandalism on his grave and talk to him for hours.

♡ A storm occurs after you have an awful day and cry to his grave 'I wish I was with you'...You meant dead. But well...

♡ That night lightning hits the grave and you wake up in bed to the god awful smell and his dead dirty face looking down at you. You go to scream and he covers your mouth with a cold clammy hand. Going to talk to you and a centipede falls out his mouth making you scream even louder.

♡ You almost knock his head off before he points to a picture on your desk you took of his grave surrounded by newspaper articles of his death.

♡ He thinks he finally has a person that's not a 'whore, bitch, or poser' in his eyes. A bit in love with you and is bitter you don't exactly want an ex serial killer from the 90's like that...

♡ He almost wants to kill you thinking of the betrayal till he sees his reflection and is completely defeated. Sunken dead eyes, matted dirty hair missing in places, longer haggered dirty nails, skin looking ready to fall off.

♡ He sits in your bathroom and you try to comfort him till you smell what smells like...Sewage and death and embalming fluid and your trying not to throw up.

♡ He takes a shower without being told to. Disgusted by his own rot and grime. His gun shot wound in the middle of his forehead a reminder of his failure almost 3 decades ago...Might have scrambled his brain a bit.

♡ He's a manipulator and user but he's not as...Tactless and spoiled as Stu. He feels grateful you offered him to stay despite the smell and the misunderstanding even if he's not happy sleeping on the floor or closet.

♡ He feels even more defeated when you tell him his Mom died in 1998 at Windsor College trying to avenge his death. He's beside himself over it and honestly just wants to crawl back in his icky coffin and die again.

♡ He wanders your home despite being told not to. Goes through all of your things. The lack of speaking doesn't bother him. Especially when it means he can hear you spill your guts more. He wants to observe everything.

♡ Like Randy he's pleased by the movies on streaming but not as obsessed as he was. Whether that bullet was like a lobotomy or just laying in the ground so long to 'think' in the afterlife; he's not the same guy he was in 96...Not completely. Is annoyed at his portrayal in Stab. His hair never looked like that! (Yes it did)

♡ He does kill someone when they bully or mistreat you. He feels possessive of you already and he just doesn't like assholes. He's the one that decides to steal a body part while you're staring in horror.

♡ He gets shocked and you see him a little less dead and a working body part now. So it becomes a thing for you both but you tell him 'Only those that deserve it' and he shrugs. He ain't following that but okay.

♡ Is pinning over you but hides it well. Enjoying just listening to you or watching you. HATES with a passion when you talk about guys but hides it with grunts and subtle glares.

♡ Is your ride or die when he hears police are investigating you for murder after he was the one killing them. I mean...What will they do? Re-kill him? He will do anything he can especially the more 'alive' he becomes to protect you.

♡ Once he's...Fully equipped he actually refuses to sleep with you. Still thinking 'virgins live, sluts die' like he use to. You have to tell him 'You know Sidney is still alive, right? That rule is dumb and not true.' he may get over it and sleep with you or it might still take time.

♡ He wants to go after Sid but also what's the point now? He's not exactly in tip top shape...Don't even tell him about Sam being rumored to possibly being his daughter by mega Stab fans. His undead brain will stop working.

♡ If you die he will resurrect you not out of convenience and want like Stu or devotion like Randy but more possessive ownership. You're his. Whether that's love or to control you (Both). Not even death will seperate you from him.

♡ Once he's fully recovered he has a migraine till that bullet eventually is pushed out by that one last shock and his body starts bleeding again.

♡ More than happy to be together away from everyone just you and him.

Mickey Alteri: Died 1998

♡ Everyone knows Mickey as the freak that was so obsessed with Stab and the original killers he imitated them. But what they don't realize is he killed even before Nancy found him. He was just wired different and it made him feel alive...How ironic now.

♡ You accidentally stumbled upon his grave after trying to find a different one. And...Why is it empty? Well, you had nothing to do with his resurrection just wrong place wrong time as a corpse is lumbering towards you from behind a tombstone with bullet wounds all over him.

♡ He wanted to snap your neck just to fell something again till his own leg fell off and he face planted on the ground.

♡ You of course didn't know he was trying to kill you. You still tried to get away before you saw him just sitting there and...Sighing? It wasn't a mindless zombie after you? Even worse; he grabbed your keys when you ran.

♡ Ask for them back and like a damn child he shakes his head with grunts. You swear to God you heard 'nuh uh' in his grunt. (Keep his leg away give me the keys or I'm yeeting your leg)

♡ Takes a shower at your house and like Randy all those holes are leaking...Icky stuff. He had more muscle before he died so his body mass shockingly is thinner but not as much as it should be? You're talking to a corpse it doesn't have to make sense. All you know is he just walked around naked and you saw disgusting things on the human body you never wanna know after death. You gotta make him wear clothes!

♡ You're in this awkward situation where...The dead guy has feelings and thoughts and is urging he wants to go home with you. Whether you say yes or no he knows your car and will find you.

♡ Sew his leg back on or give him a funny replacement like a peg leg and tell him deal with it. What are you? A surgeon?

♡ Little did you know the second you came for your keys and talked to him he claimed you as his just for being different than most victims. More eager than Stu, falling even faster than Randy, more obsessive than Billy and POSSIBLY crazier than the og Ghostface's...You're having a corpse that is already planning to make you his (Might even kill you so you have to be with him when he resurrects you like he was.)

♡ Other than killing and movies you're the first thing to make him feel something and he is not letting that go.

♡ Wears your clothes, watches your tv, listens to you talk, plans to kill anyone that fucks with you, watches you when you sleep, dresses you up.

♡ The first kill is a guy interested in you. You are his now! He doesn't hesitate to take a few body parts to have you sew on him. Finds the whole process endearing. He's nuts guys idk. You just gotta drill it in his head not to kill a family member, close friend or pet or you won't forgive him because he cannot have that. He wants your affection and attention so he'll be good when it comes to that.

♡ With each shock he gets more lively and bolder. Dancing with you and ignoring the worm that you don't know where it fell out of. Trying to cuddle you even if you gotta start smearing vicks under your nose. Won't hesitate to kiss all over you once he's not as rotten and tries to think of your pleasure before his.

♡ He never hides his obsession and will let you know with a hand on your throat not to talk about guys around him before lovingly caressing your cheek afterwards as an apology.

♡ If you die, not by him, he is furious and will kill anyone in his path before resurrecting you. He'll take care of you in the most yanadere way. You're his forever now.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Dear powerful Bex if you had to put your mutuals in the Scream movies who do you think would survive?

HOOO BOY! OKAY! LETS FUCKING GO!!! This is a fantastic ask man, I love this.

So! I think our hot as fuck, big name get that is the shocking first out is @looooooooomis, can't you see her opening a scream movie? Getting that first call, the banter and back and forth, the little chase and that huge, brutal first kill? She would body that shit so hard. I need it. Love you lots Lex.

Next, I think we would see in rather quick secession @gophergal and @lightofthemoonglow get got, one of those fun scenes where the pair are hanging out and are both inexplicably killed, a valiant effort is put forth, but sadly it ain't enough. They get in some good hits tho.

Next still @ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds and @tinymonsterlover fall one after another around the mid-point, something real gruesome and unexpected. The kind of kills that makes the theatre audibly be like "oh my God-"

We get near the final act and lose @loserwitchbitch, RIP K, you will be sorrily missed, a fan fave that people get angry got killed. @visceravalentines gets an unconventional kill! Working at the morgue, dealing with a ton of the fallout from the murders and we get a sick as fuck Ghostface jumpscare from a body bag, how sick would that be? A death truly worthy of such a cool person.

Final act kills is where @darklylucid and @early20sfailingplenty as well as @lordebugington get separated and sliced, moment of silence for the bad fucking bitches we lost. During the reaveal and monologue we lose @mrsaltieri-real who SOMEHOW hasn't run herself through on Ghostface's knife until now, a truly impressive feat. @lucifers-horror-harem also is lost during this time, don't ask me why, it's giving pushed off a roof, a valiant effort that just falls short. @kruegerzkunt gets the last kill after the demasking, so close, but so far.

And who manages to make it out at the very end, I would say @f1nalboys left town and has been lying low since the first kill and managed to squeak through. Leading to the very end where, who is left standing but @lackingspace, @eggsandbeer as well as @therottengirl. Harley would manage to survive because Ghostface didn't double tap, serious stab wound but she makes it. Riri would have gotten away barely to get a hold of the cops, and Kate would just go batshit, rip and tear, no way Ghostie stands a chance by this time of night after all the damage taken. I think whoever Ghostface is at this moment is giving their speech and she just, snaps and tackles em. I am talking a Sam Carpenter stabbing Richie moment.

I love all my moots a ton, this is just in good fun but also man I need a scream movie casted with my moots.

[pondslime]

wip tag game 📚

tagged by @flaggermuser! thank u!! 💛

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

sacramentum

once upon a rusty hacksaw

irreconcilable differences

(wastin' away again in) margaritaville

dancing in the moonlight

holly n jolly

working for the knife

efflorescence

a woman on the verge of a nervous break.......through

soft shock

a handful of bluebonnets

📍 tagging ppl that I sense also have a stack of wip's. my comrades in arms: @possumteeths, @visceravalentines, @ace-of-hearts-and-spades, @f1nalboys, and @slutforstabbings! if any of u wanna

[succubaby]

Slasher Blog Masterlist

Hey y’all! If you’re on my page you’re probably into slashers so I figured I’d do a list of other blogs in this fandom that I visit frequently. Keep in mind that most of these are 18+ so please respect that! Also this is super fucking long but if you’re on this list I love you and your blog. <3

Writing:

@slasherhaven - one of the ogs and the most writing I’ve seen on any slasher blog so far; I check their page daily lmao

@brandnewhuman - super nice and writes awesome stuff, I’m a big fan

@pass-me-the-knife - writing and memes 10/10

@suicidalslasher - mainly writes scream but has some really good poly! Ghost face smut

@lovelyhalloween - I love their writing style so you should def check them out

@slasherlouvre - has some top tier nsfw for you horny little freaks

@etherealbimbo - their poly!ghost face nsfw makes me blush, another 10/10

@smashin-the-slashers -another awesome slasher x reader blog

@joelsgeetar - their blog is so chaotic and I fucking love it 10/10

@horrorstories123 - they make some really sweet stuff that makes my heart go awooooo

@slasherrrz - another really good blog with some angst that I re-read over and over again

@slasher-lovers-blog - this person writes and draws and they’re so talented

@mehidktbh - this one’s for you bo Sinclair lovers (aka me) v v good

@slashersins - mostly nsfw but it’s all so well written, another 10/10

@mistertiberius - tons of top notch Sinclair stuff, I’ve read every single one of their works and would def recommend

@sunkendreams - THE BEST SMUT ON THIS APP PERIOD; seriously go check them out

@ffanciulla - another stupendous slasher writer, their bo Sinclair stuff has me 🥵🤤

@f1nalboys - also does lost boys for you vampire lovers (and slashers too)

@bloodybrahms - another OG with some classic writings

@slasherwife - unfortunately inactive but their account is still up so please go read the old works, I’ve read them all more than once

@early20sfailingplenty - A+ house of wax blog, which is my favorite slasher film if you can’t tell

@angelisoffline - some real good headcanons here, once again I’ve read them all

@fernweh-writes - I love this blog v much and their headcanons make me so soft <3

@sinfulwrites - 10/10 smut, gimme them dirty slasher bois

@lebenspurpur - they write for a TON of people and I’m here for it

@multifandomwritings - this blog has a ton of content for slasher as well as other fandoms if you’re looking for a multi blog

@stay-outta-my-blood-circle - this blog has a bunch of complete stories rather than just headcanons and one shots. I’d recommend “90 days” personally!

@slasherfucker - you can probably tell by the name but this blog is full of the 18+ goods if you know what I mean ;)

@the-slasher-files - awesome writing and they commissioned the coolest art piece (it’s their icon)

@friendly-alien-fucker - this is a yautja (predator) blog but it’s also very good

@frenziedslashers - I literally discovered them cause of this post and I’m about to read the whole damn Masterlist (esp the bo stuff👀)

Art:

@masks-n-steel - so fucking talented; feeds my jason loving soul

@osirisisv - please check them out their art is so good, 10/10

@irregularsweater - I go to this page when I need to smile because they have the funniest shit on there

@roachcult - one of the best artists on here, no cap, I’ve commissioned them and it was so worth it

@the-thot-clown - another very gifted artist who’s art I adore

@cursed-buffet-29 - this one is a monsterfucker blog but if you like slashers imma assume you’re a monsterfucker too, even if you haven’t admitted it yet lmao

@vertropolis - best yautja art I’ve ever seen fr

[dumbfuck-mojave]

Number 47

Prompt 47 from this list, chosen by @goodguydxll. He also came up with the lasagna aspect :)))

Franchise: The Evil Dead

Pairings: Ash Williams x Reader

Also Featured: No one, just two people eating in a trailer.

Warnings: Food, some angsty stuff from Ash but it’s hurt/comfort so it’s cool. Reader definitely feels more midwestern in this one than any of my previous fics. 

A/N: I’m so SO happy with how this turned out I’m crying I love him so much. This was actually supposed to be done sooner, but I got caught up in writing a Stranger Things fic for another blogs follower celebration! I have an old Ash fic planned, but this is still pre-AVED Ash! I hope everyone enjoys, I love writing for him. 

Word Count: 1,432 

@f1nalboys @horrorstolemyheart @skeletonsinthebasement @goodguydxll @early20sfailingplenty and @cerebellam​ (I really love your Ash series and thought this might interest you!)

My other Ash fic! 

Support me here!

“I’m about to knock your socks off with this lasagna, baby.” Ash proclaimed, taking a broad step into the trailer as he skipped the untrustworthy wire steps entirely. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Ashley,” You quip back, stepping in behind him and swinging the door shut, “Or rather, I taste it.” 

“Good one.” He replies, setting the grocery bags he was carrying down on the counter and reaching over to turn on his poor excuse for an oven, a horrendous tick and snap sounding through the open room. 

You and Ash had met about a month and a half ago. He had, (much to your embarrassment), walked into your place of work while you were in the middle of an argument with your shift partner for that day. You had closed thirty minutes prior, but in your rage you had forgotten to turn off the open sign and lock the door. So, Ash had sauntered right in just as you were about to open-hand slap your coworker for taking all your tips, and the rest was history. 

It was an interesting experience watching Ash cook. You were nestled into the crook of the couch, chin in hand, while he methodically moved throughout the preparation process. You would have thought someone of Ash’s personality would be a disaster in the kitchen, but no. Aside from a few spots of garlic and a few lines of sprinkled parmesan cheese, he was getting through the recipe swiftly and neatly. You guess years of living alone helps you learn a few life skills. 

“What is it?”

“What?” You snap out of your daze and refocus your eyes to see Ash smirking at you, a cracked eggshell in his hand.

“Why do you keep staring at me with that look?”

You lean forward a bit, straightening up, “What, am I not allowed to look at you?”

“I don’t know, are you? Did I ever say you could?”

“Oh, Jeez Louise,” You huff in mock annoyance, making your way towards the door, “Fine, I guess if I’m not allowed to look at you I’ll just be off then.”

“Woah woah woah, I didn’t say you had to leave,” Ash chuckled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You cautiously eyed the eggshell still in his hand, “I got some movies earlier, yeah? Why don’t you go pick a few for us to watch while we wait for everything to heat up, I just have a few more things to do here.”

“Alright.” You sigh, giggling slightly when he presses a kiss to your neck. Serious or not, you can’t stay mad at Ashley Williams.

-------------

“This movie sucks!” You exclaim, falling back onto the sofa bed as you point your finger at the box television across from you, grabbing the remote with your other hand, “You know, I was holding out hope it would get better, but I guess it was in vain. Ugh, at least it’s almost over.” 

“Well, some good news for you, food’s done!” Ash said, leaning back to see you clearly. You smile at him, a warmth blooming inside your chest. 

“That’s great news, my stomach has been growling for the past 10 minutes.” You pause, mulling over what you wanted to say next.

“You know….despite the awful movie choice, this is really nice. The best night I’ve had in awhile.”

“Yeah?” Ash walked into the room carrying a tray stacked with drinks and two plates of lasagna, gently putting them down on the side table as he crawls back into bed with you. 

“Yeah,” You reply, leaning into his side when he holds his arm out to wrap around you, “I…really like you Ash.”

It’s too early to say love, especially with him.

Ash smiles down at you, nudging his nose into your forehead.

“Well gorgeous, I really like you too.”

-------------

“So? Am I going to eat my words about how good my cooking skills are or what?” Ash simpered, looking over at you as you all but cried over your plate of lasagna. 

“Ash, I don’t even know what to say. Really, this is fucking delicious.” You praise back at him while taking another bite. He had moved across from you at some point, and both of you had taken to playfully kicking at each other's legs while you chatted. 

“Well, I’ll give my compliments to the chef,” Ash looks around, grinning before turning back to you, “Oh wait, he’s me!”

You couldn’t hold back laughter at that, loud and wheezing as you held a hand up to your chest in a futile effort to control your breathing. Ash’s chocolate eyes softened as you fanned yourself. 

“Jeez Ash, what are you trying to do to me? Ope-” You bark out, feeling your wrist come down on your plate accidentally and almost tip it over. There wasn’t much left on it besides a few scraps, regardless.

“Do you want me to take that? If you’re done?” Ash offered, holding his hand out while simultaneously inching towards the edge of the bed. You obliged him, handing him your plate and watching him walk towards the trash can. There was a newfound tension in his shoulders, one which you noticed as you sipped down the last of your drink.

“Ash, are you okay?” You question softly as he returns, back on your side this time. He sighed, rubbing his non-prosthetic hand over his face before shaking his head a little, as if clearing it. 

“I’m just…trying to figure out my thoughts.” 

“Take your time, I’m here for you, okay?” You hum, rubbing your hand over his shoulder. 

The next few minutes pass by in silence until Ash’s baritone voice raises up once more.

“Bear with me, because I think this is going to be a jumbled mess of thoughts. I know…I know I haven’t told you a lot about me but, ah, things have-things have happened to me. Awful things, things that keep me up at night. Things that don’t let me get close to people. Which sucks because I want to. I want to get close to people, I’m so tired of sleeping around and changing towns. I just want to be able to rest. To rest and know someone is there that has my back, someone I can talk to, go to get groceries with, all that domestic stuff. I want to think I’m getting there, but everytime I make progress I just…move four steps back. I’m Ash Williams, for Pete’s sake! It’s a name… equal to failure.” 

“Ash, you’re not a failure. You’re right, I don’t know what you went through. But you know what? You’re alive, that’s not failure. Living is never failure, no matter how you feel. It doesn’t matter how much progress you think you don’t make, other people can see it. I can see it. I’m with you, until the end. As long as you’ll have me, I’m here. I want to do all those things with you, if you’ll let me. You’re a good person, Ash.”

“Well, we already got the grocery thing down,”Ash attempts to chuckle, but it just comes out as another sigh, “I want to be good for you.”

“You are, don’t you see that? You’re the best thing that could ever have happened to me,” You go silent, looking at the floor in front of you, “Stand up.”

Ash looks at you, confused, “What?”

“Just do it.”

Ash does, and you quickly follow after him. You stand close together, two bodies swaying in the dim light of the trailer. 

Gently, you lean in and press a slow kiss to Ash’s lips, which he reciprocates. Kisses aren’t new. What is new, however, is the lung emptying hug you pull him into, arms wrapping around him so tight he thought you might cut off his circulation. Ash stumbles a bit but regains his balance, scrambling for a moment before reciprocating the hug as well, melting into your embrace. You can feel tears against the bare skin of your neck, which only makes you hug tighter. 

“This is why I wanted you to stand up,” You state, words muffled by his shoulder, “Easier access.”

Ash laughs, and this time it has actual sound to it. 

“You could have just said that instead of being all weird and mysterious.” Ash wriggles against you, and you loosen your grip just enough so he can pull away and look at your face.

He leans in for another kiss.

“I love you.” He mumbles against your lips. 

Okay, maybe it isn’t too early. 

“I love you too.”

[submissivekillers]

about me tag :3

thank you @f1nalboys

last song: custer by slipknot

last show: the last of us (pedro pascal PLEASE call me I'm free every day!!)

last movie: cocaine bear <3 was way better than i expected????

currently reading: manhunt by gretchen felker-martin

currently watching: criminal minds... also need 2 get started on suck session s4 bc i had to work late on premier day weh

current obsession(s): i am crumpling aaron hotchner into a little ball and slam dunking him. also been on a huge succession + the oresteia kick (yes they are intimately intertwined) alSO not an obsession yet but my buddy is trying to get me to play twisted wonderland and i can feel myself getting sucked in

tagging everyone. godspeed

[f1nalboys]

Reunion - Frank (Adam Barrett)

Frank x Fem!AFAB!Reader

hiiiii guys >:)) i promise ill get to requests soon!!!!! i just was mentally being attacked by this freak and Needed to write something super quick for him!!!! lmk if anything is ooc for him, i did my darndest writing for him!!!! i hope u all enjoy and lmk if youre interested in me writing more for him!!!! ALSO!! i know his real name is adam but to make it easier for myself i just called him frank in the fic, lmk if u guys prefer that or using his actual name 😝 <3

WORD COUNT: 3190

WARNINGS: nsfw, vampire!frank, human!reader, oral (afab + amab recieving,) choking (to the point of nearly passing out), biting, slight blood play, slightest bit of scent play??, degradation and praise, handcuffs, restraints, face fucking, multiple orgasms (afab,) creampie, this was meant to be short and then i was attacked...., pain play, mating press, implication of more sex, brief mentions/threats of being fucked until you pass out but you are fully concious the entire time, proofread but u guys know me by now

Frank tilts his head, tongue gliding across razor sharp teeth, a sinister grin gracing his normally soft features. You watch him from your spot on the bed, handcuffs tight around both your wrists and the bedframe. Tugging at the restraints, you wince as the cool metal digs into your warm flesh, squirming when you feel Frank's gaze finally land on you. 

“Keep struggling and you’re gonna make yourself bleed.” Frank grins, the bed shifting with his weight as he sits down beside you. He’s still fully clothed, a far cry from your bare skin still covered in healed-over bite marks and a layer of sweat. He leans in, hand trailing up your stomach lightly, too lightly to feel good, his nose brushing against your wrist. Frank breathes in deeply and you watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck. Y’know what? Keep doing it. I want you to bleed.”

You whine, shaking your head. “Frank, c’mon, please!” 

“C’mon, please,” Frank mimics, fake pouting. You stay silent. When he was like this, all sharp teeth and sharp tongue, it was better to take whatever he was going to give you. A fight wouldn’t stop that. His hand trails up your chest, fingers calloused and rough, before landing on the base of your throat. His grip is loose, for now. “You always been this damn whiney or did this vampire shit give me better hearing?”

You swallow heavily. “I’m sorry.” You squeak and he grins, shaking his head. His hand grips your throat a bit tighter, feeling your pulse pumping heavily under his fingers. You watch his face as his eyes close. His breathing, which you learned he had to pretend to do after getting turned, matches your own. He stays like this a while, feeling your heart beat and the air fill and leave your lungs, feeling the humanity and life pump through your body on instinct. 

Frank didn’t miss many things about being human. He was stronger, faster, more agile, smarter, more ruthless, and so fucking powerful it could make your head spin. The things he didn't have anymore he could, for the most part, recreate it well enough. Breathing was now a conscious decision, one he only did when around other people. The sunlight thing didn’t bother him, only resulted in him moving to a city where the nightlife was more important than the daytime. The bloodlust was easy to satiate with his job. 

The one thing that he couldn't ignore or replicate, however, was a heartbeat. 

His chest felt empty, a dead thing lying there doing nothing but rotting away, maggots and fungi eating away at the carcass that was his humanity. On occasion, he’d find himself laying down, eyes closed, hand over his heart, imagining the thump of it, vibrating his chest, telling him and anyone who touched him that he was something, that he was alive. Your heartbeat was the closest thing to his own he could get to anymore. Frank loved to hear it quicken, skip a beat, change in its normal soothing rhythm, all due to him. Him and his hands, his tongue, his teeth, his words. 

Him.

Frank’s eyes open again, blue eyes dark, and he sighs, letting go of your throat. “Spread your legs.” His voice leaves no room for argument and you listen, your face growing hot from embarrassment at the wolf whistle he lets out. “So fuckin’ sexy, you know that? S’why I keep comin’ back.” He murmurs, leaning over and kissing you roughly. 

It’s too much, but everything Frank did was too much; he sprayed cologne until you felt like you were suffocating, he kissed you until your lips were bruised, he went down on you until you couldn't remember your name, he killed until he was covered in blood, he betrayed anyone and everyone who was dumb enough to trust him. Everyone but you. The only person he had stayed (mostly) gentle with, loyal too, was you.

Sure, he wouldn’t ever call himself your boyfriend, but he’d kill any guy you talked to and leave their decapitated head on your doorstep, fucking you into your mattress till you couldn't walk, and tell you that you were his. For now, that was enough.

Frank kisses down your neck, sharp teeth nicking at the thin flesh, a low moan being pulled from your lips. He loved the noises you made, could get drunk off them, could pull them from you for hours, and he has. “I need you,” you whimper as his mouth latches onto your nipple, his warm tongue flicking over the hardening nub. He hums around it but doesn’t stop. You can feel him relax over top of you, his free hand squeezing at your other tit, the days stress melting away. “Please?” 

“I’m takin’ my time.” Frank says, narrowed eyes flicking up to meet your own, but he lets go of your nipple, sliding down the length of the bed. “Bet you’re fuckin’ soaked though, aren’t you? That’s why you’re begging me.” You can’t deny it even if you wanted to because his hand is cupping your cunt, thick finger prodding at your slick opening to see, and you’re moaning so loud you know your throat is going to be sore tomorrow. “Fuck, you are. Guess it has been a bit, hasn’t it? Missed me or something, sweetheart?”

“Missed your cock.”

“Just my cock?” He asks, rubbing your wetness on your clit, a shiver going down your spine. “Not my fingers? The ones on your sloppy fuckin’ pussy right now, you didn’t miss them?” He asks, a smug fucking grin on his face, his fingers moving expertly against you. “Not my mouth? Bet your pussy misses my mouth. Shit, last time we fucked you didn’t seem very happy when I stopped tongue fucking you, so what changed, huh?”

His voice is sharp, working himself up the more he talks, his eyes focused on yours. He loves the microexpressions you make when you’re trying to hold back; the furrow of your eyebrows, the twitch of your lips, the flare of your nostrils. It's so incredibly human, so incredibly sexy, he wants nothing more than to bite into your neck and drain you, keep you inside him forever. But, he can’t. He’d miss you. Instead, he slips two fingers inside your hole, the stretch making you gasp, eyes widening, heartbeat picking up. “O-okay, okay…missed you.” 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ did.” He says, sliding down the rest of the bed, strong hands on your thighs, tongue swiping across your clit. Your legs try to close, your back arching off the soft mattress, the clang of the handcuffs bringing a smile to his face. Frank moans against your cunt, his fingers massaging your thighs as he enjoys himself. 

You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his hair and tug, bringing him closer, but these damn handcuffs keep digging into your wrists and it hurts and his fingers won’t stop pumping and scissoring inside your cunt and his lips are wrapping around your clit and he’s sucking and suddenly you can’t think of anything as you cum. Your legs shake and your eyes roll into the back of your head and all Frank can do is laugh against you as he draws it out. 

“S-stop, hang on,” you stutter after what felt like hours, your body going limp. Frank listens for once, moving his face off of your cunt but he leaves his fingers inside you, curling them just to pull a whine from your throat. You watch as he runs his tongue over his teeth and lips, tasting you, cracking his neck to stop himself from bending you in half and shoving his cock inside you. It’s been a while, almost two weeks, and he wants to savor this. Or, he wants to try. Self control has never been his strong suit. “Can you take the handcuffs off?” 

“They hurt?”

“A little.”

“Not yet.” Frank crawls over top of you, pressing his lips to yours. He’s gentle now, but you know he’s holding back. Despite how rough he gets with you, he’s always holding back from the primal urge to rip you to shreds. When he pulls away, he moves forwards even more, his knees just under your armpits. You stare up at him and he knows you’re nervous. His smile is gone, his eyes dark as he works on undoing his belt. “I’ll take ‘em off you real soon baby. I just need you to earn it first.” 

You swallow heavily, your heartbeat spiking as you watch him take his belt off. He tosses it to the side, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down to his thighs. His pants rub against your bare chest, scratching you, but you can’t be bothered to care, not with the way your mouth was filling with saliva at the sight of his bulge. Frank laughs as you try to sit back onto your elbows, an annoyed whine stuck in your throat, and he pulls his underwear down, sighing as his cock springs free.

His cock is hard and he strokes it slowly, just out of reach. “Fuckin’ look at you… you ain’t embarrassed acting like this?” He asks, clenching his jaw to keep from moaning at the sight of you. You didn’t know it, or, at least, he hoped you didn’t, but he was addicted to every fucking thing you did. Your voice, your facial expressions, your movements, your back talk, your anger, your sadness; he was obsessed with it all. It was all for him, even when you were alone. 

Smiling slightly, you shake your head no. “Were you embarrassed eating me out?” You counter and he smirks, rolling his eyes slightly before leaning his hips forward, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips. Your mouth opens, your eyes laser focused on his dick. Frank teases you, rubbing his cock across your wet tongue.

“Mmm, fuck, I wasn’t,” he answers, tilting his head as he watches you strain your head forwards in an attempt to take him into your mouth. “But I wasn’t doing that.” You roll your eyes and look up at him, doing your best to look doe-eyed. His eyes narrow; he knew what you were doing, and he knew it would work. “So slutty, aren’t you, sweetheart? All for my cock.” As he talks, his voice low, he uses his hand to press his cock against your cheek, thrusting shallowly. His precum smears across your cheeks and you moan softly, your tongue rolling out of your mouth to slide against his shaft as he does so.

Finally, Frank pushes his cock down your throat. He does so slowly, hissing as he savors the heat of your mouth as your lips wrap around him. Your eyes close and you hum, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue. His cock was perfect for you; long, thick, and curved upwards, it always filled you to the brim, hitting that spot inside you to make your eyes roll into the back of your skull. 

“There you go, Y/N,” he grunts, his hips flexing. The rhythm he sets is slow and deep, making you gag each time and giving you enough time to recover before he repeats it. “Fuck, your mouth is so good, you know that? Just wanna, fuck,” his hand comes to rest on the headboard behind you, leaning over your head, plunging his cock deeper into your mouth. You hear the metal headboard creak and you know the grip he has on it is nearly enough to break it. “Just wanna fucking shove it down your throat till you pass out.” 

You gurgle around his cock, heart jumping at the thought, and he grins. “You want that, slut? Huh? Missed me so fuckin’ bad you want me to fuck your tight little throat? Make you take it even after you’re fuckin’ knocked out, using you like my own little fuck toy, my little puppet to do whatever I want with?” His thrusts get harder, deeper, and now you really are finding it hard to breathe, but you don’t want him to stop. Not yet. You have no way to stop him even if you did, and the realization is almost enough to send you into a panic. But you know Frank. He knew your body better than you did, knew what you could handle and what you couldn’t, knew what would make you cry in pain or pleasure; you were safe with him, even if he was bruising your throat. 

The edge of your vision begins to blur, the lack of oxygen making your head spin, and right when you swear you’re about to pass out, your tugging at the handcuffs finally stopping, he pulls out. You suck in a harsh breath, sputtering and coughing, not registering as Frank gets off the bed and kicks his pants the rest of the way off. It’s only when you feel his hands pressing your knees to your chest that you realize what he’s about to do. “Wait!”

“What?” He grumbles, swiping his cock through your folds, focused on the way you coat the tip. “Don’t tell me you don’t wanna fuck… that’ll be cruel...” You respond by tugging at the handcuffs again, clanging them against the bed frame, and he nods, tsking, a grin on his face. “Ah, right, right. Forgot about that. My bad, baby.” 

He grabs the key from his pants pocket, wetting his bottom lip as he unlocks them, tossing the handcuffs and keys to the side. Your wrists are raw, a few droplets of blood bubbling up along the skin. “You made me bleed.” You say softly, no venom in your voice. He grabs your hand gently, bringing it to his mouth before he licks the cut. It tickles.

“Fuck, your blood…” Frank says, giving you a look you can’t quite place before he’s back at the task at hand. Your knees are pushed to your chest, your hands positioned to hold them back as far as you could, and before you know it his cock is bullying its way into your hole. “So fucking tight.” He grunts as he sets a brutal pace, each noise of pain you make only fueling him onward. 

He doesn’t ever want to hurt you, but it’s hard not to when you sound and feel and taste so fucking good when he does.

“My cock too much?” He leans over your body as he fucks you, using his weight to keep your legs trapped above his shoulders. Frank's face hovers above yours, his eyes locked onto every twist of your face. “Too fuckin’ big, too fuckin’ thick, it hurts, Frank.” He mocks, emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust. Your arms, now free from the restraints, wrap around his shoulders tightly. “Too fuckin; much but you don’t want me to stop, fuck, ain’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, don’t stop, please!” You cry out, the pain of being stretched out finally beginning to melt away into toe curling pleasure. The fire in your stomach is burning white hot, his stomach bumping against your clit with each thrust, his grunts replacing your own thoughts. Every word he said, every name he called you, it all blended together perfectly.

He begins to kiss at your neck, sucking marks onto your flesh only to soothe them with his tongue. “Missed you too, y’know?” He whispers against you. “Missed this fuckin’ pussy, the way you get so god damn tight. Couldn’t, shit, couldn’t even play with my cock ‘cause it didn’t feel as good as when you do it.” He laughs at this, shaking his head at himself for admitting it. He missed the other stuff too, like your smile and your laugh and the way you smelled when you were curled up in his bed asleep. He’d never tell you that, though. 

Franks thrusts grow sloppy, his patience finally snapping. “You better fuckin’ cum on my dick, Y/N.” He grunts, lifting his head for a brief moment to look you in the eyes. When he sees them squeezed shut he growls, one hand wrapping tight around your throat. “Fuckin’ look at me.” Your eyes pop open, your gasp of shock stuck in your throat. “Your greedy little cunts gonna milk me dry, you understand, bitch?” 

“F-fuck,” you gurgle, your hand grabbing onto his as he tightens his grip again. You do your best to nod, feeling spit collect at the corner of your mouth, your heart beating so quick you think it’s going to burst. You can’t breath but he’s fucking you so well you don’t give a shit; you just hope if you pass out he’ll hold off on cumming inside you until you were awake again so you can feel it. 

“There you go, baby, fuck, cum for me.” Frank grunts, feeling your orgasm just before you do. His hand lets go of your throat as you cum, shoving your head to the side to sink his teeth into your flesh. Somehow, someway, he’s able to hold off for a few moments longer, savoring the feeling of your cunt spasming around him before he cums, the sweet taste of your blood pooling into his mouth tipping him over the edge. He doesn’t let go, groaning into your shoulder as he spills inside you.

Your gasps come out shaky as he feeds. He swallows a few times before finally letting go, your blood covering his mouth. He kisses you roughly, his hips flexing, making sure your cunt gets every drop. “Gross,” you tease when he pulls away, your tongue swiping over the blood he had left behind on your tongue. Your face screws up at the metallic taste but Franks changes to be softer. He runs a finger down the side of your cheek, taking the sight of you in. “What?” You murmur, feeling your face grow hot. 

“I did miss you. For real.” He admits, corner of his lip twitching upwards at both the look of shock that crosses your face and the way your heart skips. He never admitted that to you before; it was always about how much he missed your cunt or your mouth or your hands, how he missed fucking you and making you his, and you always accepted that this was the way it would be. Sure, you dreamed about this moment time and time again, but you never actually thought it would happen. “Being away, you know, made me think some things through.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well…” He tilts his head slightly, surveying your face. “I’m thinking maybe it’s time you joined me.” His hips flex again, pushing his cum deeper inside you, and you gasp, back arching off the bed slightly. Frank moves your legs down off his shoulders and you wrap them around his waist. “Hm? How’s that sound, sweetheart?” Frank purrs, kissing you gently, his cock plunging in and out of you slowly. He pulls back, lips hovering just above yours, a smirk on his face. “You want me to turn you?

[f1nalboys]

Gotcha Something - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!GN!Reader

something short and sweet! happy valentines day guys! enjoy this thing ive been cooking up for a bit and failed at the execution <3

WORD COUNT: 1513

WARNINGS: nice gift gone sexual fr, bo is a perv but hes OUR perv, photos of reader in sexual situations, brief descriptions of wounds and past abuse from bo, stockholm syndrome is our readers defualt setting now, reader has the same scars as bo, bo calls reader his 'girl' but no genitals are mentioned. some nsfw photos and a hint of recorded sex but nothing actually graphic. slight somno mention in one photo. mostly proofread but hey im just a guy

“Happy Valentine's Day, darlin.” Bo places the package onto your lap, sinking down onto the couch beside you. You glance at him with a cocked eyebrow and he grins, something sinister hidden underneath the charming exterior. “What? You ain’t expect me to getcha something?” He asks, placing a large hand over his heart, tsking at you. “You’re my girl, remember?”

He purrs into your ear, the springs of the couch creaking with his shifting weight. He taps the package with his fingers and sits back, waiting. You pick the gift up carefully, letting out a hum at the weight of it. “You wrapped it in newspaper?” You ask, a hint of teasing in your voice, and he snorts, shrugging. “Did a pretty good job, honestly.”

He watches you with an amused expression as you carefully untape the package, pulling the leatherbound photo album out with an awe-filled gasp. “I do good?” He asks you smugly as you fawn over the barely-decorated cover, fingers brushing over the black sharpie. ‘You and I through pictures’ was written in his familiar scrawl, all capital. “Fixed up that old camera I had, been taking photos. Figured I should put it to use.”

“I love it already.” You say and you mean it, you do. You can’t quite remember the time before him, before Ambrose and the suffocating walls of the garage and his house. Leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, you look back down at the photobook with a small smile. Flipping it open to the first page you gasp, the smile falling as you stare down at the first photo.

It was a polaroid of you. Taken from behind in the garage, you look at yourself looking at the wall of fan belts, one hand down by your thigh, the other reaching upwards to grab one of them. Whoever had taken this photo, Bo you assume, had been hiding from you, the camera taken at a lower angle, the corner of the counter in the bottom left of the frame. Your eyes drag down to the scrawled message just below the photo. 

“July 17 ‘20. First Time Meeting.” 

“You looked so fuckin’ sexy that day.” Bo whispers, his arm sliding across your shoulder to bring you a little closer to him. You keep looking at the photo. “Knew I had to have you. You remember that?”

You nod your head slightly. “Mostly. It’s hard to remember anything before the garage.” You admit, looking at him. His smile falters, his jaw setting, and you’re quick to continue talking, a flash of panic in your chest. “But I remember meeting you! Your smile, your charm, you know?” You say, forcing a smile, eyes searching his. “I thought you were so cute, I just needed your help to make a move, right?”

“That’s right.” He says, and your shoulders dip as you breathe out in relief. You look back at the photo album, letting your finger trail down your frame in the photo. “Glad you broke when you did,” he purrs into your ear, his hand on your upper arm squeezing tightly for a moment. “That way I got to keep ‘ya. Would’ve been such a waste otherwise.” You hum, agreeing with him. Of course you agreed. Before Bo, you had too many opinions, too many thoughts in your head. He helped you realize your place wasn’t out there in the world, dealing with the headaches of everyday bullshit, it wasn’t here by Bo’s side, helping him get through the day and letting him put up with you. “Keep goin’.” 

He sounds excited, leaning forwards to grab his pack of cigs and lighter from the coffee table, lighting one and taking a puff as he watches you flip to the next page. This photo is dated a day later, but the photo makes you wince. You were strapped to the chair in the garage, your face cut to hell, duct tape over your mouth, your eyes filled with tears and fear. You can barely make out the red and raw skin on your wrists and ankles due to the grain and you let out a shaky breath when Bo’s fingers lovingly run along your wrists, the warped skin warm to his touch. 

You glance up at him and see his eyes transfixed onto your wrists, a pleased smile on his lips. “You used to cry for so long,” He whispers, pressing his thumb against the scar, the cigarette dangling from his lip. “In the beginning. Used to piss me off, kinda like a dog whinin’.” He chuckles, finally letting go of your wrist. “Kinda turned me on, though. Hearin’ you beggin’ me to let you go, to undo your wrists…” 

“Yeah, I know it turned you on,” you say with a slight laugh, tapping the next photo, dated a month and a half later. “See? You even wrote ‘Our First Time’ on it.” This photo does bring a smile to your face. Your face is covered by your hands, dried blood on your wrists, your legs spread wide for him. Your shirt hung off your shoulders and if you think hard enough you can hear the sound of his knife cutting through the fabric. Bo’s jean clad legs could be seen in the bottom of the frame where he was positioned in between your legs. They were unbuttoned and showed off his freckled stomach and the thick line of hair that disappeared under his boxers. 

He had been surprisingly gentle that night, lighting the melted down candles and playing jazz on the stereo upstairs. Bo had laid you down on the dirty mattress, his eyes taking in every single inch of your body, his grip only tightening when you attempted to cover yourself. It had been the turning point for you in some strange way, seeing that side of him. It made you realize that he had been telling the truth; you did love him. 

“Still just as tight,” he says, his attempt at a compliment as he takes control of flipping through the album. Each photo causes you to blush harder, squirm in your seat. A photo of his cock inside you, bruise marks on your thighs. Another showed you on your stomach, wrists held back by his belt, hand prints on your ass. You strapped to the chair with a smile on your face and a fresh cut on your cheek. You looking up at the camera through your eyelashes and a pleading look. A photo of you sleeping and his cock pressed between your lips.

And those were just the photos where you were mostly aware of the camera. 

The end of the photo album had three photos to a page, a quickly scrawled date and word next to each one. The photo of you in the kitchen wearing Bo’s button up shirt at the stove was captioned ‘10/13/21. Cooking.’ The one of you asleep in Bo’s bed was captioned ‘11/08/21. Sleeping.’  You fixing up Bo’s mechanics uniform, 12/23/21. Sewing. You reading a book on the couch, 1/02/22. Relaxing. You with Vincent and Lester at the kitchen playing a boardgame surrounded with pizza and beer, 5/28/22. Game Night. You hunched over a cake with your tongue poking out and a piping bag in hand taken from the hallway, 9/18/22. My Birthday.

“You really took all these?” You ask, glancing at him. He seems a little bashful now, his cigarette smoked down to a stub for once. He shrugs, putting the cigarette out onto the ashtray and settling back against the couch. “I love it, Bo.” You say, your voice cracking slightly. “This was sweet.”

“Yeah, well… figured you deserved it.” He says with a roll of his eyes, eyeing you carefully. Sure, some of the photos were perverted, and it chronicled exactly what he put you through in the very beginning, but it showed that he had planned to keep you from the very beginning. You give him a quick kiss, deepening it by placing your hand on his chest. “Really loved it, huh?” Bo teases, kissing you back. He gives you a sideways smirk when you move to straddle him, his hands instantly resting on your hips.

You fiddle with the top button of his shirt, biting back your own pleased grin. “For your gift, I was thinking…” Bo cocks an eyebrow at you as you trail off before you lean in, whispering in his ear. “Maybe you can get that camcorder from Vinny and use it tonight? Whatever you want?”

“Whatever I want?” He asks, amused, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. His eyes are dark. “Guess I need to do sappy shit for ‘ya more often then if it gets ‘ya like this for me.” He grabs your hand, bringing your wrist to his lips quickly before he’s gently pushing you off of him. “Get on to the bedroom. Don’t think about takin’ those clothes off; I want the camera to see it all, darlin’.”

[f1nalboys]

What Happened to the Cat? ; Randy Meeks

Ghostface!Randy Meeks x Fem!AFAB!Reader

a/n: long time no see! thank you all for being uber paitent with me as i deal with some irl stuff, i appreciate it and the kind words you all have sent into my ask box so much!!!! any and all thoughts are welcomed; lmk how you guys enjoy this take on ghostface ray :D

WORD COUNT: 9,434

WARNINGS: smut, DARK MATERIAL AHEAD, MAJOR DUBCON bordering on noncon tbh. just tread carefully. ghostface!randy, incel!randy, degrading and misogynistic language throughout, knife play, pain play, choking (unsexy kind), costume sex, predator/prey dynamics, primal-esque behavior from randy, coercion, chasing, stabbing, blood, wound fingering (you’ll see), oral + fingering (afab receiving), threats of anal, missionary, randy is actually so fucked up and evil in this one i apologize but not really, cliffhanger-esque ending, proofread but its me.

“Let me lick your pretty piggy cunt, Y/N.”

The ever-familiar modulated voice crackles in the receiver, the hair on your neck standing up on end even as you recognize where the phrase is from. You’re standing in the middle of the hallway, front and back door on either end, dread building in your gut. Ghostface. Every iteration of the son of a bitch has been haunting you for years now, from high school to college and beyond, destroying everything you have known about yourself, your loved ones, and the world, all in the palm of his gloved hand. And here this one was, quoting fucking Black Christmas to you like this was all a joke.

The realization that you had rewatched the movie with your roommate, Randy, last night hits you like a ton of bricks. This fucker had been watching you.

“Fuck you, you freak.” 

“Touchy, aren’t you?” He says with a sharp laugh. “You won’t be sayin’ that when I’m fucking you with my knife, now will you, bitch? Sticking your fucking nose in where it doesn’t belong, right? Looking into shit you should’ve left alone.” His tone cuts through you and you whip around, heart pounding in your ears. Of course this had to happen tonight. It was a rare one where Randy had left to go to dinner with some of his friends. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

There’s a creak behind you.

Your head jerks to the side, the flash of black fabric and white plastic darting down a hallway making your stomach flip. Your body is one second behind your brain. You’re screaming at yourself to run, to get to the back door and follow the foot path around the house to your car, to get to the house phone and call for help, to get the fuck out of there. Just as your foot finally begins to move, your head twisting to face forwards, a hand is grabbing your collar and yanking you backwards. 

The wooden floor under you is slick, your feet flying forwards as you hit the ground. Pain shoots up from your tailbone as you yelp and the edges of your vision turn black as his hand moves from your collar to your scalp. “Let go!” You shout, hands coming up to grab at his wrist as his fingers tangle into your hair, the feeling of the strands being pulled from your scalp nothing compared to the ache in your skull when he slams your head back down onto the floor twice.

You’re dazed, eyes squeezed shut as you groan. Your hands cradle your head, fingers warm and sticky with your blood. By the time your vision refocuses, he’s on top of you, knees digging into your side and his knife pressed at your throat. “P-please! I’ll do anything, please don’t kill me!” You manage to choke out, going silent when you feel the blade dig into your flesh as you swallow heavily. He says nothing, just cocks his head to the side. 

“Anything?” He repeats and your eyebrows scrunch together for a brief moment; the voice you were hearing now was familiar. It was kind, soft, an edge of something darker to it, but missing the distinct crackle and depth of the voice on the phone. For a second, you wonder if this is a prank that one, or more, of your friends were trying to pull on you. But then he’s pushing the knife closer to you, nicking the thin flesh of your throat, free hand planted by your head. “I knew you were a fucking slut.”

Suddenly the knife is tossed to the side and his gloved hands are wrapping around your throat, cutting off your oxygen. Your hands instantly reach for his wrists, trying to pull him off of you, your eyes widening in fright as his grip doesn't loosen. Inside your chest, your heart beats at your ribs, overcompensating for the lack of oxygen in an attempt to keep your body going. When his grip tightens further, and your eyes feel like they're beginning to bulge out of your head from the pressure, you change tactics. 

Your mouth is opening and closing in a desperate, fish-out-of-water way to get air as you begin to punch at his chest. Your actions grow more desperate as the seconds tick by, the only sound you can hear being your own heart beat and his grunts as his thumbs dig into your trachea. The sight of the white mask, the dark all consuming eyes, begins to grow fuzzy as your hands punch and claw at any part of him you can reach. The man behind the robe is not particularly large, but he’s stronger. Couple that with catching you off guard and it was no wonder that you were here, trapped under the mysterious figure, the life being choked out of you. 

Clutching at his robes, you stare into the blacks of the mask where the eyes are and you think about Randy coming home and discovering you dead on the floor. You can imagine him dropping to his knees beside you, grabbing ahold of your shoulders and shaking you, his hands trembling. Your fingers begin to loosen around the fabric, shaky hands reaching up and clumsily tugging at the mask. 

He shakes his head a few times, jerking it out of your touch with an annoyed grunt, his grip loosening every so slightly. You manage to grab a hold of the chin and pull it off, determined to see who was killing you and make them look you in the face, really look you in the face, while they were doing it. Maybe you could somehow manage to leave a clue behind to their identity for-

“R-Randy?” You choke out, voice hoarse and nearly unintelligible. The mask hits the wood floors with a soft thud, his grip tightening as you say his name, but you don’t fight back. You stare up at him, right into his blue eyes. 

His hair is tousled, wet with sweat. His pink lips are parted, his chest heaving as he blinks down at you, tanned cheeks flushed pink. “Don’t fuckin’ look at me like that.” Your vision grows blurry again as you realize Randy, your roommate and best friend, the person you had been tracking down Ghostface with, was Ghostface. He was the one killing you. 

He lets go of your throat. 

“Fuck!” Randy says, grabbing the knife and holding it just above your throat as you gasp and sputter underneath him, eyes squeezed shut. The oxygen burns as you breathe in, coughing, black dots swimming across your vision. You try to blink through the blurriness; you can see the bright pink hue to the apples of his cheeks, a bead of sweat rolling down the bridge of his nose as he narrows his blue eyes at you in accusation. “Why the fuck did you have to do that for?”

It’s almost enough to make you laugh. Here he is, a knife to your throat, and he’s mad at you. 

Your mouth opens, cracked lips parting to tell him to go fuck himself, but all that leaves your throat is a choked noise. Pain rips through your esophagus and you flinch, stomach churning at the realization you can’t speak. Your eyes blink back the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks once more as you swallow, looking at Randy. 

His eyes are searching your face, and it’s clear to you even now, with the knife against your throat, that you seeing his face had taken the wind out of his sails. He’s nervous, head cocking to the side every few seconds and his jaw rhythmically clenching as he stares down at you. 

“Fucking bitch.” Randy finally spits, his face morphing into disgust. “You fuckin’ ruined it all. Nosy cunt, just had to stick your nose into shit that didn’t concern you.” His voice is low, gravelly, and spit collects at the corner of his lips as he speaks. You’ve never heard him speak this way; a crude joke here and there, sure, but never something this vile aimed at you and you alone. “Is this what you wanted, huh? To make this harder for me than it already is?” 

His voice cracks and as the fuzz on the edge of your vision begins to go away, you can see a tear slide down his cheek. Randy angrily wipes it off of his face with the back of his gloved hand. Wetting your lips, you brace yourself for the pain. “R-Randy,” you start, voice hoarse and cracking. He’s breathing hard, shoulders heaving with effort, but he remains silent. “...Why?”

It’s the most you can choke out right now and thankfully he decides to answer right after scoffing. “Why?” Randy’s head cocks to the side, searching your face, his knees digging into your ribs. You let out a small whine of discomfort at his weight on top of you. “You were gonna figure it out, you know.” The change in his voice makes you still, eyebrows scrunched together at the softness in his tone, as if he were sad about what he was saying. “I knew you would. I couldn’t let that happen… you’d tell everyone.” 

“Wouldn’t… I wouldn’t…” Talking still hurts but lessens as the minutes tick by. “I… I wouldn’t have told anyone.” Randy tsks, shaking his head. 

“I’m not an idiot. I know you.”

“Please, please just let me go, Randy.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Fresh tears prick at your eyes, lips thinning slightly as your chin quivers. Randy grunts, averting his gaze for a moment. “Stop looking at me like that.” He says sharply, digging the knife back against your throat. All the blade does is spur your tears on. “Jesus Christ, stop crying!” The knife is pulled away and you suck in a blubbering breath before the crack of his palm meets your cheeks. 

You yelp, hand coming to press against the swelling flesh as he leans down, hot breath ghosting against your cheek. “Do you want to live?”

The tone of his voice makes your blood chill. Sharper than the knife in his hand and just as cold. You sniffle, your chest tight as you nod. A small sob escapes your lips and he smiles. “Please don’t kill me, Randy.” Begging seems redundant at this point but you realize there is nothing you can do but try. “Randy, fuck! Fuck, please don’t kill me, I don’t want to die!” You sob, a blubbering fucking mess underneath him. 

He tilts his head to the side slightly, an amused smirk on his face. “You wanna know something?” He asks, ignoring your tears and dragging the tip of the knife down your cheeks carefully. “I’ve always imagined you underneath me crying. Knew you’d look pretty.” He sighs softly, wetting his lips, pulling back as his eyes search your fear-stricken face. “Anything?”

“W-What?”

“You said you’d do anything,” he repeats, shifting his weight back, a wild look in his eyes you’ve never fucking seen before. It’s enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end and a wave of nausea hit you. “You wanna live that bad?”

Something in your gut tells you to say no, to fight and struggle and to die with some fucking dignity. But it’s Randy. Your best friend, your roommate, the person you trusted more than yourself. An hour ago, you never would have thought he was capable of this. You nod your head once, a tear sliding down your warm cheek as his smile grows more affectionate.

“I knew it.” He says, pulling the knife away from your neck where it had been loosely pressed. He tosses it to the side, the clang as it hits your hardwood floors making you flinch. His gloved hands are suddenly all over you, leaning down and harshly pressing his lips to yours. His teeth smash into yours as you grunt in surprise, his tongue forcing its way in, a parasite finding a host.

You’d be a liar if you said you never thought about kissing Randy before. Of course you did! He was a sweet, funny, goofy guy you had been through terrible tragedy after terrible tragedy with; it was hard to not think of him in that light. You never made a move, and, like always, he didn’t either. You would often lay in bed, eyes closed, knowing Randy was in the next room over, and think about what kissing him would be like.

It’s rougher than you imagined.

Randy moans, pulling back from you to suck in a few harsh breaths, a string of saliva connecting you two. “Fuck,” Randy moans, his voice thick. His blue eyes darken, his lids heavy as he stares down at you. “God, you’re a good kisser, you know that?” His familiar goofy smile spreads across his pink face and you do your best to ignore the flipping of your stomach.

“Y-You are too.” You say as your voice cracks slightly. His smile grows further and you wonder briefly if his cheeks hurt. A wave of disgust washes over you as he brings his gloved hand up from your side to cup your cheek, and you turn your head to the side. “Are… are you done?”

Randy blinks. “Done?” He asks, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. You grunt, face feeling warm in embarrassment and nervousness as his knees dig further into your ribs. “Nah, I’m not done yet.” He finally says, his smile twitching. “I mean, I can get the knife if you’ve decided you’re done…?” He motions to the blade just beside him, watching your eyes lock onto the steel. “If you’re feeling brave, though, you can try and fight me off.” 

“What?” 

“I said,” he grabs the knife with one hand and your wrist with the other, shoving the handle into your shaking hand. “If you’re feeling brave, try and fight me off.” There’s a light to his eyes you’ve only seen when he talks about his favorite movies, a kind of glee that you had a hard time not teasing him about previously. Now, however, there was nothing fucking funny about it. The knife is heavy in your hand, weighed down by the souls it’s taken already.

Your eyes widen, glistening with unshed tears as you look at him. “I… I don’t want to fight you,” you say shakily. “You’re my friend, Randy.” He scoffs at this, snatching the knife from your loose grip and the mask from beside you. He stands, towering over you, and panic hits you as he goes to put the mask back on.

He was going to kill you unless you convinced him otherwise, and Randy was very stubborn. There were only a few things he loved, and, thankfully, you knew them all. 

“W-Wait! I’ll do it!” 

“You’ll do what?”

“I’ll… I’ll fight, or whatever. That’s what you want, right?” You ask, staring up at him as he pauses, your heart thudding in your chest. He could put the mask back on and sink the knife into your gut without a single word; you just had to trust he wouldn’t. “Y-you always say the chase is your favorite part.”

Randy cracks a smile. “That’s why I like you,” he says, crouching down beside you. “You always got me. Really got me, in ways the others didn’t.” It’s true, you realize. While Randy was popular and had lots of friends, he had told you time and time again how it seemed like you were the only one who actually heard him. It used to make you feel good. 

Now all it does is make you feel sick. 

“You must really want to live, don’t you?” He asks, voice dark as he peers down at you. Shakily, you nod, swallowing down the bile that steadily felt like it was crawling up your throat. Randy grins as his eyebrows raise, tucking under the wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead still. “Alright, fuck it. I’ll chase you and you can try and escape. You make it out the front door, and you can live. You can run off to the cops and tell them everything. But,” his grin sharpens. “If I catch you… I get to do whatever I want to you.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Depends on how worked up you get me.” Randy smiles, wetting his bottom lip as his eyes trail down your figure beside him, still frozen on the floor. The heat behind his gaze makes your skin crawl and your gut swirl, the two sensations twisting and turning inside you. “I’ll probably do something else first, though.”

Randy’s hand reaches out, grabbing at your tit through your pajama top. His grip is rough as he squeezes the fat between his fingers, letting out a growl-like moan at the feeling. You let out a shudder, turning your head to the side as you squeeze your eyes shut and press your lips together. He huffs, letting go of your breast and grabbing ahold of your chin, forcing you to look back up at him with a scowl.

“Get up. I’m giving you five seconds, and if I catch you, I’m fucking you until I decide to kill you.” 

His voice is void of all emotion, roughly letting go of your chin as he stands, and his words make you scramble upwards onto your feet. You stumble down the hallway, mind reeling as you try to think of what to do. 

“1…2…” The back door is too far. Randy was quick on his feet, he’d reach you before you got the deadbolt undone.

“3…4…” Randy tugs on the mask, voice muffled as he counts. The knife is held tightly in his hand, robe loose at his ankles. Your only option is upstairs. The steps are just to your right and you sprint towards them, feet hammering heavily against the wood as you hurry up them. You could lock yourself in your room, or maybe get to the attic with enough time to pull the door down. 

“5… Ready or not,” Randy watches your figure disappear up the steps, a wild grin on his face under the mask as he starts after you, thundering up the steps two at a time. He uses his free hand to click the modulator on again. “Here I come, bitch.”

You’re at the landing, turning down the hall to sprint to your room, when you see the ghostly white mask staring up at you. Randy swipes the knife at your feet as he stomps up the steps and you narrowly avoid it, letting out a yelp as you haul ass. Slamming the door shut behind you and locking it, you look around for anything that could help.

He’s at the door in seconds, his fist banging against the wood as you run to the opposite side of your dresser, grunting with effort as you try to push it in front of the door before he can break through. “Let me in, you fucking cunt!” He snarls, now throwing his body against the door. He’s growling with each hit, the sound  of splintering wood making your palms slick with sweat. “I just wanna see what your insides look like!”

The dresser scrapes against the grain of the floor, ignoring the pleas and curses spilling from your lips faster than you can think. After an agonizing few seconds, you manage to get the dresser in front of the door just as Randy begins to break through. You scream, stumbling backwards as his hand, holding the knife, pushes in through the split in the door he caused. 

The knife swings wildly, blade glinting in the light of your lamp. His arm retreats and he’s back to slamming his body weight against it, the dresser loudly scooting further from the door each time. Your time was running out. In a few seconds he’d be in here with you and that would be it.

You rush to your desk on the other side of the room, throwing things off as you search for something, anything, to protect yourself with. The sounds of Randy forcing his way in grow muffled, like you’re underwater. Your hands wrap around the metal scissors as he finally breaks in, and you turn around, wielding them in front of you with shaky hands. 

“Look at this.” He steps inside the room, standing with the knife in front of him. His shoulders are heaving with each breath he sucks in, and though he wears the mask, you can almost see the grin he’s giving you. “I didn’t think you’d get this far, if I’m being honest.” He steps forwards and to the right, hugging the wall as you side step him, keeping yourself at the same distance away, moving to the left. The two of you slowly, carefully, circle the rug. “I mean, you’re smarter than most girls, but I figured you’d be a pretty easy kill.”

“Fuck you!”

“There’s that fire!”

“This isn’t a fucking joke!” You snap, eyes narrowing in anger. The room is thick with tension, a standoff between a fawn and a wolf. You tighten your grip on the scissors, jaw clenching at the slickness of your palms. Your hearts beating against your ribcage, your stomachs in your ass, and yet, even with the thick sludge of fear that is coursing through your veins and weighing you down, there’s another feeling. It’s deep in your stomach, buried under the rubble, but it’s there.

Lust.

Randy laughs, head cocking to the side as he continues to move, slowly, carefully. Each movement he makes is calculated, directly reflecting your own. You wish he didn’t have the mask on, that he’d stop being a fucking coward and let you see the extent of his enjoyment for torturing you. “I know it’s not a joke, Y/N. I’m taking this very seriously.”

He lunges forwards slightly, knife shallowly stabbing into your gut. You yelp and stumble backwards, hitting into the wooden post of your bed frame as you clutch at your side, watching the blood soak into the fabric of your pajama top. For a few moments, all you can feel is heat. You had never been stabbed before, but you had imagined it to play out like the movies. Instead, the piercing pain comes in quickly, and you let out an involuntary shudder as your free hand presses into the wound. All you want to do is drop to the floor with a whimper, the edges of your vision riddled with dancing black dots, and beg Randy to leave you alone. 

Instead, biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood, you ignore the pain rippling through your side as he laughs. He returns to his place near the wall. The two of you are still circling slowly, one foot after the other, unable to take your eyes off of him for a second. 

He could have brought the knife to your other side in a second flat, gutting you. You can almost imagine him standing over your body as you desperately try to hold your organs inside your belly, warm thick blood oozing from the wound in buckets, soaking into the rug Randy had helped you pick out before you collapsed to the ground, coughing up blood. Why hadn’t he? 

“Doesn’t this just get your fuckin’ heart racing?” He asks, the scratchy tone of the modulator making you swallow hard. “Not knowing if your next step is your last, if you’ll even make it out of this fucking room…it’s exciting!” You continue your carefully placed steps, your back now to the door. The dresser was still in front of it, but if you got an extra few seconds, you could squeeze through the gap between the wall and dresser and make your way out into the hall.

If you could do that, you could make it down the steps and to the front door before Randy made it to the landing. Your car keys were right next to the door where you always left them; you could do it. You had to do it. You had to do anything you fucking could to get out of here. The other option was dying.

Randy turns his head to look behind him and you take the brief opportunity to lunge forwards, squeezing your eyes shut as you sink the scissors into his shoulder. You cut through robes, shirt, and flesh. As the blade makes a sickening squelch noise, you expect him to scream, collapse to the ground or stumble back like the villains always do in those shitty movies he likes. 

Your eyes widen and you take a shaky step backwards, scissors stuck in his shoulder as he whips his head around to face you, a low growl emanating from under the mask. His gloved fingers wrap around the metal handles, yanking it out with a hiss. The steel is covered in dark red blood. It drips onto the carpet opposite of the puddle of your own blood that was growing underneath you. The robe where the stab wound was is sunken into the cut, the fabric bunching together and fraying into the wound. 

“You forgetting something, Y/N?” He questions sinisterly, gingerly holding the scissors in his hand. He swings them side to side, taunting you. “Did you seriously think a little stab would stop me? You think none of the others put up a fight like this?” He scoffs, his anger at you clear even through the modulator. “You all think you’re the exception, that you’re the final girl. Well guess fucking what? You’re not… and I think you want me to catch you.”

“I don’t!”

“No?” He taunts, cocking his head to the side. You wonder if, under the mask, his lips are squeezed into a thin line with a furrow to his brows. That was the face Randy always had when he was pissed. You take a step backwards towards the door. “So you’re really trying? You ran up the steps. You let me in your room. You gave me your fucking scissors! Just admit that you want me to fuck you, even if I gut your ass after.” The excitement in his voice has your heart sink.

This wasn’t Randy anymore; this was Ghostface.

Realizing there’s nothing you can do here to save yourself, you make a mad dash for the door. Squeezing yourself between the dresser and wall, you watch as Randy walks over to you, tossing the scissors behind him as his grip tightens around the knife. You’re halfway there, your hands flat against the dresser as you shove it forwards an inch to allow you to squeeze through, when Randy rears his foot back and kicks it.

“FUCK!” You scream as the dresser is violently forced into the door and you, slamming you back into the wall. Your ankle is bent uncomfortably, your leg turned outward and stuck at the bottom of the dresser. Randy lifts his foot once more. “Wait, no, don’t-” you plead, your heart hammering in your chest as you continue to move, nearly out of the room. He ignores you, his foot planting on the edge of the dresser as he kicks it forwards. Your foot is the last thing in the doorframe.

The pain is blinding. Your vision goes white as a fiery warmth crawls up your leg. As your vision returns, so does your hearing; you were letting out a blood curdling scream, your throat raw, and your free leg gives out on you. You collapse backwards, sobbing as Randy grabs the dresser and yanks it back, freeing your foot. 

Looking down, groaning in pain, you try to move your ankle. There’s resistance and an electrical shock shoots up to your knee. Not broken, but there’s clearly something wrong with it. You try and move it again, grunting as you press your foot flat to the ground, attempting to stand. The pain is too much. Fuck. If you can’t move it, you can’t walk on it, let alone run. You look up and see Randy standing in the doorway of your room, your dresser overturned behind him and your door half hung on its hinges. He cocks his head to the side and then takes a step forwards.

You scramble away as best you can, using your hands to push yourself towards the stairs. You can’t catch your breath, your pain and fear mixing together and suffocating you as you try desperately to breathe. Pain erupts from your ankle and your side, the involuntary noises you were making as you crawl away from your best friend making you sound like a wounded animal.

His footsteps are slow, taunting, consistent. Step… step… step. You keep your head up and forwards, eyes glued on the steps, your only possible solace. He allows you to make it to the top of the landing before he’s on you again, grabbing your shoulder and turning you over onto your back. “No! Get off of me, Randy!” You say, punching at his chest and squirming as he straddles you. He huffs from under the mask, grabbing at your wrists and pinning them to your chest with one hand, waving the knife over your face with the other. 

“Ah, ah,” he coos as you fall still, still blubbering. “You’ve really entertained me tonight, Y/N, you know that?” The tip of the knife is pressed to your cheek, digging into your flesh until a small bead of blood bubbles up. You whimper, chin quivering. “You’ve really got the spirit of a final girl. I’m almost sad I have to kill you now.”

He brings the knife up, clutching it in two hands.

“Wait!” You cry out, using your free hands to cover your face. Your brain is scrambled, your heart is pounding, and everything hurts, but there's only one thought in your head. I don’t want to die. “I-I thought you wanted to fuck me?”

If he notices the fear and desperation in your voice, he doesn’t mention it. Randy goes still above you, knees digging into your sides, inadvertently pressing into your wound. “What?” He asks, and the incredulous tone that seeps through the modulator is almost enough to make you laugh. 

“You… you said you’d fuck me.” You repeat, voice cracking. Disgust washes over you in droves, nearly choking away your next words. “I want you to.” Your eyebrows crease together as you swallow down the bile rising in your throat. He says nothing, the knife coming down to his side as he stares at you. You can just barely make out the glint of his eyes through the mesh. 

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is quieter, less sharp. 

“I’m not.” You reaffirm, staring up at him, trying to keep your face straight. Shakily, you reach your hand up, hesitating as your fingertips brush against the latex of the mask, half expecting him to lash out and plunge the knife into your head. Randy’s breathing is ragged, but he doesn’t move. 

Carefully gripping the material, you move the mask off of him, a far cry from how you had done it just a few minutes before. Randy’s face is sweatier now, redness expanding across his freckled cheeks to the tips of his ears. His eyes dart away from yours and he swallows hard, his adams apple bobbing. He almost looked nervous, which, all things considered, is funny. 

A smile twitches at your lips despite it all. “I’ve always had a crush on you.” You say quietly, feeling your own face grow warm. Your pain has dulled into a throbbing and hot heat. Your ankle feels like sand, too heavy to move. Your side is still burning, ripples of pain traveling up your ribcage as you move your arms. His eyes snap to yours, eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance.

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.”

“I don’t believe you.” He says, watching you drop the mask onto the ground beside the two of you. “You just don’t want to die.” 

You sigh slightly. “I don’t want to die.” You say, eyes flicking between his, watching them lighten ever so slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m lying about this. If I have to die… might as well get the truth out there, right?” You try and force a laugh, squirming uncomfortably before hissing in pain. 

“You… really? On me?” He questions, wetting his cracked lips when you nod in confirmation. There’s a beat as he studies your face, trying to determine if you were lying, if he was a fucking idiot to believe a word out of your mouth. “I have to kill you.” He says finally, voice quiet. “You’ve seen my face. You’ll tell.”

“I know.” You confirm quietly. You’ve gone completely still by now, the adrenaline and fight rushing from your body in an instant. Tears prick at your eyes again and you turn your head to the side, staring at your broken bedroom door. Briefly, you wonder how expensive it’ll be to fix it. You bite back the unamused laugh that bubbles up in your throat at the realization it doesn’t matter; you won’t be the one paying to fix it after you die. “I just don’t want the last thing I remember about you to be… to be this.”

Randy doesn’t say a word, but you can feel his eyes glued on you. “I wanted it to be different.” He finally says, breaking the thin silence that had settled between you two. When you look back up at him, his eyebrows are threaded together. “Always thought it would be, you know… romantic.” Randy almost looks shy above you, like he was caught shoving a love note into your locker instead of a knife into your throat. “You really want to?”

You nod. It was true, in some strange way. Maybe it’s from the concussion he had surely given you when he smashed your head into the floor downstairs, or maybe it was from the shock slowly overtaking your body from your stab wound and fucked up ankle, or maybe you were, deep down, just as fucked up as Randy. You weren’t sure of the reason, but you were sure of the fact that you wanted him. Swallowing heavily, you nod again, more confident. “I do.”

He hesitates for only a moment, his eyes flashing with the uncertainty you had come to know and love. But you watch him take in your disheveled appearance, his eyes darkening, his throat  bobbing as he swallows. “Take your shirt off.” He orders you quietly, and you listen without thinking. Randy wets his lips again as you awkwardly pull your top off, hissing as the fabric peels away from the wound.  Your side is covered in blood, and you have to turn your head away as blood pulses out, covering the wooden floor underneath you.

You toss it to the side, shivering at the cold wood underneath your exposed skin. His hand comes and cups your breast carefully, gloved thumb running over the thin fabric separating him from your nipple. He hums as he sees it harden, the corner of his thin lips twitching upwards as he repeats the motion again. You sigh, your body relaxing under his touch, your eyes closing as you focus on the feeling and not the circumstances that led you here. 

“I love your tits,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, his grip tightening as he squeezes. “God, the amount of times I’ve jerked off thinking about them, about you…” Randy lets out a small, breathless laugh. You whimper, squirming underneath him and wincing at the ripple of pain. You do your best to ignore it. He tosses the knife to the side, dipping down and kissing you hungrily, pressing his chest to yours.  

He wanted to kiss you hard enough to fuse together, to become a blob of unrecognizable mass writhing in pleasure. You kiss back this time and he groans, his tongue pushing its way past your lips, sliding over yours. “Randy,” you say breathlessly, shuddering when he pulls your bra up past your tits, freeing them before you feel the cool leather envelop your flesh. His right hand is slick with blood, a mix of yours and his, smearing it across your flesh. You squirm under him again, pushing upwards against his crotch, pulling a grunt from him.

“You really want it bad, don’t you?” He questions hurriedly against the flesh of your neck as he nips at your pulse. “I bet I don’t even have to touch you and you’d find a way to cum, wouldn’t you? Yeah, I fuckin’ bet. But it wouldn’t be enough, would it?” His words send a shiver down your spine, your head swimming as his nose brushes along your neck up to your ear, his breath warm. “I can hear you when you fuck yourself at night, y’know? When you think I’m asleep, and you let yourself get a little louder, a bit more brave.”

“R-Really?”

“Mhm. Hearing your little whimpers, the sound of you cumming…” He lets out a low groan, pulling back as he works on shifting his weight, tugging your pajama pants and underwear down to your knees. “Let me see her,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he pushes your knees apart. He ignores your hiss of pain as his pupils enlarge, eyes trained on your now spread cunt. You can feel your face grow warm. “Holy shit. Look at you.”

Randy reaches a gloved hand out, carefully dragging a finger up your slit. You swallow back a whimper at the feeling, your eyes widening when he holds the finger up to show you your wetness. You shouldn’t be wet right now. Waves of disgust recede briefly only to crash back over you, time and time again, drowning you. “Look at this… fuck, I didn’t know you’d get off on this too.”

His smile is large, stretched across his skin to the point it looks like it hurts. He dips his head down, hands on your thighs, nose hovering above your pussy, and he breathes in deep. He moans - whimpers - and wastes no time, his pink lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. 

“R-Randy!” You moan, your thighs attempting to close around his head. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, holding you open for him. “Oh shit,” you groan, your eyes squeezing shut as you do your best to focus on the quick-building pleasure in your gut rather than the ever-persistent pain in your side as your body involuntarily moves against his tongue. 

Randy moans against you, letting go of your clit in favor of flicking his tongue back and forth along your slit, tasting as much of you as he can. “So fuckin’ good baby,” he mutters, his nose bumping along your clit as he pushes his tongue in your hole. It makes you gasp sharply and he hums, eyes opening to look up at you through heavy lids. He wasn’t lying when he told you he thought about this moment a lot, late at night in bed, hand wrapped around his cock. “Tell me you like it.”

His voice is muffled by your cunt and you don’t register it, your mind reeling with your situation as your orgasm steadily began to build. It hung heavy in your gut, growing thicker and bigger with each passing second, with each flick of his tongue and bump of his nose. Your pussy hurt, throbbing with need, desperate for release. And then, finally, you’re right there, toes beginning to curl, dots of color dancing in the dark of your closed eyes, when he stops. “What the fuck?”

He snorts at your meak and confused protest. You force your eyes to open, chest heaving, and involuntarily you glance down at the puddle of blood under you. It’s only grown, and the realization nearly takes the wind out of you. You felt tired, cold, exhausted.

“I told you to tell me you like it.”

“I-I didn’t hear you.”

“I know. Too caught up in how good I was making your pussy feel, right?’ He asks, voice soothing. “Couldn’t even be bothered to pretend to hate it.” You look up at him and he smiles, the corner of his lips curling upward. “Dirty fuckin’ bitch, huh? Is that what you are, Y/N?”

You shake your head and he laughs. “I’m not.” You say, trying to have any ounce of conviction in your tone, but it only serves to amuse him further. His stupid shit-eating grin makes a flash of anger course through you. “I’m not.” You say again, nostrils flaring. Your fight dies down as his smile drops and his eyebrows stitch together in annoyance. 

“No?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. Without breaking eye contact, his left hand moves from your thigh to your pussy, pressing against your clit to an almost painful degree. The pressure makes you jolt, a groan being pulled from your lips. “You’re not getting off on how much I’ve hurt you?” Randy questions casually, taking his fingers and moving them down to your pulsing hole. 

Whimpering as you feel him prod at your opening, you simply squeeze your eyes shut in response. You wouldn’t give him the fucking satisfaction. He’s not deterred by your stubbornness; he’s been friends with you long enough to know that it was all a facade, a way to keep control when you had none. It was one of his favorite things about you. 

“You might not like it,” he says, humming as he begins to press the leather-clad finger into your cunt. You hiss at the slight stretch, face screwing up at the strange sensation of the leather sliding along your walls. There’s only a brief second of resistance before your body lets him continue. “But she sure does.” He purrs, breath hot against your bare thigh as he begins to pump his finger inside you. “Let me right in, didn’t she? Imagine how she’s gonna react when I finally give you my cock.”

You whimper; it’s involuntary, an accident, maybe not even from pleasure, but it doesn’t matter. The noise is encouragement, a golden stamp of approval, for Randy. His finger picks up speed as you cream around the digit, the sound of your wetness increasing with each pump. Another finger is pushed in and you whimper. “O-ow!” You whine at the stretch. 

“Shut up,” he hisses, his blue eyes narrowing. “You think my cocks not gonna hurt when I fuckin’ shove it in here?” He follows his question with a third finger, the added stretch of the leather sending a shiver up your spine. You suck in a breath, shuddering with each pump, your own arousal loud enough for you to hear it. “You should see your fuckin’ pussy right now, baby, I mean… fuuuck. Creaming around my fucking fingers. Your clit’s throbbing; bet that hurts, doesn’t it? It’s all achey, desperate for me to touch it?”

You don’t want to answer his mocking words. A part of you is screaming at you to do something and get the fuck out of there, to get his hands out and off of you, to hold onto some of your dignity before your death. It’s not loud enough. “Y-yes!” You grunt, your eyebrows threaded together. “It hurts, Ray, fuck, j-just, please!” Your voice is whiny, cracking in the middle of your begging, your hips trying to push forwards in a desperate attempt for friction. “I’ll cum, I swear to god I will!”

He hums, his fingers curling inside you. The pleasure, while good, spreading throughout your whole body, isn’t enough. “You’re tellin’ me if I touch your clit you’ll cum?” Randy asks, amusement clear in his voice. You nod desperately, meeting his eyes. His cheeks are tinged pink with exertion, a hungry look in his eyes. He leans forwards, eyes flicking down to your clit, and you expect him to flick his tongue against the throbbing bud or suck it into his mouth. 

Instead, he lets out a small breath, the cool air focused on your clit, and you cum. 

“There you go, baby,” he says, watching you with a lopsided grin as your body shakes, legs attempting to close around his shoulders, pussy clenching rhythmically around his fingers. A low groan slips past your parted lips, ending in a pained whimper as the pleasure ebbs away, making way for the ache in your side. “God, I knew you were gonna look beautiful cumming.” 

His voice is soft, sweet. In another world, he would have said that to you in your bed, the two of you surrounded by plush pillows and warm blankets instead of blood. You blink a few times, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, a warm tear slipping down your face to your ear. You sniffle as you feel him move from between your legs, pulling his fingers out slowly. He presses them to your lips and you don’t need him to tell you what to do. 

Your mouth parts, your eyes closing as he presses his fingers past your lips. “Fuck.” He breathes as your face screws up slightly at the metallic taste that accompanied your own arousal, remembering how your blood had covered the leather before he began touching you. “Almost done sweetheart, I promise.” He murmurs, sliding his digits over your tongue, pressing down a bit before pulling them out. 

You watch as he bunches the fabric of the robe into his hand, pulling it up enough to reveal his jeans, his cock pressing against the fabric. His free hands fumbles with the button for a moment before he huffs, his face growing a darker shade of red in embarrassment as he drops the robe, using both hands to unbutton and shove his jeans down. 

“God, maybe I’ll make you take my cock in your ass.” He says, groaning as he wraps his blood-and-cum-covered hand around his cock. He strokes himself once before pausing and spitting into his gloved palm, looking down at you, a sadistic glint in his eyes as he watches a ripple of fear go through you. “Never had one there, have you?” He shakes his head, answering his own question. “Nah, too respectable, aren’t you? You’re not a slut when you bring home another fucking douchebag. You just let ‘em fuck your mouth a bit and then your pussy, right?”

“Randy-”

“No.” He snaps, his face screwing up into a snarl. “Just shut the fuck up, alright? For years I’ve been sitting by, watching asshole after asshole get to touch you, get to flirt and kiss and fuck you. And I sat back like a good friend, like a fucking gentlemen, cleaning up their fucking mess with no reward.” He moans, his hips bucking forwards into his hand. A bead of sweat rolls down his nose, dripping onto the robe. “Fuck that. I might as well have my fun.”

Leaning forwards, he smashes his mouth against yours. He ignores your whimper of pain, the tears that had steadily built up and fallen during his rant. His tongue forces its way past your lips and Randy moans at the feeling of you kissing back. At this point, it didn’t matter to him if you really were enjoying it; what mattered was that he was able to be with you in the way he’s been dreaming of since you had met. 

With one of his hands, he lines his cock up to your entrance, swiping the leaking and swollen tip through your folds as he pulls away from your mouth to straighten up. The both of you let out a noise of pleasure, and he grins, pleased at your lack of fight. It was fun during the chase, but now he was fulfilling a fantasy. “Ready?” He asks, pressing his hips forwards a bit, prodding at your opening. You feel so fucking warm against him that he shudders, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to stop from cumming then and there.

You’re not. You are, actually, but you don’t want to admit it. Sniffling, you shake your head quickly. “N-not yet,” you say, watching his expression soften as he meets your eyes. He bends down again, his pink lips pressing soft kisses along your jaw. His other hand runs along your side, goosebumps raising on the exposed skin in his wake. 

Your eyes close and you imagine yourself in bed with him, comfortable and safe. The warmth underneath you is no longer your own blood, but the heated blanket you had for the winter. The metallic smell a candle, the robe tickling your bare stomach a blanket. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs against your cheek, tilting his head back to look at your face. There's a dazed look in your eyes, but when you nod again in confirmation, he grins. “Good girl,” Randy says as he begins to push inside you. “It’ll feel good, I promise.” He dips his head down to kiss you as he pushes past your body's natural resistance, moaning hot into your mouth just as you did. “H-holy fuck!” Randy shudders, his voice cracking as he bottoms out. “S-so fucking tight, and warm, fuck!”

His cock is thicker than any of the guys’ you’ve been with before, stretching and filling you up with every inch he pushes in. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, your head burying into his shoulder. Your side throbs with pain, but you’re able to ignore it and the blood still spilling from the wound, your head growing cloudy. Part of it you can blame on blood loss, on survival, on instinct. The rest of it is purely you. “Fuck, Randy! O-oh my god!” You gasp as he pulls out, the tip of his cock the only thing left in your cunt until he shoves every inch back inside.

Your fingers scramble to grab at his shoulders as he pistons his cock in and out of you when you accidentally dig your finger into his stab wound. “Fuck!” He yells, his movements stalling, and you remove your hand instantly, your heart nearly stopping in fear. Your apologies come quick, nearly incoherent, but he shuts you up with a grin. “Fuck, do that again.” He says, his hips moving again. 

“W-what?”

“Do it again.” Randy repeats, a glimmer in his eye as he grabs your hand, his fingers awkwardly pressing yours into his wound. You grimace at the feeling of your fingertip pressing into the warm and bloody hole. He grunts in pain, his face screwing up into a grimace, but he doesn’t let you pull away and his hips dont stop fucking into you. “F-fuck. Oh god, your pussy is so fucking good.” He moans, pressing your finger in deeper, to the first knuckle. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You like this don’t you?” 

Randy grunts, keeping his eyes trained on you, before he pushes your finger into the wound further. The hole is warm and you can feel the flesh throb around your finger. His cock is throbbing inside you, and you’re not sure how much is from your cunt and how much so from this. He yelps in pain again, finally letting your hand go.

It drops back to your chest as his thrusts speed up, his free hand coming down to rub at your clit. “Oh, shit!” You moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Randy, oh my god, I-I’m so fucking close!” Your whimpers only spur him on, his thrusts bordering on painful as his hips snap against your own. Your ankle is still throbbing but you can move it with only a brief moment of sharp pain. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/N,” Randy whines, his voice cracking in pleasure. “Been dreaming, shit! Been dreaming of fucking you, god damn, and it’s so much better than I could have imagined.” His head tilts back slightly, eyes closing as his hips begin to sputter. “Come on, cum on my fucking cock, alright? Be a good girl for me, don’t hold back, alright? I want it, fuuuuuck, please? Please let me feel you cum on my dick, Y/N. Don’t you wanna cum one last time, baby?”

His words cut through you in an instant. A choked whimper is all you can manage as you cum, tightening around him and making him shudder. His thrusts are so fucking sloppy now, his mouth hung open and panting, drool building at the corner of his mouth. He hurriedly thanks you, telling you how good your fucking pussy feels, how he’s going to cum inside you and make sure you feel how much he loves it. You can’t focus on anything other than the words ringing in your ears. 

“Don’t you wanna cum one last time, baby?”

He was going to kill you. You knew that; he told you as much. A naive part of you thought that maybe, somehow, he’d fuck you and then decide to let you go. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum.” Randy says, his cock throbbing with each thrust. His face is screwed up in concentration, hands digging into the flesh of your thighs. “I’m gonna fucking cum inside you, Y/N!”

You bring your hand up and dig your thumb into his shoulder as far as it can go. 

Randy screams in pain, falling backwards in an attempt to get away from you. You follow him, hovering above him on your knees as he thrashes under you, ignoring your own pain. “FUCK!” He screams, finally shoving you backwards away from him. He sobs, his hand clutching his shoulder, heat traveling up and down his arm. “You stupid fucking bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

You don’t waste any time. You’re not even thinking anymore, your body taking over to save itself. You shove your pants and underwear back up, tugging your bra back down over your tits as you stumble to the steps. The sharp pain in your ankle is back tenfold, nearly blinding you, but the sound of Randy struggling to his feet keeps you going. 

Clutching the handrail, you drag your body down to the steps. You’re sweating, cold and hot all at once, the wound on your side steadily dripping blood down your thigh. “Get the fuck back here!” He’s at the top of the steps as you reach the bottom, hauling ass to the front door. 

Everything hurts. You aren’t sure if you’re even breathing as you struggle down the hallway, grabbing onto the wall to drag your body to safety. Every step you take knocks the fucking wind out of you, spots in your vision, but the adrenaline is keeping you going. You had a chance and your body knew it. 

Randy is thundering down the steps, his cock straining against his unbuttoned jeans. Not only had you hurt him, you had denied him the one thing he wanted from you. “You fucking bitch,” he screams, spit flying from his lips. He reaches the bottom of the steps and turns, watching as you reach the front door, grabbing your keys from the dish. You look backwards and spot him, knife in hand, his teeth gnashing in annoyance. “I’ll fucking gut you for this.” He shouts as you unlock the door and stumble outside and off the porch, straight into the arms of campus police.

“Jesus!” The uniformed man grunts, catching you in his arms. “Are you alright, miss? We got calls about some screams.” He peers down at you, moving his hand and seeing it covered in your blood. He curses, grabbing his walkie talkie and calling for backup. You’re sobbing still, heart thumping and beating at your ribs, shivering against him. It was cold, and the heat from your wound only seemed to spread when Randy was on top of you. “Miss,” he says, repeating it a few times until you finally lift your head to look at him. “A few more officers are coming out to help, but I need to know what happened, okay? Who did this to you?”

You turn to look back at your house, staring through the opened living room door. Nothing. Randy was gone. You can see the open back door further down the lit hall, the breeze making the drawn shade move gently. He was gone, but he’d be back. You turn to look back at the cop, your breathing uneven, and you blink.

“Ghostface.”

[f1nalboys]

hiii um. feel free to say no and i kind of feel embarrassed asking lmao but. ian mckinley and breeding kink with fem reader? >//<

NEVER EVER EVER FEEL EMBARRASSED FOR REQUESTING THIS listen im not saying that ian has to breed you everytime he gets high but thats exactly what im saying...... if you dont like the high aspect of this or if i used pronouns.descriptions ur uncomfy with, feel free to send another ask and i can fix it up/rewrite it!!!! otherwise, i hope you enjoy :D

Ian McKinley x Fem!AFAB!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1548

WARNINGS: nsfw, breeding, creampie, talk of breeding/ getting pregnant/getting knocked up, high sex (bc its ian and im right), car sex, pretty tame compared to most of my stuff!!! barely proofread honestly so sorry if theres any mistakes <3

Though the smoke is thick, lazily flowing from his lips, you can still make out his red cheeks and that shit eating grin. His gaze, like always, is on you and intense, making you shift in your spot opposite of him. “C’mere,” he says, coughing slightly as he nods his head, arm slung over the headrest of the backseat. You grin, closing the gap between you two and nestling into his side. His nose runs along your cheek, his eyes closed, as he breathes in. “Fuck, you smell good, y’know that?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ian whispers back quickly, the word tumbling from his lips as he dips his head down to kiss at your jaw. You sigh, tilting your head as he continues down your neck, his hand dragging down your bare arm, his rings cold against your warm skin. His lips move expertly, finding the spot that has you letting out a soft gasp, goosebumps rising on your skin. “There you go,” he praises, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh as he trails down further. “You feelin’ it yet?”

You muster up a hum, nodding your head. Of course you could feel it; the two of you had been smoking on and off in his car for the last hour, shedding your warm winter layers as the car continued to heat up, leaving you in your pants and tank top, Ian in his jeans. His breath had long become your own, adding to the sensation of floating you felt. “God…” You grunt, eyes closing as he nips and bites at the thin flesh of your neck, soothing it with his tongue, the cool metal of his piercing sending a shiver down your spine. “Ian, we can’t.” You say, a flimsy sentence you had no plans on doubling down on.

He ignores you, hand drifting to cup you over your jeans for a moment before trailing up to your chest where he squeezes, his tongue and lips and teeth still marking you. You feel dizzy, your mind gone, unable to focus on anything but him. You always got like this when he kissed you, but when the two of you were high he was borderline addictive. “Yeah we can, baby,” Ian says, pulling back and letting go of your tit to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him.

Ian’s lips are pink and swollen, his cheeks red, his pupils dilated. His eyes search yours briefly and he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. “Lean back.” He grunts against your lips, pulling away to shove off his jeans. The back of his car is cramped but somehow you manage to lay back against the warm leather seats and have your pants pushed down to your ankles before Ian’s hands are back on you. He helps you take the rest off before spreading your legs at the knee, cursing under his breath. You blush, rolling your eyes at him.

“You’ve seen me naked a million times, Ian.”

“I’m pretty fucking lucky, aren’t I?” He teases, kissing your knee before leaning over you. You squirm remembering your first time with Ian, how he had told you over and over again you were made for him, how he fit against and inside you so perfectly it was meant to be. Ians’ breath is warm against your skin and you moan softly, looking down at where you meet, his hand wrapped around his cock as he slowly swipes it through your folds. “So wet already. Forgot weed goes straight to your cunt, baby.”

You whine slightly as you grind your hips against his tip, silently begging, before you hum. “You totally didn’t forget.” He laughs, confirming, before he grunts, the tip of his cock pushing against your hole. One thing about Ian, high or not, was that he loved to tease you, to dangle what you wanted over your head, keep it just out of reach, until you begged. “Ian, please! C’mon, d-don’t fuck around, dickhead.”

His eyes snap away from his hardening cock to your eyes, narrowing them slightly. “That’s not how you ask and you know it.” He says, his voice frighteningly calm and level. He pushes his cock against you again, sliding it through your folds with a hiss, his eyes never leaving yours as the sound of his cock sliding through your wetness filled the car. “C’mon, I know you can beg like a slut, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’re all fucked out already?”

“Shut up.”

“I'm waiting.”

You look between him and his cock, groaning in frustration as the tip of his cock slides against your clit, too softly to do anything other than tease you. “Okay, okay!” You say and he gives you a pleased smile, waiting. It was harder to get you to this point when you were sober, too shy and too stubborn to listen. “Please fuck me, baby, okay? I need it, you know that.” You whine, your arms wrapping around his neck to bring him closer, your lips hovering against his. “I’ll even let you do that thing you like.” You whisper, grinning when he pulls his head back a bit to get a better look at you with an eyebrow raised. “Please, Ian? I want you cum in me.”

There’s a brief pause as he registers what you’ve whispered to him, his eyes widening before he kisses you hard, his hand fumbling to line himself up with your hole. “Holy fuck, baby.” Ian’s head rests in the crook of your neck, his pale body pressed against yours in the cramped car, the tip of his cock pushes inside you. His lips brush against your neck, tongue swiping over your salty skin as you moan. His hips move slowly, groaning as he bottoms out. “Fucking take it so well, don’t you? You were just made to take my cock, baby, see how good I feel inside you? Shit, I love you, I love your fucking pussy.”

Your eyes are squeezed shut as you adjust to his size, your cunt pulsing around his cock. Despite being with Ian for as long as you have been (and fucking him just as long, if not longer,) it still took you a minute before you could tell him to start moving. His cock was long, curving upwards, always managing to hit the spot inside you that made your vision go white around the edges. “O-okay… you can move.” You breathe out and Ian is pulling out only to slam back in. You yelp as he sets his pace, fast and rough, grunts and whines slipping from his lips.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking tight.” He moans, one arm next to your head propping himself up as he ruts inside you. “C-can you, shit, Y/N, can you talk? Please, baby, I wanna hear how bad you want it, okay?” Ian's voice cracks slightly, his face hovering above yours, eyes searching yours. “I know you need my cum, don’t you? Need my fuckin’ load inside you, dripping out, breeding you.” 

You nod your head quickly, moaning, your hips rocking against his cock, plunging him deeper inside you. His moan is high pitched, a whimper, and his thrusts begin to lose tempo. “Fuck, Ian, baby, I do need it. I need you to breed me so bad, I need you to cum inside me, knock me up, fuck,” you moan, babbling as he continues to fuck you. Your words, your gasps, your moans; they all drive Ian fucking crazy. 

His thrusts grow sloppier and now his entire weight is on you, his forehead pressed against yours, his cock barely pulling out with each thrust. The tip of his cock hits into your g-spot over and over again, forcing all the air out of your lungs as the pleasure builds. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grunts, shuddering as his hips begin to sputter. “M’gonna fucking cum, holy fuck. Gonna knock you up, baby, get you pregnant. Pussy’s gonna be leaking once I’m done with you. Fuck, I’m cumming.” 

Ian thrusts inside you a few more times before slamming all the way back in with a loud grunt, cumming inside you. You catch your breath as he rocks his hips, your cunt squeezing around him, milking his cock. His eyes open and he lifts his forehead from yours, giving you a lazy pleased grin. “That felt good.” You say with a grin, earning a chuckle from him. 

“Yeah? You liked me breeding you baby?” Ian asks, kissing your cheek and down to your neck again. You hum, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling of his lips. You feel Ian begin to thrust again, gently, and you gasp softly, opening your eyes and looking at him in confusion. He grins, a flash of something dark in his eyes. “What? You thought you weren’t gonna cum tonight, baby?” He tsks, shaking his head as he hisses from overstimulation, rocking his hips back and forth. “Nah, gotta feel you cum around me baby. You can show me a few times, can’t you?”  He leans his forehead against your own once more, his pace getting faster as soft moans leave your lips. “Besides, I need to breed you a few more times anyways. Gotta make sure it sticks, don’t I, baby?

[f1nalboys]

Did You Mean It? - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!AFAB!Reader

WORD COUNT: 819

WARNINGS: nsfw, breeding, dubcon, daddy kink (bo refers to himself as daddy multiple times), mommy kink (bo refers to reader as mommy once but not sexually, just in reference to becoming a mom), talk about getting pregnant (bc duhhh), some teasing from bo. kinda proofread. lmk if i missed any tags!

Bo’s tongue runs along the warm flesh of your neck as he pumps his cock inside you. Your body was beginning to ache, your leg muscles cramping from the position he’s held you in for the last half an hour. “F-fuck,” Bo grunts, his breath warm. His voice cracks as he speaks, his hips sputtering. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart, gonna cum nice and deep inside you.”

You wince at a particularly deep thrust, your hole clenching tightly around him, and he mistakes it for affection. He always did. You did too sometimes. You feel the hot breath of his laughter before you feel it rumble from his chest, your legs thrown over his shoulders. “Yeah, that’s right, darlin’. Daddys got you, he’s gonna fill you up nice and full, let you carry around his seed. You want that, right?” He asks and you cry out, the stretch of his cock almost too much. You’re not sure why it still hurts after all this time, but a part of you wonders if you like the pain a little too much to accommodate it. “You wanna carry my baby, darlin’?”

Your eyes widen as he asks, feeling his cock twitch inside you. He never spoke like this. In the entire time of you being here in Ambrose - was it weeks or months? Maybe a year? - Bo avoided the topic of family like the plague. You remember asking him once if he ever wanted children, and you remember how hard it was to sit afterwards. His thrusts speed up and you cry out in pain, his cock ramming into you with renewed fervor. Your cunt squeezes around him tightly and he grunts, the noise low in his throat. A growl. A sharp reminder of who he is. 

“Yeah? You fuckin’ want it too, don’t you? Right, Y/N?” He asks, grunting in between each word. He moves his head from the crook of your neck, a flash of appreciation in his eyes as he takes in the hickies and bite marks he had littered across your skin. His blue eyes are dark when he looks at you, sweat glistening off his forehead. “Say it. Say you want my baby and I’ll fuckin’ give it to ya’.” He says and you know he’s close.

You realize you are, too. It was so much easier to feel your own pleasure when you knew Bo was feeling it too. 

“I… I want your baby, Bo. Please.” You stammer out, panting. It felt like the pleasure had hit you out of nowhere, knocking the wind out of you, making you feel all of it at once. There was no growing pit in your stomach and no warning. “Holy shit,” you say, eyes widening as you look up at him. He smiles and you wonder briefly if you’ve ever told him how handsome he was. “I-I’m gonna cum.”

Bo moans, his hands grabbing ahold of your face to keep you looking at him. “Good. Fuck, fuck yeah, cum around my cock, sweetheart, milk me.” He shudders, his eyes squeezing shut. “A-Always heard that it sticks better when you cum too.” He says before he groans loudly, pushing the entire length of his cock inside you as he cums. You feel him spill inside you, gasping at the sheer amount, before your own orgasm rips through you. He whimpers, a noise you rarely got from him, as your pussy clenches around him, making sure you got every drop. “Fuck, you’re so god damn tight.”

Bo catches his breath as you ride out your high, grinning down at you in a way that makes you close your eyes, embarrassed at the intensity. You grunt when he moves your legs off of his shoulders, your muscles tense as they flop back against the bed, his cock still stuffed inside you. “Did you mean it?” You ask quietly, your voice unsure in the dark room. You don’t need to open your eyes to see Bo tilt his head to the side, humming. “About… about giving me your baby?”

His laugh makes you shiver. His finger runs down your cheek as he tsks, mocking. “Aww, are you worried I was lying, darlin’? Worried daddy wasn’t gonna make you a mommy, that I wasn’t gonna give you a baby?” He asks, his voice cruel and low. Your eyes open to look up at him and they widen slightly; you had expected a cruel and teasing grin, but the look on his face was far softer than you had come to know. His usual frown lines were smoothed over, a small smile on his face. He leans down, kissing gently along your cheek and jaw before he settles them right next to your ear. “I meant it, sweetheart. And I’m not done just yet.”

His hips rock forwards slightly and you whimper from overstimulation, your cunt pulsing.

“I’m gonna make sure it takes.”

[f1nalboys]

Night-Time Worship ; Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!AFAB!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1959

WARNINGS: nsfw, dub/non-con just to be sure and because its bo, somnophilia, oral (fem recieving), fingering (fem recieving), pussy worship, softish bo, the slightest bit of daddy kink at the end (bo calls himself daddy), bo cant be nice to you when youre awake, bo mocks reader, bo knows the reader isn't really in love with him, possessiveness, kinda sorta proofread but i suck so...

Bo keeps his blue eyes trained on you as he slides down the length of the bed, pulling the cover off of you as he does so. Everything he does is deliberate, careful, trying not to wake you from your peaceful sleep, though he can't help but drag his fingers along your bare skin, your body warm under his unsettlingly gentle touch. Last night had been rough, a common occurrence with him, but you had fallen asleep in bed before he had gotten out of the shower. He tried sleeping beside you but something was stirring under his ribcage, a rat burrowing its way through his organs away from the heat of his heart, and he couldn’t stop glancing over at you. And now here he was. 

Bo can still taste the remnants of last night on his tongue, the cigarettes and the liquor and your sweetness all mixing together to make him dizzy as he settles in between your legs. You were in just a t-shirt and underwear, laid out on your side, sound asleep. You’re pliable under his touch, his rough and calloused hands grazing across the flesh of your hips as he turns you on your back. You stir slightly but settle back down, your legs closed together. 

He wets his bottom lip as he pushes your knees apart, his thick fingers hooking around the cotton underwear you wore, pulling it to the side. He leans forwards, his eyes fluttering closed as he breathes in your scent, a shudder going through his body, letting himself get lost in you. It was rare for Bo to pay attention like this, his mind and hands focused solely on you and not his own cock. The quiet and darkness that surrounded him gave him the confidence to take his time with you. His movements were slow, gentle, a grace you were never granted when you were awake. 

In the dead of the night, when you were too tired or fucked up to pay him any mind, Bo allowed himself to treat you the way he wished he could in the morning light. 

He slips the fabric down your legs, leaving it hanging from one of your ankles as he settles onto his stomach, his lower half hanging off of the bed, his face level with your cunt. Reaching his hand towards you, he uses two fingers to spread your lips for him, revealing your already wet core. “Fuck, darlin’,” he whispers, mostly to himself, his eyes trained on your pussy. “All wet for me still, huh? In your dreams, thinking of me down here like this…” He trails off as he carefully blows against your core, watching your body squirm at the coldness of his breath.

“Bo?” You murmur, stirring in your sleep, but he shushes you gently, quieting you down with a press of his fingers against your thigh.

“Go on back to sleep. M’not doing nothing, baby.” He grins when he sees your hole clench and he stays there like this, his face mere inches from your cunt, his fingers keeping your lips spread wide for him, until your breathing evens back out. “Gonna make you feel good, promise,” he whispers, brushing his nose along your inner thigh, his eyes closing. “Just give me a minute, baby.” 

He presses a gentle kiss against your thigh where a few bruises were beginning to form. He knew they were his fingerprints and he grins at the thought of his mark being on you for a few days later, the pain of brushing against them reminding you of the time you two shared. Bo’s eyes open and he shifts his focus back to your pussy, his other hand coming down to lightly press against your clit. Your body reacts as it does when you are awake, your hips twitching, your legs attempting to close. You were still asleep, your head back on the pillow, and Bo brings his fingertips to his mouth, coating them in a generous amount of spit before returning them to your clit.

With him positioned between your legs, it was impossible for them to close, your knees pressing against his shoulders as he begins to rub deliberately slow circles. “How’s that feel, darlin’?” He whispers, not expecting an answer. He doesn’t want one, either; he was in his own head now, imagining a day long from now where the two of you were in love, not whatever it was you felt for him now. A day where you craved his touch instead of allowing it to happen. A day where the first flicker of emotion in your eyes when you saw him was affection and not fear. Bo would never admit that to you, to anyone, not even himself, but he felt it.

His very bones craved to be loved, cracking under the pressure of his own inability to give it. 

Your pussy reacts to his fingers exactly how he hopes, your hole clenching pathetically around nothing, begging him to fill you. He chuckles lowly as your hips squirm against him, not away from his touch, but into it. You let out a small whimper and Bo decides it’s time to reward your body for its patience. He shushes you as he pushes in two fingers, letting out a satisfied groan when he gets to the third knuckle with ease.

“So much easier when you ain’t fightin’ it,” he says, his eyes flicking up to your face displayed in moonlight. Your eyes are still closed and, besides the crease in between your eyebrows, there’s no sign of you waking up just yet. He remembers how much you had drank with him, laughing and telling him you could easily keep up with him and becoming a sloppy mess after a few beers. You had held onto him, your nails digging into his arms, as he fucked you, and despite the fog in your mind, it felt like the first time you had allowed him to see the real you. The one desperate for his touch, for his cock, his cum, his pain and pleasure, in whatever way he’d give it to you. “Still so tight for me, Y/N. I gotta fuck you more, don’t I? Yeah, I do. Gotta stretch my girl out.”

The lack of degradation from himself isn’t lost on Bo, but he buries that down deep, focusing on the task at hand. His fingers begin to pump inside you, curling with each thrust, hitting the part inside you that, when you were awake, had you crying out in pleasure. For now, though, Bo was satisfied with the small squeaks and sighs you were letting out; you couldn’t hide how you felt now. When you were awake you could try to; turning your face away from his never-ending stare and biting your lip until it bled, but here? Now? All you could do was listen to your body.

“Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen, you know that, sweetheart?” He croons, swallowing back a moan. His hips had begun to move on their own, grinding his cock, which was held back only by his underwear, against the mattress. He hisses at the friction, the sound of your wetness filling the room as he fucks the length of his fingers inside you. “So tight, suckin’ my fuckin’ fingers in, can barely pull out. Greedy little pussy, ain’t it?” He laughs at his own comment, drunk off of the feeling of you. 

Bo adds another finger, speeding up, and he leans forwards to lick at your clit. The added pleasure makes your entire body jolt, a low moan pouring from your throat like a wound. He grins, lapping at your cunt as his fingers pump inside your tight pussy. “Fuck,” he grunts against you, closing his eyes and losing himself in the taste and feel of you. “Your pussy tastes so good, baby, come on.” He wraps his pink lips around your clit, sucking gently, humming around it. You tasted better than any liquor he could find and you fucked him up just as much.

“Cum for me, baby, show me you love me.”

You do. You wake up as you cum, half asleep and delirious as the rug is pulled out from under you, your body convulsing, hand reaching out to tangle into his hair. “Holy shit!” You pant, your hips grinding down against his fingers and tongue, prolonging the pleasure. Bo lets you ride out your orgasm, pulling away with a satisfied and smug smile, pulling his fingers out of your cunt before popping them into his mouth. “Bo? Did… did you just…?” You look down at him, your face hot, blinking away your grogginess.

“Make you cum? Yeah,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He sits up on the bed, towering over your frame. “Your poor little pussy was soaked before I even started touching you, darlin’. Clenching, calling out to be, begging for my tongue and my fingers.” His grin turns a touch darker, the shadows of the room casting an eerie appearance on his handsome face. “And you let me. Stayed asleep and let me make you feel real good.”

You swallow thickly, your brain still foggy from the alcohol of last night and the sleep you had just been in. He grins, seeing how confused you look, and he leans forward, his hand resting beside you, his body in between your legs. His fingers press against your lips, gently at first. ”Open up. See how sweet you taste when you don’t hold back for me.” When your lips don’t part you see his jaw clench before his fingers press down harder. “C’mon now. Don’t be fuckin’ difficult.” Anger simmers behind his eyes. “Oh, I get it. Maybe you liked that you were asleep. Liked that you didn’t have to pretend to hate it this time ‘round.”

“Bo-” You say, gagging when he shoves his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. He smirks, staring down at you as you hesitantly wrap your lips around his thick fingers, your eyes flicking up to meet his gaze.

“Bo.” He mocks, a wave of shame washing over you as you squirm underneath him. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and wipes the spit onto your cheek, grabbing your chin roughly. Any restraint or gentleness he had shown you while you were asleep was gone now, not that you had a clue. “No, please don’t eat my pussy while I sleep, Bo. Don’t make me cum, don’t make me feel good, don’t give me what I fuckin’ want when I’m too fuckin’ bitchy to ask.” His voice is higher pitched now, making fun of you. His voice returns to its gruff and angry tone as he leans in, his face inches from yours. “You’re mine, Y/N. When you’re awake, when you’re asleep, when you’re fucking dreaming; you are fucking mine. Forever. You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

Bo tilts his head at you as he asks, letting out a satisfied hum when you give him a slow nod. “Good. Now, thank me for making you cum without you havin’ to fuckin’ beg for it.”

Swallowing back your shame, your rage, you force a smile up at him, the wetness and heat between your thighs evident. “Thank you, Bo. That was… thank you. I don’t deserve you.” You say, forcing the words out, feeling yourself clench as he pulls his underwear down enough to pull his cock out, swiping it through your folds. You hate to admit it, but you knew it was the truth. You were his, forever.

“You’re welcome sweetheart. Now just lay still, alright? Let daddy cum and we can go back to bed.”

[f1nalboys]

Takin' It - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x GN!AFAB!Reader

wrote this based off this one singular textpost i made when i was also high. enjoy

WORD COUNT: 695

WARNINGS: nsfw, pegging, bottom!bo, top!reader, reader uses a strap but does refer to it as a cock at one point, doggy style, making bo beg, face down ass up, degradation sorta, reader ended up way meaner than originally planned so enjoy that, vauge hints at bo being a dickhead outside of sex, like a vauge primal urge to fuck bo, both reader and bo are called a bitch, bo calls reader sweetheart/baby/bitch lol, proofread but im currently high and wrote this in an hour so.... take with that what you will <3

“F-fuck you!”

It never failed to make you laugh at just how often Bo ran his mouth. Whether it was in the morning when he decided the breakfast you cooked was too cold, or the afternoon when you had dropped the flashlight you were holding for him in the sweltering garage and he had berated you for an hour, or earlier in the night when he had made some snide comment. Or, like right now, when he was bent over the bed with the blankets gripped tight in his fingers and his face squished into the mattress. His mouth just never seemed to stop running.

“Shut the fuck up, wouldja?” You grunt, hips snapping forwards harshly, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the room followed by a sharp hiss from Bo, though it was slightly muffled, just like everything else he said. “How’s it feel, Bo, huh? I can feel you shaking under me.”

For once, Bo doesn’t answer you. You can just barely make out the stitched brow, the open mouth, the few tears that had slipped down his cheek mixing with the sheen of sweat that covered him in the darkness of the room. Your hand, which had been holding onto his hips for the last thirty minutes, dig into the plump flesh, eliciting another hiss and you can’t help but grin down at him when you feel the resistance as you push back inside him. 

“Aw, look at that, fuck. You love it, don’t you? Feeling my cock inside you like this, making you take it,” you grunt, your thrusts speeding up, getting harder. Briefly, you wonder if this is why Bo acted the way he did; being on top and feeling, seeing, smelling every change in your body and being overcome with an urge so interwoven with your body that you act without thinking? Wanting to get more from you and knowing you could give it if he just did it a bit harder, a bit faster, for a bit longer? “You better tell me or I’ll stop.”

Bo makes a choked noise, a sob, and you moan under your breath, sweat rolling down the back of your neck. “Fuckin’ bitch!” Bo spits and you start to pull out, both hands resting on his hips to push him off of you, only another inch or two of the silicon left inside of him, and his hand reaches behind him to blindly grab at your hip. “D-Don’t! Dontchu fuckin’ dare!”

“You better get to begging then, bitch.” You say, leaning over and grabbing him by the hair like he has done to you time and time again, yanking him up. The toy is forced back inside him, deeper than it’s ever been, and you can feel the vibrations of a moan as your other hand rests against his throat. His head, being held back in the angle it was, reveals to you the perfect view of his fucked out face. 

Tanned and lightly freckled skin, weathered from days outside, covered in sweat and a redness that went from his nose to the tips of his ears. His eyes are half-lidded, eyes rolling into the back of his head every few seconds. You laugh at the drool that had collected in the corner of his mouth. A tug on the brown locks threaded between your fingers brings him back to the surface just enough to break his resolve.

“Fuckin’ shit! M’sorry, baby, keep going, alright? I do love it, shit, I do, Y/N! God, j-just like that, sweetheart, don’t you stop, alright? Christ, when’d you get this fucking strong, huh?” He asks, accent so much thicker when he’s not thinking about it. A brief squeeze on his throat and now that shit-eating grin is back on his face and he’s rocking his hips back, fucking himself on the toy as you catch your breath behind him. “You like given’ it to me, darlin’?”

You grin, leaning in and nipping at his neck. “I get the appeal.” You whisper, jerking your hips forwards and taking back over for him. “Now hurry the fuck up and cum or you don’t get to tonight.”

[f1nalboys]

hi! may i request headcannons of enemies to lovers with bo sinclair? 💖

LOVEDDDD writing this!!!! i missed writing for bo :(((( (me when al i do is write for this guy) anyways i hope you enjoy and thank you for the request!!!!

Bo Sinclair x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 869

WARNINGS: brief mention of stockholm syndrome, brief mentions throughout about bo being an evil evil guy, mentions of the basement/chair/being duct taped to said chair, canon typical stuff. me pushing my bo praising agenda.... also not proofread sorry guys

so this is absolutely how any relationship with bo starts 

youre a victim babe CONGRATULATIONS <3333

so in my own personal (and correct opinion) bo likes someone with some fight in them

i mean, we saw how excited he was when he had to chase after carly

and ive read the script and bo is extra into carly in that script 

anyways, he loves having to Work to break you in

and trust and believe, he will break you in

you would come into town with a group and bo would be drawn to you immediately

not in a love at first sight kinda way (or at least, not like how it is typically LMFAO) but in a ‘interesting…’ way, you know?

anyways, he’d prefer you coming with a group because hes gonna seriously enjoying killing them all off and showing you that youre alone

youre getting strapped to that chair too

(again, congratulations <333)

he will take his time

bo doesnt have the best patience until it comes to you

your fighting or begging would get old but he cant kill you

he doesnt know WHY he cant, but he just cant

which pisses him off to no end.

youd stay in the basment for minimum a month, longer if you hold out that long

now, your time there is not fun by any means, but i dont think it would be the worst

because once Bo decides that for some reason youre different than the others he brought down here, and that he wants to keep you, hes going to break you down by being sweet

it would fuck you up, 100%

one day he’s carving into you and making you wish you were dead and the next hes carefully feeding you some (burnt) breakfast food and cooing at you

he’s also complimenting you whenever you listen to him, firing off those dopamine receptors in the only way he knows how

you dont scream when he walks down into the basement? he’s patting your cheek with that big toothy grin of his telling you how sweet you are.

you dont fight him when he wraps the duct tape around your wrists and ankles? he’s telling you how well youre doing, how hes gonna try and be gentle with you, shushing you gently when you wince, maybe even hinting that if you keep being good for him that he might stop duct taping you to the chair…

he fucks with your head

and he KNOWS hes fucking with your head

he can see the way you stop yourself from smiling when hes kind to you, how you get a flash of confusion or even anger when you and he are getting along

it gets him off fear to say

anyways, im saying all this to say a true enemies to lovers with bo is stockholm syndrome but he makes it sexy so…

you know youre pretty much in the clear when he takes you up to the house

first few times is only to feed you and then back to the garage you go

its just to get a feel for how youre feeling towards bo

ANY whiff of you trying to run or trick him and youre dead

sorry to say

but if you are a little scared and just want to stay on his good side, youre totally good AND hes gonna be soooo proud of you

sorry im feeling faint thinking about bo praising me….. ok sorry back to what i was saying

the first night you stay in the house with him hes on high alert

he might pretend to sleep in the bed, but hes not

hes holding his breath and waiting for you to try and kill him in his sleep 

once youre at the point where youre living in the house with him and hes giving you some responsibilities, you have that man hook line and sinker

he is obsessed with you, had been from the start, but he is showing it way more now

and hes CLINGYYYYYY ugh im giggling

hes standing in the doorway watching you do the dishes he got dirty and hes like ok….im heading to the garage…………if you finish you can join me………or you can finish the dishes later….maybe……whatever i dont care…

like ok liar ill come watch you be a slut bent over a car

he doesnt ever really ask you to be his partner but its kind of obvious with how he acts? like idk how to describe it, he just treats you like hed treat a partner without asking you

because lets be fr what would you do? say no?

anyways once youre his partner he has eyes for no one else

hes not gonna stop the killing or the nefarious shit he gets up to in the garage with victims, but like… he doesn't like them the way he loves you <33 

yeah maybe its me being insane but i dont think bo would be the worst slasher to date

weird circumstances get you to that point but once youre past that then youre kinda set

hes whipped like idk what to tell you and you cant prove me wrong

[f1nalboys]

confessional ; lester sinclair

Lester Sinclair x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2280

WARNINGS: nsfw, no sex, priest kink, blasphemy, perverting the catholic faith etc, hands free orgasm, some nasty stuffs going down in the confessional, cumming in his pants, talk about sacreligious fantasies, corrupting lester teehee. not really proofread, based off of this thing i wrote

The confessional booth is dark and quiet. As Lester sits in the small wooden seat, his hands clasped loosely in his lap, resting on his robes, he ponders for just a moment if this is his true calling. He wonders if the other priests, all older, more experienced and devout, struggle with the thoughts he does. Lester has no time to think about it as he hears the confessional curtain slide open, the clinking of the eyelet rings against the pole having him sit up a bit straighter. 

His thumb runs over the rosary as he listens to the person settle into their side of the booth. Lester swallows heavily as he stares forwards into the wooden door, at the carved wooden statue of his Lord and Savior nailed to the cross, shifting in his seat. He knows the penitent cannot see him, that he is shrouded in darkness and separated by the old wood and lattice, but he knows God can see him and he must be careful. Careful with his thoughts, careful with his actions, careful with leading the flock to the path of righteousness. A hush falls over the booth.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” Lester’s eyes widen slightly and he can feel his pulse in his throat. He knew that voice, knew who it belonged to, and though he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but put a face to the voice. Your image manifests in front of him, translucent, a mirage against the grain of the door. “This is my first confessional.”

Lester nods, forgetting for a moment the image of you is purely in his mind. He clears his throat, which was suddenly dry, and smooths the purple stole. “That’s alright. This is one of my first confessions too, y'know.” He says quietly, a lie, and he can’t help but feel the corner of his lips twitch at the sigh of relief he hears you let out. He wonders what you look like right now, if you’re in your usual attire or something different. It was later in the day, warmer than usual, and he has to clear his throat again to rid his thoughts of what that might entail. “Just… confess your sins and I'll do my best to help lead ya to absolution.”

“Thank you, Father.” You take a deep breath and Lester waits with bated breath, unsure of why he is so interested in what you will confess. The sins have always blended together. Adultery, drinking, gossiping, materialism, jealousy, lying; he’s heard every sin a thousand times over and not once did he ever feel invested past his holy duty. But this is you, the young lamb he was meant to protect. 

No, Lester thinks to himself as you begin to speak, the young lamb God was meant to protect. Not him. “I’ve lied to people before, dozens of times, just to get a better outcome for myself. I’m selfish, greedy, and gluttonous.” Lester hears the waver in your voice as you speak and he wonders for a split second if you knew by his voice that he was the one taking your confession. “I don’t pray everyday, I‘ve missed Mass many times due to laziness…” 

He waits as you trail off to see if you continue speaking. When the awkward silence hangs over the booth like a raincloud he speaks, doing his best to keep his voice calm and even. “Ask for absolution and I can give it to ya.” He says, his accent strong and comforting, his eyes still on the wooden door. He had been sitting on the small wooden seat far past comfort, but the pain and ache in his back was no longer felt.

“Please… can you grant me absolution, Father?” 

You speak right away, as if commanded by him, and your voice sends a shiver down his spine. You were eager to be forgiven, listening to his every word. He realizes that he could steer you wrong, he could push you towards darkness instead of the light, and that you’d follow. He swallows heavily, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. They snap open. The lust for power burned heavy in his heart; he could tell you whatever he wanted and you’d believe him. You would do anything if he said so.

“I can. Say five ‘Our Father’s’ and you'll be forgiven.”

“Thank you, Father.” You say and Lester swears he can hear your relief. 

He keeps his eyes closed as he brings his rosary, an old flashy thing with a red sapphire in the center his mother had passed down to him, to his lips. You begin to murmur the Act of Contrition, Lester whispering along to his part. “Go in peace.” He says, settling back as he waits to hear you stand, for the curtain to be pulled back and for yet another member of the congregation to enter and for him to start the process over again. It doesn’t come. “You alright, sweetheart?”

His voice is etched with concern, his eyes opening and for the first time, he allows himself to look over through the lattice. Your silhouette is there, your head bent down, your hands clasped into prayer, and he nearly gasps at the want that stirs in his stomach. He can’t see you, but now that he faces you, he can see your outline, he can smell your perfume, he can just barely make out the curve of your lips as you whisper hurriedly to yourself. When your head moves up, he sits back as quickly as he can, staring at the door.

“I didn’t confess everything.” 

“That’s alright. Do you wanna confess more?” 

“I do but… I’m afraid it’s sacreligious.” 

The words nearly take his breath away. “Sacreligious?” He says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. He won’t say it - can't say it - but he wasn’t sure that was possible. Not with you, at least. “I think you should kneel and confess.” It’s out of his mouth before he means to say it, his accent growing stronger, but he hears the sounds of you moving from the creaky wooden bench onto the ground. He keeps his eyes on the door but he can see you there, knelt on the ground with your hands clasped at your face, looking up at the lattice with wide nervous eyes.

“I… I suffer from impure thoughts, Father.”

Lester grins softly, shaking his head. “That’s hardly sacreligious. It’s-”

“It’s about a priest, Father.” Lester stops talking, feeling his cock stir in his pants. He blinks, sure he misheard. But he hears you sniffle and he clears his throat slightly. “I-It’s one of the priests here, at this church.”

“Which priest?”

“I can’t-”

“The only way for ya' to be absolved is if you’re completely honest with me.” Lester says, ignoring the guilt building in his chest. This is wrong. He has a holy duty to steer these people right, to the word of the Lord, and yet now he was ever so slowly moving his hand up his leg to his crotch, pushing his robes up to his hips so he can gently press his palm against his bulge. “The Lord is kind to those who trust him enough to confess their deepest sins.” 

Lester hears you sniffle again before you make an affirming noise. “It’s… it’s Father Sinclair.” Lester bites down harshly onto his bottom lip to hold back a noise. The copper taste of blood fills his mouth as he closes his eyes, humming. “I know it’s wrong… I’ve only been coming here, to church, for a few weeks, and with every other priest I’ve been able to control my thoughts. But… there’s something about Father Sinclair… I know it’s wrong of me, Father.”

“It’s okay.” He reassures you quickly, though his voice is thicker than it was before. “No need to cry. These… thoughts that you’ve been having… can you go into detail?” Lester’s head leans backwards, thunking against the wood. “It's important to be honest, you know? You have to tell the truth if you want to be free.”

“I… do I have to?”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then yeah, ya do. You’re embarrassed because you know it’s wrong. It’s hard to be truthful but it’s important. It’s for the salvation of your soul, sweetheart.”

“Okay…” You take in a slow and deep breath and Lester prepares himself for the filth that would soon be flowing from your sweet lips by ever so slightly rubbing his palm against his bulge. It’s almost impossible for him to hold back his hiss of pleasure, but he does so, God willing. His eyes close though he swears he can still see the accusatory stare of the wooden Jesus in the darkness.

“Take your time and remember; you gotta be honest. The complete and utter truth.” He’s not sure if he’s telling you or if he’s begging you. 

A few moments pass and he holds his breath. You begin to speak quietly, your voice close to him now with your position on your knees closer to the lattice that separates you both, and he briefly wonders if this is how God feels when he hears prayers. He wonders if God feels the swell of pride in his chest at the sheer devotion he has been shown or if he is above that. All Lester knows is that he is not.

“I…I sometimes think about him when I’m alone at night. I.. touch myself.” Lester hums, low in his throat, his hand grinding down just a little harder. “I think about him there with me… touching me, telling me how to touch him.” You let out a choked noise, surely a sob at your sins, but Lester hears it as a moan. “Even when I try to think about something else, my mind drifts.”

“Spirits willin' but the flesh is weak, s'that it?”

“Very weak.” You reply and he can almost see you nod your head. “Sometimes during his sermon I drift off… I start thinking about him bending me over one of the pews,” Lester makes a choked noise, trying to cover it with a cough, his cock aching against his pants. He wants to pull his dick out but he knows he will never, ever, be able to go back once he does that. The punishment God had in store for him was already grand, there was no reason to push it just yet. “And whispering in my ear about how I feel better than any earthly thing he’s ever felt.”

“I-I see…” Lester says, his eyelids heavy as he opens them and looks down at his lap. Even in the dark of the confessional he can see the dark spot that was growing on his pants and he is thankful for the robes he dons so he can shuffle out of here and back to his chambers without someone seeing the physicality of his failure. “Is that all?” 

His voice is strained, his hips bucking against the tight fabric of his pants, chasing friction he shouldn’t find enjoyable. He was so close, had only felt this way twice before, both times in the cloak of the night with his hand wrapped tight around his cock and a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Both times he had stopped, pulling his hand away from himself with a sharp gasp and a furrowed brow, watching his cock twitch and leak until he forced himself to roll over and go to sleep.

“I… I’ve thought about touching myself even now while talking about it.” You say and Lester bites down so hard onto his lip that he feels the skin break underneath his teeth once again, coating them in red, his pants coated in white as he cums. His nerves are shot, white dots floating in his vision as he comes back down to earth. What he just felt, before the guilt and embarrassment and worry settled in, was the closest to Heaven he knew he’d ever get. “That’s all, Father. That’s the complete and utter truth.”

Lester swallows heavily in an attempt to keep his voice level. He isn’t sure if he had made a noise of pleasure when he came, but you wait patiently for his absolution, so he carries forward. He can feel the heat of embarrassment crawling its way up his spine, his cheeks turning pink as he stares down at the mess he had made of himself. “That’s… a lot.” 

“I told you.”

“You did, you did…” He sucks in another breath and blinks hard, trying to clear his mind. “Five Hail Marys and seven Our Father’s should work…” he plans on leaving it there, hoping to get you out of the confessional booth as quickly as possible, but his lips keep moving. “And I think you should come by weekly for counseling. You can request a specific priest, or whoever is available, and they can give you one on one counselin'.” 

“Will you do the one on one counseling with me, Father? I feel embarrassed about admitting this to someone else.”

“I… yes, if you’d like. But you would have to remind me of what you’ve confessed here; I don’t know your voice.” He says, stumbling over his own words. He turns to look through the lattice as you stand from where you’ve been kneeling, letting out a quiet breath of relief. He had gotten through this by the skin of his teeth.

“Thank you, Father Sinclair.” He can hear the smug smile in your voice and he lets out a low, throaty whine as his cock twitches pathetically. “I’ll see you next week.”